Chapter 1
He laid her down on the office couch and bent over to kiss her packed tits. He took her right nipple between his teeth and nibbled on it, nibbling, sucking, licking at it. Then Vincent looked up at Barbara's face. Through the innocent young features came the expression that said she would perish with the sweet pleasure of it.
He slid his hand between her thighs and she spread wide open for him. Her eyes closed and she sighed with delight. Now her look told him she wanted him to get to it, and do his sucking lower. She reached down and seized his cock in her right hand. It quivered in her palm.
Woman-girl juice dribbled down, trickling between her white, supple thighs. His mouth moved down to lick the acrid love juice, swallowing the raunchy taste of it. He kissed her seeping cunt and Barbara quivered every bone in her young body. He mouthed it and licked it like a wolfhound, biting at her clit, digging his tongue against it. Again he swallowed the pearly white drops of her come.
She leaned over and brushed the head of his prick over her mouth, her tongue, her nostrils, her closed eyes, her little ears. Vincent's long, mouthy suckings at her pussy were sending delightful trickles radiating throughout her body. His hands came around her ass, fingers locking, pressing her body to his mouth.
She was still whimpering and moaning and revolving, her fingers laced at the back of his head now, working it up and down. Now his touch was gentle, raising his hands to her tight waist and pulling her body towards him. She could feel his hard cock throbbing against her cheek and she smiled, purposely not opening her mouth to it. Then his hands clutched at the upcurving breasts and her nipples were hard and erect and quivering, thrusting to meet the touch of his warm hands.
Ahhh, this is perfect, perfect! Barbara thought, still smiling. "I'm about... there, Vincent, suck, suck it good right there!" She gasped above his bobbing head, feeling that tongue of his do its slippery work, tortured with the about-to-burst feeling that was sweeping over her body. She moved her head away from his cock, reached over and took her cigarette from the ashtray.
"Mmmmm." Barbara stretched her back, closed her eyes, then drew deeply on her cigarette. "Mmmmmm," she said again, touching her lips with the tip of a pink tongue.
His head was buried between the bare, white flesh of her thighs. He could feel the sheen of sweat on her skin damp against his cheeks: a muscle quivered within the satiny flesh as she gripped his face more tightly.
"That's nice, Vincent," she purred. "Mmmmmmm."
She reached out lazily, took the glass off the high table beside the couch, sipped it. "Don't stop," she murmured, easing her body lower down, jamming the moistness of her vulva more firmly against his mouth. "Keep on suckin'," she ordered, finishing her drink.
His tongue wavered and weaved around the small, wet spire that was her clitoris, it vibrated gently between his lips, he sucked it, drawing it deeper into his mouth and feeling its tip gyrate wildly, hungrily, angrily.
"In-" she mouthed, "push in-deep." And she bent her knees and drew them upward, making the wet slit of her flesh open wider, letting his tongue thrust farther into the slithery satinness. "Mmmmm, Vincent-mmmm," she said.
The sweat poured off his forehead and trickled into his eyes, his nose felt squashed in the musky maze of her forest of pubic hair, he fought for breath as his mouth filled with the vaginal fluid that started to flow.
He gasped, sucked urgently, feeling his mouth full, suffocatingly full. He swallowed, sucked again, then gripped the bobbing clit with his lips, held it.
"Bite," she hissed between her teeth, "bite it, Vincent."
He moved his lips, his teeth and his tongue, and she moaned.
"Good, ooooh, good, Vincent." And her nineteen-year-old body began to undulate with the early tremors of her pre-orgiastic frenzy.
The sun was sinking quickly behind the shadowed Golden Gate Bridge as Barbara made her way home. Most other office workers had already suffered the homeward climb of San Francisco's hills, and the trolley was almost empty. Barbara smiled. No matter. Her "overtime" work was so pleasant, so very, very relaxing!
