Chapter 1
Julia was uncomfortably aware that the man behind the dark glasses was giving her body a thorough examination. She fumed inwardly that he would think her too stupid to know, even without seeing his eyes, exactly where he was looking.
The tilt of his head told her that Sherman Wilson was finding her breasts most interesting. A slight dip of his tanned, bald head and this time an even longer study of her hips and tummy ... then, even lower. He was looking directly at her most intimate place. Julia shifted her legs uncomfortably and felt a flush of embarrassment creep to her cheeks. His silence continued.
He had virtually trapped her when he nodded to her to sit at the end of his deck chair. A nod from Mr. Wilson was an order, she reminded herself. He owned The Buccaneer Inn and Resort. He employed her mother, and it was Julia who had come looking for the man. She wanted to work at The Buccaneer-and, for the moment, she knew that fact gave him staring privileges.
She was terribly naive, she accused herself, as she waited for him to speak. Now she was certain the resort manager had been teasing when he said she'd catch Mr. Wilson in a good mood if she went to him during his private cocktail hour at his poolside cabana.
"Wear a swim suit that'll show him you're a big girl now," was the last bit of advice. "You know he's not seen much of you since you were a kid."
The manager should know, Julia had reassured herself earlier when she posed uncertainly in front of her mirror just before going to look for Mr. Wilson. She had chosen the gold bikini, and in the late afternoon shadow of her bedroom she had shivered at the naked look it gave her. At least her body should know she was a far more mature woman than the age on her job application might indicate. For a minute, there in her bedroom, she had shyly studied her figure. It was a drama of flesh in perfect harmony, golden skin superbly contoured to hills and valleys. Proud breasts, firm and rich, pressed urgently against gold lame patches. In spite of her eighteen years, she had never understood the attention her chest attracted. She frowned at the thin halter that did little to conceal the sign of stiffening nipples. There was only a hint of the hardening, but if they were like this out of the water, she knew that would happen if she jumped into the pool. It was the thread in the lame which teased them so.
Her glance drifted to her face and she tossed her head to tumble the long hair across her shoulders. More than once she had wished she were a brunette. For years the blonde hair had caused more problems than the fun it was supposed to bring. Almost without exception, her dates had assumed it meant carte blanche to everything with Julia. Her eyes flashed angrily at her mirror as she remembered the last date she'd had two months before. He'd tried for it like the rest, then spread the word: Sweet Julia Cochran wasn't about to put out. There had not been one call from a boy since then!
She surveyed the rest of her body's effect on the world with a saucy twist to right and to left. There was a feline tautness to her lower body as she contorted before the glass; she took quick inventory of the wide flare of her sleek hips, the flat plateau across her belly and the prominent rise of her pubes against the golden bikini panties. She was sure her mound was much too noticeable. With an impatient sniff, she swung from her inspection and left on her search for Mr. Wilson, a bath towel folded across her arm as she paraded, poised and almost confident, from the employees' quarters.
A curtain had moved quickly as she stepped from the apartment front porch to the grass. That would be the watchful head waiter of the dining room gaping at her from behind his drapes. She drew back her shoulders almost defiantly, cetain of his surreptitious appraisal. Let him see what he wants to see, cajoled the voice inside her. It's you. Why hide it?
Glad she had brought happiness to another of her admirers, Julia marched in quest of the owner of the resort that had been her mother's and father's home for eight years. Just as predicted, Sherman Wilson was in a good mood when she reached his cabana.
Julia saw a violent bulge pulsing against the tight elastic of his rivieras as he gaped lustfully at her. The evening's menu from the main dining room made a partial cover across his groin, but it wasn't sufficient to hide his condition.
It made no difference if she did see it, Wilson told himself. She was Vivien Cochran's daughter, wasn't she? like mother, like daughter; and who knew more about Vivien than Sherman Wilson? Still, there was that child-like look of shocking innocence about her face. Lord, what a beauty!! The soft hair as a frame to those eyes, that nose ... her mother's nose ... and those lips! Even without that cock-maddening body, he'd get a hard-on from the built-in sensuality of her face.
