Dominique Carter placed the highball in the hand of the buxom blonde thirteen year old and stepped back, her deep green eyes smiling felinely.
“Go on, dear, there’s no harm in it,” she coaxed. “It’s just a little highball.”
But Ellen Winthrop, whose father had died nine months previous after an acute bout with alcoholism, shook her pretty head firmly. Her satiny soft long blonde hair flew attractively around her perfectly oval youthful face. The long dark lashes over her sparkling, innocent blue eyes fluttered as she refused, saying, “Oh, but I couldn’t, Mrs. Carter. My mother wouldn’t permit it.”
Dominique smiled indulgently and took the glass from her again. She shook out her long red hair and said sweetly, “Well, that’s right, dear. You should always do what your mother tells you.” Damnit, a small voice whispered inside her head.
Not that this terrible primness didn’t make their lovely young neighbor all the more intoxicating company. At times Dominique suspected that it was this very naivete that was driving herself and her husband Maxwell so wild with anticipation. Ellen was so unremittingly good that Maxwell was really going out of his mind for her, and Handsome, their big German shepherd was as well. Handsome sniffed around the sweet over-developed teenager to an extent which even made Dominique not a little jealous. But if the anticipation was excruciating, so also was their fierce desire to get some good movies of Ellen misbehaving. She was the most gorgeous little piece of femininity and perfection they had run into in a long time, and any film footage they could get of her would sell like hotcakes, literally. Men always liked performers who were busty with long blonde hair, for some reason, and in addition there was the incentive of Ellen’s healthy nubile youth, which was considerable.
At only thirteen she was rounded and developed with curves that any eighteen year old would have been proud of. Her large, gravity-defying breasts — which she appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable about — were positively mouth-watering, to hear Maxwell tell it, and she knew that Handsome wanted to lap them as well. In addition, the child had almost no waist — which then flared out into opulent hourglass hips just born for sex. And then there were those long, long legs tapering into tiny ankles and dainty feet. Ellen had been put together like a human aphrodisiac. No doubt she towered over her teacher in grammar school as well. She was probably the most striking thing her teachers had ever seen.
Dominique sighed and sipped her highball. The entire affair had become all too frustrating. They hadn’t had any of this delay and difficulty with their other conquests. It hadn’t taken too long for most of them to fall for Handsome, that rugged, demanding beast, or at the very least for her handsome husband Maxwell. And most of them had been teenagers as well, usually neighborhood girls of good background who they were eventually able to get liquored up enough so that they totally lost their heads and could be seduced readily into performing for Midwest Motion Pictures, Inc.
They, too, had had long hair of varying shades, and voluptuous physiques, which was why they had been chosen. The Carters’ customers liked especially well these pert and clean-cut, fresh-looking youngsters. Their innocent wholesomeness appeared to be more thrilling than the blatant sensuality of the average actress who was willing to do sex scenes for pay. Which was why she and Maxwell always went to the lengthy trouble of these elaborate seductions. Their customers paid more for girls of obvious gentility, virginity, purity, and refinement.
Except that Ellen now had them stymied. Five months of plying her with bon-bons, long trips in their wire-wheeled custom-made Lamborghini motorcar, flights in their private plane, pretty little gifts of bewildering variety and so-on, nothing had served in the slightest to unbend the gorgeous voluptuous blonde teenager’s legs from the way they crossed so elegantly over her golden — and no doubt virginal — pussy-slit. Dominique could sigh indeed. They already had a lengthy investment in this luscious child of nature. It was going to be difficult to write her off as a bad job. Money didn’t grow on trees.
“Are you ready out there?” came Maxwell’s deep voice from in back of their private motion picture screen, which had descended smoothly and silently from its hidden recess in the ceiling of the Carters’ living room.
“We are lover,” Dominique called back. “Fire away.”
“Here we go.”
Suddenly the sound came up at the same time as the picture, the house lights dimmed, and they were looking at the opening reel of “Straw Dogs”.
The Carters had their own motion picture facilities at home, of course, and quite elaborate ones they were. They were also a means of impressing young impressionables, for they always showed the latest Hollywood films as well, often before these were showing in legitimate movie houses. Most of them were pirated jobs, but the innocent young girls who made it a point to visit the Carters didn’t know this. They just assumed that the Carters were impossibly rich and influential, and that all the big studios sent them prints of their films as a matter of course.
Ellen sat back, her legs still sweetly crossed. Her long blonde hair had fluffed in back of the couch she was sitting on. There was no denying she was impressed by the Carters. In the five months since her widowed mother and herself had moved to Kenilworth, intent on putting out of their minds the unfortunate demise of her adored father, the Carters had gone out of their way to help them forget. They took her mother and herself on little shopping trips, and sent them presents, took them out to dinner, and so on. They were the most generous people Ellen had ever known.
Dominique Carter squeezed her slender smooth hand and Ellen blushed. In recent months Mrs. Carter had been more of a mother to her than her own mother almost, and the amount of time the Carters seemed to spend on her was really amazing. She had never known people could be so sweet and thoughtful, and without any consideration for themselves. Mr. Carter had even offered her a chance to take the controls of his private plane, although, of course, she had refused. What a great deal of money they must have to be able to afford such gestures! And the way they were always talking about their vacations in Bermuda, Rio de Janeiro, Sun Valley, Mallorca, St. Moritz, Paris, Monte Carlo, the French Riviera, Hollywood, Palm Beach, and the Far East! Apparently they had the money to be able to afford to go anywhere and do anything.
She didn’t suppose that she would ever be that rich. Her father’s insurance had left just enough to leave them comfortably well off, and when her mother had sold their house in Winnetka (her big old house, with the big playroom and nursery she had grown up in, and which she loved so well) they had bought their smaller, but more luxurious, bungalow down the street from the Carters, shaded by tall oaks and with an immense backyard perfect for sunning. It was just such a sunny day when they had first run into the Carters, who had come walking through the alley with Handsome on a leash, and then stopped to say hello and have some idle chatter.
Ellen had been impressed with them from the very first. Maxwell Carter had seemed so impossibly urbane and worldly, with his wavy black hair and the handmade pipe he was forever lighting. He dressed with rugged lavishness, expensively, so that he looked not so much the workman as the wealthy outdoors-man. He used a great deal of leather and suede in his apparel, and it was always finely cut and usually brand new. Everything he wore looked custom made just for him — from the belted Austrian hunting jackets to his Charles III buckled boots. He was mature, worldly, sophisticated. Dominique Carter was a lucky woman.
And their wealth, while obvious, was always in good taste in a similar vein. In addition to their white Cadillac convertible they also kept the classic Lamborghini, a Rolls-Royce, and a battered old Ford station wagon. While Mrs. Carter, in addition to her minks, also wore leopard and silver fox with some frequency. Her clothes were beautiful and in good taste. Everything seemed to be an original from somewhere or other, or ready-made from Saks or Marshall Field. “Oh, just some little thing Christian Dior made up for me, darling,” Dominique Carter would say casually. “He’s such a dear.”
Now as she sat on the couch in front of the movie screen, Mrs. Carter’s hand slipped casually out of hers and rested just as casually on Ellen’s full firm thigh. Ellen didn’t mind. Dominique was like a secondary mother to her, or a fairy aunt. And she was a perfectly normal girl in that her primitive, vague and immature yearnings were oriented only towards the male sex. At the tender age of thirteen, while of womanly proportions already, Ellen still knew nothing at all of lesbianism, and scarcely much more about ordinary sex.
The innocent young girl glanced across at Maxwell Carter, who was sitting sidewise across from them, on the other long black leather couch, apparently deep in thought, his usual urbane and distant self as the motion pictured droned on.
But why had they picked her upon which to lavish all this attention and praise? Dominique Carter was constantly buying her “some little thing”; her mother didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps it was all due to the fact that the Carters had no children of their own.
But that didn’t seem quite right, either. Dominique Carter was certainly young enough to have children, even though she was too svelte and sophisticated to seem exactly the motherly type. And with a gorgeous statuesque figure like hers, Ellen imagined that her husband probably found no end of excuse to do with her what it was that men did with women for the purpose of impregnating them. She certainly could not believe that the Carters were anything less than normal. Mr. Carter’s virility was a palpable flavor in the air, while Dominique had an aura of such worldly sensuality that Ellen only hoped that some day she could equal that masterful air of feminine confidence which suffused everything Dominique did. If only…
“Look at this,” Maxwell whispered across to them. Handsome stepped over to Ellen and laid his furry snout in her lap, gazing up at her with what appeared to be adoring eyes. It was not in her youthful innocence to perceive any sensuality in the handsome brute’s face. Handsome was, after all, just a dog.
“Terrific,” Maxwell muttered.
