Charity heard the door open. It was a very soft and quiet opening but she happened to be stirring in her sleep at that moment. Otherwise, she might not have awakened to enjoy, all that from the very beginning, was going to happen.
Charity lay in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. She was on her back with her head slightly angled, so that she was able to look toward the door. The large bedroom was bright as the morning sun slanted in through the generous windows.
After a moment, a dark eye peered in at her through the doorway--through the three-inch space the door had been opened. It was Chica. Charity could tell at once, that the dark eye could only belong to the Mexican maid with beautiful olive skin, hair that looked freshly oiled, and eyes that looked at the world from a face that belonged on a statue on the plaza of some town in the very center of Mexico itself.
The door opened further and Chica slipped into the room. There wasn't a sound and she didn't need to open the door very far, for she was a small girl, hardly more than five feet. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, not moving, her eyes fixed on Charity's bed.
Charity, her eyes half closed, examined the young girl who, only a few weeks before, had been presented with her nineteenth birthday party by the family.
She was a gorgeous creature, so small and delicate, but with a sturdy frame and a set of muscles that enabled her to work hard in the Truesdale household. Her shoulders were square, her breasts deep and high, her waist thick enough to give her some power. Her hips were blossoming into mature womanhood and her legs were straight and curved in all the right places.
Charity, her blonde hair fanned on her pillow, continued to feign sleep as the girl came into the room, unaware that a pair of alert blue eyes were watching her progress.
The girl came closer, until she was only a few feet from the bed. Then she stopped and Charity closed her eyes a fraction of an inch more, not wanting to give the game away. The game? What game? She didn't know why she was pretending. Perhaps just because she was bored.
Chica stared down at her for perhaps two or three minutes before she moved again. Her hands came up as she leaned down close to Charity's face. Still staring into the apparently sleeping face, the girl plucked at the coverlet, lifting it an inch and sliding it down slightly.
This was crazy, Charity knew. She wasn't certain what Chica was up to. She'd only been with the family for a few months. She might be capable of anything. Perhaps she was going to steal something and sneak out of the bedroom hoping not to be seen.
But what was there to steal from the bed itself? Charity wore almost no jewelry of value, and even that was taken off when she went to bed. No! If Chica were going to steal she'd have headed toward the dresser. She'd be muddling among the drawers, seeking items of value, rather than rummaging in Charity's very own bed--especially when Charity was in it. So, Chica was looking for something else. But what? There was only one way to find out The maid's black uniform rustled slightly as she continued to pull down the counterpane. She worked it lower until it was over the peaks of Charity's breasts, and soon had it pulled all the way down to her waist. After a brief pause, she pulled again and it slipped past Charity's hips, her crotch, her knees and, then, until even her feet were bared.
It was a warm morning and the loss of bedding did not make Charity uncomfortable. Even so, a faint ripple of a chill washed over her, but she knew it was a vague apprehension. She wasn't frightened, but she was not at all certain about what was going to happen. This girl might be a kook.
She'd go on with the game until something happened, until she found out what it was that Chica was seeking. She felt a strange tingle deep in her body, but she attributed it to apprehension again. She was simply curious, not really excited about the little game.
Chica straightened and ran her eyes the length of Charity's body. Charity was wearing a shortie nightgown which, fortunately, was pulled down properly so that her crotch was covered. The nightgown ended at the tops of her thighs, but, even so, Charity realized that the girl was viewing a generous expanse of tanned skin. Charity had long and well-shaped legs. Her thighs were smooth and unmarked, her knees properly dimpled, her calves flared strongly and her feet... well, even they were still tanned from a summer at the beach.
The rest of her was covered, although, of course, her arms and shoulders were naked. But those peaking breasts, those proud twin mounds that always attracted attention, they were under the protection of the nightgown.
Now Chica was leaning down again, her face only inches from Charity's. Again the dark girl waited, but Charity, with some difficulty, continued her slow and deep breathing as though she were sound asleep. She was able to keep her eyes slitted perfectly so that she could see through her long lashes.
Chica's hands came up, and for a moment Charity thought the girl was going to touch her face. She had to fight the impulse to wince, but she was able to remain perfectly still. The girl touched Charity's creamy shoulders and, very gently, she began to pull the lacy straps of her gown down until they were loose along Charity's upper arms.
Charity felt something change inside her body once again. There was a faint jangling of bells down in the pit of her belly, as though her brain were sending signals to some distant engine room. But she was able to continue her lazy breathing and she did not move her body in any way.
Chica pulled until the straps were down to Charity's elbows. Then she was plucking--oh, so gently--at Charity's bodice, lifting the fragile material away from her body and pulling it down, as she had the bedclothes.
Charity had to keep from gasping as she felt and watched the material brush over the tips of her breasts. She could feel them begin to tingle, but she knew that was only because the lace in the cloth was titillating her delicate flesh. Anything raked across the fragile tips of Charity's nipples affected her nerves that way. In fact, already the nipples were beginning to fill and pop erect.
Chica almost had the nightgown down to Charity's waist when she paused again, waiting, being terribly careful not to wake Miss Charity. Charity could almost read what was going through the girl's head, although she had not yet figured out why the girl was doing this strange thing.
Charity watched those dark eyes sweep back and forth across her breasts, taking in every bump and hollow, lingering on the pink nipples. Charity herself could look down her body and see the hills crowned with bright color. Yes, they were filling all right Her breasts were swollen with passion.
Charity couldn't help taking in a long and trembling breath which made Chica's eyes blink with alarm. But Charity regained her composure, pretended to stir slightly in her sleep and allowed herself a faint groan.
Nothing unnatural in that. Simply a young woman having a dream, that was all.
After a moment Chica was leaning close again. She moved her face from directly over Charity's, and down along the curve of her throat. Charity was having more trouble keeping her slumbering composure, but she managed, apparently, to keep Chica from being suspicious.
Charity simply had to find out what was going on before she popped her eyes open and scolded the maid. It surely would be only a matter of a few minutes before the game would be up.
But the game continued. Chica moved her face past Charity's throat and down to where the curve of her breasts began. Charity trembled but still she did not move, and was able to keep her eyes closed.
She could feel the delicate warm breath from the girl on her breasts now and soon the streams of air washed over her nipples. God, but that felt strange. Charity was reminded of the earlier times in her life when she had "gotten into trouble," as her mother called it. Those times usually happened because of something intimate like this, something that erupted in her despite her resolve.
When that happened she simply couldn't help herself, for Charity was a woman with a healthy, normal and lusty passion. She might be the daughter of wealthy parents, might have been educated in the proper schools, and might have been taught how a lady should behave in society, but Charity's senses couldn't quite be trained to remain switched off when desire arose. She knew right from wrong, but it often took more Puritan resolve than she commanded, to will her body to do the proper thing.
Now she was gritting her teeth as Chica continued her quiet breathing on the exposed half of her body. God, if only she's stop for a minute, then Charity could pretend to awaken normally and it would be all over. But that dark and beautiful face seemed to want to explore everywhere. It hadn't touched Charity yet, but it was so close that the tension was merely heightened by the possibilities.
Charity rolled her hands into fists as her body stiffened. She tried to relax once again, but it was easier said than done. But she willed herself to keep still and, gradually, she was again able to achieve her goal. She still seemed to be a woman in deep sleep, only occasionally turning, but never really waking up.
The lovely face of Chica was above her own again, and for a moment, Charity was certain the girl was going to loss her on the mouth. But she did not. Instead she dropped her face back down to Charity's throat, and there she lowered her head until her soft and delicate Lips dragged across Charity's tender, tanned flesh.
Charity made some small sound and moved. Chica froze for a full minute until it seemed that her mistress was once again in deep sleep. Then she again kissed that smooth throat, sliding her lips across its width and then down until her mouth was just above Charity's white swell of breasts.
A tremor ripped through Charity's body and she lay as quietly as she could until it spent itself. When all was quiet once again, the lips continued their journey. They gradually slipped into the deep and shadowy valley between Charity's breasts, going ever deeper until Chica's face was buried in Charity's softness.
Charity was being triggered now, but still she refused to admit it to herself. She knew it was wrong--so wrong. This shouldn't be happening to her. No, she must pretend to wake up and then she'd give Chica a sound scolding for creeping into the bedroom. Yes, that's what she would do, starting right now.
Open your eyes, Charity, she told herself, but she couldn't make them open far enough for the chambermaid to see. She tried. She really did, but her body wouldn't do what her mind ordered it to do. It was the same story as those other times. Damn! A half sob broke from her lips and again Chica stopped what she was doing.
Now! But Charity's plans didn't work, for, at that moment, Chica's lips neared her breasts. Charity shuddered and pumped her knees only slightly, not enough for the girl to see. The lips continued up the curve and inexorably toward the pink and full nipple.
Charity knew where the girl was heading and she also knew she could do nothing at that moment to stop her. Later, yes, after the girl had finished this little stunt, Charity would call their game to a halt. She would need to do this before they got themselves into real difficulties.
Charity caught her lower lip between her teeth and then thought better of it. If Chica were to look up, she'd trap her mistress. She'd realize she wasn't really asleep.
This relatively new maid in the household probably had her eye on Charity, and, when she thought she knew her mistress well enough, made her move. It was a risk, but the girl was very clever. She probably felt quite confident that she'd be able to escape punishment if something went wrong.
Charity again sighed as she felt the lips reach the very edge of her nipple. They pressed into the flesh at the border of the pink and then, after a final pause, they sunk into the very delicate skin. A rocket went off inside Charity's left breast and she wondered if the nipple would pop out of its skin.
Gasping more loudly than ever, she had to fight to keep from locking her fingers behind the girl's head, to shove that beautiful face down where it belonged. But no, she couldn't ruin things now. So Charity continued to play sleeping statue and the mouth concentrated on her nipple. It worked its way to the very center and then the lips parted a fraction of an inch. The very tip of the nipple penetrated those lips like a bitch's offering to its pup.
The lips parted further and more of the nipple was allowed to nestle inside that warm moist haven. The girl gurgled in pleasure as she sucked the nipple deeper into her mouth. Small even teeth came down on the delicate tip. Charity lurched and almost sat up, but she caught herself in time.
Chica again paused momentarily. Her mouth returned to the deep valley and at once began to climb to the other breast. Her mouth crossed the steep curve of Charity's right breast, hungry for its center. The lips reached the second nipple and took it inside. Again the sucking started and again Charity had trouble keeping her body from screaming with forbidden delight.
But Charity still held herself in control. She was almost writhing on the bed. Of course, she could feel this treatment in her sleep. Why shouldn't she move? Just so Chica couldn't tell she was faking.
Charity squeezed her eyes shut before slitting them again. She looked down at Chica's head. Her dark hair was glossy and shining. Her face was half hidden as it pushed into her warm softness. Charity's breasts were being flattened by that wonderful face and delicate lips were pulling hard on the nipple.
Charity sighed with delight and she felt a twinge of warning in her crotch. Yes, she was getting very worked up, her body heat was rising rapidly. Much more of this and she'd begin to convulse down there. Things would happen and then there'd be no way to continue her Sleeping Beauty routine.
Chica began to move her face back and forth as she serviced first one breast and then the other. She kept this up for several minutes until Charity's breasts were fully distended. They were pumped up and their nipples pointed toward the ceiling like twin cannons.
At last Chica sighed and she lifted her face. Charity could see her staring suspiciously at her, but still did not move. She could see, without the younger woman knowing that her eyes were partially open. Chica leaned closer and studied her mistress for several minutes.
Gently she placed her hand at the side of Charity's neck and then slid it down to a breast. Charity tingled all over when the fingers rippled over an already rigid nipple, and she loved it. Her body was more alive than it had been in weeks.
Chica took her hand from the warm neck, and then began plucking at the nightgown as it clung to Charity's hips. She pulled the straps all the way down and then tugged gently on the gown, pulling it over the hips, gently lifting first one asscheek and then the other, to remove the gown.
Charity allowed her body to be gently rolled from side to side as the girl's strong hands did their job. Soon the nightgown was all the way down to her knees and then it was to her ankles. She was fully exposed and she felt her flesh blush with the knowledge that she had no more secrets.
"Ah... " The small murmur came from Chica's lips as she half straightened and gazed down at the sight of beauty. "Muy linda...
Chica leaned in again, and again, the tingle came back to Charity, almost as though she were being touched. Those eyes actually feasted on her curves and hollows. Would the girl have the nerve to do it? How far would she go?
Yes, the maid did have the nerve, Charity realized, as Chica's hand hovered just an inch above her cunt.
CHAPTER TWO
Sudden trembling again gripped Charity's body, and again she had to clench her fists until it stopped. But that hand, those fingers, they were poised right over her. By simply letting her hand drop, Chica could place it full on Charity's cunt.
Her dampness began merely from thinking about it. Charity felt the secretions increase. She was fluttering with anticipation down there and she could feel the moisture flowing. It was making the inside of her cunt sticky and then slick as her body lubricated itself for whatever might happen.
The hand went away and Charity was thankful. Much as she anticipated the thrills of Chica's massage, she didn't want to disgrace herself. If her mother found out, it would kill her.
But there was no real respite. Instead Chica's head came down again. It briefly touched her nipples and then it slipped lower, the lips doing their work. They counted her ribs and then they slid across her belly.
Charity sucked in her middle sharply, but Chica simply waited until it rose up again. Then she kissed its smooth roundness and worked even lower.
The lips worked their way into Charity's navel and there they kissed and sucked. Then her tongue came out and drilled its way into the navel, seeking to penetrate all the way into Charity's middle if only it could find a way.
Charity felt the perspiration begin to dot her upper lip and she covertly licked it away with the point of her tongue. Then she fluttered her eyes and tensed. It wasn't easy to keep her composure with that rasping tongue worming inside her belly. It was trying to go right through her flesh now and Charity could only take it. She resisted the impulse to fight back. She wanted to sit up and grab at Chica's sturdy little breasts. She'd show the little Mex who was boss.
But, of course, she couldn't do that. She couldn't let the girl know that she was awake and willingly allowing herself to be seduced. So Charity took her medicine. She swallowed and lay back, still feigning sleep, believing she was still doing a good enough job to fool the younger girl.
The Mexican maid finally abandoned Charity's navel and she went across her lower belly. Soon the face was disturbing the very uppermost pubic hairs that surrounded Charity's cunt in a golden ring of fur. The hairs were becoming damp, for Charity was in real heat now, but still they waved delicately as though they were a stand of ripe wheat in a fertile field.
Chica's lips went even lower and more deeply into the forest. Then the face lifted and Charity's spirits plummeted. God, was that all? Was she going to quit now? What could she do to keep the young girl from abandoning her clutching cunt?
Charity stirred and she threw out an arm as though just merely thrashing about. Her arm hooked at the back of Chica's neck and pulled the head back to Charity's belly. Chica froze for another minute and then, working very slowly, she unhooked the arm from her neck.
Charity sighed but Chica did not go away again. She was smiling into Charity's face and Charity barely resisted the impulse to smile back. She wanted to, but of course, that would give everything away. So she maintained her features in repose and breathed deeply, as though once again she were drifting back into her deep slumber.
Charity was not disappointed. Chica resumed her work. She puffed out her cheeks and blew deliberately into Charity's golden hairs. Charity shuddered but she was loving it. She could make herself remain as she was, forever, so long as Chica did things like this to her.
The dark head moved lower and Chica's hands came up to part the pubic hairs. When the way was clear, Chica again puffed her cheeks and blew softly. The draft went right up into Charity's cunt and she squealed in her feigned sleep. Chica did not seem alarmed at the noise. It was as though she had accepted the fact that Charity was a very deep sleeper.
The face came even closer, and, in the instant Charity was certain that the lips were going to touch her, the head stopped. It seemed to turn back and forth as though wondering whether to go on with the game. Charity was about to, once again, throw her arm around the maid's neck when the girl slipped her hands around Charity's hips.
She dug under the hips and into the edge of the softness of Charity's plump buttocks. Charity stiffened and, moving very slowly, she arched her body. She dug in her heels to ease the weight on her hips and Chica's hands were able to worm under Charity. Chica--Charity believed--had not noticed that the going was mysteriously easier.
The hands went deeply under her body until they touched each other under the crack in Charity's bottom. Two thumbs were turned up and they wiggled back and forth in the crack. Charity couldn't hold back a gasp and she almost giggled, but she turned the outburst into an apparent sleeping restlessness.
But Chica didn't seem interested as to whether Charity was faking or not. She was too busy. She, herself, was breathing with a harsh rattle as her body responded to what her hands and lips had been doing.
The thumbs moved up and down until they even stuck themselves inside Charity's anus for an instant. That had never happened to Charity before, although she had heard about it. This time her gasp was one of surprise. She settled down again as Chica moved her hands away.
Charity was worried, for Chica leaned back from her body, and seemed uncertain as to whether to continue or not God, don't let this child quit now, Charity thought, trying to keep her face placid. Again, she threw out her arms--in desperation this time. One arm draped around Chica's neck and she pulled the girl down closer to her, in an apparent reflex action, like a sleeper stretching. Still stretching, Charity unhooked her arm and then she grasped the girl by the shoulder. She clung tightly as she again pretended to stretch.
The arm then slid down and raked across the black satin that covered Chica's breasts. There was plenty inside there, small but hard and high knockers that felt as though they were on fire. The child was steamed up, all right. Charity allowed her fingers to wrap around a breast and she squeezed into it until Chica cried out. Charity relaxed her fingers.
Chica didn't seem to want to go anywhere. She purred deeply in her throat as Charity pumped her breast. The nipple was hardening under her fingers and Charity could feel that there was no bra under that satin bodice. She stretched and her hand fell to-the other breast. This one she also squeezed and pumped until it was as throbbing as its twin.
Enough! Charity told herself. Do any more and you'll give the game away. That must never happen.
She dropped her hand and rolled over onto her belly, flinging her arms down to her sides. She knew she was presenting a new and interesting target to Chica--the white expanse of her bottom. It was a beautiful ass, creamy smooth, generous without being too wide. These firm orbs often drew glances, from men and women alike, and Charity was proud of them.
Charity felt the hands on her asscheeks for the second time. Again the thumbs were zipping up and down her crack and again she was having trouble lying still. It became too much and she reached back and slapped at the hands, as though she were still asleep but was being disturbed by pesky insects.
She couldn't take that. It was driving her crazy. Her bottom was her superhot spot, a fact she had learned too late in high school, on the night she had a date with that linebacker. He had scored on her after she'd allowed him to touch her on the bottom. The sensation had been--and still was--wild.
So Charity rolled to her side next, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Chica got down on her knees against the bed and she looked into Charity's face for a few seconds.
Her hands roamed Charity's tightened stomach muscles and then they slid back to Charity's pubic hairs. They parted the hairs and again that face was very close. Charity felt a tentative finger draw a ring around the perimeter of her cunt. It was a wild sensation, almost as wild as the one that she had felt on her bottom a moment before. But Charity was more in control now and she was able to handle it without giving into screams of delight.
The finger edged toward the center of Charity's pussy, raking across her already puffy and pink lips. Charity gasped heavily and her hips made a few primitive up and down movements. Charity couldn't help it. She rolled heavily onto her back and put her hands over her face. Still, she pretended to be asleep.
The maid wiggled the finger as she placed it directly on the center of Charity's box. She touched each side and then she shoved it inside the first joint. It didn't go in very far but Chica pressed upward, until it found the little knot of muscle just inside the place where her cunt lips were joined.
The sensation staggered Charity and she half sat up. She kept her eyes closed and flopped down again as Chica's hand came away from her pussy. Chica seemed frightened and she stood, wiping her damp hands on her thighs. Charity again was afraid she could lose the girl, so once again her arm was flung out in apparent abandon.
Her hand struck the girl on her bare knee, just below the black satin hem of her uniform. Charity grasped the knee and pulled. Again Chica staggered back against the side of the bed. Charity slid her hand above the knee until her fingers were wrapped around a plump thigh. God, but the flesh felt so tender and smooth. It was firm, but warm and it gave easily under her grasp.
"Ah " Chica moaned as she closed her eyes and tilt- ed her face towards the ceiling.
Charity frowned. Was the girl assuming that she'd awakened her mistress and that it was all right that they should play their game? Charity would need to straighten out that misconception at once. She allowed her hand to drop from the thigh, and she sighed, once more pretending complete sleep.
Through her slitted eyes she saw the girl frown in disappointment. Then Chica, moving very carefully now, lifted Charity's hand once again. She put it back on her knee and she pressed the fingers into her own flesh until the hand held on without being helped.
Charity clung to the knee for a moment and then her fingers took command on their own. They wiggled up on the warm thigh and again they dug into the flesh. Then they wiggled higher on the thigh, right up to the edge of the black hem.
Chica's breasts heaved up and down as she gasped for air. She was easily as worked up as her mistress. Chica had her hot spots, all right, and it seemed that Charity's fingers were heading right for one of them.
Charity edged higher, under the hem and up. The thigh was incredibly delicate and soft. It was like caressing rose petals, so delicate was the girl's flesh. Charity kneaded the softness for several minutes before she moved still higher. She flitted up across the upper thigh until she felt a hair. It was a stiff hair and Charity moaned, imagining it was as coal black as the hair on Chica's glossy head. She plucked at the hair until the girl lurched and cried out. Then she wiggled her fingers another inch higher and soon she was in a whole nest of bristly hairs.
Chica was going out of her mind. She was squirming. She leaned her knees against the bed and her hips were pumping in and out toward Charity's body. She was gasping and her eyes were squeezed shut. Her fingers were rolled into fists and she slowly thudded them against the mattress, venting some of her passion.
