Chapter 3

"Do you mean, Mr. Torrance, that I'm expected to go out all the way to California just to look at a house?" Diane Wilson irritatedly demanded, and it was just as well that the banks at the other end of the line couldn't see her grimace of annoyance, or he might have planned as even warmer reception for her.

"Yes, Miss Wilson, I'm afraid it will be necessary. You see, you are the only living heir of your parent's estate, and as your administrator, it's my duty to show you what your assets are. Now there is a chance to sell this house at a very handsome profit-"

"If that's the case, Mr. Torrance," she said testily," why the devil don't you go ahead and do it without me?"

"For a very good reason, Miss Wilson, that this possible purchaser wants to make a down payment and get your signature on the option papers and ask you certain questions about the property."

"Oh for goodness sake! That means I have to waste about a week out in California, and I haven't the slightest interest in it. Are you sure you can't do it for me?"

"My dear young lady, if I could, I certainly would. The fact is, I can't. Now I could make all the arrangements and get you airline roundtrip tickets and arrange for your stay at the finest hotel. The fact is, I have to be out there myself and I'll be showing you around. There are lots of interesting things in California, and you'll find it a very pleasant change of scenery from New York."

"Perhaps. But I think most of the people out there are kooks, and I just hate Los Angeles."

"I'll try to show you only the best side. Can I count on your coming along, then?

"Oh, I suppose so," she said with a sigh which revealed to him once again her insolence.

"That's fine," he said amiably. "Let's see, it's Wednesday now. Could you leave Friday, perhaps? If all goes well, you could catch a plane out there Sunday afternoon and be back here late at night."

"Well, I suppose that isn't too bad," she reflected. "Go ahead and make the reservations. What hotel are you going to put me up at?"

"The Ambassador, of course. It's on the north side of the city and not far away from the house in

North Hollywood. As a matter-of-fact, I'm leaving tomorrow myself. But I'll have my secretary bring the tickets and the hotel confirmation over to you late this afternoon. And I'll meet you at the airport when you get out there Friday."

"All right. I really haven't decided what I'm going to do this summer, and maybe I'll fly on to Hawaii from there or I might even go to the Rockies."

"Whatever you like, naturally, Miss Wilson. There's plenty of money in your current accounts, I know, but if you need anymore, just let me know. In six months, you'll have come legally into everything your parents left you, and then of course we can talk about whether you want me to go on helping you with your business investments. You've quite a lot on money coming, you know, and property too."

"I'm quite well aware of that, Mr. Torrance," she snippily replied.

"And just about every fortune hunter in New York knows it too. I had to fight one off the other night. He gave me a lot of talk about the fact that he was interested in just me and that he was well off in his own right, but I know better." she was, of course, referring to Paul Jasmer.

"Anyone I know?" he chuckled.

"You just might. His name is Paul Jasmer."

"Why yes," Gregson Torrance said in surprise. "I know his father and mother quite well. He has an excellent position in one of our biggest advertising firms, and he has a good deal of money which his parents left him. He certainly can't be called a fortune hunter."

"Well, that's what I call him. Anyway, you just have the tickets and the hotel reservation sent over. And I'll expect you to pay me plenty of attention out in Los Angeles."

"That, my dear, I can guarantee you," Gregson Torrance said with grim sincerity and then hung up the phone.

He had just broken in a new secretary to replace old Miss Ainsworth, who had finally retired at the age of sixty-four, with a pension from the bank and a testimonial dinner in her honor last week. The new girl was really delicious. Her name was Betty McDonald, she was a few months past twenty, and she had light two-toned brown hair cut in helmet style, with a narrow fringe all along the top of her forehead. Her eyes were an intense blue-gray, she had a most piquant little snub nose, and a firm, full, kissable mouth. She was about five feet six inches in height, but she looked a great deal taller because she wore a miniskirt which showed off half her thighs and against which Gregson Torrance himself had not the slightest objection. There were some of the old fogies in the bank who had mentioned to him that they felt such attire was not proper for so sedate a public institution, but he had simply told them, "In the first place, Miss McDonald isn't seen by the public, because she works just outside my private office and that's behind all the front open desks. Unless they have X-ray eyes, they're not-likely to see her. Besides, her work is very good."

And indeed, Betty McDonald's work was very good. She also had the personality of a very sophisticated, knowing young woman who knew exactly where she intended to go. And if the fact be known, she had already set her cap for Gregson Torrance.

