Chapter 7
If her mother had taught Carol nothing else, the girl had learned the value of money from her; how to be frugal. Otherwise, she would never have saved a penny from the money that Mr. Lecheur had given her. Nor would she have stopped to think now that the slightly more than $200 that she had left wouldn't last her very long if she continued to stay at a hotel. So she did some checking around and found a place for single girls just off Sunset Boulevard and moved into the tenement the next morning.
Here, she decided, she would establish "headquarters" and sally forth, like Don Quixote, to conquer the grist-mills of Hollywood. However, during the next few months her confidence suffered a series of very discouraging jolts when she found out that the city was overflowing with a pulchritude of big-busted girls ... all with the same far-flung dreams as hers. At the movie and television studios, she couldn't even get past the receptionists or guards. A lot of ten-percenters said that they would be only too happy to "handle" her, in the true sense of the word. But after her calamitous experience with Wally Haynes, she insisted on "payment on delivery" and no agent was about to agree to those kinds of terms without a semblance of talent, or experience, no matter how desirable she might be. The employment agencies and business offices that she visited were the same. With no business experience and no training or references of any kind, they wouldn't even consider her.
She managed to get a few jobs like ushering at an X-rated Sunset Boulevard movie house. But the customers seemed to think that she was there for them to pinch and goose and try to date, when she showed them to their seats. She also worked for a couple of weeks demonstrating cosmetics in a five-an-ten store. But that had a proposition attached to it, as did all the other jobs that she had tried, which meant that it got rougher and rougher for her to find anything to do, to pay the rent and keep eating regularly.
Carol was well past her seventeenth birthday by now. Her original bankroll was long since gone, as was the rest of the money that she had earned during the months that she had been in Los Angeles. She was convinced by this time that being "discovered" wasn't going to be as easy as she had imagined. It was going to take a great deal longer than she thought-if ever. It was under these conditions that she finally landed a job working for Joe Papadosos.
Joe owned the Parthenon, a drive-in restaurant in Burbank. The Parthenon covered several acres at a busy intersection not too far from the major TV centers. At night, the building that stood in the center of the lot looked very impressive with its miles of neon lighting. But actually it was a bandbox, with a kitchen just big enough to move around in. The parking spaces were designed in the form of a wheel. As many as twenty-five to fifty customers could be taken care of at the same time, depending on the female carhops who served them.
Carol didn't start working at the Parthenon as a carhop. None of the girls did. Joe told her that everybody had to work their way up from "the bottom," which to Joe had a couple of meanings. One meant that before a girl donned one of the risque uniforms that his girls wore, she had to first wash dishes in the kitchen.
As Carol discovered, this was sort of a "proving grounds." Since the sink was situated between the refrigerator and the stove, and the kitchen was small, to get back and forth was a tight squeeze. Which meant that Joe had to brush against the fanny of the girl who might be standing at the sink, washing dishes.
Joe wasn't a very large man, but he had a considerable belly, much bigger than Wally Haynes. And even though he wore a long white apron most of the time, it didn't hide his almost constant erection. Which gave Joe ample opportunity to sample the buttocks of every girl who worked for him, which for Joe, being Greek, was very important. Carol wasn't sure whether it was because Joe liked to rub up against her fanny, or because he didn't think that she was ready to serve customers yet. But from what she could gather from the other girls, he kept her washing dishes for a much longer time than usual.
It was while she was still working in the kitchen, getting her pretty hands parboiled in dishwater, that she ran into a minor problem. She owed the landlady, at the "singles" house where she was living, two weeks rent which amounted to more than twenty-five dollars and the woman was making noises about it. Even though Carol promised to pay the woman, the landlady said that she had to have the money right away to meet her taxes. Since there was no place else that she could get the money, Carol decided to ask Joe Papadosos to loan her the money as an advance on her salary.
Joe, who could easily have answered to Mr. Five-by-five, glared at her with small, sly, black eyes from beneath his black beetle-brows that left little forehead between them and his low-cut hairline. "I don't loan money to nobody," he told her in English laced very heavily with Greek.
