The Navy Wife
by Michael Jaegger
(LLP-256)


FOREWORD 

Reading this new novel by author Michael Jaegger one finds himself recalling 
the age-old question: "Tell me, all ye wise men, who is the most virtuous? 
The child-like woman who, finding joy through love and giving, sleeps with a 
hundred men... or the god-fearing, church-going woman who allows a hundred 
thousand to be sacrificed in war?" 

When the "child-like woman" just happens to be Dorothy Conklin, then the 
reader had better be forewarned that he is about to meet one of modern 
fiction's most beguiling heroines in a rollicking, bawdy expose of the 
lingerie fashion show industry. On a deeper level, the novel looks at the 
plight of a big beautiful blonde woman too physically attractive for her own 
good, a woman who is constantly perplexed by the complicated games society 
plays with itself, a woman whose gullibility and innocence serves as a 
magnet attracting those who will use her. 

Skillfully blending a combination of sexual candor, humour, intrigue and 
suspense, The Navy Wife has come up with a compelling portrait of an 
unforgettable woman. Dorothy Conklin is a newly-wed Navy wife, whose husband 
has gone off on a six-month tour of duty. Her husband's ship has barely 
disappeared over the horizon before Dan Conklin, the father-in-law, is 
attempting to take advantage of her inherent good nature and naivete. To 
escape him, she agrees to become a model for the Mister Bates lingerie line 
- a job that requires travel throughout the western part of the United 
States. From then on our heroine has more adventures than the other Dorothy 
in the "Wizard of Oz". Betrayed by a woman she feels is her protector, 
Dorothy is first left in a Beverly Hills hotel room with two suave 
seductors. In San Francisco, the two "nice female" buyers turn out to be 
more interested in Dorothy's body than her lingerie. It is not until 
Sacramento, when she finds herself locked in a suite with three men, that 
our heroine finally realizes the full extent of the deception. 

By then, her fate has been sealed. Out of the ashes of her humiliation, a 
new Dorothy arises - one who ruefully admits that she is "a good girl" no 
more. And yet, no matter what Dorothy will do in the future, no reader could 
ever agree with her self-indictment, for at the end of the novel she is 
still innocent, still beguiling, still "not very bright". She is the 
personification of the philosophy of the old poem: There is so much good in 
the worst of us, And so much bad in the best of us, That it ill behooves any 
of us, To find fault with the rest of us. 

The publishers would like to point out that this story and its characters 
are purely fictional. 

Any similarity between the Mister Bates Company or its models and any 
lingerie manufacturer is purely coincidental; nor should the "fashion shows" 
depicted herein be construed as actual operations of any lingerie firm. 

-The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Muted sounds of soft, seductive music could be heard coming from the private 
lounge as Bette Harding carefully arranged the lingerie in the order in 
which she would be wearing it during the show, starting with the slips and 
nightgowns and ending with the bikini briefs which were really nothing more 
than wisps of cloth that were designed to fire the imagination. 

Finished, she gazed around at the three other girls. Angelique, the 27 
year-old statuesque negress, was just as neat as Bette Angelique, who spoke 
with a French accent and claimed to be from Martinique, really turned on 
most of the men at the show... usually those from the deep South. The French 
bit was just an act, Bette knew, because her real name was Angel Washington, 
and she had been born and raised in Los Angeles before graduating from UCLA. 

Cora and Sue, the two other girls - both blondes - had tossed their outfits 
haphazardly on the chair. Once the show got started, they would be in a mild 
state of panic trying to remember what they were supposed to wear next, and 
Marie Grosset would have to ad-lib until they made their appearance. 

"Holy mackerel, Andy! Would you'all look at dis?" Angelique exclaimed in 
mock negro voice as she held up a pair of blood red bikini panties 
consisting of nothing more than a four inch heart in front and a six inch 
heart in back. Two thin red pieces of elastic held the two hearts together. 

Cora had stripped and now had put on her first garment. It was a nightgown 
made of white nylon, fashioned in such a way that it looked as if the woman 
were wearing a white choir robe, only this gown had two large five-inch 
empty circles where the breasts normally were and at the crotch there was a 
black fur and feather-lined vertical opening. She paused, staring at her 
blonde petiteness in the mirror, then spun around to Bette. "I've got to 
hand it to him, he may be the biggest faggot in the business, but old Master 
Bates can really design clothes." 

Angelique snorted at the sobriquet. Tommie Bates, one of the country's 
leading designers of woman's boudoir fashions, put out his clothes under the 
Mister Bates label. The models, predictably enough, had lost no time in 
nicknaming him Master Bates, a term of endearment that he and his 
tight-pants boy friends thought was "simply delightful!" 

Mister Bates's headquarters were in Hollywood. The manufacturing was done in 
nearby southern Los Angeles where he had almost two hundred women working 
around the clock for him, sewing, cutting, packing, and shipping. He held 
four big shows a year - two in Hollywood, one in Chicago, and one in New 
York - all legitimate and above board, with fairly heavy coverage by the 
world's fashion press and newspapers. 

There was another facet of his operation that was not so well known: his 
"special designs" which were too daring to model at the big quarterly 
exhibits. These were shown at special invitational shows, catering to select 
clientele, which travelled up and down the west coast. Price of admission to 
the "special design" shows usually ranged from ten to twenty dollars; they 
were well attended because free champagne was poured during the show. 

Orders for merchandise were taken and, afterwards, one could sometimes mix 
with the models... all of whom were selected for their richly endowed bodies 
and abilities to make a man feel like a man. If Marie Grosset knew you, or 
if you were recommended by a friend of hers, there was always the 
possibility of "further entertainment" with the models, which was a nice way 
of saying the girls would go to bed with you, providing you had placed an 
order for enough merchandise. Each "order" had to be accompanied by a cash 
deposit of $100 which was not refundable in case you decided to cancel the 
order at a later date. 

The girls got $60 for each order, Marie Grosset and Tommie Bates split the 
balance and the admission fees. 

All things considered, it was a good deal for everyone concerned... for the 
hungry men who had a chance to make out with some really stunning women; for 
Tommie and Marie who each had an extra thousand dollars a week income which 
they wouldn't have had otherwise, for the models who usually took home 
between five and six hundred dollars a week. 

And that was why Bette Harding hated to give up her place in Marie Grosset's 
stable, why she had to convince Marie to give her a leave of absence during 
the busiest time of the year when conventions were being held all over 
Northern and Central California. 

As if reading her thoughts, Angelique turned to the redhead and asked, "You 
told her yet, honey?" 

"Haven't had a chance." 

"Well, isn't your hubby due home next week?" 

Bette sighed, "Yeh. His ship's due in Long Beach on the twentieth." 

Angelique reverted to her phony negress stage accent and rolled her eyes, 
"Ummmm... ummph! The trouble you'all gets into when you has a steady man!" 
Then, grinning, she abruptly changed back to her normal unaccented voice and 
said, "It was old Ambrose Bierce baby who commented that, 'A husband is 
simply a lover with a two-days growth of beard, his collar off, and a bad 
cold in the head'." 

Bette remained silent; the negress was just talking. She knew that Angelique 
had been completely happy, deeply in love and married to a promising young 
black doctor who had been lost in a helicopter crash in Vietnam three years 
before. A short time later, the tall negress had quit her job in mid-term as 
a school teacher and gone to work with Marie. 

Bette began stripping completely in preparation for the show. As she removed 
her skirt and blouse, the mirror reflected a figure that was far too 
voluptuous for the fashion magazines, but was just right for modeling 
lingerie and slinky nightgowns. Her long red hair fell in soft waves across 
her left shoulder, and when she removed the blue-laced upthrust bra, the 
hair was long enough to completely cover the one bountiful mound of 
succulent flesh and its nipple. She kicked off her high heels, losing three 
inches in height in the process, then quickly unfastened her powder blue 
garter belt, pulling it and the sheer nylons off with one smooth motion. The 
scanty robin's egg blue nylon panties came next, revealing she was, in fact, 
a true red-head, for the rather large patch of soft curly pubic hair was the 
colour of an autumn fox's fur. It was obvious, from the thin white lines 
around her fully gently curved buttocks, that her swim suits were just as 
brief as her panties. She was tanned all over, except for these two white 
bands. 

Bette picked up her first garment, a sheer black nylon sleeping outfit which 
looked more like a pair of hot pants with over-sized suspenders. The 
one-inch braces were designed to cover the nipples but leave the breasts 
uncovered. She had just put it on when the svelte figure of Marie Grosset 
appeared in the mirror with her. 

Marie, looking like a rich society matron with long blonde curls and wearing 
a figure-hugging black crepe dress that must have cost in excess of $600, 
cocked her head to one side critically. "Looks good on you, but you'd better 
use a bit of Max Factor number one on your breasts. They're too tanned. And, 
honey, in the future do both of us a favor... wear a big, big cup bra when 
you're outside in the sun. Men like breasts to be nice and white." 

"Oh, yeh," Angelique snorted, "that's what you think." 

The retort brought a round of laughter, even from the usually business-like 
Marie, and Bette immediately decided to ask for a leave of absence right now 
as long as the show coordinator was in such a good mood. 

Marie looked thoughtful and just a trifle displeased when Bette finished 
explaining her predicament. Finally she answered, "I don't know. We don't 
usually grant leaves except for illness." 

"Look," Bette pled, "it's only for six months. His ship will be pulling out 
then for another eight or nine months. I can still work some noon shows and 
occasionally an afternoon show, providing I'm at home nights." Then she 
played her trump card, "I can even furnish my own replacement for six 
months... a really darling blonde, built about the same as Angelique here 
and almost as tall." She looked thoughtful, then added, "Not particularly 
bright, but cute." 

Marie said quickly, unable to hide a half-grin, "I've never noticed that 
intelligence was a particular asset in this business." 

Angelique rolled her eyes and groaned, "Ouch... right where it hurts." 

Marie glanced down at her program notes, not really seeing them, as she 
evaluated the situation. It would be rather dramatic, she thought, to have 
two really tall, well-built women - one white, one black - on stage at the 
same time. During the disrobing scenes, where two girls helped a third 
undress, it might prove spectacular as hell. Suddenly she made up her mind. 
"Okay. We'll try it. Does she know us, I mean, she knows what's expected of 
the girls after the show?" One look at Bette's face gave her the answer, and 
she added, "What makes you think she'll agree to it?" 

"Hunch, maybe. Anyway, why don't you schedule a special show... with friends 
who would understand if she balked at the last minute. I'll work it free. As 
a matter of fact, if you schedule two or three specials, I'D work them all 
for nothing while I'm breaking her in and she's getting used to our 
routine." 

The show coordinator glanced down at her watch, then nodded. "All right. 
Have her at the Hotel Robertson at seven on Thursday. Will that give you 
time enough to talk to her? Bette nodded, and Marie continued, "Dinner, 
cocktails, then upstairs. Do you want any special equipment?" 

"How about the sixteen millimetre projector and a good film." 

"Right." Marie jotted a note down to remind her, then clapped her hands for 
attention. 

"Okay, girls. Let's get this show on the road. We have forty drooling, 
impatient members of the League of California Cities out there just dying to 
spend a little of their expense money. Let's not disappoint them." 

When Bette made her appearance on stage a couple of minutes later wearing 
the black nylon gown that looked like hot pants and suspenders, there was a 
great deal of applause, a few whistles and a wolf-call or two. "Just wait, 
you horny bastards, until I come out with the harem outfit," she mentally 
said, smiling boldly at the audience and putting thumbs under the suspenders 
and lifting them out and away from her breasts as though she were proud of 
something. 

She concentrated on making her body and the gown look good, and was only 
vaguely aware of Marie's continuity, "... black imported nylon, with a 
zipper that runs from the waist in front all the way down the crotch and all 
the way up the back. A beautiful treasure chest... for you alone... and so 
very comfortable and smart. Only one hundred and fifty dollars... another 
stunning Mister Bates original." 

As Marie spoke, Betty lifted eyebrows, teasing the audience and pulled the 
zipper down about three inches. There were loud shouts of "More... further," 
and one groaning plea, "Come on, show us how the zipper works." Bette walked 
to stage right, near the curtains, then with one quick tug yanked the zipper 
down all the way to her pubic patch and disappeared before anyone could 
actually see anything. Loud groans of disappointment and ribald laughter 
followed her. 

Bette and the girls worked the show automatically, barely listening to 
Marie's dialogue but always managing to catch the important cue lines. They 
knew the audience had passed the basic curiosity mark so far as the clothes 
were concerned and now were becoming interested in only the bodies of the 
women. By the end of the thirty minute show, several of the men were openly 
perspiring, their rasping breath indicative of their arousal. 

As the finale, Bette appeared on stage for the Harem number, wearing a 
diaphanous long flowing red toga that clung lovingly to her long thighs and 
breasts. The men fell silent as the two "harem maids" appeared to assist 
her. Angelique was wearing the heart-shaped panties and no bra; the overhead 
lights shone like a hundred tiny little lamps reflected in the perfumed oil 
with which her warm bronze breasts had been anointed. Her long black hair 
was tied loosely back with a golden cord which fell to the rounded curves of 
her copper-coloured buttocks. Beside her was the petite blonde figure of Sue 
wearing a transparent pair of harem pants through which her Mound of Venus 
and its golden patch of pubic hair could plainly be seen. When she bowed to 
Bette, her perfect little white breasts hung like heavy ripe fruit waiting 
to be plucked. 

Marie's seductive voice came from behind the curtains, "And for your special 
lady, a complete harem outfit. Pants and toga made of highly sensual 
imported Japanese silk which, next to your bare skin or hers feels like the 
soft breath of heaven. A lovely design which Mister Bates has borrowed from 
the ancient Byzantium and Mohammedan cultures. 

Your own obedient harem slave, ready to do anything you request of her. The 
outfit consists of the toga, pants, and the Mister Bates exclusive Oil de 
Aphrodite. The toga is easily removed... " As Marie uttered the cue line, 
Angelique and Sue-their breasts straining-reached out their arms and, 
working in unison, unbuttoned the bodice. Stepping back, they slowly pulled 
the garment apart and removed it from her arms. 

Bette stood there, her upper torso bare. She made one little teasing yawn as 
though she were actually preparing for bed. 

Marie continued, "... the harem pants are held up by elastic and are easily 
removed." 

Several members of the audience swallowed noisily as Angelique and Sue each 
hooked a thumb over the elastic top and pulled the pants down across Bette's 
gently rounded flanks and smooth thighs. There was a low groan from a man in 
the front row as the two girls kneeled in subservience at the tall 
red-head's feet, their faces only inches away from the autumn fox fur 
coloured pubic mound. Bette put her hands down on their shoulders for 
support, then lifted first one foot then the other to facilitate removal of 
the rest of the garment. She was completely and splendidly naked now. Once 
again she yawned - this time prodigiously - and lifted her arms high above 
her head causing her melon-like breasts to quiver with a life of their own. 

Marie said, "... And then, before she slips between your sheets to become 
your slave, you anoint her body with delightfully scented Oil de Aphrodite, 
which Mister Bates developed from an ancient formula used for centuries by 
the concubines of emperors and sultans." 

As Marie recited her commentary, Angelique and Sue poured the scented oil 
into the palms of their hands and began rubbing it over Bette's trembling 
nude body. 

The sight of the tall negress and petite blonde oiling the red-head's 
breasts and buttocks had brought the spectators to a fever-pitch of 
excitement. Within seconds the girls had covered Bette's body with a fine 
sheen of oil, then they rubbed their oily palms over their own bodies. 
Moving at a verbal cue from Marie, they all three simultaneously stepped out 
of the well-lighted stage area into the darkened audience. 

"And the scent of this powerful oil is guaranteed to invigorate even the 
most jaded of appetites," Marie said, as the taped music began playing 
louder. "The entire outfit and oil, only two hundred and fifty dollars." 

The models wandered through the audience permitting the men to smell the oil 
as Marie concluded the show. These men were no different than any 
others-perhaps a trifle more conservative than the travelling salesmen 
conventions, but lively nonetheless. The girls had a saying among themselves 
that it was easy enough to know which man or men had "grabbed ass" during 
the parade through the room, all you had to do was smell their hands, and 
the oil would be a dead give-away. 

With one last rise in the music's volume, Marie said, "And that concludes 
our show for this evening. Thank you for attending. Representatives of 
Mister Bates will be on hand to answer any questions you might have and take 
orders." The lights came up and the models quickly moved away and back 
stage. 

Marie was consulting a clipboard as the girl's arrived. "Good show," she 
grunted. "Here are your room assignments. Bette, two three two. A double 
order." Bette nodded her understanding. -Two men wanted her; she would 
receive a double commission. "Cora, Sue, you're to work as a team with a 
gentleman from Los Angeles. Room number four three nine. Angelique, three oh 
six. These are prepaid orders, and when you're ready to take another buyer, 
ring me in the reception room, two two one. Thank you, girls. That's all." 

When Bette dressed in her street clothes got to room 232, she wasn't too 
surprised to see Charlie Webb, the tall, mustachioed, genial city manager of 
San Sebastiano, in the company of another man. She had known Charlie was in 
the audience, for he had run his hand familiarly between the crevice of her 
buttocks when she had been walking through the dimly-lighted audience; and 
he had whispered, "That's from San Sebastiano, the goose capitol of the 
world!" Now, both men turned with cocktail glasses in their hands as she 
entered. 

"Hello, honey," Charlie boomed. "How's my girl?" 

"Just fine, Charlie. Have you been staying healthy?" 

"Do you mean, can I still get one up?" He guffawed at his own crude humor. 
"This here is His Honor, Mack Davidson, our beloved mayor." 

Bette nodded her head at the Mayor, who licked his lips nervously. She knew 
the type: he hadn't had much, if any, experience with play for pay women. He 
was probably some poor sap of a druggist or grocer who had been voted in as 
mayor of the small city. And now in the company of the League's powerful 
lobbyists and shyster attorneys, he was completely out of his element. 

Charlie Webb continued, "I've been telling Mack, here, what a tremendous 
blow job you give." 

The mayor actually squirmed in embarrassment, and Bette abruptly felt sorry 
for him. 

"Charlie, baby," she said, "you're really too much. How about pouring me a 
drink? I'm hot from working the show." 

"Honey, I hope you're hot because I've got some hose here to put out your 
little old fire." 

He grabbed his penis through his trousers and tightened his fingers around 
the bulge. 

It was the mayor who finally made the drink for her. 

Bette had taken only one sip before Charlie was unbuttoning her blouse with 
one hand and running his other up and down her inner thighs. 

"God-damn," she said, as his finger insinuated itself between the elastic 
leg band of her nylon panties, "You don't waste any time, do you?" 

"Honey, I gotta Cum and go tonight. Our wives are waiting for us back at the 
hotel." 

Bette glanced over toward the mayor and saw his flush had deepened with 
mention of his wife, but whether he knew it or not, his heightened colour 
was also coming from increased interest as he watched Charlie Webb begin 
finger fucking the attractive red-headed model. 

Bette obediently bent her shoulders forward as Charlie began fumbling with 
her bra. A moment later he goosed her to stand up and deftly removed her 
skirt, leaving only the bikini panties and garter belt. Mack Davidson stood, 
bug-eyes, as Charlie removed his own trousers and shirt, then told the model 
to finish undressing him. The mayor was snapped out of his stupor when 
Charlie asked, laughing, "Hey, Mack. What's wrong? 

Aren't changing your mind about the blow job, are you?" 

"Hell, no," he answered with unnecessary gruffness. 

Bette went down on her knees in front of Charlie Webb, assisting him in the 
removal of his jockey shorts. His stiff, elongated cock leapt to freedom, 
and throbbed in the air. "Stand up, honey," he crooned. I'm going to take 
those little old panties of yours off, then I'm going to fuck you dog 
fashion... while you give old Mack here one of your world famous blow jobs." 

Bette stood and allowed Charlie to pull down her skimpy nylon panties. 
Although she hadn't seen him for over four months, and there had been at 
least a hundred and twenty different men since, she remembered that he liked 
to have a woman keep on her garter belt... so she made no effort to loosen 
it. Mack Davidson actually was so nervous he was having trouble getting out 
of his clothes. 

Bette smiled knowingly and went over, kneeling in front of him, and removed 
his shoes so he could get his pants off; she tossed the trousers in a heap 
at the end of the couch, then reached up and peeled his shorts down. His 
prick, like a stubby little cannon was elevated and ready to fire. 

Bette bent her head down closer to the throbbing fleshy shaft and saw the 
tiny blue and red capillaries running around the trunk. Here and there 
through the muscular flesh, she saw one blue vein pulsating with each beat 
of his heart as the body moved more blood and energy to this scene of 
action. 

Tantalizingly, she brushed her long red hair back and forth across the 
purplish head of the cock and was rewarded with a low moan from the mayor. 
He made one impatient little punch upward, but she teasingly ducked her 
ovalled mouth away. 

She felt her hips being grasped by Charlie Webb and elevated slightly, then 
his middle finger was probing her vaginal crevice-sliding imperiously 
between the perspiration dampened cuntal lips. She knew he had to work only 
a few seconds before her natural lubrication took over. While the city 
manager was preparing her, she bent forward and unfastened the bottom three 
buttons of Mack Davidson's starched white shirt, opening it to reveal a 
belly that was matted with thick black and gray hair. Oddly enough, his 
pubic hair was all black, and his long hard cock looked startlingly white in 
contrast. 

Now she felt Charlie's fingers drawing away from her to be replaced by the 
feel of his warm throbbing prick sliding up and down the moistened hot slit 
of pink, pouting pussy lips. Satisfied she was ready, he forced her knees 
further apart and began a gentle pressure at the cuntal entrance, a pressure 
that rapidly increased in intensity. 

The moment the pressure began, Bette reached out and grabbed the mayor's 
cock with her left hand. He had become so excited by the swishing of her 
hair back and forth across his penis that the mushroomed head now had one 
large pearl of hot viscous seminal fluid oozing from the glans. With her 
other hand, she cradled his hairy, pendulous scrotum, gently teasing and 
squeezing it and bringing a gasp of delight from his throat. 

The second she felt the throbbing head of Charlie Webb's prick make entry 
into her cuntal cavern, she bent forward and made one swipe with her tongue 
at the sensitive underside of the mayor's cock. 

"Ummm," he moaned, then groaned loudly as she took the pulsating knob of his 
cock into the warm moist oval of her mouth. She kept it there, without 
moving her head, running her tongue around and around the instrument, and 
hearing the abandoned mewls of animal pleasure coming from the mayor. 

Bette pulled her mouth away just long enough to say, "Oh, Charlie, baby! If 
you only knew how good your prick feels in there. Oh, God. It's heaven." 

Then she bent forward and began slavering up and down the entire length of 
the mayor's cock as Charlie began to make long smooth thrusts deep up into 
the warmest hidden regions of her pussy. She was only vaguely aware of the 
mayor's sudden frantic activity as he reached down and grasped her long red 
hair in his hands and began thrusting his rapidly ballooning cock into her 
throat. Christ, she thought, he's a fast one, I've only been working on him 
for a minute. 

"I'm... I'm cumming," he snorted, and Bette began a harder suction, using 
her tongue to scrape maddeningly at the underside while her teeth gently 
nibbled at the top. A moment later, she heard him give one gasp, then 
attempt to shove his prick all the way down her throat. Abruptly, the cock 
was spurting, spewing out its hot white load of impatient semen deep into 
her voracious mouth and throat. She gulped loudly, never once stopping her 
suction, and helped him reach a peak of ecstatic pleasure he had never 
achieved before. 

Behind her, Charlie continued to work smoothly away, grinning all the time 
at the lust constricted face of San Sebastiano's little mayor. A moment 
later, he heard the sucking noise cease as Mack Davidson reluctantly pulled 
his rapidly deflating cock from her hungry mouth. 

Bette turned to look back at Charlie; he saw the silver sheen of cum on her 
lips and at the side of her mouth. She said, "Harder, Charlie. Fuck Harder! 
Jesus. You feel great." He smiled in triumph, then began making deeper and 
more violent thrusts into the warm cavity where he could feel muscles 
twitching and pulling at his prick, as though he had inadvertently stuck his 
pecker into a milking machine. 

"Oh, honey, that's never felt so good before. You're wonderful... your 
beautiful cock... " She continued to mouth the phrases, all lies, not 
feeling a thing except the prick rhythmically sawing back and forth, in and 
out of her cunt. She could have felt something if she had concentrated on 
it, but her mind was elsewhere... thinking about a tall, not very bright 
Navy wife, who-whether the girl knew it or not-was going to be her summer 
replacement in Marie Grosset's stable of paid prostitutes. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Yes, sir! My boy Bill can really pick them," Dan Conklin said for at least 
the tenth time that evening, as his hot hungry gaze roamed boldly up and 
down the tall, well-built blonde's curvaceous figure so enticingly revealed 
by a clinging Kelly green silk crepe mini. 

Dorothy Conklin's big brown eyes watched with some apprehension as her 
father-in-law poured his third healthy Scotch and soda since they had 
returned home from the Star Room where they had dined and danced for almost 
four hours. She liked Dan; he was absolutely the best father-in-law any new 
bride could ask for-handsome, cool, smart, considerate, fun! 

As west coast Sales Manager for a publishing firm, Dan was constantly 
traveling throughout the thirteen western states. He was in the Los Angeles 
area every three weeks or so. The last two times in the city, he had stayed 
with his son's new wife, Dorothy.- She had been glad to have the company, 
feeling his visits were a welcome relief from the boring monotony of being a 
housewife in a home where the husband was gone. Bill, her Navy Lieutenant 
Commander husband, and she had been married less than five months before his 
ship was assigned to the Fifth Fleet operating somewhere in the South 
Pacific. 

Now he was gone for at least six months, maybe longer and-frankly-she was 
bored stiff from watching television every night and having to turn down all 
sorts of fun invitations to parties... even the parties thrown by the next 
door neighbors. She had thought about enrolling in the University's night 
school and taking some mind-improving courses, had even enthusiastically 
written Bill to say she was planning to enroll in college. When she had a 
chance to think about it a couple days later, however, she said aloud to 
herself, "Now isn't that foolish, Dorothy? Here you are talking about going 
to college and you didn't even finish the tenth grade." And, somehow, the 
thought of sitting in class and being stared at by all the college boys just 
didn't appeal to her; it never had appealed to her and that was one of the 
reasons she had quit school so early... that and the difficulties she had 
with mathematics, language, science, geography, history and social science. 
She had done poorly in physical education too, this mainly because even in 
those days her breasts had been so full that it really was discomforting to 
run and jump. Dorothy had often said, "I'm just a dumb blonde, I guess." 
Hardly anyone, not even Bill, contradicted her. 

