Chapter 8
Whatever else he might be, Joe Papadosos was a man of his word. He gave Carol the money, as promised, before she left the restaurant that night, and the next day he hired someone else to wash dishes and help out in the kitchen, and promoted Carol to carhop.
If Joe had any idea that Carol's beautiful, oversize breasts, gorgeously shaped legs and youthful body all wrapped up in one of his female Greek warrior costumes would prove to be such a traffic stopper, he would never have kept her in the kitchen as long as he had. As it had been in that X-rated movie house, where she had worked as an usher, the toughest part of Carol's job wasn't serving food to people in their cars, it was avoiding male hands and diplomatically parrying propositions without offending the paying customers. Not once, but several times a day, Carol heard the same tired line: "What's a girl like you doing working in a place like this?" Most always it was followed by the promise of making her a big movie or TV star. Unfortunately, it also included a proposal of dinner, or a visit to that person's studio or apartment, never to their place of business.
Carol, of course, was flattered by all this attention and Joe was delighted, because it was good for business. But her experience with Wally Haynes was still fresh in her mind, even though it had happened months before. So, since it was impossible for Carol to differentiate between a pass and the real McCoy, she accepted none of those "generous offers" and went on working at the Parthenon. Not that her lot with Joe Papadosos was any lark. But with him, she at least was sure of getting something for her efforts.
He paid her well and even arranged her hours, so that she could resume going to school during the day and get her diploma from high school. Because of the advice that Olivia Grant had given her back in West Allis, about getting an education, Carol made it her first goal.
As Joe had also told her, she had no more worries about a place to live. At first he wanted her to move in with him. But when he found out that she wasn't yet eighteen, he changed his mind. Engaging her in sexual relations didn't seem to bother him a great deal. He had a lot of friends in high places, he liked to brag, and he figured that he could always find a loophole through which he could wiggle out. But since she was going to school and had to have a permanent address, it would be too easy to nail him if she were living with him. So he had her take a room at the local "Y", which he paid for, and took her home with him several nights a week.
While Joe was admittedly a "back-door man," who liked nothing better than to pull down a girl's panties, kiss and lick all over her buttocks then shoot his load into her rear bung, he went in for all the other sexual practices, too. Cunnilingus, fellatio, mammary intercourse, he performed them all with Carol. Once in a while, when the mood struck him, he even gave her a normal, old-fashioned screw.
This arrangement went on for almost two months, until one evening shortly after dark, a big, black, underslung Caddy convertible pulled into one of the parking spaces at the Parthenon. Behind the wheel of the car sat a woman whom Carol judged to be somewhere in her late thirties. She was a rather pretty woman with a pleasant, white-toothed smile and incisive dark-brown eyes. Her frosted brown hair was arranged in a smart upsweep that accentuated the clean-cut of her classic jaw. Her clothes were expensive and high-fashioned.
Carol remembered the car and the woman as having visited the drive-in a couple of times during the past week and that it always was parked in one of her stations. But except to order and then thank Carol for the service that she rendered, the woman had never really spoken to her. Carol particularly remembered the woman because each time she left a sizable tip.
That night, for the first time, as Carol was taking her order the woman started a conversation, by asking, "What's your name, my dear?"
Carol told her.
"I'm Mrs. Allen, Zina Allen," the woman responded as she eyed Carol's breasts that were pushed up high by an uplift bra to show a lot of cleavage. Then she met Carol's gaze. "You're a very lovely young girl-but I'm sure you're quite aware of that."
Carol blushed a little. As many times as she might have heard it, being told that she was "lovely" right to her face, it never failed to embarrass her. "Thank you," she murmured.
"I should think that a girl as pretty as you and with such a darling figure would be battering down the doors of some movie or television studio," Zina said.
Carol made no reply. She saw little point in telling a perfect stranger that she had been all through that routine-very unsuccessfully. She just waited for the woman to order.
"I'm curious, my dear," the woman continued. "But is it possible you're contented working in a place like this? That this is the height of your ambition?"
It was the same old familiar wheeze that so many men had used on her. But this was the first time that she had heard it from a woman. Her first thought was that Zina Allen might be a member of the same club as Olivia Grant and she had no desire to get mixed up with another lesbian.
"You haven't answered my question, my dear?" Zina persisted. "Wouldn't you like something a little more exciting, more fruitful, more suitable than merely being a carhop?"
Carol flared resentfully that someone that she didn't even know should have the audacity to ask such a question. With a cold, indignant politeness, she replied, "Yes, ma'am, I would. That's exactly why I go to school during the day."
The woman in the car smiled and asked an even more pertinent question. "Just what is your ambition, Carol? What is your goal?"
Almost sarcastically, Carol ran her eyes over the length of the black Cadillac, then said, 'To have a big expensive car like this-plus all the things that go with it."
Instead of being rebuked by the girl's answer, Zina Allen beamed. "Admirable, my dear." Then with a strange new enthusiasm and interest, "Perhaps I can help you achieve your goals?"
