There must have been five hundred other girls wedged into the narrow alley behind the theater. Rosemary Salerno knew the odds were against her, but none of the others had a pair of boobs that could match hers. Besides, she had a gimmick.
"You play your cards right," Goldie Gordon had said, "and tonight you'll get your cherry plucked by one of the Zepplins."
Every night, the Zepplins came backstage to pick as many girls as they needed for a night of action. Rosemary was sure tonight would be her night. Imagine-her first time out, and with one of the Zepplins, hottest group to hit rock since the Beatles.
"I never made it with a Zepplin," Goldie had told her, "but I hear they're the hottest things in bed since electric blankets. But if you want them to pick you, you gotta have a gimmick."
Goldie unveiled the gimmick just before intermission. Throughout the first half of the show, Rosemary sat in the balcony, tapping her feet and screaming her head off with the rest of the girls. As she watched the Zepplins perform in their vintage World War I German Army uniforms, she kept wondering which one would it be?
Would it be Peter, the lead singer with the groovy sideburns and handlebar mustache; or would it be Max, the husky, hairy-chested bass guitar player; or Milton, the thin blond boy who sang harmony and sported a monocle in his eye? Or would it be Glassy, the dreamy-eyed drummer with the don't-give-a-damn look and a silly spiked helmet atop his head?
Rosemary closed her eyes, daydreaming how it would be with each of them. She was roused from her reverie when Goldie poked her in the ribs. "Come on, Rosie, time to go."
They slipped out to the john. Goldie pulled her into a commode and locked the door. "If this doesn't get them, nothing will," Goldie said, unbuttoning her blouse. Then she unhooked her bra, slipped it off and stuffed it into her purse.
Goldie's white and billowy breasts swung free. They were almost as big as Rosemary's, but they were already starting to sag, and Goldie wasn't even eighteen yet.
"Don't waste time. I want to be out of here before intermission," Goldie said. "Take your things off, too."
In a minute, Rosemary was stripped to the waist.
"Wow! what a pair!" Goldie exclaimed, examining Rosemary's bosom. "Any man would go ape shit over them."
Rosemary knew her boobs were her best asset. She was a 38-D, but they stood high and firm, even without a bra. The nipples were a ripe purple-big enough to provide a juicy mouthful for any man. After a hurried consultation, Goldie pulled the lipstick from her purse...
Ten minutes later, they skipped out the main entrance and around the corner into the alley. They'd miss the second half of the show, but they'd seen it three times already. Besides, they'd be right up front against the stage door when the show ended.
For more than an hour, Rosemary stood against the rope that blocked the stage door. Like Goldie, she clutched her blouse at the throat, keeping the unbuttoned front from flapping open. A gust of chill October wind whipped under the loosely hanging garment. It caused Rosemary's nipples to tingle and harden. She could imagine one of the Zepplins taking the tip in his mouth and lapping it with his tongue.
The very thought sent shivers through her body. She sensed the juices flowing inside her. She dropped a hand to her crotch. Even through her slacks she could feel herself damp already, with eager anticipation of her first night with a group.
A half hour before the show let out, the alley started to fill with teenage girls. Screaming, shoving, jostling, jockeying for position, they piled against Rosemary and Goldie. Sometimes someone tried to push them away from their front-row spot, but they stood their ground. They'd beaten the rush-and no groupie-come-lately would beat them to the Zepplins!
The door opened a crack, and a man peeked out. A chorus of screams and squeals went up from the girls. He was dressed in the height of mod fashion-double-breasted tan suit, with pants that tapered tightly to his ankles where they buttoned over a pair of black patent leather boots and a flaming red ascot tie.
"That's Barry Ferguson, their manager," Goldie whispered. All around them, the girls squealed and jumped, trying to attract Ferguson's eye. "Silly fools!" Goldie said. "He doesn't do the picking. The Zepplins wouldn't leave that to anyone else."
Another man came out and stood beside Ferguson. He was tall and thin, wearing blue jeans and a turtleneck sweater. His unkempt hair hung down to his shoulders. "That's Mike Curtis, their arranger," Goldie explained. "The Zepplins never go anywhere without him."
More screams went up from the girls. Rosemary and Goldie stayed silent. They knew enough not to shout their lungs out on someone who didn't count.
"Hey! I just thought of something," Goldie said. "Even if they pick us, we might not wind up with the Zepplins. We could wind up with Barry or Mike. Or whoever else is along at their pad."
"I'll take my chances," Rosemary said. After all, she decided, the Zepplins' manager or the Zepplins' arranger was almost as good as the Zepplins themselves. They were big time too. They had their hand in at least a half-dozen million-sale records, and anyway, they were both pretty groovy in their own right.
For the first time out, it would be better with one of them than with someone from a nowhere group, like the Blackstrap Molasses or the Purple Cows. And she couldn't bear to think of what it would be like to make it for the first time with one of those glops at school like Percy Pringle, with pimples all over his face. She'd known girls who had let Percy Pringle pop their cherries, and they were nowhere. But to make it with someone in a top group-that was something else!
Goldie had been initiated by the Sound and Fury drummer a year ago. Since then, she'd made it with guys from dozens of groups. Every girl in school envied Goldie, and every guy was always trying to get into her pants. But to have your maidenhead busted by one of the Zepplins -she'd be the hottest thing that ever hit Flatbush High.
Curtis took a drag on his cigarette. "What do you think of tonight's bag?" he asked Ferguson.
"Not bad," the manager replied. "We should manage to get our jollies off, tonight."
"I'm getting a little tired of teenage trollops," Curtis continued. "Want to try a real woman for a change? I've got a couple of spade chicks uptown who know every trick in the book and a few that haven't even been written up yet. I can guarantee you, you won't be disappointed. Want to give it a try?"
"I might just," Ferguson said.
Curtis flicked away his cigarette, and they went back inside.
"That's luck," Goldie said. "Looks like it'll be just you, me and the Zepplins."
Rosemary could tell when the show was over. The jam in the alley became an absolute crush.
Some just wanted to see the Zepplins. Some sought their autographs. But most of the girls were groupies-rivals of Rosemary and Goldie for a night in the sack with the hottest new group in rock.
Any moment now, one of the Zepplins would be stepping through the door not five feet away to pick his partners for the night.
"Is my hair all right?" Rosemary asked. "Rosie, with what you've got to show them, nobody's gonna notice your hair."
"I hope you're right," she replied. But she brushed a stray curl back, just in case.
About ten minutes after the show let out, Zepplin Max threw open the stage door and stood tall to survey his harem. Scream after scream went up from the girls. Max raised his hands for silence. His fingers flashed the count.
"I need six."
"Oops!" Goldie whispered. "Looks like Curtis and Ferguson decided to rejoin the gang."
"It still leaves us two chances out of three," Rosemary said.
"Two out of three-provided they pick us first." Goldie reminded her.
All around them the girls continued screaming. They jumped and waved their arms wildly to attract attention. They shouted, "Me! Me! Please, Max, take me! Oh, Max, I love you! Pick me!"
But Rosemary and Goldie just stood quietly at the center of the crush. They waited while Max looked over the frenzied gaggle of groupies.
Rosemary could feel her heart pounding. Somehow Max's eye never seemed to fall on them. Rosemary wondered if they'd be overlooked completely. But then he started to scan the front row.
Goldie gave the signal. "Now!"
Both girls threw open their unbuttoned blouses.
Max's eyes popped wide and his jaw dropped in amazement. Then he paused to take in the vision before him. Rosemary could see him lick his lips.
Her nipples tingled in the chill. She could feel her face flush at the brazenness of her action.
But she stood still to let Max see everything she had to offer. The wait was only a few seconds, but it seemed like hours.
Finally Max pointed at them.
"Okay. You two. Inside."
Rosemary's heart bounced up to her throat. She and Goldie ducked under the rope and trotted up the stage-door steps quickly, before Max had a chance to change his mind.
Once inside, they stopped and turned to each other. "It worked, Goldie! The gimmick worked!" She threw her arms around Goldie and hugged her. Clutching each other tightly, they danced in joy. Goldie shouted, "We made it, Rosie! We made it!"
Their blouses still hung open, and Rosemary could feel her firm breasts crushing Goldie's. She stepped back in embarrassment. Then, the two girls looked at each other. They broke out laughing as they read again Goldie's gimmick.
Across Rosemary's huge tits was written in red lipstick WE'LL DO ANYTHING And across Goldie's WITH ANY AND ALL OF YOU
CHAPTER TWO
Where the Zepplins stayed was the best kept secret in New York. If word leaked out, the place would be swarming with groupies. And the Zepplins wanted only as many as they could handle.
Rosemary didn't know their destination. The car left Hamlin Hall on the Lower East Side and headed into the tunnel under the river.
Milton was behind the wheel. Three of the groupies were squeezed in beside him. Max sat in the back with Rosemary, Goldie and an Oriental girl with a name nobody could pronounce. So they called her "Suzie Wong," even though she kept protesting, "I'm Japanese, not Chinese." Peter, Glassy and whoever else was coming were scheduled to follow in another car.
Max threw his left arm around Goldie's shoulders and his right around Rosemary's. He pulled the pair close to him, and they happily cuddled against him.
"Let's get this show on the road," he shouted to Milton. "What's your rush?" the driver replied, taking a quick peek at the action in the back seat. "The show's at the end of the road, not on it."
"Milty, my boy, like time and tide, Uncle Max has got a dong that waits for no man." Then he turned and whispered to Rosemary, "But it sure comes quick enough for a pretty pussy."
"You'd better slow down," Milton cautioned.
"I'll make you a deal, Milty-no back-seat driving from me, no front-seat advice to the love-lorn from you."
"You know Peter blows his stack if anyone starts making out before he makes the scene."
"Milty, my boy, take this little piece of fatherly advice from your Uncle Max-fuck Peter."
He pulled Goldie and Rosemary closer to him. "On second thought I'd rather fuck you two." He slipped his hand inside Rosemary's still unbuttoned blouse. The big boob overflowed his palm as he bounced it like a basketball. Then he ran his fingers over her rockhard nipple, as if he were strumming his guitar. But instead of the big bass beat, his touch produced soft female squeals of joy. Rosemary writhed in her seat as shivers of delight shot through her body.
"Baby, I can tell you're gonna be hot stuff."
He pulled her face against his and pressed his lips to hers. It was a real kiss, expert and passionate-not at all like the fumbling amateur attempts of the boys she knew at school. His probing tongue pushed past her teeth while his fingers pinched her hot hard nipple.
At first she resisted-the instinctive resistance she always put up when boys tried to kiss her. The next moment she gave in, letting him have his way. In another instant she started returning his passion as good as she got.
She rubbed her tongue against his as he jabbed it in and out of her mouth. Then she poked hers into his mouth. She felt his lips closing around it, and a strong suction pulled it deep inside.
Her fingers twined in the chest hairs that popped up through the open V of his shirt front.
Max pulled away suddenly. He took a deep breath, then turned and gave Goldie the same expert treatment he'd just handed out to Rosemary.
His fingers continued to toy with Rosemary's nipple. She watched in fascination as he slipped his other hand inside Goldie's blouse, and her girlfriend writhed beneath his touch.
Max continued the double game as the car whizzed along the Long Island Expressway.
"Hey! what about me?" Suzie Wong asked. "I feel left out over here."
"Your turn will come, baby, soon as we get to the motel," Max told her.
Milton spoke up from the driver's seat. "If you don't slow down, Max, you'll have nothing left when we get to the motel."
"Milty, my boy, you should know by now- when the Zepplins fly, they fly all night."
The motel turned out to be somewhere in Queens. Milton ushered them into a secluded suite. "Anybody want a joint?" he asked the girls.
"I do," Suzie Wong said, stepping up to the blond Zepplin to stroke his crotch. "This joint."
"Later, baby."
He turned away and pulled a plastic bag from the dresser drawer. Swiftly and skillfully, he rolled the reefer.
He lit up and took a deep drag, keeping the pungent marijuana smoke inside his lungs as long as possible. He exhaled with a sigh of pleasure.
"Anyone else?"
A blonde girl took the reefer and puffed. Soon the little stick of euphoria was being passed from person to person around the half-lit room.
Rosemary took a drag.
She'd smoked grass before, but it had never done anything to her. She had yet to experience her first high.
Maybe tonight, she thought. After all, there's a first time for everything.
Tonight she'd score another first. Tonight she'd graduate from girl to woman. She couldn't wait for the initiation to begin.
Suzie Wong was also getting impatient. She jumped up, pulled her dress over her head and sent it flying into a corner of the room.
"Okay, when do we start swinging?"
She wore nothing under her dress except a pair of blackmesh panty hose that concealed absolutely nothing.
Rosemary could see why Max had picked her out of the crowd. She was a tall, lithe girl whose slant eyes evoked the exotic mysteries of the East. Her long black hair fell almost to her waist. Her breasts were small. The swell was almost non-existent, but the nipples were like large gumdrops just waiting for someone to come along and start sucking. She stood in the center of the room, legs apart. Rosemary noticed the dark cleft that divided her firm round buttocks. Her ass bounced invitingly as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
She turned around. Her crotch was almost hairless. She clutched high on her thighs with each hand, pressing tightly, and her grip pushed the tiny triangle of femininity. Her lips-both above and below-opened slightly in an inviting pout.
"Come and get it!" she cooed.
"You're gonna come all by yourself," Milton told her. "Nobody does nothing till the rest of the gang gets here."
The girl muttered what they assumed to be a Japanese obscenity and sat down on the couch. She took a double drag on the joint being passed around the room.
Max turned to Rosemary and Goldie. "Take oft your blouses." Max looked at his lipstick-smeared hands, stained from toying with their tits. "And get that silly scribbling off you. 'We'll do anything-with any and all of you.' How did I ever fall for something like that? We'll see just how ready you are for anything."
The girls dropped their blouses. Breasts bouncing, they trotted off to the john.
Rosemary and Goldie emerged from the john to find everyone sprawled around the room half undressed.
Max was lying on the couch in a pair of white shorts. His whole body was covered with thick brown hair. A few curls peeked out through his half-open fly. Rosemary also noticed the big bulge beneath the cloth. Goldie sat on the couch beside him and took a drag of his reefer. She rubbed her hand over the beckoning bulge.
"Is it true you're called the Zepplins because you're so... so big?"
"You better believe it, baby. Can't you tell?"
"Yeah," she said, continuing the gentle stroking. Both she and Max savored the sensation as her hand caressed his concealed cock.
Max sat up. "Let me tell you the story," he said. "Actually, it was the casters who gave us the name... "
Rosemary had heard of the casters. They were the most famous-or notorious-groupies in the country, a group of Midwestern girls who got their kicks from making plaster casts of the erect penises of their favorite rock stars.
"We were playing this gig in Chicago," Max continued. "It was just a few months after we started out. That was before Glassy joined us.
Billy Bongo was our drummer then. And we were called Peter and the Pumpkin Eaters.
"Anyway, the casters took us all on that night. One of the broads got mine out and started to work it up with the greasy stuff they use so they can slide the plaster off. When I got to full size, she called out, 'My God, come and look at this-it's as big as a Zepplin.' "So they had a prick measuring contest with all of us. And one of them says, 'They're all as big as Zepplins.' One of the girls thought she'd be cute and asks if we blew 'em up with hydrogen or helium. I told her, 'We don't blow 'em, baby-you do. They're nothing but solid muscle -and there's only one way to deflate them.
"The girls did their thing with the plaster and then we did our thing. Then we all sat around talking about the group. That was Bongo's last gig with us. He was splitting to make it with some Mexican chick out in L.A. Glassy was due to join us for our next in Detroit.
"The trouble was all the contracts for Peter and the Pumpkin Eaters were signed by Bongo, 'cause he was the only one of us who was then over twenty-one. We couldn't use the name without him. So we sat around throwing out all sorts of crazy names to get a new handle for the group. But none of them seemed to fit. Then one of the broads says, 'How 'bout The Zepplins?' We all broke out laughing. It was so perfect. So 'The Zepplins' we are. As appreciation for what the casters did for us, we had their work cast in bronze. Want to see?"
Goldie agreed. Max dashed into one of the bedrooms for a moment and returned holding the huge metal phallus.
"This is mine," he said.
"Wow!" Goldie exclaimed as he handed it to her.
"The doo-dads at the end are so you can attach straps to it," Max explained. "Every girl we bang gets one as a souvenir. Something to remember us by. And something to keep them occupied on those long, lonely, winter nights when we're far away."
Goldie passed the gleaming phallus to Rosemary.
She marveled at its size. It was nearly three handwidths from base to tip, and she could barely wrap her thumb and forefingers around it.
She wondered if she could contain something so huge.
Suzie Wong came over to examine the phallus. She cradled the monstrous member in her hands, then rubbed it along the crack in the crotch. She drew it slowly along her body, tickling her navel with it, rubbing it against her breasts. She ran it up over the tip of her uptilted chin, until it hovered just above her wide-open mouth. Her tongue poked out and licked the big bulb tip. Then she drew it out ever so slowly, her hands tugging against the suction of her lips.
All the while, Max's hand stroked the inside of her stockinged thigh. Higher and higher, until at last he reached his goal.
Writhing to his touch, she continued sucking the big artificial prick. Then she dropped the phallus to the floor, knelt beside Max and reached for his crotch. "When do we get the real thing?" she asked. "I'm sick of substitutes."
From behind, Milton grabbed her by the shoulders. "That's enough for now, Suzie Wong."
"How many times do I have to tell you?" she snapped. "I'm Japanese, not Chinese."
"Okay, Madame Butterfly. Just keep your panties dry. You'll get more cock than you can handle just as soon as the others get here."
"Wanna bet?" she asked.
CHAPTER THREE
Peter and Glassy soon came to the motel.
"Goddamn that Mike Curtis!" Peter shouted, slamming the door behind him. "He and Ferguson left to go to Harlem without saying a word to anyone, leaving us stuck with six broads."
"I wouldn't exactly call it 'stuck'," Max said.
"What's bugging you, Pete?" Milton asked. "You've done doubles many a time."
"I just hadn't counted on anything like that tonight."
"Just 'cause they're here, it doesn't mean you have to."
"I know," Peter said, sinking into the couch. "I guess I'm just in a lousy mood."
"Take a drag and calm down," Max said, offering him a reefer.
Peter puffed. The very first drag seemed to sooth him instantly. "No offense," he said, looking around the room at the six girls. "I just wasn't expecting so much in the way of goodies."
He took another drag, savoring the smoke for several seconds. "Okay, my snit's over. Now, how are we going to arrange things tonight?"
Milton supplied a formula. "Well, Peter, you want to do a solo. That leaves five pussies for the three of us. Why don't we toss-odd man out-to see who does double duty?"
Peter agreed, but Glassy offered "a better idea."
"We'll let the girls toss for us-one to a customer. And the two left over have to make it with each other."
"Well, we might be nice and let them come in on the second shift," Max added.
"Provided they do their thing right here in front of us first," Peter piped.
"An exhibition!" Max exclaimed.
"The Great Zepplin Exhibition of '69!" Glassy said. "And I mean '69."
A half-stoned blonde sitting on the floor jumped up. She was naked except for a pair of black bikini panties stretched over her little round rump. Her large breasts thrust straight out and were capped by enormous nipples. Her eyes had an expression of terror. "Girls ain't my bag," she said with a Southern drawl. "Like, I don't dig that scene at all."
Peter pulled her onto the couch beside him. "Now you listen here, honey chile," he said, mocking her accent. "You all is just gwine to hafta take yo' chances."
"I'll get the dice," Max said.
The six groupies sat in a circle on the floor while Max explained the rules.
"One dice. Each of you gets one throw. Whatever number you toss, that's who you get. Peter's number one, I'm two, Milton's three and Glassy's four. Five and six wind up with each other. Get it?"
The Southern belle was the first to throw.
A snake-eye.
"Y'all see, honey chile, y'all didn't have to worry yo' li'l head none," Peter said, pulling the girl onto his lap. He clamped his hands over her breasts.
"On with the games," he cried with the imperious air of a Roman emperor.
Suzie Wong tossed next.
Three.
"Looks like I get you," she said to Milton. "Time round-eyed devil learned ways of inscrutable East."
Milton stuck his monocle in his eye and planted Glassy's spiked helmet on his head. He clicked his heels, bowed slightly and put on his best Erich von Stroheim accent.
"Inscrutable? Ferry interesting. Resistance is useless, fraulein. Ve haff vays of making you."
"Of making me what?"
"Chust making you."
He pulled her against him and slipped his hands beneath her panty-hose to grab the lobes of her buttocks. She showed herself a willing victim, grinding herself against him.
Goldie threw next.
"Three!" she shouted.
"Toss again, dear," Suzie called over Milton's shoulder. "This one's taken."
Goldie gave the single die another roll.
A big box-car.
"Looks like little Goldie gives the star performance of the night," she said.
Peter corrected her. "You're just the curtain-raiser."
"If she's any good, she'll raise something else," Max added.
The next girl took the die. She threw a two and wound up with Max.
A petite brunette picked up the dice. She shook it in her hand. "Come on, four. I want that dreamy-eyed drummer."
She made her point and trotted over to Glassy.
That left Rosemary teamed with Goldie.
"I didn't get a chance," she complained. "I never threw."
"You had the same chance as everybody else," Glassy said, "Now let's see how good you can perform."
He pulled down the back zipper on her pants and slipped them halfway down her legs.
Rosemary looked over to see Goldie eagerly stripping. Slowly she started to imitate her friend. She slipped out of her bellbottoms and stood shivering in her panties. She was scared.
She'd made it with Goldie before. But that was just playing around, girlish experimenting to examine the mysteries of their bodies. It was something private and secretive. It was something to be done in the privacy of Goldie's bedroom after school, stretched out on her big bed as they studied the sex books Goldie kept hidden in her dresser drawer.
But to do it in front of everyone! That was something else. Even worse, she realized, her hopes of making it with one of the Zepplins were shattered. She'd still be a virgin.
"Come on, Kid, you said you'd do anything with anyone. Now's your chance," Max called.
Glassy started the rhythmic slapping of an impatient audience. Goldie started swaying to the beat, thrusting her bosom out while her hips ground from side to side. But Rosemary just stood still, alone and afraid.
"If she doesn't want to, I'm game," the Oriental girl said, standing up.
"Sit down, Suzie Wong," Milton snapped. "Trouble is, anyone who eats your pussy-in an hour they're hungry again."
"I'm not Chinese-" she started. But she saw it was useless and sat down again.
Max grabbed the elastic of Rosemary's panties. With one sharp tug he ripped the flimsy garment from her body.
Now she and Goldie stood naked in the center of the circle of lusting couples.
"Let's go, girls," Max said.
Goldie stepped over to Rosemary and grabbed her by the shoulders. Rosemary was afraid she was going to cry.
"We're got no choice, Rosie," Goldie whispered in her ear. "Let's make a good show."
Goldie kissed her on the mouth, pressing herself tightly against Rosemary and dropping her arms to Rosemary's buttocks to clamp their bodies together.
She could feel Goldie's curly cunt hairs scratching the tender skin just above her own vessel of love.
At first she stood motionless, letting Goldie do all the work. But she couldn't help but respond to Goldie's kisses and caresses. She felt one woman's mouth, one woman's body-her closest friend's-fitting so perfectly with another's- hers. She threw her arms around Goldie and returned the kiss with all the passion she possessed.
Goldie's arms were now free to explore. Her fingers trailed along the crack of Rosemary's buttocks, then slowly, down, down, down. Rosemary arched her ass, eager to speed the tender touch she knew was coming. Goldie's fingertips finally found the spot, lingering lightly along her lips of love.
A groan of ecstasy escaped her lips.
"Go to it, girls!" one of the Zepplins yelled from the couch.
Rosemary didn't know who it was. She'd closed her eyes, oblivious to everything except Goldie's lips, Goldie's touch, Goldie's body. Goldie's hands trailed upward along her body until they brushed her breasts. Rosemary's nipples were hard, distended, and so sensitive to the touch of Goldie's fingers that sparks shot through her body every time her friend touched them. Together they sank to their knees.
At last the long kiss was broken. They knelt face-to-face gazing intently at each other. She saw nothing in Goldie's expression except a look of sublime satisfaction. "You're wonderful," Goldie whispered.
"So are you," Rosemary found herself saying.
Four hands came together to roll four big breasts over and under and around each other.
"It's like juggling watermelons," Max said.
Goldie leaned forward, pressing Rosemary back. Goldie grasped one of Rosemary's big breasts in both hands and touched her lips to the soft white flesh.
Inch by inch, her lips went in circles around the giant globe, coming closer and closer to the bull's-eye in the center.
Finally, Goldie's lips found the target they sought. Her tongue flicked gently over the hard tingling nipple. Then her lips surrounded it. She took the whole teat in her mouth and sucked it gently. Rosemary responded to the sensations.
"Yes, yes," she moaned.