Carol was completely taken aback. "But I'll be working right here for you. Mr. Papadosos. You can deduct it from my salary."
"No loan," he replied, resolutely shaking his thick black-thatched head. Then his hot gaze slowly traveled over her bountiful breasts and the liberal curve of her hips under the dark skirt and white apron that she was wearing. He stroked his jutting, blue-black jaw, reflectively, and added, "But maybe you would like to earn the extra money?"
Carol frowned and swallowed uncomfortably. "What-what would I have to do?"
He grinned lasciviously. "Stay for a little while after we close up tonight."
Carol's uneasiness mounted. "I-I'm not sure I'd care very much about working overtime, Mr. Papadosos."
He shrugged and continued his bold appraisal of her sensuous young body. 'That's too bad. I was just thinking about letting you leave the kitchen and move up to serving cars." He shrugged again and shook his head. "But that would mean working overtime many nights-and if a girl does not want to do that...." When Carol made no reply, Joe made another appraisal of her abundance of youthful charms and said, "You think it over, kid. You still need the money and want the new job, you let me know. Okay?" Then he returned to his cooking.
Carol thought it over very carefully for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. There was no place for her to go and no way for her to earn the money. Like Wally Haynes-Joe Papadosos with his beer-barrel torso, long, hairy arms and bullet-shaped head that seemed to grow right out of his sloping shoulders, without benefit of a neck, wasn't her idea of a Romeo and certainly not conducive to sex. But at least, it would be better than picking up some stranger off the street.
At ten-thirty, half-an-hour before the Parthenon was slated to close, Carol stepped away from the sink and, drying her hands in the skirt of her apron, approached Joe, sort of gingerly. "Mr. Papadosos," she said as he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "I've-I've decided I'd like to stay after work, after all."
His dark face brightened as he turned to face her. "Good ... good ... when we close up, you wait for me in the ladies room."
As Carol turned and started to walk away from him, he took a quick step after her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He cupped her breasts and pulled her close to him and through the thinness of her clothing, she could feel the hardness of his huge cock against her cushiony buttocks.
"You show me a good time, kid," he whispered, his hot, spice-laden breath against her cheek, "And you got it made. You won't never have to worry about having a place to sleep again."
At 10:55 p.m., with only a couple of cars left in the parking spaces outside, Joe Papadosos began putting out the neon lights. By 11:15, the last customer was gone and all of the carhops had changed out of their costumes and left. But not without a knowing, parting glance at Carol, who was staying behind. It was as if they had all been through-the-mill with the proprietor and were asking, "I wonder if the poor kid knows what she's in for!"
There was still time for Carol to change her mind and leave, too. But her situation hadn't changed. She still needed the money, and to disappoint Joe now would probably cost her the job.
Carol was alone in the ladies room, when Joe came in. After locking all the doors and putting out all the lights except a night bulb over the stove in the kitchen, it was almost 11:20 and Joe could hardly contain his anxiousness. He closed the door after him, so that no light would show outside. He had removed his grease-splattered, long, white apron, his tall white chef s hat, his black bow tie and opened the neck of his white shirt.
by his expression, he hadn't expected to find Carol sprawled out on her back on the couch, with the lower folds of the smock that she had put on over her bra and panties, open in such a way as to expose her perfectly shaped, nylon-encased legs more than halfway up her thighs. She had remembered Mr. Lecheur's onetime advice that a woman's legs always look "more beautiful in shoes" and had put on her tall white heels.
Since there was no question in her mind what she was there for, Carol made no move to get up. Instead, she glimpsed his jumbo erection beneath the material of his dark trousers and, as he started to move toward the couch, closed her eyes. She heard him halt beside her and felt a hot hand on her thighs. She clenched them together tightly as the hand moved slowly upward under her smock, off her nylon hose and onto the silky flesh of her upper thighs.
