Chapter 4

Dr. Grossman's fears about the drug failed to dull Rita's enthusiasm about her new way of life. The possibility that he had suggested that she might take on lesbian desires seemed positively ridiculous.

"And suppos'n I did get that way?" she had asked him.

"We would have to stop the drug."

"And I would be the old Rita again."

"Exactly."

And Rita frowned, knowing that if she ever discovered those feelings, she would never tell Dr. Grossman about it. Success was too close; she wasn't going to kill it at this late date.

Her teenage dress shop would be a crowning financial achievement. Grown men would drool when her nymphets appeared on the fashion stage in their spike-heeled shoes and black-leather short-shorts. And when those 14and 15-year-old junior sex bombs came down from the stage to mingle with her male patrons, it would precipitate one of the largest selling waves to ever hit Temple Cityl Yes, the riches were hers.

.She worked furiously during the following days. There was the task of closing out her present store, inventorying her stock, and wholesaling it out with a minimal loss. This, she readily accomplished. She staged a three-day "close out" sale, and it met with greater success than she imagined.

During the second week, she catered only to wholesalers. She ridded the remainder of her stock on a straight 50-percent of worth basis, and by the end of that week she had an empty store, an idea, and some six-thousand dollars in cash.

Henry Ridgewood, even in the face of these early successes, was still stubbornly against the plan. It wouldn't work, he said during a cocktail rendezvous with Rita. Even if you were willing to overlook the immoral fiber of such a business, there was still the problem of obtaining customers; and Henry steadfastly maintained that teenagers wouldn't be interested in bizarre fashions. And without a demand for her goods, Rita's business would collapse and die. This was a certainty, he prophesied.

"...so why don't you quit while you're ahead?" he asked.

They were in a small dimly-lit cocktail lounge on the outskirts of the city. Rita pulled up her dress. She placed Henry's hand between her svelte thighs. "Would you quit when you were ahead, Henry?"

He smiled. His fatigue ridden eyes suddenly brightened with excitement. "Rita, you're a bitch. A real bitch."

She squeezed her thighs together on his hand. He had meant it as a compliment, she thought. Her only rebuttal was:

"You have to be a bitch to get somewhere in this world. Tell me I'm wrong."

But Henry Ridgewood told her nothing of the kind. Instead, his hand came to battle with the elastic band of her panties.

Smiling to these physical overtures, Rita said, "You see, Henry. It's a matter of product and demand. I have the product and you have the demand. And it'll be the same way with my store."

Henry had forgotten what their difference was about, being too preoccupied with the separation of panties from flesh. With an outcry of passion, he had, at last, accomplished a manual invasion which was to say he managed to get his hand inside her panties and now he wanted to go to a motel.

Rita held him off. "But you're a married man," she chided.

"Please, Rita."

She was suffused with a sense of power. Henry, the beggar. She smiled proudly at this complacent pawn hiding her contempt with elation, thinking that before it was over with, the whole town would beg. Then she said:

"All right, Henry. Let's go."

Thirty minutes later they had locked themselves in a motel on the south side of town. Rita had quickly divested herself of her clothes and was naked. Henry, on the other hand, was slower, performing his perfunctory cautions of peeping out the window to make certain they hadn't been followed.

Rita sneaked behind him and slipped his belt out of his trousers. She brandished it like a whip, cracking him playfully across his buttocks. Henry jumped away from the window.

"What are you doing with that?" His eyes went from her magnificent breasts to the black leather belt she cracked at the air.

"You think you're such a lion of a lover, Henry, and now we'll find out."

He wasn't sure if she was fooling, or Serious. He grinned uncertainly.

"I'm waiting, Henry."

He climbed out of his trousers and laid them across the divan with meticulous care. While his back was turned, Rita cracked him across the thighs.

He jumped away, clutched the redness of his thighs.

"Will you cut that out! That hurt."

She laughed imperiously and cracked him again.

"Have you gone out of your mind?"

She cracked him still again, this time higher on his thighs and at the stitching in the legs of his shorts. He grew angry. He tore off his shirt and undershirt. Seconds later, he had dropped his shorts and kicked off his shoes and stockings. His body was reddened from the blows of the belt.

"Enough is enough," he said tartly, advancing toward her.

She threw him a mocking laugh. Her breasts stood high and majestic and shook with her laughter.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" she asked, raising the belt in the air.

