Nichole Parker's facial features alone were, in themselves, enough to excite most men. It was a thin, heart shaped face framed by long black hair that bobbed over her forehead. Her nose was long and delicate, thin as porcelain, and tipped upward, revealing her flaring nostrils. Her eyes were set wide apart and slightly tilted and her gaze was direct, frank, unabashed. Her chin could be described as pert, her mouth fleshy and broad, revealing dazzling white teeth whenever she smiled.
All of her teeth were capped and paid for by Web Hardman.
Hardman, dressed in his habitual trademark of all gray, stood behind her chair at that moment. Both he and Nichole were looking at a wall and a white projection screen that was silently and electrically lowering itself into position. It was lowering into position at Web's command. In another few seconds, he would flick a switch, and a panel in the opposite wall would slide open and a projectionist lens would focus itself. Web would turn a dial, the lights would lower, and a movie, in color, would be seen on the screen.
But, first, he had some other things on his mind. He wasn't worried about security; he had plenty of that. All the servants in the house could be trusted. He went to his ornately carved desk – imported from Italy and once was used by none other than the Medicis – and took something from the drawer.
Semi-concealing it in his hand, he walked back to Nichole and stood in front of her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Nichole sat, cool and poised, an attractive young woman in a slinky dress that exposed her long slender legs and most of her firm young thighs.
Web took her in for a moment, took in her beauty and her voluptuous body. Just turned twenty one, she was in the prime of her life. Her waist was long and thin, gradually tapering up into her rib cage then blossoming (there was no other word) into large, ripely jutting breasts… big as musk-melons, with provocative little shadows like half-moons, under them. Her hips were wide and liquid, telling you by the way she moved and walked that she had nothing on underneath other than panties. At the moment Web stood looking down at her, she didn't even wear panties.
Web knew this. Nichole never came to his home wearing any underwear. The young girl shuddered to think what he would do to her if she were to be so careless.
He stood smiling down at her, his face tanned, his features distinguished. His tan hid an alcoholic flush, for Web Hardman drank hard and long, and Nichole was truly afraid of him when he drank. Once past a certain point, he was capable of anything.
At the moment, he had yet to have a drink. It was still early afternoon. He looked down at Nichole sitting so sensually poised in the big leather chair and spoke quietly, with an easy authority, for he was used to being obeyed. "Pull your dress up."
Nichole obeyed immediately, hiking her dress high, almost exposing the "V" of softly curling pubic hair that was half-buried up between her thighs.
"Pull it all the way up."
His voice was still quiet, and Nichole again obeyed, pulling the dress up so that it was around her waist, completely exposing the softly fleshed flanks of her naked buttocks and her pubic hair. She sat, feeling the cool leather against her warm skin, staring up at Web with an attentive expression on her pert, Gaelic-looking face.
The middle-aged financier pointed with one long manicured finger. "Put one leg over the arm of the chair."
Nichole only hesitated a second, blinking, before she obeyed, swinging one long leg up and over the arm of the chair. With a barely audible sigh, she sunk back in the chair, her eyes almost glassy, looking up at Web with an expectant, almost depraved expression on her face.
Web looked down at her so obscenely posed. He saw her strong curving thigh and the smooth, milky white inside of it, and his eyes raced down to her loins with its sparse black pubic hair. He took in her roundly panting mound of Venus and the way her fluted vaginal lips – ragged and flushing under her pubic hair – were beginning to swell and form themselves in a lust-pucker already. Her entire cuntal slit was exposed, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of the pink lining of her pussy walls that were already beginning to glint with the hot moisture of sexual excitement. Near her mound of Venus, at the top of her slit, bulged the nub of her clitoris.
Web liked Nichole. Over the years, he had trained the young girl well, and she had been a good pupil, learning rapidly and eagerly. She knew that she would be well rewarded for whatever task he put her to. Besides, she had learned the joys of being bound, being subjected to humiliation, being forced to do lewd almost unspeakable acts with him or whomever he designated. Further, she had learned to submit her will to his and let him do what he wished. She learned the rewards in increased sensuality and molten, shattering, orgasms, and in the financial rewards he so lavishly bestowed after his whim was satisfied. She knew how to please him, and now she lounged back in the chair, jutting out her mound of Venus, acting sluttish, enjoying her lewd actions. Many a time he had reduced her to a verbal admittance of being nothing more than a whore, and she had to admit she enjoyed it herself. A wanton smile was on her beautiful face as he looked down at her nakedly exposed cunt, and he nodded. "Good. Now, the other leg."
