Wendy stood on the stage with the other contestants and listened to Dan Taylor announce the winner of the Miss North America title. As Dan stepped to the microphone holding the huge gold trophy, Wendy got ready to step forward. Her heart pounded, for this was the biggest moment of her life.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dan said, "I'm happy to announce that this year's Miss North America is – Miss California, Jane Stevens."
As a pretty redhead rushed to receive the trophy and the applause, Wendy felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. She hadn't won the title she hadn't even been named a runner-up. Dan Taylor and the other judges had shut her out completely.
She managed to maintain her poise while all the girls sang one last song, but as they filed from the stage she hurried over to Dan Taylor, her eyes filled with tears of anger and disappointment. Taylor gave her an impatient glance and tried to move away, but Wendy caught him by the arm.
"Why did you do this to me?" she sobbed. "I thought we had a deal. You know how much that title meant to me. You promised."
Taylor jerked his arm out of her grasp and said coldly, "I didn't promise a thing, baby. I just said I'd check you out. You didn't make the grade. You're no prettier than the other girls, your act stinks, and you don't even ball that well. Now, leave me alone of I'll have one of my bodyguards throw you out."
"But I earned that title," Wendy wept. "I worked for it all the way from Oakdale."
"Sure, you worked for it," Taylor sneered, "in your own rotten way. But you better understand this, baby – in the big time, you have to play by the rules. Now get lost."
Wendy stumbled back to her hotel room and started to pack. There was nowhere for her to go now but back to Oakdale and her job waiting tables. She'd blown her chance for fame and fortune. She knew she had no talent, so if she couldn't make it on her looks and her body, she wasn't going anywhere. She was doomed to stay in a one-horse town.
"To hell with it," Wendy suddenly muttered.
She left her packing half finished and walked out of the hotel in the low-cut black evening gown she'd bought for the finals. She entered the nearest cocktail lounge and ordered a double martini. The least she could do was give herself a night out, a night of complete oblivion, before going home.
Shortly after Wendy entered the bar, a little old man came in. Wendy couldn't help noticing him because he was so neatly and expensively dressed. He was perhaps five-feet-four, in his late sixties, and had a thick shock of white hair. He had a trim broad-shouldered body and the quiet confidence of a man with plenty of money.
The old man said something to the bartender, who immediately came over to Wendy's table. "Mr. Arthur Williams wants to know if you'd like to join him for a drink, Miss," the bartender said formally. Then he added in a low whisper, "I wouldn't pass it up if I were you, kiddo. He's one of the richest men in the country."
"Very well," Wendy said, managing a weak smile.
At least it would be better than sitting alone. She walked over to Arthur Williams' table and the old man pulled out a chair for her and signaled the bartender. Two double martinis arrived almost before Wendy could sit down. Up close she saw that the old man had once been quite attractive. In fact he still wasn't bad to look at.
"My dear," he said, "I'm Arthur Williams. You may call me Art. I know who you are, Wendy. I've been watching you during the whole contest. I'm terribly sorry you lost. I know it must be a big disappointment for you."
Wendy couldn't hold back the tears that rushed to her big blue eyes. "Oh, Mr. Williams – I mean, Art," she said, "I feel so awful about it. That title meant everything to me."
Art patted her hand. "You're very young," he said, "and you have no idea of the marvelous opportunities for a girl with your looks. Why don't you let me tell you about them over dinner? I know an exclusive restaurant that might help take your mind off your troubles."
Wendy accepted. She didn't want to be alone that night, and Art was very soothing company. They had a delicious dinner which must have set him back a hundred dollars, and then he invited her to his penthouse for a nightcap. Again Wendy accepted, not wanting to be alone with her angry and bitter thoughts.
She found the costly decor of his penthouse dazzling. She couldn't even begin to guess how much money had gone into it. Art made them drinks from a built-in bar, and they sat together on the couch, admiring the sweeping view of New York City at night.
"Feeling better?" Art asked.
"Not much," Wendy sighed. "Tomorrow I have to go back to Oakdale. I have a job as a waitress. That's not very exciting."
Art chuckled and reached for her hand. "My dear," he said, "you can stay right here in New York and make all the money you want. All you have to do is keep a lonely old man company."
"Company?" Wendy said.
