Everybody Eats Erica
by Guy Martin


CHAPTER ONE 

Except for a pair of spider-web panties, a lacy garterbelt, flesh-colored 
hose and stilt heels, Erica Newhall was naked. A few feet away, nursing a 
badly aching erection, Sam Snow sat on the edge of his desk, eyeing her 
beautiful, big breasted body, lasciviously, and said, "Get on the couch." 

Erica looked at Sam Snow, then at the lurid photograph atop the flat-top 
desk in his private office. With no argument she did as he told her. Snow 
was president of the Madison Avenue ad agency where she had been working for 
the past three months. 

When Erica first came into his office ten minutes earlier, and took one look 
at that photo, she was dead sure she would be fired. It showed her stark 
naked, down on her knees, with ten inches of stiff cock rammed down her 
throat. Everybody and his brother knew what a son-of-a-bitch Sam Snow was 
when it came to morals. He had set himself up as a regular tin god with a 
list of rules and regulations that his employees had to abide by as long as 
an elephant's wang. They covered everything from dress to deportment, and 
anyone who disobeyed them could expect immediate dismissal. 

Erica tried to explain to him how the photograph came into existence, how it 
made its way to his desk. But he was not the least bit interested. He asked 
just one question: was it she in the picture? 

There was not the slightest possibility of her denying it. 

Snow took one more look at the photo, then raised his eyes to meet her gaze, 
sternly. He paused a moment on the way up to look at Erica's bountiful bosom 
that stretched the tape at 38-inches and had gotten her into trouble ever 
since they first started to reach full bloom at the tender age of sixteen. 

"I'm sure you understand, Miss Newhall, that we can't have two sets of rules 
for our employees, especially our girls." 

He got up from behind the desk, pulled his jacket closed in front and 
started to walk toward the door. "Which means I can't possibly allow you to 
go on working here in the office." 

Erica walked a couple of steps behind him to the door, expecting him to open 
it and show her out. Instead, his back against the door, he turned to face 
her. He looked at her boobs. Her attempt at hiding their dimensions under a 
too-tight bra and a loose-fitting summer dress was like trying to squeeze a 
couple of St. Bernards into a dog-house built for twin Chihuahuas. 

Snow cleared his throat and said, "Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean 
you'll have to be out of a job." 

Erica cocked her pretty, brown-thatched head to the side, curiously. 

"You... er... you could act as my secretary," he went on. 

"But you already have a secretary, Mr. Snow," Erica pointed out. 

"A business secretary," he replied. "I was thinking of you acting as my 
social secretary. Of course, as I told you, because of the rules I can't 
allow you to go on working here at the office. But I can set you up in a 
little private place of your own, close to where I live in Fort Hamilton. 
I'll see you're made comfortable." 

"But I don't type, my shorthand is atrocious and I'm sort of lost answering 
the telephone." Erica wanted him to know, not nearly as naive as she was 
pretending to be. 

"I'm sure there are many other ways a girl like you can make herself useful, 
my dear." 

He walked back to the desk, picked up the photograph and studied it 
carefully. He made no attempt now to bother hiding the throbbing lump in the 
right leg of his trousers. It was almost as if he wanted her to see it. 

And now she was nearly naked. 

Yes, Erica was far from naive. At the same time, she was surprised to 
discover that all the things she had heard about Sam Snow being as pure as 
his name, just one short step away from sainthood, were just eyewash. They 
said that since his wife died almost eight years ago, he had practically 
lived the life of a Trappist monk, above the lust of flesh. Even though 
there was a bevy of beauties generously sprinkled throughout the firm, it 
was reputed that Snow never even turned his head for a second look at them. 
Well, he damn sure was having more than a second look at Erica, her knockers 
and the photograph. 

"Y'know, cameras sometimes have a way of exaggerating a subject," he said, 
now ogling her tits. 

Erica did not make a practice of showing her tits off to every man who 
wanted to see them, but this case was different. If she did not satisfy his 
curiosity she was going to be out of a job, and she could ill afford that. 
With her limited background and secretarial shortcomings, finding another 
job would not be very easy. She had been very lucky to latch onto the one 
with the Snow Agency, even if it only did entail opening and answering mail 
for one of the firm's TV personalities. Next time she might not be so 
fortunate, especially if Sam Snow decided not to give her a decent 
reference. 

Right now Snow was saying in a tone that sounded more like his officious 
self, "One thing I'm going to demand-obedience. When I tell you to do 
something, I expect it done-at once. Understand?" 

"Yes, sir." 

He grinned, the pleased crinkles seeming to creep right up into his bald 
head. He stood no more than five-five, with a decided pot and tufts of hair 
at the side of his bald pate that he obviously dyed black. He had pig jowls, 
baggy eyes and a pallid complexion. He would have made perfect type-casting 
as the middle-aged, business executive. But Erica had had her fill of 
broad-shoulders, virile Adonises and handsome movie hero types. 

As he lifted one of his buttocks up onto the edge of his highly-polished 
flat-top desk, Sam Snow said to Erica, "Okay-let's see how well you follow 
instructions. Take off the rest of your clothes." 

She hesitated a moment, then did as he told her. The nylon material of her 
panties was taut and thin, bursting-full of brown pubic hair and pussy-lips 
between her rounded pale white thighs. She unhooked the belt and peeled down 
before his lustful gaze. 

"So far, so good," he said approvingly. "I like what I see." 

She turned again and backed into him, her buttocks brushing his knee. He 
leaned forward and ran a free hand down over her bare shoulder. She tensed a 
little, same as she always did when a strange, sweaty hand touched her flesh 
for the first time. He stared at what she had to offer, which was more than 
plenty: round, full and white they were, blue-veined as alabaster, each huge 
firm mound topped with a strawberry red nipple, almost as large as the 
delicious fruit from which they took their color. 

"Even better than in the picture!" He slid off the corner of the desk and 
quickly threw off his coat. 

Erica glanced at the swelling in his trousers. It had grown to tremendous 
size. 

Erica walked to the couch, conscious of Snow's baggy eyes watching her full 
buttocks. Each step she took made the twin mounds of sculptured flesh rub 
tightly against the other cheek. She paused a moment to look down at the 
couch and thought of that good salary Snow promised. Maybe if she closed her 
eyes and thought real hard about something else while it was happening... ? 

She kicked off her high heels and lay down on her back on the couch. The 
leather cushions were chilly against her bare flesh but she quickly forgot 
the discomfort as Snow came forward and sat beside her on the couch. His 
paws started at her hips and moved up to cup her big, juicy breasts. Erica 
went all goose-bumpy. For as long as she could remember her tits had always 
been the second most sensitive part of her body, easily aroused. 

"You've really got a pair!" he complimented her as his stubby, manicured 
fingers began playing with her large, crinkly nipples. She closed her eyes 
against the awakening glow in her breasts. Then his face came closer and 
dipped and she could feel the steam from his bald pate just under her chin 
as his hot wet tongue began licking in circles over the pebble-grained 
areola to her right tit. 

Erica's back arched and she began to breathe through her mouth as Snow 
tongued the swollen nipple. Then he took it between his thick lips and 
whipped it with his tongue as he pulled hard at it. 

Erica began to make a tiny, breathy sound of arousal, as she dropped back 
against the cushions and closed her eyes tightly. Now she felt Snow's sweaty 
right hand release her left breast and travel downward over her stomach. He 
ran his palm over her, pressing down hard on her mons. All the while he kept 
sucking on her right nipple until she thought it would pop in his mouth. She 
felt his fingers skittering through the furry brown muff that covered her 
mound. He touched the upper end of her slit and she went stiff for a moment. 
She was sticky wet down there. 

With his middle finger he parted her filmy cunt lips, sliding easily into 
the hole itself. From back to front his finger wiggled, turning her box into 
a hot syrupy quagmire. Soon his finger was joined by a second digit, then a 
third. She had no difficulty accepting the three of them. Back and forth he 
continued to move his fingers, making obscene cuppy sounds in her juices. 

She would have had to be without feelings to deny the sensation his 
knowledgeable fingers were bringing her as they scraped over her raw clit 
and pushed into her tunnel, up to the knuckles. Then he returned to her clit 
and concentrated on the swollen pleasure bud. 

A shiver ran through her naked, sweat-and-saliva wet breasts as he lifted 
his head away and watched her antics as the first pungent flutterings of a 
delicious orgasm hit her. It was as if a thousand-and-one humming birds were 
fluttering their wings inside her cunt, her belly. She shuddered, bit down 
on her lower lip to keep from screaming... and came with jarring impact, the 
juice of her lust wetting his hand to the wrist. 

He withdrew his fingers from her spasming hole, watching her writhe. Then as 
he got off the bed and began pulling off his clothes, he said, "You were 
quick. Now let's see how you can take care of me!" 

Erica looked up at him. She hoped that photograph had not inspired him, 
given him any ideas that he might expect her to suck his cock. So far she 
had only done that for one man. 

The leather cushions sagged as Snow got onto the couch beside her. Except 
for his shoes and socks, he was nude, his lust-swollen cock standing out 
from his hairy paunchy body at a 45-degree angle; the big purple-red head of 
it was wet and shiny with pre-cum drool. It was not as big as she had 
imagined it might be. 

His prick was aimed straight at her pussy with intimidating arrogance. She 
could not help but feel a wave of disgust at the thought of what was going 
to happen. 

Back home in Scanville, Nebraska, her Aunt Hilda used to say that breasts 
and a body like Erica's had to be the work of the devil, that men would want 
her for just one purpose. In view of her present status, Erica guessed what 
her aunt said was true. 

Snow's hands were on her hips. "Turn over." 

She frowned worriedly. "Turn over?" 

"Yes, on your belly." When she did not move quickly enough to satisfy him, 
he gave her a quick flip and she ended up face-down on the couch. 

His hands roved over her bare buttocks, kneading them, testing the 
resilience of her fleshy ass cheeks. She looked up at him over her shoulder 
in horror. Nobody had ever fooled around back there before. 

"What... what are you doing?" 

"Just lie still and don't ask questions," he told her. 

She felt his hot breath on her bottom; then he was licking all over it, from 
the backs of her thighs up to the base of her spine. Appalled, she cried 
out, "Stop it, Mr. Snow! Stop doing that!" 

Her body shuddered as she felt him pull apart her ass cheeks and run his 
tongue the length of her rear crease, concentrating on the highly sensitive, 
puckered flesh of her anus. 

"Oh no!" She screamed and tried to get up, but a strong hand on the small of 
her back kept her prone while he continued to sluice away at her ass hole, 
filling her body with the most incredible filthy sensations she had ever 
known. 

Now he was kneeling behind her, between her splayed legs. With his hands on 
her hips he lifted her helplessly exposed cheeks to the proper height of his 
prick, as she buried her face in the sofa cushions in shame. He was going to 
fuck her in the ass! 

To her mind this was the most degrading thing he could possibly do. 

"Oh, no... no... please don't! she wailed, trying to dissuade him. They were 
wasted words. 

She could hear his lust-filled panting as she felt his hotly throbbing prick 
being inserted between her defenseless ass cheeks, resting against the 
ultra-sensitive ring of her anus. 

"Oooooohhhhh... nooooo!" 

Erica groaned and lurched forward, burying her face deeper into the sofa 
cushion in a vain attempt to escape the obscene and painful penetration of 
his short fat cock into her ass hole. She made one last desperate appeal to 
him. 

"Let me turn over... please... do it the right way... and I'll... I'll give 
you a good... " The word gagged her, but she managed to get it out."... a 
good fuck... I promise!" 

It was wasted on him. He said, "No way. A man in my position can't risk 
knocking you up." 

"I could take a pill." 

"Pills don't always work," he informed her. "And I'd just as soon stick my 
cock in a milk-bottle as wear a damned condom." 

He applied firm, steady pressure, squeezing his blood-bloated cock into her 
tight, futilely resisting nether opening. Erica gasped sickeningly and 
lurched forward again to escape the pain, but he held her that much more 
tightly, maintaining the pressure. 

Erica began to yowl and sob. Her buttocks whipped and jittered in an effort 
to dislodge him, but experienced sodomist that he was, he did not relent for 
a split-second. For a moment Erica was positive he would not make it. Her 
sphincter was too tight, too small for his fat swollen prick. Then they both 
felt the muscle yield and slowly his cock eased into her until it was buried 
to the hilt in her bowels. 

"It isn't so bad, is it?" he breathed close to her ear as he bore down on 
her, squashing her buttocks with his paunch. 

"I hate it!" she cried out. 

"Most everybody does the first time out," he said. "But you'll get to love 
it-maybe even better than the other way." 

"Never!" 

He did not argue. Instead he let his hands slip beneath her belly; one 
moving up to play with her tits; the other sneaking down into her cunt to 
commence honing her clit. 

In spite of her abhorrence, Erica could feel herself lapsing into instant 
rapture as he gave her the full treatment, humping her ass, tormenting her 
clit, massaging her tits and licking along her neck over her ears. She could 
not remember anyone sending her this high. 

He was going to be fast and that was good. She was not sure how much of the 
mind-bending stimulation he was bringing her she could take before she began 
climbing the walls. She was already experiencing a series of dovetailing 
orgasms. She could feel the first telltale signs of his approaching orgasm, 
the swelling cock, the advance trickle of moist, sticky semen in her anus 
from the eye-like slit in the end of his throbbing prick. 

To hurry him along she began churning, grinding her ass cheeks, pushing back 
up against him to meet each new reaming, his sperm-filled balls flopping 
against the backs of her thighs. And then, as he began to discharge, 
shooting a demolishing charge into her guts, an orgasm of orgasms sundered 
her. She gurgled and barked with each new spurt of his juices, squirming her 
buttocks back up against him that much more degenerately, without being 
wholly aware of what she was doing, lost momentarily in the heat and passion 
of their concurrent climaxes. 

He lay there atop her until he had squeezed the last droplet of sperm into 
her rectum; then he pulled out his shrinking cock and rolled off her. Snow 
got up and looked down at her. 

"You got a beautiful ass. Little tight, maybe. But a few times'll loosen it 
up just fine." 

Erica's stomach felt all gurgly inside. She did not know whether she could 
take it a few more times... even for a good salary. It was going to take an 
awful lot of readjusting. 

"You can use my private John," he told her, almost matter-of-factly. 

She needed no second invitation but grabbed up her things and hurried across 
the office and into the private toilet. It was fully equipped with 
everything she needed including a douche and a built-in shower. After taking 
care of her needs and making herself look presentable, she came out of the 
John and found him on the telephone. Held up a hand for her to wait until he 
finished his phone conversation. When he finally cradled the phone, he 
looked across the desk and said, "I'm satisfied with you, Erica. You meet me 
tonight." He told her where and what time. "Then we'll have dinner and get 
you set up in your new quarters." 

She nodded, but wanted one thing made clear. "Exactly what will my new 
salary come to?" 

He put his fingertips together precisely and let his eyes sweep over her, 
head to toes. "Think you can get along on twelve hundred a month? That is, 
of course, with your rent paid." 

Twelve hundred dollars! That was more money than she ever dreamed she would 
make. 

"Can I have that photograph?" 

He picked it up, studied it a moment then replied, "I don't know what I want 
with a photograph when I can have the genuine article." He started to hand 
it across the desk to her, then hesitated a moment. "You were going to tell 
me who the man in the picture is, and how and why it got on my desk." 

She looked down at him and smiled mirthlessly. "It doesn't really matter 
now. In fact, maybe I should even be grateful to him for getting me a new 
job and a raise in salary." 

By the way Snow looked at her she could see that maybe he figured she had 
sent the photograph herself. But that was as far from the truth as possible. 

CHAPTER TWO 

That night Erica and Snow had dinner together in a small restaurant in 
downtown Brooklyn, one of those discreet places where the waiters go about 
their duties as if sightless and mindless. After dinner they got into Snow's 
Caddy and he drove her to what he said would be her new office-a five-room 
apartment in an ultra-smart building facing Shore Parkway, with Gravesend 
Bay and the whole Atlantic Ocean off in the distance. 

Erica did not stop to ask how Snow had acquired the apartment so quickly, or 
how it had been furnished so elegantly on such short notice. She really did 
not care. It was without question the most sumptuous apartment she had ever 
seen, and when Snow told her it was all hers, she was overwhelmed. 

To celebrate the occasion, he got a bottle of champagne from the 
refrigerator, two long-stemmed glasses from the cabinet and carried them 
into the bedroom. 

They had a drink, then he told her he never went to bed without first taking 
a bath. The adjoining bathroom looked like something out of an old DeMille 
movie. 

"Join me, Erica." 

They both stripped to the pelt. The perfumed water rose to the tips of her 
tits so that they floated out in front of her atop the water. 

"Nice! Very nice!" 

He played with them as if they were a couple of rubber boats, poking his 
finger into the resilient mounds of flesh to see if he could do the 
impossible and sink them. 

Of course he had an erection before they even got into the tub, and handling 
her breasts did not diminish its size. Finally he had enough of the 
tit-play; reaching the washrag from the rack and the soap from the 
wall-recess, he handed them to her. 

"You can wash my back and the rest of me and then I'll give you a good 
scrubbing." 

She took the rag and worked up a lather on it, then got behind him and 
soaped his back from the nape of his neck down to the crease of his ass. He 
raised his arms so she could wash under them, then down along his sides. She 
crept around to the front of him, still on her knees, her big wet tits 
jouncing up and down with every move of her arms, water dripping off the 
tips of her nipples. With her long wet chestnut-brown hair plastered to her 
shoulders and back and her voluptuous flesh glistening like polished ivory, 
she was just too much for him to resist. He grabbed her tits and pulled her 
forward until she was straddling his outstretched thighs. 

"You wanted to fuck in front," he jibed, "you got it. Help yourself!" 

While he nuzzled her breasts Erica slowly lowered herself to his cock. She 
could feel her flanges open and float out at both sides of his prick as the 
head of it eased its way up inside her. The water had parboiled her pussy 
and made it super-sensitive, making his presence inside her even more 
noticeable. She flattened her vaginal lips down against the base of his 
cock, her thighs gripping his hips. He nursed at her tits, following them up 
and down first one and then the other as she posted up and down against him. 

He obviously had a tremendous fascination for her ass hole, or ass holes in 
general, because he kept reaming her with his fingers all the while she 
fucked him. Because of the three-way stimulation he was bringing her it did 
not take long for Erica to climax. 

"Ohhhhhhh!" 

She sat still for a few moments, her face buried against his wet shoulder, 
half-hidden by her long hair that fell at both sides like a brown screen. As 
soon as her climax began to recede she began pumping again, lifting herself 
until only the tip of his prong remained inside, then plunging down to 
swallow his whole length. Up, down, up down. No man could withstand such 
friction for long, especially as sensitized as he was from the water. 

"Ooooohhhhh," he moaned as he blasted load after load of hot cum up into her 
cunt. He let go of her tits and took his hands from her rectum, leaning back 
against the porcelain foot of the tub, eyes closed, as she squeezed the last 
spurts out of him. Erica watched the white stuff ooze out from between her 
thighs and float to the surface of the sudsy water. 

"I sure hope you took those pills," he said as she lifted herself off him 
and moved back. 

"I took them." She wanted to be caught even less than he did. 

After their bath and a warm shower to rinse off the suds, they returned to 
the bedroom and finished the champagne. 

After Snow turned out the bed lamp, he had her turn on her side with her 
back to him. He bent his legs up and made sort of a little chair for her 
backside to fit into, so that his flaccid cock could nuzzle in between her 
full round ass cheeks, his arm around her waist, hand holding one of her big 
breasts. In this position, they slept. 

Sleep reactivated Sam Snow's prick. Came the morning, and it was hard and 
ready for action. He flopped Erica over on her belly and kissed and fingered 
her high-polished buttocks, then drove his shaft into her stretched port, 
paying no attention to her cries of protest and aversion. He did not finger 
her pussy or make even the slightest effort to help her enjoy it. He just 
banged away at her ass hole, concerned only with his own pleasure until he 
dropped his load in her alimentary canal. 

Then he got out of bed, showered, dressed and told her he would stop for 
breakfast on the way to the office. "But hereafter I expect you to shake 
that beautiful little derierre of yours and have breakfast ready for me when 
I stay over." 

Then he was gone. 

Erica did a lot of soul-searching during the rest of the morning. Twelve 
hundred dollars a month was nice, but was it worth having to appease a man 
like Sam Snow? No matter how she tried, she could not stomach sodomy. She 
knew that some women enjoyed it, even preferred it to the normal way, but 
she was not one of them and never could be. 

Erica also gave serious consideration as to whether or not she wanted to be 
a "kept woman"- even at twelve hundred per. She was aware that lots of women 
served as mistresses for congressmen, actors, wealthy executives, that being 
someone's paramour, like having a baby out of wedlock, did not carry nearly 
the stigma that it once did. But could she in good conscience live with 
herself if she accepted such a role... especially with a man like Sam Snow? 

She did not leave the apartment; she did not even bother to get dressed. She 
put on just her panties and heels and walked around all morning in that 
abbreviated costume. 

A couple of times she caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror 
in the bedroom. Without false modesty, she stopped to appraise herself 
critically. She was a horny-looking piece. 

Her legs were those of an exquisitely carved Grecian statue, smooth as 
polished ivory, whiter than cream, ending in the firm, rounded mounds of her 
still girlish buttocks. Aphrodite emerging from the sea in all her 
other-world beauty could not have been lovelier. Her prominent mons was 
covered with rich and luxurious brown hair, shades darker, tightly curled, 
and thicker than the long chestnut tresses atop her pretty head; it filled 
her gossamer panties to overflowing. Her abdomen was flat as a sheet of 
rolled metal, rising to voluptuous thirty-eights that would have made a 
movie sex symbol drool with envy. Each time she appraised herself this way 
she could not help but begrudgingly agree with her Aunt Hilda, that her body 
and breasts must have been fashioned by Satan, designed solely to lure men 
to hell. What was it someone called her-Satan's Pussy-Girl! 

Erica found some things in the refrigerator to prepare a lunch for herself. 
More and more, she came to the conclusion that this apartment was not 
something Snow had acquired just yesterday. She could not help but wonder 
how many other girls he had paid a salary to stay here and satisfy his 
perverted whims. 

Erica was halfway through her pot luck lunch when the doorbell rang. Since 
no one else knew she was here, it must be Snow. She did not bother to put on 
her bra, simply pulled her dress on over her head, zipped up the back about 
halfway, as the bell continued to sound more and more insistently. Her 
loosely contained boobs swinging back and forth under her summerweight dress 
she walked to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. 

The air hissed out of her at sight of the man standing before her in the 
corridor. It was not Sam Snow. This man stood at least six-feet-six inches, 
with shoulders like a Rams' linebacker. He had a big leathery face under a 
ten-gallon Stetson and wore clothes like Gene Autry and Roy Rogers used to 
sport during their heyday. His translucent blue eyes swept over Erica as he 
might appraise a prize racehorse, or longhorn. He grinned from ear-to-ear 
and in a voice that dripped Texas, drawled, "You' must be lil ol' Erica." 

Erica stared up at him in utter bewilderment. She was sure she had never 
seen the man before. Him she would remember! 

"Don't look so surprised, honey. Ol' Sam sent me over to keep you company," 
the giant said as he threw off his hat to reveal a crop of short-cropped red 
hair that stood atop his head like bristles. 

Erica swallowed. "Sam Snow... sent you?" 

He shrugged. "Who else?" 

"But... I'm not dressed," she said. 

"You look just fine to me, honey," he said, and her attempt to close the 
door proved futile. He lifted his hand and pushed it open and went past her 
into the apartment. There was nothing for her to do but close the door and 
follow him into the living room, where he turned to face her. 

"Jus' so as we get the formalities over," he said, frankly admiring her big 
breasts so clearly outlined under her dress. "Ah'm Jess Macey, from down 
Houston-way. Ah just got into town this mornin' and went to see mah ol' 
buddy Sam Snow. He says he's gonna be all tied up for the rest of the day, 
entertainin' a client. Ah says, hell, Sam, ah'm the best damned client you 
got. An' he says, Jess, ah got even better entertainment fo' you. So he 
tells me to hop on out here and keep you company." 

Caught completely off-guard, Erica said dazedly, "That's... that's very 
considerate of Mr. Snow... but I really have other plans for the rest of the 
day." 

Macey kept smiling as he took off his coat and draped it over the back of 
the chair. 

"Any plans you got, honey, are gonna include me, that's for damn sure." 

Erica tried desperately to steady her jumpy nerves and quiet the uneasiness 
in her stomach as she ran a hand through her long hair to sweep it back over 
her shoulder. The way he ogled her breasts as they jounced up and down with 
the movement of her arm, her nipples tracing a line under the material, 
unnerved her terribly. She found herself hunching her shoulders in an 
attempt to reduce the size of her mammaries. 

"Sam's a great one for exaggeratin', honey," Macey went on. "Guess it comes 
from the bullshit-tin' business he's in. But this sure as hell is one time 
he didn't exaggerate. He tol' me what a goddam pair of tits you got-and, 
honey, you sure have got 'em." 

He took a step and made a grab for her breasts, but she moved back away from 
him quickly. She managed to shake off her paralysis. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Macey. But I'm afraid Mr. Snow gave you the wrong impression 
fo me. I'm going to have to ask you to leave... " He laughed, low and 
amusedly. "That's okay, honey. Ah don't mind you playin' hard-to-get. But 
don't bullshit me for too long. Ol' Sam ain't puttin' no broad up in a plush 
layout like this without her shellin' out. An' what you shell out for Ol' 
Sam, honey, you shell out to Jess Macey." 

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Erica pretended. 

She started to turn and go to the door, but Macey caught her wrist and 
yanked her back up against him. Erica cried out in protest as he bent her 
arm up behind her back, rendering her helpless, mashing her belly up against 
his rock-hard cock. He was breathing heavily as he cupped her face with his 
free hand and forced her to look up at him. 

"Like Ah told you, Ah like that high-horse crap for a little bit. But don't 
carry it too far, 'cause then Ah'll get mad and beat the livin' shit out of 
you." 

Erica was frightened; something in his voice and in his pale eyes that told 
her he was not lying, that if he did get mad he might really hurt her. Still 
she struggled against him as she felt him grinding his pelvis, rubbing his 
cock against her hot belly. "Let me go!" 

"You gotta be kiddin'." 

"I'll scream." 

He shook his head. "Ah been here before, honey. Ah know this whole place is 
sound-proofed." 

Erica trembled, seeing his face drawing closer, closer. He kissed her, a 
wet, sloppy kiss, more disgusting even than Snow's because he had been 
drinking. She could smell the stuff on his breath. She tried to push away 
from him but her efforts were feeble. The kiss lasted a long time. His 
tongue anesthetized her senses, his cock rubbing against her sending an 
unwelcome heat into her limbs. She hated him for the way he was making her 
feel, hating herself even more for being so weak. 

The next thing she knew she was in the bedroom where he pulled her down onto 
the bed after him. She sprawled on her back, her skirt hiked up to the 
border of her panties. She strained to free herself from the grip he 
maintained on her wrist as he looked down at her gleaming white thighs. Then 
he was kissing her again, filling her mouth with his tongue and 
whiskey-laden breath. 

"Relax," he muttered, running his free hand over her silken brown hair and 
down over her shoulder. 

Erica tasted mild panic as he worked her dress down, allowing her tingling 
breasts to swing free. She fought against him with all her strength, but he 
handled her as if she were an infant. 

"Let me go!" she hissed feverishly, trying to avoid the hand that was 
stroking her. 

"Ah told you-relax!" Macey grunted, showing a true art form as his fingers 
touched her quivering, bare breasts. He moistened his fingers and proceeded 
to pluck, massage and toy with the hardened sensitive pink points until she 
began to shiver and pant in spite of her aversion. 

He looked down at her exposed breasts and murmured, "Nice. Real nice. 
Goddam, Ah gotta give ol' Sam credit. He sure can pick 'em. But your 
knockers beat any Ah ever did see. Ah just gotta have mahself a taste of 
them milkers." 

