Barbara Stokes

Swing Town U. S. A.

CHAPTER ONE

A black Porsche sped up the driveway which led to the Bayou Country Club. The long white lines of the columns fronting the club were almost imperceptible through the lush vegetation. As the Porsche neared the parking lot, the grounds broke into an explosion of color. Clumps of azaleas bordered the parking lot as well as the walkways leading to and from the club.

Kenneth "Catch" Callahan climbed out of the Porsche and stretched his six foot, two-inch frame. He blinked his eyes against the onslaught of the harsh Texas sun. He reached inside the pocket of his safari jacket and put on a pair of aviator-style sunglasses. Suddenly there was a nearby explosion and the ground shook beneath his feet. The windows of the country club rattled and several magnolia blossoms fell from the trees to the ground.

"Sonofabitch!"

He turned to his left and looked across the golf course to the hills beyond. The sides of the hills were already eroded from the explosives and the giant teeth of the bulldozers. The site just beyond the boundaries of the Bayou Country Club had been sold to the Land Development Corporation and was being turned into a housing development for middle to upper middle class residents.

"It's going to ruin the view," Catch muttered, and shook his head. "Just imagine golf balls crashing through the windows, bopping blue-haired matrons on the head."

Catch Callahan was a striking looking man, tall, muscularly built with steel-gray hair and an infectious smile. He looked more like Paul Newman's younger brother than a corporation "troubleshooter." His eyes, blue-gray and startling, seemed cold and calculating. His great hands, with their long tapered fingers seemed incapable of a caress. His full lips set in an eternal conventioneer's smile seemed incapable of true laughter.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Underneath his business-like exterior, Catch Callahan was a loving, gentle, imaginative and humorous man, but in his line of business, he preferred to adopt a certain image… one of strength and power.

He stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking in the gravel and made his way up the concrete walk to the country club.

The Bayou Country Club was located just outside of Houston on a large tract of land at the edge of a bayou. It was designed along the lines of a southern plantation with tall majestic columns surrounding all four sides of the main building and similar southern colonial architecture in the smaller out-buildings.

It was constructed in 1917 by a wealthy southerner named Colonel Jarvis Jefferson. Jefferson was a notorious drinker. His wife was a bit of a tart and his children immensely unruly. This caused him and his family to be denied entrance to other country clubs in the area. Unperturbed by this slight to his dignity, Jefferson built his own country club and made it grander than all the others combined. People clamored for admission, even those who had kept Jefferson out of their clubs and then it was his turn to do the blackballing.

Colonel Jefferson ran the country club until he died in 1949. His family sold the business to a gentleman named Howard Winthrop, who was a southern snob but definitely not a businessman. He allowed the place to fall into disrepair and eventually it went bankrupt. In 1976 it was to the corporate firm of Dwyer, Keefe, Corson and Kelly. The heads of that corporation hired Catch Callahan to help them turn the country club into a money-making proposition. Catch had just finished working on, respectively, a struggling Las Vegas hotel, a Los Angeles nightclub and a giant amusement park in Salt Lake City. He was tired and needed a vacation and he didn't believe the country club could be turned into a profit-making venture. When he was first approached by Gerald Kelly, one of the heads of the corporation, Catch argued "country clubs are a thing of the past. They are like hoop skirts and cavaliers-nobody gives a damn anymore."

"There's where you're wrong, Mr. Callahan," Kelly had replied. "They may have faded in popularity a bit during the sixties and early seventies when everybody was going hippie. Hell, even fraternities and sororities were closing on campuses all over the country, but that's past now. There's a lot of new money and a lot of new snobs."

Callahan wanted to turn down the job, but the financial rewards offered to him were too much to pass up. Callahan was aware of the country club since he had been born and reared near Houston. Writing the first draft of his inquiries into the country club, he found himself bemused by the whole idea. Here he was hired to save the club from almost certain financial disaster and when he was a young man, he couldn't even go in through the front door.