"Like tonight, for instance," Art said. "If you'll stay with me, Wendy, I'll give you two hundred dollars."
Wendy's head reeled. Two hundred dollars for one fuck? It seemed incredible. But she could certainly use the money. Her wardrobe for the various contests had cost her every penny of her savings. In fact she didn't even have the price of a bus ticket home. Art hardly turned her on – he was old enough to be her grandfather – but Wendy didn't hesitate to accept his proposition.
"All right, Art," she said, "we can give it a try, at least for tonight."
"Excellent," he said with a big grin. "I've had my eye on you for so long, Wendy. I've wanted you so much. Please, could we begin by just taking off your clothes? I'd love to see all of you."
"Of course, Art," Wendy purred.
She was naturally flattered by the old man's adoration, and she'd lost her modesty long ago. She didn't hesitate to get to her feet and open the long zipper of her clinging black evening gown. As she was taking off her dress, Art took some bills from his wallet and tucked them into her purse. Wendy grinned and let her dress waft to the floor.
She stood still in front of the beaming old man, wearing just her black lace bra and panties and high heels. Art devoured her with his little twinkling blue eyes, his gaze running up and down her tall young body. Wendy felt a naughty little thrill. She loved to show off her spectacular figure.
Then she reached around to unhook her bra. Art came to the edge of his seat, his martini forgotten. He focused hotly on her thrusting tits as she unhooked her bra and tossed the flimsy little garment aside. Her big melon-shaped boobs wobbled out of their tight confinement, dainty light brown nipples dancing.
"Exquisite," Art sighed. "I don't usually care for large breasts, but yours are somehow so delicate. Please go [missing text]."
Wendy stepped out of her high heels – an act which still left her four inches taller than Art – and then began to inch down her panties. She turned her back to Art and slipped the panties down over the cute little globes of her ass. She let him admire her pert little butt for awhile before she turned and faced him again.
Art was a little flushed in the face, and his eyes were gleaming lustily as Wendy inched the flimsy panties down over the little glossy brown triangle of her muff. She let the garment slither down her long lovely legs, then kicked it out of the way and stood stark naked before the excited old millionaire.
"Beautiful," he said hoarsely, "absolutely beautiful. I can't understand why you didn't win that contest."
"Please, Art," Wendy said sadly, "let's not talk about that. I'd rather put it behind me."
"Of course, how inconsiderate of me," Art said. "Why don't you do a little dance for me, dear? I've noticed what a fine dancer you are."
That was bullshit, of course. She was hardly an expert dancer. But Art's idea appealed to her. It might take her mind off her troubles. Soft stereo music was playing in the background, and Wendy began to dance to it, her lovely tall slim body curving and swaying. Art took a big gulp of his drink and once again sat on the edge of the couch.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he sighed.
Wendy now had him pegged as a bullshit artist, but she loved the flattery nevertheless. It encouraged her to make her dance much more sexy than she ever had for the beauty contests. She swooped and swayed in front of the old man, her big breasts bouncing and wobbling. She ducked and bent, giving him quick tantalizing glimpses of her ripe red pussy.
Of course she knew she'd have to go to bed with him soon, but that didn't turn her on, and she could do it again – especially for two hundred dollars. So it didn't matter if she was getting the old dude unbearably aroused. She danced directly in front of him, bent back, and wantonly displayed her scarlet moist slit.
"Stop," Art sighed. "Just hold that position, please."
Wendy stood still, poised just a foot from him, her long legs spread wide, her body arched slightly back. Art perched on the edge of his seat and slipped his hands around her firm little ass-globes. He drew her forward a little, till her fragrant soft bush touched his face. He nuzzled and kissed in her little brown curl patch, his hot moist breath fanning her pussy.
Again Wendy felt a wicked little thrill. She loved to be admired by men. If she couldn't be a beauty queen, perhaps she could do as Art suggested, sell herself to lonely old guys who would not only pay her big money but would give her the adoration she craved.
But she couldn't think about that now. Her job was to please Arthur Williams, aging millionaire, for one night. She made soft little purring noises of contentment as the white-haired old man kissed down through her curly bush and pressed his lips to the hot red lump of her clit.
"I want you," he said in a muffled voice. "I want to eat you. Every bit of you."
