Chapter 1
Sally Durmont wished she hadn't come along on this date with Brad Tobler. She had really never liked him, because he was too self-assured, too smug and conceited, too rich and too cynical. Still and all, he was the last person to have seen her sister Laura before the latter's disappearance two months ago. In that two months, not so much as a postcard or a letter, and no phone calls or telegram. It had happened early in February, after a stormy scene in which Laura had defied her stepfather, told him that she'd be damned if she'd stay any longer in this house now that Mother was dead, because her real father (who had died ten years ago) had been decent and kind, but he was vicious and shouldn't even have the right to be in this house now that Mother was gone. So
Matthew Durmont had slapped Laura angrily across the face, and told her that if that was the way she felt, it would be good riddance and she could shift for herself. "Perhaps," he had concluded, "when you have to get out on your own and earn your own living and understand that things aren't going to fall into your lap just because you want them, young lady, then you'll come back here to me ready to apologize for the insults you've piled on me ever since I married your mother. What I really should have done a long time ago was to have taken the strap to your bottom, Laura, because maybe you'd have had some sense by now!"
That had been the last straw for Laura Durmont. She'd cried out, "Oh sure, you'd like to strap me, you dirty old man, you'd just love to make me take off my clothes so you could look at me all over, because I've seen you doing it! Even when you were going to bed with my poor mother, I knew you always wanted to have me, don't try to deny it. Besides, it doesn't matter anymore, I've already packed my suitcase, and I'm leaving. And you can all go to hell. And if my poor sister Sally is stupid enough to stay in the same house with you, God help her!"
Then she had stormed upstairs, come down with her suitcase and slammed the door, and to this date, nearing the end of April, that was all anyone had heard from Laura Durmont.
Sally had deeply loved her father, and her mother as well, though she had felt that the latter was somewhat weak and scatterbrained at times. That was why she had married Matthew Durmont eight years ago, and it seemed to Sally that life had changed, had come under a cloud. There wasn't the gaiety and laughter there had been when Dad had been alive. Oh sure, they'd just been kids then, but even so-he'd been a companion and a friend to them, not a stern unyielding and strict man whose every word seemed to harbor some criticism of the way they acted or dressed or talked or even walked.
And now that Mother had died, just last January, from a sudden heart attack at the early age of forty-one, still a beautiful and desirable woman, with honey-colored hair and a buxom figure and a sweet if pathetic smile and a soft hesitant voice, there was just she herself left alone with her stepfather.
Matlithew Durmont was forty-five, and looked older. He wore spectacles, his sparse graying hair was receding, and at times when the lamplight shone on one side of his face, he almost looked cadaverous. Tall and lanky, with bony-looking fingers, there were times when he made Sally shiver at the thought that he was like one of those old Puritan deacons who would rap you over the knuckles in church if you were whispering, and who would spy on you at every moment.
They had lived happily in this bungalow on Rochester Avenue towards the Hollywood end of Los Angeles, all these years. Sally and Laura had both gone to Los Angeles High, and Laura had started and finished two years of junior college before she had had that row with her stepfather. Laura was twenty, and intensely beautiful. But then, Sally thought to herself, a fiery temper usually went with red hair, and certainly Laura had possessed them both.
Sally Durmont herself was twenty-two, creamy-skinned, her black hair coiffed in a mature chignon which made her look quite poised, five feet six and a half inches in height, with a magnificent figure. Her gray-green eyes, her slantingly set cheeks, her high forehead, her soft ripe and sensuous mouth, and her dainty Grecian nose made her in many ways even more desirable than her younger sister-though she would have been the first to insist that Laura was surely the lovelier. Sally was quieter, more self-contained, but even she had begun to dread her stepfather's condemnations and constant carping. Lately, he had objected to both of their dating as much as they did, grumbling that it was high time they both picked a steady young man and settled down and married instead of flirting and teasing. In his day, he told them, girls like that were little better than harlots. Yes, in many ways, Matthew Durmont reminded her of one of those seventeenth-century Puritans with somber faces and black, drab clothing, who thought of punishment instead of joy and happiness.
Sally had thought a good deal about Laura's denunciation of their stepfather that terrible night. She'd heard only part of it, upstairs in her room. The sound of voices had made her open the door and step out onto the second-floor landing, and she had caught just a few of Laura's angry words. Was it possible, was it really possible? But to say such a thing in front of him, Laura surely must have had good reason. Even though her sister had a temper, certainly she wouldn't have made up such a terrible accusation . . . the accusation that Matthew Durmont had had physical desire for his own stepdaughter.
