Chapter 1
Laura knew the man was following her: She could feel his eyes burning into her softly bouncing buttocks and silky legs like hot probes as she hurried faster along the downtown streets of San Francisco, glancing back every few seconds. The young blonde told herself her panic was unreasonable, that it was still daylight and she was surrounded by hundreds of shoppers, but it wasn't until she'd turned into the lobby of her cheap hotel and gotten her room key from the young, hard-faced clerk, who always managed to betray his smile with a leer, that her alarm began to subside. She felt the clerk's gaze devour her curvaceous body as she hurried to the elevator, expecting the stranger from the street to rush through the doors of the lobby after her at any second. When the elevator door closed, and the ancient lift started creaking upward, jerking and rumbling, Laura felt a dizzying wave of relief and for a moment she thought she would cry.
Why did so many men stare at her as if they wanted to rip her dress from her body and pummel their hands savagely into her ripe breasts and plump thighs?
At the third floor, the elevator jerked to a halt and when the doors jammed for a minute, Laura felt her panic flash again, making her breasts heave and her legs tremble. Then they opened with a reluctant grind, and she rushed to her room, locking the door frantically, feeling hot tears in her eyes as she slumped onto the sagging bed. She felt as if she needed a bath desperately, even though she'd taken one early this morning before another phase in her seemingly endless hunt for a job and an apartment. It was the way strange men looked at her that made her feel unclean: Hungrily lustfully almost brutally, as though her luscious young body brought out something obscene in their minds. She'd never felt ashamed of her healthy beauty back in her small home town in Kansas, even a little proud of her generous curves when boys and men whistled softly as she passed. But San Francisco was different-vast, glittering, exciting, but frightening too, an alien country even after two weeks in its noisy heart.
Slowly, Laura got off the bed and went into the dingy bathroom and turned on the bathtub faucets. She stared at herself in the cracked, full-length mirror, surprised that she still looked radiant and almost adolescently pure after the last two hectic, nerve-racking weeks. During the day, men followed her openly and a few even tried to pick her up on the street or in a cafeteria. On the first night she ventured out of her hotel roqm, a man whispered obscenities in her ear at a crosswalk and offered her money, and less than an hour later, a strange, hot-eyed woman pursued her into a restaurant and tried to pick her up, shocking Laura by fondling her leg under the table with harsh fingertips. Since then she'd locked herself in her room at night with a book and soggy, take-out sandwiches, telling herself she was acting like a terrified child instead of a twenty year old woman, but she couldn't deny that the strange, dazzling city shocked her at times. Why did men whisper horribly suggestive things in her ear as if she were a prostitute, and what in God's name could a woman possibly want with her sexually?
With a sigh, Laura slipped out of her dress and folded it neatly on a chair, then stared at herself critically in the mirror. She'd lost at least five pounds since her arrival, but her honey-skinned breasts still spilled out lushly over the top of her brassiere, and her hips and thighs were still voluptuously curved, their amber flesh as smooth as silk. With her long, glistening blonde hair and wide green eyes, she still looked radiantly wholesome-virginal, she thought with a self-conscious giggle-but certainly not like a prostitute. Maybe, she realized, it was her virginal look that provoked them, spurring them to think they might be first. She still had her wedding band but she hadn't worn it since her divorce two months before; maybe if she wore it now, they'd leave her alone. She suddenly realized her fingers were trembling as they tried to undo the hooks of her brassiere, and the reason made her cheeks burn with shame, but it also started a faint throbbing in her loins and a warm gentle trickle of moisture in her vagina.
I won't! she thought furiously. Not again, I promised myself. ,.
The throbbing increased as Laura slipped her brassiere over her shoulders, watching her proud, succulent breasts spring forth, high and satiny with fat dusky nipples that tilted gently upward. Her pulse quickened and her eyelids fluttered as she recalled how her ex-husband used to massage them lovingly in his fingers, pressing his hot desire-engorged penis to her thighs at the same time, preparing for that first breath-taking thrust up between her legs, that unforgettable hot thrill rubbing deep into her aching pussy-flesh, bursting her virginity....
