Petite, dark-haired Susan Templar opened the garden door and rushed into the breakfast room, pitching her schoolbooks onto the table with a sigh of relief. The handball practice had been canceled because of the rain, and now she had the whole of the afternoon unexpectedly to herself!
What would she do with it? She could stay home and work or read, of course, or watch television. But she didn't want to read, and German television was so dull. She supposed she could call one of her friends and go on over to see her. But the classmates she really liked at the American school at Konigswinter lived across the river at Bad Godesberg, nearer to Bonn. Besides, the only person she really wanted to see was Stefan.
Stefan was dreamy! He was a student, almost twenty, with blond hair and a way of looking at her through slitted eyes that made her come up in goose bumps all over! The only trouble was that Stefan was German, and her parents didn't approve of him. He was mixed up in politics, her father said sternly, and it wouldn't do at all!
They had absolutely forbidden her to see him any more.
She sighed. It wasn't easy, being just sixteen and the daughter of a United States army man posted to the Federal Republic!
She looked out the window. The wooded cones of the seven hills of Konigswinter loomed mistily through the downpour above the suburban roofs. The nearest one was called the Petersberg. There was a hotel at the top that had once housed the Allied Control Commission. Next to it was the Drachenfels, where Siegfried had slain the dragon.
Had her mother heard her come in? If not, maybe she could slip out again quietly. Maybe she could even go see Stefan!
As she stood listening, her eye fell on a copy of the local paper lying on the table. Automatically, she took in the headlines. The French were quarreling with the Americans over the agenda for the forthcoming four power talks in Berlin. There had been 73 arrests at some demonstration in the city last night. Six people had been killed in a pile-up on the autobahn. The strangled body of a student had been found on a vacant lot near the river. And then, paneled in heavy black type, in the centre of the front page, she saw; POLICEMAN BEATEN TO DEATH: AMERICAN ARMY MAN ACCUSED.
Susan sighed again. That would mean more headaches for her father. Colonel Templar held an important liaison post with the United States NATO forces based in Germany, and one of his duties was to smooth out any difficulties which arose between the American troops and their German hosts. In a few weeks he was to head a completely new Mission formally attached to the German government to make cooperation between the two countries even closer. A murder case involving army personnel at such a time could be a grave embarrassment to him.
She raised her eyes from the paper and met her own troubled gaze in a large mirror set in an ornately carved wooden frame screwed to the wall. Critically, she examined the reflection… soft, dark eyes; short, straight nose; full-lipped, generous mouth and then, half hidden between the open edges of her yellow nylon parka, the ripely swelling mounds of her budding breasts uptilted beneath the clinging black cashmere of her jersey.
Whisking back one edge of the parka, she placed a hand on her trim hip and turned to profile her young body in the glass. Below the tender bulge of her breast with its upthrust nipple, the curve of her breasts melted smoothly into a slender waist which at once flowed out voluptuously to contour the rounded outings of her hips and the slim, tapering thighs below.
It wasn't a bad shape, she supposed. After all, Stefan seemed to find it attractive enough. He was always going on and on about it! If only she could grow just a little bit taller…
For the third time, the young brunette sighed. Would there be a chance of seeing Stefan if she could get out of the house again unseen? Her parents would not be expecting her until at least five-thirty! If he was by any chance at the cafe on the corner, they would have over two hours together before she need come back… and nobody would know they'd even met!
She decided she would try. But it all depended on whether she could get away without seeing anybody! She listened again. There was no sound in the house. Her mother could be out or she could be resting in her room. If she was in her room, Susan would have to be very careful – for she simply had to do something with her hair if she was going to see Stefan! She glanced at the mirror once more; the rain had turned the close-cut cap of dark curls framing her face into a mass of bedraggled rats-tails! She'd have to get to her own room and fix it first.
But the door creaked alarmingly. If her mother was resting, she'd be bound to hear it if Susan went in. The only chance was to tiptoe along the balcony, past her mother's room, and get in by the French window. Holding her breath, the girl eased open the door of the breakfast room and stole upstairs.
There was a door to the balcony on the landing, and she slipped through and crept silently along the rain-wet slate floor towards the far end of the building.
Inside her mother's bedroom, the drapes were drawn across the window and the Venetian blinds were down. Susan gave a small tut of annoyance. Although this meant that she could pass the window without being seen from inside, it also meant that her mother was almost certainly there. She would have to be very, very careful not to make a noise getting into her own room!
