Chapter 4

Ron Merril left the Graduate Dean's office feeling a sharp disappointment. The portly Dean, his hands folded serenely over his ample paunch, had steadfastly refused to allow Ron to drop even one of his grueling courses.

"After all, Mr. Merril, the requirements have been laid down, and any deviation from your planned work may delay you for an entire academic year."

"... But, it's important to me," Ron argued. "I just don't have enough time for myself."

"Ah, yes, but I suppose that's one of the sacrifices one must make." It was meaningless platitude.

"It could cost my marriage!" Ron blurted.

"Hmmm, I see..." The Dean polished his glasses before going on, "Well, of course, marriage counseling is a little out of my line... but I'm sure that any reasonable woman would make the adjustments... and..."

"We don't need a marriage counselor... just some time that I can call my own!" Ron told him levelly. "That's why I want to drop a couple of courses, so I can spend a little more time with Susan!"

"I'm sure you understand the consequences if you don't follow the outlined course study. None of your courses can be waived, and I might point out that dropping courses could very well result in your dropping out of the Doctoral program altogether. That could be disastrous for your future... and I might add that I feel you do have a brilliant academic future ahead of you. I would hate to see that future destroyed for you!"

"... But... what about right now... ?"

"Well, Mr. Merril, in the long run, the decision must be yours. I could very well sign your petition for release from those courses, but I would feel strongly about it. I would recommend that you continue, just as you are!"

There was no shaking the man from his position, and Ron didn't want to jeopardize his attainment of his Doctor of Philosophy degree. He had no choice but to keep up the grind... perhaps ease off a little, but there were still those exacting, time-consuming courses that he had to have completed by the end of the school year. Hell! The damned University is nothing but a factory... and people like me are its product... coming out all polished and ready for jobs that might not even exist by the time I get that damned degree!

He wondered whether it was worthwhile, as he reviewed the situation in his mind. His conclusion was in favor of getting the Doctorate, now. If I do have to drop out... I may never be able to get back to it, again!... And, Susan and I will just have to work something out! She's right, of course... that she couldn't make as much money anywhere else as she does at that Rent-a-model studio! We'll find some solution to the problem!

Ron's disappointment at not being able to reduce the grueling pace of his studies, if he were to attain his degree according to schedule was nothing compared to the horns of the emotional dilemma upon which Susan struggled.

"Don't you understand, darling," Ron tried to explain, "if I drop those courses, it'll extend everything for at least another year?"

Susan shared her husband's ambition. That's why she was so willing to help him... but if she were to help by continuing her lewd posing at The Camera's Eye, there would always be the problem of her heightened sexual needs that Ron wouldn't be able to satisfy because of lack of time and drained energies. It was also certain that Ron couldn't remain in school if she didn't work at something. Clerking in a library certainly wouldn't make enough to support them. They both knew that, so Susan would have to keep working as a Rent-a-model. The problem just seemed to go in circles, always coming back to the same things, over and over.

"Okay, Ron... I understand... and I'll try not to be too demanding..." Oh, it's so mixed up... so different from when we were first married... and he scared me half to death... wanting to do it all the time! I was sure then that he was some kind of a sex maniac! Now... I'm the one who's worked up all the time... and can't get enough of it! She wished that there was something else that she could do, that she had some other marketable skill she could exploit, such as being a secretary or sales clerk, but it was useless even to think about it. Her typing was horrible. She didn't know shorthand or filing, and she was terrified of selling things to people in a store.

... Then, a few nights later it happened. Susan discovered a partial answer. Ron had arrived home dead tired, as usual. He tumbled into bed and slept so soundly that she knew she would never be able to awaken him.

Disconsolately, she began her own preparations for bed, her body crying for a sexual release. No matter how hard she tried to ignore what the voyeuristic men wielding cameras in the studio said or asked her to do, there was still that sexiness there. It was in their eyes, the things they said and in the bulging erection in their pants. She trod a dangerous line, knowing that one slip, like giving one of them her address or telephone number, could result in something she didn't want... an affair with another man. Yet, how easy it would have been. She avoided the temptation like the plague. God! I couldn't do that! I just couldn't!

She was in the shower soaping herself, her hands running in unconscious sensuousness over her body, cupping and massaging her sensitive, tingling breasts, the nipples coming up hard in the palms of her hands and the glowing sensations seeming to spread and permeate her whole body to concentrate themselves in her loins... And there's nothing I can do!

Or was there?

