... Until They Scream
by James Montague


INTRODUCTION 

Although most people have never heard of him, a man named Erving Goffman is 
undoubtedly one of the greatest sociologists living today, and some critics 
claim that he is one of the best and most important writers. Goffman is a 
fifty-year-old professor at the University of Pennsylvania. Ever since being 
born in Toronto and educated in Chicago, he has done his best to stay out of 
the public eye, but the eight books he has published set forth his views on 
life and society. Although they tend to be on the pedantic side, those books 
are rewarding to read, even though most of Goffman's views are gloomy, 
pessimistic, and sometimes even frightening. 

Goffman's earliest work, published in 1955, was the forerunner of such books 
as Games People Play, which came along considerably later. Although, as 
indicated, his densely packed volumes have never been written on the popular 
level and have thus never become bestsellers, his ideas are usually far 
ahead of the thinking of others and he probes them much more deeply. In the 
beginning, he thoroughly investigated the whole idea of "face." We often 
speak of the Oriental philosophy of "saving face," but Goffman stated that 
this is something everybody in the world does all the time. It is not 
something confined to the Chinese, Japanese, etc., but an ingrained habit of 
Western civilization as well. 

In Goffman's view, this process has become virtually a religion in which 
each participant tacitly agrees to "conduct himself so as to maintain both 
his own face and the faces of the other participants." This kind of 
ritualism obviously has its drawbacks. Goffman goes on: "Every religious 
ceremony contains the possibility of a black mass. ... When a person 
volunteers a statement or message, however trivial or commonplace, he 
commits himself and those he addresses, and in a sense places everyone in 
jeopardy. By saying something, he opens himself to the possibility that the 
recipients will affront him by not listening, or take offense at what he has 
said." 

If we interpret this correctly, what Goffman is saying is that even the 
smallest details of day-today living are fraught with peril, at least 
psychological peril. Virtually any imaginable situation can become awkward 
or embarrassing, even if it falls far short of physical violence. And the 
possibility of physical violence is always there, lurking somewhere beneath 
the most placid surface. 

In his newest book, Relations in Public, Goffman carries this thesis to its 
logical extreme. As an example, he discusses the student rebellion at 
Columbia University, New York City, in April, 1968. The rebellious students, 
among other things, ransacked the office of Dr. Grayson Kirk, president of 
the university. Dr. Kirk has been widely quoted as saying, upon seeing his 
ruined office for the first time: "My God, how could human beings do a thing 
like this?" To which Goffman replies: "The great sociological question is 
not how it could be that human beings could do a thing like this, but how it 
is that human beings do this sort of thing so rarely. How come persons in 
authority have been so overwhelmingly successful in conning those beneath 
them into keeping the hell out of their offices?" 

The world Goffman sees and describes is a frightening one in which violence 
can erupt at any time-and probably by the rules of logic ought to erupt more 
often than it does. But it is our world. And in this world no one can be 
considered wrong or illogical to expect violence and to try to prepare for 
it. 

In the novel you are about to read, ... Until They Scream by James Montague, 
violence does erupt in an office of quite a different sort from Dr. Grayson 
Kirk's. It is the office of Roberta Colby, young but highly successful 
president of Roberta Colby Cosmetics. Roberta's firm is a leader in a very 
competitive but profitable field. She has built up an impressive business 
practically single-handed, and her office is a swank and comfortable one on 
Madison Avenue. But it is far from immune to explosive trouble. 

The story opens with Roberta's discovery that Earl Lord, one of her account 
men, is resorting to blackmail to obtain new business. But it is not so much 
the fact that he is doing it that disturbs Roberta, it is his method. It is 
a method that, strangely enough, works even more effectively on Roberta than 
it does on the intended victim. Suddenly, her "face" is lost, her defenses 
have disappeared, and she is totally vulnerable herself-the unwilling slave 
of a cruel, conniving man. 

But that is only the beginning. Roberta Colby is not an inexperienced, naive 
girl. She finds a way to strike back at Earl Lord-or at least to escape from 
him. But what she escapes to is the real crux of this gripping, perceptive 
story. James Montague, as always, presents a cast of fully rounded, deeply 
human characters who are individuals like all of us. He sets them in 
exciting situations, but situations that any one of us might find himself 
in. And the lessons this novel contains, though they are never overt or 
overemphasized, are as important to us as those in any ponderous 
sociological tome. Read the book, and judge for yourself. 

The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Roberta Colby awoke and realized she had fallen asleep on her office couch. 
The swank Madison Avenue offices of Roberta Colby Cosmetics were dark, and 
the homeward-bound noises of the masses on the street below had died down to 
scarcely the honk of a taxi horn now and then. Roberta sat up and wondered 
how it could have happened. She had been going over the monthly sales report 
and ... she remembered moving out from behind her desk, settling more 
comfortably on the couch and then ... the rest was a blank. God! she 
thought, I must have slept for two or three hours! Everyone has gone home! 

But everyone hadn't. Now she heard muffled voices coming from the outer 
offices. She listened at her office door, opened it an inch, and peeked out. 

"Do you have the files with you?" Earl Lord, one of her account men, asked. 

"Just what you asked for, it went off as smooth as a baby's ass," the 
heavy-set man with the beady eyes answered. 

"Well? What the hell are you stalling for? Let's see them." Earl Lord's 
voice thundered through the stillness of the closed offices. 

"You mean right here?" The other man asked. "Are you sure we're alone? These 
films are pretty hot stuff." 

"I would expect them to be. I wouldn't have hired you to get the goods on 
just any old chain department store purchasing agent. Before I parted with 
my money, I knew for damned sure Paul Mauro was a cunt man with a rusty load 
in his poke. Yes, we're alone, now let's see what you've got." 

Roberta Colby watched, wide-eyed, as the fat man set up his projector on the 
reception room desk, focusing it on a blank wall. She didn't make a sound 
and even tried not to breathe. 

"You wanted evidence on Paul Mauro and that's what you've got," Fat Man 
said, fooling with wires, adjusting knobs, and breathing just a bit heavier. 
The meaty hand flicked a switch on the projection machine and a 
multi-colored square appeared on a far wall, directly in Roberta's line of 
vision. 

The scene was obviously a motel room interior. 

Shadows, like a dark tongue, licked at the young girl's white tits. A man's 
finger unclenched slowly and slid over the soft meat of her breasts. 

The wet palms rubbed sweat on them, making them gleam. 

"Who's the chick?" Roberta heard Earl Lord ask. 

"One of the salesgirls from his Long Island store. They've been using the 
same motel room every Thursday night for six weeks now. It cost us fifty 
clams in payoff to the night clerk to rig the room." 

"Uh-huh." 

Roberta listened ... and watched. 

The girl let her mouth open a little wider, softly and teasingly letting her 
tongue creep out. It moved a slow, trembly circle around her lips, wetting 
them. It did an upward-cupping dance suggestively. The male star of the 
private movie nodded, sweated. The camera caught the girl's hardened nipples 
as they rose to stiff points. 

It was obvious that the girl had been prompted before to kiss her lover's 
cock. Paul Mauro's face was a mask of passion. This was not her first look 
at Paul Mauro's penis, and she fell to her knees and grasped for it. It 
throbbed long and hard in front of her face. At first she just licked over 
it and occasionally let it slip briefly into her mouth. With a white hand, 
she reached out and grasped the jerking spear, massaging the gorged head 
that was swollen and mottled with lust ... a heart-shaped plum, aimed 
straight at her mouth. 

Roberta could see vividly the cock slither from the girl's encircling lips, 
pulsing warm and rigid against her mouth, jumping again as she slid her 
tongue out and over it, licking it as her clenched hand tried to hold the 
lurching shaft still and buried in the oven of her working mouth. 

The girl's lips stretched to a strained O by the thickness of his penis, the 
head plunging down her throat, almost gagging her until she adjusted to the 
long, thrusting strokes as he fucked the clinging ring of her lips with his 
cock. She pulled on it and sucked on it hard, her tongue always working, 
making slurping sounds. 

It seemed to Roberta that Paul Mauro (she recognized him; had been trying to 
land his account for a long time) was going to pump his straining cock into 
that mouth forever. But then the familiar face of the man disappeared 
between the young redhead's legs, his wet tongue lapping at her tender slit, 
his lips sucking hungrily at her soft folds, opening them to purse his lips 
around her clit. The girl gasped again, arching up as he sucked at her cunt, 
rooting greedily at it, eating her until the hot juices were dripping out of 
her, all too vivid on the screen. 

Paul Mauro quickly climbed up the redhead's thrashing body and took her with 
one long stroke of his spearing prick, filling her with its hardness and 
wringing a series of twists of exquisite pleasure from her body. Then the 
girl crouched over his body, her hands supporting herself by resting on his 
chest. Paul reached between her thighs and positioned his cock, guiding it 
between the cunt lips that were as moist as her mouth. 

Her stockinged thighs, outstretched to make her cunt as tight as possible, 
were pressing into the bare flesh of his legs. She rode herself on his 
flagpole cock, the big prick easily slipping into the wet pussy, the 
muscular rod moving tightly, firmly, up the clenching and unclenching hole. 
He stroked her nipples as her eyes stared boldly into his. She twisted her 
hips sharply, her face giving expression to the feel of the penetration in 
every inch of her belly. 

She churned her bottom around and around to make his prick leap in her cunt. 
They fucked in a steadily faster rhythm. They filled the screen, fucking 
until the girl's body was bounding up and down on his, her tits jumping and 
shaking with passion, her stiff red nipples painfully tight and hard, her 
eyes gleaming with boiling desire. 

Paul Mauro's hands groped around to the cheeks of her ass. He was sitting up 
and holding firmly to her buttocks as they wobbled this way and that. 
Although the film was soundless, the girl was obviously screaming with 
delight. 

Something inside Roberta Colby was screaming too. Roberta Colby, at 
twenty-nine, was the perfect picture of a Manhattan career woman. Perfectly 
coiffured and groomed, she was a strikingly handsome brunette, with a lushly 
mature figure. But there had been almost no time for the use of that body in 
Roberta's carefully planned scheme of things. She had decided that her first 
million would be made before age thirty. Her one-time sexual experience had 
been back in her college days, and then she considered it to be only mildly 
pleasurable and highly overrated. 

Watching, Roberta was at first horrified, then embarrassed and wanted to 
stop peeking out from behind the door of her darkened office. Then she 
became suddenly aware of her own quickened breathing, of her own nipples 
rising hard and aching against the confines of her bra. A strangely pleasant 
crawling sensation moved along her thighs, spread up over her belly and 
fanned out to her breasts, growing to an almost unbearable urgency and need 
that she'd never known before. She found herself scissoring her moist thighs 
together, and she wondered, What's happening to me? This is terrible! I 
should be disgusted with that monster Earl Lord for trying to get his sales 
by what is obviously a blackmail attempt. But instead I'm getting all 
excited, wet inside and out, and I don't understand what's happening to me! 

Roberta felt herself making a little outcry, as though that wonderful, thick 
cock was moving inside her own belly. She tore her eyes from the screen, 
aware only of the terrible hot desire flooding her own body and the pearls 
of passion running wetly down her thighs, her own hips began to move with a 
strange, wanton rhythm. She heard some scurried movements in the outer 
office and the front door being closed, but she couldn't think of that now. 
All her demanding brain kept saying back to her was, You have to do 
something. Oh, somebody help! 

Suddenly, from behind her, Earl Lord's voice said, "Roberta! What is it? Is 
anything wrong? You look...." 

She turned, flustered and trembling, and saw him standing in the doorway of 
her office, with the look of a little boy caught in the cookie jar on his 
darkly good-looking face. "I heard you cry out as though you were being 
hurt. I thought you had left for home long ago." 

Then he put his scattered thoughts together as he saw her flushed face, the 
darkness of her passionate eyes, the soft, helpless moistness of her 
sensuous lips. He had seen woman with that look of passionate need, that 
please fuck me NOW! expression, before. He recognized it instantly. 

"I see. You were watching our little erotica movie, too, is that it? And it 
got you all uptight, eh, boss lady?" His voice indicated he knew he was once 
again on safe ground with his lady employer. He reached out and took hold of 
her hand; the first time he had ever touched her. "Why, you're trembling. 
All that bad? Here, let me comfort you." 

The heat of his body penetrated through her dress and Roberta lost whatever 
little control she had left. She arched toward him willingly and little 
moans escaped her lips, although she tried to hold them back. 

He moved just slightly and she could feel his hard prick throbbing against 
her tummy. All her sanity was lost; the picture of a dipping cock still 
galloping through her brain. Her hips ground against his. Her soft mouth 
opened under his and her velvet tongue came forward to meet his. He moved 
her back toward the couch, hearing her fierce breathing. 

"Get naked," he said. 

She shook her head once, twice, but then obeyed, tossing clothing wildly 
through the air and over her desk. The proud gourd-shaped breasts leaped 
forth as the bra was peeled away. They quivered gelatinously, the grape-like 
tips projecting invitingly. Two thumbs were moving her filmy panties, and 
she was naked before him, her marble flesh gleaming in the night light of 
the semi-dark office. 

"Say it," Earl Lord demanded. "Say fuck me." 

"Oh, God, Earl. Don't be cruel! Yes, fuck me! But hurry! Oh, what's wrong 
with me?" 

"I'll tell you what's wrong, baby." He was getting undressed too. "Nobody 
serviced you in a long time. Too busy making money, isn't that it? Don't 
worry, I'll take care of all your problems, bitch." He looked into her eyes, 
as if they could tell him if he had gone too far. He hadn't. The eyes were 
still pleading. She sat down on the couch and lay back, flesh quivering, 
breath gasping. She clung to him with the embrace of a sinking lover, 
sinking ... sinking ... sinking into the swaying ocean of desire. 

Roberta felt the fine shreds of panic enveloping her like cords. Her hand 
became a cup, moving down between their bodies, farther into the pocket of 
his groin, and the erection darted between her whirling fingers. She cried, 
crying like a bird, like a gull, like a sea creature, as he bent into her, 
the full weight of him. Her body against his, bared and moving in almost 
juvenile eagerness, a juvenile's desperation. 

She hurled her arms tighter around him, drawing him into her, and her 
breasts were bouncing and jostling around the lines of his mouth, his mouth 
feeling her nipples erect. Earl Lord sucked easily at them, feeling from 
within that her first orgasm was beginning to attack her like hidden fingers 
inside her belly. 

She felt herself rising, rising, now set for the explosion itself, poised on 
its rim, wanting to let go, yet hoping this would never end. 

"No," she screamed. "Stay with me, stay with me!" And she opened like an 
Amazon, an uncoiled spring against him, and the fleshy connection went 
deeper, ever deeper, and like a mad dog his unleashed prick dove into her, 
closer and closer to the core. Her nipples were grazing his cheek now, his 
cheeks inflating as he inhaled her flesh, her inner cunt muscles 
energetically dragging him into her, seeming to milk at his backbone through 
the tube of his cock. 

As they fucked deeper and deeper, he lifted her buttocks from the couch, 
bearing down on her with his cock. He lunged the hard, thick meat deeper and 
faster into Roberta's wet and wild well, sucking furiously on her titties. 
She maneuvered her body so that her feet touched the floor. Earl's body 
moved frantically on top of hers, his toes too just on the floor, his thighs 
locked together between hers. The slipping down of her feet forced his cock 
to penetrate her from a new angle. It was driven almost vertically into her 
gulping pussy, the thick stem twisting upwards, digging hard into her, 
pushing against the clit with every forward spring, and she had to grip the 
sides of the couch for support. 

His prick in tighter than ever now, Earl felt himself on the verge of 
coming, the excitement surging his body, dipped snugly in the clinging mass 
of her creamy liquid. He rammed her back cheeks together as his gush of 
sperm shot into her, feeling her ass tense and contract between his fingers, 
taking it all in greedy spasms, writhing madly with the warmth of its 
delivery, deep into her belly. 

Her hands moved to his buttocks now, demanding, urging, guiding. Her 
fingernails dug into the flesh and she abruptly let out a wailing cry of 
surprised delight. The furious, angry demand of her all but consumed him, 
leaving him a limp huddle of male flesh on top of her body. 

Later he whispered against her ear, "God, woman, you're too much! We've 
wasted a lot of time, know that?" 

Roberta didn't answer, swimming in her own lethargy, nerves gently asleep, a 
feeling she had never experienced before. 

Then, splitting the silence of the quiet office, she said, "You sonofabitch! 
I saw what a rotten bastard you are tonight, with that filthy movie:-well, I 
won't have it! If that's the only way you can earn your commission around 
here you can get the hell out and...." 

"Hey, cool it, boss lady. Things are different between us now." 

"Nothing is different between us. This never happened ... and will never 
happen again: Better believe it. I'd fire you right now but...." 

"But you're afraid I'd spout my mouth off tomorrow, right? About what an act 
the cold Roberta Colby is putting on, what a hot bitch she really is, once 
you get to the nitty gritty of her, right?" 

Roberta said nothing, but he could feel her trembling. 

She got up off the couch, walked to the bathroom, picking up pieces of her 
clothing as she went. At the door, she turned, holding the dress over her 
tummy, hiding the soaked mound of hair from his view. "I repeat, this never 
happened. And if you're smart, you'll leave it that way. Or you just might 
find yourself on the unemployment line tomorrow." 

Then she disappeared, and Earl stood there naked, hearing the shower run. He 
shrugged, closed one eye in deep concentration, and then bit his lip in a 
slightly worried gesture. Then he quickly dressed and made his way out of 
the office, down in the elevator, and out into the refreshing night breeze 
on Madison Avenue. 

At the corner, he stopped for the first edition of the next day's New York 
Daily News. 

"Bitch," he mumbled. "I'll fix her!" 

"Huh?" the raggedy old newspaper woman said, holding her hand out for the 
dime. 

"Nothing, forget it," Earl Lord grunted, and headed for the subway entrance. 

Hanging onto a strap on the IRT subway, Earl Lord could feel the juices 
drying around his crotch and on his inner thighs. 

Back in the office, Roberta stared at the wall where the ugly movie had 
played just a half hour before. Now it was blank, just as if this all had 
never happened. Had it? Yes, it did happen. She'd have to live with that. 
More important, she would have to live with asking herself, what kind of 
woman am I? A pig? God, it could have been anyone! 

Sure, Earl Lord was attractive-but that isn't what had turned her into an 
animal. It was the movie. And then she realized, but didn't say it aloud. In 
that one mad moment, she would have fucked a snake if Earl Lord or some 
other man wasn't handy! 

She tried to tell herself that it wouldn't happen again. But with a pang of 
shame that stung throughout her body, she realized that it probably would! 
This thought, though unconnected, led Roberta to look out the office window, 
down onto the alley that separated the building from the hotel next door. 
She had heard some of the girls in the office giggling over some of the 
scenes they had witnessed through the windows of that hotel. Midafternoon 
things, usually executives stealing "a quickie" with their secretaries, etc. 
But now the rooms were dark, or in some cases, the shades were drawn. But 
what puzzled Roberta was; why had she been drawn to even look? Hadn't she 
seen enough ugliness this night? 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Hello, brat, is your father home?" Earl Lord asked, standing at the door to 
his neighbor's apartment. 

"I told you never to call me brat again, Earl Lord!" The teenager standing 
inside the doorway of apartment 2E, down the hall from Earl's own three room 
suite, was for the most part a series of fleshy dips and ovals, all well 
composed to make up an almost-woman body. She was dressed for bed, and Earl 
let his eyes glide down over the fullness of her flanks and belly, and lower 
to the satin incline. He gazed lustily at her plumply rising breasts, and 
through the filmy material he could almost see, as she inhaled deeply, the 
splendid brownish-rosy nipples as they expanded and firmed. She stood there 
and sighed, and Earl wondered if the sigh was her way of telling him that 
she was remembering the night, just a week before, when his hot and nuzzling 
lips had traveled over those nipples. With a quickening pulse, he remembered 
that last explosive interlude in his apartment when he'd inveigled her in. 

What a stampede of girl fucking that had been! She had come to his apartment 
barefoot, and after an hour of her teasing, was bare-assed on his bed. Whew! 
What a hot bunch of tight-cunted madness she had been! 

"I gotta talk to your father, is he in or not?" 

"He's in, but how come you got the gall to come knocking at my apartment 
looking for my father, not me! Some crust, I'd say!" 

"Simple. You are a brat, and your father is a psychiatrist, and at the 
moment I need to talk to a shrink, not a baby bundle of...." 

"Sh-h-h, he'll hear you. He's in the shower, I'll call him. Say ... what the 
hell you need a psychiatrist for? Goin' bananas, eh? Why don't I sneak over 
to your place after he goes to bed-I could help your problem, ya know." 

"That isn't my problem, tonight, cupcake. I need some professional 
advice-about a friend of mine." 

"That's what they all say. If you're going freaky, admit it." 

"Will you just go tell your father I'd like a minute of his time?" 

"Can I come over and watch television later?" 

"Give me an hour to shower and such. I've had a helluva day." 

"Hmmm. I'll soothe you down, don't worry. I'll get Daddy. See you later, 
right?" 

"Right." 

She turned and walked toward the back of the plush apartment, and Earl had 
to swallow hard at the sight of the plump twin mounds of her amazingly 
developed derriere swinging under the thin nightdress. 

"Hello, Earl," her father, Dr. Morton, said a few minutes later, coming out 
of the bathroom, his face as shiny clean as his bald head. "Understand you 
have a problem. Want a drink?" 

"No thanks. Tell you what it's about, Doc. We have this fella working in our 
office, writing copy ads and that sort of stuff, and he wanted me to look 
over a book he's writing in his spare time. It's about this woman that ... 
well, I just wanted your professional opinion on whether his plot is valid. 
It has to do with abnormal sex psychology. In a woman, I mean." 

"Oh?" The doctor gave a quick, sardonic grin. "Would you say it's believable 
that an otherwise normal woman could get herself all worked up to a point of 
losing all control just by looking at some ... er ... erotic pictures? Or 
maybe go ape just by seeing somebody else in ... er ... the sex act?" 

"Certainly. There is a certain degree of voyeurism in most women. In some 
the degree is much higher than in others. Usually it is the latent result of 
an unhealthy and long period of sexual lethargy, no intercourse or even 
sexual desires over a lengthy period. But then the shock of seeing something 
highly erotic triggers a bursting of the dam, you might say. On the other 
hand, it is true that women are not as readily stimulated by visual stimuli 
as men are. I would suspect that it would be pretty rare for a woman to 'go 
ape' as you put it, by simply viewing something of a sexual nature. By that 
I mean it would definitely have to be an aberration, in my judgment. 
Particularly if that was the only thing that could get her aroused. I have 
heard of such cases, but they are very rare." 

"Oh, she's rare, all right!" 

"Beg pardon?" 

"Huh? Oh ... nothin', Doc. Thanks. 

The Morton girl was at Earl's apartment door one hour later, right on 
schedule. 

"You know, if your father finds out you're paying me these little visits 
after he goes to bed, I'm a cinch for a statutory charge, little girl." And 
besides, Earl thought, watching her fold her long legs over the edge of his 
chair, I'm in no shape for one of your teenage attack and destroy missions 
tonight, after what I've been through! His mind was full of schemes and 
plans, not lust. 

But she stretched across the chair like a cat, and he couldn't help letting 
his eyes be drawn to that arrogant protuberance of the amazing behind. 

She cupped his big sensual face in her hands and pulled his open mouth hard 
against her own, parting her lips to encourage his softly charging tongue to 
enter and seek hers. A rasping cry tore loose from her throat as her hot 
lacy tongue curled tenaciously about his, and Earl's lips went crushing more 
deeply to suck the flicking tongue, then slid lower to suck the girl-like 
tilt of her chin. He removed her nightie and hungrily pressed the naked, 
resilient warmth of her body against his own. They were both breathing 
heavily and starting to perspire in the sultry apartment. 

Earl's eyes again glazed with lust, for the second time this night, as he 
leaned back to get another full and greedy look at this young girl's body in 
the shadows-the moonlight filtering through the blinds and shimmering 
against the willowy loveliness of her flesh, hips so tapered and creamy in 
the lunar glow. The teenager's hair hung loose and lustrous about her 
shoulders, and as Earl made out the poignant design of her cupid face 
reaching once more towards his, he noted happily that all her makeup had 
been scrubbed off for the night, leaving the exquisite sculpture of her lips 
free and ripe for devouring. Now he was again tasting that "sweet young 
thing" freshness he always found in her kisses. 

Weird little cunt, he thought, she'd probably been bangin' around since she 
was eleven. The doctor's little pussy child, giving him that delicious, 
crawling dirty-old-man feeling, as if he was getting her long lost cherry 
again every time he shoved his meat into that burning tight little cunt of 
hers. 

Earl was gasping and moaning with the feel of her hands on his prick, her 
fingertips so hot they almost hurt. 

"Gobble my box, the way you did last time," she smiled devilishly. "It was 
so groovy!" She dropped smoothly to the thickly carpeted floor and spread 
her long, trim legs wide. Her pelvis was twisting sensually, and Earl could 
hear the sound of her heavy breathing. He got up from his chair and knelt 
between her open legs. 

"Oh, foxy man, let me open my pussy for you." 

When she used her fingers to spread the lips of her cunt, revealing the 
tender coral-colored inner flesh of it, Earl's mouth actually began to ache 
for it. He kissed the little dimpled hollow on her thigh, about an inch from 
her vagina. He deliberately let his hot breath play across her inner thigh. 
The girl's reaction was almost violent. 

He put his mouth flush on her cunt and flipped her clit with his tongue, 
burying his face in that sweet-tasting baby-like hole, sucking it, nibbling 
her pink clitoris, driving her wild. Then she was up on her hands and knees, 
and he was licking her from behind, dragging his tongue from the rear 
portion of her clinging gash up into her bitter-tasting asshole. 

He turned her around and laid her on her back. He mounted her shoulders, 
pinning them down, and moaned when he felt her soft lips suck onto the head 
of his cock. He shifted his weight forward and drove his prick deep into her 
mouth. While her lips and tongue flitted over the spongy head, she jacked 
him off with the fingers of one hand and teased his nuts with the other. 
Earl Lord pumped his second load of the evening into the girl's mouth. Then 
he fell off her and felt her legs wrap around his hips and work his soft 
prick back and forth over the drenched slit of her vagina until it started 
to harden again. 

Her breath became hotter on his cheek and she began to jack the hardening 
cock with her pussy lips ... slowly ... and then faster and faster. He could 
feel his nuts throbbing painfully as she tried to milk him dry, her amazing 
ass pumping up into the air and he held on to it for dear life with both 
hands. She closed her eyes and bit into her full lower lip, a look of the 
most sensuous agony washing over her young face. 

Each time she lifted high on his prick, bringing it to the point where it 
seemed it most certainly must slip out, the coral lips of her pussy seemed 
to cling to it as if fearful they would lose that wonderful meat meal; when 
she drove down, pussy swallowing his prick to its deepest point, those same 
lips seemed to fold inward, savoring the belly-stuffed feel of it. 

Earl didn't wake up until four in the morning. "Corinne?" he called. He was 
curled up in a ball on the living room rug. His little neighbor nymph was 
gone. 

