CSN-328  Astrid Wanted More
[aka 'Astrid's Wanton Awakening']
(Dianne St. John)


FOREWORD 

Thanks to the candor of our contemporary sexual revolution, most of us are 
now able to understand the connotations of what has become known as 
"voluptuous chastisement." For the greater part of this century, however, 
many American families were regimented in their sexual outlook by the 
narrow, hypocritical and bigoted mid-Victorianism which began to 
flourish-appropriately enough-in England beginning with the reign of Queen 
Victoria, herself a circumspect and prudish woman who believed that 
demonstrations of erotic behavior were the certain sign of a depraved 
mentality. 

We then passed through the era of Comstockianism, which is derived from the 
name of Anthony Comstock, a New York postal inspector who believed that it 
was his mission in life to censor our reading as well as our mail for the 
greater good of moral virtue, and that any expression or mention of sex per 
se was necessarily suspect and evil. 

As a result of these two simultaneous doctrines, many an adolescent-and 
particularly one brought up in a home where religion played a vital role-was 
imbued with a kind of guilty dread of sex in itself. Even with the 
permissive legality of marriage, that adolescent, when mature, could not 
escape the trauma and stigma of "original sign." Consequently, it was not 
unusual for the average married man to seek out a brothel, just as it was in 
England, where he could give vent to those practices which "no decent woman 
would allow a man in the marriage bed," to quote a noted writer of the time. 
As a consequence, it was believed that any display of the female towards 
enthusiasm for or acceptance of sexual relationship even in marriage was the 
sign of wantonness and even "nymphomania". 

The aftereffects of such apprehensive thinking still linger with us, and 
perhaps are responsible for the occasional "witchcraft hunts" in major 
cities by "reformers" and "moralists" who believe, like Comstock, that it is 
their duty to condemn that which most people enjoy within the sanctity and 
privacy of their own apartments or houses, even to the reading of so-called 
erotic literature which is suspected of inflaming us to commit "depraved 
acts." 

But with the emancipation of the female through Woman's Lib, with the 
greater dissemination of soundly documented books on every sexual topic, and 
with our awareness that life is ephemeral at most and that enjoyment rather 
than fear should be the watchword, we have at last begun to cast aside those 
repressive shackles which made many of us regard any foreplay or afterplay 
in the sexual act as a sign of "pathological perversion." To be sure, if any 
one phase of sexual wooing is pursued to the point of excluding the 
inevitable and harmonious conjunction of union, then it may well become 
perversion. But certainly, as observed today as a kind of preface to 
love-making, there is really nothing deviate in the act of what we call 
"voluptuous chastisement." 

Hitherto, spanking was looked upon as a disciplinary punishment reserved for 
the very young. With the advent of Dr. Spock and his school of child 
psychologists who believed that such a practice might lead to the control of 
a child out of fear rather than love or respect, that method of discipline 
was more or less abandoned-and of course the result has been a tremendous 
increase in the statistics of crimes by juveniles. But meanwhile, again 
thanks to our broader education in the field of sexual behavior, we now see 
that playful spanking, acting out a drama which arouses both participants, 
equally passive and equally active, can imply a stimulation away from the 
inevitable monotony of sexual union when neither partner shows the least 
inclination towards imagination or inventiveness. 

There is still another connotation of spanking: the subconscious need for 
punishment and forgiveness. In this book, we observe the varied 
manifestations of "voluptuous chastisement" as it is understood today. For 
example, Astrid Fullhan, attractive, poised, certainly mature as she nears 
her thirties, is herself repressed out of prior educational and family 
background and has brought almost a haughty frigidity to her marriage. By 
consequence, her husband, an intellectual, is further plunged into a 
psychological state of inferiority where he does not seek to assert himself. 

Yet Astrid's tendencies towards voyeurism (the act of watching in secret the 
sexual activities of others and deriving erotic stimulation therefrom) as 
well as her outward insistence on circumspect conduct leads her to spy on 
Betty Jurgens, an attractive young girl the brink of womanhood. She sees 
Betty in secret trysts with her young suitor Henry Warren, and her 
indignation is really born out of her own frustrated and hidden envy of the 
exciting and provocative relationship which she guesses the two teenagers 
are enjoying. 

Vicariously, she experiences her first actual sexual stirring when, again 
from her secret spying place, she watches Betty being spanked humiliatingly 
by the latter's widowed father. Outwardly, she takes pleasure in this 
because through her spying and reporting to the father, the "sinful" girl is 
being justly chastised. Yet Astrid cannot know, repressed as she herself is, 
that in reality she yearns to be so dominated and so chastised to punish her 
for that very spying which is her principal means of sexual enjoyment. 

And so when Betty turns the tables on mature Astrid and, conspiring with 
Henry Warren, forces the blonde matron to accept a sorority initiation which 
involves spanking to save herself the disgrace of having incriminating 
photographs passed around the small-town neighborhood, Astrid, although 
horrified at the thought of submitting to so ignominious a retribution, 
subconsciously responds to the chastisement because the punishment actually 
rouses her dormant sexual instincts while at the same time punishing her for 
the "guilty sin" she is experiencing despite herself. Finally, when Astrid's 
meek-mannered husband learns through the enterprising young Betty what his 
wife has done and how she has been dealt with, he in turn is given the key 
to unlock the psychic belt with which his beautiful but frigid wife has 
girdled herself, and thus achieves marital harmony. 

Psychologically, it must be pointed out that many a female inwardly longs to 
be mastered and dominated by a superior male so as to "justify" her 
submission. This is why the mildly sadistic overtones of spanking fulfill in 
Astrid Fullhan all her dreamed-of desires while at the same time manifestly 
chastising her for being aroused by them. It is not unlike the "rape 
syndrome" whereby the female, chaste yet eager to taste at least for once 
the pleasures of the wanton, may subconsciously wish to be raped so that she 
cannot make the decision of sexual participation but rather have it made for 
her and thus rid her of the "original sin" of such an act. It is an instinct 
as old as time itself, but it is only now that we have come to recognize it 
for what it truly is. And by the honesty and frankness with which we 
approach any consideration of sex today, we cast away the specters of fear 
and guilt and shame and come all the closer to the ideal harmony of which 
Dr. Theo van de Velde wrote so rhapsodically in his masterpiece, "Ideal 
Marriage." 

-The Author 

 Chapter One 

"No, Dad, don't do it to me, please!" Betty Jurgens' voice rose stridently 
as her forty-three-year-old dark-brown-haired father, ignoring her plea, 
inexorably pulled her across his lap as he seated himself on the old wooden 
trunk at the back of the garage. 

Frantically, she thrust back her hands to protect her threatened bottom, for 
this impending correction was absolutely destructive to her mature young ego 
of eighteen years. Indeed, her father hadn't once resorted to this 
time-honored method of punishment since her eventful twelfth birthday, just 
a week before her mother had suddenly died of a heart attack at the tragic 
age of thirty-four. But this time, she realized miserably even as she 
struggled, she had gone just a little too far and defied the edict he 
himself had laid down about her not seeing Henry Warren. 

What bothered her most was how her father had found out that she had just 
had an unexpected meeting with tall, black-haired, gangling twenty-year-old 
Henry, a sophomore at Summerton College. Dan Jurgens published the weekly 
Summerton Bulletin, which was distributed to residential homes about five 
o'clock every Friday evening, and usually he stayed at the print shop to 
supervise that distribution and didn't get home until nine. That was why she 
had thought this late May Friday afternoon would have been an ideal time to 
enjoy an hour or two of forbidden rendezvous with her best boyfriend, 
because Henry Warren had a way with girls and just the touch of his fingers 
on her swelling breasts, even through her clothes, could set the dainty pink 
lips of her virgin vulva to moistening and twitching in ardent expectation 
of what she really wanted Henry Warren to do to her. 

When she had left Summerton High, at three-thirty, dressed in her senior 
outfit of blue pullover woolen sweater with a gold "SH" emblazoned right 
over her magnificent, pear shaped, thrusting young bosom, a matching blue 
woolen skirt which hugged her lusciously rounded hips and descended to a 
point about two inches above delightfully dimpled bare knees, yellow bobby 
socks and loafers, she had seen Henry Warren driving down Magnolia Avenue in 
his Dodge Polara, a present from his wealthy lawyer father for his 
high-school graduation with good grades. Henry had pulled over to the curb 
and called at her, "Maybe I'll drop over in about half an hour, Betty, soon 
as I finish this errand for Dad." And so she had hurried home, found the 
house empty as she had expected, sprayed on a bit of perfume at the nape of 
her neck and, daringly, hoisting her skirt to show supple, creamy, 
delightfully rounded bare thighs at whose apex a pair of apricot-hued nylon 
panties lovingly adhered to the plump mound of her virginity, applied the 
perfume applicator to the insides of those twin columns of rippling, satiny 
femininity. Not that she was going to let Henry Warren go that far with her, 
but it just might happen if Dad stayed away at the print shop as he usually 
did. 

And then, just as they were seated on this very trunk, his left arm tightly 
round her waist and his right hand sneaking under her skirt and a delighted 
look on his face to encounter no stockings but only bare warm girlflesh, Dan 
Jurgens had unexpectedly walked into the garage, put his hands on his hips, 
and growled, "What the hell-all right, Warren, get to hell out of here and 
don't let me catch you with my daughter again or there'll be trouble!" 

And then, to make matters worse, as her young lover had scrambled off the 
trunk with a guilty look of apology at her, and was going, he had commanded, 
"All right, Betty, you know what I promised you if you saw that boy again! 
And you're going to get it right here and now before dinner! Just stay where 
you are, I'll come over there and sit down, and you can just put yourself 
over my lap!" 

She could have died a thousand times of shame because Henry Warren had heard 
her father's threat, known that she was going to get a spanking all because 
of him. It was a punishment for love, she had thought to herself in anguish 
as her father had approached, his usually genial face taut and frowning, his 
eyes narrowed, and his lips thin with anger. She had slowly risen, feeling 
the backs of her legs trembling and quivering, with a sinking feeling at the 
pit of her stomach, as he had methodically seated himself, then seized her 
by her wrist and hauled her down across his lap in the most unceremonious 
way, as if she were a little girl of six instead of eighteen, practically 
old enough to be married. 

And now it was happening, and now he had yanked her woolen skirt up to her 
waist and proceeded to pull up the white nylon petticoat with its lacy 
frills at the hem to join the skirt. "No stockings, young lady?" he had 
growled. "As long as you're my daughter and dependent on me, Betty Jurgens, 
you're going to do what I tell you to. And you know how many times I've told 
you to stay away from that Warren fellow, he's just a rich man's son with 
too much spending money and free time on his hands for his own good. He 
happens to have a pretty bad reputation with a lot of girls, and he's not 
the sort of person I'd pick for a son-in-law, in case you had ideas in that 
direction. But maybe this will teach you that when I say a thing, I mean it, 
young lady!" 

With this, and her stupefied astonishment, as his left arm tightened its 
hold around her waist, he inserted the fingers of his right hand under the 
waistband of her fragile nylon panties. 

"Oh, no, Daddy!" In her shame and apprehension, Betty reverted to the 
childish name she had always called her father in years past, well before 
her entry into high school. "Leave them on, please, if you have to-if you 
have to sp-spank me, please, Daddy!" 

"Take your hands away, Betty!" her father's voice was firm and crisp, 
allowing no argument or resistance. Placed as she was across his lap in the 
traditional and humiliating posture for juvenile chastisement, the 
auburn-haired teen-ager understood only too well that struggling would be 
not only undignified but futile; the best way to keep her pride was to 
submit passively and stoically, and so she bowed her head and clenched her 
fists, unable to control the shiver that ran through her tightly clenched 
bare thighs. Her skin was a pale white with rosy flecks, exquisitely 
sensitive, smooth and glossy, and it looked even more naked under the 
glaring, bare sixty-watt bulb in the ceiling which was the only light in the 
garage. The light had remained turned off while Betty and Henry had 
enthusiastically begun their stolen tryst. 

Her calves were slim and high-set, with a sinuous contouring; the soft 
smooth hollows of her knees rose into the elegantly rounding columns of the 
womanly, ripening thighs which in their turn merged fluently and 
breathtakingly into the upstandingly rounded, narrowly spaced hemispheres of 
her now upturned and cringing bottom. For, the moment she had withdrawn her 
hands, her father had proceeded to yank down the frilly panties to her lower 
thighs, exposing in all their voluptuous prominence and elasticity the now 
huddling, clenching globes of her virginal posterior. 

"Ohhh-D-Daddy!" Betty moaned in a low, choked voice, which expressed more 
eloquently than any other words could have done the supreme degradation she 
was now experiencing in knowing that the most intimate portions of her 
maturing anatomy were exposed to the eyes of her own father. Even with Henry 
Warren, though her flesh burned impatiently to be united with his in the act 
of union, Betty had never shown herself so naked as she now was before Dan 
Jurgens' appraising eyes. 

But strangely, and even Betty couldn't explain it to herself, at this same 
moment when it seemed to her that she had been plunged down from her 
pedestal of burgeoning young womanhood, that of a siren whose beauty was 
coveted by a most eligible and desirable and certainly virile young male, 
into the shameful inferiority of a naughty child awaiting the classic 
retribution for her misdemeanors, a strange, tingling, warm sensation seemed 
to attack the exquisitely sensitive flesh along the insides of her tremoring 
naked thighs. Virgin that she still was, although of course a wise virgin in 
this day and age, nevertheless Betty Jurgens didn't know that this very 
immodesty which so mortified her before her own father was evoking a very 
definite and powerful erotic response in the deepest recesses of her 
quivering, half-naked, ripe young body. 

She bowed her head down, closed her eyes tightly, clenched her fists with a 
determination that he wouldn't draw a single supplication for mercy from 
her. This pose of submission had the effect of arching up her naked, 
quivering, tightened buttocks all the more provocatively, as if she were 
shamelessly offering them for what was about to follow. Her father appeared 
to take no notice of this; summarily, with a workmanlike attitude that made 
the contrast of his own daughter's half-nudity all the more titillating, he 
merely lifted his right hand and applied a stinging slap to the outer edge 
of her right buttock, then an equally brisk and noisy slap to the other 
globe in the very same place. 

With a gasp which she was unable to suppress, Betty announced the shock of 
that impact of a male hand on her virgin bottom. Nervously, her ankles 
crossed, the heel of her right loafer jerking up, and her hips squirmed 
nervously as she tried to shift herself into a more comfortable position for 
the endurance of what promised to be a severe correction. She didn't have to 
guess how angry her father was with her; the subject of Henry Warren had 
come up at least a dozen times in the past three months, and on each 
occasion Dan Jurgens had irritatedly declared that he never wanted to hear 
that fellow's name again on his daughter's lips. Having caught her in such a 
compromising position-and even now she shivered to think of how bad it could 
really have been if she had let Henry go all the way with her as he had 
begged her to let him do (and he had told her that he had a safe along so 
that there wouldn't be any danger of her getting pregnant if they did do 
it)-he was certainly going to make this a lesson she wouldn't soon forget, 
Betty dolefully understood. 

He didn't lecture her, for which she was deeply grateful. In that way, she 
could concentrate all her senses on the burning, mounting discomfort which 
his callused hand was inflicting on the tender, resilient, jouncy, fleshed 
globes of her upturned bottom. For the most part, she endured it 
courageously, compressing her lips and trying to hold back any cries or 
prayers for mercy, because they would be unworthy of her age-after all, lots 
of girls got married at her age and she'd willingly marry Henry Warren if 
only Daddy would give his consent. Just the same, as the number of spanks 
rose from ten to twenty and thence to thirty with no sign of abatement, 
Betty's voluptuous naked hips began to plunge and arch and twist and swerve 
quite involuntarily, and her lovely heart-shaped face to twist back and her 
gray-green eyes to widen and to glaze with hot new tears as she eloquently 
besought forgiveness though without uttering a word to earn it. 

By the time he had reached the fortieth spank, her fingernails were digging 
into her sweating palms, and she had constantly crossed and recrossed her 
bare ankles and scuffed off one of her loafers, and the tears were running 
down her flushed cheeks. Her buttocks were a brilliant scarlet from the 
chinkbone to the tops of her quaking, still tightly clenched thighs; 
somehow, out of a deeply rooted sense of virginal modesty, she didn't want 
him to see her pussy, even though he was her own father. Maybe exactly 
because of that, she didn't know. All she knew was that she was dying to 
have it over with so that she could go back to her bedroom and cry it out. 

"There!" he said in a hoarse voice as he delivered a final pair of slaps 
which flattened the base of each burning, vividly splotched buttock, "I 
sincerely hope you'll realize from now on that I mean what I say about Henry 
Warren, young lady. Now you can get up and go to your room. I'll bring 
dinner up to you in about an hour." 

"All right-D-Daddy," Betty Jurgens breathed as she awkwardly got to her 
feet. He was already apologetically tugging down her dress and petticoat, 
and his face was flushed and he was looking away from her, as if suddenly 
aware that this beautiful half-naked girl he had been spanking just happened 
to be flesh of his own flesh. He realized that he had possibly gone just a 
little too far in pulling down her panties for the spanking; the same effect 
could probably have been arrived at over them, and yet the seriousness of 
her offense had merited that humiliation, he rationalized. 

She tried her best to control the instinct of rushing her hands to her 
bottom and rubbing it to soothe the throbbing hurt. Very pale now, without a 
look back at him, she almost hobbled out of the garage and back into the 
house and up the stairs slowly and painfully to her bedroom. Once inside the 
door, she hurried to the bathroom and showered. 

When she emerged, naked as Eve, she turned to regard herself in the 
full-length mirror, holding the Turkish towel against her loins and breasts. 
Her buttocks were flaming, and her full red lips made a pouting moue of O at 
the sight of the damage. It still burned dreadfully! 

She knew that he wouldn't invade her privacy, and he had said it would be an 
hour before dinner. Just the same, still holding the towel over her, she 
tiptoed to her door and turned the key in the lock. Then, drawing the 
shades, she dropped the towel and reached for the two pillows at the top of 
her bed, piled one on the other, and then very gingerly clambered onto the 
bed and adjusted herself till her throbbing, reddened buttocks lay exactly 
over the two cool pillows. "Ohhh, .my!" she sighed as she eased herself 
gently down. 

By now, the sensation of prickly heat had begun to invade not only her 
buttocks, but also the insides of her thighs and her cuntal lips. The thick 
bush of dark-red hair didn't quite conceal those fleshy petals, and they 
were very definitely twitching and also suspiciously moist. She closed her 
eyes and reached her left hand down, gliding it past her lower abdomen and 
thence to the silky thicket. Then, with the tips of her fingers she began to 
touch the crinkly, coral-tinted cuntal lips in a delicate and lingering 
friction. Her beautiful pale-white breasts, bold pears and widely spaced, 
with narrow but dark, concentrated areolae in whose centers pert, stiffened 
buds now palpitated, rose and fell agitatedly. With her other hand, she 
caressed them, and as her eyes closed she pretended that it was Henry Warren 
who was solacing her for what she had had to bear for his sake. Now at last 
her left forefinger reached the very nodule of her being, the dainty, 
burgeoning clitoris, and a stifled gasp and violent, convulsive tremors were 
torn from her naked body. Then, spreading her thighs and arching herself up 
and down on the two pillows, Betty Jurgens imitated the erotic choreography 
of copulation, her left forefinger substituting for Henry Warren's virile 
male weapon, while in her mind the illusion of being united with him for 
tender consolation grew until a swirling, volcanic torrent of sensuality 
overpowered her, and she threshed squirmed and writhed on her bed, her be 
damp with sweat, but at last her loins appeased of the furious hunger which 
her father's spanking seemed so strangely to have redoubled in intensity. . 
. 

CHAPTER Two 

As the light went out in the garage and the tall, wiry figure of Dan Jurgens 
moved in darkness to the partly open door and disappeared into the red-brick 
house, a tall blonde bespectacled woman slowly straightened from her 
breathless hiding place on all fours in front of the south wall of the 
garage. Behind her was a tall hedge through which frequent and similarly 
stealthy journeys to this very same hiding place had cleared a kind of 
opening to it. She blinked her large, dark-blue eyes behind thick 
horn-rimmed spectacles, leaned with her back against the wall of the garage 
and then closed her eyes and drew a long shuddering breath. Beads of sweat 
glistened" on her high-arching forehead, and her thin nostril wings were 
dilating spasmodically. The full, sumptuous round breasts, closely spaced 
beneath a rather shapeless blue cotton dress, rose and fell voluminously, 
and she planted both palms against the brick wall to steady herself. 

Astrid Fullhan, twenty-eight, the wife of an easy-going, mild-mannered 
commercial artist six years her senior, had watched the shameful and painful 
penance exacted from Betty Jurgens' voluptuous naked posterior by her 
father's chastening right palm, and it had left her shaken and trembling and 
pale. 

She was five feet seven and a half inches in height, svelte, yet the 
lushness of her breasts and buttocks provided a striking sensual contrast. 
Her light-brown hair was coiffed in two long pigtails, to which tiny blue 
ribbons were tied near the ends. It was an affectation out of her childhood, 
for as the only child born to a middle-aged couple who ran a small boarding 
house on the southern border of Connecticut, Astrid Palmer had known very 
little of the normal recreation and foibles of a happy child. Her parents 
had sermonized her many times, on subjects ranging from morality to silent 
self-effacement at the table and in company. They had both died from 
pneumonia, when she had been nineteen, cloistered and obviously thoroughly 
prudish as regards sexual outlook. Her father had left enough insurance for 
her to continue college and to take art courses, since water colors had been 
her first real hobby. After graduation from an all-girls' private college, 
she had gone to work as an assistant librarian in a little Massachusetts 
town some fifty miles from Summerton. There, just four years ago last month, 
Matthew Fullhan, a slowly prospering free-lance artist, had gone on one of 
his brief vacations to do some landscape painting, which was his own hobby. 
Quite by accident, he had met the tall, reticent blonde young woman while 
walking through the woods and coming upon a clearing where she had set up 
her easel. He had struck up a conversation with her, they had discovered 
that painting was a common bond between them, and a few months later Astrid 
Palmer had rather apprehensively changed her name to Astrid Fullhan. 

Matthew Fullhan, sturdy, with curly light-brown hair and gentle blue eyes 
and soft-spoken manner, had been a virgin also, except for one fumbling 
experience in college which had left him frantically frustrated and also 
somewhat insecure as to his own masculine powers with the opposite sex. In 
Astrid, however, he discovered a curious melange of almost overpowering 
inhibition blended with a righteous sense of marital duty. She had grimly 
told herself that, because this man who had been the first to pay any 
attention to her and to cultivate her intellectually, was kind and decent 
and had offered her the role of wife, it was her bound duty to submit as the 
Good Book decreed that a good wife should to the importunities of her 
consort. Similarly, Matthew Fullhan, though secretly lusting for his tall, 
full-bosomed, ripe-hipped wife, respected her innate modesty and prudery 
which he mistook for ingrained chastity. Hence his "demands" upon her were 
infrequent, perhaps once or twice a week at the most. And these unions were 
brief, under the shelter of a completely darkened bedroom, and with Astrid 
insisting that neither of them be naked for the conjugal embrace. To this 
day, four years and a month after their wedding night, Matthew Fullhan had 
never seen his blonde wife naked as the day she had been born, and she in 
her turn had never seen him entirely uncovered. 

Both had agreed, with a kind of brave show of sophistication, that because 
they were both creative and intellectual people, it would be unwise to have 
children at the very outset of the marriage. Blushing with shame, Astrid had 
gone to her husband's family physician, a kindly old man who understood her 
far better than she dreamed, but who was helpful enough to provide her with 
contraceptives so that no children would result from even these mild 
accesses of physical desire which Matthew seemed to experience far more than 
his repressed blonde bride. 

Nevertheless, submissive though Astrid was to the scheduled weekly embraces 
of her husband, she had begun over the past year to experience disturbing 
sensations, and these had been brought to a crux when, early this spring, 
she had happened to see Betty Jurgens and Henry Warren kissing passionately 
at the back of the garden of the Jurgens' yard next to the garage. That had 
been when Betty's father had been in Boston purchasing art supplies and 
visiting an advertising agency who furnished him with about half of his 
commissions. 

A few days later, quite by chance, while she was pruning the hedges near her 
neighbor's garage, Astrid discovered that several of the bricks had come 
loose. Out of curiosity, no more at the time, she had moved through the 
hedge and pulled away two or three of these bricks, only to discover that 
thereby she created a quite large peephole. And when, the very next 
afternoon, Henry Warren had leaped over the fence of the garden and gone 
right to the garage to meet Betty in another of their forbidden rendezvous, 
Astrid Fullhan had seen him from her kitchen window, stealthily hurried out 
to the hedge, moved through it, and crouched down to remove the bricks to 
see what was taking place. 

