Breathes there a man or woman, today, who never lusted desperately for one or more of their school teachers? Breathes there a school teacher, today, who never lusted desperately for one or more of their pupils?
Meet Naomie Constantine, girl teacher. It was only through the most tenuous of accidents that she got her job in the high school, where most of the students were only months younger than she. Little wonder that the more virile boys in her class responded favorably, their attentions rising to full mast each time she breathed in her tight blouse or bent over in her short mini-skirt. Even the Principal himself, along with most of the men in town, found their own desires vibrating along with the way she walked to and from the school buildings.
The delicate but voluptuous virgin was only moments away from mass attack when he broke down all her reserves and started teaching her what her body was designed for, upside down and in reverse, any way at all, she could take it.
Philip Vance is himself a teacher, in a small southern Louisiana town. He replied "no comment" when asked if he personally knew the sensuous Miss Constantine.
Yet he went on to tell about this "other lady" teacher who made quite a spectacle of herself on the last day of school (and the last day of her employment, coincidentally) by leaving her Algebra class in an unorthodox fashion that thoroughly delighted all her students as well as the rest of the student body. This "other lady" left her room by turning cartwheels right out the door, across the grassy campus and out the main school entrance. The stunning part of her activities, of course, was the fact that she had, deliberately or accidentally, neglected to wear underpants.
Naomie Constantine's mini-skirts served quite the same purpose at Riverview High.
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CHAPTER ONE
The shrill clamoring of the dismissal bell in the hallway was like a long-sought wish that finally comes true.
Standing rigidly beside her rostrum, her knees pressed warmly together, Naomie Constantine was telling herself over and over that she must be calm until the last of the twenty-five pupils had left the classroom.
It was mid-September and a few minutes past three o'clock on Friday afternoon, the end of the first week of the school term, and since Monday she had asked herself time after time why she had not gone back to Green Mountain College and stayed there until she'd finished her course in Business Education.
Her older sister, Marie, who could be either rashly impulsive or coolly calculating at will, and who had given up a well-paid government civil-service position to be supported by a retired Colonel - he was a wealthy friend who had taken a personal interest in her, as Marie explained it - anyway, Marie had tried to convince Naomie that she would not be happy living with crippled Aunt Margie in small-town Riverview, and she would be much better off enjoying the exciting life in Washington.
Instead of going to Washington, however, Naomie had borrowed seventy dollars from a cousin and had taken the jet-liner to Providence, where Aunt Margie's nice next-door friend, who was a retired navy man, came and picked her up in his Ford. Her purpose had been to prove to herself that it was not inevitable for her to live like her sister, much less be wild like her, even though they were so much alike in many ways that they were often taken for twins when Naomie showed family photos. Naomie had no intention of going back to the Methodist College for orphaned girls, but after teaching school for a year, she then wanted to marry and have a family of her own.
And now here she was, nearly five hundred miles from the orphanage, which had been home since her parents had died in the horrible car-wreck nine years ago. And being among strange people and in unfamiliar surroundings in the low country, she was thoroughly discouraged and confused, and no longer sure that she would be able to teach for even one full year. For the first time in her life she was homesick for the orphanage. Never before had she felt so utterly miserable.
The moment she was certain she was alone, even though she could still hear the excited voices of the ninth grade boys in the hall, she sank gratefully into the chair behind the desk and covered her face with her hands. Hank Clawson, one of her ninth grade home-room boys had, while pretending to reach for a pencil on her desk, deliberately felt of her breast! Everyone in the room had seen the act, and poor Naomie had been so ashamed, she hadn't even chastised him.
Worst of all, memory of the caress, gave Naomie a peculiar feeling - at least, it was a feeling peculiar to her! Just thinking about the touch of that young, strong hand made her feel hot - down there! - where decent girls were not supposed to feel hot. . . what did that bitchy girl at Green Mountain College say about me that time in the shower? Naomie tried to remember. Oh, yes, I remember now . . .
"You surely do have a nice, neat little ole pussy, Naomie," the brash girl had said.
Now, in her daydream, she could feel Hank Clawson's hand on her jutting breast - could feel a delightful hotness, a moistening, opening sensation down there where nice girls were not supposed to feel anything ...
She cried. After that, nothing mattered. She had no idea what was to become of her from that moment forward, and she cared even less. If Marie had been there then, she would have done anything her sister told her to do.
The principal, Milo Burch, who sometimes helped the new coach with the football team, was at the football field, and the other Riverview schoolteachers had already hurried away for the week-end.
The low one-story school building suddenly became hushed and quiet, and Naomie realized that the janitor would soon be coming to her room to sweep and dust. She did not want anybody to see her crying like that, and yet she did not know what she could do about it. Regardless of anything, she knew she had to cry and that she had passed the point where she could control herself. For a whole week she had been brave and steadfast and determined, and now the tears refused to be held back any longer.
There was no particular reason why she should be crying in the way she was, other than she just felt like it, because everybody, including Milo Burch, had been kind and helpful that week. Everyone seemed to have tried in some way to help her become adjusted. Even Aunt Margie, who was usually cross, had been motherly and considerate and had done everything possible to make her feel at home in the great, old ante-bellum mansion. And her next-door neighbor, who had taken up art since he'd retired, had been wonderful company in the late afternoons. His name was Jack Lovelace, and he'd invited her over to see some of his paintings in his large studio basement.
Naomie was a lovely girl just turned eighteen, brown-haired and dark-eyed, of medium height and with weight that had never been more than a hundred and seventeen pounds. Her chocolate-brown hair was luxuriant and wavy, and her mouth was full and provocative; the rest of her face, finely-chiseled. Her clothes, even when simple and inexpensive, always gave the appearance of adorning her, and she always looked well dressed and scrupulously neat. She invariably attracted attention at first sight, whether alone, or in a large group, principally because of her erect posture - her exceedingly jutting breasts, the pleasing conformation of her figure.
In fact, she was so amply stacked, that the sitters on the green benches at the courthouse had, on watching her walk past, commented in awed tones. The clerk-of-the-court said, "I tell you, fellows, she's got the best-looking ass I've ever seen on a woman! God Almighty! Her ass has got enough movements to crush rocks!"
Even at this age, a teenager, most women were either openly hostile toward her or secretly envious of her. In varying ways, men were emotionally responsive to her presence regardless of whether they were mere boys or whether they were two or three times her age. At Green Mountain College, she had always sought the company of men teachers and administrators, feeling a desire for the attention they gave her; and it was difficult for her to keep from being friendly with men, although she would have been exceedingly offended if one of them had made ugly advances toward her.
It had been her fervent hope, ever since she could remember that she would marry early in life and have a home of her own. She did not want to end up like her sister Marie, the mistress of a man old enough to be her grandfather.
Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed when Naomie became aware that she was no longer alone in the classroom. At first she did not care whether it was the janitor or anyone else, because she still felt miserable, but presently she held back her sobs and listened. The sound of her own name was strange and unreal in her consciousness.
"Miss Constantine! Miss Constantine!"
She made a half-hearted effort to wipe the tears from her face before she raised her head from the desk, and yet she knew at the same time that she did not really care how she looked. There was nothing left in the world of that much importance. She was happier the way she was. Tears! Tears continued to run down her cheeks. She was once more sobbing convulsively. After a while, though, she heard the same voice calling her again.
"Miss Constantine! Miss Constantine!"
After that she caught her breath and listened, wondering who would be there speaking to her.
"Why don't you say something, Miss Constantine?"
Naomi looked up. She could see through tear-dimmed eyes the outline of the familiar face of Robert Vining, an eleventh grader, who was taking second-year typing under her. She did not know immediately whether she was glad or angry to see Robert. After several moments had gone by, and after it began to feel comforting to know she was no longer alone, she stopped crying.
Robert had come toward her desk on the foot-high platform and he was standing there in the center of the room watching her with a perplexed expression. Looking at him now, she knew she did not want one of her pupils to see her weeping, because she was afraid it would soon be told all over school, but it was too late to do anything about it. She tried to think what she could tell Milo Burch and the other teachers if they asked her why she was crying in her classroom after school.
Robert Vining was a tall sandy-haired boy of seventeen, just two months younger than Naomi. Somewhat large for his age, he was an alert and conscientious student as well as being one of the best athletes in school. His father, Red Vining, owned the only good eating place in Riverview, RED'S EMBERS, on the main street, where pupils and teachers often went for Cokes after school, and Robert had been helping his father in the restaurant on Saturdays and Sundays for the past year.
A day or two after school opened, Naomie had noticed that Robert was spending most of the typing period gazing intently at her, and she had the uneasy feeling that he disapproved of the way she wore her brown hair - never once considering that he might have been fascinated by the jiggle of her fine breasts, or the unctuous movements of her taut buttocks under the clinging dress she wore. Anyway, she, in her innocence, did not know whether she should feel annoyed or flattered by his persistent stare.
Ever since she had first noticed this she had felt self-conscious in the boy's presence, and several times she had found herself waiting for an opportunity to glance at him to see if he were looking at her. As it happened, their eyes had met almost each time she had done this, and Robert had smiled shyly.
Just the other day, Robert had come up to her desk and stood near her, as if he wanted to say something personal. But Naomie never really gave him the opportunity, for according to her raising - in the orphanage - a nice girl did not encourage boys to get fresh and, besides, she was so young, she was afraid to even smile at a student in fear of resultant discipline problems.
This time, though, there was no way of escaping his searching gaze and questioning manner. He had already come closer.
"Miss Constantine, what made you cry like that?" Robert asked her, coming even closer. "What's the matter, Miss Constantine?"
"It's nothing, Robert," she said as calmly as she could. "Really ..."
She wondered what her appearance was like to Robert, with her tear-streaked face and disheveled hair.
"Now, is there something you want to speak to me about?" she asked quickly, trying to appear impersonal.
"What made you cry like that, Miss Constantine?" he said, persistently "Maybe it's because I think I'm too young and inexperienced to teach school, Robert," she said.
As soon as she had spoken, she regretted what she had done.
"Yes, you're very young, Miss Constantine," he said, extremely serious. "And you must have been raised way back in the country - from no more than you know about - well, boys and things."
She almost told him what a rough time she'd had; how poverty-stricken her grandmother had been - the reason why she and Marie had been sent to the Methodist orphanage, but she caught herself in time.
"... But I'm glad you're a school teacher," he was saying.
"Why, Robert? Why do you say that?"
"Because if you hadn't been a teacher, and hadn't come to Riverview to teach, I'd never have seen you."
Without thinking, she said, "Robert, why do you -?" Then she abruptly stopped herself.
"I think you're wonderful, Miss Constantine. I know you're kind of ... well, prudish, and all, but you're nice, too."
She blamed herself for giving him an opportunity to say such a thing. At once she recalled her interview with Milo Burch, in his office the day she was hired.
She had walked in, told him her name, and that she'd been sent here by Superintendent Downs to teach Business Education, if Mr. Milo Burch approved her.
"You mean to say - Downs has hired you to teach in high school? My high school?" he said, appalled. "Good God, child! You look like a high school kid yourself!"
"I'm seventeen," she said, sweetly. "I'll be eighteen next Wednesday."
"But, with just one year of college, well lose our Federal funds!" he fussed. "Damn it! Downs knows better! I wish there was some way to take politics out of schools, but there isn't." He eyed her intently, his eyes stopping for a long time on her big breasts. Then he said, "Why, you're old lady Margie's niece, aren't you? Well, that explains it. Downs was a close friend of your deceased uncle."
"I'll work hard, Mr. Burch," she said sweetly.
"But, girl - Miss Constantine - the trouble is, you'll have boys in your typing classes older than you, and they'll be -" He stopped, his face reddening.
"They'll be what, Sir?" she said innocently.
He swallowed hard. "Well, you see, Miss Constantine, you're, ah, quite well built, in fact, stacked, and those grown boys will be trying to, ah - you know- fondle you."
"Me? I don't understand, Mr. Burch."
He twisted in his chair. "Good God, girl!" he sputtered. "Haven't you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? I'm speaking of sex, girl! S-E-X!"
"What do you mean, Mr. Burch?" she said, an offended note to her voice. And then, "If you're worried about my morals, you needn't be!" Her face blushed. "I'm a virgin, Mr. Burch. I intend to stay a virgin till I marry. I plan to give my husband a clean body when I marry!"
She had noticed the way he was trying to keep from laughing. His attempt resulted in a snigger. He apologized at once.
"I'm sorry, Miss Constantine" he said, his face becoming sober. "I'm not making fun of your, ah, naivet�. I'm forty-two, and it's truly refreshing to see someone so innocent." He shook his head, a sad look settling across his face. "You're too innocent to go into a roomful of animals, some of them, like we have nowadays."
"I'm not afraid, Sir," she said. "No, because you don't know enough to be afraid," he smiled. And then, "Where did you say you went to college?"
"Green Mountain, Sir. It's a Methodist girls' college."
"That figures," he nodded. "One of those damned backwoods diploma mills, no doubt." He sighed and looked away. "A pity they didn't teach you something about sex."
"We studied religion, instead, Sir."
He nodded again. "Oh, well, you're here, and you're hired - for only one year. The State Department of Education won't allow an unlicensed teacher in a state school but one year."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Burch!"
"You're welcome, girl, and listen - stay on your toes, now. I'll help you as much as I can, but you'll have to take every precaution. We have a few boys in this school, I'm sorry to say, who would rape you in a minute - if they should catch you alone."
"Oh, I'm not afraid at all, Mr. Burch."
Naomi said lightly, "Robert, I'll bet you say that to all your teachers."
"Those old broads!" he said vehemently. "You're the first teacher I've ever said that to."
With a sidelong glance she saw that he'd moved closer to her at the desk, and then something made her aware that he was gazing rapturously at her hair. Barely conscious of what she was doing, she stood up erectly and shook her hair into place with a backward toss of her head. As she did so, she felt his eyes wandering excitedly over her.
"Miss Constantine ?" he said questioningly.
"It's time to go home, Robert," she said. "See you Monday."
Robert took a step toward her. He was only an arm's length away from her now. She was afraid to let her eyes meet his now, for she knew if she did, he might reach out and overpower her - rape her, even. But, no, he didn't seem to be thinking about that. Besides, the will to resist him, as well as the ability, was becoming weaker in her all the time. She knew it would be easy to let herself desire him. And it made her so ashamed.
"Well, I'm going, Robert," she said. "You'd better get back to the football field."
"No, Miss Constantine," he said, licking his lips. "I'm not working out today - because I want to walk home with you."
"Both of them were nervous now. Naomie could feel her arms tremble slightly as she pressed them tightly against her body.
"Let me carry your books and things, Miss Constantine," he said, a pleading note to his voice. "That's why I came back."
The bright sun of the September afternoon was hot and uncomfortable. It beamed relentlessly over the treetops at the edge of the playground and burned through the classroom windows and stung her feverish skin.
"Please let me, Miss Constantine!" He was begging unashamedly. She could sense the urging intensity of him.
"Robert-" she began weakly. She pressed her knees tightly together in order to keep her body from wavering.
"You've got to let me, Miss Constantine," he said to her after that. "You've got to! Do you hear me!"
He stopped pleading with her and waited anxiously to hear what she was going to say. In the silence, she studied his face for a long time. There wasn't much difference between their ages. He was taller by several inches and weighed at least thirty pounds more. He was handsome, too, in a certain boyish way. And he was so much more worldly than she - "Robert, what would people say when they saw you walking home with me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
"I don't care what they say, Miss Constantine!"
He meant well. She saw it in his eyes. Well, if he doesn't care what people think, then why should I? she thought.
"Of course, you can walk home with me, Robert," she told him invitingly. She handed him the notebooks and walked past him to the hallway. Robert was at her side an instant later, watching her with an eager look.
They had stopped in front of Aunt Margie's old ante-bellum mansion, which set back from the street behind a wall of huge liveoaks.
"I want to come up on the porch and talk to you," he said, "about something."
Naomie shook her head firmly. She opened the gate, still not looking back, and went into the yard.
"Why can't I, Miss Constantine?"
"There're lots of reasons, Robert. You know some of them as well as I do."
"Can I come back after supper tonight and see you, then?"
"No, Robert."
"It'll be dark then, nobody'd know. We could go some place where nobody would see us."
"No, Robert."
"You'll get lonely, Miss Constantine," he said. "What'll you do during the long weekend?"
"I've got plenty to do, Robert."
He leaned on the gate. "I'll come up to your room, then. There's a stairway up the back porch. I've seen it. I know how to get up there. It's easy."
"That's out of the question, Robert."
"Why is it?" he demanded.
"Robert, a man shouldn't ask to go to a nice girl's room. It isn't proper."
"I don't see why I can't go up to your room!"
"Robert, there're two kinds of girls, and evidently you think I'm the other kind."
"I don't know which kind you are, but I like you!"
He opened the gate and hurried into the yard, and as she began to walk toward the steps, he grabbed her arm.
"Miss Constantine, you've got to promise me something now!" he said excitedly.
"Please let me go, Robert," she begged. "You know you shouldn't behave like this."
"I'll let you go when you promise me!"
"What do you want, Robert?" she said, as calmly as she could. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know what I want!" he said brashly.
"Why, Robert!"
Somebody was coming across the tree-studded lawn on the other side of Aunt Margie's house; a man who might see one of the high school boys holding the new teacher by the arm like that.
"Let me go, Robert!" she hissed. "Somebody's coming!"
"I see him," Robert said, disdainfully. "It's just old man Lovelace - he lives next door to your Aunt Margie. He doesn't ever go out, so he won't tell on us."
"Let go of me, Robert, or I'll slap your face!" she hissed.
Just then, the bushes parted near the flower garden and Mr. Lovelace's close-cropped head peered out. He evidently sized up the situation at once, for he said sharply: "Miss Constantine is that young squirt trying to molest you?"
Robert, on hearing Mr. Lovelace's words, released Naomie's arm at once, and stepped back, a sullen look on his young face.
"Oh, no, Sir," Naomi lied. "He was - well, ah, he wanted me to give him a better grade than I did on a test, Sir."
Robert, a relieved look on his face, backed toward the gate, then turned and hurried out, without saying a word.
"Good-bye, Robert," Naomie said sweetly. "See you Monday."
She then turned toward the porch, forcing an amused smile for the benefit of Mr. Lovelace, and as she began to climb the steps, Mr. Lovelace called: "Miss Constantine, during this hot spell of weather, you're welcome to use my swimming pool any time."
She stopped and faced him. "That's so kind of you, Sir," she said. "It's so hot at school! I'm tempted to take you up on your offer, but the trouble is, I can't swim."
"Ah, if that's all that's holding you back, Miss Constantine, come on over," he said. "I can teach you to swim in one afternoon."
"But I don't even have a swimsuit, Mr. Lovelace," she said.
"I can even furnish that, Miss Constantine," he said, laughing. "I happen to have a red bikini that looks like it'll be just right for you. I'll tell you how I happen to have it sometime."
"Well..."
"The pool is nice this afternoon," he said quickly. "Come on over after you rest up a bit."
"Well, I just might do it, Mr. Lovelace. You're so kind."
As she entered the dim-lit hallway, Naomie was thinking that if all the people in Riverview were as nice as Mr. Lovelace, her year here would be pleasant, indeed. When he'd picked her up at the Providence Municipal Airport and brought her to Aunt Margie's, he'd told her he was an artist of sorts. He'd invited her to come down to his basement studio and look at his paintings; although she didn't know much about art, she was going to look at them, because he was so very kind ...
CHAPTER TWO
Naomie and Aunt Margie were seated at the dining room table enjoying Cokes when they heard a soft knock on the side-door next to Mr. Lovelace's house. Aunt Margie, looking pleasantly surprised, noiselessly wheeled out of the dining room, into the hallway, then to the side door.
Above the humming of the air-conditioner, Naomie heard the door creak, then her aunt's shrill voice saying: "Why, come in, Mr. Lovelace."
"Not this time, Miss Margie," he said, softly. "I've brought over something for your niece, bless her. She's so young, and having to teach school in this town! Well, I just want to help her all I can. This is a swimsuit. Tell your niece to put it on and come on over ... the water in the pool is just right."
"That's nice of you, Mr. Lovelace," Aunt Margie said. "I'm sure Naomie will be right over."
Naomie heard the door close, then her Aunt's mumbled words as she wheeled herself back to the dining room. When she was there, she handed Naomie a paper sack.
"Mr. Lovelace brought this over for you," she said. "He's such a fine, nice man! My, my! And so handy with tools! Last week he fixed my kitchen sink and didn't charge me one penny."
Naomie took the sack with mixed feelings. Although she would enjoy the coolness of the swimming pool, she was afraid of the water - afraid that she might drown.
"I hate to disappoint Mr. Lovelace after he's been so nice," Naomie said, "but I'm afraid of going swimming."
"Foot, girl! Go on over there! Mr. Lovelace'll teach you how to swim in no time! Why, he's retired out of the navy - been everywhere in the world!"
"Well, I guess so, then," Naomie said, and got up and went to her room.
As Naomie walked through the garden, where birds caroled and insects buzzed, she was thankful for the trees and hedge rows which obscured Mr. Lovelace's swimming pool from the street and from the windows of the houses across the street. The fact was, she felt naked in the red bikini, and she was almost naked. Looking down, she could see nearly all of her creamy breasts - all but the rosebud nipples and my goodness! -a little whorl of her pubic hair, like a piece of bronze under the shafting sunlight, was in evidence down there!
She moved one hand to her crotch and pulled the fabric as hard as she could, but as soon as she'd stretched it over the hairs on the left side of her warm V notch, she saw a bigger whorl appear on the right side of the V tuft. And now, as she moved through the weeds, her hot skin began to itch deliciously, and when she scratched the places, it felt so good she urinated a little, and felt ashamed.
Walking self-consciously, she came out of the weeds and stepped upon the grass-carpeted backyard lawn, and now she saw the pool beyond a row of fig bushes, shimmering under the burning sun. It was a bigger pool than she'd expected, and she was thankful to see it had a shallow end next to the house. It would be nice here under the trees, with the freshly-cut grass smelling like ripe watermelons - and there near the edge of the pool were beach chairs, air mattresses, and two large beach towels.
She was startled to see Mr. Lovelace come around the corner of the large house. He had on bathing trunks, and Naomie was astonished at the youthfulness of his body. Despite his almost gray head, his arms and legs were corded with muscles; his chest firm and thick; his shoulders broad and powerful. He had a little drum of belly, but when he tried to pull it in, as he was doing now, his physique was extraordinary for a man who was past sixty - "I was just getting a bit of painting done," Lovelace said, waving one hand at the low door of the basement.
Naomie eyed the house intently for a moment. It was not as fine nor as elaborate as her Aunt Margie's great old home, but she judged it much too big for one person, a man at that.
When she looked back at Lovelace, she couldn't help but notice how he was looking at her body - especially at the tight V tuft where she imagined her pubic hairs were still showing. Self-consciously half-turning her back to him under the pretense of looking at the pool, she said: "The water looks so nice, Mr. Lovelace. I think I'll try it out."
"It's just right, Miss Constantine," he answered. "But right now, let's settle something once and for all - Call me Jack. I'm used to being called that."
She looked around to say, "Oh, I couldn't do that, Sir! It wouldn't be respectful."
"To hell with respect, Naomie - may I call you by your first name?" he said, brusquely.
"Oh, yes, Sir!"
"And drop that 'Sir' business," he said, laughing softly. "I heard enough of that in the navy."
She nodded, taking a second look at him, as they now walked down to the steps leading into the pool.
She judged he was about six feet-two; that he once had very dark hair, since his eyes were dark brown, and though he smiled a lot, there was something cruel about his mouth - and, in the light burning deep in his eyes.
"Watch those steps," he warned, moving in to take her right arm. "Concrete gets slimy under water, you know."
His hand was very strong, and there - as she descended the steps, she felt the back of his hand press against the rich bulge of her breast. But it was just for a moment - innocently enough - she thought, but even so, she felt her nipples tingle and become hard - felt the peculiar moistening, opening, heating - in her throbbing crotch. And it disturbed her that she did; then she was ashamed. The very idea! Why, Mr. Lovelace was old enough to be her grandfather, and besides, he was so nice - She stopped at the bottom step. Mr. Lovelace, still holding her arm, stopped immediately behind her.
