Prologue
"Another Hollywood 'hopeful' , huh?"the big man chortled lewdly behind his desk. "Well, take off that coat and let's take a peek."
The young girl standing before him shifted her weight listlessly from one leg to the other and stared blankly down at his name plate. It read, CREIGHTON HOLT, editor. Creighton, she blinked, uncertain as to how to pronounce it, that's a funny name. Unceremoniously, she began to unbutton the front of her heavy Minnesota winter coat. It wasn't Minnesota, and it wasn't winter, but it was the only decent looking coat she owned.
"A little faster, if you don't mind, little girl," the big man snapped. "I've got three other 'Miss July's' to interview today."
The girl's green eyes misted slightly at the added indignity of being forced to hurry in the removal of her clothes before a stranger with the unlikely name of Creighton. Naive and eighteen she might be, but she knew that it would not stop with the coat. What am I doing here? her mind raged as she attempted a small but futile smile. And then, her stomach yawned again.
My God, look at those knockers! the big man's mind enthused. "Is that all you?" he queried lewdly.
The girl nodded dumbly, letting the wool plaid coat slip off her shoulders to drop to the floor.
"Prove it!"
The girl's pretty face burned hotly with embarrassment as she stood staring down at her penny oxfords and knee-length wool skirt and wishing to God she were dead.
"Listen, kid. You want the God damn assignment, or don't you?"
Again the girl nodded, reaching up once more to unfasten a row of tiny fake pearl buttons that ran the length of her pink orlon sweater.
"The bra, too," Creighton Holt added sarcastically, "if you ever get that far. "
A tiny, imperceptible tear fell slowly from one eye as the young girl reached the last button of her sweater. She let it fall as the coat, into a crumpled heap on the floor, then reached behind her back to unfasten the bra that was a full cup size too small for her blossoming figure. Quickly now she finished the unpleasant task, letting the bra join the rest of her clothing on the carpet at her feet.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" the big man exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair and running his tongue over his greasy-looking thick lips. He'd noticed she was large when the girl had first come to his office, but he'd never imagined she would be THAT big. Christ, he thought, she's an easy D-cup ... and she's got a face like a homecoming queen! Instantly, he leaned forward and pressed a key on his intercom set with one beefy finger. "Miss Beldon," he said, "cancel the rest of today's interviews; we've got our Miss July. "He cleared his throat then, "And tell Bruce to set up the studio as soon as he gets back from coffee. "
Then, turning back to the nervous young girl, "What'd you say, little girl? I ain't Dumbo the elephant, you know; you'll have to speak up."
"I said," the girl repeated, "would it be okay if I got an advance ... just a few dollars?"
The big man softened a little. "You really need the bread, don't you, kid? Well, I'll tell you what let's us go down and grab some lunch while Bruce's getting things set up ... okay?"
TJie girl nodded gratefully at the mention of food. It would be her first since before noon the day before ... the same day her rent had run out at the YWCA in North Hollywood.
"Good, good!" he smiled broadly, his gold-capped teeth instantly brightening the office. "There's a Sambo's across the street on Sunset."
Sambo's Schmambo's, the girl thought indifferently, buttoning up her Minnesota winter coat, I'd settle for flypaper soup and a glass of razor blazes right now!
"Say," the big man asked, opening the door for her, "what's your name again ? "
"Marion..." she was sweltering in the heavy coat. "Marion ... Summers," she lied.
"The readers'll swear I made that up," the big man winked. "Marion Summers...'Miss July'. "
They stepped out into the blistery May sunshine and crossed the street at the corner, slipping quickly inside the air conditioned comfort of the pancake house. Several waitresses, obviously familiar with the big man, smiled a friendly "Hello, Mr. Holt," as they passed on their way to a rear booth.
"Hey, cheer up, kid," the big man soothed as they waited for their cheeseburgers. "This is nineteen fifty-seven for Christ's sake ... lots of girls take off their clothes for the candid camera!" He chucked a heavy finger under her downcast chin, raising her face to his. "It might help your career," he lied hopefully.