Ellen blinked and she struggled to focus. As usual, the surroundings in the Carters’ enormous den were so restful that she had quite drifted off with her pubescent daydreaming. She realized now that she had been paying scarcely any attention at all to the movie, although it appeared to be an interesting one. The mood of decor in the Carters’ library-den as usual, had tended to act as a mild soporific on her teenage sensibilities. The ancient prints on the walls, the long hanging red tapestries, the abundance of leather, wood, and fine Mediterranean tooling workmanship in everything — from mantel piece to chair arm to carpeting to bookcase — the high covered windows, everything gave one a feeling of having settled into a warmish, quiet cocoon conducive to thoughtful meditation. Then the incense that the Carters were so fond of lighting was another factor. She invariably found herself becoming slow and lazy in this room, in particular when they showed films. Her mind just seemed to drift off.
But now Mr. Carter’s verbal notations had served to waken her observation, and what she observed was more than she bargained for.
The sort of films the Carters usually showed her were Mary Poppins’ sort of things, with the occasional violent western thrown in for good measure. They had never shown her anything even the most wee bit sexy. And yet she realized now that what she was seeing in Straw Dogs had some very strong sexual overtones. In particular where the young man’s wife — the American man’s wife — appears at the window with her healthy young breasts showing, before the trio of workmen working on the garage roof of her husband’s new house.
And what Mr. Carter was now pointing out was apparently a rape scene, for the big blond man was in the American’s house while he was away, and he was slapping his pretty blonde wife and making her take her clothes off.
Ellen started as she realized what was happening to herself right here in this room. Mrs. Carter was gently stroking her skirted thigh with her thumb, and Handsome had nuzzled his nose deeply in her lap, almost brushing her panty-covered loins, but she didn’t notice any of that. What really set her mind and her loins aglow was the realization that the big young man in the film had actually put his penis into the beautiful blonde young housewife!
Ellen gasped and put her hand to her sultry red mouth. She couldn’t really believe this was happening, before her very eyes! For the pretty housewife, the nipples of her breasts showing in the most blatant way, seemed actually to be undergoing sex as the handsome man stuffed his long thick thing up inside of her belly, working it around with agonizing slowness. And a few seconds later, when the housewife obviously came, it was the most intoxicating experience Ellen had ever witnessed in her entire young life!
“She seemed to enjoy that, didn’t she?” Dominique asked silkily, her voice a soft essence wafted against Ellen’s shell-like smooth ear.
“Well — I…” stammered Ellen, unable to know what to say, at a total loss. She had never before ever actually seen anyone having sex. Her loins seemed to be full of butterflies. The man in the film had obviously made love to the beautiful blonde housewife in the film, and clearly she had enjoyed it.
“Don’t be pushy, Dom,” came Maxwell Carter’s understanding baritone from the other couch. “After all, Ellen’s only thirteen years old. She’s just a child.”
Exactly the sort of statement calculated to put any teenager on the defensive and eager to prove that she could be as sexy as any grown woman.
Ellen rose to the bait. Smarting under Mr. Carter’s patronizing tone, she instinctively sat up straighter in order to thrust out her proudly uplifted breasts. Her long blonde curls danced in back of her shoulders. “I am not such a child as all that, Mr. Carter,” she insisted through her sensuously pouting lips. “I know all about sex, you know.”
Carter could not repress a faint little smirk at their perty prey’s behavior. “From biology books in school, no doubt,” he said wryly, clinking his ice around in his highball glass as he goaded her still further. “And I thought we agreed that you would call me Maxwell, Ellen.”
“Maxwell, then,” she stammered, flustered. “Well, no, not from biology books — that is…”
“Where then, dear?” asked Dominique, pressing her hand affectionately around Ellen’s.
“Well, I — that is… the girls at school… my mother… oohhhhh…” Her voice trailed off as she focused again on the sexual action on the screen. Something had happened! A second man had appeared with a knife and had forced the first man to force the housewife to submit to something else. It appeared as if the second man was doing something behind her. But what? It was all so confused. She wasn’t sure if she could make out anything very clearly, really.
“Looks like he’s sodomizing her,” Maxwell Carter said casually.
“He’s what?” Ellen asked, mystified.
“Sodomizing her, darling,” said Dominique, pressing her hand warmly again. “That’s a form of sex — probably the most satisfying there is.”
Ellen’s eyes screwed up. How did they get to talking about sex all of a sudden? Even though the Carters spoke with easy authority, she had the subtle feeling that something was not quite right in their conversation. And as for this sodomizing business, if that was the best sex, how come she hadn’t heard anything about it? Her mother certainly hadn’t said anything about it.
But anyway that scene was quickly over and then her embarrassed confusion subsided again. Everything returned to normal. The warmish feeling in her loins gradually pulled back like a receding wave from a tropical shore.
There was in the remainder of the film some really grisly violence of fairly standard American variety, but none of it especially disturbed her. Then she looked at the lovely platinum watch the Carters had given her and exclaimed about the time. She had promised her mother that she would be home early. She said a hurried but pleasant good night to the Carters and then rushed off into the darkness of the evening.
“That little cunt has cost us a fortune,” said Maxwell when she had gone, his voice thick with disgust as he scratched Handsome’s ears.
“I’ll say,” agreed Dominique, putting out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray. Then she began undoing the belt on her robe until it opened fully, revealing the sumptuous pears of her high, widely-spaced breasts, the molten white belly beneath with its soft nest of auburn pussy hair, and the long slender columns of her legs. She lay back on the couch and spread her legs open lazily. The big German shepherd didn’t need any further cue than that. He left his master and hurried across the carpet to burrow his nose into his mistress’ warmly scented pussy. Dominique sighed and ran her fingers over the handsome dog’s sleek furry head. In another moment the well-trained show dog’s tongue had lanced out and speared into the quivering pink flesh of her cuntal lips, sending a surge of fire burning through her loins and upward into the rest of her wantonly excited body right to the very ends of her hair.
“Spent a fortune on that fucking tail,” Maxwell muttered unhappily again, his voice slurring this time. He finished a spare drink on the coffee table, then got up and went over to the bamboo-and-leopard skin bar to mix himself another.
Dominique’s eyes turned dreamy as the big German shepherd’s thick red tongue began twisting in and out of her cunt like a corkscrew. “Maybe we should use our more extreme procedure, lover,” she croaked huskily, her eyes fluttering with passion.
“We don’t dare,” said Maxwell, corking a bottle and shaking his head. “She’s only thirteen years old. Any seduction has to be of her own accord. She has to come to us with her eyes wide open. She has to seduce herself. Any other course would be strictly suicide.”
“In that case, it’s time to leave it with Handsome, lover.”
“Probably.” Maxwell Carter looked over at the powerful dog whose tongue was dredging his wife’s wetly surging vagina like a steam shovel excavating Roman finds. Handsome was always the court of last resort; and he had never failed them yet.
Still, though, this was a tricky one. A thirteen year old gorgeous blonde of total innocence. A real challenge! He couldn’t remember when before they had encountered such striking blonde wholesomeness. He wanted to see her long, satiny blonde hair cascading over a pillow to form a cushion for her pretty head as he moved upward through her widespread thighs with his warmly throbbing cock working slowly through the moist tendrils and wetly sucking lips of her young virginal cunt, fucking the shit out of the sweet little bitch; he coughed at the thought.
Ellen Winthrop had the body of a lush young Venus, and it had been all Maxwell could do to control his hands in the months they had known her. Fortunately his head had ruled his heart. Finesse always proved the most potent master in the end; and it was lasting. Rape seductions occasionally worked out, but there was always the danger that they might not. Particularly with one so young, where the aspect of painful entrance might assume sizable proportions.
He closed his eyes, considering her lushly ripened breasts whose rose-tipped nipples appeared so prominent even through her brassiere and sweater combined. The child had a slender, girlish waist, luscious round hips, a flat, smooth stomach and long, full-swelling thighs. Her breathtakingly curved calves tapered down into thin, well-formed ankles. And over all of that, her wealth of shining blonde hair. Just one reel of her being taken from behind by Handsome could make a fortune for them. And if that fiercely kissable, sultry young mouth could ever be coaxed into wrapping itself around the dog’s enormous pulsating red cock…! Ellen had an almost classical, dainty Greek nose, with a lower lip that protruded in an almost perpetual little-girl pout, a round dimpled chin, and a soft, slightly tanned ivory complexion. To see that pretty young face energetically sucking on Handsome’s throbbing, richly-veined penis would be a treat no reasonable buyer could refuse. They had to get her at all cost!
Downing his drink swiftly, he went to the secret panel on the wall of the library, where he pressed a button and a hidden videotape camera came sliding into view from one corner of the ceiling. It hissed and clicked as it focused on Handsome’s lavish oral attention he was giving to his lovely auburn-haired mistress Dominique, who was already hurtling through her first orgasm of the evening with a gurgling cry of delight that made the heavy drapes on the high windows of the library seem to tremble.
But now she had suddenly bolted upright to a sitting position. She had been awakened by a noise from down the hall. It sounded like the muffled squeal of some animal being put to slaughter. At first she had heard it as merely a part of her dream, but when it had come again, more forcefully, it had jarred her into alertness.
