EXTRACT FOR
Under His Thumb
(Argus)

Chapter One

      

      Courtney smiled and waved for the camera, then changed her pose, along with the other girls, turning and positioning herself, smiling, always smiling as the camera snapped shot after shot. And why shouldn't she smile? With her blonde hair and fair skin she certainly looked better in this hideous blue bridesmaid dress than the other girls posing with her. And the silly, flowered hat at least kept the scorching sun out of her face.

	The dress was a long way from her normal attire. It was a light, frothy summer dress which hugged her frame and dropped to the grass below. It had no cleavage, of course, but it was tight enough across her chest to cause her to be a trifle nervous when standing straight and inhaling. Not that it would tear, of course, but it did seem to show her bosom off more than was generally expected of her.

	She had standards, after all. Or rather, her family did: very high ones indeed. Sometimes it seemed she spent more effort trying to live up to the expectations of her family than she did at anything else.  The Thorne-Milton's were a very respected family in Charleston, very old, very wealthy, and very influential. Her father was a very powerful state senator, her mother an attorney with Charleston's leading law firm. Her Uncle Jake was a congressman in Washington and her Uncle Stuart was a leading industrialist.

	Her older brother Spencer had been first in his class at Princeton and had married a lovely heiress. Her younger brother Matt was captain of his high school football team, and the apple of her parent's eyes. Courtney was no slouch, finishing in the top ten in her class, and joining her mother's law firm, where she had been doing stellar work. She was bright, energetic, and very, very earnest in her legal work.

	Now in her mid twenties she had not, however, married, nor was there an eligible heir in site at the moment. And that seemed to be the minimal expectations of her mother. Success in education, yes. Success in law, yes. Bright, beautiful, fine. But where was the man to make it a perfect score? Her parents were always harping on that, as if she could simply pluck one off a shelf.

	But Courtney had never been comfortable with men. Partly, she knew, was her determination to maintain the family name. She had been raised from a very early age to do nothing to sully the Thorne-Milton name. And the clearest way to sullying it was to get involved in some sordid relationship with a smirking frat boy, regardless of his wealth. 

	Besides, the near straight A's she had garnered in university had required considerable studying, with little time for partying and dating. Oh she had joined the proper sorority house, of course, her mother's, and socialized as required, but she simply hadn't run into the kind of young man who would sweep her off her feet. Her mother ridiculed the idea such a man existed, but Courtney clung to the notion for some reason.

	She elevated her chin and smiled as the cameraman took another shot. She could have done better, she thought. Photography was her hobby, and she thought herself quite good at it, at the mental picturing of what she could frame to make a lovely photograph. 

	Finally, they could relax and separate now that the official photographer had moved on. She sighed and headed for the tables to get a drink ??" a small one. It wouldn't do to be seen as tipsy. The word would spread like wildfire and her mother would hear of it in no time. She must always maintain her decorum, her dignity in public.

	She socialized with the other guests, took some pictures of her own, let some of the more handsome men flirt with her, and then headed home. She had work tomorrow, after all.

	She was distressed, on leaving, to be handed the keys to her car, rather than the man go and fetch it for her. She didn't show it, of course. The young man was busy, after all, and her car was parked in the front row. But Courtney was always nervous in parking lots. She would have preferred a little Ford or Toyota, but it wouldn't do, and her father had insisted on the BMW. 

	She got in and very carefully backed out of the tight space, quite nervous about putting a scratch on it, or either of the cars bracketing it. Her father would give her that look ??" the one which showed what a disappointment she was, and her mother would shake her head and then roll her eyes. Courtney sometimes thought that it was impossible to please her parents, but the easiest thing in the world to displease them.

	She backed the BMW out successfully, then turned the air conditioning up high and slowly drove out to the street, signaled, and carefully pulled out. She was not a confident driver, always aware that an accident of some sort required on the slightest lack of concentration. She was not worried about being harmed, of course, but merely causing damage, and an uproar with her family.

	And why? Her father could buy a fleet of BMWs and roll them off a barge in the middle of the river. The money was nothing. It was the mark of failure, of having made a mistake, of causing them disappointment that made her anxious.

	She loved her parents and family, of course, but sometimes she dreamed of living in an apartment in California, or even Hawaii, so far away she would only ever have to see them on a few holidays. What freedom that would be! But her parents had evidenced such disapproval at the idea of her even getting her own apartment here in Charleston she had given it up.

