Chapter 5

That same day Bobby Stanton took on a new status at Hanratty Mills. He was still the butt of the jokes of all those crude, coarse working women, but now there was a certain degree of dead seriousness in those jokes, and now Bobby bore them with a grin. He could hardly help but grin. He was totally in love with Beverly Collins, even though he couldn't begin to ever understand her, and this strange thing called love was such that he was finding great pleasure in the awful, dirty things she made him do to prove his love. His labors were like the Seven Labors of Hercules that he'd read about, where the strong man received great rewards, in the end, for accomplishing difficult tasks that were easy for Hercules. Eating pussy wasn't easy, but after having eaten big Darlene's cunt, the rest of them weren't exactly hard.

And there were more to be eaten. Twice more that day Beverly directed Bobby to one of the other operators' work tables, where he went forthwith and crawled under to find a naked cunt waiting for him. The first of these two was another black girl, a diminutive thing named Joyce who would have been pretty, for a black girl, except for the long slanted scar on her face. He skin was the color of coffee with cream, and while under the table Bobby found its texture so taut and smooth that it felt almost artificial. Unlike Darlene, Joyce had no excess fat on her body, so when her legs were spread for the touch of his tongue and lips, he could intimately see the very feminine contours of her thighs and groins, contours he'd most guiltily and secretly admired through various pairs of jeans and slacks since he'd come to work at Hanratty's. And against her lighter skin he could see and appreciate her intriguing pattern of her close, kinky, black pubic hair, spreading out in a symmetrical fanlike pattern from that long, puffy-lipped slit he'd been sent there to kiss. Even in the shadows and dust underneath her Work table the sight of her opened crotch was so intriguing, so lovely, in fact, that Bobby paused there on his hands and knees and simply stared. The scent of Darlene, still clogging his nostrils, was only barely penetrated by the almost flowerlike smell emanating from Joyce's far smaller cunt as she sat there with legs apart and fingers snapping between them to hurry him on to this task. The lips of her cunt were darker than the rest of her skin, though not black like her cunt hair, and from between the uppermost part of those lips he could see a tiny tip of pink protruding. When her fingers stopped their snapping and spread her lips aside from that tip, there was so much more soft, glossy pink flesh to be seen that Bobby couldn't look at it. All he could do was lean forward with an extended and wriggling tongue and tickle her everywhere in that pink flesh, tasting her special flavor and delighting in the fact that her nubilely rounded thighs were still small enough to give him room to breathe between them. It was hardly a test at all to kiss and suck and tongue-tickle flesh like this, but the next of his labors wasn't quite that easy.

Late in the afternoon he was sent to Betty's table. For most of the day, while he worked, the operators bantered back and forth about which of them should receive the next visit from Bobby. One of those who protested the most, and therefore was urged on the most, was Betty. She was old and she was thin, with pipe-stem legs and narrow hips, hardly any titties at all, and hair that was turning to gray around a sharp and hawk-like face. But late in the day Bobby knew it was she whom he'd have to administer next, for old Betty walked back to young Beverly's machine and exchanged a few words to her while the other operators cat-called, and on her return to her machine, Bobby got a nod in her direction from his love, his life, his Beverly, and it was to Betty's machine he next went.

The hair between her legs was incredibly long, and it, too, was turning gray. She had a musty scent to her, which Bobby smelled each time she opened her old, thin, legs, and she opened them often, for she was giggling about it and protesting one moment, then urging him on the next. Bobby had no time for delaying. Machine number seven had a badly frayed belt. At last, rather angry, he grabbed her old legs and pulled them apart, then parted that scraggly long hair of hers and pressed his mouth to her flaccid old lips. It was awful. It was a task even Hercules might have failed. The only decent thing about it was the extreme softness of her thighs as he held them in her hand, the surprising fresh taste of her juices as they at last began to flow, and the look of almost worshipful gratitude she bestowed upon him when at last he rose out from under the table. After that, Bobby figured, Beverly should ask nothing more from him but his presence.

It was the most enjoyable day Beverly had yet spent working at Hanratty Mills. She'd gotten a huge kick out of making such a fool of the stalwart young blond man and at the same time she'd elevated her status considerably with the gals she worked with. She'd even gotten some vicarious pleasure from watching the churnings of the girls in their chairs while Bobby was out of sight. She'd gotten a kick out of seeing Bobby walking around with an aching lump in his pants and a stupid grin on his face, seeing the cunt hairs on his chin, smelling his rankness as he came mooning by her machine. Add to this the thirty dollars she'd picked up, and it could almost make her forget about the soreness of her cunt. A week or so of this, when Bobby was completely worn out and she had some extra bucks in her pocket, and she could for sure take over as the queen of the roost.