The following day, Roberta Colby had a business luncheon engagement with 
Tony Marsh, who owned one of the largest chains of drug stores in the 
metropolitan area. For several months, Roberta had been negotiating to get 
an exclusive for her line of cosmetics with one of the executives of the 
firm. It would be an important deal to her, meaning many hundreds of 
thousands of dollars a year. She had just about given up on it, though, when 
she received a call first thing in the morning from Marsh himself, asking 
her to have lunch with him. 

As soon as they sat down at his reserved table in the expensive and 
fashionable restaurant called The Golden Peacock, Tony got right down to 
business. Roberta had been pleasantly surprised to find him a handsome, 
charming man in his early thirties. He was a tall, rangy, broad-shouldered 
man. His crisply curling black hair was prematurely dappled with gray at the 
temples. His uneven features held rugged good looks and, when he grinned, 
his brown eyes crinkled at the corners and a dimple appeared in one cheek in 
a completely disarming, boyish way. Roberta found herself thinking, only a 
few minutes after she met him that here was the type of man she would 
eventually like to marry. But then they were busy talking business and she 
was happy to hear that except for a few details which needed to be ironed 
out, he was willing to give Roberta Colby Cosmetics the exclusive in all his 
stores. 

They soon ironed out the details and shook hands in a firm agreement. Then 
made arrangements for their lawyers to get together to draw up the contracts 
the next day. The business details over with, they entered into pleasant 
chitchat. Roberta was pleased to note that Tony Marsh seemed quite taken 
with her. After a while, he said, "You know, Robert-I may call you by your 
first name, may I?" 

"Of course, Tony," she said. 

"Anyhow, Roberta," he went on, "what I was going to say is that until I met 
you, talked to you for a while, I still wasn't completely sold on this deal 
of letting you have an exclusive with our stores. But then when I did see 
you-" he shook his head and grinned that almost shy, boyish smile. "-well, 
it was all over then. You know you are a walking advertisement for your own 
products. You are probably the most beautiful woman I've ever met." 

She felt herself blushing faintly and her heart beating a little faster. 
"Well, thank you, sir," she said. "Does Mrs. Marsh happen to use our 
product? I'd be interested in hearing what she thought of it." 

He shook his head. "There isn't any Mrs. Marsh. I'm not married. To be frank 
with you, I've been so busy the last few years, building up this string of 
drug stores, I haven't had much time for courting, as my granddaddy would 
call it. This luncheon date, though, is beginning to make me see what I've 
been missing. Or maybe why I've waited." He sighed, glanced at his watch. "I 
actually hate to let you go back to work. Couldn't we both possibly play 
hookey for the rest of the day?" 

Roberta laughed. She twisted uncomfortably in her seat. The strangest 
feeling was pervading her. She had never felt this way with a man before in 
her life. A special kind of warmth seemed to suffuse her whole body, when 
his eyes looked deeply into hers the way they were now, when he said nice 
things to her like that. 

"I'm afraid not," she said. "I have so many things to do back at the office. 
I don't know how I'm going to cram them all in, as it is. What could we do 
all afternoon, for goodness sake, anyhow?" 

"Well, for one thing, the horses are running at Belmont and I have a season 
box in the clubhouse. Do you like going to the races?" 

"I've never been, but I'd love to go sometime." 

He reached over and put his hand lightly on hers. Roberta felt something 
like a warm electric shock run up her arm just at the touch of his palm over 
the back of her hand. She found herself looking down at his fingers, so lean 
and strong yet sensitive-looking, the nails so clean and perfectly kept. She 
found herself wondering what it would be like to feel those hands intimately 
all over her body the way Earl Lord's had been the night before. A chill of 
delightful anticipation ran through her, almost making her shiver, and she 
felt the nipples of her breasts rise hard against the inside of her bra. 

Quickly she drew her hand away as he said, "Well, then let's go." 

She almost weakened under the magnetic effect of his eyes upon hers. She 
turned her gaze away, shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Tony. I'll 
have to take a rain check. Maybe, some Saturday ... My office is closed on 
Saturdays." 

"Good," he said, quickly. "So is mine. How about next Saturday?" 

She thought about it. She could remember no other engagements. She smiled 
and nodded affirmatively. "You'll have to be patient with me, though. I know 
nothing about horses or the races." 

"That's fine. Then you should have beginner's luck and maybe some of it will 
rub off on me. Meanwhile, will you have a couple of drinks with me, after 
office hours tonight-just to seal our business agreement?" 

She started to say no, then she thought, why not? What else will I do, go 
out and eat by myself and then go home and watch TV for an hour or so and 
then go to bed. Maybe it'll do me good to break the routine a little. 

"All right, Tony," she found herself saying. "But only two drinks, though, 
agreed? I don't like to drink too much on an empty stomach." 

"Your wish is my command, to coin a brilliant cliche," he told her smiling. 

They talked for a few more minutes about inconsequentials and then he 
escorted her back to her building and they made a date to meet at The 
Shipshape Cocktail Lounge at five o'clock. 

The rest of the day, Roberta was kept constantly busy, making arrangements 
with jobbers and others to increase the supply of her various cosmetic 
products so that they could take care of the immensely increased business 
that would accrue from the Marsh account. 

About four o'clock, she called Earl Lord into her office to tell him to 
prepare a special promotion campaign built around the fact that Marsh would 
be handling their products, excusively. He was pleasant and business-like 
all during their talk, but as he was about to leave to go back to his own 
office, Earl said, "Did you have pleasant dreams last night, Roberta?" 

She looked up from her work, saw the smirk on his thin, dark, shrewd-looking 
face. She drew herself up coldly. "I don't think I know what you mean," she 
said. 

"You don't, huh? What do we have to do this time, peek out your window at 
the sexy scenes in the hotel rooms across the street?" 

"No. Furthermore, I don't like your tone or your manner. I am employer, you 
know." 

"Oh, I know, I know, Roberta," His voice dripped with sarcasm. "And I love 
it. Nobody could have a nicer boss. I certainly can't complain about the way 
I'm treated. I love it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, all last night. 
You know, Roberta, it's almost impossible for a man to have a taste of 
heaven and then not want more. So I want more. I think you do, too, really. 
Don't you? Now be honest with me." 

Her face flamed, partly from embarrassment, partly from temper. Her eyes 
fixed on him, coldly now. "Let me put it this way," she told him, her voice 
dripping icicles. "I still don't know what you're talking about. I won't 
ever know. So if you insist on proceeding along this idiotic line of 
conversation, I'll have to assume that you're no longer mentally competent; 
in which case, you're hardly the man for the important job of Promotion 
Manager. I pay you $1,500 a month, don't I?" He nodded. 

"That's a fair salary. I've heard of other men who would like your job and 
would take it for less money. Don't misunderstand me, Earl. I like your 
work. I've been very happy with your work. But I don't put up with strange 
personality quirks." 

He was getting angry, too, now. He jabbed his forefinger against his chest. 
"My strange personality quirks? Lady, I don't go off my rocker when I see 
something out the office door. I don't cream ... I don't-" 

"Shut up!" she screamed at him, cutting him off. She pointed to the door. 
"Get out! Get out!" 

"All right, Miss Colby," Lord said, thin-ipped. "What you're saying is, that 
it was all a mistake, eh, and I'm to mark it off the books. I thought you 
were kidding about that last night, that you were just embarrassed. But 
you're serious, aren't you?" 

"Very," 

He nodded thoughtfully. "I see. My mistake, Miss Colby. I-uh-I won't annoy 
you again. All right?" 

She nodded, then picked up some papers from her desk and went back to work 
as Earl Lord walked out of the office. When he was gone, Roberta Colby 
looked up, stared at the closed door and a chill of apprehension came over 
her. She didn't like the way he had acted. She didn't like it at all. She 
had a feeling that the man had been lying at the end, that he wasn't really 
about to drop the issue. After a while, she forced her mind back to her 
work. Before she knew it, it was close to five o'clock and her date with 
Tony. 

The rest of the evening more than made up for her unpleasant session with 
Earl Lord. After she met Tony, she had two drinks with him and they both 
found out that they had a lot in common. They were both born under the same 
sign of the zodiac; they liked the same foods, had similar political 
beliefs. They both hated Rock 'n' Roll and progressive jazz, loved 
Dixieland. They liked some foreign movies, thought others were overrated, 
usually the same ones. After the second drink, Roberta made a token gesture 
of having to leave. But she soon allowed Tony to talk her into having 
another. 

"Look," he said. "You wouldn't want to spoil the nicest evening I've ever 
had, would you?" he begged. "Please. Just one more. We'll sip it, nurse it; 
we'll make it last all evening if you say so." 

She sighed happily. She didn't really want to go. "All right, Tony. But if I 
get tipsy, don't get angry. I can't usually take more than two drinks on an 
empty stomach." 

"Don't you worry, Roberta," he said. "I'll take care of you. We'll start 
right off by getting rid of the empty stomach hazard." He then ordered hors 
d'oeuvres from a passing waiter. 

After that, she found that the third drink didn't bother her so much. She 
and Tony Marsh laughed and joked and it wasn't very difficult for him to 
talk her into having dinner with him. They went to an expensive French 
restaurant on Third Avenue and Roberta, who didn't read French, let Tony 
order for her. She was surprised and pleased at his fluent handling of the 
language and was delighted with the exotic delights he had ordered for her. 
She had never known food to taste so good. 

After that rich meal, with the right wines served with every course, with 
two drinks of the harmless-looking, pleasant-tasting Green Chartreuse, which 
she didn't know, of course, was 100 proof, after a dessert designed for a 
gourmet, Roberta was practically putty in Tony's hands. It didn't take much 
persuasion on his part, to talk her into going to a musical with him. And 
from there to a nightclub in the Village. 

Then the night was over and they were sitting in the front seat of his car, 
parked in front of the narrow, swankly exclusive East Side apartment 
building where Roberta Colby lived. Roberta was sitting close to Tony, on 
the front seat of his Lincoln Continental. 

"I had a wonderful evening, Tony," she told him. "I can't remember when I've 
had such a good time. 

Honestly." Everything was real dreamy. 

"I'm glad," he said softly. "I was hoping you'd enjoy it. Then we could do 
it again, real soon. I guess I don't have to tell you, Roberta, that I'm 
crazy about you. I suppose that sounds like schoolboy stuff-you know, the 
love at first sight bit. Or maybe a line. Believe me, it's neither. I've 
never had anything happen to me like this. I've heard of it happening with 
other people and was always a little cynical about it. Always, before, a 
date with a beautiful woman never meant anything except a prelude to getting 
in the hay with her at the end of the evening. Let me set you straight right 
now; it hasn't been that way with you. Just being with you, watching your 
face as you 're enjoying yourself, just talking with you, being with you, 
has been enough." 

"Thank you, Tony. That's a very pretty speech. I wish I could be sure you 
meant it." 

"I guess it is hard to believe. But let me add-it isn't that I wouldn't like 
to go to bed with you; any man would, I'm sure. But if and when that ever 
happens with you, I don't want it to be any spur of the moment thing-for 
either of us." 

"It won't, Tony," she whispered. 

He was holding her and now, gently, he put hit other arm around her, pulled 
her into the hollow of his shoulder. Then he tipped her face up toward his. 
His hand cupped her chin, his sensitive finger trailing gently along her 
jawbone. His voice husky, barely audible, then he said, "I do love you Ro 
berta. Like I've never loved before." 

She felt her own heart pounding like a crazy thing now, slamming against her 
ribs. The warmth that flowed through her was almost feverish. Yet it was a 
different kind of heat than she'd experienced the night before in Earl 
Lord's arms. 

Then Tony's wide, strong mouth moved toward hers. His lips touched hers 
lightly, brushing and then fitted gently over them, pressed them tenderly. 

Roberta had never experienced such a kiss before. It seemed to light deep 
fires within her, not the fires of a quick savage passion but something 
deeper, more lasting. She returned the even, tender pressure of his lips as 
his hand curled around her upper arm, squeezed and caressed it gently, then 
moved up to cup her shoulder, hunching it. From there his hand slid up to 
caress the sensitive side of her throat, to toy affectionately with the lobe 
of her ear. 

She was breathing hard now, greatly stirred, strangely stirred. At the same 
time she found herself hoping, wishing for his hands, his caresses, to 
become more intimate. She felt the tips of her breasts stiffen achingly. 
Conversely, some other power inside of her was crying out, "No! No! Don't 
let him. You can't! It's not right; it's dirty; it's evil!" And she 
instinctively knew that if his hand did move to her breast, something within 
her, something uncontrollable, would force her to brush his hand away, to 
become frightened. She let out a long, slow sigh when he didn't proceed 
further, but gently removed his mouth from hers and let his hands move away 
from her. She relaxed somewhat. 

"Good night, Roberta," he said. "May I call you tomorrow?" 

"Mmmmmm-hmmmmm. And thanks again, Tony--for everything." 

Swiftly she slid along the seat away from him and waited until he got out 
and ran around to her side and opened the door for her. He escorted her 
inside and then left. 

Upstairs in her apartment, Roberta undressed and got into bed. For several 
minutes before she went to sleep, she puzzled at her own behavior, her 
strange reactions to Tony Marsh. What kind of a nut am I, she asked herself. 
I let myself go insane with passion with a nobody, a wolf like Earl Lord, 
for whom I have no genuine affection-then balk and sweat it out like a 
silly, frightened school girl at even the anticipation that a man like Tony 
Marsh might try to become intimate. Especially when I'm already terribly 
fond of him, feel more strongly toward him than I have with any other man 
I've ever known. I must be crazy. 

On that thought, she fell into troubled sleep. It was disturbed several 
times by wild dreams. In one of them, she was in some kind of a barn-like 
place, with pile of hay all around and she was naked and tied to a pole, a 
strange-looking pole, smooth and polished, like a huge policeman's 
nightstick, except for a peculiar mushroom-like knob at the top of it. 
Around her, couples were sprawled on the straw-covered floor and they were 
all naked, too. All of them were copulating wildly, savagely, like rutting 
animals and Roberta could hear the grunting and panting of them, the 
agonizedly ecstatic cries of the women. She watched them entwining and 
surging, the muscular, bulky bodies of the men and the soft white-fleshed 
bodies of the women, all of them sheened with sweat. The strange part was 
that all the couples were the same; they were duplicated. She knew this even 
though she couldn't see their faces; the faces were sort of blank. 

All the while, she strained to break free from the thongs that bound her to 
the smooth pole that pressed so solidly between her shoulders, down her 
back, between her buttocks, against the backs of her thighs. After a while, 
the more she struggled against the pole to free herself from it, the more 
excited she seemed to get, until finally there was a great sweet surge of 
relief. Suddenly she was in another scene. She was swimming, bathing in a 
great sea of sweetly scented, oily liquid, which laved and soothed her 
heated body, slowly, gently, marvelously cooling it. 

She awakened then, trembling and bathed with perspiration and was somehow 
calmed so that the trembling gradually stopped and she went back to sleep. 

In the morning, she remembered none of the dreams. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Earl Lord was a man of infinite patience. For a long time he had been 
dreaming of the big time, of real money. He knew that he had gone about as 
far as he could go on his own limited abilities and background. That wasn't 
far enough. Earl Lord wanted the big eight thousand dollar convertibles; the 
estate in Pound Ridge or some equally expensive status-type neighborhood; 
the winters in Miami or Nassau, the summers in Bar Harbor. He wanted the 
$500 a throw call girls; a box at the races, maybe even his own private 
plane with some flunky to fly it for him while he entertained some sky-happy 
broad in the cabin. 

He wanted the kind of things that required a quarter of a million dollars a 
year. He had a hunch, basic intuition that this was in his reach if he could 
capitalize on his affair with Roberta Colby the other night. He did not yet 
take her seriously, her rebuff of this afternoon. He had to make a test 
under the right conditions, perhaps two or three, before he would accept 
failure. 

His first step in that direction, was to line up the proper cast. It didn't 
take him long to get the female lead. Corinne gave him some resistance for a 
while; he'd expected that. But then he broke her down. 

"You're crazy, Earl," she told him at first. "I like you a lot. I'd do 
almost anything for you, but that's asking too much." 

"Why?" he demanded. 

"With some strange guy I've never even met? What kind of a girl do you think 
I am?" 

He didn't tell her. Instead, he said: "What difference does that make? I 
tell you, he's a big, husky, nice-looking guy. You'll like him. As a 
matter-of-fact, I'm even a little leery that I might even lose you to him. 
He's really something." 

Corinne's interest was piqued a little. "Honest, Earl? You wouldn't kid me, 
would you? You sure it ain't some old creep? I can't stand doin' it with 
some wrinkled old man." 

"Of course not. The guy's young, virile. It should be a ball. Anyhow, even 
if you don't like him too much, what's the difference? You can put on an 
act, can't you? How long will it take, an hour or so, that's all. I'm asking 
you to give up an hour of your time for me, as a big favor, as an important 
thing for me that might change my whole life, make me rich-make us both 
rich, even." 

"Who is he, Earl?" 

"I told you, I can't tell you that. All I can tell you is that the biggest 
business deal of my life depends on it. Believe me. Listen, if this goes 
through, you and me'll have it made. We'll take luxury ocean cruises on big 
ocean liners. I'll take you to Paris, Rome, the Orient. Wouldn't you like to 
be a rich guy's broad?" 

"Of course, Earl." Then, with intuitive shrewdness, "But are you sure all 
that'll happen, you ain't just using me, Earl, and then, when I've done you 
this big favor, you'll give me the ditch?" 

He waved his hand disgustedly. "Oh, for Christ's sake, if you think 
something like that about me, forget it, will you. The hell with it. I can 
get some other girl. I know lots of 'em would just jump at this chance. I'm 
trying to give you a break, that's all." 

That did it. She flung her arms around Earl's neck and, whimpering a little 
bit, finally agreed. 

Picking the right man was kind of a problem. But Earl Lord finally got an 
idea. He knew somebody he was fairly sure would do it just for kicks and 
that was good because it meant Earl wouldn't have to lay out any cash. 

The man's name was Van Jagger. He was about thirty-five. When he was 
twenty-five, Van had inherited something like three million dollars. From 
that moment on Van Jagger dedicated his life to the pursuit of something he 
could never get enough of, before, as a poor man-the various degrees of 
pleasure and excitement that women could offer him. He traveled all around 
the world several times, sampling the various erotica and accompanying 
stimuli that had been passed down in Greenwich Village, where he bought a 
small apartment house. He took the top floor for himself, furnishing it 
sumptuously. The other eight apartments were occupied by young females of 
varying types and degrees of beauty, nationality, race, and sexual 
accomplishment. They lived there rent free and with an allowance in cash 
that enabled them to live as well, if not better than if they worked a 
daytime job. Most of them were aspiring actresses, dancers, singers, or 
artists, marking time until the world "discovered" them. Meanwhile, through 
Van Jagger's generosity, they could pursue their careers without having to 
give up time to making a living. In return, they were to make themselves 
available whenever Van Jagger's demands might arise. 

Earl Lord had known Van Jagger for some time. He had done Van several 
favors, at different times, tipping him off to girls he might be interested 
in as potential "queens" for his "harem." He had a hunch Van would help him 
out. 

They sat around Van's luxuriously appointed apartment discussing the 
situation over a few drinks. Van Jagger was a big, ruggedly good-looking 
young man, with a thick mane of yellow blond hair. His facial structure was 
such that it so far had held off pretty well the ravages of dissipation. He 
looked thirty, instead of thirty-five. 

After he listened to Earl's proposition, he said: "Man, that is a wild 
request. What kind of a chick is this that gets her kicks that way?" 

"Pretty weird," Earl answered. "But it's worth it, believe me." 

"You say it's one of the models you use in your cosmetic ads?" 

"Yeah," Earl said. "And let's leave that part of it lay, huh, Van? Like I 
said, I can't tell you any more about her. You know, her coming from a 
wealthy family and all." 

"Okay." Van grinned. "I know how those things are. And this Corinne chick, 
you sure she isn't a dog?" 

"Uh-uh. I kid you not, Van. I think you'll enjoy her for a quickie. She's 
not so hot you'd want it for a regular diet, but I think you won't mind it 
for a one shot." 

"And she'll go along with it for anything I might want to do, for extra 
kicks?" 

"Sure. No problem there. I'll tell her to do anything you say. I already 
told you she's got a pretty strong masochistic streak." 

"Okay, pal," Van finally agreed. "You let me know the time and the place and 
I'll go along for the ride. What do I have to lose? Besides, I owe you a 
favor." 

"That's just what I was hoping you would say." Earl grinned contentedly. 
"And now, since I'm here, what have you got in the building now in the way 
of goodies that you might like to share with a fellow connoisseur of 
femininity?" 

Van got up and poured himself another drink. "Hey, that's an idea. I'm kind 
of in the mood for a little party, anyhow. Say, you remember that little 
Hawaiian girl, Tiko, you saw me out with one night?" 

"Yeah. A gorgeous little creature. A little doll." 

"So, how would you like a little of that?" 

"How come? You through with her?" 

"Yeah. You know, I don't usually share the wealth, unless I am. I'm getting 
rid of her next week." 

"I often wondered about that," Earl mused. "How do you shake these broads 
when you're through with them? I should think they'd be like leeches and 
would fight like hell about giving up the good deal they have here." 

"There are ways. With Tiko, it was easy. She's a fine dancer. So I just got 
a friend of mine in San Francisco to give her a job at his nightclub at a 
hundred bucks a week more than she's getting here in New York, Incidentally, 
did you ever see a hula done the way it should be done, the way it used to 
be done?" 

"How's that?" 

"Well, with just the grass skirt." 

"You mean, no bra, nothing under the skirt?" 

"That's the way." 

Earl Lord thought about it and began to rub his hands together in 
anticipation. "I never have. But there's always a first time, isn't there?" 

Van Jagger laughed, went over to an intercom system that he had hooked up 
with the rest of the apartments. He tipped a cam and said, when a girlish 
voice answered: "Tiko, you busy?" 

"Not really," she answered. 

"I'd like you to come up here and entertain a friend of mine for a few 
minutes. Put on your grass skirt and do a native dance for him. You know-the 
real way." 

There was no answer for a moment and then Tiko asked: "Who is he?" 

"A very important friend of mine. He books acts into the biggest spots in 
Europe. I've been telling him about you. He can't use a hula dancer right 
now, but will be able to just about the time you finish up at the San 
Francisco engagement. I mean, I just want him to catch your act, doll. No 
hanky panky ... Unless, of course, it's all right with you-if you feel like 
it. We might even get a little party going later and you can stick around if 
you feel like it. Okay?" 

"All right, Van," she said. "Give me about ten minutes." 

"Sure. And just bust right in without knocking. We'll be expecting you." 

Van then came back and sat down. "Wait'll you see this dance. It'll drive 
you crazy, Earl. At least, it used to, me. I don't get much charge out of it 
anymore," he said, a little regretfully. 

Then he got up and went over to a long, complicated looking hi-fi outfit, 
snapped some switches and, in a few minutes, lilting island music began to 
flow from the twin speakers. They talked some more and then there was the 
sound of the front door opening and they both looked around expectantly, 
toward the doorway from the hall. 

When Earl Lord saw Tiko, she almost took his breath away. She was tiny, not 
quite five feet tall but she was built in perfect proportion. Her jet black 
hair, waist long and shimmering and shiny as wet Java silk, was brought over 
the front of her shoulders so that its cascading softness partially 
concealed her otherwise bared breasts. As she moved toward them, her naked 
thighs flashed through the whispering skirt of grass. They were the long, 
strong, smoothly muscled thighs of a professional dancer, firm and hard, yet 
completely feminine. 

Her face was an exotic, almost mysterious blend of all the Oriental types of 
beauty, with a dash of the Latin there, too. Her nose was short and straight 
and so small it was almost like a child's. Her eyes, slightly slanting, were 
enormous, seeming to fill her whole face. They were thicklashed and held a 
passionate, moody expression. Her mouth was like a lotus bud, moist and 
shining and richly red. 

She paused in front of Van and Earl Lord stared, goggle-eyed, at one of the 
girl's breasts, peekabooing out between strands of her long, silken black 
hair. The plump and tawny globe of firm, ripe flesh was apple-sized and 
perfectly formed. The coffee-colored nippled aroused by the tickling strands 
of hair against it, rose from the center like a large, hard brown pebble. 

Tiko's teeth were small and even and white as she smiled a greeting to Van's 
introduction of Earl. Then, she asked, with just a trace of delightful 
Polynesian accent: "You wish I should begin right away?" 

"Might as well," Van said, smiling. "After seeing you, I'm sure Earl can 
hardly wait." 

Earl hardly could. He sat enthralled, as Tiko moved to the center of the 
room and began to perform, her little hips moved as though on ball bearings; 
they rolled and ground and the flimsy grass skirt permitted constant 
tantalizing flashes of her brown, naked thighs-and occasionally when the 
gyrations of the dance became particularly wild, even allowed a flashing 
peek at the jewel of her womanhood. As her long hair slithered about her 
shoulders, her widely set, nubile breasts kept bobbing back and forth into 
view, jiggling gelatinously, the dark tips seeming to become more and more 
aroused and erectile. 

After a while, she turned to give the men a back view. The flimsy grass 
skirt swished back and forth with the movement of her hips, the stamping of 
her tiny, bare feet. It did little to hide the deeply divided mounds of her 
pertly plump derriere. 

When she wheeled around to face them again, the music pounded into an even 
wilder beat and now Tiko flung her long hair completely back off her 
shoulders, baring the tawny skinned, taut-fleshed bombs of her bouncing 
breasts. They jiggled and swayed as though they were made out of Jello. 

The finale, a highly suggestive series of movements, involving belly, hips, 
thighs and hands, had sweat standing out on Earl's forehead and rolling down 
his ribs. As the music stopped, Tiko stood breathless for a moment, smiling 
at them, her breasts still wildly heaving from her heavy breathing. Then she 
whispered to Earl, her dark, slanting eyes flashing with the eagerness of a 
child for applause: "You like, Earl?" 

"God, honey, I loved it, not liked it! You drove me right out of my mind. 
Come over here, you adorable creature!" 

With a little giggle, Tiko ran over and eased herself down on his lap. She 
said: "Tiko like you. Tiko happy you liked her dance." 

Earl just groaned and buried his face against the exotically scented 
smoothness of her long, sleek black hair. His hand sought and found the 
warm, smooth sphere of firmly resilient breasts, squeezing, cupping, the 
stiffened nipple digging teasingly into his palm and catching between his 
fingers. His other hand sampled the hot, silken sleekness of her naked 
thigh, under the rustling coarseness of the grass skirt. 

She raised his head then and brought her slightly opened mouth down upon 
his. Her mouth tasted as sweet as thought it was filled with honey as his 
tongue instantly drove into it. They clutched and clung as Earl's hands 
sampled all the delights of the hills and dales and dells of her voluptuous 
little body. As he paused to get into a more comfortable position, with a 
little laugh, Tiko jumped from his lap. 

"Hey, what's the idea?" Earl demanded. 

Tiko shook her finger at him mischievously, her teeth flashing as she 
giggled girlishly. "Not yet, Earl, darling. You must be patient." 

