Muted sounds of soft, seductive music could be heard coming from the private lounge as Bette Harding carefully arranged the lingerie in the order in which she would be wearing it during the show, starting with the slips and nightgowns and ending with the bikini briefs which were really nothing more than wisps of cloth that were designed to fire the imagination.
Finished, she gazed around at the three other girls. Angelique, the 27 year-old statuesque negress, was just as neat as Bette. Angelique, who spoke with a French accent and claimed to be from Martinique, really turned on most of the men at the show... usually those from the deep South. The French bit was just an act, Bette knew, because her real name was Angel Washington, and she had been born and raised in Los Angeles before graduating from UCLA.
Cora and Sue, the two other girls - both blondes - had tossed their outfits haphazardly on the chair. Once the show got started, they would be in a mild state of panic trying to remember what they were supposed to wear next, and Marie Grosset would have to ad-lib until they made their appearance.
"Holy mackerel, Andy! Would you'all look at dis?" Angelique exclaimed in mock negro voice as she held up a pair of blood red bikini panties consisting of nothing more than a four inch heart in front and a six inch heart in back. Two thin red pieces of elastic held the two hearts together.
Cora had stripped and now had put on her first garment. It was a nightgown made of white nylon, fashioned in such a way that it looked as if the woman were wearing a white choir robe, only this gown had two large five-inch empty circles where the breasts normally were; and at the crotch there was a black fur and feather-lined vertical opening. She paused, staring at her blonde petiteness in the mirror, then spun around to Bette. "I've got to hand it to him, he may be the biggest faggot in the business, but old Master Bates can really design clothes."
Angelique snorted at the sobriquet. Tommie Bates, one of the country's leading designers of woman's boudoir fashions, put out his clothes under the Mister Bates label. The models, predictably enough, had lost no time in nicknaming him Master Bates, a term of endearment that he and his tight-pants boy friends thought was "simply delightful!"
Mister Bates's headquarters were in Hollywood. The manufacturing was done in nearby southern Los Angeles where he had almost two hundred women working around the clock for him, sewing, cutting, packing, and shipping. He held four big shows a year -- two in Hollywood, one in Chicago, and one in New York -- all legitimate and above board, with fairly heavy coverage by the world's fashion press and newspapers.
There was another facet of his operation that was not so well known: his "special designs" which were too daring to model at the big quarterly exhibits. These were shown at special invitational shows, catering to select clientele, which travelled up and down the west coast. Price of admission to the "special design" shows usually ranged from ten to twenty dollars; they were well attended because free champagne was poured during the show. Orders for merchandise were taken and, afterwards, one could sometimes mix with the models . . all of whom were selected for their richly endowed bodies and abilities to make a man feel like a man. If Marie Grosset knew you, or if you were recommended by a friend of hers, there was always the possibility of "further entertainment" with the models, which was a nice way of saying the girls would go to bed with you, providing you had placed an order for enough merchandise. Each "order" had to be accompanied by a cash deposit of $100 which was not refundable in case you decided to cancel the order at a later date. The girls got $60 for each order, Marie Grosset and Tommie Bates split the balance and the admission fees.
All things considered, it was a good deal for everyone concerned . . for the hungry men who had a chance to make out with some really stunning women: for Tommie and Marie who each had an extra thousand dollars a week income which they wouldn't have had otherwise, for the models who usually took home between five and six hundred dollars a week.
And that was why Bette Harding hated to give up her place in Marie Grosset's stable, why she had to convince Marie to give her a leave of absence during the busiest time of the year when conventions were being held all over Northern and Central California.
As if reading her thoughts, Angelique turned to the redhead and asked, "You told her yet, honey?"
"Haven't had a chance."
"Well, isn't your hubby due home next week?"
Bette sighed, "Yeh. His ship's due in Long Beach on the twentieth."
Angelique reverted to her phony negress stage accent and rolled her eyes, "Ummmmmm... ummph! The trouble you'all gets into when you has a steady man!" Then, grinning, she abruptly changed back to her normal unaccented voice and said, "It was old Ambrose Bierce baby who commented that, 'A husband is simply a lover with a two-days growth of beard, his collar off, and a bad cold in the head'."
Bette remained silent; the negress was just talking. She knew that Angelique had been completely happy, deeply in love and married to a promising young black doctor who had been lost in a helicopter crash in Vietnam three years before. A short time later, the tall negress had quit her job in mid-term as a school teacher and gone to work with Marie.
Bette began stripping completely in preparation for the show. As she removed her skirt and blouse, the mirror reflected a figure that was far too voluptuous for the fashion magazines, but was just right for modeling lingerie and slinky nightgowns. Her long red hair fell in soft waves across her left shoulder, and when she removed the blue-laced upthrust bra, the hair was long enough to completely cover the one bountiful mound of succulent flesh and its nipple. She kicked off her high heels, losing three inches in height in the process, then quickly unfastened her powder blue garter belt, pulling it and the sheer nylons off with one smooth motion. The scanty robin's egg blue nylon panties came next, revealing she was, in fact, a true red-head, for the rather large patch of soft curly pubic hair was the colour of an autumn fox's fur. It was obvious, from the thin white lines around her fully gently curved buttocks, that her swim suits were just as brief as her panties. She was tanned all over, except for these two white bands.
Bette picked up her first garment, a sheer black nylon sleeping outfit which looked more like a pair of hot pants with over-sized suspenders. The one-inch braces were designed to cover the nipples but leave the breasts uncovered. She had just put it on when the svelte figure of Marie Grosset appeared in the mirror with her.
Marie, looking like a rich society matron with long blonde curls and wearing a figure-hugging black crepe dress that must have cost in excess of S600, cocked her head to one side critically. "Looks good on you, but you'd better use a bit of Max Factor number one on your breasts. They're too tanned. And, honey, in the future do both of us a favor... wear a big, big cup bra when you're outside in the sun. Men like breasts to be nice and white."
"Oh, yeh," Angelique snorted, "that's what you think."
The retort brought a round of laughter, even from the usually business-like Marie, and Bette immediately decided to ask for a leave of absence right now as long as the show coordinator was in such a good mood.
Marie looked thoughtful and just a trifle displeased when Bette finished explaining her predicament. Finally she answered, "I don't know. We don't usually grant leaves except for illness."
"Look," Bette pled, "it's only for six months. His ship will be pulling out then for another eight or nine months. I can still work some noon shows and occasionally an afternoon show, providing I'm at home nights." Then she played her trump card, "I can even furnish my own replacement for six months. . a really darling blonde, built about the same as Angelique here and almost as tall." She looked thoughtful, then added, "Not particularly bright, but cute."
Marie said quickly, unable to hide a half-grin, "I've never noticed that intelligence was a particular asset in this business."
Angelique rolled her eyes and groaned, "Ouch . . right where it hurts."
Marie glanced down at her program notes, not really seeing them, as she evaluated the situation. It would be rather dramatic, she thought, to have two really tall, well-built women -- one white, one black -- on stage at the same time. During the disrobing scenes, where two girls helped a third undress, it might prove spectacular as hell. Suddenly she made up her mind. "Okay. We'll try it. Does she know us, I mean, she knows what's expected of the girls after the show?" One look at Bette's face gave her the answer, and she added, "What makes you think she'll agree to it?"
"Hunch, maybe. Anyway, why don't you schedule a special show. . with friends who would understand if she balked at the last minute. I'll work it free. As a matter of fact, if you schedule two or three specials, I'll work them all for nothing while I'm breaking her in and she's getting used to our routine."
The show coordinator glanced down at her watch, then nodded. "All right. Have her at the Hotel Robertson at seven on Thursday. Will that give you time enough to talk to her? Bette nodded, and Marie continued, "Dinner, cocktails, then upstairs. Do you want any special equipment?"
"How about the sixteen millimetre projector and a good film."
"Right." Marie jotted a note down to remind her, then clapped her hands for attention. "Okay, girls. Let's get this show on the road. We have forty drooling, impatient members of the League of California Cities out there just dying to spend a little of their expense money. Let's not disappoint them."
When Bette made her appearance on stage a couple of minutes later wearing the black nylon gown that looked like hot pants and suspenders, there was a great deal of applause, a few whistles and a wolf-call or two. "Just wait, you horny bastards, until I come out with the harem outfit," she mentally said, smiling boldly at the audience and putting thumbs under the suspenders and lifting them out and away from her breasts as though she were proud of something.
She concentrated on making her body and the gown look good, and was only vaguely aware of Marie's continuity, " black imported nylon, with a zipper that runs from the waist in front all the way down the crotch and all the way up the back. A beautiful treasure chest. . for you alone . . and so very comfortable and smart. Only one hundred and fifty dollars . . another stunning Mister Bates original."
As Marie spoke, Betty lifted eyebrows, teasing the audience and pulled the zipper down about three inches. There were loud shouts of "More... further," and one groaning plea, "Come on, show us how the zipper works." Bette walked to stage right, near the curtains, then with one quick tug yanked the zipper down all the way to her pubic patch and disappeared before anyone could actually see anything. Loud groans of disappointment and ribald laughter followed her.
Bette and the girls worked the show automatically, barely listening to Marie's dialogue but always managing to catch the important cue lines. They knew the audience had passed the basic curiosity mark so far as the clothes were concerned and now were becoming interested in only the bodies of the women. By the end of the thirty minute show, several of the men were openly perspiring, their rasping breath indicative of their arousal.
As the finale, Bette appeared on stage for the Harem number, wearing a diaphanous long flowing red toga that clung lovingly to her long thighs and breasts. The men fell silent as the two "harem maids" appeared to assist her. Angelique was wearing the heart-shaped panties and no bra; the overhead lights shone like a hundred tiny little lamps reflected in the perfumed oil with which her warm bronze breasts had been anointed. Her long black hair was tied loosely back with a golden cord which fell to the rounded curves of her copper-coloured buttocks. Beside her was the petite blonde figure of Sue wearing a transparent pair of harem pants through which her Mound of Venus and its golden patch of pubic hair could plainly be seen. When she bowed to Bette, her perfect little white breasts hung like heavy ripe fruit waiting to be plucked.
Marie's seductive voice came from behind the curtains, "And for your special lady, a complete harem outfit. Pants and toga made of highly sensual imported Japanese silk which, next to your bare skin or hers feels like the soft breath of heaven. A lovely design which Mister Bates has borrowed from the ancient Byzantium and Mohammedan cultures. Your own obedient harem slave, ready to do anything you request of her. The outfit consists of the toga, pants, and the Mister Bates exclusive Oil de Aphrodite.
The toga is easily removed... " As Marie uttered the cue line, Angelique and Sue--their breasts straining--reached out their arms and, working in unison, unbuttoned the bodice. Stepping back, they slowly pulled the garment apart and removed it from her arms.
Bette stood there, her upper torso bare. She made one little teasing yawn as though she were actually preparing for bed.
Marie continued, "... the harem pants are held up by elastic and are easily removed Several members of the audience swallowed noisily as Angelique and Sue each hooked a thumb over the elastic top and pulled the pants down across Bette's gently rounded flanks and smooth thighs. There was a low groan from a man in the front row as the two girls kneeled in subservience at the tall red-head's feet, their faces only inches away from the autumn fox fur coloured pubic mound. Bette put her hands down on their shoulders for support, then lifted first one foot then the other to facilitate removal of the rest of the garment. She was completely and splendidly naked now. Once again she yawned -- this time prodigiously -- and lifted her arms high above her head causing her melon-like breasts to quiver with a life of their own.
Marie said, "... And then, before she slips between your sheets to become your slave, you anoint her body with delightfully scented Oil de Aphrodite, which Mister Bates developed from an ancient formula used for centuries by the concubines of emperors and sultans."
As Marie recited her commentary, Angelique and Sue poured the scented oil into the palms of their hands and began rubbing it over Bette's trembling nude body.
The sight of the tall negress and petite blonde oiling the red-head's breasts and buttocks had brought the spectators to a fever-pitch of excitement. Within seconds the girls had covered Bette's body with a fine sheen of oil, then they rubbed their oily palms over their own bodies. Moving at a verbal cue from Marie, they all three simultaneously stepped out of the well-lighted stage area into the darkened audience.
"And the scent of this powerful oil is guaranteed to invigorate even the most jaded of appetites," Marie said, as the taped music began playing louder. "The entire outfit and oil, only two hundred and fifty dollars."
The models wandered through the audience permitting the men to smell the oil as Marie concluded the show. These men were no different than any others-perhaps a trifle more conservative than the travelling salesmen conventions, but lively nonetheless. The girls had a saying among themselves that it was easy enough to know which man or men had "grabbed ass" during the parade through the room, all you had to do was smell their hands, and the oil would be a dead give-away.
With one last rise in the music's volume, Marie said, "And that concludes our show for this evening. Thank you for attending. Representatives of Mister Bates will be on hand to answer any questions you might have and take orders." The lights came up and the models quickly moved away and back stage.
Marie was consulting a clipboard as the girl's arrived. "Good show," she grunted. "Here are your room assignments. Bette, two three two. A double order." Bette nodded her understanding. Two men wanted her; she would receive a double commission. "Cora, Sue, you're to work as a team with a gentleman from Los Angeles. Room number four three nine. Angelique, three oh six. These are prepaid orders, and when you're ready to take another buyer, ring me in the reception room, two two one. Thank you, girls. That's all."
When Bette dressed in her street clothes got to room 232, she wasn't too surprised to see Charlie Webb, the tall, mustachioed, genial city manager of San Sebastiano, in the company of another man. She had known Charlie was in the audience, for he had run his hand familiarly between the crevice of her buttocks when she had been walking through the dimly-lighted audience; and he had whispered, "That's from San Sebastiano, the goose capitol of the world!" Now, both men turned with cocktail glasses in their hands as she entered.
"Hello, honey," Charlie boomed. "How's my girl?"
"Just fine, Charlie. Have you been staying healthy?"
"Do you mean, can I still get one up?" He guffawed at his own crude humor. "This here is His Honor, Mack Davidson, our beloved mayor."
Bette nodded her head at the Mayor, who licked his lips nervously. She knew the type: he hadn't had much, if any, experience with play for pay women. He was probably some poor sap of a druggist or grocer who had been voted in as mayor of the small city. And now in the company of the League's powerful lobbyists and shyster attorneys, he was completely out of his element.
Charlie Webb continued, "I've been telling Mack, here, what a tremendous blow job you give."
The mayor actually squirmed in embarrassment, and Bette abruptly felt sorry for him. "Charlie, baby," she said, "you're really too much. How about pouring me a drink? I'm hot from working the show."
"Honey, I hope you're hot because I've got some hose here to put out your little old fire." He grabbed his penis through his trousers and tightened his fingers around the bulge.
It was the mayor who finally made the drink for her.
Bette had taken only one sip before Charlie was unbuttoning her blouse with one hand and running his other up and down her inner thighs.
"God-damn," she said, as his finger insinuated itself between the elastic leg band of her nylon panties, "You don't waste any time, do you?"
"Honey, I gotta cum and go tonight. Our wives are waiting for us back at the hotel."
Bette glanced over toward the mayor and saw his flush had deepened with mention of his wife, but whether he knew it or not, his heightened colour was also coming from increased interest as he watched Charlie Webb begin finger fucking the attractive red-headed model.
Bette obediently bent her shoulders forward as Charlie began fumbling with her bra. A moment later he goosed her to stand up and deftly removed her skirt, leaving only the bikini panties and garter belt. Mack Davidson stood, bug-eyes, as Charlie removed his own trousers and shirt, then told the model to finish undressing him. The mayor was snapped out of his stupor when Charlie asked, laughing, "Hey, Mack. What's wrong? Aren't changing your mind about the blow job, are you?"
"Hell, no," he answered with unnecessary gruffness.
Bette went down on her knees in front of Charlie Webb, assisting him in the removal of his jockey shorts. His stiff, elongated cock leapt to freedom, and throbbed in the air. "Stand up, honey," he crooned. I'm going to take those little old panties of yours off, then I'm going to fuck you dog fashion . . while you give old Mack here one of your world famous blow jobs."
Bette stood and allowed Charlie to pull down her skimpy nylon panties. Although she hadn't seen him for over four months, and there had been at least a hundred and twenty different men since, she remembered that he liked to have a woman keep on her garter belt. . so she made no effort to loosen it.
Mack Davidson actually was so nervous he was having trouble getting out of his clothes. Bette smiled knowingly and went over, kneeling in front of him, and removed his shoes so he could get his pants off; she tossed the trousers in a heap at the end of the couch, then reached up and peeled his shorts down. His prick, like a stubby little cannon was elevated and ready to fire.
Bette bent her head down closer to the throbbing fleshy shaft and saw the tiny blue and red capillaries running around the trunk. Here and there through the muscular flesh, she saw one blue vein pulsating with each beat of his heart as the body moved more blood and energy to this scene of action.
Tantalizingly, she brushed her long red hair back and forth across the purplish head of the cock and was rewarded with a low moan from the mayor. He made one impatient little punch upward, but she teasingly ducked her ovalled mouth away.
She felt her hips being grasped by Charlie Webb and elevated slightly, then his middle finger was probing her vaginal crevice--sliding imperiously between the perspiration dampened cuntal lips. She knew he had to work only a few seconds before her natural lubrication took over. While the city manager was preparing her, she bent forward and unfastened the bottom three buttons of Mack Davidson's starched white shirt, opening it to reveal a belly that was matted with thick black and gray hair. Oddly enough, his pubic hair was all black, and his long hard cock looked startlingly white in contrast.
Now she felt Charlie's fingers drawing away from her to be replaced by the feel of his warm throbbing prick sliding up and down the moistened hot slit of pink, pouting pussy lips. Satisfied she was ready, he forced her knees further apart and began a gentle pressure at the cuntal entrance, a pressure that rapidly increased in intensity.
The moment the pressure began, Bette reached out and grabbed the mayor's cock with her left hand. He had become so excited by the swishing of her hair back and forth across his penis that the mushroomed head now had one large pearl of hot viscous seminal fluid oozing from the glans. With her other hand, she cradled his hairy, pendulous scrotum, gently teasing and squeezing it and bringing a gasp of delight from his throat.
The second she felt the throbbing head of Charlie Webb's prick make entry into her cuntal cavern, she bent forward and made one swipe with her tongue at the sensitive underside of the mayor's cock.
"Ummm," he moaned, then groaned loudly as she took the pulsating knob of his cock into the warm moist oval of her mouth. She kept it there, without moving her head, running her tongue around and around the instrument, and hearing the abandoned mewls of animal pleasure coming from the mayor.
Bette pulled her mouth away just long enough to say, "Oh, Charlie, baby! If you only knew how good your prick feels in there. Oh, God. It's heaven."
Then she bent forward and began slavering up and down the entire length of the mayor's cock as Charlie began to make long smooth thrusts deep up into the warmest hidden regions of her pussy. She was only vaguely aware of the mayor's sudden frantic activity as he reached down and grasped her long red hair in his hands and began thrusting his rapidly ballooning cock into her throat. Christ, she thought, he's a fast one, I've only, been working on him for a minute.
"I'm . . I'm cumming," he snorted, and Bette began a harder suction, using her tongue to scrape maddeningly at the underside while her teeth gently nibbled at the top. A moment later, she heard him give one gasp, then attempt to shove his prick all the way down her throat. Abruptly, the cock was spurting, spewing out its hot white load of impatient semen deep into her voracious mouth and throat. She gulped loudly, never once stopping her suction, and helped him reach a peak of ecstatic pleasure he had never achieved before.
Behind her, Charlie continued to work smoothly away, grinning all the time at the lust constricted face of San Sebastiano's little mayor. A moment later, he heard the sucking noise cease as Mack Davidson reluctantly pulled his rapidly deflating cock from her hungry mouth.
Bette turned to look back at Charlie; he saw the silver sheen of cum on her lips and at the side of her mouth. She said, "Harder, Charlie. Fuck Harder! Jesus. You feel great." He smiled in triumph, then began making deeper and more violent thrusts into the warm cavity where he could feel muscles twitching and pulling at his prick, as though he had inadvertently stuck his pecker into a milking machine.
"Oh, honey, that's never felt so good before. You're wonderful . . your beautiful cock... " She continued to mouth the phrases, all lies, not feeling a thing except the prick rhythmically sawing back and forth, in and out of her cunt. She could have felt something if she had concentrated on it, but her mind was elsewhere . . thinking about a tall, not very bright Navy wife, who--whether the girl knew it or not--was going to be her summer replacement in Marie Grosset's stable of paid prostitutes.
CHAPTER TWO
"Yes, sir! My boy Bill can really pick them," Dan Conklin said for at least the tenth time that evening, as his hot hungry gaze roamed boldly up and down the tall, well-built blonde's curvaceous figure so enticingly revealed by a clinging Kelly green silk crepe mini.
Dorothy Conklin's big brown eyes watched with some apprehension as her father-in-law poured his third healthy Scotch and soda since they had returned home from the Star Room where they had dined and danced for almost four hours. She liked Dan; he was absolutely the best father-in-law any new bride could ask for--handsome, cool, smart, considerate, fun!
As west coast Sales Manager for a publishing firm, Dan was constantly traveling throughout the thirteen western states. He was in the Los Angeles area every three weeks or so. The last two times in the city, he had stayed with his son's new wife, Dorothy.- She had been glad to have the company, feeling his visits were a welcome relief from the boring monotony of being a housewife in a home where the husband was gone. Bill, her Navy Lieutenant Commander husband, and she had been married less than five months before his ship was assigned to the Fifth Fleet operating somewhere in the South Pacific. Now he was gone for at least six months, maybe longer and--frankly--she was bored stiff from watching television every night and having to turn down all sorts of fun invitations to parties . . even the parties thrown by the next door neighbors. She had thought about enrolling in the University's night school and taking some mind-improving courses, had even enthusiastically written Bill to say she was planning to enroll in college. When she had a chance to think about it a couple days later, however, she said aloud to herself, "Now isn't that foolish, Dorothy? Here you are talking about going- to college and you didn't even finish the tenth grade." And, somehow, the thought of sitting in class and being stared at by all the college boys just didn't appeal to her; it never had appealed to her and that was one of the reasons she had quit school so early . . that and the difficulties she had with mathematics, language, science, geography, history and social science. She had done poorly in physical education too, this mainly because even in those days her breasts had been so full that it really was discomforting to run and jump. Dorothy had often said, "I'm just a dumb blonde, I guess." Hardly anyone, not even Bill, contradicted her.
She had accepted as a fact of her life that she was not "bright", but Dorothy knew she was smart enough to recognize a man on the make . . and when that man happened to be your father-in-law, and the girl had had a little too much to drink, then a person really had trouble on her hands.
Earlier in the evening, when they had been dancing in the dimly-lighted Star Room and Dan was holding her so close that she could feel his penis poking against her abdomen, he had jokingly said, "You know the Bible says that a father must take care of his son's wife--her needs material and physical--when her husband is away in the service of his country. First Corinthians, six, fifteen... hike!"
Dorothy had been almost positive something like that wasn't really in the Bible, but you never could tell; they had some pretty kookie things in there sometimes, things like: "How can he be clean who is born of a woman?" and "Let your women keep silent in the churches, for it is not permitted that they speak." She had learned these from a bespectacled effeminate theology student and part-time employee of the insurance company where Dorothy, before her marriage, had worked as a switchboard operator.
She watched, through leery eyes, as Dan put down his drink and went over to the stereo set. "How about a little dance music?" he said.
"Dan, it's awfully late. The neighbors will complain."
"Ah, I'll play it real low. Come on; let's dance some more."
Dorothy made it a point of never fibbing to people, mainly because it was too hard to remember exactly what she had told them, whereas if you always told the truth, you didn't have to worry about tripping yourself up. She told a fib now, however, when she said, "I've had too much to drink and I have a terrible headache. Please excuse me, but I'm going to bed."
Disappointment was written all over Dan's face, but she didn't waver. Things could very easily get out of control if she weren't careful, and the worse thing could happen would be to let Dan get his arms around her, dancing. He had been aroused earlier in the evening, and now in the privacy of her own house--away from the inhibiting crowds at the Star Room--she was almost at his mercy if he decided to make a pass at her. And Lord knows, she thought, I'm not a refrigerator; Bill had been gone a month and I could use a little loving . . but only from my husband.
