Chapter 4

Barbara was still awake when her father paused at her bedroom door, smiled in at her, then closed the door and went to his room. Sweet, considerate Daddy! She had seen him through the long eyelashes that shielded her baby blue-eyes. The momentary glimpse of a man at the door of her bedroom had reminded her of something, something which had happened a long time ago when another man, so very different from her father, but still a man, had appeared-like the fragment of an image- then stayed to stare at her as she had lain so still, pretending to be asleep.

Jerry! The young man whose name her father had mentioned to her that night. It seemed so long ago! Was it really less than a year since he had stayed in their house, ate at their table, engaged in their conversation and activities and slept in their guest room? A year? It seemed more like ten!

Her mother and father had made him feel at home: almost as though he were one of the family, to share all that was theirs, like the sun room and the bathroom, the stereo and the television. What was theirs was his, too, to share- and Barbara-was he free to share Barbara too?

He was a shy young man. That was the first thing that Barbara had noticed about him. It would be the first thing that anyone would notice about him, she had thought.

His eyes seemed too big for his lean, tanned face-and his hands, with their long, nervous fingers, were never still: always twitching or turning, or bending each other. "An engineer's hands," her father had said, and he should know because he was an engineer himself. "Their hands are never still, always moving, exploring. They're constantly curious," her father said, "always fiddling."

And Barbara had wanted to giggle, because she'd thought he said diddling-and Jerry had thought so, too. Barbara knew that! His face wouldn't have flushed such a bright, revealing red if he hadn't thought that!

"How tall is he?" Barbara had asked her father when he had first told them that a student engineer would be spending two weeks in their home as a house guest.

Her father looked vague, as though height was not one of the things he considered when selecting an assistant. "Oh," he'd said at last, frowning, "about six foot. A little less, I'd say." And he'd blinked at Barbara as though it was a peculiar question.

"Well," Barbara had given a small sigh of exasperation, "that's not much of a description! Is he big, I mean fat, heavy?"

Her father shrugged. "I don't know how heavy he is," he muttered.

"One-seventy?" Barbara prompted. "One-sixty pounds?"

Neil shook his head. "Less than that."

Harriette looked at Neil. "You're not telling us much about him," she said.

"He seems a little less than everything!" said Barbara, then she had giggled, and left the breakfast table as though she'd lost interest. But she had been interested in him after he arrived. Interested in him as something to tease... interested in the same way that she'd been interested in cats when she was very small, when the strange, cruel streak in the nice little girl had made her enjoy pulling their tails, hearing them again and again scream, screech, and squeal!

It was the same curious interest that she'd had when she went to school and had stuck a stealthy pin in an unsuspecting child to make her cry. She was never caught, never suspected-because Barbara was such a nice little girl, and she only did it because she liked it, enjoyed it-the act itself and the sound of pain.

And Jerry was such a perfect victim! She could never have found a finer foil for her, perverse, strange performances. And they were performances, they were perverse, too. But Jerry didn't know that!

"My daughter, Barbara," said Neil proudly, beaming at his pride and joy when he introduced them.

And Jerry had stretched out an oversized hand and blushed. He did everything and blushed. Though Barbara hadn't known that, not then! "How do you do, little girl," he'd said.

Barbara giggled, and Neil beamed.

"She's not really a little girl," Harriette had begun to explain, when Neil had snapped: "She's eighteen! That's not old!"

And Jerry's eyes had bulged. "I-I thought you were-were very young," he'd stammered, "about fourteen-or less-" Then he'd blushed a deeper red and added: "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Jerry," said Harriette. "The way that she dresses-" She sighed, then: "I don't blame you for thinking..." Her voice had trailed off because Neil was glaring at her so hard.

Barbara stared at Jerry's face and blinked her eyes and moved her lips in strangely suggestive movements. She was curious to see if it made him blush more. It did! He would come downstairs in the morning, see Barbara sitting at the table-and he'd blush.

"Good morning, Jerry," she'd say sweetly, watching his face.

