Dominique Carter placed the highball in the hand of the buxom blonde thirteen year old and stepped back, her deep green eyes smiling felinely.
"Go on, dear, there's no harm in it," she coaxed. "It's just a little highball."
But Ellen Winthrop, whose father had died nine months previous after an acute bout with alcoholism, shook her pretty head firmly. Her satiny soft long blonde hair flew attractively around her perfectly oval youthful face. The long dark lashes over her sparkling, innocent blue eyes fluttered as she refused, saying, "Oh, but I couldn't, Mrs.
Carter. My mother wouldn't permit it."
Dominique smiled indulgently and took the glass from her again. She shook out her long red hair and said sweetly, "Well, that's right, dear. You should always do what your mother tells you." Damnit, a small voice whispered inside her head.
Not that this terrible primness didn't make their lovely young neighbor all the more intoxicating company. At times Dominique suspected that it was this very naivete that was driving herself and her husband Maxwell so wild with anticipation. Ellen was so unremittingly good that Maxwell was really going out of his mind for her, and Handsome, their big German shepherd was as well. Handsome sniffed around the sweet overdeveloped teenager to an extent which even made Dominique not a little jealous. But if the anticipation was excruciating, so also was their fierce desire to get some good movies of Ellen misbehaving. She was the most gorgeous little piece of femininity and perfection they had run into in a long time, and any film footage they could get of her would sell like hotcakes, literally. Men always liked performers who were busty with long blonde hair, for some reason, and in addition there was the incentive of Ellen's healthy nubile youth, which was considerable.
At only thirteen she was rounded and developed with curves that any eighteen year old would have been proud of. Her large, gravity-defying breasts – which she appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable about – were positively mouth-watering, to hear Maxwell tell it, and she knew that Handsome wanted to lap them as well. In addition, the child had almost no waist – which then flared out into opulent hourglass hips just born for sex. And then there were those long, long legs tapering into tiny ankles and dainty feet. Ellen had been put together like a human aphrodisiac. No doubt she towered over her teacher in grammar school as well. She was probably the most striking thing her teachers had ever seen.
Dominique sighed and sipped her highball. The entire affair had become all too frustrating. They hadn't had any of this delay and difficulty with their other conquests. It hadn't taken too long for most of them to fall for Handsome, that rugged, demanding beast, or at the very least for her handsome husband Maxwell. And most of them had been teenagers as well, usually neighborhood girls of good background who they were eventually able to get liquored up enough so that they totally lost their heads and could be seduced readily into performing for Midwest Motion Pictures, Incorporated.
They, too, had had long hair of varying shades, and voluptuous physiques, which was why they had been chosen. The Carters' customers liked especially well these pert and clean-cut, fresh-looking youngsters. Their innocent wholesomeness appeared to be more thrilling than the blatant sensuality of the average actress who was willing to do sex scenes for pay. Which was why she and Maxwell always went to the lengthy trouble of these elaborate seductions. Their customers paid more for girls of obvious gentility, virginity, purity, and refinement.
Except that Ellen now had them stymied. Five months of plying her with bon-bons, long trips in their wire-wheeled custom-made Lamborghini motorcar, flights in their private plane, pretty little gifts of bewildering variety and so-on, nothing had served in the slightest to unbend the gorgeous voluptuous blonde teenager's legs from the way they crossed so elegantly over her golden – and no doubt virginal – pussyslit. Dominique could sigh indeed. They already had a lengthy investment in this luscious child of nature. It was going to be difficult to write her off as a bad job. Money didn't grow on trees.
"Are you ready out there?" came Maxwell's deep voice from in back of their private motion picture screen, which had descended smoothly and silently from its hidden recess in the ceiling of the Carters' living room.
"We are lover," Dominique called back. "Fire away."
"Here we go."
Suddenly the sound came up at the same time as the picture, the house lights dimmed, and they were looking at the opening reel of "Straw Dogs."
The Carters had their own motion picture facilities at home, of course, and quite elaborate ones they were. They were also a means of impressing young impressionables, for they always showed the latest Hollywood films as well, often before these were showing in legitimate movie houses. Most of them were pirated jobs, but the innocent young girls who made it a point to visit the Carters didn't know this. They just assumed that the Carters were impossibly rich and influential, and that all the big studios sent them prints of their films as a matter of course.