She had accepted as a fact of her life that she was not "bright", but 
Dorothy knew she was smart enough to recognize a man on the make .. and when 
that man happened to be your father-in-law, and the girl had had a little 
too much to drink, then a person really had trouble on her hands. 

Earlier in the evening, when they had been dancing in the dimly-lighted Star 
Room and Dan was holding her so close that she could feel his penis poking 
against her abdomen, he had jokingly said, "You know the Bible says that a 
father must take care of his son's wife-her needs material and physical-when 
her husband is away in the service of his country. First Corinthians, six, 
fifteen... hike!" 

Dorothy had been almost positive something like that wasn't really in the 
Bible, but you never could tell; they had some pretty kooky things in there 
sometimes, things like: "How can he be clean who is born of a woman?" and 
"Let your women keep silent in the churches, for it is not permitted that 
they speak." She had learned these from a bespectacled effeminate theology 
student and part-time employee of the insurance company where Dorothy, 
before her marriage, had worked as a switchboard operator. 

She watched, through leery eyes, as Dan put down his drink and went over to 
the stereo set. "How about a little dance music?" he said. 

"Dan, it's awfully late. The neighbors will complain." 

"Ah, I'll play it real low. Come on; let's dance some more." 

Dorothy made it a point of never fibbing to people, mainly because it was 
too hard to remember exactly what she had told them, whereas if you always 
told the truth, you didn't have to worry about tripping yourself up. She 
told a fib now, however, when she said, "I've had too much to drink and I 
have a terrible headache. Please excuse me, but I'm going to bed." 

Disappointment was written all over Dan's face, but she didn't waver. Things 
could very easily get out of control if she weren't careful, and the worse 
thing could happen would be to let Dan get his arms around her, dancing. He 
had been aroused earlier in the evening, and now in the privacy of her own 
house-away from the inhibiting crowds at the Star Room-she was almost at his 
mercy if he decided to make a pass at her. And Lord knows, she thought, I'm 
not a refrigerator; BUI had been gone a month and I could use a little 
loving... but only from my husband. 

"Good night," she said, smiling sincerely, and hoping she wasn't hurting his 
feelings. 

Oddly enough, it didn't occur to her to get angry; Dan Conklin was a man, 
and men had been making passes at her since she was thirteen years old... 
and it was a tribute to her convictions and will-power that she had 
successfully fended them all off until she met Bill. He had been so 
surprised at her virginity that he was in a state of shock for three days 
before asking her to marry him right away. 

"Ah, don't be a spoil sport. Have another drink... it'll help the headache," 
Dan wheeled. 

"No, Good night." 

He shrugged, then added, "Okay, if you want to be anti-social. After all, I 
guess it is asking too much of a beautiful young girl like you to put up 
with an old man like me." 

She had hurt him. "Oh, Dan! Please don't say that. You aren't old. Why I 
know lots of kids twenty years old that aren't as young as you are. And I 
love being with you. You're the coolest father-in-law any girl could have. 
And ordinarily I would dance with you and have another drink, but I'm so 
tired and my head hurts." 

He sighed deeply. "Okay. Good night." 

She hesitated, staring into his eyes in an effort to see if he was still 
wounded by her refusal to dance. The only message she could read in those 
orbs was one which told her she had better get to her own bedroom right away 
because Dan could become very hard to handle. "Good night," she said, 
primly, then went quickly to her room and closed the door behind her. 

She had undressed and gotten into the apricot yellow ankle-length nylon 
night gown that Bill had bought her when she remembered she hadn't brushed 
her teeth or gone to the toilet as she usually did before retiring. The only 
kind of robe she had in her closet was a mid-calf black nylon wrap around. 
For at least a minute she deliberated whether to go out now or wait until 
she was sure Dan had gone to bed. She listened at the door. It seemed 
awfully quiet out there, so maybe he had already gone to his own bedroom. 
She wrapped the robe around her long yellow nightgown and went out. 

Dan was sitting on the couch staring at her. When he saw how she was 
dressed, his face lit up in a huge wolfish grin of pleasure. 

Blushing furiously, Dorothy quickly made her way to the toilet and did her 
duties, then returned to the bedroom, studiously avoiding looking at Dan 
while crossing the living room. 

Back in her room, she tossed the black mid-calf robe on the little stool in 
front of the dressing table and picked up the hair brush, running the stiff 
bristles several times down the entire golden length of her blonde tresses. 
Somewhat fuzzily she watched herself in the mirror. Bill had bought this 
gown and had told her the first night she had worn it that it was the 
sexiest thing he had ever seen. It was easy to see why he would think so. 
The sleeveless gown had a high bodice which emphasized the magnificent 
upthrust breasts; a row of little pearl buttons ran from the top down all 
the way to the navel. It was extremely comfortable at night, in spite of the 
fact that the bodice was so tight that her nipples could plainly be seen 
under the cloth. The gown had been designed in such a way as to make the 
material fall into the shadowy crevice between her buttocks and cling like a 
second skin to her legs and thighs. Although it covered everything, it also 
emphasized everything that had been hidden from sight. In the front, it 
dipped into the junction of her thighs and the protruding Mound of Venus was 
so temptingly outlined that Bill always joked about her wearing "pussy 
falsies" under the gown. 

Before she crawled between the pale green sheets, Dorothy tip-toed to the 
door and listened again. Satisfied that Dan had probably gone on to his own 
bedroom, she relaxed and went to bed. Five minutes later she was in the 
depths of a really sound sleep induced by the amount of alcohol she had 
consumed. 

She did not hear the door open or see Dan Conklin, completely nude and 
rather terrifyingly virile in his super-aroused state, quietly pad into the 
room and stand beside the bed gazing down at the luscious body outlined 
beneath the sheets. Very gently he pulled the top sheet back and was forced 
to suppress a gasp of admiration when he saw her breasts straining, even in 
sleep, against the bodice. When she had gone to bed, the gown had slid up 
well past mid-thigh, and Dan noticed that it needed only another inch or I 
two to unveil her warm, wonderful pussy. 

Never before in his life had he seen anything so sexy, so luscious! The girl 
was sound asleep, lying flat on her back, with left leg slightly cocked at 
the knee. The faint shadow of her cuntal crevice could be plainly seen, as 
well as the succulent mound of warm creamy flesh that denoted the beginnings 
of her deliciously proportioned buttocks. 

A soft smile was etched on her shining half-parted lips while the long 
strands of golden hair fell on both sides of her floral pillow. 

"Anyone who would stick a prick in that just has to be in violation of the 
pure food law," he said silently to himself, watching the slow beautiful 
rise and fall of her tits. 

Slowly, never taking his eyes from her face, he took the hem of her gown 
between thumb and forefinger and raised it all the way to her navel. 

Dorothy slumbered on, undisturbed and unsuspecting. 

With quickening breath and willing his hands not to tremble, Dan very 
gingerly began to spread her thighs apart. Dorothy stirred slightly, moaned 
softly, and opened them even further. Beads of perspiration had broken out 
on Dan's forehead, and he could feel his heart hammering not only from 
excitement, but fear as well. Jesus, here he was about to stick it to his 
own daughter-in-law. He wished now he hadn't had so much to drink; it just 
might possibly impair his performance. This first time had to be good for 
her or he was done for. A big, beautiful, warm broad like this just had to 
have cock regularly and often. 

Shit! He was even doing her a favour; she probably was already nervous and 
irritable from lack of it. And best of all, this way they could keep it in 
the family. 

A tremulous half-smile was on Dorothy's lips and even as he watched them, it 
seemed as if she were silently mouthing words. He saw her shoulders move 
slightly and her pelvis give one little movement upward. "Jesus," he said to 
himself, "she's dreaming." 

Still scared, but with a little more certainty, Dan put one knee between her 
outstretched legs. When he put his weight on it, the mattress sagged 
slightly. A second later, his second knee was on the bed and he was kneeling 
between her ankles. His hot lascivious eyes were locked on the soft 
profusion of yellow pubic hair that crowned the wide-open, yam-coloured 
delicate lips of her completely defenseless cunt. That pussy was the most 
exquisite he had ever seen; it seemed to be pleading to be caressed, to be 
kissed. It was as tempting as the most succulent forbidden fruit in the 
Garden of Eden. Dan could feel the long throbbing hardness of his prick 
rubbing against the sheets. He wished now that he'd had enough sense to use 
some sort of lubricant, so he could have his cock all the way inside of her 
before she awakened and realized what was happening. 

He heard her moan, more loudly this time, and he glanced at her face 
alarmed. What he saw heartened him immeasurably; there was a look almost of 
lust about her closed eyes and mouth, and her pelvis made a jab upward once 
again. Suddenly she said, quite distinctly, "Oh... Bill, baby, that feels so 
good." 

"Migawd," Dan mentally said as he watched her nipples harden beneath the 
nylon gown, "she's having a wet dream!" He was goaded, aroused to a fever 
pitch by the thought. 

Emboldened, he put his palms against the warmth of her thighs and pulled 
them even further apart. Dorothy slowly elevated her cunt in silent 
invitation. 

Swimming in the warm black sea of her lovely dream, Dorothy imagined that 
Bill had returned and was caressing her body before making love to her. It 
seemed so vivid, felt so deliciously wonderful. He had been gone only a 
month, but already her appetite for him was ravenous. Dreaming now, she felt 
him kiss her breasts and run his hands over her thighs as he pulled her legs 
apart. 

In her dream, Bill asked if she was ready and Dorothy replied, "Oh, yes... 
do it now!" 

Dan heard her dream-like voice and grinned widely, wickedly. Why not, he 
thought. Why not do it now? Let's eat a little from that fabulous box lunch. 
And suddenly, he was voraciously hungry. Never before had he wanted to taste 
a pussy so badly as he did this one. She was dreaming of being fucked; with 
this extra sensation she might go absolutely out of her mind. It would be 
fun to see the reaction, anyway. 

Cautiously, he moved forward until his face hovered just above the 
glistening pink slit between her thighs. It was such a mouth-watering cunt! 
The vaginal lips were perfect, looking almost as if they belonged on a young 
teen-aged girl instead of a married woman. 

Her pubic hair was the colour and texture of corn silk and the cuntal cavity 
was warm, shadowy, inviting! 

Slowly, savouring every second, he lowered his face... and his tongue like a 
red shining penis of a dog crept out between his greedy open lip. 

He licked once, gently running his tongue the entire length of the slit-from 
clitoris to anus-and was rewarded with an almost inaudible moan. His tongue 
retraced the sweet musk and honey-scented path it had just taken, and this 
time he felt her ass muscles flex and her tasty crotch slowly rise as though 
it were some platform being elevated. 

Dreaming, or not, her vagina was responding, for he tasted the first 
slightly saline secretions of musk as her pussy prepared itself for love 
making by pouring out lubricant. 

In her dream. Bill was doing something he had never done before. He had 
buried his face between her legs and begun a deliciously wicked licking of 
her genitals. It was beautiful; it felt divine, but it wasn't right to do 
this. It was... it was, she searched for the word and then thought, 
"unnatural". The dream was so vivid! She could actually feel Bill's crew cut 
hair pressing against her inner thighs. She could... couldn't she? No... 
this hair was longer, not bristly like a crew cut. 

And abruptly, Dorothy came wide awake. She struggled to sit up, but found 
herself pinned to the bed. What was happening to her? Why was she naked from 
the waist down? Who? 

What? She finally raised her head and saw the top of a man's head between 
her thighs. 

"No," she screamed. "You mustn't." This had to be all part of a dream-a 
horrible nightmare. 

By way of reply, Dan drove his tongue full length into the sweet warm depths 
of her pussy for the first time and used his nose to titillate her clitoris. 

"Aaaaaggghhh. No, oh, God, no!" Dorothy began struggling, throwing her body 
from side to side seeking freedom. Dan heard her terrified yelp and knew now 
that he had to continue until she was so sexually aroused she could not help 
herself. It was now or never. She wouldn't let him near her in the future if 
he stopped now, ! but if he continued until she got so hot she couldn't 
resist? Who could tell what the future would bring? When her struggles grew 
more frantic, Dan tightened his arms wrapped about her thighs and buried his 
rapacious tongue as far as it could go into the quivering, heated cuntal 
lips. 

Fear and revulsion battled each other for' supremacy in Dorothy's mind. 
Instead of a nice dream, this was some nightmare too realistic to 
comprehend. And still, though, the earlier pleasure of that dream kept 
returning like an echo. Her nerve endings down there were being brought to 
life by that velvet tongue that licked, sucked, and caressed all at the same 
time. It was hateful, outrageous, horrible... beautiful, oh so beautiful! 

"No... no," she whimpered, putting her arms at the top of the man's head and 
attempting to push his mouth away. "Stop!" she cried. 

It was only then that her father-in-law looked up; she gasped as she saw the 
familiar face and realized this was no dream. "Dan! Stop it. Don't do that. 
Let me up... please!" 

His only reply was a hard tongue thrust against her clitoris, making it 
reverberate like a temple gong. 

"Please don't," she squealed. "You can't do that! Think of Bill! Don't. Oh, 
God... don't." 

Dan's slithering tongue traced a zig-zag pattern from clitoris to anus 
again, then came back and speared into the seeping hole of her cuntal 
cavity. Eight, nine, ten times in rapid succession he rammed his tongue in 
and out of her quivering pussy, tongue-fucking her in earnest now. 

Dorothy began moaning piteously as she felt powerful sensations overriding 
all other emotions and body functions. "Oh, Dan... Dan! Plu-uuuzee! Let me 
up! Not even Bill has done that to me. Dan? Oh, God... Dan!" The last was a 
yelp as his teeth nipped at the sensitive almond bud of her clitoris. She 
gasped loudly, then fell back against the mattress, weakened by the intense 
sensations and sudden implacable hunger between her legs. She made one last 
protest, "Don't. Bill? Dan, don't! Bill.. that's dirty... perverted!" 

Her father-in-law looked up, his face shining with his own saliva and her 
sweet cuntal secretions. "Stop fighting it, baby. You know and I know that 
you're enjoying what I'm doing to your wonderful pussy." 

"Please .. don't talk like that to me," she moaned. "Think about your son. I 
love Bill." 

"And I love Bill, too. That makes two of us. So we've got something in 
common between us in addition to our sexual needs for each other." 

Dorothy didn't have a chance to reply, for Dan abruptly lowered his chin and 
ran his hot hard tongue along one side of her sensitive outer layer of 
vulva, watching her as he did so. Her face grimaced, not in disgust, but in 
what was obviously a fight for self control. He did it again and saw her 
nostrils quiver. She was finally getting with it. Another minute or two and 
she would stop fighting and start cooperating. 

Satisfied, he let his eyes feast hungrily on the now fully blossomed lips 
which had grown in size and colour since he began his ministrations. One 
single drop of her seeping love juice clung like a small white pea to the 
curls of golden hair. The entire cuntal area looked like the petals of some 
exotic tropical flower and, in the middle where the stamen ordinarily would 
be, there was the shadowy opening to her femaledom. Even as he watched, it 
began puckering and unpuckering as her vaginal muscles expanded and 
contracted in sensual excitement. 

"Look at me, Dorothy," he commanded, and there was something compelling in 
his voice that made her lift her head. She watched frightened and bewildered 
as he placed his thumbs on each side of her cuntal crevice and peeled her 
lips apart as though he were opening a sacred tome. The corn-silk curls of 
her pubic hairs gave way, exposing the flaming beauty of her pussy to his 
lust dimmed gaze. She moaned in shame as he breathed against the sensitive 
lips; the expelled hot air from his throat grazed raw nerves down there and 
her entire body reacted. 

She saw his face drop... and his hot tongue come out to wetly probe her 
guiltily quivering vagina. That was the last thing she saw. With this warm, 
wet contact between tongue and cunt, she simply was forced to let everything 
go. It was impossible to fight him any longer. 

Her body responded, jerking automatically, as she ground her hips into the 
bed in an effort to escape the long worming tongue that wiggled like a 
sidewinder up one side of her pussy and down the other. A groan bubbled out 
of her throat. "Ohhhhh... my God! Dan... 

please... don't... let me up." The rapacious licking of her defenseless 
vagina continued, and she felt her stomach muscles beginning to ripple of 
their own accord. From some far off distance she heard her own voice wailing 
in animal-like passion as his tongue scoured her inner thighs and made one 
hot swipe around her clitoris before snaking rapier-like in and out of her 
cringing cunt. "Oh... dear God... Dan! Stop... please!" 

Her father-in-law shook his head -negatively and rammed his tongue with new 
fury up the dilated hole between her open thighs. He used his nose to bump 
the clitoris repeatedly, and each nudge brought a low gasp from the 
helplessly captive girl. 

Dorothy's mind was a churning maelstrom of repulsion, shame, and a rapidly 
growing desire. Unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure vilely pervaded her 
entire being now as Dan's powerful hands released her thighs and slipped 
under her buttocks, cupping and squeezing the warm supple flesh of her ass 
cheeks. His tongue and mouth continued to grind further and further into the 
steaming valley of her squirming defenseless cunt. 

Without volition, she dug her shoulders into the mattress, pulled in her 
stomach muscles and raised her pelvis, making Dan's head bury itself even 
deeper. Salacious slurping and sucking sounds echoed throughout the bedroom. 
His hands pulled apart the crevice between her buttocks, and then one 
exploratory finger began worming into the opening to her puckered little 
rectum. 

The feel of that finger there caused Dorothy to clench her eyes tightly shut 
and ball her hands into fists. 

She began moaning low in her throat, the obvious sounds of a woman in the 
throes of pleasure, as she permitted herself to feel everything for the 
first time. 

Dan heard and recognized her sharp gasp of delight as his hands kneaded the 
soft warm globes of her pliant ass; the sound caused a surge of new lust in 
his already over-aroused body, and he drew her legs up and around his neck. 
Moments later, he had the satisfaction of knowing that she had locked her 
ankles together behind his head in consent and cooperation. He continued to 
fuck her orally, using his tongue to run lewd sensuous circles around her 
fully erect clitoris, nuzzling his nose back and forth as he darted his 
throbbing tongue deep into her pulsating pussy, feeling her eager cuntal 
lips push up against his face with increasing strength as her body spasmed 
in an effort to bring more and more of his mouth into blissful contact with 
her love-starved vagina. His middle finger again sought out the anus, and a 
low inarticulate moan was wrenched from her throat as he probed the opening. 
Abruptly, his hot wet mouth moved down, down, all the way down where his 
tongue flickered like summer heat lightning against the brown star of her 
puckered little anus. 

Dorothy's eyes blinked wide open as she felt the touch, felt the wild 
sensual pleasure surge like a seismic wave through her. This was dirty. 
Horribly evil. She must make him understand he shouldn't do this. She must 
stop him before he went any further. 

"Oh, God... Dan. Don't do that... you mustn't. No!" she said, her voice an 
unrecognizable croak of lust. "You must not... " The last was shut off in 
mid-sentence as she wantonly used her heels to bring his head in tighter, 
deeper, endeavouring to rape her own tortured rectum with his tongue. She 
flailed her head from side to side, trying to shake off the shame at the 
realization she had lost complete control of her traitorous body. She began 
sobbing in humiliation as her father-in-law pushed his tongue into that 
forbidden rectal opening. "Aaaghhh... " it was said softly between sobs, 
then "Oohhh? Ohhhhh... God...!" Her body came to a rapid boil with the 
exquisite tingling of raw nerve endings as Dan changed his technique and 
brought his hot mouth back to her pussy again. She knew that any further 
resistance to him or her own feelings was useless; she could not deny this 
intense delight he was bringing her. Suddenly, as the nerve endings in her 
abdomen began to reverberate, she knew that her body was only a moment away 
from orgasming. 

She raised her fevered, lust-controlled loins to his face, her only wish now 
to aid this man, this master. She ground her pulsating, wide-open cunt 
against his face, revelling with heart and soul and pussy in carnal delight 
at the lewd forbidden pleasure he was bringing her. 

Her body was rapidly building up to that slow sweet torment of a climax; she 
could feel the heavenly vapors condensing and then piling up into towering 
thunderheads in her wonderfully aching loins. Her mouth opened laxly and the 
little pink tongue hung lewdly out one side. From the depths of her throat 
came one sustained, uninterrupted moan. She was close... coming closer. 

Dan sensed that she was reaching for an orgasm, and he shoved his middle 
finger deep into her anus. It went in easily the hole having been lubricated 
by his saliva and enlarged by his tongue. At the same moment, he began 
concentrating all his efforts on her clitoris. 

Dorothy writhed and twisted, bubbling wild mewls of animal-passion, her face 
twisted in a masque of abandoned lust as she tried to combine all sensations 
together in one cataclysmic explosion. Every facet of body, mind, and soul 
was focused on her throbbing, fevered cunt as she sought to bring on a 
climax. 

There is a particular moment, when a woman is being made love to, that she 
reaches a point of no return, once past the point she must orgasm; it is an 
automatic thing, something she has no control over. In many respects, it is 
a well-defined line... one small step across the line and she has a climax 
regardless of what happens or doesn't happen, the man could even withdraw 
his prick and it would still occur. Dorothy was within three or four seconds 
of this point when the shrill ring of the doorbell jangled through her 
nerves like an electrical shock. 

Dan lifted his head from her moist hot hole and said huskily, "Don't answer 
it." 

Before Dorothy could reply, the bell rang again and she heard the front door 
open and Bette Harding's cheerful voice call out, "Hey, Dottie! Anyone 
home?" 

"Oh, God," the blonde whispered, wrenching herself free of Dan's grip and 
rolling off the bed. When her feet his the floor, she almost fell because 
her knees were so weak. 

Breathing heavily, she knew her face was flushed. "I'll be right out, Bette. 
Just a second," she called in panic. 

Trembling violently, she dug her fingers through her dishevelled hair, and 
went to the door. She looked back toward the bed and saw Dan's angry red 
face-smeared with his own saliva and her cuntal juices. "Get rid of her," he 
mouthed the words. His long hard cock throbbed with each beat of his heart 
and, for one split second, she fought the insane urge to yell out to Bette 
to go away and come back later. Then she took a deep breath and went out, 
closing the door firmly behind her. 

Bette took one look at the blonde's guilty expression and flushed features, 
and her eyebrows shot up. "Sorry," she said. "I... ah... saw the lights on 
and the door was unlocked." 

"It's all right, "Dorothy lied. "I was... I was... I was," she thought 
desperately for something to say then added lamely,"... just doing my 
exercises." 

"Look, honey, I can come back tomorrow." 

"No!" It was almost a shout and the violence of her reply shocked them both. 
Quickly, Dorothy added, "Stay here! What was it you wanted?" Then 
remembering her manners, she asked, "Can I make some coffee or a drink for 
you?" 

"Thanks, but nope. Listen... ah... you remember my talking to you about my 
job as a model and sales representative for the Mister Bates people and how 
I thought you'd be a natural?" 

Dorothy nodded her head rapidly, a look of curiosity on her face. 

"Well. I've got to take a leave of absence while Richie's ship is in port. I 
talked to Miss Grosset, the sales manager, and she's willing to take a 
chance on you as my replacement during the six months... if you can do the 
work and take the travel that's involved. You'll be making a minimum of four 
or five hundred bucks a week in commissions." 

Dorothy had to sit down. This unexpected offer combined with what had 
happened in the bedroom was just too much for her mind to assimilate at 
once. "Golly," she said, her eyes wide and a stunned expression on her face. 

Bette cocked her red head to one side and asked, "Do you want to think about 
it?" 

"No. I mean, Yes. Yes, I'll do it." 

Bette visibly relaxed. "Good." She glanced at her diamond-studded watch and 
frowned. 

"It's time I got to bed myself. Why don't I come by Thursday afternoon and 
fill in the rest of the details. If you're free on Thursday evening, we'll 
start you working in one of the private shows then." 

"I'm free." 

"Okay. Now go back to bed. And I'm sorry if I... I mean, I'm sorry for 
breaking in at this time of night." 

"No... honestly, it's all right. I was just doing my exercises." She stood 
up as Bette went to the door. "Are you sure you won't stay for a drink or 
something?" Her voice had a pleading tone to it. 

"Nothing. See you Thursday afternoon, about five." 

"Good night, then," Dorothy said as the red-headed model disappeared out the 
front door. 

The blonde walked back to the couch, her mind reeling. The job offer had 
doubled her excitement; she felt the urgent need of a man more than ever, 
but now she was in control of her errant body, in command of the situation. 
She saw the doorknob turning slowly at the bedroom door and knowing she 
could not reason with Dan-could not permit him to touch her again or her 
resolve would melt-she ran quickly to the only room in the house with a lock 
on the door, the bathroom! Locking it, she began drawing a tub full of cold 
water. 

The soft knock on the door came a minute or two later. She did not answer, 
merely got out of the tub and sat staring defiantly ahead with her arms 
around her knees. The knock came louder, this time accompanied by Dan's 
querulous voice, "Dorothy? Are you in there?" 

Still she refused to answer. The door knob turned, was rattled, and Dan 
began pounding on the door. "I know you're in there, Dorothy. Let me in. 
There's something I want to tell you." 

"No," she called out. "Go away, Dan I don't want to talk to you." 

"Dammit, let me in!" The door shook with his pounding. When this didn't 
elicit a reply from her, he then began playing on her sympathy. "Honey, I'm 
dying. Please come out. I won't touch you... I promise. I'll stay on the 
other side of the room. I just have to go to the toilet." 

"No." 

"Why the hell not?" 

"Because I'm a good girl," Dorothy said. "And I'm going to stay in here all 
night, until you leave to catch your plane in the morning." 

"Oh... shit!" That's all she heard for about ten minutes, then he was back 
at the door again. "I'm going now. To the airport motel. Goodbye." 

"Bye, Dan," she said, squeezing a wash rag, watching the water run down and 
over her big melon sized breasts. It felt good... nice! Not as good as a 
man's mouth, but okay anyway. She really hated to be this aroused and not 
have anything happen in the way of relief. She knew she would be up in the 
air for at least two or three days, but the new job would keep her so busy 
that she wouldn't have time to think about sex. 

Outside the front door slammed with such finality that Dorothy didn't even 
have to get out of the tub to know that her frustrated father-in-law had 
departed. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Bette was humming a popular show tune as she tooled her dove gray-coloured 
Cadillac convertible through Sunset Avenue traffic, heading toward Dorothy's 
house. She paid absolutely no attention to the various hot hungry stares 
from the male drivers or the dark looks of envy from perspiring women in 
station wagons crammed with kids. Her whole concentration was focused on how 
well things were working out... far, far better than she could ever have 
hoped to expect. 