She had watched the auburn-haired girl and the gangling young collegian 
seated on the trunk locked in a passionate embrace, with Henry's hand 
slipping under Betty's skirt and stroking the bare flesh of her inner thighs 
near her panties. She could hear Betty's languorous sighs and little 
whimpering moans as the gangling youth's hand finally centered on the most 
sensitive spot of all. And if she had any doubts, it had been confirmed by 
the redhead's sudden excited gasp, "Ohhhh, Henry honey, tickling my pussy 
like that just drives me crazy-oh, please stop, before we both do something 
that'll get us both into trouble, please, darling!" 

When she had heard that, the blonde matron had closed her eyes and shivered, 
her pale-pink-sheened cheeks had suddenly turned a fiery red, and she had 
pressed one hand against a suddenly surging full round breast, so hard that 
against her palm she could feel her own nipple palpitating and stiffening. 

She couldn't have explained what compelling instinct had drawn her as a 
magnet draws a pin towards this hiding place and why it was so important 
that she hear and see what Betty Jurgens was doing. For she had forgotten, 
crowded back into the farthest filing-place of the mind, what she quite 
unexpectedly seen when she was fourteen . . . coming home from school one 
wintry day and taking a short cut through the alley to reach her parents' 
house, there had been a window in an English basement apartment with the 
shade somehow not drawn. And quite by accident she had glanced down and to 
her left and halted there, her mouth gaping, her eyes bulging and glassy at 
the forbidden sight. There on a bed, a buxom honey-haired woman, plump and 
naked except for gunmetal-gray nylons with red rosette garters high on her 
ripe thighs, her knees aloft and straddled as she received between them the 
wiry, hairy body of a gray-haired man who wore only his socks. His hands 
were under her jutting, succulent, round buttocks, hoisting them upward as 
he thrust himself to the hilt inside her, and her arms wrapped tightly round 
his shoulders. Her head had been tilted back, her eyes wide and ecstatic, 
and Astrid had seen the look of stricken lust indelibly inscribed on the 
woman's face ... a look she had never forgotten. 

Only the night before, her mother had given her a stern lecture on how 
important it was for a girl in her teens not to encourage in the slightest 
way any boy at school or even to speak to him on the street because it could 
lead to terrible trouble. She had hinted how sometimes young people forgot 
themselves and ruined their lives. And she had obliquely mentioned the 
sexual act, though of course using words that had no lustful images for the 
young girl's mind to retain. But those words, combined with what Astrid had 
inadvertently seen that afternoon, had remained with the lonely blonde girl 
all of her days. 

And because of the restrictions and the inhibitions which had become so 
naturally a part of her life even in marriage, she had tried to crowd back 
into her mind, where they would be forgotten, that salacious sight and those 
meaningful words. But now seeing vivacious Betty Jurgens sneaking off to 
neck and pet with her young lover and discovering the loose bricks and how 
that could be turned into a voyeuristic hiding place where she could watch 
all the lascivious wickedness of those youngsters without herself committing 
a sin, had begun to waken the long dormant sensuality that was inherent to 
both the soul and the tormented, repressed flesh of Astrid Fullhan. 

And so, on this memorable Friday afternoon, having remembered how she had 
overheard Dan Jurgens angrily warn Betty not to let him catch her with that 
fellow again, Astrid Fullhan had found chores to do in her kitchen all 
through the afternoon, secretly yearning for Betty to break her promise to 
her father and to invite that wicked boy over. And, sure enough, she had. 

That was when she had gone to the telephone and dialed the number of the 
Summer-ton Bulletin, and when the young apprentice Tom Murray, who sometimes 
helped set type when old Mr. Fisher wasn't feeling well enough to handle the 
whole paper, answered the phone, she had asked him to call Mr. Jurgens. And 
when Dan Jurgens had said, "Hello, this is Jurgens," Astrid Fullhan, holding 
a handkerchief over her voice, had said in a forced high-pitched voice to 
disguise her own identity, "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Jurgens, but I 
think you ought to know that your daughter is entertaining that boy you 
don't like in your garage right now," and had then hung up. 

She had leaned against the wall of the hallway beside the phone, closing her 
eyes and shivering. A warm sticky sensation had begun to pervade the insides 
of her legs, and she could even feel her cuntal lips quivering and 
moistening. She had put a hand against her mount, pressing her palm hard 
through her skirt until she could feel the pain of that pressure. But it had 
been sweet, exquisite pain, and she had begun to tremble and to feel her 
legs give way beneath her. 

Then she had waited a little while, until she was certain that Betty and 
Henry were inside the garage, and had crept out into the garden and gone 
through the break in the hedge to find the place she knew so well. 

And when she had seen the redhead pulled across her father's lap, her skirt 
lofted and her panties relentlessly yanked down, Astrid Fullhan had reverted 
to the most secret practice of all, one which her husband would never have 
guessed she still employed as a mature married woman. She had put her hand 
up her skirt and into the leg of her frilly pink nylon panties until her 
forefinger touched the twitching cuntal lips. And then, her breath coming 
quickly and feverishly, her body oozing with the sweat of vicarious passion, 
she had watched Betty's naked behind jerk and weave and twist and redden 
furiously while her finger had rubbed and touched and caressed the 
moistening cuntal lips until, at the very climax of the spanking when Dan 
Jurgens had at last halted, she had felt the blissful waves of crashing 
fulfillment sweep her into rapturous limbo. 

She had waited until both of them had left the garage, and then carefully 
made her way back to the kitchen, heated a cup of coffee, strong and black 
and without sugar, and gulped it down. She knew that Matthew wouldn't be 
home tonight, because he had decided to spend the weekend in Boston to get 
some art supplies and also to have Sunday dinner with the family of the 
agency art director who gave him most of his work. She thought with a kind 
of tortured longing of the long night ahead and her being alone in bed in 
her nightgown and her own prying finger pretending that it was a secret 
lover wooing her and bringing her to the shattering fulfillment she had 
known while watching Betty Jurgens get her bare-bottom punishment. And 
because there wasn't any man, because of course she was faithful to Matthew 
and always would be because she had been brought up that way, there couldn't 
be any sin to experiencing the sweet pleasures she had learned to give 
herself after she had seen two other people act in a sinful, lustful way. No 
one could ever know what went on in another person's mind, and Matthew would 
never dream what went on in hers, she would see to that. . . . 

CHAPTER Three 

It was as well for Astrid Fullhan's peace of mind that in the four years of 
marriage she had learned to trust her husband implicitly and to take him at 
his word. He had told her that he was going to meet with the advertising 
agency art director and most likely be invited to spend the weekend at the 
latter's home, and that it would be very good for his business if he 
accepted the invitation. Naturally Astrid had encouraged him. 

But when Matthew Fullhan had arrived at the lobby of the Statler Hotel where 
Amos Denby had arranged to meet him, he quickly discovered that the original 
plans were going to be changed. 

Amos Denby was a short but vivacious man in his mid-forties, with a waxed 
mustache, receding dark brown hair, and was a most capable commercial artist 
whom Matthew Fullhan deeply respected. So far as Astrid's husband knew, Amos 
Denby had been happily married for about twenty years, had two sons who were 
starting Harvard this fall and eventually going on to be lawyers. 

The Boston agency of Clairmont, Thomas & Davidson had several million-dollar 
accounts, but unlike many New York agencies, it preferred to keep its 
personnel limited in the "close little family" tradition. This system had 
worked well for everyone concerned, and as the agency grew with its 
reputation for integrity and ability, more work came in than could be 
capably handled by Amos Denby and his two assistants themselves. That was 
how Matthew Fullhan had come into the agency picture and was now, for all 
intents and purposes, on a steady retainer basis with them. 

Just two days ago, Amos Denby jovially informed the mild-mannered Summerton 
artist, the agency had acquired a sizable new account, an important regional 
fish cannery. The upshot of it was that Matthew Fullhan would be assigned a 
good deal of the work, and, if he were amenable to the idea, might have to 
commute to Boston every other week and be ready to spend a few days there 
until the schedule of assigned work could be put into an operation that 
would enable him to do most of the jobs at home and bring them in for final 
presentation. 

Matthew Fullhan was enchanted with the prospect. It would mean at least ten 
to fifteen thousand dollars more income this year, and perhaps he could even 
move to Boston. While small-town life was pleasant, he was already beginning 
to feel the dreariness of it, although most of that came from the monotony 
of his marriage. Vaguely, he knew that Astrid hadn't turned out to be the 
sort of wife he had dreamed of when they had first met. She was still far 
too intellectual, and her magnificent body, even though it legally belonged 
to him, had given him very little pleasure. That was because he had always 
held himself in check, reminding himself that after all she had been a 
virgin and that she was decently brought up and couldn't be expected to try 
all the little tricks a really lustful female would. 

The two men had lunch at the famous Anthony's Pier One, and Amos Denby 
ordered a bottle of Chablis to accompany the superb lobster which was the 
main entree. "Now listen, Matt," he leaned forward across the table like a 
conspirator, "I told you over the phone that I was going to have you out to 
the house this weekend. But if you don't mind, I'd like to go out on the 
town with you. You see, my wife's gone off to Baltimore to stay with a sick 
cousin, they went to school together, they've always been very close. So for 
the first time in a long time, I'm a bachelor. And damn it all, I want to 
make something out of it. This new account of ours calls for a little 
celebration, but I'm a gregarious sort of guy who likes to share my fun with 
a good friend-and that's what I consider you, Matt. You've pulled the agency 
out of a lot of deadline holes with your fine work, and you've got a 
celebration coming." 

"Yes, but I don't quite understand, Amos," Matthew Fullhan falteringly 
replied. 

"Do I have to draw you a diagram, Matt? You've been married, how long is it 
now-four years or so?" And when the commercial artist nodded, Amos Denby 
chuckled and winked, "I've been married about five times as long and it 
feels like an eternity. I mean, Bess is a fine woman, salt of the earth, but 
when a man gets close to fifty and he realizes there isn't much time left, 
it's time he had a fling or so. You need one too, man. Tell me something-how 
many girls did you sleep with before you got married?" 

Matthew Fullhan's face suddenly flamed and he lowered his eyes. "Why-I 
suppose-" 

"You probably went to a whore the first time, or else you fumbled around 
with some girl at school and it wasn't too wonderful," Amos Denby filled in 
for him. "Look, you've already told your wife you're going to stay the 
weekend at my place, and from what you've told me about this Astrid of 
yours, she isn't the kind that is going to be phoning you up every hour to 
find out where you are and why. My boys are off in school, God bless them, 
and so we've got the weekend to ourselves. And, as it happens, I happen to 
have the phone number of a very talented young lady, a college graduate no 
less, and she's got a friend who's sort of an amateur in the business, if 
you know what I mean. The agency will foot the bill for the whole shindig, 
and it's my treat. You're coming along with me and we're going to let down 
our hair and have a high old time. They may talk about banning books in 
Boston, but they haven't banned good hot enjoyable fucking yet, and I don't 
think they ever will. Well, Matt, just don't sit there with your mouth open 
like a fish out of water-what do you say?" "My God-I couldn't-" "And why the 
hell not? Astrid won't ever find out. Listen, I can tell by that hangdog 
look on your face, you've never really had an orgy, now have you? Wine, 
women, and song, that's the ticket to make life sweeter, especially when 
you're celebrating a big deal such as you and I just pulled off this week 
for ourselves. Deep down inside of you, Matt, I'll bet you've dreamed about 
sleeping with another woman lots of times. It doesn't mean you love that 
wife of yours any less, it just means you've got some imagination and want a 
little variety and spice in life before they throw a shovelful of dirt in 
your face. And I'm not going to take no for an answer, you hear me?" 

"Well, I don't know-" Torment was registered on Matthew Fullhan's pleasant, 
regular features. Amos Denby was a tempter, leaning forward with a sly 
grinning look, and the prospect of a Rabelaisian night suddenly seemed an 
exciting and mysteriously tempting adventure. He thought of how Astrid had 
never let him see her naked, and had sometimes sighed when his hands began 
to squeeze her breasts or tried to ease under her to feel and caress her 
bottom. "Oh please, Matthew, do get this over with, we're grown people and 
we should be sensible, you know." 

Perhaps he could pretend. Perhaps there would be some girl, who wouldn't 
know his real name any more than he would know hers, who would have a body 
like Astrid, and she would be all naked, or perhaps just in clambering, 
black, gauzy nylon stockings and high heeled pumps, and maybe even red 
garters high on the tops of her long ripplingly muscled thighs. And she 
would have earrings, and smell of perfume and her flesh would be ivory, and 
her nipples would be a dark, dusky red, like eyes winking at him, and her 
lips would be red, too, and they would move down his body until . . . 

Beads of sweat oozed on his forehead and he felt his heart beating faster. 
He swallowed hard. Just maybe once in his life, and if Astrid never found 
out, it certainly couldn't hurt her. After all, theirs had been such an 
intellectual union, it wouldn't hurt just once to prove to himself that he 
was still a man capable of passion and lust. . . . 

"All right, I think you want it as much as I do," Amos Denby knowingly 
chuckled. "Let's have a drink for the road, and then I'll go make me a phone 
call and then we'll plan our little party for tonight and maybe Saturday 
night too. You can still get home by Sunday night and everything will be 
wrapped up nicely and you'll have had yourself a helluva good time." 

* * * 

Matthew Fullhan couldn't believe that it was happening to him, but it was. 
After their luxurious lunch at Pier One, Amos Denby had had the doorman flag 
a cruising cab, and then given the driver an address in South Boston. Half 
an hour later, he was standing nervously in the lobby of an elegant 
three-story six-flat building in a very quiet residential section with 
hardly any street traffic, and Amos Denby was ringing a bell on the third 
floor opposite the nameplate of "S. Phillips". Almost immediately, there was 
an answering ring to let them in, and Amos winked at his bemused friend as 
he opened the lobby door and gestured for Matthew to follow him upstairs. 

On the landing of the second floor, an extremely attractive coppery-haired 
young woman, about twenty-seven, was standing waiting for them. She wore a 
black toreador blouse, red satin slacks, and black high-heeled pumps, and 
the cuffs of the slacks lifted enough to show Matthew Fullhan that she was 
wearing the gauziest black nylon hose he had ever seen in all his life. 

"Glad to see you, Amos. And you've brought your friend. Eleanor is here 
already, so let's go in and get acquainted," the redhead said to Amos Denby 
as she gave Matthew Fullhan a gracious smile of welcome. 

Still as if moving in a dream, Astrid's soft-spoken, mild-mannered husband 
followed his agency friend into one of the most luxurious apartments he had 
ever entered. The living room was huge and magnificently furnished, even to 
a fireplace and a bearskin rug in front of it. The floor was thickly 
carpeted, there were elegant green drapes discretely drawn over the large 
bay windows, and a soft indirect lamp in the form of a statuette of a naked 
nymph raising her arms aloft with an exquisitely provocative smile on her 
sculptured face cast the only illumination in this enormous room. 

The couch was extremely broad and had a low back, and it was upholstered in 
green to match the drapes and the carpet. As Matthew Fullhan seated himself, 
he uttered a sigh of contentment. This was real luxury. The redhead stood in 
the center of the room with Amos beside her, his arm around her waist, while 
he whispered into her ear. She eyed Matthew Fullhan, then nodded, and 
whispered something back which made Amos Denby laugh and slap his thigh. 

"Matt, this is Suzy Phillips, my best girl friend," the gray-haired art 
director announced. "Eleanor's going to be your girl, and she'll be out in a 
jiffy. Now just the way I told you, Matt, everything is taken care of, so 
all you have to do is relax and enjoy yourself. And in case you've got any 
hangups about group sex, I don't happen to be an exhibitionist, so Suzy and 
I are going to take one of the bedrooms and leave you and Eleanor to the 
other or the living room, depending on where you want to have your fun. 
There's a sideboard over there at the other side of the fireplace as you can 
see, and it's got wine and liquor and also crackers to nibble on if you've 
still got a hollow leg after that lunch we just tucked away under our belts. 
Have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do." 

"But-Amos-I don't-" Matthew Fullhan began, rather helplessly. 

"Now then, Matt dear," the redhead moved towards him, and he could see that 
the toreador blouse had only her warm pale white-sheened bare flesh under it 
without the least hint of a bra, judging from the deep V-cut, "you mustn't 
be shy at all. Amos and I have been friends for some years now, and he's 
already told me a good deal about you. And I've told Ellie, and she's going 
to make you feel the way you did in your college days, you'll see. But I 
like to see a man blush and be bashful, it shows that he isn't a born wolf. 
And that's the best kind-Ellie will know how to put you at your ease, you 
can be sure of that. Shall we go now, Amos darling?" 

"You said it, Suzy, I've been thinking about you ever since I sat down to 
lunch with my friend here," the gray-haired art director enthusiastically 
chuckled. He had slipped his left hand down to squeeze Suzy Phillips' 
high-perched, firm, narrow-spaced oval buttocks through the red slacks, and 
Matthew Fullhan, as he stared, couldn't take his eyes off her willowy, lithe 
body. He was willing to swear equally that she had nothing on under the 
slacks anymore than she did under the blouse. But by then they were already 
walking out of the living room and he was left alone with his jumbled 
thoughts and also the very self-conscious realization that he was getting a 
tremendous erection just thinking about the possibilities of this 
wonderfully luxurious, almost soundproofed apartment and the fact that a 
gorgeous young girl would be all his in a very few minutes ... to do the 
things he had always longed to do with Astrid, but had never dared to try or 
even to talk to her about! 

And then he gasped and his eyes widened with disbelief: slowly, a saucy 
smile on her ripe red lips, her large, widely spaced blue eyes very wide and 
childlike with their look of expectant surprise, a slim, honey-haired young 
woman entered the living room from his right and came to stand before him, 
smiling down at him in the most inviting way. "Hi there, I'm Eleanor," she 
declared. 

His eyes devoured her as if half-believing this voluptuous siren would 
suddenly vanish and the entire dream dissolve. She was almost Astrid's 
height, with a more slender waist, and yet her hips and breasts seemed 
equally opulent. Her glossy yellow hair hung in a thick cascade just below 
her shoulders, framing her vivacious, oval-shaped face, much in the way the 
famous movie star Veronica Lake used to wear her hair over one eye and 
cheekbone to suggest sultry and inscrutable passion. She had on a 
provocative short-sleeved red satin jacket which left her midriff bare and 
showed off the shallow wide niche of her navel as well as enticing, smooth, 
tawny-sheened skin that rippled and quivered with a sensual vibrancy at 
every breath. A yellow satin skirt hugged her hips, perhaps by elastic 
waistband or snap fasteners, for it clung to her without any visible means 
of support and shaped out boldly ripe yet long thighs, sumptuous buttocks 
with a gradually widening cleft between them. The skirt descended just below 
her knees, and as his eyes flicked covetously over her entrancing body, he 
could detail the high-set sleek calves snugged in shimmeringly transparent 
beige-colored nylons. She seemed taller than she was because of the 
spike-heeled black leather pumps with glistening rhinestone buckles shaped 
like hearts on her instep. 

"How-how do you do?" his voice was strangled, and he felt perspiration 
oozing from him. 

"Don't be scared of me, Matt. You see I already know your name, Suzy told 
me. May I sit down? Or would you like a drink first?" 

"If you'd like one-I-I don't mind," he faltered. There was a lump in his 
throat, and he suddenly crossed his legs because he was fearfully conscious 
of the throbbing turgidity of his penis and wanted to hide it. She was so 
young and fresh and delicious, he couldn't even begin to think that she 
slept with other men. Such smooth lovely skin, such gleaming white teeth, 
and a dainty Grecian nose that crinkled when she smiled. And she had a 
lovely soft husky voice as if there were just the two of them there in all 
the world and she was going to confide in him. He squirmed uneasily, because 
the throbbing in his penis became maddening. And all of a sudden he could 
look back over the four years of his marriage to Astrid and realize how much 
he had missed in the conjugal embrace. There had been no whetting of his 
erotic senses by clothing or by posture or even by attitude. No, it had all 
been in darkness, submissive and yet impatient darkness. And now this 
gorgeous young girl was to be his tonight, and nobody would ever know about 
it! 

"Fine, Matt. Now how about a Scotch on the rocks? That's what I'm having." 
"That'll be fine, M-Miss-" "Oh, silly, call me Eleanor, or Ellie if you 
like. That's what my friends call me at college." 

"College?" he echoed. 

"Oh yes. I'm doing some postgraduate work at a teachers' college near Fall 
River, Matt. Some psychology courses. I want to learn all about people so 
that I can study their reactions and appeal to them more. Here's your drink. 
Now tell me about yourself." 

She had gone over to the sideboard and poured out a stiff shot of Scotch, 
brought it back to him, and now seated herself very closely beside him with 
her own glass, crossing her long beautiful legs and waggling her uppermost 
pump. His eyes fixed on it, and he squirmed again because the aching in his 
penis was almost unbearable by now. 

There was a wonderful smell to her, a spicy perfume he couldn't 
identify-Astrid used only a very modest cologne and almost never used 
lipstick-and it was permeating his senses and drawing all his attention to 
this intoxicatingly delicious young woman so close to him. He took a sip of 
his drink to give him more courage. "There-there really isn't much to tell, 
Miss- I mean-Eleanor," he began. 

"Just relax. We've all night and maybe all weekend, if you like me. Don't 
you worry about a thing, Matt. Amos and Suzy have fixed things up and they 
won't get in our way at all. Besides, I wouldn't let them. You see, I know a 
little about you already. That's from Amos. You're a very shy and sweet 
person. I can see that for myself without knowing anything more about you. 
You're married, aren't you?" 

Normally, Matthew Fullhan would have been on the defensive, suspicious of 
any such personal questions, especially from a callgirl. But now, thanks to 
his loneliness and his looking back over the four years of a monotonous 
marriage without romance, thanks also to the magnificent lunch and the wine 
and the incredible knowledge that this weekend was going to be paid for by 
the agency that gave him most of his livelihood, Matthew Fullhan found 
himself more than ready to talk about himself . . . something he almost 
never did at home. 

Eleanor proved to be a wonderful listener. She looked at him with grave 
large eyes, nodded, put in a sympathetic word or gasp or a lovely shaking of 
her head which set her honey-gold curls dancing deliciously, to encourage 
him. In about five minutes he had conveyed to her the fact that he was 
married but that his wife hadn't turned out to be his dream girl, that this 
was the first fling of its kind he had ever known, and that he thought she 
was extremely beautiful. 

She tilted back her head and laughed softly, "You're just too good to be 
true, Matt. You poor darling, I suppose when Amos told you about Suzy and 
me, you were picturing a sort of den of iniquity and all sorts of painted 
floozies, weren't you ? Well, as you see, I'm not really painted and I'm 
certainly not a floozie. Shall we say, I'm just your companion, to help you 
relax and unwind. Shall I get you another drink?" 

"Oh no, Eleanor, I've had too much already today." 

"You're right, too much always dulls the senses, and we want to enjoy this 
both, don't we? Now I want you to tell me everything you're going to do and 
have done to you, Matt dear. Don't be ashamed, it's all natural, and I'll 
let you in on a little secret-I really love it. You see, postgraduate 
courses cost a lot of money, and so I try to help meet expenses by just 
picking and choosing once in a while a nice friendly escort like you. I'm 
not about to make this my regular occupation, believe me. That's why you're 
to think of me as a girl you've met for the first time and that you've 
suddenly got very excited about, and I'll be the same way about you, and we 
can both make each other very happy. Do you understand?" 

He nodded, his throat too choked to speak. It was the realization of all his 
dream-fantasies, to be alone with a beautiful girl who had as much as told 
him that whatever he wanted to do to her would be more than acceptable. It 
would be just impossible to think of such a thing happening between himself 
and Astrid, he knew, and that was why this marvelous sexual contrast had 
given him such a tremendous erection that he knew if he didn't do something 
quickly, he was going to make an utter idiot of himself. 

"Let me take off your coat and tie, and then unbutton your shirt. And then 
I'll get myself a little comfy for you, Matt dear," she artfully proposed. 
She took his half-empty glass and set it down on the glass-covered coffee 
table before them, put her own there too, and then bent to him solicitously. 
He was trembling as she deftly and expertly removed his suit coat and then 
his tie, hanging them neatly over the back of a nearby chair, and then 
returned to unbutton the buttons of his shirt down almost to the last one. 
Then, with a soft little laugh, she moved away and faced him, put her hands 
to her skirt and made a quick movement, letting it slither down to her 
ankles. He caught his breath, trembling, his eyes fixed to the wanton 
display of her voluptuous beauty. She wore black net panties with legs so 
brief that the base of her upstandingly rounded, deeply cleft buttocks were 
bared, and in front he could see a thick triangular bush of dark-golden 
cuntal curls. The beige-toned nylons clambered high on her beautifully 
rounded thighs, snugged there without a wrinkle or flaw by the narrow tabs 
of a black satin-elastic garter belt, extremely narrow and just under the 
waistband of her panties. He found it impossible to speak, and he was bathed 
in sweat and he was trembling, but most of all his penis was rock-hard and 
straining to be free. 