As it had first been with Mr. Lecheur, then with Olivia Grant and her brother and again with Wally Haynes, Carol tried hard to ignore what he was doing to her, try to think of something else. But the moment his hand glided over her diaphanous panties and began to rub her hair-covered cunt through the material, it was as if a furry animal had suddenly come to life in her belly to cause itchy, burning sensations, to surge through her body and center in her cunt. She could feel the stiffening of her ultra-sensitive clitoris and her liquid desire wetting the crotch of her panties. Damn! Why did she heat up so easily? Why did her vagina always get so wet, so quickly? It was impossible for her to pretend that she wasn't affected when her body betrayed her this way, all the time.
It wasn't long before she gave in completely to his stroking, squirming her behind around on the couch, parting her legs so that he could get his hand down between them and rub his fingers over her eager pussy. It had been such a long time since anyone had played with her down there, since anyone had screwed her. If ever a girl was ready to be fucked, it was Carol at that moment. She wished that he would pull off her panties and dig into her. He said that he wanted a good time-well, she would show him one. His repulsiveness needn't bother her. She could close her eyes and picture all sorts of far more desirable men-younger men, closer her own age. That young surfer that she had seen at Santa Monica, with the sun-bleached blond hair and wide, tanned shoulders ... that box boy with the almost-too-white teeth who always smiled at her when she shopped at the supermarket. She could have her choice of lovers. All she had to do was use her imagination and perform all sorts of wild, erotic, outrageous acts with them.
She opened her eyes almost disappointedly when she felt Joe take his hand from her crotch to start undoing the snaps that ran down the front of her smock. For all the black, hairy stubbiness of his fingers, his touch was light and sure. In a moment he had the smock unsnapped and thrown it open to stare down at her straining breasts, the creamy-white, flesh bulging over the top of her tight bra, enticingly. He did something that never failed to cause her a tremor of sensation. He fitted a finger down inside her snug bra and wiggled it over her aroused nipple. She felt like reaching out and grabbing his cock and squeezing him. But that would have been a little too bold, make her look much too anxious.
She lay there as his hands went behind her, lifting herself just enough so that he could unfasten the hooks at the back of her bra. Once the bra was off, he put his hairy-backed hands on her beautiful, big breasts. His fingers pinched her nipples.
Carol inhaled sharply and made a pretense of resisting.
Joe ignored her weak objections and sank his fingers into her soft-firm flesh. He gloated and watched her expression, then her breasts as he squeezed and molded them into crazy weird shapes. Her nipples were bloated with arousal-wrinkled, stiff, sensitive. He was sitting on the bed now, his body twisted at the waist so that he could look down at her. He tried to kiss her lips. But she turned her head away-until he cupped her chin and twisted her face around. She was panting with dread. She wouldn't have minded if he had simply gone ahead and fucked her. But to have to kiss him-!
When Joe pressed his mouth against her closed lips, a terrible weakness surged through her. His wet, open mouth was like a flaming torch to her. Her chest was heaving. Her heart was pounding. Her right tit, clutched in his vise-like grip, burned with a strange warmth. It was almost with relief that he broke the kiss and moved his mouth down to the breast that he had been torturing. He began to lick and suck, sending wild sensations coursing through Carol's body.
His wet sucking mouth moved from nipple to nipple, washing each one thoroughly with his tongue before taking the tingling flesh-buds between his lips. He sucked and licked them with his hot, fat tongue. He nibbled at the nubs of erectile tissue and sharp, hot delight darted through Carol's breasts.
She moaned and writhed against his face, causing her taut breasts to quiver and her nipples to pop out of his mouth, arousing him to a fever heat as he went after them to capture them again with his lips. He caressed her trembling tummy, then slid his hand down beneath her panties and through the silky black hair that covered her mound. Lower, his hand moved until it was between her parted thighs. He pressed the callused heel of his hand against the heated, wet lips of her cunt.