Van Jagger, watching this byplay, chuckled and said: "Simmer down for the 
moment, Earl. I know how you feel but the night's young yet. I've got some 
other entertainment coming up that you and Tiko can watch together. It 
should be very inspiring. 

With that, he went to the intercom, talking to two other girls in the 
building and got them to come up. A few minutes later, they entered the 
apartment. Their appearance together was startling. One of the girls was a 
blonde, a little on the buxom side, her face and her figure amazingly close 
to making her a double for Raquel Welch. The other was a tall slender, 
regal-looking Negress. She was over six feet tall. Her waist was so 
infinitesimal a man could close both hands around it. But her hips had a 
feminine flair and her high, pointy breasts stabbed out the cloth of her 
dress in a delightful manner. Her skin was a sleek, shiny black and her face 
was exquisitely pretty, finely featured, the nose thin, acquiline, the mouth 
small and pouting. Her eyes, set off beautifully by her high cheekbones were 
a liquid brown. She was a strikingly lovely woman. 

Van introduced both girls to Earl. The blonde was Vivian; the colored girl, 
Estelle. While they talked for a while, got acquainted, Van made them all 
drinks from his well-stocked bar and Tiko went into the kitchen to prepare 
some snacks to go with the drinks. 

After one drink, Van called in another girl from the building. This one, 
when she appeared, was a tiny Chinese girl, named Mai. Earl was amazed to 
see that she was no bigger than a ten-year-old child. Under the silk 
Mandarin pajamas she wore there was no visible sign of development. 

"My God!" Earl exclaimed to Van, when the girl had moved away. "Isn't that 
dangerous, robbing the cradle like that? How old is she-ten-eleven, at the 
most?" 

Van laughed. "I've got news for you. She's nineteen but she did stop growing 
when she was ten. And, believe me when it comes to making a man happy, she's 
no child. She's my latest kick. She's completely different. I've never had 
anything like it." 

The group sat around, listening to music, talking and drinking and enjoying 
the snacks Tiko had prepared. Tiko was now sitting on the arm of Earl's 
chair and he was running his hand up and down the tawny smoothness of her 
well-fleshed thigh, wondering how long he could stand it before he would 
have to pick her up and carry her off to a bedroom. 

Then Estelle, the tall Negress, brought Tiko a fresh drink. After she'd 
handed it to the girl, she stood staring down at one of Tiko's exposed 
breasts. Finally she reached out and cupped it gently, rubbing her thumb 
across the distended nipple. "Ah, honey," she said in liquid Southern tones. 
"That's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen." 

Then, quickly, she bent her head and briefly kissed the aroused little 
nubbin. She straightened hastily though, when Vivian, the blonde, called 
out: "Hey, Estelle, cut that out, before I come over there and snatch you 
bald!" 

Estelle showed her perfect, ivory white teeth in a cat like grin. "Oh, don't 
be such a jealous chile, sweetie. You got nothing to worry 'bout. You know I 
couldn't live without those big beauties of yours. I was just testing for 
comparison." 

Then she glanced around at the others. "Hey, y'all, I've got an idea. Little 
Tiko here is practically naked and we're all fully clothed. How about the 
rest of us evening things up a little? As a matter-of-fact, while we're at 
it, let's go all the way. Let's all of us have us a nudist party. Everybody 
game?" 

There was some jocular discussion of the idea and then it was unanimously 
agreed. Everybody began to strip, right on the spot. Tiko, of course, who 
had only to remove her grass skirt, was the first. Looking at her, Earl 
marveled that she was even more beautiful, completely nude. Her hips were 
exquisitely rounded, cutting in sharply at the top to her small waist. 

Estelle, the Negress, was the second to completely strip. Her black body was 
a thing of striking beauty. Her legs were long and delicately curved, her 
stomach flat her hips slightly flared. Her breasts were high set and 
pear-shaped, thrusting out slightly to each side and tapering to sharply 
pointed black tips. Her flesh all over was as smooth-looking as black 
velvet. 

Vivian, when finally nude, was a voluptuous specimen. Her abnormally large 
breasts billowed up surprisingly, without any sag. The nipples were as large 
as Malaga grapes. Her skin was milky white. Mai, the little Chinese girl, 
was even more surprising when she divested herself of her Mandarin pajamas. 
She looked more than ever like a child, with her short, baby-plump arms and 
legs. The tiny dark ringlets of her womanhood seemed incongruous, as did the 
tiny, tiny buds of her breasts, small, though completely shaped, as they 
were, hardly more than plum-sized. 

Immediately, Estelle and Vivian began to dance. Next, Van Jagger took the 
diminutive Mai in his arms, the top of her head hardly coming to his chest. 
Then Tiko came toward Earl and said, smiling: "Shall we join them?" Then she 
glanced down, gasping a little and saying: "That is, if we can get close 
enough together." 

"Oh, we'll manage it somehow," Earl said excitedly. 

"I'm sure we will," Tiko said, nestling in his arms. 

The touch of his body against hers drove Earl wild. In a few minutes he gave 
up all pretense at dancing. He just stood there, thrilling to the sensation 
of Tiko's hard nipples against his chest, her warm belly against his, the 
caress of her thighs against his own. His hands smoothed the hollow of her 
back and then glided down to the cute pouting of her firm little buttocks. 
He gripped them, sampling their resilience. 

Meanwhile, they were both watching Vivian and Estelle, their black and white 
bodies in such violent contrast. Both women were rubbing against each other 
as they danced. Estelle's dark pointed breasts were digging into the big 
blooming white pillows of Vivian's flesh. Every once in a while, their 
mutually stiffened nipples would brush against each other. Finally, they 
stopped dancing and, with little moans, frankly embraced each other. Their 
mouths moved together and clung, twisting, opened, their tongues dueling. 

A few minutes later, they collapsed onto a pile of silken pillows on the 
floor and began to make violent love to each other. Van and Mai and Earl and 
Tiko now, had stopped dancing and both couples were watching the two women 
on the pillows, while their hands moved caressingly about each other's 
genitalia and erogenous zones. 

When Estelle and Vivian were finally ecstatically entwined, Earl could wait 
no longer. He led Tiko to a waiting divan and she lay upon it, reaching her 
arms to him. She was equally ready and received him willingly, while they 
both kept their eyes on the other lovers-the ones on the pillows and Van 
Jagger sitting on a chair with the tiny Mai astride him. It was a session 
Earl Lord would never forget. 

After it was over, they all ate and drank some more until all of them were 
quite tipsy and it seemed perfectly in order to change partners. This time, 
Earl wound up with the miniature Oriental maiden, Mai, while Van sampled the 
abundant charms of Vivian. Tiko and the statuesque, dark Estelle rendered 
their own private version of the Passion Song. And Van had been right about 
Mai; she certainly wasn't any child when it came to lovemaking. She 
astounded Earl with a variety of sensual tricks. 

She reached up for him and held him childishly tight and she began to 
breathe heavily. Her little hands clasped his neck and pulled his face down 
against her so that their cheeks caressed, as the other end of her tiny body 
pressed and bumped against him, rubbing the little mini-ass up and down 
against his cock. He buried his lips in her neck and moved his hand 
quiveringly down the smooth, flawless flesh of her upper back. 

She moaned softly as she moved her bottom all over his thick, warm shaft as 
it jerked upwards. Earl let his hands wander downward until he could feel 
the intimate crease of her little pussy, and he slowly began to finger the 
pubic mound, searching for the tiny hair-lined slit and protective lips. He 
found the hard little clitty which he massaged gently while Mai reached 
around him and, with one finger, was tucking a long silky-soft ribbon in his 
rectum, inch by inch. 

Her other hand caressed his throbbing cock, moving it along and back between 
her buttocks, dabbing it a second, then letting it go. Doing what she called 
a "Chinese fuck dance" on his lap, with his prick bending within her, she 
continued tucking the ribbon into his rectum with a determined finger. She 
tucked it, pressed it inch by inch into him. She seemed determined to bury 
the full length of the thin material. With barely an inch remaining and Earl 
going mad, she whispered, "Now ... just tell me when you're coming. Chinese 
ballet is beautiful." 

Earl was hiccuping delicious moans and fucking madly up and into her. The 
tight cunt held him like a vise. He could hold it no longer, panting, "Now 
... oh, now!" Earl flowed into the tight little shell of her and the ribbon 
was whipped out at the precise moment, sending stars shooting through his 
head. The ribbon was gone, his load was gone and the riot-like moment was 
over and in the silence he could feel Mai's tight little-girl body 
convulsing as she joined him in the melting moment, her teeth clenched and 
her body quivering every last dream out of it. Her little plum breasts went 
soft on his chest. They lay very still in that position for a few minutes 
and then, with his lips against hers, Earl whispered, "Happy Chinese New 
Year, sweet thing!" 

By the time Earl staggered out of the building that night, his legs could 
barely carry the weight of his body. He had been sucked off once by the 
blonde, he screwed the Negress a galloping session in the ass, and while 
everyone watched and clapped their hands, he ate Mai's juiced little box 
until she screamed. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

During the next week, Roberta Colby saw a lot of Tony Marsh. They had lunch 
together nearly every day. They'd meet again after office hours for drinks, 
dinner, and a night on the town. The first several dates ended the same way, 
with Tony letting her out at her apartment, after a tender, almost solemn 
good-night kiss. Each time, though, Roberta could tell it was getting more 
and more difficult for him to stop with that. She wondered how much longer 
it would be before he would become more demanding. She had mixed emotions 
about that. Part of her wanted it to happen, couldn't wait. Another part of 
of her mind dreaded it, was sure that she couldn't allow him to touch her 
intimately. 

All this time, Roberta found herself actually falling in love with the man. 
She was sure of it, after their fourth or fifth date. No man had ever held 
her interest so long before. She usually found them infantile and boring 
after one or two dates. But each time after she went out with Tony, she 
found herself eagerly looking forward to the next time. She found herself 
resenting the time she had to be away from him, at her business. 

She even found herself thinking about marriage for the first time. Although 
she still wasn't worth a million dollars in liquid assets-the goal she'd set 
for herself, what did it matter now? Tony, himself, was a millionarie. As 
his wife, she would share half of his fortune. Then, too, she could sell her 
business for at least that much and thus acquire her goal. She could set 
that money aside, to remain independent financially, just in case things 
didn't work out. As for Tony, her woman's intuition told her that he was 
already hooked, would be more than willing to marry her as soon as she gave 
the word. 

Friday night, when Tony Marsh brought her home, Roberta felt a hot current 
of physical need flow through her when he kissed her good-night, such as 
she'd never known before. Tony must have noticed it, too. He didn't seem 
surprised when she invited him upstairs to her apartment for a nightcap. 

They sat side by side on her sofa, sipping B&B's and talking casually. As 
they finished their drinks, as though by mutual consent, they both set their 
glasses down at the same time and turned toward each other. Gently, Tony 
took her into his arms. Roberta let herself flow against him, thrilling to 
the sensation of her breasts being mashed against his strong chest. Their 
lips met, gently at first, twisting, seeking and then, with a shock of 
pleasure, Roberta felt Tony's tongue force itself between her lips. Her own 
leapt to meet it and now their mouths clung together, deeply, demandingly, 
their tongues feverishly lashing at each other, until both were gasping for 
breath. 

All the time, Tony's big gentle hands were stroking, caressing the hollow of 
Roberta's spine, moving at the nape of her neck. As their passionate soul 
kissing grew in intensity, Roberta felt Tony's hand slide up her ribs and 
under her breast. She felt it close around the full blown fleshiness of it, 
fondling and feeling through the cloth of her dress and her bra. The 
sensation caused a wanton flood of excitement to flow through her. At the 
same time, she felt his other hand slide up under the hem of her dress, onto 
the smooth, warm inside of her thigh. It stroked and caressed there, moving 
ever higher, and then suddenly it touched her intimately through the frail 
thin silk of her panties. 

Instantly passion fled from Roberta and she felt a strong surge of 
revulsion. She gasped and twisted away, reaching down to roughly push Tony's 
hand from under her skirt. She edged away from him on the couch. 

He was instantly beside himself with remorse. "I-I'm sorry, Roberta. 
Honestly, I am. I just thought-well, you know-that you wanted me to do that. 
I should have known better. I shouldn't have tried to rush things." 

She wanted to tell him that she had wanted him to-until it had happened. 
That he hadn't been rushing things, that she'd been just as anxious for 
further loving as he had been to give it. That was one minute, though. The 
next, she couldn't stand for him to touch her there. But she found it 
impossible to say any of that. She didn't know how to explain it. She 
thought it would sound ridiculous, as though she was a nut of some kind. So, 
all she said, was: "It's all right, Tony. I-I'm not angry. I 
guess-it's-well-as you said. You'll-just have to give me a little more time. 
I'm not really a prude, you know-or-or cold-natured. It's just that-" 

"Honey," he butted in. "You don't have to explain to me. Listen, in a way, 
I'm glad you're like that. Believe me, there aren't many that are. And I 
guess I'm just old-fashioned enough to find such standards still desirable 
in a woman." 

"Thanks, Tony," she said gratefully. "Just don't misunderstand, darling. It 
isn't because I don't like you, don't find you attractive. I do-terribly. In 
fact, sometimes I think maybe I even...." Her voice tapered off. She 
couldn't bring herself to finish. 

"Say it," he begged. "You were going to say that you loved me, weren't you?" 

She nodded and then flung herself into his embrace. He held her gently 
again. He whispered: "And I love you, too, Roberta. So much that I want to 
marry you. You will marry me, won't you?" 

With that, Roberta Colby suddenly burst into tears. Her whole body was 
wracked with her sobbing. Tony held her tightly, murmuring: "There, there, 
honey! Let it all out. It'll do you good. But I didn't mean to upset you. 
I'm sorry I rushed things so, threw evelything at you all at once. It was 
only because I guess I'm so impatient, have been since the first moment I 
set eyes on you." 

Roberta didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She sobbed for a few 
more minutes and then Tony dried her eyes with his handkerchief and in a few 
more minutes left. 

After he had gone, Roberta tried to figure out what had gone wrong, what it 
was all about. It just didn't make sense. Here was a man with whom she was 
madly in love-a man whom she wanted to have her body-and she wanted to have 
his ... yet when the time came, she couldn't go through with it. Why 
couldn't she stand for him to touch her intimately? Why was it all right as 
long as they just necked or lightly petted like school kids but then when it 
began to go past that point it was just as suddenly all wrong? Roberta 
puzzled about the thing and got nowhere for several hours before she finally 
fell asleep. 

The next day, Saturday, she and Tony Marsh went to the races at Belmont. 
They had drinks and dinner at a swank roadhouse out on Long Island 
afterward. That night, once again, Tony dropped her off at her apartment 
house after a tender goodnight kiss or two. He made no attempt to touch her 
intimately and Roberta was both relieved and disturbed by this. But she 
admired Tony for his restraint and for deciding that he had better let her 
hold the reins on their passion. 

On Monday, she and Tony had lunch together but they made no date for that 
night. Roberta planned to work late at the office, going over the material 
that had been laid out for the promotion campaign connected with Tony's drug 
stores. 

At five o'clock, the offices of Roberta Colby Cosmetics, began to empty out. 
By five-thirty, everybody was gone. Before she settled down to work, Roberta 
went into Earl Lord's office to make sure he wasn't hanging around. Even 
though he'd been polite and respectful and business-like, ever since she'd 
had that showdown with him, Roberta still didn't trust him completely. 
Several times she had caught him looking at her body, at the jut of her 
breasts and backside and there was an expression in his eyes like that of a 
lusting bull's around a cow in heat. It almost made her shudder. 

Back in her own office, Roberta caught herself staring toward the window to 
look out at the hotel across the street. Several times she fought against it 
but then finally had to give in to it. She stood there, looking over at the 
hotel but there was nothing to see. Despite herself, she felt a little 
disappointment. She also caught herself thinking about the scene she had 
witnessed between the two on the screen and became excited just thinking 
about it. She told herself she was acting like a fool and turned back to her 
desk and buried her thoughts in her work. 

An hour and a half later, Roberta had a sandwich and coffee at her desk, 
then took a break while she smoked a cigarette. It was now quite dark. As 
Roberta sat smoking, she wheeled her chair around so that she was facing the 
window. Her curiosity got the better of her and she got up to stand by the 
window, looking out. 

She saw that several lights were on in windows of the hotel across the way 
now. But in only one of them were the occupants visible. In this one a man 
and a woman were sitting on a bed, smoking and talking. Roberta found her 
interest quickening as she saw that the man was wearing only shorts. He was 
a big man, with a heavy shock of wavy golden hair. The girl with him was 
kind of cute. She, too, was blonde. She was wearing a bra and brief panties. 
She was kind of a cute-looking girl in a baby-doll-faced sort of way. At the 
moment, the pair were doing nothing but apparently carrying on a 
conversation with each other. 

Yet why were they undressed that way, Roberta wondered. She felt a pang of 
regret at the idea that maybe she'd looked out too late, that maybe they had 
been doing it and now were all through. Then she saw the man get up and go 
over and stamp his cigarette out in a tray on the dresser. Then he hooked a 
finger into the waistband of his shorts and forced them down over his hips 
and off. He stepped out of them naked and seeing him like that, Roberta 
Colby felt something like a flash of tingling fire run up her thighs and 
into her loins. She felt her breasts begin to throb and ache, especially 
when the man walked over and stood in front of the girl who was sitting on 
the bed and she pretended to be shocked and held her hand over her eyes, 
until he took it away and guided it toward himself. Her caressing then had 
an almost instant effect, which was obvious to Roberta, even this distance 
away. While the girl thus busied herself, the big blond man reached back 
over her shoulders and unhooked her bra. When it fell away, his hands 
instantly moved to her small shapely breasts, began to fondle them, teasing 
and toying with the elongated nipples. 

Oh, look at them, look at them! Roberta thought. "Oh, if only they don't 
pull down the shade," she said, half aloud. Then, afraid that if they should 
happen to glance up here and see her, they might do that, she wheeled and 
raced to the wall switch, cut off the light in her office. Back at the 
window, she stood in the dark, watching. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

When Earl Lord found out that afternoon that Roberta was planning to work 
late at the office at night, he had to make plans fast. He got hold of 
Corinne right away but had a little trouble at first contacting Van Jagger. 
But he finally reached him. Next he had to go to that hotel across the 
street and make his arrangements there. 

That wasn't too much of a problem. A five dollar bill to the room clerk got 
him the two rooms he wanted, next to each other on the right floor, on the 
right side of the building. One, of course, was for Van and Corinne. The 
other was for himself. He had to make sure that the show they were going to 
stage went on at just the right time. So he made arrangements with Van for a 
signal when Van was to start the action. He was to begin making love to 
Corinne when Earl pounded on the wall between the two rooms three times. 

It started to get dark about eight o'clock. Standing out of sight behind the 
curtains in his room, Earl watched the window of Roberta's private office 
across the street. He wondered how long it would be before she came over and 
looked out the window-or if she ever would. Yet, he was almost sure she 
would have to, out of curiosity alone, if nothing else. He had made a point 
of mentioning the sexy scenes in the hotel rooms across the street every day 
lately, around the office. But as a half hour went by and she didn't show 
up, he began to wonder. Then a few minutes later, there she was. Earl Lord's 
heart began to pound. He waited a few minutes to be sure that she stayed at 
the window. He was just about to leave then when he saw her quickly turn 
away and Earl cursed. Something had gone wrong. Either she hadn't been 
looking in the right window or else Van had goofed it up, somehow. 

Then he saw the light in Roberta's office go out. He sighed. That figured. 
She was all alone over there and she wouldn't want Van and Corinne to see 
her staring out the window at them. So she'd turned off the light. He 
couldn't see her but she was pretty sure that she was back at that window 
again, looking across at the hotel. 

Earl left the room, took the elevator down to the lobby and left the hotel. 
He crossed the street-not too concerned about Roberta seeing him; she would 
hardly be looking down at the street, not with what was going on in the 
hotel room. He entered the office building and took the night elevator up to 
their floor. He used his own key to enter the outer office as silently as he 
could. Then he tiptoed to the doorway of Roberta's private office, stood 
there, looking in. He could see her figure, out-lined against the flashing 
of a neon glow from outside. 

He could hear her breathing., She sounded as though she had been running for 
a mile. God, he thought, but Van and Corinne must be putting on a good show 
for her. 

Roberta groaned out aloud and suddenly sucked in a ragged, noisy breath 
through her teeth. "Oh!" she cried out, "Oh, look at them! Oh, come on, 
that's right. Let him! Oh, good! Oh, my God, look at that." 

Earl Lord stood there listening, excitement rising in him like flood water 
backing up behind a dam. He began to tingle arid throb with the heat 
building in him. He forced himself to wait a little longer. He didn't want 
to make a move too soon. Then he heard Roberta whisper hoarsely into the 
dark: "Oh, why don't I have somebody? I can hardly stand it. Oh, if only 
somebody was here. Why didn't Earl stay, like last time? Oh, heaven help me, 
where's Earl?" 

He moved toward her then. "Here I am, baby," he said softly. "Don't tell me 
those orgiasts are at it again. You're in luck, .Roberta, that I stopped by 
to pick up some papers." 

"Oh, Earl, is it really you?" she asked excitedly. Then he was close enough 
to see that it was. 

"Oh, come here," she ordered breathlessly. "It isn't a movie screen this 
time; it's even better. It's a man and a woman. Look!" 

Standing beside her at the window, Earl looked down and saw Van and Corinne. 
Just then they rolled over into a new position and now Corinne was taking 
the masculine role. Earl watched the rotating movement of Corinne's fine 
hips and out-thrust buttocks. "Like, wow!" he said. 

He slid his arm around Roberta's waist and cupped one of her brassiered 
breasts briefly, as she whispered: "You should have been here earlier. 
You-you should have seen what she was doing to him before, before they did 
this! Oh, I've never seen anything like it. And she seemed to enjoy it so!" 

Earl was hastily unzipping the back of Roberta's dress, forcing it down off 
her shoulders and over her hips. He unhooked her bra, feeling the feverish 
heat of her back against his fingers. The bra fell free and dropped to the 
floor and he reached around and his hands filled to overflowing with the 
great round bombs of Roberta's maturely voluptuous breasts. The hard peaks 
bored against his palms as he rotated them. At the same time, the soft rear 
rounds of her pushed back against him, covered only by the thin silk of her 
step-ins. 

After a moment, he freed her breasts again, stepped back and swiftly 
undressed himself. Then he got a straight chair from one side of the office, 
brought it over by the window. He set it down. He reached and eased 
Roberta's panties down over her ample hips and long, full-fleshed thighs. He 
fixed the chair, sideways to the window and sat down on it. 

"What are you doing?" Roberta asked huskily. 

"Fixing things so you can watch them and enjoy yourself at the same time," 
he told her. "Come here." He reached out and pulled her between his parted 
legs. He reached around and cupped the great, soft, smooth rounds of her 
handsome der-riere, held her to him while he buried his face in the deep, 
soft, scented valley between her huge breasts. He moved his face back and 
forth there, savoring the soft, pillowing flesh while Roberta groaned with 
delight. Next, his lips coursed all over each thrusting, grapefruit-sized 
breast, his tongue active, finally seizing with his lips each achingly 
distended nipple. His lips teased and plucked at them while Roberta groaned 
and begged for him to help her out. A moment later he had mercy on her and 
adjusted both their positions. Then he slowly pulled her down onto him while 
he sat upon the chair. 

Roberta made a little piercing cry as contact was made and began moving her 
hips. Earl was still holding her by the buttocks. Now he held her tightly 
and surged upward. Roberta wailed and at the same time lowered her own body 
in a contrapuntal action that brought them completely together. Her 
movements became wild and furious as she watched what was going on in the 
hotel room across the street. Stimulated to even greater efforts, she rammed 
his ramrod in her innards. 

Earl's ardor soared, feeling her hands groping to explore, fondle, and then 
she had it, big, hard and fleshy, in the palm of her flexing, unflexing 
grip. She worked it back and forth slowly into her pussy and he was aware 
that he was not in as much control as he thought. Her fingers explored 
further to erogenous zones of Earl's body. Challenged, he could see her eyes 
large and glassy, lust-filled orbs, stripped naked to the core of her 
desire, sex crazy and drunk with passion for this great white flesh inside 
her belly. Both Earl's hands found those silken sponges that were her 
breasts. 

Roberta convulsed and turned animal. "Oh, look! Isn't that wonderful! ... 
unbelievable?" 

He pulled out of her and stood up. The gyrating anticipation about his hips 
increased and he clenched his fists as he felt his cock sink into her warm, 
wet mouth, behind those square, white teeth, and throb at the roof of her 
palate. The Great Lady was beside herself with passion. The doors of her 
inner soul flung open and the building crashed to the ground in raging 
hysteria as her tongue found the cock-eye slit and worked it into 
intoxicated convulsions. 

Earl's knees trembled against the chair. Her mouth movement now was 
incessant, steady, bent on draining him. The sponge rubber of her thighs 
locked around his finger fucking and she sucked and sucked! Her licking, 
sucking, drawing, hot breathing had him on the edge of explosion! 
Ungovernable fury wracked Roberta's bones as his white tower rose and fell 
inside her mouth. He stopped pumping, unable to stand the pull of her. 

Several times Roberta was able to bring herself to quick, animal 
satisfaction; the last time, after the couple across the street had 
untangled their limbs and lay back separately, in exhaustion. Collapsed, 
now, her arms still around Earl's neck, Roberta felt the relief and release 
from tension flowing through her, like cooling water on a hot summer day. 
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. All the time, Earl held her 
tenderly, gently stroking her smooth-skinned back. Finally, she eased to a 
standing position, whispered: "Don't put on the lights until I get dressed, 
Earl." 

"Of course not," he said, restraining a chuckle at the idea of such false 
modesty after what they had just shared together. He moved over to the small 
pile of his own clothing and got dressed, then waited for her to finish 
dressing and go over and snap on the light and go into her private lavatory. 

When she was gone, Earl Lord moved to the private bar across from Roberta's 
desk, opened it and helped himself to a good dollop of her private stock 
scotch, dropped an ice cube into it, and squirted soda from a siphon into 
the glass. 

When she came out, he was sitting in her swivel chair, with his feet propped 
on her desk, swirling the ice around in his drink. Roberta stopped stock 
still and stared at him "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. 

"Having a drink. Celebrating. Join me?" he replied, coolly. 

She frowned. "What? Celebrating what?" 

"Our partnership." 

"Are you out of your mind?" 

He grinned at her. "No, but you were-a little while ago. You really go wild, 
baby. I mean you let off a real head of steam." 

Roberta's temper snapped. She shouted: "You sonofabitch, get out of that 
chair. Get out of this office! You're fired." 

He stared at her, the cynical grin still on his face. Then, very 
deliberately, he raised the glass to his mouth, finished the drink. He got 
up slowly. "Very well, Roberta, if that's the way you want it. But there's 
nothing to prevent me from passing around a choice bit of information to a 
bunch of the bigshots you do business with. You know, you're a beautiful 
woman, Roberta and a lot of men who've known you would love to get into your 
pants. They don't bother trying because they have you tabbed for an iceberg. 
Maybe if they knew what I know, they wouldn't find it so difficult." 

