The New Teacher's Initiation
by Philip Vance


FOREWORD 

Breathes there a man or woman, today, who never lusted desperately for one 
or more of their school teachers? Breathes there a school teacher, today, 
who never lusted desperately for one or more of their pupils? 

Meet Naomie Constantine, girl teacher. It was only through the most tenuous 
of accidents that she got her job in the high school, where most of the 
students were only months younger than she. Little wonder that the more 
virile boys in her class responded favorably, their attentions rising to 
full mast each time she breathed in her tight blouse or bent over in her 
short mini-skirt. Even the Principal himself, along with most of the men in 
town, found their own desires vibrating along with the way she walked to and 
from the school buildings. 

The delicate but voluptuous virgin was only moments away from mass attack 
when he broke down all her reserves and started teaching her what her body 
was designed for, upside down and in reverse, any way at all, she could take 
it. 

Philip Vance is himself a teacher, in a small southern Louisiana town. He 
replied "no comment" when asked if he personally knew the sensuous Miss 
Constantine. 

Yet he went on to tell about this "other lady" teacher who made quite a 
spectacle of herself on the last day of school (and the last day of her 
employment, coincidentally) by leaving her Algebra class in an unorthodox 
fashion that thoroughly delighted all her students as well as the rest of 
the student body. This "other lady" left her room by turning cartwheels 
right out the door, across the grassy campus and out the main school 
entrance. The stunning part of her activities, of course, was the fact that 
she had, deliberately or accidentally, neglected to wear underpants. 

Naomie Constantine's mini-skirts served quite the same purpose at Riverview 
High. 

You know by now that Rated X books provide you with the most entertaining 
strictly adult books you can possibly obtain for your private collection of 
erotica ... for those special books you will want to read and reread. And 
you know that new Rated X titles are available at your favorite newsstand or 
book dealer each and every month. Look for us; we'll be looking for you. 

Will you please drop a note to Rated X, here at Surrey House, Inc., 6314 
Riverdale Street, San Diego, California 92120, and tell us exactly what you 
want to read in the Rated X books you purchase for your own collection. If 
you can tell us the subjects, the themes, the methods of handling, then we 
can take extra measures to please just you. Let us know your personal likes 
and dislikes about sex... the hang-ups you avoid and the quite special 
things you seek out. We will do our very best to supply them. It is not at 
all necessary for you to identify yourself, and all replies will be handled 
in strictest confidence. THANK YOU. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

The shrill clamoring of the dismissal bell in the hallway was like a 
long-sought wish that finally comes true. 

Standing rigidly beside her rostrum, her knees pressed warmly together, 
Naomie Constantine was telling herself over and over that she must be calm 
until the last of the twenty-five pupils had left the classroom. 

It was mid-September and a few minutes past three o'clock on Friday 
afternoon, the end of the first week of the school term, and since Monday 
she had asked herself time after time why she had not gone back to Green 
Mountain College and stayed there until she'd finished her course in 
Business Education. 

Her older sister, Marie, who could be either rashly impulsive or coolly 
calculating at will, and who had given up a well-paid government 
civil-service position to be supported by a retired Colonel - he was a 
wealthy friend who had taken a personal interest in her, as Marie explained 
it - anyway, Marie had tried to convince Naomie that she would not be happy 
living with crippled Aunt Margie in small-town Riverview, and she would be 
much better off enjoying the exciting life in Washington. 

Instead of going to Washington, however, Naomie had borrowed seventy dollars 
from a cousin and had taken the jet-liner to Providence, where Aunt Margie's 
nice next-door friend, who was a retired navy man, came and picked her up in 
his Ford. Her purpose had been to prove to herself that it was not 
inevitable for her to live like her sister, much less be wild like her, even 
though they were so much alike in many ways that they were often taken for 
twins when Naomie showed family photos. Naomie had no intention of going 
back to the Methodist College for orphaned girls, but after teaching school 
for a year, she then wanted to marry and have a family of her own. 

And now here she was, nearly five hundred miles from the orphanage, which 
had been home since her parents had died in the horrible car-wreck nine 
years ago. And being among strange people and in unfamiliar surroundings in 
the low country, she was thoroughly discouraged and confused, and no longer 
sure that she would be able to teach for even one full year. For the first 
time in her life she was homesick for the orphanage. Never before had she 
felt so utterly miserable. 

The moment she was certain she was alone, even though she could still hear 
the excited voices of the ninth grade boys in the hall, she sank gratefully 
into the chair behind the desk and covered her face with her hands. Hank 
Clawson, one of her ninth grade home-room boys had, while pretending to 
reach for a pencil on her desk, deliberately felt of her breast! Everyone in 
the room had seen the act, and poor Naomie had been so ashamed, she hadn't 
even chastised him. 

Worst of all, memory of the caress, gave Naomie a peculiar feeling - at 
least, it was a feeling peculiar to her! Just thinking about the touch of 
that young, strong hand made her feel hot - down there! - where decent girls 
were not supposed to feel hot. . . what did that bitchy girl at Green 
Mountain College say about me that time in the shower? Naomie tried to 
remember. Oh, yes, I remember now . . . 

"You surely do have a nice, neat little ole pussy, Naomie," the brash girl 
had said. 

Now, in her daydream, she could feel Hank Clawson's hand on her jutting 
breast - could feel a delightful hotness, a moistening, opening sensation 
down there where nice girls were not supposed to feel anything ... 

She cried. After that, nothing mattered. She had no idea what was to become 
of her from that moment forward, and she cared even less. If Marie had been 
there then, she would have done anything her sister told her to do. 

The principal, Milo Burch, who sometimes helped the new coach with the 
football team, was at the football field, and the other Riverview 
schoolteachers had already hurried away for the week-end. 

The low one-story school building suddenly became hushed and quiet, and 
Naomie realized that the janitor would soon be coming to her room to sweep 
and dust. She did not want anybody to see her crying like that, and yet she 
did not know what she could do about it. Regardless of anything, she knew 
she had to cry and that she had passed the point where she could control 
herself. For a whole week she had been brave and steadfast and determined, 
and now the tears refused to be held back any longer. 

There was no particular reason why she should be crying in the way she was, 
other than she just felt like it, because everybody, including Milo Burch, 
had been kind and helpful that week. Everyone seemed to have tried in some 
way to help her become adjusted. Even Aunt Margie, who was usually cross, 
had been motherly and considerate and had done everything possible to make 
her feel at home in the great, old ante-bellum mansion. And her next-door 
neighbor, who had taken up art since he'd retired, had been wonderful 
company in the late afternoons. His name was Jack Lovelace, and he'd invited 
her over to see some of his paintings in his large studio basement. 

Naomie was a lovely girl just turned eighteen, brown-haired and dark-eyed, 
of medium height and with weight that had never been more than a hundred and 
seventeen pounds. Her chocolate-brown hair was luxuriant and wavy, and her 
mouth was full and provocative; the rest of her face, finely-chiseled. Her 
clothes, even when simple and inexpensive, always gave the appearance of 
adorning her, and she always looked well dressed and scrupulously neat. She 
invariably attracted attention at first sight, whether alone, or in a large 
group, principally because of her erect posture - her exceedingly jutting 
breasts, the pleasing conformation of her figure. 

In fact, she was so amply stacked, that the sitters on the green benches at 
the courthouse had, on watching her walk past, commented in awed tones. The 
clerk-of-the-court said, "I tell you, fellows, she's got the best-looking 
ass I've ever seen on a woman! God Almighty! Her ass has got enough 
movements to crush rocks!" 

Even at this age, a teenager, most women were either openly hostile toward 
her or secretly envious of her. In varying ways, men were emotionally 
responsive to her presence regardless of whether they were mere boys or 
whether they were two or three times her age. At Green Mountain College, she 
had always sought the company of men teachers and administrators, feeling a 
desire for the attention they gave her; and it was difficult for her to keep 
from being friendly with men, although she would have been exceedingly 
offended if one of them had made ugly advances toward her. 

It had been her fervent hope, ever since she could remember that she would 
marry early in life and have a home of her own. She did not want to end up 
like her sister Marie, the mistress of a man old enough to be her 
grandfather. 

Nearly a quarter of an hour had passed when Naomie became aware that she was 
no longer alone in the classroom. At first she did not care whether it was 
the janitor or anyone else, because she still felt miserable, but presently 
she held back her sobs and listened. The sound of her own name was strange 
and unreal in her consciousness. 

"Miss Constantine! Miss Constantine!" 

She made a half-hearted effort to wipe the tears from her face before she 
raised her head from the desk, and yet she knew at the same time that she 
did not really care how she looked. There was nothing left in the world of 
that much importance. She was happier the way she was. Tears! Tears 
continued to run down her cheeks. She was once more sobbing convulsively. 
After a while, though, she heard the same voice calling her again. 

"Miss Constantine! Miss Constantine!" 

After that she caught her breath and listened, wondering who would be there 
speaking to her. 

"Why don't you say something, Miss Constantine?" 

Naomi looked up. She could see through tear-dimmed eyes the outline of the 
familiar face of Robert Vining, an eleventh grader, who was taking 
second-year typing under her. She did not know immediately whether she was 
glad or angry to see Robert. After several moments had gone by, and after it 
began to feel comforting to know she was no longer alone, she stopped 
crying. 

Robert had come toward her desk on the foot-high platform and he was 
standing there in the center of the room watching her with a perplexed 
expression. Looking at him now, she knew she did not want one of her pupils 
to see her weeping, because she was afraid it would soon be told all over 
school, but it was too late to do anything about it. She tried to think what 
she could tell Milo Burch and the other teachers if they asked her why she 
was crying in her classroom after school. 

Robert Vining was a tall sandy-haired boy of seventeen, just two months 
younger than Naomi. Somewhat large for his age, he was an alert and 
conscientious student as well as being one of the best athletes in school. 
His father, Red Vining, owned the only good eating place in Riverview, RED'S 
EMBERS, on the main street, where pupils and teachers often went for Cokes 
after school, and Robert had been helping his father in the restaurant on 
Saturdays and Sundays for the past year. 

A day or two after school opened, Naomie had noticed that Robert was 
spending most of the typing period gazing intently at her, and she had the 
uneasy feeling that he disapproved of the way she wore her brown hair - 
never once considering that he might have been fascinated by the jiggle of 
her fine breasts, or the unctuous movements of her taut buttocks under the 
clinging dress she wore. Anyway, she, in her innocence, did not know whether 
she should feel annoyed or flattered by his persistent stare. 

Ever since she had first noticed this she had felt self-conscious in the 
boy's presence, and several times she had found herself waiting for an 
opportunity to glance at him to see if he were looking at her. As it 
happened, their eyes had met almost each time she had done this, and Robert 
had smiled shyly. 

Just the other day, Robert had come up to her desk and stood near her, as if 
he wanted to say something personal. But Naomie never really gave him the 
opportunity, for according to her raising - in the orphanage - a nice girl 
did not encourage boys to get fresh and, besides, she was so young, she was 
afraid to even smile at a student in fear of resultant discipline problems. 

This time, though, there was no way of escaping his searching gaze and 
questioning manner. He had already come closer. 

"Miss Constantine, what made you cry like that?" Robert asked her, coming 
even closer. "What's the matter, Miss Constantine?" 

"It's nothing, Robert," she said as calmly as she could. "Really ..." 

She wondered what her appearance was like to Robert, with her tear-streaked 
face and disheveled hair. 

"Now, is there something you want to speak to me about?" she asked quickly, 
trying to appear impersonal. 

"What made you cry like that, Miss Constantine?" he said, persistently 
"Maybe it's because I think I'm too young and inexperienced to teach school, 
Robert," she said. 

As soon as she had spoken, she regretted what she had done. 

"Yes, you're very young, Miss Constantine," he said, extremely serious. "And 
you must have been raised way back in the country - from no more than you 
know about - well, boys and things." 

She almost told him what a rough time she'd had; how poverty-stricken her 
grandmother had been - the reason why she and Marie had been sent to the 
Methodist orphanage, but she caught herself in time. 

"... But I'm glad you're a school teacher," he was saying. 

"Why, Robert? Why do you say that?" 

"Because if you hadn't been a teacher, and hadn't come to Riverview to 
teach, I'd never have seen you." 

Without thinking, she said, "Robert, why do you -?" Then she abruptly 
stopped herself. 

"I think you're wonderful, Miss Constantine. I know you're kind of ... well, 
prudish, and all, but you're nice, too." 

She blamed herself for giving him an opportunity to say such a thing. At 
once she recalled her interview with Milo Burch, in his office the day she 
was hired. 

She had walked in, told him her name, and that she'd been sent here by 
Superintendent Downs to teach Business Education, if Mr. Milo Burch approved 
her. 

"You mean to say - Downs has hired you to teach in high school? My high 
school?" he said, appalled. "Good God, child! You look like a high school 
kid yourself!" 

"I'm seventeen," she said, sweetly. "I'll be eighteen next Wednesday." 

"But, with just one year of college, well lose our Federal funds!" he 
fussed. "Damn it! Downs knows better! I wish there was some way to take 
politics out of schools, but there isn't." He eyed her intently, his eyes 
stopping for a long time on her big breasts. Then he said, "Why, you're old 
lady Margie's niece, aren't you? Well, that explains it. Downs was a close 
friend of your deceased uncle." 

"I'll work hard, Mr. Burch," she said sweetly. 

"But, girl - Miss Constantine - the trouble is, you'll have boys in your 
typing classes older than you, and they'll be -" He stopped, his face 
reddening. 

"They'll be what, Sir?" she said innocently. 

He swallowed hard. "Well, you see, Miss Constantine, you're, ah, quite well 
built, in fact, stacked, and those grown boys will be trying to, ah - you 
know- fondle you." 

"Me? I don't understand, Mr. Burch." 

He twisted in his chair. "Good God, girl!" he sputtered. "Haven't you ever 
looked at yourself in the mirror? I'm speaking of sex, girl! S-E-X!" 

"What do you mean, Mr. Burch?" she said, an offended note to her voice. And 
then, "If you're worried about my morals, you needn't be!" Her face blushed. 
"I'm a virgin, Mr. Burch. I intend to stay a virgin till I marry. I plan to 
give my husband a clean body when I marry!" 

She had noticed the way he was trying to keep from laughing. His attempt 
resulted in a snigger. He apologized at once. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Constantine" he said, his face becoming sober. "I'm not 
making fun of your, ah, naivet. I'm forty-two, and it's truly refreshing to 
see someone so innocent." He shook his head, a sad look settling across his 
face. "You're too innocent to go into a roomful of animals, some of them, 
like we have nowadays." 

"I'm not afraid, Sir," she said. "No, because you don't know enough to be 
afraid," he smiled. And then, "Where did you say you went to college?" 

"Green Mountain, Sir. It's a Methodist girls' college." 

"That figures," he nodded. "One of those damned backwoods diploma mills, no 
doubt." He sighed and looked away. "A pity they didn't teach you something 
about sex." 

"We studied religion, instead, Sir." 

He nodded again. "Oh, well, you're here, and you're hired - for only one 
year. The State Department of Education won't allow an unlicensed teacher in 
a state school but one year." 

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Burch!" 

"You're welcome, girl, and listen - stay on your toes, now. I'll help you as 
much as I can, but you'll have to take every precaution. We have a few boys 
in this school, I'm sorry to say, who would rape you in a minute - if they 
should catch you alone." 

"Oh, I'm not afraid at all, Mr. Burch." 

Naomi said lightly, "Robert, I'll bet you say that to all your teachers." 

"Those old broads!" he said vehemently. "You're the first teacher I've ever 
said that to." 

With a sidelong glance she saw that he'd moved closer to her at the desk, 
and then something made her aware that he was gazing rapturously at her 
hair. Barely conscious of what she was doing, she stood up erectly and shook 
her hair into place with a backward toss of her head. As she did so, she 
felt his eyes wandering excitedly over her. 

"Miss Constantine ?" he said questioningly. 

"It's time to go home, Robert," she said. "See you Monday." 

Robert took a step toward her. He was only an arm's length away from her 
now. She was afraid to let her eyes meet his now, for she knew if she did, 
he might reach out and overpower her - rape her, even. But, no, he didn't 
seem to be thinking about that. Besides, the will to resist him, as well as 
the ability, was becoming weaker in her all the time. She knew it would be 
easy to let herself desire him. And it made her so ashamed. 

"Well, I'm going, Robert," she said. "You'd better get back to the football 
field." 

"No, Miss Constantine," he said, licking his lips. "I'm not working out 
today - because I want to walk home with you." 

"Both of them were nervous now. Naomie could feel her arms tremble slightly 
as she pressed them tightly against her body. 

"Let me carry your books and things, Miss Constantine," he said, a pleading 
note to his voice. "That's why I came back." 

The bright sun of the September afternoon was hot and uncomfortable. It 
beamed relentlessly over the treetops at the edge of the playground and 
burned through the classroom windows and stung her feverish skin. 

"Please let me, Miss Constantine!" He was begging unashamedly. She could 
sense the urging intensity of him. 

"Robert-" she began weakly. She pressed her knees tightly together in order 
to keep her body from wavering. 

"You've got to let me, Miss Constantine," he said to her after that. "You've 
got to! Do you hear me!" 

He stopped pleading with her and waited anxiously to hear what she was going 
to say. In the silence, she studied his face for a long time. There wasn't 
much difference between their ages. He was taller by several inches and 
weighed at least thirty pounds more. He was handsome, too, in a certain 
boyish way. And he was so much more worldly than she - "Robert, what would 
people say when they saw you walking home with me?" she asked, trying to 
keep her voice calm. 

"I don't care what they say, Miss Constantine!" 

He meant well. She saw it in his eyes. Well, if he doesn't care what people 
think, then why should I? she thought. 

"Of course, you can walk home with me, Robert," she told him invitingly. She 
handed him the notebooks and walked past him to the hallway. Robert was at 
her side an instant later, watching her with an eager look. 

They had stopped in front of Aunt Margie's old ante-bellum mansion, which 
set back from the street behind a wall of huge liveoaks. 

"I want to come up on the porch and talk to you," he said, "about 
something." 

Naomie shook her head firmly. She opened the gate, still not looking back, 
and went into the yard. 

"Why can't I, Miss Constantine?" 

"There're lots of reasons, Robert. You know some of them as well as I do." 

"Can I come back after supper tonight and see you, then?" 

"No, Robert." 

"It'll be dark then, nobody'd know. We could go some place where nobody 
would see us." 

"No, Robert." 

"You'll get lonely, Miss Constantine," he said. "What'll you do during the 
long weekend?" 

"I've got plenty to do, Robert." 

He leaned on the gate. "I'll come up to your room, then. There's a stairway 
up the back porch. I've seen it. I know how to get up there. It's easy." 

"That's out of the question, Robert." 

"Why is it?" he demanded. 

"Robert, a man shouldn't ask to go to a nice girl's room. It isn't proper." 

"I don't see why I can't go up to your room!" 

"Robert, there're two kinds of girls, and evidently you think I'm the other 
kind." 

"I don't know which kind you are, but I like you!" 

He opened the gate and hurried into the yard, and as she began to walk 
toward the steps, he grabbed her arm. 

"Miss Constantine, you've got to promise me something now!" he said 
excitedly. 

"Please let me go, Robert," she begged. "You know you shouldn't behave like 
this." 

"I'll let you go when you promise me!" 

"What do you want, Robert?" she said, as calmly as she could. "I don't know 
what you're talking about." 

"You know what I want!" he said brashly. 

"Why, Robert!" 

Somebody was coming across the tree-studded lawn on the other side of Aunt 
Margie's house; a man who might see one of the high school boys holding the 
new teacher by the arm like that. 

"Let me go, Robert!" she hissed. "Somebody's coming!" 

"I see him," Robert said, disdainfully. "It's just old man Lovelace - he 
lives next door to your Aunt Margie. He doesn't ever go out, so he won't 
tell on us." 

"Let go of me, Robert, or I'll slap your face!" she hissed. 

Just then, the bushes parted near the flower garden and Mr. Lovelace's 
close-cropped head peered out. He evidently sized up the situation at once, 
for he said sharply: "Miss Constantine is that young squirt trying to molest 
you?" 

Robert, on hearing Mr. Lovelace's words, released Naomie's arm at once, and 
stepped back, a sullen look on his young face. 

"Oh, no, Sir," Naomi lied. "He was - well, ah, he wanted me to give him a 
better grade than I did on a test, Sir." 

Robert, a relieved look on his face, backed toward the gate, then turned and 
hurried out, without saying a word. 

"Good-bye, Robert," Naomie said sweetly. "See you Monday." 

She then turned toward the porch, forcing an amused smile for the benefit of 
Mr. Lovelace, and as she began to climb the steps, Mr. Lovelace called: 
"Miss Constantine, during this hot spell of weather, you're welcome to use 
my swimming pool any time." 

She stopped and faced him. "That's so kind of you, Sir," she said. "It's so 
hot at school! I'm tempted to take you up on your offer, but the trouble is, 
I can't swim." 

"Ah, if that's all that's holding you back, Miss Constantine, come on over," 
he said. "I can teach you to swim in one afternoon." 

"But I don't even have a swimsuit, Mr. Lovelace," she said. 

"I can even furnish that, Miss Constantine," he said, laughing. "I happen to 
have a red bikini that looks like it'll be just right for you. I'll tell you 
how I happen to have it sometime." 

"Well..." 

"The pool is nice this afternoon," he said quickly. "Come on over after you 
rest up a bit." 

"Well, I just might do it, Mr. Lovelace. You're so kind." 

As she entered the dim-lit hallway, Naomie was thinking that if all the 
people in Riverview were as nice as Mr. Lovelace, her year here would be 
pleasant, indeed. When he'd picked her up at the Providence Municipal 
Airport and brought her to Aunt Margie's, he'd told her he was an artist of 
sorts. He'd invited her to come down to his basement studio and look at his 
paintings; although she didn't know much about art, she was going to look at 
them, because he was so very kind ... 

CHAPTER TWO 

Naomie and Aunt Margie were seated at the dining room table enjoying Cokes 
when they heard a soft knock on the side-door next to Mr. Lovelace's house. 
Aunt Margie, looking pleasantly surprised, noiselessly wheeled out of the 
dining room, into the hallway, then to the side door. 

Above the humming of the air-conditioner, Naomie heard the door creak, then 
her aunt's shrill voice saying: "Why, come in, Mr. Lovelace." 

"Not this time, Miss Margie," he said, softly. "I've brought over something 
for your niece, bless her. She's so young, and having to teach school in 
this town! Well, I just want to help her all I can. This is a swimsuit. Tell 
your niece to put it on and come on over ... the water in the pool is just 
right." 

"That's nice of you, Mr. Lovelace," Aunt Margie said. "I'm sure Naomie will 
be right over." 

Naomie heard the door close, then her Aunt's mumbled words as she wheeled 
herself back to the dining room. When she was there, she handed Naomie a 
paper sack. 

"Mr. Lovelace brought this over for you," she said. "He's such a fine, nice 
man! My, my! And so handy with tools! Last week he fixed my kitchen sink and 
didn't charge me one penny." 

Naomie took the sack with mixed feelings. Although she would enjoy the 
coolness of the swimming pool, she was afraid of the water - afraid that she 
might drown. 

"I hate to disappoint Mr. Lovelace after he's been so nice," Naomie said, 
"but I'm afraid of going swimming." 

"Foot, girl! Go on over there! Mr. Lovelace'll teach you how to swim in no 
time! Why, he's retired out of the navy - been everywhere in the world!" 

"Well, I guess so, then," Naomie said, and got up and went to her room. 

As Naomie walked through the garden, where birds caroled and insects buzzed, 
she was thankful for the trees and hedge rows which obscured Mr. Lovelace's 
swimming pool from the street and from the windows of the houses across the 
street. The fact was, she felt naked in the red bikini, and she was almost 
naked. Looking down, she could see nearly all of her creamy breasts - all 
but the rosebud nipples and my goodness! -a little whorl of her pubic hair, 
like a piece of bronze under the shafting sunlight, was in evidence down 
there! 

She moved one hand to her crotch and pulled the fabric as hard as she could, 
but as soon as she'd stretched it over the hairs on the left side of her 
warm V notch, she saw a bigger whorl appear on the right side of the V tuft. 
And now, as she moved through the weeds, her hot skin began to itch 
deliciously, and when she scratched the places, it felt so good she urinated 
a little, and felt ashamed. 

Walking self-consciously, she came out of the weeds and stepped upon the 
grass-carpeted backyard lawn, and now she saw the pool beyond a row of fig 
bushes, shimmering under the burning sun. It was a bigger pool than she'd 
expected, and she was thankful to see it had a shallow end next to the 
house. It would be nice here under the trees, with the freshly-cut grass 
smelling like ripe watermelons - and there near the edge of the pool were 
beach chairs, air mattresses, and two large beach towels. 

She was startled to see Mr. Lovelace come around the corner of the large 
house. He had on bathing trunks, and Naomie was astonished at the 
youthfulness of his body. Despite his almost gray head, his arms and legs 
were corded with muscles; his chest firm and thick; his shoulders broad and 
powerful. He had a little drum of belly, but when he tried to pull it in, as 
he was doing now, his physique was extraordinary for a man who was past 
sixty - "I was just getting a bit of painting done," Lovelace said, waving 
one hand at the low door of the basement. 

Naomie eyed the house intently for a moment. It was not as fine nor as 
elaborate as her Aunt Margie's great old home, but she judged it much too 
big for one person, a man at that. 

When she looked back at Lovelace, she couldn't help but notice how he was 
looking at her body - especially at the tight V tuft where she imagined her 
pubic hairs were still showing. Self-consciously half-turning her back to 
him under the pretense of looking at the pool, she said: "The water looks so 
nice, Mr. Lovelace. I think I'll try it out." 

"It's just right, Miss Constantine," he answered. "But right now, let's 
settle something once and for all - Call me Jack. I'm used to being called 
that." 

She looked around to say, "Oh, I couldn't do that, Sir! It wouldn't be 
respectful." 

"To hell with respect, Naomie - may I call you by your first name?" he said, 
brusquely. 

