I always try to think positive thoughts, personally; I mean, some things are not much fun, such as disasters and catastrophes, and Miss Strong's arrival at camp was that, all right. I just prefer not to think about ill the negative-type things that happened right after that. And I haven't the faintest idea what became of the various troops of kids who were caught by Miss Strong at that moment. The way some of them ran they might have made it all the way to the state line at least, if not clear out of the U.S.A. entirely.
If I had had my way, that's where I would have been-clear out of any country inhabited by Miss Strong-and Dottie, who was sitting beside me in the back seat of the big car, probably felt the same way. We were both wrapped up in scratchy blankets, and Miss Strong sat glaring at us, watchfully, as the car zoomed along. The driver was a dark, mysterious type, as sinister-looking as All the Assassin, and I kept nervously thinking that we had possibly fallen into the hands of the Mob.
Miss Strong was a frightening woman, all right; good-looking in a mannish way, her dark hair in a kind of squared-off Prince Valiant cut, with a pair of eyes that looked as if they'd been made out of chunks of blue ice. She was dressed in a Ranger uniform and wore shiny boots.
"Two wicked girls," she said, staring at us. "You've been a great deal of trouble; do you know that?"
"Gee, we're sony," Dottie said, in a shaky voice.
"You should be," Miss Strong said grimly. "You especially. You know all about me, don't you, Dottie? So I can't very well take you back to your homes, where you'd probably get exactly what you deserve."
"Are you going to kill us?" Dottie asked fearfully.
"That's a beautiful thought," Miss Strong said, and looked as if she meant it. "Unfortunately, I can't really do all the things to you I'd like to. All I can do is take you to where you won't be able to cause me a lot of trouble… more's the pity, I'm going to actually have to do you a favor, you nasty girls." She laughed in an evil way, and it made me shiver to hear her. "At least, I suppose you'll think it's a favor."
"Where are you taking us?" I asked, trying to sound bold and not succeeding.
"Where you wanted to go," Miss Strong said. "To the city."
And that was all the information we could get out of her from then on. I thought about jumping out of the car, but it didn't seem practical, going as fast as we were; and all we had on were the blankets, which weren't exactly traveling clothes. So we sat there while the miles went by.
Finally, the car slowed down, and turned into a driveway, and then up to an enormous Victorian-looking house, brightly lit up as if a party were going on. But the car didn't stop at the front; instead, the driver went around and into a courtyard, where he came to a halt.
The place looked like a kind of castle, in a way; we had come through a lot of grounds, with big trees and a wall too. I didn't know there were great big places like this in the city, but I could see the city lights all around.
Miss Strong and the chauffeur hustled us inside, where we found ourselves passing an enormous busy-looking kitchen, and then up a narrow stair, until we went into a big room. It looked like something out of the movies-a thick rug, big leather chairs, bookcases and paintings, a weird-looking Chinese desk, and a fireplace. The lights were low, and the place looked a little spooky but luxurious too, like some sort of scary palace, if you dig.
"Both of you wait right here," Miss Strong told us, and went out; we plumped down in a couple of big chairs, and stared around, trying to get on top of the situation.
"Wow, those pictures!" Dottie said, and I looked too. They were pretty wild pictures, all right. They were much dirtier than the ones I'd seen in Harold's private library. In the dim light it was a little hard to tell who was doing what to whom, but there was a lot of naked skin, and several people all tangled up.
Dottie got up for a closer look, and stood on her toes, holding her blanket around her.
"This one's got three chicks all over one cat," she said, peering. "I don't know how they're managing it, but it looks like a lot of fun, especially for him."
"Good evening, girls," a voice came from the door. "Admiring my little collection?"
He was a tall, slim, elegant-looking man, and foreign-looking, dressed in an evening dress. He had black, shiny hair and a little pointy beard and mustache; and black eyes, very sharp and hard. It gave me goose pimples to feel those eyes on me.
"So, you are to be our new employees, hmm?" he said, coming into the room. He ran his eyes over Dottie and then studied me. "Ali hah. Very young, I see. That is good, yes. You will enjoy working here."
"Hey, wait a minute," I said. "Working where? What's going on?"