As he sat in silence, frowning and pretending to weigh her request, Wilson was really fighting an almost overwhelming compulsion to stand and stretch and let the sexpot see what she was doing to him. Instead, he reached for the pack of cigarettes at his side, and as he fingered a Parliament into the long, ivory filter, he wondered what she'd do if he followed his impulse. At least she'd see a firm body on a baldheaded sixty-year-old. No flab, no tire at the waist. Just solid muscle. Especially the one about to kill him at the middle! Ten-to-one, she probably thought he couldn't even get it up at his age.
He wondered if she had any idea of his relationship to her mother. It could be that it was Vivien who sent her daughter to him dressed in this next-to-nothing bikini. Who better than Vivien could know his response to a shape like her daughter's? God Almighty! To think that drunken Bart Cochran once had enough active reproductive cells to give the world this gorgeous creature! Wilson's eyes moved again to the slope of her midriff, then followed her body line down and across to the magic of her love mound.
The kid must know the score! Probably she had had a hundred cocks split those shapely legs already. And now she had come to him for a job. Maybe Vivien had told her daughter about the wealth one Sherman Wilson wore at his crotch. Maybe his flame-haired mistress had ideas of her own-like giving her benefactor a little bonus play. She'd probably briefed the girl on his exact dimensions and told her to act the coy one. Time to see how cool she could be, he told himself.
Wilson twisted for the ash tray and at the same time tugged the opened menu several inches upward to expose the lower half of his rivieras. Seconds later he saw the long lashes flutter as she looked, then looked quickly to the side, and an instant later again focused on the erection he was making no effort to hide. He'd forced her double-take with a deliberate urging of his pelvis that almost made his erection flip out of his white trunks.
The kid was a smooth one, he realized. Just the slightest widening of her eyes at the sight of his condition and then she was looking straight into his glasses-as if she could read everything going on behind his shades. Damned if she didn't have the prettiest blush!
"So you're really serious about wanting to learn the motel business?" he demanded.
Julia trembled at the abrupt resumption of their exchange. "I do, Mister Wilson. I really do. From the ground up."
It had been a terrifying interlude of silence, climaxed by that shocking display just before he spoke. She had seen tented pants and disturbed crotches before, and thought she understood them. Her mother had put it all in perspective years ago, and Julia understood the erected penis was something a man couldn't help-and she should ignore it if it ever happened when she was with a boy. It was simply a normal biological response. And there is where it should stop for Julia-right there! She should recognize the hard length for what it was, then forget it.
This time it was different. A weird excitement traveled to every part of her body when the menu on Wilson's lap shifted and showed what was going on. No possible doubt about the fact that he was aroused. Three years without men in that convent-like St. Mary's with its thousands of girl-talk sessions had filled in many gaps about men. From the dormitory reports of wilder girls, she knew what had caught her eye on Mr. Wilson's front was more than a normal biological response. It was a man hot and bothered to get at her with that great muscle she could see ramrodding against his too-small trunks.
Guilt and desire mingled and wrestled inside Julia. Shocked, she had torn her eyes from the sight and then quite helplessly felt compelled to look again. She was sure the man would be mortified if he knew what she could see. The way that white elastic was stretched, it was almost as if he had no cover at all over his sexual parts. In a split-second scrutiny she had seen more of how an aroused man appears than she had witnessed in sum total of the years before. She marveled at the arrogance of a man's parts. Those twin roundnesses nestled soft and full under his barrel hardness were a fascination by themselves. There was where a woman's joy was manufactured, Julia knew from comparative anatomy studies. The teaching sister in biology class would never have tolerated the word "joy" to describe special liquid those testicles made. Spermatozoa and androgens and anything but "cum joy," as one of her friends called it. A flash of shame for even thinking about that word for a male's semen darted across her cheeks. She had come home with more dormitory words than decent classroom terms for excited males and females.
Excited was the only word for this man's cock. She had totally surrendered now to lusty thoughts. She could see the bony ripple of the broad underside of his shaft. He must be two inches across and at least eight inches long. And there, almost at the upper edge of his rivieras, slightly, it would surely pop out into broad daylight. Please, dear Mister Wilson, stretch!