Her head was spinning. She opened her eyes co see bodies clustered around her-eyes open wide, mouths half open, hands grabbing breasts, hands stroking thighs, male and female all mixed up together. All the faces, all the bodies, all the boobs and pricks started whirling around her as she writhed to the touch of Goldie's lips on her breast.
Spinning... spinning. Was it the pot? Or was it the euphoria of human sexual response? She didn't care. She sank back to the floor.
Goldie fell on top of her and started to work on the other breast. She rolled and moaned and writhed as Goldie sucked the big breast deep into her mouth. The weight of Goldie's body forced her legs apart, and her swaying sent sparks of fire through her loins.
Then Goldie's head started trailing down her body. Her wet lips ran down Rosemary's stomach. Her tongue flicked into her navel, then ran along the little ridge of hairs from her belly button to her delta.
Goldie passed right over her ultimate goal. Instead she fastened on her thigh, delicately biting the soft flesh. First the left, then the right, then back again, always inching upward. Goldie's hands pulled the nether lips apart. Her mouth hovered a moment at the opening. Then she plunged.
Rosemary screamed in joy as Goldie's tongue thrust deep into the passage.
"I knew she was a hot-blooded bitch," Max whispered.
Rosemary wiggled like a snake, and she clutched fiercely at her own breasts as Goldie worked at her. Then Goldie raised her head slightly to flick the little button with her talented tongue. Rosemary's clit enlarged like a miniature prick. Goldie fastened her lips around it, sucking slowly until it protruded outside the hair-fringed labia. Moaning softly, Rosemary grabbed Goldie's head to guide her kisses. She spread her legs, turning them outward to be even closer to Goldie's face, but her girl friend pulled away.
"Don't stop!" she pleaded.
Goldie knelt straddling her. "Do me," she begged.
"Yes, yes," Rosemary answered.
She looked up, saw the cleft, and raised her head to return the caress.
One of the Zepplins exclaimed, "God! I'd like to take that bitch doggie-style right now."
Another girl's voice answered. "I'll take you like that."
Around her, Rosemary could hear the heavy breathing of the watching couples. But all she cared about was the communion of Rosie-and-Goldie, Goldie-and-Rosie.
She followed Goldie's lead, tonguing when she tongued, sucking when she sucked. Goldie threw her arms under Rosemary's thighs and threw the legs back alongside their bodies. Rosemary felt herself stretched wide.
"Mmm, that's some snatch," she heard Peter explain. "I think I'll take that on the swing shift."
Goldie's tongue reached deep. She rolled her mouth in a circle, as if trying to burrow her whole head. Goldie threw her legs back. Her body fell against Rosemary's face. Now Goldie's pelvis started thrusting back and forth.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Goldie shouted, and sucked even harder. Her lips bit the base and deep inside her mouth, her tongue flipped the tip back and forth like a shuttlecock.
Rosemary felt her own orgasm approaching. "Goldie! Goldie! Goldie!" she heard herself shouting as the spasms surged.
Goldie's crotch was vibrating like a jackhammer. Little animal grunts escaped her mouth, still glued to Rosemary's cunt. They caressed each other faster and faster, until they both collapsed, exhausted.
They lay on the floor gasping for breath as the others silently slipped off to the bedrooms.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rosemary and Goldie sat naked on the floor. They were alone in the parlor of the motel suite. Through the open doors of the adjoining bedrooms came the grunts and groans, squeals and shouts of sexual excitement. The Zepplins had landed!
Goldie puffed on a reefer. "Drag?" she asked.
Rosemary shook her head no. Her head was reeling, but not from pot. She was still spinning from the joys of her orgasm. There was something about doing it while being watched, she reflected, that added spice to the whole affair. It had never been half so exciting alone in Goldie's bedroom. Even now, ten minutes after she'd hit the peak, Rosemary was still gasping for breath.
"That was good, wasn't it?"
Goldie agreed. But she seemed very blase about it all.
"I can't imagine a man can do any more to you."
"He can, Rosie, believe me, he can. The first time a man jabs it into you, what we did will seem as tame as a maiden aunt's kiss."
"That's the trouble," Rosemary sighed.
"What?"
"It's not gonna happen. They're all in there and we're sitting out here. I've been dreaming for days about making it for the first time with one of the Zepplins."
A shrill scream of passion from one of the bedrooms rent the air.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Rosie. Looks like the Zepplins are in pretty good form tonight. I think they'll have enough left over for the both of us. Just relax."
Goldie offered her another drag on the reefer. This time Rosemary accepted.
"Take your pill?" Goldie asked.
"Uh-uh."
She'd been taking the pill for several days in anticipation of this night. She'd been carrying them around for two weeks, waiting for the cycle to start, scared stiff that her mother would discover that plastic packet hidden in the bottom of her purse. What her parents would do if they found out, she couldn't imagine. But so far she'd been lucky.
Goldie had managed to get the pills from the boy at the corner drug store-a six month's supply for both of them.
"I have to laugh every time I think of that kid," Goldie said. "He still thinks he got himself a piece of tail. And all he did was cream over somebody's cough syrup."
"You never told me what happened."
"It's so funny. I went in there and told him what I wanted. I told him I didn't have the money or a prescription. But I said I'd make it worth his while. He wanted to do it right then and there, but I said I couldn't. I hadn't started taking the pill yet. So he said, 'Swallow one right now.' I had to explain to him how it worked. He thought he was being pretty smart. He gave me just one and said that would hold me for a day. And when that day came, come back, we'll do it, and he'll give me the rest.
"So about two weeks later I went back and told him that I was ready. He took me around to the back of the store, between those stacks of shelves filled with bottles and whatnot from the floor to the ceiling. He said no one would see us there.
"'The floor's filthy,' I said.
"'Then we'll do it standing up,' he said.
"So I dropped my panties and pulled up my skirt and I leaned back against the shelves. He unzipped his pants and pulled his thing out. It wasn't very big. I guess he was scared-first time and all that, though he never said so. He put it between my legs-didn't even stick it inside, just between my thighs. I guess he never knew the difference. Then he started bouncing back and forth. After about ten seconds, he gives out with a big grunt. And I could feel it squirting straight out behind me.
"'That was great!' he said. He zipped up his pants. I pulled on my panties. And he gave me enough pills to last a year.
"Next time, Rosie, you go get 'em. Only I hope, for his sake as well as yours, he's had a little more practice by then."
Peter's voice came booming out of the bedroom. "Then get the hell out of here!"
A moment later, the Southern belle came stumbling out the door, obviously pushed from the rear. She was sobbing. Then Peter came and stood in the doorway. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and his eyes blazed with fury. But Rosemary couldn't help but gape at the size of his monstrous member, erect and ready for action. It was even longer than the bronze phallus of Max's.
"Just get your things on and get out of here, you stupid broad!"
The girl groped around the half-lit room for her belongings. One by one, she picked up the scattered garments. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she sat on the couch and started to draw on her panties.
"I said 'out!'" Peter bellowed at her.
"I gotta get my things on," she sobbed.
"You can put 'em on outside. I don't want to see your stupid, sniveling face around here any more."
He grabbed one arm while she clutched her clothes with the other. He dragged her to the door and pushed her out, naked into the night.
"Come back when you grow up!"
By this time, the others, roused by the noise, had come out of the other bedrooms. They stood around watching, wondering what had happened. Max put the question to his fellow Zepplin.
"Goddamn stupid broad. Nothing but a cockteaser. I get her inside and she starts working me up. I'm just about ready to put it to her, and she says, ever so sweetly, 'I can't tonight, Peter honey, it's the wrong time of month,' So I asked her, 'What the hell did you come here for then?' And she says 'I just wanted to be with you, Peter honey,' in that sickening, magnolia-blossom accent of hers. Ordinarily, I wouldn't mess with a girl in that condition, but-goddamn it! -she'd gotten me worked up to the point where I was ready to shoot my load. So I told her there's other ways of doing it. But she wouldn't have none of it. I tried to roll her over, but she squirmed away. Just lies there bawling that I don't love her. That did it. Out she goes. We're not running a goddamn nursery school here."
The other Zepplins mumbled their agreement.
"I warned you Peter, watch out for Scarlett O'Hara," Suzie Wong told Milton.
Peter looked around the room. His eyes fastened on Rosemary.
"Come on, you busty bitch. Let's see if you're as good with guys as you are with girls."
He took her arm and pulled her to her feet.
Goldie called up to her. "See, Rosie, I told you you'd luck out tonight."
Peter pushed her into the bedroom. She looked back to see the others drifting off to the other rooms. Pushing the little brunette ahead of him, Glassy turned to Goldie and asked, "Why don't you join us?"
"Why not?" she said. She trailed off after the pair as Peter closed the door behind Rosemary.
In the coal-black room, Peter pushed Rosemary onto the bed.
"No preliminaries, baby. I'm just about ready to shoot my load."
He lowered himself atop her, wedging his legs between hers. She could feel him, hard and eager, brushing against her moist entrance.
"You ready?"
She gulped. In another instant, all her dreams would come true. "Ready and willing," she said. She managed to get the words out. She would have added "able," but there are some things one can't prejudge. She hoped she'd pass the test.
He pushed her knees up and apart. He raised himself slightly, slipping one arm under her shoulders. With his free hand he groped below.
She squirmed with delight as his fingers touched the spot. "Oh yes! Yes!"
His fingers fell away, and it was his essential self that touched her. She could feel his enormous member stretching the skin as he forced the bulbous tip past her lips.
"You're tight, baby. Never had anything this big before, have you?"
"No... never," she said, and she wasn't lying.
"That's what they all say. But they all learn how to handle it. And how to love it."
With a series of short thrusts, he pushed his prick further in. She gritted her teeth at the pain. She clutched him tightly, digging her fingernails into the skin of his shoulders. Tears formed at the corners of her tightly closed eyes.
Goldie had told her it would hurt like hell the first time. But she never imagined the pain would be anything like this. If the first time hurt this much, imagine what it was like having a baby!
With his free hands, Peter pulled her knees a little higher. Now he was in proper position. With a powerful push, he thrust all the way. As he punched through her maidenhead, a tremendous spasm of pain shot through her body. It was like an electric shock, starting deep within her groin, travelling like a whip up her spine to her brain. She realized it wasn't a figure of speech when people spoke of seeing stars.
She screamed and grabbed Peter tighter. She needed something, someone to hold on to. Her action only fired Peter's passion.
"That's the way, baby! Hold on, we're gonna ride now."
Slowly, Peter started pulling in and out, ramming his way into the very depths of her being. He was probing portions of her that had never been touched before, moving with strong, steady stokes, sliding smoothly along the tight, but well lubricated path of her silken sheath.
Slowly, too, the pain she felt before turned to an indescribable pleasure. This was also electric -but didn't it come in sudden shocks. It was a powerful current that flowed through her like the tide coming in, each wave stronger than the last.
Rosemary strained to meet his thrusts, grinding her groin against his in a desperate effort to provoke that final burst of passion she knew was due. But she was too late. Time was running out. Peter's breath came in short gasps. His thrusts came faster and faster. He gripped her harder, his fingers digging deep into her flesh. Then, a sudden animal scream, "Oooooh!" and he collapsed on top of her.
It was done for Peter, but for Rosemary, it was over too soon. She'd been brought to the brink, then pulled back at the last moment. She'd yet to experience the ecstasy of that final plunge over the edge into the unknown.
Peter's prick was still lodged deep inside her. Her muscles went to work instinctively. They constricted around his organ like a boa constrictor, trying to squeeze the last ounce of pleasure from it. But Peter didn't respond. He lay motionless, gasping for breath.
"Don't stop!" she pleaded.
"I can't now," he answered. "Give me a minute or two. I've gotta rest a minute."
"You can rest later."
"We can fuck later. We've got all night."
She could feel him shrinking, softening. She was afraid he'd slip out of the well-oiled passage. She held him tight to keep him from escaping. Her being throbbed with pulses she couldn't control. Beneath her vaginal grip, she could feel him mounting to full manhood again. His hands began roaming, gripping her full firm breasts, his fingertips pinching her ripe nipples. His tongue tickled in her ear.
"That's it, baby!" he whispered. "Just keep it up and we'll give it another go."
His hands wandered down and held her firmly by the buttocks. She was clamped tightly against him. There wasn't even room for the slightest thrust.
"I want you," she begged.
"You're gonna get me," he answered. "I'm ready to run another course. But this time, baby, you're gonna do the work."
Holding her firmly, he rolled them over as a single unit until she was lying on top. She pulled her knees up naturally, until she was sitting astride him. His huge shaft shot straight up like a monument. She raised herself slowly, letting it run full length along her tender passage until the big knob barely brushed her lips. She hovered for a moment, then thrust herself down- all the way down. She was impaled upon him. His coarse hairs tickled the tender skin of her soft buttocks.
He gave a gasp of pleasure. "That's it, baby. Just ride. Keep riding."
She bounced up and down in steady rhythm, like a pile driver trying to hammer the shaft into the mattress. With every thrust it seemed to grow larger and longer, harder and hotter, filling every inch of the throbbing void within her. Peter's hands reached up and grabbed her breasts, kneading them, rolling them, bouncing them. He was treating her roughly, but she loved it. He lifted his head and took her nipple in his mouth-first one, then the other.
"Yes! Yes!" she shouted.
She didn't know what she was saying. The words just sprang to her lips.
Her hips, still bouncing up and down, now started grinding in different directions as well, trying to force him deeper and deeper inside of herself. Her body started shaking with spasms. She gripped him tighter as she thrashed uncontrollably.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she shouted, as wave after wave of pleasure swept over her.
Peter's hips were bouncing wildly. He pulled her down against him and took up the thrusts where she had left off. She couldn't stop coming. She couldn't stop screaming. She kept calling his name over and over, "Peter! Peter! Peter! Peter!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Rosemary lay beside Peter in the darkness. She'd never been so happy before. She'd never felt so wonderful. It wasn't just the complete contentment that comes after climax. It was the realization that she was a woman at last. And it had been Peter, lead singer of the Zepplins who'd done it. It was like-wow! Words just couldn't describe her total happiness.
Peter's arm lay across her shoulders. She cuddled against him, cooing contentedly. "You were good, baby," he told her. "I'm absolutely drained. Like I feel like I'll never get it up again."
Rosemary's fingers played with the organ that had given her such pleasure. It was now so different-no longer the powerful shaft that had filled her, but limp and flaccid, so tiny and soft. She picked it up and stretched it like a piece of spaghetti.
"He'll get big and strong again, won't he?" she asked hopefully. "Then we'll do it again, huh?"
"Yeah, sure," he said. But Rosemary could tell that, at the moment at least, it was the furthest thing on his mind. For now, she knew, all he wanted to do was rest.
She enjoyed the rest too, but the fires of passion still burned within her. She was ready to go again. She wanted to experience everything a man and a woman could do together-now, on her first night. Imagine, she'd lived through sixteen years without knowing such bliss. Such a waste! Now she wanted to make up for lost time.
A woman's voice came through the open doorway. "Well, did our busty teeny-bopper tame the terrible tiger?" It was Suzie Wong.
"So tame he's positively purring," Peter called back.
"Well, let's see what Peter the pussy-cat looks like."
She flicked on the light. Rosemary blinked her eyes in the sudden glare. She looked up to see Suzie and Milton standing naked in the doorway.
"All the tigers have turned to pussycats," Suzie Wong complained. "Everybody's too tired to play with me."
"Let's face it, Suzie," Milton told her. "You don't want a group. You want a regiment-preferably one that's just come back from Greenland or someplace, where they haven't seen a woman in years-" Suzie interrupted him. "Look at that!" she screamed, pointing to the bed.
Milton looked. "Hey, Pete! I thought you didn't like making it with chicks who're wearing the rag."
"I didn't. She wasn't!" he started. Then he looked down. Rosemary followed his gaze. A huge red bloodstain covered the center of the sheets where they had perfected their passionate embrace. Both Peter's and Rosemary's thighs were splotched with red.
"But she couldn't have been," Peter said. "She-" Then the realization struck him. He turned to her and asked, "Were you cherry? I mean, like, baby, was this your first time?"
Rosemary blushed. "Yes," she confessed.
"But-"
"Well, whadda you know?" Suzie Wong shouted. "Peter plucked a cherry. Hey gang! Peter plucked a cherry."
Suzie dashed out to rouse the others. Milton stood there lecturing Peter. "That's a breach of etiquette, Peter, old boy. You're not supposed to make it with a virgin without letting the rest of us watch. And we're supposed to get dibs, too."
"I didn't know," Peter said. "I didn't know till you turned the lights on. She was so good at it. She fucked just like an expert."
"An expert, huh?" Milton said, sitting on the bed beside her. "Well, little expert, you better wash yourself off while we decide what we're gonna do with you."
He gave her such a look that Rosemary knew she'd better go. She trotted off to the john...
When she returned, she found the others crowded into the room. Milton had stripped the bed and had tossed the bloodstained sheets into the corner. He offered her the place of honor in the center of the bare mattress. She took it, kneeling with her legs tucked under her.
Around her stood a ring of naked bodies, all eager for whatever would come next. They were all looking at her, all staring at her, all trying to decide if such a voluptuous creature could really have been a virgin. She was a curiosity, she knew, just as she had been when she'd been making it with Goldie. Except now she felt no sense of shame, no embarrassment at all. She'd proved herself a woman, and she was proud of it. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward. She wanted everyone to see what a magnificent hunk of female flesh she was.
Milton started off barking like a ringmaster: "Ladies and gentlemen, and sex maniacs of all ages. We have a problem here that needs you to solve it. This little lady here-say, what's your name?"
She told him.
"Rosemary Salerno," he repeated. "Bet you didn't know that, Pete?"
Peter acknowledged he didn't.
"Little Rosemary Salerno here was a virgin when she walked into this room. Now she isn't. But she didn't tell us. Peter didn't tell us, which is very bad. Actually, it was very good for her. But the whole thing is a terrible breach of the rules."
"I didn't-" Peter started.
"Don't interrupt! After what you've done, you've got nothing more to say about this. You got your jollies. Why don't you go wash your prick."
"But I-"
"No 'buts,'" Max told him. "You got the word -now go!"
Peter left reluctantly.
"Now guys, we were denied the chance to witness the making of a maiden. The question now, is how do we make up for this immeasurable loss?"
No one answered.
"Don't everyone speak at once."
Still no answer.
"Don't I get anything to say about this?" Rosemary asked.
"No."
"Then I want a joint."
Someone handed her one. She took a puff, holding the smoke in her lungs as she was supposed to, then exhaled. She looked around the room at the others-all watching her-then stretched full length on the bed. One hand held the cigarette, the other lay across her chest, cradling her breasts, forcing them up to full glory. She spread her legs slightly. She wanted them all to see now magnificent she was.
Milton looked around the room. "No suggestions?" he asked. "Well, if none of you has any ideas, the little light bulb has flashed inside Milty's head. Where others may fail, little Milty has an answer. The way I figure it, Rosie here has had only part of her advanced education-the most important part, mind you, but still only a part. She had the main chorus, but she's yet to learn the variations. And after all, variety is the spice of life, isn't it-variety in partners, variety in method. And I think the Zepplins are the ones to teach her. Right?"
The other Zepplins chimed in: "Right!"
Max climbed into bed for Variation No. 1.
He straddled her chest as Rosemary reclined. His beefy buttocks pressed against her breasts. He pulled the marijuana cigarette from her mouth and handed it to one of the watchers.
""I'm gonna give you something else to puff on."
He took her head in his hands and guided it to its target.
"Kiss it!" he commanded.
Rosemary complied. It was surprisingly pleasant, she discovered. At first her lips merely brushed the bulbous tip. Then as Max pulled her head forward, she took the whole bulb in her mouth, licking it gently with her tongue. She could feel him starting to stiffen and swell.
"Suck it!"
She gripped the big bulb with her lips and applied gentle suction. Max leaned forward a little. His motion forced the shaft further into her mouth. Then he pulled it out slowly. He paused, then pushed it in again. After a few thrusts she learned the rhythm. Her head bounced back and forth. Her month went up and down. Her tongue licked the tender tip and the delicate underside. His cock had now grown to full strength and filled her mouth. Sometimes he thrust it in all the way, so far she could feel it press on the back of her throat, and she thought she'd choke.
"That's it! That's the way!"
Max's hands reached down and grasped her breasts, squeezing them against his buttocks. His caresses spurred her to further action. She decided to put her hands to work also, squeezing the beautiful bags dangling out of his mass of curly brown hairs. He gave a little gasp and thrust harder.
"If you really want to turn him on," one of the girls said, leaning forward, "just stick your finger right there." She guided Rosemary's hand to the spot. "It drives him wild. Right, Max?"
He grunted his assent.
Rosemary's hand stroked along the hairy crease between his buttocks until she found the delicate opening. She caressed it with her fingertip and felt him writhe at her touch. She tried to force her finger in, but he was too tight.
"Wet it," someone said.
She stuck her finger in her mouth. She marveled that Max's cock was nearly as thick as her wrist. This time, her wet finger slid in easily, all the way up to the third knuckle. Max gave a little moan and fell forward to give her better leverage. She started sliding her finger in and out, in tempo with his thrusts into her mouth.
Now he started thrusting harder and harder. He ground his hips faster and faster. He jabbed deeper and deeper into her mouth. She started sucking harder, biting him with her lips,' clasping the throbbing organ between her tongue and her palate. She could tell he loved it.
Suddenly, he stopped for a moment and gave a little groan. His come spurted with a sudden rush, filling her mouth and trickling out at the corners of her lips. It was hot and salty. Half choking, she managed to swallow the viscous liquid. It slid down her throat.
"She's a pretty good pupil," Max said, winging off the bed.
Rosemary lay there, licking away the taste of Max from the corners of her lips.
"Next lesson!" someone called.
Milton took to the bed for Variation No. 2.
He sat at the foot of the bed and grasped Rosemary's ankles. She wondered what was coming next.
"Roll over!" he commanded.
She complied, turning face down on the bed. She sprawled on her stomach as Milton spread her legs. His hands grasped her buttocks, spreading them apart also. She felt his lips graze slowly up the soft flesh of her thighs. She trembled at his touch, wondering what was coming next. Milton's tongue painted a swatch along the crack between her buttocks, until his tongue found the target it sought. The tip licked at her delicate opening. Wonderful, strange sensations cascaded through her body.
Her body twisted and turned as Milton's talented tongue reamed deeper and deeper. She cooed with delight as his hands crept under her tips. His fingertips started to toy with her hairs. Then they probed further and found the moist opening. He was now working on her furiously front and rear, turning on. She was hot and randy, ready for the plunge of his prick.
"You better hurry, Milt," one of the girls said. "Looks like she's gonna shoot her bolt."
With his hands on her hips, he pulled her to a kneeling position. Then with one plunge he slipped his ramrod into its barrel.
"Oh yes!" she screamed. "Do it! Do it!"
But after a few thrusts he pulled out.
"Don't stop!" she pleaded.
"That was just for lubrication," he explained. "Now for the piece de resistance. We're gonna take your other cherry."
She finally realized what he was going to do.
"Not there," she pleaded. "You're too big, you'll hurt me. Do it the right way, please."
But Milton wouldn't be swayed. "That's what they all say the first time. But they all learn to love it. You'll see. Just hold still."
His hands spread her buttocks wide. Then the tip of his prick touched the opening. He thrust forward slightly: She felt her virgin asshole being stretched by his enormous member. It hurt slightly, but also produced strange sensations that sent shivers of delight through her body. With a series of short lunges he inched his way further and further up. A sudden thrust and he was buried to the hilt.
Her whole insides exploded in pain-a pain even greater than when Peter pushed through her frontal maidenhead.
"Stop!" she screamed. "You're killing me."
"You're gonna die of pleasure then," Milton said. You're gonna get the biggest bit of pleasure you've ever had."
His hands reached around her hips and started rubbing her in front as he continued pumping in and out. The pain subsided and gave way to the pleasure he promised. She felt her heart pounding with excitement. Her breath came in short, frenzied gasps as she felt her climax approaching. She could hear the grunts of his approaching orgasm. Harder and harder he thrust. Her muscles squeezed him with a rhythm she could no longer control.
The first spasms hit her and she let loose with a scream that must have wakened everybody in the motel. Wave after wave swept over her, and she kept screaming and screaming.
"I'm coming!" Milton called out. "I'm gonna come in your ass. I'm gonna cream all over your turds!"
She felt him shoot his hot enema into her. They collapsed on the bed together.
Glassy took her for Variation No. 3.
By now, the others had been so fired up by the scenes they'd witnessed, that they'd slipped off to the other rooms for their own action. Only Goldie remained.
"Can I watch?" she asked. "You can join in," Glassy said.
"I'm too zonked."
"So am I," Rosemary pleaded, exhausted after her previous bouts. "Can't you wait awhile?"
Goldie pulled a chair to the edge of the bed and sat watching them. "I don't see how you have any strength left," she said to Glassy. "I thought I'd drained the last drop."
