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Excerpt: The wind was whistling through her nostrils and she was sure, all at once, that Peter Prentice was going to rape her.He moved to press her slender body down with the bulk of his weight and then his knee was between her legs, forcing them apart. She was screaming and twisting and turning but it was in vain. She felt the warmth of his organ as he pushed it into her body and it was nothing like the dildoes, nothing like the machines, nothing like anything else that she had ever encountered on earth.
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Table of Contents
Fred Carson had been very good to her. Now she was rich and famous, and all because he had exploited her and helped her. He was old, nearly sixty, and he should not have had so much to drink. The cab driver said that he hadn't even seen Fred until it was too late. He was dead before he got to the hospital.
Somehow, she didn't think that Fred really minded. He had been tired for a long time now, and having a beautiful blonde wife was a pleasure of sorts, but except for the fumbling non-
sense on their wedding night he had never approached her.
She pursed her lips in a soundless kiss for him, and when the mortuary attendant spoke from behind her she jumped, startled.
"He looks so splendid," the moon-faced attendant said.
"He is to be cremated," Vivian said sharply. "As promptly as possible."
"Of course," the man said. "There are certain formalities involved. Would you step this way, please, and we will discuss them."
Vivian Sherwood, twenty-six, beautiful, talented, stacked, went along with the man and the formalities were attended to.
It was late when she finished at the mortuary, and she stood for a time watching some of Fred's mixed-up clients filing in to pay their last respects. He had been a very busy marriage counselor and he had had more problems than any of those he tried to help.
The need for a hot tub and a cup of coffee became overwhelming and she left the mortuary and got into the lavender Rolls. She guided it skillfully through the city traffic and then she cruised the canyons of Beverly Hills with absent-minded ease.
Her mind was busy with plans for the immediate future. She would have to get someone to take over Fred's little enterprise. Perhaps she could update it and turn it into another gold mine. She had several gold mines of her own al-
ready. Another never hurt a girl, she reasoned.
All by herself, she was big business. The Institute of Applied Astrology was a real money maker and the hypnosis institute was another. She was firmly entrenched in the self-help business, and as long as people would not accept themselves as they were she would continue to prosper. It was something that she had difficulty comprehending. Why couldn't people be what they were? Why did they have to be hypnotized so that they could stop smoking? Or so that they could stifle their fear of flying? Why couldn't man just be content to walk the face of the earth-and do his thing and then get the hell off-stage gracefully and just let it go at that?
If people were like that she would be out of business. She decided that she would stop thinking about screwy stuff and put in a little time mourning Fred. She would spend a lot of money on a fancy urn and send the ashes to his sister in Long Island. Then she would go about her work and try to find somebody to help her with the many enterprises that she had going now.
She thought of Sam Benson almost immediately. He was a perfect bastard, though, and she knew it. But maybe that was just the type she would need to help her run things.
The computers did most of it, of course. She was mailing out eighteen thousand horoscopes a day now, and they were all made up by the machines. Once the information was fed into the
data processors, anyone's horoscope was instantly at hand. The way she worked it, she could not do a better job if she tried to cast each horoscope individually.
The Institute of Applied Astrology was her baby, a multi-million dollar showplace of moving planets and smoked glass and conducted tours each afternoon. They liked to watch the simulate heavens and the winking planets as they moved in their computerized paths. The simulated solar system had cost a quarter of a million dollars, and it was never really completed. The astronomers were always checking her complex for accuracy. Life had done a big spread on her fantastic electronic setup and the Institute of Applied Astrology attracted a great deal of publicity and attention.
Crowds flocked through the exhibits every afternoon, and she liked that. The real work was accomplished between the hours of five in the morning until one in the afternoon. After that, the sightseers were welcome.
Somewhere along the line she had encountered the enmity of Peter Prentice. She didn't even know Peter Prentice, but as a syndicated columnist of international fame he had taken it upon himself to publicly brand her a charlatan, a fake, a coldly calculating woman whose Only interest in her fellows was the money that they would pay for phony horoscopes.
