Chapter 2

Vincent was relieved that Becky had left without making trouble. He'd only locked her in the basement to prove that she would leave at his, and not her, own choosing. Actually, he'd tired of her after the second month, and he would have replaced her sooner, but his type of woman was harder and harder to find. Young, pretty, and virginal. The third requirement was the most difficult to meet. It seemed that a large number of girls were fucking boys by the time they were thirteen. By sixteen or seventeen, approximately half had lost their cherries. And at twenty, virginity was almost nonexistent. He supposed that the agreeable Southern climate tended to make them more hot-blooded.

For a few days he worried about a visit from one of Becky's irate relatives. One silly girl had reported her ruination at Vincent's hands, and her burly father had appeared with murder in his heart. Fortunately, Vincent's glib tongue and dignified appearance convinced the man that his daughter was a lying little whore who'd been shacking up with some unknown hippie for two months. The enlightened father had taken off his belt on the spot and ordered the girl to raise her dress above her hips. He had then commenced to whip her until her panties hung in shreds around her lovely little ass. Vincent had found it amusing.

With Becky gone, Vincent began making plans for obtaining a new fuck-mate. His lust could not long go unfed. He'd looked over the new girls at his office, and he was experienced enough to know that none met his stringent standards. They were all fucking someone or had been fucked recently. Most young girls, he had found, left home and came to the city because they had been screwed or were looking to be screwed.

He supposed that he did have one virgin in the office. She was the office manager. Not really bad-looking, but nothing to crow about either. Her name was Agatha Sims. She was a spinster of thirty-eight, and she'd come to work at the trucking terminal several years before Vincent's father had died and left him a fortune.

The old man had doted on Agatha, but he had never once tried to fuck her, and neither had Vincent or any of the other male employees. The old man had sailed a stern ship, and fuck-play was forbidden. And so, Agatha Sims had withered in her prime from lack of physical love.

Scratch the office help, and scratch the local girls. Not only were most of them wellfucked, but they could eventually cause him trouble. Sooner or later some irate father would try to blow Vincent's brains out, regardless of his wealth and position in the community.

What he needed, he supposed, was a healthy girl right off the farm. A great percentage of them retained their innocence. No. His memory was getting bad. About two years before, he had seduced a country bumpkin. A cute little thing of eighteen. She'd cried after he had fucked her, and she'd cried the entire two weeks she'd stayed with him. Every time he'd fucked her, she'd cried, even while he had his cock in her cunt.

She'd wanted marriage in order to wash away her sins of the flesh. Her greatest failing was that she could never learn the finer points of fucking, even from such a teacher as himself. She had never truly appreciated the delightful little perversities.

He'd finally soothed her and dried her tears with a stroke of pure genius. He'd given her enough money to return home and the finest wardrobe a girl had ever taken into a haystack.

Ah, well. A man had to learn by his mistakes. He had to reach out and take the bull by the horns. With this thought in mind, he placed an ad in several metropolitan newspapers.

Each was in a Northern city, and each was at least six hundred miles away from his home base. The ad read: Girl Friday needed by prominent trucking executive. Good pay and excellent fringe benefits. Travel allowance for trip to the beautiful Southland. If interested send for private questionnaire. Must be under 21. Enclose photo. All replies confidential.

He was besieged by responses within the next few days. He studied the photos with great relish. Some of the girls were homely, some so-so, and some very beautiful. A few who were onto his game but couldn't have cared less about his motives enclosed nude photos, some downright pornographic. These he immediately dropped into the wastebasket. Not a virgin in the lot, he reasoned.

The process of elimination was tiring but enjoyable. He cut the number in half, then halved it again. From the remainder, he chose twelve girls to receive questionnaires. The rest he ignored.

He waited. Six of the girls did not reply. The questionnaire was too intimate. Six were left from which to choose.

He looked them over, carefully comparing the photos with the questionnaires. He quickly eliminated four, for they were obviously lying--about their ages, about their virginity, about everything.

Two were left. His heart began a mad thumping. From the very start one girl had captured his imagination. She had survived cut after cut after cut. He had feared that she would not reply to the questionnaire, but she had. Fuck. He could get a hard-on just by looking at her picture. He tossed the other photo in the wastebasket. She alone remained.

He looked at her picture. Her big innocent eyes could not lie. If anything, she was younger than eighteen. Her face was slender and well-sculpted. Her mouth was wide and full, and yet she appeared to be more child than woman.