Charity rummaged her way up until she felt a sticky substance. So, the girl was already beginning to go off. Or, at least, she was thoroughly lubricating herself. She was pumping her juices out over her crotch in any event. It was exciting for Charity to realize that she could make another woman so steamed up. It was a power she really didn't know she possessed.
She moved on until her hand was placed flat against Chica's cunt. It didn't feel like a large box, but it was nicely pursed and it was nestled in a healthy crop of hair. Charity wiggled her fingers into the hair until she found the thick sexual lips. Yes, they were distended. Chica was in heat. All of her vital passion signs said So Charity went. She curled one finger into a ball and shoved it between those lips. There she worked it in and out as though it were a beautifully knobbed penis. She rammed it hard, again and again. She slammed into that small box again and again. Chica's eyes opened wide, then they rolled up in her head and the young maid al- most fainted. She whimpered as she came, her heavy juice spilling over Charity's rolled up finger, cascading around it and running down to her wrist and along her arm.
Charity did her best to empty Chica's body of those wonderful and musky-smelling juices. The girl obliged by jamming her crotch hard against the finger. She was helping Charity milk her and soon her supply seemed to be spent. She sank heavily to her knees, and her head came forward, like a wilting flower, to rest on the pit of Charity's belly. She lay, gasping, slowly allowing her breathing to return to normal. Charity smiled down at her, but she refrained from patting that dark head. Instead, she threw her arms out wide and let them dangle.
In a few minutes Chica began to pay her sexual debt to Charity. Her head rolled back and forth and then it was slipping over the slight curve of belly and straight into her mistress' crotch. Charity sighed with pleasure as she felt the lips open.
The mouth closed over Charity's hairs and then, led by the sharp little nose, the face wormed deeply into Charity's purse. It was snorting and shoving and rooting until it had bared the pink and panting cunt completely.
Charity held her breath for the inevitable. Then it happened. The tongue came out and it lanced straight into her box. Charity shuddered as it struck vital places --her cunt walls, her clitoris--and almost touching the tip of her cervix. Only a few seconds, and her orgasm began.
It was a flood of passion that poured from her. She felt it gush into that beautiful young face and she arched her hips up from the mattress to increase the sensation. She trapped that mouth and nose, time after time, as she expended herself. Gradually, a vague feeling of weariness overtook her body as her strength flowed out.
She settled back on the pillows at last, a weak smile on her face. She'd given and she received, and that was as it would have been. She was thinking such peaceful thoughts when she heard her mother call from outside and then there was a knock on her bedroom door.
Chica leaped to her feet, pulled the covers up over her mistress and then smoothed her uniform. Just before she turned toward the door she whispered to Charity.
"Later, we will continue, senorita."
CHAPTER THREE
Charity had been far from finished when her mother had interrupted her and Chica. After their party had been broken up, and both Chica and her mother--who suspected nothing--had gone away, Charity took a thorough shower. In the shower she realized that her senses were still singing. When she touched her body with the wash cloth and then the rough towel, her flesh tingled and the sensations extended to inside her body.
Later she dressed carefully, wishing she had time to perhaps take care of herself in some way. But there was no time. Her mother had demanded that she come downstairs at once, that she was already late for breakfast. Her father had already gone downtown to his office.
She put on a bright dress, one that was perhaps too fight and skimpy for the season, but it was a beautiful, warm day in California. She looked at herself in the mirror as she adjusted her bra under the mini. Yes, she looked very good. She adored mini-skirts because her legs were so good. Many people had told her about her legs and she was proud of them.
Secretly proud of them at home, of course, but her pride made her show them off whenever she had the chance. She turned to look at her body's profile. Yes, the breasts were excellent, too. They still seemed somewhat larger than usual after what Chica had done for her. Done for her? Yes, she had to admit she'd enjoyed herself--too much. The maid had done her a favor.
Charity shook her head at her own boldness. She should never have allowed it to happen. How many times had she told herself that she was an adult now and that such games were taboo. She was at home, in the city where she was known. No longer could she permit herself the luxury of wanton behavior. All right, so it was all over. She'd keep her eye out for a nice young man and settle down in life.
Her mother certainly subscribed to that goal, and she'd been introducing Charity to proper young men for several months. The trouble was they'd all been too proper, meaning too dull for Charity. Why couldn't a man have the right background and still be interesting?
She realized she could be a complex and difficult young woman, with strengths and weaknesses that shifted regularly. So no one--including Charity herself-- could predict her behavior in any given situation. This included her attitude toward men. She might be in love with a man one day and bored with him the next She smiled at herself as she ran a brush through her hair. It was golden hair that fell to her shoulders, neatly straight and shining. Her eyes were blue, a blue that could be deep and warm, or brittle and icy. Weight: about one-fifteen, every ounce where it would do the most good. She was stacked. That was what the boys used to say in high school.
She sighed. High school. What a terror she had been. And in college. She didn't want to be bad. She had a conscience. She was a decent sort of young lady, but she couldn't control her body when it cried out for servicing. Well, from now on she'd be the proper Southern California woman; Adult, beautiful, smart, ambitious, on the lookout for a man who was good enough for herself and the Truesdale family.
At last she smoothed the short skirt over her thighs and turned from the mirror. A vague tremble went through her middle when she touched herself, but she prayed that it would go away with time. She'd simply put her mind on other things.
She left her bedroom, looking guiltily at the mussed bed which Chica would be in to re-make as soon as she left. Chica! She'd need to talk to the maid, to say that she'd awakened 'feeling strangely as though Chica had been in her room. Yes, she'd need to burn that bridge. No percentage in letting the girl think she could take any more liberties.
She walked briskly down the corridor in her flat heels. She was bare-legged and it felt good. She loved bare skin, even her own. She hated stockings or pantyhose. She preferred bare legs and brief pants, and she loved the feel of fresh air on her body.
She swept down the staircase and through the foyer into the dining room. Her mother was seated at the head of the table, a newspaper folded at one side of her coffee cup. Charity slipped into a chair at her mother's right, close enough to touch her on the elbow. "Hi, Mom."
Mrs. Truesdale lifted her eyebrows without looking up from the society section. "Hi, indeed. It's getting on toward eleven. Proper ladies say good morning, if it is still morning." Charity smiled at her mother. Chica came in from the kitchen, and the two young woman exchanged glances. Then Charity smiled.
"Good morning, Chica."
"That's better," Mrs. Truesdale murmured, her glasses low on her nose.
"Good morning, Miss Charity," the maid said in a shy voice. "Juice, toast and coffee?"
"That will be fine."
The girl smiled again, and sped soundlessly from the room. Mrs. Truesdale had trained the girl well and Charity mused at how angelic and efficient Chica could be. Just as she'd been in the bedroom, when angelic and efficient she had worked over Charity.
After Charity was served, her mother put aside her paper. She peered over her glasses at Charity, who smiled as she looked around the sunny room. It was large and there were fresh flowers on the table. A delightful room in a delightful house, so why didn't she behave like the proper heiress she was?
"Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Truesdale asked.
Charity glanced sharply at her, but there was no hidden meaning in the words. "Very well, thank you,"
"You've been doing little else lately," her mother sighed. "It's time you began to apply yourself. How long have you been home with us? How long since you finished school?"
Charity shrugged. "Two years, I suppose."
"Two years! Gracious, you should have been in the middle of things by now. If not married then on your way to the altar. Or at least involved in the community. You know what I mean."
Charity knew, all right. The Truesdales expected themselves to be civic leaders. Rotary, Junior League, Chamber of Commerce, and charity work. Their futures were laid out for them because they had money and a good blood line. The master must be benevolent to his slaves. He must pass among them, giving them gifts, teaching, offering advice.
"I know," Charity intoned.
"Then when are you going to get cracking?" her mother continued. "There is work to be done out there."
"Oh... soon. Maybe next month."
"How about tomorrow?"
Charity frowned. "Tomorrow? What's tomorrow? You don't literally mean tomorrow? I thought I might go for a long bicycle ride, or a stroll on the beach... " Mrs. Truesdale was shaking her head. "You know what happens to you when you're idle. You remember your second year at college. What was the name of that team?"
Charity rolled up her eyes. "I've forgotten. Please don't remind me again."
"Somebody's got to do it, my dear. If you don't learn 30 from those experiences you might have trouble in the future." Good, she didn't know about Chica. "You've got to keep yourself active and occupied. You've got to keep your mind busy thinking about something besides... well, S-E-X." God, she was still spelling out the word as though Charity was a child. "Yes, mother."
Mrs. Truesdale shook her head as she sipped at her coffee. Charity filled her mouth with hot toast. "You're still not sincere. When is the last time you felt like doing... you know, felt like you needed a man?"
Shame washed over Charity. Her mother was right She'd been in the middle of a woman-to-woman orgy less than an hour before, and right in her own home. Yes, she'd need to avoid that from now on. And men. They were poison, too. If she got a reputation it would make finding the right husband next to impossible.
"You're right, mother. I feel guilty. I've been a bum for two years... all my life. I've been selfish, not like you and Daddy. You both work so hard, doing so much."
Her mother flushed with pleasure. "Well, we don't kill ourselves, but we do keep occupied, your father at the office, me with my charity work. With a name such as we gave you, you should be giving a great deal of yourself."
Charity shrugged and she felt her breasts move in their uncomfortable bra. God, when would they get back to normal? Damn that Chica!
"But what I can do wouldn't help anybody. So I majored in art. No big deal. Maybe I could roll bandages for the Red Cross."
Her mother brightened and reached over to pat her on the back of the hand. "A noble thought, my child, but you can do more. You are not a plain person and you have a nice personality." She actually winked. "Besides, you're not going to meet that man hiding in a back room down at the Red Cross. No, indeed, you should be soliciting."
Charity lurched and her hand hit the coffee cup. Some spilled into the saucer. "Soliciting?" She didn't know whether to laugh or look shocked.
It was Mrs. Truesdale who smiled. "A poor choice of words, perhaps, but you know what I mean. Collecting funds for worthy causes. In fact, I have just the project for you. I'm chairman of something new and we need volunteers who are young, strong and who have good legs and feet because there's a great deal of walking involved."
Charity frowned and she almost shuddered. She didn't want volunteer work that would wear her out "Walking? Walking where?"
"Door-to-door?"
"Whose doors?"
"Anybody's and everybody's. I'm the chairman of this little campaign we're on now. Our goal is a million dollars for COME."
Again Charity lurched. "COME?"
"Combined Organizations for Musical Enterprises. It's a united campaign for the opera, the symphony, pop music, the theater and a few other things. The ballet I think. They can each use the money and a million dollars will assure them many successful seasons. You know the arts rarely lay for themselves."
Charity was shaking her head slowly. "COME?"
Quite obviously her mother didn't know what she was saying when she repeated, "Yes, COME. C-O-M-E. You understand, it stands for... " Charity held up a hand. "Yes, yes, I get it. COME! God, you dowager queens. Where have you been all your lives?"
Mrs. Truesdale drew herself up properly. "I beg your pardon, young lady. When I was your age I was happily married and raising a family. Including you, I might add. I certainly didn't have time for frivolous games."
"All right, mother, all right" Charity blurted. "You've made your point. I'm properly filled with guilt feelings." She took a deep breath. "So 111 help out What do you want me to do?"
Her mother clapped her hands together like a child and then she leaned over to kiss Charity smartly on the cheek. "Oh, my dear daughter, you won't regret this. You will fill your heart for these wonderful people. If you're sincere, they'll know it and they'll give from the bottoms of their hearts. Now I know we'll go over the top. We'll get our million."
Charity waited until her mother was finished. "Do I mess around in places like La Jolla and Mission Hills. The nice neighborhoods where the money is? Do you have a list of prospects?"
Mrs. Truesdale shook her head. She was a handsome woman. She looked much like Charity, except that she had green eyes and her figure was somewhat--but not too much--heavier. She was in her mid-forties and she looked at least ten years younger.
"No, this year we're going to hit many families. No longer are the arts the preserve of the wealthy, for people such as we. You've seen them at the theater, those little people in jeans and without neckties or bras."
"Yes, and groovy young men," Charity said with a giggle.
Her mother waited in disapproval until her daughter was finished. "You know what I mean, Charity. Everybody's interested in the ballet or the classics these days."
Charity doubted that, but she didn't want to argue. She wanted to do good work to please her mother and her own conscience. This was just what the doctor ordered. So she nodded. "Sure, even the garbage man."
"Don't be a snob. Black, brown, red, every color enjoys the finer things of life. If we can raise our goal they'll be able to afford them. In the balcony seats, of course."
"Of course."
"At any rate, you'll be going to neighborhoods rich and poor, just like the other young ladies who are already out there on the job. You'll have pledge cards and, after you take a brief artistic census from the people at each house, you'll ask them to give what they can afford. We prefer cash and pledges to run over the next calendar year. That way they give more without it hurting so much."
Charity nodded thoughtfully. Not a bad idea and it would do her good. She'd love the social contacts; meeting people. She'd be helping a cause, drawing people into society. And the exercise would do her good. She was already somewhat stiff from her romp with Chica. She needed toughening up or her legs would begin to grow flabby. Her legs, one of her best assets.
"It sounds wonderful," she exclaimed. "Ill start in the morning, bright and early."
"Good girl," her mother gushed. "I knew a Truesdale woman would never let society down. This afternoon I'll take you down to the drive headquarters and you can get some instructions and a supply of pledge cards."
"All right."
Her mother got up and came around the corner of the table to kiss Charity on the mouth. Briefly, Charity thought of how Chica kissed her, and she smiled at her mother. Chica will need to find herself another playmate. Charity wasn't going to be available any more. Charity was going to be out doing her bit for a democratic society.
Her mother straightened. "In fact, I'll get dressed right now and well be on our way." She glanced down at Charity's bare knees and thighs. "Are you sure you want to go out in that?"
Charity made a wry face. "Oh, mother. Don't be such a Puritan. It's perfectly proper. Besides, you know how you feel about women wearing pantsuits."
"Of course, but isn't there something in between? A skirt that at least comes down to your knees?"
"I'm twenty-four, not forty-four."
"Very well," Mrs. Truesdale sighed and she left the table to go upstairs. Til be down in thirty minutes. Don't muss yourself while I'm gone."
Charity sat back in her chair and in a moment Chica stuck her head in from the kitchen. "May I clear now, Miss Charity?"
"Yes, Chica."
She watched while the girl silently did her chores. When Chica was finished she glanced over her shoulder once before she retreated back into the kitchen. Charity felt a vague itching deep in her loins.
What on Earth was the matter with her?
CHAPTER FOUR
Charity felt clean. She felt like a lady. She looked like what she was, a good young woman, a proper young woman, a young woman of good family who was out to do her bit for society. She had managed to shrug off the uneasy feelings she experienced during the night by concentrating on her task.
Now she was enthusiastic about her COME project. She was out to show herself, her mother, and the world, that she had the old Truesdale spunk. She could collect her quota of culture funds and surprise and delight her mother and the other women at the headquarters.
She wound up her XKE and shot out of the circular driveway into the street. She pointed the phallus-like snout toward downtown, and, street map open at her side, she picked out the apartment-cluttered neighborhood where she would begin her first day's work.
Humming, she smiled to herself as she sped along the boulevard. She ordinarily didn't display such obvious signs of contentment, but today she was a reborn woman. Her guilt from the day before had helped to cleanse her and drive out the dark images that had been at the back of her mind.
While she waited at a traffic light, a car pulled up along her. It was certainly a loud engine, Charity mused as, still smiling, she looked over. It wasn't a car at all, but a high truck and the man sitting next to the driver was looking down at her.
She smiled pleasantly at him, and he at once smiled back. He turned his head and apparently said something to the driver, because another head appeared in the truck window. Two male faces smiled down at Charity and still she smiled back. Yes, it was good to be alive, out with one's fellow man.
She looked toward the light and then she was looking up at them again. Their smiles somehow showed a great deal of appreciation and she looked down at herself. That was it. Her mini had crept high on her thighs so that the bottom fringe of her panties were showing. Desperately she tugged at the brief hem, and managed to recover a few inches of thigh.
She was wearing the same lightweight, short mini she'd worn the day before. The ladies at the campaign headquarters had exclaimed how nice she looked, and she'd attracted some attention from men on the street, so she decided to stick with a winner.
The dress was cut high at the bottom and low at the neck. Not too low, but low enough to show her tanned smooth throat and the beginning of her breast swell Just enough to reveal that she was a normal healthy young woman who had the confidence of a fine body.
Horns were tooting and Charity looked in the rear-view mirror. Somebody back there gestured at her. As she shot forward through the green light the truck was left behind. The men had been too engrossed to react as quickly as she.
Charity found her assigned neighborhood and parked the XKE. She got out, tucked her notebook and ball point pen under her arm, and locked her car. It was an expensive car, and in such a moderate neighborhood and she didn't want to take any chances.
On the sidewalk, she again looked down at herself. Yes, her skirt was smooth and her legs looked very good. She'd checked her smooth blonde hair in the mirror just before she'd gotten out. All okay there, too. She knew she looked excellent: fresh, alert, intelligent, ready to face challenges and handle them competently.
She walked a half block, listening her heels on the pavement. She wore low shoes for comfort, but they still looked smart with her outfit. Her toes poked out through the leather thongs and the shoes would kick easily off if her feet got tired.
She came to a nice little apartment house. It looked cleaner than most in the neighborhood and the grounds were neat. It was three levels and surely there would be someone inside who wanted to do his or her bit for the arts. She glanced down at her watch. Ten in the morning. Most men would be at work. She'd probably be meeting mostly housewives this day.
She went up the walk and stopped on the small porch. There were a dozen mailboxes and speaking tubes. She ran her finger along the list of names. Most were couples, some both women, others both men. People shared the rent in this part of town.
There was a name that sounded interesting: P. P. Hand. Just the one name. Probably Mr. Hand was away at work, but she'd try his buzzer just for practice. She shoved the button and there was no response. Naturally. But Charity shoved it again anyhow.
There was a click and then a voice. "Yeah?" The voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a trash can.
Charity licked her lips. "Uh, Mr. Hand?"
"Yeah?" In exactly the same voice.
"Mr. Hand, this is Charity Truesdale. I'm on your front porch and... "
"Shit yes, you're on my front porch. Don't you think I know where the other end of this hose is?"
Charity flushed. "Of course. I'm sorry. Anyhow, I'm working for COME... "
"What?"
"COME!"
"I don't believe it. You mean they got a foundation or something to preserve that stuff?"
Charity was flushing down into her bodice now and she looked around. Thank God the street was empty. She felt like a fool and she wanted to flee. No, a Truesdale wouldn't do such a thing.
"Please, if I could come up and talk to you about it."
There was a silence and she knew her voice was being judged. Also her cause--COME--lord, she'd have to make Mr. Hand understand the situation at once... if she got into his apartment.
"Well, what have I got to lose?" the strange voice said. There was a loud buzzing and Charity knew enough about such places to depress the door latch before the buzzing stopped. The door opened and she stepped inside.
There was a small foyer with doors on each side. Mr. Hand was two flights up and she began to climb the carpeted steps. It was a nice enough place and she automatically smiled at the small sign on the manager's door as she ascended the steps.
She was breathing a bit heavily as she reached the third floor and she paused for a moment at the top of the stairs. Lord, she wasn't getting enough exercise. She'd need to have some friends over to play tennis. That would get her legs back into condition. Summer was past and she couldn't get in her beach swimming, but she would need to use the pool more.
When she was breathing normally, Charity walked up the hallway until she found the door with Mr. Hand's name on it. She again inspected herself, licking her lips to make them shine nicely, and then she knocked. It was a gentle and proper knock, a charity lady knock.
She waited what seemed like a long time and then the door opened. She wasn't certain what she expected to see, so she was uncertain about her first reaction to P. P. Hand.
He was a man, in his late twenties, perhaps. He was six feet, very thin and dark, and there was a stubble on his sallow face. He wore jeans and a denim shirt, and he was also wearing sandals. No socks. His eyes were deep in his head and they were dark, somehow a little strange. The eyes darted up and down Charity's body like a pair of leaping spiders and their pupils seemed almost to burn. Lord, was this Satan himself?
Charity tried to smile. "Good morning!" she exclaimed, forcing heartiness into her voice.
He frowned. "What's this COME stuff?"
"May I come inside and explain?"
He seemed to consider her request for almost a minute, still inspecting her from head to toe. "Well, I'm sort of tied up, but I guess you can have a minute."
She waited until he stood to one side and then she went into the room. She heard the door close behind her. She looked about the place, a single large room. There was a couch that had been made into a bed. It was done carelessly, and a corner of gray sheet stuck out from under one of the cushions. Windows looked down at the street, and she saw two more doors which would lead, no doubt, to the kitchen and the bath. But she wasn't here to judge Mr. Hand's lifestyle. She turned to smile at him again.
He did fit the place. It was neat enough, neater than she'd imagined it would be from his voice, actually. A few clothes were scattered about and the ash trays were jammed with cigarette butts. But the place didn't smell and the floor was reasonably clean.
"There's a cleaning woman," he muttered.
She kept smiling at his dark face as he stood, his back to the door. "I beg your pardon?"
"The place don't look like such a dump because a once-a-week cleaning woman comes in. She comes with the rent, you know. Yesterday was her day, so I haven't had much chance to mess up the place."
"I see," Charity said brightly.
"Goody," he growled as he went to a table and fiddled in a cigarette package. It seemed to be empty and he turned to her. "Got a butt?"