Betty McDonald behaved demurely and was soft spoken, but her earlier life hadn't quite been like that. Her mother had had a furious row with her father about eight years ago, and the upshot of it was that he had abandoned his wife and daughter and gone to the Honduras as a mining engineer. So about four years ago, her mother had finally learned of his death from swamp fever, and promptly remarried a tall, dapper captain of waiters at one of New York's great restaurants. He had a good deal of money, he was a man about town, and he was exceptionally handsome and vain and conceited. He was also a good deal of a chaser, and Betty discovered this for herself about two years ago when her mother was visiting friends in Yonkers and her stepfather came home about eleven o'clock on a slow night.

It was a summer night, and so Betty was wearing just pajama pants and tops, and was sitting in her bedroom watching TV on her portable Zenith. The next thing she knew, her stepfather had entered the room silently and was leaning over her, his arm around her shoulders, and his cheek pressing against hers, murmuring, "You're such a very lovely girl, you ought to come out there and keep me company, Betty darling."

She had squirmed uncomfortably and blushed and tried to get out of his embrace, but then he had put his right hand on one of her pert uptilting pear-shaped titties and kissed her right on the mouth and panted, "I've just gotta give it to you, baby, you drive a man crazy!"

Before she could fight him off, he had ripped off her pajama tops, kissed her titties, and was trying to rip off her pants when she finally knead him in the crotch and put him out of action. Then she told him that if he dared anything like that again, she was going to call the police. And after he had gone back to his room in agony, she made a swift decision. She packed a suitcase of her most important belongings and clothes, wrote a quick note to her mother, and left the house.

Because of her beauty, she had no trouble finding work, and became a receptionist for a large engraving company in lower Manhattan. There she fell madly in love with a handsome Italian who was foreman of the day shift, Frank Gennario, a man of thirty, suave and reasonably well educated. Till the time she had met Frank, she was a virgin, though she had done plenty of necking and heavy petting at high school. She spent several evenings a week learning shorthand and typing, because she wanted to advance herself. She was hoping, however, that Frank would marry her.

But his idea of marriage was a one-night stand, or perhaps a few repeats, because he had a wife in Italy for whom he was sending and for whom he was saving most of his money. He didn't bother telling Betty this, because he wanted a crack at her sweet cunt. Knowing that she was cherry made him all the wilder to get into her panties, and he finally did. He had taken her to a little Italian restaurant on Third Avenue, plied her with Chianti and ravioli, and then taken her for a cab ride to Central Park. There he had a hansom cabdriver drive them slowly through the scenic park, and because it was a beautifully moonlit night, he had his arm around her waist and was kissing her.

By the time the driver returned to the starting point, Betty McDonald felt her panties moist with the urge to be fucked, and so when Frank Gennario whispered to her that he wanted to take her home and make love to her, she nodded and blushed furiously, clinging to him and giving him a furious kiss to show him that her pussy was all his.

He was a master at lovemaking. He undressed her very slowly, exclaiming over her many charms, and when she was down to garter-belt and stockings, he laid her on the bed and, without taking off any of his clothes, began to kiss her body all over, starting with her titties and working on her nipples, moving down to her navel and furling his tongue into that dainty grotto.

Betty almost swooned with passion. One knee up, swaying widely away to expose her pussy, she clutched at his head and ran her fingers through his thick black hair, begging him to do it to her. But he took his time because he wanted to gleam that last bit of passion from this wise virgin.

Finally he got his lips and tongue on her cunt and began to gamahuch her very expertly. Betty McDonald had never dreamed that a man could do that to a girl, and the sensation of his tongue rubbing against the lips of her quim and touching the button of her clitoris drove her frantically out of her mind. So that by the time he finally took off his clothes and got into bed with her, she was wriggling around on the bed, clutching at her naked bubbies, begging him to love her up and do it quick because she couldn't stand waiting any longer.

Passionate as she was, the breaking of her hymen cost her very little pain. Although he was selfish, he was a real expert in fucking. He waited, he didn't hurry, and he didn't brutalize her when he finally got himself all the way in. He saw to it that the bleeding was stopped with a warm washcloth, made her relax and then they smoked a cigarette, and after about an hour, he began to kiss and lick her all over again till she was just as wild with lust as she had been at the very outset. When he put his prick back into her cunt, she discovered that there was hardly any pain left at all but lots of pleasure.

And so she began to see him two and three nights a week, until finally one Monday morning, when she came down happily to work with the expectation of having a date with him perhaps that very night, she heard from the switchboard operator that Frank Gennario had quit his job and was working in Rego Park for a publisher and that his wife and two children were due to join him from Italy any day now.

Betty McDonald quit her job too, but not until she had found another one. This job was the bank at which Gregson Torrance worked. She began there as a file clerk, but continued her work evenings at business school so that she could quickly become proficient in typing and shorthand and so work herself up the line to a better-paying job.