He grimaced. His prick was large and stiff. His balls ached with lust. He wished that she had sent a full-length photo instead of one cut off just above her tits. He wished that she had sent a nude picture of herself. God. He wished that the photo was pornographic, that she'd spread her legs and taken a picture of her ass and furry little pussy.

No female had ever so affected him. Perhaps he had abstained from fucking too long since Becky had left his bed. He had the urge to dash into the street, grab the first woman he saw and fuck hell out of her. Instead, he stripped and ran himself a cold bath.

He put the girl's picture at the end of the tub. It thrilled him to think that she was looking at him as he sat naked in the cold water. His balls were icy, yet his prick stuck out of the water like a large ivory iceberg. God, but he wanted to fuck her.

It shamed him, but he gripped his cock-meat and began to wildly jack himself off. It had been years since he'd stooped to the act, but he couldn't stop hammering his hard and tortured cock-shaft.

The girl was looking at him and he was looking at her. Fuck. She was admiring his cock- shaft, watching him flog it to death. He thought that she was smiling. It felt wonderful. He tried to hold back, tried to make it last, but he couldn't. He was coming. His cock-juice jetted across the surface of the water like a large oil slick. He'd never come so strongly, so profusely.

Quickly, he wrenched the plug from the tub. The water made a loud gurgling sound as it went down the drain. He watched his cock-juice being sucked into the pipe, and he shuddered with pleasure. The girl's wonderful little cunt would be drawing in his next healthy load.

When Vincent wrote the girl, he put a plane ticket in the envelope. He specified the flight that she was to take and gave her instructions to report directly to his home if the plane arrived after office hours. He had shrewdly checked the flight schedule, picking out one with a layover in D.C. She would have to come to the mansion.

He was beside himself on the evening that she was to arrive. When darkness began to fall, he became worried. He had visions of the plane crashing, of that beautiful young body lying crushed on some lonely hillside. He walked to the large window that fronted the living room, and parted the drapes. A cab was creeping up the long, winding driveway.

The cabby escorted the girl to the door. Vincent opened it with a trembling hand. The girl looked pale and scared. "I... I didn't have the money to pay him," she said.

"Forgive me, my dear," Vincent said. "I should have thought of that." He removed a bill from his wallet. The cabby took it, nodded his thanks, and left. The girl moved slowly into the room and Vincent closed the door behind her.

"I was stone-broke when I saw your ad," she whispered nervously. Vincent took her small suitcase. "I just had time to get a few things," she said. "I left rather quickly when I received the plane ticket." She walked around the room, awed by Vincent's collection of paintings and sculptures.

Vincent had the urge to grab her, tear the clothing from her body, and fuck her. He wisely decided to put her at ease before he tried anything. "Do you like art, my dear?" he asked.

"Painting, you mean?"

"All forms of art," Vincent said. "I have one room that is filled with nothing but Civil War relics." He sighed. "Ah, but I'm completely wrapped up in my art collection. It captures me.

I become uplifted and refreshed when I look at a religious painting, a country scene, or a lovely nude."

The girl blushed, and the blush pleased him.

"Truly great art is more than simple entertainment," he said. "It involves the emotions. It sucks us into an abyss of pleasure from which we don't want to return."

"It does?" She looked bewildered.

Vincent smiled and tried not to look lecherous. "Even love is an art. Probably the most intriguing and rewarding of all the arts. Don't you agree?"

She smiled nervously. "I'm really quite dumb about such things," she said. "Art, I mean.

Not love."

Vincent looked disappointed. "Ah... you're experienced in love?"

She blushed more deeply than before. "I didn't mean it that way, either." She wrung her hands. "Oh, Mr. Kingston, I'm all tangled up!"

"I understand," Vincent said. "I suppose it is rather unnerving to discover that all Southerners don't sit around under magnolia trees and sip mint juleps."

"Yes," she said weakly.

Vincent led her into the study and took her questionnaire from the file. He looked at it and at the girl. Her face was exactly like the photo. Now that he had the body to go with it, he was even more intrigued by the possibilities. Her raven hair had been recently clipped, making her face appear a bit more mature than the photo, but her figure was that of an adolescent's. Prominent titties but very slender hips and buttocks.

The long moment of silence worried her. "If I don't get the job, I... I don't know what I'll do, Mr. Kingston."

"There are one of two things that must be made clear," Vincent said. "You did answer the questionnaire truthfully, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're eighteen?"

"Closer to eighteen than to seventeen," she said. "I... I lied just a little."

Vincent cleared his throat and looked displeased at the thought of even a small lie. "I suppose you might even be lying about your name?"

