He began to urge her into faster action. He pumped, and her hips were coming up to meet his, in a counteraction. They worked smoothly, and somehow he was finding he still had an untapped supply of sperm. He didn't know where it could have come from, for he'd been drained several times in the last few days.
Sweat was popping out of her forehead, and her cheeks were blowing out. She was tiring, so he cupped his hands under her bottom when she was on an upstroke, and then he was able to assist. He speeded her motion, and their hips seemed to become a blur in the shadowy room.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh!"
"You making it, baby?"
"You know I am. My insides are tearing loose. My back teeth are going to flush right out my vaginal canal!"
"Happy sailing," he muttered.
Then he was coming too, and their juices met in a boiling cauldron that was inside each of their bodies. He could feel the swirl of it about his splitting head and feel the final tugging of her pussy muscles as they milked every drop of juice from his crotch.
She came again and again, each time locking her ankles more tightly around his spine and sucking him so deeply he feared he might fall into her yawning cunt. He managed another shot, and she praised him. If he hadn't had so much lately he knew he could have managed another, but he had his limits...
CHAPTER ONE
Tom was thinking hard as he left the office and went across the street to Mario's. He was thinking so hard he didn't notice the looks that followed his departure. Mary Louise shot a slinky glance at him. So did others. But Tom was thinking.
Several heads came up as he entered the cool, semidarkness of Mario's. A few voices were raised in greeting. One of the heads and one of the voices had a special meeting.
The voice and the head belonged to the Angie Pucci doll.
She had kept the stool at her side empty, despite several attempts by panting Daily Courier men to fill it, and now she patted it for Tom. He paused behind her and took a good look.
Her back was long and straight and it sank into her buttocks like poetry. The buttocks flowed over the stool seat like a glob of soft candy that had hardened at just the right instant. Angie's power was in her ass, as he'd been reminded many times while they were pounding toward a climax.
He sat, and Frank was before him at once with whisky and water. The barkeep gave a nod of greeting with the drink and then he moved his fat bulk out of there.
Angie's hand was on his thigh before he'd taken his first long gulp. The drink tasted good and the hand felt good, but he still had to think. He looked at her, and she pursed her lips in a kiss that was loaded with promise. She was a Gina, she was a Sophia, she was the sex kick in the Italian boot.
"Hi, tiger."
It wasn't a clever opening line, but anything passing through those lips was distilled into instant erection. She could talk about the weather and make it sound like a promise to suck him off the second they were alone.
He finished his drink, and Frank dropped another on the plank almost before he could let go of his empty glass.
"You're off early," he replied.
Her voice got smokier.
"So I worked fast today because I wanted to catch you on your way out. So I'm all hot and bothered because you've been avoiding me."
He stared.
"Avoiding you? Was I dreaming two nights ago when we rocked your houseboat until four in the morning?"
Her hand slid up his thigh, and long, strong fingers closed directly over his pouch. He didn't want to get hard, but he couldn't help it if his cock began to do nip ups.
"No, you were awake, all right. That thing between your legs never got a moment's rest, as a matter of fact." She chuckled as though she were looking up at him from a pillow. "But I need you every night, Tom. You know that. I'm insatiable."
"Don't start that again," he protested.
She sighed, but her fingers were fiddling with his zipper until she had it slid open.
"I know, you're a free man, and you intend to stay that way." She began to imitate his low voice. "You owe loyalty to no woman, you're free to date anybody you want, or you're free to go off by yourself."
He looked down at his crotch, which had rounded into a hard mound the size of a melon, and then he looked up and down the bar. The others were busy with their drinks and women of their own.
"You got the message, baby."
"So you've had a night off, so come to my place with me." Her blue eyes glittered. "We'll make it something special co last all night. Come on, Tommy. Be my guy until morning."
He finished his second drink and picked up the third as she reached inside his fly. She was in him up to her wrist, and she had an iron grip on his cock. He was almost fully extended, and, as she pumped with her fist-gripping, relaxing, gripping, relaxing-he quickly blew up to full size.
He thought about her, and he thought about Al Campbell. So Al had planted a seed just before quitting time, telling him that he wanted to see him first thing in the morning. Something special. It had to be, for Al never delayed any news unless he was goosy about blurting it out. And when Al got goosy it meant what he had to say was going to be rough on Tom.
Well, there was nothing he could do until morning. He was a busher if he intended to sit around all night worrying about it when it wouldn't do any good. Might as well put Al Campbell and his news flash out of his mind until eight bells the following day.
Angie was helping him forget in a hurry, for she'd found her way inside his shorts, and her fingers were stabbing against the small slit in the very head of his penis. He sucked in a quick breath, and she gurgled deeply in her throat. It was her sexy laugh.
"I think I'm winning," she murmured, as she leaned closely to him. Her heavy breast was ramming itself against his upper arm. "I can hear your motor running."
Motor. He thought about his nice red Firebird parked in the lot behind the paper. He finished his drink, pulled her arm out of his crotch, and yanked his zipper. Then he bounced to his feet and snapped, "Come on, let's blow."
"Right here?" She giggled.
He waved at the mound of fat behind the bar.
"Frank, catch you on payday, okay?"
Frank nodded as he wiped out a glass with a towel that was more gray than white.
Heads watched them go, and Tom didn't like that too much. Angie preened as she hung on his arm and let her generous hip swap against his, but he didn't want anybody to think she was "his girl." Nobody was his girl, and every woman he could approach was his girl. He played the field, and it was a mighty big playing area.
They crossed the street, and he helped her into his car. Then he got in and slammed the door, but before he could turn the key she was on him. He felt that hand back on his pouch and it at once regained its hardness. He was annoyed at her, and he was annoyed with the way his own body responded.
Why? He wasn't certain. Was he still worrying about Al? Well, there was one way to prove he wasn't. That was to forget about the old bastard and welcome this flying bomb at his side for all she was worth-and she was worth a great deal.
So he sat back and tried to relax as she again opened his zipper, fumbled inside his pants, and then pulled out his cock. It was almost all the way up, and the vein along its white side throbbed. The head was turning a deep pink already, and he knew that at his instant of orgasm it would have changed to a tormented purple.
Years ago, when he was a teen-ager, he'd taken the trouble to measure his penis a moment before his orgasm in the attic. The ruler had told him it was a solid eight inches. Since then he'd become even more of a man, but he hadn't allowed his vanity to call for another ruler.
She had her fingers around his shaft, working them just under the broad flange so that she was locked to him with a solid grip. She started to pull, her fist working up and down with a short, sure stroke.
He looked around the parking lot as he got out a cigarette. He lighted up and flicked the match outside. The lot was empty enough. It was unlikely that they would have a delegation of spectators before they were finished. He spread his knees and concentrated on Angie Pucci as he turned off Al Campbell.
"How am I doing?" she wanted to know.
Her lips were moist and her voice even lower. Sex did this to Angie. She changed color, attitude, and sound, like an animal preening for the sex act. Anybody who knew Angie knew when she was in heat.
He shrugged.
"What you're doing I could do myself."
She snarled like a wounded cat.
"Thanks a hell of a lot, mister. Just you go ahead and finish your cigarette while I service you. Would you like a shine when I'm finished?"
He chuckled.
"Shit, I didn't ask you to beat my pud. Is it my fault you can't control your hands?"
She got over being sore in a hurry.
"All right, so you drive me out of my tree, and there's nothing I can do about that. But you could be a gentleman and show a little appreciation."
He flipped the cigarette out to the pavement and turned toward her. His arm went around her shoulders and dangled down the front of her dress. Angie had great legs, and she showed them off by clinging to the mini-micro hemline length. Today was no exception. Her skirt was hardly more than three inches below her crotch, and her neckline plunged halfway down her front to meet it.
It was a simple enough task to slide his hand inside her bodice and seek out a breast. She was unencumbered by a brassiere, naturally, and in a second or two he had her right knocker outside the dress and nestled in his palm. Well, not completely nestled, because she had too much tit for that. But at least he could hold it from the bottom while his thumb went up to rake across her blood-red nipple.
She shook like a ship that had been torpedoed somewhere deeply below the waterline.
"Oh... Tom... "
He flicked at the nipple a few more times while he moved his other hand on her knee, slid it inside her thigh, and started directly upstream toward her pussy. He knew there was plenty of pussy waiting inside her golden-haired gates, for he'd swum this stream plenty of times.
The thigh was milky white, and it shook with tiny spasms as he dappled with his fingertips. He was under her skirt and searching for the elastic of her pants when she giggled.
He looked her in the eye.
"No pants."
"I wiggled out of them when I saw you come into Mario's," she admitted. "I didn't want them all bent out of shape."
"Resourceful girl," he replied.
"I try harder."
He planted his palm flat against her cunt. It was a mound pushing against his hand as she tried to lift her hips off the seat. Her bush was as blonde as her hair, but it was unironed and curly. Through the hairs he could see her pink folds, and, as her knees dropped apart, he looked into her cave. It was an angry mouth but it was working open and closed in a welcome signal, like a blinker light on a Navy ship.
He let his middle finger dip inside and circle her outer lips. Already they were damp as she oozed her love juices down her canal to the outside. He thrust his finger inside the gate to the first joint. There was no need to get sloopy about it and plunge around. He knew how to trigger Angie. If he really tried he could explode her in a series of orgasms without even touching her cunt. He paused. "Well?"
She jumped, and her eyes got unglazed for a moment.
"Oh. Sure, where were we?"
She was working over his cock again, up and down, up and down. He sighed.
"I told you, I could do that for myself."
She licked her lips and looked around the parking lot.
"Right here? Is it all right?"
"Don't give me that shit, baby. You'd do it in the middle of Broadway if you got hot enough. Come on, get hot enough for this parking lot!"
Her lips were shiny and pouting as she lowered her face to his lap. He rested his hand on the back of her golden head, willingly abandoning her excited breast. The knocker had expanded to its full size, and the nipple was standing out like a golf tee. There was nothing more to be done upstairs.
He kept his finger inside her box, and he swished it occasionally to feel the trembling rip through her vitals again and again. He enjoyed making her his slave, and she knew he enjoyed it. She liked it too, but Angie wasn't completely insensitive.
Just before she closed over him, she turned her face and looked up from his belt buckle. His cock was lying alongside her rosy cheek, an inch from her lips.
"Tom?"
"What now?"
"Sometimes I wonder if you really like women. I mean for something other than sex. Do you really respect them?" She blinked. "Do you like them as people?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"They have their place," he hissed. "Right now yours is on my dork. Go on, start sucking!"
CHAPTER TWO
She turned her face back where it belonged, and her full, pursed lips kissed the end of his penis. The electricity of it shot through him, and he stiffened. She noticed, and she gurgled her pleasure.
She kissed him again and again as her mouth worked from his head and up the shaft, until she ran into the harsh file of his zipper. Then she worked out along the other side until she was back to the knob. Her lips parted, her tongue came out like a little pink snake, and she ran it across the tip.
He stiffened again. She had her own file in her mouth. It was like the tongue of a cat as it rasped across the tight, darkening skin of his penis. She lapped him again and again, working her tongue around the flange and then under it. Possibly she was seeking any flakes of cheese that hopefully might have accumulated, but Tom kept himself too clean for that.
She paused and blinked up at him.
"You're letting your finger go to sleep."
He wiggled his hand, moving it up toward the top of her folds. There he found the familiar button, and he pressed it. It was like the firing button on a battleship, and he heard bells jangling in her nervous system.
"God... God... " She seized his thighs and held on, keeping her lips against his penis. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she was like a quaking hunk of stone as the orgasm ripped through her. He envied Angie's sexual nervous system. It was always at the ready, always ready to be switched on.
She let out a long breath, her breasts heaving against his ribs, and then she went back to work. She opened her mouth, and, when he felt her teeth part, Tom brought his hips up in a shattering bump. His cock crashed into her spreading jaws and her teeth flew wide open. The hard edges raked over his flange as he settled the knob inside her mouth, and she began to choke.
"Relax, damn it," he hissed. "Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose."
She made some sound he couldn't understand, and then he heard air whistling through her nostrils. She gripped his thighs hard, and he bumped again. His pecker shot three inches deeper into her mouth, and the teeth slid up his shaft almost to the halfway mark.
She sucked more air, and then she took charge. Angie had her good days and her bad ones, when it came to a blow job. Now it was up to her to recover from a wobbly beginning and finish him off in a blaze of glory.
She began to swallow and slurp, and the convulsing of her throat moved her muscles along his shaft, back and forth in an effective rhythm. He became rock hard, and the ache was spreading up into his balls.
She must have known, for she plunged her hand into the bottom of his fly, found his nuts, and pulled them gently through the slit in his pants. They felt better in the air, and they felt wonderful when she rolled them in her hand, her fingers pinching the marbles inside like she were testing some exotic berries.
He groaned, and she groaned back in appreciation.
He raised his hips, and she shoved with her head. His shaft sank farther into her face until there were only a few inches left out in the cold. Again she opened her throat in her relaxing exercise, and her body accommodated him with more ease than before. He lurched a final time, and he was in her mouth to the hilt. She was even able to wiggle her tongue around in its crowded quarters and stimulate the sides of his shaft still more.
But it was her powerful throat muscles that did the job. They convulsed, back and forth, many times, until he hissed and grasped the car door handle with one fist and pushed her head down fiercely with the other. She lay all of her weight on him, and he saw her ram her feet against the side of the car and shove herself on him as though she were turning the screws on a vise.
Convulsions engulfed his loins, and his muscles rippled as they began to pump. He was coming, and his sperm charged down his shaft and shattered into the base of her throat. She hardly had to swallow, so quickly did the thick milk race directly into her belly.
"Gobble those vitamins, baby," he gasped, as wave after wave of seizures possessed him.
He pumped until his well was dry, and then he fell back on the seat. He was soaking wet and panting, and so was Angie. But her job wasn't finished. When she was through gulping, she began to withdraw her head. He was amazed as the shaft reappeared from the depths of her throat.
When she had freed herself from his shaft, she licked him everywhere. Not a drop of jizz escaped her probing lips and tongue. When she was through, she delicately wiped her mouth with her fingertips. She smiled at him as she heaved herself up on her elbows.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"How did I do?"
"What the hell, you want the Navy Cross?" he rasped. "I'll tell you when you don't do all right, sweetheart."
She stuck her lower lip out in a pout as she sat all the way up, opened her purse, and studied herself in a tiny mirror. She certainly hadn't mussed herself in the least. Angie was an expert, like a Boy Scout who always leaves the campground cleaner than when he found it.
"You are a bastard, Thomas."
"Fuck you."
"Now or at my place?" she blurted, at once.
He snorted and turned on the car. The Firebird roared into life, and he raced out of the lot with a squeal of rubber. As he worked his way over to the harbor drive and headed for the bay, she tucked her feet under her buttocks and allowed her skirt to ride up until he could see curly blonde cunt hairs. She waited until he was on the boulevard before she took his hand and placed it against her crotch.
"What happened at the office after I left?" she wanted to know.
"Who said anything happened?"
"Your face, when you walked into Mario's. You positively radiate anger when you're upset."
He shrugged and wiggled his fingers while she purred in appreciation. Her pussy was still soggy and, always the gentleman, he plucked the handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to her. She stuffed it into her snatch and worked it back and forth.
"I'm not upset," he said, at last. "Al wants to see me first thing tomorrow, that's all."
"Oh, oh," she replied. "He never tells you anything the day before unless it's something big." When he didn't answer, she went on, "But maybe it's something good. Like another trip to Rome for your Mafia series. Tom, if it is, won't you take me with you? I'll be your secretary or something. I've got scads of relatives all over Italy."
He shook his head.
"It's nothing like that. Something negative. I could tell by the fear in his eyes. He knows I'm going to pop my cork when he spills it."
"Tom?"
"Now what?"
"Will you pop your cork for me tonight?" She giggled and ducked out of the way when he tried to pinch her pussy.
They were quiet the rest of the way to her place. At least Tom was. Angie was excited. She'd been switched on by their brief play, and she was looking forward to more. He stopped at a classy liquor store and picked up a couple of fifths, some mix, and something to eat.
Finally they -pulled up at the dock and got out. Angie's houseboat was at the end of a long pier that jutted into the harbor. It was an expensive thing, and she usually had a roommate to share expenses, but at the moment she was between roommates. Angie liked to swing in many ways, and more than one roommate had fled her houseboat, in shock.
They clomped down the gangway to the low deck, and she let them in. There was a large single room decorated with all sorts of junk. Hippie posters, peace symbols, Japanese fishing floats, Oriental carpets, nets, a gigantic stuffed swordfish, and other things Angie's friends had brought her in payment for her hospitality. A couple of couches made up into beds; there was a tiny bar in a corner, an embryonic kitchen in another corner, and a bath in the only other room.
She twirled for him in the middle of the room.
"Home again, home is the sailor."
He went to the bar and unloaded the bottles. Then he took the food-a bucket of ravioli, some garlic rolls, and a pint of salad-over to the kitchen. He put the ravioli and rolls into a very low oven, figuring they'd never get to it, anyhow.
He mixed a couple of strong drinks, putting ginger ale into hers and a drop of water into his. He brought them to her, and she took a glass. "Here's to Managing Editor Al Campbell," she said, with a mocking voice. "Where would the Daily Courier be without him?"
"Nowhere," he agreed.
"Nowhere, if he didn't have his star reporter to back up every assignment he's ever made-every tough assignment, anyhow, Tom, you ought to be editor, you know?"
"You're out of your head," he shot back, after he'd drained away half his drink. The booze tasted good, a hell of a lot better than the rotgut Frank served. "They couldn't pay me enough to ride a desk."
She took his glass and put it down with hers. Then she stood closely to him, and he felt her hips searching for a place to land on his body. She selected his left thigh, and she opened her knees enough to clamp them on it. Her hip jiggled against his pouch, and he was right back up there, ready for action.
"Come on, lover, do me," she whined.
He stared at her. He ordinarily would have told her to shove it, but he wanted to wash Al and tomorrow's meeting out of his mind. He nodded.
"Why not?"
"You mean it?" she squealed, and her eyes lighted up with enough intensity to power a cruiser.
"Get out of those clothes and I'll prove it, baby."
She didn't waste any time. She was hopping on first one foot and then the other as she shucked out of the mini and kicked her shoes across the room. Then she stood before him like a virgin to be sacrificed.
Angie hadn't been a virgin since the age of twelve, but she made a nifty sacrifice all the same. He stared at those five feet, ten inches, the glittering hair, those icy eyes, and that body that was heavy in the bust, thin in the waist, generous in the hips, and comfortable in the ass.
The next thing Tom knew he was on his knees before her. For him it wasn't an act of supplication-he had worshipped very few women in his lifetime-but an experience he needed at that moment. He knew Angie would love it too, and, after all, she had done a little something for him.
He kissed her on the belly button, and the shocks tore through her all over again. He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs to hold her steady, and then he pulled her toward him. He pinched her legs in the same instant he slid his mouth down into her pubic hairs.
She wove her fingers into his hair to steady herself, and he let her hang on. He knew she'd soon collapse in her ecstasy, anyhow.
He slid lower and then took a fast detour around her gates. He stole a look as he sped past on her right thigh. She'd spread her knees several inches, and the pink inside her blonde thatch was winking out at him. Deep in the cave he could see it lined with a deeper pink, and stuff was oozing from it and matting the hair at the bottom of her purse.
He switched to her other thigh and climbed back into position just above her cunt. From there he could strike home when the spirit moved him. Angie apparently was impatient for that spirit to take hold, because she lifted a foot and stuck her toes into his pouch.
She jiggled his cock and balls until he was harder than ever. His penis ached, and he wondered if it would split from the strain. He looked down and saw the head was already blue. He was ahead of schedule.
His face went down into her brush a second time, but now he continued on his way until his chin hit a soggy area. He was over the upper portion of her lips. He paused there and lifted his hands to dig his fingers into her buttocks. This served to make his control more accurate, to stimulate her into a near frenzy as she started squealing like a piglet, and he enjoyed kneading the firm muscles in her plump cheeks.
He looked up at her.
"Stand by for a ram."
She gasped: "Standing by, sir " He shot his face directly into her purse, and the thing was loaded with money. It was money in the form of stiff hairs, a musky smell, a slippery goo that wiped across his cheeks and mouth, and a snapping set of muscles inside her pussy that strained to pull him deeper.
He worked his head up and down, and then he allowed his impatient tongue to come out and enter the battle. It wiggled back and forth, and he rode to the top of her lips and found his old friend, the erect button. He tongued it and was rewarded with the sound of her cries of joy.
She was pulling hard on his head, and he wondered whether she'd jerk out his hair before her orgasm. She was coming, and he let the wash of her juices flow past his face and drip from the bottom of her deep cup. He let go of her ass long enough to feel of her thighs. Yes, they were sticky. She was coming all the way to her toes.
"Tom... Tommy... " she was groaning.
He could only grunt and let his tongue work her over again. More shocks were hurtled through her body, and he felt her knees quiver. It wouldn't be long before his redwood would come crashing down in the forest.
He gripped her bottom and slipped his fingers into her crack. His nails rode up and down her buttocks until he found her rosebud of a bung. He stopped there and stroked the petals until he felt them relax and open. Then he shot a finger inside, and a second finger, and a third.
Once inside, he spread them and she groaned. He knew it was ten percent pain and ninety percent pure heaven. He touched several of her organs from the inside and handed them bruising punishment as she leaned on his head like a stone. Her strength was going fast.
He wormed his way more deeply into her, all the while swishing his tongue with the effectiveness of an electric knife. Soon she was exhausted, and her body jackknifed over him. Her belly was resting on top of his head, and her feet were close to leaving' the floor.
He sat and eased her from him, Jetting her slip all the way to the floor. She stretched out on her back.
She was slipping away, close to the edge of unconsciousness. But before she went, she began to murmur: "Tommy, take me with you. I want to go."
"No dice, baby. I'm a loner."
He stared at her long and sturdy figure. He knew she'd be up in fifteen minutes and ready for more. That was what he liked about Angie. She never quit on him.
But as far as taking her anywhere but somewhere to be fucked-forget it.
CHAPTER THREE
It turned out Tom wasn't to be a loner, after all, unless he could pull something out of the hat. But it was a mighty small hat, he realized, as he paced Al Campbell's cluttered office and dragged on his cigarette.
He stopped and leaned across the managing editor's desk, his finger wagging under the bald-headed man's nose.
