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Miss Willoughby's Dilemma
CHAPTER ONELinda Willoughby was remembering... she was eighteen and had gone to a picnic with some of her girlfriends out to Amsterdam Park in the suburbs of New York on this particular sultry July day. The mother of her best friend, Betsy Tolson, had picked her up in her car and had driven her out to the picnic area and promised to bring her home about six-thirty. But about three o'clock in the afternoon, Linda began to feel squeamish, and to her horror discovered that the "curse" was starting a day early. Frantically embarrassed, her face scarlet, she approached gray-haired Mrs. Tolson and falteringly asked if she could go home because she didn't feel well. The good-natured woman clucked sympathetically and drove her home at once. When Linda let herself into the house, she heard strange noises coming from the back of the house, where her father's bedroom was. Wanting her mother, she moved down the hallway and the noises grew louder. She could hear a hoarse male voice gasping, "Come on, Cyn honey, don't hold back, you want it as much as I do. Let yourself go!"And then there was a series of little sobbing giggles and Linda recognized her mother's voice, though strangely taut, "Oh, Harvey, deeper, harder, I'm close, oh, lover. I'm so close. Give it to me good and hard!"Her eyes wide, stricken by a strange and inexplicable emotion, Linda Willoughby approached the door and discovered that it was partly open. Her mouth gaped as she stared beyond her, seeing the huge double bed.Her father lay naked but for shorts and socks, and her mother atop him, naked except for a slip which had been rucked up to the middle of her back. The spacious pale-white-skinned globes of her mother's buttocks loomed before her, tightening and contracting, as Cynthia Willoughby raised herself up and down, Her blonde curls were tousled and, as she lifted her face toward the wall, her teeth gleamed in a feverishly amorous smile. Linda could see her mother's plump thighs clenching and shuddering. And then, suddenly, her father caught her mother by the elbows and rolled her over onto her back, adjusting himself above her. For a blinding moment, Linda saw the huge lust-inflated shaft of his penis, the head bulbous like the cap of a big mushroom.But more than that, Linda saw her mother lay splayed before her, an arm over her contorted face which was turned towards the window, and her big round breasts rising and falling violently against the rumpled slip. She saw, too, the cluster of dark- blonde curls which fringed the pink lips of her mother's cuntal opening... and then she saw her father stretch himself over her mother, introducing the tip of that revolting thing against the feminine pink cleft.At that moment, Cynthia Willoughby locked her bare legs over her male partner's loins, clutching at his hair with feverish fingers, and arched herself to meet his decimating thrust.As he sank to the hilt inside her belly, Linda's mother tilted back her head and uttered a long- drawn sobbing groan, "Oh, my God, oh, it's so good, Harvey darling. Oh, fuck me, fuck me now, make me cum. Please, make me cum!" Shaken by the discovery that she had made, Linda Willoughby clapped a hand over her mouth and ran frantically back down the hallway and upstairs to her own room. When she inspected herself in the bathroom, her worst fears were confirmed. Locking herself in, she performed the necessary ablutions, and yet before her the vision of her parents loomed. Before she left the bathroom, she had for the first time tentatively explored her own sex with trembling fingers, learned the forbidden ecstasy of onanistic gratification... a pleasure heightened by the spectacle that she had just witnessed, which drove her both to revulsion and a singular yearning that she herself couldn't explain...She was remembering that now as she heard her mother's querulous voice call to her, "Is that you, honey?" as she entered the vestibule of the trim little white-frame Colonial house. It was noon of a mid-April day and Linda Willoughby, though only twenty-four, was coming home for lunch from her job as head librarian at the Gorley Public Library.As she took off her light spring coat and jaunty turban hat to free the glossy dark-brown curls of her upswept hair, her pure white forehead was creased by a momentary frown of annoyance. Then, with a sigh, as she approached the stairway, she called, "Yes, mother, I'm back. Can I get you some hot milk or something?""Hot milk would be nice, honey, and maybe some of those tea biscuits you got from the store the other day," her mother called back from the bedroom where she was lounging on the bed in her robe and slip, reading a copy of True Confessions."Right away," Linda replied. She walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of milk, poured some into a saucepan, and then, going to the