Dallas Doll: Chapter 2 free porn video

Dallas Doll (A take-off continuation of "Texas Gal" by Crystal Sprite) By Dee Eon Chapter II: Operation Just Desserts Under the blaring sexy horns and guitars of Tijuana Brass and The Starhawks playing live from the nearby antebellum mansion's veranda, Hugh Swainer preened his ivory double-breasted suit and patted a Beatle haircut while he sauntered over to the sprawling hoe-down's large bar grill area where a delicious blue hickory haze hovered over several chefs with basting brushes lashed several braised steers rotating on spits over large fire pits. The chatting hazel-eyed auburnette cowgirls in canary pastels near the grills' busy horseshoe bar looked up at his approach, but he concentrated on the lissome blonde looker prettily perched a bar stool, gracing a cotton blouse with a short fringe on the front and across the shoulders blades on the back and a suede skirt whose fringed hem teasingly veiled nicely rounded silken knees and sleek calves planted in cowboy boots with three-inch heels, a fluffy cascade of silky sun tumbling from under her Stetson hat and roiling over prairie schooner ear rings and cleaved creamy crests coyly nestled a deep-V neckline to end playfully lapping a thick white leather belt. 'Hel--lo foxy! Yea; a whole lot cuter up close!' Swainer thought, shaking his head in awe; 'Fifteen? Right! This babe could pass for high school homecoming queen in two shakes!' He stopped before them, flourishing arms of greeting; "Don't tell me! The Dallas Cheerleaders, right??" he gibed and the beautiful bevy's wary looks broke into coy titters. "Well, now I know why they call 'em the yellow roses of Texas!" "Just be mindful of the thorns, sir!" Judy quipped. 'Amazing!' Swainer thought; 'With that swaggy southern drawl you'd never guess they're hicks from Jersey!' He bowed. "Hugh Swainer, lovely ladies!" "Oh!" Darla Anne prettily perked. "Yes, I've heard of you! Rick Landis of 'Log Views' spoke most highly of you, sir!" "Well, not as high as some angels, Miss Drake!" he quipped with a leading look of admiration which made them titter. "I've come to this hoe-down courting you for a cover feature in Seventeen magazine!" "Cover feature??" the bevy chorused, glancing another. "You want to profile me in Seventeen magazine?" Darla Anne said with a flattered chuckle. "But I'm not even sixteen yet!" "Well, you've a very nice head start--as always, Miss Swan!" he grinned to coy baby-blue orbs fringed by fair feathery lashes. "She's in lots of magazines, sir," Susan issued. "Yes, but never an interview with her human side, lovely lady," he formally said, facing Darla Anne's curious look; "Granted, you're sharp as a longhorn's cusp, Miss Drake, but it may've slipped under your radar that you're also a intellectual beacon for thousands of young girls who aspire goals beyond the kitchen. Oh sure, there's Madame Curie, Rosy the Riveter, but you personify the hip and sexy female intellect; she goes in grace and beauty! A model for budding young ladies with brains everywhere!" Mary giggled. "My, I must say, he sure is smooth!" "Well, everything I've stated is the honest-to-God's truth, and Miss Darla Anne Drake has the duty--no, the social obligation to lead her peers out of the panty!" The beautiful bevy mulled. "Well, it certainly sounds like a good cause!" Mary thought aloud. Judy retorted; "But Darla Anne--an example of young ladyhood??" "Why does that sound so odd, ladies?" Swainer asked and only receiving coy giggles as though some family secret. "Never mind them!" Darla Anne said, prettily smirking at her sisters. "Though I've never fancied myself as a model of anything, the idea rather does appeal to me!" "To your ego you mean!" chaffed Mary, eliciting Darla Anne's simper. Swainer chuckled and leaned to Darla Anne. "Perhaps we should discuss business outside a nest of green monsters, Miss Drake?" Darla Anne straightened like a peacock as the others feigned vain bridles. "Should really talk to Grandma first, Darla Anne!" Judy strongly suggested. "Oh?" Swainer cast a dubious look at Darla Anne. "Sorry, but your reputation led me to believe that you juggled business transactions like Indian clubs!" "I do!!" Darla Anne looked questioningly at her frowning sisters. Swainer inwardly smiled; 'Cool. Latent jealousy pops its head; big sisters overshadowed in brains and popularity by their 'kid' sister. Classic. Guess it's time to wedge this sibling rift a little wider.' His gallant visage faced Darla Anne. "Er, I also heard you're quite the chef, too, Miss Drake, though that's mostly rumor." She prettily frowned. "Rumor? Whose rumor? I'll have you know I deliver some of the best dishes at Tarrant County State fair!" "Well, I'm sure you can roll a mean chili dog, but you got all those chefs waiting on you in that mansion of yours, right?" he baited with a sly chuckle. Darla Anne indignantly flinched. "I'm master chef at home still, sir! And I don't just do street fare! And allow me to wipe that doubt off your face!" She hopped off her bar stool and the spit and grill chefs watched as she took down a pinafore apron and tied it over her pricey cowgirl outfit and removed her Lady Doir oyster wristwatch and silver and turquoise bracelet and matching ring and went over to a cutting board where her manicured coral-glossed fingernails flew over vegetable and herb bins with knives and utensils that blurred while dicing peppers and onions and lemon grass and tomatoes in a marinade bowl with a generous glob of honey. "What's cookin'?" Swainer quipped to her cute simpering nose. "The best darn rib glaze your teeth every sank into, sir!" "Well, I'm not a bad spatula slinger myself!" Swainer clucked, pulling out another cutting board and meat cleaver and hacked off a portion of a side of beef on a spit and started marinating it then tossed some veggies bathed in a shot of herbs and spicy mustard on the grill. In parallel he grabbed several huge mushrooms and sliced them into steaks to butter then garlic garnish and threw them in a slide grill. Swainer called out from behind his counter; "Give up, Miss! You're slugged out!" "No way!!" she riposted, splicing and dicing away. While they gathered a small audience, their sparring words gravitated