"I'm not going to do it, Al. You just lost yourself a reporter. I quit, as of now. Call accounting and tell them to draw my severance check."
Al got out of his chair. Outwardly he was keeping calm, but his stub of a cigar was signaling that the pressure was on. He scratched his pot and pointed right back at Tom.
"Keep your shirt on, Tommy. I'm acting under orders from the old man upstairs. Don't be a fool and throw away your job. After all, this can't last for long."
"It's not going to last at all, as far as I'm concerned," Tom snapped. He shoved himself into a chair and glared through the glass-enclosed office at the whirl of the city room outside. "Give it to me once more, not that it's going to do any good."
Al sighed and got back behind his desk.
"Mr. Brewster has a daughter, see? She's been away at school in the East. Now she's home, and she seems interested in her father's newspaper. He wants her to get some experience. She's supposed to be pretty handy with a camera... "
"According to her unbiased father," Tom snapped. "Some reference."
Al waved the interruption aside.
"Anyhow, Mr. Brewster wants an experienced hand to show her the ropes."
"I'm no photographer," Tom hissed.
He sucked on the butt, discovered it was out, and then he slammed it into Al's waste-basket. Outside he saw the big copy girl Mary Louise giving him the eye.
"No, but Mr. Brewster wants her with a man who knows the whole news business. Writing, pictures, editing. We figure you're the man for the job."
"No dice. I told you, I quit. I can get plenty of jobs in this town. To hell with the Courier. "
"Don't talk like that, Tom," Al muttered. He seemed genuinely stricken, but Tom knew better. "We've been through a lot together. I've taught you everything you know. Why, remember that time I saved your life?"
"How could I ever forget?" Tom grumbled. "Every time you want a favor, you throw it up to me. All right, so you pulled me clear of a bank robber's bullet. So I'm eternally grateful. But not grateful enough to play mother to a snotty rich kid who thinks she might want to run her daddy's newspaper." Al pursed his lips as he watched Tom fume.
"All right, so I'll drop the hearts and flowers. I'm ordering you to do this, Tom. Ordering it through Mr. Brewster's office."
"Can't you get it in that bald head of yours? I quit. Kaput. Finale. Curtain down," Tom snapped. "I may leave town. New York is looking for some experience right now and at double the money this rag pays."
The managing editor looked as though his horse were running last around the clubhouse turn.
"Okay, so what do you want?"
"I want somebody else to get stuck with this broad."
"I'll give you a hundred bonus, first chance I get."
Tom shook his head.
"I see your lips moving, but I can't hear you."
"You get Christmas off, and next year you get your vacation any time you want."
"Keep talking."
"I'll throw in some extra road assignments. Carte blanche. You can go anywhere you think you can sniff out a story."
Tom looked across at him.
"The Courier picks up the tab all the way?"
"Sure. When you leave on vacation you can do a little work wherever it is. Hawaii, San Francisco, Mexico City. And we'll pay the freight." He held up his hands. "Don't ask me to do any more, or we'll both get canned."
Tom licked his lips and dug into his coat for another cigarette. He looked at the Camel in his fingers. It wasn't much compared to the joints they'd had at Angie's houseboat the night before. That had been some ride. When that Amazon got high she climbed all the way to the top of the mountain.
"Even as far as Mexico City, eh?" he muttered at last.
Al was on his feet, his pot jiggling and his head shining with perspiration.
"I knew you'd do it. Believe me, Tom, you won't regret it."
"I don't intend to," Tom muttered.
He had a plan to get the Brewster broad off his back in a hurry. That free vacation would be like taking candy from an unattended store.
Al was frowning as though he could read his mind.
"No tricks, Tom. The girl gets a fair shot."
"But if I say she doesn't have it, then the broad gets the gate, right?" Tom snapped back.
Al nodded.
"But no cheating. Treat her like you would any cub."
"Sure," Tom said, with a crooked grin, as he pulled himself to his feet. "Like any cub with five million dollars in her bankroll. How old is this punk, seventeen?"
Al shrugged.
"She's finished at Smith or Mills or wherever it was, so she must be over twenty-one."
"With a face like a meatball and a body like a hot dog, no doubt."
Al cocked his head.
"I guess you've never met Hope Brewster. Well, you will, in the morning. She'll be reporting in here first thing."
"At eight?"
Al nodded.
"That's Mr. Brewster's promise."
Tom started for the door.
"Don't lay any bets on it, Al. If I had a million smackers, you couldn't bomb me out of the pad before noon."
He stepped outside, and there was the big copy kid Mary Louise still giving him the eye. She was staring at him from the far corner as she pretended to be pasting newspaper clippings into a large scrapbook. He went the other way, but she was on her feet at once and coming after him.
He ducked out of the city room and down a long corridor that led to the rear of the building. He turned a couple of corners and went through a room loaded with the ton-sized rolls of newsprint that were used to feed the hungry presses down in the bowels of the building.
He turned another corner, and there was Mary Louise. He only avoided her because she was so damned young. Seventeen and fresh out of high school. Jail bait like her he didn't need. Otherwise, she was a lot to like. She was a slinky kid with dark-brown hair that covered, half her face. She wore her minis cut up to the crotch, and she had long, straight legs that would match any pair in Southern California.
He took a breath.
"Hi, kid. What're you doing back here?" A lousy opener, but he needed time to think.
She shrugged, and he watched the knockers bob inside her jersey blouse.
"The supply room's back here, Mr. Dagger. You know how fast you reporter people go through the paper and pencils. I'm back for a load."
"A load," he repeated, in a flat voice. She giggled.
"I guess I made a funny, huh?"
"Funny, no," he said. "On your way. Go get your stuff."
She planted herself in front of him. She was so fucking young! She had skin that was tight and glowing with teen-aged health. She looked like she could blast at him all night and still come back for more after breakfast.
"What're you doing back here, Mr. Dagger?"
He sighed.
"Just walking... thinking."
"About me?"
"Don't kid yourself."
She came up close and touched his necktie with long, smooth fingers.
"I've seen you look across the room at me in there, Mr. Dagger."
"I look at a lot of people," he choked.
His throat was getting tight. Christ, and she was only a kid!
"Not like you look at me. You know what I think?"
She had tipped her head to one side so that the hair fell away from a big brown eye. Her motor was running and he felt her hip brushing against his fly.
"No, what do you think?"
He really didn't want to know.
"I think you've been wondering how good a fuck I'd be."
He blinked. The modern generation. Nothing was secret for them. They said what they thought and did as they pleased. "Really, Mary Louise... "
"Well, isn't it true?"
He choked again, coughing violently into his fist.
"I've got to get back... "
She grasped his arm and shoved her hips all the way into him. She thoroughly jiggled his crotch, and then she was clutching at his fly, hunting for the zipper tab.
"Mary Louise!"
She didn't pause. Instead, she opened him up and reached inside. Christ, but her fingers were faster than Angie's. His cock was flipped out into her hand, and she radiated pleasure from her innocent face.
"Oh, golly, I just knew you'd have a big one, Mr. Dagger."
He gasped as she grasped him and pulled. An instant later he began to rise, and together they watched as his limp hunk of flesh came up like a layer of dough in a hot oven. Soon he was all the way up, and that was an impressive sight to behold.
"Oh, gee," she blurted, still all innocence. "Better than anybody else in the office, Mr. Dagger."
He sighed and staggered to the wall so he could lean on it.
"This is crazy, Mary Louise. You could get us both fired."
The excited young girl leaned against the concrete wall and pulled him around in front of her. Then her skirt was up to her waist as she tucked it into her belt. She wore no pants, and Tom knew that a half dozen reporters had been getting a good look up into her crotch already that morning.
She kept her grip on his cock as she pulled him against her, and his cock was painfully bent against her hip.
"Oops. Missed," she giggled.
"Let's drop it," he hissed, but there was no conviction in his words.
This kid had him hopped up, and she knew what she was doing, all right.
She pulled his prick into her crotch and it wormed around her cunt hairs for a few seconds. The sensation was driving him out of his mind. Her dark hair was stiff, and it tickled his balls and dragged along the sides of his shaft. Every nerve in the center of his body was wild with excitement. They were all calling to him, fuck her, fuck her, quick!
He closed his eyes and shot his hips forward. At once his knob slipped inside her spread crotch. He entered her hole, and he watched the shaft sink into her like a shell ramming home in the breech of a big gun. She closed her eyes and sighed, but she immediately followed this with a giggle.
"Goody, wait until my boy friend hears about this," she sighed.
"Your boy friend?" he gasped. "You'll keep this quiet, kid, or I pull out right now. Take your choice."
She giggled again.
"Just kidding, Mr. Dagger. I like to hear the older men sound worried when they think I'll tell. I don't want to lose my job, either. Don't worry."
He continued to sink more deeply into her, and he was surprised that she was so large. Just a kid, and already she'd been broken in like a pro. She angled her hips ahead and took him easily, a mocking smile on her childish face through it all.
When he was all the way home, she cupped his cheeks in her palms and pulled his face down on hers. She kissed him hard, and her tongue darted out to lick him like a puppy. She licked his chin, his nose, and his mouth. Then her tongue shot inside his mouth, and she rippled it over his teeth like a youngster running a stick along a picket fence.
He was gasping. This brat knew how to turn a man on with all burners roaring along at high power. She was driving him crazy. It was just that she was so damned young. She must have majored in sex in high school.
She pulled back her face.
"Like me?"
"Sure, kid."
"I'm not a kid," she replied, with a pout. "Okay, lady, you're terrific."
"Do you think I'm a whore?"
"Of course not."
"Well, I am." She giggled again. "But for you it's free, Mr. Dagger, because I like you and I know you like me."
"You're very considerate."
She pumped her hips again, and he felt himself getting close to his explosion. She was kissing him again, and now her lips were on his throat. She was pecking at his veins like a vampire, and he wondered if she was sucking blood. Then she had some buttons open on his shirt, and she spread the cotton to poke her lips inside. She was raining kisses on his chest and upper belly.
"Cut it out, Mary Louise," he insisted. "If anybody should come by... "
"Stop worrying," she shot back.
At that very instant he heard footsteps on the concrete.
He froze, and she at once straightened his shirt. Then she fussed with either side of her skirt, and she was doing a good job of shielding the fact that she was taking all of his great cock right into her pussy. She took a wad of .copy paper from his pocket and a pencil, and these she held between them, right over their union.
One of the clerks, a man, walked by. He might have been slightly curious because they were so closely together, but he didn't even slow down or take a second look.
"Now let .me get that straight," Mary Louise intoned, as she licked the tip of the pencil with her sharp little tongue. "That's a ream of copy paper and a gross of pencils. I'll have them out to you in fifteen minutes, sir."
"Very good," he replied, wondering if his voice sounded as choked to others as it did to him.
The clerk passed them by and disappeared while Tom exhaled a lungful of nervous air. "All right, that's enough."
"Not quite."
She resumed her pumping, and the paper and pencil dropped to the floor. She gripped his waist and worked their bodies like a piston and sleeve until he felt the tug in his balls. He was coming and coming hard.
The jolt slammed her back against the wall, and he heard her head hit the concrete, but she didn't appear to be hurt. Instead, she merely giggled again and then squeezed her eyes shut as the shocks tore into her crotch. He suspected she was making it at the same time, and he was certain of it when he felt her warm flow of juices come up against his.
They wiggled like a pair of drunks until they were through, and then he held her to keep her lovely and spent body from slipping to the floor.
"Golly, Mr. Dagger," she panted, blowing a whisp of hair out of her face, "you're the best ever. Any old time you want me, just you whistle. I'll come running."
He sniffed.
"I'll bet you'll come, one way or the other."
"That's a funny." He made a face.
"Come on, let's get back into the office. They'll be wondering."
She took his arm until they began to meet people. But even as they stepped into the city room, she managed to give him one final secret goose.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was the middle of the morning before the call came. Tom had been busy. There had been a developing story during violence at a packing house labor dispute. Some of the strikers had thrown rocks at the cops, and the police had fired back, killing two labor men.
The Courier had been on the ball and, producing a series of crackling stories, Tom had written wrap-ups for the second and third editions. They had sounded good, and Al Campbell decided they could ride the remainder of the day, now that the trouble had quieted.
Tom had sat back at his typewriter and lighted a cigarette. Jack Clark, a younger reporter who sometimes acted as Tom's assistant, was chatting with him about some Mexican woman Jack was planking nightly.
"She's a good roll in the hay, Tommy. Big, dumb, plenty of tit. You know the kind... "
Tom's phone rang, and he picked it up as he chuckled over Jack's final remark.
"Dagger," he said, into the mouthpiece.
"Mr. Dagger. This is Hope Brewster."
For a couple of seconds it didn't register. He didn't know any Hope Brewster. Oh. Yes. He did.
"I thought you were supposed to check in first thing in the morning," he snapped. "What do you want a day ahead of time?"
"Well, I guess the plans have been changed, Mr. Dagger."
She sounded unsure of herself, tentative, uncertain. He smiled at that, for it meant he'd be able to roll over her with greater ease than he'd thought. It was his plan to frighten the living shit out of Miss Hope Brewster and chase her ass out of the newspaper business for good. He'd bellow, he'd hand her tough assignments, he'd make her look bad in front of Al. He'd do anything to get rid of her. He wouldn't be unfair, not really, for he'd given his word to Al. But he'd be firm and tough, and if she got one inch out of line she'd be dropped, just like any other cub.
Still... he liked the sound of her voice. It was low and pleasant and not at all as snotty as he'd figured. She sounded as human as the next woman. But the boss's daughter in his city room? Not on your life, brother. That was out of the question. Hope Brewster's ass and head would need to roll.
"The plans have changed?" he repeated.
Good news. Maybe she'd decided to take the grand tour of the Continent instead of playing working girl.
"Yes. It's been decided that you should come to the house in the morning so we can talk over my duties. Then I'll report for work later, knowing exactly what's expected."
"Look, Miss Brewster," he shot back, "the managing editor told me to expect you in here at eight in the morning. And that's good enough for me."
She seemed to sigh.
"But I've checked with Mr. Campbell. He is the managing editor, isn't he? He agrees it's a good idea."
So the bitch was going over his head already. Christ, Al would roll on his back and whistle Dixie for a member of the Brewster clan.
"I don't see what good having tea in your drawing room will do," he grumbled. "Work is for the office."
"Of course, but after you've briefed me."
"I'm not your teacher. You're simply to follow me around, to watch me in action." He bit off his words like they were chunks of ice. "So forget about any briefing, especially at your place."
"Mr. Dagger, I'm sorry you don't seem to... well, be cooperative... and I don't wish to take advantage of my position... "
"Like hell you don't."
"But suppose you check with Mr. Campbell and then come to the house tomorrow. Any time after ten will do nicely."
He stared at a dead receiver and then he slammed it into its cradle. He charged out of his seat and into Al's office. The managing editor was holding up his hands defensively.
"Take it easy, Tom. Christ, has she called you already? I was going to clue you in first."
"You bet your ass she's called me. Did you okay a tea party to talk business?"
"I'm sorry, Tom, but she is Morgan Brewster's daughter. I couldn't very well tell her no."
"I could."
Al was still shaking his head.
"Go see her. It won't take long. Show her you can be big about it. Maybe you can sweep the girl off her feet, and getting along with her will be easier later."
Tom twisted his mouth into a crooked grin.
"You mean I ought to throw the blocks to her? Is she worth it?"
Al's nose went up in the air. In the final analysis he was a company man.
"She's an attractive young woman, Tom, but I wouldn't try anything. This is business, remember that."
Tom felt lousy as he stormed out of the glass office and headed back toward his desk. He pulled up short when he got halfway there, for something had been added to the scenery.
She was tall and young, and she had more curves than the Burma Road. The hair was red, and even from fifty feet he could tell the eyes were green. She had on a white mini that hugged her body and showed him plenty of long, curvy leg. The dress was tight across her knockers so that nipples stood out for inspection, and the white was stuffed into her crotch so he could almost but not quite see the lips of her pussy pressing toward him.
She was with a guy who wasn't much over five feet, a stubby guy with a hat on the back of his head and a soggy cigar butt hanging from his lips. With them was Jack, and he was obviously waiting for Tom to get back to his desk.
As Tom walked up he felt the green eyes sweeping over his body. It was a cool appraisal by a cool appraiser, and Tom gave her plenty to look at. He poked his hands into his pockets, tightening his pants so she could assess the size of his pouch.
"So, you must be Mr. Dagger!" the runt of a guy was booming. He had a big nose and a voice to match. His hand was out to shake, and he was stuffing cigars into Tom's jacket pocket. "I'm Freddy Fay, pleased to meet 'cha."
Tom looked down at the three stogies in his breast pocket. Then he was looking at the redhead again. He decided he wanted her. He was sore at Al and sore at that rich bitch who lived out on the point. Everybody knew where the Brewster mansion was. It was the social hub of the city. A fast round with a redhead would cool him off. He had to take out his spite on somebody.
Freddy was getting out of the way, and Jack was saying: "City desk wants you to take this one, Tom. This lady is Miss Cosmos. She's on nationwide tour, and the desk says to give her as much space as you think she's worth."
"She's worth plenty, buddy," the runt was chirping. "Look at them gams. Worth a million dollars. Carry insurance on 'em too. Think how big our policy is on those knockers."
Tom looked through Freddy and back to Jack.
"So I'm supposed to give this broad a puff piece. Something she can cut out and send to the folks back home."
"Back home," Freddy was going on, "is good old Council Bluffs. Wonderful town. Middle America at its best."
Jack was nodding.
"You do the story, old buddy. The photo lab has already gotten a leg shot."
Tom nodded. He was pretending to be more bored than he was. She was an exciting looking creature. All jungle type, slinky, powerful, hot blooded. He couldn't wait to get her alone and rip into that pussy.
Tom waved at a chair, and Miss Cosmos snaked her fantastic body into it. He squared himself before his typewriter, rolled in a sheet of copy paper, and then he looked at her legs. He could see all the way up to her crotch but, damn it, she was wearing pants.
"I was going to ask you how you won the title," he muttered. "But I guess I don't need to."
"That's right, buddy boy," Freddy guffawed, slapping Tom hard on the back.
Tom's cigarette waggled and he looked up at Freddy. "Blow."
"Huh? How's that?"
"Blow, before I toss you out the window. I'll do the interview with the lady."
He turned on his tough look.
Freddy prepared to get the hell out of there, but he paused long enough to hand Tom a fact sheet on Miss Cosmos. It had all her background. He didn't really need to do a hell of a lot except look her over and then write his story.
Freddy was gone and Jack reluctantly had wandered away, and so Tom looked her over for a few minutes. He sure as hell didn't want to discuss the Middle East situation with the big dumb broad.
At last Tom tore his eyes from the points of her shoving breasts, and said: "Okay, I've got what I need."
She raised her eyebrows, and the green eyes glittered.
"Are you sure, Mr. Dagger?" She had an Iowa accent she was working like hell to get rid of. "Are you certain you have everything you need?"
He licked his lips.
"Where will you be at four o'clock this afternoon?"
She moistened her own lips, and he felt himself getting a hard-on.
"Where do you want me to be?"
He thought about telling her to be in his Firebird, but somebody like Angie might see and want to raise hell.
"In your hotel room, wearing something comfortable."
"All right. The Sand Castle."
"I know the place." He got up and extended his hand. "See you, sugar."
She seemed strangely formal, but when she took his hand she squeezed his fingers twice, real hard, and with obvious meaning.
"I shall see you, Mr. Dagger. I do hope you do a nice story about me."
He nodded.
"We'll go over it at your place."
He watched her leave, and it was a pleasure. She had plenty of wiggle everywhere, and it focused on her rear end. Her ass played a little game until she was out of sight, and all over the city room the noise level dropped and heads turned until she was gone.
Jack was back at once.
"How'd you do?"
Tom looked up slowly as he poked a cigarette between his lips.
"There's a story there."
"Come on, you know what I mean."
Then Angie came sliding into the picture, and Jack gave her an appreciative gaze before he retired. Angie was holding out a lighter, and Tom got fire on the tip of his cigarette. She leaned over him and her breast was stabbing.
"A new friend?"
"Who?"
"You don't need to 'who' me, you dog," she murmured. "Are you meeting her later?"
He blinked. This big broad knew his mind better than he did himself.
"You're crazy."
He wanted to avoid the direct lie, if he could. "Like a fox. Just you remember who your girl is, tiger."
She straightened and loomed over him like a cliff overhang.
"You get one thing straight," he snapped. "I'm not your man, except at occasional times to be selected by me. At other times I owe you nothing, baby. Like tonight. I'm free, see? You want to fight about that?"
She stepped back. He didn't like to hurt her, but women had to stay in their place.
"All right, sweetie. Don't shout. You have a good time-with the boys."
She had enough sense to get out of there before he was able to inflict more damage. She looked mighty good going away too, and he wondered who had the best ass, Miss Cosmos or Angie. It would be a battle of the titans to find out.
He worked his way through the remainder of the day. When the paper came out the labor battle story looked great. There was good action art and the long by-line story written by Tom. He'd earned his fifty bucks that day.
He left the office before four and ducked into Mario's for a fast one. The place was almost empty as Frank waddled over with a whisky and water, but soon the rest of the staff came flocking in. There was Jack, and right with him was Angie.
They both looked surprised.
"I thought you had some business," Jack said, rolling his eyes.
Tom saw Angie's hand linked through Jack's arm, and, as he stared, she unlinked.
"I guess you didn't expect me to be here at that," he countered.
"Tom sweetie," Angie was gushing as she pulled herself up on the stool by his side. Her hand went under his elbow and straight to his thigh. "Jack just wanted to get me a drink. You know how sad I get when you're not around."
"Sure, baby, sure."
"But it's true."
Jack got out of there and Angie tried to think of some more excuses. She was flattering herself into believing that Tom cared whether she saw other men. He set the record straight fast.
"Look, you big broad, you're as free as I am. You want to let Jack throw the blocks to you, that's all right. Any night you don't have a date with me, you're free to go down on King Kong, if you want."
"Bastard!" she hissed, and she got off the stool and left him, looking for Jack.
He laughed as she departed and then tossed off his drink.
Okay, so he'd pissed off Al Campbell, Hope Brewster, Freddy Fay, and now Angie Pucci. He had only one friend left, and she was waiting in her room at the Sand Castle. He got out of the bar and across the street to the waiting Firebird.