"Dear, dear," he said, and went to a table, where he opened a box and extracted a long cigarette. He lit it, still studying us. "So typical of my dear friend's high-handed methods… she did not trouble to tell you anything, eh? Still, now that you're here…
He clapped, his hands, and a man appeared in the doorway, another sinister looking type. I had the feeling I'd gotten into an Alfred Hitchcock movie somehow.
"I am sure you would care for some refreshment before we go to matters of business," the first man said. "Ah, yes, you may call me Mr. Smith. You are Honey, no doubt, and you are Dorothy. Now, here we have a little something to eat… and a good champagne, yes?" The sinister-type was placing plates on a low table, and a bottle popped. We were pretty hungry, and this was real luxury; so I kept my questions to myself while we got filled up properly.
Mr. Smith helped himself to a glass of champagne and sat down, relaxed and elegant, as we finished up.
"And of course, there will be a proper wardrobe…" he said, eyeing us. "Unless you really prefer blankets, my dears."
"Nobody's explained anything," Dottie said, worriedly.
"How distressing," Mr. Smith said. "Now… how shall l put it? I am in the… ah, pleasure business. Here, we have a number of girls who supply various entertainments to my clients… but only the very best class of customer, I assure you. At the prices we charge, we can afford to be choosy. And, of course, you will be well-paid…"
"It's a h-house of ill repute!" Dottie gasped.
"Ill-repute? Hardly!" Mr. Smith looked slightly offended. "Our repute is of the very highest. Really, my dear… such an idea."
"You mean we get paid to BALL?" I asked. I'm the practical type, as you may have noticed.
Mr. Smith put the tips of his fingers together, and looked soulful.
"To dispense the highest joys, to pursue ever the highest of artistic goals… unbearable pleasure indefinitely prolonged, or the sacred state of Unplinprodu-Ooosh, as we say in my country…"
"Unbearable pleasure indefinitely prolonged?" I said. "Gee, I doubt we can manage anything like that…"
"Ah, but that is merely our ineffable goal, girls," Mr. Smith said. "A divine condition known only to the most advanced yogis… we mere humans must merely strive, doing our best to merely approach the Utter Orgasm… you understand me."
I didn't, but, oh well. I poured some more champagne all around, and Mr. Smith continued.
"I have sought for total perfection, step by step… until now I am, as you see, in charge of this temple of delights, still striving ever upward for the artistic total triumph.., an expensive matter, of course, so my efforts require financing. Which is why we charge so much here, but considering how much we have to offer, the fee is actually nothing."
Golly.
"Gee, Honey, I don't know," Dottie said. "I mean, do you think we ought to do anything like that? I mean, I'm not sure we can…"
"Nonsense, ducks, you'll enjoy your work," Mr. Smith said briskly, rubbing his hands. "I've been told that you have a little experience, in a non-professional sense. Why not try a night or two and see how you like it?"
"You mean trying to get to inscrutable pleasure or whatever?" I asked.
"Oh, just fuck them to a frazzle, and don't fret about the rest," Mr. Smith said cheerfully.
Well, that made a little better sense.
"Why don't we try it, Dottie?" I said.
"Well… all right then, if you say so," she said, from where she still stood opposite me. Mr. Smith smirked happily, and stood up.
"Delightful children," he said, approvingly. "Yes, indeed, I'm sure you'll be great favorites. Now, if you don't mind…" He approached Dottie, who backed up nervously. However, she had no way of avoiding him; he reached out and took away her blanket, tossing it to one side. He stood studying her thoughtfully, tapping the side of his nose with a finger and uttering small hm sounds.
"I do hope you don't mind…" he said, poking her here and there with an extended finger. "As an artist, I appreciate… and as a businessman, I think I should know the… ah, product. Yes… you know, you do have a delicious figure, m'duck, but you may have a little weight problem there when you're a bit older. Never too soon to think about such things." He put a hand under one of Dottie's breasts, and jiggled it thoughtfully, smiling. "Though it's pretty well placed now, all this delightful pink meat. Yummy, I must say." He stepped back, and cocked his head, peering up and down. "Fine firm legs, nice flat tum, and my, my, what an absolutely perfect ass. Many of our clients are ass men, you know. I myself… well, we all have our tastes. Now… the bush. I wonder…" He studied Dot-tie's curly dark triangle thoughtfully for a moment.