"I'll show you what I'm gonna do." He reached out for her, but Rita was much too fast for him. She sidestepped his grasp, let his forward momentum carry him off balance, and slipped her ankle between his legs. He went down with a horrid crash.

Rita leaped over him and cracked him with the belt. He was on his face and Rita, his naked lion tamer, was straddled over him. Twice he tried to rise; twice Rita defeated his efforts, blistering his backside with the leather belt

"Rita ... Rita, please ... please stop ... p-please!"

Rita was rocked with sensual delights. Excitement churned in her breasts. Her loins were on fire. She cast the belt aside and belly-slammed her body down hard on top of Henry's. She slid back and 'forth on his naked back.

"Did I hurt the poor, poor Henry?" she asked in a babyish whine. "Did I?" Her nipples were pressed against his shoulder blades. Her lower body was in contact with his buttocks. Slowly, gently, he rolled her over. He challenged her supremacy with a supremacy of his own. Their bodies merged. In union they were one.

He said, "You're a devil, Rita. Do you know that?"

She wrapped her arms around his buttocks and pressed him back and forth. "You talk too much, Henry. Men of action don't talk."

"Rita...." He stiffened his arms and arched his back so that he might see her breasts. He looked at one, then the other. Suddenly he buried his face between them. "Y-You're lovely, Rita. Lovely and wonderful and warm and sweet...."

Rita clutched her ancient lover to her body. She squirmed her hips and felt response, first in his body, then in her own. She kissed him and when they parted, she said:

"All right, Henry. You're the law director. Let's see you do some directing...."

During the third week and those that followed, there was little time for dalliance with Henry Ridgewood. Rita's every wakeful hour was spent in getting the new store underway. She had to locate new wholesalers for the rare clothing she expected to handle; this was a formidable chore, but her incessant inquiries finally paid off. She discovered two west coast houses that specialized in exotic clothing; another one in New York. All three sources promised to air mail their latest catalogues, and to her questions, they answered: Yes, they could supply her with petite sizes to fit the teenager; if her credit rating was satisfactory, they would work to a 90-day-pay basis; or if she wanted to pay the slightly higher price, the account could be put on straight consignment. To these and other questions, they also added that they would welcome a personal visit if she so chose.

Rita was elated with these early inquiries. It meant that her initial investment would be minimal, leaving her more cash for the alteration of the store. Further inquiries to a national credit rating firm revealed her to have a grading of "excellent"; by now, she was treading a blanket of pink clouds, swimming with happiness.

The following day, she called in the manager of an interior decorating firm and told him what she wanted. The accent must be on youth. It must have lots of little girl appeal; the motif could be warm and gay, but she didn't want it to look like a nursery.

The decorator suggested pink as the predominating color. Around this, he explained, she could come in with her complementing reds and maroons. He recommended deep-red window drapes, matching wall-to-wall carpeting; a candy-striped fourth wall would be most effective, he promised; and if she wanted a touch of intimacy, wanted to make the shop even more chic, he could lower the ceiling and install diffused lighting.

Her desired alterations for the back portion of the store were more grandiose. She wanted the fashion stage enlarged for the model shows; she also desired a catwalk, extending from the stage, that would enable the little nymphets to parade out amongst the audience. More mirrors would be required; also, more dressing rooms.

The decorator was impressed with her ideas. He suggested spotlights for enhancing the theatrical effect and a small buffet area for serving refreshments. And the cost? He would let her know within a week.

Eita was jubilant. The plan was taking shape. And she wasn't worried about costs. If need be, she could float a loan. And if the bank denied her such a loan this was un-likely, she thought there was always Henry Ridgewood. She despised his weakness; but on the other hand, it was these very weaknesses that furnished her with the strength of her position. And Henry didn't dare fail her, she thought. If he did, it would mean his political death...

The following morning she placed an advertisement in the town's single newspaper. Teenage models were needed, experience was not necessary, and to this she added her phone number. She expected some problems: disapproving parents; however, she would cope with that enigma when she got to it. Money, of course, would be a powerful convincer: Not too many parents would turn their backs on the green stuff; scruples would die by the wayside. And now her confidence grew like a tumor; incipient success was hers!

She spent the afternoon straightening her apartment for the interviews. Ordinarily, she detested housework; today, however, she attacked the dusting and vacuuming with boundless alacrity. The apartment must look spotless, and when she was done with it, it would.