Erica shivered as he dropped his wet mouth over one of her tits and enclosed 
the nipple with his lips. The shiver turned into a tremor as he began to 
suck, like no one had ever suckled her breasts before. She was not sure how 
he did it, but he managed to get enough of her breast in his mouth so he 
could force the nipple up against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, 
squeezing out a kind of sweaty, oily secretion that gave the illusion of 
milk and seemed to satisfy Macey immensely. 

By the time he was through milking each tit Erica was breathing heavily, no 
longer able to sustain her squirming struggle. He mocked her with a faint 
chuckle, then kissed her again as his hand worked her dress the rest of the 
way down her body, over her hips and along her legs until it was off. Her 
panties followed in short order and, except for her high heels, she was 
naked. 

Jess Macey ran a hand over her pubis and said, "Umm, honey, you really got a 
bush. Ah like a woman with a big bush. In fact, Ah ain't seen a damn thing 
about you that Ah don't like. Just one more thing-let's get a load of your 
cunt and see if you measure up one hundred percent." 

With that he grabbed her thighs and spread them apart. Again she made a 
half-hearted attempt to stop him, but she knew it was wasted effort. 

He moved his head so he could have a clear view of her pussy. She heard him 
suck in his breath. 

"Oh man-that's what I call cunt! Oh, honey, you got a prize. Look at them 
pretty pink lips, like they're smiling up at me, all droolin' like they 
can't hardly wait for a helpin' of mah big cock." 

He reached out and patted her pussy, gently, making her thighs lurch. "Don' 
you worry none, honey. Ah'll take good care of you. But first the lady that 
owns you's got a job to do." 

Erica looked up at the behemoth hovering over her on the bed and asked, with 
dread anticipation, "A job? What... what sort of a job?" 

Macey began to unbuckle his belt. "Sam tells me you got a specialty-suckin' 
cock." 

Everything in her stomach curdled. "No!" 

"Ah said yes!" 

"I... I never did it to him." 

"Ah don' know nothin' about that," Macey replied. "Ah just know he said you 
was a real pro when it came to cocksuckin' an' ol' Sam wouldn't dare lie to 
a good client like me. Hell, mah oil company accounts for twenty-five per 
cent of his business. So when I get these pants off, you're get-tin' up and 
fastenin' your pretty head onto the end of my dick." 

Erica died a little. It was that photograph! Maybe she should have told Snow 
that the penis of that man in the picture was the only one she ever sucked, 
that she only did it because she believed she loved that man more than 
anyone else in the whole world. She knew now she should have told him who 
that man was, told him the whole story. 

Macey was already stripped down to his shorts and when he peeled them off, 
he was as naked as she was. He was a huge hunk of man, built as strong and 
sturdy as an oak tree. He belied the old adage "big man, little cock." His 
tool looked big enough to drop a horse with, circumcised, with a knob that 
looked like a fiery red cannonball. 

He threw himself backwards across the bed, alongside Erica, his mighty prick 
standing up straight from the forest of crimson hair covering his crotch, 
looked like the Washington Monument with the upper floors on fire. 

"Okay, honey, get over here and give Big Jess a real good blow-job." 

Erica shuddered and tried to move away from him. "No!" 

He sat up and his hand dove for her crotch; he grabbed a handful of her 
gushy flesh, hard. "You gonna do like Ah tell you? Or do I tear your fuckin' 
snatch off?" 

"Yes... yes... " She felt tears of pain fill her eyes. There was no question 
in her mind that he would do exactly as he threatened. Slowly, miserably, 
she moved toward him and knelt at the left side of him, her knees at right 
angles to his hips. She bent over and took hold of his immense cock; it 
overflowed the palm of her hand. She took a deep breath, then brought her 
head down and ran her tongue around the straining head of it the way she had 
once been instructed, so that it was moistened thoroughly. 

She wet her lips with her tongue, then stretched her mouth so that it 
covered the tops of both rows of her teeth. After all, she was something of 
a perfectionist and if she was going to do it, she might as well do it 
right. 

She took Macey's prick into her mouth. He tasted very strong, very salty. 
But as she moved her mouth slowly down to the base of his cock and then back 
up to the knob again, wetting him thoroughly with her saliva and his own 
clear juices, the saltiness went away and there was hardly any taste at all 
to it. He moaned and began to gyrate his hips, and she knew she had found 
the speed of manipulation he liked best. 

Erica could not truthfully say that she disliked fellatio. It gave her a 
little added thrill to know she could please a man so much, gave her womanly 
pride a little lift to know that she could have a man so completely at her 
mercy. Of course, it all depended on the man-how much she loved him, how 
much she wanted to please him. That man in the photograph, for instance: 
while she was doing him, it was real pleasure. She could have gone on 
sucking and sucking him as long as he wanted her to. 

Macey was a different proposition, a different man. She could not get it 
over with quickly enough. She tried all the tricks she knew: the butterfly 
flick with her tongue over the highly sensitive area just beneath the 
corona; the silken swirl, circling the head of it clockwise with her tongue 
while sliding it in and out of her mouth; and the Hoover, turning her mouth 
into a tiny vacuum cleaner and sucking his cock as deep into her throat as 
she could manage. 

And then all at once he clamped his hands on her head, ruthlessly, and began 
pumping back and forth like she was a mechanical toy he had slipped over the 
tip of his penis. It was as if he were trying to shove his entire length all 
the way down her throat. He looked down at her and groaned. 

"Oooohhh... aaahhh... suck... keep sucking... you let go and Ah'll beat your 
butt...!" 

Then he was cumming, his cockhead banging and blowing her palate, her 
gullet, the flat of her tongue. He held her head firmly locked to his cock 
so she could not pull off. More and more ferociously he pumped his sperm 
into her mouth, wringing out every last dram. She held it as long as she 
could in her mouth, then had to swallow to keep from gagging. Aroused now to 
fever pitch, forgetting all about who he was, she kept sucking even after 
his cock began to lose its size. 

"Leggo!" he yelled at her and cuffed her alongside the ear, sending her 
toppling backwards across the bed. 

"You think if you can make me cum again in your mouth, you maybe won't get 
mah prick shoved in your pretty cunt?" He sat up. "Well, you got yourself 
another think, honey. You gimme me ten minutes and you'll get the goddamnest 
fuck you ever had in your life." He started to wiggle his ass off the bed. 
"Sam got any beer in the refrigerator?" 

Erica remembered seeing several bottles when she got the stuff out of the 
refrigerator, for lunch. She said, "Yes." 

He slithered the rest of the way off the bed and stood up. "You want a beer, 
too?" 

She shook her head as she looked up and watched him waddle bare-ass out of 
the bedroom toward the kitchen, his limp cock swinging lifelessly back and 
forth between his legs. All haziness disappeared at once from her brain and 
she sat up quickly. In that brief moment she made up her mind. Being Sam 
Snow's mistress and taking his cock in her rear-end would have been bad 
enough, even for twelve hundred dollars a month. But to take care of his 
clients whenever they came to town and were hard up-that was not for her. 
Sam Snow could take the twelve hundred dollars and shove it! She was not 
going to take his degrading proposition. 

She bounced off the bed, grabbed up her dress, handbag, shoes and other 
things from the floor and hurried along the corridor into the room at the 
far end, opposite to the kitchen. Let Macey think she was in the John when 
he came back into the bedroom. Let him find somebody else to stick his 
gargantuan cock into. She was not going to be there when he got back. 

He could easily see the front door from the kitchen, but there was a fire 
escape just outside the window in the room toward which she was heading. It 
led down the five floors into the backyard. She did not care whether anyone 
saw her climbing down. Quickly she put on her dress and shoes, and stuffed 
her panties, bra and garterbelt into her handbag that also contained her two 
weeks' severance pay. Then she opened the window noiselessly and crawled 
out. 

Erica was allergic to heights; it took a lot of courage for her to make the 
ladder go down. But it was not nearly as bad as staying back in the 
apartment and trying to appease an animal like Jess Macey. 

Fortunately no one was in the backyard. With her handbag gripped tightly, 
she hurried down the ramp into the garage built under the apartment building 
and came up out into the street. She looked around cautiously to make sure 
Macey had not missed her yet and come after her; then she half-ran, 
half-walked to the taxicab stand just around the corner. 

A vacant cab had just pulled in. She hopped into it and gave the driver the 
address of her own apartment. She settled back into the rear seat as the 
taxicab lurched away from the curb. She was by no means out of the woods 
yet, but at least she had a good start on the posse. 

CHAPTER THREE 

Erica did not stay long at her apartment. As soon as Macey discovered her 
gone and reported it to Snow, that would be the first place they would look 
for her. 

Erica had not been in New York long enough to acquire many clothes or other 
valuables. What she might need she was able to stuff into her handbag and a 
single suitcase. Then she made her way to the subway station and took the 
train to Times Square. From there, she walked the short distance to the bus 
terminal, where she bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. 

She chose the City of Angels because it was about the farthest she could get 
from New York, Sam Snow, and all the other people and events of her 
immediate disagreeable past. Traveling by bus best suited her funds and was 
the least likely place that Snow might look for her-if he wanted to find 
her. 

Erica did not have long to wait in the terminal. Within the hour she was 
aboard a bus whizzing along the New Jersey Turnpike, on her way west. As she 
sat by the window and stared out, it was as if everything before her moved 
across a giant screen. Instead of trees, houses, telephone poles and passing 
cars, events began to take shape in her mind's eye, as if she were watching 
the unreeling of a film of her young life... 

* * * 

Erica's problems really began back home in Scanville, Nebraska. At sixteen 
her breasts had reached an eye-catching thirty-eight inches. That was when 
Aunt Hilda pinned the label on her, said her body was the work of the devil; 
breasts of such size on a sixteen-year-old girl could only be meant for one 
purpose-evil! 

At the time Erica paid little attention to her aunt's remarks. She figured 
Hilda was jealous, because she had a chest like a spavined chicken. The 
woman was also a religious fanatic, always spouting the gospel without the 
faintest idea what it meant. 

Besides, at that moment Erica had something far more important on her young 
mind. Like most teenage girls, she wanted to become an actress. To this end, 
she attended a reading for the annual high school play. The lead called for 
a fourteen-year-old girl, and like just about every other girl in the 
school, Erica read for the part. 

Mr. Fridel, the drama teacher, was a tall, skinny man, fortyish, with a pale 
high-boned face, a long nose and a pepper-and-salt Van Dyke. He told Erica 
that he thought she read beautifully. Then he looked down at her 
thirty-eights. 

"I'm afraid, darling, that the audience would never accept you as a 
fourteen-year-old." He licked his lips hungrily, and added, "However, there 
is a part for an older woman. A part in which I know you'd positively 
shine." 

Erica heard the other girls titter and she was heart-sick. Offering her an 
older woman's part, when she wanted the lead. She told Mr. Fridel she was 
sorry, picked up her school books and started to leave. 

Mr. Fridel's skinny face looked like that of a man watching a prize fish 
slip off the hook and swim away just as he was about to haul it into the 
boat. 

"Just a moment, Miss Newhall. Perhaps you and I had better talk this over. 
If you'll be good enough to stay for a few minutes after the reading's over 
" Erica stayed and it did not take long for Mr. Fridel to clear the 
auditorium of everyone except Erica and himself. He told her there was no 
point in keeping the lights on in the big auditorium, that what he had to 
say to her could be said in one of the dressing rooms backstage. 

He chose one with a divan in it, usually reserved for leading ladies and 
visiting dignitaries, where they could rest up until time to make an 
appearance onstage. 

Erica was a little concerned when he locked the door after them. But he 
said, "When I'm in conference, darling, I don't like being interrupted." He 
had her sit on the edge of the divan and pulled over a straight-backed chair 
facing her. "Now we're quite alone, my dear, and we can talk freely." 

Erica could not help but be flattered that someone like Mr. Fridel would 
think enough of her talents to give her a private audience like this, even 
if the way he kept ogling the two huge bumps in her sweater made her feel 
rather uneasy. She listened to his every word. 

"You were far and away the best of all the girls, but we must be practical. 
Surely you've seen enough fourteen-year-old girls to know they just aren't 
as fully developed as you." His eyes were still on her bosom. "While you do 
have a most beautiful figure, I'm afraid no one would believe you were 
fourteen." 

Tm only sixteen," she pointed out. 

He raised his steely gaze to meet her grey-green eyes, studying the way her 
long chestnut-brown hair fell in soft swirls over her shoulders, framing her 
cherub-like face. Then his eyes dropped again to her boobs. 

"Even that's difficult to believe." He paused a moment. "You're sure you 
wouldn't care for the part of the older woman?" 

"No, sir." 

He stroked his Van Dyke, thoughtfully. "Humph, I'm wondering... " Erica 
watched his face, curiously. 

Finally he said, "When I was doing stock, on the road, we did Shakespeare's 
As You Like It. As you know, the part of Rosalind calls for a girl to 
masquerade as a man. Well, we came upon a proposition not too unlike 
yours-our leading lady had a considerable bust." 

"And what did you do?" Erica asked eagerly. 

"We bound her breasts, strapped her in." 

Erica snapped at the bait. "Couldn't we do that with me?" 

Mr. Fridel had hooked that prize fish again and this time played it real 
cool. "It all depends... " 

"On what?" 

"How resilient they are," he said. 

"Oh, they can be flattened out," she said, unthinkingly, cupping her breasts 
and squashing them to her body. 

Tiny beads of perspiration started to sprout on Mr. Fridel's high forehead. 
He said, "May I see for myself, darling?" 

Erica's face blanched and she looked at him, concernedly, her hands in front 
of her breasts protectively. "You... you mean touch them?" 

He smiled. "It's the only way I can tell." 

"But... but I never let anyone touch them before," Erica said. 

"Not your boy friend?" 

"I don't have a boy friend." 

He did not pursue the subject. "You would like to have that part, wouldn't 
you?" 

"Yes... " 

"And I want you to have it, darling." He got up and sat on the divan 
alongside her. "But I do have to know if I can help you." He smiled 
benignly. "You have nothing to fear from me, my dear. After all I'm old 
enough to be your father and this is simply in the interest of art. I 
believe you have tremendous potential and I would like to help you." 

Gradually his words got to her; she slowly lowered her arms to her sides. 
Before she had a chance to change her mind Mr. Fridel quickly slipped his 
left arm around her and under her arm to cup her left tit, his free hand 
covering her right one. He lifted and squeezed them gently, then began 
pressing against them, initiating a slow rotating motion, causing her 
nipples to stiffen against his palms. 

A little shiver of sensual delight ran through Erica's vibrant young body as 
his long fingers gently kneaded her soft resilient flesh. Boys she went out 
with had sometimes grabbed and squeezed them awkwardly, thinking they were 
bringing her a thrill, but they were just hurting her. But this was the 
first man's hands that ever held her, and they were gentle and knowing. She 
began to get funny feelings in her belly and down between her legs, 
frightening her. She moved away from him, fighting for composure. 

"Well?" she asked. 

He frowned, his acting experience helping him appear unruffled as he said, 
"I can't really tell, darling. I mean with that bulky sweater and bra you're 
wearing... " Erica knew what he was asking: he wanted her to take off her 
sweater and bra. While she admittedly was frightened, she could not help but 
feel very self-satisfied that she could interest a man his age all that 
much. Maybe he really did want to help her get that part in the play-maybe 
that was why he wanted to see her breasts. How could she be sure, unless she 
let him see? Besides, she always got a kick out of watching the expression 
on male faces when they saw her at the beach, in her bikini. Maybe she would 
get an even bigger thrill out of watching Mr. Fridel's expression when he 
saw her naked tits. After all, she had already let him touch them and he had 
been very considerate. He was an awfully nice man-a little old perhaps, but 
still nice. All the girls at school said only complimentary things about 
him. 

Erica finally looked at him shyly. "If... if I take off my sweater and my 
bra... will you promise you'll just look and not touch?" 

"If that's what you want, darling," he answered, still doing a masterful job 
at hiding his eagerness. 

"Turn around and close your eyes," Erica said, shyly. 

Mr. Fridel obeyed. 

Erica hesitated a moment, a naughty little feeling in the pit of her tummy, 
not unlike approaching the high hump of a roller coaster and eying the drop 
straight ahead. Should she or shouldn't she? With trembling fingers she took 
hold of the bottom of her sweater and stripped it off over her head. She 
looked down and could see the twin mounds of creamy white flesh swelling 
over the top of her bra. 

As she reached up behind and struggled with the hooks at the back of her 
bra, she wished she did not have to wear one of these darn things. Maybe it 
was just her imagination but her breasts seemed to be getting bigger and 
bigger all the time. Lately the straps and cup bindings were cutting into 
her skin. Even the extra space in the wrinkled tips of the cups were now 
filled with the added weight and size of her breasts. For quite a while now 
she had noticed that the nipples became irritated by the stitching, and that 
in turn kept them semi-erect, making the irritation still worse. 

It was almost with relief that she managed the last hook. The bra sprang 
open and her breasts swelled out luxuriously with their new freedom. She 
could see her big tits exposed, each one crowned with a hard pink nipple 
rising out of a moonlike areola of lighter pink. 

"Ready? Can I turn around now?" Mr. Fridel asked. 

Erica held her breath for a moment; then, bringing her hands up to attempt 
the impossible task of hiding her breasts with them, in a tiny voice she 
said, "All right... you can turn around." 

He turned quickly. The sight of her sitting there, her girlish body nude to 
the waist, her longhair falling over her bare shoulders, was enough to give 
any man a rip-roaring erection. Mr. Fridel had one, but he managed to 
conceal the fact with the tails of his coat. He swallowed and said, "Take 
your hands away, darling." 

Erica's cheeks were a deeper red than her nipples and she felt hot-cold 
chills all over. "I'm bashful." 

"Of course you are," he sympathized. "But I told you, my dear, there's 
nothing to fear from me. 

You've got to learn to trust me." Entreatingly, "Please, darling, take away 
your hands." 

Again Erica held her breath and gradually let her hands drop down to her 
sides, uncovering her breasts. 

"Oh, my!" Mr. Fridel gasped as he settled his gaze on her voluptuous 
breasts. He licked his lips hungrily, and began to breathe more heavily. 
"You're beautiful! Oh, darling, they were meant to be looked at!" 

Unable to curb his emotions any longer, his hands cupped her breasts, one 
moving over each deliciously firm round mound, kneading and massaging the 
milky white flesh. 

Erica began getting those funny feelings in her tummy again, began to feel 
all hot and tight and tense down between her legs. She brought her hands up 
to grasp his wrists and try to push his hands away, weakly. 

"You... you promised you'd only look," she quaked. 

"You're asking me to do something that's impossible," he panted. "Good Lord, 
girl, no man on earth could resist wanting to touch them, hold them!" 

Fear suddenly sprang into her brain and she turned away from him. But that 
only meant he could put his arms under her arms to cup her full, firm young 
flesh. A hot flush came to her half-naked body and she emitted a weak, 
tremulous, "Ooohhh, Mr. Fridel... " He played finger games with her nipples 
and the fear and excitement inside her became stronger. She was struggling 
but made little headway. Then all at once she felt him brushing aside her 
long hair with the side of his face and kissing the sensitive flesh where 
her neck joined her shoulder. 

Erica could feel herself growing weaker, yet she continued to try to pull 
away from him. Maybe if she turned around and pushed against his chest with 
her hands... but that was a mistake. The moment she turned his mouth dropped 
over her left nipple. 

"Oooohhh," she moaned and went all sort of floaty. His mouth at her breast, 
his tongue licking over her swollen nipple, was like nothing she had ever 
known before. She tried to tell herself that it was not happening, that it 
was just another one of those naughty dreams she sometimes had. But not even 
in her wildest dreams had she ever experienced a sensation like the one he 
was bringing her now. 

She got a sudden impulse to throw her arms around him and hug him, bury his 
face in her tits. But she did not obey it. She was too afraid, and not that 
brazen. So deeply did his sucklings affect her that she was unaware of his 
hand at her thighs, until it was too late to bring them together 
defensively. The panting girl went tight as a bowstring as she felt his hand 
move slowly upward over the velvety skin of her inner thigh, gasping audibly 
as he made the first sliding movement over her tight nylon panties. 

"Stop it!" she cried out. "Stop it, Mr. Fridel! That's dirty. I know what 
you're up to-and I want you to stop right now, or I'll scream." 

As shocked and apprehensive as she may have been, she did not scream because 
this new sensation he was bringing her felt so good. But she knew she must 
not let him know. He flicked a thumbnail across her clitoris, causing her 
thighs to jump spasmodically. Then he slowly ran his fingertips over her 
pussy-lip, making her shiver and pant each time he grazed the tiny 
nerve-filled core of her passion. 

She was wet. She knew it was only natural and normal for a girl to get wet 
down there when she got excited. She had been rubbing herself off since she 
was fourteen, and she always got wet. But never this wet. She was 
embarrassed that Mr. Fridel should find her this way. 

She wanted to stop him when she felt his hand slide down inside her panties. 
In all her sixteen years no one had been that intimate with her. A couple of 
boys may have felt her through her panties but none had ever gone down 
inside-not until now. 

"Please!" she begged. "Don't!" 

She tried to stop Mr. Fridel but he was too insistent and too strong. She 
kept pushing down on his wrist, but he buried a finger between her throbbing 
wet cuntal lips. She writhed and moaned aloud, then froze for a moment, 
hoping he would stop. 

He did not stop. Instead, without waiting, he thrust a rigid middle finger 
deep up into her waiting vaginal passage. Her whole back arched in answer to 
the flood of liquid pleasure that coursed along her nerve patterns. The 
panting young girl lay against the back of the divan, her head thrown back, 
eyes closed, paralyzed by the exquisite sensations of complete sexual 
arousal. 

He pushed his fingers in still deeper, found the membrane of her hymen, 
satisfying himself that she was still cherry. This discovery seemed to send 
him berserk. From his enthusiasm apparently there were not many virgins 
around in these days of advanced sex and free love, even among 
sixteen-year-olds. That here was one, ready for the taking, inflamed him 
with a new desire. 

He wasted no more precious time with finger-fucking. By the look on his 
face, he would not settle for less than the real thing. Even though she 
struggled and kept her legs tightly together, Mr. Fridel, all gentleness 
gone now, succeeded in working off her panties and her skirt. Then he pushed 
her down onto the divan on her back, naked except for her sandals. 

Erica was terrified. She knew now, as she should have known when it started, 
that she never should have taken off her sweater and bra. She should have 
known it would not stop there. But at the time it seemed exciting, daring, 
and she had always liked to do daring, exciting things. 

She had always thought that to be looked at by a man, really looked at, 
naked as she was now, would give her a great sense of satisfaction and 
pride. But it did not. It filled her with embarrassment, shame and fear. She 
tried to get up but he pushed her down again and held her there with one 
hand as he threw off his coat, unbuttoned his shirt front and began to unzip 
his trousers. 

Her belly curdled with new terror as the awful truth exploded in her 
whirling brain. Mr. Fridel was going to rape her! Fuck her! Oh God! She 
gasped and sobbed. This was nothing like she had imagined the first time 
would be. 

Not that Mr. Fridel was in any way repulsive. He was old, when measured 
against her years, but he did have a certain savoir faire that came from his 
years on the stage. If she squinted and looked at him through half-closed 
eyes, she might even have been able to see a slight resemblance to Gary 
Cooper, or maybe Clint Eastwood. 

Right now, however, she was hardly in a frame of mind to imagine anything 
except the awful thing that was going to happen to her, as she watched Mr. 
Fridel step out of his trousers and drape them over the back of the chair he 
had been sitting in. 

Cold fear gripped her stomach and her voice clogged in her sandpaper throat 
as she watched him turn and come toward the divan. The front of his shorts 
looked as if he were carrying a billy club inside them and there was a wet 
stain spreading across the material from his pre-cum drippings. 

"Please, no, Mr. Fridel!" She sobbed. "I don't want the part in the play. I 
won't even tell anybody what happened, I promise, if you'll only let me go!" 

He made no answer as he pushed down his shorts and out sprang his prick. 
Erica almost fainted at the sight of it. She had seen pictures of male 
organs, giggling with her girl friends in front of statues at the museum. 
But never had she dreamed a cock would look so big and awesome as Mr. 
Fridel's. It looked like a huge live snake with a purple-red bulb in its 
mouth. Heavy veins ran through it like whipcord, up from its hairy base to 
its head. "Oh no!" she cried out as she saw him move closer, his hands 
parting her unwilling legs. "Oh, please, no!" 

He ignored her pleas and knelt between her splayed young legs, his massive 
shaft aimed at her moist pink pussy. It was very evident at this moment that 
Mr. Fridel's cock had neither conscience nor concern for consequences. This 
was young virgin cunt, and he was determined to be the first man into it. 

Erica moaned, shuddering, and made one last desperate effort to escape him. 
But he pinioned her with one hand and reached between his legs to grab his 
throbbing penis, guiding it toward her vagina. A moment later his bulbous 
cock-head was poised at the entrance to her hole, waiting only for one last 
word before beginning its cruel battering work. 

"Don't try to fight it," he told her. "I'll try not to hurt you too much, 
but that's going to call for your cooperation." 

"I hate you!" she screamed at him. 

"You won't in a few moments." 

"I'm going to tell everybody what you did!" she threatened. "I'll tell the 
dean and have you fired. I'll tell my father and he'll... he'll maybe kill 
you!" 

"We'll talk about all those things later," he told her. Obviously nothing 
could deter him as he addressed a relentless pressure to her tight pussy. He 
arched his back as if he could not wait another second, and then thrust 
himself into her, wildly. 

She began a scream that he muffled with a cupped hand over her mouth, 
widening and lengthening her tender inner flesh with a deep jab that split 
her hymen asunder and sprinkled her legs and his own with her cherry-juice. 

The hand over her mouth prevented her from screaming, but it did not stop 
her squirming, twisting beneath him like an eel on a hot plate. He kept 
shoving. His prick seemed like a hot knife cutting into her belly. Deeper, 
deeper she could feel it sinking in. She was no longer a virgin. But that 
did not bother her nearly as much as the pain he was causing her. Her 
gray-green eyes above his hand pleaded with him to stop, that he was too 
big, that he was killing her. He ignored the pleas and went on ramming her. 

Erica felt the awful fullness of a man's cock in her belly, seeming to reach 
up almost to her heart, a sensation of tremendous bulk and stretching... and 
of cruel pain. But he kept sawing into her belly, grunting with lust as he 
forced his cock deeper between her crucifyingly tight cuntal walls. 

Erica kept her head turned sharply to one side, shuddering, crying, not 
wanting to look at him even through half-closed lids. She hated him. At this 
moment, she hated all men. Her mouth contorted as, eyes closed, cheeks 
streaked with tears, she dug her fingers into his forearms. He held her down 
and went on fucking her... fucking... fucking! It seemed there was no end. 
Her flesh crawled each time she let herself think what was happening to her. 
He grunted and puffed as he kept hammering his big prick into her helpless 
young pussy. His teeth were bared in a grimace of ecstasy. 

Then all at once his cock started to swell in her belly. He made an animal 
sound deep in his throat and started to cum. He seemed to go out of his 
head, plunging deeper and more violently into her cunt, as if trying to 
wring the maximum pleasure out of his cock. She let out small whimperings... 
and then something seemed to snap inside her and a great flare of sensation 
filled her body as his ejaculations triggered her own orgasm and the inward 
pressure turned into an outward rush of blissful warmth she never before had 
imagined. 

Barely had her climax begun to fade when there was a banging on the door and 
a voice from outside demanded, "Who's in there? This is Claude, the 
janitor-I want to know who's in there and why this door's locked?" 

CHAPTER FOUR 

Mr. Fridel froze for an instant in the act of withdrawing his flaccid cock 
from between Erica's wet blood-speckled legs. 