"I'm afraid not," she replied as she saw his eyes drop to the profile of her buttocks. "I... uh, don't smoke."
"Not quite," he said and there was almost a twinkle in those dark eyes.
He went to the window and looked out, his back to her. Perhaps he was looking for her car, but it was too far up the street for him to see. He turned back to her. "All right, sister, what's on your mind?"
Charity licked her lips again and began her prepared speech. She told him all about COME and the agencies it helped throughout the music season. She felt foolish because he didn't look as though he cared about music or, if he did, that he didn't have any money to donate for it.
When she was finished she stood before him, her fingers locked together before her body. She stood as they'd taught her at school, one foot slightly in front of the other, somewhat like a fashion model who was doing a soft sell. He continued to inspect her, not aggressively, but with curiosity, as though he were wondering where she was from and what she was really doing in his apartment.
At last he shrugged. "You might as well sit down, uh... "
"Miss Truesdale," Charity gushed, suddenly pleased that she'd apparently passed some test. "Charity Truesdale." She sat carefully on a padded chair, her ankles crossed, her knees together .
"Charity Truesdale," he repeated in a voice so low she could hardly hear. "Unreal."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Look, Miss Truesdale, let me tell you about me. I'm just a guy, see? I had a lousy job, but now I don't have any job. So every Thursday I stroll down to the unemployment office for my seventy-five bucks. I spend half of it picking up a supply of pot, or maybe coke, whatever I can afford. But I got to have enough to get me through the week. Then I pick up a few cans of spaghetti and meatballs and enough greens to keep me from getting rickets. If the landlord's lucky I might slip him some of what I owe him. A little, not much. If I stay a little behind he's afraid to throw me out. If I paid up all the way, he'd get rid of me before I fell behind again. You dig?"
He sat down in front of her, on a wooden chair with its back to a small table.
Charity's eyes were round. This man had painted a sad story, and she felt sorry for him. Not that he was weak. He was obviously a sensitive person and he was hurting.
"What do... did you do, Mr. Hand?"
"I did some writing. Industrial brochures, throw-aways for housing developments, ad copy. High class creative stuff like that."
Again he was looking around as he patted his shirt pockets. He seemed to want a smoke badly. Charity de- s 44 bated whether to leave him some money, but that would be wrong. This man had his pride, if little else, She sighed. "Well, it's obvious you're not in a position to subscribe to COME through next year, Mr. Hand. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Perhaps later, when you're working... "
"Hold on," he said, pointing a finger at her. "You said something about taking a poll. Was that a lie? If I don't come up with the bread you don't care about my music tastes, right? Okay, society lady, if that's the way you want it." His eyes glowed like hot coals.
"Oh." Charity put her fingers to her mouth. "Of course, I forgot. You're right, we do want to know what the community thinks about our music program. I have the questionnaire right here in my notebook."
She opened the notebook with the large white letters COME printed across its cover, and pulled out a printed card. "This is it," she said, leaning forward to hand it to him. She watched his glance drop to her bodice and she wasn't certain how much she was showing him. "You can keep it, fill it out at your leisure, if you like. Or I can... " He frowned at her. "You can what?"
"Well I can help you. They say some people have trouble with the questions."
"Are you telling me I don't know my own mind?" he snapped, getting to his feet.
Charity leaped up, too. "Of course not, Mr. Hand. It's obvious you're a man of strong convictions. The committee will be pleased to receive your views in the mail.
Just fold the card and place a stamp in the corner, when you're through with it."
Charity marched toward the door, more angry than she knew she should have been. After all, this poor man didn't have her advantages. He was struggling to feed himself and to give himself enough pot for pleasant evenings. Why shouldn't he be put down by her obvious social station?
Still, she was on her way out and she was turning the knob at the door when he spoke sharply from behind her. "Okay, lady, okay. Cool off. You want to help me you can have your card back right away, okay? Besides, that way I'll save myself a dime's worth of postage."
Charity almost smiled as she turned. "Very well, Mr. Hand. I'm sorry if I seemed in a hurry. Of course, I want to help you any way I can." She looked beyond him. "Do you do your work at that table?"
He nodded as he turned the chair around, dropped the card on the table and sat down. He looked over at her. "Get over here with that pen. We'll do this up in a hurry."
She came to his side, standing over him, and she leaned down to place the pen on the card. As she did so, his shoulder came up to nudged into her right breast. Charity made a small sound, but she knew it had been an accident.
He stared up at her. "I'll be damned."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're actually wearing one."
Charity frowned. "One what?"
"A bra. Christ, I haven't talked to a woman who wears a bra in five years, except my mother. Ill be damned. Ill bet you wear proper panties under that skirt, too. Jesus, I'd forgotten about uptight society women."
CHAPTER FIVE
Charity stared. Lord, was she hearing right? Was this man, this P. P. Hand, actually saying these things to her? Is this the way ordinary people spoke all the time?
Charity drew back from his shoulder and instinctively her hand went up to her breast, where he'd touched her. It was true, she could feel the bra. It encased her breast tightly, as was its function.
She swallowed. "I'm certainly not the type who's willing to bounce my way about town," she snapped back. "Besides, it's absolutely none of your business what I wear under my clothing. I think you'd better fill out that form yourself and mail it in."
He half smiled at her and shook his head. "Relax. I just thought you might be uncomfortable, that's all. You can always get rid of those things, you know, if it gets too warm or anything."
Charity was still embarrassed. "I think we'd better get on with your questionnaire, Mr. Hand. Please write your name and address where it's indicated."
With a sigh, he turned back to his task. "All right, anything you say, lady."
He began to write and then he began to answer the questions. What sort of music did he prefer? Were the civic orchestras good enough? Did they perform often enough? Were the theater facilities adequate? Things like that. He asked Charity very few questions as he worked. He knew what he liked and his mind was made up.
From time to time as he worked, his elbow would bump her body. Charity didn't know why she didn't pull away. She told herself it was because she was helping him with the form and she couldn't do much good from across the room. Besides, she was reading what he wrote as he wrote it, in small, printed words. For a man on pot he was very steady, but then, Charity didn't know much about pot and what it did to people. She suspected it was much less harmful than her parents told her it was.
His elbow touched her breast when she leaned over him and she didn't resent the second bump. In fact, it felt rather good, what she could feel through her bra. Her bra! Why had he said that? God, he'd even mentioned her panties. Not many strange men would have been so forward with her.
His elbow went into her stomach, very light, low on her belly. Her softness went in and then popped out when he withdrew it. He touched her on the hip, the ribs, at various other places. Always by accident, of course. Once he dropped the pen on the floor and his hand fluttered across her thigh as he picked it up.
Charity licked her Lips for the dozenth time. Why was her throat so dry? Nothing was going on. And nothing was going to go on. She'd make certain of that. She was here in a professional capacity and that was that.
Still, her body felt strange. As it had the day before when she was faying to settle down from the attentions of Chica. Chica. Lord, this man was much more interesting than her Utile Mexican maid.
She told herself she'd better keep away from him. She'd leave the instant he was through with the form. When he was halfway down the list of questions she could stand the dryness in her throat no longer.
"Uh, Mr. Hand?"
"What's wrong? Aren't I doing it right?" He glared up at her, still somewhat hostile. She understood. Their stations were so different and it offended him. She had encountered this attitude in the past "Of course. It's just that I'd like a drink of water. My throat... "
"There might be a Budweiser in the refrigerator." He pointed toward the kitchen. "Rummage around in there. See if you can find two."
"But I only want water."
"Bullshit. Bring us two beers, waitress. Til be through with this in no time."
Charity straightened and sighed as she went toward the kitchen. She wondered if his eyes were following her, but she didn't dare look back over her shoulder. Ladies didn't do things like that.
She knew she'd retreated to the kitchen only for something to drink. At least that's what Charity told herself later when she couldn't explain what had come over her. The fact was that she'd been offended by his remark about her underclothing. He'd made her feel like a superior prude and she had hoped to create a friendlier image.
The kitchen was tiny, most of it out of the view of anyone in the front room, and there was barely space for the refrigerator door to swing open. She found the beer and out it out on the drainboard. But she didn't pull the tabs right away.
Instead she wiped her hands on her thighs and she swallowed. This was crazy, but she wasn't going to let this man challenge her and put her down. She'd prove to him that she was as democratic as any woman--democratic to a point--of course. Nothing else would be involved. She only wanted to show him that she wasn't the uptight society woman he'd claimed she was.
So, as she got out two glasses, she placed them on the drain. Then she went to the kitchen door and looked out. He was still at the table, his head down, muttering to himself as he printed out his answers. Slowly she backed away from the door, back toward the refrigerator at the far end of the little room. There she took a couple of deep breaths before she went to work.
Her fingers worked quickly, reaching to the back of her neck and sliding down the dress' zipper. She shucked the dress over her shoulders and then her fingers fumbled at the bra clasp. It sprang open and she felt her breasts surge forward. She wiggled out of the bra and put it on the drain, then quickly rezipped her dress and wiggled her shoulders until her now free breasts were properly seated in the bodice.
He'd been right. They felt much better. Less restricted, larger, heavier, more natural. She could see the nipples pressing against her thin dress and the tops of her breasts seemed to ooze out of it more. She hoped she didn't look too sexy, but she had to prove something to him.
Then she remembered. He'd also made a remark about society women who wore panties. Lord, were there really girls who didn't? Well, he wasn't going to be able to put her down. He'd never see enough to prove it for himself, but Charity would know in her mind that she could be flexible. She could change her ways with the times.
She leaned down, lifting her skirt to her waist. Her white panties clung beautifully to her loins. It was a shame to get rid of them, but she had to do it. Charity had to show herself, and through her liberated attitude, P. P. Hand, that she could live her own lifestyle. She rolled down the pants, seeing a glimpse of blonde curly hairs before she let her skirt drop. She wiggled them down to her knees, then her ankles and then she stepped out of them.
"Hey," he called. She froze. "Can't you find the beer? Look behind the bread."
"Uh, oh, yes, I see it now," she called back. "Just give me another minute."
"Forget glasses," he continued. "Unless you're determined to put on airs. I'm a drink-from-the can man, myself."
Charity removed her panties and folded them into a package smaller than a handkerchief. She did the same with her bra. She had no handbag, no hiding place in her clothing, so she tucked them into her palm and then pulled the tabs on the beer. She put the glasses away quietly, so he wouldn't know she'd already gotten them out.
At last she returned from the kitchen, loving the cool feeling around her crotch, the fresh air, the smooth tug and pull of her skirt over her thighs as she walked. Inside her bodice her breasts set up a small rhythm and the drag of her nipples over the thin dress material also felt good.
Back in the front room he was almost finished with the form. As she waited, standing over him, feeling his elbow brush her as he scribbled, he finished the form and then he dropped the pen and sat back. He folded his arms and looked up at her. If he noticed anything different, he gave no sign. That was all right with Charity, for she was only proving her point to herself. Let him think she was an uptight social snob, if he liked. At least she knew what she was.
She smiled down at him and offered him the beer. He took it as he turned the chair around. She resumed her seat across from him as they toasted one another with the cans and drank. They didn't talk much and the atmosphere in the room became more relaxed. Apparently the sight of her drinking beer from a can--just as he was doing--impressed him. He smiled more and he began to tell her about himself.
There wasn't much. He'd bummed around, working at odd jobs. He'd been married a couple of times. He was here because there'd been work in town, but now that was gone. But he wasn't worried because he was mobile. He could find work somewhere else when he felt like it. When his unemployment insurance ran out.
Charity was relaxing more, too, but now she wanted him to accept her. She wanted him to realize that she wasn't the snobbish prude he'd accused her of being. She seemed to be changing his mind, but she had to be certain. But how could she do that? She couldn't come right out and ask him whether he was more at ease with her. If she could make him... But no, that was out. She was here on business and personal feelings had nothing to do with it. Unless she could still coax at least a modest pledge from him. It didn't seem likely, but Charity could try. Her mother would be proud of her if she met with success.
Even though she drank from the beer in her hand, her throat was dry as she uncrossed her ankles. It was a casual enough movement, just something to relax a tired muscle. She sat, skirt high up her thighs, but there was nothing she could do about that. She kept her knees and ankles together, her feet together.
As they talked about COME and other matters, she saw his eyes reflecting more interest. As often as not, he was looking at her breasts, then her knees, then her thighs. He seemed to be wondering about her more seriously now, and the feeling persisted that she had something to prove to this man. Did he notice that she'd gotten rid of her bra and pants? She'd been very clever when she'd returned to the front room. She'd picked up her notebook and slipped the tightly folded garments between its covers, sure that he hadn't seen her.
"You look different," he said.
"What?"
He laughed. "What? I like that a hell of a lot better than your 1 beg your pardon' all the time. I think you're maybe a human being after all."
Charity didn't know what to think.
"You even look different." Ah, so he did notice. Had he seen the poking of her nipples? The absence of a panty line around her crotch? "Your cheeks are more pink. What have you been thinking about?"
She took a few breaths. "I... I think perhaps it's time for me to go. If you're really finished with that form I can take it along with me."
"So you are still an uptight dowager. I should have known your land doesn't really change." He curled his lip as he raised the beer to his mouth.
By God, Charity wasn't going to walk out of his apartment letting him think that about her, and her kind of people. They could be as kind and good as anybody, more kind than most, if the truth were known.
She made up her mind at that moment. She really wasn't thinking about what she was doing, but her knees seemed to have a mind of their own as they drifted an inch apart. At first she didn't believe he'd noticed, but when they were another inch apart, he begun to take stock, all right. His glance fluttered down and then back to her face. His eyes drifted over her breasts and, as they did so, she straightened her shoulders and drew back her elbows. There, that would show him plenty of nipple.
"Yes, we do need that million dollars... " She was chatting on about COME as her body transformed itself before his eyes. She was being effective, she knew, because his lips were parted and he was occasionally licking them. Good, let him have a dry throat for a while.
Her knees were three inches apart and then four. God! How far up could he see? She only wanted him to see enough to show him that she'd gotten rid of her pans-ties. Once he was sure of that, she was certain that his nasty mood would change. She'd have proven that she was as normally healthy and uninhibited as any young woman.
He seemed to be angling his head to see better, but he was subtle about it. She had to give him credit for that. He was also keeping his control in hand. When her knees were five inches apart she was certain that she'd made her point. So she stood abruptly, her breasts bouncing with much more joy than Charity herself felt "Well, 111 be on my way."
He was on his feet with her, the nasty look back on his face. "Sure you will. You got what you came for. You play games with me and then you walk out You society broads, you're all alike."
Charity gasped as she let her hand freeze on the knob. She quickly placed the half empty beer can on a small table by the door. "I really don't understand you, Mr. Hand." She gripped her notebook and her questionnaire under her arm.
He pointed. "Take a look at that form, lady. You didn't even bother."
Charity frowned as she read the form. At the bottom, P. P. Hand, who would be leaving town soon anyhow, had offered to give fifty dollars to COME.
"Oh!" She flushed again. "How nice, Mr. Hand."
He shook his head. "Don't butter me up because you got some bread out of me. I don't need your false praise. Go on, get out. Go back to your kind. You don't feel comfortable around here and we both know it."
Charity opened the door, but she knew she couldn't leave yet. He'd hit her where she lived and she felt small enough to crawl under the door. But there was more to it than that She didn't really want to leave, even before she'd seen his pledge. But it was too late to tell him that now. She closed the door and turned to face him again, she felt confused, vulnerable, and ashamed. Then she saw his face. The frown was gone and it had been replaced by a knowing smile. He shook his head.
"What is it?" Charity seeked.
He came dose to her and he looked down at her breasts. Then his glance went over her crotch to her thighs. "So you really did it"
"I don't understand."
"The fuck you don't."
Charity gasped and then she gasped again when he lifted his hand and placed it under her breast. He gently pushed upward and the big mound obligingly appeared over the top of her dress. Its nipple seemed to smile at the bright new world outside her bodice.
Now Charity sighed. God, was she going to lose control of her life--her passions--all over again?
CHAPTER SIX
They looked at each other and then she moved back. "You really shouldn't do things like that, Mr. Hand," she said in as firm a voice as she could muster.
"You love it. I can tell. I could tell from the first."
"No." She shook her head, stuffing her breast back inside the dress.
"Don't shit me, lady bountiful. I could turn you into jelly with my hands alone. In fact, I'm going to do it" He laughed, delighted at the prospect.
From somewhere inside her Truesdale body, Charity summoned fresh aristocratic will, and a firm will of her own. She lifted her chin and thrust her shoulders back. To hell with the fact that her breasts shot toward him.
"I don't do that sort of thing," she snapped, almost forgetting herself and adding the words any more.
"Like I said, don't shit me." He was giggling now, like a boy. "You couldn't pass my test" Charity frowned. "Test?"
He nodded. "I can make you want me even if I don't lay a glove on you. At least not in any tender spot. You know what I mean? You'd be going crazy for my prick and the rest of my body in fifteen minutes flat. Not that there's anything flat about that body of yours."
She shook her head like a metronome. "No. I'm a proper girl, a good girl. I'm aware of my responsibilities." She hoped she was being convincing. "Therefore, I can't allow myself to behave as some other young woman might... "
"Bullshit!" he exclaimed, seemingly delighted at the prospects of calling what he considered a bluff. "Come on, let's put you to the test. If you say no it'll mean you're afraid you won't be able to pass."
He stood before her, cocky, hands on his hips, peering down into her face and then frankly studying the rest of her.
Charity was angry now. By heaven, no junky was going to convince her a Truesdale couldn't muster enough character to put him off. So she nodded. "All right, just so you play by the rules, Peter P. Hand."
He took her arm and led her to the couch that folded down to make a bed. Then he stood before her. "All right 111 "go into my act and you tell me when you're ready for a thorough fucking."
Charity flushed and wished she were somewhere else, but it was too late now. Besides, she felt strong enough to handle this punk of a man. "Never!" she snapped bravely. She sat on the edge of the couch like a prim school teacher, knees and feet tightly together, arms folded.
Peter didn't waste any time. He immediately jerked the shirt from his pants, unbuttoned it and tossed the denim thing aside. Then he kicked off his sandals. Next he opened his belt and as his pants began to slide down, Charity realized that he had nothing on under the jeans.
He saw her surprise. "See? Who the hell needs any underwear?"
Charity bumped her knees together tightly, but her naked thighs also came together and when she pumped her knees it sent an itching up into her crotch. She'd be better off if she kept her body still, she told herself. Inside her bodice, her nipples were jumping around like loose and wild things. Each touch of her dress against their tips sent little jolts shooting into her middle. Yes, sit still!
Peter s pants slid down to his ankles and he posed before her, naked. He possessed a long and thin body, bony really, but apparently everything he ate went to his crotch because down there he was a big man. His cock looked to be at least a foot long and it was not yet totally erected. It was white with a thick pink knob. Below, his balls hung in a hairy sack and they slowly swung back and forth as he took deep breaths.
"What do you think of that?" he blurted.
Charity sniffed, her nose still held high. "I'm really not interested."
"Ha!"
He began to walk around the couch and as he did so, his prick began to rise until it seemed completely hard. The rod was standing out from his body at right angles, and it shuddered like a hard chunk of rubber as he paced stiff-legged.
Charity had to admire it, but she wasn't going to let herself do anything about it. He had a tight bottom and she tried to imagine how it would be if she dug her hands into those meaty cheeks. It would be... no, she wasn't going to even think about it. That was bad. That was dirty. She wasn't going that route any more.
Peter stationed himself before her and, hands moving slowly, he grasped his cock around the shaft, wrapping all ten fingers around it. He held his cock as though it were a baseball bat and he slowly whipped it back and forth like a slugger getting ready to hit a home run.
Charity gulped, but she refused to show any interest. She was a lady, a finishing school graduate. Never would she lower herself... God!
His hands were beginning to stroke his penis. They moved up and down the shaft like mighty pistons, stroking, making it harder than ever. His cock became so swollen that it began to turn pink all over and the knob was becoming a deeper color.
Charity was fascinated. Her eyes were wide and her palms were sweating. Suppose she should take hold of that--thing. No! Out of the question! But she felt as if worms were crawling in her belly, marching up and down her middle until she thought she'd go crazy. Somebody make them stop! She worked her knees together and the warming fire between her thighs got hotter. When she squirmed she felt the heat spread under her, straight into her cunt. God, if she weren't careful she'd be leaving a wet spot on the couch.
Peter continued his pumping until he finally staggered and took his hands away. "No more or I'll be losing everything," he blurted. Then he peered intently into her face. "Come on, admit you're getting a charge of your own out of this."
"Never!" Charity insisted, but her body was singing a different song.
Peter shook his head. "All right, you win. Never have I done this before in front of a woman without her wanting to take over and at least jerk me off. Usually they can't wait to shove it inside their pussies."
Charity sprang to her feet and again she marched toward the door. There she paused while he came to her. His prick was still straight, oozing lubrication, pointing at her like a lance. She refused to look at it, but instead she stood with her back against the door. "Well, it's been fun ..
"Sure ..
She opened the door and, of course, her body had to come forward so she did so. The end of his cock brushed against her hip and she allowed it to remain there. Slowly, unable to stop herself, she twisted her body back and forth and the dripping cock raked itself this way and that against her body. She turned to face him, and the end of his cock was hard against the pit of her stomach. God, but it was burning her like a red hot poker! She still wouldn't let herself look down at the thing. That would make her lose control.
She twisted her hips again and the cock raked back and forth. "Peter..."
"Yeah?" His voice was half strangled.