For a moment she hesitated – and then suddenly she froze on the wet balcony, the thin lances of rain spearing coldly against her face and pattering on the shoulders of her parka. A deep groan from inside the room had penetrated the closed window!
Oh, my God! Susan thought. She's sick! I'll have to go in and see what I can do! She reached for the handle of the French window in the center of the embrasure and froze again. A guttural male laugh reverberated inside the bedroom!
Susan was transfixed. That laugh was certainly not her father's, yet the groan preceding it had undoubtedly come from her mother's lips! What in God's name was going on? Who was in there with her mother and what was he doing to her? It sounded as if whoever it was was hurting her.
Mrs. Templar groaned again – a longer one this time, with a strange pleading, note to it, almost as though she was being tortured. The groan was followed at once by another laugh and a series of fleshy slapping sounds, like a child's bottom being spanked.
Susan was trembling. Some burglar must have gotten into the house and now he was trying to force her mother to do something. Perhaps he wanted her to tell him where she kept her jewels or give him the combination of the safe behind the picture in the study where her father kept his papers. Maybe he was even some kind of spy!
There was an extension to the phone in a cupboard below the stairs. If only Susan could get to it and call the police or contact her father at his office – she might be able to save her mother's life!
She swallowed nervously and brushed the wet hair from her eyes. She had better get right on back downstairs while there was still time. It was then that her mother's groaning voice broke into words.
"Oh, God! Do it to me like that! Do it again! Yesssss!"
Standing in the rain outside the window, the teenage brunette paled. The voice had been slurred, almost as though her mother was drunk, but there could be no mistake about its tone: it was one of passionate pleading!
Although the man was evidently hurting her, it didn't sound, somehow, as though it was entirely against her will. It sounded, in fact, much more as though she was crying out for him to continue. Perhaps he was a sadist, like some of the men she had read about in her psychology class and was making her beg for more…
The girl hesitated again. What should she do? She could not make up her mind. If her mother was actually pleading for more… No, she dare not call the police or anyone else until she knew for sure just what was going on! She had to find out and there was just a chance that she could. She knew that the drapes in the room were badly fitted: there was often a tiny gap left at the center when they were supposed to be closed. She also knew that one of the thin aluminum slats of the Venetian blind was warped and wouldn't close properly. She had bent it herself one day, stumbling against the blind playing some game with her father. If she could crouch down and line up the two apertures with her eye, maybe she could see into the room.
Holding her breath fearfully, the mystified teenage girl dropped to her hands and knees and inched forward until she was squatting by the French window. Then, closing one eye, she leaned her face, against the cold glass and squinted through.
There was a narrow gap between the curtains, and she could see it through the crack in the closed blind. The distorted slat was fairly low down, so she was looking slightly upwards into the bedroom. The bedside lights were on and, in a segment of the room framed by the slats and the edges of the drapes, she saw the foot of her parents, bed and part of an armchair standing beside it.
Susan sucked in her breath with horror. Spread-eagled nakedly on the bed, her thighs spread shamelessly wide, her mother lay locked in a lewd embrace of intercourse with a strange male!
Susan stared mesmerized. The man's muscular buttocks and shoulders were covered with a fuzz of coarse black hair. His lips were clamped greedily over one of her mother's nipples, and Eileen Templar's fingers were digging into her own breast, thrusting it hard up against his lewdly sucking mouth. His hips were pounding savagely up and down against the naked woman's undulating loins, and from her position below the foot of the bed, the girl could see the man's thick hard penis disappearing and reappearing with each cruel thrust he made into the hair covered furrow up between her mother's legs.
His hands were cupping her naked white buttocks with a fierce strength that cut red bloodless grooves into the pliant flesh, squeezing the firmly, rounded moons tight together, forcing the wads of her vagina closer around the thickness of his hard-driving penis. Susan could see the moist pink lips of her mother's cunt clasping hungrily around the stranger's cock, her sparse pussy hairs grazing against the narrow sperm-filled ridge, then ran the length of the swollen shaft's underside.
The shocked teenager felt the blood draining from her head and fought to save herself from falling backwards. She felt sure she was going to faint from the shock of seeing the unbelievable scene taking place before her eyes. There, on her own father's bed, her mother was obscenely coupled with another man, making violent love to him with every sign of eagerness! She could hear the sounds of heavy breathing and the lustful grunts of animal pleasure uttered by the lewdly embracing pair from where she crouched.