The flush of temper faded from her face, leaving it white. Her lower lip 
began to quiver. "I-I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Yes, you do, Roberta ... now. Maybe not the first time, but now I'm sure 
you do. Seeing other people in action is just like administering a dose of 
Spanish Fly to you, honey. It breaks down all your inhibitions-and then 
some. For some psychological reason, this is the only way you can get 
aroused. I'll bet my salary against your income nobody else has ever had you 
the way I have these two times." 

She just stared at him for a moment and then the import of what he had said 
sunk home and she began to cry. She put her face in her hands and sunk down 
into a chair. She sobbed for several minutes. 

Earl Lord fixed himself another drink and waited patiently for her weeping 
to stop. When it finally did, she dabbed at her eyes and looked at him 
beseechingly. "Earl-you wouldn't ever tell about this to anybody, would you? 
That would be a rotten trick." 

"Well, I'm a pretty rotten guy when big stakes are involved," he said. "But 
then, of course, I wouldn't. Why would I want to tell anybody anything like 
that about my partner? Besides I'd kind of like to keep it all to myself." 

"Are you trying to blackmail me, Earl?" 

"If you'd like to be crude and refer to it that way. Actually, I'd say I was 
making you a business proposition. I'll be a good partner. I know the 
business. I'll handle my end of the load. Actually, I've got several ideas 
that might make us both a lot of money." 

"That's ridiculous. After all the work and sweat I've personally put in to 
build this business up to where it is now? Because you've stumbled onto some 
strange psychological quirk of mine." 

He smiled. "It really is pretty weird, isn't it? I'd love to know the origin 
of it." 

"Earl," Roberta said, getting some control again, "you couldn't make anybody 
believe a story like that. And even if you did, how could anyone arrange 
something like that for me to see? So what good would it do a man to know 
it?" 

"You'd be surprised. You see, I arranged tonight's little show." Quickly, he 
explained it to her how he had done it. As he talked, Roberta again turned 
red with fury and then pale with the sick knowledge of what she'd been 
subjected to. 

"It wouldn't be too difficult to arrange in various ways," he went on. "For 
instance, I have an idea you might be affected almost as much by looking at 
pornographic photos. Or reading really pornographic books. Or watching that 
kind of movie. All right, let's say, for instance, a man gets hold of a set 
of pornographic photos. He mails them to you so that you'd get them on a 
Saturday morning. He walks in on you right after you've opened up the mail 
and looked at the pictures. Get it? And that's only one way. Men are 
ingenious about things like this, especially where a woman as beautiful as 
yourself is involved. A lot of men would find this quite a challenge." 

Roberta thought about this. She saw where it could be possible. She wondered 
if she would get excited looking at pornography, and a small streak of heat 
flushed through her and she knew that she would. 

She thought for quite a while. It certainly looked as though Earl Lord had 
her by the short hairs. Yet she couldn't let him get away with this. There 
had to be some way out. What she needed right now was time. The only way to 
get that was to pretend to give in. She stood up, letting out a big sigh. 
"All right, Earl," she said resignedly. "You win. We'll go see my lawyers 
tomorrow." 

He grinned, raised his glass toward her. "Good. Here's a toast to the new 
partners. May our business always flourish." 

Roberta Colby didn't say anything. She turned and walked out of the office, 
leaving him sitting there. 

She spent almost a sleepless night. It was about dawn when she finally fell 
into exhausted slumber. It seemed that she had just dozed off when the alarm 
rang at seven-thirty. But this morning it was more clear than ever what she 
had to do. It was the only answer. 

She showered and dressed and went out for breakfast. She was at her lawyer's 
office sharply at nine o'clock and made them cancel other appointments. She 
told them simply that she was very tired and wanted to sell the business, go 
on a long vacation. She was going to leave immediately she said, if they 
would draw up papers giving them power of attorney to handle the sale for 
her. She would write and inform them as soon as she got there. She 
instructed them to close her office immediately, giving all the employees 
severance pay and a bonus. That is, all but Earl Lord. 

When she left the lawyer's offices, Roberta went to her bank, closed out her 
personal account of about eight thousand dollars and had it put into 
Traveler's Checks. Then she went back to her apartment, saw her landlord, 
and bought her way out of her lease with two months' extra rent. She called 
a storage company to come and get her furniture and belongings, except for 
what she could put in a suitcase. When that was done, Roberta left the house 
and got into a cab to Penn Station. There she checked her bag and went and 
sat in the waiting room, while she made up her mind where to go. 

Her heart ached when she thought about not seeing Tony Marsh again-at least 
not any time soon. But she consoled herself with the thought that he was 
well off. He was lucky to be rid of a psychopathic character like herself. 
The only thing was, Tony was stubborn. He would probably come looking for 
her. She would have to go someplace where he wouldn't think of searching for 
her. She didn't want him to find her. 

So she couldn't go to any of the obvious summer resorts. Then the idea came 
to her that the safest place would be to go to the opposite kind of 
resort-to a winter resort, like Florida. She had never been there. She had 
heard that it wasn't really so unpleasant in the summer; actually wasn't as 
bad as New York or some other of the large northern cities. Next she decided 
that it would be best to drive there. That way, Tony couldn't check the 
railroad stations or airlines for a record of where she'd gone. 

She picked up her suitcase and took a cab to the nearest automobile 
dealership. She bought a compact convertible for a little over three 
thousand dollars and drove off, heading for the Holland Tunnel. An hour 
later, she was skimming along the Jersey turnpike with the top down and the 
wind blowing her hair. She felt almost at peace. It was a strange sensation. 
For the first time in ten years, she had no sense of responsibility, nobody 
to think about but herself, no employees, no rivals, no business deals. She 
felt almost like a schoolgirl again. 

But then, suddenly, memory of what had brought all this about cast a dark 
shadow over her happiness. She wondered what she could do about that The 
only sensible thing to do would be to go see a good psychiatrist as soon as 
she got to Florida. She was sure that they'd have some there. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Lew Mazza was tired. He wished to God he was anywhere but in this creepy 
roadhouse club in the northern part of Florida. The place was thick with 
smoke; the lousy band was too loud and brassy. The floor show had been bad. 
And now he had to sit here and listen to the silly, drunken chatter of his 
silly Dolores broad and his junior partner, Aldo Hines. Well, the whole bit 
was one of the occupational hazards of being a theatrical agent. 

He and Aldo had spotted this Dolores dame in a cheap Miami joint and both of 
them agreed she could really sing and had something special which could be 
brought out, would make her into the big time, if she was handled right. 
Handled right, Lew thought with irony. Boy, Aldo was sure "handling her 
right," had been ever since they started on the trip. The big handsome guy 
by now had her having the hots for him so bad she could hardly sit still. He 
envied the younger man in a way. It would be something to get into that when 
they went back to the motel. And there was no question Aldo was going to 
make it. 

Of course, by the time they got her to New York, Aldo would be already tired 
of her and looking for the next one. But that was all right. It was just as 
well; then Aldo could be more objective about her, as a client. And they 
couldn't lose her even if she got mad at Aldo. They had wrapped her up on a 
good tight contract. The funny thing was, though, Aldo's broads seldom got 
PO'd at him when he threw them over. They seemed to accept it as inevitable. 
It was as though they knew that his talent made any other answer impossible. 

Then Lew Mazza began to pay some attention to their conversation because 
right now, it was his talent, his speciality, that Aldo Hines and Dolores 
were discussing. It was real neat, Lew thought, the way Aldo could lead a 
conversation onto that subject, get a broad so excited and piqued with 
curiosity about this particular prowess, they could hardly wait to get alone 
with him. Lew Mazza listened now. 

"Oh, come off it, Aldo, honey," Dolores was saying in that rich, sexy voice 
of hers. "You trying to make me believe that woman paid you five hundred 
dollars just to do that for her once a week?" 

Aldo held up his right hand. "Scout's honor, kid! Listen, you wouldn't 
question it if you'd ever had it done. And you've got to realize this woman 
was loaded with loot. Five hundred to her was like five bucks to you or me. 
Now, sweetie, you mean to say that if it's as good as I say, you wouldn't 
pay me a fin to do it for you? 

She laughed and her fine, plump breasts jiggled, free of any bra, under the 
thin T-shirt she was wearing. Lew Mazza watched that, noting that Aldo had 
her plenty excited already just talking out loud about it, the way the peaks 
of those pretty boobs were spiking out the cloth. Both Aldo and Dolores were 
pretty drunk, Lew noted. And Aldo was something more than that! His eyes 
were glittering wildly and he was more excited than Lew had ever seen him in 
a weird kind of way, sort of like a mad scientist, or something, being 
challenged by a difficult, earthshaking experiment. 

"Oh, Aldo, you're terrible!" Dolores said, giggling. "I don't know why I 
even let you talk to me about such awful things. Any other man, I'd probably 
slap his face." 

"It's not so awful, baby," Aldo said. "Listen, any doctor, any psychiatrist 
will tell you that when a guy and a gal are crazy for each other that 
anything that's pleasurable for them both is perfectly okay." He shook his 
head ruefully. "You know, Dolores, sweetie, it's hard for me to believe, 
almost impossible." 

"What is?" 

"That a beautiful, adorable, sweet, and lovable kid as you has never had 
that wonderful experience." 

"Oh, Aldo! You do say the sweetest things!" 

Lew Mazza sat there listening, marveling at Aldo's verbal technique for 
seduction. It was so effective that Dolores seemed to have even forgotten 
that he was there. Mazza looked up as a beautiful woman entered alone and 
was led by a waitress to a booth next to theirs. Mazza's eyes lighted with 
interest as he noticed the woman's erect, regal carriage, her facial beauty, 
the gentle hobbling of her majestic bosom beneath the light summer dress she 
was wearing. Mazza thought to himself, there is a real woman, interesting, 
not just some silly pretty kid. Now there was one who could get him excited! 
His attention was brought back to what the couple sitting with him were 
saying. Aldo was pouring it on again. 

"Sure, honey, a lot of these famous, glamour girl movie stars love it that 
way. Believe me. It's extra kicks for them. Hey, did I ever tell you about 
what happened at a famous Hollywood nightclub one night?" 

Dolores shook her head. "Uh-uh, she said. 

"Well, I don't dare tell you their actual names; very few people do actually 
know them. But I happen to. Anyhow, the guy is a famous Hollywood director; 
the woman a big star; at least she was at that time; she's not very active 
anymore. And bear in mind, sugar, this is a true story. Everyone in movie 
town knows about it. It was the talk of the film colony for months." 

"Yeah?" Dolores said. 

"Uh-huh. And it happened at this famous nightclub. We'll call it the 
Falstaff Club, just for convenience, though the actual place this happened 
was very big and famous. Anyhow, this director and this actress met for the 
first time at this nightclub party. There were two other couples along, mind 
you, so the incident was well witnessed, so to speak, certified. Well, there 
was a lot of boozing and this director and the actress got the hots for each 
other right off and did some smooching right there in that nightclub booth 
and a little hand holding and other things under the table. Both of them got 
pretty worked up. First thing you know, the director and the actress are 
talking about-well, you know-what you and I have been discussing tonight. 
First thing you know, this crazy director tells the girl that he's so crazy 
about her, wants her so much that he can't even wait. He'd be willing to do 
something for her, right there at the club, right at the table." 

"What?" Dolores gasped. 

"No kidding. That's exactly what he said. Everybody heard it. And they all 
started razzing the poor guy, telling him he was crazy, he didn't have the 
moxie to do such a thing, and like that. Some other guy bet him a thousand 
bucks he wouldn't dare. Well, that tore it. Especially when the woman told 
this director that she wouldn't care but she didn't think he had the nerve 
to go through with it either. With that, the guy promptly slid under the 
table and right there in a busy nightclub he committed an act of-" 

"Oh, no!" Dolores cut in. "You're kidding!" Her giggle was almost hysterical 
now and her voice throbbed with a strange excitement. 

"That's the honest truth, angel," Aldo swore. "Listen, a few days later the 
story was all over Hollywood and a famous gossip columnist even mentioned it 
in his column." 

"He did? What could be possible say about a thing like that?" 

"He was pretty clever. He just ran an item that said: 'I hear they're now 
serving box lunches at . the Falstaff.' " 

Dolores laughed until tears came to her eyes. She dabbed them away then 
said: "Oh, that's awful!" 

"She didn't think so," Aldo said. "The girl involved." 

Lew Mazza had heard this story before. But he was interested now in Dolores' 
reaction and also the strange way Aldo was acting. He knew Aldo well enough 
to know the guy was building up to something. 

"That really did take a lot of guts for a guy to do," Lew commented. 

"You think so?" Aldo asked. "I don't. Listen, you pick the right moment when 
nobody's looking to slide under the table and who's going to know the 
difference-except the people who're sitting right there at that table. If 
anyone did see it, they'd just think the guy dropped something and was 
looking for it. And in one sense they'd be right." 

"Yeah, I suppose so," Lew admitted. "Still and all, it's a wild gig." 

"Nah!" Aldo said excitedly. "Tell you what. You bet me ten bucks I won't and 
I'll do it. Right here and now." 

Lew Mazza looked at him with interest. He heard Dolores gasp, "Oh, no, Al!" 
but he didn't pay too much attention to her. He thought about it. He decided 
that ten bucks would be a cheap price to be on hand for such a stunt. He 
said, "Okay, kid, you're on...." 

In the next booth, Roberta Colby sat listening to the conversation as she 
sipped a Scotch Mist. She could hardly believe her ears. Her face felt hot 
and flushed. Even though the people in the other booth were talking quietly 
and the band was so noisy that the conversation should have been drowned out 
to all except the actual occupants of that table, by some strange trick of 
acoustics, Roberta could hear every word quite plainly. In addition to that, 
because of the placement of a wall mirror, Roberta could see and watch the 
people in the next booth quite clearly. 

Several times she'd told herself that they couldn't possibly be talking 
about what she thought, yet what other interpretation was there? Especially 
since Roberta had heard the same story about the director and the actress. 
Oh, no, she told herself, as she listened to Aldo's proposition, this is 
terrible; it can't be happening. 

Yet she knew it was and she was fascinated in spite of herself. The 
conversation started all kinds of erotic images and imaginings running 
though her mind. Almost vividly she could picture the intimate details. She 
found herself beginning to perspire and tremble all over. Heat like a fiery 
stain was again beginning to crawl up her thighs and wild urges and needs 
and desires flowed through her. She felt weak and filled with an almost 
sickening sweetness of acutely pleasurable sensation. 

She heard the younger man, Aldo, say: "Oh, come on, Dolores, don't be 
chicken. Nobody'll know, except us. It'll be a wild kick. You told me you 
liked to get kicks, well, this'll be a new one, a big one for you. Nobody 
can see anything, not with this long tablecloth hanging down on all sides. 
What do you say, doll, okay?" 

Dolores was staring at Aldo now with wild-eyed fascination. The pert globes 
of her breasts rose and fell excitedly under her T-shirt, the sharp nipples 
looking as though they'd burst through the cloth. "Oh, I couldn't, honey!" 
she gasped. 

"You don't have to do anything," he coaxed. "Just sit there. You're going to 
let me, aren't you? Come on, now." 

Dolores was speechless. She could only shake her head negatively and rather 
weakly as she glanced around to see if anybody was looking. She missed 
seeing Roberta watching them in the mirror. 

Aldo too was glancing around. Excitedly, he told Dolores: "I'm going to do 
it. And listen, baby, you'd better not try to get away, to stop me, because 
if you do, I'll tip the damned table over and I'll tell everybody why I did 
it. How does that grab you? And don't think I won't because I've got to go 
through with this now. I've got to." Then he saw that nobody was paying any 
attention and quickly slid off his chair, ducked under the long-hanging 
tablecloth and disappeared from sight. 

"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch!" Lew Mazza breathed in awed admiration. 

Witnessing this in the mirror, Roberta Colby could hardly believe her eyes. 
The man couldn't be under the table and about to ... Yet, if not, where had 
he gone? There was no other answer. Then she saw the pretty young woman, 
Dolores, push her fingertips up into the hair at her temples and stiffen, 
her eyes going big and wide, as she murmured: "Oh, Jeeze, no!" But it was 
more of an exclamation of disbelief than denial. 

Dolores sat there stiffly, as though frozen, and Roberta's imagination about 
what was going on ran wild. She was beside herself with arousal now. She 
could hardly sit still. It was almost as though it was happening to her. 
Then, abruptly, Dolores' eyes went even bigger and her moist red mouth 
opened and she uttered a little animal-like cry and started to slump back in 
her chair. Her hands were on the table in front of her, twining and 
untwining her itchy fingers nervously. Her eyes took on a glazed look and 
her mouth remained open to take care of her quickened breathing. She 
shuddered a couple of times and slid lower in her seat. In a few moments she 
let out a couple of hoarse groans, unheard by the rest of the patrons, under 
cover of the noise of the band. 

It went on and on and Roberta thought it would never stop. She wanted to 
tear her gaze away from the mirror: she wanted to get up and run from this 
awful place, away from these awful people but she couldn't. She remained 
rooted while wild desires and needs began to build up terrible, unbearable 
tensions within her as she watched Dolores' expression. The other girl now 
was slumped down in her seat, her head back, her mouth opened, her eyes 
walled back. Her hands were under the tablecloth. She was gasping and 
groaning as though she was dying. Finally, she let out a big sigh and 
relaxed all over. 

"Well, I will be a sonofabitch!" Lew Mazza said. At the same time he looked 
around worriedly to see if anybody had noticed what had happened. Apparently 
nobody had ... then he saw Roberta Colby's reflection in the mirror and knew 
that she had. He kept his eyes on her reflection as Aldo bobbed back up from 
under the tablecloth. He heard Dolores whisper weakly: "Oh, Aldo, darling!" 

Lew Mazza saw that the girl in the next booth wasn't aware yet that he was 
watching her. She still had her gaze on Dolores. He saw, too, the 
unmistakable signs in Roberta's expression of a woman tormented by almost 
unbearable desire. It was so obvious that he immediately felt his. own life 
juices leap in response. Hell, he told himself, watching that little 
incident really got that beautiful chick, really got to her. She's hotter 
right now than a pistol. Oh, is that peach ever ripe for picking! 

Suddenly, in the mirror, Roberta's gaze caught at Lew's. Their eyes met and 
held for an instant and Lew smiled slowly, knowingly, and winked. The woman 
blushed furiously then grabbed up her purse, dug into it and took out a bill 
and dropped it on the table. She got up so fast that she knocked the remains 
of her drink over. She pushed away from the table and headed for the exit. 

Lew Mazza, an opportunist all his life, wasn't about to let this one get 
away. He hurriedly arose, too, left their table. He ignored Aldo's query: 
"Hey, where you goin', Lew?" He ran toward the exit. 

When he stepped outside, Roberta Colby was standing in the driveway, looking 
around wildly, swaying a little. Lew went over to her, taking a last drag on 
his cigar before throwing it away. "Miss, is anything wrong? Can I help 
you?" 

She looked around, startled. She almost jumped. "I-no-I feel better now. I 
was feeling a little ill." 

"Well, then, maybe you'd better let me help you to your car." 

"No," she started to protest. Then she felt his fat strong fingers encircle 
her arm. The contact sent flames of desire darting all through her; for an 
instant she felt faint with it. She was trembling all over. "Well, all 
right, then," she said and went along with him almost docilely. 

The parking lot was pitch black. Roberta's car was far in the back, deep in 
some shadows under a tree, with no other cars near it. As they entered that 
deeper darkness, Lew Mazza said excitedly: "Baby, I'm sorry, but I don't 
think you're sick at all-unless it's from that old Hawaiian disease, 
Lakanookie. I figure that Aldo and Dolores' little exhibition got you all 
excited, right?" 

With that, he took his hand from her arm and reached around and rested it on 
the high rise of her big, round buttocks. He stroked and squeezed 
experimentally, as she said: "I-I don't know what you're talking about." But 
her voice was faint and weak. 

"Sure you do, doll," Lew said. He stopped and took her into his arms. His 
arms went around her and his hands seized her backside firmly, yanked her to 
him. He jammed himself against her, excited by the sensation of her large 
hard-tipped breasts pillowed against his chest. He ground his mouth down 
hard on hers and his tongue forced its way between her lips, lashed at her 
own. He felt her slump willingly against him as a little sigh came from deep 
in her throat. 

Roberta could smell and taste the odor of the stale cigar in his mouth but 
rather than disgust her, the masculine aroma excited her. She became aware 
of the manliness of his big-bellied body and instincitively ground her hips 
against him. 

He finally removed his mouth from hers, whispered breathlessly: "Let's get 
in the car, baby." 

"Yes," she murmured. "Oh, yes." 

Lew practically shoved her into the car. Hastily, roughly, he loosened most 
of her clothes, then removed her panties. His hands were eager, avid, almost 
cruel, on the great sweet swells of her bared breasts, on the taut nipples, 
on the long, full-fleshed curves of her naked thighs. 

"Oh, sweetie!" he moaned delightfully. "What a lot of woman you are!" 

Then he was over her, his weight almost unbearable. She was sitting on the 
back seat with her knees drawn up, rubbing them vigorously at his working 
hips. His hands struggled under her to get a firm hold on her buttocks. 
Roberta pulled herself back until her head rested on the top of the seat. He 
drove himself into her, shuddered and paused for a moment while her 
velvet-tight cunt swirled itself around his cock, caressing him, exciting 
him. 

Then he could wait no longer and he began again to drive and thrust, pulling 
and pinching her flesh, his face wet with sweat, bearing down on her body, 
grunting and groaning. Suddenly he jerked upright, almost throwing her off 
the seat. A primitive urge shocked through her body with the force of an 
electric current. He grasped her body, pinning her arms to her sides. His 
grip tightened. 

He was panting hard now, his eyes glinting, his mouth hot. Roberta twisted 
her head and cried out, her eyes rolling wildly, her body writhing 
deliciously under his force. He thrust and rode, thrust and rode brutally. 
Roberta was rolling with him now, pushing up against his thrusts. Animal 
sounds came from her throat, sounds of joy as primitive as his own. 

There were moments of relishing the sticky warmth of his meat locked inside 
her. All at once he exploded, spilling himself into her cock-swallowing 
cunt. His thick cream shot deep into her belly and she thought she would 
suffocate in the cramped confines of the car. Then the thing for which she 
had been driven to such terrible need happened. She let out a long, low cry 
of acceptance and her arms hugged him and her legs encircled him and she 
stayed with him exchanging frenzied surge for frenetic heave. It went on and 
on until she thought she would faint with satisfaction.... 

When it was over, she practically kicked Lew Mazza out of the car as she 
cried with rage at the realization of how she had humiliated herself with a 
total and complete stranger. 

Later, at the motel, she showered and scrubbed herself but still couldn't 
get to feeling clean. She kept thinking over and over: "How could I? How 
could I-with that foul, cigar-stinking, dirty old man." But mixed in with 
the remorse and the self-recrimination, she alternately thought about the 
scene in the nightclub. She thought about it again and again, of Aldo and 
Dolores, and recognized the fact that she now felt physically calmed and 
totally at ease. Later, when she went to bed, she fell instantly asleep.... 

Back at the roadhouse, when Lew Mazza returned to their table, Aldo looked 
at him curiously and asked: "Where the hell have you been? Where did you 
go?" 

Lew Mazza chuckled, expansively lit a cigar and signaled a waitress for 
drinks all around. "I just did something I haven't done since I was 
eighteen." 

"Yeah, What was that?" 

"Knocked off a quickie in a car in the parking lot. And not really such a 
quickie, at that," He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Man, was that 
broad something." 

"No kidding," Aldo said. "Which one?" 

Then Lew Mazza told them what had happened. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Back in New York, Earl Lord was drunk; crazy, roaring drunk. He had been for 
three days now, ever since he learned that Roberta Colby had sold her 
business and skipped town. The dirty little doublecrossing bitch, he 
thought, how dare she do something like this to me? 

It was the one event that Earl Lord hadn't counted on. He didn't know why it 
had never occurred to him. Actually it was a perfectly plausible thing for 
her to do, he supposed. He cursed himself for being such a stupid, 
short-sighted clod. 

But he'd fixed her, Goddamn it. He really had. He'd learned that she'd been 
having an affair with Tony Marsh and that Marsh had told all his friends he 
was crazy about Roberta and wanted to marry her. Well, Tony wouldn't want 
to, now. Yesterday, Earl had bumped into Tony at a bar and told him the 
whole bit about Roberta. Tony had promptly told him that he was a 
dirty-mouthed, lying little bastard, then slugged him cold with a solid 
right to the jaw. But Earl didn't care much about that. He was pretty sure 
that Tony would realize it was the truth, that nobody could think up a story 
like that. So at least he had screwed that bitch, Roberta Colby, out of 
something. 

But the frustration and anger had been building up in Earl Lord during this 
three days, too. It compounded itself, the more he drank. It was just 
waiting for a release when the doorbell rang and it was Corinne. She looked 
prettier than he'd ever seen her. He hadn't seen her for several days now 
ever since he'd arranged that show she put on with Van Jagger. He wondered 
where the hell she had been. 

"Come in, baby, come on in," he welcomed her. He took her arm and pulled her 
into the apartment. The door shut behind her but didn't quite close tightly. 
He led her into the living room, swaying a little. "God, am I glad to see 
you, honey," he told her. He reached up to fondle her breast but she pulled 
away from him. 

"Don't, please, Earl," she pleaded. "You're drunk." 

He started to get mad but then the obviousness of her silly remark struck 
him funny and he grinned instead. "No kidding?" he said sarcastically. 
"Corinne, your powers of observation are amazing. Listen, I asked you where 
you'd been. Goddamn it, how come when I need you like crazy, you run off 
some place, huh?" 

"I've been with Van," she said quietly. There was a strange, almost beatific 
look on her pretty doll face that puzzled Earl-and at the same time began to 
infuriate him. 

"With Van! You mean Van Jagger? All this time? For Christ's sake! What the 
hell would he want with you all this time-for four days?" 

Her fingers plucked at each other nervously. "Well, you see, Earl, somethin' 
happened. You see-I-I fell in love with Van and-" 

His roar of laughter interrupted her. "Love?" he bellowed, choking on his 
drunken laughter. "Baby, I'll show you what love is. Take your damned 
clothes off. I want you. Right now!" 

He reached out and started to unbutton the front of her dress. Shs knocked 
his hand away and stepped back. "No, Earl," she said in a firm, but slightly 
frightened voice. "That's what I came to tell you; that it's all over with 
you and me. I can't do it with you no more, Earl. Van and me-" 

"I don't want to hear about you and that jerk, you silly little slut!" he 
interrupted. "And I'll show you what you're going to do or not going to do." 
He stepped toward her, his eyes glittering with wild, drunken rage and 
desire mixed together. His arm swung and he slapped her so hard she fell to 
the floor. As she started to cry, he kicked at her. The blow caught her in 
the breast and she clutched at the injured part, gave a wail of pain. 

She tried to roll away from him, crying out: 

"No Earl, please. No more, Earl!" 

