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Warning: This is a vintage hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel. This is bad stuff. Both bad meaning bad and bad meaning *good*. The story is so crazy, we can't even give a proper description. Check out the free sample if you can.**********"Now, now," he continued, trying desperately to soothe her. "It was just a nightmare.""But it wasn't!" she screamed, drawing back to face him squarely. "It wasn't! It was here. Honest to God, it was here in this room, lying on me. So heavy! It was heavy and rocked on my... my abdomen. It even clutched at my-!"He watched her skeptically as she showed him, her hands touching her groin and breasts. Would a ghost be heavy and grab at her female anatomy? he pondered. He didn't believe in phantoms, but whatever this one was, it had tried to rape her, he was sure."I'm going to look--" he began, but the sound of feet thumping up the metal stairway to the widow's walk stopped him.They thundered upward, echoing through the house. Carl jumped up and raced out the door."No, please!" Mona cried after him. "It has a knife. You've nothing!"But he was gone. She heard his footsteps, bare and slapping on the hard metal steps to the roof. If anything happened to him she would be all alone.
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Table of Contents
"You want the job, don't you?" he asked with a smile, his hands straying up and down the length of her arms. "Deanna tells me you work in a crummy hash house down near Macy's. You don't look like the type of girl who wants to hide her treasures behind the greasy counter of a hamburger stand."
The girl regarded him petulantly. She didn't like the way his eyes roamed over her body so freely or the intimacy of his stroke on her bare arms. The mischievous glint in his dark blue eyes told her she would have to play his game if she really wanted to get the hostess position in his club.
"You must realize," he said huskily, drawing her closer and crushing the firm yet resilient rondules of her breasts into his chest, "there are plenty of other lovely female bodies to grace Exotic Eden. If I can't even properly interview you to determine what you have to offer, I'm wasting my time, and you'd better run back on to your greasy spoon."
Deanna had said it would be so easy! Ramona thought frantically. Fine roommate she'd turned out to be! She hadn't told Ramona what the interview would be like; she'd just said Mister Saumont was a pleasant, good-looking fellow and she thought Ramona would like him.
Ramona began to wonder if the job would really be worth it. Should she keep working in that hot grill room and fending off the passes of truck drivers, cabbies, and janitors, or should she risk her reputation by putting herself in line for passes from wealthy businessmen, lawyers, and cosmopolitan playboys of the jet set? She couldn't see much difference, morally. Besides, her parents weren't here to worry about her reputation. She'd been orphaned at eighteen when both of them had died in a plane crash, and since she was an only child and neither of the parents had any other living relatives, Ramona was on her own now. It was her life to do with as she saw fit, so... at least there'd be good pay and the chance to meet more interesting and more affluent people in Exotic Eden, a private men's club.
"Well," Saumont murmured, still holding her insistently, "make up your mind. What will it be your honor and that two-bit hash stand, or beautiful clothes and wealthy men to pet you?"
His hands were boldly tracing the outline of her opulent breasts and feeling the indentation of her tiny waist through the silk jersey of her dress. She squirmed as his palms cupped the firm cheeks of her buttocks, then one hand strayed across her nearly flat belly and wavered hesitantly above her crotch.
"Please!" she protested again.
"Please what?" he queried. "Do you or don't you want something better than that lousy-smelling hash house?"
"I... I... " she stammered uncomfortably as his hands continued to explore her contours.
"All right, Miss Jahn," he told her, dropping his hands. "You're wasting my valuable time. You'd better go now."
She regarded him thoughtfully as he returned to the papers on his desk and began studying them. He wasn't a tall man, not more than five-foot-eight, but every inch was solid muscle. She'd felt the rock-like hardness of his thighs through his tailored slacks and she could see his powerful arms, their solid biceps, bulging beneath his short-sleeved white shirt. The shirt was open down the front, partly revealing the curly blond hair of his chest. To her, he was built like a Neanderthal. However, she thought his other features quite handsome-almost perfect-except that his skin was too pale due to his fairness and the long weeks of spring, when he was too busy to be on the slopes at Aspen or Stowe. She gazed pensively at his thick golden hair and deep blue eyes, the slightly upturned nose that lent him a boyishly light-hearted air, the little laugh lines that etched the corners of his mouth and crinkled his eyes, giving him the young-but wise appearance of an experienced playboy.