to food and cuisines and remarks about the way the chefs were grilling the steaks. Soon the barbecue grill-off was done and racks of ribs hacked for the spectators' savoring opinion. Swainer munched a rib from Darla Anne's platter and smackingly nodded. "Luscious! I'm on the moon with them astronauts!" he complimented with a tacit bow. "I stand humbly corrected, lovely lady. You're a culinary artist." Darla Anne smugly smiled. "Apologies accepted...and your portion was absolutely delectable, sir." "You're one gracious lady! Maybe I can further make up for my insolence with a private biased interview of a cover princess?" "Well..." "Darla Anne!" admonished Judy and Darla Anne straightened like a bridling belittled peacock and swirled before Swainer with a broad coral-glossed smile; "I'd be most honored, sir!" The sisters gasped. "Don't stray Darla Anne!" chided Mary. "Don't fret ladies; she'll be back before she turns into a pumpkin--or rather, a peach!" 'Family defiance and pricked vanity,' he smugly assessed. 'Now that's a that's a good first step!' Darla Anne giggled as Swainer lead the flouncing belle from the bemused bevy, but not before he tactically heaped a paper plate with a rib coated with Darla Anne's formula and quietly made sure her tinkled ego noticed. "Them stepsisters keep you on a short leash, Cinderella!" Swainer slyly quipped on their stroll from the main party. Darla Anne smirked with a shrug. "They're just playing around," she asserted not too convincingly. "Aunt Mabel regards me as her right hand in most all of her affairs! I help her balance the books and oversee down to the landscaping and everything! In fact, all the family's business--even over Judy, who's the oldest!" "Oh? So you're heiress apparent, eh?" "For all practical terms--yes!" she smugly said and Swainer shook his head; Damn! Her ego's high as a kite! Goes with being a pretty egghead I guess! Good! "I understand you've never experienced that rite of passage for Texas belles." "Sorry?" "Pageants. Everything I've researches says you've never graced a stage, never been crowned." She lightly shrugged. "I suppose I've been too busy dealing with business, sir." "Then maybe you should take some time off." "Time off? To waste weeks primping and preening myself for two minutes on a glitzy stage for a crown of paste diamonds?" "Yes!" he said to her soft scowl. "Such itty-bitty morsels are the bricks to the mansion of life, and while gobbling up companies might be a feather in your hat, the day will come when you'll rue passing up a crown." "I rather doubt it." "What were my magazine to sponsor you?" "I really don't--" "Humor us, Miss Drake. Humor me." She warily canted her head. "Just why should I oblige you by making an insufferable display of myself?" "Because you're a knockout, and either in denial or ignorant of it." "Pardon?" "You're skittish about strutting your other side, your comely outward side. Afraid that it won't match the gifts under that hat." "Maybe my sisters are right. You're really quite presumptuous, sir." "They say Darla Anne Drake's never backed down a challenge. You delight knocking codgy old C.E.O.'s down like bowling pins; but facing your peers in a contest of one's most elementary appreciation frightens the dickens in you--rather, that's the general consensus." "I never heard of such a 'consensus'!" "You've never interviewed the Beatles either. For all your achievements and notoriety, most of the public have a rather skewed regard of you. All head, no heart. All figures, no joy. Lady Scrooge. Well, I just thought that Darla Anne Drake would like to show the world that she's much much more than a Wall Street I.B.M. machine in drag," he suavely said and blinking aback at her sudden tinkling laughter. "Er, did I miss something, ladies?" "You'll never know, sir!" she coyly tittered, composing into a reflective mull. "People really think of me so?" "Well, you're not quite typecast yet; so you've still time to mellow the 'granite lady'." "By being in a pageant? When I'm supposed to be an example of 'progressive' young ladies?" "It's one thing to deny your brains, another your beauty. You can show your future fans that they're mutually compatible--unless you believe Madame Curie's a sex symbol." Darla Anne tittered and shook her head and nodded approvingly at him. "I dare admit, I've never been honey-tongued a dubious bargain before!" Swainer inwardly nodded; 'I sense a restlessness in her to get away from the shop and family a while. Good. Whatever moves her interest in me.' He suavely grinned. "Well, there's always a first time!" ***** From a poolside table several acres away, a gaggle of Dixie gentlemen peered the strolling couple through binoculars as though following a horse race. "Impressive!" Peck smiled behind his field glasses. "He actually got her out from under those busybody dames!" Wickerman nodded, fascinated. "A fifteen-year-old heiress waltzing off with a twenty-four year-old man--unescorted!" Rokor shook his head. "Just ain't done these parts! She brassy or what?" "No, just some unconscious male bonding," surmised Dr. Perry, grinning at their quizzical looks. "I've been doing crash research based on crack ace top expert Dr. John Money's ultra-thorough study of these curious creatures, and transsexual psychology's just as fascinating as their physiology. While Darla Anne Drake might look like a maiden, behave like a maiden, even believe she's a maiden, she can't totally dump the early sex-role indoctrinated core of her psyche." Wilcox blinked. "Huh?" "Well, as completely feminine as she appears and behaves, there're certain hardwired female attributes which she naturally lacks, like maternal instincts or the cadence of her gait and certain outward expressions. When frightened she doesn't shriek like a girl and her tactile and perfume appreciations are different from genetic females, as well as her core stimulation factors like being more lukewarm to romantic films than watching the Indy 500. That doesn't depreciate the fidelity of her femininity; just makes it a subtly different brand and flavor, like being a kind of third sex." Gilford asked; "But she doesn't see herself that way, does she?" "Of course not! As far as she desires and aspires being