"Oh, yes, Sir!" 

"And drop that 'Sir' business," he said, laughing softly. "I heard enough of 
that in the navy." 

She nodded, taking a second look at him, as they now walked down to the 
steps leading into the pool. 

She judged he was about six feet-two; that he once had very dark hair, since 
his eyes were dark brown, and though he smiled a lot, there was something 
cruel about his mouth - and, in the light burning deep in his eyes. 

"Watch those steps," he warned, moving in to take her right arm. "Concrete 
gets slimy under water, you know." 

His hand was very strong, and there - as she descended the steps, she felt 
the back of his hand press against the rich bulge of her breast. But it was 
just for a moment - innocently enough - she thought, but even so, she felt 
her nipples tingle and become hard - felt the peculiar moistening, opening, 
heating - in her throbbing crotch. And it disturbed her that she did; then 
she was ashamed. The very idea! Why, Mr. Lovelace was old enough to be her 
grandfather, and besides, he was so nice - She stopped at the bottom step. 
Mr. Lovelace, still holding her arm, stopped immediately behind her. 

"It's not more than hip deep here," he said, "but just the same, step down 
carefully. The bottom is a bit slick, also." 

"I can't swim a stroke," Naomie said, then laughing uneasily. 

"It would've been so much easier for you to've learned when you were much 
younger - say three or four," he said. 

Now, he was standing close. In fact, she felt the stiff hairs on his leg 
rubbing against her smooth thighs; and now, she could feel something else 
pressing against the soft pone of her left buttock. It felt hard as rock, 
and now Mr. Lovelace was standing even closer to her, pointing across the 
pool. 

"The deep water is down there," he said, "but you won't be in that area 
until you can swim real well." He moved against her with the hard object 
throbbing against her buttock, and she stepped down hurriedly into the cool, 
clear water, her skin feeling strangely hot now, despite the icy shock of 
the water lapping against her thighs. She took one step, and true enough - 
the water was exactly hip deep. 

Jack Lovelace didn't step down into the pool at once; instead, he stood 
looking at Naomie, who was now scooping up handfuls of water and letting it 
run down her arms. He's just waiting to see me try to swim, she thought. But 
I'm not ready yet. . .afraid to lie down in the water. 

She had no way of knowing his thoughts, so she waited while he stared. 

A very young, full-bodied girl, he was thinking. Her hair was foaming black, 
and the color of her hair matched her eyes, and her mouth looked as if it 
had been cut and was bleeding out across the swollen lips. She has the 
lushest, most wonderful breasts I've ever seen, he thought, and her body is 
a thing of perfection. 

Now the girl was watching him, and her teeth were like tiny white onions 
between her red lips. Her breasts swelled taut in the already soaking dark 
red bandanna that crossed them, and they were full, and he saw the outline 
of the nipples. And he watched the broad mare-like thighs, and the swing of 
her lush hips. And how she moved in every way, standing there in the water. 
Her skin was white, as white as paper, but healthy-looking and delicious, 
and then she seemed to move it at him - shook it a little. 

"... Mr. Lovelace, I'm ready for my first lesson," Naomie was saying, 
noticing, but not fully aware of the meaning of the jutting protuberance at 
his crotch. That was just the way men were, she guessed, for she'd noticed 
that some of the boys in her typing class showed the same thing when she 
stood close, helping them. . "Sure, Naomie," he said gently. "If you're 
ready." 

He plunged into the pool and swam about gracefully for a little time, aware 
that she was admiring his ability; then, he swung around and swam up to her 
and stood up. 

"My, you swim so well, Mr. Lovelace!" she exclaimed. 

"Call me Jack," he said, smiling down at her. 

"Okay, if that's the way you want it -Jack. " 

He laughed softly, richly; his voice, though she did not know it was tinged 
with sexual excitement. 

"Here we go, now," he said. "Lesson number one. First, you've got to learn 
how to lie in the water. Don't be afraid. Just take a deep breath and let 
yourself down easy and get the feel of the water supporting you - it will, 
as soon as you learn how to let it." 

He helped her, holding one hand under her belly, then easing her down. 
Naomie was so frightened at first that she thrashed her arms and legs, 
despite his gentle urging to just let herself go - easy, now! "Easy! Atta 
good girl! Now, now! See the water is mostly supporting you!" 

But she knew his hand was helping hold her up, too, for she could feel it 
sliding along her soft belly- now almost touching her hot crotch. But he was 
always careful not to touch her there, bringing his hand back up her belly 
just in time. 

And, later, while he was trying to show her how to let down in the water and 
do the Australian Crawl, several times his hands gripped her breasts, but 
she knew he didn't mean to do that - he was just trying his dead-level best 
to teach her how to swim. The only time his hand touched her down there, he 
withdrew it quickly, and muttered a soft, "I'm sorry." 

"Oh, this is fun!" Naomie said, "I mean, learning to swim! Thanks for asking 
me, Jack." 

This was her way of letting him know that she thought his hand touching her 
crotch was just an accident; and now, as she began to lose her fear of 
water, she began to swim three or four strokes before she began to sink. 
Fortunately, Jack Lovelace stuck right by her, his big hands ready to spring 
out and grab her. 

Naomi would have probably learned to swim pretty well that afternoon if, on 
thrashing about close to the house side of the pool, she hadn't stepped on 
the piece of glass. 

The pain of the cut was not sharp or anything, but she felt it, and when she 
held her foot up for Jack Lovelace to have a look at it, blood oozed from 
the little nick on her heel and dribbled into the water, turning it pink. 

"Those damned school kids!" Lovelace said in a low voice. "They've done it 
before - sneaked up to that fence yonder, and tossed their Coke bottles into 
my pool! I'm sorry, Naomie. I thought I'd picked up all the glass." 

"It doesn't hurt much, Mr. Lovelace - I mean, Jack." 

"No, it's not a bad cut," he said, "but just the same, you need a little 
first aid treatment." 

"I'll put some first aid cream on it when I get home," she said, gaily. "I'm 
learning to swim now! What's a little cut, when you're learning to swim?" 

"Say, I just remember," he said. "I've got some first aid cream in my studio 
basement. Come on - I'll fix the cut, then you can come back and swim as 
long as you wish." 

She turned and looked at the sun through the trees. It was still more than 
an hour until dark. 

"Sure, Jack!" she said, excitedly. "I believe I'll be swimming real well by 
sundown!" 

She leaned against him as they slowly walked toward the steps, and then, as 
they drew near the first step, he dropped behind, and one big hand mashed 
against her buttocks and gave her a steady boost as she hobbled out of the 
pool. 

CHAPTER THREE 

They entered the basement through a heavy door, and Naomie was surprised to 
find the underground place so cool and well-lighted. But, inside, there was 
a sinister stillness, the odd, musty, indefinable smell of darkness and 
airless passages. Naomie edged closer to Lovelace, who led her across the 
room to a large, old-fashioned bed. 

"Sit down here," he directed, "and I'll get my first aid stuff from that 
cabinet." He noticed how she was staring about the room. 'This is my office 
and coffee-break room," he said. 'That door" and he pointed at another heavy 
door across the room "- leads to my studio. There's lots of antique 
furniture and stuff stored down here as well. Let me fix that cut and I'll 
show you around." 

The bed creaked as Naomie shifted her body around so she could take a more 
detailed, second look at the room. There was a quaint marble-topped desk 
with a newspaper on it near the wall, a ladder-backed-cane-bottomed chair in 
front of the desk, and there on the dusty wall, immediately in front of the 
desk, was a small painting of a nude woman. She had an ecstatic look on her 
face as if - as if someone were scratching her back. Naomie studied the 
painting intently. What is that object she is sitting astraddle? she asked 
herself. It looked somewhat like a big peeled pole, except at the end, the 
object glowed red? 

Her attention was distracted by Lovelace's return with a tube of first aid 
cream, gauze, and a roll of adhesive tape, thus, she did not get to study 
the painting long enough to determine exactly what it was the naked woman 
was sitting astraddle, though any experienced person could have told at a 
glance that the nude, ecstatic lady was sitting astraddle a huge, erect 
penis. 

"Here we go," Lovelace said, as she picked up her wounded foot and prepared 
to clean it off with a piece of gauze. He eyed the superficial cut 
momentarily, then pulling her foot toward him, began to dab at the serous 
fluid still oozing from the cut with the bit of gauze. 

With her legs split apart, Naomie, on looking down her leg, was horrified to 
see a large tuft of pubic hair whorling from underneath the fabric of her 
bikini, but just now she could not clamp her legs together in order to hide 
the tell-tale secret lair around the inviting, pinkish portal. 

Lovelace's big hands were as skillful and as gentle as a surgeon's as he 
finished cleansing the wound, then began applying the antiseptic cream. And 
now, Naomie's attention was once more attracted to the hard object down 
there between Lovelace's powerful legs. Her toes were right against the 
fabric of his swimming trunks, as he finished applying the cream. 

Then, as he bound the wound with gauze and applied strips of tape to hold it 
firmly, he leaned forward, pressing his crotch against her toes, and she 
could feel, or so she thought, the hardness down there begin to throb. 

At last the task was finished, and, smiling, Lovelace said: "You're all 
fixed up, Naomie. Care to look my basement over before we go back to the 
pool?" 

"Oh, sure," she said. "It's wonderfully still and cool down here. And thanks 
for fixing up the cut. You should've been a doctor." 

As she followed him through the first door, he looked around to say: "I'll 
show you my canvasses another day. I've been painting for three years now - 
off and on for at least fifteen years, I guess." 

It was then that she thought about the nude girl again. "What is that girl 
in the painting sitting astraddle, Jack?" she asked. 

He stopped and looked back over one shoulder toward his desk in the other 
room. "Oh, that," he grinned. "Pretty good, eh? I spent nearly a week on 
that little masterpiece." He seemed to be studying the painting intently. He 
continued with: "What does the object the lady is sitting astraddle look 
like to you, Naomie?" 

"Well - a pole? Yeah, I'd say, a pole." 

He nodded. "Then, that's what it is." 

"Huh?" 

"My nude is sitting astraddle whatever the person looking at the painting 
sees," he answered. "Now, to me, it's something else, but to you it's a 
pole, so let it be." 

They went on. Passages, doors, mysterious alcoves full of looming shadows. 
Furniture from by-gone ages of the forgotten hoof and wheel - A dining room 
of yore, crowded with hideous gilt and marble furniture, a wide pillared 
hall in which tall, dim old mirrors in baroque frames glinted winking eyes 
of light back from Lovelace's flashlight (the rooms containing old junk were 
not lighted). Something - a cat? - a rat? - scurried into the deeper 
darkness of a vast old player piano, and they both caught their breaths in 
quick gasps, jerked rigid and still. 

"Just a rat," Lovelace said. "Come on. I've done my dead-level best to get 
rid of them, for I have, as you notice, a small fortune in antiques down 
here - but, so far, I can't eradicate the little gnawing bastards. I've 
tried cats, exterminators, traps, poisons, and what-have-you, but still, 
I've got rats!" 

Lovelace lifted a heavy curtain and suddenly they were in a small, low, 
semicircular room, carpeted, upholstered, and papered in deep crimson - all 
velvet and quilted plush, a style at once Victorian and Oriental and 
uncommon among the rich planters in the early years of the century. Lovelace 
let the curtain fall behind them with a soft rustle and held his flashlight 
high. Everything heavy, dark-red and edged with tarnished, dusty gilding; 
everything costly and thick and redolent of old age; the great brocade 
curtains broadly fringed and hanging in impenetrable folds from swaggered 
braided pelmets, the somberly magnificent Turkish rugs scattered over the 
thick carpet, the ebony and ivory coffee tables, the tall Chinese vases and 
the lacquered cabinets. 

Lovelace turned to Naomie. "Well..." For a moment they stood alternately 
eyeing the re-built room and each other. 

"It's- it's- so wonderful!" Naomie managed to say. "Did you do this? - 
re-build the room, and everything?" 

He nodded, then waved one hand at the great, high bed, which was covered 
with a beautiful red spread. "How do you like that?" he asked. 

"Oh, it's lovely!" she said, excitedly. "I bet anyone could fall asleep on 
that!" 

He smiled his approval, then said: "Let's have a cocktail. Shall we?" 

"You go ahead, but I don't touch alcohol in any form," she said stoutly. 

"Okay. I understand that. After all you're a school teacher, and you're so 
very young ..." 

"I've just turned eighteen," she said proudly. "And I could drink a Coke, if 
you've got one." 

"I have some in the 'fridge," he said. "Go ahead and try out the bed, if you 
wish, and I'll go up and get our refreshments." 

She was all trembly inside when she crossed to the great bed, but she waited 
until he went out before she clambered upon the thick mattress and stretched 
out with a sigh. It was the biggest, most comfortable bed she'd ever 
sprawled out on in her young life. Momentarily, she closed her eyes in 
simulated sleep, but her mind raced with thoughts. Her toes still tingled 
from having made contact with . . . she tried to push the thoughts of what 
her toes had touched from her mind, but she could not. It was like feeling 
of her pubic mound, once you'd done it, you couldn't stop, and the more you 
touched it, the better it felt. 

At times, Naomie wished that she hadn't led such a sheltered life at the 
orphanage. The whole complex, painful business of growing up, lay in 
experiencing every physical adult attribute as soon as possible. It was 
something that really shouldn't be put off, she reasoned, despite the 
teachings of the good people at the orphanage. 

She heard steps in the passageway, and she got up from the bed just as 
Lovelace came in bearing a tray with drinks; a cocktail for himself; a Coke 
for Naomie. 

He handed her the drink, then indicated chairs with a wave of one hand. 

Naomie sat down across from Lovelace, primly crossing her legs to hide the 
whorl of pubic hair from his eyes. She sipped the Coke, enjoying the biting 
coldness of it against the hot tissues of her mouth, aware, however, that 
Cokes here in Riverview did not taste like those she'd drunk at the 
orphanage. Aunt Margie said the taste differences resulted from the water 
the Cokes were made from, but Naomie didn't know... 

She listened to Lovelace tell all about the antique furniture, some of which 
he'd found in the house on buying it, and some he'd bought at out-of-the-way 
antique stores. And, after a while, she began to feel drowsy, noticing that 
her eyes were inclined to close. 

She shifted in the chair, letting her legs gape open, and she said: "I'm 
ready for another swim, Jack." 

"Sure," he said, his eyes zeroed in on her face, "Just let me finish my 
drink." 

It was then that she began to nod, to slump in the big chair, and after 
that, from afar, at least it seemed that he was a long way from her, she 
could hear Lovelace calling: "Naomie? What's wrong? Are you asleep?" 

She tried to nod, but she could not. Instead, she sank deeper into the 
chair, and then, after a moment, she dimly felt his hands sliding underneath 
her body as he lifted her from the chair. 

Her eyes were open now, and she could see Lovelace standing at the side of 
the bed. Goodness! Has he flipped? He's naked, and lean see - She closed her 
eyes, where she couldn't see him down there. Something is wrong, she thought 
dully. With a great effort, she tried to think, but it was so hard, so hard 
- like trying to climb a steep mountain in leather-soled shoes.. . And then, 
another thought, so powerful, that it pushed the dull feeling aside. 

The Coke! She had been drugged! But surely, Mr. Lovelace, as gentle and kind 
and considerate as he is -Oh, God, he wouldn't do that! 

But, just then, he began to untie the red top that covered her fine breasts, 
and she said, in a frightened voice: "No, Jack! Don't! Don't!" 

"Now, now, Naomie," he said, soothingly, his hands stroking the soft flesh 
of her back. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

She tried to roll away from his powerful fingers, but he held her with one 
hand, and being drugged, or so she thought, her effort was not great. 

He took the red fabric off and tossed it aside. At once, his large hands 
cupped her breasts, squeezing down on them gently but firmly. 

"... Made for man's caressing hands!" he said, thickly. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh! 
They're so fine, fine! So big and jutting and soft! It's agonizing!" 

His head dipped down and he grabbed her right nipple, which was now like a 
spike, with his mouth, and began to suck and chew and lick it, making an 
agonizing guttural sound in his throat as he went along. 

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Mmmmmmmm! Ohhhhhhh! It's so good, good! Mmmmmmmmmmmm!" 
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" 

And he was kissing her hot belly; one hand was holding a breast, the other 
working at the bikini, trying to pull it off. 

"No, Mr. Lovelace!" Naomie screamed, holding on to the fabric with both 
hands, and trying to roll away from his seeking mouth. "Stop it, Jack! No, 
no! My God, quit it, Mr. Lovelace!" 

But she knew it was too late to stop now. The gentle man had turned into a 
demon, and he had very strong hands. For a moment, she responded to his 
heated kisses. His lips constantly kissing her hot belly made her tingle, 
and her breasts throbbed and tingled as if she had suddenly come in contact 
with a live wire. 

Dimly, she remembered the vow she'd made, had even told Mr. Burch about, 
that she'd still be a virgin when she married, and she began to fight 
desperately. 

She clawed at his back, felt the ripped skin pile up under her nails, but 
this only seemed to inflame him more. His hand was on her crotch, stroking 
her.. . making her feel good down there. She struggled to turn on her 
stomach, knowing that if she allowed him to continue much longer, she'd lose 
her will to resist him. Suddenly, she snapped her head forward and seized 
his ear with her strong, sharp teeth. She bit down hard, and as he tried to 
pull away, she felt the meat tear ... 

"Oh!" he yelled. "Goddamnit! You didn't have to do that!" 

Her nails hovered over his eyes. "I'll scratch them out!" she said. 

"Go ahead!" he challenged, as one hand jerked at the bikini bottom, trying 
to pull it over her taut buttocks, the other hand stroking her continuously 
- down there on her crotch - making her feel hot, wet, wide, and sticky all 
at the same time. 

Desperately, she plunged her nails into his eyes, trying to rip them out. He 
screamed with pain, and his hands moved from her body to his face, digging 
at the blood streaming from around his eyes. 

He did a dance of agony, whirling around and around in the room, and then he 
grabbed the spread and swabbed the blood streaming down his cheeks. 

Naomie got up from the bed and started toward the door, when he suddenly 
threw the bedspread aside and grabbed her arm. He slapped her hard across 
the mouth, nearly knocking her down. She tried to kick him in the groin, but 
she was too blinded, and she missed him. 

"You might as well make up your mind!" he gasped. "I won't hurt you. I don't 
want to hurt you, but if you keep fighting me, I'll have to!" 

"Why, Mr. Lovelace?" she said and panted. "I never would have thought you 
could be like this!" 

"Listen, girl! You'll like it if you'll only let me show you what it's 
like!" he said. "Come on, now! I'll be gentle!" I can't! I can't!" she 
moaned. "I want to be a virgin when I marry!" 

"What you need to be is a female who knows how to please her husband," he 
coaxed. "Come, Naomie! Let me show you what I mean." 

For the first time, Naomie was afraid. She sensed that he would hurt her if 
he had to do that to get what he wanted. She backed along the wall, noting 
that his organ was now limber; that his desire presently was in his mind. He 
crouched and eased toward her. 

"I'll scream!" she said. "I'll have the whole neighborhood in here to find 
out what's going on!" 

"Go ahead," he challenged. "Scream as much as you wish, but you might as 
well save your breath. This room is sound proof. I did the work myself." 

She had reached the corner of the room, and he was still easing toward her, 
watching her every move. There was no place to go; either she'd have to 
submit to him, or try once more to fight him off. 

"Please! Please!" she begged, almost hysterical, as she saw his big hands 
reaching for her body again. "Don't, Mr. Lovelace! Please stop!" 

But he wouldn't stop. Suddenly, he rushed her, his out-stretched arms 
shoving her against the wall so hard it knocked the breath out of her. 
Momentarily, she was completely helpless, and he made use of the opportunity 
to snatch the bikini down. At once, he pinioned her hard against the wall 
and began to caress her underbelly while his mouth again sought her heaving 
breasts. 

"Oh! Ohhhhhhhh!" she cried out. "You're hurting me! Ohhhhhhhhh!" 

He slapped her again, hard across the mouth. "Shut up!" he grated. "I'll 
hurt you if I have to! I mean it, girl!" 

"You've already hurt me!" she sobbed. "See! You bit my breast so hard it's 
bleeding!" 

"Stop fighting me, and I'll stop hurting you," he said. 

She could tell by the terrible look in his eyes that he meant exactly what 
he said. Although she was an unworldly girl, she was not a fool. Rather than 
have him kill her, she'd have to submit. Her eyes wavered, and he was quick 
to note the change. 

"Settle down," he said. "You'll like it much better than you think." 

Her breasts were rising in the warmest throbs, and once again his hands 
cupped them, feeling the firm hard swell of them. At the same time, his eyes 
admiring the clear whiteness of her skin, the delicate rose-bud pinkness of 
the nipples. But now his hands were roving, caressing her hot abdomen, then 
going on down . . . down, until one hand was stroking her cunt, making the 
pink portal flush to a darker hue. Her fears however, made her mechanically 
close her thighs, but his hand slipped between them, prying them apart, 
stroking the velveteen softness of her inner thighs, then suddenly moving to 
the moist portal again. 

She felt one finger moving slowly inside her pussy, felt the throbbing heat 
as she responded. 

"You are a virgin," he said thickly. "God! You're a well-built girl!" 

She felt his penis like a poker against her leg, and he was so lustful, he 
could not hold back. He shoved his powerful prick hard against the pink 
portal of her cunt. Then! Then! She felt the rock-hard gristle battering 
against her tender part, and it hurt her severely. 

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" she cried. "Oh, God! Oh, God! You're killing me! You're 
killing me! Ahhhhhhhhhh!" 

He shoved her hard against the wall, his hands now tearing into her taut 
buttocks. "Hold still!" he said. "Damn it! Quit twisting so!" 

He pushed vigorously, again and again, but his weapon didn't penetrate the 
tenderness. 

"I can't bear it!" she said. "Oh, oh, I can't bear it!" 

"Just a little longer!" he said. "Be still, damn it! Just a little more ..." 

"EEEeeeeeeee!" she screamed. "Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

She sensed that he'd tried to be gentle, but now he couldn't control 
himself. He thrust his hips harder and harder, groaning with furious 
pleasure as he worked. 

"It's too big!" she sobbed. "Ohhhhhhhh! God, God! Please! Oh, Please! You're 
killing me!" 

She was hurting so much that she tried to break loose from his clutching 
hands, but it was impossible. He had her pressed too tightly against the 
wall. 

He tried again and again, but still no admittance, still no penetration by 
his hard prick. He had hurt her even more, but now she was resigned to the 
ordeal. If this was love, she wanted no part of it. She was whimpering now, 
like a swatted puppy, and the sounds she made must have gotten to him. 
Anyway, he stopped, and turned her loose, his eyes mirroring his inner 
torture. 

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Naomie," he said hoarsely. "But taking a maiden-head 
is no easy matter. .. even if it's a smaller dick doing the job." 

His eyes stroked down on her perspiring body again, and he began to tremble 
with passion that he could not contain. 

"Come on over to the bed," he commanded. 

"But it hurts," she said and whimpered, breathing rapidly, as if she'd just 
run a mile. 

His hands darted to her breasts, and she felt his big fingers biting into 
them. 

"Come on, girl!" he said. "Get on that bed!" 

Her face was tight with pain. "Ahhhhhhhhhh!" she moaned. "Stop! Stop! I'll 
obey you!" 

She felt his fingers let up some, but he wouldn't release her. Holding on to 
her breasts, he walked her to the high bed and half-shoved her down upon the 
soft mattress. Then, he swung up beside her. 

"This time, relax," he said. "Relax, and it'll be less painful to you and 
much easier for me." 

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her nose running like a 
little brook. He then smothered her with kisses, saying, "Be patient, 
Naomie! Love is wonderful, once this bad part - for you, I mean - is over." 

"It's not love!" she said, tearfully. "It's mean and vile and nasty! It 
can't be love, not this!" 

"Next time it'll be good," he said. "You just wait and see." 

He wouldn't be put off, but this time he used more finesse. First, he put 
one of the pillows under her buttocks to elevate the port of entry for a 
more favorable aim; then, spreading her thighs and placing himself between 
them, making them rest on his hips. He gently pressed the soft head of his 
cock to the slit into which he sought entrance: it was so small, he couldn't 
make up his mind that he was probing at the exact place, and he backed up 
and felt inside her with his fingers, reassuring himself. Then, he drove his 
hips forward savagely, the prodigious stiffness of his prick battering 
against her cunt again and again, until it broke through the tough skin, 
getting just the head of his organ inside - lip-deep. He paused then, not 
pulling it out, but gauging his prick, thrusting then with great force. 

She held her breath and crammed an edge of the pillow into her mouth to try 
to keep from screaming, and she did, on the first stroke. But immediately, 
his fury driving him like a mad man, he lunged forward with the full weight 
of his body, driving his big hard cock in to the hilt. 

She screamed in agony, "EEEEEEEEEE-eeeeeeee!" and her body undulated, 
writhed, and she gritted her teeth under the awful stress of the overbearing 
pain. 

Aghast, she looked down to see his weapon, reeking with virgin blood, backed 
out, and raising for another pylon-driving plunge. He was no longer his own 
master; rather a lust-driven satyr had taken possession of his body, mind, 
and soul! He poled his cock to her - again and again! - And despite her 
awful begging cries of: "My God! My God! Get off! You're killing me!" - if 
anything, his fury increased. 

"Oh, Naomie!" he blabbered. "Oh, Naomie!" And then, "It's so good I can't 
stand it! Can't stand it! Ohhhhhhh! Naomie! Ahhhhhhhhhh!" Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

Then! Then, she spit the corner of the pillow out, all of her resolution to 
be brave deserting her, and she screamed a scream that started with a 
moaning "Muh-muh-muh-muh-" and ended with a high, blood-curdling 
"EEEEEEEE-eeeeeeeeeee!" 

Suddenly, he held his cock full inside her and completely still, and as she 
felt the hot emission spurt from the fat head of it into her bleeding vulva, 
she fainted away. 

When she regained consciousness, he was in the act of withdrawing his slime 
and blood coated cock, and she made the mistake of looking down again - saw 
the minute stream of blood that flowed from her pierced hymen running down 
over her thighs. With a choked scream, she fainted again. 