He'd stare, his lips would move. "G-good morning," he'd reply, blushing. Barbara would giggle.

"He's very competent," Neil was saying to Harriette one morning. "It's extraordinary for someone his age."

"How old is he?" her mother has asked. "About twenty?"

Barbara laughed out loud, and Harriette jerked her head at her, asked: "What's so funny about that?"

"He's probably a little less!" Barbara giggled.

Neil nodded and looked up from his paper. "As a matter of fact, he is," he said.

"Less than everything," said Barbara, giving a sweet but snide laugh.

"Sshh!" Harriette jerked her eyes upstairs, where Jerry was in the bathroom.

"Like nothin'," said Barbara, loudly. "Jerry's like nothin'!" She pursed her lips, then made them round: "Zero!" she said, wetting them. "Zero!"

He liked to watch the science shows on the boob-tube in the living room. Harriette resisted and wasn't interested and Neil didn't bother, but Barbara would appear on the scene. She would stand by Jerry for a moment, leaning so that she touched him, knowing he was aware of it-knowing too, he was too shy to show his awareness, or do anything about it. Then she'd drop a coin, or a ring, or beads near the TV set. She'd bend down to pick them up; crouch down, knees bent, buttocks low, facing Jerry, squatting near the set so that he could not help but see. His eyes would go down, down to the white stretch of flesh that led down her thighs to her crotch, and he'd stare as though he was transfixed at the dusky darkness where the thatch of hair nestled round the thin, moving slit. And he'd blush.

Barbara would squirm herself forward, closer and closer. Making sure she kept within his line of sight, checking by his eyes and the color of his skin to be sure that he could see. She'd open her knees, squeeze together her thighs, then part them widely, and make small sounds. Innocent sounds, girlish sounds-but sensual, sexy sounds, too. The mound at the crotch would begin to increase in size. His face would lose its color, become white, then gray. At last he'd rise, make a strangled excuse of a sound and hurry up the stairs.

Barbara would follow, silently, surreptitiously, then stand outside his bedroom door or the bathroom door, whichever the case would be.

She would heard the sounds first. The groan of strained frustration as soon as he'd closed the door; the snap of the bolt or the click of the key, then the sigh. The squelching sounds would start-the slather of a lathered shaft, as though a hydraulic pump was gliding its shaft into a greased slot or a punch was pressing through porous plastic or large, ungainly hands were squeezing and sliding on a jerking, squirting penis....

The sounds gave Barbara pleasure. She enjoyed it. She knew how to give pain, too-that heightened her pleasure, intensified it.

Barbara would wait, listening, savoring the sensual sounds that seeped through the locked door. She knew when he was reaching his climax. And at the vital moment, the sex-split-second, she'd scream: "Jerry!" Her mouth close to the keyhole; her voice at its highest pitch, her lungs pushing forth their most powerful blast of ear-shattering sound, she would shriek his name.

The sobbing sound of a groan would spew from his mouth, then he'd call feebly, his voice higher and weaker than usually: "W-what-what is it?"

"Phone!" she'd scream. "Urgent." She'd hear the frightened rustle of clothing being replaced, refastened and the panting sound of an increased frustration would bubble from babbling lips. Barbara would hide in a preselected place where she could see. He'd stumble from the room, his face white, hands trembling, crotch bulging. Then his fiddling hands would thrust into his pockets and he would try to restrain the swollen shaft. And Barbara would giggle to herself. She'd run downstairs, loudly, hurriedly -then stand in front of Jerry and stare, saying: "Sorry, Jerry. I'm so sorry, I was wrong. The call wasn't for you!"

And he'd feel too humiliated to know whether there had been a call, or if there'd been a call and he'd been too busy to hear it. She'd focus her eyes on his crotch until he became aware of it and his face would turn gray with pain. That heightened Barbara's pleasure.