He went after her, bent and grabbed the front of her dress and ripped. The 
whole front came apart in two pieces. The sight of her naked now, without a 
bra as usual and wearing only dainty, lace-trimmed panties, somehow 
infuriated him all the more. He reached down and grabbed the waist of her 
panties, ripped them clean away from her in two sections. He saw the bruise 
on her small, lovely breast where he had kicked her. He also saw that her 
nipples had stiffened out long and sharply. 

"Oh, you cute, stupid little bitch!" he said. 

All Corinne could do now was to cry. 

"Spending all that time with that jerk, Van, when I needed you, giving me 
that bit you ain't going to perform for me anymore. I'll show you who's 
boss." 

He reached down and took the smooth, soft, plump white flesh on the inside 
of one of her thighs and pinched it cruelly, leaving the red and already 
turning black-and-blue imprint of his fingers there. Corinne screamed with 
pain. He bent and slapped her hard across the face again. 

"No screaming!" he ordered, his voice almost falsetto with mixed anger and 
excitement. "No Goddamned screaming!" 

She continued to make muffled sobs behind her fist stuffed against her mouth 
as she stared up at him, frightened as a child. 

"I'm going to fix you good this time, Corinne," he told her. "Thinking you 
can walk out on me just because I haven't got a job anymore, just because 
I'm having a hard time finding another one, because of that stinking female 
of a boss of mine. I'll fix her and you both, all females!" His voice rose 
shrilly at the end. 

He reached down and grabbed Corinne by her short blonde hair. He dragged her 
across the room as she moaned and groaned and sobbed with pain and 
humiliation. He lifted her and flung her into a chair. He stood in front of 
her. 

"All right," he said. "Now give me a show. A good show. You know the kind I 
like. Put your hands on those pretty little things, squeeze them, tell me 
how much I'll like 'em." 

When she didn't obey right away, Earl Lord whipped off his belt. He said: 
"All right. I'll teach you not to do as you're told." 

"No, Earl!" she cried out. "All right, Earl. I will, Earl. I will!" Her 
hands flew to her small, pretty breasts. She fondled and squeezed the pert 
little mounds, her thumbs rubbing against the stiffened, popped-out tips 
while she quickly mouthed invitations to him. 

After a while of watching her, Earl said: "All right, now do the other thing 
to yourself that I like to watch!" 

She did that, too, and Earl watched avidly, his breath coming and going now 
in great gulps as he stood swaying drunkenly. He waited until her own mouth 
was gaping for breath and her hips were beginning to move involuntarily. 
Then he reached out and seized her by the hair again, yanked her roughly off 
the chair, sprawling facedown on the floor as he roared: "That's enough, 
Goddamn it! Save some for me!" 

All of the torn pieces of her clothing were off now. She was stark naked. 
Earl Lord stood over her with the loosely folded belt with its brass buckle 
still in his hands. He looked down at her, at the shining white, smooth 
roundness of her prominent fanny jutting up at him. He hefted the belt. "I 
ought to give you a few good licks with this. How would you like that?" 

Her eyes were staring, fascinated, at the belt. She said weakly, without 
much conviction: "No, please, no, Earl!" 

"By Jeeze!" he said amazed. "I think you really do want it!" 

He saw her marble-smooth, round buttocks quiver. A seething, blind 
excitement seized Earl then and almost unaware of what he was doing, he 
raised the belt, the buckle end hanging down and brought it whipping down 
across her backside. Her body hunched up quivering from the floor and a welt 
marred the smooth flesh, showing tiny pearls of blood. She let out a half 
moan, half cry. The sight of her, writhing, twisting, but making no real 
effort to get away; the sound of her, increased Earl's sadistic violent fury 
and mounting excitement. He swung the belt again. And again. The white flesh 
was soon laced with welts. 

Now Corinne was sobbing out: "Oh, Daddy, Daddy, thank you, Daddy! Now you're 
paying some attention to me. Not to your damned patients! Oh why didn't you 
ever beat me before? Oh, Daddy, now I know you love me, too!" Her eyes were 
glazed and unseeing. 

Earl Lord applied the belt twice more and this time it landed on top of old 
wounds and Corinne screamed with pain. Earl didn't even hear her. He raised 
the belt again. But this time he didn't swing it. 

Someone grabbed it and yanked it out of his hands so hard it spun him 
around, almost knocked him over. He blinked and stared, unbelieving, at Van 
Jagger, standing in from of him. Van's big fists were clenched at his sides. 
His face was almost black with the blood of rage gourging it. He shouted: 
"You filthy, sadistic bastard! What do you think you're doing to her? How 
dare you do that to my girl!" 

Earl Lord laughed. He said: "Your girl, Van? You must be kidding. That 
little whore! You shouldn't have stopped me, Van; she loved it." 

"You stop talking about her that way," Van said, his voice breaking. Strands 
of thick blond hair fell half over his eyes. "I know it sounds crazy. I 
can't help it. After all the women I've known, something happened when I met 
Corinne. Maybe it's because she is so simple and sad and kind of needs me or 
something. What the hell's the difference? I don't care. For the first time 
in my life I'm in love and here I catch you doing-" 

Earl Lord's almost hysterical laughter stopped him in midsentence. "Oh, 
that's too much!" Earl roared. 

"You dirty sonofabitch, shut up!" Van said through his teeth. "You hurt 
her!" He stepped in quickly and his forearm chopped out and the side of his 
hand caught Earl Lord across the bridge of his nose. The broken cartilage 
made a crunching noise. Blood came in a gush all over Earl's mouth and chin 
and down the front of his shirt. Pain was bursting inside his head. 

He lunged at Van Jagger, swinging haphazardly. Van stepped aside and belted 
Earl a solid left flush into the belly. Earl stopped as though he'd run into 
a brick wall and bent over very slowly, holding his stomach, his eyes 
looking as though they might roll down his cheeks. His mouth was a wide O, 
sucking in breath, or trying to. 

Then Van grabbed Earl by the hair and brought his knee up jarring hard into 
Earl's face. Earl straightened, spitting out pieces of teeth. His mouth was 
one gaping, bloody wound. Van moved in on him. He pulled his punches just a 
little, so Earl would stay conscious. He belted him in the ribs, fracturing 
one of them. He spun him half around, walloped his big fist into Earl's 
kidney. Earl staggered backward against a wall, moaning. His body was now 
one huge maw of lightning-flashing pain. The strange thing about it was, 
Earl thought, murkily, is that it's beginning to feel good; I like it; I 
like it. It was true. Sadism and masochism, according to the psychiatrists, 
are closely related; one often prompts or leads into the other in a strange 
blending. It was that way with Earl now, as Van, in an uncontrollable rage, 
held him against the wall and beat him brutally. 

The last thing Earl Lord was aware of, just before one last blow knocked him 
unconscious, was an almost unbearably exquisite sensation that he had 
previously known only in connection with a woman. 

For several minutes after Earl Lord slumped unconscious, Van Jagger 
continued to hit him with one hand while he held him up with the other. Now 
he was whacking him around the head. Van's right fist was a swollen blob 
from the force of the blows. 

It was another minute or so before the sound of Corinne's voice broke 
through the deafness of Van's rage. He heard her scream: "Stop it, Van! 
That's enough. You're killing him." 

Only then did Van Jagger permit Earl's bloody bulk to slump to the floor. 

Van turned slowly and looked almost blindly at the naked young teenager. 
Then he turned toward the door, where several neighbors were crowded, 
gawking, frightened, and yelling, "Get Doctor Morgan!" 

"Oh, my God," a woman said weakly. "Look at poor Mr. Lord!" 

"The hell with him, look at the doctor's daughter! Naked as the day she was 
born Wowe-e-e!" a moronic youth giggled. 

Then Corinne fainted and Van bent over her, rubbing her wrists, trying to 
bring her to. That was the way the police found them. 

Earl Lord died three days later in the hospital. Van Jagger was held on 
manslaughter charges, but he could afford the country's best defense 
counsel, and he got off on probation. One of the terms of the probation was 
that he never see Doctor Morgan's daughter again. 

Doctor Morgan made sure of that. He sent his daughter to a school in 
California. It was only a few weeks later that the girl disappeared with a 
hippie cult in the mountains near Los Angeles. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Instead of going to Miami, Roberta Colby headed for the West Coast of 
Florida, stopped at a small beach resort town north of St. Petersburg, fell 
in love with the place and decided to stay there for awhile. She found the 
weather warm, especially in the sun but not unbearably so. There was a 
breeze blowing in off the blue-green waters of the Gulf and if she stayed in 
the shade it was quite comfortable. 

The first day she phoned her lawyers and learned that the sale of the 
business was progressing. She cautioned the lawyers about giving her address 
to anybody else. She didn't want anyone to know where she was. She was 
shocked when the lawyer told her about the death of Earl Lord-and wondered 
briefly if it could have had any connection with her. Instantly she 
dismissed that thought. It was ridiculous. 

The third day there, Roberta forced herself to go see a psychiatrist in 
Clearwater. She had to force herself because under the clean, lazy spell of 
this little Florida resort town on the beach, all that other began to seem 
unreal, as though it had never happened. But she knew that it was something 
she would eventually have to do, so she might just as well get started. 

Dr. Kleaver was a small, quiet, self-contained man, partially bald and with 
a small, clipped mustache. He had a level, cool, impersonal expression in 
his gray eyes that somehow made it easier to come right out with what she 
thought was her horrible problem. When she had finally blurted out the ugly 
facts, Dr. Kleaver merely steepled his fingers together on the desk and 
said: "I see. How frequently has this happened. 

She told him. He nodded again, then said: "Miss Colby, a lot of people 
expect instant miracles from psychotherapy. They don't happen." He smiled, 
gently. "Except perhaps on TV. I believe I can help you, but it might take a 
considerable length of time. I would want you to see me for an hour, twice a 
week, beginning the day after tomorrow. Would you be willing to do that?" 

Roberta thought about it. Then she said: "I guess I don't really have much 
choice, do I?" 

"Not if you want to get well." 

They talked some more and he gave her some forms to fill out and some tests 
to take. In his reception room, where she sat at a desk doing the damn 
tests, Roberta noticed a funny question on one of the forms. At least it 
struck her as strange; particularly her own reaction to it. 

The question stated: Starting at age one, if possible, right up to the 
present year, opposite the list of numbers accompanying this question, put 
down in one word-the first word that comes to mind, no matter how silly it 
may sound at the moment-what you remember about that particular year of your 
life. 

Roberta started on the question. She couldn't remember anything before she 
was three years old. Opposite three, she wrote doll-at four, she wrote, 
Christmas-at five, she wrote, School-at six, dog-and so on, until she came 
to the thirteenth year. Then her pencil paused. She had been writing quite 
rapidly until then. For some reason, she couldn't think of anything 
connected with her thirteenth year; no word at all, would come-in fact, 
search her mind as she could, she had no memory at all of that year. So she 
left it blank. The rest of the years, right up to the present, a descriptive 
or associative word came readily to mind again. 

A few minutes later she finished the tests, turned the papers over to Dr. 
Kleaver's pretty little receptionist, and left. 

The following day, Roberta Colby was forced to leave the motel where she'd 
been staying. She got into a big argument with one of the owners. The motel 
was run by a rather plain young woman and her husband, who was a veritable 
Apollo of a young man physically. Mentally, he had the IQ of a 
twelve-year-old. Rather than being attracted to the man, Roberta found his 
corny, juvenile remarks to her, the leering way he looked at her, repulsive. 
She practically told him so, several times, hoping that he'd take the hint 
and wouldn't even bother speaking to her. Then suddenly, his wife faced 
Roberta and accused her of flirting with her Tom and making passes at him. 

This amused Roberta at first but then when she saw how serious and angry the 
woman was, it enraged her. They had a big name-calling argument and an hour 
later Roberta was packed and checked out. She soon found another motel at 
the other end of the beach, that was even nicer, if anything. This one was 
run by two women. One of them was a statuesque but well-proportioned and 
well-preserved woman of forty. She was red-haired and pleasant-faced. Her 
name was Emmy Johns. Her partner was a small, dark-haired little woman, 
named Anita, who was quite pretty, with a soft, gentle smile. She was about 
ten years younger than Emmy and had a terrific figure. They both welcomed 
Roberta to their Tarry-Ho Hotel and hoped she'd have a long and pleasant 
stay with them. 

After they'd escorted Roberta Colby to her unit, Emmy and Anita went back to 
the office. Emmy lit a cigarette and reached out to put it between Anita's 
sweet, rosy lips. She said: "Pretty little thing, wasn't she?" 

Anita blushed, averted her gaze from the other woman and nodded 
affirmatively. 

Then Emmy said: "What do you think, honey?" 

"I don't know." Anita shrugged. "You're a better judge than I am." 

Emmy lit a cigarette for herself, puffed on it, reflectively. "Well, she 
wasn't wearing a wedding ring and there was no sign that she had been 
wearing one and had taken it off. She's a beautiful woman, educated, 
poised-seems to have plenty of money, a nice car and everything. So why is 
she traveling alone? She's got everything a man could want. There's got to 
be some reason." 

"I suppose so." 

"You know what I think?" 

"No," said Anita. 

"Maybe latent-or maybe Bi-y'know? I think it's worth a try, don't you? Gee, 
Anita we haven't had a good threesome in a long time, have we?" 

"Uh-uh." 

"So, I think I'll take a chance with our test. We'll see what happens. 
Okay?" 

"If you say so, Emmy." 

Emmy went outside then, to keep an eye on Unit 4, so she could see when 
Roberta Colby left to go somewhere. 

While she waited, Emmy thought about what a great setup this hotel was for 
both her and Anita. Not only did they make a hell of a good living, but it 
also provided a perfect means of meeting "partners" as she liked to call 
them, for her and Anita. It was a strange thing about this part of Florida, 
she had learned. They didn't get the glamour girls like in Miami, nor the 
glamour boys, either. Their guests mostly were school teachers and bank 
tellers and stenographers and clerks attracted by the unusually low summer 
rates. Often, they were introverted, lonesome types that fell easy prey to 
any kind of affection offered them. Emmy and Anita made frequent scores, 
however this summer, so far, had been a disappointment. There had been only 
one girl who had interested them and been willing but she had stayed only a 
few days. 

Emmy smoked and thought about Roberta Colby. She thought about the way her 
large, shapely breasts bulged out the top of her playsuit-the long, firm, 
womanly fleshiness of her lovely thighs, with the tight edges of her shorts 
biting into the creamy flesh up so high, so delightfully high. 

This one would be something if they could get her-if she passed the test. 

The test, Emmy had found, was almost infallible. If the woman just looked at 
the pictures curiously, then threw them away, Emmy and Anita were out; they 
knew they couldn't score. But if the woman had any of the other reactions 
after looking at the pictures, Emmy would move in fast and then Anita would 
join her. It almost always worked out. 

Then Emmy saw Roberta Colby come out and get into her car and drive off. 
Emmy turned back into the office and went to a locked file cabinet, unlocked 
it and took out a large, rather thick manila envelope. She patted it and 
smiled at Anita, who was busy talking on the phone, and went out. 

She opened the door to Roberta's unit with a master key, stepped inside, and 
looked around. She placed the manila envelope into one of the dresser 
drawers, an empty one, leaving the drawer open the fraction of an inch, 
leaving the tab of the envelope protruding just a little. She left then, 
satisfied that the bait had been well set. She knew that, out of basic 
curiosity, most people in hotel and motel rooms look through drawers to see 
if anything of value or interest might have been left by a previous 
occupant. She knew that Roberta would find the envelope and examine its 
contents. 

Outside, Emmy turned to the unit next door, used the master key and entered. 
It had a musty, unused smell and she opened the windows and turned on the 
air conditioning. Then she went into the shower room and looked through 
several cleverly designed holes bored through the wall into the shower room 
of the next unit. The holes were quite large at this side but tapered so 
they wouldn't be noticeable. With this room dark and with the light on in 
there, from this side she could see in through the holes quite clearly. 
Satisfied that the holes hadn't gotten plugged up with dirt, Emmy then went 
out into the main room of the motel unit where the bed and dresser were. 
Here again in the wall that was against Roberta's unit, were several more 
similar holes at eye level. Emmy inspected these, too, saw they offered a 
clear view, then she left the unit. 

The rest of the afternoon, Emmy and Anita took turns watching for Roberta 
Colby to return. It was about five o'clock when she returned. Emmy waited 
until Roberta had entered her unit, then she said to Anita: "Come on!" 

Both women were flushed with anticipation as they left and locked the office 
with a sign on the door that said: CLOSED-BE BACK AT SEVEN O'CLOCK. They 
raced to the unit next to Roberta's. 

Roberta Colby had gone into town to buy a new bathing suit. It was her first 
bikini and she was dying to try it on. As soon as she entered the unit and 
shut the door, she stripped and ran in to take a shower. She showered 
leisurely, soaping herself, lathering herself well. After that she dusted 
talcum all over her body and ran into the other room to try on the suit 
before the mirror. 

In the other unit, Emmy and Anita were busy running back and forth to the 
various peepholes. When they first watched Roberta undress, Emmy gasped with 
delight, as Roberta removed her halter, revealing that she had worn no bra 
under it. 

"Oh, Anita," Emmy said, almost reverently. "Look at those twin beauties, 
will you! Oh, Lordy, aren't they simply delicious? I was almost sure she 
didn't need an uplift. Oh, I can't wait to get my hands on those lovelies. 
Just look at the way they stand straight out!" 

"Yeah," Anita echoed, awed. "The way they bounce and swing and sway when she 
moves." 

"She's going to be the best we've ever had," Emmy said. "Oh, hon, now she's 
taking off the shorts-and-and the panties under them. She's all nice and 
bare. Oh, wouldn't that take your breath away." 

"But suppose she doesn't-" 

"Don't say that. She has to," Anita cut in. "Even if I have to rape the 
sweet dear. Just look at the way those nipples pop out, will you, and she's 
not even excited." 

"And the size of them!" 

Then Roberta trotted into the bathroom and the two women in the other unit 
quickly ran to their stations in that room. Emmy almost swooned while she 
watched Roberta shower and lather herself. She began to fidget and shift 
from foot to foot. She whispered to Anita how she, Emmy, would love to be 
doing that for Roberta. While they watched, Emmy and Anita's hands roved 
over each other, caressing, stimulating, until they were both gasping and 
beside themselves in a lather of desire. Roberta left the shower and the 
other two ran into the living room to peek as Roberta tried on the bikini. 

"Doesn't she look adorable in it?" Anita said. "Yeah, except that tiny strip 
of bra was hardly made to hold two luscious bombs like those. If she's not 
careful how she moves, they might pop right out. And if that ever happened 
on a beach, she'd start a rip-roaring riot." 

"Yeah, Emmy. Oh, and look at that rear view. The suit barely covers that 
magnificent behind." 

"Barely is right," Emmy giggled. 

They could tell by Roberta's expression as she looked at herself in the 
mirror that she wasn't too happy about the bikini. 

"She doesn't like it," Emmy said. "Probably feels that it's too revealing. 
Isn't that a funny thing-some of the ugly bags that wear those things and 
think nothing about it-and then you take a beautiful woman like this, who 
should be proud of her gorgeous body and she doesn't want anybody to see too 
much of it." 

"Not in public, anyhow." 

They watched Roberta peel out of the bikini again and, nude, walk over to 
her suitcase, take out a flimsy negligee and shrug into it. She didn't 
bother to close the front of it. She walked over to the TV set, switched it 
on and stood back, waiting for the tube to warm up. 

"Oh, damn!" Emmy groaned. "She's going to watch TV. Now she won't find those 
pictures!" 

The picture came on. There was a quiz show on that particular channel. 
Roberta moved forward and switched to another. This time it was an old 
Western. She switched that off. The next channel was featuring a wrestling 
match between two blubbery behemoths who awkwardly pretended to wreak mayhem 
on each other. 

Roberta sighed, snapped off the television set, and straightened up. She 
glanced around the room, went over to the telephone book and skimmed through 
it. Then she read the ads for restaurants, dry cleaners, and movie theatres 
under the glass top of the telephone table. Next, she brought her suitcase 
over near the dresser, started to unpack and put some of her clothes into 
the dresser drawer. 

In the other unit, watching, Emmy said: "Now, Anita! Oh, God, honey, now!" 

A few moments later, their patience was rewarded. Roberta saw the loose flap 
of the manila envelope sticking out of the drawer. She opened the drawer, 
took out the envelope and studied it curiously. Then she opened the top and 
peeked inside. Her hand reached in and withdrew partially a sheaf of 
eight-by-tens. She saw then what the first picture was. It showed two young 
girls, college age, standing in a meadow, face to face, hugging and kissing. 
Both of them were naked. Their nubile breasts were mashed together. One had 
her thigh thrust up between the other one's legs. The blonde one held the 
brunette one tight against her with both hands digging into her plump 
buttocks. 

Roberta Colby stared at the picture, unbelieving. Then she let out a gasp of 
dismay and excitement, mixed. She quickly stuffed the pictures back into the 
envelope and thrust the envelope back into the drawer, slammed the drawer 
shut. She glanced around furtively, guiltily, as though to see if anyone was 
watching her. Then she backed off from the dresser, stood staring at it, her 
fingers pushed up into her hair at the temples. 

"Oh, no!" she said, half aloud. She shook her head, as though to clear it of 
the vision she had just seen. 

Then, slowly almost frightened looking, she again moved to the dresser. 
Slowly, as though it contained something alive, she opened it. Her hand 
dipped in, touched the envelope, held it for a moment, then drew it out. 
Hastily, her fingers nervous and fumbling, Roberta took all the pictures out 
of the envelope. She set them down on top of the dresser and began to look 
through them, one by one. She saw that there were four sets of about a dozen 
photos each. The first series, of the blonde and the brunette in the meadow, 
moved in quick sequence from the first torrid embrace, standing up, to much 
more intimate ones in a variety of positions on the grass. 

After looking at only the first set of pictures, Roberta was throbbing all 
over with sensual desire. The old familiar needs and wants were building 
rapidly. The flesh of her thighs felt as though it was crawling with 
tickling, caressing fingers. The plump tips of her breasts stiffened out to 
twice their normal size. The breasts themselves ached for caresses. 

The next set displayed two buxom country-stype lassies in a hayloft. They 
were shown doing essentially the same things as pictured in the other sets. 
Yet Roberta was constantly surprised by what seemed the infinite variety of 
positions involved. 

The fourth group of photos introduced four young girls indulging in the same 
type of amorous acrobatics. The photos showed a constant change of positions 
and partners. Several shots showed one of the young ladies using an 
apparatus which Roberta had heard of but had never seen before-an object 
which was supposed to have originated in Japan, a favorite of women often 
left alone, neglected by their husbands. Roberta was amazed at the detailed 
accuracy of this reproduction shown in a close-up. She found herself wishing 
that she had one, right now. 

When she'd gone through the whole set of pictures once, with a little sigh 
of torment, Roberta turned away from them briefly. She felt as though she 
was on fire with fever now. She felt that if she didn't achieve some 
satisfaction, get some release, somehow, she would go mad. Her hands moved 
under the negligee, caressing her own burning flesh. She cupped her breasts, 
marveling at the solid weight of them. Gently she tweaked the out-thrust, 
aching nipples. 

Impatiently, she shrugged out of the negligee, let it fall to the floor. She 
stood there, naked and turned to the mirror, too hot to control herself. She 
saw that her whole body was flushed to a rosy glow and her eyes had a wild, 
glazed look. She thought how crazy some man would be to see her like 
this-any man. She found herself wishing one would come in the door. She 
would hardly care who he was, what he was, so long as he could relieve the 
terrible wanting ache burning her up. 

She thought about going out and picking up a man. But that would take too 
much time; there'd be too big a delay. She needed help right now. She 
couldn't wait. 

She cursed the motel for not having some kind of a bellhop or handy man that 
she could call for. She thought about the two women who ran the motel. Her 
first impression of the older one, Emmy, had been that the woman might be a 
lesbian. Not that she looked like one, exactly. She was certainly feminine 
enough looking. But there'd been just something about her-perhaps the way 
her gaze had lingered just a little too long on Roberta's bulging bosom, 
then slid down to look at her bare legs below her shorts. 

If she was that, Roberta thought, I think I'd even call for her. That might 
not be so bad. Certainly those two women in the hotel had enjoyed it-and the 
girls and women in those photos. And she, Roberta, wouldn't have to take any 
active part-she could remain passive. Roberta had heard that being made love 
to by another woman could be an even more exciting experience than being 
with a man. 

But it was stupid to even think about that, she realized. Even if Emmy was 
that way, she probably was all tied up with that sweet, pretty little 
partner of hers, Anita. 

Roberta's eyes were drawn back to the pictures on the dresser once again. As 
though hypnotized, she walked back and began to look through the pictures 
again, glancing at some, lingering on others that for some reason or other 
particularly excited her. The more she looked, the more the flood-tides of 
passion rose in her; she could hardly even stand still now. Her feverish 
body ached all over. 

She was so excited, so busy, looking at the pictures, she didn't even hear 
the click of the master key in the lock. The first thing she heard was 
Emmy's low, sultry voice saying: "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in. 
I should have knocked but I saw you go out before and didn't see you return 
and I just wanted to check to make sure you had clean towels." 

At the first sound of Emmy's voice, Roberta whirled around, her heart 
walloping hard against her rib cage. For the instant, she forgot that she 
was naked. She was thinking only about getting caught with those terrible 
pictures. Quickly, she scooped them up and thrust them in the drawer and 
shut it. She turned, leaning back against the dresser. She watched Emmy 
moving toward her, saw the older woman's eyes glued to the sight of 
Roberta's jutting, full-fleshed breasts. 

"Honey, is anything the matter?" Emmy crooned, as she came close. "You look 
all upset about something. Is anything bothering you? Can I help you in any 
way?" She reached up and soothed her hand across Roberta's damp forehead. 

"No! No!" Roberta managed. Her voice sounded strange even to herself. "I'm 
all right." 

"But you feel so feverish, my dear. I wish I had some rubbing alcohol here. 
I'd give you a quick rubdown. Maybe that would help." 

Emmy's eyes were looking straight into Roberta's now. They held the same 
strong, confident expression that she'd seen in Earl's gaze the first time 
he'd caught her in this same kind of a predicament. Oh, God, Roberta 
thought, she knows, she knows! 

"Not that it wouldn't be kind of hard to keep my mind on my work," Emmy said 
now. "I probably wouldn't even get past these pretty things." With that her 
hand reached out and boldly cupped around Roberta's breast, gently 
squeezing, kneading the solid rounded flesh, lightly brushing against and 
teasing the erect nipple. "So beautiful!" Emmy crooned. "You beautiful 
darling you!" 

Roberta closed her eyes, shuddering with delicious sensation that flowered 
through her now uncontrollably. Weakly she murmured: "Oh, no! Please, don't! 
Please!" 

Emmy's hand moved to the other breast, tried to capture its overflowing 
fullness. "Which do you mean, angel?" she asked hoarsely. "Don't or please?" 

Roberta felt weak at the knees. "I don't know. I 

-I don't know what's the matter with me." 