I wonder if it would look suitably… nice, shaved," he said, and Dottie looked indignant.
"Shaved?' she said, pinking up. "Why?"
"It's something of a fad with a few of our clients," Mr. Smith said "Pink, luscious, pretty mounds of Venus, and so on. Though I do think it's more of a bother than it's worth. One or two of the girls do it, just for the kicks. But leave it as it is if you prefer; personally, I like the fuzzy little darlings, myself." He extended a long finger, and tickled it, and Dottie jumped back, squeaking.
"Now, you, my dear." he said, turning my way. I stood up, and removed my blanket, glad to get rid of the itchy thing, to tell the truth. The champagne made me feel a bit brazen and Marlene Dietrich-y, and;I put my hands on my hips, and tilted my turn around, showing off.
Mr. Smith looked quite pleased, as he turned to look a batted my eyes at him, and he chuckled.
"Don't you go sticking any cold fingers in me, chum," I said, warningly, as he stepped closer. "I only like that kind of thing when it's meant in the right way, if you dig me."
He chuckled again, looking me over. "My, my, a regular little spitfire. And as pretty as your friend, too. No, we needn't do anything about the little blonde beaver down there. It's proof that you're a genuine blonde, after all.
Now, about a beginning… ah, there you are."
The sinister man had come back into the room, soundlessly; he was carrying an armload of clothing, which he laid carefully out across the back of a chair. Dottie has always been something of a clothes nut, and she was at the pile at once, picking it over like an old lady at a bargain sale, oohing and ahing. I was a little surprised myself; the clothes were all really wild things, expensive-looking too. And they looked like the right sizes, too.
"Oh, we have a great many good clothes here, for the girls to select from -as they wish," Mr. Smith said, rubbing his hands again with a salesmanish air. "And of course, you may have a drawing account against some of our better local stores. We like our girls to have a certain air, so to speak"
I had picked out a wild frock in black, something that set off my blonde hair nicely, and I was trying to make up my mind if I really wanted to bother about undies; there were all sorts of lacy objects that looked great.
"I just can't figure out one thing," I said, doubtfully; I slipped on the frock, and turned around once or twice, admiring myself as I spoke.
"And what is that, Honey?"
"I don't really know anything about this sort of place," I told him. "But gee… I had the idea the girls.just lolled around in their underwear, or maybe nothing at all, and it was all… well, sorta sordid."
"Good heavens, not here," Mr. Smith said, in a shocked tone. "This is a class joint, darling. Most of our clients prefer to unwrap the girls themselves, and to do that, they must be dressed. And many of our clients like to indulge in little fantasies… amateur theater, as one might say. They do not wish to think about the… ah, commercial aspect. The girls must resemble their… ah ideal, you see."
He moved to a large television set that we hadn't noticed, in a corner. There were rows of buttons on it, and he studied them, thoughtfully.
"Let me show you," he said, pressing buttons. "Closed-circuit, of course… one for each suite of rooms. I do like watching what's going on, both for… ah, business reasons… and pleasure. Let me see, now…, here's Cynthia, for instance. I believe she has a gentleman caller this evening..
The screen lit up, and Dottie and I both sat, with our mouths wide open, watching. Wowee. It wasn't a family-type show, that was for sure.
Cynthia was a long legged model-type, and the camera was aimed squarely at the bed on which she was presently sitting; she was nearly undressed herself, except for a bra and panties, and she was busily undressing a distinguished looking gentleman of middle age, who seemed to be enjoying it. She was handing the clothes to a small brunette chick, who was wearing a maid's apron, over a nearly transparent net body stocking, and who looked as sexy as Cynthia, if possible.
"Miss Selina isn't really a maid, of course," Mr. Smith explained with a chuckle. "Merely a part of the small fantasy, as you might say… ah, the gentleman is a very old and valued customer, yes indeed. Now, watch this."
