Chapter 1
Brandie Harper stared out the wide, sun-splashed window of the living room of her luxurious home on a treelined street in suburban Los Angeles. A stunningly beautiful blonde with long, wispy eyelashes over skyblue eyes, she leaned back against the window frame, idly brushing away a few flecks of ash that dropped from her cigarette onto the soft cashmere of her vee-necked lavender sweater.
New neighbors were moving in across the street, and she was so absorbed in watching them that she jumped a little when she heard her back door slam arid a youthful voice yell, "Groceries!"
"Put them on the table," she called back, crushing out her cigarette and reaching for her pocketbook. "I'll be right there."
With a gazelle-like grace, the lithe blonde housewife moved across her attractively furnished modern living room which combined country space and comfort with the most modern conveniences. A tall, lean teenager was lounging arrogantly against the sink, his arms folded as he watched her enter the kitchen.
Pete Haney had modishly long hair and his attire - faded jeans and a rib-hugging cotton T-shirt - emphasized the muscular hardness of his adolescent body. The teenager considered himself quite a cocksman, based on several high school conquests, and he enjoyed his reputation. Of course he'hadn't gotten as much action as he led people to believe; but it was enough to whet his appetite, and one of the things he like most in his life was, as he put it, "Pussy___anywhere, anytime, any way."
His cocky man-of-the-world air was somewhat shaken, however, by Brandie's appearance. Although he had delivered groceries to the Harper house twice before, he still wasn't prepared for the carnal lust that smacked him like a tidal wave when he saw her come into a room. It wasn't just her face, or the fullness of her softly swaying breasts obviously unencumbered by a brassiere beneath her sweater, though they sure were part of it. It was something that happened when she moved, as though all of her muscles floated on each other like oil on liquid, and there was a subtly sensual aroma that she seemed to leave wherever she moved, an alluring muskiness, sweet but not cloying, that clung to her. Today she was wearing a pair of tight-laced black leather pants over high-heeled boots, and the lewd fantasy of. her tapered thighs wound tightly around his own back while he rammed his lust-swollen young cock deep into her welcoming cunt flashed through his mind, making his penis lurch hungrily inside his tight jeans.
"How much do I owe you?" Brandie asked, smiling slightly as she noticed the boy's unmistakable erection. She enjoyed the reaction her spectacular looks excited in men, and at twenty eight, she had to admit she was pleased that she was still able to get attention from a sixteen year old - a good-looking little stud. Enough of that, Brandie, she cautioned herself. You haven't gone that far yet!
"Fifteen thirty-five," Pete replied, blushing and swaggering a little.
Brandie wrote the check while the boy sauntered around the kitchen. "This place sure looks different since you been here," he said. "I'd never've thought you could make this old house look so modern."
He was working his way around, Brandie could see, until he was close to her, and the statuesque blonde deftly fielded him by finishing the check and holding it out to him.
"Here you go, handsome," she smiled a little patronizingly. "Buy yourself an ice-cream soda."
"Tell you what," Pete suggested, "why don't I buy us both a beer instead?"
"Are you asking me for a date?" Brandie asked unbelievingly.
"Sure, why not?"
"Listen, little boy, there's a new family moving in across the street, with a little girl who I think is just about your age. Why don't you try it out on her?"
"Maybe I will," Pete bantered as he breezed past her out the kitchen door, "but if you change your mind, just call the supermarket. Night and day, we deliver, and baby I do mean deliver!"
Before the astonished woman had a chance to reply, he was out the door, across her large backyard and through the gate to the alley where his scooter-driven delivery cart was parked. Might as well go check out the new neighbors, he decided, particularly if there was a chick there!
In the living room of the house across the street, Warren Wendt, a tall, attractive dark-haired man of thirty-eight, was picking his way through piles of boxes and suitcases, trying to shove the living-room furniture into enough of a semblance of order so that he could at least sit down before undertaking the arduous job of unpacking and organizing the contents of all the cartons. He was supposed to report to work for the first time on Monday morning, and he had hoped that by that time he'd have the house settled and homelike enough so that his fourteen year old daughter Wendy wouldn't have to do anymore than superficial chores by herself. But it was nearly four on Friday afternoon, and he was way behind.