It couldn't be that hard to allow him to finish the interview, she thought. She hadn't had much money since she was eighteen, once all the bills and funeral costs had been paid, even after the lawyer had sold her family home in Delaware. But it wasn't worth thinking about. Without an education beyond high school, there wasn't much she could do except... Her father had told her she'd never have to let any man use her body in return for favors or material gifts, but that had been when he was alive and able to look after her. She was twenty now and had to make it on her own, and she desperately wanted to have a few good things to call her own before she settled for marriage with some rough-talking truck driver-for lack of opportunity to do any better-and spend the rest of her days and nights wondering if and when he'd be coming home to her.
"Mister Saumont?" she quavered, trembling so she had to bite her lip to keep it from quivering.
"Hmmm?" he looked up with a bored air. "Oh, I thought you'd gone, Miss Jahn."
"I... I'm sorry for behaving so childishly, sir," she began haltingly.
Saumont shrugged his shoulders impatiently and settled himself on a corner of his desk, swinging one leg over the front of it and planting the other squarely on the plush blue carpet.
"Th... that is," she hesitated in an effort to stop stuttering, "I... Mister Saumont, what do you want me to do?"
The young man surveyed her briefly. She wasn't much shorter than he. Her figure was slender and willowy, with amazingly full breasts, slim hips and thighs, and that tiny waist. He really wanted to get a look at her naked.
"You want to finish the interview?" he asked curtly.
She nodded, still trembling.
"Well, then, take off your clothes."
Ramona looked at him, stunned.
"Go on, strip, honey. I can't hire you without looking you over." He rose from the desk and approached her. "Otherwise, get out and stop wasting my time."
"Are... are you always so gruff?" she tremored.
"Gruff? Me?" he laughed. "No, Miss Jahn. I just haven't interviewed many girls who've hesitated the way you have. Most of them can't wait to show off what they've got."
"Oh," she replied in a small voice.
"Well...?" he demanded, waiting.
Ramona looked at him. She still had some doubts, but then the glint of his onyx and diamond rings caught her eyes, and she thought perhaps she'd earn enough to have one of those someday if she was a good hostess.
Slowly she unfastened the hooks at the nape of her neck. Then the ominous sound of her rasping zipper filled the room. Her face flushed darkly.
"Need help?" He grinned that boyishly lecherous grin again.
"No," she told him firmly, and continued to pull at the zipper.
She pulled the jersey cloth off her shoulders and down her hips, and bent to step out of the pale yellow and green dress, her long hair hanging in thick waves around her face. She peered through the veil of soft tresses and saw he was waiting patiently, expectantly, for more. She stepped out of her mini-heel shoes. Her long, slender fingers pulled at her white nylon slip and drew it over her head. Standing there in her plain cotton bra, white lace panties and beige pantyhose, she glanced at him for his approval.
His eyes seemed to have tactile sensitivity as they roamed over her face and body. Briefly, they touched her thick, soft hair, her naturally arched brows and lash-fringed brown eyes, her babyishly pug nose, the fullness of her lips and the haughty line of her defiant chin. Then, more lingeringly, his eyes traveled lower, measuring the size of her breasts, trying to discern the outline of her nipples and the downy mound of her crotch...
What more does he want to see? she wondered. He was making her terribly uncomfortable, almost panicky. She felt cold and embarrassingly exposed, worse than when she had to have a physical at the doctor's. And she still had on her underwear!
"Your costume for working here would be somewhat more revealing than these undies, Miss Jahn," he explained as he walked around her, getting the full scope of her dimensions. He plucked at the hooks and elastic back of her bra, saying, "You really will need some new clothes. These are terrible!"
"But-oh!" she cried as she felt the fastenings of her bra give way.
His warm hands deftly guided the shoulder straps down her arms and she tried to catch the bra cups as they fell from her breasts, but this electric touch on her bare flesh melted her strength and the bra fell unhindered to the floor. Then his fingers were inside her panties, and pantyhose, inching them down from her narrow waist and over her hips and thighs.
"Is this really necessary?" she cried, grabbing his hands as if to halt him.
"You want the good things of life, right?" he taunted.
Her hands relaxed and he stripped her undergarments the rest of the way down her curvaceous legs, his hot fingers savoring her delicate flesh.
"Walk around," he commanded as she stepped out of the fallen lace and nylon. "I want to see you in action."
She moved slowly, stiffly, across the room, her flesh prickling with goose bumps.
"Look alive!" he called, pacing back and forth to view her from different angles. "Straighten up! Be proud of your tits. Relax! You have a beautiful female body, remember? Swing those hips seductively. I've got a thousand Adams out there who want to be tantalized by Eve. Now... that's better!"