He cut across town and passed the series of bays and islands before he turned into the big South Sea Island style place called the Sand Castle. It was complete with tiki gods, burning pots, carved coconuts, and boys running around in Fiji style loin cloths.
He hopped out of the red car and headed for the desk. She'd forgotten to tell him the room number. Inside he crossed the high lobby which was designed to look like a fancy native hut, only ballroom sized. Instead, it looked like a fancy U.S. hotel lobby.
The fag behind the desk looked him up and down. Tom had no baggage, and that didn't look good.
"What room is... " Tom hesitated. Christ, he didn't even know her name. "Miss Cosmos. Where is she staying?"
The clerk lifted his eyebrows.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"And how do I know that?"
Tom grabbed a handful of his coat front and pulled him half over the desk.
"Because I told you, buster. I'm the lady's husband. Now talk fast."
"Bungalow 4-B, around in the back," the queer blurted.
"Nice boy," Tom muttered, as he released the clerk. Then he wheeled and left.
The clerk glared after him.
"Bitch!" he hissed.
Tom went outside and crossed the busy grounds. Several women paused to look after him. The town was always full of broads like these: They were rich and poor, women out for a lonely vacation and hoping somebody like Tom would happen by and make their thirty-dollar-a-night hotel rooms worth it.
He kept his course straight, for it was easy enough to be distracted. Soon he was in the rear, next to the other side of the small island and looking down on the yacht harbor. He found 4-B and he knocked.
The door opened at once, and he realized that he hadn't been building up Miss Cosmos in his imagination since they'd parted. If anything, the opposite was true.
CHAPTER FIVE
He heard himself gasp when he saw her.
She had on a long gossamer thing. A nightgown that he could see through, yet he couldn't quite see through it. If she were only out in the sunlight... but she wasn't. She was in half shadow.
"Ah," she purred, like a jungle cat. "So you remembered. I'm very flattered."
"Yes, I remembered. It really wasn't difficult." - She opened the door wider, and he stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him. It was a grade-B movie, but it was better, as the man once said, than a sharp stick in the eye. He waited until she came around in front of him again. She slid her hands up over his shoulders and brushed her lips lightly across his. Then she stepped away. Nothing more.
"How nice of you to visit," she murmured.
He smiled. She was playing her little game, and that was all right. He had until eight in the morning. Hell, he had a couple of hours more than that, for he wasn't to see Hope Brewster until it was halfway to noon.
She was crossing the room, and he followed. Everything under her gown seemed to move so perfectly. He wanted to reach out and fill his hands with her flesh. His cock was aching again, and he hoped his zipper could take the strain. It had been under a great deal of pressure the past few days.
She stopped at a small bar and turned.
"Whiskey?"
"You got it, Cosmos."
"You look like a whisky man."
She smiled, as she poured, and then she came to him with two glasses. They touched rims and drank.
He licked his lips. Freddy Fay was on a nice budget. She was serving good booze.
"You're a long way from Council Bluffs."
"Fred Spink's little girl has made some progress."
"Spink?"
She nodded.
"Gertrude Spink. Sexy, isn't it? I should be teaching the third grade in a farm town. Instead, I'm on the West Coast with a title before my name and a handsome man locked in my bungalow."
She put down her glass, and he put his down too. Then he took her elbows, and he was surprised when she stiffened.
"We are working, are we not, Mr. Dagger? I don't believe that involves your handling my body."
He stared.
"Still playing games? All right, we're working. So you're only nineteen. That means I'd better not screw around. If I were caught in here they'd nail me for contributing."
She didn't like the sound of that.
"But they won't catch you." Her Iowa accent was slipping in, and he could hear some of the corn starting to pop.
"Not if you cooperate. If I need to chase you all over the hotel grounds, they'll think something's up. But if you cooperate, we could have our little secret."
She licked her lips, and then her fingers went to a tiny satin bow at her throat. She pulled an end and the bow opened at once. The gossamer gown parted, and he realized there was nothing inside but Miss Cosmos.
"I think we can keep our secret, Mr. Dagger. And you're going to get a wonderful story."
Something inside Tom made him say what he had to say.
"Let's get one thing clear. I don't measure the length of a story about Miss Cosmos by the measure of your hospitality. You're going to get the space you deserve, as far as the Courier is concerned, and not one comma more. Do we understand each other?"
He hoped he hadn't just talked himself out of one hell of a piece of tail. Still, he wasn't going to sell out his professional code for Miss Cosmos' twat. There was always Angie, if this broad threw him out.
He didn't really need to worry. He could tell by the look in her emerald eyes.
"I hope you don't think I'd sell my body for free publicity," she snapped, but she didn't convince anybody that she was sincere.
"Oh, shit, no."
"Four-letter words aren't going to help anything," she continued. "Perhaps you'd better leave."
He was tired of playing around, so he spun on his heel and reached for the knob.
"Wait!"
Her cry was desperate, and he turned back in time to see the gossamer gown slide off her shoulders and drop at her feet. She had nothing else on except a pair of white furry mules, and they were being kicked aside.
Miss Cosmos hadn't won her beauty title by trickery, for there was nothing inside her dressing gown but Miss Cosmos. Nothing fake, no padding, no corsets, no stays. Her body was as close to being perfect as any he'd ever seen, and he'd looked on many a beautiful woman.
Her breasts were high and heavy, and they were tipped with large blood-red nipples. Just one glance and Tom was ready to pucker up. Her waist was impossibly small, and he realized she must have worked like hell to keep herself in shape. Her hips were narrow in the best beauty queen style, and they rounded down to powerful thighs and legs. She had long stems. Overall, she must have been five-eight or more. He saw acres of milk-white skin, the fair skin of a redhead. Her eyes flashed out at him from under the flaming bangs.
"You're staring, Mr. Dagger." Her voice had gone husky. She was even turning it on from the inside out.
"Sorry. I always stare at miracles," he replied, and his voice was more husky than hers.
She came close to him again, and her arms were back around his neck. This time she kissed him hard, and, as their lips were pressed together, she was opening his jacket and slipping it from his shoulders. Then she was jerking his shirt from his pants and opening buttons. She loosened his tie and removed it. The shirt followed.
She ran her hands between their bodies, her palms flat against his chest. Then she was pushing into his stomach, and he gasped into her mouth.
She giggled as she broke the kiss.
"So you turn on real easy. I thought you'd be a tough guy."
"I have my weak moments... like now."
She laughed again, but it wasn't a giggle. It was a sultry, low-down, sexy sound that came up from her belly. He felt himself turning on more than ever, and his cock was straining against the front of his pants. He could feel his shorts ripping as the pressure became too much.
"Jesus!" His voice had become an animal growl.
"Control yourself." She laughed.
Her hips worked back and forth against him and his cock was whipped like a stiffened rope. It had to be digging holes in her lower belly, but she didn't seem to notice.
Her hands went around his waist and up and down his back, kneading him like dough. Then she was digging into the rear of his belt, and her hands slipped down to his buttocks where they became imprisoned. He sucked in his gut, and her fingers made more progress until she was able to cup his cheeks. She dug in hard, and her nails raked his flesh painfully.
But it didn't hurt in the usual way. It was a wonderful pain, and he figured he was enjoying some type of flagellation. The digging went deeper, and he felt himself grow weak for a moment. Then his strength came back in a rush. He couldn't let this big broad take control, even if she was Miss Cosmos.
He pushed her away, and her hands popped from his belt. She was laughing at him again, with her head thrown back and her titian hair streaming over her shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a bear hug. She was bent back sharply, and he knew he could have broken her spine- if he wanted to squeeze hard enough.
Her head still hung back, so he attacked her exposed throat. He kissed the milky flesh and saw the jumping nerves and the pounding of blood in her arteries. He began to nibble, and she started to moan. She turned on pretty fast herself.
He worked his mouth down across her lower throat, and then his lips were starting into the valley between her mounds. Her breasts were heaving wildly, and the nipples danced like two red lights aboard a ship in a stormy sea.
He plunged more deeply into the cleavage until his nose was buried between her breasts. He climbed the side of a quivering mass of white and took the nipple into his mouth. It popped inside like a playful puppy, and he sucked hard. The jolts of electricity ripped through her, and he felt her knees rattle against his. He was getting in some solid shots.
He shifted to the other nipple and continued his nursing. She began to stroke his head, and for a minute he wondered if he were bringing out her mother instinct.
"Pretty baby," she cooed, with pursed lips. "That's my good little boy. Come to Mommy for your dinner and grow up big and strong."
He bit hard, and she squealed as the pain raced into her nipple. He could imagine it shooting all through her chest.
"Son of a bitch!" she screamed. Scratch one mother, instinct. "You damned near bit my tit off!"
"Just bringing you back to the party," he muttered, in mushy words, as he spoke around her hill of flesh that was still inside his mouth.
She grabbed his ears and pulled his face away from her knockers.
"You're a beast... and I love it."
"You talk a hell of a lot," he rasped. "Shut up and let's get down to business."
She got down to business. Her hands flew to his waist, and she was opening his belt. Then she was jerking furiously until his pants fell to his knees. She was down on the floor, pulling off his shoes and socks and then yanking his pants after them. She snatched away his shorts as though they were made of tissue.
Abruptly, she and he were equally naked. Her eyes were devouring his body, and they rested for a full minute on his crotch. Still on her knees, she placed his stiff shaft in her palm, and there she examined it as though it were something valuable she'd discovered on the beach. She lifted it and handled his balls. He loved the way she pinched lightly enough to make him tingle but not hard enough to hurt.
"You're a remarkably endowed man, Mr. Dagger," she murmured. "Most remarkable." He grinned.
"Good enough to be Mister Cosmos?" She got up and kissed his mouth.
"Plenty good enough, stud. But I'll need that thing stuck inside me to make certain."
"Happy to oblige."
He took her hand and pulled her to the couch. Then he gave her a rough push, and she flopped down, bouncing, her heavy breasts flying. He knelt and leaned over her. Pinning her arms to her sides, he began to kiss her, and his lips pecked at her body a hundred times and more until he'd worked down to her pubic hairs. Then he dropped to her knees and worked up the insides of her thighs.
She was writhing by now, her hips twisting. She pretended that she wanted to free herself, but he knew the bondage act was turning her on plenty. He looked into her pussy and saw the juices gurgling toward the outside. Her red thatch was already dark with her matted dampness.
He forgot about her wrists, letting go of them as he pushed his fist into her belly. It sank deeply in until he wondered if he were touching her backbone. Then he was idly plucking her red hairs and she was wincing and squealing with each pluck.
He pulled her knees farther apart and then he eased himself up and over her. She wasn't going to let him get any farther until she'd done her part. So she grasped at his cock and balls and kneaded them harshly. It stung, but it set his blood rushing like a river at high flood.
She released him and guided him between her knees. He lowered himself, and together they watched the purple straining head as it touched her gates. The pink was coming up to meet his manhood as she arched her hips up from the couch. He shoved, and her lips parted smoothly, for there was plenty of natural lubrication. His head popped inside.
It was like the coupling of two railroad cars. It was as final as that. He knew he'd be able to pump wildly and not lose contact with the next car ahead in this wild train. He shoved and his shaft sank in a few inches. He shoved again, and Miss Cosmos from Council Bluffs took more of him.
"You're filling me up. You're the tightest man I've had since we hit Denver."
He paused.
"Hit Denver?"
"Freddy and I. You don't suppose I go along for the ride, do you? The reporter in Denver was hung like a bull moose, and I had trouble taking all of him. You're not quite so big, but you know how to use your talent."
"Thanks for small favors," he muttered. He rammed himself down, and suddenly he was into her all the way to the hilt. "Does that satisfy you, or am I too small?"
"God, I never said you were small, honey. Don't feel jealous of Denver. He was like a cub bear when it came to skill."
He began to urge her into action. He pumped, and her hips were coming up to meet his, in a counteraction. They worked smoothly, and somehow he was finding he still had an untapped supply of sperm. He didn't know where it could have come from, for he'd been drained several times in the last few days.
Sweat was popping out of her forehead, and her cheeks were blowing out. She was tiring, so he cupped his hands under her bottom when she was on an upstroke, and then he was able to assist. He speeded her motion, and their hips seemed to become a blur in the shadowy room.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh!"
"You making it, baby?"
"You know I am. My insides are tearing loose. My back teeth are going to flush right out my vaginal canal!"
"Happy sailing," he muttered.
Then he was coming too, and their juices met in a boiling cauldron that was inside each of their bodies. He could feel the swirl of it about his splitting head and feel the final tugging of her pussy muscles as they milked every drop of juice from his crotch.
She came again and again, each time locking her ankles more tightly around his spine and sucking him so deeply he feared he might fall into her yawning cunt. He managed another shot, and she praised him. If he hadn't had so much lately he knew he could have managed still another, but he had his limits.
He felt the sweat roll down his face, to his chin, and then drip into her face. She opened her mouth to catch the salty stuff, and she seemed to enjoy the taste. Her arms went around his neck, and she pulled hard until his body was flat against hers.
They were sticky but it was exciting. Her breasts were like moist, comfortable pillows, and they were squashed under his full weight. Her plump thighs supported his hips, and his slowly softening cock soaked inside her cunt. Tom was thoroughly comfortable, and he didn't want to move for the rest of the night.
"Hey?" She spoke from under him and her voice was muffled.
"What do you want?"
"It's hot in here."
"You'll cool off."
"Not as long as you have that lance stuffed into me. You're like the mouth of a furnace. I feel my pussy cooking inside."
At last he rolled from her, and he plunged from the couch to thud heavily to the carpet. He lay with his eyes widely open, staring at the ceiling. He heard her breathing gradually quieten, and he knew he'd gotten a damned good fuck.
He resolved to write a nice little story about Miss Cosmos.
CHAPTER SIX
It was dark. He stood at the bungalow window and looked out into the tiki torch night. Except for the unsteady flickering of the torches, it was dark enough for anybody out there to do whatever he wanted to do, in privacy.
He turned and grinned at Cosmos. She was still on the floor, where she'd had a long nap. They'd both slept for a couple of hours, cooling and resting away the remainder of the afternoon.
"I'm hungry," she whined, as she sat up and scratched under a breast.
"So am I," he replied, "but I'm no good at cooking for more than one. Use the phone."
She blinked and looked around.
"What time is it?"
"After eight."
"You look funny standing there wearing only your wristwatch."
"Anything for a laugh." He went to the coffee table and picked up the phone. "Room service. Look, send two complete dinners around to bungalow 4-B. I don't give a damn. Surprise us. Something that goes with a couple of bottles of Korbel champagne. Send those too, on ice."
He dropped the phone, and she applauded.
"I like a man who can make the decisions."
"Get some clothes on," he commanded. "The kid will be at the door in a couple of minutes."
She got up and slipped back into her gossamer gown. He pulled on his shirt and pants, and, barefoot, they smoked cigarettes until the tap came at the door. The bellman wheeled in a covered cart and, whisking away the cloth, he revealed a platter of thinly sliced cold veal. With the meat was a huge bowl of tossed salad, three dressings, a pot of coffee, two small wedges of cheesecake and, in an ice bucket, the Korbel.
"We thought it would be proper for a warm evening, sir," the boy said. He flashed his eye at Cosmos, racing from her knockers to her bare feet in a split second.
Tom thought so too, and he handed the kid a five spot to prove it.
"Put it on the Miss Cosmos Corporation bill," Cosmos said, as the boy started out.
When he was gone, Tom shoved a chair under her butt as they sat around the cart. He tucked a napkin into her bodice and cupped a breast as he did so. When he squeezed, he felt her nipple tingle. She wasn't out of gas yet.
"I don't like women paying for my dinner," he muttered, into her flaming hair.
"I'm not. The corporation is. They have plenty of money. They pay the bills in every city."
"They pay for all your men?" She turned her face up, and he stroked her throat.
"I don't think I'm interested in food, Tommy. Your fingers are charging me up all over again." She brushed her hand over his crotch. "You feel it too."
He was hard, but he made himself sit and open a bottle. As the cork popped, she dished up several slices of meat, and he poured. It tasted damned good, and he felt strength flowing back into his bones.
They went through most of the food, and, after he opened the second bottle of champagne, she said: "I feel like a swim. I love swimming. It develops the lungs."
She stood and took a deep breath, getting up on her toes.
"See?"
Her breasts expanded like two unfolding flowers, and he put down the bottle and came around the table. He plucked at the tiny satin bow at her throat, and the gown fell to her waist. He palmed a breast and rubbed his thumb over the nipple. It was stiff already. Cosmos was ready for more than a swim. He leaned down and took the nipple into his mouth. She reached for him and opened his fly.
In seconds she had his cock out and in her hand. It was like a stiff chunk of sausage as she stroked it. He lapped for a few more seconds before the pressure became too much. His balls were tightening and telling him they wanted to be drained one more time.
He stepped away.
"Come on, let's try out your bed." She pretended to pout.
"I don't want it mussed. Besides, I told you I want to swim."
"Okay, so I'm a salmon. Let's swim upstream and mate, baby."
She went to the window as her gown fell away, and as she leaned forward to peek through the drapes, she presented her exquisite bottom to his full gaze. He went to her, his cock at right angles to his body, and let his hard knob slide up and down the crack of her buttocks. She quivered.
But she persisted.
"I have my bikini. I think you can get by in your boxer shorts until we're in the water."
"Jesus Christ, you really want to swim?" Her look was sly.
"I want to get into the pool. What we do when we're in there might be something quite different."
Tom began to get the point. He pulled off his pants and shirt while she went into the bedroom. He was standing in his figured shorts when she returned a moment later in a white bikini. The thing was over matched, but it was doing a valiant job of trying to contain her oozing breasts and plump thighs.
"Smashing!"
She did a little twirl, and he watched her butt jiggle inside its narrow sling of latex. "Like me?"
"Do your stuff, kid."
She did her stuff. Suddenly she was the beauty queen, the Miss Cosmos contestant. Somehow she was able to imitate a voice like Bert Parks.
"And now, from Council Bluffs, Iowa, Miss Gertrude Spink. Miss Spink is five feet, eight inches tall, she is nineteen, and her measurements are thirty-nine, twenty-five, thirty-seven. And what are your hobbies, Miss Spink?"
She tried to look like a naive Betty Boop. "I just adore reading Shakespeare aloud," she cooed.
"And suppose you recite a little something, Miss Spink."
She took a breath, and a breast popped out of her halter. With a giggle, she stuffed it back inside.
"Yon Cassius has a lean and hungry look... "
"Come on," Tom rasped. "Get off stage for a while, baby. You've won your crown."
She picked up a thick towel and wrapped it around his neck as she got up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. Her breasts raked his chest.
"I love a man who tells me what to do. You would be surprised how many are afraid of beauty queens."
He snorted and opened the door. It was blacker than ever outside, and they made their way cautiously along the path to the pool. The apron around it was dark, but there was a turquoise light under the diving board that made the entire pool glow. It glowed too damned much.
She wrinkled her nose at him.
"Are you willing to do it under the spotlight?"
He shook his head and then he dived into the water. He breast stroked his way to the deep end, under the board, and he found the light. He went up the side and, just above the surface, there was a small box with a toggle sticking out. He grasped the rubber handle and shoved it up. The light went out.
He heard her low laugh above him in the darkness, and then he followed the movements of her white bikini as she went to the shallow end and wiggled her way down the ladder. She was standing in water that hit her at the hips, so he paddled down until he was at her side.
She hugged her breasts.
"It's cold."
"Not if you get under. Go ahead, soak yourself to your chin."
She did, and then she stood again. "That's a lot better."
It was indeed. Her bodice was wet and it plastered itself against her so that, even in the darkness, he could see the deep color of her nipples through the white. He shoved his finger into one. It was cold and hard.
"I guess you've had enough swimming," she giggled. "Just let me do one length for my figure."
He stood aside, and she pushed herself underwater, her red hair streaming. She swam well, and she did her two lengths and was back at his side in a few seconds. She stood and pressed her streaming hair to either side of her face.
"Freddie'll shit in his pants when he sees my hair in the morning. I'll need to pop into the beauty shop right after breakfast."
"That's tomorrow," he rasped. "What about tonight?"
She replied by reaching back between her shoulder blades and opening the catch on her halter. She lifted the bra away from her body and presented him with her high, cool, stiff breasts. They'd been drawn up by the water, and they looked like twin hills of concrete.
He pushed his face between them, and, as he did so, she was grasping at his shorts. She got his snaps open, and the shorts were drifting down past his knees. She pulled his head from her knockers so she could get to her knees and work his shorts off underwater.
He responded by splitting open her bikini bottom at her hip. It simply floated away, and the two looked at one another. They were nude, and the water was just a couple of inches above her pussy and on a line with his cock, which floated like a torpedo on the surface.
"Cosmos, you didn't win your crown by fraud. I'll attest to that. You're all real. No false padding."
She batted her eyes.
"Thank you, sir."
There was a sound, and they crouched in the water until a couple had passed several yards away. Tom and Cosmos were not seen, and soon they were erect again. Tom's cock was really erect, and she took hold of it and pulled it several times.
"Never handle a loaded gun unless you intend to use it," he gasped. The touch of her fingers drove him insane.
"I intend to use it," she gurgled. "Again and again, all through the night."
She stepped against him, and again her breasts flipped across his chest, nestling into any hollow they could find, flattening themselves against his own breasts where they met head-on. He shoved his loins against her, and his cock whipped against her slick thigh. The water swirled from their effort.
She was moving backwards, and he kept after her until her hips were against the side of the pool. The concrete lip hit her at the small of her back, and she was bent away as her hips jutted forward. He didn't waste time. Instead, he aimed his aching cock into her gates, and her knees came apart to receive him. He shot the head inside easily, thanks to the lubricating effect of the water.
He shoved hard at her again and again until he was all the way in. Then he stopped, and she lazily linked her arms around his neck. She wasn't upset. Sure, she was tingling, but she was trying to relax and enjoy it too.
"I love your educated cock, Tommy boy. I think we'll just wait like this until dawn. At first light I'll wiggle my hips and get you off. How would you like that?"
He laughed as quietly as he could.
"Suppose we fell asleep and they found us like this?"
"No danger. I'm not sleeping through anything while you're in sight."
He leaned against her and tried to relax. It wasn't easy when his shaft was buried more than half a foot into her womb. She let him lean his hips against her, and he rested the heels of his hands against the lip of the pool. Yet, quiet as they were, things were working.
He could feel the deep recesses of her womb. There were nerves and muscles down in there that wouldn't keep still. They kept wiggling and tugging at his knob, trying to pull him deeper. They were like the muscles of a snake trying to swallow a prey larger than the snake itself.