"Good night," she said, smiling sincerely, and hoping she wasn't hurting his feelings. Oddly enough, it didn't occur to her to get angry; Dan Conklin was a man, and men had been making passes at her since she was thirteen years old . . and it was a tribute to her convictions and will-power that she had successfully fended them all off until she met BUI. He had been so surprised at her virginity that he was in a state of shock for three days before asking her to marry him right away.
"Ah, don't be a spoil sport. Have another drink... it'll help the headache," Dan wheeled. "No, Good night."
He shrugged, then added, "Okay, if you want to be anti-social. After all, I guess it is asking too much of a beautiful young girl like you to put up with an old man like me."
She had hurt him. "Oh, Dan! Please don't say that. You aren't old. Why I know lots of kids twenty years old that aren't as young as you are. And I love being with you. You're the coolest father-in-law any girl could have. And ordinarily I would dance with you and have another drink, but I'm so tired and my head hurts."
He sighed deeply. "Okay. Good night."
She hesitated, staring into his eyes in an effort to see if he was still wounded by her refusal to dance. The only message she could read in those orbs was one which told her she had better get to her own bedroom right away because Dan could become very hard to handle. "Good night," she said, primly, then went quickly to her room and closed the door behind her.
She had undressed and gotten into the apricot yellow ankle-length nylon night gown that Bill had bought her when she remembered she hadn't brushed her teeth or gone to the toilet as she usually did before retiring. The only kind of robe she had in her closet was a mid-calf black nylon wrap around. For at least a minute she deliberated whether to go out now or wait until she was sure Dan had gone to bed. She listened at the door. It seemed awfully quiet out there, so maybe he had already gone to his own bedroom. She wrapped the robe around her long yellow nightgown and went out.
Dan was sitting on the couch staring at her. When he saw how she was dressed, his face lit up in a huge wolfish grin of pleasure.
Blushing furiously, Dorothy quickly made her way to the toilet and did her duties, then returned to the bedroom, studiously avoiding looking at Dan while crossing the living room.
Back in her room, she tossed the black mid-calf robe on the little stool in front of the dressing table and picked up the hair brush, running the stiff bristles several times down the entire golden length of her blonde tresses. Somewhat fuzzily she watched herself in the mirror. Bill had bought this gown and had told her the first night she had worn it that it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. It was easy to see why he would think so. The sleeveless gown had a high bodice which emphasized the magnificent upthrust breasts; a row of little pearl buttons ran from the top down all the way to the navel. It was extremely comfortable at night, in spite of the fact that the bodice was so tight that her nipples could plainly be seen under the cloth. The gown had been designed in such a way as to make the material fall into the shadowy crevice between her buttocks and cling like a second skin to her legs and thighs. Although it covered everything, it also emphasized everything that had been hidden from sight. In the front, it dipped into the junction of her thighs and the protruding Mound of Venus was so temptingly outlined that Bill always joked about her wearing "pussy falsies" under the gown.
Before she crawled between the pale green sheets, Dorothy tip-toed to the door and listened again. Satisfied that Dan had probably gone on to his own bedroom, she relaxed and went to bed. Five minutes later she was in the depths of a really sound sleep induced by the amount of alcohol she had consumed.
She did not hear the door open or see Dan Conklin, completely nude and rather terrifyingly virile in his super aroused state, quietly pad into the room and stand beside the bed gazing down at the luscious body outlined beneath the sheets. Very gently he pulled the top sheet back and was forced to suppress a gasp of admiration when he saw her breasts straining, even in sleep, against the bodice. When she had gone to bed, the gown had slid up well past mid-thigh, and Dan noticed that it needed only another inch or two to unveil her warm, wonderful pussy.
Never before in his life had he seen anything so sexy, so luscious! The girl was sound asleep, lying flat on her back, with left leg slightly cocked at the knee. The faint shadow of her cuntal crevice could be plainly seen, as well as the succulent mound of warm creamy flesh that denoted the beginnings of her deliciously proportioned buttocks.
A soft smile was etched on her shining half-parted lips while the long strands of golden hair fell on both sides of her floral pillow.
"Anyone who would stick a prick in that just has to be in violation of the pure food law," he said silently to himself, watching the slow beautiful rise and fall of her tits.
Slowly, never taking his eyes from her face, he took the hem of her gown between thumb and forefinger and raised it all the way to her navel.
Dorothy slumbered on, undisturbed and unsuspecting.
With quickening breath and willing his hands not to tremble, Dan very gingerly began to spread her thighs apart. Dorothy stirred slightly, moaned softly, and opened them even further. Beads of perspiration had broken out on Dan's forehead, and he could feel his heart hammering not only from excitement, but fear as well. Jesus, here he was about to stick it to his own daughter-in-law. He wished now he hadn't had so much to drink; it just might possibly impair his performance. This first time had to be good for her or he was done for. A big, beautiful, warm broad like this just had to have cock regularly and often. Shit! He was even doing her a favour; she probably was already nervous and irritable from lack of it. And best of all, this way they could keep it in the family.
A tremulous half-smile was on Dorothy's lips and even as he watched them, it seemed as if she were silently mouthing words. He saw her shoulders move slightly and her pelvis give one little movement upward. "Jesus," he said to himself, "she's dreaming."
Still scared, but with a little more certainty, Dan put one knee between her outstretched legs. When he put his weight on it, the mattress sagged slightly. A second later, his second knee was on the bed and he was kneeling between her ankles. His hot lascivious eyes were locked on the soft profusion of yellow pubic hair that crowned the wide-open, yam-coloured delicate lips of her completely defenseless cunt. That pussy was the most exquisite he had ever seen; it seemed to be pleading to be caressed, to be kissed. It was as tempting as the most succulent forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. Dan could feel the long throbbing hardness of his prick rubbing against the sheets. He wished now that he'd had enough sense to use some sort of lubricant, so he could have his cock all the way inside of her before she awakened and realized what was happening.
He heard her moan, more loudly this time, and he glanced at her face alarmed. What he saw heartened him immeasurably; there was a look almost of lust about her closed eyes and mouth, and her pelvis made a jab upward once again. Suddenly she said, quite distinctly, "Oh . . Bill, baby, that feels so good."
"Migawd," Dan mentally said as he watched her nipples harden beneath the nylon gown, "she's having a wet dream!" He was goaded, aroused to a fever pitch by the thought.
Emboldened, he put his palms against the warmth of her thighs and pulled them even further apart. Dorothy slowly elevated her cunt in silent invitation.
Swimming in the warm black sea of her lovely dream, Dorothy imagined that Bill had returned and was caressing her body before making love to her. It seemed so vivid, felt so deliciously wonderful. He had been gone only a month, but already her appetite for him was ravenous. Dreaming now, she felt him kiss her breasts and run his hands over her thighs as he pulled her legs apart.
In her dream, Bill asked if she was ready and Dorothy replied, "Oh, yes . . do it now!"
Dan heard her dream-like voice and grinned widely, wickedly. Why not, he thought. Why not do it now? Let's eat a little from that fabulous box lunch. And suddenly, he was voraciously hungry. Never before had he wanted to taste a pussy so badly as he did this one. She was dreaming of being fucked; with this extra sensation she might go absolutely out of her mind. It would be fun to see the reaction, anyway.
Cautiously, he moved forward until his face hovered just above the glistening pink slit between her thighs. It was such a mouth-watering cunt! The vaginal lips were perfect, looking almost as if they belonged on a young teen-aged girl instead of a married woman. Her pubic hair was the colour and texture of corn silk and the cuntal cavity was warm, shadowy, inviting!
Slowly, savouring every second, he lowered his face . . and his tongue like a red shining penis of a dog crept out between his greedy open lip.
* * *
He licked once, gently running his tongue the entire length of the slit--from clitoris to anus--and was rewarded with an almost inaudible moan. His tongue retraced the sweet musk and honey-scented oath it had just taken, and this time he felt her ass muscles flex and her tasty crotch slowly rise as though it were some platform being elevated. Dreaming, or not, her vagina was responding, for he tasted the first slightly saline secretions of musk as her pussy prepared itself for love making by pouring out lubricant.
In her dream, BUI was doing something he had never done before. He had buried his face between her legs and begun a deliciously wicked licking of her genitals. It was beautiful; it felt divine, but it wasn't right to do this. It was . . it was, she searched for the word and then thought, "unnatural". The dream was so vivid! She could actually feel BUI's crew cut hair pressing against her inner thighs. She could... couldn't she? No . . this hair was longer, not bristly like a crew cut.
And abruptly, Dorothy came wide awake. She struggled to sit up, but found herself pinned to the bed. What was happening to her? Why was she naked from the waist down? Who? What? She finally raised her head and saw the top of a man's head between her thighs. "No," she screamed. "You mustn't." This had to be all part of a dream--a horrible nightmare.
By way of reply, Dan drove his tongue full length into the sweet warm depths of her pussy for the first time and used his nose to titillate her clitoris.
"Aaaaaggghhh. No, oh, God, no!" Dorothy began struggling, throwing her body from side to side seeking freedom. Dan heard her terrified yelp and knew now that he had to continue until she was so sexually aroused she could not help herself. It was now or never. She wouldn't let him near her in the future if he stopped now, but if he continued until she got so hot she couldn't resist? Who could tell what the future would bring? When her struggles grew more frantic, Dan tightened his arms wrapped about her thighs and buried his rapacious tongue as far as it could go into the quivering, heated cuntal lips.
Fear and revulsion battled each other for supremacy in Dorothy's mind. Instead of a nice dream, this was some nightmare too realistic to comprehend. And still, though, the earlier pleasure of that dream kept returning like an echo. Her nerve endings down there were being brought to life by that velvet tongue that licked, sucked, and caressed all at the same time. It was hateful, outrageous, horrible... beautiful, oh so beautiful!
"No . . no," she whimpered, putting her arms at the top of the man's head and attempting to push his mouth away. "Stop!" she cried.
It was only then that her father-in-law looked up; she gasped as she saw the familiar face and realized this was no dream. "Dan! Stop it. Don't do that. Let me up . . please!"
His only reply was a hard tongue thrust against her clitoris, making it reverberate like a temple gong.
"Please don't," she squealed. "You can't do that! Think of Bill! Don't. Oh, God . . don't."
Dan's slithering tongue traced a zig-zag pattern from clitoris to anus again, then came back and speared into the seeping hole of her cuntal cavity. Eight; nine, ten times in rapid succession he rammed his tongue in and out of her quivering pussy, tongue-fucking her in earnest now.
Dorothy began moaning piteously as she felt powerful sensations overriding all other emotions and body functions. "Oh, Dan . . Dan! Pluuuuzee! Let me up! Not even Bill has done that to me. Dan? Oh, God . . Dan!" The last was a yelp as his teeth nipped at the sensitive almond bud of her clitoris. She gasped loudly, then fell back against the mattress, weakened by the intense sensations and sudden implacable hunger between her legs. She made one last protest, "Don't. Bill? Dan, don't! Bill.. that's dirty . . perverted!"
Her father-in-law looked up, his face shining with his own saliva and her sweet cuntal secretions. "Stop fighting it, baby. You know and I know that you're enjoying what I'm doing to your wonderful pussy."
"Please . . don't talk like that to me," she moaned. "Think about your son. I love Bill."
"And I love Bill, .too. That makes two of us. So we've got something in common between us in addition to our sexual needs for each other."
Dorothy didn't have a chance to reply, for Dan abruptly lowered his chin and ran his hot hard tongue along one side of her sensitive outer layer of vulva, watching her as he did so. Her face grimaced, not in disgust, but in what was obviously a fight for self control. He did it again and saw her nostrils quiver. She was finally getting with it. Another minute or two and she would stop fighting and start cooperating.
Satisfied, he let his eyes feast hungrily on the now fully blossomed lips which had grown in size and colour since he began his ministrations. One single drop of her seeping love juice clung like a small white pea to the curls of golden hair. The entire cuntal area looked like the petals of some exotic tropical flower and, in the middle where the stamen ordinarily would be, there was the shadowy opening to her femaledom. Even as he watched, it began puckering and unpuckering as her vaginal muscles expanded and contracted in sensual excitement.
"Look at me, Dorothy," he commanded, and there was something compelling in his voice that made her lift her head. She watched frightened and bewildered as he placed his thumbs on each side of her cuntal crevice and peeled her lips apart as though he were opening a sacred tome. The corn-silk curls of her pubic hairs gave way, exposing the flaming beauty of her pussy to his lust dimmed gaze. She moaned in shame as he breathed against the sensitive lips; the expelled hot air from his throat grazed raw nerves down there and her entire body reacted.
She saw his face drop . . and his hot tongue come out to wetly probe her guiltily quivering vagina. That was the last thing she saw. With this warm, wet contact between tongue and cunt, she simply was forced to let everything go. It was impossible to fight him any longer. Her body responded, jerking automatically, as she ground her hips into the bed in an effort to escape the long worming tongue that wiggled like a sidewinder up one side of her pussy and down the other. A groan bubbled out of her throat. "Ohhhhh . . my God! Dan . . please . . don't. . let me up." The rapacious licking of her defenseless vagina continued, and she felt her stomach muscles beginning to ripple of their own accord. From some far off distance she heard her own voice wailing in animal-like passion as his tongue scoured her inner thighs and made one hot swipe around her clitoris before snaking rapier-like in and out of her cringing cunt. "Oh . . dear God... Dan! Stop . . please!"
Her father-in-law shook his head negatively and rammed his tongue with new fury up the dilated hole between her open thighs. He used his nose to bump the clitoris repeatedly, and each nudge brought a low gasp from the helplessly captive girl.
Dorothy's mind was a churning maelstrom of repulsion, shame, and a rapidly growing desire. Unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure vilely pervaded her entire being now as Dan's powerful hands released her thighs and slipped under her buttocks, cupping and squeezing the warm supple flesh of her ass cheeks. His tongue and mouth continued to grind further and further into the steaming valley of her squirming defenseless cunt. Without volition, she dug her shoulders into the mattress, pulled in her stomach muscles and raised her pelvis, making Dan's head bury itself even deeper. Salacious slurping and sucking sounds echoed throughout the bedroom. His hands pulled apart the crevice between her buttocks, and then one exploratory finger began worming into the opening to her puckered little rectum. The feel of that finger there caused Dorothy to clench her eyes tightly shut and ball her hands into fists.
She began moaning low in her throat, the obvious sounds of a woman in the throes of pleasure, as she permitted herself to feel everything for the first time.
Dan heard and recognized her sharp gasp of delight as his hands kneaded the soft warm globes of her pliant ass; the sound caused a surge of new lust in his already over-aroused body, and he drew her legs up and around his neck. Moments later, he had the satisfaction of knowing that she had locked her ankles together behind his head in consent and cooperation. He continued to fuck her orally, using his tongue to run lewd sensuous circles around her fully erect clitoris, nuzzling his nose back and forth as he darted his throbbing tongue deep into her pulsating pussy, feeling her eager cuntal lips push up against his face with increasing strength as her body spasmed in an effort to bring more and more of his mouth into blissful contact with her love-starved vagina. His middle finger again sought out the anus, and a low inarticulate moan was wrenched from her throat as he probed the opening. Abruptly, his hot wet mouth moved down, down, all the way down where his tongue flickered like summer heat lightning against the brown star of her puckered little anus.
Dorothy's eyes blinked wide open as she felt the touch, felt the wild sensual pleasure surge like a seismic wave through her. This was dirty. Horribly evil. She must make him understand he shouldn't do this. She must stop him before he went any further.
"Oh, God . . Dan. Don't do that... you mustn't. No!" she said, her voice an unrecognizable croak of lust. "You must not... " The last was shut off in mid-sentence as she wantonly used her heels to bring his head in tighter, deeper, endeavouring to rape her own tortured rectum with his tongue. She flailed her head from side to side, trying to shake off the shame at the realization she had lost complete control of her traitorous body. She began sobbing in humiliation as her father-in-law pushed his tongue into that forbidden rectal opening. "Aaaghhh... " it was said softly between sobs, then "Oohhh? Ohhhhh... God...!" Her body came to a rapid boil with the exquisite tingling of raw nerve endings as Dan changed his technique and brought his hot mouth back to her pussy again. She knew that any further resistance to him or her own feelings was useless; she could not deny this intense delight he was bringing her. Suddenly, as the nerve endings in her abdomen began to reverberate, she knew that her body was only a moment away from orgasming. She raised her fevered, lust-controlled loins to his face, her only wish now to aid this man, this master. She ground her pulsating, wide-open cunt against his face, revelling with heart and soul and pussy in carnal delight at the lewd forbidden pleasure he was bringing her.
Her body was rapidly building up to that slow sweet torment of a climax; she could feel the heavenly vapors condensing and then piling up into towering thunderheads in her wonderfully aching loins. Her mouth opened laxly and the little pink tongue hung lewdly out one side. From the depths of her throat came one sustained, uninterrupted moan. She was close . . coming closer.
Dan sensed that she was reaching for an orgasm, and he shoved his middle finger deep into her anus. It went in easily the hole having been lubricated by his saliva and enlarged by his tongue. At the same moment, he began concentrating all his efforts on her clitoris.
Dorothy writhed and twisted, bubbling wild mewls of animal-passion, her face twisted in a masque of abandoned lust as she tried to combine all sensations together in one cataclysmic explosion. Every facet of body, mind, and soul was focused on her throbbing, fevered cunt as she sought to bring on a climax.
There is a particular moment, when a woman is being made love to, that she reaches a point of no return, once past the point she must orgasm; it is an automatic thing, something she has no control over. In many respects, it is a well-defined line . . one small step across the line and she has a climax regardless of what happens or doesn't happen, the man could even withdraw his prick and it would still occur. Dorothy was within three or four seconds of this point when the shrill ring of the doorbell jangled through her nerves like an electrical shock.
Dan lifted his head from her moist hot hole and said huskily, "Don't answer it."
Before Dorothy could reply, the bell rang again and she heard the front door open and Bette Harding's cheerful voice call out, "Hey, Dottie! Anyone home?"
"Oh, God," the blonde whispered, wrenching herself free of Dan's grip and rolling off the bed. When her feet his the floor, she almost fell because her knees were so weak. Breathing heavily, she knew her face was flushed. "I'll be right out, Bette. Just a second," she called in panic.
Trembling violently, she dug her fingers through her dishevelled hair, and went to the door. She looked back toward the bed and saw Dan's angry red face--smeared with his own saliva and her cuntal juices. "Get rid of her," he mouthed the words. His long hard cock throbbed with each beat of his heart and, for one split second, she fought the insane urge to yell out to Bette to go away and come back later. Then she took a deep breath and went out, closing the door firmly behind her.
Bette took one look at the blonde's guilty expression and flushed features, and her eyebrows shot up. "Sorry," she said. "I... ah... saw the lights on and the door was unlocked."
"It's all right, "Dorothy lied. "I was... I was... I was," she thought desperately for something to say then added lamely," . . just doing my exercises."
"Look, honey, I can come back tomorrow."
"No!" It was almost a shout and the violence of her reply shocked them both. Quickly, Dorothy added, "Stay here! What was it you wanted?" Then remembering her manners, she asked, "Can I make some coffee or a drink for you?"
"Thanks, but nope. Listen .. ah .. you remember my talking to you about my job as a model and sales representative for the Mister Bates people and how I thought you'd be a natural?"
Dorothy nodded her head rapidly, a look of curiosity on her face.
"Well, I've got to take a leave of absence while Richie's ship is in port. I talked to Miss Grosset, the sales manager, and she's willing to take a chance on you as my replacement during the six months . . if you can do the work and take the travel that's involved. You'll be making a minimum of four or five hundred bucks a week in commissions."
Dorothy had to sit down. This unexpected offer combined with what had happened in the bedroom was just too much for her mind to assimilate at once. "Golly," she said, her eyes wide and a stunned expression on her face.
Bette cocked her red head to one side and asked, "Do you want to think about it?"
"No. I mean, Yes. Yes, I'll do it."
Bette visibly relaxed. "Good." She glanced at her diamond-studded watch and frowned. "It's time I got to bed myself. Why don't I come by Thursday afternoon and fill in the rest of the details. If you're free on Thursday evening, we'll start you working in one of the private shows then."
"I'm free."
"Okay. Now go back to bed. And I'm sorry if I. . I mean, I'm sorry for breaking in at this time of night."
"No . . honestly, it's all right. I was just doing my exercises." She stood up as Bette went to the door. "Are you sure you won't stay for a drink or something?" Her voice had a pleading tone to it.
"Nothing. See you Thursday afternoon, about five."
"Good night, then," Dorothy said as the red-headed model disappeared out the front door. The blonde walked back to the couch, her mind reeling. The job offer had doubled her excitement; she felt the urgent need of a man more than ever, but now she was in control of her errant body, in command of the situation. She saw the doorknob turning slowly at the bedroom door and knowing she could not reason with Dan--could not permit him to touch her again or her resolve would melt--she ran quickly to the only room in the house with a lock on the door, the bathroom! Locking it, she began drawing a tub full of cold water.
The soft knock on the door came a minute or two later. She did not answer, merely got "o the tub and sat staring defiantly ahead with her arms around her knees. The knock came louder, this time accompanied by Dan's querulous voice, "Dorothy? Are you in there?"
Still she refused to answer. The door knob turned, was rattled, and Dan began pounding on the door. "I know you're in there, Dorothy. Let me in. There's something I want to tell you."
"No," she called out. "Go away, Dan I don't want to talk to you."
"Dammit, let me in!" The door shook with his pounding. When this didn't elicit a reply from her, he then began playing on her sympathy. "Honey, I'm dying. Please come out. I won't touch you . . I promise. I'll stay on the other side of the room. I just have to go to the toilet."
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because I'm a good girl," Dorothy said. "And I'm going to stay in here all night, until you leave to catch your plane in the morning."
"Oh . . shit!" That's all she heard for about ten minutes, then he was back at the door again. "I'm going now. To the airport motel. Goodbye."
"Bye, Dan," she said, squeezing a wash rag, watching the water run down and over her big melon sized breasts. It felt good . . nice! Not as good as a man's mouth, but okay anyway. She really hated to be this aroused and not have anything happen in the way of relief. She knew she would be up in the air for at least two or three days, but the new job would keep her so busy that she wouldn't have time to think about sex.
Outside the front door slammed with such finality that Dorothy didn't even have to get out of the tub to know that her frustrated father-in-law had departed.
CHAPTER THREE
Bette was humming a popular show tune as she tooled her dove gray-coloured Cadillac convertible through Sunset Avenue traffic, heading toward Dorothy's house. She paid absolutely no attention to the various hot hungry stares from the male drivers or the dark looks of envy from perspiring women in station wagons crammed with kids. Her whole concentration was focused on how well things were working out . . far, far better than she could ever have hoped to expect.
This feeling of well-being had started two nights before when she had interrupted Dorothy right in the middle of fucking someone. That crap about "doing exercises" hadn't fooled her for a second; the blonde had the look of a woman in the process of being royally screwed. There had been two cocktail glasses on the coffee table and a man's coat over the back of a chair. Bette didn't condemn Dorothy for it; on the contrary, the evidence made her very happy because now she knew the girl played around . . and if a girl played around, it was a fairly simple process to convince her that there was money--a lot of money--to be made from play for pay.
Additional good news had come from Marie Grosset only a few minutes ago. The two friendly "buyers" at the private show tonight would be George Hamlin and Carl Deevers, both extremely rich, handsome, sophisticated, fun, and--most important--experienced and virile enough to make a woman beg for more of the same. George would go absolutely ape shit over the big dumb blonde voluptuousness of the Conklin girl.
Bette's good-humour increased even more when she saw Dorothy had followed her instructions about dressing. She wore a very subdued Navy blue silk crepe with a large white sailor collar. The dress made her look younger, more vulnerable, but did nothing to hide the ripe lushness of her magnificent breasts or superlative suppleness of her inimitable hips and buttocks. Looking at her, the red-head felt such a rush of admiration and attraction that she thought, with some incredulity: Migawd, it's a good thing I'm not a lezzie or I'd go for a little of that myself.
Dorothy, she could see, was quite nervous. To calm her, Bette asked for Scotch and soda, insisting that the blonde have one with her. Before they left, each had another.
It was not until they were en route to the hotel that Bette dropped the news that they were having dinner with two "out-of-town buyers". She sensed, rather than saw, Dorothy tense momentarily, then relax again. "First hurdle over successfully," she commented to herself, then aloud and to Dorothy said, "These two guys are really nice. They're not like some of the jokers we get occasionally. They're gentlemen. Sometimes, you know, we get a buyer who likes to tell an off-colour joke or make suggestive remarks. Can you put up with that?"