pantry, brought out the round tin of cookies with a wry little smile. She opened it, put about five sugar wafers on a small plate, and then replaced the tin up on the pantry shelf. It was characteristic of her mother to call the rich cookies, of which she was inordinately fond, "teabiscuits", a euphemism whose symbolic meaning had been ramified throughout her mother's life. It was, in a word, Cynthia Willoughby's way of avoiding harsh inalienable facts by glossing them over with an inoffensive term or explanation... just as she had always done when it came to Linda's own initiatory puberty and adolescence.Harvey Willoughby, Linda's father, had been a stockbroker's assistant in a Wall Street office when his employer had taken him to a society party where he had met lush-blonde Cynthia Amberie. Harvey had then been twenty-six, his destined bride nineteen at the time. A Harvard graduate who had majored in marketing and business administration, Linda's father had been the only child born to an English professor and his Bible-teaching wife. Indeed, young Harvey had been slated for the seminary and then the pulpit, his mother's dearest dream, but some quixotic element had led him to rebel against his mother's wishes and decide to go into the bustling world of business and affairs.Harvey Willoughby and Cynthia Amberie were married a year after their meeting, and Linda was born exactly nine months later. It was a difficult birth, and the doctors advised Cynthia to have no more children. Harvey's pretty blonde wife was totally in accord with this medical advice, for the ordeal of delivery of her daughter had been anathema to her. Yet at the same time, though she had been brought up by genteel parents to consider sex an unpleasant but necessary duty which a wife must accord her husband, she found Harvey's virile love- making strangely exciting. As a consequence, when she was stricken with appendicitis about a year after Linda's birth, she induced her doctor to remove her ovaries so that she might continue to enjoy conjugal relations with Harvey but with the danger of further conception removed.The Willoughbys had lived in an old brownstone house on East 87th Street in New York City, and by the time Linda was eighteen years old and in the eighth grade, her father had become one of the partners in the brokerage firm where he had begun his business career. He had done very well financially but he was already being tempted by the lure of quick profits, of making a killing in the market so that he and his beloved wife could have a fashionable home in some quiet suburb far from Manhattan's feverish, noisy pace. With the acquisition of wealth and success, he had become distant, even snobbish, and Linda herself found him increasingly diffident as regards paternal affection. Thus she came more and more to rely on her mother for guidance, and the first real crisis of her life had occurred just a week after her eighteenth birthday.As she climbed the stairway with the tray for her mother, her face turned scarlet as she remembered that first terrifying awareness of a world that was so distressingly, grossly physical...She had just come home from school that fateful May afternoon, and become aware of an unexpected moisture in her private parts. And when she had fearfully and hesitantly examined herself in the bathroom, into which she had locked herself, she was horrified to find blood on her panties and on her sex itself. Hysterically, she had called to her mother, who hurried to her, hammered on the bathroom door till Linda tearfully unlocked it and let her in, then turned away, whimpering with shame and terror at this unknown horror. She would never forget what Cynthia Willoughby had said or how she had reacted when her mother had discovered what had happened to her. Grimacing with distaste, while she sponged the weeping girl, she had delivered herself of her first oration on the subject of sex and its evils... one which was to influence the impressionable dark-brown-haired girl in the years to come."Now, now, Linda, don't carry on like that. This happens to every girl at about your age. Stop crying, I say! If you would read the Bible, Linda dear, you would learn why this has happened to you. You see, the first woman, Eve, sinned against God by eating forbidden fruit. And so God drove her and Adam out of the Garden of Eden and put the curse on all women and her descendants for all time to come.""The--the c--curse, mother?" the sobbing young girl had uncomprehendingly echoed.Cynthia Willoughby had frowningly nodded. "That's right, Linda dear. It was because she disobeyed our Lord that He gave all women this punishment. Because that's what it is, you see. It's to remind us all of the wickedness of sex. You're still very young, dear, but you're going to school with boys, and you're already becoming very lovely. One of these days some nasty boy will want to kiss you and