"Y'hear me? Open this door!" Claude yelled, banging again against the 
barrier. 

His face worried, his body starting to shake a little as he climbed off the 
couch, Mr. Fridel whispered to Erica, "You've got to get out of here." His 
eyes darted around the room and settled on a small window up near the 
ceiling, just about big enough for Erica to squeeze through. "Hurry, get up 
and get dressed and get out through the window. I'll give you a boost." 

Erica shook herself back to reality and made a move to sit up and get off 
the couch. Neither she nor Mr. Fridel heard the key scrape in the lock. They 
both turned to look as the door burst open and the janitor stood on the 
threshold. 

Even in his balmiest days, Claude could not have been very handsome. He was 
short and stocky with powerful shoulders. Both his body and swarthy face 
were square-shaped. He was of some Teutonic extraction, fiftyish. For as 
long as Erica could remember, even when she was attending elementary school 
just next door, Claude had been caretaker-janitor at the high school. She 
would see him trimming the hedge, sweeping out the school yard, washing 
windows, putting out the rubbish cans. He did not seem to bother very much 
with any of the kids, even though he always had a smile for them. 

Right now he was not smiling. He was staring blank-faced at the two 
occupants of the room, Erica sitting up on the couch with only her sandals 
on, one arm and hand trying to cover her big breasts, red-nippled from Mr. 
Fridel's sucklings, the other hand trying to hide her snatch; the drama 
teacher was standing close by her, ready to pull on his trousers and shorts, 
his detumesced penis hanging down lifelessly between his legs. But Claude's 
attention was riveted on Erica's luscious young body and limbs. Perspiration 
began to drip from his face, his eyes popping, his cock starting to raise 
its head and straighten out beneath his overalls. 

None of Claude's reaction was lost on Mr. Fridel, as his own expression 
changed from alarm to thoughtfulness. It was clear what he was thinking. A 
moment ago he had seen his career as a teacher going down the drain, if 
Claude reported him to the authorities. It could even earn him a spell in 
the slammer. But now... 

"Nice, eh?" he asked Claude. 

Without taking his eyes off Erica, who only added to her sensuousness by 
moving, trying to reach for her clothes, Claude wagged his head. 

"No reason why you shouldn't enjoy the fruits of spring," Mr. Fridel 
suggested, poetically. 

Claude was not nearly so subtle. "You mean-me fuck her?" 

Mr. Fridel shrugged. "Why not?" 

Erica tasted mild panic at the thought of Claude getting into her, being 
done twice in the same afternoon. 

"No!" she yelled as she saw the stocky janitor take a tentative step toward 
her. "No! Don't you dare touch me! If you do... I'll... I'll report you-and 
you'll lose your job." 

Claude hesitated, but Mr. Fridel had no intention of letting Claude have 
something like this on him. In his most persuasive tone, he said, "She won't 
tell anybody. If she does, it will only be her word against ours. Two 
against one. We'll cook up a story she'll never be able to live with. 
Everybody in school will know she's no longer a virgin. Every male student 
will make a play for her. In fact, if we make the story strong enough, we 
could even get her ex- pelted." Erica cried out: "No!" 

Claude did not listen to Erica, but took the word of Mr. Fridel. After all, 
the drama coach was one of the most respected teachers in school, with a 
couple of degrees after his name. Why should Claude listen to a 
sixteen-year-old girl-especially when he had a hard-on that wanted to agree 
with everything the teacher was saying. 

Erica had reached her dress now and, holding it up in front of herself as a 
shield, started to get off the couch. But Mr. Fridel moved forward quickly 
and yanked the dress from her hands. Sitting beside her, he pinned her to 
the couch. She yelled and fought like a wildcat, flailing her legs in the 
air, but her efforts were futile. Mr. Fridel looked up over his shoulder at 
Claude and said, "Come ahead-I'll hold her." 

"Oh no!" Erica kept screaming. "Please... no!" 

Claude's mind was made up. It was cruel and tormenting for him to work day 
in and day out around so many pretty young girls, watching them in their 
short skirts and abbreviated shorts, their delightful young breasts bouncing 
up and down, and him not able to do anything about it. 

The janitor may have been short on finesse and technique, but he was big on 
desire and cock. It did not take him fifteen seconds to let his overalls and 
underpants drop, and get onto the couch. 

With Mr. Fridel still holding her shoulders, Erica cried out one last time 
in frantic protest, lashing out with both legs. But Claude grasped her legs 
and spread them apart so that he could wedge himself between them, and all 
resistance went out of her. She did not make even a sound except to suck in 
her breath as she felt Claude fit his massive tool to her. She lurched 
convulsively as he thrust his big cock into her hole, already slippery wet 
with Mr. Fridel's sperm and her own juices. 

She felt the huge head slip between her pussy-lips, cruelly stretching the 
delicate flesh, raw and bruised from Mr. Fridel's pummeling. Mr. Fridel 
leaned forward and munched at her tits while Claude inched his enormous 
prick-inches larger than the teacher's into her cuntal slit. She heard 
Claude sighing ecstatically until his entire length was inside her; then he 
began fucking her with his blood-gorged cock. 

Erica moaned with every agonizing jerk of his throbbing prick. She 
reconciled herself to the fact that she would find no pleasure in it this 
time; all she wanted was for him to be done with her. But she was wrong, as 
she had been with Mr. Fridel. Once the pain of his bigness subsided, his 
deep thrusts began to bring wild erotic feeling into her cunt. Without 
conscious thought she began humping right along with him. It was then that 
she made the discovery: by letting her mind float away it was not at all 
difficult to make believe it was someone else screwing her. Someone who 
would excite her sexually. She conjured up the figure of her dream man, the 
one who had shared most of her fantasies ever since she was old enough to 
have erotic dreams. It made it so much easier to endure the man who actually 
was fucking her. 

By the clock, Claude came quickly. His beer belly quivered and she could 
hear him sucking in air. "Oooohhh, Jeezzz!" He grunted, and sent his cum 
jetting into her body. 

Ericka wailed feeling the bucking of his big prick inside her ravaged vagina 
as he shot wad after wad of almost torrid white stuff into her. His sperm 
felt soothing against the raw sides of her cunt, and she lay there without 
moving until he was done. At the same time, as Claude pulled his cock out of 
her, Mr. Fridel lifted his mouth from her breasts, turned and looked up at 
the janitor. "Good?" 

"Oh, Jeezzzz," was all Claude could utter as he got off the couch. Then his 
forehead wrinkled like a washboard. "But what now? We can't let her go home 
like that." 

Mr. Fridel considered a moment. "Anyone else in the building?" 

Claude shook his head. "I didn't even know you were here. Locked all the 
doors." 

"Good. Let's get her down to the shower room." 

Erica shook her head, vehemently. "No! Let me go home." 

"You have to be cleaned up first," Mr. Fridel told her. 

"I'll shower myself," Erica said. 

"We've got to be sure you're cleaned out," Mr. Fidel said. Then wistfully, 
"I wish we had a douche." 

"One of the kids has one in her locker," Claude said. 

"Can you get it?" Mr. Fidel asked. Claude nodded and glanced at his ring of 
keys still in the lock of the door. "I'll meet you in the shower," said the 
teacher. 

Ten minutes later the three of them were as naked as worms in the men's 
shower. The janitor held the girl down on the tile floor while the drama 
teacher inserted the nozzle of the douche between her pussy lips and washed 
out her vagina with warm sudsy water. Erica's writhing, struggling, and 
humiliated outcries had not the slightest effect on the two men. They did 
not let go of her until she was thoroughly clean, inside and out. 

Erica considered herself lucky that both Mr. Fridel and Claude had reached 
an age where their imagination was far greater than their output; both were 
just one shots, capable of no more than one session a day. 

"And now, darling," Mr. Fridel said in his most convincing tone of voice as 
he and Claude watched Erica dry herself off in a big bath towel, "you'll be 
very wise to keep mum about all this. If you don't, you're going to find 
yourself in much worse disgrace than either of us. For a passing grade, I 
can find at least a dozen young men who'll be only too glad to swear they 
had sexual relations with you before we did. And you know what that'll mean 
to your reputation. You've got to go on living in this town, attending this 
school." 

As further guarantee of her silence Mr. Fridel kept his word about one 
thing. If she wanted it, and was willing to have her breasts bound tightly, 
the part of the fourteen-year-old in the school play was hers. 

Erica gave it a lot of thought. The part would make her the envy of almost 
all the other girls at school. But it might also make a lot of them 
suspicious as to how she got the role. 

There were other considerations, too. Did she want her breasts bound up? She 
had heard that binding for too long could break the tissues and make them 
sag. She was very proud of her boobs, and did not know whether the part in 
the play was worth taking that risk. 

And there was the spectre of Mr. Fridel and possibly even Claude doing the 
same thing to her all over again. Attending rehearsals, being thrown into 
close contact with Mr. Fridel almost every day, would make it impossible for 
her to avoid him. 

She decided not to accept the part in the play, not to have anything more to 
do with Mr. Fridel; she gave both him and Claude a wide berth whenever she 
saw them. As for telling anyone what they did to her, she was too ashamed, 
too fearful of the consequences to say anything. Best thing, she decided, 
was to try to make believe it never happened. 

As far as her virginity was concerned, she had heard that often the hymen 
was broken by causes entirely apart from sexual intercourse. If anyone ever 
became curious and personal enough to ask, she would say it happened one of 
those ways. 

Moreover, Erica told herself that if what had happened with Mr. Fridel was 
what a girl had to do to become an actress, she wanted no part of it. 

CHAPTER FIVE 

With her theatrical aspirations discarded, Erica concentrated all her 
attention on her school work. This saw her develop into a straight-A student 
during her junior and senior year, graduating as valedictorian of her class. 

It was a Wednesday afternoon, a couple of weeks after school closed for the 
summer vacation. Her father was at work and her mother and Aunt Hilda had 
decided to spend the afternoon downtown, shopping. Erica had made 
application for a summer job at several places, but so far nothing had come 
through. 

Erica was eighteen now. Her breasts had fortunately stopped growing at 
thirty-eight inches, while the rest of her body had blossomed forth into 
full maturity, making her a vision of beautiful proportions. This fact was 
clearly emphasized in last summer's red bikini that she was wearing this 
particular afternoon. The clinging strapless top barely contained her 
jutting breasts, the bandeau cut low enough to show a hint of her 
pink-tinted areolae when she took a deep breath. The bottom, too, was made 
for a much smaller girl. It molded to the prominent rise of her mons, while 
at the leg holes at each side of her cleft a few wisps of pubic hair curled 
out, shades darker than the golden brown hair atop her pretty head. 

Erica never would have dreamed of being seen in such a skimpy all-revealing 
costume at the beach, or any place else in public. She just wanted to get a 
nice even all-over sun tan that would last her through the summer in case 
she was lucky enough to land a job. With this in mind she took a towel, 
beach-blanket, sunglasses, suntan oil, book and a tall pitcher of cold 
lemonade into the backyard. 

Here she would be safe from prying eyes. The house itself was located in a 
not overly populated section in the suburbs, with a tall fence all around 
the yard. The sun porch where she spread the blanket was carefully hidden 
behind tall shrubbery, with the nearest house some distance away. 

After the blanket was spread, Erica applied some of the suntan oil to her 
legs, arms and shoulders, then put on the glasses and sprawled out to her 
full length on her back. The July sun was hot and felt good on her bare 
tummy and limbs and that portion of her large breasts that the top did not 
cover. She lay there a while, eyes closed behind the dark glasses, soaking 
up the health-giving rays of the afternoon sun. 

It was when she was alone like this that Erica sometimes thought of what had 
happened that afternoon in the dressing room with Mr. Fridel and Claude the 
janitor. While that traumatic experience did not altogether turn her against 
sex, it made her afraid of it, made her determined that she would not let 
her Aunt Hilda's words come true, that her body was not a thing of the 
devil's making, put on earth for the sole purpose of arousing men's lust. 

The mortifying, degrading things Mr. Fridel and Claude had done to her made 
her furious, made her regret that she had not taken a chance and reported 
them, perhaps had them both fired. 

There were other times, however, when the hot winds came and strange desires 
stirred deep within her. At those moments she no longer feared sex. It made 
her wonder if she had made a mistake by not taking that part in the play, 
even if it meant continuing her illicit relationship with Mr. Fridel. When 
she was seized by this overpowering urge she could go to him for relief. 

Maybe it was the heat of the sun warming her blood, or the sight of her 
voluptuous figure in that heart-stopping bikini that made today one of those 
times-the time of the winds-when her tormented body cried out for a man, any 
man! 

Her restless daydreams abruptly shattered into a thousand and one pieces 
when a thin young voice called out to her, "H'ya, Erica!" 

She turned her head and saw Fletcher looking over the fence at her. Fletcher 
was her cousin, her Aunt Hilda and Uncle Herman's only child. Erica was 
embarrassed for him to see her so scantily clad. She started to reach for a 
corner of the blanket to cover herself, until she realized Fletcher was only 
fifteen years old. Moreover, Fletcher was small for his age; he didn't seem 
to her like any more than ten or twelve. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Mom went shopping with your Mom and left a note for me," Fletcher replied. 
"She said when I got finished playing ball to come over here and wait, that 
she'd pick me up on the way home. But the front door was locked, so I came 
around here and climbed the fence. Okay for me to come over there in the 
yard?" 

"Of course," Erica replied. 

A few moments later Fletcher was standing before her, baseball bat and glove 
in his hands. He was wearing a piecemeal baseball uniform with Scanville 
Tigers spelled out across the chest. The uniform was flannel, and his face 
looked sweaty and hot under the peak of his baseball cap. 

Erica saw him eyeing the pitcher of lemonade. "Like a drink?" 

"I sure would." 

She reached across for the pitcher and glass, her big tits almost tumbling 
out of the bikini-top. She saw his eyes bulge-and he was not watching her 
pour the drink. His gaze was fixed on the protruding flesh above the top of 
her bra. She could not be sure, but she thought she saw a slight lump in the 
front of his flannel pants as he sat down on the blanket beside her and took 
the glass. 

She waited until he emptied the glass, then leaned into him to take it, 
allowing him a clear view of her cleavage and the milky white mounds at each 
side of it, almost down to her nipples. This time there was no mistaking the 
lump in his pants. Fletcher had an erection. 

She had known him ever since he was an infant. Several times, even when she 
was as old as twelve and he was eight, they had slept together in the same 
bed, but she never even thought of him as anything but her baby cousin. But 
now came the realization that he had reached puberty, and that she could 
arouse him, caused her a certain strange excitement. 

Would it be wrong for her to tease him, affording him, as well as herself, a 
little thrill? Of course it would go no further than that, she told herself. 
But what harm would it do if she let him... see just a little bit more than 
the bikini revealed... maybe even let him put a hand on her warm, satiny 
flesh? After all, they were cousins. It could not possibly become any more 
than that. Just thinking about it excited her more, gave her those funny 
little tickling feelings in her stomach. 

Reaching the bottle of suntan oil, she unscrewed the top and held it out to 
him, asking, "Would you be a darling, Fletcher, and rub my back with oil? I 
never can reach back there." 

"Okay." He took the bottle, poured some into the palm of his hand, while 
Erica turned over and lay on her tummy. 

"Ummmm!" She sighed as she felt his hand smear the smooth oil over the small 
of her back. Then, as she held up her long hair, he rubbed the stuff between 
her shoulder blades, up the back of her neck and over her shoulders. His 
touch was exciting her like her own hands never could. She wondered if he 
was getting excited, too. Finally she said, "Oooohhhh, that's wonderful, 
Fletch. But we're missing a spot, aren't we?" 

"Where?" 

Without answering, Erica reached behind her and unhooked her top. As it 
started to fall away she caught the cups and held them over her breasts. 
"Now-that's better." 

He continued to apply the oil all over her back, almost to her buttocks as 
she worked her panties down a few inches to the crease of her cheeks. 

His hands felt so good. They awakened flesh and emotions that had lain 
dormant inside her for a long time. She rolled over on her back and looked 
up at him, still holding the bra cups to her breasts, hiding them. 

"Now if you'll do the front of me," she whispered as she stretched out to 
her full length on the blanket in front of him, looking up at him through 
her dark glasses. She could see the eager but timid look on his face, the 
slight but unmistakable bulge in the front of his pants. 

He hesitated a moment to eye her figure, then poured more oil in his right 
hand and began lubricating her neck, shoulders and chest down to the cups of 
her bra. Then he began oiling her bare belly from the waistband of her 
bottom up to her bra. The more he rubbed, the hornier she got, and the 
further she wanted him to go. Then, without being too obvious, she raised 
the bra-cups just enough for him to slide his oily fingers up beneath them 
and touch the full swollen mounds of her firmness and softness. 

Erica could not contain a sharp intake of breath. It frightened him, and he 
started to draw away his hands, but she quickly said "Oh no-don't go away. 
You... you can touch them if you want to." 

He gulped. "But I thought-" 

"Don't ask questions, darling, please. Just touch His hands slid up under 
the bra again, moving over her breasts, timidly at first, then more boldly. 
His finger brushed over the hardened nipples, over the puckered areolae, 
inspecting them curiously, his every awkward movement exciting her more. She 
moved the bra away and let it drop to the blanket. Her high breasts were 
uncovered. 

Fletcher drew away his hands and stared down at her exposed tits. "Oh gosh!" 
he exclaimed, and his eyes looked as if they were going to bug right out of 
his face. Even if they had not been the first full-developed breasts he had 
ever seen, they were enough to take away even a grown man's breath, let 
alone a fifteen year old boy's. 

"They're... they're so big and... and beautiful!" he gasped. "I 
mean-gosh!-they look like two of those big delicious whipped cream cakes Mr. 
Schmidel sometimes keeps in his shop window." Mr. Schmidel was the local 
baker. "I mean the big white ones, with the pink cherries on top." 

He began feeling around them again inquisitively, as if to make sure they 
were real. All this touching and talking made Erica's breasts feel larger, 
tight-skinned and super-sensitive. Without her being aware of it, her belly 
began undulating. Finally she asked, tightly, "Would you... would you like 
to find out if they taste as good as Mr. Schmidel's whipped cream cake?" 

Fletcher stared down at her, open-mouthed, as if he had not heard correctly. 
"You mean-with my mouth?" 

She smiled faintly. "I don't know how else you could taste them." 

"Gosh...!" He licked his thin lips, swallowed, and then put his mouth to her 
right nipple. He began to pull and nibble, a little too enthusiastically. 

"Ooooh, no, darling!" she cautioned. "Not so hard, and don't bite." 

She stiffened and mewled delightfully as he continued to nurse first at one 
tit and then the other. Oooh, God, it felt so good. She was hot as all 
hell-much hotter than she had been with Mr. Fridel and Claude. Maybe she was 
too frightened then? At any rate, aroused was not the word for the way her 
kid cousin was making her feel-and he had not even touched her down there 
yet. But he would. Oh yes, she would see to that! There was no turning back 
now. 

"Taste as good as Mr. Schmidel's cake?" she asked, teasingly. 

"Ummm-better," he mumbled against her tit. 

"You haven't finished your job yet, you know," she pointed out to him, her 
breathing grown heavy. "Think you can do two things at the same time?" 

He did not interrupt his suckling this time. He just shrugged his narrow 
shoulders and waited for her to speak. 

"Think you could maintain contact and still oil my tummy? Couple of spots 
you missed." 

He nodded without lifting his head and held up his right palm. Erica poured 
a few drops of oil into it from the bottle he had placed on the blanket. 
Then he began applying the goo to her belly in ever widening circles. He was 
unaware that Erica had worked the bottom off her hips, midway down her 
thighs-until his hand brushed through the crop of thick curly hair that 
covered her mons. 

Erica felt his hand jerk away as if he had touched the exposed ends of as 
many live wires. He raised his head and looked down at the fluff of dark 
brown hair between her legs that were like long pillars of exquisitely 
sculptured snow. By his expression he seemed suddenly lost in a dizzy, 
swirling miasma of wonder. 

"Oh, gosh!" was all he could say. 

She smiled at his innocence, not that by any means she was case-hardened 
experienced woman. Once with Mr. Fridel and Claude, and maybe a feel here 
and there, on a date; but that was all. Still, in comparison to Fletcher, 
she felt like an old pro. 

She let his eyes have their fill of her complete nudity, then impatience 
began to gnaw at her. She took off the dark glasses and put them a safe 
distance away, then said to him, "Finish your job." She held up the bottle 
and poured more oil into his palm. "Rub it all over me. Every place, 
darling. Do-do!" 

Then she lay back and threw a hand over her face, protecting her eyes from 
the bright glare of the sun as she felt his hand move slowly, lightly, down 
over her tummy, along her groin, through her luxurious pubis hair and then 
over her thighs. She parted her legs just enough for him to fit his hand 
between them and move along the smooth warm insides of her thighs. She gave 
a little jump when his fingertips found the moist lips of her cunt and 
brushed over them, lightly. 

"Oooohhhh!" Erica squealed with delight as she felt his fingers venture 
inside her warm syrup-filled foyer. It made no difference that his fingers 
were inexperienced and awkward. She was so hot down there that every part of 
her vulva was supersensitive, every place he touched sent waves of pleasure 
coursing through her. Quite by accident his fingers found the tiny pea-like 
organ at the top of her slit. She gasped and shivered head to toe. 

"Ah, there, darling! Right there! Ooohhh, you found the spot. Oooohhh, rub. 
Keep rubbing." 

"Like that?" he asked, as if over-eager to please. 

"Oh, just like that," she panted. "Oh, darling... now my breasts. Kiss my 
breasts while you do it." 

He needed no second invitation to have himself another helping of the 
counterparts of Mr. Schmidel's whipped-cream cakes, slobbering all over them 
with his lips and tongue, filling them with mad desire as delicious 
sensations permeated her entire body. 

Almost before Erica realized that it was upon her she started to cum. She 
could feel herself drifting into a frenzy of furious lust, moving her hips 
wildly to the movement of the finger tormenting her clitoris. She arched 
upward off the blanket, straining tensely against his hand, fighting to 
sustain her climax as long as possible; when it was done she collapsed back 
onto the blanket. She pushed his hand from between her legs, lifting his 
head gently from her breasts. 

But it was not the end. Her climax only acted as an appetizer that 
stimulated rather than satisfied her sexual appetite for the entree. 

In spite of their intimacy, Erica still maintained a certain degree of 
modesty. She brought a portion of the blanket up to cover her most personal 
parts, then sat up. Holding the blanket in front of her, she studied his 
sweaty face as he knelt beside her. "You must be awfully hot in that heavy 
baseball uniform," she said. "Why don't you take off your shirt?" 

"Okay." He pulled the shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. He wore 
nothing underneath and his slight body was developed no more than any 
barely-pubescent boy. He was sinewy but his shoulder had not yet filled out, 
and his body was skinny enough for his ribcage to show. 

"Now why don't you lie down and relax?" she asked. 

"Okay." It seemed to be the main word in his vocabulary. 

He straightened out his legs and lay back on the blanket, squinting against 
the sun. He might have covered his eyes with an arm, but both hands were 
occupied trying to hide his erection. 

Ridden with desire that showed in her eyes and the way she was breathing 
through her half-open mouth, Erica leaned over him, letting the blanket 
drop. Little by little she uncovered her huge breasts so that they dangled 
tantalizingly just above his face. She reached across him for the pitcher of 
lemonade, one of her nipples brushing his lips. He snapped at it and tried 
to catch it with his lips, but she pulled back, quickly. 

"Naughty," she pretended, then asked, "Like another drink?" 

"Not right now," he said. Obviously he was more interested in finding out 
what came next. 

She drank from the pitcher, then set it down and, while her hands were still 
cold, traced one of his brown nipples with a fingertip. He jumped and made a 
sound. 

"So you have feelings there, too?" 

"Your finger's cold." 

She forced a little laugh, then leaned over him again, her breasts again 
just above his mouth. This time she let him grab one in each hand and bring 
one of them to his lips. While sucked on it, she let her own hand glide down 
over his flat belly. She suddenly wanted to see him, wanted to know what his 
cock was like. It did not appear to be very big. Maybe that was what she 
wanted, needed, a cock that was not too large; maybe that would chase away 
all the fears and aversions she had from that day in the dressing room. 

"You clean, Fletch?" 

He released her tit long enough to answer her question. "You mean all over?" 

"All over." 

"Yeh. I took a shower right after the game." 

"And then put on your sweaty uniform again?" 

He shrugged. "Coach says that don't matter. It's getting the sweat off right 
after you exercise, so's you don't stiffen up or take cold." 

As he went back to nursing at her tits Erica's hand moved slowly toward the 
waistband of his pants. It was at this point she did a little 
soul-searching. Was what she was doing so terribly wrong? It might be 
different if he were a girl and she were a man-but he was a fifteen year old 
boy, old enough to have an erection, to want a woman. Was it so bad for her 
to break in her own cousin? 

She was fresh and clean and, except for that session with Mr. Fridel and 
Claude, as inexperienced as he. Nor should the three year gap in their ages 
make all that difference. Actually she might be doing him a favor, because 
sooner or later it was going to happen, he was going to learn about sex. So 
why should she not be his teacher? There was no question that, hot as she 
was right now, he would be doing her a favor, too. 

With this rationalization to her satisfaction, Erica fumbled a moment with 
the buckle of his belt, got it open, and started to unzip his fly. 

He spit her nipple out of his mouth and with sudden alarm asked, "What're 
you doin'?" 

"I want to see you. Mind?" 

He swallowed. "Gosh, I dunno. Nobody ever-" 

"I let you look at me, didn't I?" 

He was perspiring profusely now. She knew it was not because he was naive. 
In Scanville they began sex education as early as the third grade. Besides, 
boys talk. Maybe he was afraid that when she saw his pint-sized pecker she 
would laugh at him? 

Erica said, "Suppose you sample some more of Mr. Schmidel's whipped cream 
cake and let me do as I want?" 

With that she leaned into him farther, stuffing her left tit back into his 
mouth and letting him munch on it until he got over his bashfulness. Then 
she went back to unzipping his fly, spreading his pants wide apart and 
letting his cock jump out. He was wearing no underpants and his entire groin 
area was exposed to her view, his young cock standing up like a rigid finger 
from the sprinkling of hair covering his crotch. 

"Oh how cute!" Erica exclaimed, surprised at her utter lack of timidity, 
never dreaming she could be so bold even with her cousin. 

But she was right; it was cute. No more than five inches long and not much 
fatter around than her thumb, it held itself stiff and straight like a 
dutiful soldier. It was a shade darker than the rest of his pale flesh, the 
bright pink-red head peeking out almost bashfully from beneath the wrinkled 
opening of the foreskin. 

Fletcher paused momentarily in his nursing, as if waiting for her to laugh. 
When she did not, he took off the dark glasses and went back to his pleasant 
chore with a new enthusiasm. 

Erica pulled his flannel pants a little farther down his thighs and 
carefully inspected him. It was her first opportunity to examine male 
genitals in such minute detail. Of both Mr. Fridel's cock and Claude's cock, 
she had barely got a glimpse. 

She found Fletcher's ball sac particularly fascinating. First she fingered 
them, gingerly, then weighed them and gently rolled the two elusive little 
agates between her fingertips. Then she took hold of his boyish cock. She 
liked the feel of it, even though it was lost in her hand. It had a 
sponge-rubber feel to it even when it was hard. She squeezed it and thought 
she could feel the inner core of hardness. 

She discovered she could bend it, too, although not very far. She was 
curious about the foreskin, what it looked like underneath. She took it 
between her thumb and first two fingers and began to work it down slowly, 
more and more of the bright pink-red head appearing. He began to writhe and 
moan a little. 

"Am I hurting you?" she asked. "Uh uh!" 

She made one more discovery: he liked it when she moved her fingers over the 
small ridge that surrounded the head, separating it from the body of his 
cock. She guessed it had the same effect as stroking her clit. So she 
concentrated on that spot as she continued to work the foreskin down farther 
and farther, until all of a sudden the knob popped out like a ripe red 
cherry. 