she's a legitimate human female, even though she can't suppress or mask every nuance of instinctive or behavioral sex difference or be conscious of covering them constantly, though those differences are generally so subtle the average person wouldn't notice it. Then there are those unconscious inclinations such as we're witnessing here; Darla Anne may very well be content living in an all-female household, but there's also a male affinity deep inside her that's receptive to and welcoming a brief commune with her genetic peers too." "Like birds of a feather, right?" "In a sense. Since there's no emotional intimidation or anxiety being in male company, sensing the impropriety of a teen heiress engaging the company of an unattached gentleman in public simply doesn't even occur to her." Thorehill was fascinated. "You mean just slipped her mind?" "Well, let's just say expertly distracted, and Mr. Swainer's obviously playing that up like a Stradivarius to rouse other aspects of her suppressed male core once she gets a gander of your toy, Mr. Peck." "If Mr. Swainer doesn't pile it into an oak first! Still, this is an auspicious start!!" Wilcox shook his head; "Yea...but you really think that joy-boy there could woo her in just one afternoon? Took me three weeks to lay my first date!" "We have to move fast with this brainy bitch; don't give her any time to think or her family a chance to interfere!" Rokor stated. "By the time they do, everything will be locked-in and they'll all be kittens in a crate!" "I dunno. Her damn freaky keen scares the willies outta me, and if she doesn't even have the exact same feelings as a normal broad to stroke to start with, what kinda chance Swainer's go turning her on?" "We don't have to hit her on a purely sexual level, especially since she's still sexually indifferent," Perry explained to their surprise. "From our PI's photos of Clark's notes and records, I deduce that Darla Anne's not a congenital transsexual, but rather was cajoled and seduced into a female life. Until she was nearly eleven she never questioned her sexuality nor possessed transsexual feelings until her sister's dress-up games began enticing her identity change which filled the void of an active male role model and assuaged a humbling underdeveloped stature. That means she's never had those endocrine-based feelings or impulses which transsexuals do, like wet dreams about boys or crushes on them even at early ages. What male contacts she's had have mostly been strictly casual, business, or erotically inspired in 'tie-up' games." "What you saying, Doc?" Wilcox asked. "That's she's a 'berg'?" "No, only that despite her late sex identity shift, she hasn't much strutted her female sexuality beyond fashion and giggling over rock stars with her sisters. In fact, our P.I. hasn't reported any instance in the last several months of her seriously ogling or flirting boys in public." "Well, why doesn't she?" Thorehill asked. "I'm guessing, but I believe her identity shift also refocused her mental concentration, maybe releasing some psychological block, say of being humbled by a scrawny body, to finally enable her full mental faculties." "You mean she's actually a--a formerly arrested prodigy?" "In a sense. That'd explain her untypical sudden I.Q. spurt since age eleven--right on the heels of her alleged 'sex-change' awakening, and in a way she's still riding that 'catch-up wave' of awakened intellect, and likely why she hasn't the passion nor interest to groom her new sexuality as intensely as most young teen girls do." "Fascinating!" Thorehill said amid a chorus of comprehending nods. "So you're implying that her almost total inexperience with carnal matters makes a soft target?" "Or to cite Mr. Swainer's witticism, her Achilles Heel. Additionally, she's emotionally callow, socially sheltered, and fatherless for nearly five years. With a little skill, you can undercut her intellect and wits by manipulating those emotional channels. Furthermore, she won't be anticipating it." "Hell, you can bed most any woman in an hour if you push the right buttons!" roared Rokor. "I figure most teenage girls would happily sack them Beatles without a peep if they turned up their doorstep! It's all charisma and finesse shaken and stirred with a little brass!" Wickerham said, "Well, I have to admit we're watching one pro bartender at work!" Wilcox grudging nodded. "Yea. Guess I gotta hand it to him. I just figured him for a switch-hitting dandy till I heard that the boys he likes to bang are sissies that don't count like night-club He-Shes and shit. That's straight enough in my book!" Gilford grunted; "Huh! He'd lots of fun in the stir!" They chuckled and Peck raised his tumbler of Old Crow; "Gentlemen:, 'Operation Just Desserts' Phase One is now in motion!" "Here--here!!" they chuckled and toasted. Wilcox smacked his lips. "Dessert. Butterscotch pudding! That's what that fine fairy filly reminds me of! The creamiest Butterscotch pudding this side of heaven, and I'm gonna delight spooning it down to its sweet bottom!" "Here--here!!" Peck spoke up like a C.E.O. "Alright, let's tie any loose ends, gentlemen!" he said and everyone seated and leaned low under the table's large parasol. Thorehill said, "The family's under 24-7 surveillance as of now." "Got a man outside the hedges?" "Front and back--each with dish mikes." "Radio Shack?" asked Rokor. "Yep. All from local boys!" "Excellent!" "When's that telephone repairman due?" inquired Wickerham. "Done last week!" Rokor stated. "Each floor, even the extensions in the stables and pool house. All piped into the safe house. I even had a gas station jockey slip a talkie in the limo. I'm leaving nothing to chance. The stakes are just too damn wild!" "Prudent, sir. Most prudent! We don't need any surprises tripping the plan," Peck complimented, turning to Thorehill. "Now, just how accommodating are these new Texas legislations going to be when our transactions manifests themselves?" "Favorable. So far we're in the barnyard. No stumbling blocks either in the beneficiary stipulations or title guarantees, and we're clear the age consent limitation outside being voluntary and witnessed by a county magistrate. When Phase Three kicks in, everything financial