Something was wrong in her mother’s room, she was sure of it. Other muffled sounds were echoing through the thick wall also. Sounds that were not familiar to her, but which seemed to be cries of terror and pleading. She looked at her watch. It was still early. She had probably not been asleep very long, even though it had seemed so.
She got up groggily from the sofa and drifted over to the bed, trying to analyze the nature of what she was hearing. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself if nothing was wrong. Perhaps her mother merely had the television on too loud. Or it could be that she had gone to sleep early and was having a nightmare herself.
There was silence then for a long moment, and then another sound, this time of movement. It sounded as though something were being thrown bodily onto a squeaking bed. She could not be certain, of course. Her mother’s bedroom was separated from her own by the main bathroom.
Not switching on the lamp, she made her way through the darkness to the door, pressing her ear tightly against it in order to listen better. There was the unmistakable sound of a heavy, dragging movement somewhere. She thought also she could hear whimpering but it was impossible to tell for sure.
She hesitated for a moment, not sure just what to do. Certainly if something were drastically wrong, her mother would scream. She would certainly hear that, if she did. She listened intently, waiting silently, her hand frozen on the doorknob.
There was a long low moan coming softly discernible from the other side now. This convinced her! Her mother might be ill and unable to move for some reason. She hadn’t been feeling too well earlier on, and it might even be serious. She had been quite distraught when father had died, and not quite right since. Perhaps Ellen should take just a quick look quietly so as not to disturb her if she were merely having a bad dream.
The apprehensive young blonde stepped into the bathroom between their rooms, and then slipped quietly across the tiles to the door to her mother’s bedroom. Silently, she turned the doorknob and opened the door just a crack. She scanned the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the bedlamp.
And then her heart leaped in her throat! For there, on the bed, was her mother, Amy Winthrop, her long black hair streaming, her naked body churning passionately underneath, with a man on top of her!
He was obviously trying to rape her! The man had her pinned to the bed and had forced her legs open with his own muscular thighs. Ellen felt frozen to the floor. She almost let out a scream but choked it back with the palm of her hand. It was unbelievable! She started to shake uncontrollably, then bit down hard on her hand to keep from crying out. She was shaking too hard to close the door and just stood there helplessly trying to regain her composure. What should she do? She knew it would do no good for her to attempt to intervene. And then she might get raped as well. Or worse! He might kill them both.
But at the same time she couldn’t seem to tear herself away from the fiercely lascivious scene. Her own mother! Being fucked! A man had his penis inside her! It was ghastly — but at the same time heart-stopping and intoxicating as well. Ellen had only a minimal knowledge of what sex was all about, despite her premature development, and her curiosity was stronger than her terror in finding her mother was being violated.
So she watched horrified and thrilled all put together, unable to move, as her naked mother struggled beneath the twilight-shrouded man on the bed. Ellen had a good view of them, although she could not see who the man was except that he was naked and wearing only a pair of socks.
By now her mother had her ankles locked tightly around the man’s hairy thighs as he moved up inside her. Ellen’s breath caught and her nostrils flared as she watched them, her loins suffusing with a warmish kind of sweetness. The man’s body rose and fell powerfully between her mother’s long white legs, pinning them even wider apart on each punishing in-stroke. Now Ellen could make out his wetly glistening penis as it moved rhythmically in and out of her mother’s splayed cuntal lips, gobbling it into her as if it were candy, then clinging to the thick base as it slid out on the upward stroke.
God, it was immense! Ellen had never seen a man naked like this before, not even her father. How on earth could a female take such a huge thing up inside her belly? She didn’t see how her mother kept it from splitting her open.
For a moment the man’s penis lay quiet, like a great log, along the visibly throbbing vaginal furrow, the two great testicles hanging down wickedly from its hairy base. The trembling young girl could see the foreskin slipping back over the pulsating purplish tip as it slid down along her mother’s widespread buttocks, the blood-engorged head bursting forth again like some primeval monster crawling evilly from its lair. And then the long thick cock slid smoothly forward again, its entire wet length again being devoured hungrily by the voracious lips of her mother’s cunt.
Ellen stood transfixed, her golden hair practically standing on end, unable to take her eyes off the lewd spectacle in front of her. She could not understand why her mother had stopped struggling underneath this brutal monster. Now there seemed to be a continual flow of deeply felt incoherent moans from her moistly parted lips. Her naked body seemed to be churning in an altogether different manner now. It was almost as if her mother actually wanted that enormous penis to be sawing in and out of her.
Ellen found herself breathing more rapidly in a growing excitement. She could see clearly the exposed hair-covered vaginal furrow up between her mother’s trembling thighs. The narrow red slit glistened wetly in the dim light, and she could make out the mouth-shaped lips of the cunt that seemed even from this distance to be stretched so cruelly apart by that lust-thickened shaft of flesh. Even as the thirteen year old girl watched, it contracted, opened, and closed like the mouth of a gasping fish out of the water.
The man’s hand reached down between them on one outstroke, grasping his long hard instrument, and raised his buttocks high in the air, pulling out until only its bulbous head remained within me sucking mouth of her mother’s feverishly churning cunt. Ellen watched and listened horrified as the muscles of his powerful ass-cheeks tensed, and then he drove into her whimpering mother again brutally, sinking his heavily veined shaft all the way into her wet gaping channel until only a brief stretch of it showed, moist and glistening, jutting out from his hairy balls. Ellen winced as her mother’s unearthly wailing cry came like the scream of a wounded animal, her toes curling up in what Ellen felt certain must be some terrible agony.
Now the two nakedly entwined fingers on the bed seemed to be locked in a stillness more mobile than motion. Ellen’s heart pounded like a jackhammer until she was certain everyone on Kenwood Lane could hear it. She pressed a fist tightly into her budding young breasts as if to dull that thudding sound in her ears.
Gradually the male began a slow rocking motion over her lewdly impaled and moaning mother. He withdrew slightly, the thick fleshy penis sliding out for several inches, then thrust forward again, grinding his hips in order to move it around inside of her tightly clasping vagina. Then he withdrew again until the throbbing glans head could be seen by the hypnotized blonde teenager. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief as her mother’s long full legs wrapped sinuously, almost affectionately, around his naked buttocks, squirming in togetherness under him, her heels firming snugly into the cheeks of his buttocks as if she were straining to pull him even deeper inside of her. The cords on the insides of her thighs flexed as she pushed her hair-covered pussy back up over his moistly glistening penis. Her hollowing buttocks lifted several inches off the bed as she struggled upward, desperately trying to absorb the entirety of the long thick cock back into the fleshy pink folds of her hungry cunt and a wet viscous sound drifted through the room each time her pussy slithered up its full length like a cat climbing a tree trunk. Her flexing buttocks began a rhythmic beat up and down his heavily ridged manhood, and his swaying testicles slapped in time against the puckering little anus below.
Ellen gasped, for suddenly her mother began mouthing obscenities as well, saying words she had never even dreamed her mother knew, the sort of words only “bad” girls used at school. There was no question in her mind that if she had ever used such words before her mother, she would have been soundly spanked, yet now — there she was, her own beautiful, long-haired brunette mother, leading light of the PTA, the Junior Women’s League, and the First Episcopalian Church of Winnetka, thrashing lewdly in the throes of obscene passion beneath this man, uttering words of such ardent filth that Ellen wanted to put her hands over her ears against them. Those were forbidden words that brought a guilty tingling glow into the pulsing center up between the thirteen year old’s legs. They drummed incessantly into the watching girl’s mind, who stood unable to move as if she had been turned to stone. Was this the quiet, reserved Amy Winthrop who was her mother, the aloof widow who was such a tower of strength to all who knew her? God, if her mother could be driven into such insane submission to a man she had fought so strenuously only moments before, then maybe it could happen to anyone! Maybe even to her, Ellen Winthrop. The bosomy blonde teenager felt a slight electric tingle of excitement dart from wall-to-wall within her palpitating little cunt.
Now she watched thunderstruck as again the man’s hand curled beneath Amy’s nakedly pumping buttocks and the tip of his outstretched middle finger circled tantalizingly the rubbery ring of the tightly puckered anus. It played there for a long teasing moment that brought another tortured groan from the lewdly twisting body beneath him as his finger slipped through the protective fleshy ring and disappeared up inside her rectum. Mrs. Winthrop’s legs kicked out again and there was another tortured wail with her toes curling up tightly. Then her legs locked over his body again, and her buttocks began pumping savagely over both invaders.
Ellen was trembling violently and biting her fist to keep from screaming. Was her mother experiencing terrible pain or terrible joy? It was impossible to tell. Her helpless ears were literally drenched with their sounds of depravity. And then the squeak of bedsprings, the moans and groans and huffing hard breathing, the portrait of tangle limbs, all combined to ignite smoldering sparks in that most sensitive of flesh up between her own legs. By now the itch was driving her frantic as much as anything else. She clamped her legs tightly together to try to choke off that bursting fire.