Nichole obeyed immediately, swinging the knee over the opposite arm of the chair and letting her buttocks come to the edge of the cushion. She glanced down and saw with delight how her wide-spread and eagerly quivering little cunt glinted and glistened from moist excitement. More than anything, she wanted to reach down with her fingers and caress her wetly heated vagina – perhaps he would order her to do that – and assuage the itching hunger that was growing there. She wanted to rub her hands over her pussy and tease her clitoris, and then finger fuck herself into oblivion. But she didn't dare; not without Web telling her to do it.
He held his hand forward, revealing the thing he had taken out of the drawer and kept half-concealed from her. At first glance, she thought it was a new dildoe; it was made of plastic, was white, long, and thick, like a penis. Nichole looked puzzled. "What is it?"
Web pushed a button on the bottom of it and the thing leaped to life in his hand, vibrating noiselessly. He pushed another button and it began sliding back and forth, like a white, rigidly erect penis in a sheath.
Nichole groaned and let her head roll back, her eyes half-closed. A lewd smile was on her lips.
Web smiled back and stepped closer, between her wide-spread legs. "Battery operated," he said as he held the vibrating sliding end on the inside of one sleek thigh, near her wetly gaping vagina. Nichole moaned again as she felt the pleasurable sensation. The vibrator was warm and rigid – just like a cock! "I took the liberty of having it filled with warm oil," Web explained.
"I love it," Nichole admitted thickly. And she did! She wasn't talking just to please Web although it did, indeed, please him. The handsome millionaire had been such an evil influence on Nichole's life that she now looked at depravity as a way of life. Web was right and his pleasure was her task. If she submitted herself to his will, submerged her ego and allowed her lewdness and natural depravity to take over, her task would be full of an intense and searing pleasure seldom, if ever, experienced by other women.
She knew the vibrator was for her to use as Web handed it to her and stood back, leaning against the desk. His arms were folded, his eyes glittering, his hips twitching, as he watched Nichole turn the vibrator on and let it slide all over her stomach and down into her pubic hair.
Web observed it all with a detached, almost cynical look. He watched the way a scientist might observe an experiment he had set up or the way am amateur horticulturist might check the soil and temperature of his rare orchids. It was a thing that interested him, more than a hobby, more than a profession. With Web Hardman, sex was a way of life. He was a unique and fortunate man, for he was born wealthy and had grown up expecting the best that money could buy. He was educated abroad and was really much more European than American.
The last descendant of a rich old family, he was the sum result of almost incestuous in-breeding. Keenly intelligent, he had been, from childhood, too intense and too interested in sensuality and those pleasures which are forbidden by most societies. With endless wealth at his command, a keen mind, a vivid imagination, Web Hardman was soon tasting pleasures that most men only dream of.
Nor was he superficial about it. He pursued his activities with a scientist's passion. He was clever and covered up his illegal activities; he kept records in writing, on tape, and on film. Soon, he had amassed a considerable library of rather interesting pornography, some of which had enough overtones of sadism to excite the Marquis de Sade. Soon, he treated people – especially women – like a scientist would treat a laboratory rat: with objectivity and dispassion. His thrill, his satisfaction, was in proving his theory: that any woman could be reduced to a base, unthinking carnality in a matter of days. Sometimes, in a matter of hours. His theory held that women were the true pornographers, that their instinct and natural desire was obscene and that they understood and loved depravity. He felt that there were no depths of wantonness to which a woman would not sink if conditions were right; and it thrilled and excited him to see his theory being borne out, being lived out again and again, right in front of him.
Nichole was a most willing pupil. At first, because of her upbringing and pride, she had been extremely difficult. But he had broken her. He had broken her so completely that he was about to lose interest in her. The challenge was gone; Nichole would willingly do anything he wished. She had been under his influence about a year. In one year, she went from an innocent young girl with ideals and aspirations to an eager little slut who had performed every known sexual depravity. Nichole now knew that she would never again enjoy what is commonly known as "normal sex". She knew she could never be happy married to one man; never, unless he allowed her to have orgies.
