Chapter 1
Linda Brumiglia closed the door to her small office in the cataloguer's section of the library and looked at the note neatly centered upon her desk. She was a tall girl with raven-black hair parted in the center, its glossy shoulder-length abundance draped with artful carelessness behind her ears and over her shoulders.
Frowning slightly, Linda bent forward to read the note, the dark waves of hair moving forward over the smooth ivory of her cheeks to frame the piquant beauty of her classic features. Not that she felt she really had to read the note; during business hours any messages Linda received invariably came from her older, married sister, Annette.
Linda shook her dark head as she read the message. STOP IN AT THE HOUSE ON YOUR WAY HOME FROM WORK. ANNETTE. Not even a please, Linda thought with resentment which still managed to be tinged with a hint of amusement. That was Annette for you. Although Annette certainly had problems enough to excuse a certain amount of brusqueness these days. If only her phone calls weren't so demanding and such an almost-every-day affair. Linda was beginning to feel that she had no life of her own.
Absentmindedly Linda smoothed the seat of her print dress snugly over a plump hip. The demure knee-length of the brightly-printed dress was in contrast to the attractive dresses in Linda's closets with their provocative miniskirts, but on the job she felt that something more dignified was required. Her boss, Mr. Craven, had never brought up the subject, but Mr. Craven's own ministerial garb and majesterial manner intimidated Linda. She stood slightly in awe of Mr. Craven's bland, colorless efficiency. Mr. Craven wasn't much older than Linda's sister Annette, for that matter, yet he somehow contrived to give off an aura of nitpicky prudishness.
Reminded of Annette, Linda shook her head again. Linda was twenty-two; Annette was thirty-six, with a daughter Carole, seventeen. Six months ago after a flaming row that was the successor to many previous rows, Annette's husband, Jim Dandini, had walked out of the house and never returned. He had quit his marriage, his job, and his hopes for a pension from the company he had been with for twenty years.
Linda had been a witness to the gradual deterioration of the marriage. Annette was strong-willed, with a flaming temper. So was Jim Dandini. In earlier days, before matters turned serious, Annette had laughingly showed a blushing Linda the dark bruises and distinctly visible fingerprints inflicted by Jim Dandini's hard hands upon the otherwise sleek curves of Annette's milky-skinned belly, buttocks, and thighs.
In a way Linda admired Jim Dandini's complete pullout. She could never say so to Annette, of course. Jim had warned Annette that he would never pay alimony if the marriage disintegrated from Annette's nagging, and he was true to his word. He had simply disappeared. Annette had hired a private detective, in vain. She had ignored Jim's threat to her sorrow. She now worked four mornings a week in a real estate office to supplement the money for Carole's support which came from a lawyer each month, a lawyer who refused to even discuss the subject of Jim Dandini's present whereabouts.
Linda had timidly suggested to her strong-minded older sister that Annette initiate a reconciliation via the lawyer. Annette had refused scornfully. "I wouldn't give the sonofabitch the satisfaction of knowing I missed him," she declared flatly. "And I do miss him." The older sister had smiled ruefully at Linda. "I miss him in bed. I get so goddammed horny I can't stand myself." The smile died away. "But he'll come back on my terms or he won't come back." Linda sighed at the memory. She cleared her desk, put everything carefully away, and locked up. The cataloguing section was in a hideaway comer of the library and rarely subject to interruption of any kind, but Mr. Craven insisted upon a locked desk each night at closing time, and Linda obediently followed orders.
She picked up her handbag and walked through the long, deserted corridors to the main part of the library. Linda said good night to Miss Patten, the head librarian, the only one left in the semicircular well confronting visitors and from which they were funneled to the various library departments of their choice. Miss Patten was fiftyish and already shriveled in old-maidish, white-haired semi-senescence. Linda wondered occasionally with some uneasiness if this was what she herself had to look forward to within the somewhat smothering embrace of library employment.
It was a concern of Annette's, too. "What happened to So-and-So?" she would inquire upon the disappearance of another of Linda's short-lived suitors. Annette's matter-of-fact earthiness was as much a part of her as her quick temper. "Not enough prick for you?" She would grin knowingly at Linda's embarrassment. "Don't tell me you're not getting any, baby." The difference in their ages had resulted in Annette's calling Linda "baby" from Linda's childhood. "With your body, it would be the waste of all time." She would point a warning finger at Linda. "You've got to hustle up a hard-knocking type while you've got your flower years, baby."