As if in a dream, her hands began involuntarily to massage the straining softness of her budding young breasts, trapping the trembling nipples between her fingers, kneading and pulling at them until it felt as though she would rip them loose from the full quivering mounds. She groaned and found her fingers pressing tightly into her vaginal mound and drumming at her clitoris, trying to rub away the terrible sensation of need that was raging out of control.
Her long trembling legs scissored open, one foot just sort of dangling as she supported herself against the doorjamb. She could feel her own hair-lined little pussy slit now moistly palpitating against the tips of her fingers which drew the narrow furrow open, exposing the lips of her pulsating cunt to the warmish, musky air of the room. With a groan, she sunk her outstretched middle finger deep into the warmly throbbing mouth of her vagina. The trembling thirteen year old held her breath, relieved momentarily, but the moment of relief was brief. For now the fire seemed to burn all the more intensely, demanding more to feed its obscene hunger. She inserted another finger, then slid, gasping to the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
After a second, she drew her knees up into a kneeling position, with her firm young buttocks high in the air. The squeak of bedsprings became more violent, and she crammed her fingers into the slippery moistness of her vagina with a little cry of abandon and in rhythm with the couple fucking so savagely on her mother’s bed.
The picture of their lewdly locked bodies drove the cute young blonde on, and she rocked back on her knees, screwing her fingers deeper and deeper into her tightly clasping pussy. She could see the man’s huge thick cock fucking in and out of her mother’s ardently clasping cunt, sinking through the soft pussy hair like a greased telephone pole. The aroused teenager’s fingers became that pole — and her gasps began to match theirs. She wanted, absurdly, everything her mother was getting, as immature as she was. Her body was confessing it, betraying her. She wanted to be split too, wanted to be fucked, wanted a sperm-bloated penis pumping into her own hot searing passage. Her fingers were nothing compared to that enormous thick member that was being rammed in and out of her mother. She had to have more — but there was nothing, nothing but her own fingers.
She reached up over her nakedly thrashing buttocks with her free hand, searching the tight crevice for she knew-not-what. The fingers on her ass-cheeks seemed to be magnetized as her mind flashed pictures of how the man had stuffed his finger into her mother’s rectal passage… and of how the older woman seemed to be enjoying it immensely.
And then she found her puckered little anal hole. Quickly, the young blonde girl rammed one finger up into the tiny opening between her moon-shaped buttocks, gasping as in her haste a fingernail dug into the soft fleshy walls, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her wantonly quivering thirteen year old body. She stilled for a moment, then took up the lewd rhythm of the couple on the bed, her buttocks lifting high off the floor as her long legs braced themselves, she writhed and groaned in frustration, and ultimately turned over onto her knees, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Now her ripe young breasts were scraping against the floor, her nipples brushing tantalizingly against the cool tile. Her long blonde hair wafted away on all sides of her voluptuous body, falling eventually in a golden pile on the bathroom floor. Wildly erotic tingles of lewd pleasure raced through her passion-inflamed loins as she pictured herself under the nameless pounding body with the socks. Then her face colored crimson as she felt her own orgasm coming — coming with a great roar.
She hung for an insane, lust-propelled moment teetering on the edge of the first climax she’d ever experienced, and then her entire sensually aroused body convulsed as her liquid passion gushed from around her thrusting fingers, covering her hand and wrist, and dripping down onto the tiles below. She could feel it running in slick rivulets down the inside of her quivering thighs to her bended knees. As her teeth chattered through her shattering climax, she was greeted by a sobbing shriek and a low male groan from the direction of her mother’s bed as the writhing joined couple answered her orgasm with one of their own. Then there was complete silence except for the gasping, panting breathing of the three of them.
Ellen stayed on her hands and knees for awhile, sobbing silently. Her buttocks still swaying in the musky air. She couldn’t bring herself to take her hand away from her glowing young cunt until the last dying throbs of climax had been stilled. It seemed eons before her fingers finally slithered wetly from her satiated vaginal opening, and she rolled over onto her side, clutching her burning breasts, a terrible feeling of guilt suffusing her entire trembling being.
She looked up towards her mother’s distant bed. It seemed as if the couple there were now hurtling towards a second orgasm. Ellen could see the muscles cording up on her mother’s inner thighs as she struggled like a crazed nymphomaniac to get the man deeper inside of her. His hands cupped her naked white buttocks with savage strength that cut red lines into the smooth, wildly undulating mounds; he squeezed her rounded ass-cheeks tightly together, forcing her vagina more snugly around the thickness of his thrusting male hardness. Ellen could see the thin, ragged edges of her mother’s wet sucking pussy clasping it tightly like the ovaled mouth of a hungry child around the last banana in the world as it moved in and out of her belly.
Her mother’s buttocks were grinding faster now, and her groans and mewls of animal pleasure had escalated dramatically as the glazed eyes of her voluptuous blonde daughter remained glued hypnotically to the lewd coupling on the bed. Mrs. Winthrop’s wild, demonic upward thrusts were met with equal fury by the stranger’s pelvis, which drove her even more deeply into the mattress with each mighty surge, the loud slaps of belly against belly resounding like thunder claps.
Ellen held her breath as she watched her mother being fucked with increasing viciousness. And then there was a low, unearthly gurgle from her mother’s throat, and her buttocks began a series of small, spasmodic jerks up tight against the penis that was sunk so deeply inside her churning white belly. “Aaaggghhh. Ah… oh… awweeee… I’m cumming!” Ellen’s mother wailed.
At the same time the man groaned again above her, grinding hard into her wantonly writhing cunt, his thick fleshy rod beginning to spurt again its white milky sperm deep up inside her belly. The creamy rich fluid filled her vaginal passage before cascading out around the stretched pink lips of her cunt. Ellen watched breathlessly as a tiny white stream of it ran down the wide split crevice of her buttocks to drop on the mattress below. And then the couple seemed to expire into a long, drawn-out sigh, lying very still although still joined.
For a long time nothing seemed to happen, and then at last the man rolled off of the older woman and got up, going over to some clothes that were slung over a chair.
“I’ve got to go, Mrs. Winthrop,” came the boyish tenor, “or my mother will give me hell. I’m supposed to be playing basketball at St. Ignatius.”
Ellen started, her eyes wide. Oh no! No! She could swear that the “man” was Billy Erspamer, the fourteen year old boy from next door!
But could it be? She watched his huge limp penis dangling as he got into his clothes. With the two of them on the bed, it was impossible exactly to tell just what the size of the man was. Billy was certainly much shorter than her statuesque mother, although he was quite hairy for his age. But could that be his enormous penis, swinging so evilly like an Arabian scimitar?
Her mother got up from the bed, wrapping a robe around her lushly proportioned body, a lazy smile on her lovely face. “And how much do you want this time, you wonderful brute?” she asked.
Billy Erspamer — she was certain it was him now — grinned. “Ten dollars,” he said with a smirk.
Ellen watched unbelievingly as her mother went to her purse on the vanity, took out a roll of bills and handed it to him. “There’s fifteen,” she said, and then she put her arms around the boy and kissed him, obviously working her tongue around inside his cheeks. When the kiss broke, she whispered huskily, “You’re sure you wouldn’t like me to suck your cock, darling?” and reached down to stroke the thick bulge in his Levi’s.
Billy shook his head. “No thanks, Mrs. Winthrop. I’d like to, but my mother’ll kill me if I’m late. No fooling! Maybe next time.” And then he picked up his jacket and went for the door.
Her mother tailed after him, grabbing him one more time before he could get away, by the neck this time. “You do respect me, don’t you, darling?” she asked.
“Sure, sure I do, Mrs. Winthrop. You know I do. Now come on, I’ve really got to get going. My mother’ll kill me.”
The older woman shrugged. “All right,” she said, letting him out into the corridor, and then as an afterthought, whispered, “But use the back stairs. My daughter’s asleep. Good night, dear.”
Crawling through the darkness on all fours, slinking across the floor like the snake she felt like, Ellen finally managed to make it back to her own bedroom. She flopped down into her bed with tears of uncertainty rolling down her cheeks like beads of glass. The troubled young girl was almost glad that her father wasn’t alive; for she knew now that her mother had been carrying on like this even before he died. She could remember how the older woman had often stayed out late in the evening during his lengthy illness, pleading PTA, or other charitable work. Well, she certainly seemed to be practicing charity now, thought Ellen, choking on her futile tears.
How could she ever face her mother again, after what she had witnessed? And after what she had done with herself while she witnessed it? How could she look at her mother in the morning over their usual breakfast together?
But what could she do? Where could she go? She was too young by far to run away from home.
Maxwell and Dominique Carter were her only real friends. She resolved to see as much of them as possible from now on. They were understanding, worldly people, and would make good substitute parents… she could trust them!
“Go on, dear, there’s no harm in it,” she coaxed. “It’s just a little highball.”