First they'd lost a day and a half getting to California from the East Coast because of car trouble, and then Wendy had wanted to take a side trip to see Carlsbad Caverns. Even though it lengthened their journey by two days more, Warren hadn't been able to refuse her. The poor kid had been through so much in the past year. He wanted to do everything he could to make it up to her. Hopefully, in a new place, in entirely new surroundings, she'd get over what had ... happened to her.
Warren felt a spasm of pure hatred course through his well built, athletically trim body, and his jaw tightened in anger. Even now, just the thought of the bastard who had assaulted his innocent child made his stomach turn over with a sickening desire that would never be satisfied, he knew, unless he could personally smash his fist into that scummy son-of-a-bitch until he was beaten to a pulp. Christ! What kind of sick pervert would force himself on a child, he wondered for the thousandth time.
Hearing Wendy's footsteps in the hall, he forced the brutal thoughts of revenge on his daughter's assailant out of his mind. The psychologist who had been seeing her for the past year had recommended that Warren do nothing to remind her of what had happened.
"But won't something like this leave her with terrible psychological scars?" he'd protested. "Shouldn't we get it out in the open as soon as possible?"
"If you try to force Wendy to deal with this before her mind is ready to, you may make things much worse than they are already. Besides, children are a lot more resilient than we give them credit for, Mr. Wendt, Just let your daughter resume as normal a life as possible. Later, when she's calmed down a bit, I'm sure she'll talk to you about it herself. She trusts you completely, you know. In fact, you really are very lucky in that respect."
Warren did know it, and that was what tore at his insides the most. It was somehow his fault, he felt, that his vulnerable young daughter had been prey to attack. He was away too much on business; he'd left her too much in the care of strangers, goodhearted women to be sure, but they couldn't replace her own parents. Wendy had lingered too long on the way home from school that day. Why shouldn't she? She had no one who really cared about her to come home to. If only Harriet had lived ...
"Here's the last of the boxes," Wendy announced, coming into the room with two small cartons in her arms and, slung over one shoulder, a canvas bag that looked as though it would burst at the seams. Her long wavy brown hair framed her face, sticking to her sweat-dampened forehead and neck.
"Here, honey, let me help you with those," Warren volunteered.
"It's okay, Dad. Just clear some space in the kitchen, will you? This is all groceries and pots and pans, and I thought Fd unpack them right away and make us some iced tea. You know, Daddy, we really were dumb to move in August. It's so hot then. Anybody with brains would have picked a cooler month. "
Warren smiled at her girlish chatter as he helped her unpack the groceries, and then he watched as she bustled around the kitchen with an air of authority and expertise oddly at variance with her fourteen years. He couldn't help but notice how like her mother she was, even though Harriet was only a memory to her, having died when Wendy was only four years old. It was uncanny how much she resembled his dead wife, even in gestures and the little quirks that she couldn't possibly have inherited.
And she was certainly going to be as beautiful as her mother had been. Already her youthfully slim hips were beginning to flare invitingly below her tiny waist, arid her breasts were developing into two roundly upthrust little melons, only a promise of what they would be in a year or two but enticingly feminine, nonetheless. Sometimes Warren found it disturbing that she looked so mature.
"Here's the tea," Wendy announced a few minutes later, bringing a pitcher full of golden-brown liquid and two ice-filled glasses over to the table.
"Well, baby, how do you like it? The house I mean? I know it's kind of a mess right now, but we'll get it together in no time, you'll see."
"I really think it's great," Wendy smiled, her pert nose crinkling and her brown eyes sparkling. "It feels a little weird to be in a house with so much space after all those little houses in New York, but it's really nice. And I just love my room, Daddy, with that big old tree outside."
