Chapter 1
"Hey, what's happening on that latest bunch of pics we sent out for distribution?" Lynch demanded, lighting one cigarette from the butt of another and grunting with the exertion of reaching for a bottle of beer. "There was some pretty hot stuff there."
"Terrible!" Split muttered, pacing back and forth in the photographer's back office. "Everybody in town has seen every square inch of Liza's body, Jack, and in every position we can think of. We've got to come up with another model, once in awhile. Either that or get a little dirtier, and Liza gets her dignity up whenever we try to use our imagination."
"I thought that bit with the German shepherd would've sold like hotcakes."
"It would have," admitted the arranger, "but she won't do it, and I guess I don't blame her. How would you like to get fucked by a German shepherd?"
"I tried it with a female collie when I was a kid once but she bit me just when I was on the verge of cumming. You wanna see the scar?"
"Ah, fuck your scar," snapped the tall, slender man, "We've got problems, Jack! I made a deal with the head of that construction firm on the other side of town to throw a party here in a couple of weeks, and we've got to come up with some new faces."
"Some new cunts, you mean," Jack agreed morosely. "Liza's fucked every one of those guys at least ten times and if she's all we have to offer, it's gonna look too much like a re-run. We can get in some of the usual girls, but for these guys we need some chicks with class."
"It's not class, exactly," philosophized the lanky organizer. "You gotta understand the psychology of a party Like this. The dude comes in and he's turned on because he knows this is one of those wild, Hollywood-style parties he's always wanted to be invited to and he really feels Like he's slumming and there's a lot of good-looking broads running around, and he finally gets one of them into a corner and scores and he goes out of here feeling like he's ten feet tall, because he doesn't know that the broad has been paid in advance to fuck him and wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole if she weren't. And for that kind of atmosphere, you got to have girls who don't look like they fuck with everyone who has a cock under his pants. Liza's fine and we can go on using her, but we need some fresh faces!"
"Hey, whatever happened to that friend of Liza's. . . what's her name...the chick with the big tits and the little ass? You remember who I mean? She was as wild a child if ever there was one, but when she got herself fixed up, she looked like she belonged in one of them fashion magazines. Haven't seen her around, have you?"
"Me neither," commented Split laconically, straining his mind to remember the last time he had run into the girl in question. "Name was Joan something or other. She'd be perfect if we could find her, but I seem to remember she married some guy and moved out of the district."
Allen Caruthers was upstairs packing for his trip and feeling a little irritated that his wife was not up there with him, folding his socks neatly or finding his cuff-links and generally behaving like a businessman's wife was supposed to behave when hubby was preparing to leave town for a couple of days. Instead, Joan Caruthers was in the back yard, walking around the swimming pool, feeling moody and philosophical. For one thing, it was hotter than a day this time of year had any right to be, and the curvy young blonde's clothing was sticking to her skin, making her feel unattractive and uncomfortable. On top of this, she was facing five straight days of absolute boredom. Allen would be out of town, which meant that all of their neighbors would refrain from inviting her to any parties in the meantime, and she would sit at home watching television and smoking too many cigarettes, while the maid did the dishes and vacuumed the wall-to-wall carpets.
"Be ready in ten minutes!" the young executive called from his bedroom, perhaps as a way of reminding her that he could be ready in five if she would come up and help, but she ignored the implied suggestion, grumbling something unintelligible in reply. What she really wanted to do was jump into the cool inviting water of the swimming pool, but that meant climbing up to their bedroom and hunting for her bathing suit while Allen protested that she didn't have time to go swimming and he was certain to miss his plane.
All this rigid scheduling and minute-counting was difficult for Joan to accustom herself to, particularly since there had not even been an alarm clock in the home where she had been born and raised. Nobody worked, so you never really had to know what time it was. In fact, there had not been much of anything in Joan's girlhood home, except a lengthy series of "uncles" who came to stay with her mother, but it had been a comfortable, easy-going environment and nobody had asked her too many questions when she came home late from a date, or just came home late with her long blonde hair in wild disorder and her blouse tom...or simply did not come home at all. Marriage to Allen Caruthers had meant a house in the suburbs with a big back yard and this magnificent kidney-shaped swimming pool and a maid and a color television, but it also meant living on Allen's schedule, which was always tight, and living according to his moral standards which were even tighter. They had been married for a year now, and there were times when she wondered if it had all been worth it, even though she usually felt more or less happy. But today, she felt strangely discontent, and the shimmering waters of the pool looked exceptionally inviting.
Seized by a sudden irrational inspiration, Joan looked around her carefully, noting that the only place from which their pool could be observed was the bedroom window of the Johnson's home next door, and she was reasonably sure that she had heard Mr. and Mrs. Johnson going out earlier that morning. How about a skinny-dip?