All this fondling had Fletcher groveling beneath her like a worm, sucking on 
her tits like they were going out of style. His little cock was pulsing 
feverously and translucent fluid was flowing down from the hole in the tip, 
wetting Erica's fingers. 

She let go of his peanut-sized cock, pulled her nipple from his mouth, and 
flopped over onto her back. Breathing laboriously now, she whispered, "Get 
on me, darling!" 

Fletcher was wide-eyed, his frail body trembling. "You mean... fuck you?" 

"Ummm!" she murmured, as if the language hurt her ears. 

Fletcher hesitated, his face pale and tense; then he crawled between her 
parted legs. Erica brought him down on top of her, welcoming the touch of 
his perspiration-wet flesh against hers. She maintained the contact of their 
bodies for a few moments, the points of her breasts hard against his smooth 
chest. Then she released her hold on him and whispered, "Now... do it!" 

He was so excited he looked as if he were going to cry, his frail body 
shaking violently. He made a couple of stabs between her legs with his pod, 
missing the hole each time. If it was ever going to happen, she knew she 
would have to show him the way. 

She reached down and took hold of his cock, and brought it to her moist 
rubbery vaginal lips. She swished the head of his cock up and down a couple 
of times, wetting it with her juices, and then steered him to her opening 
and let him venture the rest of the way on his own. When he hesitated she 
reached behind him, grabbed his bony buttocks and pulled him tight to her. 

She felt his prick slide into her cunt as deep as it would go with the first 
thrust. It felt so much different than Mr. Fridel's or Claude's, so much 
smaller. Yet it actually gave her a greater thrill, because she wanted it so 
much. Right now she was ready to start climbing the wall. 

She had him lie still atop her, almost hoping that her juices would 
accomplish some sort of magic and make him just a little bigger. Not too 
much, just a little. But it did not really matter. By moving him around a 
little, she managed to position him so that with each up-and-down movement 
his cock scraped over her clitoris. 

Erica made a contented sound deep in her throat, and then she became a wild 
thing at the end of his cock, her flesh vibrating around him as if it were 
part of some man-made machine. No man, much less a boy his age on his maiden 
voyage, could stand such friction for long. Almost before she realized she 
felt him shooting his very first load into her belly. He screamed, then fell 
against her as she went on humping him. The mild little skimming orgasms he 
had brought her did not even begin to bring her the relief she craved... 

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch! What the hell do you call this?" 

The interruption came from over the fence. Erica turned her head; in 
precisely the same spot where Fletcher's head had first appeared she saw her 
Uncle Herman-Fletcher's father! 

CHAPTER SIX 

Even the Six-Million-Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman never got over a fence 
any faster than Fletcher. He seemed to do everything in one concentrated 
movement. He pulled his shrunken pod out of Erica, grabbed up his clothes, 
sprinted across the yard in the opposite direction to his father, and was 
over the fence like a badly scared cat. 

It seemed to take his father not a great deal more time to leap into the 
yard and hurry forward to where Erica was huddled on the sunporch, under the 
beach blanket. He halted before her and whatever adverse reaction he may 
have had when he first caught sight of his son plugging her vanished as he 
stared down at Erica's shapely bare legs poking out from under the blanket. 

"Hmmmm-ain't you something!" he exclaimed. 

A blush covered her body even more thoroughly than the blanket and she 
managed to squeak out, "Wh... what are you doing here, Uncle Herman?" 

He grinned. "Right now, I'm looking at the sexiest little niece an uncle was 
ever privileged to have." 

Her heart thumped at the way he was looking at her. "I mean, what are you 
doing here in our backyard? I thought you were away, out of town, on the 
road?" 

He nodded. "I cleared up my business and came home early." Still looking 
down at her bare legs. "And I'm kind of glad I did." 

Uncle Herman was a drummer, the traveling salesman variety, specializing in 
woman's lingerie. This made Herman very popular with the distaff members of 
the family; whenever he came to see them they could be sure of getting a 
sample of the latest in women's undergarments. Erica had heard her father 
say more than once that he would bet that more than one lady in the family 
got a lot more from Herman than undies. 

Uncle Herman took off his coat and tie and threw them aside. Then he opened 
the front of his shirt almost down to his bellybutton, showing his sparsely 
haired chest. Once he may have been good-looking, before the advent of baggy 
eyes, pig jowls and thinning hair. His body, too, had suffered a 
transformation, his belly stretching his belt to the last notch. 

Even though his eyes kept feasting on what he could see of her white flesh 
protruding from behind the blanket, Erica allayed her fears by remembering 
that he was her uncle, her mother's brother. She had known him ever since 
she was born; he always brought her something when he came back from one of 
his road trips-a toy or a doll, and when she grew older, hosiery, 
bra-and-panty sets, slips. 

But was what he had caught her doing with Fletcher that worried her. Would 
he tell on her? 

He startled her when he sat beside her on the sun-porch, asking, "Well, 
don't you have a little hello-kiss for your Uncle Herman?" 

She did not answer him, an uneasy feeling creeping into her belly. 

"I remember when you were a little girl how you used to run up to me 
whenever you saw me, throw your arms around my neck and give me a big 
smacker." 

"Little girls grow up," she said. 

"I know." His eyes traveled along her legs to settle on the two lumps that 
her breasts made in the blanket. "I guess that's good and bad. But I don't 
think you've grown up so much that you wouldn't want to kiss your own 
uncle." 

Erica decided that she was acting silly. Grateful that he had not mentioned 
what he just saw, she took a deep breath and held it, closing her eyes and 
tilting her head up so he could kiss her cheek. But he was not about to 
settle for a cheek kiss. He grabbed her shoulders and drew her close to him, 
chasing her lips from side to side as she kept turning her head, until 
finally he captured them and kissed her full on the mouth. 

It was a hard kiss, a possessive kiss, forcing apart her lips and making her 
accept his tongue that explored the inside of her mouth. She tried to push 
him away the way she did with Mr. Fridel that day in the dressing room, but 
her efforts were feeble, the kiss sending an unwanted heat into her limbs. 
The kiss lasted a long time and she hated him for what he was doing to her, 
for making her loins warm with a slow and suffusing pleasure. 

She was breathing rapidly when he finally took away his mouth. This was her 
Uncle Herman and she knew that a girl's uncle just should not make her feel 
the way she felt. 

"I... I think I'd better go in the house now," she said unsteadily as she 
made an attempt to get to her feet. But he kept holding onto her shoulders 
and would not let her move. "Please, Uncle Herman... " 

"What's the please for?" he wanted to know. "And what's all the hurry to get 
in the house? Surely you can't be afraid of your ol' Uncle Herman-not any 
more than you were afraid of your cousin Fletcher?" 

Erica swallowed and tried to explain, "But... but that just happened-" He 
grinned. "So, just let it happen with me." 

Erica suddenly was shocked. Doing it with her cousin was one thing, but 
doing it with her uncle... ! Herman was a grown man, as old as her father. 
That would be like doing it all over again with Mr. Fridel, or Claude. Worse 
even, because he was her uncle. It would be incest. Why she did not consider 
doing it with Fletcher incest, too, was one of those unexplainable little 
foibles. 

So absorbed did she become in what he was saying, and in her own thoughts, 
that Erica did not realize she had slackened her old on the blanket, until 
with one quick tug he pulled it out of her grip and she was half-sitting, 
half-lying there before him, stripped to the buff. 

"Oh, Christ!" he gasped as his eyes swept over her naked young form, 
settling on her huge milky-white breasts, the tips still wet and a bright 
red from Fletcher's sucklings. 

The next thing she knew his hands were on her shoulders and he was pushing 
her backwards. She tried to push him away. 

"Oh no, Uncle Herman, please no!" 

His mouth dove for her tits. He rubbed his face back and forth over them, 
licking, kissing his way to the nipples. 

Erica frantically continued to try to push him away. "My mother-Aunt 
Hilda-they'll be back any minute... " 

"Not if they went downtown shopping," he muttered against her tits, mouthing 
them as if he could not get his fill of them, the scent of her young 
feminine body driving him wild. 

She could not see all of his face, only his eyes, filled with lust. "My 
father... " He shook his head. "No chance. I stopped off where he works, 
tried to get him to go for a beer. He said he'll be busy all afternoon. So 
there's just me and you for the rest of the day." 

As he leaned into her, still absorbed with her tits, she felt his hands 
pawing at her hips. She squirmed, trying to free herself from under him. But 
he was too strong; he handled her like an infant. Defenseless, she let him 
go on touching her, hoping that maybe that would satisfy him. She even let 
him kiss her again, passionately. 

"Now please let me go!" she begged him when the kiss was broken. 

"I just told you, we've got all afternoon to be together." 

She turned from his kiss this time and tried to get through to him. "But I'm 
Erica, Uncle Herman! I'm your niece!" 

"And Fletcher's your cousin," he reminded her. "Besides, this uncle-niece 
thing's been going on since they first rolled the earth into a big round 
ball and left it on its own. More girls have been made love to, broken-in, 
by their uncles than by anybody else." 

He pulled back for a moment to look down at her white thighs, spotless 
except for a few dribbles of Fletcher's sperm and her own juices. 

"Christ, he didn't even break your cherry!" 

"Please, Uncle Herman!" she begged him, piteously. "I don't want to make 
love to you! You're my Uncle Herman. I respect you so much, don't spoil 
it... " He waited for no more argument but captured her mouth again with a 
savage fury, his hands at her breasts, plucking and playing with her 
nipples. But she was determined to show him no encouragement. 

"C'mon, honey, you've gotta help," he coaxed as he moved his lips to her 
left ear. "I'll bet you showed a hell of a lot more encouragement to 
Fletcher." 

She wished he'd stop talking about Fletcher. She wished now she had never 
seen Fletcher this afternoon, that he had never come into the yard. She lay 
motionless as she felt her uncle's heavy sweaty hand at her mound. She 
fought back the tears that threatened and tried to keep her legs clenched 
together, but the sensation he was rekindling inside her as he pressed down 
and massaged her mons made it impossible. She could feel his fingers now 
wiggling down between her thighs, entering the moist foyer of her cunt. 

All the wanting, the terrible urgency with which Fletcher had left her, 
suddenly flared up anew. Without being entirely cognizant of what she was 
doing, Erica began to undulate her hips in sensual and rhythmic motions as 
Uncle Herman's educated fingers instigated a rhythm of their own. 

He kissed her once more, fiercely and wetly on her lips, as he ground his 
partly-clothed body against her nakedness. Her nipples were like two 
hardened buds ready to burst against his chest and she moaned deep in her 
throat as he flattened her breasts against him. 

She hated herself for surrendering to him, for not putting up more of a 
fight. But she knew it was useless. She did not know how far he would go 
with her, until she felt his hands seeking the ripe half-moons of her 
buttocks, then squeezing them cruelly as he pulled her close to him and once 
more fed his tongue into her gasping mouth. 

She had no idea as to when he opened his fly and took out his desire-swollen 
cock. She did not even know it was out until she felt the thick rubbery head 
of it against the insides of her thighs. 

Oh God... he was going to do it to her! She was going to be fucked by her 
own uncle! 

She blazed into sudden fury, began to beat at his chest, try to claw his 
face with her nails. But it did not deter him. 

She could feel the feverish glow of his cock between her thighs as she tried 
to close them. But his body was wedged between them. She died a little, 
knowing that in only a few moments her uncle's heavy staff of male flesh 
would be inside her. 

She felt him pause a moment with the big velvet-head of his cock poised at 
the wet open flanges of her virgin pussy. She caught her breath as she felt 
him address her cunt with a slow relentless pressure. Erica gasped, bucked, 
and tried to retreat from his searing kiss, but he was far too experienced 
to let her get away. He clamped her hips forcefully and allowed her no 
quarter. 

She felt him inside her. Oh, he was so big! So much bigger than she 
remembered either Mr. Fridel, or Claude to be. Or maybe it was because 
Fletcher had been so tiny that his father seemed Herculean. 

"Oh, please, please, stop! You must stop!" 

She sobbed, rolling her hips, pushing up at his chest with her hands, trying 
to dislodge him. But he paid no attention as he kept forcing his enormous 
prick deeper between the tight walls of her cunt. 

Then all at once it came to him and he declared, "Shit! You're no virgin. 
Fletcher wasn't the first one. You've been screwed before. Maybe the whole 
fuckin' town's been gettin' into you, and your Uncle Herman's the last to 
know." 

"No, no!" she tried to tell him. "It happened only once before." 

She could see he was not even remotely interested; all that concerned him 
was finding relief for his throbbing cock inside her body. Deeper and deeper 
he screwed his huge tool into her crucifyingly tight tunnel, every thrust 
pure torture for her and for him, too. Until finally he reached bottom and 
his pubic patch pressed down on her hairy mons. 

She felt nothing except a terrible numbness, until gradually their copious 
outpouring of juices blended together and her narrow bore began to relax on 
its own. He lay quietly atop her a moment, as if letting his cock marinate 
in her juices. Then he began to move against her more slowly, rhythmically. 

Erica began humping right along with him. He had fanned the hot back to life 
in her fevered body and there was little she could do but race with him to 
the finish. Maybe for the next few moments she could forget that it was her 
uncle doing her, maybe she could conjure up the image of her dream man, the 
one with the curly black hair and the shoulders and the beautiful big cock. 
But it was not until the very last few seconds, when the fantastic feeling 
of full-scale orgasm started to creep through her body, that she could find 
his image. 

She began to pound up at her uncle, instinctively, and finally lost herself 
in the relief of completion, only partially aware of the alarming dimensions 
of his cock far up inside her. For a moment it seemed as if he were going to 
pull out of her and take no chances of knocking her up. But at the last 
instant he dug his cock into her as far as it would go, held there, and sent 
his first blast into her guts. Round after round he fired into her, adding 
to her own stimulation, sending her rocking out of the world for eternal 
seconds. 

Then he collapsed against her. 

As awareness returned Erica felt her uncle's body grow heavier and heavier 
until she thought she would suffocate beneath his intolerable weight. But as 
she started to push him aside, a shocked voice boomed out from the doorway 
that led out onto the sunporch: "Herman!" 

A startled gasp escaped Erica's lips as she turned her head and saw her 
mother and her Aunt Hilda standing on the threshold. Terror shook her from 
head to foot. 

For a moment, Uncle Herman was nonplussed. But his experience at handling 
situations where he was caught with his pants down served him in good stead. 
Lifting himself off Erica, he turned his back to his wife and sister while 
he stuffed his flaccid, dripping cock inside his trousers and zipped up his 
fly. Then he faced them, brazenly. 

By this time, his wife had found her tongue and said, "I'm ashamed of you, 
Herman! Thoroughly ashamed!" 

"Is that all you have to say to him?" Erica's mother flared. "Doing what he 
did to my child-he ought to be horsewhipped!" 

"Why?" Hilda demanded, with a sudden about-face and in defense of her 
husband. "How long have I been telling you that she's a tool of Satan? That 
a girl with a body like hers is put on the earth for just one reason-to lead 
men to hell?" 

Herman took advantage of his wife's religious zeal. "Hilda's right. I came 
here looking for you two and Erica met me at the door in that nothing 
bikini." He indicated the two strips of red nylon on the ground. "First 
thing I knew, she was hugging and kissing me and leading me out here on the 
porch, where she stripped off everything and-" 

"That's a lie, Mama!" yelled Erica at the top of her voice, groping to her 
knees with the blanket held up in front of herself again, protectively. "I 
never did such a thing!" 

She started to say something more, but her uncle caught her eye. If she did 
not want him to tell what he caught her doing with fifteen-year-old 
Fletcher, she had better shut up. It would only get her into even worse 
trouble. 

"That girl is an evil influence!" said Hilda. "Something should be done 
about her-she should be put away!" 

Almost in tears, Erica's mother said in her defense: "Herman's the one that 
should be put away." She choked back the lump in her throat. "I... I think 
you'd both better go now." 

"And you better do something about that daughter of yours," Aunt Hilda 
retorted. "Before she disgraces the whole family." 

"Please-go!" 

Uncle Herman picked up his sample-kit and gave Erica a knowing smile. Then 
he said to her mother, "If I were you, I wouldn't say anything to her old 
man about this. He's got kind of a short fuse and might start trouble, and 
we wouldn't want anything like this to get out of the family, would we?" He 
decided to quote his wife again, "I mean you wouldn't want the town knowing 
your daughter's a tool of the devil?" 

"You pig!" Erica's mother cried out, vehemently. "You filthy pig! I'm 
ashamed to call you my brother. I'll thank you to get out of this house-both 
of you!" 

Right or wrong, pig or not, Erica's mother decided to take her brother's 
advice and say nothing to her husband about what happened. As for Erica, she 
was only too thankful to keep the whole thing quiet. Uncle Herman was right 
about her father having a quick temper. If he found out, he probably would 
go over to Uncle Herman's house and beat the head off him. But that would 
only implicate her with Fletcher and she did not want that to happen. So as 
she had done with Mr. Fridel and Claude, she decided the wisest thing to do 
was try to forget the entire episode. 

However, one thing was clear: she could not stay in Scanville. She had to go 
away and fast, before the same thing happened all over again, if not with 
Uncle Herman, then someone else. 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

Less than three weeks later, Erica was in New York. She figured it might be 
the best place for a girl with her limited background and experience to find 
a job. Less than two weeks after she stepped off the Greyhound she was hired 
by Sam Snow's ad agency. Although when she was first interviewed, the job 
did not look so certain. 

The old bat who took her application also took one look at her thirty-eights 
and said, "Mr. Snow doesn't usually like our girls to be so generously 
endowed." 

However, Erica had most of the other requirements demanded by the agency: a 
straight-A student; good clean home life; regular church attendance, and she 
was band-box clean. So the personnel lady told Erica if she would promise to 
wear a tighter bra, no snug sweaters and no form-fitting dresses, she would 
put her to work. 

It did not take Erica long to find out why the lady was so particular. Sam 
Snow was a real weirdo when it came to rules and regulations and simon pure 
morals. According to the other girls in the department where she worked, 
Snow was Mr. Clean himself, in mind and in body... and he expected everyone 
else to toe the same line. 

For the first few weeks she worked at the agency, Sam Snow was little more 
than a name. She saw him only a couple of times from a distance. His 
executive suite was two floors up and he rarely if ever visited the 
department where Erica worked with a number of other girls, opening and 
answering fan mail for one of the firm's TV personalities. 

At first, the job seemed very exciting but after awhile it got to be pretty 
monotonous... until the Monday that Roden Templar came back to work from a 
month-long vacation and broke the monotony with a bang! 

Templar was a vice president and account executive who produced most of the 
agency's TV spots. According to the scuttlebutt he was the firm's 
fair-haired boy, number one in line to take over if Snow ever decided to 
step down. 

The first time Templar walked past Erica's desk on his way to the projection 
room, she flipped. Her heart beat as if she had just run a quick mile. Roden 
Templar was her dream man in the flesh! Tall and handsome, with a manly 
square-cut jaw. Thirtyish, his smartly-tailored clothes fit his broad 
shouldered figure like a male fashion plate. Beyond the shadow of a doubt he 
was everything she ever dreamed for in a man, right down to the last black 
curl atop his good-looking head. 

Erica just sat there, staring up at him open-mouthed but he passed right by 
without even so much as a side glance. Once he was gone Erica looked around 
at the other girls in the pen where she worked. From their expressions, he 
was their heartthrob, too. But if gazing at him was enough to satisfy them, 
it definitely was not enough for Erica. Now that she knew he really and 
truly existed, she intended doing something to let him know she existed, 
too. 

Unfortunately another of Sam Snow's many ironclad rules said no 
fraternization between employees permitted, especially when it involved two 
people of different echelons. Anyone caught disobeying his ruling or 
bringing even a breath of scandal to the firm could expect strong 
disciplinary action- immediate dismissal sans reference for employees at the 
bottom of the ladder, like Erica. 

Still Erica was willing to risk her job and everything else if it would help 
corral her dream man. Next morning, when she dressed for work, she did not 
wear a bra. Instead she put on a white nylon see-through blouse, and over it 
wore a white safari-type suit jacket. If her Aunt Hilda was right, and Satan 
did have a hand in fashioning her beautiful big jugs to ensnare men, there 
was no earthly reason why she should not use to them to advantage to attract 
the attention of the one man she really wanted. 

Erica sat at her desk all that day, sweltering in her well buttoned safari 
jacket, waiting for Roden Templar's usual visit to the projection room. But 
as the afternoon began to wane, she guessed he was not coming. It was not 
until well after three o'clock that she suddenly saw him get off the 
elevator. 

Quick as a wink she unbuttoned her safari jacket and threw it open. The top 
buttons of her blouse already were undone. Her heart pounded as he 
approached her desk. When he was a few steps away she purposely brushed a 
letter off her desk so that it fell to the floor directly in his path. 
Hurriedly she got up and came around the desk, and stooped forward to pick 
it up. He halted at the same time, swept up the letter and handed it to her, 
his eyes focusing on her gorgeous boobs that were exposed for his special 
benefit almost down to her large nipples. 

His gaze lingered for what seemed endless seconds, then they both arose at 
the same time. As he handed her the letter and she thanked him, she thought 
she saw a few beads of perspiration on his brow. But his face was very stern 
as he asked her, severely, "What's your name, young lady?" 

She swallowed uneasily and told him. He seemed to make a mental note of it, 
then passed on. The moment he was gone Erica quickly buttoned her jacket and 
went behind the desk. One of the girls whispered across her desk, "Oh boy! 
Are you in for it!" 

Erica could feel cold perspiration break out across the small of her back 
and she wondered if the girl was right-had she overplayed her hand? Was he 
going to report her to personnel and have her fired? 

It was a long afternoon for Erica, shivering every time the phone rang, 
wondering if it was a call telling her to report to the personnel office. 
Five o'clock was never more welcome. 

Erica boarded the Brooklyn-bound subway as usual and rode to her stop in 
Flatbush, then walked the couple of blocks to the modest apartment where she 
lived. She was no more than a dozen steps away from the front door of the 
building when someone called out to her: "Miss Newhall!" 

She halted, turned, and almost fainted with astonishment when she saw Roden 
Templar! He was seated behind the wheel of a foreign-make sports convertible 
that was parked at the curb. She stood there, completely paralyzed, staring 
at him open-mouthed, unable to believe her eyes. 

"Well, c'mon," he insisted. "Get in and let's go." 

Erica was never quite sure whether she walked to the car or floated there on 
a fleecy cloud. She had no recollection of getting into the car, only that 
she was seated beside him on the front seat as he gunned the convertible 
away from the curb. 

They had dinner at a quiet little restaurant, then they got into his car and 
were on their way again. She did remember asking him how he knew where she 
lived. 

"Since ol' Sam Snow has that stupid rule about no fraternization, I couldn't 
very well talk to you or even meet you outside the building without someone 
seeing us. Since I had to see you, know something about you, I got your file 
from personnel." 

Erica was so overcome by just being with him that she had no idea where they 
were until he pulled the car to a halt in a shrubbery-lined driveway 
alongside a big red-brick house in what appeared to be a suburban 
residential section. Only then did she ask him, "Where are we?" 

"I thought you might like to see how the other half of our twosome lives," 
he said with a smile. Then in answer to her quizzical frown, "This is where 
I live in Forest Hills." 

Erica did not know a great deal about New York, except that she had heard 
Forest Hills was a rather affluent suburb of the city. He opened the car 
door at his side and got out, then came around to open the door for her. 

If it had been anyone else she probably would not have accepted his 
invitation, or even gotten out of the car. But this was something different. 
He was her dream man. She had carried him around in her heart and mind for 
as long as she could remember. She had even risked losing her job to make 
him notice her. Now that he had noticed her, had gone to so much trouble to 
find where she lived, it would be foolish to stick a pin in her beautiful 
balloon. Even if things were happening much too fast for her to keep track 
of, she was not about to say or do anything that might cause her to lose 
him. Besides what did she have to lose, compared to what she might have to 
gain? 

With at least that much settled in her mind, Erica got out of the car and 
followed him into the house. He showed her through the place with an 
understandable touch of pride. Downstairs consisted of a big kitchen, dining 
room, sunken living room and playroom; upstairs were three bedrooms with 
adjoining baths. The entire place was decorated and furnished with 
professional and artistic taste. Erica had to admit that it was as much a 
dream as the man who owned it. 

The tour ended in what Roden said was the master bedroom. Erica thought it 
the most fabulous bedroom she had even seen outside of House Beautiful. The 
room was enormous, the walls lined with enough floor-to-ceiling mirrors for 
a person to see themselves from any part of the room... especially the bed. 
King-sized, the bed was covered with a red crushed-velvet spread, which was 
thrown back to show the sexy-looking black satin sheets and pillowcases. 

What fascinated Erica as much as anything, was the room's dramatic lighting. 
Even as she stood just inside the doorway with Roden, he worked the 
wall-switch that changed the lighting from soft white to flood white, to 
eerie green, melancholy blue, hot orange, magenta and then passionate pink, 
each hue bringing with it a desired change of mood. 

It was when the shade turned amorous pink that Erica decided it might be a 
wise time to go. But as she turned she found Roden blocking the doorway. He 
asked, "Going someplace?" 

She met his warm gaze and began to get those funny feelings in her tummy. 
She fought for composure and said, "I've seen your home and I think it's 
beautiful... but it's getting rather late... " He kept staring down at her. 
"So?" 

She could feel her blood pumping faster, her nerves raw-edged and jumpy. She 
was not afraid. She could never be afraid with him, she told herself. It was 
just that she was so aware of his masculine fragrance, the sensual fullness 
of his lips, the sheer animal power beneath his unruffled exterior. She did 
not want to appear too eager, too easy. 

"You're probably wondering why I've made no attempt to kiss you, or even try 
to lay a hand on you," he said as he took a short step toward her. 

She had wondered. There had been any number of opportunities when they were 
alone in the car, chances that any other man might have jumped at. 

"Believe me, it wasn't because I didn't want to... ever since you pulled 
that little trick to make me notice you at the office this afternoon." 

Erica's face flushed. "Why... why, you don't think I dropped the letter off 
my desk on purpose?" 

He smiled wisely. "I think that's exactly what you did... and I'm very 
glad." 

"You... you must think I'm terrible?" 

"Terrible?" He shook his head. "I think you're just about the loveliest 
creature I've ever seen. But I never would have known how lovely you are 
bundled up the way Sam Snow makes his girls dress, if you hadn't called my 
attention to it." 

He placed his hands on her shoulders and moved a little closer to her. Her 
knees went all soupy and she began to tremble under his hands, her shoulders 
quivering with tension. They were close then, touching, and his arms moved 
from his shoulders to encircle her. He brought his lips down to meet hers, 
sending an ecstasy of breathless emotion through her. She parted her lips 
for his tongue that worked serpent-like inside her mouth in a passionate 
orgy. Her temples pounded like tiny drums and she felt as if her heart 
surely would burst with love for him. 

Finally she drew back, her breasts rising and falling spasmodically under 
her safari jacket and blouse. Her eyes were wet and shimmering as if with a 
glow of disbelief that this really could be happening, that her dreams had 
turned into reality. 

She followed his gaze downward as his hands toyed with the top button of her 
jacket. Hands at her sides, she watched as his fingers unfastened the 
buttons one by one, until the last was undone. Her jacket had fallen 
partially open and he yanked it apart the rest of the way. She could see her 
huge breasts clearly through the transparent white nylon of her blouse, the 
excited nipples straining against the gossamer material. Her looked for a 
moment, then opened the blouse and bared her big tits. 

By his expression, he was not disappointed by what she had to offer. He 
said, "Beautiful! That glimpse I had of you this afternoon at the office 
told me you would be." 

The fact that it was her breasts attracted him to her did not disturb her at 
all. She not only had made it to first base, she had gone all the way around 
the bases and scored. 

