Chapter 5
Marge Caspar gave her husband an anxious look across the dinner table as he sat talking to his sexy young niece, Ella Courtnay. She wasn't quite so sure that it had been a good idea of Jack's to invite his older sister's only daughter to spend two weeks here in Glendview. Now that she and Jack had just about got things straightened out between them, along came this "hippie" girl. Well, maybe she wasn't exactly a "hippie," but in Marge Caspar's private opinion, Ella Courtnay was a walking invitation to rape. And Jack, as she could well testify from experience, was just as red-blooded and male as they came, and how he was going to overlook making a pass at a dish like that, even if she was his niece, was worrying her more than she wanted to admit.
Not that she dared say anything to Jack about it. When he proposed that they play host to Ella, he'd put it in a flat statement of fact. And after having gone through that humiliating but really delicious ordeal over his lap that time when she had learned who was really boss in the Caspar house, Marge had no desire to start a new marital rift by arguing. After all, Ella was the daughter of Jack's sister, and he hadn't seen the girl in at least ten years. Just the same, it would have been so much better if Ella's mother had been able to come along and chaperone her. What was a girl like this going to do with middle-aged folks-because that's what they were-for two weeks in the summer out here in the suburb?
Of course, Marge had no way of knowing that her husband had seen in May Courtnay's unexpected phone call a practically heaven-sent opportunity to get the Spanking Society Ltd. under way. Because, unless he missed his guess, Jack Caspar was sure that swinging Ella was going to prove to be the catalytic agent for what would break down all the bedroom frustrations which his friends Pete, Dave, and Matt were battling these days.
Jack Caspar hadn't yet told Marge that this coming Friday, she was going to play hostess to his three friends and their wives. Right now, he was getting acquainted with his niece after ten years, and Marge was doing a slow burn across the table, because he had hardly said more than two or three words to her all through dinner. It was true that a man could be pardoned for such distraction, because Ella Courtnay was a slinky, prick-hardening piece of pussy even at first glance. She was about five-feet-four inches in height, but seemed much taller because of her flair for wearing high-heeled pumps. Her face had a baby-doll quality to it, demure and innocent, with huge, widely spaced, dark blue eyes and very expressive thick long lashes. She had a dainty little upturned nose with broadening, thin, sensuous wings, and a ripe mouth with a very tremulous and full lower lip. Her black hair fell nearly to her waist, and over the top of her forehead it was styled in a series of tiny little spit curls that further conveyed the juvenile look.
But there was nothing juvenile about her figure, mouthwateringly accentuated by a tight blue cotton pullover T-shirt and a pair of dark red hot-pants. Her legs were bare and she wore calf-hugging white kid boots with taperingly high heels. The T-shirt clung lasciviously over proudly arrogant pear-shaped titties, spaced widely apart, and Marge was ready to swear that Ella wasn't wearing a bra at all, because she could practically see the points of the girl's nipples. Warm olive skin and a husky bedroom voice made Ella Court-nay even more alluring. She was a sex bomb, ready to go off at any moment, was Marge Caspar's rather irritated opinion. How the two of them were going to amuse this grownup Lolita was more than she could figure out at the moment.
"Ella, I know this is a sort of dead little suburb, and there can't be too much fun for a girl like you who's done a lot of traveling and meeting interesting people," Jack Caspar began, glancing wearily at his glowering wife. "That's why Marge and I were thinking about having some friends over say maybe Friday night. They are younger than we are and they're more your speed, you know. It would be a nice way to get acquainted. And we can get into Chicago a couple of times, maybe see a show and maybe have dinner at one of the imagine restaurants they've got there."
"Now don't you go worrying your head about me, Uncle Jack," Ella Courtnay crooned, giving him a fond look through her thick, fluttering lashes. "Mom and Dad just didn't want me in the way when they went off to Europe."
"I'm surprised they didn't take you along, Ella dear," Marge Caspar said sweetly, but her husband caught the malice in the tone and smile and gave her an angry glance that immediately made her blush. He had looked just like that when he had hauled her over his lap and really made her bottom sting.
But Ella didn't take it amiss at all.
"Oh well," she said airily, "maybe if I hadn't done that scene before, I'd have gone along for the ride. But after I got through with college, at Antioch, I went to Paris for six months and tried to do something about my painting. Only I wasn't good enough. I just had me a ball. Then I went off to Acapulco and I've been to Hawaii, so I really can't complain. Anyway, I like to do things on my own."
"That's very commendable. Are you going into art as a commercial career?" Marge Caspar wanted to know.