Even the water of the Bay seemed calm... almost as calm as she was. She checked herself, looking down over her blouse and skirt. Yes, everything was in order. It would have to be, for the examining eyes of her mother and father, when she entered the house. She thought of them, pictured their faces, and again smiled to herself, savoring her own little bunch of secrets.
Barbara Bennett bounced through the front door at exactly seven thirty. "Hi, Mom." She gave her mother an affectionate hug and kiss, then touched her father's head with her lips lightly, as he sat at the kitchen table toying with his coffee. "Hi, Daddy," she murmured, smiling at him and rumpling his hair.
Neil Bennett looked at his daughter with pride and approval. The prettiest girl on the street, he thought, maybe in the whole of San Francisco! He smiled back at her then glanced at his watch. "You're late, Barbara-puss-why so late?"
Harriette Bennett winced at her husband's words. "Do you have to call her that, Neil? It sounds so-so-" She broke off, sighed.
Barbara flung her oversized purse onto a chair, then seated herself at the table. "I was working overtime, Daddy," she told her father. "Mr. Erickson wanted me to type up some reports."
Neil frowned. "D'you get extra for that? You don't let them take advantage of you?" He stared at Barbara, worriedly. "You're too good-natured."
Barbara laughed. "Don't worry, Daddy. I'm big enough to look out for myself."
"I don't know about that," Neil muttered. "You look like an innocent, young babe to me." His face relaxed as he added: "Baby Barbara-puss-" "Neil!"
Harriette spun around. "She's nineteen years old and too big to be treated like-like she was a child." She breathed jerkily. "And stop calling her Barbara-puss-it's crazy, ridiculous and -and very embarrassing!" She broke off, stared at her husband.
Barbara glanced up from her coffee, then rose to her feet. "I'll freshen up," she said quickly, before she hurried from the room, closing the kitchen door behind her.
Neil glared at his wife. "See!" he said, accusingly, "you've scared her away!"
Harriette sat down at the table.
"Listen, Neil," she said carefully, "you've got to stop acting the way you do with Barbara." She fiddled with a cup as she went on. "You're trying to make her stay a little girl forever! The way she dresses-" "That's nothing to do with me," muttered Neil. "She dresses the way she pleases."
"The way she pleases!" echoed Harriette. "Like a little schoolgirl. You saw what she was wearing now. I'll bet she's the only girl in her office who wears buttoned shoes!"
"She looks cute-damned sweet, if you ask me."
"Oh, sure-she looks like Daddy's little girl, all right." Harriette stared into space, then murmured. "The little white stockings, folded over below her knees, her black pleated skirt which flares to show her little-girl briefs, white and plain, and her white satin blouse, so demure, so crisp-so young!"
"Is that what's worrying you?" Neil had lowered his voice. "Are you bitter, Harriette, because Barbara's so young and you're not?"
Harriette leaned towards her husband, breathed into his ear. "That's not what worries me-but-but-" She paused as if she was trying to put some difficult thought into words. "It's as though she was pretending that she's still ten years old, not nineteen! She acts as if she's so sweet and pure and good. It's just not natural, Neil. It doesn't seem real!"
Neil jerked his head towards Harriette. "And what's wrong with that?"
"She doesn't act like the other girls," Harriette murmured, "the other girls her age."
"No!" Neil snapped out the word. "You can say that again-and I'm damned glad that she doesn't!" He looked at Harriette. "Did you know that Jo Anne Darin was pregnant? That she had an-" he emphasized the word, "accidental miscarriage?" He took a deep breath. "The daughter of your best friend!"
"I didn't know that!" Harriette sounded shocked, incredulous. "Helen never told me."
Neil answered almost smugly. "Don't suppose she did. George just let it slip out when we were talkin' together after he'd had a few too many drinks."
"I never knew," Harriette breathed.
"Well," Neil went on, "that's the way it was. And I'm glad that Barbara's so sweet and good and pure-even if you don't care.
"How'd you know she is so pure?" Harriette whispered the question.
