The tall gray-haired man finished the last of his Grand Marnier souffl� and accompanied it with a swallow of the strong black demitasse, leaned (back against the comfortable red-cushioned back of his seat in the Quo Vadis Restaurant with a happy sigh of repletion. It had been a memorable day for him in New York, and what awaited him already had set his pulses tingling with an almost boyish anticipation.
At three-thirty this Friday afternoon, old Hector Dunbar, president of Dunbar-Thorby Industries, had smilingly informed him that the firm's three-million-dollar advertising billing would be awarded to the Chicago agency of Duffy, Woodling and Stander. To have come all the way from Chicago to give a presentation against the competition of at least a dozen of New York's finest agencies and win a lucrative plum like Dunbar-Thorby was in itself a spectacular day's work. And now there was the celebration which would climax it: first, a leisurely dinner at one of the world's great restaurants, savoring the culinary marvel of a chicken gismonda accompanied by a bottle of Corton de Charlemagne. And now, or rather half an hour from now, to spend the night with one of the most talented call girls in all of Manhattan-or so at least Ted Amberly, the affable advertising manager of Dunbar-Thorby, had intimated.
As he signaled to the gracious yet always unobtrusive waiter to bring him another demitasse, he clipped the end of a Havana panatela, lit it and drew on it till it was going satisfactorily. Then after another sip of the strong hot coffee which had appeared as if by magic, he closed his eyes as speculative images began to insinuate themselves in his mind. The rustle of silken garments, the soft shir of zippers being drawn, the delicate aroma which perfume and soft eager flesh made in their rapturous blend, the satiny-smooth feeling of naked warm palpitating skin against his own, and the little sounds of feverish gasps and sibilant murmurs in the night. He felt his loins quivering with a dull ache which was the presentiment of fleshly delight to come. It helped dispel the gloomy, brooding thoughts which had preceded it, the impressions of his recent second marriage and his ineptness in that marriage. That was why, all the more, he hoped that tonight would finally banish the specter of failure from the bed of passion.
To be sure, commercial lust had its drawbacks. It was usually contrived, generally mechanical, and it sometimes left one with a self-disgust which entirely destroyed the temporary carnal relief from sexual tensions which it was meant to ease. Yet Ted Amberly out of a clear sky, clapping him on the back and telling him that he had really scored with old Jason Dunbar, had volunteered the name of this gifted play-for-pay girl out of a clear sky. He had winked and said, "I think I know just how you feel, Tim boy, but you did a great job and you deserve it. You know what I'd do if I were in your shoes right now? Treat myself to the best chow in New York and then have a night with Eleanor."
And when he had looked blank and asked who Eleanor was, the plump, nearly bald advertising manager had winked and whispered, 'She doesn't do it for free, old buddy, but she picks and chooses, so you might say she's still a sort of amateur. College girl- from what I heard, she went to Barnard. European graduation trip and all, and then the family fortunes went down with the Dow average, so she set herself up in a swanky pad. But she's a terrific actress and she likes sex, and I just happen to have her number because I celebrated my own promotion with her about two years ago-and I'm here to tell you it was like nothing in this world!"
The tall gray-haired man took another puff at his cigar and frowned. He hadn't liked the idea of anyone's pandering for him, but Amberly's enthusiastic praise had piqued him, and so he'd finally accepted the phone number. Then, back in his own hotel room, he'd called this Eleanor. Her voice had been crisp, yet pleasant, guarded and yet friendly. He'd told her only that he'd come to New York to celebrate a big business deal, and wanted a little companionship to end -a very memorable day. And so she'd told him to be at her apartment by nine o'clock tonight.
It was a long cab drive out to Rego Park, and so he rose now, opening his wallet and nodding to the waiter for the check. He left a generous tip, stopped to compliment the suave black-haired co-owner of the restaurant on the magnificence of the cuisine and service, and then had the doorman hail him a cab. Then, finishing his cigar and leaning back in complete relaxation, he waited for the adventure which he hoped would not only end this day in a burst of glory but also solve the nagging, babbling problem that had cropped up since his re-marriage ... .
He did a double-take when the second-floor door opened and a stately coopery-haired young woman in a green hostess gown confronted him. Her burnished red hair was piled into a thick almost prim bun at the back of her head, leaving dainty little ears bare and the smooth long nucha of a beautifully chiseled neck. Her brows were short, thick, expressively arched, her nose slightly aquiline with sensuous, flaring wings, and her mouth was full and passionate.
"You're Tim?" her voice was husky-soft.
He nodded, suddenly, inexplicably trembling. "Yes, I'm the one who phoned."
"Do come in, Tim. First we'll chat a bit because I want to get to know you. That way, you see, it will be much more personal. You won't be just an unknown stranger and I won't be just another girl. We've come together for romance, and I pride myself on trying to give a little more than the illusion."
He chuckled softly. "He said that you were gifted, Eleanor. I can see already he was right."
"Because I can talk intelligently? I'll do better for you than that, Tim." Her own soft laugh revealed beautiful, perfect small white teeth, and he caught a glimpse of a pert pink tongue and shivered at its intimations. "Now first, as is traditional, let's get the sordid details out of the way at once. I presume you'd like to stay the night?"
Again he nodded, already fascinated by this stunning, obviously more than competent young daughter of joy.
She took his hat and coat and hung them up on a rack in the foyer what seemed to be a large and most luxuriously furnished apartment, then moved over to a richly upholstered couch and gestured to him to sit beside her. "You were in luck I wasn't already engaged on a Friday night in New York, Tim. It's two-fifty, and yes, I'll admit it's a bit much. But when we're finished, if you aren't satisfied, then I'll let you pay me just what you think it's worth. Fair enough? After all, you're a guest to our fair city, and I don't want you to go away thinking that New York girls are highway robbers."
"I'm sure I shan't be disappointed." He took out his wallet and swiftly paid her. The redhead deftly tucked the money away in a pocket of the lustrous hostess gown and smiled her thanks: "Now then, tell me a little about yourself. Your first trip to New York, are you married, whatever you want to say in strictest confidence. I'll tell you in advance that I don't work with anyone, certainly not many cab drivers and never a pimp, and I don't gossip about my friends-which I want to count on you as being one. I'll also tell you that I'm twenty-three, this is my second year in the world's oldest but I think still honest profession, and I'll even tell you how a nice girl like myself got into a place like this. I was an only child and spoiled rotten, with a European trip after my high-school graduation. And then when my father went broke in the stock-market, and my mother died of a broken heart after he'd jumped out of his office window, I decided that I wanted to go on having the same luxurious, pampered life-and this seemed to be the only certain way I'd be able to do that. Now then, the rest of the night is all yours. Start by letting me know what you like and what makes you tick, Tim."
Over the years, before and after his first marriage which had ended with his wife's unexpected death, he had bought the services of many a comely, delectable companion for the night But this was the first one who had intrigued him and who made him want to establish as close a communal bond as two strangers who meet in passing can procure in a single night. That was why he found himself telling her about his wife's death and his two children and how he had married about two months ago in the hope of a new happiness. And then, finally, not without embarrassment, looking down at the floor, that he hadn't yet been able to achieve that happiness because of his own imperfections.
"I think I understand," she said gently after he had finished. "You're a very fine and decent man, Tim, and I'm very glad that Ted gave you my phone number. I'm going to try to rid you of that little problem. Will you do just what I tell you to? I spoke about romance a little while ago. That's the way I like to think of these encounters, as you might call them. Each one is new and with its own special setting and implications. I like to adapt myself to them, because it's a kind of challenge. And it's more exciting for me that way. As he may have told you also, I happen to enjoy sex and I think it's natural and beautiful."
"So do I, Eleanor."
"Good! Then you come right along with me now, and I'll start the treatment."
Again he felt himself trembling, but this time with a new hope and expectation. She took his hands in hers and led him out of the large living room into a beautifully tiled bathroom with a huge sunken tub. "Take off everything," she smilingly instructed, and he obeyed.
She had started the water running, and bent down to test its temperature." It has to be warm, that stirs the blood," she said almost as if she were giving a lecture in the Sorbonne. Her eyes scanned his still strong, athletic body. "You certainly have nothing to be ashamed of, Tim. You look better at your age than most of the men I see who are ten or even twenty years younger. There now, it's just about full Now I'm going to put in some bubblebath, and then you're. going to soak yourself and just relax for a little bit. After that, I'll really start the treatment."
He carefully lowered himself into the sunken tub, and lay back. The warm water was indeed pleasant, and the fragrance of the bubble bath added a new nuance of sensual pleasure. He could feel his dormant penis stirring, and he glanced down at himself, hoping for prodigious energy tonight For a haunting moment, the memory of his past inadequacies savagely returned to haunt him, but her smiling face and her svelte beauty in the clinging, molding hostess gown reassured him.
Eleanor had left the bathroom for a moment, and returned now with a tray on which was placed an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne, a straight razor and a tube of shaving lather. Setting it down on the laundry hamper against the opposite wall, she playfully beckoned to him: "Time for your shave, Tim dear. Just sit down on that stool and I'll do you.
He clambered out of the sunken tub, grasped the large Turkish towel she handed him, and quickly patted himself dry; then sat down on a heavy leather-padded footstool and watched her with mounting interest.
Her face calm and inscrutable, the red-haired call girl opened the tube of shaving lather, squeezed Out a copious portion, went over to the wash basin and turned on the tap for a moment, then came back to kneel down before him. "Spread them wide, Tim dear," she instructed, and again he obeyed, a rapt smile on his face as he intently watched her.
Vigorously she rubbed the now foamy lather into the thick pubic bush at his lower abdomen and about his penis, then took up the straight razor and began to shave 'him very delicately and carefully. He quivered at her soft touch along his groin, his abdomen and lower thighs. When she had finished, she whispered, "Stay just as you are," and went back to the tray to uncork the bottle of champagne. Then, pouring a little in a glass, she handed it to him, and then tilted the bottle to her lips.
Holding the liquid in her mouth, she moved back to him, and knelt down and then began to rinse his loins with the cold champagne. He gasped and squirmed at the stinging, tickling sensation. Once again she returned for the bottle, and this time brought it hack. Kneeling back down, she repeated the process three times. "There you are, clean as a baby, darling. And now I think the time has come to adjourn to the bedroom, don't you?"
His penis was half-erect, and the cords along his inner thighs were flexing and tremoring convulsively.
"My God, yes, Eleanor!" he hoarsely ejaculated.
"I'll bring along the rest of the champagne. And I'd say right now, you've nothing to worry about, darling. Come along."
He followed her down the hall to a door which she opened. She reached in and touched a switch, and there was a soft indirect bluish lighting. As he came to the threshold, he gasped in surprise. Beyond him he could see that the walls and the ceiling were mirrored, and that there was a huge round waterbed dominating the very center of the room. Over to the left was a backless low wide couch padded in black leather, and to the right was a huge deep armchair and a footstool beside it. Near the chair was a hi-fl console, and the red-haired call girl moved to it now, bent and turned it on, adjusting the dials. At once he heard the soft music of Debussy's "Nuages," the first of the set of three orchestral "Images." The ethereal beauty of the music wafted a kind of spell over this exotic room.
Atop the console was a singular Chinese incense-burner, which Eleanor now lit And presently the subtle scent of a kind of tantalizing pungency emanated throughout the wide high-ceilinged room. She smiled at the quivering naked man and motioned towards the huge bed. "Just relax and absorb the atmosphere, Tim. That's why I prefer all-night engagements, you see. Don't think about a thing; that's my assignment."
"You're-you're incredible, Eleanor," he breathed, moving to the bed cautiously seating himself on the edge; then he drew up his legs and stretched out on his back. His eyes at once widened; the sensation of the waterbed was new and immensely stimulating. He had the feeling he was suspended in space and time, and with the soft insistence of the music and the incense and the indirect light which cast fanciful shadows on everything it touched, he began to feel an awareness of his own naked body such as he had seldom had.
She stood a long moment contemplating him, an enigmatic smile on her soft red lips. "Feeling better?" she murmured.
"My God, yes!" he blurted, and then blushed, observing that her widely spaced, large dark brown eyes were intently fixed on his nearly turgid penis. Instinctively, he put a hand down to cover himself.
"Now that's naughty, darling," she laughed gently, shaking her head as she moved closer to the bed. "What's there to be ashamed of? My goodness, I told you already that you're in better physical shape at your age than lots of fellows ten and even twenty years your junior. Besides, that kind of false modesty leads exactly to what you want to get rid of. Now you just put your hands behind your head, spread your legs and make your mind a perfect blank. Ready?"
He nodded, bemused. She put her slim hands to the bun of coppery hair and loosened it, letting it fall in a rich, cascading mass below her shoulder blades. Then, drawing the zipper of the hostess gown, she wriggled out of it, and stood for his inspection in a matching black nylon bra and panty set, with a narrow white garterbelt hugging her supple waist and sending its tiny tabs lovingly along the sleek upper columns of her thighs to clamp to the gossamer tops of smoke-hued nylons.
He sucked in his breath and stared avidly at her. In this dishabille and in this pose, Eleanor suddenly seemed familiar to him, though of course until tonight he had never before met her. Yet there was such a striking physical resemblance between her and-no, he mustn't think of that, it was definitely perverse. He cleared his throat rather nervously, pressing his palms down on the soft yielding service of the waterbed, devouring her seductive and yet subtle beauty with all his inflamed senses. She was as tall as Rachel, there was no doubt about that. And this new thought made him wince inwardly with a sense of guilt which might well be destructive. It was to escape all the various kinds of guilt which had cropped up almost at once after his marriage to Rachel that he had taken Ted Amberly's recommendation tonight. And so he forced himself to surrender to the magic of this atmospheric setting and to the alluring sensuality of this extraordinarily intelligent 'young woman who knew enough to turn harlotry into an art worthy of being appreciated by a connoisseur.
"That's better, Tim," her voice was very soft as she moved even closer to the bed. Then she reached behind her to unhook the straps of the bra and to let it flutter to the floor. Once again he sucked in his breath as the proud, boldly round globes of her pale ivorysheene4 breasts fairly thrust out at him. They were widely spaced, high-perched, with broad orangeish coral aureole, and her nipples were full, already almost stiff under the duskier hue. The smooth plane of her belly was exquisitely ornamented with a wide shallow navel, a kind of lascivious eye which winked complaisantly at him. And from above, the diffusion of the bluish light tinted the pallor of her smooth bare flesh in an indefinably erotic way.
The slimness of her waist accentuated the bold richness of her firm naked breasts. And again there was contrast in the long sleek legs to whose marvelously sculptured contours the gauzy smoke-tinted nylon hose called titillating attention.
Satisfied by the almost stunned admiration with which he stared at her, she lowered her arms to her sides and straightened her shoulders, tossing her head Just a little to let the shimmering cascade of her coppery red hair dance and tumble against her bare shoulders and upper back, and to let him see also the resilient jiggling of her bare breasts. It was as if a beautiful Circassian slavegirl, summoned for the first time to the bed of her new lord, set out by every intuitive and disciplined mannerism to demonstrate not only her appreciable beauty but also her intense willingness to submit to his every caprice. To think of this now began to overcome his secret anxieties, and with it came a quivering pulsation all along his thighs and loins, further stiffening his penis.
As she observed this further tumescence, she uttered a soft little laugh of pleasure and nodded, then turned and went over to the hi-fl console and adjusted some more dials, next touched a switch at the back. Instantly the light turned to a pale green, and also he became aware that the bed was moving In a slow but very definable circular pattern.
"Yes, it's like those famous revolving restaurants. Only it revolves a little better than 360 degrees an hour, as you'll feel, Tim dear," she answered his ins-spoken question. Then- she moved back to him and mounted on the bed, swinging her beautiful long legs onto it to lie beside him on her left side. Her left hand moved to stroke the back of his head, while her right hand tentatively glided along his calf, thence over the knee, and then along his inner thigh. Once again he could not help sucking in his breath and this time quite audibly. His hands clenched under his neck and -he made a gesture of withdrawing them, but she shook her head: "Not yet, dear. Just let me go on as I'm doing. You'll know when it's time to take action. And besides, it will be a long night and you mustn't try to do everything the first time. That's part of the secret of letting yourself go and relaxing. All right?"
He could only nod, stricken with delight and wonder at this novel and yet marvelously sympathetic attentiveness. Thus far there had not been a single gross or coarse word or act or the least suggestiveness; it had been, indeed, the most imaginative and esthetic prelude to fornication that he had ever encountered, even in a book!
Eleanor moved closer to him, and he could feel the slightly moist warm flesh of her upper thigh against his hip. Her soft fingertips lingeringly stroked the back of his head and then his earlobes, while her right hand continued its gradually ascending, stroking maneuver along the inside of his thigh, halting just before reaching his now achingly readied penis.
Now, bending her head towards him, she began to apply rapid little kisses all over his chest and collarbone, while he closed his eyes and gave himself up thoroughly to the multitudinous sensations now beginning to take full hold of him. The pungency of the incense blended with the spicy scent he could detect from her half-naked nearness; and the soft moist, quickly fleeting pressures of her red lips on his prickling skin began to act like a cantharis in predicting the carnal euphoria in store for his long-deprived maleness.
And now, very lightly and tentatively, the fingertips of her right hand grazed the throbbing glans of his penis, frictioning the puckering lips for a memorable instant, then moving quickly to his testicles and tickling them in an evanescent way that made him groan with remembered pleasure. She shifted herself now, moving slightly below him, and now her lips attacked his belly while her left hand trailed slowly over his throat and chest, the fingertips just brushing his quivering flesh. And meanwhile the slowly revolving bed on which he lay sprawled and abandoned had inflicted its own novel and exciting sensation on her nerves and sinews. By now, the shadows of the unfortunate past had been crowded out, to be replaced by all these delicious new nuances of sensuality by which she was so expertly seducing him.
He opened his eyes, and saw their bodies reflected down from the ceilinged mirror. Now the light was red but soft and not at all harsh, and it emphasized the libidinous and imaginative setting in which they had come together. The music, too, had changed, and he recognized the strains of Deius' "Walk Through the Paradise Garden," music of hauntingly evocative beauty and appropriate for the languorous dalliance by which this imaginative red-haired beauty sought to produce pleasure and release for him.
With a kind of wondering joy and grateful awareness now, he became conscious of the virility of his wakened body. Now it was time to concentrate no longer on the brooding speculations over previous failures or secret, forbidden longings; now it was time only to be sensate and alive and capable of communicating to this beautiful young houri all his pleasure in her artistry.
Her lips had reached his lower abdomen, and now both hands stroked his sides and hips, as she huddled at his loins. Leaning slightly more forward, she let the rich firm curves of her naked round breasts brush against his groin, and the thrilling friction of her warm woman flesh to his sent a spasm of tortured joy throughout his eager body.
He lifted his head, his eyes wide now as he strained to watch her every movement in this exquisitely prolonged foreplay. And as he did so, she glanced quickly up at him and smiled sympathetically, then put her lips to the very tip of his penis in a stinging little kiss that made him groan aloud and reach out his hands for her.
"Oh no, not yet, dear, let me do it all," she murmured.
Now very gently she put both hands to his rigid shaft, stroking it from scrotum to glans with just the tips of her fingers, back and forth in slow, deliberate titillations. He could feel all of his marrow, all his juices, all his vitality yearning towards her touch, and he could feel himself arch and flex as he awaited her, Having been admonished to hold himself back and to let her take initiative was a sweet knowledge now, and the pangs of this denial became at once a novel pleasure for him yet without any sacrifice of his own determined masculinity.
Now, deftly and felinely, she had moved between his straddled thighs, bowing to him as a slave to her overlord. She cupped her full ivory-sheened breasts in both hands and lowered herself to him, and he uttered a strangled gasp of ecstasy as he felt the smooth warm globes enclasp his turgid organ and hold it sweet captive. She began to shift herself slightly on her knees, and again he opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling to watch the reflection of this erotic ritual, the first such ever performed upon him. He began to tremble and he could feel the pulses pounding in his temples. He could feel his penis rubbing back and forth along that gloriously improvised cleft which her two fine round breasts made for him so obligingly, and his entire body was stricken with a readiness and keenness that had been lacking all those times before.
Now, suddenly, she straightened, a roguish little smile curving her soft mouth, reached back to gather her tumbling, shimmering coppery hair and to furl it down towards him. Moving slightly backwards on her nylon-sheathed knees, she arched herself, turning her head this way and that so as to make the fringe of that silken cascade ticklingly graze against his inner thighs and his swelling penis in evanescent caresses that made him shudder with their subtle delicacy.
His eyes feasted on the. jiggling firmness of her splendid round breasts, and now, wonderingly and delightedly, looked upwards at the ceiling where all this fascinatingly prolonged preparation was being mirrored, then to the walls where, here too, he could observe himself in this exquisitely passive participation at the ritual of passion.
Now again she paused, and this time it was to tug the clinging, gossamer black nylon panties down to her knees, lift each in turn and then toss that gauzy sheath to the floor, remaining in garterbelt, nylons and spike-heeled pumps. His eyes blazed at the revelation of her loins, for Eleanor's love cleft was completely depilated: like a soft pouting, ripe fig, shell-pink and daintily vulnerable, the lips of her vulva offered themselves without dissembling, and as he stared avidly-for he had never before seen the female Venus so provocatively unadorned-he could just glimpse the furtive nodule of her clitoris peeping from its discreet hiding place at the very apex.
Now the softly diffused light had turned to a warm yellow, and the music, too, had changed. The piquant chromatics of Ravel's "Alborada del Gracioso" filled his ears, courtly and gallant, archaically romantic, with the hint of bitter sweetness that was part of this inventive seduction.
Never before had all his senses been so sharpened, so cumulatively aware of his aching maleness and his need for cohesion with the female. Distractedly, he found himself thinking of Plato's theorem that man and woman were of the same polarity and thus were fulfilled only when their two divergent entities were brought together. And for this unison he longed now with every fiber of his wakened being. The incense, the music, the changing light and the sensation of movement which the constantly revolving waterbed procured heightened the imminence of longed for ecstasy of the flesh. And beyond lust which filled him now, there was a profound gratitude for this imaginative and intellectual young woman who, even granting that she was for hire, had given him the gift of restored manhood and a rich exultance in its possession. He found himself fiercely impatient, and put out his hands to her with a hoarse groan of "Eleanor, please-now, now!"
"Would you like some more champagne first, Tim dear?" she teasingly proffered. And when he shook his head, she laughed softly, and murmured, "That's very flattering. Well, maybe you are just about ready. But first let me make sure, darling. I want this to be perfect for you.
Now, taking her hair in both hands, she bent over him and began very gently and lingeringly to friction his aching penis with the silken strands. He ground his teeth to hold back the savage urge to ejaculate, and the muscular cords along his inner thighs flexed sporadically. The soft brush of her fingers as they guided the coppery red curls up and down his now fully rigid shaft could discern his frantic eagerness for consummation. Gently she stroked his testicles, rubbing the ends of her shimmering cascade against the gnarled, hairy sacks till they contracted and spasmed with the furious urgency that-had begun to take hold of him.
Now she stretched a lovely bare arm out towards a little tabouret just beyond the revolving bed, and retrieved a small white porcelain jar whose top she unscrewed. Then, dipping her right forefinger into the ocher-tinted ointment, she carefully applied it over the velvety glans and the tautly rigid shaft of his swollen penis. The fragrance of sandalwood came to his dilated nostrils, and he blinked in pleased surprise at this unexpected nuance of erotic preparation. As in a three-dimensional dream in which the incense and the light and mirrors and music all compounded this fantasy which was yet reality, he watched her anoint the soft pink quivering lips of her vulva. Then, replacing the top of the jar and setting it over at the foot of the bed, she moved hack to him and knelt between his straddled thighs, her hands reaching for his and their fingers entwining. Her hair tumbled down onto his chest, and he arched himself with a frenzied impatience, wanting to assuage the maddening aching in his loins and to slake himself as if it were almost the very first time in his existence.
She crouched before him, tossing her lovely head so that the thick cascade of coppery red hair tumbled down over her back and, with that motion, let him again delight in the jouncing of her firm white breasts. Her nipples seemed stiffer and darker now, though perhaps it was the fanciful tinting which the diffused light accorded her naked flesh. Her fingers glided over his inner thighs, thence to his abdomen and chest, now stroking his sides up to the armpits and back down till at last she took hold of his aching penis with both thumbs and forefingers and commenced a rapid- series of tiny little squeezes which made him groan aloud.
"You've been wonderfully patient, you're a perfect lamb, Tim," she complimented him. And then, in a whimsical tone and a quick little smile of her moist red lips, she added, "Remember, don't try to do everything the first time. It's good to take the edge off, and then we can both take our time and learn more about each other. You'll see. And now, I know rye kept you waiting an awfully long time, but I'll try to make it up to you."
With this, she put her left thumb and forefinger to the soft pink hairless lips of her vulva and yawned them apart, while her right hand grasped the middle of his upright, throbbing spear. He caught his breath and shuddered with a feverish anticipation, his hands wanting to reach out and squeeze and possess the warm resilient naked body so tantalizingly displayed before him.
"Now put your legs tight together, dear, so I can have you," she whisperingly instructed, and he obeyed. Deftly, straddling over his hips, her nylon-sheathed knees planted firmly on the waterbed which continued to revolve, she took hold of his penis at the circumeisional groove, exerting a very light pressure with the very tips of - forefinger and thumb, and guided him into her gaping cleft. At that initial contact; he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, for the ferocious impulse to release his pent-up essence was almost intolerable. Tilting back his head, tightening all his muscles, he fought against the disaster, for that would be to repeat the failures of the past, failures he had come here to repair.
Slowly she sank herself down upon him, impaling herself, and he could feel the pulsations of her vaginal sheath as it enclasped his penetrating organ. Her fingers moved down to the scrotum as she absorbed almost all of it, and the quick little pinches which she applied served also to block his frantic will to climax at this inappropriate moment.
"My goodness, you've nothing to be ashamed about at all, nothing, darling," she confided in a soft, little girl voice as very carefully now, reaching out to grasp his shoulders, she lowered herself. When he felt the impact of her ripe firm naked breasts against his panting chest, he yielded to impulse for the first time and locked his arms around her smooth deeply hollowed warm bare back.
Her mouth sealed his, and her tongue nimbly probed between his lips. It was like a galvanizing current flowing between their bodies. He steeled himself to withhold his juices, for this had been so perfect till this moment that the least flaw would destroy the illusion of ecstatic perfection, of love as it was meant to be between man and woman with a dash of sophistry and wit to spice the episode.
It was strangely pleasing for him to feel her mouth on his and her tongue probing, for he had always had the belief that this was the one thing professionals would never do with a client It served to give him greater confidence, realizing that Eleanor was not only a superb actress and imaginative love-partner but also sexually sincere. And now he could surrender himself to the multitudinous sensations which besieged him.
The elegantly ironic music of Ravel had reached its finale, at a swifter pace that seemed to accompany the pounding of his pulses and the throbbing ache of his imbedded penis to the hilt within her contracting sheath. For he could definitely feel the fluttering, constricting, tremors with which the walls of her gloriously tight vagina held him in an ecstatic captivity. He began now to want to take initiative, and he arched himself.
"Oh, darling," her soft tone was almost reproachful," not this first time, please? Let me do it for you, because after all, we have all night. I promise you'll be the master next time. Is that all right, Tim dear?"
"Why C-God, why-yes, Eleanor-oh God, it's so good!" he hoarsely panted.
Her fingertips brushed his armpits with slyly insist-ant caresses, as her tongue nimbly moved this way and that, rasping against his gums and teeth, then encountering his own tongue to create new incendiary excitement in his being. Her body was warm and smooth and slightly moist, and the smell of her flesh blended with that of the incense and the fragrance of the sandalwood, and as she moved with furtive, forward thrusts and sinuous recoiling, he could feel the rasp of her garterbelt against his prickling, thoroughly awakened flesh. There was a luxury and a libidinousness to her erotic dalliance which might well have been that of an ambitious young slave seeking to entice the master of the seraglio. Passive as he had been all through her preparations, he could not but feel this apt erotic analogy; it had succeeded where the commonplace animal enthusiasm of a far less imaginative commercial partner would have filled him with disgust at his own calculated infidelity. But actually that infidelity was born out of his doubts about himself and his anguished will to have happiness with the woman he had so recently ... .
Then suddenly culmination seized him, and he twisted his face away contorted in 4ningled despair and rapture, groaning out, "Oh God, I can't help it oh, Eleanor, I can't-"
Swiftly her right hand moved between their bodies, her thumb and forefinger gripping his shaft at the very base and pinching it tightly to help him hold back the bubbling jet of essence that seemed to surge from the deepest reservoir within him. But the intoxicating atmosphere and, now, above all else the pulsations with which her vaginal sheath was gripping his captured lance destroyed what little self-control was left. His eyes bulged, glassy, dilated, and he dug his fingers into her slim shoulders as he arched himself to her and felt himself burst within the tight warm clamping chasm of her matrix.
She did not move for a long moment, murmuring soft, hardly audible words of compassion and encouragement, stroking his forehead and cheeks and eyes with gentle fingertips. Then at last she whispered, "It was really lovely for me, and I told you before, once you take off the first edge, you'll more than keep up with me. Now I'm going to sponge you, and then we'll have some champagne and a cigarette together, and then I'll try to make you want me again. How does that program sound, Tim dear?"
Two glasses of champagne and one cigarette later, he lay at his ease beside her. Eleanor had slipped on a gauzy black net sleeveless wrap which had three large brass buttons. As she lay on her left side beside him, her left arm under his shoulders, she began a slow rotary movement of her right palm over his quivering belly. The bed had stopped revolving for the nonce, and there was only a natural indirect lighting from the mirrored ceiling.. Nonetheless, the subtle scent of incense and of the sandalwood ointment lingered pleasantly in the aura of the huge bed.
"I've really been a naughty girl, haven't I?" she whispered, glancing mischievously up at him. "Here I went and had things my own way even though you're the customer. So from now on, Tim dear, you're in complete command. But you see, I wanted to get acquainted with you, to find out what you like especially."
"Please don't apologize, sweetheart. It was like nothing I've ever had before, believe me!" he fervently admitted as he put one hand on her swelling breasts and fondled them. "I guess I've been worried a lot about how to act in bed, especially since I just got married. And at my age, a man is always on trial-if you know what I mean, Eleanor."
"I can read between the lines, you don't have to tell me anything. But I do want to help an awful lot. That's why, Tim, I want you to do everything you've always dreamed of doing. Just tell me or make rue do it. Please, dear."