The girl swallowed dryly, then took a long sip of her ice water to clear her throat. "I don't care about getting into the movies anymore," she said. "All those men want to do is-"
"Okay," a waitress interjected, "who had the cherry Coke?"
Holt covered the girl's trembling hand with a hairy, well manicured paw. "Just eat your food, kid," he said paternally. Then, almost as an afterthought, "These young kids come out here by the thousands trying to break into the movies. If they make it and believe me, kid, damned few do it mostly has to do with their talents in bed, not in front of a camera." He took a mammoth bite of his cheeseburger, tidily tucking in a stray strand of lettuce with a diamond-studded pinky. "You ain't the first, kid," he said, "and you ain't gonna be the last."
Marion chewed thoughtfully, managing a small smile. "I-I guess it's a tough business," she ventured bravely.
"It's a tough world, kid. "
The girl finished her cheeseburger in silence. She still dreaded the experience that lay ahead, but certainly not as much as when she'd first seen the NUDE MODELS WANTED ad in the paper. Maybe, she thought, I ought to just chuck the whole mess and go back to Northfield ... and Aunt Bernice. Still, the thought of returning to the home of the dowager aunt who had raised her since her parents' untimely death in an auto crash when she was in sixth grade sent shivers of dread up her spine. Aunt Bernice and her bible-spouting self-righteousness, her ten o'clock curfews and absolutely NO dates with boys old enough to shave ... ugh!
"You a runaway, kid?"
Marion started to fabricate a denial, but decided the surprised look that had crossed ha face at the unprompted question had already given her away. She nodded gravely.
Holt took a hearty sip of his iced tea and suppressed a belch. "Look, kid," he started, then finishing, "Aw, what the hell ... you kids don't ever listen to anybody anyway. "
"Go on," the girl pressed, oddly curious now as to what this large man with the urge to be her friend had to say.
"Listen," he said, "you take the five bills you're getting for this assignment and head right back to Wisconsin-"
"Minnesota."
"-as fast as your legs will carry you!"
"I-can't do that, "she said. "My aunt would have me put in a reform school or something."
The big man looked concerned. "You got any friends out here?"
The girl shook her head to indicate that she did not.
"Relatives?"
"No."
"Can you type or file, stuff like that."
"Some. I took two units of typing in school. and I worked for the school library. "
"Have you tried the State--? "
"Employment Agency? Yes. They didn't have anything open."
Holt looked at his watch. "We'd better get going," he said. . .
"Jesus Christ, what a pair!" Bruce stammered through the camera lens. Then, focusing, "That's it, baby ... Hold 'em up like you were offering them to your old man."
Resignedly, the young girl did as she was told cupping her fabulous breasts in her hands and raising them in lewd offering to some unseen lover. "L-like this, Mr. Fleming?"
"Yeah, baby ... just like-" CLICK "-that!" Quickly, he reset the camera for the next shot. "Now, let's try one over by the window ... an art shot, maybe. Mr. Holt, whaddaya think?"
"You're the doctor, Bruce," Holt smiled, immersed in his own fantasies as he watched from a director's chair set up in an out-of-the-way corner. "Call 'em like you see 'em."
Marion was more embarrassed than she had ever been in her entire life. Still, she was relieved that Mr. Holt had decided to sit in on the shooting. He really was a considerate person underneath that bulky no-nonsense exterior, and she was secretly glad that he had decided to show some personal interest in her. It made the operation a little less mechanical like she was human rather than a slice of beef in a butcher's display case.
Bruce Fleming adjusted the cross-lighting to diffuse the unusually intense sunlight that poured through the gauzy drapes. "Okay, sweetheart," he smiled, "sit backwards in that chair there ... Yeah, that one. Right. Now lean forward and hang your knockers over the ... Yeah, terrific. That's just great. Hold it. "
CLICK
"Now, look pensive; like you just heard your boyfriend is still missing-in-action in North Korea ... Nice ... Don't move now..."
CLICK
The last shot was easy. All the girl had to do was pretend she was doing exactly what she was doing.