"Julia, tell you what I'd like you to do." His voice was very soft. "Get lost for about ten minutes and let me think about your request. Take a dip and then come back."
"Certainly, Mister Wilson." She stood quickly and walked toward the opening of the cabana shell.
"Tell me, young lady, does your mother know you're applying for this work?" he called after her.
Julia turned and nodded. "She doesn't know I want to work my way right to the top, but she knows I'd like to get a job. That's why Mister
Reichard sent me to see you because of the no-two-from-the-same-family rule, except for the dining room staff."
"Okay, shoo!" Wilson waved an imperious arm. "Go dive off the high board or something. Let me think.';
Her blonde hair danced against her shoulders as she walked the length of the pool toward the deep end. Spellbound by the barely perceptible roll of her seductively cushioned ass, Sherman Wilson's hand cupped the cap of his agonized erection, then fingered under the top edge of his trunks to free it. He blessed the privacy of the owner's cabana, which guaranteed there would be no visitors without an advisory via the house phone at his elbow. That had been the shocker of Julia's coming unannounced in a welcomed violation of his explicit rules.
He saw her pause at the foot of the ladder to the high board and draw her bathing cap over her hair. There was a delightful sensuality even to the way she caught the hair at her neck and tucked it beneath the cap. Wilson could imagine her at the vanity in his bedroom, primping and preparing herself to make ready for his hunger.
Now she was walking to the end of the board, balancing, arms stretching high above her head. What an incredible beauty! Wilson tugged against the elastic and eased more of the turbulent rod out, taking care to rest his forearm across the exposed part of his shaft.
"Stupid!" he muttered aloud, impatiently shifting and for an impetuous moment flagging his hard-on at the distant figure. Across the Olympic-length pool, she was on the fifteen-foot diving board-not a chance of her seeing his little urge.
"Goddamnit, but that is sweet cunt!" he breathed explosively. The late afternoon shadows highlighted the girl's magnificent breasts and prominent mons. "I'm going to fuck you, little Miss Cochran!" he grunted, then shifted his hands to conceal the several inches of bared prick. She had suddenly stopped in mid-bounce as if almost losing balance and now she was looking directly at his cabana opening. He returned her wave and wondered if she had seen.
Julia had-but hadn't believed it. Even from the far end of the pool her sharp eyes had caught sight of white skin gleaming against a darkly tanned body. Her wave had been a shocked reflex when she saw where his hand was. The man was actually jerking at himself. He couldn't know she could see.
She was balancing again, bouncing prettily for the swan-and-jackknife combination. Her thoughts were far away from a dive that was second nature to her. All she could think of was that hot fist yanking on what Mr. Wilson had freed from his trunks.
The whole encounter was an answer to what one of the girls at school had claimed-that men usually keep their sex appetite till late in life. The rest of the girls in her room that night had squealed in disbelief that men of all ages find entertainment playing with their erections.
Here in one barely seen episode, Julia was certain she had discovered a truth about men and especially about Mr. Wilson. His wife had died a year ago, and she wondered, how was a widower to be helped if he didn't do something like masturbate?
The slight shock of the pool water as she knifed below the surface blasted the next thought that insinuated itself into her mind. What a feeling it would be, she thought, to parade right back to the cabana, dive at Sherman Wilson's middle, and snatch that thing out of his hand. Jerk him crazy and make it squirt as high as it could go! She could tell him it was a biological experiment to see if it took the male or female longer to finish doing it that way! Maybe he would do the same for her after she ... A wave of virtuous thoughts slammed the lust from her mind.
Wilson watched the girl toweling herself outside his cabana. He wondered if she had seen his brazen exhibition, and then he wondered as quickly why he cared. She was virtually his property, and unless he grossly misread the signals, those nipples which now blossomed excitedly against their scant cover were offering him full ownership. Lord! To sink himself into the sizzling twat and hear her scream total surrender the way her mother did each time he took her!
"Come on in!" He motioned her back to the end of the chaise. "You're a very accomplished swimmer," he praised.