"I-I guess I'm the straight type to start with, though of course like every guy I've got some secret whims-"
"That's why I'm here, to make them come true for you. And now," she slipped her right hand down to his flaccid penis, "shall I get him ready for me?"
"Oh yes, I want you to!"
"But after that, remember now," she shook a playfully reproving finger at him, "you're in complete command."
He nodded raptly, and he did not consult the mirrored ceiling or the walls to stare avidly at her, near as she was, the gauzy wrap shaping out her voluptuous hillocks of buttocks, breasts and the sweet sweep of her quiveringly muscled thighs. She began to trail the tips of her fingers against his penis, lingering most of the glans and then moving along the shaft and to the testicles. Slowly she proceeded to tickle the undersides of these now diminished sacks, till gradually he began to feel a renewal of that aching intimation towards sexual readiness.
"Would it help, do you think, dear," she murmured, "if you were rough and used, well, you know, dirty words? Sometimes that helps, especially with an intellectual, mature man like you. You're so much the father type, Tim, I suspect you've been holding yourself in for years-of course it's none of my business."
"But it is," he chuckled, then reached for her and pulled her to him, his mouth seeking hers. Her tongue at once delved between his lips and brushed the tip of his, and once again the feverish electrical current between them seemed recharged. He could feel his penis stiffening, and the dull ache in his groin became noticeably more demanding.
"I swear, you must have majored in psychology at college," he hoarsely whispered when the kiss was over.
"Matter of fact, I did," she giggled softly, then bent to take one of his paps into her mouth and to suck it daintily and then rubbed. the tip of her tongue over it. Once again it was a new sensation for him, and he felt again the stimulus of lustful eagerness.
And now, felinely, she got to her knees and crouched at his left side, her fingers lightly fleeting over his belly and inner thighs as she bowed her head towards his penis and playfully flicked the reddened tip of the glans with her pert tongue. He closed his eyes and shivered, for the angle at which she was placed and the exquisite wantonness of her face as seen through the tumbled cascade of coppery hair recalled to him the vivid image that he had tried to banish from his mind. Yet there was a resemblance, and the awareness of it shocked him while at the same time appealing to the basest senses of his sexual yearnings. But in the midst of this conflict, he could feel his penis growing turgid once again as if he had not already achieved a magnificently shattering fulfillment just moments ago. The awareness of this over weighed the guilty shame of that other thought, the thought he dared not dwell upon.
And yet there was protection in this fantasy-world which Eleanor had created for him: she knew only his first name and he hers; she had just now given him carte blanche to translate into lecherous abandon all the secret longings he had nurtured for so long. After tonight, it could be a forgotten interlude, dismissed as a one-time caprice, though its memories could be cherished in delicious secrecy through the years ahead, through the nights with Rachel. And because there was no cruelty in him to begin with, what he did now in this mirrored room would not and could not matter to anyone save himself so far as the future and his peace of mind were concerned.
Suddenly he groaned aloud. She had begun to inflict tiny nibbling kisses all along his penis from scrotum to the urethral lips, which had begun to pucker and twitch with convulsive receptivity to the soft moist caress of her red lips. At the same time, her fingertips plied the insides of his thighs and the edges of his buttocks near the cleavage with a persistent and delicious friction that sent innumerable tremors through his entire nervous system and inevitably concentrated all their cumulative revitalization into the now agonizedly swollen structure of his throbbing penis.
"Oh, my, Tim, you're ready to take command right now, really you are!" she huskily declared, kneeling up and considering him with humid, widened eyes. "Remember, I want you to do whatever you like to me, and don't hold it back. How do you want me to get ready for you, lover?"
He sat up, trembling with unslaked desire. "Get on all fours, bow your head way down to the bed, and spread those luscious legs of yours, Eleanor honey!" he heard himself saying in a hoarse, unrecognizable voice. As she began to pluck open the buttons of the black net wrap, he put his hands to her wrists, shook his head: "No, just the way you are right now!"
"Your command is my law, master," she whispered and made a saucy face at him as she moved away to the middle of the bed and then bowed her forehead down to its yielding surface, pressing down her palms on either side of her and beyond her head, and spreading her knees to maximum. He knelt up, shuddering violently as he moved behind her. With trembling fingers he lofted the wrap and rolled it up along the smooth ivory plane of her tendered back. This time he glanced upward at the ceiling to watch the libidinous reflection, his hands reaching out to stroke and squeeze the resilient globes of her jutting naked buttocks. Eleanor sighed deeply and squirmed lasciviously as she felt his sinewy fingers fondle her ivory flesh.
Her hair tumbled out along the bed towards her left arm, and in this genuflecting servile pose she became the epitome of every exotically beautiful concubine awaiting the virile will of her owner. His fingers moved round the edges of her hips, to feel her belly and abdomen, then dipped into the pink hairless orifice, tickling the soft moist twitching lips as he moved closer to her. The tip of his penis brushed against the shadowy, distended groove between her up reared, yielded naked buttocks, and he heard her suck in her breath sharply at the intimation. "Do you want some of that ointment first, before you do it to me, dearest?" he heard her gasp.
"No, you sweet bitch, and I'm taking over now, remember?" Now his voice was authoritative and compelling. There was a glory in being male now, the possessor of this exciting, imaginative houri. "Get ready to be fucked, Eleanor." Again he did not recognize his own voice as It throbbed with lust. And the very words made a thousand thrills of sensuality permeate his every nerve and sinew.
"Yes, master, I'm ready to be fucked," she whispered huskily. "Do it to me hard, as long as you can, I need it so badly! I'm your little girl, and I want my Daddy to give it to me good and hard!"
His face twisted into a rictus of tortured passion at these fateful words. They had evoked the very images he had sought to banish out of an age-old taboo, and now they were furiously vivid. With a choking cry, he gripped the insides of her upper thighs and steered his aching penis against the gaping pink cleft of her vulva. There was a lewdly sucking sound as he entered her, and then with a savage thrust impaled her to his very testicles, feeling them slap against the under edges of her jouncy ivory buttocks. And then once again he was caught up in the magic of her primal womanliness: he could feel the tightening clench of her vaginal walls against his rooted shaft. Closing his eyes, his fingers mercilessly digging into her quaking thighs, he prolonged this ecstatic moment of possession. And through it all he could feel the flutterings of her sheath as it gripped him in a timeless yet always thrillingly new captivity.
He reached forward now to cup the dangling globes of her swelling naked breasts and to squeeze them ardently as he pressed himself to complete cohesion. The warm grinding resistance of her thrust-back naked behind against his belly and upper thighs was indescribably glorious. And this time he knew that it would be long and sweet and savage, as it should always be when the flesh burned for fulfillment. Because she had eased him of his first agonized tensions, there would now be time to spin out this far more assionate consummation that would give him back his direly needed confidence in his own powers.
Eleanor arched up her buttocks, so that he could feel his penis stirring in the nethermost depths of her moist tight chasm, and he drew slightly back, his hands stroking her bare belly and sides and returning to squeeze the tops of her agile hips as if to guide and dominate her. Then again he thrust home, and was rewarded by her choking little "Ohh, that's lovely, darling, that's so lovely! I'm so glad I'm nice for you. Tim dear!"
He halted long enough to look round at all the mirrored walls and then up at the ceiling, seeing the two of them in this licentious cuppling like a photograph perpetuated throughout eternity. And indeed time did stand still now for this dreamed of moment. His right hand moved across her belly, descended till his forefinger found the dainty little bud of her clitoris, and he prodded it experimentally. She gasped, lifted her face and he could see in the mirror of the opposite wall the wide-eyed, sensually expectant face of his beautiful red-haired consort of the night. And then he began a relentless thrusting home and drawing back just to the brink of her moist quaking maw, while his finger speeded the frictioning of her stiffening lovebud. His left hand squeezed her upper left buttock, and he could feel her jerk and squirm and weave against his maneuvers.
"Do you feel me fucking you, Eleanor, you gorgeous red-haired bitch, you?" he growled, exultant in his newly regained role.
"Oooh, yes, Daddy, I do, I do! Ohh, it's good-oh that's a lovely thing you're doing with your finger, Daddy-oh fuck your little girl ever so hard now, please hick her till she comes, I need it so badly!" She exhorted him in a tiny, whimpering voice that made him seethe with lust.
For now he could drive away the demons of the taboo, knowing that it was for this night only and understood only by the two of them who would not meet again after this night. He hilted himself inside her vagina with a furious lunge, and once again he could feel her velvety-smooth buttocks convulsively grind and squirm against his belly. His forefinger pressed back her turgid clitoris into the soft protective cowl of loveflesh, then let it spring forth, and Eleanor uttered a sobbing little cry of pleasure, rubbing her forehead on the bed this way and that: her fingernails now scrabbling over the moving surface.
"Don't you dare let it slip out of your sweet cunt now, or you'll be sorry," he gasped a lewd waning as he drew himself back to the portals of her twitching vulva. And before she could answer, he thrust home again his spear scab barding itself into her tightening, contracting sheath.
His right forefinger returned to commandeer the swollen nodule, making her jerk and gasp as tumultuous sensations began to invade her crouching proffered naked body. Now his left forefinger caressed the smooth effulgence of her buttocks before at last stealthily moving towards the sinuous, shadowy groove between the jutting globes. A moment later, she tilted back her head, her nostrils flaring widely, her mouth gaping in a startled cry of pleasure as his fingertip thrust inside the contracting rosette of her anus.
"Aaaaa-oooh-ohh, D-Daddy-oh yes, hick me everywhere, give it to me hard-oh Daddy!"
He forgot everything except the overwhelming glory of the flesh, the joy of triumphant domination and cohesion. He thrust back and forth, his fingers moving in tempo, and Eleanor's crouching body was shaken with interminable spasms as her own magnificent fulfillment approached.
And then with a simultaneous, chorused cry which drowned out the music from the hi-fl, he and his paramour of the night knew at last release from the frenetic longings of their whetted flesh... .
Chapter Two
As she drew the venetian blinds of her bedroom windows on the- second floor of the old Gothic house in the heart of Chicago's fabulous "Gold Coast," Rachel WoodIing thought disconsolately of the changing contrasts in the short two months of her marriage to one of the city's most dynamic advertising executives. This beautiful and comfortable old house was an architectural landmark a few blocks away from picturesque "Old Town," Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive with its beautiful, costly high-rise condominiums, the world-renowned Ambassador Hotel with its Pump Room. Along this very block lived many of the oldest, wealthiest and most socially prominent families of the Windy City... and yet all this was only a few blocks away from a slum neighborhood with its poverty, muggers and narcotics addicts.
A warm May rain spattered the windows with an insistent sound this Friday night, blurring the bright lights of the houses and towering buildings beyond. And Rachel Woodling felt herself a stranger in the house to which she had come with such high hopes.
Perhaps all the more because, now thirty-four and in the prime of her brunette beauty, she had already known what destruction a bad marriage could wreak. She had been a New York debutante, married at nineteen, forced into it by her society-obsessed parents who had mated her with a tow headed, boorish and extremely rich twenty-five year old bachelor by the name of Matt Varney. He had been a playboy and philanderer who spent money on his extra-marital loves the way an Arabian oil magnate might have purchased slaves at a secret mart. Because she had been extremely devoted to her parents, she had dutifully let herself be led to the altar with him. Her wedding night had been brutal and joyless, and she had detested Matt from the very start.
He had known this at once, and had taken sadistic delight in being unfaithful to her, turning the dagger in the wound by letting her learn about his amours in the belief that she needed him and so would not divorce him. Several times she had come upon him making love to her best friend, even to their maid, in the very house in which they had lived in Long Island Sound.
But before she could. finally dissolve the marriage-difficult indeed in the State of - New York except on the grounds of adultery or desertion or lack of consummation-Matt Varney had been drowned while driving his motorboat at excessive speed, and Rachel had found herself widowed at the age of twenty-two.
To forget the disaster of this loveless marriage, the slim brunette had turned to night school courses in the field of interior decoration of which she was particularly fond, while supporting herself with a clerical job during the day. Within ten years, she had gained sufficient professional reputation in her avocation to open a shop on Chicago's vaunted North Michigan Avenue. That shop had brought her fame, financial independence, and her new husband, Timothy Woodling Senior.
She turned away from the window and walked slowly over to her boudoir table, seated herself and lit a cigarette. The gold-framed oval mirror reflected back a sensitive oval face, large, widely spaced gray-green eyes, aquiline nose with thin, sensuous wings, high set cheekbones and high-arching forehead, and a small delicate mouth. Her jet-black hair, coiffed in a chic, almost mannish bob, left bare the elegant nucha and emphasized the almost wistful sensitivity of her features. The peach-hued belted negligee which she wore over a matching white nylon bra and panty set more than hinted at a figure which, of slightly more than medium height, promised a latent sensuality, with high-perched closely spaced pear-shaped breasts contrasting with boyishly compact, high set oval buttocks, long, slender and graceful thighs, and sinuously high set calves. Her skin was a warm, flawless olive.
As she thought of all the contrasts that had come into her life in so short a time, she thought, too, of her new husband's first wife, Grace, a vivacious, robust and beautiful blonde whom he had met in college and married a few years later. Grace's death from pneumonia a decade ago had not only bereaved him, but also his two children, the then five-year old Tim Jr. and ten-year Heather, who had both idolized her.
After his wife's death, Timothy Woodling had brought up his children with one housekeeper. after another, and sent them to private schools where they could be both sheltered and their quick minds catered to, so that he might concentrate on the progress of his growing advertising agency. At times, he had asked Tim and Heather how they would feel about his remarrying, and both of them had been vehemently against it. Consequently, when his sexual urges were too great to endure, Timothy Woodling would frequent an elegant house of prostitution or seek the services of an expensive and selective call girl, as discreetly as possible.
Rachel knew all this because he had told her from the very outset, and she had loved him for his candor, vitality and imagination. She herself, indeed, had long since resigned herself to the fulfillment which her career would bring her, wary of love because of her own unfortunate first marriage. But late last year, Timothy Woodling had come into her shop because one of his business friends had recommended her as an outstanding interior decorator, and he had wanted to have the old Gothic house remodeled and redecorated. And it had been practically love at first sight for both of them.
Rachel had believed that this mature man who was cultured, imaginative and gentle and deeply devoted to his children might give her both security and love while. she was still young enough to enjoy the physical aspect of wifehood. Because when he had kissed her for the first time about three weeks after she had begun the project of redecorating at 759 Astor Street, she had felt herself responding as she hadn't done even with Matt Varney.
But when she had agreed to marry him and when he had introduced her to Tim Jr. and Heather, she had been startled at the hostility with which they had received this news of their father's impending remarriage. Oh yes, they had been icily polite, they had said the conventional things, but the way they looked at her and then huddled together, whispering and glancing at her from time to time, had made her feel like an unwanted intruder.
She had told Timothy Woodling as much on the United Airlines 747 flying them to Honolulu for their honeymoon, and he had smiled and reassured her, "Of course they're taken aback, darling, but then so was I when I walked into that shop and saw you for the first time. It'll take time, but you're not the bossy kind of woman who's going to change them just to suit yourself. In time they'll come to respect and love you just as much as I do now."
There was a low rumble of thunder out over the lake, and Rachel Woodling shivered, then reached for a cigarette from the silver monogrammed case Timothy had given her as a honeymoon present She lit it with fingers that slightly trembled. She sighed deeply. Time. It was supposed to be the great equalizer, but the only trouble was that nobody told you just how long time would be. Because now, after two months, it was quite obvious that young Tim and Heather had no more use for her than on the evening their father had brought her into the study to introduce her to them as their future stepmother. And somehow, she had never been more conscious of their resentment than tonight, with Timothy gone to New York to make a presentation on an important industrial account that was willing to select a Midwestern agency if it could be assured of greater sales as a result of a transfer from the smart ad shops of Madison Avenue. Young Tim and Heather were home this weekend, Tim from his brilliant junior year at Chicago Latin High, Heather as a junior at Midlothfan Girls' College. And, although Rachel had offered to prepare supper for them tonight, both of them very insolently told her that they preferred to go out to eat. It was just another of the many pointed snubs they had aimed in her direction ever since that first day, because their father had raved about her cooking and she knew herself to be more than usually competent.
The drumming of the rain on the windows had grown even more insistent, and there were frequent rumbles of thunder in the distance, heralding a violent storm. If only Timothy could be home with her now, so they could comfort each other and resolve that one special problem which she hadn't even anticipated ... and neither had he. Again her fingers trembled as she took the cigarette out of her lips and stared nostalgically into the mirror.
Rachel was remembering her second wedding night. This time, it had been with a man she respected and loved, and in the most romantic of settings. Their suite at the Sheraton-Wakiki had been on the twenty-fifth floor overlooking the vast blue Pacific. After a gourmet dinner at the Hano-Hano Room, they had come down to their rooms and gone out on the lanai. The soft cool tradewinds had welcomed them to the paradise of Hawaii, and there had been a full moon.
Remembering how foul-mouthed and ruthlessly selfish Matt Varney had been on that other hymeneal night, Rachel had found herself longing for consummation. Proud of her mature and as yet unflawed body, she had undressed before him and2 donned the black chiffon nightie she had bought especially for this moment. Timothy Woodling, six feet tall, with regular handsome features, closely cropped gray hair, could still boast an athletically supple body and no paunch, as so many executives of his own age had to hide with expensive tailoring. He had put his arms around her, kissed her, and they had moved to the huge double bed. And then it had been a tragic, almost heartbreaking fiasco.
Not that he wasn't everything she had known he would be: gentle, thoughtful, considerate to a fault. His kisses and the soft knowing touches of his fingers on her breasts and thighs and between them had made her blood quicken in her veins, made her nipples stiffen and darken with the anticipation of passionate cohesion. And then when she had whispered, "Take me, Tim dearest, I want you so I", he had groaned and turned away. He had been impotent.
Rachel had done her best to console him. It could happen to anyone. The nervous excitement, the tension, but of course most of all his feeling that his own children didn't want her as their new mother. And she told him as much and then told him, too, that after all this was only the first time, that it sometimes took weeks for a new couple to learn each other's foibles and likes and dislikes in bed.
And yet it still hadn't worked. All through the honeymoon, he had tried to make love to her. He'd had an erection, a quite adequate one, too, several times during their idyllic two weeks in Honolulu. But even after he'd 'entered her, he hadn't been able to hold himself back; premature ejaculation had ruined the delicious, pulsating harmony that had just begun to vibrate between their enmeshed naked bodies.
And then of course, coming back home, there had been more of the same. He'd plunged himself into new projects at the agency, of which this New York presentation was a culminating part. She could attribute some of his failure to his driving himself too hard, but they both knew what the real reason was. He was even more concerned about the failure of Tim and Heather to take to her, and it was blighting their love life together. And that was why Rachel wished he could be home right now so that perhaps during the primitive fear of thunder and lightning they might cling together and overcome the psychological blocks that were halting their eagerness for each other... .
At the other end of the hall, blond Tim Jr., wearing only his pajama bottoms, was seated on the edge of his sister's bed. He was lean and wiry, with a thin mouth, straight nose, and suspicious, closely set gray-blue eyes. He was smirking as he contemplated his twenty-year old coppery-haired sister, who was sitting with her back propped up against two pillows, wearing a yellow cotton shortie nightie and reading the latest issue of Playboy.
"You ought to be in their centerfold, Sis," young Tim insinuated, leaning forward to put his right hand on Heather's bare, milky-sheened calf. "You've got a snazzy shape, just the kind I've got a yen for."
"I know you've got a yen, little brother,' Heather cynically drawled. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes a luminous cat-green, with dainty Grecian nose and full sensual mouth. Of medium height, her body certainly justified her brother's carnal praise: her breasts were high-perched, narrowly spaced young cantaloupes, her waist slim and thus setting off all the more mouth watering lush hips, full, upstandingly rounded buttocks, and ripely curved, full womanly thighs and calves, "But I'm not exactly in the mood for brotherly fun and games, if you don't mind. I was thinking about Daddy."
"No you weren't, you were thinking about our new Mummy," young Tim sneered, his hands sliding boldly up his sister's knee onto the middle of her thigh just under the hem of her thin clinging nightie.
She slapped his hand. "I told you no, little brother. If you'd quit jacking off and reading all those books you've got hidden in the bottom drawer of your dresser, and go out and get yourself a girl, you wouldn't be bothering me all the time. One of these days Daddy might just catch on."
"About what?" the blond adolescent assumed an injured look of astonished innocence. "I haven't ever screwed you, Sis. That's not because I don't want to, you know. But all you ever let me do is play around with my fingers or maybe give you a tongue job. Come on, be nice, I know you're not cherry. And it's all in the family. Besides I know where Dad keeps his safes, so I won't give you a baby, if that's what you're scared of."
"You're really a perfect idiot, Tim!" Heather Woodling sniffed as she tossed aside the magazine and swung her luscious legs out of bed, slapping at his hand as he tried to sneak it under her nightie once again. "And while we're on the subject, just keep your dirty little mouth shut about my one big fling. I did it just to find out what it would be like, and it's something I can take or leave depending on my mood, get me?"
"Whatever happened to that hippie writer you let bang you, Sis? Is he still living in Old Town?" her brother wanted to know with a lecherous grin.
"It's none of your goddamned business, but the answer happens to be no. He went back to Frisco and his folks. He couldn't earn a dime here, and besides he talked a better fuck than he gave me. And that's all I ever want to hear on that particular subject, dear little brother mine."
"Hell, it's a rainy night and Dad won't be back till maybe Monday morning. What's a guy gonna do for kicks?" the blond boy groaned.
Heather gave him a long hard look, her eyes narrowing as they studied his wiry half-nakedness. "Are you feeling horny enough tonight, little brother, to get some real kicks?" she at last demanded.
"Sure, Sis, if you mean am I up to giving you a good hot poke, the answer is hell yes, with bells on."
"Get that idea out of your head right now, Tim. I'm not after a brotherly fuck. Oh sure, I don't mind your working me off and helping you out sometimes, but I'm just a little older than you and when I really need a fuck it's going to be from a guy who's got plenty of savvy and knows how to make a girl come before he does. No, that wasn't what I had in mind at all"
"Then really what the hell are you talking about, Heather? I guess I'll go read one of my books or maybe run a new stag movie my buddy Jeff Morley picked up for me at Weird Harold's last week."
"That's it!" Heather Woodling slid out of bed, her hands smoothing the filmy shortie nightie about her delectably curved hips, her eyes suddenly glistening with malice. "I've got a much better idea for that movie camera and projector set of yours, little brother, if you're man enough."
"Hey, Sis, you're really stacked-come on, let's do a sixty-nine, you've got me all worked up in that sexy nightie of yours!" the blond boy sniggered as he moved closer to his sister and, his left hand moving round to palm one of her opulent, firm buttocks, cupped her left breast with his other hand and tried to kiss her on the mouth.
"Cut that out, you randy little no-good bastard! All you're good for is jacking off and reading dirty books and watching fuck movies. What I've got in mind calls for a man," Heather snapped as she twisted out of his grasp.
"No cause for you to run me down, Sis. You know damn well I could screw if you'd only give me the chance," he glowered. "Look at what I've got, just looking at you in that nightie. Take it off, Sis, and I'll show you if I'm a man or not!" He pointed to the visibly projecting thrust of his penis against the taut fly of his pajama pants.
"Oh sure, so you've got a hard-on! Big deal!" Heather sneered. "Let me ask you one question, little brother. How do you feel about our new stepmother?"
"What's that got to do with my hard-on?" He gave her a surly look.
Heather's laugh was brittle and mocking. "Maybe everything. But answer the question."
"Okay, I'll go along with it. I hate her guts. So what does that get us? Dad married her and they're going to live happily ever after."
"Maybe not," the redhead mused. "Maybe if Dad found out she's just a dirty bitch, he might kick her out, and then we could go back to being a family threesome, the way we were before he went off his rocker and brought her into this house."
"Hey, Sis, you're talking crazy. How are we going to do that? Me, I think he was a damn fool to go off and get married at his age, even though it's been ten years since Mom died. Why couldn't he have gone on with one-night stands, the way I'll bet he's done until he met up with that fancy interior decorator bitch?" Timothy grumbled.
"You can be sure about it. I found his little black memo book in the secretary drawer downstairs last spring when I was looking for Mother's last letter from the hospital. He gets his ashes hauled by some call girl every so often. Well, I don't mind that at all. But what I do mind is his thinking that any other bitch is going to come in here and boss us around and be our mother after we lost the only one we had and the only one we'll ever care about. Are you with me or not?"
"I said I was," the blond boy whined. "And it gripes me to see her sucking up to Dad and then coming around us with that gooey smile of hers and trying to be so sweet and nice and thinking she's going to make us love her like her own kids."
"You hit the nail right on the head, Timmy. That's why I asked you just now if you were man enough to prove that she's just a no-good bitch. We'll need your Kodak Instamatic."
"Hey now, tell me morel" his eyes widened as he studied his sister's flushed, spite-contorted lovely face.
"All right. I'll tell you. And just shut up while I'm talking. What I want from you is -action, not conversation. Now listen." She moved to him, put her-hands on his shoulders and began to talk softly and swiftly... .
Chapter Three
It was after midnight, and the storm had subsided, though the faint rumble of thunder was occasionally heard and the rain still beat against the windows as if demanding entrance. Rachel Woodling had smoked a last cigarette before going to bed, then removed negligee, bra and panties, put on a pair of green satin pajamas and taken a sleeping pill. It had worked almost at once, despite her troubled thoughts. Yet even as she lay on her left side with an arm flung out towards the headboard, her exquisite face was taut with anxiety evoked by a kind of strange hallucinatory dream that had seemed to begin the moment she had closed her eyes and let the sleeping pill carry her off into the black void of slumber. She was walking in a canyon, whose, rocky crags towered high above her head, blotting out even the leaden sky. She was naked, and the wind was cold and pitiless, and the pebbles and rough ground bruised her bare feet. She kept calling out for Timothy, but she could not hear even the echo of her own voice, and there was no one in the canyon to respond.
Very slowly and silently the door of her bedroom opened, and Heather and young Timothy tiptoed in. The boy set his movie camera down on a chair near the door and nodded to his red haired sister, who put her finger on her lips, then whispered, "Lock the door, Timmy and remember what I told you.
"Sure, Heather. Boy, this is wild-I've really got to hand it to you!" he whispered back excitedly.
As he turned the key in the lock, Heather felt for the light switch and flicked it on. She moved towards the double bed, her lips curling in sadistic contempt as she studied Rachel's sleeping figure under a single sheet. Then, beckoning to her brother, she tugged the sheet off and began to unbutton Rachel's pajama tops.
In her dream, Rachel Woodling shrank with terror as she saw two masked figures garbed in black approaching her from the distant end of the canyon. She turned to run, but she could not move. The cold air sent its penetrating gusts against her naked breasts and loins, and her toes crispened as the bite of the harsh earth and the pebbles chafed them.
"Wake up, Mummy!" Heather sarcastically crooned, pulling the unbuttoned flaps of the pajama tops apart to expose the magnificent olive-sheened, dark coral-tipped pears of her stepmother's rhythmically swelling breasts.
"Boy, has she got a pair of bombers on her, though! I'll bet Dad really goes for those!" young Timothy breathed, his eyes narrowed and fixing on Rachel's naked bosom, while he surreptitiously slipped one hand to his bulging fly.
"You stupid little bastard, I didn't bring you in here to jack-off looking at her, now you just remember!" Heather hissed as she fixed him with a withering look. "Get the camera, I'll wake her up!"
As her brother hurried back to take the movie camera from the chair, adjust Its controls and set it on the bed, his red-haired sister bent to Rachel's still inert figure and, with a malicious giggle, applied her lips to one dark-rosy nipplebud and began to suck and flick it with the tip of her pert pink tongue.
"Boy, this is better than those stag movies," Timothy enthused as he pressed his finger down on the starter button and the whirring sound of picture talking was heard.
Rachel Woodling moaned softly, rolled over onto her back, her arm still flung out beyond her head, but her other hand tentatively groping, brushing Heather's shoulder as the redhead, sitting on the edge of the bed, pursued her oral ministrations. Between her lips she could feel the soft bud she was nuzzling grow turgid and flinty, and she could feel also the quickened rhythm of her stepmother's breathing. The boy holding the movie camera was shivering with sexual arousal, and he had already unbuttoned the fly of his pajama pants to liberate his taut, lean, rigid penis, the large mushroom-cap-like glans set off from the shaft by a wide, shallow circumcisional groove.
"Wh-what-oh-what-what are you doing-H- Heather-stop-and Timothy-oh God-what are you doing to me-" Rachel Woodling came awake with agonized, though still half-drugged suddenness. With both hands she tried to push the redhead away, but Heather at once seized her wrists and pinned them beyond her head as she stared smirkingly down at her detested stepmother.
"You liked it, didn't you, you opportunistic bitch? I could feel your tittiebud getting nice and hard. Were you having a wet dream, Mummy?" she mocked the trembling, half-naked brunette.
"For God's sake-why are you doing this to me- Heather, stop it, let me go-and your brother-that camera-"
"Yes, Mummy," Heather mocked in the crooning words one might use to a child, "we're making home movies tonight of you, Mummy. They're going to be real hot ones, and maybe Daddy will enjoy them, Maybe he'll find out that you're just a low bitch who saw her chance to snare a nice decent guy and take him for all he's worth. Well, Timmy and I aren't going to stand for It. We don't want you here, Mummy, and we want to make ourselves perfectly clear about it."
"But you must be insane, Heather!" Rachel struggled ineffectually, trying to free her captive wrists, twisting herself onto one side, her magnificent naked breasts jiggling with the exertion. "If I told your father-"
"Ah, but you won't, Mummy," Heather viciously countered as she bent down and noisily sucked the other nipple to the accompaniment of the victim's horrified gasp and frantic squirming. "He'd take our word before he'd take yours, Rachel, and don't you forget it. After Grace died, we had him all to ourselves, till you came along."
"But you're wrong, Heather dear-please-let's talk about this sensibly-I-I understand how you must feel, both of you. But I'm not taking him away from you. I want to love him and help him and comfort him-"
"Sure, but he can get what you've got from any whore, and that doesn't mean he has to bring her into this house and cram her down our throats," Heather angrily interrupted. "Maybe, after we get through with you tonight, Rachel, you'll get the message. Maybe you'll have brains enough to pull out. You've got your shop, you won't starve. And you can always find some guy to fuck you If you get too squirmy at night. It doesn't have to be Daddy. Are you going to listen to reason?"
