Warning: This is a vintage hard-boiled full length, 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 hive a proper description. Check out the free sample if you can.
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"Oh shit!" Laura Vinter cried out in frustration as she paced the living room floor back and forth like a tigress in heat. That strange yet familiar throbbing tingle swept like a summer breeze over her fluttering pussy as she took another drink of Scotch from the glass in her right hand. Laura looked over at the wall clock and saw that it was one-thirty in the morning. Her daughter Nancy had promised to be home from the high school football game at ten. She was over three hours late.
Laura sighed and put down her drink, feeling empty and wasted inside. It was getting to be more and more difficult raising Nancy. Ever since her husband Byron's disappearance in a mountain-climbing accident last year, Laura was faced with the dual problems of getting enough money to life on and raising a sixteen-year-old daughter. She wasn't solving either problem any too well. Because Byron was listed as missing and not dead, Laura couldn't collect his life insurance. And Nancy was almost becoming uncontrollable. She was staying out late nights and sometimes coming home drunk. The girl missed her father--Laura could understand and sympathize with that. She missed Byron terribly herself. But Nancy was ruining herself.
And this isn't helping me, Laura said to herself as she took another long gulp of Scotch. Fortunately she'd been able to land a job as a cocktail waitress in one of the bars in the downtown Los Angeles Hilton. I might as well have been a sheet changer in a whore house, she thought as she finished her drink and slammed the glass down noisily on the coffee table in front of her. Laura shuddered when she thought of all the customers she had to smile at as they rubbed their greasy palms over her smooth, creamy thighs. Laura had heard nearly every line in the book by the time she'd finished her second week on the job. Most of the men were fat, balding and fortyish, in town for some convention or other and aching to plow their cocks into new cunts before they flew back home to wife and the kids.
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"Oh shit!" Laura Vinter cried out in frustration as she paced the living room floor back and forth like a tigress in heat. That strange yet familiar throbbing tingle swept like a summer breeze over her fluttering pussy as she took another drink of Scotch from the glass in her right hand. Laura looked over at the wall clock and saw that it was one-thirty in the morning. Her daughter Nancy had promised to be home from the high school football game at ten. She was over three hours late.
Laura sighed and put down her drink, feeling empty and wasted inside. It was getting to be more and more difficult raising Nancy. Ever since her husband Byron's disappearance in a mountain-climbing accident last year, Laura was faced with the dual problems of getting enough money to life on and raising a sixteen-year-old daughter. She wasn't solving either problem any too well. Because Byron was listed as missing and not dead, Laura couldn't collect his life insurance. And Nancy was almost becoming uncontrollable. She was staying out late nights and sometimes coming home drunk. The girl missed her father--Laura could understand and sympathize with that. She missed Byron terribly herself. But Nancy was ruining herself.
And this isn't helping me, Laura said to herself as she took another long gulp of Scotch. Fortunately she'd been able to land a job as a cocktail waitress in one of the bars in the downtown Los Angeles Hilton. I might as well have been a sheet changer in a whore house, she thought as she finished her drink and slammed the glass down noisily on the coffee table in front of her. Laura shuddered when she thought of all the customers she had to smile at as they rubbed their greasy palms over her smooth, creamy thighs. Laura had heard nearly every line in the book by the time she'd finished her second week on the job. Most of the men were fat, balding and fortyish, in town for some convention or other and aching to plow their cocks into new cunts before they flew back home to wife and the kids.