Erica thought surely she would have an orgasm right then and there as he 
cupped her left breast, brought it to his mouth and kissed the nipple. She 
could feel her toes curl in her high heeled shoes as he took the nub between 
his lips and pulled at it as he brushed it with his tongue. Oh God! How she 
wished she could give him the milk he was seeking. He deserved quarts and 
quarts of her nectar for the beautiful feelings with which he was filling 
her body. 

In line with most everything else that had transpired during this fabulously 
unreal evening, Erica was not altogether conscious of him propelling her 
toward the bed until she fell backwards across it. 

"What a picture you are!" he exclaimed as he stood beside the bed and looked 
down at her. "Just lie there, darling, and let me look at you." 

Erica could see in the wall mirrors the picture she made with her blouse and 
jacket off, her breathtaking torso bared to the waist and her skirt hiked up 
to show the satiny white flesh of her rounded thighs above the tops of her 
hose. Suddenly she remembered that in keeping with no bra this morning, she 
had put on her G-string type panties. Transparent white silk ones they were. 
Barely two inches wide, they went up to a thin band that hooked low on each 
hip. They barely covered her brown muff and vulva, the nearest thing 
possible to being naked. She had wanted to look and feel horny, and from the 
way Roden was gazing at her, she had achieved her purpose. 

She could see his cock stiffening beneath his neatly creased trousers as he 
stared down between her thighs. Normally she would have been scared out of 
her wits, the way she had been with Mr. Fridel, Claude and her Uncle Herman, 
to have a man look at her exposed pussy. But she knew no fear now. Instead, 
she was all bubbly inside because she could excite him so easily. 

He was on the bed beside her then, coat off. He kissed her again, filling 
her mouth and body with his soul. She tingled as she saw his head dip for 
her breasts. She gave herself up to his suckling willingly, making tiny 
contented sounds. 

When he lifted his lips from her swollen red nipples, she half-expected him 
to kiss her lips again. Instead he made the first sliding movement, a kiss 
down her body. She loved the warm, moist caress of his lips at the underside 
of her left breast... another on her stomach... then on her belly button. 
She felt him removed her skirt, then his hand tugged at her G-string, 
finding one hook, then the other. A quick tug at the front patch of silk and 
she was laid bare. He stared harder as his dark eyes viewed her thick patch 
of curly brown pubic hair and the moist pink lips of her cunt. 

"How delightfully sweet," he murmured. "Sweet enough to kiss." 

She tightened. "You wouldn't?" 

"I'm going to," he said, and his head began to drop. 

Her hands caught the sides of his head and she held him back. "Oh no, you 
mustn't!" 

"Why not?" 

"It's-it's evil, perverted." He laughed. "Then seventy to eighty percent of 
all Americans are evil perverts. Because according to published research 
that's how many of us make oral love." 

With that she slackened her grasp on his head. She felt his lips course over 
her slab-flat belly and skitter through her brown pelt. She offered no 
resistance as his hands opened her thighs so he could get his face between 
them, his tongue creeping slowly into the syrupy wetness of her partly open 
cuntal lips. The delicate sweet muskiness of her pussy seemed to inflame him 
further. Clutching her lust-bloated flanges with his fingers, he peeled them 
back and began slashing away at the swollen pink pearl of her clitoris with 
the flat of his tongue. 

Erica moaned, shuddering and thrashing about beneath him on the silky black 
sheets. Never had she known such ecstasy! Never had she imagined it could be 
like this! 

"Oh, darling... darling! I want to yell and cry... it's so heavenly!" she 
wailed. "But it's all happening so fast!" 

He took time out to say, "Good things always happen that way," then he was 
back at her sugary box, his tongue threatening to drive her insane, 
tormenting her clit, inspecting her hole, fucking her. Then he pursed his 
lips, pulled the bud of her clitoris between them, and rolled it back and 
forth, maddeningly. 

Erica came completely apart, crooning somewhere off in space, her fingers 
entwined in his black curly hair, drawing him tighter to her effluvial 
snatch, delighting in his slashing, probing ministrations. 

"Oh my darling!" She sang, completely out of it. 

"Oh, my lover, my dream mate. Oh, what are you doing to me? It's all like 
icky down there... all twisting and tight and... Oooohhh, God, I'm going to 
cuuuuummmmmmm...!" 

Seconds later the illusory bubble deep up inside her belly burst under the 
relentless attack of his knowledgeable tongue, the suction of his lips and 
mouth, and her orgasm took hold! This was no skimmer. In a blinding fit of 
passion her hands jammed his face suffocatingly into her seething box, her 
wet steaming thighs clamping at the sides of his head, holding him a 
prisoner in her turbulent swamp, pleading with him to go on licking her, 
never to stop. 

Finally, when she was content to return to the world of reality, she 
crooned, "Oh my darling, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever known! 
How can I ever repay you for making me feel so wonderful?" 

"We'll find a way," he said. 

She brought his glistening wet face up to kiss, making a big thing out of 
licking her liqueur off his lips to let him know that she felt no distaste 
for what he had just done to her. She looked deeply and unashamedly into his 
eyes and asked in a small voice, "Do... do you want me to... you know?" 

"Suck me off?" he supplemented, bluntly. 

She nodded, and then falteringly told him what she never dreamed she would 
ever say to any man. "I will, I really will, if you want me to." 

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Not now, my darling. There'll be plenty of 
other times." 

"There will be?" 

"You better believe it," he reassured her. "Now that I've found you, I'm not 
about to let you go." He loomed over her. "But for right now let's play it 
old-fashioned, okay?" 

Of course it was okay. Anything he wanted was okay. Breathing heavily, still 
feeling the weight of his tongue down there between her legs, she watched as 
he got off the bed and removed his clothes. Her senses whirled as she 
watched the strong lines of his muscular body become bared. She gazed 
unblinkingly as he exposed his cock. A hot stab of rapture shot up through 
her body as she stared at the way it stood rigidly and excitingly out from 
his hair-covered groin. 

"Oh, Roden... " He came to her, their bodies meeting and clinging tightly, 
their mouths fusing and devouring with pent-up hunger. If only she could 
have found the words to let him know how much she loved him, how long she 
had waited for this most beautiful of all moments as his feverish mouth 
dropped once more to her breasts. She tossed her sizzling body, welcoming 
his kisses, the contacts with his manly flesh. Then she was beneath him, her 
aching thighs spread wide apart for him. 

She felt the scorching heat of his leaking cock against the soft tender 
flesh at the insides of her thighs. She was wet! The black satin sheet 
beneath her buttocks was already drenched. But her wetness would only make 
it that much easier for his entry-and she wanted to make it as easy and as 
wonderful as she could for him. She wanted to give him the very best screw a 
girl ever gave a man. But right now she was damned hot, and so crazy between 
her legs that she could not take much more tease. 

"Please, darling... put it in!" 

"Right away, kitten. But first... " He drew away from her and reached a 
small tube from the nightstand. He nudged apart her legs, bare except for 
her stockings and the two slight strips of lace garter that ran up to the 
belt, and attempted to insert the long, narrow end of the tube into her 
vagina. 

She gave a sudden start. "What are you doing?" 

"I don't imagine you took any pills?" 

"No... " 

"Then this foam'll protect you. We wouldn't want any accident first time 
out, would we? Just relax." He gave the tube a good squeeze. 

She jumped again. "Oh, that's cold!" 

He smiled and tossed the tube back onto the bedside stand. "We'll get it 
heated up again in a big hurry." 

He was back again, kneeling between her splayed thighs, the purple-red crown 
of his cock gently kissing her foamy wet pussy lips. He swirled his glans 
over her weeping folds a few times, concentrating on her clit almost as if 
he was letting the two get acquainted. A moment later he was poised at her 
hole. 

"I'll be gentle," he promised. 

"I don't care!" she said wildly, turning her head from side to side on the 
black silk pillow as he began pressing into her. "I just want you to have a 
good time." 

"You sweetheart," he said appreciatively, and kissed her lips as he kept 
pressing into her. 

She could feel his cock sliding into her. It felt so good... so big... as it 
forced its way between the glutinous walls of her passageway that molded 
around it. Oh, God! She was going to cum before he was all the way inside 
her! 

She made an effort to hold back but saw it was no use; she let go and clung 
to him tightly. It was only another skimmer that stimulated her further, 
made her feel hornier. 

He was still pushing, squeezing his cock into her. She waited until Roden 
bottomed and was properly adjusted, then her legs climbed, her ankles 
sliding on the back of his legs to give him better leverage. She groveled 
beneath him, grinding and pounding herself up at him heathenishly. 

"Oh darling, darling," she gurgled. "You feel so goooood!" 

She guessed from the sounds he was making that he felt pretty damned good, 
too. As he banged away at her, she matched him thrust for thrust, seeming to 
drive his big cock deeper and deeper into her belly with each downward 
plunge. She took that moment to glance at their reflection in the wall 
mirrors. It looked as if a dozen or more Rodens were fucking her all at the 
same time, every one of them adding new and exciting sensations. 

And then that supreme moment was upon both of them. Erica could feel his 
mighty cock swell to bursting inside her and she began milking him with the 
walls of her cunt for all she was worth, clinging to him to make sure he did 
not pull out at the last instant. She wanted him to fill her belly with his 
sperm. "Uggghhh!" 

She heard him grunt and then the cork flew out of his prick, booming what 
seemed like quarts and quarts of bubbling hot cum into her spasming guts, 
splashing her heart. It triggered her' own mechanism into action, bringing 
her to shattering, mind-emptying orgasm, sending her soaring off into some 
never-neverland from which she hoped she might never return-because here she 
had found all the joys and sensations she had ever imagined possible... 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

Erica did not see Roden again for the next three days. Sam Snow was called 
out of town, and as next in line, Roden had to take up the slack and 
entertain some important out-of-town clients. However, Roden said they would 
make up for it by spending the entire weekend alone together, at his place. 

Then a disturbing thorn appeared in her happy little rose garden. Talking to 
the girls at the office, one of them said Roden was married! 

Erica refused to believe it, even though none of the girls had the faintest 
suspicion that she had been out with him. They could be lying, trying to 
discourage her if she should have any illusions about him. She decided to go 
ahead with their date, and let him tell her whether or not it was true. 

"Yes," he admitted frankly after they got upstairs in the bedroom. "It's 
true, I am married." 

Erica began to cry. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

He took hold of her quavering shoulders with one hand and used the other to 
tilt up her chin so he could look down into her tear-streaked face. "First 
of all, darling, you didn't ask me. Secondly, I didn't want to spoil our 
very first night together." 

She sobbed. "It's spoiled the whole weekend!" 

He shook his head. "I don't think so-not when you hear the whole story." He 
took a breath. "Yes, I'm married, have been for the past eight years-if you 
can call it a marriage." 

Erica's sobs subsided a little. 

"My wife's name is Jessica," Roden went on. "She's an interior decorator and 
an artist of sorts. She decorated and furnished this entire house. But for 
the past year and a half or more she's been in Europe, furthering her art 
studies and picking up ideas for her work. For all that time I've been 
trying to track her down so I can have her served with divorce papers. Well, 
Erica my love, you must be some kind of good luck charm for me-because just 
this week the private investigators I hired finally caught up with her and 
served the necessary papers. I didn't know about it Monday night. I received 
a cable just yesterday and wanted to save the good news until the weekend to 
surprise you. 

"You see, Erica, I didn't realize how much you meant to me until those three 
days we were apart." He kissed the white part in her brown-thatched head. 
"What I'm trying to say is that I've fallen in love with you. And just as 
soon as the divorce from Jessica becomes final, I want you to become my 
wife... if you will." 

"If I will? Oh, Roden... Roden... it's what I want more than anything on 
earth!" She cried out joyously as she fell against him. 

He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her, making no attempt to hide the 
hardness of his fervid cock as he held it against her lightly covered belly. 
It seemed to reach right inside and ignite something in her tummy that 
flared through her entire body and licked at her brain, telling her that 
this was a memorable moment that should be marked with some sensation far 
removed from the norm. It was then that she remembered the fantastic way he 
made her feel when he performed cunnilingus with her. 

"Lie on the bed, darling," she whispered. "What for?" 

"Don't ask questions," she told him as she took his hand and led him to the 
bed. "I want to show you how incredibly happy you've made me, how far I'll 
go to make you the most wonderful wife any man ever had." 

He fell back across the bed. She brought his feet up onto the mattress then 
sat on the bed alongside him, facing him. She kissed him and unbuttoned his 
shirt. Remembering how sensitive Fletcher's nipples were, she tested Roden's 
and found out that his little brown nubs had far more feelings than her 
cousin's, stiffening at once under the lapping of her tongue. 

"Close your eyes," she instructed, waited until he obeyed; then she 
unfastened the catch at the waistband of his trousers. He was not wearing a 
belt. She found the talon of his zipper and slowly worked it all the way 
down. She could not help but think of when she opened Fletcher's fly in the 
sunporch, but this was so much different! 

She got onto the bed and knelt at the right side of him. She spread open the 
front of his trousers and saw the throbbing bigness of his cock under his 
shorts, the front of which was a mess from his cock droolings. It took a bit 
of doing to muster courage enough to reach a hand in through the opening of 
his underpants, grope around in the wetness for an instant, then grasp hold 
of his cock and work it out into the open. There was something excitingly 
obscene about seeing his cock sticking out of his fly-and what a size it 
was! It looked even bigger that she remembered. She was amazed and just a 
little proud that she had been able to accommodate so much cock in her 
pussy. 

She stared down at it, fascinated, so glad that it was not circumcised. In 
her brief experience Erica had found she preferred them with the foreskin. 
It seemed to keep the head so velvety-soft and tender. 

She slipped a hand between his legs and under his balls, lifting them. They 
were heavy with sperm. She jiggled them a moment, then with her free hand 
took hold of his cock up near the head. Slowly, gently, she peeled back the 
foreskin over the thick ridge so that it lay bunched up just above her 
finger, the head looking like a big, dew-wet, ripe tomato. She held it that 
way and said, shyly, "I... I never did it before, darling. You'll have to 
show me how. I want to please you." 

"You're sure you want to suck it?" 

"Umhuh." 

"Move your hand down to the base," he instructed her, his voice tense and 
his breathing ragged with anticipation. "Now run your tongue around the head 
of it." 

Erica's pink tongue shot out like a lizard's snapping at an insect, laving 
the smooth surface of Roden's juicy cockhead. She breathed in his exciting 
mannish odor, surprised that his penis had hardly any taste to it-a slight 
rather pleasant saltiness, but that was all. 

Roden's thighs jerked and his cock seemed to grow even bigger. "Now wet your 
lips and lick it with them and your tongue." 

Sweeping her long mane back over her bare shoulders so that it would not get 
in her way, she closed her eyes and heard his ecstatic moan as she dropped 
her open mouth over the head of his rampant prick. His breath caught when 
her tongue moved over his slippery glans. Then he threw back his head and 
clenched his teeth, his belly tightening as she made her lips form and took 
more and more of him into her mouth. He told her how to wipe her tongue back 
and forth over the exquisitely sensitive membrane at the underside of the 
glans, instructing her to suck all the while she did it. The longer she 
stayed with it the more she began to enjoy her servile chore. But, of 
course, she told herself, that was only because it was him. She could not 
imagine sucking any other man's cock and getting such a tremendous thrill 
out of it, especially when she heard him croon and sigh and felt his cock 
continue to swell in her mouth. 

"Ooohhh, beautiful, just beautiful!" 

He opened his eyes and lifted his head just enough so that he could look 
down at her. It gave him a tremendous jolt to watch his cock appear from and 
then disappear back into the fleshy red tunnel that was her suctioning 
mouth. 

- "Ummm, you suck cock as exquisitely as you screw! You're a natural, baby." 

Erica was glad that she was pleasing him, but at the same time blushing with 
shameful joy that he should praise such a performance, that she should be so 
proficient as such a task. Still she continued to try to please him, the 
disgust that she thought she would experience completely gone now from her 
mind. She sucked faster, harder, turning her mouth into a thing of 
delightful torture, aware that he was very close. 

"Whatever you do don't pull off!" He panted. "Just keep sucking-sucking 
hard!" 

She recoiled a little at the thought of him shooting in her mouth; but if 
that was what he wanted, the very least she could do was try to make his cum 
as fantastic as he had made hers feel. She braced herself for the inevitable 
spurting of his sperm into her mouth. 

She could heard him making guttural sounds deep in his throat each time she 
lifted her lips off him and then plunged them down again the length of his 
prick, completely engulfing the head in her hot sucking mouth. She felt the 
warning signs, his belly tensing, his cock growing to alarming dimensions. 

"Ooohh, Jeez!" he cried raggedly. "Don't stop! Suck! Suck like you never 
sucked before in your life!" 

As if she had been sucking cock all her life, she drew his cock as deep into 
her throat as it would go, accompanying the act with quick tongue-swirling 
up-and-down bobs of her head. 

Roden groaned louder and then went stiff. His prick seemed to turn to steel, 
vibrating wildly. She felt a spasm ripple through his belly and into his 
cock. She was ready-as ready as she ever would be-for him. 

A milky blob of semen spurted into her mouth, splashed against her palate. A 
moment of revulsion made her gag and she almost pulled off him. Then she 
remembered: keep sucking! She clung tenaciously to the mast and kept pulling 
at him. Another blast from his erupting cock... another... and another... 
gushes at first, then gradually each one grew weaker. She kept her lips 
glued around his prick, whipping it with her tongue. 

She emptied Roden's vats completely, and only then, when she felt his cock 
start to lose its size inside her mouth, did she let him go. She quickly 
reached for a handful of tissues from the night-stand. She had not been able 
to bring herself to swallow his sperm, not this first time. She had closed 
the hatch to her throat with his first volley and held the stuff in her 
mouth, until now when she spat it into the tissues. 

He rolled off and flattened himself out beside her on the bed. She dropped 
the soiled tissues into a container alongside the bed and then leaned over 
him. Funny, she had thought that she would feel terrible after performing 
such an act; demeaned, ashamed, used. But it was not like that at all. It 
had been an experience, not at all unpleasant-especially since she obviously 
had brought him such pleasant relief. Only one thing concerned her at the 
moment. As she searched his face, his eyes, she asked, "Do you still love 
me?" 

He managed a smile. "You're the greatest!" 

"But do you love me?" 

His smile deepened and he pulled her down atop him, her naked breasts 
flattened out against his bare chest. He kissed the tip of her pert nose. 

"Give Charlie about twenty minutes to get his strength back and lift his 
head and we'll answer that question the way it deserves to be answered." 

Erica smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. It must have been just about 
the longest twenty minutes she had ever known in her young life. 

CHAPTER NINE 

So began Erica's sexual education under the expert tutelage of Roden 
Templar. She received a full and complete course far from anything she might 
have learned in school. Roden did not teach with books, charts, or lectures: 
his method was the real McCoy, with Erica an active and interested 
participant. 

The lessons ran the full scale of sexual love, from coitus to hand jobs, 
mutual masturbation, tit-fucking, tongue-bathing, sixty-nine, cunnilingus, 
fellatio, the rocking chair method, standing, kneeling, straddling and 
endurance tests for him and her-a never-ending diet of sexual variations and 
functions, in which Erica engaged right along with him; as she had promised, 
she would do anything to please him, prove to him what a wonderful wife she 
would make so that when his final divorce came through there would be no 
question in his mind about making her the second Mrs. Roden Templar. 

It was not until well into the second week of her almost nightly visits to 
his place in Forest Hills that things took another sudden, dramatic twist. 
Instead of going directly to the master bedroom this night, as they usually 
did, Roden took Erica into one of the smaller upstairs rooms. Here, in a 
huge walk-in closet, he showed her a wardrobe of costumes from around the 
world as well as from every period of history. To compliment the costumes 
were shoes, boots and sandals, together with all the rest of the necessary 
accessories, including wigs of just about every possible length, coloring 
and hair styling. 

"I started collecting these things as a sort of hobby," Roden told Erica. 
"Then I got to using them when I filmed period commercials. Now sometimes I 
rent them out to other producers." 

However, their main function was to give spice and variety to the sex act, 
so that there was no possibility of it ever getting monotonous or boring. 
Erica did not understand how it was possible for sex to get monotonous or 
boring if two people were truly in love with each other, but as usual she 
did not argue with him. She simply listened as he went on. 

"With these costumes, wigs and a change of makeup," he explained, "you and I 
can become redheads, blonds, brunettes-anything and anyone we want to 
become. We can offer each other a different bed partner every night." 

Erica was surprised that he would want a different bed partner every night. 
She never would want anyone but him. Still if that was what he wanted, if 
that would make him happy, then she would do exactly as he wished. 

During the weeks that followed she became Cinderella to his Prince Charming, 
Catherine to his Heathcliff, Scarlet to his Rhett Butler, Cleopatra to his 
Marc Antony, Marie Antoinette, Joan of Arc, Helen of Troy-a gallery of 
historical portraits, a succession of changing love scenes that they played 
out each night. 

For awhile it was fun, pretending she was all these beautiful ladies from 
the past and present and that he was her handsome lover. But for her part it 
was all so unnecessary. 

After awhile Roden seemed to become so engrossed in this make-believe that 
she began to wonder if he knew who she really was, who he was. She wondered, 
too, if this nightly masquerade would continue after they were married... 
and if Jessica, his wife, played out these fantasies with him. 

Thinking of Jessica, Erica began to get just a little impatient, wondering 
what was happening in regards to the divorce, when it would become final so 
that she and Roden could be married. But whenever she broached the subject, 
all he could tell her was, "Everything's right on. My attorney says it won't 
be long now." 

For more than two wonderful months they continued their secret relationship. 
In spite of the change of personality they both underwent each night, Erica 
began to feel more and more as if they already were married. She still kept 
her apartment, but only as a place to keep some of her clothes and have a 
permanent address. She spent almost every night and every weekend alone with 
him in his big house. He even gave her a key to the place so that when he 
was detained at the office she could let herself in and prepare dinner for 
the two of them. 

Then came a Friday almost ten weeks after their affair began. Roden got word 
to her during the day that he would not be able to get home until late. 
Again he had to entertain a client, and told her to have dinner alone. 

Erica went to the house and let herself in. After making herself 
comfortable, she started to prepare dinner. Since Roden would not be dining 
with her she did not want to go to the trouble of heating the oven and 
preparing a big meal, so she plugged in the electric fry pan for bacon and 
eggs. The main fuse promptly blew. She found the flashlight, then searched 
the kitchen and the hallway for the fuse box; but it was not there. It must 
be down in the cellar. She found the cellar door, opened it, and went down 
the steep flight of wooden stairs carefully. She was surprised to find the 
cellar much bigger than she had imagined it would be. It was cluttered with 
boxes and worktables and file cabinets. What else was down here she could 
not make out with only the aid of the flashlight. 

Finally Erica found the fusebox under the stairs, and several spare fuses 
luckily kept nearby. She located the blown fuse, screwed in a new one and 
then snapped on the wall-switch. The cellar suddenly burst into a blaze of 
light. 

She looked around, amazed. Here in the cellar was a complete film lab, 
equipped with projector, screen, splicers, viewers, and a number of cans of 
film stacked on the long, low-built tables. 

Erica was aware that Roden produced most of the film spots for the agency, 
but she had never dreamed that he had a place like this, a fully-equipped 
lab down here in the cellar. She wondered why he never told her. 

What kind of films were in the cans? Were they commercials, brought home to 
work on at his leisure? She could not remember having seen him bring home 
any film in all the time she had known him. Maybe it was just a hobby he had 
not bothered with since he began seeing her-but why? She would have loved to 
share his hobby. 

She picked up a couple of cans. None were labeled. She looked at the 
projector, then at the screen, sure he would not mind if she ran one. 

She had learned to thread film on a projector in the screening room at the 
agency. Occasionally, she and the other girls would have to play back a 
particular program that the TV personality whose fan mail they opened might 
have made, so they could answer his mail intelligently. 

Erica selected one of the reels at random and fitted it on the projector, 
then threaded it through the loops and onto the sprockets. She checked to 
make sure it was set, then she switched on the projector, turned out the 
cellar lights and focused her eyes on the screen. There was no title, just a 
leader with a lot of crowsfeet. Apparently the film had not been edited yet. 

Suddenly the screen was filled with a blonde girl and a man. It was hard to 
tell where they were by the background because it was a medium two shot. Nor 
could Erica tell what the man looked like except that he was tall with red 
hair and had his back to the camera. 

The girl, however, looked awfully familiar. The film ran for maybe thirty or 
forty frames, before the realization hit Erica like a bursting bomb. No 
wonder the girl in the film looked familiar-it was herself! She had never 
seen herself on film before, but there was no question it was she in a 
blonde wig! 

Erica stood there in the darkness of the cellar, her eyes fastened on the 
lighted screen. She was unable to move a muscle or manage a single thought 
as the camera pulled back slowly for a full shot that showed her stark 
naked, standing beside the big bed upstairs in the master bedroom. She still 
was unable to make out Roden because he continued to face away from the 
camera. But she knew it was he; he was naked, wearing a red wig. It took her 
a moment to remember the scene. It was the one where she was Sleeping Beauty 
and he the handsome prince. 

He had just awakened her from her long sleep and to show her appreciation 
she had stripped off all her clothes for him. A little further on in the 
film, she would show how much more grateful she was by getting down on her 
knees, taking his huge cock in her mouth and sucking him off... 

Erica snapped off the projector and leaned back against the wall in a daze. 
Her face and her body were dripping wet with perspiration in the darkness, 
her head reeling, her stomach feeling as if she were going to retch. Was 
this the only film he had taken of her? 

Using only the flashlight, Erica removed the reel from the projector, 
selected another and put it on. This one was where she was a Russian 
peasant, a teenage virgin, and he was a horny Cossack. This was the film in 
which he ripped open her peasant blouse to get at her tits, then tore away 
her panties and raped her fully clothed. This also was the film, in which he 
showed her how to palm a cacklebladder filled with chicken blood, slip it 
into her vagina at the last moment before penetration, and for a touch of 
reality, let it appear as if he had burst her cherry. 

Again Erica stopped the projector before the film was very far along, 
removed the reel and replaced it with another and then another. It appeared 
that every session she had with him during these past two months had been 
recorded on film. But when and how were they taken? Surely she would have 
known if there had been anyone else in the room with them. 

Then she remembered the mirrored walls. She had never seen a two-way mirror 
but she had heard about them. It was the only possible explanation as to how 
the films were shot. 

She recalled now how Roden on occasion would move her aside, evidently so 
that the camera could get an unobstructed shot of her. Often, too, he would 
turn on the flood light in the bedroom. The film she was looking at right 
now, taken very early during their association, before they began donning 
wigs and outlandish costumes, was an extreme close-up of her vulva. In 
bright living color it showed the parted rouge-red flanges of her pussy, the 
complex of raw flesh in her dark palpitating tunnel and the knot situated at 
the top of her slit about the size of a quarter, her thighs sticky and wet 
with a gauzy film... 

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" 

At first Erica thought the words came from the sound track of the film; then 
she realized they had boomed out at her from the foot of the staircase. The 
lights came on in a blaze, illuminating the entire cellar. 

With an automatic reflex, Erica switched off the projector and spun to face 
Roden as he started forward. 

"I asked you a question!" he railed at her. "What the fuck are you doing 
down here? What right have you got to be down in this cellar?" 

Erica did not bother to tell him that she had come down here quite by 
accident. She simply stood there alongside the projector, her cheeks burning 
with rage, her fists clenched at her sides, staring at him narrow-eyed as he 
came forward. 

"I think I deserve an explanation a lot more than you do!" she blazed as 
anger gripped her. Her chin gathered, her lower lip trembling. 

He had never seen her look this way before and it took him back for the 
moment. Then he lowered his voice and tried to laugh her out of it. 

"You mean the films?" He forced a mirthless chuckle. "I just had those taken 
for my own personal library. I thought they might be nice to have for 
posterity-you know, when the hair has turned to silver and-" She interrupted 
sharply. "I want to know why you took those horrible pictures-and what you 
plan to do with them?" 