But Ellen Winthrop, whose father had died nine months previous after an acute bout with alcoholism, shook her pretty head firmly. Her satiny soft long blonde hair flew attractively around her perfectly oval youthful face. The long dark lashes over her sparkling, innocent blue eyes fluttered as she refused, saying, “Oh, but I couldn’t, Mrs. Carter. My mother wouldn’t permit it.”
Dominique smiled indulgently and took the glass from her again. She shook out her long red hair and said sweetly, “Well, that’s right, dear. You should always do what your mother tells you.” Damnit, a small voice whispered inside her head.
Not that this terrible primness didn’t make their lovely young neighbor all the more intoxicating company. At times Dominique suspected that it was this very naivete that was driving herself and her husband Maxwell so wild with anticipation. Ellen was so unremittingly good that Maxwell was really going out of his mind for her, and Handsome, their big German shepherd was as well. Handsome sniffed around the sweet over-developed teenager to an extent which even made Dominique not a little jealous. But if the anticipation was excruciating, so also was their fierce desire to get some good movies of Ellen misbehaving. She was the most gorgeous little piece of femininity and perfection they had run into in a long time, and any film footage they could get of her would sell like hotcakes, literally. Men always liked performers who were busty with long blonde hair, for some reason, and in addition there was the incentive of Ellen’s healthy nubile youth, which was considerable.
At only thirteen she was rounded and developed with curves that any eighteen year old would have been proud of. Her large, gravity-defying breasts — which she appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable about — were positively mouth-watering, to hear Maxwell tell it, and she knew that Handsome wanted to lap them as well. In addition, the child had almost no waist — which then flared out into opulent hourglass hips just born for sex. And then there were those long, long legs tapering into tiny ankles and dainty feet. Ellen had been put together like a human aphrodisiac. No doubt she towered over her teacher in grammar school as well. She was probably the most striking thing her teachers had ever seen.
Dominique sighed and sipped her highball. The entire affair had become all too frustrating. They hadn’t had any of this delay and difficulty with their other conquests. It hadn’t taken too long for most of them to fall for Handsome, that rugged, demanding beast, or at the very least for her handsome husband Maxwell. And most of them had been teenagers as well, usually neighborhood girls of good background who they were eventually able to get liquored up enough so that they totally lost their heads and could be seduced readily into performing for Midwest Motion Pictures, Inc.
They, too, had had long hair of varying shades, and voluptuous physiques, which was why they had been chosen. The Carters’ customers liked especially well these pert and clean-cut, fresh-looking youngsters. Their innocent wholesomeness appeared to be more thrilling than the blatant sensuality of the average actress who was willing to do sex scenes for pay. Which was why she and Maxwell always went to the lengthy trouble of these elaborate seductions. Their customers paid more for girls of obvious gentility, virginity, purity, and refinement.
Except that Ellen now had them stymied. Five months of plying her with bon-bons, long trips in their wire-wheeled custom-made Lamborghini motorcar, flights in their private plane, pretty little gifts of bewildering variety and so-on, nothing had served in the slightest to unbend the gorgeous voluptuous blonde teenager’s legs from the way they crossed so elegantly over her golden — and no doubt virginal — pussy-slit. Dominique could sigh indeed. They already had a lengthy investment in this luscious child of nature. It was going to be difficult to write her off as a bad job. Money didn’t grow on trees.
“Are you ready out there?” came Maxwell’s deep voice from in back of their private motion picture screen, which had descended smoothly and silently from its hidden recess in the ceiling of the Carters’ living room.
“We are lover,” Dominique called back. “Fire away.”
“Here we go.”
Suddenly the sound came up at the same time as the picture, the house lights dimmed, and they were looking at the opening reel of “Straw Dogs”.
The Carters had their own motion picture facilities at home, of course, and quite elaborate ones they were. They were also a means of impressing young impressionables, for they always showed the latest Hollywood films as well, often before these were showing in legitimate movie houses. Most of them were pirated jobs, but the innocent young girls who made it a point to visit the Carters didn’t know this. They just assumed that the Carters were impossibly rich and influential, and that all the big studios sent them prints of their films as a matter of course.
Ellen sat back, her legs still sweetly crossed. Her long blonde hair had fluffed in back of the couch she was sitting on. There was no denying she was impressed by the Carters. In the five months since her widowed mother and herself had moved to Kenilworth, intent on putting out of their minds the unfortunate demise of her adored father, the Carters had gone out of their way to help them forget. They took her mother and herself on little shopping trips, and sent them presents, took them out to dinner, and so on. They were the most generous people Ellen had ever known.
Dominique Carter squeezed her slender smooth hand and Ellen blushed. In recent months Mrs. Carter had been more of a mother to her than her own mother almost, and the amount of time the Carters seemed to spend on her was really amazing. She had never known people could be so sweet and thoughtful, and without any consideration for themselves. Mr. Carter had even offered her a chance to take the controls of his private plane, although, of course, she had refused. What a great deal of money they must have to be able to afford such gestures! And the way they were always talking about their vacations in Bermuda, Rio de Janeiro, Sun Valley, Mallorca, St. Moritz, Paris, Monte Carlo, the French Riviera, Hollywood, Palm Beach, and the Far East! Apparently they had the money to be able to afford to go anywhere and do anything.
She didn’t suppose that she would ever be that rich. Her father’s insurance had left just enough to leave them comfortably well off, and when her mother had sold their house in Winnetka (her big old house, with the big playroom and nursery she had grown up in, and which she loved so well) they had bought their smaller, but more luxurious, bungalow down the street from the Carters, shaded by tall oaks and with an immense backyard perfect for sunning. It was just such a sunny day when they had first run into the Carters, who had come walking through the alley with Handsome on a leash, and then stopped to say hello and have some idle chatter.
Ellen had been impressed with them from the very first. Maxwell Carter had seemed so impossibly urbane and worldly, with his wavy black hair and the handmade pipe he was forever lighting. He dressed with rugged lavishness, expensively, so that he looked not so much the workman as the wealthy outdoors-man. He used a great deal of leather and suede in his apparel, and it was always finely cut and usually brand new. Everything he wore looked custom made just for him — from the belted Austrian hunting jackets to his Charles III buckled boots. He was mature, worldly, sophisticated. Dominique Carter was a lucky woman.
And their wealth, while obvious, was always in good taste in a similar vein. In addition to their white Cadillac convertible they also kept the classic Lamborghini, a Rolls-Royce, and a battered old Ford station wagon. While Mrs. Carter, in addition to her minks, also wore leopard and silver fox with some frequency. Her clothes were beautiful and in good taste. Everything seemed to be an original from somewhere or other, or ready-made from Saks or Marshall Field. “Oh, just some little thing Christian Dior made up for me, darling,” Dominique Carter would say casually. “He’s such a dear.”
Now as she sat on the couch in front of the movie screen, Mrs. Carter’s hand slipped casually out of hers and rested just as casually on Ellen’s full firm thigh. Ellen didn’t mind. Dominique was like a secondary mother to her, or a fairy aunt. And she was a perfectly normal girl in that her primitive, vague and immature yearnings were oriented only towards the male sex. At the tender age of thirteen, while of womanly proportions already, Ellen still knew nothing at all of lesbianism, and scarcely much more about ordinary sex.
The innocent young girl glanced across at Maxwell Carter, who was sitting sidewise across from them, on the other long black leather couch, apparently deep in thought, his usual urbane and distant self as the motion pictured droned on.
But why had they picked her upon which to lavish all this attention and praise? Dominique Carter was constantly buying her “some little thing”; her mother didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps it was all due to the fact that the Carters had no children of their own.
But that didn’t seem quite right, either. Dominique Carter was certainly young enough to have children, even though she was too svelte and sophisticated to seem exactly the motherly type. And with a gorgeous statuesque figure like hers, Ellen imagined that her husband probably found no end of excuse to do with her what it was that men did with women for the purpose of impregnating them. She certainly could not believe that the Carters were anything less than normal. Mr. Carter’s virility was a palpable flavor in the air, while Dominique had an aura of such worldly sensuality that Ellen only hoped that some day she could equal that masterful air of feminine confidence which suffused everything Dominique did. If only…
“Look at this,” Maxwell whispered across to them. Handsome stepped over to Ellen and laid his furry snout in her lap, gazing up at her with what appeared to be adoring eyes. It was not in her youthful innocence to perceive any sensuality in the handsome brute’s face. Handsome was, after all, just a dog.
“Terrific,” Maxwell muttered.
Ellen blinked and she struggled to focus. As usual, the surroundings in the Carters’ enormous den were so restful that she had quite drifted off with her pubescent daydreaming. She realized now that she had been paying scarcely any attention at all to the movie, although it appeared to be an interesting one. The mood of decor in the Carters’ library-den as usual, had tended to act as a mild soporific on her teenage sensibilities. The ancient prints on the walls, the long hanging red tapestries, the abundance of leather, wood, and fine Mediterranean tooling workmanship in everything — from mantel piece to chair arm to carpeting to bookcase — the high covered windows, everything gave one a feeling of having settled into a warmish, quiet cocoon conducive to thoughtful meditation. Then the incense that the Carters were so fond of lighting was another factor. She invariably found herself becoming slow and lazy in this room, in particular when they showed films. Her mind just seemed to drift off.
