Joy ride by Inge Carnelle - Chapter 01

1967 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Sexpionage

B.U.S.T. UP!

A houseboat fitted out as a house of prostitution, staffed by desirable girls of every shape, size, and color...

The widow of the deposed dictator of the South American nation of San Posterior...

A pair of Chinese gamblers who know more tricks than how to cheat at fan tan...

The most dangerous weapon the world has ever known, capable of leveling an entire city in seconds...

WHAT COULD IT ALL ADD UP TO? Another dastardly plot by S.T.R.O.K.E., that's what!

And who has to rush into the breach and save the free world from a Red Chinese takeover?

Jane Blond—the secret agent from B.U.S.T., armed only with her electric panties and her incurable yen for men—that's who!

The Girl from B.U.S.T. - Book #2

Chapter 01

Daringly Reginald Seducia, dictator of the South American country of San Posterior, crawled further out on the tree limb amid the lush tropical foliage.

There she was! What breasts! Oh, what breasts!

Delicately sculptured swells, color of warm toast, little amber-red nipples pointing coyly toward the sun as if to tempt the gods. Reginald felt dizzy and swayed on his perch. He hoped he had remembered to take his salt pills. It was very hot. Yes, very hot What was she doing? Going to wash her hair in the stream? He would give her a surprise, by golly! Several times now she had managed to evade his caresses. And he was the dictator, tool But today, like a puma, he would pounce! It was a foolproof plant What! She was sticking her toe into the water.

She intended to take a bath. Oh this was awful! He would have to get down there before she took off her skirt! He could never convince her unless he got there while she still had it on. As the thought of the garment came into Reginald's mind, the girl raised the hem of the flowered wrap-around and thrust it into the waist, exposing her capable brown thighs as she waded into the stream. A sudden discomfort caused the dictator to change his position.

A certain part of him was demanding more commodious quarters, and his hand went inside his pants.

She began to giggle. Looking down, Reginald saw what amused her: the reflection of his hairy white calves, hanging down from the limb between his white socks and his wide-legged shorts. How embarrassing!

He sought to pull his legs up and fell with a terror-stricken screech as the tree limb swayed and dropped him, more like a snowball than a puma, onto the bank.

But Reginald Seducia did not lose his composure easily. He was determined, persistent. How else could he have become a dictator? Even as the brown beauty removed from his clutch the breast he had seized instinctively to break his fall, he was unfastening a goatskin bag from his belt and rubbing a little of its contents over his hands. This done, he removed the belt and laid it with the bag on a flat stone jutting over the water.

"You are not hurt, your excellency?" the girl giggled. ''No! Stop!" Reginald gagged her cries by covering her mouth with his and thrusting his tongue deep into it. He caressed the backsides of her pearly little teeth, the tiny ridges far back in the roof of her mouth.

How odd, thought the girl. Didn't he like her anymore? He had not put one finger on her bosom since she had retracted it. She opened her eyes and glanced down. Yes, the nipples were erect, pointy.

They were even quivering. His hands were on her skirt. Not under her skirt—just on it. What was the matter with him? Had he forgotten to take his salt pills or something? She pressed against him momentarily. No, nothing was the matter with him.

Well, let him play his little game. Just as long as he didn't become disenchanted with her. Already she was in possession of a number of lovely presents he had given her in hopes of winning her favor.

Indeed Reginald's wife, Serena, would have been surprised to learn that her Paris perfume and her sheer green lounging pajamas had not been stolen, as she thought, by her maid.

Of course, Reginald's sought-for love partner did not get out of these little scrapes with him unsinged For instance, the area between her thighs screamed for attention. She pushed her legs tightly together and squeezed in hopes of achieving a small measure of satisfaction. She was getting hot, extremely hot. Beads of perspiration stood out on the walls of her bosom's valley like jewels sparkling in the sunshine.

She gasped. She must not give in. Afterward she could go and find the young chemist Reginald employed to analyze samples of ore from the country's copper mines. The chemist would cool her passions, and there was no point in holding out on him. He never gave her anything.

The heat was increasing. It seemed to be coming from her skirt. She felt the need to throw off the garment, but instead she gritted her teeth, clamping down—in doing so on the busy tongue of her ruler.

Reginald, ever spartan, acknowledged his injury only by a tiny moan, perhaps because it was difficult to do more with one's tongue caught firmly between the teeth of another. However, the girl suddendly released her quarry in order to utter an ear-piercing shriek. Reginald's own shriek joined hers as he tested his newly recovered member.

"My skirt!" she cried. "Where is my skirt?"

"Gone," said Reginald solemnly, gazing at the exposed mound between her thighs.

