The huge plane lumbered slowly across the strips of airport concrete, then perched, motors roaring to a wild crescendo, like some enormous bird gathering strength, until the magic moment when it slid down the runway. With a lurch and then a rolling sweep, it was aloft. As it soared higher, there was a burst of activity inside the cabin, where the passengers had sat until then strapped to their upright seats like convicted men in the electric chair.
Now, though, the lights which ordered passengers to fasten their seat belts, or forbade them to smoke, were extinguished, and people began to move about, slowly at first, some standing and stretching to the overhead racks for the magazines and books they had stacked there; some, usually mothers of young children, into the hand luggage at their feet for the toys that would keep their offspring amused during the whole of the flight to Cleveland.
Ron Hamilton, sitting in an aisle seat just over the wings, reached into his crammed briefcase and took out the three miniature bottles of Scotch he had packed. "In case of snake-bite," he had told his wife, Janet, as he had tucked them in among the estimates and audit sheets that he would need when he met the purchasing agent for Forbes and Company in Cleveland.
"But you can buy drinks on the plane," she had protested.
"Sure, honey. But only two. And that's hardly enough to fuel a guy like me all the way from here to Ohio. Besides," he added, "my seat's half-way back in the plane, and I'll have a long, long wait before one of those purty little gals they've got for stewardesses gets back there. I could get mighty thirsty before that."
His wife had smiled feebly, a little twisting of her lips showing her resignation. But in her eyes, Ron had seen the hurt and humiliation that flickered there so frequently. His drinking, he knew, was often the cause of her unhappiness. But damn it, he wasn't a problem drinker, he wasn't an alcoholic. He wasn't the kind of character who let liquor interfere with his business or his family. He was simply a guy who liked a good time, and who found that his good times got better when he had a couple of shots of something soothing - he liked Chivas Regal, himself - under his belt.
Anyway, Ron knew it wasn't really his drinking that Janet objected to. Hell, she drank herself, didn't she? Cocktails with him before dinner, highballs or maybe a brandy after. No, it wasn't the drinking, but the fact that alcohol excited him, stimulated him, and when it did, well, he just couldn't wait to get his wife in the sack.
But why should he? Raven-haired, black-eyed Janet had a figure that would turn on everyone but a eunuch. Even now, after sixteen years of marriage, it made Ron's cock jerk in his pants when she walked past him in those tight little slacks she wore, her full rounded buttocks moving smoothly beneath the skin-hugging material, the seam snuggling suggestively in the crevice between her smoothly rounded ass-cheeks. He let out a low, lewd whistle, just thinking of her, and the auburn-haired stewardess mincing down the aisle carrying her tray of coffee and milk and cola shot him an indignant look.
Hamilton ran his eyes lecherously over her voluptuous young figure, set off to advantage by the mini-skirted uniform she wore. Not bad, he mused, staring at her firm, full breasts straining under the blue nylon cloth of her trimly tailored blouse. Not bad at all. Ought to be a great little screw, from the looks of her.
He shook his head and opened a second bottle of whisky, pouring it into the plastic glass the stewardess had handed him. Yes, she ought to be a mind-blowing fuck, he thought. Jeez! She looked hot as a firecracker. He picked up his glass and drained it, shaking his head again. But you never could tell, could you?
Janet, now, she had looked like this when she was this kid's age. Damn it, she still looked like it. There was that sultry look she handed out under her half-closed eyelids, the grace with which she moved that was almost an invitation in itself. The fine texture of her smooth white skin, the lovely oval of her face. God, she had everything. And then when he got her naked . . .
He sucked in his breath, choked a little on the Scotch, coughed and sputtered. The stewardess came rushing down the aisle to ask, "Are you all right, Sir? Is there anything I can do for you?"
There sure was, he thought. But he only said, "I'm okay. And you could get me some ice, maybe."
"Okay!" Her voice was husky, and she whirled provocatively. Ron gave her a swift slap on her undulating buttocks, sending her on her way. His own thoughts went back to Janet and the times when he got her naked. Even sitting here on the plane winging its way to Cleveland, the memory made him gulp. Her breasts were absolutely magnificent, full and erect and snowy white, with little berry-like nipples at their tips. Her hips were full, too, and firm, like her thighs. Her smooth flat belly swelled slightly to the little triangle of black, silken down at the base of it. . . Oh, Christ! How could you describe her except to say she was absolutely breathtaking!
But it wasn't very often that he managed to get his luscious wife naked Ron thought, pulling out a cigarette, snapping his lighter into flame. He looked up automatically to see if the NO SMOKING sign was lit. No, it wasn't. He bent forward, shielding the fire as if in a real sea-breeze, then inhaled deeply. The pungent fumes seared his lungs, hurting him a little, and he released them with a feeling of relief, breathed deeply, then inhaled again. No, it wasn't very often he got Janet out of her clothes in front of him. And why not? Because, he told himself, she was a prude, a regular Puritan who had been brought up to believe that sex was wrong. "Oh, don't. Please don't! Not that way, Ron! Decent people don't do it like that! Oh, not tonight, darling. I'm too tired. I really am!" He closed his eyes, wishing that that aspect of his life with his wife would go away, disappear, dry up and simply not be. It would be easier that way. But things - important things, at least - weren't very easy, and this was about the most important thing in his whole damned life. He'd have to face it somehow, and he knew inevitably that he'd have to face it up here in the clouds, sealed into this pressurized cabin that was darting through the blue at God only knew how many miles an hour, taking him to a damned business meeting in Cleveland where everything was sure to go his way, the way it usually did. He would pick up a pretty penny there that Janet and his fifteen-year old daughter Dell, who was the cutest kid this side of Cleveland would throw away on the most ridiculous - and the most expensive - coats and suits and outfits he would ever see, but Ron didn't care. He wanted to make them happy, and if buying that silly stuff did, well, that was okay by him. He wished, damn it, he wished to hell he could make his wife happy in other ways, too. But he hadn't been able to and the thought tortured him. He tried to push it out of his mind, and when it persisted in staying there, haunting him, he called the stewardess and ordered another drink. At least, fortified that way, it would be easier to face it.
He closed his eyes again and sipped on his drink, and he felt then as if he were back in his own living room, the night before, sipping on a
Scotch and soda Janet had fixed for him, the way she usually did. She'd been walking back and forth in front of him, utterly unaware of how exciting she was in that damned near transparent negligee she'd put on "to relax in" as she said. "Do you mind too much, darling, if I just sit around in a negligee like this? I'm so tired."
And he'd been sitting there, staring at her voluptuous body; his balls had begun to ache with longing for her and his loins had caught on fire like a haystack hit by lighting. Then, when he couldn't stand it any longer, he'd grabbed her by the arm and propelled her, protesting, to the bedroom. Jesus, he hadn't been able to help himself, the way she was teasing him in that skimpy thing she was wearing. Sitting in the plane now it hit him with the force of a thunderbolt that his wife hadn't known - she really hadn't known - that she was driving him out of his mind. Sex just didn't appeal to her, and it never occurred to her that it appealed to anyone else. She'd always been that way, Ron remembered, since the first time he'd taken her, on their wedding night.
She'd been a virgin, of course - God knows, she never let any man, not even her future husband - touch her before marriage, and the young bridegroom had tried his best to be gentle with his lovely young wife. Even so, he had hurt her, and he had awakened in the middle of the night to find her lying by his side, her body stiff and tense with fear, while scalding tears coursed down her cheeks as she choked back her sobs. He'd hated himself then, and he'd hated himself time after time since then. And so he'd started to drink - well, yes, maybe a little more than he should have - because he had to have Janet, and because she never responded to his advances, and somehow, every time he made love to her, she managed to make him feel like an utter bastard.
He rang for the stewardess and asked for another drink. Christ, he needed it. He held out his plastic glass again, but the brisk young woman shook her head and wagged her finger at him. "No more," she said. "Two's the limit, and you've had that already."
"I've had four," Ron shot back at her as she traipsed off down the aisle to warm a bottle for a squalling infant on a forward seat. If she heard him, she paid no attention, and remembering that he still had another miniature bottle of Scotch stashed away, he reached into his attache case for it. He opened it and this time drank directly from the bottle.
His mind whirled a little, shifted, settled down again to review the events of the night before. So there Janet had been in that sexy outfit that was driving him nuts, and so he'd grabbed her and dragged her off to the bedroom. And of course she'd started in with the line he'd heard so many times: "Oh, please, darling, not tonight. I'm so tired. I really am."
He had lashed out in fury at her then. "You're tired!" he yelled, his voice brutally harsh. "You're tired! Well, I am, too. I'm sick and tired of this crap of yours. For Christ's sake, what do you think I'm made of, anyway? Iron? Well, I'm not, God damn it. I'm a man, and I'm made of flesh and blood!"
Janet had turned to him white-faced, pulling that ridiculous nylon robe close around her as if - oh, Christ - as if that sheer, flimsy, see-through thing could somehow conceal her luscious curves. And then she had said, in a tight little voice that was true innocence, because she honestly could not comprehend the agony that tore at his fiery loins, the clawing fingers shredding his aching balls, his throbbing cock - sweet Jesus! She had said - "Whatever has gotten into you tonight, dear?"
And that had done it. The sweet school-girl voice, the simpering expressions she had used, the primp, proper set of her lovely mouth - it had all been too much. In a rage, and in his overwhelming need, he had grabbed her violently, hauled her against him, smashed his mouth against hers as if he were a wild beast. In one quick gesture, he had ripped the flimsy negligee from her trembling body, balled it up and tossed it across the room; in another, he had pushed her down roughly on the bed.
Janet had screamed in terror as Ron held her down with one hand while his other hand ran hungrily up and down over the exquisite curves of her tense, resisting body. Brutally, he clutched and squeezed at her soft, sensitive flesh, kneading her ripe, succulent breasts between his straining fingers. She had screamed again and had begun to plead desperately as her husband pinned her to the bed; "Darling, oh, please . . . darling!"
Her head had thrashed from side to side, sending her long, black hair spinning out in all directions on the pillow, and then the utter fright that stunned her had welled up in her eyes. She had stared, open-mouthed in disbelief as Ron had stripped off his own clothes, unbuckling his belt, pulling down his pants, unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it on the floor. He had stood before her for a long moment in his cotton undershorts, and then those, too, had slid down over his hips and she had seen his rigidly swollen penis, throbbing with excitement, jutting out in front of him like the lance of some medieval knight.
At that moment he had thrown himself upon her, had lifted her thighs and pressed them back against her breasts in a sharp, cruel motion. She had screamed again and her legs had shot out to the sides as she tried desperately to struggle free, to save herself from her husband's insane assault. But Ron had shoved his hips forward, spread her thighs wide, and then ground his pelvis hard into her writhing, thrashing loins. In an instant, his hand had shot down between her soft smooth legs as he sought the glistening pussy flesh hidden down there.
With no other preliminaries, he had jammed the blood-filled head of his throbbing, aching penis up between the soft, tender lips of her unprepared vagina, shoving it forward into the depths of her quivering cunt. She had shrieked in pain, and had begun to plead with Ron. "Oh, darling, no ... not like this ..."
"No?" he had asked, bitterness in his voice, a sneer on his face. "No? Why not?"
"Because . . . because ..." Janet had stammered, "... because it just isn't any good this way."
"It isn't any good any way, is it?" he had snapped at her,, staring down at her fear-filled face, her tortured eyes. She turned away, shuddering. "Is it?" he screamed, arching back, flexing his enormous" prick inside the narrow channel of her pussy.
"Oh, yes! Yes, it is!" she had sobbed.
"When?"
"Oh, lots of times."
"Like hell," he had said. "You don't like to be fucked, do you, Janet?"
She had winced at the lewd word. "I enjoy making love," she had said at last.
"Oh, you enjoy making love," he mimicked. "Well, I like to fuck. And tonight, I'm going to fuck you silly, God damn it." And now his rock hard cock speared deep up into her warmly yielding flesh, until his pelvis smacked against hers.
He fucked in and out, his penis tearing into her, scraping against the narrow vaginal walls that seemed to clamp tight in vain protest around it. Janet moaned and gasped beneath him, helplessly impaled on the fleshy instrument that battered deeper and deeper up inside her nakedly quivering belly. His brain was blank, now, all sense gone. He had had only one thing in mind and that was to spew his white hot cum far up inside her, to ease the terrible pressure on his bloated, sperm-filled balls, to shoot the boiling liquid the length of his throbbing cock and from there deep inside his wife where it belonged and where it had always belonged.
He had shuddered in a convulsive spasm as everything seemed to explode within him while she groaned and sobbed gently beneath him. And then after the great gush from his sperm-inflated cock emptied into her, he had rocked back, finally collapsing on her still tense body. Slowly, then, he had withdrawn his deflating penis with a soft sucking sound.
He had rolled over beside his wife, completely drained, completely exhausted, and had at last fallen asleep. But even in that unconscious state, the quiet sobs of the woman he loved continued to fill his ears.
Now, sitting in the plane, the whole scene came back to him, every detail clear, etched forever in his memory. He seemed to hear Janet's cries, too, as well as his own lewd grunts and groans.
Jesus! He wiped his hand across his forehead, surprised to find it covered with beads of sweat. What a bastard he'd been! He thought of his wife again, and felt a deep rush of warmth and love suffuse his being. She was weak and gentle and needed to be cared for. Yes, and loved, too, the way all women did. And that was what he wanted to do for Jan - not take her brutally the way he had the night before, not treat her like a common whore, not rape her. Oh, Jesus! He loved her, he loved his kid Dell, too. And he'd do anything for them. Anything!
The alcohol was making him sentimental, and he brushed a tear from his eye as he thought of the two women. His own wife, his own daughter. There wasn't anything to match them in the world. They were a couple of jewels, precious ones, given to him for safekeeping and they filled his life with beauty. How the hell did a guy like him ever win a girl as gorgeous as his Janet? And a daughter as beautiful as Dell?
Well, obviously, the young girl favored her mother as people said, had said from the time she was a baby. "Why, Mrs. Hamilton, that child is the spitting image of you." And she'd grown up to be that, too. Like her mother she had raven hair and sparkling black eyes, skin like alabaster. Her body - well, it was just beginning to ripen, not yet the full, sensuous figure Janet boasted. And yet the promise was there. Even now, every guy who got a glimpse of young Dell turned around to take in the sight of her high firm breasts, so pertly tilted, the tiny waist, the swelling curves of her hips and thighs. She was a young beauty, all right, and already so voluptuous that all the boys in the neighborhood swarmed after her like bees after nectar.
Not that she'd ever given them a taste of it. Not Dell! When she walked down that church aisle - on the arm of her grinning old man, Ron thought with a burst of pride - she'd be a virgin, too. His eyes misted over as he told himself "Hamilton, you're a sentimental bastard."
He wondered vaguely who would be standing there at the altar all decked out in white tie and tails waiting to make her his Missus, and his mind roved over the list of the young men she was already dating. There was a new date - what was his name? Ron couldn't remember, but he hoped his girl wasn't serious about him, in any case. Not that pimply-faced kid. And then there were the Powell brothers, Hank and Jerry. The former was going with Ben Water's daughter, Cynthia, who was pretty, too, but nothing like Dell. And Jerry? He'd been turning up at the house pretty regularly lately. Damn it, he seemed to be underfoot practically all the time - sitting in the living room watching television, or downstairs in the rumpus room, feeding records into the hi-fi. And if he wasn't there, he was rummaging in the refrigerator in the kitchen for a coke and a sandwich of some sort. Well, maybe it would be Jerry.
Ron looked out the window at the silver wings of the plane as it slashed through the clouds. It was descending now, and the other passengers were already beginning to collect their belongings, ready for the eventual landing. But the anxious father waited, thinking again of the young boy. There was something he didn't like about the Powell brothers, something that bothered him. They seemed like a couple of kids who just went out and took what they wanted, not giving a hoot in hell for the rights of others. Maybe he was being too tough on them, he admitted. Their lives had hardly been one long picnic. He remembered the terrible automobile accident in which both their parents had died, when they were hardly out of knee pants. They'd been shunted off to one relative after another for awhile, and never seemed to find any they could really get along with, let alone anyone who loved them or cared enough to give them a really decent home. Finally, after the years they'd spent on a farm with a skin-flint uncle who had worked Hank practically to death - and even Jerry, young as he was, had had far more than his share of the chores - the boys had moved back to town and taken a small apartment, hank had been old enough to get a job and take charge of his younger brother who was still in school. All in all, it hardly seemed fair to blame them for the way they behaved now.
But feeling sorry for them didn't mean he'd want his daughter to marry one of those boys. There was something that bothered him - something! He tried to put his finger on it, and couldn't at first. And then gradually it crept into his consciousness that there was a resemblance between him and the boy. Hadn't he been selfish in his relationship with Janet? Hadn't he, too, demanded - no, taken - what he wanted, with no thought of her pleasure. Yes, he had, and the idea sent little quivers of self-disgust coursing through him. Well, he would see to it that that kid of his found someone better to marry than her mother had. And he would find some way to make it up to his wife, too, for being a rotten husband.
He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, started to light At, saw then that the NO SMOKING sign had been lit. He crumpled it between his fingers and dropped it into the ash tray, then groped for his seat belt, found it and fastened it. He braced himself for the descent, for the landing, while he pondered just what he could do to patch things up with his wife, to give his daughter a better home.
The memory of a small shop he'd seen, somewhere near the Hilton, flashed into his mind. He'd stopped in front of it once to admire a silver bracelet he had wanted to buy for Janet, a gold charm for his daughter. He'd even gone into the shop, but had come out empty-handed, muttering at the absurdity of the prices asked. Well, money didn't matter where his family was concerned, he decided. He would buy out the whole damned shop for them, even if he went into hock for the next year to do it. That shop and the flower shop down the street, and that little lingerie shop with all those frilly silly things that his two girls went for like bears for honey. That was what he would do.
He leaned forward, snapped his brief-case open, checked it to make sure his papers were there and in order, spotted the three miniature bottles, empty now, took them out and chucked them under the seat, then snapped the case shut again. He sat up straight as the plane glided down smoothly to the field, hit the ground with a faint bounce,.then sped down the field, halting at last with a jolt. He unbuckled his seat belt, stood up, pulled on his overcoat and started up the aisle to the door where the auburn-haired stewardess was saying "Good-bye" to each of the passengers.
Behind her was a round, chrome-framed mirror, and he caught sight of himself in it. A still-handsome business man, well dressed, obviously on his way to an important meeting. But he saw, too, that his jowls were beginning to go slack, that his forehead was moist, that his face was flushed from the amount of Scotch he had consumed on the trip. He stopped short, and knew intuitively that this was the moment of truth he had to face and which he had so long feared. "Ron Hamilton," he told himself, "you're half drunk now, and that's not going to help. And you know damned well that buying out every shop in Cleveland isn't going to make yours a better marriage. It isn't things your family wants - God knows, they've got enough clothes and jewelry and gadgets to equip the chorus of the Follies. No, it isn't the things you can buy that they need. It's the things you can give them yourself. It's love and tenderness and understanding. That's what it is!"
The auburn-haired stewardess was standing, waiting, ready to say "Good-bye" still one more time. Hamilton nodded to her briefly, then walked down the steps, still absorbed in his own thoughts. Buying things, going home laden with gifts wasn't the way to make his marriage work. No, but going home was! And he would go home as soon as possible and once there he would be a different man. Why, Janet would hardly know him!
Mentally he ran through his schedule for the week. He would have to see the representative of Forbes and Company the next day. That was the main purpose of his trip, and he had to be there at the appointed hour. But his other engagements . . . Some he could cancel, some he could sandwich in between times. And that way he could cut his trip short by a couple of days, be home almost before his family realized he had left.
He decided not to tell his wife of his change of plans. It would be better to surprise her. And what a surprise it would be he thought! He walked off the tarmac, his face creased by a broad smile.
Chapter Two
There was the loud blast of a horn from the shiny new Mustang parked in front of the Hamilton home, and a moment later the door of the white brick house flew open and a voluptuous young girl, clad in the briefest of mini-skirts, appeared. "Hi, Hank - Cynthia!" she called. "Hi, Jerry. Be with you in a minute. I want to say good-bye to Mom!"
"Okay, Dell, but get a move on, will you?" Jerry called. "If you want to 'dance all night' we'd better get started."
The girl waved in agreement and darted into the house, while the boy sitting in the back seat of the car grinned. "Dance all night?" That was a good line, but it was also a good laugh. He had other things in mind for his girl. And he had ways of getting her to give them to him, too. He grinned again, and patted his bulging jacket pocket, then pulled out the bottle of gin he'd hidden there and took a swig. Then "Damn!" She might smell it on his breath and that kid was so damned innocent, even the idea of alcohol might frighten her off. He rummaged in another pocket, finally found a package of gum and stuffed a couple of sticks into his mouth. He was chewing on the wad when Dell finally danced down the path, her skirt flying above her slim, golden thighs, and climbed into the back seat beside him.
He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it hard. "Hi, gorgeous," he said. 'Got a kiss for me?"
She shook her head. "Not now," she said. "Mom's looking."
He glanced at the porch, to see Mrs. Hamilton standing there, wearing a filmy negligee that outlined every luscious curve of her beautiful body. Jeez, he thought, he wouldn't mind having a crack at her, either. Older women always did excite the hell out of him. And Janet Hamilton wasn't all that old. Thirty-two, maybe, and that at the most. Just perfect for plucking, after he'd enjoyed her daughter.
Well, the mother was on his agenda for the future. For tonight, though, he had other plans. And he intended to make them work. This kid sitting beside him had been holding off too long, with all her prissy, "Oh, you mustn't, Jerry. You know I don't go for that sort of thing ..." Her "Let's dance," every time he suggested they sit one out - outside, where it was dark. Tonight was to be Dell's, he told himself, patting his pocket again.
Even so, he sucked in his breath as he saw the older woman standing on the porch, the rays of the setting sun forming a kind of halo around her, as if she were some sort of sex goddes. Just then she raised her slender hand and waved, calling out, "Will you be late, darling?"
"Not too late, Mom. Are you going out?"
"No, I don't think so," she said.
"Well, don't wait up for me, anyway," the younger girl called.
"I won't. Ill probably turn in early." And then as Hank Powell, sitting behind the wheel, gunned the motor which had been idling until then and sent the car hurtling forward she added, "Have a good time, dear."
"I will, Mom," Dell answered. "And don't worry!"
Janet turned and stepped back into the house, the girl's words ringing in her ears. "Don't worry!" She shouldn't, she knew. But she did, and she couldn't help it. She didn't know why, either.
Certainly Jerry had been around long enough for her - and for her husband, too - to get to know him. And as far as either of them knew, he'd never done anything he shouldn't to their only child. Not that their daughter would ever have permitted him - or anyone else - to do anything lewd and disgusting to her. And not that they'd expected to catch the boy doing such things, really. But they'd never even come home to find the kids downstairs in the rumpus room with all the lights turned low. Yet something gave the mother the feeling that her daughter's date was just biding his time. Maybe it was the shifty look in his eyes, the slight leer on his face as he looked at either of the Hamilton women. She just didn't know.
And now she shrugged. Dell could take care of herself, couldn't she? She was fifteen years old, and she'd been brought up properly. She knew right from wrong. She, herself, had impressed on the girl that she mustn't let boys do those awful things to her that other girls permitted. Oh, sure, a good-night kiss was all right, under the porch light. But that was where it should stop. She didn't want any dirty-minded youngster half undressing her young daughter, running his hands lasciviously over her lovely young body, stroking and caressing her into an uncontrollable excitement and then, dear God, taking her like a common whore.
She shuddered a little as she thought of young Cynthia Waters, Hank Powell's steady, who was known around the neighborhood as "an easy lay." She hadn't really liked the idea of their double-dating with her daughter and the younger brother, had even had qualms about it when she saw the two of them in the front seat of the car parked at the curb just a few minutes earlier. A frown creased Janet's lovely face, wrinkled her charming brow at the memory of it. And then she laughed softly. Wasn't she being absurd, worrying about her daughter that way? Dell, she told herself again, had been brought up properly.
In the car, Hank gunned the motor once more, took the next corner on two wheels, then headed out towards the high school. Once out of sight of Mrs. Hamilton's watchful eye, his hand shot out, encircling Cynthia's waist, pulling her towards him. She slid across the seat, her slim young thigh resting against his muscular one.
He let his hand drop to her knee, inched it slowly up the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, listening with pleasure to her little squeals of delight. "You mine?" he asked, one finger slipping under the tight elastic crotchband of her panties, to tangle there for a moment in the soft curls of her pubic hair, before probing gently at the pink, fleshy lips of her pussy. She squealed again, letting out a long, drawn-out "Oooooh! Hank!" and then curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder, her plump ripe breasts brushing against his side.
In the back seat Jerry too reached for the girl beside him, pulling her soft young body harshly up against his own lean, athletic figure. But Dell struggled to slip away from him. "Don't," she pleaded. "Please don't," and there was a tone of surprise in her voice. He had never behaved like this before. Why now?
She tried to brush his hand away from her leg, tried to pull the miniscule scrap of her skirt over her nakedly exposed thigh. And yet his touch on her warm young body sent tiny little flickers of fire racing through her blood that excited her as she had never been before, but which frightened her, too. She just wasn't that kind of girl, she told herself, and she had certainly made it plain to her date often enough. Always before he had listened. He had respected her. But tonight he was different.
He clutched her to his side, continuing to gently stroke her soft smooth skin. "Don't," she repeated, her voice louder, a note of anger rising in it.
"Why not?" Jerry asked coldly.
"Because it isn't right," she said.