But now Mr. Carter’s verbal notations had served to waken her observation, and what she observed was more than she bargained for.
The sort of films the Carters usually showed her were Mary Poppins’ sort of things, with the occasional violent western thrown in for good measure. They had never shown her anything even the most wee bit sexy. And yet she realized now that what she was seeing in Straw Dogs had some very strong sexual overtones. In particular where the young man’s wife — the American man’s wife — appears at the window with her healthy young breasts showing, before the trio of workmen working on the garage roof of her husband’s new house.
And what Mr. Carter was now pointing out was apparently a rape scene, for the big blond man was in the American’s house while he was away, and he was slapping his pretty blonde wife and making her take her clothes off.
Ellen started as she realized what was happening to herself right here in this room. Mrs. Carter was gently stroking her skirted thigh with her thumb, and Handsome had nuzzled his nose deeply in her lap, almost brushing her panty-covered loins, but she didn’t notice any of that. What really set her mind and her loins aglow was the realization that the big young man in the film had actually put his penis into the beautiful blonde young housewife!
Ellen gasped and put her hand to her sultry red mouth. She couldn’t really believe this was happening, before her very eyes! For the pretty housewife, the nipples of her breasts showing in the most blatant way, seemed actually to be undergoing sex as the handsome man stuffed his long thick thing up inside of her belly, working it around with agonizing slowness. And a few seconds later, when the housewife obviously came, it was the most intoxicating experience Ellen had ever witnessed in her entire young life!
“She seemed to enjoy that, didn’t she?” Dominique asked silkily, her voice a soft essence wafted against Ellen’s shell-like smooth ear.
“Well — I…” stammered Ellen, unable to know what to say, at a total loss. She had never before ever actually seen anyone having sex. Her loins seemed to be full of butterflies. The man in the film had obviously made love to the beautiful blonde housewife in the film, and clearly she had enjoyed it.
“Don’t be pushy, Dom,” came Maxwell Carter’s understanding baritone from the other couch. “After all, Ellen’s only thirteen years old. She’s just a child.”
Exactly the sort of statement calculated to put any teenager on the defensive and eager to prove that she could be as sexy as any grown woman.
Ellen rose to the bait. Smarting under Mr. Carter’s patronizing tone, she instinctively sat up straighter in order to thrust out her proudly uplifted breasts. Her long blonde curls danced in back of her shoulders. “I am not such a child as all that, Mr. Carter,” she insisted through her sensuously pouting lips. “I know all about sex, you know.”
Carter could not repress a faint little smirk at their perty prey’s behavior. “From biology books in school, no doubt,” he said wryly, clinking his ice around in his highball glass as he goaded her still further. “And I thought we agreed that you would call me Maxwell, Ellen.”
“Maxwell, then,” she stammered, flustered. “Well, no, not from biology books — that is…”
“Where then, dear?” asked Dominique, pressing her hand affectionately around Ellen’s.
“Well, I — that is… the girls at school… my mother… oohhhhh…” Her voice trailed off as she focused again on the sexual action on the screen. Something had happened! A second man had appeared with a knife and had forced the first man to force the housewife to submit to something else. It appeared as if the second man was doing something behind her. But what? It was all so confused. She wasn’t sure if she could make out anything very clearly, really.
“Looks like he’s sodomizing her,” Maxwell Carter said casually.
“He’s what?” Ellen asked, mystified.
“Sodomizing her, darling,” said Dominique, pressing her hand warmly again. “That’s a form of sex — probably the most satisfying there is.”
Ellen’s eyes screwed up. How did they get to talking about sex all of a sudden? Even though the Carters spoke with easy authority, she had the subtle feeling that something was not quite right in their conversation. And as for this sodomizing business, if that was the best sex, how come she hadn’t heard anything about it? Her mother certainly hadn’t said anything about it.
But anyway that scene was quickly over and then her embarrassed confusion subsided again. Everything returned to normal. The warmish feeling in her loins gradually pulled back like a receding wave from a tropical shore.
There was in the remainder of the film some really grisly violence of fairly standard American variety, but none of it especially disturbed her. Then she looked at the lovely platinum watch the Carters had given her and exclaimed about the time. She had promised her mother that she would be home early. She said a hurried but pleasant good night to the Carters and then rushed off into the darkness of the evening.
“That little cunt has cost us a fortune,” said Maxwell when she had gone, his voice thick with disgust as he scratched Handsome’s ears.
“I’ll say,” agreed Dominique, putting out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray. Then she began undoing the belt on her robe until it opened fully, revealing the sumptuous pears of her high, widely-spaced breasts, the molten white belly beneath with its soft nest of auburn pussy hair, and the long slender columns of her legs. She lay back on the couch and spread her legs open lazily. The big German shepherd didn’t need any further cue than that. He left his master and hurried across the carpet to burrow his nose into his mistress’ warmly scented pussy. Dominique sighed and ran her fingers over the handsome dog’s sleek furry head. In another moment the well-trained show dog’s tongue had lanced out and speared into the quivering pink flesh of her cuntal lips, sending a surge of fire burning through her loins and upward into the rest of her wantonly excited body right to the very ends of her hair.
“Spent a fortune on that fucking tail,” Maxwell muttered unhappily again, his voice slurring this time. He finished a spare drink on the coffee table, then got up and went over to the bamboo-and-leopard skin bar to mix himself another.
Dominique’s eyes turned dreamy as the big German shepherd’s thick red tongue began twisting in and out of her cunt like a corkscrew. “Maybe we should use our more extreme procedure, lover,” she croaked huskily, her eyes fluttering with passion.
“We don’t dare,” said Maxwell, corking a bottle and shaking his head. “She’s only thirteen years old. Any seduction has to be of her own accord. She has to come to us with her eyes wide open. She has to seduce herself. Any other course would be strictly suicide.”
“In that case, it’s time to leave it with Handsome, lover.”
“Probably.” Maxwell Carter looked over at the powerful dog whose tongue was dredging his wife’s wetly surging vagina like a steam shovel excavating Roman finds. Handsome was always the court of last resort; and he had never failed them yet.
Still, though, this was a tricky one. A thirteen year old gorgeous blonde of total innocence. A real challenge! He couldn’t remember when before they had encountered such striking blonde wholesomeness. He wanted to see her long, satiny blonde hair cascading over a pillow to form a cushion for her pretty head as he moved upward through her widespread thighs with his warmly throbbing cock working slowly through the moist tendrils and wetly sucking lips of her young virginal cunt, fucking the shit out of the sweet little bitch; he coughed at the thought.
Ellen Winthrop had the body of a lush young Venus, and it had been all Maxwell could do to control his hands in the months they had known her. Fortunately his head had ruled his heart. Finesse always proved the most potent master in the end; and it was lasting. Rape seductions occasionally worked out, but there was always the danger that they might not. Particularly with one so young, where the aspect of painful entrance might assume sizable proportions.
He closed his eyes, considering her lushly ripened breasts whose rose-tipped nipples appeared so prominent even through her brassiere and sweater combined. The child had a slender, girlish waist, luscious round hips, a flat, smooth stomach and long, full-swelling thighs. Her breathtakingly curved calves tapered down into thin, well-formed ankles. And over all of that, her wealth of shining blonde hair. Just one reel of her being taken from behind by Handsome could make a fortune for them. And if that fiercely kissable, sultry young mouth could ever be coaxed into wrapping itself around the dog’s enormous pulsating red cock…! Ellen had an almost classical, dainty Greek nose, with a lower lip that protruded in an almost perpetual little-girl pout, a round dimpled chin, and a soft, slightly tanned ivory complexion. To see that pretty young face energetically sucking on Handsome’s throbbing, richly-veined penis would be a treat no reasonable buyer could refuse. They had to get her at all cost!
Downing his drink swiftly, he went to the secret panel on the wall of the library, where he pressed a button and a hidden videotape camera came sliding into view from one corner of the ceiling. It hissed and clicked as it focused on Handsome’s lavish oral attention he was giving to his lovely auburn-haired mistress Dominique, who was already hurtling through her first orgasm of the evening with a gurgling cry of delight that made the heavy drapes on the high windows of the library seem to tremble.
***
Three houses down on Kenwood Lane from the Carters, the cute teenager had already dozed pleasantly off on the two-seater sofa in her bedroom, her long legs curled up underneath her. She had meant to take a nice hot bath before retiring, but she had gotten so caught up in her third re-reading of Jane Austen’s Wuthering Heights — which she thought was the most romantic novel ever written, next to Little Women, that she had quite dozed off. This was not so uncommon; she frequently fell asleep reading some nice romantic story, though usually only in bed.But now she had suddenly bolted upright to a sitting position. She had been awakened by a noise from down the hall. It sounded like the muffled squeal of some animal being put to slaughter. At first she had heard it as merely a part of her dream, but when it had come again, more forcefully, it had jarred her into alertness.