will be totally on the up and up and incontestable--with Darla Anne Drake's own golden endorsement!" Rokor enthusiastically nodded. "That's most heartening. Most heartening!" "So no tickets to Zurich , eh?" quipped Wilcox. "Good! Hate shots!" and they all chuckled. Peck soberly faced Gilford and Wilcox. "Are your parole check-ins prompt to date, gentlemen?" Growling, Wilcox nodded. "Not a minute off!" Gilford uttered bitterly, eying the distant strolling pair. "Good. Need I say you two gents are sitting cozy here because not merely many strings but virtually ropes were pulled opening your cells, with our promise that some proceeds of this operation be topping off certain state house party coffers. They know the ramifications of our acquiring assets totaling close to a quarter billion dollars, so no operational expense has any red line here. Or security measure." Rokor worriedly injected toward Wilcox and Gilford; "But if them damn broads ever whiff you two in the neighborhood--!" Gilford shrugged. "Sure, we're technically in violation being here, but I just had to see the plan launched, damn it!" "We don't begrudge you that pleasure, sir. Not at all. Just be sure you two don't dangle any excuse for them to pull you from this trial community service program, God bless the bleeding hearts for once!" "We'll toe the line, don't worry. And if this works out, dance it right up through that mansion's doors!" "Here--here!!" they toasted then binoculars trained the distant couple with anticipation and impatience and drool... Wilcox ruefully sighed. "Damn! That precocious bitch's a real looker! Almost a shame we gotta finish her." "You make it sound terminal," Thorehill quipped. "Just as well after messing with her head, right, Doc?" "I won't call such an involved procedure 'messing'," Perry dryly uttered. "But in the end result, I doubt we'll ever see the likeness of Darla Anne Drake ever again." Wickerham snorted; "Hell, as long as she'll be handing us the keys to the castle under her own free will, I'd care less if we throw her to the dogs or a bordello!" "Well, I better get a piece of her before you're done with the bitchette, Doc!" Wilcox smacked lips, spreading a vile smile. "Yea, that pretty golden heifer yonder will be loathing herself even more than all of us put together!" ***** As they strolled towards the front of the festive mansion grounds, Swainer deftly fielded her standard biographic questions laced with veiled filters while nibbling and savoring rib, innocently measuring her glimpses of his bits and nibbles and her general demeanor and gestures. Building up an unconscious profile. 'She's far more flattered by how much her skillet skills impress me than her looks,' he quizzically surmised to himself. 'Somehow, she's just not into vanity like other chicklettes. Plus, her stride's a straight steady gait while most chicks walking next a guy weave somewhat because their concentration's distracted by light romantic fantasies and being tickled at being alone with a friendly dude, no matter how modest they are. And most chicks are very impressed being in the company of an older man, but she's almost unaffected. Maybe she's just too hung up on her brains to bother asserting her feminine wiles, but it feels more like something else. She's not exactly frosty; she's friendly enough, but too casual somehow, almost as though she's used to being around lots of guys, which is a zero since she's no brothers and her family pretty much keeps her caged from guys her age. I guess Thorehill and company are right; her heart beats to a different drummer. Guess I'm just gonna have to charm harder...' Reaching the solitude of the far grassy front near the packed parking area, he finished off the rib and licked his fingers and grinned at her pleased smile. "Now, I could take that to the bank, Miss Drake. I should kidnap you and chain you in the kitchen!" She tittered; "That wouldn't do much for my 'example' for young aspiring ladies, now would it?" "Miss Drake, you'd be an example even in a pig sty--if you pardon my hyperbole." "Apologies accepted, sir!" He grinned and suavely eyed her. "Funny." "What is?" "In many ways, you're daintier than most girls, even upper crust ones. I find it charmingly cute." She blushed. "Credit to grandma's grooming I guess." "It's not just that. It's like you're always striving for--for perfect femininity in everything you do, as though the whole world was a pageant stage. Almost as though you're a former tomboy refining herself into a perfect princess." She demurred with a coy titter. "You're very keen, Mr. Swainer!" "Well, I can tell you're blooming into an exquisite young lady." "Does that go into my cover feature too?" "Well, you're not only lovely and cultured and witty, but you're different, and I don't just mean in brains." She coyly giggled. "Oh, you don't know, sir!" "Well, it'd be nice to find out," he suavely said, modulating his suave smile and voice. "The urbane elegant woman beneath the young girl-- pardon, young lady. The woman waiting for eighteen to bloom on her own for corporation and her destiny." "I'm rather independent now, sir, even at fifteen." "You're also insufferably immodest." "Really?" "Wearing your brains on your sleeve when you can better strut being beautiful, or don't you know that?" "Now that's a sexist thing to say!" she chaffed. "It's the truth. All through history a woman's greatest born asset has been her looks...and I'm sure you've had a chance to use them." She coyly tittered, "I'm Darla Anne Drake, sir, not Lolita!" "Heck, most of the guys working under you don't care!" "That's quite a brash statement!" "Just human nature. No red-blooded guy works for any Venus without her aura tickling his fancy. I bet you've no idea just how badly you're teasing their virility." Her coy dismissing chuckle veiled an intriguing and tickling notion. "My employees are proper and perfect gentlemen because I demand no less from them." "Yes. I hear that you glare if a male employee dares smiles the wrong way." "Mabel's made it clear and plain to everyone in my orbit to properly toe the line in my presence." "Little Miss Intimidation." "Not really. I maintain very high standards, and one's either rewarded reaching or exceeding