Sex School Graduate By Inge Carnelle - Chapter 01

Genre 1967: Vintage Sleaze / Sexpionage

Meet Nickie, super-spy of the century! His mission—to find out what makes Americans tick—and entice them into defecting to Mother Russia. His weapons—money and sex, lots and lots of sex!

Chapter 1

THE TOP OF HER BIKINI DROPPED....

The moon was shining over Miami Beach. On the sand the blonde stretched voluptuously and yawned, heaving her enormous, barely clad breasts at the sky as though she were hopeful of a moon-tan. She adjusted the surfboard, which stuck by its fin into the sand, and formed a rest for her head.

Suddenly she sat up tensed, poised for action. There had been a sound. She peered over the edge of the sand hill, where the beach dropped sharply into the Atlantic Ocean. A man in a shiny black rubber suit was just rising from the water. The blonde flattened herself against the sand and watched. He came onto the beach. Removing his breathing apparatus, he dropped it beside him and sighed deeply.

He wasn't a bad-looking fellow, the girl decided. She plumped up her bosom and gave a tug at the bottom half of her bikini. Then she gasped!

The man on the beach had unfastened his rubber suit and was peeling it off. Underneath it, he wore an impeccably pressed tuxedo, complete with a midnight blue jacket and a pink carnation that was only slightly wilted. A dozen red poker chips tumbled to the sand, followed by a fifty-dollar bill and a black lace garter.

He stepped out of the suit and gazed indecisively at the litter he had made. Then, with the toe of his shoe, he brushed sand over the poker chips. He picked up the money and shoved it into his pocket. Snapping the garter, he gazed down the beach at the row of brightly-lighted luxury hotels.

The blonde grinned and rose, brushing the sand from her bare midriff, and marched down to the startled man. "Hello," she said.

"Hello." He indicated the garter. "I don't seem to need this. Would you like to have it? I mean, do you wear them?"

"Thank you," said the blonde. "You're just in time for the party."

"Really? Where is it?"

"Wherever you're going, love," she said.

"My suite at the Tropic Sands Hotel, then?"

"Ah, very swank," she cried approvingly. "What's your name?"

"My name? You can call me Nickie if you like. I'm incognito. It's my family. I embarrass them. They think I'm a bit of a—well, playboy. And your name?"

She grimaced. "If you really have to know, it's Edith Erlene Milch. Honey to you. Everybody calls me that—"

"Nobody's what he seems anymore," her companion sighed philosophically.

"True, the world's in a sad state," Honey said.

"You're a surfer, aren't you?" Nickie asked.

"It's the only thing that makes me feel free. I feel my soul is one with the eternal sea, and besides, it gives me a nice tan." Honey pulled down the top of her bikini and a creamy band of springy flesh leaped into view. For a moment Nickie caught just a glimpse of soft, rosy nipples. Honey snapped her bra back in place.

The huge mounds quivered as if with disappointment as the narrow strip of cloth closed again over the wondrous tips. Honey sighed and a dreamy look came over her face. But Nickie wasn't watching her face. He was still staring with fascination at her bodice, where two grape-sized protrusions were slowly forming as her hardening nipples swelled and strained against the cloth of her suit. It wasn't difficult to tell where Honey's mind was. Nickie felt his chest tighten, and he was almost overcome by an urge to thrust his hand inside and squeeze both the bold little grapes. Maybe his hands would make them the size of walnuts. He had known such things to happen.

Instead, he offered her his arm. "My hotel?" he questioned with a tell-tale intake of breath.

It was one of those high-rise jobs—thirty stories up with potted palms, pastel carpets, and a sweeping semicircular ramp leading up to the revolving door. While Nickie got his key at the desk, Honey occupied herself ostensibly by staring into the big splashy fountain in the lobby, while in reality she took in the extreme amount of bowing and scraping that was going on over Nickie. She wondered about the garter. Whose was it? Where had he been to just walk out of the ocean in a tuxedo with poker chips in his rubber suit?

Naturally, she could not ask him. One didn't do that sort of thing with a man like Nickie. One was blase. What did one do with Nickie, she wondered? If one were a woman, that is. Certain possibilities flashed through her mind and created a tingling down her spine. Her breath came faster. Watch it, she warned herself. It was a detriment to Honey's high society love life that she often failed to be blase enough at her moment of ecstasy. She had a way of sighing and heaving, even, come to think of it, crying out. The acceptable behavior, she knew, was to grunt once and ask for a cigarette. But Honey was a simple country girl who had come to the city seeking sophistication and the closest she had ever come was two grunts. She would have to be very careful tonight.

She joined Nickie at the elevator and they rode the thirty floors to his penthouse suite. At the fifth floor Honey caressed Nickie's shirt with the tips of her breasts, causing sand to collect in the pleats.

Noting the sand, Nickie solicitiously lifted one of her heavy breasts out of its cup and began brushing sand grains off it. The entire length of the cone was sandy. There were sparkling grains on the golden tan flesh, grains on the creamy band where her bikini had shut out the sun, grains on the wide roseate from which her deep red nipple stood out as if it were a fruit lying on a plate.

"I s'pose you're wondering why I'm doing this," he told Honey, who was getting little goose pimples all over the area from the expert touch of his lightly moving fingers.

"Umm," she murmured.

"The reason," said Nickie, "is that I intend to nibble this. Perhaps devour it, even, should I become aroused sufficiently. And I do not like to place anything gritty in my mouth. It spoils the texture and it's not very sanitary either.