It was the longest walk of her life. To keep herself going, she tried to concentrate on the large rectangular office with its handsome furnishings-the deep couches and chairs covered with thick white, black and brown furs; the pale blue walls hung with richly colored paintings by Renoir, Gaugin, and other artists who delighted in the female form; the plush indigo drapes that covered the long windows on two of the walls, one behind the desk and the other behind a long couch. While the young club owner surveyed her from every angle, Ramona did her utmost to relax but she couldn't because she'd been brought up to believe a nice girl hides her body from the world and reveals it only to physicians and to her husband, if she has one.
"You act like you've never been nude in front of a man before," Saumont chided, approaching her to guide her shoulders back and placing his palms on her hips to direct the motion of her buttocks. "Never had a man touch your naked ass before, either? With a body like yours?"
There was guarded approval in his tone, but Ramona wasn't sure she appreciated it. It was none of his business whom she chose to display her body to. And if someone had played with it, that too was private and personal. She'd made love intimately with only two men in her life, and she felt that was her concern alone. Each time, it had been something she'd wanted deeply, enough to ignore her upbringing. Having felt a great deal for the young men involved, it had been easier to throw her principles to the wind when she was with them. But this man was so impersonal, and the situation was entirely different. The nausea that churned in her belly when she went to a strange physician was nothing compared to what she felt under Saumont's intimate touches and insolently caressing looks.
The spicy briskness of his masculine cologne nearly suffocated her as his sensitive fingertips continued to trace her outlines. No matter how much she tried to think of him as desirable, she couldn't untie the knot of nervous fear in the pit of her stomach.
"You look like you think you're going to be raped, too," he said caustically. "Do you really think I'd do that?"
She shook her head, unable to force out a word.
"Smell nice," he murmured, pressing his nose to her neck and breasts. "Madame Rochas, hmmm?"
Ramona began shaking visibly.
"Cold?" he asked, enfolding her in his arms. "That better? Stop trembling so, ma petite! I won't hurt you!"
The strength of his arms and the hard pressure of his body on hers did strange things to her. The scent of his after-shave lotion filled her nostrils and she found herself panting for air as he crushed her breasts into his pen-filled shirt pockets.
"Aaaah, very nice!" he whispered, moving against her so her nipples grazed his bare flesh through the open front of his shirt, his chest fur tickling her tits tantalizingly.
"Oh!" she cried, inadvertently looking up in surprise and lifting her lush lips toward his open mouth.
He darted his tongue out to savor her lips and pressed on her jaws to force her mouth open. When she held it firmly closed, he swirled his tongue over her delicate neck and into her ears. Urgently, he pushed his belly against hers, and she could feel the tightening lump of flesh at his groin growing swiftly and thrusting persistently at her crotch.
As she pushed her hands between his chest and her breasts in protective reaction, he said, "Why fight me? Just think, if you'd learn to make love properly, you could reap a lot of benefits-like a nice apartment down near Central Park, real jewelry and furs to adorn your beautiful body, maybe even a wealthy playmate. You might even become the steady mistress of some young, good-looking man of means who'd watch over you and take very good care of all your needs."
He drew her to an oversized couch covered with black fur and pressed her onto it on her back as he asked, "How long's it been since you've had any really nice clothes, any decent furniture or a comfortable place to live? You think Deanna likes that rat-trap you live in? You wonder why she came to her old friend Saumont for a job?"
"Sure, we went to school together back in Milwaukee. Now, baby, you don't think I'd hurt a friend of Deanna's, do you?"
"No," Ramona murmured, still not quite sure of him but more distraught over her own self-doubts.
"I like you," he told her, stretching out almost on top of her.
He began playing with her breasts, rubbing her dark nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, watching them grow thick and firm. Delight gleamed in his eyes as he rotated his belly on hers and nibbled at her brown aureoles.
"Ooooohhhhhh!" she moaned, writhing beneath him.
He responded by running one hand down her curvaceous right flank and through the crinkly-soft pubic hair to touch her pussy.
"Nooooo!" she cried, squeezing her legs together and trapping his hand.
"No?" he asked, flicking his forefinger against her clitoris. Then his hands tightened in a meaningful but not quite painful grip on her tit and cunt. She looked fearfully into his cold blue eyes. Words formed deep in her throat but her trembling lips wouldn't say them. She knew submitting to this man would mean she wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life in a smelly, grease-ridden hash house, but it would also mean she'd have to throw aside all the puritanical sex morals she'd ever been taught. She sighed. She couldn't pass up the chance to have everything she'd only dared dream of before. Her body went limp and a slow smile formed on Saumont's face. Once again he was in control of the situation and his sensitive fingers roamed her flesh with abandon. He was thinking that Ramona would be one hell of an attraction in the costume of the hostesses at Exotic Eden. Dressed in simulated leaves that barely covered their twats and nipples, they were exciting Eves to the wealthy men who frequented the private club, but Ramona would really have the old boys' tongues hanging out.