"Why don't you kind of bend your knees a little bit?"
"Like this?" He bent them and his cock slipped down over her lower belly, across a thigh and under the brief hem of her skirt. He began to straighten again and the prick rode right up under her skirt, to the top of her thigh where there were no longer any panties to bar its passage.
Charity gulped. This couldn't be happening to her. Not again. No! It was a dream and she wasn't going to do anything to encourage her fantasy. But it felt so good, even as it burned her flesh. It was as high as her cunt now, but against her thigh, holding her skirt up above his huge knob. She twisted her lower body in the right direction and the prick shoved its head into her nest She looked down at last to see his cock against her, secreting all over her fur, making it damp and slick.
That's some pussy," he blurted.
"We call it a vagina," she sniffed. "We don't use alley terms in our house."
"Fuck you, Charity," he snapped.
"Intercourse you, too," she replied.
He laughed as she lined up her body and the knob stuck its tip between her Lips. They were puffy and shining lips, coated with her flowing secretions. He lurched again, knees still slightly bent to keep Charity lined up, and shoved once more. Most of the round head went inside her.
Charity suddenly lost control. Her hands came down and she gripped that shaft. With both hands, she shoved several inches of him up into her. Her hips shot forward to accommodate the exercise. He gurgled as she took another several inches. Then she wrapped her arms around his buttocks and pulled his entire body against her. She molded her body to his. They seemed to be touching everywhere and he was so huge inside her that she felt stretched. God, but he was a big man. He was a giant of a man.
They stood, not moving, for more than a minute. Then he pulled back his head so he could look her in the eye. "All ready now?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Peter."
"The shit you don't"
"Weil.. r She pulled her hips back a few inches and then she let them slide forward again. She did this several times, feeling her heat and his size increasing with each gentle stroke. He joined in, pulling away when she did, joining her all the way when their bellies were hard against each other again.
They moved very slowly, carefully, and Charity's thoughts whirled all the way back to junior high school, then high school, then through college and even up to the day before when Chica had done her delightful thing.
They pumped like a machine. There was no sound except their heavy breathing and the occasional rustle of her skirt. Her dress did not get in the way at all. In fact, it made the act more bizarre than it was. She loved having him completely naked while she had only to pull down her skirt to appear as chaste as any proper young woman.
They kept on pumping until Charity almost fainted. A sudden sensation tugged at her middle and she knew that tug from the past. "I'm ready!" she hissed, whispering loudly. There had to be neighbors on the other sides of those walls.
"Me too," he hissed back at her. He was suddenly larger than ever. His eyes bulged, his mouth opened wide, but no sound came out. Then he exploded inside her and rammed deeply into Charity's pussy. He shot a bolt up into her. Her pussy walls tried to close around him and draw the cock all the way up into her being. He came again with a shot as hard as the first and again she convulsed around it "I'm coming, too," she announced at last.
Her cunt was turning itself inside out and the rows of nerves up inside her were doing their dances for joy. She felt herself come in a great gush that made his prick more slick than before, and permitted him to penetrate another inch or so. She took it easily and with great joy as he filled the whole of her.
"Oh, Peter!"
"Oh, Charity!"
They continued to come as one, again and again. It was more glorious than anything Charity had ever experienced. It was even better than her coming out party. This was simply a come party, but it was special. COME! God, she had come here on COME business and they'd taken the word literally.
She spent herself and, gradually, her spasms began to diminish. So did Peter's. He was still shooting a few drops, but each beat was a little less than the one before. Soon he blew out his cheeks and his head sagged against her shoulder.
"I'm beat sister. COME did me in."
"Come, come," Charity giggled.
His prick was softening, and after a minute his limp prick slipped out of her crotch. It hung damply between their legs, the great knob dripping. It was a fascinating thing, better than any big game trophy in daddy's den at home, Charity decided.
He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. "How much did I pledge?"
"Fifty dollars," she said brightly. She wasn't at all tired. In fact, she felt even better than she had that morning when the world had been so bright and wonderful. Now it was glorious.
He shook his head. "Put me down for a hundred. You're worth every penny."
"Not really," she said with great modesty. "But COME thanks you and I thank you."
He fell away from her, staggering across the room to plunge face down onto the couch. She slowly followed, smoothing the front of her dress down flat. God, she still wore her shoes, everything in fact, except for her panties and bra. It had been the most bizarre screw of Charity's somewhat sheltered life. She was far from being a virgin, but the boys at school had never done it to her against a door... and with her almost fully dressed.
She sat daintily on the edge of the couch and ran her fingers through his damp hair. "Poor baby," she murmured, leaning down to kiss him on the back of the neck.
"Poor baby my ass," he muttered into a cushion, his words muffled. "Nobody ever had it so good." She continued to kiss him on the back of the neck un-66 til he rolled over and wrapped his arms around her neck. Their mouths met and as they kissed, Charity could feel their hunger returning. They were far from finished for the day. "What next?" he asked.
"I don't know." Her voice was coy, childlike. "I do have some other calls to make."
"Fuck the other calls."
"You've got to stop using four-letter words, Peter."
"Like COME?" he said with a low laugh. "My mother and her friends don't even get it. Isn't that a gas?"
"A gas!" he agreed. "But we're not finished yet, lover girl. There are a hundred other games we can play. Come on, you do something first. Entertain me."
"In a minute," Charity purred as she pulled away from him and ran into the bathroom. There she reached behind her neck and unzipped the dress. She kicked off her shoes and then the dress was shucked to the floor. Just like that.
She got a towel, ran hot water over it and returned to the front room, humming like a contented housewife about to return to her cleaning chores.
CHAPTER SEVEN
He was still on the couch, flat on his back, his eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. As she approached him, his eyes fell closed and she stopped. In less than a minute his breathing became deep and slow. He was deep in the exhausted sleep of a contented man. She smiled down at him. Some man! One screw and he was out of it. Well, she'd just see about that.
She knelt by the edge of the couch, and, working very quietly and gently, she placed the towel over his crotch and began to wash him clean. Pretty soon what she'd hoped for began to happen.
His cock stirred. It wasn't as dead as it looked. It lifted its head a half-inch and then fell limp. As she continued her cleanup chore, the cock rose its head again, and, this time, it did not fall limp.
"Nice prick," she purred, leaning her face close to the long rod. It seemed to hear her and it lifted itself further, pointing up and seeming to smile into her lovely face.
She pressed the warm towel between her own legs and vigorously wiped her snatch until it felt clean. The stimulation proved to Charity that she was not yet finished. She wanted more. She needed it and she intended to get it. This lug Peter P. Hand wasn't going to pass out on her. She tossed the towel away and continued to peer at the prick. It looked back and they smiled at one another. In a gentle voice she talked to it.
"You're beautiful, you know that? Like a morning flower in spring. I think 111 pick you and put you in a vase in my room. Wouldn't that be jolly? We could greet each other every morning. The honeymoon would never end. I love the size of you. I think your knob is tremendous. You're Mister America in that department. And your length. Like the Atlantic cable. Come on, let's get together again."
With that, she stood carefully and swung a leg over Peter's slumbering form. She knelt over him, knees planted firmly, and the prick pointed straight up at her. It was almost fully alert, even though she was reasonably certain its master was still asleep. He wasn't faking as Charity had done the morning before with Chica. Measuring the distance as carefully as she could, she slowly began to lower her bottom. Down she came, inch by inch, first peering into his face and then gauging the correct angle and distance. The end of his prick touched just a fraction of an inch off to one side of her pussy. It planted its head in her fur, against a still swollen and glistening lip. She shuddered. God, that feels so good. Better than before. She was super-ready all over again.
She shifted just enough to center the rod and down she came another inch. He pushed slowly between her cunt lips and she pulled her body an inch or two toward his feet so that the cock was forced high in front of her cunt. There it seemed to find the little button on its own and when the flange raked over it, Charity shuddered. Yes, honey, that was it. Keep it there. Do me good. Just rake that little button until it buzzes for joy.
She squirmed up and down by simply flexing her thigh muscles. Just enough to keep up the proper stimulation. There was no hurry. Everything was going beautifully. Just keep it going that way, sweetheart. You're doing fine.
Peter muttered in his sleep and then his eyes popped open. "What the fuck... "
"Yeah, sweetie. What the fuck is appropriate. That's just what I'm giving you and myself. Stay where you are, if you please, and let me do this one my way."
"Who the hell are you, doing it your way? Frank Sinatra?"
"Francine Sinatra maybe," she giggled. "Come on, relax and let mama do her thing."
He fell back, obviously still tired, but his prick was alert. She flexed her muscles again and again until she could feel her innermost parts begin to hum. The messages were going out from her clitoris, telling him the show was about to begin. She felt wonderful. She was a total woman. She'd never dreamed that being a civic leader could be such a gas. Her nerves got the message and the lubrication team got orders to get on the job. Then the vibrating started. The walls of her canal began to suck in and out like a passionate bellows. Charity closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the ceiling. She was smiling like the Mono Lisa. She knew an instant of total joy when she felt his hands close over her breasts.
"I wondered when you'd get back there," she purred. "Over there by the door, when you first pulled one out, I thought I'd wet my pants on the spot."
"I know."
She was all the way down on him and he kept her on balance by his hands fastened on her ballooning breasts. They were working together now, up and down. He was flexing, too, a full partner with Charity in the game of love.
She began to come very soon and her orgasm was as full and satisfying as her first. Yes, it was good as she felt her insides try to expend themselves through her cunt. The total sensation was there and she cried out in a thin high voice as the nerve dancing ran its course.
Peter was as much of a man as Charity was a woman, it seemed, and he lost no time in joining her in orgasm. His cock stiffened still more and he rammed it up into Charity's vitals like a long pole. He turned beet-red and then he gripped her breasts so hard that she cried in pain. But it was a wonderful pain, a delicious pain, a pain that told her she was experiencing something she'd never forget.
He went off then, like a battery of cannon as he squirted into her one, two, three, four times. She was rocked back on her heels by each shot, but she slid right down on him after each. Gravity was on her side as her weight forced their seal to remain tight. He continued to shoot and she had to admire his great strength. She got off one or two more small orgasms before she was finished. Then she began to droop. He'd taken a lot from her, even though he gave her a lot. She was bushed. Lord, working for COME was a more demanding experience than she'd ever dreamed it could be. She slid forward on his body, her head down until it was resting on his chest He gently patted her golden hair and then he stroked her as though she were an exhausted kitten. He purred in her ear. "You're a strange one, but you're a good roll in the hay."
"But I want to be so much more than a good screw," she sighed. "I'm not like this really, Peter."
"Of course you're not," he agreed, but she knew he was giving her Up service. So she said it "Lip service!"
"What?"
"Lip service. You're giving me lip service."
"Is that what you want next?"
She giggled. "You don't run out of gas very quickly, do you?"
He sat up and she slid down his body. Somehow he wormed his way out from under Charity and she was left lying alone on her belly. She'd been perspiring but now her body was cooling. She felt very good, as though she could sleep for a week with this man. But that was impossible. She had work to do and she also had another bad habit to break: screwing the COME clients. God, if her mother found out She felt ashamed enough of herself as it was.
As she lay there, pondering how she was going to get out of this pickle, Peter returned from the bathroom and knelt at her side. His hands were on her, touching the middle of her back.
"A beautiful back," he muttered.
"What makes it beautiful?"
"Christ because it's a key part of that terrific body of yours. It keeps everything together, kid. You got it all: Tits, back, waist, ass, legs. You got all the parts and they're put together just right."
Charity purred. She loved to hear such talk. It made her feel groovy and the same little thrills went through her as they did back in junior high school when the first boy who amounted to anything gave her the same line. "You're beautiful, too," she replied. "A beautiful man. I thought you were sort of a creep at first But then you began to do things."
She turned her head on her arms and looked up at him. He nodded. "Yeah, I know. I put people off, until they get to know me. Now you're gonna get to know me a little better."
He began making small circles along the middle of her back. It felt good. It relaxed her even more. She purred again, like a golden cat. He continued with the circles, around and around. Then the circles began to get larger until the top of the circles were up between her shoulders and the bottoms were below her waist. Soon his hand was dipping into the very top of her buttocks, in and out of the crack. She felt a little thrill with each dip. Her thrills increased as his stroking increased. He was working hard, making the circles even larger. Then he shifted everything lower and his hands were running up and down her bottom, in and out of her crack with a regular rhythm. It was almost as though he were fucking her without even entering her body. It was that maddening rhythm that did it all.
She groaned and he laughed softly above her. Again she buried her face in her hands as she stretched her body full length on the couch. She stretched every muscle, feeling the good healthy exhaustion ripple through her. She was tired, it was true, but that didn't mean her strength was gone. Her body wanted more of whatever he was giving away.
He leaned very close to her, intent on his work. His hands fluttered over the plump cheeks of her bottom, making her flinch and tighten her anus when he kept striking particularly sensitive nerves. He molded her cheeks with his magic hands, patting them, cupping them, kneading them as if they were firm dough that had to be worked on. Break her down he did, until she was forced to relax. Her flesh became softer and he could push his fingers deeply into her cheeks. She sighed. It felt so damned good.
"Oh, Peter," she sighed. It wasn't a clever thing to say, but it was her senses talking, not her mind. Her body itself was doing the communicating.
He didn't stick his finger into her. Charity had been certain he was going to go up her ass at least a little bit, but he declined. "I want to keep my hands clean, at least for now. There's something else I've got to do."
She turned her face toward him, frowning. "You're not going to run out on me."
"Not a chance. Relax. Don't break the mood."
Charity did relax again, her face cradled in her arms. She closed her eyes and drifted as he ran his hands up her sides, counting ribs as he worked along. Then he was kneading her shoulders and the back of her neck.
"Charity?"
"Hmm?"
"Pull yourself up on your elbows."
Charity did so, but not without some effort. She was so relaxed that tucking her elbows under herself and lifting herself from the waist up was no easy chore. But she did it, wondering what he was up to now. She shortly found out When she was up, his hands came around her ribs again, under her arms. Then they closed over her breasts, cupping them in a sudden shock of realization. He felt her soft mounds, his fingers together and curved so that the tits nestled perfectly into his palms. God, bells were tingling all over her body. It was heaven and she squeezed her eyes closed. How could she be so lucky? He lifted hard, squeezing her breasts, making them tingle even more. He spread his fingers, and parts of her breasts oozed between them, her nipples leading the way. He worked his fingers back and forth, scissoring the nipples until Charity wanted to scream. She'd never had such talented hands on her knockers.
"Oh, Peter... " she sighed again.
"I know. It feels terrific."
"God, I know it, too."
He kneaded her breasts much as he had her bottom, breaking down the firm flesh, heating it until it was more soft and easy to work, as a potter or a metal smith using fine materials to make an even finer finished product. When her breasts had ballooned and her nipples had turned to sharp chunks of wood, Peter abandoned her breasts. For a moment, Charity was disappointed-- but not for long.
"Pull your knees up a little," he ordered, and, at once, Charity did as she was told. Now her torso was pretty much free of the couch and she rested most of her weight on her elbows and knees. She probably looked strange with her bottom poking high in the air, but she felt very wanton. Her weariness was gone. She was anxious for more.
"Try to relax without falling down again,' he muttered as he continued to kneel at her side. His hands fluttered over her back and down to her bottom again.
Charity tried to let herself go. Then his hands were under her all over again, pressing into the softness of her belly. She closed her eyes because it felt so good and he pressed into her white flesh. He ran a hand under each side of her and allowed her belly to rest on them. All he had to do was lift to feel her round warm flesh. His fingers went into her navel and he lifted her belly from that one point, too. It was so warm and the heat was spreading. He was giving her the servicing of her life.
"Keep yourself up there," he warned and Charity nodded, her face still buried in the cushion, her eyes squeezed closed. She wasn't going to do anything to stop him.
His hands worked up and down her belly another minute or two and then they came away. Charity, afraid he didn't have enough room, brought her knees up a little higher. There, he had lots of room to operate now. Peter used it promptly. She felt something under her lower belly, just above her crotch. Christ! Did she feel it! What the hell was he using on her now? Then she realized what it was. She felt his ear folded over against one of her hips. His head was turned now and she felt a chin and a nose being pressed into her belly, her lower belly, down where the hairs started. The face was worming back and forth, slowly working its way lower, even lower, down to where it was pushing through her dense forest. Charity gasped for total joy. This man was driving her out of her mind. She felt her pussy convulse and quiver. All right, so she was coming already. It was too soon, but she'd come again. There was no doubt about that He must have been breaking his back as he slid his head even lower, face up, all the way down under her crotch. It was a tight squeeze and already his nose and mouth were pressed firmly into her dampness, the place from where she was secreting her thick fluids. He was grunting softly as he worked, from the effort it took to keep breathing. There wasn't much room and certainly not much oxygen. Charity certainly did appreciate his efforts on her behalf. His mouth was now wide open, drinking her in. The face was directly under her pussy and her lips ringed his face like an oxygen mask. She hoped he would thrive on her secretions for she was discharging a great deal.
Charity began to hump. She couldn't stop herself as her crotch began to bob up and down in a slow, lazy rhythm. It felt so good and Peter very quickly joined in. His tongue came out and at once it penetrated her lips. Then his head was pressing down into the couch at the moment her crotch was going up so that, on the alternate strokes, their bodies were coming together in a firm seal.
They pumped in sweating silence for several minutes and Charity felt herself rising to another series of climaxes. Yes, there would be lots of them and, even as she thought about it, they began. She quivered and gasped as a shock ripped through her belly and spread all the way down to her toes, which curled in the sensation. Then she came again, and again, and again, each time feeling the roots of her hair tingle.
He was rooting for all he was worth and Charity's hand was flung out. She did so want to help. It stumbled on his cock, which was burrowing into the side of the couch like an electric drill. She closed her fingers around it and it was like pulling the trigger of a gun.
It went off and she felt the warm thick spurts slap into the side of her belly and then trickle down to drop slowly onto the couch.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Charity took the long, slow way home. She drove the XKE carefully, keeping both hands on the wheel, and looking left and right at every intersection. She was drained and she was tired and she was sore. Her entire body felt as though it had been run through a trash compactor.
Soon she was back in her part of the city, the fancy part with the million-dollar views, the expanses of lawn and trees, the rectangles of blue swimming pools, the curving driveways that led to very private main entrances. She dragged herself out of the car, slipped into the house and immediately went upstairs. Her head snapped up when she saw Chica in the corridor. The Mexican girt gave her a long look as she said hello. Charity nodded and then she snapped out some orders.
The girl said: "Yes, ma'am," and left to draw her a full hot bath. She was wondering why Charity looked so drained, but she did not dare to ask and Charity certainly wasn't going to volunteer any information.
Charity sank into the tub with a long sigh and rested her head against the back of the tub. It felt so good and she could feel the aches and pain being leeched from her body. In a few minutes the bathroom door opened and Chica stuck her dark head inside.
"Everything is all right, senorita?"
"Yes, Chica. Fine, Thank you."
The girl came in and sat down on a stool by the dressing table next to the sink. She looked down at her mistress, which Charity knew she shouldn't have been doing, but her look was one of obvious compassion and concern for something she couldn't understand. At last her fears gave way to words.
"You are certain you are all right? You do not need me to do anything for you?"
Charity shook her head, her eyes closed.
"But you were doing the volunteer work, yes? Why should that make those red marks on your beautiful body?"
Charity's eyes flew open and she looked down at herself. Chica was right. There were hickeys on her breasts, a lot more on her belly and her thighs were liberally marked. Probably her throat and neck had their share, too. She didn't know what to say and she merely watched as Chica got up and came over to the edge of the tub. Then the girl was down on her knees and her hands fished in the sudsy water until she found the wash cloth. Chica picked up the cloth and touched it to Charity's throat, working slowly and gently, purring in sympathy all the while.
"Poor great lady," she murmured in her delightful Mexican accent, the words falling from her full lips like petals from a Mexican' rose. "You must have been bumped around in the car, eh? Or perhaps some of the people did not wish to donate the money and they push and shove. Some people are rude in that fashion. They are not at all nice people."
Charity merely blinked at the girl. She was too tired to confirm or deny the speculation. Besides, Chica would think whatever she chose to think. No use cooking up a tale of lies for the girl. So Charity left her head back against the rim of the tub and her arms extended along its sides as Chica went on with her treatment. She ran the cloth around Charity's throat and then she came down between her breasts. The heat felt so good and with each stroke Charity detected more weariness and pain leaving her half broken body. Clearly, she was woefully out of condition, especially for full-bore sex.
Sex! Yes, she'd done a bad thing. It had earned COME a modest bundle when Peter had decided to up the ante to an even hundred dollars, but Charity shouldn't have been giving so much away for any price. Christ, she shouldn't have been giving herself to a man at all. How many times did she need to lecture herself on that same subject? She was being a bad girl and she could not afford to let this thing happen ever again.
She sighed as the cloth was passed over her breasts. It felt so relaxing and she half smiled. Then the cloth was going around and around on her breasts. As it passed over her nipples, Charity smiled a bit more. Yes, this was a wonderful treatment. She felt so good. The water was so hot, her pain so much less.
Charity was being fooled again. Because of the gentle strokes from Chica's talented hands, and the heat of the water, Charity wasn't aware that her own heat was contributing to her relaxation. She was getting hot, but she was unable to detect the signs. She was thrown off by the heat pressing in all about her body from the outside. So she continued to relax and enjoy the feel of the cloth moving down her middle. Soon Chica was stroking her belly gently, the cloth an inch under the surface of the hot water now and half lost in the swirling white suds.
