Chapter 2
At the very moment that Eunice Norton was examining herself in her mirror to determine whether the outrageous affront she had sustained had in any way altered her, the perpetrator of that affront, Jack Mordaunt, was preparing to make love to his handsome landlady, Mrs. Myrtle Eames.
Jack Mordaunt was thirty-eight, nearly six feet tall, with sturdy shoulders and chest, thick curly black hair in which a distinguished streak of gray was beginning to show at one side, with strong, virile features. Born in St. Louis and orphaned at an early age, he had managed to survive by his wits. First he had been a newsstand vendor, then a roustabout with a traveling carnival. But he had also been ambitious and shrewdly intelligent, wanting the good things in life and realizing that education made it possible to acquire them by bestowing the veneer which would make him acceptable to those who had been born on the right side of the tracks. Fortunately for him, an uncle whom he had never seen as a boy had managed to locate him when he was seventeen and had not only paid his tuition to a college but made him a gift of five thousand dollars and given him the good advice of learning all he could about financial transactions, particularly stocks and bonds.
By dint of perseverance and hard work, he had graduated with honors, then found a job as a clerk with a brokerage firm in Chicago, where he had readily mastered the technique of buying and selling futures. Jovial, gregarious, he had made friends with his associates as well as with the firm's clients: one of these latter had given him a market tip into which he had plunged the capital his uncle had given him. By the time he was twenty-five, he had thirty-five thousand dollars in the bank and a post as counselor in a small new investment firm. Here he used his knowledge and ability to make useful contacts to build his fortune. By the time of the ill fated stock-market crash, he was worth a cool hundred thousand dollars and had the foresight to pull out of the market just before the bottom fell out of everything.
He had come to Asheville in the capacity of sales manager of a mining firm, which was really a dummy corporation founded by several shrewd investors and stock manipulators who operated just on the side of the law to make a quick killing. The objective was to find a bank through which the stock of this new corporation could be floated; then, at a given time, when rumors had been spread through investment houses of the rising fortune of the corporation, to unload the stock and issue a new debenture, capital for which would be in the profits immediately gained by this overall sale. The bank chosen for this speculation would, be sure, ultimately lose a great deal of money, but the loss would be legally sustained and Mordaunt and his associates could not be held accountable.
He had come to the Mainland Bank and met Edward Norton; a single meeting had convinced him that he had found the clearing house through which this ingenious speculation could be channeled. Norton's impracticality and naivete in business matters would be the perfect assurance of that. Meeting Eunice Norton had been quite unexpected. Now, however, it was a kind of extra dividend. And now that she had upbraided him for daring to attempt any physical liberties with her, Jack Mordaunt was toying with the idea of reaping the harvest of that dividend to the fullest possible extent. He told himself he would not be content till he had got Eunice Norton in bed naked as the day she was born and could fuck her to his cock's content, in every way and position imaginable. Her icy hauteur and her untouchable chastity had acted like a cantharid on his lustful nature.
For though he was a bachelor at thirty-eight just as Eunice's father had been at that same age, there the resemblance ended. Along with his perseverance and driving ambition, Jack Mordaunt had become an expert voluptuary, more than a competent lover, capable of drawing women like flies to his magnetic animalism, his magnificent build, and above all, his tremendously virile cock. As early as sixteen, while working the carnival through the Dakotas, he had fucked the lusty thirty-year-old red-haired wife of the carnival's owner, so expertly that she could not believe he had actually been a virgin till they had gone to bed that first time. Before his uncle found him, he had transferred his attentions to two of the quartet of "Egyptian" dancing girls which the troupe boasted-the two prettiest, to be sure. When he went, he found few obstacles in his path to the bed of love. Until he had met Eunice Norton, that is to say.
It was just about time for Jack Mordant to make a phone call and have the squeeze put on elderly, unsuspecting banker Edward Norton. He decided, however, he was going to give him one more try before determining just how he would exact settlement of the score. Norton himself was a pretty nice old guy, stuffy and pompous as you would expect of a gentleman from the old Shorthorn school. He couldn't feeling sorry for the guy because he didn't have a wife around to comfort him when he had to make important decisions and just about all he had to live for was that cold, snippy Eunice.