He laughed shortly. "Oh, come on, Miss Prissy," he said. "How long do you intend to keep it?"
"Keep what?"
"Your virginity," he said lewdly.
Dell's eyes popped open in shock. Jerry had never, never talked that way to her before. What on earth had gotten in to him? Oh, she knew he had a reputation for being crude, and even downright lewd. She remembered laughing once at lunch in the hamburger joint near the high school, where all the girls got together and kind of gossiped, when one of them had referred to him as "Jack the Raper." But she had felt a kind of pride in the fact that he was always decent and even gentlemanly with her. She knew about his unhappy childhood and knew he had been hurt by it, and attributed the coarse manners he displayed to others to that upbringing. She'd even been certain that she was helping him in some way, turning him into the fine man he could be.
And they'd had fun together, without getting involved in anything more than a real, true friendship. But now? Why had he changed?
Dell didn't know the reason, but she knew she didn't want it to happen. She wanted things to be just the way they'd been before. And if she wanted things that way, she would have to tell him. Tell it to him straight. Tell it to him like it was.
"I intend to keep my virginity until I'm married," she said.
In the front seat, Cynthia pricked up her ears, then turned to howl with cynical laughter at her friend. "Oh, my God!" she said. "Did you hear that? She wants to keep her virginity!"
Dell ignored her, and stared at Jerry, her dark eyes piercing deep into his gray-green ones. "And if you want to know who I'm keeping it for," she said defiantly, "it's for a man who will respect me!"
She jerked away from him and slid across the seat, biting her lip in vexation. Darn! She'd been looking forward to this dance for weeks, and now everyone was spoiling it for her. It wasn't that she didn't understand the way Jerry felt, the way he wanted a girl and that sort of thing. There were times when she wondered what it would be like to go off somewhere the way the other girls did, with a boy, and let them take her clothes off, too, and then let them run then-hands up and down her body, cupping her breasts, playing with the nipples, teasing them, perhaps, until they stood upright in taut little buds. She had even thought of what it would be like to lie back on a bed or a couch somewhere - or even on the back seat of a car, parked on some deserted road, and let her legs go slack, while the boy she was with ran his hands up and down her sensitive flesh, sending little shivers of excitement up and down her spine. And what it would be like when he reached the tiny triangle of fuzz that nestled there between her legs, and parted it and his fingers found the soft flesh of her vagina . . . She had even wondered once what it would be like if she let him unzip his fly and take out his bulging penis and place it there, right at the tiny glistening hole, and then slowly, gently even, press it forward into the hair-lined slit, past the tight, resisting muscles and into the narrow channel of her still virginal young pussy. Yes, she had even thought of that.. . and then she had quickly brushed the idea from her mind, and resolved one more time that no one... no one .... NO ONE except her husband would ever have that right.
Well, she certainly wasn't going to let Jerry Powell do anything to her that might cause her to lose her self-respect, make her feel used and unworthy on her wedding night. She looked at him again, her eyes pleading silently, as she smoothed her skirt down, shifted a little to sit up straight and proper, pressed her knees together primly. Finally she said, "Jerry, I thought..." her voice trailed off.
Damn it, he told himself, I've probably spoiled it all. What if she decided to get out, go home. "Yes?" he asked.
"I just thought. .. well, that things were different between us. I mean I like you an awful lot. You know that, I guess. And I like going out with you, and that sort of thing. And Mom and Dad both think it's just great that you come over to the house all the time. They want you there! Honest they do ! But, I just thought - well, I don't want to do things like that with you. Or with anyone else," she added quickly.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. God damn it! She was trembling! She meant it, meant every word she'd uttered. Jeez, he'd never really believed she was such a square. Well, if that was the way she was, the only thing to do was to pretend that he was sorry, and even to say so. And then to go ahead and spike her drinks - she always asked for cokes - with the gin he'd brought. And then they would see what happened. And Jerry was pretty sure what that would be.
She was looking at him again, with those wide-open eyes, like a sorrowful, heart-broken blood-hound. Quickly he said, "Gee, Dell, I'm sorry. I know how you feel and I don't want you to feel that way. Not about me. So let's be friends again? Okay?"
The girl flashed a quick, brilliant smile his way. "Yes," she said.
She began to hum a little tune as Hank steered the car along the narrow road to the high school. When they arrived, they found the parking lot almost full of cars, and Dell picked out those of her friends. Mel Wilson was already here, his Dart parked at the end of the lot; she wondered who his date was. And over there was Jim Nelson's beat-up Maverick, and then, beyond it, was Tom Moore's car. Gee! Everyone was here. It was going to be a real fun evening.
She could hardly wait to get in on the action.
"Come on," she said. "We're just about the last people to get here. What are all of you waiting for? Come on!"
She slid from the car and stood in the parking lot, waiting. When Cynthia climbed out, she smiled at her to let her know there were no hard feelings, despite what the girl had said earlier, Then Dell slipped her hand in Jerry's, and walked along, swinging it, until they reached the gym.
She opened the door and a wild burst of sound met her, from the local group, hired for the evening, to beat out rock 'n roll. The basketball court, transformed for tonight into a dance hall, had bright crepe paper streamers hung from the light fixtures and balloons bouncing against the walls. Dell uttered a soft little cry of "Oooooh!" much like that she had uttered as a child when she came upon the gift-laden Christmas tree, on the morning of the holiday. Her eyes sparkled and her heart beat faster; oh, it was going to be a wonderful, wonderful evening. "Come on," she said again, as she slipped into Jerry's arms and the two whirled off across the floor.
He left her at the end of the dance and she was swept away by the boy who sat behind her in study hall, a boy whose name she hadn't even known before. And then she was back with Jerry, and he was asking her if she wanted something to drink. Dell panted a little, breathless from the fast work-out on the dance floor. "Gee, I sure do," she said. And as he hurried off, she called after him, "A coke, please."
She was leaning against the hard back of one of the chairs, her legs stretched out straight in front of her, when he returned with the drink. It was icy cold, but as she swallowed it, a little river of warmth ran through her. She drained the glass, and gave it back to him. "That's good," she said. "Just what the doctor ordered." And then she added, "But it tasted kind of funny. Did you have one?"
He nodded.
"Didn't you notice anything?"
The boy shook his head. "No." he said. "Tasted fine to me."
"Oh, sure," she said. "It tasted fine. But it tasted funny, too." She shrugged. "I guess they just don't make them like they used to."
"Seems just the same to me," Jerry said.
"Want another?"
"Yeah. I guess I do," Dell said, fanning herself, her face still flushed from the dancing, the strange warmth of the coke still coursing through her.
"I'll get you one." He grabbed her glass and darted off towards the make-shift bar, where soft drinks and an insipid punch had been poured into paper cups. God damn! He hadn't thought she'd notice. Well, that was the way things were, and he decided to bluff it out, the way he usually did. He picked up another coke for her, a glass of punch for himself, and carried them into the cloakroom, dark and deserted now. There was a washbasin in the corner of it, and he poured part of the coke down the drain; then he filled the glass with gin from the flask in his pocket. Damn, he thought again. She had noticed that something was wrong. Well, there wasn't much he could do about it, was there? Damn it all!
He went back to the gymnasium, carrying the drinks, found Dell and gave her the spiked coke. Once again, she drank it down thirstily, paused to mop her perspiring forehead, and said, "Gee, it's good. But it still tastes different."
Jerry leered at her. "Maybe," he said, "you're different." And then, before she could answer, he led her out onto the dance floor, and the two of them were gyrating, hips swinging, shoulders lurching in the air, to the sound of drums and bass and cymbals. When the dance was over, he led the girl back to a chair. She collapsed there again, fanning herself. And then there was someone else, asking for the next dance. And someone asking for the dance after that. When Jerry finally found her again, she was once more exhausted, her back braced against the hard chairs, her legs akimbo, her feet stuck out in front of her. "Gee," she said, "I sure am glad to see you. Would you get me another coke?"
"Sure."
Once again he dashed off, brought back a heavily spiked drink. Dell drank it down quickly, said, "That was sure refreshing. Thanks, Jerry."
"Oh, that's okay," he said. "Wanna dance again?"
Dell nodded, "Yes." But she still sat on the hard backed chair, her shoulders resting against it, her feet braced on the floor far in front of her. She wanted to dance again - wasn't that the purpose of the mid-spring Hop? - but she didn't feel like getting to her feet. Her head seemed to be turning a little, and the faces and the bodies, too, of her friends out there on the floor seemed to swim past, like in one of those movies where the director gets a certain kind of atmosphere by photographing everything through a gauzy screen or underwater. Her own body felt funny, too - limp and wonderfully warm and relaxed at the same time, although there was a slightly queasy feeling at the pit of her stomach - and she had the impression that she wouldn't be able to pull herself together to get out on the dance floor, even if she wanted to. Nevertheless, she tried to stand up, grasping the chair next to her to give herself the leverage she needed. With a little help from Jerry, standing over her, she managed, and then found that her knees were buckling, her legs swaying. Dear God! What was the matter with her? Maybe she was sick! Maybe the fish she'd had for dinner hadn't been quite fresh. She'd gobbled it down in such a big hurry, because she wanted to get ready for the big event - she'd been looking forward to the Hop for a long time - that she hadn't really noticed how it tasted. But maybe that was it.
Or maybe she was coming down with something. Mononucleosis? Patti Lang, who sat behind her in algebra class, had had it, and she had gone all limp in school one day and had to be helped out of the room, and then taken home. And she'd been out of school for months. Oh, dear God! She hoped it wasn't that! But how could it be? Mononucleosis was what everyone called "the kissing disease" because that was the way they said it was spread. But she hadn't kissed anyone who had it. She hadn't kissed anyone but Jerry, and he was all right.
Maybe, then, it was just that she'd been drinking too many cokes, gulping down the ice-cold liquid too fast when she, herself, was flushed and overheated. And there was something funny, too, about the way Jerry had gone off to get her a fresh, full cup, every time she felt a little thirsty, instead of just finding a place for her to leave the one she had, to pick up when she came off the dance floor, the way he usually did. And then the taste - it was different. Yes, she decided, she'd drunk too many cokes too fast, and there was something funny about them, although she didn't know just what it was.
But she did know she wasn't feeling well, and she was certain that she'd flop over like a dead fish if she tried to dance again. She sank back onto the chair. "I think I'll sit this one out," she told Jerry.
"What's the matter?" he asked, in pretended surprise. "You not feeling well, or something?" Dell shook her head. "It's okay," she said. "I just feel a little peculiar." She struggled to her feet again. "I think I'll go and powder my nose," she said. "If you'll excuse me for a minute."
She struggled to her feet again, and stood holding the chair for a few seconds, watching Jerry go off in search of another partner. Then, knees wobbling, she made her way to the girls' rest room.
There was a couch there, and she sank onto it, gratefully, leaning her head back, closing her eyes. Her head seemed to spin like a whirling dervish now, and she shook it hard, trying to clear it. When it didn't help, she leaned back, closing her eyes again.
A few minutes later, she opened them, and looked at the ceiling. Where the light dangling from it had appeared to swing back and forth like a pendulum, a short time before, it now hung quietly, as it was supposed to. The room no longer turned, either, like the world seen from a roller-coaster, and Dell, taking a deep breath, realized that the little butterflies that had swarmed around in her stomach before seemed to have folded their wings. She wasn't as sick as she'd thought she was!
But she didn't feel well, either. Now, though, she was able to make it across the room to the washbasin, to grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in ice-cold water. She pressed the sopping wet wad to her forehead, and felt the delicious relief of the tingling contact. She let the cool drops trickle down her face - it was as refreshing as a plunge in the lake on a simmering summer day - then dabbed at them with a dry towel. Once more, she soaked a paper towel in the cold water, once more pressed it to her forehead. This time, she let the moisture remain on her pale, translucent skin.
She went back and sat on the couch for awhile, listening to the music that blared through the school hallways, and blasted its way into her little retreat. Someone came in, gave her a strange look, said, "What's the matter, honey?" and then left, without waiting for an answer. Someone else came in, someone she didn't know, who merely glanced at her. But it didn't matter much. She was feeling enough better to wander back to the gymnasium.
The air was thick with the heat given off by a hundred or so bodies, with the smell of smoke and the pungent odor of stale sweat, overladen with the fragrance of the carnation and gardenias and camelias some of the girls wore. It made Dell feel slightly ill again, and her eyes searched the dance floor, as she tried to spot Jerry. He didn't seem to be there, though, and she found herself squinting, as she tried to focus her sight. But the crush of dancing figures became a blur again, and she began to gulp like a fish out of water. She knew she had to get out of here, get some fresh air, and she looked around the room once more for her date. But he wasn't to be seen, and so she picked her way through the spinning couples alone, brushed and buffeted about by them like a leaf in a high wind, until she reached the emergency door on the other side of the huge gymnasium.
She pushed it open, and stepped outside, onto the macadam surface of the parking lot. The air was cool, now, and a soft breeze blew across her face. She inhaled deeply, taking the fresh air into her lungs, letting it out slowly, taking it in again. The moon was high and round and yellow, lighting up the shadowy cars stretched in rows in front of her, while the trees beyond seemed to catch the beams of moonlight in their branches, tossing them back and forth from one to another playfully. Dell stood, watching the scene spread out before her, while the music seeping from the crowded dance hall she had left formed a light background of sound.
She had no desire to return to the dance; not, at least, for the moment. She no longer felt sick, but she felt strangely light-headed; once again, she wondered what had caused this peculiar feeling. And then, intuitively, she knew. Jerry had spiked her cokes. That was what explained the way he'd rushed about, getting her fresh glasses, why he had seemed to disappear on his way from the refreshment table to her seat. And hadn't she smelled something - oh, very faintly, but still something - on his breath, back in the car? Yes, she knew now, she most certainly had. And now, dear God! she was drunk. Well, maybe not really drunk, but certainly tipsy. Her mind shot back to her father, and the way he drank, getting tipsy, too, almost every evening. And she remembered an argument she had overheard between him and her mother, knew from what she had heard then that excessive drinking of this kind excited men sexually, seemed to turn them into lust-filled animals.
Moreover, her mother had warned her again and again against drinking. "Boys only have one thing in mind, dear," she had said so often that the words had become a kind of litany, constantly ringing in Dell's ear, "one thing, when they offer you drinks. And that's to, well, take advantage of you." And when the daughter had looked puzzled at the circumlocution, she had stammeringly explained, "They want to, well, go to bed with you, you know. They want to, well, play with you, and do all those awful things to you ..." Janet had looked at her daughter's innocent face, wondering just how to phrase what she had to say. Did Dell know, already, all those coarse, vulgar words others used to describe what she was trying to say? Had someone taught her to say "fuck" and "screw", to call a man's male organ by the words that the lowest of whores might use? But she knew, from the faint blush that suffused her face, that her daughter had understood, and that she had no need to warn her further.
And now, as the girl stood in the parking lot, her mother's words came back to her, and a little feeling of panic clutched at her stomach, arousing the sleeping butterflies again. Oh, dear
God! She was drunk. And it was her own Jerry who had deliberately gotten her that way. What was she to do?
She couldn't go back to the dance hall, where he would be waiting for her. And she couldn't just stand here at the edge of the parking lot, either, she thought, as she felt the wobbliness once more in her knees. The best thing, she decided, would be to go and sit in the car, until she felt sober enough again to face her date - and all the other kids in there, too.
She picked her way across the rough surface, stumbling a little, weaving slightly from side to side. Darn! Why had Hank had to park so far away? Well, he couldn't help it, she supposed, but this was an emergency, and it seemed as if the mustang was stationed in outer space.
She seemed to come upon it then, suddenly, and held out her hand to touch the familiar surface of the hood. She waited, swaying; the moon had gone behind a cloud and she supported herself against the cold metal. And then the moon slid gradually into view, illuminating, just as gradually, the earth so far beneath her. Dell turned her head quickly; yes, this was Hank's car, the one she had ridden in to the dance. She heaved a little sigh of relief. At last she could climb in, collapse on the seat perhaps, even sleep, until she was sober again, capable of taking care of herself. She waited impatiently for the moon to shed more light on the little planet earth.
As she stood, shivering a little in the cool darkness, she heard the sound of voices. They seemed to come from the car, and she listened, wondering who on earth would be there. And then she heard them again, more distinctly this time, the words completely comprehensible.
"Oh, Hank..." it was saying. "Oh, God, darling. Do it again." A little light seemed to flicker on in Dell's alcohol-dulled mind. That was Cynthia's voice. But what was going on? What was it she wanted Hank to do again?
She steadied herself against the car, waiting for the moon to reappear, listening with renewed attention. Now there was a strange little shriek of half-pain, half-pleasure, such as Dell had never heard before, and then Cynthia's voice again; "Oh, God! Do it. Do it. Suck me! Yes! like that!"
"Like it, babe?" It was Hank's voice, now.
And the answer came in a long, low mewl: "Oh, God ... Oooooooh!"
"Like it?" The boy's voice again, asking the question.
"Oooh, Jesus . . I looooove it... " the girl answered. But what? Dell waited, as the moon appeared for the brief moment, lighting the parking lot, and illuminating the car, too. In the quick, brief moment she made out two figures, there on the back seat of the Mustang, and saw that she had been right. It was, indeed, the older Powell brother, and his date, young Cynthia Waters. But what on earth were they doing? It seemed to the still-dizzy girl standing outside the car, peering in, that her school chum had partially stripped, that she was now half naked. A little electric shock ran through the girl, half-excitement, half-fear. Oh, dear God! What had she stumbled into?
She stood frozen to the spot, unable to pick up her feet, and bid them carry her back to the dance, unable to move forward, either.
Something prompted her to do the latter, to intervene, somehow, to save Cynthia from whatever it was that was happening. And then the clouds shifted again, and the moon came out, full and bright, lighting up the whole scene for her.
A little gasp ran through Dell's slender body, as she received the shock of her life. There, in front of her - so near she could almost reach out her hand and touch her - lay Cynthia, completely naked by now, and spread-eagled on the back seat of the car, one leg raised high, pushed up against the back of the seat, the other hanging out, over the front of it. And between her naked, widespread legs was the kneeling figure of Hank, head flicked forward poised over the girl's soft body. He was running his lips and tongue up and down over the voluptuous young girl, and now he paused to fasten his lips over the snowy mounds of her ripe, full breasts, to take the small red buds of her nipples into his mouth while he sucked them into a quivering hardness. As she lay writhing beneath him, his tongue traced a wet hot path down the flat plane of her heaving belly, then veered off to lap at her inner thighs.
Watching, Dell stifled a scream and clenched her fists until her fingernails dug into her flesh. This was one of her best friends, lying there on the car seat, while a man played with her naked body in the most lewd and depraved fashion. She had never imagined such a thing, and now she stood rooted to the spot, unable even to turn away. Oh, dear God! How depraved she was, too! How evil! And yet she couldn't - couldn't - help herself.
The moon shone brighter now, playing about Cynthia's beautiful face, contorted in ecstatic rapture. The excited young girl's mouth hung open, her glassy, lust-filmed eyes stared unseeing into the darkness. And now Hank, still kneeling over her stretched-out body, slid partially down until he was over the smooth plane of her flat white belly, his face only a few inches from the soft pubic mound at the base of it. It was then that Cynthia stretched her slim hands out, tangling her fingers in Hank's hair, pulling his head further and further forward towards her own tingling skin. She moaned, her fingers still running through his hair, as he pressed his hands on her rising and falling belly, moaned again as he extended his thumbs with a slow, torturing outward movement to press them into the fleshy outer flanges of her cunt. He began to massage them slowly, then drew them outward, parting the soft pubic hair and exposing the moist, coral slit of Cynthia's vagina. Standing just a few feet away, Dell could clearly see the little bud of her clitoris as it throbbed into hardness, there just above her now-stretched cuntal opening.
Once again, her friend's voice assailed the young girl's ears. "Oh, my God, Hank. You're driving me out of my mind. For God's sake, don't stop . . . don't stop ..." her voice trailed off into a gasping whimper.
With a husky groan, Hank dropped his head, and then his tongue shot out to flick teasingly at the throbbing little bud of the girl's erectly quivering clitoris. His lips closed around it, as he drew the soft* warm folds up into his mouth. Cynthia whimpered in mounting sexual excitement as the insanely probing tip worked its way up and down the length of her narrow wet slit, and then her body jerked backwards, and she clamped her legs tightly around his bobbing head, and her hips began to move up and down while his probing tongue flicked in and out of her seething, jerking pussy.
Dell stood stock still with fright, with shock, her mouth hanging open at the lewd sight being enacted before her. Cynthia's little mewls of pleasure floated off once more into the still night air, and then Dell felt her own body begin to move in time to the insane rhythmic swaying of the couple in the car. She wiped her forehead again, wondering if she were drunk or sober, wanting to cry out, to warn her poor friend, being ravaged by the older Powell brother. And suddenly an electric shock ran through the watching girl, as she felt a pair of hands slipping around her from behind and curling over her breasts. She started to scream, but again the sound was choked off in her throat. Turning her head around, she saw Jerry Powell, his lust-filled eyes staring cruelly into her own. She struggled briefly to free herself from his clutches, and about to cry out, felt his hand clapped over her mouth. "Shut up! They'll hear you. And then you won't get that free show that's been giving you such a ball!"
"What do you mean?" the girl gasped.
"That you're loving it, watching my brother make out with that sex-pot he brought here tonight. And that you're just dying for the same."
"That's a terrible thing to say," Dell protested. "You know that isn't true, Jerry Powell. You know I came here just to dance, and have a good time ..."
"Yeah," he cut in. "And having a good time means doing what they're doing. Only you're such a square you won't even admit it to yourself."
"That isn't so," the girl said again. But she knew that her date was right. There was a strange excitement coursing up and down her spine at the lewd sight she was witnessing, little chills and thrills of pleasure she had never known before, and which she knew now that she wanted. Now she felt the length of Jerry's body pressed into her back, felt the young boy's hardening penis, as it stiffened beneath his pants, pushed up against her trembling buttocks. He slipped his hand down into the "vee" of her dress and under the sheer netting of her little brassiere, his fingers trailing gently over the snowy whiteness of one of the little mounds. And then his other arm shot around the girl, and he began to massage and cup her breasts in a teasing circular motion. She squirmed against him, and a little moan of shocked expectancy rose to her lips, and was quickly stifled. Jerry pulled her close, and helplessly she ground the twin half-moons of her buttocks against his loins. Again a little shock ran through her, again a sound, half moan, half gasp died on her lips as she felt the stiff length of his bulging penis pressed into the narrow crevice of her buttocks. Tiny spasms of unwanted pleasure stirred in her belly, now, rose to the hardening nipples of her breasts. She squirmed against him, grinding her buttocks back against his loins, as she tried to free herself. But the boy continued to tease one tiny, taut nipple with one hand, while the fingers of the other fumbled with the small pearl buttons strung like little lights down the front of her blouse. As the last of them slipped through the button hole, he drew the cotton garment wide open, then quickly slipped it from her shoulders. It fell to the ground beside her, and she sucked in her breath as the cool evening breeze wafted across her bare shoulders, her bare midsection. And now Jerry's fingers fumbled unsuccessfully, clumsily with the hook of her sheer little brassiere. After a moment he grew impatient, and with a muttered "God damn!" he pushed the tight, restricting garment up from the resilient mounds of her breasts. Once again Dell gasped as the cool air brushed across her throbbing breasts with their hard, distended nipples now completely exposed to the boy. She felt his big hands enclose them hotly, kneading, squeezing, rolling the nipples painfully between his fingers until he turned her around and his warm, wet mouth closed over one, while his tongue flicked out to swirl maddeningly around it. He lifted his head briefly, while a gasp of surprised pleasure sprang from her half-parted lips, and then bent his head again, encompassing the other nipple with his mouth this time, in the same fashion.
Dell squirmed in involuntary pleasure, then ground her quivering buttocks back against his pelvis, as he sank his covered hardness deeper into the split between them. As he did so, thin folds of her own skirt grated deliciously against her tiny, sensitive anus. Little warning bells began to ring in the young virgin's mind. Oh, dear God! What was she doing here, what was she letting Jerry Powell do to her? And what would her mother say? She had been brought up properly, she thought, as tears of shame and humiliation sprang to her eyes. She knew right from wrong - had known it from the time she was a small child. And yet here she was, in the parking lot of the high-school, half naked, while her date for the evening pawed at her lewdly, ran his hands over her sensitive skin, sending unwanted thrills coursing through her blood.
And as if that wasn't bad enough - as if that didn't condemn her practically to eternal damnation - she was watching the obscene spectacle taking place in the car - where one of her best friends was being lewdly sucked and licked by her date in the most depraved fashion imaginable. She must turn and run away, she told herself. She must save herself somehow.
And yet she was powerless to do so. For the life of her, she could not lift one foot, put it before her, lift the other, and lift the first again. Instead, she stood as if mesmerized, watching wide-eyed, as Hank's lips began crawling up Cynthia's writhing body, spread lewdly before him on the back seat of the car. Slowly, they worked their way along the soft, resilient flesh of the young girl, pausing now and then as he flicked his tongue out rapidly to run it across a soft, sensitive spot, bringing groans of delight from the girl's throat. And then the moon slipped behind a cloud again, and Dell felt only the excruciating sensation of Hank's younger brother's hands massaging her own aching breasts.