The man raised his head to gasp some remark as Eileen Templar's long trembling legs suddenly kicked high in the air and then locked behind his thighs, pulling his driving buttocks into her with all her strength. Susan gasped aloud herself: she recognized him now. It was Herr Eisenach, the local Burgomaster! He had often driven over after dinner to have drinks with her mother and father. How dare he abuse her father's hospitality by taking advantage of his hostess in her husband's absence!
Susan wanted to wrench open the French window and rush into the room to tear him off her mother's body. She felt a scream building her throat – and, a savage desire to hit and scratch the interloper until she drove him away forever. She tried to blot the horrible scene from her eyes, but she could not: some obscure compulsion froze her to the window, unable to move away as she watched in detached revulsion the ravishment of her mother's more than willing body. She could see the corded muscles standing out on her inner thighs as she struggled like a crazed nymphomaniac to force the man's long thick penis deeper inside her. Her nakedly churning buttocks were grinding faster now, and the groans and mewls of lewd pleasure bubbling in her throat were louder as she thrust her loins demonically upwards to meet the pounding drives of the Burgomaster's hips. Susan could clearly hear the squeaking of the bedsprings from her spy hole on the balcony.
And then suddenly a cold chill ran the whole length of her spine.
She couldn't distinguish the words, but a man's voice called out something urgent and harsh… and it wasn't the voice of Eisenach! There was a second stranger in the room, and it sounded as if he was egging the Burgomaster on! Two of them in there… taking turns fucking her mother!
The distraught girl's mind reeled. She shifted her position slightly, trying to get a glimpse of the other man. But the two cracks she had to line up were too small: the edge of the curtain restricted her view.
A moment later the second man moved into her field of vision. The appalled teenager saw a pair of hairy legs, the blur of a descending body, and then the lower half of a naked figure had dropped into the chair only a couple of feet away from the lewdly coupled pair.
He was leaning back holding his rigidly pulsating penis in both hands, stroking the long hard shaft up and down in rhythmic time to the wet obscene sucking noises Susan could now hear from the grinding loins of the couple thrashing on the bed!
For a moment she watched in horrified fascination as his fingers skimmed the thick foreskin rapidly up and down the full white length of the shaft, the huge bulbous head bursting evilly into view with each hard downstroke of his hand. A pearl of seminal fluid seeped from the slit in its tip, and soon the whole hard rod of flesh was glistening in the light of the bedside lamp. Consumed with reluctant curiosity, Susan shifted her position in an attempt to see the mysterious stranger's face. But before she was low enough to obtain a sufficiently acute angle of vision, the edge of the slat cut off her view. She was easing herself back to her former vantage point when her rubber-soled sneaker slipped on the wet tiles and she sprawled abruptly forward on to her face.
The teenage eavesdropper lay face downwards on the wet balcony quivering with alarm. She was sure they must have heard her! In her ears the sound of her fall seemed to have echoed all around the house! Her mother would never forgive her for spying in this way!
For a while she remained inert, breathless with suspense. But no angry hand jerked open the French window; no furious voice demanded to know what the hell she was doing there, no hand twisted in her collar to haul her reluctantly to her feet. Finally she rose cautiously to her knees and put her eye to the glass again.
The trio in the bedroom had changed their positions while she was lying on the tiles. Now Herr Eisenach was flat on his back across the bed. Her mother was on her hands and knees above him… but facing the other way around, so that her splayed thighs straddled his shoulders, the tautly erect nipples tipping the full mounds of her hanging breasts brushed aghast his belly, and her wetly ovalled mouth was poised above the throbbing staff of his penis. As the girl stared unbelievingly, her mother grasped the thick fleshy penis and guided the excitedly seeping head towards her parted lips.
Susan gasped and bit her lip. It couldn't be true! She wasn't actually going to… to suck him… down there? Her unspoken question was answered immediately. Eileen Templar's open mouth closed firmly over the throbbing blue tip of the Burgomaster's cock and her hand moved away, from the shaft to knead and cradle the heavy sac of his balls. As his pelvis arched convulsively off the bed at the hot moist contact of her lips, she lowered her head and began a gentle up and down bobbing motion, sliding her tightly compressed lips to and fro along the whole veined length of his penis. At the same time he raised his own head slightly from the bed, stuck out the tip of his tongue, and began hungrily lapping at the moist pink lips of her vagina.
