Chapter 2
But there was more to come ... including Dana.
She wiped the semen from her face with a hand towel. Much of it smeared and shone on her bright pink face.
Tony was still hard, even though he had just come. His penis stood out stiff and straight, seemingly undiminshed from the recent orgasm.
And Stella still had her pleasure to attend to. She and Tony fondled Dana as they moved her on the bed, laying her down on her back.
Dana lay on her back, hands at her sides, while Tony and Stella knelt on the mattress on either side of the girl. Lucky it was a big bed ...
Tony put his hand between Dana's pink thighs and parted them, opening wide. Her pink-lipped pussy shone with saliva from Stella's licking mouth.
Stella lowered her head. She kissed the girl's breasts, which were so much smaller than her own, although Dana was especially nubile for a girl her age.
Stella sucked a stiff pink nipple between her ripe red lips and nibbled it. Tony rubbed Dana between the legs.
Tony stretched out on top of her, his swarthy strong body covering her lean, slim, high-breasted form.
He supported himself on knees and elbows, reaching under himself with one hand to take hold of himself and guide his penis to her pussy.
He pressed the cock head against her tender adolescent slit. She was fleecily bushed, with a fullness of pubic hair.
He rubbed the head of the cock up and down her slit. He pressed the tip of it against the tender pussy lips and pried them open.
Dana moaned and squirmed as she was penetrated, her long legs kicking and thrashing. She cried out that he was too big.
Dana was not an especially gifted actress. No doubt she had been coached to play the part of a tender girl who found Tony's thick cock too big to stand.
But it was hard for her to hide the look of lewd pleasure creasing her shining red face as Tony forced the big prod of his penis up inside her.
The swollen red shaft sank into her sweet sex. Her pussy lips, spread to the sides, were quivering under their coating of saliva.
Tony jammed his rod into her. Dana's legs were bent at the knees and she hugged his flanks with her thighs.
His clenched buttocks stood out like rocks as he drove his cock in and out, forcefully fucking her with deep surging strokes.
Stella had been kneeling at the bed's head, looking down and leering at the action as Tony put it to the teen beauty.
Her hand was between her legs, stroking the fleshy lips of her pussy, pulling them apart to flash the bright wet pink of her membranes.
Stella walked on her knees, until she was at the girl's head, straddling it. She faced Dana's feet and put her knees on either side of the girl's head.
The mattress sank under her weight. Dana's closed eyes fluttered, opened and looked up to see Stella's fat crotch poised over her face.
Dana's mouth gaped open to accept the love offering.
Stella stopped stroking her pussy and sat on Dana's face. The shadow of the wanton woman fell on Dana's face, throwing it into darkness, a dimness where for an instant the girl's white eyes and teeth shone.
Then Stella's crotch covered the head of the girl. Her pussy lips spread open when they pressed down on Dana's open mouth.
Dana was engulfed with masses of steamy slippery pussy membranes, her face vanishing from sight under Stella.
So - there was Dana, being fucked at both ends, with Stella riding the youngster's mouth to orgasm and Tony royally fucking her pink-lipped pussy.
Warren Wilson shook his head. Something sharp stung his eyes. He realized that it was salty sweat, which had trickled into the corners of his orbs.
He was sweating like a pig, there in the darkness where the screen of the giant seven-foot viewer was a window into a world of magnified lust.
He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face with it. He was sweating so heavily that the handkerchief became limp and damp.
He was only dimly aware of Madame Tranh throwing the switch, turning off the video cassette. The tread of her footsteps was muffled by the thick carpeting as she went to her desk and sat behind it.
Warren Wilson turned to face her. A single small lamp burned at her desk, casting a cone of dim yellow light.
The rest of the room was in gloom, while Madame Tranh's face and flesh seemed to shine as if throwing off their own radiance.
Her eyes were wide black pools caught in almond-shaped orbs. Taking his gaze from her face, he observed that her nipples stood out as stiff points.
"There is more to the cassette, of course, but that is the only scene in which that charming young lady appears," she said.
Warren Wilson shook his head to clear it. "May ask where you got that?"
"My contacts in the field are many. As you know, more than a few of my clients here like to look at films and videos, particularly of such hard-to-find esoteric items not readily available through legal channels."
She smiled. "I am always on the look-out for new material which will amuse my patrons. And, needless to say, the youngster in this film has generated a great deal of excitement."
"I'll say - onscreen and off!" Warren affirmed.
"When I previewed it, I thought that I recognized the girl from photos in the papers, so I went to check on it," Nuyen Tranh explained.
