Chapter 2
After a lengthy and luxurious bath in her own rented room, Nan looked at the list Hanley had written. There were four names: Art Teffler, Mrs. Maude DiMintri, Steve Edwards, and Mary Lipsher. Hanley had included comments with each name. Teffler he described as a useless wastrel whom Mae once endowed with a sizable nest egg. Because of her backing, Teffler, who was her cousin, was one of New Toronto's biggest landholders. His income is considerable, Hanley's note said, but not all of it comes from real estate... it is not known how he makes most of his money. Hanley wrote his belief that Teffler now was the owner of the mansion Mae Jetty lived in when she was a New Toronto resident. Teffler also was in charge of most of Mae's business and personal papers (Mae took copious notes, Hanley said) and it was supposed that the old mansion, now unoccupied, contained all of these.
Nan decided she would give anything to get into that old house. Everything must be there, and if Mrs. Jetty really took notes on each occurrence of her life, all the gossip about her could be proven.
If Mae was Paul Hanley's protege, Nan thought as she picked up the phone, she must have had a wild sex life. What an expose Nan could write... a den of sin right here in New Toronto. She could show the old lady for what she really was... an expensive prostitute. But was she really? Nan didn't know. And, if she was, what difference would it make? Look at all the good Mrs. Jetty had done. Oh, well, I'll worry about it later, Nan thought, and she dialed Art Teffler's number.
The phone rang several times, and then: "Hello." It was a young woman's voice.
"Hello," said Nan in her most businesslike tone, "is Mr. Teffler in?"
The woman, instead of answering, emitted a shrieking giggle. "Stop it, you idiot. I'm on the phone," her voice said.
There was some scuffling accompanied by more giggling from the woman and something in a man's voice. Nan could hear the phone being put down then picked up again.
"Hello." It was a man this time, a young man with an edge of meanness in his voice and a taunting, snickering chuckle punctuating his greeting.
"Hello, Mr. Teffler?"
"Yeah, baby, this is Art. Watcha want?"
Nan told him who she was, attempting by the professional tone of her voice to wipe the sneer out of his. She asked him for an appointment anyway.
"You wanna talk about Mae?"
"Yes. I need background material for a story to run this Sunday."
"Business or personal?"
"Beg pardon?"
"You gonna write about her business or her personal life."
"Both, I hope. I want all the information I can get."
"Honey, you'll melt yer typewriter... but you sound all right to me. Why don't you come on over?"
"Will tomorrow morning be all right?"
"Morning starts at noon for me, baby. I'll be home 'til about five. Anytime."
Tuesday morning Nan looked up Teffler in the paper's meager files. There wasn't much on him. He was in real estate and, despite his youth, seemed to be the biggest property owner in town. Mae Jetty apparently had signed everything over to him when she left twenty years ago, though he could hardly have been ten years old at the time.
He lived in a new apartment house near the business section of the city. Nan understood the price of living there ran about 300 dollars a month... but not for Art Teffler, he owned it.
The building was four stories high and Teffler lived on the top floor... the whole top floor. He really is rich, thought Nan as she stepped into an elevator outside the building... it went only to the fourth floor. The car rose into an enclosure and when the door opened she was apparently in his apartment. It was a large room, very much like a living room except that it didn't seem to be lived in. Its furnishings were plush, gaudy and impersonal, like a glorified meeting room which, she decided, must be what it was.
A door in the far wall opened and a man, roughly thirty, wearing a screamingly bright orange shirt flared at the neck and tucked into tight-fitting blue velvet pants, stood in the opening beckoning to her. His clothes are in such bad taste that he belongs with the room, she thought, and walked toward him.
"You must be the reporter," he said admiringly. "I thought all reporters were wasted little guys with green eyeshades."
She answered as her eyes took him in at close range. This one was going to be worse than Hanley, she thought. His flared shirt hardly disguised the beginning of a drinker's paunch and his skin-tight pants didn't even try to hide the bulge at his crotch which, at his seeing her, was beginning to grow.
"You are some doll," he said breathily. "C'mon in."