"Well, I do," Emmy said, "It's very obvious. You need some good loving. 
Don't fight it, hon. There's nothing wrong with that. All of us do at one 
time or another. I'll be honest, Roberta, I don't know what's the matter 
with me, either. You know, I've never done this to another woman, before, 
never felt the way I do about you. I don't understand it. I just can't help 
it, coming in here like this, seeing you so beautiful and naked and all. It 
seems all I want to do is touch you, kiss you, caress you. Maybe it was just 
meant to be, my coming in here like this, at just this time. Because I feel 
deep down inside of me that you want me too, need me, don't you, adorable?" 

Roberta was shivering all over now, as the other woman's hands moved to her 
feverish thighs, stroked them, sampling the firm, round, tenderly smooth 
flesh. 

"I-I don't know," Roberta whispered. "I just feel so strange!" 

"Just don't think about it, dearest," Emmy ordered. "Just feel, enjoy," She 
took Roberta's arm, pulled gently, leading her toward the bed. "Come here, 
where you'll be more comfortable." 

Roberta didn't want to do this; she knew that it was wrong, against all her 
basic precepts, but she seemed without power to fight against anything. She 
allowed herself to be led toward the bed. Then she was being eased down onto 
it gently, so gently but so firmly, too. 

She looked up then, saw the older woman starting to undress. She wanted to 
cry out to tell her to stop but she could get no words out. Instead, she 
kept remembering the actions she'd seen taking place in those pictures, the 
ecstatic expression on the faces of the girls taking part. She was only 
aware of the increasing heat and need and want in her own tortured body. 

Emmy's bountiful blouse came off first then her capris. She was now clad 
only in brief pale peach-colored panties and a bra to match. As she reached 
back to unhook the bra, Emmy said: "Now you'll see why I admire your 
beautiful bosom so much." Her padded bra fell free and Roberta saw that her 
figure was almost boyish. Her breasts were merely faint swellings, with tiny 
rust-colored nipples. Her shoulders were broad and smooth, and Roberta 
thought: It will seem like a man almost, if I keep my eyes closed. She 
closed them quickly. 

A moment later, Emmy's hands were again on her breasts, this time more 
roughly, more demandingly, more satisfyingly. The other hand was now boldly 
caressing the soft gentle mound of her belly then opening her thighs, 
coursing up and down the smooth, sleek white flesh there, gently kneading. 
The fiery longing in Roberta flamed higher with growing intensity. 

A moment later, she felt the bed give with the weight of Emmy's body as she 
lay down beside her. She felt the other woman's leg thrown over her own. The 
contact of their flesh sent shocks of sensation rioting through Roberta. The 
next instant she felt the wet warmness of Emmy's mouth on her breasts, as 
her lips plucked excitement at the aroused nipples. Roberta gave one big 
quiver of delight and gave up then. She hugged the other woman's head to her 
breast and moaned: "Yes! Yes, oh, yes!" 

The moist kisses left her breasts, then roved over her shoulders and arms, 
down across the soft slope of her belly. They tingled up and down her thighs 
and now Roberta was panting, twisting, and writhing, begging: "Please! 
Please!" 

Suddenly it happened. Acute sensation such as she'd never experienced before 
burst through Roberta in a white-hot flash and her back arched upward, hips 
quivering as she uttered an agonized but welcoming cry from deep in her 
throat. Her hands found Emmy's hair and tangled in it, caressing, holding. 
The following moments became eternity. 

They brought their naked bodies together and automatically Emmy reached out, 
running her hands again and again over the pulsing flesh of Roberta's 
breasts, pausing to finger the nipples which grew lovingly stiff beneath the 
rough touch. Roberta's bronzed body was stretching and twisting 
provocatively. Her breasts rolled back and forth enticingly, her hips moved 
suggestively, and her long, trim legs flexed open in invitation. 

Emmy knew exactly what she wanted. She reached out for Roberta's waist, 
pulling her close, and sank her teeth into Roberta's bare shoulder. Roberta 
winced, but at the same time shuddered in pleasant anticipation, slithered 
forward, and, as the tips of her tits grazed the other woman's, she could 
feel Emmy's nipples respond too. 

Emmy murmured a passionate animal sound and brought her face expectantly 
towards Roberta's. They pressed their open mouths together, and the tongue 
duel was on, first in Roberta's mouth, then in Emmy's. Emmy's hands moved 
along her back, then down, coming to rest demandingly on the firm twin 
mounds of Roberta's lovely ass, pulling the moaning woman in even closer. 
Roberta felt the fingers gripping her buttocks, then moving down into the 
cleft valley, nudging at the rectal slit. Roberta gasped as the finger 
entered-a sweet delicious feeling. Roberta could feel Emmy's heart beating 
rapidly beneath the small breasts that massaged her own full tits. 

Emmy began nipping excitedly at Roberta's ear, but suddenly she moved 
quickly away and reversed her position on the bed. "Oh, baby," she murmured, 
"we gotta-" 

Emmy's body contorted in ecstasy as she made sweet lesbian love to Roberta, 
her hair tickling at the wide-open legs, the hard little breasts raking 
Roberta's moving stomach. 

Emmy emitted a soft cry through gritting teeth, and the heat of her murmur 
breathed deep into Roberta's cunt. Her nails raked Roberta's buttocks, 
greedily wanting more, MORE! ALL OF IT! Her strong legs flailed around 
Roberta's ears as fleshy spasms overtook them both. That warm tongue was 
working away with renewed passion deep inside Roberta's belly, blazing a 
stimulating trail that had Roberta's whole body tingling. 

"Ohhh, I can't stand it anymore. Chew the inside out of me! Take me!" 
Roberta groaned out her lost-foundling cries, as Emmy's tongue went plowing 
and owning, and she flung her legs high and apart, the mouth forever dipping 
and sucking at her, full of the endless, flavored flow of her. That taffy 
jewel was slipping and sliding in Emmy's mouth, and Roberta soared to even 
new summits as she moaned and shot her bottom upwards in fresh and covetous 
hunger. She soared again and again to the heights of breathtaking 
fulfillment, no longer aware of time nor place nor anything but the demands 
and satisfactions of her own body. 

When it was over she lay there gasping, practically in a faint. For long 
moments, she felt too weak to even open her eyes. She thought several times 
she heard other voices, whispering, but assumed it was merely imagination, a 
sort of aftermath delirium following the fever in her that had just been 
purged. 

But then she knew she heard two people whispering. She opened her eyes and 
turned her head. She saw now that the other woman, Anita, had sneaked into 
the room. How long had she been there, Roberta wondered, how much had she 
seen? 

In her pleasantly lethargic state, though, Roberta hardly cared. She wasn't 
even surprised to see that Emmy was undressing Anita and already had the 
other woman practically nude. 

Then Anita's panties and wisp of bra were off and Roberta saw the smaller 
woman had an exciting body. Her breasts were full and round, the nipples 
small in circumference but perfectly pointed. Her hips and thighs were well 
proportioned. 

Roberta watched now as the two nude women embraced and kissed. She felt 
strange, witnessing these kind of scenes. Somehow, it didn't shock her, nor 
excite her. It was as though it was something she was seeing in a dream, in 
a half-waking, half-sleeping dream, so that she didn't really believe it. 

Emmy and Anita stood locked in an embrace for long moments with Anita 
whimpering endearments as the older woman caressed her lavishly. She watched 
Emmy pull the other woman down onto the empty bed next to Roberta's. What 
followed Roberta didn't think she would ever forget. The session she had 
witnessed between the couple in the hotel room, the scenes depicted in the 
pornographic photos even, were mild compared to the passionate extremes that 
Emmy and Anita drove each other to. 

In a few moments, Roberta found herself once more becoming consumed by a 
newly revived and even greater desire of her own, being forced to watch the 
wild tanglings and entwinings of the other two woman on the bed. She 
shuddered at the sound of their passionate outcries and groanings. The bed 
literally shook with the thrashing of their legs, the gyrations of their 
hips. 

After fifteen minutes, Emmy arose, leaving Anita lying limply, unmoving, in 
complete repose. She turned to Roberta again and instantly saw the tortured 
need burning in Roberta's eyes, in her whole expression. She moved to her 
and her hands drove to Roberta's breasts, digging into them. Roberta moaned 
her acquiescence as the weight of Emmy's body bore down on her. This time 
Roberta responded with nothing held back, was, herself, as wildly wanton as 
Emmy ... and it went on and on.... 

She did not even remember falling asleep or the other women leaving. When 
she awakened, it was dark in the motel room. She lay for long moments, 
suddenly aware that she was still naked. Aware that physically she felt 
drained, weakened, yet peculiarly at rest with no muscular tension, no 
nervous tension at all. Then memory of those sordid hours with Emmy and 
Anita began to come back in detail. She cried out into the dark, a wail of 
protest at allowing herself to be so used, so degraded. Suddenly, she felt 
filthy, physically as well as morally. She forced herself to get up, go into 
the shower room, and she soaped herself down thoroughly under water as hot 
as she could stand it. Then she let cold water needle down onto her. 

She was somewhat refreshed then. She noticed that the manila folder of 
photos was no longer in the room. She knew that Emmy had taken them and she 
assumed now that the motel owner had planted them there, knowing she would 
find them, knowing she would be aroused by them, become easy prey to her own 
twisted needs. 

But how had she known that, Roberta demanded of herself. Was it that obvious 
now for experienced lesbians and male lechers to just look at her and tell? 

She thought about it for a long time. It was getting to be too much. Where 
was she headed, when she could become such an easy victim to strange men-or 
women? She thought about the psychiatric treatment she had just started. It 
would take a long time, Dr. Kleaver had said. Well, she couldn't wait. How 
many more such degrading experiences could she go through? 

She didn't know. After a while, it became so painful to think about-yet she 
couldn't seem to stop thinking about it-that she went out and bought herself 
a fifth of scotch. Alone in the motel room, she got slowly, deliberately, 
cockeyed drunk, to the point where she finally fell over onto the bed, still 
fully dressed, with the lights still on, in a drunken stupor that swiftly 
became a dead sleep. 

At five o'clock in the morning, she awakened and got dressed and packed and 
left the motel. She couldn't stay there, face either of those women. She 
knew that somehow they'd figure out another way to lure her again into the 
trap of their own depravity. 

She drove over to Clearwater and checked into a hotel there. 

At the very moment, just after dawn that morning, that Roberta Colby was 
checking into the hotel in Clearwater, a young teenage girl by the name of 
Sharon McEvers was sitting in that town's police station, waiting to be 
questioned by Homicide Detective Chet Carter. Although Roberta didn't know 
it at the time, the remarkable events that had happened in young Sharon 
McEver's life in the past few weeks, would play an important part in her own 
during the next few days. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Sharon sat in the police station, wondering if she should tell the detective 
in the next room the whole story. She wondered if her mother had, just 
before they carted her off to the Women's House of Detention, ten minutes 
before. She looked through the glass window at the gray-haired cop that 
would be asking her a million questions in just a few minutes. He looked 
friendly enough, maybe she would. And he had a nice name-like something out 
of a private-eye movie; Chet Carter. Detective Chet Carter. It sounded 
groovy. Maybe she would level with him at that-if she only knew how much her 
mother had told. 

Marion McEvers had indeed told quite a story, and at this moment Detective 
Chet Carter was trying to put it all in place inside his head. Best he could 
figure, from the notes on the yellow foolscap pad in front of him: 

Marion McEvers still remembered that Tuesday afternoon she let Ritchie 
Denhault take her home from work. She had told Carter that she remembered it 
was raining when she left the office building, and since her car was in the 
garage getting overhauled, she was standing under the overhang debating what 
to do when she heard Ritchie call out to her: "Hey! Over here, Mrs. McEvers! 
I go your way!" And he pulled up in his 1961 Chewy. 

Marion smiled thinly, thinking that a ride with Ritchie would be better than 
getting wet. Besides, she liked the boy. Only eighteen years old, a tall, 
nice-looking adolescent, Ritchie was always clowning around-and definitely 
considered himself a rake with the girls. She didn't have to worry about 
that-she had assumed Ritchie knew she was a divorcee with a teenage 
daughter. 

Sharon's mother had accepted Ritchie's offer to drive her home-and was 
absolutely flabbergasted when she felt his hand on her knee after he stopped 
in front of her house. But she was even more astonished when she found she 
enjoyed the feel of his hand moving higher! She did not attempt to remove 
his fingers, slowly crawling up her leg, along her thighs, past the top of 
her stocking ... underneath the elastic of her panties, until they were 
actually thrusting through the hot moist lips. 

"She remembered too, glaring hot-eyed out the car's window at the sprinkle 
of rain, not daring to look at the boy's face-for it would remind her that 
he was twenty years younger than she. "I have to go in now," she said, but 
not convincingly, an still not looking at him. 

"Don't you like it, huh, Mrs. McEvers?" 

"It-it's not that. I-" 

"Because I'm a kid?" 

"No, no. Oh, Ritchie, I've been lonely, so lonely, but...." 

The finger kept at its circling motion, inside her cunt. She was having 
trouble getting her breath. Her attractive face was becoming filmed with 
perspiration. But she didn't move out of the car. She had told the detective 
that now she wished she had. 

"Just put your hand on this hard-on a minute, that's all, Mrs. McEvers. Gee, 
I watch you walkin' around the office all day and...." 

His finger was working a new and faster rhythm, flicking at the moist lips 
of her vulva. Marion gasped in sheer delight, naked passion claiming her 
entire body, heating her vagina to a white-hot rage. Yet she still 
remembered where she was and-My God, I'm-I-I'm o-old enough to be his-his 
m-mother-I-She muttered, but not loudly, certainly not at all 
convincingly...."N-No! NO! Y-You must-not-I-oohhhhhhhhhh." 

The rain continued to tip-tap on the car, clouding the windows and Ritchie, 
his face a mask of half grin and all lust, continued to work his fingers in 
Marion's vulva. She opened her thighs to permit betteringress, moaned 
slightly when she felt his other hand move to her breasts. 

"L-let's-l-let's go inside," Ritchie whispered. "Let's-g-go-in-your 
house-and have some fun-huh!" 

Marion wanted to-God! How I want to!-But she had to shake her head. "We-we 
can't! My-d-daughter-she'll be-be home from school. FASTER! DO IT-IT-DO IT 
FASTERRRRRR. Uhhhhhh!" 

"I've got-got a big hard-on!" Ritchie said, a whine to his voice. He knew 
how Marion was at fever pitch and figured if he insisted, if he pushed long 
enough, she would consent. She was hardly conscious of his words, lost 
completely in her first orgasm, and as the intense heavenly joy of come 
began to subside, she suddenly was possessed with the all-consuming desire 
to see his prick. She wanted to feel it, pull it, twist it. She wanted it in 
her mouth. 

She put her hand on Ritchie's lap, felt the stiff hardness, the throbbing 
rise imprisoned within his struggling trousers. Not caring that he might 
think her sex-possessed, Marion unzipped the . youth's trousers and pulled 
out his penis, gasping when she saw the size of the handsome prick-very 
white and bigger than what her ex-husbands had possessed ... a long, thick 
circumcised cock, the size of which triggered another orgasm in her. She 
began to masturbate Ritchie, firmly clutching the hard, pulsating shaft, 
working it with an experienced hand. 

With jerky movements, Ritchie continued to finger fuck her ... gasping and 
sobbing, twisting and squirming, as Marion's hand raced up and down on his 
cock. 

"L-let-m-me-p-put-on-a-r-rubber," he sobbed, feebly attempting to open the 
compartment in the dash. Marion ignored his request, continued to jack him 
... working her hand faster and FASTER over his inflamed peter. 

"Ohhhh-uhhhhhhhh!" he finally cried, automatically raising his loins and 
ejaculating with such intensity that some of his semen splattered on the 
windshield over the dash. Then Marion cried, having still another orgasm, 
which even pulled at the roots of her hair. 

Marion met Ritchie that very same night and they went straight to the Blue 
Dot Motel. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Ritchie was 
experienced, not at all nervous and unsure of himself as most boys his age 
would have been. There was nothing Marion could teach the youth, 
notwithstanding her having to tell him how she preferred having her cunt 
sucked. Ritchie dearly loved fellatio, but not in the 69 position, telling 
Marion he could not concentrate because...."I like to watch your mouth going 
up and down on my dick, and I can't see that when I'm eating your pussy." 

They ignored each other at work, but continued to meet after work and make 
love-two and three times a week-yet never at Marion's house, a state of 
affairs not to Ritchie's liking. 

"Why can't we go to your pad, hon?" Ritchie would ask. "That would be more 
convenient. Why can't we? Now tell me, why can't we?" 

Patiently, Marion would tell the boy. "Ritchie, dear, I've told you over and 
over why we can't Because of your age. There's no way I could explain you to 
my daughter--and don't call my home a "'pad,' you silly boy." 

"BUtr-" 

"Why-you should be dating Sharon, not me!" Marion would say. "I've told you: 
you can't come to my p-my home. That's all there is to it." 

"But it costs like crazy at a motel!" Ritchie protested. 

"Ritchie, dear, I don't mind paying for it; I've got the money. Nor do I 
mind helping out with your tuition. I can afford it; so don't worry about 
it. Now fuck me!" 

Finally, however, Marion and Ritchie did make love in her home ... one day 
when Sharon was at school and Marion was off from work with a cold. They 
were in bed together ... Marion riding Ritchie while he pinched her nipples, 
when Sharon walked in on them.... 

When Detective Carter told her what he knew so far, Sharon eagerly filled in 
the gaps; "It was-well, it was an accident the way I walked in on Mom and 
Ritchie. I hadn't had my flu shot and when one of the kids at school came 
down with the virus, all us kids who hadn't had shots were sent home. I 
usually didn't get home until about three-thirty, but that day I got home a 
little after one. They sure weren't expecting me. I walked in the house and 
heard them screwing up a storm in Mom's bedroom. Sure, I knew they were 
fucking, because-what the hell you mean, telling me I shouldn't talk dirty! 
Let me tell you, Mister Fuzz, I'm not a square when it comes to knowing what 
boys do to girls. Man, you're not with it when it comes to knowing what goes 
on! Hell's bells! Andy Masson popped my cherry when I was only twelve! 

"So I walked in on Mom and caught her fucking-so what! I really didn't think 
nothing of it. After all, like I mean she had a right to her peter. You 
know, a gal's gotta have her prick every now and then. I sure do, but me and 
my dates have to rely on a set of wheels, you know ... like Bernie Macaluso, 
calls his car a 'traveling whorehouse!-ha ha ha ha! 

"What do you think Mom did when she saw me standing there, grinning at her 
and Ritchie. Man, that's a dumb ass question. You're not hip to anything, 
are you? Mom screamed at me to get the hell out. She jumped off the bed as 
if I was the devil himself, and Ritchie, he just sat up and grinned. 

"'Aw, hon, let her stay,' he said. 'She knows the score ... probably has had 
a lot of cocks in her. After all, she ain't no baby." 

"He was sure right about that. But I don't screw as often as a lot of girls 
I pal with. And I won't fuck just any old joint, either. 

"Ritchie finally convinced Mom that it would be a good thing for me to stay 
and see them doing it, but at first Mom would have none of it. But Ritchie 
told her that if she didn't let me stay, he would get up, put on his clothes 
and never come back. Mom sure must have considered him good fucking 
material, because his threat sure brought her over to his way of 
thinking-mine, too! I wanted to stay, all along hoping he'd diddle me-ain't 
I nasty? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Okay! Okay, don't rush me.... 

"After Mom reluctantly agreed to let me stay and see them fuck, Ritchie 
said, 'Sharon, take your clothes all off and sit on the bed and-' 

"'Now Ritchie, you're not going to screw her!' Mom said anxiously. 

"'Well, she got a cunt, ain't she?' Ritchie said. 'And don't tell me she 
ain't had a cock in her before!' 

"Me-I laughed at Mom's ignorance! You bet your sweet bippy I'd had peters 
before! And did I shock the old lady when I said, 'Mom, I've been on the 
Pill for over a year!' She looked at me as if I had just announced I was 
Jesus Christ, and I told her-'I've been getting it from one of my girl 
friends, who swipes it from her mother!' 

"Mom was on the verge of saying something, but Ritchie began fingering her 
cunt and sucking her boobs, and that sent her off again. Forgetting all 
about me, she began to moan, clutching at Ritchie, pulling him to her. Now 
me, I know a good thing when I see it. I stripped off and sat on the edge of 
the bed, playing with myself and getting hotter and hotter by the minute. I 
kept staring at Ritchie's prick. It fascinated me and I longed to have it 
inside my cunt. Mom popped off finally-it shouldn't have taken her that 
long, not the way he was finger fucking her. Ritchie stopped chewing her 
ninnies, said he was going to fuck her, and for her to spread out. 

"They really fucked up a storm! You'd have thought Mom was a virgin getting 
her first peter, the way she wrapped her legs around Ritchie and gave it to 
him-and he really prick pounded the old lady. Mister, what a fucker he was! 
The way he rammed that root of his! 

"You'd have thought my old lady was half nuts, the way she carried on! 
'Course, I sort of flip my wig myself when I'm ready to get my jollies! 
'OHHHHH!' Mom almost yelled. 'D-do-i-it, honey! F-faster, love-daddy! 
Ohohohoh! F-fuck me! Oh-Ahhhhhh.... Drill-a-h-hole in-my-my c-cunt with 
y-your pric-prickkkkk-Ohhh! 

"A-am I-I g-giving it-it-to y-you all right?' Ritchie sobbed. 

"'Y-yes, only-o-only h-harder and-OH! I'm 

-I'm comi-UHUHHHLULULULU!' 

"'Me too!' Ritchie cried, fucking Mom faster. 'H-here it 
is-I-OHOHOH-BABY-BABY-BABY-w-work-your-a-sssss. I-OHOHHH!' 

"And I'll tell you something, Mr. Fuzz. I popped off too, just watching 
them! 

"Then Ritchie got the bright idea that Mom should suck him off-right there 
in front of me. Like I mean they weren't two feet from me. Mom didn't like 
that idea much, but we both urged her to give him a blow job. 

"'Come on, Mom, show me how you do it.' I said. 

"She finally agreed, saying that since I'd seen them fucking-well, she 
figured I might as well see her blowin' Ritchie. 'But I still think it's a 
nasty thing to do in front of my own daughter,' she tells me. Kinda sounds 
funny, now. 

"Ritchie sat on the edge of the bed and Mom got down on her knees between 
his legs. I sat there next to Ritchie, fascinated, watching, and after Mom 
took his limp cock in her mouth, he began playing with my tits. She sure 
knew how to do it, my mother did, and soon Ritchie's cock was hard-and man! 
what a prick he had. Big and hairy! But she didn't make him come, because it 
was too soon after a fuck for him to build up another charge. 

"After a time, Ritchie told Mom he had had enough, and for her to sit on the 
bed so that he could eat her pussy. And that's what he did, sucked her pussy 
a long time. I just sat there, getting hotter and hotter. Then Ritchie got 
up and said he was going to fuck Mom between her tits, and she asked, 'You 
want me to catch your come with my mouth when you come?' 

"'llh-huh,' Ritchie said, matter-of-factly. 'I feel like I got another big 
load!' 

"He crawled up between Mom's boobs, laid his cock in the valley, squeezed 
her boobs together and began fucking her like that. That really sent me, 
'cause I had never been screwed like that-and when he shot off! Man, he had 
a load of white stuff that would have choked Norma Baines. Who? Oh, her! 
Norma's in my class at school and we call her 'pussy mouth.' That's all she 
wants to do, suck a boy off. She's got a thing about peters. Will blow a guy 
at the drop of a rubber, but won't let a guy screw her! 

"That's all Mom and Ritchie did that first time I was there. But they had 
another go-round a week later when I was present. Mom and Ritchie went at it 
so fast and furious that she forgot all about fixing dinner. I got so damned 
disgusted that I left the bedroom and fixed myself some bacon and eggs, and 
when I went back into the bedroom, they were still at it! This time, Mom was 
on her hands and knees and Ritchie was diddling her dog-fashion. I sat down 
on the bed next to them and began to jack myself, then Ritchie got the idea 
that maybe I needed some sex satisfaction, " 'How do you feel, Sharon?' he 
asked. 'That twat of yours on fire?' 

"I told him the truth. 'It sure is,' I said. 'I'm burning up!' 

"Rubbing her tits, Mom said, 'Well, you're not going to fuck her, Ritchie. I 
won't have it. It's disgraceful! Bad enough we do it in front of her, she's 
only a baby and ... ' 

"HA HA! Imagine that! Me! A 'baby.' Well, Mr. Fuzz, Mom rattled on and on, 
but as usual, Ritchie finally got his way, and before you could say 
fiddle-de-fuck, I was all spread out for Ritchie and he was between my legs, 
rubbing the head of his cock between my pussy lips. Mom sat there watching, 
and I could tell by the hotness in her eyes, she was enjoying every second 
of it, was just as sizzling as I was.... 

"'llHH!' I gasped when Ritchie shoved his big prong in my snatch. The way 
that guy was hung, and how he could fuck! I wrapped my legs around his back, 
threw my arms around his neck and began to help the screw along, rolling up 
my ass when he came plunging down, reaming my snatch with his big screwer. I 
got with it in a hurry, giving Ritchie all I had, using every trick at my 
command. After all, I'm no dummy. I knew what side my future fucks were 
buttered on! 

"I tell you-in no time at all, Ritchie had me more excited than I had ever 
been in my life! My tits were swollen up, my ninnies so hard they hurt, and 
my cunt felt like the sun-only hotter! It didn't matter that Mom was 
watching. How could it? I'd seen Ritchie fucking her and had seen her 
sucking his noodle. HA HA HA! You might say it was all in the family! HAH AH 
A! 

"Ritchie, he really sent me! 'D-do-do-it-f-faster-FASTER!' I got to crying, 
wanting to have my comsie in one big hurry. I tightened my arms around his 
neck, feeling that his skin was wet and slippery with sweat ... feeling his 
hot breath blowing on the side of my neck. 

"'You-y-you-'bout-r-ready?' he asked. 'Can-you-I-I-g-going to have-UH!' 

"'G-go o-on!' I told him. 'I'm-I'm w-waiting f-for y-you. D-do it 
h-hard-HARD! l-ohohl I'm going-uh-oh-I-l-OHOHOHOHOHOHOH! U H HH H 
Hhuhuhuhuhu!' 

"For a moment, well, I thought I'd just die! It felt like my cunny was made 
of glass and someone had shattered it. I could feel Ritchie'a big boomer 
expanding within, jerking, and slamming his spunk into my little cunny. His 
rush of cream-that big daddy really shot his wad, I tell you. I mean I could 
feel his stiff meat against my cunt, spitting a big mush of stuff against my 
wombsie! I tightened him to me like a vise, wanting to get his whole cock, 
even his balls in me! All along I kept right on coming, almost howling in my 
jollies. 

"After me and Ritchie got through fucking, Mom calmly announced that she 
wanted to go down on him, which was just fine with Ritchie. He loved mouth 
jobs-and he asked me, 'Honey bunch, you ever eaten peter? Ever had any come 
in your mouth?' 