The second man, who had been sitting in the chair furiously milking his own penis, now rose abruptly to his feet. Leaning forward – Susan still couldn't see his face – he placed his hands on the nakedly quivering mounds of her mother's buttocks and drew them slowly apart. Gradually the entire shadowy furrow of her vaginal cleft came into view. The aghast teenager could see the blood-swollen lips of her mother's cunt quivering as Eisenach's tongue speared into their fleshy folds; she could see the wrinkled, rubbery ring of her anus nestling above the cuntal slit; and she saw, with a thrill of additional horror, that the second man had lunged forward until the bloated head of his cock was poised only inches away from the lightly puckered anal orifice!
For the second time, the teenage brunette's mind reeled. Surely… surely he couldn't be going to… to put it into her… there? It was unnatural. It was vile. It was perverted. And anyway, surely it would be impossible? Her young mind had already been astonished and terrified by the sight of the two men's penises. She had never really looked at one before… and certainly not in that state! She'd had no idea they would be so big! If a man ever tried to stick one like that into her, she was sure she could never take it: it would split her apart! And as for having one rammed into your back passage… why, it would kill you!
Her jaw dropped in consternation as the anonymous man in the bedroom rubbed the glistening tip of his cock against the puckered flesh of her mother's rectal ring, lubricating the way. And then suddenly he wrenched her trembling buttocks even further apart and thrust his hips forward to press the iron-hard shaft straight into her dilating anus.
The muscles of his belly tensed. His own buttocks hollowed with effort. And at last her mother's tightly clenched flesh gave way: the blood-gorged head of his penis disappeared inside as the constricting ring of the slaving woman's anus clamped over the shaft like a rubber band.
Eileen Templar jerked forward involuntarily at the first shock of the unnatural invasion of her rectum. Then to her daughter's amazement she screwed her hips back fiercely on to the thick skewering hardness, sinking more and more of the man's cock into the depths of her rectum while she sucked and nibbled maniacally at Eisenach's penis and he slavered greedily beneath her cunt.
The wet sluicing noises emanating from the obscenely embraced threesome in the bedroom rose to a crescendo as the man by the bed began thrusting in and out of Eileen's wide stretched rectum with demonic fury… and all at once the Burgomaster seemed to be seized by some kind of fit. His hips arched suddenly off the mattress, and the shaft of his penis began a wild convulsive jerking as the lewdly sucking woman's cheeks hollowed and bloated alternately in time with his spasmodic thrusts. Judging from the rhythmic movements of her neck muscles, she seemed to be swallowing. A thin trickle of viscous white fluid drooled from the corners of her mouth to sway in thin strings towards the pubic hair covering Eisenach's trembling loins.
Susan could take no more. Stumbling to her feet, she stumbled blindly away from the French window and ran for the door leading to the stairs. It was not so much the sight of her mother coupled like a farmyard animal with two strange men that repelled and upset her – though that was bad enough, for Heaven's sake! Nor was it the mental and physical shock of witnessing adult sex for the first time in all its lewd secrecy. It was the shattering thought of the deceit and the disloyalty to her father that shattered the security on which her adolescent world was based and sent her flying out into the rain sobbing as though her heart would break.
She ran desperately down the quiet street with the rain driving icy needles into her face, her sneakers splashing and sliding among the puddles on the asphalt sidewalk, her hair plastered to her face as the tears streamed from her unseeing eyes.
There was a T-junction at the top of the road, where her father turned right every morning to cross the Rhine and head for his office in Bonn. She turned left and ran towards the drenched vineyards and the tree-covered, cloud-misted mass of the Petersberg beyond them. She couldn't go to her father – the thought of telling him what she had seen was beyond her imagination. Yet she knew that it would be more than she could do to face him naturally without telling him. Her innocent mind was numbed. All she wanted was to get away, away anywhere, away from the scene of debauchery and deceit she had witnessed in the bedroom. But the problem was too big for her to handle alone. The shameful secret had to be shared with someone before she could decide what to do.
Who could she talk to? For the moment, Stefan was forgotten. In any case, she couldn't possibly confide so personal a family matter to anybody in her own age group. The only person she could think of in her anguish and distress was her aunt Marian, who was a Ward Sister in the American hospital at Siegsdorff, near Bad Honningen, fifteen miles further upriver. Marian Templar had been the girl's confidante ever since Susan was a very small child. If anybody could understand, sympathize or help, she could. And at least if Susan couldn't go direct to her father, Marian was his sister: talking to her wouldn't be as disloyal as it would if she was a relative of her mother's. Of Eileen Templar herself, Susan couldn't even bear to think at the moment.