Jack Mordaunt, for all his attitude of dominant, aggressive male, had a fair education and had read omnivorously whenever he had the chance. Sitting in his room which he had rented from Myrtle Eames this warm August evening, he lit a Havana panatela, drew on it and leaned back in the comfortable armchair which faced the window looking out onto the pleasant Center Square Place. He reflected on Eunice, but this time not entirely in a physical way. He began to ask himself exactly why she had gotten under his skin, quite apart from the fact that she had slapped him just because his hand happened to graze one of those beautiful titties of hers. He didn't hate a girl just because she said no or because she rebuffed him. Sometimes the chemistry was all wrong between prick and pussy. Sometimes he could remember seeing fellows go with girls who you'd think would be the last ones in the world to spread their legs for that particular guy- yet they were hotpants for him all the time. Another time you would see couples, legally tied together, who looked perfect for each other and yet each of whom was pursing his or her adventures outside the marriage bed. Nature wash a great big mystery and so was the chemistry which ignited the spark to harden a man's cock and want to dig itself between two twitching, moist, pink pussy-petals and keep pushing home until the explosion of orgasm came.
It wasn't exactly that about Eunice Norton and certainly it wasn't paramount for him to get her on a bed where he could fuck her, lick her, suck her, goose her, brown her, spank that sweet ivory ass of hers until it was flaming like a sunset and have her cry for him to stop and swear she would do anything in the world for him if he only would. Of course, that was very important. But it was her name alone that haunted him and had ever since the first minute Edward Norton, in the privacy of his own drawing-room, introduced the two of them. From the very start, Eunice had stared at him with those large, expressive eyes, her lips curved in a kind of supercilious smile as if he were dirt under her feet. Naturally this had been enough to stir his own chemistry, because a man always wants the unobtainable, always wants to fuck a cunt that wants to be aloof and considers itself unobtainable.
But the same - Eunice - now stirred vague memories of his educational days. Now where the deuce had he come across it before? Jack Mordaunt blew smoke wreaths into the air, following their progress to the ceiling. They rose in an orderly fashion, just as he had built step by step this little stock boosting scheme which would put Edward Norton and the bank in his power. And Eunice Norton had been the catalytic agent which had brought it all about. He could have tried the Gordon National Bank and Trust Company, half a mile way, with bigger assets than Edward Norton's bank could boast. It was a bonus for him that he hadn't gone to the other one, because now he was going to get Eunice. He wasn't sure of the details, but they were gradually building up in his mind.
Now he had it! Sure! in that book "Quo Vadis." The one they'd made a movie of a long time ago, a silent movie. Eunice had been a beautiful Greek slave girl belonging to the household of Petronius, who had been Nero's right-hand man. Nero had always wanted Petronius, who was called the "Arbiter of Elegance," to pass on everything he did. from reciting poetry to holding an orgy. If it didn't suit Petronius, Nero sulked in his tent.
Sure he remembered the story, plain as day now. It seems that this Petronius a friend of the hero of the book, Marcus Valerius and Marcus Valerius had fallen in love with a beautiful Christian girl, Lygia and had tried to abduct her so he could fuck the hell out of her sweet cunt. But the Christians had saved Lygia and Marcus had told Petronius he was fit to be tied. Petronius, being a kindly joe, had decided to make Marcus a present of Eunice, a shy sweet virgin who had never fucked any man before. Only, when the time came for Eunice to leave Marcus's household, she had looked down at her feet and stammered she didn't want to. Well, in those days nobody ever heard of a slave saying no to a master, so Petronius had to whip her just to show who was boss. And to show that he was an intellectual and didn't want to hurt her fine skin, he told the overseer to lay fifteen strokes on with a silken lash, so as not to cut her fine skin.
Then later, greatly disturbed by having had to punish her at all, because he probably had a hardon for her and didn't want to admit it - he had gone into the punishment room and seen her standing by the wall. When he asked if she'd had the lashes laid on, she sank to her knees before him, took his hand, pressed it to her lips and said, "Oh yes, Master! Thank you, Master!" And so he had decided not to send her to Marcus after all and that night he had taken her to bed, broken her cherry and fucked hell out of that sweet cunt of hers. And then, probably noticing the faint pink marks on her beautiful white skin, he had got a more tremendous hard-on than he had ever had in all his days as an intellectual.
