Chapter 1
"You come home without a job, Callie O'Hara, and I warn you, I'm throwing you out!"
"Yes, Aunt Lizabeth," the slender, huge-titted blonde said, wondering why on earth she had been stupid enough to think that her maiden aunt-whose pussy surely had never been fucked by a man's cock in her entire life-would help her out in her time of need.
"I'm not supporting a full-grown woman who fancies herself too good to do an honest day's work, and who spends most of her God-given time painting pictures nobody in his right mind can make heads or tails of!"
Miss Lizabeth Daniels, a devout churchgoer, had never forgiven her voluptuous twenty-year-old niece, whom she had raised from the age of eight, for running off to Greece with a long-haired foreigner with the outlandish name of Jacques Lamothe. Callie had been such a good, obedient girl when she had come to live with her after the tragic death of her parents, and even when she had grown older she had never complained about her ten o'clock curfew or the fact that she could only date the boys her aunt approved of. What could have gotten into the girl to make her run off with some long-haired French artist a week after she had met him at the Museum of Arts where she had been working?
" ... and if you think I'm going to accept tne evil things you've done," the thin-lipped older woman snapped as she glared at the young blonde, "you'd better think again. I told you what would happen if you let yourself get involved with an irresponsible long-haired type like that woman-hungry Frenchman. Well, now he's getting his just due, and I don't feel the least bit sorry for you!"
Callie knew it was no use protesting that Jacques had been falsely charged by the policia for selling hashish, that he had never done more than smoke a joint or two when artist friends brought the stuff over. Aunt Lizabeth only believed what she wanted to believe.
Oh, Jacques, my pussy is so hot to be fucked! the beautiful green-eyed blonde's mind cried longingly. She felt the nipples of her huge sensuously throbbing titties come to life and nudge her cotton dress, making her cunt tingle even more excitedly. She squeezed her legs together beneath the breakfast table to ease the lewd fluttering sensations she felt up in her cunt, but it did no good at all.
Raising her eyes fearfully from her breakfast plate, the voluptuous, cock-starved young blonde was surprised to see her Aunt Lizabeth busily wiping up the kitchen counter, her back to her, completely oblivious to the obscene thoughts running through her mind. Oh, Aunt Lizabeth, if you only knew how wonderful it feels to have your pussy fucked! her mind screamed.
Callie's pussy juices wetted the cuntband of her panties as she thought of Jacques's hugely throbbing cock fucking deep up into her hotly squirming pussy-hole, his cum-laden balls slapping sensuously against her nakedly upturned ass-cheeks. Suddenly, unable to stand the obscene aching in her cunt any longer, she cast another fearful look at the older woman and slipped her left hand up inside her dress inside the waistband of her panties, snaking her middle finger down through the softly curling blonde pussy-hair and on down to the slippery wet cunt-slit, where she immediately found the tingling little bud of her clitoris.
Uuuuuuummmm! she moaned silently as she got a firm grip on her pussy mound and flicked her fuckfinger around the tiny quivering clit.
"Ummmmmmm!"
The older woman, busily working at the sink, turned at the sound, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "Well, I'm glad you agree with something I've been saying to you this morning, young lady!" She turned back to the dishes.
Callie flushed, mortally ashamed as the warm pussy juices flowed hotly around her left hand. She knew that her aunt couldn't see beneath the table, nor even suspected that she had her hand in her panties and was playing with her pussy. This was the most horrible thing that she had ever done, fingerfucking her burning, cock-hungry cunt in front of her own Aunt Lizabeth! But the obscene act only excited the beautiful green-eyed blonde, her shame and fear turning into searing heat, and suddenly, she pressed her extended fuckfinger down into her moistly flowing pussy and jammed it as hard as she could into her devouring cunthole.
Oh, God, that feels good, she thought excitedly. If only my finger were a real cock. It's just not big enough; I want a real prick to fuck my pussy!
"Callie O'Hara, you quit dawdling over your breakfast so I can finish washing up!" Aunt Lizabeth walked over to the table and picked up the plate of half eaten eggs, returning to the sink to scrape them down the disposal.
"The morning is already half gone. I thought you said you had some job interviews."
"I-I do, Aunt Lizabeth," the young girl stammered.
"Well then, you had best get started."
Callie pulled her finger out of her still hot pussy-hole, wiping off the warm cunt juices on her finger on her inner leg, and edged out the kitchen door.
I'll find me a good job, and save up enough money to get to Bostonl she vowed silently as she stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus to downtown Charlotte. I'll show Aunt Lizabeth I don't need her help. Jacques said he had some friends in Boston-they can help me.
