Chapter 1
The two girls entered the small, cheap, lower Fifth Avenue hotel room, about eight-thirty this night. One was a redhead, the other a blonde. Both were young. College girl types, better looking than average; both were well stacked. They had a couple of drinks and sat and talked and then the redhead suddenly sprawled back on the hotel bed. The brunette came over to her and picked up the redhead's hand and began fondling, then kissing it. Soon, she sat beside the redhead and leaned over her and kissed her full on the lips, long, lingeringly and her hand slid up under the redhead's skirt, moved caressingly there. In a few moments, her other hand gently unbuttoned the top of the redhead's dress, moved inside. The redhead began to twist, to writhe, torturously.
The love-play between the two girls continued for several minutes and then the brunette rose and pulled the redhead to her feet with her. She began to undress the redhead, who stood now, trembling, with her eyes closed, her head thrown back and her long, silky, Titian red hair flowing softly...
The offices of Helena Troy, Inc. Cosmetics, officially closed at five o'clock. But this evening, at nine o'clock, several lights were still on in their small suite of offices in the building across from the hotel on lower Fifth Avenue. One was in the office of Lena Troy, herself. The other was in the office of Harry Fields, Promotion Manager. Both were working overtime, this stifling hot summer night.
Lena Troy, at 28, was the perfect picture of a Manhattan career woman. Perfectly coiffed and groomed, she was a strikingly handsome brunette, with the lushly mature figure of an Italian movie star. The bomb-like rounds of her full breasts filled to bursting the bodice of her smart $200 dress. The pouting plumpness of her tight, firm buttocks moved provocatively when she walked, outlined subtly by the sheen of the expensive material. Her face was almost perfectly featured, the long-lashed green eyes well set apart, the nose short and straight, the well-rouged month full and succulent without being sloppy looking.
At first glance, Lena Troy was the epitome of sex. But not at the second or third. Then you caught the haughty arrogance of her expression, the straight, too perceptive, too observing expression in her intelligent eyes. And you thought: What a shame, what a waste, because you sensed a coldness there that said it may be good looking but it sure wouldn't be good loving even if you coidd ever get to it, which was highly doubtful.
Actually, there was no coldness but just an indifference to sex. Because there was no time for it in Lena's carefully planned scheme of things, on her personal timetable. Not until she was thirty and had made her first million.
She had made up her mind about this when she was in college and made her first and only experiment on the subject. The man was a college boy of whom she was quite fond. She found the experience to be only mildly pleasurable and highly overrated. She was a little surprised at how soon it was over. Then and there she decided it was something she could and would live without. In this way she wouldn't ever be sidetracked from her determination to be a wealthy woman by the time she was thirty. There would be no chance of becoming pregnant or of getting over-attached to some man and want, perhaps, to marry him.
So for the rest of her college days, her first years in business and continuing after she began to really become successful, Lena Troy dated various men but seldom the same one more than once. She learned easily and quickly how to fend off even the most subtle and expert passes.
Frequently, though, during this time, she had strangely disturbing dreams that she could never completely remember after awakening. Sometimes, while showering, she would become a little alarmed at the seemingly over-sensitiveness of her breasts when she bathed them, at the throbbing arrogance of her distended nipples as her own fingers touched them and the hot flow of sensation that would instantly engulf her. But then she would quickly shake the feeling off, tell herself not to be ridiculous, force herself to think about business matters.
Now, this night, at a little after nine o'clock, after a stretch of going over the copy promoting a new line of lipstick her firm was putting out, Lena got up from her desk and stretched, then lit a cigarette and strolled to the window. She stood there, looking down onto the street and the sparse flow of traffic through this business area at this time of night.
When her attention was first attracted to the lighted hotel room window across the way, she wasn't exactly-sure. She caught what was going on in there with a passing glance, at first and then her gaze flashed back in a stunned double-take. She sucked in a startled breath, uncomprehending, unbelieving, at first.
She told herself that it couldn't be. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. But she could deny it only for a moment. Then she had to face the fact: the one woman was undressing the other. Right now. the brunette was peeling off the redhead's dress, then reaching behind her to unsnap the bra. The redhead's breasts were small but saucily tip-tilted, the lightly pink nipples aroused until they were unusually long and pointed.