	After all, didn't she have a fine room at their house? It was in a wonderful neighborhood, and she had all the advantages of the pool, the gym, the hot tub and sauna, the theatre, and the attentions of the cook and maid. Why on earth would she want to go somewhere else? To get away from her family? Did she hate them? Did she hate living with them? Was there something she wanted to do that she didn't want them to know about? Something shameful?

	She drove carefully home, generally obeying the speed limits, certainly never going much above, and pulled into the winding driveway with a sense of relief. She drove up around the fountain and parked, leaving the BMW for Andre, who served as gardener, chauffeur and general handyman, to park for her in the garage.

	The house was quite large, a Spanish villa with a large courtyard centred by a pool. Her room was in the north wing, and it was, as her parents had pointed out, larger than most any apartment she was likely to buy or rent. The center was a large, four poster French provincial bed with seven foot high posts. There were burgundy curtains hanging from the posts, and a matching bedspread that had been hand made in Italy.

	She tossed the hat on the bed, her purse next to it, and then carried the camera over to the desk and set it down there. She was glad to be home, to be out of the sun, to be away from the pressure she always felt at weddings, the pressure from in-laws and family acquaintances to find a man. So what was so good about a man anyway!? And why did she need one now when she was just starting her career?!

	Because the lack of one was seen as a failure by her family, that was why.

	She reached behind her with a sigh and undid the dress, then turned her head to eye the mirror as she slipped it forward and let it slide down her body. 

	She was quite proud of her body. She didn't like to think of herself as vain, but was deeply grateful that on top of the other pressures from her family she didn't have to cope with the desperation of being plain, or worse, ugly, or worse still, fat. Being beautiful, which she unquestionably was, made her proclamations that she was more interested in her career right now somewhat believable and acceptable. If she'd been ugly, well, everyone would have just snickered and shaken their heads.

	A girl who looked like she did could certainly get a man if she wanted one. And she projected that confidence whenever the topic arose. She was beautiful, with large blue eyes, an aristocratic, oval face with high cheek bones, a short, turned up nose, full lips, and perfect white teeth. She was allowed to show that off to its best appearance, of course, but she was equally proud of her body.

	She had long ago taken to exercising as a means of working off the energy her frustration and unhappiness caused. She had a perfectly toned, firm, slender body. Her abs were outstanding, and she ran her fingers slowly across them, looking at herself with pride. Her stomach was firm and perfect, her legs graceful, and her breasts full enough to be accepted by anyone without being so full they would sag. 

	Her breasts were round and perfect, and she took a secret delight in them, just as she did in her pert, trim bottom, now well-displayed in her thong as she stepped out of the dress. She smiled a bit shyly at herself, and then as the music played on her stereo, she vamped for herself in the mirror, and gave a little shimmy, grinding her hips, wiggling her bottom, turning in place, admiring herself.

	But it wouldn't do to show her body off, not ever. Such things weren't done in her circle. Her parents would have been outraged. She wore conservative dresses, and at work, conservative business suits, usually with long skirts. Courtney did not own a short skirt, or a top which showed cleavage, nor had she ever.

	That didn't really bother her. She would have been too embarrassed to wear such things anyway. She would have cringed if men had stared at her body like that. 

Yet there were times when she felt jealous of those women who walked around so arrogant in their sexual attractiveness, so confident and cocky as the men stared and lusted at them.

	What would it be like to be a slut like that? To wear revealing clothes and give her body to men? She would never do it, of course. That would be far too damaging to her pride and dignity ??" to say nothing of the family reputation. Yet sometimes she dreamed about it, imagining herself walking around in a short skirt, all the men staring at her legs, wanting her. She longed, sometimes, to break out of the shell of dignity and conservatism her family had imposed on her.

	But that conservatism had become part of her now. Even if she were in California she couldn't imagine dressing much different. Certainly she couldn't imagine wearing anything revealing in public. Her exquisite body was something she would simply have to take a secret pride in, and reserve for the view of her fiancée, one day, or at least, a very trusted lover.

	She slipped off her bra and then, still a little warm, despite the air conditioning, slipped on a very thin silky camisole and went to the desk in the corner. She plugged in the camera and downloaded the pictures of the wedding, smiling at some, shaking her head at others. She picked the best for the album she would keep, and deleted the rest. 