I wouldn't have taken my eves off that screen for anything. I think I've got this Peeping Tom thing a little myself. but the show was simply a wizard. Cynthia had the man bare by now, and she bent down, pursing her luscious wide mouth and darting her tongue in a very erotic way. The man's prong was a great big one, and the sight of it made me feel a little horny. Maybe I have a thing for older gentlemen, or something; but what with my limited experience, it still seemed to me that there was something about the older ones that had it all over the sixteen-year-olds.
But just then. Cynthia put that big object right between her lips, and sucked in. nibbling away and doing things with her hands around it; the man obviously loved the whole treatment, all right. He turned a bit, and I caught sight of his face, which was pink, moist, and very familiar.
Dottie saw it too, and we gasped together.
"It's Dr. Prattworth!"
"The customer is someone you know?" Mr. Smith asked in a troubled voice. "Dear me… ah, might I ask that you be… discreet? Many of our clients are prominent, and…"
"Oh, boy," Dottie said.
"Remember the big sex-education crisis?" I said, and we both laughed. I turned toward Smith. "That's Dr. Prattworth, and he's a big wheel back home where we come from. He's the head of the board of education, for one thing, and he's against sex, he said. Oh, wow!"
"No, no, please," Mr. Smith said. "I am sure you will say nothing… under the circumstances, you understand."
"Heck, no," I told him. "Golly, Dottie, look at that!"
Cynthia had shed the rest of her clothes by now, and so had the imitation maid, Selina; the two of them had Dr. Prattworth flat on his back, and taking turns at his thing, which stood up between them. The two girls were licking it, kissing, it, tickling it with feathers and batting it back and forth playfully; between bouts of sucking on it. As one would pay attention to the upright prong, the other would work her way around on other parts of Dr. Prattwortki, bumping her breasts here and there, rubbing her hips against his chest, and so on. He was pretty worked up, I could see, and as Selina's luscious bottom got within reach, he grabbed at it, pulling her down toward his own pursed lips.
"That sort of thing might very well go on for hours," Mr. Smith said, punching a button, and changing scenes. The next scene was wilder than the previous one, and he was right, it did go on for hours.
He pushed a button and changed scenes. There was a room where a tall, black-haired girl dressed in what looked like shiny leather was whacking away at an upended male rear end. Mr. Smith chuckled, apologetically.
"A few of our clients do have such odd tastes…" he said. "But I assure you, you will not be asked to do anything not to your own taste…" He switched scenes again, and this time he tuned in a sound.
A slim red-haired girl was crouched against the wall of a big bedroom, clutching the ragged remains of her dress together over a pair of really enormous boobs, and screaming wildly. A naked man, arms extended, was approaching her, his eyes wild, snatching.
"Oh, please. no, no, don't!" the girl shrieked, as he snatched away the tatters, and clutched at her.
"Hey, what's going on?" I said. Mr. Smith chuckled.
"Violet… we call her Shrinking Violet… is one of our most accomplished girls," he told us. "'Our client… a well-known military gentleman… has a taste for raping virgins, and we always try to accommodate him, though our supply of virgins is practically nil, alas. Particularly virgins who wish to be brutally raped. However, Violet rather enjoys this sort of thing… and the General, of course, enjoys it as well. Having been strictly a staff man during the wars, his opportunities for genuine rape were quite limited.
The General had seized Violet, and was thrusting his knee between her tightly pressed thighs, forcing them apart, while she beat on his chest, and shrieked protests. She kept bending backward, her enormous tits tilting straight up under the General's chin, and he gobbled at their rose-tipped nipples with eager lips.
Violet was wriggling wildly, but I notice she wasn't making it too hard for the General; his prong was up there, rummaging around in her fuzz, and she could have easily avoided it if the whole thing had been real.
Now he picked her up, puffing a little, and carried her to bed, where he flung her down and climbed on top. This time, I definitely caught her assisting him, as he pushed his tool up into position; and a second later, he was all the way in, jumping as hard as he could, while Violet continued to squeal and scream protests. Protests that were intended to keep the General's steam up, too, I noticed.
"Oh, don't don't, it's too BIG, oh mamma, stop, AIYEE, ohoho… " Violet was wailing and just then-her face visible over the General's shoulder-she looked at the TV camera eye, and one big blue eye closed in a lascivious wink.