"It's not more than hip deep here," he said, "but just the same, step down carefully. The bottom is a bit slick, also."
"I can't swim a stroke," Naomie said, then laughing uneasily.
"It would've been so much easier for you to've learned when you were much younger - say three or four," he said.
Now, he was standing close. In fact, she felt the stiff hairs on his leg rubbing against her smooth thighs; and now, she could feel something else pressing against the soft pone of her left buttock. It felt hard as rock, and now Mr. Lovelace was standing even closer to her, pointing across the pool.
"The deep water is down there," he said, "but you won't be in that area until you can swim real well." He moved against her with the hard object throbbing against her buttock, and she stepped down hurriedly into the cool, clear water, her skin feeling strangely hot now, despite the icy shock of the water lapping against her thighs. She took one step, and true enough - the water was exactly hip deep.
Jack Lovelace didn't step down into the pool at once; instead, he stood looking at Naomie, who was now scooping up handfuls of water and letting it run down her arms. He's just waiting to see me try to swim, she thought. But I'm not ready yet. . .afraid to lie down in the water.
She had no way of knowing his thoughts, so she waited while he stared.
A very young, full-bodied girl, he was thinking. Her hair was foaming black, and the color of her hair matched her eyes, and her mouth looked as if it had been cut and was bleeding out across the swollen lips. She has the lushest, most wonderful breasts I've ever seen, he thought, and her body is a thing of perfection.
Now the girl was watching him, and her teeth were like tiny white onions between her red lips. Her breasts swelled taut in the already soaking dark red bandanna that crossed them, and they were full, and he saw the outline of the nipples. And he watched the broad mare-like thighs, and the swing of her lush hips. And how she moved in every way, standing there in the water. Her skin was white, as white as paper, but healthy-looking and delicious, and then she seemed to move it at him - shook it a little.
"... Mr. Lovelace, I'm ready for my first lesson," Naomie was saying, noticing, but not fully aware of the meaning of the jutting protuberance at his crotch. That was just the way men were, she guessed, for she'd noticed that some of the boys in her typing class showed the same thing when she stood close, helping them. . "Sure, Naomie," he said gently. "If you're ready."
He plunged into the pool and swam about gracefully for a little time, aware that she was admiring his ability; then, he swung around and swam up to her and stood up.
"My, you swim so well, Mr. Lovelace!" she exclaimed.
"Call me Jack," he said, smiling down at her.
"Okay, if that's the way you want it -Jack. "
He laughed softly, richly; his voice, though she did not know it was tinged with sexual excitement.
"Here we go, now," he said. "Lesson number one. First, you've got to learn how to lie in the water. Don't be afraid. Just take a deep breath and let yourself down easy and get the feel of the water supporting you - it will, as soon as you learn how to let it."
He helped her, holding one hand under her belly, then easing her down. Naomie was so frightened at first that she thrashed her arms and legs, despite his gentle urging to just let herself go - easy, now! "Easy! Atta good girl! Now, now! See the water is mostly supporting you!"
But she knew his hand was helping hold her up, too, for she could feel it sliding along her soft belly- now almost touching her hot crotch. But he was always careful not to touch her there, bringing his hand back up her belly just in time.
And, later, while he was trying to show her how to let down in the water and do the Australian Crawl, several times his hands gripped her breasts, but she knew he didn't mean to do that - he was just trying his dead-level best to teach her how to swim. The only time his hand touched her down there, he withdrew it quickly, and muttered a soft, "I'm sorry."
"Oh, this is fun!" Naomie said, "I mean, learning to swim! Thanks for asking me, Jack."
This was her way of letting him know that she thought his hand touching her crotch was just an accident; and now, as she began to lose her fear of water, she began to swim three or four strokes before she began to sink. Fortunately, Jack Lovelace stuck right by her, his big hands ready to spring out and grab her.
Naomi would have probably learned to swim pretty well that afternoon if, on thrashing about close to the house side of the pool, she hadn't stepped on the piece of glass.
The pain of the cut was not sharp or anything, but she felt it, and when she held her foot up for Jack Lovelace to have a look at it, blood oozed from the little nick on her heel and dribbled into the water, turning it pink.
"Those damned school kids!" Lovelace said in a low voice. "They've done it before - sneaked up to that fence yonder, and tossed their Coke bottles into my pool! I'm sorry, Naomie. I thought I'd picked up all the glass."
"It doesn't hurt much, Mr. Lovelace - I mean, Jack."
"No, it's not a bad cut," he said, "but just the same, you need a little first aid treatment."
"I'll put some first aid cream on it when I get home," she said, gaily. "I'm learning to swim now! What's a little cut, when you're learning to swim?"
"Say, I just remember," he said. "I've got some first aid cream in my studio basement. Come on - I'll fix the cut, then you can come back and swim as long as you wish."
She turned and looked at the sun through the trees. It was still more than an hour until dark.
"Sure, Jack!" she said, excitedly. "I believe I'll be swimming real well by sundown!"
She leaned against him as they slowly walked toward the steps, and then, as they drew near the first step, he dropped behind, and one big hand mashed against her buttocks and gave her a steady boost as she hobbled out of the pool.
CHAPTER THREE
They entered the basement through a heavy door, and Naomie was surprised to find the underground place so cool and well-lighted. But, inside, there was a sinister stillness, the odd, musty, indefinable smell of darkness and airless passages. Naomie edged closer to Lovelace, who led her across the room to a large, old-fashioned bed.
"Sit down here," he directed, "and I'll get my first aid stuff from that cabinet." He noticed how she was staring about the room. 'This is my office and coffee-break room," he said. 'That door" and he pointed at another heavy door across the room "- leads to my studio. There's lots of antique furniture and stuff stored down here as well. Let me fix that cut and I'll show you around."
The bed creaked as Naomie shifted her body around so she could take a more detailed, second look at the room. There was a quaint marble-topped desk with a newspaper on it near the wall, a ladder-backed-cane-bottomed chair in front of the desk, and there on the dusty wall, immediately in front of the desk, was a small painting of a nude woman. She had an ecstatic look on her face as if - as if someone were scratching her back. Naomie studied the painting intently. What is that object she is sitting astraddle? she asked herself. It looked somewhat like a big peeled pole, except at the end, the object glowed red?
Her attention was distracted by Lovelace's return with a tube of first aid cream, gauze, and a roll of adhesive tape, thus, she did not get to study the painting long enough to determine exactly what it was the naked woman was sitting astraddle, though any experienced person could have told at a glance that the nude, ecstatic lady was sitting astraddle a huge, erect penis.
"Here we go," Lovelace said, as she picked up her wounded foot and prepared to clean it off with a piece of gauze. He eyed the superficial cut momentarily, then pulling her foot toward him, began to dab at the serous fluid still oozing from the cut with the bit of gauze.
With her legs split apart, Naomie, on looking down her leg, was horrified to see a large tuft of pubic hair whorling from underneath the fabric of her bikini, but just now she could not clamp her legs together in order to hide the tell-tale secret lair around the inviting, pinkish portal.
Lovelace's big hands were as skillful and as gentle as a surgeon's as he finished cleansing the wound, then began applying the antiseptic cream. And now, Naomie's attention was once more attracted to the hard object down there between Lovelace's powerful legs. Her toes were right against the fabric of his swimming trunks, as he finished applying the cream.
Then, as he bound the wound with gauze and applied strips of tape to hold it firmly, he leaned forward, pressing his crotch against her toes, and she could feel, or so she thought, the hardness down there begin to throb.
At last the task was finished, and, smiling, Lovelace said: "You're all fixed up, Naomie. Care to look my basement over before we go back to the pool?"
"Oh, sure," she said. "It's wonderfully still and cool down here. And thanks for fixing up the cut. You should've been a doctor."
As she followed him through the first door, he looked around to say: "I'll show you my canvasses another day. I've been painting for three years now - off and on for at least fifteen years, I guess."
It was then that she thought about the nude girl again. "What is that girl in the painting sitting astraddle, Jack?" she asked.
He stopped and looked back over one shoulder toward his desk in the other room. "Oh, that," he grinned. "Pretty good, eh? I spent nearly a week on that little masterpiece." He seemed to be studying the painting intently. He continued with: "What does the object the lady is sitting astraddle look like to you, Naomie?"
"Well - a pole? Yeah, I'd say, a pole."
He nodded. "Then, that's what it is."
"Huh?"
"My nude is sitting astraddle whatever the person looking at the painting sees," he answered. "Now, to me, it's something else, but to you it's a pole, so let it be."
They went on. Passages, doors, mysterious alcoves full of looming shadows. Furniture from by-gone ages of the forgotten hoof and wheel - A dining room of yore, crowded with hideous gilt and marble furniture, a wide pillared hall in which tall, dim old mirrors in baroque frames glinted winking eyes of light back from Lovelace's flashlight (the rooms containing old junk were not lighted). Something - a cat? - a rat? - scurried into the deeper darkness of a vast old player piano, and they both caught their breaths in quick gasps, jerked rigid and still.
"Just a rat," Lovelace said. "Come on. I've done my dead-level best to get rid of them, for I have, as you notice, a small fortune in antiques down here - but, so far, I can't eradicate the little gnawing bastards. I've tried cats, exterminators, traps, poisons, and what-have-you, but still, I've got rats!"
Lovelace lifted a heavy curtain and suddenly they were in a small, low, semicircular room, carpeted, upholstered, and papered in deep crimson - all velvet and quilted plush, a style at once Victorian and Oriental and uncommon among the rich planters in the early years of the century. Lovelace let the curtain fall behind them with a soft rustle and held his flashlight high. Everything heavy, dark-red and edged with tarnished, dusty gilding; everything costly and thick and redolent of old age; the great brocade curtains broadly fringed and hanging in impenetrable folds from swaggered braided pelmets, the somberly magnificent Turkish rugs scattered over the thick carpet, the ebony and ivory coffee tables, the tall Chinese vases and the lacquered cabinets.
Lovelace turned to Naomie. "Well..." For a moment they stood alternately eyeing the re-built room and each other.
"It's- it's- so wonderful!" Naomie managed to say. "Did you do this? - re-build the room, and everything?"
He nodded, then waved one hand at the great, high bed, which was covered with a beautiful red spread. "How do you like that?" he asked.
"Oh, it's lovely!" she said, excitedly. "I bet anyone could fall asleep on that!"
He smiled his approval, then said: "Let's have a cocktail. Shall we?"
"You go ahead, but I don't touch alcohol in any form," she said stoutly.
"Okay. I understand that. After all you're a school teacher, and you're so very young ..."
"I've just turned eighteen," she said proudly. "And I could drink a Coke, if you've got one."
"I have some in the 'fridge," he said. "Go ahead and try out the bed, if you wish, and I'll go up and get our refreshments."
She was all trembly inside when she crossed to the great bed, but she waited until he went out before she clambered upon the thick mattress and stretched out with a sigh. It was the biggest, most comfortable bed she'd ever sprawled out on in her young life. Momentarily, she closed her eyes in simulated sleep, but her mind raced with thoughts. Her toes still tingled from having made contact with . . . she tried to push the thoughts of what her toes had touched from her mind, but she could not. It was like feeling of her pubic mound, once you'd done it, you couldn't stop, and the more you touched it, the better it felt.
At times, Naomie wished that she hadn't led such a sheltered life at the orphanage. The whole complex, painful business of growing up, lay in experiencing every physical adult attribute as soon as possible. It was something that really shouldn't be put off, she reasoned, despite the teachings of the good people at the orphanage.
She heard steps in the passageway, and she got up from the bed just as Lovelace came in bearing a tray with drinks; a cocktail for himself; a Coke for Naomie.
He handed her the drink, then indicated chairs with a wave of one hand.
Naomie sat down across from Lovelace, primly crossing her legs to hide the whorl of pubic hair from his eyes. She sipped the Coke, enjoying the biting coldness of it against the hot tissues of her mouth, aware, however, that Cokes here in Riverview did not taste like those she'd drunk at the orphanage. Aunt Margie said the taste differences resulted from the water the Cokes were made from, but Naomie didn't know...
She listened to Lovelace tell all about the antique furniture, some of which he'd found in the house on buying it, and some he'd bought at out-of-the-way antique stores. And, after a while, she began to feel drowsy, noticing that her eyes were inclined to close.
She shifted in the chair, letting her legs gape open, and she said: "I'm ready for another swim, Jack."
"Sure," he said, his eyes zeroed in on her face, "Just let me finish my drink."
It was then that she began to nod, to slump in the big chair, and after that, from afar, at least it seemed that he was a long way from her, she could hear Lovelace calling: "Naomie? What's wrong? Are you asleep?"
She tried to nod, but she could not. Instead, she sank deeper into the chair, and then, after a moment, she dimly felt his hands sliding underneath her body as he lifted her from the chair.
Her eyes were open now, and she could see Lovelace standing at the side of the bed. Goodness! Has he flipped? He's naked, and lean see - She closed her eyes, where she couldn't see him down there. Something is wrong, she thought dully. With a great effort, she tried to think, but it was so hard, so hard - like trying to climb a steep mountain in leather-soled shoes.. . And then, another thought, so powerful, that it pushed the dull feeling aside.
The Coke! She had been drugged! But surely, Mr. Lovelace, as gentle and kind and considerate as he is -Oh, God, he wouldn't do that!
But, just then, he began to untie the red top that covered her fine breasts, and she said, in a frightened voice: "No, Jack! Don't! Don't!"
"Now, now, Naomie," he said, soothingly, his hands stroking the soft flesh of her back. "I'm not going to hurt you."
She tried to roll away from his powerful fingers, but he held her with one hand, and being drugged, or so she thought, her effort was not great.
He took the red fabric off and tossed it aside. At once, his large hands cupped her breasts, squeezing down on them gently but firmly.
"... Made for man's caressing hands!" he said, thickly. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh! They're so fine, fine! So big and jutting and soft! It's agonizing!"
His head dipped down and he grabbed her right nipple, which was now like a spike, with his mouth, and began to suck and chew and lick it, making an agonizing guttural sound in his throat as he went along.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Mmmmmmmm! Ohhhhhhh! It's so good, good! Mmmmmmmmmmmm!" Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!"
And he was kissing her hot belly; one hand was holding a breast, the other working at the bikini, trying to pull it off.
"No, Mr. Lovelace!" Naomie screamed, holding on to the fabric with both hands, and trying to roll away from his seeking mouth. "Stop it, Jack! No, no! My God, quit it, Mr. Lovelace!"
But she knew it was too late to stop now. The gentle man had turned into a demon, and he had very strong hands. For a moment, she responded to his heated kisses. His lips constantly kissing her hot belly made her tingle, and her breasts throbbed and tingled as if she had suddenly come in contact with a live wire.
Dimly, she remembered the vow she'd made, had even told Mr. Burch about, that she'd still be a virgin when she married, and she began to fight desperately.
She clawed at his back, felt the ripped skin pile up under her nails, but this only seemed to inflame him more. His hand was on her crotch, stroking her.. . making her feel good down there. She struggled to turn on her stomach, knowing that if she allowed him to continue much longer, she'd lose her will to resist him. Suddenly, she snapped her head forward and seized his ear with her strong, sharp teeth. She bit down hard, and as he tried to pull away, she felt the meat tear ...
"Oh!" he yelled. "Goddamnit! You didn't have to do that!"
Her nails hovered over his eyes. "I'll scratch them out!" she said.
"Go ahead!" he challenged, as one hand jerked at the bikini bottom, trying to pull it over her taut buttocks, the other hand stroking her continuously - down there on her crotch - making her feel hot, wet, wide, and sticky all at the same time.
Desperately, she plunged her nails into his eyes, trying to rip them out. He screamed with pain, and his hands moved from her body to his face, digging at the blood streaming from around his eyes.
He did a dance of agony, whirling around and around in the room, and then he grabbed the spread and swabbed the blood streaming down his cheeks.
Naomie got up from the bed and started toward the door, when he suddenly threw the bedspread aside and grabbed her arm. He slapped her hard across the mouth, nearly knocking her down. She tried to kick him in the groin, but she was too blinded, and she missed him.
"You might as well make up your mind!" he gasped. "I won't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you, but if you keep fighting me, I'll have to!"
"Why, Mr. Lovelace?" she said and panted. "I never would have thought you could be like this!"
"Listen, girl! You'll like it if you'll only let me show you what it's like!" he said. "Come on, now! I'll be gentle!" I can't! I can't!" she moaned. "I want to be a virgin when I marry!"
"What you need to be is a female who knows how to please her husband," he coaxed. "Come, Naomie! Let me show you what I mean."
For the first time, Naomie was afraid. She sensed that he would hurt her if he had to do that to get what he wanted. She backed along the wall, noting that his organ was now limber; that his desire presently was in his mind. He crouched and eased toward her.
"I'll scream!" she said. "I'll have the whole neighborhood in here to find out what's going on!"
"Go ahead," he challenged. "Scream as much as you wish, but you might as well save your breath. This room is sound proof. I did the work myself."
She had reached the corner of the room, and he was still easing toward her, watching her every move. There was no place to go; either she'd have to submit to him, or try once more to fight him off.
"Please! Please!" she begged, almost hysterical, as she saw his big hands reaching for her body again. "Don't, Mr. Lovelace! Please stop!"
But he wouldn't stop. Suddenly, he rushed her, his out-stretched arms shoving her against the wall so hard it knocked the breath out of her. Momentarily, she was completely helpless, and he made use of the opportunity to snatch the bikini down. At once, he pinioned her hard against the wall and began to caress her underbelly while his mouth again sought her heaving breasts.
"Oh! Ohhhhhhhh!" she cried out. "You're hurting me! Ohhhhhhhhh!"
He slapped her again, hard across the mouth. "Shut up!" he grated. "I'll hurt you if I have to! I mean it, girl!"
"You've already hurt me!" she sobbed. "See! You bit my breast so hard it's bleeding!"
"Stop fighting me, and I'll stop hurting you," he said.
She could tell by the terrible look in his eyes that he meant exactly what he said. Although she was an unworldly girl, she was not a fool. Rather than have him kill her, she'd have to submit. Her eyes wavered, and he was quick to note the change.
"Settle down," he said. "You'll like it much better than you think."
Her breasts were rising in the warmest throbs, and once again his hands cupped them, feeling the firm hard swell of them. At the same time, his eyes admiring the clear whiteness of her skin, the delicate rose-bud pinkness of the nipples. But now his hands were roving, caressing her hot abdomen, then going on down . . . down, until one hand was stroking her cunt, making the pink portal flush to a darker hue. Her fears however, made her mechanically close her thighs, but his hand slipped between them, prying them apart, stroking the velveteen softness of her inner thighs, then suddenly moving to the moist portal again.
She felt one finger moving slowly inside her pussy, felt the throbbing heat as she responded.
"You are a virgin," he said thickly. "God! You're a well-built girl!"
She felt his penis like a poker against her leg, and he was so lustful, he could not hold back. He shoved his powerful prick hard against the pink portal of her cunt. Then! Then! She felt the rock-hard gristle battering against her tender part, and it hurt her severely.
He shoved her hard against the wall, his hands now tearing into her taut buttocks. "Hold still!" he said. "Damn it! Quit twisting so!"
He pushed vigorously, again and again, but his weapon didn't penetrate the tenderness.
"I can't bear it!" she said. "Oh, oh, I can't bear it!"
"Just a little longer!" he said. "Be still, damn it! Just a little more ..."
"EEEeeeeeeee!" she screamed. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!"
She sensed that he'd tried to be gentle, but now he couldn't control himself. He thrust his hips harder and harder, groaning with furious pleasure as he worked.
"It's too big!" she sobbed. "Ohhhhhhhh! God, God! Please! Oh, Please! You're killing me!"
She was hurting so much that she tried to break loose from his clutching hands, but it was impossible. He had her pressed too tightly against the wall.
He tried again and again, but still no admittance, still no penetration by his hard prick. He had hurt her even more, but now she was resigned to the ordeal. If this was love, she wanted no part of it. She was whimpering now, like a swatted puppy, and the sounds she made must have gotten to him. Anyway, he stopped, and turned her loose, his eyes mirroring his inner torture.
"I'm sorry I hurt you, Naomie," he said hoarsely. "But taking a maiden-head is no easy matter. .. even if it's a smaller dick doing the job."
His eyes stroked down on her perspiring body again, and he began to tremble with passion that he could not contain.
"Come on over to the bed," he commanded.
"But it hurts," she said and whimpered, breathing rapidly, as if she'd just run a mile.
His hands darted to her breasts, and she felt his big fingers biting into them.
"Come on, girl!" he said. "Get on that bed!"
Her face was tight with pain. "Ahhhhhhhhhh!" she moaned. "Stop! Stop! I'll obey you!"
She felt his fingers let up some, but he wouldn't release her. Holding on to her breasts, he walked her to the high bed and half-shoved her down upon the soft mattress. Then, he swung up beside her.
"This time, relax," he said. "Relax, and it'll be less painful to you and much easier for me."
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her nose running like a little brook. He then smothered her with kisses, saying, "Be patient, Naomie! Love is wonderful, once this bad part - for you, I mean - is over."
"It's not love!" she said, tearfully. "It's mean and vile and nasty! It can't be love, not this!"
"Next time it'll be good," he said. "You just wait and see."
He wouldn't be put off, but this time he used more finesse. First, he put one of the pillows under her buttocks to elevate the port of entry for a more favorable aim; then, spreading her thighs and placing himself between them, making them rest on his hips. He gently pressed the soft head of his cock to the slit into which he sought entrance: it was so small, he couldn't make up his mind that he was probing at the exact place, and he backed up and felt inside her with his fingers, reassuring himself. Then, he drove his hips forward savagely, the prodigious stiffness of his prick battering against her cunt again and again, until it broke through the tough skin, getting just the head of his organ inside - lip-deep. He paused then, not pulling it out, but gauging his prick, thrusting then with great force.
She held her breath and crammed an edge of the pillow into her mouth to try to keep from screaming, and she did, on the first stroke. But immediately, his fury driving him like a mad man, he lunged forward with the full weight of his body, driving his big hard cock in to the hilt.
She screamed in agony, "EEEEEEEEEE-eeeeeeee!" and her body undulated, writhed, and she gritted her teeth under the awful stress of the overbearing pain.
Aghast, she looked down to see his weapon, reeking with virgin blood, backed out, and raising for another pylon-driving plunge. He was no longer his own master; rather a lust-driven satyr had taken possession of his body, mind, and soul! He poled his cock to her - again and again! - And despite her awful begging cries of: "My God! My God! Get off! You're killing me!" - if anything, his fury increased.
"Oh, Naomie!" he blabbered. "Oh, Naomie!" And then, "It's so good I can't stand it! Can't stand it! Ohhhhhhh! Naomie! Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Then! Then, she spit the corner of the pillow out, all of her resolution to be brave deserting her, and she screamed a scream that started with a moaning "Muh-muh-muh-muh-" and ended with a high, blood-curdling "EEEEEEEE-eeeeeeeeeee!"
Suddenly, he held his cock full inside her and completely still, and as she felt the hot emission spurt from the fat head of it into her bleeding vulva, she fainted away.
When she regained consciousness, he was in the act of withdrawing his slime and blood coated cock, and she made the mistake of looking down again - saw the minute stream of blood that flowed from her pierced hymen running down over her thighs. With a choked scream, she fainted again.
When she recovered her senses for the second time, she found herself in the arms of the terrible, unrelenting murderer of her virginity, and she began to cry softly. Then, to her utter amazement, he began to weep, also! Finally, to babble: "I'm sorry I hurt you, Naomie! I swear I am! I got carried away, is all!"
He shook like he'd suddenly taken a high fever, and he kept talking: "I knew I had to have you, honey, the moment I saw you get off that jet at the Providence Airport! I mean, it just struck me all over, like lightning! You're so young, so pretty, and so well built and all! I began to think about how I could touch you the moment you came through the turnstiles!"