"Okay, let's try a few on the bed. "
Creighton Holt, semi-secluded in his private corner, straightened the rising bulge in his slacks. Oh, yeah, he thought, this Big Daddy is going to enjoy that little trick a lot ... just as soon as Bruce's done his job and cleared out. He watched, mesmerized, as his star photographer led the unsuspecting young girl through her paces. So I'm a dirty old man, he chuckled silently. It ain't gonna hurt this little shit to be nice to her elders ... Besides, runaways don't usually report rapes anyway.
"O-On my knees, Mr. Fleming?"
"Yeah. Now lower your shoulders down to the bed so's your pretty little ass is sticking up in the air. Perfect!"
CLICK
"Now raise up so just the tips of your nipples are touching the bedspread." CLICK
It was all happening so fast that Marion didn't have time to question Fleming's instructions before she was assuming a new ... ever more fanciful ... position. There were prop shots with a straw hat and straw in her teeth, ala farm girl. There were sultry bedroom shots with heels, garter belt and black nylons. There were candid dressing table shots ... bathtub shots ... topless bikini shots ... most all of them focusing on her enormous breasts and dimpled, almost-boyish buttocks. In two hours, Bruce had taken about forty photographs. Maybe ten would appear in the July issue of RISQUE magazine.
"Okay," Bruce said finally, "that's a wrap."
"Y-You mean I'm through?" the girl stammered breathlessly, slipping into the robe Mr. Holt had brought to her.
Fleming looked at Holt and winked. "More or less, sweetheart," he said. Then, his set-up disentangled, "You gonna need me anymore today, Mr. Holt?" There was a hint of hope in his voice.
"I don't think so, Bruce. Good job. Why don't you take off ... I can handle things from here."
Marion watched the business-like little photographer leave, then turned to Holt, emitting a little sigh of relief.
Coolly and calmly, the big man began to unzip the fly of his expensive gabardine slacks.
"W-What are you doing, Mr. Holt ... I-I thought you wanted to be my friend!"
"I intend to be a lot more than your friend, 'Miss Big Boobs' ... a lot more!" He pulled himself free. "Take a good look at what Big Daddy has got for his little girl!"
Marion felt as if her heart would pound right through the thin, sash-tied robe she was wearing. I should have known! she chided herself. Aunt Bernice was right ... men are all alike!
"Okay," the big man bellowed ominously. "What's it going to be, give or take?"
"Y-You can't ... I won't let you ... I'll-I'll-"
"You'll what, little girl?"
"I'll tell the police!"
Holt began to move towards her, positioning himself between her and the studio door. "You'll tell the police, huh?" he laughed cruelly. "You 'll tell them that you ran away from home and was just up here taking dirty pictures when this naughty old man got the wrong impression?"
Marion swallowed dryly, desperately avoiding the sight of Creighton Holt's turgid penis. Slowly, she began to inch backwards towards the window. "If you try anything ... I'll jump. I swear I will!"
Holt narrowed the distance between them by a few more steps. "Go ahead and try it," he grinned. "It's six floors up with a concrete bottom."
Marion fought the urge to scream. A scream would have brought the police. Her eyes dropped to Holt's swollen cock. God! she panicked. Are men supposed to be that big? Her health science book in high school said that the normal male member was between five and six inches in length in the erect state. Mr. Holt was much, much bigger than that!
"If you play ball, it's-likely to be a whole lot easier on you, little girl. "
The red-haired girl's mind recounted a bit of sage advice she'd once received from an older girlfriend back in Northfield ... a girl who had been "raped" on any number of occasions; "If it looks like it's going to happen, let it ... lie back and enjoy it. There probably won't be any way to prevent it, arid you just might save yourself a beating."
Marion knew she wouldn't enjoy it, but she might save herself a beating from a man big enough to tear her limbs off. "P-Promise you won't hurt me?" she sobbed. "I've never done anything like this before. "
"Hurt you? Naw, I ain't gonna hurt you, kid. What do you think I am, some kind of animal, for Christ's sake?"