	She pondered one which showed the groom, best man, and groomsmen. They were handsome, though all taken. She looked at Mark Phillips and let herself imagine him in her arms, him staring at her body, running his hands over her. What did his body look like, she wondered. He looked fit and muscular. But she'd never seen him in anything but a suit.

	Feeling a little sulky, a little irritated at life, she went on the internet, and on a whim typed in the name of a web site she knew. She got up and went to the door, ensuring it was locked, then returned and scanned over the lovely men, all of them naked, imagining which she would order if this were a catalogue, which she would have liked to sleep with.

	She felt very naughty now, as well as a growing sense of arousal. Courtney had a high sex drive, a drive she usually took care of either through exercise or masturbation.

	Courtney had no shame in masturbating, at least, not in doing it privately, secretly. She would have been mortified if anyone had known what she did sometimes in her bedroom, or in her ensuite bathroom. She would have been horrified if anyone had known of the sex toys she kept in the wall safe behind the picture, a safe she was supposed to use for important "papers"

	She went to the mirror and posed again, raising her arms, letting the short camisole slowly slide up to reveal her thong. She posed and arched and gave herself a saucy look, then looked at the camera and had a truly nasty thought, a thought which raced straight to her groin and made it throb excitedly. 

	She went to the closet and took out the tripod, then settled the camera on it. It was quite an expensive model; a present from her father. It, and the tripod could be remotely operated with a small remote control. Now she adjusted it, and began to pose for the camera, keeping the small remote in the palm of her hand, away from the camera, positioning herself in cheesy poses like those she'd expect to see in men's magazines.

	She went back to the internet to get fresh ideas. There was certainly no shortage of pictures of women in various states of undress in a variety of poses.

	She began to assume those poses, snapping pictures of herself as she did. She slowly slid the camisole off, and took topless pictures of herself, pictures of her with her back arched and her hard little nipples pointing up, pictures of herself cupping and squeezing her breasts, pictures of her squeezing her arms in against them from the sides and leaning forward.

	She turned and showed off her bottom, then skinned down her thong and really went to town. She eagerly positioned herself for the camera, taking picture after picture. And as her arousal deepened, the pictures became less erotic and more pornographic. 

	She was gripped by an almost electrical sense of sexual hunger now, and went to the wall safe, opening it and taking out her sex toys. One was a thick black dildo with a suction cup base. She set it on the hardwood floor, brought the camera down low, turned it to video, and then, heart in her throat, she slowly sank herself down onto the dildo, groaning as she did.

	The dildo was a fat one, and it stretched her sex lips wide. She was completely hairless down there, for she thought it looked cleaner, neater, and less nasty. But now she could see how her sex lips were spread wide as she sank slowly down on the thick dildo. She knelt there facing the camera, legs wide, gasping as she sank slowly down, exulting in the delicious sensation of penetration, as the fat, silicon cock slowly pushed up through the soft, warm, moist folds of her body, going deeper and deeper ??" beginning to ache now, but ache in a delicious way.

	Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the red light next to the camera's unblinking eye. Then she reached down and with trembling fingers, felt her swollen clitoris and let out a little cry of pleasure as heat surged through her. She began to rub herself ever so lightly, then with increasing speed, gasping, moaning, then easing off, wanting to wait, wanting to be deeper, to be absolutely impaled on the thing before she came!

	She took her hands away, put them on her thighs to steady herself. Her knees were side and she was sitting on her heels, but now slid her heels further apart, sinking lower, groaning as she felt the dildo pushing yet deeper into her slender belly. She groaned in pain, eased up a little, rubbed her clit, and then eased down, riding slowly, gasping breathlessly as the camera watched, stared.

	She rode up and down a little, pushing, forcing herself down harder. She was able to slide her ankles completely apart now so she was almost sitting on the floor itself, almost all the dildo up inside her. She felt incredibly, painfully fully, and it made her body crackle with sexual electricity and tension. Again she brought her fingers down to her clit and began to ride with growing, frantic need as she felt the orgasm building.

	"Hungh! Hungh! Hungh! Hungh!" she gasped as she rode the dildo.

	It punched up into her. Her pussy was drenched now, and the dildo slid easily despite how tight she was, her weight forcing her body down. 