"When I had assured myself that the girl was indeed none other than the daughter of General Hawker, I immediately got in contact with you."
"Thanks - I appreciate it, Nuyen. This is a hell of a mess ... has this cassette gone into distribution yet?"
"It's distribution will be limited. The girl is most certainly not eighteen, which is the legal age for performers in such ... ah, extravaganzas. May I ask just how old the girl is?"
"Sixteen, going on forty!" Warren said.
"She's quite a fascinating charmer," murmured Madame Tranh. "Sixteen, hmmmm ... her face looks younger than that, more girlish, while her physique looks older."
Warren said, "By the time she turned thirteen, Dana knew more about sex than the average woman who's been married for twenty years!"
"A fascinating creature, yes," Nuyen repeated. "But, to continue - no, this product has not been distributed. That is an operation which must be done with care, so the video can be offered to a select clientele."
Warren questioned her closely, getting the information he needed from her. Some fifteen minutes later, he put away his pencil, closed his pocket notebook, slipped it in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, rose.
"This video cassette, Nuyen - can I have it? I'll return it when I'm done."
"Take it," she said. "There are others ... unfortunately for you and even more unfortunately for your boss at the Department!"
“I'll try to put out the fire, if possible."
Nuyen rewound the cassette at high speed, took it from the machine and gave it to Warren, who stuffed it in his jacket pocket.
He said sincerely, "Nuyen, I can't thank you enough for telling me about this deal. I just hope to hell it's not too late for me to do something about it."
He asked her, "Now - what can I do for you?"
"I expect no reward for passing this information on to you, Warren. That is what friends are for. Perhaps one day you can do me a similar service."
"Just name it - and you've got it! I owe you big, Nuyen and I won't forget it!"
The Oriental beauty came around from behind the video projector and advanced on Warren, the swelling curves of her high firm breasts rippling.
She moved with the litheness of a snake, the tawny covering of her flesh sliding and flexing with the wiry muscle and soft masses of her form.
She went to him. He stood almost a head taller than her. She stood only a few inches from him, her dark eyes bright and shining.
She was so close that he could smell the sweet natural scent of her hair and the aromatic perfume which clung to her soft skin.
His temperature, still simmering from the film, began to boil.
She pressed her hips against his and toyed with the top button of his shirt.
"Now that you mention it, Warren, I can think of one or two or three things that you could do for me ... "
Warren groaned. "If only I could! Nuyen, I'd love nothing more than that, but I can't -not right now. I've got to move fast on this thing before I lose any chance of containing the damage! Please - let me have a raincheck on a rendezvous. As soon as this mess is settled - one way or the other - I'll make it up to you!"
He added ruefully, "If this thing goes public, I might have to come to you for a job!"
"Oh, I'll always be ready to find some, er, position for you to occupy, Warren. But you're very cruel to leave me all steamed up like this ... "
"Nuyen, if I could only stay - but I can't."
Chills ran up and down his spine as she caressed his flat, muscled chest through his shirt. She ran her fingers down to his waist.
"I might have to make you suffer when I see you next," she teased.
"Believe me, I'm suffering now! You think that I want to walk out of here and chase around town trying to clean up the mess made by a damn fool girl without the brains that God gave her?!"
"Why do you do it?"
"It's my job. If the press gets a hold of this one - Christ! The General will be finished in Washington and I'll go down with him!"
"That summons up an interesting picture, you going down with the General."
"That's not the way I meant it," Warren said hastily.
"Oh, I know that ... I was just teasing you," Nuyen said. "After all, I well know the sexual preferences of your General. Young girls, not boys, are what he favors - especially those naughty little misses, eh?"
Her hand brushed his groin, fanning flame through it. She pressed her skilled fingers against his genitals, swiftly stroking them.
Her skilled, knowing hand hit his libido and his penis jerked and rose and stood up straight, straining the seams of his trousers.
He chewed the inside of his cheek as she fondled his member through his pants, her slim yellow fingers pressing the erection, fondling it.
"Don't tell me that you'll leave in this aroused state, Warren? Really, it's positively unhealthy to bottle all that up!"
"Nuyen, please-"
She moved her mouth close to his ear. Her warm breath tingled as she whispered.
"Actually, Warren, there is one small, one very small thing you might be able to do for me, one little favor ... "
"Name it."
"The girl - I'd like to make her acquaintance. There's a few things I'd like to teach that lovely little minx!"