"It'll all come back soon enough," he said. He turned to Rosemary. "Just lean back and relax. We'll let these do the work for a while."
He touched her breasts. She wondered what he was up to. She lay on her back while Glassy straddled her stomach. His flaccid organ lay between her breasts. He took one in each hand and rolled the soft flesh against him. He pinched her nipples.
His touch tingled. Even after three orgasms, she could feel herself building up for yet another plunge over the top.
"This little fellow's had a busy night," Glassy said. "But we'll soon get him back in shape."
Rosemary looked down and saw that he was already starting to fill out. Goldie held a joint to her mouth, and she took a drag. She leaned forward and exhaled the smoke around the reddish bull peeking out from between Rosemary's breasts.
"How's that for a blow job?" Goldie asked.
Glassy had now grown to full strength. His member was a hot, burning shaft that filled the deep cleft. She chuckled to herself as she suddenly recalled how that flat-chested Paula Parsons used to jeer at her. "I don't see why you're so proud of your big milk buckets, Rosemary. After all, a man can't fuck a pair of boobs." Oh, Paula! how wrong you were.
She writhed on the bed as Glassy continued his thrusts. She was ready for anything.
"I want it now."
"Yes," he said, "now."
He slid back until he was stretched out on top of her. She raised her knees, opening herself to him. He slid in effortlessly. Glassy's hand slipped down to her buttocks, and his finger tickled at the rear portal. He slid in as effortlessly in back as he did in front. After all, the path had been well reamed and lubricated.
He started pumping with alternating rhythm. Her whole body seemed to pivot on his thrusting finger. All she was aware of was the two pistons thrusting, in and out of their cylinders-so slowly, so steady, so good. She gave little groans of pleasure. She thought how wonderful it must be to have two pricks working on her at the same time.
Glassy slid a second finger up beside the first, reaming wider and wider around the tender hole. Her whole being was centered on the delicate membrane being stimulated from both sides. It was so good. She wished he'd never stop. She lay back motionless, to savor every second of the double pleasure.
Glassy brought her to a new peak of excitement as his other hand slipped between their bodies and grabbed a breast. He started squeezing the ripe nipple. Now there was no longer any possibility of just lying still. Every part of her body instinctively went into action. The muscles front and back contracted and relaxed at an accelerating tempo. Her body contracted, trying to squeeze all the points of passion together into one hot, fiery ball.
Nor was Glassy keeping still. He started bouncing on her, working feverishly with his fingers in the rear and his plunging organ in the front.
"Oh yes!" she moaned. "Yes! Yes!" Then without even realizing it, she started to moan, "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"
She pulled her knees back to his shoulders to let him gain full thrust. Again and again, he rammed harder and harder with his last drops of energy. The orgasm hit her, deeper and longer lasting than any that had come before. Her body shook wildly. Her screams rent the air.
Glassy gave a groan and shot his load into her.
They collapsed, exhausted. Rosemary closed her eyes and clamped her arms tightly around Glassy's back. She started drifting off to a sublime euphoria. She never felt such contentment.
She was roused by female squeals of pleasure. She opened her eyes to see Goldie sprawled on the chair, her head thrown back, her legs spread wide apart. With one hand, Goldie grasped her own breast, kneading it furiously. With the other, she rubbed frantically between her legs until the climax came.
CHAPTER SIX
The next afternoon, Goldie and Rosemary took the subway back to Brooklyn. Rosemary was tired. After her workout with the Zepplins, she'd gotten only a few hours sleep. Even though she'd been made happier than she'd ever been before, she was worried.
"There'll be hell to pay if my folks find out," she said as the subway train rattled through the dark tunnel. "What can I tell them?"
"Don't tell them anything."
"But they'll ask me where I was."
"Just say you were with me. Tell them you slept over at my house."
"But suppose they check up? Suppose they ask your folks?"
"Then it's just tough tittie. You'll have to make up some other story. Or tell them the truth. They'll have to find out sooner or later. They'll have to realize that their little girl is grown up." Goldie glanced down to the swell of Rosemary's big breasts. "My God! They should be able to tell just by looking at you."
"But the trouble is, they still think of me as a little girl. They act like I was ten years old or something. Honestly, Goldie, my old man will kill me if he ever finds out. You know how he is-so old-fashioned."
"Then tell him anything he'll believe. Just don't blow your chances for next weekend."
Goldie and Rosemary had made a date to shack up with the Zepplins again next Saturday night.
"Why not Friday?" Milton had asked her, standing in his shorts as she dressed to go. "Basil Black, the Swinging Spade, will be on the bill with us. And, baby, that cat really lives up to his name."
"I can't on Friday. We've got a game."
"What kind of game? Spin the bottle?"
"No, a football game. Our high school."
"What are you? The tailback?" He laughed at his own joke.
"No, a cheerleader. I've got to be there."
Milton shrugged. "Saturday then. Baby games Friday, grown up games Saturday. I guess that's what you get for robbing the cradle."
He walked into the bedroom and returned with four bronze phalluses-one for each of the Zepplins as souvenirs of her first night of love.
"You'll find these much more fun than football." Milton said. "You can practice with them all week long. Sort of training for Saturday."
The metallic objets d'art clanged against each other in Rosemary's purse as she trotted up the subway stairs. She'd have to be careful going into the house, she thought, lest her folks hear them. And she'd have to hide them some place where her mother wouldn't find them. There wasn't any sort of story she could make up to account for them.
Outside the subway station in East Flatbush, she turned to Goldie to say goodbye. She kissed her girlfriend on the cheek. "Thanks for everything."
Goldie understood. "See you in school Monday," she said walking away. Then Goldie turned and called out to Rosemary: "And don't forget to take your pill!"
It was well into the afternoon when Rosemary climbed the stairs to the Salerno's second-floor apartment. Her father was where he always was on Sunday afternoons-stripped to his undershirt, slouching in the big chair, his feet up on the stool, swigging beer as he watched the football game on television. He was half-way through his first six-pack when Rosemary walked in.
"Where the hell have you been?"
"At Goldie's," she lied. "We just sort of sat up talking. And before we knew it, it was three o'clock. It was too late to walk home, and I didn't want to call and wake you. So I just slept over."
Rosemary's mother came out of the kitchen and stood in the doorway, a mixing spoon in her hand. Her robe hung open to reveal a stout body in a white slip. Through the lacy top, Rosemary could see her mother's big boobs drooping. She hoped hers would never sag like that.
Her mother shook the spoon in her direction. "Think up another story," she said. "Mrs. Gordon called up this morning and asked if Goldie had stayed here."
Rosemary had known it wouldn't work.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"Ssh!" her father interrupted.
He turned the volume up on the TV set and watched the tube intensely. After a minute, he turned down the volume with a gesture of disgust.
"Bums! Didn't make it."
"We're waiting for your answer, Rosemary," her mother said.
"I didn't stay at Goldie's," she confessed.
"So what else is new."
She thought quickly, making up the details as she talked. "Well, we just sort of walked around the Village for a while after the concert and bumped into some guys we knew and had pizza and coffee with them and sat around and talked... And by then it was so late we didn't want to take the subway, and the guys didn't have a car, and none of us had enough bread for a taxi all the way back to Brooklyn. Then one of the guys said he knew a crash pad nearby, so we stayed there."
"A crash pad! What the hell is that?"
"It's just an apartment-a place for kids to crash-to stay-when they have nowhere else to go."
"Hippies!" her father said with disgust. "A bunch of goddamn queers and dope fiends! That's what your daughter is running around with!"
Her parents kept asking questions, and she kept trying to answer them, but she just got herself deeper and deeper into saying things she shouldn't have said. It wasn't much of a story, she knew, but it was the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment.
"I won't even ask you what went on up there. I don't want to know," her father said.
"And you missed Mass again," her mother said.
Her father opened another can of beer and turned to her mother. "Some little slut you managed to raise! A little hippie whore! I work hard all day trying to make a decent living for us, and all I expect out of you is that you'll keep a decent home and raise our daughter decent. And what do I find. You've let her turn herself into nothing but a little tramp!"
Rosemary could tell another ring-a-ding fight was in the making. No weekend in the Salerno home was complete without one.
"I think you'd better go to your room, Rosemary," her mother said. "I don't know what we're going to do with you."
"I know what we ought to do," her father said. "We ought to whip her ass off and throw her out on the street where she belongs."
Mother returned to the kitchen, father turned back to the Giants' game and Rosemary went to her room. She hid the artificial pricks in the foot of a boot. She popped a pill into her mouth and swallowed it without water. She hid the packet carefully in the bottom of her purse. Then she stretched out on the bed without undressing and thought again of how wonderful the Zepplins had been. First Peter... then Max... then Milton... then Glassy...
Soon she fell, fast asleep.
Rosemary woke to hear her parents' voices booming through the thin wall from their adjoining bedroom. They were arguing again.
"I don't see how such a frigid female could produce such a slut of a daughter," her father yelled. "You never want to do it."
"I can't now. I told you. It's not safe."
"It's never safe with you. For damn near twenty years, you've been telling me that just about every night. 'It's not safe. We can't afford another baby.'"
"But it's not. Not tonight anyway."
"You sound like you're ashamed to make love to your own husband."
"It's not that alone. It's just that you're so... so rough when you've been drinking."
"Damn right I'm rough. A man's got every right to get angry when his own wife won't give him what's supposed to be his right."
"But I told you it's not safe."
"Then we'll do it the other way."
"No, not like that. It's not natural. It's so... so disgusting."
"You're disgusting!" he shouted. "There's nothing more disgusting than a woman who keeps clamming up on her own husband!"
Rosemary listened intently as she lay on the bed. She heard the sharp crack as her father slapped her mother's face. She heard her mother's sobs.
"Now get on the bed and lie on your face," he ordered. "I'm gonna get what's mine whether you like it or not... We'll just pull this out of the way to show off your great big, beautiful rear end... " Rosemary could hear the sound of cloth being ripped. "Now open wide... Papa's big and strong and ready to roll... There! In she goes! All the way up!"
Rosemary could hear her father's animal-like grunts as the bed springs squeaked beneath his thrusts. Her mother's sobs slowly changed to little squeals of delight.
"You like it this way, don't you?" her father said. "Don't you?" Rosemary heard the sharp crack as he slapped her again. "Don't you? Tell me the truth?"
"Yes," her mother said.
"Say it!"
"Yes, I like it. Yes, yes! Fuck me, Louis. Fuck my ass off!"
Their grunts and screams rose to a crescendo, then subsided. Through the thin wall Rosemary could hear their heavy breathing. Her own body tingled at the thought of what was going on just inches away on the other side of the wall. She felt her nipples harden beneath her lacy bra. She rubbed one hand gently over them, then explored down below with her other hand. The juices had started flowing again. She could feel the dampness through the tight crotch of her bell-bottoms.
She jumped up and started slipping out of her clothes. She examined her body in the full-length mirror. Yes, indeed! it was a beautiful body, the envy of all the girls in school, the lust object of all the boys.
Rosemary examined herself closely to see if her first night of love had produced any visible changes. One of the boys at school said you could tell a girl was no longer virgin just by looking at her eyes.
Rosemary looked at her eyes. They were big and brown, the same as they'd always been. "Cow eyes," someone had called them. No change there-nothing to give away her secret.
Her black hair hung shoulder length with a gentle curl. Her mouth was soft and inviting as she puckered it at her own image. It seemed obscene, but she had a sudden urge to kiss every inch of her luscious body.
Her skin was soft and creamy, with only the barest traces of two lighter bands across her tits and tummy to show where she had had a sun-tan. Her breasts were huge, but they stood high and firm, as if they'd been sculpted out of stone. The nipples were red and ripe.
Rosemary cupped a breast in each hand and rubbed her thumbs over the hard nipples. Her mouth opened in an unspoken sigh. She rolled her head gently from side to side as the warmth flowed through her body. It was such a sexy expression on her face. She'd love to watch what she looked like when she hit the peak.
Rosemary looked down past the soft swell of her stomach to the delightful delta of black hairs between her thighs. She turned and looked over her shoulder to examine her rear. It was round and full and firm, two globes divided by a deep dark crack. She stooped and spread the cheeks. In the center was her delicate little rosebud. Nothing to indicate that Milton had filled it with fire only a few hours before.
She turned again to face front to the mirror and rubbed her hand between her legs. She was hot and moist. She stroked her come button and shivered as soft spasms of delight shot through her.
She shook so she could hardly stand. She sat on the edge of the bed, her legs spread. She examined herself closely in the mirror. All she could discern were folds of soft, pink flesh around the dark shadow of her love hole. Somewhere deep inside, the secret lay hidden. But no one could tell just by looking at her. Rosemary smiled to herself. She could still pretend that she was sweet sixteen and never been-well, not exactly kissed.
She massaged herself slowly with her finger, all the while watching herself in the mirror, savoring the thrill of her own touch, watching rapt at the picture of her own delight.
Then the idea struck her.
She jumped up and rummaged in the bottom of the closet. She pulled one of the bronze phalluses from the foot of her boot. She took a quick look at the inscription on the bottom. It was Max's. She wondered how he'd feel.
The metal was cold, but she warmed it by rubbing it in her hands. Then she touched it to her lips, recalling how nice the original had been to tongue and kiss. When the bronze shaft was slippery with saliva, she slid it in easily. She gave a slight gasp as it plunged into position. She had to caution herself to make no sound that her parents might overhear.
Rosemary stretched full length on the bed, her legs spread wide as she slid the metal shaft in and out.
"Max! Max!" she whispered softly. "Fuck me! Fuck me!"
She could imagine his heavy, hairy body pressing upon her, his firm hands gripping her. In her thoughts it was Max inside her, pushing and plunging. Her muscles contracted and relaxed around the metal shaft just as if it were the real thing. Faster and faster she accelerated the rhythm. Her groin ground to squeeze out the last drops of pleasure from her surrogate lover. Faster and faster...
Rosemary buried her face in the pillow to drown out the screams as her climax came flooding over her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
By Monday noon, the word was all over East Flatbush High School: Rosemary Salerno had made it with the Zepplins! Goldie must have told someone, Rosemary thought, and that someone told someone else, and soon, it seemed, everyone in the school knew about it.
As she walked to the lunchroom, Rosemary could feel everyone looking at her and whispering. She took a certain pride in her new status. She walked tall.
Of course, it was nothing new for the boys to look at her. She dressed to provoke their glances -a tight cashmere sweater and a mini-mini that barely covered her rear. When she sat in class, she noted that the boys in front of her always managed to drop their books or something, hoping to catch a glimpse up her skirt when they bent to pick them up. And sometimes, deliberately, she didn't disappoint them.
But today, she noted, there was a different aspect to their leers. There was no longer the unspoken question behind their stares. Does she or doesn't she? Now everyone knew. There was now the question, Can I or can't I? But none of the boys had balls enough to ask her.
The girls did though. As she walked along the hall, girls she knew kept coming up to her and asking: "Is it true? How was it?" And, "How were they?"
In the lunchroom, she took her tray to the table and sat down next to Goldie.
"I told you, Rosie, you make it with the Zepplins, and you'll be the biggest thing that ever hit East Flatbush High. And you see, it's true. Everybody's talking about you."
"I know," Rosemary said, munching into her hamburger. "I just hope my parents don't hear about it too."
"Don't worry," Goldie said, "parents never know nothing. Look at my folks. They still think I'm a perfect little angel. A goodie-goodie Goldie who'd never even let a boy kiss her. That's just because I don't mess around with the creeps around here."
Goldie glanced around the lunchroom. "Look at Bruno Slomensky," she whispered. "Just look at the expression on his face. He's jealous as hell."
Bruno Slomensky was the star fullback on the school football team-a magnificent chunk of beef-cake, but not very much in the brains department. In addition, he was extremely shy with girls. He couldn't speak a sentence to someone in skirts without tripping over his own feet on the football field.
"He's been trying to get into my pants all year," Rosemary said, glancing over to the next table, where Bruno was wolfing down his meal.
"Bruno!" Goldie exclaimed. "He wouldn't know what to do if he got a girl in bed." She bent over and whispered to Rosemary. "You heard about the woman who ran into the police station screaming, 'Help! Help! I've been rqped by Bruno Slomensky!' The sergeant looked at her and said, 'Look, lady, it's pitch black out. You can't see nothing. How'd you know it was Bruno Slomensky?' And she said, 'I had to show him how.'" Rosemary laughed. "It might be fun to see what Bruno could do," she said.
"Rosie, you're gonna become the biggest prick-teaser in the whole school."
"I know. Isn't it a gas?"
After school, Bruno Slomensky was waiting for her on the steps. He almost tripped over his own feet as he jumped up to greet her.
"Hi, Rosemary!" he stammered. "Want a lift home?"
"Okay," she said, and they walked down the street to where his second-hand jalopy was parked. They started off. As he drove through the Brooklyn streets, they talked of this and that, but never of the burning issue she knew was on what there was of Bruno's mind. She realized she'd have to bring the conversation around to it herself.
"Why don't you drive through the park, Bruno. It's so pleasant there this time of year... "
"Why don't you park somewhere, Bruno. I'm in no rush to get home. We can sit and talk and look at the leaves falling from the trees... "
"Oh, not here, Bruno. There's so many people around. Why don't you pick some place that's Just a little more private...?"
Bruno finally pulled up in a small dead-end shielded from general view by a number of big oak trees. Bruno cut the engine and sat silently behind the wheel.
"There's something on your mind, Bruno. Why don't you tell me what it is?"
He started to stammer. Finally, he got out the words. "Is it true, Rosemary? What everyone's saying? That you made it with the Zepplins? All of them?"
"Uh-huh," she said, blithely fighting a cigarette. "It's true."
"But why?"
"I wanted to. It was fun."
"But you don't even know them. I've known you for years, and you never even let me do anything."
"I let you couch my titties, Bruno. Remember?"
"Yeah. But you never let me go all the way. I don't know of nobody in school you let go all the way with you."
"But, Bruno, a girl just can't go around making it with just anybody and everybody. A girl's got a reputation to protect. If she's gonna do it, she's gotta do it with the best there is. And the Zepplins are the hottest thing in show business."
"I'm the star of the football team."
"Some star! Some team! Some bunch of Tigers!"
It was true. The East Flatbush Tigers hadn't won a game all season. And even though Bruno Slomensky was their biggest ground gainer, he'd yet to score a single point.
"We've just had some bad breaks," Bruno said.
"That's what they all say."
"You'll see, we'll win this Friday."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
They sat silently for several minutes before Rosemary spoke again. "Would you like to fuck me, Bruno?"
He was so startled he could scarcely blurt out, "What?"
"I said, "Would you like to fuck me?'"
"Well-yes-yes-of course."
He reached an arm around her shoulders. She pushed him away.
"Not now, Bruno."
He pulled back, embarrassed.
"I'll tell you what, Bruno, you score a touchdown in Friday's game and you can fuck me. Right after the game. In the locker room."
"But what about the others?"
"They can stand around and watch. You're not embarrassed, are you?"
He blushed beet red. "No," he stammered.
"You see, Bruno, I'm betting you can't do it."
"I'll do it all right. You wait and see."
"I'll wait."
"Is it a deal?" he asked.
"A deal," she said.
"Shake on it."
They shook hands.
"You can touch my titties now if you want to, Bruno."
"Can I, Rosemary?"
"I said you could."
She flicked the cigarette out the window and leaned back waiting for him. Bruno's big hand, like the paw of a giant animal, gripped the big boobs that stretched the weave of her too-tight sweater. They roamed all around the giant globes, sometimes stopping to squeeze them. It was hardly an expert caress, Rosemary reflected, but it was not displeasing. It didn't really turn her on, because she was far more fascinated in watching Bruno's fumbling efforts-and analyzing her effect on him.
"You can put your hands underneath my sweater, Bruno," she said. "But don't try to undo my bra."
He slipped his big hands beneath the cloth and pawed her through the lacy bra. Sometimes she could feel his calloused fingers touch the tender skin of the swell that bulged above the confining container.
She let him continue for several more minutes. Then she said, "That's enough, Bruno," and pushed his hands away.
He sat silently for a moment.
"Didn't you like it, Bruno?"
"Yes, of course."
"That's nice, Bruno. I'm glad you liked it." She dropped a hand to his crotch. "Did it make you hard, Bruno?" She stroked him through the coarse cloth of his dungarees.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said.
"I suppose you'll go home now and jerk off."
He blushed. "Oh, no!" he stammered.
"Well, what are you gonna do-just walk around all day with a hard-on?"
"I-No-I don't-" He started several sentences, but he couldn't get the words out.
"Come on, Bruno, you can tell me the truth. All boys jerk off. You've done it to yourself, haven't you?'" Bruno blushed even redder. Finally he confessed. "Yes." It was a barely audible whisper.
"Would you do it for me, Bruno? Would you let me watch you?"
"I can't," he stammered.
"Why not, Bruno? You're just gonna go home and do it. Why not now?"
"It's not-it's not right."
"You're not being very nice to me, Bruno. I was nice to you. I let you touch my titties. And I said I'd let you fuck me Friday. Now you say you won't do this one little thing for me. If you're gonna act like this, I might not be so nice to you come Friday."
"But we made a deal," he protested.
"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind," she said haughtily.
She continued stroking him.
"Just for me, Bruno? No one will ever know."
He reluctantly consented. "Okay."
Bruno unzipped his pants and pulled out his prick. It looked so funny, poking out through his clothes, Rosemary reflected, just like a little, pink, baby animal. Rosemary noticed it was rather small, even now when he was hard and ready. Bruno might have a beautiful body, but upstairs he was sadly deficient-and when you got downstairs to the nitty-gritty, he could only be considered a disappointment. Bruno sat motionless for several seconds.
"Go on, stroke it," she said. "Let me see."
Bruno's hand started to slide up and down along his short shaft.
"Pretend you're fucking me, Bruno. Pretend it's Friday already, and you're putting it into me. Pretend that's my pussy all around it."
Bruno closed his eyes. His hand moved faster and faster. Soon a stream of white sperm shot out onto the dashboard.
"You can take me home now, Bruno."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Friday found Rosemary Salerno cavorting on the sidelines at the East Flatbush High football game. She was wearing her cheerleader costume -a fluffy blue sweater emblazoned with a white "EFHS," white go-go boots and a pleated white skirt. Sometimes, when she jumped, the skirt billowed to disclose her pert little rump encased in shiny white panties.
The line of cheerleaders rose in between plays to lead the East Flatbush students in a "Da-da-dum-de-dum! Rah, Tigers!" Then they knelt to watch the action. It was the first play from scrimmage in the second half. The score was 0-0. The Tigers had the ball.
Goldie Gordon knelt beside Rosemary. "You better hope Bruno gets creamed today," she said.
"What for?" Rosemary replied. "If he gets creamed out there, he won't be in any condition to cream in me."
"You mean you're actually gonna go through with it?"
"Of course."
"The odds are against you, Rosie. Bruno's gotta score out there before he even tries to score with you. And the way things are going-" A groan went up from the stands. Bruno Slomensky had been thrown for a three-yard loss.
"You see," Goldie said.
Between play, the girls rose to lead another quick cheer.
"Poor Bruno," Rosemary sighed as the action on field resumed. "He's really gone gung-ho. Ever since I made the bet with him, he's been working out as hard as he can. He's been staying extra at practice all week. Even if he scores, I don't see how he'll have any strength left for anything else."
Another groan went up from the stands as the Tigers failed to complete a pass. And another exhortation from the cheerleaders. Then they relaxed again.
"I still don't see how you could do such a thing, Rosie, promising Bruno you'd let him bang you in the locker room after the game."
"It was just a lark."
"It's a lark that could get you in all sorts of hot water if anybody finds out, that's what. What are you gonna do if he scores?"
"If he scores against Greenpoint, he scores with Rosemary."
Another pass failed and the Tigers punted.
"Well, we can take it easy for a while," Goldie said as Greenpoint took possession of the ball. They sat on the grass. "You know, don't you, that Bruno's invited all his teammates to watch?"
"So let 'em. It might give them a thrill."
"Honestly, Rosie, I don't know what's got into you. Ever since you lost your cherry, you've gone on a real sex jag. You act like you want to make it with every guy who pulls on a pair of pants."
"I never knew it was so much fun. I never realized how wonderful it was. I want to have all the fun I can while I'm still young. I want to make it as often as I can with as many people as I can while I still can. Sooner or later, you get tied down and you wind up like my folks-old before they're forty, making it only once a week, if then. Christ! think how awful that must be. But I'm only gonna groove with guys who really rate, like the Zepplins."
"What about Bruno?"
"That's just horsing around. Bruno's the biggest horse laugh of them all."
Greenpoint took to the offense, and Bruno came trotting off the field.
"Watch this!" Rosemary whispered to Goldie.
As Bruno passed Rosemary, she pulled up her skirt to give him a peek at her panties.
"Ready and waiting, Bruno. Not much time left."
"I-!" he stammered.
"Only twenty-five minutes, Bruno. Hurry up, or you'll have to go home and play with yourself."