This feeling of well-being had started two nights before when she had 
interrupted Dorothy right in the middle of fucking someone. That crap about 
"doing exercises" hadn't fooled her for a second; the blonde had the look of 
a woman in the process of being royally screwed. There had been two cocktail 
glasses on the coffee table and a man's coat over the back of a chair. Bette 
didn't condemn Dorothy for it; on the contrary, the evidence made her very 
happy because now she knew the girl played around... and if a girl played 
around, it was a fairly simple process to convince her that there was 
money-a lot of money-to be made from play for pay. 

Additional good news had come from Marie Grosset only a few minutes ago. The 
two friendly "buyers" at the private show tonight would be George Hamlin and 
Carl Deevers, both extremely rich, handsome, sophisticated, fun, and-most 
important-experienced and virile enough to make a woman beg for more of the 
same. George would go absolutely ape shit over the big dumb blonde 
voluptuousness of the Conklin girl. 

Bette's good-humour increased even more when she saw Dorothy had followed 
her instructions about dressing. She wore a very subdued Navy blue silk 
crepe with a large white sailor collar. The dress made her look younger, 
more vulnerable, but did nothing to hide the ripe lushness of her 
magnificent breasts or superlative suppleness of her inimitable hips and 
buttocks. Looking at her, the red-head felt such a rush of admiration and 
attraction that she thought, with some incredulity: Migawd, it's a good 
thing I'm not a lessie or I'd go for a little of that myself. 

Dorothy, she could see, was quite nervous. To calm her, Bette asked for 
Scotch and soda, insisting that the blonde have one with her. Before they 
left, each had another. 

It was not until they were en route to the hotel that Bette dropped the news 
that they were having dinner with two "out-of-town buyers". She sensed, 
rather than saw, Dorothy tense momentarily, then relax again. "First hurdle 
over successfully," she commented to herself, then aloud and to Dorothy 
said, "These two guys are really nice. They're not like some of the jokers 
we get occasionally. They're gentlemen. Sometimes, you know, we get a buyer 
who likes to tell an off-colour joke or make suggestive remarks. Can you put 
up with that?" 

"Oh, sure." Dorothy answered. She didn't add that men had been making 
"suggestive" remarks to her since she was twelve. As for the dirty jokes, 
they usually went over her head. She watched as Bette skillfully wheeled the 
car through traffic. It would be nice to own a car like this; maybe she 
could buy one after she had worked a couple of months. 

She already knew where the first two months salary was going-for some new 
clothes. 

Bette watched the blonde girl out of the corner of her eye as they pulled 
under the canopy of the hotel's parking area. The doorman snapped a salute 
to Dorothy as he opened the door for her. She smiled in child-like delight, 
dimpled, blinked her eyes, and said, "Thank you, sir." 

Heads swivelled and the; eyes of every male in the lobby followed the two 
stunning, well-dressed women as they crossed the foyer and headed for the 
bar. 

Now that the time had come to meet the two "out-of-town buyers", Dorothy was 
beginning to feel a little apprehension. Bette had said they were "nice" and 
"gentlemen", but that didn't mean an awful lot. They probably were fat and 
bald and old. Thus it was that Dorothy wound up open-mouthed and blushing 
when one of the handsomest men she had ever seen stood up and slid out of a 
window booth to greet Bette; his eyes, though, were glued on Dorothy. 

"George," Bette exclaimed in undisguised enthusiasm, "it's so great to see 
you again." 

Only then did his eyes leave Dorothy's. "Good to see you, too, Love." He 
hugged her. 

Bette grinned at the obvious effect the girl was having on George, and she 
was aware that Dorothy had been jolted off stride by the man's trim 
appearance. His virile good looks was something she had deliberately 
withheld from the blonde, wanting it to be a surprise. 

"George Hamlin, meet Dorothy Conklin." 

George's smile widened, and when Dorothy held out her hand, he took it and 
brought it to his mouth, lightly brushing the back of the hand with his 
lips. "I'm very happy to meet you, Miss Conklin." 

Bette corrected him immediately, "Mrs. 

Conklin." For just a split second, Dorothy felt resentment toward the other 
girl, then quickly suppressed it. 

George seated them in the booth and gave their order to the bar steward. 
Although he included them both in the conversation, it was plainly evident 
that his main attention was focused on the blonde. Carl Deevers he said, had 
been held up at the airport, but he was en route now and would be here 
within fifteen or twenty minutes. He began talking about a famous comedian 
who was at the far end of the bar, gossiping about the man's predilection 
for young chorus boys and male dancers, reciting anecdotes about the 
difficulties the comedian had encountered in making his last film. Dorothy 
listened to it all, wide-eyed and enthralled. She surreptitiously inspected 
him as he turned toward Bette once. He was terribly handsome, in a Cary 
Grant sort of way. About fifty, his salt and pepper hair obviously was all 
his own. He wore an expensive navy blue cashmere blazer and dark gray pants. 
He was very tanned, the tan that one gets only aboard a yacht, on an island, 
or in a desert resort. He was, she decided, the kind of man you see in the 
newspaper's society pages with a tennis racket in his hand. The best thing 
of all about him, though, was that even though he obviously was 
well-educated and widely travelled, he managed to include Dorothy in the 
conversation and many of the wittier remarks that were made seemed to come 
from her. All in all, Dorothy felt comfortable with him. 

She had another pleasant surprise when Carl Deevers arrived. Carl had an 
infectious grin and laugh. The only thing she found wrong with him was in 
his height; he was about three inches shorter than her own 5 feet 8 inches, 
but it didn't seem to bother him, and after listening to him talk for five 
minutes, it didn't bother Dorothy either. He was wearing a black raw silk 
suit, with solid gold nuggets on his french cuffs. He, too, was very tanned- 
even on the top of his bald head which was fringed with carrot-coloured 
hair. Dorothy noted that although he seemed very friendly toward her, his 
real attention was devoted to Bette; that suited her fine. 

Dorothy was having so much fun that she was on her third martini before she 
realized it. 

Mentally she cautioned herself, for counting the three she'd had at the 
hotel and the two at home... well, she was already past the point where she 
usually stopped. 

The four of them had been chatting happily away for just over an hour when 
the tuxedo-clad maitre d'hotel came respectfully over to their booth and 
said, "Your table is ready whenever you are, Mister Hamlin." 

George stood, "Fine, Jackson, I'm starved." He looked down at Dorothy. "How 
about you?" 

"Simply famished, " she said, not bothering to add that Bill claimed she was 
always famished, always ate like a horse even though she never added a pound 
to her weight. 

Following Bette's lead, she let George order for her and wound up with a 
Caesar salad, a monstrous baked potato, and a two inch thick New York cut 
steak which was still bloody in the middle just as she liked it. 

Her wine glass seemed to be like the famed magic goblet; it was never empty. 

Somewhere, about three-quarters the way through the meal, Dorothy realized 
she was beginning to slur an occasional word or two. That was her first 
indication that she was close to being drunk. She immediately stopped 
drinking wine and concentrated on getting as much food as possible into her 
stomach. 

Bette watched incredulously as the blonde, finished off an entire basket of 
rolls, then ate two very large servings of the hotel's famous Black Bottom 
pie. Christ, she thought, the kid ought to weight three hundred pounds at 
least, eating like that. 

Dorothy turned down the offer of brandy and sat back listening to the 
conversation and watching the other three drink. She felt full, happy, and 
just a little sleepy from the big meal. Idly, her thoughts turned to the 
fashion show she and Bette would be presenting in a few minutes, and she 
wondered what the lingerie would look like. Bette had cautioned her that 
they were somewhat "daring", but Dorothy figured if the other Navy wife 
could wear them then she could, too. 

It was almost ten o'clock before George crushed out his cigarette, drained 
his brandy snifter, and said, "Well, Carl, shall we take a look at the 
merchandise?" 

Carl's face was split in a wide grin. "Yeh," he breathed. For a split second 
there was a strange look on his face that baffled Dorothy; it was as though 
Bette and the two men shared some secret. But then, she abruptly dismissed 
the thought from her mind. 

The "show room" was a fourteenth floor suite, beautifully furnished in Louis 
XVI period style, all white, pale green and antique gold. Dorothy gasped 
when she saw the richness of the decor; the suite even had a fireplace. A 
couch at least ten feet long was placed in front of a floor to ceiling 
picture window overlooking the lights of the city. A motion picture 
projector was on top of the bar, pointing toward a black white Wall which 
served as a screen. 

In front of the bar, four bottles of expensive French champagne were being 
iced in silver buckets. Bette, who had taken charge now, ordered Dorothy to 
pour the champagne, then told the men to make themselves comfortable in the 
two chairs in front of the fireplace. 

While Dorothy was filling the men's champagne glasses, the red-head picked 
up a bottle and two goblets and disappeared into the far bedroom. 

When the big blonde joined Bette a minute later, the red-headed model had 
already stripped herself of all clothing and was standing naked alongside a 
mammoth king-sized bed on which were about three dozen different items of 
lingerie. She felt herself beginning to blush in embarrassment at being in 
the same room with the nude woman, then sternly chided herself, mentally 
saying, "After all, Dorothy, you're going to have to get used to it if you 
want to be a high-paid professional model and saleswoman." 

Bette held out a glass of champagne. "Here, drink this," she ordered. 

Dorothy really didn't need or want anything else to drink, but when the 
red-head repeated the order, she took it and drained the glass. Bette 
immediately refilled it, then pointed to the garments on the other side of 
the bed. "Those are yours, honey. Start at the top and work on down. Better 
get out of your clothes now. Everything comes off; that's rule number one. 
Mister Bates doesn't want any undergarment lines lousing up the design." 

Knowing her face was red, Dorothy quickly stripped completely, then followed 
Bette's lead by putting on her first piece of lingerie-a black, almost 
transparent, pair of bikini panties and bra, with a black garter belt and 
black calf-length high-heeled boots. The outfit came equipped with a black 
leather riding crop, two wide black leather upper arm bracelets, and a 
little black outlaw's masque. The panties had been designed in such a manner 
that they cut deeply into the vaginal slit and crevice between her buttocks. 
Dorothy stared, wide-eyed, at her reflection in the mirror, then said 
weakly, "Oh, my goodness," and reached for the glass of champagne. This 
outfit wasn't just "daring"; it was almost obscene. She glanced over toward 
Bette, but the red-head's outfit was just as bad, for she wore a pair of 
dark blue satin panties that had the flesh-coloured print of the back of a 
man's hand at the crotch. The outstretched middle finger of the hand 
disappeared into the cuntal cleft. 

Dorothy hated to put into words what the hand looked like it was doing! The 
print was so real that the black hairs on the back of the finger could 
plainly be seen. The bra had two other hands printed over the breasts, 
making it look as if someone were standing in back of the model and cupping 
her tits in his hands. 

Bette stared at the blonde and correctly read her alarmed expression. "Now 
don't be a nervous nelly, Dorothy. Relax. This is your first show; it isn't 
as bad as you think." 

"Gee, I don't know. What will George and Mister Deever think of us coming 
out like this?" 

"That's what they're here for... to see the new Mister Bates line. We're 
just models- sexless-why we could even be wooden dress dummies as far as 
they're concerned." 

When Dorothy continued to look dubious, Bette poured another glass of 
champagne and handed it to her. "Okay," she said. "Drink this and let's get 
the show started. Once we get going, you'll be too busy to worry about what 
the men think." She watched as the big blonde emptied her glass, then took 
her by the arm and led her out the door to the front room. 

George and Carl had made themselves comfortable. Both had removed their 
coats and ties, and were sitting back comfortably in the sofas. 

They sat up straight, with eyes widening in appreciation, when the two girls 
appeared. 

Dorothy was so embarrassed that she thought she would wilt right on the 
spot. George's frankly admiring gaze swept up and down her figure, and she 
knew she was getting goosebumps just from having him stare at her. Carl said 
simply, "Oh, wow!" when he saw Bette's outfit. 

The red-head served also as commentator, and Dorothy listened closely to 
everything that was said. She was appalled to hear that her outfit cost 
$275. As Bette briefly described the materials used in the manufacture of 
the garments, she jerked her head toward the champagne bucket, and Dorothy 
got the message that she was to refill the men's glasses. 

When she walked up to George, he put out his hand as if inspecting the 
material of her panties. The big blonde jerked at his touch, then forced 
herself to remain immobile as he used thumb and forefinger to pull the 
elastic waistband outward, away from the body. He nodded and said to Carl, 
"The elastic seems okay." Dorothy mentally kicked herself. For a minute 
there she had been sure he was not being nice. "That just goes to show you," 
she mentally said. "You're still too new as a professional model, and you 
ought to feel guilty about thinking mean things about Mister Hamlin." A 
moment later, she didn't give it a second thought when she saw Carl Deever 
run his hands over the buttocks of Bette's panties. It was obvious to her 
that he was just checking to see what grade of nylon had been used. 

Her next piece of lingerie was a $300 nightgown made of material so sheer 
that the brown aureoles of her breasts could plainly be seen through the 
misty material. When George ran his hand down the swelling curve of her 
flank and then brought it up the back of her legs to the buttocks, she 
stoically bore it all knowing that it was strictly business to him: There 
was even a faint feeling of disappointment as she thought: I could be a 
wooden dummy for all he knows or cares, he just wants to see how the 
material feels. 

"Not bad," he said. "Very good, indeed." She took the champagne bottle to 
Carl and stood there while he also inspected the material. 

Back in the dressing room, Dorothy downed another glass of champagne and 
made a quick change into her next outfit. She didn't want to admit it, but 
the men's hands on her body disturbed her. It wasn't unpleasant, just 
disconcerting. She was especially vulnerable to George Hamlin's touch; he 
gave her goosebumps in addition to a certain undefinable feeling in the pit 
of her stomach. 

When she went into the front room to display the newest creation, she 
thought she overheard Carl querulously asking, "Do we have to go through 
this charade crap before we get a little action?", and George's quick reply, 
"Yes. Marie says it's the only way." Dorothy had no idea of what they meant, 
she only hoped the "crap" they were talking about didn't include any of the 
clothes she was modelling. 

The big blonde really didn't believe the lingerie could get any more daring, 
but it did as the show progressed. About two-thirds of the way through the 
presentation, she began to get alarmed again. Her next creation to model was 
another panty and bra outfit, this one yellow and looking as if it were 
crocheted, with open mesh about the same size as chicken wire around the 
groin areas. Little strands of her corn-silk pubic hair peeked out, no 
matter what she did to put them back in. She was almost ready to say 
something to the red-head but one look at Bette's face, which seemed to warn 
her against complaining, changed her mind. She went out, posed, then poured 
mote champagne. This time, she had absolutely no doubt that George Hamlin 
was doing more than just "checking the material", for his finger had 
insinuated itself between the leg band of the panties and attempted to worm 
its way into her moistened pussy lips. The touch of his finger there made 
Dorothy recoil almost frantically. George merely lifted his glass and stared 
silently at her over the top. 

When he sipped, she felt a sudden chill shoot up her spine for she 
remembered Dan Conklin's lips had looked almost the same when he was doing 
that... that terrible thing at her crotch. Her vagina tingled all the way 
back into the bedroom in the place where George's finger had touched. 

She started to take another glass of champagne herself, then abruptly 
decided against it. 

That was probably the reason George had done what he did-too much to drink! 
Even the nicest men sometimes got ideas when they were a little drunk. 

She stayed out of his reach for the next two presentations, and felt the 
growth of alarm again when she saw a giggling Bette dressed in half bra and 
really skimpy panties being pulled down into the lap of a wildly laughing 
Carl Deevers. Bette, she suddenly realized, was drunk... as were both men. 
She paused, reflecting on her own condition, and abruptly decided she had 
had too much to drink also. 

There were only two identical pieces of lingerie left to model, and when 
Dorothy got a good look at them, she firmly put her foot down and said, "I 
won't wear it." 

Bette looked at her angrily, "Look, you've got to. You promised me to work 
this show, and I counted on you. Now, I was able to get a peek at both of 
these guys' order blanks; we've already earned a hundred and fifty bucks a 
piece in sales commissions. This last outfit will probably bring us another 
fifty each. Don't let me down," she wailed, looking as if she were about to 
weep at any minute. 

Dorothy was stunned. She repeated incredulously, "A hundred and fifty? For 
each of us?" 

Bette nodded rapidly. 

"Gee." Abruptly the blonde decided to complete the show, in spite of the 
fact that the last piece of lingerie was the most licentious thing she had 
ever seen. She put on the flesh-coloured bra and panties and grimaced as she 
stared at her reflection in the mirror. The bra had two silver dollar-sized 
heart-shaped holes cut in the center of each breast. Her large brown nipples 
peered out boldly. Another heart-shaped open space about two and a half 
inches across left the pubic hair and vaginal slit completely uncovered. One 
thing for sure, she wasn't going to get within ten feet of either man 
wearing this thing! She glanced over at Bette, then at both of their 
reflections in the mirror. In spite of the "daringness" of the outfits, the 
two of them, both wearing the same lingerie, did have a dramatic impact. She 
stood there, gazing at the heart shaped hole over Bette's genitals. 

The protruding autumn fox fur-coloured pubic hair seemed to add a new 
dimension to the garment, as did her own patch of corn-silk. 

Bette poured the last of the second bottle of champagne and offered a glass 
to the blonde. 

Dorothy, forgetting her earlier resolve not to drink any more, took the 
proffered bubbling wine and quickly gulped it down. 

They went out into the living room. 

"Mother of God," George Hamlin breathed as he saw the two women enter the. 
living room side by side. 

"Doubled and in Spades," Carl Deever said. 

Dorothy knew her face was aflame, but this was the finale of the show. The 
blonde girl stood in the center of the room, quietly and patiently bearing 
the hot intensive scrutiny of the two men, while Bette recited the 
concluding commentary. She doubted if either man heard the red-head say, 
"Another Mister Bates original, and only one hundred and seventy five 
dollars. And on this note, this limited-edition design, this attractive 
present for your special lady, we conclude our show for the evening. On 
behalf of Mister Bates and his staff, we thank you." 

Immediately, the two men began clapping loudly. When George started toward 
Dorothy, the big blonde managed to elude him and almost ran back to the 
bedroom. She hadn't been in there fifteen seconds before an excited Bette 
came in and closed the door behind her. "We did it," she said happily. 
"They're placing orders for over twenty thousand dollars worth of 
merchandise. Our commission is two hundred each." 

Dorothy was stunned. She blinked. Now that the pressure was off and the show 
was over, she was beginning to let down and she could really feel the 
alcohol now. She was having difficulty in thinking straight, but one thing 
she was positive of: she had made two hundred dollars in just a few minutes. 
She smiled, and hiccupped once. Then her arm was grasped and she was being 
pulled toward the door. "No," she muttered, "I don't want to go back out 
there." 

"You have to," Bette explained patiently "You have to sign their purchase 
orders. Come on." she coaxed. 

Dorothy glanced blearily down at the revealing panties and bra. "Let me 
change into my street clothes." 

"No... for Pete's sake. Come on. No one is going to notice what you're 
wearing anyway. 

Now come on!" The last was said loudly, and the blonde permitted herself to 
be led into the front room. 

"We're here to sign the contracts," Bette announced. 

"Sure... sure," Carl said, but first we want to show you two girls the new 
public relations film they made for my company." 

Before Dorothy could object, Bette clapped her hands eagerly and said, "Oh, 
that's wonderful, Carl. Where do you want us to sit?" 

"Dorothy, you sit on the floor with George in the front of the screen. And 
you, baby, sit with me just as soon as I can get this thing going and adjust 
the sound." 

The blonde drew back as George reached out for her hand. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, "I... I think I'd better go home," 
Dorothy replied softly. 

"Don't be an ass!" Bette snapped. Stop acting like a scared twelve year old. 
You're with friends. No one is going to hurt you! Now sit down." 

Rather than embarrass everyone, Dorothy eased herself down on the floor near 
the screen. George, smiling reassurance, fluffed up some overstuffed 
cushions and placed them behind her back. He then proceeded to open the 
bottle of champagne between them. "I promise to be good," he said in a low 
tone of voice. 

Dorothy glanced at his face, trying to read his intentions. Mollified, she 
nodded once. He looked hurt when she refused a glass of bubbly, so she took 
it and sipped cautiously. It tasted differently, stronger. 

George saw her questioning look and said, "Just a] tad of brandy added to 
it. Helps the taste." 

"Lights," Carl said, "someone turn out the lights." 

George groaned and got to his feet again, then went to the door and threw a 
switch that extinguished the lamps and overhead lights. A second later, he 
sank down next to Dorothy and put his arm around her shoulder. She stiffened 
immediately, but relaxed after a moment when he made no effort to pull her 
toward him. 

What am I doing here in this dark room, wearing these indecent clothes, 
lying on the floor and drinking brandy and champagne with a man I've never 
seen before. Dorothy Conklin, you get yourself up right now and go home! 

Just as she made a firm resolve to stand up and go, no matter how 
embarrassing it might be to Bette, the bright ray of light hit the blank 
white wall and the movie began. 

It was, she decided, too late now... and so she sank back against the 
cushions and permitted George to refill her glass. 

It took her almost three minutes and another refill to become aware that 
what she was watching was not a public relations feature film... almost 
another minute to realize, with a sudden feeling of dread, that it was not 
going to be a nice film at all. She was so shocked by what her eyes were 
seeing, so numbed from everything she had drunk, that she was never aware of 
the precise moment that George Hamlin's hand dropped from her shoulder to 
the heart-shaped opening over her left breast and began gently rolling the 
uncovered nipple between thumb and forefinger. She watched the screen, 
horrified-unable to tear her eyes away-and drained her fourth glass of 
brandy-champagne since she had sat down. A moment later, just like magic, 
the glass had been filled again. She drank this, too, and fuzzily watched 
the images .on the wall which seemed to be going in and out of focus. 

George's arm felt comfortable around her shoulders and she made no protest 
when he pulled her near-nude body closer to his own. She had a hazy 
momentary thought: It's good to have someone taking care of me again. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Dorothy felt the pressure of George's lea against her bare thigh. He nudged 
her, and the luxuriousness of the expensive wool trousers felt surprisingly 
sensual against her skin. 

She returned the pressure slightly, just to let him know she really didn't 
mind the nudge because he was, after all, a nice man... a friend... someone 
she could trust! She didn't mind anything, actually, with the delicious 
warmth of the champagne and brandy creating a shimmering pool of happiness 
deep inside her. She could feel it tingling, still bubbling down there in 
her lower stomach... deep, deeper than anything had ever been before in her 
life. George's leg shifted slightly as he bent forward and topped her glass. 
It's nice to have someone to look after me again and take care of\ me, she 
mused, with a happy relaxed feeling, and smiled up her appreciation in the 
dim light. 

George grinned back and then wrapped his arm completely around her shoulder, 
as he nodded up toward the screen. His hand dropped casually and, as if it 
had eyes of its own, immediately brushed against her nipple protruding 
through the heart-shaped opening of the bra. 

The movie had been entitled "The Farmer's daughter (and Wife)" The 
"daughter" was a tall blonde girl not more than 20 or 21 years of age, one 
of the loveliest creatures that Dorothy had ever seen. She had a melancholy 
look on her face that reflected a deep loneliness. The expression touched 
Dorothy to the depths of her soul, because she felt so much the same with 
Bill gone and all alone in the world without anyone to take care of her or 
hold her tight at night. She identified with this girl and began 
concentrating completely on what the poor child was doing. Her emotions 
seemed inextricably bound to those of the lonely girl, and she felt tears of 
sympathy begin to pour out of her eyes as they frequently did when she 
watched a sad movie... or any extremely happy ending to a television show. 
She was so engrossed that she did not feel George's thumb and forefinger 
capture her nipple. 

Very sad, romantic background music is playing on the sound track as the 
girl stares over a farm fence, looking off into the distance as if life, 
love, friendship... everything has left her behind in the desolation and 
loneliness of this isolated farm. The movie switches to inside the farm 
house where two athletic college-boys-one blonde and crew cut, the other 
dark-haired with sideburns-are demonstrating the latest model vacuum cleaner 
to the farmer's wife, a handsome, well-built woman about 35 years old. She 
is sitting on the couch and her cotton print dress has come up to mid-thigh, 
revealing long lovely bare legs. Her work dress, although relatively 
shapeless, cannot hide the lush mature abundance of her female form, and it 
is obvious that both of the boys are all too painfully aware of her 
attraction. On the table beside her is a picture of a gray-bearded man 
wearing bib overalls; the woman explains that this is her SO year-old 
husband. The boys look at each other in amazement and hopeful surprise. The 
crew cut blonde boy asks the wife to stand up so he can demonstrate the 
sweeping motion of the vacuum. She does so, and he puts his arms around her 
from behind, one hand over hers on the handle, the other on her hip, 
ostensibly showing her how to move the machine back and forth. With each 
thrust forward and back, he grinds his pelvis into her buttocks. The 
dark-haired boy is becoming excited, and the woman obviously is aroused. The 
blonde college boy asks if he can have a drink of water, and follows the 
housewife into the kitchen. At the door he turns back, winks at the other 
boy, and whispers, "Give me three minutes to warm her up." The dark-haired 
salesman grabs his long, hard cock through his trousers and growls, "Hurry 
up." In the kitchen, the comely aroused wife looks up from the sink as if 
praying and says to the camera, "Give me the strength to resist this 
temptation, even though it's been two years since anyone touched me." She 
draws the cold water from the tap and turns to see the boy standing at the 
door; there is an awesome bulge in the crotch of his pants. Her hand is 
trembling as she offers the water. The boy merely steps past her 
outstretched hand, and grabs the woman around the waist. He viciously 
French-kisses her, and then his one hand drops to the hem of her dress and 
pulls it up with one slow smooth motion. 

She wears no undergarments, and her thick black patch of pubic hair can 
plainly be seen. 

The woman moans and struggles as the boy begins to finger fuck her, then 
gasps and starts flaunting her hungry pelvis against his virile young body. 
Her own hand falls, unzips his pants, reaches in and pulls out an enormously 
thick, long cock. She begins to stroke it rapidly, her mouth open in wanton 
abandonment, and she assumes a half-squat as her hand pulls the cock toward 
her wide-open palpitating pussy. 

"Golly," Dorothy said softly, watching the movie, in spite of the fact she 
knew now this was wicked and not nice. She had considerable empathy with the 
housewife, as well as the daughter. The housewife's need she could 
understand, especially if the housewife was telling the truth about not 
having any sex for two years, which was understandable what with being 
married to a poor old man like that. She shook her head in warning, 
completely caught up in the motion picture, as she saw the blonde boy say to 
the other one, "Give me three minutes." She hoped the poor woman wouldn't 
get so carried away that she would betray her marriage vows. The action had 
caused her throat to dry up in suspense, and she tilted her champagne glass. 