Carol closed her eyes against the tremulous sensations that rocked her head to toe. And then, as his fingers petted her pussy and slid into her between her wet, fluid vaginal lips, she felt as if she must cry out and beg him to take her.
He kept working his fingers in and out of her cunt, stroking her clit, his hands wet now almost to his wrist with her warm, sticky girl-juices. The next thing Carol knew her panties were off and his face was wedged between her legs, his tongue licking the soft, warm, filmsy-moist insides of her thighs from her stocking-tops up to the flaming flanges of her pussy.
She couldn't resist spreading her legs wide apart for him, allowing him complete access to her gentalia. he responded by gluing his open mouth to her cuntal lips in a suctioning kiss, while his flicking tongue began long, slow lickings of her flooded foyer and stiffened clit. She watched for a moment with her head lifted, then she let her head drop back onto the couch. She was going to climax! She thought back to when Olivia Grant had performed cunnilingus on her. How strong her orgasm had been! This one promised to be every bit as intense-because it had been so long, much, much too long!
She felt herself getting all hot and quivery inside and outside of her cunt. Her belly was moving in and out like a bellows. Carol sobbed in her ecstasy and began undulating her box against Joe Papadosos' flowing mouth. His tongue never stopped for an instant, never missed a stroke on her clit.
It was as if she were hammering on the door to Paradise and it was starting to slowly open to admit her. She began panting, faster, deeper. Her head came up again. She stared blindly at his black-topped head as it rose and fell between her clutching thighs. Her fingers clawed deep into the couch. She shuddered. Again and again. Her face was a mask of exquisite torture. Her head rolled from side to side. Her breasts threatened to burst. Her nipples ached in her passion. Carol's belly was crawling with worms! Scalding, squirming, immeshed serpents of unenduring pleasure. Her hips squirmed with the worms in helpless abandon. She was wholly unaware of the pagan sounds that she was making. She teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.
After what seemed an eternity, Carol felt the pleasure relax its strangling grip on her mind and her body and she could no longer stand the cutting sensations of the restaurant-owner's tongue on her clitoris, inside her cunt.
"No more ... no more please," she panted as she forced Joe's bullet head up from between her thighs and clamped her legs together.
Joe sat up, wiped his mouth, with the hairy back of his hand and grinned. "You must be awful young. Only a young cunt could taste as sweet as yours. Joe knows."
He got up from the couch, unzipped his fly and pushed the trousers and shorts down his legs as one unit. He had a full-blown hard on.
He stepped out of his trousers and shorts and pulled off his shirt. He reminded Carol of something out of French postcard that one of the girls back at school passed around one day, showing a man with an erection standing over a woman, wearing only his black socks and shoes. The thought vanished instantly as Joe reached forward and grabbed her ankles. Pushing outward, he spread her legs apart. The result was that her crotch and her ass were laid open to his hot, licentious gaze. It was different when Mr. Lecheur looked at her this way. She was used to his eyes. And with Wally Haynes, she was well-laced with Tequila at the time. Now with Joe Papadosos, her cheeks burned with mortification as his hot eyes pried into the pink slit that was still wet with his saliva and the slick juice of her orgasm.
She could see his prick pounding with blood as he gazed at the perfection of her thighs, so creamy white and smooth above the tops of her sheer stockings, as they converged on the black hair-fringed beauty of her youthful cunt-then at the hole itself, partly open now as he continued to hold her legs well apart.
As he might upend a wheelbarrow, Joe, still gripping her handles flipped her over onto her stomach and then let her go. As she lay there in front of him, she felt his finger move like a paintbrush down and then up between her buttocks cleft, lingering at the pinkish-brown, puckered hole between her white, firm loaves of ass flesh.
A kind of delirious excitement surged through her as she felt him work a digit into the constricting opening. It brought back the memory of Olivia's brother, Simon, fucking her back there. She didn't like it that day. She didn't like it one damn bit! She wondered with dread anticipation if Joe intended to do her that way now.