Neil stared at Harriette as though he was shocked. "How can you ask?" Neil stared at Harriette angrily. "She's never late-stays home weekends-is always in the house by eleven!"
Harriette nodded slowly, then mumbled, as if to herself rather than Neil: "There's no law which says you can't get pregnant before eleven o'clock-" She stopped Neil when he tried to interrupt her, went on, speaking quickly, nervously: "That's what worries me. Is she putting on some kind of act and doin' God knows what behind our backs?"
She stared at Neil in silence for a moment, then asked: "Is she foolin' us and everybody?"
Neil lit a cigarette as though he wanted to calm himself before he answered.
"I happen to know that she isn't putting on an act." He paused, drew on his cigarette slowly. "I happen to know that she is sweet and good and-" he leaned close to his wife, whispered it: "Pure!"
Harriette leaned away from him and stared at his face with something like horror. "How can you know that?"
Neil smiled at her over his cigarette. "Doctor Ashton," he said, calmly. "Rod Ashton told me that."
"What d'you mean?"
"Barbara's still a virgin," said Neil with satisfaction.
Harriette's eyes opened wide; she looked at Neil with horror. "What! Doctor Ashton wouldn't tell you that! Doctors don't talk about that-not even to the girl's parents!"
"I asked him," said Neil smoothly. "Remember when Barbara slipped downstairs and strained her stomach last summer?" He looked thoughtful, added: "It was June, just before Jerry came here. Well, then, Rod examined her. And after, I asked him!"
"Asked him what?" Harriette's voice was harsh.
"If Barbara was a virgin-and she was!" He smiled at his wife.
"Just like that?" she asked, her voice dull, her eyes reflecting revulsion.
"Well," Neil admitted, "it wasn't just like that. Rod was kinda mad at me-said he'd no reason to answer questions like that to anybody. But seein' he knew me so well and that as Barbara was a virgin, he didn't mind telling me." Neil looked at Harriette, added with a trace of indignation: "He told me never to ask him anything like that again-that it was unethical, immoral and damn bad manners!" Neil frowned at the memory.
"Young Rod," he muttered. "I went to school with the guy."
"What a horrible thing to do!" breathed Harriette. She stared at her husband as though she hated him. "Pry into your own daughter's life!"
She stared away from Neil, then turned her eyes back on him: "How could you?" she asked. "How could you?"
Neil moved uneasily. "It wasn't such an awful thing to do," he muttered.
"It's like plain spying on her."
"Naw." Neil made a negative gesture. "Just looking out for her, that's all."
"And what makes it worse," said Harriette with unexpected vehemence, "is that Grant Tyson is Rod's nephew!"
Neil stared at Harriette in surprise, then: "Yeah! That's right, too. I never thought of that." He was thoughtful for a moment, then added: "Well then-if she hadn't been a virgin, Rod've thought that Grant was-" Harriette cut in, her voice vicious. "Shut up -you're makin' me sick!" She breathed deeply, angrily. "Grant's one of the cleanest, nicest boys that I know!"
"Yes." Neil-was thoughtful. "Grant's a decent young fellow." He stared into space, reminiscently, then a faint smile hovered near his mouth as he murmured: "Of course there's Jerry -" He laughed out loud. "We mustn't forget Jerry!"
Harriette glanced up. "You mean," her voice was incredulous, "Barbara bein' a virgin-and Jerry!" Her face was still, then she started laughing. "Shy Jerry," she said with affection. "I can't imagine Jerry-just can't imagine." Her voice broke off and she laughed again.
"Neither can I," said Neil. "He's gonna be a pretty good engineer," he added irrelevantly.
Jerry was the student who had stayed at the Bennet home for two weeks during the past summer.
"Is he?" said Harriette absently, still thinking of Grant. "They've been a twosome for-for how long is it now?"
Neil looked confused. "Who?" he asked irritably. "Who's been a twosome?"
"Barbara and Grant," said Harriette, staring into space. "Little boy an' little girl next door."