fondle you and you must never let that happen. Hold still now. Listen to me carefully, Linda."And Linda, trembling, ashamed of her nakedness and of the sullying blight on her young body, ashamed perhaps even more of the way that her mother continued to look at her with distaste plainly written over her pretty face, could not hold back the racking sobs which made her slim shoulders shake."I know," her mother continued, "that your father and I haven't ever really told you about such things before. But it's high time you knew now, Linda. Some day you will marry, and when that happens, I can only hope that you find a decent man like your father. You see, most men want only one thing from a girl, her body, and they use it selfishly. It's they who should really have to suffer, not us women, the way you're suffering now, Linda. But at least, if you marry a decent man, your having to give yourself to him will at least be justified if you have children that you both want in love, as I had you with your father. But it's wrong to have sex just for the sake of sex, always remember that. Now I'll bring you another pair of panties, and here's a bandage that you will have to wear, I'll have Dr. Anthony talk to you one of these days."Thus Linda Willoughby's introduction into the mystifying and terrifying world of sexual behavior had begun on a traumatic note. From that day on, taking her mother's advice, she became more aloof in school, particularly where there were boys who wanted her to join in their playground games.Harvey Willoughby had gotten into deep water through his speculations, and when he died unexpectedly of a heart attack, Cynthia Willoughby found that all that was left was a fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy. She had moved to a little Connecticut town on the invitation of a younger cousin who had just lost her own husband through divorce.It was in Gorley that Linda finished her high school and won a scholarship to a small girl's college near Hartford. Midway through college, Cynthia's cousin married lecherous old Silas Dowling, president of the Gorley Commercial Bank and Trust Company. It was Dowling who arranged for Cynthia Willoughby to buy the rundown old house a few blocks away, title to which he held and which he sold for an incredibly low sum.There was an excellent reason for this. Silas Dowling had already noted the ripening beauty of young Linda Willoughby, and he meant one day to make her his mistress. That was why she had become head librarian following the retirement of Mrs. McSweeney, since Silas Dowling was also president of the board of trustees of the library.But of this, Cynthia Willoughby herself was blissfully unaware, and as the years had gone on, though she had retained her beauty and was still an extremely desirable woman at the age of forty-five, she was content with this life which made her daughter virtually a housekeeper and which removed her from the odious nuisance of having to submit to a man. It was true that she had guiltily enjoyed her union with Harvey Willoughby, but she had never forgotten the degradation and pain of Linda's birth. And thus in this old house, Linda Willoughby had become as much a recluse as her mother, though inwardly the ripeness of her body and its growing needs were to lead her into the most incredible adventure of all!The lovely young librarian shivered as if the ghosts of the past had come alive and surrounded her even now as she entered her mother's bedroom and composed her face into the docile, habitual smile which she always accorded Cynthia Willoughby... one that hid her deepest remembrances still tinged with the shame of recollection at haphazard times exactly like this...CHAPTER TWO"But all I'm asking, Miss Willoughby, is that you let me take you out to dinner. Now what's so wrong about that?" lanky black haired Ben Williams glanced furtively around the main room of the Gorley Public Library. It was a cool April evening and fifteen minutes away from the library's closing time of nine o'clock. Far to his right, seated at a table, was an elderly man intent on looking up his astrological portents, while on the other side of the table fat Mrs. Maxon was busy copying recipes. Apart from these two solid Connecticut citizens, there was no one in the library except Ben Williams and the beautifully voluptuous dark-brown-haired young woman who stood at the counter of the checkout and information desk and whom he had just been annoying for a date.The object of his ardent attentions was about five feet six inches in height. She had an exquisite cameo-like face, a chiseled oval which emphasized a high-arching forehead, dainty little ears, highset cheekbones and a firm jawline. Her eyes were a luminous and very wide dark-brown, fringed by thick but short lashes which gave them an even more intense and compelling look. Her brows were narrow and daintily penciled, her mouth small