"You're wiggling too much," he warned.
"I know. I can feel it, but I can't make my body turn off." She tucked her chin into his throat and nibbled lazily at his Adam's apple. "You taste good."
"Especially sprinkled with chlorine."
"Tommy?"
He was afraid she might say something serious, and he didn't want that.
"Shut up and enjoy the fucking."
"That's what I'm trying to tell you. I think I'm ready to go off now." She made it sound like an apology.
"Well, don't just stand there."
She didn't. She began to quiver, and the water rippled around them as she sent out tiny waves the length of the pool. Then she was locking her knees against the sides of his legs and thrusting her arms tightly around his neck. She was shooting her big guns, and he could feel them recoil from the concussion.
She fired again and again, and each time she gasped and squeezed her eyes closed. She hung up, and he felt the muscles and nerves convulse throughout her body. It was much more than it had been on the couch that afternoon. Now she was at peace, no longer uptight, and she was enjoying it to the fullest. She came again and again until she gradually began to lose her strength.
At last she sagged, but she held onto his neck so she wouldn't slip under the surface.
"If I must drown, let it be now," she murmured, with a lazy laugh.
"Don't quit yet," he rasped. His cock was close to bursting. He was on the brink. "No, not yet."
"You're ready, aren't you? How come you're so slow tonight?"
He felt himself smarting in the darkness.
"You took too much out of me this afternoon," he said.
He knew otherwise. Too many women had taken too much out of him and Miss Cosmos was just another jewel in his crown.
She was pleased to imagine that she had satisfied him so completely, but she wiggled her hips, anyhow. She was anxious to have him follow her at once, if he could, and she placed her feet against the side of the pool and lunged against him.
She was effective.
Tom felt the tugging in the roots of his balls. Then the pull moved to the base of his shaft. Then the sperm was flowing down his chute like a breaking dam, heading for his knob and the deep recesses of her womb. He felt her pussy convulsing all over again.
"I'm making it again!" she gasped. "You're a miracle man."
He grinned and then gritted his teeth as his wad bolted out of his body and surged into her cunt. His seed filled every cavity left in her womb and then it boiled back against his knob. He felt the moist, sticky heat, and he loved it.
She did too, and her head rolled, and she purred into his throat.
She panted into his flesh.
"You're a superman. I want you with me always, Tommy. I can get Freddy to give you a job. He'll do what I say when I threaten to walk out."
He panted for several seconds until his cock had stopped dripping. Then he pulled it from her and together they watched the escaping sperm wiggle away in the dark water. It was a heavily seeded cloud.
Then he looked her in the eye.
"You want me to be your gigolo, right?"
"You don't need to put it like that. That sounds ugly."
"You bet your sweet ass it does, baby," he grumbled. "I work for a newspaper, and I write damned good, and they don't pay me because I have a big and talented cock. You dig? I make it because I have two kinds of talent."
She pouted, and her hips were against him again. Idly, she curled her finger around his right nipple. She was like a child asking to use the family car.
"But think of the fun we'd have. And I'd be faithful. I wouldn't have to look around... "
He slapped her hands from him.
"You wouldn't need to scrape up a new stud in every town, is that it? You'd have me back at the hotel sitting by my trusty typewriter, waiting for the phone to ring. And I could write a handout for every newspaper, so Freddy could wave it under some editor's nose while you wiggled your ass at the star reporter."
She looked ready to cry.
"But think of later, when we were in bed together... "
"I'd sit in the hotel and wait for you to come back. You'd probably grab at the reporter's cock until he promised to give you a good story, and then you'd hurry back to me. Christ, what do you think I am, that I'd even consider a life like that?"
Thrashing like a wild seal, he got out of the pool. He couldn't find his shorts, so he left them and raced back to the bungalow. He got inside and dried himself. Just as he was stepping into his pants, she came in.
She was still naked, and she'd left her fancy white bikini deep sixed in the pool too. She came to him and stepped on his pant legs until she trampled the pants back to the carpet. She kissed him, and her hairy pussy tickled his thighs.
He pulled his mouth free.
"What the hell."
"I was testing you, sweetie. Now I know you just want me and what's between my legs. You aren't looking for any fame or fortune at my expense. I like that."
After that she shut up for a while, and he let her touch him everywhere. Then they headed for her bedroom where he stayed until breakfast.
The last time he saw her she was heading for the beauty parlor while he headed for his car. He wondered who would inherit his drowned shorts.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He'd never been to the Brewster estate, of course, but he'd heard about it, and" he knew it would be a large, fancy place. Morgan Brewster was a man who wanted only the best of life's pleasures, and he was known to have a stable of fine automobiles, several acres of excellent property out on the point, and a house with uncounted rooms.
It was after ten the following morning when he drove toward the Brewster front gate and his appointment with Hope Brewster. He was still angry about having to meet her on her home grounds. He'd wanted to get her into the office where it would have been far easier to intimidate her, to frighten her, perhaps to convince her that the newspaper business was not for her, and she might as well continue her Junior League activities, instead.
He'd headed for his apartment with the dawn, leaving behind a thoroughly satisfied Miss Cosmos. He didn't know how long the beauty queen was going to be in town, but he doubted he'd see her again. Surely she had a date in Los Angeles, or some other town up the line. Freddy would keep a tight schedule for his queen. He idly wondered if she ever let the runt of a manager have any of that nifty ass.
He'd had time for a fast shave and shower, something to eat, and then he'd climbed back into his Firebird in a fresh shirt and, this time, undershorts.
He found the Brewster front gate. The property covered a full block, and he figured the land alone had to be worth a quarter of a million. In California harbor and ocean views didn't come cheaply and this property, at the top of the point, had views in both directions.
There was a man at the gate, and he looked Tom over before pressing a button that opened the steel bars. Tom drove through and up a curving drive to the house. It looked like something Marie Antoinette might like to have played in while she waited for Napoleon to return from his latest conquest.
He marched up the broad steps and across the columned porch. As he reached the door, it opened. He expected it was another electronic buzzer job until he saw the nifty little broad dressed in black satin. She was a dark, petite thing, and she looked French enough to be singing in the choir at Notre Dame. Except that no woman with a look in her eye like this dame had would be allowed to sing in a cathedral choir.
She almost did a curtsy.
"You are Mr. Dagger?" she said, in her special French accent.
He looked her over. The black satin had a wet look that clung to her high little knockers and to that saucy Gallic bottom. It was just over an inch below her crotch, and she was trying to look demure behind a postage stamp white apron, but she couldn't bring it off. She looked sexy, brother, and he felt his crotch get tight. His long torn was ready to fire all over again.
"Yes, I'm Tom Dagger." He frowned, deciding to stick to business, at least for a while. "Miss Brewster should be expecting me."
"Most assuredly, sir."
She closed the door, and he followed her down a long marble hall. He didn't look around much, because his eyes were fastened on that French ass. It wiggled a Continental hello every step of the way.
She showed him into a sitting room that could have held the indoor tennis championships with plenty of room for spectators. He watched Frenchy wiggle out and then he looked around. The place was jammed with antiques that even he could sense were valuable. In a book case he saw a number of rare first editions. At the window he looked out at the harbor and the city in the hazy distance. Somewhere down there was his apartment, down there where the little people lived.
He heard a sound. Well, he wasn't sure he heard it. Perhaps he sensed something, or maybe he caught her scent. At any rate, he turned and looked at Hope Brewster. Instantly he wondered where she'd been all his life. He wondered why he'd been wasting his time on dogs like Miss Cosmos, Mary Louise, and Angie Pucci.
He tried to count the ways she looked beautiful and totally desirable. Maybe it was her dark, glossy hair. Maybe it was her equally dark eyes that seemed to have banked fires which could blaze at any time. Maybe it was her thin, coltish body that curved stylishly inside a little-nothing dress that must have cost three hundred bucks. Maybe it was the way she stood there, all poise and class, looking like she wouldn't break and run if she were confronted by a pack of howling wolves.
And her scent. It was subtle, beyond description. It was uniquely her, he realized that. It must have been something especially prepared. Hell, all of this woman had been especially prepared. There couldn't be two like her, not anywhere in the world. He hoped he wasn't staring too much.
"Mr. Dagger?" she was saying, and her voice sounded like an invaluable music box.
"Huh?"
She was coming toward him with her hand offered.
"Good morning. How nice of you to come. I'm Hope Brewster."
If she was still angry from the phone conversation the day before, it didn't show. He must have muttered something.
"I am sorry to call you here, but father thought it best we meet privately before I came to the office. You know, to decide whether it will work."
His face was still wooden.
"Work?"
"Our arrangement. You're to teach me how to be" a newspaperman, of course, and I'm to take pictures. I'm sure we'll make a smashing team."
Tom came down to earth with a thud. Newspaperman. Team. Pictures. Office. Then he remembered. This was the broad who wanted to start at the top. She wanted to be teamed with the best the Daily Courier had to offer. She wanted to pick his brains and then brag to her Junior League friends about how clever and talented she was-how much better she was than the ordinary working stiffs.
He felt himself getting sore all over again. Perhaps some of it was self-defense, for he couldn't afford to dwell on this woman's charms or he'd be finished before he got his attack under way. He turned on a snarl and his eyes flashed.
"I don't see us on the same team at all, Miss Brewster. In fact, you and I don't even play in the same league."
He made it sound nasty as hell, but she didn't seem discouraged, and her sweet smile stayed in place. He fought to keep from melting.
"Of course, I can't hope to match your talent and experience, but I do hope to be able to help the Courier in some way: Daddy would be awfully pleased and so would I." She sighed. "I must contribute something."
He curled his lip.
"You need something to break the boredom before the fall social season, is that it? Before the track opens, before the theater resumes after the summer lull? Why don't you take a trip to Europe to break the monotony, instead of getting into the Courier's hair?"
Her smile became forced, but she refused to turn it off. She had style you can't buy. You've got to grow up with it, and this woman obviously had.
"Please give me a chance, Mr. Dagger. That's all I ask."
He snorted and turned his back on her as he dug out a cigarette. He lighted it and tossed the match toward a vase that had probably come over on the Mayflower.
"Give you a chance. That's a laugh. You don't need to ask for one damned thing. You snap your fingers and your father gives you anything you want. Nobody asked you to come to work for the Courier. You told your father and he shoved you down our throat-specifically my throat. But I'm going to spit you out, honey, just as fast as I can pucker up."
"But I just want the same treatment... "
"As anybody else?" he growled, cutting her off. He sucked smoke into his lungs and whirled around to face her. "You didn't come through personnel, you came through the publisher. That's not the same treatment. You start having fun with a camera, instead of sharpening pencils and running errands for the managing editor. You buddy up with the star reporter, instead of going out for coffee and Danish for the night side. Same treatment! Don't feed me that baloney."
Her face was crumbling, and he knew he'd won the first skirmish. Now it was time for follow through with the knockout punch. It was something he'd enjoy. When he saw her standing there, the idea had come to him. Break her in every way. Paw through her defenses and crush her. Make out with her, if you can, and make her your slave. Then she'll stay home and wait for you. You'll have her where you want her-in the sack.
He dropped the cigarette into the vase and advanced on her.
"You don't want to work for a living," he grumbled. "Come on, admit you're slumming. You want to watch the unwashed in action. Well, I'll show you how we behave."
She stepped back, and the fear in her face excited him. The great lady was human, after all. She licked her lips, and he wanted to lick them for her. She looked as though she desperately sought to recover her cool.
"Slumming?" she repeated. "Not at all. Surely, most of the Courier people are people of talent and background. Tell me, Mr. Dagger, didn't you go to college yourself?"
He snorted.
"Sure, Miss Brewster, until my knee popped out in my second year, and they took away my football scholarship. Then I found out how much they loved me. I was out, since I couldn't even afford to buy my own books. The campus jobs all went to athletes who could still pivot on a football field for their alma mater."
She looked distressed.
"How sad."
"What do you know about being sad? Christ, I was glad to escape that dump, to get an honest job on the outside and get back with the real people-my people. I'd had enough of that phony culture. And I don't want to pick it up again now."
She sighed and looked down at her hands. He wanted to take those hands and nibble on the fingers.
"Believe me, I'm sorry, but I must test myself. I must see if I can do an honest day's work on my own talent. I'll admit, my life hasn't been a productive one. Schools, travel, charity benefits... "
He licked his lips and stepped closer to her. It was time to turn on the juice. Roughly, he grasped her shoulders.
"I think you're slumming in another way, sweetheart. You're hot in the pants, and you want to see what it's like outside the fag society circle. You want a real man. Me!"
She gasped heavily, and her dark eyes went wide so he saw white all around them.
"Why, you insufferable... "
He never let her get it all out. He crushed her lips under his, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms and forcing her body tightly against him. He kissed hard, and he worked her jaw open. His tongue darted inside, and he'd started to shove it into her throat, when she bit hard.
"Son of a bitch!"
"Get away from me, you beast!"
Her voice quivered with authority, but she wasn't frightening him. Hell, he wanted her to blow her top. Then she'd keep away from him.
"Come on, admit you're hot in the crotch. You need it, and that's why you wanted me here. Forget that shit about business. You don't need to play games now."
"Oh!... "
. He kissed her again, harder than before. Somehow he realized she wasn't struggling as much as before. Certainly her knees were pumping, and she was trying to beat at his chest with her fist, but there wasn't as much power behind her blows. He forced her jaw open, and again he risked his tongue. He got it deeply into her mouth and, although she made urgent sounds of protest in her throat, she didn't bite it off.
He pulled her roughly against him, and then he swiveled his hips back and forth. He was up and hard, and he knew damned well his cock was blazing a trail across her belly. He let it shove into her softness. She was so thin that he was running into hips and other bones more readily than with Cosmos. This woman was built like a model, although a hell of a lot more sexy in appearance than some of those high-fashion jobs.
She at last whipped her face free.
"Let me go, you animal."
"I'm a wolf, baby, and you love it."
"I... I hate you."
He lifted his face.
"Enough to tell your old man you never want to see me again?" She ground her teeth.
"No. I'm going to see this thing through, even if I must fight you every step of the way. I'm not going to let you overpower me."
He laughed at her.
"Come on, loosen up. We might as well have fun. Who'll know? That French number outside? The jerk down by the gate? I'm sure you keep them around because they're discreet."
He was starting to bite her mouth and to work his hand between their bodies to grab at one of her small breasts when the tapping came. He froze, and she immediately called out: "What is it?"
"You wished tea, miss?" It was Frenchy. "You did wish tea and cakes, after all?"
Hope Brewster tore herself from his grasp and looked down at herself. There wasn't a wrinkle in her little nothing morning dress. It fit her body beautifully, showing off her fashionable breasts and her excellent legs. He knew it could cup her buttocks like a lover's hands too.
"Yes, Claudine, you may come in," she called.
He had to admire the control in her voice. Hell, maybe she was attacked all the time at society dances.
The maid came in with a big silver tray. There was a silver pot, two cups, and a silver plate with a napkin over it. She set it all down on the coffee table as the lady of the house arranged herself gracefully on the sofa.
Claudine straightened and looked into Tom's face. He saw something in her eyes-a knowing look... and an invitation. Then she looked at her mistress.
"Is that all, miss?"
Hope nodded.
"You may go. I won't be needing you for the rest of the morning."
Again Frenchy batted her eyes at Tom. Then she slipped out, leaving them all alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As the maid left them, Hope continued to pour the tea. He stared as she filled the cup and then looked at him with a question in her eyes.
"One lump and lemon," he said.
She obliged and then handed him the cup. He sat at her side and watched while she filled her own cup. She took neither sugar nor lemon.
"You're fantastic," he muttered. "Out of sight. I'm ready to climb all over you, and you sit on your high horse and serve tea. Christ, the British army could use a soldier like you."
"Civilization is a wonderful thing," she murmured with her eyes focused on her cup as she lifted it to her lips. "You should try it sometime."
He laughed.
"You want me to get myself a boiled shirt and attend the opera? Sit around talking about the poor and charity drives? Doing good for the disadvantaged?" He laughed again. "Hell, lady, I am the disadvantaged."
She sniffed.
"You are not. You're able to help yourself. Others can't do as well. Really, Mr. Dagger, I do believe you're a worse snob than anyone I know."
He put his cup down.
"Then why don't you tell your father? Tell him it's no deal."
"No!" She snapped the word like the crack of a whip.
Tom was all screwed up. He was hovering between desire and anger. Christ knew he wanted this woman. He wanted her in the worst way. He'd be queer if he didn't. But he wanted to hurt her too. He wanted to break her spirit, her will, and-if it came to that- her heart.
He took her cup from her fingers and put it on the low table in front of the couch. Then he slid closely to her and stared down into her face. She stared back, her chin high and determined, her dark eyes snapping. She had plenty of class and sophistication. There was good blood running in her veins. It showed. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she was as stiff as a marble statue.
"I could make you," he growled.
She snapped her eyes again.
"I seriously doubt that."
He put his other hand on her belly and slid it directly to her crotch. He cupped her vagina through the tight material of her thin summer dress. He could feel the stiff hairs and the heat of her loins.
"Yes, I could."
"Take your hand off me, or I'll have you thrown out into the street," she hissed.
Her face was as cold as her words. She wasn't kidding, so he took his hand away.
"What are you, an iceberg?" he grumbled.
Something wavered in her eyes. A weakness. Had he hit home? Was she really a cool tomato who didn't play?
"Am I right?" he continued. "Are you frigid? Is that why you don't play with the boys?"
She swallowed.
"I... I choose my partners, thank you. I don't simply let them pay their way to success."
"I see. You pick them out and buy them like a rich broad picking up another Rolls Royce, eh?"
"No, I didn't mean... "
"Shut up!" His words lashed her, and her head snapped as though he'd struck her with his fist. "I've gabbed enough with you, baby."
She started to draw back, but he gripped her harder around the shoulders. He pulled her against him, and his hand dropped into her bodice. He pulled out a breast, and he palmed it, using his thumb. Then his head came down, and he began to suck on the nipple.
He felt the hammering of her fist on his shoulder and the clunk of her chin on his head as she tried to beat him off. He trapped her wrists with the hand around her shoulders, holding both hands fast behind her back. She squirmed but succeeded in doing nothing more than popping her other breast from its cup and shoving her skirt up to her crotch.
He nursed on her other breast, and then he shoved his hand into her crotch. He wormed under her dress and pulled it up to her hips. She wore chaste-white pants, but he could see the dark bush inside.
"Calm down," he snapped. "It's going to happen, baby. You might as well enjoy it."
She whimpered, but she continued to fight. She did not cry for help. Apparently she realized this was going to be their private battle. Somehow it didn't seem fair to call for outsiders to step into the skirmish.
He plucked at her pants and worked them down over her hips. As she squirmed, her hips came up, and he was able to jerk the pants over her bottom. She sat hard, and his hand was caught. But what a wonderful place to be held prisoner! The firm softness of her buttocks smothered his hand, but he was able to wiggle his fingers.
He worked his thumb up between her buttocks and shoved it into the crack. She shuddered like a stricken thing, and a good deal of the fight went out of her. He shoved more deeply, and he ran into her bung. It was a tight little thing, and he ran the tips of his fingers over its soft, puckered flesh. Again she shuddered, and a moan came from her throat It wasn't all despair this time, but something else. Something like desire.
"You like that, don't you, sweetheart?" he rasped. "Under all that fine breeding and education you're a woman. You really are. And you were afraid you were frigid."
"I was not afraid," she hissed.
"Like hell. Your kind is never sure. I'm turning you on now, all right. You're going to pop your cookies before I leave this room."
She tried to spit at him, but he whipped his face out of the way.
"Naughty," he chided. "Daddy wouldn't like his little girl to do common tricks like that."
He fastened his mouth over hers and kept her from turning her face out of range. He kissed her hard, and again he shoved his tongue into her throat. When she continued to fight, he again tickled her bung, and then he swished his fingers through the thick crop of pubic hair.
She trembled again, and he felt her trapped hands working against his fist. There was no fight left in them, so he let them go. She didn't pull them from behind her back, but instead, she sat, offering her exposed body to him and pretending all the while she hated what he was doing.
He worked his tongue down over her chin, and then he licked her throat. Her chin went high in the air, and he slid his tongue down between her breasts. Then he lapped at a nipple and then the other nipple, and she shuddered like things were exploding deeply in her bowels.
She pulled her face free.
"Please... you mustn't... "
A SCHEME BACKFIRED "Like hell... "
He sucked hard on her nipples. Then his face went way down, and he was kissing her thighs. He felt the trembling shoot through her again. At first she clamped her knees together, but soon they came apart, and he was able to force his face between them. He pushed harder, and she let her quivering knees give way several more inches.
"There's my little slut," he hissed.
She choked on a sob.
"What a terrible thing to say."
"I'm going to break you, baby. Right in two. Then I'm going to throw you back to Daddy, and you'll never think about spreading your wings over the Courier again."
"You're a horrible man."
"You know how to get away from me," he chided. "Tell Daddy it's all off. Then I really will love you."
She stiffened for an instant, and some of her old reserve returned.
"No. I can't. I won't. I'm a Brewster, and a Brewster never... "
"Shit on the Brewsters," he rasped.
Before she could say anything more, he bit her lips closed. He was biting hard, but she didn't try to get away. She was moaning. Christ, he thought, maybe this fancy broad enjoyed being punished. The rougher he got the more she ate it up. He dropped his mouth to a nipple and bit it hard.
"Oh, God, yes!"
That was it. She was going for him now. He bit her on the thigh, and she wiggled to show her pleasure. She was still in agony, but it was sweet agony. She was eating up everything he was doing now.
He bit her on the other thigh, and, as her knees fell apart, he began to nibble on the in-sides of her thighs. She was squirming, and her hips were rising to meet him. She couldn't keep them still any longer. He jabbed his fingers against her bung and it popped open for the first time. She wasn't keeping much of anything from his attacking hands and face.
He decided it was time the game started going his way. She was hot. She'd fall easily enough, but she had to show her stuff. She wasn't going to be able to sit back and take it all while he dished it out. So he let go of her thighs and pulled his fingers out of her ass. He drew back.
She sat quietly for a moment with her eyes squeezed shut. Then she opened them in wonder. She looked down at her heaving breasts with their tight nipples. She looked at her white thighs and the red marks where his teeth had been. The flesh was trembling.
Then she looked at him.
"What are you doing?"