When she thought about the vicious things that he said in print, she nearly wept. His
charges were utterly unfounded. She did operate her businesses with some measure of intelligence, and the data-processing services permitted her to operate on a much bigger scale than she could have hoped for before the electronic brains started working, but the horoscopes were true and accurately drawn. She made certain of that.
Most of her enterprises were now being operated by competent and dedicated people and she had little to be worried about. She could easily discontinue Fred Carson's marriage counseling agency, but she worried about the people who were his clients. Maybe Sam Benson would like to move up now. He was an adequate and capable manager for the hypnosis institute but he should be able to take on new and greater tasks. She would take him to lunch and ask him about it on Monday.
It was Friday afternoon, the week had been hectic, and she was tired. Too, Fred's unfortunate experience did unnerve her, and she was glad to notice that she was close to home.
Angela would be waiting for her. Angela with the long dark hair, the incredibly soft eyes, the tiny delicate hands that brought such soothing pleasures. She wondered if she hated Angela, actually, and hurt her deliberately. The things that she did to Angela were hideous, but the beautiful young girl thrived on abuses and humiliations. Oh, well, she was a Pisces, and everybody knew that you can do anything at all
to them and they accepted it.
She swung the big Rolls into her driveway, and when she got out she paused to look at the splendor and beauty of her home. It was a big place, set back from the street, and the stuccoed walls were tinted lavender, the wide solid doors controlled by the long gold bars that stood out on their surface.
Inside, there were more of the simulated planets moving along in their dictated paths, but it was a much smaller display than the one at the institute. She had had it installed because she often gave interviews and worked on horoscopes at her home. Many of her famous and important clients were glad of the privacy that visiting her in her own home afforded them and they didn't mind that such a benison showed up on their bill.
She went into the house and the glorious Angela came running. The girl had been at work in her office in the front part of the house. She smiled as she saw Vivian, and the fantastic beauty of the girl was breathtaking, Vivian thought. The dark hair was hanging down the girl's back, glistening from the brush and excellent health. Angela's big gray eyes were staring at her, liking her. The pert young breasts stood out sharply, bewitchingly, on the girl's rib cage, and her sweetly shaped butt and pretty legs were beautifully displayed by her short miniskirt and the sleek pantyhose. Angela was a lovely young girl and she should have
been married and happy. But she wasn't, and Vivian was grateful that she had her.
Fred had sent her to Vivian.
"She is engaged to be married to this young man she is seeing," Fred explained, "but she cares nothing for him. He is a selfish, sadistic young man and she is thriving on the abuses that he forces upon her. I'm afraid that that is the only attraction he has for her. She has to have someone who can understand her and hurt her."
When she met the girl, Vivian was astonished by the virginal beauty, the docility in Angela. The girl had been raised in an orphanage, and when she was old enough to go on her own she had been hired out to a young doctor. The medic and his young bride were swappers and they quickly included Angela in their nocturnal fun and games. But Angela ran away and got a job in a department store. That was where she met the young man who was making her life miserable when Fred Carson stepped in and gave her another thing to do.
Angela and Vivian took to each other and Vivian made a pet out of the girl. Convinced that Angela's delicate and distorted personality could not survive in ordinary mileus, Vivian gave her a job, a good life and an ample check. Aside from her erotic eagernesses, Angela was capable, efficient and a fine secretary.
Angela's big gray eyes were examining her face intently, affectionately. She smiled and
the girl's soft, full-lipped mouth curved into one of her sexy little smiles.
"Was it bad?" Angela asked.
Vivian shook her head. "Not really. But I hate losing Fred. I am upset. Do come along and help me."
Angela's smile took on a brand-new luster.
"Of course," she said.
Vivian strode through the arched passageway leading to a smooth oak door at the far end and Angela went along with her. They talked as they moved.
"There are many calls," Angela said. "Most of them are not too important, but John Gavin called. He is worried about his case in court on Monday. I thought you might want to talk to him. After all, a big criminal lawyer is important."