The prospect of this made it almost worth sticking around Hanratty Mills, but the prospect of having Rod Hanratty in control of her ruined it all. She was thinking about taking Bobby up to her apartment after work, just to see what he'd learned while under the tables that day. She was debating whether her sore, but definitely moistened pussy could stand even the gentlest touch of a tongue when Mr. Hanratty, the sonofabitch, came strutting down the stairs and across the room to her machine.

Rod disdained even looking at the other drudges in the room, or at the doltish blond boy slinking about the perimeter. He didn't even want to look at Beverly, for his thoughts were all filled up with Linda, but he needed Beverly's help to get Linda. So he cast her a lofty smile, dropped an envelope on the pile of lace panties beside her, and said, "Here's that W-4 form you wanted. Better take a look at it before you leave here tonight."

"Yessir," she said, managing not to glare at him, and opened the envelope before he'd left the room. Inside it was half of a fifty dollar bill, and a typewritten note that said, 'Please see me in my office after work regarding your workmen's compensation policy.'

The smart-ass bastard wasn't leaving any evidence that he was carrying on with her. And now he was making a whore out of her by paying her for her blow-jobs, but that was nothing new. She'd sucked cocks for pay before, as a part of the overall experience that had turned her to the gay world. She'd meet him, she'd blow him, she'd get the rest of the fifty, an then she'd take out her wrath on little Bobby in a way he'd never forget. Beverly settled down to finish the pair of panties she was working on. At four-thirty she got calf-eyes Bobby aside from the small clot of women around him and told him to wait for her for at least an hour. Then she trudged up the stairs to Hanratty's office and the trick she'd have to turn that afternoon.

Beverly's dark scowl had softened a trace when Rod Hanratty answered her knock with a glass of champagne in his hand. It further softened when she entered into an office filled with music, bouquets of roses in vases here and there, a silver champagne bucket filled with ice beside his desk, and the lord and master of it all in a perfectly charming mood.

"So good to see you alone," he said as she suspiciously sipped the cold wine. "Sorry I had to make this a command performance, but it was very important I get you up here for an hour tonight."

It won't take me an hour to give you a blow job," said Beverly.

"That's an entirely different matter between us," said Hanratty. "What I've asked you up here for today is to do a little modeling for me. I'm thinking of changing out whole marketing approach, and to do so I need a really stunning advertising program, an exciting one." He paused while her skepticism deepened, and while she emptied her glass. And as he refilled it, he said, "And I can't think of a more exciting lady for modeling lingerie and swim wear."

"Bullshit," she said, and drained away half the champagne.

He turned and went to his desk, took out the two thousand dollar Hasselblad camera his wife had bought the year before when she was interested in bird watching, and the photoflash equipment he'd bought at lunch that day. Laying all on his desk, he said, "Does this look like bullshit? If you don't want to have a try at it, I'll get a professional model. I'll probably do that anyway, but offhand I've never seen one as exciting to look at as you. I've seen some with better figures," he said stepping closer to her and boldly cupping one of her tits. Then he turned away to his desk to study her again as he said, "but I've never seen anyone really move what she has like you do. If I can capture that movement on film, the future of Hanratty Mills-and perhaps of Miss Beverly Collins-is a very bright future indeed. Are you interested in modeling for me? If so, please sign this release."

Beverly stood there as if jolted to paralysis by an electric current. Visions of herself on the cover of a high fashion magazine, or on the cover of any kind of a magazine, were flying around in her head. Hollywood, television, flashy cars and clothes, all these things seemed for a moment just as sure and as thrilling as that quick caress of her breast as she stared at that obviously very expensive photographic equipment on his desk. But then when she looked at his very familiar face once again she once again muttered, "Bullshit."

Hanratty raised his eyebrows, shrugged and said, "If that's how you feel about it. Thank you for stopping in. Here's the other half of that fifty dollar bill," he said, and took it out and gave it to her and turned his back on her to start putting his beautiful camera away.

Beverly gnawed at her lip for a moment, and said, "This isn't some kind of a joke?"

"With all the plans I have to make this company into something to be reckoned with, I don't have time for jokes. That will be all, Miss Collins. I'll see you in the morning, I trust. And your unwillingness to cooperate in this project won't have any effect at all on your work record."

She finished her champagne, glanced down at the slip of paper on his huge, expensive, walnut desk, and said, "I've gotta sign a release?"