"No!" she said aloud, and the sound of her own voice startled her, making her realize with a shock that her own fingers were now massaging her hot plump breasts, urgently caressing her now taut nipples. She tore her fingers away with an effort, and turned from the mirror, trying to blot sex out of her mind. It was all very simple: The thought of her wedding ring had led naturally to the thought of her ex-husband, and reminded her with cruel insistence that she hadn't had a man in over a year, not since she'd left him. Laura slid her panties off, trembling slightly under the caressing touch of her own fingers, leaning far down as she pushed the flimsy nylon to her ankles. Her heart hammering in her chest and the trickle in her burning cunt growing sharper, the unwillingly aroused blonde couldn't resist the urge to peek in the mirror in the upside-down position, feeling silly but enormously excited at the inverted view of her ripe naked buttocks and long shapely legs. For a minute, her face red with shame but her will caught in the grip of her rising excitement, Laura stared at her wet pink pussy-lips throbbing through their curly golden nest, sucking gently inward as if in lewd invitation to an invisible lover. Even her anus, she saw with surprise and a stab of guilt, was flexing in rhythm to her vagina, the tiny brown ring palpitating in obscene invitation. She'd never realized how sexy she could appear in this bizarre position, with her tender, milk-white ass-cheeks framing her beckoning genitals, and her softly dangling breasts more luscious and full than ever. She wondered if husbands ever had their wives pose for them this way just to arouse them, or even possibly have sex in such a wanton position. Tormenting herself and feeling deliciously guilty, Laura gently wriggled her buttocks, knowing that if she kept the lascivious spectacle up much longer she would have to succumb to the violent urge she hated so much and which her body craved so ruthlessly. If she'd posed in this lewd way for her ex-husband, would it have saved her marriage?
She straightened up abruptly with a fierce effort of will and stepped out of her hobbling panties, refusing to look at her naked body in the mirror again, trying desperately to ignore the pounding in her loins as she turned off the bathroom faucets and stepped into the steaming water. With a long sigh, she lay back and kept her fingers firmly gripped on the cool porcelain bathtub rim, closing her eyes so she wouldn't be tempted by the sight of her own voluptuously glowing body. Deliberately, she turned her thoughts to her dismal financial situation and uncertain future, trying to blot out the hot, restless ache in her now-searing pussy.
Laura knew she had less than seventy-five dollars left out of her meager savings, and it seemed incredibly bad luck to her that she hadn't had a single response from her job applications. She was an excellent typist, fast and accurate, but once they learned she hadn't had any actual office experience and that she was from out of state, they seemed to lose interest-in her typing ability, that is, but not always in her body. There were veiled propositions, but the young divorcee firmly turned them all down, remembering her parents' strict injunction: No formal introduction, no date. And jobs were, they'd explained to her at various agencies, scarce right now, but if she persisted, sooner or later she'd find one, even though she couldn't take shorthand, a major drawback. Too, she couldn't be certain she was getting all her phone messages in the seedy hotel, since the day-clerk was an old man who slept much of the time and seemed totally disinterested in taking the effort to write one down. If she had an apartment she could share with another girl-she couldn't possibly afford one of her own yet-she might be able to ride the situation out until she got work. But her rent was due at the hotel again tomorrow and the thought of another week in this shabby, sordid place depressed her.
The alternative was equally dismal: She would have to take a bus back to her parents' farm in Kansas, a humiliating retreat after her tearful goodbye and glowing promises to them to send money once she got a high-paying job. And their friends and neighbors would smirk at Laura, showing their scorn for the simple country girl crushed by a big city in less than a month. No, she couldn't go back, but fate seemed viciously intent on keeping her from going forward. Or ce she ran out of money....
The scream began in her throat the instant she knew there was a man in the room. In a split-second, she sensed rather than saw him, felt his presence announce itself by the icy shivers racing up her spine, and her eyes flew open and for a moment her heart stopped.