"Just about all I'm going to, baby, unless you want to join the game. You can't be a spectator all the time."
She ran her eyes down to his bulging crotch. He was fully dressed, but there was plenty inside his pants. He decided to show her, so he jerked the zipper and his cock shot out into the room. It was red and blue on the knob, strained almost beyond endurance. He needed help in the worst way.
"What do you mean?" Her voice was very small. The bitch knew, all right.
"Come on, lady, get busy."
She shook her head, and her eyes were round with real fear. She wasn't faking it now.
"But I don't do... that. None of my men has... "
"None of your society stiffs has asked you to suck them off, to tickle their balls, or to pump a few tunes out of their peckers, am I right? Christ, they are all fags. What do you do, recite Keats to them while they feel you up? Sister, this stiff doesn't belong to society."
"I don't know... " She swallowed.
"Come on, I'll show you."
He took her hand from behind her back and placed it on his thigh.
"All right, stroke it. The thing won't bite."
She was still swallowing, and the movement of her throat made him harder than ever. He was afraid he'd go off before she laid a hand on him. Struggling, he fought to keep his charge of sperm in check.
Her fingers came to life. Together they watched them stretch and then dig into his thigh. She did it with a gentle but firm pressure. Then she moved the fingers slowly toward his crotch. She came closer until she was at the edge of the zipper. She nibbled her lips and looked into his face.
"I can't."
He shrugged.
"Then so long, pal. See you around."
She looked alarmed, and he knew she was still hotter than hell. She couldn't afford to let him leave.
"No. Please, give me just a moment."
He waited, and she slipped her index finger over the zipper. The end touched the side of his shaft. Her finger was cool and firm. It moved a half inch toward his knob.
"Go the other way first," he ordered.
She reversed direction, and the finger traveled until it ran into his fly. He told her to part it and get inside, and she pulled the metal and wool wider. They saw a thatch of his pubic hair spring out of the opening. It engulfed her finger.
"There's a good girl," he coaxed.
Her hand went inside, and he knew she was trying to avoid his balls-but again she wasn't. Going into a man's fly was a hell of a way to avoid intimate contact. Soon her dainty finger touched his scrotum, and he flinched. She hissed.
"That's all right," he rasped, "it feels good. Don't stop what you're doing."
She poked into a ball and then into its twin. She got more fingers inside and was able to palm his nuts and squeeze gently. The slight pain was exquisite, and he closed his eyes. He sighed and nodded, a smile on his lips.
"Good, good," he sighed.
She took her hand from him and licked her lips. There was sweat just under her nostrils.
"I'm... afraid. I don't know where this is going to end."
"Hell, I do."
He took her hand firmly in his and wrapped her fingers around the tip of his knob. She gripped it tightly, desperately as though it would save her from plunging over a sheer cliff. She began to pump, and he knew she was doing it from instinct rather than from practice or even from knowing what the result would be.
He felt his juices sizzle, and he sucked in his breath again. His knuckles whitened as he sat on the edge of the couch and held his breath. She pumped a few more strokes, and just before he was ready to shoot, she released him.
Her hands covered her face, and she sobbed. Her shoulders shook, and he resisted the impulse to take her into his arms and treat her like something to be loved. No. He had to be cruel. He had to master her. He had to break her and then give the final order which she would obey: Stay away from the Daily Courier office, now and forever.
He lifted her face and brushed her hands aside.
"All right," he said. "Now I'm going to take you, Miss Brewster. Right here on the couch in full sight of your beautiful sterling tea set, you're going to have the blocks thrown to you as you never have before. When we're finished, you'll be all mine."
.He was surprised to get some of her resistance coming back. Something had rescued her, at least temporarily.
"No," she snapped. "You must go now. I'll report to you at the office in the morning. From now on our association is strictly business, Mr. Dagger."
He shook his head.
"Fuck that noise."
He grasped a handful of black hair and pulled her face up so he could kiss her again. She tried to bite his mouth, and he retaliated by shoving his hand deeply between her legs. Her knees parted for just an instant, but then they snapped back together. She whipped her face free.
"No. It's finished!" she exclaimed. Through it all she kept her voice low.
He wasn't ready to quit. She'd crack. She had to crack. They all did for Tommy Dagger, sooner or later. Some just took a little more work-and they were usually worth it.
He got his hand against her crotch and shoved her pants down over her fur. Then he wiggled a finger into her gaping lips. They were already moist and ready to be entered. Her body knew better than she that she was eager to be fucked.
She groaned as he wormed a second finger into her. Then he shoved hard, and all of her strength seemed to leave her body. Ah, at least she'd quit struggling. So maybe she wasn't going wild trying to lick his balls, but at least she'd surrendered.
As he fingered her, he stole a fast glance at her face. Christ, she was out! Out like a light! He muttered something that no woman should ever have to hear as he withdrew his hand. He wasn't going to throw the blocks to an unconscious woman.
Disgusted, he got up, closed his fly, pulled down her skirt, stuffed her breasts back inside her dress, and then he headed for the door. He looked back at her beautiful body, and he hoped his hard-on wouldn't snap off before he got some relief.
CHAPTER NINE
Tom stepped into the hall and stopped for a moment. He was hot. He was burning up. He closed his eyes and leaned against the door to the sitting room. Then he took a deep breath and started down the corridor toward the entry.
He was almost to the door, when a flitting shadow crossed before his eyes, and he looked up. It was the French maid. Claudine, Hope had called her. She was standing with her back against the door, and she looked sexy as hell in her black satin and her little apron.
He stopped before her, and she tilted her head and smiled.
"So. Your visit is ended already?" she asked, in her thick accent.
He wondered if she'd learned it in Paris or the Bronx.
He nodded.
"Why? Are you especially interested?" She licked her lips.
"Perhaps." She frowned for a moment. "It is all right. I can tell you everything, no?"
He raised his eyebrows. What the hell, a spy in the midst of the Brewster household?
"You can tell me everything, yes, Claudine. I'm all ears."
Her eyes dropped to his fly, which was still under extreme pressure.
"No, you are more than ears, Mr. Dagger. You see, Miss Brewster often entertains male visitors such as yourself, although they are not as a rule so handsome. Frequently they try to make love to my mistress, and she must fend them off. She is that kind of a woman."
He sighed and put his hand into his pocket so he could shove his cock down between his legs.
"So I understand," he breathed.
"So I have taken an additional task on myself. I have added to my household duties." She smiled again, and she was right out of Montmartre. "So many of Miss Brewster's friends leave under pressure, as it were, such as yourself. I enjoy presenting myself to them."
He stared.
"Presenting yourself? Does that have some subtle, foreign meaning I'm not getting?"
"I do not think so. It means that I ease their pain and strain, as you Americans like to say. I fix the situation so they do not go away without release."
She stepped closely to him, and her fingers trailed down his cheek. He smiled.
"In other words, you like to fuck."
She pretended to blush, but she wasn't able to bring it off.
"That is quite correct, although I have standards. Some men do not measure up, but you do, admirably."
"How do you know my measurements?"
This time she did blush slightly, and he pretended to be shocked.
"You little bitch. So you spent your last hour squinting through the sitting room keyhole."
She shrugged, and he watched the interesting bumps bob inside her black satin dress. She came closer and rubbed her chest back and forth across his. Yes, they were knockers, all right. Surprisingly large and soft for a woman so small. She had all the moving parts needed to be an excellent bed partner.
"This is crazy," he muttered, as she took his hand.
She began to pull him back down the corridor.
"So, it is crazy, yes, but you will enjoy it, no? I promise. Come, we must not remain for long out here. There are others about. The cook, the gardener, the chauffeur... "
"I'll bet old man Brewster keeps a platoon of Marines in the garage for protection," he mused.
She smiled over her shoulder at him, and he felt like the ice man coming with a load. In a sense that was a fact. He had a load he had to get rid of, and he was extremely pleased that Claudine had offered herself at just the right moment. She was wise beyond her tender years.
She opened a door, and they were in the kitchen.
"We are safe here. Cook is taking her nap before lunch. It will be an hour before she comes down."
He turned to face her. It was a large kitchen with a center counter work area as in a commercial kitchen. He could imagine the bustle in this place when the Brewsters were giving a formal dinner. But he wasn't really looking over the house's kitchen facilities.
He was looking over the French maid. She was small, dark, petite in her features, except for those knockers that stuck out like footballs, and a saucy bottom that invited anybody within reach to pinch.
"So what do we do now?" he asked. His voice was thick as emotion choked his throat.
"Just this, Mr. Dagger," she replied.
With that she leaned over and opened his fly. She was reaching inside, where Hope's tentative fingers had been fifteen minutes before. But, where Hope had been timid and afraid, Claudine was eager and grasping. She pulled out his rod, and it stuck out like an iron bar. She reached in again and tickled his balls. Then she stopped.
"They are very tight, sir."
He nodded.
"You called it, Frenchy."
"The mistress has left you in a deplorable state."
"Ghastly," he agreed.
Immediately Claudine dropped to her knees and, lips pursed, kissed him on the end of his cock. It was a sensational feeling as the waves of tingling nerves brought the current to all parts of his body. She looked up.
"You like this, no?"
"I like it, yes!"
She laughed and said something in French. He was too rusty to be able to pick it up, but it sounded dirty as hell.
"Shut up and deal," he rasped.
"Sir?"
"Nothing. Just get going, before I splatter those beautiful pots and pans with copper bottom cleaner."
She lowered her head and kissed his cock again. Then her lips parted, and he knew he was about to be ushered into the mysteries of the French method. He hoped Claudine was as expert as he'd heard the French were. Years of gossip among his friends had led him to expect a great deal. Claudine didn't disappoint him.
She drew his head into her mouth, and her method was novel. She didn't move her head forward, but instead, she placed his knob between her lips and sucked very hard. His own burgeoning hardness caused his cock to slide forward and extend its already impressive length until the entire head, flange and all, settled inside her front teeth.
She gurgled, and he nodded.
"That's right, Frenchy. I appreciate it very much. Don't quit now."
She pulled his cock deeper, and it touched her throat. Sure enough, he could feel her muscles pulling him into her. She was trying to suck the flavor right out of his lollipop, and he only wished he had enough steam left to turn himself into an all-day sucker. Rather, to turn Claudine into his all-day sucker.
He gasped as she ran her tongue over his knob. Then he decided it was time he gave a little, so he opened the button at the neck of her black satin and found a zipper hiding underneath. He slid the thing, and it parted her dress down to her waist. As he bent over to perform this chore, her head came forward to maintain proper suction on his penis.
He reached inside and scooped out her breasts. She wore no brassiere, as he knew she wouldn't, and he wondered what Hope would think of a French maid who ran around without any underwear. She probably didn't pay enough attention, or else Claudine had slipped out of her brassiere after she'd let him into the house. As a matter of fact, she did look heavier in the knockers when he was about to leave than when he'd arrived. So, she had freed her breasts of their confining brassiere. Good for Claudine.
He gripped her breasts and squeezed. In the same instant she bit down on his prick and tongued the end of it all over again. It was a wonderful pain that rifled through his body. Her tiny teeth nibbled gently as she turned her face this way and that, careful not to miss a fraction of an inch of his tender flesh.
"Ah," he gasped.
Again she gurgled, but she didn't stop what she was doing. She pulled his cock more deeply into her mouth, and soon his head was bumping into the rear of her throat. She began to pump, and in seconds he was on the cliff, ready to plunge into the valley of ecstasy.
It was a fanciful thought that went through his head, but the truth was he couldn't wait to pop his balls into this Frenchy's head. He laced his fingers behind her head, careful not to knock off her little white cap. Then he rammed his hips into her face several times, and his cock roared like a hot piston.
He began to spurt, and she had to work to catch his jizz before it escaped from the corners of her lips and ran down her chin to the tile floor. She caught it all, even though he shot several heavy bolts of sperm into her throat. Some did get down her chin, but she caught it with her long, pointed tongue before it could drop. Claudine was a very neat and talented young woman.
He kept on shooting until he thought he was through. But Tom didn't know the talents of the French. Claudine tongued his still-hard dick until it regained its massive size. Then she coaxed a few final drops from his loins before he knew he was definitely empty.
She freed herself from the spike that had been driven into her face, and, looking only slightly flushed, she peered up into his eyes.
"You like this, yes?"
"You'll do," he sighed. His knees were on the verge of collapse. "You'll do just fine. But what about you? Don't you want to make it too?"
She answered him by standing up, and, when he looked down at her crotch, he saw the darker stain against her black satin. Claudine hadn't been left out of the fun.
But Tom palmed her breasts again, anyhow, and rolled them casually back and forth, bumping them together, pulling them apart, lifting them alternately. They were marvelous globes of pleasure, so warm, so white, so full. Her nipples were the size of small saucers. He kissed one briefly.
"Ah, that is so nice," she cooed.
He kissed the other one.
"And that is an improvement," she added.
He reached into the front of her gaping dress and slid his hands down to her belly. He passed her navel, which he briefly saluted by dipping his thumb into its depths. Then he went on until he hit fur. He'd been right, Claudine had removed all of her lingerie.
He worked his hands down to her crotch, and she leaned back against the kitchen table, bracing herself with her hands, and her legs dropped apart. He shoved his hands between her thighs and came up hard. He rammed the outer lips of her pussy and immediately stuck several fingers into her.
The muscles on the inside of her cunt rivaled those in her throat as she pulled on him. He felt his hands being pulled more deeply into her canal until the slime was all around him. She'd enjoyed a massive orgasm and the results were still oozing from her womb.
He spread his fingers and raked them in and out a number of times. He could feel her nerves being stimulated until every one was sitting up and applauding, like a member of an enthusiastic audience. She was gasping and falling to her knees on the tile floor. Her strength was fading fast. "Sacre bleu!" she gasped. He laughed as she shook from head to toe. Her tongue slipped from her mouth and waved back" and forth like dirty laundry. Indeed, there was still a smear of his semen on her tongue. She fell back hard on the tile, and he went right down with her.
He rested his weight on her. His hand slipped from her crotch, but her skirt was all the way down so that he was able to work one of her legs from it and spread her wide open like a peeled banana.
He came down, cock straight out like a battering ram. He approached her gates and stuck his penis into her. His cock went where his fingers had been seconds before, and he realized his dick was much more effective. It filled her completely. She was a tight little thing, and he had to push hard to get his knob to slip into her canal.
She cried out, but it was more in ecstasy than pain. Her arms came up to lock around his neck, and her legs went around his waist. He felt her locking her ankles at the back of his spine, and then she was sucking him more deeply into her. Those snatch muscles were stronger than ever.
He hit all the way home and felt the wall of her womb sag in as he rammed into it. Then she gave him enough freedom to pump. As he worked, he laced his fingers under her bottom. She had a fine cushion of an ass, and he lifted it against him each time he thrust his staff into her pussy.
It was an effective union, and it wasn't many minutes before Tom realized he was not yet out of sperm. Something was tingling down there, and he tried to relax and let it come. It came with a satisfying rush, and he expended himself into her again. Now her cunt was drowned as her throat had been soaked. He felt the pressure of the jizz around his knob, so tightly were they together and so little space was there available for the sperm to churn.
He sagged down on her, and for a few moments he must have drifted into semi-consciousness. For he began to dream. It was a crazy dream.
He was making love to Hope Brewster. Making love. That was the way he thought of it. It wasn't like throwing the blocks to a Claudine or an Angie. It really was making love. It was beautiful, and not just because he'd emptied his balls into her crotch. It was more than that. He realized this was what it must be like when a man really cared for a woman... when there was more to their relationship than pure sex. Tom had never had so deep a relationship with a woman. They were creatures to be laid. Period.
"Hey, wake up, you are crushing my body."
He opened his eyes.
"Huh?"
"Please, sir. It is all over. I have nothing more to give. Unless, however, if you should care to return tonight when it is dark. I shall leave the front door open, and you can slip upstairs to my room. I can alert Jock at the gate."
He lifted his sweating face and looked down into her eyes. Her dark hair was a mess, and she'd lost her cap as well as the ruins of her black satin uniform. What the hell. He struggled to his feet and began to stuff his penis back into his pants. She also got up and pulled her dress back up, wiggling her hips as she did so. Then she slid the zipper, brushed at her hair, and set her cap back in place. She looked almost normal-except for the blotches of pink excitement that lingered on her throat. Her arteries were still pumping.
Suddenly very formal, Claudine led Tom from the kitchen and down the corridor to the door. This she opened, stepping back.
"Good day, sir."
"Good day, Claudine," he replied, his voice cool yet pleasant. He stepped out into the noon sun and it was blindingly bright.
"Sir?"
He looked back to see her white cap and dark eyes bent around the edge of the door.
"You may be interested to know that you were the closest to possessing Miss Hope. Closer than any man I have ever watched through the keyhole."
He flushed with unexpected pleasure as he walked down to his car.
CHAPTER TEN
He'd figured it all out. Hope Brewster was not going to crack unless he forced her. He'd given her his best shot in the love department, and she'd survived his attack. He thought for perhaps fifteen minutes before he left his desk and went in to see Al Campbell.
The managing editor was checking a fistful of type proofs. He waved them and waggled his cigar as Tom walked into his office.
"Look at that, will you? A hundred dollars worth of overset today alone. It's costing us more than five hundred a week when you writer types let your stuff run too long."
Tom shrugged as he slipped into a chair and fished out a cigarette.
"So tell' your editors to use sharper scissors."
"That's exactly what I'm going to do, by God. From now on every story gets a ten percent pruning job. I don't want copy set into type unless it's going to be used."
Tom let the older man sputter for several minutes while he sucked on his cigarette. At last he smiled.
"All right, finished? Will you listen to my idea?"
Al leaned back and relighted his butt. He sent up clouds of blue smoke. "Shoot."
"I've got a project for the society broad and me."
Al stared at him.
"If you're talking about Miss Brewster, you'd better clean up your language."
"Sure. Which goes to prove you're talking through your hat when you say she gets the same treatment as everybody else." He spat into the wastebasket with remarkable accuracy. "If I say 'shit' in front of her she tattles to Daddy."
Al blinked.
"She didn't tattle to anybody, but her father did say you met with her at the house this morning. He didn't seem to know what came of it, except that she's to report to you early tomorrow morning."
Tom stared back at him.
"We met. There were sparks, but she's trying to stick it out. What do you say, Al, let's dump her before she gets hurt."
"Nope." He shifted uneasily. "Come on, give. What's your plan for her? And it had better be good."
"Holly House West," Tom said, as he smashed his cigarette into a tray.
"Huh?"
"Holly House West. Red Holly's whorehouse up on the hill." Tom smiled with one side of his mouth. "You've been wanting me to do a story on the place for weeks so the Courier can decide whether it ought to be closed down or not. Now's the time when I can take a camera expert along."
Al was shaking his head.
"Hope Brewster in a cat house? Not in your life. Forget that."
"Why? She wants to be a hotshot photographer, doesn't she? This is her chance to make it big right from the start. I figure she can use a hidden camera while I take notes in my head. She clicks while I write. It's a natural."
The managing editor got up and wiped his naked head with his palm. His skin was remarkably shiny.
"So how could you explain taking a dame into a whorehouse?"
Tom pretended to be surprised.
"Why, I'd tell big Red that my pal is a lesbian, what else?"
"Jesus Christ, a lesbian?"
"Of course. Believe me, whores entertain other dames all the time. It's nothing out of the ordinary."
Al almost smiled.
"How would you know?"
Tom did grin.
"I used to be a customer a few years back before I learned to make out on my own. Red Holly showed me the ropes. I've seen plenty of dykes waiting for service in Red's parlor."
Al looked frightened but he'd stopped shaking his head. Now he only looked worried.
"But Hope Brewster, Junior Leaguer, visiting a whorehouse. Even if only to take pictures."
"She's hot to be a newspaperman. If she turns the job down, we can drop her application in the wastebasket. If she accepts, I'll coach her, and we'll go in together. I have an idea where she can hide a camera."
At last Al waved his hand.
"All right, if she's crazy enough to consent, go ahead. But you're on your own, Tommy. If you get that girl into trouble... "
"What trouble? I'll be with her all the while."
He backed out and returned to his telephone. He called Hope first. He got the French maid who pretended she didn't know him, and he figured Hope was in the same room. He was right. She came on the line in a couple of seconds.
"Hi," he said. "Feeling all right now?"
"Very well, thank you," she snapped. Her voice was cool. "Well enough to come to work tomorrow."
"And I suppose you're one of those go-anywhere, do-anything cubs, desperate to show you've got the stuff."
She sniffed.
"Of course. I don't want any favors."
"I'll remember that, because you're not going to get any. Do you have a camera small enough to fit into a cigarette case or a cigarette package?"
"I have a dozen cameras. One is a Minox custom made to form the handle of a cigarette lighter. Would that do?"
"Perfect. Bring it in with you in the morning."
"Where are we going?"
"To a whorehouse."
When she didn't say anything for a full minute, he hung up on her. Let her think that over for a few hours. She'd be tighter than a nun's cunt by morning, and that was the way he wanted her.
He dialed again from a list of unlisted numbers that he kept in his head. A hard-voiced woman answered: "Holly House West apartments."
"Give me Red Holly," he commanded.
"Who wants her? I can take the message."
"Tom Dagger wants her. From the Daily Courier." He said it in a level voice, trying to sound like an FBI man or someone equally official.
Her breath was audible.
"Just a minute."
He whistled through his teeth and cracked his knuckles while he waited. The day was shaping up after his frustration earlier with Hope. The line clattered as somebody shewed.
"Tommy, is that you?"
"Sure. How are you, Red?"
"Hey, it's great to hear from an old fan. What's up? I know, you got a visiting fireman needs some help. I know you don't buy it anymore. Send him around. I'll give him twenty-five percent off."
Tom laughed.
"Hold on. It's more complicated than that. Listen, Red, my paper wants me to do an expose on your place... "
"What?" Red was bleating like a stuck hog.
"Keep your jock on. I can fix it so there's no story. I'll tell my editor your place is clean, proper, and a bargain for all the Navy boys who come around. I'll convince him that you're doing a public service."
Red was chuckling now.
"Fine. Come on around. And for this your credit will always be good, Tommy."
"I'll be by tomorrow afternoon, with a friend."
"Ah, so there is a visiting fireman."
"No, a press photographer."
"What?" she bleated again.