"Oh, sure." Dorothy answered. She didn't add that men had been making "suggestive" remarks to her since she was twelve. As for the dirty jokes, they usually went over her head. She watched as Bette skillfully wheeled the car through traffic. It would be nice to own a car like this; maybe she could buy one after she had worked a couple of months. She already knew where the first two months salary was going--for some new clothes.
Bette watched the blonde girl out of the corner of her eye as they pulled under the canopy of the hotel's parking area. The doorman snapped a salute to Dorothy as he opened the door for her. She smiled in child-like delight, dimpled, blinked her eyes, and said, "Thank you, sir."
Heads swivelled and the, eyes of every male in the lobby followed the two stunning, well-dressed women as they crossed the foyer and headed for the bar.
Now that the time had come to meet the two "out-of-town buyers", Dorothy was beginning to feel a little apprehension. Bette had said they were "nice" and "gentlemen", but that didn't mean an awful lot. They probably were fat and bald and old. Thus it was that Dorothy wound up open-mouthed and blushing when one of the handsomest men she had ever seen stood up and slid out of a window booth to greet Bette; his eyes, though, were glued on Dorothy.
"George," Bette exclaimed in undisguised enthusiasm, "it's so great to see you again."
Only then did his eyes leave Dorothy's. "Good to see you, too, Love." He hugged her.
Bette grinned at the obvious effect the girl was having on George, and she was aware that Dorothy had been jolted off stride by the man's trim appearance. His virile good looks was something she had deliberately withheld from the blonde, wanting it to be a surprise.
"George Hamlin, meet Dorothy Conklin."
George's smile widened, and when Dorothy held out her hand, he took it and brought it to his mouth, lightly brushing the back of the hand with his lips. "I'm very happy to meet you, Miss Conklin."
Bette corrected him immediately, "Mrs.
Conklin." For just a split second, Dorothy felt resentment toward the other girl, then quickly suppressed it.
George seated them in the booth and gave their order to the bar steward. Although he included them both in the conversation, it was plainly evident that his main attention was focused on the blonde. Carl Deevers he said, had been held up at the airport, but he was en route now and would be here within fifteen or twenty minutes. He began talking about a famous comedian who was at the far end of the bar, gossiping about the man's predilection for young chorus boys and male dancers, reciting anecdotes about the difficulties the comedian had encountered in making his last film. Dorothy listened to it all, wide-eyed and enthralled. She surreptitiously inspected him as he turned toward Bette once. He was terribly handsome, in a Cary Grant sort of way. About fifty, his salt and pepper hair obviously was all his own. He wore an expensive navy blue cashmere blazer and dark gray pants. He was very tanned, the tan that one gets only aboard a yacht, on an island, or in a desert resort. He was, she decided, the kind of man you see in the newspaper's society pages with a tennis racket in his hand. The best thing of all about him, though, was that even though he obviously was well-educated and widely travelled, he managed to include Dorothy in the conversation and many of the wittier remarks that were made seemed to come from her. All in all, Dorothy felt comfortable with him.
She had another pleasant surprise when Carl Deevers arrived. Carl had an infectious grin and laugh. The only thing she found wrong with him was in his height; he was about three inches shorter than her own 5 feet 8 inches, but it didn't seem to bother him, and after listening to him talk for five minutes, it didn't bother Dorothy either. He was wearing a black raw silk suit, with solid gold nuggets on his french cuffs. He, too, was very tanned-even on the top of his bald head which was fringed with carrot-coloured hair. Dorothy noted that although he seemed very friendly toward her, his real attention was devoted to Bette; that suited her fine.
Dorothy was having so much fun that she was on her third martini before she realized it. Mentally she cautioned herself, for counting the three she'd had at the hotel and the two at home... well, she was already past the point where she usually stopped.
The four of them had been chatting happily away for just over an hour when the tuxedo-clad maitre d'hotel came respectfully over to their booth and said, "Your table is ready whenever you are, Mister Hamlin."
George stood, "Fine, Jackson, I'm starved." He looked down at Dorothy. "How about you?"
"Simply famished, " she said, not bothering to add that Bill claimed she was always famished, always ate like a horse even though she never added a pound to her weight.
Following Bette's lead, she let George order for her and wound up with a Caesar salad, a monstrous baked potato, and a two inch thick New York cut steak which was still bloody in the middle just as she liked it.
Her wine glass seemed to be like the famed magic goblet; it was never empty. Somewhere, about three-quarters the way through the meal, Dorothy realized she was beginning to slur an occasional word or two. That was her first indication that she was close to being drunk. She immediately stopped drinking wine and concentrated on getting as much food as possible into her stomach.
Bette watched incredulously as the blonde finished off an entire basket of rolls, then ate two very large servings of the hotel's famous Black Bottom pie. Christ, she thought, the kid ought to weight three hundred pounds at least, eating like that.
Dorothy turned down the offer of brandy and sat back listening to the conversation and watching the other three drink. She felt full, happy, and just a little sleepy from the big meal. Idly, her thoughts turned to the fashion show she and Bette would be presenting in a few minutes, and she wondered what the lingerie would look like. Bette had cautioned her that they were somewhat "daring", but Dorothy figured if the other Navy wife could wear them then she could, too.
It was almost ten o'clock before George crushed out his cigarette, drained his brandy snifter, and said, "Well, Carl, shall we take a look at the merchandise?"
Carl's face was split in a wide grin. "Yeh," he breathed. For a split second there was a strange look on his face that baffled Dorothy; it was as though Bette and the two men shared some secret. But then, she abruptly dismissed the thought from her mind.
The "show room" was a fourteenth floor suite, beautifully furnished in Louis XVI period style, all white, pale green and antique gold. Dorothy gasped when she saw the richness of the decor; the suite even had a fireplace. A couch at least ten feet long was placed in front of a floor to ceiling picture window overlooking the lights of the city. A motion picture projector was on top of the bar, pointing toward a black white wall which served as a screen.
In front of the bar, four bottles of expensive French champagne were being iced in silver buckets. Bette, who had taken charge now, ordered Dorothy to pour the champagne, then told the men to make themselves comfortable in the two chairs in front of the fireplace. While Dorothy was filling the men's champagne glasses, the red-head picked up a bottle and two goblets and disappeared into the far bedroom.
When the big blonde joined Bette a minute later, the red-headed model had already stripped herself of all clothing and was standing naked alongside a mammoth king-sized bed on which were about three dozen different items of lingerie. She felt herself beginning to blush in embarrassment at being in the same room with the nude woman, then sternly eluded herself, mentally saying, "After all, Dorothy, you're going to have to get used to it if you want to be a high-paid professional model and saleswoman."
Bette held out a glass of champagne. "Here, drink this," she ordered.
Dorothy really didn't need or want anything else to drink, but when the red-head repeated the order, she took it and drained the glass. Bette immediately refilled it, then pointed to the garments on the other side of the bed. "Those are yours, honey. Start at the top and work on down. Better get out of your clothes now. Everything comes off; that's rule number one. Mister Bates doesn't want any undergarment lines lousing up the design."
Knowing her face was red, Dorothy quickly stripped completely, then followed Bette's lead by putting on her first piece of lingerie--a black, almost transparent, pair of bikini panties and bra, with a black garter belt and black calf-length high-heeled boots. The outfit came equipped with a black leather riding crop, two wide black leather upper arm bracelets, and a little black outlaw's masque. The panties had been designed in such a manner that they cut deeply into the vaginal slit and crevice between her buttocks. Dorothy stared, wide-eyed, at her reflection in the mirror, then said weakly, "Oh, my goodness," and reached for the glass of champagne. This outfit wasn't just "daring"; it was almost obscene. She glanced over toward Bette, but the red-head's outfit was just as bad, for she wore a pair of dark blue satin panties that had the flesh-coloured print of the back of a man's hand at the crotch. The outstretched middle finger of the hand disappeared into the cuntal cleft. Dorothy hated to put into words what the hand looked like it was doing! The print was so real that the black hairs on the back of the finger could plainly be seen. The bra had two other hands printed over the breasts, making it look as if someone were standing in back of the model and cupping her tits in his hands.
Bette stared at the blonde and correctly read her alarmed expression. "Now don't be a nervous nelly, Dorothy. Relax. This is your first show; it isn't as bad as you think."
"Gee, I don't know. What will George and Mister Deever think of us coming out like this?"
"That's what they're here for... to see the new Mister Bates line. We're just models--sexless--why we could even be wooden dress dummies as far as they're concerned."
When Dorothy continued to look dubious, Bette poured another glass of champagne and handed it to her. "Okay," she said. "Drink this and let's get the show started. Once we get going, you'll be too busy to worry about what the men think." She watched as the big blonde emptied her glass, then took her by the arm and led her out the door to the front room.
George and Carl had made themselves comfortable. Both had removed their coats and ties, and were sitting back comfortably in the sofas.
They sat up straight, with eyes widening in appreciation, when the two girls appeared. Dorothy was so embarrassed that she thought she would wilt right on the spot. George's frankly admiring gaze swept up and down her figure, and she knew she was getting goosebumps just from having him stare at her. Carl said simply, "Oh, wow!" when he saw Bette's outfit.
The red-head served also as commentator, and Dorothy listened closely to everything that was said. She was appalled to hear that her outfit cost $275. As Bette briefly described the materials used in the manufacture of the garments, she jerked her head toward the champagne bucket, and Dorothy got the message that she was to refill the men's glasses. When she walked up to George, he put out his hand as if inspecting the material of her panties. The big blonde jerked at his touch, then forced herself to remain immobile as he used thumb and forefinger to pull the elastic waistband outward, away from the body. He nodded and said to Carl, "The elastic seems okay." Dorothy mentally kicked herself. For a minute there she had been sure he was not being nice. "That just goes to show you," she mentally said. "You're still too new as a professional model, and you ought to feel guilty about thinking mean things about Mister Hamlin." A moment later, she didn't give it a second thought when she saw Carl Deever run his hands over the buttocks of Bette's panties. It was obvious to her that he was just checking to see what grade of nylon had been used.
Her next piece of lingerie was a $300 nightgown made of material so sheer that the brown aureoles of her breasts could plainly be seen through the misty material. When George ran his hand down the swelling curve of her flank and then brought it up the back of her legs to the buttocks, she stoically bore it all knowing that it was strictly business to him. There was even a faint feeling of disappointment as she thought: I could be a wooden dummy for all he knows or cares, he just wants to see how the material feels.
"Not bad," he said. "Very good, indeed." She took the champagne bottle to Carl and stood there while he also inspected the material.
Back in the dressing room, Dorothy downed another glass of champagne and made a quick change into her next outfit. She didn't want to admit it, but the men's hands on her body disturbed her. It wasn't unpleasant, just disconcerting. She was especially vulnerable to George Hamlin's touch; he gave her goosebumps in addition to a certain undefinable feeling in the pit of her stomach.
When she went into the front room to display the newest creation, she thought she overheard Carl querulously asking, "Do we have to go through this charade crap before we get a little action?", and George's quick reply, "Yes. Marie says it's the only way." Dorothy had no idea of what they meant, she only hoped the "crap" they were talking about didn't include any of the clothes she was modelling.
The big blonde really didn't believe the lingerie could get any more daring, but it did as the show progressed. About two-thirds of the way through the presentation, she began to get alarmed again. Her next creation to model was another panty and bra outfit, this one yellow and looking as if it were crocheted, with open mesh about the same size as chicken wire around the groin areas. Little strands of her corn-silk pubic hair peeked out, no matter what she did to put them back in. She was almost ready to say something to the red-head but one look at Bette's face, which seemed to warn her against complaining, changed her mind. She went out, posed, then poured more champagne. This time, she had absolutely no doubt that George Hamlin was doing more than just "checking the material", for his finger had insinuated itself between the leg band of the panties and attempted to worm its way into her moistened pussy lips. The touch of his finger there made Dorothy recoil almost frantically. George merely lifted his glass and stared silently at her over the top. When he sipped, she felt a sudden chill shoot up her spine for she remembered Dan Conklin's lips had looked almost the same when he was doing that... that terrible thing at her crotch. Her vagina tingled all the way back into the bedroom in the place where George's finger had touched.
She started to take another glass of champagne herself, then abruptly decided against it. That was probably the reason George had done what he did--too much to drink! Even the nicest men sometimes got ideas when they were a little drunk.
She stayed out of his reach for the next two presentations, and felt the growth of alarm again when she saw a giggling Bette dressed in half bra and really skimpy panties being pulled down into the lap of a wildly laughing Carl Deevers. Bette, she suddenly realized, was drunk . . as were both men. She paused, reflecting on her own condition, and abruptly decided she had had too much to drink also.
There were only two identical pieces of lingerie left to model, and when Dorothy got a good look at them, she firmly put her foot down and said, "I won't wear it."
Bette looked at her angrily, "Look, you've got to. You promised me to work this show, and I counted on you. Now, I was able to get a peek at both of these guys' order blanks; we've already earned a hundred and fifty bucks a piece in sales commissions. This last outfit will probably bring us another fifty each. Don't let me down," she wailed, looking as if she were about to weep at any minute.
Dorothy was stunned. She repeated incredulously, "A hundred and fifty? For each of us?"
Bette nodded rapidly. "Gee." Abruptly the blonde decided to complete the show, in spite of the fact that the last piece of lingerie was the most licentious thing she had ever seen. She put on the flesh-coloured bra and panties and grimaced as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The bra had two silver dollar-sized heart-shaped holes cut in the center of each breast. Her large brown nipples peered out boldly. Another heart-shaped open space about two and a half inches across left the pubic hair and vaginal slit completely uncovered. One thing for sure, she wasn't going to get within ten feet of either man wearing this thing! She glanced over at Bette, then at both of their reflections in the mirror. In spite of the "daringness" of the outfits, the two of them, both wearing the same lingerie, did have a dramatic impact. She stood there, gazing at the heart shaped hole over Bette's genitals. The protruding autumn fox fur-coloured pubic hair seemed to add a new dimension to the garment, as did her own patch of corn-silk.
Bette poured the last of the second bottle of champagne and offered a glass to the blonde. Dorothy, forgetting her earlier resolve not to drink any more, took the proffered bubbling wine and quickly gulped it down.
They went out into the living room.
"Mother of God," George Hamlin breathed as he saw the two women enter the living room side by side.
"Doubled and in Spades," Carl Deever said.
Dorothy knew her face was aflame, but this was the finale of the show. The blonde girl stood in the center of the room, quietly and patiently bearing the hot intensive scrutiny of the two men, while Bette recited the concluding commentary. She doubted if either man heard the red-head say, "Another Mister Bates original, and only one hundred and seventy five dollars. And on this note, this limited-edition design, this attractive present for your special lady, we conclude our show for the evening. On behalf of Mister Bates and his staff, we thank you."
Immediately, the two men began clapping loudly. When George started toward Dorothy, the big blonde managed to elude him and almost ran back to the bedroom. She hadn't been in there fifteen seconds before an excited Bette came in and closed the door behind her. "We did it," she said happily. "They're placing orders for over twenty thousand dollars worth of merchandise. Our commission is two hundred each."
Dorothy was stunned. She blinked. Now that the pressure was off and the show was over, she was beginning to let down and she could really feel the alcohol now. She was having difficulty in thinking straight, but one thing she was positive of: she had made two hundred dollars in just a few minutes. She smiled, and hiccupped once. Then her arm was grasped and she was being pulled toward the door. "No," she muttered, "I don't want to go back out there."
"You have to," Bette explained patiently "You have to sign their purchase orders. Come on." she coaxed.
Dorothy glanced blearily down at the revealing panties and bra. "Let me change into my street clothes."
"No... for Pete's sake. Come on. No one is going to notice what you're wearing anyway. Now come on!" The last was said loudly, and the blonde permitted herself to be led into the front room.
"We're here to sign the contracts," Bette announced.
"Sure... sure," Carl said, but first we want to show you two girls the new public relations film they made for my company."
Before Dorothy could object, Bette clapped her hands eagerly and said, "Oh, that's wonderful, Carl. Where do you want us to sit?"
"Dorothy, you sit on the floor with George in the front of the screen. And you, baby, sit with me just as soon as I can get this thing going and adjust the sound."
The blonde drew back as George reached out for her hand.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.
"I . . I think I'd better go home," Dorothy replied softly.
"Don't be an ass!" Bette snapped. Stop acting like a scared twelve year old. You're with friends. No one is going to hurt you! Now sit down."
Rather than embarrass everyone, Dorothy eased herself down on the floor near the screen. George, smiling reassurance, fluffed up some overstuffed cushions and placed them behind her back. He then proceeded to open the bottle of champagne between them. "I promise to be good," he said in a low tone of voice.
Dorothy glanced at his face, trying to read his intentions. Mollified, she nodded once. He looked hurt when she refused a glass of bubbly, so she took it and sipped cautiously. It tasted differently, stronger.
George saw her questioning look and said, "Just a tad of brandy added to it. Helps the taste."
"Lights," Carl said, "someone turn out the lights."
George groaned and got to his feet again, then went to the door and threw a switch that extinguished the lamps and overhead lights. A second later, he sank down next to Dorothy and put his arm around her shoulder. She stiffened immediately, but relaxed after a moment when he made no effort to pull her toward him.
What am I doing here in this dark room, wearing these indecent clothes, lying on the floor and drinking brandy and champagne with a man I've never seen before. Dorothy Conklin, you get yourself up right now and go home!
Just as she made a firm resolve to stand up and go, no matter how embarrassing it might be to Bette, the bright ray of light hit the blank white wall and the movie began.
It was, she decided, too late now . . and so she sank back against the cushions and permitted George to refill her glass.
It took her almost three minutes and another refill to become aware that what she was watching was not a public relations feature film . . almost another minute to realize, with a sudden feeling of dread, that it was not going to be a nice film at all. She was so shocked by what her eyes were seeing, so numbed from everything she had drunk, that she was never aware of the precise moment that George Hamlin's hand dropped from her shoulder to the heart-shaped opening over her left breast and began gently rolling the uncovered nipple between thumb and forefinger. She watched the screen, horrified--unable to tear her eyes away--and drained her fourth glass of brandy-champagne since she had sat down. A moment later, just like magic, the glass had been filled again. She drank this, too, and fuzzily watched the images on the wall which seemed to be going in and out of focus.
George's arm felt comfortable around her shoulders and she made no protest when he pulled her near-nude body closer to his own. She had a hazy momentary thought: It's good to have someone taking care of me again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dorothy felt the pressure of George's leg against her bare thigh. He nudged her, and the luxuriousness of the expensive wool trousers felt surprisingly sensual against her skin. She returned the pressure slightly, just to let him know she really didn't mind the nudge because he was, after all, a nice man... a friend . . someone she could trust! She didn't mind anything, actually, with the delicious warmth of the champagne and brandy creating a shimmering pool of happiness deep inside her. She could feel it tingling, still bubbling down there in her lower stomach... deep, deeper than anything had ever been before in her life.
George's leg shifted slightly as he bent forward and topped her glass. It's nice to have someone to look after me again and take care of me, she mused, with a happy relaxed feeling, and smiled up her appreciation in the dim light.
George grinned back and then wrapped his arm completely around her shoulder, as he nodded up toward the screen. His hand dropped casually and, as if it had eyes of its own, immediately brushed against her nipple protruding through the heart-shaped opening of the bra.
The movie had been entitled "The Farmer's daughter (and Wife)" The "daughter" was a tall blonde girl not more than 20 or 21 years of age, one of the loveliest creatures that Dorothy had ever seen. She had a melancholy look on her face that reflected a deep loneliness. The expression touched Dorothy to the depths of her soul, because she felt so much the same with Bill gone and all alone in the world without anyone to take care of her or hold her tight at night. She identified with this girl and began concentrating completely on what the poor child was doing. Her emotions seemed inextricably bound to those of the lonely girl, and she felt tears of sympathy begin to pour out of her eyes as they frequently did when she watched a sad movie . . or any extremely happy ending to a television show. She was so engrossed that she did not feel George's thumb and forefinger capture her nipple.
* * *
Very sad, romantic background music is playing on the sound track as the girl stares over a farm fence, looking off into the distance as if life, love, friendship... everything has left her behind in the desolation and loneliness of this isolated farm. The movie switches to inside the farm house where two athletic college-boys-one blonde and crew cut, the other dark-haired with sideburns--are demonstrating the latest model vacuum cleaner to the farmer's wife, a handsome, well-built woman about 35 years old. She is sitting on the couch and her cotton print dress has come up to mid-thigh, revealing long lovely bare legs. Her work dress, although relatively shapeless, cannot hide the lush mature abundance of her female form, and it is obvious that both of the boys are all too painfully aware of her attraction. On the table beside her is a picture of a gray-bearded man wearing bib overalls; the woman explains that this is her 80 year-old husband. The boys look at each other in amazement and hopeful surprise. The crew cut blonde boy asks the wife to stand up so he can demonstrate the sweeping motion of the vacuum. She does so, and he puts his arms around her from behind, one hand over hers on the handle, the other on her hip, ostensibly showing her how to move the machine back and forth. With each thrust forward and back, he grinds his pelvis into her buttocks. The dark-haired boy is becoming excited, and the woman obviously is aroused. The blonde college boy asks if he can have a drink of water, and follows the housewife into the kitchen. At the door he turns back, winks at the other boy, and whispers, "Give me three minutes to warm her up." The dark-haired salesman grabs his long, hard cock through his trousers and growls, "Hurry up. " In the kitchen, the comely aroused wife looks up from the sink as if praying and says to the camera, "Give me the strength to resist this temptation, even though it's been two years since anyone touched me." She draws the cold water from the tap and turns to see the boy standing at the door; there is an awesome bulge in the crotch of his pants. Her hand is trembling as she offers the water. The boy merely steps past her outstretched hand, and grabs the woman around the waist. He viciously French-kisses her, and then his one hand drops to the hem of her dress and pulls it up with one slow smooth motion. She wears no undergarments, and her thick black patch of pubic hair can plainly be seen. The woman moans and struggles as the boy begins to finger fuck her, then gasps and starts flaunting her hungry pelvis against his virile young body. Her own hand falls, unzips his pants, reaches in and pulls out an enormously thick, long cock. She begins to stroke it rapidly, her mouth open in wanton abandonment, and she assumes a half-squat as her hand pulls the cock toward her wide-open palpitating pussy.
* * *
"Golly, Dorothy said softly, watching the movie, in spite of the fact she knew now this was wicked and not nice. She had considerable empathy with the housewife, as well as the daughter. The housewife's need she could understand, especially if the housewife was telling the truth about not having any sex for two years, which was understandable what with being married to a poor old man like that. She shook her head in warning, completely caught up in the motion picture, as she saw the blonde boy say to the other one, "Give me three minutes." She hoped the poor woman wouldn't get so carried away that she would betray her marriage vows. The action had caused her throat to dry up in suspense, and she tilted her champagne glass.
George dutifully poured about half a glassful into her goblet, not wanting to give the blonde too much because it was obvious that she was getting smashed and he wanted her sober enough at least to know what was happening when the time came to get down to the serious business of fucking.
He inspected Dorothy in the dim-light, attempting to figure her out. Migawd, he thought, just look at her staring up at the film. With mouth wide-open in incredulous wonder, she did seem lost in it . . as if she were watching a tremendously dramatic television play whose suspenseful outcome was still in doubt. George squeezed the breast gently, waiting for some sign of protest or acceptance. The girl did nothing; it was as though she didn't even feel his fingers against her nipple. Marie had told him this was the first time for the girl and that he had to go easy in the beginning. That was all right with him, the blonde would be worth waiting for; he wasn't quite sure exactly why he was he was so damned positive she was going to be good . . instinct maybe. He ever so gently tweaked her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Dorothy never took her eyes from the screen, but reached up her hand and captured his. She did not, he noticed, make any effort to remove his hand from the warm luscious pliant mound.