He was standing in the bathroom doorway, watching her with burning eyes, his pallid face drawn taut with naked lust. The scream suddenly froze cold in Laura's throat, a thick lump that made her lips move soundlessly. In the few moments he stood there, immobile, running his glittering eyes hungrily from the beige nipples of her succulent breasts down to her soaked golden pubic curls and glistening thighs, Laura's terror began to mingle with hot rage as she recognized him. Her voice found itself in a hoarse whisper:
"What-what are you doing here? Get out! I'll scream!"
"Easy, girl," the young desk clerk muttered, his eyes riveted to her bare thighs as he edged forward a few inches, "I knocked and there was no answer, so I just stepped in-"
"The door was locked!" Laura hissed, trembling violently with fear as he loomed closer by degrees.
"Open," he retorted. His hard face grew more ravenous as he swung his eyes to her lush breasts and his breath rasped in the room. "I just wanted to tell you, you're wanted on the phone, that's all. Jesus, you're stacked! Why don't you just let me soap you down a little-"
Laura screamed, short and soft with breathless terror, but he instantly took a step back and jerked his head to the door.
"Hey, take it easy, I'm leaving!" he snapped. "Don't cause no trouble. There'll be cops!"
She felt a surge of confidence at the knowledge that he was afraid of the police, probably hiding from them. "I'll call the police if you don't get out and stay out," she warned shakily, "go now!"
"What about the phone?"
"I'll be there in a minute. Go!"
Slowly he stepped backward, his gaze not leaving her soft, vulnerable body, until he disappeared from view. Laura's heart began to hammer with delayed fear as she stood up on trembling legs and got out of the bathtub, stepping cautiously into the bedroom. When she saw he was gone, she hurried to the closet and got her bathrobe, then peered into the hallway before rushing down the corridor to the phone extension. She snatched it down and whispered hysterically, "Yes? Yes? Who is it?"
"This is Virginia Miller," a husky voice said, "the woman with the ad in the paper for a roommate. Don't you remember me?"
"No," Laura panted, her mind still whirling and her damp skin crawling with revulsion, "I'm sorry, I don't."
The responsive chuckle was throaty and amused. "You talked to me for a minute the other night on the phone, Laura, about the ad. I was on my way out, on a date, and said I'd call you back."
"Oh yes, yes, now I remember," Laura hurried, hope flaring in her chest, "You want a roommate and my share of the rent is fifty dollars. I've got the money right here, Virginia, I can move in tonight-"
"Hey, slow down, honey, I haven't even met you yet. How do I know I'll like you? Let me ask a few questions first. How old are you?"
Laura's voice grew more urgent and she kept her head craned so she could see behind her down the dim hallway. "I'm twenty, Virginia, and I'll do anything you say if you let me move in. I mean, I'm awfully easy to live with, I'll take care of all the laundry and the dishes and the vacuuming, I swear it. Please?"
There was a long hesitant pause and Laura felt ashamed, wondering if the woman thought she was a neurotic or a drug addict or hiding out from the police in desperation.
"You sound like you really need a home, honey," Virginia's voice chuckled, "but what do you look like? I mean, to be honest, I don't want a fat dumpy girl who'll scare away my dates or a skinny nut who'll hide in the bathroom every time a man comes by. Are you cute?"
"Yes, sort of. At least people say I'm pretty five feet six, blonde hair, green eyes, very nice figure, I can come over tonight, right now and if you like me I can move in tonight, too."
Virginia's warm, throaty laugh seemed friendly and reassuring to the shivering blonde.
"Sorry, Laura, but I've got a heavy date tonight and I'm leaving in a few minutes. How about tomorrow afternoon, around three? I'm a late sleeper. And bring your baggage, Laura-I think you're telling the truth and we're going to get along just beautifully. Nobody that eager can lie."
"Thank you," Laura sobbed with relief. "You don't know how grateful I am, Virginia-what's your address!"