and prim, though the lipstick hinted at a temperamental and mercurial disposition. It was a mouth that Ben Williams wanted very much to kiss. For starters.For the rest of this delectably contoured twenty- four-year-old head librarian was even more tempting to a virile member of the opposite sex such as the twenty-nine-year-old farm equipment salesman very definitely was. He had come into the library forty minutes earlier, ostensibly to return several books on merchandising and sales promotion and to take out several more. Though he made an excellent living selling tractors, harrows, plows as well as fertilizers and rakes and hoes, Ben Williams had always regretted not going beyond the twelfth grade in Gorley's only high school out on McArden Road near the abandoned silo that had once belonged to a wealthy farmer whose young attractive wife had run away with a traveling salesman. And ever since Linda Willoughby, somewhat to the surprise of most of the old maids in this thriving little town of four thousand located some fifty miles from Hartford, had been named librarian, Ben Williams' interest in furthering his education had become rekindled.After he had turned in the books and walked over to the reference shelves, Ben Williams had slyly glanced over at Linda Willoughby. Once having put the books into the return bin which a teenaged assistant would eventually wheel around to the various shelves on which the books would be replaced, the young librarian had left the enclosure of the counterdesk and walked briskly to the back where the dusty volumes of old bound newspapers were stored. His eyes had blazed at the sight of her sleek, high- set calves sheathed in sheer beige nylons, watching their enchanting flexions and tremorings as she moved. Arriving at the shelf she wished to inspect, she had stooped over, entrancing him with the penis-hardening display of long firm thighs against which her pleated brown rayon skirt clung rapaciously, and, even more alluringly, the resilient and jouncy hemispheres of her upstandingly rounded buttocks. This momentary bent-over pose had made the material of her skirt adhere lasciviously to the narrow but decidedly deep cleft between those buttocks and he could feel the stiffening of his penis as into his mind there leaped the image of his coming up quickly behind her lofting skirt and slip, yanking down her dainty little panties and thrusting his turgid manhood deep into her belly.It would be, he knew sadly, an irrevocable blunder to attempt to woo and win Linda Willoughby that way, however much all his vigorous male instincts yearned to do so. For Ben Williams, born in Gorley and knowing the foibles and outlook of just about every resident in this pleasant little Connecticut town, knew also that Linda Willoughby was that rare woman, a chaste virgin whose education and background precluded the possibility of so quick and easy a conquest.To be sure, he hadn't yet tested her chastity, but, on the other hand, from all he had been able to learn, no other eligible male in all of Gorley had done so, either. By reputation alone, Linda Willoughby was untouchable and prim, even though the maddening contrast of her youth and beauty in a public position usually allocated to doting spinsters was already arousing him to furiously frustrated desire.When his parents had been killed in an automobile accident over a decade before, Ben Williams had been brought up by his father's younger brother, something of a hellion in his own right. It had been he who had taken young Ben to New York and "fixed him up" with a call girl whom uncle Arthur had frequently visited when he was eager to taste the fleshpots of the big city and cast off the drearily conventional monotony of small-town living. His uncle had been a crony of old man Homer Baring, owner of the farm equipment store, and that was how Ben got his first job. Now that Baring was on the verge of retirement, there was every hope that he might be able to buy the old man out and take over the operation entirely. That would make him Gorley's most eligible bachelor.On occasions, when Ben Williams felt the call of nature to be stronger than he could deny, he would make a pilgrimage to Hartford to see a divorcee whom he had met about three years earlier, or, if she was out of town, visit New York and find temporary sex relief in the paid embraces of one of the many Manhattan hookers who could be found if you knew where to look. But, ever since Linda Willoughby had come to work in the Gorley Public Library two years before, first as assistant librarian and just four months later, with the sudden retirement of elderly Mrs. McSweeney, as the head librarian, the lanky salesman had found that commercial love had entirely palled upon him. It was just because Linda Willoughby was unattainable that he desired her and hoped one day to win her.For about half an hour he dawdled at the very same table