When she recovered her senses for the second time, she found herself in the 
arms of the terrible, unrelenting murderer of her virginity, and she began 
to cry softly. Then, to her utter amazement, he began to weep, also! 
Finally, to babble: "I'm sorry I hurt you, Naomie! I swear I am! I got 
carried away, is all!" 

He shook like he'd suddenly taken a high fever, and he kept talking: "I knew 
I had to have you, honey, the moment I saw you get off that jet at the 
Providence Airport! I mean, it just struck me all over, like lightning! 
You're so young, so pretty, and so well built and all! I began to think 
about how I could touch you the moment you came through the turnstiles!" 

"But I wanted my husband to have this honor!" Naomie sobbed, hardly aware of 
what she was saying. "I want to get married soon - at least I did - and look 
how you've messed me up, Mr. Lovelace! And you seemed like such a nice man! 
So kind, considerate, and gentle!" 

He seized a handful of her hair and looked into her tear-dimmed eyes, 
blinking back the tears in his own tired eyes. 

"You're not ruined, Naomie!" he assured her. "You're so young and 
inexperienced, darling, I know you think you are, but built the way you are, 
with such big, fine breasts and long satiny thighs, and especially your 
hauntingly lovely buttocks, believe me, no husband will even think about 
whether you're a virgin or not!" 

"You raped me!" she said and sobbed. "You drugged me and raped me!" 

"Yes," he admitted. "Yes, it's true. But I was so careful not to give you 
enough drug to hurt you that I made it much harder on both of us. . ." 

"And you slapped me! Burst my lip!" she said and whimpered. "And look how 
I've bled down there!" 

"I'm sorry, Naomie," he said, a sincere ring to his voice. "Lust did it, I 
admit, but look at my ear! You nearly tore it off." 

"I ought to turn you in to the sheriff," she threatened. "I ought to go to 
him and tell him just how you went about getting me over here so you could 
rape me." 

"Don't do that, girl!" he said, hoarsely. "You know, I don't have to let you 
go. I could hold you prisoner down here. This room is sound-proofed." 

She shuddered when she thought about it, but clamping her teeth together, 
she bit out: "You wouldn't dare! Aunt Margie knows about me coming here at 
your invitation." 

"True enough," he said, his voice now cool and confident. "But you didn't 
have to accept my invitation. You came at your own risk and, besides, in 
court, it'd just be my word against yours." 

"I'll go to a doctor and let him examine me!" she said angrily. "You're not 
getting by with this!" 

"If you did that, Naomie, what would the town think?" he said. He laughed 
sarcastically, then continued with: "You know I'm not the only male lusting 
after you. What about that kid, this afternoon? I saw what he was after! And 
you knew it, too! Why, that teener was so hot after you, he could just taste 
you! And, Great God, girl! With what you've got under your skirt, I couldn't 
blame him!" 

"I wish it had been Robert instead of you," she muttered. "I really do!" 

"His name was Robert, huh?" he said, an amused note to his voice. "Just a 
kid. He wouldn't have known what to do, but there's plenty of men in this 
town besides me who would have." He laughed softly. "I've watched you walk 
home each afternoon, girl, and I saw how all the men were lusting after you 
- not just the boys and the single men, but the married fellows, too." 

The full import of his words began to ring a bell. She realized that he had 
a perfect set-up. If she went to the doctor, then to the sheriff, no doubt 
Lovelace's lawyer would use testimony to prove how the men in Riverview had 
lusted after her. And it was true - now that she knew exactly what lust in a 
man was - she knew it was true! Instinctively, she knew what Robert had 
wanted, and so many, many others of the men who watched her each morning and 
each afternoon, as she walked to and from school. 

Realizing her plight, she began crying again, deep, soul-stirring sobs that 
seemed to hang in her throat in grief blobs too large to be expelled, which 
went through her tortured body with such force that she seemed on the verge 
of tearing apart. 

Naomie scrutinized Lovelace's body as she sobbed her despair, and she 
shuddered even more when she saw the wrinkles, the blue veins, the 
dead-white spots in his old skin. I am a prisoner of this - this old thing, 
she thought woefully, and there's not a thing I can do about it... 

"I expect you'd better get cleaned up before Miss Margie gets worried," 
Lovelace said. He pointed to a door. "Go through there and you'll find a 
nice bathroom." 

"You thought of everything, didn't you!" Naomie said angrily. 

"From the moment I first saw you, I began to think: how? How? In the name of 
God, how?" he admitted. "You're that good." 

"You knew I couldn't afford to say a word!" she said accusingly. 

"That's right, honey!" 

"I hate you!" she said. "I hate you!" 

"Next time, you'll like me much better after it's over," he said calmly. 

"Next time? There's not going to be a next time!" she said. 

"Yes, you'll come for another swim late tomorrow afternoon," he said cooly. 
"If you don't come to me, then I'll have to come get you." t She jumped up 
from the bed, not caring about her nakedness. "I won't! I won't!" she 
screamed. "I'll... I'll run away before I do it again! I'll kill myself!" 

With a speed that would have taxed the strength of most young men, Lovelace 
sprang from the bed, ran around and grabbed her breasts and squeezed down 
hard. 

She cried out in pain, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

He squeezed even harder, making her eyes stream tears, squeezed until she 
screamed "EEEEEEEeeeeeee!" 

Then, he let up a bit and said: "Naomie, my dear, this is Jack speaking! 
You'll come to me tomorrow afternoon, honey! Do you promise?" 

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" she sobbed as he squeezed her breasts harder and harder. 

"Will you, dear Naomie?" 

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Yes! Oh, please! Yes!" 

"All right, my dear," he said roughly. "I'll be expecting you at four 
o'clock. 

Blindly, she staggered toward the door, overwhelmed with the knowledge that 
she would have to return here tomorrow afternoon, like a slave to her 
master. 

CHAPTER FOUR 

Only because Aunt Margie had invited her two best friends, Ash and Nelly 
Wilkes, over for supper, did Naomie pull her sore body from the rumpled bed, 
freshen up, and go down to the dining room to eat. 

She had cried off and on during the time she'd been hidden away in her room, 
mostly because of the frustration of knowing she was under Jack Lovelace's 
power and couldn't do a thing about it, and, although the roast beef was 
tender, the gravy delicious, the whipped potatoes as fluffy as a bowl of 
carded cotton, she'd forced each bite she'd reluctantly picked up with her 
tarnished fork, pretending to listen to the rambling conversations of the 
three older people. 

They were eating strawberry cake for dessert when they heard the loud 
confident knock on the front door. Aunt Margie, looking pleasantly 
surprised, turned to Ash Wilkes and said: "Would you please answer the 
door?" 

Wilkes scraped up the last morsel of the strawberry cake from his plate, 
rammed it into his mouth, got up, and left the room. 

"I wonder who that could be?" Aunt Margie said, a questioning frown crossing 
her crochety old face. 

"Oh, well, I'd guess it's some young fellow with courting on his mind," 
Nelly Wilkes said, a twinkle in her old, rheumy eyes. She turned her head 
slightly to look at Naomie. 

Naomie, on hearing the knock, had felt her heart leap up under her rib cage 
like a startled bunny. Could it be that awful old thing next door? His lust 
uprisen again? Oh, God, I hope not! she told herself. 

What about it, dear?" Aunt Margie said and smiled. "Are you expecting man 
company tonight?" 

"What?" Naomie blurted. And then, "Oh, no, ma'am! I don't know any men in 
this town." 

"If you ask me, she's too young for the men-folks anyway," Nelly Wilkes 
said. "My! My! They are so much trouble!" 

The weight of his fleshy body creaking the floor, Ash Wilkes came back to 
the dining room with his florid round face glowing angrily. After adjusting 
his body comfortably in the chair, he cleared his throat with a nervous 
little cough. 

"Lum Cash is here," he said. 

Nelly Wilkes looked at Aunt Margie and smiled. Marge shook her head and 
pursed her slightly blue lips. "What does he want?" she said, a hateful note 
to her voice. 

"To see Miss Nash he said," Ash Wilkes mumbled. 

"Who? Me?" Naomie blurted. "But I don't know him!" 

"Huh, little lady, a gal don't have to know Lum Cash for him to come to see 
them," Wilkes grumbled. "If it was me, I'd let him set out there on the 
porch till Christmas Eve!" 

"What?" Naomie said, a puzzled look on her pale face . . . pale even though 
she'd applied a bit of make-up on her cheeks, something she usually didn't 
need to do. 

Nelly, who had a reputation as being one who never let her husband talk, 
looked at Ash, and said: "Go ahead and tell the girl about Lum Cash, hon." 

Ash Wilkes was a meek, mild-mannered man of fifty-nine, short in stature, 
plump, and almost completely bald. He indeed, rarely spoke in the presence 
of his wife unless she pointedly encouraged him to. The rest of the time he 
was expected to keep his mouth shut. He had a tendency to blurt whatever 
came to mind, and Nelly tried to protect her friends from the kind of 
language he used. 

Ash was a retired hotel keeper, and now he spent most of his time going back 
and forth to the post office to see if there was any mail. 

Since it was so unusual for Nelly to allow him to express himself, Ash was 
momentarily speechless with indecision. Swallowing several times, he then 
opened his mouth tentatively, so that he looked somewhat like a buffalo 
fish. 

"Go ahead, Ash!" Nelly said sharply. 'Tell the child what Lum Cash is like." 

"Well, I know a heap more about what Lum Cash ain't than what he is," he 
said with conviction, a sweep of his hand hitting at a fly which had been 
hovering over his plate, off and on, since the meal started. "He and some 
others of his kind can be found hanging around the drug store and places, 
waiting for the women teachers to come downtown for a Coke after school's 
let out. He's got dark, curly hair and the damndest sideburns you ever seen. 
He mooches all he can off the female teachers, and he brags that he gets 
other things besides free Cokes." 

"What does he do for a living? Lum Cash don't do nothing much worth 
mentioning, when you come right down to it." Wilkes slammed his fist against 
the table, now that he was getting to say what he pleased about Lum Cash. 
"He's got one of them little-bitty filling stations- a one-pump deal - out 
there on the highway at the edge of town. He piddles around with it, and a 
ramshackle lean-to in back of it where he sleeps and fries hamburgers when 
he's hungry, but it don't look to me like he makes enough money out of the 
whole kaboddle to buy bird seed for a half-assed canary." 

"Now, Ash! Don't talk like that in front of this child!" Nelly admonished. 
"Maybe Lum is sort of a moocher, but you'll have to admit he's handsome. I 
say some day some girl is going to wake up and find herself married to Lum, 
is what!" 

"Hell, if you ask me, the woman who wakes up and finds herself in bed with 
Lum will be lucky if she can find anything on him bigger than what you could 
find on a goober vine!" Wilkes said, angrily. "He kind of looks like a 
moffy-dite, if you ask me, and if I was you, baby sister," and Wilkes was 
now eyeing Naomie intently, "I'd steer clear of that peckerwood." 

"Oh, I don't intend to get involved with . . ." And Naomie stopped, 
remembering the man next door. "With anyone," she finished, lamely. 

For at least fifteen minutes, she sat listening to the three older people 
talk about the men-folks of Riverview, giving the rather general impression 
that, for the most part, they were a worthless lot. But from what she heard, 
Naomie decided that the very worst ones the three discussed were veritable 
angels, as compared to the man next door. And the worst part about it, what 
few people knew Jack Lovelace thought that he was the kindest, nicest, most 
gentle person in town. 

At last, she felt like she had to go out to the porch and tell Lum Cash she 
had a "sick" headache where he could go on about his business. But, as she 
stood up and walked toward the door, she reminded herself that she had an 
awful ache, true enough, but it wasn't her head. It's my little pussy that 
aches so terribly bad, she thought. 

When she went through the door, she saw Lum Cash sitting in the creaking 
porch swing. 

"Hello," she said sweetly. "I'm Naomie Constantine. I don't believe we've 
met, have we?" 

"Nope, but I've seen you come through town," he said, rising. "I'm Lum - Lum 
Cash. I was kind of wondering if you'd like to get out and just ride around 
for a while." 

She eyed him intently. He was a handsome man in a country-fied sort of way, 
she decided. Tall. Fairly broad shoulders. Lots of piled-up hair and the 
biggest sideburns she'd ever seen. But she was hurting down below too badly 
to get into a car. 

"I'm afraid I'd better go to bed tonight," she said in a kind voice. "It's 
been a pretty long week, since it was my first week to teach school." 

"Well, maybe we can try it some other time," he said hopefully. 

He had not expected her to date him the very first time he asked her. Girls 
went by some kind of crazy code, he was well aware. Next time, she might go, 
and the next time after that - well, he just might get to try out her little 
ole tight cunt. 

"... I might be able to," Naomie was saying, neither giving him a hard 
promise nor turning him down. 

"Well, glad I metcha, Miss Constantine," he mumbled. 

"And I'm glad I met you, Lum." 

Naomie dreaded going to lunch that Saturday morning, for eating the mid-day 
meal only served to remind her it wouldn't be long until four o'clock, and 
she'd promised him she'd come back to the pool. "I won't go!" she said, 
aloud. "He had no right to make me promise something that is wrong, wrong!" 

She wondered what would happen if she didn't go back to Jack Lovelace's 
swimming pool? What if she went to her room and locked the door? Would he 
have the gall to come here and make her get up? Hardly, not in broad 
daylight, but what about tonight? She shuddered, remembering what Robert had 
mentioned about the back stairs which led to the second story - to my room, 
here! Where I'm at right now! 

Aunt Margie was crippled; on top of it, she was a bit hard of hearing. Jack 
Lovelace knew that, of course. Under the guise of being a good, kind-hearted 
man, he'd been all through the house, no doubt, when he'd fixed Aunt 
Margie's sink, and had done other little odd jobs. 

Suddenly, she got the awful feeling that she was helpless, that no matter 
what she tried to do to keep away from the fiend, he'd run her down, seek 
her out like a bloodhound. So nervous that she wanted to scream, Naomie got 
up and began to pace the floor, pausing from time to time near the window 
where she looked out to see the shimmering patch of water in the pool across 
from the garden. She didn't see Lovelace anywhere around and she was 
thankful for that. If I do see him, I'II probably faint, she thought. 

At breakfast this morning, Naomie had tried to show Aunt Margie that Jack 
Lovelace was not the kind, gentle man he was cracked up to be, without 
letting Aunt Margie know that he'd attacked her, but her efforts had only 
served to irritate the shallow-minded woman, who would have fallen in love 
with Satan, if Satan had come by and fixed a leaking faucet or installed a 
light fixture, free of charge. 

Naomie had casually mentioned that Lovelace had looked at her in a way that 
made her feel he was undressing her with his eyes. Aunt Margie had scolded 
her at once ... 

"Why, girl, Mr. Lovelace is old enough to be your grand-daddy!" she'd said, 
her eyes snapping with anger. "Foot, he wouldn't harm a flea, much less 
you!" 

"But, Aunt Margie, the way he looks at me-" Naomie protested. "I mean, I can 
tell..." 

"That's what you little hussys get for wearing those vulgar minis!" Aunt 
Margie cut in to say. "My! My! How times have changed! Girls not caring any 
more for showing their butts than they do their faces! But don't blame poor, 
gentle Mr. Lovelace for looking, child! Rather, blame yourself for showing 
so much!" 

Naomie knew at once that Aunt Margie would take Lovelace's word quicker than 
she would her niece's; that in a show-down, she'd probably side with her 
next-door neighbor. So what was the use of trying to avoid seeing the wicked 
man? 

She waited, watching the minutes tick away on her alarm clock by the bed, 
her body, mind, and soul filling with awful dread and revulsion, steadily, 
like water pouring into a Thermos bottle. 

As the time of her ordeal approached, she began to pray for help, saying her 
words of supplication in a somewhat hysterical babble as she paced around 
and around in her room. But she knew in her heart it was no use. One time in 
the orphanage she'd prayed for a friend who had been dying of leukemia, 
asking God to spare her because she wasn't but seven years old, but poor 
Jeannette had gotten sicker and sicker. At last she'd died on a Sunday 
morning. And that night, in her prayers, Naomie had scolded God for allowing 
Jeanette to die, so she knew He wouldn't help her now. 

Sighing repeatedly, Naomie was nearly ready to go when a car pulled up in 
front of the old house and a bunch of kids got out. She stood at a window 
over-looking the front yard. "Ah, there's Robert Vining!" she said. "And 
three more boys- Steve Dyson, Chuck Willis, and Mitch Miller!" 

She saw them coming toward the yard gate, casting furtive looks at the 
windows of her room as they walked. Oh, I'm so thankful! she thought, her 
heart singing with joy. I'll insist that they stay a long time, and I'll 
serve them Cokes and ice cream. 

The boys stayed until nearly eleven o'clock that night, for Naomie had 
played records in the great living room, and they had danced, despite Aunt 
Margie's protests that she wasn't running a dive at her house, but mostly 
they had engaged in the somewhat silly talk of the very young, getting their 
kicks from just being near their lovely, stacked "teach". 

Naomie had enjoyed the evening even more than her youthful admirers, for she 
had missed the company of the opposite sex at the orphanage, and later, at 
Green Mountain College. Her heart was singing with pure joy, joy she'd 
received from a stimulating evening with four youths who could hardly keep 
their hands off her, and when she went up to her room and undressed in front 
of her door mirror, she noted how her breasts were suffused with a pink 
glow, how the pert nipples tingled to her touch, how she felt the unctuous, 
hot, moistening, opening down below in her tight little near-virgin pussy. 

And then, after she'd slid between the cool sheets and reached over and 
turned out the light on the nightstand, she happened to think about 
Lovelace. Suddenly her body felt extremely cold. What would he do? She lay 
there, scarcely moving, her body filled with bone-deep dread. 

Evidently, she'd dozed, for she was suddenly startled by muffled footsteps - 
footsteps coming up the stairs. Lovelace! She knew! Sweat oozed from her 
pores, cold and clammy; her chin quivered, her heart raced. 

She sat up in bed as she heard the floor squeal outside her door - heard his 
heavy breathing. And then, the soft knock. 

She was speechless; she opened her mouth, tried to talk, but the words lay 
frozen in her throat. 

Knock, knock, knock! 

And then, his low call: "Naomie? Naomie?" 

"Y-y-y-es!" Her voice quavered. 

"You didn't come!" he whispered. 

"Go away!" she said, her voice tight with fear. "Go away!" 

"I could open this door if I wanted to," he said, "and you know it. You 
didn't keep your word, Naomie!" 

"Go away! I had company! - some school kids!" 

"Yes, I saw them, and I know what they wanted," he said, an evil note to his 
voice. "Okay. You had company. I'm a patient man, honey. I'll excuse you 
this time, but don't let it happen tomorrow afternoon. Come at three 
o'clock, no matter what happens. " 

"But I can't help it if someone should come to see me!" she protested. 

"If that happens, get rid of your company in some way," he said. 

She didn't say anything. 

"Naomie? You heard me! I'll be expecting you at three, little girl." He 
laughed softly, then said: "Good night, sweetie. Pleasant dreams." 

She remained silent, listening to his muted breathing, and finally, his 
footfalls, as he descended the outside stairs. 

Stillness. Absolute stillness inside the old house, but outside the eerie 
windows, she could hear katy-dids fiddling in the weeds, a little night-wind 
soughing in the limbs of the liveoaks, and far off in the night, the 
mournful baying of a hound. 

She cried into her pillow, hearing her sorrowful sobs go out through the 
walls and up through the ceiling of her room, and feeling the wetness on the 
pillowcase where her tears fell like hot summer rain ... 

Like a soldier going into battle, was the way Naomie felt as she eased 
across the garden en route to the house next door. She glanced all around. 
It was a typical Indian Summer Sunday afternoon. From high up in the trees, 
mocking birds stopped their caroling long enough to peek down at her out of 
jelled eyes, and agile grasshoppers got up in front of her, their wings 
making a whirring, itchy sound. Through the limbs of the liveoaks, back to 
the west, she could see thunderheads poking over the horizon; somewhere, in 
a nearby house, a TV set drummed incessantly, and down-town Sunday traffic 
thrummed on Main street. 

When she reached the edge of Lovelace's lawn, she smelled the watermelon 
scent of freshly-cut grass, and then the funky stench of over-ripe garbage 
in the backyard across from Lovelace's old house. 

As she crossed the lawn, feeling the grass squish underneath her bare feet, 
she reached down self-consciously and pulled at the fabric of the red bikini 
- there in her crotch, where it felt too tight. Then she was startled by the 
appearance of Lovelace's head, suddenly peeping from the basement door. " 
"In here, Sweetie," he said gently. 

She drew back as if she'd been slapped. "B-b-b-ut! I thought we were going 
to swim!" she said. 

"Later, Sweetie," he said and smiled. "Come in." 

"Said the spider to the fly," she murmured, trying to be flippant to allay 
her fears. 

"Yes, indeed," he answered. "You look good enough to eat." 

He grabbed her arm and drew her inside the basement and closed the door. 
Then he grabbed her around the buttocks and pulled her hard against him, his 
hands kneading her taut hips like he was mixing something to eat. 

"Don't!" 

He kissed her well. At first, she fought him, did not respond to his kiss, 
and then, to her utter shame, she felt that she had to. Her lips opened wide 
and her tongue slipped into his mouth, her lips grinding against his. Her 
hips were grinding, too, slowly, and then more harshly. 

Her words were a kind of moan. "Are you going to make me do it with you 
again, Mr. Lovelace?" 

"Make you?" he taunted. "I won't have to make you this time, Sweetie." 

"Be good to me ..." 

He already had one hand inside the bikini, caressing her there, the other 
hand stroking her satiny thighs, working inside, then slipping outside to 
the milky lushness. 

"We better go back to my inner-sanctum," he said hoarsely, his hands not 
letting up one instant. 

He moved around behind her, shoving her toward the dark, eerie passageway 
that led down through the cluttered rooms filled with antiques, his strong 
hands caressing her faster and faster, the hardness of him pressing against 
her tingling buttocks. 

At last they reached the sound-proofed room, and as he stepped back to let 
her enter, she heard a low rumble of thunder which made the underpinings of 
the old house faintly creak. Then they were inside the room. 

"... If I've got to do it, I want to do it right," she said. 

With one hand he reached out and grabbed the bikini bra and jerked it off. 
Then the bottoms. Naomie stood there with a hot look on her face, and her 
teeth began to grind faintly. It wasn't that he'd made her hot. The facts 
were she had been exceedingly hot since last night when she'd played around 
with the four boys who'd come to visit her, and now she was ready to seek 
release ... 

He pulled her to him and began kissing her breasts, feeling the nipples 
harden. 

"You're driving me crazy! C-R-A-Z-Y!" Naomie said. "Don't make me wait!" 

No doubt he had meant to take her on the bed, but now she was too demanding. 
They staggered, and fell together upon the carpet. 

In his arms, she began to moan and cry out. Her black hair foamed out around 
her head. 

"Now!" she cried. "Hurry! Hurry! Oh, Yyyyyyyyyyyes!" 

He was already hurrying as fast as he could, trying to get out of his 
clothing, and it was during the momentary freedom of his embrace, his 
caressing hands, that she suddenly felt shame course through her tortured 
body. 

"It's wrong! It's wrong!" she moaned. "I can't do it, Mr. Lovelace!" 

She got up from the carpet and lunged toward the door and, just as she 
opened it, he reached around and grabbed her. They fell heavily together, 
half in the sound-proofed room and half in the passageway. 

His hands were on her, caressing, fondling, playing upon her trembling body 
as if it were a baby grand piano. 

"Nooooooooooooooo!" she moaned. "It's bad, bad, Mr. Lovelace! Don't make me 
.. . don't make me! ... do it!" 

"Hush!" he said, hoarsely. "You're just excited, girl! Hush now!" 

"Oh, please! Oh, please!" she moaned. 

"Noooooooooo!" 

But it was too late for him to turn back, even if he would have done so. His 
huge throbbing cock was up, hard and ready. He mounted her roughly, and she 
cried out with pain and pleasure: "Oh, God! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" And then, 
as if she were dying, " Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

They plunged and writhed together there on the floor. Naomie began to scream 
softly, and sank her teeth in his shoulder. She felt herself being flung 
deeply into dark, empty space, riding down and down, then up and up, and 
suddenly Naomie could not restrain herself and cried aloud: "Oh, God! Oh, 
God! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" 

Curling around him like the tendril of a vine, as if she feared any part of 
him should be untouched or unimpressed by her, she kissed him with a fervor 
and a gusto that was wild and animal-like, making peculiar sounds deep in 
her throat all the while: "Mmmmmmmmmmm! Aiiiiiiiiiii!" 

Her eyes were now rolling upward, exposing the pulsing whites, and now it 
was he who cried out his sexual joy . . . 

"It's so good, baby! EEEEeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyy-ow!" 

Naomie looked at his face and saw the fixed, ecstatic expression there, and 
in his glazed eyes, and she began moaning her pleasure again until he 
stopped her mouth with kisses of humid fire; and the thrusts of his smooth 
cock inside her hot cunt became more and more furious, his cheeks flushed 
with a deeper scarlet, his eyes turned up in a fervent fit. And then some 
dying sighs, and an agonizing shudder announced the approach of that topmost 
ecstatic pleasure, but she was not ready yet to come in for her share of it. 

"Oh, God!" he groaned, and went as still as death, holding his cock firmly 
inside her hungry snatch as the emission spurted and spurted, filling her 
with hot, sticky come. 

She did not have a big orgasm, but rather a tantalizing, unfinished one; 
still it was enough to make her shudder with bliss. 

Lovelace lay there, kissing her lips. She knew she was doomed. She knew she 
would never get enough of this good thing, this fucking, no matter if they 
did it all night. 

Outside, it was raining. A September storm that had been withering in the 
skies burst in lazy fashion and was slowly developing into a raging fury of 
winds and icy sheets of water. Now and again there were intervals when 
shot-like bursts of hail rained, drumming against the sides of the old 
mansion house. Through a crack in the basement wall, Naomie saw lightning 
streak the sky with shimmering swords of white, and thunder bombarded the 
countryside. 