George dutifully poured about half a glassful into her goblet, not wanting 
to give the blonde too much because it was obvious that she was getting 
smashed and he wanted her sober enough at least to know what was happening 
when the time came to get down to the serious business of fucking. 

He inspected Dorothy in the dim-light, attempting to figure her out. Migawd, 
he thought, just look at her staring up at the film. With mouth wide-open in 
incredulous wonder, she did seem lost in it... as if she were watching a 
tremendously dramatic television play whose suspenseful outcome was still in 
doubt. George squeezed the breast gently, waiting for some sign of protest 
or acceptance. The girl did nothing; it was as though she didn't even feel 
his fingers against her nipple. Marie had told him this was the first time 
for the girl and that he had to go easy in the beginning. That was all right 
with him, the blonde would be worth waiting for; he wasn't quite sure 
exactly why he was he was so damned positive she was going to be good... 
instinct maybe. He ever so gently tweaked her nipple between thumb and 
forefinger. Dorothy never took her eyes from the screen, but reached up her 
hand and captured his. She did not, he noticed, make any effort to remove 
his hand from the warm luscious pliant mound. 

Up on the screen the two boys are helping the farmer's wife undress. As they 
pull the cotton dress over her head, the ripe lushness of her body is 
revealed in all its Eastman-Kodak 16 M.M. glory. Her great, wonderfully 
supple tits are like straining full bags of cottage cheese; her hips are 
broad and mature, yet not too large. The long trim thighs are trembling 
violently now as the dark-haired boy begins caressing her buttocks and the 
blonde boy expertly insinuates his finger into the dampened pink pussy slit 
which, in a close-up, takes up the entire screen. Her eyes have rolled up 
into the back of her head and her face is twisted in an overpowering sexual 
hunger that is almost pathetic in her urgent need. She offers no resistance 
when the blonde boy stops his finger fucking and pulls her toward the 
bedroom. As she walks, the dark-haired youth slides his finger down the 
crevice of her buttocks and, as the camera moves in, one can see the finger 
worming into the light little brown star of her anus. In the bedroom, she 
lies down with legs splayed obscenely apart, and cries out in a pathetic 
voice, "Hurry. Oh, please hurry. I'm dying. 

Fuck me. Fuck me now! The scene switches to outside the house and the 
farmer's daughter slowly walking toward the farm house. 

* * * 

Dorothy had partially risen from the cushions, and she stared in horror at 
the screen as the young girl walked up on the front porch. Dorothy shook her 
long blonde hair and said aloud, "No... no... don't go in there. You 
mustn't!" 

* * * 

The camera has again invaded the bedroom just in time to see the farmer's 
wife take the blonde boy's cock in her eager voracious mouth. Her cheeks 
indent grotesquely as she begins to suck. The other youth has straddled her, 
and the camera moves in for a close up as the mammoth prick comes closer and 
closer to the steaming ready snatch. In close-up, the cock looks like a 
lunar module docking with the command ship. 

Dorothy breathlessly watched and listened to the woman's scream of 
exaltation when the mighty white throbbing shaft penetrated the pouting 
rubied cuntal lips and sank into the depths of her quivering pussy. She 
drained her glass, attempting to cool some of -the warmth that the farmer's 
wife's passion had transmitted to her own body. She felt very strange... 
different! Something was happening to her body. It was more than just 
alcohol, more than the salacious scene she was watching on the screen. Her 
body was reacting as it received several overpowering stimulations: visually 
from the obscene movie, physically from the soft rummaging of George's 
hands, and mentally from the amount of booze she had swilled. She began 
thinking that this really wasn't her body at all. It was a stranger's body, 
for she didn't feel that she was the same person she had been earlier in the 
evening. She captured that I thought, probing at it with her consciousness. 
If this wasn't her body, then she really had no control over it. Did she? 
The heat and the excitement of the screen was beginning to hotly agitate 
her, and forgotten now were all her good intentions earlier in the evening. 
It felt wonderful lying here on the cushions with a handsome man she could 
trust, his strong arm around her shoulder. She squirmed down against the 
soft pillows and only then became fully conscious of the delight George's 
hand was bringing to her stoutly erect nipple. 

As if sensing that Dorothy had finally returned to reality, George bent down 
and gently brushed his lips across the top of her bare shoulder. She hunched 
her shoulder seductively forward with an almost imperceptible moan of 
pleasure. Now his hand cautiously dropped in the darkness to begin a warm 
gentle stroking of the outer part of her knee and lower thigh. When she 
offered no resistance, his hand moved up, up the sleek warm hairless inner 
thighs where it briefly brushed the corn-silk pubic hair protruding through 
the heart-shaped opening of her bikini panties. 

Dorothy tensed for a split second, then relaxed as her attention was pulled 
back to the screen where the camera had pulled in to show the farmer's wife 
gratefully licking the sensitive underside of the blonde boy's cock. Her 
tongue slavered the entire length of it, when her warm wet lips encompassed 
the fleshy shaft once more. There was something contagiously exciting about 
watching that powerful cock ramming in and out of the woman's mouth. Dorothy 
could hardly tear her eyes away from it. Putting a man's penis in your mouth 
was not a nice thing to do, she knew, even though Bill had wanted her to do 
it to him several times. That just went to prove how right she had been all 
along in refusing him. It obviously was a nasty thing to do, or they 
wouldn't be showing it in a nasty movie! 

Still, though, the forbidden excitement was stealing over her body like the 
overpowering scent of jasmine on a summer's night. She stirred back against 
the cushions once more, feeling the softness of them Dressing against the 
bare of her back. She was aware that George's caresses had grown bolder and 
now had begun a tentative little investigation of that hot feverish 
moistened cleft between her thighs. At his first touch, she forced herself 
to move slightly sideways; that tantalizing finger persistently followed, 
and she gave into it for a minute, thinking, "That feels good, and it 
doesn't hurt anything. I won't let him do any more than that." 

Dorothy wasn't quite sure when she began rocking her body against George's 
finger in an almost discernible rhythm in concert with the writhing woman on 
the screen. She could feel the warm wetness spreading between her thighs, 
and opened her legs wider in order to give greater access to that tormenting 
finger scraping now the entire hot length of her dampened pink pulsating 
pussy. 

Suddenly she stiffened and attempted to sit upright as she remembered where 
she was and what was happening. She glanced guiltily out of the corner of 
her eye at Bette and Carl, but they were so engrossed with each other that 
it seemed unlikely they would hear a cannon going off in the room. Bette lay 
back against the cushions, her eyes closed-not even watching the poor 
farmer's wife on the screen. Carl had his hungry mouth fastened like a 
feeding calf to the turgid nipple straining through the heart-shaped opening 
of the bra. His left hand was at the larger heart-shaped opening at the 
crotch, but only four fingers of the hand could be seen - a thumb, 
forefinger, ring and little fingers. The middle digit was sunk all the way 
into the depths of her wildly gyrating pussy, which was moving up and down 
as though it were an oil pump. Bette seemed oblivious to everything; her 
mouth was open in intoxicated rapture. Even as Dorothy watched, she saw the 
red-head's hand drop to Carl's lap and begin a slow agonizing unzipping of 
his trousers. A jolt of excitement shot through her. She wanted to watch 
that salacious scene, but found her attention being forced back upon the 
screen, for up there the poor farmer's daughter had entered the house and 
had cocked her head as she heard loud groans coming from the bedroom. 
Dorothy's eyes widened and she caught her breath. 

The girl tiptoes, frightened and trembling, down the hallway and stands 
outside the partially opened door of the bedroom. She stares in horrified 
disbelief as she sees her mother being orally and vaginally fucked by two 
virile young boys. She continues to stand, unseen, watching with wide open 
eyes and mouth that can not be closed. It is obvious that the salacious 
sight is having a powerful effect on her, for her expression has become one 
of want and lust equal to that of the mother. Quickly her hands drop to her 
crotch and begin massaging her pubic mound in rhythm to the fucking the 
mother is receiving. She writhes lasciviously as her fingers play at her 
vagina as though it were a musical instrument. In frantic haste, she strips 
off her panties and uses both of her hands to run over her straining body; 
the fingertips dance over the flat planes of her taut young belly and 
finally come to rest together at the Vee of her soft down-covered crotch. 
She groans aloud at the sudden contact of her hands with the moist slit 
between her thighs, and assumes a squatting position which exposes the 
glistening furrow between her smooth white thighs. One finger slowly crawls 
to her thinly bearded cuntal lips and spreads them apart until the pink warm 
wetness is fully visible. The half moons of her rounded buttocks are plainly 
seen divided by the hot lonely crevice between them. Slowly, tentatively, 
she inserts the middle finger into the glistening pink slit. She moans 
aloud, too loud, for the boys look at each other in guilty alarm. The blonde 
boy puts his finger to his lips, reluctantly pulls his cock from the 
farmer's wife's mouth, then tiptoes to the door. He opens it all the way and 
finds the squatting girl masturbating herself. Gruffly he yanks her into the 
room and throws her on the bed alongside the mother. He grins down at her 
and says, "If you want to be fucked, let's do it the right way!" Without 
giving her a chance to answer, he falls between her trembling, young, 
outspread thighs, and buries his mouth against the succulent wet vaginal 
slit. His tongue shoots out like a little red penis and buries itself in the 
steaming, screaming snatch. 

Dorothy moaned aloud as the farmer's wife sought mightily to throw the 
dark-haired youth from her body. The poor woman fought unsuccessfully, then 
lay watching the daughter being tongue-fucked and listening to the shrill 
cries of animal rapture bubbling from the girl's throat. Dorothy could feel 
the explosive vapors building up in her own body as, up on the screen, the 
farmer's wife-obviously excited by the lewd sight of her daughter being 
orally raped-began whipping her pelvis frantically up against the impaling 
cock and screaming, "Fuck me. Fuck harder!" 

Beside her in the darkness, George slowly unzipped his trousers and pulled 
out his erect penis, which stood out like a huge reverberating totem pole 
from his abdomen. He glanced in back of him and saw Bette rapidly sliding 
her warm, ovalled mouth up and down Carl's glistening shaft; both man and 
woman were completely nude. He grinned at the lewd sight, then removed his 
shirt and trousers unseen by Dorothy who seemed totally engrossed in the 
motion picture. He knew, however," that even though her mind was up there 
with the screen, her body had reacted automatically. She was aroused, he 
could tell-so aroused that he didn't know how she could continue to watch 
the motion picture. 

Her cuntal slit was seeping, and the material on both sides of the open 
heart-shape was saturated. Vaguely, he wondered if it was worth the trouble 
to remove the panties, then decided against it because the cunt was 
completely uncovered anyway. 

Naked now, George silently bent his head forward and gently kissed the erect 
little nipple straining out of the heart-shaped opening of the bra. Dorothy 
moaned low in her throat and, without taking her eyes from the screen 
cradled his head against her chest. His hand dropped, fished, and then 
slowly insinuated itself into the hot wet opening between her thighs. He 
began sucking on the nipple, while using his thumb and forefinger to massage 
the clitoris. Only then did Dorothy look down at him. 

"Oh, I must not let him do that," she told herself sternly. "It isn't nice. 
It's bad... but it feels soooo good!" Now her earlier feeling that she was 
not in her own body returned stronger than ever. She couldn't explain the 
feeling exactly, it was just as though she were standing off to one side 
watching the entire thing... watching something happen to a blonde girl who 
looked just like her. 

"Funny, though," she mused, "if I'm not in my own body, then why am I 
enjoying George's caresses so much?" He had begun finger fucking her again 
in earnest, and once more her pelvis was eagerly cooperating with that 
finger bringing such a delicious warmth to her loins. Guiltily, she glanced 
toward Bette and Carl hoping that they were not watching. 

What she saw caused her to tense in shock, and for a moment George thought 
he had gone too far, too fast. He looked up and saw her watching Bette's hot 
hungry mouth devouring Carl's penis. Dorothy didn't realize it but her mouth 
had ovalled and her head was moving up and down in unison with the other 
girl. When the shock passed, her entire body trembled in an excitement 
almost too great to endure. I As if sensing her complete arousal now, George 
began raining kisses over her shoulders and neck, then out his lips down 
hard against hers, using his tongue to part the mouth. 

She struggled for less than three seconds before wrapping her arms around 
him and pulling him over against her. It was only then that she became aware 
that he was nude. 

For a moment her mind simply didn't register the fact, then she didn't think 
about it any more because it was obviously so natural. Bette and Carl were 
nude, she was almost nude, the four people up there in the motion picture 
were nude... so why should George be the only one with clothes on? 

Now as the wickedly exciting zephyrs of animal lust began blowing throughout 
her entire being, she knew that this definitely couldn't be her body because 
Dorothy Conklin was "a good girl". That's why she made no protests when 
George took his mouth away from hers and began kissing shoulders and arms. 
Soon he was mouthing the hot eager breasts again, and then dropping his warm 
wet lips down across her taut with desire belly. He shifted his weight until 
he was lying on his side with his head toward her feet. His lips etched a 
burning pattern of implacable need across her thighs and calves, and then 
began working up the smooth hairless inner thighs. 

It was only when his head was just above her aching hungry slit that the 
shocking realization of what he was about to do made her recoil. 

She pushed her hands against his head, "Oh, no. You can't do that. Please... 
don't." Her voice was a whisper; she didn't want the others to know what he 
was attempting. 

George smiled up at her, then planted a gently little kiss on her fevered, 
coral-hued cuntal lips. 

Dorothy cringed and said softly, "No." 

George whispered back, "Nonsense, darling. Lie there and enjoy yourself; 
it's the most exquisite thing you'll ever experience." His eyes were locked 
now, feasting hungrily on the full pussy lips, framed so delicately by the 
heart-shaped open space and the cornsilk hair. 

From the reflected light of the motion picture, he could see a droplet of 
her seeping vaginal juice, and her rather large clitoris peering up at him 
like some timid hungry animal waiting, wanting, to be coaxed from its shell. 

There was a loud moan from the couple alongside them and Dorothy turned her 
head, sure that they must be watching them. Instead, Bette was now lying on 
her back, knees spread far apart, with Carl's humping body between them. She 
could see his thick white prick rising and falling like a piston shaft into 
her clasping, seeping pussy. Dorothy closed her eyes and fell back against 
the pillows, too weak to offer any further protest. 

Her mind churned and a shrill voice of conscience screamed in her inner 
ears. This couldn't be happening to her. It couldn't. Why... why, she was 
participating in a sexual orgy, and that was something the real Dorothy 
Conklin would never do. Now she felt George's thumbs drawing the soft curls 
of her pubic hair apart. Abruptly the memory of Dan Conklin's educated 
tongue and hands working night before last came back to her; he had created 
a need and want that had been forcefully shoved in the background of her 
mind. Now that unrequited, unsated need came back to her with a 
heart-pounding, nerve tingling intensity. She knew she was not going to 
protest to this man now who wanted to do that same wicked thing to her 
crotch, and the knowledge that her craven body would not resist caused a 
wave of black shame to pour over her. Here she was in a hotel room, lying on 
the floor like an animal in heat, with one couple next to her having sexual 
intercourse, and a stranger about to perform an unnatural act with her. Oh, 
God... if this is a dream or a nightmare wake me up now, she thought. 

George had slithered down further, becoming impatient as he felt his own 
need feeding on itself-growing in pained intensity. He stared at the 
fascinating sight of the blonde's perfect pussy. He had seen many of them in 
his day, but this one had to top them all for symmetry, delicate pastel 
colouring, and appeal. If there had ever been one that cried out more to be 
eaten, he could not remember it. Above him, Dorothy moaned in shame and 
twisted her loins in a feeble attempt to draw away from him. He breathed 
against the glistening pink, quivering pussy lips and was rewarded with a 
slight clenching of her thighs against his ears. 

Suddenly he could wait no longer. His head bent to the hot palpitating 
opening. His tongue shot out like a knobless flattened red prick and wetly 
probed her guilt-quivering vagina. 

Dorothy's body responded automatically, convulsively jerking, a groan 
escaping from her throat as she ground her hips into the pillows in a feeble 
effort to get away from that long, hot. tormenting tongue. 

She tried pushing his head away, but her body was so weakened by its 
overwhelming arousing that she was without strength. She fell back against 
the cushions, her eyes closed and trembling in despair and hunger. She began 
wailing in animal-like passion as his tongue licked her inner thighs, wormed 
around her clitoris, and snaked rapier-like in and out of her quivering 
cunt. "Ohhhh... George... ok... don't... please, stop. Oooohhh." 

The last loud moan caught the attention the furiously fucking Bette and 
Carl. They momentarily stopped their labours and gazed at the salacious 
sight of George with his head and face buried in the wide-open wildly 
thrashing pussy, and Dorothy whose face was twisted in a portrait of savage 
animal lust. "Go to it, pal," Carl said, loudly. 

George heard the remark and, grinning to himself, began racing his tongue 
faster up the dilated nectarine-scented hole between her open legs. 

Dorothy moaned continuously now as the unwanted jolts of pleasure vilely 
pervaded her whole being. Involuntarily, she raised her loins as George 
slipped his hands under her buttocks and almost brutally squeezed the supple 
warm flesh of her cheeks. His hot hungry mouth and tormenting tongue 
continued to worm deeper and deeper into her helplessly squirming pussy. 

She began tossing her head and long golden hair from side to side as if 
trying to block out the unwanted knowledge that she had lost control of 
herself. She sobbed once in shame and humiliation as George licked on, 
moving from vagina to anus. Her traitorous body was boiling with the raw 
nerve ends of forbidden pleasure. Abruptly then, she stopped fighting him, 
knowing that fighting was hell... cooperation was heaven! She groaned 
loudly, throwing her wide-spread cunt against his working mouth, revelling 
to the bottom of her soul with the insane throes of an overpowering need 
older than man itself. 

Thus it was that she was completely helpless, completely incapable of 
offering resistance when George finally removed his wonderful mouth from her 
vagina and moved up full-length over her spread-eagled body. 

"I'm going to fuck you now," he said. 

She closed her eyes, refusing to look at his lewdly smiling face. Although 
she didn't mean it, and would have died if he had taken her at her word, 
Dorothy still felt the need of at least a token protest. "No... you can't." 

"Look at me, Dorothy. Look what I have for you," he commanded. 

She opened her eyes and saw him kneeling over her, his face twisted lewdly. 
Her eyes trailed down his broad chest and flat stomach to the mammoth prick 
which jutted out from his abdomen like the powerful blade of a plow. His 
hand began to stroke it, pulling back the foreskin, and Dorothy gaped at it 
in astonishment. Over his shoulder, up on the screen, she could see the 
farmer's wife in the middle of an orgasm that seemed to go on and on, while 
the daughter screamed in delirium as the blonde boy began driving his hardy 
cock in and out of her young wide-open cunt. Once again Dorothy felt the 
return of shame at what she was doing, but then the shame was vaporized by a 
new wave of desire as she heard a shrill bird-like scream come from Bette, 
"I'm cumming. Jesus; baby... I'm cumming! Give me all you've got." 

"Put it in for me," George ordered. 

"Oh... no. I can't." 

"Do it," he said, his voice no longer gentle. 

"God... help me," she cried, and then locked her hand around his thick 
throbbing shaft. A sudden thrill, compounded equally of excitement and fear, 
shot through her body. 

That heated fleshy pole "of pounding blood and muscle would bring her joy, 
but it was so large! No woman could handle that; it would split her apart. 

"Put it in," he repeated gruffly. 

She gasped and subserviently guided the long, thick cudgel to the quivering, 
passion-drenched opening of her femaledom. 

George used the thick bulbous head to part her pussy lips, and the 
electrifying contact sent spasms of new and even more powerful pleasure 
surging throughout Dorothy's straining body. He pushed his mighty cock 
against her fevered opening. 

"Ohhh," she cried in genuine pain and alarm, "I can't take it. You're too 
big." 

His eyes glazed with lust, face dripping perspiration, George pushed again, 
and this time the mammoth head forced its way into the hot, quivering 
opening. 

"Please... " she pled. "No... don't! No more." 

George continued the impalement, slowly thrusting inch by inch into her 
ever-widening passion pit. Down, down, down, that massive missile sank into 
her until she felt she was filled to bursting when he finally settled 
heavily atop her. She could feel every corrugated wrinkle, every pulsating 
vein, through the hideously stretched walls of her vagina. 

Oddly enough, at that moment of pain, she became aware of what was 
transpiring up there on the screen. Over George's shoulder she could see the 
two boys switching partners, with the dark-haired one simply falling forward 
without preamble, driving his cock to the hilt in the squirming cunt of the 
writhing farmer's daughter. Within the depths of Dorothy's belly, a 
responsive muscle twitched in sympathy. 

George felt something jerk deep inside of her, and he flexed his prick, 
driving it in at least another half inch. 

"Aaggh," Dorothy groaned, and then wondered why she had made the noise. She 
really wasn't hurting any more down there; she just felt stuffed! Now, as 
George began to slowly move his hot fleshy shaft in and out in gentle little 
movements, her passage became accustomed to the barbaric instrument, and her 
whimpers of pain imperceptibly changed to moans of pleasure. 

As George began to rotate his hips, grinding his shaft against first the 
clitoris and then the bottom walls of her vagina, Dorothy started to 
respond-at first reluctantly, bashfully, then with increasing 
fervour-working in harmony with this stranger labouring above her, this man 
who was fucking her into sweet oblivion. 

Little drops of perspiration popped out on her forehead, and her mouth 
opened and closed with passion as her neck strained with the hoarse pantings 
of pleasure rasping out of her throat. 

She became aware that the screen had gone all white behind George's 
shoulders; the movie was over. Bette and Carl had disappeared. There was 
nothing left but George's beautiful giant instrument of maledom buried to 
the hilt inside the heart of her femaledom. 

No longer was there any thought of morals, of pride, or reality. Nothing 
mattered but the fact that she was being fucked. The need boiled inside her. 
His cock pulsated, jerking and scraping and moving maddeningly against her 
clitoris, pounding alarmingly against the cervix. Her body was drowning in 
the lewd sensations, and she heard her craven voice begging, "Ohhh, George. 
Fuck me... fuck me... fuck." 

The sound of her own voice, which was only a hoarse croak of passion, 
excited her even more, and she began to pound her pelvis up against his 
punishing thrusts, heaving with delight and lust as the almost unbearable 
bliss continued to build in her love-starved body. 

Her legs beat a tattoo against the back of his calves before locking 
themselves tightly around his buttocks, where she used her heels as spurs to 
drive him further faster, deeper. She shot her tongue deep into his throat, 
thrusting it in and out in a parody of wild oral fucking while obscene 
sucking noises gurgled from her lust constricted throat. 

Now it was as though man and woman were trying to master each other. Dorothy 
writhed her steaming seeping pussy up against him, using her heels and 
strong leg muscles to powerfully drive him deep into her. George rammed her 
with ever-increasing speed, punishing her with long, hard jolting thrusts. 
He lengthened his stroke, drawing the hard, gristly blood-heated shaft 
almost all the way out of the soft, fleshy, blushing hairlined sheath, then 
plummeting downward in quickening thrusts as her quivering pussy lips 
hungrily devoured him. 

Suddenly he felt it. The unmistakable heating up of her vaginal walls 
precursing her climax, her disbelieving hopeful gasp of breath, and the 
tremulous twitching of her deeper vaginal muscles. Abruptly, she exploded 
beneath him, wantonly writhing in complete abandonment, grinding up and down 
on his prick, inflated breasts heaving, stomach muscles rippling, toes 
flexed, heels beating a drumbeat of urgency against his bruised buttocks. 
"OoooHHHH? It's... it's here ! I... I'm CUMM-mmm-IIIIING!" She rotated her 
hips with all the insane fury of an airplane propeller gone wild. She 
convulsed beneath him, her mouth and pussy sucking feverishly, her hot 
ragged breath coming in sobbing gasps, her cunt afire and gushing around his 
plundering prick. 

Spurred on by the violence of her climax, George began fucking into her like 
a maniac seeking his own release. And then he, too, had reached that 
glorious promised land. His boiling white sperm roared through the volcanic 
vents of his scrotum and exploded out the tiny pulsating glans in a 
never-ending eruption of warm, creamy viscosity, inundating her pussy, 
filling her to the bursting point. The hot hungry walls of her vagina 
continued to milk his penis as if they wanted more, more. 

Dorothy finally fell laxly back against the cushions, her eyelids fluttering 
in exhaustion and pleasure. Never, she thought, has anything been so 
wonderful. She floated on a cloud of peace and rapture, drifting like a leaf 
in a warm river flowing serenely out to a dark and pleasant sea. Gone for 
the moment were all thoughts of shame and guilt. The lassitude flowed over 
her and she wanted to cry she was so happy. 

She mumbled a little protest when she felt that gloriously dying, deflating 
male instrument being pulled from her still clasping vagina. She didn't want 
it to go away; it belonged inside her forever. A moment later, though, it 
was back... feeling as strong and as powerful as it had in the beginning. 
Gently it began working back and forth inside her, and she realized that all 
of the hunger had not yet drained from her love-starved loins. She opened 
her eyes, then stared horrified as Carl grinned lewdly at her. He continued 
to thrust in and out, and suddenly the whole wonderful thing caught fire and 
started all over again. She reached laxily up and pulled Carl's mouth down 
on hers. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

It was after ten o'clock when Dorothy awakened the next morning. Her first 
impression was one of a horrible taste in her mouth, a blinding headache, 
and a vague feeling that something really terrible had happened. She opened 
her eyes and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, at the same moment she 
realized she was lying on an equally unfamiliar bed. 

Slowly, turning her head, she saw the lingerie tossed carelessly on the 
floor near a full-length wardrobe mirror. 

Then it all came back to her with the suddenness and clarity of a lightning 
bolt. She sat upright immediately, an act which brought a sudden stab of 
pain to her already pounding head. 

"Oh, no, please, no," she whimpered in a little prayer, hoping that this was 
a bad dream. 

Feeling the dried encrustations of semen on her belly and inner thighs, the 
slight soreness of her vagina, she knew it was not a dream... that it had 
actually occurred. She had been bad, really bad! One huge tear welled up in 
her right eye, joined immediately by one in her left eye. All her life she 
had resisted temptation to do bad things like last night, and now she had 
not only done it... but, if memory was correct, had enjoyed doing it. With 
two complete strangers! What could have gotten into her? Sure, there had 
been a lot to drink, but that wasn't the first time she'd gone past her 
limit. Nothing ever like this, though! Oh, it was terrible! She'd never be 
able to face Bill, as far as that was concerned, she'd never be able to look 
into a mirror again. 