"Relax. It's a dame who'll be posing as a lesbian looking for a nice female piece, and I'll make sure she doesn't take any pictures. But she'll think it's for real, see, that we're actually doing an expose. What I want you and your girls to do is shock the hell out of her." He paused for a breath. "And I mean really shock her. I want her to be reduced to a bowl of jelly when I carry her out. No rough stuff. Just big, hairy views of you and the girls and the night and the magic. You dig?"
"Not really," Red replied. "How come she thinks it's a real deal, and why do you want her to shit her pants?"
"She's a cub reporter who's too big for her pants. I want her frightened down to proper size so she'll handle more easily."
Red snickered.
"So maybe you can play hero in my place and make out with her on the way home, eh?"
"Red, you're too fast for me." He pretended to sigh. "So you got my approach figured. Will you do it for an old pal? Scare her shitless and make me look good when I get sore, all right?"
Red Holly finally agreed, and they worked out the details in a few minutes. When Tom hung up he was rubbing his hands together. Hope Brewster was going to see such a raw slice of life she'd never want to leave the west side of town again. She'll be finished with the bums in Tom's world-and that was what he wanted. Exit Miss Hope Brewster. God, but he hated society women.
He was lighting up again and leaning back to daydream Hope Brewster into oblivion, when he saw an old friend come into view. It was Miss Cosmos, still in town and still wearing an outfit three sizes too small for her shapely body. She spotted him from the door and waved as she crossed the room. Again, almost all activity ceased as her bottom wiggled past desk after desk.
The green-eyed redhead from Council Bluffs had on a pantsuit that hugged her thighs and hips like a coat of red paint. The jacket was cut tightly around her breasts. Hell, she'd have looked sexy in a barrel.
She rolled up to his desk and plopped herself on one corner, a leg swinging in the air, one cheek of, her ass hitched up on top, the other over the side. She smiled down at him, and he was again dazzled by her beauty. He fondly remembered their bungalow and pool play at the hotel.
He grinned.
"You're here to complain about the story." It had run with her picture in the early street editions.
"Not. for a minute," she cooed, as she pursed her lips. "I managed to give Freddy Fay the slip, and so I came down to tell you I adored the story. I'd like to thank you properly."
He licked his lips.
"I think that can be arranged. I'm just about finished for the day, and there's a nice little place right across the street."
She smiled, but she wrinkled her nose. "A bar? That will do for a start, but I was thinking of something much more intimate for later."
Tom was thinking of his aching loins. He'd been drained more than a flush toilet in a cheap hotel.
"That'll be okay, later, after we have a few belts."
He got up and she took his arm. Together they started out of the office, but, when they passed Angie's desk, the big and dazzling blonde-she must have been a couple of inches taller than the tall Miss Cosmos-stepped in front of them.
"Tom?" She said his name sweetly, but her eyes were fastened on the redhead like a set of talons.
"What's up?" he asked mildly. He kept his voice light.
"I'm expecting to see you later, when I'm through here. Say, over at Mario's?" Tom swallowed.
"Sure. We're headed there now for a quick one. We'll wait for you, baby."
"You'll wait for me," Angie snapped. "I don't care about your queen of the world."
"Cosmos, darling," the beauty queen corrected. "Miss Cosmos, to you ordinary mortals."
"Just you get your hands off him before I show up," Angie rasped, as she shoved a stiff finger at Cosmos. The finger jabbed into Cosmos' vest outfit and disappeared into her right tit. Tom watched the disappearance with some fascination. "You dig, baby? He's mine."
"Take it easy, Angie," Tom said. "Don't count on what isn't yours."
"I'm talking to you, red," Angie continued. She put her hands on her hips and sucked in enough air to balloon her impressive breasts. "You know what I mean."
Angie was a totally sexy woman, and she was always switched on. Tom knew that she was on grass much of the time, and now he suspected she'd been horsing around with the stuff in the women's John.
Cosmos lifted her beautiful chin.
"Come along, Tommy. I can deal with any unpleasantness later."
They went out, leaving Angie glaring after them. Close by Angie was Mary Louise, the insatiable copy girl who couldn't keep her hands off Tom. They crossed the street and went into Mario's.
Fat Frank was behind the bar of the half-empty place, wiping out glasses with a gray towel. It was early. Tom had slipped out of the office several minutes ahead of schedule. Soon the place would be jumping.
Frank nodded at Tom, and his small pig eyes took in Miss Cosmos. There was an approving gleam in their depths. He helped Cosmos upon a stool, and, when he sat, she immediately swung her knees around to jam them into his thigh. He looked at her knees and then into her eyes.
"How about whisky and water? Just pure, good stuff."
"Make that two, partner." She smiled.
While Frank turned away to make the drinks, Cosmos looked around. It was quite dark, and nobody was paying much attention. So she spread her knees and took his knee, tucking it between hers. He looked down again. "Too bad you're wearing those damned pants."
"You can still help yourself to anything you want, cowboy." Then she pouted. "I suppose you like that moose who was so unhappy. You like her more because of her mini."
"I didn't say that."
"And that other woman. That child, really. She was devouring you with her eyes."
"That's Mary Louise. Don't worry about her, she's just a nymphomaniac. She looks at anything in pants like that." He smiled to try to make it sound as though he hadn't participated in quite so many orgies.
She slipped her hands up to his thigh and shoved her finger directly against his zipper. When Frank returned with the drinks she held her hand still so that he wouldn't notice, but Tom saw his eyes gleam more than ever. He didn't miss much. Tom picked up his glass.
"To sex." t She stabbed him roughly in the balls, and he sucked in a breath.
"To sex. Right here, stud."
"Take it easy."
"I told you I was hot and bothered but, no, you had to do a bit of social drinking first." She stroked his crotch, and his cock was running down his thigh like a length of drain pipe. "What's wrong, still tired from my hotel?"
He nodded.
"Something like that. I thought the whisky would help."
"So will this."
She reached along his thigh and grasped his penis. It was perfectly outlined against his pants and, despite the fact that the door kept opening as the place filled up, Tom had no intention of stopping her. She was clawing at his zipper and also urging his own hand into her crotch.
He touched the rough material of her pants. It was tight, and where her legs came together he could see the outline of her pussy. Ah, that was a sight that warmed him more than the whisky. He stroked it, and she moaned. A few heads turned, but apparently they couldn't believe their ears, for they turned away again.
She slid his zipper, and, shielding the view with her free hand, she dipped her other hand into his fly. She plunged through his shorts and worked among his hairs until she grasped the base of his cock. She tried to pull it out, but it was wedged tightly down his thigh and it wouldn't come without being sprained. It was that hard.
"Damn," she hissed. "I made you hard too fast. And here you were complaining about being tired. Why, you're as ready as ever, studhorse."
"So sue me," he muttered. "Just stay away from it if you don't like it."
"You know that's impossible, honey. Impossible."
She settled for digging under his cock and running her fingers through his balls and then down into the crack on the way to his asshole. He gasped and half lifted himself from the stool, and she seized the advantage by plunging her hands more deeply along his ass. She was almost to his bung when her wrist became wedged in his fly, and he felt a seam give in his pants.
"You're out of room," he gasped. The door had opened and closed again, but neither of them paid attention. As Cosmos struggled to free her hand, he continued to stroke her spread crotch and he could feel the sex juices begin to stain her pants.
"So, you didn't break up the party on time!" It was Angie, and she stood before them like an angry blonde Amazon, her feet planted widely apart, her fists on her hips.
Cosmos looked up.
"Why don't you go away? Can't you see Thomas and I are busy?"
Angie's response was a roundhouse swing and the slap of a palm that caught Cosmos across the cheek. The sound filled the place which immediately fell silent.
Tom remembered somebody, muttering: "Stand by. These two broads are going to try to tear each other apart."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tom swallowed rapidly and licked his lips.
"Look, Angie, take it easy. You've got no right to come busting in here... "
Angie shook him off, and she was staring down into Cosmos' crotch. She too apparently could see the spreading dark stain.
"So, he's got you all hot, huh, baby? Why don't we tango a little and see who gets to spend the night with this bum?" She hooked her thumb at Tom.
Cosmos wiped her hands on her pants and then she slipped from the stool. The two women stood, toe to toe, hands on their hips, their chins thrust into one another's faces. Tom looked around the bar. There was a circle of faces. All activity had stopped as the women had squared off. They all waited for the female explosion. Somebody switched on a light and it shined down on the adversaries as though they were fighters in the ring.
"I'm, ready for the likes of you, working girl," Cosmos spat. Then she really spat, right at Angie's feet.
Cosmos was giving away a couple of inches and perhaps fifteen pounds. She was no shrimp. Her shoulders and hips and thighs were firm. But Angie was a big and strong woman. If she got Cosmos in a bear hug, it would mean the end of it for the smaller woman.
Perhaps Cosmos hadn't been paying attention, or maybe she simply was slow. But Angie swung again, and again her palm caught Cosmos on the cheek. It was like a gunshot and there were murmurs of awe around the circle of faces.
Cosmos reeled back, her hand on her face. When she took her hand away to examine it, Angie was right after her, and, like a cat, she clamped her claws on the smaller woman's breasts. Cosmos was wearing a vest pantsuit, but Angie brushed the vest aside and clawed at the thin blouse underneath. She struck home, and Tom watched her nails dig in hard.
Cosmos looked down at her own breasts as though she couldn't believe she was being violated in such a fashion. The fingers were half buried in her soft flesh-apparently she wore no bra under the blouse. She opened her lips and cried out, but it wasn't a loud cry. They didn't want anyone to come rushing in from the street. Not yet.
Angie hung on, pressing Cosmos back until the bar caught her in the center of her spine. Cosmos was bent over the bar, her loins coming forward, as Angie leaned over her and poured the pain to her breasts.
Cosmos' blouse was coming out of her pants and soon her belly was bare. The crowd gazed on her white tummy and the shaking navel.
At last Cosmos struck back. She plunged her knee up and it hooked Angie directly in the belly. The large blonde gasped with a sucking of breath that could be heard all over the room. It was a silent fight. They didn't say much to one another, and the crowd was deathly quiet. So the only sounds were those of the fighters. Grunting, gasping, sucking deep breaths during split-second lulls.
Angie let go of Cosmos' breasts and laced her fingers over her belly as she reeled back and almost fell in the center of the floor. She was deathly white, and Tom realized she was still looking for that first breath after having the wind knocked out of her.
Cosmos moved in quickly and, before Angie could defend herself, she began to tear at the larger woman's mini. Soon the dazzling blonde was naked to the waist, and eyes feasted on her balloon breasts. A dozen men envied Tom the fact that he could feast on them any time he wished.
The redhead worked on, and the mini presently fluttered to the floor as a ruined rag. Tom realized that Cosmos was becoming careless once again. She'd been busy stripping Angie without realizing that Angie was breathing easily once again. The blonde bombshell was laying a trap.
Still bending over, Angie gripped her hands together in a double fist and brought them up sharply. The punch caught the beauty queen leaning over her, and Cosmos' breasts again were hit hard. Angie's fists sank into her knockers, and Cosmos fell back and sat hard on the tavern floor.
Cosmos lay back and writhed from the numbing pain in her chest. She kneaded her bosom with both hands, exposing herself to Angie's next move. The big blonde ripped at the redhead's midsection, ripping out her blouse, finding the zipper on her pants and jerking it open. Then she pulled on each pant leg and lowered Cosmos' pants to her knees. Her panties went with them, and the redhead's bristling flame-colored pubic hair was exposed.
The cheering section could compare the two pussies. There was Cosmos', covered with a thatch of red through which dainty pink lips peeked out. And there was Angie's generous coating of blonde hair and heavy lips inside that were glistening from her effort.
Angie was naked, except for her shoes, and Cosmos was exposed from her belly to her knees. She pumped her knees in pain and in a futile effort to protect herself as she continued to rub her breasts.
Angie bored in, and she fastened her claws directly on Cosmos' thighs. The redhead jerked and pulled away long enough to roll over on her stomach. She was seeking protection, but Angie merely dug her fingers into that saucy and quivering ass. Again she went deeply into the flesh. Each cheek was under attack, and they quaked like baker's dough, but Angie wouldn't quit.
Cosmos hammered on the floor with her feet and fists in her frustration, but Angie merely knelt on the backs of her thighs and pinned her to the floor. Then she shifted her hands to the crack of her ass, and she ran a stiff finger along the fissure. ( Cosmos stopped struggling, except for a few feeble movements of her hands and feet. She twisted her head and looked up at Angie. There was a strange look in her eye. It was a look of surrender. Tom stared. A dyke? Was Cosmos a dyke?
Angie's finger worked more deeply, and, as it slid, it came to Cosmos' bung hole. Angie spread the redhead's cheeks and looked inside. A dozen heads came forward to look with her. Then the line of spectators drew back again. Angie wormed her finger into the hole and the beauty queen writhed.
Angie looked up at the others with a gleam of triumph in her eyes. See? her look told them. See how I've seduced this woman who really isn't a woman at all? She's under my spell. I've broken her will to resist.
But Angie wasn't paying enough attention to . her foe. Cosmos moaned on while Angie looked about for applause. She had her finger half buried up Cosmos' ass, and she wormed it back and forth while Angie preened. But Tom caught the redhead looking back and measuring the distance.
Then she struck with surprising speed.
She rolled over and Angie was upset. The blonde rolled to her back while Cosmos whirled and sprang on her. She went directly to the larger woman's crotch, and she plunged her hands and head into Angie's spread thighs.
Angie tried to sit up, and she grabbed handfuls of red hair, trying to pull it from Cosmos' head. The beauty queen hung on, and the others could hear her nails raking over flesh and her teeth snapping like a dog's. Angie was crying out loudly now. She was actually being torn open by this smaller foe, and she didn't enjoy the pain or the humiliation.
She brought her knees up hard and, when Cosmos' head was dislodged, the knees caught her in the ear, and she was knocked clear of Angie's pussy. She fell heavily on her back while Angie sat up and looked between her spread thighs. There were thin trails of red leading directly to her snatch and teeth marks in the white skin of her upper thighs. Her cunt lips looked puffy already from their mauling.
She looked at her wounds, disbelieving, and then she looked up at the audience, in apology, as though she were ashamed of her performance and determined to make amends before the fans demanded their money back.
She crawled after Cosmos, for she was hurt, there was no doubt about it. Each woman had taken heavy punishment, but they were still determined and strong. She quickly tore away the remnants of the redhead's clothing and pulled even her shoes away, tossing them over the bar where they smashed several glasses.
Angie rammed an elbow under Cosmos' chin and pinned her head to the floor. She jabbed her other arm against her snatch and held her hips in place. Down came her head, and she resumed her attack on the flowering tits of the beauty queen. She bit hard on a nipple, and Cosmos' squeal filled the room. She moved to the other nipple and bit equally hard.
She lifted her face, and they could see blood on the trapped woman's breasts. Not much, but the teeth marks were oozing as though she'd been scratched in a bramble bush. Angie liked that, and she began to lick away the blood, servicing the nipples thoroughly in the process.
Cosmos was moaning again and she was trying to writhe her trapped hips. Angie didn't trust her this time, and she maintained a firm grip. So maybe she was getting to Cosmos, turning her on-and maybe she wasn't. She wasn't taking any chances with the struggling beauty.
Cosmos lifted her legs and moved them over Angie's restraining hand, over her body, and locked them on the blonde head that was still feeding on her nipples. She clamped her knees on each ear and pulled the head away from her breasts. Angie was big but the redhead's thighs were powerful, and she pulled the blonde off balance until she was almost standing on her head, with the head half buried in Cosmos' pussy.
Angie was having trouble breathing, and Cosmos kept her knees tight. They could hear the powerful blonde snorting and slurping in the sweating redhead's pubic gates, but Cosmos gave no indication she would let up before Angie passed out from a lack of oxygen.
But Angie finally worked her face free. The two women stared at one another, and then Angie smiled mysteriously. She turned her face back into Cosmos' thighs and stuck out her tongue. They could see it lance into the beauty queen's cunt, and a great shudder went through her ripe and panting body.
She spread her knees so Angie could pump her face up and down. Then she was stroking the larger woman's blonde hair and murmuring softly.
"Go ahead, sweetheart," she was whispering. "That's the way. Don't stop now. I'm coming... I'm coming... "
Then Cosmos was shuddering from head to toe. Her naked body glistened with sweat and turned a deep pink as she groaned, gripped Angie's ears hard in her fists, and wormed her hips off the floor and into that feeding face.
She rocked as her hips shot up and smacked hard against Angie's chin. Then she smacked again and again. She writhed like a stepped on snake, her belly quaking as her juices poured from her loins. When it was over, Angie lifted her bruised face and it was shining with a sticky love juice.
Cosmos sighed and smiled as she lifted her head from the floor. The tortured blonde wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled back. Then she swung her fist and hit the redhead squarely on the jaw. Cosmos' head whipped around and thudded on the floor.
The larger woman was over her like a jungle cat, still full of fight. She gripped the redhead by the ears and aimed her head as though it were a vacuum cleaner. She pulled the head against her breasts and, on command, Cosmos opened her mouth. A nipple popped inside and she sucked like a hungry infant. She was offered the twin nipple, and again she sucked. The slurping sound was as obscene as the scene itself.
Angie steered the face down her belly, and the tongue came out to drill into her navel. Angie whispered a command, rolling over, and the temporarily free head-still groggy and taking orders-licked her ass. The tongue plunged into the crack and rammed hard against the blonde's anus until the petals of her flower opened.
The tongue was going up her ass, and the men in the circle looked with blank faces at one another. Then they looked at Tom, and he felt ashamed. He hadn't wanted this to happen. Yet, it was exciting as hell. He'd grown a king-sized hard-on watching the struggle of the Amazons. So had all the others, and he'd seen a number of hands busy in pockets, attempting to jack off loaded dicks.
As he watched the gladiators, who were fighting in slow motion by now, the door opened and he stole a look. It was the slinky copy girl Mary Louise. She stared in total awe at the struggle on the floor, and then she looked around the circle until she discovered Tom. She moved to his side, looking older than her seventeen years.
He saw her open her mouth, and he knew she was going to ask a question. He shook his head as though he didn't know a thing about it, and she looked down again at the floor.
Angie was having an orgasm as Cosmos' tongue drilled up her ass. She was clutching at her pussy and shoving fingers into herself as waves of shock ripped through her sturdy body. Then she fell back, spent, and Cosmos withdrew her brown tongue from her bung.
The women lay on their backs, panting, staring at the ceiling. Soon one reached over and punched the other on the tit.
"Take that, bitch."
The other returned the punch, aiming at the belly, which she hit with a splatting sound. "That for you."
The women sat up, smiled wearily at one another, and fell into each other's arms. Then they were lying down again. They embraced and kissed, and soon Cosmos was reversing her position on the floor. There they were, head to tail and head to tail. Tom swallowed, and Mary Louise made some strange sound in her throat.
Tom glanced at her.
"What's wrong? Sorry you're not down there with them?"
The copy girl tossed her slinky brown hair away from her face and shook her head.
"Not for a minute. I like my partners to come complete with cock and balls."
The women on the floor began to eat their dessert. The fight was over, and they were making their peace with one another. The redhead's face was buried in the generous blonde cunt, and the blonde head was lost in the mass of flaming hair in Cosmos' crotch. They were making loud, sucking sounds now, and Mary Louise wrinkled her nose.
"Ugh! How awful."
Tom half smiled.
"You mean you've never done it?"
"Not since I messed around with my sister when I was just a kid. God, these two are real lesbians, aren't they?"
"I don't know. I doubt if they're aware of what's going on."
"Like shit. They're aware enough to be getting their rocks off into each other's face."
She pointed, and Tom looked down. They were both shaking and quivering against the streaming glory of one another's cum. Their arms went around one another's buttocks and hands dug into softening cheeks. Legs were locked around ears, and they were tight enough to have been cast in bronze.
They seemed content to remain like that for hours, and it was okay with Tom as long as Frank behind the bar didn't mind. He looked over in time to see the fat man jacking off into a shot glass.
Mary Louise was taking his arm.
"I'm ready to go whenever you are, tiger."
Tom wrinkled his nose.
"Even after this, you're ready for some sex?"
She nodded like the eager teen-ager she was.
"Now, more than ever. Admit it, they made you hot too. There's something sick about what they did, but it was also real basic sex. I'll bet women made it with each other in Neanderthal times."
Tom knelt by the side of the two women. He didn't know why. Some strange sense of obligation.
"Ladies, I'm leaving now."
There were muffled, slurping replies.
He got up and waved to Frank.
"Give me a double shot-in a clean glass, and after you've washed your hands."
Frank wore an angelic look as he poured the whisky, and as Tom drank it down he looked around. The others were also growing weary of the sport and began to drift back to their stools and tables. Soon the women were alone in the middle of the floor, half asleep in one another's arms.
Tom finished his whisky and waved at Frank.
"Draw me a bucket of cold water."
"What?"
"You heard me."
The bartender nodded and picked up a galvanized bucket. He filled it from the tap, and it thudded on the bar before Tom. He hefted it and then leaned toward the two struggling women. They were alive again, lapping and coming in alternate spurts as their bodies caught fire.
He threw the water, and it hit them like a broadside from a battleship firing icicles. They sloshed about in squeals of terror, sitting up and wiping their streaming hair from their eyes. Tom dropped the bucket and headed for the door, alone.
He heard quick feet behind him, and he turned. Mary Louise was following.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He stopped outside. It was already getting dark, and he wondered how the hours slipped by so quickly when he hung around Mario's.
Tom looked at the young girl. "What the hell do you want?"
"You." She said it matter of factly, without hesitation.
"I thought you only wanted me in the bowels of the newspaper plant, when you could grab at me in the corridors."
Mary Louise laughed, trying to sound older than she was.
"Don't be silly, Tom. I want you any time."
He was tempted to tell her to call him "Mr. Dagger," but he knew that wouldn't be fair.
"I'm sorry," he said at last. "I've had enough of women for a while. After that performance inside, I don't know what you and I could do."
"I do, and we could do plenty. Believe me." She ran her fingers inside his coat. "Come on, take me home with you."
He cocked his head.
"You certain your mother isn't home, waiting to give you your baby food?"
Her eyes blazed in the shadows, and she thrust her shoulders back so that her breasts jutted toward him. She might have been young in years, but her body was all grown up.
"That's a mean thing to say. I've been living alone for almost a year, and my mother doesn't bother me at all. She knows I'm a mature woman. You ought to know that too." Her voice began to tease. "Come on, Tommy honey, take me home with you. I won't make any trouble."