"I told you-" Again she cut him short. "I want the truth! You didn't have 
them taken for yourself. You're going to do something with them, aren't 
you?" 

He paused, studying her lowering countenance. It was clear that he could not 
talk her out of it. He took a couple of steps closer and tried to take her 
in his arms, but she stepped out of his reach. 

She spat at him. "I don't want your arms around me!" Her mouth looked nasty. 
"I don't want you to touch me-not until you tell me the truth." 

He scowled, his patience gone. It was obvious that she was not going to 
soften until she learned the truth. He took a deep breath of resignation and 
said, "Okay, okay. So I took them to have prints made and sell them." 

Erica shrieked. "Sell them?" 

"Don't get yourself all excited. I'm not going to peddle anyplace around 
here. Nobody you know will ever get to see them. They'll be shipped out of 
the country-South America, Europe, the Orient." 

Erica was dumfounded. She continued to stand there, immobile, glaring at him 
as if unable to believe her ears. Then, finally, she found her voice and 
demanded, "How dare you do such a despicable thing?" 

"You'll be paid, don't worry," he promised, evenly. "You'll make out okay, 
same as the others." 

"Others?" she echoed shrilly. "You mean you've used other girls the same 
way?" 

He smiled amusedly. "Some of your best friends." 

Her mouth dropped open. "Girls from the office?" 

"A couple." He put a finger to his lips and played real cute. "No names, 
darling, please." 

She went back as if he had struck her full in the face, staring at him as if 
she were seeing him for the first time with his mask off. He looked 
satanical, positively evil. 

"What... what kind of a man are you?" she managed. 

He held his smile almost as if he were mocking her. "Look, baby, I told you 
you've got a terrific bod. You screw like a goddam mink, suck cock like a 
pro. But let's face reality, you couldn't honestly believe I was going to 
divorce my wife." 

"If you ever had a wife!" Erica scorned. 

"Oh, I've got a wife all right," he assured her. "Her name's Jessica and 
she's been tucked away safely over in Paris, studying art, just as I told 
you. She plans to stay there for another six months at least- and when she 
comes home, you can bet your sweet little ass I'm not going to tie the can 
to her to marry you or anybody else." 

That did it. Erica went berserk. She lashed out at him with both hands, 
trying to claw his face, but he caught her right wrist and bent her arm up 
behind her, rendering her helpless as he mashed her soft curves up to his 
muscular hardness. He remained perfectly calm and composed as he used his 
free hand to cup her face and force her to look up at him. 

"You don't try that clawing business again, y'hear? You ought to consider 
yourself damned lucky I even looked twice at you, let alone made love to you 
for damn near a whole month. I told you you're going to come out okay on 
this deal. Just play nice and you'll find out I'm a good guy to do business 
with." 

"I don't want one penny of your filthy money!" she scorned. "And I never 
want to have anything more to do with you! Now let me go, or you'll be 
sorry!" 

"No, Erica baby, you're the one who'll be sorry," he corrected. "You breathe 
one word to anybody about these films or our setup, and you'll not only be 
out of a job, you might find it awfully hard to get another one. Do you 
think for one minute that Sam Snow or anybody else'd take your word against 
mine? Don't kid yourself along." 

"They will when they see the films," Erica retorted. 

"The films?" He laughed disdainfully. "You don't think I'd be foolish enough 
to leave the films where anybody can find them? When you walk out of here 
I'm going to pack them away in a very safe place until I'm ready to edit and 
sell them. You talk, Erica baby, try to stir up any trouble, and you'll 
dirty up your name and reputation so nobody'll have anything to do with you. 
So you do as I say, be smart, relax and make yourself a little bundle. And 
now let's get back to business." 

Erica trembled as she watched him drawing nearer and nearer. If anybody had 
told her less than an hour ago that it would repel her to think of him 
kissing her, that the love she had felt for him could so suddenly turn to 
disgust and violent hate, she never would have believed it. 

He kissed her, a hard kiss, a dirty kiss, digging his tongue into her mouth, 
obscenely. She tried to push him away but her efforts were feeble, the kiss 
sending that damnable heat into her loins. Why did her body not know that 
she wanted nothing more to do with him? 

She was frightened, not so much of him but of herself. If he could turn her 
on this way, hating him as she did, then anyone could do it. 

Still holding her arm bent up behind her, Roden steered her toward one of 
the low-built worktables and threw her back across it. With his free hand he 
raised her skirt and tore off her panties the same as he did in the film 
where she was the peasant girl and he was the Cossack. 

He got on the table atop her. Somewhere along the line he had unzipped his 
fly and taken out his cock. She struggled, but as past experience had proven 
she was no match for him. A small whimper escaped her lips as he forced 
apart her legs and got between them. 

"No... don't! I don't want you to!" 

"Bullshit!" he retorted, and drove into her cruelly. He did not act like the 
same man with whom she had spent all those wonderful nights, the man she had 
been so sure she was in love with. 

She turned her face away so she would not have to look up at him, biting 
down hard on her lips to keep from sobbing aloud. It had been so beautiful, 
and now he was turning it into a thing of filthy lust, raping her. She tried 
not to feel him, to think of what he was doing to her, but after two months 
of the most intimate relations that a man and a woman could share he knew 
exactly how to guide her into his rhythm, make her obey his demands, 
writhing as pleasure took form and heated her body. 

She struggled against it, hating it, hating him, hating herself for being 
such a pushover. Then as the sensation he was bringing her continued to 
mount rapidly it overcame her protests and made her body come alive with a 
need that startled her. 

She began to moan. This would be the last time with him, the very last time, 
because she would never come here to this place again, never see him again, 
unless it was at the office. She was being fucked, so she might as well 
enjoy the orgasm that was starting to catch on, even as his cock was 
beginning to buck and fill her cunt and belly with his diabolical sperm for 
this final time... 

* * * 

Erica was heartbroken. All that men wanted her for was her body, for sex... 
even her "dream man." Only he was not her dream man any longer. She purged 
him from her mind as she would any other ugly thought-what he did to her, 
the horrible things he said-to say nothing of those awful pictures and what 
he intended doing with them. Good Lord, what if her mother and father, or 
anyone else she knew, saw them! What would they think? Who would ever 
believe they were taken without her knowledge, that she did all those things 
because she was in love, because she thought Roden was going to marry her? 

All through the maddening weekend, Erica battled the hundred-and-one 
thoughts that tormented her brain, wondering what she could do to straighten 
out her scrambled life. She finally decided that the wisest course for her 
to take was to say nothing to anyone about the films and pray that no one 
who knew her, would ever see them. She made up her mind, too, that she would 
not quit her job just because of him. She would not give him that much 
satisfaction. She would ignore him, even if he tried to make amends-which 
she did not think was at all likely. 

Come Monday morning and she went to work as usual. She did not see Roden all 
morning. 

She got through the morning without event and at noontime went to 
lunch-alone, as usual. It was not until she came back to the office that she 
found the ominous note on her desk that said Sam Snow wanted to see her in 
his office. Erica felt suddenly ill because she knew that Roden must have 
reported her. 

Less than ten minutes after she found the note Erica was standing in the 
ankle-deep carpet in front of the sweeping, flat-top desk in Snow's private 
office. Her worst fears were realized when she followed his gaze to the 
photograph atop his desk. It was a still that Roden must have taken during 
one of their little playlets, in which she played the part of Joan of Arc. 
Only Erica was like no Maid of Orleans ever before her. Supposedly she was 
in her jail cell having a last suck of cock before she was burned at the 
stake. In vivid living color, Erica was stark naked, her brown pubic hair 
teased like an Afro and her big pink nipples standing out excitedly from her 
oversized breasts. She was down on her knees facing Roden, who also was 
nude. The picture had been cropped at his neck, so it was impossible to tell 
who the man was. But there was no question about it being Erica and what she 
was doing... 

* * * 

Now she was back to the very real present... anxiously looking forward to 
the brand-new life she hoped was waiting for her in California; as the bus 
roared toward Los Angeles... 

CHAPTER TEN 

When Erica finally got to Los Angeles and checked into a hotel not too far 
from Hollywood and Vine, she settled down to the task of finding a job. For 
the first few days she tried to live the way she had back in New York. But 
with no money coming in and no prospects of a job, she discovered very 
quickly that the severance pay she had received from the agency was not 
going to last very long in a city like Los Angeles. 

Of course, it would have been a simple matter for her to peddle her cute 
little ass. One of the bellboys told her he would have no trouble at all 
getting her one hundred dollars for a night in the sack-less, of course, his 
twenty-five percent commission as her pimp. 

These offers added to the humiliation and shame that Snow's proposition had 
caused her and the disgust gnawing at her because of the perversions she had 
performed with Roden. 

Erica had paid for three days at the hotel in advance, figuring that in that 
time she could surely land some kind of a job. When the three days were up, 
she moved into a small furnished room just back of the Strip. The rent was 
much more in keeping with her shrinking bankroll. 

She stayed at the rooming house for three weeks, beating a path from 
employment office to employment office, as well as answering every ad that 
offered a job. But always it come out the same-no references, no work. True, 
she did get a number of propositions like the one Snow offered her; but not 
even the promise of a legitimate job. 

As her bankroll dwindled down to a dangerous low, Erica went through her 
belongings and began selling the dresses and other things she had brought 
with her, including a graduation ring and a watch she received one Christmas 
from her parents. When she was down to a single change of wardrobe panic set 
in. 

Maybe she had been too hasty in refusing Sam Snow's offer. Right now she 
could have been riding the gravy train, living like a princess in a 
luxurious apartment, with a wardrobe full of beautiful clothes and not a 
care in the world, except satisfying the sexual needs of Snow and his 
friends. But never in her life would she have believed she would find 
herself in a spot like the one she was in. 

It had been more than a month since she had indulged in sex of any king. She 
had been far too concerned in finding a job that would provide a roof over 
her head and food enough to keep her tummy from rumbling. And her last 
sexual experiences had been so unsatisfactory and disheartening that at the 
moment she did not much care whether she ever engaged in sex again. 

It was early Monday morning, the beginning of Erica's fifth week in L.A. A 
sudden rapping sounded on the door of her furnished room. She asked who it 
was. 

"Mrs. Malcolm, Sweetie." Mrs. Malcolm owned the rooming house. "Can I come 
in and talk to you?" 

"Just a second, please." Erica grabbed the dress she had been ironing and 
pulled it on over her head. Then she opened the door. 

"Good morning, Sweetie," Mrs. Malcolm said affably as she entered. Everybody 
was "sweetie" to Mrs. Malcolm, a tall, skinny-looking woman with dried-up 
breasts, a non-existent chin and multicolored bleached hair. "Y'know what 
day this is, Sweetie? Rent day, and you're already a week in arrears." 

Erica swallowed easily. "I know, Mrs. Malcolm, but I just don't have the 
money right now. But I'll get it... " 

"Um huh." Mrs. Malcolm sniffed and settled her shoe-button eyes on the 
points of Erica's large outthrust breasts, straining against the thin 
material of her dress. "Still lookin' for a job, eh?" 

"Yes, Mam, and I'll find one." 

Another quick appraisal of Erica's breasts and shapely legs, then Mrs. 
Malcolm said, "Maybe you ain't been lookin' in the right places. Maybe 
you're too choosy." 

"Oh no! I'll do anything." 

Mrs. Malcolm pounced on the word. "Anything?" 

Again the landlady's eyes fastened on Erica's bosom. "You got anything on 
under that dress, Sweetie?" Erica shook her head. "Take it off." 

Erica frowned. "Take off my dress?" 

"I wanna see what you look like," the older woman insisted. "I wanna see if 
you're for real, if you got what it takes." 

Erica hesitated. After all, Mrs. Malcolm was another woman. It was not the 
same as if it were a man asking her to disrobe. Hesitantly, she reached the 
skirt of her dress and whipped it off over her head. 

Mrs. Malcolm's eyes widened as they settled on Erica's naked figure and she 
smiled with due appreciation. "You sure as hell have what it takes, Sweetie. 
You want a job, you go see Willie." 

"Willie?" 

"My nephew. Willie's always on the lookout for gals with big tits, like 
yours," Mrs. Malcolm explained. "He'll put you to work right away and I'll 
trust you for the rent you owe until you collect your first pay." 

Suspicion crept into Erica's brain and she asked" 

"What... what kind of work is Willie in?" 

"Willie runs The Melon Patch, a topless bar over on Santa Monica Boulevard." 

If as recently as a couple of weeks ago anyone had offered her a job in a 
topless bar, Erica would have told them politely where to stuff it. But 
circumstances had altered her views considerably. Her rent was overdue and 
she had just enough money for a hamburger and coffee to last her through the 
day. So after she was dressed, Erica walked the half-a-dozen or more blocks 
to The Melon Patch. 

Willie said, "I don't give a fuck about who you worked for in the past. I'm 
interested in if whether you're over eighteen and that them knockers you got 
under your dress are the McCoy and not a lot of goddam paddin'." With that 
he led the way into his cubby-hole office back of the bar and told Erica, 
"Okay-now let's see the boobs." 

Erica unzipped the back of her dress and worked it down to her waist, then 
unhooked her bra and let it slide down her arms. The cups gradually 
uncovered her beautiful big breasts, causing Willie an instant erection. 

Willie was too short, too god-awful skinny and much too greasy, with oily 
black hair and long pointed sideburns that made him look like a holdover 
from the long ago Latin-lover era. When he grinned, as he was grinning now, 
his dull eyes narrowed and his bushy-brows peaked upward satanically. He 
gave off the impression of lechery incarnate. 

Yet when he began weighing Erica's tits in his cupped hands, toying with the 
sensitive nipples, she could not deny the excitement that generated through 
her, reminding her indelibly how long it had been since she had a man, how 
much her passionate young body had need for one. 

"Okay, baby, down on the couch." Willie indicated the long leather sofa 
pushed back against the far wall of the office. 

Erica took a step back in dismay and started to pull the top of her dress up 
to cover her breasts. Willie took a couple of quick steps to block the way 
as she made a move toward the door. He frowned darkly. 

"What the hell's with you, sister? You don't want the job, it's no skin off 
my prick. The city's full of broads who'd jump at the chance." 

Erica thought of facing Mrs. Malcolm and telling her she did not get the 
job, after saying she would do "anything." She cleared her throat and tried 
to maintain her composure. 

"I... I didn't know what the job would mean I'd have to... " Willie looked 
at her, wisely. "You mean, with twenty-five percent of the cunt in this town 
pounding the sidewalks, looking for work, I'm just gonna hand you a job, 
like that? You gotta be outta your mind. I don't hire no broads without an 
eye-opener. So if you want the job, you get outa that fuckin' dress and put 
your ass down on the couch." 

There was no point in deluding herself. She did want the job, desperately. 
Without a job and with no money, the only course open to her was 
streetwalking. At least this way, when Willie was done with her she would 
have something to look forward to, something to tide her over. But if she 
turned hooker, it would mean a never-ending parade of sex with men she did 
not even know. 

She perhaps would have thought differently if she had been a virgin. But 
now, what did she have to lose? 

Willie took her silence and her immobility as surrender. He moved away from 
the door, the lump in his trousers more noticeable than ever. 

Erica felt her body turn to stone as his rough hands pawed about her hips. 
She started to squirm away but caught herself, and let herself be touched 
wherever he wanted. 

"C'mon, c'mon, let's get this goddam dress off and down on the couch," 
Willie ordered, his voice noticeably thickened with desire. 

But if he wanted the dress off, he was going to have to do it himself. She 
stood there, submissively, arms at her sides and eyes closed as he worked 
the top of the dress back down to her waist, exposing her big white 
red-tipped breasts. 

"You sure have got a beautiful pair of tits." 

Willie sent a shiver racing through her as his mouth dived for them and 
kissed and licked first one aroused nipple and then the other. Then he was 
edging the dress down over her hips, letting fall into a linen pool around 
her ankles. He took a step backwards for a better view as she stood there 
before him, clad only in her heels and white nylon panties bursting-full of 
pubic hair and cunt lips. 

"I gotta hand it to that aunt of mine. She sure can pick a horny lookin' 
piece of ass, all right." 

Erica flushed resentfully when she opened her eyes and saw the lascivious 
way he was appraising her. Then he dropped to the sofa and pulled her down 
beside him, pushing her backwards. 

She turned from his kiss but he would not be denied. He captured her lips 
with savage fury, forcing his tongue between her teeth and filling her mouth 
with his saliva and his beer-heavy breath. 

As Willie worked to heighten his arousal Erica tried to make believe it was 
someone else making love to her; but she found herself fresh out of 
fantasies. 

"C'mon, kid. You gotta get into the spirit, you gotta help," Willie coaxed 
in her ear as his hand found its way to her mons. 

Erica knew he was right. She remembered Roden telling her that it was no fun 
for a man to screw girl who just lay there. If she expected Willie to 
reciprocate with a job she knew she had better please him. Slowly, 
miserably, she began to undulate her hips in sensual rhythmic motion under 
his hand. 

"That's better," Willie crooned as he continued to rub his palm over her 
mound, outside her panties, until the crotch was soaking wet. 

Erica's blossoming arousal made her even more disgusted with herself. It was 
incredible that she could feel anything for such a man-a man she had not 
even know until a few minutes ago. 

She went rigid as she felt Willie dragging down her panties, leaving her 
completely nude, the leather of the couch cool against the fevered flesh of 
her back and buttocks. 

Lightly, significantly, Willie tapped the inside of her thighs. "Okay, 
sweetheart, open up." 

Erica did not resist his hands as they parted her legs. She lay there 
breathing fast, tense, her mouth dry and her eyes again closed as he viewed 
her exposed cunt. 

"Nice," she heard him whisper. "Real nice." 

Erica knew she was wet and open. Too wet, too open. She did not want Willie 
to think she wanted it, that she was hurting. Not that it would make a hell 
of a lot of difference, one way or the other. 

In spite of her efforts to contain it, Erica could not stifle a moan and a 
stiffening of her limbs as she felt Willie's fingers high up between her 
thighs, flirting with her cuntal lips, then threading his middle finger into 
the tunnel itself. 

"Christ, you're wet!" Willie said. "You heat up faster than a fuckin' mink." 

Erica jumped as Willie's finger brushed over her hardened clit and his 
teasing manipulations soon had her primed for the kill. There was no longer 
any point in lying to herself, or trying to deny to him, that she wanted 
him. Who or what he was made not a damn bit of difference now. He was a man 
with a cock and right now she wanted both. 

Was it natural and normal that after such a long time, her frustrated body 
should want for the relief and satisfaction that only a man could bring her? 
She should have been appalled at what was happening; instead, she could feel 
herself climbing higher and higher, beginning to writhe with sensation as 
Willie whipped out his cock and fitted its hot head to the entrance of her 
pussy. She moaned and went rigid, head to toe, as she felt him break into 
her. With only a faint awareness of what she was doing Erica lifted her 
buttocks off the leather cushion of the couch and offered herself up to him. 

Oh God! He was big! Right now he felt even bigger than Roden. She kept her 
eyes closed tightly, her mouth sucking in air, her tongue licking 
frantically at her dry lips as she felt Willie pressing into her. Deeper and 
deeper he went between the snug, slippery, resilient walls of her pussy... 
until finally he touched bottom. 

In a wild outburst of passion Erica wrapped arms and legs around him; she 
lay that way beneath him for long moments, enjoying the heavy pulse-beat of 
his big prick as she nibbled the sensitive glans with the inner lips of her 
cunt, the way Roden had taught her. He wanted a good fuck, she would give 
him one, she told herself, as with movements calculated to expedite the 
inevitable end, she began humping with him, thrashing about on the couch 
beneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he slapped his hairy belly 
down against hers. 

The man did not live who could take much of that sort of pummeling, and in 
that respect Willie was quite normal. In short order he was on the verge of 
spilling. He made a desperate effort to hold back, but Erica was determined 
to get it over with. She kept fucking his cock until she felt the white-hot 
sperm thread its way up through the length of his cock and then shoot round 
after round of his white-hot sperm into her belly. With the first blast 
Erica's own orgasm caught on. 

She quivered and shook and crooned deep in her throat. With her eyes still 
tightly shut and her mind emptied of everything that was real and tangible, 
she was aware only of the sensation of relief that surged through her 
tingling body in molten waves. For the time that he stayed fused to her, he 
was merely as instrument of necessity. Something that could not bring her 
complete fulfillment, but merely the return to a state of physical balance. 

Maybe that was all she meant to him, too, because when he climbed off her, 
adjusted his clothing and watched her get up and dress, all he said to her 
was, "Okay, kid, you can start work tonight." 

"Doing what?" she wanted to know. 

"Waitin' on tables, what else?" he retorted. "That's right, we serve food. 
But when a guy comes in, what he really wants is a drink and a cheap 
hard-on, ogling tits. Remember that, and also remember that the customers 
are the ones who pay your salary. So don't play it coy and you'll get along 
just fine-with me, and with everybody else." 

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

At nine o'clock that night Erica began her career as a waitress at The Melon 
Patch, a second rate eat-and-drink place that caught the overflow who could 
not afford the stiff prices along the Strip. Erica's "uniform" consisted of 
full-fashion black fishnet stockings, red heels so tall she found it 
difficult to navigate on them and a skirt so short it barely covered her 
abbreviated panties that, in turn, just covered her snatch and the cheeks of 
her delightfully rounded little ass. Above the waist was nothing to cover 
the luscious mounds of creamy whiteness with which nature had so generously 
endowed her. 

Since Willie required no references or other qualifications that most other 
bars in the city demanded, it was not difficult to appreciate what sort of 
unsavory place The Melon Patch was or why the police kept closing it up from 
time to time. Guys who frequented the place-and the clientele was usually 
ninety percent male-invariably were hardup. After a few drinks of Willie's 
rot-gut, they harbored few inhibitions. 

It was bad enough during the early part of the evening, when an occasional 
customer would wait until a girl leaned across the table to serve drinks or 
pick up empty glasses, and then make a grab for her boobs. But at twelve 
midnight it was worse- because that's when the place changed over from a 
topless bar to a bottomless one. 

Willie had not bothered to inform Erica about this part of the job, and when 
she saw the rest of the waitresses stripping down to their fishnet hose and 
garter-belts in the two-by-four dressing room, she was understandably taken 
aback. 

"You better shake your can, honey, and get that pussy of yours out in the 
open air," one of the girls informed her. "Or you're gonna find yourself out 
of a job before you even get started." 

Out of a job! That was all Erica had to hear for her stomach to start 
fluttering and beads of perspiration to begin forming across the small of 
her back. She could not afford to be out of a job. She could not even go 
back to the rooming house and face Mrs. 

Malcolm, if the woman's nephew fired her. 

Erica watched in dread silence as the girls one after another exited from 
the dressing room, clad only in their black hose, black garterbelts and pert 
little caps atop their heads. But she finally convinced herself that what 
they could do, she could do, too. Off came her panties and skirt, then 
timidly she moved toward the door. She took a deep breath, filling her 
cramped lungs with air, then opened the door and went out. 

She did not take more than a dozen mincing steps before an 
unpleasant-looking guy, well in his cups, grabbed her around the waist and 
pulled her down onto his lap. She turned her head with revulsion as he tried 
to give her a sloppy, whiskey-laden kiss. His hands wedged apart her thighs 
and he grabbed a fistful of her dry cunt in full view of everybody. 

She let out a piercing scream and fought desperately to try to push away 
from him and get up. "Let me go! You filthy pig, let me go!" 

The big guy laughed, and kept her there in his lap, finger-fucking her pussy 
to an unwanted wetness to the amusement of those seated around him. 

"Man, oh man!" he exclaimed. "You wanna get a load of this one's box. It's 
like dipping into a bucket of live squid." 

Willie came charging out of the" kitchen, his eyes bulging, his skeletal 
face white with rage. He grabbed Erica's arm and yanked her up off the guy's 
lap. He glared down at the man and growled. 

"What the fuck're you tryin' to do-get the place closed up again? I told 
you-lookin's one thing, feelin's another. Now goddam it, keep your hands off 
the girls! That goes for everybody!" 

He told Erica to go about her business. But whenever Erica got in close 
quarters, or had to lean even halfway across one of the tables, she would 
feel a hand roving her bare buttocks, mussing her black pubic hair or 
sliding up between her satiny thighs. 

But it was not until after two A.M. that things really heated up. A giant of 
a man strode into the place. He had a couple of days' growth of 
reddish-brown stubble covering his pugnacious jaw and wore rough work 
clothes. 

"I hear there's a new cunt with big knockers working here," he bellowed from 
just inside the doorway. "I want her!" 

Somebody pointed out Erica. "That's her, Rocky." 

Erica's flesh crawled at the sight of the newcomer and she tried to put a 
table between them. 

The thundering voice brought Willie out of the kitchen again. He tried his 
best to stop Rocky, but Rocky gave him a rude shove backward into one of the 
chairs. The chair gave way under Willie's weight and he went crashing down 
onto the floor. When he got to his feet a couple of Rocky's pals grabbed the 
tavern-owner and held him at bay. 

Rocky came around the table and grabbed hold of Erica's tits, cruelly. He 
pushed her down onto the table and held her there while he zipped open his 
fly. 

Erica fought like a she-cat against him, kicking and clawing. It was wasted 
effort. Rocky took out his cock-a huge thing, wet and hard and blue-veined, 
looking for all the world like a gnarled shillelagh. 

Erica continued to struggle, battling fiercely. Rocky called out to a couple 
of pals to lend a hand. They were as drunk and rough-looking as he. They 
grabbed her and held her down on the table while Rocky took hold of his 
enormous prick down near the base. He spread apart her legs and jammed the 
head of his tool into her wet pink cunt. Erica screamed and closed her eyes 
as he pushed into her, hard. 

It was as if his entry had suddenly anesthetized her, emptied her mind and 
made her oblivious to everything except the living, breathing thing that 
kept sliding into her, deeper and deeper until her vaginal tunnel was filled 
with his cock. It awakened her passion and warmed her body as Willie's prick 
had done earlier in the day. Again, she berated herself for being so weak, 
for not fighting harder against the feeling he was bringing her. But she 
could not help herself. Already her hips were moving with the cadence he had 
established, as faces leered down at her from all sides, amused with her 
gyrations. As if Rocky's big prick inside her was not enough, the two men 
who were holding her used their free hand to pull at her nipples, massage 
her breasts. 

Rocky was ramming her savagely now, hammering his rock-hard belly down 
against hers as his huge tool slid madly in and out of her well-lubricated 
tool-box, to the wild jungle chant of the crowd around them. And then he 
gasped out his explosive orgasm, his spasming prick blasting his burning 
sperm deep into her hotly receptive belly. 

"Jeez! Oh, yeahhhhhh!" 

It was at that moment, in the throes of her own climax, that Erica heard a 
loud banging and commotion at the front door that Willie had discreetly 
locked. Somebody yelled: "It's the fuzz! Let's get the hell outta here!" 

There was a mad scramble as the mob ran for the rear exit. Vaguely in her 
dull, passion-riddled mind, Erica was aware of Rocky pulling his fading cock 
out of her pussy, sliding off her and the table and following the crowd to 
the back door. Only he did not make it. Neither did Willie. The police 
collared both of them in the back alley. 

Erica might have tried to get away, but she did not have the strength to 
lift herself off the table. She continued to lie there on her back, 
stark-naked, until someone threw a coat over her. Then she felt somebody 
else grab her right hand and pry open her fingers. Dimly she heard them 
exclaim: "Hey, how about this! Somebody slipped her ten bucks!" 

Not until later, when she had fully recovered her senses and found herself 
in the back seat of a police car enroute to night court, did she get the 
true significance of the ten dollar bill. The someone who put it there was 
Rocky, hoping it would save him from a charge of rape if the police caught 
up with him. 