them or dismissed in failing them." "Some say your standard is perfection." "I see no reason in not setting an ideal goal." "Sure, if you're a crew of robots. As expert the efficiency expert you are, you shouldn't miss sight of that. You're one ace C.E.O., sure, but all your medals can sink into an intimidating boss very easily. You're still young; there's still time for you to avoid becoming a lobster." "Lobster?" "Hard-shelled with painful claws and a bad attitude." "That'll never happen to me." "Do you know that you can boil a frog happily alive by turning up the heat so very very very slowly over time, and it'll get so used to the slow warmth that it won't move even before it's too late?" "I'm no frog either, sir!" Darla Anne tittered, mulling what she heard and grudgingly nodded. "You're very astute, Mr. Swainer." He grinned; 'Though she doesn't seem all that flattered by my age's interest in her, she seems to appreciate my older agreeing point of view. That's okay; if she feels a touch of daddy in me it couldn't help...' "Just say that I don't to see a bright becoming princess turn into the wicked witch of the south." "But wasn't she the nice one?" she gamely quipped. "See, it's not all accountant and management styles crammed under those tresses after all!" he teased then looked sober and concerned in a fatherly way. "I've seen whiz-kids burn out long before their time, Darla Ann. You might've heard it a thousand times and intellectually brushed it off, but it's true. Enjoy being a child while you're still one." "A 'child'?" She smirked, skirt flouncing as she mockingly mimicked a child doing hopscotch. "See! I can play games with the best of them!" "Then, playing chess with companies is a game to you too! It's too bad you've stopped letting your inner child 'go' for the sake of corporate efficiency." "Sometimes, one most make personal sacrifices to better your lot in life." "'Better'? Pardon, Miss Drake, but to most people in the real world, just clearing the mortgage and getting ahead of bills is being a lot better--and they do it without burning their childhoods on the altar of 'progress'." Darla Anne mildly bridled. "You're rather chevalier for a reporter begging a personal story," she thickly uttered. Inwardly, Swainer smiled. 'Good. Finally got 'neath that soft creamy skin! It's no longer just a formal meeting now. I've goaded opened one of her emotions and that's the door to slide down to the rest.' He shrugged. "Like you, I believe in laying truth on the line, even if it stings. If you want a 'yes man' you're honoring the wrong guy. I would've thought your impeccable logic and discernment would've appreciated that." Her frown lifted into amused contrition. "Other than Grandma, no one's ever lectured me like that for a very long time!" He inwardly grinned; 'Sure. You miss having a daddy around to confide and carp you these formative years, babe...like what you're appreciating in me.' "Well, a wedge of humble pie always keeps the main course in perspective!" She smiled at his boldness then soberly reflected. "I'm not the Snow White you imagine, Mr. Swainer. Not only wasn't I born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but it'd be fair to say that--that I've had a lot of catching up to do to grow up the way I was meant to be." "Already look pretty mature to me--in lots of ways," he quipped to her demure smile. "And you're quite the wiler, sir, spinning on a fifteen year-old minor!" she admonished with somehow lamely, more curious of fielding his repartee. "No; one major young sophisticated MBA of twenty-eight inhabiting a luscious eighteen year-old's body." She twittered. "Mr. Swainer--!" "Hugh. And I don't take back due compliments--no more than you've apologized to others who believe your place is learning school cheerleader routines instead of sitting the head of a boardroom table!" he asserted, inwardly smiling as her face turned from wariness to regard then faced him with shy but twinkling eyes. "I've met honest men before...but I've never met one taking candor to such a rash new level, sir!" "Well, you gotta get outta that big house more often!" he gibed, pausing for her arched eyebrows to settle. "Well, it's true! You can't go anywhere without some relative or lackey tagging along, casting a watchful eye on you." "It's--mainly for security reasons, not my maturity--and I do 'go out' sir!" "Excuse my insolence, Miss Drake, but jet-setting around the world attending corporate cocktails and business parties and movie debuts and barbecues isn't exactly the norm of being 'out'," he stated, inwardly smiling at quiet musive visage. "Yes, I'm sure it must grate on you some being on an invisible leash hopping to pampered lily pads. Restricted where you can go, who to meet, how long to loiter anywhere. Ever so gradually making you lose touch with your roots...and yourself. You know, I've met young starlets who have techniques around cages like that." "Oh?" she asked, feigning light interest. "You've read the Prince and the Pauper, haven't you?" "Of course." "Well, let me propose giving you a good time on the town under your family's nose. Not the castle in cloud fairylands in your circles but how regular people live and play. See how the other honest half lives-- along with a few amusements that a chaperone might not take a fancy to!" She tittered, "Don't you think gallivanting off with an underage female a little indiscreet, sir?" He smiled into her eyes. "Again, I don't see a minor or a child or even an heiress...but then, I don't know how you see yourself, Darla Anne." Her wary baby-blue eyes scanned his poker grin as though trying to probe some jest or plot. "I'll...consider it, sir." she demurred, as though coy about a novel whimsy. He inwardly grinned. ''Consider it, hell!' She's not only tantalized at the thought of a sly adventure away with an older guy, but thinks she's somehow influenced me to ask her using her feminine wiles for the first time. Self-flattery seduces every time! She's granted me not her confidence but her daughterly regard. Great. Now that we've lowered her defenses, it's time to tickle her brains with some action, shake n' pour!' They crossed the front lawn to the parking area where all kinds sports cars and