"Thank you. I was on the team at St. Mary's and I took the Red Cross lifesaving course there, too."
He chuckled and, pushing his glasses to his forehead, looked openly at the bikini panties. Red Cross will have to make a smaller patch.
She smiled tensely and then her expression sobered. "Do you think you can possibly start me, Mister Wilson?"
He nodded. "I like the idea. I'll speak to Reichard-and you, young lady, can speak to your mother. No talk about summer work or anything. Give her the whole bit about wanting a career in the hotel business. Then, if manager and mother agree, we'll start you."
Julia's face was radiant. "Thank you!" She was obviously fighting the desire to squeal her delight. "Mums will understand. She wanted me to try pre-med, but I'm no student."
A scowl crossed Wilson's face. "If you really plan to go any place in this racket, you're going to have to study twice as hard. Even hear of the AMHA?"
"I think so. Isn't that the American Motel and Hotel Association?"
"Right. They put out the course you're going to have to study in your free time, which, I should warn you, won't be too much. You won't have time for dates every night."
Her sniff was audible and expressive. "That's nothing new." Her eyes searched his. "If you have the right principles..."
He coughed uncomfortably and groped the pocket of the terry-cloth robe he had hastily pulled across his shoulders while Julia swam. The lower folds crisscrossed over his lap, totally concealing his unrelenting erection. To relieve the intense pressure, he had pried the whole assembly from its elastic prison. Beneath the wrinkled cloth the cock shaft throbbed happily.
"Principles?" he echoed. "Maybe it's a day for different principles from those in my day."
"Not about some things," Julia replied, spacing each word to dramatize the determination she felt. "My Mums taught me to know what's right, and the sisters at St. Mary's did, too." She took a deep breath, remembering what she had seen Mr. Wilson starting to do when she was on the board.
"Go on," he urged. His hand lay across his lap and he could feel the heat of his hard-on through the robe.
"I think a girl should wait," she continued. "At least till she knows she's in love."
Wilson coughed again and squashed the cigarette into an ash tray. "Good girl," he praised, hoping his lie had sounded as sincere as hers. Or was she lying? He felt a sudden uncertainty. An ass like that had surely been ground into a hundred mattresses, he reasoned. Then he caught the defensive glitter in her eyes. With a shock, he knew Julia was telling it the way it was for her.
Virgin cunt! Reichard must have sensed it when he sent the girl to him. The Prussian went for the innocent type and something had clued him about her naivete. Wilson was sure his manager had made suggestions of where she might start, if the owner gave permission. Probably at front desk, on the late night shift, when he could deflower her innocence and fuck her silly while the lobby was deserted.
"Did Mister Reichard suggest where you might start if I approve the plan?" he asked.
Julia hesitated, then smiled and nodded. "It was nothing definite, but he did say maybe I could begin on the graveyard shift and get used to the register and the reservations system and everything while it's quiet."
There was a moment of silence as he digested this confirmation of his guess. He liked his resident manager, even if more than once Kurt Reichard had scooped some sexpot guest away for his own amusement. A plan was already dawning in his mind-this time a joint project. He knew Julia had more than enough to satisfy a dozen men, and her conquest would be a challenge-especially, in view of his relationship to the girl's mother.
The thought of Vivien Cochran made him glance quickly at his wrist watch, then straighten and shift his legs over the side of the chaise. "Almost forgot," he announced brusquely. "Have a meeting coming up. I'm afraid Mister Reichard's suggestion is ahead of the game. You should start at the very bottom and work up, my dear. I want you to begin as a chambermaid. If everything else is in order on Monday, you start making beds and changing linen."
Her eyes sparkled happily as he spoke. Impetuously she reached for the hand on his lap and squeezed it gratefully. "Oh, thank you, Mister Wilson! You won't be disappointed in me." She darted toward the exit from the cabana. "I'm so excited. I want to hurry and tell Mums."
When she was gone, he slapped his thigh with delight. He wondered if Vivien was still at her apartment, and how she would take the news. Chuckling happily, he left the cabana and headed for his rendezvous.