Defeated, the young runaway girl approached the bed on trembling legs, removed the robe, and lay back in tearful silence while the big man stripped hurriedly out of his own clothes, letting them fall in a crumpled heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. Somehow, his thick red penis looked even longer now that he was naked. It protruded from beneath his liverish paunch at an obscene angle, a large pearl of pre-coital sap forming at the inflamed coralline slit in its head.
"Okay, little girl, spread those legs ... Big Daddy's coming in!"
The shattered and defenseless young girl spread her long white legs as ordered, revealing the virginal pink slit between them to the big man's lusting gaze. "P-Promise you won't hurt me?" she reminded him. "Please don't hurt me."
Creighton Holt looked down and smiled. "Hey, I told you not to sweat it, didn't I? It'll hurt some at first, then it'll be okay ... you'll see." He chuckled obscenely then, "I hope that redheaded mother-fucker don't bite back!"
Marion was sobbing openly now, frightened as she had never been before in her life. The fear ran deeper than the mere fact of losing her virginity; she was scared for her life, what would happen to her after she had let herself be used like this for the first time. God, what if she liked it? Would she become a whore like Evelyn Johnston, her older girlfriend back home in Minnesota? She hoped not.
The big man loomed suddenly over her then, the bed sagging beneath his heavy knees as he positioned himself between her thighs. He supported his massive torso on one strong arm while he held his cock at its base with his free hand, dipping it experimentally into the rust-colored curls between her legs. Christ, she was beautiful! Deep auburn hair, skin so white it was almost translucent, and not a freckle or blemish anywhere on her fantastic body. And those breasts! God, they were as big as sun-ripened cantaloupes and fully as round and firm, riding high and proud on her young chest, their quivering succulent beige nipples puffed out the size and shape of huge strawberries.
Marion bit her lower lip in heartfelt agony until she tasted blood. She was lost, gone completely. All her childhood fantasies of going to bed a virgin on her wedding night loomed up to taunt her in her moment of shame. She felt the big evil man's prick rubbing between her legs, parting the curly wisps of her pubic hair until his flesh made contact with hers. She could feel the bloated wet head of Creighton Holt's lust-purpled cock pressing and rubbing against the tender outer lips of her vagina in his efforts to spread them until, finally, in desperation, he bellowed, "God dammit, you do it! You're just too fucking tight'"
The frightened teenage girl reached down between her own splayed thighs and drew her outer labia apart for the cruel man with an instinctive knowledge of how it should be done. Oh, dear God in heaven, her mind screamed in broken silence, please don't let him hurt me..."AAAaaaaauuurrrggghhh! OhGod ... OhGod ... OhGod ... Please take it out, Mr. Holt! You're tearing me!"
"Am I?" he flexed inwardly. "Gee, that's tough, kid."
Tremors of icy horror thrilled up the girl's spine then, as she realized that only the head of it had entered her. There were still several inches of thickly-veined shaft to go yet. "Oh God, please stop, Mr. Holt," she sobbed hopelessly. "YYou can keep the money ... just leave me enough bus fare to-"
"Shut up!"
The evil editor levered up above the whimpering teenager then, bringing his knees into play as he used them for leverage to thrust still another painful inch or two into the girl's tightly resisting pussy, and taking her hymen bloodily in the process. "See there, kid?" he panted heavily down at her pain-contorted face. "It went quick, didn't it?"
Tears of anguish rolled down the girl's cheeks. In two bone-jarring thrusts, her entire status as a person had been altered. She was no longer a "good girl." She was a harlot. . . ,a whore! The only precious thing she owned had been stolen from her by a paunchy wicked man who was old enough to be her father ... a man who made a business of the flesh of women! Still, there seemed to be no end to her torment as the vile lying man who had pretended to be her friend continued his relentless assault on her battered sex.
Inch after painful inch he forced into her, until his lust-bloated penis rested deeply inside of her bloodied vagina to its hairy hilt, his heavy prickly balls wedged tightly in the crevice of her ass. She was filled completely, nearly numb with the inexpressible pain his hugeness had caused her. Tears continued to flow down her cheeks as he began to saw brutally back and forth over her ravished flesh. Oh God, she sobbed, why am I being punished so? Why this horrid dirty man?