Now, she lay back in the leather chair with her dress pulled high, revealing her ripely expectant loins. Naked from the waist down, she sprawled, her legs slung over the thick arms of the chair and she let her head loll back, her mouth slack and laxly open. The delicate fingers of her free hand slid down and tangled in her pubic hair. Her hips were slowly undulating and pumping in an obscene manner as her free hand slid down on either side of the moist, pulpy lips of her hotly twitching vagina. Using thumb and forefingers, she impatiently spread her lust-swollen pussy lips and revealed the moistly pink inner walls of her cunt. Below her thinly bearded vaginal mouth, her white buttocks met in a deep tight crevice.
Web watched as her sensual young body shuddered in obscene delight and her hips twisted and thrust forward so that her ripely fleshed buttocks ballooned on the edge of the chair. Her head lowered so that she had to look down at her eagerly writhing loins between breasts that jutted up in front of her like snowy twin peaks. Her wetly quivering cunt was tilted up high as she ran the long thick vibrator up and down the slit, pausing to let it shudder over her erect little clitoris as her eyelids fluttered and she gasped for breath. Already, her pleasure was wracking her body with its intensity.
Quietly, Web Hardman circled around her as she wantonly slumped in the chair, sluttish in her pose with her legs thrown wide over the arms of the chair. Her nakedly quivering cunt was gaping open as she guided the rapidly thrusting mechanical penis in and around her vaginal cavity. She was moaning continuously now. The gray-haired older man walked behind the chair and, leaning over it, reached down and began unbuttoning the front of her dress.
He slowly pulled the bodice open, revealing her large, firmly upthrust breasts that were spilling out of a flimsy half-bra. He knew that Nichole was justifiably proud of her huge, but perfectly proportioned breasts. The night he had broken her, the night she had reveled in depravities and lewd behavior, the night she had admitted her inherent wantonness and submitted her will to his, that wonderful night had begun when he had her strip to the waist. Then, his bodyguard and his chauffeur had seized her and forced her arms back. A pole, a broom handle, was run long-ways between her back and her arms. Then Nichole's hands were forced forward again, and she had watched as her wrists were tightly and brutally tied together in front of her waist. The pole across her back, locking her elbows in place, had forced her arms and shoulders back… and thrust out her nakedly quivering breasts.
She had been forced to stand in front of a mirror and stare at herself before, at a signal from Web, his men began caressing and putting their wetly open mouths on those out-thrust, defenseless breasts.
That night had been the beginning for Nichole. She was too thrilled and excited to resist as she watched in the mirror. Ever since that night Web had been able to bring her to an orgasm, just by exciting and fondling her breasts.
Now he helped them free of the almost transparent half-bra and saw the firm way they quivered and jellied on her breast. Her head was wedged against the back of the chair and her chin was pushed into her chest as she looked between her now naked breasts to see the big white plastic prick vibrating between her legs. Web saw her wide-spread cuntal lips as she ran her thumb over her clitoris and as the mechanical cock quivered its way deeper into her wildly pulsing pussy. Her young body was wantonly shuddering with pleasure as the vibration tantalized and enflamed her sense.
"You have lovely breasts, my dear," he said, leaning over the back of the chair and cupping their fleshy fullness in his manicured hands.
Nichole opened her smoky eyes halfway and saw his fingers caressing her already distended nipples. "Thank you," she murmured thickly. With her hands, she began rapidly pumping the vibrator in and out of her moistly clasping pussy, the lewd parody of fucking increasing the feeling of pleasure. She closed her eyes, as his pinching fingers and the vibrator aroused her to where she wanted to scream her lust out. Her voluptuously round body was suddenly out of control. She had learned to give in to her lust without a reservation. Web liked that and… so did she. There was something so thrilling and enjoyable in acting lewd, acting like a slut, not caring what people might think. Then, too, Web had taught her the naughty and thrilling delights of being an exhibitionist. He had forced her to be an exhibitionist and know the thrill that so intensified the orgasm.
He looked down at her writhing obscenely in the chair. "Too bad I don't have someone here to bite and suck on your breasts, Nichole."