Minutes later he was standing in the center of his bedroom. He had designed the room especially for Vivien's auburn hair when their relationship began five years before. He remembered her delight with the theme of gold and black and ivory. Drapes and carpeting, furnishings and the spread of the king-size bed were all designed to complement her beauty.
Vivien's was a body Sherman Wilson felt he had to have, in spite of the risk of ultimate confrontation with her husband or accusation from his own wife who was then still living. Their times together had been chosen carefully; always in the early evening when the chance of exposure was the least. Wilson doubted that his affair with Mrs. Bart Cochran was that much of a secret. Thirty years in the resort business had taught him about the employee grapevine. He shrugged. He was sure no one had whispered the word to Bart Cochran and, unless by some unlikely chance, Vivien had herself mentioned it to her daughter, it was not known by Julia either.
"Burgundy-that's it!" he exclaimed as he moved to the foot of the bed and indulged his imagination. Writhing in all her nude beauty, was Julia, arms extended, pleading for him to take her. He could see her silken-blonde hair tumbled across her shoulders onto the dark bedspread.
He stared speculatively at the bed, and in his mind's eye another scene unfolded. Now there were two voluptuaries on his mattress-Vivien and Julia, both reaching imploring hands toward his virile nakedness, pointing excitedly at his soaring hard-on.
"You horny sonofabitch!" he growled at himself. Just the thought of the two sprawled before him caused his penis to spear against the trunks again. He bent quickly and peeled the rivieras, then hurried to the bathroom. His playmate was due at any second.
The thickened phallus stood bone-like and unyielding as he soaped and rinsed in the shower, then stepped to the lamb's wool throw rug to towel himself. From the bedroom came the soft, muted sounds of Al Hirt's trumpet playing one of her favorites. It was Vivien's way of telling him she had arrived. A pause at his medicine cabinet for a light touch of the very dry Brut cologne under his chin, and he was ready. No need for the robe; he was too ready.
She lay in the precise position his dream had placed her, and Wilson stopped halfway across the room to study her rich, seductive beauty. At thirty-seven, Vivien had complete confidence in her effect on the man world and with good reason. Her pride in herself reflected in her care of skin and weight and muscle tone. Lying across the gold-satin spread, she was the eternal seductress, pretending sleep while her body proclaimed it was wide awake, ready for everything. A slight fleshiness showed at the rounding of her hips and he smiled at the way she had positioned herself to conceal the evidence. Her breasts gave the only other clue to her maturity. Vivien had complained bitterly that they were beginning to sag, but to Wilson their rich fullness was as intoxicating as ever.
like mother, like daughter. He stared at the exciting tautness of her nipples and remembered the state of Julia's pointed breasts when she had returned from the pool. There was no more time for looking. He crept across the satin and bent to her forehead to press a kiss to the fringe of her hair. He paused, just as his lips touched her temple and stared at the red, bordering on blonde, along the slight part. Was there a hint of gray at the root? Could she possibly be rinsing the flame loveliness into her hair? He drove the thought from his mind. What difference? Her eyes remained closed when his hand crept to her thigh and stroked the gentle announcement of his hunger, but with a contented sigh, Vivien twisted to her back as he spread her legs to his invasion. A light tremor moved through her body when he crept between her thighs, then leaned across her front, one palm flattened at her side while the other guided his prick against her cleft. For an electrified second he strained, listening to the shortness of her breathing as she waited for his thrust. With her eyes closed and her face turned to the side, the profile was exactly like that of the girl who had come to his cabana. He admired her lovely throat, and the exquisitely carved line from her forehead to her nose and chin.
"Sherm!" Vivien hissed, her eyes opening suddenly. "Hurry! I need you."
He drove violently through her pussy tissue and buried himself fully in a gasping thrust that molded them together, mound to mound. For several seconds he clung tightly while she wormed her legs under his and closed a snug, cunty trap around his cock. He liked to think his phallus was too big for her to accommodate. The leg action and the use of clasping inner muscles always made him feel immense and rapish. Vivien seemed to like it that way herself. After a slow rocking rhythm for another moment, he began to piston slowly against the resisting flesh.