"I'll see what I can do, Nuyen. But first, I've got to find her!"
Outside, it was a miserable night, with filthy weather. It was the month of March and a sleeting storm of icy rain and slushy snow poured down from the dark clouds which covered the midnight sky.
Warren Wilson's erection shrank and dwindled to its normal size within seconds of his going from the warmth of the whorehouse into the streets.
He itched to get into action, but there was little he could do at this hour.
He called the home across the Potomac, the mansion where the General lived when he was in town and where his daughters, Dana and Jennifer, resided under the feeble guardianship of a corps of housemaids and servants.
Warren Wilson called the house, to see if Dana was there. Of course, she was not, as he was informed by the sleepy servant who was on the other end of the line.
Dana hadn't been home for a few days. That was hardly news to Warren - the girl was quite unmanageable, even for her father, a legendary military man and authoritarian who could boss NATO forces, but could not restrain his headstrong daughter.
Warren was at least partially relieved to learn that Jennifer, the younger of the girls, was home and tucked safely in bed.
Jennifer was a potential danger spot. She was thirteen and ripening fast into nubility. Worse, she idolized and was totally under the spell of her older sister.
Warren would have liked to have questioned the girl. Jennifer was close to Dana and would know how to get in touch with her if anyone would.
But the servant informed him that Jennifer was sleeping. Warren thought it best to postpone speaking to Jennifer until the light of day.
He hung up. He had a few ideas, schemes to put in motion, but at this hour he could only get the preliminaries rolling.
One advantage he had was that, as a special assistant to the powerful General, he could call upon some mighty impressive resources.
Dissatisfied, but unable to do more at the moment than make some calls to set up his play for tomorrow, he headed home.
His apartment was in a tower of steel and glass, a luxurious condominium overlooking the nation's capital, which was spread out below his window in a panoramic display of lights scattered like fistfuls of diamonds sprinkled over the land.
Warren sat in his shirt and slacks in that apartment. He sat in the dark, the only light that which shone in through the uncurtained window from the city lights.
His chair faced the view and he clutched a tall glass heavy with bourbon, a glass which he drained rapidly.
He had come a long way to get here. It was a sweet life, just what he had worked and schemed and slaved for a long, long time.
He intended to keep it.
He could have drank more bourbon - a lot more - but tomorrow would be the showdown and he would need a cool head and a clear one.
He climbed naked into bed, his body tired but his mind racing. He lay in the dark for a long time, hatching out schemes until they mixed with his dreams and he drifted off to a sound sleep.
He was up at the crack of dawn, but it wasn't until one in the afternoon that he faced the man that he wanted to see.
The office was in a seedy building in a rundown downtown district, not as bad as many sections of the capital city, but not particularly pleasant, either.
The office was on the fifth floor. In the outer room, a voluptuous receptionist sat behind a desk. She was busy filing her nails.
She was a statuesque redhead, with bright orange hair styled in stiff sprayed upswept curves framing her round, pale pink face.
So abundantly was she endowed with fleshy assets that she was a little on the plump side, which bothered Warren not in the least, since his taste in females was quite wide-ranging and he appreciated all the varieties of female physiques.
This redhead had much to admire, with a swollen bosom which threatened to pop the buttons from her blouse if she made the mistake of breathing too deeply.
She had a narrow, a wasp waist which flared out into wide hips and a bottom that he would have loved to sink his teeth, or even better his cock, into.
The flame-haired beauty sat there with a look of total concentration as she scrupulously filed her pink polished nails.
She was a versatile receptionist - she was chewing gum at the same time that she filed her nails. A double-threat girl.
The walls were papered with movie posters, posters for ventures so obscure that they never even reached the triple-XXX movie houses.
From time to time, she peered upward with interested green eyes through her thick lashes, covertly gazing at Warren Wilson.
Finally, Mr. Beedle was ready to see Warren. Warren had been ready to see him since the private screening at the Tranh house last night.
Earlier today, he had called the Hawker house, to be informed by a supercilious butler that Dana had not returned home, or been heard of.
Warren vowed that he was going to light a fire under the asses of the house staff of servants, for doing such a poor job of managing Dana.
Not that the girl could be managed. She needed keepers, not servants.
Fred Beedie's private office was little larger than the tiny reception room area. Warren Wilson closed the door, crossed to the desk.
Beedle was an inoffensive looking soul, a wan middle aged man, frayed at the edges, with watery brown eyes and a head of thinning, mouse-brown hair.
He stood up and Warren Wilson reached across the desk to shake hands. Beedie's hand was moist and limp, like a day-old fish.