Warren smiled in relief. Impulsively, the tall, dark-haired man reached across the table arid squeezed his daughter's hand.
"You know, baby, I want you to have fun here. Meet new friends, join clubs, really make a whole new start."
A small frown crossed Wendy's forehead, and her brown eyes clouded. She knew what her father was getting at. He wanted her to go out With boys, like the other girls her age did. He wanted her to have a... a normal life, she thought bitterly. Didn't he realize that was impossible? All she wanted was to stay with him, the two of them alone together. That was enough for her. Why didn't he see that?
"I ... I suppose I will," she said half-heartedly, withdrawing her hand.
Warren's eyes followed her worriedly. He was. about to say something more when there was a knock at the back door. Father and daughter turned to see the figure of a brown-haired youth through the window. Rising from his chair, Warren opened the door.
"Hello there," Pete said respectfully. "I work for the supermarket over on Carson Boulevard, and I noticed you were just moving in, so I thought I'd drop by and ask if I could bring you something from the store. I know it's tough to cook on moving day and all, and we have prepared hot foods. "
"Well, thank you, young man," Warren replied. "My daughter has gotten everything we need, I think, but won't you come in and have a glass of iced tea with us? We're just taking a break before we finish unpacking."
"Well, thanks. I'd appreciate something cold to drink, that is if it's not any trouble."
"No trouble at all. The tea's all made, and we'd like to have a little company wouldn't we, Wendy?"
"Yeah, sure," his daughter replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. Pete was looking her over, just the way the boys at Dominican High in the Bronx had looked at her, and she met his eyes coldly but defiantly as she poured him a glass of tea.
"Wendy and I were just discussing what sorts of things young people do to amuse themselves here. In New York everybody's in the streets when they're not in. school, but here you have miles and miles of nice beaches.
"That's for sure," Pete replied. "That's where most of the action takes place. Will you be going to Mission High?" he asked Wendy.
"Yes, I think so," Warren's daughter replied, deliberately maintaining an air of coolness.
"Well, there's sports and dances. You won't have any trouble meeting people. You can bet on that." Christ, the studs'll be lined up three deep to get in her pants, and I'll be first in line, Pete thought, his mind already alive with salacious fantasies about the ripely built young brunette whose curvaceous figure was crammed into a pair of tight cutoff jeans that clung to the rounded flesh of her adolescent hips and emphasized the curves of her shapely, suntanned legs, and a cotton knit shirt that fell softly over the upthrust firmness- of her young breasts. "And for you and Mrs... I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name..."
"Wendt, Warren Wendt. And I'm afraid there is no Mrs. Wendt."
"Oh, Well, lots of people get divorced. I guess it's not so unusual nowadays."
"My mother is dead," Wendy announced flatly, with an edge to her voice that Warren found disconcerting. It was almost as though she wanted to embarrass the boy.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say something I shouldn't. I guess I just assumed that..." His voice trailed off lamely.
"No harm done," Warren assured him. "Mrs. Wendt passed away some time ago, ten years, in fact."
"Oh. Well, I better be getting back to work. Thanks for the tea and everything. If you want to meet any of the neighbors, the Potters live next door, they're a retired couple, and across the street there's a Miss Harper. She isn't here all the time, though. Sometimes she goes into town for a couple of weeks at a time on some kind of business. She's got a real nice house, though, and I'm sure she'd like to meet you. She's kind of new here herself."
"Well, that's good to know. Maybe we'll go over and say hello tomorrow."
"And here's a card from the supermarket in case you need anything," the youth continued. "We deliver up to ten o'clock."
"Thanks, but I don't think we'll need things very often," Wendy interjected, taking the card and putting it off-handedly with a pile of other things.
"Yeah. Well, you never know. Man, it sure is hot out there," he continued, opening the door. "But it's pretty cool in here, isn't it?" He looked pointedly at Warren's teenage daughter.
"It must be our New York vibes," the girl countered, clearly eager for him to go.