Trembling with shame and weakened from her sexual and alcoholic excesses, 
Dorothy slowly got out of bed. She looked around for something to wear in 
case the men were still outside, and her eyes lit on the ivory-coloured 
negligee she had modeled the night before. 

Quickly she downed it, then peered out into the suite's living room. There 
was no one there. Over by the wall there were about a dozen pillows and 
several champagne bottles and glasses strewn around haphazardly; the 
deserted battlefield where the orgy had been held. 

Bette, dressed in street clothes, came whistling out of the other bedroom. 
She stopped in surprise and smiled. "Hi, sleepyhead. I thought you were 
going to nap all day." 

Suddenly the pent-up tears came pouring out of Dorothy's eyes. She sobbed 
convulsively. 

Bette came over toward her. "Hey... what gives? Why the waterworks?" 

"Oh, you know," Dorothy wailed. "I'm so ashamed!" 

The red-head looked shocked, as if she had heard an unspeakable blasphemy. 

"Ashamed? What for? Because we both got a little drunk and gave in to our 
physical needs?" 

"You may not be ashamed or have a guilty conscience, but I do. I am... I was 
a good girl. 

And no man other than my husband has ever touched me." Dorothy thought about 
that statement, remembering Dan Conklin, and decided that really didn't 
count. Besides nothing had happened with Dan, but something sure had 
happened last night. 

Bette decided the frontal attack was the best approach. "All right, so it's 
never happened before. What harm did it do? You know you enjoyed 
it-everything from the cocktails to dinner to the sex, you really dug it. 
You're a woman, and you need sexual relief. You don't think your precious 
Bill Conklin is keeping his pecker in his pants, do you?" 

"That's different," Dorothy said in a soft voice. 

"The hell it is," Bette retorted defiantly. When Dorothy didn't answer, the 
red-head continued, cunningly, "Besides, the two hundred bucks in 
commissions you earned last night will help ease .the old conscience. Just 
think about that. Eh, what?" 

Dorothy took a deep breath. "I don't think I'm cut out for the job." 

"What do you mean. You're a natural model. I watched you last night, and if 
I hadn't known better I would have sworn you had been doing it all your 
life." 

In spite of her unhappiness, Dorothy was flattered; she had no doubt about 
her ability to make the clothes look good. It was just this "mixing" with 
customers. That was a bad scene. She tried to put it into words. "Look... I 
like the job and I like the money a lot. It's just that I don't like doing 
things that could get me in trouble with men." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Bette snapped. "If you don't want to get involved 
with the buyers, then don't. You don't have to go to bed with them," she 
lied, then added, thoughtfully, "not unless you find them attractive and 
want to." She raised an eyebrow, "Like last night." 

Dorothy flushed with embarrassment. "We... I didn't want to last night." 

"Oh, yeh? It didn't look to me as though George was twisting your arm or 
holding a gun at your head." 

The big blonde sniffed and wiped a tear away. "I had too much to drink. I 
can't hold my liquor. That's another reason why I'm not cut out for this 
job." 

Bette sighed and closed her eyes. "Okay... if that's the way you want it. I 
told you that you don't have to go to bed with anyone. But if you want to 
quit-pull out-there's nothing I can do to stop you. It's going to cost me my 
job though, because Marie has already set up two more shows for you and 
me... one in San Francisco tomorrow night, the other in Sacramento on 
Saturday. I'll tell her to cancel them; but we can't get a decent model on 
this short notice. She'll fire me for sure, because I told her you had 
agreed to work at least three shows." 

Dorothy was immediately contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Bette. I am, really. I 
don't want to get you fired." She paused, then straightened. "All right. 
I'll work the two shows, but no more. 

Okay?" She asked, almost pleading to be forgiven for having gone back on her 
word. 

Bette grinned and hugged her. "Thanks. I'll never forget it." She stepped 
back, "Go take a shower, and let's get out of her. I'm starving." 

Dorothy still had some misgivings as she stood under the stinging spray of 
water. What she had done was unforgivable, and she knew that she was going 
to have to tell Bill. He'd probably leave her, or beat her up... and she 
would deserve it. But then, as she thought about it more, she began to 
wonder why she felt compelled to tell him about George and Carl, but felt so 
guilty about telling him what his father had done and tried to do to her. 
Life sometimes got so complicated. Why couldn't it be like the good movies, 
where everything always turned out nice. 

In the other room, Bette had just dialed Marie Grosset and said that she 
thought the big blonde would work out okay. 

"Honey, I hope so," Marie's cultured voice answered, "because if George and 
Carl were right, she's a real winner. God, I listened to George rave about 
her for fifteen minutes. 

You'd think it was his first sex ever. How's the girl taking it?" 

"Monday morning blues." 

"Will she get over it?" 

"Sure. After a couple more shows, she'll start counting her cash and decide 
that the blues and a conscience are two things she can't afford anymore." 

Marie sounded enthusiastic. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. How are you 
going to prepare her for tomorrow's show in San Francisco?" 

Bette laughed. "I'm going to tell her the truth. I mean, after all, she was 
bitching a few minutes ago about not wanting to get involved with men." 

Marie's laugh echoed through the wires, then she was gone. 

Dorothy was towelling herself dry when Marie walked into the bedroom without 
knocking. 

The red-head smiled broadly. "Everything is all set for tomorrow night's 
show in Frisco." 

The blonde looked as if she had just heard that the five-day weather 
forecast called for earthquakes near the end of the week. 

Bette patted her shoulder in comradeship. "Relax, honey. You don't have to 
worry about men with this show. These two buyers are women." 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Dorothy and Bette checked into their two bedroom suite at the Jackson 
Francisco Hotel at 4:30 the next afternoon. The lingerie to be worn during 
the special show had already been unpacked by the San Francisco Mister Bates 
staff, and Dorothy was gratified to note that the pieces were all very, very 
softly feminine-nothing bold or brash or seductive like those worn the night 
before. 

The big blonde was immediately relieved. This obviously was going to be a 
high class show; the women buyers just had to be well-bred and represented 
good stores if this type of merchandise appealed to them. She knew she would 
be comfortable working under these conditions. Relaxed and feeling mentally 
better about the whole thing, Dorothy eagerly agreed to accompany Bette on a 
shopping trip, then have a quick bite before coming back to the hotel to 
meet the buyers at nine. 

Over a Mexican food dinner at Senor Pico's-seated at a window overlooking 
San Francisco's busy waterfront, Alcatraz and the Golden Gate bridge-Dorothy 
suddenly became aware that she was no longer thinking constantly about what 
had happened two nights before in the Beverly Hills hotel. It was something 
she could never forget, of course, but she had stopped dwelling on it all 
the time. 

The two models watched the night come across the water from their table, 
then finished, hailed a taxi to take them back to the Jackson Francisco 
hotel. It was twenty minutes before nine when they walked into their suite. 

The two female buyers were already there, chatting animatedly over a bottle 
of champagne. Dorothy spotted three other ice buckets and champagne, and 
then her attention was drawn back to the women. 

"Miss Kanger, Miss Wilson, how nice to see you again," Bette said. "May I 
introduce Dorothy Conklin, one of our newest and most promising models." 

"Call me Jean," the woman who had beer, introduced as Miss Kanger said. She 
shook hands with Dorothy and her eyes glowed as she inspected the big 
blonde's lush figure. Dressed in a tailored navy blue knit suit which 
obviously had been custom made for her broad-shouldered, rather trim waisted 
body, she looked formidably professional-which is to say that she appeared 
slightly on the masculine side. Dorothy thought she looked terribly 
business-like and intelligent. 

Bella Wilson was even taller than Dorothy and weighed about fifty pounds 
more. She was not, however, fat. She was powerful in a muscular way. and 
Dorothy thought the buyer looked like some of the photographs of female 
Russian athletes. When she shook hands, the blonde model noticed her grip 
was just like a man's. 

The show started a few minutes early and was conducted in much the same 
manner as the preceding one with George and Carl, with Bette reciting the 
continuity and Dorothy refilling champagne glasses as needed. 

There were other similarities with the previous show, but Dorothy-who had 
been unsure about the two men's intentions-had no qualms about these 
women... not even when Bella Wilson asked her to remove her bra. The big 
blonde did so without hesitation and gave it over for inspection by the 
buyer. 

Jean Kanger motioned with her head and held up her empty glass, indicating 
she would like some more champagne. When Dorothy came over to her chair with 
the bottle, she said, "Thank you, my dear." Her glowing dark eyes fastened 
themselves upon the blonde's ripe, white breasts. "You have such a lovely 
body," | she purred, and it was said with such obvious sincerity that 
Dorothy felt pleased. 

Bella asked Dorothy to remove the panties so she could inspect the 
needlework in them also. The blonde paused, then colouring slightly, stepped 
out of the panties and stood completely nude. This time it was the big woman 
who complimented her on the "lovely femininity" of her body when she 
returned the garments. 

Dorothy nakedly went back to the bedroom carrying the lingerie in her hands. 
Behind her she heard one of the women tell Bette, "She's absolutely 
perfect." 

The blonde did not see Bette's knowing expression or the triumphant smile 
exchanged between the three women. 

When she came out again, this time wearing an all-white peignoir, she 
noticed that the two buyers had removed their coats. Both wore white nylon 
blouses cut like a man's shirt... 

neither, it was obvious, wore a bra, and the shadowy dark haloes of their 
aureoles looked as if they were part of the blouses' design. Dorothy could 
not help noticing that Bella had spectacular breasts-firm, upright and 
generous. Jean's tits were smaller, but nonetheless perfect Jean indicated 
that she wanted the blonde model to stop between their chairs. 

Dorothy positioned herself as directed and stood docile as the buyer's hand 
moved like a whisper of wind down her arm and across the abdomen. "Bella, my 
dear," she said, "you must feel this material. It's so dream-like." Dorothy 
felt the other woman's gentle touch moving down her back and come to rest on 
the outward swell of her buttocks. "Yes, it is delightful material," Bella 
agreed. 

Dorothy had a momentary sensation of fright and alarm as she felt both 
women's hands on her body. The touch wasn't displeasing, as a matter of 
fact, it was enjoyable in a mildly sensual, non-sexual sort of way. Even as 
she was thinking about it, Bella's hand moved down far enough to cup the 
left cheek of her buttocks; she gently lifted the mound of flesh in the palm 
of her hand. It happened so rapidly and the hand moved away so quickly that 
Dorothy didn't even have time to recoil. When she bent over to pour more 
champagne into the big -woman's glass, she could see Bella's fully erect 
nipples pressing against the blouse-as though two extremely large coffee 
beans were trying to push through the material. 

The show moved swiftly and almost before she knew it, Dorothy was putting on 
her final garment, a loose short white toga made of very soft, clinging 
material. She inspected herself in the mirror; it not only felt good against 
her bare skin, but it looked good as well. 

Her own nipples could clearly be seen through the nylon but, after all, that 
was what the gown had been designed for. She knew she looked alluringly 
feminine, and had turned to say something to Bette about it as the re-head 
entered the room to make her final change. 

Bette beat her to the punch, however. "Wow!" she said, "that really looks 
great. You look like some Greek goddess." 

Dorothy blushed at the compliment, and Bette continued, somewhat more 
excitedly, "Well, we've done it again. They're ordering the complete line. 
That means you've earned $250 tonight." 

It was a completely stunned Dorothy who walked out to model the toga. She 
could hardly believe her good luck; and the thought came-this job would be 
so wonderful if I could only keep away from the men buyers who made passes. 
Why, in just two nights I've already made $450 in commissions; that is more 
than most women make in a month of hard work! 

The toga had a tangible impact on the two buyers, so much so that Bella rose 
slowly from her chair and said, in awe, "My God! So utterly beautiful... so 
precious." Her voice was a caress, and Dorothy knew instinctively that the 
big woman was paying a compliment not only to the gown, but to her body as 
well. 

"Stand here, my dear," Jean said, her voice husky with emotion. Dorothy 
walked to a point beside her chair then stood. Jean continued, "If I had not 
seen it with my own eyes, I would not believe anyone could so capture the 
true spirit of Sappho's hetaera" She paused, her eyes roaming freely over 
the girl's body. "Do you know of the hetaera, my child?" 

Dorothy shook her head. 

Bella had moved up silently alongside Dorothy; she said, "Sappho, the great 
Greek poetess, had surrounded herself with female companions-all noted for 
their physical perfection. They sang, they danced, and under the bright warm 
skies of Lesbos, Sappho wrote immortal poetry dedicated to the beauty of 
women such as yourself." She sighed in nostalgia, "Those were the days." 

Dorothy was flattered. It was one thing for a man to say you're beautiful, 
but coming from a woman-two women, actually-both of them intelligent, 
well-bred, and important, well... 

that was a real compliment! She suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of 
gratitude to Jean and Bella. It would be nice to have friends like this. 

Jean said, "Turn and face the window, child." 

Dorothy obediently moved around. She heard the whisper of cloth, but did not 
think anything of it, and thus did not see Bette dressed in street 
clothes-silently give a thumbs up signal to the two women before quietly 
slipping from the suite. 

Bella said, "I wonder how Bates manages to make his stitches hold in that 
mesh?" 

Obediently, the big blonde walked across the room and took up her earlier 
position alongside the chair. Bella reached out, pulled up Dorothy's left 
arm, and slowly began unbuttoning the toga's five small gold buttons that 
ran from armpit to hip. 

Jean said, reassuringly, "We want to check the stitching, dear." 

When the last button had been unfastened, the soft material fell away 
revealing the milk-white mound of warm succulent flesh comprising Dorothy's 
left breast and the alabaster gently curved suppleness of one buttock. 

"We're going to have to take it all the way off," Bella croaked in an almost 
unrecognizable voice. Dorothy momentarily felt alarm; the big woman was so 
red in the face, and perspiring and breathing heavily. It was as though she 
were about to suffer some kind of attack. Bella's hands were trembling 
violently as the gown was slowly, oh ever so slowly, slipped from her right 
shoulder and then permitted to fall in a soft heap at her feet. 

Bella knelt in front of Dorothy and, as though she were performing some sort 
of religious ceremony, reverently put her hands on the model's legs and 
lifted first one foot then the other to release the gown. She stared with 
hot fevered eyes at Dorothy's upper thighs, And the blonde began feeling 
some embarrassment as that feverish glance locked on her bare crotch. 

Jean stood and took the toga from the kneeling Bella. She smiled in 
friendship at the girl. 

"Why don't you sit down on the couch there, my child? Here, have a glass of 
champagne. 

We'll only be a moment." 

Uncertain of what to do or how to act, Dorothy took the proffered glass and 
walked quickly across the room. She sat gingerly in the middle of the couch, 
and began wondering what was keeping Bette in the bedroom; the red-head 
should have come out with her final garment long before now! I The two women 
talked in low tones, pretending to inspect the garment's stitching, then 
tossed the toga in the chair, picked up their champagne and came over to sit 
down-one on each side of Dorothy. 

"Well, my child," Jean said, smiling warmly, "you should be complimented. I 
hope Tommy Bates realizes what a real find he has in you. If you ever get 
tired of working with him. you must join my organization. We'll have you on 
the front cover of a lot of women's magazines before you know it!" She 
absent-mindedly put her hand on Dorothy's bare thigh and gave a gentle 
little squeeze of encouragement. "You really know how to make clothes look 
good." 

Bella had regained control of her emotions, and she sounded almost normal 
when she commented thoughtfully, "So good, in fact, that I'm dying to try on 
that toga. Do you think it will fit me?" 

Before Dorothy could express her misgivings, Jean answered, "Well, there's 
one sure way to find out. Why don't you try it on?" 

"All right, I will," the big woman said abruptly, and got to her feet. 

Dorothy watched with a certain amount of trepidation as Bella rapidly 
stripped off her blouse and stood in bare-breasted magnificence. With one 
deft motion, she ran the zipper down the side of her skirt and dropped it to 
the floor. The blonde model felt her face beginning to redden as she noticed 
Bella was wearing neither panties nor girdle, merely a black garter belt 
that framed a soup-bowl sized patch of thick coal black pubic hair. Her 
thighs, although muscular, were perfect in a sculptured sense. When she 
removed her garter belt and nylons to stand perfectly nude, she looked like 
an invincible naked Amazon or warrior goddess. In spite of her 
embarrassment, Dorothy had to admire the woman's body. Her breasts were 
easily as large as two big cantaloupes, but in spite of their size, they had 
a fierce upthrust that made the hardy erect nipples look as if they were 
being pulled up by invisible wires. 

The toga did not fit. That had been so obvious, right from the start, that 
Dorothy couldn't figure out why the woman had even tried. When Bella looked 
disappointed, Jean laughed and said, "Let me try it." Quickly she stripped 
off her clothing, and the blonde model was again surprised to see that this 
buyer wasn't wearing undergarments either. Except for her rosy apple-sized 
tits and lack of a penis, she could have been a young, handsome boy. 

There was something about the way she stood, hands on hips and feet 
wide-apart, that caused a warm feeling of admiration to well up in the young 
girl. Jean looked so sure of herself, so poised and powerful! The toga's 
design really was not suited for this type of physique, being too small for 
the broad shoulders, and too full for the small perfect breasts and boyish 
hips. Nonetheless the gown did have a certain grace and charm which was hard 
to deny. 

Bella, still nude, came over to the couch with a champagne bottle and sat 
down so close to Dorothy that their thighs were touching. She nodded toward 
Jean and said, "Looks pretty good on her, doesn't it?" 

Dorothy nodded in wide-eyed admiration. 

"Thank you, child," Jean said, then shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. 
"It's too tight through here." Quickly, she unbuttoned the toga and let it 
fall to the floor. Then, eyes glowing with an inner fire, she padded across 
the room and sat down very close to the girl. 

Dorothy could feel the heat of their bare bodies on both sides of her. 

Bella refilled all of their glasses, then raised hers in toast. "Here's to 
women, and here's to friendship." 

The three women touched glasses, and Dorothy took a little sip of the 
champagne. She turned her head looking back toward the bedroom. 

"What's wrong, child?" Jean said. 

"Bette. I wonder what's happened to her?" Bella said, casually, "Oh, she 
left about five minutes ago. She forgot her order book, had to go get it." 

Dorothy felt a fleeting moment of alarm... and fright. As if sensing her 
concern, Jean said, "Don't worry. She'll be back. And you are with friends." 

Dorothy forced herself to relax. For some reason, she now found it difficult 
to look into the eyes of either woman. She wasn't sure what it was she saw 
in them; it was an alienness she had never encountered before, something 
unexplainable... not frightening exactly, but it did result in an 
undercurrent of uneasiness. Too, she was beginning to feel a bit awkward 
sitting here naked, with a nude woman on each side of her. It was all well 
and good to pretend that Jean and Bella were models like herself, but it 
wasn't the truth. 

Jean turned slightly so that she was facing the big blonde. She put out one 
hand and touched the golden strands of hair that fell across the girl's 
shoulder. "Everything... 

everything so perfect. Hair, face, breasts, stomach, thighs... everything." 

"Everything," Bella agreed, droning the word hypnotically. She gently ran 
her hand down the full length of Dorothy's bare thigh. "Perfect." 

Instead of withdrawing her hand, Jean slid her arm around the back of 
Dorothy's shoulders. "Tell us something about yourself, child. You're 
married?" 

Dorothy was glad of the chance to talk, mainly because Bella's gentle, 
persistent caressing of her leg was proving terribly distracting. She didn't 
want to look at the big woman, for a moment before she had noticed that 
Bella's nipples had distended to an alarming degree and looked like hard, 
brown, 3/4-inch pencil erasers. As far as that was concerned, her own body 
was beginning to react to the woman's hand; inner thighs and spine were 
covered with goosebumps and her nipples were becoming browner, more erect. 

As she described Bill, she became aware that Jean, a soft smile on her face, 
was not listening to her.. merely watching her lips -open and close. Dorothy 
faltered in mid-sentence and the woman said quietly, "You are so beautiful, 
darling. Please let me be your friend." 

Dorothy was completely unprepared for what came next. Jean's arm around her 
shoulders tightened and pulled her body over, then the woman's soft parted 
lips were on hers in what, at first, was a gentle kiss. The intensity of the 
kiss increased, and Dorothy felt Jean's tongue tentatively pressing against 
her astonished lips, forcing its way inside her mouth. 

The big blonde sat as if frozen against the soft, small breasts pressing 
against her own, a sudden dry almost strangling sensation in her throat as 
alarm began welling up in her. She was shocked and stunned by the kiss, and 
yet not frightened enough to resist the wicked darting of that tongue in and 
around her mouth. 

Suddenly, Bella's big wide open hand moved from thigh to abdomen and began 
making little circular movements with tingling thumb touching bottom of the 
breast on the apogee and little finger tantalizingly brushing the pubic 
mound on the perigee. Dorothy tensed and attempted to pull back from Jean's 
voracious mouth, but the woman merely tightened her grip around the blonde's 
shoulders. A second later, with a low groan of fevered hunger, Bella bent 
forward; her wide-open mouth and hot wet lips fastened like a suction cup to 
the palpitating mound of flesh at Dorothy's breast. With a knowing feminine 
touch, the big woman suckled her naked breast gently, using teeth and tongue 
to taunt her nipple into hardness. 

The blonde model's mind refused to acknowledge what was occurring. Although 
Dorothy was struggling, mumbling inarticulately into Jean's open mouth, her 
brain was working at top speed. She knew now what was happening... what 
these women were... and what they were doing. 

I've heard of women who were this way, who made love to each other, but I've 
never met one Thank God, I've never met one. This is wicked Bad! Forbidden. 
I must get out of here. 

And even as she was thinking these thoughts another part of her mind was 
analysing what was happening, how her own body was reacting. 

Bella's lips on my breast feel even better than Bill's used to feel, and her 
hand-so gentle. Jean's lips, Jean's mouth... the faint smell of her 
expensive perfume... her mouth tasting like champagne-soft and warm. 

Dorothy could feel her own lips, rigid from the beginning, starting to relax 
slowly under Jean's soft, hot probings into her mouth. After all, she told 
herself, it's only a kiss! As the hungry tongue of the woman buyer took 
complete command of her mouth, Dorothy timidly responded by pushing her own 
tongue against the invader. A moment later the two tongues were fencing like 
playful red fighting fish. Her entire body seemed to relax in some odd 
indefinable manner, and without volition she found herself rotating her 
shoulders-pushing one tit further into Bella's hungrily nibbling, sucking 
mouth, and rubbing her other breast against Jean's hard erect little nipple. 

The blonde model, feeling the increasing intensity of the delightful 
sensations, closed her eyes and began trembling all over at the forbidden 
deliciousness of the situation. Alien hands now moved at will over her body; 
fingers with all the sureness of a concert pianist, bringing music and 
melody with each salacious touch-rising in tempo and crescendo until all 
resistance began to melt like long winters ice under the rays of a new sun. 

Jean now shifted, holding the girl tighter than ever, and scraped her naked 
breasts across Dorothy's shoulders and arms. Her movement had caused Bella's 
mouth to dislodged from the left tit, but that lovely mound of mammary ; 
flesh was not left in limbo for long because Jean twisted once more and 
began rubbing both of her tight hard little breasts against the blonde 
model's. It was nipple against nipple, breast crushing breast. She felt 
Jean's thigh rise over her own and then the woman was furiously rubbing her 
soft matte of pubic hair against Dorothy's thigh... soft and dry at first, 
then with a warm viscosity and a new hardness as pussy lips separated and 
the elongated little clitoris, like a nocturnal animal, slithered out of 
hiding. 

In the beginning, the naive young blonde's body had reacted out of alarm, 
then of curiosity at the soft pleasure and then of sensuality, but now as 
she felt the first overtones of a sexual hunger reverberating throughout her 
body, she tensed up once more and pulled her mouth away from Jean's. 

"No .. " She gasped, her breath coming in hoarse gasping pants. "We can't. 
You Mustn't." 

Jean managed to look puzzled and hurt in spite of her own rapid breathing. 
"Why not, child?" 

"Because... because... " she frantically sought an excuse, then said, "... 
because Bette might come back." 

Bella laughed, "That's simple enough to take care of. I'll double-latch the 
door so no one can get in-even with a key." She leapt powerfully to her feet 
and actually ran across the room, twisted the lock, and ran back again to 
the scene of the action. She had been gone less than ten seconds. 

Jean said, "See, darling, how easy it is." With a low moan, she bent her 
head and began sucking gently on Dorothy's right breast. 

"Oh, noo... please... " It was a feeble protest-a sound compounded equally 
of animal-like pleasure and minor objection, as she wonderingly put her 
hands over the buyer's ears-holding the sucking mouth against her breast as 
a mother might that of a child. 

Her eyes were closed, but the eyelids fluttered as if trapped butterflies 
were beneath them, as pleasure after pleasure shot through her body. Then, 
as though everything that had happened before had been just an overture to 
the curtain rising, she felt an overpowering jolt of excitement as the 
powerful Bella began raining kisses on her thighs. 

At the same moment, the Amazon's sure, capable hands grasped her knees and 
pulled them apart. 

Dorothy's breath caught in her throat as Bella's hot hungry lips moved 
boldly up the smooth white inner thighs and then voraciously on to the 
triangle of tender raised flesh between the legs. The model's thighs were 
pushed further apart in an effort to uncover the soft, succulently warm, 
pink layers of cuntal lips. A great convulsive shudder of delight coursed 
down her spine as the woman's knowledgeable quivering tongue found the 
trembling clitoris and sucked it up into her mouth. 

"Aaagghh... don't," she said, and immediately gave lie to her words by 
eagerly punching her pelvis up against Bella's face. Momentarily, a wave of 
revulsion and protest ran through Dorothy as she realized what she was 
participating in, but the pangs of conscience were quickly overridden by the 
intense sexual stimulation which effectively blocked all other emotions. 
This was far better than what she had experienced from George or Dan 
Conklin's mouth; it seemed the difference between amateur and professional. 

Bella buried her face in the wet split crevice of Dorothy's moistly 
palpitating pussy, licking and sucking as though she were starved, all the 
while gently running her hands up and down the smooth inner thighs-working 
and kneading the deep inner muscles and bringing a new spectrum of forbidden 
pleasures. One powerful hand stopped its stroking and moved beneath the full 
white globes of Dorothy's ass. A moistened middle finger pushed against the 
tight nether ring of her anus and almost immediately made penetration into 
the soft fleshy passage. The digit commenced a sawing motion in time with 
Bella's tongue now driving relentlessly in and out of the honey-scented 
cunt. It hurt. Oh, how it hurt! But in such an ecstatic manner. 