The girl worked on, purring, whispering gentle things to her mistress to keep her relaxed and unsuspecting. It all was so beautiful, such a relief after the rough and tumble time with Peter P. Hand. Charity smiled as she thought about that young man. At least he hadn't had to turn to pot or coke while she'd been with him. She might have done him a little good as she relieved him of his hundred dollars.
"You are such a beautiful lady, senorita. Yes, you are a queen in a land of queens. A flower who has never been picked, but some day the right person will come along to pick you."
Charity opened her eyes at that, but she didn't say anything, as she frowned at the girl. She closed her eyes again and once more she drifted along her sea of tranquility. It felt so good and Chica was an expert at massage... gently body massage to help one relax.
The maid continued her work. She was pushing the cloth into Charity's lower belly, working those tired and tight muscles until they became soft and relaxed. With each stroke more of the pain was gone. When Charity looked again, she saw that even the hickeys were losing their angry color. By the next morning there would be no trace of them. She smiled and again settled back.
Then she felt something begin to jangle somewhere. Be careful, girl, she told herself. Something is happening. The bells are beginning to sound their gentle alarm, and their rings are growing louder. What on earth was it? Of course the water and the massage were making her warm, but there was nothing wrong in that. It was a natural thing. It was good for her. Charity's eyes opened and she stared down at Chica. The maid was moving the hot cloth in small gentle circles, rubbing in the floating nest of pubic hairs, that gold nest that was gleaming like a mound of valuable gold in a submerged treasure chest.
"Chica?" she said at last.
"Yes, senorita?"
"It's probably time you stopped what you're doing. I feel just fine now."
"But I make you feel even better. You see. Just like I do... "
"Yes?" What had the girl almost let slip out? Was she going to mention the morning before when she had thoroughly reamed Charity in her bed?
"Uh... nothing, senorita."
"Well, you'd better stop that right now."
The girl turned her dark head and she smiled in a slow Latin way. "No, I do not think so. I do not think I am finished with the massage. Surely you agree."
"Well... "
"There, you see?"
Humming, she returned to her task. The cloth was on the move, ever lower, until it was washing directly over Charity's pussy. God, she did not need to admit that it felt wonderful. She wanted to arch her hips to come up to meet it, but she couldn't let the girl know that it was so terrific. She was merely taking in the treatment. She wasn't going to go bananas for this girl. Chica looked up into her face and Charity smiled down at her. "Yes, it is relaxing, you know?"
"Yes, I know. Very relaxing. Good for the tired body. What I do cures almost anything, you know?"
Charity sighed. God, when would she get enough? Chica had given her a dose the morning before, she'd been through a marathon session with Peter and now she was after another shot before dinner. She was like an oil-burning machine that needed more and more fuel to keep itself going. She felt her knees being pried apart in a very gentle way. The girl knew how to handle herself and she quite obviously knew how to handle Charity. She worked her knees apart and then she was rubbing the cloth up the insides of her thighs. She worked ever higher until she was pressing into the soft white skin just below her cunt. Another inch higher and she'd be pushing right up inside her exposed body.
"Ah... Chica!" The sigh took the form of words without Charity wanting it to.
"Ah, senorita."
The girl giggled as she pushed the cloth into her mistress' pussy. Now Charity could lie still no longer and she flexed the muscles of her buttocks, lifting herself an inch out of the water. Then she had her hands inside the tub as she pressed on the bottom to lift herself up even more.
The cloth was pushed harder and more deeply up into her body and Charity gasped as she looked down. Chica was tucking the last of the cloth up into her snatch, so that it was completely out of sight. It seemed to fill her and the way it held the hot water up in there against all of her tender flesh was very pleasing. But she couldn't allow this to go on. "All right, Chica, that's quite enough. You may remove it now."
The girl reached up between Charity's cunt lips and she pulled at a corner of the cloth. Slowly it came out, tugging at the walls of her cunt as it did so. Charity shuddered and she bit her lower lip hard. God, that was a new sensation. She'd never done anything like this since her days of playing with candles. She fluttered her eyes as the cloth was at last removed and then, as the Mexican maid stood and looked down at her, Charity had to smile. She didn't think it had been a smile of invitation, but perhaps Chica had seen more in the smile than Charity had intended.
The girl reached behind her back and began pulling at the black satin of her brief uniform. Charity heard a zipper hiss and the dress was being peeled from the lovely girl's body. The thing fell away from her front to expose plump little breasts with heavy dark nipples. "Chica!"
"Yes, my mistress?"
"What on earth...?"
But the girl went on. She kicked away her shoes and she did a shimmy dance until the uniform slipped over her hips and settled on the tiled floor. She wore nothing tinder the uniform--nothing at all, "Chica! No underthings. Surely you can't keep from exposing yourself in such a short skirt" The girl shrugged and her breasts bobbed in a pleasant fashion. "I am very careful around your mother, senorita, but it is Mr. Truesdale himself who insists that I go about in this manner. He likes to take... how would you say... his pleasure in a very fast way, you understand?"
Charity didn't want to understand any more, so she kept her mouth shut. Again, in the absence of a rebuff, Chica took her mistress' attitude as an invitation to proceed with their little exercises. So she marched to the side of the tub, stark naked, but there was nothing stark about her. She was a little jewel, the pride of Mexico as she stood proudly over Charity. The girl waited and at last Charity patted the surface of the hot water.
"All right you little mink. Jump in and do your damnedest" Chica fairly bounced over the side and she settled down in the hot water, which rose almost to the nipples on her breasts as her bulk dipped in. She sat facing her mistress and they arranged their feet side by side, four in a row. After a shy smile Chica leaned forward.
"You are a very sound sleeper, senorita." She was grinning like a cat "Screw you, you Mex," Charity said, but there wasn't a trace of malice in her voice.
Chica giggled as her hands shot forward. She grasped Charity directly on the cunt, pinching the lips together and squeezing hard. Then she let the cunt spring open again and she shoved three fingers stiffly up into Charity's depths. She pushed hard, grunting with the effort and Charity spread her legs wider to accommodate her. Charity gasped and did the same to Chica. Their heads bumped as they worked hard, shoving, pushing, inserting ever more fingers until each had her entire hand up inside her loving partner. They pumped like a piston engine, all the parts working in unison.
"Aii!" Chica cried, lifting her face toward the ceiling.
"Ditto!" Charity cried in the same tone. "Come on, let's make it at the same time!"
They did, plunging their fists harder until, in the same instant, their bodies shuddered and Charity felt her in-sides tremble. She gasped as her cunt moved like a hand to grip the fist that was inside it. It clutched at Chica's fingers and drew them higher into her womb. Chica was doing the same, her youthful strength manifesting itself beautifully.
They wiggled and squirmed as the water boiled in their furious activity. In their wiggling somebody hit a lever and the water gurgled slowly from the tub, down the drain. The strength of the two women drained away with the water and they fell back, panting, exhausted, satiated--at least for the time being.
CHAPTER NINE
Bad Charity!
She knew only too well what a bad girl she'd been and she gave herself a thorough lecture as she dressed. She sat at her dressing table, bra and pants firmly in place and they would stay in place from now on. God, if only she would learn how to control herself!
Charity looked at herself in the mirror. How could she look so young, so pure, so innocent when she had been such a sinner? She half turned her body to glance at her profile. Her breasts rode proud and high inside the bra where she'd expected she would show signs of wear. They'd had such a working over. Twice she had don� things with Chica and there was that marathon session with Peter P. Hand.
She looked at the line of breast. Yes, it came straight in a slanted line from the top to her nipples and then it curved in gracefully underneath to her upper ribs. Below her belly was flat-she hadn't had time to eat very much-and her navel showed an interesting shadow where it was tucked in. Below her pants were neat and pure looking. They would cover what was underneath except when she was in her bath or her bed. From this morning forward.
She stood and twisted her body. Her thighs were firm and without any bumps and hollows that age could bring. There were pink dimples in her knees and her ankles were thin and unmarked. Thank God the hickeys were gone. The long bath had taken care of them. Her hips showed interesting curves, too, flaring enough to indicate her maturity, slim enough to tell the world that Charity was still a very young woman. She wasn't very tall--only five-feet-four, but there was no dumpiness about her. No, she looked good, all right. Too damned good for her own welfare.
She dressed slowly. If only she could wear a pantsuit, but she knew her mother wouldn't approve. But a pant-suit would have been more protection; it took more work to get into a pantsuit.
She went to her closet and stood, eyes running over the long row of outfits. At last she selected another mini. She had a lot of them. She took one that was dark in color and one which had a high neckline with a nice little white collar. It would make her look more proper than she was. Make that more proper than she had been, because she would behave in an improper way no longer. She was going to save herself from now on. She was going to be the lady her parents expected every Truesdale woman to be.
She took out the mini and slid the zipper down. Then she carefully eased it over her head and it settled nicely on her body. She fitted it at her shoulders and breasts and then she smoothed it over her belly, buttocks and hips. It didn't come down far enough.
Charity debated whether to put on pantyhose. They would give her protection, too. But it was so hot being out, going door to door. She would get all damp down there and that could be risky, too. So she decided that pantyhose were out. She would remain bare-legged, but she would be extra careful. She slipped her feet into a pair of low shoes, not the ones she'd worn to Peter's apartment, but another pair. She wanted to change her luck and she would put on nothing she'd worn when she'd been so bad. In fact, she would be wise to burn her sinning clothes, especially the mini with the low neckline.
She sighed as she returned to the closet and got out that damned dress. No, it was too pretty to throw away. She'd wear it on days when she wasn't going out of the house. But then there was Chica. Chica loved that dress and it would only inspire the girl...
The door opened a crack. "Senorita?"
Charity sighed, "Come in, Chica."
The little dark girl slipped in. "May I straighten your room now?" She looked shyly at Charity as though she knew she were going to be lectured.
Charity gave her a curt nod and she stood by the closet, watching as the girl began making the bed. "You know we were bad yesterday, don't you?"
"Oh, yes. Very, very bad."
"It won't happen again. And I don't want you to ever come in here while I'm in bed, is that clear?"
"Oh, yes. Yes. I am very sorry. Very bad."
Charity sighed. The girl seemed as ridden with guilt as she, but she suspected it wasn't true. Chica always came off as a sweet little person who could do no wrong. She had Charity's mother fooled, but apparently her father had been sampling the goods. Hadn't Chica said something about Mr. Truesdale's orders about her satin costume, that scanty black thing she had on now?
Her father had no artistic interest in the sight of Chica's legs. He probably had a dose of the same bad blood in him that Charity was cursed with. But Charity had purged herself of her bad blood. It was in the past, down the drain, replaced by pure and clean blood.
She hung up the cursed mini and slipped out of the room with a backward glance at Chica. Chica smiled back at her mistress and gave a cute little bow. God, but she was a pretty thing, the pride of Mexico. No wonder Charity's father insisted on black satin.
Charity went downstairs into the dining room. Her mother had finished her breakfast and the dishes had been cleared, except for two cups and a pot of coffee.
"Good morning, Charity," Mrs. Truesdale boomed. "Isn't it a wonderful day to continue our good work."
Charity nodded. "Yes, mother."
Her mother poured her coffee and handed the cup and saucer to her daughter. "You seem quiet. Tell me, didn't things go well yesterday?"
"Oh, they were all right."
"How many places did you visit?"
Charity looked away. "One."
"One!" her mother boomed again. "You were out half the day and you visited just one place? I don't believe it. Weren't you in one of the modest sections of the city?"
Charity looked away and then she dropped her eyes to her bosom. The mini covered her nicely, but her breasts still made snug bulges against her bodice. She was loaded and anybody would be able to tell that at a glance.
Her mother was sighing and she took a deep drink of coffee. "Very well, how much did you collect? Not a dime, I'll wager. I'm disappointed in you, Charity. I would have expected more of a Truesdale woman."
Charity barely murmured the words. "One hundred dollars."
"What? A hundred dollars?"
Charity nodded, looking her mother in the eye. She perhaps didn't do so badly after all.
"Why that's wonderful!" Mrs. Truesdale exclaimed and her face radiated delight. "You squeezed blood from a turnip. Let's see your pledge card."
Charity went out to the foyer and rummaged until she found her notebook. She pulled the card from it and returned to hand it to her mother. Mrs. Truesdale's eyes leaped over the card.
"Peter P. Hand. One hundred dollars, all right. What is he, an eccentric millionaire who likes to live down with the working people?"
Charity shook her head again. "No, he's a very poor writer, actually. I "hope he'll be able to produce the money."
Her mother was still surprised. "But what in the world did you do to get him to become so generous? You must have given him a great deal of time and attention."
Charity almost gagged on her coffee. "Of course. That was why I only made it to one household. I'll probably be a lot faster today."
"Ah, today." Mrs. Truesdale. "We mustn't rest on yesterday's laurels for we have today to conquer. Let's see, where will we send you today? You seem to be very good with modest income people. I have a list of places right here and you have some blank pledge cards, don't you?" .
Charity nodded.
"Ah, try these. They're all on one street in a small area. East City. You know where that is."
Charity realized that the Truesdales lived a sheltered life. She couldn't remember when she'd ever paused in East City. There was simply nothing there for a Truesdale, even though it wasn't really such a bad place. It had no golf courses, tennis courts or country clubs. It was one of the city's older and more modest neighborhoods.
"I've probably driven through there," she said at last. "I'll be able to find the place all right."
Her mother was radiant. "All right finish your breakfast and be on your way."
"I'm not hungry."
"You should have a good breakfast to keep up your strength, honey."
Charity shook her head as she scooped up a number of cards and the master list her mother had brought home for her. "I'm fine. If I get hungry I'll stop somewhere. Don't worry about me."
Mrs. Truesdale laughed. "Me worry? If you bring home a hundred dollars from every house 111 never worry about you. You can support us all. Very well, run along now, dear."
Charity ran along, going out to her XKE and sliding behind the wheel. The car always made her feel good. Tough, rich, beautiful, sleek, filled with power and force. The designers probably knew this when they put the thing together, she reasoned. This one's for Charity Truesdale over in America, they said to one another. She is a passionate woman and this car is really a phallus. She'll go off in it faster than the car can hit fifty miles an hour.
Charity blushed at her thoughts as she pulled out of the drive. She wasn't to think that way any more. She was going to be a very good girl from that moment on. Yes, keep repeating that, something inside her said. You just keep saying that and you'll have a ghost of a chance.
She sped along the boulevard toward East City, certain at least that she was going to behave better than she had the day before. She reached her assigned neighborhood and she pulled to the curb. Her long day started and it was no fun for the first hour. She went to ten places, most of which offered her only slammed doors. She did pick up a few dollars in promises, but nothing big.
She took a coffee break in a corner drug store and then she checked her next card as she sat on her stool.
Mr. and Mrs. Walter Ballinger, right around the corner. She began to slide from her stool. "In a hurry, babe?"
She stopped and looked into the face of a heavy man. He looked like a truck driver, a strong man who worked with his hands and his back. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said are you in a hurry?" His eyes flicked down to her long thighs.
Charity was proud of what happened next. She nodded as a virgin and announced: "You bet I'm in a hurry, mister. I have work to do, work for the community, so don't get in my way."
He snorted. "I thought you might want something a little stronger than coffee. My pickup is outside and there's room in the back... " She tossed her blonde hair across her face and then she snapped it back. "You can do your drinking alone. I'm on a mission and I intend to carry it out" He seemed stunned and then he smiled, crooking his finger at her. "Just one more thing before you leave."
She leaned her head close to his. "Yes?"
"Fuck you."
She drew back with a gasp. Then she was off her stool and clipping across the drug store and out into the bright sun. She hurried around the comer, past the pickup truck in which the rear bed had been closed in. He can just hop into his truck and play with himself, she thought as she sped on her way.
She went on up the street checking the house numbers against her next name on the list. Ballinger. There it was. It was a nice little bungalow, very neat with clipped grass, box hedges. It had been painted recently and it gleamed. High on a pole in the middle of the lawn flew an American flag.
Retired military, she thought to herself. She'd know them anywhere. They were neat, antiseptic and they never got up without running up Old Glory for the neighborhood Communists to see.
She went up the walk, rather pleased with her luck. They would be good people. They always were. They had a sense of duty and they would donate what they could to the city's arts programs. She paused on the small porch and rang the bell. It sounded somewhere deep inside the house and then she heard footsteps. The door opened.
It was a jolly looking, red-faced woman, sort of like Mrs. Santa Claus. She was a bit heavy, but not unattractive and her face seemed very kind. She wore an apron on which she was wiping flour-whitened hands. "Good morning, my dear," she exclaimed as though Charity were bringing her news of an inheritance.
Charity smiled back at her. "Good morning. I'm from COME, the arts fund-raising project to help support music throughout the city. If you love any kind of music, Mrs. Ballinger, you'll want to give your share. My name is Charity Truesdale and I'm giving my time for COME."
The woman was still smiling. "I'm Mrs. Ballinger, but it's the mister who makes the decisions about sending money in this house. Guess you'll just have to talk to him " She stood back. "Why don't you come on in? I don't think the mister will bite."
Charity came inside and the door closed behind her. It was as neat inside as out. The living room was a bit fussy with too many little mementos scattered about, but they were as orderly as a guards regiment. It was cool inside and quite dark, but Mrs. Ballinger's face seemed to light the room.
"Just you come along this way, Mrs. Truesdale," she said as she gestured. "He's right in here."
"Urn, it's Miss Truesdale." Why did Charity bother correcting this nice woman? Lord, she was probably fifteen years older than herself, at least thirty-five or more. What did it matter if she knew whether Charity was married?
Mrs. Ballinger paused by a door. "Miss Truesdale? That's very nice. Now you just pop in this here room and you surprise the mister, Miss Truesdale." She laughed in her throat, a hearty laugh.
Charity started into the room and Mrs. Ballinger seemed to be looking at her with a twinkle in her eye. Charity paused. "What is it?"
"Well, that there's a bedroom and I sure do hope the mister's got something over him. You just go on in there and find out for yourself. I won't bother you none."
CHAPTER TEN
Charity took a deep breath and then she stepped into the bedroom. It was a large and cheerful place with lots of windows which looked out into a sun-filled backyard. It wasn't fancy but it was certainly charming--in a middle-class fashion--she decided.
In the middle of the room was the bed, a king-sized bed and there was a man on the bed. There was a sheet over his body, but his arms and shoulders were out of the covers. She was pleased to see that he wore pajamas.
He looked to be a young forty, very much like his wife--who was somewhat younger--and he had that same open and cheerful look. Charity was going to like this place. They would be generous and they wouldn't try any funny stuff. This was no Peter P. Hand.
He waved an arm and boomed, "Come in, come in. I'm afraid I can't come out to you, miss."
He was also a bit on the heavy side. Not fat, really, but strong looking and beefy, again like Mrs. Ballinger. His face was ruddy and he would have looked quite at home in a Santa Claus outfit He was waving at a chair by the bed. "Sit down. Glad to see you. The name's Ballinger, Walt Ballinger. Glad to have a visitor."
Charity smiled. "Good day. I'm Charity Truesdale and I'm going to ask you for money."
She was surprised when he winked. "Ah, and what are you gonna do to earn it?"
Charity sat and crossed her knees. She wasn't certain whether he was looking at her legs and she wasn't sure about that wink. "I'm with COME. You know, we're raising money for the city music program. I'd like to get a pledge from you, Mr. Ballinger." She glanced about the room. "Retired Navy?"
He nodded. "Was a chief for ten years before I got out. Sailed over a lot of salt water. But you don't want to hear about me. Come on, what you selling there? Tell me about this COME business."
' He didn't seem surprised by COME, as both Charity and Peter Hand had been. Apparently he was a God-fearing man who didn't think along those lines. He waved his hand at her and then he called out.
"Missy, get it in here! You ought to hear this, too. We don't give our money away without both of us being in on the action. You know how it is. Small budget and all that." His voice was strong. He didn't look sick.
Charity cleared her throat. "Are you ill, Mr. Ballinger?"
For an answer he jerked the covers out of the way, revealing his full length. Poking out of the leg of his pajamas was a cast which covered most of his foot. A few inches of toes stuck out "Broke the old ankle," he said. "Fell down in the front walk hurrying home to dinner. Lucky it was my own property because I got plenty of insurance. You see, I sell the stuff."
"You're an insurance man?" she said, staring at the cast. His pajamas looked proper enough and inside those pajamas was what looked like the tough body of a sailor.
He was nodding when his wife came in. "Fay, you ought to hear what Miss Truesdale's got to say," he said to her. He looked at Charity as he patted the edge of the bed. "Why don't you just put yourself down here, little lady? Fay would sit there but she's got back problems. She needs that straight chair you're in."
Charity hesitated a moment and then she got up, clutching her notebook and pledge card. She moved to the side of the bed, sitting slowly and carefully. He seemed to move his legs out of the way and she was seated just a little above his knees.
Mrs. Ballinger took her place in the chair, a few feet from them. She smiled at them both as though she were ready to watch a performance. Indeed, Ballinger waved his hand. "All right, Miss Truesdale, the floor's all yours."
Charity began her pitch, telling all about the various music programs and about how much each needed volunteer money. The couple occasionally glanced at each other and they nodded in sympathy.
"Well, now," Mr. Ballinger said when Charity paused. "That all sounds very fine, but money's tight. What are we gonna get out of this?"
"If you pledge fifty dollars you get a dollar off on each show ticket," Charity blurted.