Unfortunately for Mr. Johnson, he had in fact left early that morning for a meeting of the Central Church Committee on the Fine Arts, taking Mrs. Johnson with him, but had he chanced to stay at home and hide behind the curtain in his bedroom window, the morning would certainly have been better spent. Moving swiftly, Joan Caruthers unzipped the back of her cotton top, letting it fall to the tile stones and stepping neatly out of it, wearing only her bra and panties. What Mr. Johnson was never destined to see was a body which would have sent a Greek sculptor scrambling for his chisel or inspired a Renaissance painter to reach for his brush.
The fragile fabric of the brassiere she wore barely concealed the girl's high-set and widely spaced breasts which swayed provocatively as she moved and there was a nervous flutter of sexual excitement in Joan's stomach as her hands swept briskly down over her flat girlish waist to the lushly rounded surfaces of her hips where a pair of brief cotton panties covered the secret parts of her ripe young body. A moment's hesitation, and the deed was done; the panties joined her top on the cool pink tiles surrounding the pool, and Mr. Johnson was missing a sight which would have kept him tingling for a week, probably to the benefit of Mrs. Johnson's sex life. As Joan bent to arrange her clothing so that it would not wrinkle, the hidden observer might have seen the lusciously rounded cheeks of her firm trim buttocks, and as she turned to glance nervously at the bedroom window, Johnson might have been in a position to know for sure that the honey-blonde hair which tumbled around the softness of her shoulders was really her natural color. The smooth "V" shaped triangle of sparse pussy hair which concealed the entrance to the sensual mysteries of her body was only a hint less blonde than the flaxen hair on her head, as normally the case. Probably, Johnson would not have been moved at this moment to any scientific speculation of the coloration differential between pubic and normal hair; no, probably at this point his attention would have been riveted on the lust-stimulating globes of her breasts which were about to be revealed as Joan's hands went behind her back to unfasten the snaps on her brassiere.
Unconsciously behaving like a stripper who saves the best until last, Joan pulled away her one remaining garment, allowing the ripely succulent flesh of her high mountainous breasts to tumble free and be kissed by the bright morning sun. Looking down at herself, the young wife giggled as she noticed that the tiny brown tips of her breasts were becoming hard and firm, apparently indicating that the act of stripping her lust-provoking body naked in her own back yard was arousing her enough to have an obvious effect on her darkly tempting little nipples.
Joan, you'll still be a sex-pot when you're ninety, the girl told herself with resignation, as she lowered her long shapely body feet first into the clear refreshing water. Some women just can't turn off their feelings even when they marry a respectable guy and move into high society.
Keeping her head out of the water to avoid wetting her hair, the young Mrs. Caruthers side-stroked languidly across the pool, enjoying the richly sensual caress of the water as it swept over the vibrantly tingling surfaces of her naked body and decided that this was one of the most pleasant things she had ever done. Oooooh, it makes you feel so'sexy, she warned herself as she felt the tingle down low in her stomach begin to spread into her loins. And there's no point in getting all turned on, because you've got to drive hubby to meet his airplane, and there's no room in his plans for an unscheduled session in the bedroom.
Not that a quickie would necessarily do the trick, she admitted to herself ruefully, her mind wandering back over the sex life she had shared with her husband during the first year of their marriage. Frankly, it had been something of a disappointment. Allen had dutifully presented her with her own sports car, a high-fidelity sound system and a wardrobe full of swanky clothes, but somehow his gift giving fell off sharply when they went to bed together. He only seemed to like it twice a week and always looked mildly scandalized if she suggested it before he did, apparently believing that a proper married lady ought to wait until she was asked. And when she finally did manage to maneuver him into bed, his performance was lackluster at best, and rarely lasted long enough for her to get any real satisfaction.
She floated on her back for awhile, her head propped up on an inflated plastic float, enjoying the sensation of the water washing lasciviously between the lightly tanned inner surfaces of her thighs like some secret aquatic lover. Because of the buoyancy in the water, her breasts also floated, pointing straight up, with just the brown points of her nipples emerging from the shimmering wavelets, and the sex-tingle started to get worse, now filtering up and down her backbone. Damn, this is fun, she told herself emphatically. These folks out here have all got everything money can buy and how they manage to be miserable most of the time is beyond me! On a good Saturday night downtown with a dollar and a half, you and a guy could have a real ball, and when he got you into the back seat of his car, or onto a couch somewhere, it wasn't twice a week, but twice an hour!