"I do like a sin with a sense of humor." Smith said. switching channels again. This one was a little odd. A girl with a somewhat schoolteachenish look was sitting in a spread-legged position. across the lap of a gorgeous young man with beautiful big muscles, who had his tool planted right in, and was bouncing her up and down, hard and heavy. She was very happy about it, too, from the way she looked and sounded, but somehow she didn't seem the right type for a member of the staff or whatever the right word was.
"The lady is the customer, in this particular instance," Mr. Smith said, smirking. "We do have a few lady clients, and we try to supply their needs. After all, the day of feminine equality has come, has it not?" He sighed. "Our girls even have a union of their own, I fear. And it's a difficult one to deal with, I assure you."
The next view was of a large room, dimly lit, with couches and Roman columns all around it; nobody was there at the moment.
"Our Orgy Rooms are noted for their decor…" Mr. Smith said. "We have another for Babylonia orgies, done in early Cecil B. DeMille… also a Western Saloon, and a Renaissance Room. Of course, we generally hold orgies on weekends." He turned off the set, and smiled at us. "Now, would you like to try it out?"
"Gee, let's do it, Dottie!" I said. "It looks like fun."
"I don't know." she said, doubtfully. "Cripes, Honey, you've gotten me into such trouble so far with all your ideas, and now… well. I mean, doing it for money… it doesn't sound moral."
"It would pay our way through college," I pointed out.
"We didn't graduate from Sodom High yet," she said. "And I don't think we would, even if we went back home."
I giggled, and said, "I've got an idea about that, too. But look, what's wrong with trying it for a couple of nights, anyway, while we make up our minds?"
"We haven't got any money, or any clothes or anything," Dottie said, thoughtfully. "And if we don't like it, we can quit, I guess. Oh… all right. But maybe I should have stayed home."
"Good, good," Mr. Smith said briskly, rubbing his hands. "Now, we have no more customers coming this evening, so your arrangements will begin tomorrow. I suppose you girls would like rooms next to each other?" We nodded. "And…" He hesitated; looking at us. "Naturally, there's what we… aba… refer to as the free sample. We like to think of all our young ladies as pre-tested, so to speak…"
"Oh," I said, looking him over. Hard to tell, I thought, but he wasn't bad-looking, though somehow he just didn't really turn my burners on. Watching all that fooling around on television, though, had made me get that tingly feeling, and if this was a requirement for the job, I wouldn't mind at all. I started to undo the top button of the elegant black frock.
"Me first, or Dottie?" I asked, giving him the lowered eyelash bit. But he almost jumped back a step or two, looking nervous.
"Oh, no, not myself," he said. 'Though I occasionally… ah, well, we all have our little weaknesses. No, the gentleman who does the… sampling… is the silent partner in the enterprise here. A man of taste, and… heh!… wealth. Yes." Mr. Smith smiled, obviously thinking about the wealth part, which made him lick his lips. "He told me, when he asked me to open this establishment, that he had always yearned to own such a place. It solved so many minor problems, he told me… to have a large number of ready, willing, and above all, able partners always ready to hand. Being rich, he had no problems in finding girls, you understand… but he was constantly coming up against amateurishness."
"Heck, we're amateurs," I said.
"I'll bet he's pretty old," Dottie said, pouting slightly. "Everybody who comes here is, I'll bet."
"Many of our clients are no longer youths," Mr. Smith admitted. "But Mr. Lancelot is not yet thirty."
"Then he's probably funny-looking, or something else," Dottie said, still pouting.
"Again I must disagree," Mr. Smith said. "But let me have you shown to your suite, and you may judge for yourself later."
Another maid appeared, dressed in the same sexy get-up as the one we had seen on television-a little apron and cap, high heels, and a tight, transparent body stocking; this one, however, was Chinese, and very pretty. She led us off through dimly-lit passages, until we finally reached a pair of doors, and entered a big room.
"The john's in there. Sweeties," the maid said. "And there's a little bar over here…" She opened doors, showing us around. "If your gentleman gets a thirst or wants some thing to eat… " she giggled… "Besides what they generally like eating, that is… just buzz the Room Service thingie."
