Chapter 4

When she looked again, he was dressing. Lorna supposed she could wangle him into the bed, into her cunt, once again, but it didn't seem worth the game at the moment. She went searching for her own clothes.

"Am I still invited to the wedding?" she asked evenly, placing the bra cups around her tits and fastening the strap.

"Would it stop you if I said no?"

She shook her head. "Probably not. I suppose you're entitled to have me stay away, but I think I'm just as entitled to be there. The bride and I nave something very much in common, ken darling. Your sexy bod. But I promise I'll behave. I won't do anything overt or cunty, like whipping out a tit or flashing my pussy during the ceremony. God, wouldn't it be embarrassing if you suddenly deserted your blushing bride and flung yourself upon me while everyone was watching? So I won't tempt you."

"Do whatever you please. I've already explained the score to you, Lorna. In the past, you've been able to prey on my weakness, but all of that is changing. Thank God, it's about time."

She shrugged. He persisted in making such a big deal about it. Couldn't he fuck and enjoy? She had no trouble at all doing precisely that. But if he thought his quilt trip was going to make her feel unclean, well, the bastard had another thing coming. And if he thought he'd been seduced for the last time-Lorna smiled.

She went into the living room while Ken was showering. Dressed only in bra and panties, she made for his liquor cabinet and poured herself a double Black Velvet, adding soda and two ice cubes. It. was seven in the morning, and she felt slightly guilty drinking so soon from bed, but in Vegas she generally had her nightcap about this hour before turning in, alone or accompanied, as her inclination dictated. Sipping the whiskey leisurely, she settled in a chair, wondering where she and Ken had gone sour. It all started off so promisingly, and it had been a relationship to treasure. Maybe thirteen years was long enough to fuck someone. Maybe that's why marriages went bad. But she wasn't dissatisfied or disgusted with him, with fucking him, with sucking and being sucked by him. What was his problem? The problem must be his . . .

Lorna Parker, seventeen years old, and the only words to describe her were "ripe" and "hot" She'd reached her full growth by then, and it was a delicious full growth. Five feet six inches tall. weight 125, vitals taping in at 36-24-38. She had a woman's body and a woman's desires to go with it.

Summer camp in the Berkshires a few years ago had taken care of that. Lorna was wearing her very first bra then, a dainty, flower-adorned A-cup, and she'd begun menstruating the winter before. Twelve and a half, she was, aware that her body was aching with the delightful pangs of growth, just as aware that a finger carefully applied to the fuzzing slit between her legs could turn those pangs into tremors of joy. She'd been finger-fucking herself when an older girl, a camp counselor, happened upon her. The other girl, about sixteen, didn't chide her for the sin of touching herself. She didn't tell Loma that it could make her go crazy, or would cause hair to grow on her palms, or that her children of some future year would all be born deformed mongoloids. What she did was to let down her own shorts, display her beautifully furred crotch, and demonstrate some refined techniques of playing with pussy. First upon herself, then, at Lorna's insistence, upon the pubescent eager child. For the rest of the camp session, the two young girls managed to meet two or three times daily for repeat performances and Loma Parker found herself in the grips of her very first adolescent crush. She didn't think it was possible for a girl to be in love with another girl, but how else to explain the way she felt about Melanie? When camp ended and Lorna went home, she cried herself to sleep every night for a week, missing her friend's fingers and kisses.

But she couldn't pine forever. It wasn't long before she made a new friend, a girl her own age, a girl as ignorant about the realities of pleasure as Lorna had been, a girl she took pains to educate, as she had been educated. The other girl had a horse and a stable; she and Lorna spent many summer, fall, winter, and spring afternoons, theoretically tending the horse, but actually rolling naked in piles of hay, finger-fucking and kissing. It was in that stall, in a barn scented with hay and horse aromas, that Lorna first felt a mouth on her cunt, that she first used her mouth on another pussy. And she found that sucking her little girl friend's cunt was nearly as erotic, as fulfilling, as having her own cunt sucked and licked in reply. She could come by spontaneous combustion from the very entrance of her tongue in Jacqueline's surprisingly furry twat.

Of course it couldn't last forever, and both of them were a little embarrassed when they later discovered boys. The lesbian interludes slowed, then creased altogether, and by the time Lorna was fourteen she had on several occasions used her hands to bring a boy to spewing orgasm., The first time it ever happened, she laughed aloud, delighted by the force with which he gushed his sticky cum, and she rubbed her fingers, savoring the viscous feel of his sperm upon them. Not until she was in college did she get intimate with another girl, and by that time she knew that it could never be more than a thrilling kind of diversion.