He pushed open the front doors of the country club and walked over the highly polished mahogany floor boards. He turned right just past the reception area and opened the door to his temporary office. His secretary, the ever-efficient Miss Tyne, offered her usual banal comment about the day.

"Good morning, Mr. Callahan. It's just beau-ti-ful today, isn't it?"

"That it is, Miss Tyne," replied Callahan without glancing at her.

"May I bring you in a cup of coffee?"

"That would be nice. I take it…"

"I remember, Mr. Callahan, black and sweet."

Catch passed through Miss Tyne's office and opened the door to his own and closed it after him. Miss Tyne, a dusty-looking spinster in her early thirties, sighed after him. She pursed her colorless lips and went to the coffee-maker which was sitting on a sideboard. She looked into the mirror of the sideboard and pinched her pale cheeks.

Miss Tyne was not unattractive, neither was she attractive. She was one of the gray people who no matter what they wore or said, seemed to blend into the environment like a spilled drink in a plush carpet. She had brown hair which had recently begun to grow gray and was the color of a sparrow's wing. She wore a pair of black, horn-rimmed glasses which were ten years out of style and which emphasized her paleness. Her body was thin to the point of emaciation and her breasts caused her one and only lover to remark, "every time I see them things, I think of eggs, sunny side up."

Miss Tyne sighed again and picked up a translucent cup and saucer. She spooned in two heaping teaspoons of sugar and set it under the spigot of the coffee maker.

Miss Tyne was unabashedly in love with Catch Callahan and although she was a plain woman, she was extremely imaginative and would often indulge herself in flights of fancy concerning herself and her boss.

In that special part of the mind where wishes become truths and dreams reality, Miss Tyne replayed her morning scene with Catch:

Miss Tyne pictured herself sitting on the edge of a desk, her legs crossed. She was filing her nails. Suddenly the doors burst open and Catch Callahan sauntered in. He was wearing that beige safari suit she liked so much. Beautifully tailored, she could make out every outline of his muscular body beneath the fabric of the suit material.

"Good morning, Mr. Callahan," she breathed sensuously. "A beautiful morning, isn't it?"

He stopped in the center of the room, feet planted firmly on the carpet. He stared at her for a long moment through those fantastic blue-gray eyes of his. He flexed his thighs and said in reply, "not half as beautiful as you, Miss Tyne."

Flustered by his brashness, she asked, "can I make you a cup of coffee?"

"You know how I take it, Amanda!"

Amanda-he had called her Amanda!

"Extra sweet, Catch. I'll stir it with my finger."

When she slid off her desk, her stockings made a loud, slick noise as her thighs uncrossed. She walked slowly, provocatively, to the coffee-maker. She could feel his eyes on her back burning into her. Then she heard him go into his own office, but this time he didn't close the door. She filled the coffee cup and stirred it, as she had promised, with her finger. Then she sashayed into his office.

Catch was sitting behind his desk watching her as she came toward him. She set the coffee cup down in front of him. As she picked it up, their hands brushed and an electric shock ran through their bodies. He drained the coffee.

"Perfect, as always, Amanda, but coffee isn't what I really want this morning."

"No?" she asked, knowingly.

"You, Amanda," he said, getting up and coming around his desk. "It's always been you. You must know that. You must feel it. Here. Feel it." He took her hand in his and guided it down to his crotch. His cock was huge and was throbbing like a jack hammer. "It's beating faster than my heart, Amanda."

"Why, Catch, I…"

"Eyes, what marvelous eyes," he said, as he clamped his perfect white teeth down over the top of her frames and pulled them off. He deftly caught them with his bare hand and tossed them into the chair. "Rose colored lenses aren't meant for people like us, Amanda. We know what we want, don't we?"

"Why, Mr. Callahan-Catch, have you been drinking?"

"Drinking? No! But drunk, yes. Drunk with lust! I have an aching, burning need for you, Amanda. A man's need for a woman. I want to stick my pulsating prick into your quivering slit."