Something was wrong in her mother’s room, she was sure of it. Other muffled sounds were echoing through the thick wall also. Sounds that were not familiar to her, but which seemed to be cries of terror and pleading. She looked at her watch. It was still early. She had probably not been asleep very long, even though it had seemed so.
She got up groggily from the sofa and drifted over to the bed, trying to analyze the nature of what she was hearing. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself if nothing was wrong. Perhaps her mother merely had the television on too loud. Or it could be that she had gone to sleep early and was having a nightmare herself.
There was silence then for a long moment, and then another sound, this time of movement. It sounded as though something were being thrown bodily onto a squeaking bed. She could not be certain, of course. Her mother’s bedroom was separated from her own by the main bathroom.
Not switching on the lamp, she made her way through the darkness to the door, pressing her ear tightly against it in order to listen better. There was the unmistakable sound of a heavy, dragging movement somewhere. She thought also she could hear whimpering but it was impossible to tell for sure.
She hesitated for a moment, not sure just what to do. Certainly if something were drastically wrong, her mother would scream. She would certainly hear that, if she did. She listened intently, waiting silently, her hand frozen on the doorknob.
There was a long low moan coming softly discernible from the other side now. This convinced her! Her mother might be ill and unable to move for some reason. She hadn’t been feeling too well earlier on, and it might even be serious. She had been quite distraught when father had died, and not quite right since. Perhaps Ellen should take just a quick look quietly so as not to disturb her if she were merely having a bad dream.
The apprehensive young blonde stepped into the bathroom between their rooms, and then slipped quietly across the tiles to the door to her mother’s bedroom. Silently, she turned the doorknob and opened the door just a crack. She scanned the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the bedlamp.
And then her heart leaped in her throat! For there, on the bed, was her mother, Amy Winthrop, her long black hair streaming, her naked body churning passionately underneath, with a man on top of her!
He was obviously trying to rape her! The man had her pinned to the bed and had forced her legs open with his own muscular thighs. Ellen felt frozen to the floor. She almost let out a scream but choked it back with the palm of her hand. It was unbelievable! She started to shake uncontrollably, then bit down hard on her hand to keep from crying out. She was shaking too hard to close the door and just stood there helplessly trying to regain her composure. What should she do? She knew it would do no good for her to attempt to intervene. And then she might get raped as well. Or worse! He might kill them both.
But at the same time she couldn’t seem to tear herself away from the fiercely lascivious scene. Her own mother! Being fucked! A man had his penis inside her! It was ghastly — but at the same time heart-stopping and intoxicating as well. Ellen had only a minimal knowledge of what sex was all about, despite her premature development, and her curiosity was stronger than her terror in finding her mother was being violated.
So she watched horrified and thrilled all put together, unable to move, as her naked mother struggled beneath the twilight-shrouded man on the bed. Ellen had a good view of them, although she could not see who the man was except that he was naked and wearing only a pair of socks.
By now her mother had her ankles locked tightly around the man’s hairy thighs as he moved up inside her. Ellen’s breath caught and her nostrils flared as she watched them, her loins suffusing with a warmish kind of sweetness. The man’s body rose and fell powerfully between her mother’s long white legs, pinning them even wider apart on each punishing in-stroke. Now Ellen could make out his wetly glistening penis as it moved rhythmically in and out of her mother’s splayed cuntal lips, gobbling it into her as if it were candy, then clinging to the thick base as it slid out on the upward stroke.
God, it was immense! Ellen had never seen a man naked like this before, not even her father. How on earth could a female take such a huge thing up inside her belly? She didn’t see how her mother kept it from splitting her open.
For a moment the man’s penis lay quiet, like a great log, along the visibly throbbing vaginal furrow, the two great testicles hanging down wickedly from its hairy base. The trembling young girl could see the foreskin slipping back over the pulsating purplish tip as it slid down along her mother’s widespread buttocks, the blood-engorged head bursting forth again like some primeval monster crawling evilly from its lair. And then the long thick cock slid smoothly forward again, its entire wet length again being devoured hungrily by the voracious lips of her mother’s cunt.
Ellen stood transfixed, her golden hair practically standing on end, unable to take her eyes off the lewd spectacle in front of her. She could not understand why her mother had stopped struggling underneath this brutal monster. Now there seemed to be a continual flow of deeply felt incoherent moans from her moistly parted lips. Her naked body seemed to be churning in an altogether different manner now. It was almost as if her mother actually wanted that enormous penis to be sawing in and out of her.
Ellen found herself breathing more rapidly in a growing excitement. She could see clearly the exposed hair-covered vaginal furrow up between her mother’s trembling thighs. The narrow red slit glistened wetly in the dim light, and she could make out the mouth-shaped lips of the cunt that seemed even from this distance to be stretched so cruelly apart by that lust-thickened shaft of flesh. Even as the thirteen year old girl watched, it contracted, opened, and closed like the mouth of a gasping fish out of the water.
The man’s hand reached down between them on one outstroke, grasping his long hard instrument, and raised his buttocks high in the air, pulling out until only its bulbous head remained within me sucking mouth of her mother’s feverishly churning cunt. Ellen watched and listened horrified as the muscles of his powerful ass-cheeks tensed, and then he drove into her whimpering mother again brutally, sinking his heavily veined shaft all the way into her wet gaping channel until only a brief stretch of it showed, moist and glistening, jutting out from his hairy balls. Ellen winced as her mother’s unearthly wailing cry came like the scream of a wounded animal, her toes curling up in what Ellen felt certain must be some terrible agony.
Now the two nakedly entwined fingers on the bed seemed to be locked in a stillness more mobile than motion. Ellen’s heart pounded like a jackhammer until she was certain everyone on Kenwood Lane could hear it. She pressed a fist tightly into her budding young breasts as if to dull that thudding sound in her ears.
Gradually the male began a slow rocking motion over her lewdly impaled and moaning mother. He withdrew slightly, the thick fleshy penis sliding out for several inches, then thrust forward again, grinding his hips in order to move it around inside of her tightly clasping vagina. Then he withdrew again until the throbbing glans head could be seen by the hypnotized blonde teenager. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief as her mother’s long full legs wrapped sinuously, almost affectionately, around his naked buttocks, squirming in togetherness under him, her heels firming snugly into the cheeks of his buttocks as if she were straining to pull him even deeper inside of her. The cords on the insides of her thighs flexed as she pushed her hair-covered pussy back up over his moistly glistening penis. Her hollowing buttocks lifted several inches off the bed as she struggled upward, desperately trying to absorb the entirety of the long thick cock back into the fleshy pink folds of her hungry cunt and a wet viscous sound drifted through the room each time her pussy slithered up its full length like a cat climbing a tree trunk. Her flexing buttocks began a rhythmic beat up and down his heavily ridged manhood, and his swaying testicles slapped in time against the puckering little anus below.
Ellen gasped, for suddenly her mother began mouthing obscenities as well, saying words she had never even dreamed her mother knew, the sort of words only “bad” girls used at school. There was no question in her mind that if she had ever used such words before her mother, she would have been soundly spanked, yet now — there she was, her own beautiful, long-haired brunette mother, leading light of the PTA, the Junior Women’s League, and the First Episcopalian Church of Winnetka, thrashing lewdly in the throes of obscene passion beneath this man, uttering words of such ardent filth that Ellen wanted to put her hands over her ears against them. Those were forbidden words that brought a guilty tingling glow into the pulsing center up between the thirteen year old’s legs. They drummed incessantly into the watching girl’s mind, who stood unable to move as if she had been turned to stone. Was this the quiet, reserved Amy Winthrop who was her mother, the aloof widow who was such a tower of strength to all who knew her? God, if her mother could be driven into such insane submission to a man she had fought so strenuously only moments before, then maybe it could happen to anyone! Maybe even to her, Ellen Winthrop. The bosomy blonde teenager felt a slight electric tingle of excitement dart from wall-to-wall within her palpitating little cunt.
Now she watched thunderstruck as again the man’s hand curled beneath Amy’s nakedly pumping buttocks and the tip of his outstretched middle finger circled tantalizingly the rubbery ring of the tightly puckered anus. It played there for a long teasing moment that brought another tortured groan from the lewdly twisting body beneath him as his finger slipped through the protective fleshy ring and disappeared up inside her rectum. Mrs. Winthrop’s legs kicked out again and there was another tortured wail with her toes curling up tightly. Then her legs locked over his body again, and her buttocks began pumping savagely over both invaders.
Ellen was trembling violently and biting her fist to keep from screaming. Was her mother experiencing terrible pain or terrible joy? It was impossible to tell. Her helpless ears were literally drenched with their sounds of depravity. And then the squeak of bedsprings, the moans and groans and huffing hard breathing, the portrait of tangle limbs, all combined to ignite smoldering sparks in that most sensitive of flesh up between her own legs. By now the itch was driving her frantic as much as anything else. She clamped her legs tightly together to try to choke off that bursting fire.
