Chapter 3
"Ah! Dr. Granger," the soft scholarly voice sounded from the reception room. Horton looked up to see a rather short man with a burly chest coated in a tweed jacket leaning against the desk of the outer office. "I'd hoped to find you in."
"Then you're in luck," Dr. Granger said to his colleague. "If you've got a half hour, let's go to lunch at the Commons together."
"Sorry, old chap," the man said. He had a slight English accent. Oxford, unless Horton missed his guess. Could have been affected. There were speech coaches to help out with those things, but somehow, he doubted it.
Dr. Kyle Witherspoon, the man strolling into his office just now, was in enough hot water to be forced into taking a job at a second-rate school like Bayes University. He drank intemperately, and he gambled voraciously.
Also, he was fond of under-age girls.
"Well, well," Witherspoon greeted him cordially. The short, stout man extended his hand and smiled. "How are you, Granger?"
"Mean as ever, I'm afraid."
"That's all to the good."
"And yourself?"
"Never better," the man replied. He reached up and twiddled with his thick, bristly mustache.
Why college professors over the age of forty always insisted on mustaches, Horton Granger could never quite fathom.
"Let's close this, shall we?" the man said, and Horton sat back and relaxed.
Whenever anybody closed the door like that, it usually meant they wanted something. And he had a pretty good idea what old Witherspoon wanted.
The same thing he usually craved.
The same thing all his academic learning and scholarly publications could never quite satisfy him with. The same his wife and four children and natural stone house in the hills overlooking campus couldn't make up for.
A sweet, hot, willing under-age girl.
One that he knew Granger could provide for him.
At a price, albeit, but the good things in life never came cheaply.
"I've a free evening tonight," the man said rocking up on his toes. He clasped his hands behind him and looked as though he might begin a lecture on Medieval History. "I don't have many of them, you know."
"I know."
"And, if possible, I would especially like to spend it in the company of a young ... well, of a young, vitally young girl."
"Witherspoon, old man," Horton said, stroking his chin, "I think I have just the thing for you. Can you meet me at Doreen's place at eight o'clock?"
"Count on it."
The man's eyes were practically twinkling out of their sockets.
"And you should bring cash, check, or plastic with you, but an I.D. won't be necessary."
"Spoken like a true friend," Kyle
Witherspoon smiled.
Horton Granger watched as the professor strolled out of his office. He reached for the phone. Then, he put it down.
What the hell, he was due to see her today anyway. He could make Witherspoon's appointment in person. That would be more convenient.
Horton collected a few notes and slid them into his briefcase. He adjusted his tie and walked out of his office. He got in his low bottle green sports car and whisked off toward town. He headed for a familiar brownstone on a pleasant tree lined street not far from the town hall.
"Darling," the honey-throated voice of the gorgeous blonde greeted him as he walked up the front steps, "Come in."
Doreen backed up flush with the door frame and stuck her tits out toward Horton as he grazed past them.
They were the hottest pair of knockers ever saddled into a sheath dress as far as Horton Granger was concerned. But his favorite madam's tits interested him no more than any other of his girl's pairs of tits.
He loved them all.
Of course, there was a special fondness for this set, since it was the first he had ever seen naked, but that was to be expected.
"You look bushed," the beautiful girl said and led him to the kitchen. "How about a cup of coffee ... a drink of something? Gizelle, bring Dr. Granger some"
"No," he said, waving his hand, "there isn't really time for that. We're expecting company."
"What?"
He loathed that disappointed sound in her voice. He could read volumes from that sound. Of course, she didn't want company coming right away. She would have rather enjoyed Horton for an hour or two alone, but business was business.
And pleasure was pleasure.
And in the case of Horton Granger and his number one whore and favorite madam, Doreen, the two were constantly crossing over.
"But I thought we could just"
"We will, darling," he said and reached up to pat her the supple flesh on her heart-shaped chin, "we will. I promise. But later. Okay?"
"All right," she said and sat down a moment. There was an unspoken sigh on her lips. There was just never enough time with Horton. Never.
"Could we do a training session in about twenty minutes?"
Horton looked at his watch to see if he had it right. The girl was expected soon. But those freshmen girls never seemed to be anywhere on time ... except to his Drama History class. And that was just for the chance of getting to sit in the front row and make goo-goo eyes at him.
"New girl?" Doreen said, fighting the little twinge of jealousy that gnawed at her from somewhere very deep inside her.
"Yeah," he replied, almost mechanically, "We won't have much time with her. Dr. Witherspoon is expected at eight o'clock."
"And he'll be on time," Doreen said knowingly. She remembered Dr. Witherspoon very well. He was an avid collector of juvenile flesh ... especially the hot, nubile variety.
"What's her name?" Doreen said as she searched Horton's eyes for some sign that this girl might mean something to him ... something more than any of the others who came in the front door and out the back as they had been doing for the last ten years.