"Funny, I thought the East was warmer than that. I guess you can't go by appearances. So long, Mr. Wendt."
"Wendy, you were really rude to that boy!" Warren chided as soon as Pete was safely out of hearing. "You could at least have been civil."
"I'm sorry, Daddy," his daughter burst out, her face contorted in a tight-lipped grimace. "But I just can't stand it when you ... throw me at every boy you see. It makes me feel like some kind of freak!"
"Throw you-? Oh, baby, what are you talking about? I was just trying to be polite and friendly. Don't you want to meet people, and go out with nice boys and have a good time like other girls?"
"I... I can't! Don't you see that? I just can't right now." Suddenly his brown-haired daughter flung herself into his lap, sobbing as though her heart would break, and Warren cursed himself for his foolishness as he tried to comfort her. No longer did she seem like a nearly grown-up woman. Instead she was his baby, his darling baby who had been so badly hurt. Stop pushing her! he admonished himself, as he gently stroked her soft hair and murmured tender words of comfort.
"Oh, Daddy, all I want in the world right now is just to stay with you, just the way we are now. I have all the good times I need with you. Can't we just stay this way?"
"Of course we can, baby, if that's the way you want it. It's just that I worry about you, that's all... "
"You don't have to worry about me, Daddy," his daughter insisted. "Honestly you don t. I have plenty to do around here. I'm going to fix up the house, and I'll cook dinner for you, and in the evenings we'll go to the movies, and we can take rides on the weekends. We're going to be so happy here you'll never want to leave, I promise."
Wendy snuggled close to him, as though she were still a little child, and Warren felt the sweet pressure of her bud-like breasts against the buttons of his shirt and her thighs wriggling with innocent obscenity against him. Involuntarily, he felt his ample cock begin to-stir within his trousers. To his surprise, even horror, his nymph-like child noticed it and began squirming hungrily against its rigid hardness in a way that brought a sudden flush of unbidden desire to his cheeks.
Gently he eased her off his lap and stood her on his feet. "I, uh, think we'd better get on with the unpacking now, honey, don't you?" he asked, trying to fight down a tightening in his throat and scrotum.
Wendy nodded happily. She was about to bound out of the room when, as an afterthought, she flung her arms around his waist and kissed him several times on the cheek. "Oh Daddy, I love you so much," she breathed. "You're the best father in the world!"
Whew! She's too much for me to handle alone, Warren reflected after Wendy left, her good humor restored, to unpack her things. She needs a woman to talk to, to explain things to her. Maybe... maybe it's time I considered getting married again.
Later that night, Wendy Wendt lay awake on her own bed, wearing only a pair of pink nylon baby-doll pajamas. The air was humid, and the sheer material stuck uncomfortably to her bare skin. Finally she climbed restlessly out of bed and padded softly over to the open window to catch some of the sultry August breeze. Leaning her chin in her hands, she knelt on the floor and looked out into the quiet, tree-lined street. It was only ten o'clock, but already most of the windows were dark, except in Miss Whats-her-name's place across the way.
The warm night made her feel funny all over. Lately, she was beginning to feel every part of her body in a new strange way. It was sort of nice to feel warm and alive all over. At least it was nice when she was alone and in the dark the way she was now, or when just Daddy was there. But there were other times when it frightened her. Like when that boy, that Pete Haney, had looked at her this afternoon. It gave her shivers just to think about it. But it made her feel warm, too, as though there were a gentle, teasing flame licking at the bottom of her stomach, down there where that man had,.. had touched her. That was the first time she'd ever felt it, this curious tickling sensation that nothing seemed to satisfy.
