"Now let's really have some fun with her," Dan Taylor panted.
All three men began working their rigid pricks fast and hard in Wendy's mouth, cunt and asshole. She felt incredibly stuffed with cock, shocked and excited at the same time. She felt her body bounced and shaken as they fucked her mercilessly. Slowly her shock faded and she felt herself carried away on a tide of wicked pleasure.
"Ummmmmm," Wendy moaned.
She started to come, and she kept coming again and again during the five minutes that they fucked her. They used her mouth and twat and bumhole savagely, yet somehow she got off on it. She was ashamed of herself, yet she couldn't contain her excitement.
At last the men were coming, too. Wendy heard Ned yelp, and then her mouth and throat were filled with his tasty hot jism. She eagerly gulped the sticky stuff, swallowing every last drop. As she gurgled and swallowed, she felt molten-hot come flooding her cunt and asshole, heard Marty and Dan moaning as they came.
Then they left her alone and panting on the rug. Ned went to make drinks for the men, and Dan said casually to Wendy, "You run along now, honey. We got business to talk about."
Blushing with shame, Wendy hastily dressed and left the luxury hotel for her own cramped little room. For the first time she began to wonder if the Miss North America title was worth the price she was paying. She'd been degraded in every possible way, selling her young body to strangers, doing every kinky thing in the book. Was it really worth it?
"Yes," Wendy told herself firmly. "Yes. Because tomorrow I'll be Miss North America – and by God I've earned it."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wendy stood on the stage with the other contestants and listened to Dan Taylor announce the winner of the Miss North America title. As Dan stepped to the microphone holding the huge gold trophy, Wendy got ready to step forward. Her heart pounded, for this was the biggest moment of her life.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Dan said, "I'm happy to announce that this year's Miss North America is – Miss California, Jane Stevens."
As a pretty redhead rushed to receive the trophy and the applause, Wendy felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. She hadn't won the title she hadn't even been named a runner-up. Dan Taylor and the other judges had shut her out completely.
She managed to maintain her poise while all the girls sang one last song, but as they filed from the stage she hurried over to Dan Taylor, her eyes filled with tears of anger and disappointment. Taylor gave her an impatient glance and tried to move away, but Wendy caught him by the arm.
"Why did you do this to me?" she sobbed. "I thought we had a deal. You know how much that title meant to me. You promised."
Taylor jerked his arm out of her grasp and said coldly, "I didn't promise a thing, baby. I just said I'd check you out. You didn't make the grade. You're no prettier than the other girls, your act stinks, and you don't even ball that well. Now, leave me alone of I'll have one of my bodyguards throw you out."
"But I earned that title," Wendy wept. "I worked for it all the way from Oakdale."
"Sure, you worked for it," Taylor sneered, "in your own rotten way. But you better understand this, baby – in the big time, you have to play by the rules. Now get lost."
Wendy stumbled back to her hotel room and started to pack. There was nowhere for her to go now but back to Oakdale and her job waiting tables. She'd blown her chance for fame and fortune. She knew she had no talent, so if she couldn't make it on her looks and her body, she wasn't going anywhere. She was doomed to stay in a one-horse town.
"To hell with it," Wendy suddenly muttered.
She left her packing half finished and walked out of the hotel in the low-cut black evening gown she'd bought for the finals. She entered the nearest cocktail lounge and ordered a double martini. The least she could do was give herself a night out, a night of complete oblivion, before going home.
Shortly after Wendy entered the bar, a little old man came in. Wendy couldn't help noticing him because he was so neatly and expensively dressed. He was perhaps five-feet-four, in his late sixties, and had a thick shock of white hair. He had a trim broad-shouldered body and the quiet confidence of a man with plenty of money.
The old man said something to the bartender, who immediately came over to Wendy's table. "Mr. Arthur Williams wants to know if you'd like to join him for a drink, Miss," the bartender said formally. Then he added in a low whisper, "I wouldn't pass it up if I were you, kiddo. He's one of the richest men in the country."
"Very well," Wendy said, managing a weak smile.
At least it would be better than sitting alone. She walked over to Arthur Williams' table and the old man pulled out a chair for her and signaled the bartender. Two double martinis arrived almost before Wendy could sit down. Up close she saw that the old man had once been quite attractive. In fact he still wasn't bad to look at.
"My dear," he said, "I'm Arthur Williams. You may call me Art. I know who you are, Wendy. I've been watching you during the whole contest. I'm terribly sorry you lost. I know it must be a big disappointment for you."
Wendy couldn't hold back the tears that rushed to her big blue eyes. "Oh, Mr. Williams – I mean, Art," she said, "I feel so awful about it. That title meant everything to me."
Art patted her hand. "You're very young," he said, "and you have no idea of the marvelous opportunities for a girl with your looks. Why don't you let me tell you about them over dinner? I know an exclusive restaurant that might help take your mind off your troubles."
Wendy accepted. She didn't want to be alone that night, and Art was very soothing company. They had a delicious dinner which must have set him back a hundred dollars, and then he invited her to his penthouse for a nightcap. Again Wendy accepted, not wanting to be alone with her angry and bitter thoughts.
She found the costly decor of his penthouse dazzling. She couldn't even begin to guess how much money had gone into it. Art made them drinks from a built-in bar, and they sat together on the couch, admiring the sweeping view of New York City at night.
"Feeling better?" Art asked.
"Not much," Wendy sighed. "Tomorrow I have to go back to Oakdale. I have a job as a waitress. That's not very exciting."
Art chuckled and reached for her hand. "My dear," he said, "you can stay right here in New York and make all the money you want. All you have to do is keep a lonely old man company."
"Company?" Wendy said.
"Like tonight, for instance," Art said. "If you'll stay with me, Wendy, I'll give you two hundred dollars."
Wendy's head reeled. Two hundred dollars for one fuck? It seemed incredible. But she could certainly use the money. Her wardrobe for the various contests had cost her every penny of her savings. In fact she didn't even have the price of a bus ticket home. Art hardly turned her on – he was old enough to be her grandfather – but Wendy didn't hesitate to accept his proposition.
"All right, Art," she said, "we can give it a try, at least for tonight."
"Excellent," he said with a big grin. "I've had my eye on you for so long, Wendy. I've wanted you so much. Please, could we begin by just taking off your clothes? I'd love to see all of you."
"Of course, Art," Wendy purred.
She was naturally flattered by the old man's adoration, and she'd lost her modesty long ago. She didn't hesitate to get to her feet and open the long zipper of her clinging black evening gown. As she was taking off her dress, Art took some bills from his wallet and tucked them into her purse. Wendy grinned and let her dress waft to the floor.
She stood still in front of the beaming old man, wearing just her black lace bra and panties and high heels. Art devoured her with his little twinkling blue eyes, his gaze running up and down her tall young body. Wendy felt a naughty little thrill. She loved to show off her spectacular figure.