"Like me a little, Matt dear?" her voice was huskily seductive, soft, just 
audible for his ears alone. 

"Oh my God, yes, Eleanor-you're-you're beautiful!" 

"I'm glad you want me. I can see you do. Silly darling, don't cross your 
legs so much, don't you think I know that you've got a terrible hard-on and 
that you want me ?" Sinuously, felinely, she moved to sit beside him, an arm 
around his waist, and her right hand moved to the zipper of his trousers. In 
reflexive action, he pressed both hands nervously against hers, staring at 
her, gulping, "Ellie- my God-Ellie-I don't know-" 

"Shh, darling, just relax, I told you," she soothed, "I told you I was 
taking courses in psychology. I don't have to be very advanced to know that 
you've never done anything like this before, not even with your own wife. 
And we're not going to talk about her. Tonight, maybe tomorrow too if you 
want me that much, I'm going to be your wife, and I'm going to do all the 
things you've dreamed about but never really were able to talk to me about 
before. I want you to understand that. That's what is going to make it so 
exciting for both of us to find out what you like and for you to find out 
what I like, too. Do you see, dearest?" 

Once again, he was so stricken by the multitudinous emotions seething in him 
that he could only nod and gulp and stare at her, with a desperate fear that 
suddenly she would vanish into thin air and that he would be back home in 
the huge double bed astride Astrid in her nightgown and hear the sound of 
her regular breathing and know that it was still another night of 
frustration. 

"That's fine, Matt dear. Now listen, have you ever been played with? I'll 
show you what I mean. Just spread your legs a little-that's a good boy. 
There now-oh my goodness, isn't he big and strong! That's a lovely 
compliment you're paying me, and I know it's sincere, you devil you!" 

As he had obeyed, his face scarlet now, Eleanor had quickly and delicately 
dragged down the zipper of his trousers fly, moved her slim fingers against 
his shorts, opened them, and drawn out the surprisingly turgid, broad, 
plum-shaped glans and the dark-veined, angrily straining shaft of his 
manhood. Irresolute and fearfully self-conscious now, because this was the 
first time that a woman had actually manipulated his organ and, still more 
incredibly, in a lighted room where he himself could see what was taking 
place, he tried to put his hands against her wrist as if to prevent her 
startling act. 

"Oh my goodness, you poor darling, you really are hung up, I can tell," she 
crooned, shaking her head so that her curls danced once again. "Now you let 
me do something nice to you, and see if you don't like it. If you don't, I 
promise you can take me over your lap and spank me for being a naughty girl. 
By the way," and this with a sly wink at him that made his blood boil, "I 
happen to like that too once in a while, Matt darling." 

And suddenly her head had bowed over his lap and he felt the delicate 
caressing of the fingertips of her other hand while with right thumb and 
forefinger gripping the middle of his rampant organ, she began to touch and 
tickle him from scrotum to testicles to glans, blowing quick little gusts of 
breath against the sensitized plum-headed tip of his agonized and 
ferociously erect penis. 

"OHH-oh God-oh Ellie darling-oh, it's so good-oh Ellie-" he groaned, his 
head tilting back, his eyes closing, and now again out of instinct but this 
time as the first steps towards a sexual emancipation he had never before 
experienced, Matthew Fullhan put his right hand against the soft sculptured 
neck of the honey-haired callgirl as if to hold her to that sweet 
ministration, while the fingers of his left hand dug into the soft yielding 
upholstery of the couch in this Tantalus-torment which seemed to draw the 
very essence out of his being, the marrow out of his very bones. 

"Is it good for you, Matt?" 

"So good-oh Ellie, don't-don't stop-oh my God-oh it's just wonderful!" he 
moaned. 

And then he started and squirmed, with a cry of ecstasy: Her soft lips had 
taken hold of the very tip of his glans, implanting a suctioning kiss, and 
then the pert pink tip of her tongue stabbed at the puckering lips of the 
meatus, rubbing them briefly, exacerbating them with a maddening friction 
that almost made him ejaculate in violent orgasm. Only by a supreme effort 
did he hold himself back, his whole body wrenched and shuddering from the 
sweet torment of her oral wooing. 

"Would you like me to take you in my mouth to start with, darling?" came her 
thrilling, unexpected question as she suddenly looked up at him her eyes 
roguish and knowing. 

"Oh God-Ellie-but I want-I want to love you too-" he blurted. 

"Of course you do, sweetheart. But don't forget, we've got practically the 
entire weekend. And don't you know that once you take the first edge off, 
then you can make love for an awfully long time and thrill the girl you're 
doing it to? Oh I see I'm going to have to teach you, your little wife for 
tonight and tomorrow is going to have to show her nice new husband lots of 
wonderful things he doesn't know about, and I'm so glad I'm the one to do it 
for you, Matt. You poor boy, you've just been starved, haven't you?" 

He fought back the impulse to say yes to her, because that would be out of 
self-pity, and conscience told him that he couldn't really accuse Astrid for 
his own failings. He ought to have been man enough to have exerted some 
mastery over her, or at least to have talked things over so that perhaps 
they could have had a better time in bed. But that thought was swiftly 
dashed as once again the beautiful young blonde bent her head down and this 
time her lips accepted all his glans within their keeping, slushing her 
tongue over the tautly throbbing head of his spear, while all her fingers 
now did magical and evanescent things all over his scrotum and shaft and 
testicles till he felt that his very sap was being drawn from him from the 
innermost depths of his being to drain him completely. 

Grinding his teeth, his fingernails biting into her soft neck, his other 
hand digging into the couch, he fought the urge to yield, prolonging the 
sweet torture all that much more beyond endurance, thus learning the first 
lesson which a connoisseur of voluptuous erotic lovemaking acquires, that 
there is no need to hasten when the night is long and desire fresh and hot 
and stinging. 

Her head turned and moved, her lips and tongue attacking his glans and now 
the shaft just below the narrow, deep circumcisional groove with a quicker 
cadence. With a cry, he could no longer endure the devastating siege of his 
manhood, and he called out to warn her, himself shocked at such a primitive 
and unchaste act. But he heard her hiss, "Oh yes, now, give it to me!" And 
then again her lips fixed over his bulging glans, and with a hoarse shout of 
untold rapture, Matthew Fullhan felt himself explode. 

He heard and felt her swallowing, drifting into a sweet limbo of black, 
peaceful release, and then she was beside him, her arm around his shoulders, 
her other hand stroking his cheek, whispering, "You poor darling, you've 
needed that for ever so long, you know you have! And now, let's go to the 
biffy and clean up and get all nice and naked and then you can love me the 
way you want to. Come on, Matt dearest, your new little wifie wants you to 
show her what a man you really are!" 

CHAPTER Four 

Matthew Fullhan was in a seventh heaven of delight, and if this was a dream, 
he didn't care if he never awakened from it. Eleanor had gently led him into 
the bathroom, and there proceeded to make him strip entirely naked except 
for socks, while she herself, after taking washcloth and soap and very 
daintily washing and drying his limpened weapon, unbuttoned her toreador 
blouse and hung it up over the towel rack, standing there enchantingly naked 
save for garter belt, nylons and spike-heeled pumps. His eyes goggled at the 
sight of her, and already his penis began to throb and stiffen with 
reinvigoration at the delectable sight of her round, cantaloupe-like breasts 
with their wide, pale-coral areolae and perky, darker-tinted nipple buds 
which rose and enticingly proffered themselves at every breath as if begging 
for caresses from fingers and tongue and lips. Almost guiltily, he looked 
downwards, seeing the shallow wide nook of her belly button, and then the 
thickly luxuriant dark-golden fleece which began at the lower abdomen and 
shrouded the soft fleshy pink cuntal lips almost enough to hide them from 
view. In many ways, her figure resembled that of Astrid's, in the contrast 
between the slender waist and the arrogantly rounded breasts and buttocks 
and womanly thighs. But the difference was that she was wanton and 
uninhibited, playful and imaginative, and that she had learned the art of 
decor to set off half-nakedness and make it even more erotically 
overpowering to her male admirer and partner than total nakedness could ever 
have been. 

"I can tell you like me a little, Matt honey," she whisperingly confided as 
she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the mouth. Then, to his 
gasping delight, she lowered her head and sucked each of his nipples and 
flicked her tonguetip over them, then slowly sank down on her knees and 
traced a vertical line with her rasping soft velvety pink tongue down past 
his navel and to the head of his throbbing, newly aching lance. 

"Let's go find ourselves a bedroom where we can really be alone and forget 
about everything else, lover," she murmured huskily as she rose to her feet. 
Playfully, she put out left thumb and forefinger and grasped him at the 
circumcisional groove. "Come along, darling, come along with Mama! I'm going 
to show you how accommodating a new little wifie can be to her big strong 
hubby." 

Thus, after all these years, sober, meek Matthew Fullhan was ecstatically 
converted to understand that guilt and shame and fear in sexual play destroy 
the ardor and the inventiveness and, most of all, the sweet sharing of 
lovemaking. Once again, and this time not quite so guiltily as at the outset 
of this adventure, his mind went back to Astrid and her coy and shrinking 
tactics whenever bedtime neared. Intellectual though she was, there wasn't 
any reason why she shouldn't have as much fun in sex as he was having right 
now with this gorgeous blonde collegian. 

Eleanor turned and locked the door, then put the key in the top dresser 
drawer, while he moved to the huge double bed and sat down on the edge. His 
skin was prickling and his nerves tingling with a thousand new desires. It 
was as if, once he had crossed the threshold of this apartment, he had cast 
away his puritanical outlook on life and discovered how much he had been 
missing by not enjoying life to the hilt with all the zest it was possible 
for a virile male to bring to the enjoyment of it. 

"Go on, darling, lie down on your back and put your hands under your head 
like a pillow. Let Mama do all the work." Her husky voice seduced, bewitched 
and eagerly encouraged him, and he at once obeyed, blushing nonetheless as 
he saw his penis once again massively erect and thrusting up impatiently to 
be housed in the snug fitting between her soft pink cuntal lips. She moved 
slowly, hands cupping her ripe round breasts as if to offer them to him, 
moving so slowly that he had ample time to detail her, to see how fluently 
the sheer nylons acted like a second skin in every movement of those long 
delightfully contoured legs, how the tabs of the garter belt clung and moved 
with her motions, and how the thick curls of her pubic fleece seemed at 
times to part and show just for an instant the mysterious pink grotto of her 
delectable, provocative, and yearning cunt. 

She knelt down before him, still cupping her breasts and fondling them, a 
quizzical little smile on her red lips. "Shall I take the upper hand and 
seduce you, lover?" she purred. 

"Go ahead. Oh Eleanor, I can't believe this is happening, you're just too 
marvelous!" he babbled. 

"That's very flattering, sir, and you're going to pay dearly for it. Now, 
you aren't quite so self-conscious as you were before? You see, once you 
take all your clothes off, you shed all your hangups along with them. Always 
remember that. And now spread your legs just a little more so I can get 
between them . . . there, that's a good boy! Oh my, doesn't he look 
formidable again! Mama is going to have to do something about that, see if 
she doesn't!" 

Playfully, arching her loins forward, she rubbed the silky curls of her 
pubis against the straining, angrily swollen tip of his throbbing penis, and 
then, with a sinuous twist of her hips that set his blood to boiling, rubbed 
the very cuntal lips themselves over the glans. He himself, dying to thrust 
inward, to penetrate and feel the tight constriction of her cuntal sheath 
against the full imbedded length, of his weapon. But, laughing softly, 
playfully, Eleanor swerved herself so that he couldn't quite attain that 
goal. 

"That's-that's mean-Ellie-I want to do it to you-please, Ellie-please!" he 
hoarsely pleaded. 

Once again she divertingly rubbed the thick dark-golden fronds of her 
love-core against the twitching, plum-shaped head of his penis, and then 
again for just a thrilling instant, let him taste the maddening friction as 
her soft pink crinkly cuntal lips brushed over the straining glans. But when 
again with a groan he arched himself up to penetrate her, she shifted her 
loins away and giggled teasingly. 

"You-you ought to be spanked for that!" he heard himself saying. 

"I know it. You can do it later, and you'll see how it'll get you ready 
again for Mama. But now Mama's going to stop her teasing and really give it 
to you. Get all nice and ready, Matt lover!" 

And this time, putting her hands down to caress and stroke his bulging, 
aching penis, leaving one hand there to guide it while with the thumb and 
forefinger of the other she opened the sweet gates of her woman-core, 
Eleanor sank down to impale herself, her head tilting back and a rhapsodic 
look of sensual ecstasy tensing her lovely face. 

With a moan of delight, she sank down until he had hilted himself inside her 
warm snug housing, and he could feel the tight and convulsive contractions 
of her vaginal walls, nibbling and kissing and clipping and clenching 
against his manroot. 

The dull, continuous aching longing flared within him; yet he understood now 
that it was less destructive than the first ferocious, blind passion he had 
had when she had first come to sit down beside him. She had indeed "taken 
off the edge", and Matthew Fullhan had learned one of the most vital lessons 
in erotic wooing. 

"Don't you dare move now, you just lie there like a sultan and let Mama be 
your loving slave, and you can spank her if it isn't nice, I promise," she 
whispered. 

Her fingers reached out now to tickle his paps and his chest and stomach, to 
fleet along his sides and armpits, while slowly she raised herself up, then 
sank down again. She gasped at the sweet taste of friction, for Eleanor 
herself was becoming highly aroused by this inventive play. And the thought 
that she was restoring to this staid, sober, and humorless man the joy and 
zest which she herself brought to sexual union helped excite her. 

Altering the cadence, sometimes rising up quickly and then suspending 
herself just with his penis tip at the very brink of her twitching cuntal 
lips, sometimes again moving up and down swiftly to give them both the 
exquisite acerbation of repeated friction, the honey-haired young callgirl 
taught Matthew Fullhan the full gamut of passionate and imaginative union. 
When at last his face twisted from side to side, flushed, his eyes bulging 
and glassy, his chest heaving and when he felt himself burst inside of her, 
it was to know the most glorious fulfillment of his secretly hidden lusts 
even beyond what he had believed possible. 

A long while later, as they passed a cigarette between them, Eleanor lying 
beside him with an arm under his shoulders and her right hand playing with 
his limpened organ, she whispered, "You know, darling, you're really quite 
terrific in bed and I also am ready to bet this is the first time you've 
ever gone out on the town, isn't it?" 

"Yes-Ellie-I can't explain it-but it's as if I'd just come alive 
tonight-thanks to you, it's been just heaven." 

"Don't talk about it in the past tense yet, darling. The night is far from 
over and then we've got tomorrow too, that is, if you aren't tired of me by 
then. My goodness, he's getting hard again, would you believe it? I don't 
want to talk about-you know, your wife, darling- but tell me the truth, do 
you and she have fun like this?" 

He shook his head, frowning at the memory. 

"I'm sorry, I won't say anything like that again. But I sort of guessed, you 
know. If she's got a nice figure, there's no reason she can't be your dream 
girl just the way you're making me now," she went on almost contritely. 

"I wish to hell she could," he said fervently, with a deep sigh. 

"But she can. All you have to do is take the upper hand and be the master. 
Look, like right now, I've been a naughty girl talking about your wife when 
we shouldn't even think about such things. I'm going to go over your lap now 
and I want you to give my bare bottom a good hard smacking. I mean it, Matt. 
And you'll see if you aren't really ready to give it to me again after that. 
Maybe that will give you an idea at home." 

With this, reaching over to crush out the cigarette stub in the ashtray in 
the little table beside the bed, Eleanor felinely crawled across his lap 
and, clasping her hands beyond her, meekly bowed her head and arched up her 
lush round tawny-sheened bottomcheeks, tightening them and letting them 
relax, to excite him with the choreography of her agile gluteal muscles. 

"Do it," she pleaded, "good and hard, I mean it! Make me cry, make me beg 
you to let me off so I can fuck you good and hard, darling!" 

He uttered a groan of passion, for her words had roused the dormant longing 
deep within him. Suddenly, this naked beauty with her long lovely legs 
sheathed in nylons and the garter belt adding its dramatic contrast against 
the tawny satin of her bare flesh, had become Astrid. 

His left arm instinctively cradled round her waist, his right hand palpated 
the tensing globes of her bare behind, and then he began to slap. At first, 
lightly, but as she wriggled and twisted, taunted him, encouraged him, the 
slaps grew stingingly hard and noisy, and her soft flesh turned a vivid red. 

Gasping and squirming, kicking so that her pumps flew off onto the floor, 
Eleanor at last breathlessly and tearfully begged, "Ooohh, that's enough, 
lover, please fuck me instead, please, I'll give you the best fuck you've 
ever had if you'll only stop spanking my poor bottom!" 

With a cry of triumph, Matthew Fullhan rolled her over onto her back, and 
fell upon her. 

And this time there was no question of his being meek or gallant in the act 
of love. This time, he was truly the master, and thereby, with all his 
senses riotously kindled, he could know at last the hot conflagration of 
ferocious and deliciously imaginative lust. . . . 

CHAPTER Five 

A week had passed since the memorable Friday when Betty Jurgens had received 
her very first bare-bottom spanking from her father's chastening hand and 
Betty's next-door neighbor Matthew Fullhan had experienced the most 
thrilling weekend of his entire life. He had come back on Sunday night, 
after having telephoned Astrid late Saturday afternoon (while still at the 
South Boston apartment shared by Suzy and Eleanor) to assure her that all 
was going well, that he had indeed received some additional assignments for 
work which would bring in a great deal of revenue, and that he would be home 
before midnight the following night. Astrid, who of course would never have 
suspected what her mild-mannered husband had been up to, was delighted at 
the financial news and told him that all was going well at home. But she 
couldn't help adding, with a kind of malicious gossiping, "By the way, 
Matthew dear, that headstrong girl next door, you know, Betty Jurgens, saw 
that dreadful Henry Warren yesterday afternoon. Would you believe it, they 
were carrying on in her father's garage, but he came in and sent the boy 
away and punished the young lady as she deserved. It's just dreadful what 
children are coming to these days. Now you take care of yourself, and I'll 
see you tomorrow night, then." 

When Matthew Fullhan had hung up the phone, he had walked back into the 
living room where Eleanor lounged on the couch, clad in only her garter 
belt, nylons, and high-heeled pumps, pillowing her head on her arms and 
lifting her knees aloft, spreading them widely to invite him back to the 
torrid shelter of her passionate lovesheath. As for himself, Astrid's 
dutiful and until now faithful husband wore only his socks and shorts. The 
sight of his nude inamorata in such a wantonly provocative pose made his 
organ thrust forward violently against the fly of his shorts, and he hurried 
back to her and sat down on the edge of the couch to fondle her magnificent 
breasts and to put his mouth to hers. 

With a delighted little laugh, Eleanor reached out her right hand and deftly 
unbuttoned his shorts, taking possession of his manhood and fondling it 
lovingly, the pads of her thumb and index fingers lingeringly rubbing back 
and forth over the taut plum of the glans. She lifted her head and shook it 
so that her honey-gold curls danced, then whispered, "You're a wonderful 
lover, Matt, and when you go back home, there's no reason you can't teach 
your wife to be even better than I am. Now come here to Mama." 

It was indeed an enlightened Matthew Fullhan who went back home to Summerton 
that Sunday night, but out of a sudden twinge of conscience, he took pains 
not to make love to Astrid all through the following week. The secret bliss 
he had experienced over that last weekend was something that he wanted to 
savor for a time, while debating with himself the best way of approaching 
his diffident and prudish blonde wife to intimate to her that he really 
wasn't satisfied at all with the way they had been getting along in bed. The 
problem was, he was sure, that Astrid would be horrified if he openly came 
out and discussed sex with her. Not once in their four years of marriage had 
the subject ever been brought up, except, just before the ceremony, she had 
blushingly stammered that she thought they shouldn't have children at the 
start until they were sure of each other, a belief with which he happened to 
concur most heartily. 

Besides, the additional work that Amos Denby had assigned to him kept him 
working late hours all through that following week, and so he had an 
excellent excuse not to disturb Astrid, who was used to going to bed at 
about quarter of eleven. One of the guest rooms of the house had been 
converted into his working den, its window giving out on the garden which 
overlooked the Jurgens' backyard and garage, and Matthew Fullhan, cigarette 
between his lips, stared out into the darkness and thought about how he was 
going to bring about the awakening of highly moral, circumspect, and yet 
very desirably beautiful Astrid. 

As for Dan Jurgens, that handsome, mature widower had been doing a great 
deal of thinking since that very same Friday afternoon. He was beginning to 
feel the loneliness of no other female companionship except that of his 
daughter. But the worst thing was that Betty's very presence inevitably 
recalled to him the fierce carnal rapture he had shared with her mother. 
They had been ideally mated, and she had been a petite, voluptuous redhead 
(that was where Betty had got her own lustrous auburn hair) with a relish 
for living and loving and the most uninhibited and unselfish behavior in bed 
that any man could demand. He had, out of respect for his wife's memory, not 
considered remarriage at all; although when the pangs of abstinence had 
begun to make him toss and turn at night in his lonely bedroom, he had two 
or three times very discreetly visited a matronly brunette in her 
mid-thirties in Fall River, whom he had known before marrying his wife and 
who herself had been widowed about a decade ago. Her name was Marcia Trent, 
but she had already told him that she wouldn't consider remarrying at all 
because she enjoyed the career of running two very thriving beauty salons. 

However, the show of parental discipline which he had made to Betty's 
painful regret last Friday had had its powerful repercussions. Dan Jurgens, 
out of sheer anger and frustration at having his grown-up daughter defy an 
edict he had laid down for her own good, or at least so he had thought, had 
bared her buttocks for chastisement. But in so doing and in the infliction 
of that chastisement, he had been horrified to discover that when Betty had 
finally wriggled off his lap and readjusted her clothing, trembling and 
sniffling and her cheeks stained with tears, he had sustained a powerful 
erection. 

That night, indeed, lighting cigarette after cigarette and finding himself 
unable to sleep, he had finally resorted to the time-honored tradition of 
boyhood by using his good right hand to ease the frenzied tensions of his 
overburdened penis. And as he had done so, he had seen his own daughter's 
luscious, ripening young body across his lap, her mature, voluptuous naked 
hips lunging and arching and weaving, her satiny flesh vividly reddening 
under the stinging impact of his correcting palm. And when he had ejaculated 
into a handkerchief, writhing and arching himself in the throes of simulated 
coitus, Dan Jurgens had come to the awareness that the feelings he had had 
for his own daughter were very specifically taboo. 

It was high time that he thought of marrying again, he had told himself. One 
of these days Betty was going to marry, although he hoped it wouldn't be 
Henry Warren, and then he would really be alone. While the newspaper was an 
exacting and demanding mistress, it didn't comfort him at all in bed, and he 
was still of an age when he could enjoy an arduous bout of lovemaking as he 
had done with Betty's beautiful, uninhibited mother. 

And that was why, this equally memorable Friday afternoon, he decided to 
telephone Kathleen Johnson, who had got her divorce papers just last month 
from a no-good scalawag, a rock musician whom the otherwise sensible 
twenty-seven-year-old light-brown-haired librarian had inexplicably fallen 
in love with two years ago. She had visited Dan Jurgens' newspaper office 
the day before Betty's spanking, in search of a job. The library board of 
trustees had looked askance at a divorcee and they hadn't approved of the 
sort of man she had married in the first place. He had told her that he 
would try to work something out, but he knew that the paper wasn't making 
all that money to afford even a topnotch secretary or stenographer, and that 
was all Kathleen was really trained for. 

But now that he had had a week to think about his sexual deprivation and the 
almost overpowering stimulus which spanking Betty had given his dormant 
virility, Dan Jurgens was of a mind to make Kathleen Johnson a very 
different kind of proposition. . . . 

Auburn-haired Betty Jurgens had done a good deal of thinking, too, and she 
had arrived at the conclusion that her father's direct entry into the garage 
to discover Henry Warren and her together hadn't been entirely an accident. 
Some snoopy old neighbor must have told him, and she was beginning to have 
her suspicions about that neighbor's identity. On the few occasional times 
when she had seen the bespectacled blonde woman next door out in her garden, 
Betty remembered that Astrid Fullhan had been extremely short with her just 
about every time. She had a kind of frozen-face attitude even when she had 
acknowledged Betty's cheerful "Hi there, Mrs. Fullhan!" And now that Betty 
thought about it, she recalled that she had often seen Astrid in the kitchen 
standing by the window and looking out across the way. 