She shuddered, not from fear of the storm, but from the feeling of sin, sins 
of ecstasy. It was a bad thing she'd done! And I'm guilty! Guilty! she 
thought. And yet, what else could I have done? She felt like she was on a 
treadmill, with no way to stop running. 

Lovelace, on noting her discomfiture, said: "Let's get up and go to the bed, 
so we can close the door and shut out the noise of the storm." 

"That's not what I'm worried about," she said, sadly. "But, very well..." 

They got up and, when Lovelace had closed the door, crossed to the bed and 
stretched out and lay still. But despite her guilt feelings, Naomie felt a 
high tension in her body down below ... a sort of unctuous, yearning ceding 
in her cunt. And now, shameless hussy that I am, she thought, I wish he'd 
hurry up and put it in me again. 

Apparently, Lovelace was not in a hurry, although he was affectionate 
enough, turning to smother her with kisses from time to time, until he 
started talking about himself. 

He left her alone, and she wished he hadn't, as he talked about his past. 
She listened intently, looking at him as he talked, for she was struck by 
his unique qualities. With his young man's drive in an old man's body, it 
makes him rather like a Cadillac engine mounted on a T-Model Ford chassis, 
she decided. Truthfully, only his skin betrayed his actual age. 

He droned on and on, telling about his past, sometimes very bitter words 
coming from his lips. After he'd finished, she pieced his story together 
like a patchwork quilt. He blamed his present state of gross lasciviousness, 
not on Jack Lovelace, but on navy life ... 

The son of a minister, he claimed, Jack ran away from home and joined the 
navy when he was sixteen years old. From that time onward, Lovelace had 
devoted his whole being to lust; to gross, lascivious sensuality, for that 
was the way of life for most sailors on shore leave. He claimed he'd kept a 
record, and according to his figures, he'd fucked one thousand two hundred 
eleven different women from the time he joined the navy until right now. 

He spoke of the dives he'd frequented in hundreds of ports around the world, 
of the many narrow escapes he'd had with jealous lovers, husbands, 
relatives, and friends of his lays, and how he'd get on a kick for certain 
types of women - sometimes, he'd only wanted very blonde white women, other 
times, it seemed his hunger couldn't be assauged unless he could stick his 
prick into very black girls, along the coast of Africa. For a whole year, it 
took the dainty, man-pleasing Japanese girls to give him gratification. 

At first he'd fallen in love with many of his lays, but finally, he'd become 
reconciled to his sensual life. He knew he wasn't fit to be a decent woman's 
husband; the other kind, he wouldn't have himself. So it had been sunrise 
and sunset; sunrise and sunset. And now his life was drawing to a close, a 
wasted life - and as far as he knew, he didn't have a single relative. 
Nobody! 

Navy life had ruined him utterly, he stated, except for one thing: he 
considered himself an authority on sex, a connisseur of sensual females; of 
what the stacked female ought to look like. 

He'd ended up by declaring that she - Naomie - was the top-best. . Of all 
the women he'd fucked, she was the one! 

She was a very hot girl by the time he'd finished talking; timidly, she 
reached out one hand and touched his long, lean cock, and felt it stiffen. 

"Say you want it!" he commanded. "Noooooooooooooo!" 

"Admit it, Sweetie! God damnit, say it!" 

"Yes," she whispered. "Oh, yes! Put your beautiful cock in my hole again." 

CHAPTER FIVE 

Although Naomie knew Lovelace had deliberately sought to humiliate her, to 
bring her to a new low of degradation, she was so filled with the urgent 
need of gratification, she forgot her shame momentarily. 

As soon as he began to feed his cock into her greedy snatch in tremendous, 
brutal thrusts, she knew fucking was much better than it had ever been; that 
she was experiencing exactly what she instinctively expected sex to be like. 
In fact, his cock inside her felt so good, she turned her head away so that 
he could not see how much pleasure she was really getting from his much-used 
prick. 

But he did know it, for she could not stop her buttocks from gyrating, no 
more than she could stop her heart from beating. She knew he wanted to 
offend her deeply, force her to beg him now for the very thing she'd fought 
him about the first time. Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed one 
puckered, strawberry-tipped nipple with his lips, and a titillating fire 
shot through her body and brought down all her passion in such an excess of 
pleasure that she bucked and writhed like a wild filly, throwing Lovelace, 
as if he were a feather, off her body - almost off the bed. 

Then, she seized him with a super-strength, placing one hand on his GI 
cropped head, and forcing his mouth back to her nipple as if he were a baby. 

"You like that, huh?" he said, savagely walking his mouth around her big 
breast. 

"Oh, yes, yes! Oh, my God, yes! Do that! Keep doing that! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I 
love that, Jack! Sweet J-a-a-a-a-a-ack!" 

In trying to humiliate Naomie, making her so hot she'd go crazy with lust, 
Lovelace lost control of his own passion, and in a sudden burst of frenzied 
hunching, began crying out her name: "Oh, Naomie! Oh, Naomie! Ohhhhhhhh! 
Naomie! I love you, love you! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" 

He shivered spasmodically as if she'd suddenly plunged a knife into his 
heart, and then he grew very still, begging her, imploring her - 
"Noooooooooo! Don't move! Please, please! Be still!" 

But he was asking of her something she couldn't do. A shameless demanding 
had taken possession of her body, and in her blind hunger her body arched in 
young fury, pulling his cock free of her cunt and tossing him away from her 
as if he were a teddy bear, his frenzied jetting of hot sticky come falling 
upon the bedspread. 

And then, he went crazy with disappointment, lust. He rolled back to her and 
grabbed her, his mouth on her body, and saying over and over: "Oh, Naomie 
baby, I love you, love you!" 

Kissing her feverishly from throbbing breasts, down, down, to the black 
bronze pubic hair above the rose-pink, moist portal of her pussy, and she 
was moaning, "Yes, yes, yes! Do that! Keep on doing that!" 

Her pleading mewings seemed to put new manhood into his body. In a frenzy of 
driving passion, he mounted her again, plunging his re-hardening prick deep 
into the hotness, wetness, redness, darkness of her cunt, her arms and legs 
cradling him; her voice urging him on ... begging him to plunge his cock in 
her harder! 

"Oh, Jack! Oh, God!" she moaned. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" 

Her moaning, at the end, changed from a low "Ahhhhh!" to a screaming, 
"Aiiiiiiiiiiiii!" And then her body was jerking and undulating, twisting and 
writhing in great spasmodic contractions . . . Again, again, and again . .. 
And at last, still as in death as her orgasm was washed and undulated by 
Lovelace's second shooting of his very hot, sticky man come. 

Then she roused in soulful lethargy, turned and kissed Lovelace's eyelids, 
making a "Muh-muh-muh-" sound in her throat, her eager cunt still milking 
away at his blood-filled prick. 

The storm had passed when Naomie cautiously stepped from the basement door 
and began her walk across the grass-carpeted lawn, and though she didn't see 
a soul anywhere around, she felt as if hundreds of beady eyes were watching 
her walk in the red bikini toward the side gate of her Aunt's old mansion. 
Her guilt feelings had grown steadily heavier from the moment she'd found 
sweet release, and her young mind reasoned that no mortal had the right to 
feel such bliss, outside the gates of heaven. 

The worst thing about it, I'm supposed to set example for young, 
impressionistic minds, she thought. Oh, what would the kids have thought, if 
they had seen me in bed with Lovelace? Could have seen me bucking and 
writhing and working my body to the tune of his love machine? Could have 
heard my pleading moans for him to work faster? Could have watched me sink 
lower and lower in slothful, lustful sin, sin? 

She was hurrying now, wanting to reach her room. She wouldn't come down for 
a bite of supper. No, she wanted to hide in the dark, become like a blind 
mole, for she wasn't fit to associate with sweet Aunt Margie, or with any of 
her friends. 

She entered the side door noiselessly, crossed to the stairs and climbed 
them carefully, trying to keep down the infernal creaking noises, but it was 
impossible. When she was about half-way up, she heard Aunt Margie's familiar 
voice call: "Naomie dear, is that you?" 

She stopped, shouted: "Yes, Aunt Margie." 

"Step down to the kitchen, girl." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Aunt Margie was busy fixing supper. She was sitting in front of the stove 
watching her oatmeal cook, and when Naomie entered the door, she whirled her 
wheelchair around to say, "Gracious, girl! You stayed in swimming a long 
time." 

Naomie felt her face redden, but she tried to appear casual. 

"Mr. Lovelace showed me some of his paintings," she answered. "I don't 
particularly care for art, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings by 
refusing to look at them." 

"Of course, of course," the old lady said and nodded. "Mr. Lovelace is such 
a dear, kind man." 

She peered at her niece, as if she was waiting for her to sanction her 
words, and when Naomie remained silent, she continued with: "What I called 
you about, girl. .. Lord, it seems to me like you're the most popular little 
thing in town." And here she stopped to chuckle. "My! My! You got five 
telephone calls, from five different men, dear, and they all wanted to know 
what you are doing tonight." 

"I'm sleeping tonight, Aunt Margie." Pointedly. 

"Well, wait a minute! On top of all that, Lum Cash came by and hung around 
on the front porch for thirty minutes at least, waiting for you to come 
home, and about fifteen minutes after he left, here come that bunch of 
loud-mouthed boys who were here last night. My! My! You're some popular, 
child!" 

"I guess it's because I'm new here," she murmured. "Really, I -" 

"Foot, girl!" Aunt Margie cut in to say. "You know what it is!" She looked 
at Naomie intently. "My! My! What curves! What pulchritude!" She sniffed, 
reflected, her eyes seeing vistas of another time. "Now when I was your age, 
I had a lovely figure, too, child. But I never did get to show it off much 
till I married." 

"Honestly, Aunt Margie, you don't think it's because of my figure that I - I 
have so many callers?" she said. 

"What else, child?" Aunt Margie said. And then, "You've led such a sheltered 
life, you'd better watch out! Those young studs have only one thing in mind, 
and that's to get inside your panties, child!" 

A rush of guilt feelings almost overwhelmed Naomie. If Aunt Margie only knew 
what I did this afternoon! she thought. If she only knew what a low-lived 
fellow her dear, gentle, Mr. Lovelace really was! But thank goodness, she 
doesn't know! - could never know! Oh, how I wish I'd had a mother to go to 
at this moment, the girl thought. 

She swallowed a sob that had tried to come up in her throat, and turned to 
leave the room, whereupon Aunt Margie said: "You hear me, child?" 

"Yes, ma'am, I hear you. Don't worry about me, Aunt Margie." 

"Well, child," she said, "if you'll take my advice, you'll find you a fine 
man for a husband, and do that soon ..." her old eyes roved up and down her 
niece's lush body a while, and then, she continued, "and with what you've 
got to offer, I wouldn't fool around with these local peckerwoods. Get you a 
real man, someone who has means, money, or land, or a good business, and 
latch on to him. You hear?" 

"Yes, ma'am, I'll think about it." 

Naomie crossed to the stairs and climbed them as if the burden upon her 
young shoulders was too much to bear. 

Later on, if someone had been standing at the door of her upstairs room, he 
would have heard her sobs - soul-tearing heart-broken sobs, as if she'd 
suffered an irreparable loss. 

School had opened Monday morning, the beginning of the second week, with 
customary boisterous noise and last-minute reluctance of the students to 
take seats after two days of freedom from studies, but it was not until her 
second period typing class that Naomie noticed that the room had not settled 
down to its usual calm. The children were not unruly, but they were 
obviously tense and excited about something that had happened. 

She sat at her desk and tried to think what could be the reason for the 
disturbance. She could see the students watching Robert Vining, as though he 
was the one who'd taken a leading part in whatever had happened. Has he told 
the others about walking home with me? About coming back with the other 
fellows Saturday night? Oh, surely, he wouldn't have done that! she thought. 

Her walk to school that morning had not been thrilling as it was each day 
last week, though, she had to admit that she had, if anything, even more 
admirers along the route. Men, at the filling stations, at the stores, at 
the courthouse, and the pool hall, especially! 

She had stared straight ahead, trying to smile, trying to be the same 
innocent, sweet girl she was last week, but the burden of her guilt, her 
sins, the worst sort of lustful sins at that! rode on her back like a 
hideous satyr. She knew the smile looked as if it had been torn out of a 
magazine and pasted over her lips. She knew her walk was heavier, that her 
heels did not sing so sexily on the sidewalk, that her hips, for all their 
movements, lacked that little extra twist and bounce... 

The morning wore along and there still had been no easing of the tension in 
the room. By that time the only thing she could think that might have 
happened (surely Robert wouldn't have told them anything) was that the 
janitor had seen her crying Friday afternoon and had told everyone about it. 
But she could not understand how this would have had such an effect on the 
pupils, unless the janitor had seen Robert at her desk, talking to her, and 
then watched Robert walk out the door and down the street with her. 

Just before noon Milo Burch unexpectedly opened the door of her room and 
stepped inside. 

He came up to her desk, marveling at how quiet her class was now, when he 
thought he'd heard loud talking in her room two or three times, as he made 
his rounds through the halls that morning. 

"Miss Constantine, I want to see you in my office at noon," he said, in a 
voice so low not even the kids sitting in the front row heard his words 
clearly. 

"Yes, sir," she said sweetly, though inside she felt her heart pound like an 
oil well pump, her stomach squeeze up in knots. 

He stood a moment, carefully eyeing individual students in the class. Part 
of his job was supervision, though he seldom had the time to visit the 
classrooms for more than a few minutes per week. 

Milo had been teaching school for seventeen years. He had been an athlete at 
college and he was still young in appearance and muscular in build. In 
December of the previous year he had married one of the teachers, Sadie 
Long, who resigned shortly afterward to stay at home during pregnancy. Since 
his marriage to Sadie, Milo had become increasingly strict and arbitrary, 
and sometimes he frightened the teachers by warning them to dress more 
conservatively if they wanted to keep their positions. 

Before that, in his bachelor days, Milo had been easy going and sympathetic 
and had permitted the teachers to use their own discretion in matters of 
dress. 

Milo left the room hurriedly, leaving Naomie with her heart racing with 
fear. 

Milo was pacing the floor when she entered his outer office. She knew at 
once that he was displeased with her about something. As if to punish her, 
Milo waited what she considered to be an unnecessarily long time before 
speaking to her. 

She stood motionlessly in front of the door until he was ready to say 
something. It was an awful interim for her, for now it seemed that the world 
was falling upon her sinful shoulders. She knew that she could not hide the 
guilt feelings that so troubled her; her sins had found her out! 

"Come in, Miss Constantine," he said brusquely, as though it were a 
disagreeable formality which he wished to get over with as quickly as 
possible. 

"Yes, sir," she quavered. 

She could see his pale blue eyes dart an estimating glance at her. Presently 
he stopped walking up and down and stood directly in front of her. She could 
see the rise of his chest as he took a deep breath. 

"I'm afraid there's a little talk going around in town, Miss Constantine. 
I'm sorry to have this happen the second week of school." 

"What talk?" she said, her voice high and charged with emotion. My God! she 
thought, someone saw me go into Lovelace's basement! 

"Well, I'll have to admit it's mostly gutter talk," he said. "Pool hall 
talk, I guess you'd say, but I don't like it. It reflects on the school, you 
know." 

He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. "The facts are, Miss 
Constantine, it seems you've become, in a week's time, Riverview's sex 
symbol. I've never heard so much ... so soon!" 

Naomie licked dry lips. "But exactly what, Mr. Burch? 

"What have I done to- ?" 

"I don't think you've done anything intentionally, Miss Constantine," he 
interrupted. "But it seems that everyone, all the men at least, are talking 
about how you, ah - walk, you know..." 

He looked at the floor again. Then he looked up to regard her critically, 
just as though her very presence called for censure. More than that, she 
could see that he was beginning to inspect her from head to foot with a 
deliberate appraisal, and she wondered if there was anything about her that 
he could disapprove of. She was wearing a mini skirt and a bright yellow 
sweater. What could be wrong with that? 

"Miss Constantine," he began in a stern manner, "some of the boys have had 
things to say about you, too. Now, it's always been my theory that a teacher 
should not dress in such a way that her dress distracts the attention of her 
pupils from their studies. Ah, don't you think a public school is no place 
for that sweater you're wearing?" 

Naomie hastily looked down at herself and tried to adjust the sweater in 
such a way that her breasts would not look too prominent in it, but there 
was little she could do, for the sweater was form-fitting and clinging and 
it quickly resumed its accustomed shape. 

"Why didn't the board hire a teacher with a flat bosom, if that's the way 
they want teachers to look?" she asked. In spite of all she could do, she 
could feel her lips quiver. 

An embarrassed flush crept over his face. "I'm sorry, Miss Constantine, that 
I had to bring this up," he said lamely. 

"And I'm sorry you don't like the way I look, Mr. Burch," she said with a 
faint, provocative smile. 

Milo swallowed hard. He dug his hands into his pockets. "Oh, it's not that I 
don't like the sweater, Miss Constantine. I mean, I'm no fool about such 
matters, but with the talk going around, don't you think it best that you 
wear something a bit ah - less revealing?" 

"I guess so, Mr. Burch," she said. "I don't want to cause trouble." 

"Oh, you haven't, not really," he said. "I feel that I should do more to 
help you. I could see you after school today and discuss some of the things 
you should know about this town." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Another thing, about Robert Vining. He's quit football, and some are saying 
it's because of you," Milo said. 

"Me?" she asked. Naomie knew word had gotten around about Robert and his 
three friends visiting her Saturday night. No telling what the gossipers 
were saying about it, especially the dancing. 

"You didn't try to influence him in some way, Miss Constantine? 

"Of course not! Why should I?" 

"Well, I'll have to take the matter up with Robert again, Miss Constantine. 
Some of the boys are saying Robert quit football on account of you." 

"I had nothing to do with it!" Naomie said angrily. She was wanting to leave 
the office now, because she knew she was on the verge of tears. It was just 
too much, the awful guilt she felt from doing what she did with Lovelace in 
his basement, and now, here on a Monday, being told that she was the town's 
sex symbol, reprimanded for wearing too revealing clothing, and accused to 
causing Robert Vining to quit sports. 

Tears brimmed in her eyes, then she burst into sobs in spite of her efforts 
to hold them back. 

Milo got up, saying: "Now, now, now, Miss Constantine! It's not that bad! 
Not really!" He walked around his desk and put his arm around her, then 
hugging her tightly. "It'll all come out wash-day" he said with a little 
laugh. His meaty fingers dug into her right breast and he didn't seem to be 
in any hurry to move his hand. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Burch," she snubbed. "Oh, I'm so sorry." 

As luck would have it, as his arm squeezed her even tighter, Sadie Burch, 
the principal's pregnant wife, sidled into the outer office, her eyes 
snapping with jealousy. 

"I want the car keys, Milo! I thought you said you would bring them home to 
me!" 

Milo released Naomie as if she'd suddenly turned into fire, sputtering, 
"I-I'm sorry, dear! I'm sorry!" 

In his hurry to get to the car keys, he not only jerked out the key ring, 
but also all the loose change he had in his right front pocket. 

"No wonder you're so forgetful," she said, icily, her eyes running up and 
down Naomie's body, from legs to head, and back again. 

"This is our .. . our new business teacher, dear," Milo mumbled, "Naomie 
Constantine." 

"Hello, dear," Sadie said, brusquely. "So you're having problems already! 
Well, don't worry ... Milo is so very helpful with lady teachers." 

Naomie nodded, forced a faint smile, then quickly left the office, but not 
in time to miss Sadie's parting shot. 

"No wonder she's got the whole town talking, Milo! A pity. A pity she's so 
young and innocent." 

Naomie didn't hear Milo's reply, because she was too mortified with guilt, 
shame, and a hundred other dizzy emotions all at the same time. She hurried 
to her room, her face betraying her raging inner emotions, praying that she 
could keep from crying in front of her class. 

Naomie ate an early supper, then went up to her room. Ever since coming home 
that afternoon she had looked forward to undressing and reading in bed, but 
no sooner than she'd peeled down to her half slip, she'd heard footfalls on 
the outside stairs. Her heart leaped and fluttered in her throat. She hadn't 
seen Lovelace when she'd come through the yard gate at four o'clock, but as 
she'd climbed the steps of the great porch, she'd thought she'd seen his 
head in the window of the room above the basement door. 

She couldn't ever let herself sin the way she had in the basement yesterday 
afternoon, so Mr. Lovelace needn't be coming up here to threaten her again. 
And yet, at that very moment, in reverie, she was feeling his strong hands 
on her again, feeling the hottening, moistening, opening, deeping, down 
below in her juicy cunt. 

"Oh, God! I must not!" she moaned. "I must not let myself do it!" 

She listened. 

No sound of footsteps, but then, a soft knock knock knock. 

"Who is it?" she said thickly. 

"It's me, Miss Constantine; Robert." 

"Robert?" she said. She began to laugh hysterically. "Robert?" 

"Let me in, Miss Constantine. I want to see you." 

"Go home, Robert!" 

He'd tried his dead-level best to walk home with her again but she'd flatly 
refused him. She'd had enough trouble that day without having Robert walk 
home with her, past the evil-eyed men en route. 

"Miss Constantine, I've just got to see you," he persisted. "Please let me 
in, Miss Constantine." 

"Robert, if you really like me, please, please!-leave," she implored. 

"No, Miss Constantine," he said. "I can't leave until I see you, so let me 
in." 

"Robert," she said, trying to keep her voice calm, "don't you realize that 
people saw you? - Saw you slip around the house and come up the back stairs? 
You know how they would make up lies, Robert!" 

"Let them make up lies if they want to, Miss Constantine," he answered. 
"Anyhow, I was careful. No one saw me when I came around the fig bushes." 

"Oh, God!" she moaned, "What has happened to me? Why am I getting into so 
much trouble?" 

She got up reluctantly and picked up her dress and slipped it over her head, 
then worked it down over her body. It did look like the only way she'd be 
able to get rid of the boy was to let him in and find out exactly what he 
wanted. 

She pulled the dress into place, then swept one hand over her mussed hair, 
crossed to the door, and unlatched it. 

"Now, what is it, Robert?" she asked. 

Robert had already found that the bolder he was with most girls, the better 
they like it. Maybe that's the way you had to be with women. He pushed in 
and closed the door behind him. 

"Robert, you can't do this!" she protested. "You know what would happen if 
someone caught us alone in this room together." 

"No one will catch us," he answered. 

"Well, what do you want, Robert?" 

"Miss Constantine, I want to call you Naomie. May I?" he answered. 

"Well..." And she stopped, breathing a sigh of relief. If that was all he 
wanted, why not grant him his wish? "Yes, Robert, you may, since you're 
nearly as old as I am, but positively not at school." 

"Oh, thanks, Miss Constantine. I mean, Naomie! Oh, you have such a pretty 
name!" 

"Now, Robert, I expect you'd better run along. I have papers to grade, 
lesson plans to make." 

His eyes swept the room, his gaze finally coming to rest on her bed. She 
turned to look at the bed, too, and was horrified to see a pair of her 
peach-colored panties that she'd washed out last night and had forgotten to 
put away. 

"You don't grade papers in bed, Naomie," he said. "Can't we talk a little?" 

"What about, Robert?" 

"Well, about school, and things ..." 

"No. No, I don't have time, Robert!" 

He felt grown-up and very much in command of the situation. Really, she was 
no older than some few of the girls he'd already dated. To prove his 
manhood, he leaned over and kissed her gently. 

"Robert, you mustn't!" she said, without much conviction. 

He kissed her again; this time, well, and she drew away confusedly, and 
said: "Why, Robert, I. .." 

"What, Naomie?" he said, his arms about her warm and lush body. 

"You just can't do that, Robert!" she said, shakily, forcing herself to draw 
away from him. 

Her head was heavy, as were her eyelids, and her eyes already tended to roll 
upward. Desperately, she fought for control of her emotions. It would never 
do to let Robert - Oh, God! What is my evil mind thinking about! she 
admonished herself. That awful Lovelace! He ruined me, ruined me! I'm so hot 
I'm wanting to ruin this young, innocent boy - like I was ruined! she 
thought wildly. 

She held him off, and when her arms touched his hot skin, she shuddered with 
unutterable pleasure. 

"Leave, Robert!" she said, her voice yolky with increasing passion. "Go on, 
now, or I'll. . ." 

He was scrutinizing her intently, and to her absolute mortification, 
completely ignoring her command. 

"Naomie," he said, after a minute, "could you - I mean, would you - be my 
steady?" 

"Robert, I can't go with you publicly, not until you graduate next spring," 
she said. "Teachers are not allowed to date students." 

"But they do!" he protested. "I've seen it happen before, right here in 
Riverview." 

"I can't help that, Robert, I can't even date you, much less be your 
steady." 

"Then, what about up here?" he asked. "Right now?" 

"No, no! You'd better go, Robert!" 

But she saw that he had no intention of leaving. She almost panicked at the 
thoughts of what might happen. She had been so hurt, so burdened with shame 
and guilt all day today, that she'd resolved she'd never let Jack Lovelace 
despoil her body again, even if it meant the awful shame of having to go to 
court and tell what he'd done to her. 

"You really don't want me to leave, do you, Naomie?" 

He felt immensely mature and blas making his remark, she decided. 

"Okay, Robert," she whispered. "One kiss, if you'll promise me you'll 
leave." 

"I will, if you'll give it on the bed," he promised. 

"Robert! I declare! . .." 

He pushed her down on the bed and covered her quickly as if she were a loose 
football on a fourth down play. Then he threw into a kiss all the 
constructive thought he'd given the matter since he'd walked Naomie home 
that single Friday afternoon, which was considerable. 

When they drew apart, her eyes were wide with wonder at the storm he'd 
aroused in her. 

This was something for which she was not prepared. She had never enjoyed the 
opportunity of necking with boys at the orphanage, nor at Green Mountain 
College, which was a girls' school. She had kissed only one boy, a sort of 
anemic one at that, before she came to Riverview, and it was certainly 
nothing like this. Before he came up for air, she was going, 
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" And she was unwilling to let his mouth go. 