Now, as the summer rain mingled with salty tears on the young blonde's wan cheeks, the proud aspirations had faded to a dull knot of worry in the pit of her stomach. Her aunt wouldn't really throw her out in the street, she realized, but she would make her life so miserable by her constant nagging and preaching that Callie was sure she would go crazy. How had she ever survived living at home before? But of course, that was before she met Jacques and learned how warm and wonderful life could be when you were free and in love.
Again, the rain-drenched young artist reminded herself that it was no use dwelling on the past. Squaring her slender shoulders, she decided to try the last, most unattractive possibility on her list of job possibilities-the modeling job recommended by her former classmate and neighbor, Sheila Eamon. Sheila, a voluptuous redhead whose Irish blood had graced her with bright, mischievous blue eyes and huge tits, which had given her a bad reputation in her high school days, had modeled for an artist named Barth Owens before her recent wedding. Now, her pregnancy was already embarrassingly evident after two months of marriage. She had called out to Callie from her window last night when the blonde was taking a walk to escape from her aunt's constant tirades of criticism.
Although Callie hadn't known Sheila very well in high school-Aunt Lizabeth didn't approve of the Eamon girl's flagrant sexuality, heavy makeup and provocative, braless clothing-she was grateful to see a familiar face. The last few days in Greece had been a living nightmare, what with fearing police interrogations and not knowing who had lied about Jacques to have him arrested, and Sheila was smiling so amiably that she didn't hesitate to climb up the porch steps to her neighbor's front door.
The redhead was very envious of her friend's experiences in Greece, but her voice grew sympathetic when she heard Callie's sad story after shooing her younger brother Tommy from the room.
"Golly, Callie!" she'd exclaimed, opening two beer cans and shoving one across the table to the tearful young blonde. "You've had an even worse break than me. Wow, back in high school I always thought you were just a goody-two-tits, never thought you had enough cunt to get into so much trouble! But listen, I got just the thing for ya, sweetie ...",
Callie had blinked away her brimming tears, ignoring the beautiful redhead's filthy language, and stared hopefully at her high school acquaintance. Sheila's rather vulgarly pretty face had grown rather splotchy and chubby with her pregnancy, and her swelling figure was already beginning to resemble her easygoing mother's ample curves, but she still had the old vivacity and live-for-today attitude that the more introverted blonde artist had always admired. Hope sparked beneath her huge sensuous tits as she listened to the wanton redhead's suggestion.
"Yeah, I had this really far-out job, before I got knocked up," Sheila went on, patting her swollen stomach with a little frown. "I was an artist's model. His studio is at the other end of town on East Trade Street. He's working on some kind of a project and needs models. He's a really fantastic guy, a barrel of fun, and I really dug the outfit I wore!"
"Outfit ... ?" Callie had echoed somewhat relieved, thinking of the many artists' models who were required to pose nude, and the disturbing stories she knew about the goings-on between models and artists.
"Oh yeah, like a Roman slave-girl in one of those old movies," Sheila giggled, a rather wistful light glinting in her large blue eyes as she thought of the fun she'd had before becoming a settled, married woman. "Only, modern, you know? Real cute!"
"Well, I better get going," Callie had said, setting down her beer can on the table and standing up. "Aunt Lizabeth is probably calling the vice squad already, thinking I've run off with an organ-grinder's monkey or something. You know how she gets."
The pretty young blonde artist knew full well that her aunt was at one of her charity bazaars sponsored by the church, but she suddenly felt she had to get away from Sheila. Imagine modeling for an artist-she knew all about them! She couldn't think of anything worse than an awful old man pinching her ass every time he got up from the easel! Well, Sheila could have it. She, Callie, had too much pride to allow her body to be used in such a cheap way. Her body belonged to Jacques, and she was going to let no one else suck her titties or fuck her cunt, even if she was going to have to wait at least three long years before seeing him again.
Yet now, less than two days later, Callie O'Hara found her feet turning in the direction of Barth Owens's studio. I haven't any choice, she rationalized wretchedly. And Shelia did say he'd be sure to let me model if I said she'd sent me there ... and he is well-known.
There were about six more blocks to cover before reaching the studio, and Callie walked as fast as she could, oblivious to the lecherous stares of the men she passed as she hurried along. Her green cotton dress clung to her curvaceous figure like a second skin as the rain beat down on her, outlining her hugely jiggling titties and the gently protruding mound of her pussy. The voluptuous blonde's body unintentionally presented a delectable display of feminine sensuality that was understandably disturbing to the other pedestrians.
By the time she reached the studio, Callie O'Hara was literally soaked to the skin. The first thing I'm buying if I get this modeling job, she decided, thinking of the positive aspects of employment in an attempt to stem her nervous distrust of the place, are some more art supplies so I can begin painting again. I'm an artist, and even though my paintings were confiscated by the policia, I can always start again, I will start painting again!