Suddenly the moon reappeared, and she leaned forward, peering against her will, through the window of the car. She heard then, the little metallic rasp of a zipper being pulled down, saw at that moment the thick, rigid cock of the older Powell brother as it sprang to sudden freedom from the confining fabric of his trousers. Oh, dear God! It was so big! Was he going to - really going to - ram it up between the fleshy lips of Cynthia's vagina, still glistening pinkly before him up between her widespread legs? Oh, no! He couldn't. He couldn't! She couldn't take it all up inside her. He would split her in two!
She held her breath in agony, waiting. And then she saw Hank slide slowly up along the girl's sweat-soaked, recumbent body until he straddled her breasts. His thick, fleshy cock, rigid and red, was poised directly over her widely-ovaled mouth now and for a few moments it hung above her moist, soft lips, while her tongue flicked out in a desperate attempt to trap it, to somehow suck it down into her mouth. Hank's lewd, loud laugh split the cool night air at the sight, his face creased with a sadistic grin at Cynthia's futile efforts.
Then he grasped the swollen, blood-engorged head of his iron-stiff penis, and guided it forward again, circling it teasingly just beyond the reach of her open lips. Her tongue flicked out again, licking greedily at the tiny opening in the head, savoring the tiny drops of lubricant seeping from it, then ran along the semen-swollen ridge beneath.
Standing just out of sight of the lewdly copulating couple in the car, Dell breathed heavily, trying desperately to understand. What on earth were they doing? She had read in the books her mother had given her as a child of the normal way in which men and women made love, when they wanted to have children. And her mother had impressed upon her that that was the only real reason for a man to do that to a woman. But this! A woman licking a man's penis! Why, that was a perversion! That was lewd and evil and disgusting. And yet these two young people who were her friends were doing this ... depraved, that was the word .. . out here in the car, oblivious to anything but then-own wicked pleasure, and her own young body had grown warm with forbidden excitement, as she watched them.
Now, tense and taut as a violin tuned too high, she jerked involuntarily as one of Jerry's hands left her breast to trail slowly, teasingly, down the narrow crevice between the two snowy mounds to slip tantalizingly across her soft, unresisting belly, and then to insinuate itself under the narrow elastic waistband of her panties. She held her breath as he teased thrillingly at the little patch of pubic hair between her legs. And then his middle finger began to play with the moistly seeping slit there, searching out. and finding the tiny, throbbing bud of her clitoris, caressing it gently until it sprang into quivering life. They slipped down further, to part the softly quivering lips of her vagina, teasingly snaked between them, inside the warm, wet cuntal walls, while wild shocks of maddening pleasure shot through the young girl's body. She was further excited by the huge, throbbing length of his rigid cock burrowing deep into the narrow crevice between her ass-cheeks. Then, suddenly she thrust her own head forward, peering into the car with horror-stricken eyes. Hank had stopped his incessant teasing, his unremitting circling of his cock above Cynthia's mouth, and now had suddenly thrust it forward, plunging it deep into the girl's mouth!
The other girl, watching from a few feet away, was more shocked than she had ever been in her life, and more frightened, too. Dear God! Cynthia would choke on it, it was so huge. She would never be able to take anything so enormous into her mouth, back into her throat. In agony, Dell waited for the sound of sputtering, of gagging, of helpless gasping and coughing, wondering desperately how she could save her friend.
But no such sounds came. Instead, as Hank began to fuck in and out of the girl's widely-ovaled mouth, Cynthia's tightly clasping lips began to suck with all their might on the rigid length of flesh embedded between them. The sight brought a groan from the lips of the younger girl, who instinctively flicked forth her own tongue, running it around her parched lips. Again the little electric thrill of pleasure surged through her, and then, nervously, she felt the sweet moisture seeping from her own pussy, down between her legs, the viscous juices drenching Jerry's fingers.
He plunged his middle finger farther up into her widespread cunt, twisting and turning the tip of it, while Dell, impaled on it, writhed ecstatically, moving now in rhythm to the expanding and contracting lips of the girl in the car. And then, as she watched through the car window, Hank withdrew his penis from the girl's hollowing cheeks with a weird sucking sound, and arched backwards, sliding down, now the length of her body, just as he had slithered up it such a short time before. Now his rigid cock was poised above the pinkly glistening hole of her cunt and in a quick flick of his wrist, he grasped his rigid member between thumb and forefinger and guided it forward, grazing the softly curling pubic hair, parting the long, narrow slit of Cynthia's warm, moist pussy. The rubbery, scarlet head pressed insistently against the elastic opening, until it popped open, and then the horrified Dell saw it disappear up between the wet, sucking walls, slithering up deep inside her young friend. Cynthia thrashed beneath him, impaled on the rigid pole-like cock, and then slowly relaxed, taking the long, hard length deep inside her. She began to move back and forth on it now, rotating her hips, grinding her buttocks deep into the cushion of the car seat, mewling with pleasure as Hank fucked in and out, thrusting deep inside until his stiff, thick shaft crashed against the soft walls of her cervix.
Just beyond the car, Dell stood motionless as Jerry continued to finger-fuck her, running his eyes lewdly up and down her slim, trembling body. Her own eyes were glued almost hypnotically to the lewd, obscene coupling taking place inside the car. There, Cynthia's wild, demonic thrusts were met with equal fury by Hank's pelvis as it smacked lewdly into her, and drove her back hard onto the seat. Their bellies slapped one against the other with the sound of distant druMs. The girl's legs curled and uncurled around the boy's body, clasping it tightly, her heels digging into his back as his driving hips flattened her buttocks hard down into the cushion.
The two of them were puffing wildly now, little streams of sweat dripping down their twisting bodies. A low, unearthly gurgle spilled from Cynthia's throat as she began to jerk spasmodically against the penis sunk deep into her nakedly quivering belly. At the same time, Hank groaned above her and ground hard inside her vagina, his thick, fleshy rod beginning to throb its white milky sperm deep into her madly jerking cunt. The rich, creamy fluid filled the girl completely, and flowed out around the pink, moist lips of her pussy while a tiny stream of it ran down the wide split crevice of her buttocks and onto the grey-pile cover of the car seat. The young couple jerked against each other for a moment more and then lay quietly together.
Outside the car, Dell felt Jerry's middle finger plunging into her, fucking her as she watched the others fucking. Oh, dear God! Little waves of fire were lapping at her, licking her whole gin-crazed body, sending exquisite tinglings of pleasure through her such as she had never known. She rocked back and forth on his impaling fingers, the wild, lewd cries of her friends, reaching climax, ringing in her ears. What was she to do? This was wicked, wicked, wicked. And yet she wished it could go on forever.
She rocked back and forth again, oblivious to everything but the explosive little pinpricks of sheer ecstasy that burned through her. And then she felt the sudden gush of her own warm, wet juices, shuddered as her body was racked by a hitherto unknown joy that seemed to possess her completely, shaking her up, transforming her into a different person. Oh, dear God! She had never felt like this before .. . never. And another shudder passed through her warm, tense body. And then it came again, a maddening joy that lifted her to new heights of feeling, where everything was beauty. It seemed to last a long moment, that new, exquisite joy, and then Dell shuddered again, and opened her eyes to let reality flood over her as she realized where she was, and what she had done.
She had been standing in the high school parking lot all this time, she admitted, with self-loathing. And she had let Jerry Powell finger-fuck her in the most obscene way possible. Worse, she had enjoyed it. .. had enjoyed every depraved moment of it.
With a little shock of horror she realized that the boy was still crouching over her, his middle finger still plunged deep inside the warm, wet walls of her hotly clasping cunt. And then she saw that her breasts, her shoulders, were completely bare, her blouse and brassiere on the ground at her feet. With a sudden, desperate gesture, she pushed Jerry away. He reeled backwards, withdrawing his finger, seemed to Dell's still dazed mind to spin, before he fell onto the paved surface of the car-park. He huddled there for a moment, while she bent forward and scooped up her clothes. Then, struggling desperately to pull them around her, to hook the flimsy brassiere, to button the blouse, she raced off across the parking lot, ducking behind some cars, skirting others, creeping in the shadows so that no one would see her.
At the edge of the lot, she hesitated, then, with a toss of her head, went forward to the shelter of the fringe of woods. What more could happen to her than already had? What could be worse?
She roamed from one huge, spreading pine to another, finally sank down exhausted beneath the largest of them all, curling up on a bed of moss, resting her head against the scaly, peeling trunk of the tree. Her tears began to fall, cascading in scalding drops down her fear-chalked cheeks. She wiped them away at first, then gave up, letting them flow unchecked.
Her mind picked at the past hour as if it were a tongue, probing an aching tooth. What had she done? And why? How had she let herself fall to such disgrace? Why had she submitted to such depravity?
There was only one answer to her questions. She had wanted it. She had wanted, had enjoyed, Jerry's lewd finger-fucking of her virginal little cunt, had delighted in watching Cynthia's obscene sucking of Hank Powell's cock, and later his shocking ravaging of her friend. Oh, they were evil, both of them. But she was evil, too. She was even worse, because she knew better, because she came from a good home, which Hank, at least, had never enjoyed. And this was the way she had repaid her parents - by disgracing herself! She wept again.
She had sobbed herself out, and sat huddled, shivering with cold, beneath the outstretched arms of the pine tree when she heard her name called softly. "Dell? Dell? Are you there?" And when she made no answer, "Dell, where are you?"
The voice was disappearing, growing fainter, when she finally called out, "I'm over here, Jerry."
"Where?"
"Here!"
He followed the sound finally half-stumbled, half-fell on her crouched figure. "Gee," he whispered, "I thought I'd never find you."
He crouched down beside her, groped for her hand and held it tight. "You mad, Dell?" he asked. She began to sob again. "Don't be, hon," he pleaded. "I'm sorry. Jeez, I am. I don't know what got into me."
"You do too," she shot back. "You spiked the drinks, Jerry Powell, just because you wanted to ... to do that to me."
He was silent for a long time. Then, "Okay, I spiked the drinks. But you don't know how long I've wanted you, honey. You just don't know!"
"You must think I'm no better than Cynthia!" she spat at him.
By the light of the moon, she saw him shake his head. "I don't think that," he said. "How could I?" A little laugh bubbled from his lips. "If I did, you would have done with me just what she did with my brother. And then you wouldn't be sitting here crying, and I wouldn't be sitting here, trying to apologize to you."
"Is that what you're trying to do?" Dell asked, her voice cold, aloof, like that of her mother.
"Jesus Christ!" Jerry said. "Can't you tell?"
"I don't know," she mumbled.
"Well, I am. Look," he said defiantly. "I'm sorry. Is that okay? Do you understand that?"
Dell said nothing, but slowly reached out her hand and took his. They sat there for a moment, and then he asked, "Is there anything I can do?"
"I'd like to go home."
"Okay." He rose from his haunches, took her hands, began to pull her upright, too. "I'll take you," he said quietly.
"But aren't they in the car?"
"I don't think so. I think I saw them go back into the gym. But I'll look, anyway."
He hurried off, leaving Dell alone again. She rocked back and forth, holding her head, trying to keep out thoughts of what had just transpired. She didn't know what she wanted any more, where she would like to go, even who she was. Surely she, Dell Hamilton, was not the person who had fallen to such depths such a short time before. Surely not! And yet, if not. .. who had? She concentrated on the problem, and could find no answer. At last she brushed it aside. She felt lost and very little, mere alone in the woods. And when Jerry came scrambling back, she was grateful for his presence. But she didn't want to stay here; she wanted to go. And there was no place for her to go but home. She had asked Jerry to take her there, but could he? She waited for his answer.
"It's okay, kid," he said, patting her gently, almost apologetically, on the shoulder. "They've gone. Back to the dance, I suppose," he added, answered her unasked question. "Anyway, I've got the keys, and the car is over there, waiting, and it's up to you."
"I'd really like to go home," she said, shyly. "Would you take me there? Please."
He stared at her for a long moment. Jesus, but he wanted her. And he'd planned everything so that he would have her. And then, at the end, it had all gone wrong. Jesus, he said, snapping his fingers. Jesus Christ!
"You want to go now?"
"Yes."
"Okay." She stood up and followed him across the parking lot to the car where she had witnessed such obscenities such a short time before. She climbed into the right hand seat in front, while Jerry got behind the wheel. He started the motor, not speaking to her, and then headed the car out of the parking lot, threading his way between the other cars there, then heading out on the open road. It took them only a few minutes to reach the Hamilton house on High Street, where Jerry braked to a stop. The place was dark; maybe, Dell thought, Mom had gone out after all. Or maybe she had really turned in early, like she'd said. But usually she read at night. It seemed all kind of funny. But enough things had happened already, so that Dell wasn't going to start asking questions. It was enough that she was home.
She grabbed Jerry's hand and squeezed it.
Then she opened the car door, slid off the seat and ran up the flagstone walk to the porch.
Chapter Three
As Janet Hamilton turned and entered her house, after waving good-bye to her young daughter, her mind was still troubled. But the ringing of the telephone distracted her. She hurried to answer it, and was surprised to hear the voice of Ron's boss, Frank Tengleman, at the end of the line. Was Ron home, he asked. No, of course not, Janet thought with a slight note of annoyance. Surely Frank knew that her husband had left for Cleveland; he was the boss there, wasn't he? Why, he'd probably arranged the trip to Cleveland himself.
Yes, she was sure he had. Ron had even talked to her about it. And now here was the man himself calling. Janet shrugged. It was a mad, mad world. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it except be polite. "Oh, no, Mr. Tengleman," she heard herself say. "He isn't here now."
"He isn't?"
"No, he isn't." Was the man deaf, too?
"Oh, I'm sorry."
So am I, thought Janet. But she didn't say so. Instead, she asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Oh no . . " The voice was a little hesitant. Then .. "Perhaps, Mrs. Hamilton .. or may I call you Janet. . ?"
He was going to, so why not say "yes"? she thought. "Yes, of course," her voice was sweet as Grandma's spiced peaches, and almost as sickening.
"Okay, Janet. Then look, sweetie, I've got a contract here I want to show your better half..."
"He's gone to Cleveland," Janet said patiently.
"Yes, I know he's gone to Cleveland. But I thought if I could just stop by with these papers that he'll have to sign ..."
"Can't you just leave them on his desk in the office?" she asked. "I'm sure he'll find them there, if you put them on top of all that other stuff. And he'll have a chance to go over them right there, where he has all his files handy, and that way he can sign them almost as soon as he gets back."
There was a long, thoughtful silence, and then Tengleman said, "Of course you're right. You wives always are, you know. Quite frankly, we really depend on your judgment to keep your husbands on their toes. And I must say, Mrs. Hamilton - uh, Janet - that you seem to be one of the most alert, the most understanding of them all. And that was why I thought it might be a good idea to come over with the papers and maybe go over them with you. You see," he said, "we consider you to be 'the better half'." He gave a short, brisk laugh, when Janet didn't answer, and then went on, "Okay?"
"Well," she said, "I'm very grateful for what you say. But I really don't understand what you're getting at."
"Just this," he said. "We think Ron relies on you a lot for advice ..." She started to protest, but the man's booming voice drowned out her own quiet one. "And we're kind of expecting you to give that husband of yours some real good advice on this deal. So I just thought if you looked the papers over and had them real handy for him when he gets back ..."
"But he won't be back for almost a week, Mr. Tengleman," she said.
"Frank," he interjected. "Call me Frank. And I'll call you Janet. Okay?"
It was okay, she thought, even more annoyed now, a little confused. Hadn't she already told him that? What was the matter with him? And what did he want? Certainly not her business advice - and he surely didn't want her to give that advice to Ron, either. It was a standing joke among the Hamiltons that she had the business sense of a ring-tailed monkey, that she couldn't be trusted with a shopping list, let alone balancing her own check book. So what was he after?
She heard him breathe heavily into the line, interrupting her thoughts, bringing her back to the here and now. "Okay?" he asked again.
Okay what? Oh, yes, she was to call him by his first name. "Okay," she said, "Frank."
"Good, that's great," he said. "I always think it's damned important to be on good terms with the little woman, don't you?"
Janet nodded wearily, wishing he would go away, or at least hang up. But she could hardly tell him so; after all, he was her husband's boss. At last she said, "Yes, I do."
"So I thought," he said at once, "that maybe if I could just drop by and talk to you for a few minutes ..."
"I thought you wanted me to go over some papers," she reminded him.
"Yeah, that, too. Now whatdya say, in about fifteen minutes, maybe? Half an hour?"
She would have liked to answer "Never," but couldn't get up the courage to do so. "Make it a little later," she said, trying to compromise.
"About an hour?"
"About an hour." She hung up and wandered into the living room. She had forgotten about Dell's date, and her worries about the young girl in her confusion over the telephone call. Well, she decided, she wasn't going to let that bother her, whatever was behind it. She sat down on the sofa, lit a cigarette, smoked half of it and stubbed it out. She picked up a magazine, skimmed through it, started to read an article called "How to understand Your Teen-Age Daughter," but didn't find it helpful, so she slid the magazine back on top of the pile on the coffee table. She looked at her watch and yawned, waiting for time to pass. She'd have to go upstairs and get dressed eventually, but she didn't have to go yet, and so she ht another cigarette, and then went into the kitchen for a glass of cooling iced tea. It occurred to her there that she should offer her visitor a drink of some kind - and she was sure that iced tea wasn't his dish. It would have to be something a lot stronger - Scotch, she supposed - and so she checked the liquor closet. Yes, there was plenty on hand. There were even some salted nuts and a couple of packages of somewhat wilted crackers. She could have put them in the oven, refreshed them a little. And then she decided oh, what the hell. She had to be polite to her husband's boss, obviously. But she didn't have to go that far to please him. She went upstairs, into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. When the water came down in a soothing spray - not too cold, not too hot, but, she thought, like baby bear's porridge, just right, she slipped out of her negligee and dropped it to her feet. She stood for a moment, in front of the mirror, her firm full breasts, her lusciously rounded hips and thighs reflected in all their voluptuous perfection. And yet Janet was unaware of the superb beauty of her body. Without giving it a thought, she stepped into the shower. What, she wondered as the water splashed down her lovely shoulders, over the brown-crested mounds of her breasts, was on Frank Tengleman's mind?
What was on Frank Tengleman's mind was, very simply, Janet Hamilton - standing naked in a shower, or waltzing past him in a transparent negligee, or - his ultimate wish - thrashing beneath him on a bed or couch, as he rammed his throbbing, rock-hard penis deep inside her narrow cuntal passage, until it crashed against the softness of her cervix. And now he, too, stood beneath the splattering fall of a warm shower, soaping himself, running his hands over his own body, lathering his cock, his balls, feeling them swell as he handled them, while he thought with exhilaration of the next few hours. He was going to have that woman, to screw that woman, to fuck her as she'd never been fucked in her life.
He'd heard all the stories about her, of course. How could he escape them? Wasn't she supposed to be the "Frigidheiress" herself? And hadn't someone changed that old song about Hard-Hearted Hannah so that the words now went "Sitting on the front porch, with Janet on your knees, is walking through Alaska in your B.V.D.'s."?
Oh, he'd heard. And he'd seen that poor slob of a husband of hers coming slinking into the office, tail between his legs, after one of those nights when the Missus wouldn't give out. He'd even felt sorry for the poor bastard, but not for very long. He'd figured it was his own fault, if he couldn't figure out what to do. The way he, Frank Tengleman, had.
The idea had come to him during the winter, when he'd taken off for a few days of rest and recreation in ol' Mexico . .. south of the border. He'd been walking through the market place in one of the little villages there and a girl had beckoned to him, and had somehow made him understand that she had the secret of all the world's joy and bliss for sale in the little piles of herbs and drugs at her feet. "Se�ora?" she had asked.
He had shaken his head.
"Why not?"
What could he say? "She didn't come along on this trip," he finally admitted, lamely.
"Se�ora, she not so good, huh?" the girl had asked brazenly. And Tengleman had been so shocked he had admitted the truth. His wife was, he thought crudely, a lousy lay.
He had expected a smile of scorn, or perhaps of condescension, along with an invitation to meet the young Se�orita at the bar of the crumbling little hotel down the way. Instead, he was greeted with a tumbling spate of words, fast and loud, with which, in spite of years of high school Spanish, he couldn't cope. He had finally made out, however, that the young lady was not offering to sell him her own charms - no indeed, she said, nodding at a young man nearby who watched the entire scene with fierce black eyes, his thick black mustache quivering in rage over his tight, angry mouth. No, indeed. Instead, the dark-eyed Spanish beauty was offering to sell him an elixir, a magic powder of some kind, that would, she explained with a lewd little wink, make him absolutely - aab-soooo-looooot-e-ly - irresistible to women. He need only slip a pinch of the marvelous preparation into his beloved's food, or better still, drink, to arouse her to heights of passion such as she had never known and he had never seen. From then on, of course, it was up to the Se�or to, well. . . she had searched for the word, and finally found "carry on." Her admiring glance traveled from Tengleman's face down his hulking body to settle impishly on the front of his pants. There was already a bulge there, caused by the excitement the girl's words had aroused, and with a little gesture, she indicated that she was sure her potential customer could "carry on" very well indeed.
He grinned lewdly at her, acknowledging the compliment, and then demanded the price of this miraculous stuff. The girl's answer sent him reeling backwards. Jesus! He could buy the favors of every whore in town, and it was a large town, for what she was asking.
Yes, the young woman admitted, with a vixen-like smile. He probably could. But it wouldn't be the same now, would it, Se�or? And Frank had to admit that it would not be. He'd walked away slowly, waiting for her to call him back, to offer him a lower price, the way the older women selling baskets and sombreros and hand-tooled leather did. He heard nothing, though, and when he turned, he saw that she was explaining to another man, with the same animated gestures, the same sparkling exuberance, with which she had offered the remarkable herb to him. He turned on his heel and hurried back, shoving the other man aside rudely, and handing over a fistful of pesetas. The slim young woman had given him a smile that was bright as the day itself, had folded up the little pile of powder in a piece of paper, and given it to him; he had slipped it into his pocket. As he walked away, she called after him. He went back, one more time, to listen again to her voluble Spanish. There was an extra property, an even more special one, to this incredible drug, she finally made Frank understand. Not only would it arouse the most unbelievable desire in the person who tasted it, driving her to acts of love unheard of, even undreamed of. It would also make the lover appear to her in the guise of the man she most desired, rather than the one actually . . . and here the Se�orita lowered her eyes and blushing, used an English word, to make herself more comprehensible. "Rather than the man who was, how you say? . .. fucking her," she told him.
Tengleman grinned, and patted his pocket as he left the market place. Jeez! What he could do with this little wonder-worker. He thought of trying it on his wife, just to find out who her dream man was, then decided against it. Why waste the precious stuff on that old bag? No, he would save it all for Janet Hamilton, whom he'd been lusting after for a long, long time.
On the trip back from Mexico, he laid further plans for getting the wife of his subordinate where he wanted her - and where he wanted her was thrashing around underneath him while he screwed her silly. He'd have to get Ron out of the way, of course. Couldn't "carry on" like that, he thought, using the expression of the black-pigtailed olive-skinned Mexican girl, he couldn't carry on like that with her husband watching. Or could he? The thought added an additional fihp of excitement to the imagined scene.
No, he decided. Better play it safe, at least for the moment. So . . . send the old boy off on business, and let Big Daddy here - he thumped himself on the chest - take over. Simple, wasn't it? Yeah, he thought, nodding to himself. Child's play. But what went on after, back there in the Hamilton house, would be strictly adult entertainment.
It had been even easier than he thought to get things going his way. The conference with Forbes and Company, out in Cleveland, had come up just about that time; it was a matter that Ron had been itching to take care of. And so Frank had sent him off - the other man had thanked him profusely for giving him "the chance" as he put it, while his boss had smiled inwardly. And now Janet Hamilton's husband was in Cleveland on a business trip, and the poor girl was oh, so lonely. And Tengleman was in his shower, getting ready to go over and keep her company. He lathered himself again, humming an old-time song, somewhat out of tune, rinsed the suds from his well-built body, then stepped from the shower, patting himself dry with the enormous, fluffy towel hanging on the heated rack. Then he sprinkled talcum powder over his body, and patted the classy men's deodorant his wife had left ostentatiously on the bathroom shelf under his arms. Finally he dressed himself carefully, knotting and unknotting his tie to get it just right. When he was satisfied at last with the image of himself in the mirror on the bathroom door, he went into the bedroom and took the precious powder he had brought from Mexico from its hiding place underneath the mattress. He slipped it into his pocket, and grinned lewdly. Christ! What a night lay ahead, with the most gorgeous gal in town lying underneath him.
He went downstairs, called to his wife, "I've got to go out and see someone about that Miller contract."
His wife looked up from the detective story she was reading. "Oh?"
"Yeah! God damn it. I wish I could get me some sort of job where I didn't have to work these Godawful hours!" And then he left, letting the screen door slam shut after him, climbing into his car, and driving slowly across town.
Janet Hamilton, dressed now in a crisp white pique dress that zipped all the way up the front, in the latest fashion - at least she had seen pictures of things like this in the magazines to which she subscribed, and which she read avidly each month - was sitting in the living room, waiting for her husband's boss, still wondering what on earth was on the man's mind. Business? Hardly. Unless he was planning to give her the business. She wouldn't put it past him, she thought, remembering the way he'd tried to manoeuver her into a corner at the Christmas party the year before. Well, she'd taken care of him then, and she could now. But, really, it hardly seemed likely that he would try anything tonight. She didn't know why, exactly; she just felt that he wouldn't. And if he did, she would just ask him, politely, of course - after all, he was her husband's boss - to leave. She could handle things, she assured herself. She would be careful not to drink too much, too. One Scotch - two at the most - and weak ones at that. And she would see to it that her guest didn't over-indulge, either. He might be just like Ron, she thought.