"Annie," Horton said, tapping his fingers on the oak table top, "and she's in my Drama History class, so let's treat her right."
Doreen shot him a surly glance.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Horton said, catching the little aside.
"She gonna get an 'A' for this?"
"If she's worthy of it," Horton said, "otherwise, she can go to the foot of the class and suck fish sticks for all I care."
"What's her story?" Doreen said, and she sounded hum-drum all of a sudden. Well, there had been a lot of girls over the years.
"Not bright. Failing everything except cafeteria. She's afraid she'll lose out next semester and be sent back to Ida Grove to work in her father's shoe store. She needs a passing grade ... in at least three subjects."
"Yeah," Doreen said and gazed out the window.
"She's a looker, too, so I think she should do fairly well. Witherspoon-likes them young and jiggling, and she's okay in that department."
"You fuck her yet?" Doreen said with unexpected venom in her tone.
Horton Granger stopped short. He reached his hand out and slapped Doreen hard across the face. "I pay you to do your job," he said viciously, "I don't pay you to ask dumb ass questions like that one."
Doreen sat down and stared back at him. She refused to let him think he had hurt her. Her cheek ached from that slap, but she wouldn't let him know. She held her tongue and lifted her chin a little.
"And don't give me that silent treatment shit," Horton said, "You're supposed to be the social director around here, so let's get social. She'll be here in a few minutes."
Doreen got up and walked out of the room. The man was a brute, and if she hadn't been so crazy about him for the last fifteen years, she would have gotten her coat on and walked out. A lot of other places would hire her.
But this place was a good deal. She could make big bucks here. The girls were never, never trashy. They didn't steal or do drugs. They came from good families.
The clientele was always fine. Full professors, Assistant professors, deans, board members, graduate students, and the occasional city official. Nothing but the cream.
So she couldn't kick, really. But there were days she felt trapped.
The doorbell cut her reverie short with a determined buzz.
"Hi!! ! ! ! " a wide-eyed voice sounded .from the front room.
Doreen pulled herself together and headed out front.
She blinked when she saw the girl. She was incredibly young ... probably no more than eighteen. And she was extremely attractive. Tall, willowy like a model, but with full, round breasts that sloped daringly down before swooping up just at the tip. And a slender waist.
Her hair was that blue-black color that was so stunning under lamplight. And her eyes glowed like flecks in a miner's pan.
"Am I late?" the girl said and stood expectantly in the middle of the foyer.
"Right on time, actually," Horton Granger's voice said from behind her.
Doreen turned and looked at the tall professor walk past. Doreen nodded as the girl smiled at her. "You Doreen?" she said, eager as a little freshman beaver could possibly be. "I've heard so much about you."
"She's going to show you upstairs," Horton said, "there isn't much time before your date will show up. We should begin right away."
"Oh," the girl said and shot Horton Granger an anxious glance. Then, she shot Doreen an even more anxious one. "I see."
"I'll join you in a moment," Horton said and disappeared into the parlor.
"This way," Doreen said and led the girl up the winding staircase.
"This place is huge," Annie said, "Like A whore"
Doreen smiled a thin-lipped smile. "But then," she said, graciously, "that's exactly what it is, so what else would you expect."
"I didn't mean to be disrespectful."
"I'm sure you didn't."
Doreen led her to a white lacquered door and shoved it open with her foot. "Here we are."
"Wow!"
"So glad you approve. Now why don't you get out of those college duds and into something more appealing ... care to take a walk to the closet?"
Annie watched like a wide-eyed kid at a matinee thriller as Doreen rolled back the sliding doors of her treasure trove.
The place was filled with negligees, gowns, wraps, caftans, and sexy ensembles of every size, shape and color. Jam-filled.
"I usually let my new girls pick their own piece of apparel," Doreen said, "I think it shows something about their personality that way."
Annie grabbed a slinky leather body stocking and a stiff black leather corset with metal studs all over it.
"Uh," Doreen said reluctantly, "are you sure you're ready for that yet?"
"I don't know," Annie said, "but I'd love to try. Got a bullwhip lying around here anywhere by some remote chance?"
"Uh, why don't we pick something a little more traditional to start you off. How about a nice white peignoir with gold threads, like this one?"
She held out a sheer gown that left little to the imagination if the wearer even happened to be standing anywhere near a light source.
"I think it would go great with your coloring. That hair is stunning."
"It's natural," Annie said proudly, "some girls with black hair like to rub shoe polish on theirs to get it to shine. I just use baby shampoo."
"Why don't you put this on," Doreen said patiently, "I'll watch."
"You wanna see me naked, just say so," Annie said.
"Oh," the woman laughed, "a natural exhibitionist. Good."
"A terrible show-off, so my folks always told me. Mom had to nail the blinds down to the window sill in my room. That didn't stop me, though. I used the front door ... when nobody was home, of course."