She used small schemes, too, to torture Jerry. When he came home from the engineering office where he spent his days with her father, Barbara would open the bedroom door, slide off her skirt, then stand, bare buttocks outthrust towards the door and her face to her full-length mirror. Because the first thing that Jerry did when he got to the house was to go to his room to change and he had to pass Barbara's door. He would stop, suddenly quieting his breathing; and Barbara would glance at the corner of her mirror where she could see the reflection of his feet in her doorway, and she'd know.

She would bend, making the smooth cheeks stretch apart widely, then straighten, undulating her hips, swaying gently, opening them and then closing the hollows that nestled so snugly on the lower cheeks of her bottom. He would draw in breath, she'd then hear. It pleased her. Then she would make as if to turn, letting him know by the lifting of her head, and the tentative half twist of a shoulder, and she'd hear the stealthy rustle of clothing as he slid himself out of her sight.

When she looked behind her, he'd be gone. Always! Barbara made certain of that-she would never look until she was sure! He didn't know that she knew. Knew he was always watching her, seeing her nakedness. Barbara didn't want him to know. It would have spoiled some of the fun. She enjoyed deceiving him. Teasing him!

She would sit where he could not help but see her, with an unbuttoned blouse and no brassiere, then she'd lean towards him. The nipples would peek out as her breasts slipped down, and he'd stare, and blush, and wriggle.

Shy Jerry. He lost weight while he stayed there. His nerves became worse, and he cracked his knuckles more loudly, moved his hands more jerkily, fiddled, diddled, and he did these things constantly.

Wherever he looked, there was Barbara! She'd squat on a settee, legs drawn underneath her buttocks, crosswise, thighs open-and not wearing briefs-until he saw her, blushed, blanched, then shivered his way upstairs.

And she'd follow. To listen, or to watch through the keyhole in the door-or to tease. Especially to tease!

One night, when Barbara's torment had become more than he could endure, he went out for a few blessed hours. He had gone to a bar, heard voices that talked, not teased, and music that soothed instead of soft, sexy sounds that incited, excited and tortured. The liquor too, helped to ease the fear of ever-near frustration and quelled the pain of constant, unfulfilled passion and temptation. Jerry felt better... for a time.

He returned to the house late. Jerry had his own key and he tried to draw strength from the liquor in his body-and the thought in his mind that Barbara would be in bed. The house was very still. Harriette had left a dim, downstairs light on for his benefit. She was considerate of him, Jerry was thinking as he mounted the stairs, and Neil was kind, too.

At the top of the stairs, he froze. The light was still on in Barbara's room and the door was ajar. Jerry's heart pounded. He moved on stealthy tiptoes, trying to hold his breath. He had to pass Barbara's room to get to his, he told himself with tiny, silent sobs of guiltridden fear, he had to!

He glanced in her bedroom as he was forcing himself to pass: she was asleep. His breath choked in his throat and he couldn't swallow. She looked like an angel! Her hair was awry on the pillow and one tousled lock had fallen across her eyes, masking them, making her look softer, innocent, younger than ever!

Barbara-puss! That's what her father called her. She stirred as though he'd spoken her name out loud, then a smooth, rounded leg slid out from under the covers, flexed itself then stretched straight out, moving slowly. Luscious! A trickle of saliva dribbled down his chin. He watched her twist herself, restlessly, sinuously, and the sheet slipped off so that he could see that she was wearing her pajama top-just her pajama top-no panties, nothing.

Jerry's hand jerked down to his crotch. Oh, my God! He closed his eyes, tried to relax the constricted grip of his fingers on his penis, but couldn't. His eyes flickered open. She had slewed onto her back, squirming her buttocks into the mattress, bending her knees and spreading her thighs. He stared up into the dusky, still mysterious, hair-shrouded niche.

Living little doll! Oh, Barbara-doll! His hand moved and his fingers tightened their grip on his still-swelling cock. Then his fingers wormed their way to the underside of his prick and began to tease his naked hardness with knowing fingers. He nearly sobbed. Barbara had the temptation to laugh softly, knowing the power she held over him and enjoyed it.