Vivian laughed. "Call him when you are free and tell him that he will win his case Monday morning. I have already taken a look at his chart. His ephemeris suggests that anything he attempts will turn out right for him on Monday."
"I am so glad," Angela said. "I like him."
Vivian turned to stare at Angela. "Fifty million bucks, who wouldn't like him?"
Angela giggled. "I am learning some of the things that you are trying to teach me."
Vivian touched the smoothness of the heavy door in a special place and in a certain way and the thick panel opened. They walked through
and entered the perfumed, artfully furnished rooms that Angela and Vivian lived in.
The drapes and fabrics were lavenders or orchids or heliotropes, the woods highly polished and modernistic. The living room contained a large-screen television set, a grand piano, a stereo entertainment center and the pale, deep pile carpeting. There were three bedrooms, furnished in pastels and blond woods. All of the colors or tints were a part of the purple spectrum of color and Vivian's bedroom was the same lavender tint that she had on the Rolls.
Vivian began taking her things off as she stood beside the wide bed, smiling at Angela. The pretty young girl's personality seemed to undergo an abrupt change as soon as they entered the bedroom, and Vivian knew that it was something that she liked and enjoyed. The girl became docile, meek, almost servile, certainly obsequious, and that was sexually exhilarating and thoroughly exciting to Vivian.
"You may help me, dear," Vivian said.
Angela stepped close to her and the girl lifted her face so that they could kiss. She could feel the heat in the girl's lips and tongue, and she shivered as she suddenly turned on, too. Angela reached behind to unfasten her bra, and then Vivian's glorious breasts were free and quivering with their own special eagernesses and sensual anxieties. Angela touched the taut little nipples with her fingertips, and Vivian gasped as sensation raced through her endo-
crines and exploded in her loins. She was very wet and exceedingly tumescent, thoroughly concupiscent, and she wished that she could give herself to Angela but she could not.
There would be a ritual of sorts and Angela would be permitted certain privileges and liberties, but she could not allow the girl to feed upon the juices that her ardent ministrations engendered. It was cruelty, of course, but Vivian could not accept lesbianism or cunnilingus, even from a dear and treasured friend.
She stood quite still as Angela's reverent hands removed her pantyhose and then she was nude, splendidly naked, and every nerve in her body was alert and yearning for attention.
She let Angela take her hand and they walked to a wall. She pulled a large picture of handsome plumed knights on fat horses away from the wall, then her skilled fingers moved through the combination on a small dial set into the wall. A moment later half the wall slid away and they walked into a vast, sybaritic chamber that had cost a fortune to furnish. Vivian was sure that it was worth every dime invested.
There was a sauna, a deep pool, many couches and some very sophisticated furniture. One couch was remarkably clever, sinfully expensive and her dearest possession. It was completely mechanized and capable of any conceivable adjustment, and when it was occupied the person intending to enjoy its capabilities had
only to relax and the machine would respond to a set of controls on a handy console. The user could enjoy mechanical copulation, mechanical sodomy or a combination of both at once. The couch had been sold to her by a clever inventor in Denmark and she had paid a fabulous price for it but she was quite satisfied with her purchase.
She stood for a moment beside the couch, waiting, while Angela did things to a very fancy brazier that operated electrically. She knew that her skin would begin to tingle and prickle with deliciously erotic stimulation as soon as the subtle chemicals began to fill the air with their devilish fragrances and dermal agitations.
Angela began getting out of her things and in seconds she stood beside the couch, glorious in nudity. Vivian glanced at Angela's crotch and she could see that the girl was already flowing.
Angela began rubbing a lotion into her exposed styin and there was a reaction with the fumes from the brazier and Vivian began to enjoy sensual ecstasies undreamed of by the average hedonist. Her whole being became involved in deep sexual spasms and as intensity deepened the sensual thrills that were coursing through her skin and her loins, she shivered and began an unconquerable time of trembling and twitching and perfectly splendid orgasm. Angela was rubbing lotions into her pelvic area and the hot, burning ecstasies of skin and
glands and fulminating juices joined and crested and a monumental sexual spasm claimed her vibrating body for a long time and she slipped into a warm and glowing place of delicious and unimagined pleasures.