She heard the whir of burning tires outside the door as Frank pulled the car up short against the curb, then got up and went to the door. She opened it as he got out, and started up the path. "Hi," she waved, greeting him. "So glad to see you!"
It's mutual, he thought, feeling his cock jerk inside his pants just at the sight of the beautiful woman who'd been on his mind for so long. "Hi!" he called out. "You're looking gorgeous, I must say. Cool as a cucumber, on this hot night. Gorgeous, and good enough to eat."
"I do eat," she shot back at him, "but I've already had my dinner."
Tengleman stepped through the door she held open, hooting with uncontrollable laughter. He poked her in the ribs, still howling, and finally said, "A real little comedian, aren't you?" He handed her the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him, and added, "Well, if you've eaten, maybe you'd like to sample this."
"Why, that's very kind of you," Janet said, holding the bottle gingerly in her two hands. Darn, she thought. If he'd brought a bottle, he was expecting to drink a lot himself! Well, she couldn't really tell him she'd run out of the stuff, after the first drink or so, now could she? She remembered the advice she had drummed into Dell's ears about men and liquor. She herself would certainly follow it.
She led Tengleman into the living room, motioned to one of the easy chairs, said, "Won't you sit down?"
"Sure," he said, crossing to the couch, and settling heavily on it.
Janet scowled. "I'll get you a drink." She went into the kitchen, got out ice and soda, twisted the top off the bottle her guest had brought, and poured a generous splash over the ice cubes. "Soda?" she called out.
"On the rocks."
She put the two drinks on a tray, settled the little silver dish filled with salted peanuts beside the now-sweating glasses - she wasn't going to waste almonds on him, she thought derisively - and placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. She handed one drink to Frank, took another herself, then sat down opposite him, on one of the chairs. "Cheers!" she said, lifting her glass.
"Cheers!" he toasted in turn. His eyes were roving up and down her luscious body, resting now on the rounded spheres of her breasts outlined beneath the tight fabric of her dress, moving down to the full, sensuous hips, then on down the length of her slender, shapely legs. He sipped at the drink, still watching the woman who, in turn sipped at hers. God! He could hardly wait to slip the love potion into her glass, and then to shove his thick cock deep into her belly. But he'd have to wait; he couldn't afford to make her suspicious.
For a long moment, Tengleman was tongue-tied, wondering just what the hell to say to this lovely creature who was sending lust-crazed bolts of fire shooting through his loins. It was almost funny, he thought. Here he was, at his age, and with all his experience with women, sitting like a squirming adolescent, trying to screw up the courage to kiss a girl. And yet, for the life of him, he couldn't think of what to say!
He was jolted out of his timorousness by Janet's soft voice, her unexpected question. "What was it you wanted to see me about?" she asked.
"Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Well, as you know - as I told you on the phone ..."
"You said something about looking over some papers," she said, interrupting him.
He seized on the excuse. "Yes," he said, with a heart-warming, even boyish grin, "that's it exactly." He began to rummage through the brief case he had brought with him, found some printed contracts and a yellow sheet of figures and pulled them out. "Now," he said, "if you'd just go over these with me ..." He looked up expectantly, smiling again.
"Perhaps it would be better if you sat over here," he said, patting the seat beside him. Janet grimaced uncomfortably, then rose to cross the room and sink down beside the man on the couch. He shuffled through the papers again.
"Now," he said, picking up a pen and checking off a row of figures on the yellow paper, "if the income from the Hayden account is ..." he squinted, trying to make out the numbers.
"I thought you said it was the papers on the Miller contract you wanted me to see," Janet said.
"Oh, did I?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I guess I made a mistake." He leaned forward, his head close to hers. "Now here, you see ... "
"I... I guess so ..."
He looked up, glanced at the two empty glasses. "Oh, how about a refill?" he asked.
Janet hopped up. "I'll get it."
"No, let me."
She started to protest, but he had picked up the glasses and was off to the kitchen. Out there, he poured Scotch into both, added ice and, for Janet, soda. Then he took out the packet from his pocket, gathered a pinch of the powder between his fingers, and let it fall into her glass. He found a spoon and stirred it vigorously, then carried it back into the living room.
"Cheers!" he said, handing the refreshed, and drugged drink to her.
She took it unsuspectingly and lifted it to her lips. It had a strange taste, somewhat bitter, and for a moment she thought Frank had mixed the Scotch with tonic, rather than soda. She tasted it again. That wasn't it; still, something was strange. She looked enquiringly at Frank, to see if he had noticed anything, but apparently he hadn't, so she said nothing, merely continued to sip her drink.
He was pointing out more figures to her, and she tried to concentrate on them. But she had never had a mind for figures, and these seemed less comprehensible than most. They even began to move, jiggling about on the page as she looked at them. She wiped her forehead, surprised to find it sticky and damp. She stared at the figures again, silly little columns of numbers marching up and down the page like those thirty thousand men of the King of Spain in the old nursery rhyme . . . the sound of it whirled through her head. Desperately she tried to concentrate, fixing her stare on those numbers - or were they the Spanish soldiers. She closed her eyes at last, unable to keep them open. Her mind seemed to reel, her head to spin. She leaned back against the couch, wishing she could sleep a little, hoping that Tengleman didn't notice.
The Spanish soldiers - or were they merely the numbers on the page? - seemed to waltz through her brain, and then everything went blank. Perhaps she slept; she couldn't be sure. She only knew, awhile later, that the man sitting next to her had his arm around her. She had no recollection of his putting it there.
Somehow, it gave her great comfort, but she wasn't sure why. She blinked her eyes; everything seemed hazy. She wasn't sure, at first, who it was sitting beside her, his arm around her that way. And then it seemed perfectly obvious. Why, it was Ron, of course. Her husband. Who else would take such liberties?
She let her head fall on his shoulder, and began to make soft little sounds of pleasure. She had never felt like this before about her husband, never felt the throbbing that had begun between her legs, in the soft little triangle there, the aching that spread through her body, the little stirrings of her blood deep within her veins. She felt him pulling at the zipper down the front of her dress, and tried to help him. He seemed so gentle with her now, not at all like those other times when he'd been drinking too much. And now, as Frank Tengleman eased the dress off her shoulders, ran his hands over the awakening mounds of her breasts, and down over her belly to the soft fleshy folds of her cunt, he smiled with satisfaction. It had cost him a pretty penny, to buy the magic potion from that little Mexican girl in the market place. But it was working better than he had ever thought possible. It wouldn't be long before he possessed this woman he had lusted after for so long. Janet's body was beginning to respond to his soft caresses, as his hands magically stroked her flesh into a hot sheet of desire. She suddenly knew that she wanted him, wanted him as she had never wanted anything in her life.
Her body ached to be touched gently, to feel him as he crawled up inside her - as he would, she knew, and soon, dear God, soon - and then the terrible aching longing that roared through her being like successive claps of thunder would sink into silence. Now, though, it was building unbearably as his maddening fingertips played over her half-clad body. She had known, she had even helped this wonderful man she had married, to remove her dress. And yet, through her drugged haze, she was somehow aware that she still wore her brassiere, her little nylon panties, even the garter belt and the stockings she had donned to greet Ron's boss, when he came with the contract he had wanted her to see. But he was no longer here, although Janet could not remember his leaving, and instead, her own beloved husband was sitting beside her, stroking her sensitive skin. His thrilling touch sent sharp deep flames of lust dancing through her, and she wanted more than anything in the world to please him, to make him as happy as he was making her. What better way, she thought foggily, than to take off the rest of her clothes? She slipped her hand under the narrow strap of her brassiere, and slid it off her shoulder, and then was unutterably pleased when Frank unhooked it, and released the softly rounded orbs from the constricting garment. She guided his hands to the thin elastic waistband of her panties, helped him insert them underneath it, then aided him as he eased the skimpy nylon down over her hips. She stood before him for a brief moment, knowing he wanted to see her as she was then, in nothing but her high-heeled pumps, her garter belt, her stockings. And then, again with his help, she removed those, too.
Frank's hand roved over her magnificently swelling breasts, down over the smooth flat plane of her stomach, to her firmly rounded hips. His touch lit little fires in her now-erected nipples, sent little shudders of excitement to tease her tight, hot vagina. She felt a few drops of moisture seep down between her legs, and took immeasurable pride in that fact.
"Oh, Ron, darling," she began to croon, leaning over to tangle her hands through Frank's hair. She pulled his head towards her until his lips touched her throbbing breasts, and his tongue flicked out to run lightly, tantalizingly over the tender snowy mounds. He fastened his mouth over one of her taut, rosy nipples, began to suck on it, taking it deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as if it were some honey-laden piece of fruit, while Janet moaned with an ecstatic pleasure she had never known before. Once again she called out her husband's name, imploring him to take her. "Oh, darling, do that to me. Yes ... Yes . .. Ron, oh my darling. Yes, like that."
Frank pulled her down on the couch, then pushed her backwards gently, until she lay spread out on the soft, velvety surface, her smooth, rounded buttocks pressed gently into the cushions. Pushing her unresisting milk-white thighs apart, he crouched over her recumbent body, and let his head fall to within a few inches of the hair-lined lips of her moist, hot vagina. Janet moaned, once more whispering her husband's name, as he dropped his head even farther forward, closing the small gap between his mouth and her own gently quivering pussy. His face grazed the soft down there at the base of her belly, and his lips brushed it with wet, tickling kisses, while his tongue flicked out to lick at the narrow little slit. And then he rested the palms of his hands against the soft, soft skin of her inner thighs, and slowly spread the throbbing, fleshy cuntal lips apart, until the moist wet furrow was completely exposed to his hungry, devouring mouth.
Now his tongue shot out to flick at the quivering clitoris enclosed within her moist secret flesh to circle it and swirl maddeningly against it, while his lips sucked on the little bud of her miniature phallus, drawing the warm soft folds deep into the cavern of his mouth. He began to work his tongue up and down the length of the narrow wet slit, then ran it deep into the soft rimmed flesh. The walls of her now open vagina clasped moistly around it in a sucking motion, pulling it deeper and deeper inside.
He flexed his head back, as little sounds of animal passion escaped between Janet's tightly clenched teeth, and then he sent the probing tip of his tongue exploring lewdly up and down until it reached the elastic rimmed opening of her warm, pulsating pussy, and went along into the crevice of her soft, undulating buttocks. Again he flicked it up and down, searching out, finding the tiny puckered opening of her sensitive anus, caressing it moistly.
"Ron," she cried out. "Ron . . . !" and Frank Tengleman grinned lewdly above her tensed, passion-incited body. God, he'd never expected anything like this ... never had a woman been so hot, so demanding in his life. And he was the man to give her what she wanted; it only added to his pleasure to know that he had her at his mercy, in a way her own husband never had.
His lips moved over her soft, sensuous skin again, until they rounded and covered the tight little cunt-hole in her madly squirming pussy. He thrust his tongue deep into it and the woman beneath him groaned, then closed her thighs convulsively around his moving head. She pushed her heels against his back, pressing his body close to hers, his head even deeper into the open "vee" of her loins, until Tengleman gasped for breath.
Jesus, this bitch was hot! Every muscle in her body was tensed, and she began to strain her legs upward, striving to meet his maddeningly probing tongue. The frenzied sexual excitement of the woman spurred an answering excitement in the man. He felt his throbbing penis harden to a heretofore unknown stiffness, felt it grow explosively, almost beyond his control. He had to fuck her, he had to fuck her now!
Janet pulled at his head again, drawing it deeper up against her trembling pussy mound as her updrawn legs opened and closed convulsively around it. She moaned again, calling out her husband's name. She had never known he could make her so happy, so ecstatic. She loved him, she truly did. And now it was her turn to make him as happy as he was making her. She moaned again, splaying her legs wider and wider, opening her secret little treasure to the man she thought was Ron.
The sheer sensuality of the movement, the opening, inviting gesture, drove Frank Tengleman into a state of frenzy. He couldn't stand it any longer, he was going out of his God damned mind! He raised himself above her, slid off the couch, and Janet saw, through drug-fogged eyes, that he was taking his clothes off. But why shouldn't he? Wasn't he her husband? Hadn't they been married for oh, so many years? And after all that time, what did they have to conceal from one another?
She watched as his shirt dropped to the floor, his pants were stripped off, his shoes, his socks, his cotton undershorts. She gasped in amazement as his thick, rigid cock sprang free of the undergarment. It was so big! She had never realized her husband was so generously equipped. And now it was throbbing, its head blood-swollen and smooth, its whole length stiff and red, as he grasped it between his thumb and forefinger and guided it down towards her glistening pussy-hole, eagerly awaiting the entrance of his rock-hard member.
Once again, Tengleman crouched over the lewdly splayed body before him and slowly massaged the heavy thick foreskin back and forth over the jerking head of his cock as she lay beneath him, whimpering in her overwhelming need. Her arms snaked around his back, pulling him close, her legs shot out again, clasping his body tight to hers as she moaned in wild abandonment.
Frank's rigid cock brushed against her sparse pubic hair, now wet with the moisture that seeped warmly from her narrow cuntal passage. He planted his hands on her shoulders, as, groaning now, she locked her ankles behind his neck. Looking down, he could see between their bodies the throbbing lips of her vaginal slit, opening wide in invitation, in hungry desire, for fulfillment.
He pushed forward, pushed open the throbbing lips of Janet's vagina, flicked his hips forward, then pressed again until the huge bulbous head of his cock grazed the fleshy cunt-lips, and sank between them. She screamed in pain at the abrupt invasion and then, as he shoved deeper, screamed again.
The sound of her agonized voice sent sadistic thrills of pleasure hurtling through Tengleman's body. He would make her scream for mercy, paying her back for all the times she had evaded - and avoided - him in the past. He might never have her again, he reflected; but this time he would screw this frigid little bitch into a helpless, whimpering mass of sensuality, who would beg for everything he had to give her.
And he would begin by ramming his cock deep up inside her, all the way to the hilt. He thrust forward, in one sharp, energetic movement, sending his lust inflated penis into the depths of her fearfully cringing cunt. She shuddered beneath him on the couch, lewdly impaled on his hugely throbbing penis, as the hot searing pain of his blunt entry tore cruelly at her insides. "Oh, no," she cried. "Oh, Ron . .. noooo!"
But Ron's boss jerked forward, the hotly pulsing cock-head burrowing deeper and deeper up into her. She squirmed beneath him, and he stretched his arms out, pinning her shoulders down to the cushions beneath her, while his widespread knees held her thighs wide apart.
"Oh, oh," she screamed again. She had never felt anything this deep, had never felt the tight lips of her cunt stretched this way before - almost to the bursting point. "Oh, noooooo." Ron was going to split her wide open. Dear God! He was going to split her wide open. She flexed her thigh muscles tightly together, to ward off the pain of the huge, invading instrument fucking deep inside her. But the movement seemed to further excite the monstrously throbbing form, so that it forced its way in deeper and deeper, while she resisted vainly. And then her cringing cunt gave in completely, and clasped itself glove-like around his throbbing penis. It seemed alive inside her, every fleshy nerve scraping her sensitive cuntal walls, the thick, hard tip pressing all the way against the soft, sensitive flesh of her cervix.
Janet whimpered again, her little moans of pleasure-pain sifting through the almost silent air. Tengleman, rocking back and forth, felt her body coming to life beneath him, felt the climax of all he had desired for so long approaching.
He could hardly contain himself as her little moans of pleasure floated off on the summer air. She lay back on the couch, legs splayed wide, one hanging out over the edge, as in her ecstasy, her head rolled from side to side. The sharp searing pain had died away by now, and in its place was a maddening electric tingle that began somewhere deep inside her and flowed like water - or spread like dancing flames - through her entire body, rising to set the hair-lined lips of her cunt on fire, moving on to envelop her milky white thighs, the gently swelling belly, her sensitive, heaving breasts. She rotated her hips from side to side, impaled on the thick, fleshy rod, screwing her white, rounded buttocks deep into the cushions of the couch as she moved beneath him.
Frank began to fuck in and out, driving his hard, throbbing penis deep inside her belly, withdrawing it until only the tip of the head remained within the clasping, sucking vaginal passage. Again she groaned in passion, again called out her husband's name. At last, she thought, at long last, she was sharing the wonderful joy that had been denied her so long. Ron had become the lover she had dreamed of, gentle, tender, and yet one who elicited the most passionate response from her electrically alive body.
A half crazed smile played across her lips as she began to thrash and buck wildly against Frank's long, deep thrusts. Her warm thick juices were beginning to flow around his deeply implanted penis, and then she panted out the words, "Oh, God, my darling. Oh, my darling Ron. I'm cumming ... I'M CUMMING!"
Her body jerked in a violent uncontrollable spasm, her back arching up off the couch, and then another shudder ran through her, and wet white cum flooded over his lustfully pounding cock, bathing it in its warmth, then seeped down between her legs to trickle into the narrow crevice between the twin mounds of her rounded buttocks, and over his sperm-bloated balls.
Her legs splayed out obscenely to the sides, now, and Janet lay quietly for a few moments under the man, seemingly drained of all strength. Then she stirred again, feeling his hardened length of his lust-maddened cock still imbedded deep in her belly. She opened her eyes, and through the film of drugs that covered them saw her own dear husband crouched over her, felt the insane stirrings of pleasure once more as he ran his hands over the smooth soft skin of her snowy breasts.
She gasped at the touch, and then began to plead softly with him. "Oh, darling. Do it again. Do it to me again ..."
For answer, Frank Tengleman rammed his iron stiff cock into her quivering belly with all his strength.....
Chapter Four
Dell climbed the porch steps quickly, glad to be home at last. She stood a moment there at the top, watching the shiny new Mustang, as Jerry pressed the gas pedal and shot forward. In the moonlight, she could see his figure outlined against the dark shadows cast by the house across the way. She saw him drive off without regrets. She had no resentment of him, now, and the initial shock of her terrible experience had worn off. She wondered if she would ever see the boy again, and knew instinctively that she would. There was no helping it - she could hardly avoid him at school, or at the drug store where the kids hung out, or even in the streets of the town, although she would certainly do her best to steer clear of both his brother and Cynthia Waters. The memory of the lewd scene in the car, with her friend - she smiled sardonically at the word - squirming in her insane passion, her face lit by moonlight, contorted with lust, was almost more than Dell could bear. Why, the girl was nothing more than a ... a ... a whore. That was what she was. A whore and a slut.
Still standing on the porch, the young girl shivered, although the night was warm. And she had almost become one, too! Oh, dear God! It was awful, just awful! What - what would her mother say if she knew? Janet's shocked reaction was almost too much to contemplate, and Dell shook her head, pushing the idea from her mind. She turned her thoughts to the boy she had dated, instead, and although she loathed him for what he had tried to do, she was grateful to him, too, for his contrite attitude later. She was almost as guilty as he was, she told herself, although she was certain she would never have let him touch her had she not been drunk on the cokes that he had spiked. Still, the two were ashamed, humiliated even, and that fact became a bond between them. No, she would not even try to avoid the younger Powell boy.
She opened the door and went into the house. The rooms were dark upstairs and down, and Dell remembered her mother saying that she planned to "turn in early." She undoubtedly had, and once again, there was a little surge of gratitude in Dell's heart, a little sense of respite before she faced her mother with her guilty secret burdening her mind.
A path of moonlight flickered through the hallway that divided the house in two, leading back to the kitchen; the doors to the living room on one side, the dining room on the other, were closed. She went down the narrow corridor, not bothering to switch on the light, and went into the kitchen.
She sat there in the dark awhile, resting her head on the cool enamel of the kitchen table. The chill of it seemed to ease the throbbing of her aching head, to cool her fevered brow. She sat there a long time, hearing nothing but the ticking of the clock on the wall, marking off the minutes.
The moon was still high when she roused herself. She was calm now, ready to face whatever must be faced. The queasiness she had felt earlier was gone, and she realized she was hungry, that her mouth, too, was parched and dry. She opened the refrigerator, but the sight of food repelled her. She found the pitcher of iced tea, though, that her mother had made earlier and had left for her daughter and anyone she might bring home with her, after the dance. Dell took it out and set it on the table, found, by the light of the moon, a tumbler in the cupboard, and poured the frosty beverage into it. She gulped it down, thirstily, poured a second glass, drank that, too, before she rinsed out the tumbler and left it on the sink to drain. She sat down again in the kitchen, wondering what the next day would be like. Would she have a hangover? She had seen her father, grouchy and irritable the morning after some wild party, had known that he, too, had had too much to drink, and was now paying for it with a splitting headache, and a loggy feeling. Would she, too? Well, there was no way to tell before tomorrow came.
She thought of going to bed, but was certain she wouldn't be able to sleep. Still, she could hardly sit there in the kitchen for the rest of the night. The stiff, hard seat of the stool on which she sat was cutting into her flesh, and her back began to ache. She decided to go into the living room, just to sit there for awhile, watching the trees beyond the window as the round yellow moon toyed with them, caressed their leaves and turned them into shimmering ornaments of gold.
She walked slowly, quietly back down the hallway, paused a moment with her hand on the doorknob. She thought, for an instant, that she had heard a sound from within. But that couldn't be! Her mother had gone to bed, and her father had gone to Cleveland, the day before. He wouldn't be back for another day or so at the least. No, it was her imagination; it had to be.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open, and stood there a moment, squinting a little at the shadows in the room, so much darker than she had expected. The light beyond seemed to throw the place into even deeper shades of night, and it was a minute or so before the familiar objects within - the chairs, the lamps, the piano - began to take shape. Her eyes roved the room again, then settled on the couch. She stood staring at it, not comprehending at first. And then a shock of disgust flooded through her body; her heart began to flail against her ribs, thundering like cannon shots in the silence. Instinctively she put her hand over her breast to still it, and felt the cold trembling of her horrified body. There was - oh, no, there couldn't be - but there was - there was - a woman lying there on the couch, a woman completely naked - and, although her face was hidden, Dell knew at once that it was her mother.
But lying there? No! Oh, dear God, no! The man crouching over her - yes, there was a man, too, and just as instinctively, the frightened young girl knew that it was not her father at all, but the man she had met once or twice in his office, and who had been introduced as her father's superior, Frank Tengleman - had grabbed her mother's ankles and pushed them brutally back over her shoulders until she was rolled up into a tight little ball, utterly helpless beneath him. Her knees were pushed back over her shoulders on either side of her head, and as the girl stared, she saw the narrow hair-lined slit between her mother's legs, the fleshy lips of her throbbing cunt exposed completely to the lewd eyes staring down at it.
Her mother was helpless beneath him. Yes! And yet she made no effort to cry out, seemed to make not even the slightest effort to resist! Oh, dear God! What was the matter with her?
Frank moved his body slightly forward now, and with a dull sense of utter horror, Dell realized that, just as her mother had stripped - or been stripped - of all her clothes, so had Tengleman, and now his thickly erected cock stood out from the dark hair of his pelvis at the most obscene angle imaginable. He was going to shove it up into her mother, ram it hard into her nakedly quivering belly, until it sank in to the hilt, disappeared completely. And still Janet made no effort to resist! The shocked girl stared in amazement, and then the little mewls of pleasure, tiny, gutteral sounds that seemed to curl upon the air, fell on her ears. Her mother -oh, no! her mother was enjoying this!
No wonder she did nothing to fight off this creature so evilly ravishing her loins, so brutally raping her there on the couch in the moonlight. She was ecstatic in her passion, aroused as she had never been before in her life, delirious - yes, that was the word - delirious with joy as she felt the heavy-swollen tip of Frank's cock teasmgly enter her now enlarged hole.
The wet flat smack of his belly thudding against the crotch of the unresisting figure resounded on the air. And then Tengleman's body dropped down heavily, mashing her firm, full breasts against his chest, his moist, open lips covered her passion-wet mouth, and he thrust his dripping tongue deep into her throat. Oh, dear God! Was he going to choke her? Tears rose to the eyes of the watching girl at the very thought, and yet, again she saw no move to resist on the part of her mother, merely a greedy swallowing as her throat constricted, and her cheeks began to hollow and expand. She was sucking it! She was sucking the flicking length that darted deep into her mouth, brushed against the back of her throat, swirled around her own hot, moist tongue.
The small sounds of pleasure were stifled now, as Tengleman drove his tongue deeper and deeper between her widely-ovaled lips. Shifting his weight, he pushed his shoulders against her widespread legs, locking her into the position into which he had forced her. He reached around her, suddenly, to cup the full white cheeks of her buttocks in his hands, kneading the soft resilient flesh between his widespread fingers, pulling the cheeks far apart.
He reared back, poised over the supine figure for a moment, and then with a groan and a forward lunge that again took all his strength, sent his heavy cock pistoning into the glistening elastic opening of her cunt. It burrowed deep, smacking at last against the soft flesh of her cervix, while Janet, unbelievably. . . unbelievably! ... rose to meet the savage thrust, whimpering with pleasure. He fucked in and out with long hard strokes, thrusting his hips forward until his balls smacked lewdly against her helplessly upturned buttocks, grazing the tiny puckered opening of her cringing anus.
Janet, responding to the maddening pleasure of the lewd assault, sucked voraciously on the hot flesh of his tongue skewering deep into her mouthy then writhingly freed her pinioned arms, and sent them snaking out around his body, clawing a red streak across his naked buttocks. She pulled him deep and thrust the soft white swell of her ivory-white belly, the tiny triangle of dark hair at the base of it, up to meet him, moaning now, mewling with pleasure, singing a soft little song of ecstasy.