And yet how could she have seen into the garage and known that Henry Warren 
was there, Betty had kept asking herself all week long. As soon as she 
returned from school this Friday afternoon, she walked slowly out into the 
back yard and thence to the side door of the garage which her father had 
opened to catch her in the most compromising of situations the Friday 
before. Turning on the light, she began to examine the garage with more 
curiosity than she had ever shown before, and finally her attention was 
drawn over to her left against the farthest wall at a suspicious-looking 
rectangle where the paint and plaster seemed to have cracked off entirely. 

A few moments later, squatting down and tentatively pushing, she managed to 
dislodge two of the bricks, and then she knew exactly how Astrid Fullhan had 
seen her and Henry together. 

"Why, that snoopy bitch, that goody-goody reformer!" Betty muttered under 
her breath. "I suppose that's all she's got to do, because they don't have 
any kids and that hubby of hers looks like he's afraid of his own shadow. 
I'll bet she henpecks him practically to death, the poor guy!" 

Going outside, and making certain that Astrid Fullhan wasn't in the kitchen 
at that moment, Betty swiftly pushed the loose bricks back into place as 
they had been before, and then hurried back home. Her father arrived a few 
moments later, perfunctorily kissed her and then announced that he was going 
to have dinner at the Clarendon Motel, a few miles west of Summerton, and 
perhaps take in a movie. "That paper of mine has been working the tail off 
me all summer, honey," he confided. "This week's issue was easy for a 
change, but that's because we lost some advertisers. Next week I'm going to 
have to start trying to get them back and some new ones, if I'm going to 
save any money for your college fees next year. I won't be back till about 
midnight, and that reminds me-" his eyes narrowed and hardened, "I hope last 
week taught you a lesson, young lady. But I'm putting you on your honor. You 
promised me you weren't going to see Henry Warren again, and I expect you to 
live up to it, is that understood?" 

"Yes it is, Daddy," Betty meekly bowed her lovely auburn head. But behind 
her back, her right index and middle fingers crossed to indicate that she 
was telling a little white lie. She had, just before her father had come 
home, managed to make a quick call to Henry Warren and found him at home and 
asked if they couldn't get together, maybe even this evening in case her 
father decided to go out as he sometimes did. 

"Well, that's better," he said, mollified. "I don't mean to be a tyrant, 
honey, but it's only because you're at a very impressionable age now and 
you're probably going to get married in a year or so, only I don't want a 
boy like Henry Warren for my son-in-law. I'm only sorry your mother isn't 
still alive, because then I have a feeling we'd all be closer." 

"I know, Daddy. I'm sorry if I made you mad last week. You go have a good 
time. I'll just sit home and watch TV or do some homework." 

Half an hour later, nattily dressed and shaved, Dan Jurgens left the house, 
got into the Dodge Polara, and drove towards Elmyra Lane where Kathleen 
Johnson lived in a little white bungalow. As he parked the car in her 
driveway, he frowned, thinking of how badly off financially her 
inconsiderate husband Ed had left her. Kathleen had trustingly put all their 
money into a joint savings account, and Ed Johnson, while she was still 
working at the library, had drawn every penny of it out and taken off for 
parts unknown. Old Ted Bagley, the service station operator on Parnell 
Highway, had reported that he had seen Ed Johnson drive in with a very sexy 
silver-haired blonde in the front seat next to him, and that the rock 
musician had airily remarked that he was taking off for New York for a 
night-club date with a new combo. A few months after that, Kathleen received 
a letter asking for a divorce, stating that he wouldn't contest it, and also 
insolently remarking that he felt the money he had taken was a fair 
settlement for the disappointing time he had spent as Kathleen's husband. 

So now she had a divorce, and she was making a little money doing 
babysitting and some sewing for the neighbors, but it wouldn't be long 
before they foreclosed on the bungalow and there wasn't much hope of a job 
for her here in Summerton. Very decidedly, he was going to have to do 
something about Kathleen Johnson, and he had a pretty good idea of what it 
was going to be tonight. 

Kathleen admitted him almost immediately after he had rung the doorbell, and 
his eyes widened appreciatively to see the light-brown haired matron in a 
pretty blue-and-white polka dot dress whose hems barely descended to her 
charmingly dimpled knees. She wore off-black nylons, and as she took his 
coat and hat and walked towards a coat rack in the lobbyway, his eyes 
quickly scanned her plumply contoured, firm, springy calves and the dimpled 
hollows of her knees. The off-black gauzy sheaths shaped out her legs in a 
way that made his loins tauten and ache with remembered longing, and the 
snug fit of her polka dot dress emphasized the saucy jut of upstandingly 
rounded, very tightly spaced buttocks and plump full womanly thighs. 

"I'll be ready in just a jiffy, Mr. Jurgens," she said brightly. "It's 
awfully good of you to invite me out to dinner. The fact is, I didn't know 
what I was going to cook tonight-probably a TV dinner." 

"I'm glad, then. The Clarendon has pretty good food, and I feel like a steak 
and a bottle of wine tonight. I hope you'll share them with me, Kathleen-if 
I may call you that." 

"I'd like you to, Mr. Jurgens." 

"And you've got to call me Dan. I like that dress," he impulsively added. 

She dimpled and blushed as she hurried to open the closet and take out a 
cloth coat which had seen better days. Nevertheless, she was still a 
stunning woman, and his pulses quickened at the thought of being alone with 
her. She was about five feet five inches in height, her light-brown hair 
coiffed in a sophisticated guiche bob with the points curved upwards against 
her high-set oval-shaped cheeks. Her high forehead, her arching, thin, 
penciled brows surmounting hazel eyes, her dainty snub nose, and full 
tremulous mouth completed the portrait of a very desirable woman, and the 
carnation tint of her complexion needed no makeup to entice him. 

The steak was as good as he had hoped it would be, and Kathleen Johnson, 
casting aside her melancholy, proved to be a charming and highly agreeable 
companion. After dinner, they went to a drive-in theater to see a double 
feature, so that it was nearly one in the morning when he drove the divorcee 
back to the little white bungalow. 

"Won't you come in for a nightcap, Dan?" she hesitantly murmured. 

"I'd like that very much, Kathleen. Besides, I haven't yet had a chance to 
tell you what I had in mind-you know, that job you asked for on the paper." 

"Oh yes, Dan. I do hope you can work something out. I'll be honest with 
you," this with a rueful little smile, "things aren't going well at all, and 
I may have to give this place up and go to Boston and try to find some kind 
of work before very much longer." 

Dan Jurgens seated himself on the low Chesterfield while Kathleen Johnson, 
giving him a quick sidelong glance, hurried off to the kitchen to prepare 
the promised nightcap. He watched her go, his eyes riveted to the diaphanous 
off-black nylons which faithfully followed, like a tightly adhering second 
skin, every flexion of her juicily rounded calves, an undulation which was 
carried out along her womanly thighs and the succulent hemispheres of her 
extremely provocative bottom. He flushed, guiltily remembering Betty's 
bottom upturned over his lap and charmingly bared in all its virginal 
apprehension. And once again, just as last Friday, he found his penis 
stiffening and throbbing angrily to remind him that it had been far too long 
since he had last inserted its full virile length and breadth into the tight 
scabbard of a complaisant female partner. 

A few moments later, Kathleen Johnson returned with a little tray on which 
were posed two shot glasses of bourbon over ice and a plate of appetizers, 
which she set down on the little mahogany tabouret in front of the couch. In 
stooping, she revealed to his glittering eyes the opulent jut of 
carnation-tinted, highly perched and very closely spaced breasts whose upper 
curves and crinkly, dark-coral nipple-buds were exposed by the low-cut 
peach-hued bra she wore under the polka dot dress and thin white nylon slip. 

She seated herself with a long sigh and gazed wistfully at the opposite wall 
as she took up her glass and nursed it. Dan Jurgens gulped down half the 
bourbon, and put the glass back on the tray, eyeing his escort for the night 
with appraising and speculative gaze. It was true that he was about fifteen 
or sixteen years older than she was, but she was built for it, and it wasn't 
as if she were a virgin. She had already had a few years of Ed Johnson's 
philandering and rough-toned love-making, he was sure, so that he wouldn't 
be dealing with an utter innocent. Yet she was just old enough to keep Betty 
in tow, manage the house, and take good care of him at night. 

"You know, it's none of my business, Kathleen, but I can't help wondering 
what you ever saw in that hippie musician you hitched yourself to," he 
began. 

"Well, I'll be honest with you, Dan." She slowly turned her head to look at 
him, her eyes still wistful and distant. "I was brought up as an only child 
in a Methodist family, and both of my parents preached at me night and day 
about how wrong sex was and that even when you got married you weren't 
supposed to enjoy it, it was just a woman's duty. I was twenty when they 
died, and my father left me just enough insurance money to finish up school 
and learn the Dewey decimal system so I could get a library job here in 
Summerton. You know, my father was born a few miles away from here. But 
anyhow, when Ed Johnson came along, I'd already spent a couple of years in 
the library and I was getting to feel like an old maid. And he thought I was 
terrific, and he bossed me and he knew how to handle me and that's why I 
married him." 

"But look what you put up with, Kathleen. And now he's left you high and dry 
and taken all of your money and ruined your reputation as far as the library 
is concerned." 

"And all the rest of this little town, I'm afraid," she agreed with another 
sigh. "But I don't regret it. And what I had to give up out of my savings 
was worth it. You see, Dan, a woman has needs, too. Men don't like to admit 
that, but I'm a great one for being truthful. That's probably what cost me 
my marriage, because if I'd kept my mouth shut and my eyes turned the other 
way, I would have put up with Ed's chasing around with every skirt in 
circulation. Now I can tell how much I missed when I'm alone at night." 

He found his pulses quickening to what she had just told him. So she wanted 
it too, perhaps even more badly than he did. There wasn't any doubt about 
it; for once his instinct had been absolutely right about a prospective 
candidate for being a mother to his somewhat wayward red-haired daughter. 

"Well, I was thinking of going to Boston or New York," she resumed. "I can 
type pretty well, and maybe I can even get a job in a library there. And 
there would certainly be more excitement and more people to meet than 
there'll ever be in this little town." 

"I grant you all that, Kathleen. But I had something else in mind." 

"Oh?" She looked at him wonderingly, her hazel eyes very large and luminous. 

"Would you think about marrying again if the right man came along?" 

"Well, I suppose I might. But my goodness, you can't mean yourself, Dan 
Jurgens. My goodness, this is only about the third or fourth time we've 
really talked, except to say good morning to. And don't tell me you're 
suddenly smitten with my somewhat faded charms. I'm shopworn, Dan, and my 
reputation isn't too good, as you know yourself. A meek little librarian's 
assistant suddenly going off with a hippie rock and roll musician who had 
long hair and sideburns and a moustache and who practically raped with his 
eyes every woman under sixty that he saw on the street. That shouldn't set 
too well with you if you're seriously thinking about marrying again. I know 
you lost your wife some years ago." 

"Well, seems to me we're two lost souls, Kathleen. You could do much worse. 
And it wouldn't be as if I was asking for children because I've already got 
a real problem one on my hands with Betty." 

"I don't think she's a problem child at all. She's eighteen, she's at the 
age when she probably ought to settle down and find the right guy, and she's 
chafing at the bit a little because she's fed up with this little town too, 
I should imagine." 

"Well, you may be right. But think about it, Kathleen." 

"I will. But as they say, this is so sudden, and I certainly am not going to 
take you seriously tonight. Here, let me get you another drink-" 

"No, this will be fine-" 

"No, I want one too-oh my goodness-oh Lord-ohh!" Kathleen Johnson had risen 
from the couch and reached towards his half-empty glass. She had turned to 
look at him, lost her balance, and suddenly found herself unceremoniously 
sprawled across his lap, her plump round buttocks exaggeratedly presented as 
the tight polka dot skirt caressingly clung to the effulgent rotundities. 
Her skirt had hiked up, too, and his eyes were feasting on the luscious 
rondures of her sumptuously rounded thighs whose pale-carnation-tinted skin 
he could see through the dusky transparency of her flawlessly clinging 
nylons. 

Almost automatically, he felt his left arm curve round her waist and pin her 
to him, and in almost the same movement, his right hand was rising and 
falling with a resounding "Smack!" on the ripest curve of her right 
bottomcheek. 

"Ohhhh-what-what are you doing-Dan Jurgens, how dare you-now you let me up 
this minute-or I'll be very angry with you- oh don't-oh no-ouch-you're 
hurting me- oh my-oww-ouuuu!!" 

The springy elasticity of her flesh at the impact of his palm had made his 
penis swell with even greater longing. The game was enchanting and he meant 
to continue it; his right hand rose and fell with vehemence, applying two 
stinging, sonorous slaps on each upturned bottom summit. Kathleen Johnson 
squealed, twisted her face back, her eyes huge and indignant, her lovely 
legs kicking wildly till both pumps flew off and thudded against the floor. 
She thrust her hands behind her, but at once he gripped her wrists with his 
left hand and pinned them on the small of her back. Then, his eyes burningly 
fixed on the inviting plump target before him, he gripped the hems of skirt 
and slip with right thumb and forefinger and yanked vigorously, lofting them 
to just above her hips, then forced her wrists back down to keep the 
garments well uptrussed so that her bottom should have no protection. 

No protection save the coquettish lace-trimmed peach-toned panties which 
shaped out the spaciously round, broadly cleft cheeks of her magnificent 
bottom, with the narrow tabs of a white satin-elastic garter belt lowering 
from under the legs of the panties to grip the tops of her off-black nylons. 
The temptingly mysterious crevice between her buttocks was shaped out by the 
fit of the panties, and they were glossy and almost transparent, wedding to 
the succulent contours of her posterior in a way that made his right hand 
itch to resume the little game he had so impulsively started. 

Resume it he did with a vigorous pair of slaps to each upper hip-slope, and 
then two hard stinging spanks to the base of each squirming, contracting 
bottomglobe. Kathleen Johnson, startled and horrified, writhed and twisted 
and kicked and tried to throw herself off his lap. "Oh stop that now! I told 
you to stop, Dan Jurgens! You've got no right to do this to me--ouch, you 
brute, you're hurting me! Oh please-please, why are you doing this to me?" 

He didn't answer. By now, he was in a torment of desire, and his right hand 
reached up to insert itself under the waistband of her panties, to give a 
single masterful tug and yank the fragile sheath down to her upper thighs. 

His mouth gaped and his mouth bulged at the sight of the pale-carnation 
hemispheres of her naked bottom, vividly and lasciviously splotched by the 
bright red imprints of his spanking hand. Kathleen Johnson had uttered a 
strangled cry of stupefaction and shame and was wildly struggling to get her 
hands loose and cover up this most intimate area of her delectable person. 

"Oh no-o-o-o-o!!" she almost hysterically wailed, "not on the bare! Oh you 
haven't got any right to treat me this way-oh please let me go-please pull 
my panties back up-this is just dreadful!" 

But already his hand had resumed the voluptuous chastisement, and now he 
could understand the subtle difference between the spanking he had given his 
own daughter and the one he was now - administering to the beautiful, mature 
divorcee. Now there was no need to feel guilty over the lustful urges that 
were seething in his loins, making his penis want to burst forth all its 
virile essence. He could see only the beautiful naked flesh of a desirable 
female who had already told him that she had been used to the amoral and 
lustful erotic habits of a man who fancied himself to be another Don Juan. 
His hand relentlessly attacked that sumptuous naked posterior, and the 
flaming red covered both the globes from chinkbone to where her panties 
clung twisted about her struggling, clenching, and jerking thighs by the 
time out of breath, ready to burst from lust, he halted the spanking and 
laid his palm right over the shadowy, widening groove between the quaking, 
shuddering, and well-spanked cheeks of Kathleen Johnson's bare behind. 

She was dissolved in tears, and incoherent phrases tumbled from her lips as 
she turned back her congested, tear-stained flushed face to him. "Ohh-ahh-oh 
you've killed me-oh it hurts so-what must you think of me-why did you do it 
to me-oh this is dreadful-I want to go away and die, I'm so ashamed- ohh, 
boohoo, oh d-dear!" 

"That was a kind of proposal, Kathleen honey," he found himself answering in 
a thick, trembling voice, "and I haven't finished with your bottom yet, 
young lady. However, I might be inclined to stop if you are ready to say 
that you'll marry me." 

"Ohh-oh my goodness, D-Dan-oh my darling-you don't-you really mean it, don't 
you? Oh darling!" she was sobbing, but her tremulous full red lips were 
curving in a kind of anguished smile. He had relaxed the hold of her wrists, 
and now both her hands rushed back to rub and soothe her flaming bottom, but 
she made no attempt to get up from his lap. In her struggles, her 
lace-trimmed panties had twisted down to her knees, and the generous 
rondures of her nylon-sheathed thighs were deliciously flaunted before him. 
The spasmodic contractions and yawnings which beset her naked, angrily 
reddened buttocks caught his gaze now, and he could feel his penis trying 
desperately to burst through his trousers fly. 

But so, too, could Kathleen Johnson; even as she rubbed her bottom and 
continued to whimper and gasp, she suddenly began to squirm and wriggle 
herself, and he gasped to discover that she was forcing her loins against 
the agonized protuberance thrusting up from beneath his fly to find its 
solace in the warm twitching coral-hued cuntal lips of her awakened 
love-grotto. 

"Well, what's your answer, Kathleen? Maybe you need a little more 
persuasion," he growled. Putting his left palm down on the small of her 
back, he applied five or six more stinging slaps all over her lunging, 
swerving naked behind. 

"Oh don't. Oh yes, I'll do it, I'll marry you, oh you darling!" she wailed, 
and with a final twisting maneuver, managed to scramble off his lap and sink 
down on her knees. 

Then, her skirt and slip still rumbled and rucked up above her hips, her 
panties festooning her squirming nylon-sheathed knees, Kathleen Johnson 
leaned forward between his readily spreading thighs, her trembling fingers 
attacked the zipper of his fly and drew out his savagely turgid weapon. Her 
head bowed without being told, as if she too were acting out of total 
instinct and impulse: With a groan of delight, Dan Jurgens watched 
enraptured as Kathleen Johnson performed an act which had taken his wife, 
though she had been sweetly cooperative and zestfully ingenious in bed, a 
full year to achieve . . . the divorcee's trembling moist red lips gripped 
the glans of his swollen organ and began ardently, hastily, and noisily to 
suck! 

"You sweet devil-Kathleen-I want to marry you right away, don't make me 
wait!" he panted, his hands cupping her tear-stained cheeks as he forced her 
to this sweet act of amorous servility. 

Squirming restlessly on her knees, arching closer to him, her head bowed, 
Kathleen Johnson pursued her act of oral obeisance to her new lord and 
master. Then at last his hoarse cry of warning bade her cease because he 
wished not so much to have release from her soft mouth but rather plunge to 
the very depths inside the warm sheath of her love-core. She obediently rose 
and let him carry her, her arms linked around his shoulders and her eyes 
closed and her bosom swelling violently, to her bedroom. 

Swiftly then he drew off the slip and dress, unhooked her bra and yanked her 
panties completely off. In nylons and garter belt, off-black in dramatic and 
sensual contrast to the white of the garter belt, and these both enhancing 
the pale soft satiny carnation-tinting of her naked flesh, she lay sprawled 
and ready, little whimpering moans exuding from her. 

Swiftly he stripped to socks and shorts, and, his penis jerking with 
frenzied readiness, thrust himself in a single probing dig between her 
cuntal lips to the very hilt, then ground his teeth and strained all his 
muscles to hold back the maddening impulse to release his vital juices which 
her ardent and sacrificial wooing had so violently aroused. 

"Oh Dan, oh God, now you know why I got married-I have to be treated rough 
and then I just melt-but I never thought a fellow like you, such a proper 
citizen, would ever make love to a girl like this-oh it's just heaven- oh 
Dan darling, fuck me, fuck me good and hard and if I don't do it right 
enough for you, turn me over and spank my naughty bottom again the way you 
just did-oh my darling-ahhh-oh sweetheart, oh Dan, oh lover, oh my God!!!" 

Her arms and legs enfolded him, her body greedily fused to his, and then 
there was no need for words or explanations between them. 

CHAPTER Six 

This time, Betty Jurgens was taking no chances on being found in the garage 
with her boyfriend by her irate father. Some fifteen minutes after she had 
seen him drive away for his date with Kathleen Johnson, she hurried to the 
phone and dialed Henry Warren's number. He answered the phone at once, and 
Betty eagerly came right to the point, "Hank, honey, Dad's gone out for the 
evening and I do want to see you. It's awfully important." 

"Sure, Betty baby. Matter of fact, I was going to take a chance and call in 
a couple of minutes just in the hope that you'd answer the phone and not 
your dad. My folks are out of town for the whole weekend, so we can meet at 
my place for a change. And maybe we can finish what we started there at the 
garage. Did it hurt bad, poor baby?" 

At this sly reminder of the shameful penance she had had to pay for her 
forbidden tryst with the black-haired college sophomore, Betty Jurgens 
furiously blushed. "I'll tell you when I see you. And I'll be right over." 

She dressed in five minutes, choosing a short-sleeved white satin blouse, 
hip-hugging black cotton miniskirt, a pullover yellow sweater which snugged 
her just below the waist and prominently accentuated her splendid breasts, 
and a pink nylon bra and panty combination, as well as a pair of 
three-inch-heeled black leather pumps. Her glossy bare legs rippled and 
quivered with anticipation as she left the house, thoughtfully leaving on 
the living room and kitchen lights so that no burglar would be beckoned by 
darkness, and also so that nosy Astrid Fullhan would think that she was 
still at home. Then she hurried down to a public phone booth three blocks 
east, telephoned the local cab company, and ten minutes after that was 
ringing the doorbell of the Warren house on East Jennison Road. 

Henry Warren had been watching for her through the window and opened the 
door almost as she reached for the bell. He pulled her inside by the wrist, 
closed and locked the door, and then locked his arms around the small of her 
back and kissed her hotly on the mouth. It was a very satisfactory kiss, and 
Betty Jurgens wriggled and moaned with delight at this proof of her lover's 
constancy and enthusiasm, while his hands slyly slipped down till they were 
squeezing the spacious cheeks of her voluptuous firm bottom. 

"Not so fast, lover," she gasped, squirming free of his embrace and moving 
over to the couch, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. "Can't a girl 
have a drink first? Besides, I've got something very important to tell you. 
And I don't want to stay too late, just in case Daddy decides to break up 
his date early and get home ahead of schedule. I don't want a repeat 
performance of last Friday afternoon, thank you very much." 

"That's right, honey, I heard him say he was going to paddle your cute 
butt," Henry Warren wickedly grinned as he walked over to the sideboard, 
opened the decanter of Jamaican rum and poured each of them a generous 
portion, then brought Betty's glass over to her. "That's why I asked if it 
hurt a lot." 

"You dirty dog you!" Betty flashed at him as she took a sip of the rum. 
"Wow, this is strong stuff." 

"You're a big girl now and you can take it. And you haven't answered my 
question, either." 

"Of course it hurt, dummy," Betty said reproachfully. "How would you like to 
have your own father take you over his lap and give it to you on the bare 
with his hard hand and not let up until you were crying?" 

"I wouldn't have cried," he teased. She made as if to throw the glass at him 
and then giggled. Then suddenly her face grew serious. "That reminds me what 
I wanted to talk to you about most of all. Hank, you know it's a funny 
thing, Dad usually stays at the print shop till late on Friday, but he 
charged in like a bull last Friday afternoon. The way I figure it, he went 
right for the garage and didn't even bother going to the house first." "So?" 

"You're really not very bright tonight, Hank," she chided him, taking 
another sip of her drink. "Somebody must have tipped him off that we were 
meeting in the garage." 

"Hey now, that's something else again." He sat down beside her, put his arm 
around her waist and drew her to him. Betty sighed dreamily, closed her 
eyes, and let herself be expertly and lingeringly kissed. His other hand 
slipped under her skirt, but she clenched her thighs together tightly and 
shook her head as she broke away from his kiss. 

"Oh come on, don't be a spoilsport," he protested. 

"There's time enough for fun and games after you listen to what I've got to 
say, Henry Warren," she reproached him. "Now listen, I've told you about 
that snoopy neighbor we've got, that Astrid Fullhan. I've been thinking a 
lot about her lately. It seems that she's in the kitchen almost every time 
I'm out in the back yard, and I'm sure she must have seen us go into the 
garage." 

"I get it. You think she called your dad and told him about us?" 

"What else? Besides, she's always been so snooty. Even when she first used 
to say hello to Dad and me, she always looked at me as if I were dirt or 
something. I suppose she thinks I'm a little tramp. Well, I'd rather be that 
than a holier-than-thou bitch who has to spy on other people to get her 
kicks. If you want to know something, that poor hubby of hers-and he's a 
real nice guy, by the way- doesn't look as if she ever puts out. Or if she 
does, it's with the lights out and a long nightie on and no free feels. 
Maybe they don't even do it." 