Sharply, she reprimanded herself for these lascivious thoughts. All right, she had been the classical wild child from the broken home on the wrong side of the tracks and she had done plenty of things Allen would never find out anything about. But the day she had walked down the aisle with him in that new church in the suburbs, all that had changed. She had seen what a mess her mother had made of her life because of her total inability to remain faithful to one man for any length of time, and Joan was determined not to repeat the same mistake. They called it sowing wild oats when a boy did it, and girls were not supposed to do it at all; but she had sown plenty of oats before her marriage, and all that should be out of her system by now. She was twenty four years old and it was time to grow up!
But damn, it was too bad that Allen had to meet that plane this morning! Even a couple of mad minutes in his standard missionary position would be a help in her present mood, and if he had just a little time to spare, maybe she could teach him a couple of tricks...she had to be very careful here and she knew it. Allen had been slightly disappointed on their honeymoon to find out that she was not a virgin, although she had never claimed to be anything of the kind. But if he ever found out precisely how un-virgin she was, he would probably divorce her! But maybe it was time to start training him, very gently...it would be different if there really had been a virgin underneath the long white gown she had worn on her wedding day, and then she would never have known the difference. Oh, the sun was so warm and wonderful as it played over the wet nakedness of her body, penetrating deep into her bones and heating her up all over. For a moment she felt so sensual and sexy, she thought she could almost cum just by floating there and thinking about it.. .
"Joan! What the hell are you doing?" came a near-hysterical hiss from the back door of their house. Allen Caruthers was dressed in the formal business suit he normally wore for traveling, his suitcase in hand, looking like a banking ad. "Good God, if anyone sees you...." he gasped in dismay. "We could be arrested...."
He dropped the suitcase and disappeared into the house, presumably in search of adequate covering for his chaste young wife, while Joan sighed deeply, swimming languidly to the side of the pool, and climbed out, feeling the water drip teasingly off the sumptuous mounds of her naked young breasts and half-hoping that everyone in the neighborhood was peeking through the bushes. How typical! She was thinking savagely as she scooped up her dress and walked towards the house. A girl takes a skinny-dip, and Allen makes a sex crime out of it! But he's right, if somebody in this jerky neighborhood saw my bare ass, they probably would call the cops. Welcome to suburbia! A swimming pool in every yard and not a stiff cock in the place!
"Good-bye dear, and if anything goes wrong, you can either reach me in St. Louis, or call my brother." Allen Caruthers was standing at the boarding gate, his ticket in hand, giving last minute instructions to his proper young wife, and resenting the stares her lushly ripened body was attracting from the other men in the air terminal.
That's what you get for marrying a beautiful young woman a decade younger than you are, he philosophized, recalling how he had first met Joan working as the bar maid in a cheap tavern in the run-down section of town. One glance had told him clearly that she was too good for that kind of life, and in his methodical, businesslike manner, he had set himself to court her, showering her with presents but carefully keeping her hidden from his respectable family and friends until he had corrected certain defects in her character. There was her habit of swearing in mixed company, for example, which had to be eliminated before she could be presented to his parents, and also her style of dressing had to be radically altered. Joan had the most sensual figure Allen had ever seen on a woman, but her sexy, low-cut dresses tended to show too much of it off to the world in general, when those magnificent, lust-inspiring breasts should be reserved for her lawfully wedded husband, after the wedding, of course. Joan had put up a certain amount of resistance to this last point, because she had been raised to believe that a woman with a good body like hers should not keep it hidden, but eventually she had given in as her closet overflowed with expensive, elegant, and very modest dresses from the best women's fashion shops in town.
"Have a good trip, darling," Joan told him, still feeling mildly irritated at the scene he had made over her little dip in the pool.
"Oh, and Joan, please...." the businessman looked quickly around him to make sure that none of his fellow passengers were listening. ". . . please don't go swimming like that again, okay?"
She nodded sourly and stepped back as the group began handing their tickets in to the collector and moving down the ramp towards the waiting aircraft. Normally, Joan would have gone to the observation deck and waved as the plane took off, but today she felt sufficiently put out by his holier-than-thou attitude to return directly to her sports car and head back towards the city.
The day was balmy and pleasant, and she put the convertible top down and let her long blonde hair trail behind her in the breeze as she skillfully negotiated the light morning traffic, driving towards the beltway which would take her neatly around the impoverished slum where she had been raised and directly to the plush comfortable suburbs where she was now a popular young society matron. But as she approached the turn-off, a devilish impulse overtook her, and without considering the matter carefully, she decided to disobey Allen's sternest commandment and pay a fleeting visit to the world she had left behind her. She would not go to her mother's home, of course, since encounters with her mother were always painful; but it would be fun to see if she could find Liza, her old girlhood chum. In her last letter Liza had said something about working for a photographer named Lynch . . .