Jean had withdrawn her mouth from Dorothy's breast and now moved up on her 
to the point where she was practically straddling the helplessly writhing 
girl. She offered her breast to Dorothy and the girl, caught in a delirium 
of sexual excitement, clamped her mouth down on the hard little tit without 
protest. She swirled her tongue around and around the nipple, then bit 
gently and was rewarded by a fluttering cry of pleasure from the buyer. She 
found it difficult to concentrate on the tongue fucking her vagina was 
receiving from Bella and to suck tit at the same time, but she made every 
attempt to work in unison with the woman. She dropped her hands and let them 
explore Jean's muscular body, running fingers down the back and across the 
supple buttocks. The woman's ass felt cool and muscular, her legs trembled 
with each caress. She dropped her hand further and ran her fingers thru the 
soft curls of Bella's head. 

Jean now raised herself even further, removing her breast from Dorothy's 
passionately cooperating mouth. Her navel was opposite the big blonde's face 
and it received a wet hot kiss. Then .. inevitably, the rose-hued thinly 
bearded little cunt was opposite her face. The moistened vaginal slit was 
wide-open and the two pussy lips, like succulent red and pink fruit halves, 
was offered to her. 

Dorothy stared at it for a moment, knowing what was expected of her, but 
unable to do anything because of the last lingering vestiges of inhibition 
and the mass of delectable, wet sensitivity growing more and more intense 
with every passing second down there between her thighs. Her own fevered 
vagina had reached a pin-point of needle-sharp sensation that promised to 
explode soon in a mammoth soul-sucking orgasm. She was so close to cumming 
that she began buffeting her pussy against Bella's face, all the while 
staring in rapt fascination at Jean's delectable perfect little cunt only 
inches from the end of her nose. 

Her breath had increased in volume and tempo until now it was just one long 
rasping sound that sawed in and out of her throat in time to the tormenting 
finger twisting around and around in her rectum. That, together with the 
tongue of fire lapping at her vagina, made her incapable of cooperating or 
repaying pleasure in any way. 

Suddenly, just as Dorothy felt the first tingling precursors of a climax, 
Bella pulled her mouth away, but kept her finger shoved into the depths of 
the young girl's tortured rectum. 

"Oooohhhh, don't stop... please don't stop." Dorothy cried, her voice an 
unrecognizable croak of feral lust. 

Bella, her face smeared with the hot viscosity of Dorothy's honeyed love 
lubricant and her own saliva, smiled up knowingly at the blonde. 

Do you like that, darling?" 

"Yes. Oh, yes. It's beautiful. You can't stop now! Please." 

Jean twisted her figure almost double, french-kissed Dorothy again, and 
said, "We have all night, child. All night. And I promise you heights of 
pleasure you never before thought existed." 

Jean rose on her knees again, straddling the girl's wide-spread figure. She 
rubbed her hot damp vagina against both of Dorothy's breasts-bringing a gasp 
of delight- from the passion-helpless blonde-and presented her cunt in 
offering once more. Bella twitched her finger deep in the depths of 
Dorothy's rectum, as if nudging her forward-reminding her of an unwritten, 
unspoken obligation to repay pleasure with pleasure. When the blonde model 
did not respond at first, the result of having some second thoughts as she 
felt her peak of passion slowly beginning to subside, Bella grinned and 
buried her face once more into the succulent layers of pink, pouting, proud 
pussy flesh dripping with the musk and honey-scented elixir of love. 

Dorothy gasped as the tongue shot into her twitching cunt like a little red 
prick. Without ordering them to move, her hands reached out and tremblingly 
grabbed Jean's boy-like buttocks and pulled the auburn-haired pelvis to her 
mouth. She didn't have the slightest idea of what to do, but began raining 
kisses and licks all over the crotch. Jean, her eyes rolling deliriously, 
reached down and peeled her own vaginal lips apart with the thumb and 
forefinger, exposing a brown tremblingly erect little clitoris. She stroked 
it between thumb and forefinger for a moment, then said, "Suck on this, 
darling." 

Obediently, wanting to please her now, Dorothy fastened her soft warm lips 
around the budded nerve center and was rewarded with a loud moan and Jean's 
passionate voice crying. "Oh, God... wonderful, darling. More... more... " 
Bella began licking more powerfully now, and there were times when her 
tongue thrusts seem to drive in as far as Bill's prick had gone. She 
actually jolted Dorothy's pelvis with each delicious wild drive inward. The 
young girl simply could not believe the intensity of the wildly erotic 
sensations. Magnifying the feeling was the knowledge that she was doing the 
same wickedly perverted thing to Jean, willingly participating in this 
forbidden lesbian act. Subconsciously she began using her tongue and lips in 
the same manner as Bella, and Jean's cries had become louder and more 
prolonged. 

Now her own loins had begun that unmistakable agonizingly beautiful build up 
to an orgasm. She could feel her belly muscles rippling like a savage 
rip-tide, could feel the joyous quiverings of deep inner vaginal muscles as 
tongue and finger moved in, pulled out, moved in like two well-oiled drills 
seeking underground treasure. And then, without any further warning, she was 
there! 

The first trembling convulsions began at the pit of her stomach and rapidly 
spread outward. She tried to communicate her joy, but her gentleness 
evaporated under the violence of the stunningly powerful climax. Cruelly she 
dug her fingernails into Jean's buttocks and began slavering like a madman 
into the wide-open, wildly thrashing, pink hot wet cunt of the woman. 
Bubbling mewls of animal passion came from deep in her throat as she began 
thrusting her tongue in wild abandonment as deep as it would go into the 
clasping cuntal cavity, before her. She coughed and sputtered as she sucked 
in Jean's warm viscous liquid, then her legs snaked out like two fleshy 
lariats and fastened themselves around Bella's neck, yanking the big Amazon 
in closer to her wildly thrusting pelvis. It was as though she were trying 
to pull the woman's face, that tantalizing tongue, and hot voracious mouth 
all the way into her. 

Wave after wave of pure sensation-almost too incredibly intense to live 
through-roared and rippled throughout her entire body. Instead of slacking 
off, it grew in even greater intensity until Dorothy was sure she would die, 
that every palpitating, wildly jangling nerve center was shorting out and 
would be useless forever more. 

In the midst of it, she became vaguely aware that Jean's pussy was twitching 
and sucking at her tongue, and at the same moment she heard the great shriek 
of exaltation and Jean's voice crying, "I'm cumming... lick harder. 
Dorothy... suck harder... Oh, good God! I... AM... CUMM-INNNGGG!" And then 
the woman simply fell over sideways, collapsing from the force of her 
climax. Dorothy lay back, eyes fluttering, legs still quivering and 
trembling, as the last reverberating jolts of pleasure began diminishing. 

Bella looked up triumphantly at the two gasping women, then slowly got up 
and went over to her attache case. Reaching in, she pulled out two elongated 
white boxes and carried them back to the couch. 

Dorothy was still too weak from her orgasm to pay much attention to what the 
big woman was doing. All she knew was that the Amazon had lifted her easily 
up by the hips, slipped a leather belt under them and another between her 
legs, then fastened the belts in front. 

When the girl looked over toward Jean, she thought for a moment that she was 
hallucinating, for the boyish-looking buyer was strapping something on 
herself. Then she gasped when she saw the eight-inch long artificial penis 
attached to the straps. It was so life-like that she could swear it had 
actually throbbed. When she looked down at her own abdomen, she saw the same 
barbarous instrument belted to her hips. The penis seemed to have a life of 
its own. She could see the little red and blue capillaries on it, the mighty 
majesty of the red mushroomed head; bristly hair even sprouted from the 
pendulous scrotum which felt surprisingly warm against her inner thighs. 
With mixed emotions- horror, revulsion, surprise, even amusement-she gazed 
at it, and the thought came unbidden, "So this is what it would look like if 
I were a boy." 

Even as she was watching it, Bella came over carrying a jar of cold cream. 
Grinning happily, she took a gob of the grease and smeared it over the 
mammoth spongy head of the dildoe, then ran her closed hand up and down the 
shaft several times as though she were masturbating it-spreading the cold 
cream evenly. Wordlessly, she tossed the jar to the boyish buyer who rapidly 
greased the hard rubber artificial cock. 

Jean then sat down with her legs- spread wide-apart on the couch and leaned 
back. She looked exactly like a handsome young boy with a very large 
erection. 

Dorothy could not take her eyes from the obscene spectacle. Nothing she had 
ever seen before in her life could match this for salaciousness, and she 
really could not believe what her eyes were witnessing. 

Jean said to Bella, "Come on darling, let me fuck you." The Amazon laughed 
coyly, then with an eagerness she lowered herself on the phallus. She gasped 
in delight as the rubber prick slipped easily between her widespread thighs 
and slowly sank into the depths of her pussy. 

Dorothy discovered that she had been holding her breath and felt the first 
beginnings of an embarrassed blush as she realized that her own lewd groan 
had echoed that of the two women when the big woman's pussy had been 
penetrated. Bella's magnificent buttocks began rising and falling 
powerfully, and the blonde girl could see them flexing and straining with 
each inward stroke. The obscene sight was so exciting in a perverted sort of 
way that Dorothy felt the blood beginning to pound through her veins again. 

It was then that Bella turned and said, without preamble, "Dear child, you 
must stick your prick up my asshole." 

She reeled in dismay, and confusion churned in her mind. It was one thing to 
witness something like this, but to actually participate. 

"Please," Bella pled, and Dorothy thought she discerned the faintest 
suspicion of tears of supplication boiling up in the big woman's eyes. 
"Remember the pleasure I brought you. 

Don't deny me now. Please. I must have it or die." She wagged her muscular 
buttocks beseechingly in the air a couple of times. 

In spite of the revulsion that accompanied the lewd request, Dorothy could 
not deny she had become excited. Incapable of guile, she simply did not know 
what to say. Finally she mumbled, "I don't know what to do. I'm afraid I'll 
hurt you." 

"Come over here, darling," Jean ordered "and stand behind her. We'll teach 
you." 

The blonde girl rose, feeling foolish at the sight of the huge erection 
standing out in front of her, then walked awkwardly over to stand behind 
Bella. Now, in the crevice between the two powerful cheeks of the woman's 
ass, she could see the dime-sized puckered little anus eagerly expanding and 
contracting like a feeding fish's mouth. 

"Come closer," Jean said, peering between Bella's outstretched arm. "Closer. 
Closer. 

Now, darling, put the head of your prick against her anus.. her asshole." 
When Dorothy hesitated once more, she said with a tone of anxiety in her 
voice. "Do it, darling. You must." 

Dorothy gazed, mesmerized as-her pelvis slowly pushed forward until the 
shining greased, bulbous maroon head of the artificial prick touched the 
twitching anal opening. 

"Now push, gently," Jean said, her mouth open in undisguised excitement. She 
wrapped her arms around the Amazon's waist as the big woman fell forward 
impaling herself completely on the vaginal prick. Dorothy had to waddle 
forward three more steps to touch the anus again. 

No longer was there any thought of hesitation; the excitement of what she 
was about to do, of actually fucking a woman, had been all-consuming of her 
conscience and inhibitions. No matter how obscenely lewd this act was, it 
was something she wanted, had, to see through to its finale. 

She pushed her latex prick forward, using more and more pressure as the 
tight nether opening resisted at first then bent inward elastically. The 
head popped in and Bella moaned in rapture. 

Her mouth watering with boiling white spit that looked more like semen than 
saliva, her heart hammering as though it were about to fly right out of her 
body, Dorothy closed her eyes and shuddered deliciously. Then, casting 
gentleness aside, unable to help herself, she lunged forward driving the 
rubber prick all the way into the depths of Bella's asshole. 

Bella screamed in exaltation as the hard artificial penis rammed into her 
and she felt the balls slam into her upturned, wildly thrashing buttocks. 

And then both Jean and Dorothy, eyes unseeing and unreasoning, were driving 
in and out of the two openings as though they were madmen indulging in their 
first rape of innocent woman... 

The three men sat in front of the closed circuit television monitor watching 
the three women in the wild abandoned throes of a lesbian orgy. 

"Jesus, Christ, look at the blonde go, "Mark Rogers said, as he excitedly 
swirled ice cubes around and around in his tall glass of scotch and soda. 

Bette smiled, "I told you. Isn't she great? She's going to kill that fucking 
Bella, and this is her first time ever with a lesbian." 

Zeke Conway stared in loving fascination as Dorothy's ass rose and fell with 
each inward lunge she made into Bella's buttocks. "You know, that Dorothy 
might make a good asshole fuck." 

"It would be a cherry," Bette said. 

"Ah, come on, Red. Don't shit the troops," Mark said. 

"I swear," Bette said, making a cross over her heart. The third man, a dark 
saturnine middle-aged individual sucked thoughtfully on his cigar. "Let's 
get this straight. No one has been at that meat except her husband and two 
other guys for a couple of hours one night." 

"That's right, Sam." 

"And she's pretty innocent, eh? I mean she hasn't blown anyone 'cept her 
husband, maybe?" 

Bette stared direct into his eyes in an effort to prove her sincerity. "Not 
even her husband has had that from her." 

"Jesus," Zeke breathed, "she's a cherry that way, too. Look, Red, count me 
in tomorrow night. Hell, I'd walk to Sacramento from here for a little of 
that." 

"Me, too," the other two men echoed in unison. 

Bette stood up, grinning triumphantly. "You won't be disappointed, boys. I 
promise. 

Sacramento Capitol Royal Hotel. Nine o'clock." She looked back toward the 
t.v. monitor and took a deep drink of her scotch and water. To her practiced 
eye, it looked as if the entertainment down there was just getting underway. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Dorothy had been strangely quiet and subdued during the brief hour and a 
half trip from San Francisco to Sacramento. Earlier in the morning, after 
one brief agonized outburst from the blonde-a demand to know where Bette had 
disappeared to the night before- she lapsed into a pensive silence. It was 
obvious that she did not quite believe the statement that Bette had come 
back right away and, finding the door locked, had thought that the two 
buyers and Dorothy had gone either downstairs or somewhere else for a drink 
to celebrate the shows' success. 

Dorothy's mind was like a tethered animal-jumping in all directions-and 
always being pulled up short. She was deeply ashamed of what had happened 
last night with the two women; the shame was worse than a cat o'nine tails 
relentlessly shredding sway the outer layer of her composure. What bothered 
her even more, though, was the irrepressible knowledge that she had enjoyed 
it... perhaps not as much and as completely as sex with her husband, but 
there had been moments of true rapture and a feeling stronger than she had 
ever felt before from a male. There was something strangely exciting about 
being dominated by the two powerful women and then experiencing the thrill 
of dominating each of them in turn-having them crying out and piteously 
pleading with her, seeing them writhe and hearing them moan as she brought 
them pleasure and pain. Before the evening was over she had mastered them 
completely; it was Dorothy who was the arrogant self-assured goddess who 
bestowed favours from heaven, who commanded and expected to be obeyed. The 
two powerful women had wound up like loyal trained dogs, jumping at any 
signal or order, eager to obey the master. 

Gradually, as Bette's rented convertible neared Sacramento in the late 
afternoon heat, Dorothy began to think about the similarities between the 
evening with Carl and George and that of last night. In both instances she 
had been tricked, courted and wooed, and sexually used, but before the 
evenings had been concluded, it had been she who was the person calling the 
shots-completely in charge. That ability to dominate really surprised her; 
it was a facet of her character she had never before realized existed. 

And then, all of her thoughts congealed; everything fell into place. She had 
a commodity they wanted... and it definitely was not the Mister Bates line. 
It was her body! Once that thought had solidified in her mind, she was so 
frightened of its implications that she immediately pushed it back into the 
sub-conscious from which it had sprung. 

Now the young blonde began thinking about Bette Harding. The red-headed 
model had made no pretensions about her love and need of good sex that night 
with Carl and George. She had enjoyed it just as much, if not more than the 
males, and she obviously was not bothered by a guilty conscience. It was 
something that needed talking out, so Dorothy broke the silence finally and 
asked, "Bette, do you go to bed with many buyers?" 

The red-head was so astonished by the question that she took her eyes off 
the road to stare at the troubled blonde, then was forced to yank the wheel 
back as a truck in the other traffic lane angrily blasted its horn at the 
unexpected intrusion into its lane. She decided it would be safe to be 
candid and so nodded her head vigorously. 

"Why?" Dorothy asked. 

"Because I like it. It's fun! I need it physically. And it doesn't hurt 
anyone." 

"What about your husband?" 

"He fucks around, you'd better believe it! And so does your Bill." 

"Do you ever tell him what you've done?" 

"No. Does Bill ever tell you? I mean, he's going to get a little strange 
stuff while he's in the Pacific. Right? Do you really think he's going to 
come back home and spill his guts about all the women he's screwed?" When 
the blonde didn't answer, Bette continued earnestly. 

"Look .. I've always figured there are two kinds of sex. There's sex you 
enjoy with someone you love. Obviously that's the best kind, if it's good, 
because there's an added dimension to it. The second kind is sex for 
physical relief and pure selfish enjoyment- without your official partner. 
All things considered, I'd much rather have sex with my husband. But I can't 
when he's out to sea .. so I try the other. And I must confess that I find 
it terribly exciting and satisfying." 

Dorothy lapsed into silence again. She knew there was something wrong about 
the redheaded model's philosophy, but she couldn't quite pinpoint the error. 
Then she cast it out of her mind once more as they hit the metropolitan 
traffic of the delta city. A few minutes later, Bette expertly wheeled the 
big convertible down an off-ramp and into the long tree-lined driveway 
leading to the luxurious Sacramento-Capitol Royal Motor Hotel. 

From that moment on, Dorothy didn't have a chance to think of anything but 
the evening fashion show. They checked in and were assigned a spacious, 
tastefully decorated two-bedroom suite overlooking the marina and the river. 
Dorothy was in the process of unpacking when the door chimes sounded, and a 
second later she found herself surrounded by the three other girls in 
tonight's big show. She liked Angelique, the big negress, immediately, and 
could identify with the two petite blondes, Cora and Sue, because they were 
both service wives of officers. After Bette had introduced her around, the 
four models chatted and exchanged gossip-amidst much giggling and ribald 
remarks. 

Dorothy felt comfortable with them, they all seemed to have a lot in common. 
She learned that Marie Grosset had called a rehearsal for six o'clock 
because Dorothy had never worked in the big show before. There were no 
complaints from any of the models, even though it meant two hours of unpaid 
work for each of them. They all volunteered to help the new girl in any way 
they could, and lived up to their promises by giving her pointers and 
suggestions. 

The rehearsal went well. Dorothy made no more than the usual number of 
mistakes, even though she was overwhelmed by the professional attitude of 
Marie Grosset and the beautifully decorated stage where the show was to take 
place. This obviously was a high class, big time production, complete with 
printed programs and stereo music. Marie painstakingly put Dorothy through 
her paces, showing her where and how to stand, what postures to make, and 
where to exit. It was seven fifteen before they broke for dinner. 

Dorothy ate with the four other girls and found herself really enjoying 
their company. 

Although the rest of the models had two martinis each, Dorothy confined her 
drinking to one. She made up for it by ordering the 24 ounce Porterhouse 
steak. 

Then, almost before she knew it, the show had started. Dorothy stepped out 
onto the softly lit stage, wearing a crimson-coloured skimpy bra and bikini 
panties, together with a sexy looking garter belt that came across 
mid-abdomen with a row of gently waving little ostrich feathers that managed 
somehow to look indecently like pubic hair. Her appearance brought loud 
sustained applause and several wolf whistles. She flushed in pained 
embarrassment, but managed to stroll regally across the stage as Marie 
Grosset intoned a description of the lingerie and its cost. 

She was bolder in the second outfit, having watched both Bette and Angelique 
outrageously tease the audience. 

Near the end of the show she was openly competing with the other girls, and 
her innocent wide-eyed appearance gave her a decided edge. 

The only thing she really hated was going out into the audience without a 
bra to demonstrate the scent of Mister Bates's Oil de Aphrodite. Willing 
herself not to think about it, she followed the other girls' lead and moved 
out among the men. Strange hands roamed her buttocks and thighs in the dimly 
lighted room. Then, as she was returning to the stage two minutes later, she 
was forced to jump away from one man who had stood and growled, "I'm going 
to bite one of those titties even if it costs me a hundred years in jail." 
He was quickly pulled down by his laughing companions. That shook her and 
she had to be led away by Bette and Angelique. 

Just as she was walking back up on the stage again, she was almost positive 
that she heard a vaguely familiar voice calling out of the darkness, "Hey, 
Dorothy." But promptly dismissed it as being just a guilty conscience. After 
all, she couldn't possibly know anyone here in Sacramento. 

Marie wore a wide smile as she threw her arms around Dorothy and embraced 
the blonde. 

"Dear, you did splendidly. I don't think I've ever seen a better first-time 
performance. 

Everyone loved you. And you make the clothes look so good." 

Dorothy, flushed with pride, could only mumble her thanks. The other girls 
were just as enthusiastic about her participation in the show. Then they all 
fell silent gazing expectantly at Marie. Dorothy wondered what was coming 
next: she had thought that the show was the only thing scheduled for the 
evening. 

Although it wasn't necessary to pretend with the other models, Marie played 
along with Bette's suggestion that the fashion show charade be continued in 
front of Dorothy. She said, "All right, girls. As you know the buyers will 
want to more closely inspect the merchandise." 

She was interrupted by a loud snort of derision from Angelique. "That's one 
way of putting it." 

"Be quiet, dear," Marie answered, not changing her tone of voice and 
continuing as though no one had said anything. "Bette, I want you to work 
with Dorothy on this. Conway, Rogers, and Baxter are here tonight, and they 
are placing a very big order, indeed. 

They're already on their way to your suite." She turned to the negress, 
"Angelique, Tad Morgan is your steady customer; he wants you as usual. Cora, 
Sue, I want you to work with the buyer from Eggers Department Store. That's 
all girls. And thank you." 

Back in the dressing room, the models quickly changed from the lingerie into 
their street clothes. Dorothy could not help noticing that Angelique, Cora 
and Sue didn't bother to put on undergarments. 

The big negress groaned and said in a mock negro's voice, "Man, dats all dis 
tired ole twat of mine needs, an energetic tomcat like Tad Morgan! Last time 
he did everything except shove a flag up mah ass and have me dance 'Yank My 
Doodle, It's a Dandy!" 

Dorothy blushed at the crude comment, Cora and Sue giggled delightedly. 
Bette, a stern look on her face, went over and spoke quietly to the negress. 

Angelique looked up over toward Dorothy with an expression of stunned 
surprise. She said, without a trace of accent, "Do you mean she doesn't know 
yet?" 

Dorothy saw Bette glance in her direction with a guilty look, then whisper 
urgently to the black model. What could Angelique have meant? Why the 
whispering? She glanced over toward the two petite blondes, and they, too, 
wore wondering expressions. Something was going on .. something she should 
know about. Curiosity, mixed with embarrassment and a trace of anger, 
coloured her face. She never had liked to be talked about or be the only 
person not knowing a secret. 

It wasn't until she and Bette were riding up to their suite in the elevator, 
however, that she had a chance to ask about the suddenly mysterious 
behaviour and comments. "What did Angelique mean about my not knowing 'yet'? 
What don't I know?" 

Bette's face reddened in embarrassment. The guilty expression returned. She 
paused, obviously seeking words, and then lied, "You remember in the 
beginning, when I first told you about this job-when you first agreed to do 
it-I mentioned that sometimes we get a buyer or two who likes to tell 
off-colour jokes?" 

Dorothy nodded. 

"Well, Mark Rogers, Zeke Conway, and Sam Baxter own the biggest department 
store chain in Oregon. Your commission alone will be somewhere between three 
and four hundred dollars. But they're crude... very crude! And they like to 
drink a little." She gazed up at the blonde, her eyes completely guileless, 
"I just wanted you to know in advance that they'll talk pretty dirty... but 
you did say you could take care of yourself." 

Dorothy stared at the red-head. All of her instincts shouted that she was 
not being told the complete truth. She thought about it as the elevator door 
whispered open and they walked down the soft carpet to their suite near the 
end of the corridor. Bette paused in front of the door, searching for her 
key. 

Dorothy put out her arm. "Before we go in, I want you to know that if the 
party starts getting rough like it did the other night in Beverly Hills, 
then I'm leaving." 

"Yes, of course," Bette said. 

"I mean it," Dorothy repeated. Nothing, she thought, absolutely nothing 
could make her stay in the hotel room if things started getting out of hand. 
Not even three hundred dollars... even though that was an awful lot of 
money! 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Bette did everything she could to keep her nervousness from showing to 
either the men or Dorothy. Jesus, she thought, after what happened with the 
two lesbians last night and with George and Carl, you'd think Dorothy by now 
would know what the score was... or at least be able to name the game. One 
way or the other, though, the cards were stacked against the big blonde. 
Bette had all the weapons: the lingerie, which meant Dorothy had to strip; 
the booze, which would soften her up and get rid of some of her inhibitions; 
and the fact that the three men knew the new girl was skittish-this being 
her first time-and would have to be handled carefully. She glanced quickly 
toward the blonde, then mentally changed her last thought. "Carefully isn't 
the word. Handle her like a bottle of nitroglycerine," she thought ruefully. 
The main trouble was that men just couldn't keep their cotton picking hands 
off the girl; part of it was Dorothy's fault, she had that big wide-eyed 
innocent look which made most males swear that she was just dying to climb 
up in their laps a. 

Bette had asked the men for at least thirty minutes to loosen up the new 
girl, but as she glanced around the room and caught the starving wolf 
expression on the men's faces she wasn't at all sure she had even that long. 
Sam Baxter had crowded Dorothy in the corner and had gruffly insisted she 
accept her second bourbon and water-the drink was so dark that it had to be 
almost pure bourbon. As she drank, he blew swirling smoke rings with his 
cigar-rings that rotated as they left his mouth and settled in perfect 
undulating circles around Dorothy's breasts. Standing next to the big blonde 
was Mark Rogers, who was staring thoughtfully at the rings and the luscious 
flesh hidden now under her street clothes. 

Dorothy squirmed in pained embarrassment under the heat of his gaze, and 
seemed to be looking frantically around for her friend. 

Bette, afraid the girl was getting ready to bolt, moved over and pulled her 
away from the men. "Okay, boys," she said. "Sit down. We're going in and 
change into the lingerie you wanted to see close up." 

Zeke, feeling no pain from his earlier alcoholic intake, said slurringly, 
"Fuck the lingerie. 

Let's get this show on the road." 