"Standard form," he said, just like they'd said at the camera store that day when he'd been buying the stuff for this dress rehearsal. "All models sign them, whether they model for free, whether they're making five dollars an hour, fifty dollars an hour, hundred dollars an hour, a thousand dollars an hour. . . . "

Beverly was scribbling her name while the cash register bells were clanging like fire alarms in her head, and while Mr. Hanratty was refilling her glass. She wanted to writhe to the feeling of imaginary furs and silks on her body, clinging to her as warmly as Hanratty's hand now smoothed over her hips in a most reassuring way. She knew it was all pure bullshit, it couldn't be anything else, but the notion of rising from rags to riches was so sudden and strong she could not resist it. And what did she have to lose?

"What do you want me to wear?" she said, when the little white form that might be a ticket to heaven had been signed.

"I want to catch you in motion," said Hanratty in a businesslike manner, as he examined the fairly unfamiliar workings of the camera. "I want you to dance more or less as you did yesterday, but today I want you to take all your clothes off as you do so, and then continue to dance as you put on some of our lingerie. And while you're doing your dance, I'll be taking pictures and you'll be thinking about the lover you're going to be meeting soon, a very handsome, very wealthy, very exciting man. Someone you think a lot of," he said as he looked through the view-finder of the camera at her.

Inside, Beverly was already dancing. Her heart and her guts were going thump, thump, thump to the tune of the radio music even before she began to move her hips and shoulders and feet. She knew it was highly improbable, but that at least it was possible, and going on just the possibility, she let herself go all out.

Rod's eyeball bulged out against the view-finder the moment he saw she had no panties on.

The say before he'd been pleasantly surprised at how nice an ass she had, but today it looked twice as good as the skirt of her shabby brown dress flipped up over it with the agile twistings of her hips. It was a perfectly round, white ass, with a complexion that all blondes should have, and it had a good deep cleft separating the busily jouncing loaves of it.

Rod squatted to get a good shot of it, just as she turned and showed him she was just as bare before as behind. She had a nice little cunt, too. Nice and blonde, it was, with all that sweetly curly hair hiding any number of germs that would love to be taken home with Rod. He waited with bated breath for that fine-looking ass of hers to show up again before he pressed the shutter release.

Beverly felt the jolt each time the camera went off. She felt it deep in her guts, lifting her up one notch higher on the ladder of super success. The champagne had been good on her hangover parched throat, and now she danced over and partook of more of it, with Rod's nodding approval, and then began to unbutton her dress.

She thought about Glory as she did so, as Rod had suggested she think about a real, hot lover. But, no. Glory wasn't enough. She thought instead about the best features of all her past husbands, with all her most memorable male lovers thrown in, including Bobby and his tongue, and on top of all these she put Rod Hanratty and his riches, and his naked cock that she's seen but hadn't yet felt in her cunt. The look she gave to the camera lens was intended to melt it and its operator as she peeled down the top of her dress, feeling a cock inside her, feeling Hanratty's cock inside her, and very thoroughly fucking it with each new beat of the music.

Rod was now sure Beverly was a nympho. He'd never seen anything like this. Maybe it was the privacy of the moment, maybe it was the way she peeled down the top of her dress and let it hang down over its skirt, and maybe it was the way she danced. But really, he knew, it was because she was a nymphomaniac and he was thinking ahead to Linda. Linda with the long black hair and long, shapely body. Linda with the high, firm tits and the tight, clean cunt. Lina, who might even still be a virgin.

Beverly was starting to sweat, either from excitement or just exertion. But whatever, the little cool beads of sweat were tickling everywhere down her dancing, twisting body, and she danced and twisted more to relieve the myriad itches brought on by the trickling, tickling perspiration. The moisture in her slit wasn't perspiration. She was getting herself hot, hotter than hell, so hot her cunt didn't hurt a bit any more. She made the face of a lusting, drunken whore and looked right down at Rod Hanratty's cock-bulge, hoping he'd take her picture that way, and getting her wish. She remembered his cock very vividly now, and she knew if she could see it right now, it wouldn't be ugly at all to her.

His sewing machine operator's body was glistening with sweat. Rod tried again and again to catch its sheen on the film he was burning up at a faster rate than he'd intended. He'd only allocated four rolls of film for Beverly, the rest of the ten for Linda, and now he had to go to the second roll as the first one ran out.