"But I wanted my husband to have this honor!" Naomie sobbed, hardly aware of what she was saying. "I want to get married soon - at least I did - and look how you've messed me up, Mr. Lovelace! And you seemed like such a nice man! So kind, considerate, and gentle!"
He seized a handful of her hair and looked into her tear-dimmed eyes, blinking back the tears in his own tired eyes.
"You're not ruined, Naomie!" he assured her. "You're so young and inexperienced, darling, I know you think you are, but built the way you are, with such big, fine breasts and long satiny thighs, and especially your hauntingly lovely buttocks, believe me, no husband will even think about whether you're a virgin or not!"
"You raped me!" she said and sobbed. "You drugged me and raped me!"
"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, it's true. But I was so careful not to give you enough drug to hurt you that I made it much harder on both of us. . ."
"And you slapped me! Burst my lip!" she said and whimpered. "And look how I've bled down there!"
"I'm sorry, Naomie," he said, a sincere ring to his voice. "Lust did it, I admit, but look at my ear! You nearly tore it off."
"I ought to turn you in to the sheriff," she threatened. "I ought to go to him and tell him just how you went about getting me over here so you could rape me."
"Don't do that, girl!" he said, hoarsely. "You know, I don't have to let you go. I could hold you prisoner down here. This room is sound-proofed."
She shuddered when she thought about it, but clamping her teeth together, she bit out: "You wouldn't dare! Aunt Margie knows about me coming here at your invitation."
"True enough," he said, his voice now cool and confident. "But you didn't have to accept my invitation. You came at your own risk and, besides, in court, it'd just be my word against yours."
"I'll go to a doctor and let him examine me!" she said angrily. "You're not getting by with this!"
"If you did that, Naomie, what would the town think?" he said. He laughed sarcastically, then continued with: "You know I'm not the only male lusting after you. What about that kid, this afternoon? I saw what he was after! And you knew it, too! Why, that teener was so hot after you, he could just taste you! And, Great God, girl! With what you've got under your skirt, I couldn't blame him!"
"I wish it had been Robert instead of you," she muttered. "I really do!"
"His name was Robert, huh?" he said, an amused note to his voice. "Just a kid. He wouldn't have known what to do, but there's plenty of men in this town besides me who would have." He laughed softly. "I've watched you walk home each afternoon, girl, and I saw how all the men were lusting after you - not just the boys and the single men, but the married fellows, too."
The full import of his words began to ring a bell. She realized that he had a perfect set-up. If she went to the doctor, then to the sheriff, no doubt Lovelace's lawyer would use testimony to prove how the men in Riverview had lusted after her. And it was true - now that she knew exactly what lust in a man was - she knew it was true! Instinctively, she knew what Robert had wanted, and so many, many others of the men who watched her each morning and each afternoon, as she walked to and from school.
Realizing her plight, she began crying again, deep, soul-stirring sobs that seemed to hang in her throat in grief blobs too large to be expelled, which went through her tortured body with such force that she seemed on the verge of tearing apart.
Naomie scrutinized Lovelace's body as she sobbed her despair, and she shuddered even more when she saw the wrinkles, the blue veins, the dead-white spots in his old skin. I am a prisoner of this - this old thing, she thought woefully, and there's not a thing I can do about it...
"I expect you'd better get cleaned up before Miss Margie gets worried," Lovelace said. He pointed to a door. "Go through there and you'll find a nice bathroom."
"You thought of everything, didn't you!" Naomie said angrily.
"From the moment I first saw you, I began to think: how? How? In the name of God, how?" he admitted. "You're that good."
"You knew I couldn't afford to say a word!" she said accusingly.
"That's right, honey!"
"I hate you!" she said. "I hate you!"
"Next time, you'll like me much better after it's over," he said calmly.
"Next time? There's not going to be a next time!" she said.
"Yes, you'll come for another swim late tomorrow afternoon," he said cooly. "If you don't come to me, then I'll have to come get you." t She jumped up from the bed, not caring about her nakedness. "I won't! I won't!" she screamed. "I'll... I'll run away before I do it again! I'll kill myself!"
With a speed that would have taxed the strength of most young men, Lovelace sprang from the bed, ran around and grabbed her breasts and squeezed down hard.
She cried out in pain, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
He squeezed even harder, making her eyes stream tears, squeezed until she screamed "EEEEEEEeeeeeee!"
Then, he let up a bit and said: "Naomie, my dear, this is Jack speaking! You'll come to me tomorrow afternoon, honey! Do you promise?"
"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she sobbed as he squeezed her breasts harder and harder.
"Will you, dear Naomie?"
"Oh, God! Oh, God! Yes! Oh, please! Yes!"
"All right, my dear," he said roughly. "I'll be expecting you at four o'clock.
Blindly, she staggered toward the door, overwhelmed with the knowledge that she would have to return here tomorrow afternoon, like a slave to her master.
CHAPTER FOUR
Only because Aunt Margie had invited her two best friends, Ash and Nelly Wilkes, over for supper, did Naomie pull her sore body from the rumpled bed, freshen up, and go down to the dining room to eat.
She had cried off and on during the time she'd been hidden away in her room, mostly because of the frustration of knowing she was under Jack Lovelace's power and couldn't do a thing about it, and, although the roast beef was tender, the gravy delicious, the whipped potatoes as fluffy as a bowl of carded cotton, she'd forced each bite she'd reluctantly picked up with her tarnished fork, pretending to listen to the rambling conversations of the three older people.
They were eating strawberry cake for dessert when they heard the loud confident knock on the front door. Aunt Margie, looking pleasantly surprised, turned to Ash Wilkes and said: "Would you please answer the door?"
Wilkes scraped up the last morsel of the strawberry cake from his plate, rammed it into his mouth, got up, and left the room.
"I wonder who that could be?" Aunt Margie said, a questioning frown crossing her crochety old face.
"Oh, well, I'd guess it's some young fellow with courting on his mind," Nelly Wilkes said, a twinkle in her old, rheumy eyes. She turned her head slightly to look at Naomie.
Naomie, on hearing the knock, had felt her heart leap up under her rib cage like a startled bunny. Could it be that awful old thing next door? His lust uprisen again? Oh, God, I hope not! she told herself.
What about it, dear?" Aunt Margie said and smiled. "Are you expecting man company tonight?"
"What?" Naomie blurted. And then, "Oh, no, ma'am! I don't know any men in this town."
"If you ask me, she's too young for the men-folks anyway," Nelly Wilkes said. "My! My! They are so much trouble!"
The weight of his fleshy body creaking the floor, Ash Wilkes came back to the dining room with his florid round face glowing angrily. After adjusting his body comfortably in the chair, he cleared his throat with a nervous little cough.
"Lum Cash is here," he said.
Nelly Wilkes looked at Aunt Margie and smiled. Marge shook her head and pursed her slightly blue lips. "What does he want?" she said, a hateful note to her voice.
"To see Miss Nash he said," Ash Wilkes mumbled.
"Who? Me?" Naomie blurted. "But I don't know him!"
"Huh, little lady, a gal don't have to know Lum Cash for him to come to see them," Wilkes grumbled. "If it was me, I'd let him set out there on the porch till Christmas Eve!"
"What?" Naomie said, a puzzled look on her pale face . . . pale even though she'd applied a bit of make-up on her cheeks, something she usually didn't need to do.
Nelly, who had a reputation as being one who never let her husband talk, looked at Ash, and said: "Go ahead and tell the girl about Lum Cash, hon."
Ash Wilkes was a meek, mild-mannered man of fifty-nine, short in stature, plump, and almost completely bald. He indeed, rarely spoke in the presence of his wife unless she pointedly encouraged him to. The rest of the time he was expected to keep his mouth shut. He had a tendency to blurt whatever came to mind, and Nelly tried to protect her friends from the kind of language he used.
Ash was a retired hotel keeper, and now he spent most of his time going back and forth to the post office to see if there was any mail.
Since it was so unusual for Nelly to allow him to express himself, Ash was momentarily speechless with indecision. Swallowing several times, he then opened his mouth tentatively, so that he looked somewhat like a buffalo fish.
"Go ahead, Ash!" Nelly said sharply. 'Tell the child what Lum Cash is like."
"Well, I know a heap more about what Lum Cash ain't than what he is," he said with conviction, a sweep of his hand hitting at a fly which had been hovering over his plate, off and on, since the meal started. "He and some others of his kind can be found hanging around the drug store and places, waiting for the women teachers to come downtown for a Coke after school's let out. He's got dark, curly hair and the damndest sideburns you ever seen. He mooches all he can off the female teachers, and he brags that he gets other things besides free Cokes."
"What does he do for a living? Lum Cash don't do nothing much worth mentioning, when you come right down to it." Wilkes slammed his fist against the table, now that he was getting to say what he pleased about Lum Cash. "He's got one of them little-bitty filling stations- a one-pump deal - out there on the highway at the edge of town. He piddles around with it, and a ramshackle lean-to in back of it where he sleeps and fries hamburgers when he's hungry, but it don't look to me like he makes enough money out of the whole kaboddle to buy bird seed for a half-assed canary."
"Now, Ash! Don't talk like that in front of this child!" Nelly admonished. "Maybe Lum is sort of a moocher, but you'll have to admit he's handsome. I say some day some girl is going to wake up and find herself married to Lum, is what!"
"Hell, if you ask me, the woman who wakes up and finds herself in bed with Lum will be lucky if she can find anything on him bigger than what you could find on a goober vine!" Wilkes said, angrily. "He kind of looks like a moffy-dite, if you ask me, and if I was you, baby sister," and Wilkes was now eyeing Naomie intently, "I'd steer clear of that peckerwood."
"Oh, I don't intend to get involved with . . ." And Naomie stopped, remembering the man next door. "With anyone," she finished, lamely.
For at least fifteen minutes, she sat listening to the three older people talk about the men-folks of Riverview, giving the rather general impression that, for the most part, they were a worthless lot. But from what she heard, Naomie decided that the very worst ones the three discussed were veritable angels, as compared to the man next door. And the worst part about it, what few people knew Jack Lovelace thought that he was the kindest, nicest, most gentle person in town.
At last, she felt like she had to go out to the porch and tell Lum Cash she had a "sick" headache where he could go on about his business. But, as she stood up and walked toward the door, she reminded herself that she had an awful ache, true enough, but it wasn't her head. It's my little pussy that aches so terribly bad, she thought.
When she went through the door, she saw Lum Cash sitting in the creaking porch swing.
"Hello," she said sweetly. "I'm Naomie Constantine. I don't believe we've met, have we?"
"Nope, but I've seen you come through town," he said, rising. "I'm Lum - Lum Cash. I was kind of wondering if you'd like to get out and just ride around for a while."
She eyed him intently. He was a handsome man in a country-fied sort of way, she decided. Tall. Fairly broad shoulders. Lots of piled-up hair and the biggest sideburns she'd ever seen. But she was hurting down below too badly to get into a car.
"I'm afraid I'd better go to bed tonight," she said in a kind voice. "It's been a pretty long week, since it was my first week to teach school."
"Well, maybe we can try it some other time," he said hopefully.
He had not expected her to date him the very first time he asked her. Girls went by some kind of crazy code, he was well aware. Next time, she might go, and the next time after that - well, he just might get to try out her little ole tight cunt.
"... I might be able to," Naomie was saying, neither giving him a hard promise nor turning him down.
"Well, glad I metcha, Miss Constantine," he mumbled.
"And I'm glad I met you, Lum."
Naomie dreaded going to lunch that Saturday morning, for eating the mid-day meal only served to remind her it wouldn't be long until four o'clock, and she'd promised him she'd come back to the pool. "I won't go!" she said, aloud. "He had no right to make me promise something that is wrong, wrong!"
She wondered what would happen if she didn't go back to Jack Lovelace's swimming pool? What if she went to her room and locked the door? Would he have the gall to come here and make her get up? Hardly, not in broad daylight, but what about tonight? She shuddered, remembering what Robert had mentioned about the back stairs which led to the second story - to my room, here! Where I'm at right now!
Aunt Margie was crippled; on top of it, she was a bit hard of hearing. Jack Lovelace knew that, of course. Under the guise of being a good, kind-hearted man, he'd been all through the house, no doubt, when he'd fixed Aunt Margie's sink, and had done other little odd jobs.
Suddenly, she got the awful feeling that she was helpless, that no matter what she tried to do to keep away from the fiend, he'd run her down, seek her out like a bloodhound. So nervous that she wanted to scream, Naomie got up and began to pace the floor, pausing from time to time near the window where she looked out to see the shimmering patch of water in the pool across from the garden. She didn't see Lovelace anywhere around and she was thankful for that. If I do see him, I'II probably faint, she thought.
At breakfast this morning, Naomie had tried to show Aunt Margie that Jack Lovelace was not the kind, gentle man he was cracked up to be, without letting Aunt Margie know that he'd attacked her, but her efforts had only served to irritate the shallow-minded woman, who would have fallen in love with Satan, if Satan had come by and fixed a leaking faucet or installed a light fixture, free of charge.
Naomie had casually mentioned that Lovelace had looked at her in a way that made her feel he was undressing her with his eyes. Aunt Margie had scolded her at once ...
"Why, girl, Mr. Lovelace is old enough to be your grand-daddy!" she'd said, her eyes snapping with anger. "Foot, he wouldn't harm a flea, much less you!"
"But, Aunt Margie, the way he looks at me-" Naomie protested. "I mean, I can tell..."
"That's what you little hussys get for wearing those vulgar minis!" Aunt Margie cut in to say. "My! My! How times have changed! Girls not caring any more for showing their butts than they do their faces! But don't blame poor, gentle Mr. Lovelace for looking, child! Rather, blame yourself for showing so much!"
Naomie knew at once that Aunt Margie would take Lovelace's word quicker than she would her niece's; that in a show-down, she'd probably side with her next-door neighbor. So what was the use of trying to avoid seeing the wicked man?
She waited, watching the minutes tick away on her alarm clock by the bed, her body, mind, and soul filling with awful dread and revulsion, steadily, like water pouring into a Thermos bottle.
As the time of her ordeal approached, she began to pray for help, saying her words of supplication in a somewhat hysterical babble as she paced around and around in her room. But she knew in her heart it was no use. One time in the orphanage she'd prayed for a friend who had been dying of leukemia, asking God to spare her because she wasn't but seven years old, but poor Jeannette had gotten sicker and sicker. At last she'd died on a Sunday morning. And that night, in her prayers, Naomie had scolded God for allowing Jeanette to die, so she knew He wouldn't help her now.
Sighing repeatedly, Naomie was nearly ready to go when a car pulled up in front of the old house and a bunch of kids got out. She stood at a window over-looking the front yard. "Ah, there's Robert Vining!" she said. "And three more boys- Steve Dyson, Chuck Willis, and Mitch Miller!"
She saw them coming toward the yard gate, casting furtive looks at the windows of her room as they walked. Oh, I'm so thankful! she thought, her heart singing with joy. I'll insist that they stay a long time, and I'll serve them Cokes and ice cream.
The boys stayed until nearly eleven o'clock that night, for Naomie had played records in the great living room, and they had danced, despite Aunt Margie's protests that she wasn't running a dive at her house, but mostly they had engaged in the somewhat silly talk of the very young, getting their kicks from just being near their lovely, stacked "teach".
Naomie had enjoyed the evening even more than her youthful admirers, for she had missed the company of the opposite sex at the orphanage, and later, at Green Mountain College. Her heart was singing with pure joy, joy she'd received from a stimulating evening with four youths who could hardly keep their hands off her, and when she went up to her room and undressed in front of her door mirror, she noted how her breasts were suffused with a pink glow, how the pert nipples tingled to her touch, how she felt the unctuous, hot, moistening, opening down below in her tight little near-virgin pussy.
And then, after she'd slid between the cool sheets and reached over and turned out the light on the nightstand, she happened to think about Lovelace. Suddenly her body felt extremely cold. What would he do? She lay there, scarcely moving, her body filled with bone-deep dread.
Evidently, she'd dozed, for she was suddenly startled by muffled footsteps - footsteps coming up the stairs. Lovelace! She knew! Sweat oozed from her pores, cold and clammy; her chin quivered, her heart raced.
She sat up in bed as she heard the floor squeal outside her door - heard his heavy breathing. And then, the soft knock.
She was speechless; she opened her mouth, tried to talk, but the words lay frozen in her throat.
Knock, knock, knock!
And then, his low call: "Naomie? Naomie?"
"Y-y-y-es!" Her voice quavered.
"You didn't come!" he whispered.
"Go away!" she said, her voice tight with fear. "Go away!"
"I could open this door if I wanted to," he said, "and you know it. You didn't keep your word, Naomie!"
"Go away! I had company! - some school kids!"
"Yes, I saw them, and I know what they wanted," he said, an evil note to his voice. "Okay. You had company. I'm a patient man, honey. I'll excuse you this time, but don't let it happen tomorrow afternoon. Come at three o'clock, no matter what happens. "
"But I can't help it if someone should come to see me!" she protested.
"If that happens, get rid of your company in some way," he said.
She didn't say anything.
"Naomie? You heard me! I'll be expecting you at three, little girl." He laughed softly, then said: "Good night, sweetie. Pleasant dreams."
She remained silent, listening to his muted breathing, and finally, his footfalls, as he descended the outside stairs.
Stillness. Absolute stillness inside the old house, but outside the eerie windows, she could hear katy-dids fiddling in the weeds, a little night-wind soughing in the limbs of the liveoaks, and far off in the night, the mournful baying of a hound.
She cried into her pillow, hearing her sorrowful sobs go out through the walls and up through the ceiling of her room, and feeling the wetness on the pillowcase where her tears fell like hot summer rain ...
Like a soldier going into battle, was the way Naomie felt as she eased across the garden en route to the house next door. She glanced all around. It was a typical Indian Summer Sunday afternoon. From high up in the trees, mocking birds stopped their caroling long enough to peek down at her out of jelled eyes, and agile grasshoppers got up in front of her, their wings making a whirring, itchy sound. Through the limbs of the liveoaks, back to the west, she could see thunderheads poking over the horizon; somewhere, in a nearby house, a TV set drummed incessantly, and down-town Sunday traffic thrummed on Main street.
When she reached the edge of Lovelace's lawn, she smelled the watermelon scent of freshly-cut grass, and then the funky stench of over-ripe garbage in the backyard across from Lovelace's old house.
As she crossed the lawn, feeling the grass squish underneath her bare feet, she reached down self-consciously and pulled at the fabric of the red bikini - there in her crotch, where it felt too tight. Then she was startled by the appearance of Lovelace's head, suddenly peeping from the basement door. " "In here, Sweetie," he said gently.
She drew back as if she'd been slapped. "B-b-b-ut! I thought we were going to swim!" she said.
"Later, Sweetie," he said and smiled. "Come in."
"Said the spider to the fly," she murmured, trying to be flippant to allay her fears.
"Yes, indeed," he answered. "You look good enough to eat."
He grabbed her arm and drew her inside the basement and closed the door. Then he grabbed her around the buttocks and pulled her hard against him, his hands kneading her taut hips like he was mixing something to eat.
"Don't!"
He kissed her well. At first, she fought him, did not respond to his kiss, and then, to her utter shame, she felt that she had to. Her lips opened wide and her tongue slipped into his mouth, her lips grinding against his. Her hips were grinding, too, slowly, and then more harshly.
Her words were a kind of moan. "Are you going to make me do it with you again, Mr. Lovelace?"
"Make you?" he taunted. "I won't have to make you this time, Sweetie."
"Be good to me ..."
He already had one hand inside the bikini, caressing her there, the other hand stroking her satiny thighs, working inside, then slipping outside to the milky lushness.
"We better go back to my inner-sanctum," he said hoarsely, his hands not letting up one instant.
He moved around behind her, shoving her toward the dark, eerie passageway that led down through the cluttered rooms filled with antiques, his strong hands caressing her faster and faster, the hardness of him pressing against her tingling buttocks.
At last they reached the sound-proofed room, and as he stepped back to let her enter, she heard a low rumble of thunder which made the underpinings of the old house faintly creak. Then they were inside the room.
"... If I've got to do it, I want to do it right," she said.
With one hand he reached out and grabbed the bikini bra and jerked it off. Then the bottoms. Naomie stood there with a hot look on her face, and her teeth began to grind faintly. It wasn't that he'd made her hot. The facts were she had been exceedingly hot since last night when she'd played around with the four boys who'd come to visit her, and now she was ready to seek release ...
He pulled her to him and began kissing her breasts, feeling the nipples harden.
"You're driving me crazy! C-R-A-Z-Y!" Naomie said. "Don't make me wait!"
No doubt he had meant to take her on the bed, but now she was too demanding. They staggered, and fell together upon the carpet.
In his arms, she began to moan and cry out. Her black hair foamed out around her head.
"Now!" she cried. "Hurry! Hurry! Oh, Yyyyyyyyyyyes!"
He was already hurrying as fast as he could, trying to get out of his clothing, and it was during the momentary freedom of his embrace, his caressing hands, that she suddenly felt shame course through her tortured body.
"It's wrong! It's wrong!" she moaned. "I can't do it, Mr. Lovelace!"
She got up from the carpet and lunged toward the door and, just as she opened it, he reached around and grabbed her. They fell heavily together, half in the sound-proofed room and half in the passageway.
His hands were on her, caressing, fondling, playing upon her trembling body as if it were a baby grand piano.
"Nooooooooooooooo!" she moaned. "It's bad, bad, Mr. Lovelace! Don't make me .. . don't make me! ... do it!"
"Hush!" he said, hoarsely. "You're just excited, girl! Hush now!"
"Oh, please! Oh, please!" she moaned.
"Noooooooooo!"
But it was too late for him to turn back, even if he would have done so. His huge throbbing cock was up, hard and ready. He mounted her roughly, and she cried out with pain and pleasure: "Oh, God! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" And then, as if she were dying, " Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
They plunged and writhed together there on the floor. Naomie began to scream softly, and sank her teeth in his shoulder. She felt herself being flung deeply into dark, empty space, riding down and down, then up and up, and suddenly Naomie could not restrain herself and cried aloud: "Oh, God! Oh, God! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
Curling around him like the tendril of a vine, as if she feared any part of him should be untouched or unimpressed by her, she kissed him with a fervor and a gusto that was wild and animal-like, making peculiar sounds deep in her throat all the while: "Mmmmmmmmmmm! Aiiiiiiiiiii!"
Her eyes were now rolling upward, exposing the pulsing whites, and now it was he who cried out his sexual joy . . .
"It's so good, baby! EEEEeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyy-ow!"
Naomie looked at his face and saw the fixed, ecstatic expression there, and in his glazed eyes, and she began moaning her pleasure again until he stopped her mouth with kisses of humid fire; and the thrusts of his smooth cock inside her hot cunt became more and more furious, his cheeks flushed with a deeper scarlet, his eyes turned up in a fervent fit. And then some dying sighs, and an agonizing shudder announced the approach of that topmost ecstatic pleasure, but she was not ready yet to come in for her share of it.
"Oh, God!" he groaned, and went as still as death, holding his cock firmly inside her hungry snatch as the emission spurted and spurted, filling her with hot, sticky come.
She did not have a big orgasm, but rather a tantalizing, unfinished one; still it was enough to make her shudder with bliss.
Lovelace lay there, kissing her lips. She knew she was doomed. She knew she would never get enough of this good thing, this fucking, no matter if they did it all night.
Outside, it was raining. A September storm that had been withering in the skies burst in lazy fashion and was slowly developing into a raging fury of winds and icy sheets of water. Now and again there were intervals when shot-like bursts of hail rained, drumming against the sides of the old mansion house. Through a crack in the basement wall, Naomie saw lightning streak the sky with shimmering swords of white, and thunder bombarded the countryside.
She shuddered, not from fear of the storm, but from the feeling of sin, sins of ecstasy. It was a bad thing she'd done! And I'm guilty! Guilty! she thought. And yet, what else could I have done? She felt like she was on a treadmill, with no way to stop running.
Lovelace, on noting her discomfiture, said: "Let's get up and go to the bed, so we can close the door and shut out the noise of the storm."