Ellen sat back, her legs still sweetly crossed. Her long blonde hair had fluffed in back of the couch she was sitting on. There was no denying she was impressed by the Carters. In the five months since her widowed mother and herself had moved to Kenilworth, intent on putting out of their minds the unfortunate demise of her adored father, the Carters had gone out of their way to help them forget. They took her mother and herself on little shopping trips, and sent them presents, took them out to dinner, and so on. They were the most generous people Ellen had ever known.
Dominique Carter squeezed her slender smooth hand and Ellen blushed. In recent months Mrs. Carter had been more of a mother to her than her own mother almost, and the amount of time the Carters seemed to spend on her was really amazing. She had never known people could be so sweet and thoughtful, and without any consideration for themselves. Mr.
Carter had even offered her a chance to take the controls of his private plane, although, of course, she had refused. What a great deal of money they must have to be able to afford such gestures! And the way they were always talking about their vacations in Bermuda, Rio de Janeiro, Sun Valley, Mallorca, St. Moritz, Paris, Monte Carlo, the French Riviera, Hollywood, Palm Beach, and the Far East! Apparently they had the money to be able to afford to go anywhere and do anything.
She didn't suppose that she would ever be that rich. Her father's insurance had left just enough to leave them comfortably well off, and when her mother had sold their house in Winnetka (her big old house, with the big playroom and nursery she had grown up in, and which she loved so well) they had bought their smaller, but more luxurious, bungalow down the street from the Carters, shaded by tall oaks and with an immense backyard perfect for sunning. It was just such a sunny day when they had first run into the Carters, who had come walking through the alley with Handsome on a leash, and then stopped to say hello and have some idle chatter.
Ellen had been impressed with them from the very first. Maxwell Carter had seemed so impossibly urbane and worldly, with his wavy black hair and the handmade pipe he was forever lighting. He dressed with rugged lavishness, expensively, so that he looked not so much the workman as the wealthy outdoors-man. He used a great deal of leather and suede in his apparel, and it was always finely cut and usually brand new.
Everything he wore looked custom made just for him – from the belted Austrian hunting jackets to his Charles III buckled boots. He was mature, worldly, sophisticated. Dominique Carter was a lucky woman.
And their wealth, while obvious, was always in good taste in a similar vein. In addition to their white Cadillac convertible they also kept the classic Lamborghini, a Rolls-Royce, and a battered old Ford station wagon. While Mrs. Carter, in addition to her minks, also wore leopard and silver fox with some frequency. Her clothes were beautiful and in good taste. Everything seemed to be an original from somewhere or other, or ready-made from Saks or Marshall Field. "Oh, just some little thing Christian Dior made up for me, darling," Dominique Carter would say casually. "He's such a dear."
Now as she sat on the couch in front of the movie screen, Mrs. Carter's hand slipped casually out of hers and rested just as casually on Ellen's full firm thigh. Ellen didn't mind. Dominique was like a secondary mother to her, or a fairy aunt. And she was a perfectly normal girl in that her primitive, vague and immature yearnings were oriented only towards the male sex. At the tender age of thirteen, while of womanly proportions already, Ellen still knew nothing at all of lesbianism, and scarcely much more about ordinary sex.
The innocent young girl glanced across at Maxwell Carter, who was sitting sidewise across from them, on the other long black leather couch, apparently deep in thought, his usual urbane and distant self as the motion pictured droned on.
But why had they picked her upon which to lavish all this attention and praise? Dominique Carter was constantly buying her "some little thing;" her mother didn't seem to mind. Perhaps it was all due to the fact that the Carters had no children of their own.
But that didn't seem quite right, either. Dominique Carter was certainly young enough to have children, even though she was too svelte and sophisticated to seem exactly the motherly type. And with a gorgeous statuesque figure like hers, Ellen imagined that her husband probably found no end of excuse to do with her what it was that men did with women for the purpose of impregnating them. She certainly could not believe that the Carters were anything less than normal. Mr.