He shook his head. "Not a very good deal. We'd still finish the season seventy-five bucks in the hole, right? Nope, you got to offer us more than that, missy. Right, mother?" " Mrs. Ballinger nodded and looked doubtful. Charity felt him shift on the bed and then she felt his knee come up against the side of her hip. He was hardly touching her, but he must have known he was touching her body. Yet he didn't pull away. She imagined he had forgotten himself; that he was engrossed in their conversation.
"Well," Charity was musing, "I'm not authorized to give away anything more."
"Too bad," the old sea dog muttered. "I was sure you'd have something I... we could take a liking to. You sure you got nothing with you to show us? You know, something we could at least have a good time with."
Charity bit her hp as she shook her head. "I really don't know what you mean, Mr. Ballinger." She turned to look at Mrs. Ballinger as his knee came harder against her hip. Then as he straightened his body on the bed-still with the covers thrown aside--his lower thigh pressed against her bottom, right where she was sitting. If she was to lean back she'd pin his leg to the bed.
She looked back at him, but he was smiling at his wife. They were chatting on about what Charity could do to really earn that fifty dollars. It would take more than twenty-five dollars worth of ticket savings, they continued to point out.
"Quite a bit more," he was muttering and then he half turned his body on the bed. He rolled toward Charity so that more of him came up against her backside. She felt his other thigh touch her and then a hip was against her meaty buttock. She felt something else but she couldn't believe it was what it felt like.
"Mr. Ballinger," Charity began to complain.
He looked from his wife to her, eyebrows raised, his face total innocence. "Yes, what is it? Did you come up with an idea?"
Charity was going to say something more, but she couldn't bring herself to accuse him of anything. My God, look at him, a forty-year-old with a broken foot! A veteran with a nice little house and a lovely wife. They were two of a land, salts of the earth. How could she suspect that a man of Mr. Ballinger's caliber would try to play games with her? She'd been around people like Peter and Chica too long. She was becoming a suspicious crone and she couldn't allow that to happen.
She shook her head as she felt his knees jiggle against her. "No, I've told you the offer."
"I bet you do something special for your favorite customers," Mrs. Ballinger blurted, twisting her hands. There was a look in her eyes that belied the innocence which marked her general air.
"I don't know what in the world it could be," Charity protested. "You have heard about COME. You know we need your help. It's as simple as that. If you don't want to contribute that's up to you. Did I mention that you can take it off your income tax?"
Mr. Ballinger nodded and as he smiled Charity felt 102 his thighs pushing harder against her buttocks. She braced her feet on the floor, wondering why she didn't simply stand up to get away from him. No, that might be rude, and the man had served his country. She couldn't insult a veteran of Uncle Sam's wars.
As they talked on, Mrs. Ballinger didn't seem to notice a thing, but Charity could feel those knees and thighs worming about behind her. They pushed into her rump and then they pumped slowly up and down, dragging against her firm buttocks. They somehow pulled her crack open and then squeezed it shut again.
Charity could feel it happening and she was helpless to know what to do about it. She could still walk away from Mr. Ballinger and the bed, but that wouldn't be polite. Besides, he wasn't really hurting her. She couldn't admit to herself that it was beginning to feel good. Her conscience couldn't allow that.
They talked on, seemingly saying very little that made any sense, but both of the Ballingers continued to show intense interest. His legs went on rubbing her buttocks, pushing it and pulling it. Charity wondered how Mrs. Ballinger could keep from noticing, but she kept her eyes on Charity's face and on her husband's face. She simply didn't look down far enough to see anything going on.
Perhaps there was nothing unusual going on, but Charity was beginning to feel very unusual. She could feel that now familiar tingle start in her backside and radiate into her middle. From there it began to fan out all over her body until she could feel her scalp tighten.
Goose bumps rose on her arms and her toes turned cold before they began to turn warm.
They chattered on and still Mr. Ballinger continued his assault on Charity's backside. Finally he halted. "Look, missy, you're about to fall clear off this bed. You just hike yourself up here and 111 try to help you make yourself more comfortable. Mother, we got to pick us up a few extra guest chairs sometime soon."
"That's right, daddy," Mrs. Ballinger replied.
"Come on, park it on up here," he insisted to Charity.
Charity half stood and she felt his legs move as she leaned snugly against the bed and then sat down again. More than his legs had moved. He'd slid his body several inches toward the foot of the bed and when she sat down again she was sitting right on one of his hips. She was also half on his belly and she could feel that something again, warm and stiff, poking up her backside, almost in the crack of her bottom.
God, this was crazy! What in the world was she getting into? Surely this kind and gentle couple wasn't up to anything. Naturally, Mrs. Ballinger wasn't; and he wouldn't have the nerve to do what Charity imagined he might be doing with his wife looking on. But he was half under her, all right, and as she tried to settle herself, he seemed to take advantage of her movement, worming himself even further under her buttocks. She could definitely feel that thing now, whatever in the world it might be.
He chuckled. "There, don't that feel better, missy?"
Charity swallowed. "I... I suppose so."
"Course it does," he boomed. "Now you just keep on 104 telling us about that music stuff. What songs they gonna play during next year's season?"
Charity resumed her talking, trying to think of new things to tell them. But as she spoke things continued to happen. He was worming under her and she felt a pulling. She did not dare to look down to find his hands, for surely Mrs. Ballinger would look down, too.
But his hands were down there, all right, and her body shielded them from Mrs. Ballinger's gaze. Charity could feel her skirt being pulled hard under her body. He had to have it clutched in his fists and he was pulling it out from under her. Charity was afraid it might tear as she shifted her weight.
As she momentarily lightened herself, the skirt zipped back several inches and she could tell he had all of it out from under her. Only her panties were between him and her bare flesh--between his hip and belly and her buttocks and... well, something much more tender.
He was pushing down at her lower back, down below where the crack of her bottom started. She could feel fingers on her flesh as he tried to slide her panties down. Jesus, sliding down her panties! This was wild!
But he was pushing and he was rolling them down from her bottom and from her hips, his fingers tucked under her skirt so that Mrs. Ballinger couldn't see. Charity didn't know what to do. K they were suddenly to split there would be a terrible tearing noise. Even Mrs. Ballinger would get suspicious then. So once again Charity shifted her body on his lap.
Her panties slipped down at once and he fiddled and worked until he got them down over her crotch. They were bunched like a tiny rope across her thighs, but just under the hem of her mini so that Mrs. Ballinger couldn't see from the front. But this man was crazy. Surely he'd give them away. She'd be certain to notice something strange.
In the wiggling, he'd been busy with his pajamas, she reasoned. She felt him finishing the job. She could imagine him untying the string around his waist and then opening his fly. Yes, there it was. She felt his flesh against her flesh. It wasn't on target, but full belly was touching full buttocks. Their heat was being mingled.
All, right, Charity, she told herself. The games are all over. Remember your resolve. You're not going to risk sitting here one more second. You'll get into trouble all over again. She frowned, thankful that Mrs. Ballinger was doing the talking for a moment and she could think about something else. But what could he do with his wife in the room? And hadn't he called her in himself? He could have asked Charity to close the door on the wife and she wouldn't have been suspicious. No, it was crazy.
She didn't know what Mr. Ballinger's game was, but it couldn't have anything to do with sex. Perhaps he had some strange fetish, but it didn't seem to bother his wife. Fetish? Not on your life. They were far too normal for such goings on.
Then he was working again as they chatted. She felt the pajamas slip down until she knew his crotch was fully exposed. Then he leaned toward her and she felt that rod, all right, stiff and hot against her bottom. It's head was nestled in her crack and he rocked gently so that it slid up and down.
He was actually fucking her in the crack! He hadn't really penetrated anything, but he had himself wedged in her fold of flesh and it would be enough to get him off, Charity knew. She'd seen men shoot their wads with less stimulation.
"All right," she said at last. If you don't want to give I'm leaving."
"No, no," they cried almost in unison. "You're such wonderful company. We don't want to let you get away just like that Please stay and visit. Well be able to give you something, but it depends on how well you sell us."
This was Mr. Ballinger talking, and Charity at last understood his message. Yes, he was willing to buy if she were willing to sell what he seemed to want very much.
They chattered on as he rocked against her. Then he stopped rocking and she heard him sigh a little. She didn't dare move because it was apparent he was hanging on the brink. She froze for a full minute and so did he.
Then he touched her on the bottom. It was a request Charity didn't want to honor the request but it was so simply made that she couldn't resist. She hiked herself up, saying something about not really being comfortable. When she came down she felt his prick bend under her weight.
She was sitting squarely on the thing. God, if it went off now, she'd be launched! Meanwhile, Mrs. Ballinger smiled at Charity as though she were going to offer her a piece of candy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
This was insane. Charity sat on the stiff cock, bending it so that surely she was giving Mr. Ballinger a bad sprain, at the very least. But he sat there, smiling like a Buddha, chatting on about such things as COME, his insurance business, how well Mrs. Ballinger kept house, and a dozen other things.
Mrs. Ballinger continued to sit in the chair, less than ten feet from the bed. She nodded sweetly, like Whistler's mother. She nodded as her husband made each point--verbal--variety--and she would then smile straight into Charity's face. There was no hint that she suspected a thing.
Once when Charity lurched and Mr. Ballinger grunted with his hidden effort, his wife scolded him. "Walter, for heaven's sake. Stop that squirming." She smiled at Charity. "He's usually such an active man that he does so hate to be cooped up in bed all the time. I'll very much look forward to the day when that ankle's right again."
As they talked on, Charity licked the perspiration from her upper Hp. He was pushing on her bottom, trying to lift her a few inches. She knew what he was trying to do. She was hurting him and he wanted to get that thing up inside her.
"God," she blurted, unable to hold back.
"What's the matter, child?" Mrs. Ballinger said, leaning forward.
"Uh... nothing. I just remembered I was supposed to... um... turn off the gas in the kitchen. Oh, well, my mother will remember all right."
She repeated the word to herself. God! Why was she putting up with this? It was wild. Crazy! She was being a stupid juvenile all over again. Yes, she was, but it was time for her to make up her mind. Was she going to bring this game to a halt or was she going to give Mr. Ballinger what he was after? She really didn't have much opportunity to think.
As she pondered and Mrs. Ballinger droned on about her favorite bread recipe, he managed to ease her ass a few inches off his crotch. His cock straightened and he wiggled this way and that Then she was allowed to settle down again and she felt the thick knob at her gates. It was wedged in there, heavy and hot like the business end of a ball-peen hammer. She was secreting heavily by now and she felt her juices wash over the flanged edge.
"Oh, Mr. Ballinger!"
He looked concerned now and his voice was raspy as he half sat up. "Do you have a problem, Miss Truesdale? Please, we're here to settle anything that ails you."
Even as he spoke the stiff prick was slipping inexorably into her body. Deeper and deeper it went, slipping up her smooth canal. She felt it expanding her insides and she felt her muscles yield to its passage. Inch after inch slipped past her gates. It was like watching a giant vessel pass through the Panama Canal.
"Uh... " she stammered. "I... I guess I'm all right. It's hot in here, that's all."
Mrs. Ballinger began to stand. "Oh, mercy, child. Ill bring you a glass of ice water."
Charity waved frantically at the woman. "No--no! You stay here. I'm all right now." God, she didn't want to be left alone with this man. Lord knew how far he would go without having to shield his activities from his wife. Mrs. Ballinger sat down once again and immediately she began asking Charity about family recipes.
"Well, Charity gulped as another inch of cock slipped up into her. She wondered if she would choke. "My mother used to bake a wonderful cherry pie."
"Cherry?" Mr. Ballinger repeated in a strange voice.
Charity glanced at him. His face was red and he was sweating. "She doesn't any more. She lost it a long time ago. The recipe, that is."
"And you never got the recipe," he continued. He was straining to lift his hips, to get the last half inch up into her. She felt as though she were impaled on a fence post. There was no way she could slide off the bed now, without taking him with her. 'You lost it, too, you might say. The cherry... recipe."
"Long ago," Charity acknowledged. "Even before I 110 was in high school." Why on earth was she telling him all these things--dirty talk to match their dirty game?
He nodded as he grunted again, and Mrs. Ballinger purred like a tabby. Charity rocked back and forth and the prick settled in fully, filling her as though it were a large cucumber. She loved the feel of it, the feeling of being satiated. She felt safe, warm, secure, as though she would never need to worry about feeling empty.
He gurgled in pleasure. "I really think you should stay the afternoon, Miss Truesdale," he blurted. "We could find out a great deal about each other."
She sighed as a tremor ripped into her vitals. God but that was a close one. She almost went off. "Golly, I don't think so," she replied. "I've got more calls to make."
"We'll make this one worth your while, won't we, Mother?" he asked, glancing at Mrs. Ballinger.
"We surely will, Walter," she agreed. "It isn't often we get visitors here, especially with the mister being laid up and all. We'll want to hear all the news."
Charity nodded dumbly as she rocked back and forth. A friction was being set up. She could feel his prick being wormed back and forth. Yes, he'd be getting his rocks off before long--and so would she. It was inevitable that they'd both come very soon.
She began to flex the muscles in her buttocks and it worked. She was able to lift herself up and down an inch. Up and down, up and down. Soon she felt her insides grow fire-hot. In a few seconds the fires would be out of control.
"I... I really must go," she half whispered, feeling 111 the color drain out of her face. She felt weak, helpless, unable to fight it.
"Nonsense, child," Mrs. Ballinger gushed. "I'm going to fix us all something good to eat and drink. Land, I don't know when I've enjoyed a friendly chat so much."
Charity kept at her task, tightening the muscles and then relaxing, again and again. Mr. Ballinger was able to he still now. They both knew that he was spent, but that she'd taken over. They'd make it on her efforts.
Charity felt her insides rip loose trying to get out of her cunt. She tried to hold back, but it was too late. She was coming, flowing, undulating, throwing her head back, her teeth clenched, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She came hard and fast, flowing into him like a river.
Mr. Ballinger was coming, too, and he was tough old sea dog. He came like an eighteen-year-old, gushing up into her and flooding her guts with his wiggling, thick sperm. She felt him come again and again as he tried to empty everything inside his body into her body.
"Oh, Mr. Ballinger... " She moaned the words.
"I do believe the child's tired," Mrs. Ballinger said. "It's high time I went into the kitchen and put on hot water. Well just have a... "
"Oh, Miss Truesdale... " It was Mr. Ballinger's turn to moan and he did so, gushing all the while, his cock puffing up and then shooting, time after time.
Mrs. Ballinger chuckled as she rose and, with a final kindly smile at Charity, she left the room. They continued to come, neither saying a word, seemingly trying to keep it a secret even though they were now alone.
At last Charity began to fade and she felt her body 112 sagging. He placed his hands on her ribs and gave her one or two final jerks to coax the last few drops from his still hard prick.
"Hey, there, little lady. Well get something good into you, don't you worry." He spoke as though they were in a chuck wagon on a ranch.
"Look, Mr. Ballinger," she muttered, fighting to get her strength back. "You've just filled me up pretty good. I don't believe I need anything more."
He frowned. "What?"
"You know what I mean," she said, half smiling. "You big old teaser. You know you liked it as much as I did. But I really can't continue here this way."
He was still frowning and now he cocked his head. "What way? I declare, girl, I don't know what in thunder you're talking about. Come on, no riddles now. We're friends."
Charity flushed and her hands fluttered. Even as she felt her embarrassment rise she felt his cock begin to shrink; soon he would slip from her body.
"Really, Mr. Ballinger. You know what was going on. It was you who made it happen."
"Made what happen?"
"Well, when you did it to me. Good Lord, don't tell me you can't remember back one minute."
He seemed honestly puzzled. "Remember what? I been laying here with a bum ankle while mother bored the heck out of me with her recipes for cherry pie. Is that what you mean?"
Charity giggled. "You're cute, but you can't fool me. You knew what you wanted and you went after it."
"I declare, you do talk in circles. Exactly what did I do to you?" He was still shaking his head.
"You know, you stuck your... thing... up into... God, why do I need to explain? You had me impaled and you worked it very cleverly. Just try to tell me you didn't."
He opened his mouth to protest as his wife returned to the room. "Come along, honey. You come out into the kitchen with me. I got some dandy recipes to show you."
Charity was thankful for the intrusion. It solved a good many problems. She was going to flee this place, but not before she took care of herself. "Of course, but do you mind if I wash my hands first?"
Mrs. Ballinger pointed toward the bathroom and, as she did so, the soft prick slipped out of Charity's pussy. She stood thankfully, her dress falling down to hide her slipped down pants. She was able to walk across the room toward the bathroom without difficulty.
She closed the door behind herself and locked it. Then she wiggled out of her mini and she slipped her pants off. Lord but they were a mess--torn, sloppy. She tossed them into the toilet and then she flushed them down. At the sink, she looked at herself in the mirror. It was surprising. She looked wonderful. Her cheeks were pink from her excitement, her skin glowed. She was still breathing hard and her breasts strained inside her chaste bra and bodice. She turned this way and that No, there were no signs. No marks. Her mini had survived relatively clean, unwrinkled, and she could find no spots on the hem. Her pants had taken the beating when he'd pressed them down to her thighs and she'd pumped her knees until they were shredded.
She took several deep breaths until she cooled and got herself under control. Then she splashed cold water on her face and patted herself dry with a bulky towel. Slowly, she slipped back into her mini. It still fitted her nicely, even though her pussy was very vulnerable.
The hem covered only her upper thighs and a careless flip of her hem would show the world too much. Well, she'd simply need to be extra careful for the rest of the day. If she passed a department store she'd slip in and buy herself a fresh pair of panties. Yes, that would take care of things.
Charity was breathing easier as she unlocked the bathroom door and stepped back into the bedroom. Mr. Ballinger was still lying there, and he had the bed looked very neat. She couldn't understand why the entire scene hadn't been mussed more. Well, God, maybe she had daydreamed the whole thing.
"Feel better?" he boomed, like a Navy chief asking after his men. His face was ruddy with glowing good health.
Charity went and stood over him, hands on her hips. He grinned and his eyes zipped up and down her body. "You old goat you're a crafty character."
Again he looked puzzled. "Tell me, Miss Truesdale, do you sometimes drift off? I mean, I really don't understand what it is you keep getting at? What happened around here? What did I do?"
Charity shook her head as she straightened and then she left him with a final glance over her shoulder. He was giving a long look after her, as though he appreciated the sight of a beautiful woman, even though he couldn't do anything about enjoying one.
She went down the hallway to the kitchen and there she found Mrs. Ballinger at the stove. She'd put on a kettle and now she was fiddling with the oven dial She smiled as Charity came up beside her.
"German sweet bread," she said. "That's what we're gonna have with our tea. You'll love it, Miss Truesdale."
"Charity," Charity urged, for she really liked this woman and she felt a little sorry for her. God, her husband had gotten away with a sound fucking right before her unsuspecting eyes.
"Charity," Mrs. Ballinger repeated. "I like that name. If we'd ever had a daughter like you... " Something snapped in Charity's breast and, on impulse, she put her arm around the older woman's shoulders. She hugged her and said, her throat filled, "I know. You'd make some girl like me a wonderful mother, Mrs. Ballinger."
"Aw, now," Mrs. Ballinger said and she dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. Then she glanced at the oven controls. '1 guess that's all right Now where did I put that tea?"
Charity stood back, her heart still filled. All right, so her husband had pulled a fast one. As long as Mrs. Ballinger knew nothing about it nobody was hurt. True, Charity's ego had been badly bruised, for she'd been certain that she wasn't going to let her virtue desert her again. But it had been a very nice little fuck and Mr. Ballinger had been quite gallant about it He hadn't bragged afterward. In fact, he'd even. Maybe there was something wrong with his head? Maybe he really didn't know that he'd given Charity a sound reaming? No, that was hardly possible. He were merely being careful not to let anything out into the open. Yes, he knew, all right. She frowned. Or did he?
"What is it, child?" Mrs. Ballinger was saying as she looked Charity up and down. There was a bright glitter in her eye that Charity hadn't noticed before.
She took a moment to look Mrs. Ballinger up and down. The woman called Charity things like "child" when, to tell the truth, she didn't look more than ten years older than Charity. She might be thirty-six, thirty-seven, and a very solid thirty-seven at that. She had no belly, her breasts didn't sag--even though they were full--and she had good legs. Her clothes were somewhat dumpy, but what was inside them was strictly the current year's model.
Charity started. "What?"
"I asked you what was wrong?"
Charity flushed. "Funny, but you look more like my sister than my mother."
Mrs. Ballinger. "And I feel like your sister, Charity. Your loving sister."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charity stopped at the older woman's words. Her sister, her loving sister. Yes, that was nice. Charity didn't need another mother, but she'd never had a sister. Yes, she'd like that. They'd have a good time together. Perhaps she'd stay the afternoon.
"Where is that flaming tea?" Mrs. Ballinger rasped as she opened cupboards over the stove. Then she was looking above the refrigerator. That is, trying to look. She couldn't reach the high handles. So she brought over a sturdy wooden chair and prepared to climb up on it. She hesitated and glanced at Charity.
"You know, I get diz2y when I climb up on things. I wonder if you'd mind... "
"Of course not," Charity gushed and she moved in as Mrs. Ballinger stepped aside. She placed a hand on her hostess' shoulder as she boosted herself up on the chair. Her dress rode up and she wondered how much Mrs. Ballinger had seen. After all, with no panties up under there...
She tried to pull the high cupboards open, but the things seemed to be stuck. "Don't fall," Mrs. Ballinger warned.
"Oh, I won't," but Charity wasn't having any luck. Til surely get it in a minute."