She was glad now that she had a good address one on the better side of town and glad, too, that she'd had the foresight to decorate it so lavishly. Being in business had afforded her the chance of getting some whopping furniture discounts: contemporary elegance had been obtained at a minimum of cost. And she was justly proud of this swanky four-room apartment. It was a status symbol far removed from the ramshackle house that she'd been reared in. But with a fierce determination, she knew this was only the beginning.

By nightfall, she had whistled and hummed her way to the finish. The apartment was brightly clean. Tall table lamps diffused a warm intimacy across the thickly carpeted living room, and luxury lingered like a haunting perfume. The deep crimson of her chaise lounge that was the most! beckoned with the promise of comfort, was commodious enough for the wildest of pastimes. And strangely, she reflected, she had never made love on it a dereliction of duty that certainly needed correcting. Might be fun to test its bounce. Might be a lot of fun!

Pushing lascivious thoughts out of her mind, she stripped down to take a shower. She'd eat out, she supposed. Perhaps she would call Henry, ask him to take her to dinner. He was a bore, but it was better than being alone.

Down to her panties and bra, she started for the bath, but the phone rang and carried her back to the living room. The voice was that of a young girl: shy and diffident, expressing herself was a formidable battle that she very nearly lost:

"Y-you had an ad in the paper ... teenage models...."

Rita was taken by surprise. She hadn't expected the ad to appear until tomorrow. "Why, yes. Yes, I did."

I-I was ... I was w-wondering...."

Rita's compassion went out to the poor girl. Every word was a struggle. "Would you like to become a model, my dear?"

"Well I-I don't know.. . I mean...."

"Don't be frightened."

Tm not. It's just that.. . that...."

"You never applied for a job before," Rita finished, "and you're scared. And I was the same way the first time I went for a job, so I know."

The girl brightened. Her voice grew steady. "When could I see you?" she asked.

Rita paused. She hadn't planned to do any interviewing until tomorrow, but a sudden thought crossed her mind: maybe not too many girls would respond to the ad. And maybe she shouldn't let this one escape. "Would you like to come up to my apartment tonight?"

"That would be super!" she exclaimed eagerly. But then she was plagued by self-doubt: "Maybe I won't be good enough, though."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" she said, trying to reassure the teenager.

"Do you have to have a real good shape?"

Rita again paused. She mustn't frighten the poor thing off; on the other hand, she couldn't be completely dishonest. "Well, a pleasing figure does help. But there are other considerations," she added hastily.

"Well I do have a good shape," the girl said with surprising frankness, "but my hair...."

"We can take care of your hair-do."

"But is fifteen too young?"

"Not at all," Rita answered. "Would you like to come up?"

And the teenager was willing. She could be there in twenty minutes, she was sure her parents wouldn't mind, and after Rita had supplied her with the address, she said, "I hope I get hired."

"We'll see," Rita said, and then she hung up. She swallowed two of Dr. Grossman's pills and went to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, almost to the minute, the girl arrived. Rita had just emerged from the shower, toweled, and climbed into a bright-yellow Japanese kimono. She tightened the black silk sash of the costume and hurried to the door. She was instantly startled; never in her life had she been so swiftly arid incredibly certain of a decision that decision being: The girl was hired!

Her name, Rita learned, was Lee Patterson; and as the youngster came anxiously into the apartment, marveled at its splendor, Rita found herself awed by the perfection of the teenager's figure. High and full of breast, possessing a diminutive waist, she exuded sex with every step. And what made her so winsomely desirable, Rita ruminated, was her completely unaffected manner. If anything, the girl was too immodest: the epitome of teenage sex, she was as humble as a church mouse.

Rita told her to relax not that this had any visible effect and then she excused herself to bring in a tray of soft drinks. The girl was palpably nervous and her shabby coat told Rita that the youngster was unaccustomed to the "better life' and awkward in its presence; however, when the Cokes arrived and Rita smiled, the strain lifted. Rita sat beside the girl, led her into a banal discussion of school; within five minutes, the girl was relaxed and the warm rapport had begun to grow.

During this conversation, Rita had not meant to stare; yet it was impossible not to. Lee Patterson, despite her shabby dress and unkempt long blonde hair, was strikingly attractive. Her eyes, a misty blue, possessed long dark lashes that needed no penciling. Her nose: pert, kind of saucy; the mouth: full, but never pretentious. And all of this young beauty was sculptured in a fair skin that was flawless in its texture. Truly, she was more than Rita had bargained for.

"And you think you'd like to become a model, huh?"