Leaning her head on the windowsill, the pretty brunette's eyes were thoughtful as her mind returned again to the incident of nearly a year ago. She'd been walking home from her girl friend's house after school, having stayed later than she'd planned. She was wearing a new micro-mini skirt and a tight sweater that made her feel very attractive. She stopped at the Whopper Burger for a soda, and that was where she saw him. He was about twenty-eight, and good-looking, too. He started a conversation with her at the counter, and treated her like'a grown-up girl, not like a child. He bought her a second soda, and then her offered to drive her home. Wendy knew she shouldn't go, but after all, men drove women home all the time, didn'f they? She was old enough to take care of herself. And besides, Daddy had been away for nearly a week, and she couldn't bear the thought, of going home to old Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper. The house seemed like a morgue with her there, falling asleep in front of thev; television. So she went out to the parking lot with the handsome stranger, who held the door open for her and said such lovely things.
Once in the car, however, everything changed. Suddenly, hardly knowing how it happened, the naive youngster found herself in an almost deserted section of the city, parked on a dark side street. The stranger was not so nice now. He began feeling her all over, her breasts and up in between her legs at the narrow nylon crotchband of her panties. She tried to fight him off, but he was too strong for her, and he put his hands around her throat and told her he would strangle her if she screamed.
Then, while Wendy cowered, shaking with fear, in a corner of the locked car, the leering, stranger reached down and opened the zipper in the front of his pants. Immediately, Wendy realized he wore ho underwear, for his huge ... thing sprang upright like a snake about to strike. It was purplish-red, and there were little drops of moisture at the tip. The innocent child stared at it in terror, but with a strange fascination too. She never had actually seen a man's penis before, and certainly not rigidly erect like this one. Circling its bloated thickness With one hand, the malevolent stranger seized the terrified girl's hand with the other and began forcing it down over his lewdly swaying cock.
"No ... no!" she screamed, as her head was pressed closer and closer to the thick, jutting penis.
"Suck it, girl," he hissed into her ear. "Suck my cock like it was a big lollipop until I cum in your pretty little mouth. Then I'll let you go."
The brown-haired little girl didn't know what "cum" meant, but she was too frightened to refuse. Frightened, she took his rigidly throbbing penis between her soft pink lips, surprised to find that it was not unpleasant to her taste - although she could barely get her mouth around its heavy girth. The man squirmed and moaned above her, and pushing his lust-engorged staff in and out of her helpless mouth., Wendy felt a weird little tingling sensation between her legs, and she wanted to wriggle and squirm against something, but she didn't know what to do. Instead she sluiced softly up and down while the stranger's hand clutched and jabbed at the thickly swollen rod and suddenly there was a great gush of warm, creamy liquid filling her throat, and the man groaned as though he were in some kind of pain, but he really didn't seem to be hurt.
That was all she could remember. Three hours later, the police picked her up as she walked, sobbing hysterically, along West Thirty-Second Street. She didn't know how she'd gotten there. They took her home and called her father, who flew back home immediately from his business trip.
The weeks that followed were a nightmare. Doctors, policemen, questions and finally, worst of all, going back to school to face the stares of her classmates. Everyone looked at her strangely now, for word had gotten around that she had been "raped." That wasn't exactly true, for, technically, she was still a virgin; nevertheless, the word created an exciting air of mystery around her, and the boys took sharp notice. Wendy found herself very much in demand quickly, but after a few dates on which she felt like "some kind of strange animal being photographed," as she put it, she had stopped accepting invitations. Men and boys weren't to be trusted, she decided. No matter what they said, or how nicely they treated her, she was always suspicious and wary.
Tire young brunette wasn't quite sure why, though. She knew that what happened to her was done by a sick person. She understood that. But there was something else, something she couldn't explain that kept her detached - a shadowy, unspoken terror that frightened her so much sometimes that she broke out in a cold sweat at the thought of it.
No, she decided. She would stay with her Daddy. He was the only one she wanted, the only one she could trust.
Yawning, Wendy made her way back to bed. The strange, funny feelings were still there between her legs, and she put her hands there, cupping her aching pubic mound with a warm gentle pressure because it made her feel better. Finally, she fell asleep, her mind filled with memories of the strange man in the car, delivery boy Pete Haney, and above all, her handsome father.