"Oh, Catch," she sighed.

"It is quivering, isn't it, Amanda?" He ran his giant hand down over the front of her body and pressed the palm of it against her vagina. He could feel the heat burning through her dress and a certain twitching movement. "It is quivering."

"Oh, yes, yesssssss," she hissed through her teeth.

He roughly took her in his arms and pressed his chest against her full, lush breasts. "We've had this date from the beginning, Amanda." He swept her up in his arms and swung her legs across his desk using them to clear it of papers and the empty coffee cup and saucer.

"Oh, Catch, the Spode!" she exclaimed.

"Fuck the china! I want to fuck you, Amanda Tyne. Fuck you like there's no tomorrow."

He laid her down on top of his expanse of desk and tore off the jacket of his suit. He was so anxious that he ripped the buttons off his shirt. He kicked off his Gucci loafers and knelt down to pull off his socks. Then he stood up, a look of triumph on his face, as he began to unbuckle his belt.

Her heart was pounding like a wave breaking on a shore.

Ziiiiiiiip!

As she turned her head toward him, her fingertips covering her eyes, she could hear him breathing heavily like a bull in heat. When at last she parted her fingertips, she gasped.

Hanging between Catch's legs was the largest cock she had ever seen, extra thick and nearly ten inches long. The gigantic flared head bobbed about as if it had a life of its own. Beneath his cock hung two huge balls which resembled two apples in a chamois bag. He began walking toward her, his cock leading the way. She thought she was going to faint.

"Let's see those big beautiful tits, woman." He grabbed hold of her sheer blouse and ripped it from her body. His nostrils flared, his eyes glazed like a crazed man, he bent his head low, seized the offending bra and bit clean through the piece of material which held the two cups in place. Her breasts fell free and he attacked them, taking them both in his gigantic hands, he began to massage and knead them, pausing to pinch her rosy nipples between his thumb and forefingers. Her nipples sprang erect and became as hard as uncut diamonds.

She cried out with urgent need. "Catch," and thrust her hips upward. He unsnapped her skirt and pulled it down over her legs. Miss Tyne kicked off her high heels and let the skirt drop to the floor.

Catch seized her garter belt and pulled it loose, then he slid the tips of his fingers under her right stocking. He slowly began pulling it from her leg, massaging her flesh as he did. Almost daintily, he dropped it to the floor and repeated the action on the left leg. He straightened up and surveyed her curvaceous form. She had nothing on except sheer bikini panties and what he had on was obvious. He leaned against the edge of the desk. His huge, hot cudgel pressed against her thigh.

"Don't, don't," she said weakly.

He smiled at her. His smile was wicked. He meant to have his way. Catch lowered his head and nuzzled his face between her legs, breathing in the soft fragrance of her cunt. He bared his teeth and began tearing away bits of her panties until they lay about her in shreds and she was exposed. She slid her hand down to her crotch to try to hide her nakedness, but he grabbed her by the wrist and began rubbing the head of his cock over her palm. Moisture oozed out of the head of his dick and he coated her palm with a clear, sticky fluid.

As if in a trance she began fondling his cock and the more she felt it, the more she knew she couldn't resist.

"This is wrong, Catch."

He threw back his head and laughed. When he brought it down he buried it between her legs. He kissed and licked each pubic hair separately and then with his large, rough fingers he parted the lips of her cunt. He worked his face from side to side, licking and chewing her vaginal folds. Then his lips parted and his tongue came out stiff and searching. He found the opening of her pussy with the tip of it and began flicking it in and out with rapid movements. Miss Tyne cried out again, babbling a stream of impassioned whispers in English and high school Spanish.

He pulled his tongue back out of her pussy and trailed the tip of it across her clitoris. Miss Tyne threw her feet up into the air. He put his hands on her thighs and held them apart, then he inched his tongue into her vulva and titillated her clitoris with hard quick touches.