"I don't think so, Aunt Marge," Ella Courtnay pursed her lips in a very kissable moue, covertly eyeing her uncle. She was remembering her fiance, Larry Shanton, and how he had turned out to be just a dandified square. Now if he'd been anything at all like Uncle Jack, rugged and manly, things might have been a lot different between the two of them. She squirmed a little in her chair, remembering the night with Larry Shanton that had brought about their rift.
"I don't really know what I'll do. Might go into social work or maybe even into an advertising agency. Or I might get married. But there's no hurry. I just want a lotta fun before I settle down."
"But a lovely girl like you ought to have been married a long time ago," Marge Caspar said, and again her husband gave her a dirty look.
"There's no law says a girl has to be married," he growled. "Ella's got a lot of talent, and besides my sister May married a guy who makes plenty of moola. He owns a radio station and a couple of high-rise buildings, so Ella here doesn't have to worry where the next dime's coming from. So why shouldn't a pretty girl enjoy life? There's time enough to settle down when she reaches thirty or so."
"Thank you, Uncle Jack, you're a doll," Ella rewarded him with another one of her smoldering looks, and Marge Caspar was beginning to burn. "But anyway, Aunt Marge, I almost did get married. I was going with this fellow for six months, and I thought he was terrific. Only he just couldn't cut the mustard, that's all. I want a man who's honest and not a hypocrite, especially when it comes to sex."
Marge Caspar hurriedly took a sip of coffee, deeming it a more discreet thing to do than start an argument. In her private opinion, Jack's niece ought to be marched off to a beauty salon for a proper haircut and then taken to a dress shop and given something that wouldn't show off everything she had. The way those hot pants clung to the cheeks of her bottom was simply scandalous!
"Sure, I know, Ella," Jack Caspar sympathetically nodded. "Your folks sort of gave me the picture. Don't worry, Marge and I aren't going to try to do any matchmaking for you. The way we figured it, you'd just come down here and relax a little and try to forget about things. Now, mind you, Glendview isn't really so bad, even if it is a suburb. We've got a big memorial park where they give band concerts every Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon, we've even got a zoo that people come from all over the country to visit, and our college had a helluva football team last season. It even held Purdue to a two-touchdown win, opening game. But anyhow, we'll throw this little shindig Friday evening just to make you feel you're one of the family."
"What shindig are you talking about, dear?" Marge felt she had to find out exactly what was being foisted on her, since it was all news to her.
"That's right, I ought to have talked to you about it before Ella came, Marge honey," Jack Caspar clapped his hand to his forehead in mock self-condemnation. "Pete Dudley, Dave Wormsley, Matt Tilden and I have been sort of getting together at the Northwestern Station before we catch the train home, and last week I offered to throw a party for them and their wives in honor of Ella here. Now you won't have to fix anything special, Marge. Cold cuts and potato chips and stuff like that, and maybe we can make some fruit punch and spike it just a little to make things interesting. And I've got a couple of home movies I thought I'd show." He said innocently, then reached for a cigarette and lit it.
"Me too, Uncle Jack," Ella Courtnay whispered, giving him a dazzling smile as he turned to offer the pack and then attentively flicked on his lighter and held it at the ready.
"Home movies?" Marge echoed, "now, Jack, you're not going to show those Yellowstone Park and Disneyland movies you took on vacation over again, are you?"
"Why not? The couples who are coming haven't seen them before. And Ella hasn't either."
"Please, Uncle Jack, I don't want you to go to any trouble on my account. I did come here for a rest, sort of," Ella put in.
"No trouble at all. Anyhow, I think it'd be a good thing for us to get on better terms with our neighbors every so often, Marge. We haven't had Pete or Matt or Dave over before, you know."
Thus appealed to, Marge Caspar had no real reason for objection. "Well, I guess it's all right," she grudgingly admitted.
"Sure it is, Marge. Say, if the movies get boring, we can always play some bridge. Ella, do you play, by the way?"
"A little. But I'm not very good," his black-haired niece confessed with a giggle. "Larry-that was my guy before we broke up-taught me a little bit about bridge and poker, only I couldn't get him to play my way."
Marge Caspar raised her eyebrows. "Oh? How was that, dear?"
"Oh," Ella giggled again, "I tried to get him to let us play strip poker, but he didn't want to play that way."
Once again Marge Caspar had to take a hurried sip of coffee to keep from the kind of rude expostulation that would probably have brought her husband's wrath down upon her head, figuratively speaking, and probably literally upon her opulent bottom. Her husband grinned, understanding the reason for her forbearance, and he gave his sexy niece a wink. Decidedly, Ella Courtnay was going to be even more of a potent catalytic agent than he had planned!