"J-just for a minute," she said and stepped into the room almost tripping over the rug, it was so thick.
"Minute, hell... we're gonna talk an' talk... an' talk."
Nan wanted out. She had never seen such a hideously lecherous face. Not even Mr. Lopez could match it. His eyes already had her undressed and into position for God only knows what.
"Really... I just need a few items..." She had forgotten about the story she wanted. His meaningful grin, his pudgy face, his greasy-looking mouth, even his prematurely thinning hair-all were obscene. She wanted to run, but the door had closed behind her and he had pressed a button on the wall, causing a permanent sounding click to be heard in the lock.
"You wanna learn about Mae," he leered, "an' nobody nowhere knows about Mae like I do. I know everything: her business contacts, her ways of making money reproduce itself, her personal life... everything. I've even got a couple of her old diaphragms in my bedroom, just for old time's sake."
"I d-don't think..."
"That's right, baby, don't think. You let me do all the thinking. It always works out that way." He paused to leer again. "I can make things easy on you, you know. That guy from the Demeter paper has called me twice for background on Mae. You don't want me to cooperate with the opposition now, do you?"
"No. I j-just c-can't..."
"Yes you can, baby. And you're going to. After all, I'm a businessman. You want something from me... all you gotta do is pay for it."
"I-I'm r-really not authorized to p-pay for news, Mr. Teffler. R-really, I'm not."
"What I want, you can authorize all by yourself, beautiful."
Nan could no longer stand. Her knees were buckling under her. There was a divan nearby and she sat down, breathing heavily. Her fear of this monstrous creature was mortal. She really thought she would faint. It kept her erect just to think what he could do to her if she were in a helpless condition. An image flashed through her mind of this slimy, rich creep ripping the clothes off her senseless body and raping her before she could regain consciousness. She fought off the weakness in her knees and the queasiness in her stomach by holding that image.
"Of course," he suggested, "I could always call Lopez and tell him you were rude and insulting. Then I could give the story to that reporter... whatsisname... Stemfelder from the Demeter Telegram. I own a piece of the Telegram, you know. They'd sure like to squeeze into Lopez' circulation area."
What he said was true, Nan knew. Demeter was only eleven miles from New Toronto and the Telegram had been pressuring the Gazette's news sources for the last two years. It was a cutthroat business and any reporter who lost a major story to the opposition would immediately be out of work. Not only that, but Aaron Stemfelder, the Telegram's top reporter, was one of the worst muckrackers in the business. He loved scandal and probably smelled one in the Mae Jetty story. Mrs. Jetty's name would be destroyed and, possibly, so might all her good works. Nan still wasn't sure that Mae's wild sex life, if, indeed, it had been wild, was important enough to destroy the humanitarian acts the woman had performed all over the world.
Nan, still badly frightened, looked through tears in her eyes at the man before her. The bulge in his pants now extended halfway to his knee and, as he rocked back and forth on his heels and toes he favored her with an evil sneer and slowly rubbed his expanding penis.
"W-What do you w-want?"
"That depends on what you want," he answered smugly. Now he had her, he knew, and the pleasure of conquest raged through him in company with his vile passion. The minute he saw this beautiful cunt his prick started climbing out of his pants. He had watched her park her car and walk to the elevator; bright red hair, a green miniskirt, and a too prim white blouse that had to be stretched across those big, ripe melons. He was gonna get it into her one way or the other. The sight of her hand caused a return of his own singular malady; an itch on the head of his prick. It had cursed him with its agitation for as long as he could remember and only Mae Jetty had figured out how to stop its tingling torment. That had been when he was only nine years old! Old Mae really knew her stuff.
Now he gazed at the diminutive redhead before him, cringing on his couch, her dress so short he could see to within a half inch of her crotch-she had completely forgotten to pull it down when she sat-and the big, full tits heaving with her gasping breath. I really scared the shit out of her, he laughed to himself.