Warren sat down in a chair, facing Beedle across the desk.
This was the showdown - even if Beedle didn't know it yet.
He would, soon.
Warren had gotten the name from Madame Tranh. Where the varieties of vice were concerned, there wasn't anybody in town worth knowing that the Oriental didn't know.
Beedle was the head of the fly-by-night company which had made the video cassette featuring Dana's screen debut.
This company was strictly the smallest of small-timers, an independent outfit which was on the verge of perpetual bankruptcy.
Nuyen Tranh had furnished Warren with the appropriate references which would gain him entry to Beedle - and Warren had added a few innovations of his own.
He leaned forward and made his pitch. As he spoke, the look on Beedle's face changed from a show of warm friendly interest, to puzzlement, to frowning disbelief and finally to mocking laughter.
Beedle waved his hand, cutting off Warren in mid-word. "You've got to be kidding!"
"Sorry, no. I'm perfectly sincere."
"Listen, mister, I don't know who you are, but you're wasting my time and yours! Hey, pal, I'm glad that you liked the picture - although I'm damned if I know where you saw it - but I can tell you that a lot of other people are going to like it, too! That video's a gold mine!"
Beedle snorted in disbelief. "And you tell me to pull back all the copies and the master and give 'em to you?!"
"Sell, not give. I will pay you not only what the video cost you to make, but what you would have made through selling it openly."
"Forget it, chum!"
"The girl in the video -"
"The little doll?" Beedle leered, licking his lips. "Man, she sure is something, huh? There's a little pornlet superstar if I ever saw one!"
"She's retired from acting, Mr. Beedle. We'd like her to finish high school before she goes on to pursue any acting career."
"What that kid knows, they don't teach in high school!"
Beedle's watery eyes narrowed suspiciously, squeezing out crystal drops of moisture which hung in the creases at the corners of his eyes like crocodile tears.
"Hey, buddy, where do you come into this deal?"
"You might say that I'm a friend of the family. You might also say that the girl is sixteen years old - and we can prove it."
"Go ahead, chum," Beedle smirked, "prove it! Listen, pal - that kid claimed she was eighteen and she had ID to prove it."
"Faked ID."
"Hey, how am I supposed to know that? Who am I, the fucking Treasury department or something, to figure out if ID is fake or not? All I know is that I got photo copies of the ID she showed me and copies of the model release where she swears that she's eighteen."
Beedle stood up, signaling that the interview was at an end. "You've been giving out with a lot of wind, buddy. Now, I suggest that you blow."
Warren Wilson sighed. "Good day, Mr. Beedle."
He exited the office, winking at the receptionist on his way out. He went into the hall and walked around the corner.
Waiting around the corner were six good men and true. They were straight-arrow types, big, muscular, competent, with the flat-eyed cold gaze of hunters.
They had a military look to them, which was not surprising, since they were top agents of one of the nation's ultra-secret security agencies.
General Hawker was a titan in the State Department and carried enormous clout. This secret, hush-hush spy bureau, its existence unknown to the general public and even to many Washington insiders, was under his complete control.
And, as his personal assistant, Warren Wilson had a blank check from the General which enabled him to draw on the enormous resources of the General's agencies.
The agents all seemed stamped out of the same cookie cutter. They had short hair, clean-shaven faces and conservative business suits.
Warren spoke to the chief of the squadron. "Mr. Beedle intends to be difficult. Pick him up and take him some place where he can cool off."
"Righto. Should we take him hard, or soft?"
"Please, please, just take him into custody! No rough stuff, please!"
The agent's cynical smirk showed that he regarded Warren as a weakling for not wanting to unleash a little brutality on Beedle.
The other agents were downcast at the restraint of non-violence. That was the trouble with these sorts of fellows - you had to keep a watch on them - they had a tendency to get a little carried away.
"One thing more," Warren added. "Don't pick up the receptionist. She knows nothing - she's strictly window dressing. But put a little scare in her."
The group of six agents went down the hall, the soles of their shiny black shoes slapping in unison on the linoleum floor.
Smack - smack - smack - the tread of the agents pounded with the tread of six pairs of oversized feet slapping down in unison.
The pounding feet echoed, reverberating in the walls. The chief of the agents yanked open the outer door of Beedle's offices and entered.
The last agent closed the door carefully behind them.
Less than five minutes later, all but one of the agents exited the office, bearing a terrified Mr. Beedle in tow.