"No... sir," she stammered. "It really is Karen Bliss."

"You might even be lying about item number four," he said. His tone was firm, scolding her. "Do you recall item number four, Karen?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what did item number four refer to, Karen?"

"My... uh... " She looked deeply embarrassed.

"Go on, Karen. Say it."

"My'... my virginity," she squeaked.

"Are you a virgin, Karen?" he asked sharply.

"I swear it!" she said, almost on the verge of tears. "Oh, I do need the job, Mrs. Kingston!"

"And you'll get it," he said soothingly, "if you are very frank and truthful with me, Karen."

"Oh, I will be, Mr. Kingston!"

"How is it that a girl bordering on eighteen still retains her virginity?" he asked. "Do you come from a religious family?"

"No, sir," Karen said. "My father wouldn't let me go out with boys."

"Why?"

She averted her eyes. "He... he wanted me for himself."

Vincent tried to look shocked, but deep inside he was chuckling at his good fortune. He put the questionnaire back into the file. "I shall have to think about it overnight," he said.

"Ill give you my answer in the morning."

"I'll have to go to a hotel," she said. "And I have no money."

"You can stay here," Vincent said.

She looked doubtful.

He gave her a fatherly smile. "You'll be perfectly safe. There is no one here except the butler and the gardener. They stay out of sight unless I call them."

"Your wife?"

"I'm unmarried," Vincent said. "But if you don't trust me, I'll give you money for lodgings."

She saw that he was annoyed with her. "Oh, I trust you, Mr. Kingston."

"Good." Vincent walked around her, resisting the impulse to pat her firm little assflesh.

"Come with me."

He led her into a room across the hallway from his own. A painting of a nude girl who appeared to be struggling with a dark-clouded beast graced the wall above the bed.

"Correggio," Vincent said. "One of my favorites. I look at it and see all womankind struggling against evil men. Men such as your father."

"I'd rather not talk about my father," Karen told him.

"Of course." Vincent pointed to a door. "The room has its own bath in case you'd care to freshen up before you retire."

"Oh, a warm bath will be wonderful," she sighed. She took off her thin jacket and undid the top button of her blouse. And then she paused, waiting for Vincent to leave the room.

He smiled. "I admire modesty in a woman," he said.

Vincent returned to his own room. Desire gnawed at his cock as he waited for his lovely victim to prepare herself for her unknown fate. He gave her ample time. Finally, when she'd had time to fall asleep, he crept into the hallway. Her door was locked, but he was prepared with a key that quickly opened it.

He stood in the darkness of the room, listening to her even breathing. She gave no knowledge of his presence, and he eased to her bed and sat down on the edge of it. He gently explored the curves of her body through the sheet that covered her.

"Ummm." She stirred when he touched her breast-flesh and he took the violating hand away from her warm mound.

He could hear the pounding of his own heart.

Vincent could not see her face, and he leaned very close to see if her eyes were open. He could feel her breath, warm and sweet against his face. He kissed her faintly and did not get a response. She was very tired from the trip and very sound asleep.

He carefully pulled the sheet away from her body. He touched her breasts, cupping them with his palms. They were firm and warm and virginal. He took a nipple in his mouth and tenderly sucked it. He was elated. She even tasted like a virgin.

"Mmmm." His tongue movements against her taut nipple made Karen's eyes pop open.

The room was inky black. She could not see the man who caressed her, but she sensed that it was Vincent Kingston.

She started to pull her tit away from his mouth with a cry of outrage, but she dared not anger him. She needed the job. She slyly shifted to her side and the nipple slipped from his mouth. Then she turned over onto her stomach.

His hand was on the small of her back, moving downward. She tried to pull the sheet across her buttflesh while making slight snoring sounds.

Vincent laughed softly. "Stop playing possum, Karen. You're not asleep."

"Mr. Kingston?" She pretended to have awakened suddenly, but she remained lying on her trembling belly. The position offered a small measure of protection.

"Don't be frightened," he said. "I only want to talk to you."

"Can't it wait until morning, Mr. Kingston?" She tugged at the sheet but he was holding the other end. His crawling fingers moved back and forth across her assflesh. The mounds contracted into hard knots of resentment. She considered herself a fool. She didn't know why she'd decided to sleep in the nude. It was something she had never done before. She supposed that the luxurious mansion had cast a spell on her. She'd also been ashamed of her tattered underclothing.

"I couldn't sleep," Vincent said. "I kept thinking about you and your father."

"My father?"

