Jean Sifton - The peeking sister

"Can I take a shower?" June asked forlornly, knowing that never in her whole life would she be able to wash away the knowledge of how she had responded to his sadistic sodomizing. It seemed that apparently there was nothing she wasn't capable of…

"No time to shower!" Pimple Face snapped, starting to pull on his pants. "When these people say be there at twelve noon, you get there at twelve noon. You better believe it, baby," he added menacingly.

"How do I know they'll really let my sister go?" June asked stubbornly.

"You don't!" he answered curtly. "You'll just have to trust them."

"Trust them!" June echoed bitterly.

"Well, you ain't got no choice, babe," Pimple Face pointed out, bending down to pull on his scruffy shoes.

Dippy Gallagher was in his element. He loved breaking new broads into show biz, particularly when there was no risk involved, and Borman had assured him that with this big gorgeous brunette, June Wright, there would be no risk whatsoever. Also, the kind of people who were filling up the theater he had improvised in the loft upstairs were a double guarantee. They were strictly class, well-heeled and top-drawer, old chap… Friends of Borman and the society guy Jock Richmond. No sweat about them being discrete. He'd given everybody in the troupe the day off except Mike, the cameraman, who was going to film whatever happened for closed-circuit TV, and, of course, Tiffany. She was sitting on a chair in his office, looking pale and discouraged.

Dippy puffed on his cigar and spun around a couple of times in his swivel chair, letting her sweat a little before he followed through with the rest of Borman's instructions. He was beginning to get the drift of what the crafty stock-broker was trying to bring off and he had to admit that for an amateur the big bastard was pretty sharp.

"How's Humpty?" he barked out suddenly. "Is he sober. Can he get it up?"

"I don't know," Tiffany answered dejectedly. "I mean, he's pretty sober, but I don't know if he can get it up or not. Anyway, June won't let him near her."

"I tole ya to let me worry about the details, kid," Dippy snarled. "June's not only gonna let him get near her, she's gonna suck his cock."

"You're crazy!" Tiffany blurted out before she could catch herself. "Excuse me, Mr. Gallagher, but she wouldn't do that in a million years."

"She's gonna do it for you, kid." Gallagher gummed a cynical grin at her. "She thinks you're the prisoner of some gangsters who put on live sex shows and the only way she can buy your freedom is to take your place."

"Wh-at…? You told her that?" Tiffany stammered weakly.

"Not me, but the guy who's running this show," Dippy grunted scornfully. "And she believed it. At least," he added ambiguously, "she pretended to believe it."

"Ooooohh, poor June…" Tiffany wailed tearfully. "She's really going to… do that for me? I can't let her, I just can't."

"That's show biz, kid," Dippy shrugged, darting a sharp appraising glance at the young girl. "And maybe she won't mind as much as you think. Maybe you're all wrong about big sister June, kid. I happen to know that she made it with a married couple last night, and got buggered by a delivery man in the kitchen of their apartment this morning. Also…" He paused, waiting for all that to sink in before he planted the last seed of suspicion in the bewildered adolescent's mind. "Also, there's gonna be a coupl'a big Hollywood agents in the audience tonight."

"Oh…" Tiffany laughed uncertainly. "It's all so hard to believe. I mean, about June doing those things." She frowned theatrically, remembering how when she had been a little girl she had been awakened night after night by June's hot breath panting in her face as the older girl feverishly masturbated with her eyes tightly shut and her full sensual lips bared back over her teeth, pretending hypocritically to be asleep. Maybe she had been completely wrong about June, Tiffany mused. Cliff claimed she was cold as a fish, but maybe he'd been lying. Maybe he just didn't measure up to June's idea of what a lover should be… Maybe she'd just made that scene on the back porch for an excuse to break off the engagement.

"What did you say about an audience… and the Hollywood agents?" she asked, trying to make sense of all this new information in her confused mind.

"June thinks you're doing live sex shows, kid, so I knocked together a little theater in the loft upstairs and this fella who's innerested in her… he's a big banker… backs a lot of Broadway shows… he's bringing some friends in to be the audience. At least two of 'em are Hollywood agents on the lookout for new talent. I ain't allowed to divulge their names, get it, but it sure would be a shame if your sister upstaged you at the last minute after all the work you've put in. Right?"

"Damn!" Tiffany exclaimed petulantly, clenching her pouting lower lip with small even white teeth. "And she has the juicy role… Sacrificing herself for me!"

"Yeah, but you got the technique, kid. You're an actress!" Dippy breezily pointed out. "You could turn the tables on her just like that!" He snapped his stubby tobacco-stained fingers. "All you got to do is say, 'No, no, dear sister, I can't let you do such a horrible thing for me…' You're both prisoners, in this little skit, see, and the idea is one of you seduces the guard — that's Cliff — while the other escapes, get it? You can ad-lib it good, and she won't know what to do. So you steal the show, kid. She has to sneak off-stage and there you are!"

Tiffany's eyes were sparkling with enthusiasm now and the color had returned to her youthful heart-shaped face. "Oh, Mr. Gallagher!" she bubbled happily. "That's a wonderful idea! How can I ever thank you enough?"

"Oh, just send me a postcard from time to time, kid," Dippy said blandly, slipping down from his chair on his runty legs and starting toward the door. From Nowheresville, you dumb cunt, he added to himself. "Be upstairs backstage in ten minutes. Mike'll show you what to do."

When the horrid bald little man with the beady eyes and cruel thin-lipped mouth finally came in, June had no idea how long she had been cooped up in the tiny room Pimple Face had brought her to. When they left the Bormans' apartment shortly after eleven o'clock, he had made her put on what looked like a pair of ordinary dark glasses but, in fact, the lenses were completely opaque. She couldn't see a thing except out the sides, and when they had driven off a ways he had stopped the car and stuffed cotton between the frames and her cheeks, so that she was completely blinded… It was awful, being deprived of your sight. She didn't see how blind people stood it.

When she protested, Pimple Face just told her to shut up. "Anybody gets curious, babe, you just had an eye operation," he told her curtly.

So she hadn't the slightest idea of where she was either. They had driven around for what seemed like a long time before they had left the car and come to this place, with him steering her by the arm. It was up four flights of stairs and smelled musty, that's all she knew for sure. Boards had resounded under their feet, and she had had a feeling of space around her, as if she might be on the stage of a theater, just before she was put into this windowless little cubicle. She took it to be an actor's dressing room, although it certainly wasn't what you would call glamorous… just a table with a mirror and a few pots of makeup on it, a rickety chair, a wash basin and a cot with a plastic chamber pot under it.

There was no lock on the door, but before he left her alone Pimple Face warned her there was a guard on the only exit, so not to get any bright ideas about running away. She hadn't intended to anyhow, or she wouldn't have accompanied him in the first place. She was certain she had figured out a way to get both Tiffany and herself out of the jam they were in.