He sighed and hooked his thumb toward the parking lot.
"Come on, but keep quiet. I don't want to get caught running around with a punk."
She squealed with delight.
"Believe me, you won't be sorry, Mr. Dagger."
Now, all of a sudden, he was "Mr. Dagger" again.
They climbed into his Firebird, and he roared across downtown to his apartment house. It was a tall building, and Tom had a corner apartment on the tenth level. He liked the place because it came with a dandy view, a convenient location and full maid service-in every sense of the word.
As they crossed the lobby, he nodded at the clerk behind the desk. There was no attempt made to stop Tom. They knew he had women in. If they ever gave him any guff they knew he'd move out at once and a powerful man in the city's press hierarchy would be against them. So the clerk pushed a button under his desk and the elevator door slid open.
When the door had closed and they were humming upward, Mary Louise got her hands on Tom again. She was rubbing his belly inside his shirt and then she was cupping his crotch.
"These are what I like," she murmured, with her teeth clenched. "The family jewels, the engine room."
"Cool it, sis," he muttered, and she took her hands away.
The door opened, and they crossed the carpeted corridor. He unlocked his door and stood aside. She went in ahead of him, and he reached inside to snap on the switch.
"Golly!" she exclaimed. "Say, this is real classy. Neato, big Daddy."
"It's more than neato, and I'm not your big daddy." She hurried to the picture window and looked out at the glittering city and the dark waters of the harbor.
"Boy, you can see halfway to China."
"All the way on a clear day."
She turned to look at him.
"And we can do whatever we want without having to draw the drapes. What a luxury. At my place we're crawling all over each other."
"We?"
"I share two rooms with three other girls. Believe me, we know each other intimately."
He took off his jacket and tossed it over a chair.
"If you were three or four years older, I'd offer you a drink."
"Offer it, anyhow. I know how to hold my liquor. I learned how at home. My folks paid more attention to their bottles than they did to us kids. I learned how to water a bottle of Scotch before I could do my multiplication tables."
He spread his hands.
"Look, Mary Louise, I've just seen two women do an act that covered everything. There's nothing left for you and me to experience tonight. I'm tired and not in the mood for games. Why don't you just have a glass of milk and go home?"
"I'd rather have a glass of whisky," she replied.
"All right."
He marched into the kitchen and returned with two glasses. One, his, was darker than the other, and she grabbed his glass. Before he could stop her, she'd drunk half of it away as though it had been a Coke.
"Mm, good." She licked her lips with a little pointed tongue. "I'm sorry you're tired, Mr. Dagger, but I promise I'll show you a good time. And I'll do everything. All you've got to do is sit."
He realized he was starving. His belly was growling for food.
"If I do any sitting it'll be at the kitchen table," he muttered.
"My man's hungry."
"I'm hungry. I wouldn't know about your man."
"Oh, come on," she exclaimed, as she took his arm and pulled him into the kitchen. She snapped on the light and pointed at the small round maple table. "Sit there. One thing I know how to do is feed a hungry man... and I'm not talking about sex alone." He sat. God, but he was tired. The experience in Mario's had been a shocker. He leaned back in his captain's chair and watched Mary Louise briskly fish out a frying pan and bacon and eggs. In a few minutes she had the food sizzling on the stove. She stood, her feet apart, the husky cheeks of her ass muscled. He slowly hardened in his pouch, despite his apparent disinterest.
She grinned at him over her shoulder.
"Smell good?"
"I can't smell it from here." He was staring at the crack of her ass where the tight mini-skirt pulled over it.
"The food, silly."
His mouth was watering as quickly as his cock was turning into rock.
"It smells wonderful. Come on, hurry up."
She hurried, and everything began to jiggle as she worked. But in short order she finished the eggs, the bacon, and a pot of coffee, all at the same time. She served them to him, leaning over so that her tit brushed his shoulder.
"Now, wrap your gums around this stuff," she breathed into his ear. For an instant her tongue curled against his lobe, and he stiffened. "Like that?"
"I'd rather eat," he snapped.
"Me or the food?"
He merely glared, and then he was forking the food into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, and he ate his way into the eggs and crunched at the bacon with great haste. The coffee washed it down wonderfully. For a few minutes he saw nor heard nothing but the food. It dominated his every sense.
So Tom was caught by surprise when he felt something brush at his knee. Mouth full of food, he swiveled his head about the kitchen. She was out of sight. Quite obviously she was out of sight.
For he felt something else. A hand was snaking up his thigh, moving to the inside and approaching his crotch. At once his penis was like an iron rod again. She moved higher, fingers fluttering. He felt his shirt being pulled from his belt and hands were on his lower belly. His belt was being opened and then his zipper was sliding down.
He felt cool air on his groin as his cock was flipped out of his shorts. He continued eating, for some reason he never understood. It was as though if he acknowledged the presence of the hands he might break the spell.
He crunched another chunk of bacon as fingers wrapped themselves around his shaft. Then lips were on his head and both hands were reaching underneath to free his balls. His gonads were being fondled like a precious cargo of eggs, slowly being dropped from one palm into the other, until they tightened up with excitement.
The puckered lips pecked at him, working around his head and then along the shaft. Teeth began to nibble, and he mused about the number of blow jobs he'd had in the past week. He forked another load of eggs into his mouth and swallowed. The teeth worked on, all the way up to his fly. Then she was pressing his cock high so the lips could get underneath to his sack of marbles.
She kissed his balls and again nibbled. The sensation was exquisite. His sperm was charging back and forth like a caged animal. It begged for release.
"Take it easy," he muttered.
He heard a whispered question from underneath the table.
"I was talking to my balls," he replied. "Just you mind your own business."
Her only answer was a giggle.
Then the lips were moving out to his head again. She was sucking the knob now, tentatively, like a child sampling the flavor of a fresh sucker. Apparently the child liked what she tasted, for she opened her lips all the way and took his head completely into her mouth.
She clamped down and began to work her head back and forth, meanwhile working his knob with her pointed, rasping tongue. She was an expert with that tongue. She scoured under his flange for any cheese that might be lurking there. Again he wondered how she could be so talented at such a tender age.
She continued pumping, but it was going to take a bit longer than usual, because Tom had been drained so often and he was dead tired. But soon he felt his sperm rally anew for the battlefield charge.
They were anxious to be set loose inside the invader's mouth. Soon they were pouring down his shaft and shooting into her maw. He strained, his fists beating on the table as he went through his orgasm. The pan, plate, and silverware leaped with a frenzy as he came again and again into her throat. Her slurping sounds filled the room, and, in a moment of disgust, he remembered the same sound from the floor of Mario's.
Mary Louise knew her stuff, and she didn't let a drop escape. He would have bet on that. None would drip to the floor while that rasping tongue licked him clean. She lapped him all over his crotch. His cock, his balls, and his total pubic area came in for their share of attention.
Soon he sagged back, his eyes closed. God, now he was ready to die. She spoke into his ear at that instant: "More coffee, honey?"
He jerked his eyes open. She looked as fresh and shy as ever, her dress unmussed, her face scrubbed. Christ, she must have slipped into the bathroom without him knowing. She was holding the coffee pot. He nodded, and she poured his cup full.
She returned to the stove with her bottom twitching. He still loved the view, but he was so tired...
"Poor baby," she was murmuring, by his side again.
He nodded, and his head felt like an anvil. "Poor baby... "
"Come along, we'll tuck our baby into bed." She was lifting him from the chair, and he realized she was as strong as a man. "Come on now, it isn't far, and I've got the blanket all turned down."
He staggered along by her side, his arm over her shoulder. She was careful to dangle his hand invitingly against her left breast until his fingers began to clutch at it.
"See? Our baby isn't completely out of it, after all."
"Not out of it," he muttered, through lips that seemed to be made of wood.
She eased 'him into the bedroom, and he blinked as he looked around. Why the hell was he so tired? Had she put something into his coffee? He asked her.
"Well, just a relaxing pill," she admitted. "Nothing habit-forming. Believe me, you'll feel better after you've had a nice long nap. I have a few special ideas to help you fall asleep too. Very special ideas."
"You little bitch," he rasped, and, as he tried to pull away from her, he lost his balance and fell across the bed. He knew he was bouncing, but he couldn't make himself sit up fast enough. "Little bitch."
"I'm your little bitch," she purred, as she drilled her tongue into his ear. She was kneeling over him, and through heavy-lidded eyes he saw her mini-skirt all the way up to her crotch. He could see dark-brown curly cunt hairs sticking out from under her hem.
She was pulling his pants off and then unbuttoning his shirt. He felt a coolness all over his body. He was naked as she worked him until he was lying correctly on the bed, his head on the pillow. He opened his eyes again, still fighting the pill.
She was naked too, and again she was kneeling over him. She took his hand and pressed it against her crotch until he stuck his finger inside. He wormed his finger back and forth, and there was a trembling response.
"Good guy," she whispered. "You knew I was ready to make it. Now I am."
She was writhing and bouncing on the bed as he somehow managed to keep his finger inside her pussy.
"Yes, yes. Oh, God, yes, darling. That's it. Shove it all the way up to my belly! God, I'm coming again. I'm running like a busted artery, and it feels so wonderful... "
Soon she was drained, and she settled, trembling at his side. He allowed her to stroke his cock as he fell asleep. Afterwards, he wasn't certain what else went on during that night. He might have awakened and played again and again with Mary Louise. And they might have done things that would have made Angie's and Cosmos' act in the bar look like a high school play.
But he was never certain, and Mary Louise never told him what had happened.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When he opened his eyes it must have been early. The light was still faint and the sun was just starting to slant into his bedroom. He frowned and tried to remember. He knew he had to be at the office in time to meet Hope Brewster. They would be starting their adventure at Red Holly's whorehouse that day. Hope would walk into a trap and banish herself from newspaper work forever, as a result of her traumatic experiences.
He smiled at the thought.
"At least he's alive."
He turned his head at the sound, and a head was sticking in his bedroom door. It belonged to the landlady, Mrs. Hansen. She was a shy little thing in her late thirties, and if she ever really had a husband, Tom didn't know it. She never talked about him. She had a daughter, and she owned the apartment house. He suspected a case of desertion by the old man, when he'd found out his wife was pregnant. Something in her bitterness told him that was close to the truth.
"Hi," he muttered, and his mouth felt sticky. It wasn't unusual for Mrs. Hansen to come to his apartment. She always did on the day she collected the rent. "What time is it?"
"A little after seven." She smiled like an angel with dollar signs in her eyes. "I called your office and told them you'd be a little late. I think they're beginning to understand about you and me and rent day." He sighed as he nodded.
"I'd like to get into the can without you seeing me in all my early morning glory," he snapped. "How about heating up the coffee?"
She vanished into the kitchen, and he slipped into the bathroom. He ducked under the shower for three minutes and then brushed his teeth and shaved. He was beginning to feel human as he wrapped a towel around his middle and returned to the kitchen. Mrs. Hansen turned from the stove with the pot, and he sat while she poured for them both.
He pursed his lips.
"Tell me, did you... urn, see anybody leaving the apartment this morning?"
Mrs. Hansen looked him in the eye. She was an attractive woman. Colorless, but with a good figure that age hadn't begun to take away as yet. She ran her finger over a spot on her chin as she frowned.
"You young devil," she said at last. "So you did have a woman up here all night. George said something about it at the desk this morning. But when I saw you were alone, I... "
"How about some more coffee?" As she poured, he said, "It was just a kid. Friend of the family."
"Of course, Tom Dagger. All of your women are friends of the family." She paused to frown again. "Speaking of young people, I want to talk about the rent that's due."
"Okay, come into the bedroom when I get this coffee in my belly, and I'll let you collect in the usual way. Fifty percent off, right?"
"I hope you're feeling all right. Sometimes I wonder if you're worth a hundred dollars."
He leaned across the table and shoved his finger into her tit. She gurgled her pleasure.
"You know damned well I am, Widow Hansen. And you can afford me, right?"
She nodded.
"I'd like to collect in a different way this time. If you're willing, I'll write off the entire month's rent-the whole two hundred."
He sat up straight. This was good news. He'd blown his last week's check on booze and women and a set of tires for the Firebird. It would help to save an extra hundred. What the hell, if he fucked for free, he might as well fuck for money. He'd often admitted he was a gigolo for letting Mrs. Hansen lay him for the rent, but what the hell, everybody enjoyed it and nobody got cheated.
"Good deal," he replied. "At least I think it is. What's the different way you want to collect?"
Mrs. Hansen drew back and went to the door leading to the parlor.
"All right, Mona darling, you can come in. Mr. Dagger's wearing a towel."
A middle-sized blonde appeared in the doorway. She looked a great deal like her mother, except that she was twenty years younger, her hair still had a rich wheat color, and her body had sharper and more interesting curves. Still, she seemed as shy as her mommy.
"Hi, Mr. Dagger."
"Hi."
He had seen Mona around the apartment house on occasion, usually playing in the lobby. She was fifteen or so, and she'd rarely spoken to Tom, except that she'd often followed him with her eyes. He imagined she was drawn to him because she knew he was an ace reporter for the Daily Courier. To a kid, this might be pretty romantic stuff.
"Mona's growing up, Mr. Dagger," Mrs. Hansen was saying, as she draped her arm fondly across the child's shoulders. "She's begun to ask me questions I can't answer alone. I think it's time you and I gave her a few answers together."
Tom looked at the mother and then cocked his eye at the daughter.
"Tell me, does Mona want to know where babies come from?"
Mrs. Hansen patted her daughter's shining head.
"I think she knows that, all right. They start teaching them in kindergarten these days. No, it's not that. Mona has no... ah, experience. I thought she ought to be introduced to the ways of sex in the right place."
"In my apartment."
The landlady nodded.
"Is it worth the rent to you?"
Tom stared at the girl.
"She's a kid."
"And how old were you when you had your first encounter with what's inside a girl's panties, Mr. Dagger?" Mrs. Hansen wanted to know.
"I see what you mean."
The two women stared at his bath towel, his naked legs and his hairy chest. Tom finished his coffee and stood up to stretch. He felt good, and he had a little time before his appointment with Hope Brewster and the ladies of Holly House West. He grinned like a kindly father. "My room?"
"Right here will do for a start," the mother said. She went to him and whipped the towel from his body. She stared for a second before turning to her daughter. "You see, Mona, that Mr. Dagger's better endowed than most men you'll encounter in your life of loving. He also knows how to use his equipment."
Tom looked down at his limp pecker. It was hanging halfway to his knees, white and spent from too many days of almost constant use. As he watched, Mrs. Hansen picked it up and laid it in her palm as though it were something she'd brought up from the bottom of the sea.
"Would you like to touch it, darling?"
"Sure, Mom," Mona said. She sounded shy, but he sensed the tingle of excitement in her voice.
She joined her mother before him and placed her fingers on his head. He felt the throb immediately and, as they all stared, the tool began to inflate like a Macy balloon-float slowly coming to life. As it hardened, Mrs. Hansen continued her lecture while Mona paid attention like an anxious biology student.
"Mr. Dagger's a wonderful teacher, Mona. Even though I'm ten years older than he, he's showed me many wonderful techniques over the past several months. Unfortunately, he's consented to sessions only once a month, but that means I'm always really ready for him when the first of the month rolls around."
His cock was approaching full size as Mrs. Hansen stroked it.
"How big does it get?" Mona wanted to know.
"Oh, perhaps another inch longer, wouldn't you say, Mr. Dagger?"
Tom shrugged like a fool.
"Something like that."
"You may stroke it, Mona."
The pretty young blonde started to pet the penis, and Tom felt his insides tightening up and the strength being formed to flow toward his groin. When things started to happen, his entire body chipped in its strength to help beef up the power of his gonads.
"You're learning fast," Tom sighed. He grabbed at the edge of the sink tile, for support. "Very fast."
"You have a wonderful advantage, darling," Mrs. Hansen went on. "You're young, and you're pretty, and this excites almost any man, even before you begin your sex act. When you're getting older like me, you must invent other ways to initially stimulate your lover."
Mona stared at her mother.
"Huh?"
"Well, when I have an arrangement with Mr. Dagger, I usually begin by massaging him on his bed when he's waking up. I would've done that this morning, except that you were with me. I massage like this."
She brushed Mona's hand aside and stroked his cock. She circled it with two fingers to form a firm ring around his flesh. This ring she pulled back and forth in a piston action. He swallowed and clung to the counter.
"This is the basic motion of every sex act, whether it be tongue into a mouth, penis into an anus, hands on a penis or, of course, the penis in a vagina. The stroke is essential to orgasm, unless the partners are so excited a mere random fondling produces orgasm- and this can occasionally happen, especially among you young people."
Mrs. Hansen smiled delightedly at Mona.
"You see? I've taken him to the edge of orgasm, even without our bodies joining, thanks to the basic stroke."
Mona nodded.
"So you're jacking him off. I understand that, all right."
Her mother stared.
"Jacking off? You use words like that?" Mona rolled her eyes.
"Oh, Mother, we're not all children. What do you think we talk about after our sex education classes, making mud pies?"
Mrs. Hansen shrugged at Tom.
"I don't suppose there's much use for tact from here on in. She seems to know it all."
"It looks that way."
"Still, you might learn a few new things, young smarty pants," her mother snapped. "It helps to know how to use your mouth on a man."
Mona was the shy little girl all over again. "Your mouth?"
"Like this."
Tom's landlady dropped to her knees and kissed his cock. It tingled, and she felt it, for she smiled, and then she kissed it again. She opened her lips and took the knob inside her mouth for a moment. She released it.
"Do you see what I mean, darling?"
"I... I guess so, Mother."
Mrs. Hansen took his prick into her mouth again and began to pull on it. She was exerting pressure in even, successive waves. The old piston theory was still doing the job, and he felt himself close to coming. He could take just so much handling before he'd go off like an exploding cannon.
"But what about you, Mommy? What do you get out of it?"
Mrs. Hansen wasn't in the mood for further lecturing. She was busy licking and sucking. She shrugged and mumbled something that sounded like: "I make out the best way I can."
"That doesn't seem fair," her daughter replied. "He's getting all the attention."
With that, she flipped up her mother's skirt from the rear. Mrs. Hansen had come ready to play. She wore no pants, and her ass stuck out at a sharp angle. Not a bad bottom for a woman who was putting on mileage. She hadn't really begun to spread too much. Mona apparently liked what she saw too, for she ran her hands over the curves of her mother's cheeks. Mrs. Hansen freed her impaled throat and turned around.
"What in the world are you doing? Did I raise a lesbian?"
Her child looked blank.
"Golly, no. I just think you should be having some of the fun, Mommy. Isn't it all right if I touch you like this while you're doing so much for Mr. Dagger?"
She demonstrated by running her finger deeply the length of the crack in Mrs. Hansen's buttocks. The mother shuddered as though she'd run headlong into a stone wall. Tom saw the cheeks of her buttocks quiver, and she licked her lips.
"Well, I suppose it would be all right."
She took Tom's cock back into her mouth, but her mind wasn't really on her work. Rather, she was more interested in her daughter's education. She casually ran her tongue over his knob while Mona ran her finger up and down the crack in her bottom. The finger went deeply between her legs, and, when Mrs. Hansen uttered a choked cry, he knew Mona had driven all the way home. She'd hit pay dirt.
"I found it," the child exclaimed, with her eyes dancing. She smiled at Tom like an angel. "I found my mommy's twat. It's a nice twat, isn't it?"
"Wonderful, honey," Tom replied. His cock was fully into his landlady's throat. "Really wonderful. You're very kind to your old mother."
Mona knelt behind her mother and spread her cheeks with both hands as she peered up and into Mrs. Hansen's vagina. She toyed with the hairs. Then her finger was in there again and it tucked itself between the glossy folds to bury itself to the hilt. Mrs. Hansen was getting weak in the knees, and she'd almost forgotten that Tom's rod was halfway down her throat.
The landlady was humping back hard against Mona's jabbing finger. She worked for several minutes before she bit down hard on his cock. He cried out in the instant Mrs. Hansen shot her bolt. She opened her mouth and freed his prick while falling to her side on the kitchen floor. Mona was right with her, that young finger still buried in her like an Indian's lance in the side of a buffalo.
"Lordy. Lordy. Lordy," Mrs. Hansen bubbled, as she clawed at the linoleum. "Sweet Mona, you've opened a whole new world for me."
When she completed her convulsions, she got back to her knees and hugged her kneeling daughter. Tom loomed over them, his rigid cock dripping and waiting for the last act. Mona peered up at it.
"Well, Mr. Dagger's had his fun and you've had yours, but I thought I was supposed to be the one to learn something." The child pouted like she wanted an all-day sucker. "I haven't had any fun at all. Nobody pays any attention to me."
Her mother looked at Tom.
"Mr. Dagger, why don't you take the child in hand?"
"With pleasure." He pulled the girl to her feet. "Did you come prepared, like your mother?"
"She has no pants on, if that's what you mean," Mrs. Hansen gasped, from the floor. She looked halfway out of it, as though she wanted to roll over and sleep.
"That's exactly what I mean," he agreed. "Mona, I'm going to take your clothes off."
"Well, golly gee, let's go, Mr. Dagger," she whined.
He proceeded to undress her. It took only a minute, for she wore sandals, a loose mini, and nothing else. He was pleased with her proud young breasts that were still filling out. The nipples were a rich, virginal pink, and her belly was flat. Her blonde pubic hair was clean and fresh looking, as though her gates were still virginal.
He didn't waste time. It was getting late, and he had business downtown. So he placed his hands on her breasts.
"They're very nice, Mona. Very nice."
"That's what the boys at school told me."
He ran his thumbs across her belly and inspected her navel.
"Good tummy, nice clean navel."
"They told me that too."
He turned her around so he could cup the cheeks of her bottom. It was firm, and the nerves were jumping under his touch. There was no flab but just smooth white skin where her bikini had never allowed the sun to penetrate.
"Wonderful tail too. No sag, plenty of cushion."
"Harry, Jeff, and Brad agree," she said.
He turned her around again as Mrs. Hansen watched from the floor, an interested spectator. He put his hand on her thigh and ran it directly up to her box. He pressed against the cushion of hair, and her young mouth opened.
"Oh," she said.
"You like that?"
"Oh, yes."
He turned her with her back toward the sink counter and then, hands on her waist, he lifted her easily up on the counter so that she sat with her feet dangling over the edge. He spread her knees and leaned over to look into her crotch. It was a beautiful young snatch. Clean, pink, apparently untouched by human hands-except for those of Mona herself.