Nan was beside herself. This horrid man was staring at her almost glassily as he rubbed the thing growing down his leg. He was in position now to demand what he wanted of her... and she would have to comply because her living depended upon her ability to get news out of such people. She was beginning to believe that the wealthy were a scabrous bunch.
"A-all I need is some i-information." she pleaded. "Well," he said, "for your information," and unzipped his pants, "here's what it'll cost you." A gigantic cock jumped out at her and dangled menacingly from its base, its blood-filled head jerking several inches up and down with each pulsebeat, its one eye glaring at her through drop after drop of filmy lubricant which would form and then fly off in the violence of his staffs motion. He stood with his hands on his hips and ordered: "On yer knees, you little cunt."
She couldn't believe the size of his cock. It was half again as big as Hanley's. Her mouth went lax as she stared at it but she was repulsed by his order and sat where she was, not moving, her whole body stiffening with revulsion.
"C'mon," he demanded again. "The head of my prick itches something awful. There's only one way to scratch it, and that's with the tongue of a sharp little bitch like you. Mae taught me that when I was nine."
"What?" She couldn't believe that a well known and gracious lady such as Mae Jetty, no matter what her private life had been, would introduce an innocent child to such an ugly practice.
"It's the truth," he said, reading her thoughts. "Now do you like your first lesson on Mae Gail Jetty? C'mon, you little bitch. Suck it!"
"I-I c-can't."
"You want a story?"
"Y-y-yes..."
"Then you waddle over here and suck a few gallons out of this. After yer through, we'll get naked and discuss the newspaper business."
She was on her knees. The sight of his prick had begun to take effect on her senses... like a cobra dancing to the movement of the flutist, her face moved trancelike in an up and down rhythm and it approached the gyrating instrument.
"Hurry, goddamnit! I can't stand the itching."
He was telling the truth. The head of his prick itched as if from inside; it tingled enough to make the muscles of his belly crawl. It would drive him crazy if she didn't hurry. When she was within arm's reach of him, he grabbed her ears and forced her mouth over his throbbing, slimy prick.
"Aaaaaahhhhh! That's it. Oh, that's the way. It's so warm and good."
He had missed his aim at first and his goo-covered glans had jabbed her first in the nose and then in the right jowl, leaving its glistening prints.
She had tried to screech when his rough fingers dug into the backs of her ears, but her suddenly filled mouth only passed a gurgling noise. Half of his huge prick was in her tiny speaking cavity. At first she was stunned, then afraid she would strangle, but after a few seconds she was ready for instructions-she just didn't know what to do with it. The first taste she got from it was her own face powder, then the bittersweet taste of his lubricant, and then another taste she couldn't identify though it seemed somehow familiar. Suddenly she recognized it:.. it was bath oil, the same kind she used.
Her lips clamped down on the soft outer flesh of his staff feeling the hard ridges underneath as her tongue lay idly against the massive head.
"You've got to lick it," he said through clenched teeth.
"Murgle," she assented and began to work her saliva-coated oral member around the rubbery boulder in her mouth. She rubbed it on the split lower edge with the rough part of her tongue, purposely pressing as hard as possible in the hope that it would hurt and make him want to stop.
"Aaaaaiiieeee! That's great. That's really great!" he screamed, his body writhing before her, his fingernails digging into her ears.
"Ongle bungle," she complained. She tried to shake her head free of his grip but the motion her action created on the throbbing glans in her mouth sent him into new ecstasy.
"Oh, my God, you're good. You're a natural, baby. All you need is a little more to work on," he shouted maliciously. And saying that, he flattened his hands on the back of her head and, clenching his buttocks, crammed his pulsating prick all the way home.
"Nnnggglllnnnnngglllllnnnggglll!" She tried to scream but her throat was stopped by his giant rubbery, throbbing hunger. She couldn't even breath through her nose. She was sure this was the end... she would strangle to death, her face impaled on the salty prick of this grotesque excuse for a human being. Just when she thought she would faint, he pulled it out to its halfway depth again.
"Phnfnfnfnfnfn," she sighed through her nose, able to breath again, but only just.
"Now you've got to suck it," he ordered from what seemed like a long distance.