Wendy felt a sudden spurt of hot juice from her pussy. The old guy was outrageously flattering, but he was also turning her on like crazy. It wasn't just his words, either. Now she felt his hot slick tongue-tip teasing the sensitive button of her clit, and it felt delicious. He flicked his tongue briskly back and forth over the horny little bud.
"Ooooooo, Art," Wendy squealed, "that feels so good."
Art responded to the compliment by licking even faster and harder on her responsive little joy button, and Wendy had to seize his shoulders to keep her balance as dizzying pleasure washed over her. She was sure Art had dozens of servants, but he obviously didn't let anybody else do his pussy-eating for him. He knew just what he was doing, and he did it perfectly.
"Lovely," he sighed. "You taste delicious. I'm going to eat your whole pussy, my dears and I'm going to take my time."
That was the best news Wendy had heard all day. There was nothing she liked better than to have her pussy slowly and deliciously tongued and kissed. Just thinking about it made her aroused cunt gush another blast of hot cream, and the sticky stuff trickled down her inner thighs. Art dived for it, lapping up every drop from her hot silky skin.
"Oh, God," Wendy gasped.
Suddenly, deftly, Art seized her and flipped her over onto the couch. Wendy was amazed at the little man's strength. She landed on her back, and before she could even catch her breath, Art had draped one of her long legs up over the back of the couch and eased her other leg over the edge, fully exposing her steamy hair-fringed gash.
"This will make my work a lot easier," he grinned.
Wendy grinned back. She certainly didn't mind lying down on the job. Art knelt between her legs and dived for her snatch again, and then Wendy felt a hot blast of pleasure that made her moan hoarsely. Art was keeping his promise, licking her whole pussy, right from the hot erect button of her clit down to the little light-brown wrinkled mouth of her asshole.
"Ohhhhhhh, yes," Wendy moaned.
Art obviously enjoyed what he was doing. He made loud snuffling and slurping noises as he happily rooted in her red-hot pussy, and his thirsty tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, lapping up her gushing cunt-cream. It was the best head job Wendy had ever had, and she gave herself up to it completely, moaning steadily, enjoying every second.
After licking and kissing every square inch of her tasty wet gash, Art raised his cream-soaked face and said, "Where would you especially like me to lick you, my dear? Is there anything special you'd like me to do?"
Hell, Wendy thought, why not go for it?
"Art," she said huskily, "would you please put your tongue up my cunt?"
"With pleasure," he chuckled.
He pressed his mouth to her drooling little box and very slowly eased his tongue up the wet velvety little hole. It was the most delicious thing Wendy had ever felt in her life. She moaned loudly, her hot cunt-cream squirting around his invading tongue.
"Oh, my God, yes, yes," she wailed, "put your tongue in meee."
Art didn't have to be urged. He was panting with excitement as he slowly stuffed her steamy little twat with his thick wet tongue-meat. At last he'd thrust his tongue clear to the root in her molten-hot clinging box, and Wendy was writhing with ecstasy. He paused a moment, then started to tongue-fuck her, using quick short hard strokes.
"Eeeeeee," Wendy wailed.
Even in her ecstasy, she was amused by the scene – an actual millionaire eating her pussy, even though he'd paid HER for a night of sex. A girl could certainly find worse jobs. Still she couldn't help thinking longingly of Dick and the life they might still have together.
Her wistful thoughts of her former boyfriend faded as Art worked his thick stiff tongue faster and faster in her blazing-hot little cunt. Soon she could think of nothing but the searing pleasure that rocked her body. Her hot cream boiled around his jerking tongue and overflowed her snug twat, gushing out to puddle on the seat of the couch.
"Oh, my God, it's beautiful," Wendy moaned. "You're going to make me come, Art. Just a little more. Oh, yes, yes, YESSSS."
His hard-jerking tongue brought her off like a bomb, and for long lovely moments she was carried away on a blinding wave of pleasure. Though her beautiful young body rocked violently, Art somehow managed to keep his thick wet tongue lodged deep in her convulsing box, making her orgasm even more intense.
"Ahhhhhh," Wendy moaned.
When her last little spasm of pleasure died away, Art raised his head from her soaked pussy and wiped her sticky cream from his face. "Now it's your turn to do something for me, my dear," he said.
"Of course, Art," Wendy said eagerly. She was grateful to the old man, and she wanted to return the favor.