Carol felt a mild twinge of disgust. So the woman is a lesbian, she said to herself. She froze up and, with studied indifference, said, 'Thank you, but I think I'd prefer to manage by myself." She glanced toward the building that stood in the center of the lot, significantly, and added, "I hope you'll understand, ma'am. But the boss doesn't like any of the girls to stand and talk too long. So if you'll please let me have your order...."
Zina met Carol's gaze with amusement. "You think I'm trying to proposition you, don't you, darling?" she chuckled. "I can't say that I blame you. Hollywood and vicinity is overrun with wolves and wolverines of the two-legged variety. A girl as pretty as you can't be too careful. But I assure you, my dear, that isn't the case. I'm not a female homosexual, if that's what's troubling you. Far from it." She took a slip of paper and a ballpoint pen from her handbag and jotted down an address and phone number on it. "I'm really serious, Carol darling. I do want to help you, and that's why I came back here several times to study you before I spoke to you." She handed the slip of paper out the car window to Carol. "Think it over my dear, and if you decide you'd like my help-call me. If not-well, I wish you every success on your own."
Then without waiting to order, she backed the big car out of the parking space and drove away and left Carol standing there, staring after her, bewilderedly.
Carol didn't go home with Joe Papadosos that night. She told him that she had an important test next day and that she had to study. So after the restaurant closed, he drove her to the "Y" But before he let her go, he found a dark spot where they could park for a little while. He played with her tits and fingered her cunt underneath her panties for a few minutes, then he said, "Y'know-I ain't had a hand job for a hell of a long time. How's about you taking it out and jacking me off?"
Carol knew that it would be a waste of time to argue with him, so while he kept his hand up under her miniskirt, fingering her wet crotch, she unzipped his fly, dug a hand inside and brought out his big, hard prick. She knew that no one could see them in the darkness especially with the dashboard lights out, so she squeezed the fat length of him and then began to stroke him, slowly, up and down his spongy shaft. She was ashamed of the sensual thrill that it gave her and subconsciously opened her thighs wider, to let his hand do what it would. His fingers began moving faster in her slot, making her wildly excited, especially when he brushed over her swollen, sensitive pleasure spot. The sensation was a sweet flare up of deliciousness and the tight, funny feeling in her belly told her that she was going to cum very soon! She shivered more strongly, panting audibly as a big hot flower spread its petals wide open between her thighs. She held her breath and went all tight. "Oooh, Joeee!" The climax was beautifully strong.
Joe knew that she was cumming and took away his hand so that she could enjoy it to the fullest. He waited, then put his hand back between her legs. "Want to go off again?"
She shook her head. "You have a handkerchief?"
He reached one from his back pocket and gave it to her. She spread it across his right thigh where it would be ready when she needed it. She had stopped masturbating him while she rode out her orgasm. Now once again, she encircled the fat, spongy middle of his prick with her fingers and began an exciting up and down stroking of the rigid flesh. She moved her hand slowly at first, then faster and faster. His cock felt hot against her palm, but at the same time it was slippery and clammy from his flow of precoital fluid. Her sole purpose was to make him cum as quickly as she could and get the distasteful chore over with as quickly as possible, so she could get home. To this end, she dug her free hand inside his open fly to cup and squeeze his balls softly, while she continued to stroke his prick.
One of his hands was down inside her bra, fondling her breasts; the other was beneath her skirt again rubbing the thin crotch of her pink nylon panties. He was trying to make her cum again and if he didn't stop, even though she might will it, she was going to oblige him.
She kept her fist moving and could sense his approaching climax by the way that he was breathing, moving his hands over her tits and vagina. She could feel his big cock becoming hotter, stiffer, its flexibility less noticeable. His hips and pot belly were jerking up and down with the rhythm of her stroking hand. "Oh, yeah ... oh, yeah, man!"
Carol watched the bright purple-red head of his cock swell up as her small hand was a blur. He made a sound of torturous pleasure. Carol felt a definite convulsion surge through his prick ... he grunted ... and then a blob of cum shot up in a high arc and fell onto the car seat between his splayed legs. She grabbed up the handkerchief in her left hand and held it, so she could catch the succeeding gobs that shot out of him.
Having done the same thing to Mr. Lecheur several times, Carol knew enough to keep pumping him, until he finally stopped ejaculating. Then he pulled his hand from her breasts and from between her legs and leaned against the back of the seat, with a contented sigh. "Christ-that was good! I forgot just how good a handoff can be!"
He was no longer interested in trying to make her cum a second time. For the moment, he wasn't interested in sex in any shape or form and Carol was glad. He tucked away his wilted cock, started the car and drove her to the "Y".
After she had washed and changed into her nightie, Carol got out her school books, propped herself up on the bed and began to study. But she didn't get very far, when she thought of the piece of paper that Zina Allen had given her earlier in the evening. It was in her handbag within easy reach of the bed. She hadn't even bothered to look at the address until now and was surprised to find that the woman lived in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in Beverly Hills.