Linda couldn't explain to Annette that it was precisely the hard-knocking types-or the would-be hard-knocking types-who turned Linda off. She couldn't explain it herself. She had tried sex in college, and it hadn't been all that much. It seemed she shrank instinctively from a pair of bold, probing masculine eyes. It hadn't only been Annette who insisted that Linda's tall-bodied, superb figure was withering on the vine, but Linda kept suitors at arm's length. She didn't consider herself prissy, merely choosy.
She went out through the library's side door to the parking lot. She turned the key in the ignition of her Chevelle and settled back for the drive to Annette's. She had wished for a bigger car, and she could have afforded it, since her living expenses were minimal and her salary quite good, but Mr. Craven drove a five-year-old Dodge and Linda couldn't bring herself to seem ostentatious.
She turned into Annette's driveway in the row of pleasant family dwellings on the quiet street and parked. She entered the kitchen door, the front door being used infrequently. "It's me," she called.
Annette appeared from the living room in housecoat and cigarette dangling from the comer of her mouth. Two inches shorter than Linda, she weighed fifteen pounds more. Not quite roly-poly, Annette assessed herself, just well-fleshed. A certain hardness of feature had dimmed what had been striking good looks, in her youth more dramatic than Linda's sweet-faced beauty. "Glad to see you, baby," Annette addressed Linda in her sexily husky voice. "C'mon in."
Once in the living room, she pressed a drink upon Linda that Linda didn't really want but meekly accepted. "I've got a problem," Annette announced, dropping down upon the couch in such a relaxed sprawl that the housecoat's semi-unbuttoned condition revealed Annette's plump, white thighs. Annette's careless posture parted the thighs to disclose the beginning of a shadowy juncture, and Linda looked away.
"What kind of a problem?" the younger sister asked, taking a first sip of her drink. She could hear no movement upstairs, so she assumed that Carole wasn't in the house.
"Well-" Annette paused to light a cigarette; she was an inveterate chain-smoker despite Linda's occasional protestations about the effect upon her health. "I dropped in at the house here the other morning on my way to show a house to some clients," she resumed. "And what did I find but Carole here, when she was supposed to be in school. And with a boy friend."
Linda raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know," Annette continued. "I wondered, too. They had their clothes on, but I didn't get the feeling they'd had them on too long, if you know what I mean. I rousted the kid out of here and laid down the law to Carole: no more of that shit. She gave me some lip, and I slapped her. For a second I thought she was coming right after me-she's got Jim's share of temper as well as mine, you know-but she doesn't have that much nerve yet."
"So what happens now?" Linda wondered. "It could be entirely innocent."
"Carole is not the innocent type," Annette said grimly. "At age fourteen I caught her in the basement with her pants down and a boy's cock in her hand. I'd like to get her married so she'll lay off my birth control pills."
"Your birth control pills? Why do you need-" Linda swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said with a stiffness that surprised even herself. "It's none of my business."
"You wouldn't want me to miss out on anything strange in the neighborhood, would you?" Annette jibed. She stabbed out her cigarette in the ashtray with more force than necessary. "Not that there's all that much available. But getting back to Carole, I'm damned if I want any kid of mine taking on the Mexican Army while she's still in high school."
"But it's so different these days," Linda protested. "And if it's only one boy-"
Annette shook her head, as dark as Linda's. "She's running with a rough-looking crowd. I don't like their looks." She was looking speculatively at Linda. "Were you fucking at seventeen?" she asked bluntly.
Linda could feel herself coloring. "Of course not. I mean-" She hesitated. "I might have wanted to, at least once in a while, but as you said a minute ago, I didn't have the nerve."
"But you tried it in college?" Linda nodded self-consciously. "How did you like it, baby?"
Linda tried to frame her reply carefully. "Not-not as much as I expected. It wasn't-it wasn't-well, it left me asking myself what all the shouting was about."
Annette cocked an eye at her sister. "You must not have had the right man in the saddle, baby. The first time Jim jammed my cranny I nearly went out of my mind." She was silent for a moment. "God, I can get wet now just thinking about it." Her right hand started for the parted juncture of her housecoat, paused, then dropped upon the couch by her side. Linda could see the long fingers twitching.
"Were you a virgin when-when Jim did it to you the first time?" It was a question Linda had often wished to ask before but had never had the temerity. The occasion seemed propitious.