"You just watch," he managed to blurt out.
Goldie giggled. "You've got that poor boy so riled up, he can't tell any more if he's coming or going."
"He never could," Rosemary said. "Bruno's a nice boy. Maybe some day he'll grow up."
The deadlock on the field continued into the closing minutes of the game. With only a few minutes left to play, the coach sent Bruno back onto the field for what was likely to be the Tigers' final series of downs.
As Bruno trotted past Rosemary, she yelled his name. He stopped for a second and turned his head. Rosemary lifted her skirt and gave a quick pat between her legs. Bruno started to say something, but he couldn't get the words out. He continued onto the field. The girls broke out laughing.
On the first play, Bruno took the ball and started running like a madman. He plowed through the Greenpoint line and hurtled thirty yards for a touchdown.
"What are you gonna do now, Rosie?"
"I'm gonna see what Bruno can do."
The girls jumped up and led the fans in a cheer for Bruno.
Three minutes later the game was over. The Tigers from East Flatbush had finally won a game, and Bruno Slomensky had scored the only touchdown.
Rosemary followed the team into the locker room.
"Woman in the house!" one of the players screamed.
The players quickly hitched up their pants and buttoned their flies.
"Three cheers for the cheerleader!" someone yelled.
"Hip! Hip! Horray!" the others echoed.
"Where's Bruno?" Rosemary asked.
A player pointed to the second bank of lockers. "Over there."
Rosemary started to thread her way through the tangle of benches and open locker doors, players and discarded pieces of equipment.
"Are you really gonna go through with it, Rosemary?" one asked.
"Of course."
Another grabbed her arm. "Dibs on sloppy seconds?"
Rosemary shook off his grasp. "Score a touchdown sometime and we'll see."
"But I'm on the defense," he sighed.
Rosemary found Bruno at his locker. He had hung up his helmet and had stripped off his jersey. He'd started unlacing his shoulder pads.
"Hi, Bruno."
Bruno blushed. "Hi, Rosemary," he stammered.
The burly football player slipped out of his shoulder pads. Rosemary stared at his muscular chest. Bruno was built like the model in a Charles Atlas ad. Little beads of sweat clung to his light matting of blond chest hairs.
The other players gathered in a circle around them.
"Lock the door!" someone yelled. "Don't let anyone else in! The show's about to begin!"
"You better get set, Bruno. I'm all ready."
She reached under her skirt without raising it, hooked her thumbs into the elastic waist band and pulled down her panties.
"See how ready I am."
She pushed the flimsy garment in Bruno's face. He didn't know what to do with the panties. He stood there holding them in his hand, looking around for some place to put them. Rosemary found it hard to stifle the laugh at how silly he looked-a great big he-man with such a frilly, female thing dangling from his massive paw.
One of the players came to Bruno's relief. He took the panties from Bruno's hand, held them to his face and sniffed.
"Nectar!" he exclaimed.
Soon the soft white garment was being passed around the circle of fawning football players, as each in turn inhaled the erotic aroma.
"We'd better get started, Bruno."
Rosemary eased him onto the bench. She bent and lifted his feet and stretched his whole body full-length on the board seat. Then she straddled his beefy body and stood across his shoulders facing him. She lifted her skirt slightly in front, just enough so that Bruno alone could see.
"See, Bruno, this is what I've got for you."
What-if anything-Bruno replied couldn't be heard, because his voice was muffled by the pleated skirt that covered his face.
"Hey, Rosie, let us have a look too!" a player pleaded.
"Oh no! This is a private showing. For Bruno's eyes only."
Bruno slipped his hands beneath her skirt and grasped her thighs. She wiggled away.
"Not now, Bruno. We've got to get you ready."
She inched her way down along his body until she was sitting on his thighs.
"Now let's see what you've got for me."
She started unlacing the trousers of his football uniform.
"This is worse than an old maid's corset," she said, drawing the laces through the eyelets one by one. When she finished, she told him, "Lift your fat rear, Bruno."
Bruno arched his buttocks, and Rosemary slid the trousers down to his ankles. A sweaty jockstrap covered Bruno's crotch. She pulled the elastic waistband several inches, then let it snap back.
"Ouch!" Bruno said.
"Such a big man hurt by such a little thing!" Rosemary said, snapping the jockstrap again. "Now, lift again," she told him.
Bruno complied. Rosemary slid the jockstrap down his legs out of the way behind her. Bruno lay there in all his glory-a tiny pink snake poking out through a bush of curly brown hairs.
"Oh dear!" Rosemary said. "It looks like he doesn't want to play."
She grasped Bruno's boyhood and shook it like a dinner bell. Bruno remained limp.
"Come on, Bruno! Get it up!" a player coached. But Bruno didn't respond.
Rosemary slid up until their privates were brushing against each other. She fanned the skirt over them like a canopy and reached underneath to take hold of Bruno. She rubbed his knob against her moist opening. The action gave her pleasure, but it still did nothing for Bruno.
"What's the matter, Bruno? You act like you don't like me."
Bruno's face had turned the color of lobster.
"You're-You're making me nervous," he stammered.
"A big, strong man like you, nervous? Nonsense!"
She held his limp organ tightly and tried to slide it into her waiting sheath. But he didn't have enough length or strength to penetrate past the lips.
"I don't think you're being very nice to me, Bruno. I don't think you like me. In fact, I don't think you like girls."
"I like you, Rosemary. It's just-it's just that-I don't know."
"You're not very good for a girl's ego, Bruno. A girl likes to think of herself as sexy. And when she can't even get a rise out of a man... "
"Why don't you try a real man, Rosemary?" a player asked. "Like me."
She glared at him. "And what makes you so sure you won't be a disappointment too?"
"Try me," he said.
But she ignored him. She rose and straightened her skirt. Bruno lay on the bench, his limp organ wet with her wasted juices. He reached down to pull up his jockstrap.
Rosemary retrieved her panties. She stooped and started to step into them, then changed her mind. She threw the garment at Bruno.
"Here, you need them more than I do."
She turned and strode proudly out of the locker room. The players separated before her like courtiers before a queen.
CHAPTER NINE
Rosemary met Goldie outside the locker room, and told her what had happened inside. Goldie laughed all the way to the subway station.
"God, I'm hot," Rosemary said as they stood on the platform waiting for the train.
"I don't see why. It's gotten chilly," Goldie said, shivering in her thin cheerleader costume.
"I meant inside," Rosemary explained. "I'm all fired up. It's frustrating to go only half-way and then stop-even with somebody as fumbling as Bruno Slomensky."
"I know what you mean, Rosie. But don't worry. You'll get all the action you can handle tomorrow night. We'll make a real groupie out of you yet."
"I thought I was!"
"You're not a real groupie till you've made it with a group," Goldie explained.
"But I did," Rosemary protested. "I made it with the Zepplins. All of them. First Peter and then Max and then Milton and then Glassy. All different ways."
"You did-but only one at a time. You don't become a real, full-fledged groupie till you do it with a group, all at the same time, everyone together. Two or three or four or five, all in the same bed, girls and boys all mixed up, part of you doing something to one person, another part doing something else with someone else. Boy, Rosie, do you have a treat coming! Every part of you gets filled up. Your whole body's on fire. You feel like you'll explode. You don't know who's what to you. You just keep coming and coming till you think you're gonna die of pleasure."
The very thought of what was in store for her made Rosemary even hotter. She longed for the feel of a man-a real man, someone who'd made it to make her, not a high school boy like Bruno Slomensky.
"I don't know if I can hold out till tomorrow."
"Everything okay at home?" Goldie asked. "You're sure you'll be able to get away?"
"I think so. My folks were pretty pissed-off about last week, but I think they've gotten over it. They haven't said anything about it for two or three days."
The train pulled into the station. Rosemary and Goldie wedged their way into it. The car was crowded with the evening rush-hour traffic, but they managed to find a small space to stand at the end of the car beside the conductor's compartment.
Rosemary found herself pressed against a short, dark Puerto Rican boy with pomaded hair. Every time the train lurched, he managed to brush his arm against her big breasts. Every time he did it, she stared at him. He stared off into space in an apparent effort to pretend he didn't know what she was staring at.
His action was crass and crude, she knew, and she should have slapped his face. But hot as she was, it turned her on. Every time he touched her, her nipples hardened and pressed against the confining lace of her bra. Soon she found herself pressing against him whenever the train lurched. She started smiling at him. He gave her an insipid grin in return.
She whispered to him. "I'm not wearing any panties."
He said, "Si."
She spread her legs slightly. She whispered again, "My pussy is hot and wet."
"Si."
She didn't know if he understood or not. The train lurched, and her breasts brushed against his arm again. This time he stared straight into her face as he touched her and flashed that insipid grin of his.
"Si?" he asked.
"Si, si," she said.
She took his hand and guided it under her skirt.
"Si, si," he said.
Goldie gaped at them. "Rosemary, what in the hell are you doing?"
"Don't ask questions. Just stand behind me. Don't let anyone see."
Goldie shielded the action in the corner from general view. As the subway train shot through the dark tunnel, Rosemary felt her Puerto Rican playmate jab his finger up into her hot channel. Every time the train wobbled, wild vibrations shot through her.
"Oh! that's good!" she said. "Don't stop!"
"Si, si."
"Rosemary, you're out of your ever-loving mind!" Goldie said. "You can't do such a thing in the middle of a subway train."
"I'm doing it, aren't I?"
Rosemary took a quick glance around the car. None of the other passengers seemed to notice what was happening. They hung by the straps, staring off into space or buried their heads in their newspapers.
Rosemary looked down and saw the bulge in the boy's tight pants.- He rubbed himself against her leg. His finger-poking quickly brought her to the peak. Despite his youth, he was rather expert at it. Rosemary gritted her teeth to keep from screaming aloud as her climax swept over her.
"Oh, that's good!" she sighed softly.
"Si, si," he replied.
Goldie grabbed Rosemary's shoulder. "Come on, Rosie, this is our stop!"
Rosemary stepped back and the Puerto Rican finger came popping out of her hole. She and Goldie dashed to get out of the car before the doors closed. The Puerto Rican boy stood there dumbfounded, his wet finger still pointing upwards, poking and probing at someone who was no longer there.
"Senorita!" he screamed.
This time the passengers turned and stared at him.
"Senorita!" he called again, the finger jabbing into the air.
"Disgusting!" a passenger muttered.
Rosemary and Goldie reached the platform and the doors closed behind them. The train pulled out with a roar. Rosemary stood there laughing.
Goldie was dumbfounded. When the sound of the departing train faded away, she asked Rosemary, "Are you crazy? What made you do such a thing?"
"I needed it," Rosemary said, walking toward the exit turnstiles. "And just think of the thrill I gave that poor, horny boy. It'll be the talk of Spanish Harlem for weeks.
Dinner that night was the grumpy meal it always was at the Salerno household. Rosemary and her parents sat around the kitchen table, eating the hearty Italian food, scarcely speaking to each other at all. When they opened their mouths, it was only to stuff food in or mutter "pass the butter" or other banalities.
Rosemary found the atmosphere oppressive, like walls closing in on her, trapping her. She felt she had to escape-to break out somehow.
After dinner, when her mother served the coffee, she declined it. Instead, she rose and calmly walked to the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" her father asked, his potbelly poking out from beneath his undershirt. "Out."
"Oh no, you're not."
"Why?" Rosemary snapped in surprise.
"After last week, little lady, you're not going anywhere. You can't be trusted out alone. God knows what kind of trouble you'll get yourself into."
"That was just that one time. I'm just going down to the corner to meet Goldie and the gang."
"You're not going anywhere to meet anyone. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not any night until you learn how to behave yourself."
"Not tomorrow night!" Rosemary exclaimed. That would ruin everything with the Zepplins.
"No. N-O. No," her father said, spelling out the word. "What's so big about tomorrow night anyway?"
"Goldie and I were just going to a concert in town."
"Well, she'll just have to find someone else to go with. And I don't like the idea at all of your hanging around with that crowd in Greenwich Village. I see 'em when I drive around, I hear what they talk about when they get in my cab. Long-hair boys who look like girls, girls running around without shoes or brassieres, their tits bouncing all over the place. Bunch of tramps! Beatniks! Hippies! Queers! Sex fiends! Perverts! Dope addicts! That's all they are. Shooting their arms full of poison, filling their head with God only knows what kind of perverted, Communistic trash, sleeping around with anything and anyone. Stick with them, and God only knows what kind of trouble you'll get into. In jail, in the nut-house, out of your head from dope, in the hospital from some foul diseases or your belly swollen out to here"-he gestured with his hands-"from some guy whose name you don't even know. Well, your mother and I aren't going to have any of that. You're just going to have to stay at home until you learn to get some sense in your head."
Rosemary started to speak, then she flailed her arms in a gesture of hopelessness-one that conveyed better than words that there was no talking to them. She started pacing back and forth in the living room.
"Well, what the hell do you expect me to do around here all night?"
"You can start by learning how to talk decent in this house. Then you can help your mother with the dishes. Then you can read or watch television. Do your homework-"
"I've done it."
"All of it?"
"All of it."
"And later your Uncle Mike is coming over for a while."
"First, I can't go out. Then you have to bring in the fuzz to watch me."
"That's no way to talk about your uncle. Being a policeman's an honorable profession."
Rosemary flailed her arms again. "Can I at least call Goldie and tell her I can't meet her?"
"I guess so."
Rosemary picked up the phone and trailing the long cord after her, took it into her bedroom where she could talk in privacy. She dialed her girlfriend's number. "Goldie?" she said. "I can't get out tonight."
"What happened?"
"Everything. The shit's really hit the fan. You know how old-fashioned my parents are. After last Saturday, they're not gonna let me out all weekend."
"AH weekend!" Goldie exclaimed. "You'll miss the Zepplins."
"Not on your life! I'm gonna get out somehow. You can bet on that. I'm not gonna miss tomorrow night for anything. We'll figure out a way, somehow. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Hold on a minute."
Rosemary poked her head out the door and asked, "Can I go out tomorrow afternoon at least? I have to give Goldie the tickets."
It was as convenient a lie as any. Her father said he guessed it was okay.
"Meet you at one o'clock at the candy store," she told Goldie. Rosemary hung up and meandered back to the kitchen to help her mother with the dishes.
The following afternoon, Rosemary and Goldie sat at the candy store counter, sipping sodas.
"What are you gonna do, Rosie?"
"I'm gonna meet the Zepplins tonight."
"How are you gonna get away?"
"Simple. I'm not gonna go back now. Just stay out. See a movie or something."
"What about your folks? They'll blow a fuse."
"So let 'em. I don't give a good Goddamn what they say to do. I'm gonna groove tonight."
CHAPTER TEN
That night, Rosemary and Goldie returned to Hamlin Hall to hear the Zepplins. The group was in fine form, belting out the rock songs with an infectious, almost sexual beat. Once again, the auditorium was filled with teenaged girls, all squealing and screaming at the sight and sounds of their idols.
But tonight, Rosemary knew, she wouldn't have to compete with the mob for the Zepplin's attention and affection. Tonight, Goldie carried a note from the group, letting them come backstage. And later tonight-if all went right- she'd be grooving with the guys. She'd become a real, full-fledged groupie. How the others would envy her if they knew!
Just before the Zepplins came on for their final set, Rosemary and Goldie slipped downstairs. Goldie gave the guard the note the Zepplins had written out the week before. He looked at it carefully, then looked them over with an even closer scrutiny. It was one of the dirtiest looks Rosemary had ever seen.
"You're pretty young to be messing around like this, aren't you?" he said. "Do your mothers know you're out tonight-and who you're going out with?"
Goldie shot back at him, "Why don't you mind your own fucking business and just let us in, like the note says!"
"Now is that any way for a young lady to talk?"
"We don't need any lectures from the Geritol set, buster. Just open the fucking door and let us in."
He opened the door for them. "Excuse me," he said, bowing with a mock flourish. "Somehow I got the impression that you were young ladies. Shows how anybody can make mistakes."
Rosemary and Goldie walked backstage. As the guard closed the door behind them, Rosemary said, "You know what your trouble is? You're just uptight because there's all this tail around, and you're not getting any of it."
"I guess that told the old goat," Goldie said.
"Guys like that really give me the creeps," Rosemary replied. "Remind me of my old man."
"Hey! there's Suzie Wong." Goldie said, pointing down the backstage corridor.
The Oriental girl was lounging against the wall of the half-lit areaway. She was wearing a black jumpsuit that zipped all the way down the front, leaving no detail of her slim figure to the imagination. Her long black hair hung seductively.
"Hi, Suzie!"
"Hi, Suzie!"
"I'm not-" she started. Then she shrugged. "I guess I'm just stuck with the name. Hi."
"What's up?" Goldie asked.
"I'm waiting for Basil," Suzie said. "We're gonna split up to his pad for a smoke. He's just got some new grass from Mexico. Says it's the best stuff he's ever smoked."
Just then, the dressing-room door opened. Basil Black stood there bare-chested-one of the most impressive hunks of manhood Rosemary had ever seen. He stood about six-foot three, and his muscular chest was hard and sinewy. His features were those of a white man-straight nose and thin lips-but his skin was a deep chocolate, and his jet black hair was short and kinky. Beneath his tight black leather pants, Rosemary could see the bulge of his virility. He was billed as "The Swinging Spade," and Rosemary had heard that in private he really lived up to the name.
Basil cast a covetous eye up and down Rosemary's ample figure. "What's your name, honey?" he asked.
Rosemary told him.
"I'm Basil Black. This here is Suzie Wong."
"I know," Rosemary said.
"I'm Goldie Gordon," Goldie piped up.
"Hi," Basil said to her, but he never took his eyes off Rosemary. "One of the Zepplins' quails, nuh?" He looked her over carefully. "You know, you're really stacked, honey. Do you deliver as much as you advertise?"
"Would you believe she was a virgin until last week?" Suzie Wong said.
"But I've learned a lot since then."
"I'll bet you have, honey," Basil Black said.
Rosemary could tell that Suzie Wong didn't appreciate all the attention that Basil was paying to her. And as for Goldie no one was paying any attention to her at all.
"Come on, Basil," Suzie Wong said. "We'd better be going."
Basil kept his eyes on Rosemary. "Why don't you join us, honey? I just got hold of a stash that'll really blow your brain. And we can groove a little too."
Rosemary looked at Goldie for advice.
"You go on, Rosie," her girlfriend told her. "I don't feel much like turning on tonight."
"You sure?" Rosemary asked, half hoping Goldie would find some excuse to keep her back. She wasn't sure she could handle herself on her own with such swingers.
"Yeah, I'm sure. I know when I'd be a fourth wheel."
"It's just around the corner," Basil said.
"Go on, Rosie," Goldie urged. "The Zepplins won't be through for another hour or so. You can come back and join us then-if you still feel up to it."
"She'll be so high she can float back," Basil said.
Rosemary agreed. "Okay."
Basil tossed on a white satin shirt with a deep V-neck that showed off his muscular chest. He threw one arm around Rosemary's shoulder and the other around Suzie Wong's. The girls grabbed him around the waist. They started down the narrow corridor, their hips brushing invitingly against each others. "You know what they say," Basil Black proclaimed, "two's company, three's an orgy."
Outside the stage door, hundreds of screaming girls had gathered waiting for the Zepplins, just as Rosemary and Goldie had stood waiting the week before. She felt so fax above that now.
The guard cleared a path though the throng for Basil and his playmates. Basil held on to them tightly as his female fans swarmed around, reaching out with grasping hands to touch their idol.
"This is one of the reasons I never carry my stash on me," Basil said. "I'm afraid someone might cop it. With these crazy broads, you're lucky if you can escape with your clothes on. I lost ten cuff links last week." He maneuvered them through the screaming, squealing mob, onto the unobstructed sidewalk. "And in a situation like that, you gotta be careful in case the man comes along. You never know when they're liable to give you a frisk. But," he said smiling, "it's only a hop and a skip to the greatest grass in town... See, here we are."
He led them up a rickety stairway to the fifth floor of the East Village tenement. He fumbled at the lock, then opened the door. An unshielded bulb in the ceiling cast a harsh glare over Basil Black's pad. The paint on the walls of the one-room apartment was peeling. But the gaps were covered with colorful posters-rock groups, Malcolm X, Che Guevara and a bevy of naked movie stars. The only piece of furniture in the room was a bare double-bed mattress in the center of the floor. Cardboard cartons containing Basil's belongings were stacked in a corner.
Basil lit a perfumed candle on the windowsill. Then he turned out the light and double-locked the door behind him. The flame cast an eerie glow over the room and Rosemary sniffed the scent of jasmine.
"Atmosphere," he explained.
He stripped off his shirt and threw it into the corner.
"I got the stuff in the john," he said.
Suzie Wong stepped forward and put her hands on Basil's hips. She ground her groin against his.
"Can't that wait?" she asked. "Can't this?" Basil replied, trying to step away. "It's even better when you're stoned."
She kept up her pursuit of him, rubbing a leg between his. "Why not have it both ways?" she asked. "Once sober, once stoned."
"You're underestimating me, Baby. Once or twice sober and two or three times stoned would be more like it."
"Talk is cheap," Suzie Wong said.
She started undoing the snaps on his leather slacks. With one tug Bail pulled down the zipper on her jump suit and slipped his hands inside. They stood there fondling each other.
"Aren't you gonna play?" Suzie asked Rosemary. "The more the merrier!"
"Yeah, sure," she replied.
But she wasn't so sure. The pair were so engrossed in undressing each other that she didn't know where she fitted in. After all, this was her first threesome. She stepped over to them and tried to figure out the situation. Basil's hands were busy fumbling inside Suzie's jumpsuit, while she was trying to slip his snug slacks over his hips. Rosemary held Basil's head and started kissing him. It was so natural she didn't even stop to think that she'd never necked with a spade before. She'd often wondered if a black man would be any different from the boys at school.
She kissed him. It wasn't so different, but Basil was so much better than anyone else she'd ever known. His lips were strong, pressing hard and passionately against hers. His tongue was a fiery probe that forced her lips open and flamed into her mouth. She opened an avenue to him gladly.
Basil fell backward on the mattress, dragging Rosemary with him. She'd been so engrossed in his kiss she hadn't noticed he'd slipped a hand behind her and up under her sweater. Their lips were still glued together, their tongues still flicking in and out of each other's mouths.
Suzie Wong slipped back and stepped out of her jumpsuit. She was naked underneath the tight-fitting garment. Suzie licked her tongue over her Lips, brushed her hair away from her eyes and stopped to pull off Basil's black leather pants. His black body was circled by the white ring of his jockey briefs.
Now Basil's hands were free to explore, they ran along Rosemary's back pressing her tight against him. His touch was gentle, yet strong and passionate, gently inducing her to yield to him. With a sure grip, he reached up and started squeezing her breasts. How different he was from Bruno Slomensky's crude fumblings! His touch was hot and sensual. She writhed with pleasure as he cupped and kneaded her tingling globes.
Basil's hands slipped around again and deftly undid her bra snaps. Then they came front again, this time to knead the bare flesh. His fingertips dug into her skin. His thumbs flecked over her hard nipples. From his mere touch, she could tell what power he possessed. Not even the Zepplins had turned her on like this.
Below, Suzie Wong had slipped off Basil's shorts. With both hands he grasped Rosemary's sweater and pulled it over her head. She wiggled her arms out of the confining garment and offered her breasts to his kiss.
He grasped one giant globe and pulled it toward his mouth. His tongue snaked out and licked the hard nipple, teasing it, tantalizing it. Then he took the whole nipple into his mouth and sucked it deep inside. It seemed as if her whole breast was being swallowed.
She looked down to see the white flesh of her bosom falling into the dark chasm of his mouth. And further below, Suzie Wong opened her lips and circled them around Basil's hard and throbbing organ.
Basil reached down and undid the zipper of Rosemary's mini skirt. Without a letup from his active mouth, he slipped off the garment. His hand reached down and rubbed against the crotch of her bikini panties, wet with anticipation. She pulled away. He was firing every erotic part of her. She wanted to bare herself to him, to let nothing impede his touch, his kiss, his final, wonderful thrust that would send her over the brink.
"Let me get my boots off," she said.
"Keep 'em on. They're sexy," he told her.
He grabbed her waist and pulled her on top of him. His grip was strong and sure-the gesture of a man who knew what he was doing. She realized he knew what he was talking about too. There was something so sensual, so erotic, so forbidden about making love while wearing a pair of knee-high leather boots.
Her thigh straddled Basil's face. His lips traced a trail up her soft white flesh until they reached the hem of her lacy panties. Rosemary wiggled, thrusting herself at him to make his mouth find the target it sought.
She cast a glimpse behind her. Suzie Wong had also straddled Basil. She was arched high above his body, holding his big black organ, guiding it toward her open lips. Then she lowered herself slowly, impaling herself. She gave a soft sigh of pleasure as he slid onto her.