The woman had assured her that she wasn't a lesbian. What then could she want of her? Why should a perfect stranger want to help her? Maybe the woman was a movie or television producer? There were some women in the business. Or she might even be an agent? There were even more of them. The more Carol thought about it, the more curious, the more intrigued she became. What harm could it do for her to investigate? To call the woman, even go see her and find out what she wanted?
Carol didn't do a great deal of studying after that. In fact, she fell asleep wondering if she should try to find out what the woman wanted of her.
As usual, Carol attended classes next morning. But by lunchtime, the mystery as to what Zina Allen might want of her got too much for Carol, so she went into a public phone booth and dialed the number that the woman had scribbled on the piece of paper that she had given her. Zina herself answered the phone and sounded delighted, if not too greatly surprised, that Carol had called her and that she would like to see her, but that the earliest that she could get there would be after school. Zina said that it would be convenient enough at that time and told the girl to take a taxicab from the school to her home, that she would pay the driver when they arrived. Carol followed her instructions to the letter, and at three-thirty she was standing in front of Zina Allen amid the splendor of the woman's spacious living room.
Compared to this, Olivia Grant's home, that Carol had thought was so beautiful, was nothing. Everything in Zina's place was of the very finest, the drapes, carpeting, the furnishings were from all around the world. The lighting was indirect and picturesque. The furniture was massive and costly. Original Renoirs, Picassos and Lautrecs adorned the walls.
As for the woman herself, Carol couldn't help but be impressed. It was the first time that she had seen Zina Allen standing and found that the woman was much taller than she had imagined, with a bustline that matched hers in size and beauty and a figure that Carol couldn't help but wish that she could have when she would be Zina's age. After they were comfortably seated across from each other in the living room, Zina told Carol that she would like her to work for her. She didn't come right out and tell Carol what the job would be, except that it would put her in direct touch with the kind of people that Carol said she wanted to meet. Zina was somewhat taken aback and disappointed when she learned that Carol had a good six months to go before she was eighteen.
"As a rule, I don't have girls working for me unless they are at least eighteen," Zina said, studying Carol's face and figure, especially her legs and breasts, seated in the chair across from her. "But you appear to be such a promising prospect, that I just might consider you. Especially since you'll be continuing your studies and it will take quite a while to train you. As a matter-of-fact, I'd like you move right in here with me, if you can arrange it, so that I might personally take you under my wing."
Carol frowned. "That'll mean giving up my job."
Zina smiled. "The sooner you do that, my dear, the better it will be."
"But without a job, I won't have any money," Carol pointed out.
"You won't need any, darling. You won't need a thing," Zina assured her. "Not as long as you're with me. Everything you can possibly need will be yours."
To Carol it sounded almost too good to be true, even if she had no idea of what her job with the woman would be. Actually it didn't matter too much, so long as Zina guaranteed that she wasn't a lez. The important thing was that Zina was offering her a chance to realize her ambition and to get away from the job that she had come to dislike increasingly more, as well as from Joe Papadosos and his abnormal way of making 'love" that she detested even more.
It wasn't because she wanted to present any obstacles, she simply wanted to be sure that she touched all the bases, which is why Carol said, "The high school I'm attending is pretty far away."
Zina thought a moment then she replied, "You could transfer to Beverly Hills High, I suppose. But that might only present problems. So we'll arrange for your transportation to and from the school you're attending now-even if you have to use a taxicab as you did today."
Carol should have suspected that whatever the job that Zina planned to groom her for must have been rather unusual, for the woman not to want Carol to change schools, or let anyone know that she would be staying with her. In fact, she even insisted that Carol keep her old address at the "Y" and that she would pay for it. Carol in her anxiousness was afraid to ask too many questions, right off the bat, for fear that one of them might prick her pretty dream balloon and cause her to wake up. After all, what possibly could be worse than what she had already gone through-and it just might turn out to be a thousand times better-the answer to everything she had ever hoped and prayed for.
Joe Papadosos was far from a happy man when Carol told him that same evening that she would be leaving him at the end of the week. At first he threatened her, then tried to cajole her and finally offered her all sorts of inducements to stay with him-a generous raise in salary, shorter hours, less sexual demands. In a final emotional outburst, he even proposed marriage to her. Carol told him how flattered, how really and truly moved she was by his offers-especially to become his wife. But she tried to make him understand that she couldn't marry him, because she didn't love him; couldn't stay on the job because she had another job to go to. No matter what the other job offered, he told her, he would better it. But she knew that that was impossible.
She finished out the week at the restaurant. Then on the last night, Joe made her wait around until after everyone else was gone before he paid her. That wasn't all. He made one last frantic appeal to her to stay with him. When she again refused, he went wild with anger. He grabbed her and in spite of her screaming and struggling, he picked her up and carried her into the ladies room. Then he placed her on the couch, stripped off most of her clothes and raped her-Greek style, of course!