Men were her true passion, not women, although women could give her great pleasure when she was in the mood. There was a hat-check girl at the club in Vegas, for example, a part-time hooker who hated men (Lorna could never understand that) but who moaned and writhed ecstatically when Lorna applied skillful, knowing fingers to the shaven lips of her pussy.

She got her cherry busted, finally, at fifteen and a half, six months after her mother died of cancer. That particular circumstance had put a brief crimp into Lorna's sex life. Prior to her mother's death, she'd been rather open with boys, using her hands and mouth as the situation allowed, and everything except penetration itself had been done to her. But she Wondered, briefly, if God weren't angry with her for being so loose, if he hadn't taken her mother in revenge. A few months of soul-searching and philosophizing resulted, and Lorna came to the conclusion that she'd rather believe in no God at all than in one so crudely vindictive. So to hell with him. She celebrated her resolve by getting fucked, and as she shook and moaned in orgasm on a blanket in the woods, her-tummy warm with whiskey, her pussy full of cock, she knew that she had made the right choice.

Lorna was very much on her own at seventeen. Her father was busy being hogtied by a woman he thought he was hotly pursuing, and Ken was fourteen, a gawky adolescent with a stammer and a perpetual blush. She barely knew he existed, and she only saw him when he came home from school for a holiday.

But by eight-thirty on a June night, Loma Parker became very much aware that she'd been stood up. Her date was already an hour late and she was damned sure that he wasn't coming at all. The son of a bitch! Who did he think he was. anyway? Didn't he know that a little courtesy and consideration would have gotten him a night in her -arms, a night he'd remember and jack off about for a long time to come?

Lorna poured herself a stiff jolt of bourbon, added 7-Up and ice, and lit a cigarette. Daddy didn't like her to drink or smoke, but he didn't protest too strongly about it-not when he was so occupied with his Mary Louise bitch. They were spending the weekend at Newport and Lorna knew damned well that if he hadn't fucked her already this evening, he'd be doing it soon. Once she'd seen him following Mary Louise into the house from the pool, unzipping the back of her swimsuit as he walked. The front of the one-piece had fallen down, baring Mary L.'s rather saggy but large-nippled tits, and both of them laughing like school children. How could he do it with another woman., so soon after Mama's death? She didn't hate the man, but she felt such a strong contempt for his weakness that hate might have been a more charitable emotion.

Ken was home this weekend, up in his room as always. In the daytime he was gone, in the evening he locked himself into his room. For all she saw of him, she might as well not have a brother at all. Fucking lot she cared! Ail he did was stare at her, and it seemed he couldn't keep his eyes away from her tits. Well, they did stick out a little. They were full, round tits, naturally high, and she couldn't very well keep her bra from adding a little prominence, especially when she wore something clingy, as she liked to do. And when she walked away from Ken, she knew that his eyes were focused upon the jiggling swivel of her hips.

Sometimes it was embarrassing, but she made allowances. After all, he was stashed away in that boys' school, and all he saw every day were boys. She couldn't really blame him. She was attractive -"foxy" was a word that hadn't been invented then, unfortunately, but it would have been perfect as a description of Lorna-and she knew that she was attractive.

But if she was, shy the hell had she been stood up this evening? It was an almost unbearable humiliation, and she drank her whisky and ginger ale with an angry insistence, smoking five or six cigarettes in a row. Only the rawness of her throat stopped her from going on all night.

"Oh, God," she said, her mouth and throat foul from cigarettes. She coughed and stood, a little wobbly on her feet thanks to the liquor she'd drunk.

And that wasn't the worst of it. Her date had been with Carol Marks' cousin, a bona fide Yalie, good-looking and extremely virile. She'd counted on spending a delightful evening with that tanned, tall Yalie clutched between her legs, his cock driving up her eager pussy, his mouth sucking the life from hers, her tits hard-nippled and jutting against him. Didn't the bastard know she was a sure thing-a pushover? He was probably a faggot under the all-male exterior. Did it help to fantasize him spread out on a blanket, being corn-holed by some other macho Yalie? It did not. Instead she found herself wondering what it would be like to make it with two guys at the same time. There were thirty-seven roses drawn on the pages of her diary, one for each time she'd been laid. Would a threesome entitle her to two rosebuds? Just thinking about that made her cunt throb and ache in frustrated hunger and she rubbed her crotch through the skirt she'd, chosen for tonight's date.

