Chapter 1
Maybelle's fingers curled around the long wooden handle, which made her think of a prick, and she stamped the customer's deposit slip quickly. She dropped the stamp as if it were hot, and the courtly customer tipped his hat.
"Y'all have a nice day, you hear?" said the snowy-haired gentleman in the cream-colored linen suit and black string tie.
"I'll try, Mr. Culpepper," Maybelle replied with embarrassment as he moved away from her window.
Why am I always thinking about nasty things like pricks and fucking, she wondered as she counted the deposit into a drawer, even with an old man like that? And why do my panties get damp so often? Have I forgotten how to be decent?
The sloe-eyed brunette looked up and gasped.
"Hello, Maybelle."
The next customer had been hidden from her view by Culpepper's broad-brimmed straw hat and bulky form, so it was as if he had materialized out of thin air, like the ghost from her past which he was.
"Uh . . . uh . . . Nick ... I mean, Mr. Del-man . . ." Maybelle blushed.
"Nick's fine." He was lean, hard-eyed, and handsome in a too-slick way. "How are you?"
Maybelle's mind swept back to the first time she had seen the sandy-haired man in the modish dark glasses. It was in her sister's apartment in Chicago, which Maybelle had shared for two weeks during the summer. She had walked in, earlier than planned, one Saturday afternoon and had found
Nick atop Arlene, on the living room sofa.
"Ooooooh, God!" her red-haired sister was groaning passionately. "Stick it way up there! Nick . . . oooh, you horny bull!"
The man's naked, firm rump was pumping between her sister's tilted thighs, and Maybelle couldn't help staring. His was the first bare ass that the prudish young woman had ever seen . . . except for her own in a mirror. And she had never before seen a couple making out. She had never made out with anyone.
Nick's head was buried in Arlene's neck, blocking her vision of Maybelle, while he saw nothing but his lover's fiery hair and delicate ear as he ground his hips sensuously and bobbed them up and down.
Arlene's tapering, pale legs crawled up over his back, encircling him. Most of her nakedness was hidden from Maybelle's view, as was the man's front. However, if Maybelle were to walk around in back of him, she thought, and look forward between his legs . . . .
She was a proper girl, but she couldn't resist the lascivious spectacle which involved her own sister, and which had burst so suddenly upon her consciousness that her defenses were unprepared. With her heart thudding, she crept around the edge of the room until she was standing in line with the sofa. Her violet eyes gasped, and her rosy lips parted in shock, as Nick's log-like penis drove rhythmically down and into Arlene's hair-fringed, moistly oozing hole. Nick's balls vibrated at the base of his shaft. Arlene's plump white buttocks circled quiveringly and reached up from the sofa cushion to absorb his lustful strokes into her cunt.
Maybelle's virginal vagina throbbed as she watched. Her nipples firmed in her bra.
The sight in front of her seemed gross, with all the hair and naked flesh, but it was unspeakably fascinating. How intent and excited Arlene and that man are, she thought. Who is he, anyway?
At the moment, he was nothing but a driving ass and a long, thick penis, as far as Maybelle's point of vantage was concerned. And her sister was all cunt-the ultimate female. Hardness was merging into softness and being swallowed by it, hairy lips clasping around the base of the deeply submerged rod.
Maybelle squirmed. She hadn't gotten so aroused since the evening back home when Johnnie Wheeler had taken her out in his car and managed to get his hand inside her panties. His fingers had toyed with her soft cuntal lips, making her hot as a firebomb. Still, she had scrambled out of his car and run up the road with her panties askew, nearly climaxing from the strokes of her upper thighs against her sizzling labia.
As she watched the strange man take Arlene, she couldn't help imagining it was her sister's body that he was driving his hardness into. She wondered how that would feel. Would it thrill her as it obviously was thrilling Arlene?
"Oooooh, that's so gooooood!" the red-haired girl exclaimed, clutching her lover more fiercely than ever and driving her hot hips against him.