"Oohh, you shouldn't!" The cry spilled from her lips, but even as she protested, her body ground eagerly against his own, begging for the attack.
"Why?" he demanded hotly, pumping longer thrusts deep into the woman.
"It's not right. I'm a married woman ... and ... you ... you're making me..."
"You're right!" Wilson snarled. He liked the little ritual whenever he heard it from her and he often wondered if it was Vivien's way of pretending she had been forced into the extra-marital affair. This time, the reminder that she was married fired a wild fantasy even as he felt his orgasm building. The female beneath him suddenly changed from redhead to blonde, and instead of Vivien, he imagined he was making love to Julia. At that second his climax seized him and his ejaculation charged, the spunking frenzy driving Vivien over her own crest. For mad seconds they were locked in the happy spasm of orgasm, and he knew his demanding need was being fulfilled.
Then it was quiet in the room and the iron in her body began to soften. Gently he separated from her and rolled over to lie on his back. He felt her curl toward him, then her lips pressed against his shoulder.
"That was so good," she murmured. "Thank you."
It was always the same pattern, Wilson thought. Intense hunger ... flash of guilt ... then gratitude. He wondered how it would be with Julia.
As though the thought had kindled some extra-sensory communication, Vivien pushed to her elbow and leaned to look into his face. "I hear you had a visitor at the pool."
"She got home before you left, huh?"
She nodded. "Yes, and I'm not sure I like what I heard."
He cocked a quizzical eyebrow toward the woman and felt an uneasy twinge. He wondered, had the kid mentioned something she might have seen?
"About the hotel career business?" he demanded, turning to stretch to the bed table for a cigarette. "I think it's a great idea, if she's serious. Let her strike a blow for woman's liberation."
There was silence from his playmate and Wilson knew the flippancy was badly timed, and he asked, "So what's wrong with the girl giving it a try?"
"Nothing, I guess. But you know I wanted her at the girls' school to keep her out of this environment and not just to keep her from a drunken father. And, Sherm, you know how grateful I am." Her hand crept out to stroke him. "I won't forget who paid most of the cost of those three years."
"Worth it!" he grunted. He'd been well repaid those years, he reminded himself. The kid had been out from under foot and Vivien had been left with a husband who drank himself to impotency whenever he was off his waiter shift. It was a perfect combination of things to drive her to his arms.
"Times have changed, Viv," he said. "There's a place for her in this business, and after what she's seen, there's not much danger of her winding up with a drunken waiter for a husband."
"I don't worry about that," she replied. "It's this training period that bothers me. She was telling me that if I agree to her taking the job, she will start as a chambermaid."
"Right at the bottom," Wilson nodded. "She may as well learn to make beds with square corners, and to clean sinks."
"And toilet bowls," Vivien added wryly. "She's over talking to Kurt right now."
"She's a fast operator," chuckled Sherm. "You know that kid got to the manager before she said a word to either of us. Then she came and told me Kurt would take her on if I agreed."
"That's one man who worries me. Do you trust him?"
His hand covered her fingers. "Don't worry that pretty little head," he soothed. "She'll be all right." He tugged her fingers across his front to bring them to his ballooning cock and she groaned at the feel of the swelling flesh.
"S'matter?" he demanded.
"Not a thing," she moaned. "Except that you know I can't think when you're like that."
As they locked together in new frenzy, Vivien hurried her lover toward his climax. She wanted to hear his wild cries as the spunk-madness seized him. One fleeting cry had burst from his lips in the midst of his moans of sheer male happiness before. She was certain he had cried the name, Julia.
"Guh ... goin ... baby!" he cried, his humping becoming suddenly brutish.
"Do it, Sherm, do it!" The force of his passion caught and bound her in her own climax and she fought to hear his cries above the thunderous roaring which filled her head.
Abruptly the man was quiet, breathing heavily and disengaging from her body, leaving her with the uncertainty of what she had heard. She wondered as they lay side-by-side if by some freak chance this man who had been solely hers for more than five years was feeling the urge toward another woman. Her own daughter!