"Oooh!" Rosemary shouted as Basil's tongue also hit home. It probed through the lace of her panties and ran around the rim of her vagina. He bit the garment with his teeth and with a tug of his head tore it open. Now his tongue really went to work, licking rapidly over her button, darting deep inside the chasm. Her body started shaking like an outboard motor while she shouted uncontrollably with female squeals of pleasure.
Behind her she could feel Suzie Wong's rhythmic rise and fall as the Oriental girl slid up and down on Basil's shaft. Basil reached up and grabbed her rump, his powerful hands squeezing the soft hemispheres, his strong fingers pressing into her cleft, pulling her closer and closer against him. Suzie Wong leaned forward and grasped Rosemary's breasts, cupping them gently, caressing the nipples with that gentle touch only one woman can give another.
"Oh! that feels so good," she sighed.
"Everything feels so good," said Suzie Wong. "Your tits, my cunt, Basil's prick. God! he's big and strong. Oh! so hard. So wonderful! Oh! I'm coming. Basil, I'm coming. Basil! Basil! Basil!
Calling his name over and over, Suzie Wong started contorting wildly. She squeezed Rosemary's breasts tighter and started biting her neck. Below, Basil writhed and bounced. His tongue lapped faster and faster, as Rosemary's body churned in rhythm.
It was the coda of a symphony-everyone vibrating together to a glorious climax.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!"
Her screams rent the air. Her hips bounced up and down as the waves of pleasure shot through her. Faster and faster, until she found the release she'd sought-and slumped, exhausted...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Wow!"
Rosemary let out the exclamation as she regained her senses, sat up and stretched. It was like-wow!-wonderful. She craved more-but not just yet. She still wanted to savor the sensation, the thrill that still tingled through her body.
Basil jumped up and clapped his hands together. "Okay, kiddies, time to turn on."
Rosemary and Suzie Wong followed him into the john, where he kept his stash hidden. He reached under the sink and pulled out the plastic bag taped there. Rosemary and Suzie stood beside him as he unwrapped the paraphernalia of pot. As he poured out the marijuana into the paper, Rosemary looked up at their reflections in the mirror. There was Basil, big and black, Suzie Wong, lithe and yellow; and herself, full and soft and white.
"Hey! We're in Technicolor!" she exclaimed.
"Yeah," Basil said, looking up as he sealed the hand-rolled reefers with a flick of his tongue. "Black and white and yellow."
"All races together," said Suzie Wong, "smoking and sucking and fucking."
"That's the American way!" Basil said. He imitated a blare of trumpets, as Rosemary and Suzie snapped to attention in naked salutes. "Now let's go back to the launching pad."
They returned to the candle-lit living-room and sat side by side on the bare mattress. Basil lit one of the joints, and they passed it back and forth.
"Whee!" said Suzie Wong, passing the half-smoked marijuana cigarette to Rosemary. "I can feel it already."
"By the time you finish, you'll be floating right out the window," Basil said.
Rosemary took a drag, holding the smoke deep in her lungs as long as she could. Already, she started to feel the weed's euphoria. She knew this was going to be a great high.
Basil puffed, then reached across Rosemary to hand the roach to Suzie. When the Oriental girl took the smouldering butt, his hand lingered, rubbing lightly over Rosemary's breasts. A finger traced light, delicate circles around the aureole of her nipples, first one and then the other.
"That feels so nice," she cooed.
Suzie handed the roach to Rosemary. She held it with her fingernails so she wouldn't burn her fingers, barely touching the flat tip to-her lips and puffed. She sucked in air at the corners of her lips to cool the hot, heady smoke. She leaned back and took a very long drag.
She felt Basil hook an arm around his back from one side, and Suzie Wong hook hers from the other. In front, two hands gently toyed with her breasts.
"Anybody want the last puff?" Rosemary asked, finding the tiny butt too hot to hold.
"Just throw it on the floor," Basil advised.
Rosemary did so. Four hands gently eased her back until she was lying prone on the bed. Two naked bodies hovered over hers-one black, one yellow; one male, one female. Two heads lowered slowly. Two pairs of lips brushed her breasts. Two mouths sucked her nipples. Her head spun, her body tingled. She lay back, cooing softly as four pair of hands wandered over her body, ripping away the remnants of her panties to probe the depths beneath.
Rosemary reached out with her hands, groping for flesh, seeking someone, yearning to give someone else just the barest fraction of the pleasure she felt. One hand fell on Suzie's soft thigh and trailed upward slowly till it came to the soft down, still wet with the traces of Basil's lovemaking. As her fingertips traced lightly along the delicate cleft, Suzie writhed, pushing her body to meet her companion's caresses. She offered herself to Rosemary's probing finger and sucked frantically at Rosemary's hard and tingling nipple. Rosemary's other hand slid down Basil's hard, muscular body. Her finger stopped at the tangle of the pubic hairs and toyed with them for several seconds. Then she reached further to touch the shaft she sought. Basil needed the caresses to fire him to action. He was hard and ready. She gripped his solid member in her fist and started a gentle, steady pumping. Ready as he was, she could feel him grow harder and larger as her hand went to work.
Meanwhile, four hands were frantically probing her nether regions, squeezing her thighs, kneading her buttocks, probing the openings fore and aft. Hands, moving rapidly, alternating, first one then the other. Harder and faster, deeper and deeper... She felt herself on the verge of a gigantic explosion.
"Yes, yes, yes," she yelled.
But suddenly Basil pulled away.
"I'm ready to roll," he announced, "But let's do this right."
He climbed on top of her, crouching on top of her warm and waiting body. She could feel his red-hot rod grazing her thighs. She arched her back, trying to slide herself onto it.
"Oh, no you don't!" Suzie Wong screamed, pushing him away. "'You don't get all the fun. This time little Suzie's gonna be the one in the middle."
The Oriental girl quickly figured out the configuration. She knelt, straddling Rosemary's head, and leaned forward to stretch herself reversed along Rosemary's body. In the flickering flame of the candle, Rosemary looked up to see the dark shadow of Suzie's cavern of love, a waiting portal in the soft, orange glow.
Basil crouched behind Suzie, his sex but inches from Rosemary's face. His organ was hard, his body eager for that final, engulfing thrust.
"Pick a hole-any hole," Suzie said, as she buried her face between Rosemary's thighs.
Basil was just about to complete the tripartite union when the telephone shattered the air with an ear-splitting ring.
"Damn!" Rosemary exclaimed.
"Forget about it!" Suzie shouted, her advice muffled by the protective flesh of Rosemary's thighs. The jangle continued, disrupting further effort at love-making.
"I'd better answer it," Basil said, bounding up. "It might be something important. Very few people have this number."
He skipped across the room, grabbed the telephone and dashed into the john, closing the door behind him. The jangling ceased. With a sigh, Suzie Wong stretched out on the bed beside Rosemary, no longer bothering to touch or caress her companion.
"Damn is right!" she said.
A few minutes later, Basil threw open the bathroom door. His big black body was silhouetted in the bright light behind him. He clapped his hands together.
"Okay kiddies, let's get our clothes on!"
Rosemary's mouth fell open in surprise. Was he throwing them out? "What's up?" she asked.
"Aren't we gonna groove?" Suzie Wong asked simultaneously.
"Later, baby," Basil said, tossing Suzie's jumpsuit at her. "We've got something much, much better going for us."
"What?"
"Tell you on the way. Right now we've got to get rolling," Basil said, slipping into his shorts. He glanced over at the two girls, still sitting forlornly on the bare mattress. "Let's hustle it up kiddies. We don't want to miss the action."
"Sounds intriguing," Suzie said, sadly standing up to start dressing, "but I'd rather be part of the action right here and now."
Rosemary picked up her tattered panties. "Guess I can't wear these any more," she said, tossing the flimsy garment aside.
"Well, we'll let the cool breezes cool you off for a while-at least till you're ready to start groovin' again," Basil said.
By now, Basil was pulling on his leather trousers. Suzie Wong had slithered into her tight-fitting jumpsuit. Rosemary hitched her miniskirt over her bare hips, then hooked on her bra. Basil reached over and bounced her breasts gently. His hands lingered longingly.
"Just a farewell feel," he said. "That'll have to hold you for a while." Rosemary donned her sweater, while Basil slipped into his satin shirt. After the girls took a quick peek in the mirror, ran combs through their hair and added a dab of lipstick, they were ready to roll.
"I'll take the joints," Basil said, scooping up the hand-rolled cigarettes from the floor.
They started down the steps. Rosemary felt strangely wicked walking around without panties. She was ready for a lark, just as she had been on the subway the day before, after her session with Bruno.
"Okay, Basil, what's up?" Suzie asked, when they hit the sidewalk and could walk side by side.
"That was your girlfriend, Goldie," he told them.
"Is anything wrong?" Rosemary asked anxiously.
"No, everything's groovy. Seems our friends, the Zepplins, were playing Sherlock Holmes and managed to catch a spy in their nest."
"A spy? What do you mean?" Rosemary asked.
"Fuzz?" Suzie Wong asked. "The narcs?"
"No nothing so troublesome. Just one of the broads they picked up, pretending to be just a plain, old, ordinary groupie. Turns out she's a magazine writer doing a piece on the love life of the stars, or something like that."
"How'd they find out?"
"Seems Milton needed a light and reached in her purse for a match-and there's the whole show. Press card, miniature camera, tape recorder, even a notebook chock full of details she'd picked up about other groups and their groupies. A couple of slaps in the kisser-and she broke down and told everything."
"What they do-kick her out?" Rosemary asked.
"Hell, no!" Basil said. "Why, she's gonna be the star attraction of the night. She wanted to learn about our action. Well, she's gonna get a chance to see it all firsthand. It'll be something she'll never forget-though I don't know if she'll want to write about it."
"What do you mean?"
"She's gonna get the works."
By now, they'd reached the theater they'd left an hour before. The lights on the marquee were out, the groupies were gone, the place was dark and deserted. Only Goldie remained, waiting for them just inside the stage door.
"It's about time you showed up!" she said. "The show's probably half over by now."
"Skip the bitching, baby!" Basil told her. "What's the program?"
Goldie filled him in. She explained that the Zepplins had taken the girl to Mike Curtis' apartment uptown and were waiting there for the rest of the gang. She gave Basil a slip of paper with the address.
"I know where it is," he said. "What are we waiting around here for?"
Trailing the girls behind him, he stepped into Third Avenue and flagged down a cab. He gave the driver the address, an apartment in the West Twenties.
"Basil, what do you mean, she's gonna get the works?" Rosemary asked, when they'd settled themselves in the taxi. "You mean like I got last week?"
"What happened to you last week?"
Goldie filled him in with a graphic description of Rosemary's initiation by the Zepplins into the arts of love. She had just finished with the final details, when the cab pulled up at the brownstone apartment building on the West Side. Basil peeled off a bill from the wad he carried, to pay for the ride.
Basil opened the door and Goldie and Suzie Wong skipped out. Basil paused for a second before following her, to tell Rosemary: "Baby, what happened to you was child's play. When I said the works, I meant the works. I meant a real no-holds-barred gangbang. Everybody doing anything they want to. And I mean anything."
Rosemary started to slide out of the cab behind Basil, but the cabbie turned around and stopped her by grabbing her arm.
"Nice friends you got, honey," he said.
He gave her a look that said he wanted a piece of the action too. Rosemary realized it could have been her own father behind the wheel.
"I like 'em," she said.
She slammed the cab door behind her and started into the apartment after the others. She felt a thrill of excitement and a sense of adventure, like an explorer setting out to discover a new world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The girl was spread-eagled on the bed. Her wrists were tied to the corners of the brass headboard, her ankles to the metal frame at the foot. She was a petite brunette whose eyes blazed with fury.
The Zepplins and their buddies welcomed the new arrivals. Milton pressed Rosemary against his body and rubbed a hand over her rump. "Good to see you again, baby."
Goldie and Suzie Wong skipped about the room, kissing hello to the boys and accepting eagerly their caresses of greeting. Basil slipped some skin to the guys, then walked over to look at the victim on the bed.
"Hey! She's still dressed."
Milton walked over and threw an arm across the spade singer's shoulder. "I thought it would be more fun if we sort of ripped 'em off."
Basil flashed him a smile and a wink. "I think you got something there."
"You bastards!" the girl screamed at them. "You're not gonna get away with this. I'll tell the cops. I'll tell the D.A. I'll tell the FBI."
Milton looked at her. "Sweetheart, when we get through with you, you won't want to tell anyone what happened." He looked around the room. "Whadda you say we get this show on the road."
The others agreed and gathered around the bed.
"Hey! I got an idea!" Max yelled. "Let's give the little lady a permanent record of the greatest night in her life!" He grabbed the girl's purse and fished inside. "Pictures for her scrapbook and the sounds for her hi-fi."
"Great, baby!" Basil screamed. The others added their agreement.
Max tossed the camera to Glassy. "You know how to work one of these?"
The steely-eyed drummer examined the miniature camera. "I think so."
"Why don't you try a shot for openers."
Glassy stood at the foot of the bed and focused on the spread-eagled victim. He made a couple of adjustments, then raised the viewer to his eye.
"Smile, sweetie. Say 'cheese.'"
"Fuck you!" the girl shot back at him as the flashbulb popped.
"Now, let's see," Milton continued, picking up the tape recorder. "Anybody got a rubber band?"
Somebody handed him one and he stepped around behind the bed and fastened the microphone to the metal frame just above her head.
"Say something to test the voice level," he told the girl.
She remained silent.
"Say something!" he repeated, slapping his palm across her face with a sharp crack.
"Bastard!" she screamed.
Milton flipped off the recorder. "That's better," he said. "Now let's see." He fiddled with the buttons. In an instant, the tiny sound of the words they'd said a few seconds before were repeated. "Right on target," Milton said, placing the recorder on the floor. "Now let's get started."
Rosemary watched in fascination as Milton stepped around and sat on the edge of the bed beside the girl. He reached up and grabbed her dress at the collar. She bent her head down and bit his hand.
"Ouch!" he yelled, jerking it away.
He rubbed his hand, all the while looking coldly at the spread-eagled victim. Then he hauled back and gave her a resounding slap across the face.
"Baby, try that again and you'll get much worse. You better just lean back and try to enjoy it, if you know what's good for you."
The girl, so defiant before, now started sobbing softly.
Milton grabbed the girl's collar again and, with a sharp tug, ripped it open to the waist, popping the buttons. The open front disclosed a piece of lacy black bra.
Rosemary licked her lips. She could feel her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. To see someone actually being raped. She tried to imagine how the girl must feel-the helpless victim satisfying masculine lusts. How wonderful it must be!... Or how horrible.
Milton slipped his hands inside the torn dress and started kneading her breasts. "Anybody ever tell you, you got a nice pair of tits?"
She spat at him.
He slapped her again-not quite as hard as before. "Such manners."
Milton slid down to the foot of the bed. This time he grabbed the dress at the waist and ripped it all the way to the bottom hem. He flung it open all the way to reveal her hips encased in a lacy black bikini brief. He rubbed his hand over her crotch.
"Would you believe?" he exclaimed. "She's actually enjoying it! She's sudsing like a washing machine."
Milton jumped up and called to Glassy, "Camera!" Glassy snapped the picture. "Next!" Milton called-and Basil took his place on the bed.
Milton slipped an arm around Rosemary's waist and squeezed her. "Enjoying the show?"
"Uh-huh," she said softly.
Basil straddled the victim on the bed and started caressing her breasts.
"What's your name, honey?"
She remained silent. He waved his flat palm in front of her face.
"I asked you, 'What's your name?'" Through her sobs, she told him. "Theresa Collins."
"Theresa Collins," he repeated. "Well, Theresa, have you ever made it with a black man before?" Her silence indicated she hadn't. "Never had a pair of black hands squeezing your tits? Never had a black man's mouth kissing you in places you never thought you'd be kissed? Never sucked on a black cock? Never had a big black prick rammed up your cunt and creaming all over your insides? No? Oh, baby! do you have a treat coming!"
His hands returned to her bosom, softly tracing over the pattern of the lace bra, pausing for a moment to grasp and squeeze the full globes. Then Basil inserted his hands beneath the bra to grasp the bare flesh. The girl gasped as he touched her. Basil rocked slowly, squeezing the soft flesh, saying softly, "Nice. Nice. Nice."
Then with a sudden motion, he grabbed the bra and jerked it away. The back snaps gave way. With another two tugs, the shoulder straps were torn away and Basil threw the garment to the floor.
The victim's breasts, Rosemary noted, were only medium-sized, but they stood solid, twin peaks of white flesh. Her nipples were red and hard. Basil pinched one between his big thumb and forefinger.
"Ouch!" she screamed. '"That hurts!"
Basil pinched the other nipple. "I enjoy it, baby. And that's what counts."
He stepped away, giving Glassy a chance to snap another picture.
"Okay, Max. Your turn."
As the biggest Zepplin took his place on the bed with the helpless Miss Collins, Milton stood beside her, slipping out of his clothes. He quickly stripped to the nude and tossed his clothes aside. His male member stood hard, erect and ready for action, She reached down and cradled it, bouncing it gently, rubbing the delicate underside. Basil swung around behind her, his trousers bulging with passion. He pressed her body against his. Even through two layers of clothing, she could feel the hardness of his prick pressing into the crack of her ass. Basil's hands reached around and cupped her breasts, squeezing softly, pulling her back against the ramrod of his masculine power. She squeezed harder on Milton's prick.
On the bed, Max was clawing at Theresa's crotch. Breathing deeply, Rosemary watched, fascinated as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs. When he pulled his hands away, she could see the white imprint his fingers left on the pink flesh. Soon, she thought, they'd be beautiful blue bruises. Theresa gave a gasp of surprise and shock when he placed his hand at the portal and started stroking. She writhed, trying to escape his touch, but she was restricted by the tight bonds. Max ran his big, calloused thumb along the deep cleft outlined even through the black panties, pressing deeper with every stroke. Then it found the opening it sought and disappeared into the depths.
"Don't! Don't!" she screamed twisting and turning on the bed. But Max persevered, pressing his big thumb in and out, each time probing deeper and deeper.
Her fascinated stare was broken only by the brilliant flash as Glassy snapped another picture of the proceedings.
She looked around the room at the others, fired like her with voyeur's lust as Max continued to finger-fuck his victim. Goldie was sprawled on Peter's lap, her legs spread wide as he kneaded the crotch of her bell-bottoms. Suzie Wong leaned against Mike Curtis, the zipper of her jumpsuit pulled down to her navel while the Zepplin's arranger explored inside.
Basil had slipped his hands beneath her sweater. He ran his fingers over her hard nipples, poking through her bra. His hips ground in rhythm against her ass. She spread her legs to give him greater freedom and rocked to meet his thrusts. She squeezed Milton's member even harder. "I think she's gonna come," Max said, slowly extracting his thumb. The victim was writhing and panting.
"Go to it!" Milton urged.
Milton grabbed her panties and with a powerful tug, ripped away the crotch. Another strong jerk and the elastic at the waist snapped. Max tossed the tattered garment to the floor.
"Mmm! look at that!" Basil Black exclaimed.
"How'd you like to sink your lips into that?"
Rosemary looked. It was indeed a sight to excite any man-and many women, too, for that matter. Theresa Collins was stretched out, a writhing human X spread across the bed. Nearly naked, the only garment left was the tattered dress, still attached at the shoulders. Her chest heaved with her excited breathing, the firm breasts bounding slightly with each gasp. Below, her crotch was covered with a thick matting of black hair, but the lips were open, disclosing a glimpse of the secret pink flesh inside. Max thrust his thumb inside, all the way up to the knuckle.
"Don't, please don't!!" the girl pleaded. "Oh! stop! Please stop, I beg you!"
Basil reached back and unhooked Rosemary's bra. One hand remained inside her sweater, squeezing, teasing, caressing her breasts until her whole body tingled with excitement. The other reached down to the hem of her miniskirt. His finger touched her thighs and started tracing a trail upward. She let go of Milton's cock to hitch her skirt up around her hips to make the way easier for him. Basil's fingers gently stroked the soft down of her crotch. Her hips shook violently to meet his male hardness behind, his searching finger in front. Basil's finger traced a path through her damp cleft, lingering lovingly, tauntingly at the lips of her love hole before continuing upwards to touch her hard, hot come button. Her clitoris vibrated like a tuning fork. She gave a gasp of pleasure and grabbed Milton's prick again, jerking at it with short, frantic pulls.
On the bed, Max stretched out between Theresa's thighs and buried his face in her muff. Rosemary could see his lips nibbling greedily at her cleft, his tongue lapping at her clit and thrusting deep up her vagina. Theresa twisted in a hopeless attempt to escape his caresses while her hips heaved involuntarily at the unwanted ecstasy.
"You bastard! Stop, please. Oh God! Please stop!"
But Max, egged on by his eager onlookers, continued even more frantically. His hands grasped her buttocks, kneading them, spreading them, pulling her open even more so he could bury his face deeper and deeper in her vagina.
Basil leaned back against the wall, pulling Rosemary with him. He now could slump down comfortably so they could stand front to rear, crotch to crotch. One hand continued playing with her breasts, the other with her clit. Suddenly he pulled his hands away.
"Don't stop now!" she pleaded.
Then she realized he'd let go only to undo the snaps on his leather trousers and free his rampant organ. He pulled her back against him again. She spread her legs to let his hot ramrod slip between her thighs. Then she squeezed them together to savor its soothing warmth. Basil's hands returned to caress her.
"Speed it up, Max!" Milton shouted beside her. "I'm rearing to go. I'm gonna follow you in."
Then he looked at the other panting couple beside him.
"Why don't you try her in the ass," he said to Basil. "She loves it that way. Don't you, sweetie?"
He gave her a peck on the lips before returning to watch the action.
Rosemary didn't care how she got it now. She just needed some one to finish her off. Front, rear, hand, mouth, cock-it didn't matter. She was at the brink and needed-oh, how she needed!-something, anything, to give her that one, final, wonderful shove over the edge.
The flashbulb popped as Glassy snapped another photo of the action on the bed.
"Perfect timing!" someone yelled. For the bulb went off just as Theresa hit her climax. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" she screamed over and over as her body pitched and heaved in the final throes.
"Oh God! I want it too," Goldie said, grabbing Peter's hand and leading him off into the next room.
Max sprung off the bed and wiped his mouth. "Who's next?" he asked.
"My go," Milton said, climbing onto the bed in place of his singing partner. Rosemary couldn't help but marvel at his size and strength. Milton's ramrod was ready to crash through any barricade. But Theresa lay there defenseless. "I'm gonna give it to you right this time," he told her.
"Oh no! Please, not now," she pleaded. "Please wait. I can't take any more."
"You'll take it and you'll like it."
Milton stretched himself on top of the helpless victim. Kneeling slightly, he aimed straight at the target, one hand guiding his massive member, the other holding the gates open for it. One lunge forward and he plunged it in up to the hilt.
"Oh no!" the girl screamed as Milton started a slow, steady pumping. "You bastard! You're all bastards! I'll get you for this! I'll get even with you, if it's the last thing I do!"
"You love it, don't you?" Milton said.
Suzie Wong broke away from Mike Curtis and bent over the bed, peering into the tangle of legs to watch the action. "Go on! Give it to her!" she yelled at Milton. "Fuck her! Fuck her! All the way in! Harder! Harder! Harder!"
Basil whispered to Rosemary, "Bend forward."
"Oh, yes!" she said, complying gladly. She hitched her mini higher on her hips and leaned over, her avenue wide open for Basil's thrusts. She felt his black beauty hard and hot as it touched her clit, and her whole body vibrated. She couldn't help screaming with pleasure. She felt him sliding back along her moist lips. She primed herself for the thrust, but he hungered only for an instant, guiding his shaft slowly higher. She realized he was going to enter her through the rear portal.
Basil found the opening he sought and pressed his knob into the narrow hole. Rosemary thought she'd explode with pleasure. Basil's hands grabbed her hips and pulled her back. She felt Basil filling her, firing her, sending shivers through her whole body. Basil leaned against the wall and, with his hands on her hips, pushed her forward and back in slow, steady rhythm. She slid easily back and forth on his throbbing piston.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" she moaned.
Mike Curtis heard her and shifted his gaze from the action on the bed to the action against the wall. "What is this, a double feature?" he asked.
"It will be if you get in," Basil told him.
"Anything to oblige," Mike said.
He fell to his knees in front of Rosemary and grasped her thighs. He leaned forward and his tongue traced a trail through her wet cleft. Deep up her hole he tongued, reaming wide circles. Then down till he touched her clitoris, hard as a miniature penis. Her whole body vibrated when his tongue triggered her little come button.
The tip of his tongue traced a circle around her clit. Then his lips fastened around it, and he sucked the vibrating membrane into his mouth. Rosemary's hips shook with a rhythm all their own as her ass bumped up and down on Basil's black ramrod. He let go of her hips, and his hands reached up under her sweater to grab her breasts. He squeezed them tight and pinched the nipples with his fingers.