His driving thrusts matched hers, and it was clear to Maybelle that they were striving toward a climax-the kind of feeling she herself got when she shamefully played with her own body.
"Uuuh . . . uuuuuhhh . . . OOOOOOH!" Arlene cried, and her hips jerked spastically.
The man's cock ground deep inside her, tremors shaking his body. His lean buttocks clenched.
Maybelle backed away unsteadily and managed to get out of the apartment without having been observed. She felt very warm and fluttery; her defenses were down. She hurried to the landing at the rear of the apartment house, dampness seeping through her panties to make her thighs slick above the tops of her stockings.
Her heart thumped as she backed into a corner of the stair landing, out of sight from the hallway. Her mind swirled giddily, and she pulled up her skirt and slip.
The sight would have been erotic in the extreme, if any man had been present to see it. Bare, creamy thighs above snugly encircling stocking-tops, cinched to taut white garter straps that extended up underneath her white panties. The shadow of Maybelle's deltoid patch of pubic hair showed faintly through the snowy nylon.
She rubbed herself there and tilted her head back, her raven hair tumbling behind her shoulders in glistening waves. Her softly sensuous lips parted to reveal the glint of white, even teeth and the moist rosiness of her tongue. Her dark eyes were like hot coals.
Dainty pink-lacquered fingertips glided under a leg elastic of her panties, and she stroked the thickly furred, velvet lips of her pussy. She panted and writhed.
Images, which were as lurid as her limited experience could make them, flashed in her mind- male on female, hips grinding . . . a nude, smiling man who was standing and facing her, his lower region at first hazy, then sprouting a column such as she had seen driving into Arlene, but with its details vague, because Maybelle had never seen a complete prick.
She rubbed her cuntal lips harder, loosening them and causing them to moisten more. Her fingertips became damp as the puffy, hair-covered r draperies parted, and she stroked the hard, hot tip of her clit.
"Ooooh!" she said to the empty vestibule.
Maybelle's hips writhed in sheer, silken briefs as she pinched the liver-like little folds that bracketed the tip of her clitty. The man whom she had seen on her sister was transferred magically to her, and she could almost feel his hard rod pumping into her, where no rod had ever gone.
She gyrated more heatedly and pinched her cuntal lips as she rubbed them against her throbbing clit-head. Her other hand rolled her full breasts through her dress and the cups of her bra. Her nipples were tingly little lumps on the other side of the thin fabrics.
She bumped her hips urgently as she approached a climax, stroking the firm, fiery tip of her clit. a moan ripped from her throat as her body jerked of its own accord, and blissful warmth coursed through her. All her tension melted away.
Sanity slowly returned and, with it, shame. Redness suffused Maybelle's soft, little-girlish cheeks, and her eyes were anguished.
She jerked her hand away from her shamefully gratified loins, letting her panty elastic snap back and her skirt and slip drop. The dampness of her vulva against her panty crotch was a disgusting reminder of her depravity.
It's bad enough to play with myself in bed, she mused distressfully, when the lights are out and I'm all alone. But to do it in broad daylight, in a public place, where someone might catch me . . . that's just awful! I'm a wicked, sinful person!
But how about Arlene, letting that strange man fuck her? Yes . . . FUCK! That's what they were doing. They were fucking, and that's a terrible thing! Uncle Hobart always said it's the worst thing a girl can do.
Maybelle had suspected Arlene was doing it, from the day she had arrived to stay with her older sister. Arlene hadn't admitted it, of course, but she was always talking about the different men she had met during the year she'd spent in Chicago, and giggling about them, and acting as if she was having so much fun.
I ought to get back to Peachville right away, Maybelle thought, where people are decent. I can be more decent there.
Of course, not everybody was decent in Peachville. How about John Wheeler, who had always been after her-and old Mr. Stebbins, at the bank, with his wandering hands and roguish eyes? Maybelle recalled how Stebbins once had cornered her among the filing cabinets and had squeezed her breasts as if he were testing fruit at the grocery store.