"That's not what I'm worried about," she said, sadly. "But, very well..."
They got up and, when Lovelace had closed the door, crossed to the bed and stretched out and lay still. But despite her guilt feelings, Naomie felt a high tension in her body down below ... a sort of unctuous, yearning ceding in her cunt. And now, shameless hussy that I am, she thought, I wish he'd hurry up and put it in me again.
Apparently, Lovelace was not in a hurry, although he was affectionate enough, turning to smother her with kisses from time to time, until he started talking about himself.
He left her alone, and she wished he hadn't, as he talked about his past. She listened intently, looking at him as he talked, for she was struck by his unique qualities. With his young man's drive in an old man's body, it makes him rather like a Cadillac engine mounted on a T-Model Ford chassis, she decided. Truthfully, only his skin betrayed his actual age.
He droned on and on, telling about his past, sometimes very bitter words coming from his lips. After he'd finished, she pieced his story together like a patchwork quilt. He blamed his present state of gross lasciviousness, not on Jack Lovelace, but on navy life ...
The son of a minister, he claimed, Jack ran away from home and joined the navy when he was sixteen years old. From that time onward, Lovelace had devoted his whole being to lust; to gross, lascivious sensuality, for that was the way of life for most sailors on shore leave. He claimed he'd kept a record, and according to his figures, he'd fucked one thousand two hundred eleven different women from the time he joined the navy until right now.
He spoke of the dives he'd frequented in hundreds of ports around the world, of the many narrow escapes he'd had with jealous lovers, husbands, relatives, and friends of his lays, and how he'd get on a kick for certain types of women - sometimes, he'd only wanted very blonde white women, other times, it seemed his hunger couldn't be assauged unless he could stick his prick into very black girls, along the coast of Africa. For a whole year, it took the dainty, man-pleasing Japanese girls to give him gratification.
At first he'd fallen in love with many of his lays, but finally, he'd become reconciled to his sensual life. He knew he wasn't fit to be a decent woman's husband; the other kind, he wouldn't have himself. So it had been sunrise and sunset; sunrise and sunset. And now his life was drawing to a close, a wasted life - and as far as he knew, he didn't have a single relative. Nobody!
Navy life had ruined him utterly, he stated, except for one thing: he considered himself an authority on sex, a connisseur of sensual females; of what the stacked female ought to look like.
He'd ended up by declaring that she - Naomie - was the top-best. . Of all the women he'd fucked, she was the one!
She was a very hot girl by the time he'd finished talking; timidly, she reached out one hand and touched his long, lean cock, and felt it stiffen.
"Say you want it!" he commanded. "Noooooooooooooo!"
"Admit it, Sweetie! God damnit, say it!"
"Yes," she whispered. "Oh, yes! Put your beautiful cock in my hole again."
CHAPTER FIVE
Although Naomie knew Lovelace had deliberately sought to humiliate her, to bring her to a new low of degradation, she was so filled with the urgent need of gratification, she forgot her shame momentarily.
As soon as he began to feed his cock into her greedy snatch in tremendous, brutal thrusts, she knew fucking was much better than it had ever been; that she was experiencing exactly what she instinctively expected sex to be like. In fact, his cock inside her felt so good, she turned her head away so that he could not see how much pleasure she was really getting from his much-used prick.
But he did know it, for she could not stop her buttocks from gyrating, no more than she could stop her heart from beating. She knew he wanted to offend her deeply, force her to beg him now for the very thing she'd fought him about the first time. Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed one puckered, strawberry-tipped nipple with his lips, and a titillating fire shot through her body and brought down all her passion in such an excess of pleasure that she bucked and writhed like a wild filly, throwing Lovelace, as if he were a feather, off her body - almost off the bed.
Then, she seized him with a super-strength, placing one hand on his GI cropped head, and forcing his mouth back to her nipple as if he were a baby.
"You like that, huh?" he said, savagely walking his mouth around her big breast.
"Oh, yes, yes! Oh, my God, yes! Do that! Keep doing that! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I love that, Jack! Sweet J-a-a-a-a-a-ack!"
In trying to humiliate Naomie, making her so hot she'd go crazy with lust, Lovelace lost control of his own passion, and in a sudden burst of frenzied hunching, began crying out her name: "Oh, Naomie! Oh, Naomie! Ohhhhhhhh! Naomie! I love you, love you! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
He shivered spasmodically as if she'd suddenly plunged a knife into his heart, and then he grew very still, begging her, imploring her - "Noooooooooo! Don't move! Please, please! Be still!"
But he was asking of her something she couldn't do. A shameless demanding had taken possession of her body, and in her blind hunger her body arched in young fury, pulling his cock free of her cunt and tossing him away from her as if he were a teddy bear, his frenzied jetting of hot sticky come falling upon the bedspread.
And then, he went crazy with disappointment, lust. He rolled back to her and grabbed her, his mouth on her body, and saying over and over: "Oh, Naomie baby, I love you, love you!"
Kissing her feverishly from throbbing breasts, down, down, to the black bronze pubic hair above the rose-pink, moist portal of her pussy, and she was moaning, "Yes, yes, yes! Do that! Keep on doing that!"
Her pleading mewings seemed to put new manhood into his body. In a frenzy of driving passion, he mounted her again, plunging his re-hardening prick deep into the hotness, wetness, redness, darkness of her cunt, her arms and legs cradling him; her voice urging him on ... begging him to plunge his cock in her harder!
"Oh, Jack! Oh, God!" she moaned. "Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Her moaning, at the end, changed from a low "Ahhhhh!" to a screaming, "Aiiiiiiiiiiiii!" And then her body was jerking and undulating, twisting and writhing in great spasmodic contractions . . . Again, again, and again . .. And at last, still as in death as her orgasm was washed and undulated by Lovelace's second shooting of his very hot, sticky man come.
Then she roused in soulful lethargy, turned and kissed Lovelace's eyelids, making a "Muh-muh-muh-" sound in her throat, her eager cunt still milking away at his blood-filled prick.
The storm had passed when Naomie cautiously stepped from the basement door and began her walk across the grass-carpeted lawn, and though she didn't see a soul anywhere around, she felt as if hundreds of beady eyes were watching her walk in the red bikini toward the side gate of her Aunt's old mansion. Her guilt feelings had grown steadily heavier from the moment she'd found sweet release, and her young mind reasoned that no mortal had the right to feel such bliss, outside the gates of heaven.
The worst thing about it, I'm supposed to set example for young, impressionistic minds, she thought. Oh, what would the kids have thought, if they had seen me in bed with Lovelace? Could have seen me bucking and writhing and working my body to the tune of his love machine? Could have heard my pleading moans for him to work faster? Could have watched me sink lower and lower in slothful, lustful sin, sin?
She was hurrying now, wanting to reach her room. She wouldn't come down for a bite of supper. No, she wanted to hide in the dark, become like a blind mole, for she wasn't fit to associate with sweet Aunt Margie, or with any of her friends.
She entered the side door noiselessly, crossed to the stairs and climbed them carefully, trying to keep down the infernal creaking noises, but it was impossible. When she was about half-way up, she heard Aunt Margie's familiar voice call: "Naomie dear, is that you?"
She stopped, shouted: "Yes, Aunt Margie."
"Step down to the kitchen, girl."
"Yes, ma'am."
Aunt Margie was busy fixing supper. She was sitting in front of the stove watching her oatmeal cook, and when Naomie entered the door, she whirled her wheelchair around to say, "Gracious, girl! You stayed in swimming a long time."
Naomie felt her face redden, but she tried to appear casual.
"Mr. Lovelace showed me some of his paintings," she answered. "I don't particularly care for art, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings by refusing to look at them."
"Of course, of course," the old lady said and nodded. "Mr. Lovelace is such a dear, kind man."
She peered at her niece, as if she was waiting for her to sanction her words, and when Naomie remained silent, she continued with: "What I called you about, girl. .. Lord, it seems to me like you're the most popular little thing in town." And here she stopped to chuckle. "My! My! You got five telephone calls, from five different men, dear, and they all wanted to know what you are doing tonight."
"I'm sleeping tonight, Aunt Margie." Pointedly.
"Well, wait a minute! On top of all that, Lum Cash came by and hung around on the front porch for thirty minutes at least, waiting for you to come home, and about fifteen minutes after he left, here come that bunch of loud-mouthed boys who were here last night. My! My! You're some popular, child!"
"I guess it's because I'm new here," she murmured. "Really, I -"
"Foot, girl!" Aunt Margie cut in to say. "You know what it is!" She looked at Naomie intently. "My! My! What curves! What pulchritude!" She sniffed, reflected, her eyes seeing vistas of another time. "Now when I was your age, I had a lovely figure, too, child. But I never did get to show it off much till I married."
"Honestly, Aunt Margie, you don't think it's because of my figure that I - I have so many callers?" she said.
"What else, child?" Aunt Margie said. And then, "You've led such a sheltered life, you'd better watch out! Those young studs have only one thing in mind, and that's to get inside your panties, child!"
A rush of guilt feelings almost overwhelmed Naomie. If Aunt Margie only knew what I did this afternoon! she thought. If she only knew what a low-lived fellow her dear, gentle, Mr. Lovelace really was! But thank goodness, she doesn't know! - could never know! Oh, how I wish I'd had a mother to go to at this moment, the girl thought.
She swallowed a sob that had tried to come up in her throat, and turned to leave the room, whereupon Aunt Margie said: "You hear me, child?"
"Yes, ma'am, I hear you. Don't worry about me, Aunt Margie."
"Well, child," she said, "if you'll take my advice, you'll find you a fine man for a husband, and do that soon ..." her old eyes roved up and down her niece's lush body a while, and then, she continued, "and with what you've got to offer, I wouldn't fool around with these local peckerwoods. Get you a real man, someone who has means, money, or land, or a good business, and latch on to him. You hear?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'll think about it."
Naomie crossed to the stairs and climbed them as if the burden upon her young shoulders was too much to bear.
Later on, if someone had been standing at the door of her upstairs room, he would have heard her sobs - soul-tearing heart-broken sobs, as if she'd suffered an irreparable loss.
School had opened Monday morning, the beginning of the second week, with customary boisterous noise and last-minute reluctance of the students to take seats after two days of freedom from studies, but it was not until her second period typing class that Naomie noticed that the room had not settled down to its usual calm. The children were not unruly, but they were obviously tense and excited about something that had happened.
She sat at her desk and tried to think what could be the reason for the disturbance. She could see the students watching Robert Vining, as though he was the one who'd taken a leading part in whatever had happened. Has he told the others about walking home with me? About coming back with the other fellows Saturday night? Oh, surely, he wouldn't have done that! she thought.
Her walk to school that morning had not been thrilling as it was each day last week, though, she had to admit that she had, if anything, even more admirers along the route. Men, at the filling stations, at the stores, at the courthouse, and the pool hall, especially!
She had stared straight ahead, trying to smile, trying to be the same innocent, sweet girl she was last week, but the burden of her guilt, her sins, the worst sort of lustful sins at that! rode on her back like a hideous satyr. She knew the smile looked as if it had been torn out of a magazine and pasted over her lips. She knew her walk was heavier, that her heels did not sing so sexily on the sidewalk, that her hips, for all their movements, lacked that little extra twist and bounce...
The morning wore along and there still had been no easing of the tension in the room. By that time the only thing she could think that might have happened (surely Robert wouldn't have told them anything) was that the janitor had seen her crying Friday afternoon and had told everyone about it. But she could not understand how this would have had such an effect on the pupils, unless the janitor had seen Robert at her desk, talking to her, and then watched Robert walk out the door and down the street with her.
Just before noon Milo Burch unexpectedly opened the door of her room and stepped inside.
He came up to her desk, marveling at how quiet her class was now, when he thought he'd heard loud talking in her room two or three times, as he made his rounds through the halls that morning.
"Miss Constantine, I want to see you in my office at noon," he said, in a voice so low not even the kids sitting in the front row heard his words clearly.
"Yes, sir," she said sweetly, though inside she felt her heart pound like an oil well pump, her stomach squeeze up in knots.
He stood a moment, carefully eyeing individual students in the class. Part of his job was supervision, though he seldom had the time to visit the classrooms for more than a few minutes per week.
Milo had been teaching school for seventeen years. He had been an athlete at college and he was still young in appearance and muscular in build. In December of the previous year he had married one of the teachers, Sadie Long, who resigned shortly afterward to stay at home during pregnancy. Since his marriage to Sadie, Milo had become increasingly strict and arbitrary, and sometimes he frightened the teachers by warning them to dress more conservatively if they wanted to keep their positions.
Before that, in his bachelor days, Milo had been easy going and sympathetic and had permitted the teachers to use their own discretion in matters of dress.
Milo left the room hurriedly, leaving Naomie with her heart racing with fear.
Milo was pacing the floor when she entered his outer office. She knew at once that he was displeased with her about something. As if to punish her, Milo waited what she considered to be an unnecessarily long time before speaking to her.
She stood motionlessly in front of the door until he was ready to say something. It was an awful interim for her, for now it seemed that the world was falling upon her sinful shoulders. She knew that she could not hide the guilt feelings that so troubled her; her sins had found her out!
"Come in, Miss Constantine," he said brusquely, as though it were a disagreeable formality which he wished to get over with as quickly as possible.
"Yes, sir," she quavered.
She could see his pale blue eyes dart an estimating glance at her. Presently he stopped walking up and down and stood directly in front of her. She could see the rise of his chest as he took a deep breath.
"I'm afraid there's a little talk going around in town, Miss Constantine. I'm sorry to have this happen the second week of school."
"What talk?" she said, her voice high and charged with emotion. My God! she thought, someone saw me go into Lovelace's basement!
"Well, I'll have to admit it's mostly gutter talk," he said. "Pool hall talk, I guess you'd say, but I don't like it. It reflects on the school, you know."
He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. "The facts are, Miss Constantine, it seems you've become, in a week's time, Riverview's sex symbol. I've never heard so much ... so soon!"
Naomie licked dry lips. "But exactly what, Mr. Burch?
"What have I done to- ?"
"I don't think you've done anything intentionally, Miss Constantine," he interrupted. "But it seems that everyone, all the men at least, are talking about how you, ah - walk, you know..."
He looked at the floor again. Then he looked up to regard her critically, just as though her very presence called for censure. More than that, she could see that he was beginning to inspect her from head to foot with a deliberate appraisal, and she wondered if there was anything about her that he could disapprove of. She was wearing a mini skirt and a bright yellow sweater. What could be wrong with that?
"Miss Constantine," he began in a stern manner, "some of the boys have had things to say about you, too. Now, it's always been my theory that a teacher should not dress in such a way that her dress distracts the attention of her pupils from their studies. Ah, don't you think a public school is no place for that sweater you're wearing?"
Naomie hastily looked down at herself and tried to adjust the sweater in such a way that her breasts would not look too prominent in it, but there was little she could do, for the sweater was form-fitting and clinging and it quickly resumed its accustomed shape.
"Why didn't the board hire a teacher with a flat bosom, if that's the way they want teachers to look?" she asked. In spite of all she could do, she could feel her lips quiver.
An embarrassed flush crept over his face. "I'm sorry, Miss Constantine, that I had to bring this up," he said lamely.
"And I'm sorry you don't like the way I look, Mr. Burch," she said with a faint, provocative smile.
Milo swallowed hard. He dug his hands into his pockets. "Oh, it's not that I don't like the sweater, Miss Constantine. I mean, I'm no fool about such matters, but with the talk going around, don't you think it best that you wear something a bit ah - less revealing?"
"I guess so, Mr. Burch," she said. "I don't want to cause trouble."
"Oh, you haven't, not really," he said. "I feel that I should do more to help you. I could see you after school today and discuss some of the things you should know about this town."
"Yes, sir."
"Another thing, about Robert Vining. He's quit football, and some are saying it's because of you," Milo said.
"Me?" she asked. Naomie knew word had gotten around about Robert and his three friends visiting her Saturday night. No telling what the gossipers were saying about it, especially the dancing.
"You didn't try to influence him in some way, Miss Constantine?
"Of course not! Why should I?"
"Well, I'll have to take the matter up with Robert again, Miss Constantine. Some of the boys are saying Robert quit football on account of you."
"I had nothing to do with it!" Naomie said angrily. She was wanting to leave the office now, because she knew she was on the verge of tears. It was just too much, the awful guilt she felt from doing what she did with Lovelace in his basement, and now, here on a Monday, being told that she was the town's sex symbol, reprimanded for wearing too revealing clothing, and accused to causing Robert Vining to quit sports.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, then she burst into sobs in spite of her efforts to hold them back.
Milo got up, saying: "Now, now, now, Miss Constantine! It's not that bad! Not really!" He walked around his desk and put his arm around her, then hugging her tightly. "It'll all come out wash-day" he said with a little laugh. His meaty fingers dug into her right breast and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to move his hand.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Burch," she snubbed. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
As luck would have it, as his arm squeezed her even tighter, Sadie Burch, the principal's pregnant wife, sidled into the outer office, her eyes snapping with jealousy.
"I want the car keys, Milo! I thought you said you would bring them home to me!"
Milo released Naomie as if she'd suddenly turned into fire, sputtering, "I-I'm sorry, dear! I'm sorry!"
In his hurry to get to the car keys, he not only jerked out the key ring, but also all the loose change he had in his right front pocket.
"No wonder you're so forgetful," she said, icily, her eyes running up and down Naomie's body, from legs to head, and back again.
"This is our .. . our new business teacher, dear," Milo mumbled, "Naomie Constantine."
"Hello, dear," Sadie said, brusquely. "So you're having problems already! Well, don't worry ... Milo is so very helpful with lady teachers."
Naomie nodded, forced a faint smile, then quickly left the office, but not in time to miss Sadie's parting shot.
"No wonder she's got the whole town talking, Milo! A pity. A pity she's so young and innocent."
Naomie didn't hear Milo's reply, because she was too mortified with guilt, shame, and a hundred other dizzy emotions all at the same time. She hurried to her room, her face betraying her raging inner emotions, praying that she could keep from crying in front of her class.
Naomie ate an early supper, then went up to her room. Ever since coming home that afternoon she had looked forward to undressing and reading in bed, but no sooner than she'd peeled down to her half slip, she'd heard footfalls on the outside stairs. Her heart leaped and fluttered in her throat. She hadn't seen Lovelace when she'd come through the yard gate at four o'clock, but as she'd climbed the steps of the great porch, she'd thought she'd seen his head in the window of the room above the basement door.
She couldn't ever let herself sin the way she had in the basement yesterday afternoon, so Mr. Lovelace needn't be coming up here to threaten her again. And yet, at that very moment, in reverie, she was feeling his strong hands on her again, feeling the hottening, moistening, opening, deeping, down below in her juicy cunt.
"Oh, God! I must not!" she moaned. "I must not let myself do it!"
She listened.
No sound of footsteps, but then, a soft knock knock knock.
"Who is it?" she said thickly.
"It's me, Miss Constantine; Robert."
"Robert?" she said. She began to laugh hysterically. "Robert?"
"Let me in, Miss Constantine. I want to see you."
"Go home, Robert!"
He'd tried his dead-level best to walk home with her again but she'd flatly refused him. She'd had enough trouble that day without having Robert walk home with her, past the evil-eyed men en route.
"Miss Constantine, I've just got to see you," he persisted. "Please let me in, Miss Constantine."
"Robert, if you really like me, please, please!-leave," she implored.
"No, Miss Constantine," he said. "I can't leave until I see you, so let me in."
"Robert," she said, trying to keep her voice calm, "don't you realize that people saw you? - Saw you slip around the house and come up the back stairs? You know how they would make up lies, Robert!"
"Let them make up lies if they want to, Miss Constantine," he answered. "Anyhow, I was careful. No one saw me when I came around the fig bushes."
"Oh, God!" she moaned, "What has happened to me? Why am I getting into so much trouble?"
She got up reluctantly and picked up her dress and slipped it over her head, then worked it down over her body. It did look like the only way she'd be able to get rid of the boy was to let him in and find out exactly what he wanted.
She pulled the dress into place, then swept one hand over her mussed hair, crossed to the door, and unlatched it.
"Now, what is it, Robert?" she asked.
Robert had already found that the bolder he was with most girls, the better they like it. Maybe that's the way you had to be with women. He pushed in and closed the door behind him.
"Robert, you can't do this!" she protested. "You know what would happen if someone caught us alone in this room together."
"No one will catch us," he answered.
"Well, what do you want, Robert?"
"Miss Constantine, I want to call you Naomie. May I?" he answered.
"Well..." And she stopped, breathing a sigh of relief. If that was all he wanted, why not grant him his wish? "Yes, Robert, you may, since you're nearly as old as I am, but positively not at school."
"Oh, thanks, Miss Constantine. I mean, Naomie! Oh, you have such a pretty name!"
"Now, Robert, I expect you'd better run along. I have papers to grade, lesson plans to make."
His eyes swept the room, his gaze finally coming to rest on her bed. She turned to look at the bed, too, and was horrified to see a pair of her peach-colored panties that she'd washed out last night and had forgotten to put away.
"You don't grade papers in bed, Naomie," he said. "Can't we talk a little?"
"What about, Robert?"
"Well, about school, and things ..."
"No. No, I don't have time, Robert!"
He felt grown-up and very much in command of the situation. Really, she was no older than some few of the girls he'd already dated. To prove his manhood, he leaned over and kissed her gently.
"Robert, you mustn't!" she said, without much conviction.
He kissed her again; this time, well, and she drew away confusedly, and said: "Why, Robert, I. .."
"What, Naomie?" he said, his arms about her warm and lush body.
"You just can't do that, Robert!" she said, shakily, forcing herself to draw away from him.
Her head was heavy, as were her eyelids, and her eyes already tended to roll upward. Desperately, she fought for control of her emotions. It would never do to let Robert - Oh, God! What is my evil mind thinking about! she admonished herself. That awful Lovelace! He ruined me, ruined me! I'm so hot I'm wanting to ruin this young, innocent boy - like I was ruined! she thought wildly.
She held him off, and when her arms touched his hot skin, she shuddered with unutterable pleasure.
"Leave, Robert!" she said, her voice yolky with increasing passion. "Go on, now, or I'll. . ."
He was scrutinizing her intently, and to her absolute mortification, completely ignoring her command.
"Naomie," he said, after a minute, "could you - I mean, would you - be my steady?"
"Robert, I can't go with you publicly, not until you graduate next spring," she said. "Teachers are not allowed to date students."
"But they do!" he protested. "I've seen it happen before, right here in Riverview."
"I can't help that, Robert, I can't even date you, much less be your steady."
"Then, what about up here?" he asked. "Right now?"
"No, no! You'd better go, Robert!"
But she saw that he had no intention of leaving. She almost panicked at the thoughts of what might happen. She had been so hurt, so burdened with shame and guilt all day today, that she'd resolved she'd never let Jack Lovelace despoil her body again, even if it meant the awful shame of having to go to court and tell what he'd done to her.
"You really don't want me to leave, do you, Naomie?"
He felt immensely mature and blas� making his remark, she decided.
"Okay, Robert," she whispered. "One kiss, if you'll promise me you'll leave."
"I will, if you'll give it on the bed," he promised.
"Robert! I declare! . .."
He pushed her down on the bed and covered her quickly as if she were a loose football on a fourth down play. Then he threw into a kiss all the constructive thought he'd given the matter since he'd walked Naomie home that single Friday afternoon, which was considerable.
When they drew apart, her eyes were wide with wonder at the storm he'd aroused in her.
This was something for which she was not prepared. She had never enjoyed the opportunity of necking with boys at the orphanage, nor at Green Mountain College, which was a girls' school. She had kissed only one boy, a sort of anemic one at that, before she came to Riverview, and it was certainly nothing like this. Before he came up for air, she was going, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" And she was unwilling to let his mouth go.
She was ashamed at what she'd felt, and she said: "I kept my bargain, Robert, so get up!"
Instead of answering her, he stretched her out on the bed and then let the full weight of his body down on her, his mouth burying itself in her warm, soft lips.