She concentrated intensely, memorizing the address, afraid the woman might change her mind while she rushed to her room for a pencil and paper. Then Laura hung up the phone, repeating the address like a fervent prayer as she rushed back to her room. She slammed the door viciously, locked it and then jammed the top of a chair beneath the knob, unlocking the door again and testing it. It shook, but seemed secure, so Laura locked the door once more and kept her eyes on it as she backed to the bed. With a deep, shaking sigh, she hugged her robe around her still-damp body and crawled under the covers, trembling from head to toe with a mixture of fear and coldness. After a few minutes, her tense muscles began to relax, but she kept her eyes on the doorknob, black in the shadows, while her mind relived the terrifying scene a few minutes earlier.
Only now there was a faint undercurrent of some strange feeling she couldn't identify fusing with her fear, the tiniest tremor of excitement rippling in her blood.
She knew she'd locked the door. The desk clerk must have lied, because she distinctly remembered locking the door and even sliding up the little notch so it couldn't be opened from the outside without a key. But if she'd done that, then how could he have gotten in? And why, now that she'd relived the scene in her mind, did the odd feeling so much like a faint sexual thrill accompany his leering gaze on her soft naked body? And even now, the earlier rush of wild excitement she'd felt when posing in the lewd, upside-down position before the mirror was flooding her body again, as if he'd seen that exhibition too!
Her vagina began to pulse hotly with desire as these startling thoughts filled her with profound shame and an intense excitement she couldn't hide from herself. Laura told herself that it was impossible for her to leave the door open while she posed obscenely and then took her bath but how else could he have gotten in? Maybe she'd unconsciously left the door ajar just before going into the bathroom, perhaps to let air into the stuffy room.
She suddenly shuddered and sat up, the hairs prickling on the back of her neck. Maybe she'd done it deliberately, prodded by more than a year of tormented sex-starvation! And then conveniently forgot, and secretly hoped and prayed just beneath the rim of her consciousness....
Laura hugged her arms tighter around herself, crushing her hot plump breasts together, confused and frightened. Yet she was becoming rapidly aroused again, pressing her moist thighs tightly together in a slow, rhythmic squeeze while she recalled the fierce lust in the young clerk's eyes as he drank in the lushness of her half-submerged breasts and smooth white thighs, his gaze lingering on her softly curling pussy-hair. What if she hadn't screamed to stop him, and instead had let him lather soap all over her warm trembling body? She would shiver as his hard male fingers pinched and stroked her tingling nipples, then rubbed soap over cheeks of her ass, edging deliciously closer to her throbbing cunt-lips while she moaned and spread her thighs wide, eagerly, her fingers reaching out to grasp the thick lewd bulge of his pants....
"No!" Laura sobbed aloud to break the erotic fantasy, and she forced her squirming buttocks to cease on the mattress. She suddenly knew what Was wrong: She hadn't eaten anything since last night, and that had been a cold tasteless hamburger, so she was undoubtedly confused by hunger and exhaustion from walking the city streets all day. She clung to that explanation, telling herself she must have locked the door of her room, but not pushed up the notch, and the desk-clerk had simply unlocked her door and walked in, perhaps after a soft knock or two as an excuse. And the urgent, pulsing desire she felt rippling through her thinly clad flesh now as she replayed the scene in her mind was simply sex-fantasy, thrust upon her dazed imagination by more than a year of sex-abstinence, by her restless, healthy young body.
The blonde divorcee glanced at the darkened window, realizing it was too late to go out and get food now. She would sleep, even though it was only around eight P.M., get up early and eat a full breakfast, and then pack her bags. Laura lay back in bed, still hugging her robe around her slightly damp body and keeping her ears alert for the tiniest sound outside her door. The bathroom light cast a pale, cool glow in the squalid hotel room, but made her feel safe and secure, and her mind went over the phone conversation with Virginia. The woman's voice had been warm and husky with affection, tolerant like a big sister's. Laura chided herself for her silly desperation, but a moment later wondered at Virginia's strange questions about her attractiveness. Why would it matter what she looked like if she could pay the rent and was a friendly, cheerful roommate? Laura frowned as it occurred to her most women would want a plain or dumpy girl to live with, one that wouldn't represent a threat to her boy friends and dates. Yet the woman had seemed oddly intrigued by her description of herself, and pleased at her tender age....