Despite her efforts to cheer her lagging spirits, however, Callie's slim white hand shook as she reached up to grasp the iron knocker that was fixed to the heavy oak door. There was no answer to her rapping, and, glancing up, she realized there was no sign of life behind the shuttered windows.
After being disappointed so many times earlier in the day, Callie had thought she was deadened to the chilling emotion of dismayed failure, but once again she felt her heart sinking to her feet. The man might not even be at his studio now. But she didn't have his phone number, and how could she wait in the rain? She'd only enough money for bus fare across town, and besides, there seemed to be no drugstores or cafes in the vicinity. Oh, how she missed Greece with the taverns full of gaiety and music.
The troubled young blonde pushed strands of her long, rain-sodden hair from her face and gazed rather desperately up and down the block. She should have called the man first, she chastised herself. Well, it was too late now!
Plucking up her courage, the voluptuous, destitute young artist rapped again, harder this time. To her relief, a long-haired young man yanked open the door and looked down at her.
"Well, well! I didn't know Barth was expecting any company," he said to her, his eyes staring directly at her huge tits.
Though she didn't much like the young man's lecherous looks, Callie ignored him.
"I've come about a modeling job," she declared. "A friend of mine told me Mr. Barth Owens might need a model ... Are you a ... a friend?"
Pushing his long hair back from his face, the young man gave the voluptuous young blonde a scrutinizing stare. His face grew a little more welcoming as he again took in the enticing sight of her huge sensuous tits straining against her wet cotton dress and the tiny points of her nipples poking through the fabric, and he shot her a sort of crooked smirk.
"Yeah," he said. "Let me get Barth and see if he wants to talk to ya."
Although part of her brain was still insisting: run away from here. A job like this means trouble, Callie remained rooted to the spot. And when an older, handsome man, obviously refined despite his paint-spattered clothes appeared in the doorway, she felt much calmer. What had she expected?
Bartholomew Owens, a successful artist, was as impressed with the young woman's appearance as she was with his. In one quick glance he ascertained that the chick was young, innocent, and possessed of exactly the sort of unintentional seductive sensuality that never failed to give him a hard-on.
"Come in, my dear," he smiled, taking care to keep his expression more paternal than lecherous. It was always the best policy to treat young and inexperienced chicks with great care at first, he'd learned. "You're drenched. You must be freezing. C'mon, let's go into my studio and get you dried off."
Callie followed in mute gratitude as the well-groomed artist led her along a carpeted hallway toward the farthest door and through an open archway, and then she found herself entering a large room full of canvases, easels, and on the walls, huge abstract paintings of improbably tangled naked men and women.
"Sit down, my dear," the handsome artist urged, indicating a low leather couch on the other side of the room with a wave of the hand. "Let me get you a drink to warm you up ...",
"Th-that'd be l-lovely," Callie O'Hara stammered. "Thank you so much, M-Mr...."
"Barth," the tall man filled in, smiling expansively as he handed the young girl a brimming glass of potent scotch.
She's just ripe for it, he exulted to himself as he settled down on the sofa beside the young girl. When I see a sweet little pussy like her, I know it's too fucking good to waste!
Smiling timorously, innocently oblivious of the lewd glint in the older man's gray eyes, Callie murmured her thanks and sipped at the drink. Everything's going to be all right after all! she thought, never noticing the ominous bulge in his pants. They chatted pleasantly, and Callie refused a third scotch. Her head was already spinning in dizzy circles, the result of not being used to drinking, and she did want to make a good impression. It would be lovely to be this man's model, he was so nice.
"Sure?" Barth Owens queried, leaning closer to the young girl. "You're still shivering. This'll keep you from getting a chill."
"Well, all right," the naive blonde relented, for it did seem rude to refuse the proffered glass. Anyway, it must be good for her--anything that tasted that bad must be a sort of medicine, she rationalized. She did wish, though, that Barth wouldn't sit quite so close to her. Why, he was practically on top of her! Gingerly, not wanting to offend the artist she hoped would become her employer, she inched toward the far end of the couch.
Not so fast! Barth baby, he cautioned himself. Let her get good and high before you put your cards on the table, man. But Jeez, am I hot for this cute little chick! My prick sure don't want to wait too long to get inside that blonde pussy!
Standing up-much to Callie's relief-the older man moved toward the bottle of scotch and filled his glass.