Frank fucked in and out, feeling the white hot liquid of his sperm begin to boil in his soft hair-covered balls, feeling it course through his achingly throbbing cock and then the churning milk-like substance spurted forth to fill the softly twitching belly of the woman beneath him like streams of molten lava. "Oh, dear God," she moaned. "Dear God! Fill me, let me have it all - all - " and her legs splayed helplessly out to the sides once more, as her head lolled from side to side, and then the two of them collapsed, still locked in a tight, lewd embrace.
Standing in the doorway, Dell felt her legs begin to give way beneath her, felt the queasiness of the early evening slide into her stomach once more. She put out her hand, to steady herself against the door, but the room - and her whole world - swirled around her. She had to get out of here, she knew. She had to get away. And more important, she had to find someone to help her. She stumbled across the hall, steadied herself again against the door, then felt her way along the wall. At the door she paused. She had to get away - but where would she go?
Her mind ticked off the possibilities. There was an aunt, her mother's sister. But how could she go there, with the story of her mother's lewd, whorish behavior?
No, that was impossible.
And her father's cousin. What if her father learned?
No, there was no place for Dell to go, no one at all to help her . . . except, perhaps, Jerry?
Would she dare? After what he had done to her? She could hardly bare to think of it. And yet there was nowhere - nowhere - else to turn. And hadn't he been ashamed of what he'd done, almost as filled with remorse as she was?
Dell stood on the porch again, the door closed behind her, trying to sort things out. The moon flickered behind a tree, and with it went her hope. But a moment later it reappeared, and she quickly made up her mind. She would go to the apartment of the two Powell boys, and ask them to help her. What they could - or would - do for her she could not imagine. But surely they would help her! Surely!
She went out, closing the door behind her. It slammed shut with a loud bang, and yet she knew that the couple, their bodies entwined lewdly on the couch, were beyond hearing, were concerned only with their wicked act of adulterous copulation. She started down the steps, surprised to find her legs so weak they could barely bear her weight. At the bottom step, she collapsed completely, her head reeling from the shock of seeing her mother in the evil embrace of her father's boss. She stretched out on the grass for a short time - she had no idea how long it was - the queasy feeling stirring through her stomach again, her head reeling. She wished that she were dead, that she had never been born. The little sex talks her mother had given her when young - the books on how babies came to be - "Your daddy plants the seed," she remembered one of them saying - all flashed through her mind. She had thought of it then in the most simple terms, much the way she had planted radishes in the little plot of ground behind the house, patting the earth over the rough moist spot with her tiny, grubby fingers. But this... this was what the book's author had had in mind! This shocking spectacle of a man shoving his huge, hard penis deep into the belly of a woman, rocking back and forth on her body until he released his sperm in a long, squirting jet. Was that the way "your daddy plants the seed?"
Dell had known for years that it was, and yet she had never really visualized it. And certainly not with her mother and another man, a man who wasn't "Daddy." Oh, dear God! She lay stretched out in the cool, dew-damp grass, her breath coming in short, heaving gulps. She thought she might suffocate, lying there, or just curl up and wither away. She had a blessed moment of relief when she knew nothing, and then the whole horror of watching her mother fucked - yes, that was the word, fucked - by a man who was almost a stranger to her, came back to her. She shuddered uncontrollably, then at last managed to pull herself to her feet. She spun around, looking in every direction, like a weathervane in a high wind, and then finally, like a weathervane, settled on one direction. The apartment of the Powell brothers lay that way, and, Dell hoped, salvation also.
She started to run, but found that she couldn't, and settled down into a slow, jogging trot. It was a matter of perhaps fifteen minutes to reach what they called their "pad." To the terrified young girl, it seemed centuries.
But at last she mounted the steps of the shabby little building where they had their rooms; rang the buzzer, waited for a voice to come over the intercom. But no voice came; their bell buzzed, however, and Dell pushed the button and opened the door. Then she climbed the stairs to the brothers' apartment.
They were both there, half undressed, leaning back on the sprung sofa, their feet on the scratched table in front of them. Jerry was drinking beer from a can; Hank was sipping a whiskey, when Dell burst in upon them. They looked up, laconically, then the older brother said, "Well, look who's here."
Jerry gulped his beer, wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, and said, "Yeah, look!"
"What do you want, girlie?" Hank asked.
Dell shook her head. What did she want? She wasn't really sure. And then she knew what it was. She wanted to tell someone what had happened, have them listen to her, have them understand. And she wanted their sympathy, too.
But she looked from one boy to the other, saw their half-drunk faces, heard their slurred words. Sympathy? From them? What on earth had she been thinking of?
The memory of Jerry a few hours earlier, apologetic, even kind to her, came back. There were times, when he was alone, when he could be gentle, likable. But he'd been drinking again, probably steadily since he'd left her at her door, and now he was trying to emulate his older brother, matching him in vulgar braggadocio.
The two stared at her, half-amused, half-threatening, waiting for some explanation. She could think of nothing but the truth, and blurted it out. "Jerry," she began, turning to him. He cleared his throat, then spat a blob of thick green mucous in the fireplace. She jumped, feeling slightly sick. And yet she had to tell him what had happened . . . had to tell someone. And there was no one else. Dear God! There was no one else.
"Jerry," she said again . ..
"Yeah?"
"You know, you took me home ..."
"I know damn well I took you home, you little bitch. It was your idea, too, not mine. You had to go and get all uptight, just because I made a pass at you. What the hell's the matter with you, anyway?"
"I... I... thought..." Dell began, but could find no words to tell the brothers exactly what she thought. That he had respected her? Would they believe that now? That they were friends, and nothing more? Why waste her breath?
She stood before them, quivering with fear. "I... I... " she began again, stammering.
"You what?"
And suddenly the words came tumbling forth in a torrent. "When you took me home, Jerry, I went inside, and I went into the kitchen first, because I was thirsty, I guess .. . and maybe a little hungry, too ..." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Oh, God! I don't know!"
Hank got up from the couch, strolled across the room to the table where a bottle of whiskey stood. "If you don't know," he asked, "why the hell did you come here and bother us?"
"Because I had to," Dell shrieked. "Because I had to!"
"Yeah, why?" Hank asked, pouring himself a shot. "Because you've got the hots for us?"
"Don't be disgusting!"
He strode across the room, grabbed the girl by her shoulders and shook her. "And don't you talk like that to me!" he ordered, menacingly. "If you haven't got the hots, why the hell did you come here?"
"Because I had to talk to someone!" she cried pitifully. Hank sneered. "Who, me?" he asked. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at his brother. "Or him?"
"Yes," Dell said, shaking her head madly. "YES!"
"Then what have you got to say?" He stood, hovering over her, his expression black and threatening. "We're listening," he added.
"Look, Jerry," she whirled to face her date of the early evening. "Can't I please talk to you?"
"Who's stopping you?" he asked.
She shook her head. No one was, she had to admit. "Well?" he prodded her.
"Look, you took me home ..."
"I know that!"
"All right. So I went in, and I went into the kitchen to have something to eat..."
"You didn't ask me in," Jerry whined, but Dell ignored him. "So I went into the kitchen to have something to eat, and something to drink, too - Mom had left some iced tea in the refrigerator - and I sat there for awhile, and then I went into the living room, and then ..." She stopped, unable to continue.
"So you went into the living room," Hank said. He was staring at the rounded swellings of her breasts under her tight blouse, the little ridges of her taut nipples poking up, ready to burst through the cloth. "Come on over here, kid," he ordered. She shook her head, and then, humiliated by his lewd stare, crossed her arms in front of her. "Now what are you doing that for?" Hank asked.
Dell shook her head. "I don't know."
"You don't seem to know anything, do you?" Hank asked, his eyes cold and cruel. "You don't know why you came here, for one thing. And you sure as hell don't know what's good for you."
"What do you mean?"
"I just mean," he said slowly, measuring his words, watching the impact on her, "that if you knew what was good for you, you'd be sitting right here beside me, where I could suck your little titties if I had a mind to. Or take your pants down and see what it is you're hiding there between your legs."
"Yeah, let's see," the younger brother chimed in.
"Come here!" Hank commanded.
"Oh, no!" She whirled away, terrified. But he followed her and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her down beside him. "Let's look at those titties, first," he ordered. And with a quick gesture, he ripped her blouse from her shoulders. "OOOooooh! Now look at what you've done," she cried.
"Yeah, just look," he said, tearing her brassiere off, too. Her little rounded breasts sprang forth, released now, and Hank flicked his head forward, closing his lips over one little budding nipple. "Ummm, ummmm, good!" he chanted, in a muffled voice.
Dell tried to break away from him, but he clasped her nipple tight between his teeth, until she groaned with pain.
"Oh, God, don't! Please don't!"
"Isn't that what you came here for?" he demanded lewdly.
She shook her head. "No," she half sobbed.
"Well, what then?"
"I... I just wanted to talk to someone ... "
"So . .. talk."
"I... I..." she couldn't go on.
"Yeah? You were in the living room, remember? And then?"
"I just can't tell you."
"Then why did you come here?" Hank asked. One hand roved down over her bare breasts, tracing the crevice between the two snowy mounds, trailing down across her soft, swelling belly. He slipped his hand under the tight narrow waist-band of her nylon panties, slid it down to the little "vee" between her legs. "This it?"
"Oh, no," she screamed again.
"Then what?"
She twisted and turned, trying once again to break away. But Hank held her, his hand pressed against the soft, curly triangle at the base of her belly, his mouth fastened over the hard little button of her nipple. Now it was Jerry's turn to take up the inquisition, questioning her as to what she had seen. "Come on, Dell, tell us," he coaxed. "We're waitin' to hear."
She shook her head again, struggling desperately to free herself from the other's grasp. He withdrew his hand from the waistband of her panties, gave her a swift slap across the face that sent her head rolling backwards, and then placed his hand on the soft, inner skin of her milky white thigh. He ran it along slowly, and terrified though she was, and in spite of the pain of the slap Hank had just administered, in spite of his teeth again teasing at her tender nipple, she felt a tiny tingle of unwanted excitement ripple through her at the movement.
The sobs that had burst forth when she had been hit subsided now into little whimpers of half-pleasure, which she struggled to suppress. Oh, God! What was the matter with her? She thought of her mother, thrashing about on the couch with her father's boss. Had she felt like this, too, before she gave herself to him so wantonly? Yes, Dell thought, hot, scalding tears trickling again down her cheeks. Yes, she must have!
Now she felt her tormentor's fingers inching further up along her thigh, slipping under the tight elastic leg-band of her panties, tangle in the sparse pussy hair there between her thighs, until it found the already moist slit of her virginal cunt and spread it brutally wide under his hand and sought out the tiny throbbing bud of her clitoris nestled there. He began to stroke it, sending new waves of involuntary pleasure crashing through the girl's tense body, until it seemed that the blood racing through her veins had turned to liquid heat. Through tear-filled eyes, she glanced at Jerry watching, slack-mouthed, the lewd plundering of her helpless young body. An obscene grin lit his face, now, as he saw the look of shame, of humiliation on her face. "That what you saw, kiddo?" he asked. 'That what you saw, back there in the living room? That what you wanted to tell us about?"
Dell sobbed again, shaking her head.
"Well, if it wasn't that, what was it?"
"I don't know," she gasped, the words almost choking in her throat.
"Don't know? Or don't remember?" Hank asked, his voice muffled by the pressure of his mouth still sucking at her breast.
"I... I... don't remember!"
"Well, maybe this will help you to!" His middle finger traced the length of her narrow, hair-lined slit, retraced the line, parted the silken strands of her pubic hair, then, with a slow, tantalizing movement that brought a whimper of shame from Dell, plunged teasingly between the fleshy lips, burrowing deep into her quivering cunt. The tip of it twisted and turned there, stretching the narrow, virginal channel maddeningly. Dell jerked helplessly against the impaling finger, squirming back, grinding the round orbs of her nylon-clad buttocks deep into the couch against which she was pinned. Why were they doing this to her! Why!
As if in answer to her unasked question, the younger Powell boy, still watching with an obscene grin, and now licking his lips lasciviously, spoke up. "We want to know what you saw," he said, "back there in the living room. You ready to tell?"
Hank at last lifted his head from her tortured nipple, and now stared at her, his lust-contorted face only a few inches from her own frightened, tear-stained one. She had never seen such evil as that which glinted from his narrowly-squinting eyes, never seen such cruelty as that which now twisted his mouth so sadistically. "We want to know," he barked at her. "You going to talk?"
There was an implicit threat in his voice, and cold shudders of fear crawled, like disgusting little insects, up and down her spine. What was she to do! He might have been a Mafia chief torturing an underling who had disobeyed him, or a battle leader trying to extract information from some helpless hapless prisoner.
And wasn't that just what she was? A prisoner of these two wretched creatures? It hardly helped Dell to remember that she had come here asking for sympathy, for understanding - yes, and for aid, as well. She blinked back the tears that welled again. "Yes," she whimpered, through clenched teeth, knowing there was no escape. "Yes, I'll talk."
She threw her head back, trying to shut out the sight of Hank's wickedness. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came from her tight, constricted throat. She swallowed hard, feeling the enormous lump in her throat. And then a voice rasped, "First of all, tell us who was there!"
Oh, she couldn't! She couldn't! Tell them about her mother - and her father's boss - doing such awful things together? She couldn't.
But Hank's face staring at her, his lips curled back over bared teeth brought her round quickly. "It... it was my . . . my . . . mother," she stammered woefully.
"Hey, Jerry!" Hank sang out. "Get that! It was her mother!"
"No!" The younger boy whistled his assumed surprise through slight-pursed lips.
"Yeah! Say, Dell, was she doing it alone?" one of them asked. She didn't seem to understand - "doing it alone?" - doing what alone? - and so he elaborated. "You know, playing with her little thing down there. Dillying around!" It was Hank who spoke, she realized now, and she sent him a shocked look. He merely laughed it off. "Don't look so high and mighty, kid!" he taunted her. "You know what I mean. You do it to yourself, don't you - sticking those grubby little fingers of yours right up inside your cunt and wiggling around on them until you can't stand it."
"Oh, no!" she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Oh, yes! Me and little brother here, we used to, didn't we?" Jerry nodded in answer. "Used to jerk off right in our pants."
And now his voice became rasping, brutal again. "Okay, tell us. Was she doing it alone?" Dell shook her head.
"No!"
"Then who was she doing it with? Who?"
"A . . . a . . . man!"
"Well, get that!" Hank said. "She was doing it with a man. Well what do you know! And who was the man?"
The terrified girl choked back her sobs again. She couldn't tell them that. She just couldn't. Wild horses wouldn't drag the truth from her!
She closed her eyes, then opened them to see Hank's leering face peering close to hers again. Suddenly she felt his finger plunge deep into her quivering pussy again, thrusting almost to her cervix, grating against the sensitive walls with an agonizing pain. She screamed as it seared through her soft, moist flesh, braced herself against the unbearable pain, and then leaned back, all energy drained away. "The man," she said, "was . . . was ..."
"Yeah?" The evil eyes raked her face like cat's claws, seeming to scratch deep beneath the surface. "Yeah? Who?"
"It was Frank Tengleman!"
Hank whirled around to face his brother. "It was Frank Tengleman," he said.
"Yah? Who's he?"
"Who's he?" The boy relented, somewhat, withdrew his probing, prodding finger, easing the excruciating pain. But his face, his voice, still threatened. "So? Who's he?"
"He's... he's my father's boss!" Dell admitted, feeling a little faint, a little giddy. Surely this was what it was like to be tortured. Defeated now, hating herself for having given in, she repeated, "He's my father's boss."
Her father's boss! Both boys raised their eyebrows in lewd, quizzical amazement. Then one of them said, "Well, when the cat's away, the mice will play."
"So, your mother's there in the living room, with your father's boss," the other said. "And what," he added in a sinister voice, "were they doing?"
"They were . . . were ..." Again Dell's voice failed her.
"Yeah ... they were what?"
"They were making love."
"Tell it to us like it is," the first one threatened. 'Tell us what they were doing. In words we can understand."
"They were ..."
"Yeah ... ?"
"They were ... screwing!"
"So they were screwing, is that it?"
"Yes," the frightened girl said quietly. "They were . .. screwing."
"And what else were they doing?"
"Why," she said, astonished, "that was all."
"Oh no it wasn't. Tell us, Dell. Tell us like it was!"
"They were ..." she looked at their faces in horror, paused.
"Yes .. . ?" she was prompted.
"They were . . . were ..."
"Yes .. . ?"
"Fucking."
"Oh, so they were fucking!" Hank looked disdainfully at his brother, as if such iniquity were beneath their knowledge. "Tell us what it was like, Dell?" he suddenly asked.
"What?"
"Fucking!"
"I don't know," she cried out. "I don't know."
"Do you want us to teach you?" His voice had a cruelty she had never heard in it before. "Do you?"
She shook her head. "Well," she said, swallowing hard, "my Mom was there on the couch, all sort of curled up in a ball... and ... "
"Yes . .. ?"
"And ... well, her legs were up, and you could see her ass. .. and you could see her . . . her ..." she broke down, trembling, head lolling backwards now, as she tried to calm herself, regain control.
"Her what. . . ?" Again the voice was brutally cold.
"Her ... her cunt..."
"And what was happening to her cunt?"
"Mr. Tengleman . . . was ...well, his penis..."
"What's another word for penis, Dell?" Hank demanded.
"His .. . cock?"
"Okay, his cock. And what was he doing with his cock?"
"He was ... putting it in ... he was pushing it. .. shoving it... up my mother's ... my mother's cunt."
"Anyone ever do that to you, Dell?" Hank asked. "Anyone ever fuck you?"
"Oh, no!" she cried at once.
"Why not?" he probed, sounding, it seemed to the girl, like the D.A. in some trial series on television.
Before she could answer, Jerry burst in. "Because she's saving her virginity for the man she's going to marry, remember?"
With a shriek of laughter, Hank plunged his finger into the girl's hot, moist vagina. "Well," he said, "she's practically lost it by now." His face assumed a thoughtful expression. "Still, finger-fuckin' is no substitute for the real thing now, is it?"
His brother shook his head, answering solemnly. "No, it sure isn't."
"Well, then, what say we give your girlfriend a taste of the genuine? What say I fuck her, and you..." he paused, withdrew his finger, scratched his head. "... and you . .. well..." Suddenly he addressed Dell again. "Ever suck cock?" he asked crudely.
The words struck her ears like a clap of thunder. Oh, why, she wondered again, why had she come here! Why? Why? What had possessed her to run to this place of wickedness, these people so utterly evil? The memory of her mother and . .. and that man ... of the two of them fucking ... yes, she had said it already, so why not say it again? .. . fucking . ,. passed across her bewildered brain, leaving a searing imprint on it. That had driven her here. And now there was no way she could save herself from the bestial creatures into whose midst she had fallen. She would have to do whatever they asked. She shuddered violently, her flesh erupting in goose pimples, sheets of icy cold passing across her now trembling body. Paralyzed with fear, she heard the metallic rasp of one zipper behind pulled down, one fly being opened, followed a few seconds later by a second. She moaned, turned her head away, turned it back to see Hank pulling his pants off, unbuttoning his shirt, to see Jerry following suit, the two of them strewing their clothes across the bare wooden floor in little untidy heaps.
Hank's lust-swollen cock jutted out from his body, now, stiff and erect, and his hand wandered down to grasp it between thumb and forefinger, to massage the foreskin back and forth in a lewd, obscene movement. She stared at it, dumb-founded. Oh! It was enormous! She had thought Tengleman's penis, sliding deep inside her mother's moist, tender cunt was huge. But this! There was no comparison, none at all. And now Hank was going to force it up into her narrow, virginal vagina, ram it in with all his strength, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could never take it. .. never. He would split her in two, tear her to bits as if she were a rag to be ripped to pieces. She gave a little scream, and tried to move away. But she found herself pinned to the couch again, pushed back against it now, until she lay helplessly stretched out upon it, waiting, trembling in fearful anticipation.
Hank knelt down beside her, and with a deliberate motion, slowly, brutally, pulled her thighs wide apart. She screamed again, afraid once more that he would split her asunder. But now he leaned forward, and placed his hands on the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, his thumbs on the soft, pink flesh of her vaginal lips. The pressure he exerted pulled them apart, and he gazed down at the moist, narrow slit, now fully exposed to his view.
"Christ," he said. "Look at that, would you!" And then he positioned himself on the couch, kneeling, hovering above the girl, staring down at her quivering little pussy mound, his eyes searching out and finding the glistening hole. Suddenly he flexed his hips forward, and with the bulbous head of his erect penis parted her soft, dark pubic hair as he prepared to enter her.
Dell screamed as she felt the first warmly throbbing contact against the cringing lips of her cunt, and the slow, steady pressure as he thrust forward, flexing his naked buttocks until suddenly the tight elastic ring popped open, and the bloated, blood-engorged head of his cock slipped wetly inside. There was another gasping scream from the girl, pinned down on the couch, another brief attempt to struggle free. And then Hank's rigidly thick cock speared into her without mercy, sinking to the hilt into her quivering white belly until she felt the hardness of the head pressed against End of her cervix. She groaned aloud, then whimpered softly to herself. And then she felt his hands slide down beneath her, cupping her smooth, rounded buttocks, while deep inside her womb his lust-stiffened cock rotated in a slow teasing movement.
His fingers, kneading into the soft flesh of her quivering buttocks worked their way around to the tiny puckered ring of her anus, teasingly flicked towards it, then, in a sudden, brutal gesture, dug cruelly into the sensitive flesh. He clasped her hips tight again, his powerful hands pulling her back onto his rigid cock while he pistoned savagely into her, his face contorted with his sadistic delight.
He threw his head backwards, grunting wildly, then caught sight of his younger brother standing near-by. "Come on!" he shouted at him, his lewd voice harsh with passion. "What the hell are you waiting for? There's fun for all. Come on!" He shoved his thick penis deep inside Dell once more, then yelled, "Your turn to give her a thrill, too. Make her suck you while I fuck her. COME ON!"
Jerry moved towards the couch on which the young girl lay helplessly pinned down, impaled on his brother's lewdly pistoning cock. His own cock jerked out massively from his loins, stabbing stiffly at the air. Dell turned her head, and her eyes filmed over with fright. Not that? Not that, too?
Jerry took the fleshy hardness of his aching penis between his hands, massaging it into further rigidity, then guided it swiftly towards the girl's hot, moist lips. Instinctively, she clamped them shut, turning her head, trying to avoid the lewdly glistening cock-flesh moving towards her.
Jerry continued the obscene motion of massaging his penis, rubbing the foreskin back and forth with one hand, while his other shot out to grab the girl by her tangled hair, and snap her head towards him again. He began to force the swollen red tip of his cock up into her mouth, while she mumbled in fear and revulsion, her teeth clenched, her lips sealed tight. But he held her firmly, increasing the pressure until she felt her lips being pushed back against the surface of her teeth. He struggled harder and harder, pushing her lips apart bit by bit, until the pain and the pressure became unbearable, and she gasped in agony. Then the hardened length of flesh crashed headlong between the now broken barrier of her soft lips and into the wet warm cavern of her mouth, slithering in deep, filling her mouth, brushing against the back of her throat.
Jerry turned with an evil grin of triumph to his brother, a gloating expression that said as clearly as words, "Anything you can do, I can do, too," and then began to slide his hotly throbbing penis in and out of her forcibly ovalled mouth, while beneath him Dell gagged and choked.
Oh, dear God! She couldn't breathe! She was going to suffocate, she thought, struggling for a bit of air. He withdrew the intruding pole of flesh just to the tip, then sent it crashing in again to the hot moist shelter of her mouth.
She closed her eyes, feeling the scalding tears of shame and humiliation welling up in them - was it for the hundredth time tonight? - and course down her fevered, trembling cheeks. Above her she heard the rasping command, "Come on, kid, suck!" and then the excited shout of the younger boy to the older, "Jeez! Look at that. She's sucking my cock like she loves it!"
She wanted to cry out, to deny it with every fiber of her being, but she knew she was helpless here, the prisoner of two lust-incited hoodlums - were they really anything more than that? -who were using her for their most depraved, humiliating pleasures. She opened her eyes again, and a quick look at Jerry's threatening expression made it plain that she was to do as he ordered. And hadn't he just commanded her to suck? Her lips began to nibble at the brutally thrusting cock, her cheeks hollowing and expanding as she had seen Cynthia's do earlier. She coughed and sputtered in protest until a warning glance cautioned her against it, then desperately she tried to suppress any signs of fear or pain.
Jerry quickened his strokes, began to fuck in and out of her tightly rounded mouth in long, regular movements, watching his brother as he, in turn, fucked into the girl's cruelly cock-stretched pussy. They began to match their rhythms, now, the two boys fucking faster and faster, their inward thrusts deepening. The younger boy's sperm-bloated balls slapped hard against Dell's chin; below her, she felt his brother's as they in turn slapped lewdly against the nakedly upturned cheeks of her rounded white buttocks. The two slaved over her, breathing heavily, panting with the efforts they made as one crashed his throbbing young cock deep into her nakedly violated belly, the other into the wet warm cavern of her mouth.
And then she heard Hank's wild, lust-filled cry, "Aaaaaagh!" as he withdrew his blood-engorged penis, hovered over her for one eternal moment, then shoved it like a battering ram up between her softly trembling thighs. She felt his lewd male sperm rush like a torrent up into her vaginal passage, felt it flood the depths of her womb until she was filled to bursting with it. The young man's pelvis jerked convulsively against hers once or twice, and his fingers dug agonizingly again into the soft white flesh of her buttocks. And then he collapsed on her quivering body, his own gone limp and slack, while he moaned out his ending orgasm. Then slowly, and with a soft sucking sound, he withdrew his now rapidly deflating penis from her savagely plundered cunt.