"I'd love to! But dya think I'd be good enough?"

Rita's mind was already made up: the girl would be excellent; nevertheless, she asked Lee to stand up and walk across the room. Lee was less strained now; she set down her Coke and moved above with ease. Her clothes did her no justice: The skirt was a wretched plaid, faded from too many washings; and her plain cotton blouse was not only ill-fitting, probably a hand-me-down, but it was also in need of pressing. All the same, the promise was there: Buttocks that were ripe and firm; pristine breasts that strained to burst forth from her cheap blouse; legs that were reaching the full bloom of young womanhood.

The girl excited Rita, and whether it was a physical excitement or simply the excitement of discovery, was not something that Rita could immediately determine.

"What do you think, Miss Lyons?"

"What do I think?" Rita felt a confident smile spread across her mouth. "I think you'll be wonderful."

"Really!" the teenager gushed. "You really do?"

"Honest Injun. And now maybe I'd better tell you just what kind of modeling you'll be doing." Her tone now grew suddenly business-like. "You may want to reconsider."

And then, for the next ten minutes, Rita hopefully explained the plans for her new fashion shop for teens. As always, her enthusiasm carried her aloft; but this time she had an avid listener, and the enthusiasm was contagious. Her young companion thought the idea was great; the kids would go nuts over clothes like that.

"You're not just saying that because you want the job?"

"Oh, no!" Lee said in a rush.

"And you have no objection to modeling these ... these clothes?"

"Heck, no! How else are you gonna sell 'em?"

Rita wanted it perfectly clear that men would be attending some of her style shows, would be gazing at her teenage models, seeing them in the skimpiest of dress. 'Is that sort of thing going to scare you?" she asked cautiously.

The teenager shrugged it off lightly. Sex was not new to her, despite the wide-eyed innocence of her smile. She had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, had been chased by boys and grown men since she was twelve years old. She was not afraid; she blushingly admitted it might be fun.

"What about your parents?" Rita asked. "Would they object?"

Hardly so, the teenager answered. Her mother-had died when Lee was only ten; her father spent his evenings in the neighborhood bars.

"But would he object?" Rita probed.

"I doubt it." She crossed her shapely legs. "Anyway, how would he know?"

Rita was pleased. She couldn't have asked for a more compromising family situation. The teenager was obviously free to do as she wished.

"Do I get the job, then?" she asked hopefully.

Rita gave her a conditional yes. There was a lot of work to be done: she's have to be taught how to walk, pivot, to look alluring but never pretentious; how to wear make-up and how not to wear it. Her hair-do was atrocious, that would need work; finally, there was the question of wages and hours. She would work after school and on Saturdays. When a style show was scheduled, she would work in the evening.

"And m pay you two-dollars an hour." This was much less than the going rate for models, but Rita knew that the teenager would swoon with any offer at all. And her presumption was entirely correct:

"Golly! I'll be the richest kid in school."

Rita smiled proudly. She'd struck an excellent bargain and, more than that, she liked the girl's cheerful eagerness. Something else: There was no use denying it to herself-the girl excited her. She couldn't analyze these feelings at first even denying their presence. But now the itching was here in full force. A strange hunger throbbed to life. And suddenly, unashamed, Rita gazed at the exposed area of the teenager's comely thighs.

Her thoughts shocked her. She remembered Dr. Grossman's warning:

"The drug might possibly reverse your sex urges. Make you a lesbian....."

And her reply:

"That's silly."

"But it could happen. If only for a few hours, it could happen."

"Is there something wrong, Miss Lyons?" Rita blotted out her thoughts. She stared blankly at the teenager.

"What makes you ask?"

"I don't know. Just the way you were looking, I guess."

"Well I'm fine," she snapped. "Just fine."

"Oh, I didn't mean that there was anything wrong with you. I just meant...."

"Well, nothing is wrong with me," she repeated; but even as she spoke these words, she knew that something was wrong, because she was staring hungrily at the teenager's breasts, being surged with a warm throbbing desire for which there was but one tempestuous answer.

"Lee...?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to...." What difference did it make if they had a little fun? The store could be a success, regardless of her feelings. And now the rationalizations were complete. "...would you like to have a drink? I mean a grown-up drink."

"I'd love to I" the teenager gushed excitedly.

"And then maybe you'd like to try on some of the clothes you'll be modeling. I have this one bikini and it's the most!"

"Jeezzzz!"

"It's kind of daring."

"So who cares?"