"Hell, no!" Annette laughed. It was almost a bugle-blare. "Of course Jim thought I was. I squeaked and whimpered like a good one while he shoved his pork into me. And I had a fragile little capsule of blood taped inside there I'd gotten from old Dr. Miglio. Jim was more than satisfied at the evidence when he looked at the sheet. All I had to do then was be careful not to catch on too quick to what he liked." She stood up abruptly. "Listen, I'm not doing myself any good by talking about it. C'mon upstairs. I want to show you a dress I bought."
Linda followed her sister upstairs. The dress was brought out and displayed, and Linda said tactful things. Actually, since Annette disdained a girdle, her short, plump figure usually strained the seams of whatever the older sister was wearing, achieving a provocative effect if not one of haute couture.
"Where the hell I'll wear it, I don't know," Annette was saying when the sound of a slamming car door gave her pause. She went to the bedroom window and looked out. "There he is!" she said tensely. "That young limb is out with him again!"
Linda went to the window. On the street below in front of the Dandini home was a fender-dented car with psychedelic decals and paintings all over it. Carole Dandini, tall and slender with athletic dark good looks inherited from both parents, said goodbye to a broad-shouldered youngster with rough-looking long blond hair that trailed well down on his shoulders, and strode up the front walk.
"I told her not to see him again!" Annette declared with the same intensity. "I'll break that pair up or know the reason why!"
"It may not be what-" Linda tried to wedge into her sister's monologue, but Annette wasn't to be denied.
"I know what it is," she said positively. "And I'll not permit it at her age." She listened to the sound of her daughter's footsteps ascending the stairs. "Carole!" she called. "Come in here a moment!"
Linda wished uneasily that she were elsewhere. Carole appeared in the bedroom doorway, darkly beautiful despite jeans and a boy's shirt. She nodded to Linda before looking at her mother warily, lips compressed.
"What did I tell you the other morning?" Annette began in a higher-pitched voice than normal. "Didn't I tell you I didn't want to see you with-"
"Forget it, mother," Carole interrupted. Her voice was cool, but Linda detected a flash of white knuckles upon a clenched hand.
"Forget it?" Annette's voice soared. "Don't you tell ME to forget it, you-you-who do you think you're talking to, your father? I'll teach-"
"Sure, you'll teach me like you taught him," Carole said in a world-weary tone that Linda sensed was again protective coloration.
Annette advanced upon her daughter, elbows out like a fullback plunging through the line. Carole didn't exactly retreat, but Linda could see the girl shrink in upon herself. "That's not you talking," Annette stated positively. "That's him talking." Carole said nothing. "Isn't it?" Annette demanded. "Well, isn't it?"
An inch taller than her mother although she weighed thirty pounds less, Carole hesitated before replying. "No, it's not. I'm-"
"He's putting the words in your mouth," Annette interrupted. "And you run to him and tell him that I drove your father away. Is that right?" Annette's voice was curiously gentle.
"Well, didn't you?" Carole flared.
"You put the family dirty linen right out on the front lawn," Annette went on in the same subdued tone. Then her right hand rose suddenly and cracked viciously on Carole's cheek. "WELL, I'LL TEACH YOU BETTER!" It was uttered in a shout all the more startling after Annette's previously subdued manner.
Carole staggered sideways from the force of the slap, then rushed at her mother furiously, dark eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'll-I'll-" she stammered, trying to return the slap. Annette coolly seized her arms and pinioned her. Carole stamped on her mother's foot, and Annette emitted a cry of pain. She swung the girl around and launched her at the bed. Carole bounced upon its center and sprawled half on her side.
Annette advanced upon the bed and loomed up over her. Carole flinched and covered her face with her hands. Annette laughed shortly. "Not so brave now, are you? And with good reason, you little slut. What do you mean by disobeying me when I told you to have nothing more to do with him? I checked him out, and I know what he is! A kid like you associating with a character like that! I tell you I won't have it!" Her face was flushed, and she was almost screaming.
Carole rolled onto her back, one hand protectively upraised. Defiance mingled with the fear shown on the young face. "You hit me again and I'll leave this house!" she blazed. "You couldn't handle your own man, so leave me alone with mine!"
Annette seized an ankle and flipped Carole onto her stomach. "Man! Yours!" Annette panted, almost choleric with anger. "You pipsqueak! What the hell do you know about a man? You're a child! And by God you're going to be treated as one!" She reached for the belt supporting Carole's jeans.
"Don't you touch me!" Carole cried, trying ineffectively to wriggle from her mother's grasp. "Don't you TOUCH me! I'll-I'll run away! I'll-oh!"
