to be sprawling her across his knee and spanking her bare and wriggling ass while she gasped and whimpered and rubbed herself lewdly against his leg, needing the contact of his flesh against hers.
When he was through beating her, she continued to wriggle and squirm across his thighs, the tears pouring from her eyes. But there was a sly triumph in her voice when she spoke.
"I'm really yours now, you know? You just made me yours. You can do anything you want with me, anything at all, I wouldn't mind. Do it to me, Brant, do it! Screw me, fuck me, make me crawl, use me. . . . I'm good— all the guys tell me I'm the best. And I'll do anything for you, everything you want me to, you'll see!"
Without wasting words, he took her again, bending her over the bed this time, ramming himself into her violently and painfully and satisfyingly while Jerry took more pictures. And then it was Jerry's turn again....
Brant actually offered to drive her home afterward. Sitting beside him, snuggling into the softness of real leather seats, Francie was in heaven. She'd finally found a guy—a man —who could give her everything she craved. And she was going to make him need her, too. He was definitely interested; she could tell—why else would he be taking her home?
Francie told Brant Newcomb that she lived with a very jealous and uptight guy, so he'd better drop her off a couple of blocks away. She wondered if he'd believed her, if he'd ask her any questions, but he only shrugged as if he couldn't care less. He intrigued her—everything about him intrigued her, including his money. She'd never ridden in a Jag before, either; it was neat. And she was glad that he drove fast and rather carelessly— who wanted to live without some risk and danger to make things exciting?
Snuggling closer to Brant, Francie put her hand on Iris thigh, running it up and down his crotch until she felt the sudden hardness there. She smiled. It was easy to give a guy a hard-on; she'd learned that real early.
"Shall I blow you?" she asked him eagerly, already bending her head down to him.
With one hand on the wheel, he pulled her up by the hair.
"Not now, baby. Later. You'd better learn not to be greedy."
His eyes studied her for an instant before they went back to the road. She couldn't read anything in them.
"I'm going to give you a phone number, doll. Call me sometime when your jealous lover is out of town, and we'll party, okay?"
He was full of surprises—just when she had begun to pout, fearing that he was bored and done with her for good, here he was suggesting that she call him. He was interested in her, then. Francie couldn't help wriggling in anticipation of the next time, another wildly exciting time with this strange and fascinating guy.
Even after he had dropped her off, she continued to think about him. Walking the two blocks back home, she was already planning for their next meeting. She wanted Brant Newcomb. She'd make damn sure he'd never get tired of her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
F RANCIE CALLED B RANT N EWCOMB two days later. It was a Saturday morning, and Dave had already called to tell them that he was unavoidably tied up this weekend and couldn't come down to Albany. That means another weekend alone with the kids—Saturday was Mrs. Lambert's day off, and she would be expected, without any question, to take over and baby-sit the kids. Well, this time she wouldn't do it! Why should she? Didn't Dave realize she was seventeen and entitled to some life of her own? Dave was selfish and overbearing and she hated him, but Rick would take care of things. He was really a good kid—quiet and dependable. One good tiling about Rick and Lisa, they loved her and they'd never tell on her. She'd tell them they could stay indoors and watch as much TV as they wanted, and she'd make sure there were plenty of sandwiches and snacks in the refrigerator. They'd be okay, they wouldn't even miss her, and she'd be back in plenty of time
Her hands shook when she
When he was through beating her, she continued to wriggle and squirm across his thighs, the tears pouring from her eyes. But there was a sly triumph in her voice when she spoke.
"I'm really yours now, you know? You just made me yours. You can do anything you want with me, anything at all, I wouldn't mind. Do it to me, Brant, do it! Screw me, fuck me, make me crawl, use me. . . . I'm good— all the guys tell me I'm the best. And I'll do anything for you, everything you want me to, you'll see!"
Without wasting words, he took her again, bending her over the bed this time, ramming himself into her violently and painfully and satisfyingly while Jerry took more pictures. And then it was Jerry's turn again....
Brant actually offered to drive her home afterward. Sitting beside him, snuggling into the softness of real leather seats, Francie was in heaven. She'd finally found a guy—a man —who could give her everything she craved. And she was going to make him need her, too. He was definitely interested; she could tell—why else would he be taking her home?
Francie told Brant Newcomb that she lived with a very jealous and uptight guy, so he'd better drop her off a couple of blocks away. She wondered if he'd believed her, if he'd ask her any questions, but he only shrugged as if he couldn't care less. He intrigued her—everything about him intrigued her, including his money. She'd never ridden in a Jag before, either; it was neat. And she was glad that he drove fast and rather carelessly— who wanted to live without some risk and danger to make things exciting?
Snuggling closer to Brant, Francie put her hand on Iris thigh, running it up and down his crotch until she felt the sudden hardness there. She smiled. It was easy to give a guy a hard-on; she'd learned that real early.
"Shall I blow you?" she asked him eagerly, already bending her head down to him.
With one hand on the wheel, he pulled her up by the hair.
"Not now, baby. Later. You'd better learn not to be greedy."
His eyes studied her for an instant before they went back to the road. She couldn't read anything in them.
"I'm going to give you a phone number, doll. Call me sometime when your jealous lover is out of town, and we'll party, okay?"
He was full of surprises—just when she had begun to pout, fearing that he was bored and done with her for good, here he was suggesting that she call him. He was interested in her, then. Francie couldn't help wriggling in anticipation of the next time, another wildly exciting time with this strange and fascinating guy.
Even after he had dropped her off, she continued to think about him. Walking the two blocks back home, she was already planning for their next meeting. She wanted Brant Newcomb. She'd make damn sure he'd never get tired of her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
F RANCIE CALLED B RANT N EWCOMB two days later. It was a Saturday morning, and Dave had already called to tell them that he was unavoidably tied up this weekend and couldn't come down to Albany. That means another weekend alone with the kids—Saturday was Mrs. Lambert's day off, and she would be expected, without any question, to take over and baby-sit the kids. Well, this time she wouldn't do it! Why should she? Didn't Dave realize she was seventeen and entitled to some life of her own? Dave was selfish and overbearing and she hated him, but Rick would take care of things. He was really a good kid—quiet and dependable. One good tiling about Rick and Lisa, they loved her and they'd never tell on her. She'd tell them they could stay indoors and watch as much TV as they wanted, and she'd make sure there were plenty of sandwiches and snacks in the refrigerator. They'd be okay, they wouldn't even miss her, and she'd be back in plenty of time
Her hands shook when she
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