* * * 

There was only a handful of people in the courtroom-lawyers, witnesses and 
defendants. The latter group was made up mainly of prostitutes who were 
whisked in and out of back doors. Bailiffs guarded the entrances and exits 
and others patrolled the courtroom. 

It was Erica's first visit ever to night court and she hoped and prayed it 
would be her last. Never in her life had she felt so humiliated, so 
frustratingly helpless, as she did right now as a part of the dreary 
procession of hookers who paraded before a stern-looking white-haired 
magistrate. 

Most of the girls around her seemed too dazed and uncertain-and some too 
hopped up-to care what was going on around them. They apparently knew only 
too well that their fight had been lost long before they ever reached night 
court. 

They were of all ages and descriptions. One girl whom Erica judged could not 
be more than seventeen was sent off to a penal farm to receive prenatal care 
and perhaps escape the pimp who was waiting for her outside. There was one 
old hag, well over fifty, so dirty and disheveled that Erica wondered how 
any man possibly could want to be down with her. 

When finally it came Erica's turn to step before the bench she had all she 
could do to stop sobbing with fright, angry at being brought here this way, 
through no fault of her own. She was utterly mortified, so confused by the 
suddenness with which it had all taken place that she could not even think 
to give anything but her right name. 

"Do you have an attorney, Miss Newhall?" was the first question the judge 
put to her. 

Erica swallowed, tears of humiliation bubbling in her eyes. "No, sir." 

The magistrate beckoned forward a young man from the Legal Aid Society, then 
went on with his questioning in a gentle but emotionless voice. "How old are 
you, Miss Newhall?" 

Erica told him. 

"I don't recall seeing you here before." the judge said. "No, sir." 

"Ever been picked up for prostitution before?" 

"No, sir." 

The prosecutor called three witnesses: the arresting officer, Rocky and 
Willie. The cop who found the sawbuck in her clenched fist was bucking for a 
promotion. He gave a rather glowing account of what he thought had happened. 

"According to witnesses, she propositioned this man," the cop said, stabbing 
a finger at Rocky. "She offered to put on an exhibition and engage him in 
sexual intercourse for ten dollars, your honor." 

"That's right, judge," Rocky was quick to verify when the magistrate looked 
down at him over the tops of his bifocals. "She offered to take on anybody 
in the place for ten bucks a throw. And you know how it is, judge. I just 
had an extra ten bucks and booze enough in me to take her up on the 
proposition. Hell, what kinda man would I be if I didn't?" 

"He's not telling the truth!" Erica shouted. 

The judge looked down at her, sternly. "You won't interrupt, Miss Newhall. 
You'll wait until I ask for your testimony." 

Erica dropped her eyes and remained silent, properly chastised. 

The judge looked at Willie. "Is what this man says true?" 

Willie trembled visibly and mopped perspiration from his thin face as he 
shot Rocky a worried glance. It was clear by Willie's expression that he was 
scared to death of the big guy standing beside him. Willie wagged his oily 
black head. 

"Yes, sir, your honor. It happened just like Rocky says. I hired her just 
today as a waitress. Heck, I didn't have no idea she was some kind of sex 
freak, that she was gonna strip off her clothes and started rubbing up 
against the customers, trying to get them worked up and then yellin' how 
she'd take on anybody a sawbuck. You can't blame me, your honor. I didn't 
have a thing to do with it." 

"Me, neither," Rocky chipped in. 

Erica started to say something in her own defense, but the magistrate caught 
her eye and stared her to silence. Then he looked down at the young lawyer 
who had been assigned to her. "Any arguments from the defense?" 

The young man sidled to Erica, whispered a few words, then offered a routine 
defense. 

"My client says the testimony of these two witnesses is false, your honor. 
She insists she was forcibly raped." 

The judge made no comment, but by his expression it was clear what he was 
thinking; just about every hooker who ever appeared before the bench claimed 
she was either raped or framed. Still, he allowed a few minutes for 
arguments back and forth. Finally he asked the young attorney, "Can your 
client produce any witnesses to substantiate her claims?" 

The lawyer shook his head. "Not at this time, your honor." 

"In that event case is closed, and, young lady, I'm afraid I'm going to have 
to find you guilty as charged," the magistrate told Erica, solemnly. Then to 
one of the court attendants he added, "Bring her back tomorrow for 
sentencing." 

Erica began to sob audibly, tears running down her cheeks as the bailiffs 
hand came down on her slight shoulder. Rocky and Willie exchanged satisfied 
glances and started to leave. 

"One moment please, your honor!" A deep, clear feminine voice rang out from 
the rear of the courts room. Everyone turned to watch a tall statuesque 
woman in a dark form-fitting pants suit coming down the aisle. In her youth, 
it was easy to see that she must have been a real beauty; even now, 
approaching middle-age and with her short-cropped brown hair gathered 
beneath a huge floppy-brimmed hat, she had retained most of her former good 
looks and figure At one time, Kate Fairbanks had been a member of one of the 
city's most prominent legal firms, handling legitimate cases for only the 
most highly respectable clients. But over the years the stars had faded from 
her eyes as she discovered that there was a very thin line between 
legitimacy and corruption. Since representing the latter paid off much more 
handsomely, she had gone into business for herself, handling borderline 
cases and taking on unsavory characters that few other attorneys cared to 
represent. It did not take long for Kate Fairbanks to prove to the courts 
how her astounding brain could fashion strange escapes from the law, even in 
the face of damning evidence. 

Now as she approached the bench, the magistrate looked down at her from his 
lofty perch and in a not particularly cordial tone of voice asked, "Yes, 
Counselor, what can I do for you:" Kate's cold impassive face lighted up 
with a rare smile that accentuated her bold good looks. "The young lady-I 
believe her name is Erica Newhall- with your permission, your honor, I'd 
like to represent her." 

"She's already been assigned an attorney," the judge said with mild 
annoyance. 

"I'm aware of that, your honor," Kate replied with a look of mild disdain at 
the young attorney. "But I have a feeling it would be to Miss Newhall's 
distinct advantage for me to represent her." 

Another glance at the young man. "That is, of course, with my learned young 
colleague's sanction?" 

The lawyer from Legal Aid scowled with displeasure, but shrugged his 
shoulders and nodded his approval. "By all means, Counselor. She's all 
yours." 

Kate nodded her perfunctory thanks, then shifted her gaze to the judge. "Now 
if it pleases the court, I'd like to talk to my client for a few moments?" 

"I ruled the case closed," the judge grumbled. "She was found guilty." 

"With all due respect, your honor," Kate sweet-talked, "I believe in view of 
the evidence I'd like to present, that I can prove she's innocent." She 
looked at Willie and Rocky who were more than halfway up the aisle. "With 
the court's permission, I'd like these two witnesses and the arresting 
officer returned to the bench." 

The judge started to protest but the woman interrupted; in the same 
honey-smooth voice she had used before, she added, "I'm well acquainted with 
your honor's keen sense of fairness in dealing with cases of this kind, and 
of your desire to see that justice prevails. Otherwise I assure you that I 
would never make this request." 

The magistrate eyed Kate critically for a long moment. It was clear that 
this was not the first time she had appeared before him and he was well 
aware of her fabulous reputation. So as she requested, he called all parties 
concerned back to the bench while Kate took Erica aside and spoke to her 
privately. 

Kate began her arguments by making the eager-beaver arresting officer admit 
that his story was based on hearsay, that he did not see Erica solicit 
anyone or take the money he found in her hand. Then she turned her big guns 
on Willie and Rocky. 

"I seem to recall seeing you two fine gentlemen in this same courtroom about 
nine, or was it ten, months ago?" she began. "Seems it had something to do 
with a wager that concerned a young lady's lewd exhibition with a milk 
bottle." 

She fastened her cobalt blue eyes on Willie. "That girl had only started 
work that day and it was her idea to put on the exhibition, not either of 
yours. If memory serves me correctly, your liquor license was suspended and 
your bar closed for a period of six months." 

Neither Willie nor Rocky made any attempt to deny the charges. It seems that 
Rocky, during one of his drunken sprees, had staggered into The Melon Patch 
one night and bet another customer that one of the waitresses could not 
stand on the bar, spread her legs and urinate into a milk bottle. The 
payoff- the loser would have to perform cunnilingus on the girl, right there 
in front of everybody. 

For ten bucks the gal performed the act, and then stayed on the bar while 
Rocky got down her and ate pussy. That proved to be the cue for the whole 
thing to turn into a sex orgy with the women in the place, waitresses and 
customers alike, being screwed indiscriminately. Guys formed a line all the 
way to the front door to take a whack at a sexy-looking little blond, who 
had chanced with her boy friend to drop in for a drink. The blonde seemed to 
enjoy the smorgasbord of cocks that were fed her but her boy friend bolted 
the joint and brought the police back with him. 

With a charge of perjury staring them in the face, Willie and Rocky changed 
their testimony and told the truth. The judge, in turn, dismissed all 
charges against Erica. 

"Wait for me outside," Kate told Erica after the girl thanked the woman and 
started to leave the courtroom. "I might be able to arrange a job for you." 

It was not until they met outside the courtroom and the attorney bundled 
Erica into the front seat of her Mercedes that they got around to discussing 
the prospects of a job for Erica. 

"Tomorrow I'm taking you to meet a woman named Bella Fontaine," Kate said. 
You'll find Bella is a rather unusual woman. A woman who could very well 
become your fairy godmother and grant you every wish you ever had. But 
that's for tomorrow. Tonight you'll come home with me." 

Erica was more than grateful for the woman's kind offer. She had been at her 
wit's end, wondering where she would spend the night. She had no money, and 
in view of what had happened to Willie in night court, she damn sure could 
not go back to his aunt's rooming house. 

CHAPTER TWELVE 

Kate Fairbanks lived in a lovely apartment in the fashionable Westwood 
section of Los Angeles. It was exactly the sort of a place that Erica 
imagined a woman of Kate's smart appearance and obvious good breeding would 
have. Nothing seemed pretentious, but all the furnishings and decoration 
were in exquisite taste and designed expressly for a woman's luxury and 
convenience. 

As it had been in Roden's house back in New York, the most impressive of all 
the rooms was the bedroom. Although Kate's was much more conservatively 
furnished, with no mirrored walls or sprawling canopied bed. It featured a 
more feminine decor, like the rest of the apartment; a more subdued and 
restful atmosphere. 

After showing Erica through the five rooms, Kate stirred up a batch of 
Martinis; that seemed to be par for every visit. They each had a drink in 
the living room, then Kate carried the decanter and they both took their 
glasses into the bedroom. 

"I know you must have had a very tiring day, darling, same as I've had. So 
we may as well get ready for bed," Kate remarked as she refilled the 
glasses. She gave one to Erica and kept the other for herself. Til get you a 
fresh nightie while you have a nice warm shower, so you can completely 
relax." 

The nightie proved to be a diaphanous wisp of white silk that Erica draped 
over her arm and took into the bathroom. The two Martinis she drank had been 
rather potent and left her brain feeling just a little woozy. But she was 
glad. It helped her to forget the harrowing nightmare she had just been 
through. 

Erica adjusted the spray in the shower to the proper temperature then 
stepped into the stall. The needles felt good, beating down against her 
tired, abused flesh. She reached for the soap and lathered herself to a 
froth, head to toe. Then she rinsed the filth of Rocky and the others from 
inside and outside her body. 

When she came back into the bedroom, wearing the see-through white nightie 
that barely covered her pubic patch and accentuated rather than hid the rest 
of her luscious young charms, Erica was surprised to find Kate already in 
bed. The night light was on and the woman had let down her hair so that it 
splashed in soft frosted brown waves against the pillow, making her appear 
prettier and years younger. She lifted a hand to Erica. 

"Come, darling, get into bed with me." 

Kate threw back the top sheet, and as Erica started to get into bed, she 
discovered that the woman was completely nude. Not a stitch on her. The girl 
hesitated. 

"Well?" Kate asked as she studied Erica's frowning countenance. "Are you 
coming to bed or aren't you?" 

Erica chased whatever slight fear she might have entertained out of her 
head, and got into the bed. She stretched out on her back to her full length 
beside the woman. 

"You can put the light out if you wish, darling," Kate whispered. "But I 
thought it might be nice if we just lay here a while and talked. I'm rather 
anxious to hear all about you." 

So Erica began her story. She did not get very far when Kate lifted herself 
on an elbow and hovered over her, taking in the sight of her sensuous young 
body. It glowed and radiated under her sheer nightie in the soft light. 

Erica could see Kate's body even more clearly. She was a rather buxom woman 
with breasts that, for their size, were amazingly firm and erect. The large 
nipples and a goodly portion of the surrounding white flesh seemed to point 
upwards. Her figure would have done justice to a woman half her age. 

Suddenly Erica was aware of Kate's smooth hand on her tummy, carrying her 
nightie along with it as it moved upward toward her breasts. The fingers 
spread wide to enclose the swollen mass of firmness and softness that was 
Erica's right tit. She drew in her breath sharply as Kate brushed her palm 
over the hardening nipple, over the puckered areola. Then the hand moved to 
the other breast, where the nipple was already aroused. 

Erica was startled because Kate's hand was exciting her. The gentle hand was 
so soft and sure, the touch so light and delicate. There was no question in 
Erica's mind, fuzzy as it might be, what the woman was after. The hand on 
her flesh was getting to Erica, making her breasts feel larger, skin-tight, 
hot and tingling. It made her breathing deepen and left her with a strange 
helplessness that allowed the woman to continue. 

Erica could feel her passion awakening. As she looked up into Kate's face 
that loomed above her in the half-light, she had a foreboding-but the 
strangest part of it was that she did not want the woman to stop. Kate had 
barely begun to work on her, and now she wished the hand would move further 
down her body... all the way down... that Kate would... 

Kate's head came down toward her. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and 
waited. For a brief moment she forgot the hand on her breasts as she felt 
the first contact, the barest touch of Kate's lips on her own that softened 
and molded to the lawyer's. For the first time Erica tasted the sweet moist 
warmth of another woman's mouth. 

Her nostrils flared and her lungs ached for air as she felt Kate's lips 
moving on her own, seeking a better contact. Gradually the lips parted, 
urging Erica's lips to open and accept the hot probing tongue that began 
moving in and out of her mouth like a wet red penis. 

Erica tore her mouth free and filled her lungs with air. Her mind no longer 
was fuzzy, but it did not matter. Kate's kiss had sparked her loins. To fan 
the fire into full flame, Kate's warm mouth moved down to Erica's right 
breast to kiss the nipple, enclose it, pull at it. Erica could not contain 
the moan of pleasure she felt. She was broiling hot, aroused in a way that 
no man had ever aroused her-not Roden, not Sam Snow, not Mr. Fridel, not any 
of the others. 

Now the gentle hand was sliding downward over her bared belly, through her 
furry muff... lower... lower... to the eagerly waiting slit between her 
legs. 

Erica's thighs lurched upward as Kate's finger brushed over her clitoris, 
inspecting the width and depth of her vaginal passageway, then returned to 
the sensitive little erectile up front in the boat. The mouth was at her 
lips again, the tongue sliding in and out with a lewd simulated fucking 
action... the finger stroking her clit. Erica began to writhe with the 
mounting sensation. If Kate did not stop she was going off... in record 
time! 

Presently Kate broke the kiss and withdrew her hand from Erica's cunt. With 
her mouth hovering no more than inches above Erica's, she breathed, "Spread 
your legs nice and wide, darling. I want you to completely relax." 

A moment of panic streaked through the girl. 

"No, please-I don't want you to!" 

"Sure you do." 

The first sliding movement downward of her lips was a kiss on Erica's right 
nipple... then a kiss on the underside of the same breast... a kiss and a 
probing of the belly button... 

Erica lay still and tense. Was she allowing the woman to do this because she 
was grateful for all she had done, all she had promised to do? Was that why 
she made no attempt to stop her, to push away her frosted brown head or even 
try to bring her own legs together? Or could it possibly be that she wanted 
Kate to go all the way, to find out what it was like to be made love to by a 
member of her own sex? 

Erica began to breathe faster, her body taut, her eyes tightly closed as she 
felt Kate's soft moist lips move along the sensitive insides of her parted 
thighs, slowly kissing their way upwards-until all at once they were there! 
Erica gasped with the sensation and her loins bucked upward as she felt 
Kate's lips gliding gently, tantalizingly, over her hypersensitive cuntal 
flesh. And then the woman's long pointed tongue snaked out and buried itself 
deep into the hotly steaming cleft between Erica's thighs. 

"Ooooohhhhh... aaaagggghhhhh!" 

The girl cried out in shock, as her back arched and her head fell back 
against the pillow under the stimulus of Kate's assault. 

Kate centered her attention on the black-haired triangle before her, licking 
in earnest now, her tongue sluicing relentlessly through the hot wet open 
flesh of Erica's cunt. Each jab brought a deep low moan of pleasure from the 
girl writhing passionately on the bed. Lick, lick, and lick again: each 
searing swipe seemed to last an eternity, making Erica keenly aware of every 
fraction of an inch that it dragged over her convulsing pussy. She could 
feel the sensation start far down at her anus, then thrust deeply into her 
wide open trough on its way to mercilessly slash the tiny sensitive pink-red 
pear at the tip of her quivering clitoris. Each lash of the woman's tongue 
seemed charged with some kind of unholy electricity that was almost more 
than her overloaded nerve ends could bear. 

And then all at once Erica felt herself starting to cum. 

"Oooohhhhh... good God!" 

She screamed wildly and thrust her cunt up, her legs trembling, chills 
dancing along her spine. A whirlpool of raw lust exploded in her brain as 
Kate continued to lick and suck on her cunt flesh, bringing her to a new 
high in erotic dimensions as only another woman could... 

* * * 

The next afternoon, as promised, Kate told Erica she was taking her to see 
Bella Fontaine about a job. But first, the attorney took the girl to a smart 
Beverly Hills shop where she had her outfitted, head to foot. This, Kate 
said, was in payment for last night. Why the woman thought she owed her 
anything, Erica was as a loss to understand- especially after all Kate had 
done and was doing for her. 

From Beverly Hills they drove to the airport, where a Piper Cherokee that 
Kate said belonged to her was waiting. Erica could not help but wonder where 
they were going that they had to travel by plane, what kind of a job Kate 
possibly could have in mind for her. When she asked, the older woman simply 
smiled, disarmingly, and said, "Just sit back and relax, darling, and be 
surprised." 

Erica did as she was told and asked no more questions. 

Kate introduced the pilot as Brad Harcourt, and said he was not only a 
licensed pilot but one of the bright young members of her legal staff. To 
Erica's startling surprise, her first glimpse of Brad caused her blood to 
pump faster and a flock of butterflies to bat their wings around in her 
stomach in a manner she had not known since she first met Roden Templar. 

Physically, he reminded her a little of Roden, with the same broad 
shoulders, the same strong masculine jaw. He was as tall, if not taller than 
Roden, but he had short-cropped blonde hair that clung tightly to his nicely 
shaped head like gold shavings. He might even have been a little more 
good-looking that Roden, wearing casual clothes that set off his 
solid-packed figure to advantage. 

Kate sat along side him in the plane while Erica occupied the seat directly 
behind them. Kate and Brad talked business most of the time, using cryptics 
and phrases that Erica did not understand. So she settled back in her seat 
and watched out the window as the plane took out northeast over the San 
Gabriel Mountains and then straight ahead over the Mojave Desert. 

After less than an hour Brad made ready to set the plane down in a remote 
area of the desert somewhere between the Bullion and Cady Mountains. 

Erica was more bewildered than ever when she saw the plane heading toward a 
narrow landing strip that led up to a group of buildings that set behind a 
high brick wall. From the air the place looked like some old abandoned 
California mission. Was it the hideaway of some wealthy recluse, that Kate 
was bringing her to? Was that the job Kate had in mind for her, to look 
after this recluse, here in the heart of the desert? 

Even though she was bursting to know the answers, Erica still asked no 
questions as the plane turned downwind to the runway, landed and taxied over 
the strip to a slow halt. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

The quiet, peaceful effect of a mission prevailed with a network of 
corridors, arches, meticulously groomed gardens and fountained courtyard. 
But the effect quickly vanished when Erica saw an array of girls lolling 
about the grounds on blankets and beach-chairs, in various stages of nudity. 
The most that any of them had on were the scantiest of string bikinis. 
Others wore only shortie kimonos thrown open to enjoy the benefits of the 
lowering desert sun. A couple of the girls were sprawled out on the ground 
completely naked. Most of them, Erica could see, were young and pretty. 

Unquestionably Bella Fontaine had once been young and pretty, but unlike 
Kate Fairbanks, she had allowed herself to go to pot in the true sense of 
the word. Her puffy face sagged with pig jowls and her outsized breasts hung 
down almost to her belly, the bloat of which even a girdle could not hide. 

Bella was wearing a multi-colored screen-print blouse and a pair of shorts 
that showed off her meaty thighs when she came out onto the shallow front 
porch to greet Erica and Kate. After the introductions they went into 
Bella's lavishly furnished office, adorned with erotic oils and statues; 
like the rest of the building, it was delightfully air-cooled. 

Brad Harcourt seemed to have melted somewhere into the scenery; Erica did 
not see him for the remainder of the day. 

Bella went to the small bar in one corner of the office and came back with 
three tall iced drinks. She mumbled some kind of a toast about hoping that 
Erica enjoyed her stay, then the three touched glasses and drank. 

Erica thought the stuff had a funny taste to it, sharp and bitter-sweet. But 
it was nice and cold and felt good going down. All the while Bella kept 
looking hard at Erica, as if with a faint glimmer of recognition. Finally 
she asked, "Haven't I seen you someplace before, honey?" 

Erica shook her head. "It isn't likely. I've only been in California a short 
time. Before that I lived in New York and Nebraska. Never really got to very 
many places of importance. Certainly not where anyone would see and remember 
me." 

If she had met a woman like Bella Fontaine, she would most certainly 
remember. 

Bella did not pursue the subject. As soon as they finished with their drinks 
she showed Erica through the labyrinth of rooms on both floors of the main 
building. Each room was richly furnished in modern decor that clashed with 
the old mission look outside. The big comfortable-looking Queen-sized beds, 
some with water mattresses, and the assortment of various other conveniences 
such as douches, vaginal sprays and sexual stimulators very quickly told 
Erica that this was an out-and-out well-hidden brothel! 

It was while Erica was arriving at this revelation, that Bella suddenly 
grabbed her arm, spun the girl around to face her and blurted out, "I know 
now where I saw you!" She turned to face Kate, accusingly. "What the hell're 
you trying to pull on me?" 

Kate stared at the woman, blank-faced. "I don't know what you mean." 

"I mean you calling me and telling me you're bringing me an innocent," Bella 
retorted. 

"It's true," Kate argued. "I told you I found her in night court. She was 
framed, didn't know what she was getting into when she took a job at The 
Melon Patch. It was- her first time." 

"Bullshit!" Bella bellowed. "I saw this little tramp in at least 
half-a-dozen pornos." 

"You must be mistaken," Kate insisted. 

"Like hell I am," Bella shot back at her. "I still got the films locked up 
in the file in my office." 

Erica felt suddenly ill. She did not have to be told that once again Roden 
had lied to her. Instead of shipping the films he took of her out of the 
country, he was selling prints of them to people like Bella. 

Kate looked at Erica almost with disbelief. "Is it true?" 

"Of course it's true," Bella answered in the girl's stead. "I can show you 
reel after reel of her in action-eating cock, being tit-fucked, having her 
snatch chewed and being screwed half-a-dozen different ways to Sunday. 
You're crapping me, telling me that she's just one step away from cherry, 
and all the time she's been making the filthiest skin-flicks you'd ever want 
to see." 

"I... I didn't know those films were being taken," Erica tried to explain. 

"Look, kid, don't try to shit me," Bella growled. Her pig eyes narrowed in 
her jowly face. "Here I was set to give you the velvet-glove treatment, 
bring you along nice and gentle-like. But after those performances I saw you 
give in those pornos, you get treated just like any other slut." 

With that Bella turned her over to a couple of her young men for proper 
indoctrination. The young men proved to be identical twins, delicate looking 
Orientals. In their matching silk Mandarin kimonos and scuffs, with 
sensitive, china-like features and shoulder-length straight black hair, they 
appeared to be no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. They took Erica 
into one of the private upstairs rooms and locked the door behind them so 
they would not be disturbed. 

From them Erica got the answers to at least a few of the questions puzzling 
her. This place, the twins told her, was called Shangri-Lay, for obvious 
reasons. As Erica had seen from the air, it was accessible only by means of 
a sandswept desert road, or by plane or helicopter. 

Here, for a price, a man or a woman could find the fulfillment of any and 
every sexual dream they ever had-heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual. They 
could have these lustful desires satisfied in a number of ways-with a single 
partner, an affair a'trois, or they could take part in the wholesale orgies 
that were a regular weekend feature. 

At this palace of pleasure, hidden away in the desert mountains, Bella 
trained her girls in every conceivable phase of sex-as the twins told Erica 
she would be trained. When the course was completed they could provide the 
utmost in sexual satisfaction for Bell's well-paying customers. According to 
the brothers, young stags like themselves were also trained to service the 
frustrated sex-starved distaffers, young and old, who frequented 
Shangri-Lay. 

"Bella does not train the girls herself," one of the twins, whose name was 
Chin, explained. "She merely supervises. She believes that men can do a far 
more efficient job of training girls, while girls take over the education of 
prospective males who will work here. So far it has worked out admirably... 
as you will see." 

As he spoke, he and his brother, Chan, went about the task of disrobing her 
with a finesse and a lightness of touch that she never would have believed 
possible of two men. In spite her aversion, Erica could not help but become 
excited as they undressed her, especially when they ogled and made 
complimentary, flowery remarks about each part of her delectable anatomy as 
it became exposed. As delightfully different as this new experience 
admittedly might be, she could not understand why she did not make some 
effort to stop them, why she just stood there, submissively, her hands at 
her sides, letting them do as they pleased with her. It was almost as if she 
were drugged. 

Drugged! Suddenly she remembered the drink, the strange, bitter-sweet taste. 
The woman must have put something in the drink to dull her senses, 
immobilize her, even if it in no way lessened her sexual response. 

When Erica was completely nude the twins lowered her gently onto the 
mattress. Both Chin and Chan stripped off their kimonos and kicked off their 
scuffs. Then, as naked as she and with an agility that matched their 
gentleness, they got onto the bed and knelt, one at each side of her. 

It was then Erica discovered that they were no fourteen or fifteen years 
old. They may have been frail-looking, but each of them had a cock that far 
outsized any other weapon she had ever seen. Big, intimidating-looking 
pricks they were, each with enormous circumcised purple-red heads. Erica 
discovered something else. Apparently their parents had as much difficulty 
as anyone else, telling them apart. To make the problem easier, down near 
the base of Chin's penis had been tattooed a large number one, while Chan's 
cock bore the identifying number two. 

Erica had little time for any in-depth study of the subject; almost as if it 
were a part of an oft-repeated ritual, they went systematically to work on 
her. Chin took the area above her waist, fluttering his lips and nimble 
fingers and knowing tongue over her torso, searching out each erogenous 
zone. He licked over her breasts, tormenting the nipples until she felt as 
if they would burst with wanting. 

Down below, with finger-tips and tongue as feathery light as the wings of a 
humming bird, Chan moved over her satiny thighs gently spreading them apart 
to breath hotly against her parted wet cuntal lips. Then he put the very tip 
of his tongue to the ultrasensitive pink pearl of her clitoris. It was if he 
had touched her with an highly charged prod; her insides went all 
jelly-like. Kate's lesbian love-making last night could not even begin to 
compare with the manipulation of these two masterful cunt-teasers. 

"Oooooohhhh, God!" Erica cried out in ecstatic torture as she writhed like a 
snake on a fry pan under the expertise of the twins. She felt her first 
orgasm catching on. She made no attempt to hold back but rode it through to 
its spine-jarring conclusion, knowing there would be more-much, much 
more-before these two Oriental devils were done with her. 