"Here, you'd better let me give y6u a hand. I'll brace you so you don't come down in a heap."
Til be all right," Charity insisted as Mrs. Ballinger placed her hands on Charity's hips. She was standing in front of her and Charity felt an instant tingle--fear of danger or anticipation of it? "I will be all right."
Mrs. Ballinger chuckled. "Well now, we can't let you come tumbling in a heap, can we? Suppose you were to hurt yourself. You could very easily sue us for damages, Charity."
Charity looked down at her, shock on her face. "You know I wouldn't do a thing like that." She raised her eyebrows. "Don't you?"
Mrs. Ballinger shrugged from down below, her hands still gripping Charity's hips. "How would we know? You just came to the door, you don't owe us anything. Sure, we're poor folks, but we have a few dollars."
Charity realized she was being put on the defensive. Mrs. Ballinger was accusing her of being disloyal, almost of conspiring to use the Ballingers, to steal away their already pitifully small treasure. The fact was that Mr. Ballinger had already made off with one of Charity's treasures without so much as a thank you.
"But I don't need your money," Charity insisted. "We have plenty at home... " God, she'd done it again. Now Mrs. Ballinger thought 119 she was bragging about her wealth, that she was playing Lady Bountiful. Mrs. Ballinger shook her head. "Well, I know we probably seem like pretty simple folk to you... "
"No, really, I love you... both," Charity stammered. What else could she say to make the older woman feel better? Perhaps she did love them. She certainly didn't hate them and, thus far, Charity's visit had been anything but boring.
"Do you really?" Mrs. Ballinger was beaming now.
"Of course. I couldn't he about a thing like that."
"How wonderful" she said. "All right, you just rummage around until you find that tea and then we'll have us a little party. Just you and me, to start."
Charity glanced down. "What? Mr. Ballinger? Doesn't he like tea?"
Mrs. Ballinger seemed flustered for a moment. "Oh, sure, dearie. I mean all three of us. When that man's out of my sight he's out of my mind, I guess." She licked her lips and her face seemed more red. "Now you just look for that tea. I won't let you fall. It's you I'm worried about, not a lawsuit."
Charity went back to struggling with the door as Mrs. Ballinger gripped her more tightly. Soon the older woman had her arms wrapped around Charity's hips, crossing the arms over Charity's buttocks. Her face was tight against Charity's crotch, turned to one side so that she seemed to be listening to sounds from Charity's womb.
Charity didn't think much about it as she finally got the door open. She'd only be up there a few seconds more, anyhow. So her vulnerability was limited. Besides, Mrs. Ballinger couldn't mean anything by it. She was simply trying to help and she certainly didn't need Charity to help her get a thrill Mr. Ballinger had proved he still had lots of gusto.
She began to poke among rows of jars. There was a variety of things up there: canning jars, food, matches, spices... but Charity couldn't find any tea.
"Mrs. Ballinger, I... " She stopped with a sudden gasp.
Mrs. Ballinger had leaned away from her a bit and she'd loosened her hands enough so that a palm lay on each cheek of her buttocks. Then the fingers dug in firmly. Mrs. Ballinger was looking up at her, smiling.
"What is it, dearie?"
Charity was growing red fast and things were beginning to tingle inside her body. The same old warning bells were sounding general quarters. "I... uh, can't seem to find the tea. Are you sure it's up here?"
Mrs. Ballinger was nodding. "I'm positive, child. Take a good look."
"You know, Mrs. Ballinger..."
"What, child?"
Charity cocked her head down at her. "You keep calling me child. Ill bet you're not much more than ten years older than I."
"And how old would you be?"
"Twenty-four."
"Thirteen years," Mrs. Ballinger said thoughtfully. "But it's more than years, dearie. I've lived in a lot of places. Me and Walt have. We've seen most all of it. That makes us seem older than we are, I guess."
She gave Charity's buttocks a tight squeeze and again Charity gasped. "You shouldn't do that, you know."
"Why not? I don't want to lose you and the cheeks of your ass are the best place to hold on. After all, Charity, we are both women. What do you think I might do? I ain't one of them fruitcakes," she squinted at Charity, "unless you are yourself."
Charity shook her head and then she resumed her search. The best thing was to find that tea in a hell of a hurry. She was getting frantic as Mrs. Ballinger wiggled her fingers against her bottom. Then the fingers were curling into her crack and seemingly trying to spread it.
Charity shook and gulped, her body going weak for a moment so that she did almost fall. She got her knees straight again and she felt beads of perspiration trickle down under her arms. Lord, she was going to lose another round. This was a middle-aged Chica going after her.
Mrs. Ballinger was sliding her hands down now, along the backs of Charity's thighs where the skin was so incredibly tender. Charity's nerves were doing little dances of pleasure in a million places at the same time. She was going crazy inside. How did this woman have the power to heat her up so quickly?
Down slid Mrs. Ballinger's hands and as they moved she was muttering things. "Just you keep looking, missy. You'll find that tea before long. And until you do we might just as well have us a nice little chat. I do so like being close to you like this. Young people are always so inspirational to us older folks... " Charity was losing her power to concentrate. She was 122 simply moving cans and jars about aimlessly, not even looking at their labels or their contents. She couldn't make her hands work correctly when somebody was doing what Mrs. Ballinger was doing to her.
The hands went down the backs of Charity's thighs until they slipped past the hem of her mint Then they started back up immediately, dipping under the skirt. Charity felt her legs tingle like a thousand bells. Her muscles were beginning to jump as though she were being punched.
"Lord help me," she whispered, but Mrs. Ballinger chose not to answer.
Instead her warm hands rode higher under the skirt, until they brushed the bottom curves of Charity's buttocks. Charity flinched and she held her legs straight. She did not move. It was as though she were a mare in heat and the ranch owner were feeling of her body, testing her. She lifted her chin as her eyes watered. God, it was so hard to be good!
"Mighty good legs there, Charity."
"Thank you," she whispered, biting her lower hp.
"Well glory be!"
Charity knew what Mrs. Ballinger had discovered but she made herself look down in innocence. "What? "What is it? Am I going to fall?"
"Not the way I'm gonna stick to you, missy. I just found out. You forgot your panties this morning, didn't you? Nothing under this dress, if you could call such a bitsy thing a dress at all."
Charity half smiled and she nodded. How land of her hostess to give her the benefit of the doubt She really didn't know what her husband and Charity had been up to and Charity felt like a cheater. She felt sorry for Mrs. Ballinger. She wanted to do something nice for her.
"So, you found out my secret. I've been so embarrassed all day, just hoping I could pass a department store. But I haven't had the time." She finished her sentences lamely.
"Sure you haven't. You been trying too hard to raise money for a worthy cause, haven't you? I can understand that. Besides nobody would notice so long as you're careful." She chuckled. "Except that I noticed. I doubt that the mister did. He would have said something. He's direct that way."
Charity smiled. "You're very kind."
"And you're very exposed, young lady," Mrs. Ballinger snapped. With that she boosted her hands up over the cheeks of Charity's ass. She again cupped the cheeks hard, except that now flesh was pressing into flesh with no skirt in between. The heat was getting unbearable and Charity could feel her juices stirring and building up a head of power so that they would flow.
"Oh, that feels funny," Charity blurted.
"Ill bet it does, young lady."
"I... wish you wouldn't do that."
Mrs. Ballinger snorted. "Who you trying to kid? You come in here without no panties on and you expect me to think that you don't want anybody to see what you got or to touch what you got. All right, then, I'll just look for a minute. Can't be no law against that."
She took her hands from Charity's buttocks and moved them around to the front. There she lifted the skirt and looked directly into Charity's cunt. It was fully exposed, Charity knew, and Mrs. Ballinger's eyes seemed to want to pop out of their sockets.
"Mercy me, look at the gold clit. I never saw such a pretty one as that, Miss Truesdale."
"Thank you," Charity said foolishly, feeling a wave of pride wash over her. Well, for heaven's sake, a compliment was a compliment.
"Yes, indeed. We got something special here. I never dreamed you was so pretty all the way down. A real natural blonde. We don't get many of them any more." She clucked as she shook her head back and forth.
"Mrs. Ballinger," Charity said in a stern voice.
"Oh... sorry." She let the skirt fall and then she frowned. "You're supposed to be looking for tea, not checking up on me."
"Sorry." It was Charity's turn to apologize and she returned to her task determined to seek out that tea before she had another terrible accident. She wasn't certain she really trusted either one of the Ballingers. As she continued her hunt she felt the hands on her knees. Then they were sliding up her thighs, under her dress and all the way up to where her legs joined her torso. They were several inches apart with her crotch directly between them. Charity held her breath. Something was coming.
Then the hands went up and pushed into her lower belly. She allowed her breath to escape as Mrs. Ballinger pushed firmly. Then the hands went down, into her blonde bush where they wormed through the hairs. Charity was getting dizzy all over again, but she made herself hang on, clutching the door handle with both hands.
"Oh my... " She breathed the words, unable to cry out or to say anything at all. It was all she could to do hang on to the last shred of her wits.
The fingers laced over her cunt and pushed into the damp and matted hair. Mrs. Ballinger took her hands away for an instant to lift Charity's skirt. She tucked the skirt into the thin belt at her waist. When Charity looked down she could see her crotch and then she looked back over her shoulder the firm cheeks of her ass stuck out at the rear.
"Yes, it's beautiful, all right," Mrs. Ballinger purred. "I hope you appreciate yourself."
Charity nodded. "I suppose I do."
"Sure you do. You're a sweet girl, though, and you would never brag on yourself." She sounded so angelic herself that Charity could hardly believe her eyes or her sense of touch. Was this kindly woman really trying to shove her thumbs into her pussy? Was that bland face really shining with sweat and licking its Lips in animal anticipation? Was Mrs. Ballinger really going to go all the way as she certainly seemed determined to do?
Mrs. Ballinger worked on. She hooked her fingers into Charity's cunt. Charity staggered at the sudden thrill as her nerves responded with a sudden but brief gushing of juices. She'd almost come, but she'd managed to hold it back.
"Oh!"
"I know, child. You love it. Just you hold on." Charity held on as the fingers went deeper, up into 126 her cunt, all the way. There they rummaged about until they met at the very top of her pussy. When the fingers hit her little button Charity staggered as though she'd walked into a brick wall. She gasped and wanted to scream, but no sound would come. So she merely held on, wondering at what point she would tear the high cupboard door off its hinges and come tumbling down in a heap.
Mrs. Ballinger took her hands away. "All right, I think you're ready for the main event, missy."
"Main event?" Her voice wavered. "Forget the faking, child. We both know what I'm - talking about"
"But I don't..
Her gasp stilled further words. Now she knew what Mrs. Ballinger meant. That head, that head with the glossy black hair not unlike Chica's came straight into her crotch. It pushed hard against her bush, nose carving out the messy and damp trail.
The head bobbed as Charity looked down at it. She felt like an almost casual observer at a construction site, watching a powerful steam shovel trying to burrow itself into the earth. Mrs. Ballinger was doing a very effective burrowing job.
In and out she worked, swishing her face back and forth until she'd parted the hairs. Her nose and mouth were directly between Charity's hairless lips. There was nothing more to block her way. Then the mouth opened. Charity felt it as surely as she would feel her own open and--indeed--at that moment she opened her mouth in concert The tongue came out and Charity shuddered in a fresh series of spasms. The tongue curled between her lips and went up to wrap itself around her erect button. It rasped across its incredibly sensitive covering of muscle and Charity began to lose control of her body.
She trembled and her knees wanted to give way, but Mrs. Ballinger tightened her grip at her knees. Her wrapped arms pulled hard against herself so that Charity wouldn't fall. Still, she couldn't maintain this for long. She was going to come, and very soon. She felt her juices begin to boil and they were about to pop their lid.
The tongue rasped over her pussy several times, paying special attention to the button. And then Charity felt everything begin to move. Her body was tearing loose from its moorings, like a giant ocean liner being pulled out of control by the great force of the tide.
She lifted her face to the ceiling, as she so often liked to do at the precise moment of orgasm. Her juices rumbled like a white river, tumbling out of her vitals, flowing the length of her slick canal and then bursting through her swollen gates and straight into that welcoming face the face of Mrs. Walter Ballinger.
Mrs. Ballinger welcomed the flood as she opened her face wide and began to gulp in mighty swallows. She got her tongue out of the way, but her lower lip was like a firm saucer edge against the bottom of Charity's pussy. It made a seal over which the come flowed in a steady and heavy stream.
Charity heard her noisy breathing and the gulping. Then she realized she was making the noise herself. She was snorting and gulping in sympathy to the woman below who was servicing her so beautifully and so thoroughly. Her belly felt as though it were trying to turn itself inside out as she came again and again. Soon even her anus hurt as she forced out all of her juices, all of her reserve power toward her pussy. Coming and coming and coming--Would she never stop? If nothing else, Mrs. Ballinger would drown. Charity herself might die of the stress. Her body was already growing weak and beginning to ache. At last she ran dry and she drooped forward, bending over Mrs. Ballinger's head. The older woman caught her neatly and eased her down from the chair. Charity was helped to the sink where she leaned heavily against the drainboard, her knees still like rubber. She waited for several minutes, catching her breath and searching for new strength as Mrs. Ballinger pulled the skirt from her waist and carefully made it neat again.
In a moment they heard Mr. Ballinger calling and his wife turned to Charity. "You look fine, dearie. Come on, the mister wants to say good-bye to you."
Charity managed to wobble from the kitchen and follow Mrs. Ballinger down the hall and into the bedroom. It was still bright and sunny and Mr. Ballinger was propped up on pillows. He waved a piece of paper at Charity and she went to the bed to take it from him.
It was a check for a hundred dollars and she shook her head. "But can you afford this?"
"Afford it?" he blurted. "Thunderation, girl, you've earned every penny. A wonderful conversationalist, good company. Ain't that right Fay?"
Mrs. Ballinger nodded and smiled her angelic smile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
No, no, no, no! Charity scolded herself again and again. How many times did she need to tell herself that she must not allow anything more happen to her? Anything bad. She was finished with that kind of behavior. She was going to be a straight arrow from now on. No more compromising situations.
She figured that one way to avoid trouble was to avoid being alone with a man--any man. She would be careful to stay where there were other people in the room. It wasn't likely that she'd encounter a weird couple like the Ballingers again, so her plan would probably work.
She drove the XKE carefully, heading for a nice part of the city where there would be no Ballingers and no Peter P. Hands. A part of the city where there were normal, successful people: men who had good jobs, women who cared for their homes and children who went to good schools. She wasn't going to get trapped again, oh, no--not this day.
Of course her mother was delighted because her mother didn't know what had been going on. She didn't know what it had cost Charity to get those wonderful pledges from people who hadn't been expected to give much of anything to COME.
Mrs. Truesdale was proud of her daughter and already she was bragging all over the neighborhood about how clever her winsome daughter could be; how she had found her own thing which she could do better than almost anybody else.
Charity would have confessed all to her mother but she didn't want to break her heart. She'd shoot her down in flames if she were to learn that her daughter was letting half the city ream her for the price of a substantial COME pledge.
She drove up to the bluff on which was perched a large Spanish style home, complete with heavy white walls and a red tile roof. It was a nice place. Not as fancy as Charity's home, of course, but quite adequate. At least it wouldn't be filled with creeps like she'd found in other parts of the city.
She got out of her car, checked her notebook and then she started up the long walk to the front door. It was a beautiful afternoon. A Utile late, perhaps, but she wouldn't be too close to anyone's dinner hour.
At the massive front door she banged the brass knocker and after a moment the door opened. She smelled something funny at once. It could have been pot, but she didn't believe that was possible. Not in a home like this one.
A young girl peered out at her. She was a thin blonde, without much color in her face, perhaps sixteen years old. All right, so school was out for the day.
Charity smiled at her. "Hello, is your mother or father in?"
She girl smiled a sweet smile. "Yes, they're both in if you'd like to talk to them." Her eyes darted up and down Charity's body. Charity was in another mini, but this time she had her underwear properly in place.
She stepped aside like a properly trained little lady and Charity came inside. The entry was rather dark but the girl immediately led her to a large sunny room which was catching the slanting rays of the sun. It looked as though the entire family was at home, all in the one room, a parlor.
Charity smiled at them. "Hello, I'm Charity Truesdale and I'm seeking financial support for COME. Do you know about COMEF There were four of them. A large man in his early forties, dark and husky looking; a tall woman who might have been almost six feet, but with an open and friendly face, a beautiful figure; a boy of fourteen or so who seemed to be as sallow as the fourth member of the family, the little girl who had let Charity come in.
The man was getting to his feet Lord, he was big, perhaps six feet four. His wife--Charity assumed she was his wife--was also standing. She was a large redhead with a face that was as gorgeous as her body. She smiled at Charity.
The man nodded awkwardly. "Hello, please make yourself comfortable. We're the English family and of course we've heard of COME. Rhoda and I never miss a concert, do we dear?"
The redhead was nodding. She wore a mini that was vastly overmatched by her body. There was simply too much of her to fit into it As she smiled and began to speak, once again Charity caught that smell. It was faint but it was there.
"Of course, Charles. You remember how much we loved the ballet last season." She smiled at her husband and then at Charity again. "Please, sit down. We're honored that you chose to come into our home." She glanced at the boy and girl. "Aren't we children? This is Junior and Sissy. They're a bit small for their ages but the English family grows up late, according to Charles."
Junior and Sissy got to their feet and half bowed like twins and then they sat down again on a couch. Charity picked a deep chair and she perched on its edge. Mr. and Mrs. English sat on another couch. There were glasses on a low table in front of them and they saw Charity's eyes dart toward the table.
"Please have a drink," Mr. English insisted.
"Well... " Charity hesitated. "It has been a long day."
"Ill get it," the girl called Sissy cried out leaping from her seat. "I know where everything is."
Her father hesitated. "Well, all right but no smoking in the kitchen. You've had your quota for the day."
The little girl stuck out her lower hp, but she did not complain. Her mother smiled again at Charity and Charity felt herself being carefully studied--from the top of her golden hair to her open-toed sandals.
"I think you'd better fix Miss Truesdale a special Sissy. You know how to do that, don't you?"
Charity was puzzled. The little girl smoking? A special cocktail? What were they talking about.
"Don't worry," Mrs. English continued. "You're going to love this drink. We invented it ourselves and, if I may say so, Charles only lets me offer it to our very best friends."
"Who now includes Charity Truesdale," the big man said with a grin. He, too, was studying Charity and she glanced once at his wife who nodded at him. They seemed to have come to some sort of agreement very quickly. "Yes, you're a friend of the family, Miss Truesdale."
Charity was flattered. "But... you don't know me."
"What does that matter? We can see you," Mrs. English exclaimed.
Mr. English interrupted his wife. "Besides, anyone from COME gets everything we have to offer, isn't that so, Rhoda?"
It was all coming off a bit unreal for Charity. They seemed to be reciting dialogue from a bad novel, and they weren't very believable characters. She wondered if she should excuse herself. A little girl who smokes? Special drinks? That strange pot-like smell? She then realized she was being silly. She was safe in only because the entire family was here. What could happen in front of the children?
Charity tried to relax, but she remained perched on the edge of the chair. She quickly made her campaign pitch to the English family, and they nodded in sympathetic understanding. "We do want to help," Mrs. English was saying.
Charity had been studying the large redhead. She seemed to be almost forty--indeed, she would have to be with two teen-aged children--but she looked ten years younger. Her body was firm and without any fat. Her flesh was ruddy and healthy looking. Her hair was like polished copper. No, Mrs. English wouldn't need to worry about growing old for many years.
She looked at Mr. English. He looked like a veteran football player, perhaps only one or two years retired from the game. That said enough for his size and build. He wasn't running to fat, either. He looked like a rock.
Charity stole a few glances at the children and she hoped they would catch up with their parents. Perhaps they weren't as old as they seemed, but their eyes looked so wise. As Charity studied Sissy the little girl was offering her a tall glass.
"Here's the special for you," she blurted, very winsomely.
Charity took it with a smile and then she raised it to her lips. "Hm, good. What's in it?"
"I'm not sure," the girl said with a little bow. "Daddy?"
"Well," Mr. English said, "it has several things. Gin, vodka, a few other items. Nothing that will hurt you, but you will enjoy it."
Charity knew one thing for sure: it was a powerful drink, and she certainly would feel it. She'd missed lunch and so she was vulnerable, but this drink was something else. It dropped down her throat like a hot rock and, even though she'd been enough of a lady to say it tasted good, it was more potent than good. It was spreading in her belly like a grass fire, shooting into her limbs. She wished she knew what those "few other items" were.
The family sat, like birds in a tree, their heads cocked, looking at her. Finally, the boy--Junior--came over to her. He stood before her smiling, and then he said, "That's a real pretty dress."
"Thank you," Charity said sweetly. I'm so pleased that you like it."
"We're going to be very careful of that dress, aren't we Daddy?" He turned to look over his shoulder at his father.
"You bet we are, son."
"I mean, it's too pretty to tear or anything like that You know how it sometimes is."
"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. English was assuring her son. "We know Charity is a nice girl and a sensitive girl. We're going to be careful with everything we do to her."
Charity frowned, more puzzled than ever. Tear her dress? Do things to her? She had no idea what they were talking about. And, thanks to the warming drink which continued to spread its magic inside her body, she couldn't make herself get worried about it She certainly wasn't drunk or anything, but she was growing more relaxed by the minute. Everything and everyone was taking on a warm glow. They weren't fuzzy. She could see them more clearly than ever and her concentration was just as sharp. But that drink, it was like a magic potion.