But most of the people down home were God fearing folk, like her Uncle and herself . . . and like her sister, before Arlene had moved to the wicked city.
"I said, how are you?" Nick's grin was oily, and amusement glinted in his gray eyes as he noted the pretty girl's confusion.
"What? Oooh ... I'm all right." Maybelle lowered her lashes. "Is there, uh, something I can do for . . ." She couldn't quite complete the sentence, because it suggested a memory even more shocking than her first recollection of Nick- something she tried never, never to think about.
"Yeah, honey," he said with practiced smoothness. "You can cash this little check. I need some pocket money."
Maybelle stared at the draft which he placed in front of her. It was drawn on one of the bank's temporary forms, made out to cash, and signed by Nick below a hand-printed notation, "Delman Industries." The amount was one hundred dollars.
"I ... I don't understand," Maybelle said. 'You don't have an account here, do you?"
"Honey, you're looking at the check."
"But . . ."
Maybelle's lush lower lip hung just slightly below its succulent mate, and Nick thought about shoving his cock through that super-soft portal, spreading her delightful lips wide around his thick shaft. She would suck cock beautifully, he thought, once he broke her in. She had a natural sensuousness, though she tried to suppress it.
"I live in Peachville now," he said with a disarming smile. "I'm starting a business. You must have been out on your lunch break when I was in the other day and opened my account, but my printed checks haven't gotten here from Kansas City yet. I talked to Mr. Stebbins."
Maybelle blushed crimson. "You didn't say ..."
"Of course not. The fact that we knew each other in Chicago is our little secret, if you want to keep it that way."
Shocking, lewd recollections tumbled through Maybelle's mind, causing her blood to race and her cunt to get all itchy. Shame suffused her.
"Uh, how do you w-want this?" Her hand trembled as she held his check.
'Twenties are fine."
"J-just a moment."
Maybelle turned and nervously crossed the small room to the index which told her Nick had a thousand dollars on deposit. The fact that he was in town rocked her equilibrium. Why Peachville? Was it because of her?
Nick gazed at her rounded, voluptuously shaped ass and could almost feel his hands spanning her pliant hemispheres, sinking into the resilient flesh. That, he thought, would be a perfect way to hold her while powering his prick in and out of her glidingly grabby twat.
She returned to the window and quickly counted out five twenty dollar bills.
"How about dinner tonight?" Nick asked.
"No!" Maybelle almost shouted, then glanced guiltily about to see whether anyone had overheard. Apparently they hadn't.
When the distraught young woman glanced back at the man on the other side of the counter, his slick grin had returned, his twinkling eyes deriding her.
"Why did you come here?" she demanded in a low but angry tone.
"Because I heard what a nice place Peachville is. And I figured it had to be nice, if a chick like you called it home."
'Then it was because of me!"
"Have dinner with me tonight and we'll talk about it." Nick's hand crept across the counter and grabbed hers.
She tried to pull away, but he held her fast while warm, embarrassing sensations coursed through her, reminding her of the only indiscretion of her twenty years. Her pussy heated up. and droplets of warm honey broke through the furry fissure to dampen the crotch of her panties.
"I can't have dinner with you!" she said, blushing furiously.
"Maybe it wouldn't be wise at that for us to be seen together in a restaurant. Okay, I'll pick you up at about nine and we'll go for a little drive. I want to have a nice long talk with you, baby."
"No!" Maybelle finally succeeded in jerking her hand free.
Nick took a billfold from the inside pocket of his expensively tailored jacket and put the twenty dollar bills away. Maybelle watched his manicured fingers slip a rectangle of stiff white paper out of his billfold. The paper looked blank to her until he turned it over and placed it on the counter.
She gasped. For a moment, she feared that she might faint.