And yet, now that she thought of it, there were certain curious signs which she had noticed herself. Once, shortly before her mother's death, she had been sitting in the living room, her legs crossed, her skirt slightly hiked up, engrossed in a new novel which had come from the Book of the Month Club. Suddenly she had looked up, feeling the presence of someone in the room, though it had been utterly quiet there. And she'd seen her stepfather staring at her, and his eyes had been at the level of her legs, and when she glanced down, she saw that just an inch of bare creamy thigh flesh was showing. She'd smoothed down her skirt and blushed, and then he'd said something to her and the moment had been forgotten. But was that, also, one of the telltale signs which proved the veracity of her sister's accusations?
And now, the past few weeks, he'd seemed to be with her all the time. Even when she watched TV, which she usually did by herself, he would join her, which had not been his habit before. He had said that he despised the stupidity of the programs offered, and yet night after night he sat there with her, sometimes commenting in a dry, humorless voice over what he saw and did not like. But again and again, she had caught him staring at her. And when she had done that, his thin lips had formed a cold little smile.
But Brad Tobler had been Laura's boyfriend for about six months, and at one time Sally herself had thought it was serious between the two of them. Yet now she could understand why Laura had broken it off just the week before she had left the house for good. She had thought that perhaps going out with him tonight, she might learn something of Laura's plans. Maybe Laura had confided something to Brad Tobler about her decision to leave Los Angeles. She knew that Laura had a savings account which their now dead Aunt Agnes had left her on her eighteenth birthday. A thousand dollars. Well, that would take her quite a distance away, but then she would have to find a job and a place to live, and it wouldn't last forever. And yet in two months she had not even sent so much as a word, and this had begun to frighten Sally Durmont. That and her stepfather's constant vigilance, as if he were waiting for something to happen, brooding there and coming in to the living room or wherever she was, even in the kitchen, unannounced and silent, standing there like an accusing ghost, his eyes always on her body.
Brad had taken her to The Brown Derby for an excellent dinner, and now was driving his Thunderbird out in the direction of the Hollywood Hills. There was a rumbling of thunder in the distance, and the windshield wipers were working because there had been, a few minutes ago, a hint of rain. He sat cockily at the wheel, a little sneer on his mustached lips. He thought very highly of himself, she knew. All he had been able to talk about at dinner was his own achievements, the new clothes he'd bought, the trip to Europe that he was going to make this summer with his father.
Suddenly he parked the car off the road, and switched off the lights, then turned on FM. The soft lilting strings of a dance band, back from the Forties, came to her. It was nostalgic, because she had no use for the driving, raucous noise they called music these days. Laura had seemed to like it, though, but then Laura didn't care for classical music at all the way she did.
"Brad, I-I really have to confess something. When I called you and sort of hinted at a date, I had something in mind."
"I'll bet you did, honey," he laughed easily as he slipped his arm around her waist. "So did I, confidentially. I've wanted to take you out for a long time, or didn't you know that?"
"Please, Brad. I'm serious." She disengaged herself and sat closer to the door. "Look, the real reason and I'm sorry if I misled you in any way is that I'm worried about Laura. She's been gone two months, and there hasn't been a single word, not a phone call, nothing. I know that well, she did have a date with you just a week before she left. I thought maybe you could tell me something about her."
"Sure I could. But why should I? She's old enough to lead her own life, honey. So are you. The fact is, you're way behind the times. And I'll bet you're still cherry."
"What do you mean?" Sally innocently asked, for such expressions were entirely unknown to her. True, mother had talked to both girls when they were about thirteen and ready for their menstrual period, explaining the fundamental difference of the sexes. But it had been sort of idealistic and certainly there had been no harsh, vulgar words to draw graphic pictures of what happened between man and maid.
"Oh come off it," he chuckled nastily. "I mean a virgin. I bet you've never screwed with a guy, have you, baby?"
"Of course I haven't!" she said indignantly, her face coloring hotly. "Look, Brad, please, I'm really worried about Laura, won't you please tell me if you know anything? It would help so much."
"I might," he conceded with a smirk. "Of course, you'd have to be nice to me. Nothing for nothing, that's my motto. Come on, relax, don't sit so close to the door as if you were thinking of running home. It would be an awfully long ride, and it's going to storm before too much longer. Come back over here and let's really get acquainted."
