Warning: This is a VERY taboo, vintage, hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), 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 give a proper description.
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Dorothy Martin was standing on a footstool in her closet, arching on tiptoes in a way that hoisted her skirt just to the tops of her flesh-colored nylons and hinted at the creamiest white soft skin imaginable. Her muscles were tense, and the round tightly spaced cheeks of her behind flexed and rippled sumptuously against the tight cling of her rayon skirt. She was a picture of utter concentration and absorption. She was watching hereighteen-year-old brown-haired brother Kenneth fuck.
Rance Martin and his beautiful blonde wife Eleanor had had an urgent phone call from the latter's sister in Muskegon that her husband had had a fatal heart attack and she was utterly beside herself. So Rance and Eleanor had told Dorothy and Kenneth to look after themselves for a couple of days until they could get back from Muskegon and help poor Alma make the necessary funeral arrangements and take care of those thousand and one pressing and agonizing details which always accompany death in a family.
Dorothy and Kenneth were a little set back, and after their first expression of sympathy for their Aunt Alma, felt a little miffed because it looked very much as if the planned Martin trip to California would certainly be delayed if not postponed in view of this unlooked-for circumstance. And today was the second day that Rance and Eleanor had been gone from the pleasant little bungalow on North Mildred on the North Side of the Windy City of Chicago. And young Kenneth had lost no time in taking advantage of a golden opportunity.
*****
Dorothy Martin was standing on a footstool in her closet, arching on tiptoes in a way that hoisted her skirt just to the tops of her flesh-colored nylons and hinted at the creamiest white soft skin imaginable. Her muscles were tense, and the round tightly spaced cheeks of her behind flexed and rippled sumptuously against the tight cling of her rayon skirt. She was a picture of utter concentration and absorption. She was watching hereighteen-year-old brown-haired brother Kenneth fuck.
Rance Martin and his beautiful blonde wife Eleanor had had an urgent phone call from the latter's sister in Muskegon that her husband had had a fatal heart attack and she was utterly beside herself. So Rance and Eleanor had told Dorothy and Kenneth to look after themselves for a couple of days until they could get back from Muskegon and help poor Alma make the necessary funeral arrangements and take care of those thousand and one pressing and agonizing details which always accompany death in a family.
Dorothy and Kenneth were a little set back, and after their first expression of sympathy for their Aunt Alma, felt a little miffed because it looked very much as if the planned Martin trip to California would certainly be delayed if not postponed in view of this unlooked-for circumstance. And today was the second day that Rance and Eleanor had been gone from the pleasant little bungalow on North Mildred on the North Side of the Windy City of Chicago. And young Kenneth had lost no time in taking advantage of a golden opportunity.