"Of course I'm not-you must be insane, both of you-stop it, Heather!"
"Make me, bitch!" the redhead taunted as she spat into Rachel's contorted face. "Come help me with her, Timmy! We can get more movies later, better ones once we have her peeled down raw and ready for what she's going to get!"
"Sure, Sis!" the boy hoarsely agreed. His hands trembled as he set the movie camera back down on the chair, and then hurried over to the bed to grip Rachel's ankles as she began to kick and thresh against Heather's hold.
"That's right, "Timmy! Tonight you're going to lose your cherry, and with your own dear sweet Mummy!" Heather purred. "And I'll just bet she's such a hot bitch she goes for it two ways. Dad said you'd been divorced for a long time, but I'll just bet you're a switch-hitter, aren't you, Rachel?"
"Oh please-this is dreadful-you'll be sorry for this In the morning-be sensible, both of you, please! Let me up, let's discuss our problem in a rational way-"
"My, she's educated, tool" Heather jeered. Then her head bowed down again and her tongue laired the deep narrow cleft of her stepmother's velvety navel Rachel writhed, tilting back her head, her eyes dilated and glistening with tears of shame and despair. "See what I told you, Timmy? She's starting to get her kicks just from me-she's a switch-hitter, no two ways about it. But don't worry about it, Rachel, you'll get fucked too, you'll get all the sex you want tonight!"
"Maybe I ought to have got one of Dad's safes, though," her brother nervously volunteered.
"You stupid creep, didn't I tell you Rachel's on the pill? I found a bottle in her bathroom. Wouldn't you rather put that horny cock of yours right into her cunt so you could feel it Instead of using a rubber like the jack-off you are?" his sister flung at him.
"Hell, yes, I sure would, Heather!" the blond youth hoarsely panted, lecherously grinning at his stepmother's contorted face as he dug his fingernails sadistically into her slim ankles. "You mean, it's okay with you if I really fuck Mummy tonight?"
"I'll bet it'll be all right with Mummy, too, Timmy," Heather jeered as again she leaned down to gloat over Rachel's frantic, yet stunned helplessness. "Tear her pants off right now so you can see what you're going to get into!"
"No-my God-this is wrong of you, Heather-what have I ever done to you to make you both turn against me so? Oh my God, please be sensible, I beg of you-oh no-stop it-don't rip them off-oh God!" Rachel pleaded brokenly as she jerked and twisted in vain. The blond adolescent, releasing her ankles suddenly, had seized the waistband of the pajama pants and ripped them with all his strength in a downward tugging motion that yanked them down to expose the thickly fleeced mount of their mature victim.
Rachel uttered a shriek of shame and dismay to find herself so exposed, and instinctively twisted onto one side, clenching her thighs to shield the most vulnerable part of her naked body. With the pajama tops open and yawning, and the remnants of the pants twisted about her lower calves, she was even more salaciously desirable than had she been completely nude. The boy's eyes glittered with savage desire at the smooth flow of thigh and hip and side, at the heaving pear globe of her firm beautiful breast.
"She's gonna fight once I try to poke her, though, Heather!" he observed, scowling and scratching his head as he planned a course of action.
"Look over there on the night table, Timmy! See that bottle? That's her sleeping pills. Take a look and see what it says, and hurry. Well now, Mummy, you can really see how your children appreciate you, can't you? We're going to take good care of you tonight, so you won't miss what Daddy's been giving you-you low, conniving bitch you!" Heather hissed. Mockingly, she bent her head and quickly sank her teeth into the ripe, juicy flesh of Rachel's upturned bare shoulder, then pinched the brunette's wrists to emphasize her domination: "I have to give you credit, bitch, you're stacked, you really are. Why, if that shop of yours goes on the rocks, I'll bet you could earn plenty peddling that hairy snatch you've got between your long legs! You're even getting me sort of randy, Mummy. "Then to her brother, "Come on, you creep, what does it say on the bottle?"
"Hey, quit calling me names, Heather, I'm helping do what you want, aren't I?" young Timothy whiningly complained as he squinted at the plastic bottle. "It says Secondal, 5 mg., that's what it says, Heather."
"That's just perfect!" His red-haired sister enthused. "It's a sleeping pill and it's just about medium strength. Now you just pop two into Mummy's mouth, and that'll make her nice and comfy while she's getting fucked, so she won't fight you too much. After all, little brother, it'll be your first time with a bitch, so I'm helping you make it easy for yourself so you can prove what a man you really are-or at least the way you've been blowing off your mouth to me. Go on, take two pills out of that bottle and stick them In Mummy's mouth right now!"
"Oh no-Heather-this is insane-oh my God-let me go-I promise I won't say anything about this, but please, both of you, don't do this dreadful thing to me-I've never hurt either of you, I want to be friends so badly-"
"Oh I just know you do, Mummy," Heather broke in with a sneer. "But after all, fucking is the closest way of getting to be friends that I know of, so don't fight it. Okay, here are your pills, Mummy, open wide! Open wide, you bitch, or I'll pinch your nose shut and yank out some of those thick black hairs where little brother wants to get in!" For the blond adolescent had bent over Rachel from the other side of the bed, grinning, his face flushed with sexual excitement as his eyes swept her squirming nakedness.
Rachel twisted over onto her back, then rolled over onto the other side, but Heather seized her by the shoulders and forced her down on her back, then knelt on her belly, drawing a strangled cry of pain from her mature victim. "Pinch her nose shut with one hand, Timmy, she'll have to swallow," she exhorted her brother as she continued to grip Rachel's slim wrists.
Frantic with shame and despair, her eyes glassy and bulging, Rachel Woodling twisted her face to one side and compressed her mouth with all her strength. But young Timothy applied left thumb and forefinger to her sensuous nostrils, pinching them cruelly shut, as with his other thumb and forefinger he readied the two red pills to drop into her mouth the moment she should be forced to breathe.
Rachel Woodling groaned, then arched her belly upwards, kicking out desperately with her long svelte legs, till the tattered pajama pants were disengaged and fluttered to the floor. Her eyes glassy and hugely dilated, she fought against this final outrage, but at last her mouth opened and young Timothy promptly dropped in the two pills and then clamped his palm over her instantly closing mouth before she could expel them. Now, his other hand fondling her panting throat, be crooned: "C'mon, Mummy, swallow them down like a good bitch, you'll feel lots better for your fuck, c'mon, Mummy gal!"
With a strangled gasp, Rachel found that she could not halt the pills and felt them descend, and then a bitter, annihilating agony took hold of her. She turned her face to one side and closed her eyes, almost abandoning herself. Tears edged from under her fluttering lids, and her magnificent naked breasts rose and fell in violent agitation at the knowledge that she was utterly at their mercy.
"Give her a couple of minutes to let the pills take hold, and she'll be back in slumber land, and then you can really ride her saddle, Timmy," Heather sibilantly exulted. "But first, I'm going to get her sexy for you, little brother. Don't say your big sister never helped you out, just remember!"
With this, the voluptuous young redhead felinely crouched at Rachel's right side, nodding to her brother to hold the victim's wrists. As he did so, his glittering eyes laving the swelling pears of his stepmother's naked bosom, Heather maneuvered herself atop Rachel, her hands gripping the brunette's hips, and lasciviously began to rub the tip of her pert pink tongue over the satiny olive-sheened waist, just below Rachel's shuddering bosom.
"Ohhh-G-God-oh no-don't do this to me-it's shameful-it's cowardly-why do you hate me so, rm not going to take him away from you, truly I'm not- oh please, H-Heather, don't-don't let your brother see you and me this way-oh no-aahhh-oh my God-"
Her voice was hoarse, interspersed sobs and gasps, because she had not yet fully recovered from her torpor, and now the double dose of sleeping pills had begun its insidious effect. Even though she writhed and twisted, her movements were jerky and uncoordinated, lacking strength and purpose. Her eyes stared, blurred not only by her tears but also by shadows that were beginning to close in upon her again. And now, Heather, her fingernails gouging into Rachel's naked hips, was licking Rachel's belly, prodding her tongue into the soft hollow of the navel, flicking and rasping it in the most cajoling, salacious manner.
"Mmmmm, you taste good, Mummy!" the redhead purred, glancing up to grin at the half-conscious naked victim. "Don't go to sleep just yet, you'll miss all the fun. I want you to know what's happening even though you can't do a damn thing about it, bitch. But you're a hot piece, I'll give you that. I can feel your very skin crawling, and you just wait till I get down to where it tickles the most, Mummy!"
With this, Heather again bowed her head, moving slightly down as she maintained her crouching, possessive hold over the naked, helpless brunette. Now her tongue glided over the lower abdomen, where the soft black growth of the thick, verdant pubis began, while young Timothy watched fascinatedly, his lips parted, his chest heaving, and his penis frenzied in its swollen erection.
"Hold her tight, now, Timmy boy," his sister hissed, "because she's going to get awfully squirmy in a jiffy!" So saying, she bowed her head again and this time her tongue flicked over the twitching pink lips of Rachel Woodling's vulva.
The victim's naked body arched and writhed, her free leg kicking up into the air, then the heel digging into and scuffing the rumpled bed. Rachel's face turned from side to side, her nostrils flaring and shrinking, her mouth gaping in panting little whimpering cries. Heather glanced up triumphantly, scanning the effect of her obscene homage to her stepmother's nakedness. And then again she dipped her head, and this time her lips fastened in a sucking, prolonged, moist kiss full against the helplessly offered mount of Venus.
"Jeez! I'm going nuts here, Heather, lemme at her!" the blond youth groaned as he followed this perverse wooing.
"Just hold your gism back a bit, little brother," Heather jeered as she looked up and made a face at him; "I'm just getting her cunt nice and juicy and oiled for that rod of yours. I've got an interest in this myself, you know. You've been bragging what a cock-smith you are even though you're cherry, and now I want to see for myself what that cock of yours can do once it gets inside a real live snatch!"
And once again she bent her head and applied a prolonged, noisy smacking kiss to Rachel Woodling's quivering, palpitating vulva.
As she ended it, she slyly prodded her tongue tip against the victim's clitoris, and even though by this time Rachel Woodling's body was already lax with oncoming sleep, the convulsive jerking spasm which made her writhe fitfully and utter a feeble cry attested to the degree of sexual arousal to which Heather had so cynically and maliciously brought her detested stepmother.
"I think that'll just about do it, Timmy. Now then, you get on top of her and stick it into her cunt, and I'll get the camera and then you'll really have a stag movie to show your pals!" Heather straightened, crawled back towards her brother and gripped the slim wrists which the blond adolescent eagerly relinquished. Mad with rut by this time, he flung himself atop his stepmother, kneeing apart her feebly struggling thighs, his hands clutching her panting naked breasts, as he felt the tip of his penis enter the moist, palpitating lips of her womanhood. Heather, kneeling up, hands on her thighs, her eyes blazing, peered down at her brother to assure herself that the cohesion was being made.
"Ohh-d-don't-oh please, T-Timmy-this is awful of you-let me be-Heather, pl-please make him stop this-it's so wrong-" Rachel moaned. She had turned her face to one side, and her eyelids seemed weighted down with lead as the soporific began to filter through her nervous system, already lulled by her half drowsy state at the time of this assault. Her hands pushed feebly at the boy's shoulders, and the youth hissed his exultance: "Gawd, but it's real good, Heather! Hurry up and take those movies, I want to play them over again and watch myself fucking Mummy!"
"Right away, little brother," his red-haired sister sibilantly agreed as she got down off the bed and hurried over to the movie camera, adjusted it, and then aimed it at the bed. "Now take your time, nice and easy, so I can get plenty of film. Don't lose it right off, the first time you've got that beat-up meat of yours inside a real honest-to-goodness cunt!"
"That's a bitchy thing to say to .your own brother," Timmy whiningly complained, glancing angrily back at his smirking sister. His hands gripped Rache's shoulders, and then he buried his face between her panting naked breasts. A wild tumult filled his wiry young body, besieged as it was by all the nuances of this physical unison; until this moment, for all his precocious knowledge, Timothy Woodling Jr. was a virgin. The warm satiny feel of his stepmother's flesh, the tight warm enclaspment of her vaginal walls against his swollen, aching penis, the wafting of her breath against his face, and the immensity of what he was doing all contrived to kindle a savage fire in his almost bursting young loins. He winced now, held himself back, lifted his tortured face as he fought the maddening urge to ejaculate.
"I told you not to rush at her the way a bull does a cow, little brother," Heather sarcastically upbraided him. "If you expect me to make a really good stag production out of this, one that will keep Mummy from blabbing to Dad and chase her out of here in short order, you better concentrate on proving that you're as good a cocksmith as you've been boasting to me you are. Now get with It, I told you, nice and easy does it every time with a bitch-especially one like Rachel!"
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you, now shut up and let me hick Mummy!" the boy gasped. He shifted himself a little on her, feeling the merger of his pubic hairs with his stepmother's, and Rachel stirred under him, her face still twisted to one side, her eyes closed and only the fluttering of her eyelids attesting to her still conscious awareness of what was being done to her. Her hands had fallen back on to the bed now after the first instinctively protesting gesture. The drug was working swiftly now, and even the inexperienced youth sensed that her resistance was at an end.
"Damn but she's tight, Heather!" he panted, cautiously drawing back to the very brink of his stepmother's vulva. Then his hands glided down from her shoulders to the upsurging globes of her satiny naked breasts, clutching them possessively, his face twisted into a lewd grimace of lustful dominance. "Are you getting it all, Heather?"
"You attend to your fucking, I'll take the movie, little brother!"
"All right, all right, but quit being so snotty. It was your idea, and you know it, and I'm doing it for you, so quit giving me the needle every time!" the youth complained as he now slowly pushed himself back to the very hilt inside Rachel Woodling's quivering vaginal sheath.
Her lips moved slowly, and the words were faint, almost incoherent, as from a distance in the void:
"Ohhh ... n-no ... Timmy ... you m-mustn't ... please, Heather ... I'm so sleepy ... I love you both, don't you understand ... why are you punishing me ...Oh please don't ... let me be. ..."
"Just listen to Mummy, isn't she a goody-goody type, though!" the red-haired young woman sneered as she squinted through the viewfinder, her lips moist and quivering in her own mounting excitement. "See if you can wake her up, go ahead and luck her good and hard, Timmy!"
"I sure as hell will!" the youth gasped. Squeezing his stepmother's rhythmically swelling naked breasts, he squirmed forward, pressing himself down tightly against her sprawled nakedness. Then his hands slipped down to her waist and under her buttocks, lifting her lax body to his, forcing himself to the very final inch of her virile young manhood deep within her core.
A dark, pacifying lassitude had taken possession of Rachel Woodling now. It was almost as if she were experiencing a dream within a dream, or as if her disembodied spirit were lurking within this room and watching her own helpless, naked body being manipulated and used. And yet between the spirit and the flesh there was, even in her torpor, a curiously sensate awareness. The lips of her vulva had begun to twitch and quake and even to moisten, and the muscles of her sleek thighs flexed and quivered voluptuously. The rhythm of her breathing had quickened slightly, and the exquisite buds of her nipples had darkened and stiffened as with tumescence. Too, the delicate wings of her nostrils had begun to flare slightly and then to shrink in the unmistakable reaction of sexual arousal To the inexperienced but ecstatic youth, the sensation of feeling what was like a fluttering of her vaginal walls against his imbedded penis was indescribably exciting. Fiercely, he had to grind his teeth again and stiffen his entire body to hold back the bubbling tide of ejaculatory essence. Once again immobilizing himself, he twisted his flushed face back to his sister: "Heather-is It okay to come inside of her-you know what I mean-I don't want to get her into any trouble-?"
"You stupid twerp, didn't I tell you she's on the pill? Sure you're going to come inside her cunt, isn't that what fucking's all about? Boy oh boy, I'm sure glad I never let you bang me, little brother. Of all the stupid creeps I ever saw, you really take the cake!"
"Aw, cut it out, willya" he groaned, turning back to contemplate his sprawled mature victim. He reveled in. the resilient elasticity of her naked buttocks to the clenching possession of his sinewy young fingers. As never before, all the wild erotic fantasies of his adolescence were crystallized into a cogent reality that surpassed the most outlandish lust-dream he had ever conjured. And the very enormity of his act was like a fiery aphrodisiac within his loins.
Heather moved forward slightly to get a better angle for a closeup, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. She squeezed her supple thighs together, slyly rubbing them back and forth as she herself began to respond to the sensual aura of this midnight escapade. Timmy glanced round, his eyes glazed and wide, and the sight of his sister's own mouthwatering loveliness in the clinging yellow shortie nightie further whetted his shuddering rut. With a choking cry, he drew himself back, then lunged to the hilt inside his stepmother's warm tight sheath, his fingers convulsively digging into the smooth warm palpitating flesh of her lower buttocks as he thus announced the approach of his supreme moment.
"I'm fucking you, Mummy darling, do you feel me? That's right, Mummy, your own little son is screwing that sweet cunt of yours good-wake up and tell me how you like it, Mummy darling!" he mouthed as he quickened his thrusts.
Rachel's body quaked and shuddered under the stress of his digging, driving frictional usurpation. Her head slowly turned to the other side, her eyes still closed and the eyelids vaguely fluttering. Almost inaudible little moans escaped her slightly parted lips now. But the shuddering of her naked breasts and the darkened, flint-like surgings of her nipples bespoke the betrayal of her own healthy eager flesh ... perhaps the more responsive because of her own deprivation since the disappointment of the honeymoon and the subsequent weeks of frustrating union with Timmy's father.
Heather, moving to the side of the bed now, observed these telltale signs and understood them as a woman: "You've got her all hot and worked now, little brother, go ahead and fuck hell out of Mummy!" she exhorted in a taut, shuddering voice.
He needed no encouragement now. An electrifying current of sexual desire swept through his wiry young body as he accelerated his pace, thrusting again and again and again to the very hilt within his stepmother's vaginal cavern, his fingers digging relentlessly into the inner edges of her lower buttocks, his mouth feasting now on one dark, stiff nipple as he readied himself for the last assault upon her beautiful, helpless, almost unconscious body.
And then with a hoarse bellow of untold rapture, his aching agony was released as with a final thrust, he glued himself to Rachel Woodling's nakedness, crushing her passive mouth under his, as he felt his essence shatteringly burst deep within her vitals, and lay panting and fulfilled upon her.
"Not too bad for your first fuck, little brother," Heather drawled. She set the camera down on the night table beside the bed. "Now get off and go to the bathroom while I sponge her off. I've got dibs on Mummy next. And you can make the movie."
Young Timmy Woodling withdrew himself with a sobbing groan and slow-slowly clambered off the bed, his organ limp and stickied. Seeing his sister's contemptuous eyes on his dwindled manhood, he had the good grace to blush and lower his eyes, then to mumble, "Aw, why do you have to treat me like a kid anymore? I'm a man now, you know damn well I am, Heather!"
"All right, little brother, if it will make you any happier, you're a man. But go wash yourself and hurry back. It's no treat for me to look at what you've got left now, you know," she sneered.
With a stifled oath, the youth hurried to the bathroom, while Heather, opening the drawer of the little table, took out a handful of Kleenex and, bending over the inert Rachel, began very gently though mockingly to sponge the stickied lips of her vulva. Then, her eyes blazing as she contemplated the rumpled open pajama tops, the smooth basin of Rachel's palpitating naked belly, the matted black curls of the pubis and the noticeably chafed-looking pink lips of her vulva, she swiftly doffed her nightie and flung herself down naked on the bed beside her stepmother. "Now it's my turn, Mummy," she crooned as her slim fingers began to caress and fondle Rachel Woodling's swelling naked bosom.
When the youth returned, he gasped in lecherous amazement to see Heather's sinuous, milky-white nakedness stretched out over Rachel Woodling's body, Heather's lush round buttocks tightening and rippling as she began lasciviously to grind her loins against her dormant victim's.
"Jeez, Heather!" he gasped hoarsely, "what a terrific shape you've got! Lemme fuck you, just this once, please, Sis!"
"You touch me, little brother, and I'll tell Dad and he'll cut your nuts off," the red-haired young woman viciously hissed without turning to look at him. "Just do what you have to do, take the camera and get all of this. I'm going to go down on Mummy till I come. And I'll bet I make her come, too. Go on now, you heard me!"
His fingers trembled as he retrieved the camera and stepped back, set it into motion, his eyes fixed on the white hillocks of his sister's squirming, weaving buttocks.
"That's the girl, Mummy," Heather murmured salaciously, her lips nuzzling first one dark, stiff nipple and then the other, "I'll bet you like this lots better. Women are always gentler with one another, aren't they, Mummy? Do you feel my little cunny saying hello to yours, Mummy darling? You bitch, come on, give it down to little Heather!"
Once again, excited by the sight and the sound of his sister's Lesbian conquest of his stepmother, the blond youth found himself in full erection. The camera shook in his trembling hands as he tried to steady it, his eyes glazed and enormous as they drank in the scene before him.
Writhing like a serpent, slithering her loins back and forth from side to side over Rachel's, Heather WoodIing performed the tribadistic ritual of Sappho with her beautiful naked stepmother. Her body shivered as her passion seethed, and now her mouth suckingly devoured Rachel's, her tongue thrusting past the lax soft moist lips to dig inside her stepmother's mouth as In a kind of penis-envy she achieved her own carnal possession of that exquisite, inert body on the bed.
Now, her right hand cupping and kneading Rachel's left breast, Heather slid her left hand under the brunette's hips, her forefinger questing for the sinuous cleft between the resilient warm buttocks. Finding it, she slyly prodded the puckering dainty lips of Rachel's anus, and then she began to quicken her grinding, frictional maneuver over Rachel's quivering loins.
"She feels me, I can tell, Timmy! Move up closer, get all this you can," she excitedly panted.
"Yeah, oh, Jeez, Heather!"
Heather's milky-sheened body writhed and jerked now in a turbulent frenzy as orgasm approached her. Heedless of her brother's lecherous stupefaction, she squirmed and ground and twisted and arched herself back and forth until suddenly with an inchoate cry, her body vibrated and threshed in the throes of climax.
A long moment later, in a drowsy, gloating voice, she murmured, "I needed that, little brother! And I've got a hunch that Mummy needed it, too. I could feel that itchy cunt of hers just about ready to give it all down, but I beat her to it. Come on now, let's go back to sleep. And hide that movie where nobody'll find it till we need it. We're going to have a little chat with Mummy about the facts of life, and it's going to pay off, you'll see!"
Chapter Four
Rachel Woodling slowly sat up, blinking her eyes to clear them of the drowsiness she still felt. Through the venetian blinds, she could see the bright sun after the storm of the night before. Groggily, she slipped out of bed, walked unsteadily towards the bathroom and there filled the wash basin with cold water. Plunging her face into it, she gasped at the sudden revival. Then, holding onto the basin with both hands as she straightened, she saw her own face in the mirror and turned scarlet as she remembered what had taken place.
So much of it had seemed part of a dream in which she was wandering alone in a desolate canyon. But she could still recall Heather's vituperative words, and her flesh twitched at the recollection of what young Tim and his older sister had done to her until those pills had taken effect and plunged her back into an unresisting and insensate state.
Taking off her nightgown, she got under the shower and made it as cold as she could stand, then hastily toweled herself and, going to the closet, took off a hanger a freshly laundered peach-colored satin slip which she drew over her voluptuous body.
Just as she was turning back to her dresser, the door flung open and both Heather and young Tim stood there smirking at her.
"Good morning, Mummy. Or rather, I ought to say, good afternoon," the red-haired young woman drawled. "We looked In earlier, but you were still pounding your ear. Besides, you sort of earned a late sleep-in."
Rachel bit her lips and could not help blushing at the amused, cynical look of her amoral stepdaughter. "What-what do you want of me now, Heather?"
"Not much, really, Mummy." Again, Heather underlined that endearment with dripping sarcasm. "Just to tell you that we looked at the movies Tim and I took last night. Wow, they're really sexy, Rachel! I figure that you'd want a chance to pack and write Daddy a note that you're leaving him, rather than have us show them to him when he gets back home. By the way, he just talked to me on the phone and he'll probably be home in time for dinner. So you've got maybe six hours to make a clean break."
Rachel Woodling drew a deep breath, her arms at her sides, trying to ignore the lecherous grin of the blond boy lolling against the side of the door. "Look," she falteringly began, "let's be rational about this, please, Heather. I told you last night, I happen to be in love with your father. At least, give me a fighting chance to prove to you that he loves me, too. Is that asking too much?''
"Oh, sure, I know your kind," the redhead sneered, "You'll probably tell him what we did to you last night and make it look as if we're a couple of sex fiends. He'll get all sympathetic and give us hell, and then you'll figure you're safe."
"No-it-it won't be like that at all, I give you my word."
Heather stared suspiciously at her stepmother. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The tall brunette matron clenched her fists and drew another deep breath, her head high as she looked levelly back at her taunting young tormenters. "I mean, I'm not going to tell him anything. I-I think I can understand why you both hate me, and I'm not quite so prudish as you both may think."
"I'll say you're not, Rachel girl," young Tim snickered. "Boy, did you ever shake that gorgeous ass of yours when I started banging you!"
Heather was frowning now, glanced quickly at her brother and shook her head impatiently. "Can it, Tim! Now let's get this straight, Rachel. You mean to tell me you'd dare to show your face in this house after the way we treated you last night, and still make a play for Dad?"
"I don't have to make a play for your father, Heather. I'm his wife. I married him for better or for worse, and I'm going to try to make it better for all of us-if you'll only give me a chance."
"I don't get that at all," Heather's frown deepened. "Unless you're just a little kinky. Maybe that's it! Just maybe," she moved mockingly forward, till she stood inches away from the blushing mature brunette, "just maybe you got a real kick out of what we did to you, and maybe you'd like some more, him?"
Rachel faced the girl unflinchingly, though her fingernails dug into her palms as she steadied herself to confront the redhead. "All I ask for is a chance to make this marriage last, Heather. Please. You see, whether you believe it or not, both you and Tim, I really am very much in love with your father. Just as maybe I think you are."
"That's got all the earmarks of a dirty crack, bitch!" Heather hissed, her cat-green eyes narrowing. "Are you suggesting that maybe I've got the hots for Dad?"
"I'm not saying anything, Heather. Except that it wouldn't be unusual for a fine loyal girl to admire her father so much that she would measure anyone who appeals to her sexually by his standards. That's happened for hundreds of years, in case you don't know it."
"I don't need casebook psychology from you, Mummy," Heather sneered. Now it was her turn to flush slightly and to lower her eyes. "Anyhow, tell you what. Tim and I will give you just a month from today, savvy? And if by that time Daddy doesn't convince us that he's really in love with you and we can't see it for ourselves, we're going to rape you again and then kick your ass out of here. Just so long as you understand it, Rachel."
"In other words, you want to make a bargain with me?"
"Yeah, I sure do, Mummy," the redhead jeered. "You know, Timmy said to me after he banged you that he thought it was a real nice piece of Rachel, and if you know German, that's the word for revenge. Well, that's not too bad for a kid, is it, Mummy? So just you remember you've got a mouth. Oh yes, there's one thing more."
Rachel Woodling was nearly at the breaking point, and she felt her thighs trembling as she forced herself to stand calmly and confront her spiteful stepdaughter. "Go ahead, Heather. I want to be as fair as I can, so you haven't any grounds to hate me as a person.
"I don't especially hate you or like you or anything else, Mummy. It's just that we've had Dad to ourselves all this time, and he really didn't have to go and get himself a permanent piece of tail. But since he's gone and done it, what's done is done. Only, we'll give you that month, see? But if Timmy or I happen to want a little fun with you, Mummy, you're going to give. Is that understood? And you're not going to tell Dad either. That's the bargain, take it or leave it."
Rachel Woodling shuddered, her face was scarlet and she lowered her eyes for a moment. Then very bravely, she looked at Heather and nodded: "I'll agree to that. But you won't have to take any more moving pictures, you know. First of all, if you're trying to blackmail me that way, I think your father has brains enough to see through something like that, and he wouldn't think very much of either of you for dreaming up such a stunt. As I told you, I'm not a prude. And maybe if I do let you have your revenge on me, even though it's very adolescent, maybe that will help convince you I really do want to stay and be a good wife to your father."
Heather exchanged a mystified glance with her younger brother, then shrugged. "All right, Mummy. We'll leave it at that. Just you remember today's date. You've got exactly one month. And if some night next week we come barging into your room, Timmy and I, that is if Daddy isn't keeping you busy that particular night, you'd better get ready to put out or else. Come on, little brother, let's give Mummy a chance to put on her glad rags and welcome Daddy back home."
It had been a trying evening for Timothy Woodling's beautiful new wife. She herself had prepared a light supper, and served her gray-haired husband, as well as Tim Jr. and Heather while they ignored her during their conversation with their father to ask him about his New York trip, the sights, the fine restaurants and what was playing on Broadway. From time to time, he had sent her an apologetic look and she had smiled and nodded understandingly. Then finally they had been alone together in the living room, young Tim professing a date to listen to some new rock records with a boyfriend of his down the street, and Heather to give herself a shampoo and set.
"I missed you, Rachel," he sat down beside her on the couch and put his arm around her waist, kissed her gently on the mouth. "Did the kids give you a hard timer?"
"Not really, Tim darling. It's good to have you back home again. And your news is certainly wonderful. It's quite a feather in your cap to have got that account away from all those big New York agencies."
"I know. And if I can handle it on a commuting basis to their satisfaction, it's just possible we might be able to open up a New York branch. It would mean a lot of money for everybody and we might even have an apartment on Riverside Drive some day. But that's for the future. Right now, what I'm concerned about is those kids of mine. I felt sort of uncomfortable at the table tonight when they were talking to me and not including you, Rachel."
"It'll take time, darling. We both know that They're bound to feel hostile towards me. And it's only proof that they loved their mother very much and that they miss her. I couldn't expect to take her place, not ever. But if they'll look on me as a sort of older and wiser friend who can help them along and solve their problems, then that's something to work for."
"You're a wonderful girl, Rachel, and that's why I did marry you. Let's just sit here like old married folks and watch the movie, and then we'll go to bed and it'll just be the two of us and we won't think about the kids." He hugged and kissed her again, and Rachel quivered with anticipation. A strange sensual aura had pervaded her, remembering as she did the unholy bargain she had made with young Tim and Heather. Now that she could sit back and think about it, she had virtually offered to be their whore if they would give her a month's trial as their father's new wife. And there was always the terrible danger that somehow they might betray her and actually tell Tim how they had entrapped her and perhaps accomplish their original purpose of having her driven out of the house as an unfit wife and mother. No, she would just have to take that chance. She knew that she needed love and the security of being wanted by this gentle, intellectual man who shared so much in common with her. It was true that she had her own shop and could earn a good living, but the prospect of lonely years as a career girl-and at thirty-four she couldn't really call herself a girl any longer-frightened her. No, she had made a bargain, and she would keep it, cost what it may....