The other girl now cupped both the redhead's bared breasts, squeezing, fondling and then bent and touched her lips first to one tender tip, then the other. The redhead seemed to shiver all over, hunching her shoulders.
Watching, Lena Troy was at first horrified, then embarrassed and wanted to stop looking, but somehow couldn't. She had heard about things like this, about women making love with women, even back in college but she had never known anyone, personally, who went in for that sort of thing, so she didn't really, seriously, believe it. Or assumed that the practice was a very seldom thing indulged in only by freakish, masculine type women with hair on their upper lip.
But that wasn't the case here, she noted. As she watched the brunette now gently peel a dainty pair of white silk panties down over the redhead's rounded hips and sleekly curving thighs, she saw that the redhead was completely feminine in very possible way.
Then the brunette quickly undressed herself. She, too, Lena saw, now, was all woman. Her breasts were larger, rounder than the-redhead's, the stiffened centers of them a dark maroon in color. Her hips were fuller, the mound of her belly a bit more pronounced, the thighs a little more plump but there was certainly nothing masculine about her.
Now the brunette moved toward the redhead, clasped her in close embrace. One hand caressed the jutting rounds of the redhead's buttocks and their gleamingly naked bodies moved together and the brunette's mouth sought the redhead's and buried against her lips in a long, twisting tumultuous kiss, with the same kind of passion with which a man would kiss a woman.
Lena became suddenly aware of her own quickened breathing, of her own nipples rising hard and aching against the confines of her bra. A strangely pleasant crawling sensation moved along her thighs, spread to other places and grew to become an almost unbearable pleasurable urgency and need that she'd never known before. She found herself moving her thighs together.
She wondered: What's happening to me? Why am I reacting like this? This is terrible. I should be disgusted, ashamed, turn away. Instead I'm getting all excited, aroused as I've never been before.
Then, across the way, the brunette suddenly led the redhead toward the bed, gently forced her down upon it. Then she kneeled beside her and while her hands busied themselves first with caressing the long, sleek sweep of soft, white fleshed thighs, eagerly spread, then with the up-thrust, pink-tipped breasts, she again kissed the redhead on the mouth. Then her lips moved to the hollow of the redhead's throat, then to her shoulders. They paused to sample the succulence of each pouting breast, then moved lower lower...
Now, Lena felt herself making a little outcry, as though those avidly searching lips were moving over her own body. She wondered why seeing the other women making love this way was arousing her so much but only for awhile, as the brunette's kisses and fondling became more bold and then she no longer cared. She was aware only of the terrible hot desire flooding her own body.
In a few minutes, as the naked figures in the hotel room over there now lay embracing with tangled limbs, rolling, writhing, tossing, Lena began groaning audibly. Her own hips began to move with a strange, wanton rhythm and the thought pounded through her mind: I've got to do something. I've got to do something! Oh, someone help me, please!"
Then, suddenly, from behind her, a man's voice said: "Lena! What is it? Is anything wrong?"
She turned, shocked, and saw Harry Fields standing in the doorway to her office, with a look of concern on his darkly good looking face.
"Oh!" she said. "No! No, it's nothing."
He frowned, puzzled. "I thought I heard you cry out as though you were being hurt."
"No. You were mistaken."
But he was not mistaken, now, as he saw her flushed face, the purplish darkness of her passionate eyes, the loose moistness of her ruby red lips. He had seen women with the look of passionate need, of readiness, before. He recognized it, instantly. He watched her, then, move guiltily away from the window. He, in turn, strode toward it. She put out a hand to stop him, saying: "No! Don't!"
But he was at the window, then, looking out and down a little and he saw the women in the hotel, lying quiet, now, sated and he instantly knew. He turned toward Lena Troy. He moved toward her. She watched him now with oddly combined expressions of nervousness and welcome.
He said: "What a terrible thing for you to have to see."
She nodded. "Yes," she said. "Oh, yes."