He skillfully lifted and stretched his cock, hard as a rock. He shifted his hips. He gazed from her body down to his throbbing penis in the firm curl of his moving fingers. Then he slipped his other hand to his balls and cradled the heavy twin load in the palm of his sweating hand. He gritted his teeth, went red in his face, and made little anguished sounds that really spoke of the torture his body was suffering.

Barbara moved on the bed seductively. He stroked his rod slowly, his fingers making a tighter and tighter fist around it, making the meaty tool redder and redder from the tight pressure the fingers were applying. He groaned through tightly clenched teeth. He was standing flat on his feet, his cock standing hard and erect, pointing straight up at the ceiling, his eyes gulping in the beauty of her young body. His face was a tortured mask, displaying wanton lust. He leaned over her body, bringing her face close to his testicles, her warm breath fanning over his straining prick, and her nostrils caught the musk smell of it. But she still did not open her eyes. Her hair trickled over his quaking thighs as she sleepily moved her head.

Now his two hands were furiously massaging his burning cock, and she could imagine the fantasies that must be swimming through his mind. Why doesn't he taste it? Doesn't he know it tastes like honey! Barbara thought. Oh suck me, you idiot. Suck that honey-pot, make me feel groovy, make me come too!

The thickness of his hard cock was shoving in and out of the strong fingers of both his hands. Was he picturing her tongue washing around his wet, fleshy cock, she wondered. Diving her hungry, gaping, gripping lips onto that awful thing? And maybe he pictured her savoring every lovely moment of the sucking! The fool!

She felt power, not humbleness, as she lay there. He was completely under her power, like a helpless zombie under her hypnotic spell. She could actually hear his cock driving rhythmically in and out of his hands, knowing that every inch of his strained body was concentrated on his task. The moment was near, she knew. A great fountain of white come would come pouring from his cock. She heard him gulp and swallow.

She lifted her knees, opened her legs wider. Oh, why doesn't he bend over and kiss it once! The thought shot through her mind like a hot dagger. Behind closed lids, Barbara's eyes were getting glassy with her own desire. She tried to stop her belly from rising and falling with her quickened breathing. She could no longer smell the heated odor of his cock near her face. He was backing away! Barbara lay very still, waiting. The elastic lips of her cunt expanded to give entrance to a probing tongue that she knew was not going to dip itself into her honey-pot. Yes, he was moving away from her. Why?

Tingles of wicked pleasure were grabbing at her body, and she sighed as she felt the pleasurable sensations the imagined tongue was giving her, picturing it curling, caressing her soft, warm and yielding flesh. But there was no tongue! Jerry's body stiffened, but she knew now he was three or four feet back away from her bed. Even so, her cunt would not stop twitching madly and she wondered if he could see it.

Sadly alone with his painful tight grip on the full meat of his penis. He felt the juices in his body becoming alive, surging downward towards his belly then converging, melanging until they became a long, sharp sliver of pain and desire that spiraled to his crotch then pulsed with wracking spasms until he dragged his penis and squeezed it, then pointed it towards the naked flesh of the sleeping girl as it spurted then squirted a jagged arc of viscid sap onto Barbara.

Ecstasy! His body sagged as he watched a thick glob of fluid trickle down a white, virginal thigh. Then a strange, new satiation embraced his limbs, relaxing them, relieving them. She was the sweetest thing! He moved away sluggishly, his legs heavy, feet dragging but body appeased. For a moment, he felt better. For this time he had left some of his Barbara-induced lust juice to soak and seep into the unprotected flesh of the sleeping unaware, innocent but bedeviled virgin!

Barbara lifted her eyelashes a shy fraction of an inch as soon as she heard Jerry moving away from her door. It had been fun! She wriggled her body. It'd made her come all wet! She slid her finger into her vulva, felt it, caressed it. This time had been the best! Her finger felt an alien moistness on her thigh. Jerry! She drew back her hand in horror! His stuff-his filthy stuff!