She couldn't seem to keep her mouth from opening wider and wider, and now she had a compulsive urge to slip her tongue inside his mouth, sinking it deep, letting it thrill there.
He seemed to almost go crazy, and for a brief instant she was afraid he was going to swallow her tongue. He make a profound, deep groaning sound in his throat and began to shake all over.
He sat up suddenly, said thickly: "Naomie, I expect I'd better go, because, you see, I love you."
"No, Robert! - I mean, yes, Robert!" she moaned.
And yet, she could not force herself to bring up her hands and push him off; instead, she clutched him tightly, making a grinding sound with her teeth.
At once, he moved against her, groaning as he felt her soft body seem to melt and flow into every outline of his. He strained her close, and let her newly educated tongue rake across his own like a touch of sweet fire. At the same time they began undressing each other in a desperate, clumsy manner.
She was no longer a prude with vague ideas about necking like she was when she arrived in Riverview. She was now, through the sly maneuvering of Jack Lovelace, a female animal who had been aroused beyond all control. Her arms about his shoulders were strong and hungry, and Robert had to tear them away in order to pull off the rest of his underwear.
Her whimpering had become too loud! Why, Aunt Margie could hear her, if she happened to be listening! But she didn't care. Robert must have been afraid that they'd be heard, for he tried to kiss her to drown out the sounds. But she bit his lips hard, then his shoulder deeply, bringing blood.
"Oh!" Robert cried.
"Muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-!" she whimpered. And then, "MMMMMmmmmmm!"
"MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!"
Now, she was biting him where she could - neck, chest, shoulder, forearm. He felt the pain in a detached way. He no longer needed to kiss out her whimpers, for now she was making a continuous moaning, "Wooooooooooooooo-ooo-uimiiiiii!" sound.
And yet, through the red haze of her passion, a finger of guilt seemed to be pointing at her. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she murmured, "Forgive me, forgive me! I can't seem to hold back!"
For all of Robert's big front of being blas�, it soon became apparent to her that he had never fucked a girl before. His prick could not seem to find the welcome portal, the pink pussy gateway to heavenly joy. Her trembling fingers found his long, hard virgin prick and guided it gratefully into the hotness, wetness, deepness of her cunt, and she screamed her pleasure, as he poured his young body to her, but inch by hotter inch.
"Oh, Robert! Oh, sweet heart of hearts! Oh, love, LLLLLLLLL-ove! Yes, love! Ohhhhhhhhh, yes! It's so big and long. You're so sweet, love; so lovely love! Give all your rock to me, Robert! Oh, heart of hearts!" Sweet Rob! Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Swwwwwwweeeeet Robert! Oh, God! Oh, Love, love, love!"
Now she was bucking and writhing as if she would throw his young and driving body up to the ceiling, kissing and biting and raking his back with her sharp nails, saying, "Mmmmmmmmmm! And praising him, "Oh, Robert! You're so good, so good! That's a sweetie! Yes, yes, yes! Move your prick faster... Oh, heart, oh, heart of hearts! Yes, work it faster! Aiiiiiiiii-eeeeeeeeeee!"
Her buttocks ground and worked around his driving cock like a fired-up machine, matching his frenetic, young thrusts, and getting in a few extra sideways movements as well. During the tornado-like frenzy of her lusts, it came to her that, though Robert's prick was not as big around as Lovelace's, it was longer, and gratefully, his plunges drove deeper to the hilt and beyond!
And that was what she wanted - cock - all of him! - each thrilling inch, each separate molecule of his young, sweet, and powerful prick.
And during that writhing, twisting, cleaving time, she knew it was going to be over much too soon - much, oh, much too soon. And they suddenly reached the trembling, fiercely sweet clouds of heaven at the same time, and she could hear her lover gasp, "Gah-gah-gah-gah-gah!" She, at the same time making a blood-curdling "Aiiiiiiiii Eeeeeeeeeeee!" sound; and as she felt his hot spurts of come inside her snatch, her own final, everlasting joy came, too, and her thrusting buttocks lifted him, as if he were a feather, from the foam-rubber mattress.
"EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed, as if he'd suddenly plunged a dagger into her back.
She opened her eyes to see Robert, looking spent, beside her own his back, his slick-coated, relaxing cock over one thigh. Naomie breathed contentedly beside him, and her eyes closed.
CHAPTER SIX
When Naomie opened her eyes, Robert commented, 'They are liquid-soft, Naomie. You sure do have pretty eyes."
"Thanks, Robert," she murmured.
As he rolled over, the electric stab of her hard tipped breasts touched his chest, and the hot, smooth rise of her stomach went over him like a grass fire. My thighs are twin columns of satin-skinned wonder, she thought. With sudden strength, she pulled him to her.
But Robert sat up. "I'd better go, Naomie. I've been up here a long time, and your Aunt Margie might be wondering what's been going on up here."
Her convulsive clutch was almost frantic. "Please, not yet," she begged. She covered him with her body, and her senses swam as she felt his cock harden to new life under the gyrations of her thighs.
And she immersed his young manhood in the warm bath - the salvation of her velvety thighs, and now they were as intimate as two young lovers could get - facing eye to eye, breast to chest, organ to organ, knee to shivering goose-pimpled knee - mouth to mouth, and then, mouths seeking blindly... blindly, everywhere.
At first, it was she who thrilled and gushed to the powerful drives of his cock, she who made the yolky ''Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" sounds of frantic passion deep in her throat. Then she brought her demanding pleasure to him in ever increasing gyrations of her buttocks, and it was he who cried aloud: "Oh, honey, honey! It's better this time than it was before!"
"Yes, love! Oh, yes yes yes!" she choked out. "Yes, Rob-ert! Fuck me faster, faster! Oh, Robert! Oh, God! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Her cry ended in an agonizing shriek and her body went limp just as Robert reached the pinnacle of his ecstasy, shooting her full of hot sticky come again.
When the convulsions had ceased, she lay floating on a cloud, every muscle relaxed. She felt if she had to move, the effort would be too great.
This feeling was dispelled with brutal swiftness as she heard Aunt Margie's voice shrilly calling her name: "Naomie, child! Come down here!"
She pulled herself off his long, lean cock with a plopping sound, slid to the floor and whipped her dress over her head and began to work with her mussed hair, almost grudgingly, for her body still yearned for more stimulation. As she crossed to her mirror, she could feel herself throbbing down there, and at once, she thought about Lovelace. Maybe she could take another swim tonight.
"Naomie!" came Aunt Margie's shrill cry. "Come down here, girl!"
With a bound, Robert struck the floor, grabbing his clothes with hysterical haste. "I might be trapped up here, Naomie! What if she sits in the hallway in her old wheelchair, looking out at her garden like I've seen her do in the late afternoons?"
"Don't be silly. She's probably eating supper, and even if she isn't, I'll think of something to keep her out of the hallway below."
White with fear, Robert pulled on his clothes.
She fixed her make-up, then pulled a comb through her hair in swift strokes. She turned around, ready to sneak down to the kitchen. She waited a moment until Robert was dressed and standing at her side near the door.
"Good-bye, Robert," she murmured.
"Good-bye, Naomie."
The wine of his closeness, the warmth of her lush body, and her now uninhibited familiarity drove the hot blood thundering through her head.
Instead of kissing him, she reached out one hand and touched his limp organ inside his trousers, then opened the door and hurried down the stairs.
"Naomie, child, teaching school is pulling you down!" Aunt Margie fussed, as she wiped off the eating table with a dish cloth. "I thought I heard you cry out in your sleep - you did take a nap, didn't you, girl? - three or four times while I was puttering around in the kitchen."
"Yes, ma'am, I guess teaching school is getting me down, Aunt Margie. Yes I did take a nap ... "
"Well, you've got Mr. Burch waiting to see you in the living room about something, and that Lum Cash is out on the porch. I asked him to come in, but he said, "No, I'll wait for her out here."
"I wonder what Mr. Burch could be wanting?" she said, breathlessly, turning toward the living room. "Could it be about some more gossip?" Her words were barely above a whisper, though Aunt Margie couldn't have heard her because her hearing was worsening day by day.
As Naomie stepped inside the great living room, Milo Burch stood up and greeted her.
"Hello, Miss Constantine!" he said with false heartiness. "You were upstairs grading papers, I'll bet. My, my! How we school people have to work!"
"Well, I- yes, I was working," she murmured.
Milo sat down again by the window, and Naomie took a chair from underneath the ancient marble-topped table and carefully pulled her legs together so he could not see all the way up them.
"Aunt Margie said you wanted to see me, Mr. Burch," she said sweetly.
She heard his big feet nervously scrape the hardwood floor. There was an embarrassed look on his handsome face (Naomie was startled at her thoughts. A week ago, she would never have let herself think any married man handsome, but now she had to admit that almost any male looked good to her.) and he spoke in a strained voice: "Yes, Miss Constantine, I felt that I had to see you tonight about an important matter, un ... You know, Robert Vining."
"What about Robert, Mr. Burch?" she said in a small voice.
"Miss Constantine, I went by to see Robert's father, but Mr. Vining wasn't in. I spoke to Robert's mother about him quitting football, and she said he has a hellacious crush on you. All he talks about, she says, is Naomie Constantine, and she even heard him singing a song he'd composed about you. Robert plays the guitar quite well, in case you don't know...."
She felt her head swim with excitement. She was pleased to hear that Robert liked her so much.
"But I can't help that, Mr. Burch," she said. "I certainly didn't encourage Robert! Not one bit!"
He nodded. "I'm sure you didn't, Miss Constantine, and this crush he has on you is not unusual, but what is troubling Mrs. Vining so much is that Robert has already told her he's going to marry you as soon as school is out, and not go on to college. You see, until he quit football he stood a very good chance of getting a full scholarship at State U. Last fall, assistant coaches from several major universities attended most all of our home games. So you can see why Mrs. Vining is upset."
"Mr. Burch, I certainly didn't want Robert to quit sports," she said. "And I certainly didn't try to entice him."
"Miss Constantine, to put it bluntly, you don't have to try and entice a youth like Robert!" His eyes swept over her body in appraisal - hungry appraisal, at that. "With your youthful good looks and - pulchritude, if you will - the mere fact that you're in the classroom is enough to entice any male."
She was getting angry now. "But Robert and I are about the same age, Mr. Burch!" she said. "Even if he should want to date me or something, after school is out next spring, I don't see anything wrong with it!"
"No, if you'll only wait that long!" Pointedly.
"Oh, I will! I will!"
"I thought you would, Miss Constantine. In fact, you must, But what I came by here for is to ask you to try and persuade Robert to come back out for football. If he doesn't, we won't win more than three games, and Mrs. Vining says that if anyone can influence him, you can."
She studied her thoughts for a moment, enjoying this new felt power. If Mrs. Vining only knew just how much Robert's in love with me, she'd be worried indeed she thought. After making love with Robert, she didn't feel nearly so guilty about herself. Somehow, doing it with the boy didn't seem a bit wrong, except it did go against the moral teachings at the orphanage. But, lately, she'd decided that the religious leaders she'd known had been dead wrong about a lot of things, otherwise one of them would have warned her about men like Jack Lovelace.
"I'll talk to Robert, Mr. Burch," she promised. "I really think he's making a mistake in dropping sports, and believe me, I'm all for him getting a college scholarship."
"I thought you'd try to help in the matter, Miss Constantine," he said and beamed. "Young teachers sometimes work hardships on school administrators. On the other hand, they usually prove to be an asset in dealing with young minds." He stood up. "I'll run along now. Thanks for being willing to cooperate, Miss Constantine. If you should need help about anything at all, just see me after school."
His eyes swept over her body, and then he was crossing to the door, a pleased smile on his face.
On hearing his car start up, Naomie went out to the porch. She didn't see Lum Cash in the swing, but she heard a car door slam and looked around to see him coming toward the house, carrying a box in one hand.
As to be expected for the time of year, it was a warm, humid, Indian summer night, and she decided it would be more comfortable to sit on the porch than to be in the living room. Another reason she had for wanting to sit outside was (though she would not admit it to herself), she wanted to see if she might spot Jack Lovelace in the house next door. Try as she might, she could not forget the episodes in the basement, and for all of her guilt feelings about what Lovelace had done to her, she had to admit that she was disappointed because he hadn't come out to peep at her when she walked home from school today.
As Lum Cash came up the steps, she could smell the unmistakable odor of fresh violets. It was then too late to turn around and go back into the house, and she quickly sat down in a ladder-backed chair near the steps.
"Hello, there, Naomie," Lum Cash said in a familiar manner, coming to her and placing a bunch of violets in her lap. He had taken them from the box. "How's everything with you?"
"Good evening, Mr. Cash."
"I don't suppose you thought I'd come back this soon, did you, Naomie?" he said, with a little laugh. "Well, I can tell you, I've always enjoyed courting school teachers, but I must confess that I've never seen one nearly as pretty and - well, you know, built like you!"
"I've got work to do tonight, Mr. Cash," she said, icily. "So, if you're wanting to go somewhere ..."
"Oh, not at all, Naomie," he cut in. "I know how much work school teachers have to do, though most people don't. No, I just got to thinking about you this afternoon. I says to myself, 'I'd give my belly button if I could only see Naomie tonight. Well, violets grow wild and rank behind my place, so I went out and picked you a bunch, and here I am."
She studied his face in the dim light. Yes, he was handsome enough in a country-fied way, but somehow she loathed this fellow, and that was not like her. At the orphanage she'd been taught to love everyone, even the sinners! "Hate the sins, but love the sinner," was what her teachers had said. But Lum Cash lacked something, she'd decided, exactly what was hard to say. Maybe it was manhood. It must have to do with that, she thought, for even Jack Lovelace, with all of his faults, did not cause her a feeling of - revulsion - like she felt in Lum Cash's presence.
She decided that she would be frank with him. "Mr. Cash, after all these years, it seems to me you'd be thinking about finding a wife instead of playing around with old maid teachers," she said.
Her words had definitely startled him, for he made a gasping sound. "Awp!" and he stepped back, as if she'd slapped his face.
"A wife?" he said. "Naomie, I've never thought much about marrying. All I try to do is show the teacher a good time ... in a decent sort of way."
"But I'd have thought you would've wanted to sleep with someone - at least on weekends," she said boldly.
"Huh? Sleep with a school teacher? Good Lord, Naomie! They don't want to do that!"
"What about you, Mr. Cash?"
"I - I hadn't thought about it in that way," he sputtered. "I expect I'd better be going home now. I know how much work you must have to do, grading papers and all."
She was glad to see him leave, though she thanked him sweetly for the bunch of violets in her lap, thinking that he'd probably never come back.
After the sounds of his car died in the dusk, she sat a while longer, listening to the incessant fiddling of the katydids in the high weeds, the frenzied droning of the locusts in the liveoaks, and the occasional thump of small rotten limbs falling from the high branches.
With a sigh, she stood up and started walking across the creaking porch. Suddenly she heard a sound at the corner of the house near the Wisteria vine, then a low call: "Naomie? Jack, here. I've been out of town today, the reason why I haven't invited you over for a swim. I have something else in mind for you, girl. Come on over to the basement as soon as you can get away."
"But I have work to do, Mr. Lovelace," she said in a frightened voice. On first seeing the wicked man, she always felt fright gnaw at her ravelled nerves with little rat's teeth.
"You must come!" he said, sternly. "Now, don't make me have to come up and get you, Naomie!"
"Oh, Mr. Lovelace! You're too old for me!" she said, her voice a half-sob. "Please don't make me come over there where you can abuse me some more!"
"Abuse you?" He laughed harshly. "From the way you got with it, I wouldn't exactly call it abuse."
"But I - " She stopped in time, glad that she hadn't blurted out what was in her mind - that she'd just had a love rendezvous with someone her own age this afternoon.
"You, what?" he baited her.
"Oh, nothing!"
"I'll be expecting you within an hour, dear," he said sternly, "and in case you might think about standing me up, don't forget that I know the way to your room."
Her hand was shaking so violently she could hardly turn the handle on the screen door. "Oh, why did it happen to me!" she muttered. "Getting seduced by a man like Jack Lovelace!"
Guilt flooded through her tense body in a great, almost drowning tide, and then she tried to "sour grapes" her tortured soul by blaming it on the circumstances of her coming to Riverview. Actually, what other choice did I have? she asked herself. Aunt Margie was the only relative she had left who seemed to take an interest in her welfare, so she had come to live with her since there wasn't anywhere else she could go. It had been Aunt Margie who'd gotten her a job teaching at Riverview High, even though Naomie wasn't certified! And who was it that insisted I go over to gentle Mr. Lovelace for a nice little swim? Aunt Margie, of course.
But after Naomie went by the old lady's chair in front of the TV set and said her good-nights, she felt the bitterness dissolve in her heart. Aunt Margie had only wanted to help her; first, by giving her a home; secondly, by using her influence to get Naomie a job. Indeed, Naomie was looking forward to receiving her first pay check. As for being enraptured with Jack Lovelace- Well, what woman wouldn't be charmed by his gentle ways, his willingness to help out with little jobs no woman could do about a house, such as the minor plumbing job he did for Aunt Margie?
As she slowly climbed the stairs leading to her room, Naomie reflected that her seduction by the wily man next door was just one of those things that happen when you have the right circumstances. Lovelace was, indeed, a devil incarnate, but at the same time, she knew she'd played a part. Life in the Methodist orphanage, and later at Green Mountain, had hardly prepared her for living out in the real world. She had been an innocent prude, a sitting duck for just such a man as Jack Lovelace.
Still, like all victims of great personal tragedies, Naomie couldn't help wondering why, oh why. It had to single her out! Why it had to happen to me!
Though she was trembling as she entered her room and crossed to her closet to pick out a frock to wear next door, she had already begun to wonder what fucking would be like tonight?
As she crept through the basement door, Naomie could have sworn she heard voices - several voices - in one of the adjacent rooms. But when she called: "Mr. Lovelace!" the noise ceased, and a moment later, Lovelace, wearing gray Bermuda shorts, appeared at the inner office door.
He stood contemplating her, a devilish look in his smoky eyes. At least, he said, "Welcome to fun-basement, Naomie." And then, letting his eyes rove up and down her body. "My, my! What a lovely dress! Did you wear it just for me?"
Her face flushed with embarrassment, for she had, indeed, changed to the red mini just to please him. Lovelace liked red; in fact, most all of the gay colors.
"Hardly," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just happen to like to change clothes when I come in from work."
She looked around the room then pointed toward the door. "I thought I heard voices as I came in," she said. "Do you have company?"
He nodded. "Sure do. That's why I wasn't home this afternoon. I'd gone to Providence to pick up a guy I met in the South Pacific."
"Oh."
"But he won't interfere with us, dear. He's presently on his way to the swimming pool. A guy that loves water."
He seized her wrists and roughly pulled her to him. "Let's get going, sweetie," he said. "Come along."
In a first year course in psychology, Naomie had read about Pavlov and the experiments he'd run on a dog. And now, the knowledge she'd gained came home to her at once. Fm something like Pavlov's canine, she thought. Finally, all the scientist had to do to make the dog start drooling was ring a little bell. While I, she thought, bitterly, start moistening, throbbing, opening my cunt at the touch of a man's hand!
"Well try something new, sweetie," he said, as they entered the sound-proofed bedroom. "At least it'll be new for you."
She wondered what it could be. The other afternoon while they'd been resting, Lovelace had told her he was a Pedophile, that is, he liked to make love to very young girls, even younger than Naomie. Maybe he meant to- ? exactly what, she couldn't imagine.
She started to undress, but he quickly ordered her to stop.
"I'll take care of that part," he said, beginning to work with the zipper of his Bermuda shorts. He stood naked a moment, his long, much-used prick as limp as seaweed, then he moved to her and put his arms around her. As he unzipped the red mini, he kissed her hair, ears, and the nape of her neck, and then, when he had worked the dress up over her head, he feverishly kissed her thighs, moving higher and higher, by-passing her pussy, and going on up the hot skin of her belly all the way to her turgid breasts, which were couched in a frothy red bra.
He finally worked the dress up over her head and tossed it upon one of the old ladder-backed chairs. Then he went to work on her bra. He tossed it aside, touching and kissing her back all the way down to her soft, trembling buttocks, pulling her red panties down between her hot thighs. He stood up and, placing a hand on each shoulder, spun her around, his big hands cupping and squeezing her strutting breasts. He kissed each place he touched, and she began to grind her teeth in agony.
He walked her toward the bed and, as he pushed her down on the soft mattress, she looked up to see his now quite hard cock thrusting at her, its head ruby red in appearance.
He dropped down beside her, his mouth sucking at her breasts while his hands were caressing her thighs, moving then to her tendriled pubic hair and lighting a hot flame there.
She began to twist her head from side to side, and a low cry issued from her straining throat.
"Aiimmiimtiiii!"
Suddenly, he dipped his head to her crotch, kissing and caressing her there, all at the same time. She jerked spasmodically, for she felt his thick tongue slide into the yearning passageway of her snatch and she cried out this new-felt pleasure in a thick, strangled groan, "Ah-ug-ug-ug-gah- gah-gah-gah-gah-gah OOOOOOh!-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WOW-ow!"
Her cries, groans, strangled-like mewings of pleasure seemed to drive Lovelace to greater activity. His tongue thrilled roughly against her clitoris in such a completely new reward of erotic play that she slid into a gasping, clawing, tightening, convulsive state, in which the whites of her eyes rolled upward so that she looked like she was dying. She bucked and reared, tossing Lovelace up and down on the mattress, but he cleaved to her pussy during the final throes of her orgasm ... a time of such agony, of such moaning ecstasy- OHHHHHHH!" - that he reached the pinnacle of his pleasure as well, his fluid jetting from the end of his cock and staining and staining the bedspread.
They had not lain there locked together but a few minutes, when Naomie's hunger became demanding again. This time she wanted his great big cock inside her cunt and, mewing her need, she began kissing Lovelace's lips and then his eyelids- planting an abundance of soft, butterfly brushings hither and yon.
He groaned like a mule pulling a heavy load, but he didn't seem inclined for more sex play, and even when she thrust her uprisen breasts into his face, striking his lips teasingly with the engorged nipples, he lay still.
His seeming lack of interest served only to inflame her more. Fleetingly, she felt shame at the lack of inhibition on her part, but not for long. Only a few days ago she had come to this basement room an innocent, prudish, pure young girl, but now she was a female animal, lusting, demanding, and even unashamed when she felt her need reach uncontrollable heights.
With a gentle compulsion, she extended one hand and felt his limp but heavy prick. She began to manipulate nature's richest masterpiece, feeling it stiffen against her hot touch.
She, struggling eagerly now, as the fire burned fiercer beyond the moist, pink portal of her cunt, looked down to see his cock of the whitest ivory, beautifully streaked with blue veins and carrying, unhatted, a head of rich vermilion. No lead pipe could be harder or stiffer yet no velvet more smooth or delicious to the touch. And yet, he didn't want her - not yet.
Now look at me, brazen hussy that I am she thought. Her teeth were grinding faintly, as desire almost drove her crazy. Her hand had moved lower - to that part where nature had built a store-house of pleasure, and there she felt distinctly, through their soft cover, the contents - a pair of roundish balls that seemed to swim about playfully.
The visit of her soft warm hand to his sensitive parts aroused him to ungovernable fury and, disdaining all further play, he mounted her with the seeming strength and fury of a bull.
She cried out with pleasure when she felt the stiff prick slide between the yielding lips of her cunt, nature's unhealing wound now open for live, and in the strict embrace of that warm sheath, around the pounding prick it was so delicately adjusted to, and which, now cased home, so gorged her with pleasure that it nearly suffocated her. It did momentarily take away her breath, then the killing thrusts! The unnumbered kisses! And the groaning, moaning, sighing, mewings issuing out of her throat, and at times, his!
"Oh, Jack! Yes, yes! A little faster! Yes, honey! Put your cock a little deeper! There, there! Oh, God! OHHHHHHH!" OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Much like a thunderstorm, it was too violent to last long. His over-taxed cock was so stirred and over-heated it suddenly gave way, like a vessel boiling over, and his frenzied eruptions of hot sticky come put out the fires in her own center of bliss, temporarily. But even then, she knew she was being left unsatiated, was wishing it was not so.