"Are you a real maid or… uh, one of the staff?" I asked, curiously.
"Me?" she giggled, merrily. "I'm a real maid. I never ball any of the clients; most of them aren't my type. Though I get offers, I'll tell you." She giggled again. "My name's Cookie Yes, and I'll be looking after you two mostly. Hey… one little thing I was wondering, if you don't mind."
"What?" I asked.
"You're expecting Him, aren't you?" she asked. "I mean, he usually drops in on the newest girls."
"That's what Mr. Smith said."
"Oh, my," Cookie Yee said, her bright black eyes glittering. "I was.., well, I was wondering if you'd mind if I sort of… hung around. I mean, he just might be in an Oriental mood, you can't tell."
"I don't mind, do you, Dottie?"
Dottie shook her head, but looked curiously at Cookie. "What's so special about him, anyway?" she asked. "You're sure acting excited."
"Special?" Cookie said, her cheeks pink. "Mr. Lancelot?" Oh, my, you'll see. He must be the greatest humper in the world, the way the girls act about it. I mean, he never did it to me. but I watched… oh, it was out of sight!" She rolled her eyes.
Dottie and I looked at each other wonderingly, and I shrugged.
"Anyway, for him I'd break my rules about my not mixing business with pleasure," Cookie said. "You'll see. Now, how about I run your tub, hmm? You dig bubble baths, kids?" She bustled into the bathroom, and we followed, to take a look. The place was the size of an ordinary living room and the tub was a sunken black marble affair, big enough for six. Cookie turned a valve, and there was a stream of perfumed, bubbling hot water.
"Some people like to take baths in company," she told us. "Heck, some of the customers dig doing it in the tub, too. You two are friends, right? You could share the tub, then, if you aren't inhibited, hmm?" She started to help Dottie undo her dress, and I kicked off my shoes to dip a toe into the water. I felt lovely, I decided, and didn't wait for Cookie's help undressing.
"Mr. Lancelot likes the girl to smell good," Cookie told us, dumping in a cupful of perfume into the water. She straightened up, and looked us over, chuckling. "You're a cute pair, you two. How'd you get started so young, anyway?"
"Just lucky," I told her, and she giggled again, her bright black eyes frankly roving over our nude bodies.
"I'll help you get all prettied up the way he likes as soon as you're through bathing," Cookie said, as we stepped into the tub together, and sank into bubbles up to our necks. She sat down on a padded bench, and went on chattering merrily.
"You two aren't Lezzies, are you?" she inquired. "Lots of the girls have a touch or two of it… adds a bit of spice, you might say." She giggled again. "I never really went for it much myself, not too much. I much prefer plain old-fashioned screwing, so far. But I haven't got time for it, darn it. I'm working my way through school, and you probably know how it is… no time left at all. I get a couple of hours here and there to spend with a fella, and he wastes the whole time working up to it, when he ought to get in gear and start in screwing."
"We know what you mean, all right," Dottie said, leaning back into the deep piled bubbles luxuriously.
"Men," I said darkly.
"Yeah," Cookie said. "Still… they're practically the only game in town." She stretched out her slim legs in front of her, and wriggled her toes. "As I told you two, if you get bored with plain old stuff, men and like that, the other girls around here have their little hen parties… but I tried it, and it just doesn't have the same thing. In spite of all their drawbacks, it's still men for me."
After a luxurious while, we climbed out, and Cookie toweled us till we stood pink and shining. Then she brought out a department store full of cosmetics, and began going over us with artistic attention.
"Pink up the nipples a bit, like that," Cookie said, dabbing at mine; the two little tips stood up promptly when she touched them, and she giggled. "Sensitive, aren't they?" she said. "Drop of perfume here, and here… uh huh. Now you've got the idea; finish up while I get your negligees." She came back with a pair of nearly transparent robes, black for me, and blue for Dottie, to set off our respective coloring perfectly. Cookie stood back, admiringly.
"Prettiest pair of pieces I've seen in this place yet," she said.
There was a soft ringing somewhere and she turned, excitedly.
"It's Mr. Lancelot!" she said. "Here you go!"