"Gone? Gone where? It's not here anywhere!

See here, your excellency, that was my second-best skirt."

"It's gone,'' Reginald said. "It's become something else." It was so easy it was almost a shame, he thought. As she searched the ground frantically, he lifted his pith helmet and shook it. Into the air soared a butterfly, butter yellow with a strange reddish marking on its wings, one long cylinder flanked closely by two round marks, one on each side. It was the rare Eros butterfly, worshipped by the natives because of its peculiar pattern.

He drew her attention to it where it perched on a leaf and she prostrated herself before it, bruising her lovely nipples on the rocks.

'There," said Reginald, "is your skirt. I saw it happen. Didn't you feel anything odd?"

She nodded, speechless, remembering the heat on her thighs.

"It's a miracle," Reginald said. "What do you think it means?"

There was only one thing it could mean w: when you considered that her skirt had been transformed into a love god. ''Your excellency," she moaned.

"Take me."

"Call me Reggie," said the gentleman, dropping his pants and wasting no time about propping her thighs big and wide.

His excellency did not notice that he jarred the goatskin and spilled some of its contents onto the rock, as he hurled himself toward the twitching gateway between the pillars of her upraised legs.

Undaunted by his earlier injury, his tongue found its way more into her mouth, while he thrust deeply into her other mouth simultaneously, fastening his hands under her buttocks to press himself further inside. She felt the unnerving battering of his member against the back of her velvety tunnel. She moaned and began to thrash, her legs falling and embracing Reginald around his squirming rear.

She was getting hot again. Vainly she tried to roll Reginald over so that she could get on top, away from the heating rock that overhung the water.

She bit his tongue lightly so that he withdrew it and she gasped, not missing a beat with her churning bottom, "I think ... think the rock ... Reggie—"

At this point her words were drowned, quite literally, as the rock disintegrated and they fell into the pool.

''Dam it," thought His Excellency. He made the mistake of withdrawing himself almost to the door of her tunnel, so that he might impress on her anew the power of his thrusts. He groaned as the cold water poured over his member and plowed his way vigorously back into the warm Gulf Stream of her love channel before the chill could affect his size.

A howl erupted nearby in the jungle. Abruptly the girl sat up, an action which the agile Reggie did not allow to loosen him from his congenial abode.

"It's the death cry!" she said.

"Forget it," said Reggie.

The appalling cry came again and a large band of spear-equipped natives ran into the clearing. His Excellency and his playmate began to splash about gaily, as though they had only been having a good swim. ''Whee!" Reginald said. But even he, with his imperfect mastery of the native tongue, could understand the meaning of the shouts that reached his ears.

"Kill the dictator!"

"Down with the ruler!"

"Roast him on the sacrificial fire!"

His Excellency leaped from the water and began to run, pausing to clap his white pith helmet onto his head and grab his goat-skin bag. He could not understand it, he thought, as he dashed through the jungle in his hat and soaking wet socks. He had always been on such friendly terms with the natives.

It weren't as though he'd been a bad dictator, either. Of course he had exploited the copper mines and had gotten rather rich. Built himself a nice little palace, had had exquisite coffee liqueurs imported from Mexico along with little candy cups to be eaten after the contents were imbibed. But once a year he gave everybody a present.

This year, he had made a big hit by giving every man, woman and child a pair of those ridiculous giant earrings that were the rage in the States.

And he, personally, could not be held responsible for the time when Serena, his wife, had ordered all the villages deloused.

Reaching a path, Reggie picked up his bicycle where he had left it on entering the jungle and began to pedal furiously, a lone, naked figure with a slightly protruding stomach, bending over the handlebars, his bare rear rising from the seat and vibrating with vigor. His Excellency thanked his lucky stars for the invention of the bicycle. If it weren't for that, they would have caught him by now. Chills ran down his spine as he heard the death cry pursuing him.

The palace gates came into sight. Reggie pedaled inside, dropped the machine and ran inside, up the wide marble staircase that led to his wife's chambers. Serena was sitting propped amid pillows in the middle of her bed, wearing a rainbow-striped pajama suit of raw silk, and arranging with a comb the sparse hairs of her favorite pet and companion, a sour-faced orangutan.

"Made a mess of it again, didn't you?" she observed coldly, seeing his unclothed state. "Even these savages won't have you, and I don't blame them. You always make such a mess of it. No refinement at all. Always the usual manner. Thighs up. Thrust, thrust, churn and then that awful gasp you give. And that stomach! Disgraceful! How do you ever expect to satisfy anyone, unless you go on a diet so you can get your silly thing in all the way? I don't know how I stand it!"