After a while, still yearning for final gratification, she unashamedly, stroked his cock, caressed it, murmured soft words of love in his ear, but this time, his prick remained limp for all her efforts.
Finally, Lovelace said: "Damn! I can't do it again tonight, Naomie!" Angrily, he got up and began to dress.
She lay stretched out on the bed, her legs spread wide, her buttocks hunching upward in wishful anticipation. Then she turned on her side and looked at Lovelace pleadingly.
"What's wrong, Jack?" she said softly. "Are you tired of me?"
He laughed embarrassedly, then said: 'Tired of you? The best piece of ass I ever had! Hardly! I just can't do it more than once a day, not at my age. But I can tell you something more, Naomie! It's you, girl! You've turned into a nympho, and when that happens, no one man can ever give you gratification."
"A nympho?" A bewildered expression crossed her tortured face. "What's that?"
"Well, it's when a female wants to screw all the time," he said. "You know, can't be satisfied."
"Good Lord! Am I - Am I like that?"
"Almost, I'm afraid," he said and grinned. "But don't worry about it. I think I can take care of your gratification problem."
She arose from the bed and walked about the room, recovering her clothing. As she began dressing, she worriedly said the damning word over and over ... "Nympho! ... Nympho! ... Naomie Constantine, you are a - a Nympho!"
Later, as she stole from the basement door and began her walk across the dew-wet lawn, a low sob burst from her lips.
"Look what's happened to me!" she cried out, then looking up at the stars, blinking like little far-away blue lights. "Oh, God! Have mercy, have mercy!"
But in her heart, she knew it was too late for her to ask forgiveness of Him. She was hooked! - hooked on cock! And she knew she'd return to Lovelace's basement like the drug-damned to his junkie! Ah, perish the thought: like a dog to its vomit!
Light blurted from the windows of Aunt Margie's mansion like - like accusing fingers! - pointing everlastingly at her!
Trying to stifle her sobs, she ran toward the back porch, her footfalls sounding eeriely in the soft Indian summer night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
True to her word, Naomie, at the end of Typing Two, just before the bell jangled, called Robert Vining to her desk and, almost afraid to look into his eyes, because of what it did to her (now, just brushing against a boy as she went about the room helping first one and another with his lesson, started her to throbbing down there, as she still called it).
"Yes, Miss Constantine?" Robert said, looking deeply into her eyes, as if he were drinking from there.
"Uh, Robert, I - Well, what I wanted to say is, I think you should consider what you owe Riverview High, and go back out... for football, I mean."
He shook his head. "I just don't care to play football any more, Miss Constantine," he said. "And as for Riverview High, I don't feel that I owe this crummy school anything."
"But, Robert, I want you to get that scholarship, to go to State U."
He shook his head again. "I'm not interested in college, Miss Constantine." Then, lowering his voice, he said, in an intimate tone: "You know what I want! Miss Constantine, I mean to marry you as soon as school is out! Naomie, I... "
"Hush, Robert!" she hissed. "You know better than to talk like that here!"
"I mean it, Naomie!" he whispered. "I'm going to marry you on the day I graduate!"
"But, Robert, don't you see that you I need to get an education where you can support a wife!"
"You mean you're asking me to go back out for football where I can continue my education, Naomie?" he said eagerly.
"Yes-yes, I am, Robert!"
"But we could marry before I start college, Naomie, couldn't we?"
"Yes. No! I mean, I don't know, Robert," she said, confusedly.
"Well, if you want me to, I guess I'll go back out this afternoon, Naomie."
"Yes, yes, Robert! Thanks!"
She was glad when he turned and left her desk, for just looking at the youth upset her terribly. Now that she knew why she became aroused at the mere touch of a boy's hand, she did not trust herself to stand in reach of any male, because she was afraid that she'd lose control and do something so drastic she'd be fired.
By noon, word had gotten around that Robert Vining, erstwhile star of the Riverview Wild Cats, was coming out for football again this very afternoon, and that Miss Constantine, the lovely, stacked business education teacher was the one who'd persuaded the youth not to let his school down. Students greeted her in the corridors with beaming, happy faces, and even one of the beauty queens, Mignon Beavers, who was noticeably jealous of Naomie's young, voluptuous good looks, threw her a little smile. Everyone knew Robert would make the difference of the school having a mediocre team this season or one of the winningest in the town's history.
On top of the student's show of gratitude, about midafternoon, Milo Burch sent his secretary to Naomie's room with the request that she come to the office immediately.
Afraid that something else had come up in the school or in the community to damn her, Naomie tripped down the hall and into the outer office with worried trepidation.
On seeing her at the door, Milo Burch sprang up from his swivel chair in deferential haste, saying, "Come in, Miss Constantine. Come in, come in!"
She obeyed him at once, entering the office and taking a somewhat guarded position in front of his cluttered desk.
"Did - did you want to see me, sir?" she faltered. "I mean ... your secretary said you ..."
He crossed the room to another desk and picked up a bottle of Coke and brought it to her.
"This is on me, Naomie," he said and smiled. "For talking some sense into that little squirt's head!"
"I think it's best for Robert, sir."
"Of course it is!" he beamed. "Drink up, now, where you can get back to class. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your cooperation."
She took a sip of the Coke. At the same time, one hand toyed with the neck of her red dress.
"I didn't wear a sweater today." she said, nervously. "Is this dress all right?"
"Yes, yes!" he smiled. Bending his head around, he leered at her suggestively. And then, glancing at the outer office to make sure no one was listening, he said in a low voice: "I always did say sex is what makes life interesting. If you've got it, why flaunt it!" He laughed softly. "And you've certainly got it."
"Thanks, sir! I mean ..." She stopped, too embarrassed to continue.
"You've certainly given this school - the whole community - a shot of vitamins," he said and grinned. "But watch your step girl. Don't give those homey bastards hanging out up town nothing more than a chance to look at you pass down the street. Fatherly advice, Naomie. Forgive my plain English."
"Oh, thank you, sir."
"And if you need help, just see me after school, I'll help you anytime."
Naomie, hurrying home from school shortly after three o'clock, recognized Lum Cash's mud-splattered green Chevy standing in front of Aunt Margie's house when she came around the corner. She didn't see Lum.
It was not until she opened the gate and started up the brick path to the house that she saw him on the porch. He was sitting in one of the rockers this time, leaning forward with arms on the railing, and he was alone. The instant she saw Lum's face, she had a breathtaking depressed feeling, immediately, stricken with the certainty that something disagreeable would surely happen. She wished that she'd gone up town with one of the teachers instead of coming home.
As it was too late to do anything else, she walked up the steps, knowing she was going to be confronted by Lum, but hoping the ordeal would soon be over.
Having watched her ever since she first came in sight, he got up from the chair and met her at the doorway. He looked nervous and worried and deeply concerned.
"Hello, Mr. Cash," she said, trying to be cordial.
He nodded curtly. "I've been waiting for you to come home for more than an hour," he said.
She could see how agitated and nervous he was when he began talking. He was wearing a tight-fitting white suit with red stripes, a purple silk necktie and a white shirt. His black shoes were brilliantly shined.
Perspiration was breaking out above his upper lip as she watched him.
"Did you want to speak to me about something, Mr. Cash?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, sweating freely now. "I might as well come right out in the open, Miss Constantine." He plumped down in a chair, and she sat in another, across from him. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since I brought you the violets, Miss Constantine," he continued. "And what I've decided - I reckon I'm just not the marrying kind, though if anybody could make a man want to marry, you could."
She wanted to laugh in his face. The very idea! Thinking she would even think about marrying such a fellow as he seemed to be!
"Uh, huh," she said sweetly.
"So, I reckon that's about it, Miss Constantine," he said. "I like going out with teachers, and all, but I doubt that I would be much of a husband."
She certainly agreed! Now, she was enjoying it. .. his apparent discomfiture, and she said: "What about sleeping with me, then? I mean, on weekends, Mr. Cash?"
"What!" he said, with a facial quiver. "You mean, together? - in bed?"
"Oh, sure, Mr. Cash."
"No, I couldn't do that!" he said and gulped. "Why, it would ruin your reputation, Miss Constantine. Besides, I don't do low-down things to school teachers!"
He was already up from the chair, obviously wanting to leave, and she was glad for that.
"Well, if you should change your mind, Mr. Cash!" Pointedly.
"What? On no, I'm not likely to do that!" he said. He backed along the porch toward the steps. "Good-bye, Miss Constantine."
"Good-bye, Mr. Cash," she said sweetly. "Call again, anytime."
Now, he was almost running toward the Chevy, with the strangest looking expression in his eyes she'd ever seen before. But she didn't laugh. It wasn't funny, not really, but she thought: I bet this is one school teacher he doesn't bother anymore!
In getting rid of Lum Cah, once and for all (she hoped), certainly did not prevent other men from coming by. It had puzzled Aunt Margie that even the younger married men had come by the old house nearly every day, under one pretext or another.
That very afternoon, as soon as Naomie sat down to glance at the newspaper, she brought up the puzzling subject again.
"My foot! I've had more callers since you've come to live with me than I did before - ten years straight-hand running! My, my! It's nice to be so young and so pretty, but it does cause me a heap of trouble, having to answer the door and tell them you're not home."
"Why? Did someone else call today?" Naomie asked.
"I'll say they did!" she said. "Just before you got home, Dale Jukes was here - he's a used car salesman up town and married to boot! He was wondering if you might be interested in buying a good '63 Ford, and I told him off. I says, 'She ain't even old enough to get her driver's license yet, and you know it, Dale Jukes! I know what you're really after! Well, my niece happens to be a very nice girl! - so you hike out from here and get back to your wife and kids!"
"Good!" Naomie said.
"And Dale wasn't the only one," Aunt Margie continued. "A little after that crazy Lum Cash came, who drove up? None other than Sheriff Apollo Jones, himself!"
"The sheriff? What could he be wanting, Aunt Margie?"
The old woman glared at her niece. "The same thing all the others are wanting!" she said. "Wanting to get in your panties is what! Oh, Sheriff Jones tried to be right clever about it. 'I was wondering if your niece has registered to vote,' the old devil had the gall to say. 'If she ain't, I'll be glad and come and get her and take her to the courthouse.' Well, I got so mad, I really let him have it. I says, 'Apollo Jones, you old hypocrite! You must take me for a fool! I know why you came by! - to lust after my lovely niece like you do all women-folks that pass by the courthouse! Why, it ain't election time for two more years yet!"
"Were there any others?" Naomie asked.
"Just one more, Jim Crawford, the light and power man," she said. "But he didn't stay long."
It did seem as if more cars, in fact many more cars, were passing Aunt Margie's old house lately. In fact, Naomie happened to look out the window right then, to see a green Olds with two young men sitting in the front seat slowly snake down the street. On the face of it there was nothing wrong with cars passing the old mansion, but she could see the two men staring at the house, as if they were thinking about stopping.
This sudden attention she was getting only served to make her hotter. Just recently, in reverie, sexual fantasy and, sometimes in straight, conscious thinking, Naomie longed to satisfy her admirers. At such times when the tortured throbbing was bothering her down there in her cunt, when she could feel the familiar hotness, the moistening, the opening, the deepening and the yearning - she felt as if she could, indeed, out-fuck the whole town.
But after such fantasies she always had a let-down feeling, in which she engaged in long crying spells. It was her way of showing remorse for her rising hunger for sexual activity, though it always turned out that her demanding erotic needs caused her to backslide immediately on seeing a fairly nice-looking man.
Even now, lascivious hunger nagged at her throbbing clitoris, and she tossed the paper aside, got up, and hurried toward the stairs, already contemplating another visit to the basement next door. Such was her need that the rubbing of her panties against her crotch was enough stimulation to send a shudder through her body, to cause her eyes to roll upward momentarily.
As Naomie slipped inside the basement, she knew something was amiss. Lovelace's chair had been knocked over, his desk slid around, various odds and ends having spilled out on the floor ... And the bed! One railing had been broken so that the mattresses had slid off onto the littered floor. Paints, turpentine and canvasses lay in ugly puddles near the door leading to the passageway.
It looks as if a herd of wild hogs has been let loose down here, she thought, fearfully, wondering if anything had happened to Jack.
Getting to the door was like running an obstacle course, and as she entered the dark passageway, she called: "Jack? Mr. Lovelace?"
She cocked her head, listening. There was no answer. She eased forward.
She might have taken a half dozen steps when, up ahead, she heard a low groan of pleading. Then, someone cried: "Oh! Oh! Please, please!"
Startled, she ran back a little ways and stopped, her heart pounding in her ears. It was Jack Lovelace's voice she heard! She just knew it was! What was happening in the other room? Had burglars slipped into the old house and tied Lovelace up?
She had to find out! After all, Jack Lovelace, for all his evil ways, had given her pleasure in a way she'd never had it before, and besides that, he was her next door neighbor.
Still hearing his muted groans of pain, she eased forward until she reached the door to his art gallery, and she stood listening.
"No! No! No!" came Lovelace's terrified voice. "Oh, No, no, no! It's killing me! - killing me! - don't do that!"
With trembling fingers, Naomie reached out and seized the door handle and tried the door. Locked.
"Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah!" came Lovelace's whimpering voice. "Oh, God, god, god, god! Stop! Stopppppppppppppp! You're tearing it out by the roots!"
Before she could stop herself, Naomie screamed: "What's wrong, Jack? What're they doing to you in there?"
She could hear talking in the room. The words were inaudible, unintelligible. She cried, again: "Jack! What's wrong, Jack!"
She heard Jack's low voice - a voice surcharged with almost unutterable pain.
"Go away, Naomie," he said and moaned. "You better go back, Naomie! Oh, God, God!"
"Jack, I'll call the police!" she yelled.
"No, no, no!" came his moaning reply. "Its - it's all right, Naomie, just go away!"
"Whatever it is, I'm calling the police, Jack!"
"Go away, for God's sakes, Naomie!" he cried. "I'm in here with my friend's wife! Everything's all right, except that she's killing me!"
"A woman killing you?"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" came his tortured reply. And then, "UHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Almost breathless with fear and wonder, Naomie backed away from the door. As she turned to leave, she felt a hand close on her forearm in a vise-like grip, felt herself being jerked forward with giant-like force, and then she was screaming as loudly as was Lovelace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Naomie regained consciousness she was lying on the red bedspread in the sound-proofed room, and then she remembered what had happened in the passageway and stifled another scream.
She sat up in bed hurriedly, staring all around, she was alone in the room and, apparently, unharmed. Yet her teeth began to chatter with fear- fear of the unknown hand that had reached out in the darkness and gripped her forearm with such strength. A man's hand! She knew it had to be a man ... a superman at that!
A sound at the door, She felt her flesh seem to crawl with unspeakable fear! She heard a key grind in the lock and the door slowly swung back, admitting a huge, muscular Negro wearing only a loincloth.
She drew back, as if he were contaminated, her eyes big with terror.
"Who are you?" she gasped.
"I am Noreturi. 'Beast' Noreturi," he said, gently. "Do not be afraid. I'm your Jack Lovelace's friend. My wife and I are visiting Jack for a few days."
He came in, locked the door, and stood near the bed, eyeing the trembling girl.
"Don't, don't!" he said, again. "I won't have women being afraid of me."
"If you don't mean me any harm, then why did you lock the door?" Naomie said, holding her chin to keep her teeth from chattering.
He was the biggest, most powerful-looking man she'd ever seen before, and she felt something like an animal in heat.
"... Jack want's me to satisfy you," he said, matter-of-factly. "Jack says he's not man enough to do it; that you, sweetheart, have turned into a little numpho."
She sensed his tremendous capacity for bringing love to her yearning body, and yet she was terribly afraid! Even more afraid than she'd been that first time when Lovelace had raped her!
Wanting to delay what she knew was about to take place, she said, accusingly, "You and your wife have done something to Jack! Something bad, I figure, otherwise why would he cry out with pain?"
Noreturi grinned. "My wife did something to Jack," he said, "but it was at Jack's demand. You so-called civilized people have odd, if not perverted beliefs about sex. Me? I'm Polynesian- a simple barbarian." He grinned again, a bit more broadly this time. "I met Jack several years ago... in the islands. At his insistence, we've come for a short visit."
"I still can't imagine what your, ah .. . wife was doing to Jack," she said, puzzledly.
"Ask Jack," Noreturi answered. "I think he might tell you, if he's able to speak."
The huge Polynesian was eyeing her hungrily, and she knew her time had come. He came to the bed and eased one hand underneath her shoulders and raised her up to a sitting position. In an unhurried manner, he began to undress her - first the blouse then, despite her protests, the white bra.
Gently, he was putting her down on her back on the cool bed, and she lay that way, arms outstretched, knees partially drawn up, staring at the ceiling. She closed her eyes, wanting to surrender to lassitude, but there was too much wound tightly underneath her skin.
Yet she did not move. The flesh across her frame was so taut that she wanted to cry out in abject horror, as she had that first time with Lovelace. Then it was that Naomie groaned, an involuntary whimper that hung in the air above her like desire, as real and as articulate as his incredible prick which was beginning to show with splendid power underneath the loincloth. She feared that she would groan again. The nipples of her breasts had swollen and were as painful as two aching teeth, but with effort, she held the sound in check.
Lying there, she felt his large hands on the flanks of her legs, felt them on the clinging nylon panties, felt the panties being drawn down her thighs, then up and over her knees and down the calves of her legs. Her defenses stirred, but she could not protest. Nor could she look at him. It had come this far, she told herself, and how could she be blamed? Lovelace had seduced her, through no fault of her own Now, through no fault of her own, this rock-stallion-of-a-man was getting ready to - well, nothing no more mattered. This was the crossing, the real crossing! Lovelace had manhood. Robert had a most delightful young manhood; but neither of them were anything like the man - had the massive cock this fellow was about to bring to her.
He was working at the loin cloth, and she was staring in wide-eyed wonder, guessing if his prick would be in the same gigantic, powerful proportion as the rest of him, and out it started. As he stood naked, she saw with wonder and surprise.. . What? - not the plaything of a - a boy like Robert - not even the organ of a man! - but a pylon of such enormous size that it was even bigger in proportion than the rest of his gigantic body!
Its prodigious size made her shrink away from him; yet she could not behold it without pleasure, and now she even timidly stuck forth her hand to feel such a length, such a big breadth of animated wheat-colored stiffness ... which distended its skin, whose smooth polish and velvety softness might vie with that of her own hot body, and whose exquisite wheat-colored excellence was set off by a sprout of black curling hair round the root, through the jetty sprigs of which the dull-brown skin showed; then the broad and crimson-casted incarnate of the head, and the crawly serpentines of its veins. In short, it stood an object of terror and delight.
"It's - it's too big!" she said.
"Not at all," he said and grunted.
"But you don't even look like a human there!" she protested.
"What do I look like?"
"A - a stud horse, or something!" she said.
"Jack thinks you need this," he said.
"I -I don't know?" she said, doubtfully.
"Well, it's too late to argue about it!"
As he bent over her, pulling her thighs apart, she wondered if he would be able to get the enormous head inside the moist, flushed portal of her snatch. Then an incredible thing happened, and it had never happened before, not with Lovelace or that one time with Robert. She had hardly been aware that his bulk was between her legs, and now she was totally aware that his being was gradually slipping into her being. The filling of her cunt with his cock was so continuous, so incessant and so unexpected, that it petrified her brain and anesthetized all pain.
With his plunging-prick motion began, ever so gently though it was, it was as if the pain was shocked to life. "IIIIIIEEEEEE!" she screamed. "IIIIIIIIEEEEEE!"
He let up momentarily, but he could not show much restraint. He drove his prick into her again, and she felt such a mixture of pleasure and pain that she ended up making a sound that went: "MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH--M U H-HAH-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-HHHHHH!"
It seemed that she could not bear either to keep or part with him. The feeling of pain prevailed, from the prodigious size and stiffness of his cock and from the way he continuously thrust it into her. "Oh, Beast, you hurt me!" she cried. "Ah, Beast! Beast! You're... Oh, God! You're killing me!"
This was enough to check the tender Polynesian, for she sensed that for all of his strength and vaunted manhood, he was by nature a kind, considerate fellow. For most men this would have been beyond the point of no return, but immediately, he drew out his cock, taking away the sweet-painful cause of her complaint, while his eyes eloquently expressed his sorrow for hurting her.
She was far from being pleased with his having too much regarded her tenderness. More and more fired with the huge prick before her, as it still stood with the fiercest erection, displaying its broad crimson head, she first gave "Beast" an encouraging kiss, which he repaid her with a fervor, a powerfulness, that seemed to nearly break her jawbone.
At once he worked the ruby cockhead back into her yearning pussy and, aroused by her upward movements, he proceeded anew to cleave and open to himself an entire entry into her, which was made easier to him by the bubbling juices with which her body had plentifully moistened the whole inside of the passage. Redoubling the active energy of his thrusts, favored by the fervid appetite of her gyrating buttocks, he forced a deeper entrance with his cock. With nature's help and her industry, strong in movements, he penetrated even deeper, and at length won his way inch by delightful inch until he had all of the monster cock in her and, finally, a mighty hunch sheathed it up to the very hilt.
As their bodies joined completely, she felt him full in her very vitals, and she was sick with painful delight, stirred beyond bearing, with its furious agitations tearing at her, and gorged and crammed until she could hardly stand it.
"Ohhhhhhh! That hurts!" she moaned. "Ohhhhhh! That feels so good!"
"I'm not going to let up this time." He warned, warned.
"Good, God!" she said and groaned, straining to withstand his powerful onslaught. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! You're killing me, Beast! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Damn it, you beast, you! You're . . . OUCH! OUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OUCHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Now, she was struggling underneath him, trying to get free of the awful hurting. This is even worse than it was that first time, she thought fleetingly, as she strained against him.
"Quit it, Beast!" she said and sobbed. "You're tearing me apart inside!"
But she knew he was not, even as she spoke the words. Her main trouble was that she was nearly crazy with both pain and pleasure - the most intense pain she'd ever felt - the most wonderful, wonderful pleasure!
As it is in all of nature's storms, from the puny April shower to the mighty, shrieking hurricane, changes come quickly - first there is painful violence, and suddenly a loving calm.
Such had happened to the storm of their love encounter. Suddenly she was feeling all pleasure - the sweetest pleasure she'd ever felt. It was as if all the gardens of Eden had been wrapped into one, with heaven itself thrown in as an afterthought!
He stroked faster and faster, fire fairly leaping in his eyes.
"MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH!" she groaned. "WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH!"
He began to work his cock in a twisting action, and she screamed with ecstasy.
' ' I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Then she was sobbing: "BBBBBBBBBBBEAST! OH, BBBBBBBBBEAST!''
His release came suddenly, and the strong man with the sensational cock died away in her arms, melting in a flood that shot great waves of hot come into the innermost recesses of her cunt which, dedicated to that pleasure, was on flow to mix with it.
"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" was the continuous sound issuing from her throat during the eye-walled throes of her coming, her body racked up by tremendous spasmodic convulsions in which the sturdy bed seemed likely to break apart.
Long after that first brushing with ecstasy, she continued to make little whimpering, half-sobbing sounds, for his ponderous cock was still massively present in that sweet spot, driving her to yet higher and higher plateaus of gratification, and causing her to give vent to primordial sounds of almost unbearable pleasure.
''Gah-gah-gah-gah-gah-gah! OHHHHHHH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH!" Then, in the final threshings, a time when her eyes seemed to turn inside out, a high-pitched scream: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEkkk!"
Thus they continued for some instants, lost, breathless, senseless of everything, and in every part but those favorite ones of nature, in which all that they enjoyed of life and sensation was now totally concentrated.
When their mutual trance was a little over, and the Beast Polynesian had withdrawn his delicious prick with which he had most plentifully given her absolute ecstasy, she felt as if she had only just now given up her maidenhead, for coupling with Lovelace and Robert Vining had been a mere flirting with sexual intercouse; whereas Beast had brought her the real tortured but heavenly act. She felt completely ravished, and yet she hadn't gotten enough.