Just seeing him load that camera was a turn-on to Beverly. It proved he really was taking pictures of her, it strengthened the faint possibility that tomorrow she'd be rich and famous. Beverly didn't stop dancing during the film-changing, didn't stop fucking that imaginary cock so hot in her slippery cunt. "Now loosen your bra," said Rod, and this she did, to dance for the film once again, now with her lust swollen tits swinging loose against white cotton cups. Her nipples, already turgid, became rock-hard, and she stopped her dancing to feel of them, to pinch them and pull them to still greater hardness while the shutter snapped again and again and Rod said, "Hey, that's great, just great."

It was going to be a great photo session, if Rod had been working the camera right. If he could get Linda just half this far, he'd be a happy man. But he was happy enough to see this nympho bitch doing her crazy thing, and in doing it raise his cock to such a state he was liable to throw caution to the winds and screw her. He thought of his wife, Rhoda, and the decades of hell she'd raise if he brought her home a present of clap and decided a blow job would be good enough.

Beverly slithered out of dress and bra. They were suffocating her, and it felt so glorious to dance in the raw, running her hands up and down over the luscious curves of her sweat slickened body, appreciating its tits and hips and buns and pube as much as she'd appreciated those on any of the chicks she had balled with in prison. She shook and shimmied her hips in going to the cabinet which held Hanratty Mills latest products, and there she found a few other things. Black hose came out first, slithery long web-like things which she trailed about her as she went on with her gleeful dance, then draped over her lovely white shoulders while she mused on the greatest, richest lover in the world, looking all the while at her boss, at Mr. Hanratty, at Rod. She continued to look at him through smoldering eyes as she sat on the couch to wriggle the stockings up her legs, opening them as indecently wide as could be as she put on the silks. He was having trouble with the camera during this part of the modeling session which had gotten quite out of hand by then, but it seemed to be cleared up when she was up on her feet again and bending over to straighten the seams of her hose while her back was turned toward him.

Rod just couldn't get over her ass! He knew it couldn't be as good as it looked, that the champagne they kept drinking all along was getting to him. But still it continued to fascinate him and his camera with its perfect round spheres, softly ajiggle, its deep cleft, the coyly hiding orifice of her anus, and that tuft of hair that showed down between her legs. "Hold it," he said. "Damned film's run out. Just hold it right there while I reload."

Beverly held her ankles. She held her ankles and waggled her hot little butt and looked back through her parted legs at him, and upside-down, he didn't look bad at all. Her inverted tits lolled down almost to her chin. She thought about sucking on their nipples, as she'd done with so many chicks in the joint, and how that would shock him and turn him on. She thought about what kind of a cock the richest man in the world would have, and she grinned through her parted legs and waggled her ass and saw him snap the camera back closed and move on in for some close-ups.

Rod only took one shot of her ass from close up. That one filled the whole field of vision. Then he put the camera on the carpet, glanced at his watch as he slipped his hand between her thighs, and said, "You've got a very nice ass."

Beverly giggled, all upside-down, with her tits jiggling against her chin, and said, "Can I get a job modeling my ass?"

Her legs, her inner thighs, were all just nicely moist with her perspiration, and in Rod's horny state of mind, her sweat didn't smell bad at all. He squeezed the very soft flesh of her inner thigh harder, making her wince, then slipped his palm up higher and pushed his thumb inside her asshole.

"Hey! God damn it!" said Beverly. The unexpected intrusion of his thumb filled her so thoroughly she could hardly straighten up, and the moment she did, he hooked the thumb within her painfully hard, and he said, "Just relax, take a break, take it easy."

Rod had never had any part of himself inside a person's asshole, but now he found it was the simplest thing in the world to do, and not just a little amusing. He almost winced himself as he thought of what it would feel like to have a twisting thumb inside his own asshole, but then again, the asshole his thumb was in belonged to him. Beverly Collins was his chattel, his employee and much more, and he could do as he wished with her. With her and her fascinating ass. "Just bend over again and relax," he said. "You've had worse than this done to you."

In fact, Beverly had had a few chick's fingers up her ass while she was in prison, but those were only the tips and this was a whole thick thumb. All of her husbands had at various times wanted to butt-fuck her, but she'd never wanted anything to do with that, and she'd made that perfectly clear to them in spite of all their entreaties. Now she gritted her teeth and bent over again, as he wanted of her, and tried to think of all the fame and riches that had made her pussy so unbearably wet and itchy.

It helped a lot. The pain all but disappeared, but still the sickening feeling of perversity was there within her, far deeper than his thumb was within her. She found that it helped to relax.