She had spilled, she knew, when sanity returned and the faithful Angela had helped her through her time of sexual grandeur. When she looked at Angela's slack face she saw the weak, lopsided smile, and felt the warmth of Angela's palms easing tensed and tormented muscles.
Vivian sighed and gasped as Angela began rubbing the depilatory lotion into her pubis and the flesh of her genitalia. She knew, too, that Angela was massaging and manipulating her clit and it was a truly delightful feeling, but as she moved close to another massive sexual convulsion she began writhing and squirming, thrilled and tortured by exaggerated sexual bliss. She swept through orgasm and relaxed, spraddled-legged, while the lovely young brunette dabbed at her flowing well with absorbent pads and disposed of the products of sexual splendors. She knew that Angela ached with the desire to devour such nectars but, perversely, she would not allow that. She suspected that Angela did lots of forbidden things to her anyway when she was on one of her far-out forays into the labyrinths of sexual ecstasy, but what she never knew about she could not forbid, she supposed.
Her breasts and her nipples were especially sensitive and seething with an excess of stimulations. Angela bent and then she was feeling the touch of the girl's lips, the swift, darting tongue that brought a flavor of extreme sexuality to their kiss. She sighed and pushed the sleek head away from her mouth. She came a dozen times while Angela's hot, slippery mouth teased and sucked at her nipples and tender breasts and then she was squirming and writhing in a fresh burst of sensual frenzy. She slipped her fingers down between her thighs and touched familiar spots in overheated flesh and a torrent of spectacular orgasms rewarded her, calmed her.
There was a time of quiet relaxation, cigarettes and a quick drink, then Angela was at her again.
"Roll over," the girl said. "I'll loosen up your muscles a bit, then the sauna, then the fucking couch."
She pretended shock. "Angela," she said, "how crude. How utterly crude."
Angela grinned, enjoying Vivian's reaction.
"It is that kind of a couch," she said. "I wish you'd let me use it more often."
"You'd fuck yourself silly with it," Vivian said crisply. "Now, let's get on with it. I have a date tonight."
"Poor guy," Angela said. "I hope he doesn't want to get laid. You do it all right here."
"Sure do," Vivian said.
She settled down again on her back and Angela began massaging legs and thighs and sweet young breasts. Then she rolled over and the girl's educated hands kneaded calves and buttocks and shoulders, and when lassitude set in and she was close to sleep, Angela's nails ticked her rump in a swift slap and she awoke.
She spent an hour in the sauna and then Angela helped her to get settled on the mechanical couch. She lay on her back and let Angela press the buttons. A machine rose up from the space between her legs and Angela fitted twin dildoes onto the pistons and moments later Vivian felt the luscious thrills of energetic copulation and could taste the quick, passionate kisses that Angela was planting upon her lips.
Sanity left her quickly and Vivian gave herself up to complete enjoyment of the voluptuous thrills and ecstasies that the machine gave her. She knew it when Angela helped her to turn so that she could be placed in doggy-fashion position. The couch lifted her belly and adjustable arms lifted the pistons to the proper height and the whole business began again. She was dripping with juices, her thighs were wet and chilled, and the stimulated nerves in skin and crotch and delicate flesh was excruciatingly erotic and she slid into a state of pure sensual ecstasies and she lost track of things. She was a living, seething organism, seething and bubbling with exaggerated blisses, and then she was moving far out into a rosy cloud of joy and
for a long time she knew nothing.
Angela Was using the built-in bidet, gently douching her, cleansing her sexual area, and she lay still, cooperative and filled with the lethargy that a long time of sexual frenzy always induced in her. Angela dried her and then rubbed soothing lotions into the skin of tingling breasts and hurting nipples.
Angela finished with her ministrations, and tossed a light blanket over the beautiful nude body. She placed her mouth on Vivian's lips and they kissed warmly, affectionately.
"Sleep, my dearest," Angela said, softly, the words crushed and almost lost in their kisses. "I will wake you when I must."