She had left him watching the ending of the late show to go to her room and to change into a seductive black nylon nightie and open-toe sandals, applying perfume to her armpits and the valley of her breasts as well as the insides of her thighs. Glancing down at herself, she could see a few faint bruises on her shoulders and the insides of her thighs where young Tim's sinewy fingers had gripped her last night. And a wave of lascivious awareness came over her as she hastily drew on the filmy sheath which outlined the magnificence of her breasts, the smoothness of her round belly, the litheness of her waist and the jouncy hillocks of her bottom. Then quickly she moved down the hall into her husband's room and, drawing back the covers, got quickly into bed and waited for him.
When the door opened about ten minutes later, she whispered huskily, "Hurry, darling, I'm ready for you, I need you so."
His eyes widened with surprise at the sight of the gauzy nightie, for it was one she hadn't worn fill now. "It won't take me a minute, Rachel darling," he said, his voice thickening with anticipation. In his mind there swirled the exotic night with Eleanor, the meaningful restoration of his virility. He went to his dresser and took out a pair of pajamas, then hurried into the bathroom to shower and to be ready for her. A few minutes later, wearing just the pajama bottoms, he came out and went to the bed, took her by the shoulders, bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Rachel closed her eyes, linking her soft arms round his neck as she drew him down to her. "My darling husband," she breathed. "It feels like ages since we were alone together. Do get in beside me, hurry, darling!"
He reached to turn out the little night lamp beside the bed, and then joined her. He turned, on his left side to her, his left arm under her shoulders, his right hand gently stroked her swelling breasts, then the supple contour of one lovely hip as their lips met in a long ardent kiss.
Rachel felt the flesh of her inner thighs twitching and prickling with a new desire. What had taken place last night came back into her senses now, but with a new and singular meaning. She still believed that it was the male's traditional prerogative to take the initiative. And until now, he always had, even though they hadn't yet achieved the successful union she had dreamed of. But she felt that it was terribly vital that he continue in his right until at last their magical moment would come upon them both, and then there would be no problems left in this household.
Certainly he was proceeding satisfactorily. Without haste, his right hand squeezing each of her swelling breasts in turn, plying her with long hot kisses, delicately probing the tip of his tongue just between her eagerly parted lips, Tim Woodling wooed his beautiful brunette wife. She had turned on her left side to be closer to him, till their bellies pressed together and till she could feel the hard structure of his legs against the soft, round yielding columns of her quivering thighs. His right hand moved now to her buttocks, kneading them, and she caught her breath with a little gasp and pressed herself ardently against him. Her eyes widened with joy to feel the significant turgidity of his maleness against the filmy crotch of the nightie. Oh, let it be right for them both tonight, she prayed.
Her hands stroked his back, and she could feel the muscular tension of his body as he strained against her. Now his penis was gloriously hard, prodding against the plumb mound of her vulva, and she turned scarlet in the darkness with the knowledge of her desire for him, an almost shameless and eager desire. With it came the knowledge, too, that she was remembering how his own son had used her, and as she tried frantically to examine her feelings about what had taken place last night, she was almost shocked to feel that she had not the slightest inclination to reveal that usage to the father of that boy who had actually made her the medium of his first successful act of intercourse. That awareness made her squirm and arch against her husband now with a kind of subconscious longing that was not far from incestuous anticipation.
And when at last she felt her husband's hand lofting the fragile sheath above her waist and baring her loins and buttocks and thighs, she whimpered, "Yes, now, my sweetest darling, oh yes, Tim, please!" With a fervent exultance that made her blush all the more in this welcoming privacy which the darkness procured.
His fingertips glided over her quivering belly, and thence to the thick bush of her mount, tickling the soft lips of her vulva, then moving quickly to stroke the insides of her willingly parted thighs. She felt herself moist there, and knew that she was ready for him. There was a throbbing between her thighs, a longing that was as concrete and specific as her love for him and her determination to withstand the storm of hostility which his two children had brought down upon her.
She felt him move away for a moment, while he fumbled with the buttons of the pajama bottoms to emerge his turgid penis, and then he came back to her, and she felt the velvety yet hard head of his organ rubbing against her moistened cleft. With a groan of delight, digging her fingernails into his back, she pressed her mouth avidly against his, telling him of her complete surrender. She felt him slip his hands under her buttocks as he rolled her onto her back and mounted in a deft maneuver, entering her almost at once, drawing a gasp of exquisite anticipation from her darted lips. Her bare feet locked over his sinewy calves as she prepared herself. She could feel the twitching contractions of her vaginal scabbard, preparing to welcome the deepest housing of his manhood to the very roots within her.
"Rachel, oh my Cod, you sweet darling, Rachel!" he hoarsely panted as he pressed forward into her.
"Oh, Tim-yes-oh, Tim, it's so good-Tim!" she moaned.
And suddenly with an agonized cry, he wrenched himself away from her, and she felt the bubbling drench of his semen, sticking the lips of her vulva and her thighs and belly as he twisted over onto his side and cursed aloud: "Oh, Christ not again! Oh what the hell is the matter with me, Rachel, I'm no husband for you after all!"
Chapter Five
Exactly a week had passed since Tom Woodling's trip to New York, and it had been a difficult one for both him and his brunette wife. Deeply mortified at his failure to achieve successful union with beautiful Rachel on the night of his return, he had occupied himself with many an hour of overtime at the office to prepare the preliminary campaign for the newly acquired New York account, and as a consequence he hadn't come to bed with Rachel at all.
Meanwhile, seeing their father's preoccupied behavior, both young Tim and Heather took every opportunity on the sly to remind the mature brunette of the infamous bargain to which they had compelled her. Just this last Thursday night, as Rachel was doing the dishes in the kitchen, Heather had slipped in on the pretext of wanting to help wipe. And as she did so, she had cattily whispered, "Dad's sure been looking down in the dumps all week, Rachel. You've got just three weeks left, and don't you ever forget it. And from what he said, he has to go back to New York next week to see that new account, so you can expect another visit from little brother and me, remember!"
Rachel had turned scarlet, bent her head and then meekly nodded. "I'll keep my word, Heather," she had finally managed to say after regaining her self-control. "Just you keep yours."
"Okay, okay, but it's down to three weeks, Mummy. Come on, you're slowing me down," the taunting redhead had mocked her crestfallen stepmother. ...
This Friday night, Tim Woodling had determined to try again. He just couldn't understand what was happening between himself and Rachel. There wasn't any question about his not desiring her; she had a beautiful body and such a lovely face, and she was so sympathetic and gentle and understanding. Lots of women would have laughed at him for all these signs of impotence so early in the marriage. Damn it all, it wasn't as if he couldn't get it up at all; with that girl Eleanor, he had felt like an adolescent full of endless sap and juice, wanting to set a record. And even the next night, even in bed with lovely Rachel, he'd had an erection and a very satisfying one and there was still plenty of juice left in him to satisfy her. Only everything had gone wrong and it was beginning to worry him.
He'd thought half a dozen times of having a private chat with young Tim and Heather, trying to make them understand that he loved their new mother very dearly and that he wanted them to try to show a little more affection even if they had to force it for the time being. But of course with sophisticated kids of this generation, such an appeal would be much too square and it might only make them lose respect for him and deride Rachel all the more.
Tonight, he had watched TV with Heather and his son, Rachel having excused himself about an hour ago on the grounds of a headache. He'd tried to look pointedly at Heather, because she was the older and the one who could probably control young Tim, but every time he'd done that, she'd just smiled and looked back at the TV set. At last the movie ended, and he yawned and walked over to the set and turned it off. "I'd better hit the sack, you kids, because I've got to get down to the office tomorrow. I'll be going to New York probably right from the office on Tuesday, looks like. But I ought to be back by Friday night anyway, so maybe the four of us can plan a weekend together. How'd that be, Tim, Heather?"
"Sure, fine, Dad," the gangling blond teenager had nodded, glancing at his red-haired sister with a curious little smirk in his face that made his father want to slap him. "Maybe we can go to the zoo or something."
"I can think up something better than that for both of you," he forced back his impulse to rebuke the boy for his sarcasm. "Well, good-night. There's just one thing-I wish you both would be a little nicer to Rachel."
"Did she complain about us or something, Dad?" Heather quickly asked, rising from the couch and eyeing him with watchful interest.
"Of course she didn't. She's a lady, Heather. The sort of lady I'm hoping you're going to be one of these days. You know, it's sort of strange that with your good looks and your quick mind you aren't out dating tonight instead of staying home with your old father and watching TV."
"I happen to like being with you, Dad," Heather instantly flared back, her nostrils dilating and her face coloring. "And I suppose because I'm twenty, you're already marking me down as an old maid. I just haven't found the right guy, that's all. Now if you don't mind. I think I'll go to bed. Come on, little brother, you could stand a good night's sleep for a change yourself."
They both swept out of the living room and he shook his head despondently. What was getting into them both? There was an undertone of hostility he had caught, and he didn't like it one little bit. But that wasn't the real problem. And he was going to have to solve the real one all by himself before this marriage went on the rocks ...
Rachel had taken a quick shower and pulled on a black satin lounging robe, determining to read herself to sleep. The book wasn't really too interesting, but she hadn't been able to take the sly little glances which both young Tim and Heather had sent at her all through that dreadfully boring movie. She shivered as she remembered Heather's threat last night, and now that Tim was going back to New York next week, she knew the girl and her brother would force her to keep the bargain.
They were both of them so insecure, relying on their love for their dead mother to carry them through as a weapon against her, when all she wanted was to be friends. It would be so wonderful for all four of them if they would only get over that Irrational hatred for her. But then, it might as well have been the same for any other woman whom Tim had brought into this lonely house.
She laid down the book with an impatient gesture on the little table beside the bed. and reached for the bottle with the little red pills. But again she shivered, remembering how those pills had been used last Friday night And yet they had served to soften the incredible, harsh, even astonishing sex to which young Tim and Heather had forced her.
Indecisively, she held the bottom in her hand a moment, and then set it back down on the table. And at that moment, the door quietly opened and then closed, and she looked up to see her husband in his bathrobe and pajamas.
"Darling! It was sweet of you to look in on me. Honestly, it wasn't much of a headache, so you needn't worry.
"I-I'm glad to hear that, Rachel Would it be- could we talk a few minutes?"
"Of course, dear. Come sit on the bed. You look awfully tired. You've been working much too hard. you know."
He chuckled as he seated himself and leaned to her to kiss her eagerly offered mouth. Her hand stroked his cheeks and she gave him a gentle kiss on the mouth, then shifted herself to be closer to him.
"I thrive on work. Besides, It's what's sending the kids to school and keeping up the taxes on this old house," he bantered.
"Are you just possibly hinting that you'd like me to give up my shop? I will, you know, any time you say. I'd like nothing better than to be your full-time wife. Maybe even a mother, Tim. You know, I'm not too old to have a child and rye never had one."
He flushed a little, lowered his eyes. "I-I hadn't really thought about that, to be honest with you, Rachel darling. But I think I'd like it a lot. But not right now. You know as well as I do, I've got to get those kids of mine in line so they'll accept you. No, that's not the word either. I mean, love you. I didn't like the way they acted downstairs, and I haven't liked the way they've been acting ever since I brought you here. I feel rye let you down."
"Shhh, dearest, you mustn't say anything like that!" she whispered, drawing her soft fingertips across his forehead....
Heather, a finger at her lips, beckoned to her smirking brother as they stood a few feet away from the door of Rachel's bedroom. "Dad just went in there. So you'd better forget it tonight. Besides, you heard him say he's leaving Tuesday. So that gives us a couple of nights with Mummy if we want. Now let's go to bed."
"Okay, I guess I better. Just when I was hoping I could bang her again, Heather," young Tim disgustedly whispered back as he tiptoed down the hall and back to his room ...
"Mind if I smoke?" He took a pack of Pall Malls from the pocket of his bathrobe, expectedly looking at her.
"No, not at all, and in fact I'd like one too, Tim dear."
He lit hers, then his, and puffed at the cigarette, considering the smoke rings for a long moment. "I-I'm letting you down, Rachel, and it's been bothering me," he finally said in a hoarse, unsteady voice.
She patted his knee. "That's exactly the wrong thing to do, Tim, brood about anything like that My goodness, I told you before, even very young men have an accident once in a while. It's from being too tense, or trying so hard to succeed that you concentrate on what should be perfectly natural and beautiful between two people. That's why I say, you've been working too hard."
"No, it's not that either. And don't think just because I've hit fifty I'm ready to consider myself used up."
"I should say not! I've already had evidence of that, darling, you remember," she playfully chided him. All the same, her cheeks had a lovely rosy flush.
"I suppose, in a way," he was fumbling for the right words now, "both of us ought to have sat down and talked things like this over. I mean, about our experience before-you know what I'm trying to say, Rachel. Everybody has a different hang-up, one way or another. Like for instance, girls who are brought up strictly think that sex is something nasty and sinful and has to be submitted to with one's husband."
"I never had that sort of upbringing," she giggled now and patted his knee again. "Of course, I told you all about my first husband. He was just a Don Juan in the stalls, and he thought of himself as a super male stud. Maybe I don't know all the words this younger generation uses about sex, but I think I'm pretty tolerant."
"You're a wonder, that's what you are.
"Maybe," she confided in a low soft voice as she moved still closer to him, "since I am that way, I can even understand it if-well, if you were to have a very quick affair with some other woman, just to give you back your confidence. Maybe that's all it would take."
He almost dropped the cigarette stub, and hastily crushed it out on the little tray on the table. "I'd never cheat on you, Rachel"
"It wouldn't be cheating if I told you to do it. Of course, I wouldn't want it to be with any of my friends or some of the cute girls I have working for me at the shop. But if on your trips to New York, you found some nice woman who was lonely-well, perhaps it would help."
"You must really have radar, Rachel," his voice was unsteady again. "I-well, since you brought the matter up, and since I believe in being honest, I guess I'd better tell you now than have you find it out later. I-I did have something in New York last week. But-well, it was with a call girl. And I did it-you may as well know the truth about it-exactly for the reason you were suggesting. To find out if I was still a man, after making such a fool of myself with you. Love didn't have anything to do with it, darling."
"I'm sure it didn't. Come on, get into bed and stretch out and tell me about it."
"You-you mean you want to hear about a thing like that?" he stared at her wide-eyed.
"Certainly I do. Anything that concerns you concerns me too. Isn't that what marriage is for?"
He shook his head wonderingly. Then he took off his bathrobe and got into bed beside her. He lay on his back, his head pillowed on his arms, looking up at the ceiling and avoiding her intent gate as he tried to gloss over that incredible experience.
"Was she young and pretty? Was she very expensive?" Rachel softly prompted.
"Yes to both questions. Extremely attractive. Red-haired like-" he caught himself just in time, and scowled at the realization of what he had almost been about to say.
But Rachel apparently hadn't caught it. "She had her own apartment, I suppose. Now go ahead and tell me."
"Not all the details, for God's sake!" he gasped.
"Yes. Maybe it'll help relax you. A teacher I had back in high school once said to me that the best way to get over something you were afraid of was to talk it out and actually to face it. I thought it was pretty good advice, Tim darling. Now you go right ahead. And I promise you won't offend me. I know what sort of man you are, and you're not at all like my first husband-which is exactly why I was willing to try marriage again. Not to try, but to make it last, I mean. Go on, dearest."
She had turned to him on her side now, one hand on his chest, the other hand gently stroking his thigh. He cleared his throat: "Well, she had quite a setup. Something you might read about in one of those French novels, I guess. A revolving waterbed, mirrors on the walls and the ceiling no less, music and incense. Oh yes, and changing colored lights."
"Wow!" Rachel giggled again, and her hand moved up his thigh very near his groin. "It sounds exciting already. Sounds as if that young lady had a college education and did some reading herself."
"She had and she did. Her father went broke in the stock market or something like that, and so she took to doing the next best thing. Only she seemed to like it."
"And you liked it too, hm, darling?" Now, very daringly, her hand had neared his penis, just brushing the side of the still dormant shaft. And at that evanescent touch, he suddenly felt himself surge and throb with carnal awareness. Awareness of the warm smell of her hair and flesh, of the pressure of her body against his, and of the intimate rapport which this in almost darkened room had brought about between them.
"Go on, don't be bashful, dear. How did she start? I'm really curious," Rachel smilingly persisted.
Tim Woodling's face was crimson now and he averted his gaze from his wife's. "Well, if you must know, she started me off with a bath."
"That was a lovely idea. It relaxed you, didn't it?"
"Uh huh. But not entirely-I mean-" he turned to look at her, and she giggled softly again like a girl, then kissed him on the mouth. Boldly, her hand now slid under the waistband of his pajama pants, and then her eyes widened: "Good gracious, she gave you a shave there too, didn't she?"
Under her touch, and with the recollection of Eleanor which his own wife had thus evoked in him, Tim Woodling felt his penis achingly swell to full erection. He turned to her now, on his side, his left arm round her shoulders, his right hand caressing her svelte, alluringly voluptuous body through the thin lounging robe. The glossy-smooth satin was so thin that it seemed as if he was feeling her naked flesh, so clingingly did the garment shape out the fine firmness of her swelling breasts and the supple curve of her haunch.
"Do you want me now?" she whispered.
"Oh God, yes, Rachel! Hurry-"
"Oh no, young man, that's exactly what you're not going to do," she whispered, giving his stiff penis a loving squeeze. Then, wriggling away from him, she unfurled the lounging robe and let it spread about her to bare her warm satiny nakedness. "Come to me, gently, my lover," she urged.
Her hand had not relinquished its grip of his penis, holding it between thumb and forefinger, with tiny little squeezes of the glans. With a groan, Tim Woodling mounted her, and nimbly her knees arched up to receive him as she offered herself, her eyes wide and humid with expectancy.
He was summoning up the images of that apartment in New York, the music and the lights and the incense and the revolving bed and the euphoric sensations of Eleanor's languorous preparations. He felt himself press between the warm quivering lips of Rachel's vulva, and his hands clutched her naked breasts as his mouth came down on hers. With a whimpering sight of acquiescence, she locked her calves over his, thrusting herself to meet his charge. He could feel the clinging enclaspment of her vaginal sheath against his delving penis, till all of him was enfolded- within her warm moist gloriously tight depths. And he closed his eyes and held himself immobile so as to gain full control. It was too wonderful at this moment to lose it at the very start!
"That's my dearest, slow and easy, I'll be here as long as you need me, you know that, Tim," her voice was husky now with desire as her hands moved over his flushed, twisted face, then to his shoulders, holding him eagerly against her palpitating warm olive-sheened nakedness. Even the fierce delight of feeling herself fitted to him so snugly, flesh to his flesh, was saddened by her despair for him; she knew all too well what a blow to his pride and his own self-esteem his repeated failures meant to him. She knew too, more than she could ever dare admit to him, how complex the problem had become because of the enmity of his own children towards her. And suddenly she found herself wanting to be whore and concubine to this gentle, considerate man who had such love to give and who had been denied so long. Well, if that meant adapting herself, against all the moral issues which could certainly be raised against it, to the vengeful, even contemptuous lust of young Tim and Heather, so be it!
Her hands moved down his sides, assuaging and steadying him, as she lay motionless, waiting for his sign, lest her slightest movement undo all the triumph he had thus far managed. Yet her own deeply latent womanly needs were upon her now, as she felt the quivering contractions of her womb intimate to him to take full possession of her flesh. With his fingers still clutching her swelling breasts, she could feel the nipples hardening and the very rhythm of her breathing quickening in her fierce carnal hunger.
But even beyond this, there had come a sudden blinding revelation from his admission of this one transgression, which was really no transgression at all. He had said that the call girl who had made him a man again was red-haired like-yes, and now she could clearly understand Heather's vicious resentment of her. Even by accident when she had bravely told Heather that she herself loved Tim as much as Heather did, she had unwittingly come to the very crux of things. Now It was transparent; Heather was at least subconsciously in love with her own father, that was why she had no dates, no steady at the age of twenty. And he in turn might well be subconsciously in love with her.
Now she could begin to cope a little better with both his children. Now she could take a more active part in directing how this secret bargain between them was to be wrought. And a new eagerness made her tremble against him, made her fingertips dig into his thighs as she huskily whispered, "Love me, Tim, do it to me, do it the way you wanted to with her!"
He shuddered, as if to silence her so that she would not again renew his torment by summoning more of those images which could be so destructive now. He drew himself back to the very brink of her vulva, and this time he could feel the quaking urgency of her burningly tight and eager sheath. His fingers left her panting breasts to thrust under her hips, to elevate them so that he might clutch the satiny globes of her velvety behind, almost ruthlessly. Almost as he would possess a woman for hire, indeed. And then, thrusting to the hilt. inside of her, he put his tongue between her lips to urge her to take part in this same illusion.
And Rachel Woodling understood. Her arms locked tightly round him, mashing down her swelling breasts as she strained up against his shuddering chest Her bare legs shifted and ascended to his lower thighs as she clamped avidly him into her matrix.
"Oh God, yes-Rachel-oh God, it's so good-is it for you too?" she heard him gasp.
"Oh my darling, yes, don't stop, oh it's wonderful- it's the way I knew it would be when you first asked me to marry you-oh Tim, give it to me good and hard!" and her own voice was strangely new to her, wanton and eager as it had never been before.
He quickened his thrusts and withdrawals, feeling the clinging moist sheath of her woman-core reluctantly ease its grip upon him. Yet when he thrust back home again, it was to find her marvelously receptive, and as passionately possessive. And now the tip of her own tongue met his, and he writhed as he felt himself being drawn towards that heavenly abyss of total release and shattering culmination.
With a hoarse cry, speeding his thrusts, he bladed himself within her, and Rachel, her legs locked over his buttocks now, arched and twisted, feeling her own dam released by the burnt of his furious and finally masterful conquest.
They cried out together, kissing hotly, and there were tears in her eyes as she strained to him to share this climax. ...
Heather straightened outside the door of her stepmother's bedroom, her face a mask of anguished rage. "Damn the bitch," she hissed to herself as she moved back down the hail to her own bedroom. "She's going to pay for that one good fuck she gave Daddy. Yes, Mummy, enjoy it tonight while you can. One swallow doesn't make a summer, and one fuck doesn't make a marriage."
Chapter Six
She had worked late at the shop this Tuesday, knowing that Tim had already taken the plane for New York. First of all, it had been one of those exciting days when a brand-new prospect had walked in and asked for a quotation on the remodeling of an old mansion in Wilmette. Arnold Cantwell, suave, tall, his dark-brown hair heavily tinged with premature gray, had walked in without warning about two this afternoon, asked to see Miss Rachel, and had then explained that, himself an architect, he had been referred to her by James Prentize, a fellow architect whose penthouse in the hi-rise building Prentize had designed for a noted real-estate developer had been decorated by Rachel herself some nine months ago.
Rachel had been both flattered and startled. Word-of-mouth referral was, to be sure, one of the best ways of getting lucrative new business in the interior decorating field. But what had startled her when Arnold Cantwell had been ushered into her private office by her golden-haired receptionist Dinah Williams had been his astonishing resemblance to her own husband. They were of the same height, and Arnold Cantwell's nose and eyes were very much like Tim's. His way of looking directly at her and his direct but soft-spoken way of talking were also very much like Tim's.
During the conversation, it developed that Arnold Cantwell shared the mansion with his elderly mother and spinster sister. There had been few changes in that Colonial type house since it had been built over fifty years ago, and the handsome bachelor architect observed that the idea of redecorating it was really therapeutic: the last year or two his mother and older sister had been extremely depressed because of the death of a favorite cousin.
Fortunately Rachel had been free of appointments this afternoon, and so she accepted Arnold Cantwell's invitation to drive her out to the, house to make an appraisal of what work would have to be done. On the way out there, sitting beside him at the wheel of his new Impala, she learned that he was thirty-two, widely traveled, and that his hobbies were chess and music. An idea began to glimmer in the back of her mind. Soon after her marriage, she had seen a chess set and board on the writing desk in Heather's room.
He had driven her back to the Michigan Avenue shop about five, then invited her to dinner at the London House to continue their talk about the necessary work and its possible cost. Rachel had welcomed this hospitality not only because it gave her a better understanding of her new client's likes and dislikes as regards decor, but also because she was really starved for intellectual conversation. Heaven knows there hadn't been very much of it at the Woodling house.
Arnold Cantwell drove her home about eight o'clock, walked her to the door of the old Gothic house and smilingly told her that she would have carte blanche in putting more gayety and color into his old house and that he hoped she could begin the work by the next week. She had made a date to be there the following Monday morning, shaken hands with him and thanked him for the dinner, and smilingly watched him drive off. Then, with a sigh of pleasure, she had let herself into the house....
She had just taken off her cloche hat and her suitcoat, and was beginning to unfasten her smart tweed skirt when her door suddenly opened and red-haired Heather stood smirking at her. Heather wore baby-blue silk pajamas and soft fluffy mules, and her mouth was freshly lipsticked. She advanced now, in a sort of swaggering way, glancing around Rachel's bedroom with a proprietary air. "You're back at last, Mummy. Did you have a good time with the guy in the Impala?"
Rachel flushed hotly. "He happens to be a new client, Heather, I'm doing over his 'house in Wilmette starting next week. It'll mean a good deal of money. Of course," deciding to return the young woman's sarcasm, "that will come in handy for me to live on in case I get kicked out at the end of the month."
"You're awfully sharp tonight, Mummy. I give you credit for guts, though. Are you sure you didn't go to a motel with him just now? If I thought you were cheating on Dad, it'd be just one more good reason to boot your fancy ass out of this house, you know." Her cat-green eyes were narrow and cruel, her lips curved in a rictus of mocking contempt.
"No, as a matter of fact I didn't, Heather. If you like, you can call the London House and I'm sure the hostess will verify the fact that we spent several hours there having dinner and talking over Mr. Cant-well's plans."
"It's really not important." Heather shrugged her lovely shoulders. "Fact is, I'd just as soon you weren't already fucked out. You see, Mummy, now that Dad's out of town, Timmy and I figured tonight would be as good a time as any for a little family get-together. Any objections?"
Rachel found herself shivering 'as Heather insolently swept her voluptuous body up and down with those cynical young eyes. But she managed to stiffen her shoulders and face the amoral young tormentress:
"I always keep my word. All right, then. Suppose you give me a few minutes to take a shower and change into something more suitable."
"You can have ten minutes, Mummy. I'll go call little brother."
"Just one more favor, if you please."
"Shoot!" Heather snickered, moving back into the hallway.
"I don't think you'll need the camera tonight. You see, I kept my word about not telling your father. Besides, one set of films ought to be quite enough if you have to resort to anything as low as that."
"Hey now, Mummy, don't you be getting up on your high horse and telling me and Timmy what we ought to do!" Heather angrily sneered. "Anyhow, I wasn't figuring on taking more movies. Timmy still has those dandy ones of the other time, and he's just dying to show them to some of his pals in case you lose your amateur status around her. Well, see you In ten minutes, Mummy. Have a good shower and soap yourself good between your long legs. Timmy might just want to go down on you.
She slammed the door shut, and Rachel clenched her fists and bowed her head, fighting the tears of humiliation and shame which burned her eyes.
Under the stinging spell of the shower, she tried to collect herself so that she could face this ordeal without flinching. And yet this time the prospect was certainly more hopeful than it had been that incredible Friday night during Tim's first New York trip. Because now at least she could cling to the knowledge that for the first time she and Tim had been able to enjoy each other in bed. He had been so grateful, so happy. And now all that remained was to heal the wounds of rancor and resentment in young Tim and Heather, and to direct those energies int6 different channels. Arnold Cantwell might well be part of the solution for Heather. And she thought she might equally be able to find some absorbing way to curb young Tim's ruthless arrogance.
Nevertheless, tonight was going to be a fearfully taxing ordeal because now she was going to yield to it. That other time, she might well be able to rationalize as having been the result of coercion and the surprising shock of discovering what her stepchildren had in store for her. This time, she was going to be expected to submit passively to the role of whore. And yet, hadn't Matt Varney treated her in his own selfish way to a similar kind of rough sex? His violent usage of her body without caring whether she herself had climax, his open insolence in making no secret of his affairs, even to bedding his paramours in their own house-wasn't that, in its own way, even more brutal than what Heather and young Tim proposed?
She had dried herself and dabbed a little perfume at the valley of her breasts, at her armpits and belly and the curly fleece of her pubis. She drew on the black nylon nightie that she had worn for Tim last Friday night, and smiled back at herself In the mirror. "Maybe you can even learn something tonight, Rachel Woodling," she told her image. "Maybe if you get to be as smart as that Eleanor, you'll be able to be a better wife and lover for your own husband. It's certainly worth a try, and that's the only way you can look at it right now. So get with it, girl."
Taking a deep breath, she moved back Into the bedroom, drew the covers, propped up two pillows at the headboard, and awaited her stepchildren....
Just before the door opened again, Rachel had quickly swallowed two of the little red secondal pills, remembering how she had been made to take the sleeping pills when they had invaded her bedroom that time before. But this time, she took the pills of her own accord to help quell the protests of that embattled conscience to which tonight she had resolved to pay not the slightest heed. Symbolically as well as physically, it would make her imminent ordeal easier.
Nevertheless, she could not help shivering and catching her breath when Heather and young Tim appeared, the latter wearing only his pajama pants and smirking at her, his blond hair tousled. Just outside Rachel's door, he had slyly tried to thrust his hands under the waistband of Heather's baby-blue pajamas, and she had whirled and slapped him, then put her palm against his head and shoved him back with a hissed "Save that for Mummy, you sneaky little bastard! And one more thing-when we're in bed with her, just don't get any fancy ideas about making it a twosome, hear me?"
"Your ten minutes are up, Mummy. Well, now, how very accommodating of you to be in bed all ready for us," the redhead tauntingly drawled as she advanced to the bed and quickly seated herself on the edge, studying the mature brunette with gloating anticipation. "This time, I'm going to go first just to warm you up a little, Rachel. Then Timmy will take over. Any objections?"