So that was where the name Eunice came in! Jack Mordaunt chuckled and took another long puff at his cigar. He felt great. It was sort of symbolic, his remembering that story. Sort of symbolic, too, that snotty Miss Norton should, just like the slave girl in that book, refuse to have anything to do with him, even though her father had probably told her to be nice to him. Well, well, well! It was going to be a very interesting procedure to make her kneel down and kiss his hand and thank him for whacking hell out of that ivory ass of hers. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, dreaming of her. Let's see, now- that thick chignon of black hair which she had formed at the back of her neck would be loosened so her curls would flow down to her shoulder blades. She would wear a kind of tunic as they did in Roman days, a half slip, sheer as possible, probably black because it would set off her white skin so nicely. He would have a dressmaker make it up special for her. It would go down just over her pussy, high up on her thighs, so the least time she bent over or turned or moved at all the hemline would tilt up and he could see that prissy, haughty nobody-fucks-me cunt of hers and she would be kneeling there on her palms, her head bowed and her eyes on the floor, while he sat naked in his armchair, smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of good wine, or a tall, frosty mint julep. He would pretend not to notice her and she would squirm because her palms were arching, the way her knee-bones were pressing down hard on the floor and aching too. And finally he would say, "Slave, I thought I told you not to move a muscle. Bring the hairbrush. Get over my lap and count twenty-five and say 'Thank you, dear Master' after every spank. And if you're not back here in thirty-seven seconds with the hairbrush in hand and across my lap and ready to hand it up to me, I'll double the count!"
The mere thought of domineering the patrician brunette in exactly this way, as they did in the old Roman days when a slave could be whipped or fucked or branded or sold or tortured just for fun, made Jack Mordaunt have a tremendous hard-on. He unbuttoned his fly and let his massive prick pop out. The plump meatus throbbed with an aching, dull, rhythmic hurt. It was a damned shame that Myrtle had left for the weekend to visit a distant cousin in Shelby. Right now, he'd give a thousand bucks of the profits he was going to make on this deal to have Myrtle present in a half-slip, kneeling there on the floor. Only he wouldn't have her looking down at the floor, the way he'd start with Eunice. No, sirree. Myrtle would be made to kneel between his thighs and she would bend her head, all right, but it would be to put her mouth over the tip of his bulging prong and flick the tip of her tongue delicately all over it and then part the puckering lips from which his spunk spurted. And then she would kiss every inch of his cock and balls, rub them thoroughly with her soft tongue and then he would have her bend over and show her asshole, with her legs spread as far apart as she could manage. He would get up behind her and prod her pussy asshole with the tip of his cock, while he fondled one of her titties with one hand and pinched and spanked her big jutting taut-proffered bottom with the other till he couldn't bear it any more. Then he would grip her by the hipbones and jam his prick right into that pink gaping slit of hers, right up to the balls. And he would threaten her with a good sound spanking if she didn't stay in position just that way until he came.
But in this day and age, slavery was impossible. If you were a rich Arabian sheik, you could perhaps arrange with the slave market in Algiers to purchase a kidnapped white girl, or a Greek girl (who be perfect for buggering and browing), or anyone you chose if you had the price. But not here in the good old U. S. A.
No, he reflected soberly, as he took another puff at his cigar and opened his eyes to watch the smoke rise slowly over him. The only way to get Eunice Norton was to do it legally - to marry her. Then, as her husband, he would have every right to cram his cock in any hole he pleased! And also, according to the statues he had read, it was perfectly all right for a man to spank his wife any time he wanted to, with a stick no bigger than his thumb. Well, he wouldn't want to mar that lovely ivory skin of hers. But he'd like to make it so red and stinging that she couldn't sit down and would have to take her cunt, fucking standing up!
Closing his eyes again, Jack Mordaunt leaned back in his chair and his right hand slyly crept down to the bulging shaft that stood up at attention between his sinewy thighs. Making a ring of thumb and forefinger, he began to frig the head of his cock, very lingeringly. As he did so, he summoned up these and many more such images, all of Eunice, in chains naked except for shoulder-length gloves and high-heeled pumps, on in black bra and pantie combination, or in a thin nightie that let you see her pussy-hairs and the dark tidbits of her titties. He saw Eunice Norton in every conceivable position a woman could take for a fucking or a buggering. He saw her upside down, in the wheelbarrow, he holding her by the calves, her head and shoulders trailing on the floor and lifting her while he crouched just low enough to get prickhead into pussylips. Grinding his teeth, he felt himself explode. And he knew, as he moped his limpening cock with a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, just how he was going to win and conquer and fuck beautiful Eunice Norton. It was time she was educated all over again - educated to do what a man wanted, not what she preferred to do all by her lonesome. Yes, the education of Eunice Norton was going to be his primary project. He was going to make that telephone call right now!