limos and motorcycles were parked, but one car snagged Darla Anne's eye and dropped her jaw. "Wow!!" She gawked as they approached a sleek low white sports car with flaring rear fins and cowled headlights. "What kind of animal's that??" Swainer grinned. "It's an Allegro. It was the Mustang's forerunner concept car." "Looks way nicer than a Mustang, but I've never seen such before--and I read all about cars!" "Special girl. Well, there were only two prototypes built, my dear. Ford thought it was TOO sporty for an affordable car." "Wow!!" He grinned and opened the door. Her eyes popped. "It's yours??" He modestly shrugged. "Hobby. Want to try it on?" "Do I!!" she gushed, bouncing into the driver's deep bucket seat behind the wheel and gawked over the wood panel dashboard and played with the mahogany wheel, feet dangling shy of the pedals. "Vrooooom! Vrooooom! Zoooommm!" He chuckled. "I'm sure you do that in all the cars you have." "Yes, but I can't drive anything for another year." "Too bad. Wring the stick." "Uh?" "The stick shift. Like this--" he leaned over to place her slim hand on the polished oak stick shift, his face brushing her silky tresses as he did so. "First, second, overdrive. Zero to sixty in six point four seconds." "Wow!" "Wanna sneak a spin?" he baited with sly twinkle of impish intrigue and her blue eyes grew wide and wistful. "Would I??" she gushed, then for moment she looked back towards the barbecue as though a leash were being tugged. "I guess you're right," he deftly uttered with a rueful shrug of regret. "I'd let you behind the wheel, but I'm afraid the state troopers might have something to say about that, anyway." "Don't worry! We could drive the back roads on our property! They twist and turn for miles! I ride Emily along them all the time!" "Sure?" "Positive! Please! Let's drive??" He grinned. "The lady commands!" he said as she eagerly slid into the passenger bucket seat as he got in and gunned the motor and drive off pulled out, following her directions into the back roads winding the woods and shrubs and fields. Swainer felt a rush of macho pride glancing the teen Playboy playmate next to him, her pert face to the wind and her flaxen tresses fluttering like a flag of angel hair. 'Damn, but she's one nice piece!' he assessed. 'What's she gonna be like at eighteen? Twenty? A model easy if she'd rest her freakin' brains some!' Several times Swainer felt the habitual move to stray his hand off the stick shift to 'brush' her nicely-rounded knee, but ruefully fought back the compelling notion; 'Steady guy! Not sure just how tickled she is about me yet; sure don't wanna slight her off this early. Besides, Thorehill will have my head! "Wheeeeee!!!" Holding her Stetson over wildly flagging tresses, she squealed with thrill or terror as he burned rubber over bouncing dirt roads and tight skidding turns, and the more daring and perilous his driving got the more elated she became. Swainer frowned; 'Damn! She's not melting!' Chicks or pretty pals in his cars were cowering and shrieking white as ghosts when he'd do one-twenty on narrow dirt roads or skid out on hairpin turns or careened between trees or played 'chicken' with pick- up trucks. When they swooned enough with fright and dismay he'd stop and gently scoop their pale quivering jello from their seats and lay them on the grass, trembling still and just ripe for further cooking... Not this one. She was eating it up almost like she's on a roller coaster. Even her shrieking face of exhilaration reminded him of boys recklessly pedaling English racers down cratered downhill streets. 'Damn! If she weren't so damn feminine I'd almost say her hide was butch! I thought wiling a sheltered kid over was gonna be a pushover but she's breaking the rules! Even the youngest teenage girls are like cute tinder boxes waiting for the right fancy to light 'em up, whether it's the Beatles or some sly college jock. But the way things are going I'm not going to fan any friendliness into a groupie flame in her for months! Sure, she giggles and blushes at my moves, but it's not strumming the right strings in her, like she's either immune or simply hasn't 'got it.' Crazy! She's no iceberg; it's something else keeping her unfazed by my smiles and teases. Damn! I'm just going to have to woo her basic nature a little heavier, like with that Gibson boy- chick'. He chuckled to himself; 'Now that was one gorgeous doll-dude! But I finally wore his shy away and buttered his awesome buns. But if I try that on this kid, Thorehill and his posse will have a necktie party waiting for me! No, I need a new tact... and since she's getting wet panties over a wild ride, I'll stroke that fire some and pick things up from there. May take a little heavy petting, but what Thorehill doesn't know she won't care. Yea, the back way to her heart!' He glanced at her joy and thrill and felt a tweak in his heart. 'Poor bunny. If she only knew what a couple of pissed-off dudes have in store for her--even if I don't know. She must've yanked their chains something ferocious to rouse 'em up like that. But then, she might be a budding teaser too; a rich bitchette who likes teasing drooling old fogies. Yeah, I've met that type. Smiles warm as a witches ass to get their kicks stringing poor slobs along and throwing them away like garage when they're bored. What's her net worth again? Her fam's at least over a hundred mil.' 'A hundred friggin' mil! Could buy whole countries for those bucks!' 'And here I am, hustling my ass off just eating hand to mouth while she's living in a different world! No temp work! No starving. No bills. No worries!' 'Well, you better start worrying now, you rich little bitch!' 