As he rolled off her body, she heard Jerry's sputtered cry of "Jeez! Jesus Christ!" and then his voice, too, split the air with an unearthly cry as he shuddered in the throes of his own beginning climax. He, too, jerked his hips in a sudden spasm, writhing them tight against her face, while the full length of his cock plunged deep into her throat. And then thin quick spurts of white, sticky fluid spewed into her mouth, filling it to the brim. She sucked and swallowed, her throat constricting as she tried to keep up with the wildly ejaculating penis emptying its pungent load into her face. And then his madly jerking cock throbbed out the last of its remaining liquid, flexed one last time, and softened beneath her still fearfully swirling tongue. At last he withdrew the now softened mass of cock-flesh from between her lips, trailing thin lewd strings of the viscous white liquid down across her chin. Then, with a loud groan, his drained body sank to the floor beside the couch, beside the still, battered body of the young girl.
It was Hank who roused himself first, who stared at Dell, still lying in a pathetic huddle on the couch, who groped for his clothes and struggled into them. Once dressed, he prodded his brother's exhausted body with the toe of his shoe, and when he roused himself and looked up, he nodded at the figure of the girl they had just so brutally defiled. "Well," he said with a lewd jeer, "I guess she's gone and lost it for good. Her virginity, I mean."
Jerry blinked. "Yeah," he said. "I guess she has." He watched his brother as he crossed the room, poured himself a stiff portion of the crude, cheap whiskey he was drinking. "How about one for me?" he asked.
Hank pushed the bottle a few inches across the table. "Get it yourself," he commanded.
"Sure!" He sprang to his feet, crossed the room, his naked body glistening in the light of the swinging lamp-bulb overhead. He poured himself a stiff shot, and gulped it down, shaking his head, twisting his lips as the nearly-raw alcohol burned its way to his stomach. He looked down at his now limp penis, soft between his legs, his hair-covered balls, empty now, swinging against it. "Maybe she was keeping it for you," he said, a tiny trace of awe in his voice. "Her virginity, I mean." There was just a trace of bitterness in his voice, too, just a hint of jealousy that he had not been the one to deflower this young virgin. And then he thought, Christ! I guess it's the guy who goes out and takes what he wants who gets what he wants. Next time, he swore to himself, he would do just that, and let the devil - or brother Hank - take the hindmost.
Next time! But what were they going to do now? Well, first of all, he'd better pull his pants on! He scooped his clothes from the floor where they had fallen when he had hastily shed them, began to slide them over his slim hips. And then? He took another drink, waiting for his brother to tell him. They'd have to get Dell home somehow, that was obvious. And she didn't seem in any condition to go by herself. Or maybe she did. It was hard for him to tell. He looked across the room, trying to figure out from the other's face just what was on his mind. Finally he asked, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"I dunno." Jerry shrugged his shoulders. "I was just wondering."
"Yeah? What?"
"Wondering what we were going to do now."
"I been thinking about that," Hank said. "Been thinking about it hard, too. And you know, I was thinking about her old lady!.'
"Yeah? What about her?" Suddenly the memory of Janet Hamilton standing on the porch in her nearly transparent negligee, her luscious curves outlined by the rays of the setting sun, came back to Jerry, sending little chills up his spine. Jeez! Here he'd just screwed her daughter silly, and his balls were already beginning to ache for the mother! Well, why not? He was man enough to take her on, too. "You mean we could fuck her - Mrs. Hamilton?" he asked Hank.
"Maybe yes - maybe no," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "What I really was thinking was about what Dell said, a little while back. Remember? She said her old lady was getting it from a man."
"Yeah, that's what she said." "And we thought it was a real howler, didn't we?"
"Yeah, we sure did."
"Well, what if she'd been getting it from another babe? She might have been, you know."
"What do you mean," Jerry asked again.
"Oh, cripes! You know damned well what I mean. I saw you looking at those pictures I left in the drawer. The ones where there's a girl licking the cunt of another girl. You know damn well what I mean."
"Oh, sure, sure," the brother said, embarrassed that he sounded so square. "I know what you mean, all right. But, well, I just don't see what you're getting at."
"What I'm getting at is that it might be a real ball to see stuff like that - like in the pictures - only see it for real."
"You mean Mrs. Hamilton?" Jerry asked, incredulous.
"I mean Mrs. Hamilton," Hank said cooly.
"Yeah ... but... "
"But what?"
"Well, it takes two, doesn't it?"
"Sure it does."
"Well. . . ?"
Hank nodded at Dell, still naked, cringing on the couch. "She'll do," he said laconically.
"Her?"
"Sure."
Jerry shook his head. He would never have thought of such a thing himself. But why not? Dell had never been fucked before tonight, had never sucked cock before - Hell, she'd never done anything. Why not do everything, and practically all at once? He hitched up his pants and strode across the room to gulp down another drink of whiskey, then crossed the room again to prod at her inert body. "Come on girl, get going," he ordered. He picked up her panties that lay at her feet on the floor and flung them at her, picked up her brassiere, too. "Come on, now you put it on, instead of taking it off!" He laughed coarsely at his own joke, poured himself another drink, and one for Hank as well.
"Come on boy," he said to his brother. "What are we waiting for?"
Chapter Five
Dell sat, sandwiched between the two boys on the front seat of the car. Hank turned the ignition, snapped the key to the right to start the motor, then stepped on the gas pedal. The car shot forward, into the moonlit night.
Despite the balmy summer air that caressed her skin, the girl shivered, still in a state of near-shock from the terrible way she had been fucked such a short time before, the way her virginity had been so cruelly, callously taken from her, the way her young, innocent body had been raped and ravished. She shook, too, in terror of what was yet to come. What, dear God, were these evil creatures planning? What new perversions, what new, unnatural acts of outrage against her? And yes, against her mother, too? Just what? She shuddered again, heard Jerry's voice as if from a distant planet asking, "What's the matter? You scared?"
Through chattering teeth she answered, "No," and then her head sank down between her shoulders in an attitude of the most abject despair. If only she could burrow into the upholstery, worm her way under the leather-covering of the seat, hide there, pull it over her like a caterpillar in a cocoon. If only she could somehow disappear forever, carrying her shame and humiliation in her heart, yet never letting it be known to others! But nothing like that could ever happen, and she would be forced to face her mother soon, and Mr. Tengleman, too.
A little knot of hatred formed deep inside her at the thought of the adulterous couple. They were the cause of her desperate situation, the terrible plight she now found herself in. Had she not seen them, their naked bodies so lewdly, so wantonly entwined - the memory of her mother's upturned buttocks, of Frank's huge prick skewering into the warm moist slit of her cunt came back to her in every detail - had she not seen them, she would never have rushed to the Powell brothers for help. And had she not gone - had she simply been able to sit in the living room as she had planned, trying to recover from her earlier experience - she would not have been raped, deflowered, sullied so irrevocably. And now Jerry was asking her if she was scared!
"No," she repeated. "No!" whistling in the dark, hoping to take courage from her own denial.
"She's not scared, Hank!" the boy sitting next to her said. "She says she's not scared."
"Course not," the older boy said. "Why should she be? She loves it, don't you, Dell? And you know why she loves it? Because she's a whore at heart, just like her old lady."
Oh, no! It wasn't true! She wanted to cry out. to shout it from the rooftops. But her voice choked in her throat and the only sound she heard was the wild beating of her own heart.
The two boys stared at her, both of them thinking of the further humiliation they would inflict on mother and daughter. Hank saw, in his mind's eye, the two women, stripped naked, their voluptuous bodies quivering in the moonlight, as they toyed with one another's nipples, plunged their fingers deep into the warm, soft folds of one another's cunts. But a little cloud of doubt darkened the other boy's mind. Just how were they going to get Janet and her daughter where they wanted them? Weren't they going to fight like regular she-demons? It was one thing to get this little bitch beside him drunk, and get a good feel, the way he had in the parking lot. Even so, she had managed to fight him off. He looked woefully at a long scratch on his arm, where her nail had clawed into him. If the little spitfire did that to him before, what would happen when there were two of them?
He turned the matter over in his mind for awhile, staring straight ahead of him at the unwinding thread of the road. Then he cleared his throat. "How are we going to make them?" he asked.
Hank looked at him, uncomprehending. "Make them?"
"Yeah, make them do the things we want them to do. You know, fuck and suck and lick and all that?"
The older boy's chest swelled out like a pouter pigeon's, and he tapped his forehead significantly. "You just leave it to me," he announced grandiosely. "Your big brother gets what he wants, doesn't he? And that means he knows how to get what he wants, too!"
By now, they had turned onto the quiet tree-lined street where the Hamilton house stood, gleaming white under the full moon, then slid to a squealing stop in front of it. "Okay!" Hank called, giving Dell a little shove. "Here we are!" He bounded from the car and started up the flagstone path, the others following. Suddenly he whirled on the girl. "Got your key, kid?" he asked.
A sudden ray of hope lightened her dark and dismal spirit. What if she had lost her key? Left it behind her? Locked herself out? The others would be locked out, too. Then what? Why, nothing. Nothing at all. She would be saved from the awful things they had in mind. Yes, and her mother, too. Dell shook her head, meanwhile fumbling in her purse. "No," she said. "I guess I left it in the house."
The two boys stared at her face, her lips pursed in terror, her eyes wide once more with fright. Then Jerry shrugged. "We can ring the doorbell, can't we?" he asked.
Hank looked at him with derision. "You off your rocker or something? Think those two are going to answer? And even if they did ..." he shook his head. "No sir! We're going to surprise them." He grabbed Dell's arm, his fingers twisting the soft flesh, leaving a bracelet of angry welts on her flesh. "Let me see that!" he snarled. He seized the little*suede pouch, shook it energetically upside down, like a dog tearing into his master's shoe - until the entire contents spilled out. He scattered them with the toe of his shoe - the coin-purse, the lipstick, comb, a shredded bit of Kleenex - and saw the shiny key glinting up at him from the porch. "Pick it up!" he ordered viciously, and Dell bent over to do as she was told.
He snatched the gleaming bit of metal from her, inserted it in the lock, then turned it, pushing the wooden door at the same time. It swung open and the little group walked into the house. A few steps down the hallway, and they had reached the open door of the living room. Peering through it, the trio saw that nothing appeared to have changed in the last hour or so. The elder couple still lay on the couch, naked bodies pressed together, Janet's rounded, heaving breasts crushed against Frank Tengleman's chest, one of her legs thrown over his, her little triangle of sparse, curling pubic hair crowded against his again-aroused genitals. The young people stood, staring, waiting for some sign of recognition from the copulating couple.
At last, growing tired of the silence, Hank spoke up. "Having fun?" he asked.
Tengleman reacted as if poked with an electrically-charged cattle prod, pulling himself up to a sitting position, trying desperately to cover his half-erect penis with his two crossed hands. And a remarkable change came over the woman with him. She stirred, too, rousing herself, sitting up, and then with a little shriek seemed to know who it was with her. To Dell, watching, it was like all those stories she had heard as a child of the lovely young princess, under the spell of the wicked stepmother, or the evil fairy, who lies in a trance until Prince Charming comes along, and wakens her with a kiss. But it was all wrong, too. Hank was certainly no Prince Charming, and it was hard to believe that her mother, after all that had happened, was the lovely young princess. But Tengleman? He seemed to be - almost certainly was - the evil genie of some such monstrous tale as those once invented by the Brothers Grimm, the stories which had sent shivers up the spine of the tiny girl as she had listened, sitting on her father's knee.
But what magic power did he have? No one had such marvelous abilities nowadays . .. wasn't this the atomic age? Yet something - something - had happened to Dell's mother, to turn her from the frightened, yes, and frigid woman she had been before, into the passionate lover she had become. And now, like the princess lying on the rock, asleep for so many centuries, the spell had been broken.
No, that wasn't quite right, either. It was more as if she had been turned into a toad, and had once more assumed human form. Dell sighed, and ran the back of her hand across her forehead. She didn't know . .. she just didn't know!
But she had little time to think more about the situation; there was a loud and bitter argument going on between Hank and Tengleman. The latter, standing now, was struggling into the shorts he'd dropped on the floor earlier in the evening, screaming, too, at the same time and at the top of his lungs for the others to "Get the hell out of here." His face was beet red, his arms flailed wildly.
Standing opposite him, arms crossed in an attitude of utter weariness, Hank said, "Keep your shirt on, Mr. Tengleman. Or put it on, anyway."
"Get out," Frank thundered again.
"Why?"
"Because I said so, that's why. What right do you have to come barging in here like this?"
"And what right do you have?" the youth asked coolly.
The older man stepped back, his jaw dropping, a look of shock streaking across his handsome features. What was he to say? I just dropped in for a cup of tea? Oh, for Christ's sake!
He stood before the little group, legs apart, feet planted firmly on the ground, while one excuse after another surged through his mind. None of them made sense; none was worth uttering. He ran his eyes up and down Hank's lean, taut body, facing him, tensed like that of an athlete - a quarterback - ready for the crucial run, the sprint across the line. A glance of pure hatred passed between the two, and then Tengleman forced himself to laugh. "Yes," he said, "I guess you've got it right. What am I doing here?" He shrugged, started to turn away.
"You're fucking Mrs. Hamilton," Hank said quietly.
The older man turned to him again, the first faint flush of fear appearing on his face. "Yes," he said. "I was. And what do you intend to do about it?"
"I thought I'd fuck her myself," Hank said, measuring his words carefully, watching the other's reaction.
It was swift and violent. "You dirty little son of a bitch," he shouted, his two hands shooting out, grasping the boy's scrawny neck.
He ducked, slithered free, then raised a warning finger. "Now, now," he said. "Mustn't do that, you know."
"No? And why not?"
Hank turned to him now, his hands on his hips, a mocking grin on his face. "Mr. Tengleman," he said. "... You are Mr. Tengleman, aren't you? Mr. Hamilton's boss?"
The man nodded.
"Okay. Then what do you think Mr. Hamilton would say if he found out about all this?" the boy waved his hand towards Janet, towards the couch, towards the room in general. "Just what?"
Tengleman turned pale, beginning to tremble. "He's not going to find out," he said, spitting the words out through clenched teeth. "Why not?"
"Because I'm going to break every bone in your God damned body!" He lunged at Hank once more, heard the boy's contemptuous laugh ring through the room.
"Suppose you did," he said. "Just suppose you did. There'd be a body around here, and the next thing you know, the police would turn up, and there would be a lot of questions asked - and a lot of people to answer them, too ..." he jerked his thumb towards Dell and Jerry standing nearby. "My brother would make a pretty good witness, you know."
Tengleman stood before the two, his face a worried mask of frowns. Jeez! This kid had figured out all the angles, hadn't he? He turned at a slight sound behind him, saw that Janet had found her clothes and was pulling them on. He watched her as she finally pulled up the zipper that closed the front of her dress, then sat down, smoothing the crushed white pique carefully over her knees, like a well-brought up young lady at a fancy tea party. Her eyes seemed clear, now, of the fog that had covered them, the misty blear that the drug had induced, and he wondered what she was thinking. Had the stuff worn off by now? Damn it, he hadn't found out anything about the after effects, when he'd bought the powder. He hadn't even found out how long a person stayed under its influence, once she'd swallowed it. Well, next time, he thought cynically, next time he'd ask! If, of course, there ever was a next time - if he got out of this mess he was in now.
Another thought, more terrifying than the others, crossed his mind. Did any of the kids have a camera? Had they taken pictures of him and Janet, her legs spread wide, her pulsating pussy swallowing his own lust-enraged penis? If they had ... well! Oh, Christ! What a set-up for blackmail. His hand instinctively went to his pocket, reaching for his wallet. "I suppose you want money," he said to Hank.
"Well, yes. We'd like some money, too."
Tengleman pulled out the thin leather envelope, opened it, began extracting some bills from the wad within. But Hank shook his head.
"That will come later," he said. "You can put that away for now."
The older man slipped the wallet back into his pocket, his worried expression giving way to one of bewilderment. What were they waiting for? More money? More than he had with him?
Hank seemed to read his thoughts. "Well work out the financial end of it later," he said. "At your office."
"Why not now?"
"Well, for one thing, you haven't got enough bread on you to buy us off. Another is that I'd hate to carry all that cash with me tonight. So that part will just have to wait awhile." He laughed evilly, his eyes glinting with greed. "But not for very long," he added. "Tomorrow, maybe. Around three o'clock?"
It was part question, part command, and Frank could only nod his head in dumb agreement, at the same time grudgingly admiring the cool of this kid. He'd never met anyone before who could even match his own, but Hank had outwitted him, out-maneuvered him, outplayed him. He was a bastard. God knew he was an utter bastard, but still, he had to give him credit! But that wasn't getting anyone anywhere, was it? What did he want right now?
"So tomorrow it's money, is it? And tonight? Janet?" he asked.
Hank shook his head. "Not quite," he said. "You see, we haven't got nothing against a good screw, and she sure looks like a hot bitch. Especially after you got through warming her up. But we kind of thought a little variety would be fun. Fact of the matter is, me and my brother here, we're both a little tired - a little pooped out. We've been sort of screwing around ourselves a lot tonight - not that we aren't up to taking on any piece of tail you might throw our way - but we kind of thought it was time for a change. Some spectator sports for awhile, if you get what I mean!" He nudged the other man with his elbow, giving him a lewd wink.
Tengleman listened in silence, pondering the suggestion. What, exactly, did they have in mind? Watching him and Janet? Well, if that was it, it was okay by him.
But a little scream from Mrs. Hamilton broke the silence. "Oh, my God!" she groaned, recognizing with certainty the man who had given her such ecstatic pleasure a short while before. "Oh, my God!" She buried her face in her hands, bursting into loud, convulsive sobs as a shudder of horror raced through her body. Frank Tengleman, her husband's boss! And she had thought it was the man she had married. "Oh, Ron," she began to moan, repeating his name in a wild little chant that seemed never to stop.
What had happened to her? Why had she done such a thing? She searched her memory, reviewing the events that had led to such depravity. Dell had gone to the dance; yes, she remembered that. She even remembered worrying about her daughter! The idea now sent her into a little spasm of hollow laughter. She'd been worried about Dell, she thought bitterly. She should have worried about herself.
There had been the telephone call later; she was sure of that, too, sure of Tengleman's insistence on coming over. And she had questioned that, even then. What had been on his mind? Well, now she knew. She sobbed again, again called out her husband's name. How could he ever forgive her for this terrible thing she had done?
But had she done it? She remembered that Frank had brought a bottle of whiskey, remembered that she had had a drink with him. Yet she certainly hadn't had more than one - two at the most. And after that? Why, after that she had given herself to her own beloved husband, with all the joy and passion that a happily married woman should. And she had responded to his marvelous love-making as she never had before, and felt little chills of excitement tingle up and down her spine as he had stroked her breasts, coaxing her nipples into hard little erections, had moaned in ecstasy as he had trailed hot moist kisses down across her belly, and on along the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Yet now she remembered that Ron had left for Cleveland earlier in the day. Had he come back to spend a few hours with her? That was possible, wasn't it, with those new planes that flew faster than sound?
She let her head sink into her hands again, trying to remember something else. What was it? Oh, yes - something she had read, maybe, or perhaps something someone had told her about those planes. It was going to be four or five years before people could actually fly in them, wasn't that it? Except, of course, for the President of France, whatever his name was. And Ron wasn't the President of France - whatever his name was. So he couldn't have come home to spend a few hours with her. No, that was all a pipe dream. Then what? Just what had happened? Janet knew nothing except that Frank Tengleman was standing across the room, shouting his head off, while the older Powell boy - she had never really liked him - faced him, shouting and gesticulating and threatening, too. And then she realized they were talking about her! Hank seemed to be suggesting that Frank make love to her, in front of all the others. She perked up her ears, listening carefully. A few words floated down, like bits of dandelion fluff in the middle of a meadow, and she grasped at them desperately.
Then, once again, she started to scream. "I won't," she said. "I WON'T! You can do what you want to me, but I will never let that man touch me! Never. NEVER!"
Hank turned to her with an evil look. "No one's asking him to," he said.
"Then what are you talking about? What are you saying?" The woman was close to hysteria by now, her voice shrill and piercing, her. body racked with sobs.
Hank stared at her for a long minute, his cold cruel eyes sweeping her up and down, while he licked his lips in lascivious enjoyment of Janet's agony. Then, measuring his words carefully, speaking slowly, twisting the knife in the wound he was inflicting, he said, "We were talking about you and Dell."
"Dell!"
"Why not?"
"Because..." Janet tried to choose her words, not really understanding. "But Dell's a girl."
"Yeah, I know," Hank said. And she's a damn hot little number, too. I know, because I fucked her over at my place, while you were fucking Frank here."
"NO!"
Hank shrugged. "Sure. And now I want to see you fuck her!"
"But.. . but .. . that's not normal. .. that's perverted ... oh, dear God! What are you asking me to do?"
"I'm asking you to fuck your daughter," he said coldly. "Variety is the spice of life, you know. That's so, isn't it, Frank?" he asked, suddenly, familiarly, addressing him by his first name.
Tengleman stared in amazement at Powell. My God! He'd never seen anyone quite so brazen! And yet he had to admit that he was right, and, moreover, that he knew what he was doing. Already the lewd suggestion he had made to Janet was exciting him, sending anticipatory shivers up and down his spine. His tongue shot out, running around his parched lips, and he began to breathe heavily. Christ! When had he last seen an exhibition of this kind? He couldn't remember. He only knew that the whole thing had been almost enough for him to blow his mind. Pot, he thought, or even LSD, had never done to him what the sight of the two women making love with one another had. And the idea of mother and daughter doing it! Jesus! That was the most!
He shot Hank a look of real admiration, then glanced at Dell, cowering in a corner. Mighty quiet the kid was, wasn't she? She'd hardly opened her mouth since she got here. Well, maybe it was better that way. Maybe she was the docile type, ready to do anything. But her mother obviously wasn't. She had her mouth open, and was screaming again.
He strode over to her and took her by the shoulders, shaking her savagely. "Listen," he said. "You going to do what we want you to? Or am I going to slap you silly? And that kid of yours, too?"
"I don't care," Janet sobbed. "I don't care what you do to me."
"And what about what I do to Dell?" The mother turned white as a sheet, and sank to the floor, trembling. Oh, God! She had to save her child from these madmen! They would torture her, perhaps, even kill her. The thought that two of them had already defiled her sent her off into another spate of tears.
"All right," she sobbed, when she had regained control of herself. "All right. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt Dell. Don't hurt her!"
"That's up to you!"
Janet took a deep breath, wiped the tears from her eyes and rose to her feet. Shooting a backward glance at the men, she stepped close to Dell, put her arms around her shoulders, holding her tight against her own breast. Then, again with a glance backwards, she began to strip her daughter. The little blouse with the buttons down the front came first. She opened the two top ones, then slipped her hand gently inside, gently under the little net brassiere her daughter wore, too, cupping the tender young breasts in her own larger hand. Her fingers stroked the resilient flesh, and despite her fear, Dell felt little electric shocks of excitement shooting through her. Excitement, yes, but there was a warmth and tenderness that brought her comfort, too. Her experience such a short time before with Hank and Jerry had been so horrible, and this was so different. The softly caressing fingers now seemed to lull the broken young girl into a dreamy, sleep-like state. Her mother instinctively understood the daughter's feelings. Had not she, too, suffered incredibly at the hands of the lecherous, depraved man now standing before her, ordering her to perform this perversion with her own child, threatening that child who was her idol, the apple of her eye? Yes, men were beasts, and nothing more, she thought to herself. To Dell she said, "Don't worry, darling. Mother's here, to help you, and you'll help me, too, won't you baby?"
The tender name, which the girl hadn't heard her mother use since she was a child further soothed her heavy-burdened spirits. The two of them, mother and daughter, would help each other.
The slow, hypnotic caressing continued, while Janet half-whispered terms of endearment, words of gentleness and love in her daughter's ear, offering her her sympathy. As she did so. her hand slipped away from the soft snowy mound of the girl's breast to work at the buttons of her flimsy blouse again. First one. then another, gave before her fingers - so unlike Jerry's clumsy attempts to undress her earlier, Dell thought - and then her mother eased the fabric down, slipping the blouse partially off, just as she had undressed the girl, lovingly, so many years ago, as she readied her for bath or bed.
One plump young breast was now exposed to the gaping male trio standing in the living room, laughing raucously at the incestuous seduction. They helped themselves frequently to drinks from the now half-empty bottle on the table, sloshing and spilling drops on the pale beige carpet. The alcohol seemed to enflame their minds, and they began to make coarse comments, too, jeering at the helpless couple forced to copulate so unnaturally before then-very eyes. "Jeez, Jerry," Hank spluttered, a spray of saliva mingled with liquor sallying forth into the moonlit room, "ever watch a show like this?"
The younger boy shook his head, unable to say more than "God almighty! Those bitches must be in heat or something!"
Tengleman, though, was becoming impatient. "Come on, Janet," he urged as if she were a horse at the race-track, "come on. Get going! Get that kid naked. I want a good look at those sweet little titties of hers!" The coarse laugh that accompanied his words sent shudders of horror up the older woman's spine. Dear God! She had never liked the man - she was sure of that - but she had never expected him to show the utter vulgarity he did now. She began to shake with loathing of him, her body to tense with the sheer hatred she now felt. He was like some evil, an evil-looking insect, that fouled everything it came near.