Nick had put down a Polaroid print of her in the nude. But it wasn't just a plain frontal shot, as shocking as that might have been. The color photo showed her lying on a bed, with her knees up and her thighs wide apart. Her pussy was meatily unfurled, as if it had just surrendered possession of a long, thick rod. White globs of man-cream clung to her rosy folds.
"You can keep that," Nick said. "I have lots of others."
"You monster!" Maybelle hissed, her eyes flashing. Her breasts heaved, stiff nipples imprinting themselves on her Dacros dress.
Nick grinned. 'Tonight at nine, honey. I'll pick you up in front of your house. And you'd better be out there, waiting, unless you want me to walk up and ring the bell. Your uncle might wonder who I am-and just maybe you wouldn't want to tell him."
Nick turned and walked away from the counter.
Maybelle shut her eyes as the room seemed to be spinning. Her hand pressed against the shocking photograph, hiding it.
"Maybelle?"
Her eyes popped open as Sam Stebbins, the bank's manager, moved up behind her. She slid the photograph off the counter and dropped it into her money drawer, which she quickly .shut. Her brain was throbbing, and she felt her cheeks burn. t.
"Say, what's come over you, precious?" Stebbins asked in an unctuous drawl. "You look hot as a chitlin' right off the fire."
"It's n-nothing, Mr. Stebbins," she managed to reply, busying herself by shuffling some papers.
"If I didn't know you better, I'd figger that smooth-talkin' Northern fella got you all hot and bothered. Well, if you want to cotton up to him, I sure wouldn't mind. He's going to be a mighty important client of this bank."
The middle-aged manager's hand slid down Maybelle's back. Out of sight of the others in the room, he stroked her plump, shivery buttocks through her skirt. The Dacron glided against the even filmier nylon of her panties, creating a slippery sensation over springy softness. It was enough to make a man's cock hard.
Maybelle caught her breath, her giddiness dangerously heightening.
"P-please, Mr. Stebbins!" she panted, and wriggled away from him.
"Yeah, you've still got that don't-touch-me sign up, haven't you?" he commented, as if to himself. "But you're sure upset. Did that fella say something?"
"No!"
The stumpy, bald man squinted at her, his fringe of graying hair seeming to bristle around his ears.
"Well, you take good care of that Mr. Delman whenever he comes in," Stebbins advised firmly. 'That's what I came over to tell you. I want him to get the best service this bank can give." "Yes, sir," Maybelle said. Sure you're all right?" Yes."
After Stebbins gave her a final searching glance and walked away, Maybelle slipped the damaging photo out of the drawer and into her purse, which was on a shelf underneath the counter. She caught another fleeting glimpse of it, and time seemed to reverse itself, snatching her and hurtling her back to Chicago.
It was a hot and muggy afternoon of early summer, and the air conditioner in Arlene's apartment had quit working. She was at her office, and Maybelle was home alone.
The pretty brunette had shed her dress, slip and stockings, and was lying on the sofa in just her bra and silky, flesh-colored briefs. Why not, since nobody would walk in at that hour?
Her thighs were creamy perfection as they tapered from trim knees to soft, warm fullness where they might grasp a man's flanks. Her belly was a gentle undulation, her cute navel peeping over the elastic band at the top of her panties. Her breasts were roundly ripe, even when she lay on her back, and they swelled above her bra cups.
She was reading a story in a confession magazine-her secret vice. Though the scandalous goings-on of the characters shocked her, and made her feel all the more proud of her own virtuous life . . . they exerted a perverse attraction, like the flame which threatens to burn the moth that dances around it.
Maybelle squirmed as she read a particularly lurid passage, her soft ass settling deep into the sofa. The coarse fabric tickled her through her skin panties, adding to her excitement.
She was utterly engrossed, devouring the sexy description in the magazine, when the door of the apartment quietly opened. Nick Delman stood and stared at her. His eyes ignited, and a grin spread across his smooth features . . .