"Well, I do need a model," he smiled at the nervous blonde. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"
"I ... I ... well, I grew up here in Charlotte, North Carolina." Callie began timidly, not quite knowing what to say about her life. "I was born in Minneapolis, though, and lived there until I was eight. My parents were killed in the Mount Fuji airplane crash back in 1966, so I was sent to live with my aunt here in Charlotte. I went to art school with the rest of the insurance money that was left to me after I graduated from high school, and ...",
Here Callie paused, not knowing what she ought to say about Jacques. A faint blush tinged her cheeks pink, and she twisted her hands together in her lap.
"Yes?" Barth smiled again. "Go on ... tell me about your modeling experience."
"Well ... uh ... I really haven't had any modeling experience," Callie said rather apologetically. "I'm actually an artist myself. I just need the work for now ...",
"Oh? A young thing like you, an artist?" the older man remarked.
"Yes. I spent some time in Greece with my boyfriend. I did a lot of painting there ... I was so happy ...",
By now the unhappy girl was so nervous that she downed her burning scotch in one gulp and scarcely noticed that Barth was refilling her glass for the fourth time. Suddenly she felt dizzier than ever, and her sad story came blurting out in a rush of tearful words.
"There, there, don't cry, my dear!" the lecherous artist soothed, easing himself back down on the sofa and stroking the intoxicated young girl's shoulder in a paternal manner. "I'm sure everything'll work out just fine for a cute little thing like you. If you're the right type you'll earn good money, six bucks an hour, and with a nice wad of bills in your pocket, you'll see that the world's not such a bad place after all."
"Do ... do you s'pose I really can model for you?" Callie sniffed. She made a valiant effort to gain control over her emotions. And, goodness, but her cunt was starting to tingle again, just like it had that morning when she had had to fuck her finger up inside her pussy beneath the breakfast table. What in the world was wrong with her, and what must Barth think of her? Why, he was comforting her as though she were a little kid, and no wonder, for she was acting as silly as one.
"I mean, do you feel I'm suitable?" she said in what she hoped was a professional manner, once again edging away from the fatherly middle-aged man.
"Hhhhmmm," the older man cleared his throat. "Callie, my dear, you've got a pretty face. That's important, of course. But there's another even more important consideration..."
Callie O'Hara stared at him, her large green eyes a little confused. "Wh-what do you mean?" she stammered, remembering for the first time since entering his studio what her friend Sheila had told her about an outfit.
"I'm contracted to do some paintings for the college history department." Barth Owens affected his best professional manner.
"Yes, I understand," Callie nodded, for the dark-haired man was looking at her as though he expected her to reply.
"That's a girl," Barth grinned. "I can tell you're a real smart chick, and that's the kind I like to work with. I'm sure we'd get along fine ... if you look good in the outfit, that is ...",
Callie's heart gave a dull thud of dismay, and once again she drained her scotch glass in her nervousness.
"Outfit?" she blushed. "Wh-what sort of outfit?" For the first time, she felt uncomfortable beneath the older man's lewdly undressing eyes and self-consciously crossed her arms over her hugely straining tits.
The artist's rather raucous guffaw of laughter unnerved the innocent young girl more than ever. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it," he drawled. "Nothing you wouldn't wear to the beach."
Barth Owen walked over behind the bar and pulled out a small piece of white cloth. Callie, who had been expecting something even tinier, if that were possible, held it up to her and found that it was a short, almost see-through, slave-girl costume.
"Why don't you slip into this, and let me see how you look?" suggested the artist, and when the blonde gaped up at his face in embarrassed dismay, she saw sparks of unmistakable sexual arousal glinting in his gray eyes as he stared lecherously at her sensuously throbbing tits.
I want to get out of here right away! her mind screamed. I don't trust him at all! And I'm certainly not going to pose for a dirty old man. An artist is one thing, but he certainly has other things on his mind.
But in the next instant, another voice echoed through her alcohol-dazed brain. What if you don't take this job, Callie? What'll you do then? After all, it's not really so immodest; you had a very tiny bathing suit in Greece and you let all the men look at you on the beach. It even got your cunt all hot and wet when they did! Besides, this job would be respectable enough, at least you wouldn't be completely naked. And besides, think of the money.
"Okay," she said resolutely, getting rather clumsily to her feet. For a minute the room seemed to spin around her like a carousel, but she took a deep breath and managed to steady herself. "Where's the dressing room?"
"You're a real babe-in-the-woods, aren't you? Of course I don't have a dressing room here in my studio. What a ridiculous idea, my dear."
Callie turned crimson and stared down at the floor. Though she would never have told a soul, her discomfort was enhanced by the lewd prickles of unwanted excitement that kept dancing in her cunt as she recalled again the pleasure she'd felt when Jacques had praised her voluptuous curves. Even more exciting to her was the fact that she had felt similar thrills of illicit arousal in her pussy when total strangers had stared in admiration at her tits and rubbed their bulging crotches!