* * *
Up on the screen the two boys are helping the farmer's wife undress. As they pull the cotton dress over her head, the ripe lushness of her body is revealed in all its Eastman-Kodak 16MM. glory. Her great, wonderfully supple tits are like straining full bags of cottage cheese; her hips are broad and mature, yet not too large. The long trim thighs are trembling violently now as the dark-haired boy begins caressing her buttocks and the blonde boy expertly insinuates his finger into the dampened pink pussy slit which, in a close-up, takes up the entire screen. Her eyes have rolled up into the back of her head and her face is twisted in an overpowering sexual hunger that is almost pathetic in her urgent need. She offers no resistance when the blonde boy stops his finger fucking and pulls her toward the bedroom. As she walks, the dark-haired youth slides his finger down the crevice of her buttocks and, as the camera moves in, one can see the finger worming into the light little brown star of her anus. In the bedroom, she lies down with legs splayed obscenely apart, and cries out in a pathetic voice, "Hurry. Oh, please hurry. I'm dying. Fuck me. Fuck me now! The scene switches to outside the house and the farmer's daughter slowly walking toward the farm house...
* * *
Dorothy had partially risen from the cushions, and she stared in horror at the screen as the young girl walked up on the front porch. Dorothy shook her long blonde hair and said aloud, "No... no... don't go in there. You mustn't..."
* * *
The camera has again invaded the bedroom just in time to see the farmer's wife take the blonde boy's cock in her eager voracious mouth. Her cheeks indent grotesquely as she begins to suck. The other youth has straddled her, and the camera moves in for a close up as the mammoth prick comes closer and closer to the steaming ready snatch. In close-up, the cock looks like a lunar module docking with the command ship...
* * *
Dorothy breathlessly watched and listened to the woman's scream of exaltation when the mighty white throbbing shaft penetrated the pouting rubied cuntal lips and sank into the depths of her quivering pussy. She drained her glass, attempting to cool some of the warmth that the farmer's wife's passion had transmitted to her own body. She felt very strange... different! Something was happening to her body. It was more than just alcohol, more than the salacious scene she was watching on the screen. Her body was reacting as it received several overpowering stimulations: visually from the obscene movie, physically from the soft rummaging of George's hands, and mentally from the amount of booze she had swilled. She began thinking that this really wasn't her body at all. It was a stranger's body, for she didn't feel that she was the same person she had been earlier in the evening. She captured that thought, probing at it with her consciousness. If this wasn't her body, then she really had no control over it. Did she? The heat and the excitement of the screen was beginning to hotly agitate her, and forgotten now were all her good intentions earlier in the evening. It felt wonderful lying here on the cushions with a handsome man she could trust, his strong arm around her shoulder. She squirmed down against the soft pillows and only then became fully conscious of the delight George's hand was bringing to her stoutly erect nipple.
As if sensing that Dorothy had finally returned to reality, George bent down and gently brushed his lips across the top of her bare shoulder. She hunched her shoulder seductively forward with an almost imperceptible moan of pleasure. Now his hand cautiously dropped in the darkness to begin a warm gentle stroking of the outer part of her knee and lower thigh. When she offered no resistance, his hand moved up, up the sleek warm hairless inner thighs where it briefly brushed the corn-silk pubic hair protruding through the heart-shaped opening of her bikini panties.
Dorothy tensed for a split second, then relaxed as her attention was pulled back to the screen where the camera had pulled in to show the farmer's wife gratefully licking the sensitive underside of the blonde boy's cock. Her tongue slavered the entire length of it, when her warm wet lips encompassed the fleshy shaft once more. There was something contagiously exciting about watching that powerful cock ramming in and out of the woman's mouth. Dorothy could hardly tear her eyes away from it. Putting a man's penis in your mouth was not a nice thing to do, she knew, even though Bill had wanted her to do it to him several times. That just went to prove how right she had been all along in refusing him. It obviously was a nasty thing to do, or they wouldn't be showing it in a nasty movie!
Still, though, the forbidden excitement was stealing over her body like the overpowering scent of jasmine on a summer's night. She stirred back against the cushions once more, feeling the softness of them caressing against the bare of her back. She was aware that George's caresses had grown bolder and now had begun a tentative little investigation of that hot feverish moistened cleft between her thighs. At his first touch, she forced herself to move slightly sideways; that tantalizing finger persistently followed, and she gave into it for a minute, thinking, "That feels good, and it doesn't hurt anything. I won't let him do any more than that."
Dorothy wasn't quite sure when she began rocking her body against George's finger in an almost discernible rhythm in concert with the writhing woman on the screen. She could feel the warm wetness spreading between her thighs, and opened her legs wider in order to give greater access to that tormenting finger scraping now the entire hot length of her dampened pink pulsating pussy.
Suddenly she stiffened and attempted to sit upright as she remembered where she was and what was happening. She glanced guiltily out of the corner of her eye at Bette and Carl, but they were so engrossed with each other that it seemed unlikely they would hear a cannon going off in the room. Bette lay back against the cushions, her eyes closed--not even watching the poor farmer's wife on the screen. Carl had his hungry mouth fastened like a feeding calf to the turgid nipple straining through the heart--shaped opening of the bra. His left hand was at the larger heart-shaped opening at the crotch, but only four fingers of the hand could be seen--a thumb, forefinger, ring and little fingers. The middle digit was sunk all the way into the depths of her wildly gyrating pussy, which was moving up and down as though it were an oil pump. Bette seemed oblivious to everything; her mouth was open in intoxicated rapture. Even as Dorothy watched, she saw the red-head's hand drop to Carl's lap and begin a slow agonizing unzipping of his trousers. A jolt of excitement shot through her. She wanted to watch that salacious scene, but found her attention being forced back upon the screen, for up there the poor farmer's daughter had entered the house and had cocked her head as she heard loud groans coming from the bedroom. Dorothy's eyes widened and she caught her breath...
* * *
The girl tiptoes, frightened and trembling, down the hallway and stands outside the partially opened door of the bedroom. She stares in horrified disbelief as she sees her mother being orally and vaginally fucked by two virile young boys. She continues to stand, unseen, watching with wide open eyes and mouth that can not be closed. It is obvious that the salacious sight is having a powerful effect on her, for her expression has become one of want and lust equal to that of the mother. Quickly her hands drop to her crotch and begin massaging her pubic mound in rhythm to the fucking the mother is receiving. She writhes lasciviously as her fingers play at her vagina as though it were a musical instrument. In frantic haste, she strips off her panties and uses both of her hands to run over her straining body; the fingertips dance over the flat planes of her taut young belly and finally come to rest together at the Vee of her soft down-covered crotch. She groans aloud at the sudden contact of her hands with the moist slit between her thighs, and assumes a squatting position which exposes the glistening furrow between her smooth white thighs. One finger slowly crawls to her thinly bearded cuntal lips and spreads them apart until the pink warm wetness is fully visible. The half moons of her rounded buttocks are plainly seen divided by the hot lonely crevice between them. Slowly, tentatively, she inserts the middle finger into the glistening pink slit. She moans aloud, too loud, for the boys look at each other in guilty alarm. The blonde boy puts his finger to his lips, reluctantly pulls his cock from the farmer's wife's mouth, then tiptoes to the door. He opens it all the way and finds the squatting girl masturbating herself. Gruffly he yanks her into the room and throw's her on the bed alongside the mother. He grins down at her and says, "If you want to be fucked, let's do it the right way!" Without giving her a chance to answer, he falls between her trembling, young, outspread thighs, and buries his mouth against the succulent wet vaginal slit. His tongue shoots out like a little red penis and buries itself in the steaming, screaming snatch...
* * *
Dorothy moaned aloud as the farmer's wife sought mightily to throw the dark-haired youth from her body. The poor woman fought unsuccessfully, then lay watching the daughter being tongue-fucked and listening to the shrill cries of animal rapture bubbling from the girl's throat. Dorothy could feel the explosive vapors building up in her own body as, up on the screen, the farmer's wife-obviously excited by the lewd sight of her daughter being orally raped-began whipping her pelvis frantically up against the impaling cock and screaming, "Fuck me. Fuck harder!"
Beside her in the darkness, George slowly unzipped his trousers and pulled out his erect penis, which stood out like a huge reverberating totem pole from his abdomen. He glanced in back of him and saw Bette rapidly sliding her warm, ovalled mouth up and down Carl's glistening shaft; both man and woman were completely nude. He grinned at the lewd sight, then removed his shirt and trousers unseen by Dorothy who seemed totally engrossed in the motion picture. He knew, however, that even though her mind was up there with the screen, her body had reacted automatically. She was aroused, he could tell--so aroused that he didn't know how she could continue to watch the motion picture. Her cuntal slit was seeping, and the material on both sides of the open heart-shape was saturated. Vaguely, he wondered if it was worth the trouble to remove the panties, then decided against it because the cunt was completely uncovered anyway.
Naked now, George silently bent his head forward and gently kissed the erect little nipple straining out of the heart-shaped opening of the bra. Dorothy moaned low in her throat and, without taking her eyes from the screen cradled his head against her chest. His hand dropped, fished, and then slowly insinuated itself into the hot wet opening between her thighs. He began sucking on the nipple, while using his thumb and forefinger to massage the clitoris. Only then did Dorothy look down at him.
"Oh, I must not let him do that," she told herself sternly. "It isn't nice. It's bad . . but it feels so-ooo good!" Now her earlier feeling that she was not in her own body returned stronger than ever. She couldn't explain the feeling exactly, it was just as though she were standing off to one side watching the entire thing . . watching something happen to a blonde girl who looked just like her.
"Funny, though," she mused, "if I'm not in my own body, then why am I enjoying George's caresses so much?" He had begun finger fucking her again in earnest, and once more her pelvis was eagerly cooperating with that finger bringing such a delicious warmth to her loins. Guiltily, she glanced toward Bette and Carl hoping that they were not watching. What she saw caused her to tense in shock, and for a moment George thought he had gone too far, too fast. He looked up and saw her watching Bette's hot hungry mouth devouring Carl's penis. Dorothy didn't realize it but her mouth had ovalled and her head was moving up and down in unison with the other girl. When the shock passed, her entire body trembled in an excitement almost too great to endure.
As if sensing her complete arousal now, George began raining kisses over her shoulders and neck, then put his lips down hard against hers, using his tongue to part the mouth. She struggled for less than three seconds before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him over against her. It was only then that she became aware that he was nude. For a moment her mind simply didn't register the fact, then she didn't think about it any more because it was obviously so natural. Bette and Carl were nude, she was almost nude, the four people up there in the motion picture were nude... so why should George be the only one with clothes on?
Now as the wickedly exciting zephyrs of animal lust began blowing throughout her entire being, she knew that this definitely couldn't be her body because Dorothy Conklin was "a good girl". That's why she made no protests when George took his mouth away from hers and began kissing shoulders and arms. Soon he was mouthing the hot eager breasts again, and then dropping his warm wet lips down across her taut with desire belly. He shifted his weight until he was lying on his side with his head toward her feet. His lips etched a burning pattern of implacable need across her thighs and calves, and then began working up the smooth hairless inner thighs.
It was only when his head was just above her aching hungry slit that the shocking realization of what he was about to do made her recoil.
She pushed her hands against his head, "Oh, no. You can't do that. Please... don't." Her voice was a whisper; she didn't want the others to know what he was attempting.
George smiled up at her, then planted a gently little kiss on her fevered, coral-hued cuntal lips.
Dorothy cringed and said softly, "No."
George whispered back, "Nonsense, darling. Lie there and enjoy yourself; it's the most exquisite thing you'll ever experience." His eyes were locked now, feasting hungrily on the full pussy lips, framed so delicately by the heart-shaped open space and the cornsilk hair. From the reflected light of the motion picture, he could see a droplet of her seeping vaginal juice, and her rather large clitoris peering up at him like some timid hungry animal waiting, wanting, to be coaxed from its shell.
There was a loud moan from the couple alongside them and Dorothy turned her head, sure that they must be watching them. Instead, Bette was now lying on her back, knees spread far apart, with Carl's humping body between them. She could see his thick white prick rising and falling like a piston shaft into her clasping, seeping pussy. Dorothy closed her eyes and fell back against the pillows, too weak to offer any further protest.
Her mind churned and a shrill voice of conscience screamed in her inner ears. This couldn't be happening to her. It couldn't. Why... why, she was participating in a sexual orgy, and that was something the real Dorothy Conklin would never do. Now she felt George's thumbs drawing the soft curls of her pubic hair apart. Abruptly the memory of Dan Conklin's educated tongue and hands working night before last came back to her; he had created a need and want that had been forcefully shoved in the background of her mind. Now that unrequited, unsated need came back to her with a heart-pounding, nerve tingling intensity. She knew she was not going to protest to this man now who wanted to do that same wicked thing to her crotch, and the knowledge that her craven body would not resist caused a wave of black shame to pour over her. Here she was in a hotel room, lying on the floor like an animal in heat, with one couple next to her having sexual intercourse, and a stranger about to perform an unnatural act with her. Oh, God . . if this is a dream or a nightmare wake me up now, she thought.
George had slithered down further, becoming impatient as he felt his own need feeding on itself--growing in pained intensity. He stared at the fascinating sight of the blonde's perfect pussy. He had seen many of them in his day, but this one had to top them all for symmetry, delicate pastel colouring, and appeal. If there had ever been one that cried out more to be eaten, he could not remember it. Above him, Dorothy moaned in shame and twisted her loins in a feeble attempt to draw away from him. He breathed against the glistening pink, quivering pussy lips and was rewarded with a slight clenching of her thighs against his ears.
Suddenly he could wait no longer. His head bent to the hot palpitating opening. His tongue shot out like a knobless flattened red prick and wetly probed her guilt-quivering vagina.
Dorothy's body responded automatically, convulsively jerking, a groan escaping from her throat as she ground her hips into the pillows in a feeble effort to get away from that long, hot, tormenting tongue.
She tried pushing his head away, but her body was so weakened by its overwhelming arousing that she was without strength. She fell back against the cushions, her eyes closed and trembling in despair and hunger. She began wailing in animal-like passion as his tongue licked her inner thighs, wormed around her clitoris, and snaked rapier-like in and out of her quivering cunt. "Ohhhh George... oh don't please, stop. Oooohhh."
The last loud moan caught the attention of the furiously fucking Bette and Carl. They momentarily stopped their labours and gazed at the salacious sight of George with his head and face buried in the wide-open wildly thrashing pussy, and Dorothy whose face was twisted in a portrait of savage animal lust. "Go to it, pal," Carl said, loudly.
George heard the remark and, grinning to himself, began racing his tongue faster up the dilated nectarine-scented hole between her open legs.
Dorothy moaned continuously now as the unwanted jolts of pleasure vilely pervaded her whole being. Involuntarily, she raised her loins as George slipped his hands under her buttocks and almost brutally squeezed the supple warm flesh of her cheeks. His hot hungry mouth and tormenting tongue continued to worm deeper and deeper into her helplessly squirming pussy.
She began tossing her head and long golden hair from side to side as if trying to block out the unwanted knowledge that she had lost control of herself. She sobbed once in shame and humiliation as George licked on, moving from vagina to anus. Her traitorous body was boiling with the raw nerve ends of forbidden pleasure. Abruptly then, she stopped fighting him, knowing that fighting was hell... cooperation was heaven! She groaned loudly, throwing her wide-spread cunt against his working mouth, revelling to the bottom of her soul with the insane throes of an overpowering need older than man itself.
Thus it was that she was completely helpless, completely incapable of offering resistance when George finally removed his wonderful mouth from her vagina and moved up full-length over her spread-eagled body.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he said.
She closed her eyes, refusing to look at his lewdly smiling face. Although she didn't mean it, and would have died if he had taken her at her word, Dorothy still felt the need of at least a token protest. "No... you can't."
"Look at me, Dorothy. Look what I have for you," he commanded.
She opened her eyes and saw him kneeling over her, his face twisted lewdly. Her eyes trailed down his broad chest and flat stomach to the mammoth prick which jutted out from his abdomen like the powerful blade of a plow. His hand began to stroke it, pulling back the foreskin, and Dorothy gaped at it in astonishment. Over his shoulder, up on the screen, she could see the farmer's wife in the middle of an orgasm that seemed to go on and on, while the daughter screamed in delirium as the blonde boy began driving his hardy cock in and out of her young wide-open cunt. Once again Dorothy felt the return of shame at what she was doing, but then the shame was vaporized by a new wave of desire as she heard a shrill bird-like scream come from Bette, "I'm cumming. Jesus; baby... I'm cumming! Give me all you've got."
"Put it in for me," George ordered.
"Oh... no. I can't."
"Do it," he said, his voice no longer gentle.
"God... help me," she cried, and then locked her hand around his thick throbbing shaft. A sudden thrill, compounded equally of excitement and fear, shot through her body.
That heated fleshy pole of pounding blood and muscle would bring her joy, but it was so large! No woman could handle that; it would split her apart.
"Put it in," he repeated gruffly.
She gasped and subserviently guided the long, thick cudgel to the quivering, passion-drenched opening of her femaledom.
George used the thick bulbous head to part her pussy lips, and the electrifying contact sent spasms of new and even more powerful pleasure surging throughout Dorothy's straining body. He pushed his mighty cock against her fevered opening.
"Ohhh," she cried in genuine pain and alarm, "I can't take it. You're too big."
His eyes glazed with lust, face dripping perspiration, George pushed again, and this time the mammoth head forced its way into the hot, quivering opening.
"Please... " she pled. "No... don't! No more."
George continued the impalement, slowly thrusting inch by inch into her ever-widening passion pit. Down, down, down, that massive missile sank into her until she felt she was filled to bursting when he finally settled heavily atop her. She could feel every corrugated wrinkle, every pulsating vein, through the hideously stretched walls of her vagina.
Oddly enough, at that moment of pain, she became aware of what was transpiring up there on the screen. Over George's shoulder she could see the two boys switching partners, with the dark-haired one simply falling forward without preamble, driving his cock to the hilt in the squirming cunt of the writhing farmer's daughter. Within the depths of Dorothy's belly, a responsive muscle twitched in sympathy.
George felt something jerk deep inside of her, and he flexed his prick, driving it in at least another half inch.
"Aaggh," Dorothy groaned, and then wondered why she had made the noise. She really wasn't hurting any more down there; she just felt stuffed! Now, as George began to slowly move his hot fleshy shaft in and out in gentle little movements, her passage became accustomed to the barbaric instrument, and her whimpers of pain imperceptibly changed to moans of pleasure.
As George began to rotate his hips, grinding his shaft against first the clitoris and then the bottom walls of her vagina, Dorothy started to respond--at first reluctantly, bashfully, then with increasing fervour--working in harmony with this stranger labouring above her, this man who was fucking her into sweet oblivion.
Little drops of perspiration popped out on her forehead, and her mouth opened and closed with passion as her neck strained with the hoarse pantings of pleasure rasping out of her throat.
She became aware that the screen had gone all white behind George's shoulders; the movie was over. Bette and Carl had disappeared. There was nothing left but George's beautiful giant instrument of maledom buried to the hilt inside the heart of her femaledom. No longer was there any thought of morals, of pride, or reality. Nothing mattered but the fact that she was being fucked. The need boiled inside her. His cock pulsated, jerking and scraping and moving maddeningly against her clitoris, pounding alarmingly against the cervix. Her body was drowning in the lewd sensations, and she heard her craven voice begging, "Ohhh, George. Fuck me... fuck me... fuck."
The sound of her own voice, which was only a hoarse croak of passion, excited her even more, and she began to pound her pelvis up against his punishing thrusts, heaving with delight and lust as the almost unbearable bliss continued to build in her love-starved body. Her legs beat a tattoo against the back of his calves before locking themselves tightly around his buttocks, where she used her heels as spurs to drive him further faster, deeper. She shot her tongue deep into his throat, thrusting it in and out in a parody of wild oral fucking while obscene sucking noises gurgled from her lust constricted throat.
Now it was as though man and woman were trying to master each other. Dorothy writhed her steaming seeping pussy up against him, using her heels and strong leg muscles to powerfully drive him deep into her. George rammed her with ever-increasing speed, punishing her with long, hard jolting thrusts. He lengthened his stroke, drawing the hard, gristly blood-heated shaft almost all the way out of the soft, fleshy, blushing hairlined sheath, then plummeting downward in quickening thrusts as her quivering pussy lips hungrily devoured him.
Suddenly he felt it. The unmistakable heating up of her vaginal walls precursoring her climax, her disbelieving hopeful gasp of breath, and the tremulous twitching of her deeper vaginal muscles. Abruptly, she exploded beneath him, wantonly writhing in complete abandonment, grinding up and down on his prick, inflated breasts heaving, stomach muscles rippling, toes flexed, heels beating a drumbeat of urgency against his bruised buttocks. "OoooHHHH? It's... it's here ! I... I'm CUMM-mmm-IIIIING!" She rotated her hips with all the insane fury of an airplane propeller gone wild.
She convulsed beneath him, her mouth and pussy sucking feverishly, her hot ragged breath coming in sobbing gasps, her cunt afire and gushing around his plundering prick. Spurred on by the violence of her climax, George began fucking into her like a maniac seeking his own release. And then he, too, had reached that glorious promised land. His boiling white sperm roared through the volcanic vents of his scrotum and exploded out the tiny pulsating glans in a never-ending eruption of warm, creamy viscosity, inundating her pussy, filling her to the bursting point. The hot hungry walls of her vagina continued to milk his penis as if they wanted more, more.
Dorothy finally fell laxly back against the cushions, her eyelids fluttering in exhaustion and pleasure. Never, she thought, has anything been so wonderful. She floated on a cloud of peace and rapture, drifting like a leaf in a warm river flowing serenely out to a dark and pleasant sea. Gone for the moment were all thoughts of shame and guilt. The lassitude flowed over her and she wanted to cry she was so happy.
She mumbled a little protest when she felt that gloriously dying, deflating male instrument being pulled from her still clasping vagina. She didn't want it to go away; it belonged inside her forever. A moment later, though, it was back... feeling as strong and as powerful as it had in the beginning. Gently it began working back and forth inside her, and she realized that all of the hunger had not yet drained from her love-starved loins. She opened her eyes, then stared horrified as Carl grinned lewdly at her. He continued to thrust in and out, and suddenly the whole wonderful thing caught fire and started all over again. She reached laxly up and pulled Carl's mouth down on hers...
CHAPTER FIVE
It was after ten o'clock when Dorothy awakened the next morning. Her first impression was one of a horrible taste in her mouth, a blinding headache, and a vague feeling that something really terrible had happened. She opened her eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, at the same moment she realized she was lying on an equally unfamiliar bed.
Slowly, turning her head, she saw the lingerie tossed carelessly on the floor near a full-length wardrobe mirror.
Then it all came back to her with the suddenness and clarity of a lightning bolt. She sat upright immediately, an act which brought a sudden stab of pain to her already pounding head.
"Oh, no, please, no," she whimpered in a little prayer, hoping that this was a bad dream.
Feeling the dried encrustations of semen on her belly and inner thighs, the slight soreness of her vagina, she knew it was not a dream... that it had actually occurred. She had been bad, really bad! One huge tear welled up in her right eye, joined immediately by one in her left eye. All her life she had resisted temptation to do bad things like last night, and now she had not only done it... but, if memory was correct, had enjoyed doing it. With two complete strangers! What could have gotten into her? Sure, there had been a lot to drink, but that wasn't the first time she'd gone past her limit. Nothing ever like this, though! Oh, it was terrible! She'd never be able to face Bill, as far as that was concerned, she'd never be able to look into a mirror again.
Trembling with shame and weakened from her sexual and alcoholic excesses, Dorothy slowly got out of bed. She looked around for something to wear in case the men were still outside, and her eyes lit on the ivory-coloured negligee she had modeled the night before. Quickly she downed it, then peered out into the suite's living room. There was no one there. Over by the wall there were about a dozen pillows and several champagne bottles and glasses strewn around haphazardly; the deserted battlefield where the orgy had been held.
Bette, dressed in street clothes, came whistling out of the other bedroom. She stopped in surprise and smiled. "Hi, sleepyhead. I thought you were going to nap all day."
Suddenly the pent-up tears came pouring out of Dorothy's eyes. She sobbed convulsively.
Bette came over toward her. "Hey... what gives? Why the waterworks?"
"Oh, you know," Dorothy wailed. "I'm so ashamed!"
The red-head looked shocked, as if she had heard an unspeakable blasphemy. "Ashamed? What for? Because we both got a little drunk and gave in to our physical needs?"
"You may not be ashamed or have a guilty conscience, but I do. I am... I was a good girl. And no man other than my husband has ever touched me." Dorothy thought about that statement, remembering Dan Conklin, and decided that really didn't count. Besides nothing had happened with Dan, but something sure had happened last night.