'Too bad I can't pop her golden cherry...yet!' After rounding a hillside curve, Swainer skidded to a stop and jumped out. "Let's turn you loose, okay?" Darla Anne blinked in surprise. "Huh?" "Want behind the wheel, beautiful?" "Okay!!!" she cried, bouncing into the driver's seat. She giggled and grabbed the wheel. "I can't reach the pedals! Doesn't the seat move up?" He grinned and shook his head. "It's a sports car, babe! You're supposed to lean back and reach long for the wheel and pedals, not hug them!" Desperately, she slumped ungracefully low in the seat, the shiny tips of her boots just touching the pedals. He chuckled. "Now you can't see over the wheel! I guess letting you drive was just a good idea." "Haven't you any cushions or pillows somewhere?" "Hey, what do you think I'm driving around, a motel??" he gibed, stroking his chin before her rueful look. "Wait. I've a solution--if you're not overly modest about it." "Anything!" she cried and he smiled and motioned her out and he sat in the drivers seat and patted his lap. For a moment she hesitated, but the thrill and innocent offer was too overwhelming and she gamely perched his lap, and he reached over to draw her tight thick belt back against him, her skirted knees straddling his and leaving her boots dangling shy of the gas and brake. "I'll do the pedals. You just steer, okay?" "Cool!!" She shifted and he shoved his foot down and the shrieking wheels peeled as they took off like a Cape Kennedy rocket. Darla Anne screamed and giggled around the curves, almost wildly swerving and skidding side to side to stay in the middle of the winding dusty road while Swainer held her against him while perfumery silky tresses fluttered in his face and her derriere bounced upon his throbbing stake while his fingers gently stroked and strummed the sides of her ribs, his subtle manipulations lost in her road thrill. "Whoopppee!!!!!!" Darla Anne happily cried as they jack-rabbited so hard it shoved her back against Swainer like a giant slapped her and lurched her against him even tighter. He wondered whether she felt his hard swell poking between her bouncing cheeks under layers of crinoline slips and cotton skirt. He was gunning the gas so much that she was rasping from excitement and for a few seconds before she lost control on a hairpin curve he slammed the brake before screeching to a dead stop within a meter from a thick oak tree. That did it. Darla Anne was stunned, genuinely shaken, her composure and cockiness jarred by a flit with mortality, flushed with a numbness of vulnerability. He grinned; 'Hope she didn't ruinin' her panties!' Rushing in while the iron was white-hot, Swainer grinned from behind her ear. "Phew! Know, you're one hotshot driver!" Nervously smiling, Darla Anne turned on his lap and brushed back a windswept curl from her cheek. "R--R--Really?" "Yep," he said to a face looking almost childlike, like a lost little girl in a daze while the mortal significance of the near-accident preoccupied her adult mind. Her shock was just starting to lift, but wits and reason hadn't rolled in to fill the vacuum just yet. Swainer didn't wait for her to collect herself back into her previous demeanor. "Unreal," he silkily issued. "Huh?" Very gently, very suavely, he said into her wide child-eyes; "You look so darn coed, but you're really--what--fourteen, right?" Her blue eyes sparkled like all young girls do when fascinated and flattered that their automatic "wow power" snags much older men. "Fifteen--and nine months," she coyly confessed with precocious pride, like a young child. "And this much woman already! Nice...very nice!" he softly crooned to her shy titter while fingering blonde curls and her puppy-dog eyes wavered back as though sensing something deliciously naughty was looming. He knew that she would've already snapped back from the shock of the near accident but her former aloofness was being held back, as though amused by a burglar clown she caught in her house, or girlishly intrigued and titillated by his obvious move-on. He knew she was momentarily between dulled and razor states and it was fleeting unless encouraged and teased and manipulated... "You know, you're one very, very beautiful goddess, don't you?" She blushed and stammered as the heady afterglow of excitement and the bucolic solitude and a flattering male conspired against her cautions and reason. "Er...so...so people tell me..." "Well, you are. Very pretty. A woman. A grown up woman. Just like your intelligence is all grown up, your mind is grown up, your body is too...very very much..." Her coral-glossed wavered if grasping for something to say or protest but Swainer's lips brushed her petal-soft ones and felt her instinctive sucking gasp. His lips pressed on, gently suckled the kiss, leading her past a brotherly kiss. He could feel a faint tenseness brace in her, still skittish but definitely tantalized, like he was breaking in a plain Jane schoolgirl's first kiss. He didn't give shyness a chance to surface and derail the moment with reason or rationality or reservations, but steeping her lips full in the full tactile sensation. His lips kneaded hers firmer and felt traces and signatures of past responses; 'Well, she's a virgin alright. Tho' she's Frenchied before, likely lesbie tongue wrestling...maybe with a guy once or twice too, but that was just playtime shit, nothing serious, nothing deep. So she's had no deep feeling hits yet, not even a crush. She knows squat about really being fired up. Never felt real passion. Mindlessly, automatically, she swiveled to perch sidesaddle on his lap to more fully face him and deepen the kiss. 'Good. Gently now, gently...' His lips gently sucked her inner upper lip and felt her underlying tension haltingly ebb. Not yielding, but that guarded slackening of one trying to sip forbidden thrills without slipping down the slope. 'Like how brainy folks and scientists try to have their cake and eat it too, he surmised. 'That's okay. Let her try to only sip while I hold her head under...' His tongue moved to pitch and gently brushed around the rim of her lips, gingerly touching, teasing, skipping, returning, pulling back. Not entering, just teasingly knocking the door, leading on her female instincts, though they were somehow different and more reserved. Not frosty, but indefinably shy, as though guarding her virtue or some other deep secret. Still, he could feel her ever so slightly move towards him, as though shyly trying to coax his lips to knead more, his tongue to come tickle more, but he deftly, reluctantly, held back. 