She was ashamed at what she'd felt, and she said: "I kept my bargain, 
Robert, so get up!" 

Instead of answering her, he stretched her out on the bed and then let the 
full weight of his body down on her, his mouth burying itself in her warm, 
soft lips. 

She couldn't seem to keep her mouth from opening wider and wider, and now 
she had a compulsive urge to slip her tongue inside his mouth, sinking it 
deep, letting it thrill there. 

He seemed to almost go crazy, and for a brief instant she was afraid he was 
going to swallow her tongue. He make a profound, deep groaning sound in his 
throat and began to shake all over. 

He sat up suddenly, said thickly: "Naomie, I expect I'd better go, because, 
you see, I love you." 

"No, Robert! - I mean, yes, Robert!" she moaned. 

And yet, she could not force herself to bring up her hands and push him off; 
instead, she clutched him tightly, making a grinding sound with her teeth. 

At once, he moved against her, groaning as he felt her soft body seem to 
melt and flow into every outline of his. He strained her close, and let her 
newly educated tongue rake across his own like a touch of sweet fire. At the 
same time they began undressing each other in a desperate, clumsy manner. 

She was no longer a prude with vague ideas about necking like she was when 
she arrived in Riverview. She was now, through the sly maneuvering of Jack 
Lovelace, a female animal who had been aroused beyond all control. Her arms 
about his shoulders were strong and hungry, and Robert had to tear them away 
in order to pull off the rest of his underwear. 

Her whimpering had become too loud! Why, Aunt Margie could hear her, if she 
happened to be listening! But she didn't care. Robert must have been afraid 
that they'd be heard, for he tried to kiss her to drown out the sounds. But 
she bit his lips hard, then his shoulder deeply, bringing blood. 

"Oh!" Robert cried. 

"Muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-!" she whimpered. And then, "MMMMMmmmmmm!" 

"MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" 

Now, she was biting him where she could - neck, chest, shoulder, forearm. He 
felt the pain in a detached way. He no longer needed to kiss out her 
whimpers, for now she was making a continuous moaning, 
"Wooooooooooooooo-ooo-uimiiiiii!" sound. 

And yet, through the red haze of her passion, a finger of guilt seemed to be 
pointing at her. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she murmured, "Forgive me, forgive me! 
I can't seem to hold back!" 

For all of Robert's big front of being blas, it soon became apparent to her 
that he had never fucked a girl before. His prick could not seem to find the 
welcome portal, the pink pussy gateway to heavenly joy. Her trembling 
fingers found his long, hard virgin prick and guided it gratefully into the 
hotness, wetness, deepness of her cunt, and she screamed her pleasure, as he 
poured his young body to her, but inch by hotter inch. 

"Oh, Robert! Oh, sweet heart of hearts! Oh, love, LLLLLLLLL-ove! Yes, love! 
Ohhhhhhhhh, yes! It's so big and long. You're so sweet, love; so lovely 
love! Give all your rock to me, Robert! Oh, heart of hearts!" Sweet Rob! 
Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Swwwwwwweeeeet Robert! Oh, God! Oh, Love, love, love!" 

Now she was bucking and writhing as if she would throw his young and driving 
body up to the ceiling, kissing and biting and raking his back with her 
sharp nails, saying, "Mmmmmmmmmm! And praising him, "Oh, Robert! You're so 
good, so good! That's a sweetie! Yes, yes, yes! Move your prick faster... 
Oh, heart, oh, heart of hearts! Yes, work it faster! 
Aiiiiiiiii-eeeeeeeeeee!" 

Her buttocks ground and worked around his driving cock like a fired-up 
machine, matching his frenetic, young thrusts, and getting in a few extra 
sideways movements as well. During the tornado-like frenzy of her lusts, it 
came to her that, though Robert's prick was not as big around as Lovelace's, 
it was longer, and gratefully, his plunges drove deeper to the hilt and 
beyond! 

And that was what she wanted - cock - all of him! - each thrilling inch, 
each separate molecule of his young, sweet, and powerful prick. 

And during that writhing, twisting, cleaving time, she knew it was going to 
be over much too soon - much, oh, much too soon. And they suddenly reached 
the trembling, fiercely sweet clouds of heaven at the same time, and she 
could hear her lover gasp, "Gah-gah-gah-gah-gah!" She, at the same time 
making a blood-curdling "Aiiiiiiiii Eeeeeeeeeeee!" sound; and as she felt 
his hot spurts of come inside her snatch, her own final, everlasting joy 
came, too, and her thrusting buttocks lifted him, as if he were a feather, 
from the foam-rubber mattress. 

"EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee!" she screamed, as if he'd suddenly plunged a dagger 
into her back. 

She opened her eyes to see Robert, looking spent, beside her own his back, 
his slick-coated, relaxing cock over one thigh. Naomie breathed contentedly 
beside him, and her eyes closed. 

CHAPTER SIX 

When Naomie opened her eyes, Robert commented, 'They are liquid-soft, 
Naomie. You sure do have pretty eyes." 

"Thanks, Robert," she murmured. 

As he rolled over, the electric stab of her hard tipped breasts touched his 
chest, and the hot, smooth rise of her stomach went over him like a grass 
fire. My thighs are twin columns of satin-skinned wonder, she thought. With 
sudden strength, she pulled him to her. 

But Robert sat up. "I'd better go, Naomie. I've been up here a long time, 
and your Aunt Margie might be wondering what's been going on up here." 

Her convulsive clutch was almost frantic. "Please, not yet," she begged. She 
covered him with her body, and her senses swam as she felt his cock harden 
to new life under the gyrations of her thighs. 

And she immersed his young manhood in the warm bath - the salvation of her 
velvety thighs, and now they were as intimate as two young lovers could get 
- facing eye to eye, breast to chest, organ to organ, knee to shivering 
goose-pimpled knee - mouth to mouth, and then, mouths seeking blindly... 
blindly, everywhere. 

At first, it was she who thrilled and gushed to the powerful drives of his 
cock, she who made the yolky ''Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" sounds of frantic passion 
deep in her throat. Then she brought her demanding pleasure to him in ever 
increasing gyrations of her buttocks, and it was he who cried aloud: "Oh, 
honey, honey! It's better this time than it was before!" 

"Yes, love! Oh, yes yes yes!" she choked out. "Yes, Rob-ert! Fuck me faster, 
faster! Oh, Robert! Oh, God! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

Her cry ended in an agonizing shriek and her body went limp just as Robert 
reached the pinnacle of his ecstasy, shooting her full of hot sticky come 
again. 

When the convulsions had ceased, she lay floating on a cloud, every muscle 
relaxed. She felt if she had to move, the effort would be too great. 

This feeling was dispelled with brutal swiftness as she heard Aunt Margie's 
voice shrilly calling her name: "Naomie, child! Come down here!" 

She pulled herself off his long, lean cock with a plopping sound, slid to 
the floor and whipped her dress over her head and began to work with her 
mussed hair, almost grudgingly, for her body still yearned for more 
stimulation. As she crossed to her mirror, she could feel herself throbbing 
down there, and at once, she thought about Lovelace. Maybe she could take 
another swim tonight. 

"Naomie!" came Aunt Margie's shrill cry. "Come down here, girl!" 

With a bound, Robert struck the floor, grabbing his clothes with hysterical 
haste. "I might be trapped up here, Naomie! What if she sits in the hallway 
in her old wheelchair, looking out at her garden like I've seen her do in 
the late afternoons?" 

"Don't be silly. She's probably eating supper, and even if she isn't, I'll 
think of something to keep her out of the hallway below." 

White with fear, Robert pulled on his clothes. 

She fixed her make-up, then pulled a comb through her hair in swift strokes. 
She turned around, ready to sneak down to the kitchen. She waited a moment 
until Robert was dressed and standing at her side near the door. 

"Good-bye, Robert," she murmured. 

"Good-bye, Naomie." 

The wine of his closeness, the warmth of her lush body, and her now 
uninhibited familiarity drove the hot blood thundering through her head. 

Instead of kissing him, she reached out one hand and touched his limp organ 
inside his trousers, then opened the door and hurried down the stairs. 

"Naomie, child, teaching school is pulling you down!" Aunt Margie fussed, as 
she wiped off the eating table with a dish cloth. "I thought I heard you cry 
out in your sleep - you did take a nap, didn't you, girl? - three or four 
times while I was puttering around in the kitchen." 

"Yes, ma'am, I guess teaching school is getting me down, Aunt Margie. Yes I 
did take a nap ... " 

"Well, you've got Mr. Burch waiting to see you in the living room about 
something, and that Lum Cash is out on the porch. I asked him to come in, 
but he said, "No, I'll wait for her out here." 

"I wonder what Mr. Burch could be wanting?" she said, breathlessly, turning 
toward the living room. "Could it be about some more gossip?" Her words were 
barely above a whisper, though Aunt Margie couldn't have heard her because 
her hearing was worsening day by day. 

As Naomie stepped inside the great living room, Milo Burch stood up and 
greeted her. 

"Hello, Miss Constantine!" he said with false heartiness. "You were upstairs 
grading papers, I'll bet. My, my! How we school people have to work!" 

"Well, I- yes, I was working," she murmured. 

Milo sat down again by the window, and Naomie took a chair from underneath 
the ancient marble-topped table and carefully pulled her legs together so he 
could not see all the way up them. 

"Aunt Margie said you wanted to see me, Mr. Burch," she said sweetly. 

She heard his big feet nervously scrape the hardwood floor. There was an 
embarrassed look on his handsome face (Naomie was startled at her thoughts. 
A week ago, she would never have let herself think any married man handsome, 
but now she had to admit that almost any male looked good to her.) and he 
spoke in a strained voice: "Yes, Miss Constantine, I felt that I had to see 
you tonight about an important matter, un ... You know, Robert Vining." 

"What about Robert, Mr. Burch?" she said in a small voice. 

"Miss Constantine, I went by to see Robert's father, but Mr. Vining wasn't 
in. I spoke to Robert's mother about him quitting football, and she said he 
has a hellacious crush on you. All he talks about, she says, is Naomie 
Constantine, and she even heard him singing a song he'd composed about you. 
Robert plays the guitar quite well, in case you don't know...." 

She felt her head swim with excitement. She was pleased to hear that Robert 
liked her so much. 

"But I can't help that, Mr. Burch," she said. "I certainly didn't encourage 
Robert! Not one bit!" 

He nodded. "I'm sure you didn't, Miss Constantine, and this crush he has on 
you is not unusual, but what is troubling Mrs. Vining so much is that Robert 
has already told her he's going to marry you as soon as school is out, and 
not go on to college. You see, until he quit football he stood a very good 
chance of getting a full scholarship at State U. Last fall, assistant 
coaches from several major universities attended most all of our home games. 
So you can see why Mrs. Vining is upset." 

"Mr. Burch, I certainly didn't want Robert to quit sports," she said. "And I 
certainly didn't try to entice him." 

"Miss Constantine, to put it bluntly, you don't have to try and entice a 
youth like Robert!" His eyes swept over her body in appraisal - hungry 
appraisal, at that. "With your youthful good looks and - pulchritude, if you 
will - the mere fact that you're in the classroom is enough to entice any 
male." 

She was getting angry now. "But Robert and I are about the same age, Mr. 
Burch!" she said. "Even if he should want to date me or something, after 
school is out next spring, I don't see anything wrong with it!" 

"No, if you'll only wait that long!" Pointedly. 

"Oh, I will! I will!" 

"I thought you would, Miss Constantine. In fact, you must, But what I came 
by here for is to ask you to try and persuade Robert to come back out for 
football. If he doesn't, we won't win more than three games, and Mrs. Vining 
says that if anyone can influence him, you can." 

She studied her thoughts for a moment, enjoying this new felt power. If Mrs. 
Vining only knew just how much Robert's in love with me, she'd be worried 
indeed she thought. After making love with Robert, she didn't feel nearly so 
guilty about herself. Somehow, doing it with the boy didn't seem a bit 
wrong, except it did go against the moral teachings at the orphanage. But, 
lately, she'd decided that the religious leaders she'd known had been dead 
wrong about a lot of things, otherwise one of them would have warned her 
about men like Jack Lovelace. 

"I'll talk to Robert, Mr. Burch," she promised. "I really think he's making 
a mistake in dropping sports, and believe me, I'm all for him getting a 
college scholarship." 

"I thought you'd try to help in the matter, Miss Constantine," he said and 
beamed. "Young teachers sometimes work hardships on school administrators. 
On the other hand, they usually prove to be an asset in dealing with young 
minds." He stood up. "I'll run along now. Thanks for being willing to 
cooperate, Miss Constantine. If you should need help about anything at all, 
just see me after school." 

His eyes swept over her body, and then he was crossing to the door, a 
pleased smile on his face. 

On hearing his car start up, Naomie went out to the porch. She didn't see 
Lum Cash in the swing, but she heard a car door slam and looked around to 
see him coming toward the house, carrying a box in one hand. 

As to be expected for the time of year, it was a warm, humid, Indian summer 
night, and she decided it would be more comfortable to sit on the porch than 
to be in the living room. Another reason she had for wanting to sit outside 
was (though she would not admit it to herself), she wanted to see if she 
might spot Jack Lovelace in the house next door. Try as she might, she could 
not forget the episodes in the basement, and for all of her guilt feelings 
about what Lovelace had done to her, she had to admit that she was 
disappointed because he hadn't come out to peep at her when she walked home 
from school today. 

As Lum Cash came up the steps, she could smell the unmistakable odor of 
fresh violets. It was then too late to turn around and go back into the 
house, and she quickly sat down in a ladder-backed chair near the steps. 

"Hello, there, Naomie," Lum Cash said in a familiar manner, coming to her 
and placing a bunch of violets in her lap. He had taken them from the box. 
"How's everything with you?" 

"Good evening, Mr. Cash." 

"I don't suppose you thought I'd come back this soon, did you, Naomie?" he 
said, with a little laugh. "Well, I can tell you, I've always enjoyed 
courting school teachers, but I must confess that I've never seen one nearly 
as pretty and - well, you know, built like you!" 

"I've got work to do tonight, Mr. Cash," she said, icily. "So, if you're 
wanting to go somewhere ..." 

"Oh, not at all, Naomie," he cut in. "I know how much work school teachers 
have to do, though most people don't. No, I just got to thinking about you 
this afternoon. I says to myself, 'I'd give my belly button if I could only 
see Naomie tonight. Well, violets grow wild and rank behind my place, so I 
went out and picked you a bunch, and here I am." 

She studied his face in the dim light. Yes, he was handsome enough in a 
country-fied way, but somehow she loathed this fellow, and that was not like 
her. At the orphanage she'd been taught to love everyone, even the sinners! 
"Hate the sins, but love the sinner," was what her teachers had said. But 
Lum Cash lacked something, she'd decided, exactly what was hard to say. 
Maybe it was manhood. It must have to do with that, she thought, for even 
Jack Lovelace, with all of his faults, did not cause her a feeling of - 
revulsion - like she felt in Lum Cash's presence. 

She decided that she would be frank with him. "Mr. Cash, after all these 
years, it seems to me you'd be thinking about finding a wife instead of 
playing around with old maid teachers," she said. 

Her words had definitely startled him, for he made a gasping sound. "Awp!" 
and he stepped back, as if she'd slapped his face. 

"A wife?" he said. "Naomie, I've never thought much about marrying. All I 
try to do is show the teacher a good time ... in a decent sort of way." 

"But I'd have thought you would've wanted to sleep with someone - at least 
on weekends," she said boldly. 

"Huh? Sleep with a school teacher? Good Lord, Naomie! They don't want to do 
that!" 

"What about you, Mr. Cash?" 

"I - I hadn't thought about it in that way," he sputtered. "I expect I'd 
better be going home now. I know how much work you must have to do, grading 
papers and all." 

She was glad to see him leave, though she thanked him sweetly for the bunch 
of violets in her lap, thinking that he'd probably never come back. 

After the sounds of his car died in the dusk, she sat a while longer, 
listening to the incessant fiddling of the katydids in the high weeds, the 
frenzied droning of the locusts in the liveoaks, and the occasional thump of 
small rotten limbs falling from the high branches. 

With a sigh, she stood up and started walking across the creaking porch. 
Suddenly she heard a sound at the corner of the house near the Wisteria 
vine, then a low call: "Naomie? Jack, here. I've been out of town today, the 
reason why I haven't invited you over for a swim. I have something else in 
mind for you, girl. Come on over to the basement as soon as you can get 
away." 

"But I have work to do, Mr. Lovelace," she said in a frightened voice. On 
first seeing the wicked man, she always felt fright gnaw at her ravelled 
nerves with little rat's teeth. 

"You must come!" he said, sternly. "Now, don't make me have to come up and 
get you, Naomie!" 

"Oh, Mr. Lovelace! You're too old for me!" she said, her voice a half-sob. 
"Please don't make me come over there where you can abuse me some more!" 

"Abuse you?" He laughed harshly. "From the way you got with it, I wouldn't 
exactly call it abuse." 

"But I - " She stopped in time, glad that she hadn't blurted out what was in 
her mind - that she'd just had a love rendezvous with someone her own age 
this afternoon. 

"You, what?" he baited her. 

"Oh, nothing!" 

"I'll be expecting you within an hour, dear," he said sternly, "and in case 
you might think about standing me up, don't forget that I know the way to 
your room." 

Her hand was shaking so violently she could hardly turn the handle on the 
screen door. "Oh, why did it happen to me!" she muttered. "Getting seduced 
by a man like Jack Lovelace!" 

Guilt flooded through her tense body in a great, almost drowning tide, and 
then she tried to "sour grapes" her tortured soul by blaming it on the 
circumstances of her coming to Riverview. Actually, what other choice did I 
have? she asked herself. Aunt Margie was the only relative she had left who 
seemed to take an interest in her welfare, so she had come to live with her 
since there wasn't anywhere else she could go. It had been Aunt Margie who'd 
gotten her a job teaching at Riverview High, even though Naomie wasn't 
certified! And who was it that insisted I go over to gentle Mr. Lovelace for 
a nice little swim? Aunt Margie, of course. 

But after Naomie went by the old lady's chair in front of the TV set and 
said her good-nights, she felt the bitterness dissolve in her heart. Aunt 
Margie had only wanted to help her; first, by giving her a home; secondly, 
by using her influence to get Naomie a job. Indeed, Naomie was looking 
forward to receiving her first pay check. As for being enraptured with Jack 
Lovelace- Well, what woman wouldn't be charmed by his gentle ways, his 
willingness to help out with little jobs no woman could do about a house, 
such as the minor plumbing job he did for Aunt Margie? 

As she slowly climbed the stairs leading to her room, Naomie reflected that 
her seduction by the wily man next door was just one of those things that 
happen when you have the right circumstances. Lovelace was, indeed, a devil 
incarnate, but at the same time, she knew she'd played a part. Life in the 
Methodist orphanage, and later at Green Mountain, had hardly prepared her 
for living out in the real world. She had been an innocent prude, a sitting 
duck for just such a man as Jack Lovelace. 

Still, like all victims of great personal tragedies, Naomie couldn't help 
wondering why, oh why. It had to single her out! Why it had to happen to me! 

Though she was trembling as she entered her room and crossed to her closet 
to pick out a frock to wear next door, she had already begun to wonder what 
fucking would be like tonight? 

As she crept through the basement door, Naomie could have sworn she heard 
voices - several voices - in one of the adjacent rooms. But when she called: 
"Mr. Lovelace!" the noise ceased, and a moment later, Lovelace, wearing gray 
Bermuda shorts, appeared at the inner office door. 

He stood contemplating her, a devilish look in his smoky eyes. At least, he 
said, "Welcome to fun-basement, Naomie." And then, letting his eyes rove up 
and down her body. "My, my! What a lovely dress! Did you wear it just for 
me?" 

Her face flushed with embarrassment, for she had, indeed, changed to the red 
mini just to please him. Lovelace liked red; in fact, most all of the gay 
colors. 

"Hardly," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "I just happen to like 
to change clothes when I come in from work." 

She looked around the room then pointed toward the door. "I thought I heard 
voices as I came in," she said. "Do you have company?" 

He nodded. "Sure do. That's why I wasn't home this afternoon. I'd gone to 
Providence to pick up a guy I met in the South Pacific." 

"Oh." 

"But he won't interfere with us, dear. He's presently on his way to the 
swimming pool. A guy that loves water." 

He seized her wrists and roughly pulled her to him. "Let's get going, 
sweetie," he said. "Come along." 

In a first year course in psychology, Naomie had read about Pavlov and the 
experiments he'd run on a dog. And now, the knowledge she'd gained came home 
to her at once. Fm something like Pavlov's canine, she thought. Finally, all 
the scientist had to do to make the dog start drooling was ring a little 
bell. While I, she thought, bitterly, start moistening, throbbing, opening 
my cunt at the touch of a man's hand! 

"Well try something new, sweetie," he said, as they entered the 
sound-proofed bedroom. "At least it'll be new for you." 

She wondered what it could be. The other afternoon while they'd been 
resting, Lovelace had told her he was a Pedophile, that is, he liked to make 
love to very young girls, even younger than Naomie. Maybe he meant to- ? 
exactly what, she couldn't imagine. 

She started to undress, but he quickly ordered her to stop. 

"I'll take care of that part," he said, beginning to work with the zipper of 
his Bermuda shorts. He stood naked a moment, his long, much-used prick as 
limp as seaweed, then he moved to her and put his arms around her. As he 
unzipped the red mini, he kissed her hair, ears, and the nape of her neck, 
and then, when he had worked the dress up over her head, he feverishly 
kissed her thighs, moving higher and higher, by-passing her pussy, and going 
on up the hot skin of her belly all the way to her turgid breasts, which 
were couched in a frothy red bra. 

He finally worked the dress up over her head and tossed it upon one of the 
old ladder-backed chairs. Then he went to work on her bra. He tossed it 
aside, touching and kissing her back all the way down to her soft, trembling 
buttocks, pulling her red panties down between her hot thighs. He stood up 
and, placing a hand on each shoulder, spun her around, his big hands cupping 
and squeezing her strutting breasts. He kissed each place he touched, and 
she began to grind her teeth in agony. 

He walked her toward the bed and, as he pushed her down on the soft 
mattress, she looked up to see his now quite hard cock thrusting at her, its 
head ruby red in appearance. 

He dropped down beside her, his mouth sucking at her breasts while his hands 
were caressing her thighs, moving then to her tendriled pubic hair and 
lighting a hot flame there. 

She began to twist her head from side to side, and a low cry issued from her 
straining throat. 

"Aiimmiimtiiii!" 

Suddenly, he dipped his head to her crotch, kissing and caressing her there, 
all at the same time. She jerked spasmodically, for she felt his thick 
tongue slide into the yearning passageway of her snatch and she cried out 
this new-felt pleasure in a thick, strangled groan, "Ah-ug-ug-ug-gah- 
gah-gah-gah-gah-gah OOOOOOh!-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WOW-ow!" 

Her cries, groans, strangled-like mewings of pleasure seemed to drive 
Lovelace to greater activity. His tongue thrilled roughly against her 
clitoris in such a completely new reward of erotic play that she slid into a 
gasping, clawing, tightening, convulsive state, in which the whites of her 
eyes rolled upward so that she looked like she was dying. She bucked and 
reared, tossing Lovelace up and down on the mattress, but he cleaved to her 
pussy during the final throes of her orgasm ... a time of such agony, of 
such moaning ecstasy- OHHHHHHH!" - that he reached the pinnacle of his 
pleasure as well, his fluid jetting from the end of his cock and staining 
and staining the bedspread. 

They had not lain there locked together but a few minutes, when Naomie's 
hunger became demanding again. This time she wanted his great big cock 
inside her cunt and, mewing her need, she began kissing Lovelace's lips and 
then his eyelids- planting an abundance of soft, butterfly brushings hither 
and yon. 

He groaned like a mule pulling a heavy load, but he didn't seem inclined for 
more sex play, and even when she thrust her uprisen breasts into his face, 
striking his lips teasingly with the engorged nipples, he lay still. 

His seeming lack of interest served only to inflame her more. Fleetingly, 
she felt shame at the lack of inhibition on her part, but not for long. Only 
a few days ago she had come to this basement room an innocent, prudish, pure 
young girl, but now she was a female animal, lusting, demanding, and even 
unashamed when she felt her need reach uncontrollable heights. 

With a gentle compulsion, she extended one hand and felt his limp but heavy 
prick. She began to manipulate nature's richest masterpiece, feeling it 
stiffen against her hot touch. 

She, struggling eagerly now, as the fire burned fiercer beyond the moist, 
pink portal of her cunt, looked down to see his cock of the whitest ivory, 
beautifully streaked with blue veins and carrying, unhatted, a head of rich 
vermilion. No lead pipe could be harder or stiffer yet no velvet more smooth 
or delicious to the touch. And yet, he didn't want her - not yet. 

Now look at me, brazen hussy that I am she thought. Her teeth were grinding 
faintly, as desire almost drove her crazy. Her hand had moved lower - to 
that part where nature had built a store-house of pleasure, and there she 
felt distinctly, through their soft cover, the contents - a pair of roundish 
balls that seemed to swim about playfully. 

The visit of her soft warm hand to his sensitive parts aroused him to 
ungovernable fury and, disdaining all further play, he mounted her with the 
seeming strength and fury of a bull. 

She cried out with pleasure when she felt the stiff prick slide between the 
yielding lips of her cunt, nature's unhealing wound now open for live, and 
in the strict embrace of that warm sheath, around the pounding prick it was 
so delicately adjusted to, and which, now cased home, so gorged her with 
pleasure that it nearly suffocated her. It did momentarily take away her 
breath, then the killing thrusts! The unnumbered kisses! And the groaning, 
moaning, sighing, mewings issuing out of her throat, and at times, his! 

"Oh, Jack! Yes, yes! A little faster! Yes, honey! Put your cock a little 
deeper! There, there! Oh, God! OHHHHHHH!" OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" 

Much like a thunderstorm, it was too violent to last long. His over-taxed 
cock was so stirred and over-heated it suddenly gave way, like a vessel 
boiling over, and his frenzied eruptions of hot sticky come put out the 
fires in her own center of bliss, temporarily. But even then, she knew she 
was being left unsatiated, was wishing it was not so. 