Bette decided the frontal attack was the best approach. "All right, so it's never happened before. What harm did it do? You know you enjoyed it--everything from the cocktails to dinner to the sex, you really dug it. You're a woman, and you need sexual relief. You don't think your precious Bill Conklin is keeping his pecker in his pants, do you?"
"That's different," Dorothy said in a soft voice.
"The hell it is," Bette retorted defiantly. When Dorothy didn't answer, the red-head continued, cunningly, "Besides, the two hundred bucks in commissions you earned last night will help ease .the old conscience. Just think about that. Eh, what?"
-" Dorothy took a deep breath. "I don't think I'm cut out for the job."
"What do you mean. You're a natural model. I watched you last night, and if I hadn't known better I would have sworn you had been doing it all your life."
In spite of her unhappiness, Dorothy was flattered; she had no doubt about her ability to make the clothes look good. It was just this "mixing" with customers. That was a bad scene. She tried to put it into words. "Look... I like the job and I like the money a lot. It's just that I don't like doing things that could get me in trouble with men."
"Don't be ridiculous," Bette snapped. "If you don't want to get involved with the buyers, then don't. You don't have to go to bed with them," she lied, then added, thoughtfully, "not unless you find them attractive and want to." She raised an eyebrow, "Like last night."
Dorothy flushed with embarrassment. "We... I didn't want to last night."
"Oh, yeh? It didn't look to me as though George was twisting your arm or holding a gun at your head."
The big blonde sniffed and wiped a tear away. "I had too much to drink. I can't hold my liquor. That's another reason why I'm not cut out for this job."
Bette sighed and closed her eyes. "Okay... if that's the way you want it. I told you that you don't have to go to bed with anyone. But if you want to quit--pull out--there's nothing I can do to stop you. It's going to, cost me my job though, because Marie has already set up two more shows for you and me... one in San Francisco tomorrow night, the other in Sacramento on Saturday. I'll tell her to cancel them; but we can't get a decent model on this short notice. She'll fire me for sure, because I told her you had agreed to work at least three shows."
Dorothy was immediately contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Bette. I am, really. I don't want to get you fired." She paused, then straightened. "All right. I'll work the two shows, but no more. Okay?" She asked, almost pleading to be forgiven for having gone back on her word.
Bette grinned and hugged her. "Thanks. I'll never forget it." She stepped back, "Go take a shower, and let's get out of her. I'm starving."
Dorothy still had some misgivings as she stood under the stinging spray of water. What she had done was unforgivable, and she knew that she was going to have to tell Bill. He'd probably leave her, or beat her up... and she would deserve it. But then, as she thought about it more, she began to wonder why she felt compelled to tell him about George and Carl, but felt so guilty about telling him what his father had done and tried to do to her. Life sometimes got so complicated. Why couldn't it be like the good movies, where everything always turned out nice.
In the other room, Bette had just dialed Marie Grosset and said that she thought the big blonde would work out okay.
"Honey, I hope so," Marie's cultured voice answered, "because if George and Carl were right, she's a real winner. God, I listened to George rave about her for fifteen minutes. You'd think it was his first sex ever. How's the girl taking it?"
"Monday morning blues."
"Will she get over it?"
"Sure. After a couple more shows, she'll start counting her cash and decide that the blues and a conscience are two things she can't afford anymore."
Marie sounded enthusiastic. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. How are you going to prepare her for tomorrow's show in San Francisco?"
Bette laughed. "I'm going to tell her the truth. I mean, after all, she was bitching a few minutes ago about not wanting to get involved with men."
Marie's laugh echoed through the wires, then she was gone.
Dorothy was towelling herself dry when Marie walked into the bedroom without knocking. The red-head smiled broadly. "Everything is all set for tomorrow night's show in Frisco."
The blonde looked as if she had just heard that the five-day weather forecast called for earthquakes near the end of the week.
Bette patted her shoulder in comradeship. "Relax, honey. You don't have to worry about men with this show. These two buyers are women."
CHAPTER SIX
Dorothy and Bette checked into their two bedroom suite at the Jackson Francisco Hotel at 4:30 the next afternoon. The lingerie to be worn during the special show had already been unpacked by the San Francisco Mister Bales staff, and Dorothy was gratified to note that the pieces were all very, very softly feminine--nothing bold or brash or seductive like those worn the night before.
The big blonde was immediately relieved. This obviously was going to be a high class show; the women buyers just had to be well-bred and represented good stores if this type of merchandise appealed to them. She knew she would be comfortable working under these conditions. Relaxed and feeling mentally better about the whole thing, Dorothy eagerly agreed to accompany Bette on a shopping trip, then have a quick bite before coming back to the hotel to meet the buyers at nine.
Over a Mexican food dinner at Senor Pico's--seated at a window overlooking San Francisco's busy waterfront, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate bridge--Dorothy suddenly became aware that she was no longer thinking constantly about what had happened two nights before in the Beverly Hills hotel. It was something she could never forget, of course, but she had stopped dwelling on it all the time.
The two models watched the night come across the water from their table, then finished, hailed a taxi to take them back to the Jackson Francisco hotel. It was twenty minutes before nine when they walked into their suite.
The two female buyers were already there, chatting animatedly over a bottle of champagne. Dorothy spotted three other ice buckets and champagne, and then her attention was drawn back to the women.
"Miss Kanger, Miss Wilson, how nice to see you again," Bette said. "May I introduce Dorothy Conklin, one of our newest and most promising models."
"Call me Jean," the woman who had been introduced as Miss Kanger said. She shook hands with Dorothy and her eyes glowed as she inspected the big blonde's lush figure. Dressed in a tailored navy blue knit suit which obviously had been custom made for her broad-shouldered, rather trim waisted body, she looked formidably professional--which is to say that she appeared slightly on the masculine side. Dorothy thought she looked terribly business-like and intelligent.
Bella Wilson was even taller than Dorothy and weighed about fifty pounds more. She was not, however, fat. She was powerful in a muscular way. and Dorothy thought the buyer looked like some of the photographs of female Russian athletes. When she shook hands, the blonde model noticed her grip was just like a man's.
The show started a few minutes early and was conducted in much the same manner as the preceding one with George and Carl, with Bette reciting the continuity and Dorothy refilling champagne glasses as needed.
There were other similarities with the previous show, but Dorothy--who had been unsure about the two men's intentions--had no qualms about these women . .not even when Bella Wilson asked her to remove her bra. The big blonde did so without hesitation and gave it over for inspection by the buyer.
Jean Kanger motioned with her head and held up her empty glass, indicating she would like some more champagne. When Dorothy came over to her chair with the bottle, she said, "Thank you, my dear." Her glowing dark eyes fastened themselves upon the blonde's ripe, white breasts. "You have such a lovely body," she purred, and it was said with such obvious sincerity that Dorothy felt pleased.
Bella asked Dorothy to remove the panties so she could inspect the needlework in them also. The blonde paused, then colouring slightly, stepped out of the panties and stood completely nude. This time it was the big woman who complimented her on the "lovely femininity" of her body when she returned the garments.
Dorothy nakedly went back to the bedroom carrying the lingerie in her hands. Behind her, she heard one of the women tell Bette, "She's absolutely perfect."
The blonde did not see Bette's knowing expression or the triumphant smile exchanged between the three women.
When she came out again, this time wearing an all-white peignoir, she noticed that the two buyers had removed their coats. Both wore white nylon blouses cut like a man's shirt. . neither, it was obvious, wore a bra, and the shadowy dark halos of their aureoles looked as if they were part of the blouses' design. Dorothy could not help noticing that Bella had spectacular breasts--firm, upright and generous. Jean's tits were smaller, but nonetheless perfect.
Jean indicated that she wanted the blonde model to stop between their chairs. Dorothy positioned herself as directed and stood docile as the buyer's hand moved like a whisper of wind down her arm and across the abdomen. "Bella, my dear," she said, "you must feel this material. It's so dream-like." Dorothy felt the other woman's gentle touch moving down her back and come to rest on the outward swell of her buttocks. "Yes, it is delightful material," Bella agreed.
Dorothy had a momentary sensation of fright and alarm as she felt both women's hands on her body. The touch wasn't displeasing, as a matter of fact, it was enjoyable in a mildly sensual, non-sexual sort of way. Even as she was thinking about it, Bella's hand moved down far enough to cup the left cheek of her buttocks; she gently lifted the mound of flesh in the palm of her hand. It happened so rapidly and the hand moved away so quickly that Dorothy didn't even have time to recoil. When she bent over to pour more champagne into the big woman's glass, she could see Bella's fully erect nipples pressing against the blouse--as though two extremely large coffee beans were trying to push through the material.
The show moved swiftly and almost before she knew it, Dorothy was putting on her final garment, a loose short white toga made of very soft, clinging material. She inspected herself in the mirror; it not only felt good against her bare skin, but it looked good as well. Her own nipples could clearly be seen through the nylon but, after all, that was what the gown had been designed for. She knew she looked alluringly feminine, and had turned to say something to Bette about it as the re-head entered the room to make her final change.
Bette beat her to the punch, however. "Wow!" she said, "that really looks great. You look like some Greek goddess."
Dorothy blushed at the compliment, and Bette continued, somewhat more excitedly, "Well, we've done it again. They're ordering the complete line. That means you've earned S250 tonight."
It was a completely stunned Dorothy who walked out to model the toga. She could hardly believe her good luck; and the thought came-this job would be so wonderful if I could only keep away from the men buyers who made passes. Why, in just two nights I've already made S450 in commissions; that is more than most women make in a month of hard work!
The toga had a tangible impact on the two buyers, so much so that Bella rose slowly from her chair and said, in awe, "My God! So utterly beautiful. . so precious." Her voice was a caress, and Dorothy knew instinctively that the big woman was paying a compliment not only to the gown, but to her body as well.
"Stand here, my dear," Jean said, her voice husky with emotion. Dorothy walked to a point beside her chair then stood. Jean continued, "If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not believe anyone could so capture the true spirit of Sappho's hetaera." She paused, her eyes roaming freely over the girl's body. "Do you know of the hetaera, my child?"
Dorothy shook her head.
Bella had moved up silently alongside Dorothy; she said, "Sappho, the great Greek poetess, had surrounded herself with female companions--all noted for their physical perfection. They sang, they danced, and under the bright warm skies of Lesbos, Sappho wrote immortal poetry dedicated to the beauty of women such as yourself." She sighed in nostalgia, "Those were the days."
Dorothy was flattered. It was one thing for a man to say you're beautiful, but coming from a woman--two women, actually--both of them intelligent, well-bred, and important, well . . that was a real compliment! She suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude to Jean and Bella. It would be nice to have friends like this.
Jean said, "Turn and face the window, child."
Dorothy obediently moved around. She heard the whisper of cloth, but did not think anything of it, and thus did not see Bette dressed in street clothes--silently give a thumbs up signal to the two women before quietly slipping from the suite.
Bella said, "I wonder how Bates manages to make his stitches hold in that mesh?"
Obediently, the big blonde walked across the room and took up her earlier position alongside the chair. Bella reached out, pulled up Dorothy's left arm, and slowly began unbuttoning the toga's five small gold buttons that ran from armpit to hip.
Jean said, reassuringly, "We want to check the stitching, dear."
When the last button had been unfastened, the soft material fell away revealing the milk-white mound of warm succulent flesh comprising Dorothy's left breast and the alabaster gently curved suppleness of one buttock.
"We're going to have to take it all the way off," Bella croaked in an almost unrecognizable voice. Dorothy momentarily felt alarm; the big woman was so red in the face, and perspiring and breathing heavily. It was as though she were about to suffer some kind of attack. Bella's hands were trembling violently as the gown was slowly, oh ever so slowly, slipped from her right shoulder and then permitted to fall in a soft heap at her feet.
Bella knelt in front of Dorothy and, as though she were performing some sort of religious ceremony, reverently put her hands on the model's legs and lifted first one foot then the other to release the gown. She stared with hot fevered eyes at Dorothy's upper thighs, And the blonde began feeling some embarrassment as that feverish glance locked on her bare crotch.
Jean stood and took the toga from the kneeling Bella. She smiled in friendship at the girl. "Why don't you sit down on the couch there, my child? Here, have a glass of champagne. We'll only be a moment."
Uncertain of what to do or how to act, Dorothy took the proffered glass and walked quickly across the room. She sat gingerly in the middle of the couch, and began wondering what was keeping Bette in the bedroom; the red-head should have come out with her final garment long before now!
The two women talked in low tones, pretending to inspect the garment's stitching, then tossed the toga in the chair, picked up their champagne and came over to sit down--one on each side of Dorothy.
"Well, my child," Jean said, smiling warmly, "you should be complimented. I hope Tommy Bates realizes what a real find he has in you. If you ever get tired of working with him. you must join my organization. We'll have you on the front cover of a lot of women's magazines before you know it!" She absent-mindedly put her hand on Dorothy's bare thigh and gave a gentle little squeeze of encouragement. "You really know how to make clothes look good."
Bella had regained control of her emotions, and she sounded almost normal when she commented thoughtfully, "So good, in fact, that I'm dying to try on that toga. Do you think it will fit me?"
Before Dorothy could express her misgivings, Jean answered, "Well, there's one sure way to find out. Why don't you try it on?"
"All right, I will," the big woman said abruptly, and got to her feet.
Dorothy watched with a certain amount of trepidation as Bella rapidly stripped off her blouse and stood in bare-breasted magnificence. With one deft motion, she ran the zipper down the side of her skirt and dropped it to the floor. The blonde model felt her face beginning to redden as she noticed Bella was wearing neither panties nor girdle, merely a black garter belt that framed a soup-bowl sized patch of thick coal black pubic hair. Her thighs, although muscular, were perfect in a sculptured sense. When she removed her garter belt and nylons to stand perfectly nude, she looked like an invincible naked Amazon or warrior goddess. In spite of her embarrassment, Dorothy had to admire the woman's body. Her breasts were easily as large as two big cantaloupes, but in spite of their size, they had a fierce upthrust that made the hardy erect nipples look as if they were being pulled up by invisible wires.
The toga did not fit. That had been so obvious, right from the start, that Dorothy couldn't figure out why the woman had even tried. When Bella looked disappointed, Jean laughed and said, "Let me try it." Quickly she stripped off her clothing, and the blonde model was again surprised to see that this buyer wasn't wearing undergarments either. Except for her rosy apple-sized tits and lack of a penis, she could have been a young, handsome boy. There was something about the way she stood, hands on hips and feet wide-apart, that caused a warm feeling of admiration to well up in the young girl. Jean looked so sure of herself, so poised and powerful! The toga's design really was not suited for this type of physique, being too small for the broad shoulders, and too full for the small perfect breasts and boyish hips. Nonetheless the gown did have a certain grace and charm which was hard to deny. Bella, still nude, came over to the couch with a champagne bottle and sat down so close to Dorothy that their thighs were touching. She nodded toward Jean and said, "Looks pretty good on her, doesn't it?"
Dorothy nodded in wide-eyed admiration.
"Thank you, child," Jean said, then shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. "It's too tight through here." Quickly, she unbuttoned the toga and let it fall to the floor. Then, eyes glowing with an inner fire, she padded across the room and sat down very close to the girl. Dorothy could feel the heat of their bare bodies on both sides of her.
Bella refilled all of their glasses, then raised hers in toast. "Here's to women, and here's to friendship."
The three women touched glasses, and Dorothy took a little sip of the champagne. She turned her head looking back toward the bedroom.
"What's wrong, child?" Jean said.
"Bette. I wonder what's happened to her?" Bella said, casually, "Oh, she left about five minutes ago. She forgot her order book, had to go get it."
Dorothy felt a fleeting moment of alarm . . and fright. As if sensing her concern, Jean said, "Don't worry. She'll be back. And you are with friends."
Dorothy forced herself to relax. For some reason, she now found it difficult to look into the eyes of either woman. She wasn't sure what it was she saw in them; it was an alienness she had never encountered before, something unexplainable . . not frightening exactly, but it did result in an undercurrent of uneasiness. Too, she was beginning to feel a bit awkward sitting here naked, with a nude woman on each side of her. It was all well and good to pretend that Jean and Bella were models like herself, but it wasn't the truth.
Jean turned slightly so that she was facing the big blonde. She put out one hand and touched the golden strands of hair that fell across the girl's shoulder. "Everything . . everything so perfect. Hair, face, breasts, stomach, thighs . . everything."
"Everything," Bella agreed, droning the word hypnotically. She gently ran her hand down the full length of Dorothy's bare thigh. "Perfect."
Instead of withdrawing her hand, Jean slid her arm around the back of Dorothy's shoulders. "Tell us something about yourself, child. You're married?"
Dorothy was glad of the chance to talk, mainly because Bella's gentle, persistent caressing of her leg was proving terribly distracting. She didn't want to look at the big woman, for a moment before she had noticed that Bella's nipples had distended to an alarming degree and looked like hard, brown, 3/4-inch pencil erasers. As far as that was concerned, her own body was beginning to react to the woman's hand; inner thighs and spine were covered with goosebumps and her nipples were becoming browner, more erect.
As she described Bill, she became aware that Jean, a soft smile on her face, was not listening to her . . merely watching her lips open and close. Dorothy faltered in mid-sentence and the woman said quietly, "You are so beautiful, darling. Please let me be your friend."
Dorothy was completely unprepared for what came next. Jean's arm around her shoulders tightened and pulled her body over, then the woman's soft parted lips were on hers in what, at first, was a gentle kiss. The intensity of the kiss increased, and Dorothy felt Jean's tongue tentatively pressing against her astonished lips, forcing its way inside her mouth.
The big blonde sat as if frozen against the soft, small breasts pressing against her own, a sudden dry almost strangling sensation in her throat as alarm began welling up in her. She was shocked and stunned by the kiss, and yet not frightened enough to resist the wicked darting of that tongue in and around her mouth.
Suddenly, Bella's big wide open hand moved from thigh to abdomen and began making little circular movements with tingling thumb touching bottom of the breast on the apogee and little finger tantalizingly brushing the pubic mound on the perigee. Dorothy tensed and attempted to pull back from Jean's voracious mouth, but the woman merely tightened her grip around the blonde's shoulders. A second later, with a low groan of fevered hunger, Bella bent forward; her wide-open mouth and hot wet lips fastened like a suction cup to the palpitating mound of flesh at Dorothy's breast. With a knowing feminine touch, the big woman suckled her naked breast gently, using teeth and tongue to taunt her nipple into hardness.
The blonde model's mind refused to acknowledge what was occurring. Although Dorothy was struggling, mumbling inarticulately into Jean's open mouth, her brain was working at top speed. She knew now what was happening . . what these women were . . and what they were doing.
I've heard of women who were this way, who made love to each other, but I've never met one. Thank God, I've never met one. This is wicked. Bad! Forbidden. I must get out of here.
And even as she was thinking these thoughts, another part of her mind was analysing what was happening, how her own body was reacting.
Bella's lips on my breast feel even better than Bill's used to feel, and her hand-so gentle. . Jean's lips, Jean's mouth . . the faint smell of her expensive perfume . . her mouth tasting like champagne-soft and warm . .
Dorothy could feel her own lips, rigid from the beginning, starting to relax slowly under Jean's soft, hot probings into her mouth. After all, she told herself, it's only a kiss! As the hungry tongue of the woman buyer took complete command of her mouth, Dorothy timidly responded by pushing her own tongue against the invader. A moment later the two tongues were fencing like playful red fighting fish. Her entire body seemed to relax in some odd indefinable manner, and without volition she found herself rotating her shoulders--pushing one tit further into Bella's hungrily nibbling, sucking mouth, and rubbing her other breast against Jean's hard erect little nipple.
The blonde model, feeling the increasing intensity of the delightful sensations, closed her eyes and began trembling all over at the forbidden deliciousness of the situation. Alien hands now moved at will over her body; fingers with all the sureness of a concert pianist, bringing music and melody with each salacious touch-rising in tempo and crescendo until all resistance began to melt like long winters ice under the rays of a new sun.
Jean now shifted, holding the girl tighter than ever, and scraped her naked breasts across Dorothy's shoulders and arms. Her movement had caused Bella's mouth to dislodged from the left tit, but that lovely mound of mammary flesh was not left in limbo for long because Jean twisted once more and began rubbing both of her tight hard little breasts against the blonde model's. It was nipple against nipple, breast crushing breast. She felt Jean's thigh rise over her own and then the woman was furiously rubbing her soft matte of pubic hair against Dorothy's thigh . . soft and dry at first, then with a warm viscosity and a new hardness as pussy lips separated and the elongated little clitoris, like a nocturnal animal, slithered out of hiding.
In the beginning, the naive young blonde's body had reacted out of alarm, then of curiosity at the soft pleasure and then of sensuality, but now as she felt the first overtones of a sexual hunger reverberating throughout her body, she tensed up once more and pulled her mouth away from Jean's.
"No . . " She gasped, her breath coming in hoarse gasping pants: "We can't. You Mustn't."
Jean managed to look puzzled and hurt in spite of her own rapid breathing. "Why not, child?"
"Because . . because... " she frantically sought an excuse, then said, " . . because Bette might come back."
Bella laughed, "That's simple enough to take card of. I'll double-latch the door so no one can get in--even with a key." She leapt powerfully to her feet and actually ran across the room, twisted the lock, and ran back again to the scene of the action. She had been gone less than ten seconds.
Jean said, "See, darling, how easy it is." With a low moan, she bent her head and began sucking gently on Dorothy's right breast.
"Oh, noo . . please . . " It was a feeble protest--a sound compounded equally of animal-like pleasure and minor objection, as she wonderingly put her hands over the buyer's ears-holding the sucking mouth against her breast as a mother might that of a child.
Her eyes were closed, but the eyelids fluttered as if trapped butterflies were beneath them, as pleasure after pleasure shot through her body. Then, as though everything that had happened before had been just an overture to the curtain rising, she felt an overpowering jolt of excitement as the powerful Bella began raining kisses on her thighs. At the same moment, the Amazon's sure, capable hands grasped her knees and pulled them apart.
Dorothy's breath caught in her throat as Bella's hot hungry lips moved boldly up the smooth white inner thighs and then voraciously on to the triangle of tender raised flesh between the legs. The model's thighs were pushed further apart in an effort to uncover the soft, succulently warm, pink layers of cuntal lips. A great convulsive shudder of delight coursed down her spine as the woman's knowledgeable quivering tongue found the trembling clitoris and sucked it up into her mouth.
"Aaagghh . . don't," she said, and immediately gave lie to her words by eagerly punching her pelvis up against Bella's face. Momentarily, a wave of revulsion and protest ran through Dorothy as she realized what she was participating in, but the pangs of conscience were quickly overridden by the intense sexual stimulation which effectively blocked all other emotions. This was far better than what she had experienced from George or Dan Conklin's mouth; it seemed the difference between amateur and professional.
Bella buried her face in the wet split crevice of Dorothy's moistly palpitating pussy, licking and sucking as though she were starved, all the while gently running her hands up and down the smooth inner thighs-working and kneading the deep inner muscles and bringing a new spectrum of forbidden pleasures. One powerful hand stopped its stroking and moved beneath the full white globes of Dorothy's ass. A moistened middle finger pushed against the tight nether ring of her anus and almost immediately made penetration into the soft fleshy passage. The digit commenced a sawing motion in time with Bella' tongue now driving relentlessly in and out of the honey-scented cunt. It hurt. Oh, how it hurt! But in such an ecstatic manner.
Jean had withdrawn her mouth from Dorothy's breast and now moved up on her to the point where she was practically straddling the helplessly writhing girl. She offered her breast to Dorothy and the girl, caught in a delirium of sexual excitement, clamped her mouth down on the hard little tit without protest. She swirled her tongue around and around the nipple, then bit gently and was rewarded by a fluttering cry of pleasure from the buyer. She found it difficult to concentrate on the tongue fucking her vagina was receiving from Bella and to suck tit at the same time, but she made every attempt to work in unison with the woman. She dropped her hands and let them explore Jean's muscular body, running fingers down the back and across the supple buttocks. The woman's ass felt cool and muscular, her legs trembled with each caress. She dropped her hand further and ran her fingers thru the soft curls of Bella's head.