Saumont was intoxicated by the delicate fragrance of her perfume as he thought of her delectable contours on display for the Adams, who paid a handsome sum each year to be allowed to partake of the treasures of the fascinating night-club garden. Yes, Ramona would be a delicious addition to the club.
Her skin was soft and silken to his touch. She was still trembling, but she would soon get used to his demands, he assured himself. The cushions of her breasts were succulent and deep, heaving with the quickened pace of her heartbeats. Her lips parted, quivering, and her eyes closed as if to shut out the sight of his ravishing face.
He plunged a finger into her slit and probed. Involuntarily, she withdrew from his invasion, jerking beneath his heavy frame. He found the pink bud of her clitoris and tickled it.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh!" she cried.
Again and again he plucked the hypersensitive little nub until her abdominal muscles spasmed and her cunt juices flowed and her thighs reluctantly spread to accept him. Sliding between them, he jammed his finger deeper into her cunt while she writhed at his damning touch. He was probing for her hymen, when he found no obstruction, he thought, So the little bitch isn't a virgin! Well, I'll make her show me how much she knows! She'll work for her little leaf suit!
Their eyes met defiantly. Ramona knew she'd have to please him if she was to have the job and she'd come too far to turn back now. His hand caught hers and drew it to his groin, where he'd unzipped his trousers.
"Nice?" he demanded with a grin, making her fingers clasp the ballooning cock.
She could feel it grow in her fist. The pulsating vein that mounted its wrinkled length thumped into her palm. It was hot and sweaty with passion and swelled outward as he held her fingers firmly around it. His other hand pulled out his testicles as his slacks slipped down his thighs, and Ramona realized too late that he meant to place his balls in her free palm.
The masculine odor of his loins filled her nostrils. In her palm his soft, flaccid balls were torrid and alive with the production of sperm. She felt them become turgid in her grasp. As her hands filled with his masculinity and her nostrils flared with the overpowering scent of his sex, Ramona sensed the weakening of her defenses.
No! No! her mind rebelled. Please, don't!
But the long, hard shaft of his prick wavered in her hand, demanded to be free. Like a dancing cobra it spat a drop of white fluid and waggled its crimson head before her.
Suddenly he was thrusting the hardened rod into her, ramming mercilessly and deep.
"Yiiiieeeeee!" she wailed, hammering the couch with her fists. Oh, no! God, no! It's a dream, a nightmare. Not real! It can't be real! But it was. The pain was very real. She couldn't stop it, couldn't change it!
Then the pain eased and she felt the beginning of that tremendous sensation that leads to bliss. Mustn't let him enjoy it. Mustn't! But the job! Torn between desire, doubt and repulsion, she was caught up on the wings of the lust that engulfed her belly.
Her legs locked around his hips and she swayed with his long drives into her cunt. The tight-muscled rings of her vagina hugged the spearing rod of flesh, sheathing it like silk until they were one. Together they moved and expanded, pulsated and careened. Slowly the membranous sheath took on the fire of his prick, becoming a molten, liquid mass.
The sounds of their groaning and the gurgling that bubbled in her throat filled the room, punctuated by the slapping of his balls on the bare flesh of her upturned buttocks. The odor of their sexual sweat drowned their colognes and perfumes.
His hands kneaded her tits as he pounded down into her. Her hips rose upward to meet his thrusting and together they strove for the climax. Ferociously she clawed at his arms, leaving streaks of blood.
Through the fog that shrouded her brain, she realized she would have to prove herself to him. She had to be something better than a lonely, straggling, two-bit hash waitress. Hating herself every second, she pulled his head down to hers and their tongues met. Running her fingers through his thick hair and down the nape of his neck, she drew him to her breasts, passing them up to his hungry mouth.
All the while she tried to make her loins do the wonderful things she'd been taught by her former lovers to make intercourse longer and more pleasant. She hated him for making her attempt to give him the joy she'd reserved only for those she loved: everything that had made sex so good and satisfying with Danny before he went to Vietnam, never to come home again; everything that had made life so complete with Ray before he decided to become a priest. They'd given her so much and then they'd gone away, the only people who had ever truly loved and understood her. What was left? Playing Eve by night with a hundred lecherous, sex-starved men-men who could look but not really touch until after hours, when the club closed about three in the morning.
So this is what life is about, she thought angrily, thrusting her hips up to his. Keeping men happy in order to get a few of the joys of life, some of the luxuries.
Their groins were locked together wetly. Ramona could feel the seepage of her own juices spilling out of her pussy and matting their enmeshed pubic hair. Saumont was plunging harder now and she could feel the spastic jerking of his cock that heralded his approaching climax.