Rachel Woodling shook her head, but she could not halt the sudden furious blushes that suffused her olive-satiny cheeks, and before the boy's greedily lustful stare, she turned to look at Heather. "You-you won't have to use force. Just give me time to understand what you want of me."
"Now that's being smart, Mummy," Heather jeered. "But let's hope you get just as worked up this way as when we had to practically rape you. Boy, did you wiggle and melt down then! Timmy expects a little cooperation, he's still a beginner, you know."
"Oh, shut up, Heather!" young Tim hoarsely exclaimed. "Get going with her, so I can have my turn!"
"Okay, little brother, I'll get her ready for you," Heather agreed. Calmly, she unfastened the waistband of her pajama pants, tugged them off and dropped them to the floor, while her brother stared avidly at the sweet, smooth creaminess of her bare legs and thick dark-red silky bush between them, surreptitiously dropping his right hand to cup and squeeze his strainingly turgid penis.
"Get that nightie up to your armpits, Mummy, and let's play some girlie games," Heather now instructed. With a warning look at her brother, she directed, "You can look but not touch till I tell you to, and don't forget it. Sit there on the edge of the bed and learn something."
Rachel dosed her eyes and, catching hold of the hems of the black nylon nightie, hastily began to roll it up over her breasts. She bit her lips and her blushes deepened when she heard a sudden hoarse gasp of "Zowie!" from the boy, who had seated himself on the foot of the bed facing them both, sitting tailor-fashion with his hands folded In his lap over his bulging manhood.
Felinely, Heather rolled over on her left side towards her mature victim, her left arm snuggling under Rachel's velvety-bare shoulders, and with her slim right hand began slyly and knowingly to stroke the matron's calves and thighs. She bent her head to brush one of Rachel's nipples with her lips, and again young Tim uttered a gasp of lecherous excitement.
Rachel could not help the convulsive tremors that rippled through her entire body. She waited for the pills to take effect, and she strove with all her willpower to remain passive and thus fulfill the terms of this clandestine compact. As Heather's lips now took hold of her right nipple, she put her right hand to the back of the redhead's neck and murmured, "Heather, do you-do you like to play chess a lot?"
Startled, the half-nude girl raised her head, her large eyes insolently fixing Rachel with a probing look. "Now, what the hell kind of question is that, Mummy, when we're getting ready to screw?"
"I-I want to know, that's all. I saw the chessboard and set in your room, and-well, there aren't too many women who play chess, that's all."
"Yeah, I guess you're right at that. A couple of years ago, I went down to the chess club, but all there were were guys, and most of them wanted to play the screwing game with me and not chess. But I play over games from some of the books-do you know anything about it yourself?"
"Only that there are lots of tournaments going on and Bobby Fisher was the world champion," Rachel replied in a low, husky voice.
Heather gave a short derisive laugh. "That's right, only he doesn't want to play anymore, the creep says. Any more questions, Mummy? All right then, get with it."
"Yeah, that's what I say!" the blond boy impatiently chimed in.
"Just-just one thing more, please, Heather," Rachel petitioned almost in a whisper as again Heather's lips took hold of her stiffening coral nipplebud. "I know a fellow who's awfully good at chess and he'd like to meet you. Would it be all right if I introduced you to him?"
"Sure, I guess so. Now can the chatter, and let's see some action, Mummy! Suppose you turn to me and put your arms around me and start rubbing that hairy gash of yours up against mine." the redhead lewdly commanded.
Obediently, closing her eyes, the brunette matron moved onto her left side to face her tormentress. Her arms encircled Heather's shoulders, and at once she felt the silky friction of her stepdaughter's pubis against her own. Young Tim knelt up, audibly sucking in his breath at the libidinous sight.
Heather's soft moist lips fixed on Rachel's now, and then her tongue darted between them as her hands continued their expert attunement of the matron's palpitating nakedness. Her left hand cupping one of Rachel's shudderingly swelling breasts, her right hand lingeringly crept over the brunette's quivering and flinching buttocks, her fingertips trailing along the sinuous, shadowy crease between them and making Rachel start convulsively at the salacious sensations which her stepdaughter's touches evoked in her being. Her eyes remained tightly closed, as if thus she could shut out what was taking place and remain aloof from it even though participating.
Throughout, she kept repeating to herself that by thus surrendering its chastity, her body could become the more readily scienced in ways to pleasure Tim. In every man, even one so discriminating and considerate as her husband, she now understood, there was a latent streak of uninhibited lust. And surely if the wife could meet and match that hidden yearning with her own joyous acquiescence, then there would be no need for Tim to seek his sexual solace with a woman for hire, even if she were as talented as the Eleanor whom he had so excitedly described. Thus it was that, conquering her first instinctive aversion to Heather's Lesbian embrace, and feeling at last the delightfully drowsy effect of the pills, she began to respond to her stepdaughter. Her tongue met Heather's, her hands began to stroke and fondle Heather's back and the sides of the girl's glossy, exuberant breasts, and her own loins began to press and move from side to side, then up and down, against the redhead's moist, thickly fleeced young vulva.
"Hey!" Heather suddenly, throatily muttered, "you're starting to get to me, Mummy! You've been doing your homework, looks like. Keep it up, only rub harder now. And let's see you French kiss some more!"
"For Crissake, Heather, when do I get to bang her?" young Tim impatiently whined, leaning forward now and resting on his palms and knees as he took in the unexpected sight of Rachel's surrendering union with his sister.
"You can just wait till I'm done, you creep!" Heather turned her flushed face to hiss back at him. "Jack yourself off if you're so hard up. It'll take your edge off, and then when your turn comes; you might just be able to give Mummy a good long ride and not honk out the way you did your very first fuck!"
Then, turning back to the trembling, quivering Rachel, she purred, "Hey, you know, Mummy, you're not such a crummy bitch after all. I won't let little brother stud you too hard. Anyhow, he won't be able to keep it up too long in a hot cunt like yours, Mummy. Now let's forget all about him and screw real good!"
So saying, her mouth again avidly covered Rachel's, her tongue delved deeply, and as her left hand ardently squeezed Rachel's heaving breast, her right hand moved between their bodies to ferret out Rachel's clitoris and to brush it delicately with the tip of her forefinger. Even though the soporific had begun to take its lulling effect, Rachel shuddered violently at that galvanizing contact, a little feverish moan escaping her. Instinctively, too, her loins spasmodically ground( against her stepdaughter's, imprisoning Heather's finger burrowed into the top of her vulva.
"Do me the same way, Mummy?" Heather pantingly begged. And as in a dream, Rachel found herself responding: her soft forefinger probed into the girl's moist twitching core, found the dainty nodule of Heather's clitoris, and began to rub at it this way and that.
With a choking cry of sensual delight, the redhead flung her right leg over Rachel's thigh, arching herself frantically against her stepmother. With jerky, hasty forward movements, she frictioned herself against Rachel's own moistening and palpitating cleft. Her tongue wildly slushed between her stepmother's lips, and Rachel's own soft tongue parried those rapier-thrusts as vaguely she felt herself seething and awakened.
And then with a sobbing cry, Heather grabbed her stepmother's shoulders with both hands, rolled her over onto her back, and, covering her, grinding and jerking and twisting as a male might in the act of coitus, completed her own climatic frenzy. Young Tim uttered an agonized cry of frustration as he watched his sister fling herself onto her back beside the sprawled, naked brunette matron. "Jeez, I just gotta fuck her now, Sis!" he cried.
Rachel Woodling blinked her eyes, mistied and blurred now as the secondal began to draw her towards a blissful limbo. "Do it to me, Tim dear," she heard her own voice as from a distance, husky and trembling. With a cry of avid excitement, the blond boy yanked off his pajama pants and mounted her. His sinewy young fingers clutched her breasts more possessively, more painfully, than Heather's had as with a single dig he hilted himself in her throbbing, lubricated sheath. Rachel's arms enclasped his lean shoulders, and she tilted back her flushed face, her eyes again closing as she felt his wildly roused and rapid thrustings inside her quaking vagina.
Heather slowly got to her knees, her eyes glazed, her left hand rubbing her vulva, her right hand cupping one of her panting ripe young breasts. She licked her lips like a cat, her eyes narrow and shining as she watched for a moment. Then, crawling to the head of the bed, she knelt astride Rachel, staring down at her brother's jerkily moving body.
"Mummy," she exhorted in a thick, sensually ardent voice, "do me with your mouth while Timmy fucks you, please!"
Rachel blinked her eyes open, staring up at the straddled creamy thighs, the thick dark red bush, the slickly wet, gaping pink lips of her stepdaughter's tumescent woman-core. A fiery blush suffused her cheeks, as she whispered, "If-if you want, d-darling."
With a gurgling cry, Heather lowered herself, and as young Tim neared his own frenzied release, Heather's writhing body stiffened and her head tilted back as she felt her stepmother's lips apply a submissive and lingering kiss to her burning apex.
"Ohh, Gawddd, that's good," Heather hissed, wriggling and shuddering, her hands thrusting down to dig her fingers into her stepmother's hair. "Don't stop, use your tongue on my cit too, hard and fast, Mummy, ahh-ohhh Gawddddd, you sweet bitch, that's what I call. making yourself useful round the house-ohhh, ahhh!"
Rachel moaned and squirmed, for the blond boy's frantic, deep, incessant digs into her making vagina had roused a burning tension that, despite the darkening soft shadows which the drug had subtly filtered throughout her being, made her no longer mistress of herself~ Some hidden, atavistic instinct, born out of sheer carnal passion, had been wakened from its long slumber within her innermost recesses. Her hips swerved violently as Tim's bony young shaft delved furiously into her quivering sheath, and her fingers pitilessly dug into Heather's straining naked thighs as she retaliated by rasping her tongue tip into the girl's pink slit, brushing, goading the hardening lodestone at its apex.
"Hold it, Timmy," Heather suddenly panted, her fingers twisting in Rachel's hair and jerking her stepmother's face away. "I want her to finish me off a different way. Come on, little brother, get her on all fours facing me, and you can give it to her dog-fashion. Might as well learn how to be a cocksmith, since Mummy's in a sexy mood to give free lessons! Come on, pull out of her cunt, I told you!"
"Aww, dammit, I was jist gonna go off, Heather," young Tim grumbled, his voice thick and unsteady as he reluctantly withdrew and raised himself on his knees, panting, his face red and contorted with his violent young rut.
"Help me with her, little brother-hell, she must have taken some more of those baby dolls before we paid her this little visit," Heather irritatedly complained, as she seized Rachel's bare arms and pulled her up into a sitting position. "Pull her nightie all the way off, Timmy, earn your fuck-that's it-now, grab her knees, we'll lift her up and turn her over-that's the way-set her down on her knees-ahh, now relax, Mummy, we're not going to hurt you any, you've been doing just fine-get behind her, Timmy, grab her hips to hold her up so you can steer your cock into her cunt-mm, that's the way, little brother!"
Rachel did not resist; only vaguely did she squirm and twist as she felt the nightgown tugged off and flung aside, felt them lifting and manipulating her quivering naked body, till she was on her knees, her palms groping along the rumpled sheets as if, once more, she was wandering in that desolate canyon of her early dream. Heather knelt before her, fingers twisting in the brunette matron's disheveled black hair, drawing her forward: "A little more now-mm, that's just right, Mummy-now do what you were doing before-use your tongue, I want to feel it on my clit! All right now, Timmy, bang-her-if you can find the hole, little brother!"
"Aw, shut up, why'd you hafta needle me all the time, Sis?" the youth whined, his eyes laving Rachel's velvety olive-sheened, proffered buttocks as he moved closer to her, his glistening, stiff penis pointed towards the gaping, readied crevice.
Heather drew Rachel's face up against her thick muff: "Do me good!" she hissed, her eyes glazed with feverish desire. And with one hand she cupped one of her stepmother's dark and hard-tipped breasts, the other relentlessly twisted in Rachel's hair.
Crouching on all fours, Rachel submitted; she was willess now, her consciousness slipping away. And yet the first hard probe of her stepson's penis into her sensitized vagina made her arch her back and thrust herself out to receive the brunt of his assault. Her lips parted, her tongue moved against the dark silky puff of Heather's pubis, and at once the girl's fingers convulsively tightened on her panting breast.
Now it seemed that a violent wind was buffeting her body in the canyon; she lurched against Heather with a stifled little groan each time the boy's avidly thrusting penis sought to hilt itself inside her, and at the same instant, her tongue thrust out in retaliation. Heather mewled aloud, squirming on her knees, feeling herself thus drawn towards the ungovernable vortex of release, and young Tim, gasping hoarsely at each driving lunge, dug his fingertips like talons into Rachel's shuddering bare hips.
As the all-encompassing darkness rolled over her, Rachel heard as from a distance the shrill scream of Heather's ecstasy mingling with the boy's agonized bellow of fulfillment ... and then a third voice-her own, unrecognizable-merged as her body shook frenetically in orgasmic response....
Chapter Seven
"What's so special about this guy out in Wilmette?" Heather sulkily demanded as Rachel steered the Dodge Polara out onto Lake Shore Drive and headed north along the freeway. At one-thirty on a Friday afternoon, traffic was extremely light, and the view of Lake Michigan was sunny and breathtaking.
"Well, since you didn't have any classes this afternoon, Heather, and you've never once visited my shop," the brunette matron airily replied, "I thought you might like to see what sort of work I do. It's a big order, too-remodeling all the furniture, drapes, even the pictures in a big old house in a very quiet and swanky residential suburb."
"I suppose so," Heather grudgingly admitted, giving her stepmother a wary look. "But I'm telling you straight off, Rachel, I'm not interested in meeting any guy. Time enough for that when I finish school And anyhow, if he's that rich to give you a commission like this, chances are he's old enough to be my father."
Rachel coolly watched the road ahead as, without turning to look at her red-haired stepdaughter, she blithely retorted, "And what's so wrong with that? But the fact is, Heather, he's not that old at all. Early thirties, as a matter of fact."
Heather, who had gasped and eyed Rachel with a hostile glance at the latter's counter question, now shrugged diffidently. So he's just another man. I told you, I'm not on the prowl. So let's change the subject."
"Of course, dear."
This time, Heather's look was frankly puzzled. "I don't get you at all, Rachel. I should think you'd hate my guts, and Timmy's too."
"No. I understand you both very well, you see.
"Hmm," the coppery-haired beauty sneered. "And so you don't mind cheating on Daddy with us, is that it? Or maybe, you just like variety sex?"
Heather's jibes made Rachel flush hotly despite her determination to show herself impervious to them. "I know it sounds square, to use your expression, Heather, but if I have to go in for dramatics to prove I love your father and want this marriage to last, well, I'll do it."
Heather gave her another quick, puzzled glance, then again shrugged and glumly remarked, "I don't get you at all, Rachel. But I have to say you're a good sport. You could have snitched to Dad and got us both in Dutch."
"And what good would that have done? You'd have hated me even more and lain awake nights figuring out ways to get rid of me," was Rachel's swift parry accompanied with an engaging smile.
"Yeah." Heather slumped disconsolately down in her seat and stared out at the glassy clam-blue waters of the lake....
"Mr. Cantwell, this is my stepdaughter Heather," Rachel smilingly made the introduction after the plump bespectacled sandy-haired maid had opened the front door and ushered them both into the sitting room where, a moment later, the tall architect joined them.
"A very great pleasure, Miss Woodling," Arnold Cantwell cordially extended his hand. "Your stepmother tells me you play quite a fair game of chess."
Heather flushed and looked petulant as she diffidently took his hand, then let go of it. "Fair enough, but she doesn't really know much about the game."
"Perhaps you'd care to have one with me while she visits with my mother and sister," he proposed. Then, turning to Rachel, "you do plan to bring some of the materials we agreed on next Monday?"
"Yes, Mr. Cantwell, as I told you on the phone, I have the samples of suggested new carpeting with me to show your mother and sister."
"Excellent! Come along, then, Miss Woodling, I'd like you to meet them, too."
Heather indolently rose from the heavily upholstered couch and followed her stepmother down a long hall to the elegantly ornate library at its other end. There, a white-haired frail woman and a portly but pleasant-faced gray-haired woman courteously rose to meet their guests as the personable architect, his arm affectionately around his mother's waist, remarked, "Mother, this is Mrs. Woodling, who'll be making this old house look like new, and Miss Woodling. Ladies, my mother and my sister Fern."
"My goodness," the white-haired woman beamed," you two look more like sisters than mother and daughter."
"Indeed they do, Arnold dear," his sister nodded.
Heather frowned, glancing hastily at Rachel, who quickly amended, "Thank you for the compliment, but actually Heather is my stepdaughter."
"Even so," Arnold Cantwell's mother smilingly replied. Then, to her son, "Arnold, I'd no idea Mrs. Woodling was so young and attractive. My gracious, I suppose I thought anyone so experienced and with such good taste in home decorating had to be along in years!"
"You're very kind Mrs. Cantwell," Rachel swiftly but politely tried to change the topic of discussion sensing the red-haired young woman's annoyance. "If I might, I'd like to show you and Miss Cantwell some very attractive samples of carpeting and get your thoughts about where alterations could be made in the various rooms.
"Why, of course, how thoughtful of you!" the architect's mother smiled. "Arnold dear, would you ask Jessie to bring all three of us some tea and cookies? Oh, I'm forgetting-perhaps Miss Woodling would like to take some refreshments with us?"
Arnold Cantwell interposed with an apologetic smile, "I've asked her to play chess with me, Mother. And I'll have Jessie serve us both in the study. Take your time, I want you and Fern to be perfectly happy with the changeover, you know."
"Oh, I'm sure we'll get along splendidly with Mrs. Woodling," his mother said with a fond look at him. Rachel, opening her briefcase, seated herself on a chair drawn up near the couch, while Arnold Cant-well turned to the still sulky redhead: "How about that game now, Miss Woodling?" he pleasantly proposed.
Heather nodded without enthusiasm. "Might as well," she mumbled, and accompanied him to a room a few doors away from the library. Opening the door, he rang the bell for the maid, smilingly gesturing to Heather to enter.
In a corner near the large bay window, there stood a handsome walnut table with an inlaid chessboard on its top, and a superb ivory set of white and black pieces. With a gasp of admiration, Heather hurried over to the table and almost reverently lifted up the black king, then the white rook, examining them, and setting them back on the board, her green eyes shining with animation. Arnold Cantwell, who had given the maid Jessie instructions to serve Rachel and his mother and sister in the library and to bring a collation for Heather and himself in here, now returned to the alluring young redhead, who had worn a summery blue cotton frock and beige nylons. For an instant, he contemplated her as she stood with her back to him, and then banteringly said, "Most ivory sets, as you probably know, Miss Woodling, are ornamental But this one was made in the accepted Staunton design, so it could be used even in tournament play."
She turned quickly to him, a smile curving her sensual red mouth. "Yes,. I noticed! It must have been frightfully expensive!"
"I bought it out of my very first fee as an architect. It was something I'd always wanted since I was a fourteen year old and learned chess from a very arrogant high school senior whose father had an absolutely garish ivory set."
"Then you must be a very good player," Heather drawled.
"Passable. I don't have too much chance to play, not with my work, and joining a club would take much too much time. Now then, why don't you take the white pieces?"
Heather's smile vanished, to be replaced by the sulky look again. "You don't have to patronize me because I'm a girl, Mr. Cantwell. We'll draw for colors."
"Of course, forgive me!" Me took a black pawn and a white one, put his hands behind him, changed them several times, then offered his closed hands to Heather, who touched his left.
"You get white after all," he chuckled, seating himself at the side of the board on which the black pieces were arrayed.
Swiftly, the red-haired young woman shot out her hand to move the king's pawn to the fourth rank, and Arnold Cantwell, pursing his lips, hesitated a moment before moving the queen's bishop's pawn to the fourth rank.
"A Sicilian," Heather murmured, and moved her king's knight to which he answered with the queen's knight. She glanced intently at him; then, as his eyes rose to meet hers, she frowned, flushing hotly, and played the queen's pawn to the fourth rank.
There was silence for a few moments till after the architect's eighth move. "The Najdorf variation," Heather mused aloud, cupping her chin in both bands and leaning forward over the board.
"Yes. It's probably discredited now by the latest Russian analysis, but It leads to an aggressive game," he retorted. "Cigarette? Ah, we'll wait-here comes Jessie with our tea."
The maid deferentially moved forward to set the tray down on a large hassock beside the table, then murmured, "I've served your mother and sister and Mrs. Woodling, sir. Will there be anything else?"
"No, thanks, Jessie, that's just fine. We'll serve ourselves." When she had left the room, he poured out tea into a Wedgewood cup. "Do you take lemon or cream, Miss Woodling?"
"Lemon and lots of sugar. And you can call me Heather."
"I'd like that. And still more if you'd call me Arnold in return. Here you are, and try two of these molasses cookies. Jessie baked them herself, and she's a wonder."
He handed Heather the cup and saucer and the little plate with two large round brown cookies, and she set them down at the side of the wide table, took a perfunctory sip of the tea, her eyes scanning the position. Arnold Cantwell poured out tea for himself and leaned back in his chair, studying his lovely opponent.
"Your move!" she said almost curtly as she moved a bishop. Then, reaching for a cookie, she nibbled at it, put it back on the plate, looked up at him expectantly.
"And yours," he countered by moving a rook.
"Oh-yeah." Heather mumbled, glaring at the rook which threatened to take possession of the open file. She leaned back, reached for the rest of the cookie, crunched it noisily between her fine white teeth, then took up the cup and nearly drained it, setting it down with a clatter, after which she gave him a cursory look before studying the position again. "You know your opening theory."
"I subscribe to some British chess magazines and go over the games every so often, that's why," he smilingly confided. "Now, how about that cigarette?"
"Yes, please." Puffing at it after using his monogrammed silver lighter, Heather countered with her own queen's rook to the same file, and Arnold Cant-well instantly surprised her with a king's side attack which began with the advance of the bishop's pawn.
Now fully absorbed in the complicated position, the attractive young redhead no longer glanced at her opponent with the frowning, faint hostility she had shown at the outset. Instead, cupping her chin in one hand, sitting sideways in the chair and crossing her shapely nylon-sheathed legs, she morosely pondered a full two minutes before making a defensive move. Instantly the architect followed through with the attack, and for the next quarter of an hour, Heather was busy defending herself, for the least slip could mean the shattering of her king's security. At last, thanks to his transposing a move, she was able to save herself by sacrificing a bishop for two pans to bring about a perpetual check with the queen, and gasped, "Boy, did I ever need that!"
"That was extremely well planned, Heather!" he congratulated her as he began to set the pieces up for another game.
"Yeah, for a girl, I suppose you mean," she flung at him as she reached out to take the second cookie off the plate and munch it, staring almost defiantly at him.
"I didn't say that at all. I'd have been very happy myself, in your shoes, to have dreamed up a clever diagonal file sacrifice like that."
Heather visibly softened, "Oh, yeah. Well, th- thanks." She said the words hastily, as if ashamed of them; apologizing wasn't customary to her iconoclastic nature.
"You're welcome. No, I'm not a male chauvinist, If that's what you were thinking. When I play over the score of a good game, It doesn't matter to me who the player was, If he was white or black or even a Red, so long as the Ideas are sound and instructive. That's what we learn from chess, just as in life."
"And now you're getting to sound like a professor instead of an architect."
"Probably because I was a senior assistant to the instructor in my post-graduate days at the institute," he smiled back at her. "How about another game? This time I'll see if I can hold you off with white."
"Sure. You know, Mr. Cantwell, you're not a bad guy."
"I will be unless you stop calling me that and say Arnold, Heather."
This time, unexpectedly, Heather dimpled and blushed becomingly as she played the Caro-Kann Defense to his opening P-K4. And when, half an hour later, she bad to topple her king in defeat, she found she didn't mind losing. It had been an exhilarating struggle, and best of all, he'd treated her like an equal with no hint of sex.
"Are we going to the airport to pick Dad up, Rachel?"
"No, Heather. He wasn't sure when he called this morning what flight he'd make; he might even be back home already."
"Oh, yeah, sure." The redhead lay back against the front seat, stretching her voluptuous legs, tilting back her head, closing her eyes, the flicker of a smile on her insolent red mouth. "Say, this client of yours isn't a bad egg. Sorta square, but nice. Not as old as I thought, either."
"That's fine, Heather. Did you enjoy the chess game?"
"I did, a lot. Fact is, he asked if he could invite me over for dinner and a return bout maybe next week. So I said to call me-and I'd see."
"I'm glad."
"Uh huh." Heather opened her eyes lazily, turned to look at her stepmother. "You let your hair grow, didn't you, Rachel?"
"Why-yes, I did, dear."
"I like it." Then, with a flash of her old cynicism. "It came in handy the other night, didn't it, Mummy?"
Rachel flushed but did not take her eyes off the road. In a coolly level voice, she flung back, "I guess it did, Heather."
"I'm wise to you, Rachel You're pretty smart, you know. That Arnold Cantwell looks almost like a dead ringer for Dad first time around. 'Course, he's lots younger, and he's different in lots of ways. But the way he talks, and his eyes-I just wonder-"
"What, dear?"
"You sort of hinted some time back I might have the hots for Dad, didn't you? So you fixed me up with a guy that could pass for Dad in the dark. That's being a real hep amateur headshrink, Rachel, I have to hand it to you."
"I wasn't trying to fix you up, as you put It, Heather."
"I wouldn't make book on it, Mummy. But you're not a bad joe, at that. Only, we got a deal, don't forget, and it won't be much longer than two week now, you know."
"That's understood, Heather."
"Fine. Now, what've you got up your sleeve to make little brother happy, Rachel?"
"Nothing, Heather."
The red-haired young woman gave her stepmother a mocking look. Then she shrugged, closed her eyes again. "Have it your way. Only it better be good. Timmy really has a man-size yen for that tight hot little pussy of yours, Mummy. Wake me up when we get home. Those chess games wore me out ... hmm, wonder if Arnold is as nifty handling real-life flesh-and-blood queens as he is wooden ones?"
Chapter Eight
Timothy Woodling had gone back to New York for most of the week, and so Rachel had been able to spend all of Monday and Tuesday at the Cantwell house, in the company of her capable shop foreman Patrick Gregory, taking measurements for replacement furniture, carpets, tapestries and other bric-abrac, as well as showing Arnold's mother and sister samples of fabrics recommended for new upholstery. The job was progressing very smoothly. Most of all, Rachel looked forward to the following week, when her husband would have finished his hectic commuting schedule to the new account in New York. Only last Friday night, his mind occupied with plans for the firm's campaign, Timothy had tried to make love to her again-and the same disastrous short-circuiting had occurred again: for all of his ardor and commendably massive erection, be hadn't been able to hold back so as to prolong their union and achieve the simultaneous rapture she wanted so much for both of them to enjoy.
This Wednesday afternoon, Rachel was catching up at the office on North Michigan Avenue, while Patrick Gregory was on Franklin Street buying from the wholesale suppliers the sizable list of items required at the Gantwell house. And that was why, about half an hour before quitting time, she picked up the phone to ask the alternate sandy-haired receptionist Jane Carlton to send Dinah Williams into her office.
Golden-haired Dinah was twenty-two, had been hired by Patrick Gregory himself not quite a year ago, and Rachel was certain the two were having an affair. That didn't matter, since both had behaved discreetly enough on the job; but what did was that Dinah was exceptionally flirtatious with male customers, and on two occasions had broken Rachel's unwritten law about accepting after-hours dates with them. Now, however, that breach of propriety might well be turned to Rachel's own advantage.
She looked up at the sound of a timid knock at her door and called, "Come in!" Dinah hesitantly entered, her large sky-blue eyes meekly downcast, and her soft pink cheeks already suffused with a becoming blush.
"Sit down, Dinah. I want to have a very personal talk with you," Rachel sternly gestured towards the chair opposite her desk, and smiled to herself to see how flustered the golden-haired beauty had suddenly become. Her snug blue pullover sweater and hiphugging matching blue cotton skirt emphasized lush curves of breasts and thighs and bottom, while her heart-shaped, demure face, with ripe, sensually red, moist mouth, dainty little snug nose with widely flaring wings and deeply dimpled round chin suggested a submissive femininity exceptionally stimulating to the aggressive male.
"Y-yes, Mrs. Woodling?" Dinah anxiously quavered as she seated herself and crossed her luscious legs, smoothing her skirt self-consciously.
"Dinah, this is just between the two of us, and I want you to be as honest with me as I'm going to be with you," Rachel began with a brisk preamble. "Your work is acceptable, all except for your habit of trying to make an impression on some of our male clients. Now, let me ask you-are you and Mr. Gregory going to get married?"
The receptionist gasped and her color deepened at this blunt query. "Well, er, you s-see, Mrs. Woodling, Pat-I mean, Mr. Gregory-he met me over at Northwestern when I was taking night classes, and-well, we got to be sort of good friends. But-but I don't know about marriage. I guess there's lots of time, I'm still young enough."
"Of course you are, dear. But I gather, from some of the office scuttlebutt, that you aren't always, shall we say, a one-man woman.
Now Dinah Williams' face was flaming as she studied her twisting fingers in her lap. "I-I guess not," she finally managed. "I mean, it isn't as if I belonged to Mr. Gregory-we-we're just friends, that's all."
"I see. But I also gather you enjoy sex, Dinah?"
The blonde raised her scarlet face, then giggled: "Sure, doesn't every girl?"
"Some more than others, some less, Dinah. Now to come to the point-you're a most desirable young woman, and I'm sure that practically every capable male, even in his teens, wishes he could go to bed with you just from seeing you once on the street."
Again Dinah Williams giggled. "You oughtn't to flatter me that way, Mrs. Woodling, it might go to my head. I-suppose fellows do stare at me-"
"You know they do and you like it," Rachel impatiently interrupted. "Now pay attention, Dinah. I happen to know a very precocious teenager, who's never had a girl; well-educated, from a well-to-do home, who's going through the usual adolescent tortures of wanting sex but not being able to get it. I don't want to see him helped out by his chums in school or fall into the clutches of some streetwalker or scheming slut. But if he were to be initiated by a nice decent girl-a girl who enjoys sex and doesn't have hang-ups about it and knows the score-it would make a man of him."
Dinah's blue eyes widened. "You-you mean-you want me to-to break some boy in? My gosh, I don't know-"
"You'd be giving him the gift of manhood, and I think, since you love flattery, you would be enormously flattered by the way he'd respond to you. Plus which, my own gratitude would take the form of a very substantial bonus long before our regular profit-sharing dividend in October. As much as a thousand dollars, I should say."