"You said he wanted you for himself," Vincent whispered. "Did he get you?"

Karen's breathing became erratic. His fingers were caressing the crevice of her ass. "N... no."

"I want to hear about it, Karen."

"Please, Mr. Kingston," she gasped. "I'd rather not." Those hot caressing fingers against her thighs and buttocks were driving her mad.

"You do want the job, don't you, Karen?" he asked. "Two hundred dollars per week?"

"Oh... yes, sir!" The astronomical figure shocked her. She had been thinking in terms of much less.

"Then tell me everything, Karen," he urged. "From the beginning. From the very first time he touched you."

"Must I?"

"Yes."

She took a deep breath, then began. "I... I was about thirteen."

"A mere child," Vincent interrupted. "Hardly any hair on your sweet, lovable little pussy."

"Please don't talk that way, Mr. Kingston. It embarrasses me." She had a double reason for being disturbed. Vincent was pushing a finger across her ass and into her pussy. "Go on, my dear."

"Well... " Karen faltered momentarily. She couldn't think. "He came to my bed one night- just like this. He put his hands on me. Except not behind. In front. Between my legs."

"On your pussy?"

"Yes, oh, yes!" Karen shuddered. "Please don't rub me like that, Mr. Kingston!"

"Don't you enjoy it, Karen?"

"Yes, but... "

"Continue your story, Karen."

"I was scared," she said weakly. "I started to cry. He left, but he came back the next night, and the next, as soon as my mother was asleep. I wanted to tell my mother but I was afraid she wouldn't believe me."

Vincent continued rubbing his fingers in and out of her cunt.

Karen tried to hold her legs together, but it was apparently impossible to protect her cuntarea with Vincent attacking from the rear.

"Mr. Kingston... don't... please." She drew her knees up but the action only made her cunt more accessible. "I... oh!" Vincent had found her clit and was pressing firmly against it.

Vincent was pleased. The pussy-folds that had been dry and clutching were beginning to grow moist and pliable. He began to frig her clit with his finger.

"I... oh... I... oh," Karen whined.

"Keep talking," Vincent said.

"I can't," she gasped. "Not with you doing... that!" She flipped to her back. Vincent's hand was instantly on her lower belly, his fingers playing in her cunt-hair. She reached around his wrist and . put her hands over her cunt.

"You were saying?" Vincent gritted his teeth He wanted to fuck her at that very moment.

She tried to continue. "One night he came to me and he was naked." She swallowed hard.

"He took my hand and put it on his penis. It was very large and hot. He told me how good it would feel if I'd let him put it between my legs and push it up in my belly. And then he tried to do it."

"But he didn't succeed?" Vincent panted as his own hardon neared bursting.

"No, I fought him off," Karen said. "He kept trying. And then he groaned and started shooting off, all over my belly. The bed. Everywhere." She trembled. "It went on like that for years."

"But he never once managed to penetrate your pussy, to have intercourse with you?"

"No."

"I find that difficult to believe," Vincent said flatly. He tried to pry her hands away from her pussy-mound. "No normal girl could go that long before succumbing to her own desires."

"But he was my father!" Karen cried. "I couldn't. Even if I had wanted to."

"Did you want to, Karen?"

"I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I felt like giving up the fight and just letting him have his way."

Vincent tore her hands away and forced his fingers between her legs. He cupped her moist little pussy and rubbed it. "You understand that you must be a virgin, Karen," he said. "I made that clear on the questionnaire."

She pulled at his invading hand. "Why is my virginity so important?"

"You know that I collect lovely, precious things, Karen," Vincent said in a hypnotic voice.

"And I've explained the difference between simple entertainment and true art. Any girl can give entertainment. It becomes art when the girl is pure and fresh."

Karen tore at his wrist but was helpless. His hand was firmly entrenched against her moist, pulsating pussy. "I don't want to become a part of your collection," she said fiercely.

He suddenly took his hand away from her cunt and his voice became icy. "Do you have a choice, Karen?" he asked. "You're penniless. And even if you do somehow manage to get back home, your father will beat you."

"No!"

Vincent was treading on thin ice. He had to proceed carefully or he'd lose this fine little cherry before he could pluck it. He could rape her, but he did not know how she'd react to force. She might go to the police. He had to make her want him.

Karen relaxed slightly and Vincent put his hand on her cunt once more. He followed by taking a nipple in his mouth. He sucked.

"Dooooooon't." Karen pushed at his head but not very forcefully.

His tongue dug at the nipple until it firmed.