Today, the next to the last man, who had posed hers took out of his attache case a carefully wrapped object. "Do you know what's in here, Susan... ?" he asked, his eyes glowing with salacious desire for her.

"No... not really..." she had answered offhandedly.

"Look!" the middle-aged voyeur gloated, as he quickly unwrapped a huge, rubber dildo, looking closely at her to see her reaction to it.

"Oh!" she gasped involuntarily, her eyes widening.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Yes! It's a dildo... and I'm not having any part of it!" It was the second time she had been confronted by a man wielding one of those things in his hand and wanting her to use it on herself. The last time, she had gone along with it, barely entering the head of the rubber penis into her vagina, but she had made up her mind- regardless of what the consequences might be with Miss Sloan-that she wouldn't ever do that again.

"... But, I thought you were supposed to pose any way I want you to... ?"

"That's right! Anything but that!"

"Okay! I'll just have to ask for some other girl who will, then!" he exploded.

Susan knew that she couldn't afford a complaint from him; it could mean the loss of her job. "All right..." she conceded, "I'll pose with it... any way you want me to, except actually... putting it in... okay?"

He had been mollified by her compromise, and the somewhat chubby, graying client had taken several pictures with her holding it in position against the mouth of her vagina... even one shot of her kissing the head of that monstrous penis substitute. At least, he hadn't registered a complaint by asking for another model, and he had suggested that he'd probably be back, again, asking for her.

... Then, as she went on showering, her hands now running down over her hips and finally between her thighs, as she soaped and cleaned herself, her fingers caressed unconsciously the hardening bud of her clitoris. She gasped with the pleasurable sensations her fingers brought her... and she remembered that enormous rubber penis she had held in her hands, the idea suddenly ricocheting around inside her skull that maybe--just maybe-- something like that would help her to gain the sexual satisfaction she needed... But, God... it's so cold-blooded... just a kind of... of self abuse!

If she had had that dildo in her hands right then, though, she probably would have used it... because she found it so difficult to tear her hands away from her own genitals. Standing back away from the shower, she allowed the water to stream down onto her abdomen to rinse away the soap, her hand returning, again, to the short, hard bud at the top of her furrowed cunt. Before she knew what was happening to her, stop herself from doing it, she had reached an ecstatic level of sexual arousal, so far gone that there was only one thing she could do. With long, smooth strokes, her finger began to slide up and down along the right side of her clitoris, in a regular tempo, as she began to masturbate, knowing instinctively what she must do... even though she had never done it before to completion. My God! What am I doing... to myself? She knew... really, but she couldn't stop. Nothing, at that point, could have made her stop it.

OOoooh! I've got to have something... more! The something more she needed was a pounding cock in her cunt, but that was impossible. Ron was completely exhausted. Anyway, it was too late. Then, she slid her hand on down farther, a finger slipping into the moist warmth of her cunt's mouth. It felt so small and insignificant. She inserted a second finger, and the increased breadth of both fingers felt better, began to give her a sense of well-being; however, she needed the extra sensations her clitoris provided. Then, again, almost instinctively, she used her thumb, letting it slide up and down the quivering, length of her sensitive sex bud, while at the same time a third tiny finger joined the other two in the sheath of her vagina.

A sudden revealing to her of why some women would stoop to use one of those horrible-looking dildoes, was like a breath of fresh air to her troubled mind. God! Now, I know... and if I had something... right now... I'd probably use it! For she knew then that she would masturbate herself to climax.

Faster and faster, her hand worked, as she finger-fucked herself, knowing only that the ecstatic rapture she was feeling would bring her the release from built up tension... sexual tension of such intensity, that it could not be sublimated.

In her imagination, she felt herself lying under her husband, while his hard length plunged in and out of her soft, trembling cuntal sheath. It helped to imagine it that way. Somehow, it helped her to feel less guilty about it. Masturbation, she remembered being told when she was quite small was bad for you; although, it had never been explained just how it was supposed to be harmful. It would take a while for her to get over that idea, but for now, there was guilt in her. She'd have to live with it... until when she was more enlightened, she would realize that it's really quite normal and natural for both men and women.

... And, then, in spite of guilt, the pleasure of what she was doing overwhelmed her, and she gave herself over to that joy completely, her hand moving faster, her fingers plunging deeper into the mouth of her cunt, until suddenly, her orgasm burst upon her convulsively. She moaned to herself, afraid to cry out with the ecstasy she felt for fear that she might awaken her husband.

OOOoooh! Oh!