A quarter of a mile further on, the street turned into the main road leading south to Bad Honningen and Koblenz. She would thumb a lift and go to see Aunt Marian.
By the time she got to the hospital it was already dark. She was cold, hungry and soaked from head to foot. But she had decided that she would tell Marian the whole story and ask her what she should do.
The man on the gate knew her, for she was a frequent visitor with her parents, so she had no trouble getting in. She made her way to the surgical wing, where Aunt Marian's ward was on the ground floor at the rear of the building. If she was on duty, Susan could slip into the Sister's office by a side door and wait until she was free. If not, she would have to go across to the Nurses' Home and ask for her there.
The office was at the outer end of the wing. Susan squelched across a waterlogged lawn and rose on tiptoe to peer in through the lighted window of the office. She was just in time to see her aunt's back, neat and slender in its blue and white starched uniform, disappearing through the swing door leading to the ward beyond. She breathed a sigh of relief. Now it wouldn't be necessary to get involved with other people in the Nurses' Home. Hurrying round the corner of the building, Susan ran up the steps and let herself in to the office.
Beneath the glass doors of a wall cabinet full of medicines and drugs, a green-shaded lamp cast a soft light over a desk strewn with temperature charts and case-history files. In one corner of the room, an electric fire glowed cheerfully beside a white-clothed table laid out with syringes and swabs in enamel bowls. The warm air was tingling with the astringent odor of antiseptics. Stripping off her wet parka, the distraught teenager dragged a chair in front of the heater and sank gratefully into it, stretching her sodden shoes out towards the warmth.
It was very quiet in the dimly-lit room. Rain beat against the windows and gurgled in the gutters outside. An electric clock above the door clicked once every minute as the hands jerked forward. Somewhere a radio or television was relaying martial music. But otherwise no sound disturbed the silence.
For some tune Susan sat slumped in the chair, her clothes steaming in the heat, enjoying the calm. Then suddenly she realized it was quite a while since she had seen her aunt go into the ward. Surely she couldn't have gone off duty? Wouldn't there have been a relief Sister in the office if she had?
She waited another five minutes and then, becoming all at once impatient, she rose to her feet and walked to the door herself. There were four frosted glass panes paneling its upper half and only a dim radiance showed through from the ward beyond. Cautiously, she inched the door towards her and peered through the crack.
Most of the beds facing each other across the long, narrow room were unoccupied. At the far end, three patients in striped pajamas sat propped up under shaded lights reading or listening to the radio on their earphones. Nearer, a man with one leg in plaster slung in a cradle lay on his back snoring in a drugged sleep. And just beyond an empty bed by the door, Colonel Templar's sister sat talking in low tones to a patient whose bed was screened off from the rest of the ward by curtains hanging from a curved rail projecting from the wall.
She was perched on the foot of the bed, her dark hair neatly coifed under the spreading Sister's cap, her full, high breasts thrusting out the starched white apron she wore over her blue tunic, the light from the wall lamp gleaming dully on the black nylon sheathing her crossed legs.
Beside her there was a chromed trolley on rubber-tired wheels laden with basins and glass funnels and coils of plastic tubing. But Marian Templar was evidently not concerned with the tools of her trade just now; her steady gray eyes were fixed earnestly on the pleading face of the man who lay in the bed with both his heavily bandaged arms lying immobilized in splints.
"… and you know perfectly well that I can't do any such thing!" she was murmuring as Susan opened the doors. Her tone was quietly reproving, but there was a hint of jest somewhere at the back of her voice and her eyes were twinkling.
Something told the watching teenager that she mustn't on any account reveal her presence. Some obscure air of tension surrounding the two people on the bed, some indefinable atmosphere of mutual complicity, warned her that she was eavesdropping on a scene that was both private and secret as clearly as if there had been a "Keep Out!" notice posted there. Silently, she eased the swing door shut… and then at the last moment she stayed it so that there was still the merest crack through which she could see the bed.
"Aw, come on, Sister!" the man on the bed begged. He was a big guy of about forty with a lined face and laughing eyes. "Be a sport! Do it for me just this once!"
"I can't. You know I can't, Sergeant. Surely you must…"
"Just this once!" the patient interrupted pleadingly. "Hell – it's not as though I could do anything about it myself, is it?" He raised his stiff bandaged hands together and allowed them to drop back uselessly on the covers.
"You're not to talk like that!" Marian Templar admonished. But she was smiling.
"Buy you a nice dinner at the American Club as soon as I'm discharged!" the sergeant coaxed.
