Chapter 1
Matthew Thomas was fifty-five, and he was furious. He was mad as hell! The young starlet had just straddled him and inserted his cock into her slit when the butler rapped at the door. And she had a tight, hot, juicy cunt, too! It made him feel half his age, and he was already looking forward to ejaculating in the pretty young thing-his first lay of the week. She was down on him, squirming her ass and taking all he had to give, when the sudden rapping at the door caused her to pause and look at him questioningly.
"Shit!" Matthew exclaimed. "Now what?"
The rapping at the door came again, a little louder this time.
"What is it?" Matthew called, his anger revealing itself in his tone.
"Your son is downstairs, sir," the butler informed him, "and he insists on seeing you."
The girl started to lift herself from him, but Matthew gripped her hips and shook his head. "No, no!" he whispered. "My son can wait." He raised his voice and said, "Finley! Go down and tell my son I'll see him shortly."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Finley-"
"Yes, sir ?
"I am not to be disturbed again-understand."
"Yes, sir."
Matthew waited for a few moments, listening. Sure that the butler had descended the stairs, he smiled weakly up at the young girl and said:
"Now, darling, let's continue. I want to shoot off in your delicious little pussy like a rocket."
Slowly, so very slowly, he was rubbing the nipples of her tits, his fingers relishing the softness of her creamy skin. He felt his prick stirring excitedly as she began to raise and lower herself upon it, and he thrust upward each time she came down. His breath came short and harsh, and he pummeled her breasts roughly. The girl fell forward and lightly crushed his chest with her tits. He felt the wetness of her slippery tongue descend remorselessly into his ear. The delving, slippery sensation of her saliva melted his earlobe, and she rode him furiously. He felt himself starting to spin into space, felt the white, mind shattering chasm of emptiness open to him.
He slid his fingers roughly into the cleft between her buttocks. The small sensitive bump of her asshole writhed against his fingertips and Matthew thrust his cock as far up her cunt as he could force it, as the sperm was triggered from his balls and went spurting furiously into her creamy cunt
She clung tightly to him, urging the final specks of semen out of his cock. Then it was all over and she rolled limply off his damp, panting body.
He lay silent, regaining his composure. He blinked his eyes and grinned appreciatively at her.
"You just stay here," he said. "I will come back as soon as I get rid of that son of mine."
"Whatever you say, big daddy," she said, and smiled sweetly back. "But you hurry, hear? I'm in the mood to fuck you crazy."
He gave her mons veneris a delicate pat and got out of bed. She watched him as he dressed hurriedly and passed through the door. His anger was again upon him before he reached the stairs. He'd have to teach that boy a lesson once and for all! And this was as good a time as any to do it, he told himself.
He entered the library and saw Fred, his only son, waiting for him.
"Well, Fred, what did you want to see me about?"
The young man, barely in his twenties, his face pale but with lines of determination about his smooth, sensitive mouth, stood up and looked at his father. There was a difference of thirty-five years between the two men, but it needed only a glance to see that they were father and son.
"I thought it time to discuss the matter of money," Fred replied, and looked the old man straight in the eye as he said it.
Matthew Thomas, his face suddenly purple with rage, paced up and down the library, and spoke at the top of his voice.
"No sir, not a cent! Do you hear me, Fred-not a cent! I warned you that I'd have nothing to do with you if you disobeyed me. In spite of all I said you have deliberately defied me by marrying that girl. You must take the consequences. I disown you! You will never get a penny of my money!"
As Matthew Thomas raved at his son, growing more excited with every word, the young man simply ignored him and let his eyes survey the room.
It was a picturesque room, tastefully furnished. The walls were all lined with books, the shelves and the rest of the woodwork of black flemish oak, and the chairs of the same wood, upholstered in red leather. In a cozy, well-lighted niche was a magnificently carved teakwood table, with telephone and nouveau art reading lamp. On the opposite side another table was covered with a fabric so exquisite and costly that it might well have graced the collection of some connoisseur. On it was a confused litter of books, newspapers, and cigar boxes. Several large, comfortable arm-chairs were scattered about, and on the floor one trod on a large richly woven silk rug of a shade to harmonize with the general color scheme of the room. Neither father nor son seemed impressed by the richness of their immediate surroundings, and the son, in surveying the room, was not so interested in seeing as in not hearing.
When Matthew had ceased his choleric tirade and relapsed into a sulky silence, interrupted only at intervals by a series of angry snorts that sounded like petty explosions, his son said:
"I don't want your money. I merely asked for what is mine. If I could get some of the money my grandfather left me, I'd be satisfied. I want to go into business. I have an opportunity to buy a small interest in a Detroit automobile plant. They offered me a salaried position if I can furnish a little capital which will be amply secured. I have investigated the thing, and I'm anxious to get into it. I will only be too glad to get the hell away from Beverly Hills."
Matthew had continued pacing the floor like an infuriated lion, apparently paying not the slightest attention to what his son was saying. In fact he was trying to hold onto his anger and his desire for the young woman in his bedroom at the same time, and it wasn't working out too well. His son's closing remark had the unfortunate effect of adding fresh fuel to the already raging fire. Stopping short and turning quickly, he shook his clenched fist in his son's face and thundered:
"What kind of horseshit is this-huh? I raised a prick for a son! How have you repaid all I have done for you? You've taken pleasure-deliberate pleasure!-in fucking up my plans for you at every turn. I only asked one fucking thing-you know goddamn well my heart was set on it. And what did you do? Ran off with a stiff cock in your pants and married a girl you'd already been screwing for a month!"