"I see."
Annie tore her clothes off and stood naked in the room, as if she were posing for an erotic poster. "I love showing it off," she said eagerly.
"Well, we shouldn't have any problems in that department," Doreen said, "your tits are perfectly breathtaking. They yours?"
"Be real."
"That's what I'm asking you."
"They're mine," Annie said, and she grabbed the nipples and rubbed them together absent-mindedly. "I get off on them, too, as you may imagine."
"Here," Doreen and tossed her the gown, "why don't we see what you look like in this."
Annie put the thing over her flowing black tresses and felt it slither over her high, proud tits and slide down her voluptuous body. The thing fit her like a snake skin. "Oh, Wow! This is really hot. It's the nicest thing I've ever had on."
"I think we could charge admission just to let people get a glimpse of you in that thing," Doreen allowed. It was a rough admission, but it was the truth.
"Thanks."
"Only one problem."
"Huh?"
"Your pussy."
"What's wrong with my pussy?"
"It's awfully hairy."
"Well, shit I can't help that."
"I can. Come with me."
Annie felt herself being pulled into the aquamarine tiled bathroom. The place was about the size of her family's living room, only better decorated.
"Sit over there and lift that thing up," Doreen said, "better still, take it off. And get into the tub. Come on now."
"Why are you gonna do to me?" Annie said, her wide amber eyes flashing like signal lights.
"You are going to be giving the illusion of being a young girl."
"I'm only eighteen."
"And you've got the body of a thirty year old topless dancer."
"And proud of it."
"That hair pie has got to go bye-bye."
"Shit! You wanna shave this off?" Annie grabbed a tuft of the thick, shiny curly black kinky hair and stared down at it.
"Now, you're catching on."
"What if I don't want you to?"
"What if you flunk all five courses your first freshman semester?"
Annie sighed and bent over. "Whack away," she capitulated, "And it took me so long to grow this crop."
"It'll grow back," Doreen said and turned the faucet on full blast.
She backed up and unbuttoned her tight pink negligee top. She took it off and hung it over the towel rack. She stood facing the girl.
Annie looked at Doreen. She was wearing the scantiest camisole she could possibly imagine. The bodice dipped far below her fantastically huge rubbery nipples and came down to roughly her pubic bone. A full view of her cunt could be had just by bending over.
"Would you mind telling me why you bother wearing anything at all?" she said and pointed to the skimpy silken camisole thing.
"Because, my dear," Doreen said and reached for the soap, "this business is one of illusions. This thing I am wearing creates an illusion ... an illusion of titillation, of now-you-see-it, now-you-don't, of naughtiness."
Annie stood in the back of the huge Arabian tub and crossed her arms under her very mature breasts, "That what you're doing with me?"
"You catch on fast," Doreen said, lathering the girl's snatch to a white, frothy peak. "You see, men like young girls. You're young, but you could look younger. Provided, of course, I make a few deft strokes of my blade here."
She reached over and grabbed a long razor. The blade glinted in the bathroom light. She came toward the girl and grabbed a handful of her sweet, wispy black pussy hair.
WHACK!
WHACK!
WHACK!
"I look like a new Army recruit," Annie said, staring down at her shorn cunt.
The mound was beginning to look bald, like a clam.
"You've got a great cunt," Doreen said, spreading the girls lips with her hands and chopping away the remaining stubs of hair here and there.
"The same for you," Annie said, "I think I love blonde pussy about as much as my own. If you don't mind my saying so."
"What would you do with one if you had it?" Doreen said, washing the girl's cunt out with sweet, massaging strokes of her hand.
"Hmmmmm," Annie mused, "maybe something like this."
She reached up and tickled Doreen's adorable blonde-fringed mound.
"Not bad," Doreen said and leaned over to suck one of the girl's protruding thick tit tips.
Annie felt the girl's mouth draw her hot, sensual nipples out into pliant big love handles.
Doreen moved to where Annie was standing and stuck her hips out at an angle where the two women could rub their clits together.
Doreen moved her hips in hot, erotic circles as Annie moaned and leaned back against the tiled wall. "Ooooooooh," she cried.
The woman, expert at making girls come in a few seconds, reached around back and popped her thumb up Annie's wet, moist bung hole.
"Oh, God!! ! ! " the girl cried and opened her eyes. She used the rest of her hand to worm her way into the girl's tight bald pussy.
"Your cunt looks so sweet," Doreen said, "just like a twelve-year-old's."
"How does it feel?" Annie said and drove three fingers straight in to Doreen's tight, muscular cunt hole.
"Wet, hot, ready and willing," Doreen said and turned her head toward the door. "Okay. Horton," she called. "All ready in here."
"Ooooooooh," Annie called from cloud number nine, "are we expecting company?"
"Your Drama History professor," Horton said and stepped inside the steamy blue bathroom stark naked and ready for action.