She sucked. Holding the exposed part of his staff in one little hand and working the other into his pants to cup his tightening scrotum, she pulled with all her might at his prick. She had already discovered that this practice wasn't nearly so bad as she thought it was going to be. The only thing really wrong with it was that it didn't begin to satisfy her. Her poor cunt was hot and flowing with the juices of passion and she knew her bikini pants were sopping. She wanted to take them off but he wouldn't let go of her ears and she couldn't bring herself to release her grip on his passion-dancing prick or to drop his soft spongy balls in their velvety, hair-covered bag.
She could feel her vaginal muscles pulsating just as they had at Hanley's the day before. They would take her over someday, she feared, she would lose control of them entirely. She sucked her hardest and began twisting her head right and left providing the prick with a screwing motion that sent quivers of pleasure through its owner.
"Oh, Christ! Oh, shit! Oh, sweet Jesus Chriiist! It's so fucking good I can't believe it!" he hissed.
Nan was on her knees, pressing her thighs together to keep her cum and her fluids from running down her legs. It was no use. She could feel the clinging wetness oozing out of her underpants and sliding in long rivulets down her legs. She sawed her tongue over his now expanding bulb, keeping the rough top of it in contact with his sensitive rubbery tissue. He squirmed and wiggled, letting out little screams and moans as she worked on him. It wasn't enough for her, she wanted to drive him mad. She moved her hands to the snaps of his pants and pulled them apart. She peeled him like a banana.
He felt the cold rush of air on his balls, on his ass, and on his legs and when he looked down he was standing as if in a puddle formed by his trousers. The sight of her undressing him was all he could stand. Fireworks exploded inside him. He felt her hand cupped under his balls again and his throat filled with the slaver of a ravening beast.
She gripped his staff and cupped his scrotum again, sucking with everything she had. Her breasts, captive in her bra, strained to escape as they grew thick and painfully hard. Her cunt was awash with juices, her whole insides felt like hot whipped cream... and it squeezed through her vulval lips into the waterlogged double-thick panty crotch, flooding to and from like a hungry ocean, dampening her puckered anus and dripping down her legs like melting ice.
"I'm cuuummmmmmming!" he shouted. "Iiiimmmmmhcummminnnggg!"
He was strangling her. Hot cream shot in repeated spurts... gallons at a time, it seemed, as the head of his prick sped past her tonsils, trying to reach into her very stomach. She gagged, but he wouldn't stop. He thrust again and again, spewing a few more quarts each time. She couldn't swallow it all; it washed back in a great white tide up the shaft and out her mouth. Finally, his passion's release caused him to relax and she pulled her head off the offending shaft. So tight did it fit into her tiny mouth, that a sucking noise followed by a loud, wet pop, marked its flight.
She fell back gurgling with pain, her throat invaded with great draughts of his cum. He was on her immediately.
"Drink it all!" he ordered. "There's some on your chin. Don't let it get away."
Gasping for breath, she swallowed all she could with each gulp. With her index finger she coaxed slimy globules of his cum up from her chin into her mouth. His cum tasted like sweetened waffle batter.
"Swallow it all, you sweet little bitch. Here's some in my crotch hair. Lick it out. Clean me up."
"Waighghgh," she pleaded, gurglingly trying to say what.
"C'mon. Lick me clean. My prick is gooey with the stuff."
Finally she had her breath and had swallowed all that was in her throat. She got up on her knees again, her belly and vaginal regions in a boiling, churning turmoil. Her cunt ached for attention and her panties were heavy with her molten fluids.
Like a dutiful dog, she lapped at his still erect penis. Then she nuzzled into the great bush at its base. It was sticky with his cum and she worked her tongue into the hairs, sucking the good white dollops into her mouth, his wet hair tickling her nose until she was finished. As she did this, she reached down and slid her pants to her knees, then stood up and stepped out of them. Her nylons were crusted with her drying juices and she pulled them off, kicking her shoes away.
"That's right," he said, removing his shirt, "take it off... take it all off."