"Oh, screw it!" she said aloud, bitterly. She'd go upstairs, gargle to get the Marlboro taste washed away, then go to bed. With a double whisky and 7-Up and a little flogging of her clit, perhaps she could get to sleep. Jesus, what a creepy night! It wasn't nine-thirty and she was already resigned to turning in. Well, when she was Carol Marks tomorrow at the country club, she would certainly give that cunt an earful about her faggot cousin and his sense of responsibility. He hadn't even called to cancel. Goddamn him to hell. She swigged the last of her drink, picked up the bottle and a fresh bottle of 7-Up, and went upstairs.

On her way back from the bathroom she passed Ken's bedroom door. It wasn't entirely closed and she could hear sounds coming from inside. Curious, Lorna stopped. She put her ear close to the cracked door and listened. Good God! It sounded as if he were struggling for every breath! Was her kid brother an asthmatic or something? Had he developed a disease at his school? She reached for the doorknob, solicitous about his welfare. From the way he was panting, it sounded as if he were having serious trouble with his lungs. No one had mentioned it to her, and if Daddy didn't know either, well, it might take his mind off that slutty Mary Louise.

"Are you okay?" she asked, opening the door, and her eyes took in an amazing sight.

Ken, stark naked, was lying atop his bedsheets. staring at a pair of Playboys, the centerfolds spread open. And if he was panting, well, the dear boy had good reason. For he had one hand wrapped around his stiff cock and he was masturbating as he gazed upon the naked charms of Misses March and May, 1963.

Even slightly fogged with whisky, Lorna couldn't miss the more important aspects of the scene in progress. Ken's body was slim, still growing of course, but with a hell of a lot of promise. Someday, she was sure, his shoulders would be wide and well-muscled, his hips narrow and manly. They would be a perfect complement to the incredibly well-developed prick his fist was clutching so tightly.

For a fourteen-year-old, Ken was hung. There was no other word applicable. His cock stuck out and out and out, the knobby end Of it red with self-induced passion, the big veins standing up in his cock-flesh like mountains on a relief map. She stared in admiration, ignoring his flustered face completely as she concentrated upon his dick. It wasn't the biggest she'd ever seen, but it certainly looked like the hardest, and she knew somehow that it was the most gorgeous cock in existence. Without knowing that she was doing it, Lorna allowed her feet to carry her closer to Ken's bed.

"What are you doing?" she giggled. "Or do I have to ask?"

He reacted, finally, tardily. He let go of his cock and reached for the sheet, pulling it up to cover himself.

But Lorna could react, too. She grabbed at the sheet from its lower edge and tugged just as hard as he was pulling from his end, and his face went even redder as he realized that he could not bring the sheet into place. His cock wiggled as he fought, and Lorna grinned knowingly. God, it was hard! That prick of his would be rigid as a steel bar in her hands! She sat down on the bed, planting her ass atop the sheet and ending the struggle for its possession.

Cocking her head to one side, she eyed the Playboy Playmates her brother had been examining. "Hpphh!" she sniffed. "Do they make you all hot and horny, kid?"

He stammered. "N-N-Nl... I mean, welllll, I... uh ..."

She couldn't stop herself. Lorna reached for his bare cock. He tried to pull away but she was too fast for him. Her fingers caught and locked, and as she squeezed his rigid prick, her eyes bulged appreciatively.

"My God," she said, "and you're just a little kid!" With her other hand she touched the tip of his prick, noting with pleasure the way he twitched in response. "Not so little. Jesus, Ken, is this why you're always in your room? Are you always lying on your bed doing naughties to your pecker?"

"Not all the time," he mumbled.

"Of course not," she replied. "You sleep once in a while. Right?" She giggled. Nervously? God almighty, her entire body was shaking as she sat here with Ken's dick in her hand! Lorna brushed a hand through her hair, let his cock go, and straightened her back.

She stared at her brother, focusing her eyes upon his. His blush had faded a little, and he was regaining normal color in the face. But his eyes were wide, staring back at her own, as if he didn't know what was happening now, couldn't guess what might happen next.