"It must have frightened you to death, you poor thing," Harry Fields said, then. He reached out and took hold of her hand. "Why, you're trembling," he said. "Here, let me comfort you."
He took her into his arms, then. She arched toward him, willingly, with a little moaning sound. Her hips ground against his. Her mouth opened under his and her tongue readily met his, thrashed against it. In a moment he was wild with need for her. She broke away from him, panting, and quickly moved toward the big leather couch in her office. She stood in front of it and with one hand suddenly ripped her dress down the front; then her bra, so that her heavy, proud, gourd-shaped breasts leaped forth, quivering gelatinously, the plum-like tips projecting invitingly; then she also tore away her filmy step-ins and except for the clinging shreds of material, was naked before him, her long, marble fleshed thighs gleaming.
"Oh, God, Harry, I don't know what's wrong with me, but hurry, Harry!" she begged, hoarsely. She sat on the couch and lay back, quivering, gasping.
He went to her and his hands .moved feverishly over her as she continued to call out to him to hurry. He moulded and kneaded the hot, fleshy mounds of her breasts, pinching and teasing the plumply aroused tips. His hands caressed the gentle slope of her belly, slid down, lingeringly, so as to throw her into an increased agony of need, to stroke and fondle the warm, marble smooth inner plumpness of her thighs.
Finally, cursing him for his delaying tactics, she roughly pulled him over her. Her hands moved to him now, demanding, urging, guiding. Then she abruptly let out a wailing cry of surprised delight. In seconds the twenty-eight years of her suppressed desire took over. Her fingernails dug into the back of his shoulders. Her teeth nipped with savage frenzy at the hollow of his collarbone. The furious, angry demand of her all but consumed him, left him, ten minutes later, more wilted and exhausted than he'd ever been before...
Afterward he murmured: "Oh, God, Lena, you were wonderful! I've known a lot of women but never any like you."
She didn't answer. She was enjoying now a pleasant lethargy, a quietness of nerves, that she had never felt before. Vaguely, she wondered what in the world had possessed her to do a thing like that with Harry Fields and why this time it had been so much different than her first experiment. Now she could understand what all the sound and fury was about; no wonder sex was such an important part of most people's lives, she thought.
Stretched out beside her, on the couch, Harry gave a warm little chuckle. He said: "You know, I've been wanting you for a long time, Lena. Hut I never figured there was even the ghost of a chance. I had you definitely figured for the iceberg type, strictly from frigid. How wrong can a guy be?"
"Maybe not so wrong," she told him. "That's the way I am, nine-nine percent of the time. This was well just a freak sort of thing."
"I know," he said. "You got all excited, watching those two dykes in the hotel across the street, didn't you?"
She felt a hot flush steal over her body. Almost angrily, she said: "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, okay," he said. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay with me."
She got up then, picked up the remnants of her clothing and held them in front of her, shielding herself a little. She said: "Let's get one thing straight, right now, Harry. As far as I'm concerned, this never happened. Don't get any ideas about it making any change in our business relationship. You understand?"
He looked surprised, then answered ruefully: "Well, sure, sure, Lena. If that's the way you want it."
"That's the way I want it." She turned and walked toward her private office lavatory, which held a shower and a closet in which she kept extra clothing. She went inside and showered and fixed her hair and put on some new clothes.
When she came out, Harry Fields was dressed again. He was standing by her desk. He said: "What did you think of those changes I made in the new lipstick copy?"
"I think they helped," she said, a little absently. "Sharpened the message a little."
"I have some other things I'd like to check through with you. I've had some problems getting an okay from some of the movie stars we had lined up for endorsements."
Lena put the back of hand to her forehead, closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Look, Harry, I'm pooped, tonight. Let's let it go until morning, all right?"
He nodded agreement and picked up several letters he'd previously put on her desk. "Good enough." He looked at her now, his eyes admiring the way her fine large breasts bulged the bodice of her dress. "Look," he said, softly. "Can I give you a ride home? Or maybe we can stop and I'll buy you a drink, somewhere."
"No. No, thank you,' she refused.
He shrugged and turned away, headed for the door. "Good night, then."
"Good night, Harry," she said.