Miss Tyne screamed, "have mercy, Catch! Please, have mercy!"

"To hell with mercy. I'm having you, Amanda." His words were muffled by her vaginal folds.

Then he raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were bright and glowing like pieces of mother of pearl. His face was flushed and drawn with passion, his lips parted, moist, and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"We need each other, Amanda. You know that, don't you?"

"No!"

"Know in the biblical sense?"

With that he savagely thrust his forefinger into the soft moist membranes of her cunt. She started to writhe, but he pushed her back down on the desk and held her fast with his free hand while he massaged her swollen breasts. His fingertip found her clitoris. It had become as hard as a peanut.

"We can't, Catch."

He grinned cruelly. "Can, Catch! Catch as Catch can." His finger continued its probing. It was joined by another and yet another. "Mmmmm, nice and tight."

"But my reputation," she pleaded.

"Don't hand me that, Amanda. You are a woman of the world. I knew it as soon as I saw you. He withdrew his three fingers from her cunt and stuck them in his mouth.

"Finger-lickin' good!"

Miss Tyne was aghast-and delighted-by his crudity.

"I-do-want-you-Catch," she said hesitantly, and squeezed his thick shaft of flesh.

"I'll give it to you as soon as you suck me, Amanda."

He climbed on the desk and straddled her face and jammed his muscular buttocks down against her overripe breasts. She started to shake her head. He slapped her soundly on either cheek. His blows stung her face, but she obediently opened her mouth. He pressed the head of his cock against her glistening lips and forced to open wide. Slowly his prick entered the hot stricture of her mouth. Miss Tyne closed her lips around his cock and began sucking, moving her head back and forth, a few inches at a time. He grabbed her roughly by the back of her head and forced her mouth down on more of it. She gagged slightly and tears formed in her eyes. He began bucking his hips forward, fucking her down the throat. She struggled, but could not move.

Finally she relaxed and gave into his demands. She found that she was enjoying it. He released her head and allowed her to take up the rhythm and placed his hands on his hips and looked down at her reveling at the sight and sensation of Miss Tyne sucking his cock. He watched with fascination as the thick shaft of his cock disappeared between her beautiful lips.

"You do that well, Amanda, but then, you've wanted to do it for a long time."

"Yes, yes," she answered, but her voice was garbled by the immense prick in her throat. He pulled his cock out of her mouth and looked at her. Her lips were damp and shining with saliva.

"I'm going to fuck you now, Amanda."

She started to rise. "No, I don't think I can…"

"Stay put," he replied and pushed her back down on the desk.

He moved down her body until his cock was pressed against her cunt. He parted her legs and positioned himself between them.

"Put it in, Amanda."

Timidly, she reached down and took his cock between her fingers and let the head of it rest for a moment against the soft hair covering her vulva. She wiggled her hips from side to side and spread her vulva apart and the tip of his cock speared into her. She closed her eyes and groaned. Catch slowly lowered himself, his cock inching into her.

"Take me!" she screamed.

With one violent thrust he entered her all the way up to his balls until their pubic hairs became entwined. She wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her arms around his neck. He began pulling his hips upward and then pushing back down. She met him thrust for thrust. Their movements were intense. Their passions were seething. She spread her legs wider apart and braced herself against the onslaught. She gasped with surprise as he raised her feet in the air and placed them on his shoulders and cupped her buttocks in his hands and began fucking her with long, hard thrusts, withdrawing his cock until only the head of it remained, then driving it back into her with a firm, steady pressure. Her sighs of pleasure had changed to screams of sensation.

"I'm coming," he roared. "I'm cooommmmiiinnnngggg."

Suddenly she felt a gush of searing hot liquid…

Miss Tyne cried out. She had let the coffee overflow and it had poured over her hand. Her dream was shattered. She was back to reality. She turned off the spigot and, using several paper napkins, mopped up the spill. Then dutifully, sadly, she carried the coffee cup to Catch's door and knocked.