Sam Baxter spun on him snarling, "Shut up, you goddamned drunk. You heard 
the lady. 

We're going to see some lingerie. Now sit your ass down there and don't move 
it." His comments were echoed by Mark Rogers. Outnumbered, Zeke did as he 
was told, sitting with a big hurt pout on his face. 

Bette could feel Dorothy trembling as she led her into the bedroom. Once 
inside, she closed the door behind them. "Sorry about the rough language, 
dear. But boys will be boys." 

Dorothy was frightened, and she admitted it. Instinctively she knew these 
men would not be put off easily. It would be the safest thing to do to get 
away from here right now... 

before anything else happened. Their crude remarks had been too suggestive, 
their jokes much too graphic, and those horrible smoke rings! These weren't 
gentlemen like George and Carl; she didn't know what would happen to her if 
she stayed. 

Bette held out a drink to her, but Dorothy shook her head as she reached a 
sudden decision. "I'm splitting," she said. 

"What?" Bette squealed, then wailed, "You can't." 

Dorothy stared at her. "I'm afraid of them." 

"Well, so am I," the red-head lied. "You can't leave me here alone with 
them... and I've got to have this sale. I need the money. Oh, please, 
Dorothy. Please... just do the modelling, then I'll get their names on the 
contract and we'll ditch them." 

Dorothy looked dubious; these men didn't appear to be the type that one 
could ditch that easily. She gazed into Bette's eyes looking for some sign 
of sincerity, some indication that the red-head truly was as frightened as 
she. Those green eyes, though, were indefinable, ; fathomless. It just might 
be possible that Bette did need the money-after all, she was going to be on 
a leave of absence for six months .. and Dorothy had promised to see this 
last show through. The big blonde evaluated everything. The last two shows 
had wound up in sexual orgies. If she remained it was possible that she 
might get caught up in another, one even worse, if possible than the others. 
That was something she had to consider. She had been innocent, or stupid, 
the times before. Now that she knew what could happen, there would be 
absolutely no excuse if it happened again. 

"Please," Bette said, softly. 

It was that pitiful plea that made Dorothy change her mind. "All right," she 
said, "But give me your word of honor that we'll try to ditch them." 

"I promise," Bette lied, but still was suspicious enough from childhood 
tales to cross her fingers behind her back Having made the decision, Dorothy 
wanted to get the odious affair over with as soon as possible. When Bette 
offered her a drink again, almost pure bourbon, she swilled it down as 
though it were a plain coke on a blistering hot day. The heat of the liquor 
rapidly spread throughout her belly. 

Quickly the two women stripped and got into their lingerie. Bette was 
wearing a transparent two piece pajama outfit that did nothing to hide her 
breasts or pubic area. 

Dorothy wore a little black half-bra that pushed her big luscious melon-like 
breasts together so tightly that even a thin pencil could not have slipped 
down the crevice. The half full-moons of her tits spilled out in white warm 
magnificence over the top ridge of the bra, and if a person looked closely 
enough he could see the aureolas like little brown rainbows arcing through 
those white heavens. 

The black bikini panties were something else again an hour glass shaped 
piece of wide mesh silk that had been folded in double. Two gold rings the 
size of bracelets held the cloth together at the sides, making the legs look 
incredibly long-revealing the warm white globes of her succulent buttocks. 
The tailoring had been such that the material dug deeply into the cuntal 
tunnel and buttocks slit. The mesh was wide enough to permit Dorothy's 
golden pubic hair to protrude through the silk, and now standing before the 
mirror she realized her hair made it appear that the crotch had been 
embroidered in an intricate golden design. The panties had caused a stunned 
hush to fall over the all-male audience when she first appeared in them on 
the stage; she mentally shuddered as she thought about what might happen out 
there with just the three men who had been drinking. 

"Are you ready?" Bette asked. 

"Not really, but let's go and get it over with," Dorothy replied. 

The two women walked out into the living room area of the suite. Zeke 
Conway, seated on a stool, was in the process of sipping his drink when his 
eyes caught sight of Dorothy parading across the room. Although his throat 
stopped working, the liquid continued to come into his mouth and a stream of 
liquor flooded down the front of his shirt. Beside him, Sam Baxter nudged 
Mark Rogers and pointed toward the frozen Zeke. They both guffawed loudly 
and slapped their legs in raucous amusement when he finally realized what he 
was doing and began choking. 

Dorothy had made her decision so rapidly that she hadn't had a chance to 
figure out what she would do and wouldn't do. Thus it was that she was 
thrown completely off stride by Sam Baxter's command, "Take off the bra, we 
need to see what kind of workmanship has gone into it." Wide-eyed, she 
glanced at Bette for support, and received only a mute nod that asked her to 
comply. 

Slowly, as she had been taught to do by the red-head, she reached up behind 
her and unfastened the bra snap. Then she dropped her hands to her side and 
stood that way for about ten seconds before seductively hunching her left 
shoulder forward. The left breast leapt to freedom like an untethered hot 
air balloon and she heard the gasp in unison from all three men as the 
creamy white mound and its chocolate brown sleeping nipple was unveiled. 
Moving with the same slow, tormenting pace, she reached over with her right 
hand and lifted the bra clear of her body, revealing the two full ripe tits 
in all their warm globular majesty. 

She took two steps toward Sam and handed him the bra as if she were offering 
a crown to the king. He quickly blew out two blue-white smoke rings that 
spun in the air and landed like two tenuous stays on her breasts where they 
clung lovingly and continued to swirl slightly. Dorothy glanced down at them 
as she stepped back. She knew her face was beet red, but at the same time, 
if she were honest with herself, she was also just a little bit amused by 
the act. The man was good with his smoke rings! 

Sam and Mark made just the barest pretense of inspecting the bra before 
handing it over to the bug-eyed Zeke. Then they turned to Bette. "Strip 
everything," Sam ordered. "That outfit looks pretty cheesily made to me." 

Bette retorted, "I'll have you know, Sam, that Mister Bates does not turn 
out 'cheesy' work." Quickly she dropped her pajama bottoms revealing her 
autumn fox fur pubic patch, and pulled the top over her head. She stood 
there in tall, proud nakedness, her sun-browned breasts almost as large and 
as perfectly upthrust as Dorothy's. She handed over the pajamas. 

Sam and Mark had their heads together over the pajamas, when Zeke hiccupped 
once, blinked and asked plaintively, "Can I smell the oil?" 

Bette dimpled. "Of course, you can." She walked right up next to him and 
lifted one fool onto his knee. 

Dorothy was appalled at the nonchalance with which Bette had acted and was 
slightly alarmed as Zeke bent his head and sniffed at the red-head's calf. 
He grinned drunkenly and planted a kiss on her knee. "Thash greatesh smell I 
ever smelled," He pronounced. 

He lifted his head slightly and looked up, then began grinning broadly as he 
drew back a little and cocked one eye shut. 

It was only then that Dorothy realized that Bette's entire vaginal slit was 
exposed. Good God! Bette would never willingly show herself that way. 
Obviously she didn't know what was happening! How could she be warned? 
Dorothy had opened her mouth to speak, then Sam said simply, "I don't know 
about that stitching. Let's see your pants, blondie." 

"What?" she asked stupidly, not understanding. 

"Give us the bottoms," Mark Rogers said explaining. "How can we check 
materials and workmanship otherwise?" 

"I'll help her," Bette said quickly, then came over to forestall any 
reluctance on the girl's part. 

Dorothy turned her back to the men and pulled down the panties and handed 
them to the red-head. She wasn't going to let them see her vagina; it was 
bad enough standing here without a bra or panties, but that was as much as 
they were going to see. She had no way of knowing that when she bent over 
with her back to them, her rounder alabaster white buttocks in all their 
glory had opened slightly in silent promise causing Mark Rogers to gasp and 
squint, hoping, for a sight of that little brown puckered treasure which he 
had vowed would be his before the evening was over. 

After handing the panties to Sam, Bette boldly waltzed across the room to 
the bar and came back, with tits wiggling alarmingly, carrying two strong 
bourbons and water. She gave one to Dorothy and, by a nod of her red-head, 
indicated the girl was to down it. 

Actually, it was Zeke Conway who, about thirty seconds later, changed the 
complexion of the entire affair. His nose had been crinkling ever since 
Bette had walked away, and gradually his countenance grew brighter-more 
cunning. When he spoke, his voice sounded surprisingly sober. "Hey, Red! You 
got any of that Mister Bates oil here?" 

"Yes. Why?" 

"Trot it out, baby. I want to see a bottle of it." 

Bette lifted her eyebrows and shrugged. She walked toward the bedroom where 
the rest of the lingerie had been placed. As she went, the eyes of all three 
men were locked on the gently undulating moon shaped cheeks of her ass as 
they swayed first one way then the other in their journey across the room. 
When she came back carrying the quart-sized bottle of golden oil, her large 
well-tanned tits and their little brown halos moved with a life of their 
own-quivering, bouncing, vibrating happily. 

Bette sensed the tension in the room; it was as though the men had given her 
warning they were tired of playing little games and were impatient to sample 
the merchandise they had actually purchased. It was obvious from Dorothy's 
half-frightened expression that she, too, was aware of the sudden change in 
atmosphere. 

"Here you are, Zeke," she said, handing him the bottle. She noticed the 
glasses of the men were empty, that Dorothy's still had half of its contents 
in it. She went back to the bar and quickly made up a batch of new drinks 
for them all them all... Zeke's very weak, Dorothy's very strong. When the 
big blonde looked as if she were about to refuse the drink, Bette hissed, 
"Drink it. Now! All of it." 

Zeke, surprisingly, paid no attention to the alcohol. He was turning the 
bottle around and around in his hands, a cunning grin etched on his face. 

Sam finally noticed his sneaky pleased expression and asked irritably, 
"What's got into you?" 

"Nothing," Zeke answered, then stood up suddenly. "Come here, Red," he said, 
and began twisting the lid off the bottle. 

Bette then knew instantly what he had in mind. It was all she could do to 
keep from grinning her relief. Of course, what better way to get Dorothy 
involved than to have the men oiling her. Once the big blonde felt their 
hands on her body-and Sam and Mark were experts at finding erogenous 
zones-she would not be able to control herself. 

Zeke cupped his hand and poured the highly perfumed sensuous oil into his 
palm. Then, with Bette standing subserviently in front of him, he began 
working the oil across the back of her shoulders. He grinned in triumph at 
the other two men. "If I'm going to buy a couple of cases of this crap, I 
want to see what it's like. After all, Marie Grosset said that was the main 
reason for buying it... so you could put it on your girl friend or wife." 

Sam and Mark were not stupid; they caught on immediately. It took Dorothy a 
little while longer to realise what was going to happen. By the time she had 
figured it out, it was already too late, for the hulking figures of the two 
men stood between her and the bedroom. 

Mark Rogers, leering lewdly, squeezed some of the oil into his palm and then 
moved toward her. Dorothy stifled an impulse to cry out for help, not 
wanting him to touch her; and she glanced frantically back and forth with 
frightened eyes from Bette toward the blocked avenue of escape. Mark put his 
ham-like hands on her bare shoulder, and she shivered like a wild untamed 
trapped animal feeling the hand of its captor. 

Mark shivered also. Never in his wildest imaginations had he ever thought 
anything could feel so god-damned sensual. He'd had a throbbing hard-on ever 
since she had bent over showing her big beautiful ass a few minutes before 
but now, as his oil-greased hand transmitted the overpowering pleasurable 
sensation of her soft pliantly warm shoulders, his cock grew even larger and 
became rock-hard within the confines of his shorts. He knew how he was going 
to use the oil after he got through greasing the girl; he was going to oil 
his cock, oil her asshole, and then ram it home to glory! Dorothy closed her 
eyes to block out the sight of the suddenly perspiring Sam Baxter whose eyes 
had begun to bulge as he watched the sheen of the oil spread from the top of 
the shoulder to the shoulder blades. 

Quickly, Sam poured some of the thick perfumed liquid into his palm; in his 
eagerness he used so much that the oil overflowed his hand and dripped onto 
the expensive rug. 

"Jesus," he said reverently as his hands felt the thrilling warmth of her 
other shoulder. 

Dorothy flinched at the touch of that second hand and forced herself to open 
her eyes. 

Somehow, this must be stopped before it went any further; stopped right now, 
if possible. 

The ripples of sensation were already moving out from their hands to 
generate new and unwanted sensations within the pit of her belly. She had 
never before realized that she was so sensitive in that one particular spot 
above her shoulder blades; it was as though both men knew it was sexually 
stimulating, for their warm oily hands had concentrated in that area. One of 
them had used too much liquid and she could feel the trickle of it down her 
backbone. 

Behind her, Mark watched mesmerized as the little silver stream of oil moved 
down her back and stopped just above the crack of her ass. With trembling 
hands he poured more of the perfumed liquid on top of her shoulder. Some of 
it ran down her greased back and cascaded into the shadowy crevice between 
the globular white mounds of her buttocks; the rest of the oil slowly crept 
down her front and rolled onto that soft fleshy outcropping of her upthrust 
tit. The two men glanced at each other, then grinned lewdly and began 
slowly, gently, and tantalizingly working the oil into the lower part of the 
trembling girl's back, concentrating on the erogenous zones and being 
rewarded by increased tremors from the big blonde's body. 

Dorothy now felt a small fire being kindled in her loins. With the 
realization of what was happening, she made up her mind to run into the 
bathroom and lock the door. She glanced over toward Bette to let her friend 
know she was leaving, and her breath caught in her throat as she saw Zeke 
kneeling in front of the red-head. He was using both hands to oil her left 
thigh-running his hands from knees to upper thighs, where his thumbs came 
almost in contact with her vagina. Zeke's head was only inches away from her 
navel, and even as Dorothy watched she saw Bette make an almost 
imperceptible movement of her pelvis-as though in silent invitation. The 
red-head's eyes were closed her breasts were oily and nipples were erect, 
and there was a look of sheer rapture on her face. She heard Zeke croak, 
"Turn around, Red." Bette slowly pirouetted and presented her backside to 
him. Zeke slowly and lovingly began smearing the perfumed oil over the ripe 
white globes of her ass. 

Dorothy was so engrossed in watching the lewdly exciting spectacle that it 
took a few seconds to realize that one of the men was oiling her buttocks as 
well. She tightened her ass muscles in protest and heard a crude chortle 
come from Mark Rogers. Sam Baxter, walking on his knees, came around and 
knelt in front of her. Before she could object, he was oiling her thigh. 
Then, quickly, he moved up and oiled her abdomen, her arms, and the fronts 
of both shoulders. Behind her, she felt Mark Rogers's hands kneading her 
buttocks and it seemed to her that his movements were becoming more urgent. 

It was with considerable amazement that the big blonde realized that her 
breathing had increased in tempo, that her breasts had become harder and 
nipples were turgid. She could not deny the wildly exhilarating sensations 
that were running rampant through her loins. When she felt the moisture 
gathering in her vagina, she knew the danger was becoming acute. Before she 
could move, however, Sam Baxter began oiling her left breast. Her trembling 
increased even more, now her entire body was shuddering as she felt his hot, 
oily hands moving gently over the palpitating mound of warm, straining 
flesh. 

Behind her, she felt Mark's hands leave her buttocks; that made hope rise 
that the men were tiring of playing with the oil and would soon permit them 
to continue with the rest of the show and leave. 

Zeke had completely anointed Bette's body and now he stopped back to admire 
his work. 

A moment later, he was joined by Sam and Mark. They silently motioned for 
the models to stand together, and the two girls moved toward each other. The 
men stared at their handiwork. There was something wildly exciting about the 
two shining nude bodies. The big blonde stood with thighs primly pressed 
close together, but the stance could not hide the perfection of her body... 
the trembling half-parted wet lips the ripe upthrust of those soft warm 
magnificent tits and erect little nipples, the shining taut abdomen, the 
gentle outward curving of her fabulous flanks, the corn-silk hair at the 
junction of her long sleek legs and thighs. The red-head was obviously more 
at ease under the hot scrutiny of the men. She stood with legs apart, hands 
saucily on hips, and beneath that autumn fox fur-coloured patch, one could 
see the shadowy pink promise of her cuntal lips shining with the Oil de 
Aphrodite left there after Zeke had made one last swipe-oiling everything, 
including that hot, moist, slit. 

"Not bad. Not bad at all," Sam Baxter decreed. 

Mark Rogers didn't bother to answer, but his hot hungry glance spoke 
volumes. Zeke grinned, then picked up his drink from the coffee table. He 
looked at it for a second, then put it back without tasting it. 

"Well, men. What's say we talk this order over in the bedroom?" Sam said, 
and didn't give the others a chance to reply. "Excuse us, ladies. This will 
take only a second." 

The three men filed from the room. When the door to the bedroom shut behind 
them, Dorothy took a deep sigh and her body slumped. "God," she said, "I'm 
glad that's over." 

Bette hunched her shoulders together. "Uummm. I'm not glad. I can still feel 
Zeke's hands all over me. It felt delicious. It really turned me on." She 
glanced over toward Dorothy and her eyes locked on the still erect nipples. 
"I see they kind of turned you on, too." 

Dorothy blushed, then shuddered. In those final seconds there when Sam had 
been rubbing the oil on her breasts, she had been forced to utilize all of 
her self-control to keep from moaning. Yes, it had felt good. Not only 
"good", but wickedly and wildly exciting, and she knew that her craven body 
had become almost hopelessly aroused. She was glad the men had stopped when 
they did, otherwise she might have done something foolish. 

Bette said, "Come on, kid. You look like you could use a drink." She led the 
way over to the bar and quickly poured two bourbons and water. 

Dorothy had just put the glass to her lips when Sam Baxter, completely nude, 
padded out of the bedroom followed by the other two naked men. 

Sam walked up quietly in back of the big blonde, wrapped his big bear-like 
arms around her waist, and poked his throbbingly erect mammoth cock into the 
oily cheeks of her ass. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Bette saw the nude men coming from the bedroom out of the corner of her eye, 
yet she pretended surprise when Sam's arms locked themselves around 
Dorothy's waist. A second later, even before the big blonde could voice any 
protest, Bette was seized by Zeke whose long, rigid shaft pressed against 
her greased buttocks. 

"Let me go," Dorothy demanded, half in anger and half in fright, turning 
over her cocktail glass as she struggled for freedom. 

"Not on your life, baby," Sam said, beginning to work in and out of the 
greased ass crevice with his hot hard prick, moving it rapidly-not 
attempting to make entry, merely to slip it in and out between the soft 
cheek bottoms of her oily ass and vaginal slit. The cock rode easily, and he 
was not overly surprised to feel a warmer, different slipperiness around her 
cunt. The big blonde had been hot for it three minutes ago when he was 
rubbing oil in her tits, and he had known her pussy would be pouring out its 
own perfumed lubricant. 

"No!" Dorothy gasped, then with a sudden wrench slipped from his hands. She 
started running toward the bathroom, but had only taken three steps before 
Mark Rogers playfully tackled her around the upper thighs and the two fell 
to the floor with Rogers on top of her. 

Immediately he began trying to spread her thighs with his knees. A second 
later, Sam came to his assistance and roughly forced her knees wide apart, 
permitting Mark to slip his torso between them. Then, he leapt forward to 
grab her arms as she began pushing up -with all her strength against Mark's 
waist. 

Bette watched the silent struggle between the blonde and two men with mixed 
emotions. It was obvious that the fight Dorothy was putting up was only 
exciting them more, the excitement being felt by Zeke who was standing 
alongside the red-head, absent-mindedly running his hands over her buttocks 
as he watched with bated breath the subduing of the big blonde. 

Finally, overpowered and weakened, Dorothy lay still, her body shaking as 
though she were freezing. 

"That's better," Mark said, and began teasingly thrusting his fleshy white 
shaft up and down her moist, fevered slit. He wasn't trying to penetrate her 
cunt; that was going to be Sam's exclusive territory. All he wanted to do 
now was warm it up a bit for his friend. He stared down at the hoarsely 
panting blonde, her golden hair was dishevelled from the struggle and there 
was a long scratch mark just below her left breast where either his or Sam's 
fingernail had gouged the skin during the fight. He said exactly what he 
thought, "God damn, honey. You are the most beautiful piece of ass I've ever 
seen. I'm really going to enjoy fucking you." 

The obscenity caused the girl to begin struggling all over again, but this 
time her fight was short-lived as Sam merely put his arm across her 
shoulders and penned her to the rug. 

Bette, sensing Dorothy was about to turn to her for help, reached over and 
put her arms around Zeke's waist and pulled him closer to her. One hand 
dropped, found his warm pulsating rod, and began to stroke it slowly. Zeke 
moaned low in his throat. The red-head heard the struggle on the floor begin 
again, then a yelp of pain from Dorothy. 

"Lie still, you bitch," Mark said. "All we're going to do is have a little 
fucking party." 

"No," she sobbed, giving voice to her despair for the first time. "Let me 
up. Please. I'm not that kind of girl. Please!" 

"Look, sweetheart," Sam explained patiently, "we've all paid for a piece of 
ass, and we're all going to get a piece. Now stop acting coy with us. We saw 
you with those two dykes at the hotel last night-eating pussy and using a 
dildoe. Why settle for a rubber prick when you can get the real thing? Like 
this!" He pulled the thick foreskin back from his prick and laughed as the 
girl turned her head away. 

Bette heard Dorothy burst into tears and sobbingly ask, "How could... how 
could you have seen us"? 

"It's easy. Your red-headed pal here sold tickets. We watched over the 
closed circuit television." 

As long as she lived, Bette would never forget the pained accusation in 
Dorothy's voice calling out her name. "Bette! Oh, God, no! Please say it's a 
lie." 

Slowly the red-head turned, still holding Zeke's cock. She stroked it three 
or four times, watching the horrified expression of disbelief on the poor 
tortured girl's face who had raised her head from the floor and was looking 
directly at her hand encircled on Zeke's long hard prick, lovingly massaging 
it. Then, slowly, her look of disbelief and hope turned to a stunned 
realization that it was the truth. For a second Bette thought she was going 
to scream and begin struggling again, but then abruptly, as though all of 
her inner defenses and strengths had been suddenly breeched or a switch had 
been thrown, a look of helpless resignation crossed her face. Her blonde 
head fell loosely back to the rug, her eyes clenched tightly shut in abject 
defeat. 

Dorothy's spirit seemed completely broken by the knowledge that she had been 
betrayed, unwittingly worked as a prostitute, and that her lesbian 
activities had been observed by these three lewdly grinning men. 

With the fight gone out of her, Mark Rogers rolled off her body and lay 
beside her. Bette watched with a growing arousal as she witnessed Sam 
Baxter's hands lewdly moving at will over Dorothy's full, young form lying 
defenseless before him. She knew that if the blonde had just accepted her 
fate without fighting-had lain back and enjoyed it-the men would have 
treated her differently. Now, though, they knew they had completely broken 
her spirit and some deep vein of sadism had been tapped in their emotions. 
They were going to humiliate the girl! Suddenly Bette was torn with 
conflicting emotions. She could feel genuine pity for Dorothy, but at the 
same time she felt anger toward her because it was obvious that the blonde 
would never willingly consent to work as a prostitute and that meant another 
long frustrating search for another replacement. 

"Open your thighs Baxter growled down at Dorothy, an unyielding glint of 
cruelty sparkling lewdly in his eyes. 

Bette held her breath, thinking for a moment that Dorothy would refuse, but 
then the young helpless betrayed blonde obediently spread her legs a few 
inches. One silver tear of shame slowly coursed down her soft cheek. 

"You can do better than that, love," Mark added, his face a perspiring 
masque of lust and eager impatience. "Come on... let's see that tight little 
pussy we've purchased." 

Dorothy's eyes seemed to clench even tighter squeezing out several other 
tears. She shuddered again, then slowly opened them a little more. 

"Oh, shit. Stop being coy," Sam snarled as he reached down, grabbed her 
knees, and viciously forced them apart. A low whimper of protest came from 
the girl's lips, but it is doubtful the men even heard it for their hungry 
lewd expressions were frozen on the soft raw flesh of her pink and 
rose-coloured little cunt. 

"God damn," Mark said reverently as his leering eyes saw the unveiled 
treasure, "would you look at that pussy. Darned if it doesn't look like it's 
begging someone to put a long, hard cock in there." He reached forward 
suddenly and ran his middle finger up the tightly closed slit, parting the 
corn-silk hairs and feeling the oily soft warm flesh quiver against his 
contact. Watching her face now, he dug his finger slightly into the fevered 
little cuntal opening and saw a grimace twist her already strained features. 
He used the tip of the finger to nudge her fevered clitoris which was the 
size, shape, and colour of an almond- and was rewarded by a shiver and a 
slight twisting motion of her pelvis as she sought to break contact with 
this unwanted sensation. 

Bette's excitement continued to grow until the pit of her belly was a 
churning maelstrom of unrequited need and her thighs running with the hot 
love juices copiously seeping from her hopelessly aroused cunt. The lewd 
spectacle in front of her was almost more than she could stand. She could 
see Dorothy lying there with her legs apart, probably feeling friendless and 
more alone and more ashamed than she had ever felt before in her life. 

The poor girl didn't even attempt to staunch the tears that rolled down out 
of the corners of her eyes and splattered on the tresses of the long golden 
hair that lay tangled under her head on the floor. She was being forced to 
lie completely naked between those two vile strangers and accept their crude 
caresses and salacious comments without protest. Well, that was what a whore 
was paid for, the red-head thought. 

Suddenly Bette could stand the build up no more. She got on her hands and 
knees in front of Zeke and pled softly, "Fuck me, Zeke. Stick it in. 
Please... now." She kept her eyes focused on the captive body of Dorothy 
right in front of her, less than five feet away. She could see the shining 
pink raw layers of the poor girl's defenseless pussy, could see Mark's 
finger working in and out of the clasping vaginal opening now, as Sam ran 
his hands over breasts and buttocks. The two men had such enormous erections 
and their cocks throbbed and jerked so powerfully, that the red-head didn't 
see how they could last another five seconds without ejaculating. Behind 
her, she felt Zeke's hands running over the full rounded moons of her eager 
ass. And then, as she caught her breath in delirious joy, she felt the 
heated hardness of his long pulsating prick rubbing against the impatient 
fevered moistness of her own cunt. Almost frantically, she reached back 
between her outspread legs and grasped that fleshy rigid shaft and pulled it 
forward until the hot throbbing head had insinuated itself between the 
sensitive little layers of oiled membrane on either side of her pussy. Once 
positioned, Zeke pushed forward slowly and, with one long uninterrupted 
stroke, shoved it all the way up into the depths of her heaving vagina. 