After a while, still yearning for final gratification, she unashamedly, 
stroked his cock, caressed it, murmured soft words of love in his ear, but 
this time, his prick remained limp for all her efforts. 

Finally, Lovelace said: "Damn! I can't do it again tonight, Naomie!" 
Angrily, he got up and began to dress. 

She lay stretched out on the bed, her legs spread wide, her buttocks 
hunching upward in wishful anticipation. Then she turned on her side and 
looked at Lovelace pleadingly. 

"What's wrong, Jack?" she said softly. "Are you tired of me?" 

He laughed embarrassedly, then said: 'Tired of you? The best piece of ass I 
ever had! Hardly! I just can't do it more than once a day, not at my age. 
But I can tell you something more, Naomie! It's you, girl! You've turned 
into a nympho, and when that happens, no one man can ever give you 
gratification." 

"A nympho?" A bewildered expression crossed her tortured face. "What's 
that?" 

"Well, it's when a female wants to screw all the time," he said. "You know, 
can't be satisfied." 

"Good Lord! Am I - Am I like that?" 

"Almost, I'm afraid," he said and grinned. "But don't worry about it. I 
think I can take care of your gratification problem." 

She arose from the bed and walked about the room, recovering her clothing. 
As she began dressing, she worriedly said the damning word over and over ... 
"Nympho! ... Nympho! ... Naomie Constantine, you are a - a Nympho!" 

Later, as she stole from the basement door and began her walk across the 
dew-wet lawn, a low sob burst from her lips. 

"Look what's happened to me!" she cried out, then looking up at the stars, 
blinking like little far-away blue lights. "Oh, God! Have mercy, have 
mercy!" 

But in her heart, she knew it was too late for her to ask forgiveness of 
Him. She was hooked! - hooked on cock! And she knew she'd return to 
Lovelace's basement like the drug-damned to his junkie! Ah, perish the 
thought: like a dog to its vomit! 

Light blurted from the windows of Aunt Margie's mansion like - like accusing 
fingers! - pointing everlastingly at her! 

Trying to stifle her sobs, she ran toward the back porch, her footfalls 
sounding eeriely in the soft Indian summer night. 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

True to her word, Naomie, at the end of Typing Two, just before the bell 
jangled, called Robert Vining to her desk and, almost afraid to look into 
his eyes, because of what it did to her (now, just brushing against a boy as 
she went about the room helping first one and another with his lesson, 
started her to throbbing down there, as she still called it). 

"Yes, Miss Constantine?" Robert said, looking deeply into her eyes, as if he 
were drinking from there. 

"Uh, Robert, I - Well, what I wanted to say is, I think you should consider 
what you owe Riverview High, and go back out... for football, I mean." 

He shook his head. "I just don't care to play football any more, Miss 
Constantine," he said. "And as for Riverview High, I don't feel that I owe 
this crummy school anything." 

"But, Robert, I want you to get that scholarship, to go to State U." 

He shook his head again. "I'm not interested in college, Miss Constantine." 
Then, lowering his voice, he said, in an intimate tone: "You know what I 
want! Miss Constantine, I mean to marry you as soon as school is out! 
Naomie, I... " 

"Hush, Robert!" she hissed. "You know better than to talk like that here!" 

"I mean it, Naomie!" he whispered. "I'm going to marry you on the day I 
graduate!" 

"But, Robert, don't you see that you I need to get an education where you 
can support a wife!" 

"You mean you're asking me to go back out for football where I can continue 
my education, Naomie?" he said eagerly. 

"Yes-yes, I am, Robert!" 

"But we could marry before I start college, Naomie, couldn't we?" 

"Yes. No! I mean, I don't know, Robert," she said, confusedly. 

"Well, if you want me to, I guess I'll go back out this afternoon, Naomie." 

"Yes, yes, Robert! Thanks!" 

She was glad when he turned and left her desk, for just looking at the youth 
upset her terribly. Now that she knew why she became aroused at the mere 
touch of a boy's hand, she did not trust herself to stand in reach of any 
male, because she was afraid that she'd lose control and do something so 
drastic she'd be fired. 

By noon, word had gotten around that Robert Vining, erstwhile star of the 
Riverview Wild Cats, was coming out for football again this very afternoon, 
and that Miss Constantine, the lovely, stacked business education teacher 
was the one who'd persuaded the youth not to let his school down. Students 
greeted her in the corridors with beaming, happy faces, and even one of the 
beauty queens, Mignon Beavers, who was noticeably jealous of Naomie's young, 
voluptuous good looks, threw her a little smile. Everyone knew Robert would 
make the difference of the school having a mediocre team this season or one 
of the winningest in the town's history. 

On top of the student's show of gratitude, about midafternoon, Milo Burch 
sent his secretary to Naomie's room with the request that she come to the 
office immediately. 

Afraid that something else had come up in the school or in the community to 
damn her, Naomie tripped down the hall and into the outer office with 
worried trepidation. 

On seeing her at the door, Milo Burch sprang up from his swivel chair in 
deferential haste, saying, "Come in, Miss Constantine. Come in, come in!" 

She obeyed him at once, entering the office and taking a somewhat guarded 
position in front of his cluttered desk. 

"Did - did you want to see me, sir?" she faltered. "I mean ... your 
secretary said you ..." 

He crossed the room to another desk and picked up a bottle of Coke and 
brought it to her. 

"This is on me, Naomie," he said and smiled. "For talking some sense into 
that little squirt's head!" 

"I think it's best for Robert, sir." 

"Of course it is!" he beamed. "Drink up, now, where you can get back to 
class. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate your 
cooperation." 

She took a sip of the Coke. At the same time, one hand toyed with the neck 
of her red dress. 

"I didn't wear a sweater today." she said, nervously. "Is this dress all 
right?" 

"Yes, yes!" he smiled. Bending his head around, he leered at her 
suggestively. And then, glancing at the outer office to make sure no one was 
listening, he said in a low voice: "I always did say sex is what makes life 
interesting. If you've got it, why flaunt it!" He laughed softly. "And 
you've certainly got it." 

"Thanks, sir! I mean ..." She stopped, too embarrassed to continue. 

"You've certainly given this school - the whole community - a shot of 
vitamins," he said and grinned. "But watch your step girl. Don't give those 
homey bastards hanging out up town nothing more than a chance to look at you 
pass down the street. Fatherly advice, Naomie. Forgive my plain English." 

"Oh, thank you, sir." 

"And if you need help, just see me after school, I'll help you anytime." 

Naomie, hurrying home from school shortly after three o'clock, recognized 
Lum Cash's mud-splattered green Chevy standing in front of Aunt Margie's 
house when she came around the corner. She didn't see Lum. 

It was not until she opened the gate and started up the brick path to the 
house that she saw him on the porch. He was sitting in one of the rockers 
this time, leaning forward with arms on the railing, and he was alone. The 
instant she saw Lum's face, she had a breathtaking depressed feeling, 
immediately, stricken with the certainty that something disagreeable would 
surely happen. She wished that she'd gone up town with one of the teachers 
instead of coming home. 

As it was too late to do anything else, she walked up the steps, knowing she 
was going to be confronted by Lum, but hoping the ordeal would soon be over. 

Having watched her ever since she first came in sight, he got up from the 
chair and met her at the doorway. He looked nervous and worried and deeply 
concerned. 

"Hello, Mr. Cash," she said, trying to be cordial. 

He nodded curtly. "I've been waiting for you to come home for more than an 
hour," he said. 

She could see how agitated and nervous he was when he began talking. He was 
wearing a tight-fitting white suit with red stripes, a purple silk necktie 
and a white shirt. His black shoes were brilliantly shined. 

Perspiration was breaking out above his upper lip as she watched him. 

"Did you want to speak to me about something, Mr. Cash?" she asked. 

"Yes," he said, sweating freely now. "I might as well come right out in the 
open, Miss Constantine." He plumped down in a chair, and she sat in another, 
across from him. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since I brought you the 
violets, Miss Constantine," he continued. "And what I've decided - I reckon 
I'm just not the marrying kind, though if anybody could make a man want to 
marry, you could." 

She wanted to laugh in his face. The very idea! Thinking she would even 
think about marrying such a fellow as he seemed to be! 

"Uh, huh," she said sweetly. 

"So, I reckon that's about it, Miss Constantine," he said. "I like going out 
with teachers, and all, but I doubt that I would be much of a husband." 

She certainly agreed! Now, she was enjoying it. .. his apparent 
discomfiture, and she said: "What about sleeping with me, then? I mean, on 
weekends, Mr. Cash?" 

"What!" he said, with a facial quiver. "You mean, together? - in bed?" 

"Oh, sure, Mr. Cash." 

"No, I couldn't do that!" he said and gulped. "Why, it would ruin your 
reputation, Miss Constantine. Besides, I don't do low-down things to school 
teachers!" 

He was already up from the chair, obviously wanting to leave, and she was 
glad for that. 

"Well, if you should change your mind, Mr. Cash!" Pointedly. 

"What? On no, I'm not likely to do that!" he said. He backed along the porch 
toward the steps. "Good-bye, Miss Constantine." 

"Good-bye, Mr. Cash," she said sweetly. "Call again, anytime." 

Now, he was almost running toward the Chevy, with the strangest looking 
expression in his eyes she'd ever seen before. But she didn't laugh. It 
wasn't funny, not really, but she thought: I bet this is one school teacher 
he doesn't bother anymore! 

In getting rid of Lum Cah, once and for all (she hoped), certainly did not 
prevent other men from coming by. It had puzzled Aunt Margie that even the 
younger married men had come by the old house nearly every day, under one 
pretext or another. 

That very afternoon, as soon as Naomie sat down to glance at the newspaper, 
she brought up the puzzling subject again. 

"My foot! I've had more callers since you've come to live with me than I did 
before - ten years straight-hand running! My, my! It's nice to be so young 
and so pretty, but it does cause me a heap of trouble, having to answer the 
door and tell them you're not home." 

"Why? Did someone else call today?" Naomie asked. 

"I'll say they did!" she said. "Just before you got home, Dale Jukes was 
here - he's a used car salesman up town and married to boot! He was 
wondering if you might be interested in buying a good '63 Ford, and I told 
him off. I says, 'She ain't even old enough to get her driver's license yet, 
and you know it, Dale Jukes! I know what you're really after! Well, my niece 
happens to be a very nice girl! - so you hike out from here and get back to 
your wife and kids!" 

"Good!" Naomie said. 

"And Dale wasn't the only one," Aunt Margie continued. "A little after that 
crazy Lum Cash came, who drove up? None other than Sheriff Apollo Jones, 
himself!" 

"The sheriff? What could he be wanting, Aunt Margie?" 

The old woman glared at her niece. "The same thing all the others are 
wanting!" she said. "Wanting to get in your panties is what! Oh, Sheriff 
Jones tried to be right clever about it. 'I was wondering if your niece has 
registered to vote,' the old devil had the gall to say. 'If she ain't, I'll 
be glad and come and get her and take her to the courthouse.' Well, I got so 
mad, I really let him have it. I says, 'Apollo Jones, you old hypocrite! You 
must take me for a fool! I know why you came by! - to lust after my lovely 
niece like you do all women-folks that pass by the courthouse! Why, it ain't 
election time for two more years yet!" 

"Were there any others?" Naomie asked. 

"Just one more, Jim Crawford, the light and power man," she said. "But he 
didn't stay long." 

It did seem as if more cars, in fact many more cars, were passing Aunt 
Margie's old house lately. In fact, Naomie happened to look out the window 
right then, to see a green Olds with two young men sitting in the front seat 
slowly snake down the street. On the face of it there was nothing wrong with 
cars passing the old mansion, but she could see the two men staring at the 
house, as if they were thinking about stopping. 

This sudden attention she was getting only served to make her hotter. Just 
recently, in reverie, sexual fantasy and, sometimes in straight, conscious 
thinking, Naomie longed to satisfy her admirers. At such times when the 
tortured throbbing was bothering her down there in her cunt, when she could 
feel the familiar hotness, the moistening, the opening, the deepening and 
the yearning - she felt as if she could, indeed, out-fuck the whole town. 

But after such fantasies she always had a let-down feeling, in which she 
engaged in long crying spells. It was her way of showing remorse for her 
rising hunger for sexual activity, though it always turned out that her 
demanding erotic needs caused her to backslide immediately on seeing a 
fairly nice-looking man. 

Even now, lascivious hunger nagged at her throbbing clitoris, and she tossed 
the paper aside, got up, and hurried toward the stairs, already 
contemplating another visit to the basement next door. Such was her need 
that the rubbing of her panties against her crotch was enough stimulation to 
send a shudder through her body, to cause her eyes to roll upward 
momentarily. 

As Naomie slipped inside the basement, she knew something was amiss. 
Lovelace's chair had been knocked over, his desk slid around, various odds 
and ends having spilled out on the floor ... And the bed! One railing had 
been broken so that the mattresses had slid off onto the littered floor. 
Paints, turpentine and canvasses lay in ugly puddles near the door leading 
to the passageway. 

It looks as if a herd of wild hogs has been let loose down here, she 
thought, fearfully, wondering if anything had happened to Jack. 

Getting to the door was like running an obstacle course, and as she entered 
the dark passageway, she called: "Jack? Mr. Lovelace?" 

She cocked her head, listening. There was no answer. She eased forward. 

She might have taken a half dozen steps when, up ahead, she heard a low 
groan of pleading. Then, someone cried: "Oh! Oh! Please, please!" 

Startled, she ran back a little ways and stopped, her heart pounding in her 
ears. It was Jack Lovelace's voice she heard! She just knew it was! What was 
happening in the other room? Had burglars slipped into the old house and 
tied Lovelace up? 

She had to find out! After all, Jack Lovelace, for all his evil ways, had 
given her pleasure in a way she'd never had it before, and besides that, he 
was her next door neighbor. 

Still hearing his muted groans of pain, she eased forward until she reached 
the door to his art gallery, and she stood listening. 

"No! No! No!" came Lovelace's terrified voice. "Oh, No, no, no! It's killing 
me! - killing me! - don't do that!" 

With trembling fingers, Naomie reached out and seized the door handle and 
tried the door. Locked. 

"Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah-Nah!" came Lovelace's whimpering voice. "Oh, God, god, 
god, god! Stop! Stopppppppppppppp! You're tearing it out by the roots!" 

Before she could stop herself, Naomie screamed: "What's wrong, Jack? What're 
they doing to you in there?" 

She could hear talking in the room. The words were inaudible, 
unintelligible. She cried, again: "Jack! What's wrong, Jack!" 

She heard Jack's low voice - a voice surcharged with almost unutterable 
pain. 

"Go away, Naomie," he said and moaned. "You better go back, Naomie! Oh, God, 
God!" 

"Jack, I'll call the police!" she yelled. 

"No, no, no!" came his moaning reply. "Its - it's all right, Naomie, just go 
away!" 

"Whatever it is, I'm calling the police, Jack!" 

"Go away, for God's sakes, Naomie!" he cried. "I'm in here with my friend's 
wife! Everything's all right, except that she's killing me!" 

"A woman killing you?" 

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" came his tortured reply. And then, "UHHHHHHHHH 
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" 

Almost breathless with fear and wonder, Naomie backed away from the door. As 
she turned to leave, she felt a hand close on her forearm in a vise-like 
grip, felt herself being jerked forward with giant-like force, and then she 
was screaming as loudly as was Lovelace. 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

When Naomie regained consciousness she was lying on the red bedspread in the 
sound-proofed room, and then she remembered what had happened in the 
passageway and stifled another scream. 

She sat up in bed hurriedly, staring all around, she was alone in the room 
and, apparently, unharmed. Yet her teeth began to chatter with fear- fear of 
the unknown hand that had reached out in the darkness and gripped her 
forearm with such strength. A man's hand! She knew it had to be a man ... a 
superman at that! 

A sound at the door, She felt her flesh seem to crawl with unspeakable fear! 
She heard a key grind in the lock and the door slowly swung back, admitting 
a huge, muscular Negro wearing only a loincloth. 

She drew back, as if he were contaminated, her eyes big with terror. 

"Who are you?" she gasped. 

"I am Noreturi. 'Beast' Noreturi," he said, gently. "Do not be afraid. I'm 
your Jack Lovelace's friend. My wife and I are visiting Jack for a few 
days." 

He came in, locked the door, and stood near the bed, eyeing the trembling 
girl. 

"Don't, don't!" he said, again. "I won't have women being afraid of me." 

"If you don't mean me any harm, then why did you lock the door?" Naomie 
said, holding her chin to keep her teeth from chattering. 

He was the biggest, most powerful-looking man she'd ever seen before, and 
she felt something like an animal in heat. 

"... Jack want's me to satisfy you," he said, matter-of-factly. "Jack says 
he's not man enough to do it; that you, sweetheart, have turned into a 
little numpho." 

She sensed his tremendous capacity for bringing love to her yearning body, 
and yet she was terribly afraid! Even more afraid than she'd been that first 
time when Lovelace had raped her! 

Wanting to delay what she knew was about to take place, she said, 
accusingly, "You and your wife have done something to Jack! Something bad, I 
figure, otherwise why would he cry out with pain?" 

Noreturi grinned. "My wife did something to Jack," he said, "but it was at 
Jack's demand. You so-called civilized people have odd, if not perverted 
beliefs about sex. Me? I'm Polynesian- a simple barbarian." He grinned 
again, a bit more broadly this time. "I met Jack several years ago... in the 
islands. At his insistence, we've come for a short visit." 

"I still can't imagine what your, ah .. . wife was doing to Jack," she said, 
puzzledly. 

"Ask Jack," Noreturi answered. "I think he might tell you, if he's able to 
speak." 

The huge Polynesian was eyeing her hungrily, and she knew her time had come. 
He came to the bed and eased one hand underneath her shoulders and raised 
her up to a sitting position. In an unhurried manner, he began to undress 
her - first the blouse then, despite her protests, the white bra. 

Gently, he was putting her down on her back on the cool bed, and she lay 
that way, arms outstretched, knees partially drawn up, staring at the 
ceiling. She closed her eyes, wanting to surrender to lassitude, but there 
was too much wound tightly underneath her skin. 

Yet she did not move. The flesh across her frame was so taut that she wanted 
to cry out in abject horror, as she had that first time with Lovelace. Then 
it was that Naomie groaned, an involuntary whimper that hung in the air 
above her like desire, as real and as articulate as his incredible prick 
which was beginning to show with splendid power underneath the loincloth. 
She feared that she would groan again. The nipples of her breasts had 
swollen and were as painful as two aching teeth, but with effort, she held 
the sound in check. 

Lying there, she felt his large hands on the flanks of her legs, felt them 
on the clinging nylon panties, felt the panties being drawn down her thighs, 
then up and over her knees and down the calves of her legs. Her defenses 
stirred, but she could not protest. Nor could she look at him. It had come 
this far, she told herself, and how could she be blamed? Lovelace had 
seduced her, through no fault of her own Now, through no fault of her own, 
this rock-stallion-of-a-man was getting ready to - well, nothing no more 
mattered. This was the crossing, the real crossing! Lovelace had manhood. 
Robert had a most delightful young manhood; but neither of them were 
anything like the man - had the massive cock this fellow was about to bring 
to her. 

He was working at the loin cloth, and she was staring in wide-eyed wonder, 
guessing if his prick would be in the same gigantic, powerful proportion as 
the rest of him, and out it started. As he stood naked, she saw with wonder 
and surprise.. . What? - not the plaything of a - a boy like Robert - not 
even the organ of a man! - but a pylon of such enormous size that it was 
even bigger in proportion than the rest of his gigantic body! 

Its prodigious size made her shrink away from him; yet she could not behold 
it without pleasure, and now she even timidly stuck forth her hand to feel 
such a length, such a big breadth of animated wheat-colored stiffness ... 
which distended its skin, whose smooth polish and velvety softness might vie 
with that of her own hot body, and whose exquisite wheat-colored excellence 
was set off by a sprout of black curling hair round the root, through the 
jetty sprigs of which the dull-brown skin showed; then the broad and 
crimson-casted incarnate of the head, and the crawly serpentines of its 
veins. In short, it stood an object of terror and delight. 

"It's - it's too big!" she said. 

"Not at all," he said and grunted. 

"But you don't even look like a human there!" she protested. 

"What do I look like?" 

"A - a stud horse, or something!" she said. 

"Jack thinks you need this," he said. 

"I -I don't know?" she said, doubtfully. 

"Well, it's too late to argue about it!" 

As he bent over her, pulling her thighs apart, she wondered if he would be 
able to get the enormous head inside the moist, flushed portal of her 
snatch. Then an incredible thing happened, and it had never happened before, 
not with Lovelace or that one time with Robert. She had hardly been aware 
that his bulk was between her legs, and now she was totally aware that his 
being was gradually slipping into her being. The filling of her cunt with 
his cock was so continuous, so incessant and so unexpected, that it 
petrified her brain and anesthetized all pain. 

With his plunging-prick motion began, ever so gently though it was, it was 
as if the pain was shocked to life. "IIIIIIEEEEEE!" she screamed. 
"IIIIIIIIEEEEEE!" 

He let up momentarily, but he could not show much restraint. He drove his 
prick into her again, and she felt such a mixture of pleasure and pain that 
she ended up making a sound that went: "MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH--M U 
H-HAH-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-HHHHHH!" 

It seemed that she could not bear either to keep or part with him. The 
feeling of pain prevailed, from the prodigious size and stiffness of his 
cock and from the way he continuously thrust it into her. "Oh, Beast, you 
hurt me!" she cried. "Ah, Beast! Beast! You're... Oh, God! You're killing 
me!" 

This was enough to check the tender Polynesian, for she sensed that for all 
of his strength and vaunted manhood, he was by nature a kind, considerate 
fellow. For most men this would have been beyond the point of no return, but 
immediately, he drew out his cock, taking away the sweet-painful cause of 
her complaint, while his eyes eloquently expressed his sorrow for hurting 
her. 

She was far from being pleased with his having too much regarded her 
tenderness. More and more fired with the huge prick before her, as it still 
stood with the fiercest erection, displaying its broad crimson head, she 
first gave "Beast" an encouraging kiss, which he repaid her with a fervor, a 
powerfulness, that seemed to nearly break her jawbone. 

At once he worked the ruby cockhead back into her yearning pussy and, 
aroused by her upward movements, he proceeded anew to cleave and open to 
himself an entire entry into her, which was made easier to him by the 
bubbling juices with which her body had plentifully moistened the whole 
inside of the passage. Redoubling the active energy of his thrusts, favored 
by the fervid appetite of her gyrating buttocks, he forced a deeper entrance 
with his cock. With nature's help and her industry, strong in movements, he 
penetrated even deeper, and at length won his way inch by delightful inch 
until he had all of the monster cock in her and, finally, a mighty hunch 
sheathed it up to the very hilt. 

As their bodies joined completely, she felt him full in her very vitals, and 
she was sick with painful delight, stirred beyond bearing, with its furious 
agitations tearing at her, and gorged and crammed until she could hardly 
stand it. 

"Ohhhhhhh! That hurts!" she moaned. "Ohhhhhh! That feels so good!" 

"I'm not going to let up this time." He warned, warned. 

"Good, God!" she said and groaned, straining to withstand his powerful 
onslaught. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! You're killing me, Beast! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! 
Damn it, you beast, you! You're . . . OUCH! OUCHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! 
OUCHHHHHHHHHHH!" 

Now, she was struggling underneath him, trying to get free of the awful 
hurting. This is even worse than it was that first time, she thought 
fleetingly, as she strained against him. 

"Quit it, Beast!" she said and sobbed. "You're tearing me apart inside!" 

But she knew he was not, even as she spoke the words. Her main trouble was 
that she was nearly crazy with both pain and pleasure - the most intense 
pain she'd ever felt - the most wonderful, wonderful pleasure! 

As it is in all of nature's storms, from the puny April shower to the 
mighty, shrieking hurricane, changes come quickly - first there is painful 
violence, and suddenly a loving calm. 

Such had happened to the storm of their love encounter. Suddenly she was 
feeling all pleasure - the sweetest pleasure she'd ever felt. It was as if 
all the gardens of Eden had been wrapped into one, with heaven itself thrown 
in as an afterthought! 

"OH, BEAST! SWEET, SWEET, YM-YUMMY BEAST! ATTA BABY, BEAST!" 

He stroked faster and faster, fire fairly leaping in his eyes. 

"MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH!" she groaned. "WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH!" 

He began to work his cock in a twisting action, and she screamed with 
ecstasy. 

' ' I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Then 
she was sobbing: "BBBBBBBBBBBEAST! OH, BBBBBBBBBEAST!'' 

His release came suddenly, and the strong man with the sensational cock died 
away in her arms, melting in a flood that shot great waves of hot come into 
the innermost recesses of her cunt which, dedicated to that pleasure, was on 
flow to mix with it. 

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" was the continuous sound issuing from her throat 
during the eye-walled throes of her coming, her body racked up by tremendous 
spasmodic convulsions in which the sturdy bed seemed likely to break apart. 

Long after that first brushing with ecstasy, she continued to make little 
whimpering, half-sobbing sounds, for his ponderous cock was still massively 
present in that sweet spot, driving her to yet higher and higher plateaus of 
gratification, and causing her to give vent to primordial sounds of almost 
unbearable pleasure. 

''Gah-gah-gah-gah-gah-gah! OHHHHHHH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH-MUH!" Then, in the final 
threshings, a time when her eyes seemed to turn inside out, a high-pitched 
scream: "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEkkk!" 

Thus they continued for some instants, lost, breathless, senseless of 
everything, and in every part but those favorite ones of nature, in which 
all that they enjoyed of life and sensation was now totally concentrated. 