	"Oh! Oh! Yes! Ungh! Yes! Ungh! Unnnghhh! Unuuhhngggh!" she cried as the climax tore through her.

	She rode wildly, plunging up and down the dildo, rubbing her clit, reaching up to squeeze one of her breasts roughly with her other hand, her body jerking and her head bobbing up and down in helpless orgasmic pleasure. She arched her back again and again as she rode, her gasps and soft cries of pleasure rising above the sound of the music.

	Such a slut, she thought ecstatically. The orgasm build and eased, rolled up and back, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her and making her eyes roll back in her head as she rode the dildo.

	Then she collapsed, sinking down fully, feeling a dark, desperate pleasure at having taken the foot long cock all the way up into her body. She sat on it, shuddering, chest heaving, recovering from the orgasm.

	Yet her heat was only eased, not dimmed. 

	She was being so nasty, so dirty! Her parents would have been aghast! All her friends, all her associates would be shocked!

      She zoomed the camera in on her pussy, then back out again, moaning and gasping as she rode excitedly up and down.  Then she sat down again and eased the suction cup off the floor. She lay back, tilting the camera down, spreading her legs wide, and began to pump the dildo with her hand. She picked up the vibrator and turned it on, then pressed it against her clit. Her hips bucked sharply, jerked up spastically in short, sharp little motions as the sensation of the vibrator jolted her nervous system.

      At first the sensations were too powerful, uncomfortable, almost painful, but as her heat rose again the sensations began to set her groin and then her body afire. She gasped for breath as she ground the head of the vibrator against her clit and pumped the dildo in and out. The camera, tilted down, had a perfect view as she came again, arching her back, her head rolling back behind her, her hips bucking violently as she grunted and shuddered and gurgled in wildfire pleasure.

	When the orgasm faded and she had her breath back, she watched herself on her computer screen. She sat in the chair, the dildo inside her, and watched with wide, excited eyes. She felt almost embarrassed looking at herself, and worse, hearing herself, but was intensely excited, as well. She looked like some whore doing a video! She could be a porno actress! Look at how she squeezed her breasts and rode that dildo! God! She looked so hot! Her body looked so great!

	Of course, the sight of that only turned her on again, and inspired her to even wickeder videos. She masturbated again. This time she bent forward on her knees, with the camera behind her, and her bottom raised, her hand between her legs thrusting the dildo in and out. Then she forced a butt-plug up her bottom and then another dildo, shoving one up each hole and coming as the vibrator made her shake and jerk and writhe.

	The videos were scorchers! She delighted in them! They were so nasty she actually masturbated while watching a video of herself masturbating! It was so wildly thrilling to be so nasty and dirty and wicked! She felt alive and electric with sexual heat.

	And then, of course, she deleted them all; every picture, every video, killing them off sadly, reluctantly, but prudently. Not even in her safe would she feel comfortable knowing such pictures and videos existed. What if a burglar broke in and took the disk? The idea that people might see such videos, that they might wind up on the internet, was too terrible to risk, no matter how exciting she found them.

	She very carefully ensured they were all gone, made sure every file on the camera was erased. Then she double checked, then she triple checked, and then she put her sex toys away and locked the safe before having a shower. 

	She put on an ankle length linen skirt, a flowery green blouse, and tennis shoes, and went downstairs for dinner.

	"And how was the wedding, dear?" her mother asked, her clipped voice.

	"Lovely mother. Sandra looked quite happy. And the bridesmaids dresses weren't too terrible this time.'

	"You'll get to select your own when you get married," her mother said.

	Courtney didn't answer that. They were at the dining table, she, her father, mother and younger brother, as Lucila, the maid, set out their dinner. Her father wore a suit, as always. Her brother wore a polo shirt and trousers. Her mother wore a dark dress. Her father talked about football to her brother, and her mother talked about a charity auction she was organizing.

	Courtney thought about the videos she had shot, and how hot she had looked in them, and wondered what her parents would say if she told them she was going to California to be a porno actress.

	She thought about saying it, just as a joke, but her parents would be outraged. That sort of thing shouldn't not even be entering her mind, not even as a joke. And it certainly wasn't something she ought to be saying, even as a joke, in mixed company. The very idea that her innocent brother ??" who was no innocent, Courtney knew ??" would have to hear the notion of his sister as a pornographic actress! No, she thought about it, but not seriously.