Dinah stared at the brunette matron for a long moment, her cheeks still vividly red. Then, cat-like, she flicked her ripe lips with a pert pink tongue, squirmed in her chair, and murmured huskily, "That sounds keen, Mrs. Woodling. What would I have to do? Of-of course, I wouldn't want Mr. Gregory to-"
"I told you, this is just between us girls, Dinah. He won't find out from me. As to that, I might even help you make up his mind to marry you so you wouldn't go on being a distraction to every eligible male who walks into the shop."
"Gosh-would you, really? Well, I-I guess it- wouldn't do any harm, if nobody found out. Who is this fellow, Mrs. Woodling?"
Rachel Woodling took a deep breath. Then she leaned forward and began to explain....
Rachel Woodling had treated herself to supper at, Don Roth's Blackhawk at Randolph and Wabash, that nostalgic restaurant where, a generation ago, such famous bands as Kay Kyser, Hal Kemp and Coon Sanders had played for Windy City night-on-the-towners. It was a little after eight-thirty when she let herself into the old Gothic house, her eyes widening with surprise to find her blond stepson sprawled in a liv-mg-room armchair, wearing only pajamas and slippers, puffing nervously at a cigarette and watching her entry with an ill-disguised smirk of satisfaction.
"Hi there, Mummy," he greeted her with a nasty little chuckle. "Heather's off on a date-I guess you know that, though-and she won't be back till late, most likely, so it's just you and me for now."
"You and I, you mean, Timmy," she corrected with a friendly smile which took more effort than the youth realized. Turning back to lock the door, then to face him, her pulses began to quicken and there was a hollow feeling at the pit of her belly, for his eyes were fixing appreciatively at her charcoal-brown nylon-sheathed thighs,- then detailing the rest of her with a deliberate .and prolonged intent.
"Yeah, sure. You still gonna do what you said you would for Heather'n me, are ya, Mummy?"
"Till the month's up, Timmy. Yes, I always keep my word."
"Great!" He got to his feet, moving towards her, the cigarette dangling from a corner of his mouth. "Let's go to bed, then. Only this time, I want you to blow me, Mummy. Okay?"
Her face turned crimson. Though she understood the nakedly crude term, she had never done that, certainly not for brutish Matt Varney and not even for Timmy's own considerate and sensitive father. That was why it took a tremendous effort to retain her poise and to adopt a conciliatory, even cordial tone as she said, "Let's go upstairs, then. Besides, I've something to tell you, Timmy. A little secret just for the two of us."
"Sure, I'll listen. Now let's go," he ordered callously.
As she led the way into her bedroom, she could feel the boy's eyes on her, and a warm wave of sensual awareness made her shiver, knowing that in a few minutes she would be little more than a whore to her husband's precocious, young son. And, since she was gambling her entire future on this infamous bargain, Rachel Woodling suddenly determined to play her role surpassing well; in short to be a more than competent whore. For if she could bring it off with young Timmy, then, once with his father whom she truly loved and respected, it would be so much easier to take an erotic initiative which might once and for all be the very cure which Timothy Woodling needed for his humiliating impotence.
And so, just as the blond boy moved to the door to lock it with a smug bravado that proclaimed his perverse desire to exploit their bargain to the fullest, Rachel quietly said, "Timmy, do you know whether your sister has a vibrator?"
Startled by the unexpected question, he gaped at her for a moment; then, with a snigger, retorted, "Yeah, sure she does. Heather's hep, she's no square bimbo like you, Mummy."
"Would you get it and bring it to me, Timmy? I think I can give you some fun tonight that you'll like very much. And when you come back, I'll be ready for you."
"Oh no you don't, Mummy! I wanna see you do a striptease for me when I'm here, get it? No-go otherwise."
"Suit yourself," she shrugged. "Just bring it back quickly, then, so I can please you."
In a few moments, the adolescent had returned with Heather's small phallic-shaped battery-operated vibrator. He made an obscene show of putting it to his crotch before handing it to her, remarking lewdly, "I bet I get a bigger hard-on than that when you start working on my cock, Mummy."
"I should hope so, Timmy. Now I'll take off my clothes," calmly she began to unbutton her suit coat, shrugged it off, then the matching skirt. "Want me naked, Timmy?"
"Keep your pants on'n your shoes'n nylons for starters. We can go on from there," he said thickly, licking his lips as he sprawled into a low chair near the door.
Swiftly, she doffed her white blouse and then the filmy slip, standing in white nylon panties and bra, the narrow white satin-elastic garter belt sending its narrow tabs to hug her svelte, lithe thighs and emphasize the allure of bare olive-sheened skin above the charcoal-brown hose which clung like a second skin to the sinuous, elegantly chiseled calves and quivering thighs. Meeting his eyes levelly, Rachel now reached back to unfasten the bra and let it flutter to the floor; the fine jutting pears of her breasts thrust out boldly, and the blond boy straightened, his eyes blazing.
"Timmy, I wanted to ask-I know you've seen prettier girls at school. Do you have one, by the way?"
"Hell no." He made an impatient gesture with his hand, his lips twisted in a sneer. "Those underage little teasers don't do anything for me. I go for a grownup cunt like yours, Mummy, if you really wanna know."
She winced at the slashing word, but kept her gentle smile. "No, I was thinking of a very sexy girl I know. Nice yellow hair, and a much nicer shape than mine, Timmy. Lots younger too."
"Yeah?" he glanced at her suspiciously. "So what about her?"
"I told her what a terrific lover you were, Timmy. And she said she'd like to try you out, that's all. She likes young fellows, honestly she does."
"Hey, you trying to welsh on our deal Mummy? Cut out the talk and let's see some action."
"I'm going to do what you wanted, Timmy. I just thought it would be nice for you to have a girl of your own. We can talk about it later. Now want to get some cold cream-I'll be right back." She moved towards her bathroom, and the blond boy rose from his chair, frowning, watching her as she returned with a tube of mentholated cream.
"What the hell's that for? You gonna rub it on your cunt, Mummy?"
Her cheeks were scarlet as she forced an airy little laugh: "No, honey, on your cock. You wait and see how nice it's going to feel. Now take your pajamas of
Again he licked his lips. "Yeah, sure." Shucking off the tops, he tugged down the pajamas, and grinned as he saw her eyes fix on his turgid cock; it was, she realized with an inexplicable tingling in her breasts and loins, as long as his father's, the glans oblong and pointed, set off from the heavy shaft by a deep circumcisional groove. By contrast, there was only a light blond down on the gnarled, swelling testicles, which made the organ seem even more formidable, standing out as it did from a not overly, abundant dark blond pubic bush.
"Now lie down on the bed and let me try some.. thing with you, Timmy dear," she murmured.
"Sure. So long as you wind up blowing me, do what you want, Mummy,'" he mocked her as he swung himself onto the broad bed, pillowing his bead on his arms and smugly contemplating her. 'Walk some first, I want to see your tits jiggle. They're nice'n firm, Mummy. You're not too old for me, don't kid yourself."
"I'm glad you like them, dear. I hope your father does too."
"Yeah, I know, you wanna last out the month. Well, you do what Heather'n I say, maybe we'll let you finish up, maybe not. After that-hell, if Dad still wants to lay you, we'll vote on it."
She knew he was purposely frying to reach her1 denigrate and demean her. But she had resolved to play her role as cleverly as her woman's flesh and woman's intuition would aid her beyond this callow, smug boy was the man she wanted to stay wife to for long years beyond this degrading, secret covenant his two children had forced her to accept. She clicked on the vibrator and, smiling at him, put the tip of her left breast and began lightly to graze the olive-satiny flesh, upwards to the aureole, then to the nipple itself, and she gasped at the thrilling sensation, new to her. Surprised by this preface, young Tim lifted his head slightly to stare at her, his cock throbbing, angling up in all its violent erection.
She walked slowly round the foot of the bed, moving the vibrator to her other, breast, continuing to fix him with a provocative little smile. Then, seating herself on the edge of the bed and swinging her legs up in a lovely, fluid movement, she knelt before him, laid down the vibrator, and began to unscrew the tube of mentholated cream.
"Hey, why'd you need that stuff to blow a guy, Mummy?"
"I thought you were the hep cat around here and I the square, Timmy,"' she said with a husky little laugh. "Just let me have things my way for a bit. If you don't like It, we can always change to yours. And no, I haven't forgotten what you want me to do."
"Then tell me what you're gonna do-lemme hear you say it, Mummy," he challenged.
"I'm going to blow your cock, Timmy-isn't that what you want?" she pronounced the words casually and softly, eyeing him as if questioning, and now it was the boy's turn to flush and lower his eyes rather uneasily.
"Y-yeah, sure. Only I don't get it-oh, well, go ahead. But you gotta get my okay before we quit tonight, see? Or else it's no deal and we'll tell Dad we want your ass kicked outa here, get me?"
"Shh, you want to think about nice sexy things, Timmy, not hating me so much. Close your eyes now, let me rub some of this cream in," she gently urged.
Warily, he eyed her again, then grudgingly closed his eyes and settled back. Rachel Woodling squeezed the tube onto her right forefinger and median finger, recapped it, an4 then moved beside the naked teenager. Very gently, she touched the insides of his upper thighs with the greenish paste, and then applied a dab to each of his testicles.
"Hey, that burns a little, what the hell you tryin' to do to me?" he snapped angrily.
"Hush, darling, just relax.. In a minute, you'll see how warm and sexy it'll make you feel. Now I'll rub It in," Rachel soothed. Now she applied the rest all along the swollen shaft of his cock, from the circumcisional groove to the scrotum, with quick little rubbing movements of her fingers. The boy groaned, then writhed, his eyes wide and hostile and unwaveringly fixed on her bowed head; his fists clenched as if in readiness to strike out at her, but he maintained his passive supine position.
Her slim fingers caressed his thighs, working in the ungent she had left there with persistent friction; then returned to fondle and squeeze his throbbing cock. "Does it still hurt now, Timmy?" she breathed.
"Sort'a-hey-I do feel kinda horny, at that-my cock's hard as a rock-hey, start blowing me now, Mummy, I wanna feel my gism shoot right in your mouth, you hear?"
"Yes, darling, but you'll shoot lots more if you let me give you the full treatment. And you know, this girl I was telling you about knows even more tricks than I do to take care of a randy young man like you." As she spoke, Rachel continued to work the ungent in with the tips of her fingers. His breath had quickened, and his face was excitedly flushed. Sporadic rippling spasms began to race along his wiry thighs, which he had instinctively spread wide to give her full access to his bulging cock.
"Go ahead, but hurry it up," he hoarsely ordered, arching himself lewdly to her as if wanting to stick his cock into her mouth then and there. "Hey, now what're you trying on me?"
"Heather's vibrator. Just relax, dear. Oh, why don't you take a pillow and put it under your bottom? Then I'll show you what I really mean." Rachel had retrieved the vibrator and flicked it on, now brought it close to the taut tip of her stepson's throbbing penis, just lightly grazed it for an instant and drew it back.
"Hey, that's terrific. Wait a second-there's the pillow ... now what're you gonna do?" he had reached back to pull a pillow from the head of the bed, arch himself up and shove it under his sinewy posterior. He stared at her now with wide-eyed surprise and curiosity, his body shivering incessantly now, and he put a tentative hand to his turgid penis. "Hey, whaddya know-it feels harder than when I started-you better start blowing me now before I shoot my wad right now, Mummy!" he panted.
"You won't, dear. Besides, if you do, I'll just work you up again till I can do it just the way you want Close your eyes and relax now, let me go to work again," she purred.
"Sure-g'wan-boy, this feels great!" young Tim hoarsely enthused, his eyes feasting on Rachel's dangling naked pear breasts as she crouched over him from the side. Now, the vibrator clutched in her slim right hand, she gently cupped his balls with her left palm and brought the tip of the whirring implement towards them, just grazing the taut sensitive skin over the heavily laden sacks.
"Ahhghghhhh-hey, that's super, Mummy!" Tim panted, arching and swerving his hips, his toes curling and twisting in neural reaction to the sensations flooding over his wiry young naked body.
Drawing a deep breath, the lovely half-nude brunette matron bowed her head to the tip of his turgid penis, brushing it with her moist lips, and at the same time probed with the vibrator into the ultra sensitive perineal groove towards his anus. "Raise up just a tiny bit, dear," she whisperingly instructed.
Feverishly rapt with carnal excitement, the teenager obeyed, putting his palms down beside him to support himself, and Rachel pressed the instrument forward to touch the crinkly lips of his anus; at the same moment it made contact, she took hold of the very tip of his glans with the edges of her red lips and imparted a sucking, lingering kiss.
"Ohhhh cripes-ahhhhhhh-ohh Mummy, Cod damn, that's terrific-oh, Jeez, I'll shoot if you keep that up, oh you gotta blow me down now, suck it all off, ohhh, Mummy, ahh!" he moaned, writhing on the bed, digging his fingernails into the rumpled sheets, his eyes rolling as she again touched the tip of the implement to his sensitized, puckering anus. All the while, her left palm continued to stroke and fondle his aching testicles, and as he shudderingly arched even more towards her, her lips accepted the full glans up to the circumcisional groove, and began to suck gently and softly.
The blond boy's face twisted, flushed with lustful torment, and then, driven by uncontrollable impulse, suddenly lofted his legs and swung them over Rachel's shoulders, his heels prodding against her smooth, deeply hollowed olive-satiny bare back. The mature brunette gasped at this symbolic gesture-that of a dominant master taking carnal emprise of his naked love-slave-but she unprotestingly accepted that spuming. For, inexplicably, Rachel Woodling had be-gun to sense-perhaps out of an innate masochistic inclination which she herself was not even certain that she possessed-that by so adapting herself to the insolent demands of her adolescent stepson, she was coming closer to comprehending the basic sexual yearnings of the unfulfilled male, and thereby would be better guided in her attempts to bring the boy's father that gratification and release for which both of them so earnestly longed.
Besides, the position was, she sensed, more exciting for the boy and thus more effective for her own imaginative ministrations. Having resolved to play the whore, she intended (and now even more, since she had learned how Timothy Woodling had found ecstatic fulfillment from the red-haired call girl) improvise and to learn all she could of wanton, uninhibited lovemaking. That he loved her, she was deeply sure and confident in that sureness; once the problems of young Tim and Heather were resolved, then by devoting all her womanliness and instinctive ardors to her husband, she would make sure that he would no longer need to seek the partnership of a female for hire in achieving sexual pleasure.
This, crouching even more humbly before the writhing youth, the fingertips of her left hand stroking his inner thighs and the sides of his contracting testicles, she directed the vibrator back against his anus with tiny little touches, then followed a persistent circular pattern as she rimmed the orifice, while her lips continued to implant sucking little kisses to the throbbing, swollen glans they retained within their moist, warm captivity. And young Tim, his eyes bulging and glassy, his fingernails scrabbling at the sheets, shuddered and pressed himself forward, wanting to fill her mouth with the entire burden of his agonizedly swollen cock. The acute warmth of the mentholated cream had sensitized his penis so that the lightest pressure of her lips was maddening, and yet at the same time was its own counteragent in halting too premature an ejaculation of his seething gismic essence. She could feel the jerking, twitching, throbbing pulsations which vibrated all along the turgid shaft up through the velvety firm tip which she kept sucking delicately, and from time to time his convulsive digs were his bare heels into her naked back made her shiver as, strangely again, she began to feel a curious, subtle glow in her own loins as if responding to his needs and passions.
For a moment she released his penis, long enough to murmur huskily, "Is that nice for you, Timmy?"
"Don't stop, for criyi, Mummy, Gawd, I'm going to drown you when I shoot-take it back quick, suck me, it's burning me up!" he moaned.
This time, she furled out her dainty pink tongue and lapped lingeringly at the glistening spear point of his cock, rasping just the very tip of her tongue all over the Inflamed, taut-skinned glans, then prodded the urethral lips, and drew a tortured cry of frenzied anticipation from the writhing naked boy: "Ohh Jeer, you're drivin' me up the wall, hurry it up and suck my wad out, a]l I got, Mummy, hurry."
"Just relax, Timmy darling, I'm going to please you," she promised. Her left thumb and forefinger pinched the swollen shaft just above the scrotum, her right hand guided the vibrator back along the inner edges of his contracting, sinewy buttocks, and her mouth opened to accept him once again; now, boldly, she closed her lips a little beyond the circumcisional groove, and Tim groaned hoarsely, his head turning restlessly from side to side, his hands now clenched fists which he thrust down with all his strength against the sheets. Sporadic tremors rippled through his body, and his nostrils flared and clenched incessantly as his chest heaved in the cumulative fury of a foreplay which was drawing him beyond even his own awareness of his hungry young rut.
Then again she touched the tip of the vibrator to his anus, and at the same moment furled her tongue along the side of his glans, her other hand stroking his Inner right thigh. The blond teenager stiffened, his head rose, and then a bellow of maddened ecstasy was wrenched from him his heels pitilessly flailed Rachel's bowed back, and she felt the violent hot gush of his viscous seed. Taken by surprise, she gagged first, then hastily swallowed, fighting to regain control, and at last managed to overcome the initial revulsion; by sheer will, she forced into her mind the thought, it's Timothy's seed, because Timmy's his own flesh of flesh, and so it's my husband responding to me by loving proxy.
At last his spasm was at an end, and with a moaning sigh, he sprawled his legs wide and off her servilely bent bare back. She straightened, kneeling erect, her face flushed, her lips stickied, and found him staring almost in awe at her. "Jeez, you damn near killed me that time, Mummy-where the hell did you learn those tricks?" he mumbled.
"J-just by-by wanting to please you, dear. Not out of a book In love, being natural and unashamed with the person you've chosen teaches you much more than any book."
He shook his head, then chuckled lewdly. "Boy oh boy! I gotta give you credit, Mummy, you got guts. I sure thought you'd chicken out-so did Heather. Hey-I bet that date of hers was some of your doing too, huh? Never mind, I'll find out what I wanna know from Sis. Hey look, though-" he pointed at his cock, still stiff and upright between his lewdly straddIed legs.
"It shows you're very much a man, Timmy, and this girl I was telling you about will think so, too."
"You think so, huh? Well, we'll see. Hey, you gotta take care of me again, though, Mummy. I can't go to sleep with a hard-on, now, can I? Whyn't you take your panties off and lemme flick you-only this time, you can have part of the- action-yeah, I guess you earned that much."
Rachel's face was scarlet but she unflinchingly smiled back at him and nodded. Then, as he watched open-mouthed, she put her slim fingers to the waistband of the white nylon panties and husked them down, lifted each knee in turn and dropped them to the floor, facing him on her knees in only garter belt and nylons. His eyes at once fixed on the thick black curls that framed the soft pink lips of her cunt, and she saw his cock throb and jerk, as if angrily demanding entrance into that tight warm haven.
And now that she had gone so far along the pathway of lascivious, amoral passion, lending her body as a separate entity from which all conscience and moral scruples had been purposely banished, Rachel found herself singularly aroused by the mingled lust and admiration which she read in young Tim's gleammg eyes and the almost awed rictus of his mouth. Even though her blushes deepened till they seemed to spread down to her throat and even her dainty ear-lobes, she picked up the vibrator, flicked It on again and, smiling unabashedly at the boy, brought it towards the silky black thicket of her cunt, and touched the crinkly coral-tinted lips here and there, shivering voluptuously at the erotic - stimulus that tingled through her, penetrating-or so it seemed-to her very womb.
"Jeez!" he breathed hoarsely, squirming impatiently over the pillow beneath his sinewy buttocks, "c'mon, take care'a me, Mummy!"
"I'm going to, dear. But a girl has feelings too. There-oooh-n-now I think I-I'm ready," Rachel gasped, touching her clitoris with the vibrator and feeling a molten lavalike wave of sensuality surge through her being. Then, moving to him, she grasped his turgid penis in her left hand, touched the tip and the circumcisional groove fleetingly with the whirring vibrator, and then, laying the implement down beside her, parted the lips of her cunt with right thumb and forefinger as she guided the boy's wildly throbbing cock into her now eager cleft, and sank slowly down atop him.
With a gurgling cry, young Tim hugged her, crushing down the splendid pears of her breasts against his heaving chest, his mouth gluing to hers, his legs clamping over her stockinged calves, and she felt his cock dig to the very hilt along the sensitized volutes of her vaginal sheath. Closing her eyes, she groped for the vibrator, and began to glide its tip over his hip and side, her left hand stroking his flushed, contorted face, willing herself to offer all of herself to the feverish needs of this precocious son of the man she deeply loved, for thus a stronger bond of the flesh could be forged between 'them all.
Under her, young Tim threshed and writhed, arching himself up with every sinew, panting and groaning, and the mature brunette accommodated herself to the unleashed demands of her inimical stepson. For she comprehended that this hostility had been born out of his ego and its rejection by his fellows. And by now, totally aroused as a woman who had deliberately -begun the ritual of passion and was now being inexorably drawn into its heedless vortex, she could feel the shuddering contractions of her vaginal sheath against his thrusting cock, feel the slow, thrilling, cumulating surge of burgeoning response ... the elemental urgency that cast aside all morality and introspection and was timeless in its equation of cock and cunt.
She moved the vibrator up to his armpit, felt him jerk frantically under her, gasped at the violent frictioning inroads his cock was making along the tingling,- quaking, burning walls of her now wildly answering cunt, and, parting her lips to his, imparted the benediction of her soft warm tongue deep into his gasping mouth.
With an inchoate cry, the boy gripped the resilient oval cheeks of her behind and dug his fingers into them with elemental ferocity; arching himself up wildly, with every nerve and muscle straining, he rasped his tongue greedily against hers, and then the spasm seized him. Rachel felt the explosive triggering of his climax-though lessened in intensity from her initial oral assuagement-and then her trembling hand. dropped the vibrator and she cupped his face with both hands as she surrendered to the bubbling, churning compulsion that seized her naked body and made it writhe and squirm and grind to his in an intolerable excitement that plunged her down deep into the supreme abyss.
They lay sprawled, panting, both dazed by the primal savagery of that simultaneous crescendo, and then wanly, young Tim gasped, "Jeez, for a square, Mummy, you sure know how to fuck! And boy, were you ever right-it's better'n any book!"
"Of course it is, sweetheart. And it'll be even better with this girl who wants to meet you, Timmy."
Agilely, she rolled off the youth, onto her side, and then she blushed furiously as his eyes swept her nakedness. But the glint in them this time was not of vindictive hatred or contempt, but rather one of grudging admiration and almost incredulous gratitude. "You're not putting me on" his voice was hoarse, unsteady.
"I never lie, dear, and always keep my word-you know that now, don't you?"
"Yeah-Jeez, I'll say I do! Okay, now-look, Mummy, can you-I mean-well, could you fix it up for me?"
"Well, since your father won't be back till at least Friday night, I think you could manage to see Dinah tomorrow night-that is, if you think you can take on a gorgeous blonde with soft pink skin." Teasingly, she put out a hand to squeeze his now dwindled cock.
"Whaddva mean?" he blustered, then, meeting her cool gaze, blushingly grinned. "Well, I'll sure give it a try. Now tell me all about her, huh, Mummy?"
Chapter Nine
Red-haired Heather had been favorably impressed by Arnold Cautwell's calling for her at the house on Astor Street in his cream-colored Cadillac and, despite her customary outward pose of bored cynicism, greatly flattered by the Old World courtesy of his handing her in and out of the car. At dinner in the Wilmette home, seated beside his mother and sister before a beautifully set table, she observed also his adroit manipulation of the conversation so that it constantly evolved about her, concerning her likes and dislikes in the arts, her views on civic and world affairs. In short, he was treating her like an adult equal instead of being "on the make," as so many of her previous escorts had been.
After coffee and liqueurs, Laura and Fern Cantwell exchanged a quick glance, then Arnold's mother smilingly remarked, "Now, Miss Woodling, if you'll excuse us, Fern and I go to bed early these nights, so we can be rested for the wearisome work of this redecorating which your very gifted stepmother is handling so expertly for us. I do hope you'll visit us again very soon.
Alone with the handsome architect, Heather eyed him, a cynical smile on her petulant mouth, and drawled, 'Arnold, you've really got it made. You're the living prototype of the Establishment. A swanky pad out here in the sticks where nobody tries to rip you off, a plushy job where you can do what you want-high society personified. Not many women ever get to be in your shoes."
"Do I detect the envy of a Women's Libber in that comment, Heather?" he reached over with his monogrammed lighter and lit her cigarette before his own.
"Not really. Maybe I just don't like to live by convention."
"Since you're in such a fighting mood, how about some chess?"
"Suits me. Where's that fancy board of yours?"
"I moved it downstairs to the basement recreation room while this first floor is being remodeled. By the way, thanks for being nice to my mother and Fern. They like you."
"Thanks. They're square too, but I don't mind their kind. And they sure think the sun rises and sets in you, Arnold." She gave him a mocking little smile as she rose and followed him down the narrow little stairway to the basement. For her date tonight. Heather had restyled her lustrous, soft coppery-red hair into a short pageboy with curls turned under, put on only a touch of pale pink lipstick, and worn her prettiest dress, a green rayon print with short puffed sleeves and V-shaped collar, the skirt ending an inch above her shapely knees. Though fond of white calfskin knee-length boots, which she invariably wore on the Midlothian campus, she had tonight substituted trim three-inch-heeled black suede pumps and her gauziest copper-toned nylons which accentuated the alluring pale ivory sheen of her skin.
Arnold Cantwell stood aside at the door of the recreation room to let her go ahead of him, his lips pursed, his eyes scanning her voluptuously ripe figure. There was a miniature bar at one end, with leather-padded stools; tables for pingpong and billiards, two armchairs, a backless, low, long black leather-upholstered couch, and the familiar table with the ivory chess pieces set out on both sides of the inlaid board. The walls of this attractive room were decorated with glass-covered, silver-framed Currier & Ives prints.
Heather walked over to the side of the board on which the white pieces were arrayed, glanced mockingly at the architect, and proffered, "Maybe we ought to play for stakes, the way the American masters used to do at the Coney Island concessions back in the Thirties."
"What did you have in mind?"
Her eyebrows arched insolently. "I'll think of something-no, maybe I'd better not. I might shock you."
"You know, Heather, I've the impression you think I'm old enough to be your father. I happen to be thirty-two, which means I'd have had to conceive you towards the latter months of my eleventh year. About that time in life I was having trouble with algebra, not girls."
She shrugged as, still standing beside the table, she reached out to move the king's pawn two squares forward. "You probably never had trouble with girls, not a square like you, Arnold."
"So that's what you think?"
"If you want me to be perfectly truthful, yes. That's why, though you've certainly been very courteous and treated me like a lady, I've a feeling nothing much is going to happen. So I'd just as soon have it understood at the start that I like playing chess with somebody who knows how to play, but that's about all"
"Sit down and let's play, then. I'll play the French Defense, P-K3 to your first move," he said curtly as he seated himself and made the move. Heather giggled, pulled back her chair, and seated herself, and the game began.
Half an hour later, the red-haired beauty, In her Intense determination to win; had begun a premature king's side attack. Five moves later, scowling as she stared at her hopeless position, she shrugged again, this time in resignation, and turned down her king. "I guess you've got me, Arnold."
The prematurely gray-haired architect shoved back his chair and rose, studying his lovely, petulant red-haired opponent, who leaned back in her chair to look up at him with a defiant, sulky frown. "I have, at that, Heather, and I appear to be stuck with you."
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Arnold?"
"Just that I'm going to take you up on your proposal of stakes for the winner, my girl." He moved swiftly round the table, caught her by the wrist and yanked her to her feet. As she gasped in startled surprise, Arnold Cantwell doubled her captive wrist behind her back with her left hand, then calmly slapped her cheek smartly with his other palm, and before she could recover from the shock of this unpredictable behavior, kissed her hard on the mouth.
"Damn you! Let go of my wrist, you bastard!" she huskily gasped, squirming and twisting to evade him.
"I see. You're like most sophisticates of your type, Heather, all talk and pretense and no real sincerity."
"Ohh! And you-you're a rich, parasitical snob, you are!" she hissed, and, drawing back her hand, slapped him back across the mouth.
Arnold Cantwell chuckled. Then, without haste, he circled her waist with his left arm, crooked his right arm round her knee hollows and lifted her up in the air, and carried her over to the couch. Frantic with chagrin, Heather kicked wildly and struck at him with her fists, her pumps flying off to land on the floor with a thud. Ignoring her furious struggle and her profane threats, he forced her down on her belly on the couch, then swiftly yanked up her skirt and lace-trimmed white nylon petticoat to expose the ripely curved, creamy thighs above the tops of her copper-tinted hose and the provocative little white nylon panties which left the base of her opulent young buttocks temptingly bare.
"Goddamn you, what the hell are you doing-pull my skirt down-stop it, Arnold, I tell you-ouch- hey-noooooo!" For he had yanked her panties off and flung them onto the floor, then applied five or six stinging swats with his right palm on the lush rondures of her bottom summits, imprinting a bright crimson hue on the smooth satiny naked skin. Then, even as she kicked and ragingly cried out, he turned her over onto her back and swiftly and agilely mounted her. Heather's cat-green eyes, supremely dilated and glistening with fury, fixed on him with disbelief: he had yanked down the zipper of his immaculately pressed trousers and emerged a formidably long, broad-tipped penis whose dark veins stood out ominously against the tightly drawn skin of the shaft.
"For Christ's sake-Arnold-what do you think you're-oh you bastard, no!" she shrilled, trying to fend him off with her fists, trying to kick and twist herself off the couch. But already he had seized both her wrists, and, forcing himself between her plump quivering, flexing thighs, mockingly lowered his face to hers and sibilantly rejoined. "Why, I'm going to fuck you, of course, Heather. I won the game and I claim the prize."
Adroitly, he shifted hold of both her slim wrists to his left hand, and deliberately slipped his right hand down between their bodies till he palmed the thick forest of dark red silky curls shrouding her soft fleshy cunt. Heather wriggled frenziedly, her face scarlet and twisted into a vindictive mask as she kicked her stockinged legs out, then lifted them and jammed down savagely with her heels against his buttocks.
"You want to kick, do you, Heather?" again he chuckled as, staring down at her angry, reddened face, he forced his prickhead against the lips of her fleshy vulva. Then, even as she uttered a shrill shriek of fury at this obscene usurpation of her body, Arnold Cantwell nimbly knelt up, seized both her nylon-sheathed knees with his hands and forced them back against her heaving breasts, thus lewdly gaping the pink maw of her cant as well as the shadowy ambery groove which led to the furtive crevice of her anus.