When their mutual trance was a little over, and the Beast Polynesian had 
withdrawn his delicious prick with which he had most plentifully given her 
absolute ecstasy, she felt as if she had only just now given up her 
maidenhead, for coupling with Lovelace and Robert Vining had been a mere 
flirting with sexual intercouse; whereas Beast had brought her the real 
tortured but heavenly act. She felt completely ravished, and yet she hadn't 
gotten enough. 

He eyed her with - not amusement, but something else. Concern, perhaps. 

"It was wonderful," he said in a low voice. 

"Yes, Beast" she murmured. 

"We'll enjoy some more, if you wish." 

"I don't know, Beast," she said and whimpered. And then, "Yes, Beast." 

"We could wait until tomorrow night, but Lovelace says we might to 
Providence for dinner then," he said. "And our visit will be a short one 
this time." 

"You mean you'll leave here soon?" she questioned. 

He nodded. "I've got to get back to the islands, woman ..." He grinned 
boyishly. "I can't stand your so-called civilization for more than a week or 
two." 

A disappointed look spread over her finely-chiseled face. She could not bear 
the thoughts of not being able to see Beast in a few days and, at the same 
time, she was ashamed that this was so - ashamed that she'd apparently 
turned into a veritable sex fiend - a school teacher, young though she was, 
purportedly dedicated to setting a high moral example for her youthful 
charges! And just look at what I really am, she thought woefully. 

However, her feelings of guilt, woeful-misgiving, fell before the demanding 
hunger of her body, for she had indeed evolved from a prudish, inexperienced 
orphan girl into a full-fledged nymphomaniac. Her inner juices gave the "go" 
sign to all the stations in her lovely body, and now that she was about to 
lose her latest and best lover, she didn't want to waste the precious 
moments. 

"Had enough?" Beast said, quietly. 

For an answer, her hands went under her breasts and she lifted them toward 
him, the nipples contracting and rising eagerly. His hands replaced hers and 
she felt the weight of that resilient flesh nestling against his palms. 

Her mouth burned down on his and felt his lips open to her kiss. She pushed 
up tight against him after they broke the kiss and whispered urgently, 
"Let's don't waste any precious time." 

"Right," he said and grunted. 

His hands ran down her smooth flanks and explored the outward flare of her 
hips and the rounded curves of her velveteen thighs. 

She moaned and locked her lips to his again, her pointed tongue dipping deep 
into his mouth. She writhed and twisted like a wild thing, pushing her leg 
between his and rubbing those hardened nipples against his bare chest. 

Her passion was mounting so fast she didn't know if she could control it, 
but she wanted this to be a loving she'd remember for the rest of her life. 
Beast, a chief among men who certainly deserved, as did all princes of the 
tribe, the warmest corner by the fire, the best piece of meat would leave 
shortly and, no doubt, she'd never see him again. 

"Love me! .. . Love me! ..." she begged, and he ran his lips down her throat 
onto her shoulders and over the huge cones of her breasts. One throbbing 
nipple pushed into his open mouth, and he stabbed his tongue at it until she 
was gasping for breath. 

She ran her hands through his hair and pulled his head deeper into her 
lovely, heaving flesh. She could hear her heart pounding and feel the 
quivering of desire. Her legs clutched his thighs tightly and her soft belly 
strained against him. 

He drew her head back and looked into her eyes. She looked back at him, 
unashamed, with her deep need and hunger written plain on her face. 

Suddenly, she thrust up at him, arching her back and rotating her hips. Her 
hands slid down his back and pulled him to her so hard his breath went out 
in a whoosh. He didn't hold back any longer then, for he knew that he had 
almost met his match. He couldn't hold back any longer then! He seemed to be 
so shaken and breathless he could hardly wait. 

He pulled himself up and hovered over her, trembling with the force of his 
passion. She opened her legs and reached for him and he sank into her, 
driving his giant cock in deep. 

"WOW! WOW!" she hollowed, And then, "EEEEEEEEE-YOWWWWWW!" 

Her fingers clawed at his back and she lifted her hips off the bed, rolling 
and shoving back at him. She made a funny gurgling sound deep in her throat 
as he plunged his prick deeper and harder, causing her to thrust and twist 
under him. Her head rolled from side to side and her hot breath rasped past 
his ears. 

He got his hands under her and grasped those gyrating hips, cupping his 
fingers around her buttocks, lifting and tilting her to further intensify 
their pleasure. She clutched him tighter and cried aloud: 
"WAH-WAH-WAH-WOWWW!" And then, "LA-LA-LA-AHHHHHH!" 

"MMMM! YUM YUMMMM!" 

Wave after wave of ecstasy shot through her, as she relaxed, collapsed, died 
a-moaning. 

When their breathing had slowed to normal, Naomie raised her head and looked 
at Beast. "That was so wonderful! Wonderful!" she said. 

"Yes, it sure was," he said, pulling his cock free of her cunt and rolling 
to one side so she could slide forward and get her head back on the bed. 

And then Lovelace's voice sounded raggedly outside the door: "Naomie? Girl, 
you'd better come out and go home; it's getting late." 

"I - I don't care," she moaned. 

"Get up, girl!" Lovelace implored. "I'm afraid the old lady will get someone 
to come over and find out what's happened to you!" 

Suddenly it was as if she'd come out of a trance, regaining her senses all 
at once. She pulled herself up from the bed, recovered her scattered 
articles of clothing, and began dressing in haste. 

CHAPTER NINE 

Never before in her young life had she endured such a depressed 
after-the-night-before low-down-Monday-morning-blues-feeling as she did on 
the way to school that next morning, for the rigors of her sexual activity, 
though leaving her with that unctuous feeling, as of a cat that had just 
lapped up a gutful lassitude of rich cream, had taken its toll of her 
physical energy. 

Some of the bounce had gone out of her lovely walk, some of the glittering 
sparkle out of her eyes, for now, in the aftermath of full gratification, 
she felt as if the men's eyes which zeroed in on her as she sexily 
tap-tap-tapped down the sidewalk, were as the accusing fingers of Almighty 
God. She just couldn't believe any human had the right to feel such 
bone-deep pleasure as she had felt, but what had humiliated her much more 
than that was the knowledge that Jack Lovelace had peeped through a slot in 
the ceiling and had watched Beast satiate her - that was what the elderly 
man had told her when she came out of the sound-proofed room last night! 

"You planned it that way!" she'd said. 

"Yes, for your benefit in the long run," he'd answered. 

She hadn't gotten out of Lovelace just exactly what it was Beast's wife had 
done to him, for she'd been in a hurry to get home, but one thing for sure, 
it must have been something awful, she thought, for Lovelace looked as if he 
might have been hag-ridden through hell backward! 

With a heavy, guilty heart, she dragged her way to the school building, 
dragged herself through the morning classes, and in the afternoon, one of 
Milo Burch's unexpected visits to her room, whereupon he stood close to her 
chair at the desk, letting his meaty thigh rub against her as much as he 
could, under the pretense of having to whisper to her that the whole town 
was now singing her praises because she'd persuaded hot-shot Robert Vining 
to come back and take his old slot on the football team. 

But not even the witticisms and endless chatter of the pupils cheered her 
saddened hear. It was as if the whole world had caved in on her, and she had 
no hope for tomorrow. 

When, at last, the dismissal bell thrilled through the rooms and corridors 
of the red-brick school building, Naomie grabbed up her things and hurriedly 
left the campus, wanting to get home, wanting to hide her body from human 
eyes. She was in such a state of depression that she considered herself 
absolutely unfit to associate with decent people, and as she pumped down the 
street, her buttocks working with as many movements as an eight-day clock 
(for all her self-proclaimed degradation), she lowered her eyes on passing a 
parked Ford, not even wanting to speak to anyone, much less smile, as she 
usually did. 

"Hey, Miss Constantine!" came a familiar voice. 

It was Ash Wilkes, the man she'd met last week at Aunt Margie's, and he was 
waving one hand at her as he got out of the car. 

She turned reluctantly and walked back a step or two, forcing a smile, as 
she said, sweetly: "Why hello, Mr. Wilkes." 

"I just want to pass along a few compliments I've heard about you, is all, 
Miss Constantine," Wilkes said, coming upon the sidewalk. "Been waiting for 
Nelly to get through shopping - spent most of my life waiting on her to come 
out of them old stores." 

His blue shirt was plastered to his back with sweat, and his zipper was 
about halfway down, she noticed, but other than that, he - "... Times have 
sure-God changed around this town," he was saying. "Used to be, all the 
school board ever hired was a bunch of fat-bellied, possum-faced old-maid 
teachers, which was enough to keep most parents away from school, but in 
you, they've got a real looker, Miss Constantine. Folks are sure commenting 
they've made up for it all. The fact is, Miss Constantine, you've set this 
here town on fire! Why, everybody is bragging on you, and saying how pretty 
you are, how well-built and all! And most of all, folks are some tickled 
about how you got rid of Lum Cash." 

"But how did the news leak out?" Naomie asked. "I haven't told anyone about 
it." 

Wilkes chuckled. "No, you haven't, but Lum sure-God has! Why, he even 
claimed that you offered to sleep with him on weekends, which set all the 
men-folks laughing. The fact is, Miss Constantine, we know Lum Cash for what 
he is! A blamed cully-of-a-fellow! Plain scared of women-folks, except old 
maid school teachers!" 

"Why, I didn't know there was anything wrong with Mr. Cash," Naomie said. 
"I'm sorry if I..." 

"Look here, Miss Constantine. Don't bother your pretty head feeling sorry 
for Lum," Wilkes cut in to say. "You've helped the school teaching cause in 
this town for years to come. Lum had done made a hobby out of mooching off 
old maid teachers, and I say it was high time somebody stopped him, and you 
did." 

"Mr. Wilkes, you mentioned how much everyone liked me," Naomie said. "But I 
had been told that the town folks are gossiping about the way I dress, 
things like that." 

"Sure, Miss Constantine! Any good-looking girl is sure-God gonna be gossiped 
about, but since you got Robert Vining to come back out for football, you 
stand mighty high here." 

"Well, I won't be around but this one school year," she said, "so I suppose 
it really doesn't matter what people think about me." 

She turned to leave, and he said, "If you were to ask me to come right out 
in church and say it, I'd say it would be a dirty-dog shame if that school 
board ever goes back to hiring them ugly, pickle-faced, scrawny-necked old 
maids." 

"Good-bye, Mr. Wilkes," she said, glad to get away from him. 

Although she kept telling herself that Mr. Wilkes was an ignorant old man 
who didn't likely know the true feeling of the Riverview folks, she was 
pleased to learn that even a few people considered her a worthy person, and 
had approved of the way she put Lum to flight. She yearned for approval, 
respect, love. Growing up in an orphanage had left its mark on her. It 
wasn't that the teachers had been unkind, or the food bad, or even that 
she'd been unloved. No, what had bothered her most was the feeling that 
she'd belonged to a commune, where everything was done for the orphan's 
benefit, and nothing for his individual pleasure. If only I could have owned 
a puppy, a kitten, anything that I could have called my own! she thought; 
could have had, if not a mother, even a distant relative to praise her for 
the way she sang some cute little song, or even for the way she'd brushed 
her hair! 

As it was - Well, as it was, I had no one, she thought. And it has made me 
into - what? A nympho, was what, too much concerned with her libido, so weak 
where sex was concerned to say no to a boy she could fall in love with - 
Robert Vining; so hungry for attention that she cherished the hot looks of 
the townsmen, even the leering garage mechanics, filling station attendants, 
the loafers at the pool hall. 

While it was evident that Lovelace was a dirty old man who'd carefully 
planned her seduction, and had seemingly known in advance what her reactions 
would be, she, in her abject hunger for attention, had been ripe for 
exploitation, and had, in a sense, thrown herself in the way of his sexual 
fantasies. 

From what Wilkes had told her, as well as the things she could see at school 
with her own eyes, she was now getting the approval of the community, but if 
anyone ever found out about her trips to Lovelace's basement, she might as 
well start packing. 

But no one need ever find out about your sexual activities with Lovelace, 
Robert, and Beast! she told herself. "If I stop now," she muttered aloud. 

But even then, at that very moment, she was thinking of the pleasure she'd 
received from Beast last night. Already, she was thinking about tonight, 
wondering if Lovelace had thought up something novel for her and the 
Polynesian where he could get his kicks by peeping at them. 

With a sob, she buried her face in the pillow and cursed her wretched 
condition, knowing that she was hooked on sex - knowing that she would 
return, like the drug addict to his junkie ... again tonight. 

It was after eight o'clock when she gave way to her driving hunger and 
prepared to slip down the backstairs. She had been walking restfully around 
the room for the past quarter-hour, torn between her body needs and her 
conscience. Earlier, she'd lain on the bed and tried to read a magazine, 
barely conscious of what she saw on the printed page. Even the colorful 
illustrations were a meaningless blur. Her thoughts were constantly going 
back to the way she remembered last night and the wonderful way Beast had 
made love to her. 

At last, she'd decided it was no use for her to try to fight the urgent 
hunger. Beast would be leaving Riverview shortly, and she'd never see him 
again. 

Lovelace, attired in bathing trunks, was waiting for Naomie when she entered 
the basement door. 

"Come in, sweetie," he greeted her. And then, "You're late tonight. What 
happened?" 

"I almost backed out," she said. "I first resolved not to come here again, 
but I..." And she stopped. 

"Uh, huh," he said, "I understand, Naomie. The facts are: you couldn't stop 
yourself from coming back! Am I not right?" 

"Yes," she said, dully. "You know that I'm hooked. In fact, you planned it 
that way." 

He shook his head. "No, I didn't plan Noreturi's visit, if that's what you 
mean. He and his wife had been wanting to visit America ... I had told him 
all about our country while my submarine was in port on the Island of Love, 
a secret base Uncle Sam set up in the South Pacific. I was impressed by the 
way the natives made love ... no inhibitions at all, sweetie, everything as 
natural as the breakers rolling in from the ocean. I shared Noreturi's wife 
- she was younger than you are, then - and we struck up quite a friendship." 

"Your howls of pain didn't sound like friendship to me," she said. Last 
night, I mean ..." 

"Yes, it did hurt," he acknowledged, "but she was just trying to rejuvenate 
me. It's a little trick the islanders use on their old men, but it didn't 
help me much." 

He pointed to a chair. "Sit down, sweetie." 

"No, I didn't come to visit," she said, brusquely. "You know why I'm here." 

"Yes, to see Noreturi," he said and smiled. "That suits me fine, for I -" 

"I know, I know!" she interrupted. "Where you can hide out in the room above 
and watch us!" 

"No, sweetie," he said. "What I was about to say is - Well, I've lost my 
hunger for you. You see, I can only make love to very young girls, and once 
their virginity is gone, they hold no interest for me. But I have found 
another way I can get my kicks, and before you get to see Noreturi tonight, 
you've got to do it to me." 

"What?" 

"Just a minute." He stepped over to a closet and opened the door and reached 
inside, pulling out three large bamboo canes, about four feet in length, and 
turned and brought them back to where Naomie was standing. 

"Here we have the instruments of my pleasure," he said, a genial note to his 
voice. "Do you know what they are?" 

"They look like lengths of fishing poles," she answered, taking one of the 
canes and examining it. "But, why?" 

"These are rods with which to beat me, sweetie," he said and smiled. "And 
before you get to see Noreturi tonight, you've got to use them on me." 

"Whip you with them!" she said. "I will not! You're nuts, Jack!" 

"Pull off your clothes, sweetie, and get to work, if you want to go to bed 
with Noreturi tonight!" 

"No!" she said flatly. "How could beating you give you pleasure?" 

He smiled sadly. "If you knew more about my character, sweetie," he said, 
"you'd understand why. You see, I hate myself. I hate myself for being 
enslaved to desiring only young girls - girl-children, to tell the truth, 
and the only way I can receive sexual pleasure at times is by getting it 
through pain. You get it?" 

"Yes, I think I do," she said uneasily. "You're some kind of weirdo, Jack. 
But I won't take part in such - such queer stuff! So you might as well put 
your canes back in that closet." 

"Okay, if you won't punish me, sweetie, you might as well return to your 
room," he answered, "for my friend Noreturi, being a guest in my house, 
abides by my wishes. 

"Noreturi leaves tomorrow," Lovelace said and smiled. "This is your last 
time to feel the full power of his great organ, sweetie, and if you miss out 
tonight - well, you'll go through the rest of your life thinking about what 
might have been." 

"You - you fiend!" she grated. "You know how I'm hooked! You know how I've 
been tortured under your perverted plans!" 

"Yes, sweetie," he said sadly. "Undress, dear." 

"No, I - I'm not going to do it!" 

Suddenly, he shot out one hand and seized her right breast in a powerful 
grasp, then squeezed down harshly. 

"Oh!" she cried. "Ouch! Damn it! Stop it, Jack!" 

"Undress, sweetie." 

"Ah!" she moaned, tears of deep pain streaming from her eyes, as his 
squeezed even tighter, the nubby fingertips biting into the turgid flesh. 
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! 

Oh, God! OHHHH! You're killing me! - killing me!" 

"Pull 'em off, dear!" 

"Yes, yes! Please let go, Jack! Oh, God! Yeeeeeeeees!" 

He released her and stepped back and began to loosen the belt of the swim 
trunks. 

Her face still twisted with pain, she moved to a chair and, grasping the hem 
of the white mini, lifted it in one sweep from her mid-thighs, then peeled 
it up and over her head. She let the half-slip drop to the floor. She 
grasped the elastic of the white panties and slithered the nylon fabric from 
over the slender tautness of her buttocks and down her long, fine legs, the 
motion causing static electricity, which made a soft, pur-r-r-r-r-ing sound. 

Lovelace, nude, staring at her, said: "I've been all over the world, 
sweetie, and seen all kinds of girls, but I've never seen or dreamed of such 
beauty as you've got. After tonight, begin to look around for a real fine 
man, for you'll need the best." 

Briefly, she looked down at herself, then stepped to a mirror and viewed her 
whole naked image. 

Her slim figure, still not quite mature, was golden ivory. Her back and legs 
were strong and full-fleshed. Her long, black hair hung below her shoulders 
and shimmered in the light. 

She placed her hands on her hips and turned sideways to the mirror. The act 
gave her a full view of her sharply-pointed young breasts. 

Then, dropping her hands to her sides, she turned around to face Lovelace, 
and to say: "I'm ready to begin this crazy act, if you are." 

"Wait a minute," he said. "Let me brief you, sweetie. I'll take on, and 
raise all kinds of hell as you beat hell out of me, but don't let that stop 
you. Go right ahead, no matter how much I beg and cry out! Just keep beating 
me, for that's the only way I can get my kicks." 

"How many licks will I have to give you?" she asked. 

"You'll know when to stop," he assured her. And, pointing to the bed, "I'll 
fall across the bed with my head on the other side, which will give you a 
good target." 

As he walked across the room toward the bed, she directed her eyes to his 
organ, naturally, and was surprised to see that it seemed almost shrunk into 
his body, hardly showing its tip above the sprout of curls, like the peep of 
a bird's head out of a hole in a tree. 

She wondered what could have happened to him down there, but she didn't have 
much time to think about it, for he had now reached the bed. He sprawled out 
on the bed, throwing his dead-white buttocks into a prominent position, then 
looked around. "I'm ready. Get the cane," he said. 

She selected a cane with trepidation, then slowly crossed to the bed. 
Reluctantly, she raised the weapon above her head and swished it back and 
forth tentatively, but she could not make herself drive it down upon his 
naked flesh. 

"I'm waiting, sweetie," he said calmly. "Let's go! Give it to me!" 

"No, I can't!" she said and breathed heavily. 

"Of course you can! Hit me!" 

"No, I..." 

"If I have to, I'll get up and hurt you again!" he warned. 

"But this is. . . crazy! Crazy! Crazy! she cried. "I don't like to hurt 
anyone, Jack! Please!" 

"Damn it, hit me!" 

He'd propped his head on one elbow, his eyes angrily glaring at her. 

"You - you fiend!" she cried. "You want to make me stoop as low as you are! 
I hate you, Jack! I hate you!" 

"Sure, now go ahead and take out your hate on me, sweetie," he said. 
"Japanese factory workers work off their anger and frustration by beating 
cardboard images of their bosses. In a sense, I'm your boss! At least, I've 
had an overpowering influence on you. Go ahead, sweetie. Beat me!" 

She took a deep breath and swung the bamboo cane downward. It smacked 
against his flinching buttocks with a cutting sound - Ah-r-r-r-rip! 

She brought the cane up again and held it steady. 

"Go on," he urged. "Hit me! Nine more hard lashes!" 

She planted her feet and, according to his direction, gave him in one 
breath, nine more licks with much force, and the utmost nerve and vigor of 
the arm that she could put into it, making his mounded flesh quiver with 
pain. He seemed no more concerned, or to mind the lashes, than a mother 
would a child's puny licks on her leg. 

In the meantime, she viewed intently the effects of the licks, which to her 
appeared surprisingly cruel. Every lash had skimmed the surface of his white 
ass, which they deeply reddened, and lapping around the side of him, cut 
deeply into the softer spots where no muscles rose to ward off the blows. He 
was begging her; "Keep on! Keep on! Give me ten more hard ones!" 

She set in on him again, flailing his bottom with the cane, watching the red 
welts come up, watching the blood spin out of the cuts! Beating him! Harder, 
harder! Faster, faster! She was carried away with the project and, probably 
like the Japanese factory workers, getting full pleasure from this 
opportunity to beat the hell out of the man who'd robbed her of her 
virginity, her moral turpitude, and had led her farther down the dark road 
of degradation. 

"OHHHHH! WAHHHHH!" Lovelace yelled out his pain. 

She could feel the warm blood splatter across her thighs, could smell it, as 
a drop landed on her nose. She was moved by the piteous sight. She couldn't 
continue, not with blood oozing from the deep cuts and splattering upon the 
floor, at times upon her body. 

But Lovelace hadn't had enough punishment, though he bucked and reared on 
the mattress like a shot alligator in a shallow lake. 

"No, no! Don't stop!" he begged. "Hit me! Hit me!" 

"No!" she said. 

"You must!" he screamed. "Please, please!" 

Momentarily, she thought about defying Lovelace. After all, he's an elderly 
man, she thought, and this beating should have weakened him. Then she 
thought about what he'd done to her, even this is the lowest form of 
degradation, she felt, and he knew I'd submit to his wishes in order that I 
might satisfy my own desires. 

Thus, she selected another cane and began lashing his pulpy buttocks again, 
continuing the discipline as she observed how well he seemed to stand up to 
the punishment, keeping on until she observed him writhing and twisting his 
body in a way that she could plainly perceive was not the effect of pain, 
but of some new and powerful sensation. Curious to find out the meaning of 
which, in one of her pauses to change to another cane, she stepped close to 
the bed where he was grinding and working his belly against the mattress. 
Stroking the untouched and unhurt side of his hips, she inserted her hand 
under his thigh and felt of his organ. She was surprised to find it stiff 
and big, when only a short time ago it had been so diminutive and drawn up 
that she could scarcely see it. 

"Go on!" he begged. "If you don't I'll never reach that last, sweet stretch 
of pleasure!" 

"But your ass is all pulpy with blood now!" she argued. 

"Obey me! Please, please!" he begged. "Jack, you're nuts! Nuts! - crazy! But 
as you wish!" 

She went over to the closet and selected still another cane, came back, and 
began beating him once more ... so hard and so fast that her arm began to 
feel so weak she was afraid she'd have to stop. Finally, she noticed that he 
was twisting and writhing faster and faster and, as if he'd died, she saw 
him lie still. Now he wanted her to stop, holding up one hand and waving it 
at her. 

She tossed the cane aside, moved to the edge of the bed and stood over him, 
noting the deep, bleeding cuts on his battered buttocks. 

He stood up, swaying back and forth, and staggered across the room to the 
closet. Then she plainly saw the squirts of his plenteous effusion on the 
sheet, the tell-tale traces of his drying come. 

Turning around, as he selected underwear from a shelf in the closet, he 
said, "Thanks, sweetie." 

CHAPTER TEN 

It occurred to Naomie that she felt sorry for Lovelace. I should not, she 
thought, not after the way he's treated me. But it was evident from the 
beating she'd just given him that he had some sort of sadistic hang-up due 
to a defective ancestry or, what was more likely, brought on by some acutely 
difficult situation in his life. 

Whatever it was, Jack Lovelace was a pitiful creature, tortured as he was 
with sick passions in the winter-time of his life and, for the moment at 
least, she was not bothered by angry misgivings about what he'd done to her. 
She seemed to have languished her frustrations upon the flesh of his ass, 
and now they were even. 

Already she was thinking about her rendezvous with Beast and wondering if 
she could stand up to another encounter with his prodigious organ. She had 
just gathered up her clothing and was ready to put it on, when the door 
opened and Beast came in. 

"Hello," he said. 

"Hello," she answered, an apprehensive note to her voice. 

"Are you ready?" he asked. 

"For what?" she said, eying his huge, muscular body as she spoke. 

Beast was wearing white slacks. He was naked from the waist up. 

"... You know what you came over here for," he was saying in a stern voice. 
"Come with me, woman!" 

She looked around at Lovelace who was standing weakly by the closet. He 
nodded his head. "Go on, sweetie," he urged. "This'll be the last time, and 
you need the experience." 

"Why do I, Jack?" she asked. 

"Because, you're young, sweetie," Lovelace said, "with what you think is an 
insatiable hunger, but I think one more session with Beast's big prick will 
cure you." 

"Or kill me?" she came back. 

"Kill you, indeed!" Lovelace said bitterly. "He won't hurt you and you know 
it! After it's over, there'll be no physical or mental scars. Rather, you'll 
be a mature woman, able to cope with your body needs." 

At a signal from Lovelace, Beast crossed to Naomie, grabbed her up in his 
powerful arms, and walked out of the room into the dark passageway with her. 
As her spike-like nipples rubbed against his chest, she felt fire - hot fire 
burn through her lower body. 

She threw her arms around his neck and blindly sought his mouth. He stopped 
momentarily, while their mouths seemed to try to become one, and she kissed 
him with open-mouthed abandon, her tongue wiggling like a golden clapper 
inside the bell of his mouth. She seized his tongue with her teeth and 
pulled it so deeply into her throat that she gagged. 