She had been in the stenographer's pool when old Miss Ainsworth had resigned, and Gregson Torrance, checking with the personnel supervisor at the bank, in the search for a replacement, happened to notice her bending over a filing cabinet. The long legs, the shapely jetting ovals of her luscious ass, and her sensual face which told him instinctively that she knew what fucking was all about, led him to pick her, even though the supervisor had recommended others with far more seniority.

But what she had learned about herself was that she wanted regular fucking, but she didn't exactly want to get married anymore. Frank Gennario had disillusioned her, and so had her mother's marriages. No, she decided to play it cool, have plenty of fun, maybe get some rich man interested in her so she wouldn't have to work so hard, and just enjoy life. And that was why she had decided on Gregson Torrance, because she knew that he was a bachelor and that he was also a very tolerant man-which he had proved by hiring her over older girls and also even though she wore miniskirts about which she had been rebuked several times by the rather old fashioned supervisor.

She was in Gregson Torrance's office now, her legs crossed and the miniskirt hiked up quite a ways up her thigh, her steno pad and pencil poised and at the ready, waiting for her boss to dictate. He had just finished talking to Diane Wilson.

"I've got a little errand for you, Betty, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't, Mr. Torrance."

"That's a good girl. You're really becoming very indispensable to me, Betty, I don't mind telling you. You keep up the good work, and I'll be putting you down for a raise at least by the end of next month.

"That's very nice of you, Mr. Torrance. But I enjoy working for you. You're so different from the other men in the bank."

"That's a compliment. And I appreciate it, too. For that matter, you're different from the average run of bank girl employees too, if the truth be known," he chuckled as he lit a cigar.

She gave him a long steady look from under long thick lashes, and then looked back at her pad as a proper and efficient secretary should. But she shifted in her seat just enough for him to glance at her knees and then follow the natural inclination of his gaze on up those long sleek beige-nylon-sheathed thighs, and he felt the old familiar feeling of an aching cock eager for pussy, especially new pussy.

He was in a rare mood today because now he was on the verge of getting Diane Wilson just where he wanted her, way out there on the West Coast, his prisoner, where he would get her to sign a waiver turning over all her money to him and legally, too. In addition, he intended to have Diane humiliated and chastised and taught how to satisfy a man, something she didn't know about already. Something she normally wouldn't learn about or care about perhaps for the rest of her spoiled life unless someone like himself took a hand in reshaping her destiny.

"I want you to call TWA and get first-class reservations for Friday, returning late Sunday afternoon," he told Betty McDonald. "Also, call the Ambassador right now, ask for the manager, and tell him you want a suite, the very best."

"Yes, sir."

"Then ask him to send you a confirming wire for the space, and go down to the TWA regional office and pick up the tickets on my credit card which I'll give you right now." He took out his wallet, extracted the card, tossed it to her and she caught it neatly with a little smile and nod. "Good. Then you're to get me one-way first-class space on the same airline for tomorrow afternoon."

"You're going to the Coast, Mr. Torrance?"

"Of course. I have to be out there to look after my client Miss Wilson."

"I-I'll miss you," she said softly and huskily.

He looked up in surprise, as she met his gaze boldly, leaning even a little forward to show him those gorgeous firm pear-shaped titties of hers thrusting against the tight bodice of the minidress. It was blue, and it showed up her pale white skin excitingly, and he felt the stirring in his balls grow even more agonizing than ever. He really hadn't looked for outside pussy since his affair with Myrna Johnson, but that didn't mean he couldn't act on an impulse and take advantage of an opportunity. And if ever he saw a girl with a bedroom look in her eyes, it was Betty McDonald right this minute.

"That's very flattering again, Betty," he finally said to her with a genial smile "I tell you what, after you finish those errands, you'll take the tickets over to Miss Wilson's apartment. And after that I'd like to take you to dinner. Say at The Tower Suite in time for the eight-o'clock seating. It's a beautiful view from there."

"I know it is. that's awfully nice of you, Mr. Torrance. I'll get busy on this right away. And I'll bring your ticket over when I meet you there tonight."

"Great. Oh by the way, Miss McDonald?"

"Why the last name of a sudden, Mr. Torrance?" she teased as she rose from her chair very sinuously, letting him have plenty of opportunity to look her over.

"Just force of habit, I guess, Betty. But what I was going to ask was, do you have any steady boyfriend?"

"None at all. That's why I'm looking forward to dinner with you at eight tonight, Mr. Torrance. I'll see you there. And thank you again."

He watched her walk out, watching those luscious bottom-cheeks of hers undulate and shift from side to side with her steady pace, the tight and short miniskirt shaping out the bewitching contours of her voluptuous ass.

Tonight was going to be very interesting, and it was going to be by way of a sort of advance celebration of his conquests of haughty heiress Diane Wilson.