"Is this it for you, little brother?" she asked considerately. "I mean, have you ever done anything more advanced than beating your meat?"

He shook his head slowly, uncertainly.

"You poor darling!" Lorna told him. "Don't you know that girls in Scarsdale are going to bed with empty pussies, while you waste this big, hard prick on the Playmate of the Month?"

He smiled; she laughed. Once again she took hold of his pecker. It was still hard as a rock. Seven, eight inches long, she estimated, and it felt thick enough to be a comfortable twat-stuffer. She locked her thumb and index finger around it, measuring mentally. And he was only fourteen?

"You better stop," he warned. "I think I'm going to-OHM"

Without any additional warning his cock convulsed in her hand. Cum gushed from the tip in a fast-flying stream, some of it spattering the front of Lorna's blouse, another dab or two hitting her skirt. Still more rolled in a hot, viscous flow across the backs of her fingers. She closed her hand upon his cock-tube and shucked quickly, three or four times. A throbbing rippled through him and more cum oozed from his slitted tip, and then his rod began to soften in her hand. Jism coated Ken's knob as well as her hand. Lorna took her fingers away, brought them to her nostrils. She sniffed at the sperm drops, then, impulsively, tasted them. Ken watched in wide-eyed amazement.

"It's delicious," she said defensively. "If I'd known you were going to shoot off, I'd have stuck your cock in my mouth and sucked up all your sperm. But look at what you've done to me, you naughty child! You've splattered me with jism. On my blouse, on my skirt. Well . . ." She stood up, hand reaching up to unbutton her shirt. "I'd better get out of these so I can wash out the stains."

Somehow she knew what was coming next. There was no way she could stop herself. In some Book of Fates, this page had already been written. Lorna surrendered herself to destiny.

Ken's eyes got larger as she removed her blouse, let her skirt drop. Underneath she wore bra and panties, but not for long. She fixed her eyes upon her brother's face, staring intently, and her hands went around automatically to undo her bra clasp. The white cups fell away from her pink-nippled tits and she saw him shudder as her breasts appeared before his unbelieving eyes.

"God," he said, "their beautiful!"

"Of course they are, darling," she replied evenly, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her panties. "And would you like to see the rest of it? Have you ever seen a real naked girl, Ken?"

"Show me," he whispered. "Please show me!"

"Delighted to," Loma smirked, easing down her panties. His eyes literally bulged when she flashed her full, blonde beaver at him. It was one of her proudest possessions; guys were always astonished to find that she was a natural blonde, with golden hair on her head and upon her crotch.

"Do you like it?" she asked, but the question was superfluous. The delightful sight of his cock. rising, hardening, before her every eyes was all the answer. Much later, Loma knew that it had all been inevitable, from the moment she chose to enter his room rather than retreat when she saw what he was doing. Ken's fate, her fate-they'd really been preordained. But she had no thought of destiny, of inevitability as she slid the panties farther down. She was tantalizing him with the slow revelation of her physical charms and she was enjoying that tantalization, and each succeeding moment surprised her with its spontaneity.

"You've got hair on your cunt!" Ken said happily.

"Well, of course," Lorna agreed. But he couldn't know that cunts were hairy, if all he had to go on was Playboy. It would be many years before a skin magazine dared to reveal its model's beavers. Ken looked at her in pleased astonishment, staring so intently she wondered if he weren't counting the individual hairs flossing her pussy.

She stepped out of the panties, asking herself what she should do next. But did she have any choice? Rationality ,didn't come till a long time later; instead of thinking, Loma moved onto the bed, lying full-length, facing her brother. She reached for his cock, which was fully erect once more, as stiff as the pink nipples that jutted from the ends of her tits, and she was panting already, as if she'd been fucked and then forced to run a mile.

"What do you know about sex?" she asked him breathlessly, toying with the ripe, ready stalk of his pecker.

"A lot," he said stoutly. "A man and a woman get together and-"

"You've never done it, though. Right?" He nodded.

"Well, baby brother, you don't know lack Shit!"

She reached for his neck, pulling his face close to hers. His lips trembled as she began to kiss them, and Lorna shivered, too, for somehow it didn't seem right to stick her tongue into her brother's mouth. But she'd already jerked him off, and she had her hand on his cock once more. Why should she be squeamish about a little old kiss? She stabbed furiously with her tongue.

"Mmmm," she said, pulling her lips away. "You kiss nice. Are you sure you're innocent?" She loved to see him blush. It was so cute.