She squirmed her body, feeling her flesh shrink away from the extraneous fluid. Then, suddenly, shatteringly, her movements ceased and the tiny goosebumps rose. It thrilled her! Her legs stretched out stiff and straight, she curled up her toes, felt her clitoris rise, tense then jerk with erotic spasms. The alien essence intensified it! She twisted her body like a whirling dervish, pressed her flesh against the damp sheet. Her clitoris thrust down with plunging throbs and the wet friction caused pleasure, then pain-then orgasm!

Barbara clenched her teeth and let the air hiss out. She had orgasmed more intensely, more acutely. It had been the highest she'd peaked! She allowed herself a secret smile that was more of a grimace of desire. It had been something new, too! She smiled again, serene now with satiation. Tomorrow she'd find some other way to tease Jerry and, maybe, raise her own sensations.

Barbara pressed her face into the pillow, reached out a lazy hand and switched off the light; lassitude flowed through relaxed limbs, and she fell asleep sweetly, completely and purely. Jut like an innocent virgin should.

Jerry's face became hollow, the cheeks indrawn-and his work deteriorated. Barbara's father was worried. "I don't understand it!" he told Harriette. "The first few days he was fine. I've never had a more intelligent, conscientious assistant, but now-" Neil raised his arms in a gesture of futility. "He seems to have gone all to pieces. He can't concentrate on anything any-, more. His nerves seem shot." He looked up at Harriette. "He's not eating so good, is he?

"No," said Harriette, then she looked at Barbara. Barbara stared back, innocently, demurely. Harriette tightened her lips, then got up and left the room.

Neil turned to Barbara. "Have you any idea of what's botherin' Jerry?"

She blinked at him, shrugged impishly... then lisped: "Just haven't a clue, Daddy!" Then she giggled, rose from her chair and did a small pirouette for her father.

He watched, admiringly, as she tripped lightly into the garden. Pretty as a picture, he told himself for the nth time, and pure as a lily! Then he told himself, like he'd told it before: He was a pretty goddamned lucky guy to have a daughter like Barbara.

Three days before he left the Bennett home, Jerry got better. The light came back into his eyes, his step became more alert, alive, and his appetite returned. His nerves seemed improved, too. His hands seemed smaller, more controlled. And it was all because the weighted metal bar fell on Jerry's shoulder.

They took him to the doctor, of course, and there was nothing seriously damaged. "It'll probably be painful," said the doctor, "for a day or two, or if you have trouble sleeping, take one of these." He looked at Jerry, noting his size, "Or two, not more. They'll put you out like a light." He pushed the small vial of pills across the desk. He smiled at Jerry, patted the injured shoulder with professional care, added: "After a couple of these pills, they would probably be able to drag you down the stairs and you wouldn't even know it!" And he'd laughed.

Neil told Harriette and Barbara all about it over their supper. "Jerry was damned lucky he didn't get a serious fracture," he told them while Jerry listened, pecked at his food and blushed. "But he'll be okay. The doc gave him something so he can sleep. He'll probably be okay in the morning, eh, Jerry?" He smiled at Jerry. Neil liked the shy young man.

"Like what?" asked Barbara. "The doc gave you like what to make you sleep?"

Eagerly, Jerry showed Barbara the small vial of pills. "These," he said nervously, "they'll put me out like a light, the doc said."

Barbara fingered the small pills curiously. They didn't impress her. "Like nothin'," she said. "They look like nothin'!"

Neil looked at his daughter, frowned. "Don't ever you take anythin' like that, Barbara dear -they'd knock a little girl like you right out!"

And Jerry's head jerked up.

"Don't worry, Daddy," she murmured, then she stared at Jerry. "Who wants to go out like a light, anyway?" She blinked at Jerry, stared down at the pills. "It gives nothin'." She looked at Jerry, "Zero." she added, spewing her lips. "Like nothing!" Then she got up and squirmed in a dainty, little-girlish way, into the garden.

Jerry stared after her, very thoughtfully.

Harriette sighed. "She's a funny girl!"

Jerry said nothing, just blushed.

"Sweet-" said Neil, watching her dawdle in the garden. "She's delicious!" And he gave his silly smile.

Harriette winced.