Up close, in person, her ass was even more fascinating. Rod cupped the heavy roundness of her left buttock in his left hand, while with his right he moved his thumb in and out of her ass and simultaneously felt of her ass-cheek with his fingers. And he watched, close up, as the movements of his thumb moved the lips of her tight pink asshole. He'd never realized assholes had lips before, but now he saw them quite clearly, clasping softly at his moving thumb, as if they were sucking on it.

Beverly was busy hating Rod Hanratty with all her might, but this took a mighty effort in the aftermath of all her lusting, even loving, thoughts about him and the riches and wealth he could bring her. He could still bring her those things, she reminded herself, and this helped her relax still further. The awful pain was gone from her rear end. That had been more shock than pain, and now that she was used to that thick digit in her rear, she found she could tolerate it well. Reminding herself of that faint possibility of a career on magazine covers, Beverly waggled her ass and grinned upside down, as if she enjoyed what he was doing. In his encouragement, Rod reached deeper with his twisting thumb, touched something strange in there, and the sudden feeling of heavenly sexual goodness pervading Beverly so weakened her knees that she had to sag forward against the couch.

"You like that, eh?" he said.

Tits mashed against black Naugahyde, cheek mashed against it too, and wonderfully different surges of distinctly sexual pleasure coursing through her, Beverly nodded and said, "Uh-huh."

She was clutching helplessly at his couch, rolling her hips quite aimlessly, her stockings had sagged down, and she was absolutely obscenely beautiful in this totally awkward posture. Rod took his left hand from her upturned ass to work at his zipper fly, as he said, "You want a little bit more now, don't you, Miss Backdoor Beauty?"

"Please. Please, Mr. Hanratty," said Beverly, her voice a moan of torment, not knowing what she was begging for.

Rod rose up to his feet, chuckled at her anguished moan as he withdrew his thumb from her asshole, and took out his big, fat cock. Its ruddy red knob was all slick and wet from his pre-seminal fluid. He further wet it with the sweat running down through the crack of her ass, still chuckling softly at the way she moved and reached with her asshole for his cock. Chances were she was not diseased there. At least he'd never heard of a clapped up butt. But that didn't matter one way or another just now, for Rod was so lusting for something brand new that he'd forgotten all about Linda Patton. He steered the big knob of his cock against Beverly's asshole, and then he shoved it on it.

"Eek!" Beverly hadn't screamed in years, but the insertion of that huge thing in her nether hole changed that. And, as before, she didn't know if it was pain or shock that brought it out of her, for the pain vanished ever so quickly. In its place came a weird stretching feeling, so transitory it could not be described, and in place of this came ecstasy, total ecstasy, that ran up and down her spine, that spread through hips and thighs, that permeated her whole body and made it all soft and submissive, but wanting for more and more.

"Okay?" said Rod, easing more of it in, though of course, he needed no permission for that from this little shop girl of his.

"Just fine," Beverly purred, though of course those small words could never express all she felt. She really was a queen now, or at least feeling something no queen ever felt. Even gay men who fuck each other in the ass could never feel anything like this, for if they could they'd be doing it all the time. Only women like her, bold and utterly sexually fearless, could know the deep pleasures of having a cock up their ass. It wasn't anything at all like fucking cunt. Or like getting eaten. Those things brought only orgasms, while this was an orgasm of itself, continuous, as long as that big, long, greasy slick thing was moving inside her. But then it moved more quickly and all of it changed again.

"Oh . . . Baby . . . here it comes!" Rod exclaimed, as the admiration of Beverly's upturned ass was suddenly swept away by the eruption of his balls. He was surging and spurting inside her, pistoning his cock like a man gone mad, and for what might have been the first time in his life, able to watch his big cock as it spurted. And what a background he had for the jerking and throbbing of his glistening big organ, that perfect white moon of the nympho's round ass, deeply split before, even more deeply split just now, as his cock was the wedge that threatened to split it for good. He surged and pushed and pulled and came, wanting to shout out loud with this most supreme pleasures and shootings, while below him the brainless shop girl showed where her brains had gone.

"OH! YOW! JESUS! CAN'T STAND ANY MORE! DON'T STOP!" Beverly hadn't any idea what she was saying. She had lost control of her body and was orgasming in spite of all she'd thought about that, rasping her tits' ends against the couch, scrabbling her clit with her fingers, arching and snapping her ass back for more and still more of the utterly fantastic internal cock massage she was getting in her ass.

"OH-H-H-H! UR-R-R-RGH! GAH-H-H-H-H-H" she was saying, quite incomprehensible, even to herself, but her only means of venting the total explosion that went on within her and would still have been going on had not Rod, her wonderful Rod, rudely withdrawn his cock and left her collapsed on the couch.