Annette ripped the top half of Carole's jeans right off her, not bothering to unfasten the belt. "Run away and be damned to you!" Annette retorted. "But I'll guarantee you one thing, missy-you'll run with the sorest ass you've had since you were a five-year-old! I'm going to polish you off as I should have been doing right along! Any time you think you can speak to your mother in that tone of voice-"
Linda watched, startled, as during this tirade Annette worked the ripped jeans down over Carole's womanly hips until the whole of the girl's pink-pantied behind was exposed.
"You leave me-ALONE!" Carole shrieked. She rose up on one elbow and tried to halt the down-sliding jeans with a quick grab behind her. Annette slapped her hand away. "Don't you dare-oh!"
Annette peeled the jeans completely down Carole's slender legs and off over her tennis shoes. "Come over here and hold her shoulders, Linda!" she ordered.
Linda stifled the instinctive "Oh, no!" that sprang to her lips. She knew she didn't want to become involved in this family quarrel, but from childhood she had been accustomed to obeying Annette who had functioned as a second mother due to the difference in their ages. Linda approached the bed reluctantly and placed her hands tentatively on Carole's shoulders.
Carole raised her head to stare up at Linda in disbelief. "You're helping her!" the girl cried out. "I thought you were my friend! I'll never forgive you for this!"
Linda started to back away only to be halted by Annette's glare. "I said hold her!" Annette bugled at Linda. Her black eyes were snapping with rage. "When I finish with this smartass she'll be singing a different tune!" While talking she had taken the inside-out jeans and used them to tie Carole's ankles securely together.
"Annette, maybe you should wait until-" Linda began tentatively.
"Shut up!" Annette cut her off. She marched over to the bureau and picked up a flat-backed wooden hairbrush and came back to the bed. "Meet your old acquaintance, Carol e," she drawled in one of the lightning changes of temper that her mercurial disposition afforded. To Linda she sounded almost pleasant, but Annette waved the hairbrush under Carole's flinching nose. "I'm going to wear about an eighth of an inch off this on your bare backside, girlie," Annette went on to declare. "And you know something? I'm going to enjoy it. You're not, but I am."
Linda winced as Annette leaned down over the bed and delivered a full-armed smack of the brush upon her daughter's pantied behind. "Ohh!" Carole exclaimed involuntarily, writhing her thighs and tied legs.
Annette dropped the brush momentarily to seize the waistband of Carole's panties and draw them well down on the girl's legs so that the gusseted crotch parted company from the area it was meant to conceal. Linda stared down at Carole's exposed bare globes, upon one of which was the stark pink imprint of the hairbrush's single descent.
"You don't-have to make-a holy show-out of me!" Carole gasped, shrinking at her exposure. Linda could see the girl's surprisingly wide sleek buttocks clench apprehensively. "Let me-GO, Linda! Don't help her-do this-tome!"
"You hold her!" Annette commanded Linda. "I want her to remember this!" She picked up the brush again, knelt down on the bed at an angle to her prostrate daughter's upturned nude buttocks, and raised her arm.
"No!" Carole screamed. "No! Don't! No! I'll-oooh!"
The "ooooh!" was preceded by a loud smacking noise. Carole's bare hips rotated in a furious circle as the mate of the first hairbrush mark sprang up on the opposite full globe.
SMACK!! "Oww!" SMACK!! "Ooooh!" SMACK!! "Ohhh!" SMACK!! "Oh, noooo! Moth-oww!" SMACK!! "Mother! Oww! Owwww!" SMACK!! "Oooooooooh!"
Under Linda's restraining hands Carole's shoulders bucked unavailingly as the girl tried to turn over onto her side to get away from the smarting hairbrush. Linda held her face down upon the bed, half-revolted yet half-excited at the change the loud-smacking hairbrush was wreaking upon the girl's tender flesh. Carole's knees scrabbled beneath her ineffectively trying to get the purchase her tied ankles denied her. The new position merely raised her crimsoning naked seat into a more acute target position for the hairbrush, and Carole collapsed upon her stomach again with a despairing wail.
Annette pursued her daughter's spanked behind steadily, dealing stinging blows of the hairbrush impartially upon the full upper cheeks and the lower sitting portion. Two buttons of her housecoat had come loose from the fury of her efforts, and Linda could see Annette's large, grape-nippled bare breasts bobbing in the open from the violence of her hairbrush-wielding.