She pulled her dress off, dropped it then reached back for her bra snaps. She was panting, she knew, and her cunt was roaring. Her fear of him now had been about equalized by the mounting flow of hot desire coursing through her despite anything she could do. She had actually enjoyed some of the last few minutes... with his thing in her mouth. It was ugly to think of but she had lived a little when she was sucking it. If only it was some man of her own choice it would be much better.
His prick was dancing again, tossing shiny strings of lubricant up, down and all around. The purple head was shining with it again and droplets formed and reformed as they were shrugged away.
Saying nothing, he grabbed her and half led, half dragged her down a long hallway to where a door stood open. His bedroom was gigantic and just as gaudily furnished as the rest of the place. A huge round bed sat in the middle of the room. He pushed her onto it and followed right behind her. She sensed his urgency and could appreciate it because of the aching within her womb, but she resented his rough handling.
Pushing her down on her back, he brought his face down on her cunt. She spread her legs and her stomach muscles fluttered as his tongue bored into her vaginal passage. Her womb reacted to his tongue's entry by contracting painfully. She cried out as his lips played with the puckered flesh at her entrance, parting her red cunt hair to nibble fervently at her already moistened ruby lips. He forced her thighs apart, digging his rutting fingers into their soft, sensitive flesh. He was grunting like an animal and hardly knew what he was doing. He forced his face into her widening cunt and dug at her with his nose and she felt the stubble of his beard scratching her cunt lips.
He released her thighs and she spread them widely again for him as he lowered himself over her in fucking position. She had to have it. She didn't know how she could hate and fear a man and still have to have him in her, but her raging insides seemed to be a yawning cavern that had to be filled, had to have something to close upon.
Teffler eased his thick cock along the short space encompassing her pink-lipped target, then wedged it in. It wouldn't go in easily because of her tightness and the tenderness left from yesterday's assault. He maintained a steady pressure, and soon her juices eased him in. She was surprised to feel no pain despite the size of him. Her cuntal walls opened to receive him then clamped down to hold him in.
Nan breathed deeply as the big piledriver swelled in her inexperienced cunt. Teffler stroked her unsurely, slowly at first, then faster and harder. The stout shaft pronged her cunt-chute, cosseting her smooth interior walls. The resilient head plunged at her yielding cervix as Nan's breathing hoarsened. She intuitively wrapped her legs tightly around his back and closed her eyes, hating him but loving every millimeter of his penetration into her tight, grasping core.
Now her hips began a motion of their own in reaction to his thrusts. His huge rod pumped furiously into her upthrust sucking pussy. Little mewling cries came from her as his flesh-ridged prong stabbed into her slavering cunt. Her hips swayed and humped, squirmed and wriggled, fell back and pushed up to meet him; her vaginal muscles operating entirely on their own, grabbed at his driving rod and sometimes he even felt a suction.
Her cunt is even tighter than her mouth, he thought, hearing slurping sounds slush in sibilance as he fucked his prick against her clitoris, which made her squeal, then against her cervix, which brought deep, throaty moans from her.
Nan was amazed that the prick, now sliding with such ease in and out of her smooth and oily passage, caused her no pain or discomfort. She had no control over the vaginal muscles, but could feel them reacting as they themselves deemed best. The sensation of their movement sent electric thrills throughout her system. Jets of passion shot through her, firing themselves far out from their source in her battered vagina all the way to the top of her head, the bottoms of her uplifted feet, and to her fingertips which were presently digging their nails in broad scraping arcs across her attacker's back. Cold, dry electric shocks jolted her, only to turn into warm floods of creamy lavalike streams of sexual yearning... fulfillment would be hers if it continued like this for much longer.
His penis jerked spastically, then, as he thrust his ass forward, driving his prick home for the last shot, she felt his balls against her asshole tighten in preparation.
"No," she said, "not yet."
"Fuck you, baby!" hissed Teffler. "I'm coming."