"Hey, baby, you've been doing a lot of thinking on the subject, I can tell," 
Henry Warren grumbled. Once again he tried to pass his hand under Betty's 
skirt, which hid only about half her thighs to start with, but again she 
restrained him by clenching them and gripping his wandering wrist and 
pulling it away. 

"I told you not yet, you idiot! Now look, you know that I'm vice president 
of the little sorority group that we've got at Summerton High, and we've got 
our June Hell Night coming up in about two weeks." 

"Yeah, I know about it. Say, what do you girls call yourselves, it's sort of 
cute," Henry Warren chuckled. He bent his head and kissed the back of 
Betty's neck. 

"Ohh, that's nice, I like you when you're gentle like that. Well, our 
letters are S.S.S., and that stands for Summerton Swinging Sex-pots." 

"Yeah, I remember now! That really is cute, Betty." 

"I dreamed it up myself, but that's not what I'm talking about. What I was 
thinking was, I'd like to give that nosy old Astrid Fullhan a dose of the 
medicine Dad handed out to me last Friday. I'd like to initiate her good and 
hard." 

"That would really be something," Henry Warren smirked and rolled his eyes. 
"I'd like to see it, too." 

"I'm afraid that's out, Hank honey. We girls don't let any boys in our 
initiation ceremonies. But you could be a big help in getting nasty old 
Astrid initiated, if you'll help me." 

"Just what have you got in mind, sweet stuff? Sure I'll help you. I owe her 
something myself for breaking up our little session. By the way, I hope you 
came prepared to go on where we left off last Friday," he whispered into her 
ear, then prodded it with the tip of his tongue. 

Betty giggled and squealed with sensual pleasure. "That tickles, you big 
goof! Sure I did. Now suppose we try to set it up so that Astrid snoops and 
finds us in the garage. And then you grab her and sort of rough her up a 
little, then maybe pull some of her clothes off her and feel her up? Then 
maybe I could take some movies that would show she was trying to let you 
bang her, and then I could really blackmail that snoopy bitch." 

"That's not a bad idea, Betty baby. Yeah, I know who you mean, she's 
stacked. I'd sort of like to rough her up a little and peel off her duds and 
cop a few free feels." 

Betty Jurgens' gray-green eyes narrowed with jealousy. "Just don't overdo 
it, big boy, or you can find yourself another girl friend," she coldly 
informed her black-haired steady. "I've got a Kodak Instamatic that takes 
terrific color movies in the dark without any lights at all. They're sort of 
built in, you know. That would really do the job. And if I said I'd send a 
copy of the reel to Astrid's hubby and maybe to your folks, it might just 
scare the hell out of her so that she'd take our initiation instead." 

"Sounds good, sounds real good, Betty baby. But are you really sure it was 
Astrid who snitched on us?" 

I'm sure." Betty quickly told him of the loose bricks that she had just 
discovered and of her having noticed the bespectacled blonde matron in the 
kitchen watching her on many an occasion. "I'm all for it, then. Only thing 
is, when are we going to set it up?" "I'll have to play it by ear, honey. I 
hope it will be before Hell Night anyway. It has to be. Now wait a 
minute-I've got a hunch that Dad is going sparking. He said he had a date 
tonight, and he certainly looked self-conscious, just the way a fellow does 
when he's thinking about a girl. It wouldn't surprise me any if he'd found 
somebody he was keen on, and maybe in the next couple of weeks he'll go out 
again for another long date with her. Well, I'd tip you off the way I did 
tonight, and then we'd sort of parade ourselves around in front of Astrid's 
kitchen window and make for the garage, and maybe she'd take the bait and go 
move those bricks." 

"Smart thinking, honey!" Henry Warren dutifully approved. "And now let's get 
down to cases. I've missed you a lot since last week. 

I've been dreaming about you, too. Especially the part where you were over 
your dad's lap with your panties down." 

"Why, you-!" Betty gasped, turning scarlet, and then giggled as she 
pretended to pummel her young lover. Henry Warren easily blocked her 
attempts, gripped both of her wrists, and then pulled her across his own 
lap. "Now you're really going to get it, young lady," he pretended to be a 
stern parent. 

"Don't you dare!" she half-giggled, half-protesting, kicking and wriggling. 
But she made no really serious effort to free herself. Her miniskirt had 
rucked up in the struggle, exposing her pink nylon panty briefs which left 
deliciously bare a generous segment of the base of her upstandingly rounded, 
tightly spaced, pale-ivory buttocks. His eyes fixed on the enchanting bare 
skin, contemplated the flexions of her lovely thighs, and then he lifted his 
right hand and brought it down hard over both buttocks, spanning the narrow 
crevice between the resilient globes and flattening them. 

"Oww! That stings! Cut it out now!" 

"I like the idea," he chuckled tauntingly as he applied another slap to her 
upper right buttock, and a third to the other cheek in the same place. 

Betty squealed shrilly and kicked, one pump flying off. "Now you stop that 
this minute, Henry Warren, or I'll leave right away!" she threatened. 

"Not till I say you will, baby." Finding this delightful new game immensely 
exciting, for already his penis was beginning to throb and turgify, the 
black-haired youth promptly clamped his right leg over her bare calves and, 
tugging her wrists upwards to the middle of her back, pinned them 
effectively as he resumed the spanking. 

After a dozen noisy slaps which drew mingled threats and stifled squeals of 
discomfort from the lovely auburn-haired teen-ager, he paused and caressed 
the twitching, huddling globes. Where the pink panty briefs left off, the 
flesh of the base of her bottom was a vivid red, and some of that same 
bright hue could be vaguely seen through the filmy, clinging panties which 
sheathed her luscious virginal posterior. The legs of Betty's nylon panties 
were delicately ruffled, and the waistband was doubly thick with a flounce 
to it for decor. His male eyes admired this embellishment, but now he wanted 
to see more of his young sweetheart. Meanwhile, still continuing to urge him 
to stop if he didn't want her to get very angry with him, Betty wasn't 
prepared for his next move. Without warning, his right hand inserted under 
the thick elastic waistband of the panty briefs and gave it a vigorous tug 
downwards. 

"No-o-o stop that, you pull them right back up! Henry Warren, you're just 
awful-I want to go home now-stop it-Ouch! Oww, that hurts, that really does 
hurt, now you stop, I hate you!" she wailed as his right palm descended four 
times without stopping, two vehement slaps flattening the ripest curve of 
each upturned, quaking bare buttock. 

The smarting pangs in her naked posterior made her lunge and twist and weave 
herself, but his clamping leg prevented her from getting free and only 
emphasized the involuntary wantonness of her frantic attempts to escape the 
blazing impact of his spanking hand. 

"This is to teach you a lesson, Betty girl," he hoarsely announced between 
spanks as he warmed to the task. "When I'm trying to love you up, you'll 
know better than to close those sweet legs of yours and pull my hand away, 
you hear me?" Smack-Smack-Smack! 

Betty's bottom upreared, then flattened, swerved to this side and then back, 
as her tear-stained face turned back to implore mercy at last. Her buttocks 
quaked and quivered like mounds of freshly made Jello each time his hand 
swung down to make contact with the once pale-white-skinned, rosy-flecked 
satiny flesh. 

"Oww! Oh please, oh Hank darling, that's enough, I can't stand it anymore, 
honest I can't -I'll be good, you can love me up all you want -I'll do 
anything, just anything if you'll only stop!" she at last implored, 
dissolved in tears. 

"You mean that?" He punctuated the question with another pair of stinging 
smacks, each of which drew frantic wails and new lewd gyrations of her 
blazing bare hips. 

"Oh yes-I do, oh let up, oh please stop now, I mean it, honest I do, oh Hank 
darling, love me, don't spank me!" she sobbed. 

"All right, young lady, you can just get yourself off my lap and march 
upstairs to my bedroom. Then we'll see how obedient you're going to be after 
that," he hoarsely announced. And, before he released the pinion of his 
clamped leg, he bent down and yanked her panties all the way off. "You won't 
be needing these, anyway. Now let's go." 

Betty sniffled as she awkwardly got off his lap, at once rushing her hands 
to rub her flaming bottom, heedless of what she displayed to her entranced 
young lover. The thick dark-red curls of her virgin pubis framed the soft 
crinkly cuntal lips, but to her own surprise, she was somehow aware that 
these were quivering and also suspiciously moist . . . just as they had been 
at the time her father had concluded the first really severe punishment he 
had ever given her. Smoothing down her miniskirt, she hobbled painfully off 
towards the wide staircase that led to the second floor of the Warren house, 
Henry Warren following her with flushed face and glittering eyes. He stood 
for a moment at the bottom of the stairs watching her ascend, seeing the 
rippling flexions of the muscles of her thighs and calves and, most exciting 
vision of all, the flaming hillocks of her undulating, flaming and 
well-spanked bottomglobes. 

She had slipped back on her kicked-off pump, and thus as she went up the 
stairs, her body undulated in the most enticingly voluptuous manner, letting 
him watch the rippling play of the muscles of her bare pale-white-sheened 
calves and thighs in such titillating contrast to the flaming half-moons of 
her sumptuous young posterior. 

Once inside his bedroom, Henry Warren turned her round, grasped her by the 
elbows, and kissed her hard and longingly on the mouth. "Now take off that 
skirt, baby, and get on the bed on your hands and knees," he panted thickly. 

"Oh Hank, you mean you're finally going to f-fuck me, darling?" she 
breathed, her eyes starry and humid. 

"That's right. Now you just get there and I'll get ready for you. A guy has 
to take precautions with his best girl, you know," he chuckled. Then, 
slipping his hand under skirt, he ran it up her thigh to the thick fronds of 
pubic hair and tickled her fleshy cuntal lips, finding them moist and 
quivering with longing. Betty Jurgens moaned softly, let her head fall back, 
and permitted her lover to do as he would. Then, as he moved away and into 
the bathroom, she tremblingly unfastened her miniskirt and let it drop to 
the floor. Naked in her high-heels, sweater, blouse and bra, she climbed 
slowly onto the bed and knelt there in its center, her hands palmed down on 
either side of her, glancing back at him with a fervent anticipation in 
which the slightest tinge of apprehension glowed in her dilated, glistening 
gray-green eyes. 

When Henry Warren returned, he was naked except for socks, and he was 
rubbing his penis industriously with cold cream. Joining her on the bed, he 
knelt behind her, and then, to her unexpected dismay, put left thumb and 
forefinger to the pouting edges of her reddened buttocks and pried them 
lightly apart while he anointed her crinkly anal rosebud with the cream on 
his right forefinger, working it just around the quivering, shrinking lips. 

"Ohhhh, Hank-what are you going to do- not there? Oh Hank, it'll hurt too 
much-oh no!" she protested, clenching her thighs and putting a hand back 
over her bottom to fend off the threat. 

"Keep still, baby! First of all, I'm out of safes, and I'm not about to get 
you pregnant, not till we're married, anyhow. This way, you'll still be a 
virgin. And you'll see, you'll get a bang out of it. Now spread those sweet 
legs apart and I'll show you what I mean!" he urged. 

"Well, maybe, but you've gotta stop if it hurts too much," she doubtfully 
murmured. Then, her face flaming with sweet virginal shame, she bowed it to 
the sheets and pressed it down on one side, her fingers clawing the sheets, 
her knees grudgingly shifting till they were spread apart to maximum, her 
dimpled, narrowly hollowed back quivering and squirming apprehensively. 

Henry Warren fitted himself towards her, the tip of his turgid organ grazing 
the inner edges of her flinching buttocks. Betty Jurgens uttered a stifled 
little gasp, glanced nervously back, then again buried her face on the 
sheets and closed her eyes tightly, stiffening herself in readiness. 

He used both hands to open the globes of her behind, centering on the 
contracting target of her maiden rosette, until the tip of his penis lodged 
exactly against her fearful orifice. Then gently he pushed, and Betty 
uttered another strangled gasp, "Oh please, take it easy!" "I will, baby, 
just relax, it'll make it easier," he instructed. 

His left forefinger sought and found her clitoris at the apex of the 
twitching cuntal lips, and began to ply it with deft, delicate touches. 
Betty arched and moaned, shivering voluptuously, and at that same instant 
her young lover forced himself forward till the cap of his organ lodged just 
inside the ring of clenching sphincter muscles. He groaned and closed his 
eyes, holding back the frenzied urge to ejaculate, so maddening was this 
first possessive "kiss" of her maiden rectal lovesheath against his 
pulsating manhood. 

"Oh-oh gosh-oh please, t-take it easy, darling-oooh! oh my-oh Hank, be 
careful, not too hard-ouuuu!!!" she moaned feverishly, squirming and 
twisting herself about in order to ease the angle of incidence. 

"Does it hurt, baby?" he solicitously muttered as his right hand stroked her 
quaking bottomcheeks, his left forefinger still lingeringly brushing the 
stiffening nodule of her palpitating clitoris. 

"N-no, b-but I'm s-scared it will, Hank honey," Betty nervously quavered. 

"Just relax, sweetiepie, you'll see, it'll get to you-now, that's a good 
girl-ahh!" Henry Warren panted as he thrust slowly forward, probing nearly 
half his man-length into the tight humid cavern. Betty Jurgens tilted up her 
flushed, contorted face, eyes wildly rolling, glassy with mingled sensuality 
and anguish from the hard spanking, "Oooooh, oh now it does, ohhh Hank, 
t-take it out-ohh d-darling, it-it's splitting me there!" she moaned. 

But his forefinger increased its frictional cadence, and suddenly the 
half-naked sunburned teen-ager writhed and groaned as the subtle 
distillation of carnal pleasure began to overcome the uncomfortable 
distention of her tightening rectal chasm. "Ohhh-ahh-ugh- ohh-H-Hank-ohhh, 
wh-what are you doing to me-ohh d-darling you're driving me crazy with that 
t-tickling-ouu-ohhh H-Hank!" 

"That's my girl," he huskily panted, reaching out with his right hand to 
fondle one of her heaving full breasts as he thrust relentlessly onward, his 
other forefinger hastening the clitoral attunement of her now wantonly 
responding loins. 

Betty's face lifted, eyes straining towards the ceiling, nostrils 
flickering, mouth agape in hectic little wordless cries that announced her 
erotic awakening. 

He held himself immobile a moment, glorying in the spasmodic clenchings 
which the velvety walls of her temple of Sodom now frenziedly applied 
against his rooted weapon, and then began to draw slowly in and out, 
squeezing her breast and prodding her turgid clitoris this way and that, 
forcing it back into the secretive cowl of soft cuntal flesh, then letting 
it bob up, rolling it, tickling and grazing it with quickened attention. 
Betty's half-nude body threshed and writhed, her knees bending, then 
stiffening, her hips weaving in a seductive, responding rhythm to his 
copulatory movements. Raucous gasps and incoherent little sighs and moans 
told him of her rapt excitement. The feel of her spanked buttocks grinding 
convulsively against his belly added to his mounting fury, and with a last 
deep stroke, he hilted himself inside her, his forefinger pressing her 
clitoris back down into its furtive nook. 

Betty uttered a prolonged shrill cry, her body lunging madly, as the spasm 
seized her, and at the same instant, Henry Warren felt himself burst his 
viscous essence into the deepest recesses of her nether love-core. She 
collapsed, sprawling flat on her belly, fingers clawing the rumpled sheets, 
he atop her, still hilted, and he felt the straining, clenching walls of her 
rectal sheath drain him of the last residue of love-juice. 

It seemed an eternity of ecstasy till she at last whimpered, "Oh-H-Hank, oh 
darling, it-it was j-just wonderful!" 

"Didn't I tell you, baby? And you've still got your cherry-that's for me on 
our wedding night. Now let's tidy up, and then you tell me more about what 
you want me to do to pay old snoopy Astrid back." 

CHAPTER Seven 

Fate had decided to take a hand in the destinies of Astrid and Matthew 
Fullhan as well as that of red-haired Betty Jurgens. On the Friday week 
following his first date with Kathleen Johnson, Betty's father, loosening 
his shirt collar and awkwardly fidgeting at the dinner table, looked 
uneasily at his sophisticated, beautiful daughter and cautiously asked, 
"Betty, what would you think if I were to marry again? Would it upset you 
too much?" 

Betty gasped and stared incredulously back at her father, then began to 
giggle. "Why, Dad, I think it's a perfectly wonderful idea. I know you've 
been awfully lonesome since Mom died, and maybe that's one reason you and I 
haven't always seen eye to eye." 

"Now don't you try to change the subject, young lady," he had testily 
interposed. "Just because I'm thinking of marrying again doesn't mean I'm 
letting down the bars where that Henry Warren is concerned. Don't you forget 
it for a minute." 

"I'm not likely to, Daddy, not after what you did to me in the garage," she 
saucily reminded him, and when his face crimsoned, she giggled again, much 
to his discomfiture. "But seriously, I think it's just wonderful. When are 
you going to do it?" 

"I was thinking of next Saturday, and going out of town on the 
honeymoon-maybe to New York, for just a week. That's about all I can spare 
with the paper, because I couldn't trust my old assistant to go more than a 
week without goofing things up. You want to come along, honey? You've never 
been to New York, you know. I'll even buy you a new outfit, how's that?" 

Betty had thought quickly. If she protested too much, he was likely to get 
the wind up and suspect that she really hadn't broken off with Henry after 
all. And she very definitely wanted to see Henry again, not only because of 
how close they had been the week before, but because she was going to work 
the details out of her revenge on snoopy Astrid Fullhan. "I don't know, 
Daddy," she had somewhat dubiously replied with a cute little frown, "we're 
getting awfully close to finals, and then there's my sorority initiation. 
That's for a week from Sunday night, you know, and I'm vice president. I 
just have to be there, Daddy. Anyhow," this with a coaxing little smile, 
"you wouldn't want me along on your honeymoon anyway, and you know it. But 
I'll take a raincheck on that new outfit, and maybe we can go to New York 
for Christmas." 

"Sure, that's not a bad idea at that. All right, Betty, it's Kathleen 
Johnson. You know, she used to work at the library until all the bluenoses 
in town decided that she wasn't a fit person just because she got a raw deal 
with that hippie musician hubby of hers. She's a fine woman, and she knows 
you and likes you, and I think we will get along just swell. I'm glad you're 
taking it this way, honey, it's a big weight off my mind." 

"I want to stay home and get good grades so you can be proud of me when I go 
to college in the fall, Daddy," Betty had got up from her chair, come around 
to her father, and kissed him on the forehead. And that was how, much to her 
unexpected delight, she knew that the way was clear to planning retribution 
for the bespectacled blonde matron across the way who had engineered that 
humiliating bare-bottomed spanking. To be sure, the auburn-haired teen-ager 
had to admit to herself that the spanking itself had had some wonderful 
aftereffects, especially so far as darling Henry was concerned. Just the 
same, it was high time somebody taught that nosy neighbor of theirs not to 
butt in on young people just because she was sour and envious of them. ... 

And so the next week had been spent in hectic preparations for the wedding, 
which was to take place at the Summerton Town Hall with old Judge Timothy 
Abernathy presiding, and between showing his assistant what to look for in 
putting out the issue of the paper for the week he would be honeymooning 
with Kathleen Johnson, arranging for the blood tests and the license, and 
visiting the happily flustered Kathleen to make sure that all the details 
were perfectly clear to her, Dan Jurgens was far too distractingly occupied 
to think about his spirited red-haired daughter. The marriage took place on 
the following Saturday noon and then Dan Jurgens and his light-brown-haired 
new wife got into Dan's car and started their drive towards the honeymooning 
delights of Manhattan, with the bridal suite reserved for them at the 
Barbizon Plaza overlooking Central Park. 

Matthew Fullhan, the same week of his neighbor's remarriage, had gone back 
to Boston to confer with Amos Denby, lunching again at Pier One and then, 
after spending an hour at the table showing Amos some of his sketches for 
the new campaign and getting an approval on them for finished artwork, 
eagerly went off with the art director back to the apartment of Suzy 
Phillips, where honey-haired Eleanor enthusiastically awaited a reunion with 
her formerly shy "client". And thus it was that Astrid Fullhan found herself 
alone this fateful weekend as did vengeance-minded Betty Jurgens. 

"Henry? It's Betty, lover. I sure do want to see you. Yes, Daddy went and 
did it. He just left for New York and he won't be back until a week from 
Sunday, and that'll be Hell Night for the S.S.S., you know. Umm hmm, I know. 
Look, I've got the camera, so why don't you come over right now? Her hubby? 
He's not home, and I'll bet that means he's out of town again. How do I 
know? Because Daddy printed in the paper last week that Mr. Matthew Fullhan, 
noted Summerton commercial artist, had been assigned some important artwork 
for a big Boston agency. That's where he is, because he's usually home by 
now and anyhow, he does most of his work at home and he doesn't go out even 
with that snooty wife of his very much. Sure I'm sure. So tonight's the 
night we're going to work it on dear old nosy Astrid. Here's what you do-" 
For the next few minutes, Betty spoke earnestly and quickly into the phone, 
then giggled and hung up. 

Next, she hurried to her bedroom to change into her most seductive and 
revealing outfit. It would be sure to draw Astrid Fullhan's spying 
attentions. Even her own father hadn't seen her wear this, and he would have 
put his foot down if he had. She had bought it out of her allowance and 
hidden it away in a bottom drawer of her dresser, hoping that sometime, 
somehow, she would get a chance to wear it for her boyfriend Henry Warren. 
And now was very definitely the time! 

It was a sleeveless red silk blouse with a deep V-cut, together with a 
hip-hugging black satin miniskirt that went down exactly to mid-thigh. The 
combination of the two left several inches of bare midriff tantalizingly 
displayed, and the rest of Betty's "seduction outfit" consisted of frilly 
black net pantybriefs and a matching bra with cutouts for her perky coral 
nipples. About five months ago, her father had taken her to a printers' 
convention in Fall River, and during an important meeting on union rules, 
Betty had slipped away to find a secluded little lingerie shop at the other 
end of town. It was about the time that she was deciding that if she were 
going to take Henry Warren away from Dodie Ames and Helen Baskins, it was 
high time she let him be aware of what she really had to offer an 
appreciative fellow. Finally, she put on her high-heeled pumps and turned 
this way and that to survey herself in the full-length bathroom mirror. 
Naughtily she whisked up the miniskirt, and giggled at the sight of her 
plump love-mound and the thick bush of dark-red hair which shielded it and 
caressingly curled over her fleshy cuntal lips through her gauzy panties. 
She was hoping that maybe this time he would bring along a safe and forget 
his silly nonsense about wanting to save her cherry until they got married. 
Of course, the way he had given it to her before, though most unexpected and 
unusual, had turned out to be terrifically thrilling, and she wouldn't mind 
if he tried it that way again, especially when he rubbed her tender little 
button and sent her crawling up the wall! 

Letting her skirt fall back into place, Betty moved to the dining room 
window and peered out. Sure enough, Astrid Fullhan was in the kitchen, 
wearing her glasses, and those silly pigtails with the ribbons tied to them. 
She had on an apron and dowdy brown cotton dress, and she didn't have any 
makeup on at all. Wait until the girls of the S.S.S. got a gander at Astrid, 
Betty gleefully thought to herself. 

Finally, she took out a tanager lipstick and deepened the ripe, sensual 
curve of her soft moist lips, and then, with a last glance at the mirror, 
left the house and walked out into the back yard. She didn't smoke, but this 
time she was going to. Her father had left a half-empty pack of 
Chesterfields on the kitchen table, and she was very nonchalant as she lit 
one with a kitchen match scraped against the fencepost and then slowly 
sauntered back and forth, as if looking for someone-as of course she was. 

She pretended not to look back at the lighted kitchen window where Astrid 
Fullhan was standing. But covertly, she was able to see that she at once 
aroused the woman's attention. The blonde matron was leaning forward, 
frowning, her eyes very big behind those silly horn-rimmed glasses of hers. 
Betty airily took a puff at the cigarette, then another, but was careful not 
to inhale, which she didn't know how to do anyway. She flicked imaginary 
ashes into the air, then stooped and hoisted up her miniskirt to reveal her 
gauzy pantybriefs, and slyly glanced back at the Fullhan kitchen window. 
Sure enough, old Astrid was taking it all in, her mouth open like a chicken 
with its head cut off! It was all Betty could do to keep from giggling. The 
Kodak Instamatic, loaded and ready, was already in the garage. She had put 
it in there just as soon as her father and Kathleen had driven off to New 
York. 

A few minutes later, she heard the sound of Henry Warren's car and giggled 
to herself. He was to park it in the alley and then leap over the fence and 
come to her through the garden so that Astrid would be sure to see them both 
together making their way into the garage. If that didn't work, they'd have 
to think of something else. 

"Sweet stuff!" Henry Warren called guardedly, "Is the coast clear?" 