SMACK!! "Mo-THER! It-owww!" SMACK!! "Ooooh, it h-hurts! Please!" SMACK!! "Please, n-no more!" SMACK!! "Owwwwww! My bot-tom! My-" SMACK!! "-Ohhhhhh!"
The frantic circular movement of Carole's vermillioned body-cushions availed her nothing against Annette's unerring aim. In a frenzied burst of energy Carole half-escaped Linda's grip and rolled onto her side, disclosing the bunched dark curls at the apex of her thighs. "Hold her!" Annette snapped, poising the hairbrush. Linda flattened the struggling girl again, putting her own stomach on Carole's head.
Annette at once resumed the spanking.
If anything, it seemed to Linda that her vigor increased.
Even the sound of the hairbrush biting into Carole's contorted flesh had changed.
CR-RACK!! "Owwwwww!" CR-RACK!! "Ooooh! You're kill-" CR-RACK!! "-Ohhh! You're killing meeeeee!" CR-RACK!! "Eeee!" CR-RACK!! "Agggrrrrrrrhhhhh!" CR-RACK!! "OWWWWWWWWW!!!"
Carole yelled, bleated, pleaded, sobbed, moaned, shrieked, yelped, and whimpered as the relentless hairbrush blistered her fiery behind. Her bottom heaved up and down as its pain-wracked surface turned to a deep rose hue. Linda could detect an incipient note of hysteria in the girl's steady, hoarse outcries.
Annette reached out suddenly and gripped one of Carole's buttocks in her hand. Widening it from its twin, she spanked at the newly disclosed white unspanked flesh thus revealed while the girl's frantic shrieks and contortions increased. Her mother, unmoved, did the same for the other hind cheek while Carole sought to turn herself inside out.
Annette flung down the brush suddenly. "There, by God!" she declared with obvious deep satisfaction. "Now that's what I call a well-spanked behind!" She lowered herself until her nose was inches from her daughter's rosy, shuddering flesh and sniffed strongly. "You can smell the heat in that particular smartass, Linda." She chuckled.
Linda wondered if Annette had any idea how she looked. She was almost out of her housecoat, both top and bottom. Her face was almost as scarlet as Carole's backside, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on her face. Carole's knees dug into the bed with little grabbing movements as she tried to ease her smarting flesh into an easier position. Linda raised herself from her position atop Carole's head and shoulders as the girl's soft moans continued unabated.
"Giving me that lip about her man!" Annette snorted. She stared down at her daughter's twitching, rough-reddened backside speculatively. "I wonder if she really has been laying for that longhaired character?" She reached down and put her hands under Carole's stomach. "Help me turn her over, Linda."
Actually Annette needed little help from, Linda in turning the unresisting Carole onto her back. The girl whimpered anew as her weight pressed down upon her burning bare behind, but she made no resistance. Annette impatiently removed the knotted jeans from the slim ankles, then almost in the same motion parted Carole's thighs and inserted two fingers into her daughter's dark-haired pussy.
Carole's body jerked convulsively, but again she made no effort to resist. "Goddam wet deck down here," Annette announced matter-of-factly as Linda stared unbelievingly. She probed with her fingers until she found Carole's cunt-hole and the long fingers disappeared inside. Carole flinched again and covered her face with her hands.
"Can't feel a thing," Annette declared as the edges of her knuckles folded back her daughter's cunt-crease. "No hymen for sure. How do you like that? I ought to whale her all over again." She removed her hand and wiped her dripping fingers on Carole's jeans.
"Oh, no!" Linda said. She found herself staring down at Carole's slackknead exposure, the girl's pouting cunt-lips oozing slightly from the vigorous exploration against which she had made no protest. "I'm sure-I'm sure you've made your point, Annette." With an effort Linda wrenched her gaze away from Carole's slow-dripping pussy-lips.
"I wish I were as sure of it as you seem to be," Annette declared. "She's been defying me for months. It's more than time that I showed her what's what around here. And if she gives me any more trouble her behind will bear the consequences. That's something she understands. I'll-" Annette paused at the sound of the faint ring of the telephone downstairs. "I'll get it," she said and hurried to the door.