"STOP IT, YOU GODDAM SON OF A BITCH YOU, STOP THAT!" she shrieked, beside herself, flailing out uselessly with her fists and trying to roll this way and that. But he maintained her, his strong fingers sinking into her knee hollows to flatten her round breasts down with all his strength as, with a mocking little smile, he bent his head and thrust his tongue into the distended cleft of her yielded cunt.
Heather frantically kicked her stockinged feet this way and that, again exerting all her strength to try to roll away from him, but in vain. Uttering hoarse, in-coherent cries, her lovely face congested with rage and shame, she continued to strike out at him with her fists. But Arnold Cantwell, with surprising dexterity, kept her in that obscenely splayed posture, and once again, bowing his head, roamed his tongue slowly round the yawning coral-tinted cleft of her vulva, then suddenly prodded the visible nodule of her clitoris.
At this last cunning assault on her most sensitive nucleus, the red-haired young woman stiffened, uttering a choking gasp; then, with redoubled energy, she kicked and struck out at her relentless assailant, raucously sobbing, "You son of a bitch, I'll cut your nuts off for this-let go of me, you bully, you filthy rich-bitch snob you-no, I don't want you to have me- I'd rather do it with a nigger, d'you hear-stop it ahhhhhh!"
For, ignoring her furious tirade and her convulsive struggles, he had again roamed his tongue in a circular, lingering pattern round the gaping petals of her twitching vulva, and finished by flicking back her throbbing clitoris into its secretive soft hiding place at the very apex of her distended cunt.
"Would you now, Heather girl?" he taunted, his own voice thickening with lust. "You can tell me when rye finished with you-assuming you've been fucked by niggers before, you snot-nosed, insolent little bitch!" With this, straightening now and redoubling the energy of his grip on her knee hollows, Arnold Cantwell arched himself to aim his swollen cock at the moist quaking fissure of her vulnerably open cant. and inserted himself nearly halfway.
"NOOOO! I DONT WANT YOU TO FUCK ME, ARNOLD CANTWELL! TAKE YOUR DIRTY PRICK OUT OF ME THIS MINUTE, OH YOU GODDAMNED SON OF A BITCH YOU, STOP IT!" Heather shrieked, turning her flushed face this way and that, thrusting her hands down towards her pelvis to intercept his penetration. But by now, with another vigorous shove, he hilted himself inside her warm deliciously tight vagina, and then began to thrust in and out of her with masterful, cramming strokes. Seeing that her clawing fingers threatened his cohesion with her, he laughed humorlessly and pinned her wrists with his left hand, using only his right to press against her left knee hollow so that her freed leg might kick and thresh all it would.
Her buttocks contracted and relaxed, sometimes lewdly distending the ambery-coral furrow that allowed him to glimpse the puckering rosette of her pink anus; her hips jerked nervously as he quickened his digging, delving thrusts, drawing back almost to the brink of her up tilted, proffered cunt, then ramming home all his virile length with a gasp that betokened his own infuriated sexual need for complete domination of his beautiful rebellious red-haired partner.
Heather had begun to sob hoarsely, crushed by her defeat; her wrists jerked fitfully against his steely, relentless hold; her right leg thrust straight out and along the couch, her stockinged heel scuffing it in her frenetic movements. Seeing this, he stealthily released her other leg, using his right forefinger to press against her clitoris, and at the same time, instantly lowered himself over her. Now he was supremely planted in her amorous saddle, and he began to slacken the cadence of his deep thrusts.
Twisting her face away from him, eyes closed, her nostrils flickering and clenching, she seemed to submit passively now, as if willing herself to be impervious to his maneuvers. But as his fingertip bore down on the now turgifying lodestone of her clit, he could hear her faint gasps and see her lips curl back as in a rictus of aversion and despair. Yet the tumultuous heaving of her round lushly young breasts betrayed this feigned abandon; and with a knowing smile, he now quickened the tempo of his penetration to the nethermost recesses of her tight young cunt as his fingertip began to roll the hardening little coral button back and forth.
"S-stop it-damn you-you b-bastard-let me go!" she panted.
"You haven't finished paying your forfeit yet, my girl. Save your energy till you have," he muttered. Then his mouth came down on hers; Heather moaned, tried to twist her face away, but his left hand cupped her chin, and his right forefinger hastened its frictioning of her now fully burgeoned clitoris. He drank in her raucous groans and sobs and inarticulate protests; he felt her fists bullet his back and shoulders, but he continued to thrust back and forth and to press her turgid love-button this way and that, forcing it all the way down into its soft cowl of sensitive flesh and letting It spring back up again.
Her eyes began to roll, glassy and humid; her forehead furrowed deeply; and now suddenly, with a little wailing cry that acknowledged a greater defeat than any she had previously admitted, red-haired Heather Woodling locked her stockinged legs over his thighs and dug her tinted fingernails into the back of his neck as she thrust herself up at him to receive his delving probe. "Ohh you dirty, clever bastard you!" she breathed, her green eyes huge and luminous as they stared into his. "Go ahead and have your nasty fun-ahh-ooooh-God-.oh you bastard you-ohhhhhh, I'm coming-you son of a bitch, you tricked me-oh Arnold-Goddamn you-oh Arnold, yes, ahh-fuck me, harder, harder, hurt me, give it to me, harder now, you bastard you-ahhhhhhhhfl"
"That's better, you gorgeous, nasty but thoroughly lovable young bitch," he panted, as he lifted himself above her writhing body, then sank down with a mighty lunge that hilted his bulging cock deep inside her quaking sheath. His forefinger swiftly fleeted against the throbbing key to her innermost sexual emotions, tweaking and frictioning, pressing down and letting it spring back up, rolling it from side to side. And then as Heather began to utter quick little flurried sobs of nervous frenzy, he slipped his other hand down between them and with his forefinger prodded the crinkly petals of her tensing anus.
Her fingernails raked his cheeks in the white-hot crucible of lust that seethed through her; with a wild, piercing, wordless cry, she tilted back her head and ground her loins to his, locking her thighs even more tightly over his, and then her body began to buck and thresh under his as he in turn reached the culmination and, with an answering shout of ecstasy, felt himself burst violently into her quaking cunt
Her head fell to one side, her breasts rising and falling turbulently, her legs sprawled, her arms lax over him, and now on that petulant, contorted, lovely face a look of serenity signaled that the holocaust had ended. With a soft chuckle of triumph, Arnold Cantwell lifted himself from her sprawled body, standing watching her, skirt and petticoat up trussed and rumpled by their clashing frictional encounter, the thick glossy curls of her cunt moistened and matted, the pink lips twitching uncontrollably, and the stiff little semaphore of her aroused clitoris the indisputable symbol of her total awakening and fulfillment.
Slowly she blinked her eyes, her expression vague, uncomprehending in that after-moment of total obliviousness that follows frenzied carnal release. Then gradually she perceived him through the mist and shadows, and smiled wanly, as, in a faint voice which contained a hint of her usual flip cynicism, she murmured, "And you're a damned voyeur besides, you horny bastard! Look what you've done to my best dress and petticoat You might at least have the decency to cover me up, now that you've had your fuck. And I hope you feel it paid off my lost game In full."
He delved into his trousers pocket for a pack of cigarettes, took and lit one, handed it to her, then one for himself, standing brazenly, his zipper still open, his diminished, glistening cock still partly erect. "It wasn't too bad," he said casually as he took a puff at the cigarette, then studied it a moment. "Yes, I can say it just about pays you off for that one lost game."
"Why, you-" Heather sat up, tugging down skirt and petticoat, her cheeks scarlet. 'Do you realize you might have got me pregnant? I don't happen to be on the pill right now, Mr. Arnold Cantwell. If you in-tended to rape hell out of my poor little unsuspecting pussy, the least you could have done was use a safe."
"Don't worry about getting pregnant. If it does happen, it'll be legal rye made up my mind that a spoiled, snippy, filthy-mouthed young lady like you needs regular discipline and affection. I propose to supply both, in doses depending on your future conduct as Mrs. Arnold Cantwell. I'd say September would be a good time-my projects will allow some free time then for a honeymoon. Till then, we'll play some more chess and I'll work on your manners, your choice of diction and most especially your bedside technique."
"Why-why you-you-" Heather spluttered again. What makes you think I'll marry a society snob like you and dress up for fancy dinners out in this old barn of a house?"
Arnold Cantwell crushed out his cigarette slowly and carefully in the ashtray in a nearby metal stand. Then he bent, grasped her by the wrist and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. "Because you happen to need both a father and a master, because your cute little crack about my being likely to be shocked at your antics makes me realize I'll have lots of fun giving you quite a few demonstrations that I'm far from ready for the bone yard yet, and because I happen to have a yen for your red hair, your temper that goes with it, your soft white skin, your gorgeous bottom and legs and breasts and that tight hot little pussy of yours which certainly requires a great deal of attention."
Heather Woodling stared incredulously at him for a moment. Then she began to giggle, and, flinging her arms round him, ground her loins against his still turgid penis. "You know, I might take you up on that. That Is, if you're proposing."
"I thought it sounded like one."
"Mmmhmmm. Especially the great deal of attention part. And now, if you'll allow your somewhat battered bride-to-be a few minutes in the biffy so I can tidy up that part of me which seems to interest you most, you might Just want to make it official by giving me another lesson. I'll have you know my bedside technique is plenty good enough for the right guy, if you're it."
He turned her round, gave her a smack on the bottom. "You'll find It Just around the end of the bar. And get back here quickly. This time, you might as well remove the dress and whatever else you think might get rumpled in the educational process."
Heather giggled, put a finger into her mouth and mumbled a teasing, "Yes, Daddy." As he took a mock-menacing step towards her, she giggled again and hurried off to the bathroom. Arnold Cantwell puffed at a new cigarette, glancing down at himself, and smiling to observe that he was rapidly recovering all his initial vigor as regards the size of his erection.
Then it was his turn to gasp and cast aside both cigarette and his studied casual air, for Heather had Just emerged, wearing only her garterbelt and nylons, and was advancing, hands on hips, swiveling herself to this side, then that, as she slowly approached him with a saucy little smile on her moist red lips. "How's this, Daddy? Satisfactory?"
"Seems to me a daddy has spanking privileges when his girl is naughty."
"Oh oh, then I better be good," Heather teased, putting both hands back to her creamy rounded posterior as if to shield it. "Maybe this will convince you I plan to be a very good girl. Good enough so you won't go raping any other girls down here, Mr. Arnold Cantwell." And with this, Heather felinely sank down on her knees, and, reaching out with both soft hands, began to caress his stiffening cock while her soft lips imparted a tiny kiss to the tip of his cock.
"That's slightly better, yes. Keep going. You're still on trial, you know," his hoarsening voice betrayed his rising excitement.
"Arnold-"
"Yes, Heather?" He put both hands to the sides of her head, staring greedily down at her.
She licked the corners of her lips with her pert pink tongue tip. "I Just love it when a distinguished man like you uses dirty words, Arnold. I get awfully randy when you do that. I bet we'll have fun teaching each other all the words there are before we get married, bin?"
Before he could answer, she gave the tip of his cock another stinging little kiss, and then, her slim fingers entwining round his bulging shaft, opened her mouth and made him groan in rapture as she took all of him her mouth could encompass at one time, and began to slush her tongue around the throbbing spear and to suck. ...
Chapter Ten
Young Tim Woodling glanced nervously up and down the carpeted corridor of the sixth floor of the high-rise building on North Dearborn Street, then hesitantly reached out to knock on the door marked "619." He was carrying a tissue-wrapped five-pound box of Fannie May candy, having bought it out of his allowance at Rachel's suggestion that Dinah Williams was very fond of chocolates. As he stood anxiously waiting for the door to open, he had never looked more self-conscious and less smug.
When it did open, he gulped and blushed. Golden-haired Dinah's buxom beauty was inflammatory, limned as it was by her snug flitting dark blue silk housecoat, and the glimpse of a silver zipper just above her spectacular round, sumptuous breasts suggested a total access to her opulent pink-sheened body-for indeed, the only other thing she had on besides that garment was her thong sandals.
"So you're Tim Woodling," she smiled. "Come in. Oh my-is that for me? Thank you so much-how did you know I'm just crazy about Fannie May candy?"
"I-I-er-t-thought you might, I guess," he faltered as he entered the attractively furnished one-room efficiency on which Patrick Gregory had been paying the rent ever since the day he had installed luscious Dinah as an employee of the Michigan Avenue shop.
"Now, sit right down on the couch. Can I get you a Pepsi or a Coke?"
"Pepsi's fine, thanks." The blond boy seated himself, leaning forward and huddling his wiry body, tense and ill at ease. Dinah Williams shot him a covert, amused glance as she walked towards the kitchen, returning with two brimming glasses. Handing him one, she sat down beside him. "My, you're tall for your age. Mrs. Woodling says you're almost sixteen."
"Y-yeah. I will be in September."
"You look lots older right now, you really do, Timmy. Or would you rather I called you Tim?"
"T-Tim's fine, M-Miss W-Williams," he stammered, then hastily took a sip from the frosted glass.
"And you'll be a senior in school about then, won't you? My, that's very smart for your age, Tim."
He squirmed, embarrassed. "Aw, I haven't any trouble at school, and I read a lot. It's easy."
"I wish I could say that. I had trouble keeping a C average, if you want to know."
"Yeah, but, well, you're a girl and it doesn't matter. I mean," he found himself hastening to correct what might have sounded like a slur, "well, you're so pretty, you could be a model or something, and you wouldn't need good grades to earn lots of money modeling, or something like that." Then he took another hasty sip from the glass and set it down with a clatter on the coffee table in front of the thickly upholstered couch.
"Why, what a sweet thing to say about me and you've only just met me," Dinah Williams set down her glass beside his and sidled closer till he could feel the pressure of her resilient, ripely rounded thigh through the thin, clinging housecoat. "I'll bet all the girls in school are crazy about a fellow like you, and maybe a little scared too."
He uttered a jerky little laugh. "Aw, you have to be kidding. Why'd they be scared?"
"Oh," she teased, her smile deepening, "because you've got such a quick mind and can see through them right off. And maybe because they feel you'd have an easy time making them do what you want-if you were their boyfriend."
He stared down at the floor, his cheeks reddening again, for her adroit tactics had taken him completely off guard. "I-I haven't got any steady girl. Anyhow, I don't much care for most of them at school. And anyhow, there's mostly fellows where I go." What he had no intention of telling her-or Rachel either, for that matter-was that his high scholastic standing and his habitual smug arrogance had made most of the eligible girls shun him like the plague. Indeed, only last week, tall raven-haired Nancy Phelps, who had been chatting with two of her girlfriends as he came out of a classroom and walked on by them, had said, just loud enough for him to hear, "There goes that sarcastic little creep.
But before his mind could dwell too long on this and other rejections, Dinah was surprisingly asking him if he knew how to dance. "A-a little, I guess, sure," he mumbled.
"Tell you what," she gayly proposed. "I'll turn on the hi-fl and we can try it. It'll be like having a date at the Aragon, only right here where we're nice and comfy."
"That'd be nice, M-Miss Williams."
"Silly, why don't you call me Dinah?" she rose with a sinuous movement that made him suddenly and torturingly aware of her ripe curves of bottom and thighs and breasts, walked to the stereo console (another gift from Patrick Gregory) and turned on an FM station which programmed 24 hours of popular dance music. "There, that's perfect for our orchestra, and, you know something, Tim I sort of feel like dancing and being held in the arms of a very good-looking smart young man.
He rose, tugging at his light blue pullover sweater, glanced down at the neat cuffs of his brown dacron trousers. He had taken more pains with his grooming this evening than at any other time in his young life; he had even cleaned his fingernails and borrowed some of his father's shaving cologne to rub on his neck and armpits.
Dinah moved seductively to him, holding out her arms, her eyes warm and inviting. His face burning, young Tim Woodling circled her waist with his right arm and felt her soft fingers entwine with his left hand. He was also suddenly aware of the spicy perfume she was using and, still more excitingly, that the pressure of his arm curving round her supple waist could feel nothing though the skintight housecoat except her ripe young quivering flesh.
"Mmm, you dance very well, Tim dear. Only, hold me closer than that," she whispered, and she pressed her soft pink cheek against his. He could feel the soft wafting of her breath against his face and the disconcerting prodding of her ripe firm breasts against his chest. And then his eyes widened with dismay to feel his cock hardening and shoving demandingly at the fly of his trousers, and instinctively he arched his hips backwards to prevent her learning into what a state her nearness had put him.
Then he gasped aloud, because the golden-haired receptionist had met his retreat by shoving her pelvis forward till there could be no doubt that she had felt the hard urgency of his stiff young cock And at the same time, she throatily murmured, "Oh, my, didn't I say a poor little helpless girl would be afraid of you? I guess I did that to you, didn't I, Tim?"
Even the lobes of his ears were red now and his throat was so choked, his heart pounding so fast, that he found it impossible to reply; he could only gawk helplessly at her, still holding her by her soft waist and hand, staring mutely and beseechingly at her.
"Mmm, I'll bet I did," she whispered again, pressing even closer to him, "so I'll just have to do something about it, won't I? But Tim, you naughty boy you, you haven't even kissed me yet, so how do I know if you even like me?"
"L-like you?" he croaked an anguished echo. "Gee, you-you re terrific-you've beautiful, D-Dinah- gosh!"
"That's some better. Only, like the song in My Fair Lady, don't tell me, show me," she giggled, her moist sensual red lips almost brushing his. He could neither resist nor ignore the temptation, and he didn't try; with a groan of sharp desire, he avidly crushed his mouth against hers, then at once drew back, afraid his boldness had offended her. The certainty he had known with his stepmother had entirely vanished.
But to his dazedly happy stupefaction, her mouth sought his in a long kiss that began gently and was continued with her warm little pink tongue agilely prying apart his trembling lips and slipping in between. And at the same time, her left hand moved to her silver zipper and began to tug It down, while her other band edged between their bodies, discovered the zipper of his dacron trousers and stealthily began to descend it.
As her soft fingers drew out his agonizedly turgid, aching cock in almost bursting erection, he could green," oh, D-Dinah, Dinah-ohh, Jeez, Dinah-'
"Shh, darling, I know. My. gracious, what a man you are! Now you take off your things while I go to the little girls' room and get ready for you. I shan't be long, so you hurry, Tim dear!" she whispered Into his ear; to cement the pledge, she darted the tip of her tongue against It, and then, with a soft knowing little laugh, hurried off to the bathroom.
As the door closed behind her, the blond boy blinked his eyes repeatedly, his body shaken by fitful tremors, and then stared down at his bulging, bared prick He said aloud to himself, "Oh, Jeez, oh zowie!" and then hastily began to strip down to shorts and socks, draping his trousers and sweater over the back of a nearby chair. Then suddenly, with a gulp, clapping a hand over his stiff weapon, he had a sickening sensation: he hadn't thought about, well, what a fellow did when he didn't want to get a girl into trouble. He glanced back at his discarded clothes with an almost frantic expression, and at that moment Dinah Williams -emerged from the bathroom.
She was naked in sandals, and his eyes were hypnotically drawn to her pink-sheened body as steel to a magnet: he devoured the big, round, closely set globes of her satiny breasts with their. dark coral aureole the size of a silver dollar, and the crinkly, pouting nipples palpitating in their erogenous center~. Slowly his eyes lowered to constate the glossy smoothness of her pink belly with its wide shallow niche, and then at the lower abdomen, the beginning of the abundant growth of sandy-hued silky curls which thickened very nearly to hide the fig-shaped fleshy coral-tinted lips of her cunt. And for Tim Woodling at this instant, golden-haired Dinah epitomized all there was of desirable, fuckable, lusted-for femininity, and he clenched his fists, panting in his monumental rut.
"Don't you want to take your shorts off too, Tim, honey?" her voice was soft and wheedling. But there was a vibrancy to it too, for Dinah Williams sensed his adolescent torment and fierce hunger for her nakedness; it gave her the lascivious fillip of seducing an immature boy and at the same time playing a coyly virginal role. As her soft hand stole out to cup his bulging cock, and she saw him glance frantically down at it, she sensed his hesitation: "Honey, you've nothing to worry about, I took care of things."
"Oh, G-Gawd, Dinah, you-you're great!" he panted, moving away but without taking his eyes off her lush young nakedness to husk down his shorts and then seat himself on the edge of the couch.
"You're bashful, and I like that in a fellow; it's sweet," she murmured as she sat down beside him, stroking his shoulder with her soft fingers. Quite apart from the substantial bonus his stepmother had promised her and the intimation that her own secret liaison with Patrick Gregory might soon be legally solidified, golden-haired Dinah enjoyed sex quite unashamedly. The sight of his stalwart, thickly turgid cock and the obviously calflike adoration of her naked charms which she could read on his flushed, taut features had already aroused her own rapacious appetites. "But don't you want to kiss me again, sweetheart?" she urged.
Her hand cupped his chin to make him turn to her; at the sight of her intensely wide, humid blue eyes, dilating, delicate nostrils and her quivering, half-parted moist red lips, he shuddered and then with a stifled cry, flung both arms round her and kissed her fiercely. Once again, her lips parted and her tongue intruded between his, while her other hand stole along his wiry, flexing thigh and the tips of her little fingers began to tickle and fondle the velvety head of his achingly whetted cock.
Her very boldness convinced Tim at last that this was not a dream and that this delicious, ripe naked beauty meant to deny him nothing. Casting aside his bashful awkwardness, he cupped both her round succulent breasts and thrust her onto her back on the couch. Nimbly, with a gurgling little sigh of anticipation, Dinah arched up her dimpled knees and spread them wide to grant him total access to her silky fleeced, twitchingly readied cunt.
Then he groaned aloud with indescribable delight to feel his hard sinewy young body merge with Dinah's soft yielding flesh; it hurtled him into a chaotic vortex of carnal excitement, for the cohesion of bare flesh to flesh was thrillingly new. He shuddered to feel Dinah's bare warm beautifully rounded arms cling tightly round his straining back, and, most maddeningly exciting of all, to feel his throbbing prick rasp downwards along the moist contracting sheath of Dinah's welcoming vaginal housing. And for his own adolescent ego, it was heaven to hear her little whimpered gasp of pleasure at this penetration and to feel her satiny bare legs clench tightly over his straining thighs as his face now nuzzled between the swelling gourds of her resilient, wonderfully yielding, cushiony breasts.
"Oooh, Tim honey, you feel so big and hard inside my little pussy-oh, take it easy on me, darling, you're so hard and big and strong!" she cooed. Though perhaps she had feigned ardent affection for the gauche youth when welcoming him into her apartment, she was now decidedly and very delightfully surprised by his vigorous male adequacy. But because she was also ably experienced in the reactions of the male, she sensed that his virility would be sorely taxed by his very excitement with her. Patrick Gregory, a connoisseur and voluptuary, had never failed to satisfy her avid cravings, but his methods were those of a suave gentleness, expert dalliance and almost torturing prolongation. By contrast now, young Tim's violently jerky thrusts in and out of her quaking cunt had started to unleash raw desire in her. Even as her lovely face contorted with rapt concentration on the furious frictioning and roughly chafing probing which Tim's frantically demanding cock was inflicting on her seething vagina, Dinah Williams was promising herself that before this nocturnal tryst was over, her teenaged lover was going to be taught some of the more tantalizing ways of spinning a fucking out till both partners' nerves fairly shrieked for appeasement.
But for the moment, at least, she was being most flatteringly besieged and certainly most pleasurably documented on his adoration of her naked flesh: she could feel his swollen, nearly bursting cock ruthlessly distend the narrow, sensitive volutes of her vaginal chasm in a way that left no doubt as to his intoxicated worship of her yearning cunt. His lean fingers were squeezing. the sides of her panting round tits, then reaching under her to goad her velvety-smooth, quivering, round buttocks to becoming squirmingly agitated hillocks of eager, palpitating flesh. His lips had taken hold of one of her nipples, flinting it with tingling sensations, and she felt the rubbing of his belly to hers as sensation piled upon sensation in them both. The deepest reservoir of her emotions now threatened to give way before the battering ram of his frenzied young cock.
"Ahh-Timmy--oooh-pl-please-darling-slow down and let little D-Dinah catch up, sweetheart-ohho, ahh, d-darling, it's so good, but-but take it e-easy!" she panted, scrabbing her fingernails into his back and shoulders. Her knees flung up on either side of him, swung hugely apart; then, as he again dug to the roots inside her cunt, she moaned and locked her naked thighs over his buttocks while she arched herself up with all her strength-only to utter a frantic cry of disappointment and loss as she suddenly felt him explode hot gismic lava deep into her womb.
He was gasping for breath, his flushed face burrowed Into the valley of her heaving tits, his hands gripping her perspiring satiny sides Just above her writhing hips, sprawled and spent, as golden-haired Dinah Williams let her thighs grow lax over him, tilted back her anguished face and closed her eyes, fighting to regain her breath. He had brought her to the brink of hot bubbling come, only to leave her there so languishingly that she very nearly wanted to burst into tears. Then, after a long moment, fighting back the turbulent waves that still furiously churned within her, she huskily whispered, "Tim sweetheart, it was heavenly-only, next time, I'm going to show you how much more fun we can both have if you let me help. Now get off Mamma, darling, and let's go tidy up, have some more Pepsi and a cigarette, and then I'll show you Just what I mean.
He raised his haggard face to stare at her, almost in tears of gratitude himself for the glorious flesh-bounty she had accorded. "Jeez, you-oh, Dinah," he gasped, still aware of the convulsive tightening of her vagina against his limpened cock which remained in her exquisite cunt-captivity. ...
What happened after that was a dream of lustful fantasy which young Tim Woodling would remember all the rest of his life. Dinah had led him to the shower, and they had both soaped and sponged each other. Under her bantering and playful aegis, he had abandoned the last vestiges of shame-faced embarrassment. Her soft little hand, covered with soapy lather, had fondled and squeezed and played with his cock till he felt it stiffen into renewed and full erection- but without the first overwhelming urge that had betrayed him when he had felt himself penetrate into( the tight warm socket of Dinah's torrid cunt. And in turn, he had been led to soap her vulva and to play with the fascinating little nodule of her cit till she wriggled and squealed, then hugged him and kissed him as the warm spray laved their shuddering bodies and titillated all their senses into a new anticipation of a more languorous yet perhaps more thrilling fulfillment.
They had toweled each other, and she had taken him back to the couch. For a few moments, sharing a glass of Pepsi and a cigarette, they had chatted, Dinah cleverly leading him on to admit some of his lustful preferences, and had purposely stimulated him by injecting the most lubricious terms into this calculated discussion. Finally, she had huskily intimated, "Now this time, you're to make it last as long as you can. All it takes is practice. You lie down now and let me get better acquainted with this big sweet hard lollypop of yours, lover."
Excitedly, he had rolled onto his back while Dinah crouched over him, letting him feast his eyes on the jiggling globes of her round pink-sheened tits, the tantalizingly fluffy muff of her pubis which let the pink fleshy lips of her cunt peep through in slyly beckoning invitation. Then she began to glide the tip of her tongue over his wiry young body, starting at the neck, lingering over his paps till he exclaimed at the tingling new sensations of that exquisite nuance of foreplay. Working gradually down his body, she halted her ministrations just as she reached his upright, throbbing cock. Then, agilely turning onto her side, she grasped his hands and drew them to her breasts, whispering, "Now feel me up, all of me, nice and blow and easy. That drives a girl wild, Tim. When you have your next girl-and my goodness, it won't be long, not when they find out how terrific you are in bed-you'll see what she'll do for you when she finds Out how you can drive her up the wall. Don't ever hurry, you'll both lose too much. Now love me!"
He began to stroke her tits and belly, blushing as he saw her eyes follow the movements of his hand. When he hesitated, she nodded, and, emboldened by this, he brushed his fingertips over the soft lips of her pink cunt.
"Mmm, that's the way, sweetheart!" Dinah huskily encouraged, squirming closer to him. "Every girl just loves having her little pussy tickled. But see if you can find my secret spot-ooooh, yes, yes, Tim lover, that's it, you've hit the button-don't you feel me wriggle when you ring my little puss/s doorbell that way? That means a girl is just dying to be fucked-ob yes, yes, move It around-ooohh, higher, honey- ahh-oh, Timmy, now, now, get on top of me and shove that great big hard wicked cock of yours all the way out through my naughty bumhole, ohhhb darling, that's sooooo good-take it slow and easy, I'm not going to run away, not from a man with a wonderful cock like yours-ohhhhhh, Tim!"
Keeping his left forefinger pressed against her throbbing clitoris, his right hand squeezing one of her heaving warm round fits, his mouth fused to hers and his tongue rapiering fiercely Inside her eagerly responsive mouth, young Tim Woodling began to thrust himself slowly to the hilt, then retreat to the very edges of her quaking vulva, holding himself with a studied effort before at last forcing himself back down into the contracting, warm tightness of Dinah Williams's seething cunt.
Lithe and feline, the naked golden-haired young woman had made him maneuver so that both lay on their sides facing each other; now, with a gasp of delight, she lifted her right leg and clamped It over his hip to pinion him to her cunt's exacting socket, while her tongue rampantly probed inside his gasping mouth to find and friction his own. And this time, the blond adolescent learned the indescribable bliss of prolongation, of exacerbating the senses of touch and smell and sight till it seemed impossible to endure the Tantalus any longer, only to halt and regroup, feeling the hot thick blood throbbing in every vein, till at last, her fingers pinching and squeezing him and at last hilting a forefinger into his tight young anus, Dinah Williams signaled to him that her time had come for unleashed and abandoned rut-fulfillment...
It was well after midnight when Tim Woodling, turning the key very slowly in the lock of the old house on Astor Street, let himself in, his eyes starry, his -lips wreathed in a reminiscent, triumphant smile. And when he flung himself down naked on his bed, he was at once plunged into a deep and dreamless sleep, for even the wildest of his dreams had been turned into gratifying flesh-reality by the insatiable naked golden-haired young goddess who had been his glorious Circe and turned him-unlike the mythological siren-not into swine but into very much a man.
Chapter Eleven
This very warm Friday night in late June was, Rachel Woodling wryly remembered, a very special kind of anniversary, and one which her husband could not have been-and would never be-expected to remember. For it marked the final day of the month-long compact she had made with Heather and young Tim. And now, as she prepared supper for the three of them (for Timothy Woodling, having finished his final trip to the New York firm and received enthusiastic approval for a series of future campaigns, was expected back about ten tonight), she had not the slightest regret over having made it on their vindictive terms.