With all the strength she had left, she gripped his bucking body to hers and held him inside her. They careened together on the soft, resilient fur coverlet as he rammed into the torrid depths of her vagina.
With a final shattering drive, he pumped so frantically he made her teeth chatter.
"Aaaaiiiiiiiieeeeee!" she wailed.
His cock blew its load into her in torrential floods of white-hot cum, filling her and spilling the lava of human eruption over their still churning groins. When he had spent himself, he withdrew wetly and noisily from her pussy and collapsed by her side.
"Okay?" she demanded, still panting. "Shall we try again, or do you think I'll make it here?"
"You know, doll," he said thoughtfully before his eyes closed, "somehow, I think maybe you're all right."
"Well, thanks," she returned unappreciatively.
While she dressed she cursed herself for having thought for one moment that giving herself to a strange man would be such an easy way to get this job. But now that she'd begun, she wouldn't turn back. She couldn't do any worse by herself than she already had. Besides, she'd wanted to live well for too long to pass up this opportunity now.
"Oh, chick, one more thing... " Saumont called lazily from the sofa. "No fraternizing with the clientele."
Ramona regarded him with a bewildered and somewhat hostile air.
"Club rules," he said. "What we don't see after hours is your affair of course. But we pay you only for your work at the club."
"And that action on the couch?" she demanded, pulling up the zipper of her dress.
"Just like my nookie every now and then," he said with a sleepy smile. "Might as well have a little action whenever and wherever I can get hold of it. Besides, I like to make sure my hostesses are seductive enough to guarantee a come-on for all the Adams that pack this place so hopefully."
She nodded and pulled on her shoes. He was sleeping peacefully when she slammed the door.
In the reception room, a pretty blonde secretary grinned up at her knowingly. "Friday at seven thirty," she said sweetly as Ramona passed.
Day after tomorrow, Ramona mused. And all it took was an hour to recast the dumb, puritanical orphan. Hah! Wait'll I get hold of that conniving Deanna!
Ramona went straightaway to quit her job at the hamburger grill near Macy's. It didn't take her long, as she'd never liked the position anyway. Her boss was a temperamental Irishman who couldn't live from one day to the next without debating the hell-fire out of customers and help alike. One had to be patient and have a bit of the fiery Erin strain to put up with it. As a peace-loving person, Ramona had found her skin quivering with apprehension whenever he went into one of his tirades.
She also took this opportunity to let his grabby son, a student at Bronx College, know just what she thought of his efforts to feel her up behind the counter and in the steam-filled kitchen.
Back at the tiny two-and-a-half room apartment she shared with Deanna, she showered and changed. Such bravery plus her success in landing a new job demanded some type of celebration, she decided. She just had to get out and do something different to congratulate herself, since she was about to start a new and better life. Better? Well, she hoped it would be.
She put on a rose-colored sweater and matching wool skirt, then rummaged through her dresser drawers for the scarf she'd recently purchased to match the outfit. It wasn't in its usual place nor anywhere among her clothes. Deanna must have borrowed it, Ramona thought in exasperation, just as she borrows so many other things.
Wearily, she opened the top drawer of her roommate's dresser. In a tangle of scarves and hankies she found the Japanese silk scarf printed with rose blossoms and green leaves.
Deanna was so messy-she never made her bed or straightened her dresser drawers. She was forever living in the remnants of madcap yesterdays, as she always strewed her things around carelessly before falling into the tangle of her bedclothes in the wee hours of the morning, after her usual late dates.
Ramona didn't know what kind of girl had put up with the effervescent little beauty before they'd met at the restaurant a year ago. Deanna had been a little more familiar with New York than Ramona; however, she'd seen a great deal more of it through the numerous jobs she'd had. A flighty, not-too-bright, but exceedingly attractive girl, she'd had no trouble acquiring jobs or having a very active social life. Her only difficulty had been in maintaining a steady wage-earning position.
Ever since they'd begun to room together the previous summer, Ramona had been doing all the housework. Whenever she'd tried to hint that her friend could help out, the other girl hadn't seemed to give it a second thought; for Deanna might say she'd begin the very next day, tomorrow never came for her. So, because of her placid nature, Ramona silently continued to take care of the household duties alone.
Now she began to fold the tangled apparel as a matter of habit when suddenly she remembered this was supposed to be her holiday. Deanna could just live with this mess she'd made for another day! Shoving the things back into the drawer, Ramona dislodged a stack of letters and sent them flying through the disarray. Damn it! she swore to herself. Can't even properly hide her love letters!
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