"They went all through school together," said Neil. He was quiet, thinking. "He used to hold her little hand when they went to grade school."
"Probably still holding it," muttered Harriette. Then the kitchen door opened and Barbara came back in.
Harriette got up, quickly and guiltily, as though she'd been doing something she shouldn't. "Your supper, dear," she said to her daughter. "Sit down. I'll get it for you."
"Okay, Mom." Barbara's short, pleated skirt whirled as she seated herself opposite Neil. She rolled her big blue eyes and tapped her feet in their patent-leather slippers in time to the music from the mini-radio that she held near her ear.
Her father watched her admiringly, thinking: Pretty as a picture-and pure as a lilly! Sometimes he just couldn't get over how lucky he was to have a daughter like Barbara!
Barbara closed her bedroom door behind her, locked it, then gave a small sigh of relief. As though she was walking off stage after giving a performance, she visibly relaxed her body. Her shoulders slid downward and her breasts seemed to soften, drop slightly from their tight, young, upthrust position. She stared at her face in the mirror. Her mouth changed its shape. The bright, half-moon crescent of a little-girl smile vanished and her lips seemed thicker, fuller, more sensuous. She parted them, wet them with slow movements of her tongue. Her eyes changed, too. Their depth became deeper and the blueness bluer. She dropped her lashes somberly as though they were heavy, then sank onto the hassock in front of the mirror.
She leaned forward, opened her eyes and propped her elbows on the low dressing table; she cupped her chin with the heels of her hands and stared at her reflection thoughtfully. She looked more like a woman than a girl. Suddenly, she made a small sound, then reached under her neat, pleated skirt and seized the elastic waistband of her panties and slid the white, chaste garment over her buttocks and thighs and dropped it on the floor.
She stretched her arms as though she was free from restraint and wriggled her bare buttocks on the soft, padded seat of the hassock. It had been good with Vincent! She squeezed her thighs together, remembering, and feeling her wet, vaginal lips compressing, slewing against each other as she increased the pressure. Her clitoris twitched, tensed, slid outward. She crossed one-thigh over the other with a quick, urgent movement. Oh, my God, she moaned to herself, did she still want more?
She screwed her eyes shut, clenched her lip with small, strong teeth, then jerked to her feet and whirled towards the bed. Her shoes slithered on the satin bedcover as she threw herself down without pausing to remove them. Then she unwrapped the demure skirt as though it was an unwanted sheath, tore off the pure satin blouse and bra and squirmed herself, nudely, on the bed. Her flesh felt hot. With hungry fingers, she groped between her thighs, parting her legs and bending her knees, screwing her bottom deep into the mattress. Then, thrusting her hand upward, she inserted a stiff finger in the wet orifice and seized the skidding tip of her clitoris with the convulsive grip of a finger and thumb.
Automatically her left hand moved to milk the aching desire from her tit, then it slid lightly over her hip and thighs. Her fingers danced teasingly around her thighs and stomach, stopping above the sensitive triangle of hair, where her other hand fingered the clit madly. Her mind went white-hot, waiting for the thrills of anticipation to catch up with her.
Then she slowly combed all ten fingers through the matted hair which responded to the touch like nerve endings that sent shocks of excitement to her brain.
When she finally cupped the damp cove again, it tried to grind the burning sensation into the palm of her hand. And chills ran up her back as her cool ass felt the warm fingertips that reached through her legs and touched the spot where the two fleshballs met. She toured the crevice, then let a single finger go in a little. She managed to get the finger in as far as the first knuckle, enjoying the feeling of its presence and squeezing it with the strong muscles of her rectum.
Fantasy built with fact built her up and coaxed the spark inside her to flame. A finger playing tag with the lips of her burning cunt, teasing it unmercifully, while the finger in her rectum slid in and out slowly-girl juices drooling throughout-fingers probing her into higher delights, and she was lost in the spell of concentration as she worked to achieve the release her body wanted so desperately.