"Mostly you don't." said Reggie, who, without pausing to dress was pulling chests out of the closets.

"Is this all the gold we've got?"

"What are you doing?" Serena demanded, sitting up quickly. "I didn't say you could „ "

''We're leaving," Reggie said. "Native uprising."

He clapped his hands and two servants came in and began to take out the gold.

''Native uprising! Oh, don't be silly. Well, I don't care why we're leaving just as long as we are. Let's go to Rome. You'll fit in with the old ruins there. Now, let's see, what shall I take? We're not going to fly, are we? Herbert gets dreadfully airsick when we fly."

The orangutan scowled and bared his teeth at Reggie, as if he already felt ill and blamed His Excellency.

"My butterfly collection," Reggie said, dashing out of the room. On the stairs he passed the maid, Lupe, who was just answering Serena's ring. Seeing his condition, she burst into hysteric giggles.

Reggie paused and gazed at the twin points under her thin peasant blouse. He wished Serena would not make the household servants cover their bosoms.

He glanced around. There was much confusion—houseboys and maids streaking up and down the stairs, screams, the occasional clatter of a native spear as it hit a window. His Excellency thought about the nearness of death and made an executive decision. He ripped off her blouse.

"Sir Reginald!" Lupe shrieked, arching her back over the banister so that he could appreciate the full extent of her glory. Quickly she pinched the tips of her breasts between her thumb and index finger, so that they stood out from the soft pink cushions beneath. Reggie gave her the sincerest applause possible! His member stood up. Lupe succumbed to another fit of giggles which caused her protrusions to jog enticingly. His Excellency ripped off her skirt and pinned her with her backbone aligned along the banister. He lifted her leg.

"Your Excellency!" protested Lupe. Reggie paused. "What will you give me?" she giggled.

Reggie intercepted a pair of natives with a chest, opened it and lifted out a handful of gold coins.

Dumping them into her palm he lifted her compliant leg and slung it over the railing. Reggie straddled the banister also and shoved himself between her legs. It was not true what Serena said .

It most certainly would go in all the way! .

"Oooh!" Lupe said as he penetrated her. In her delight she let go her hold on the railing and slid downward impaling herself very pleasantly on Reginald. The force of her fall, however, caused Reggie to slide downward and his member came out of her tunnel.

"Here I come, Your Excellency!" Lupe called, releasing her hold and sliding down once more over the beckoning spire of his manhood.

"Golly!" said the dictator, seizing her breast in his mouth and growling while he shook it like a puppy playing with a rubber toy. To his surprise Lupe's foot rose and kicked him, making him scoot downward.

''Whee," cried Lupe, propelling herself toward him. Reginald gasped in alarm as he noted the speed with which the female missile hurled herself at him, and this time they slid together all the way to the bottom of the stairs toppling from the banister and landing in a squirming heap on the floor.

There was no nonsense about the forceful churning of Reggie's hips, and in a moment he gave that gasp that Serena found so awful That was followed immediately by three agonized moans and a long sigh of release from Lupe, and then the native death cry. Reggie leaped to his feet.

"Quick! Go and hurry up your mistress!" he said.

"But Your Excellency," said Lupe, "I know why—" Her words were drowned out in a death cry, terrifyingly nearby, and Reggie raced off to rescue his butterflies. Lupe shrugged, and, unable to find her clothes, she went upstairs naked.

Reggie entered a large chamber and turned on the lights. He drew a deep breath of satisfaction. There they were, his pets! Case after case of butterflies . . . live butterflies. Reggie could have never stood to kill one of them, and, in fact, had been known to weep over casualties. Red, green, blue, gold—every specimen of South American butterfly was represented in his collection. The only thing he ever wanted from life was to be a lepidopterist.

But his father had made him go into politics instead, and here he was. Reggie sighed, thinking of his wasted life, and then began to marshal the servants to carry out the heavy butterfly cases in which were rotted plants and flowers for the pleasure of his captives.

"Don't be frightened, my little beauties," he murmured, and ran outside to supervise the loading of the cases and the gold chests onto the river launch.

Serena, having heard the death cry, was already aboard along with the still-naked Lupe. Serena was almost hidden under Herbert, who, sitting in her lap, had wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his head against her shoulder in terror.

"You're not going to take that ape!" Reggie said.

"Herbert is not an ape," Serena said with dignity, pressing her hands over Herbert's ears. "Herbert is an orangutan, and if you must refer to him other than by name, you will have to call him that."

"Herbert is an ape in my book," Reggie said, "and I'm not going all the way down this river with that creature in the same boat and that's that!"