He kept fingering her asshole. "You're awful tight. You ever had it Greek style?"
She knew what he meant by "Greek style" and shook her head. She didn't want him to know, for fear he might think she was experienced at such a perversion. Maybe if he thought that it had never happened, she might be able to talk him out of it.
"Some women like it better in the rear than they do up front," Joe said as he took his finger out of her anus and began swiping the drooling head of his cock along the crease of her backside. "Maybe you will, too?"
"No, I won't!" she cried out. "I lied to you, Mr. Papadosos. I have tried it. Somebody made me do it and I hated it."
"Was he Greek?"
"No. I don't think so."
"Ahh. that's why," Joe rationalized. "Only a Greek can make you like it. You'll see."
Carol made a valiant attempt to get up, to turn over on her back. But his heavy hand on the small of her back kept her prone, face-down on the couch.
He forced her legs open and then got onto the couch on his knees, between them. Then he slipped a hand beneath her belly and, as his fingers cupped her mound, he raised her rump so that it made a perfect target for him to aim his prick at. It was no longer necessary to keep a hand on her back and hold her down. It was impossible for her even to crawl away from him. So he moved his right hand to the base of his cock and nudged the head of it into the nutmeg-like hole between her buttocks. His prick seemed as big as a fence-post and she was too tight to accept him.
That brought on more finger manipulations and the transporting of the love oil from her cunt to her anus. She writhed sensually in spite of the abhorrance that she felt for this unnatural act, as his finger, with a thick, slippery coating of her juice and his own, slipped in and out of her rear hole, stretching her until the sphincter muscle at the entrance relaxed and he was able to get two and then three fingers inside her at the same time.
It wasn't until her rosebud was thoroughly anointed with both their juices that he pulled his fingers out of her, replacing them with the tip of his trembling prick.
"Relax, kid, and enjoy it," he breathed against her bare back, the excitement reaching a crest inside him as he put the thought of what he was about to do to her into words. "I'm gonna fuck that rosy-red, little asshole of yours 'til your belly's fulled with cum. Like I told you, nobody can dig an asshole like a Greek."
His left hand still on her mons, his right hand held his cock firmly against the cavity that he sought to dig. He drove himself forward. Her ass held firm and tight for a moment, resisting the pressure that he was applying. Then everything seemed to collapse and his tool slipped into the opening with a sudden darting motion. Carol screamed, shuddered and gasped as his prick sent a stab of white-hot pain tearing through her ass. His cock was far bigger than his three fingers, much bigger than Simon Grant's cock had been. But Joe didn't let up. He drove into her with a relentless determination to ream her.
She rocked from side to side, trying to dislodge him as she had with Simon. But his cock was now more than halfway inside her and he kept pushing, pushing until he was all the way in. He plastered his loins against her rump, grinding the hair at the base of his massive cock into her buttocks and jiggling slightly, trying to work himself up to a quick climax.
His balls, dangling low and packed with seed, slapped against the lips of her cunt in a way that added pleasure. Now that he was implanted inside her rectum, he slipped his right hand beneath her to play with her dangling tits, while the fingers of his left hand reached further down between her thighs and into her dripping cunt to hone her clit.
It wasn't long before she felt him tighten against her and ram his cock as deep into her as her buttocks would allow. He groaned, "Oh-Christ-I'm startin' ... I'm startin' to cum!"
His cock burst inside her bowels like a Roman candle. The cum arched out of his cock, thoroughly flooding the narrow, super-sensitive passageway into which it was jammed.
Carol's orgasm, brought on by his masturbating fingers, wasn't far behind. Frantic with lust and tingling from head to foot, she made no attempt to hold back. She let her climax completely overwhelm her and run its course. When finally his cock stopped belching inside her, she expected him to pull out. But that was wistful thinking. He stayed right in her snug asshole and did her a second time. Only then was he done with her-at least, for the immediate present. Only then did he release her and let her flop down onto the couch and lie there, unmolested, in utter exhaustion.