She looked again at Tengleman, the soul, the mind so repulsive despite his handsome face and figure and something cried out in her in revolt. She would not, would not continue this sordid spectacle, put on for his depraved pleasure. But a quick glance at his face, his mouth set now in a grim, threatening line, changed her mind. The man was capable of anything, of any act of cruelty. For Dell's sake, she dared not cross him.
With now trembling fingers she drew the girl's blouse off her and dropped it on the floor, unhooked her brassiere, letting that fall to the carpet, too. "Don't worry, my darling," she crooned into her daughter's ear. "Men are horrible, I know. Just horrible. They'll do anything to you for their own pleasure." Tears filled her eyes at the thought of what the Powell boys might already have done to her little girl, of what they - and Frank, too - were certain still to do. Oh, God! God! "But a woman," she went on, trying to calm her trembling daughter, "a woman gives something; she doesn't just take, the way men do!"
The words were said merely to soothe, but Janet, to her surprise, realized there was more than a grain of truth in them. Wasn't she trying to give, right now? Of course she was! The idea gave her satisfaction, pleasure, even, and she knew she could give her daughter the ecstasy a man might some day give to her, with something more besides. Less frightened, now, almost happy, she gently eased her hand beneath the thin rubber waistband of Dell's flimsy nylon panties, rolled them slowly down over her hips, over the satin-smooth skin of her rounded buttocks, until the girl stood naked, her ripening young body bathed by the moonlight flooding in the window.
The mother heard the lewd whistles from the men behind her, knew, without looking, that their mouths were twisted in obscene, lecherous grins. Yet she could almost dismiss that from her mind. She would protect her daughter in her own way, take care of her the way she should be taken care of, give her the warmth and tenderness she needed.
She began to trail her fingers lightly over the white mounds of Dell's firm young breast, gently teasing the nipples into a taut erection. Then her hand slipped down over the smooth, snowy skin of her daughter's belly, giving the girl a hint of what was to come.
Dell's head seemed to swim in her confusion. In spite of the terrible humiliation of being forced to submit to her own mother in this way, she felt strangely relaxed and peaceful, too. There was something different about women, she thought, although instinctively she pressed her thighs together, to prevent still another invasion of her ravished vagina. Almost instantly, though, she relaxed again, letting them part slightly.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle touch of her mother's fingers caressing her own young body. Suddenly, though, the soft stroking stopped; Dell opened her eyes to see her mother stripping off her own clothes, quickly, efficiently, pulling down the zipper on her dress, wiggling, too, out of her own nylon panties, unhooking her brassiere to free her own firm, high breasts from the constricting garment.
In a moment the two women stood naked together, sharing their shame, and yet, in their mutual degradation, finding mutual strength. Together they would resist their tormentors, together they would triumph. Janet could feel the bond of love strengthening between them, and with a sigh that was almost of contentment, she knew that she was sharing a deep and wonderful experience with her daughter.
She let Dell's head fall on her shoulder, cradling it between her shoulders and her chin. Then she drew her daughter closer to her, and pressed her own nakedly exposed body next to hers. Her pointed breasts crushed against the child's, with their nipples meeting, and then the mother's hand roved down the soft, firm flesh of her daughter's stomach, on down to the little tangled strands of silken hair that graced her young pubic mound. Her voice was suddenly choked with passion, and she whispered, "Oh. my darling, you are so beautiful. So very beautiful. And I want to take care of you. forever. No man can the way I will, my dearest. You know that, don't you?"
And the young girl did. Cradled this way. rocked to her own mother's sing-song words, she felt as she had when she'd been no more than a baby, and yet, at the same time, she felt like the most desirable woman in the world. She lifted her head, with no thought even of resisting, when Janet cupped her chin and raised her elfin, heart-shaped face to her own. Her full lips brushed the girl's soft moist ones, and then fastened over them, pressing them close. A new excitement passed through the mother, a little touch of longing, along with a stirring of passion such as she had never known. Something, somewhere, told her this was wrong, and yet she knew she could no more stop herself now than she could fly to the moon.
She flicked her tongue out, parting Dell's lips expertly, as if she had been accustomed to such actions all her life. It eased between them to search out her tongue and find it at last. Dell, awakened to a hitherto unknown experience, gasped in shocked delight, then darted her own tongue into the soft warm cavern of her mother's mouth.
The two women had been standing nakedly before the three leering men; now, though, Janet drew her daughter down onto the couch, then lay down beside her. Her hands roamed over the girl's body, thrilling the two of them equally, her though involuntarily. Dell closed her eyes again, as her mother held her tight and gently rubbed her own body against her daughter's. The older woman's thighs curled around the slim out-stretched form of the younger one, clasping it to her while she moved slowly down on her until the two little patches of pubic hair - that of Janet and that of Dell - mingled together. Then the mother began to caress her daughter's buttocks, gently at first, then, still slowly but with determination, parting the gently rounded softness of the twin mounds. When Janet's fingertip teased into the little round hole of her puckered anus, Dell let out a tiny shriek of outraged delight, and moaned faintly.
Her body tensed, contracted, and then fell back on the couch, unresisting once more, as the mother twisted around, flicked her head downward towards the trembling white flesh of the girl's thighs. She began to kiss the tender skin while Dell moaned and let her legs fall slackly open. Her lips wandered to the darkly curling triangle down between her daughter's thighs, passed gently over the fleshy lips, along the moist hair-lined slit of her vagina. She began to lick slowly at the glistening little hole there, her tongue darting out to part the cuntal lips, to explore the narrow cuntal crevice. When at last she found the tiny pink bud of the young girl's clitoris she licked at it tenderly.
The three men stood around bending near, watching avidly, shifting positions to see better, sometimes crouching near the floor, like men watching a cock-fight, as the two women continued their perverted performance, growing more excited, more passionate all the time. Occasionally a low, lewd whistle was heard from one of the men, occasionally an obscene remark. It was Jerry who burst out with, "Jesus Christ! Look at that! She's licking it like it was a lollipop!"
Hank sucked in his breath as his burgeoning penis lurched maddeningly inside his pants. "Man!" he said, thinking that the sight was enough to make him change his mind. Spectator sports were fine, up to a certain point, but Jesus, they were fast reaching that point. It was about time he got in on the game, too.
Just then Janet's middle finger flicked out to probe between the fleshy pink lips of her daughter's slowly flowering cunt, the tip parting the soft flanges then burrowing in deep. The young girl squirmed on the impaling object, writhing in the mad, forbidden pleasure of this incestuous lovemaking. Her father's boss watching, cooly lit a cigarette, letting the match burn down until it nearly scorched his fingers, then waved it out. Tangleman puffed on the slender cylinder, blowing the smoke out in perfect rings while he watched the lewd exhibition which was sending tingling prickles of excitement surging through him, at the same time torturing his balls into aching masses of flesh that felt as if they were caught in a vise. On a sudden, sadistic impulse he called out to the little girl, "What's your mother doing to you, Dell?"
The words slowly penetrated the child's passion-clouded mind. Moaning at the exquisite, but wicked pleasure that flooded through her slender body with each twist of her mother's middle finger deep inside her hotly tingling pussy, she turned her head slowly, opening her eyes. "What?" she managed to gasp, recognizing Tengleman.
"T said 'What's your mother doing to you'?" A dim memory of the inquisition she had undergone earlier at the apartment of the Powell boys flashed through her mind. Dear God! Again? Her eyes were wide now and she saw the evil threatening expression on this man's face, too - the expression she had seen earlier on Hank's. Yes, she thought. Again. There was no more sense in fighting the man standing over her than there had been in arguing with the two youths, back there in the apartment. She took a deep breath, then recited in a loud, clear voice, as if it were the multiplication table perhaps - two times two is four; two times three is six; two times four is eight - "My mother is fucking me. She's fucking me in my..." Dell stammered, for all her bravado not quite able to go on.
"She's fucking you where?" Tengleman asked in a voice hard as steel.
"In my . . . my ..."
"Yes!" The man's voice now was like the crack of a whip, and like a whip it stung Dell into submission. "In my cunt," she said.
Frank grinned at her obscenely. The sound of such lewd words coming from her innocent young lips sent new shivers of excitement raging through him, made his loins burn as if molten lava boiled within. He always reacted this way, he reflected, nearly went out of his mind when he heard a kid talking dirty. Especially a kid as cute as this one. "Say it again," he ordered.
The full knowledge of what she was being asked to do crept slowly into Dell's consciousness. She shook her head, begging piteously. "No, please. Please, Mr. Tengleman ..."
"Say it again!"
"My . . . my mother is ... is fucking me in .. . in ... my .. . cunt."
"Wrong!" Frank snapped at her. "Your mother is finger-fucking you. That's different, isn't it?"
The little girl squirmed in agony, in shame.
"Yes," she whispered at last. "I guess it is."
"You guess! Don't you know?"
She nodded numbly. "Yes," she said. "I know."
"Okay then, say it!" He stared at her, his cruel eyes boring into her naked flesh. God, this kid was turning him on! He reached down, felt his cock jerking madly underneath his pants. A glance at the two young boys beside him showed that they too were aroused, excited. Jerry's mouth hung open, now, and he breathed heavily, while he listened in rapt attention to every word his girlfriend said. Next to him Hank was muttering, "Jeez! Oh, Jesus Christ!" while his hand strayed down the front of his pants to finger lightly the bulge, now obvious, beneath the faded denim.
"Say it!" Tengleman ordered again.
"My mother is ... is finger-fucking me."
"That's better. Say, Dell, have you ever been fucked any other way?"
Once again the girl nodded, her head hanging down in shame.
"How, Dell, how?" Tengleman asked, leaning forward, relishing the girl's discomfort, reveling in his sadistic humiliation of her.
When she answered, her words were barely audible. "By a cock," she whispered at last, in a frightened, trembling voice. "In my cunt."
Janet listened to the cruel verbal torture of her beloved daughter, too frightened herself to protest. Instead she offered up a silent prayer, begging for mercy for her only child. "Oh, God! Help me! Help her. Oh, dear, dear God!"
But the torment went on. "Who did it? Who?"
"Hank," Dell whimpered. "Hank Powell."
Tengleman threw his head back, letting out a loud burst of laughter. "Why the dirty little so-and-so," he said, turning to clap him on the back. "You're probably the first, too, huh? You the one who deflowered her?" Without waiting for an answer he turned back to the frightened girl to ask. "Been fucked any other way, besides?"
Again she nodded, again whispered, "Yes, in my mouth."
"And who did that?" he pursued relentlessly.
With a little sob that welled up from the depths of her being, and that racked her entire body, she answered, "Jerry!"
Now Tengleman pressed forward, beginning to take his clothes off once more. "Ever been fucked any other way, Dell?"
"Oh, no! No!"
"Would you like to be?"
"NO!" she gasped. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN."
"What I mean," he said, speaking slowly, enunciating his words as if to a backward child, "What I mean is, have you ever been fucked in the ass?"
Dell could only stare at him, open-mouthed in horror.
"Well," Tengleman said, unzipping his fly and letting his lust-hardened cock spring forth, "I think it's time you were!"
Frank Tengleman, stripped bare by now, brutally dragged Janet Hamilton from the living room couch where she had writhed beneath him in spasms of ecstasy such a short while earlier. Her daughter fell onto the couch backwards, and lay there whimpering, her legs clamped tightly together, her small hands trying desperately to cover the naked round spheres of her young breasts. Frank fixed her with a stare, relishing the sight of the young girl cringing helplessly before him, licking his lips lasciviously at the perverted assault on her helpless anus that he planned. Behind him the "oohs" and "ahs" of the Powell boys urged him on, and after a brief moment he ordered 'Turn over!"
"NO!" Janet screamed from behind her husband's boss, attempting to dash forward to protect her offspring. But the two boys caught her, clapping a hand over her mouth to silence her, pinioning her arms to her sides at the same time.
"Turn over!" Tengleman ordered again, and when the girl still cowered motionless on the couch, he flipped her onto her stomach with a quick deft movement. He looked down at the firm white cheeks of her quivering buttocks, then suddenly bent down to spread her legs wide. Quickly he dropped down to the couch himself, kneeling behind her and then his strong cruel fingers clutched her buttocks, drawing the cheeks wide apart. Dell clenched her legs and thighs together as tightly as possible in a vain effort to resist him, but the pressure of his thumbs, inserted now in the narrow crevice between her ass-cheeks was too great for her. She felt a rush of cool air between her legs as the twin mounds were stretched apart, and then felt the tip of his finger teasing at the tightly cringing hole of her puckered anus.
She heard his voice then, gloating and gleeful as he called to the two young boys, "Christ! What an ass she's got! Ever see anything so tight?"
There were whistles of incredulity from the others and he went on. "I'm going to stretch it out for her. Just watch!"
His middle finger probed again at the entrance of her nakedly exposed rectum, and now Dell clenched the tiny lips tight, protectingly. The finger teased at the small elastic circle once again, and then with a sudden movement Frank shoved the tip of it forward until it sank into the narrow passage. The girl winced in pain at this lewd invasion of her still virginal rectum; then as she felt the pressure of a second finger rammed unexpectedly in alongside the first she groaned, jerking her body forward. Furiously now she began to kick her legs, thrashing about to rid herself of this unwanted, unnatural intrusion. With a gleeful laugh Frank caught her ankles and pinned them to the couch, then, as suddenly as he had shoved his fingers in, he pulled them out. He forced her legs wider with his knees, dropping his head to her squirming buttocks to nip playfully at them. His tongue flicked out to lick at the crevice between the helplessly spread cheeks. Once again he forced his fingers into the tight tender passage, bringing another moan and then a scream of pain from Dell. "Oh, God!" she begged him. "Don't! You're hurting me! Oh, God, you're hurting me!"
For an answer Frank dug deeper and deeper up into her nakedly trapped asshole, expanding the still unplundered passage beneath his cruelly probing fingers. Suddenly he commanded "Kneel up!" and when she hesitated his other hand shot out to jerk her hips back and up toward him. She squirmed once again trying to free herself and his fingers slipped with a soft sucking sound out of her anal passage. Angrily he gave her a swift slap on her trembling buttocks, and then moved above her to press her breasts tightly down on the couch. Her buttocks were high in the air behind her now, waving in irresistable invitation to the lust-crazed man behind her.
Almost as a response he pushed her thighs farther apart with his knees, holding her helplessly beneath him, her legs spread so wide she was afraid she would split in two. His hands reached for her hips again steadying them with a strong, firm clasp, and then Dell felt the first contact of Tengleman's hotly throbbing cock, pressed tightly now into the narrow crevice between her fearfully trembling ass-cheeks.
The length of it, the thickness, too, amazed her and sent new waves of fear crashing through her. It was so big, so very big! She had known that before, when she had seen the long hard pole of flesh plunging deep into her mother's belly, had wondered then how her mother could ever take its great length up into her cunt. And now . . . now!
Until that very moment, the whole scene in which she was so unwillingly participating had seemed like nothing more than a terrible nightmare from which she would soon awaken. But now the reality of her situation burst upon her. .. this man was going to do just what he had threatened to, a short while before! He was going to fuck her in the ass!
Yes, Frank Tengleman, her own father's boss, was going to shove the rock-hard cock that now jerked in excited spasms in between her ass-cheeks right up into her. He would spear it in deep, deep into her belly, then fuck in and out, in and out as she was forced to kneel in front of him. And then .. . then he would cum there . . . shooting his hot white sperm in to flood the throbbing little passage. Tliat was what he had meant when he had said he would fuck her in the ass. She had heard the words then, heard them clear and plain as day. And yet she had had no comprehension, no understanding of what it was he planned. But now! Oh, dear God! She would never be able to take the whole hard length in her rectum. Never, never!
With a sudden piercing scream she jerked forward, free of the huge hands restraining her hips, and crawled desperately along the couch, as if somehow there she could escape. Tengleman let a foul oath fall from his Jips, then seized the girl's ankles again with one hand, delivering another swift blow to her cringing buttocks with the other. "Hank," he yelled. "Jerry! Get her. And God damn it all, hold her down. I'm going to fuck this little spitfire until she can't walk."
The two boys released the mother and sprang towards the couch, digging their fingers cruelly into Dell's shoulders as they half-wrestled her to it again, then held her down with all their crushing strength. Behind her, Frank ran his fingers over the white-rounded half-moons of her ass-cheeks, spreading them apart once again with the pressure of his thumbs. And then she felt the blood-filled head of his hugely throbbing cock against the tiny puckered anus, clenched tightly closed once more. "Ooooooh! No! Please, Mr. Tengleman. Please, please let me go!" she begged pitifully. And then she screamed in agony as the straining nether ring suddenly gave way before the relentless pressure and the huge bulbous head of his lust-engorged cock popped up inside her with a jerk.
Another wave of excruciating pain crashed through her as he thrust deeper into the soft rubbery flesh of her widely-stretched anal passage, filling her backside and bringing sobs of pain and shame from her. Again she cried out in agony as the blunt throbbing instrument seared her moist narrow passage like leaping flames of fire. "Oh, my God! Don't. You're killing me - you're killing me! I can't take any more!" she yelled. But his sex-crazed penis continued to press forward, pushing the resilient anal flesh before it until suddenly she felt the coarse hair of his loins against the pulled-open lips of her already deflowered vagina below, the soft smacking sound they made resounding through the room. The warm touch of her soft buttocks, pressed hard now against his pelvis, made Tengleman gasp with lewd delight and then for further pleasure he slipped a hand beneath her, to tease at the small tangle of pubic hair over her little pubic mound, wet now with the moisture seeping from her pulsing vagina. He drew his middle finger the full length of the narrow slit, slipped it between the fleshy wet pussy lips and flicked it quickly towards the quivering bud of her clitoris nestled there. As suddenly as he had plunged his throbbing cock into her clasping anal passage, he slid his middle finger down and thrust it deep into the wet warm flesh of her cunt, feeling far up in her nakedly writhing belly the hardness of his cock still imbedded in her anal passage through the thin membrane separating the two.
Dell gasped as he withdrew his finger, then groaned as he began to grind this thickly impaling rod into her backside with long smooth strokes. He lunged in mercilessly and then withdrew, pulling tiny ridges of clasping pink flesh out with the base of his cock then speared in savagely again.
The girl's body jerked and quivered, although the terrible searing pain she had first felt had gone now, to be replaced incredibly with tiny little stirrings of sensual pleasure. She moved back against him experimentally, beginning to arch her body, to thrust her buttocks up and outward, rotating them in tiny teasing circles to meet Tengleman's forward movements. The room began to whirl around her, seeming to disappear, and she had the eerie feeling that nothing existed except for her own body, kneeling in abject submission to this man who was skewering hotly into her from behind.
She heard him ordering the two youths, still pinning her shoulders to the couch, to let her go. "Okay boys," his deep voice sang out. "I don't need you any more. She's hot as a two dollar pistol, and she'll be begging for it in a minute. So let her go!" He threw his head back and let out a wild laugh. "Why don't you take on Mama?" he asked them. Dell felt the sudden release of the pressure that had flattened her arms against the cushions of the couch, heard a muffled cry from her mother, protesting against whatever the boys were doing - or about to do - to her - and then felt the same, soothing pleasure she had felt before when her own mother had performed just such unnatural acts with her.
She knew that the aching longing that this lewd sodomizing of her rectum aroused in her was wicked and evil, and she was almost certain that there was something desperately wrong with her. What was it Hank had said earlier in the evening - so much earlier in this long, interminable night which had already lasted an eternity? That she had loved being fucked, because she was a whore?
Yes. that was what he had said, and it was a horrible, horrible thing for him to think. Yet she was feeling excitement and pleasure and yes, even joy, from this still more perverted act that Frank Tengleman had forced her to perform wjth him. Perhaps she was a whore - and perhaps her mother was one, too. If not, why had she been revelling in that wicked man's lascivious assault on her earlier in the evening? But did that matter? Did anything matter except the sudden pleasure she had begun to feel, this absolutely breathtaking rapture?
Her long dark hair thrashed out, whirling around her as she squirmed her buttocks back against Frank's pelvis, turning and twisting on the impaling rod. Once again his fingers played with the widespread lips of her cunt, as he began to batter deep into her from the rear. Now he gripped her thighs with the fingers of his other hand, squeezing them, kneading them until little white ridges of flesh stood up between his knuckles. He moaned above her, his breath coming in short, heaving gasps, while she fucked back wildly against his insanely pistoning cock. Oh, dear God, she thought, I'm going to cum! I'm going to cum!
She felt Frank's increasing assault into her rectum, knew instinctively that he, too, had almost reached his climax. With a loud grunt he withdrew, pulling his penis almost out to the tip and then, ramming it forward, sank it deep into her belly again. He began to jerk in a wild spasm, as the hot white sperm spurted the length of his throbbing cock to pour wave after wave of lewd male cum far into the depths of her bowels. He gasped in a great groan of release, then fell back and away from her, his now limp penis slipping from her rectum with a slight wet sucking sound. A welcome rush of cool air flowed across her body, soothing the still sore orifice so recently invaded. And then, covered with sweat, and weak, but strangely happy, Dell turned her face to the wall and waited.
Janet had watched the entire episode, the whole rapacious act of plundering of her daughter by the older man, and her emotions had changed like a kaleidoscope during the process, just as the girl's had. She had felt horror and disgust at first, then her own little stirrings of sensual pleasure. And when she had seen the man cum, seen her daughter cum too in their wild orgiastic delight, it had turned her racing blood to fire, had made the little patch between her legs throb and ache with unbearable longing. She had wanted to be fucked herself. Dear God! That was what she wanted. Her eyes had signaled a salacious invitation to Hank, and now Dell, still lying on the couch, was roused by little animal-like sounds, and realized that she was listening to her own mother's voice.
She stirred herself and turned around, blinking her eyes open. With difficulty she made-out her mother's figure, in a corner, then saw that Hank, too, stood there. His naked young body was pressed up against Janet's, his chest tight against the excitedly heaving mounds of her milk-white breasts. The hard little buttons of her tightly erected nipples seemed to bite deep into his flesh as his hands roamed up and down over her fully firm thighs, over the tautly rounded globes of her buttocks.
And then Dell saw that his fully thick man's cock jutted out almost at a right angle from his loins, that it brushed teasingly, tantalizingly against her mother's dark little triangular patch of curling pussy hair, probing, prodding, and at last finding the narrow little opening to her vaginal channel. With a quick, sharp thrust, his lust-stiffened cock speared deep into her smoothly undulating belly, impaling her on it almost as Dell herself, had been impaled on Tengleman's penis from behind. Her mother began to wiggle back and forth on it, pressing her loins closer to Hank's pelvis, while her open mouth took the tip of his tongue into it, and she nibbled maddeningly on it.
Shudders of exquisite joy seemed to run up and down the woman's body as now she lewdly rotated her hips back against Hank's, gasping and moaning as he reared back and then thrust deep inside her. His hands snaked around her thighs, to clasp her buttocks even closer, while his hugely expanding penis seemed to explode inside her. Just at that moment, Jerry sidled up behind Janet, placing his hands on her shoulders, and then began to grind his pelvis into her undulating buttocks, like his older brother, he was stripped naked, too, his lean, athletic body quivering now with anticipated ecstasy. He reached down, now, moving his hands along the length of Janet's smooth white skin from her shoulders to her waist, almost as slim as that of her young daughter, along the firmly rounded curves of her hips. Pushing aside Hank's hands, still clutching Janet's buttocks, his own hands slipped lewdly across the gently swelling flesh of her belly. Then, just as Frank had done to Dell earlier, his thumbs forced their way along the narrow crevice between the cheeks of her ass, pulling the snowy mounds apart, until the tiny straining hole of her anus was visible to his hungry gaze. His thumbs pressed into that, too, opening it to his lewd stare. Suddenly he pushed his loins forward, sending his rigid cock probing up into the tightly puckered opening. Janet screamed at the first electrical contact of the rubbery blunt head against the sensitive nether ring, then held her breath while a second push from Jerry sent his blood-engorged member popping through the tightly-clenched orifice.
Oh, dear God! It was like a burning flame searing the soft fleshy walls of her rectum! "God!" she screamed. "Don't! Don't!" For answer, Jerry merely seized her hips, forcing her further down on the massive cock-head now firmly, but ever so slightly, embedded in her quivering flesh.
From a chair in the shadows of the corner, came the lewd coarse laugh of Frank Tengle man, watching this dual ravishment of the woman he had lusted after for so long. Jesus! Here were a couple of kids getting what they wanted from her, right off the bat. And it had taken him months of planning - along with the most potent of sex drugs - for him to get her in the sack! Not that he hadn't been able to screw her silly, once he did. And not that he wouldn't have been able to fuck the daylights out of her without the drug. It was simply a matter of opportunity, he told himself, and when it had come along, he had taken advantage of it, just as the Powell boys were doing. Besides, if he hadn't softened up that sex-pot the way he had, what chance would they have had? He patted himself on the back, metaphorically at least. Boy, these kids really owed him something, when you came right down to it.
He stared again at the depraved sight just in front of him. The rigid cocks of Hank and Jerry were straining against the two small tight holes, slowly ... slowly disappearing up into Janet's vainly squirming body. Her naked belly convulsed as the two desire-swollen cocks burrowed in from opposite directions and she shuddered uncontrollably, then cried out again, half-whimpering, half-mewling. My God! Tengleman thought. She can't make up her mind whether she likes it or not - and wasn't that just like a woman, not to be able to make up her mind. He felt the hot flashes of aching desire throb through his own loins. Well, pretty soon, he'd make up her mind for her. He'd done it before, hadn't he? Driven her right out of her mind - sent her stark-staring bonkers - with the ecstasy of feeling his prick plunging around inside her!