There was chicken salad and the iced tea she had made-with plenty of lemon slices, and baked hot biscuits with honey and butter set out on the table. And there would be a home-made banana split for dessert.
"There we are," she said as she set the tray down and began to serve Heather and young Tim. "It's really too hot for a roast or anything like that, and I hope you'll have enough to eat."
"It looks just fine, Mother," Heather smiled up at her, and, with a thoroughly feminine gesture she never would have affected a month or more ago, put a hand back to her hair to straighten a wayward curl.
"So you've definitely set a date with Arnold, dear?" Rachel seated herself at the table and began to break open a biscuit and generously butter it.
"Uh huh. The fifteenth. He wants a big church wedding-me, I'd rather settle on City Hall. Yummy, this salad really is super, Mother!" Heather enthused.
"Well, dear, I wouldn't dream of advising you, it's your decision. Only, if I were a girl your age getting married for the first time, I'd want all the trimmings, just so I could remember all the romance about it for the rest of my life," Rachel tactfully volunteered.
"That's what Arnold keeps saying. Oh well, I might just break down and give in. He's sort of a nice guy, you know. And hey-thanks for bringing us together." Heather lowered her eyes demurely and her creamy cheeks grew red.
"Thank you, darling," Rachel smilingly corrected.
For a moment, Heather was busy with her salad. Then, putting down her fork, she glared at the blond boy across the table. ~"Hey, little brother, aren't you forgetting something?"
"Oh-gee, yeah-" now it was Tim's turn to color hotly and then to look down and fumble with something in his lap. "Mom, I-I want to give you something."
"What is it, Tim dear?"
"Here. You know." He held out a round metal canister towards Rachel. "That movie we took-you know-you can burn it or cut it up and put it in the garbage."
"Oh?" her eyebrows arched as she casually added, "But I thought you wanted to keep it."
"Of course the little monster's not going to keep it," Heather interrupted in a patronizingly mature tone of voice. "We both-well, what Timmy's trying to tell you, Is just that you've made Daddy happier than we've seen him ever since Mom-our real mother- died-and I guess we were off base trying to make life hell for you. So I'm apologizing for us both right now, if it's okay."
"We'll just forget all about it," Rachel Woodling softly replied. "I know very well how much you both loved your mother, and I -didn't come here with any intention of making either of you give up any part of that love. Fact is, I think It proved what a really wonderful wife and mother she must have been to have made you both so loyal to her. I only hope some day someone will say the same nice things about me.
"Nobody better say you aren't okay while I'm around to hear it," young Tim suddenly fiercely interposed, then again colored self-consciously.
"Hear, hear," Heather giggled. Then, squirming in her chair, she drawled, "You know, I once called you a strictly amateur headshrink. Only now, well, seems to me you're a lot better than the pros. I certainly couldn't have found a terrific guy like Arnold on my own. And I can see why Timmy here isn't bothering about his collection of dirty books and movies, now that he's been fixed up right and proper.
"Aw, dry up, for criyi, Sis," Tim pleadingly groaned.
But Heather maliciously persisted: "Only trouble is, now what are you going to do when your heartthrob's going to get married-that's right, isn't it, Mother?"
"Quite right, dear," Rachel smilingly put in. "Dinah told me just this morning she and Mr. Gregory are going to be married in two weeks and then spend their honeymoon in Hawaii, where your father and I had ours."
"Mom, I've sort of been thinking," the blond adolescent hesitantly interposed.
"Now there's a switch!" came from Heather.
"Aw, cut it out, Sis-hey, Mom, tell her I've got the floor ... look, I figured maybe this fall I could transfer to Senn High. I've sort'a fed up with Chicago Latin anyway. And-well, there's lots of cute girls over at Senn, and I'd have lots more chances to date than where I am now. What do you think, Mom?"
"I think a public school would be a very worthwhile experience for you, Tim dear. Now what about that banana split? I've got maraschino cherries and some whipped cream, and it won't take a minute to put some pecans through the grinder."
Rachel had gone to her room to change into a Chinese blue silk cheong-san, slashed high along her left thigh to show a daring glimpse of the darker top of her smoke-hued nylon stocking, and donned a new pair of elegant black leather pumps with three-inch spike heels. Timothy Woodling's plane had been delayed by mechanical trouble, and he hadn't got home till quarter past eleven, by which time Heather and young Tim had retired to their rooms And, learning that he hadn't had much of a meal aboard the plane because the heating system had broken down so that the food containers had turned cold, she had insisted on preparing scrambled eggs with mushrooms and some whole wheat toast and coffee for the handsome gray-haired advertising executive.
He had insisted on helping her with the few dishes and followed her into the kitchen. "I'm happy to say that this is the last trip to New York for a long while, if I have anything to do with it, honey;" he declared.
This time, I brought along Max Colby, and they like him well enough to let him rep us for the agency out there. Which means I'll have more time for you.
Slyly, he reached over to untie the apron strings so that the lace-trimmed apron fluttered to the floor. "Hey, honey, I like this Chinese thing you've got on. I can sneak my hand up-" he suited action to word, gliding his right palm along the slit of the glossy blue garment till it disappeared along the welt of her nylon stocking.
"Not yet, you naughty boy you! I do declare, feed a man and he turns out to be a sex fiend in his own kitchen," Rachel laughed contentedly as she gently pushed his hand away and moved a few steps out of reach.
"Not in the kitchen, woman. I'm still the old-fashioned kind of lecher who prefers the privacy of the bedroom."
"And that's where we're going in a jiffy, darling. Mmm, but I'm happy to have you back home," Rachel turned and swiftly hugged him, her lips pressing amorously to his.
When the kiss ended, Timothy Woodling's face was flushed. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Rachel darling. Time was when I used to be a little scared to come back home. But the last week or so, this house seems to have had some very gratifying changes. For instance, the news about Heather-I think that architect's perfect for her."
"Probably, darling, because he reminds her so much of you."
He held her by the hips, his eyes searching her lovely face. "You've been psychoanalyzing around here, woman. Well, I won't ask for any details, I'm just happy about the results. Heather's been calling you 'Mother' and even Timmy calls you 'Mom,' and now that they've accepted you, you and I can start being selfish and think about ourselves."
"That's exactly what I've been hoping for, dearest, and that's why I've used a little basic psychology, to quote from your expression. Even with Timmy."
"What about that boy? Last weekend, he practically floored me by asking if I'd let him transfer to Senn. That'll save me a handsome annual tuition fee, I can tell you. And he doesn't seem to pal around any more with that Jeff Morley, whom I never did think was too healthy an influence on the boy."
She stroked his cheek tenderly, kissed him on the tip of his nose. "Tim might just resent your calling him a boy anymore, darling. I've been a bit responsible for his change in attitude, you might say.
"Now there I'm going to ask about your methods. Whatever they were, they worked like a charm."
She crinkled her dainty nose at him. "It was simple. I just fixed him up with his first girl. You know my sexy receptionist down at the shop, the one with the golden hair and the pink skin-"
"And the big tits-sorry, that slipped out," he grinned.
"I'll forgive you. Well, Dinah and Timmy got together and she made a man of him, so he doesn't feel rejected any more and he doesn't have to lock himself up in his room with naughty books and movies. I rather think at Senn he'll be finding himself a steady girlfriend."
"You're amazing, Rachel!"
"Then you're not angry at me for meddling? And there'll be no serious involvement for Timmy; Dinah's getting married any day now."
"I'll only be angry at you if we don't get to bed damn fast, young woman!" and once again he slyly tried to slip his hand up the slit in her cheong-san.
"Oh, all right, you impatient, wicked, sinful rapist you, come along to bed," she giggled, taking him by the hand and leading him out of the kitchen.
Once they were inside his bedroom, the door safely locked behind them, she turned to Timothy Woodling, fused her mouth to his, her left arm round his waist, and 'foraged with her other hand to yank down his zipper till he groaned to feel her slim long fingers tantalizingly clasp the head of his already violently swollen cock. "My God-oh, Rachel, I swear you're making a new man out of me," Timothy Woodling gasped. Then he groaned again: as he kissed her again, her soft tongue unexpectedly flickered between his lips, while her soft fingertips nuzzled the aching head of his cock. "Rachel-what's come over you anyway?"
"I just happen to be very much in love with my husband, dearest. And in lust with him, too. Any objections?"
"If this were Midvictorian times, you could be divorced as a fallen woman, young lady," he hoarsely joked, his hands rising to knead her pear-firm breasts through the clinging cheong-san. "Thank God we're a hundred years away from those double standards!"
She reached back to undo the oval bun of raven hair at the back of her head; she had let her hair grow long the last few weeks so that it would look much more feminine. Now, loosening it and letting it fall in a glossy black cascade past her shoulders, and seeing the flickering glow in his narrowed eyes, she smiled at the justification of that change. "Take off all your clothes, then undress me, Tim dearest," she urged in a throaty whisper, her eyes fixing on the swollen shaft that thrust out boldly from his unzippered fly. "Tonight I'm going to be your own private call girl."
"Rachel! God, you're so beautiful tonight and how I want you!" he said thickly as he hurriedly undressed. She watched him, her face rich with color, her superb pear-firm bosom rising and falling erratically against the tight embrace of the cheong-san.
As he let his shorts slip down, he turned to the light switch at the side of the door, but Rachel stopped him with a husky "No, leave them on, please, lover! Your New York redhead kept hers on, didn't she? Now you come over to me and show me some attention!"
Naked but for socks, Timothy Woodling quickly moved to her, and her arms enfolded him as he tremblingly tugged down the tiny zipper at the neck of the Chinese garment; then, gathering the glossy fabric, pulled it up over her head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He stepped back, uttering a strangled cry of amazement: she wore only a filmy black net bra and narrow black satin elastic garter belt to hold up her gauzy smoke-hued nylons. And, exactly like Eleanor, she had dipilated herself: the soft pink lips of her exquisite cunt brazenly, palpitating, proffered themselves to sight and tough. "R-Rachel-my God-Rachel-" he breathed.
"I said I wanted to be your very own special, private call girl, lover. And now that Heather and Timmy are at last out of our hair, we can celebrate our own independence and be as shameless and loving as we want, can't we?"
"By God, I'm sure going to try to fill the bill," he panted as he lifted her up in his arms, laid her down on the bed, then moved beside her and turned to her, stroking her belly and thighs with impatient fingers while his mouth fixed on the dark, tumescent tip of a quiveringly responsive nipple through the sheer bra.
"Ooooh, Tim, obh, lover," she rapturously moaned, now our honeymoon is really starting! I want to do everything for you, and I do mean everything!"
"Rachel, I swear I don't know what magic you've been using on me and the kids, but I'm all in favor of it!"
"Let's just say I learned to adapt myself to the situation as it arose, lover. And now if my lord and master will kindly roll over onto his back like a sultan taking his ease, his newest slave girl will try her utmost to keep him occupied for a good part of the night."
Timothy Woodling eagerly, breathlessly, obeyed. Rachel knelt up, reached behind her to doff the bra and toss it gayly towards the chair, then cupped the olive-tinged firm jutting pears of her tits as she smiled provocatively and offered them to her husband's rapt gaze. Next, slowly, lowering her palms to his hips, she crouched down to let him watch her tits dangle like two tempting, ripe love-fruits and approached her soft red lips towards his throbbing, savagely upright cock.
"Rachel-what-what are you doing to me-" he raised his head, enthralled.
"Just what any loving wife ought to do for her husband so he doesn't have to look for it away from home, darling. Do I shock you too much?"
"N-no, not that, only-" his face flamed as his voice grew unsteady.
"Tim lover, all my younger co-workers talk about at the shop is that this is the age of the sexual revolution, of throwing away silly puritanical inhibitions. Not that I'm joining any movement, I'll have you know, but I've just come to the conclusion that if two people love each other very dearly, there's nothing in their entire intimacy that can be wrong if they do it spontaneously with the notion of giving as well as taking pleasure."
"Rachel, I'm just beginning to wake up to just how lucky I was to find you," he breathed, shuddering as he avidly contemplated her thrilling all-but-nakedness crouching there before him, her olive-sheened, coral tipped, pear-tits swaying tantalizingly, her eyes humid and eager as they returned his gaze without the least flinching or coyness. And in her suggestive "slave girl" costume of garter belt and hose, she suddenly became for him even more fascinating than that red-haired young courtesan at whose inventiveness he had marveled and through whose spontaneity he had first found his manhood restored.
"That goes both ways, dearest, so please won't you just relax now and enjoy," she whispered with a saucy wink that made him shiver with the frantic speculation of what their really just commencing conjugal life was going to be like in the unencumbered years ahead.
Again she bowed her raven head. Then her soft lips slowly absorbed the entire head of his aching cock, and began to draw on it with a soft suctioning sound that sent fiery waves racing through his veins.
"Oh God-ahh-why did I have to wait ten lonely years to find you after Grace left me?" he groaned. "Ohh Rachel, baby, I'm going to try like hell to make up for all that wasted time from here on in-ohh- ahh-if you keep that up, you sweet devil you, I'll lose every drop saved up from New York-ohh, Rachel, you're the best call girl yet!"
For to his ecstatic, shuddering delight, his mature brunette wife, herself savoring the candid joy of discovering her own newly acquired erotic talents and proffering them now, finally, solely for the pleasure of the husband she had fought to win, had darted out her soft pink tongue and begun to rasp it delicately all over the straining, velvety-taut tip of his cock, then round and round and over every cranny of the enlarged, swollen glans till at last her titillating warm soft membrane had reached the ultra sensitive circumcisional groove. And now, her slim fingers gently stroking and applying tiny little love-pinches to the bulging, dark-veined shaft, Rachel herself was able to discern the agitated throbbings and lustful yearnings that swirled and seethed in his virile loins, that made the gnarled, hairy sacks of his testicles lift and swell and contract with mounting fury.
He was trembling, speechless now; Rachel's beautifully forthright initiative had left him with no further, shadowy doubt of her passionate sincerity. Even his beloved first wife, for all her gracious, eager acceptance of their bedding, had never displayed such fervent imagination. Now Rachel moved forward on her knees alongside him, her fingertips caressing his heaving chest and sides, to bend her head down to his and affirm with a long, exquisitely warm and moist kiss her own responding ardors. His hands reached up greedily to cup and knead and mold the swelling olive satiny pears of her superb naked tits, and she gasped, softly to feel her skin prickle from the waves of fiercely kindled erotic sensations that grew more and more potent and frequent within her body.
Then, supple, youthful, fluid in her movements, she turned and flung herself on her back, awaiting him, thus granting him by this symbolic movement the full authority of his totally empowered manhood. As he turned to her on his side, his left arm slipping under her shoulders, he forced her to yield her mouth. His tongue tentatively explored between her readily parting lips, and he felt her own tongue wantonly rub against his, sending a galvanic current of lust electricity through his entire being. His right hand began to caress her warm soft belly, his thumb pad rasping deliciously in the niche of her navel till she squirmed. and murmured softly in her own excitement. Then his hand lowered to pal plate with grazing, lingering touches the soft pink, moist and now twitching lips of her luxuriously silken cunt. And from her passionate little gasps and sighs, the quickened gusts of breath from her flaring nostrils, the involuntary startings and shiverings of her body, he learned that she was as feverishly receptive for the fucking as he.
His forefinger brushed the dainty, yet now hardening nub of her cunt, and it was as if a furious rippling current had been set off in her. One knee rose up and swung far to one side, her buttocks contracted and then arched off the sheets as her arms frantically crushed him to her, her tongue delving wildly and rapturously inside his mouth. He followed their tensing exhortation to roll atop her, and Rachel groaned aloud as she spread her thighs to grant him total access to her burningly tumescent cunt. He could feel the indescribable bliss-torment of his achingly turgid cock slip at once into the already lubricated lobby-way of her vulva, and as his hands slid under her arching, squirming naked hips to guide and steer her through the rushing tides of their lust-journey, he thrust himself home to the balls in a slow unbroken movement that made their cohesion total, undenied, intolerably intense.
Her eyes closed, Rachel waited a rapt moment till she felt the maddeningly tantalizing rhythm of her secret womanhood respond: she gloried in the constriction of her cuntwalls as they clamped against his imbedded cock to imprison him. Her eyes were luminous and dilated as. she looked adoringly up at him. "Ohh, this is so good, my darling," she panted, "don't hurry, make it last forever! Ohh, how good it's going to be for both of all for all the nights we have ahead of us, my darling, my lover, my strong, sweet wonderful man!"
"You beautiful, artful, maddening witch," he muttered, kissing her eyelids and the flaring wings of her nostrils. "I knew I wanted you this way the first moment I walked into your shop, but I couldn't dream even then it would be like ~turning the clock all the way back to the first time I ever wanted to fuck a beautiful woman. You've given me back my youth, Rachel dearest"-and then, embarrassed by the solemnity of his words at so blazingly carnal a moment, he bent his head to whisper into her ear, "Yes, and I hope you can feel what else you've brought me, you outrageously sinful little amateur call girl you!"
"Oh yes, yes, I can-oh, I want to feel it moving up and down inside my cunt, lover! But don't you dare hurry-ohh, Tom, my wonderful manly husband and lover, make my cunt feel it awfully hard-ahh-yes- ohh dearest, dearest yes like that, just like that, only harder with your big hard cock inside my squirmy little cunt!"
He ground his teeth to hold back the bubbling spunk that surged furiously to the twitching lips of his meatus, to hear her sweet mouth fashion such lust-kindling words. Her thighs had locked possessively over his now as he began very slowly to move back and forth inside her quaking cunt, as it was his turn to savor the indescribable tantalization of the spasmodic "kisses" which her cuntwalls had begun to inflict against his turgid cock, as if urging him to hasten and explore their nethermost recesses.
And at last he knew that tonight would challenge all his passion and potential as a lover; now at last his mind was freed from the anxieties of bending the temperaments of Heather and Tim to Rachel's far more pliant nature. There would be no further excuse for him to neglect this treasure of a woman, mature and yet youthful of body and amazingly now revealing herself to have the secret proclivities of a gifted concubine as well as the settling influence of a friend and counselor to Tim and Heather.
For now, he could give himself up to the pleasures of the rampant, hungering, unashamed and eager flesh. And with a groan of joy to realize such good fortune, he drew his cock slowly back to the very rims of Rachel's quivering cunt, his fingers moving under her to grip the ripest curves of her satiny warm buttocks, and with a sudden lunge, transfixed her to his very hilt.
"Ahh, darling-ohh, it's so wonderful," she moaned, her tongue then darting feverishly into his mouth, her fingertips restlessly moving over his neck and back and shoulders. She shifted her stockinged thighs till they flexingly locked over his sinewy buttocks, weaving and grinding against him, wanting to absorb more than he had to give of that vital, thrilling hard, swollen implement which was making her womb fairly seethe with turbulent desire.
Again he drew back, feeling himself radiantly young again, immortal by the magic of Rachel's flesh-bounty, and the hot sweet clash of their bellies as he thrust home again and the flattening of her dark-tipped panting naked breasts intensified this rapt illusion. He could feel the constant fluxions of her thigh muscles as those satiny nylon-sheathed columns wrapped round his buttocks, clenching him as passionately as the now feverishly tumescent walls of her fully attuned soft cunt were clenching against his probing cock.
His mouth feasted on the turgescent dark coral bud of a nipple as, shifting his hands under her flexing, surging naked bottom, he dug his fingertips into the inner edges and bridging the sinuous ambery creasage; riding her hard now, casting aside all constrain In the knowledge that she shared his fervent lust. In return, Rachel scored his sides with her fingernails, constantly shifting her stockinged legs over his upper thighs and buttocks, her mouth sealed to his and their tongues exchanging furious frictioning parries. He could feel the rapid pounding of her heart as his chest pressed down her heaving bosom, and he continued to drive back and forth inside her torrid, quaking cunt with an assurance he had never till this moment known with her. Only vaguely was he aware that he had at last conquered the plaguing ghost of prematurity which had so often haunted and destroyed their passionate union.
Rachel shuddered, her eyes rolling, glassy with desire, as little whimpering moans exuded from her lips; he had bowed his head again to suck one of her nipples, drawing It out tautly till the sweet pangs made her writhe in enervation; his fingers edged ever closer to the sensitive crevice between her tensing buttocks as he steered her towards the culmination of this Elysian fuck. Deep, hilting her each time now, drawing back slowly, then probing to his balls with a renewed thrust, he felt the churning excitement of her vaginal sheath responding to his unwavering, insistent phallic assault.
"Ohh, Timothy-ahh-oh my dearest darling, it's so wonderful, so truly wonderful-now, now, do it hard to me, fuck my cunt, my darling husband, fuck it good and hard," she moaned.
As it had been in that call girl's apartment, when Eleanor had magically drawn his nerves to the exquisite fraying point and then even beyond the pitch he believed possible, so now Rachel's lascivious appeal stirred within him the volcanic fury of an elemental release. With a sobbing cry, Timothy Woodling slipped a forefinger into the perineal groove and Inserted the tip just inside Rachel's dainty-petalled anus, while at the same instant he drew back to the brink of her throbbing cunt, then thrust a final, triumphant time till they merged in ultimate cohesion.
He felt himself caught up in the crashing whirlpool of lust, shattered and hurled in the timeless void as his viscous essence drenched her shuddering cunt sheath; at the lash of that hot fluidity, Rachel sank her teeth into his shoulders, flung her knees up wide on either side of him, then clashed them together over his hips and glued herself wantonly to his straining body as her own furious release came upon her.
At long last he raised his flushed face from her panting naked bosom, and tenderly murmured, "That's the way I dreamed I could love you, my wonderful Rachel, and you've made me young enough to do it - oh my dearest girl, my darling!"
Then, as if abashed at his own audacious lechery, he rolled off her, stammeringly apologizing, "My God, I'm a clumsy oaf. I must have crushed you, honey!"
"Mmm, and It felt so lovely too-I want you to do it that way to me all the time from now on," Rachel sighed- dreamily. With lazy, adoring eyes, she watched him enter the bathroom, and smiled to herself. There was still a final surprise in store for her rejuvenated husband. ...
When at last she crept out of his bedroom, having put back on the cheong-san, it was after they had cuddled side by side, sharing a cigarette, making plans for the future. Perhaps, Timothy Woodling had eagerly intimated, after Heather was married and there would be more room for them both in the old house, they might think of having their own child, conceived in blazing, rapturous passion such as tonight's union had proved they could equally share. And Rachel had gently bent to kiss his cock and murmur, "Yes, my darling, I want your child distilled out of this glorious organ which let me taste such untold pleasure as your lover."
As she moved silently down the hallway, her eyes serene and luminous with the knowledge of a marriage reclaimed and forged into an infrangible, cherishable pledge of happiness for the future, Rachel Woodling knew there was one final thing she must do, so that both Heather and Heather's father would comprehend what singular, mystic bond had drawn them together and yet at the same time evoked such rancor between all of them. She had already gone to the redhead's room just before going back to the kitchen to prepare Timothy's late snack, and now it would be time.
Gently, she turned the knob of Heather's bedroom door and entered. The lush young redhead, in a yellow shortie nightie and mules, was seated in front of her dressing table, combing her hair and examining herself intently in the mirror.
"Rachel-I-I'm scared-what will he think-" she rose, her face crimsoning adorably.
"Shh, darling. I'll be there with you. After all, you're not the only sophisticate of this family, you know. Now come along. You know, deep down inside of you, you've always wanted this to happen.
"Y-yes-and that's why I'm so wild about Arnold-"
"And that's also why you never really wanted to go out dating, like any girl your age, my darling. But just for once, and Arnold won't ever know, you're going to have your heart's desire."
Heather moved beside Rachel, still blushing, and, impulsively hugging her, whispered, "You mean, my pussy's desire, don't you, Mother?"
"Of course, my darling. You see, you and Timmy, though you didn't think so at the time, really helped me turn into the kind of woman your father needs. And that, young lady, is why tonight is going to be the one and only time-because my pussy needs his wonderful cock too and lots more than yours, because I'm older and he's the only man I want. Now that's enough talk-come along, dear!"
As they started down the hallway, the lovely redhead again hugged Rachel and whispered, "Oh, I do love you, Mother-yes, I can say it and mean it now, I do!" It was Rachel who opened the door of Timothy Woodling's bedroom and gently pushed the quivering, blushing young woman inside, and stepped in and quietly closed the door. Heather shivered, ran her slim hands down her flanks, then stooped to tug off the nightie and let it fall to the floor, kicked off her mules, and moved towards the wide double bed in which Timothy Woodling lay on his side, a smile on his lips, fallen into a rewarding sleep.
Holding her breath, Heather clambered in beside him, fitting her creamy body against his, spoon fashion, and then shamelessly reached over with her soft questing hand to find his dormant cock and to caress it lingeringly.
He groaned in his sleep and squirmed. Heather, twisting felinely away, gasped with excitement as he rolled over onto his back. Stroking his face with one hand, leaning to him on her side, she continued the gentle, evanescent touching of his slowly stiffening cock with the fingertips of her other hand, descending them to caress his balls and scrotum and the insides of his thighs. Rachel, watching in the darkness, left her cheong-san slip to the floor and was naked in her garter belt and nylons.
"Daddy darling, wake up and fuck me," she heard Heather whisper huskily. Spellbound, and -feeling her own womanly' tides swell again within her loins, Rachel moved beside the bed, seating herself at the foot, leaning forward to watch in the shadows. She saw Heather's soft palm clasp round Timothy Woodling's now visibly resurgent cock, then the girl's head bowed down towards it and she heard the moist sucking sound of a passionate and prolonged kiss. Then, nimbly, the naked young redhead swung over him and fused her supple warm creamy body to his wiry nakedness. Her palms cupped his cheeks and stroked them as her lips merged with his, her tongue tip just probing between.
In the drowsy torpor that precedes wakening, Timothy Woodling instinctively reached his arms round Heather's smooth bare back, sighed deeply, murmuring, "Darling, oh, my lovely girl!"
"Yes, Daddy, your girl!" Heather passionately whispered. Arching herself a little, and then bearing her weight down on her knees, she grasped her throbbing cockhead with left thumb and forefinger, while her other hand yawned open the pink orifice of her eager cunt, and fitted him inside her. Then, with a sobbing groan of ecstasy, she sank slowly down to impale herself.
"R-Rachel darling-I-oh you sweetheart-what a way to wake a man up, I-what you're not-H Heather-oh my God-what-Heather, what are you-" he stammered hoarsely.
"Shh, Daddy," Heather panted, squirming lasciviously over him and slipping her hands under his wiry hips, just for tonight I want to be your little girl. just like your red-haired Eleanor-uh huh, Mother told me about her, Daddy, and so tonight I want to take her place just this once-please let me!"
"Heather-it's wrong-I shouldn't let you-no-"
"Yes, Timothy darling," Rachel called out from the shadows, "she's always wanted you. And besides, it's my idea and I gave her my permission. Now don't argue and don't embarrass your sweet loving daughter, my darling, it's her way of really saying goodbye because she's going to marry Arnold as you very well know!"
He could not speak, for Heather had crushed her panting young mouth on his, and now, feverishly, was rising and sinking down, taking the amorous initiative of fitting his fully reinvigorated cock into her avid cunt. And besides, as he felt the frantic urgency of her needs, felt the glory of her warm soft naked creamy-skinned body fitting so snugly to his, he had no wish to do so. Instead, his arms tightened around her stainy back, and he began to arch himself up so as to drive his aching cock as far as it would go into her tight warm quaking vaginal sheath.
"Ohh, mmmm, Daddy, oh it's wonderful with you, I knew it would be, oh fuck me now, fuck me for the first and last time so I can remember it all my life," Heather raptly moaned, covering his face with burning kisses, her hands impatiently squeezing his buttocks to urge him on to even more vigorous skewering thrusts within her churning cunt.
Rachel, trembling with excitement as a vicarious participant in this delicious incestuous scene, could no longer remain passive; rising, she moved to the head of the bed, bent down and whispered something in Heather's ear. At once the writhing redhead bent her head down and attacked one of his paps with her moist red lips and began to suck and nibble on it, lightly scoring it with her small flawless white teeth.
And Rachel it was who merged her own eager mouth with his, wanting to share in his delight, in this concord, this passionate mutuality which fused all of them into a family in which there would never again be rancor or enmity.
His hands reached down to knead his daughter's ripely rounded creamy buttocks, and Heather moaned ecstatically at this token of his responding lust for her; furiously, she writhed, arching, weaving, deftly retaining his aching cock inside her torrid cunt, sinking down with all her might to take the fullest measure of his swollen spear. She wanted to feel his hot come inside her; for it would not change things; Arnold surely had impregnated her, but at least symbolically she would have gleaned her father's life-essence in her own eager loins to prove her long-sup-pressed desire for him as a man.
Rachel's tongue plied his mouth with fierce little stabbing thrusts, and now her fingers caressed his neck and armpits. Moaning in delirium, Timothy Woodling felt himself drawn inexorably towards that heavenly abyss from which there is no turning back, and knew that this time it would be prolonged, since Rachel herself had already borne the brunt of his most savage rut.
And so he gave himself up to the delectation of his daughter's beautiful warm supple naked writhing body, his hands squeezing her bottom and thighs, her sides and the outer curves of her panting tits which flattened against his heaving, hairy chest each time she arched and sank down upon him as she strived to draw herself with him over the brink of that abyss.
But even in the turbulent excitement which engulfed him, Timothy Woodling had not forgotten who it had been who had restored his manhood and brought him back to the halcyon days of understanding the myriad nuances of sexual love and imaginative passion. Reaching out with his right hand, he groped for Rachel in the darkness, palming her breasts as she continued to bend down to him to kiss and tongue him, glided his palm down over her quivering smooth belly, till at last his fingertips could palpate the soft moist quivering lips of her exquisitely responsive cunt. Then, locating the dainty apex, he began to roll and graze it till Rachel sobbed and groaned in her own sensual renewal.
"Ohh Daddy, Daddy, it's coming-ohhh, Daddy, harder, fuck me harder, ohh my dearest darling Daddy, oooooghh, ohhhh cram it into my pussy good and hard now with all you've got-OH DADDY NOW YES NOW AHH DADDY DARLING OHHHHH GOD OHHHH DADDY!" Heather suddenly screamed, her body threshing madly as she felt his juices spurt into her churning cunt.
And it was Rachel who echoed her stepdaughter's sobbingly rapturous cry as her husband's speeding finger drew her along with both of them into the timeless death-defying oblivion of climax, and as she crumpled alongside of him, her outflung arm, circled Heather's shuddering satiny waist in an accolade of unselfish maternal understanding and affection.