She was one hundred percent right. After they had their fill of eating and 
licking and sucking at every orifice of her aroused body, Chin fitted his 
enormous prick into her madly spasming pussy. He waited only until his 
entire length was buried deep up in her belly, then he rolled over so that 
she ended up atop him, with her naked buttock thrust high in the air. 

The twins had aroused Erica to a pitch of passion where she lost all sense 
and control of her propriety and wanted only to hump the cock that was deep 
up inside her, fuck it until she made the cum shoot out of it into her guts. 
But before she could even begin to really move up and down against him she 
felt his brother playing around her upraised bottom both hands spreading the 
cheeks like an avocado. 

Chin lay still beneath her, his cock throbbing mightily in her cuntal 
passageway, while Chan continued to finger her anus. First one, then two and 
then three digits he squeezed into her rear opening, wiggling them, 
stretching her. She gasped with shock and disbelief as she felt his breath 
against her buttocks. Then he was running the length of his tongue up and 
down the length of her crease, licking her asshole, drenching it with his 
saliva. It was a sensation she could not have stood for very long. 

Finally he drew back from her and she felt the rubbery snout of his cock at 
the puckered velvet of her rear opening. She remembered Sam Snow. It was a 
damn good thing he had done her back there, stretched her sphincter, else 
she never would have been able to accept Chan's over-sized prong. 

There was no gentleness now. Even her screams did not stop Chan. He was too 
caught up in his chore. He rammed her asshole again and again, until finally 
it opened and the knob of his big cock was in. Then he grabbed her hips, 
placing his hands just above his brother's, and thrust with all this might. 

"Aaaahhhhgggghhhhh!" Erica groaned first in anger, then in disbelief as she 
realized that both huge yellow studs had their pricks inside her right up to 
their crisp black pubic hair. It was a glowing tribute to the wonders of 
womanhood, to the fantastic elasticity of the female cunt and asshole. 

To her amazement perhaps as well as theirs, Erica had stopped screaming. The 
strain and agony had gone out of her face and she seemed to be almost 
unbelievably placid. Eyes closed, she felt the twins starting to pump in and 
out of her two holes, slowly at first, then faster and harder. 

As for Erica, she had heard about "sex sandwiches" but never did she dream 
that she ever would be the in-between ingredient of one. Never in her life 
had she known such a feeling. At first it had been horrible, torturous in 
every way. But now, with her pussy well-lubricated and her asshole properly 
stretched, it did not hurt nearly as much. It burned back there, just as it 
did when Sam Snow did her. But that was more than compensated for by the 
exciting feel of Chin fucking her front hole. The sensation of the twin 
cocks passing each other and rubbing her two passageways together on every 
stroke had her clawing at the pillow at each side of Chin's black-thatched 
yellow head, throwing her own head and legs around in wild abandon. 

Chin and Chan looked at each other over her bare shoulder. 

"And I thought she was going to be the shy, quiet type," Chin said. 

"She's as hot as they come," was Chan's comment. "She's going to make Bella 
real happy." 

"Yeh, she's going to turn into a real crowd pleaser," Chin agreed. "She's 
going to have a waiting list all the way out to the front gate." 

Erica was bouncing around now, suspended on their twin pricks, waving her 
arms in the air, kicking out her legs to the sides, looking for all the 
world like an impaled animated rag doll. 

The twins were sweating and panting, their sinewy bodies alive with energy 
and lust. Chan's big testicles were arcing out like a couple of wrecking 
balls, knocking against his thighs then swinging back and slapping against 
Erica's perineum. 

Chan was the first to cum. He flooded Erica's alimentary canal with his 
milky stuff and stayed atop her until his sacs were empty. Then he withdrew, 
his deflated cock slapping down between his thighs as he crawled back to the 
side of the bed to watch. 

Chin was still plugging and unplugging Erica's front hole. She now was 
plastered down against him, her big tits squashed against his sweaty yellow 
chest. Her loud groans had become soft, panting mutterings, her burning face 
buried against his bony shoulder. 

Erica came, quivering and shuddering as her orgasm took firm hold. She did 
not cry out-her voice had been used up. But her ass quavered and her back 
arched as she pushed her tits down hard against him. He was licking all over 
her shoulders and neck as for one long moment their sweaty bodies seemed 
fused into one. 

As Erica crested Chin shot his load, slamming his groin up against her with 
a yell like a tortured banshee. Frantically he pumped in and out of her 
cunt, filling her to overflowing capacity with his jism. Then they were 
still for a long time, until Erica felt his boneless cock slide down out of 
her pussy and she pulled back and rolled off him onto her side. 

She lay there, curled up in a fetal position, for how long she had no idea. 
Again she knew they were not done with her. Still she made no attempt to 
move. It would have been to no avail. 

Somewhere off in the distance, Erica heard a plane start up and take off. It 
circled the area, then the sound gradually faded away. She was sure it was 
Brad Harcourt, the good-looking pilot who brought her here, returning with 
Kate Fairbanks to L.A. Erica wished she was going along with them away from 
this awful place. 

But what possible good would it do her? What was there for her in Los 
Angeles? No job, no place to stay-not a damned thing! True, she did not 
relish being here in a brothel, being groomed to satisfy the sexual whims of 
anyone who paid for her. But she had no other choice. 

As for Brad Harcourt, he apparently was not even worth thinking about. What 
kind of a man could he be, who would be mixed with two women like Kate 
Fairbanks and Bella Fontaine in a sordid business such as they were in? 
Obviously he was no better than either of them. 

As she watched Chan getting ready to poke his revived cock into her again, 
Erica could not help but shake her head woefully and think what a faculty 
she had for picking foul balls, when it came to men. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

By morning, thanks to the twins and some of the girls she met, Erica was 
able to piece together a pretty good over-all picture of the setup at 
Shangri-lay, as well as a brief thumbnail on Bella Fontaine and Kate 
Fairbanks. As for Brad Harcourt, she was told he visited the brothel several 
times a month. When Kate came with him, they usually brought a new girl to 
add to Bella's pussy farm. But when he came alone, it was to deliver any 
supplies that might be needed. However, it was made crystal clear to Erica 
that if she had any romantic notions concerning him, to forget them. He had 
a favorite girl in the house, Nanita, and when he came he spent his entire 
visit alone with her in her room. 

Bella had opened this place a couple of years ago, after a career of sex 
that began when she was thirteen. With a body developed far beyond her 
years, Bella had started out as a baby-pro, working her way up through the 
ranks from streetwalker to bordello darling to high-priced call girl. Then, 
when the beauty went out of her face and the sensuous youthfulness of her 
body turned to lard, Bella became a madame. 

For awhile she drifted from city to city, running herd on hookers for many 
different bosses, until she accumulated money enough to open a place of her 
own. She tried the big cities for awhile but competition was too stiff and 
the payoff to crooked cops, politicians and various other "protectors" took 
most of her profit. 

That was when she met Kate Fairbanks, who also happened to be looking for 
greener pastures in which to graze. They struck up a fast friendship and a 
mutual trust, which was refreshing, after being bled dry by most of the male 
lawyers who had represented her. It was not long after their first meeting 
that Kate decided to become Bella's partner in her nefarious business 
activities. Together they refurbished the old mission and set up their den 
of iniquity in the heart of the desert, where no one was likely to disturb 
them and where men and women could visit and give full vent to their sexual 
cravings. That Kate was a lesbo and liked to take first crack at the girls 
she brought to the brothel made little difference to Bella, even if her own 
taste ran more to the heterosexual. 

Now Erica was a tangible if unwilling part of it all, and it sickened her to 
think what she had unwittingly become, how low she had fallen. Even if she 
had accepted Sam Snow's proposition back in New York, it could not have been 
nearly half as bad at this. 

As the days wore on, Erica found out that her life here at Shangri-lay was 
an endless chain of sex. She was on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days 
a week, to answer the sexual demands of what seemed like a never-ending 
parade of lascivious men-as well as an occasional woman. 

Most of the customers were not content with normal, orthodox sex. They 
demanded something perverted, and each and every girl was expected to 
comply. Bella had little compassion for those who shrank from their duty, 
and rather unpleasant ways of making them change their minds. 

The girls had come to accept what was expected of them in this house in the 
desert. They were well-fed, supplied with what clothes and other things they 
might need, and when they were not working, their time was their own. They 
could roam the mission grounds as they wished, do whatever they wanted. 
Bella paid each of her charges, male and female, a percentage of what she 
charged for their services. 

Only on special occasions were the girls and the young men permitted to 
visit outside the high wall. Certain girls and stags who had been with Bella 
long enough and could be trusted not to talk too much, or to try and run 
away and perhaps establish a clientele of their own, she once in awhile 
hired out to special well-heeled, trusted clients. Sometimes the girls and 
the young men stayed away only over night, at other times as long as a week. 

Once in awhile someone would wander outside the high wall of their own 
accord and try to get away. But it was twenty to thirty miles across the 
blistering sand and then over the rugged sunbaked mountains to the nearest 
town. Only the most desperate tried, and none ever made it. 

It was not long before Erica became one of the most sought after girls on 
Bella's payroll. While she did all the things that were demanded of her, it 
sickened Erica every time she had to crawl in bed with a strange man or 
woman. Rarely if ever did she derive any genuine pleasure or satisfaction 
from these sexual interludes in which she engaged. She taught herself to 
endure the distasteful, degrading things she had to do and pray for the day 
when the whole horrible mess might end. 

During the first couple of months of her enforced confinement, Brad Harcourt 
visited Shangri-Lay more than half-a-dozen times. Erica was puzzled as to 
why she should give a man like him a second thought. But she did. Once again 
she allowed her love-starved heart to rule her good common sense. Each time 
she watched his plane set down just outside the mission wall she would 
pretend that he was coming to see her, and that after he made love to her, 
he would fly her away with him. 

She made no attempt even to speak to him. She was sure of only one thing-if 
ever she got the opportunity to be alone with him, she would make him forget 
all about Nanita. 

One day the long-sought opportunity came, just as if she had arranged the 
whole thing. Nanita was one of those trusted girls whom Bella hired out to 
special customers. She would be in Vegas for the next few days and had 
neglected to let Brad know. 

The instant that Brad landed and she saw that he was alone, that Kate was 
not with him, Erica made up her mind exactly what she would do. She hung 
back in the shadows and waited while he went into Bella's office. When he 
came out, Erica ran after him into the courtyard. Her blood pounded in her 
veins and there was an uncontrollable fluttering in her stomach, as she 
squeezed a couple of words up past the strangling constrictions in her 
throat. "Mr. Harcourt!" she called out. 

He halted and turned to face her. He seemed inches taller and broader and 
far more handsome than he had ever appeared before. 

"I'm-I'm Erica," she managed to get out. 

He looked down at her and smiled. Her dark hair was combed out and swirled 
about her long neck and slight shoulders. Her enticing young body was clad 
in a blushing-pink shortie silk kimono that molded to her every luscious 
curve and clearly revealed that she had nothing on underneath except a 
string-like garter belt, full length sheer black hose and tall shiny black 
heels. This was standard attire for the girls at Shangri-Lay "I know who you 
are. I remember Kate bringing you here." 

She felt a little bump around her heart that he should remember her. But 
then he probably remembered most of the girls that he and Kate delivered 
here. She swallowed and said, "Nanita isn't here." 

He nodded. "So Bella told me." 

She gulped again, glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening, 
then fibbed. "Nanita... asked me if I'd take care of you... " 

"That was very considerate of Nanita." 

Erica found it extremely difficult to meet his gaze without her knees 
turning soupy and her insides agitating like an automatic washer. So she 
focused her gaze on the talon of his leather windbreaker and asked, 
"Shall... shall we go upstairs to her room? You might feel more comfortable 
there." 

He followed her into the main building, up the stairs and into Nanita's 
room. As one of the older, more established girls at Shangri-Lay, Nanita had 
one of the bigger, choicer rooms. The room was typically feminine, with of 
course the focal point- the inevitable Queen-sized bed. 

Erica wasted no time. She did not want anyone to find out they were together 
and maybe interrupt them before she ever had a chance to savor his love 
making or offer him a liberal sample of hers. Roden, back what now seemed a 
century ago, had taught her what a beautiful thing sex could be with the 
right person. Now after all these weeks with the wrong people, she was 
entitled to experience it just this one time with someone she was sure was 
the right person. Someone who would end her frustration and bring her the 
relief and enjoyment she needed. 

The moment the door closed behind them, Erica went directly to the bed and 
sat on the edge of it. She crossed her silk-encased legs in such a way that 
the kimono fell open and bared her thighs above the tops of her black hose 
almost to her groin. The narrow strips of black garter fastened to her 
stockings made the white of her flesh appear even whiter by comparison. 

She watched, her pulse still racing, as Brad stepped toward the bed. He had 
an erection, naturally. She could not help but see that beneath his slacks, 
as she sat there with her hands folded demurely in her lap. 

He sat on the edge of the bed alongside her. Erica trembled under Brad's 
strong hands, her whole body shaking with tension as he brought her close to 
him and put his lips to hers. It was a long kiss, more beautiful than any 
kiss she had ever shared before. Without coaxing, she parted her lips and 
eagerly accepted his tongue, letting him taste the melted honey of her 
mouth. It was a kiss that robbed her of all conscious thought and turned her 
body into a seething volcano of passion. 

For all their bigness his hands were so soft, so sure, so gentle, his touch 
light and thrilling. He did not grab or squeeze. There was no furtive hurry. 
Parting the front of her kimono, he put his hands on her naked flesh, 
cupping her right breast and then lowering his head to lovingly kiss and 
suckle the nipple. 

Erica wished with all her heart that she was capable of rewarding him with 
the milk he so eagerly sought. Her tits felt monstrous as if they were going 
to burst in his mouth and she was aware of her breath deepening as he filled 
her being with new and jarring emotions that were fierce and demanding-yet 
at the same time mesmerically beautiful. 

With the same gentleness with which he had kissed and fondled her breasts, 
he lowered her onto the bed. He kissed and tongued all the strategic places, 
bringing her to heretofore unknown heights of passion. 

Somewhere along the line, she was not entirely sure just when, he paused in 
his love making just long enough to remove his clothing. Erica had long 
since lost all track of insignificant details. She knew only that he was 
back on the bed with her, positioning her so that her head rested on the 
pillows, her long black hair fanned out at each side of her. She needed no 
prodding to spread apart her legs for him. He positioned himself between 
them. Looking down over her breasts, she could see his cock-every bit as big 
and beautiful as she knew it would be. 

Impatiently, she lifted her buttocks off the mattress and arched her back to 
meet him. She could have sworn that she distinctly heard the sizzling 
contact as the flaming head of his penis touched the dripping pink flesh of 
her vagina and he entered her. It was at that moment that Erica's world 
suddenly stopped as if to permit everything that had happened to her before 
in her life to empty out of her mind. Then as his magnificent maleness sank 
deeper and deeper into her cuntal flesh, filling her pulsing inundated 
cavity to absolute capacity, the room and everything in it began to spin 
around at an ever-increasing speed as if she was impaled on a giant wheel. 

The end came slowly as if they both had been holding back, fighting to 
prolong this interlude in paradise for as long as it was humanly possible. 
When finally it happened it was far more voluptuous, more ecstatic, more 
luxurious that any climax she had ever experienced before-with a man, or 
with a woman. Incredibly more beautiful than she had ever imagined it could 
be. 

The strength from his powerful body gushed into her in great spine-bending 
torrents, filling her cunt to overflowing, causing her own juices to flow 
abundantly and swamp his convulsing, spurting cock. Like a writhing, 
squirming dervish, Erica continued to twist and turn beneath him as the 
onrushing tide of her own violent orgasm crashed head-on with his, their 
seed mingling and becoming as one. 

When it was over, Brad kissed her still panting mouth. But it was much more 
than merely a kiss between a man and a woman. It was a lingering kiss that 
caused every nerve-end in her body to tingle all over again. And from his 
expression it had a like effect on him. 

Brad said he wanted her to know the truth, that the visits he paid to 
Shangri-Lay to see Nanita were not entirely sex-oriented. He did not deny 
that he did go to bed with her. After all, she was a very pretty girl with a 
delightfully sensuous body, and she was well-versed in the art of bringing a 
man considerable pleasure. And there was no denying the fact that he was a 
man! But, he assured Erica, that was not his whole purpose in spending so 
much time in this room with the girl. 

Bella and Kate had a little something else beside this house of prostitution 
going for them-a very lucrative side-dish, as it were. Several of the rooms 
at the desert bordello were bugged and equipped with hidden candid cameras. 
Not movies like the one Roden used to make, these cameras took stills which 
were more than sufficient to fulfill their illicit purpose. 

The rigged rooms were used exclusively for people important enough and with 
money enough to make them worthwhile blackmail prospects. While Kate and 
Bella had a very nice paying proposition in Shangri-Lay, neither of them was 
foolish enough to believe it could go on forever. Already there were rumors 
filtering along the grapevine that certain factions in the county and state 
were working overtime on ways and means to close down Shangri-Lay. On top of 
that, both Kate and Bella were fast approaching an age when they would like 
to cash in their chips and sit back and relax, but not until they squeezed 
the last screech out of the eagle. 

It was Brad's job to gather necessary information and background material on 
each and everyone who visited the desert house of joy, and screen them as 
possible victims. 

Brad spent the rest of the night with Erica and more than proved his staying 
power. Yet not once did he encourage her to try to get away, or even suggest 
that he might help her. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

The solution to Erica's problem occurred on Brad's next visit. Bella had 
called Kate in Los Angeles, to tell the attorney that she had a new batch of 
films to be developed-films of a wealthy California bigwig, who was primed 
for a killing. 

Brad hopped into his plane and flew out to Shangri-Lay, where a darkroom was 
set up in the basement. He developed the films and then took the prints back 
to Kate in L.A., so that she could set the wheels of the blackmail scheme in 
action. 

This afternoon he went through all the motions step by step, as usual, but 
when he took the prints upstairs for Bella to check out, he saw that she was 
obviously worried, and drunker than he had ever seen her before. He asked if 
anything was wrong. 

"You're goddam right something's wrong," she replied, fretfully. "That 
son-of-a-bitch Lee Sinclair's upstairs." 

Brad needed to ask no more questions. He had heard all about Sinclair from a 
number of sources. They called him the Missing Link, said he was half-man, 
half-animal. He stood close to seven feet tall with the bulk to go with it, 
and had a cock, they said, that measured more than twenty inches. Even the 
most experienced case-hardened whore on Bella's staff dreaded to see him 
come in. They made themselves scarce during his visits because they knew 
that if he cornered them it would involve a lot more than just being fucked. 

There was Amy Colby, who once worked for a Las Vegas pimp, a pretty girl, no 
more than eighteen. Her body was found somewhere back off the highway 
between Vegas and Barstow. The autopsy report showed her neck as well as 
bones throughout her body had been broken. She had been brutally raped, 
literally torn apart as if by some animal. 

She had last been seen in the company of Lee Sinclair. 

Sinclair denied he had anything to do with it. Kate Fairbanks handled his 
defense and won him an acquittal by presenting several witnesses who swore 
he had been playing cards with them the night of the killing. Talk in the 
office was that it had cost Kate a substantial part of her fee to set up 
that phantom card game. 

There were others who had felt the weight of Sinclair's abnormal cock and 
his bone-crushing fists. A couple of girls in Bella's employ had been 
roughed up so badly by him that they were no longer of any use to her and 
had to be paid off to shut them up so they would not bring down a wholesale 
investigation on her house. He had worked over still another girl so badly, 
that she had stopped breathing. Rumor had it that she was buried somewhere 
back in the mountains. But again, no one had ever been able to prove it. 

"And Sinclair's upstairs now?" 

Bella wagged her orange-red head and moaned, "Stewed to the goddam gills!" 

"Can't Mike and Louie take care of him?" Mike and Louie were Bella's strong 
arm boys, who normally took care of unruly guests. 

"Mike and Louie had their fill of him last time he was here, six or seven 
months ago," Bella said. "They don't want no part of him and I can't blame 
'em." She sighed resignedly. "Only thing to do is leave the bastard alone 
and hope for the best." Another sigh as she reached the bottle from her desk 
and refilled her glass. "Only I do feel sorry for the poor kid he's got with 
him." 

Something akin to fear tapped Brad's brain as he started toward the door. He 
turned to look back at Bella, who was starting to guzzle her drink. 

"Poor kid?" he demanded. "Who's with him?" 

Bella shrugged her meaty shoulders and took another swallow of booze. "Who 
else? The one you and Kate brought here a couple of months ago. The one 
everybody's been wanting to knock over." 

"Erica?" 

Bella wagged her head. Brad's face drained of color, his balled fists 
white-knuckled as they hung at his sides. "Where are they?" 

"Upstairs in her room." 

Brad rushed back to the desk, swept up the phone and dialed a number 
hurriedly. 

"Who're you calling?" Bella wanted to know. 

Brad made no answer. His connection made, to the voice at the other end of 
the wire he blurted out, "Sheriff Warren-fast! This is an emergency. Tell 
him this is the call he's been waiting for from Brad Harcourt!" 

Bella leaped to her feet, eyes blazing. She made a grab for the telephone. 
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing? Gimme that goddam phone!" 

Brad pushed her back into her chair and began speaking to the Sheriff into 
the mouthpiece. What he said was brief and to the point. Then he dropped the 
transceiver back into its cradle, urgently brushed Bella aside as she tried 
to stop him, and bolted out the door. 

He charged up the stairs two-at-a-time. When he reached the top he raced 
along the narrow corridor, slamming open doors, not knowing which one was 
Erica's. Some of the rooms he found vacant. In others girls were playing 
their trade. 

At last he came to the room he was looking for. He kicked in the locked door 
and saw the monstrous form of Lee Sinclair sprawled face-down on the bed. 
Beneath the behemoth Brad glimpsed Erica's tear streaked face, her arms and 
legs waving at each side of him, trying to hold off the giant who covered 
her nakedness as he sought to force his gargantuan cock into the too-small 
slit between her splayed legs. She was screaming and sobbing, on the verge 
of hysteria. 

At the sound of the door behind him, Sinclair turned his ugly face and 
glared up over his shoulder at the intruder. Snorting like the lust-crazed 
animal he was, he pulled his enormous prick out from between Erica's thighs, 
drew himself erect and jumped off the bed. He took only long enough to stuff 
his fading wang into his pants, then with a jungle yell hurled himself at 
Brad. 

Sinclair did not know that after graduating from college, Brad had served 
two seasons as a linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers. A slab of granite, 
they had called him during his football playing days. Except for Sinclair's 
height, ugliness and the length of his cock, the two men were equally 
matched. 

As Sinclair came at him Brad caught him with a hard right alongside the jaw 
that sent him spinning into the wall. But Sinclair was right back again, 
flailing away with both hands at Brad's head as Brad countered. After that 
it became a real donnybrook, a rough-and-tumble pier eight brawl that would 
have done justice to a couple of movie stunt men. 

As Erica sat huddled on the bed, a sheet drawn up under her chin, covering 
her nude body, she watched in mute fear, dreading to even imagine what might 
be in store for her if Sinclair won. She gasped each time one or the other 
of the two men slammed into walls and crashed anything that was available 
down on each other's head and shoulders. 

At one point Sinclair hit Brad on the jaw with his mighty right fist and 
sent him crashing through the window, out onto the red-clay thatched shed 
that covered the porch. Sinclair apparently believed that the two-man war 
was all over, but as the giant turned toward the bed to resume his 
interrupted screwing of Erica, Brad climbed back through the window and the 
battle resumed. 

It took them out into the corridor, raining blows on each other's bloodied 
face and body. They crashed down the flight of stairs, carrying a part of 
the banister with them. At the foot of the stairs, Brad regained his feet 
first. Then as Sinclair staggered to his feet, Brad drove the man back to 
his knees with a devastating right to the side of his jaw. He felt the bone 
give under the impact. 

It was the beginning of the end. As Sinclair got to his feet again, Brad hit 
him again and again and again. With the last blow Sinclair teetered a 
moment, then his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and he 
pitched face-forward onto the heavily carpeted floor to lay still, the fight 
gone out of him. 

At the head of the stairs stood Erica, now wrapped in her kimono. Stifling a 
sob, she started down the steep flight of stairs when she saw a movement in 
the door to Bella's office. Suddenly sobered, Bella had been watching the 
fight, flanked by her two burly bouncers, Mike and Louie. 

"Go get the son of a bitch!" Bella ordered the two men. "I heard what he 
told the Sheriff. He's a lousy stinking stoolie, working with the fuzz to do 
us in. Take care of him!" 

In his weakened condition after his bloody fight with Sinclair, Brad would 
be no match for even one of Bella's stooges, let alone the two of them. 
Still he set himself to do battle as they moved toward him. But before they 
got halfway the whirring blades of an approaching helicopter halted them in 
their tracks. Everyone seemed to freeze as they listened to the helicopter 
hovering directly overhead, and then set down in the courtyard outside. 
Before anyone could even attempt a successful getaway, Sheriff Warren and a 
couple of his deputies burst through the front door. Guns drawn and with a 
warrant in hand for Bella's arrest, they held everyone at bay. 

It was not long after that the mission grounds, were filled with police cars 
and a couple of paddy wagons to take Bella and her charges to the Sheriffs 
office. Erica, however, did not go along with them. As Brad told the 
Sheriff, "I'd like to take her to your office myself." 

The Sheriff gave his okay. 

As Brad explained to Erica after they got upstairs and he waited for her to 
dress, what Bella said about him was true. He had been working undercover 
for local, state and federal authorities ever since he got his law degree. 
As a sort of jack-of-all-trades in Kate's organization, it was his job to 
gather together enough evidence on Bella and Kate to stand up in court and 
plug up any legal loopholes through which Kate and Bella might try to squirm 
free. 

While he had hoped for a little more time and evidence, Sinclair's 
unexpected visit to Shangri-Lay had moved up his plans. 

He had enough facts-records, pictures, Xeroxes, witnesses, etc.-to close up 
the desert brothel, smashing the modified white slavery racket the two women 
were operating and ending their blackmail scheme. Bella and Kate would be 
residents of the government for a considerable length of time. With luck, he 
might even be able to pry open a few mouths and nail Sinclair for murder. 

It was not until Erica was seated beside him in the plane, Shangri-Lay and 
all its sordidness behind them, that she looked up at Brad's handsome, 
square-jawed profile and said, "Thanks for taking me to the Sheriff office 
by plane, so I wouldn't have to ride with the others in that horrible 
wagon." 

He kept his eyes focused straight ahead through the windshield and replied, 
"I'm afraid I did it as much for myself as for you." 

She frowned, curiously. "I don't know what you mean." 

The glimmer of a smile played at the corners of his generous mouth. "Simple. 
I don't think any man would want his future wife to ride in a paddy wagon." 

"Wife?" Erica echoed, her head beginning to swim a little. "Of course... 
you're joking?" 

He shook his head. "I never joke when I'm piloting a plane." 

"But you don't know anything about me!" 

"I know everything about you," he informed her. 

"After that night we spent together and I realized I was in love with you, I 
made it my business to find out everything that happened to you from the 
time you left home in Nebraska, through you job at the Snow Agency, right up 
until the time you met Kate Fairbanks." 

"And... you still want to marry me?" Erica asked almost with disbelief. 

"What happened before I knew you goes under the heading of ancient history," 
he told her. "The only thing I'm concerned about is what happens from now 
on." 

If there was still any doubt in her mind, it was erased completely when he 
put the plane on automatic pilot, took her in his arms and kissed her the 
way he did that night in Nanita's room at Shangri-Lay. 

Erica had not thought of Aunt Hilda and all the things she had said about 
her for a long time. But she thought of her now and she whispered to 
herself, "Well, Aunt Hilda, it looks like you were wrong after all. So you 
can pack up Satan and all your nasty thoughts and both of you can go 
straight to Hell." 


THE END