It was a complete orgasm, leaving her satisfied physically; although mentally she was distraught, a rising disgust in her with what she had done spoiled it for her. She would never tell Ron about it, but if she had to do it to herself, again, she would make sure that her husband couldn't possibly find out... suspect her of it. Susan wasn't sure what his reaction would be... but she remembered his remarking one time that almost every man, especially as young teen-agers, masturbated... But, I'd just die... if he found out! Somehow, she equated it with a kind of infidelity.

"Isn't there some way the rules could be changed... just a little bit so that we wouldn't have to do those sexy things those old men... want us to do... ?" Susan asked.

She was seated in Linda Sloan's private office, dressed only in the light wrapper she wore between customers. That same man, who had wanted her to pose with a dildo, had returned, again. This time he had brought in a special girdle constructed of shiny black leather, along with a pair of long, matching gloves and boots; then, when he had produced a leather whip from his attache case, Susan had been genuinely terrified. For an instant, she had thought he had meant to use it on her... but instead he handed the horrible thing to her. It was part of the bizarre costume he wanted her to put on for him.

It was kinky, she knew, but again, she had gone along with him, donning the fetishistic clothing and allowing him to take pictures of her; however, when he begged her to use the whip on him, she balked.

"No!" she gasped. "I can't do something like that!"

"I'll pay you double what you ordinarily get!"

"No!" She had thrown the whip down and began taking off the leather garments. "Your time is up!"

Silently, he had packed up his cameras and the leather clothing, leaving without another word.

Linda Sloan regarded her with watchful, green eyes, reaching up to arrange a stray wisp of strawberry blonde hair.

"Susan, Honey... we've already been over that, and I'm not going to change the rules!"

"Well... how about perverted things... ?"

"Like what... ?"

Susan told her in detail about the chubby man and his dildoes, first; then, explained what had happened on his second visit, telling her about the black, leather garments and the whip.

"That's a different story... and he went too far!" Linda blazed. "What time was he in there with you... ?"

Business-like, Miss Sloan jotted down the information Susan gave her. "It won't happen again, Honey! I'll make sure of that!"

"Thank you, Miss Sloan," Susan murmured, "but... about those other things we were talking about... ?"

"There isn't much to talk about... and I can't have special rules for you... you know that!"

"Well... I just wanted you to know... It's causing a problem with my marriage... ?"

"How... ?"

"You remember... I told you that all that sexy stuff they want... makes me get aroused... ?"

"Yes... I remember..." Linda's eyes were interested now. Somehow, she divined what was coming next.

"My husband, Ron, is working toward his Doctorate at the University... and he's so tired most of the time that..." She found it difficult to say.

"... And, he's not... taking care of you properly... ?" Linda's eyebrows arched, and there was a faint smile of anticipation curling the corners of her sensuous mouth.

"Yes... that's it..." Susan admitted, dropping her own eyes.

Miss Sloan was rising then and coming around her desk, her full-bodied, mature figure fetchingly dressed in a tailored pantsuit. She had known it would happen... sooner or later, and she was happy to take advantage of a situation. Leaning back to sit easily and relaxed on the comer of her desk, she asked, "Does it get bad... real bad... to the point where you'd do almost anything to get your release... ?" Her voice was low, gently urgent.

"Yes... it does! The other night, Ron was so bushed that I knew it was hopeless... and I... I..." Susan stopped short; she hadn't intended to reveal any of the intimacies of her sex life, especially anything regarding her having had to masturbate, to get her release.

"You played with yourself... so you could cum... ?"

"Y-Yes..." Susan averted her eyes in embarrassment and shame, her cheeks coloring prettily with her blush.

"You did the right thing, of course... but you're thinking that it's only your husband, who can give you satisfaction... aren't you... ?" Linda asked, her eyes showing the deep undercurrent of her own desire.

"Why yes..."

"That's nonsense, you know?!"

Susan's eyes darted up at her employer questioningly, unable to fathom the older woman's meaning.

"I don't understand? That's the main reason people get married!"

"You don't have to have a man... to get real satisfaction!"

An inkling of Linda Sloan's argument, the point she was trying to make, came through dimly to Susan Merril, and she unconsciously drew her wrapper closer about her, as she struggled to her feet, knowing that she had to leave the office right then. My God! I think she's trying to suggest something! It was a preposterous idea that orbited in Susan's mind. No! I won 't have anything to do... with... THAT!

Felinely, Linda Sloan was there, almost pouncing on her with bared claws, as she came to stand in front of Susan, pushing her back into the chair.