'Yea, she's been jaded by sloppy move-ons before, when everything was just pushed on her like a vat of undiluted perfume, drowning her enjoyment of the delicate subtleties of the experience. I gotta retrain her... Swainer kept his tongue to only roam the inner lining of her lips, teasing her fantasy of what else could be. He wasn't intrusive or forceful. His press was almost innocent, but hinted of better, more hedonistic pleasures. In response she pressed harder; 'Yea, she's just realizing that all her past fondling fun were just kiddie tame games and I'm guiding her new to a new undreamt of thrill,' Swainer smugly assessed. He felt himself throb and stake up against her turned skirted buttocks. 'Yeah. She's too way into 'it' to notice. Or care...' At the apt time he gently peeled from her clinging lips and gauged the dewy dreamy shimmer of her wide deep blue eyes and their puppy-eager panting, their suspension from admonishment or care, breathlessly consenting a ticket to reckless titillation. He inwardly smiled with victory; 'Finally! Took long enough to stroke her up into a cow-eyed schoolgirl! Yea, she's hooked like famished perch! Always said teenyboppers were puppy pushovers!' 'Now to seal the deal...' Swainer leaned to press another kiss but this time his lips prodded and parted hers and his tongue slithered into her warm wet breathy cave to tag and tangle a sister muscle while his sly palm gently caressed a nicely rounded silken knee and soft sleek lower thigh. Her breath quickened and he monitored it, throttling down his caresses to avoid tripping some indoctrinated modesty alarm until he could slip under its radar while her former skittishness thawed like warm wax as she merged into the kiss and he deftly obliged her compelling yearns. He respected them, tenderly answered, gently applied, and often found himself gently tempering her combustible response. 'Easy, easy, babe! Getting no teen jock grubbing or pawing from me! You'll soon intuitively sense and appreciate that I'm not out to mash any schoolgirl but homaging a woman!' His lips deftly ruled and trained hers while his palm caressed silken knee and lower thigh and she breathy pants quickened. He noticed that her returning kiss seemed to miss the passion of other fems, rather its driver seemed to be more erotic thrill than kindled emotions. He chuckled to himself; 'Funny; all the bra-burners say that women are in love for feelings and men are into it for lust. I guess Darla Anne missed their book.' 'Okay, up periscope...' Swainer's lips peeled from her eager cling and smiled into her frustrated but dreamily eager look. He recognized the wide doe look of fondness, of devotion, of yearning. Though her feelings had yet to root deep enough for his mission, he knew that from here on he could never be below a boyfriend in her eyes. 'Her first crush! Believe it? Better than I hoped! I got her right in the heel. She might be sharp as a whip upstairs, but she's neglected to exercise her emotional maturity. I mean almost sixteen and barely really kissed? She should've been getting out more often; a chicklette like this ought have dozen drooling boyfriends. Damn shame to guys everywhere! Another reason why it's never good to go mixing brains with beauty!' He clasped her rounded chin and slyly smiled. "You really are a woman, know that?" She blinked into reality and burst into giggles and ruefully mulled her; 'Know, you're so different somehow, babe. Wish I'd you all to myself to found out how, babe, really do. But, I'm afraid I gotta share...' "You know, babe; you're so dang pretty I wanna celebrate!" She blinked aback, as though being yanked from a dip in heaven. "Celebrate?" "Yep!" Swainer reaching over her into the glove compartment and took out a champagne bottle and Dixie cups. "You always keep champagne in your glove compartment?" "Hey, I'm a Boy Scout; Always prepared! In case I want to praise a classy real woman, but you fooled me." "Fooled you?" "Yea...because you're no kid," her smoothly complimented her coy titter before leaning for a brief kiss to feed her whetted titillation. He popped the bubbly and poured it into Dixie cups, deftly passing the peach colored one to her. "Er, your sisters won't mind if you take just a little sip of sinful indulgence, will they?" Darla Anne smirked like a rebellious kid sister. "I can do what I want!!" He grinned and held up to toast and watched her gamely taste another vice, followed by another soft kiss kicking off a round of petting behind the wheel. His lips trailed kisses from her parted breathy lips and along her smooth cheek to her throat, slowly feeling her responses wane as her body lolled into a docile daze. Swainer's palm stroked higher from nicely rounded knees and crept higher to stroke warm taut silky-slick thigh. Swainer paused and eyed Darla Anne's blank pretty face and waved a hand before her aimless baby-blue gaze. He clucked with smacking lips. "Far out! One perfect baby Barbie!" He reached over and corked the bottle and tossed it and the cups on the back shelf, brushing her shell-pink as he did which teased him down to his loins. 'Damn, but you're so nice!' Swainer swore, his lips attacking the perfumed crook of her neck, his fingers busy as mice in a dark filthy kitchen hastily groping at her blouse buttons to brush the crests of creamy peaches nestled deeper her neckline-- 'Shit! Let's burn the candle while it's here, guy!' he muttered to a sly festering whim and, licking his chops he took a cautious glance around then hastily turned Darla Ann's numb form back about to face the wheel and drew her snug up against him, her dangling skirted legs straddling his while his throbbing firmness strained against the cage of his closed fly and a skirted derriere which teasingly bounced upon his maddeningly humping lap. His excitement mounting, his hands hitched her skirt and petti-slips high as they stroked lean smooth thighs far back to the rim of satiny panties where his sweaty palms slid under and caressed firm rounded cheeks; 'Geeze!' He felt himself leak and tremble with anxious yearns. 'Hell, they won't know shit either!!" he muttered behind her tress- draped ear as he hastily unbuckled his belt and yanked his fly down to spring his anxiousness free, its hot seeping mushroom bulb mashed against and frustrated by a silk-shielded valley while he groped for the panty's waistband to pull it down--- "Tryin' to get a head, guy??..." NEXT UP: Operation Just Desserts II