Every erotic part of her was being fired. Her whole body shook, and she rent the air with screams as wave after wave of orgasm flowed over her. Max didn't stop sucking until the final wave subsided.
"Can you come again?" he asked Basil.
"Anytime, baby," he replied.
"Then take her down."
Basil held her tightly to him and slowly lowered their conjoined bodies to the floor. He stretched out on his back with Rosemary impaled above him. Basil was hard as ever, but motionless now. His hands were busy, though, still working away at her breasts under her sweater.
Mike Curtis stood up and quickly stripped. Rosemary looked up and saw he needed no priming to get ready. He knelt between her legs and easily slid in her well-lubricated love hole: "Wow!" she screamed as the two pricks, filled her. Mike bent and kissed her, his tongue probing deep in her mouth. Rosemary could taste her own love juices dribbling from his lips. Mike's hips started pumping, thrusting his organ in and out with rapid strokes. Through the tender membrane that divided front from rear, she could feel him rubbing against Basil's member, so big, so hard, engulfing her whole insides. She felt the waves of ecstasy building up again.
"Sock it to her, baby!" Basil said. "I love the feel."
Rosemary wrapped her legs around Mike's back and held him tightly to her. Her tongue lapped at his ear lobe and lips kept repeating, "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" as Mike thrust harder and faster. Front and rear, the muscles constricted, trying to milk the two male organs throbbing inside her. Her hips ground with a rhythm she couldn't control. It was so wonderful. She closed her eyes and let the waves of pleasure sweep her away. The last thing she heard before her own screams drowned out everything else were the mixed shouts of anger and ecstasy as Milton brought Theresa to another unwanted orgasm.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"Okay, kiddies, who's for sloppy seconds?"
Milton called out the question as he climbed off the bed after his bout with Theresa. The blond Zepplin was grinning broadly. His victim, the uncovered undercover journalist, was still strapped down hand and foot, spread-eagled on the bed. She was breathing heavily, sobbing softly and muttering curses at the Zepplin who'd just finished raping her.
"Who's for sloppy seconds?" Milton repeated.
No one answered.
Milton looked around the bedroom, deserted now by most of the revellers who'd been there only a few minutes before. From the adjoining rooms came their gasps and groans, their shouts and screams of passion and pleasure. Milton glanced down at the tangle of Rosemary and her companions, lying panting and exhausted on the floor.
"Well, I can see none of you are in any condition to take over from the expert."
"Don't be too sure," Mike Curtis shot back. The Zepplins' arranger untangled himself from the trio and stood up.
Basil Black nudged Rosemary. "This ought to be good," he said. The big Negro also detached himself and sat up. He pulled Rosemary to a sitting position between his outstretched legs, so she could have a worm's-eye view of the second act of the show.
Rosemary still had not come down after her two-way orgasm. Her big breasts heaved as she gasped for breath. But exhausted as she was, her body was hot, her loins were fired and her mind was primed for any new erotic experience.
Basil reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin packet containing the joints he'd rolled earlier in the evening back at his own pad. He lit two of them and handed one to Rosemary.
"Here, baby, I think you can use this."
Rosemary sure could. She took a drag, inhaling deeply to let the mind-bending smoke fill her lungs. She wanted to float, to fly, to keep on fucking forever. She leaned back, letting Basil fondle her gently, bring her slowly back to the point of randy readiness, while she watched the action above.
Mike Curtis had climbed onto the bed and now knelt straddling his victim's shoulders. He grabbed Theresa's head and pulled her tear-streaked face against the drooping, dripping symbol of his sex.
"Suck me off!"
When she didn't respond to his command, he gave her a sharp slap across the face.
"I said, 'Suck me off'" he repeated.
He squeezed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open so he could insert his flaccid organ between her resisting lips.
"If you get any bright ideas about biting, forget about 'em," he told her. "Try anything funny and I'll knock out every tooth in your mouth."
Holding her head tightly, Mike started rocking back and forth, thrusting his hardening organ deep into her mouth, silencing any protest she might try to make.
"Use your tongue!" he ordered.
Rosemary smoked and watched. She saw Mike strengthen and swell, until he was once again ready for action, as big and hard as he had been when he'd filled her. She licked her lips, envying the object of Mike's lust.
"Hey, there's life in the old boy yet!" he shouted out.
Mike stretched out on top of Theresa and entered her effortlessly. He grabbed her buttocks and started pumping away frantically. Rosemary could see that he was making no effort to please or arouse her, he was merely trying to satiate his own animal passion.
"Now we ride," Mike told his sobbing victim.
"Bastard!" Theresa screamed. "You're all a bunch of goddamn bastards."
Rosemary finished her joint and snuffed out the roach. She could already sense the onset of the wonderful euphoria of floating free, far above the cares of everyday life. She wanted to soar- to save all the wonderful sensations of sight and sound, taste and touch.
"Hey!" Basil whispered to her, giggling slightly with the weed's giddiness, "you realize we're still dressed? Whadda you say we get our things off?"
"Groovy!"
Basil stripped off his white satin shirt and tossed it aside. Rosemary raised her arms and let Basil slip her sweater over her head. Her bra followed it and Rosemary's breasts swung free. Basil cradled them in his hands as she leaned back against him.
"Now the skirt," he said.
Rosemary leaned way back and kicked her feet in the air.
"Whee!" she shouted, as Basil struggled awkwardly to pull the mini over her boots. Basil tossed it aside, then threw his own trousers on top of the pile of discarded clothes. Now they were both naked spectators as Mike Curtis continued to take his pleasure with Theresa.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" he shouted as he bounced frantically. Then he stopped, clutched her tightly and emitted a loud animal-like groan. "Oooh!"
Basil softly stroked his hand along Rosemary's crotch. Every hair seemed to tingle separately as he touched her. Her cleft was wide and wet and waiting.
"Ready to go again?" he asked.
"Uh-huh."
"Tell you what-why don't we smoke another joint, then we'll go search out a nice soft bed somewhere. Okay?"
"Groovy!"
Basil lit another hand-rolled cigarette, and they sat sharing it together.
Mike Curtis sat on the edge of the bed, watching Basil's black hand caress Rosemary. "Who's next?" he asked. "How 'bout you, Basil?"
"Later, baby. I'm busy."
"Peter!" Mike Curtis shouted.
From the adjoining room, Suzie Wong shouted back, "He can't now!"
Rosemary giggled. "I think he's busy too."
Mike Curtis shrugged. "Glassy!" he called out.
The dreamy eyed drummer poked his head into the room. "What's up?"
"Your go."
Glassy looked over his victim. He was naked, like everyone else, and ready for action. "I'm game."
"Aren't you guys through yet?" Theresa asked.
"Through!" Mike Curtis explained. "We're just beginning. By the time we finish with you, baby, there won't be a trick in the book you won't know."
Glassy stood tall and straight. He stuck two fingers of his left hand under his nose and extended the other in a Hitler salute. "Achtung!" he said. Rosemary giggled. "No laughing, fraulien. Diss iss serious business. As somebody or other once said, 'I haff not yet begun to fuck.'" Then he doubled up giggling, too, and everybody started laughing at each other.
"Hey! whadda you say we get a little variety into the performance?" Mike suggested. "Any suggestions? Basil?"
"Well, you could turn her over-" the black singer started. Then he whispered to Rosemary, "How about giving her what you got?" He suggested to Mike, "Why don't you string her up in the doorway and give it to her from both sides?"
"Not bad," Mike replied.
"I got a better idea," Glassy said. "Let's see how she takes to a taste of the belt."
"Great!" Mike said.
Glassy picked up a pair of trousers from the floor, took off the belt. He folded it double and tested its strength and snap. Then he laid it over the foot of the bed.
"What do you mean?" Theresa said, her eyes blazing with terror. "Oh no! You're not going to-"
"Oh yes, we are," the drummer replied. He turned to Mike. "Let's turn her over."
Glassy stood at one side of the bed while Mike took the other. They started undoing the bonds that held Theresa. She struggled to escape their grasp and screamed her protests.
"You're crazy! You're out of your heads! A bunch of hopped-up madmen and sadists! They'll put you in padded cells for fifty years!"
Glassy and Mike Curtis easily restrained her, rolled her over and started tying her face down on the bed.
"Look," she pleaded, "I'll make you a deal. Let me go now, and I won't say anything about what's happened. I promise I won't tell."
"Who says you'll be in any condition to tell anybody anything?"
Basil snuffed out the butt end of his reefer. "Wanta stay and watch?" he asked Rosemary. "Or are you ready to groove again?"
Rosemary stretched back and wrapped her arms around Basil's neck. She brushed a kiss against his cheek. "Let's groove."
Basil stood up and pulled her to her feet. Rosemary reeled. Her head spun. "Whee! I'm woozy!" she said.
"I'll guide you," Basil said, placing his hands on her hips and pushing her gently through the series of coal-black corridors and room.
Behind her, she heard Theresa Collins pleading. "Oh no, don't. Please don't. Put it down. Please. I'll do anything else you want. Anything but that." As Rosemary and Basil fell into bed together and she sank into a delightful euphoria, spinning off into space, soaring away on the clouds of marijuana smoke, Theresa's scream of pain fill the air...
One hour? Two hours? Three hours? Rosemary had no idea of how long it was. She just floated on a bed of beautiful bodies-black and white and yellow... male and female... above her, below her, around her, across her, every which way... one at a time, one after another, two at a time, or more... She couldn't tell who, she couldn't tell how many. She didn't know, she didn't care. She didn't even know if it was real or not. All she knew was that it was wonderful-such a wonderful high... such a wonderful night of love. Every part of her body tingled. Every opening had been probed and entered. It seemed like she never stopped coming. One orgasm after another... endless ecstasy. All those beautiful bodies-big and strong and masculine... soft and sweet and female. So wonderful to kiss to caress, to make love to. All the arms and legs that wrapped around her, holding her, squeezing her, touching her... all the bodies she had held... all the mouths she had kissed... all the mouths that had kissed her-everywhere. All the wonderful pricks, long and strong... so wonderful to touch, to kiss, and-oh!-so wonderful in her, filling her, up and down, fore and aft... throbbing in her, vibrating in her, rousing her to peak after peak and shooting their beautiful streams of male juices into her. The taste of semen was still in her mouth. Then it wasn't a dream. It was all so real-and all wonderful. Rosemary closed her eyes again and drifted back into the euphoric reverie. The breasts, the big beautiful breasts, so soft and billowly, with big ripe nipples so wonderful to kiss... so hard, like little male organs. Whose were they? Goldie's? Suzie Wong's Theresa Collins? She didn't know, she didn't care, she'd just floated in a beautiful sea of writhing bodies... coming... coming... everybody coming... everybody together... over and over again...
Everybody?
Rosemary reached out on the bed beside her and groped about in the emptiness. No one was there.
She opened her eyes and tried to see something-anything in the darkness. There was no sign of movement. Nothing. She listened for a sound-any sound. There was nothing.
"Hello!" she said. "Anyone here?" There was no answer. "Hello!" she called, a little louder. Still no answer.
Where was she? She remembered-at Mike Curtis' apartment. At least she thought so. She couldn't, remember going off to anywhere else.
What time was it? She didn't know. She wasn't even sure what day it was. Where was everyone? Had she been deserted?
The question welled up in her mind. She shivered with fright. Was this too part of the high? She shook her head vigorously to clear her muddled mind. She came to earth in a hurry.
"Hello!" she shouted, as loud as possible.
There was still no answer.
Frantically, Rosemary rose and groped around in the darkness. Her legs were still wobbly, but her mind was clear. Her mouth felt terribly dry. She felt her way along the bed until she came to the foot, then reached out before her, stepping carefully in the unknown darkness until she hit a way. Her fingers raced over the wall, feeling for anything. It had a funny texture, soft and springy. Her fingers finally found a light switch and flicked it frantically up and down, but nothing happened. She continued searching with her fingers until she hit a door knob. Desperately, she twisted it-first one way, then the other, until the latch gave way and she opened it.
Again nothing. The way ahead of her was dark and silent. But far ahead-was it at the end of the corridor?-she could see a glimmer of light. And she heard-or was it her imagination?-the murmur of voices.
Her arms groping ahead of her, she felt her way as fast as possible down the darkened corridor. She came to the end and threw open the door.
Rosemary blinked in the blaze of light.
"Well, welcome back to the land of the living!" someone said.
Rosemary adjusted her eyes to the light. Everyone was there, sitting around naked, drinking Cokes. Goldie came over to her and threw a sisterly arm around her shoulders.
"Are you okay, Rosie?"
"I think so," she said. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Goldie said. "Everything. Then just drifted off to dreamland."
"I was scared," Rosemary said. "I woke up d no one was there. And it was all dark. And I called out and no one answered."
"That room's soundproofed," Mike Curtis said. "We sometimes use it for practice."
He handed her a Coke, and Rosemary took a refreshing swig.
"Everything's all right now," Goldie said, hugging her. "And just think, you're a real groupie."
"Hey!" Suzie Wong shouted, "Are we just gonna stand around yakking or are we gonna play?"
"Haven't you bastards had your fill yet?" Theresa Collins asked from the bed.
For the first time since she entered the room, Rosemary noticed the Zepplins' victim. She was still tied to the bed, face up, spread-eagled. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping and there was a small mouse under one. There were bruises on her cheek, her arms, her breasts and thighs. Red welts wrapped around the backs of her legs, the apparent result of Glassy's artistry with the belt. She had stopped crying; her gaze was blank and dazed. Rosemary couldn't help but feel sorry for her. "I think I've had it for the night," Max said. "So have I," Peter echoed. The others added their assents.
"Let's let the girls take care of her," Milton suggested.
Max looked around the room at the others. "Agreed?" he asked. They agreed.
"She's all yours, girls," Peter told the female contingent. Rosemary looked at the battered object of the men's lust. "I'll get a washcloth," she said.
"What are you doing?" Suzie Wong shouted. "You'll spoil all the fun."
The Oriental girl climbed onto the bed and stretched her lithe body along Theresa's. She cupped Theresa's breasts in her hands and brushed a kiss on her cheek.
"Relax, darling," she whispered. "We're both gonna enjoy this."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rosemary was starved-the craving hunger that always comes after a marijuana high. So, while Suzie Wong continued to take her pleasure with Theresa Collins, she wandered off to the kitchen with Basil to raid the icebox.
"You know, you're some chick," he said, giving Rosemary's naked figure close scrutiny in the bright glare of the kitchen's fluorescent lights. "We really groove good together. Whadda you say we shack up for a while?"
Rosemary was really stunned by his proposition. It would be fun making it every day with Basil Black. The Swinging Spade had really turned her on. And it would be so wonderful too to get away from her parents-so old-fashioned, so stick-in-the-mud-and their nagging, nagging, always nagging at her. But...
"I'm sorry, I can't."
"No strings," Basil continued, as he spread the sandwich fixings on the table. "You can continue to ball whoever else you want, and I'll continue to ball whoever else I want-either alone or together. Just so long as we can keep on balling each other."
Rosemary smeared the slices of bread with mayonnaise. Then she and Basil piled on huge hunks of meat and slices of tomato. "I can't Basil. I just can't."
"I understand," he said, biting into his sandwich. "Tied up with some other guy."
"No, that's not it," Rosemary replied, her mouth full as she wolfed her snack.
"Then you're not shacking with anybody now?"
She shook her head no as she took another big bite.
"So think of the rent you'll save." Rosemary swallowed. "It's not that. I live at home. With my parents."
"So, that's it! Still tied to mama's apron strings. A groovy girl like you. I'm afraid you'll never get to be a swinger that way."
"I know," she said sadly. "You know, you've got to cut the umbilical 3rd sometime. Better sooner than later. Nobody should live at home after they've lost their cherry. It's inhibiting. Parents are such a drag if you feel like swinging."
"I know," Rosemary agreed, remembering how mad her folks had been-and how hard the boom would fall when she came home after staying out all night against their orders.
"Why, I haven't seen my old lady since I was twelve years old," Basil continued. "I won't tell you how long ago that was, but this old dong has seen a hell of a lot of action since them. And that's what counts, isn't it, when you get down to the nitty-gritty? Getting high and getting laid? What else is there? Christ! If I'd of stayed home, I'd still be beating my meat in the bathroom and thinking it was a big deal to sneak out once a week and smoke a cigarette."
"It would be groovy," Rosemary confided. "My old man would have a heart attack if he ever found out I was sleeping with-with a spade."
"Now you got the idea," Basil said, pressing home the point. "After all, who are you living your life for-you or your old man?"
"They'll probably kill me anyhow," Rosemary continued, half trying to convince herself. "I wasn't supposed to come out at all tonight. They really flipped their lids when I stayed out all night last week."
"So what's to lose? Either way, you wind up getting the shaft."
"I'd have to quit school."
"So?"
"I know. It's such a drag."
"I couldn't be a cheerleader any more."
"Shit, baby, fuck it," he said.
"That's what I say too."
"So?" Basil said, stooping to replace the food in the refrigerator. "What about it?"
"Why not?" Rosemary followed her words with a shrug of the shoulders.
"That's the ticket, baby!"
Rosemary stood up and wrapped her arms around Basil. She pressed herself against his naked black body. She looked up at him and brushed her lips against his, licking away a bead of mayonnaise from the corner of his mouth, before she plunged her tongue inside to meet his.
The arrangements were quickly worked out. Rosemary would have to go home sometime to pick up her clothes and things-and at a time when her parents wouldn't be around to stop her. What better time than this morning when they were off to church? Basil borrowed Mike Curtis' car. They'd wait till it got light, then drive over to Brooklyn and park outside the Salerno home, wait till her folks left for church, then dash in and grab her things.
Rosemary impressed Goldie into service to help them.
"You've really flipped your lid this time, Rosie," Goldie said, as Basil wheeled Mike Curtis' station wagon along the West Side Highway. "Your folks will kill you when they find you."
"They've got to catch me first," Rosemary replied. "And you're not gonna tell 'em, are you?"
Goldie assured her girlfriend she wouldn't.
"Cause, if you do," Basil piped up from behind the wheel, "I'll kill you."
"But remember, Rosie, your uncle's a cop. "He'll get the whole force out looking for you."
"Somehow I think the New York Police Department has more important things to do than spend their time looking for runaway girls."
"Yeah, like shaking down bookies," Basil said.
The car shot through the tunnel under the East River and emerged in the bright sunlight of Brooklyn. Basil tossed a quarter in the toll booth and they continued along the Gowanus Parkway. The road was almost deserted on this early Sunday morning. It was a bright autumn day, crisp and cool-football weather.
"Hey! I got an idea," Basil said. "Let's just keep going and going-till we get someplace far away, all to ourselves."
"Let's just keep going back to my place and pick up my things," Rosemary said. "When you've lived in Brooklyn all your life, Manhattan is far enough away. And we'll have your pad all to ourselves, won't we?"
"Yeah, sure," Basil said. "Sure."
They continued along the highway in silence.
"Turn off here," Rosemary told Basil.
Basil pulled off the expressway and Rosemary guided him through the tangle of Brooklyn streets, past row after row of identical brownstones until they came to Rosemary's block and parked halfway down the street where they could keep an eye on her apartment. Two hours passed. Goldie napped in the back seat. Basil yawned and rubbed his eyes to keep them open.
"Aren't they ever coming out?" he asked.
"Wouldn't you know they'd choose this day to wait for ten o'clock mass?" Rosemary said. "Usually my old lady can't wait to get out of the house and get to church. It's probably the most important thing in her life."
"I can think of better things," Basil said, slipping a hand under her skirt and running it along her thigh.
"So can I," she said, guiding his hand to her love spot. She ground against his probing fingers, savoring the sweet delight of his touch against her yearning insides. If she let him keep it for just a few seconds more, she'd go over the top. She pushed his hand away. "Let's wait, Basil. Let's do it right when we get home-to our home."
"Okay," he agreed.
Rosemary straightened her skirt.
"Hey! there they are!" she yelled out, pointing to the couple walking arm-in-arm down the street away from them. She reached over the backseat and roused Goldie. "Wake up! It's time to get moving!"
The girls sprang out of the car. Basil started to follow them.
"You'd better stay here, Basil. The neighbors might get suspicious if they saw you going in with me. Goldie and I can take care of everything."
It didn't take long for Rosemary and Goldie to pack up her belongings. The contents of the dresser drawers were dumped into the suitcases and her shoes on the closet floor were piled on top. The dresses were carried down as is, right on the hangers. They piled the garments and bags in the back of the station wagon.
"Well, that's it," Goldie said when they had finished.
"One more thing!" Rosemary said, grabbing Goldie's hand. "C'mon, before my folks get back."
They went dashing back upstairs. This time, Rosemary didn't go to her room, but into her parent's bedroom. She rummaged in the back of the top dresser drawer until she found what she was looking for-a roll of bills held together by a rubber band.
"Bread for the journey," she said.
Rosemary stripped off the rubber band and counted the money-sixty-five dollars. She stuffed it in her purse.
"Rosemary, that's stealing!" Goldie said.
Rosemary shrugged. "So? They just spend it on me anyway."
They raced back downstairs and stood awkwardly beside the car for their farewells.
"I can walk home from here," Goldie said.
"Okay, then. Goodbye, Goldie."
"Goodbye, Rosie." Goldie kissed her on the cheek. "Keep in touch."
"I will, I promise. I'll call and give you the number. But don't breath a word to my folks."
"You can count on me."
Rosemary jumped into the car beside Basil.
"Up, up and away!" she shouted. And the car sped off, back to Manhattan and the start of her new life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rosemary woke up. She blinked her eyes in the strange autumn twilight that flooded the apartment. She looked around the room at the strange surroundings as her mind slowly cleared. She remembered where she was-in Basil Black's pad on East Third Street. They'd hauled her things back from Brooklyn, closed the door behind them and quickly undressed for bed. But not for sex-there was no more strength left in them after such a night. Dead tired, they'd both fallen asleep almost immediately.
Beside her, Basil slept on, snoring slightly. She sat up and looked around her new home. It was sort of drab and dreary-one big room with no furniture except the bare mattress in the middle of the floor. Not even a rug to cover the splintered floor. But at least there were no parents nagging and watch dogging. Here she could groove to her heart's content. She stretched and exhaled a blissful sigh.
Basil stirred. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "Hello, baby."
"Hello, Basil," Rosemary replied.
She kissed him lightly on the lips, then cuddled beside him. She pressed her soft flesh against the enveloping warmth of his big black body. Basil wrapped his arms around her. She felt so secure, so protected by his strength. They lay silently together for several minutes, staring at the ceiling, thinking their private thoughts. "Basil?" she asked after an interval. "Yeah."
"One thing perplexes me."
"What's that?"
"You must make a lot of money. How come you can only afford this dingy place?"
"This is just for me to crash when I'm in the Big Town. If I'm playing a gig, there's a hotel room tossed in, but that's not much good except to get your laundry done. You can't turn on and flake out there. It's even difficult bringing chicks around, especially if the fans find out where you are and start milling around. They'll do anything to get into your room. So I crash here. This'll be our place. We can fix it up a little."
"I guess so," Rosemary said.
"I got a real nice place just outside of L.A.," Basil continued. "A little ranch house with a swimming pool in back. The wife and kiddies are there now-"
"I thought everybody did. I guess I feel about them the same way you do about your folks- sort of inhibiting. My old lady's pretty square. Does it matter? It won't affect us."
"No, I guess not," Rosemary said.
Rosemary held him in a tight embrace. She wanted to hold him, to feel his warmth and protection, to insure that he'd be there when she needed him. After all, he was all she had now. Basil held her tightly. Rosemary could feel her breasts being pressed flat against his muscular chest, his hand on her buttocks pulling her against him, his member, springy like a piece of garden hose, brushing against her pubic hairs. She didn't want sex now, she just wanted him.
After a while, Basil relaxed his grip, and they rolled over on their backs. Basil rummaged in the pile of clothes beside the bed. He extracted a cigarette pack and peeked inside only to find it empty. "Damn!" he said, crumpling it and tossing it into a corner.
"You got a cigarette, Rosie?"
"I think so," she said. "Look in my purse."
Basil walked across the room and picked up her purse. He tested its weight.
"Say, are you packing a rod?"
He opened it, found the cigarettes, and lit one. Then he probed to the bottom. "What the hell is this?" he asked, pulling out one of the bronze phalluses the Zepplins' had given her the weekend before.
"A souvenir from the Zepplins," she said.
"I've heard about these," Basil said examining it carefully. "But I've never seen one. The casters did me once, but only in plaster. Nothing you could take home and do anything to yourself with. I guess you'll just have to be satisfied with the real thing."
"That's good enough for me," Rosemary said, staring at Basil's big black cock. It was starting to fill and stiffen and rise at the thought that was in his mind.
Basil looked at the name on the end. "Glassy," he said aloud. He compared it with his own organ. "Not quite as big." he noted with pride. He looked again at Rosemary. "Ever do it to yourself with one of these?"