"Lorna-should we-I mean, isn't it wrong-"

"Oh, fuck it," she snapped. "You only live once. If you don't try everything, you only screw yourself." Her hand squeezed his throbbing cock. "Besides, little brother-do you really want me to stop?"

His answer was a crushing kiss that almost strangled Lorna. She threw herself into his passion and scooted closer, the hot barrel of his cock nibbling her belly. God, how hard his cock was, and he'd just squirted his stuff!

"I'm horny, too," she whispered, lips fluttering on his cheek. "I'm so horny I don't know what to do. little brother. Do you know what to do, or would you like me to show you?"

"Show me," he sighed.

"On your back, kid," she commanded, rising to her knees. "Ooooh. look how you stick up, Kenny love! I ought to hang a flag from your pole!"

He was sweating heavily as she played with his dick, and Lorna could feel dampness beneath her arms, behind her knees, between her tits, and, most profusely, in the pit of her cunt. She moved her legs together, squeezing the pussy framed between them, and it felt so good, so goddamned good-she held his cock firmly, working her legs on her twat, sighing as the excitement built and clung, and she wondered if she couldn't even get off right here, all by herself, before she was able to fling a leg across his body and mount his hard prick. No! she told herself angrily. Wait! Hold back just a little!

"See my slit?" she told him, running a finger through her pussy hair, pushing the curls aside so he could clearly perceive her pink gash.

Ken nodded, his hand lifting. Lorna moved her own so he could touch her gash.

"Oh!" she gasped as his fingers brushed her cunt-lips. "Oh, right there, baby! Stop! I need a clear head, you little bastard. That's where I'm going to put your cock, honey, but I guess you already know that, don't you?"

Again he nodded.

"Well, kid, if you're ready, I'm twice as."

She straddled him then, holding his cock with one hand while she raised her pussy high above it. Sweat dripped from her thighs and armpits and she knew that her puss was definitely wet enough to allow Ken a very easy penetration. Lorna hovered above him for a moment, wondering if she really ought to be doing this. After all, he was her brother. If there was a God in heaven, this act was certainly a violation of a few of his commmandments. But she'd already made up her mind on that score. She leaned forward, raising his dick and touching it to the lips of her twat. He jerked at his first vaginal contact, and Lorna wiggled atop him, smearing his rod with the juices that oozed from her fuck-hole. She felt his cock throb and shiver in her hand and she wondered if he mightn't be about to come again.

Quickly she lined up his cock and her cunt, pushed at him to imbed his knob in her labes, and then she descended swiftly, her pussy opening and swallowing his prick gluttonously. Her eyes closed as she sank to rest her loins upon his, and she put her hands on Ken's chest. He raised his head, groaning, moaning, with little choked sounds of unparalleled astonishment.

"Oh, my God," he gasped, "I'm in you! My cock is really in your cunt!"

"Damn straight," Lorna purred, her hips beginning to swivel, to lift and fall in a sexy, rhythmic pattern. She liked being on top. It was easy to put a finger on her clit, to frig herself while her pussy was reamed and screwed, and she diddled her love button as she rode him. "Keep it hard, baby brother," she told him. "Keep it hard for me. Oh, Christ, I'm full of your cock! I think the tip of your dick is in the bottom of my throat! Well, do something, damn it! Don't just lie there! Fuck up at me! Ram me! Screw me! Ball me with your pecker! I want to come!"

She had a hand on his chest, and she could feel his heart beating. It was a fast, desperate pulsating tempo, vibrating in the hollow of her palm, and she felt him move beneath her, his cock starting to burrow actively in her swampy cunt. "Better."

Lorna groaned, meeting him with a few twitches of her own. "Much-much-better!"

Perhaps r-he'd gotten too horny thinking about Carol's cousin; perhaps it was the spice of incest. Whatever the reason, Loma climaxed within a dozen romps on Ken's prick. And still it was hard within her hole, his cock jammed into her rippling, milking snatch. She ground upon his loins, sucking his dick with her pussy, and through half-closed eyes she saw his face contort. Loma knew what that look meant. And almost as it registered in her eyes, Ken put one hand on her ass, reached with the other to trap one of the jiggling tits, and she felt his cock swell inside her fluttering hole.

"Come!" she gasped in delirium. "Come, darling, come!"