His mouth was filled with hot tit-flesh, but he managed to murmur around it. "Two hundred dollars per week and you'll never have to worry about your father again."

"I would feel awful afterward," she sobbed. Her clit felt wonderful. Her tit felt delicious. Her father had never been such an expert.

"Two hundred," he repeated. "A fortune for a girl like yourself. Complete independence."

Karen relented. She knew that she was selling herself, but what he was doing felt so good she didn't want him to stop. "Just... once?" she asked, and her face grew hot with shame.

Vincent released her tit. "Just once," he said. He knew that one time would lead to another and another and another. No woman could ever stop fucking once she was fully awakened to the joys of sex.

"I wouldn't... I wouldn't... " She found it difficult to talk. He was rapidly frigging her clit.

She'd never had an orgasm before, but she realized that her first would take place at any moment. The heavenly sensations were moving through her pussy and into her belly and ass. She was very wet between her legs. "I wouldn't want the girls at your office to think I've become your mistress."

Vincent struck the worry aside. "You won't be going to the office," he assured her. "You'll be working here, doing papers that I bring home at night."

He suddenly kissed her and she responded. When she did, he took her hand and brought it against his prick-shaft. She jerked the hand away.

He forced it back. "Touch my prick," he urged. "Hold it. Get familiar with it."

Karen clutched it and she was awed. "It's so terribly big," she whispered, although she could not see it in the darkness.

"Larger than your father's?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Say you want it, Karen."

Vincent frigged her clit unmercifully. She was delicately lifting her ass and spreading her thighs so that he could get more fingers into her seeping cunt-slit.

"Say it, Karen!"

"I... I... oh, I want it, Mr. Kingston!" she cried, then clutched him to her as he fell between her legs.

Vincent was too impatient to be tender with her.

"Oh!" Karen cried out as he jammed his bloated cock-head into her moist pussy-folds and rammed it directly against her maidenhead. The stiff cock in her tiny pussy-hole was more painful than she had thought it would be. Her cunt-lips gripped his thick boring cock-shaft.

Her hymen resisted his advance. "It hurts, Mr. Kingston!" she cried. "Don't. I... ohhhhh. I've changed my mind. I don't want to do it!"

The driving weight behind Vincent's initial fuck-thrust could not be stopped. He tipped the scales at one-eighty and he put every pound of it behind his powerful rod.

"Aiiiiii!" Karen screamed mightily, as his enormous prick burst through her hymen and plunged deeper into her cunt-channel. She writhed, trying to escape the awful pressure in her belly. Her ass trembled violently. Perspiration broke out on her tit-flesh. "Oh, stop!"

She couldn't believe what was happening. His prick was still moving inward, inch after inch after inch. She feared that its length was endless.

"Uhhh!" Vincent groaned as he banged his swollen cock-knob against her cervix. The entry into a virgin cunt was something that not even heaven could match. He lay there trembling, relishing her moist burning pussy-sheath as it grasped his prick in reluctant embrace.

Karen cried a little and he hoped she wouldn't turn out like the hayseed. "Mr. Kingston, dont... fuck me." The word was not foreign to her. She'd heard her father use it many times. But hearing it from her excited Vincent. He began a vigorous screwing of her cunt that caused the girl to pray aloud.

"God. God. God," she sobbed. "I can't take it. It's so big and long. Oh, stop, Mr. Kingston.

Oh, God. My pussy!"

She was a victim of lust at its worst. Vincent's huge cock-shaft pounded her virgin cuntchannel and the pace did not slow until he ejaculated. Karen felt his cock jerking against the mouth of her womb. She felt the hot jets of cock-juice pouring into her hole. And she cried a little more.

Vincent kept pumping. The odor of her young slit permeated the room. His awful desire for her kept his prick erect. He thrust more rhythmically into her loosening cunt. Her clit was a slick rubbery sliver of hot bloated flesh, frictioning wetly against his cock-shaft.

"Ah, ahhhhhh," she sighed. She was beginning to respond. Even the deep hurt in her belly felt wonderful. She was a complete novice, but she was awkwardly lifting her ass to meet his many fuck-thrusts. She could sense a profuse flow of fluids in her pussy. His prick was moving like a thick piston, and the sleeve that enclosed it was alive with a million nerve endings.

"Oh, Mr. Kingston," she whined. "I... I... "

"Coming," Vincent groaned. "Coming like hell." He ejaculated again.

Karen sobbed gratefully before the shame set in. Strangely, she thought of her father and wondered if it would have been as good to fuck him.