He eyed her with - not amusement, but something else. Concern, perhaps.
"It was wonderful," he said in a low voice.
"Yes, Beast" she murmured.
"We'll enjoy some more, if you wish."
"I don't know, Beast," she said and whimpered. And then, "Yes, Beast."
"We could wait until tomorrow night, but Lovelace says we might to Providence for dinner then," he said. "And our visit will be a short one this time."
"You mean you'll leave here soon?" she questioned.
He nodded. "I've got to get back to the islands, woman ..." He grinned boyishly. "I can't stand your so-called civilization for more than a week or two."
A disappointed look spread over her finely-chiseled face. She could not bear the thoughts of not being able to see Beast in a few days and, at the same time, she was ashamed that this was so - ashamed that she'd apparently turned into a veritable sex fiend - a school teacher, young though she was, purportedly dedicated to setting a high moral example for her youthful charges! And just look at what I really am, she thought woefully.
However, her feelings of guilt, woeful-misgiving, fell before the demanding hunger of her body, for she had indeed evolved from a prudish, inexperienced orphan girl into a full-fledged nymphomaniac. Her inner juices gave the "go" sign to all the stations in her lovely body, and now that she was about to lose her latest and best lover, she didn't want to waste the precious moments.
"Had enough?" Beast said, quietly.
For an answer, her hands went under her breasts and she lifted them toward him, the nipples contracting and rising eagerly. His hands replaced hers and she felt the weight of that resilient flesh nestling against his palms.
Her mouth burned down on his and felt his lips open to her kiss. She pushed up tight against him after they broke the kiss and whispered urgently, "Let's don't waste any precious time."
"Right," he said and grunted.
His hands ran down her smooth flanks and explored the outward flare of her hips and the rounded curves of her velveteen thighs.
She moaned and locked her lips to his again, her pointed tongue dipping deep into his mouth. She writhed and twisted like a wild thing, pushing her leg between his and rubbing those hardened nipples against his bare chest.
Her passion was mounting so fast she didn't know if she could control it, but she wanted this to be a loving she'd remember for the rest of her life. Beast, a chief among men who certainly deserved, as did all princes of the tribe, the warmest corner by the fire, the best piece of meat would leave shortly and, no doubt, she'd never see him again.
"Love me! .. . Love me! ..." she begged, and he ran his lips down her throat onto her shoulders and over the huge cones of her breasts. One throbbing nipple pushed into his open mouth, and he stabbed his tongue at it until she was gasping for breath.
She ran her hands through his hair and pulled his head deeper into her lovely, heaving flesh. She could hear her heart pounding and feel the quivering of desire. Her legs clutched his thighs tightly and her soft belly strained against him.
He drew her head back and looked into her eyes. She looked back at him, unashamed, with her deep need and hunger written plain on her face.
Suddenly, she thrust up at him, arching her back and rotating her hips. Her hands slid down his back and pulled him to her so hard his breath went out in a whoosh. He didn't hold back any longer then, for he knew that he had almost met his match. He couldn't hold back any longer then! He seemed to be so shaken and breathless he could hardly wait.
He pulled himself up and hovered over her, trembling with the force of his passion. She opened her legs and reached for him and he sank into her, driving his giant cock in deep.
"WOW! WOW!" she hollowed, And then, "EEEEEEEEE-YOWWWWWW!"
Her fingers clawed at his back and she lifted her hips off the bed, rolling and shoving back at him. She made a funny gurgling sound deep in her throat as he plunged his prick deeper and harder, causing her to thrust and twist under him. Her head rolled from side to side and her hot breath rasped past his ears.
He got his hands under her and grasped those gyrating hips, cupping his fingers around her buttocks, lifting and tilting her to further intensify their pleasure. She clutched him tighter and cried aloud: "WAH-WAH-WAH-WOWWW!" And then, "LA-LA-LA-AHHHHHH!"
"MMMM! YUM YUMMMM!"
Wave after wave of ecstasy shot through her, as she relaxed, collapsed, died a-moaning.
When their breathing had slowed to normal, Naomie raised her head and looked at Beast. "That was so wonderful! Wonderful!" she said.
"Yes, it sure was," he said, pulling his cock free of her cunt and rolling to one side so she could slide forward and get her head back on the bed.
And then Lovelace's voice sounded raggedly outside the door: "Naomie? Girl, you'd better come out and go home; it's getting late."
"I - I don't care," she moaned.
"Get up, girl!" Lovelace implored. "I'm afraid the old lady will get someone to come over and find out what's happened to you!"
Suddenly it was as if she'd come out of a trance, regaining her senses all at once. She pulled herself up from the bed, recovered her scattered articles of clothing, and began dressing in haste.
CHAPTER NINE
Never before in her young life had she endured such a depressed after-the-night-before low-down-Monday-morning-blues-feeling as she did on the way to school that next morning, for the rigors of her sexual activity, though leaving her with that unctuous feeling, as of a cat that had just lapped up a gutful lassitude of rich cream, had taken its toll of her physical energy.
Some of the bounce had gone out of her lovely walk, some of the glittering sparkle out of her eyes, for now, in the aftermath of full gratification, she felt as if the men's eyes which zeroed in on her as she sexily tap-tap-tapped down the sidewalk, were as the accusing fingers of Almighty God. She just couldn't believe any human had the right to feel such bone-deep pleasure as she had felt, but what had humiliated her much more than that was the knowledge that Jack Lovelace had peeped through a slot in the ceiling and had watched Beast satiate her - that was what the elderly man had told her when she came out of the sound-proofed room last night!
"You planned it that way!" she'd said.
"Yes, for your benefit in the long run," he'd answered.
She hadn't gotten out of Lovelace just exactly what it was Beast's wife had done to him, for she'd been in a hurry to get home, but one thing for sure, it must have been something awful, she thought, for Lovelace looked as if he might have been hag-ridden through hell backward!
With a heavy, guilty heart, she dragged her way to the school building, dragged herself through the morning classes, and in the afternoon, one of Milo Burch's unexpected visits to her room, whereupon he stood close to her chair at the desk, letting his meaty thigh rub against her as much as he could, under the pretense of having to whisper to her that the whole town was now singing her praises because she'd persuaded hot-shot Robert Vining to come back and take his old slot on the football team.
But not even the witticisms and endless chatter of the pupils cheered her saddened hear. It was as if the whole world had caved in on her, and she had no hope for tomorrow.
When, at last, the dismissal bell thrilled through the rooms and corridors of the red-brick school building, Naomie grabbed up her things and hurriedly left the campus, wanting to get home, wanting to hide her body from human eyes. She was in such a state of depression that she considered herself absolutely unfit to associate with decent people, and as she pumped down the street, her buttocks working with as many movements as an eight-day clock (for all her self-proclaimed degradation), she lowered her eyes on passing a parked Ford, not even wanting to speak to anyone, much less smile, as she usually did.
"Hey, Miss Constantine!" came a familiar voice.
It was Ash Wilkes, the man she'd met last week at Aunt Margie's, and he was waving one hand at her as he got out of the car.
She turned reluctantly and walked back a step or two, forcing a smile, as she said, sweetly: "Why hello, Mr. Wilkes."
"I just want to pass along a few compliments I've heard about you, is all, Miss Constantine," Wilkes said, coming upon the sidewalk. "Been waiting for Nelly to get through shopping - spent most of my life waiting on her to come out of them old stores."
His blue shirt was plastered to his back with sweat, and his zipper was about halfway down, she noticed, but other than that, he - "... Times have sure-God changed around this town," he was saying. "Used to be, all the school board ever hired was a bunch of fat-bellied, possum-faced old-maid teachers, which was enough to keep most parents away from school, but in you, they've got a real looker, Miss Constantine. Folks are sure commenting they've made up for it all. The fact is, Miss Constantine, you've set this here town on fire! Why, everybody is bragging on you, and saying how pretty you are, how well-built and all! And most of all, folks are some tickled about how you got rid of Lum Cash."
"But how did the news leak out?" Naomie asked. "I haven't told anyone about it."
Wilkes chuckled. "No, you haven't, but Lum sure-God has! Why, he even claimed that you offered to sleep with him on weekends, which set all the men-folks laughing. The fact is, Miss Constantine, we know Lum Cash for what he is! A blamed cully-of-a-fellow! Plain scared of women-folks, except old maid school teachers!"
"Why, I didn't know there was anything wrong with Mr. Cash," Naomie said. "I'm sorry if I..."
"Look here, Miss Constantine. Don't bother your pretty head feeling sorry for Lum," Wilkes cut in to say. "You've helped the school teaching cause in this town for years to come. Lum had done made a hobby out of mooching off old maid teachers, and I say it was high time somebody stopped him, and you did."
"Mr. Wilkes, you mentioned how much everyone liked me," Naomie said. "But I had been told that the town folks are gossiping about the way I dress, things like that."
"Sure, Miss Constantine! Any good-looking girl is sure-God gonna be gossiped about, but since you got Robert Vining to come back out for football, you stand mighty high here."
"Well, I won't be around but this one school year," she said, "so I suppose it really doesn't matter what people think about me."
She turned to leave, and he said, "If you were to ask me to come right out in church and say it, I'd say it would be a dirty-dog shame if that school board ever goes back to hiring them ugly, pickle-faced, scrawny-necked old maids."
"Good-bye, Mr. Wilkes," she said, glad to get away from him.
Although she kept telling herself that Mr. Wilkes was an ignorant old man who didn't likely know the true feeling of the Riverview folks, she was pleased to learn that even a few people considered her a worthy person, and had approved of the way she put Lum to flight. She yearned for approval, respect, love. Growing up in an orphanage had left its mark on her. It wasn't that the teachers had been unkind, or the food bad, or even that she'd been unloved. No, what had bothered her most was the feeling that she'd belonged to a commune, where everything was done for the orphan's benefit, and nothing for his individual pleasure. If only I could have owned a puppy, a kitten, anything that I could have called my own! she thought; could have had, if not a mother, even a distant relative to praise her for the way she sang some cute little song, or even for the way she'd brushed her hair!
As it was - Well, as it was, I had no one, she thought. And it has made me into - what? A nympho, was what, too much concerned with her libido, so weak where sex was concerned to say no to a boy she could fall in love with - Robert Vining; so hungry for attention that she cherished the hot looks of the townsmen, even the leering garage mechanics, filling station attendants, the loafers at the pool hall.
While it was evident that Lovelace was a dirty old man who'd carefully planned her seduction, and had seemingly known in advance what her reactions would be, she, in her abject hunger for attention, had been ripe for exploitation, and had, in a sense, thrown herself in the way of his sexual fantasies.
From what Wilkes had told her, as well as the things she could see at school with her own eyes, she was now getting the approval of the community, but if anyone ever found out about her trips to Lovelace's basement, she might as well start packing.
But no one need ever find out about your sexual activities with Lovelace, Robert, and Beast! she told herself. "If I stop now," she muttered aloud.
But even then, at that very moment, she was thinking of the pleasure she'd received from Beast last night. Already, she was thinking about tonight, wondering if Lovelace had thought up something novel for her and the Polynesian where he could get his kicks by peeping at them.
With a sob, she buried her face in the pillow and cursed her wretched condition, knowing that she was hooked on sex - knowing that she would return, like the drug addict to his junkie ... again tonight.
It was after eight o'clock when she gave way to her driving hunger and prepared to slip down the backstairs. She had been walking restfully around the room for the past quarter-hour, torn between her body needs and her conscience. Earlier, she'd lain on the bed and tried to read a magazine, barely conscious of what she saw on the printed page. Even the colorful illustrations were a meaningless blur. Her thoughts were constantly going back to the way she remembered last night and the wonderful way Beast had made love to her.
At last, she'd decided it was no use for her to try to fight the urgent hunger. Beast would be leaving Riverview shortly, and she'd never see him again.
Lovelace, attired in bathing trunks, was waiting for Naomie when she entered the basement door.
"Come in, sweetie," he greeted her. And then, "You're late tonight. What happened?"
"I almost backed out," she said. "I first resolved not to come here again, but I..." And she stopped.
"Uh, huh," he said, "I understand, Naomie. The facts are: you couldn't stop yourself from coming back! Am I not right?"
"Yes," she said, dully. "You know that I'm hooked. In fact, you planned it that way."
He shook his head. "No, I didn't plan Noreturi's visit, if that's what you mean. He and his wife had been wanting to visit America ... I had told him all about our country while my submarine was in port on the Island of Love, a secret base Uncle Sam set up in the South Pacific. I was impressed by the way the natives made love ... no inhibitions at all, sweetie, everything as natural as the breakers rolling in from the ocean. I shared Noreturi's wife - she was younger than you are, then - and we struck up quite a friendship."
"Your howls of pain didn't sound like friendship to me," she said. Last night, I mean ..."
"Yes, it did hurt," he acknowledged, "but she was just trying to rejuvenate me. It's a little trick the islanders use on their old men, but it didn't help me much."
He pointed to a chair. "Sit down, sweetie."
"No, I didn't come to visit," she said, brusquely. "You know why I'm here."
"Yes, to see Noreturi," he said and smiled. "That suits me fine, for I -"
"I know, I know!" she interrupted. "Where you can hide out in the room above and watch us!"
"No, sweetie," he said. "What I was about to say is - Well, I've lost my hunger for you. You see, I can only make love to very young girls, and once their virginity is gone, they hold no interest for me. But I have found another way I can get my kicks, and before you get to see Noreturi tonight, you've got to do it to me."
"What?"
"Just a minute." He stepped over to a closet and opened the door and reached inside, pulling out three large bamboo canes, about four feet in length, and turned and brought them back to where Naomie was standing.
"Here we have the instruments of my pleasure," he said, a genial note to his voice. "Do you know what they are?"
"They look like lengths of fishing poles," she answered, taking one of the canes and examining it. "But, why?"
"These are rods with which to beat me, sweetie," he said and smiled. "And before you get to see Noreturi tonight, you've got to use them on me."
"Whip you with them!" she said. "I will not! You're nuts, Jack!"
"Pull off your clothes, sweetie, and get to work, if you want to go to bed with Noreturi tonight!"
"No!" she said flatly. "How could beating you give you pleasure?"
He smiled sadly. "If you knew more about my character, sweetie," he said, "you'd understand why. You see, I hate myself. I hate myself for being enslaved to desiring only young girls - girl-children, to tell the truth, and the only way I can receive sexual pleasure at times is by getting it through pain. You get it?"
"Yes, I think I do," she said uneasily. "You're some kind of weirdo, Jack. But I won't take part in such - such queer stuff! So you might as well put your canes back in that closet."
"Okay, if you won't punish me, sweetie, you might as well return to your room," he answered, "for my friend Noreturi, being a guest in my house, abides by my wishes.
"Noreturi leaves tomorrow," Lovelace said and smiled. "This is your last time to feel the full power of his great organ, sweetie, and if you miss out tonight - well, you'll go through the rest of your life thinking about what might have been."
"You - you fiend!" she grated. "You know how I'm hooked! You know how I've been tortured under your perverted plans!"
"Yes, sweetie," he said sadly. "Undress, dear."
"No, I - I'm not going to do it!"
Suddenly, he shot out one hand and seized her right breast in a powerful grasp, then squeezed down harshly.
"Oh!" she cried. "Ouch! Damn it! Stop it, Jack!"
"Undress, sweetie."
"Ah!" she moaned, tears of deep pain streaming from her eyes, as his squeezed even tighter, the nubby fingertips biting into the turgid flesh. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Oh, God! OHHHH! You're killing me! - killing me!"
"Pull 'em off, dear!"
"Yes, yes! Please let go, Jack! Oh, God! Yeeeeeeeees!"
He released her and stepped back and began to loosen the belt of the swim trunks.
Her face still twisted with pain, she moved to a chair and, grasping the hem of the white mini, lifted it in one sweep from her mid-thighs, then peeled it up and over her head. She let the half-slip drop to the floor. She grasped the elastic of the white panties and slithered the nylon fabric from over the slender tautness of her buttocks and down her long, fine legs, the motion causing static electricity, which made a soft, pur-r-r-r-r-ing sound.
Lovelace, nude, staring at her, said: "I've been all over the world, sweetie, and seen all kinds of girls, but I've never seen or dreamed of such beauty as you've got. After tonight, begin to look around for a real fine man, for you'll need the best."
Briefly, she looked down at herself, then stepped to a mirror and viewed her whole naked image.
Her slim figure, still not quite mature, was golden ivory. Her back and legs were strong and full-fleshed. Her long, black hair hung below her shoulders and shimmered in the light.
She placed her hands on her hips and turned sideways to the mirror. The act gave her a full view of her sharply-pointed young breasts.
Then, dropping her hands to her sides, she turned around to face Lovelace, and to say: "I'm ready to begin this crazy act, if you are."
"Wait a minute," he said. "Let me brief you, sweetie. I'll take on, and raise all kinds of hell as you beat hell out of me, but don't let that stop you. Go right ahead, no matter how much I beg and cry out! Just keep beating me, for that's the only way I can get my kicks."
"How many licks will I have to give you?" she asked.
"You'll know when to stop," he assured her. And, pointing to the bed, "I'll fall across the bed with my head on the other side, which will give you a good target."
As he walked across the room toward the bed, she directed her eyes to his organ, naturally, and was surprised to see that it seemed almost shrunk into his body, hardly showing its tip above the sprout of curls, like the peep of a bird's head out of a hole in a tree.
She wondered what could have happened to him down there, but she didn't have much time to think about it, for he had now reached the bed. He sprawled out on the bed, throwing his dead-white buttocks into a prominent position, then looked around. "I'm ready. Get the cane," he said.
She selected a cane with trepidation, then slowly crossed to the bed. Reluctantly, she raised the weapon above her head and swished it back and forth tentatively, but she could not make herself drive it down upon his naked flesh.
"I'm waiting, sweetie," he said calmly. "Let's go! Give it to me!"
"No, I can't!" she said and breathed heavily.
"Of course you can! Hit me!"
"No, I..."
"If I have to, I'll get up and hurt you again!" he warned.
"But this is. . . crazy! Crazy! Crazy! she cried. "I don't like to hurt anyone, Jack! Please!"
"Damn it, hit me!"
He'd propped his head on one elbow, his eyes angrily glaring at her.
"You - you fiend!" she cried. "You want to make me stoop as low as you are! I hate you, Jack! I hate you!"
"Sure, now go ahead and take out your hate on me, sweetie," he said. "Japanese factory workers work off their anger and frustration by beating cardboard images of their bosses. In a sense, I'm your boss! At least, I've had an overpowering influence on you. Go ahead, sweetie. Beat me!"
She took a deep breath and swung the bamboo cane downward. It smacked against his flinching buttocks with a cutting sound - Ah-r-r-r-rip!
She brought the cane up again and held it steady.
"Go on," he urged. "Hit me! Nine more hard lashes!"
She planted her feet and, according to his direction, gave him in one breath, nine more licks with much force, and the utmost nerve and vigor of the arm that she could put into it, making his mounded flesh quiver with pain. He seemed no more concerned, or to mind the lashes, than a mother would a child's puny licks on her leg.
In the meantime, she viewed intently the effects of the licks, which to her appeared surprisingly cruel. Every lash had skimmed the surface of his white ass, which they deeply reddened, and lapping around the side of him, cut deeply into the softer spots where no muscles rose to ward off the blows. He was begging her; "Keep on! Keep on! Give me ten more hard ones!"
She set in on him again, flailing his bottom with the cane, watching the red welts come up, watching the blood spin out of the cuts! Beating him! Harder, harder! Faster, faster! She was carried away with the project and, probably like the Japanese factory workers, getting full pleasure from this opportunity to beat the hell out of the man who'd robbed her of her virginity, her moral turpitude, and had led her farther down the dark road of degradation.
"OHHHHH! WAHHHHH!" Lovelace yelled out his pain.
She could feel the warm blood splatter across her thighs, could smell it, as a drop landed on her nose. She was moved by the piteous sight. She couldn't continue, not with blood oozing from the deep cuts and splattering upon the floor, at times upon her body.
But Lovelace hadn't had enough punishment, though he bucked and reared on the mattress like a shot alligator in a shallow lake.
"No, no! Don't stop!" he begged. "Hit me! Hit me!"
"No!" she said.
"You must!" he screamed. "Please, please!"
Momentarily, she thought about defying Lovelace. After all, he's an elderly man, she thought, and this beating should have weakened him. Then she thought about what he'd done to her, even this is the lowest form of degradation, she felt, and he knew I'd submit to his wishes in order that I might satisfy my own desires.
Thus, she selected another cane and began lashing his pulpy buttocks again, continuing the discipline as she observed how well he seemed to stand up to the punishment, keeping on until she observed him writhing and twisting his body in a way that she could plainly perceive was not the effect of pain, but of some new and powerful sensation. Curious to find out the meaning of which, in one of her pauses to change to another cane, she stepped close to the bed where he was grinding and working his belly against the mattress. Stroking the untouched and unhurt side of his hips, she inserted her hand under his thigh and felt of his organ. She was surprised to find it stiff and big, when only a short time ago it had been so diminutive and drawn up that she could scarcely see it.
"Go on!" he begged. "If you don't I'll never reach that last, sweet stretch of pleasure!"
"But your ass is all pulpy with blood now!" she argued.
"Obey me! Please, please!" he begged. "Jack, you're nuts! Nuts! - crazy! But as you wish!"
She went over to the closet and selected still another cane, came back, and began beating him once more ... so hard and so fast that her arm began to feel so weak she was afraid she'd have to stop. Finally, she noticed that he was twisting and writhing faster and faster and, as if he'd died, she saw him lie still. Now he wanted her to stop, holding up one hand and waving it at her.
She tossed the cane aside, moved to the edge of the bed and stood over him, noting the deep, bleeding cuts on his battered buttocks.
He stood up, swaying back and forth, and staggered across the room to the closet. Then she plainly saw the squirts of his plenteous effusion on the sheet, the tell-tale traces of his drying come.
Turning around, as he selected underwear from a shelf in the closet, he said, "Thanks, sweetie."
CHAPTER TEN
It occurred to Naomie that she felt sorry for Lovelace. I should not, she thought, not after the way he's treated me. But it was evident from the beating she'd just given him that he had some sort of sadistic hang-up due to a defective ancestry or, what was more likely, brought on by some acutely difficult situation in his life.
Whatever it was, Jack Lovelace was a pitiful creature, tortured as he was with sick passions in the winter-time of his life and, for the moment at least, she was not bothered by angry misgivings about what he'd done to her. She seemed to have languished her frustrations upon the flesh of his ass, and now they were even.
Already she was thinking about her rendezvous with Beast and wondering if she could stand up to another encounter with his prodigious organ. She had just gathered up her clothing and was ready to put it on, when the door opened and Beast came in.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," she answered, an apprehensive note to her voice.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"For what?" she said, eying his huge, muscular body as she spoke.
Beast was wearing white slacks. He was naked from the waist up.
"... You know what you came over here for," he was saying in a stern voice. "Come with me, woman!"
She looked around at Lovelace who was standing weakly by the closet. He nodded his head. "Go on, sweetie," he urged. "This'll be the last time, and you need the experience."
"Why do I, Jack?" she asked.
"Because, you're young, sweetie," Lovelace said, "with what you think is an insatiable hunger, but I think one more session with Beast's big prick will cure you."
"Or kill me?" she came back.
"Kill you, indeed!" Lovelace said bitterly. "He won't hurt you and you know it! After it's over, there'll be no physical or mental scars. Rather, you'll be a mature woman, able to cope with your body needs."
At a signal from Lovelace, Beast crossed to Naomie, grabbed her up in his powerful arms, and walked out of the room into the dark passageway with her. As her spike-like nipples rubbed against his chest, she felt fire - hot fire burn through her lower body.
She threw her arms around his neck and blindly sought his mouth. He stopped momentarily, while their mouths seemed to try to become one, and she kissed him with open-mouthed abandon, her tongue wiggling like a golden clapper inside the bell of his mouth. She seized his tongue with her teeth and pulled it so deeply into her throat that she gagged.