"It's just fine, Hank lover!" Betty Jurgens giggled. He came to her out of 
the darkness, took her in his arms, and his hands squeezed the elastic 
cheeks of her behind as he pulled her to him. She could feel his fierce 
erection thrust against the twitching cuntal lips which the filmy net 
panties so scantily revealed more than concealed. And she felt a throbbing 
surge of feminine emotion, wanting this time for him to take her the right 
way, to put that big hard tool of his right where it belonged and not worry 
about saving her cherry for the wedding night-heaven knew how long it would 
be before Daddy would come around to the idea of even letting her go steady 
with Henry Warren. 

"She's in the kitchen watching like a hawk, lover," Betty whispered in a 
husky voice after he broke off the kiss. "Stand here for a second and give 
me another couple of free feels, I'm getting so sexy you wouldn't believe! 
That ought to bug her eyes out for her, the old witch! Now you know what 
you've got to do?" 

"You just do your part, baby, and I'll do mine. As for feeling you up, I 
could do this all night long-how's that?" He had slid his hands under her 
short skirt and under the legs of her net panties, and one hand was now 
roaming the velvety-smooth cheeks of her bare behind while the other fondled 
the thick dark-red bush over her cuntal lips. Betty moaned without faking, 
eyes closed and shivering as she pressed herself tightly to him. She thought 
she heard a stifled gasp, because Astrid Fullhan's kitchen window was partly 
raised, it being such a warm day and evening. 

"Mmm, lover, be careful or we might do it right here and now and then we'd 
never catch the old snoop," she at last besought him. "I'll go into the 
garage and you come in after me. I left the bricks just slightly loose, so 
she can pull them out easily and we'll hear or see her. Then you know what 
to do." 

With this, she turned and ran towards the side door of the garage, opened 
it, and disappeared. Henry Warren, without glancing back at the lighted 
kitchen window, moved slowly and purposefully towards that same door, paused 
long enough to light a cigarette, and hen disappeared inside the garage. ... 

Astrid Fullhan's breath was coming quickly now, and her face was flushed. 
The very idea of those two dreadful children, practically fornicating out 
there under the sky and everything! She was going to have to tell Mr. 
Jurgens when he got back from his honeymoon. The wicked girl, no sooner had 
her father left town than she had to have that horrible boy over. The Lord 
alone knew what they would do all this week. Well, maybe if she gave them a 
scare, they might hold off their wickedness until Betty's father got back. 

Under the rather dowdy brown dress, she wore a pale white lace-trimmed slip 
and matching strap-on bra with white suspants. She disliked girdles, because 
they were so cumbersome and then you had to remove the panties if you wanted 
to go to the bathroom and it made you very self-conscious. But the suspants 
were thick enough to cover the intimate parts that shouldn't be shown or 
exposed, and they had little tabs which reached down to her stockings and 
held them just as tightly as a garter belt would. That way, she wasn't 
conscious of the sinful undergarment that so many young girls or loose women 
wore to attract men. Thank goodness Matthew was as intellectual as she was 
on the subject of sex. She didn't know what she would have done if he had 
been one of those sex-crazy husbands who wanted to do things to her every 
night! 

But she had to be sure that Betty Jurgens was committing sin with that awful 
Henry Warren, and the only way was to watch them and catch them at it. Very 
carefully she unlocked her kitchen door, tiptoed out, and moved over to the 
hedge. Parting the bushes, she squatted down before the rectangle of loose 
bricks, reached for one gingerly and then drew it out, laid it down very 
carefully, and then another and another . . . and then she crouched down and 
stared into the opening. Her worst fears were confirmed at once. They had 
turned on the electric light bulb there in the middle of the garage, and 
were standing right there shamelessly. Betty had her skirt up and her 
panties were pulled down-and what skimpy and sinful black panties they were, 
too-and that horrible boy had his hands on her b-bot-tom and was pressing 
himself right against her f-front-oh it was intolerable, disgraceful! 

She watched, and suddenly the tickling between her thighs made her shiver, 
and she could feel the stiffening of her nipples. Almost unconsciously, she 
put a hand to her heaving breasts, her palm flattening down the nipple as if 
to punish it for having such emotions. 

Then the light went out suddenly, and she gasped, straining her ears to 
listen to what was going on. They would be doing it next, she was sure. And 
then she would be able to tell Betty's father and have that boy sent to 
prison where he belonged for corrupting a minor. And the girl ought to be 
locked up on bread and water and given a good sound thrashing for a week at 
least. . . . 

"Ohhh-what-let go-oh you-mmfffff- mmmfffff!" 

Suddenly, she felt herself seized from behind, a hand over her mouth and an 
arm around her middle, lifting her off the ground as she kicked and 
struggled. Then she felt herself being carried or rather propelled into the 
garage, and suddenly dropped unceremoniously to fall with a painful thud 
upon her bottom on the hard stone garage floor. 

"Who is that-Betty-is that awful boy with you ? You wait till I tell your 
father-I should think you would have learned your lesson-oh, what are you 
doing-no-stop it-my clothes -you're pulling up my clothes-oh no, let go- I'm 
going to yell for help-mmffff!" 

Her dress and slip had been tugged up to her hips, and then wiry fingers had 
gripped the suspants and given a tug and yanked them down to her knees. Then 
she was hauled to her feet, and the next thing she knew, she felt something 
hard and hot press against the thick dark-brown fleece that shrouded her 
fleshy, twitching cuntal lips. 

And then suddenly the light went on, and her eyes bulged and her mouth gaped 
open and she stood there paralyzed. 

Betty Jurgens had the camera trained on her and she could hear the whirring 
sound. And Henry Warren, his fly open and his savagely turgid penis boldly 
projecting from it, stood against her, his hands gripping her elbows and 
pinning them behind her back, while he pressed the tip of his organ into her 
cuntal bush, until she could feel it actually rub against the soft pink lips 
of the most intimate and sacred part of her entire body. 

"Well, well, Mrs. Fullhan," Betty Jurgens chortled, "wait till your husband 
sees this movie. He wouldn't believe that his adoring, very moral wife would 
be carrying on an affair with my very own boyfriend. Henry, how could you?" 

"She's got a juicy fat little cunny on her, Astrid has, and you should get a 
feel of that big plump ass of hers too, baby," Henry Warren said out of the 
corner of his mouth while he grinned at the horrified blonde matron. 
"Personally, I think she's cute with those pigtails with the ribbons on 
them, just like a kid. Peel her down, and she's really got a shape for a 
cold winter's night!" 

"Ohhhh-oh my God-you let me go-oh this is disgraceful-I'm going to tell-" 

"Who are you going to tell, snoop?" Betty cut in. "Who's going to believe 
you once they see this movie? You rubbing your cunt right up against Henry's 
cock as if you couldn't get enough from your hubby-and I'll bet you don't. 
Sneaking off here into the garage to have a go at my own boyfriend, I like 
that!" 

"Oh no-this is a terrible mistake-you misunderstand-I was outside-I mean-" 

"I know what you were doing, snoopy!" Betty lashed at her sarcastically. 
"You were peeking, just the way you were when Hank and I were in here before 
and you had me get spanked. You were the one that called Dad and told him we 
were here, weren't you? Go ahead, Astrid, tell the truth or I'll have Henry 
do a few more things to you and take a lovely movie. I'll bet I could sell 
it for a stag party and make a fortune!" 

"P-please-please have him let me go, please put that c-camera away-this is 
awful!" 

"I'll say it is, Astrid baby," Henry snickered. Ruthlessly he twisted her 
elbows and forced her down on her knees, till her horrified, congested, 
tear-stained face was only inches from the savagely flaunting spear of his 
violently erect penis. "Get a shot of this, too, Betty Astrid giving a blow 
job!" And as Betty nodded and giggled in enthusiastic agreement, he deftly 
forced his penis against Astrid Fullhan's trembling lips. The camera whirred 
on, preserving that moment, even though Astrid wrenched her face away and 
uttered a shriek of loathing, "Ohh aughhh-oh take that filthy thing away-oh 
you horrible beast, you've got no right to treat me this way-" 

"Yell all you want to, Astrid honey," Betty again interposed. "But I'm going 
to have a print of this made and see that your husband gets it when he gets 
back home. And maybe I'll give it to Bruce Fenton, he's got a night club on 
Highway Twenty-Seven and he shows dirty movies there to his special 
customers. I'll bet he'll pay me a lot for this one." 

"Oh no-oh Betty, you wouldn't do a dreadful thing like that-you wouldn't-oh 
my God -no-oh I swear to you-I didn't do anything -he's the one-he pulled my 
clothes down and then-and then-" Astrid was near hysteria now. 

Henry Warren released her and stepped back, not bothering to stuff his 
swollen penis back into his pants. "We're both going to see that you get 
yours, Astrid," he said coldly. "I don't much go for bitches that snoop on 
other people and snitch to their fathers. I happen to want to marry Betty 
someday, and if she wants to have some fun with me first, that's our 
business, not yours. Get me?" 

"Yes, yes, I-I'm sorry-I didn't mean-I won't ever-" Astrid began to babble, 
wringing her hands and sobbing pitifully, kneeling there with bowed head on 
the garage floor, her suspants twisted and festooning her shaking knees. She 
wore flesh-toned nylons, and they lined her ripely rounded calves and 
succulently ample thighs. Henry Warren noticed this appreciatively, just as 
he did the thick dark-brown curls of her pubic bush which hardly let him see 
a glimpse of the fleshy coral-tinted cuntal lips they so secretively 
shrouded. He felt a throbbing in his organ that meant an urgent need for 
some kind of relief before this night was done! "I'll say you'll never butt 
in again, bitch. Now listen, and listen good. You've got just one chance to 
stop us from giving your hubby a copy of this movie and one to old Bruce, 
get me?" 

"I-I'll do anything you want-I swear I will-only please destroy that 
horrible thing- oh please-" 

"All right. Betty here heads up a sorority over at school, see? Well, a week 
from this Sunday afternoon, they're going to have an initiation. And you, 
baby, are going to be one of the pledges." 

"I-I don't understand-" Astrid Fullhan timidly stammered, looking over at 
Betty with agonized and supplicating eyes, still wringing her hands. 

"We'll see that you're blindfolded or wear a mask, Astrid," Betty explained 
with a sarcastic smile on her lovely face. "Nobody is going to know who you 
are. We'll just say you're a transfer senior from Chicago or something. But 
you'll go through the mill, and you'll take a good sound paddling on that 
big ass of yours to teach you a lesson about snooping." 

"Oh no-oh that's worse-oh it's horrible- how can you be so cruel-you're a 
girl-oh how can you treat a woman this way-?" 

"Would you rather have your husband watch this movie and maybe Bruce 
Fenton's customers and see who you are? You weren't wearing a mask when you 
had your mouth up against my boyfriend's cock, Astrid honey," Betty jeered. 

Crushed and broken, her face flaming, Astrid bowed her head and covered her 
face with her hands as her shoulders jerked with fitful sobs. 

"Well ?" Henry Warren moved closer, put his hand on the blonde woman's 
shoulder. "Do you play it our way or do we make copies of this movie and 
start circulating it all around Summerton?" 

From Astrid, there came a faint, agonized "N-no-oh dear God-I-I'll do what 
you want-only please don't tell my h-husband- please!" 

CHAPTER Eight 

They had sent Astrid Fullhan back to her kitchen, sobbing with remorse after 
having made her swear that she would show up promptly at two o'clock a week 
from Sunday afternoon at the house of Dodie Ames on Cedar-ton Road. "Because 
if you're late or if you don't show, bitch," Henry Warren had snapped at her 
as he himself had yanked up her suspants-not without pinching her bottom and 
finally applying a sadistic little pinch to the plump mound of her thickly 
fleeced cunt- "I'll personally come over to your house with a projector and 
have your hubby watch this movie, every bit of it. Betty will call you later 
during the week to tell you what to wear for the initiation. Now go back 
home and stay there, snoop!" 

Once the kitchen door had banged behind the sobbing bespectacled blonde 
matron, Henry Warren went back into the garage. All this time, he hadn't 
bothered to put his ferociously erect penis back into his shorts, and he 
didn't now. He plunged his hand into his pants pocket and took out a rubber, 
then fitted it onto the bony-looking, mushroom-cap-like tipped lance, 
smoothed it out without a wrinkle, and then moved over to his entranced 
red-haired girl friend. Betty understood without words; with a giggle of 
anticipatory delight, she whisked off her miniskirt and stepped out of the 
net panties, moved over to the old trunk near the back of the garage over 
whose surface she had already draped a car-blanket, and then, with a gasp of 
eagerness, lay back down on it. "Oh Hank, lover, you were just wonderful, 
and I'm so randy I can't see straight," she breathed. "I want you to have me 
now, I can't wait till we get married. And I see you brought the necessary, 
so it won't do any harm at all. Please hurry!" 

"A gentleman doesn't have to be asked twice with an offer like that, sweet 
stuff," he grinned wickedly as he moved toward her. A moment later, bending 
over her, his hands fondling her panting breasts, he sealed her mouth with a 
passionate French kiss, as he edged the tip of his rubber-sheathed penis 
against the moistened, quivering pink cuntal lips of her virgin orifice and 
entered the tight warm young lob-byway. 

"I don't care if it hurts, I want it bad," Betty whispered when the kiss was 
over. Her arms linked round his neck, squeezing tightly to her, and she 
arched herself as she sensed his muscles tightening for the assault upon her 
maidenhead. 

She winced when the battering ram of his organ abruptly banged against the 
thin membrane of her hymen, and then the twinge of pain was forgotten, and 
she groaned with delight to feel the heavy, hard-rooting spear impaling her 
to its very hilt. Her lovely bare legs flung up and locked over his wiry 
buttocks, and she began to join her rhythm to his, urging him to hurry, to 
do it to her, to bring her the fulfillment that her wildly aroused senses so 
desperately needed. 

"I ought to send her some flowers or something after Hell Night, Hank 
lover," she panted as he kept stroking away, "because if she hadn't snooped 
on us from the start, you wouldn't be doing this to me now-oh it's so 
good-oh fuck me hard-faster, oh darling, give me every inch you've got-oh 
I'm sure glad I didn't wait till we got married-and we can do it all the 
time now, because it's safe, isn't it-oh Hank, oh sweetheart-oh I'm going to 
cum, I know I am-oh lover-aaahh-oh Hank, now, now!! 

Her voice rose to a paean of rapture, her arms and legs locked tightly round 
him, as he thrust a final time and burst himself within the rubberized 
safeguard which kept her chastity intact if not her hymen. Betty was shaken 
by the spasm of furious relief, and she kissed him frenziedly until at last 
the sweet oblivion and lassitude after coitus eased their tensions. 

"What are you going to have her wear, baby?" he asked her a long while 
later, as they shared a cigarette together. 

"She'll have to keep those pigtails and those ribbons, and, I'll make her 
wear a kid's outfit, you watch and see." 

"Can I?" 

"You mean actually be there at the initiation? Gosh, we've never had a 
fellow. And I don't know if Dodie would go for it," Betty said doubtfully. 

"Suppose I tell the girls they can all watch while I give it to the new 
pledge after she's gone through Hell Night," he hinted with a leer. 

"You mean-you'd fuck Astrid, lover? That's a simply terrific idea! I know 
Dodie would go for that-and so would I." Then she frowned at him. "Only just 
don't go getting too much of a taste for her brand of snoopy pussy, lover. 
Now that I know what it's like, I'm going to put my brand on you. But just 
once to teach her a lesson, I don't think it'll do any harm. Now hurry up 
and get another safe on and give it to me again. Am I ever glad Daddy went 
and got himself married!" 

* * * 

Astrid Fullhan had died a thousand deaths of humiliation and apprehension by 
the time the Sunday of her command appearance before the "Summerton Swinging 
Sexpots" fell due. Matthew Fullhan had come back from his Boston meeting 
with Amos Denby and another seance with honey-haired Eleanor late the 
previous Sunday night, and his bespectacled wife had very nearly been 
tempted to throw herself on his mercy, confess what she had done, and what 
compensation was being demanded of her by vindictive Betty Jurgens and Henry 
Warren. But her guilty awareness of her own "sin" in spying on the two young 
people had begun to gnaw on her conscience, and most of all she was 
terrified at the idea of what her usually mild husband would say and do if 
he were to see a print of that movie in the garage. No matter how she tried 
to explain it, she realized, appearances would be very much against her; 
even though she had struggled and been revolted at the stripping of her 
garments and her enforced proximity to that shameless boy, the undeniable 
fact remained that she had been pictured in tight embrace with him and then, 
the recollection of which made her blush violently with mortification, knelt 
down and posed as if she were about to accept his penis orally. 

Besides, there seemed to have been a change in Matthew Fullhan himself, one 
that she was powerless to analyze. He had been extremely cool and diffident 
towards her, kissing her lightly on the cheek and saying very little about 
the trip except that his work had been approved by the agency and that he 
might have to go back the next weekend. At that point, she fervently hoped 
he would, because then he wouldn't be around to have to explain to why she 
had to leave home on Sunday afternoon. 

On Friday afternoon, she had received a call from Betty, reminding her to be 
there promptly at two o'clock on Sunday afternoon and telling her that a 
last-minute change had been arranged for her initiation costume: She would 
be given it when she arrived at Dodie's house. Nobody would recognize her, 
and once the initiation was over she would be given the reel of the movie to 
destroy or to do with as she pleased. Nor would Betty and Henry make any 
further comment about the episode once she had kept her part of the bargain. 

She had thus spent a wretched week, not only wondering about what would 
happen to her on Sunday afternoon but also whether Matthew was going to be 
absent from the house when her ordeal took place. Moreover, her husband kept 
up his aloof attitude all through the week, not once going to bed with her 
and remarking that he was going to stay up late and work on some of the 
preparatory sketches for the follow-up campaign on the fish cannery account 
which was bringing them such welcome extra revenue. As a consequence, Astrid 
wasn't called upon to fulfill her marital duties; indeed, Matthew Fullhan 
had made love to his wife exactly once since his very first trip to Boston. 

Then on Saturday afternoon, he got a call from Amos Denby to tell him that 
the follow-up campaign had been postponed for a fortnight and that he 
needn't come to Boston for this particular weekend. Thus, over the breakfast 
table on Sunday, Astrid Fullhan found herself compelled to invent an 
acceptable lie to explain her leaving the house that afternoon. 

"M-Matthew, would you mind if I went out this afternoon?" she had begun. 

He had looked up from the newspaper and shaken his head. "No, why should it 
I'm just going to finish some of my sketches and get them ready for when the 
agency calls me back to Boston. You go ahead. You'll want to use the car, I 
suppose?" 

"Oh yes-I mean-yes I'd like to, if I may." 

"Of course. Will you be back in time for supper?" 

"I-I think so. But maybe-well, would you mind very much having dinner at a 
restaurant this evening in case I'm late?" 

He put down his paper and stared at her. "No, I suppose not," he said 
slowly. "Mind telling me where you're going?" 

Astrid's face flamed and she lowered her eyes. Her lips had suddenly gone 
dry and she licked them furtively as she hastily summoned all her powers of 
inventiveness. "Well, you see, our bridge club is having an election of 
officers, and I've been nominated for president. And I suppose I have to be 
there in case I'm elected." 

"Good luck. Only I didn't know you'd taken up bridge. I've never seen any of 
the neighborhood women over here playing cards, come to think of it." 

"Well, you see," Astrid frantically improvised, "when you go to Boston, I'm 
sort of at loose ends, and I really like bridge a lot and I used to play it 
back in school-so Wilma Corrigan and Lois Dawson invited me to play. It-it's 
over at Lois's this afternoon." 

"Well, good for you! I'm glad you've got yourself a hobby, Astrid. One of 
these days, though, when I've got this Boston thing all lined up and my 
working schedule pretty clear ahead of me, you and I are going to sit down 
and have a little talk about the future." 

"Of course, d-darling! Whatever you say. Thank you for being so 
understanding," Astrid nervously stammered. 

As she hurried to the sink to do the breakfast dishes, Astrid's cheeks were 
burning, and she didn't notice that Matthew Fullhan was studying her 
intently with a speculative look in his usually mild blue eyes. . . . 

She parked the car along the curb in front of the address which Betty 
Jurgens had given her, got out, and, biting her lips, walked up the steps 
and rang the doorbell. 

Dodie Ames was Betty's age, a tall haughty black-haired senior at Summerton 
High, and her parents were probably the richest family in all Summerton. 
They had left two weeks ago for a European second honeymoon, promising their 
only daughter a similar trip as a wedding present when she married Fred 
Hennings in September. Dodie was president of the secret high-school 
sorority, which comprised about eighteen girls between the ages of sixteen 
and eighteen and which pledged only those girls known to have "gone the 
limit" or ready to approach that sophisticated sexual stage with a steady 
boyfriend, and also whose grades were satisfactory, enough so that the 
school authorities would attach no particular significance to their regular 
dating habits. 

Actually, "Hell Night" was to have been the following Friday evening, but 
Betty Jurgens had had a long session with Dodie and explained the unusual 
circumstances of the "masked pledge" who would be the piece de resistance at 
this ceremony. So Dodie had laughingly agreed to hold the ceremonial in the 
basement recreation room of her parents' palatial house where there was no 
danger of intrusion from unwanted outsiders or snooping neighbors. 

"First, we're going to blindfold you, Astrid," Betty announced, as tall 
Dodie appeared beside her in playshorts, bra halter, high-heeled black 
leather pumps and transparent black clockwork net hose that disappeared 
under the legs of her shorts and were held up by a single tab clamping high 
against each thigh from a green satin-elastic garter belt. 

"You're sure-you're sure nobody is going to know who I am?" Astrid Fullhan 
nervously quavered, her face very red as Dodie's amused and scornful gaze 
fixed on her. 

"I promised, didn't I? Now come along!" Betty curtly commanded. They took 
hold of Astrid's wrists and led her down the hallway of the big house and 
thence to a narrow door opening just off the pantry, down a flight of narrow 
stone steps into the huge basement, part of which had been sectioned off 
with several Japanese shoji screens. Betty opened a storage-room door, 
flicked on a light switch, and pointed to a straight-backed chair on which 
was placed a dress box. "Here's your outfit, Astrid. You'll find a mask in 
there; actually, it's a kind of hood. That way, you can even wear your 
glasses, but nobody will see your face. Now get moving. We're working on two 
other pledges before you, but you'll be the only one going through the line. 
Make it fast!" 

With this, the red-haired teen-ager shoved Astrid into the room and locked 
the door, while she and Dodie shoved aside one of the screens and went back 
into the initiation area. Two sixteen-year-old pledges were going through at 
the same time, one of them a petite dark-brown-haired Venus with big round 
breasts and bottom to match, plump thighs, and a pale milky skin, the other 
a slim, shy, coppery-haired girl with willowy legs and small apple-like 
breasts. Both girls had been ordered to report wearing the sheerest nylons 
they could find, garter belts, high-heeled pumps, bra and panty sets, and 
only a dress over that provocative deshabille. They had both been 
blindfolded, the dresses removed, their hands tied in front of them, and 
then each of their "Big Sisters" had led them by tying a cord to their 
wrist-bonds and drawing on it like a leash through the waiting paddle line. 
Each girl had gone through twice, the first time with her panties on, and 
then Dodie Ames had condemned the pledges to make a return trip with their 
panties removed on the alleged grounds of cowardice. 

Meanwhile, trembling with shame and fear, Astrid Fullhan hastily began to 
undress. But to her ears, very plainly, came the sounds of pinewood paddles 
landing crisply on naked girlflesh and the wails and cries and piteous pleas 
of the two young sufferers to be let off. "Oh-oww-eeyarhhh-oh please stop, 
oh I can't take anymore-owww!-oh please do stop, please, it hurts so 
much-Aiiii!" 

Then she heard Dodie Ames's haughty voice sneeringly ordering, "The big 
babies, all that fuss over a little spanking! We'll give them one last 
chance, but first we're going to have our Midwestern transferee. We're going 
to call her Miss X, because she's asked that we keep her real name a secret, 
girls. Oh yes, one last thing-she's just a little older than Phyllis and 
Delia there, so I expect you sisters to give her a real warm welcome to 
Summerton High S.S.S., and I mean just that! Madam Vice President, will you 
go see if Miss X is ready to meet her betters by now?" 

Astrid Fullhan uttered a strangled cry, her heart pounding wildly. She had 
opened the dress box after having stripped down to her suspants, bra, hose, 
and pumps, and discovered indeed, a new "initiation outfit." It comprised an 
old flour sack that had been turned inside out and made into a kind of 
dress, such as farmers' wives wore a couple of generations ago, a black 
lace-trimmed strapless bra, a pair of lace-trimmed, very flouncy black satin 
panties which at first horrified glance appeared to be somewhat small for 
her generous proportions, a pair of gauzy smoke-colored nylons, and a gaudy 
red satin-elastic garter belt, and finally a pair of four-inch-heeled red 
leather pumps. 