Jean now raised herself even further, removing her breast from Dorothy's passionately cooperating mouth. Her navel was opposite the big blonde's face and it received a wet hot kiss. Then . . inevitably, the rose-hued thinly bearded little cunt was opposite her face. The moistened vaginal slit was wide-open and the two pussy lips, like succulent red and pink fruit halves, was offered to her.
Dorothy stared at it for a moment, knowing what was expected of her, but unable to do anything because of the last lingering vestiges "of inhibition and the mass of delectable, wet sensitivity growing more and more intense with every passing second down there between her thighs. Her own fevered vagina had reached a pin-point of needle-sharp sensation that promised to explode soon in a mammoth soul-sucking orgasm. She was so close to cumming that she began buffeting her pussy against Bella's face, all the while staring in rapt fascination at Jean's delectable perfect little cunt only inches from the end of her nose.
Her breath had increased in volume and tempo until now it was just one long rasping sound that sawed in and out of her throat in time to the tormenting finger twisting around and around in her rectum. That, together with the tongue of fire lapping at her vagina, made her incapable of cooperating or repaying pleasure in any way.
Suddenly, just as Dorothy felt the first tingling precursors of a climax, Bella pulled her mouth away, but kept her finger shoved into the depths of the young girl's tortured rectum.
"Oooohhhh, don't stop... please don't stop." Dorothy cried, her voice an unrecognizable croak of feral lust.
Bella, her face smeared with the hot viscosity of Dorothy's honeyed love lubricant and her own saliva, smiled up knowingly at the blonde. "Do you like that, darling?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. It's beautiful. You can't stop now! Please."
Jean twisted her figure almost double, french-kissed Dorothy again, and said, "We have all night, child. All night. And I promise you heights of pleasure you never before thought existed."
Jean rose on her knees again, straddling the girl's wide-spread figure. She rubbed her hot damp vagina against both of Dorothy's breasts--bringing a gasp of delight from the passion-helpless blonde--and presented her cunt in offering once more. Bella twitched her finger deep in the depths of Dorothy's rectum, as if nudging her forward--reminding her of an unwritten, unspoken obligation to repay pleasure with pleasure. When the blonde model did not respond at first, the result of having some second thoughts as she felt her peak of passion slowly beginning to subside, Bella grinned and buried her face once more into the succulent layers of pink, pouting, proud pussy flesh dripping with the musk and honey-scented elixir of love.
Dorothy gasped as the tongue shot into her twitching cunt like a little red prick. Without ordering them to move, her hands reached out and tremblingly grabbed Jean's boy-like buttocks and pulled the auburn-haired pelvis to her mouth. She didn't have the slightest idea of what to do, but began raining kisses and licks all over the crotch. Jean, her eyes rolling deliriously, reached down and peeled her own vaginal lips apart with the thumb and forefinger, exposing a brown tremblingly erect little clitoris. She stroked it between thumb and forefinger for a moment, then said, "Suck on this, darling."
Obediently, wanting to please her now, Dorothy fastened her soft warm lips around the budded nerve center and was rewarded with a loud moan and Jean's passionate voice crying, "Oh, God... wonderful, darling. More... more... " Bella began licking more powerfully now, and there were times when her tongue thrusts seem to drive in as far as Bill's prick had gone. She actually jolted Dorothy's pelvis with each delicious wild drive inward. The young girl simply could not believe the intensity of the wildly erotic sensations. Magnifying the feeling was the knowledge that she was doing the same wickedly perverted thing to Jean, willingly participating in this forbidden lesbian act. Subconsciously she began using her tongue and lips in the same manner as Bella, and Jean's cries had become louder and more prolonged.
Now her own loins had begun that unmistakable agonizingly beautiful build up to an orgasm. She could feel her belly muscles rippling like a savage rip-tide, could feel the joyous quiverings of deep inner vaginal muscles as tongue and finger moved in, pulled out, moved in like two well-oiled drills seeking underground treasure. And then, without any further warning, she was there!
The first trembling convulsions began at the pit of her stomach and rapidly spread outward. She tried to communicate her joy, but her gentleness evaporated under the violence of the stunningly powerful climax. Cruelly she dug her fingernails into Jean's buttocks and began slavering like a madman into the wide-open, wildly thrashing, pink hot wet cunt of the woman. Bubbling mewls of animal passion came from deep in her throat as she began thrusting her tongue in wild abandonment as deep as it would go into the clasping cuntal cavity before her. She coughed and sputtered as she sucked in Jean's warm viscous liquid, then her legs snaked out like two fleshy lariats and fastened themselves around Bella's neck, yanking the big Amazon in closer to her wildly thrusting pelvis. It was as though she were trying to pull the woman's face, that tantalizing tongue, and hot voracious mouth all the way into her.
Wave after wave of pure sensation--almost too incredibly intense to live through--roared and rippled throughout her entire body. Instead of slacking off, it grew in even greater intensity until Dorothy was sure she would die, that every palpitating, wildly jangling nerve center was shorting out and would be useless forevermore.
In the midst of it, she became vaguely aware that Jean's pussy was twitching and sucking at her tongue, and at the same moment she heard the great shriek of exaltation and Jean's voice crying, "I'm cumming . . lick harder, Dorothy . . suck harder... Oh, good God! I. . AM . . CUMM--INNNGGG!" And then the woman simply fell over sideways, collapsing from the force of her climax. Dorothy lay back, eyes fluttering, legs still quivering and trembling, as the last reverberating jolts of pleasure began diminishing.
Bella looked up triumphantly at the two gasping women, then slowly got up and went over to her attache case. Reaching in, she pulled out two elongated white boxes and carried them back to the couch.
Dorothy was still too weak from her orgasm to pay much attention to what the big woman was doing. All she knew was that the Amazon had lifted her easily up by the hips, slipped a leather belt under them and another between her legs, then fastened the belts in front. When the girl looked over toward Jean, she thought for a moment that she was hallucinating, for the boyish-looking buyer was strapping something on herself. Then she gasped when she saw the eight-inch long artificial penis attached to the straps. It was so life-like that she could swear it had actually throbbed. When she looked down at her own abdomen, she saw the same barbarous instrument belted to her hips. The penis seemed to have a life of its own. She could see the little red and blue capillaries on it, the mighty majesty of the red mushroomed head; bristly hair even sprouted from the pendulous scrotum which felt surprisingly warm against her inner thighs. With mixed emotions--horror, revulsion, surprise, even amusement--she gazed at it, and the thought came unbidden, "So this is what it would look like if I were a boy."
Even as she was watching it, Bella came over carrying a jar of cold cream. Grinning happily, she took a gob of the grease and smeared it over the mammoth spongy head of the dildoe, then ran her closed hand up and down the shaft several times as though she were masturbating it--spreading the cold cream evenly. Wordlessly, she tossed the jar to the boyish buyer who rapidly greased the hard rubber artificial cock.
Jean then sat down with her legs spread wide-apart on the couch and leaned back. She looked exactly like a handsome young boy with a very large erection.
Dorothy could not take her eyes from the obscene spectacle. Nothing she had ever seen before in her life could match this for salaciousness, and she really could not believe what her eyes were witnessing.
Jean said to Bella, "Come on darling, let me fuck you." The Amazon laughed coyly, then with an eagerness she lowered herself on the phallus. She gasped in delight as the rubber prick slipped easily between her widespread thighs and slowly sank into the depths of her pussy.
Dorothy discovered that she had been holding her breath and felt the first beginnings of an embarrassed blush as she realized that her own lewd groan had echoed that of the two women when the big woman's pussy had been penetrated. Bella's magnificent buttocks began rising and falling powerfully, and the blonde girl could see them flexing and straining with each inward stroke. The obscene sight was so exciting in a perverted sort of way that Dorothy felt the blood beginning to pound through her veins again. It was then that Bella turned and said, without preamble, "Dear child, you must stick your prick up my asshole."
She reeled in dismay, and confusion churned in her mind. It was one thing to witness something like this, but to actually participate.
"Please," Bella pled, and Dorothy thought she discerned the faintest suspicion of tears of supplication boiling up in the big woman's eyes. "Remember the pleasure I brought you. Don't deny me now. Please. I must have it or die." She wagged her muscular buttocks beseechingly in the air a couple of times.
In spite of the revulsion that accompanied the lewd request, Dorothy could not deny she had become excited. Incapable of guile, she simply did not know what to say. Finally she mumbled, "I don't know what to do. I'm afraid I'll hurt you."
"Come over here, darling," Jean ordered, "and stand behind her. We'll teach you."
The blonde girl rose, feeling foolish at the sight of the huge erection standing out in front of her, then walked awkwardly over to stand behind Bella. Now, in the crevice between the two powerful cheeks of the woman's ass, she could see the dime-sized puckered little anus eagerly expanding and contracting like a feeding fish's mouth.
"Come closer," Jean said, peering between Bella's outstretched arm. "Closer. Closer. Now, darling, put the head of your prick against her anus . . her asshole." When Dorothy hesitated once more, she said with a tone of anxiety in her voice. "Do it, darling. You must."
Dorothy gazed, mesmerized as her pelvis slowly pushed forward until the shiningly greased, bulbous maroon head of the artificial prick touched the twitching anal opening.
"Now push, gently," Jean said, her mouth open in undisguised excitement. She wrapped her arms around the Amazon's waist as the big woman fell forward impaling herself completely on the vaginal prick. Dorothy had to waddle forward three more steps to touch the anus again.
No longer was there any thought of hesitation; the excitement of what she was about to do, of actually fucking a woman, had been all-consuming of her conscience and inhibitions. No matter how obscenely lewd this act was, it was something she wanted, had, to see through to its finale.
She pushed her latex prick forward, using more and more pressure as the tight nether opening resisted at first then bent inward elastically. The head popped in and Bella moaned in rapture.
Her mouth watering with boiling white spit that looked more like semen than saliva, her heart hammering as though it were about to fly right out of her body, Dorothy closed her eyes and shuddered deliciously. Then, casting gentleness aside, unable to help herself, she lunged forward driving the rubber prick all the way into the depths of Bella's asshole.
Bella screamed in exaltation as the hard artificial penis rammed into her and she felt the balls slam into her upturned, wildly thrashing buttocks.
And then both Jean and Dorothy, eyes unseeing and unreasoning, were driving in and out of the two openings as though they were madmen indulging in their first rape of innocent woman.
* * *
The three men sat in front of the closed circuit television monitor watching the three women in the wild abandoned throes of a lesbian orgy.
"Jesus, Christ, look at the blonde go, "Mark Rogers said, as he excitedly swirled ice cubes around and around in his tall glass of scotch and soda.
Bette smiled, "I told you. Isn't she great? She's going to kill that fucking Bella, and this is her first time ever with a lesbian."
Zeke Conway stared in loving fascination as Dorothy's ass rose and fell with each inward lunge she made into Bella's buttocks. "You know, that Dorothy might make a good asshole fuck.", "It would be a cherry," Bette said. "Ah, come on, Red. Don't shit the troops," Mark said.
"I swear," Bette said, making a cross over her heart. The third man, a dark saturnine middle-aged individual sucked thoughtfully on his cigar. "Let's get this straight. No one has been at that meat except her husband and two other guys for a couple of hours one night."
"That's right, Sam."
"And she's pretty innocent, eh? I mean she hasn't blown anyone 'cept her husband, maybe?"
Bette stared direct into his eyes in an effort to prove her sincerity. "Not even her husband has had that from her."
"Jesus," Zeke breathed, "she's a cherry that way, too. Look, Red, count me in tomorrow night. Hell, I'd walk to Sacramento from here for a little of that."
"Me, too," the other two men echoed in unison.
Bette stood up, grinning triumphantly. "You won't be disappointed, boys. I promise.
Sacramento Capitol Royal Hotel. Nine o'clock." She looked back toward the t.v. monitor and took a deep drink of her scotch and water. To her practiced eye, it looked as if the entertainment down there was just getting underway.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dorothy had been strangely quiet and subdued during the brief hour and a half trip from San Francisco to Sacramento. Earlier in the morning, after one brief agonized outburst from the blonde--a demand to know where Bette had disappeared to the night before--she lapsed into a pensive silence. It was obvious that she did not quite believe the statement that Bette had come back right away and, finding the door locked, had thought that the two buyers and Dorothy had gone either downstairs or somewhere else for a drink to celebrate the shows' success.
Dorothy's mind was like a tethered animal--jumping in all directions--and always being pulled up short. She was deeply ashamed of what had happened last night with the two women; the shame was worse than a cat o'nine tails relentlessly shredding sway the outer layer of her composure. What bothered her even more, though, was the irrepressible knowledge that she had enjoyed it. . perhaps not as much and as completely as sex with her husband, but there had been moments of true rapture and a feeling stronger than she had ever felt before from a male. There was something strangely exciting about being dominated by the two powerful women and then experiencing the thrill of dominating each of them in turn--having them crying out and piteously pleading with her, seeing them writhe and hearing them moan as she brought them pleasure and pain. Before the evening was over she had mastered them completely; it was Dorothy who was the arrogant self-assured goddess who bestowed favours from heaven, who commanded and expected to be obeyed. The two powerful women had wound up like loyal trained dogs, jumping at any signal or order, eager to obey the master.
Gradually, as Bette's rented convertible neared Sacramento in the late afternoon heat, Dorothy began to think about the similarities between the evening with Carl and George and that of last night. In both instances she had been tricked, courted and wooed, and sexually used, but before the evenings had been concluded, it had been she who was the person calling the shots--completely in charge. That ability to dominate really surprised her; it was a facet of her character she had never before realized existed. And then, all of her thoughts congealed; everything fell into place. She had a commodity they wanted... and it definitely was not the Mister Bates line. It was her body! Once that thought had solidified in her mind, she was so frightened of its implications that she immediately pushed it back into the sub-conscious from which it had sprung.
Now the young blonde began thinking about Bette Harding. The red-headed model had made no pretensions about her love and need of good sex that night with Carl and George. She had enjoyed it just as much, if not more than the males, and she obviously was not bothered by a guilty conscience. It was something that needed talking out, so Dorothy broke the silence finally and asked, "Bette, do you go to bed with many buyers?"
The red-head was so astonished by the question that she took her eyes off the road to stare at the troubled blonde, then was forced to yank the wheel back as a truck in the other traffic lane angrily blasted its horn at the unexpected intrusion into its lane. She decided it would be safe to be candid and so nodded her head vigorously.
"Why?" Dorothy asked.
"Because I like it. It's fun! I need it physically. And it doesn't hurt anyone."
"What about your husband?"
"He fucks around, you'd better believe it! And so does your Bill."
"Do you ever tell him what you've done?"
"No. Does Bill ever tell you? I mean, he's going to get a little strange stuff while he's in the Pacific. Right? Do you really think he's going to come back home and spill his guts about all the women he's screwed?" When the blonde didn't answer, Bette continued earnestly. "Look . . I've always figured there are two kinds of sex. There's sex you enjoy with someone you love. Obviously that's the best kind, if it's good, because there's an added dimension to it. The second kind is sex for physical relief and pure selfish enjoyment--without your official partner. All things considered, I'd much rather have sex with my husband. But I can't when he's out to sea . . so I try the other. And I must confess that I find it terribly exciting and satisfying."
Dorothy lapsed into silence again. She knew there was something wrong about the red-headed model's philosophy, but she couldn't quite pinpoint the error. Then she cast it out of her mind once more as they hit the metropolitan traffic of the delta city. A few minutes later, Bette expertly wheeled the big convertible down an off-ramp and into the long tree-lined driveway leading to the luxurious Sacramento-Capitol Royal Motor Hotel.
From that moment on, Dorothy didn't have a chance to think of anything but the evening fashion show. They checked in and were assigned a spacious, tastefully decorated two-bedroom suite overlooking the marina and the river. Dorothy was in the process of unpacking when the door chimes sounded, and a second later she found herself surrounded by the three other girls in tonight's big show. She liked Angelique, the big negress, immediately, and could identify with the two petite blondes, Cora and Sue, because they were both service wives of officers. After Bette had introduced her around, the four models chatted and exchanged gossip--amidst much giggling and ribald remarks. Dorothy felt comfortable with them, they all seemed to have a lot in common. She learned that Marie Grosset had called a rehearsal for six o'clock because Dorothy had never worked in the big show before. There were no complaints from any of the models, even though it meant two hours of unpaid work for each of them. They all volunteered to help the new girl in any way they could, and lived up to their promises by giving her pointers and suggestions.
The rehearsal went well. Dorothy made no more than the usual number of mistakes, even though she was overwhelmed by the professional attitude of Marie Grosset and the beautifully decorated stage where the show was to take place. This obviously was a high class, big time production, complete with printed programs and stereo music. Marie painstakingly put Dorothy through her paces, showing her where and how to stand, what postures to make, and where to exit. It was seven fifteen before they broke for dinner. Dorothy ate with the four other girls and found herself really enjoying their company. Although the rest of the models had two martinis each, Dorothy confined her drinking to one. She made up for it by ordering the 24 ounce Porterhouse steak.
Then, almost before she knew it, the show had started. Dorothy stepped out onto the softly lit stage, wearing a crimson-coloured skimpy bra and bikini panties, together with a sexy looking garter belt that came across mid-abdomen with a row of gently waving little ostrich feathers that managed somehow to look indecently like pubic hair. Her appearance brought loud sustained applause and several wolf whistles. She flushed in pained embarrassment, but managed to stroll regally across the stage as Marie Grosset intoned a description of the lingerie and its cost.
She was bolder in the second outfit, having watched both Bette and Angelique outrageously tease the audience.
Near the end of the show she was openly competing with the other girls, and her innocent wide-eyed appearance gave her a decided edge.
The only thing she really hated was going out into the audience without a bra to demonstrate the scent of Mister Bates's Oil de Aphrodite. Willing herself not to think about it, she followed the other girls' lead and moved out among the men. Strange hands roamed her buttocks and thighs in the dimly lighted room. Then, as she was returning to the stage two minutes later, she was forced to jump away from one man who had stood and growled, "I'm going to bite one of those titties even if it costs me a hundred years in jail." He was quickly pulled down by his laughing companions. That shook her and she had to be led away by Bette and Angelique.
Just as she was walking back up on the stage again, she was almost positive that she heard a vaguely familiar voice calling out of the darkness, "Hey, Dorothy." But promptly dismissed it as being just a guilty conscience. After all, she couldn't possibly know anyone here in Sacramento.
Marie wore a wide smile as she threw her arms around Dorothy and embraced the blonde. "Dear, you did splendidly. I don't think I've ever seen a better first-time performance. Everyone loved you. And you make the clothes look so good."
Dorothy, flushed with pride, could only mumble her thanks. The other girls were just as enthusiastic about her participation in the show. Then they all fell silent gazing expectantly at Marie. Dorothy wondered what was coming next: she had thought that the show was the only thing scheduled for the evening.
Although it wasn't necessary to pretend with the other models, Marie played along with Bette's suggestion that the fashion show charade be continued in front of Dorothy. She said, "All right, girls. As you know the buyers will want to more closely inspect the merchandise."
She was interrupted by a loud snort of derision from Angelique. "That's one way of putting it."
"Be quiet, dear," Marie answered, not changing her tone of voice and continuing as though no one had said anything. "Bette, I want you to work with Dorothy on this. Conway, Rogers, and Baxter are here tonight, and they are placing a very big order, indeed. They're already on their way to your suite." She turned to the negress, "Angelique, Tad Morgan is your steady customer; he wants you as usual. Cora, Sue, I want you to work with the buyer from Eggers Department Store. That's all girls. And thank you."
Back in the dressing room, the models quickly changed from the lingerie into their street clothes. Dorothy could not help noticing that Angelique, Cora and Sue didn't bother to put on undergarments.
The big negress groaned and said in a mock negro's voice, "Man, dats all dis tired ole twat of mine needs, an energetic tomcat like Tad Morgan! Last time he did everything except shove a flag up mah ass and have me dance 'Yank My Doodle, It's a Dandy!"
Dorothy blushed at the crude comment, Cora and Sue giggled delightedly. Bette, a stern look on her face, went over and spoke quietly to the negress.
Angelique looked up over toward Dorothy with an expression of stunned surprise. She said, without a trace of accent, "Do you mean she doesn't know yet?"
Dorothy saw Bette glance in her direction with a guilty look, then whisper urgently to the black model. What could Angelique have meant? Why the whispering? She glanced over toward the two petite blondes, and they, too, wore wondering expressions. Something was going on . . something she should know about. Curiosity, mixed with embarrassment and a trace of anger, coloured her face. She never had liked to be talked about . . or be the only person not knowing a secret.
It wasn't until she and Bette were riding up to their suite in the elevator, however, that she had a chance to ask about the suddenly mysterious behaviour and comments. "What did Angelique mean about my not knowing 'yet'? What don't I know?"
Bette's face reddened in embarrassment. The guilty expression returned. She paused, obviously seeking words, and then lied, "You remember in the beginning, when I first told you about this job--when you first agreed to do it--I mentioned that sometimes we get a buyer or two who likes to tell off-colour jokes?"
Dorothy nodded.
"Well, Mark Rogers, Zeke Conway, and Sam Baxter own the biggest department store chain in Oregon. Your commission alone will be somewhere between three and four hundred dollars. But they're crude . . very crude! And they like to drink a little." She gazed up at the blonde, her eyes completely guileless, "I just wanted you to know in advance that they'll talk pretty dirty . . but you did say you could take care of yourself."
Dorothy stared at the red-head. All of her instincts shouted that she was not being told the complete truth. She thought about it as the elevator door whispered open and they walked down the soft carpet to their suite near the end of the corridor. Bette paused in front of the door, searching for her key.
Dorothy put out her arm. "Before we go in, I want you to know that if the party starts getting rough like it did the other night in Beverly Hills, then I'm leaving."
"Yes, of course," Bette said.
"I mean it," Dorothy repeated. Nothing, she thought, absolutely nothing could make her stay in the hotel room if things started getting out of hand. Not even three hundred dollars . . even though that was an awful lot of money!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bette did everything she could to keep her nervousness from showing to either the men or Dorothy. Jesus, she thought, after what happened with the two lesbians last night and with George and Carl, you'd think Dorothy by now would know what the score was . . or at least be able to name the game. One way or the other, though, the cards were stacked against the big blonde. Bette had all the weapons: the lingerie, which meant Dorothy had to strip; the booze, which would soften her up and get rid of some of her inhibitions; and the fact that the three men knew the new girl was skittish--this being her first time--and would have to be handled carefully. She glanced quickly toward the blonde, then mentally changed her last thought. "Carefully isn't the word. Handle her like a bottle of nitroglycerine," she thought ruefully. The main trouble was that men just couldn't keep their cotton picking hands off the girl; part of it was Dorothy's fault, she had that big wide-eyed innocent look which made most males swear that she was just dying to climb up in their laps a.
Bette had asked the men for at least thirty minutes to loosen up the new girl, but as she glanced around the room and caught the starving wolf expression on the men's faces she wasn't at all sure she had even that long. Sam Baxter had crowded Dorothy in the corner and had gruffly insisted she accept her second bourbon and water--the drink was so dark that it had to be almost pure bourbon. As she drank, he blew swirling smoke rings with his cigar--rings that rotated as they left his mouth and settled in perfect undulating circles around Dorothy's breasts. Standing next to the big blonde was Mark Rogers, who was staring thoughtfully at the- rings and the luscious flesh hidden now under her street clothes. Dorothy squirmed in pained embarrassment under the heat of his gaze, and seemed to be looking frantically around for her friend.
Bette, afraid the girl was getting ready to bolt, moved over and pulled her away from the men. "Okay, boys," she said. "Sit down. We're going in and change into the lingerie you wanted to see close up."
Zeke, feeling no pain from his earlier alcoholic intake, said slurringly, "Fuck the lingerie. Let's get this show on the road."
Sam Baxter spun on him snarling, "Shut up, you goddamned drunk. You heard the lady. We're going to see some lingerie. Now sit your ass down there and don't move it." His comments were echoed by Mark Rogers. Outnumbered, Zeke did as he was told, sitting with a big hurt pout on his face.
Bette could feel Dorothy trembling as she led her into the bedroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind them. "Sorry about the rough language, dear. But boys will be boys."
Dorothy was frightened, and she admitted it. Instinctively she knew these men would not be put off easily. It would be the safest thing to do to get away from here right now . . before anything else happened. Their crude remarks had been too suggestive, their jokes much too graphic, and those horrible smoke rings! These weren't gentlemen like George and Carl; she didn't know what would happen to her if she stayed.