Vivian slept then and her brain was cluttered with horrid dreams, remembrances of hideous times in the distant past.
She was asleep under filthy blankets in a corner of a room in an old shack and an ugly woman sat at a bare kitchen table, caressing a crystal ball, facing a worried, harried man who had given her money. There were whispered predictions, money changed hands, and then the gurgling sounds of whiskey being devoured. The benison of sleep could not drown out the sounds or erase the squalor of her surroundings. She hated her mother and the way that they lived. There was just the two of them, and she vowed that she would make somthing of herself when she grew up.
The dream shifted and swirled like a picture
dissolving on the TV screen, and it was the high school dance and she was lovely and the kids were admiring and happy. She was the belle of the ball and someone out of the range of vision said, "You wouldn't think her mother was a drunk and a whore, but she is."
She never did identify the speaker. Instead she turned and fled, and when her date offered her a drink she took it. She went with him to his car and they swilled whiskey and she could not get drunk even though she was determined to get drunk. Her mother was a drunk and she knew all about it.
When the boy put his hands on her breasts, she shivered and shrank away from him. He gave her some more whiskey. Then his hands were underneath her dress and she could feel his wet, clammy palm on her thigh. Then he was poking his fingers into the warm folds of alerted flesh, and she promptly threw up all over him and put an end to her foray into the region of sin and sophistication.
She became a masturbator and could experience great thrills whenever she touched her own sensitive flesh. She did a great deal of that.
Her mother taught her how to cast a horoscope and how to read palms, too. She was eighteen years old when she went into business for herself and she expanded and prospered. She was very sincere and earnest about her desire to help people, and some of that must have shown through in her ads and her talks.
And then there was a cameo scene in her dreams and she could see the words that Peter Prentice wrote. "Vivian, The Astrologer, is a fake, a charlatan, a veritable weasel preying upon the fears and the uncertainties of those who seek her advice and counsel. She is a money-making machine and that's all that she is. Vivian cannot predict the future, no one can. Her crime is that she charges money to do what no one can do."
She awoke drenched with sweat. Angela was standing beside the couch smiling down at her. Vivian shivered as Angela took the light blanket away. She had a worried look in her eyes as she gazed at Vivian.
"You've been dreaming again," she said.
"Yes, dear. What time is it? I have a date with Wally Barlow."
"I know. You have lots of time. Would you like to bathe and dress now?"
There was a portable table and a pot of coffee steaming. Angela poured some coffee into a cup. She handed it to Vivian.
"How many Barlow Beauty Bars are there now, dear?" Vivian asked. "You should know."
"I do," Angela said. "There are sixty-five. We own fifty-one percent of all outstanding stock and we are collecting interest on the money we advanced to Wally Barlow and his associates."
Angela was nude, splendid and gorgeous, and in the soft lights there seemed to be a luminescence to her skin and her eyes and she was
breathtakingly lovely. The tiny nipples on her breasts stood out like rubies and the beauty of face and body was almost overpowering.
Vivian said, "You are the prettiest computer I have ever seen. Really you are."
"Thank you," Angela said. She smiled and dimples appeared on either side of her mouth. They only showed up when she was especially pleased and her smile exceptionally wide.
"Help me to bathe and dress, dear," Vivian said, "and I will leave this room open for you tonight and you can fuck yourself silly with the machines. Now come along, dear."
Angela was very good about helping her to select the right things to wear and she was a very talented hairdresser, too. She wished that she could do something spectacularly splendid for Angela and still keep her around, too.
Angela was brushing her hair and setting it when she asked, "Why are you so interested in the corporate structure of Wally Barlow's Beauty Bars?"
"Wally is not going to be alive for much longer, I'm afraid," Vivian said unhappily. "I do think that we should be in a position to protect our investment in his little health spa. Don't you?"
"You have checked his chart?"
"Yes, dear, and while I was examining it a premonition of death for Wally came to me. I am sorry but there is nothing I can do. I don't even know how it is to happen."
Angela shivered. She set a curl into position, sprayed it, and then stepped back to observe the effect.
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