She shook her head. "Well, I have your pledge card here," she murmured.
"Lots of time for that" Mr. English said. He was smiling at his boy. "So you like our Charity Truesdale, do you?"
Junior nodded his thin face and his eyes grew wider as they darted up and down Charity's body. She moved her feet and knees tightly together without realizing she was doing so.
"Well, I suppose you can go first." Mrs. English was smiling at his daughter. "You don't mind, do you, Sissy?"
Sissy didn't seem worried. She was smiling and benign as she replied, "That's all right, Daddy. I got to go first last time. You remember, the lady from the welfare fund drive or something like that?"
"Oh, we get lots of charity workers here," Mrs. English said, beaming at Charity. "Charity workers. That's a joke, isn't it? I mean, you being named Charity and all."
Charity nodded with a sigh. "Yes, I know. I have my dear father to thank for my name. If I'd had two sisters I'm sure they'd be Faith and Hope."
All of the Englishes laughed, even Junior as he continued to plant himself directly in front of Charity. His eyes dropped to her knees. "You sure have pretty legs. I like girls who wear short skirts."
Charity smiled and knew she should turn off, but that damned drink wouldn't let her. "Why, thank you. You're a sweet little boy. How old did you say you are?"
"I didn't say, but I'm fifteen."
"What a nice age."
"For what?" he asked abruptly. "What did you want me to do?"
Charity was flustered now, despite the drink. She hadn't put away all that much. "Well, I really didn't have... "
"I think she'd like you to proceed, Junior," Mrs. English told her son. "Go ahead because others are waiting."
"Okay," the boy said, and then he clutched at Charity's skirt. She froze in surprise.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was unreal. It couldn't be happening to Charity all over again, but it was. She couldn't believe that an entire family would be witness to her latest escapade, but that was what seemed to be happening.
The other three members of the English family, still perched like attentive birds, cocked their heads and watched as Junior plucked at Charity's skirt. She pressed her hands into her lap to keep her skirt in place.
"You really shouldn't be doing that, little boy," she exclaimed.
"But I like it. Mommy and Daddy always let me have what I like." He looked over his shoulder. "Isn't that so?"
Mr. English nodded. "Usually, son, usually. But you mustn't be rude. We've taught you that. You get what you want when you don't get greedy. If you make people frightened or unhappy, then you wind up with nothing. You know all about that from before. So just do it gently, as your mother and I have taught you."
He nodded as he turned back to Charity. "Please, take your hands away. I won't be bad. If I'm being bad then you tell me and 111 stop."
"Very nice, Junior," his mother purred from across the room.
Charity knew she was crazy to trust this emaciated little person, but she couldn't help herself. Perhaps it was the drink; she didn't know. She watched her hands, as though they belonged to somebody else, as she lifted them from her lap and placed them at her sides. But she kept her knees and ankles snugly together.
The boy saw this and he smiled at her as he dropped to his knees in front of her. It was an act of supplication that touched Charity and she felt her defenses crumble a little more. He couldn't be all that much of a threat There was so little to him.
His hands were up as he said softly, "Remember, you tell me if I do something bad."
She didn't protest as he touched her chin gently with his fingers. Then his hands were down on her throat and he ran into the chaste high-necked collar of her bodice. She wore that same sensible mini with the high neck that she had the day previously, hoping that it would help keep her out of trouble.
The trouble was that neither of the Ballingers had gone for her throat. Instead they had taken advantage of her short skirt (and lack of panties) to go at her from the bottom up. Now she felt somewhat more secure.
Junior plucked at her collar, and the snap holding it in place came free. Charity felt it go. From across the room she heard a tiny gasp of anticipation from one of the English family. They were still sitting there, very polite, as though watching a stage play. They were a flattering audience.
Junior went on with his chore and Charity remained powerless to stop him. It was as though they had been playing cowboys and Indians: she had allowed him to tie her up, and then suddenly he had begun taking the game seriously.
His fingers worked at the buttons down Charity's front and in a moment he had several open so that the center of her bra was visible. Junior peered at the bra and again he turned around.
"She's one of those," he complained.
"We still see them occasionally, Junior," the big redhead of a mother explained. Her voice was gentle. "Don't get frustrated. You know how you are when that happens. You'll figure something out."
There was a warning buzzer in Charity's belly and it wouldn't stop. She didn't know whether it was brought on by the drink or some vague rising passion, but it was there. It was telling her that things were changing in her body, that deep inside her there was a growing anticipation.
Junior bit his lower hp as he concentrated on Charity's clothes. He opened more buttons until her dress was parted to her waist where, thankfully, the buttons stopped. He spread the dress over her bra so that it was hung up on the outsides of each cup. She looked down and wished her breasts wouldn't jut so much. Why were they always so large when she wished they would shrink?
His child's eyes were dancing as though he were opening a bright package on Christmas morning. He ran a finger down her throat and into the deep and dark crack between her breasts. Charity's flesh tingled at the gesture. It felt good. Her flesh was already jumping.
The finger rummaged between her breasts, restricted by the tight bra. He sighed as he took away the finger. Charity was amazed at herself as she felt her body leaning forward. In an instant Junior was up on his feet and leaning over her, his hands groping down her back. He was fumbling with the bra catch, but he couldn't seem to make it work. Charity let him go on for almost a minute before she reached behind herself, gently removed his hands and then opened the catch. Junior stepped away quickly enough to observe the outward surge of her breasts and he clucked in appreciation. "You're a pretty lady," he mumbled shyly.
Thank you," Charity replied just as shyly. What a weird game!
He was lifting the bra over her head and she heard the rest of the family murmur in appreciation as her breasts were exposed. They were nudging and whispering to one another. She looked down as he removed the bra and then he was gently pulling her dress down over her arms. She put her hands to her sides to make the task easier and soon the dress was down and clinging to her waist and her wrists.
Her breasts were full, tanned and the nipples were a fresh new pink as though they had never been handled in their young lives. It was amazing how every morning they seemed to be reborn.
He was looking down at them, too, as he dropped to his knees once again. Then his finger was back in that deep cleavage, probing all the way into its depths. Charity was still tingling inside, more than ever now. She knew it was time to stop everything.
She was as surprised as anyone when she heard herself saying, "I think that's enough, Junior."
"You mean I'm doing something bad?" he asked, all innocence. "I wouldn't want to do anything bad. My mother and father... "
"I know, I know," she interrupted. "I think you're going to do something pretty bad if I don't stop you right now."
"Anything you say," he replied, his voice very soft.
His finger came away at once and he looked down in shame. If he was acting it was an excellent act, Charity had to admit. She looked at the others, feeling foolish. Was she being the prude? Were they the normal healthy ones? Suddenly she felt ashamed at her prudery.
"Well," she said at last. "Perhaps I'm being too cautious. After all, what could it hurt?"
"You see, Junior," his father said from across the room. "You see how courtesy is always returned?"
The English family got on its feet as though Charity had opened some previously closed door with her words. They crossed the room and grouped themselves around Charity's chair.
The Amazon called Mrs. English prodded her son. "All right, Junior, you heard our guest."
"Yes, mama," he answered.
Then he lifted his hands again and this time he shoved 143 them under Charity's breasts, hard against their heavy undersides. Then he lifted them as though he were offering them as a sacrifice to the gods. Before she knew what was happening his face was down into her softness.
She gazed down at his slight head as she felt a mouth on her left nipple. It was electric, as though her nipple had been shoved into an open wall socket. The jolt ripped through her body and she felt her thighs squirm together. God, her breasts had always been so damnably vulnerable.
He kissed the breast and then he was pulling it into his mouth. Charity's eyes fluttered as she looked up into the faces around her. They were smiling, gentle faces and she had to smile back. After all, it did feel good.
"Is it all right, Charity?" Mr. English asked.
She nodded, unable, for the moment, to speak. There was a thickness in her throat. Junior shoved his lips to her other nipple when the first had popped stiffy erect He sucked on the twin until it responded and Charity's breathing had become heavy and harsh. She was hot there was no doubt about it She could feel her palms turn damp and there was a dampness in her crotch.
Junior's mouth was traveling around her body now, dipping over the curve of her breast and down to her ribs. She felt the nibbling down there, as though he were a tiny feeding fish. The sensation was wonderful, too wonderful. It was driving her crazy.
Finally Junior raised his head and he was grinning. "Well, that's my thing, Mrs. Truesdale."
"Miss Truesdale, dear," his mother corrected.
"Oh, yeah. They're usually 'Mrs.' though, aren't they?" 144 "Not this time," the father said. "All right son, you've had your fun. Now let your big sister take over."
Charity stared as the boy stepped away from her. She could see the stiff bulge in his pants. It wasn't large, compared to the bulge in his father's pants, but he was as large and as hard as he was capable of getting. She was certain of that. Mr. English looked disturbed, too. His crotch was distended and he kept licking his lips. Mrs. English was rubbing her hands on her sturdy thighs as though she were a halfback sitting on the bench, anxious to get into the game. And directly over Charity hovered Sissy, the thin little washed out sixteen-year-old. She had stringy blonde hair and she would someday be beautiful, Charity realized. Her features were too small, but they were nicely formed. She just needed some growing up and she seemed anxious to get on with that growing up. Charity could tell from the look in her eyes.
Sissy was gently removing Charity's dress from her arms, freeing it so that she would be able to work at her waist, where she began to ease the dress down over Charity's hips. She smiled into Charity's face with perfect little teeth.
"Do you think you could...?"
Charity nodded at once and then she pressed herself up from the softness of the chair. She eased her buttocks from the seat long enough for Sissy to slip the dress down to her knees and then it fell to the floor. Charity looked down, as did all the others.
Her neat little pink pants were still firmly in place and she continued to hold herself up from the seat "Don't you want to... P" Mr. English held up a hand. "Our way, Charity. Don't you worry your pretty head about it. Well see that you get a fresh new pair before you leave." Charity frowned. He glanced at his wife and she immediately left the room. They all waited like figures in a diorama as Mrs. English rummaged somewhere and then she was back. She held a large pair of shining scissors in her hand. Charity gasped and her eyes widened, but they reassured her with their gentle smiles.
"Remember, we do nothing bad, nothing you don't want" Mr. English murmured He leaned down to kiss her briefly on the lips and she liked the feeling. God but he was a big and strong one.
Charity made herself sit back and relax as they once again grouped around her. She leaned back in the chair, hands at her sides, her body fully exposed. Sissy took the scissors from her mother and she leaned over Charity with them in her hands.
Very gently she lowered them to Charity's pants and then she picked a pinch of pink material away from Charity's body so she could push the point of the scissors through it safely. The scissors cut into the hole, which was about two inches above Charity's pussy, right in the front.
She listened to the cutting scissors as she began to cut a small circle. Well, not so small a circle at that. It started at the top and began to go down one side toward the bottom. The bottom was well into Charity's crotch, just below the bottom of her cunt. Up the other side came the scissors and Charity watched until the circle was made. The circle was about four inches across, large enough for whatever the English family had in mind, Charity assumed. Gently Sissy removed the scissors and then the circle of pink material. Everybody looked into the hole.
Yes, there it was: her blonde pussy, seeming to be winking in the sudden light The hole was circled by fresh young golden fur and in its center were the generous pink lips. They weren't generous in Charity's mind because they were so large, but because she'd allowed so much to pass between them lately.
The entire family was gasping again, their appreciation obvious. "Wonderful! Glorious! So pretty! Golly, this will be groovy!"
Charity waited as they got themselves back under control and then somebody said, "All right, Sissy."
Sissy was back on her knees, the scissors gone now. Charity was thankful for that The little girl lowered her head until she was staring directly into Charity's pussy and, even as she did so, the sensation increased Charity's secretions. The total impact of a young girl looking right into her crotch while she was wearing windowed pants was strangely exciting and she wormed her hips back and forth slightly. She'd need to be careful or she'd go off too soon.
Sissy's face came closer and then it dropped in a carefully controlled fall. Charity felt that tiny nose and mouth press into her bush and she gasped. The others smiled more broadly to reassure her and for a moment Sissy's mother placed her hand on the little girl's shoulder. Sissy froze until the hand was removed. Apparently Mrs. English was confident that Charity had herself back under control.
Such was not the case. Charity was going crazy inside her body. Each time she was assaulted by some outside force she experienced all the new and unique thrills of a virgin. This time was no exception.
Slowly Sissy's face turned back and forth and with each turn the face went a little deeper. Soon it was well between Charity's lips and then the tongue came out. Charity almost passed out as the pointed hard thing went straight up into her, amazingly deeply, shooting all the way back in there. Lord, everything that Sissy ate must have gone straight to her tongue muscles!
That magic tongue wormed this way and that, touching all the magic places, rasping over tender and delicate membranes and nerve ends until Charity was going out of her mind. She was all ready to come... very quickly now.
Sissy stopped what she was doing and then it was Mr. English who spoke. "You're with us all the way, Charity?" His voice was gentle but he wasn't wasting words.
Charity worked her jaw to answer, but she was unable to speak with that little head up inside her. So she managed a disorganized nod.
"Very good. Proceed, Sissy."
Sissy proceeded.
The head was worming again and in a moment Charity was ready to shoot her bolt. Her juices were boiling, churning, beginning their march from all the vital parts of her crotch toward that magic tube that led to the outside. Charity was lifting her hips, beginning to ram them vigorously into that little face.
The tongue wrapped itself around her clitoris, which was distended in its exquisite agony, and then it pulled on it, back and forth, actually jacking off the little knot of muscle.
Charity fought to keep herself conscious as she felt her juices spurt out of control. She came hard and fast into that child face, again and again, blasting her entire sexual power into those eyes, that nose, that wonderful mouth.
Sissy worked mightily to take it all, gulping noisily as her tight little family gathered just above her head to-shout encouragement. "Go, Sissy," her mother was crying. "Come on, never waste a drop. You know the rule."
The little girl responded like a good soldier, gulping as Charity shot glob after glob of her vital juices up into that mouth and throat. She got it all and Charity felt not one drop escaping down her thighs.
At last her strength faded and she fell back, her body damp and spent. She smiled weakly at the others as Sissy licked her thoroughly. She felt clean down there, drained, as though some tight weight had been lifted from her passions.
But she had a feeling she wasn't finished. There were other members of the family.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Charity opened her eyes it was almost dark. She must have slept for almost an hour and she felt amazingly refreshed. She was still in the deep chair and the family was still in the room. They were sitting here and there, chatting quietly, occasionally looking her way. She pretended to be asleep, looking across at them from one partially opened blue eye.
"She'll be awake soon, darling," Mrs. English was murmuring to her husband. "Don't worry, she'll respond. She's one of us now. A lovely girl really. I should be jealous."
Mr. English chuckled in a deep voice. "You? Jealous? After what you've done lately?"
The big redhead flushed prettily and the children looked at one another as they giggled. They seemed to know exactly what their mother had been doing and they seemed to know exactly what their father was waiting to do. Charity wished she'd had their insight into their parents' feelings.
Charity stretched lazily and the muttering stopped. They watched her as she yawned and sat up. She popped open her eyes and looked around. She smiled, feeling wonderful. Cleansed, young, fresh. They must have washed her as she'd slept.
"Goodness, what time is it? I've really got to be going."
It was Mr. English who led the parade back to her chair. He stood over her, a huge man, dark, yet friendly and appearing to be gentle. He smiled disarmingly.
"Are you sure you want to go? You may, if you wish. We wouldn't think of detaining you, but... " Charity frowned up into his face. "Yes?"
Mrs. English spoke. "Charles means that we didn't really think we'd finished. Don't you really know what to do next? If you like, I'll help you."
"Well, I... "
"And if you enjoy yourself, fine. If you decide you don't want to, as Charles said, we won't detain you. But he and I do feel a bit neglected."
Charity looked down at herself. She was naked. The holed pants had been taken away. Right before her stood Mr. English, feet planted. She looked straight ahead into his crotch. It was gigantic. He had a still-coiled snake in there that was waiting to be released.
Mrs. English knelt at the side of her chair and she put her lips to Charity's ear. It was exciting to feel that mouth, that warm air. "I said I'll help you. Do you want that?"
"Yes," Charity whispered back, eyes still fixed on that crotch.
"All right. His fly." She leaned back and smiled up at her husband and then back at Charity. "What?"
"His fly. Open his fly. The zipper, Charity." She was like an encouraging teacher speaking to a backward child.
Charity lifted her hand carefully to his pants. She nipped under the flap and found the zipper tab. Slowly she pulled it and it began to slide down. She had it only halfway down when she saw the thing leap from him. She gasped, not in horror, but in fascination.
God! What a man! He was at least a foot long, probably longer, and he was as big around as a baseball bat-- the thick end of the bat.
"Goodness!" she exclaimed.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Mrs. English gushed. "How I love this man."
Charity nodded.
"All right, then just you go ahead and do what comes naturally. Do you want me to guide you?"
'That would be nice." Charity could barely hear her own voice.
"All right."
She felt strong and steady hands at the top and back of her head. She felt her head being urged forward until her face was only a couple of inches from the large dark knob. It was like the warhead of a torpedo.
"Your mouth," the redhead whispered.
"Huh?"
"Your mouth. Purse it."
Charity pursed her lips and her head was being 152 pushed forward until her mouth touched the knob. It was hot and she thought for a moment that it had burned her, but that was silly. She kissed the knob again and then she began to peck away around its large flange.
"Very nice," the other woman's voice said. "Now you may open your mouth."
"I... I don't know if I can handle it. He's such a... big man... "
"You won't know if you don't try. Just try to relax, my little darling. Keep your throat relaxed. That's essential."
Charity tried to do as she was told as she opened her lips. She placed them over the prick, taking a half inch or so inside her mouth. Lord, but there was so much more to force into herself. She'd never make it--but she could try.
She opened her mouth wide and worked it back and forth over the knob. It was huge and she was afraid her lips would tear, but--of course--they didn't. The knob slipped in with a snug feeling. There was no open space left in her mouth and she breathed carefully through her nose so that she would not gag.
Suddenly there was a lurch. Mr. English had shot his hips forward. Charity wouldn't have believed it was possible, but another three inches of his cock disappeared into her mouth. She gulped and accepted it, trying desperately to relax her throat so that it would spread.
He jolted her again and two more inches slipped in. She watched the hairy sway of his heavy balls down below. They bumped against her chin and throat as she gulped. He jolted her again and again until almost a foot of cock was wedged into her throat. She knew the knob had to be all the way down into her stomach and she felt full even down there. At last he said, "This is it."
He gave a final shove and the last of him slipped into her mouth. Her nose was flattened against his groin and her lips were also pressing there. She'd taken all of this giant of a man.
He gave her a moment to rest and then he began to work his hips back and forth. Charity got the message and, with Mrs. English's hands still guiding her golden head, she began to pump her face in opposition to him. They worked smoothly for several minutes as his cock expanded by the second. At last he gasped and stopped.
"I'm ready," he panted. "All right, you're the guest. Do you want it in you or on you? Blink once for the first, twice for the second."
Charity immediately blinked twice. She knew what she wanted. "Goody, I get to do cleanup," Mrs. English exclaimed.
With a violent shove, Mr. English grabbed Charity by the ears and pulled her face from his prick. It popped out, all purple and slick. As she watched, it went off in her face. It blasted what seemed like a quart of come all over her eyes, nose and mouth and it drained down her chin to drip on her breasts.
Then Mrs. English was shoving her husband aside as she bent her face to Charity's breasts, licking them with a gentle but noisy slurping. Charity smiled, knowing the pretty redhead had her work cut out for herself.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Charity felt strangely at peace with herself as she sat at the breakfast table watching her mother pour over lists of COME donation prospects. Her mother was happy; Charity was happy. Who was being hurt? Nobody. She was no longer upset at her insatiable sexual appetite. She was enjoying it and she would make the most of it. Sexual activity had diminished her other problems so that she was a fuller woman, a more complete woman, a woman who could love everybody--and she intended to do just that.
"Goodness, five hundred dollars from the English family!" her mother, was exclaiming. "Charity, my dear, you've worked your magic again. Please tell me your secret."
Charity smiled into her coffee cup. "There's no secret, mother. I just do what comes naturally. Any girl could do as well."
"And you're so modest. A real Truesdale. Your father's proud, too, you know. We all are." She shuffled pledge cards. "You will take more cards out with you today, won't you?"
Charity nodded. "I'd love to. I'm really getting into my work and it's as you said it would be all along--very rewarding."
"You see? Mother's usually right."
Charity got up. "Yes, mother. Let me go upstairs to dress and then I'll come back for my morning run."
Her mother smiled after Charity as the girl glided from the room. In the foyer Charity found Chica dusting a bust of Grandfather Truesdale. "Chica, you may change my bed now."
The pretty dark girl looked up at her mistress. "Now? Today? Senorita, I thought it was tomorrow that... "
"Chica, change my bed today. Now." She started up the stairs, her robe flowing behind. "Come along. I'll help you, if you like."
"You help?" The Mexican girl looked incredulous.
But she followed her mistress faithfully, all the way into her bedroom. "Close the door."
When Chica had done so she turned. Charity was standing in the middle of her room, her robe loosely open, an angelic smile on her face. "We'll get to that bed after a bit, won't we?"
Chica smiled and then her little brown hands were folding back the robe. The little brown hands took a heavy brown breast and the brown face came down to kiss it on the brown nipple.
Charity sighed as she looked at the ceiling. Thank v you, COME, she whispered soundlessly, for helping Charity to give herself charitably.