The door was unlocked and Betty Jurgens appeared, hands on hips. "My 
goodness, haven't you finished getting dressed, Astrid? We're waiting for 
you. Now get a move on!" 

"But-but-you don't expect me-these things are just disgraceful-" 

"You mean they're too sexy? You put them on, Astrid Fullhan, or we'll run 
the movie right here and now in front of all the girls. Not only that, we'll 
tie you up and paddle your big bottom raw just the same. Now you've got your 
choice!" 

"Oh, dear-oh my Lord," Astrid wailed, but the hard glitter in the 
teen-ager's eyes convinced her that to comply would be the lesser of two 
evils. 

She was blushing to her hair roots as she stood at last naked, and then even 
more hastily pulled on the snug-fitting black satin panties. Betty had to 
aid her, and they very nearly split, but at last they were in place, 
outlining the ripely opulent, deeply grooved cheeks of Astrid Fullhan's 
bottom like a second skin that had just been sewn on. "Oh dear, I won't even 
be able to walk in these without splitting them," Astrid Fullhan moaned. 

"Don't worry about that. Now hurry up, I told you they're waiting for you!" 
Betty Jurgens impatiently commanded. 

There was one final item in the dressbox: a black hood which covered the 
head and fell to the shoulders, with large cut-outs for the eyes and nothing 
else. "Keep your glasses on, and let's get moving!" Betty snapped as Astrid, 
at last dressed in the flour sack and squirming uneasily in the fearfully 
tight panties and an almost equally tight bra which hugged her closely 
spaced, upstandingly rounded cantaloupe-like breasts, took a few tentative 
steps on the high-heeled pumps and then burst into suppressed sobs. "I-I 
can't walk in these shoes, Betty-honestly I can't-" she moaned, wringing her 
hands in despair. 

"Oh yes you can, and you'll learn! You come along with me now. Hold out your 
hands- there!" Swiftly Betty looped the noose of a white felt cord over 
Astrid Fullhan's wrists, tugged it tightly, and then used the other end like 
a leash to lead the blonde matron, stumbling forward, uttering frantic 
little cries of fright for fear that she would topple to the stone floor. As 
she had been ordered, she wore the two childlike pigtails with blue ribbons 
attached to the ends, and of course these could be seen descending beneath 
the hood. 

Mock whistles of jeering and greedy admiration greeted her appearance from 
behind the shoji screens, and Betty Jurgens led her in front of the single 
line of sixteen sorority sisters, each brandishing a pinewood paddle. 

"Miss X wishes to say that she is humbly ready for her initiation into our 
exalted and exclusive sorority, Madam President," Betty Jurgens announced to 
the grinning black-haired Dodie Ames. 

"Let her begin the test of courage now then. Prepare her, Madam Vice 
President!" 

While Betty continued to hold the improvised leash, two of the sorority 
girls hurried forward, their paddles tucked under their arms, lofted 
Astrid's flour sack dress and rolled it high on her back where they pinned 
it up with safety pins. More whistles of admiration rose at the sight of the 
spectacularly ripe bottom, the black satin shaping out the cheeks and the 
crease between them in the most suggestive way. Astrid's face was almost 
purple now with blushes of shame, and the backs of her legs were trembling 
so that she swayed on the high-heeled pumps to which she was entirely 
unaccustomed. 

"Now then, Madam Vice President, since you are acting as her Big Sister, 
bring her before the exalted tribunal," Dodie Ames announced, and swept her 
paddle downward in a wicked arc to indicate the beginning of Astrid 
Fullhan's expiation. 

Betty had decided not to blindfold her victim, because it would add to her 
terror and humiliation; thus Astrid Fullhan was able to see through the 
disguising hood what awaited her . . . sixteen girls swinging paddles, 
licking their lips, giggling, and awaiting her in a single line. Her flesh 
cringed at the thought, but Betty was already tugging on the cord. "Come on, 
Miss X, don't be bashful, we want to give you a warm welcome into our 
sorority!" 

As she passed the first girl, a plump, smirking seventeen-year-old 
dishwater-blonde, the latter drew her paddle back and applied it with gusto 
across both cheeks of Astrid Fullhan's ample bottom. With a wild shriek, the 
frantic matron stumbled forward, but already a second paddle collided across 
both bottom-globes, at almost the same place, and then a third and a fourth 
as Betty pulled her forward. "Oh no-it hurts-oh my God-I can't stand 
it-wait, oh I can't walk on these awful shoes-ahrrr-oh my God, have mercy, 
Betty, please-oh don't-ahrrww ouuu!! Please stop -oh you're killing 
me-you're just killing me-aiiii-eeyahhrr!!" Twice, under the flailing 
paddles, Astrid Fullhan lost her balance on the pinchingly tight 
spike-heeled pumps, stumbled and sank down to her knees, only to be jerked 
up by the pitiless redhead. During these interludes, the giggling girls took 
full advantage of her helplessness to apply several more swats till at last 
she scrambled to her feet and stumbled forward, wailing and sobbing, her 
cheeks drenched with juvenile tears of pain and woe. 

When they came to the end of the line where Dodie awaited her, the 
black-haired president of the secret sorority regaled the sobbing matron 
with a ferocious swat across the base of her bottom that drove Astrid down 
on her knees again and then sprawling flat on the floor, kicking her legs 
and sobbing as if her heart would break. 

"Miss X is a worse cry-baby than those little freshies we just dusted off," 
she said contemptuously. "Madam Vice President, take her through the line 
again, and this time raw!" 

"To hear is to obey, Madam President," Betty winked and giggled. Then, 
bending down, she put her hands to the waistband of the black satin panties, 
noticing that here and there at the seams there was evidence of splitting. 
One vigorous ripping jerk and the sheath was torn off a lusciously opulent 
bottom that was already a violently bright-red hue from chink-bone to the 
tops of her quaking thighs. 

"On your feet, pledge!" Betty moved round and forward now, yanking at the 
cord. But Astrid plaintively implored mercy, ignominiously lying there on 
her belly and looking up through the slits of her hood at her vindictive 
young tormentress: "Oh please, no more-I'll be so good-I won't ever snoop 
again-please, Betty, have mercy, I hurt so!" 

"Want me to show the movie, Miss X?" was all Betty had to say, and with a 
wail of anguish, the unhappy matron awkwardly got to her feet, crying out 
again as the maneuver sent new waves of burning anguish through her naked 
behind. 

This time, it was Dodie who started Astrid off on her second run of the 
mill, with a diagonally placed swat that made the pinewood paddle jump over 
the huddling, inflamed naked globes and wrenched a piercing shriek from the 
mature sufferer. 

Now she cast aside all dignity and poise, all intellectual stature: Astrid 
Fullhan had been reduced to a plaintive, anguished little girl whose bottom 
pained her dreadfully and who was ready to do anything in the world if that 
pain would only terminate. At least four times she fell down on her knees 
and wildly begged Betty to be satisfied with what she was suffering already, 
but each time she was dragged to her feet and made to continue, and the 
girls, reveling in the prospect of initiating a full-grown woman who was 
acting like a child, applied many more spanks than she would have had had 
she been able to go through the line stoically. 

And then at last it was over, and once again she lay sprawled on her belly, 
weeping hysterically, her bottom swollen, the cheeks opening and contracting 
convulsively, kicking her pump-shod feet to and fro in the air as she tried 
to ease the fiery agony in her bare behind. Now all shame at being thus 
exposed had fled; pain dominated, gnawing and searing pain the like of which 
she had never before experienced. 

And now, Miss X," Betty bent down to whisper, "we're going to keep our 
bargain. You'll get back the movie. I'm going to take you where you'll find 
it." 

Sobbing loudly, Astrid slowly got to her feet, but not without the aid of 
two of the gleeful sisters. Still clad in only the bra, garterbelt, hose, 
and pumps, she was led by her wrists out of the recreation room and back up 
the stairs. Betty this time generously permitted her to remove the pumps so 
that she could negotiate the stone steps. But once they had reached the 
level of the pantry, she had to put them back on again. And then Betty led 
her down the hallway to a guest room, opened the door, and said, "Now you 
can ask Henry real sweet and nice for the movie, and I'm sure he'll give it 
to you." 

She pulled the door shut behind the half-naked blonde matron who still wore 
the hood and whose wrists were still bound, the cord now trailing on the 
floor. Astrid Fullhan uttered a strangled cry of disbelief and shame- 
because standing there in front of her, naked except for socks, his penis in 
ferocious erection, was Henry Warren, a cigarette dangling between his lips. 
He had watched behind one of the shoji screens, and when Astrid had come at 
last to the end of her initiation, he had hurried up to the room to get 
ready for her. He lifted the canister of film in his right hand and showed 
it to her. "Here it is, Astrid baby! You earned it, but you'll have to be 
real sweet to me to get it." 

"Oh please-you-you're naked-oh please -this is awful-I hurt so, oh please, 
let me put my clothes back on and go home-please, Mr. Warren-" 

"Oh ho, so it's Mr. Warren now? Well, that's a good start. Come on, Astrid 
girl, you know you don't want to go home right now. Your ass is burning so 
much your pussy must be just as hot in front. Let's find out, shall we?" 

He stooped, picked up the cord-leash, and yanked it as he moved towards the 
big double bed whose covers were already drawn. 

"No-what are you going to do-no-oh my God, not that-oh this is horrible-it's 
unfair -you and Betty didn't say I would have to- oh no, let me go-aaahh-" 
Astrid Fullhan cried out as Betty's virile black-haired lover now grabbed 
her by the waist and forced her onto the bed, rolling her over onto her 
flaming, burning bottom. Instantly she rolled onto one side, crying out, 
"No, don't do this to me, oh please, oh no, let me go-haven't you done 
enough to me already?" 

But Henry Warren was busy fitting a safe onto his rigid weapon, and then he 
mounted the bed and forced her onto her back again. Her hands were still 
bound, and she couldn't fend him off. Desperately she kept her thighs 
clenched tightly as she could, turning her face from side to side, until he 
whisked off the hood and grinned at her. "I like you, Four-eyes! You've got 
a nice big juicy ass and a fat little cunny I'm going to get into right now. 
But don't worry, Astrid honey, you won't get a baby. See this safe? Or 
doesn't your hubby wear one? Or maybe you don't even do it at all with 
him-anyhow, let's find out." 

"Oh no, oh don't-help-oh someone- aaaahhhhrrrrr-" Astrid's frantic cries 
were smothered by his avid mouth coming down on hers. She wriggled and 
twisted, but she was no match for him. Deftly, he pressed the tip of his 
white-sheathed spear against the dark thick bush which shrouded her fleshy, 
quivering cuntal lips. 

"Oh no-" With a supreme effort, she managed to twist her face away, but 
Henry Warren followed her, his hands now sliding under her burning, swollen 
buttocks and his fingers digging into the cheeks. As she opened her mouth to 
cry out in pain, his mouth again clamped over hers, and then he thrust 
himself and felt himself penetrate into the warm tight cavern of Astrid 
Fullhan's matronly but as yet unawakened cunt. 

Her eyes bulged through the misted horn-rimmed glasses, and her nostrils 
flared wildly as she fought for breath. Her bound hands had tried to thrust 
forward and cover her threatened cuntal lips, but he had maneuvered to wedge 
his belly against them and prevent their descent until he had affected 
entry. With another thrust, he hilted himself inside her. Astrid's eyes 
rolled in their sockets, her head tilting back. 

"God, you've got a tight box, Astrid baby," Henry Warren panted, "I'll bet 
you haven't had much regular fucking, have you?" 

"Oh, don't-don't do it-oh I want to die- this is dreadful-you said I only 
had to be initiated-" 

"And you are being initiated, baby, into hot old-fashioned fucking, just the 
kind that soft fat cunt of yours in dying for!" he savoringly finished for 
her. "Now if you're a good bitch, I'll untie your hands and then you can 
hold on tight. No? Okay, suit yourself. But make up your mind to it, Astrid 
baby, you're going to be right royally fucked as you've never been before!" 

He squeezed the hot throbbing cheeks of her behind and drew a wild cry of 
anguish from her, and then clamped his lips over one thrusting nipplebud 
that strained against the gauzy bra. He began to suck at it, while halting 
inside her, feeling her cuntal walls clench and grip him spasmodically as if 
in abhorrent revulsion. Then gradually, he pulled his right hand out from 
under her behind and put his forefinger to the nodule of her clitoris and 
began to rub it very lightly. 

Astrid Fullhan's head twisted to one side, her eyes glassy now, and 
supremely dilated. Her breasts had begun to heave convulsively, and now he 
slid the other hand out from under her and ripped the bra away. She was 
reduced to nylons, garter belt, her pumps already having been scuffed off as 
she fought and threshed against her young rapist. 

Then his left hand once again thrust under her bottom, and this time the 
forefinger nudged towards the plump rosette of her virgin anus, pried 
between the crinkly, puckering lips, and entered up to the knuckle. A bawl 
of anguished shame tore from the frantic blonde matron, whose head turned 
from side to side, her ribboned pigtails dancing and tumbling this way and 
that. Now, his mouth fixed to one dark-rosy nipple, he began to suck avidly, 
and to thrust his delving forefinger back and forth inside her rectal sheath 
while with the other he plied her stiffening clitoris with expert touches. 

Whimpering moans, mewling gasps, incoherent, babbling words tumbled from her 
panting mouth. He could feel her nipples stiffen against his lips as he 
continued to suck at them, and the frantic constriction of her rectal walls 
against his imbedded forefinger now surpassed the feverish contractions of 
her agitated cuntal walls against his deeply imbedded lance. 

Each time he touched her clitoris, her loins and hips heaved and jerked 
under him, and then at last he began to draw his organ back and thrust it 
forward in the rhythm of primeval copulation. 

Thus besieged throughout her erogenous system, the naked blonde matron 
shuddered violently. She began to whimper, her face turning this way and 
that with a restless, hasty compulsion. Her eyes were glazed and hugely 
widened behind the misted glasses, and her bound wrists jerked under him, 
rubbing his waist and chest, her fingers clawing her own flesh as well as 
his. 

Now he had achieved a regularized rhythm; a deep long thrust, then a slow 
withdrawal, hovering at the brink of her fleshy, twitching cuntal lips, then 
a long hard dig to the hilt again. Moaning sobs and babbled, tumbling 
unintelligible phrases poured from her panting lips now, as her body seemed 
to buck and thrash and arch to him each time he dug into her, each time his 
finger hilted and then drew out of her clenching bottomhole, each time he 
tweaked and prodded and pressed down her hardened lovebutton. 

He held himself back beyond his own abilities, wanting to conquer her 
totally, glorying in his mastery of this haughty, frigid, mature matron who 
had shamed his girl friend. Yet even so, he was cynically aware that if she 
hadn't intervened as she had, he might never have got to take both Betty 
Jurgens' delicious cherries and to achieve the coveted status of being her 
accepted lover. 

But by now Astrid Fullhan was furiously awakened, her sinews, her nerves, 
and veins aglow with the multiple assault upon her carnal senses. Her head 
had fallen back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling unseeingly. Her naked 
breasts lifted and descended with tumultuous rhythm, both nipples glistening 
and stiff like spear points. And her clitoris had elongated and thickened, 
darkened from the erogenous blood drawn to its exquisitely membranous 
surface. The walls of her now seething cunt bound and clamped convulsively 
each time his weapon thrust deep between them. 

And then, as he speeded up the work of both forefingers, as he quickened the 
cadence of his fucking, Astrid Fullhan suddenly managed to pull her bound 
wrists out from under him and to fling them over his head and then down 
against his back as she held him to her, and her nylon-sheathed legs locked 
frenetically over his sinewy buttocks as she began to thrust herself back 
and forth with him, grinding her loins to his, greedily seeking appeasement. 

Her sobbing cry, strident and prolonged, announced her wanton awakening at 
last. . . . 

CHAPTER Nine 

Blonde Astrid Fullhan was dying of shame and was very reluctant to leave the 
bathroom into which a smirking and triumphant Henry Warren had led her by 
the elbow after he had taken virile and enthusiastic profit from the 
physical duress which she had suffered under the pinewood paddles of Betty's 
sorority sisters. He had left her there and closed the door with a mock, 
gallant little bow and called to her, "Take your time and wash up good, 
snoopy, and then Betty and I will drive you back home. And I'll give you the 
reel of film you just earned yourself. You know, Astrid girl, you're not a 
half-bad fuck at all. If you'd only get with it and put some makeup on and 
wear sensible clothes, you might even get your hubby to give it to you 
regular-you sure need it, you went off like a firecracker there in bed!" 

She had uttered a strangled cry and her face had turned scarlet with shame 
as the door had clicked shut behind her. Then, bursting into tears, she had 
at last begun to run the water in the washbowl and doused her face first in 
cold water, and then rinsed it thoroughly with warm water and soap. A moment 
later, as she was drying her face with a hand towel, she uttered another cry 
of terror. Henry Warren opened the door again, but this time only to toss 
her discarded clothes back into the bathroom with a jeering, "If we had more 
time, we'd dig up a real sexy outfit for you, Astrid, so you could vamp your 
hubby when you get back home." 

Her bottom had begun to throb painfully now, but what disturbed her most was 
the seething glow in her loins. As he had thrust himself repeatedly back and 
forth inside her cuntal sheath, Astrid Fullhan had writhed and jerked her 
naked bottom on the bed, and the friction had augmented the painful heat of 
the paddling. Yet at the same time, coupled to the friction of his 
vigorously delving penis, it had wakened her into turbulent, quaking 
orgasmic surrender the like of which she hadn't known even with her own 
husband, no, not even on their honeymoon! 

Somewhat revived by the wash, the blonde matron decided to take a shower, if 
only to soothe the flaming torment of her well-paddled bottom. Bending to 
the taps, she regulated the water till it was cool but not too cold to bear, 
and then awkwardly clambered into the tub and turned her back to the blessed 
spray. Wincing and gasping, she stood there at least five minutes until at 
last the throbbing pangs seemed to diminish. Then, carefully toweling 
herself, she hastened to put on her clothes. She gasped as she discovered 
that Betty had substituted some of the items of her original attire; her 
suspants were missing, and in their place was a glossy narrow black 
satin-elastic garter belt with two tabs for each leg, and a pair of dark-tan 
nylon hose. Her own dress and slip and pumps were there, not the 
spike-heeled pumps she had been forced to put on during the initiation. Her 
brassiere was there as well, and this she at once put on with a gasp and 
fiery blush as she remembered how much of herself she had exposed not only 
to those horrible girls but also to that smirking black-haired youth who had 
taken such unheard-of liberties with her. 

At the very thought, she clenched her thighs together and glanced down at 
the thick bush of cuntal curls, ruffled and softly lustrous after the 
shower. Her blushes deepened, and she hastened to put on the garter belt. 
Then, putting a towel down on the toilet seat top, and very carefully 
lowering herself, she drew the nylons onto her lusciously rounded calves and 
thighs, then affixed the garter belt and made the tabs secure to each nylon 
sheath. 

Then the slip and the dress and finally she wriggled her toes into her shoes 
and straightened, with a gasp. A look at herself in the mirror showed her 
that her pigtails still had their blue ribbons, and that her eyes were 
swollen from having cried during the paddling and during Henry Warren's 
unexpected, vigorous assault upon her tender, quivering cunt. She bit her 
lips at the memory of all that, and then hesitantly she opened the bathroom 
door. Betty and Henry stood there waiting for her, and Henry Warren was 
holding out a canister of film . . . the reel of that movie which had been 
taken of her in the garage. 

"Here you are, snoopy," Betty giggled. "You earned it, Astrid girl. Now 
we're going to drive you home." 

"Oh please-let me out a few blocks before that-I'm-I'm so ashamed-oh promise 
me- you won't ever tell anyone-" Astrid Fullhan stammered. She had 
completely forgotten Mathew's car, so overwhelmed was she by her ordeal. 

"I think that can be arranged, Astrid. Now listen," Betty approached the 
sniffling, mature victim, hands on hips, a sarcastic smile on her red lips, 
"I don't want to ever catch you spying on Henry and me again, you 
understand? I'm going to have those bricks plastered up at the back of the 
garage, and they better stay that way. Get me? Otherwise we'll tell your 
hubby what you're up to when he's away from home. And just so you won't get 
any silly ideas about snitching, I think it's only fair to tell you that 
what you're taking home with you is just a copy of the movie. I've got the 
original-" 

"Oh, you horrid girl!" Astrid wrung her hands helplessly, tears glinting in 
her dilated eyes. "You promised-if I came to this awful initiation, 
you-you'd give it back-and then what he did to me-I ought to tell the 
police-" 

"But you won't, Astrid baby," Henry Warren chuckled, "because then it would 
all come out how you used to spy on Betty and me, and besides you can't be 
sure the police would blame me for giving you what you really wanted. Boy, 
the way you wriggled when I was banging you, Astrid baby, you really wanted 
it." 

"Oh stop talking like that-what do I have to do to get the original? I 
suppose you're going to blackmail me some more," the blonde matron sobbed. 

"No. If you quit making trouble for us, nothing is going to happen. But 
that's why I'm going to hang on to the original, just to make sure it 
doesn't. All right now^ let's go back home." 

Numb with shame and crushed by her defeat, Astrid Fullhan walked with bowed 
head out to Henry Warren's car, and Betty couldn't help giggling as the 
blonde matron uneasily shifted herself onto the front seat and then eased 
herself down with a grimace. 

At her request, they let her out two blocks away from her house, and sat in 
the car watching her glance nervously up and down the street before starting 
back towards her house. 

"Well, that was our good deed for the day. Now I guess you better drop me 
off at the house not too close, lover, so I can be there to welcome my new 
Mom back from her honeymoon," Betty Jurgens leaned over and kissed her 
black-haired lover. . . . 

Astrid Fullhan hesitated a moment at the front door of her house, then 
unlocked it and walked into the spacious living room. Her heart was pounding 
rapidly, as she glanced uneasily around. But there was no sound to alarm 
her. She moved towards the stairway, hoping to get up to her room where she 
could change and perhaps rub some soothing cold cream on her still 
excruciatingly tender buttocks. But just as she started up the stairs, her 
husband's voice nailed her to the spot, with a gasp and her finger tightened 
on the mahogany wooden rail. 

"Oh, I see you're back, Astrid," it was Matthew Fullhan, his voice pleasant 
and unhurried. 

"Oh I-yes, d-dear-I-I just got in-" 

"From Lois's, I presume?" 

Astrid Fullhan turned to stare down at her husband, who was staring at her 
intently. 

"Why-why, yes, yes of course, darling," Astrid Fullhan faltered, but a 
sudden rush of color to her wan face again betrayed her. 

"Now that's very funny, you know." He moved up the stairs beside her, took 
hold of her wrist. "Very funny, considering that I just happened to call 
Lois an hour ago and she told me she hasn't seen you all afternoon." 

"Oh-well I-I was going there-but-something came up-and-Matthew, you're 
hurting my wrist-please, Matthew!" Flustered, trembling, her face now 
scarlet, she tried to turn her face away from his level gaze, to break the 
grip he had on her wrist, but he retained her. 

"I'm not saying you went to meet a lover, because you're not that kind of 
woman, Astrid. But I want to know why you lied to me. And you did lie, you 
know. Now are you going to tell me the truth?" he said in a soft voice, but 
his eyes were hard and narrowed. 

"Please, M-Matthew, I-I didn't do anything wrong-" 

"I'm not saying you did, Astrid, but I want to know why you lied to me. If 
there's nothing wrong, you shouldn't be afraid to tell me that you didn't go 
to Lois's but went somewhere else. Now what's this all about?" 

Desperate to keep her secret, Astrid Fullhan managed to twist herself away 
from him, and started up the stairs. Matthew Fullhan swore under his breath 
and reached up for her. His left hand momentarily pressed against her 
bottom, and from that single contact, he was able to detect the fact that 
she wore no panties under the thin skirt and slip. 

"Now wait a minute-come back here, Astrid -what the devil is this all 
about?" he growled, then hurried up the steps after her. He caught her at 
the landing, took her by the shoulders, and shook her. "I want an answer, 
and I want it damn fast!" 

"Matthew-for God's sake-what's got into you today? I told you-I-I didn't do 
anything wrong-" 

"That's not the right answer. And I want to find out if what I just felt is 
an illusion or something-" With this, he suddenly stooped and grabbed her 
skirt and slip with both hands and yanked them upwards to her hips. 

"Ohhh nooo!!" the blonde matron wailed, grabbing at his hands and trying 
frantically to tug down her garments, stooping towards him. 

But he maintained them at her waist, and there before his incredulous eyes 
was the provocative vision of her thick cuntal fleece, the plump thighs 
sheathed so bewitchingly in the dark-tan nylons, at the tabs of the black 
garter belt, which made her pale-carnation-tinted flesh even more 
spectacularly bare. 

"I was right-you haven't got any panties on! What did you do, leave them at 
some boyfriend's place?" 