"Once," she confessed, "when I was feeling real horny." j. "How was it?"
"Not as good as the real thing."
He took a long drag on his cigarette. "Would you do it with this for me?" he asked. "And let me watch?"
"If it'll make you happy."
"It would."
He threw the phallus onto the bed. Rosemary picked it up and kicked away the bedding. She spread her legs and pulled her knees back to her chest to give him a perfect view. With both hands she spread her lips and ran her fingers along the cleft. She was already wet and gushing. The juices had started flowing at the very thought of showing a man her most secret pleasure.
She continued stroking herself gently, all the while staring straight at Basil with lustful eyes. She made kissing and sucking gestures with her lips to fire Basil's erotic imagination. But he needed little firing. His prick stood hard and straight, fleshed out to full size. Rosemary could see the throbbing veins that ran from the base to the bulb. Basil licked his lips.
"Go on. Put it in."
Rosemary lifted the phallus to her lips and licked the tip. She could have wetted it enough with one plunge, but she wanted to tease and tantalize him, to bring him slowly, step by step, to the brink. She ran the phallus along the length of her lips, licking it like the real thing, first on one side then the other. Finally she plunged it all the way into her mouth.
Only then did she lower it to her waiting, wide-open vagina. But she continued to delay the final moment of glory. She ran the tip of the phallus around the lips, then rubbed its full length along her clitoris. It felt so good. There was something exquisitely erotic about letting a man witness the pleasure she normally gave herself only in private. It made it doubly exciting.
Rosemary held the metal phallus at right angles to the opening and slowly lowered it, letting Basil watch as it entered inch by inch. He knelt at the foot of the bed to get a better view. Rosemary's vagina was well-lubricated and the phallus slid in easily. She couldn't suppress the sigh as the first wave of ecstasy swept through her. She raised the phallus until the tip barely brushed her lips, then plunged it in again... and again... and again. Her hips rolled with a natural motion, and her groin ground with the fires of lust.
"I'm pretending it's you, Basil," she said. "I'm pretending it's your prick in me, fucking me, coming in me, creaming all over me... "
She saw that Basil had closed his eyes and was stroking his own organ in rhythm with her. His fingertips grazed along the delicate underside while his thumb rolled around the big bulb at the tip.
Rosemary pulled out the phallus and threw it on the floor.
"I want you," she said, throwing her arms as wide as her legs in a gesture of welcome. Yes," Basil said. "You're gonna get me." He leaned forward and climbed on top of her, rubbing her around the shoulders with his strong, muscular arms. His lips met hers, and she opened her mouth greedily to him. His tongue lunged inside, probing, exploring, tracing a hot passionate path along her gums, her teeth, over, under and around her own tongue, darting to meet his. His big body pressed against hers and his hard, hot cock didn't need a human hand to guide it home. The head touched the moist warmth between the lips and slid effortlessly into its sheath.
"Oh yes!" she screamed, as Basil's black beauty entered her.
She could feel its heat infusing her. Her muscles gripped him tight. He was hard as bone, but his flesh wasn't like metal, stiff and resistant. She could feel him throb as she squeezed.
Basil started plunging in and out of her with hard, rapid strokes. He was making no effort to give her pleasure-he only wanted to appease his own lusts, as quickly as possible. But Rosemary felt no need for him to be slow and gentle -she just wanted to be fucked, to feel the thrill of being filled by a man. She wrapped her legs around his back. She squeezed him tight, to press him against her, to press more of him inside her.
"Yes, Basil! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!" she screamed. "Harder! Harder!" she yelled, as Basil tried to comply.
His hips bounced up and down frantically as he tried to thrust himself as deep as he could go, as hard and fast as he could go.
"Yes, I'll fuck you!" he said. "I'll fuck you so you'll never forget it."
Basil continued his powerful thrusts, and Rosemary's insides suddenly seemed to turn every direction at once. Her hips rolled wildly from side to side, her groin vibrated up and down. The first spasms of orgasm shot through her body and her whole being seemed to explode.
"Don't stop! Harder! Harder!" she screamed, as wave after wave shot over her. "I want your prick, Basil! I want your come. I want your beautiful come. I want to feel you squirting your come in me! Oh! Basil! Oh!"
The waves of passion, the spasms of climax came too fast, too strong for her to form words any longer. All she could do was scream with joy as the uncontrolled explosion went off.
"Here I come, baby!" Basil shouted. He gave a gasp as his release came in a sudden spurt, and he lay still, collapsed on top of her.
They lay sprawled together, arms and legs still entwined, their bodies heaving as they gasped for air, unable to speak as they tried to fill their lungs.
Finally, Rosemary felt able to get the words out. "That," she started, but she had to stop to take two more breaths before she could continue, "was the-best-yet." Then she sank back into the bed.
"It'll get better, baby," Basil promised her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
All day long Monday, Rosemary Salerno fidgeted with frustration. She was waiting for the moment when she could call Goldie and get news of home, of what was happening back in Brooklyn, how the kids at school were taking her disappearance. She must have smoked a whole pack of cigarettes.
Finally, as dinnertime approached, she picked up the phone and dialed Goldie's number. "Hello?" said the voice at the other end. It was Goldie's mother. Rosemary hung up. She couldn't have anyone know she was in touch with anyone.
She smoked two more cigarettes before she dialed again. This time a man answered-Mr. Gordon. Rosemary hung up again without speaking.
The next wait was the most frustrating of all. Rosemary paced back and forth, from one wall of the tiny pad to the other, waiting until she thought it was safe to call. She dialed the number and crossed her fingers while it rang.
"Hello?"
It was Goldie.
"It's me," Rosemary said.
"Oh, hello, Carol!" Goldie said, very loudly so her parents would think she was talking to someone, else. "Just a minute. It's so noisy here. I'll take the phone into my room where it's quieter... There, now we can talk," Goldie whispered. "Was that you calling before?"
Rosemary said it was.
"I thought so. I tried to get to the phone the second time, but my old man beat me to it."
"Your folks don't suspect anything, do they?"
"Naw. They think it's just some crank making obscene phone calls. We get 'em all the time."
"I didn't want anyone to know we re in touch," Rosemary said.
"I understand. I went to your house tonight. Your folks asked me if I knew where you were. I told 'em, no, I hadn't seen you since Saturday afternoon. I said you weren't in school today, and I thought I'd stop by to see if you were sick or something."
"How are they taking it?"
"Your old lady's taking it pretty hard. I guess she was crying a good deal. Saying they were too hard on you, never let you know they loved you, didn't raise you right and all that. Your old man was a lot tougher. He said, 'Sure, we didn't raise her right. We let her run all around all the time and do whatever she wanted to do. Never raised a hand to her. We should have beat her ass off every time she got out of line.' And a lot of stuff like that.
"He's sure you're messing around with somebody. Said the trouble with you was that you were always boy crazy. He wanted to know who your boyfriends were. I gave him the names of a few kids in school-even Bruno Slomensky. And your old man dashed off to talk to them. I don't think he had the cab out all day."
"Can you imagine me shacking up with Bruno Slomensky?". Rosemary asked.
"I can't imagine Bruno Slomensky shacking up with anyone," Goldie said. "I didn't tell them anything about Basil or the Zepplins. But if your old man ever finds out, there'll be hell to pay. He's convinced you're shacking up with someone and he says if he ever finds out who he is-if he ever finds out who 'ruined' his daughter and made her a 'tramp'-he'll force the guy to marry her. Either that or get his brains blown out. And he means it too. Your Uncle Mike was there, fiddling with his gun. I think he gave your father one. He said he'd do the job himself, if he ever caught the guy."
"They don't seem very ready to forgive and forget," Rosemary observed.
"You can say that again!"
"Go home or stay here. Either way I get the shaft."
"Do you want to come home?"
"Hell, no. It's wonderful here. I just gotta hope they never find out where I am."
"They won't get anything out of me," Goldie promised. "You know, it's funny, I think my folks are taking it harder than yours. They always said you were a bad influence on me, and see, now you've shown your true colors. Funny, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Thanks for everything," Rosemary said. She gave Goldie the number of the East Village pad. "Keep in touch. See you next weekend."
Rosemary hung up. She stretched and smiled a satisfied smile to herself. Then she climbed into bed and waited till Basil returned...
It was a wonderful week-the most wonderful week in her whole life. Every night, after playing his gig, Basil would come home and they'd ball and ball, until they fell asleep in each other's arms. Every morning, they'd wake up bright and fresh and do it again. And every time, as Basil had promised, it was better and better, more wonderful than before.
And this weekend, Basil had told her, they'd be a couple of parties at which they could blow their minds and do the group scene again. Rosemary could hardly wait.
During the days, Rosemary would throw on a pair of dungarees and an old sweat shirt of Basil's and wander around the East Village. It was such a fascinating place-so alive with all sorts of people, so different at every turn, a great contrast with the eternal drabness of her home in East Flatbush.
She'd even done some shopping-a table at a second-hand furniture store, a few pots and pans at the dime store and some groceries. And Wednesday night, she and Basil had shared their first home-cooked meal together. And afterwards... afterwards, there were those wonderful hours in bed together.
It was nearly midnight when Basil came dashing up the steps. He was panting and winded after the race up the five flights. He wasn't alone.
"Hi, Rosie!" he said. "Brought company," he started to introduce the man behind him. "This is-"
"I know," she squealed with delight. "It's Ebenezer Scrooge!"
How could anyone fail to recognize the most famous face on television! Those bright eyes, that hook nose, that long mane of light brown hair that fell to his shoulders, that mean twist to his mouth that gave him a perpetual sneer-how could it be anybody but Ebenezer Scrooge! And here in her own pad! Tall and thin, he wore a mod suit--and double-breasted jacket, tightfitting trousers and a wild, multicolored tie. He'd come along out of the blue only a year ago and had zoomed to the top of the charts. He looked and spoke and sang as if he hated all humanity. Hence, his nickname. But there wasn't a girl in the world who didn't love him, and who wouldn't do anything for him-including Rosemary.
Basil completed the introducing. "Eb, this is Rosemary."
"Hi, babe!" he sneered, before sitting on the edge of the bed to catch his breath. "Wow! I'm zonked!"
"So am I," Basil said, plopping beside him.
"What happened?" Rosemary asked.
"Just a moment. Let me catch my breath," Basil said. "Crazy dames! Eb dropped by the Hamlin to say hello, and somehow the broads out front got wind of it, and there was no stopping 'em. They came swarming all over the stage- right in the middle of the set-Queen Been and the Drones. Then back to the dressing rooms, swarming in the aisles, practically broke down the door. We had to climb out the window to get away. They would of ripped us apart."
"I just hope they didn't follow us here," Ebenezer Scrooge said.
"Such is the price of fame," Basil said.
It's funny, Rosemary thought, two weeks ago she would have been yelling and screaming with the other girls, swarming over the stage to get into the dressing room just to see and touch the great Ebenezer Scrooge. Now, here she was, sitting on the same bed with him. And who knows, in a couple of hours or so...
Basil rose, walked to the john and pulled out his secret stash.
"Got enough wind yet to light up?" he asked.
"I think so," Ebenezer Scrooge replied.
Basil quickly rolled a couple of joints. He lit one and passed it around. They took turns taking drags off it, letting the pungent marijuana smoke relax them.
"You know," Basil said to Rosemary, "Eb's performing at the Garden Saturday night."
"I know," Rosemary said. "I tried to get tickets weeks ago, but they were sold out."
"Be nice to Eb and maybe he'll let you come backstage and see the show. Right, Eb?" Basil said, nudging his companion in the ribs.
"Okay by me-as long as she don't mind being left alone with the Barroom Doors."
The Barroom Doors were the hottest of the hard rock groups-and with a reputation that went far beyond their music. They were on the Garden bill with Ebenezer Scrooge.
"The Barroom Doors!" Basil exclaimed. "They're wild men in the bedroom-or anyplace else they can get their pants unzipped."
"You know why they're called the Barroom Doors?" Scrooge asked.
"Yeah," Basil replied.
"Do you?" he asked Rosemary.
She shook her head, no.
"Okay," Scrooge said, "all together-one, two three." Basil joined him for the explanation, "Because they swing both ways."
They both burst out laughing. She looked dumbfounded.
"Sure," Basil said, "they'll do it with anyone. Men, women, little old ladies-even horses or cows, if there's nothing else around."
"You're kidding?" Rosemary said. "Honest to Jesus!" Scrooge said. "I was talking to Lee Godfrey-he was the Barroom Doors' lead singer-and he told me how he used to make it with the goats on his father's farm. That was before he learned about girls-or boys."
"It takes all kinds," Basil said.
"They'll do it with any kind," Scrooge said.
"Hey! I got an idea!" Basil suddenly exclaimed. "What about Rosie for tomorrow night?"
"Okay by me, if it's okay with her."
"What about me for what?" she asked.
"Eb needs a date for the grooviest party of the year-dinner at Melba Rutherford's. Wanta go?"
"Who wouldn't!" Rosemary said. Melba Rutherford was a multi-million-dollar heiress who used her money to support writers and musicians, artists and singers, plays and museums- anything that was "in." Her parties were, the rage of New York. All the "hip" people went to them.
"Okay, you're on," Eb told her. "Pick you up about eight." He walked to the window and peeked out. "Looks like it's safe to blow. No one out there. Least not that I can see." He started for the door.
"Oh my God!" Rosemary said. "What is it?" Basil asked. "I don't have anything I can wear to a party at Melba Rutherford's."
"No problem," Eb said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. He peeled off one and tossed it on the bed.
"Pick out the swingiest, sexiest outfit you can find. The further out the better. See you tomorrow," he said, slipping out the door.
Rosemary picked up the bill and looked at it. It was a hundred-dollar bill!
Wow! she thought. A whole new outfit! A posh party at Melba Rutherford's! And going there with Ebenezer Scrooge! And God only knows what would happen afterward! The girls back at East Flatbush would wet their pants with envy if they ever knew.
"Wow!" she said. "I gotta call Goldie!"
"What for?" Basil asked.
"So we can get together to get an outfit. A girl just can't go shopping all by herself," she replied, reaching for the phone. "Give me five minutes. Then we can start grooving." She dialed Goldie's number. This time she was lucky; her girl friend answered the phone right away.
"It's me," Rosemary said.
"Hi! I can't talk much now. When can we get together? I've got a lot of news."
"I've got to see you tomorrow," Rosemary said. "And have I got news for you."
"How 'bout eight o'clock?"
"It's got to be during the day."
"I can't. I've got school."
"Cut."
"It's that big?"
"It's that big," Rosemary assured her.
"Okay. Meet you at the coffee shop on Saint Mark's at eleven. Okay?"
"Okay," Rosemary said.
She hung up the phone and turned back to Basil. "Let's groove," she said.
He looked quizzically at her. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you, just 'cause you're going off to a fancy party with Ebenezer Scrooge? How do you know what I've got lined up for tomorrow night?"
"I don't care. Tonight's tonight and tomorrow's tomorrow."
He climbed into bed with her. "You will," he said. "You'll care tomorrow."
Rosemary gave herself to him-all the while wondering what he meant by that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, Rosemary met Goldie at the coffee shop on Saint Mark's Place. Goldie was eager for Rosemary's news, and Rosemary was just as eager to tell her.
"Ebenezer Scrooge!" Goldie exclaimed when Rosemary finished. "That's sensational! That's bigger than Basil Black. Bigger even than the Zepplins. Wait till the girls at school hear about this."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Rosie. I think Bruno Slomensky told your old man about you and the Zepplins. He asked me about them a couple days ago. I didn't tell him anything, but you'd better watch out."
"No worry there," Rosemary said. "They're playing a series of one-nighters in the Midwest. My old man'll be looking for me in Chicago and Detroit and places like that."
They finished their Cokes.
"So now what?" Goldie asked.
"So now we go get an outfit for me to wear tonight," Rosemary said, waving the hundred-dollar bill in Goldie's face.
They went to the Village Idiot, the hippest boutique in Greenwich Village. A tall, blonde, dykey woman waited on them. Rosemary rejected a minidress as too commonplace and maxis as too plain.
"I've got just the thing for you," the saleswoman said, throwing a couple of hunks of red gauze and yellow ruffles in Rosemary's arms. "Try that on."
"What is it?"
"It's a see-through pants suit. You wanted something far out. That's it."
Rosemary slipped into the dressing room to try on the outfit. The jacket fit snuggly around her ample bosom. The sleeves and pants billowed loosely. The yellow ruffles shimmered around her waist, neck, hips and ankles. It seemed as if every inch of her body showed through the thin gauze.
She stepped back into the store.
"It's sensational, Rosie!" Goldie exclaimed. "It's perfect for you."
The saleslady looked her over with, it seemed, something more than a professional glance.
"Try it without your underwear," she said. Rosemary stepped back into the dressing room and stripped. She slipped off her bra and panties, then donned the pants suit again. She felt completely naked.
"Now that's better," the saleswoman said when she emerged.
"My nipples show."
"They're supposed to."
"What about down here?" Rosemary said, gesturing toward her exposed crotch.
"We'll get a piece of body jewelry you can wear there." The saleswoman knelt before her and outlined the triangle with her fingers. "Of course, you'll have to shave a little." She looked up at Rosemary and whispered. "I can help you, if you want. I'm very good at it."
"No thanks," Rosemary said.
The big blonde picked up a glistening piece of jewelry from the rack-a metal plate dangling from delicate chains. She pressed the plate against Rosemary's pussy and fastened the chains around her waist, sneaking a feel every chance she got.
"It's like a chastity belt," Rosemary said.
"Except you can take it off whenever you want," the saleslady said, starting to unfasten it.
"Right now, I think I'll keep it on." She looked herself over in the mirror. It was a sexy outfit; just about every stretch of skin showed through the filmy gauze. Only the metal plate kept her sex hidden. "What do you think?" she asked Goldie.
"Great!" her girlfriend said. "You'll be the sexiest thing they've ever seen."
"You don't think it's too daring?"
"Rosie, for that crowd, nothing's too daring."
"Okay, I'll take it," she told the saleswoman. She stepped back into the dressing room to change into her East Village uniform of sweat shirt and blue jeans.
Rosemary was the hit of the party. None of the men could take his eyes off her, and even the women kept glancing her way with dirty looks. At the dinner table, every time she raised a glass to her mouth, the men would turn to catch a glimpse of her exposed breast. And afterward, whenever she walked across the room, conversation would cease as the men craned their necks for a rear view. Rosemary loved it. Even Ebenezer Scrooge, who rarely had a kind word to say about anything, pronounced her outfit, "okay."
The party was held at Melba Rutherford's Park Avenue penthouse. It was a huge, sumptuous apartment with thick carpeting, modern furniture and wild, far-out paintings and sculpture over the place-gifts of the various artists she had supported. Melba Rutherford took each guest around the apartment, pointing out each piece or painting and telling him what "dear boy" had given her what.
Melba Rutherford herself was a thin woman of about forty. Rosemary could hardly call her beautiful, but there was a lot of character in her face. With a little effort, Rosemary thought, she could be attractive, but Melba did nothing to enhance her face and figure. She wore no makeup. Her stringy black hair was pulled straight back and held in place by a velvet band. Her dress was an ill-fitting black that looked as if it had been picked off the rack at a bargain sale. It did nothing to set off her slim figure.
Melba had inherited millions from her father, a processor of farm feeds. "You see all this," she'd tell her guests. "These are the profits of pig slop." She'd been through four husbands and twice as many well-publicized affairs. She had a reputation for being "man hungry."
Her latest "man" was hardly older than Rosemary-a brooding, darkly handsome Italian named Antonio della Renzo. The word around the party was that Melba had picked him up on an Italian beach during her summer vacation. Everyone referred to him as "the beach boy," including Melba. He looked very much out of place and ill-at-ease in a suit and tie. He scarcely said a word all evening-apparently he knew very little English. Instead, he clung to Melba's arm as she led him from guest to guest.
The three dozen or so guests included all sorts of artists and writers and singers, as well as Melba's "arty" friends, but the biggest "name" of all was Windy Warwick, the wildest of the underground film makers. Windy himself was a man in his thirties with close-cropped blond hair, who squinted out at the world through thick glasses. Alone of all the men at the party, he wasn't wearing a suit and tie. Instead, he sported an open-neck white satin shirt with puffy sleeves and a pink scarf around his neck.
Rosemary had heard a lot about Windy, though she'd never seen one of his movies. She wasn't allowed to-they were all rated "X" and she was only sixteen. Windy's movies were so explicitly sexual-or homosexual-that virtually every one was the subject of police raids and court cases. But whenever any one was shown, there were long lines of people waiting to see it. The movies cost him only a few thousand dollars to make. He never used professional actors, only amateur exhibitionists. But he reportedly took in millions from them.
As her guests were standing around sipping their after-dinner liqueurs, Melba walked over to Windy and asked him, "Is everything set up?"
Windy said it was.
Melba banged her spoon against a crystal tumbler to attract her guests' attention.
"We've got a real treat for you tonight. Windy's brought along some of the rushes from his Portofino film, and he's going to let us see them... before the cutting, if you know what I mean... So let's everybody go into the den."
Melba led the guests into the adjoining room, where chairs and sofas had been lined up in a semi-circle around the screen. Rosemary slid into a love seat beside Ebenezer Scrooge.
"Hey, Windy!" someone called out, "who's starring in this one?"
"Me and Renzo," Melba said.
"Hey, that should be good!"
"What's it called?" someone else asked.
"I'm not sure yet," Windy Warwick answered in a bird-like voice. "But I'm thinking of calling it The Beach Boy."
When all the guests had settled in their seats, Windy stood up in front of the screen. "I should tell you," he piped, "that these are unedited rushes. They've been put in sequence, but they haven't been cut yet. Some cuts will be made to tighten things up, to make it flow smoothly from one scene to another. And some will be made because the lawyers tell us so. We haven't dubbed the sound yet. I thought maybe Melba could fill you in on what the dialogue is."
The lights went out and the film started.
Rosemary rested her hand on Ebenezer's thigh. All evening long, he had been sort of aloof, scarcely saying a word to her, scarcely touching her, except to take her elbow perfunctorily when escorting her up a stair or through a door. He hardly even looked at her-despite her sexy, see-through outfit. At this rate, she thought, she'd never wind up in bed with him. But maybe the movie would turn him on.
The film opened with Melba and Renzo walking into a big bedroom overlooking the sea. Melba sat down on the edge of the bed.
"This is the scene just after I've picked up Renzo at the sidewalk cafe," Melba said, as the camera cut back and forth from his face to hers. "I say to him, 'You know what I want?' And he says, 'Si, signora.' And I say, 'I know what you want. You want money. Right?"Si, signora.'" She threw a wad of bills on the bedside table. "I say, 'There's the money. Now let's see what I'm buying.'" The camera focused on Renzo as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. His chest was tanned and muscular. Renzo continued to look straight at the camera as he knelt and pulled off his shoes. Then he stood erect again and undid his trousers and slowly slid them down. His sex bulged beneath his white briefs. Renzo hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband and pushed down the briefs. He stood there in all his glory staring straight at the camera. His sex was set off by the white band of untanned flesh around his waist.
"Hey! can you show that in a theater?" someone yelled out.
Windy's voice answered the question. "The lawyers say it's okay to show him dangling, but not erect."
"And I can assure you, he rarely dangles," Melba added.
The camera turned back to Melba, who continued her commentary five. "I say, 'You look like you're worth it.'" She threw the money at his feet. He stooped and stuffed it into his shoe. The camera returned to Melba who stood up and unzipped her dress. She let it fall to the floor around her feet, revealing a slim body in black bra and panties, garter-belt and stockings. Her skin was pale and her ribs showed clearly. Melba unhooked her bra and let the straps slide down her arms until it also fell to the floor. Her breasts were small-only a gentle rise capped by button nipples.
"I say, 'Should I leave my stockings on or off?' A quick cut to Renzo, who shrugged. And I say, 'Off then. Some men think women are sexier with their stockings on. But then you don't care what a woman looks like, do you? One's the same as another.'" Melba sat down on the bed again and peeled off her shoes with her feet. Then she took off the stockings, unhooking the garters, extending her leg invitingly and slowly peeling off the stockings. Then she stood up again, reached behind her and unhooked the garter belt. With one sweeping gesture, she pushed both the belt and panties to the floor, Melba stood naked in the pile of clothes. Her sex was concealed by a thick bush of black hair. It was a very clinical nudity, Rosemary thought, like someone being examined in a doctor's office. Nothing sexy about it at all.
"How about that beaver shot?" someone asked.
"That's okay," Windy Warwick replied. The camera switched back to Renzo, his penis erect and ready.
"That's out," he said. "We can only use the close-up of the face."
"Why'd you shoot, if you knew you'd have to cut it out?"
"Cinema verity," he answered, "and to show at parties like this."
The screen showed a long shot of the room, with Renzo's back to the camera and Melba facing it, silhouetted against the bright light streaming through the windows. The muscles of Renzo's buttocks twitched in the foreground.