that those two righteously sober citizens were now reading, till the repeated views of Linda walking from one tier of books to another, bending, rising on tiptoes to seek a volume on a high-placed shelf, had driven him in desperation to take the plunge and for the first time overtly to ask her for a date.She considered him now, the dainty wings of a slightly aquiline nose flickering, her eyebrows raised and her snowy forehead creased with mild annoyance, "Thank you, Mr. Williams, but the answer is no. I don't go out with any man, and certainly not in this town. As you may appreciate, I was considered quite young to take Mrs. McSweeney's place, but now that I have it, I don't intend to let anyone criticize my conduct in a position of trust like this."The sound of her husky voice, the pure diction of her speech only served to inflame Ben Williams even more. She wasn't only physically beautiful, but she was also maddeningly intellectual--an irresistible combination. And if she could have read his mind at that moment, she would have turned crimson and angrily slapped his face... for Ben Williams, staring doggedly and despairingly at the young woman, was seeing her strip slowly naked before him, wearing at last only a black nylon garterbelt and high-clambering nylons and high- heeled pumps, holding out her arms to him with a coy smile of offertory. It was an image of total wish-fulfillment and it very nearly gave him an erection then and there, which he concealed by pressing himself forward against the counter while he repeated, "But you know where I work and you know what I do, Miss Willoughby. I'm a decent guy, and what's wrong about a fellow and a girl getting to know each other better over a good dinner? Not here, I'd drive you to Hartford.""I'm sure your intentions are very honorable, Mr. Williams, and I'm flattered by your interest in me. But again I must say no. And now, did you want to take out those other books? I'm going to close the library in a few minutes, you know.""Oh, all right, then," he said grumpily as he shoved the books onto the desk before her, fumbled in his back trousers pocket for the library card and handed it to her. As she bent dutifully to the books, stamping the cards which she took out of the pockets and put into a wooden tray before her, her dress couldn't hide its snugness over the two closely spaced high-set round globes of her magnificent young bosom. And the elegant sculptuary of her bare white throat with its soft, dimpled pulse-hollow was enough for him to conjecture how she would look if that sudden image of her could only by some miracle come true...CHAPTER THREEStocky brown-haired Joe Cantwell glanced over at the slim honey-haired girl who was busy unpacking his suitcase and putting its contents into the old mahogany chest of drawers, then looked up at his tall black-haired partner. "I still don't get it, Jeff. Why the hell did we have to come all the way from the West Coast to this crummy Connecticut town ? What's so great about Gorley?"Scarcely half an hour before, the two men and the blonde, who had registered herself as "Mrs. Joseph Kent" on the ledger, had driven past the old red-brick house with its sign "Rooms to Rent" and then and there moved into Widow Hortense Standish's boarding house. Jeff Maxton, who had signed himself "Jefferson Marlowe," had rented the front room and adjoining bath on the second floor, while his partner and the blonde took over the room across the hall. He took out a pack of Pall Malls, lit one, and glanced idly at the blonde who was just straightening and who winked at him with an inviting little smile behind Joe Cantwell's back. "For one thing, because we were not back in California," he said slowly "For another, because we've never operated in this state before. And last but far from least, there's only one bank in a small town like this; it's a prosperous farm community, which means it can be easy pickings and no sweat if you'll just do what you're told.""All right, all right," Joe Cantwell grumbled. Then, as the slim blonde moved up to the bed on which he lay sprawled and bent over him to stroke his face and let him enjoy the sight of her big round widely spaced breasts which strained against her floral print dress, he grinned and added, "At least I'm glad you let me bring Mavis along. I gather this is going to be a long-range job, not a quick stickup.""For once you gather right, Joe. Besides, Mavis might come in handy for a front when we're casing the bank. It's just off the main street, and this evening I'm going to take a little walk and see what the layout is." ."You do that. Mave and me, we'll have some fun while you're gone, won't we, baby?" Joe Cantwell reached up to cup one of the young woman's breasts and gave it a lingering squeeze which made her giggle and pull away, smoothing down her dress and flushing self-consciously as Jeff Maxton's cold blue eyes fixed