"I giggled. That Ritchie! Asking me a question like that-I mean like asking 
me in front of my very own mother, and like I was just supposed to come out 
and say, 'Sure, I've gone down on a guy. All of us girls do it to our dates, 
or we wouldn't have any boyfriends. The boys take us out and spend loot on 
us, so why shouldn't we return the favor by blowing them!' 

"I played it cool and shook my head, acting like I was a square and didn't 
know a thing about playing a flute. Like I figured it was none of their damn 
business, you know. Like I was stupid and didn't know what Ritchie was 
hinting for me to do. 

"'No,' I said, sort of innocent-like. 'I've never sucked a guy." 

"HAH AH A! Ritchie's eyes got as bright as two flashlights. 'I think then 
it's about time you learned how. Why, you're almost sixteen!' And he said to 
Mom, 'Honey, you show her how I like to be blowed.' That Ritchie, he sure 
was excited. 

"Ritchie, he spread his legs as wide as he could and leaned back on the side 
of the bed, his hands under his head ... hands and head resting back on 
three pillows. 'An don't you two turn your heads sideways while you suck 
me,' he said. 'I want to see my peter going in and out of your mouths." 

"Right off, I expected Mom to blow her top over Ritchie's wanting me to 
toddle his flute-as if I didn't know how. I mean, like him wanting her to 
show me how! Of course, they didn't realize I knew how. But that wasn't the 
point. But Mom, she didn't say anything, didn't raise any kind of hell, or 
go off her nut ... you know ... on any kind of holy stuff speech. Hell's 
bells! She seemed to be as excited as me, as we got down between Ritchie's 
legs and made ready to go down on him. 

"Mom said, 'You watch how I do it, Sharon.' She took Ritchie's half-hard 
cock in her hand. 'You watch how I do it, then you can try." 

"She popped the head of Ritchie's prick into her mouth and began sucking on 
it, running her mouth up and down over it. She also squeezed the shaft and 
played with his balls. For a few minutes she sucked on his peter; then she 
pulled the head from her mouth, licked her lips, you know, like she enjoyed 
the taste. 

"'All right, you try it,' Mom said, still holding onto his dick. 'llse your 
tongue and lips all you want, honey, but don't bite his prick with your 
teeth-and do you see this spot right here?' 

"She indicated a piece of skin shaped like a little cord that seemed to 
anchor the head to the main part of the peter. 'Right here,' Mom said. 'You 
lick good right on this spot. It's the most of the whole blow! He'll come in 
a big hurry when you lick there and apply a lot of tongue pressure.' " 

"Look, Mister Carter, I know what you must be thinkin' while I'm telling you 
all this. But I got my reasons. I ain't just mouthin' off to hear myself. 
Okay?" 

"No, no, Miss McEvers. Go on. It's very interesting." 

"Well now-I mean like I really didn't know that! About where to suck, I 
mean. " 'You try it,' Mom said. 

"I took Ritchie's cock and put the head in my mouth, began running my tongue 
over the wet, salty-tasting knob. I liked doing it, and then-you know what? 
That damned Ritchie said I wasn't doing it right! As if I had never sucked a 
guy before! 

"He said, 'You got to suck it harder-and try to get more of my cock in your 
mouth. You show her how to do it, dear. You show her!' 

"'All right, dear,' Mamma said, popping his piddle in her mouth once more. 
The old fool had sure flipped her wig over that stud. Don't ask me why. He 
wasn't a really good-looking guy and was kind of skinny, and he had some 
pimples on his face. But what a corn on the cob he had! I tell you, Mom sure 
had the hots for him. 

"What she did, she ran her mouth down over his cock, taking almost all of 
it. It's a wonder the head didn't pop out of her poop hole! Up and down she 
went, her mouth full of peter, while Ritchie and I watched. I don't mind 
telling you, I was fascinated. Up and down, like she was some kind of 
automatic machine geared to automatic slurping, ya' know? What 
happened-Ritchie got real excited, leaned down and pulled her off his cock. 

"'I d-don't-don't w-want to come in your mouth,' he said, breathing heavy. 
'I want to come in hers. You do it now, Sharon. Do it like your mother did 
it and I'll come in you." 

"'I'll hold his prick for you,' Mom said, taking hold of Ritchie's prick. 
'Get as much of it in your mouth as you can." 

"So while Mom held her lover's cock, I sucked on it, giving him a big blow 
that surprised not only him but my mother! I'd show them! In no time at all, 
I had Ritchie rising like a rocket-and his hot gun boomed off, giving me a 
blast of pure-dee come. Like it was a big shoot that was extra hot, but not 
as tasty as I thought it would be. You know, not all come tastes alike. 
Norma-and that little cocksucker ought to know-Norma, she says that a 
black's come tastes sweeter than a white man's. 

"Ritchie shot so much stuff in my mouth I couldn't swallow it all, and some 
of it dribbled down my lips. But he really liked the way I did it. He got so 
excited that he sucked my pussy, while Mom lay on the floor, under him, and 
he fucked her in the mouth." 

Sharon McEvers continued with her hideous confession to the homicide 
detective. 

""After that first time with Ritchie and Mom, like the first time I had sex 
with them-after that, I screwed around with them lots of times, the three of 
us doing all sorts of things. I got to sucking Mom's cunt, and she'd blow 
Ritchie while I ate her, like I'd suck his cock, while she got between my 
legs and had her box meal. The things the three of us did, you know, like 
daisy chains, stuff like that. 

"Like ... yesterday afternoon when Mom got the idea that me and her would 
blow him at the same time. I mean she meant we'd suck him together. Mom was 
sure an old whore and knew all the tricks, but her suggestion was sure a new 
one to me. And Ritchie too. We just stared at her. 

"'How you and Sharon going to do that?' Ritchie asked, lookin' dumb. 

"'Yeah, Mom, how can we both blow him at the same time?' I chimed in. 

"Mom laughed, and went on to explain that it was really a very simple sort 
of thing. She said that while I sucked his peter, she would eat his 
balls-'Or you can suck on his nuts and I'll blow him,' Mom finished. That 
seemed sort of screwy to me, but I said okay, so we gave him a double job. 
That's what we did. 

"Ritchie lay flat on his back and I got to the side of him, on my knees I 
pulled back on his cock, pushing it almost to his belly. I took the head in 
my mouth and began sucking on it. Mom, flat on her stomach between his legs, 
had taken his marbles in her mouth and was sucking on them, sort of sucking 
and chewing gently on the wrinkled skin. I figured it was one wild way to 
give a man his jollies, but Mom knew all kinds of tricks, you know, like 
slipping a finger in a man's poop hole and jacking him back there while you 
blow him. But I didn't get Ritchie's soup in my mouth that trip. Before his 
gun could go boom and deliver the goods, me and Mom exchanged places. I 
sucked his nuts and she mouth-conked his cock, getting his wad. 

"All three of us felt pretty silly when we looked up and saw my father 
standing there in the bedroom doorway. He had always paid Mom child support 
for me and so the bastard had the right to come around and see me now and 
then. I didn't like him at all, but I always put on a sweet act to get a few 
extra bucks out of him, like, you know, a new dress ... things like that. 
What had happened-so I found out later-my old man had come around and Mom 
had forgotten to lock the door. The bastard just walked in. 

"I just stared at my father, frozen with a kind of numbness. Mom, she sort 
of gurgled, and I thought her eyeballs were going to pop out of-her head. 
Ritchie lay there, his mouth wide open, his eyes staring at my father. 

"It's kind of hazy, I mean what followed. Dad let out some kind of crazy 
gasp and rushed into the room. I fell off the bed and-I don't remember it 
too well. I do remember him trying to choke Mom, and Ritchie-the way that 
stud split! Running out of the bedroom like a scared chicken, his cock 
flapping up and down like an old-fashioned pump handle. 

"Don't ask me who called the fuzz! I crawled under the bed, scared to death, 
listening to my mom and my old man screaming and yelling at each other. 
Somehow, Mom had broken away from him, and was calling him a sonofabitch, 
and he was calling her a lousy child-fucking slut-I guess he meant because 
of me-and he was going to kill her." 

Detective Carter took a deep sigh and rolled a pencil between his thumb and 
forefinger, studying it. "Tell me, Sharon, why are you telling me all this? 
I mean ... including all the gory details. You don't have to, you know." 

"Well, the way I figure it, me and Mom only got one chance." 

"Oh? What's that?" 

"Pleading insanity. And you gotta admit, it's a pretty nutty bit, just the 
way it stands. All the truth, though, nutty as it sounds." 

"Sure you didn't ... dramatize things a bit? Especially the sex part?" 

"Look, I'm in a pretty bad scrape. I decided to tell you the truth and cop 
out on an insanity route." 

"Maybe you read too many books or see too many movies, eh? I don't think the 
District Attorney will have any charges to present against you. You won't 
even be sixteen until next month. Of course, you may have to go to some 
state school for a while but...." 

"What about Mom?" 

"Well, Sharon, your mother is charged with murder. She confessed to stabbing 
your father to death. That matter will be in the hands of the courts. It 
seems to me you've been handed a pretty bad break, kid. The problem is, how 
can we help you, that's what I'm concerned with at the moment." 

The first step Detective Chet Carter took to help Sharon was to put her in 
the hands of a private psychiatrist by the name of Dr. Kleaver. And that is 
how the tape recording of Sharon's statement to Detective Carter came to be 
in the doctor's office when Roberta reported there for her second visit. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

It had been a week now since Roberta Colby had left town and Tony Marsh 
missed her more than ever. He had spent a bad night after that scene with 
Earl Lord in which Roberta's promotion manager had told him that weird story 
about Roberta and that he, Earl, had twice been inimate with Roberta in her 
office after hours. At first he tried to tell himself that the whole thing 
was ridiculous, a figment of the other man's vile imagination. Yet the more 
he mulled it, the more obvious it became that Earl must have been telling 
the truth. Nobody could concoct such a fey story about a woman. In the first 
place, a man like Earl wouldn't have the imagination. Even now, it still was 
a little hard for Tony to believe. 

In the past week, Tony Marsh had told himself that he would have to forget 
Roberta Colby. He knew that he could never forgive her. No matter how much 
he tried, if he ever saw her again, Earl's story would stay in his mind. He 
did everything he could to follow through on that, to try to forget. He got 
drunk every night. He consorted with expensive call girls, sometimes even 
with several of them at one time. None of this did any good. None of it 
worked. He remained hooked on Roberta Colby. He knew then that he was, for 
the first time in his life, really and truly in love. And that unless he got 
Roberta back, nothing else in his life would ever mean anything to him. 

Now, this morning, while he was showering, Tony made a decision. He told 
himself that Roberta must be emotionally ill. He told himself that if she 
were physically sick, he wouldn't desert her, would he? He would try to help 
her. Well, the sensible thing to do was to approach this the same way. He 
would find her somehow and get her to have psychiatric help. He knew that 
they performed wonders in that field these days. 

The big problem, though, of course, would be to find Roberta. Her lawyers 
had already told Tony that they didn't know where she was. But he sensed 
they had been lying. They would almost have to know. He set about trying to 
figure some way to get that information out of them. 

In Dr. Kleaver's office, Roberta Colby broke down after she related to him 
the incident with the two lesbians in her motel room. Sobbing as though her 
heart would break, with her face in her hands, she cried: "What am I going 
to do? I've got to do something fast. I can't go through any more such 
experiences." 

Dr. Kleaver let her cry for a while and then got her a box of tissues. When 
her sobbing had subsided, he said: "You're perfectly right, Miss Colby. I 
hadn't realized that the situation had become quite this extreme. We'll see 
if we can't take some kind of drastic measures. I would have preferred not 
to, but apparently there's no other choice now. Very often a patient is so 
involved with their own problems that they become convinced that they are 
the only ones with any problem at all. This is especially true with sexual 
paradoxes. Now we have been quite successful in a new approach, particularly 
when we are reasonably certain that we have interpreted the patterns of the 
patient's conflict." 

"Doctor, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. Can you put 
it in my language?" 

"Of course, forgive me. What I'm saying is I have studied the papers you 
filled out the other day, and I have a pretty good idea what the trouble is. 
It lies in your thirteenth year of life-something happened when you were 
thirteen, and you are rejecting any memory of it. I am going to play a tape 
recording of a police case that I have been consulted on. It is the voice of 
a young girl, and you will never know her name, so I am not actually 
betraying her by permitting you to hear it. My hope is that by listening to 
another person telling what happened to them, you may be willing to admit to 
yourself that something of a simi-liar experience happened to you at that 
age. The theory is what is used in group therapy. When you hear someone else 
say something right out in the open, you feel it is not so terrible to say 
it yourself. Now this girl's statement is, to say the least, rather frank 
and earthy in its language. So do not be shocked. I am only interested in 
seeing your reaction to it." 

"All right," Roberta said, then in a lower, sadder voice, "I'll try 
anything." 

Dr. Kleaver threaded Sharon McEver's tape into the tape recorder, pushed the 
PLAY button and sat back to watch Roberta's reaction. 

Dr. Kleaver was not surprised that by the end of the recording Roberta Colby 
was crying uncontrollably, great sobs of emotion-but she still could not say 
anything-still could not directly refer to the events of her thirteenth 
year. 

"Did it excite you sexually, Roberta?" 

"To a degree, Doctor. But mostly-Oh God! I am so sorry for that poor girl. 
It-it's almost like it was me." 

"Yes, yes ... go on." 

But Roberta's mind was a blank. She couldn't go on. 

"All right, all right, Roberta, just relax. We are making progress. At least 
we've got our finger on the sore spot, that's obvious. Now we'll keep our 
finger there and try a different approach. I am confident we are opening 
doors. But first of all, I want you to get something straight in your own 
mind." 

"Wh-what is that?" she asked, still sniffling, dabbing tears from her eyes. 

"About this latest experience." Dr. Kleaver looked at her sternly and 
smoothed down his clipped mustache with the edge of his fingernail. "I want 
you to get any idea out of your head that you might have lesbian 
tendencies-even latent. You haven't. This experience was brought upon you. 
It wasn't anything voluntary. You were under emotional stimuli. The same 
thing could have happened to any woman in a similar situation, in a similar 
condition. It happens in women's prisons, all too frequently. It even rather 
frequently happens to very young girls who are seduced by older, more 
experienced women. It even happens to men, at some time in their life. 

You see, the sexual demands of the human body are almost as strong as-let's 
say-hunger or self-preservation. Under these latter stresses, a desperate 
person will even steal. But that doesn't mean he's basically a thief. It's 
only a circumstantial deviation. The same thing applies to you and this 
latest experience. Neither are you a nymphomaniac, in the ordinary sense of 
the word. I want you to be completely assured of this and I'll tell you what 
we are going to do." 

"Like what?" Roberta asked nervously. 

"Have you ever been hypnotized, Roberta?" 

She shook her head. "Uh-uh." 

"It makes no difference. I'm almost sure you'll be a good subject. And 
please be assured, medical hypnosis is nothing like the parlor-trick stuff 
you see on TV and in nightclubs or the movies. It has become as scientific 
as other aspects of medical treatment. It will not harm you in any way; you 
will not become another person, nor will it be an unpleasant experience." 

"But what will it do for me?" 

Dr. Kleaver drummed his fingers on the desk, swung around on his swivel 
chair. "I've become almost certain-and it's especially indicated in your 
tests-that you must have suffered some kind of traumatic experience when you 
were thirteen years old." 

Roberta shook her head. "I don't remember anything about it." 

"That's just the point. The experience was so unpleasant, so shocking, that 
you can't face it. Consequently, it has become buried deep in your 
subconscious. We must bring it out, let you face it, see it as it really was 
and that, in all actuality, it has no bearing on your present life. You say 
you remember nothing about your thirteenth year. Nothing at all?" 

It came to Roberta then. She wondered why it hadn't the other day. "Why, 
yes," she said. "I remember that was the year my father died." With that, 
she again burst out sobbing. 

When she fought for control once more, Dr. Kleaver said: "I've made 
arrangements with a colleague of mine, who specializes in hypnosis. He's one 
of the best in the country. If you're ready, we'll go to his office now. 
It's right here in the building. I'll be right there with you, too, taking 
notes. Are you willing?" 

Roberta didn't have much time to think about it. But she was so desperate 
for help she had to agree. She finally said yes a little dubiously. Dr. 
Kleaver then got a folder from his desk drawer, stuck a pen in his pocket 
and escorted her to the door. They rode on the elevator to the top floor of 
the building, entered a door on which was lettered: F.M. RICHMAN, M.D. 

Roberta was trembling as she was led into the office. Dr. Kleaver said good 
morning to the receptionist, went right past her and into the inner office. 
It was furnished in simple good taste, similar to Dr. Weaver's office, with 
the exception of a long leather couch at one side of the office. Dr. Richman 
was a tall, slender man with bushy white hair and a kind of sad, lined face. 
Roberta liked him and his gentle smile and soft way of speaking and took 
confidence in him right away. 

First he explained to her what was going to happen. He said: "We don't swing 
a bright object in front of your eyes, Miss Colby, or any of that nonsense. 
There's a simple verbal procedure by which I gain the rapport and the 
confidence of the subject. The first stages are merely a matter of achieving 
your complete relaxation. As we proceed to the deeper stages, I will attempt 
to regress you to earlier ages, gradually until we get you back to your 
thirteenth year. At that point, we hope that you will relive for the moment 
and tell us about various experiences you had during that period." 

He gave her some simple instructions and led her to the leather couch where 
he instructed her to lie down and assume as comfortable a position as 
possible. She obeyed and was then subjected to the first stage of hypnosis 
which she found to be just as Dr. Richman had stated and quite pleasant. But 
soon she advanced into a deeper stage and lost awareness of all things 
except the sound of Dr. Richman's voice and her own thoughts. She felt 
bodiless, a person apart from herself. Soon she found herself reliving and 
telling about a weekend at an amusement park when she was twenty years old 
with a group of college girls. It was actually as though she was right back 
there at that age, enjoying every moment of the experience, which came to 
her in clearest, minutest detail. She regressed then back to age 
eighteen-then to fifteen. And then she was back in her thirteenth year.... 

She and her mother and father had been spending their vacation at a farm 
they owned in Connecticut. Her parents were quite wealthy at the time. 
Roberta had always been a big girl for her age. At twelve, she'd started to 
develop. At thirteen she was in the full bloom of young womanhood, at least 
physically. In spite of this-or possibly even because of it-she was rather a 
shy girl who found boys attractive but a little frightening. She had had 
several experiences when boys had tried to feel her ripe breasts, dip their 
hands down inside her blouse-and even run their hands up under her dress. 

Her mother had previously warned her that this might happen and told her 
that she mustn't let it and advised her how to handle such a situation. 
Roberta followed through and found that it was remarkably simple to dissuade 
these ardent young swains. Yet at the same time, she found herself tempted 
not to, some time, just to see what it was all about. She found that when 
they made such overtures, they had a strangely exciting effect upon her. 
Later, when she'd think about it, the tender tips of her breasts would rise 
and acquire a gentle, pleasant ache and her thighs would tingle and strange 
sensations would invade her young loins. 

The early weeks at the farm were quite pleasant. There was a handyman named 
Wade Hamlin who was very kind to her, often let her accompany him on his 
farm chores. He was not a formally educated man but was well read and an 
interesting talker. He was about forty but somehow Roberta never thought of 
him as being old. He was slender, well built and there was only a light 
sprinkling of gray at the temples of his crisp black hair. In a few weeks 
she became quite fond of him; in fact, actually had what amounted to a 
schoolgirl crush and sexual fantasies about the handyman. 

Wade had worked on the farm for years; in fact, almost ran the place. 
Roberta's mother and father quite trusted him. The first intimation of what 
was going to happen later occurred one warm afternoon down by the pigpen. 
Roberta was a little disturbed about it at the time, but later dismissed the 
incident, forgot all about it. She was wearing a middy blouse that day 
because it was so hot and she hadn't bothered to put on a bra. At first she 
wasn't at all self-conscious of her unusually large, ripe young breasts 
swinging and jouncing unfettered beneath the cloth of the blouse; nor of the 
way her big nipples were limned by the cloth. But then she noticed that Wade 
was stealing covert glances at them every chance he could and there was an 
expression in his eyes she'd never seen before. It didn't exactly frighten 
her but it disturbed her. Soon she noticed that Wade was taking every 
opportunity to get her to bend over in front of him. Since she had broken 
off the top button on the blouse, when she bent forward it billowed out 
considerably. 

One time she caught Wade looking down into the front of her blouse and when 
she glanced down herself, to her alarm and confusion, she saw that both 
great billowing white mounds including the strawberry-like nipple decorating 
the center of each were clearly visible to him. She straightened quickly, 
blushing severely. She was careful then not to bend over in front of Wade 
and she swore to herself that she would never go without a bra again. 

When they were out of sight of the house Wade said, with mock alarm which 
she didn't recognize right away: "Hey, Roberta, a flying ant just crawled 
down inside your blouse!" 

She was deathly afraid of flying ants, having been bitten by one that summer 
once before when she was with Wade. In instant terror, she yanked the top of 
her blouse open and looked down in it. "Where? Where?" she cried. "I don't 
see it. Are you sure?" 

"Yes. I saw it," he said quickly. "Better let me get him out of there before 
he bites you." By now she was so terrified she couldn't think of anything 
else. Innocently, in her terrible fright, she held the blouse top open now 
while Wade looked down inside it and then suddenly said: "I see it! I see 
it! Let me get it out for you." 

She didn't even think anything about it at the moment. The next instant she 
was aware of Wade's big rough hand down inside her blouse, rubbing against 
her breasts, delving deep into the steep-sided valley between them. She 
heard him say excitedly: "Just a minute now, I've got him almost. Ah, there 
he is! Now you needn't fear anymore, honey. I just squished him between my 
fingers. I surely wouldn't want him to hurt these pretty things for 
anything!" 

Then Roberta became aware of Wade's hand cupping and lifting and eagerly 
feeling the large, firm swell of her virginal breast, holding it like a 
dove, while his thumb delicately rubbed the prominent nipple which 
immediately stiffened to twice its normal size. For a moment, Roberta was so 
surprised she didn't know what to say, what to do. At the same time, exotic 
sensations that she'd never experienced before suffused her whole body. She 
wanted him to continue holding her breast, fondling it-yet she knew she 
couldn't let him. 

"No, Wade, don't!" she cried then, "Please, don't" And she grabbed his wrist 
violently and forced his hand to withdraw from inside her blouse. 

Tears of anger and hurt welled into her eyes. Quickly, Wade said: "Oh, I'm 
sorry, honey. I-I didn't mean to do that. I won't ever do it again, I swear. 
I just got carried away, I guess, because your breasts are so beautiful, so 
soft and warm and full-they're the most beautiful I've ever seen, even nicer 
than any movie star's." 

In spite of herself, Roberta felt a little thrilled by the compliment, so 
that when Wade said: "Don't cry, honey, please! It's all right now. I won't 
do anything more," and he took her into his arms, held her face against his 
chest and dried her tears, she let him-until she became aware of a pressure 
from his body that was completely unfamiliar. Then she pulled away and 
glanced down. Shocked and quite frightened by what she saw, she ran from him 
and hid behind the smokehouse. He followed her and stood some distance away 
and pleaded so eloquently for forgiveness and promised so fervently that he 
would never touch her again, that she believed him. 

The next few days there were no more incidents and Roberta almost forgot 
about it. She couldn't quite forget, though. Sometimes at night in bed she 
would remember the feel of his hand caressing her breast and the feel of him 
against her' and she would wonder at the fact that a grown man, and such an 
attractive one, was interested in her that way. Maybe it meant that she 
Wasn't a girl anymore, had become a woman. This thrilled her, in spite of 
some of the unpleasant aspects of the incident. 

Reliving it in her mind, she would find herself becoming strangely excited 
and she would catch herself wondering what would have happened if she hadn't 
stopped him and supposing then he'd put his big, rough hand up under her 
skirt and she hadn't stopped him and sensation coursed along her firm young 
thighs just as though his hand was there. Then supposing he kept on and 
pretty soon his hand touched her there-oh, golly, what would she do then, 
what would that have been like? 

She experienced a sensation as though it was actually happening and found 
her own hand moving to experiment and then wild and terrible things happened 
to her quickly. Later, she would lie looking into the dark of her room and 
tell herself how awful she had been, that it was bad, she must never do that 
again----But, of course, a few days later she did, and the experiment soon 
became separated from anything that had to do with Wade Hamlin and became an 
experience solely of its own volition and pleasure. 

A week went by and consciously at least, she had all but forgotten about 
Wade's stunt about the flying ant. They were now back on their strictly 
buddy-type relationship and Roberta was again enjoying his company and the 
farm chores into which he initiated her. 

Then, one day, he asked her how she'd like to explore the old farmhouse 
nearby that was supposed to be haunted. It was an abandoned farm building on 
neighboring acreage and Roberta was of course thrilled by the prospect. They 
reached it in about a fifteen-minute walk on a short cut through some woods. 
Together they explored the old, abandoned building and Roberta was a little 
disappointed although she didn't really know what she had expected. 

From time to time, she noticed Wade looking at his wristwatch and wondered 
why he was worrying about the time. It was his day off from farm chores. 
Finally, rather abruptly, he said: "Well, so much for this haunted house. 
Now let's go take a look at the barn. Maybe we'll find a skeleton or 
something in there." 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

They didn't, of course. The barn was merely a hot, musty place with some 
old, rusted farm implements and broken harness straps and part of an old 
surrey in it. But Roberta found it interesting. Then they climbed up into 
the haymow. They had scarcely gotten up there when there was the sound of a 
car coming up the driveway. It drove around the back of the barn and parked. 

Roberta said: "For goodness sakes, I wonder who that is?" 

Wade looked at her and grinned and his eyes were hot and bright-looking, his 
face a little flushed. She could see a pulse beating at his temple. He put 
his finger to his lips. "Shhhh!" he warned. "I forgot to tell you. About 
this time every day, a fella and girl from the village come here." 

"What on earth for?" Roberta wondered. 

"Oh, just to smooch a little, hug and kiss, some. 

Look!" Suddenly he lay down on the rough boards of the hayloft and put his 
eyes to a crack between the boards. "If you lie down like this, you can see 
down below-see everything that goes on. Let's spy on them. They won't know 
we're up here. It'll be fun." 

"But suppose they catch us?" Roberta said. 

"They won't if we're really quiet. Get down here. Hurry up. They're coming 
in. Don't make a sound now." 

Curious and a little excited about this strange game, Roberta got down on 
the floor next to Wade and put her eyes to a crack. She saw that it was 
true. You could see quite clearly into the barn below. She saw a boy about 
seventeen and a girl about fourteen come furtively into the structure 
holding hands and looking all around. 

"You're sure it's all right, Jerome?" the girl said. "Suppose someone comes? 
I get scared every time I come here. If we should ever get caught...." 

"Oh, don't be such a scare-cat, Sally," the boy said. "Who'd come here? 
We're as alone as if we were on a desert island." He went over then and 
removed a long, leather-covered seat from the abandoned surrey. He set it 
down on the floor, sat down on it, and pulled the girl down next to him. 