Once again he reached for her with his arm, and pulled her to him. Sally decided to submit temporarily, if only to find out what she could about her sister.
"That's better," he chuckled. "Now then, baby, did you know you've got the loveliest blush I've ever seen on a girl? That proves you're a cherry--sorry, I mean virgin. But don't tell me you don't know the facts of life by now. Hell, you must be about twenty-two."
"Yes, I am, but that doesn't mean that I let men get familiar with me. Please take your arm away. Please be serious just for once, Brad. It's been a lovely evening until now, don't spoil it."
"To hell with that noise! You want to know something, and I want a little loving. Why don't we trade, even Steven, fair exchange is no robbery, you know?"
"Because I don't want to. Besides, you were her boyfriend, not mine."
"And that's a hot one! I tried to get into her pants, but she wouldn't until she got married. And I'm not the marrying kind, Sally, just in case you didn't know that. I'll tell you one thing, though. I'll give you the hottest fucking you'll ever have, and you won't get pregnant, either. I know all the tricks, and I'm good at them. Relax, you're all tight and nervous. That proves that you need a good fucking. Boy would that relax you!"
"I wish you'd keep your filthy language to yourself and drive me back home. If that's all you're going to say to me about Laura, then I'm sorry I came out with you tonight."
"Oh but, baby, don't go off in a huff! I've got an idea where Laura went, only you've got to pay for it. You can start with a kiss. Come on, one kiss won't hurt you."
Taking a deep breath, conquering her rage, Sally passively turned her mouth to his. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction, and then he pulled her to him, his hands first gripping her waist as his mouth came down on hers. It wasn't brutal, but lingering, even persuasive. For a moment, she actually felt a kind of tingling warmth inside of her. And then she felt his tongue slip between her lips, felt his hands glide up from her waist to her pear-shaped, widely spaced and swelling titties.
With a cry of indignation, she twisted her mouth free and slapped his face. "How dare you do that to me! I want to go home this minute, Brad Tobler! No wonder Laura broke off with you, if that's what you tried to do!"
"Don't act like a nun, baby, it doesn't become you. And I'll tell you something else you might not have known. Your sweet little red-haired sister wasn't exactly a prissy virgin either. Oh, she didn't fuck, I don't mean that, she let me feel her up, though. Lots of times I had my hand right over her cunt and I was rubbing it through her pants. She just didn't want to go the limit, not without marriage. She was a prick teaser, baby, and I think you're the same thing though in a different style." Again she slapped him, trembling, her heart racing madly, shaken by the coarseness he had shown tonight.
"You owe me something for that, you little bitch!" he growled. And before she knew what he was going to do, Brad Tobler had got out of the car, walked around to the other side, pulled open the door and dragged her out. "Now you're going to get slapped, and right on your sweet ass where you need it most! Maybe that'll warm you up and stop you being a cold prick teaser," he snarled. Sally screamed and struggled, but to no avail. Mastering her revolt, Brad Tobler yanked up her dress and half-slip, tore down her panties, and, gripping her wrists with his left hand, bent her across his left knee, having posed his foot on an old tree stump just off the road. Then he began to spank her naked bottom with violent, rapid and noisy slaps, while she screamed and struggled, the tears running down her cheeks.
"There!" he panted, as he let her go and she sprawled ignominiously on all fours in the darkness before him. "Maybe next time you won't see how far you can lead a guy on, not without giving. All right, I guess you've earned a little information. That sweet sister of yours said she might go off to San Francisco and try to find a job. She said your old man was making googoo eyes at her. Well, now that you're back alone with him, baby, seems to me he might teach you to fuck and keep it all in the family."
Crushed, sobbing, Sally stumbled to her feet and readjusted her clothes. Take me home, for God's sake," she groaned.
"Sure, baby. Always glad to oblige a lady. Sorry I haven't got any cushion to put under that big sweet ass of yours. And you can thank your lucky stars I'm gentleman enough not to have taken real advantage of you. I could see your pussy when you were waving your legs in the air there as I was fantailing your sweet ass, Sally. It was all I could do to keep from taking that cherry of yours. Next time maybe I will." He walked round to the side of the car, got behind the wheel, waited impatiently for her to drag herself inside and then burst into heartfelt tears as he started up the motor and turned the Thunderbird back to Los Angeles.. . . .