Beedle was a man undone. His face was as white as the peeling plaster walls. Cold sweat shone on it - he looked stricken.
The agents hadn't even bothered to slap the cuffs on him. They just stood on all sides of him, boxing him in a square of tight-assed flesh and bone.
Agents stood on either side of him, each of them holding him by an arm, supporting him, since his legs were so rubbery that he had to be half-carried, half-dragged to the elevator car which stood open and waiting.
Four agents surrounded Beedle, while the fifth stood in the elevator car he had summoned, wedging its door open with his foot.
Whatever the agents had said to Beedle there in the office, they had surely thrown the fear of God - even worse, the government - into him.
They hustled Beedle into the elevator. The door slid shut and the car descended.
The chief waited in Beedle's outer office. The door to Beedle's office was open. Through it could be heard the fearful sobbing of the secretary.
The redhead was miserably huddled in a chair, face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking as her shapely figure was rocked with sobs.
"Thanks a bunch," Warren Wilson said. "I'll take over from here. I'll come by the holding area later this afternoon.
"We can keep your boy on ice until hell freezes over," the chief grinned. He spun on his heel and exited, the slap of his marching tread loud enough for Warren Wilson to hear him through the closed door.
He went into the inner office, closing the door. There was a pause in the sobbing cries of the redhead after she heard the door lock click shut.
She flinched at the sound of it. She raised her red wet face from her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed from tears, her mascara was smeared and streaked.
Her pouting lower lip trembled from the effort of holding back her tears. What Warren Wilson said threw her into a fresh outburst of same.
"You're in serious trouble, miss," he announced gravely.
While she blubbered, he went to the window, lifting a fold of the blinds so he could look down into the street.
Down below was the front entrance of the building and through it came the agents, with the hapless Beedle in the center of their ranks.
They hustled him into a big black car. They put him in the back seat, with agents blocking him in on either side.
The car engine gunned, the tires squealed and the car shot off down the street.
Warren Wilson let the blind fall and turned to the redhead. He put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed it softly.
"Get a hold of yourself, now," he said, a bit more sympathetically. "Stop the tears, they're not getting us anywhere."
He took out his handkerchief. She lifted her face from her hands. Tear tracks glistened on a face red from crying and taut with fear.
"Please, mister, give me a break! I didn't do nothing, I swear!" She looked around like a caged bird, eyes wide with terror.
"You guys just came bursting in here, talking about national security and treason and enemy spies and saying me and Mr. Beedle could go to prison for life!"
Warren turned his face away to hide a grin. The chief must have really laid it on thick - with a shovel.
The redhead wailed, "I don't know anything about any spies, honest! I just work here! We just make movies and tapes here, honest!"
"Your make-up's run from crying," he said. "Here, wipe your eyes."
She took his handkerchief and dabbed it at her moist eyes. She sniffled and shivered as she wiped her face.
"That's better," Warren Wilson said. "What's your name, miss?"
"B-b-b-b-b- Betty J-j-jane," she stammered. "Betty Jane Simmons. I mean, it's really Sobielski, but Betty Jane Simmons sounded better, so I changed it, you know?"
"Betty Jane," Warren said. "Betty Jane, I'm Warren. Do you smoke?"
"No ... "
"Good. Neither do I, but if you did, I was going to suggest that you light up. But since you don't, we can get down to business."
Betty Jane said, "This is just a nightmare! I don't understand any of it!"
"Betty Jane, you strike me as a nice girl who's mixed up in this thing by accident. I want to get this straightened out and help you. But I can't do a thing for you, unless you're willing to level with me one hundred per cent."
"I'll cooperate in any way!" she said urgently, clutching his forearm with a grip so tight that his flesh went a little numb where she pressed it.
"Fine ... " Warren took out his notebook and pad. He knew what questions he needed answered and asked them of Betty Jane.
She was able to provide him with some of the information he needed to follow through. What she didn't know, Beedle would. Warren would question him later.
Some twenty minutes later, Warren Wilson flipped the cover of his notepad shut and pocketed pad and pencil.
"You've been extremely cooperative, Betty Jane. I can assure you that no charges will be filed against you and that you'll be free as a bird!"
Tears spilled from her eyes as she sobbed gratefully. He patted her face. She took his hand and squeezed it warmly.
"There is one more thing that you can do for me, Betty Jane ... "
"Anything you want, Warren!"
"You can just get down on your knees and suck me off." Warren smiled warmly. "After you've taken off your lovely outfit first, of course. Here, let me help get you out of all these clothes."