Walk on the Wild Side - By Karl Edward Wagner Page 0,109

straight for her liking, so she preferred not to use a blow dryer.

The television was boring. The tea was good. She fiddled with the catch on the gold locket—she hadn’t been able to work the chain clasp before showering. The hot water had done the trick. The locket snapped open.

Inside, nothing. Pandora was somewhat disappointed.

Feeling the fatigue from her buying trip, she set aside her teacup and fell into sudden sleep.

She was wearing a schoolgirl’s gym slip. Two of the sisters were holding her arms, as she was bent over a desk. A third sister flipped up Pandora’s skirt and yanked down her chaste white cotton knickers. Sister brandished a wooden ruler. The other girls in the classroom stared in frightened anticipation.

“You were seen touching yourself,” said sister.

“I’m an adult businesswoman! Who the hell are you?”

“You’ve only made it all the worse.”

The ruler smacked her bottom. Pandora yelped in pain. Again and again the ruler came down. Pandora began to cry. Her classmates began to titter. The ruler continued to whack her reddening buttocks. Pandora screamed and tried to escape the tight grip of the other two sisters. The beating continued.

She felt a rush of orgasm.

Pandora gasped and sat up, almost overturning her teacup. Dizzily she finished it, noticed the locket had closed. Must have done it while asleep. No more strong tea at bedtime. She removed the towel from her head and brushed out her hair. Strange dream. She had never attended a Catholic school. Her parents were C of E, she was secular humanist, in currently politically correct jargon.

Her buttocks hurt. In the mirror she saw welts.

By morning there was nothing to remark upon. Pandora shrugged it off to lying on a rumpled bathrobe and an agitated imagination. She let her staff run the shop, while she sifted through the classifieds and notices of upcoming sales. Doreen got an easy seven hundred dollars for the heart-of-pine table, poorly restored and purchased at a tenth of that. Pandora began to feel better, but still made an early day of it. She thought of Doreen and Mavis as Bambi and Thumper from that James Bond film. Derrick was perhaps James Bond. They could mind the store.

She put on a pink baby-doll nightgown—she had a weakness for fifties nostalgia—curled up in her bed and began reading Love’s Blazing Desire by David Drake, her favorite romance author. She fidgeted with her locket.

It opened.

Pandora was wearing a white cone bra and a white panty girdle attached by garters to beige stockings. Her party dress was somewhere in the back seat of a ’56 Chevy, and she was on her knees on the cemetery grass.

Biff and Jerry were in a hurry, as the cops patrolled this strip looking for teenagers getting their thrills. They d just dropped their jeans and Y-fronts. Standing beside the car, they were letting Pandora give them double head.

She couldn’t take them both all the way into her mouth at once. She gave each cock a quick deep throat, alternating by sucking in both heads, tonguing them rapidly, while she jerked them off separately, fingering her cunt from outside of the tight chastity belt of her panty girdle. She’d told the boys that she was on the rag, because neither had thought to buy rubbers.

Biff was yelling, “Gawd! Gawd! Gawd!”

Jerry said, “Shut up, douche bag! You’ll get the cops on our ass!” Pandora said nothing, making only slurping and sucking sounds. She couldn’t completely close her lips over both cocks, and saliva was drooling down her chin and onto her bra.

Jerry grunted, and Biff repeated, “Gawd!” Their come gushed into Pandora’s mouth faster than she could swallow, spraying over her face. She gobbled down the sticky, salty tide, sucking in both cocks as they grew limp, all the while rubbing her fingers against her cunt outside the elastic barrier of her panty girdle. Her orgasm came just as she accepted both flaccid cocks all the way into her throat.

Pandora choked and sat up in bed, still cradling the romance novel. She had never even ridden in a ’56 Chevy, had no real idea as to what one looked like. Saliva covered her cheeks and chin. She wiped it with a tissue. It smelled like semen. It tasted like semen. It was semen.

The locket had closed.

Pandora was useless at the shop the next day. She went home at lunch, complaining about a touch of flu. Her workers expressed sympathy; she hadn’t looked well. Mavis reminded her of a country auction this