Fred shrugged his shoulders as he calmly replied: "You asked the impossible. You wanted me to marry Janet, but it was too late. Besides, Janet has never cared enough for me to marry me."
The argument was unanswerable, and Matthew Thomas knew it, but all his life he had been accustomed to make rules for others, never to have them laid down for himself. Unable to find words, he merely spluttered:
"Love my ass! That's all a crock of shit! Marriage is based on something more substantial. Your conduct convinces me that you are not fit for any position of responsibility and trust You're a fool to your own interests, boy, and always will be. I'm done with you. I'll give you a small allowance to keep you from starving, but that's all you get"
"And you call me a prick!" Fred exclaimed, laughing angrily. "You can't stand the idea of me living my life my way-that's all! You fuck every young chick that studio signs, and that's all right But when I marry a girl I love, well-fuck you too!"
"I'm going to telephone my lawyer right now," Matthew said, his eyes flaring. "Hell come over today and draw up a new will. By God, I'll show you! I'm leaving everything to Janet"
While dialing the number he glared at his son, as if expecting him to make some protest; but Fred, although a shade paler, remained unruffled and calm.
"You just do that!" he said, forcing a smile. "You knew best, I suppose. I'm sorry my marriage offended you, but it can't be helped. I didn't do it to annoy you, although you seem to think so. I married Eva because I loved her. Janet never cared for me in that way, and you know it."
"Sentimental rubbish!" grunted the merchant. "Janet is too sensible a girl not to have accepted you, if you'd treated her right."
The telephone buzzed. The old gentleman said: "Hello-is that you, Knapp? This is Thomas-yes-I'm here at the house. I'd like you to come up to see me regarding a little business matter-about drawing a will. Yes-a new one. Oh, any time will suit me-this evening or afternoon. All right; make it this afternoon. I'll wait in for you. Good-bye." Turning again to the young man, he went on testily: "Janet knew my wishes, and she would have respected them. But she saw your infatuation for that girl, and could do nothing-"
The young man shook his head.
"You are mistaken, father. You think you can manage affairs of the heart as you are accustomed to managing affairs of finance. It can't be done, and bigger men that you have failed. I don't blame you for getting angry at me." Bitterly he added: "We never got along any too well-you are never satisfied, always expecting the impossible. I'll be glad to get away."
Thomas, Sr., eyed his son narrowly and distrustfully. They had never been friends. By nature cold and reserved, his attitude to his son had been that of a stern, exacting master who must be obeyed implicitly, no matter how preposterous the command. He had resented his son's independence of spirit, and interpreted it rightly or wrongly as willful defiance of his wishes and orders. His voice was hard and unyielding as ever as he asked:
"Where are you going?"
"I told you-Detroit."
"You have no means."
"No-that's why I came to you."
The older man shook his head.
"No, sir-not a cent! I couldn't if I would. That money is tied up until you reach the age of thirty. You are now only twenty-four. For the next six years you must either be satisfied to live under this roof or earn a living outside."
Fred's face flushed.
"Then I'll go out and earn it I don't know at what, but I'll get along somehow."
For a moment Matthew looked at his son, and there was a look in his face as if he rather admired the young man's guts. He made a gesture as if about to shake his hand. But if he felt any such inclination the mood quickly passed. His son had deliberately disobeyed him. He was hurt in his pride. That he could never forgive. Coldly he replied:
"You must get along the best you can."
Fred turned to go.
"If that's the way you want it, so be it. But you're wrong, and you're unfair, and in your heart you know it"
Matthew bounded. Wrathfully he retorted: "I know nothing of the kind! You are full of shit, as usual. You alone are to blame. You've never done one fucking thing I wanted you to do. And now you've married a girl without position, whose people we know nothing of-a little cheap peace of cunt who married your for my money. Well, she'll never get her hands on a cent of it!"
"Now just a goddamn minute!" Fred roared, enraged. "You can't talk about my wife that way! I won't stand for it, you hear? She's not one of your studio whores, you lecherous old bastard!"
"I never said she was a whore," Matthew retorted. "I simply said that you made a marriage beneath you, with a woman who will never fit in this family."
"That's a lie! Eva's as good as we are! In fact, she's a helluva lot better! Her folks may not have as much money as you have, but at least what they have they came by honestly-which is more than some of us can say."
Matthew's face became purple. The rush of blood to his head made his veins stand out like whipcord. He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He advanced threateningly on his rebellious offspring. At last, with an effort, he regained his speech. Wrathfully lie exploded:
"Don't stand in my house and call me a liar! Don't dare call me a liar! And don't call me a crook! Or I'll have you booted out of the house! I've had about enough shit from you today. Get out of here-get your ass out of here, I say!"
His face livid, scarcely able to articulate from pent-up ungovernable, unreasoning passion, he advanced toward his son, his hand clenched in threatening gesture, when suddenly the door opened and a young girl appeared on the threshold.
For a moment she stood irresolute, as if uncertain whether to enter the room. She did not seem surprised to find the two men quarreling; but a look of distress came over her face as quick as her glance went from father to son.
Somewhat ashamed that the girl should witness his exhibition of temper, Matthew said, hastily:
"Come in, Janet, come in. Are you looking for me, dear?"
For the time being the tempest was over. Fred gave the newcomer a nod of welcome and shrugged his shoulders significantly while Matthew changed his mood completely. The hard, stern features relaxed; his face broke into a smile.
It had not been an easy task, but Janet Boyington was no ordinary girl.