Carter's virility was a palpable flavor in the air, while Dominique had an aura of such worldly sensuality that Ellen only hoped that some day she could equal that masterful air of feminine confidence which suffused everything Dominique did. If only…
"Look at this," Maxwell whispered across to them. Handsome stepped over to Ellen and laid his furry snout in her lap, gazing up at her with what appeared to be adoring eyes. It was not in her youthful innocence to perceive any sensuality in the handsome brute's face. Handsome was, after all, just a dog.
"Terrific," Maxwell muttered.
Ellen blinked and she struggled to focus. As usual, the surroundings in the Carters' enormous den were so restful that she had quite drifted off with her pubescent daydreaming. She realized now that she had been paying scarcely any attention at all to the movie, although it appeared to be an interesting one. The mood of decor in the Carters' library-den as usual, had tended to act as a mild soporific on her teenage sensibilities. The ancient prints on the walls, the long hanging red tapestries, the abundance of leather, wood, and fine Mediterranean tooling workmanship in everything – from mantel piece to chair arm to carpeting to bookcase – the high covered windows, everything gave one a feeling of having settled into a warmish, quiet cocoon conducive to thoughtful meditation. Then the incense that the Carters were so fond of lighting was another factor. She invariably found herself becoming slow and lazy in this room, in particular when they showed films. Her mind just seemed to drift off.
But now Mr. Carter's verbal notations had served to waken her observation, and what she observed was more than she bargained for.
The sort of films the Carters usually showed her were Mary Poppins' sort of things, with the occasional violent western thrown in for good measure. They had never shown her anything even the most wee bit sexy.
And yet she realized now that what she was seeing in Straw Dogs had some very strong sexual overtones. In particular where the young man's wife – the American man's wife – appears at the window with her healthy young breasts showing, before the trio of workmen working on the garage roof of her husband's new house.
And what Mr. Carter was now pointing out was apparently a rape scene, for the big blond man was in the American's house while he was away, and he was slapping his pretty blonde wife and making her take her clothes off.
Ellen started as she realized what was happening to herself right here in this room. Mrs. Carter was gently stroking her skirted thigh with her thumb, and Handsome had nuzzled his nose deeply in her lap, almost brushing her panty-covered loins, but she didn't notice any of that.
What really set her mind and her loins aglow was the realization that the big young man in the film had actually put his penis into the beautiful blonde young housewife!
Ellen gasped and put her hand to her sultry red mouth. She couldn't really believe this was happening, before her very eyes! For the pretty housewife, the nipples of her breasts showing in the most blatant way, seemed actually to be undergoing sex as the handsome man stuffed his long thick thing up inside of her belly, working it around with agonizing slowness. And a few seconds later, when the housewife obviously came, it was the most intoxicating experience Ellen had ever witnessed in her entire young life!
"She seemed to enjoy that, didn't she?" Dominique asked silkily, her voice a soft essence wafted against Ellen's shell-like smooth ear.
"Well – I -" stammered Ellen, unable to know what to say, at a total loss. She had never before ever actually seen anyone having sex. Her loins seemed to be full of butterflies. The man in the film had obviously made love to the beautiful blonde housewife in the film, and clearly she had enjoyed it.
"Don't be pushy, Dom," came Maxwell Carter's understanding baritone from the other couch. "After all, Ellen's only thirteen years old.
She's just a child."
Exactly the sort of statement calculated to put any teenager on the defensive and eager to prove that she could be as sexy as any grown woman.
Ellen rose to the bait. Smarting under Mr. Carter's patronizing tone, she instinctively sat up straighter in order to thrust out her proudly uplifted breasts. Her long blonde curls danced in back of her shoulders. "I am not such a child as all that, Mr. Carter," she insisted through her sensuously pouting lips. "I know all about sex, you know."
Carter could not repress a faint little smirk at their perty prey's behavior. "From biology books in school, no doubt," he said wryly, clinking his ice around in his highball glass as he goaded her still further. "And I thought we agreed that you would call me Maxwell, Ellen."
"Maxwell, then," she stammered, flustered. "Well, no, not from biology books – that is…"
"Where then, dear?" asked Dominique, pressing her hand affectionately around Ellen's.