"Take my clothes off first," he grinned.
Wendy hurried to obey. Quickly and deftly she helped him out of his clothes, noting the expensive material and famous labels. Again she thought what a comfortable life she could have with the indulgent old millionaire – and again she longed for Dick and a normal married life. Perhaps by tomorrow she could make up her mind which it was to be.
For an old man, Arthur Williams was in excellent shape, his broad-shouldered little body firm and hard. His chest was thickly furred with white curls, his hips and ass trim and muscular. But his cock was totally limp, much to Wendy's surprise. The little wrinkled sausage rested sleepily in a thick nest of white hairs.
Art looked down at his flaccid pale cock and empty rosy balls. He sighed and said, "A man my age often has a hard time getting it up, my dear. It could take awhile, and you'll have to help me out."
"Of course, Art," Wendy said. "What do you want me to do? Should I give you a blow job?"
Art swung his legs off the couch, stood up, and said, "What's your favorite flavor of yogurt?"
"What?" Wendy said. She was afraid the old dude had suddenly gone senile.
Art chuckled and said, "There's a method in my madness, my dear. Just tell me what kind of yogurt you like best."
Wendy thought a moment and said, "Why, cherry, I guess."
"Good," said Art, "I just happen to have some."
He trotted out of the room, his pale little cock wagging, and soon returned with a carton of cherry yogurt which he handed to Wendy. He lay down on the rug, stretched full length on his back, and grinned wickedly at her.
"Spread that stuff on my cock and balls," he said, "and then lick it off."
Wendy giggled, both from shock and from naughty excitement. The old guy might be a little weird, but it was a fun idea. She hurried to kneel beside him on the rug and started smearing the cool thick yogurt all over his flaccid little prick and slack rosy nut sacs. She could already feel the hot saliva pooling in her mouth as she thought of going down on his cherry-flavored cock and balls.
"Art, you devil," she laughed, "did you think this up all by yourself?"
"I prefer to be original," he chuckled. "I wouldn't want anything as common as whipped cream. Besides, yogurt is better for you."
Wendy laughed and set aside the half-empty yogurt carton. She spread Art's legs and knelt between them and dipped her face down into his pink-smeared crotch. She began greedily lapping the cool tasty yogurt from his little wrinkled cock, making the little sausage flop and bounce. It was an incredible turn-on. Art gasped delightedly with each firm flick of her tongue on his cream-smeared meat.
"Now my balls," he panted.
Wendy nosed lower in his crotch and lapped his cool flaccid nut sacs, lashing them hard and briskly with her tongue, cleaning up every bit of the yogurt. Art sighed and wriggled with horny pleasure as he felt her hot muscular tongue massaging his sensitive balls. She licked them clean and then returned to his cock.
"Get it all," Art said breathlessly. "Suck it."
Wendy was only too eager to obey. She took his cream-soaked prick into her mouth and began to suck it loudly, making greedy wet slurping noises. Art's eyes rolled wildly, and then she felt his prick starting to grow on her tongue. It stiffened into six thick inches of throbbing cock-meat just as she was swallowing the last of the yogurt.
"Keep sucking me," Art gasped. "Bring me off, darling."
Wendy obeyed, her thick brown hair flying as she gave him a vigorous head job. She took his stubby hard cock all the way in her mouth, till his furry balls rubbed her chin. She drew in her cheeks to make a tight juicy nest for his swollen cock-meat, sucking as fast and hard as she could.
"Oh, Jesus, yes," Art moaned. "That's beautiful, my dear. Just a little more now."
Wendy had a surprise for him. Suddenly she gave a powerful suck on his throbbing stiff dick and took the fat hard head right into her throat. Art yelped with pleasure, jerked his hips furiously, and then shot his load, filling her mouth with delicious steamy come. Wendy eagerly swallowed every last drop.
Later, as they rested in bed, Art said, "Wendy, I want to make you a proposition, and I'll just come right to the point. Be my mistress. Live here with me, please me in bed, and I'll give you a thousand dollars a month – not to mention the trips we'll take and the clothes I'll have specially made for you. Really, my dear, if you stay with me, you can have anything you want."
Wendy sighed. "Art, I'd love to," she said, "I really would. But I can't. There's something I want even more, something back in Oakdale. And I'll never forgive myself if I don't go back and look for it."