"You do understand what I mean, don't you?" Linda hissed. "You're the most ravishing thing I've seen in a long time... and I've been saving you for myself!" Her hands grasped the lapels of the light robe Susan wore and pulled it open to reveal the satiny flesh of her full-orbed breasts. "Beautiful!"... Then, before Susan could recoil or make an objection, her employer's tiny hands were on them, caressing and massaging, her fingers, with the sure knowledge of another woman, rolling the pink buds of her nipples to almost instant, sensation-producing erection. The younger blonde, knew that it was wrong... but somehow she couldn't draw away... couldn't cry out or make herself run away. It was as though she were mesmerized, rooted in place, in the chair... and she could do nothing to stop it.

"Please... ?" Susan managed to choke. "I-I... just couldn't... do that!"

"How do you know... ?"

Not waiting for an answer, Linda was pulling at her, lifting her up and slipping the wrapper off. Carelessly she tossed the garment to the back of the chair and took Susan in her arms, her lips seeking for and finding the young wife's sensuous mouth, and her hands were busy, swarming over the voluptuous curves, feeling the soft, velvety skin of her smooth back and the pliant flesh of her buttocks, as she held her close and possessively.

Moments before, Susan couldn't have believed it was possible that a woman's hands and mouth would make her feel the way she did, at that instant in time, as she accepted the older woman's kiss, allowing Linda's tongue to snake into her mouth where it probed about searchingly, sexily. OOoooh! It feels so good... but I can't let her go on... like this!

... Then, Miss Sloan wasn't kissing her mouth; she had dipped her head downward to take a sensate, coned-out nipple into her mouth. As she sucked on it, Susan felt a sudden surging warmth begin to pervade her body, its glow seeming to concentrate in her quivering, white belly. Somehow, the tingling sensations down there, between her thighs, were singing a prelude to forbidden joys. God! I've got to stop her... stop myself... before it's too late!

... Suddenly, Susan steeled herself and drew back away from the lewdly salacious mouth that seemed to be draining her of moral sense... driving her to distraction and toward a relationship she knew was perverted and so very wrong. It went against the grain of everything she had been brought up to value in life. "Please, Miss Sloan... don't do that! My husband... wouldn't like it... if..."

"Fuck your husband! He's not doing anything for you... and I can... and will!" Linda Sloan spat, her beautifully sensuous lips twisted with both passion and hate.

Never in her life had Susan heard a woman use that four- letter, obscene word. It sliced through her like a sharp knife, and she flushed crimson as her jaw gaped and her eyes widened.

Linda was leading her then unprotestingly toward the couch, her voice urgent, as she said, "I've been that route with men, already. They're always performing... and expecting us to be their admiring audience... except that right now, your husband isn't doing anything for you... right... ?"

Dumbly, Susan nodded, as she sat down on the couch with the older woman, not knowing why she stayed when every fiber of her brain was telling her to flee. Linda went on, "... And, that's the trouble with men! Everything depends on their being able to get it up and keep it up... and without a hard-on there's nothing! Absolutely nothing!"

"... But, what do you want with me! Why are you doing... all of this... ?" Susan wailed.

"Because I want you... want to make it with you, Baby... and I guarantee you'll be satisfied!"

"But, I couldn't... do it with... you... !"

"Why... ?"

"It's not the same as... with Ron... and besides it's so horribly wrong... !"

"Is it? You may think so, now... but you'll find out that love between two women can be something really beautiful!"

Susan moaned, as again, Linda Sloan's fingers began to trace teasingly the swelling contours of one of her luscious, alabaster- white breasts. Feebly she protested, "No... please... ?"

"... And, I'll show you... !" Miss Sloan promised.

Quickly, the green-eyed, strawberry blonde was on her feet and crossing to her office door to lock it; then, she pressed the intercom switch on her desk and told the receptionist-cashier on duty that she didn't want to be disturbed.

Now, turning her full attention on her young, naive model, she walked toward her stripping off her own clothing; jacket, blouse and bra coming off before she reached the couch.

Wide-eyed with apprehension and not a little fear of what might be happening next, Susan bolted from the couch, grabbing for her light robe, but at the same time, she couldn't keep her eyes from the other woman's breasts. Linda's full-mounded breasts were round, melon-like, high on her chest and close together, her velvety skin, white and translucent, the bluish, tracery of tiny veins giving them a depth of surface that was intriguing. Desperately, she tried to dodge past her employer, but she was trapped at the desk, as Linda's arms went around her, those fabulous breasts pressing in warmly against her own.