His huge cock seemed suddenly to expand forcing a cry of despair from her as the big tool gushed, shrank back slightly, expanded and gushed again. She ground her hips against his crotch to get more of his prick into her, but it was no use.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh!" he sighed as he flowed. The shrinking of his prick informed her that it was over... over before she had really had her chance. It wasn't fair, she wanted to scream, and her vaginal muscles agreed as they clamped down on his diminishing, slippery member.
"Don't look so disappointed," he told her. He withdrew his prick with the same wet popping sound it had made when it left her mouth.
"I didn't finish," she said petulantly. "You could have..."
Leaning over her, he slapped her face hard.
"Shuddap, you stupid bitch," he ordered. "You didn't even want to start."
He looked down at her sprawled out on his bed. She had relaxed after the slap but her arms and legs were still spread wide. Her body shown with sweat, her sex juices glistened on her cuntlips and he could see the trail it left running down between the cheeks of her ass. Her red pussy hair, that perfect delta, was matted with both their juices and whole dollops of his white cum was hardening there as it dried.
"Wait here a minute," he said. "Don't move."
He left and she, suspecting something even worse to come, ran to the living room, grabbed her clothes, hurriedly put them on, and moved to the door before he could return.
She pressed the button in the wall hoping against hope that it would unlock the door as it had locked it. Another loud click justified that hope and, hearing him coming toward the room from somewhere, she pushed the door open.
"You dirty bitch!" he screamed like a child who couldn't get his own way. "Come back here."
As she left, she glanced at him. He held a camera and just before she escaped into the elevator he shot her picture.
Rotten bitch got away, he thought bitterly. But she'll be back. If she wants information on old Mae, she'll be back. And when she comes, I'll be ready. I'll get a couple of the boys over here... they're gonna love working the leather on her sweet ass... far out from their source in her battered vagina all the way to the top of her head, the bottoms of her uplifted feet, and to her fingertips which were presently digging their nails in broad scraping arcs across her attacker's back. Cold, dry electric shocks jolted her, only to turn into warm floods of creamy lavalike streams of sexual yearning... fulfillment would be hers if it continued like this for much longer.
His penis jerked spastically, then, as he thrust his ass forward, driving his prick home for the last shot, she felt his balls against her asshole tighten in preparation.
"No," she said, "not yet."
"Puck you, baby!" hissed Teffler. "I'm coming.
His huge cock seemed suddenly to expand forcing a cry of despair from her as the big tool gushed, shrank back slightly, expanded and gushed again. She ground her hips against his crotch to get more of his prick into her, but it was no use.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh!" he sighed as he flowed. The shrinking of his prick informed her that it was over... over before she had really had her chance. It wasn't fair, she wanted to scream, and her vaginal muscles agreed as they clamped down on his diminishing, slippery member.
"Don't look so disappointed," he told her. He withdrew his prick with the same wet popping sound it had made when it left her mouth.
"I didn't finish," she said petulantly. "You could have..."
Leaning over her, he slapped her face hard. "Shuddap, you stupid bitch," he ordered. "You didn't even want to start."
He looked down at her sprawled out on his bed. She had relaxed after the slap but her arms and legs were still spread wide. Her body shown with sweat, her sex juices glistened on her cuntlips and he could see the trail it left running down between the cheeks of her ass. Her red pussy hair, that perfect delta, was matted with both their juices and whole dollops of his white cum was hardening there as it dried. "Wait here a minute," he said. "Don't move." He left and she, suspecting something even worse to come, ran to the living room, grabbed her clothes, hurriedly put them on, and moved to the door before he could return.
She pressed the button in the wall hoping against hope that it would unlock the door as it had locked it. Another loud click justified that hope and, hearing him coming toward the room from somewhere, she pushed the door open.
"You dirty bitch!" he screamed like a child who couldn't get his own way. "Come back here."
As she left, she glanced at him. He held a camera and just before she escaped into the elevator he shot her picture.
Rotten bitch got away, he thought bitterly, But she'll be back. If she wants information on old Mae, she'll be back. And when she comes, I'll be ready. I'll get a couple of the boys over here... they're gonna love working the leather on her sweet ass...