Chapter 1
Candy Winston wriggled away from Ted Balton, her right hand gripping the door of his Thunderbird, her other hand fending him off, while her heart-shaped face adopted one of her inimitable cockteasing looks. "No, don't you understand the meaning of the word, Ted?" she giggled.
"Sure I understand it. I wonder if you ever said yes in your life. You get a guy worked up, you let him-think he's going to score, and then you pull this crap about not being in the mood and asking me what sort of girl I think you are," the angry twenty-five-year-old advertising salesman growled. "I'll tell you what you are, Candy, you're what they call a p.t. And if you don't know what that means, I'll be glad to draw you a diagram."
"Don't bother!" Candy Winston shrugged deliriously dimpled shoulders, her face cold now and insolent. "I couldn't care less what you think about me, Ted Balton. There are plenty of fellows who'd give anything to take me out and make a fuss over me. Just because you had to wait your turn for a date, you think you can get everything done in one night. Well I'm not that sort of girl, that's all."
"And I'll bet something else," he broke in angrily. "You're still cherry. I don't think you've ever been laid, and the way you're acting, somebody's going to have to take it away from you by force."
"And I suppose you think you can try?" she dared, her dark-brown eyes sparkling with mockery. "You'd go to jail for such a long time you wouldn't know what to do with a girl when they let you out. So don't even try it. And you ought to know the old saying that no intelligent man enjoys rape, because he doesn't get any fun from the girl involved. I certainly wouldn't cooperate with you. You might just as well use your hand and jack off when you get home, or else take a cold shower."
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"Why, you-!" he panted, speechless with fury at her taunting rejection. "Oh yes, you're a virgin all right, Candy Winston. And you also know all the dirty words. I don't think I've ever been out with a girl who ever called it jacking off before."
"Of course I know the facts of life, dummy, if that's what you're suggesting. Only it doesn't mean that I have to let you work them out here in this crowded car. Or in your bed, either. I just don't like a fellow who takes a girl for granted, understand? Now kindly drive me home. And by the way, before I forget it, thanks for a very lovely evening."
Straightening her dress, which had hiked up high on her rounded, shapely thighs, Candy Winston looked straight ahead while her escort, giving her a glowering look, turned the Thunderbird back towards Chicago's North Side. They had been out near the Forest Preserve past Winnetka, and he had been parked in a lowly dirt road with no one in sight for miles, hoping to make out. But for Candy Winston, it was just another triumph in her long career of frustrating a man's passions after leading him on to think that he was going to get pussy. And just as Ted had said, she still was cherry, and she gloried in it.
At twenty, her beauty was piquant and exciting, and of course many a red-blooded male had hopes of being the first to burst through the barrier which kept her from being a woman. The problem was, Candy knew this only too well, and it became a kind of game in which she was an expert. Thus far, she'd only really had problems with one or two of her bolder escorts, who had taken her "No!" hard (because they themselves were aching with their own hardness!) and got sulky and angry enough to want to do her some bodily harm. Even there, though, she'd been able to talk herself out of it, and of course she'd crossed them off her list at once.
About five feet six inches in height, with a sweet and demure face that could be impertinent and saucy and then demure by turns, with large dark-brown eyes set well apart between the bridge of an upturned, thin-winged nose, with a pouting and very ripe red mouth that many men saw in their fantasies wrapped around their cock and doing homage thereunto, Candy Winston might have suggested that famous line about Helen of Troy: "Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burned the towers of Ilium?"
But there was much more to Candy than her alluring, maddening face. Her body was that of a showgirl, with high-perched, closely spaced, round titties, slim waist and then ripely curved, resilient hips. Her long and yet wonderfully curved thighs and her high-set calves with their sleek, rippling muscular play, bespoke an ar dent temperament. And then of course her creamy white skin and a fascinating little dark-brown oval-shaped beauty spot just below her collarbone and very near her left tittie. Altogether, Candy Winston was an appetizing dish and the more sought after precisely because she had never before been tasted, to coin a phrase. Or, if one wished to pun still further, one might even have said of her, "Winston tastes good like a sweet cherry should." Except that thus far no man had got close enough to Candy's tempting virgin pussy to be able to teach her the joys of tongue-work on so sensitive a salient of her mouthwatering anatomy.
To be sure, some of Candy's devil-may-care attitude towards the opposite sex might have been attributed to her own parents, who were in the process of breaking up a marriage that had lasted exactly twenty-one years. Douglas Winston, her forty-five-year-old father, had already fallen madly in lust with his auburn-haired secretary, Lucille Colby. And her blonde buxom forty-one-year-old mother Callie, probably because the change of life was drawing very near, was swooning over a handsome black-haired Italian gigolo who claimed to be a Count and who called himself the Conte Enrique Sebastiano Davanti. Actually, his real name was Rico Sforlando, and his father had been a waiter in a fine Italian restaurant in Detroit while the "Count" himself had changed his name and fled from Detroit because he had there conned an elderly widow out of her life's savings by pretending that he was madly in love with her and that he knew just how to invest her money. Some of it he was now lavishing on Callie Winston, with a very shrewd eye to the future, because it looked as if she was going to shed her husband and marry him, and she would then be able to afford him a very considerable dowry.
It was true that Candy Winston knew about her parents, had already sized up the "Count" as a louse who preyed on susceptible women and fascinated them by his good looks. The trouble was, that he had already been to bed with her mother, and her mother had gigglingly told her only last week, "Oh, my darling, Enrique is such a polished lover, such a master, I can't understand how I've been able to stay with your dull, unimaginative father all these years."
But only the day before, when her mother had been out gadding about with Enrique, her father had come to her and, coughing a little and flushing because he was about to make a private confidence to her, intimated that there had never been another girl in bed like Lucille and that with all due apologies to her mother, he was really in love for the very first time in his life.
And so perhaps Candy Winston could not be entirely blamed for her prickteasing qualities, although actually she had started to develop them as early as fourteen when she found that boys were giving her the eye because she was growing up quickly and her big full titties and voluptuous round-cheeked ass were already very much in evidence even at that tender age. When she saw how boys would drool over her if she shifted her legs in the classroom and cross them so that her skirt would hike above her knees and show bare skin up to her little panties, she learned the magical power a female has to make a man pant with lust and do just about everything a girl could ask of him, even to jumping through a hoop if she so desired.
And since her parents were reasonably wealthy, she had had just about every material advantage that money could buy, including a nurse and then a governess, the latter having left her at the age of thirteen because she couldn't put up with Candy's temper tantrums any longer. A number of private schools had already intimated to both parents that they would be happier if the parents took their precocious daughter elsewhere. Oh, not for moral reasons, but simply because Candy was a snob, antisocial to the nth degree, and interested only in stirring up quarrels between the other boys and girls at the schools she attended.
It wasn't a very good track record, and it was going to get steadily worse. Only it was going towards a destination which even Candy herself couldn't possible conjecture!