A loud delirious moan escaped her lips when she felt the head scrape against 
the cervix and his hairy testicles slap against the upturned white cheeks of 
her ass. The sounds of her groan had made the other men look up, and they 
saw her with mouth dropped loosely open, working her buttocks back against 
the impaling cock in dog fashion. They stared at the salacious spectacle as 
Zeke began rotating his prick deep inside her prior to beginning a smooth 
stroking rhythm in and out that brought even louder moans from deep in her 
throat. 

Goaded by the obscene show the red-head and their companion were putting on, 
they went back with increased urgency to their own project. Dorothy was 
completely open, defenseless, to the rummaging hands between her legs and 
over her breasts. Mark worked at her pussy now, slowly and tantalizingly 
inserting two fingers, relishing the fact that he was able to elicit a gasp 
of pain from her. "I tell you, she's got an awful tight cunt for a whore." 
he said wonderingly, and his cruel unfeeling comment brought a fresh rivulet 
of tears from the humiliated girl. 

"Isn't she ready to fuck yet?" Sam asked. 

"Just about," Mark answered. "Her pussy's starting to nibble at my 
fingers... feels like she's got a little rabbit in there." 

Sam grinned lewdly, then dropped his head to her nipple. He bit it harshly 
and she yelped. 

A moment later his cheeks indented as he began a soft suckling at her 
breast, running his tongue maddeningly around the turgid brown button of her 
erect nipple. His actions were beginning to bring little animal sounds-half 
pleading, half protest-from her mewling throat. 

Finally Mark made several quick circular motions, stretching Dorothy's cunt 
to its utmost, then withdrew his fingers. "She's all yours, friend." 

Sam Baxter scuttled over and knelt between her outspread thighs. "Boy I am 
going to enjoy fucking this," he said, then growled playfully, "Look out 
cunt, here we come." 

"Oh no, please... don't Dorothy said, feeling his hairy legs between her 
smooth thighs. 

"I'm not that kind of girl. Pul-luu-zee." The last was almost shouted as she 
jerked and lunged for freedom. 

"Hold her, god-damnit, hold her," Sam yelled, and Mark came to his rescue by 
locking his arm across her throat and forcing the writhing body back down 
against the carpet. Dorothy struggled for a few seconds, then gasping and 
sobbing, lay still again. 

Incapable of even token protest, she made no outcry when Sam used his knees 
to force her thighs even further apart. Grasping his long, hard aching cock 
in his hand, Sam guided it to the moist defenseless opening of her pussy. 
His cockhead split down the vaginal slit several times, lubricating itself, 
then he used both hands to raise her knees so entry could be made easier. 

Bette realized she had been holding her breath, waiting for Sam's mammoth 
cock to make its penetration into the helpless girl's cunt. Nothing she had 
ever witnessed before had excited her quite as much as knowing that within a 
few minutes Dorothy's pitiful pleadings would become craven moans of 
pleading lust. So lost was she in the salacious anticipation, she was 
unaware of Zeke's heavy hot pole slamming in against her own cervix. She 
wanted to be part and particle of this cruel rape and humiliation of her 
blonde friend. She was filled with exaltation as she heard Sam's lust 
constricted voice say, "Baby, now you're going to get the fucking of your 
life. Raise your knees a bit more. Ah... yes... that's a good girl." 

Dorothy began quivering in fear and shame as Sam's hand dropped again 
between their bodies and took the hard, throbbing prick between his fingers 
and guided it forward, using the thick rubbery head to part the full, fleshy 
oil-and-vaginal-secretions-lubricated lips of her palpitating pussy. She 
turned her head to one side on the rug and shuddered with its first soft 
tingling contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moistened slit. 

Bette was suddenly aware that Zeke had stopped his thrusts into the fevered 
depths of her cunt. She turned her head and saw him with eyes locked on the 
couple on the floor. 

Just as she glanced back, Sam began pressing forward. 

"Ooooooh," Dorothy's pent-up breath whistled between her tightened lips as 
she felt the first harsh pressure against the tight elastic opening of her 
pussy. 

Sam flexed the cheeks of his ass and pushed. 

"Ohhhhh!" the big blonde groaned as the tip slipped through her moistened 
vaginal lips. 

Then, with a grin at Mark Rogers, Sam suddenly fell forward, his weight 
smashing her full firm tits tightly back against her chest. He shoved his 
pelvis forward at the same time and his long, hard white shaft of gristle, 
muscle and blood roared into her cunt like a runaway elevator, pushing the 
soft hot flesh of her inner vaginal walls aside without mercy. His long 
slide into her depths continued until with a sudden groan of delight his 
balls slammed against the defenseless upturned moons of her ass. 

"Aaagghh, God! You're killing meeee-ee," Dorothy screeched, beginning to 
struggle against this brutal impalement. Mark immediately put a stop to her. 
thrashing by grabbing her shoulders and pushing down with all his weight. 

Sam grinned down at the stricken face of the girl. He saw the perspiration 
popping out on her forehead and temples. There was no disguising that she 
was in pain from his mammoth cock; that knowledge pleased him. He filled her 
as she had never been filled, before, and now he was going to fuck her as 
she had never been fucked before. "I told you I was going to stretch that 
pussy for you," he gloated, then flexed his ass muscles and made his cock 
jerk inside her. 

"Aaagghh, don't move it," she grunted breathlessly, her face grimacing in 
new pain, and her neck cords standing out like flesh covered steel cables. 

Bette had exhaled a long breath as she saw the white rigid shaft of Sam's 
prick disappear into the tight confines of Dorothy's wide-open cunt. Now she 
bent down, putting her redhead almost on the rug, in an effort to see 
everything. From this vantage point, staring up, she could see one large 
blue vein beating on Sam's shining pussy-moisturized cock. She could see the 
puckered edges of Dorothy's rubied vagina, looking horribly stretched and 
engorged with blood. As she watched, she saw Sam's slow withdrawal and the 
ragged edges of Dorothy's cuntal lips cling-almost lovingly-to the white 
shaft, as though reluctant to let it go. Then came the slow movement inward, 
causing the lips to disappear from sight. Gradually, Sam increased his tempo 
and began pulling the awesome length of his cock almost all the way out 
before driving it back in again to the hilt. Beneath him, Dorothy was 
fighting a battle with herself. Tears were gushing from her eyes as she knew 
her humiliation and degradation were complete. She would never be the same 
again. She was being fucked by a stranger, with another man waiting to take 
his place when he was finished. They had purchased her body, just as George 
and Carl and Bella and Jean had bought it. That's all they were interested 
in her body! She was dirtied, soiled! She had been tricked, betrayed and 
lied to, and as a result had lost control over all of the things that she 
had known were right. She was no longer, in any respects, "a good girl". She 
could never face her husband again. She was a whore, a professional whore! 

She sobbed like a broken-hearted child and the phrase "professional whore" 
burned itself into her brain and conscience. Gone now was the earlier pain 
of Sam's cock ripping into her vagina, gone now was everything. Nothing was 
left except that wildly throbbing huge hot rod buried deep inside her 
vagina, beating away down there like a second heart. 

Sam Baxter had been watching the slow march of emotions and thoughts across 
the blonde's tearful face, and he sensed that the last inner resistance had 
crumbled. Clamping his lips down over her tear-streaked salty mouth, he dug 
his tongue deep into her oral cavity and began a slow, tormenting rocking 
motion between her thighs. He could feel the tight hot passage between her 
legs opening more and more with each thrust as she groaned in helpless 
defeat beneath him. 

Bette saw Dorothy's body begin to involuntarily react to the fucking she was 
getting; her hips started a gentle rise and fall to meet each inward stroke, 
then within moments, the pelvis had begun a slow rotating as it rose. Low 
hums of passionate servile acceptance began pouring out of her heaving 
chest. Face contorted with passion, mouth working in unison with Sam's, neck 
straining, nostrils flared, the girl had abruptly become a portrait of pure 
animal lust... made all the more appealing by the light sweat that had 
broken out on her forehead under the long golden strands of hair that 
spilled out onto the rug. 

Sam moved with all the precision of ball-bearing machinery as he began 
making longer smooth strokes that brought his prick almost all the way out 
of her twitching vagina on the back stroke and then falling forward into her 
upthrust supplicant buttocks until her could feel the sensual pounding of 
his hard balls against her soft buttocks. He fondled and played with her 
clitoris, bringing softer moans of wantonness from her lust tightened lips, 
all the while feeling the ever-widening passage of her pussy flowering like 
some carnivorous plant greedily attempting to devour his entire hot shaft of 
meat. 

Dorothy's breath had become hoarse rasping pants of passion and her motions 
had started to assume a frantic urgency when Sam abruptly realized she was 
close to cumming. 

Grinning, he shoved his prick home with one brutal thrust and kept it buried 
to the hilt, pinning her hips to the rug-making it impossible for her to 
move up and down the greased shaft. 

"Wha... what's wrong," Dorothy sputtered, her eyes wide open in accusing 
disbelief. 

"Nothing, baby. I'm tired. What's say we roll over and you be the boss for 
awhile?" He didn't give the blonde a chance to answer, but grabbed her hips 
and rolled over. He planted the girl's knees just above the belt line, then 
said, "Go ahead, try moving it in and out." 

Bette watched as Dorothy tentatively slid her hot seeping pussy up and down 
the oiled pole before establishing a rhythm. To her practiced eye it was 
obvious the girl was beginning to show some signs of real enthusiasm. Her 
supple white fleshy ass mounds rose and fell on that throbbing veined shaft 
in an increasing tempo as she sought once again to bring back the promise of 
the orgasm. Now, deep within her own loins, Bette could feel the build up of 
sensation and pressure that told her she too, could cum anytime she desired. 
That was when she started her muscles working on the spongy head and long 
hard length of Zeke's plummeting cock. She squeezed, flexed, expanded and 
contracted down there, and was rewarded by a series of delighted groans from 
the perspiring man. She was really putting her heart and soul into the 
action when she saw Mark Rogers pour about a quarter of the bottle of 
perfumed Oil de Aphrodite into the undulating crevice of Dorothy's 
frantically working ass. When he cupped more oil in his palm and began to 
grease his prick, she gasped in sudden horror, knowing exactly what was 
going to happen, and feeling the need to cry out against it. He was going to 
sodomize the poor girl! Not only fuck her in the asshole, but at the same 
time she was being screwed by Sam! That hadn't been part of the deal! 
Christ, with that big rod of his he would split her poor little anus in ten 
different directions. She promptly forgot about Zeke and began thinking of 
ways to forestall what she knew was about to happen. She had known Mark 
wanted to bung-hole her, but it never had occurred to her that he might try 
to do it at the same time Sam was in her vagina. God, they'd kill her-tear 
her so badly that even the best gynecologist could never repair the damage. 

Then it was too late for the red-head to protest the brutal ravishment of 
her companion, for Mark finished oiling his long, impatiently throbbing 
prick, grinned and said, "Hold her, Sam. 

We're coming in the backdoor." Dorothy attempted to twist around to see what 
was happening, but Sam had pulled her harshly down, crushing her ripe melon 
like tits against his hirsute breast. Bette moaned involuntarily as she saw 
Mark run his greasy hands down the outside of the girl's oil-coated legs, 
moving his fingers greedily over the long, firm muscles of her quivering 
calves and then up the inside of her smooth glistening thighs to the full, 
white supple mounds of her clenching ass. 

Bette and Zeke both shuddered in rising excitement as they saw Mark put his 
hands on Dorothy's glistening moons and use his thumbs to pry them apart as 
though he were separating succulent greased pastry dough. He looked over 
toward them, a man extremely proud of his work, as the soft white flesh 
parted and the tiny puckered anus became visible. It shone like a throbbing 
little brown star-all shiny from the Oil de Aphrodite. 

Bette felt Zeke buffeting her forward with his pelvis, attempting to move in 
right up close to the action where they could see every little thing that 
happened. She crawled forward on her knees, with him between her thighs, 
feeling his cock grinding maddeningly in the depths of her womb with each 
little shuffling movement forward. They stopped when her face was only 
inches away from the big blonde's fearfully quaking buttocks. 

Dorothy finally was able to twist her head around. She stared with wide-open 
anxious eyes first at Mark and then at the fevered expectant expression on 
Bette's face as the redhead continuously flexed and unflexed her cuntal 
muscles around the entire long hard length of Zeke's cock. "What... what are 
you going to do?" she asked, her voice quivering, near the breaking point, 
unable to believe that these vile beasts could do anything worse to her. 

"Why, honey, I'm gonna fuck you in the asshole," Mark said. "You're going to 
love it. It might smart a little in the beginning, but just wait until my 
big hard prick here starts working in you. You're gonna be in heaven!" 

"Oh, God, no. You can't," Dorothy wailed in new despair, struggling mightily 
against the imprisoning hold of Sam's arms around her waist and his huge 
white cock that impaled her just as surely as if she'd had a stake driven 
into her body. As if sensing the futility of any further fight, she 
collapsed against Sam's chest, her body shaking. 

Mark slowly took his right hand away from the buttock and extended his long 
middle finger, using his thumb to hold the other fingers in a tight fist. To 
Bette his hand looked almost as if it were a slender knobless cock with 
testicles. He leered down at the cowering girl and then slowly ran the 
finger through the oily crevice of her ass. Dorothy cringed and cried out in 
fear, and tightly tensed her buttocks together in an effort to escape the 
unnatural ravishment. 

"God damn," Sam roared from below, "hurry up! It feels like she's trying to 
squeeze the head off my cock." 

Bette could tell by Mark's expression and the new tensing of Dorothy's body 
that his fingertip had found the puckering anus. Now he thrust his hand 
forward and the greasy finger easily slipped in to the first knuckle. 

"Ohhhhhh... no-ooooo. God... don't," Dorothy piteously pled, automatically 
throwing her body forward, only to find herself impaled even more on Sam's 
lust-hardened shaft of gristle. In defense she clenched her ass together as 
tight as possible. 

Sam rolled his eyes around and groaned, "Jesus, there's a fucking python in 
there." 

Mark, unsmiling, pushed down with all his strength and his finger popped 
through the tight elastic opening all the way past the second knuckle. A 
second later it buried to the hilt. 

Dorothy groaned continuously as he mercilessly scoured her rectum, using 
first one finger-then two-widening and preparing it for the long, hard, 
throbbing white cudgel which he was stroking into readiness with his left 
hand. Bette could see the monstrously thick veined cock growing even larger 
under his ministrations, could see his knees trembling in excited 
anticipation of the final humiliation of the defenseless blonde girl who was 
kneeling helplessly beneath him, completely at his mercy and the mercy of 
the prick already embedded in her cunt. 

Then, unable to wait any longer, he stepped up between Sam's white, hairy 
legs, and directed the tip of his hot pulsating prick at the tiny throbbing 
little brown target. 

He pushed forward. 

"Aaaaaaggghhhhh, God. You're killing mee-eee," Dorothy screamed in agony as 
the rock hard instrument popped through the tightly clenched orifice of her 
asshole, and began sinking gloriously into the warm, buttery bowels. Mark 
closed his eyes, his eyelids fluttering from the intense sensation as 
Dorothy jerked and twisted beneath him, trying to throw him off. Her frantic 
movements only made things worse, for with each buck of her body the prick 
skewered even deeper into the tightly resisting rectum... and each time she 
lunged forward Sam's cock scraped and raped new and never-before touched 
areas of her womb. 

"Gaaaaa-hhhhaaaaaddddd," she gasped out the last of her pitiful protests as 
her buttock muscles were unable to retain their grip any longer. Mark's 
monstrous, throbbing shaft of blood, gristle and muscle slipped without 
further resistance into the forbidden oily depths of her rectum, buried to 
the hilt. 

"Jesus," Mark breathed through clenched teeth, "that is one tight asshole! 
I'm almost afraid to move." 

Dorothy lay there moaning and sobbing in pain and humiliation at this cruel 
debasement, unable to move up or down without having a skewering cock 
pushing even deeper into one of her cavities. She knew now how a helpless 
butterfly pinned to a display board must feel. 

The two men gazed in satisfaction at each other over the top of her body, 
then as if by some silent signal, both began thrusting with long hard 
strokes into her defenseless body. 

Within a few seconds they had established a natural rhythm, one which found 
them both converging on her body at the same time, buffeting it as though it 
were some soft warm barrier to be destroyed. Their cocks rammed in, sawed 
out, slamming against each other on the inward strokes, with only the thin 
membrane separating cunt and asshole. 

Bette watched, completely hypnotized, her face less than a foot and a half 
away as the two monstrously thick blood and lust engorged white pricks 
furiously fucked into the poor girl's pussy and anus, ravaging her loins 
like the white horns of an enraged bull goring a fallen foe. The red-head's 
hot excited passion-glazed eyes could see the ragged pink edges of Dorothy's 
cunt leaping upward like a solar flare as it clung to Sam's cock on the 
outstroke, then falling back into the hilt. The tight little nether ring of 
the anus looked like a pair of lovingly ovalled brown lips moving up and 
down the shaft of Mark's prick as he fucked into her rectum like a madman. 

Behind her, she could hear Zeke gasping and groaning like some huge beached 
aquatic animal trying to reach the sea, and he began pounding into her so 
furiously that she almost was thrown forward onto her chin. 

"Ohhh... oooohhhh?" Dorothy's moan was a question, a query that went on and 
on building in volume until it became a whine of passionate pleading. She 
was finally getting with it, finally accepting with a masochistic joy, this 
cruel debasement over which she had no control. The two men fucking into her 
helpless body stared at each other in satisfaction at this ultimate conquest 
of mind and body, not smiling, their faces frozen into masques of primeval 
animal lust, as the big blonde's hips began to move backwards to meet the 
downthrust of Mark on back of her, then downward to engage that glorious hot 
fleshy pole rooting around in her womb. Her entire body was part and 
particle of the two men, and her buttocks began making wanton little circles 
of eagerness like a bitch in heat. 

Bette saw all three of them suddenly speed up their wanton tarantella of 
savage, forbidden lust. Their movements became frantic, wilder, faster, 
faster, more abandoned, until the sound of flesh pounding against flesh 
resounded even above their loud pealing, pleading groans for release. 

Sam shouted first, "Shit... shit! I'm cumming." 

The message, coupled with the blinding hot stream of pent-up seminal juices 
spewing into her womb, triggered the orgasm in Dorothy's straining, heaving 
body. Her lips peeled back in a savage almost death like grimace, and then 
she was screaming as she attempted to dig her tongue into Sam's wide-open 
gasping mouth, "Aaagghhh? Asssgghhhhh? AAAAAIIIEEEE! I'M CUMMMM-IIIII-NNNG! 
Oh, God... keep fucking... fuck harder... harder in my asshole. Fuck me. 
Fuck me-ee-eee!" 

The big blonde seemed to have suddenly gone insane as she sobbed out an 
orgasm that went on and on... and on, until she felt Mark abruptly stiffen 
and imbed his wildly ejaculating prick deep into her asshole, pumping sperm 
far, far up into her madly working bowels. This brought on a whole new 
series of rippling orgasms that caused her earlier frenetic release to seem 
puny by comparison: her body convulsed and her legs looked as if they were 
big white wings trying to take flight. 

Bette and Zeke had gone completely out of their minds at the salacious 
spectacle. Zeke slammed his throbbing white cudgel into her so deeply and so 
viciously that the red-head was shoved forward, falling with her face 
pressing against Dorothy's outstretched long oiled legs. With the inexorable 
swelling of Zeke's cock and the first heated spurt of his cum inside her, 
Bette simply let herself go; the resulting climax, long held-back and 
intensified three-fold by the excitement of what she had just seen, caused 
her to scream out in a wild Banshee shriek of joy just before she slumped, 
nearly unconscious to the rug. 

Dorothy didn't object when Zeke, his prick still hard in spite of his 
orgasm, came over, pulled Mark away from her asshole, then rolled her over 
away from Sam, and straddled her supine still quivering body. She seemed 
almost lifeless at first when his fleshy shaft slammed into her seeping 
pussy, but then as though she were sucking energy from that long white tube, 
she gradually was rejuvenated and became more and more animated until it was 
Dorothy who was eagerly doing the majority of the work... her pussy in happy 
harmony with the parade of hardy cocks which seemed to come in a never 
ending procession, and which she could not really get enough of. 

She was still going strong, putting heart and soul into her work, when the 
weary men finally called it quits shortly after midnight. They dressed and 
disappeared. 

Left alone, Bette watched Dorothy, waiting for some sign of recrimination. 
The big blonde said nothing, however, merely looked around the room as if 
searching for something. The rivers of silver cum flowing down her backside 
and inner thighs looked like dull streams of pewter compared to her 
glistening oiled legs. 

Bette really didn't know what to say. Now that it was over she felt a 
horrible sense of guilt at what she had subjected the blonde to. She hated 
herself for not alerting Dorothy, for not being honest with her. What she 
had done was despicable, unforgivable. A betrayal in the worst sense. 

"Look," the red-head began. 

"I... I... oh, shit. I'm sorry." She wanted to bawl. The girl had trusted 
her, had been too dumb to know how to extradite herself from the situation. 
It was terrible. 

The big blonde turned and looked directly at her for the first time, staring 
at her as if puzzled by what she had heard. Then she smiled ruefully, put 
her head to one side, and shrugged. She chose her words carefully. "I never 
was a very good switchboard operator. 

And I'm a lousy housewife most of the time, I guess. As a matter of fact; 
there are a lot of things I don't do well at all." She took a deep breath, 
and the little rueful grin was back. 

"But apparently, from what everyone tells me and the way they act, I seem to 
have a talent in bed." She stopped, collecting her thoughts, then asked, 
"Tell me, the rest of the Mister Bates models... " She hesitated, closed her 
eyes as if afraid to say the words, then concluded, "... are they all... 
whores?" 

"Yes." 

"They... you... you're all good at it?" 

Bette was solemn. "The very best. The highest paid... and the best looking, 
I understand." 

Dorothy fidgeted, "I can't lie to you. I don't like the thought of it. But I 
like the money." She paused again, then made the plunge, "And I like the 
men. I didn't realize how much until George and Carl... and tonight." 

Bette stood there, her hopes soaring, and then heard the words she thought 
she would never hear, "When's the next show?" 

EPILOGUE Dorothy was brewing some coffee when she heard the mailman's 
scooter putt-putting down the street. Tying the braided gold belt of her 
long, flowing lime-coloured peignoir, she went eagerly into the front room 
and stood by the open door until the postman climbed the front stairs. 

"Good morning, Mr. May," she said. 

He grinned up in undisguised admiration at her, held out four letters. "One 
from your husband," he said, "the rest are bills." 

Unable to conceal her happiness, she eagerly went into the front room and 
ripped open the letter from Bill. She read the first two paragraphs, then 
closed her eyes and hugged the letter to her breast. Quickly then she 
scanned the rest of the letter and, satisfied the important news was 
contained in the beginning of the letter, she went toward the bedroom. Once, 
before entering, she paused before the full-length mirror and fluffed up her 
hair. She stopped and studied, with serious big brown eyes, her figure in 
the mirror. 

There had been a change in it since she went to work for Mister Bates. For 
that matter there had been a lot of changes, not the least was a 515,000 
bank account and the Cadillac convertible in the garage. She still had the 
wide-eyed innocence, but now it was combined with an overwhelmingly powerful 
sensuality and a poise that had a stunning effect on any male she came in 
contact with. Her figure had ripened even more and there was a glow about 
her features which radiated good health and an uncomplicated peace of mind. 

She threw open the bedroom door and gazed down at the nude man sleeping atop 
the covers. She dimpled as her eyes caught sight of his erection, then 
smiling impishly she bent down and ovalled her warm lips, placing them just 
over the throbbing head of the cock. She began a gentle little sucking 
motion, all the while glancing mischievously up at him. 

Gradually, the man came awake. Then groaned in delight as he felt the tongue 
swirling around the heated glans. "Hey... ," he said wonderingly, in 
pleasure-not in protest. 

"I thought I took care of that for you last night," she said, pulling away 
from him. 

"Dorothy, I can't get enough of you. I was just dreaming that you and I were 
making out on a raft." 

She expertly, gently fondled his swollen prick in her hand without looking 
at it. "I have some news for you, dear father-in-law." 

"What is it?" Dan Conklin demanded. 

"You're going to have to find another place to sleep when you're in Los 
Angeles for the next six months." Then, closing her eyes in happiness, she 
added, "Bill's coming home next week." 

"Oh?" Dan was of mixed emotions. He knew how much Dorothy loved her husband, 
and yet he, himself, really didn't see how he could get along without her. 
She was quite a woman, he thought... quite a woman. That night in 
Sacramento, six months ago, when he had seen her in the Mister Bates show 
and called out to her, had almost resulted in his having a heart attack from 
shock and anger. Christ, at first he had been so angry that he had wanted to 
kill her when he saw her the next morning, but Dorothy had rapidly convinced 
him that she didn't have the slightest idea of the real purpose of Mister 
Bates' models until it was too late. Then she had stunned him by announcing, 
"Now I know, and it doesn't matter. I'm going to work for them." He had been 
in a real quandary all that day, feeling he should write his son, but that 
night he had taken his daughter-in-law to dinner and this time everything 
came into focus. There had been no protest when he took her to bed, they had 
been great together-candid in their sexual needs-and since that time they 
had been sleeping together whenever he was in Los Angeles. God! He was in 
love with her. She was the most splendidly sexual woman he had ever known, 
the most generous... the stupidest. 

Dorothy moved up the bed until she was seated just opposite his shoulders. 
She had a speculative look on her face, as if she were thinking something 
out. Finally she said coaxingly, "Dan... would you help me?" 

"How?" 

"Well, I knew Bill would be home sometime this month and I asked Marie 
Grosset if I could have a leave of absence. You know how much the job means 
to me... and I didn't want to quit outright. Anyway, I have the leave of 
absence if I can get my own replacement." 

"Go on," he said. 

"There's a girl down the street. Her husband's just left and won't be back 
for about six months. She's a real beauty, and I think she's pretty sexy, 
too, I mean... if she'd ever let herself go. She's interested in my job, but 
she doesn't know what we really do." She paused, her brow wrinkled in 
thought. "Would you and maybe one of your friends mind acting as lingerie 
buyers? We could have cocktails... and dinner... and maybe dance a little, 
then put on the show for you." 

"Yeh? Yeh?" 

"And then... we'd all sit on the floor and show a movie... " She smiled in 
all innocence, her big brown eyes wide in eagerness and recollection, "I 
know where we can get a really groovy movie. One about a farmer's daughter 
and his wife. The girl is terribly lonely, you see... and she wants and 
needs someone to talk to... it's so sad... " 


THE END