her with an appraising stare."I'll tell you something else," Jeff Maxton said, taking a puff at his cigarette, then crushing it out in a little copper ashtray on the table beside the spacious window that looked out on Widow Stan- dish's garden. "I was born in Boston, and I went to school there as a kid. My dad was an insurance investigator and he took me traveling after mom died. So I got to see a lot of Massachusetts and Connecticut, and I haven't forgotten that a lot of these small Eastern towns are clannish as all hell, but they're also full of well-heeled citizens. And whenever you've got people like that, you've got nice fat little banks which don't expect much trouble, don't have very many guards and usually keep most of the dough in a time vault overnight. We're not going to go in there with guns and drive away, like in the movies. What I've got in mind is going to take a little time and effort, but it'll be worth it. And what you know about safecracking and nitro will come in real handy on a caper like this."Joe Cantwell grunted, put his hands behind his head and stared up at his partner. He was thirty- five, five years older than Jeff Maxton, and he had spent exactly that number of years in San Quentin for bank robbery. There were a few other black marks on his record, notably assault with a deadly weapon and one rape charge back in his early twenties which had been dropped when his victim had refused to testify against him.The two men had met about six years before in San Diego, just a year after Joe Cantwell had got out of jail, and they had pulled three successful jobs between Bakersfield and Eureka. The last robbery had been the most dangerous of all, and Joe Cantwell had had to wound almost fatally one of the bank guards. It was at this point that his younger partner, whom Joe grudgingly admitted was the real "brains" of the gang, had made a quick decision to come East. Jeff Maxton had bought a used car for cash, and driven across the country, avoiding the state highways. Indeed, it had taken them three weeks to get to Gorley. Mavis Lorenz was an acquisition whom Joe Cantwell had picked up in a small Ohio town. She had been a waitress at a drive-in where the two men had had dinner one evening in the car, and Joe Cantwell had propositioned her with the promise of plenty of dough and lots of amorous attention. Since Marvis Lorenz had just had a quarrel with her boss that very night over his wanting to get into her panties if she wanted to keep her job, she had been in a devil-may-care mood and blithely accepted that offer. Besides, Joe's rugged virility had appealed to her, since her boss had been a wizened, sour old man in his early sixties with bony fingers and bad breath.Once Mavis had taken a look at the tall, wiry black-haired man at the wheel, she had told herself that she could do a great deal worse. Because if Joe Cantwell failed to appreciate what she had to offer in bed, she had a hunch that his partner might appreciate her a great deal more and have an even more expert way of showing it.Between Ohio and Connecticut, indeed, she had managed to flirt with Jeff Maxton, of course making certain that Joe Cantwell wasn't aware of what was going on. But much to her annoyance, Jeff Maxton hadn't so much as made a pass at her. He had been content to eye her up and down once in a while with a sardonic grin on his handsome face, and by now this continued rebuff was beginning to turn Mavis Lorenz sexually on. She was twenty, but she had been wise to the ways of a man with a maid ever since her eighteenth birthday when, on a dare, she had taken on six members of the high-school football team all in the same night. Her parents had died when she was ten, and she had been living with a cantankerous old aunt who was deaf and nearly blind and who had made her a household grudge. She had gone to work as a waitress two years before, hoping to find a Prince Charming who would take her out of the dreary little Ohio town to bigger and better things. Plenty of men had offered a one-night stand, but Joe Cantwell had actually been the first man to proposition her on a long-term basis and that was why she was here now.As she put the empty suitcase on the chair beside the wall, she smoothed her dress again, wanting to catch Jeff Maxton's eye. She preened herself, arching so that her big firm young breasts exuberantly jutted out against the snug bodice of her dress, and since she was wearing only the sheerest of bra, she was reasonably sure that he could even make out the points of her nipples.But, maddeningly, he wasn't even looking at her now. He had gone back to the window, drawn the curtain aside and was peering out into the garden."What I really don't get, though," Joe Cantwell was musing, "is how a guy like you ever got into bank jobs. I figured with your education and your having a rich old man, you wouldn't have to go in for this kind of life."