Bette held out a drink to her, but Dorothy shook her head as she reached a sudden decision. "I'm splitting," she said.
"What?" Bette squealed, then wailed, "You can't."
Dorothy stared at her. "I'm afraid of them."
"Well, so am I," the red-head lied. "You can't leave me here alone with them . . and I've got to have this sale. I need the money. Oh, please, Dorothy. Please... just do the modelling, then I'll get their names on the contract and we'll ditch them."
Dorothy looked dubious; these men didn't appear to be the type that one could ditch that easily. She gazed into Bette's eyes looking for some sign of sincerity, some indication that the red-head truly was as frightened as she. Those green eyes, though, were indefinable, fathomless. It just might be possible that Bette did need the money-after all, she was going to be on a leave of absence for six months . . and Dorothy had promised to see this last show through. The big blonde evaluated everything. The last two shows had wound up in sexual orgies. If she remained it was possible that she might get caught up in another, one even worse, if possible than the others. That was something she had to consider. She had been innocent, or stupid, the times before. Now that she knew what could happen, there would be absolutely no excuse if it happened again. "Please," Bette said, softly. It was that pitiful plea that made Dorothy change her mind. "All right," she said, "But give me your word of honor that we'll try to ditch them."
"I promise," Bette lied, but still was suspicious enough from childhood tales to cross her fingers behind her back Having made the decision, Dorothy wanted to get the odious affair over with as soon as possible. When Bette offered her a drink again, almost pure bourbon, she swilled it down as though it were a plain coke on a blistering hot day. The heat of the liquor rapidly spread throughout her belly.
Quickly the two women stripped and got into their lingerie. Bette was wearing a transparent two piece pajama outfit that did nothing to hide her breasts or pubic area. Dorothy wore a littlie black half-bra that pushed her big luscious melon-like breasts together so tightly that even a thin pencil could not have slipped down the crevice. The half full-moons of her tits spilled out in white warm magnificence over the top ridge of the bra, and if a person looked closely enough he could see the aureolas like little brown rainbows arcing through those white heavens.
The black bikini panties were something else again--an hour glass shaped piece of wide mesh silk that had been folded in double. Two gold rings the size of bracelets held the cloth together at the sides, making the legs look incredibly long--revealing the warm white globes of her succulent buttocks. The tailoring had been such that the material dug deeply into the cuntal tunnel and buttocks slit. The mesh was wide enough to permit Dorothy's golden pubic hair to protrude through the silk, and now standing before the mirror she realized her hair made it appear that the crotch had been embroidered in an intricate golden design. The panties had caused a stunned hush to fall over the all-male audience when she first appeared in them on the stage; she mentally shuddered as she thought about what might happen out there with just the three men who had been drinking.
"Are you ready?" Bette asked.
"Not really, but let's go and get it over with," Dorothy replied.
The two women walked out into the living room area of the suite. Zeke Conway, seated on a stool, was in the process of sipping his drink when his eyes caught sight of Dorothy parading across the room. Although his throat stopped working, the liquid continued to come into his mouth and a stream of liquor flooded down the front of his shirt. Beside him, Sam Baxter nudged Mark Rogers and pointed toward the frozen Zeke. They both guffawed loudly and slapped their legs in raucous amusement when he finally realized what he was doing and began choking.
Dorothy had made her decision so rapidly that she hadn't had a chance to figure out what she would do and wouldn't do. Thus it was that she was thrown completely off stride by Sam Baxter's command, "Take off the bra, we need to see what kind of workmanship has gone into it." Wide-eyed, she glanced at Bette for support, and received only a mute nod that asked her to comply.
Slowly, as she had been taught to do by the red-head, she reached up behind her and unfastened the bra snap. Then she dropped her hands to her side and stood that way for about ten seconds before seductively hunching her left shoulder forward. The left breast leapt to freedom like an untethered hot air balloon and she heard the gasp in unison from all three men as the creamy white mound and its chocolate brown sleeping nipple was unveiled. Moving with the same slow, tormenting pace, she reached over with her right hand and lifted the bra clear of her body, revealing the two full ripe tits in all their warm globular majesty.
She took two steps toward Sam and handed him the bra as if she were offering a crown to the king. He quickly blew out two blue-white smoke rings that spun in the air and landed like two tenuous stays on her breasts where they clung lovingly and continued to swirl slightly. Dorothy glanced down at them as she stepped back. She knew her face was beet red, but at the same time, if she were honest with herself, she was also just a little bit amused by the act. The man was good with his smoke rings!
Sam and Mark made just the barest pretense of inspecting the bra before handing it over to the bug-eyed Zeke. Then they turned to Bette. "Strip everything," Sam ordered. "That outfit looks pretty cheesily made to me.
Bette retorted, "I'll have you know, Sam, that Mister Bates does not turn out 'cheesy' work." Quickly she dropped her pajama bottoms revealing her autumn fox fur pubic patch, and pulled the top over her head. She stood there in tall, proud nakedness, her sun-browned breasts almost as large and as perfectly upthrust as Dorothy's. She handed over the pajamas.
Sam and Mark had their heads together over the pajamas, when Zeke hiccupped once, blinked, and asked plaintively, "Can I smell the oil?"
Bette dimpled. "Of course, you can." She walked right up next to him and lifted one foot onto his knee.
Dorothy was appalled at the nonchalance with which Bette had acted and was slightly alarmed as Zeke bent his head and sniffed at the red-head's calf. He grinned drunkenly and planted a kiss on her knee. "Thash greatesh smell I ever smelled," He pronounced. He lifted his head slightly and looked up, then began grinning broadly as he drew back a little and cocked one eye shut.
It was only then that Dorothy realized that Bette's entire vaginal slit was exposed. Good God! Bette would never willingly show herself that way. Obviously she didn't know what was happening! How could she be warned? Dorothy had opened her mouth to speak, then Sam said simply, "I don't know about that stitching. Let's see your pants, blondie."
"What?" she asked stupidly, not understanding .
"Give us the bottoms," Mark Rogers said explaining. "How can we check materials and workmanship otherwise?"
"I'll help her," Bette said quickly, then came over to forestall any reluctance on the girl's part.
Dorothy turned her back to the men and pulled down the panties and handed them to the red-head. She wasn't going to let them see her vagina; it was bad enough standing here without a bra or panties, but that was as much as they were going to see. She had no way of knowing that when she bent over with her back to them, her rounder alabaster white buttocks in all their glory had opened slightly in silent promise causing Mark Rogers to gasp and squint, hoping for a sight of that little brown puckered treasure which he had vowed would be his before the evening was over.
After handing the panties to Sam, Bette boldly waltzed across the room to the bar and came back, with tits wiggling alarmingly, carrying two strong bourbons and water. She gave one to Dorothy and, by a nod of her red-head, indicated the girl was to down it.
Actually, it was Zeke Conway who, about thirty seconds later, changed the complexion of the entire affair. His nose had been crinkling ever since Bette had walked away, and gradually his countenance grew brighter--more cunning. When he spoke, his voice sounded surprisingly sober. "Hey, Red! You got any of that Mister Bates oil here?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Trot it out, baby. I want to see a bottle of it."
Bette lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. She walked toward the bedroom where the rest of the lingerie had been placed. As she went, the eyes of all three men were locked on the gently undulating moon shaped cheeks of her ass as they swayed first one way then the other in their journey across the room. When she came back carrying the quart-sized bottle of golden oil, her large well-tanned tits and their little brown halos moved with a life of their own--quivering, bouncing, vibrating happily.
Bette sensed the tension in the room; it was as though the men had given her warning they were tired of playing little games and were impatient to sample the little games and were impatient to sample the merchandise they had actually purchased. It was obvious from Dorothy's half-frightened expression that she, too, was aware of the sudden change in atmosphere.
"Here you are, Zeke," she said, handing him the bottle. She noticed the glasses of the men were empty, that Dorothy's still had half of its contents in it. She went back to the bar and quickly made up a batch of new drinks for them all them all. . Zeke's very weak, Dorothy's very strong. When the big blonde looked as if she were about to refuse the drink, Bette hissed, "Drink it. Now! All of it."
Zeke, surprisingly, paid no attention to the alcohol. He was turning the bottle around and around in his hands, a cunning grin etched on his face.
Sam finally noticed his sneaky pleased expression and asked irritably, "What's got into you?"
"Nothing," Zeke answered, then stood up suddenly. "Come here, Red," he said, and began twisting the lid off the bottle.
Bette then knew instantly what he had in mind. It was all she could do to keep from grinning her relief. Of course, what better way to get Dorothy involved than to have the men oiling her. Once the big blonde felt their hands on her body--and Sam and Mark were experts at finding erogenous zones--she would not be able to control herself.
Zeke cupped his hand and poured the highly perfumed sensuous oil into his palm. Then, with Bette standing subserviently in front of him, he began working the oil across the back of her shoulders. He grinned in triumph at the other two men. "If I'm going to buy a couple of cases of this crap, I want to see what it's like. After all, Marie Grosset said that was the main reason for buying it. . so you could put it on your girl friend or wife."
Sam and Mark were not stupid; they caught on immediately. It took Dorothy a little while longer to realise what was going to happen. By the time she had figured it out, it was already too late, for the hulking figures of the two men stood between her and the bedroom.
Mark Rogers, leering lewdly, squeezed some of the oil info his palm and then moved toward her. Dorothy stifled an impulse to cry out for help, not wanting him to touch her; and she glanced frantically back and forth with frightened eyes from Bette toward the blocked avenue of escape. Mark put his ham-like hands on her bare shoulder, and she shivered like a wild untamed trapped animal feeling the hand of its captor.
Mark shivered also. Never in his wildest imaginations had he ever thought anything could feel so god-damned sensual. He'd had a throbbing hard-on ever since she had bent over showing her big beautiful ass a few minutes before but now, as his oil-greased hand transmitted the overpowering pleasurable sensation of her soft pliantly warm shoulders, his cock grew even larger and became rock-hard within the confines of his shorts. He knew how he was going to use the oil after he got through greasing the girl; he was going to oil his cock, oil her asshole, and then ram it home to glory!
Dorothy closed her eyes to block out the sight of the suddenly perspiring Sam Baxter whose eyes had begun to bulge as he watched the sheen of the oil spread from the top of the shoulder to the shoulder blades.
Quickly, Sam poured some of the thick perfumed liquid into his palm; in his eagerness he used so much that the oil overflowed his hand and dripped onto the expensive rug. "Jesus," he said reverently as his hands felt the thrilling warmth of her other shoulder.
Dorothy flinched at the touch of that second hand and forced herself to open her eyes. Somehow, this must be stopped before it went any further; stopped right now, if possible. The ripples of sensation were already moving out from their hands to generate new and unwanted sensations within the pit of her belly. She had never before realized that she was so sensitive in that one particular spot above her shoulder blades; it was as though both men knew it was sexually stimulating, for their warm oily hands had concentrated in that area. One of them had used too much liquid and she could feel the trickle of it down her backbone.
Behind her, Mark watched mesmerized as the little silver stream of oil moved down her back and stopped just above the crack of her ass. With trembling hands he poured more of the perfumed liquid on top of her shoulder. Some of it ran down her greased back and cascaded into the shadowy crevice between the globular white mounds of her buttocks; the rest of the oil slowly crept down her front and rolled onto that soft fleshy outcropping of her upthrust tit.
The two men glanced at each other, then grinned lewdly and began slowly, gently, and tantalizingly working the oil into the lower part of the trembling girl's back, concentrating on the erogenous zones and being rewarded by increased tremors from the big blonde's body.
Dorothy now felt a small fire being kindled in her loins. With the realization of what was happening, she made up her mind to run into the bathroom and lock the door. She glanced over toward Bette to let her friend know she was leaving, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw Zeke kneeling in front of the red-head. He was using both hands to oil her left thigh-running his hands from knees to upper thighs, where his thumbs came almost in contact with her vagina. Zeke's head was only inches away from her navel, and even as Dorothy watched she saw Bette make an almost imperceptible movement of her pelvis--as though in silent invitation. The red-head's eyes were closed her breasts were oily and nipples were erect, and there was a look of sheer rapture on her face. She heard Zeke croak, "Turn around. Red." Bette slowly pirouetted and presented her backside to him. Zeke slowly and lovingly began smearing the perfumed oil over the ripe white globes of her ass.
Dorothy was so engrossed in watching the lewdly exciting spectacle that it took a few seconds to realize that one of the men was oiling her buttocks as well. She tightened her ass muscles in protest and heard a crude chortle come from Mark Rogers. Sam Baxter, walking on his knees, came around and knelt in front of her. Before she could object, he was oiling her thigh. Then, quickly, he moved up and oiled her abdomen, her arms, and the fronts of both shoulders. Behind her, she felt Mark Rogers's hands kneading her buttocks and it seemed to her that his movements were becoming more urgent.
It was with considerable amazement that the big blonde realized that her breathing had increased in tempo, that her breasts had become harder and nipples were turgid. She could not deny the wildly exhilarating sensations that were running rampant through her loins. When she felt the moisture gathering in her vagina, she knew the danger was becoming acute. Before she could move, however, Sam Baxter began oiling her left breast. Her trembling increased even more, now her entire body was shuddering as she felt his hot, oily hands moving gently over the palpitating mound of warm, straining flesh. Behind her, she felt Mark's hands leave her buttocks; that made hope rise that the men were tiring of playing with the oil and would soon permit them to continue with the rest of the show and leave.
Zeke had completely anointed Bette's body and now he stopped back to admire his work. A moment later, he was joined by Sam and Mark. They silently motioned for the models to stand together, and the two girls moved toward each other. The men stared at their handiwork. There was something wildly exciting about the two shining nude bodies. The big blonde stood with thighs primly pressed close together, but the stance could not hide the perfection of her body . . the trembling half-parted wet lips the ripe upthrust of those soft warm magnificent tits and erect little nipples, the shining taut abdomen, the gentle outward curving of her fabulous flanks, the corn-silk hair at the junction of her long sleek legs and thighs. The red-head was obviously more at ease under the hot scrutiny of the men. She stood with legs apart, hands saucily on hips, and beneath that autumn fox fur-coloured patch, one could see the shadowy pink promise of her cuntal lips shining with the Oil de Aphrodite left there after Zeke had made one last swipe--oiling everything, including that hot, moist, slit.
"Not bad. Not bad at all," Sam Baxter decreed.
Mark Rogers didn't bother to answer, but his hot hungry glance spoke volumes. Zeke grinned, then picked up his drink from the coffee table. He looked at it for a second, then put it back without tasting it.
"Well, men. What's say we talk this order over in the bedroom?" Sam said, and didn't give the others a chance to reply. "Excuse us, ladies. This will take only a second."
The three men filed from the room. When the door to the bedroom shut behind them, Dorothy took a deep sigh and her body slumped. "God," she said, "I'm glad that's over."
Bette hunched her shoulders together. "Uummm. I'm not glad. I can still feel Zeke's hands all over me. It felt delicious. It really turned me on." She glanced over toward Dorothy and her eyes locked on the still erect nipples. "I see they kind of turned you on, too."
Dorothy blushed, then shuddered. In those final seconds there when Sam had been rubbing the oil on her breasts, she had been forced to utilize all of her self-control to keep from moaning. Yes, it had felt good. Not only "good", but wickedly and wildly exciting, and she knew that her craven body had become almost hopelessly aroused. She was glad the men had stopped when they did, otherwise she might have done something foolish.
Bette said, "Come on, kid. You look like you could use a drink." She led the way over to the bar and quickly poured two bourbons and water.
Dorothy had just put the glass to her lips when Sam Baxter, completely nude, padded out of the bedroom followed by the other two naked men.
Sam walked up quietly in back of the big blonde, wrapped his big bear-like arms around her waist, and poked his throbbingly erect mammoth cock into the oily cheeks of her ass.
CHAPTER NINE
Bette saw the nude men coming from the bedroom out of the corner of her eye, yet she pretended surprise when Sam's arms locked themselves around Dorothy's waist. A second later, even before the big blonde could voice any protest, Bette was seized by Zeke whose long, rigid shaft pressed against her greased buttocks.
"Let me go," Dorothy demanded, half in anger and half in fright, turning over her cocktail glass as she struggled for freedom.
"Not on your life, baby," Sam said, beginning to work in and out of the greased ass crevice with his hot hard prick, moving it rapidly--not attempting to make entry, merely to slip it in and out between the soft cheek bottoms of her oily ass and vaginal slit. The cock rode easily, and he was not overly surprised to feel a warmer, different slipperiness around her cunt. The big blonde had been hot for it three minutes ago when he was rubbing oil in her tits, and he had known her pussy would be pouring out its own perfumed lubricant.
"No!" Dorothy gasped, then with a sudden wrench slipped from his hands. She started running toward the bathroom, but had only taken three steps before Mark Rogers playfully tackled her around the upper thighs and the two fell to the floor with Rogers on top of her. Immediately he began trying to spread her thighs with his knees. A second later, Sam came to his assistance and roughly forced her knees wide apart, permitting Mark to slip his torso between them. Then, he leapt forward to grab her arms as she began pushing up with all her strength against Mark's waist.
Bette watched the silent struggle between the blonde and two men with mixed emotions. It was obvious that the fight Dorothy was putting up was only exciting them more, the excitement being felt by Zeke who was standing alongside the red-head, absent-mindedly running his hands over her buttocks as he watched with bated breath the subduing of the big blonde.
Finally, overpowered and weakened, Dorothy lay still, her body shaking as though she were freezing.
"That's better," Mark said, and began teasingly thrusting his fleshy white shaft up and down her moist, fevered slit. He wasn't trying to penetrate her cunt; that was going to be Sam's exclusive territory. All he wanted to do now was warm it up a bit for his friend. He stared down at the hoarsely panting blonde, her golden hair was dishevelled from the struggle and there was a long scratch mark just below her left breast where either his or Sam's fingernail had gouged the skin during the fight. He said exactly what he thought, "God damn, honey. You are the most beautiful piece of ass I've ever seen. I'm really going to enjoy fucking you."
The obscenity caused the girl to begin struggling all over again, but this time her fight was short-lived as Sam merely put his arm across her shoulders and penned her to the rug.
Bette, sensing Dorothy was about to turn to her for help, reached over and put her arms around Zeke's waist and pulled him closer to her. One hand dropped, found his warm pulsating rod, and began to stroke it slowly. Zeke moaned low in his throat.
The red-head heard the struggle on the floor begin again, then a yelp of pain from Dorothy.
"Lie still, you bitch," Mark said. "All we're going to do is have a little fucking party."
"No," she sobbed, giving voice to her despair for the first time. "Let me up. Please. I'm not that kind of girl. Please!"
"Look, sweetheart," Sam explained patiently, "we've all paid for a piece of ass, and we're all going to get a piece. Now stop acting coy with us. We saw you with those two dykes at the hotel last night--eating pussy and using a dildoe. Why settle for a rubber prick when you can get the real thing? Like this!" He pulled the thick foreskin back from his prick and laughed as the girl turned her head away.
Bette heard Dorothy burst into tears and sobbingly ask, "How could . . how could you have seen us"?
"It's easy. You red-headed pal here sold tickets. We watched over the closed circuit television."
As long as she lived, Bette would never forget the pained accusation in Dorothy's voice calling out her name. "Bette! Oh, God, no! Please say it's a lie."
Slowly the red-head turned, still holding Zeke's cock. She stroked it three or four times, watching the horrified expression of disbelief on the poor tortured girl's face who had raised her head from the floor and was looking directly at her hand encircled on Zeke's long hard prick, lovingly massaging it. Then, slowly, her look of disbelief and hope turned to a stunned realization that it was the truth. For a second Bette thought she was going to scream and begin struggling again, but then abruptly, as though all of her inner defenses and strengths had been suddenly breeched or a switch had been thrown, a look of helpless resignation crossed her face. Her blonde head fell loosely back to the rug, her eyes clenched tightly shut in abject defeat.
Dorothy's spirit seemed completely broken by the knowledge that she had been betrayed, unwittingly worked as a prostitute, and that her lesbian activities had been observed by these three lewdly grinning men.
With the fight gone out of her, Mark Rogers rolled off her body and lay beside her. Bette watched with a growing arousal as she witnessed Sam Baxter's hands lewdly moving at will over Dorothy's full, young form lying defenseless before him. She knew that if the blonde had just accepted her fate without fighting--had lain back and enjoyed it--the men would have treated her differently. Now, though, they knew they had completely broken her spirit and some deep vein of sadism had been tapped in their emotions. They were going to humiliate the girl! Suddenly Bette was torn with conflicting emotions. She could feel genuine pity for Dorothy, but at the same time she felt anger toward her because it was obvious that the blonde would never willingly consent to work as a prostitute and that meant another long frustrating search for another replacement.
"Open your thighs," Baxter growled down at Dorothy, an unyielding glint of cruelty sparkling lewdly in his eyes.
Bette held her breath, thinking for a moment that Dorothy would refuse, but then the young helpless betrayed blonde obediently spread her legs a few inches. One silver tear of shame slowly coursed down her soft cheek.
"You can do better than that, love," Mark added, his face a perspiring masque of lust and eager impatience. "Come on... let's see that tight little pussy we've purchased."
Dorothy's eyes seemed to clench even tighter squeezing out several other tears. She shuddered again, then slowly opened them a little more.
"Oh, shit. Stop being coy," Sam snarled as he reached down, grabbed her knees, and viciously forced them apart. A low whimper of protest came from the girl's lips, but it is doubtful the men even heard it for their hungry lewd expressions were frozen on the soft raw flesh of her pink and rose-coloured little cunt.
"God damn," Mark said reverently as his leering eyes saw the unveiled treasure, "would you look at that pussy. Darned if it doesn't look like it's begging someone to put a long, hard cock in there." He reached forward suddenly and ran his middle finger up the tightly closed slit, parting the corn-silk hairs and feeling the oily soft warm flesh quiver against his contact. Watching her face now, he dug his finger slightly into the fevered little cuntal opening and saw a grimace twist her already strained features. He used the tip of the finger to nudge her fevered clitoris which was the size, shape, and colour of an almond--and was rewarded by a shiver and a slight twisting motion of her pelvis as she sought to break contact with this unwanted sensation.
Bette's excitement continued to grow until the pit of her belly was a churning maelstrom of unrequited need and her thighs running with the hot love juices copiously seeping from her hopelessly aroused cunt. The lewd spectacle in front of her was almost more than she could stand. She could see Dorothy lying there with her legs apart, probably feeling friendless and more alone and more ashamed than she had ever felt before in her life. The poor girl didn't even attempt to staunch the tears that rolled down out of the corners of her eyes and splattered on the tresses of the long golden hair that lay tangled under her head on the floor. She was being forced to lie completely naked between those two vile strangers and accept their crude caresses and salacious comments without protest. Well, that was what a whore was paid for, the red-head thought.
Suddenly Bette could stand the build up no more. She got on her hands and knees in front of Zeke and pled softly, "Fuck me, Zeke. Stick it in. Please . . now." She kept her eyes focused on the captive body of Dorothy right in front of her, less than five feet away. She could see the shining pink raw layers of the poor girl's defenseless pussy, could see Mark's finger working in and out of the clasping vaginal opening now, as Sam ran his hands over breasts and buttocks. The two men had such enormous erections and their cocks throbbed and jerked so powerfully, that the red-head didn't see how they could last another five seconds without ejaculating. Behind her, she felt Zeke's hands running over the full rounded moons of her eager ass. And then, as she caught her breath in delirious joy, she felt the heated hardness of his long pulsating prick rubbing against the impatient fevered moistness of her own cunt. Almost frantically, she reached back between her outspread legs and grasped that fleshy rigid shaft and pulled it forward until the hot throbbing head had insinuated itself between the sensitive little layers of oiled membraneal flesh on either side of her pussy. Once positioned, Zeke pushed forward slowly and, with one long uninterrupted stroke, shoved it all the way up into the depths of her heaving vagina.
A loud delirious moan escaped her lips when she felt the head scrape against the cervix and his hairy testicles slap against the upturned white cheeks of her ass. The sounds of her groan had made the other men look up, and they saw her with mouth dropped loosely open, working her buttocks back against the impaling cock in dog fashion. They stared at the salacious spectacle as Zeke began rotating his prick deep inside her prior to beginning a smooth stroking rhythm in and out that brought even louder moans from deep in her throat.