"Well, don't go, then. Stay here. Just stay here with your precious savages! This rebellion has spoiled my whole day. My life is nothing but drudge, way out here in this stupid jungle. I don't know why I didn't marry the prince of some nice quiet little European principality instead of you, Lichenstien, for instance."

Herbert had crawled off his owner's lap and was smoothing the reddish brown hairs that hung over his forehead ''There!" Serena said. "You've made him angry. He always does that when he's angry."

"Your Excellency," came a cry. "Hurry! They have lighted the death fire!"

"For the last time, Serena, get that stupid ape ashore!"

Herbert glared at Reggie and howled a long "Err—huh," the import of which was obviously meant to be insulting.

Reggie glared back at Herbert. He had reason to dislike that ape, he thought. He had a very good reason; perhaps the best reason a man ever had for disliking a beast. Ah! That was what Herbert was indeed.

''Beast!" he yelled at the ape. A loud roar answered him. Reggie gasped. The roar had not come from the ape but from the motor, which Herbert had started. "Stop!" cried Reggie, as the creature reached for the rope to cast off. ''Wait for me!" A spear splintered the pier beside him.

"I didn't mean it, Herbert!" Reggie cried, as the boat shot out into the river.

''Herbert, you naughty boy!" Serena scolded.

The ape clapped its hands. "Eer-huh, eer-huh!" it declared in delight, as the savages closed in on Reginald.

He dropped on all fours and lumbered back into Serena's lap.

In a moment Serena saw a native running along the banks shouting jubilantly and waving something above his head. Serena felt ill as she realized that it had once been a part of her husband.

It was a part with which she had once been quite intimately acquainted. Oh, well, it was a shame, but then, as she had often told him, it wouldn't go in all the way anyhow.

Other things were much more exciting than Reginald. Herbert, for instance. A smart orangutan could be trained, whereas with a man this was impossible. A simple reward of banana slices was enough to teach and orangutan where to tickle and where to lick. A pat on his rear was the signal for thrust. A pinch caused him to churn. No wonder Serena felt mildly relieved at the demise of the dictator and his human incorrigibility.

However, in spite of Herbert's advantages, Serena, when they had been traveling a while, found herself attracted to the naked form of her maid.

"Come and kiss me, Lupe," she said, gently running her hand over the girl's breasts. The girl sighed.

"You'd better tie up Herbert if we're going to make love without him," she said.

"All right," said Serena. She secured the ape and the girl lowered Serena's silk trousers. She liked the cool feel of the silk. Someday she was going to have an outfit like this for herself. She put her hand between Serena's spread thighs and tickled the dampness gently. Serena's hips churned and she pushed Lupe's head down urgently. The girl's tongue moved expertly, while Serena's body grew tighter and tighter, her stomach getting hard until she reached her climax. Her hips bouncing up and down with release like a rowboat on the wake of a destroyer.

"Well," she sighed after a moment. "Where will we go now? Let's see—we have plenty of money—though of course we'll need to make some investments. Let's see ... what would be fun, what have I always wanted to do . . . umm . . ."

While her employer thought of their future, Lupe did a little considering on her own. There was the goatskin bag she had picked up after Reginald had dropped it. It was under the seat and nobody knew she had it. Perhaps she could make something of it. After all, His Excellency had paid dearly for the contents of that bag.

The chemist, of course, had not wanted Reginald to find out, and if nobody had found out, everything would have rolled on as usual. But when the natives had found out that the contents of the bag had been concocted with the use of the wings of sacred Eros butterflies from His Excellency's private collection . . .

Well, yes, perhaps she could make something of it. Sell it, maybe. Serena had fallen asleep.

The maid gazed at the silk pajama pants still pulled below their wearer's navel. Someday she would have a suit like that. As a matter of fact she might have that very one. Serena, after all, was dispensible.

The contents of the goatskin bag were very interesting.

It would disintegrate almost any mineral or vegetable matter with which it came into contact. This quality was the reason that it was kept in a skin bag. But the only effect it had on flesh was the warmth that the native girl had felt when Reggie had "turned her skirt into a butterfly."

It had one other effect. A man Who felt its warmth on his joyful equipment found his powers increased. It was for this reason that the chemist had dared to steal and kill Reggie's butterflies, and for this reason, too, the chemist had become the most sought-after lover in San Posterior.

Lupe might get enough for it to buy herself a white satin gown with silver slippers to match. She giggled. She might even get a bathing suit. It was something that Serena had, but no other girl in her country had ever had. Reggie had made it against the law to import them. Bras were against the law, too.

Lupe was only a simple native girl, and she had no idea as the launch moved down the lazy jungle river, that she and her employer were soon to be involved in an international power struggle that would have implications for the entire future of mankind.

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