Silence descended upon the room with Annette's departure. Carole shifted slightly onto her side to get the weight off her behind, disclosing her full moons again, already fading to a dusty pink in color. She whimpered slightly at the pull of taut muscles upon spanked flesh. "You h-helped her," she said over her shoulder to Linda in a hoarse whisper racked by a choked sob. "You helped her. I th-thought you were my f-friend. I'll never f-forgive you. N-never." She sniffled loudly, then raised her head to look over the curve of her shoulder at Linda. "And I'll get even w-with you, too. And with h-her." The girl stared balefully at the door through which Annette disappeared.
"You don't want to feel like that," Linda said gently. "She's your mother. You disobeyed her, so she punished you. But it's over now, and she loves you."
Carole's snort was interrupted by another strangled sob. Linda couldn't assess her own feelings. Compassion for Carole, yes, but a strange tingling excitement centered in an intimate portion of her own anatomy. Thighs tightly clenched, Linda was unwilling to admit her own dampness. Her gaze still rested fascinatedly upon Carole's reddened behind. She felt ashamed of herself for staring, but she couldn't remove her eyes from the girlish bare hind cheeks glowing from their immolation.
Carole caught sight of Linda's inspection of her nude backside. Deliberately the girl reached behind her and spread and lifted a hind cheek, disclosing the perspiration-darkened hair in the deep crevice and the tiny brown buttonhole. "Go ahead and l-look," she said defiantly. "My day is c-coming."
Once more Linda wrenched her gaze away. "I didn't mean it like that," she protested. "I thought-I thought I might be able to do something for you," she concluded lamely.
Carole sniffed but didn't reply. Linda heard the sound of Annette's footsteps on the stairway, and the older sister re-entered the bedroom. "I must-I should get home right away," Linda said hurriedly. "I'll leave-you two are sure to have things to talk over."
"That we have," Annette agreed with a sardonic glance at the semi-nude girl on the bed. Carole had once more turned her tear-streaked face toward the wall. "Like where her virginity went."
Linda left the bedroom and descended the stairs.
Seated behind the wheel of her car again, she stared through the windshield.
The palms of her hands felt damp, and her thighs were still tightly clasped. There was a fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't seem to control the rapid rate of her breathing. In her mind's eye she couldn't obliterate the sight of her niece Carole's brightly crimson bare behind plunging agitatedly under the smarting hairbrush.
Linda's hands were shaking slightly when she finally grasped the steering wheel. She started the car and drove to her inexpensive three-room apartment. She had the top floor, and the second floor was vacant right now, assuring her plenty of privacy. The landlord, an elderly man, lived on the first floor, but was often absent.
She parked at the back of the building. Getting out of her car, she waved absently to Walter Cummings, the hulking janitor and man-of-all-work about the place, who was pruning the hedge. Walter waved back shyly. The big man, burdened with a low intelligence quotient, slow-thinking, slow-moving, still managed to be cheerfully eager at taking care of Linda's occasional small requests in the way of maintenance.
She climbed the back stairs on legs that still trembled slightly in the aftermath of her arousal, unlocked, her door, and stepped inside. She set down her handbag on the telephone table in the tiny hallway, then walked into her bedroom like a sleepwalker. She paused for a moment to study her features in the boudoir mirror. None of the inner unease she felt was visible upon her high-cheekboned, piquant face under her crown of dark hair except for a slight dilation of her eyes.
As an afterthought, she returned to the hallway, locked the door, and slipped on the chain latch. Back in the bedroom, she began to undress, slowly at first, then more quickly. Dress, half-slip, pantie-girdle and bra were hurriedly discarded. Her stockings hung limply on her thighs with their garter-supports removed.
Linda opened her closet door, revealing a full-length pier-glass on its inner side. She stood silently, surveying her nudity in the mirror. Only the stockings and her high-heeled shoes broke the symmetry of her ivory-and-cream flesh-symphony. Firm, jutting breasts flaunted their dark-nippled monitors. The solid sweep of belly dipped sharply from its convex curve into her fleecy-haired thigh-juncture.
She turned and dreamily considered over her shoulder her wide-flaring alabaster buttocks beneath the slender stalk of her nude waist. Silky-looking flesh with downy hairs adorning nascent amplitudes stared back. At the outer quadrants of the upstanding sturdy white spheres two deep dimples winked at each movement.
Linda confronted the mirror again. Her right hand stole toward the glossy black curls hiding her mount, then retreated. She hesitated a moment, then backed toward the bed and sat down tensely on its edge, still watching herself in the mirror. Once more her hand moved in the direction of her mount, and restrained itself. Or was restrained.
And then with no further hesitation Linda rose from the bed, walked rapidly to the bureau, and opened the bottom drawer.