Goaded by the obscene show the red-head and their companion were putting on, they went back with increased urgency to their own project. Dorothy was completely open, defenseless, to the rummaging hands between her legs and over her breasts. Mark worked at her pussy now, slowly and tantalizingly inserting two fingers, relishing the fact that he was able to elicit a gasp of pain from her. "I tell you, she's got an awful tight cunt for a whore." he said wonderingly, and his cruel unfeeling comment brought a fresh rivulet of tears from the humiliated girl.
"Isn't she ready to fuck yet?" Sam asked. "Just about," Mark answered. "Her pussy's starting to nibble at my fingers . . feels like she's got a little rabbit in there."
Sam grinned lewdly, then dropped his head to her nipple. He bit it harshly and she yelped. A moment later his cheeks indented as he began a soft suckling at her breast, running his tongue maddeningly around the turgid brown button of her erect nipple. His actions were beginning to bring little animal sounds--half pleading, half protest--from her mewling throat.
Finally Mark made several quick circular motions, stretching Dorothy's cunt to its utmost, then withdrew his fingers. "She's all yours, friend."
Sam Baxter scuttled over and knelt between her outspread thighs. "Boy I am going to enjoy fucking this," he said, then growled playfully, "Look out cunt, here we come."
"Oh no, please... don't Dorothy said, feeling his hairy legs between her smooth thighs. "I'm not that kind of girl. Pul-luu-zee." The last was almost shouted as she jerked and lunged for freedom.
"Hold her, god-damnit, hold her," Sam yelled, and Mark came to his rescue by locking his arm across her throat and forcing the writhing body back down against the carpet. Dorothy struggled for a few seconds, then gasping and sobbing, lay still again.
Incapable of even token protest, she made no outcry when Sam used his knees to force her thighs even further apart. Grasping his long, hard aching cock in his hand, Sam guided it to the moist defenseless opening of her pussy. His cockhead split down the vaginal slit several times, lubricating itself, then he used both hands to raise her knees so entry could be made easier.
Bette realized she had been holding her breath, waiting for Sam's mammoth cock to make its penetration into the helpless girl's cunt. Nothing she had ever witnessed before had excited her quite as much as knowing that within a few minutes Dorothy's pitiful pleadings would become craven moans of pleading lust. So lost was she in the salacious anticipation, she was unaware of Zeke's heavy hot pole slamming in against her own cervix. She wanted to be part and particle of this cruel rape and humiliation of her blonde friend. She was filled with exaltation as she heard Sam's lust constricted voice say, "Baby, now you're going to get the fucking of your life. Raise your knees a bit more. Ah... yes . . that's a good girl."
Dorothy began quivering in fear and shame as Sam's hand dropped again between their bodies and took the hard, throbbing prick between his fingers and guided it forward, using the thick rubbery head to part the full, fleshy oil-and-vaginal-secretions-lubricated lips of her palpitating pussy. She turned her head to one side on the rug and shuddered with its first soft tingling contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moistened slit.
Bette was suddenly aware that Zeke had stopped his thrusts into the fevered depths of her cunt. She turned her head and saw him with eyes locked on the couple on the floor. Just as she glanced back, Sam began pressing forward.
"Ooooooh," Dorothy's pent-up breath whistled between her tightened lips as she felt the first harsh pressure against the tight elastic opening of her pussy.
Sam flexed the cheeks of his ass and pushed. "Ohhhhh!" the big blonde groaned as the tip slipped through her moistened vaginal lips.
Then, with a grin at Mark Rogers, Sam suddenly fell forward, his weight smashing her full firm tits tightly back against her chest. He shoved his pelvis forward at the same time and his long, hard white shaft of gristle, muscle and blood roared into her cunt like a runaway elevator, pushing the soft hot flesh of her inner vaginal walls aside without mercy. His long slide into her depths continued until with a sudden groan of delight his balls slammed against the defenseless upturned moons of her ass.
"Aaagghh, God! You're killing meeee-ee," Dorothy screeched, beginning to struggle against this brutal impalement. Mark immediately put a stop to her thrashing by grabbing her shoulders and pushing down with all his weight.
Sam grinned down at the stricken face of the girl. He saw the perspiration popping out on her forehead and temples. There was no disguising that she was in pain from his mammoth cock; that knowledge pleased him. He filled her as she had never been filled, before, and now he was going to fuck her as she had never been fucked before. "I told you I was going to stretch that pussy for you," he gloated, then flexed his ass muscles and made his cock jerk inside her.
"Aaagghh, don't move it," she grunted breathlessly, her face grimacing in new pain, and her neck cords standing out like flesh covered steel cables.
Bette had exhaled a long breath as she saw the white rigid shaft of Sam's prick disappear into the tight confines of Dorothy's wide-open cunt. Now she bent down, putting her red-head almost on the rug, in an effort to see everything. From this vantage point, staring up, she could see one large blue vein beating on Sam's shining pussy-moisturized cock. She could see the puckered edges of Dorothy's rubied vagina, looking horribly stretched and engorged with blood. As she watched, she saw Sam's slow withdrawal and the ragged edges of Dorothy's cuntal lips cling-almost lovingly--to the white shaft, as though reluctant to let it go. Then came the slow movement inward, causing the lips to disappear from sight. Gradually, Sam increased his tempo and began pulling the awesome length of his cock almost all the way out before driving it back in again to the hilt.
Beneath him, Dorothy was fighting a battle with herself. Tears were gushing from her eyes as she knew her humiliation and degradation were complete. She would never be the same again. She was being fucked by a stranger, with another man waiting to take his place when he was finished. They had purchased her body, just as George and Carl and Bella and Jean had bought it. That's all they were interested in--her body! She was dirtied, soiled! She had been tricked, betrayed and lied to, and as a result had lost control over all of the things that she had known were right. She was no longer, in any respects, "a good girl". She could never face her husband again. She was a whore, a professional whore!
She sobbed like a broken-hearted child and the phrase "professional whore" burned itself into her brain and conscience. Gone now was the earlier pain of Sam's cock ripping into her vagina, gone now was everything. Nothing was left except that wildly throbbing huge hot rod buried deep inside her vagina, beating away down there like a second heart.
Sam Baxter had been watching the slow march of emotions and thoughts across the blonde's tearful face, and he sensed that the last inner resistance had crumbled. Clamping his lips down over her tear-streaked salty mouth, he dug his tongue deep into her oral cavity and began a slow, tormenting rocking motion between her thighs. He could feel the tight hot passage between her legs opening more and more with each thrust as she groaned in helpless defeat beneath him.
Bette saw Dorothy's body begin to involuntarily react to the fucking she was getting; her hips started a gentle rise and fall to meet each inward stroke, then within moments, the pelvis had begun a slow rotating as it rose. Low hums of passionate servile acceptance began pouring out of her heaving chest. Face contorted with passion, mouth working in unison with Sam's, neck straining, nostrils flared, the girl had abruptly become a portrait of pure animal lust. . made all the more appealing by the light sweat that had broken out on her forehead under the long golden strands of hair that spilled out onto the rug.
Sam moved with all the precision of ball-bearing machinery as he began making longer smooth strokes that brought his prick almost all the way out of her twitching vagina on the back stroke and then falling forward into her upthrust supplicant buttocks until her could feel the sensual pounding of his hard balls against her soft buttocks. He fondled and played with her clitoris, bringing softer moans of wantonness from her lust tightened lips, all the while feeling the ever-widening passage of her pussy flowering like some carnivorous plant greedily attempting to devour his entire hot shaft of meat.
Dorothy's breath had become hoarse rasping pants of passion and her motions had started to assume a frantic urgency when Sam abruptly realized she was close to cumming.
Grinning, he shoved his prick home with one brutal thrust and kept it buried to the hilt, pinning her hips to the rug--making it impossible for her to move up and down the greased shaft.
"Wha... what's wrong," Dorothy sputtered, her eyes wide open in accusing disbelief.
'"Nothing, baby. I'm tired. What's say we roll over and you be the boss for awhile?" He didn't give the blonde a chance to answer, but grabbed her hips and rolled over. He planted the girl's knees just above the belt line, then said, "Go ahead, try moving it in and out."
Bette watched as Dorothy tentatively slid her hot seeping pussy up and down the oiled pole before establishing a rhythm. To her practiced eye it was obvious the girl was beginning to show some signs of real enthusiasm. Her supple white fleshy ass mounds rose and fell on that throbbing veined shaft in an increasing tempo as she sought once again to bring back the promise of the orgasm. Now, deep within her own loins, Bette could feel the build up of sensation and pressure that told her she too, could cum anytime she desired. That was when she started her muscles working on the spongy head and long hard length of Zeke's plummeting cock. She squeezed, flexed, expanded and contracted down there, and was rewarded by a series of delighted groans from the perspiring man. She was really putting her heart and soul into the action when she saw Mark Rogers pour about a quarter of the bottle of perfumed Oil de Aphrodite into the undulating crevice of Dorothy's frantically working ass. When he cupped more oil in his palm and began to grease his prick, she gasped in sudden horror, knowing exactly what was going to happen, and feeling the need to cry out against it. He was going to sodomize the poor girl! Not only fuck her in the asshole, but at the same time she was being screwed by Sam! That hadn't been part of the deal! Christ, with that big rod of his he would split her poor little anus in ten different directions. She promptly forgot about Zeke and began thinking of ways to forestall what she knew was about to happen. She had known Mark wanted to bung-hole her, but it never had occurred to her that he might try to do it at the same time Sam was in her vagina. God, they'd kill her--tear her so badly that even the best gynecologist could never repair the damage.
Then it was too late for the red-head to protest the brutal ravishment of her companion, for Mark finished oiling his long, impatiently throbbing prick, grinned and said, "Hold her, Sam. We're coming in the backdoor." Dorothy attempted to twist around to see what was happening, but Sam had pulled her harshly down, crushing her ripe melon like tits against his hirsute breast. Bette moaned involuntarily as she saw Mark run his greasy hands down the outside of the girl's oil-coated legs, moving his fingers greedily over the long, firm muscles of her quivering calves and then up the inside of her smooth glistening thighs to the full, white supple mounds of her clenching ass.
Bette and Zeke both shuddered in rising excitement as they saw Mark put his hands on Dorothy's glistening moons and use his thumbs to pry them apart as though he were separating succulent greased pastry dough. He looked over toward them, a man extremely proud of his work, as the soft white flesh parted and the tiny puckered anus became visible. It shone like a throbbing little brown star--all shiny from the Oil de Aphrodite.
Bette felt Zeke buffeting her forward with his pelvis, attempting to move in right up close to the action where they could see every little thing that happened. She crawled forward on her knees, with him between her thighs, feeling his cock grinding maddeningly in the depths of her womb with each little shuffling movement forward. They stopped when her face was only inches away from the big blonde's fearfully quaking buttocks.
Dorothy finally was able to twist her head around. She stared with wide-open anxious eyes first at Mark and then at the fevered expectant expression on Bette's face as the red-head continuously flexed and unflexed her cuntal muscles around the entire long hard length of Zeke's cock. "What... what are you going to do?" she asked, her voice quivering, near the breaking point, unable to believe that these vile beasts could do anything worse to her.
"Why, honey, I'm gonna fuck you in the asshole," Mark said. "You're going to love it. It might smart a little in the beginning, but just wait until my big hard prick here starts working in you. You're gonna be in heaven!"
"Oh, God, no. You can't," Dorothy wailed in new despair, struggling mightily against the imprisoning hold of Sam's arms around her waist and his huge white cock that impaled her just as surely as if she'd had a stake driven into her body. As if sensing the futility of any further fight, she collapsed against Sam's chest, her body shaking.
Mark slowly took his right hand away from the buttock and extended his long middle finger, using his thumb to hold the other fingers in a tight fist. To Bette his hand looked almost as if it were a slender knobless cock with testicles. He leered down at the cowering girl and then slowly ran the finger through the oily crevice of her ass. Dorothy cringed and cried out in fear, and tightly tensed her buttocks together in an effort to escape the unnatural ravishment.
"God damn," Sam roared from below, "hurry up! It feels like she's trying to squeeze the head off my cock."
Bette could tell by Mark's expression and the new tensing of Dorothy's body that his fingertip had found the puckering anus. Now he thrust his hand forward and the greasy finger easily slipped in to the first knuckle.
"Ohhhhhh... no-ooooo. God... don't," Dorothy piteously pled, automatically, throwing her body forward, only to find herself impaled even more on Sam's lust-hardened shaft of gristle. In defense she clenched her ass together as tight as possible.
Sam rolled his eyes around and groaned, "Jesus, there's a fucking python in there."
Mark, unsmiling, pushed down with all his strength and his finger popped through the tight elastic opening all the way past the second knuckle. A second later it buried to the hilt.
Dorothy groaned continuously as he mercilessly scoured her rectum, using first one finger-then two--widening and preparing it for the long, hard, throbbing white cudgel which he was stroking into readiness with his left hand. Bette could see the monstrously thick veined cock growing even larger under his ministrations, could see his knees trembling in excited anticipation of the final humiliation of the defenseless blonde girl who was kneeling helplessly beneath him, completely at his mercy and the mercy of the prick already embedded in her cunt.
Then, unable to wait any longer, he stepped up between Sam's white, hairy legs, and directed the tip of his hot pulsating prick at the tiny throbbing little brown target. He pushed forward.
"Aaaaaaggghhhhh, God. You're killing mee--eee," Dorothy screamed in agony as the rock hard instrument popped through the tightly clenched orifice of her asshole, and began sinking gloriously into the warm, buttery bowels. Mark closed his eyes, his eyelids fluttering from the intense sensation as Dorothy jerked and twisted beneath him, trying to throw him off. Her frantic movements only made things worse, for with each buck of her body the prick skewered even deeper into the tightly resisting rectum... and each time she lunged forward Sam's cock scraped and raped new and never-before touched areas of her womb.
"Gaaaaa--hhhhaaaaaddddd," she gasped out the last of her pitiful protests as her buttock muscles were unable to retain their grip any longer. Mark's monstrous, throbbing shaft of blood, gristle and muscle slipped without further resistance into the forbidden oily depths of her rectum, buried to the hilt.
"Jesus," Mark breathed through clenched teeth, "that is one tight asshole! I'm almost afraid to move."
Dorothy lay there moaning and sobbing in pain and humiliation at this cruel debasement, unable to move up or down without having a skewering cock pushing even deeper into one of her cavities. She knew now how a helpless butterfly pinned to a display board must feel.
The two men gazed in satisfaction at each other over the top of her body, then as if by some silent signal, both began thrusting with long hard strokes into her defenseless body-Within a few seconds they had established a natural rhythm, one which found them both converging on her body at the same time, buffeting it as though it were some soft warm barrier to be destroyed. Their cocks rammed in, sawed out, slamming against each other on the inward strokes, with only the thin membrane separating cunt and asshole.
Bette watched, completely hypnotized, her face less than a foot and a half away as the two monstrously thick blood and lust engorged white pricks furiously fucked into the poor girl's pussy and anus, ravaging her loins like the white horns of an enraged bull goring a fallen foe. The red-head's hot excited passion-glazed eyes could see the ragged pink edges of Dorothy's cunt leaping upward like a solar flare as it clung to Sam's cock on the outstroke, then falling back into the hilt. The tight little nether ring of the anus looked like a pair of lovingly ovalled brown lips moving up and down the shaft of Mark's prick as he fucked into her rectum like a madman.
Behind her, she could hear Zeke gasping and groaning like some huge beached aquatic animal trying to reach the sea, and he began pounding into her so furiously that she almost was thrown forward onto her chin.
"Ohhh... oooohhhh?" Dorothy's moan was a question, a query that went on and on building in volume until it became a whine of passionate pleading. She was finally getting with it, finally accepting with a masochistic joy, this cruel debasement over which she had no control. The two men fucking into her helpless body stared at each other in satisfaction at this ultimate conquest of mind and body, not smiling, their faces frozen into masques of primeval animal lust, as the big blonde's hips began to move backwards to meet the downthrust of Mark on back of her, then downward to engage that glorious hot fleshy pole rooting around in her womb. Her entire body was part and particle of the two men, and her buttocks began making wanton little circles of eagerness like a bitch in heat.
Bette saw all three of them suddenly speed up their wanton tarantella of savage, forbidden lust. Their movements became frantic, wilder, faster, faster, more abandoned, until the sound of flesh pounding against flesh resounded even above their loud pealing, pleading groans for release.
Sam shouted first, "Shit... shit! I'm dimming."
The message, coupled with the blinding hot stream of pent-up seminal juices spewing into her womb, triggered the orgasm in Dorothy's straining, heaving body. Her lips peeled back in a savage almost death like grimace, and then she was screaming as she attempted to dig her tongue into Sam's wide-open gasping mouth, "Aaagghhh? Asssgghhhhh? AAAAAIIIEEEE! I'M CUMMMM-IIIII-NNNG! Oh, God... keep fucking... fuck harder... harder in my asshole. Fuck me. Fuck me--ee--eee!" The big blonde seemed to have suddenly gone insane as she sobbed out an orgasm that went on and on... and on, until she felt Mark abruptly stiffen and imbed his wildly ejaculating prick deep into her asshole, pumping sperm far, far up into her madly working bowels. This brought on a whole new series of rippling orgasms that caused her earlier frenetic release to seem puny by comparison: her body convulsed and her legs looked as if they were big white wings trying to take flight.
Bette and Zeke had gone completely out of their minds at the salacious spectacle. Zeke slammed his throbbing white cudgel into her so deeply and so viciously that the red-head was shoved forward, falling with her face pressing against Dorothy's outstretched long oiled legs. With the inexorable swelling of Zeke's cock and the first heated spurt of his cum inside her, Bette simply let herself go; the resulting climax, long held-back and intensified three-fold by the excitement of what she had just seen, caused her to scream out in a wild Banshee shriek of joy just before she slumped, nearly unconscious to the rug.
Dorothy didn't object when Zeke, his prick still hard in spite of his orgasm, came over, pulled Mark away from her asshole, then rolled her over away from Sam, and straddled her supine still quivering body. She seemed almost lifeless at first when his fleshy shaft slammed into her seeping pussy, but then as though she were sucking energy from that long white tube, she gradually was rejuvenated and became more and more animated until it was Dorothy who was eagerly doing the majority of the work... her pussy in happy harmony with the parade of hardy cocks which seemed to come in a never ending procession, and which she could not really get enough of.
She was still going strong, putting heart and soul into her work, when the weary men finally called it quits shortly after midnight. They dressed and disappeared.
Left alone, Bette watched Dorothy, waiting for some sign of recrimination. The big blonde said nothing, however, merely looked around the room as if searching for something. The rivers of silver cum flowing down her backside and inner thighs looked like dull streams of pewter compared to her glistening oiled legs.
Bette really didn't know what to say. Now that it was over she felt a horrible sense of guilt at what she had subjected the blonde to. She hated herself for not alerting Dorothy, for not being honest with her. What she had done was despicable, unforgivable. A betrayal in the worst sense.
"Look... ," the red-head began.
"I... I... oh, shit. I'm sorry." She wanted to bawl. The girl had trusted her, had been too dumb to know how to extradite herself from the situation. It was terrible.
The big blonde turned and looked directly at her for the first time, staring at her as if puzzled by what she had heard. Then she smiled ruefully, put her head to one side, and shrugged. She chose her words carefully. "I never was a very good switchboard operator. And I'm a lousy housewife most of the time, I guess. As a matter of fact; there are a lot of things I don't do well at all." She took a deep breath, and the little rueful grin was back. "But apparently, from what everyone tells me and the way they act, I seem to have a talent in bed." She stopped, collecting her thoughts, then asked, "Tell me, the rest of the Mister Bates models... " She hesitated, closed her eyes as if afraid to say the words, then concluded, "... are they all... whores?"
"Yes."
"They... you... you're all good at it?"
Bette was solemn. "The very best. The highest paid... and the best looking, I understand."
Dorothy fidgeted, "I can't lie to you. I don't like the thought of it. But I like the money." She paused again, then made the plunge, "And I like the men. I didn't realize how much until George and Carl... and tonight."
Bette stood there, her hopes soaring, and then heard the words she thought she would never hear, "When's the next show?"
EPILOGUE
Dorothy was brewing some coffee when she heard the mailman's scooter putt-putting down the street. Tying the braided gold belt of her long, flowing lime-coloured peignoir, she went eagerly into the front room and stood by the open door until the postman climbed the front stairs.
"Good morning, Mr. May," she said.
He grinned up in undisguised admiration at her, held out four letters. "One from your husband," he said, "the rest are bills."
Unable to conceal her happiness, she eagerly went into the front room and ripped open the letter from Bill. She read the first two paragraphs, then closed her eyes and hugged the letter to her breast. Quickly then she scanned the rest of the letter and, satisfied the important news was contained in the beginning of the letter, she went toward the bedroom. Once, before entering, she paused before the full-length mirror and fluffed up her hair. She stopped and studied, with serious big brown eyes, her figure in the mirror. There had been a change in it since she went to work for Mister Bates. For that matter there had been a lot of changes, not the least was a $15,000 bank account and the Cadillac convertible in the garage. She still had the wide-eyed innocence, but now it was combined with an overwhelmingly powerful sensuality and a poise that had a stunning effect on any male she came in contact with. Her figure had ripened even more and there was a glow about her features which radiated good health and an uncomplicated peace of mind.
She threw open the bedroom door and gazed down at the nude man sleeping atop the covers. She dimpled as her eyes caught sight of his erection, then smiling impishly she bent down and ovaled her warm lips, placing them just over the throbbing head of the cock. She began a gentle little sucking motion, all the while glancing mischievously up at him.
Gradually, the man came awake. Then groaned in delight as he felt the tongue swirling around the heated glans. "Hey... ," he said wonderingly, in pleasure--not in protest.
"I thought I took care of that for you last night," she said, pulling away from him.
"Dorothy, I can't get enough of you. I was just dreaming that you and I were making out on a raft."
She expertly, gently fondled his swollen prick in her hand without looking at it. "I have some news for you, dear father-in-law."
"What is it?" Dan Conklin demanded.
"You're going to have to find another place to sleep when you're in Los Angeles for the next six months." Then, closing her eyes in happiness, she added, "Bill's coming home next week."
"Oh?" Dan was of mixed emotions. He knew how much Dorothy loved her husband, and yet he, himself, really didn't see how he could get along without her. She was quite a woman, he thought... quite a woman. That night in Sacramento, six months ago, when he had seen her in the Mister Bates show and called out to her, had almost resulted in his having a heart attack from shock and anger. Christ, at first he had been so angry that he had wanted to kill her when he saw her the next morning, but Dorothy had rapidly convinced him that she didn't have the slightest idea of the real purpose of Mister Bates' models until it was too late. Then she had stunned him by announcing, "Now I know, and it doesn't matter. I'm going to work for them." He had been in a real quandary all that day, feeling he should write his son, but that night he had taken his daughter-in-law to dinner and this time everything came into focus. There had been no protest when he took her to bed, they had been great together--candid in their sexual needs--and since that time they had been sleeping together whenever he was in Los Angeles. God! He was in love with her. She was the most splendidly sexual woman he had ever known, the most generous... the stupidest.
Dorothy moved up the bed until she was seated just opposite his shoulders. She had a speculative look on her face, as if she were thinking something out. Finally she said coaxingly, "Dan... would you help me?"
"How?"
"Well, I knew Bill would be home sometime this month and I asked Marie Grosset if I could have a leave of absence. You know how much the job means to me... and I didn't want to quit outright. Anyway, I have the leave of absence if I can get my own replacement."
"Go on," he said.
"There's a girl down the street. Her husband's just left and won't be back for about six months. She's a real beauty, and I think she's pretty sexy, too, I mean... if she'd ever let herself go. She's interested in my job, but she doesn't know what we really do." She paused, her brow wrinkled in thought. "Would you and maybe one of your friends mind acting as lingerie buyers? We could have cocktails... and dinner... and maybe dance a little, then put on the show for you."
"Yeh? Yeh?"
"And then... we'd all sit on the floor and show a movie... " She smiled in all innocence, her big brown eyes wide in eagerness and recollection, "I know where we can get a really groovy movie. One about a farmer's daughter and his wife. The girl is terribly lonely, you see... and she wants and needs someone to talk to... it's so sad..."
