Chapter 1
Dorothy Martin was standing on a footstool in her closet, arching on tiptoes in a way that hoisted her skirt just to the tops of her flesh-colored nylons and hinted at the creamiest white soft skin imaginable. Her muscles were tense, and the round tightly spaced cheeks of her behind flexed and rippled sumptuously against the tight cling of her rayon skirt. She was a picture of utter concentration and absorption. She was watching her seventeen-year-old brown-haired brother Kenneth fuck.
Ranee Martin and his beautiful blonde wife Eleanor had had an urgent phone call from the latter's sister in Muskegon that her husband had had a fatal heart attack and she was utterly beside herself. So Ranee and Eleanor had told Dorothy and Kenneth to look after themselves for a couple of days until they could get back from Muskegon and help poor Alma make the necessary funeral arrangements and take care of those thousand and one pressing and agonizing details which always accompany death in a family.
Dorothy and Kenneth were a little set back, and after their first expression of sympathy for their Aunt Alma, felt a little miffed because it looked very much as if the planned Martin trip to California would certainly be delayed if not postponed in view of this unlooked-for circumstance. And today was the second day that Ranee and Eleanor had been gone from the pleasant little bungalow on North Mildred on the North Side of the Windy City of Chicago. And young Kenneth had lost no time in taking advantage of a golden opportunity.
Black-haired Dorothy Martin was nineteen, insolent and haughty. There had been times when her mother and father had wished they had exercised the parental right of applying at least the palm of the hand if not the hairbrush to her jouncy backcide, but thus far she had gone through her young life unspanked. The same was perhaps even more true for Kenneth, who was going through that difficult intellectual snobbery period which so many adolescents have when they reach seventeen. But the surprising thing to Dorothy was that her brother was not only showing an interest in the opposite sex but actually going all the way right here in their own house!
It wasn't exactly the way Kenneth Martin had planned it. He had had a few dates with Dody Brandon, a plump, gum-chewing classmate of sixteen whose hair was the color of ripe wheat and whose heart-shaped face and big blue eyes and full red sensual mouth were matched to the body of a young Venus with big firm titties and a juicy pair of bottomcheeks that Kenneth had been itching to sink his fingers in from the very first moment when Dody Brandon had walked into Senior English this last February and been told to take her seat in the row just ahead of him and to his left. Throughout the semester-and it was now the end of June-Kenneth Martin had been stealing greedy and hopeful glances at Dody's big firm titties. He could only see the right one in a kind of profile from where he sat behind her and to the side, but if looks could have been translated into reality, he would have seen the color of her nipples by now. As a matter-of-fact, he was doing just that, and he was also discovering the true color of her pussyhair ... it wasn't wheat color at all, but a dark brown and very thick for a girl her age, almost completely hiding the plump pink lips of her cunt. And he had also made a fascinating discovery-Dody Brandon wasn't a virgin. But then, there was no need of quarreling over such a detail; in the first place he wasn't a perfectionist, in the second, it was just about his own first sexual experience, and in the third place if Dody had been a virgin, he probably wouldn't be humping her right now in his own bedroom.