"What kind of a girl d'you think I am!" Susan's aunt was trying hard to sound shocked.
"That's just what I want to find out sweetie!" the man in the bed exclaimed triumphantly. Licking his lips, he stared up at her from under his eyebrows.
Marian Templar shook her head in mock helplessness and shrugged. "You're impossible!" she sighed.
"Then you will?"
"Just this once." She rose abruptly to her feet and turned towards the door.
Oh God! Susan thought wildly. Whatever it is she's going to do, she's coming out here to do it! She'll find me here and she'll think I'm spying! She'll never forgive me! Unable to move, she remained frozen to the spot, her eye staring compulsively through the narrow crack in the door.
But the voluptuous woman in her crisply starched uniform only went as far as the trolley. Picking up a surgical glove, she thrust the fingers of her right hand hard down into it. Susan could hear the dry squeak of the rubber as she eased it over her skin. She could hear something else too; the man on the bed was suddenly breathing fast and heavily. A glazed look had come over his eyes.
Marian Templar turned back to the bed. Reaching forward, she pulled the covers down between the patient's arms and then folded them aside.
Susan almost gasped aloud. Spearing up through the fly of his pajama pants, the man's massively erect penis throbbed in all its rigidness above the striped material covering his belly!
Above the iron-hard, veined stiffness of the shaft, the circumcised glans, smooth as the head of a giant mushroom, quivered imperceptibly in the diffuse light.
"My!" Aunt Marian said chidingly. "We are in a state, aren't we!"
The breathing of the man in the bed had become more ragged still. "Go on!" he whispered hoarsely. "Do it to me! Do it to me now! Please!"
Lowering herself gently to the side of the bed, she reached across with her rubber gloved hand and grasped the pulsating shaft of his cock, moving the tip of the thumb caressingly over the plum-colored head to smear the seminal fluid seeping wetly from the slit at the top.
The sergeant jerked convulsively at her touch and arched his loins slightly off the bed. "Ooooooooah!" he groaned. "That's so gooooooooood! Go on! Go on! Oh, you darling! Aaaaaaaah!"
Slowly she increased the movement of her thumb, spreading the viscous fluid over the acorned head, past the taut ridge of flesh separating it from the shaft, and then down the throbbing stiffness of me shaft itself.
He grunted, biting his lip and staring up into the light directly over his head. "Harder!" he gasped. "Hold me harder! Ohhhhhhhh!"
When the entire rigid length of his penis was gleaming greasily, Marian altered the position of her hand so that the head was nuzzling into her palm and her fingers and thumb were wrapped around the shaft like a close fitting sheath. Gently at first and then with increasing speed and force she began to milk his eagerly throbbing cock, pulling his loose skin up over the quivering head and then dragging it hard down until the whole pulsating penis was as stretched and tight as an over-fed balloon, the glistening skin almost transparent under the pressure of her hand.
Over a whisper of music from the earphones at the far end of the big room, Susan heard the harsh panting of the sergeant's breath and the lewd sucking squelch of her aunt's rubber covered hand sliding rhythmically up and down the lustfully expanding staff of his penis. Behind her, the rain drummed incessantly against the windows of the empty office.
"There!" Marian whispered huskily to the wildly excited man. "That makes us feel better, doesn't it? That's what we needed, isn't it…? It feels so gooood… to have Sister's hand… giving us just a little bit of massage… in the right place…!"
"Christ!" the sergeant whispered tremulously. "Oh, Christ!"
"It's such a big one too! And so hard!" Marian murmured. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly beneath the starched apron, her eyes were shining, and there was a crooning note in her voice that the transfixed teenager behind the door had never heard before.
But suddenly Susan could stand it no longer. There was a thundering in her ears and she felt as if she was choking. She could never confide in Aunt Marian now; she was no better than the others herself! Dear God, was the entire adult world sex-mad? Did none of them do anything else but give in to the lecherous and obscene urges that made them behave like lust-crazed animals? Stifling a sob, she let the door swing silently shut. Then, grabbing her parka from the back of the chair, she turned and ran.
Weeping hysterically, she ran out of the office, across the lawn, past the astonished man on the gate, and on through the pelting rain towards the village whose lights gleamed through the dark three quarters of a mile down the road. Behind her, the pale green Volkswagen which had been trailing her ever since she left school early that afternoon switched on its lights as the motor choked into life. Slowly, its wipers swishing, it crawled through the downpour after the swaying figure of the weeping teenager.