In answer, Nichole let her head thrash from side to side and a low moan of frustration trembled from her lips as she increased the tempo of her hips pumping up against the vibrator.
Web smiled down at her, taking his hands away. He had set her up. He had suggested a pleasure, and she had groaned like a Pavlovian dog at the idea. With no more than a suggestion on his part, he would watch her debase herself further.
"Of course," he said, his voice light and cool. "You could lick and suck them."
Nichole broke her mounting rhythm as she heard his words and wasn't sure she understood. "W… what?"
"I said you could, in your present position, excite yourself by licking and sucking them yourself. They're right in front of your mouth." He paused to walk around the chair. "You could lick them and you could suck them and I," he announced clearly, "could watch you do it."
Web moved around the chair for a better view, his mouth half-open in eager anticipation. Even as he watched, Nichole pulled the vibrator out of her cunt and held it hard on her clitoris, her eyes were closed and her face contorted by the hot passion that she was feeling. Web watched her hips and tautly rippling belly roll and undulate while her moistly glistening cunt-lips twitched and gaped as the vibrator quivered and thrust against her clitoris. With her free hand, she cupped one snowy breast and tilted it toward her mouth, the nipple caught between her fingers. Her tongue snaked out, red and wet, and the soft, velvet-smooth tip rimmed around the erect little nipple. Then, as Web watched, she opened her mouth wide, taking the whole nipple in. Her wetly ovalled lips closed over the berry-like nipple, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked with a sex-crazed fervency.
Web felt himself being aroused as he watched. Nichole was doing exactly as he asked, and her obscene self-excitement was having its effect. She hooked her legs even tighter over the arms of the chair, jutting her hips and naked groin outward and upward even more, spreading the lips of her wetly trembling cunt as she ran the vibrating plastic cock up and down and in and out of her with a hypnotic rhythm.
With a groan, the young girl let her heavy breast fall from her mouth. She was gasping for air, panting with lewd passion, and her ripely quivering breast was wet and glistening with her saliva. She opened her fevered eyes a slit and her free hand groped for her other breast. It trembled under her grasp as she cupped her fingers on it and pulled it toward her mouth, her fingers depressed in the softly yielding flesh so that the nipple stood out all the more. Her tongue lashed out at the nipple, and Web watched it grow even more taut as she rimmed the nipple then let the flat wet tongue engulf it. With mouth wide open, she put the pinkly puckered little nipple in her mouth and, closing her eyes, looked ecstatically happy. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, white her hips roiled slowly and lewdly causing her buttocks to lift clear of the leather seat. Her twin asscheeks twitched and contracted so that Web could see her tightly puckered anus and the shining moistness from her cunt trickling down the deep crevice.
Web went behind his desk to the small console board, dimmed the lights, and punched a button. Still pictures suddenly appeared on the movie screen. They were shots of Nichole. She was wearing black boots that came to her knees, a flimsy black G-string, and a tight half-bra that only served to hold her big, fully rounded breasts erect; her nipples stuck out, free, taut, enticing. The G-string barely covered her sparse, pubic hair and completely exposed her nakedly white buttocks. The still pictures were in color and changed, with a "click-click" automatically.
Nichole opened her eyes and looked up at the screen to see a montage of herself in various suggestive and obscene poses: a close-up of her with a huge glistening cock wedged between her tightly compressed breasts. Then she was on her knees in another picture with her legs spread wide apart showing a man crouched before her; his face was buried in her cuntal crevice. Another naked man knelt behind her and pressed his whitely massive cock against her young buttocks; he had reached around and cupped her breasts while she turned her head and had her little red tongue in his mouth. The pictures came one after another, quickly, seemingly endless with Nichole lewdly kneeling over a naked man, with Nichole sucking a cum-covered penis while being fucked dog fashion, with Nichole obscene and obedient, doing whatever Web wanted.
"Stop!"
The shamelessly aroused girl collapsed in the chair, her face twisted by the near orgasm that was writhing, smoky and aching, through every nerve in her young body. She lay, panting, her eyes closed.
After a moment she took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes to see the pictures were off the screen. Web was leaning against the desk again, his arms folded over his chest. He was tall and gray, in his middle forties and habitually wore all gray, like a trademark. Gray suit, shirt, tie. Even, sometimes, gray patent leather shoes. He was looking at her with a faint, ironic, grin on his thin lips. Nichole simply stared at him as she sprawled obscenely, her beautiful wetly firm breasts heaving, the vibrating mechanical penis buzzing forgotten in her hand.