He shoved her knees all the way apart. "Now don't be frightened."
"I'm not, I'm not, already," she groaned.
He moved between her legs with his cock grazing along the insides of her thighs. He moved directly to her gates where he parted the hair and touched his head against her puffy outer lips. She was slick and swollen with excitement. He pushed and, surprisingly enough, his knob slipped inside with no difficulty.
"All right. It doesn't hurt?"
"Not a bit," Mona replied.
He leaned harder against her, and inch after inch of his shaft was buried in her loins. It was much simpler than he'd expected, and soon he was all the way in. She locked her ankles around his waist and strained until her buttocks came up off the counter. Her arms went around his neck, and, as he stepped back, she came with him, completely locked on.
She began to arch the small of her back and pump against him, in and out, in a youthful rhythm that was full of power. He knew this girl could fuck him under the table any day in the week. In a few seconds she was coming.
She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, in a death grip. Her legs dug into his flanks, and she was instantly bathed in perspiration as her body glowed in a pink shine. She rolled her eyes and gasped. Her knees pumped as though she were urging a horse into a gallop.
Then he was coming, and their juices mingled in a wild, furious cauldron of boiling sex. They came again and again until Mona hung onto him so heavily that he almost fell. She slipped from his body and joined her mother on the floor.
As Tom stood panting, Mrs. Hansen reached inside her dress and pulled out a paper which she handed to him.
"Here's your rent receipt."
He thanked the landlady and went into the bedroom to clean up.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She was already in the city room, waiting for him, as he came in. He went straight to her desk where she was perched on just a few inches of chair. She looked very proper in a little green dress, her feet and knees together, a cigarette lighter clutched in her hands.
Hope Brewster was a good-looking broad. He had to admit that her class showed in every pore, every line of her body, in her attitude, in the way she moved. When she spoke, her words proved that she had background.
The others in the city room realized it too. They were all there, looking closely. He briefly looked at Mary Louise and Angie, but he paid little attention to them. He sat and stared at Hope Brewster. He had to concentrate hard to get down to business.
"You understand what we're going to do?"
She lifted her chin.
"Didn't you say something about exposing the operations of a house of prostitution?"
"That's right. Holly House West, Red Holly, proprietor. We're going to go in there posing as visiting firemen in town for a good time. While we're making the rounds, I'll be making mental notes, while you use that camera in the cigarette lighter so they won't notice. Let me have a look at it."
She handed him the lighter, and he grunted.
"Let me check it with the photo lab to make sure it'll pick up enough light to do the job."
"It will," she insisted. "I know my cameras."
He gave her a level look before his eyes dropped to the rise and fall of her breasts. "I'll check anyhow."
He left her and crossed the city room. Just inside the photo lab door he stopped, opened the back of the camera, and jerked out the tiny roll of high-speed film. He snapped it closed again and dropped the film into his pocket. Then he went back to her and dropped the camera in her lap. It fell directly on her crotch with a light, tight little bounce.
"It'll do okay," he announced. "Now we've got to play it cool, Miss Brewster. They don't know us, right? We're there for a good time, but we've got to stall so we can shop around and see the whole place before they get suspicious."
She licked her lips and swallowed. She was excited and frightened, all right. "How do we explain our visit?" He shrugged.
"We're there for a shot of sex. What else?"
"I can understand that for you-a man-but what about me?" She was blushing like a sunset.
"We'll tell them you're a lesbian, a dyke who wants a fast woman in the hay." It was difficult talking to her like that, because she looked so fine, so beautiful, but he had to be much tougher than she was or the game wouldn't work. Shock after shock after shock, that was the name of his game.
She took it pretty good. He had to give her credit for that.
"It all sounds so terribly contrived."
"Sure it does, but if we get the pictures and story we help clean up the city. That's what your father wants the Daily Courier to do, lead cleanup campaigns."
She thought about that.
"All right, I'll do whatever you say. I'm certain you know what you're doing." He kept his face straight and sincere. "Trust me."
As they got up to leave, a dozen heads raised from desks around the room. Tom hustled her out in a hurry before troublemakers like Angie and Mary Louise could come screwing around with embarrassing questions.
As they climbed into his car, he watched her skirt ride up over her thighs.
"You don't look any more like a lesbian than Raquel Welch does."
She looked across at him.
"I presume that's a compliment. Considering your behavior at my house, I assumed you don't look on me as a completely undesirable female."
"You can assume that all day and be right," he snapped. "But what I don't consider you, is a newspaperman, and I won't, unless you get through this caper today. This is a test, Miss Brewster."
"I realize that, and I'm going to do my best. I didn't know one had to be an actress in the newspaper world."
"Eventually one must be a little of everything," he told her. "From the top to the bottom, you play a thousand roles."
She mulled that while he drove across town and up into the heights. It was an old residential neighborhood that was becoming a mecca of professional buildings, small and expensive apartments and swanky restaurants. Smack in the middle of the area was a small brick place with ivy and juniper and a discreet sign that announced: HOLLY HOUSE WEST No Vacancy It was true, every suite was occupied-by Red Holly's whores. They lived in spacious quarters, because Holly's rates started at fifty bucks a throw and went up sharply from there. By the time the extras and tax were tacked onto the bill, the customer usually left a hundred or more behind. Holly even offered a pick-of-the-litter three-day special for a cool thousand dollars, and more than one city official or industrial leader had taken advantage of the ten percent discount.
Tom parked in the lot at the rear, where the view of the automobiles was restricted by a high fence. The rear entrance to Holly House West was as fancy and discreet as the front. They went to a heavy, carved wooden door, and Tom pushed the bell. Then he looked down at Hope.
She was trembling, but she stood straight with her chin high. She glanced up quickly at him, and he winked. He hadn't planned on that, because he wanted her to feel frightened and alone. He wanted her to forget she ever wanted to be in the newspaper business.
The door opened, and a very young girl looked out at them. She was wearing a smart midi, like a good receptionist should.
"Yes?" she asked.
Tom knew this was how the very newest girls were broken in. They did odd jobs around the place until they became full-time whores.
"Good afternoon. I'm Mr. Smith, and this is Miss Jones. We have an appointment."
The girl, a pretty brownette, smiled. She'd even had her teeth capped. That would raise her price.
"Of course. Come right in. Miss Holly is expecting you."
They went into a tasteful sitting room, and the girl waved at a couch and a table stacked with the latest magazines. Soft music came from somewhere in the walls. It was like a society doctor's office. They sat for a moment, and then Red Holly came in.
Red was only of medium height, but she was built like a sexy Sherman tank. She had red hair, of course. Flaming red hair and eyes that glittered like glassy emeralds. She had knockers that looked like the upraised blade of a bulldozer. Her thighs were heavy and firm, her shoulders husky, her arms and hands strong. She shook hands with Tom like a tackle on the Green Bay Packers. She had on a red dress that was cut up the front almost all the way to her crotch. Tom got a glimpse of red pants underneath. The V at her throat went deeply between her breasts so he could see two halves of white flesh pressing together in a lovers' embrace.
"Mr. Smith?" she boomed. Then she shook hands with Hope. "And Miss Jones? Glad to meet you. Proud to have you visit Holly House West. We offer only the best. You want to split up now. Miss Jones, I've got a coy little number for you."
While Hope looked shocked, Tom said: "We'd like to look around a bit, if you don't mind. Could we have our pick of girls and apartments?"
When Hope wasn't looking, Red winked at Tom.
"Sure, but it'll cost you more. Each girl thinks her room is her castle, but if you want to move 'em around... well, for an extra twenty, they'll stand on their heads and whistle Dixie."
"Excellent," he replied. "Come along, Miss Jones."
Hope followed him with her Minox clutched in her hands. Tom suspected she'd already clicked the thing at Red Holly. As they moved into the house, out of the reception room, she'd be clicking like mad. He had to respect the girl. Shocked as she was by the bizarre events, she had the presence of mind to try to do her job. Too bad she was Morgan Brewster's daughter.
They were going down a corridor with Red chattering away in the lead. They watched her move in the painted-on red dress. It showed every muscle in her bottom, and there were plenty. She paused before an open door and gestured inside.
"This is Grace. She's our heavy. Anybody gets out of line, Grace gives 'em the arm."
They looked inside. Grace was well over six feet, with a mass of dark hair streaming over her shoulders and a body that had to weigh in at one-seventy. She was tall, spectacular, and as lethal looking as a forty-five caliber revolver. She was sitting on a stool at the foot of her bed, her dress pulled up to her waist, her knees spread. She wore nothing under the dress, and they looked into her black pubic hair. She was splashing warm soapy water on herself from a pan between her feet.
Hope gasped, and her fingers went to her lips. She stared in profound shock, and Tom saw the color leave her face. He thought for a moment she might pass out, but she kept her balance until the crisis passed.
Red looked at Tom, and he nodded.
"Let's move along," the madam said, and they went to the next open door.
Behind them the gigantic Grace came out of her room and joined their entourage, peering over Hope's shoulder and, from what Tom could make out, occasionally whispering obscene invitations to her. Tom wanted to tell her to shove off, but Red knew what she was doing. She'd obviously coached her girls to put on a show.
Inside the next room was a pert little coquette gal introduced as Billy Jo. She was a Southern belle with dark hair, and when she said, "Good morning. How y'all?" her accent was thick enough to slice. She was a Dixie belle from well below the Mason-Dixon Line. Her room was decorated like a Southern plantation house, with frilly curtains, old-polished furniture, lots of flowers, and pictures of fictitious ancestors on the walls. Her bed was a canopied four-poster with a lacy coverlet. Billy Jo herself wore a white satin costume and, while fitting her body snugly, went all the way to the floor and all the way to her throat. She carried a parasol.
The thing that made Hope gasp and stagger all over again was the way Billy Jo's costume had been altered. In the pretty white satin the ends had been snipped out of the bosom so that her nipples showed in two generous splashes of pink. At her crotch a piece had been cut away so that her vagina, ringed with trimmed back hair, hung out for all to see.
As Hope stared, the impish coquette spread her knees and poked the end of her parasol directly into her pussy. She wiggled it back and forth and then let a ripping fart that filled the room with an awful smell.
"Good God," Hope breathed, and her eyes rolled up into her head.
As she swooned Tom caught her.
He looked at Red.
"Maybe that's enough." .
"Nonsense. We're just warming up. You want to really put her down, don't you? Well, let's do the job right. She'll be okay later, don't worry."
Gently, Tom slapped Hope's cheeks until she opened her eyes. She blinked and then accepted a shot glass filled with brandy that big Grace offered. She drank it down, and some of her color returned.
"Let's see some more," Red exclaimed, leading the way again.
Grace and the Dixie belle followed their growing little band. They stopped at the third open door, and Hope hesitated before poking her head inside. Tom could have sworn she snapped another picture of Billy Jo and Grace. Plucky kid.
Inside the room was a frizzy blonde who Red called Annie. She was seated on her bed, chewing gum, and she was stark naked. As she chewed, she took some gum. from her mouth, added a few fresh sticks, and chewed on as she flattened the gum in her fingers to silver dollar-sized shapes. These she placed on her brown nipples and pasted them in place. She looked toward the door and giggled at her audience.
"I guess you'd say Annie has a fetish," Red muttered. "We catch her sticking her gum in the darndest places." She raised her eyebrows at Hope. "How about it, Miss Jones, you see anybody you want yet? Annie would love to stick gum up your... on you. Grace likes to carry her girls over the threshold, and Billy Jo will let you eat her right through the hole on her pre-Civil War gown."
"God," Hope breathed. She clung to Tom's arm, and he knew he was being a son of a bitch. He never should have done it. But it was too late now.
"No?" Red went on. "All right. On to the next showing."
Annie came along with them, snapping her gum all the while, as they looked into the fourth apartment.
"This is Albino Kate," Red announced.
Kate was a colorless woman, literally, except for the pink of her rabbit eyes. Her skin was parchment white, and through it they could see her arteries and veins flowing in red and blue splendor. Her hair was white, both on her head and on her vagina. She was naked, and even her nipples were white. She was like one of those transparent plastic models of the human body used in a biology class. They could see everything. As they stared, she looked up and leered with her white mouth. She stuck out a white tongue as she came toward them.
She planted herself before Hope, and then, in a fast move, she wrapped her arms around Hope and kissed her on the mouth. Screaming, Hope tore herself away, and she lashed out with her tiny camera as a weapon.
Hope retreated, from the doorway and came up with her back against the corridor wall. The women stared at her, and Red was nodding with a knowing look. Her eyes were fixed on the fake cigarette lighter in Hope's hand.
"Tommy," Red was saying, "you're trying to fuck your old pal Red Holly-and I don't mean for your fun and my profit."
He stared at the madam. She'd used his right name, giving the game away.
"What's wrong, Red? Don't blow it now."
Hope was stammering: "She knows who you are!" , "Sure I do, honey. And I know you're from the Courier too. Pretty smart, you two, conning old Red. Telling me to put on an act to scare the living shit out of this girl. Actually, you got us performing for her camera. What for, Tommy, to print in that rag or to use as blackmail?"
"Listen, Red," Tom rasped, "I had to put on an act for the girl too, to get her in here. She had to think she was taking pictures for a story. But what I told you on the phone was right. I just wanted her blasted out of the newspaper business."
"I can take care of that little matter," Red muttered. Her voice was cold with hate. "No cameras, eh? What's that in her hand, and don't tell me it's a lighter with a fake lens."
Tom managed a grin.
"Relax. It's a camera, but it's empty. I unloaded it without her knowing, so she'd think her job was to take pictures. Don't you get it?"
"Empty, eh?"
"Sure." He snatched the lighter from Hope and sprang the catch on the back. He showed Red there was no film. "See?" He turned to Hope. "I'm sorry, but I thought it was the right thing to do. I see now it wasn't."
"You're still lying sons of bitches, both of you," Red continued, and the circle of whores closed in on Tom and Hope. "What about the other camera?"
Tom frowned.
"I don't get you."
"This one."
Red snatched at Hope's dress, tearing Open her bodice and revealing her brassiere. Mounted between her breasts was a tiny camera no larger than a match box. Its lens loomed like the muzzle of a deadly weapon. Red jerked the camera away, and the brassiere parted, sagging at Hope's sides. Her breasts rose proudly before them, and the whores looked her over with some envy. "Oh, no!" Tom gasped. Hope stared at him.
"I thought they might find my hand camera, so I kept a spare, just in case."
"I know the female anatomy, honey," Red snapped, as she slapped Hope across the mouth with a stinging report. "I knew that little bump didn't belong under your dress. So, I put two and two together."
Hope turned to Tom.
"So, you hate me this much. This was all an act to drive me crazy, wasn't it?" He shrugged.
"To drive you away from my office, that's all. Christ, I never expected you'd carry a second camera." He turned to Red. "Look, let's forget it, okay? We won't make trouble, and you've got the cameras. I'm sorry, Red, but you see I was fooled too."
"Bull shit," Red snapped. She slapped him across the face, hard, and at once the whores moved closer. Two grabbed at Hope's and Tom's arms and pinned them behind their bodies. "I think you're a smart ass, Tommy, and I think you came here for a story. Very clever, your little con job on me. I actually believed you until the eyes and ears of the world here"-she jerked her thumb at Hope- "came in jingling like a camera store."
The other two whores took their arms too, and the women held each of them prisoner.
"This is crazy, Red," Tom rasped.
He looked at Hope, and the fear in her eyes told him she realized the truth.
Red wasn't fooling anymore. She was going to get tough.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was a small room, but it seemed larger than it was, because there was no furniture in it. No furniture unless you included the two simple beds on which Hope and Tom were spread and tied at that moment.
They were bound, wrists and ankles, to the beds, their feet and arms spread to the four corners of each bed. They could move only their heads.
They had struggled at first, but there had been too many of them. While two of the women subdued Hope, the other had attacked Tom. He had held his own until big Grace had gotten behind him and wrapped her sturdy arms around his body. Then they'd bound him until he could be hauled into the empty room.
Now he looked at Hope, who was a few feet from his side. They were naked, of course, and her body was lovely, even in this desperate hour.
"Hope."
For a moment she didn't turn her face, but at last she looked at him. She said nothing. Her face was unmarked, except for a pink spot where Red had slapped her.
"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't know this would happen."
"I'm sorry too," she murmured. The life had gone from her voice. "I really thought you'd selected me for this because you wanted to test my courage and skill. Instead, it was a mean, ugly trap. I can't forgive that, Tom. Why do you hate me so?"
He licked his lips. He was dry as hell.
"I don't hate you. I don't believe in relatives of the boss in the office, that's all. It was a bad scene, and you know it. You wanted to come to the Courier, knowing everybody would resent you. You didn't trust your ability to give yourself a fair test by going somewhere to work where you weren't known. Admit it. You wanted the assurance of knowing your daddy was sitting upstairs in his big office-backing you up."
At last she nodded.
"All right. But that's finished now. All our plans-yours and mine-are finished. What do you think she'll do to us?"
He shrugged.
"I don't know. She can't keep us here for long. She knows somebody will come looking. Still, she wants to punish us in a way we'll not forget."
The door opened, and big Red came in. With her were all the others, Grace, Billy Jo, Annie, and Kate. They ringed the beds and looked down at their victims. Casually, Grace shoved her fingers into Hope's vagina, and the trapped girl was unable to twist out of the way. Billy Jo, the Dixie belle, had her eye on Tom, and she leaned down and bit him on the cock. As she did so, he stared at the nipples that protruded from her gown.
"Cool it," Red snapped, and the whores stepped back out of the way. "Well, Tommy, what happens now? I know what you're thinking. That somebody will rescue you. But I've already fixed that. I called your editor and asked him why you didn't show up for the tour. Then I told him you said something on the phone yesterday about running off with Hope Brewster and teaching her a lesson when you got her over the state line. What do you think about them apples?" Tom had to nod.
"Pretty smart. Any man would understand that I wanted to get this woman off by herself. You hold all the cards, Red."
"And I'm gonna play them, buster. You two come up losers."
She gestured to the other women, and two stood over each bed. At another sign from Red they went to work. Grace again got her finger inside Hope's vagina, and she pumped it rapidly. Working with her was the albino Kate, who was trying to kiss Hope's twisting face. She gripped Hope's ears and planted her colorless lips on Hope's cherry red mouth. Hope tried to cry out, but her calls were muffled.
Billy Joe and the gum-chewing Annie were assigned to Tom. While Annie got up on the bed and sat astride his crotch, Billy Jo got in the saddle higher on his body. Soon Annie had worked at Tom's penis until it was sticking straight up. Then she was squatting over it until she wormed it up into her pussy. Billy Jo sat on Tom's face and, with her knees far apart, her cut-away crotch was pressed directly to his mouth. She wormed her snatch back and forth until her milk was making his face wet.
He gasped and twisted his face from side to side, but it was hopeless to try to avoid her mounting orgasm. Once he saw the albino coming on Hope's breasts, while the gigantic Grace was coaxing an orgasm from Hope with her thrusting hands buried in Hope's crotch.
He fought them until it was all over. After an hour of constant play, in which the whores switched roles and during which Red herself occasionally took part, it was all over. They drew back and inspected the panting, soaked and soiled bodies. Then they went away, promising to return again in the next hour for another session.
When he caught his breath, he looked at her.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes." Her voice was dead. "I'm all right. How do we get out of this madhouse?" He tried to think.
"You're a brave kid, Hope. Much braver than I realized. If we get out of this... "
"When we get out of this," she corrected.
"I'll make it up to you," he promised.
"Right now I'd settle for a gallon of disinfectant, an hour-long shower under steaming water, and a ten-course meal. I'm starving to death."
"I'll get us out," he promised, and then he explained his plan to her. Then they were ready.
He began to cry out, and he kept it up until the Dixie belle came into the room. She smiled sweetly, but there was a deadly look in her eye. He was glad it was she who responded. She was hot, and she liked Tom.
She went to his side.
"What's ailin' y'all, sugar?"
He grinned.
"Thank God it's you. I didn't want any of the others in here."
"Why, that's right nice to hear." She tossed her rump toward Hope in a gesture of dismissal. "I think you earned yourself a little old kiss, you Yankee dog."
He puckered up, and she brought her face down on his. When her tongue shot into his mouth, he clamped his teeth down hard, catching it. He tasted blood at once and she tried to scream, but she was choking. She dared not pull away or she'd lose the entire end of her tongue. All these things Hope told her from her bed.
"Now," Hope went on, "untie his hands or he'll tear out your tongue by the roots, and you'll go through the rest of your life as a mumbling idiot!"
She responded at once, whimpering like a hurt puppy and begging him, in her gasping way, not to bite her tongue off. She loosened his hands and he grasped her wrists, releasing her tongue. Then he warned her again as he twisted her arm painfully behind her body.
"Make a sound, and I'll snap this off. The doctors will never be able to put you back together. You dig?"
She nodded, her face white.
"Ah dig."
After that things moved very fast. He freed his feet, tied Billy Jo to the bed, and stuffed half a pillowcase into her mouth, and then he untied Hope. They clung to one another for a moment, and then he peered out into the corridor. Apparently the whores were having their dinner in the other end of the apartment house. He found their clothing in a closet.
He opened a window, and they stepped out into a thick clump of bushes. They worked their way around to the rear of the house and got into the Firebird. He started the engine with a roar and their tires screamed in protest as they dug out of the parking lot.
As he drove hard and fast, Tom wondered what he'd do next. What about Red Holly? Well, they hadn't hurt them too badly, and the old doll had a right to be sore, because Hope had tried to trick her. He'd content himself with scaring the hell out of Red and telling her to fix up any of his friends he sent over from now on. Fix them up or he'd tell everything that happened, to the D.A.
He told Hope about his idea.
"If you want, we can bring criminal charges. After all, you had a pretty rough go."
She nodded.
"It's true, I was shocked and degraded, but I came out of it with a wonderful prize."
As they pulled up at his apartment house, he stared at her.
"Prize?"
"You, darling," she cooed.
They hurried inside and zipped up to his place. In seconds they were naked again. At once they went into the bathroom, treated one another's minor cuts and bruises, and then they took a long, hot, lazy shower.
As they dried themselves in his bedroom, he said: "Now, the next thing you wanted was that ten-course dinner."
Hope Brewster was shaking her beautiful head.
"I've changed my mind, darling. There's something else I want first."
He hoped she was thinking as he was thinking, and when she took his hand and led him toward the bed, he knew he was right.