He did! His cock jabbed upward, stabbing deeply into her wet cunt, and she could feel the jerking shudders of his orgasm. Lorna sank upon him, holding his face vertical so she could plant her mouth on his. This time it was his tongue that plunged between her lips, into the salivating cave, and she sucked it greedily, as if it were a throbbing cock stuffed in her mouth. Soon, she thought, shaking with her climax and his, soon it would be his dick and she would be sucking it just as hungrily, sucking until the hot, thick strings of cum poured down her throat-

They lay a little later, kissing and petting, unlike any brother and sister Loma had ever heard of, but it all seemed so right, so natural.

"You're good," she told him. "You really know how to give it to a girl. God, I came so hard my pussy's gonna ache for a week. But do you know what I want now, Ken baby."

"What?"

She giggled. "How many times can you get a hard-on in one night?" She grabbed him by the cock, twisting and kneading until he answered physically. "Much better," she went on. "Kiss me, and then I'll show you how it feels to have your pecker eaten. And I do mean eaten, kid."

The one, she thought, whom she really should kiss was Carol Marks' Yalie cousin. For making it all possible. And anyway, he'd have been a punk fuck next to Ken. As she bent to take her brother's peter in her mouth, she was absolutely certain of that fact. And as she began to use her mouth on Ken's prick, she found that there were certainties beyond certainty.

She finished her Black Velvet, scarcely aware that Ken had left the apartment with a gruff word of farewell. In her mind Lorna was reliving the past thirteen years. How many times had she screwed him? How many sands were there on the beach? That first weekend, they'd been upon one another like newlyweds. A friendly handshake was provocation enough for a frantic fuck. And he'd learned fast. In no time at all he was using his mouth on her like a professional. And he was so young and strong! Once he got a hard-on, nothing seemed to stop him. He could come in her, on her, wherever, and the slightest touch of her lips or fingers would make his cock stand up, ready to do it again and again and again. It was a wonder she didn't wind up pregnant, in those pre-Pill days. He spilled gallons of jism in her pussy, just as much in her mouth.

And when he went back to school in the fall, she wrote him every day, letters full of her passion and need. She even stood by the mirror with her Polaroid camera and took nude snapshots which she mailed to him.

It went on that way for a year or two. No guilt, no recriminations, only the driving thrill of fucking and sucking him. But once she started college, they saw one another less frequently. Daddy took Mary Louise as his bride-she fucked him to death, finally, in 1969, by which time Lorna had ceased to care-and Lorna fucked a great many men as well as a few women. She even married one of the men; it lasted not quite a year. He was sexy and virile, but about as intelligent as a fencepost, and he suspected that she was using her job as a means to meet and screw other men. (Well, sure, she did ball some outside friends, but his bitching and griping were the principal reasons. She wanted to fuck. If she'd craved fighting, she'd have joined the Army.) At any rate, she didn't anticipate marrying again-not unless Prince Charles, Johnny Carson, or Paul Newman made an offer.

And no matter whom she fucked, from a hat-check girl to a gas-station attendant to a world-famous comedian looking for Vegas fun-no matter, Lorna still found herself gravitating toward Ken. He'd been good, that very first time, and he just seemed to get better. She had orgasms with him where other partners inspired only yawns. Sometimes he was coy, sometimes eager.

Occasionally he mentioned the futility of such a relationship.

"What can it lead to?" he'd ask her, as they lay in bed sipping from a tumbler of cold wine. "I mean, you're my sister, for God's sake!"

"Why does it have to lead to anything? Can't you just fuck and be happy? I can!"

And he'd always fall silent then, as if he had no answer.

But he'd given her an answer, finally, and it was like gall in her mouth. He wanted nothing more to do with her. He had chosen another path in life, one that excluded her completely.

Funny. Ken had gone into the hospital last winter for a bit of minor surgery. Of all the nurses in Gotham City, who should be working his ward but a wistful-faced red-headed single girl named Barbie. And tomorrow evening-no! she was still on a Vegas schedule. It was this evening. At seven, Ken and Barbie would become man and wife, just like in TV toy commercials. What a bitching development! And, apparently, his mind was made up. He'd said things to her she'd never forgive from anyone else

"Giving up already?" she asked her whisky glass. "That isn't like you, Lorna Parker. You're a fighter. Fight for what you want."

Yes, by God, she would fight. She still had a few tricks left in her panties, and she would use every one of them.