"No-I didn't-oh you're horrible to think of such a thing-" Now she was close 
to tears, still fighting to pull her garments down. 

Matthew Fullhan swore under his breath again, and then suddenly put his left 
arm under her back and his right under her knees, lifted her up in the air, 
and carried her thus into his bedroom, dumped her unceremoniously upon the 
bed. 

"Now then, Astrid, I'm going to find out what this is all about and you're 
not leaving this room till I do!" he exclaimed as he took off his suitcoat 
and tie, then went back to lock the bedroom door. 

His mature blonde wife had scrambled off the bed, gasping, trembling, her 
face scarlet, her lips trembling. She fought for speech, but it seemed 
choked in her throat as she watched him approach her. 

"Matthew-I beg of you-this isn't like you -let me alone-you don't know what 
I've been through-I mean-" Astrid caught herself, and then gasped and 
blushed once more. 

"I know what I've been through, and I've had just about enough of it. Now 
let's us get down to the bottom of things. Take your clothes off. I want to 
see you without panties again, and then we'll have a little question and 
answer session. And you'd better come up with the right answers, Astrid, or 
I'll give you what you've had coming for a long time," he angrily warned. 

The blonde matron backed away against the locked door, panting, her big full 
breasts heaving wildly, her hands lifted to fend off his relentless 
approach. "Oh please-I swear I didn't have a lover or anything like that, I 
swear it, Matthew! Won't you believe me?" 

"That's got nothing to do with it. Are you going to take your clothes off or 
do I rip them off you?" 

"Oh, you-you're just dreadful-all right- I'll take my dress off-" 

"And the slip too and be quick about it!" he mercilessly insisted. 

Bursting into tears, Astrid Fullhan stooped, caught up the hem of her dress, 
and drew it off her body and let it fall to the floor. 

"Now the slip!" he menaced, his eyes glittering pinpoints of desire. 

"Now don't make me take it off, you know how ashamed-" 

"That's what I'm getting at. You're always ashamed. I haven't seen you naked 
since we got married and this is just about the right time. Go on, take that 
slip off, before I tear it off you-I mean it, Astrid!" He took a step 
towards her, reaching out his hands. 

With a cry of terror, his blonde wife yanked the offending slip over her 
head and let it drop, then swiftly clamped both hands over the thick fronds 
of her cuntbush. It was a pose very much like the famous painting "September 
Morn", but there was nothing amusing in it for her now inflamed and 
thoroughly sophisticated husband. His eyes swept her shrinking body, clad in 
only the bra, the black satin-elastic garter belt, the hose, and pumps. 

"My God, that's more like it!" he breathed. "Now take the bra off too!" 

"Oh no, Matthew, what's got into you?" 

"Some sense at long last, that's what. Are you going to obey me or aren't 
you? I'll tear it off, so help me, I will!" 

Astrid Fullhan reached behind, sobbing distractedly, and her trembling, 
fumbling fingers at last found the hooks and eyes of the bra, loosened them 
and let it flutter to the floor. Now she was naked except for garter belt, 
hose, and pumps, and she had never been more desirable. His eyes took in the 
panting jut of her cantaloupe-like breasts, the dark circles of the areolae, 
the crinkly buds of her nipples, the lascivious nook which was her navel, 
and just below it at the lower abdomen, the growth of those dark curls which 
shrouded the soft fleshy pink cuntal lips. Her legs were quaking beneath 
her, and his eyes feasted on them too, surveying her for the first time as a 
pasha might contemplate a new slave brought from the harem to his 
bedchamber. 

"Turn around!" was his next order. 

"Oh Matthew, don't shame me so-oh please don't!" she wailed. But when he 
pretended to take still another step and to reach out for her, she uttered a 
strangled little cry and hastily turned her back to him, then bowed her 
head, and put her face into her hands as her shoulders heaved with sobs. 

Her ripe, opulent buttocks flinched and shivered, the muscles contracting 
lasciviously in her frantic attempt to diminish the most intimate portions 
of her body from his male eyes. The inflammation from the paddling had faded 
somewhat, but it was still obvious at first glimpse that beautiful mature 
Astrid Fullhan had been soundly and effectively spanked on her naked behind. 

"Well, well, well, that's very interesting! Now I see why you're not wearing 
any panties. Who did it to you?" 

"I-I don't want to tell you-oh please don't make me, I'll just swear to 
you-on the Bible if you like-but I didn't go to a lover, I wouldn't do 
that-I love you, M-Matthew!" she wailed. 

"It's about time you showed me something on account of that love, Astrid. 
Come on now. Get over here on the bed." 

"W-what are you saying-oh, no, not like this, oh no, it's indecent-" 

This time he seized her by the scruff of the neck with his left hand, and 
brought his right palm up smartly four stinging, noisy times, two to each 
jutting bottomsummit, imparting a bright red hue to the already darkly 
colored flesh. Astrid uttered a frantic wail and squirmed and wriggled like 
an eel, trying to reach back and to cover up her already burning bottom. But 
he marched her by his grip on her neck over to the bed and pushed her 
forward so that she bent over the edge, kicking her stockinged legs. 

Swiftly he dragged down the zipper of his fly, liberating his swollen, 
rampant penis. 

"Maybe you'd like another spanking right now?" he chuckled thickly, putting 
his left palm on the small of her back and applying two or three more 
stinging quick spanks to the ripest curves of her wriggling, weaving naked 
behind. 

"Ohhh noooo! Oh don't, please, I can't take anymore-they spanked me raw-oh 
Matthew, if you only knew-oh my God-oh dear!" and thus having involuntarily 
given up part of the secret she was trying so desperately to hide, Astrid 
burst into hysterical tears and abandoned herself, draped over the end of 
her husband's bed, her flaming bottom weaving and squirming shamelessly as 
she kept her face covered in her hands in her abject despair. 

"Well, this is one position I haven't tried, so let's see what happens," he 
said huskily. Moving quickly behind her, his hands gripped the edges of her 
lush hips, and directed his penis towards the pink gape of her cuntal lips, 
framed so silkily by the thick dark-brown pubic curls. He arched himself 
forward, engaging the tip of his savagely turgid weapon just inside the soft 
quivering humid lobby of her voluptuous love-core. 

Astrid Fullhan stiffened, her tear-stained, contorted face turned back over 
her shoulder as she regarded him with a look of utter stupefaction and 
shame, "Ohh, what are you doing -oh no-Matthew, oh that's horrible-oh I'm so 
ashamed-" 

"I'm going to fuck you, Astrid. Do you understand me? The word is fuck. It's 
something we've never used in bed the last four years, but from now on we're 
going to use it a lot and do it a lot, too. And you're not going to wear any 
more than this, and the light's going to be on at night, you understand me? 
Now you just lie there and take it for a change, because you've let me lie 
there in bed plenty of times at night inches away without giving my 
prick-yes, Astrid, I said prick-the least concern. From now on you're really 
going to act like a loving wife!" he ordained. 

Then, even as she rushed her hands back and tried to dislodge him, he 
clenched his grip on her bare hips and thrust violently forward. Astrid 
Fullhan stiffened, her eyes rolling in their sockets, dilating hugely as she 
felt the chafing friction of her husband's penis along the tender, tight 
route Betty's black-haired lover had so recently taken and so masterfully 
attuned. 

Now, planted almost to the hilt inside his wife's tight quaking cunt, 
Matthew Fullhan exulted in the first actual possession of that opulent, 
temptingly bared body since the wedding night. She had always been 
fastidious and shy, and never before had he done it except at bedtime under 
the welcome shelter of darkness to appease her inhibited modesty. But now, 
finding her emotionally distraught, discovering her "initiation costume" as 
he had, the once meek artist felt exactly as if he were making passionate 
love to a beautiful wanton ... indeed, a callgirl exactly like Eleanor who 
had taught him so well up in Boston. 

Astrid Fullhan, horrified and crushed by the turn of events, tried to remain 
passive. Her face scarlet and stained with tears, covered by her trembling 
hands, she shrank her upper body down against the bed to try to diminish 
herself, ostrich-like. But his sinewy fingers dug into her throbbing, 
bruised, and quaking hips, maintaining her in this obscene position, and her 
stockinged legs jerked and twisted as she strove for purchase on the floor 
with her pump heels. 

Arrived at the hilt of his turgid ramrod, he lingered there, glorying in 
this conquest. His eyes devoured the deeply cleft pink-and-white smoothness 
of her bare back, accentuated lasciviously by the narrow black band of the 
garter belt. Her beribboned pigtails, a ludicrous paradox now for all her 
mature beauty laid there before him, tumbled over one shoulder and along one 
heaving side and he could feel the grudging response of her warm cuntal 
walls against his deeply imbedded prick, and the aching of his testicles 
told him that he was going to make up for four years of deprivation at long 
and thrilling last! 

"We're going to be doing this more often, Astrid girl, so you better get 
used to it," he panted, as he slowly drew himself back till his glans rubbed 
against the very brink of her ..quivering cuntal orifice. 

"Oh M-Matthew-oh G-God, oh don't, oh I want to die-this is so shameful-" 

"Stop that whining, woman! Try to act like a woman for the first time since 
we got married! And when I finish, you're going to tell me who spanked you 
and why, you understand me? Otherwise, over my lap you'll go for another 
dose! And now, start cooperating- wiggle that gorgeous ass of yours, you 
beautiful blonde prude!" 

"Matthew!" her voice was shrill and horrified to hear him use such obscene 
words, he who had always been so soft-spoken and meekly devoted to her. 

"And that's another thing, Astrid," he growled, as he suddenly thrust back 
to the very hilt and drew a stifled groan and a frantic squirming from her 
reddened buttocks against his grinding belly, "there's going to be no more 
of this prissy talk between us. We're going to call a spade a spade, and 
you're going to learn your wifely duties, to use your own sort of flowery 
language, in a brand-new way. No, I haven't got a safe on, and if I give you 
a baby, so much the better. I'm going to keep you bare-footed and pregnant, 
Astrid Fullhan, and teach you how to keep your husband happy at night, do 
you understand me?" 

"Oh, M-Matthew, oh this is dreadful-aahh -oh please, you're hurting me-oh 
you're like an animal-oh my God-please stop-ohhh!" Astrid Fullhan wailed, 
lifting her anguished face and turning it back over her shoulder to beseech 
him for mercy. For he had slipped his hands round her hips and his fingers 
had dug into her tender groin as he maintained her, while she fought to 
twist and disengage herself from his vigorous harpooning of her chafed and 
now twitchingly wakening cuntal sheath. 

The paddling and then Henry Warren's vigorous ploughing of her tender 
lovesheath had broken down the dam of Astrid Fullhan's inhibited reserve. 
Now, coming so closely upon that sequence of events, her husband's entirely 
unexpected possession of her had annihilated all her intellectual defenses, 
and left her simply a woman of shuddering and beleaguered flesh who could no 
longer mount a defense to the priapic prowess which Matthew Fullhan had 
learned, thanks to the enthusiastic tutelage of the beautiful callgirl 
Eleanor. 

Now his hands reached forward under her belly, roving up to the big panting 
gourds of her breasts, cupping them in his hands and kneading them 
luxuriously and greedily, as he fitted himself more tightly to her. Astrid 
groaned and squirmed, completely dominated, bent over and helpless, 
receiving him as one of the Sabine women must have received her Roman 
overlord centuries ago. 

As his fingertips rubbed her stiffening nipples, he began to fuck her with a 
regular cadence now, which he had acquired from the deft ministrations of 
the honey-haired callgirl. Quickly, drawing halfway in and then pushing back 
till he gained the lost terrain, he began to exacerbate her sensitive 
membranous tissues with a reiterated friction that began once again to waken 
those long-dormant instincts which Astrid Fullhan had tried so successfully 
during most of her life to suppress because she believed them to be "animal" 
and "sinful". 

A look of shame mingled with awestruck wonder appeared now on her 
tear-stained, lovely face, her eyebrows arched and her eyes bulged glassily 
as her hands dropped from her face, and her palms feverishly pressed down 
hard against the rumpled covers of the bed to sustain herself against his 
incessant attack. 

Then, drawing his right hand away, maintaining her left breast in the cup of 
his left palm, Matthew Fullhan directed his right forefinger along her naked 
side, making her wriggle and gasp as if she had been tickled; then his 
finger edged under her right hip and towards the soft portals of her cuntal 
lips, already distended and engorged by the acceptance of his half-imbedded 
penis. 

"Matthew, what-what are you doing to me -oh don't-oh stop-you make me feel 
so shameful-oh dear-Matthew stop-oh please don't-ooohhh!" she suddenly 
gasped, her face lifting, congealed in anguished shame and stupefaction. 

He had found the dainty nub of her clitoris, and was pressing it back into 
the soft pink cowl of cuntal flesh, and once again the throbbing dynamo 
began to stir deep within Astrid Fullhan's long repressed womb. Her body 
uncontrollably jerked, as he delved to the hilt again, then drew back-but 
this time, almost to the brink of her twitching pink cuntal lips. As he did 
so, he accelerated the friction of his forefinger against the now-hardening 
nodule of her clitoris; and she was shaken by a series of convulsive spasms 
which drew panting little wordless cries from her parted lips, while her 
eyes hugely widened, glassy with tears, darkened by the shadow of her sudden 
awareness of what was taking place within her being. 

"I've always wanted to do something like this to you, you've always been so 
dignified and haughty, Astrid darling," he confided in a thick, shuddering 
voice. "But by God, I'll make you cum or know the reason why not! There -do 
you feel me in you ? Do you feel my prick in that tight warm sweet little 
cunt of yours, Astrid girl?" 

"Oh Matthew, what's come over you-oh God -you've never acted or talked this 
way before -oh Matthew-aaahhh-oh-ouuu-aaahhh- oh Matthew!" she moaned. 

His finger had begun to tweak and rub and prod her clitoris back and forth 
and up and down, while at the same time he increased the vigor of his 
prick-thrusts, hilting her each time, making her body shake and quake to the 
turbulent jostling of his belly against her jutting, distended, reddened 
naked bottom. 

"You're-you're crushing me-oh please, not this way-it's like an animal-oh 
don't, Matthew, I beg of you-" she tried to protest, her voice choked with 
sobs. 

"There's a lot of the animal in all of us, Astrid, and it's about time you 
learned that. There, do you feel me? I've got my finger on your clit, you 
sweet bitch, now, I'm going to give it to you but good!" he gasped. 

His finger again probed her clitoris back into its dainty cowl, and, as he 
drew himself back, he thrust full force into the quaking cavern of her 
cuntal sheath. He uttered a cry, as he felt himself explode within her, and 
the lash of his viscous jut against the sensitized walls of her love-core 
undid all of her chaste and inhibited reserve. Her body stiffened, her head 
lifted, and then her fingers scrabbled at the covers as a long groaning cry 
exuded from her panting lips. Her body threshed and quaked under his, as she 
answered him even against her will. 

He drew himself out almost at once, seated himself on the edge of the bed, 
lifted her by the waist with both hands, and flung her ruthlessly across his 
lap. Then, stunned as she still was by the volcanic orgasm which had burst 
within her loins, he clamped his right leg over her nylon-sheathed calves, 
tucked her waist in with his left arm, and patted her quivering reddened 
buttocks. "Now then, young lady, where did you get that big sweet ass of 
yours tanned like that? Come on, Astrid, I want an answer, or else I'll 
paint it a brighter red than it was when I pulled up your clothes! I'm 
waiting, young lady!" And, to hurry her response, he applied a sonorous slap 
to the base of each upturned naked bottomglobe. 

Astrid tried to kick and weave and twist herself off, but in vain. "Oww!" 
she wailed in a most unladylike way, turning her tear-stained face back to 
him. 

"Are you going to tell me or not?" 

"Oh please, please, you've had what you wanted-oh you awful brute-you've 
hurt me so-please don't-let me go now-oh I'm so ashamed-" 

His hand described a series of rapid arcs as it landed first on left cheek, 
then on right, flattening her resilient, spacious bottomglobes, imparting a 
new bright hue of painful crimson to her naked behind. 

"Owww-ouch-oh I can't stand anymore- I'll tell-oh I'll tell, Matthew, if 
only you'll stop, oh be merciful, oww, ohhh!" she at last hysterically 
capitulated. 

"Well then?" His hand rose above her squirming, reddened behind. 

"I-I had to go to a sorority in-initiation- that's the truth, M-Matthew, you 
just have to believe me-and they-they paddled me- that's why-oh please, let 
me get up now-oh I can't stand this anymore!" she tearfully stammered. 

"Well, an initiation would account for that nice red color all over your big 
bottom, Astrid girl. But I don't know why you had to go to a thing like that 
in the first place instead of over to Lois's. Now suppose you tell me! And 
I'll know if you're lying or not, don't think I won't!" He punctuated this 
with another pair of stinging spanks, and his almost naked wife jerked and 
twisted frantically, plunged her hands behind her in a futile attempt to 
cover up her reddening behind. 

"I'll tell-I'll tell-only let up, I can't take it anymore, honest I can't, 
Matthew darling!" she wailed. "B-Betty Jurgens and her boyfriend found 
me-well-I was looking in at them, and they didn't like it, so they said 
they'd tell you about what I was doing if I didn't-if I didn't go to the 
initiation this afternoon-and that's all, that's the truth!" 

"It's just crazy enough for me to believe you're telling the truth for a 
change. All right now, you can get up. No, don't go to the bathroom yet. Get 
down on your knees in front of me." 

She stared at him, not comprehending, her mouth gaping, tears running down 
her cheeks. 

"You heard me!" he repeated. "Or do you want to go back over my lap for 
another dose? And this time I'll use my belt!" 

"Oh no, oh please no, Matthew!" Docilely, she sank down on her knees, 
wincing and gasping as the maneuver caused new waves of burning heat to 
besiege her thoroughly spanked naked behind. 

"All right. Do you see my prick, Astrid?" He pointed to it, reached out with 
his other hand, and gripped the scuff of her neck to force her face closer 
to his limpened but still vigorously erect penis. 

"Y-yes-oh Matthew, please-please put it away-" 

"You'll do the putting away. In your mouth, young lady." 

"Oh no! I couldn't do that-why-that's sinful-that's filthy-oh no-what are 
you doing -oh not another spanking, oh please no-oh Matthew-yes, yes, I'll 
do anything if you'll only stop!" 

He had bent down impatiently, gripped her by the armpits and lifted her up 
and was about to pull her over his lap again when she suddenly surrendered, 
dissolved in tears. 

"All right, but you'd better do it right this time, or I really will thrash 
your big bottom! Now get back down on your knees again and pay your loving 
husband some real wifely attention!" he commanded. 

Weeping as if her heart would break, her face scarlet, Astrid Fullhan meekly 
obeyed. 

"Now then, reach up your hands and take hold of my prick, and put it inside 
your mouth, all you can take, and then start sucking. I mean it, Astrid!" he 
menaced. 

Shuddering with revulsion, but seeing the steely glint in his eyes and 
knowing at last that her meek husband had vanished and had been replaced by 
a man who would brook no more nonsense, blonde Astrid Fullhan shudderingly 
obeyed. Her eyes tightly closed, her lips parted to accept the spearhead of 
her husband's weapon, and then, as soon as it was in her mouth, he urged, 
"Go ahead, suck it, and I want to hear you do it!" 

She gasped and gagged, but terror of him and his newly found mastery 
overcame that revulsion. He heard the slurping, slushing sounds of her 
panting moist mouth, and he felt himself once again renewed in virility. 

"That's enough. I'll teach you how to really do a job on me, beginning 
tomorrow night, Astrid. And now, get into bed and this time on your back. 
I'm going to do it to you again, and we're going to take our time and find 
out if we're really with it!" 

Astrid Fullhan stumbled to her feet, one hand pressed against her cunt, 
staring at her husband as if she had never seen him before. Matthew Fullhan 
was busy taking off his clothes, till he was down to his socks. "M-Matthew, 
my God, what-what's got into you -" she repeated, in a faint, little-girl 
voice. 

"I don't know what's got into me, Astrid, but I know what's getting into 
you. Now get into bed the way I told you to!" He drew back his right arm, 
preparatory to applying a vehement spank on her reddened buttocks but Astrid 
had already fairly leaped into bed, rolled over onto her back, and, awaiting 
him, burst into conquered and submissive tears. 

"Yes, young lady, this is the way it's going to be with us from now on. The 
lights will be on, or it'll be in the daytime, and you're not going to wear 
any of those thick nighties and tell me I can't feel you up when I want to, 
you understand me?" 

"Yes, Matthew, oh please don't hurt me-I do-I do love you-Matthew-" she 
quavered piteously. 

"Then you'll get a chance to show it from now on. It's as if we just got 
married. You know, I'm sort of grateful to that Betty Jurgens. So you were 
snooping on her and her boyfriend? Well, I'll have to get them a nice 
present. I'm very grateful to them both. And now, take your hand away from 
that soft cunt and put it out and grab hold of my prick and say hello, 
Astrid. You're learning the words the hard way, and I do mean hard! Get with 
it, unless you want another spanking!" 

"Oh no, oh not another-I'll do whatever you want, I'll try to be a good 
wife-I know-oh Matthew-please be gentle with me-please love me a little-" 
she wept softly as her trembling hand reached out to feel his vigorously 
erect penis. 

Matthew Fullhan chuckled. There would be a present for Betty Jurgens, but 
there would also be one for Eleanor, the honey-haired Boston callgirl who 
had taught him all about voluptuous chastisement and of being master in his 
own home. Being master in the bedroom was even more important, and from now 
on that was exactly the role he was going to take. 

"Now, just with your finger, tickle it all over and my balls too," he 
directed with a happy grin on his flushed face. 

Astrid again obeyed, as his eyes devoured her. 

"That's enough. Now, put your arms around my neck, and when I get my prick 
inside your cunt, I want those squirmy legs of yours to wrap over my ass-do 
you understand what I'm saying to you?" 

"Y-yes, M-Matthew," she plaintively whispered, her face turning scarlet. 

He thrust himself into the moist maw of her pink cuntal sheath, and 
obediently his naked blonde wife crossed her nylon-sheathed legs over his 
wiry buttocks. 

His mouth came down on hers, his tongue delving between her trembling parted 
lips, and his hands reached under to squeeze and grip the shuddering opulent 
cheeks of her naked bottom. Then, reveling in the carnal wakening of his 
once prudish wife, Matthew Fullhan taught Astrid the bliss of sharing and of 
mutual fulfillment. 

* * * 

It was a demure Betty Jurgens who welcomed back her father and stepmother 
that evening, both radiant from a most enjoyable honeymoon, and from the 
look on her father's face, the swinging teen-ager was certain that Kathleen 
was going to change a great many things in the Jurgens' household, 
particularly her father's uncompromising attitude about her having a 
boyfriend. . . . 

Matthew Fullhan returned to Boston the following Wednesday, and came back 
Friday night laden with packages. One of these he promptly took next door 
and handed to Dan Jurgens. "It's a sort of gratitude present for Betty, Mr. 
Jurgens, and I hope you'll let her accept it in the spirit in which it's 
given," the artist told Betty's surprised father. 

"Gratitude? I don't get you, Matt." 

"Well, you see," Matthew Fullhan grinned boyishly, "your daughter was sort 
of responsible for giving Astrid and me a second honeymoon. She's a very 
smart girl, and she's old enough to have a boyfriend, I'm thinking. Anybody 
who tried to get to first base with Betty would have to be worth her while, 
is my opinion." 

"You know, you may be right at that. Kathleen-that's my wife-has been 
telling me the same thing all week. Maybe this Henry Warren isn't such a bad 
guy after all." 

"Well, you can always have a long engagement," Matthew Fullhan winked at his 
neighbor. "I know that Astrid and I are going to have a nice long second 
honeymoon, thanks again to your daughter. Well, I've got to get back home 
and finish some unfinished business. Maybe next week you and your wife and 
Betty -yes, and her boyfriend too-might like to come over for a special 
celebration dinner." 

He left a mystified Dan Jurgens behind him as he went back into his house. 
Then, carrying the rest of the packages, he went upstairs to his bedroom, 
where Astrid was dutifully waiting. She wore her customary night gown and 
slippers, but not for long. Out of the boxes that Matthew Fullhan opened 
there emerged a black net shortie nightie, another of black nylon, a hostess 
robe of red satin, and various bra and panty sets as well as several pairs 
of the sheerest black nylon hose Matthew Fullhan had been able to buy in 
Boston (with the expert shopping help of honey-haired Eleanor). 

"You'll try a different one on every night, Astrid, and we'll see which 
outfit gives us both the most mileage in bed," he chuckled. "But right now, 
just peel your nightie off and get into bed. I've got a terrific hard-on, 
and I want something done about it." 

"Oh yes, darling," his now awakened, eagerly wanton blonde wife happily and 
blushingly agreed. 


End