Immediately, they began hugging and kissing and whispering endearments to 
each other and Roberta, watching, could hardly keep from giggling. Wade was 
right, she thought, this was fun. They looked and sounded so silly to her. 
But then Roberta saw the boy, Jerome, unbutton the front of Sally's dress 
and slide his hand in there. Roberta knew, of course, what Jerome was 
doing-the same thing Wade had done to her that day. 

She kept waiting for the girl Sally to get angry, make Jerome take his hand 
away from her breasts. But she didn't. In fact she placed her hand over his, 
held it there, seemed to enjoy the forbidden caressing. Roberta saw Jerome's 
other hand go up under Sally's dress-all the way up. It stayed there. 
Sally's dress was now pushed halfway up her thighs and Jerome's hand was up 
under it even farther and Roberta knew that it was up there, all the way! 
She watched Sally's thighs open and close spasmodically. Their lips broke 
apart from a kiss and Sally hugged Jerome's neck and crooned: "Oh, Jer, 
honey, you know just how to drive me crazy. Oh, honey, I can hardly stand 
it! Oh, don't stop, don't ever stop!" 

Jerome didn't. With his other hand, he opened the top of Sally's dress all 
the way to her waist, pulled it apart and off her shoulders so that she was 
bare to the waist. She lay back on the seat and Jerome's free hand moved to 
first one apple-hard-and-round breast, to the other, feeling, squeezing, 
teasing the aroused tips. 

Watching all this, Roberta found herself breathing hard and was almost 
consumed by the same urges and desires she sometimes brought upon herself in 
bed. She also felt shame at spying on a scene such as this. At the same 
time, she had a terrible undeniable curiosity to see the rest of it; she 
somehow knew there would be more. She wanted to get up and run away from 
this terrible yet wonderful thing, or at least roll over and not be a party 
to watching it anymore. But she couldn't do that; it was as though she was 
frozen, hypnotized by the scene below. 

Below her, Jerome had paused in his caressing to completely remove Sally's 
dress and her thin cotton underpants. Next, he himself undressed and it was 
all Roberta could do to suppress a gasp of surprise, shock, and admiration 
comingled when she saw him. 

Roberta was so wrapped up in the happenings below her that for several 
moments she wasn't aware even of Wade's hand under her skirt on the smooth 
plump backs of her thighs. When she finally was aware, it was in a not 
unpleasant way at all. His hand felt good there. Yet she knew she couldn't 
allow him to do that. Impatiently, she reached back and forced his hand 
away. 

A few moments later it was back again, but Roberta was so interested in what 
was going on below now that she couldn't be bothered with such a minor 
detail. What was happening below now, she had heard about, had talked about 
with other girls her own age, but it was something which she really had 
never been able to comprehend; she had never been quite sure it wasn't just 
talk or something. 

But it certainly wasn't, she saw now. Sally and Jerome were both on their 
sides facing each other and Roberta could plainly see what they were doing. 
The amazing part to her was, that she could tell, by the things Sally was 
saying and by what was happening to her, the way she was helping Jerome, 
that she wanted it to happen. Roberta had always assumed that it probably 
really wasn't very pleasant for a woman or a girl-how could it be-and that 
the man would probably have to force the issue. She saw now, of course, that 
wasn't so at all. It was Sally who was forcing the issue, so to speak. She 
heard Sally let out a great cry of what was unmistakably animal pleasure. 
Then they moved close together and the rolling and heaving and surging 
began. 

By then Wade's hand had progressed in its subtle approach up the back of 
Roberta's thighs, under her skirt, until it had achieved, unnoticed by her 
in her excitement at what she was viewing below, to its predestined goal. As 
she became aware of what he was doing, she also became aware that her own 
breathing was labored and that wild pleasures were flashing through her, 
centered in her most intimate parts. It seemed almost as though there was 
some correlation between what was happening below and what was happening to 
her. It was at that moment almost as though she was Sally and Sally was she 
and the two activities had blended into one. 

After a while, the two below rolled apart and lay limply, getting their 
breath back. By now, though, Roberta was aware that Wade was parting her 
legs as wide as they would go, kneeling behind her, staring at her wet pussy 
and her back hole, and then ... and then ... pressing his face against her 
buttocks, flicking his tongue against its tender center and beginning to 
lick ... licking and wetting the crotch of her panties, chewing at them 
madly. 

Roberta stiffened and turned around. Her panties tore between his teeth. 
"You shouldn't kiss me there, Wade." 

"You liked it though, didn't you?" His mouth was back, nudging the panties 
aside a bit, kissing her ass cheeks with tiny pecks. 

Roberta threw her head back in agony as his fingers crept under her, 
touching at her pussy, holding there. She rolled back and forth. She bunched 
up her blouse under her face and bit it hard. "Don't do that!" she said. 

Removing his finger from its cunny nudging, Wade looked at her young 
writhing body again. His face came close to her cunt and this time he blew 
gently against it, through the thin material. His head was sliding back and 
forth between her legs, while his hand worked freely up and down in the 
crack of her ass. Lower, she could feel his hard cock sliding up and down on 
her ankle. As the warmth swept over her body, she had the strangest desire 
to hold that thick cock, do wild things with it, suck it, stick it inside of 
her, sit her ass on it. By now, Roberta was experiencing such new exquisite 
sensations she could no longer fight them. She just gave in, accepted. She 
put her mouth over her wrist, bit it to prevent herself from crying out the 
way Sally had done. 

Soon the girl and the boy below swiftly dressed and almost sheepishly left 
the barn. Roberta heard the sound of their car driving away. She wanted to 
move, knew that she should, but then that would stop the delicious feelings 
coursing all through her. She managed to convince herself that she could 
hardly stop Wade if she wanted to; he might get angry and hurt her. Then, 
too, he would probably get tired in a minute, anyhow, and stop of his own 
accord. 

But that didn't happen. What happened was that soon Roberta felt renewed 
fumbling beneath her skirt, felt her panties being withdrawn and when she 
tried to protest, Wade's hand pushed down in the middle of her back, 
rendering her practically helpless. Then she felt his weight over her and 
something else happened then. She knew what it was but couldn't let herself 
think about it; she could only endure. She screamed for him to stop but of 
course there was nobody to hear her. 

The year before, while riding horseback, Roberta had lost any physical 
attributes of virginity, so there wasn't considerable pain and what little 
there was, was outweighed by other compensations and Roberta found herself 
wiggling her hips downward, sliding further down on his cock. Then the tip 
of his prick was pulsing hotly against her cunny. Wade's big hands gripped 
at her hips. He pushed and suddenly she could feel her body give, her belly 
accept. He entered slowly and she groaned. He dropped forward until he was 
all the way into the tight grasp of her pussy. As he settled on her back, he 
looked at her turned head. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was all 
twisted, half smiling, half screaming. 

Now she parted her own legs wide under him and drove her hips against him. 
She pressed her buttocks hard against his stomach and started to roll her 
ass back and forth. Then she moaned and parted her legs more. She drove 
herself back against him and held his legs with her hands. "It feels so 
good, so good, Wade!" 

He plunged harder and harder and Roberta felt the rumbling new fever 
shafting deep inside as he again and again sank into the warm caress and 
grip of that brand-new, unused satiny entrapment. Her taut and clamping body 
poised and strained to receive the gentle-hard ease of what he offered to 
her insides. The long hot tusk found its deepest yielding niche, basking in 
the warm fluid rushing there, readying as if to explode within her, to blow 
her apart with newfound contentment. She clutched and pressed the inside of 
her legs against his haunches, not only yielding but enjoying. The weight 
upon he and the rhythmic motion seemed to become the most natural thing in 
the world. She could hear the sound of her own pleasurable moaning. 

After a few moments, Wade moved and quickly turned her over. He just as 
quickly assumed his same position. Only now he leaned up over her on one 
hand and while the other unbuttoned her blouse and loosened her bra, he 
smiled. Then that hand was on her breasts, squeezing, mounding, while the 
rhythmic movements went on unabated. Finally, his lips replaced his hand and 
the rhythms speeded up. Roberta had never known anything like it and thought 
that if it didn't end soon, she would surely die because how could anyone 
long endure such acute pleasure? 

When it was over, she cried and would not let Wade comfort her. She told him 
that she never wanted to see him again. But he talked, to her softly, 
gently, and persuasively, reminding her that the girl, Sally, hadn't minded, 
hadn't thought anything about it and that lots of girls did and what was the 
difference as long as nobody knew? He lectured her on what would happen if 
she told anybody. He swore that he would say she led him on and that she was 
a bad girl and he'd seen a boy from the village doing it to her too. He 
frightened her half to death but he got his message across. When he was 
finished, Roberta wouldn't have told anybody for the world. 

She was surprised when she got back home to her room to look in the mirror 
and see that she wasn't changed in any way, that nothing showed; she was 
apparently no different than usual. 

But she could hardly look at Wade the next day, nor for several days after 
that. At night, she began to remember and dwell on what had happened in the 
barn and what she had seen with Sally and Jerome. And she wondered if it 
would really be so awful, if it really mattered, anyhow, if she let it 
happen once more. 

It did, the next day, after they again watched Sally and Jerome. This time 
Wade told her that she was just naturally a very healthy, extremely 
passionate young lady and since she was going to do it anyhow, the best 
thing was to completely let herself go, not to be embarrassed nor have any 
inhibitions. This time she did that. 

For the rest of the summer Roberta received, between watching Sally and 
Jerome and being tutored by Wade, a thorough education in all the subtle and 
various ways of physical love. Secretly, she enjoyed every moment of it, 
despite the in-between times when she was often consumed with guilt feelings 
and fears of being caught. But the prematurely aroused natural urges in her 
were stronger. 

Then the terrible thing happened. One day Roberta's father, suspicious for 
some time now, followed them and caught them. There was a big fight in the 
barn between her father and Wade. Her father finally lost, got knocked out 
by Wade, who ran from the place and none of them ever saw him again. But 
seeing her father lying there so still, his face all bloodied, Roberta was 
sure that he was dead and it was all her fault. She screamed and became 
hysterical and finally fainted. 

When she came to, her father was kneeling beside her, tears in his eyes, 
telling her that it was going to be all right, everything was going to be 
all right. Later he and her mother had a long talk with Roberta, explaining 
to her all about seduction and that there was nothing intrinsically wrong in 
the actual act of what she had done, but that she was indulging in it 
prematurely. They explained, in long detail which she understood, why this 
was bad and wrong and why it must never happen again. 

Roberta was grateful to them for being so understanding and helpful, yet she 
couldn't control the terrible guilt feelings that now engulfed her. The 
following week, she learned that her father's business had suddenly failed. 
From being a practically wealthy man, he was now reduced to being almost 
penniless. They had to sell the farm and their big house in Hartford, the 
car, and most of their possessions to pay debts. 

In Roberta's juvenile mind, she twisted this around to believe that it was 
her fault it had happened. It was God's way of punishing her. Then a week 
after that, Roberta's father shot himself. Roberta again became convinced 
that this too, was a direct result of her own sinful acts. She was so 
shocked by her father's sudden death that she went into cataleptic shock and 
had to be taken to a hospital for treatment. For a while her mother had 
thought she was going to die. When she pulled out of it, though, she no 
longer could even remember Wade Hamlin or the events that had happened 
between them that summer. 

All the foregoing came to light from Roberta's own lips while she was in 
deep hypnosis. When it was all over, Dr. Richman administered post-hypnotic 
suggestions as to the fact that when she awoke, she would again remember all 
that she had just told them and be able to calmly and intelligently accept 
his prognosis, his explanation of how she should feel about the situation 
now, and adjust per his instructions. 

When she was gradually brought out of hypnosis, she was able to do that. Dr. 
Kleaver explained to her the connection between her guilt feelings about 
this juvenile experience and her later denial of any of her natural sexual 
needs as an adult woman. He also explained how the association of visual 
stimuli such as that which had first made her amiable to seduction, was so 
strongly ingrained that when she again was subjected to it, her 
long-suppressed natural instincts burst their neurotic bonds and came 
violently into play in an uncontrollable manner. 

He explained to her that from now on when she met some man she really cared 
for, that she would probably at first still have to fight against some 
residue of revulsion but that if she and the man both were patient, she 
would be able to overcome it and still enjoy a natural relationship. 

As to her being abnormally stimulated by visual eroticism, either in person 
or in printed or photographic phenomena, he didn't think she would any 
longer be so violently affected now that she was completely aware of the 
source of this neurosis. At least not any more so than the average woman 
would be. It would not be uncontrollable. 

When she left Dr. Kleaver's office, Roberta Colby felt better, more 
relieved, more at peace with herself and the world than she'd ever felt 
before in her whole life. During the next few days, she began to take up 
painting in oils, something she'd always wanted to do before. She spent 
long, lazy hours on the long, broad, white-sanded Clearwater beach. She 
knew, as Dr. Kleaver had told her, that she would still have to continue 
psychiatric therapy, that she had other behavior problems which she had told 
him about, which required treatment and to prevent any recurrence, for any 
reason, of the big, basic problem. But the prospect of this did not bother 
her. In fact, she kind of looked forward to it. 

Then one evening she came back to her hotel room from the beach and found 
Tony Marsh there. They embraced and she clung to him for a long time, 
sobbing, partly from joy at seeing him, partly from embarrassment. He told 
her that he had bribed one of her lawyers' secretaries to find out where she 
was. Made her promise not to make trouble for the girl, though. 

Roberta said she wouldn't. Blushing, she listened to Tony tell her that he 
knew about her trouble; about Earl Lord telling him about her. He quickly 
told her that it didn't matter to him, that it didn't really mean anything, 
except that he wanted now to be able to help her. 

She told him about her session under hypnosis, briefly out-lined and 
elaborated the cause of her trouble, and how she had been cured. 

Tony fully accepted this and seemed relieved and overjoyed. They had dinner 
together that night at a waterfront restaurant and later strolled on the 
soft sand of the beach in the moonlight. They walked with their arms around 
each other and Tony never attempted to even kiss her. Roberta was grateful 
that he didn't. She didn't know yet whether she was quite ready to take a 
chance with the man she now knew she loved, of hurting him, humiliating him, 
if she wasn't quite ready for the natural fulfillment of their love. 

For three days they spent most of their waking hours together in the bland 
manner of school time sweethearts. Then, one night at dinner, Tony began 
insisting that they be married right away; he couldn't wait any longer. 
Roberta, with all of her being, wanted to tell him yes, that she knew now 
that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. But she 
had to wait. She asked him to wait just a little longer for her answer. She 
knew, then, she had to find out without further delay. 

After dinner they went to see a jazz band playing at a joint on the beach 
and had several drinks. Back at the hotel, Roberta asked him into her room. 
They had another drink there. After their glasses were empty, Roberta 
suddenly went over and put out the lights. 

"Hey!" Tony cried surprised. "What's this all about?" 

She came and stood very close to him. She was trembling. Impulsively, she 
said: "Tony! Make love to me, darling. All the way. I want to be sure that 
I'm really ready to be your wife." 

He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He took her gently into his arms and 
began kissing her, caressing the round flesh of her upper arms and her 
shoulders. His fingertips raised little fire trails along her arms and in 
the hollow of her throat and the nape of her neck and on her earlobes. All 
the while he kept kissing gently, soothingly, with only slightly increasing 
ardor. 

Then his hands began tenderly to undress her. He helped her get fully 
unclothed without even touching her intimately, and now Roberta was 
beginning to wonder what was the matter with him; she began to ache with the 
need to feel his hands on her. When she was completely naked, he led her by 
the hand, toward the bed. She lay upon it while she listened to the rustling 
sounds of him undressing in the darkness. 

Soon he was beside her on the bed and again his hand cupped her chin and his 
lips touched hers and again it was not a particularly passionate kiss, but 
somehow, it stirred Roberta all the more. The next thing she knew suddenly, 
unexpectedly, she felt the fiery touch of his tongue just lightly brushing 
one of her distended nipples. The sensation was delightful. She cried out: 
"Oh, Tony! Oh, my darling!" 

He transferred his attention to her other breast, still in a light teasing 
way. The fairy lightness of the caress almost drove her frantic. There was 
no savage lust motivating them but only the tender, patient passion of true 
love. While his lips and tongue caressed her throbbing breasts, she held his 
head, stroking it, digging her nails lightly into the short hairs on the 
nape of his neck. 

Now his hands were ministering to the soft, smooth flesh of her thighs in 
the same manner that his lips were paying homage to her breasts. They would 
move close, closer, while Roberta breathlessly waited, but then never quite 
touched her. When he finally raised his mouth to hers, Roberta could no 
longer wait. She grasped his head and held it and her own mouth suddenly 
drove deep against his and her tongue forced its way between his teeth, 
found his and engaged it in a torrid duel. With that, Tony's hands began to 
run over her pulsing, twisting body, more demandingly. 

Roberta soon found her own hands seeking him out, exploring, finding, 
adoring. They extended their torrid love play almost past the point of 
endurance and finally, when she begged him, Tony placed them both in a 
comfortable position, catering more to her comfort than his own, which was 
rather awkward. 

Then he brought about their union in the most natural, inevitable manner, 
and they were joined and giving to as well as taking from each other, in 
ever-increasing mutual ecstasy, with Tony's expert hands and lips constantly 
caressing, adding to her enjoyment as they moved. It was better for both of 
them than it had ever been with anybody before. 

They surrendered to their needs and soared together into the rainbow-hued 
clouds of utter and final fulfillment; nobody else in the world. 

The pleasant aftermath, with Tony lighting cigarettes for them both, getting 
them drinks to sip in the darkness, made up the next most pleasant moments 
Roberta had ever enjoyed in her life. When they were finished with the 
cigarettes and drinks, they talked for a while and then they were both, 
almost as if by signal but without words, as if by mutual silent agreement, 
no longer needing to talk any more. Not with words, anyhow. They again let 
their hands and their lips speak for them in the age-old language of love. 

This time was even better. They lingered and toyed and experimented with 
each other and slowly, step by beautiful step, climbed the stairs to 
paradise. It was during this session, too, that Roberta learned that with 
Tony as her lover, her future husband, she would never have to yearn or even 
think about the kind of satisfaction that she had been led to believe only 
another woman could give her. Tony was more tender, considerate, catering 
than any woman could be. He knew everything, she learned. 

She could hardly wait for tomorrow when they would be married and she would 
then know she would have him all to herself, for ever and ever. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

Sharon McEvers arrived in New York on the eve of Thanksgiving. At Kennedy 
airport, Roberta and Tony Marsh watched each passenger file out the door of 
the 707. 

"Something tells me you've bitten off more than either you nor I can chew, 
Roberta," Tony said. 

"I have to do this, Tony, please try to understand. I wrote to Dr. Kleaver 
about the girl because it haunted me. Her mother in prison for life with no 
possibility of parole, her father dead. The girl faces three years in a 
girls' home-until she's eighteen. Just think of what she would be exposed to 
therel We can save her from that. We have so much, Tony, and we've been so 
lucky. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't share some of that luck with 
someone. And ... my God! The same thing could happen to this girl that 
happened to me, unless she's guided in the right direction. Think of all 
those years I wasted because of an experience very much the same as what 
this girl went through." 

"But being responsible for a fifteen-year-old girl, and a pretty wild one at 
that. I just don't...." 

"Sh-h-h, Tony. There she is. That must be her. She's awfully pretty, isn't 
she?" 

Sharon was dressed in a simple blouse and skirt and wore a light sweater 
that arched down over her ripe, full bosom. Roberta waved and the girl 
walked toward them. Tony leaned down to whisper in Roberta's ear, "Yeah ... 
too damn pretty! Try and figure out how we're going to keep the wolf hands 
off that in this city!" 

"I don't intend to even try," Roberta whispered back. "If I had let nature 
take its course when I looked like that, I wouldn't have ended up in 
analysis." 

Sharon was wide-eyed at the luxurious apartment on Park Avenue where the 
Marsh couple lived. "What's the catch? This is gonna be my pad? Gotta be a 
catch." 

"No catch, Sharon. We ... er ... just have reason to want to give you an 
even start on life." 

"Even start? Oh, wow, I ain't never saw such a swingin' pad!" Sharon gaped 
in awe as she wandered around the apartment, her baby-blue eyes bulging with 
astonishment at everything she saw-the lavish furniture and draperies and 
rare books, the walls adorned with original paintings, the concert piano and 
stereo and color televisions. "You must be one helluva crook, Mr. Marsh. 
Nobody gets this rich honest-like." 

Roberta laughed ... but Tony didn't. His thoughts were too busy trailing 
Sharon's every step, the tightly packed spheres of her behind looking as 
tempting to him as two ripe peaches. He coughed in embarrassment and excused 
himself from the room. 

Roberta followed Sharon into what was to be the girl's bedroom. Sharon moved 
swiftly across the room to the windows and gazed out at the breathtaking 
view, dazzled by the display of towers and ant-like people far below. 
"Jeez-it's so beautiful I could cry." 

Roberta laughed at the guileless excitement on the young girl's face. "I'll 
leave you now to freshen up and rest awhile, Sharon. And ... you will note a 
telephone number by the phone. You may just want to call that number later." 

"What for? I don't know nobody in New York." 

"I think you do, Sharon. An old and dear friend." 

"I ain't got no old and dear friends. You some kinda nut?" 

Roberta laughed again. "I almost turned out that way. And it's just what I'm 
hoping to prevent you from being." 

"What the hell you mean by that crack? Whose phone number is this, anyway?" 

"His name is Ritchie." 

"Ritchie!" 

"I thought you'd be happy about that. I had a private detective down in 
Florida find him for you, and I paid his bus fare up here, Arrived 
yesterday. He went to work in one of Mr. Marsh's stores this morning. I ... 
I just didn't want you to be lonely in this big city, Sharon. I know what 
loneliness can be." 

"You? Lonely? Living in a joint like this?" 

"I'm not lonely anymore, Sharon. But for years ... oh, well, that's another 
story. Anyway, feel free to invite Ritchie up for Thanksgiving day dinner 
tomorrow. I think you can handle it from there, right?" 

"You bet your sweet ass I can! Ritchie! Man, how I've missed that dude!" 

"I know, Sharon. I know," Roberta smiled, and backed out of the room, 
winking an eye. 

It was after turkey the next day that Roberta said: "Well, kids, you don't 
want us two old bags around. I imagine you two have a lot of things to talk 
over. Why don't you take Ritchie to your room, Sharon, and play some 
records? I put some brand-new ones on top of your stereo by the bed." 

"Yeah," Sharon said, finishing the last of her plum pudding. "Imagine that, 
Ritchie? I got my own stereo in my room. Left it on all night, even after I 
fell asleep. The room's soundproof, too, so's I can play it any time I want. 
C'mon, I'll show ya' what I learned since we last balled." 

After the young couple disappeared into Sharon's bedroom, Roberta turned to 
Tony. "Well? Shall we retire to our room, love?" 

"You know what you're doing, don't you, Roberta? Keep this game up and 
you'll have that girl pregnant in no time. And who's gonna marry her? That 
horn little bastard? Then what am I supposed to do, make him vice president 
of my stores, so he can support her?" 

"Mr. Tony Marsh, do you think I'm stupid? I introduced Sharon to the use of 
the Pill. She will be perfectly safe. And equally safe from any fears of 
sex. What I think will go on in that bedroom tonight is the most natural 
thing in the world. If my parents had realized that, I wouldn't have lost 
twelve years of my life." 

"I got a hunch that little bundle of torment is never going to lose a minute 
of her life!" 

"I hope not," Roberta said sadly. 

Undressed and sitting on the side of their bed that evening, Roberta and 
Tony kept their eyes glued to the see-through mirror that Roberta had had 
installed just the week before. 

"I'm not too sure your motives are all charitable, Roberta," Tony said 
worriedly. 

"Don't worry, dear. Allow me my fun. I'm in no danger anymore. I have you 
right beside me when I can't stand to watch anymore. And I can't think of 
anyone I'd rather have near at a moment like that." 

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least!" 

Through the see-through mirror, they watched Sharon stroke the top of 
Ritchie's head, then move his face to her own. The kiss was open-mouthed, 
warm and long. 

Sharon jumped on the bed like a cat, with her pouty naked breasts bouncing. 
Ritchie crawled up her thighs and greedily bent and began ravaging her 
pussy. Sharon bent her knees and raised her legs high to crook them around 
him. His hands massaged her breasts and shoulder and belly as he attended 
her pussy with love bites and sucking. 

She winced with delighted pain as he bit her. He took her clitty in his 
teeth and delicately bit and licked it. His tongue greedily licked the love 
juice from her thighs as it flowed more heavily. Then his face was buried 
between those thighs again, and his tongue was thrust deeply into her slit. 

Her legs went wild, up in the air. He forced them down with his hands and 
his nibbling teeth bit into her buttocks, like an animal after a flea. 
Sweet, long convulsions were sweeping Sharon. Ritchie squirmed cat-like into 
her crevices and hollows and silken flesh. Cock to pussy now, he rubbed 
against her. Sharon was breathing harshly at his throat, and her mouth bit 
into the tender flesh of his shoulder. 

Ritchie whirled around and lay with his thighs at her face. Sharon took his 
buttocks hungrily into her hands and ran her open mouth down over the 
swollen-purple head of his prick, lapping up the acrid sweetness in her 
young mouth. 

Ritchie's hands were between them, stroking over the tight nipples of the 
girl's tits, then under her buttocks, hole searching. There was hardly a 
lost motion as he straddled her upside down and brought her sweet pussy 
again up to his mouth. Never for an instant did Sharon's talented tongue 
stop licking at the cock, remembering in the fiery moment the little 
underneath cord that her mother had taught her to concentrate on. 

Meanwhile, Ritchie's closed teeth grasped her clitty and pulled, gently at 
first but then harder and harder as his cock swelled inside her mouth. Her 
fingers played into his ass and her tongue followed, licking and probing and 
playing there. Unharnessed from all sanity, her sweet young body had a wild 
turbulence of desire pouring out from every inch of hot flesh. 

Ritchie looked down between their bodies to see her hot mouth claim the 
towering head of his cock again and again. The tight, elastic cartilage 
rings of her esophagus now fitted snugly in a firm squeeze about the pulsing 
captive. She began to move back and forth along the length of the painfully 
rigid meat, slowly raising her head to allow the hefty staff to swoop and 
glide back in, disappearing in the warmth and flesh of her lips, tongue and 
throat, her mouth full and growling against it, fingers tapping, tickling 
the undersides of him, then running along the bulge each time it exited. She 
was moaning and shooting her little bottom upwards in fresh hunger for his 
chewing at her. And then.... 

For the GIANT moment of coming, Sharon entertained the whole of the shooting 
organ in her gullet, her lips squirming in the mat of hair at the very base 
of Ritchie's cock. With thick runnings of white come dripping from the 
corners of her blood-drained lips, her mouth moved gently to capture the 
pulsing of his balls, unwilling to sever the coupling. Finally, they 
reversed on the bed and fucked endlessly, like two mad animals. 

Roberta tore her eyes from the see-through mirror, curled her white fingers 
around Tony's upright cock, and screamed: "Oh God! Take me! Take me, Tony!" 

Tony, of course, obliged. 


THE END