Holt's balding head dropped to one of Marion's creamy breasts then, his mouth engulfing the strawberry nipple to suck it to delicious stiffness. He sucked to match the tempo of his fucking ... hard and deep, never ceasing or slackening his pace, completely disregarding the young girl's agonized pleas.
Somehow, even in her most terrifying childhood fantasies, the result of her spinster aunt's morbid fear of men, Marion had never imagined that the loss of her virginity would entail such sheer physical pain and discomfort. Was it natural? she panicked. Or, the utter size of the wicked man? She did not know, and feared that maybe it was she who was to blame. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was too small to accommodate any man. And that thought, too, helped to shatter her illusions of love and sex. Maybe she would never marry. Maybe she would become like her Aunt Bernice ... afraid even to talk to the postman. Oh God, no! her mind recoiled at the unpleasant thought. Not that ... don't let me become like that spiteful, shrewish old woman! She shut her eyes tightly then, trying to close out the reality of her rape with the fantasy that she was being made love to by a handsome prince on their wedding night. Yes! That was it ... she would make herself like it. She had to!
Then, oddly, to Holt's surprise and delight, the young redhead beban to relax beneath his great weight, all the resistance seeming to flow from her taut young body until she lay soft and pliable to his touch. Hot damn! he thought. Big
Daddy's finally brought you through the woods, eh, little girl? Then, miraculously, the excruciating pain began to subside a little as she actually began to moisten there where their flesh was joined. There became only a dull throb, uncomfortable, certainly, but nothing to compare to the knife-edged sharpness of the initial penetration.
Creighton Holt slowed down his pace a little, letting his log-like purple cock slip sensuously in and out of Marion's freshly-deflowered young pussy that felt like a delicious satin pump. "How's that, kid?" he bellowed suddenly. "What do you think of Big Daddy's cock now?"
It was all right! She could do it! The pain was gone and she could actually feel slight twinges of pleasure here and there where the pain had been. Suddenly the fantasy of the prince seemed childish and unnecessary. She was rapidly coming to enjoy the fact that she was being raped by a fat stranger on a studio bed two thousand miles from home.
"I asked you a question, kid!"
"It-it's okay, Mr. Holt ... I-I think I like it."
Her throbbing vagina was drenched now with the warm moisture that seeped down her splayed thighs to join the copperish stain on the bed. She relaxed completely, reveling for a long moment in the masochistic joy of being used and abused like an old rubber garden glove stretched over a fat finger. Then, nearly imperceptibly at first but gradually increasing, she began to respond with little movements of her own, thrusting her hips up like a rivet bucker to Holt's deep hard thrusts, her dimpled satiny buttocks grinding in tiny concentric circles on the sagging mattress. Oh God! she smiled. It IS good!
Just then, she felt something warm and sticky jetting inside of her. Creighton Holt was cumming! Quickly, she increased her own efforts. She, too, wanted to reach a climax beneath the groaning heavy man. Her body contracted then, her toes curling under as a convulsive spasm overtook her, a glorious shuddering spasm that shook her to her roots. "Oh God!" she screamed. "I'M CUMMMMMMINNNNGGG!"
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the big man lay panting and heaving above her, his mammoth weight pinning her to the mattress as she rode the delicious afterwaves of her first tingling orgasm. She knew that she had brought it all on herself by coming to this place of evil. She knew, but she didn't care. It was done. She was no longer a virgin. For the first time in her life she felt like a woman, not just an overstuffed little girl. She had broken her aunt's grasp completely.
Holt lay on top of the young teenager for a long moment, letting his cock soften and slip out of its own accord. Finished at last, he climbed off the bed and dressed quickly, wondering what he would do about the nasty stain on the bed. Marion was suddenly aware of the big man's presence again as he stood fully clothed above her with an enormous wad of money in his hands. He peeled off five one hundred dollar bills and tossed them on the bed beside her. "This is for the pics," he said. Then, peeling off a fifty from somewhere in the middle of the roll, "And this is for a new coat. "