Then he was walking again, but as they moved along, his powerful hands made love runs over her clenched buttocks, her sateen thighs, pausing to fondle her crotch lovingly, a finger flipping past the throbbing portal to stimulate excitement throughout her inner being.
"Oh, Beast!" she moaned. "Oh, that feels so good!"
He rubbed the turgid lips of her pussy slowly, and she arched her back convulsively, making grinding noises with her teeth, already caught in demanding ecstasy, feeling her cunt moistening, opening, burning, throbbing, deepening... and moaning over and over, "Beast, Beast, Beast!"
He let her down at the door, while he groped for the handle, and she shuddered with delight as she felt his huge cock poke against her buttocks. She pushed against his rock-like manhood, and she felt a rush of hot breath, as of a fire, upon her neck.
He opened the door and they entered the sound-proofed room, which was lighted by a single small bulb. Kissing him with utter abandon, as her trembling fingers worked, she unzipped his slacks and seized his tremendous love machine. Her fingers barely covered the vermillion head, and when she brought her other hand to the poker-like stiffness, hotness, her teeth began to grit and grind, her eyes rolling upward, exposing the filmy whites.
"MUH-MUH-MUH!" she moaned, her hands clenching, pulling, as if she would try to pull out the massive trunk by its roots.
"Beast! Oh, Beast!" she sobbed. "Yes, oh, yes!"
He slammed her hard against the wall and slammed his body against her in a powerful squeeze. Her legs flew apart as her hips braced firmly, and he made a mighty thrust, driving his prodigious prick in her snatch to the hilt.
Her scream blasted against the walls of the room, as she felt the tearing, ramming strength of his cock in her tight little cunt, and she clawed at his back like a wild thing.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Her mouth had opened wide and, looking at her face alone, one would have thought she was dying.
"AAAAAAAAHHH! MMMMMMM!"
Now her breathing was an off-and-on affair as she undulated in the beginning throes of ecstasy, as her demanding fingers ripped at Beast's broad back, as she suddenly leaned forward to bury her sharp teeth into his back.
"Oh, me! Oh, me! Oh, me!" she gasped. "Oh, Beast! Just a little faster, darling! Ah, yes, yes, yes!" And now her buttocks were working like something separate and apart from the rest of her, as he brought his enormous prod to her in powerfully driving thrusts.
She was sobbing her pleasure. "Oh, it's so good! Oh, I can't stand it. Can't stand it! Oh, sweetheart! Yes, yes, yes!"
He'd reached the mid-point and his mouth sought her's in a long, drowning kiss. She bucked and writhed with an increased fury, and he pulled his mouth away to catch one jabbing nipple, and then half of her breast.
"WAHHHHHH!" she moaned. "Oh, God! Oh, God! AHHHHHHH!"
Pinned against the wall, she could not escape the ramming thrusts of his big prick, nor did she want to, but now she was caught between pleasure and pain, as he drove it in her harder and harder.
And when he let off some, "Yes, Beast!" and, making a choking, agonizing cry: "YES! OH, YES!"
She gasped and jerked her cunt muscles tight around his hot cock, her beautiful body shaking and heaving with passion, the animal sounds in her throat becoming deeper and deeper.
Her intense desire communicated itself to him and he plunged and retreated, dipping his prick into her love flesh like a bee after honey. Their bellies slapped and clung together, parted reluctantly, and slammed together again, time after time, as they struggled in the ageless adagio of love.
It amazed her that she was standing up to his lunges so well; how she heaved and shoved it right back at him.
They mounted rapidly toward a plateau of the deepest, most soul shattering ecstasy she had ever known, and she screamed as they flew over the top almost at the same time.
They clung tightly to each other as spasm after spasm of hot, jetting come threatened to tear them apart.
He'd picked her up as she died away, and carried her, like a drowned woman, to the soft bed. After a long time, as they lay stretched out side by side, she began to murmur little sweet nothings in his ear.
"I wuve oo, Beast! Mum mum mum uh! I wuve oo!"
"You're some woman," he complimented her.
"Am I as good as your wife, Beast?"
"Yes, because you're younger," he said.
"But, you love your wife?"
"Yes, I love my wife," he answered. "In the islands, we take sex for what it is - pleasure, and leave it at that."
"I heard once, and I didn't understand it then, that there are no virgins in your islands, Beast."
"That's right," he said," and as a result, we have no perverted."
She luxuriated in her languor - so bruised, so battered, so spent with this over-match that she could hardly stir or raise herself, but lay as if she was sick until she heard the ticking of a clock on the marble-topped table near the bed.
"I've got to get up and leave," she said and sighed, "though I wish I didn't."
"If you wish, we could -" And he stopped, reached over and rubbed her soggy crotch.
"No, I think not, Beast," she returned. "I'm caught up with love-making, I guess you'd say."
"Then, this is good-bye, Naomie," he said, "for tomorrow, we're leaving."
"Lovelace told me about it," she said. "I regret to see you go. Yet, the way things are, I wouldn't be coming back to see you."
"And why not?" he asked.
"Because I regained my good sense, Beast," she answered. "From now on, I'll play by the rules."
She got up, moving with more vigor, as she angled toward the door, remembering that she'd left her clothes in Lovelace's office.
She opened the door, turned her head and smiled at him. "Good-bye, Beast," she said, softly.
"Good-bye, Naomie," he said and smiled. "I'll leave you to Jack's loving care."
"No, thanks," she returned briskly. "I won't be seeing Lovelace again, either." She shook her head, a serious expression crossing her face. "You know, I was afraid of him once, but not anymore. He's to be pitied, really, with the kind of hang-up he's got."
"Yeah, Jack and his wee Lolitas," the Polynesian said. "Oh, he likes that young stuff, but he pays for his sins with hatred of himself. A good caneing always brings him through, but what a helluva way to be!"
She eased the door shut, then turned and picked her way toward Lovelace's office.
Naomie, decided, now that she was a mature woman, experienced in the ways of the flesh, she would use her striking beauty and appealing vitality to her advantage instead of letting it continues to be a handicap. She knew she had her work cut out for her, because almost every man in town began to seek her favors. This, she figured, was because of the tale Lum Cash had told on her, that she'd badgered him to sleep with her, at least on the weekends.
For two nights straight running, men, married men, bachelors, widowers, and schoolboys came by Aunt Margie's old mansion under one pretense or another - some with no pretense at all, and though she was firm in her dealings with them, letting them know that she wasn't looking for someone to sleep with on the weekends, or at any other time, the attention she was getting aroused the hostile, jealous women of the little town. Housewives put off shopping just to stay at home and talk about Naomie on the telephone.
Even when Milo Burch called her into his office on Friday afternoon to warn her about this grave new threat to her teaching position, she was unperturbed.
"Mr. Burch, since I'm not guilty of anything my accusers are saying, I'm not going to worry about it," she said. "Sure, a lot of men've called on me, but I haven't gone out with anyone this whole week."
"Of course," he said, embarrassedly, "but you know how women gossip. It stems of course, from their lack of - er, pink mammary glands, but we can't stop them. Even my own wife, I can't shut her mouth, much less all of those others."
"Just tell them that I'm leaving at the end of the year," Naomie said, "if you're worried about your own job."
"Oh, I haven't even considered that!" he hastened to say. "I'm just trying to help you, Naomie, for you're doing a darn good job."
"If anyone bitches to you about me, you might also tell them that I'm growing up fast," she said and smiled. "Tell them to consider not only what I've done to Riverview, but what Riverview has done to me."
"Oh, they take in to account your youth," he said, "and what you do on your own time is your business... except for one thing: I wouldn't let those schoolboys come to see me, ever."
"When they come, all we do is sit around and talk, Mr. Burch!"
"But, people will talk, you know, Naomie."
"I'll put a stop to the kids, Mr. Burch, but if I decide to date some man I like, I certainly won't ask you, or the school board."
"Fine, fine!" he said, eagerly. "Just stick to that, Naomie, and I'll stand by you."
Milo was glad to be done with his talk, for he was impressed by her work. She could tell that much, and when she left the office and went back to her room, she was smiling grimly.
On walking home that afternoon, Naomie saw Jack Lovelace waiting for her at the gate. He was wearing a white shirt and gray Bermuda shorts and a pair of scuffed sneakers. She noted the melancholy look on his pale face, a face that looked much older to her somehow.
She walked right up to Lovelace, confident, unafraid. "Hello, Jack," she greeted him.
"Hi, Naomie," he said. "A bit cooler today, isn't it?"
"Somewhat," she said, "but frankly, I'll be glad when fall really comes."
She went through the gate and started up the walk, leaving Lovelace leaning with one elbow on the gate post. Then he called: "Naomie, I thought maybe you might come over this afternoon and look at my new painting? Would you?"
"No, thanks, Jack. Women astraddle of pole-like penises just aren't my cup of tea," she said, a cynical note to her voice.
"Oh, no, doll," he said quickly. 'This one is a landscape painting - country churchyard, to be specific."
"No, thanks..."
"But I need you, sweetie!" he said, a sudden desperate note to his voice.
She stopped and turned to face him. "You told me I couldn't give you pleasure any more, Jack!" Pointedly.
"You can't not with intercourse," he answered. "But with those canes, sweetie, you can send me above cloud nine."
"Sorry, Jack, but beating up on weirdos is not for me!"
"Then, I'll find another young girl! Younger than you are, sweetie!"
She raised her arm and pointed one finger at his flushed face. "Jack Lovelace, I'll be watching that basement!" she bit out. "If I see you trying to entice one of these kids into your lair, I'm going to call the Sheriff!"
"You wouldn't do that to me, sweetie! Look what I did for you, doll! - me and Beast!"
"Yeah, just look what you did, Jack!"
"But you're not hurt in any way, sweetie!" he said, pleadingly. "I know how you must have suffered at first, but now... well, show me your scars!"
"Okay, thanks for everything, Jack," she said, hatefully. "No, I managed to survive without scars, or even tears now, but who can say about your next victim? Think about it, Jack. Next time, if there is a next time, you could get in serious trouble."
"I'm not a fool," he said, bitterly. "I consider all the possibilities before I act, but once the fantasies take hold of me, I forget to be afraid."
"Then see a good psychiatrist, Jack."
"I've thought about doing that many times, sweetie," he said, a sad note to his voice, "but I've always been ashamed."
"Why don't you go back to your South Pacific islands? From what Beast told me, his people condone, even encourage, young girls to engage in sex."
He nodded. "I've even considered that," he said, "but when I retired out of the Navy, I thought I might find a wife- an American woman - to share my bed, and to take care of me in my old age, but it didn't work out. I tried a few women, but they did nothing for me, nor I them for that matter. I might just do it! Sell that old house over there and take off!"
"For your sake, Jack, I hope you do."
She turned and continued walking up the path. On reaching the seclusion of the dim-lit hallway, she stood at the door and watched Lovelace as he hurried across the close-cropped lawn.
Many times since she'd left the basement in the house next door that last time, she had reminded herself of her determination to remain unyielding after that one big episode of love-making. In a sense, it was good that she'd encountered Beast, for he'd quenched the fires which had burned at such high heat in her tortured body and, coming as it did after her sad experience with Lovelace, it served to show her what real sex was like.
Presently, she felt like a mature woman for the first time in her young life, ready to compete with other women for a promising mate. She felt confident that she'd find someone, for now she was unafraid.
In the midst of her thoughts, as she relaxed in bed, she became aware of an unusual sound that was like somebody treading cautiously on the uncarpeted floor of the hall. She sat upright in bed and listened.
Presently, squeaking faintly on rusty hinges, she could see the door opening. Somebody was coming into her room. But, who could it be?
Not Lovelace. Not Robert again, surely! Then, who could it be?
As the door could be seen opening wider and wider, Naomie gripped the spread with both hands, a bit frightened, not knowing who her caller could be.
At first, breathless and motionless with fear, she did not have the ability to speak or to move when she saw who had come into the room. Milo Burch, his eyes blinking in the bright light, looked as frightened as she was.
They both watched each other questioningly, both waiting for the other to speak first.
"Mr. Burch!" Naomie said in a tremulous voice that was barely heard across the room. "Mr. Burch, what are you doing here?" she asked anxiously.
Her pajamas lay folded over the foot of the bed, too far for her to reach, and she pulled the spread around her. It had become a habit of her's to lie in bed in the nude, and not put on her pajamas at all unless it was a cold night. Even her bathrobe was on a chair on the other side of the room.
"Naomie, I guess you think I've flipped," Milo said at last, "and maybe I have, but I - well, I was just driving around a bit tonight. Sadie is staying with her mother down at Providence this week, and as I drove down your street, I saw your light and stopped." He shook his head. "I know I shouldn't have slipped in on you this way, but I guess even a school principal is human ..."
He had not come any further into the room, and the door had not closed. She could almost feel his own excitement and nervousness as he stood there, as though surprised to find himself alone in the room with her and uncertain about what he was going to do next. He was bare-headed and had on the familiar green tie she remembered seeing him wear at school. There were traces of dew on the cuffs of his pants and on his shoes.
Moving for the first time, he closed the door carefully, not locking it, and making as little noise as possible.
"You see what I mean, Naomie," he said hoarsely, with an embarrassed hesitancy. "I know I shouldn't have slipped in on you like this, but I just had to do it."
After the shock of seeing Milo enter the room she was not frightened at all. She was confident he would restrain himself now just as he did at school, and she was not particularly worried.
"Mr. Burch, you shouldn't be here," she spoke severely, hoping to impress him with her firmness. "You know that, don't you, Mr. Burch?"
Taking a quick breath, he came forward several steps.
"Don't call anybody, Naomie," he begged, "please don't think I mean to . . ."
"But you can't stay here, Mr. Burch," she told him at once, laughing amusedly. "You'd better leave before someone sees your car."
"Oh, I didn't park right close to the house," he said thickly. "Listen, Naomie, I've been thinking about you for a long time now. Please don't insist that I go. This's the first time I've been able to see you, like this. And I've been wanting to see you all week, thinking about you all the time. I've been outside in your yard two times this week, waiting for a chance to come up here. Each time I lost my nerve. I was very careful tonight. Nobody'll ever know."
"Well, now that you're up here, what do you want?" she asked.
She laughed softly in spite of herself. She knew why he'd come. Even in his office, with the chance that someone might walk in on them he acted as if he could hardly keep his hands off her.
"Well, I - I wanted to talk to you, Naomie," he said, his face reddening. "To tell you how wonderful I think you are."
"Mr. Burch, you believed what Lum Cash said, that I asked him to sleep with me," she said. "Don't you, Mr. Burch?"
"Well, I - yes, I guess I did, Naomie."
"Mr. Burch, I did say it," she confessed, "but the reason why I did it was to get rid of that pestering idiot."
"I figured that, Naomie," he said, eagerly, "if you really said it at all. But that had nothing to do with my desire to come up here to see you. You see, Naomie, from the moment you appeared in the doorway of my office looking for a job, I've been thinking about you ... thinking how pretty and sweet and nice you really are. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't, not seeing you the way I do every day at school."
"Mr. Burch, what kind of person would you really think I was if I let you stay here?"
"I would think you're a wonderful person, Naomie. I know I like you, and that's all that matters."
She remembered how he'd come into her room and stand close to her - so close that his body rubbed against hers - under the pretense of telling her something he didn't want the kids to hear. She thought about the times he'd have her look at achievement test scores, he holding on to the wide sheet so that she'd have to stand close. Some way or other, he'd always manage to thrust an elbow against one of her breasts.
"Mr. Burch, what if the school board should find out about this visit?" she asked, sweetly - too sweetly, "and your wife?"
His face flushed redly and he looked down at the floor, his eyes avoiding hers.
"I've thought about that. You know I have!" he said hoarsely. "But I like - love you so much, Naomie, I really don't care what the board would do if it found out, or for that matter, my wife!"
"Why, Milo Burch!"
He raised his head and looked boldly at her again.
"Naomie, I had to come up here. I want to look at you. I want to be where you are. I can't help it. I can't hang around school and look at you and not want to love you. You make me like you, Naomie. Maybe you don't try to, but you do just the same. I'll never love anybody else. You're the only one I've ever loved."
"What about your wife, Mr. Burch?"
"Sadie. Yeah, Sadie! Sure, I married her, but I don't love her. I never did. Her friends and my friends promoted our courtship. We were right for each other - she's the wrong woman for me! Sadie is the kind of person who hog-ties a man's spirit, drives him, tuck-tailed, into mediocrity."
"But don't you see how impossible this is, Mr. Burch?" she said, softly, feeling sorry for the man. "Don't you see how it would ruin your career in education, even more than it would mine?"
With a sort of mad look on his rugged face, he said, "Sure, I see how impossible it is, from the standpoint of my career," he answered. "But when you came to Riverview, I felt a change come over me. I looked at you, Naomie, as you walked in fluid, silken loveliness down the hallways, and I think I told myself life had thrown me for a loss. There I was spending the best years of my life riding herd a bunch of kids, Riverview kids, as mean a bunch of little bastards as ever wrote a four-letter word on a toilet wall! - associating with a bunch of girdled and trussed and talcumed women teachers - going home in the late afternoon to Sadie, a woman as big as a bale of cotton, and hearing her rant and rave until the late hours. Then you came along, Naomie! You're so wonderful! Your hair is so pretty to look at. I want to get close to you so I can feel it. If you'll only let me do that, I'll do anything you wish."
He came a little closer and stood looking down at her intently.
"I never loved anybody this way before, Naomie," he continued. "Just say the word and we'll leave here together tonight."
Naomie drew the bedspread around her more securely and tried to keep her arms and shoulders covered. For a week she had been afraid Milo would try something like this, although she'd tried not to let herself think about it. It had never occurred to her, though, that he would actually do something this rashly - come slipping into her room in the night. But now he was here, standing only a step away, and begging her to let him make love to her.
Holding the covers around her, she wondered if anyone as inexperienced as Milo seemed to be really thought he knew what it was to make love. She understood Milo's dilemma, only too well. Here he was, approaching the middle period of his life, stuck with a bitch like Sadie, and abandoned to the whims of smalltown people. On top of it, Sadie was pregnant, and the poor bastard was nearly crazy for a piece of ass. Well, in that case, rather than get in serious trouble, why hadn't he driven down to Providence and found a prostitute and got him some?
A few days ago, out of pity perhaps, she would have let Milo come to bed with her. Since she'd learned a few things, she didn't think it best now. If I loved him, she thought. But obviously, she didn't. No, she wouldn't accommodate him out of sympathy. It was no fault of hers that he'd brought her into his sexual fantasies, but right then, she felt less bitterness toward Jack Lovelace. When it came to sex, all men were weak, if a girl happened to get caught up in their fantasies, and it didn't matter who that man was, or what he claimed to be. It could happen to a wicked old sailor like Jack Lovelace, or to a so-called "gentleman" like Milo Burch.
She tried to imagine what she would do if she were not teaching school and he were not her principal, and if he had come into her room like this. She knew she could like him - could like him too much for her own good, for he did have rugged good looks and she sensed that he had a lot of driving manhood, if he ever got a chance to use it with some woman other than Sadie.
During the last few days, she'd purposely avoided Robert Vining to keep herself from becoming fonder of him, but even though she and Robert were about the same age, she doubted that she'd be satisfied with a boy, knowing what a man could do.
"I want to make love to you, Naomie," Milo said boldly. "It's been on my mind ever since you came to Riverview."
"Just what do you think I am?" she snapped.
"A fine, lovely, full-bodied girl, Naomie!" he said. "I love you very much."
"Hand me my pajamas, Mr. Burch!" she demanded. "I guess I'll have to put them on under the bedspread."
"You mean to say ..." And he stopped, then quickly continued with: "You're lying there in the nude?"
"It so happens that I am, Milo," she said cooly. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have dressed appropriately, but to completely relax, I like to pull off everything."
She saw him swallow hard, saw the way his eyes sort of went smoky with lust.
Instead of Milo getting the pajamas, he came a step closer to be bed, his face flaming with desire. "I'll - I'll go away with you, Naomie," he repeated eagerly. "Any time, anywhere!"
"You don't know what you're saying, Milo. I could never do a thing like that. It's absurd. Even if there were no other reasons, there's too much difference in our ages."
Abashed by her unsympathetic attitude, he remained quiet after that, a hurt look on his face.
"I'm sorry, Milo," she said, kindly, "but you've got to realize that."
With an agile movement, he was at the side of the bed. He quickly sat down.
"Naomie, I want to tell you something."
"I don't want to hear it."
"But it's about you and me."
"I won't listen, Milo."
"Let me come closer and tell you, Naomie."
"No, Milo," firmly she refused.
He sat there watching her undecidedly for a while, then she saw him moving toward her again.
"Naomie -"
"If you come any closer, I'll scream. I mean it, Milo."
"Don't do that!" he said, quickly moving away from her.
They sat in silence for a long time. Several dogs were barking, the sounds coming from various parts of town. A breeze from the Gulf Coast was blowing over the swampland, rustling the branches of the trees outside the window and making the window sash tap and creak.
"Naomie, I don't want anybody else to like you. I'm that jealous," he said. "I can hardly stand to see those boys eying you the way they do. It makes me want to knock the hell out of them."
"Milo, I want you to promise me something," she said uneasily. "If you care for me as much as you say, you will promise. It's the only way you can prove that you mean it."
"What do you want me to promise?" he asked suspiciously.
"I want you to promise - that if I let you -"
"Yes, yes, Naomie!" he said eagerly through dry, feverish, quivering lips.
She put her arms around his neck, and then with a violence that left her breathless he had both of his arms around her. After that, unresisting and submissive, she lay against the strong muscular hardness of his body while he hugged her with ravening hunger. Her eyes closing, she tried to think what she could do after that to make him leave. She did not regret what she had done, but she knew, as she waited longer and longer for the time to come when she would try to make him leave, it was going to be even more difficult. She had intended making him promise that if she gave him some pussy, he would leave her alone, not only here, but at school as well. But now it didn't seem like the proper thing to do. Maybe he really is in love with me, she thought, and not nearly crazy with desire because his wife is pregnant. Well... he was indeed nearly crazy with desire, because she could see his organ bulging out, and his breathing came raggedly, as if he'd just jogged three miles.
"Milo, you didn't promise -"
"I'll promise anything if you'll let me stay here now, Naomie!"
Before she could say anything, his arms tightened around her possessively. She tried to resist an overwhelming desire that suddenly came over her. However, she found herself pressing her warm body affectionately against the tense hardness of his manhood.
"Milo, if I let you kiss me, the way you want, just once -"
"What will I have to promise?" he said.
She moved her face against his, tightening her arms around him.
"Nothing," she whispered. "Don't promise, just kiss me the way you want."
With the first touch of his lips, it was easy to forget how he came to be there and how she had tried to make him leave. Whether or not she ever regretted what she was doing, she knew she did not want him to go away and leave her.
Just before the Thanksgiving Holidays, when the Riverview Weekly Leader hit the street (and later, the out-door toilets on the outlying farms), the town was a-buzz over- of all things! - the story in small type of the Riverview School Board proceedings which was usually completely over-looked by everyone except school bus drivers who'd been fired, or the few parents who'd had children expelled for smoking pot on the campus.
Ash Wilkes, on taking the paper and retreating to a chair, opened it and discovered the sensational notice the board had given about the resignations of Milo Burch and Naomie Constantine.
Wilkes read the proceedings twice, pausing to look a third time at what Milo had to say to the board: ".... Since I have recently filed for divorce and plan to marry Miss Constantine in the near future, both Miss Constantine and I feel duty-bound to resign immediately, to save the Board and the community unneeded embarrassment...."
The following Wednesday afternoon, just after school let out for the week-long Thanksgiving Holiday season, the whole town turned out to watch Milo Burch drive down Main Street to the old house where Naomie, her suitcases lined up outside the gate, stood waiting.
In a little while, Milo's car came back down Main, picking up speed after it crossed the last stoplight. Despite the car's increased speed as it swept past the courthouse, all of the sitters on the green benches could plainly see just how close Naomie was sitting to Milo.
"I'll say one thing -" the Clerk-of-court said, as the car disappeared around a curve, "Milo Burch is going to be one happy man this night!"