Laura shrugged off the suspicious questions in her mind and turned over on her side, cuddling herself, shivering as her fingers crept under her robe and teased almost unconsciously over the soft, hot flesh of her rounded belly. She'd promised herself she'd never do that again, that the shame and self-disgust she felt after masturbating-no matter how thrilling the thrusting feel of hardness was, wriggling and jerking in her eager pussy-flesh, it wasn't worth the relief. Yet she'd started that during her marriage to George, and had finger-fucked herself with increasing frequency and wildness as the brief marriage deteriorated rapidly.
Her cheeks burned crimson at the thought as she hugged her desire-swollen breasts tightly under the covers, but she couldn't help herself, not really: George had been forty-five, and she eighteen, and she'd married him more out of devotion to her parents, poor farmers but proud and deeply devoted to her, than for any other reason. George owned a huge, prosperous neighboring farm and his vague promises of leasing a vast portion of the fertile land to her parents if she would marry him-and the obvious fact that Laura would inherit all of it on his death-prodded her into surrendering her virginal body for a marriage license.
At first, George seemed physically adequate although the innocent girl really had no basis for comparison since she was a virgin, but she began to wonder after a few months if once a week was really enough, if their fifteen-minute Saturday night ritual was average. Long before Saturday night would arrive, Laura found herself churning restlessly until the early hours of the morning, her full, firm breasts swollen with desire and her tender, trembling thighs continually moist with burning eagerness. And shortly after that, the Saturday night ritual became every other Saturday night, then once a month as her grim, weatherbeaten husband sank to sleep at once at nine so he could get up before dawn to tend the farm, and Laura began slipping into the bathroom almost nightly, her soft body shuddering with profound shame and lewd, urgent passion as she leaned against the sink or sat on the edge of the tub, wriggling and panting on her own extended fingers driven obscenely up between her parted thighs as she stifled her wild moans through tightly clenched teeth.
She could have even lived without sex for her parents' sake, but her husband seemed to be deteriorating mentally, too. He became intensely jealous as his potency dwindled to nothingness, accusing her of sneaking out at night to meet young boys while he was asleep, and he kept postponing the promised lease of acreage to her parents. Then came the harsh beatings along with his accusations, until Laura fled to the safety of her parents' house and filed for divorce. Her decision to start a new life in a distant city followed-she'd taught herself to type with a battered old typewriter and a manual, tackling it with fierce determination until her skill dazzled her parents and her neighbors-and now she found herself alone in a sagging bed in a cheap hotel room in downtown San Francisco, shivering with fear and hope, jobless and low on money, and worse, tortured by the lustful urge to again relieve the searing, relentless throb in her tender pussy.
Laura clenched her fingers painfully and shuddered as she swore she wouldn't succumb. She recalled her mother's solemn voice explaining how sacred her vagina was, how it should never be violated except by a husband and then only with his penis and for the hallowed purpose of creating children. That was why the obedient daughter felt such stinging shame afterwards, she told herself, because she'd violated something sacred. But each time she resisted the burning impulse, she felt not stronger but more shaky and helpless, and her imagination tortured her more vividly than ever, with wild, lewd pictures of enormously swollen cocks whose round crimson tips tore brutally deep into her trembling cunt-flesh, thrilling her intensely with pain and lustful rapture.
The unhappy young blonde continued to fight the urge until it began to bury itself deeper in her mind, faded but not really forgotten. At last she fell into a restless sleep, but then she was jerking up with a pounding heart and strained ears, listening to the creak outside the door in breathless panic. Her heart thudded slower as she realized it was only someone passing by, not the hungry-eyed young desk-clerk forcing his way into her room again. Slowly, she huddled under the covers again, aware that her fear was struggling inside her against a burning trickle in her thighs.
She fell into a deep, exhausted sleep this time, but not before she realized her trembling silken body felt like a smoldering time-bomb that needed only a spark to explode its pent-up fury.