Then he was walking again, but as they moved along, his powerful hands made 
love runs over her clenched buttocks, her sateen thighs, pausing to fondle 
her crotch lovingly, a finger flipping past the throbbing portal to 
stimulate excitement throughout her inner being. 

"Oh, Beast!" she moaned. "Oh, that feels so good!" 

He rubbed the turgid lips of her pussy slowly, and she arched her back 
convulsively, making grinding noises with her teeth, already caught in 
demanding ecstasy, feeling her cunt moistening, opening, burning, throbbing, 
deepening... and moaning over and over, "Beast, Beast, Beast!" 

He let her down at the door, while he groped for the handle, and she 
shuddered with delight as she felt his huge cock poke against her buttocks. 
She pushed against his rock-like manhood, and she felt a rush of hot breath, 
as of a fire, upon her neck. 

He opened the door and they entered the sound-proofed room, which was 
lighted by a single small bulb. Kissing him with utter abandon, as her 
trembling fingers worked, she unzipped his slacks and seized his tremendous 
love machine. Her fingers barely covered the vermillion head, and when she 
brought her other hand to the poker-like stiffness, hotness, her teeth began 
to grit and grind, her eyes rolling upward, exposing the filmy whites. 

"MUH-MUH-MUH!" she moaned, her hands clenching, pulling, as if she would try 
to pull out the massive trunk by its roots. 

"Beast! Oh, Beast!" she sobbed. "Yes, oh, yes!" 

He slammed her hard against the wall and slammed his body against her in a 
powerful squeeze. Her legs flew apart as her hips braced firmly, and he made 
a mighty thrust, driving his prodigious prick in her snatch to the hilt. 

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!" 

Her scream blasted against the walls of the room, as she felt the tearing, 
ramming strength of his cock in her tight little cunt, and she clawed at his 
back like a wild thing. 

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" 

Her mouth had opened wide and, looking at her face alone, one would have 
thought she was dying. 

"AAAAAAAAHHH! MMMMMMM!" 

Now her breathing was an off-and-on affair as she undulated in the beginning 
throes of ecstasy, as her demanding fingers ripped at Beast's broad back, as 
she suddenly leaned forward to bury her sharp teeth into his back. 

"Oh, me! Oh, me! Oh, me!" she gasped. "Oh, Beast! Just a little faster, 
darling! Ah, yes, yes, yes!" And now her buttocks were working like 
something separate and apart from the rest of her, as he brought his 
enormous prod to her in powerfully driving thrusts. 

She was sobbing her pleasure. "Oh, it's so good! Oh, I can't stand it. Can't 
stand it! Oh, sweetheart! Yes, yes, yes!" 

He'd reached the mid-point and his mouth sought her's in a long, drowning 
kiss. She bucked and writhed with an increased fury, and he pulled his mouth 
away to catch one jabbing nipple, and then half of her breast. 

"WAHHHHHH!" she moaned. "Oh, God! Oh, God! AHHHHHHH!" 

Pinned against the wall, she could not escape the ramming thrusts of his big 
prick, nor did she want to, but now she was caught between pleasure and 
pain, as he drove it in her harder and harder. 

"No, Beast! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! You're killing me, killing me!" 

And when he let off some, "Yes, Beast!" and, making a choking, agonizing 
cry: "YES! OH, YES!" 

She gasped and jerked her cunt muscles tight around his hot cock, her 
beautiful body shaking and heaving with passion, the animal sounds in her 
throat becoming deeper and deeper. 

Her intense desire communicated itself to him and he plunged and retreated, 
dipping his prick into her love flesh like a bee after honey. Their bellies 
slapped and clung together, parted reluctantly, and slammed together again, 
time after time, as they struggled in the ageless adagio of love. 

It amazed her that she was standing up to his lunges so well; how she heaved 
and shoved it right back at him. 

They mounted rapidly toward a plateau of the deepest, most soul shattering 
ecstasy she had ever known, and she screamed as they flew over the top 
almost at the same time. 

They clung tightly to each other as spasm after spasm of hot, jetting come 
threatened to tear them apart. 

He'd picked her up as she died away, and carried her, like a drowned woman, 
to the soft bed. After a long time, as they lay stretched out side by side, 
she began to murmur little sweet nothings in his ear. 

"I wuve oo, Beast! Mum mum mum uh! I wuve oo!" 

"You're some woman," he complimented her. 

"Am I as good as your wife, Beast?" 

"Yes, because you're younger," he said. 

"But, you love your wife?" 

"Yes, I love my wife," he answered. "In the islands, we take sex for what it 
is - pleasure, and leave it at that." 

"I heard once, and I didn't understand it then, that there are no virgins in 
your islands, Beast." 

"That's right," he said," and as a result, we have no perverted." 

She luxuriated in her languor - so bruised, so battered, so spent with this 
over-match that she could hardly stir or raise herself, but lay as if she 
was sick until she heard the ticking of a clock on the marble-topped table 
near the bed. 

"I've got to get up and leave," she said and sighed, "though I wish I 
didn't." 

"If you wish, we could -" And he stopped, reached over and rubbed her soggy 
crotch. 

"No, I think not, Beast," she returned. "I'm caught up with love-making, I 
guess you'd say." 

"Then, this is good-bye, Naomie," he said, "for tomorrow, we're leaving." 

"Lovelace told me about it," she said. "I regret to see you go. Yet, the way 
things are, I wouldn't be coming back to see you." 

"And why not?" he asked. 

"Because I regained my good sense, Beast," she answered. "From now on, I'll 
play by the rules." 

She got up, moving with more vigor, as she angled toward the door, 
remembering that she'd left her clothes in Lovelace's office. 

She opened the door, turned her head and smiled at him. "Good-bye, Beast," 
she said, softly. 

"Good-bye, Naomie," he said and smiled. "I'll leave you to Jack's loving 
care." 

"No, thanks," she returned briskly. "I won't be seeing Lovelace again, 
either." She shook her head, a serious expression crossing her face. "You 
know, I was afraid of him once, but not anymore. He's to be pitied, really, 
with the kind of hang-up he's got." 

"Yeah, Jack and his wee Lolitas," the Polynesian said. "Oh, he likes that 
young stuff, but he pays for his sins with hatred of himself. A good caneing 
always brings him through, but what a helluva way to be!" 

She eased the door shut, then turned and picked her way toward Lovelace's 
office. 

Naomie, decided, now that she was a mature woman, experienced in the ways of 
the flesh, she would use her striking beauty and appealing vitality to her 
advantage instead of letting it continues to be a handicap. She knew she had 
her work cut out for her, because almost every man in town began to seek her 
favors. This, she figured, was because of the tale Lum Cash had told on her, 
that she'd badgered him to sleep with her, at least on the weekends. 

For two nights straight running, men, married men, bachelors, widowers, and 
schoolboys came by Aunt Margie's old mansion under one pretense or another - 
some with no pretense at all, and though she was firm in her dealings with 
them, letting them know that she wasn't looking for someone to sleep with on 
the weekends, or at any other time, the attention she was getting aroused 
the hostile, jealous women of the little town. Housewives put off shopping 
just to stay at home and talk about Naomie on the telephone. 

Even when Milo Burch called her into his office on Friday afternoon to warn 
her about this grave new threat to her teaching position, she was 
unperturbed. 

"Mr. Burch, since I'm not guilty of anything my accusers are saying, I'm not 
going to worry about it," she said. "Sure, a lot of men've called on me, but 
I haven't gone out with anyone this whole week." 

"Of course," he said, embarrassedly, "but you know how women gossip. It 
stems of course, from their lack of - er, pink mammary glands, but we can't 
stop them. Even my own wife, I can't shut her mouth, much less all of those 
others." 

"Just tell them that I'm leaving at the end of the year," Naomie said, "if 
you're worried about your own job." 

"Oh, I haven't even considered that!" he hastened to say. "I'm just trying 
to help you, Naomie, for you're doing a darn good job." 

"If anyone bitches to you about me, you might also tell them that I'm 
growing up fast," she said and smiled. "Tell them to consider not only what 
I've done to Riverview, but what Riverview has done to me." 

"Oh, they take in to account your youth," he said, "and what you do on your 
own time is your business... except for one thing: I wouldn't let those 
schoolboys come to see me, ever." 

"When they come, all we do is sit around and talk, Mr. Burch!" 

"But, people will talk, you know, Naomie." 

"I'll put a stop to the kids, Mr. Burch, but if I decide to date some man I 
like, I certainly won't ask you, or the school board." 

"Fine, fine!" he said, eagerly. "Just stick to that, Naomie, and I'll stand 
by you." 

Milo was glad to be done with his talk, for he was impressed by her work. 
She could tell that much, and when she left the office and went back to her 
room, she was smiling grimly. 

On walking home that afternoon, Naomie saw Jack Lovelace waiting for her at 
the gate. He was wearing a white shirt and gray Bermuda shorts and a pair of 
scuffed sneakers. She noted the melancholy look on his pale face, a face 
that looked much older to her somehow. 

She walked right up to Lovelace, confident, unafraid. "Hello, Jack," she 
greeted him. 

"Hi, Naomie," he said. "A bit cooler today, isn't it?" 

"Somewhat," she said, "but frankly, I'll be glad when fall really comes." 

She went through the gate and started up the walk, leaving Lovelace leaning 
with one elbow on the gate post. Then he called: "Naomie, I thought maybe 
you might come over this afternoon and look at my new painting? Would you?" 

"No, thanks, Jack. Women astraddle of pole-like penises just aren't my cup 
of tea," she said, a cynical note to her voice. 

"Oh, no, doll," he said quickly. 'This one is a landscape painting - country 
churchyard, to be specific." 

"No, thanks..." 

"But I need you, sweetie!" he said, a sudden desperate note to his voice. 

She stopped and turned to face him. "You told me I couldn't give you 
pleasure any more, Jack!" Pointedly. 

"You can't not with intercourse," he answered. "But with those canes, 
sweetie, you can send me above cloud nine." 

"Sorry, Jack, but beating up on weirdos is not for me!" 

"Then, I'll find another young girl! Younger than you are, sweetie!" 

She raised her arm and pointed one finger at his flushed face. "Jack 
Lovelace, I'll be watching that basement!" she bit out. "If I see you trying 
to entice one of these kids into your lair, I'm going to call the Sheriff!" 

"You wouldn't do that to me, sweetie! Look what I did for you, doll! - me 
and Beast!" 

"Yeah, just look what you did, Jack!" 

"But you're not hurt in any way, sweetie!" he said, pleadingly. "I know how 
you must have suffered at first, but now... well, show me your scars!" 

"Okay, thanks for everything, Jack," she said, hatefully. "No, I managed to 
survive without scars, or even tears now, but who can say about your next 
victim? Think about it, Jack. Next time, if there is a next time, you could 
get in serious trouble." 

"I'm not a fool," he said, bitterly. "I consider all the possibilities 
before I act, but once the fantasies take hold of me, I forget to be 
afraid." 

"Then see a good psychiatrist, Jack." 

"I've thought about doing that many times, sweetie," he said, a sad note to 
his voice, "but I've always been ashamed." 

"Why don't you go back to your South Pacific islands? From what Beast told 
me, his people condone, even encourage, young girls to engage in sex." 

He nodded. "I've even considered that," he said, "but when I retired out of 
the Navy, I thought I might find a wife- an American woman - to share my 
bed, and to take care of me in my old age, but it didn't work out. I tried a 
few women, but they did nothing for me, nor I them for that matter. I might 
just do it! Sell that old house over there and take off!" 

"For your sake, Jack, I hope you do." 

She turned and continued walking up the path. On reaching the seclusion of 
the dim-lit hallway, she stood at the door and watched Lovelace as he 
hurried across the close-cropped lawn. 

Many times since she'd left the basement in the house next door that last 
time, she had reminded herself of her determination to remain unyielding 
after that one big episode of love-making. In a sense, it was good that 
she'd encountered Beast, for he'd quenched the fires which had burned at 
such high heat in her tortured body and, coming as it did after her sad 
experience with Lovelace, it served to show her what real sex was like. 

Presently, she felt like a mature woman for the first time in her young 
life, ready to compete with other women for a promising mate. She felt 
confident that she'd find someone, for now she was unafraid. 

In the midst of her thoughts, as she relaxed in bed, she became aware of an 
unusual sound that was like somebody treading cautiously on the uncarpeted 
floor of the hall. She sat upright in bed and listened. 

Presently, squeaking faintly on rusty hinges, she could see the door 
opening. Somebody was coming into her room. But, who could it be? 

Not Lovelace. Not Robert again, surely! Then, who could it be? 

As the door could be seen opening wider and wider, Naomie gripped the spread 
with both hands, a bit frightened, not knowing who her caller could be. 

At first, breathless and motionless with fear, she did not have the ability 
to speak or to move when she saw who had come into the room. Milo Burch, his 
eyes blinking in the bright light, looked as frightened as she was. 

They both watched each other questioningly, both waiting for the other to 
speak first. 

"Mr. Burch!" Naomie said in a tremulous voice that was barely heard across 
the room. "Mr. Burch, what are you doing here?" she asked anxiously. 

Her pajamas lay folded over the foot of the bed, too far for her to reach, 
and she pulled the spread around her. It had become a habit of her's to lie 
in bed in the nude, and not put on her pajamas at all unless it was a cold 
night. Even her bathrobe was on a chair on the other side of the room. 

"Naomie, I guess you think I've flipped," Milo said at last, "and maybe I 
have, but I - well, I was just driving around a bit tonight. Sadie is 
staying with her mother down at Providence this week, and as I drove down 
your street, I saw your light and stopped." He shook his head. "I know I 
shouldn't have slipped in on you this way, but I guess even a school 
principal is human ..." 

He had not come any further into the room, and the door had not closed. She 
could almost feel his own excitement and nervousness as he stood there, as 
though surprised to find himself alone in the room with her and uncertain 
about what he was going to do next. He was bare-headed and had on the 
familiar green tie she remembered seeing him wear at school. There were 
traces of dew on the cuffs of his pants and on his shoes. 

Moving for the first time, he closed the door carefully, not locking it, and 
making as little noise as possible. 

"You see what I mean, Naomie," he said hoarsely, with an embarrassed 
hesitancy. "I know I shouldn't have slipped in on you like this, but I just 
had to do it." 

After the shock of seeing Milo enter the room she was not frightened at all. 
She was confident he would restrain himself now just as he did at school, 
and she was not particularly worried. 

"Mr. Burch, you shouldn't be here," she spoke severely, hoping to impress 
him with her firmness. "You know that, don't you, Mr. Burch?" 

Taking a quick breath, he came forward several steps. 

"Don't call anybody, Naomie," he begged, "please don't think I mean to . . 
." 

"But you can't stay here, Mr. Burch," she told him at once, laughing 
amusedly. "You'd better leave before someone sees your car." 

"Oh, I didn't park right close to the house," he said thickly. "Listen, 
Naomie, I've been thinking about you for a long time now. Please don't 
insist that I go. This's the first time I've been able to see you, like 
this. And I've been wanting to see you all week, thinking about you all the 
time. I've been outside in your yard two times this week, waiting for a 
chance to come up here. Each time I lost my nerve. I was very careful 
tonight. Nobody'll ever know." 

"Well, now that you're up here, what do you want?" she asked. 

She laughed softly in spite of herself. She knew why he'd come. Even in his 
office, with the chance that someone might walk in on them he acted as if he 
could hardly keep his hands off her. 

"Well, I - I wanted to talk to you, Naomie," he said, his face reddening. 
"To tell you how wonderful I think you are." 

"Mr. Burch, you believed what Lum Cash said, that I asked him to sleep with 
me," she said. "Don't you, Mr. Burch?" 

"Well, I - yes, I guess I did, Naomie." 

"Mr. Burch, I did say it," she confessed, "but the reason why I did it was 
to get rid of that pestering idiot." 

"I figured that, Naomie," he said, eagerly, "if you really said it at all. 
But that had nothing to do with my desire to come up here to see you. You 
see, Naomie, from the moment you appeared in the doorway of my office 
looking for a job, I've been thinking about you ... thinking how pretty and 
sweet and nice you really are. I tried to fight it, but I couldn't, not 
seeing you the way I do every day at school." 

"Mr. Burch, what kind of person would you really think I was if I let you 
stay here?" 

"I would think you're a wonderful person, Naomie. I know I like you, and 
that's all that matters." 

She remembered how he'd come into her room and stand close to her - so close 
that his body rubbed against hers - under the pretense of telling her 
something he didn't want the kids to hear. She thought about the times he'd 
have her look at achievement test scores, he holding on to the wide sheet so 
that she'd have to stand close. Some way or other, he'd always manage to 
thrust an elbow against one of her breasts. 

"Mr. Burch, what if the school board should find out about this visit?" she 
asked, sweetly - too sweetly, "and your wife?" 

His face flushed redly and he looked down at the floor, his eyes avoiding 
hers. 

"I've thought about that. You know I have!" he said hoarsely. "But I like - 
love you so much, Naomie, I really don't care what the board would do if it 
found out, or for that matter, my wife!" 

"Why, Milo Burch!" 

He raised his head and looked boldly at her again. 

"Naomie, I had to come up here. I want to look at you. I want to be where 
you are. I can't help it. I can't hang around school and look at you and not 
want to love you. You make me like you, Naomie. Maybe you don't try to, but 
you do just the same. I'll never love anybody else. You're the only one I've 
ever loved." 

"What about your wife, Mr. Burch?" 

"Sadie. Yeah, Sadie! Sure, I married her, but I don't love her. I never did. 
Her friends and my friends promoted our courtship. We were right for each 
other - she's the wrong woman for me! Sadie is the kind of person who 
hog-ties a man's spirit, drives him, tuck-tailed, into mediocrity." 

"But don't you see how impossible this is, Mr. Burch?" she said, softly, 
feeling sorry for the man. "Don't you see how it would ruin your career in 
education, even more than it would mine?" 

With a sort of mad look on his rugged face, he said, "Sure, I see how 
impossible it is, from the standpoint of my career," he answered. "But when 
you came to Riverview, I felt a change come over me. I looked at you, 
Naomie, as you walked in fluid, silken loveliness down the hallways, and I 
think I told myself life had thrown me for a loss. There I was spending the 
best years of my life riding herd a bunch of kids, Riverview kids, as mean a 
bunch of little bastards as ever wrote a four-letter word on a toilet wall! 
- associating with a bunch of girdled and trussed and talcumed women 
teachers - going home in the late afternoon to Sadie, a woman as big as a 
bale of cotton, and hearing her rant and rave until the late hours. Then you 
came along, Naomie! You're so wonderful! Your hair is so pretty to look at. 
I want to get close to you so I can feel it. If you'll only let me do that, 
I'll do anything you wish." 

He came a little closer and stood looking down at her intently. 

"I never loved anybody this way before, Naomie," he continued. "Just say the 
word and we'll leave here together tonight." 

Naomie drew the bedspread around her more securely and tried to keep her 
arms and shoulders covered. For a week she had been afraid Milo would try 
something like this, although she'd tried not to let herself think about it. 
It had never occurred to her, though, that he would actually do something 
this rashly - come slipping into her room in the night. But now he was here, 
standing only a step away, and begging her to let him make love to her. 

Holding the covers around her, she wondered if anyone as inexperienced as 
Milo seemed to be really thought he knew what it was to make love. She 
understood Milo's dilemma, only too well. Here he was, approaching the 
middle period of his life, stuck with a bitch like Sadie, and abandoned to 
the whims of smalltown people. On top of it, Sadie was pregnant, and the 
poor bastard was nearly crazy for a piece of ass. Well, in that case, rather 
than get in serious trouble, why hadn't he driven down to Providence and 
found a prostitute and got him some? 

A few days ago, out of pity perhaps, she would have let Milo come to bed 
with her. Since she'd learned a few things, she didn't think it best now. If 
I loved him, she thought. But obviously, she didn't. No, she wouldn't 
accommodate him out of sympathy. It was no fault of hers that he'd brought 
her into his sexual fantasies, but right then, she felt less bitterness 
toward Jack Lovelace. When it came to sex, all men were weak, if a girl 
happened to get caught up in their fantasies, and it didn't matter who that 
man was, or what he claimed to be. It could happen to a wicked old sailor 
like Jack Lovelace, or to a so-called "gentleman" like Milo Burch. 

She tried to imagine what she would do if she were not teaching school and 
he were not her principal, and if he had come into her room like this. She 
knew she could like him - could like him too much for her own good, for he 
did have rugged good looks and she sensed that he had a lot of driving 
manhood, if he ever got a chance to use it with some woman other than Sadie. 

During the last few days, she'd purposely avoided Robert Vining to keep 
herself from becoming fonder of him, but even though she and Robert were 
about the same age, she doubted that she'd be satisfied with a boy, knowing 
what a man could do. 

"I want to make love to you, Naomie," Milo said boldly. "It's been on my 
mind ever since you came to Riverview." 

"Just what do you think I am?" she snapped. 

"A fine, lovely, full-bodied girl, Naomie!" he said. "I love you very much." 

"Hand me my pajamas, Mr. Burch!" she demanded. "I guess I'll have to put 
them on under the bedspread." 

"You mean to say ..." And he stopped, then quickly continued with: "You're 
lying there in the nude?" 

"It so happens that I am, Milo," she said cooly. "If I'd known you were 
coming, I'd have dressed appropriately, but to completely relax, I like to 
pull off everything." 

She saw him swallow hard, saw the way his eyes sort of went smoky with lust. 

Instead of Milo getting the pajamas, he came a step closer to be bed, his 
face flaming with desire. "I'll - I'll go away with you, Naomie," he 
repeated eagerly. "Any time, anywhere!" 

"You don't know what you're saying, Milo. I could never do a thing like 
that. It's absurd. Even if there were no other reasons, there's too much 
difference in our ages." 

Abashed by her unsympathetic attitude, he remained quiet after that, a hurt 
look on his face. 

"I'm sorry, Milo," she said, kindly, "but you've got to realize that." 

With an agile movement, he was at the side of the bed. He quickly sat down. 

"Naomie, I want to tell you something." 

"I don't want to hear it." 

"But it's about you and me." 

"I won't listen, Milo." 

"Let me come closer and tell you, Naomie." 

"No, Milo," firmly she refused. 

He sat there watching her undecidedly for a while, then she saw him moving 
toward her again. 

"Naomie -" 

"If you come any closer, I'll scream. I mean it, Milo." 

"Don't do that!" he said, quickly moving away from her. 

They sat in silence for a long time. Several dogs were barking, the sounds 
coming from various parts of town. A breeze from the Gulf Coast was blowing 
over the swampland, rustling the branches of the trees outside the window 
and making the window sash tap and creak. 

"Naomie, I don't want anybody else to like you. I'm that jealous," he said. 
"I can hardly stand to see those boys eying you the way they do. It makes me 
want to knock the hell out of them." 

"Milo, I want you to promise me something," she said uneasily. "If you care 
for me as much as you say, you will promise. It's the only way you can prove 
that you mean it." 

"What do you want me to promise?" he asked suspiciously. 

"I want you to promise - that if I let you -" 

"Yes, yes, Naomie!" he said eagerly through dry, feverish, quivering lips. 

She put her arms around his neck, and then with a violence that left her 
breathless he had both of his arms around her. After that, unresisting and 
submissive, she lay against the strong muscular hardness of his body while 
he hugged her with ravening hunger. Her eyes closing, she tried to think 
what she could do after that to make him leave. She did not regret what she 
had done, but she knew, as she waited longer and longer for the time to come 
when she would try to make him leave, it was going to be even more 
difficult. She had intended making him promise that if she gave him some 
pussy, he would leave her alone, not only here, but at school as well. But 
now it didn't seem like the proper thing to do. Maybe he really is in love 
with me, she thought, and not nearly crazy with desire because his wife is 
pregnant. Well... he was indeed nearly crazy with desire, because she could 
see his organ bulging out, and his breathing came raggedly, as if he'd just 
jogged three miles. 

"Milo, you didn't promise -" 

"I'll promise anything if you'll let me stay here now, Naomie!" 

Before she could say anything, his arms tightened around her possessively. 
She tried to resist an overwhelming desire that suddenly came over her. 
However, she found herself pressing her warm body affectionately against the 
tense hardness of his manhood. 

"Milo, if I let you kiss me, the way you want, just once -" 

"What will I have to promise?" he said. 

She moved her face against his, tightening her arms around him. 

"Nothing," she whispered. "Don't promise, just kiss me the way you want." 

With the first touch of his lips, it was easy to forget how he came to be 
there and how she had tried to make him leave. Whether or not she ever 
regretted what she was doing, she knew she did not want him to go away and 
leave her. 

Just before the Thanksgiving Holidays, when the Riverview Weekly Leader hit 
the street (and later, the out-door toilets on the outlying farms), the town 
was a-buzz over- of all things! - the story in small type of the Riverview 
School Board proceedings which was usually completely over-looked by 
everyone except school bus drivers who'd been fired, or the few parents 
who'd had children expelled for smoking pot on the campus. 

Ash Wilkes, on taking the paper and retreating to a chair, opened it and 
discovered the sensational notice the board had given about the resignations 
of Milo Burch and Naomie Constantine. 

Wilkes read the proceedings twice, pausing to look a third time at what Milo 
had to say to the board: ".... Since I have recently filed for divorce and 
plan to marry Miss Constantine in the near future, both Miss Constantine and 
I feel duty-bound to resign immediately, to save the Board and the community 
unneeded embarrassment...." 

The following Wednesday afternoon, just after school let out for the 
week-long Thanksgiving Holiday season, the whole town turned out to watch 
Milo Burch drive down Main Street to the old house where Naomie, her 
suitcases lined up outside the gate, stood waiting. 

In a little while, Milo's car came back down Main, picking up speed after it 
crossed the last stoplight. Despite the car's increased speed as it swept 
past the courthouse, all of the sitters on the green benches could plainly 
see just how close Naomie was sitting to Milo. 

"I'll say one thing -" the Clerk-of-court said, as the car disappeared 
around a curve, "Milo Burch is going to be one happy man this night!" 


THE END