Rosemary slid her hand up Ebenezer's thigh. He spread his legs to let her advance. She reached the crotch and squeezed his balls through the thick fabric of his trousers. He writhed slightly, and she continued her exploration down the other thigh. Under the cloth was the big bulge of his manhood. She stroked it softly as the action continued on the screen.
"I say to the beach boy, 'You don't talk much, do you? Let's see if you're any good at using your mouth other ways.'" Renzo slowly walked over to Melba and fell to his knees before her. He buried his face between her legs. The film quickly cut to a close-up of Melba's torso and head as she fell backwards on the bed. All that could be seen of Renzo were his darkly tanned hands gripping Melba just below the breasts, a glaring contrast with her white skin. Her eyes were shut, her mouth was open and she tossed her head slowly from side to side. Renzo's hands came up and covered her tiny breasts. "You can't hear it now, but I'm screaming all over the place." The film cut to another long shot of the room, showing Renzo kneeling at the edge of the bed, like a child in prayer, with Melba's legs wrapped about his neck. Then it panned slowly to focus directly on the back of Renzo's head, closer and closer, until the whole screen dissolved in a black blur.
"There's a great sound effect here," Windy Warwick said.
"The visual isn't bad either," answered someone from the darkened room.
The darkness on screen gave way to a flood of light, another long shot of the bedroom. This time Renzo was lying on the bed, his organ sticking straight up like a monument, with Melba straddling him. Beneath her hand, Rosemary could feel Ebenezer swell to full strength. So the flick was turning him on after all! The camera cut to Melba's face, her mouth open in an expression of ecstasy. Then a quick cut to the scene below as Renzo's massive member poked a path between her nether lips. Then back to Melba's face, then below, and back and below, faster and faster, each time Melba's mouth opening wider and wider as Renzo sank deeper and deeper inside her.
"We can never show it in a theater," Windy said, "But it was too good an effect to give up."
"I'll say!" someone said.
"Where's Renzo?" Melba asked in the darkness.
"Pronto!" he called out from the opposite side of the room.
"Come here, beach boy! We're off to the bedroom. I'd almost forgotten how good you were." To her guests, she explained, "Why watch a movie when you can have the real thing?"
"Is the live performance as good as the movie?" someone asked.
"Come along and judge for yourself," answered Melba.
A handful of people followed Melba and the beach boy out of the room.
"You want to go too?" Rosemary asked Ebenezer.
"I think we'd better go home," the rock star said, winking at her. "After all, I've got to get my beauty sleep. Have to be in shape for the big show tomorrow night."
He stood up, embarrassedly trying to conceal the bulge in his pants.
As the maid helped them into their coats, they heard Melba's cry from the bedroom. "Come on, beach boy, I want it now! Just shove that big thing into me!... Oh! that's what I need!" And her audience gave a polite round of applause.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As they rode across town in the taxi, Scrooge slumped in his seat. He looked every inch the mean and surly singer millions loved.
"After all that," he said, "I think I need a smoke. Wanta come up and slip a joint?"
"Sure," Rosemary said, as blithely as possible, trying to conceal the fact that that was what she'd been angling for all night-the chance to be alone in bed with Ebenezer Scrooge, the biggest name in rock. Wow!
The eyes of the loungers boggled as she swept through the lobby of the Manhattan Motel in her see-through pants suit. Rosemary walked proudly, showing off everything she had.
"That's Ebenezer Scrooge!" a woman squealed.
"Yeah! And look what he's with!" her male companion answered.
They ascended in the elevator to the tower suites. They walked in silence down the thickly carpeted corridor. Scrooge unlocked the door to his rooms.
"I've got the small suite on this side," he said. "The Barroom Doors have the big suite over there," he added, gesturing with his shoulder.
They entered.
"Sit down. Relax. Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward a chair. "I'll get the stuff. Be back in a minute."
Rosemary kicked off her shoes and savored the feel of the thickly padded carpet. She looked around the parlor of the plush motel suite-so soon to be the scene of her delightful tryst with the rock idol of millions. How many other girls would love to be in her place this minute? she wondered. She unhooked the chain of body jewelery around her pelvis and tossed it on the table. She unbuttoned the transparent jacket and threw it aside too. Her big breasts swung free. She stretched her arms way above her head and sighed. She felt so euphoric-even without a whiff of pot. Tonight would be the most wonderful night in her life-she knew it in her heart. She peeled off the gauze pants of her outfit and slumped naked in the big easy chair, one leg thrown provocatively over the arm.
"What are you doing like that?" Scrooge asked when he came back in the parlor with the fixings.
"You said 'get comfortable.'"
"Don't get any wrong ideas," he said, starting to roll the joints. "I didn't ask you up here for that."
Rosemary stood and held his hands. "Can't that wait a minute?" She pressed her naked body against him and wrapped her arms around him. "We can smoke later."
She kissed him. His lips were cold and unresponsive, tightly drawn and almost resisting the passionate probe of her tongue. But she still felt a thrill. How many girls in the world had ever kissed Ebenezer Scrooge?
"I don't feel in the mood now," he said.
"I'll get you in the mood," she said.
She pushed him onto the sofa and knelt beside him. She rubbed her hand along his crotch. Ebenezer, so hard and powerful while watching the movie at Melba's, was hardly there at all.
Rosemary unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. She reached inside and took him in her hand. He was like a tiny limp noodle. She held the flaccid organ with her fingertips and pulled with gentle tugs. But nothing happened. She bent and took him with her mouth, using her lips and tongue in an attempt to rouse him. Still nothing happened.
"What's the matter?" she said. "What am I doing wrong?"
"Nothing," he sadly said. "It's always that way with girls. Nothing happens. I've tried and tried, but it's always the same. Nothing happens."
"But you were so big before?"
"That was from watching Renzo. Seeing him all swelled out and ready for action really turned me on. Seeing a guy like that always turns me on. I can only make it with guys," he confessed.
Rosemary couldn't help it, but she broke out laughing. It was a mean thing to do to him, she knew, but it was impossible to stop. Ebenezer Scrooge, her idol, the dream of millions, the manly man millions of teen-aged girls dreamed of making it with-Ebenezer Scrooge turned out to be a screaming fag!
"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to lead you on. I only wanted to come back here 'cause an old school buddy was going to drop by. We were going to make it together, just the way we used to."
There was a knock at the door.
"That must be him now," Ebenezer Scrooge said. "He's early."
Scrooge stood up, pulled his pants together, and walked over to open the door.
"Just take it easy, buddy, and you won't get hurt!"
It was her Uncle Mike! Rosemary spun around and looked at the doorway. She saw Ebenezer throw his arms in the air. From behind the door poked the black muzzle of a gun. Scrooge backed up slowly as her Uncle Mike, in full uniform, gun drawn, advanced into the room. And right behind him walked her father!
Rosemary dashed across the room to get her clothes on.
"Just as we thought, Mike!" her father said. "This degenerate's seduced her."
"And she's only sixteen, too. He can get ten years for that."
"I-" Scrooge started.
Mike cut him off. "Just keep your mouth shut, buddy, and you won't get your head blown off. We didn't come here to listen. We came here to tell you what you're gonna do."
Rosemary pulled on her pants suit and folded her arms across her chest to conceal the view of her big breasts through the transparent gauze.
"Look at that disgusting costume!" her father said. "So that's what you wear when you rim around with bums like this!"
"I-" Rosemary started.
"You shut up, too!" her father said. "Just sit still and listen. We'll tell you what you're gonna do."
Her policeman uncle waved the gun at them. Ebenezer and Rosemary sat side by side on the sofa. Her father and her Uncle Mike pulled up chairs and sat across the coffee table from them. Her father looked down at the joints on the table.
"Hey, Mike! What kind of crazy cigarettes are these?"
Mike picked one up and examined it.
"Marijuana," he said. He looked at Ebenezer Scrooge. "That's another ten years."
"Okay, dreamboat," her father said. "You've got three choices. One, you can get your head blown off. Two, you can come with us to the police station and get twenty years in the clink. Or three, you can do the decent thing and marry her. No man is going to ruin my daughter and get away with it. We may not be rich, but we Salernos got a decent reputation and we're gonna keep it that way."
"He-" Rosemary started.
"Shut up!" her father said.
Ebenezer Scrooge looked at his captors. "You're bluffing."
"Try me," her Uncle Mike replied. He lifted his gun and aimed it squarely at Eb's head. He pulled back the hammer with a click that sounded as ominous as an explosion. "All I've gotta do is say I walked in and caught you in the saddle and lost my head. There wouldn't be a jury in the world that would convict me."
"I'd tell 'em the truth!" Rosemary blurted out.
"You'll tell 'em what we'll tell you to tell em," her father said. "You're gonna do like we say, or we're gonna ship you off to a home for wayward girls."
"It would be better than going home with you."
"That's enough out of you. The decision's up your freaked-out friend here."
"Well, what about it?" Uncle Mike asked. 'You gonna marry the girl or not?"
"Don't I get anything to say about this?" Rosemary asked. "You get to say, 'I do.'" her father said. "And what about you?" Uncle Mike said to Ebenezer, "are you gonna say 'I do' too?" He continued pointing his gun menacingly at the rock star.
"You've got all the cards," Ebenezer said. "All right, I give in. Being married is a little better than being dead."
"You better believe it."
By ten o'clock the next morning, it was all over. Early in the morning, Uncle Mike had woken up a judge and got a court order waiving the blood tests and three-day waiting period. "Emergency," he had explained. Then down to City Hall to pick up the license. That took only ten minutes. By then, Uncle Mike had stuffed the gun back in his holster. "Try to back out now," he told Ebenezer Scrooge, "and I'll run you in for statutory rape, possession of narcotics, corrupting the morals of a minor, and God knows what else. Got it?" Scrooge got it. He dutifully filled out the forms, as did Rosemary. Then back to the judge's house, where he mumbled rapidly through the ritual as Ebenezer Scrooge and Rosemary Salerno said 'I do.' Rosemary's wedding dress was Uncle Mike's trench coat, thrown over her shoulders to cover her sexy see-through. Her wedding gift from her father was a curt, "Get out of my sight. I never want to see you again, or hear you again, or have anything whatever to do with you again."
So they returned to the Manhattan Motel. Rosemary waltzed into the room and spun around ecstatically.
"Whee!" she shouted. "I'm Mrs. Ebenezer Scrooge."
Her husband flopped into an easy chair. "You better get it straight. You're Mrs. Sylvester Melvin Markey, the Fourth."
"Is that your real name? No kidding?"
"No kidding."
"Sylvester Melvin Markey, the Fourth!" Rosemary exclaimed. "With a name like that, no wonder you're queer."
She saw the pained expression on his face and quickly snapped, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"No apologies necessary," he said. "I guess that's what I am. We've both got to face it and we've both got to live with it unless you want a divorce. My attorneys can fix it up, if you want."
"I'll give it a go for a while."
"Okay," he said, kicking off his shoes. "We might as well make the best of it. Might as well show off my new bride at the Garden tonight. Got anything to wear? Besides that?"
Rosemary shook her head no.
"Why don't you go get yourself a wedding dress. Something white and sexy." He pulled out his wallet and peeled off several bills. "I'm gonna get some sleep so I'll be in shape to sing tonight, You run along now, and I'll see you later."
Scrooge stood up and stretched, then wandered off into the bedroom. Rosemary walked over to the telephone and dialed Goldie's number.
"Hello?" Goldie answered. "Guess what?"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
That night the new Mrs. Rosemary Markey stood at the rear of the stage at the Garden, waiting for the big show to begin. Her outfit was sensational-two piece lace, white, a bolero jacket over the briefest of minidresses. Ebenezer had given her two corsages of white orchids, one to wear in her hair, the other to hold in her hands. She felt radiant.
Scrooge came out of the dressing room and walked down the corridor with the Barroom Doors. They were dressed in their stage costumes and looked like old-time Wild West saloon keepers, complete with bright red garters on the sleeves of their striped shirts.
"So this is the little lady who finally trapped you?" one of them asked.
"It wasn't exactly her who caught me," Scrooge said.
"Old man with the shot-gun, huh?" the group member asked, laughing a little at his own joke.
Scrooge tried to laugh too. "You're not far off."
The husky, mustached singer ran a hand over Rosemary's buttocks and squeezed the flesh gently.
"Well, I'll tell you this-you did pretty good for yourself."
Scrooge made the introductions. "Rosemary, I guess you know the Barroom Doors. This is Lee," he said, gesturing to the mustached lead singer who had felt her fanny. "And this is Grant," he continued, pointing to the thin blond boy in the buckskin vest. "And this is Sherman," he said, with a wave in the direction of the black-bearded bass player. "And this is Stony." He gestured to the wild-haired drummer.
"His real name is Jonathan Ewell Beauregard Stuart," Lee explained. "We call him 'Stony"cause he's always stoned."
Stoney stepped forward, took Rosemary in his arms and bent her over backwards. "A kiss for the bride," he said, pressing his lips against her and probing his tongue passionately inside her mouth.
Sherman and Lee followed with their own kisses for the bride, and Rosemary responded with as good as she got.
"Aren't you going to kiss the bride too?" Stony asked Grant.
"Not here."
"Where then?" Rosemary asked.
"Back at the motel," he answered, "and not on the lips either. I can think of much more exciting places I want to kiss you."
"I've invited the Barroom Doors over for our wedding party," Scrooge explained.
"Yeah," Grant said, "you're gonna have a real groupie wedding celebration."
"Not a squaresville honeymoon," said Stony.
"You're gonna get a wedding night you'll never forget," Lee joked.
There was a roar from the arena. The emcee's voice came booming over the loud speaker system. "And here he is-Ebenezer Scrooge!" An even louder roar went up from the thousands inside the Garden.
Lee slapped Scrooge on the ass. "You're on, baby."
Scrooge grabbed his guitar and trotted up the stairs to the stage. The loudest cheers of all went up and didn't die down until Scrooge started strumming the strident beat of his theme song, Because I'm Mean.
Grant came and stood behind her as Rosemary peered up at Scrooge, silhouetted in the spotlights. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed against her. Even through the layers of cloth, she could feel his burgeoning manhood pressing into the crack of her buttocks.
"I can tell you're gonna be good, baby," he whispered. "I can tell just by the feel of you."
He dropped a hand to the hem of her dress and started tracing a trail up her leg. She could feel his fingers running along the legs of her panties, then along the soft flesh of her bare thigh, finally onto the cloth of her panties, already wet with anticipation. He pressed his fingertip into her damp cleft.
"That's where I'm gonna kiss you, baby."
"I'd like that," Rosemary told him.
"I can see we're gonna get along."
Scrooge finished his song to the tumultuous cheers of the crowd. He waved his hands for silence. "I don't feel mean tonight, folks. I feel happier than I've ever felt in years. You see, after all these years, old Ebenezer Scrooge has finally taken the plunge. I got married this morning." Some groans went up from the girls in the audience, but they were drowned out by the applause and cheers. "And now folks, I'd like you to meet the little lady who finally trapped the big old meanie." He gestured toward the rear of the stage. "Come on out, Rosemary, and let the folks have a look at you."
Holding the corsage to her breasts, Rosemary tripped up the stairs and marched daintily across the stage. Scrooge took her hand and pulled her into the glare of the spotlight. He kissed her delicately on the cheek and laid an arm around her shoulder as the crowd cheered.
Rosemary beamed brightly. It was so thrilling to be standing on the stage of the Garden with Ebenezer Scrooge-her husband-as all the kids in the audience stomped and cheered. And to think, two weeks ago she couldn't even get tickets to the show. And later tonight, she'd be back at the motel grooving with the Barroom Doors. Yes indeed! This was the most wonderful night of her life!
After the show, they returned to the motel: Rosemary, her new husband and the Barroom Doors.
"Call room service and order some champagne!" Scrooge shouted. "We're gonna celebrate tonight."
Grant picked up the phone and Lee flicked on the radio. The raucous beat came blaring out.
"Hey! that's us," Stony shouted as the radio came on with the Barroom Doors latest hit, "There's Nothing Like It." He grabbed Rosemary's hands and started swaying with her in the center of the room.
"Come on, baby, let's dance."
Rosemary started dancing with Stony, shaking her body to the hard beat of the acid rock. Soon the other Barroom Doors joined them, circling around Rosemary, the hips vibrating with the sexual excitement of the music.
Ebenezer Scrooge opened the door to the bellboy delivering the champagne. He poured out a glass for Rosemary, who sipped it without breaking the beat of her dance. The Barroom Doors passed a glass around and shared it as they continued dancing.
"Excuse me a minute," Scrooge said, slipping off to the bedroom. They hardly noticed he'd gone.
The Barroom Doors moved closer and closer around her, as close as they could without actually touching Rosemary. The beat of the music throbbed through her head and her body responded with rippling movements that exuded sex. Grant slipped off his vest and tossed it aside. He started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Come, on gang, let's get down to the nitty-gritty."
Without breaking rhythm, the Barroom Doors started doing a mass striptease.
"Come on, Rosemary," Grant said to her, "you've got to get in the spirit of things too."-Rosemary slipped out of the circle. "I'll be back in a minute," she said. "It's not quite so easy for a girl." She disappeared into the bedroom.
Ebenezer's coat and tie were thrown across the double bed. She heard the sound of running water from behind the closed bathroom door. As Rosemary started stripping, Ebenezer emerged.
"Hurry up," she told him. "You'll miss all the excitement."
"I'll be along in a minute," he said.
Rosemary stood naked by the door for a moment, holding her panties in her hand, wondering whether she should wear them, at least for a while. She opened the door a crack and peeked out. She saw the Barroom Doors standing there stark naked, sipping champagne. She threw the panties on the bed and stepped out to join them.
"Got a glass for me?"
She quickly drained her glass and rejoined them in the dancing. Rosemary's big breasts bounced as she abandoned herself to the sexual throb of the big sound. As the Barroom Doors ground their hips to the wild rhythm, their organs whipped about like snakes. But then they edged closer and closer to Rosemary, until her body was brushed and buffeted by their thighs and buttocks and their erotic whiplash, and one by one the rock singers filled and swelled to full manhood.
Rosemary spread her legs wide and swayed to the beat. Directly in front of her, Grant planted his feet alongside of hers and pressed himself against her. They dipped and rose in perfect harmony, rubbing their bodies against each other. Her nipples tingled as they rubbed against his hairy chest. She felt his hardness rubbing against her thighs, the soft down of her crotch, her grinding stomach. Lee stepped up behind her. She could feel his thighs bracing hers as they became a trio, rolling in rhythm, and his malehood rubbing against her rear.
"Yeah! Yeah!" Stony shouted, as he swayed beside them.
Rosemary was excited. She could feel the fires of female lust being stoked inside her. The juices had really started flowing. She wouldn't be surprised if she was dripping all over the floor. She could hardly wait till they all fell into bed. And she didn't give a damn which one took her first! She was hot and fired up and ready to fuck.
There was a loud knock at the door. They all stopped dancing.
"That can't be the manager," Grant said. "We're not making that much noise."
The knock sounded again. This time they realized it was Ebenezer in the bedroom.
"Quiet in there!" he called through the crack.
Rosemary saw that he'd opened the door an inch or two, but he'd turned out the lights so she could see nothing of what was going on inside.
"Quiet in there!" he yelled again. "Everybody sit down and take their places for the unveiling of the bride."
Stony took a quick glance at Rosemary's naked figure, then shot back, "She's pretty unveiled already."
"Don't argue with me! Just sit down, turn the music up and get ready for the big show!"
They complied wondering what he was up to. Stony turned the radio to full blast. Lee and Sherman took their places side by side on the sofa and pulled Rosemary on top of them. Their hands started exploring her hungry body. Grant and Stony fell into the two easy chairs opposite.
"Okay!" Stony called out.
Ebenezer Scrooge threw open the door and stepped into the room. Rosemary gaped in amazement. He had donned her entire wedding outfit! From her shoes to the corsage on her head, he'd put on everything she'd worn that day. He'd tied his long hair with a ribbon so that it had a feminine fall. He'd daubed his face with her lipstick and rouge-and even a little mascara under his eyes. On him the minidress rose almost obscenely high, showing off the tops of her stockings, which barely came to midthigh on his long legs. He'd stuffed himself with something so that a trace of bosom showed through the white lace bolero. And she could only imagine what he was wearing underneath.
The Barroom Doors let off a siren of wolf whistles as Ebenezer Scrooge pranced uncertainly into the room, hobbling on her high heels. He could only stuff half of his feet into them. He managed to make his way to the center of the room where he bowed to his admiring audience.
"Oooh!" Stony screamed in mock glee, as the skirt lifted up in back, giving him a glimpse of what was beneath.
Scrooge pressed his hands against his artificial breasts and dipped his chin in a perfect imitation of a feminine blush. He swayed in perfect rhythm but with unsure footing to the music on the radio. He kicked off one shoe and then the other. He could now bob and weave, dip and rise, bump and grind on solid ground. He threw himself into the wild dance. Rosemary couldn't help but admire him. He looked even more feminine, more sexy than she did!
He pulled off the corsage from his hair and threw it to Stony, blowing the drummer a kiss afterwards. Then swaying in rhythm, he/she started the sensual striptease.
First he dipped one shoulder out of the bolero and waved the bare stretch of skin sexily in Stony's face. Then the other. He pressed the garment against his chest, his hands cupping his nonexistent bosom as his hips gyrated wildly. Holding tightly to the bolero, he flung his arms wide, exposing both shoulders and even a trace of cleavage that started where his bare skin disappeared into the tip of the dress. There was a full swell to the bosom of the strapless dress.
His whole body rocked with an abandon that said, I want it, I need it, I've got to get some loving now before I explode.
Ebenezer reached behind him and unzipped the dress. He again held the bolero enticingly in front of him as he wiggled out of the dress. Inch by inch, she could see the garment slip down his legs.
"Yeah! Yeah!" Stony shouted.
"Take it off!" Lee yelled as he squeezed one of Rosemary's breasts and pressed his leg against the soft inside of her thigh. Sherman softly fondled the other breast.
The dress fell to the floor around Ebenezer's feet, and he kicked it across the room. Above the concealing bolero were the wisps of a white lace bra, and below, the white garter straps holding up her stockings.
"Take it off!" Grant yelled.
Ebenezer threw aside the bolero. Rosemary saw that he'd managed to stuff himself with something to achieve the look of a full bosom swelling out the lacy bra. Her transparent white bikini panties covered the bare crotch, but could not conceal the swell that betrayed his sex.
Ebenezer was obviously making his play for Stony. He danced right in front of the drummer's chair, cupping the artificial breasts provocatively, grinding his groin in perfect rhythm with the music. He dropped his hands to his crotch and massaged himself. Closer and closer he edged, thrusting his vitals towards Stony's face. Closer and closer...
Suddenly, he spun around, giving Stony a glimpse of his gyrating buttocks. He hooked his thumbs inside the elastic waist band of the bikini panties and pushed down slowly, keeping the front covered, but giving Stony a bird's eye view of the globes of his bare buttocks.
"Take it off!" Grant yelled.
Ebenezer spun around again, giving them all a look at his hairy ass. But the piece de resistance was reserved for Stony. Ebenezer lowered the panties in front. Inch by inch, they fell, as inch by inch, he edged himself closer and closer to Stony.
Finally the garment fell to the floor and Ebenezer stepped out coyly to the center of the room just as Stony, fired by lust, reached out to grab him. He was primed and ready for action. Rosemary marveled at the size of him. He was bigger -longer and thicker-than any man she'd ever seen. But she sighed with the regretful knowledge that such marvels weren't for her.
Ebenezer continued his obscene dance in the center of the room, blowing them all kisses, running his hand all over his body, writhing in every direction-until finally the performance reached its climax and, as the music ended, he leapt and threw himself into Stony's arms.
Rosemary leaned back, savoring the sensation as Lee's and Sherman's hands explored all over her body. Grant rose from his chair and came over to kneel between her wide open legs.
"I'm gonna give you that kiss I promised," he said.
She closed her eyes and pressed the two diverse hands against her bosom. She opened herself to Grant and waited for the wonderful touch of his lips.
The wonderful revel lasted from Saturday night until Monday morning. During that time Rosemary and the Barroom Doors had done everything that a woman and five men can do together. She had done it every which way with every one of them-every one except her husband. But Ebenezer Scrooge had not been idle. During the long revel, he'd also managed to make it every which way with every one of the Barroom Doors.
As Rosemary dressed to go out, she felt wondrously elated. Eb's tour was taking him coast-to-coast. Sixteen cities in three weeks and he'd be sharing the bill with twenty-three different groups! Wow! would she groove! Married life was so wonderful!
When they came down to the lobby of the Manhattan Motel dozens of female fans let up a chorus of screams and squeals. Dozens of hands reached out to grab their rock idol. As the house detectives cleared a path through the crowd, Rosemary heard one of the girls say to another: "Isn't she beautiful?"
"Yes," her companion replied, "and look how rosy and radiant he looks."