As if in a dream, her hands began involuntarily to massage the straining softness of her budding young breasts, trapping the trembling nipples between her fingers, kneading and pulling at them until it felt as though she would rip them loose from the full quivering mounds. She groaned and found her fingers pressing tightly into her vaginal mound and drumming at her clitoris, trying to rub away the terrible sensation of need that was raging out of control.
Her long trembling legs scissored open, one foot just sort of dangling as she supported herself against the doorjamb. She could feel her own hair-lined little pussy slit now moistly palpitating against the tips of her fingers which drew the narrow furrow open, exposing the lips of her pulsating cunt to the warmish, musky air of the room. With a groan, she sunk her outstretched middle finger deep into the warmly throbbing mouth of her vagina. The trembling thirteen year old held her breath, relieved momentarily, but the moment of relief was brief. For now the fire seemed to burn all the more intensely, demanding more to feed its obscene hunger. She inserted another finger, then slid, gasping to the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
After a second, she drew her knees up into a kneeling position, with her firm young buttocks high in the air. The squeak of bedsprings became more violent, and she crammed her fingers into the slippery moistness of her vagina with a little cry of abandon and in rhythm with the couple fucking so savagely on her mother’s bed.
The picture of their lewdly locked bodies drove the cute young blonde on, and she rocked back on her knees, screwing her fingers deeper and deeper into her tightly clasping pussy. She could see the man’s huge thick cock fucking in and out of her mother’s ardently clasping cunt, sinking through the soft pussy hair like a greased telephone pole. The aroused teenager’s fingers became that pole — and her gasps began to match theirs. She wanted, absurdly, everything her mother was getting, as immature as she was. Her body was confessing it, betraying her. She wanted to be split too, wanted to be fucked, wanted a sperm-bloated penis pumping into her own hot searing passage. Her fingers were nothing compared to that enormous thick member that was being rammed in and out of her mother. She had to have more — but there was nothing, nothing but her own fingers.
She reached up over her nakedly thrashing buttocks with her free hand, searching the tight crevice for she knew-not-what. The fingers on her ass-cheeks seemed to be magnetized as her mind flashed pictures of how the man had stuffed his finger into her mother’s rectal passage… and of how the older woman seemed to be enjoying it immensely.
And then she found her puckered little anal hole. Quickly, the young blonde girl rammed one finger up into the tiny opening between her moon-shaped buttocks, gasping as in her haste a fingernail dug into the soft fleshy walls, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her wantonly quivering thirteen year old body. She stilled for a moment, then took up the lewd rhythm of the couple on the bed, her buttocks lifting high off the floor as her long legs braced themselves, she writhed and groaned in frustration, and ultimately turned over onto her knees, trying to find a more comfortable position.
Now her ripe young breasts were scraping against the floor, her nipples brushing tantalizingly against the cool tile. Her long blonde hair wafted away on all sides of her voluptuous body, falling eventually in a golden pile on the bathroom floor. Wildly erotic tingles of lewd pleasure raced through her passion-inflamed loins as she pictured herself under the nameless pounding body with the socks. Then her face colored crimson as she felt her own orgasm coming — coming with a great roar.
She hung for an insane, lust-propelled moment teetering on the edge of the first climax she’d ever experienced, and then her entire sensually aroused body convulsed as her liquid passion gushed from around her thrusting fingers, covering her hand and wrist, and dripping down onto the tiles below. She could feel it running in slick rivulets down the inside of her quivering thighs to her bended knees. As her teeth chattered through her shattering climax, she was greeted by a sobbing shriek and a low male groan from the direction of her mother’s bed as the writhing joined couple answered her orgasm with one of their own. Then there was complete silence except for the gasping, panting breathing of the three of them.
Ellen stayed on her hands and knees for awhile, sobbing silently. Her buttocks still swaying in the musky air. She couldn’t bring herself to take her hand away from her glowing young cunt until the last dying throbs of climax had been stilled. It seemed eons before her fingers finally slithered wetly from her satiated vaginal opening, and she rolled over onto her side, clutching her burning breasts, a terrible feeling of guilt suffusing her entire trembling being.
She looked up towards her mother’s distant bed. It seemed as if the couple there were now hurtling towards a second orgasm. Ellen could see the muscles cording up on her mother’s inner thighs as she struggled like a crazed nymphomaniac to get the man deeper inside of her. His hands cupped her naked white buttocks with savage strength that cut red lines into the smooth, wildly undulating mounds; he squeezed her rounded ass-cheeks tightly together, forcing her vagina more snugly around the thickness of his thrusting male hardness. Ellen could see the thin, ragged edges of her mother’s wet sucking pussy clasping it tightly like the ovaled mouth of a hungry child around the last banana in the world as it moved in and out of her belly.
Her mother’s buttocks were grinding faster now, and her groans and mewls of animal pleasure had escalated dramatically as the glazed eyes of her voluptuous blonde daughter remained glued hypnotically to the lewd coupling on the bed. Mrs. Winthrop’s wild, demonic upward thrusts were met with equal fury by the stranger’s pelvis, which drove her even more deeply into the mattress with each mighty surge, the loud slaps of belly against belly resounding like thunder claps.
Ellen held her breath as she watched her mother being fucked with increasing viciousness. And then there was a low, unearthly gurgle from her mother’s throat, and her buttocks began a series of small, spasmodic jerks up tight against the penis that was sunk so deeply inside her churning white belly. “Aaaggghhh. Ah… oh… awweeee… I’m cumming!” Ellen’s mother wailed.
At the same time the man groaned again above her, grinding hard into her wantonly writhing cunt, his thick fleshy rod beginning to spurt again its white milky sperm deep up inside her belly. The creamy rich fluid filled her vaginal passage before cascading out around the stretched pink lips of her cunt. Ellen watched breathlessly as a tiny white stream of it ran down the wide split crevice of her buttocks to drop on the mattress below. And then the couple seemed to expire into a long, drawn-out sigh, lying very still although still joined.
For a long time nothing seemed to happen, and then at last the man rolled off of the older woman and got up, going over to some clothes that were slung over a chair.
“I’ve got to go, Mrs. Winthrop,” came the boyish tenor, “or my mother will give me hell. I’m supposed to be playing basketball at St. Ignatius.”
Ellen started, her eyes wide. Oh no! No! She could swear that the “man” was Billy Erspamer, the fourteen year old boy from next door!
But could it be? She watched his huge limp penis dangling as he got into his clothes. With the two of them on the bed, it was impossible exactly to tell just what the size of the man was. Billy was certainly much shorter than her statuesque mother, although he was quite hairy for his age. But could that be his enormous penis, swinging so evilly like an Arabian scimitar?
Her mother got up from the bed, wrapping a robe around her lushly proportioned body, a lazy smile on her lovely face. “And how much do you want this time, you wonderful brute?” she asked.
Billy Erspamer — she was certain it was him now — grinned. “Ten dollars,” he said with a smirk.
Ellen watched unbelievingly as her mother went to her purse on the vanity, took out a roll of bills and handed it to him. “There’s fifteen,” she said, and then she put her arms around the boy and kissed him, obviously working her tongue around inside his cheeks. When the kiss broke, she whispered huskily, “You’re sure you wouldn’t like me to suck your cock, darling?” and reached down to stroke the thick bulge in his Levi’s.
Billy shook his head. “No thanks, Mrs. Winthrop. I’d like to, but my mother’ll kill me if I’m late. No fooling! Maybe next time.” And then he picked up his jacket and went for the door.
Her mother tailed after him, grabbing him one more time before he could get away, by the neck this time. “You do respect me, don’t you, darling?” she asked.
“Sure, sure I do, Mrs. Winthrop. You know I do. Now come on, I’ve really got to get going. My mother’ll kill me.”
The older woman shrugged. “All right,” she said, letting him out into the corridor, and then as an afterthought, whispered, “But use the back stairs. My daughter’s asleep. Good night, dear.”
Crawling through the darkness on all fours, slinking across the floor like the snake she felt like, Ellen finally managed to make it back to her own bedroom. She flopped down into her bed with tears of uncertainty rolling down her cheeks like beads of glass. The troubled young girl was almost glad that her father wasn’t alive; for she knew now that her mother had been carrying on like this even before he died. She could remember how the older woman had often stayed out late in the evening during his lengthy illness, pleading PTA, or other charitable work. Well, she certainly seemed to be practicing charity now, thought Ellen, choking on her futile tears.
How could she ever face her mother again, after what she had witnessed? And after what she had done with herself while she witnessed it? How could she look at her mother in the morning over their usual breakfast together?
But what could she do? Where could she go? She was too young by far to run away from home.
Maxwell and Dominique Carter were her only real friends. She resolved to see as much of them as possible from now on. They were understanding, worldly people, and would make good substitute parents… she could trust them!
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