"You know, Nichole, I'm getting bored with you."
The words were spoken so quietly, almost casually, yet they struck terror in her heart. She looked at him showing her fear. What would he do with her? What would she do if he threw her out? Where would she go? Tears, real tears, welled like glistening slivers in her eyes. "Why?" she asked, shaking her head. "I try. I try to please you."
Web became preoccupied with a mote or speck on the cuff of his expensive coat; he carefully picked it off with thumb and forefinger and let it drop into an ashtray on the desk. "I know. I know. You'll do anything I ask, won't you?"
"Anything," Nichole said the word carefully, feeling the lewd thrill that such an admittance gave her. She would, literally, do anything he wanted.
"That's the trouble," he went on, going behind the desk and sitting down, joining the tips of his fingers together in front of him like a cathedral. "That's the trouble. I know you'll do anything I want. There's no challenge left and I'm bored." His forehead became wrinkled. "I'm bored, Nichole."
Still slumped obscenely in her chair, the young girl shook her head and bit her lip. "But… I try!" was all she could think of saying.
Tapping his fingers, Web nodded, looking off. Nichole dreaded the next few minutes, dreaded hearing the words. She knew there had been other girls. Beautiful girls! She had seen then in movies that Web would run for her and his guests; beautiful girls who performed obscenities for Web just like she did. These girls she saw were no longer around, and Web would never say what had happened to them.
He had Nichole addicted in a subtle way. She was used to and keyed to a life of orgies and money. She was hooked on jetting to England for a week, then a ski weekend at Squaw Valley, then catching a new show opening on Broadway. She now needed the excitement of being near famous people and speaking with them. Once, she had met a famous comedian who liked her so much they had sex together. She was used to and, in a sense, needed the clothes and champagne that Web bought. He was more than generous, he was lavish in his style of living. So long as she had that, so long as she felt she was part of his entourage, she felt her life had some meaning. And excitement! "Excitement" meant places, seeing people, being conscious that she was at the hub of things, that she was where the action was, that she was envied and photographed. "Excitement" was something she had now come to need. Web Hardman being bored with her meant banishment. She would eventually have to get a job somewhere and read in the paper about the "Jet Set" and their adventures. No, Nichole didn't want the terrible gray obscurity that would come if Web cast her off like an old unwanted item of clothing.
Web, with the timing of a master-actor, cleared his throat and said, "Of course, there is something."
"What?"
He concealed his smile. "It might just work."
Nichole slid out of the leather chair, kneeling on the floor, her dress sliding up over her nakedly exposed young loins. "What, Web? I'll do it! You know that! I'll do anything you want me to do!"
Web cocked his head to one side. "Would you betray a friend for me?"
"What?" Nichole looked distressed.
"Would you betray a friend? Would you bring me a new girl?"
"Yes!" Nichole leaped at the idea.
Web held up a finger. "It can't be just anyone. It must be a good friend and she must be attractive. I don't want you hiring any prostitute."
"I won't, I won't."
"This little exercise is as much for you as it is for me. Think of it. A complete betrayal. I want you to seduce a friend until she's just as depraved as you are now." He got to his feet and pointed to the chair behind her with one long thin finger. "In a matter of weeks or days, I want a friend of yours in that chair using that vibrator the way you just did."
Nichole jumped. The plastic vibrator was buzzing still in her hand. She shut it off. "Yes! I'll do it!"
"And it will excite you, won't it?"
"Yes! Oh, yes!"
"You'll enjoy it, won't you?"
"Yes!"
"Very well. Who will it be?"
"Huh? What? Who?"
Web strode around the desk and looked down at her as she subserviently knelt in front of him. She was afraid of his tall figure towering over her. Her mind raced for a name. It couldn't be anyone. It had to be someone special or he wouldn't be pleased at all and, above all, she had to please him. Her hand brushed across her forehead. Who? Who? Her face suddenly lighted up. "I know," she cried.
"Who?"
"Kim. Kim Stewart. She lives in Carmel." Web nodded. Kim Stewart. Fine. Kim Stewart is it.