Maybe he was twice the age of either one of these kids, he reflected, but he was twice the man either of them was, too. And twice the two of them - that made him four times as good as they were. He laughed again. He was pretty sharp, wasn't he? He'd have to remember things like this, bring them up at stag parties sometimes. They didn't know he was such a whiz at - what was it, new math? And what was that problem he'd had so much trouble with when he was a kid - before anyone had come up with these new ideas? Something about two into one doesn't go? Oh, for Christ's sake! He stared at Janet, impaled now, front and back, on the two hugely throbbing cocks that had nearly lifted her off her feet, left her practically hanging in mid-air. Two into one doesn't go? The hell it doesn't! Hank and Jerry Powell were going into Dell's mother like a couple of steam engines.
And one Frank Tengleman was going to go into one Janet Hamilton again, too, as soon as these little squirts had finished playing doubles. He stared again, in obscene pleasure at the woman shuddering in agony and ecstasy, too, as the two massive cocks rammed deeper and deeper up into her, until they had disappeared completely and the three bodies seemed to melt into one great mass of twisting quivering human flesh. There was some equation there, too, he thought - something he could figure out if he tried. But he didn't feel like trying; who the hell was he supposed to be? Einstein, or something? Christ, no. He had a head for figures, but the figures were those of luscious dolls like Dell and her mother. The thought of the girl sent his head turning in her direction. He saw that she, too, was staring, fascinated at the spectacle of her mother being fucked in this perverted, inhuman way, by the very same boys who had deflowered her that very evening. And then he saw that she lay back on the couch, completely relaxed now, letting her legs splay open until one stretched along the back of the couch, while the other hung limply out over the side. She raised her hands from her sides, to touch tentatively the still tender mounds of her breasts, taking a small budding nipple between thumb and forefinger, and teasing it into taut erection. She moaned slightly at the tingling sensation her stroking of her own breasts aroused in her now tensing body, felt the tiny smoldering spark ignited up between her widespread legs. She clamped them tight together, trying to ease the sudden pulsating burning that encircled her clitoris like lapping tongues of flame.
Involuntarily, her hand lashed out and down toward the dark little tangle of pussy hair, groping towards the moist split palpitating beneath. With the tips of her fingers, she parted the narrow crevice, and then cautiously slipped the tip of first one and then another finger into the soft wet warmth of her vagina. She gasped at the delicious, cooling relief she felt for an instant, then gasped again as her own rapidly plunging fingers seemed to stoke the fires burning between her legs into a raging holocaust.
Her head lolled to one side, and her eyes stared in fascinated wonder at the three bodies across the room pressed together in their lewd, perverted act of copulation. As the trio rocked back and forth - as Jerry and Hank buffeted her own mother between them - Dell crammed her fingers deeper into her glistening little cunt-hole. She began to rock back and forth on them, matching the movements of the others undulating in their maddening rhythm. As her mother gasped out her growing excitement, her beginning ecstasy, the daughter whimpered and moaned with her.
Suddenly she longed to be in the older woman's place, to be fucked in the cunt and fucked in the ass at the same time.
She groaned in her overwhelming need, and then, involuntarily slipped her other hand down along her thighs, sliding it around under the semi-spheres of her white undulating buttocks. She searched the moistened crevice there, trailed her middle finger along the furrow between the two cheeks until she found the elastic-ringed opening of her anus. She plucked at it gingerly with a finger, felt a sharp jolt of pain surge through her body as the tip grated against the flesh still raw and sore from the brutal ravishment by Tengleman. For a moment she lay still, and then began again to send her fingers sawing in and out of her cunt. The fire there raced through her loins, spread in electric shocks throughout her body, sparking little explosions in her blood, like a million firecrackers popping at the same time.
Once again a probing finger plucked at her asshole, and now, as she cried out with the searing pain that melted into an exquisite pleasure, it sank between the soft, fleshy walls. Lying on the couch, her knees bent nearly to her heaving white breasts as she strained towards her climax, she caused Frank Tengleman to let out another lewd laugh. The kid had learned her lesson well, he thought, grinning evilly at her. Well, he'd give her another, before the night was over. And he'd give her mother a taste of what he'd given the daughter, and that before too long. When the others were through with her.
Jesus, by then she'd be ready for him. She'd be ready for anything! He let his imagination roam, then shook his head. God, you're an obscene bastard, he told himself. But why not?
His eyes left Dell, masturbating on the couch, to rest on the three figures writhing ecstatically on the other side of the room. The boys fucked into Janet with long hard strokes, pumping her up and down as she thrashed about, her legs dangling just above the floor marionette-like swept about by her controlling masters. The whimpering cries she had uttered earlier had ceased by now, and she was screaming out in her exquisite agony and ecstasy. Never, never, had she felt such joy, such utter abandonment to the most wanton, the most lewd impulses in her body. She wished this moment could last forever. She wanted to hang suspended like this forever with the feeling of being suspended in space, while her body reached heights of joy she had never known.
She began to move up and down on their lewdly impaling young cocks, squirming, writhing, thrashing about of her own volition, wanting nothing more than the exquisite pleasure the moment was affording her. Oh, God! She wanted to scream, and opened her mouth, but no sound came. She wanted . . . she wanted . . . she wanted to cum, she wanted to feel their hot white sperm squirted into her, into her clasping cunt, into the narrow passage of her rectum. She felt the gush of her own juices as her own orgasm began, felt the slap of the balls of the two youths against her cunt, against her buttocks, and suddenly called out in the wildest abandon, "Oh, my God! Fuck me! Fuck me harder. Fuck me . .. fuck me . .. fuck me!"
She couldn't stand it any longer, she had to have their viscuous liquid filling her belly, her ass the way their cocks did now. "I can't stand it!" she screamed now. "My God! You're driving me out of my mind! Please ... please ... I want you to cum ... to cum ..."
And then it happened. Their pistoning cocks moving in the matched rhythm of some well-oiled machine, spearing in and out of the two moist, wet passages, close to touching through the sensitive membrane that separated the two. And then, as if they were one, the two men began to buck and thrash in their own growing climaxes. Almost in unison, they, too, screamed out their needs, their shuddering climaxes. Their hips jerked forward, and the long, thick jets of warm white sperm spurted forth into Janet's writhing belly, lingered there momentarily, and then seeped down over the fleshy pink folds of her quivering cunt, over the white rounded spheres of her ass cheeks. With a wild shiver of the purest joy, the most intense ecstasy, she collapsed, her body still writhing in a final orgasm.
There was utter silence in the room for a long moment, broken at last by Janet's deep gasp for breath, and then by the heavy breathing of the two youths, drained of their strength now, close to exhaustion for the moment. A few moments later, there was the soft sucking sound as Hank withdrew his deflated penis from Janet's satiated cunt, followed almost immediately by a similar sound as Jerry withdrew his cock from her irrevocably stretched anal passage. With a half cry, half whimper, she sank to the floor in total collapse.
Her head was pillowed against the couch on which Dell still lay, and as she slid down into the little heap on the floor her hand trailed across the snowy mound of her daughter's breast. It rested there an instant, and then, almost instinctively she reached out to the girl's hand. The small fingers of it were still deeply imbedded in her moist, throbbing cunt, as Dell, too, stroked the small bud of her clitoris, as she fucked her fingers in and out of her moistly seeping pussy. Her mother's hand over her own sent added little darts of pleasure prickling up and down her spine, and then her whole body began to vibrate as she felt herself cumming. Her scream of "Aaaaaagh!" split the quiet air, and then her own hot white juice flooded over her still rummaging fingers, and ran down between her sensitive thighs in little rivulets. As her last dying throbs stilled, her fingers slithered from the moistly clasping channel, and she lay back limp, hand in hand with her mother.
The two women felt a peace, a happiness, and an overwhelming joy neither had ever before experienced. Together, they had marveled in their shared love, their shared tenderness, had used their own bodies for their mutual fulfillment. But now, Janet's hand on Dell's sent a different message - unspoken, but clear as crystal - to her daughter. Her gently clasping fingers, curled around the child's hands, seemed to soothe the girl's aching conscience, to wipe away what feelings of guilt she might have had.
It isn't wrong, she told her mutely. What we've done isn't wrong at all. It's the most beautiful thing in the world, the most exciting, the most enrapturing. How could anything that gives such pleasure be wicked?
Mother and daughter had no need of words to communicate. Janet could beg the girl's pardon for the false view of life itself which she herself had given her. It was a view that had blighted her own happiness, and which could have had the same effect on her own offspring. The thought of the harm she might already have done to her own flesh and blood sent little chills of fear and shame marching up and down her spine. She might have ruined her life, saddled her with the same complexes she herself had endured for so long. She turned her head slightly, glancing at Hank and Jerry across the room. They probably called her - at least as she'd been before - "uptight." That was the young people's word for her state of mind. Older people - and more sophisticated ones - doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, she knew would have said she was "neurotic."
Her face flushed crimson at the thought. She had considered herself so exemplary. And what had she been but a prude? And it wasn't that she had known no better. She had read the books, and had thought she'd understood them. She'd even taken a course in psychology, back in college, and even now she remembered with a little tinge of pride, that she'd gotten an "A minus" in it. She'd been able to discuss Freud, and all he said about sex, with her friends in the college dorm, quoting him, even, and everyone had said, "Oh, Janet is so brilliant." She shook her head. Brilliant, maybe. She'd known what the words meant, but she hadn't been able to hear the music. Freud, and the others like him, for all her so-called brilliance, all her intelligence, all her high marks, had been beyond her comprehension. His insistence that sex was good, was normal, was a human right and pleasure she had dismissed - subconsciously, she thought wryly. He, and all the others, had been no more to her than "dirty old men." And she had impressed her own point of view on Dell.
She clasped her daughter's hand a little tighter, knowing, somehow, that words between the two were unnecessary. The girl knew well what was in the mother's heart, and the return clasp, the pressure of her small fingers on the older woman's larger ones, told her, more plainly than words, that she understood. Janet sighed gratefully. Dell would be all right, she told herself. She would have a good life, enjoying every aspect of it. And in the future, she, herself would, as well.
She rested her head on her daughter's shoulder, her eyes roaming over the naked body, staring in delight at the voluptuous curves of the young girl. She had been a beautiful baby, Janet remembered, her heart going out to the girl now, her mind going back fifteen years to the time when she had first held the squalling infant in her arMs. And now she was a lovely young girl, just coming to womanhood. Her breasts were still small, yet plump and firm; her waist was so tiny that two hands could span it easily, and it flared into lusciously curving hips and thighs.
Janet had looked like that when she was young, too; the memory was beginning to make her sentimental. She closed her eyes, brushing away a tear.
She felt a hand pressing against her shoulder and looked up to see Jerry standing behind her, pushing her gently away. At first she wondered what he wanted. Was he going to take her again, as he had before? But no, he moved around her, to take Dell's hand. He had watched the two of them as the young girl had come to her final climax, and had been excited almost beyond endurance. His virile young cock once again jutted out straight from his body, and he was breathing hard in his raging passion. He sank down beside the girl, and his head flicked forward, as he fastened his mouth on her moist wet lips. He's going to fuck her, the mother thought. My God! He's going to fuck her! For just a moment the old, familiar fear and disgust rose in her. He couldn't! She wouldn't let him! And then she knew that he would, because she wanted him to, just as much as her daughter did.
She felt a hand on her own shoulder, felt a second hand slipped down over her tender, throbbing breast, cupping the soft, resilient flesh. She was lifted to her feet in a sudden swoop, and turning, saw Frank's face peering over her shoulder. "Love it all, don't you?" he demanded lewdly. "Just loved what those boys gave you, didn't you?"
Janet blushed crimson. She had loved it, and it had been obvious to the man watching. And yet, for the life of her she couldn't admit it.
He grasped her brutally by the shoulder, now, one hand still cupping her breast, squeezing it, kneading the soft flesh bruised by so many hands, so many times during the evening. She winced with pain, while the pleasure of his brutal massaging of the tensely swelling mound mingled with the agony in her blood. She wanted more, ever more. She wanted to be used like this - used at the whim and desire of every man. That was her fulfillment as a woman. Whore? Perhaps. And then she shook her head. That was the nature of women, that was their purpose - to submit to men, to be used by them as she was now being used.
Her mind went back over the years of her marriage, her thoughts turned to her husband Ron. She had loved him, yes. And she had submitted to him. But it had always been done grudgingly, with no excitement, no thrill, no pleasure from the act of submission. He had never understood her, she thought now. As far as he was concerned, she was frigid. But was she really to blame? Oh, no! He had never understood her terrible needs. He had wanted her as if she were a whore - she remembered the terrible night before he left for Cleveland. But at the same time, he had - dear God - he had respected her, too! He had wanted two things at the same time. He had wanted a prostitute - yes, that was almost what she felt like now - and at the same time, he had wanted a proper little prudish wife. And the two didn't mix. Not at all.
Well, with Frank, they didn't have to. There was no mistaking what he wanted, and what he was going to take. A shudder of excitement, more violent than she had ever felt, surged through Janet's body. He was going to take it! And she would revel in it. All those masochistic longings, buried beneath thousands and thousands of years of civilization, came welling up in her now. Oh, those books she had read were right! They were right! Men had never really progressed from the caveman stage, when they went out and dragged their women in by the hair, beating them into submission if they had to, while the women, protesting all the time, loved every minute of it. Her husband still pretended that all that was behind him; his boss pretended nothing of the sort. And now Tengleman was going to take her in the most lewd way possible, force her into the most abject acts of submission, give her the ultimate in shame, in humiliation, and in pain, too. She sighed deeply. It was exactly what she wanted.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the man's harsh voice, asking a question she didn't seem to understand. When her answer was not immediate, his head slashed forward, and now his teeth dug into the soft skin around her taut, erect nipple. Janet screamed in agony, trying to push him away from her. He bit into her flesh once more, and as she screamed again, flung his head back. "Next time I ask you something," he barked at her, "you answer! Understand?"
Janet understood completely. "Yes, Frank," she answered him, docile as a kitten now. Little thrills of expectant pleasure flooded through her, making her tingle to her fingertips.
"That's better." His head bent forward again, and this time his tongue darted out to lick furiously at the stiff little bud he had nipped at a moment before, soothing the pain that still lingered, and at the same time igniting delicious waves of heat and light in every cell, every nerve. Oh, dear God! she thought. What was he going to do?
She knew very well, and that knowledge lifted her to further heights, further pinnacles of passion, those she had never yet known. He was going to fuck her again; he was going to fuck her in the ass the way he had fucked Dell. And she was going to submit to him without a murmur of protest. She was going to submit to him because she wanted him to do just that to her.
He pulled her naked body around and back against his own, his chest pressing into her shoulders, his loins against her quivering buttocks. His now rigid penis snaked its way into the crevice between the cheeks of her ass, throbbed there, expanding, growing. The pleasure Janet felt from it was close to immeasurable, and even before Tengleman ordered, "Spread your legs," she had done so, welcoming the feeling of a foreign object there in one of her most secret parts.
Pressing his body forward, he pushed her towards the opposite wall of the living room, snapping a short, brisk command. "Get over there." And as she moved forward, he moved with her, almost in lock step.
Once against the wall, he ordered Janet to her knees. She fell to them at once, like a folding chair when the spring is snapped. And then he urged her forward once more, pushing her shoulders down until her elbows touched the floor. At another push, she lunged forward, resting on her forearms as she knelt, with her legs spread wide behind her. She shivered a little as she felt Frank's hands run over her bare buttocks, just grazing them in tantalizing movement, felt them sweep up and once more circle her hips, spread her thighs, stroke the sensitive skin between them. Then, suddenly, he dropped to his knees, too, and his hands slid down beneath her trembling buttocks cupping the two cheeks while his thumbs burrowed into the thin furrow between them, pulling the two cheeks apart. He bent his head down, and his tongue darted out, to lick at the little rounded opening of her anus. She winced at the first electric contact, clenching the puckered lips tight. As the initial shock wore off, she relaxed, opening herself to Frank, inviting him to do what he wished to her. And then she felt the tip of his finger teasing the tiny opening before, in a quick sharp gesture, it plunged in deep. Janet gasped, then held her breath as the first terrible searing pain of his invading finger turned to a marvelous, soothing pleasure, awakening an aching longing in her more overpowering than any she had ever felt. Oh, God! All her life she had thought this the lowest point to which a woman could fall. And now her whole body was aching for it, screaming for it. "Fuck me," she begged, the words suddenly spilling from her throat. "Fuck me . . . fuck me there!"
"Where?" Tengleman demanded imperiously.
"In my ass, Frank," she whispered, her voice choked with her passion.
He grinned ecstatically. She had used his name, had used it intimately, almost tenderly. She was his completely, now. And so he mounted her as if she were a stallion, then took his thick, lust-enraged cock and put Janet's fingers around it. "Put it in," he told her, guiding her hand to the hairless rubbery circle of her anus. Eagerly she complied, placing the tip of the stiff, blunt instrument against the tiny opening of her backside. With a quick thrust, Frank popped the huge bulbous cock-head inside the tiny puckered opening, then slowly pressed forward, forcing the tightly yielding walls further and further apart until he was sunk deep into the tightness of her bowels.
He began to grind back and forth, his sperm-bloated balls smacking down hard against Janet's cunt as his thick cock sank deep up inside her rectal passage. A loud groan of the most exquisite joy escaped from the woman's moist, slightly parted lips. Frank, she knew, was ready to cum.....
The limousine which left for the airport seemed interminably long in pulling up to the curb in front of the hotel, and Ron Hamilton looked at his watch impatiently. He would make the plane home, he was sure; he'd never missed a plane in his life. And weren't these cars geared to flight departures? Even so, he was anxious. Once more his eyes scanned the Cleveland skyline, seeing little of it, however. He wanted nothing more, he thought, than to get back, to walk into the house, surprising his wife. He wondered if Dell would be at home. He hoped not; he would rather have these first few hours of the new life he envisaged with Janet alone with her.
He picked up his suitcase, shifted it to the other hand nervously, then put it down. It was a hell of a lot heavier than it had been when he arrived, he thought happily. He hadn't been able to resist the shops, after all, and had spent a small fortune on small luxuries for his "two girls." There was the charm bracelet like the one his daughter had long coveted, carefully wrapped in tissue paper now and tagged with her name. There was a bracelet for Janet, too. And a bottle of perfume for each. They would be surprised all right, he told himself.. Hell, they would think it was Christmas all over again.
He turned towards the hotel again, and caught sight of the lingerie - the lacy brassieres and bikini panties, the slips, the nightgowns in the window. One in particular attracted his attention. It was black nylon, completely transparent, and as wickedly seductive as anything he had ever seen. Jesus! He'd like to see Janet in that little number!
He left his luggage with the doorman and went into the boutique. "How much is the nightgown in the window?" he asked the young woman who glided across the deep carpet to wait on him.
"Ze pink, M'sieur?" she asked, with just a hint of a Parisian accent. Hamilton wondered if she really was French, or if the accent, the "Monsieur" was just an affectation, an attempt to give atmosphere to the small shop. His eye roamed over her trim figure, shown off to its best advantage in the simple little black dress she wore. God damn! She wasn't bad, not bad at all. But his own wife - yes, and his daughter, too - had her beaten by a mile.
He shook his head. "No," he said. "I meant the black one."
The girl gave him a sultry look, and her voice was husky and inviting. "Ah, yes, ze black one. Is very sexy, no, M'sieur?"
"Is very sexy, yes," he said.
"M'sieur has perhaps a girlfriend? He would like to give her a small memento - a little souvenir. Yes?"
"God damn it! No! It's for my wife!"
The girl's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "For your wife?" she said, bewildered, and speaking now in a flat Ohio accent. He glimpsed the name of the shop on the charge pad she carried: "Mam'selle de Paris." Sure, he thought. Paris, Kentucky. And this kid was probably an acting student from Oberlin, or someplace like that. God damn her, anyway! He whirled around and left the shop, furious with the girl. What the hell did she think his wife was? Some sort of whore, or something?
Outside the shop again, his temper cooled as he paced up and down. Jesus! He'd done it again, he thought. The girl was right, even if she didn't have to be so bitchy about it. He'd been treating Janet the way he had before, been thinking of her in the same terms. Just a woman whose body was to be used for his own pleasure. When the hell was he going to learn?
The memory of his brutal near-rape of her, just before he'd left for Cleveland, came back to him. He could almost feel her quivering body trembling beneath him as he had shoved his thick cock mercilessly up between her thighs, and deep into her tightly resisting cunt. He shuddered, and passed his hand over his forehead, wiping the cold sweat that had gathered on his brow. Well, things had changed since then; things were going to be different from now on. And since they were, he thought, he was going to buy her the kind of gift that showed how much he respected her.
But he didn't have either the courage or the inclination to go back to "Mademoiselle de Paris." And every other plaee was closed, at this hour of the night. Well, he would have to buy something at the airport, he decided. Shops there were open around the clock. And he'd find something suitable there, too. Something that would be a symbol of his love for his wife, and a promise for the future.
He looked up and down the street, still waiting for the limousine. Then he looked at his watch. God damn it anyway. He wasn't going to have time to buy anything for Janet at the airport if he didn't get the hell out of the city soon. And it suddenly became the most important thing on earth to him, to add one more gift for her to those he had already carried. Well, he would just have to take a taxi, he thought, hailing one. He piled his luggage in and gave the driver instructions. "The airport. And make it snappy, will you?"
"Sure, Guv'nor."
He settled back against the seat, peering at the darkened windows of the chic shops near the hotel that the cab sped past. He could see nothing within, but it hardly mattered. His thoughts were on his wife and daughter, and his mind was filled with the vision of himself as he entered the white brick house, stole up to his surprised wife, and kissed her gently. Not pulling her to him crudely the way he'd done before, digging his fingers into her soft, warm shoulders until she winced with pain. Jesus! He'd been such a bastard. Selfish as hell, wasn't he? But not any more, he thought, with a deep sigh.
From the front seat he heard the driver's voice. "What plane you catching?" he asked.
"Flight 704." Ron said. "It leaves at 11:15"
"Yeah, that's right. Get you home in the wee hours, won't it?"
"Oh, it will be late all right," Ron said. "But I don't really care. Matter of fact, I'm pretty anxious to get home."
"Little woman waiting for you?" the driver asked.
"Well ..." Hamilton leaned forward, studying the identification card against the dashboard. "Mort Simons," he read, just beneath a hazy picture of him. Then he hurriedly corrected himself. "Yes, she'll be waiting."
"You know," the driver said, "I get lots of calls at night from guys like you. Guys who want to get home, be with the wife, with the family. Fed up with hotels. Oh, sure, I know a lot of guys think it's a break to get away for awhile, go out on the town . .. you know what I mean? They come here with big expense accounts, and no one knows them, and they pick up some cheap little chick and spend the night with her - spend a fortune, too - and then after they've fucked the daylights out of her - you'll excuse the expression, Sir? - they walk out and forget about her. But other guys - guys like you - they just want to get back home to the little missus, and the kiddies."
Ron began to smile contentedly. Even this taxi driver, he thought - what was his name? Oh, yes, Mort Simons - even he could see how he felt about his wife, now. And if Mort Simons could, well, how could Janet help it?
"Yes," he said, "you're right. I want to get home, want to see my wife again." Once more he looked at his watch. "But can you hurry?"
"Plenty of time, Mister." the driver assured him. "Plenty of time."
"I know. But I wanted to pick up some things at the airport. The shops are still open there, aren't they?"
"Wanna buy her a present or something?"
"That's right."
"You'll have plenty of time. Plenty of time." But he began to maneuver more quickly around other cars, passing some, blowing his horn at others. He drove in silence from then on, depositing Hamilton, with his luggage, at the airport. Ron checked in quickly, then hurried off to buy the final gift for Janet, the one which would show her, more plainly than words, the esteem in which he held her.
He found exactly what he was looking for, paid for it quickly, and hurried out to board the plane. Then he slid quickly into his seat, fastened his seat belt and extinguished his cigarette. As the plane slowly lifted into the air, he closed his eyes.
The trip passed quickly. He drank the coffee the stewardess brought him - no liquor this time! Janet didn't like it - and leafed through a magazine. He had barely finished reading it when the NO SMOKING sign was flashed on again, as the plane prepared to land.
Ron waited impatiently for his luggage, retrieved it at last, and headed for the line of taxis. He stacked his suitcases on the seat, then climbed in next to them, and gave the driver his address.
Oh, God! Janet thought. He's going to cum! Frank Tengleman is going to cum in my ass right now! She wriggled her buttocks back against him, rotating them in teasing little circles, as he fucked in and out. She had never known such exquisite joy, and she moaned out her ecstasy in mewling muted sounds. From the corner of her eye, she could see Jerry Powell, fucking her daughter Dell. She watched as his cock disappeared into the openly glistening slit up between the girl's lewdly parted legs, then saw Hank stride over to the girl, his thick cock jutting out from his loins. He pressed it against the girl's soft, moist lips, forced it in, until it seemed to brush the back of her throat. Greedily, she began to suck on it, her cheeks hollowing and expanding as her tongue teased the tiny hole at the tip.
Behind Janet, Tengleman rammed his penis deep into her rectum, feeling the soft warm folds of flesh envelop it. It seemed to grow, to expand on every stroke, like an inflating tire. The sperm in his aching, swinging balls was building up to a point of bursting; he would have to shoot the hot liquid into her belly or he would explode. Suddenly he threw his head back, letting out a long, loud scream as his shuddering climax shook his body.
The sound of it drowned out the sound of Ron Hamilton's footsteps on the front porch, the slight click of the front door lock as he inserted the key and turned it.....