"I believe you're coming along nicely arousal-wise," Honey commented joyfully as they reached the seventh floor. She had seen a definite stirring in his pants.

By the time they had reached the tenth floor something was stirring inside her pants also—his hand. Honey bit her lip, trying to control the delight that surged through her lovely body.

The delicate little hairs on her bare stomach stood out as he explored her intimate secrets. Her firm thighs parted slightly to facilitate his efforts. Her breasts rose, swelling with passion as she drew in her breath. She asked for a cigarette.

"Filter or plain?" said Nickie.

"Filter," said Honey.

Nickie put his free hand inside his jacket and came up with a package. "Plain," he sighed, thrusting them away and continuing to delve, each hand working at its respective task.

At the fifteenth floor the elevator stopped and Honey's breast was quickly popped back into its container as a middle-aged woman got on. Nickie tried to pull his hand out of Honey's suit and discovered that his cuff link was caught in the seam. But Honey was nothing if not a quick thinker. She unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it open to cover herself.

Nickie's hand struggled wildly in its effort to be free. Honey's hips rotated feverishly, out of control in an agony of desire. Nickie began to perspire and Honey's breath came in gasps.

"Let me help you look," she said. "Oh! Ohh!" Her feet did a dance on the elevator floor as the frantic twisting of Nickie's hand rammed his fingers higher inside her. The middle-aged woman looked at her sharply. Honey would not have been embarrassed if the woman hadn't reminded her of her mother. Honey's mother thought she was in Miami studying to be a dental assistant.

She found another package of cigarettes, took one and put it in her mouth. Nickie came up with a silver lighter. He flicked it three times before it caught.

"Blasted thing," he said. Honey took a long, grateful drag and blew out the smoke.

The middle-aged passenger snorted and coughed. "I think it's terrible for a young girl to smoke," she said.

"It's filter," Honey said meekly. "Oooh!" A particularly interesting thrust of Nickie's hand made Honey inhale when she should have exhaled. She choked, tears came to her eyes, and she went into a fit of uncontrollable coughing.

"There, there," said the passenger. "Don't take on so. Come see me sometime. We'll read some inspirational literature together."

"Thank you," said Honey.

"Room 1910," she said gaily. "Don't forget."

When the woman got out on the nineteenth floor, Honey was still coughing. The jiggling the coughing was causing in her stomach and thighs was increasing her passion. She pressed down against Nickie's wriggling hand.

Poor Nickie was getting a cramp in his fingers. Also, the walls of his luscious prison were becoming quite damp. Even wet. If his fingers stayed where they were much longer, they were going to look like prunes when he took them out!

Honey felt her interior widen, the muscles lessening, relaxing in eagerness. She felt hot. She wanted to throw off her bikini top to cool the tips of her burning globes. She was about to do so when the elevator stopped again and she saw that a dapper little white-haired gentleman was getting on.

As the elevator began to rise once more, the man said nothing, but was content to stand solemnly with his hands folded and his cane dangling over his forearm. He stared intently at the lining of Nickie's jacket where it was still held open to cover the turbulence ensuing in Honey's bikini. A flush rose to Honey's cheeks. Even Nickie seemed a bit perturbed.

The man began to giggle. His laughter increased gradually until at last he seemed almost overcome.

"What's so funny?" said Honey, who was feeling rather mirthless.

"Oh, it's Lady Willingham," the man said.

"The woman who just got off?" Nickie asked.

"Yes. You do know about her don't you?"

Honey and Nickie shook their heads. There was something about being in an elevator in the wee hours between the twenty-third and thirtieth floors of the Tropic Sands; something that inspired confidences.

"Well—" the man took a deep breath. "I suppose that she asked you, young lady, to come and read inspirational passages with her."

"Yes," said Honey.

"Don't go, oh ha, ha," he laughed. He wiped his eyes. "Such inspiration. All about slave girls running about naked, sucking each other's bosoms and things and such. She's an out and out lesbian. Spends most of her time seducing girls up to her room to confess their sins and then showing them sins they never dreamed of. Oh, she's a clever old girl. Not that she doesn't like a man once in a while. Lately I hear she likes to prance about the room naked and the man has to follow her whinnying like a stallion. Last year she wanted him to crow like a rooster. Has this thing for animals. Myself—I once told her that the goat was the most efficient animal in intercourse. It's quite true, you know. But she took offense at the suggestion that she should imitate one. Oh well, an odd character. You know what they say. It takes all kinds to make up the world. Here's my floor." He took the cane off his arm and stroked it fondly as he left.

As the door slid closed, Honey started to laugh. "Am I tickling you?" Nickie asked concernedly.

"No," Honey said. "Don't you know who that was? Reginald Withers, the infamous flagellant. He's going to a meeting of his Pain for Pleasure club. Everybody knows they operate on the twenty-eighth floor, but the police never can seem to catch them. Honestly, Nickie, I thought you dug the scene around here."

'Well," Nickie said.

"I know," Honey soothed. "You're a nice boy, aren't you? Kind of innocent."

"I suppose that's it," he agreed. His index finger was wedged between her soft nether lips and he had found it impossible to withdraw it with his cuff link fastened as it was. In an effort to do so he had inserted another finger and, finding himself still unsuccessful, he was opening and closing the fingers scissor-like. "Here we are," he announced as they got out of the elevator. "I'm really dreadfully sorry about this. It's never happened before."

"Not to me either," Honey assured him as they hobbled to the door of his suite.

Please let us know if you like this story in the comments. If there is enough interest, we will publish more of this story.