In a society such as ours whose horizons are continually expanding, there is always the risk of finding an outsider, someone who has not caught up or caught on as quick as the rest; someone who is in the position of the rookie in the army story whose doting mother cried out at the parade: "Oh, look! Everyone is out of step but our Hank!"
But society provides two categories of outsider in this context: those who are not going fast enough...and those who have already gone too fast. When these two sets of people are opposed, the barometer is set for stormy weather. And when each of them, in some way or another, is in a position of power...then the situation becomes potentially explosive.
Chasen Markser's penetrating new novel of horror and suspense, The Subjugated Virgin, illustrates with spine-chilling veracity the truth of this proposition. It deals with the confrontation of two extreme and diametrically opposed sections of modern American society the traditionalists, those conservative upholders of the classic American virtues...and the young progressives and the so-called liberals who consider American virtues outdated and incline more towards an international rather than a narrowly national view.
Counselor Mason Thorneycroft is a highly respected citizen in the city whose next District Attorney he hopes in time to become. He is a man of wealth and background, engaged to Carol Findlater, a lovely girl from a similar home. The Findlaters and the Thorneycrofts have for generations set the social tone for the city; they live by a code whose moral values are never questioned. Until Mason is involved prosecuting a case against the members of a left-wing progressive organization whose ethos is very much opposed to his own. And then everything is questioned!
For Mason to whom young liberals are little better than common criminals succeeds in getting the accused sent up for long terms. And the remaining members of the group, in a desperate bid for revenge, kidnap his lovely fianc'e and hold her for ransom...the price being the release of the convicted felons. This is a story right out of today's headlines, where political kidnappings have become common place throughout the world.
It is the conflict between Mason's love for his future bride and the rigid code of honor that would never permit him to succumb to any kind of blackmail that provides the drama, the suspense, and the tension which informs every page of this thought-provoking chronicle of our times a theme in which the moral values by which our standards have for so long been established are subjected to the most penetrating and provocative analysis.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
Carol Findlater laughed aloud at the restaurant table. She had caught sight of her own dark sultry good looks reflected in the bowl of the silver soup spoon laid on the gleaming damask table cloth...and the curvature of the polished metal had turned her finely chiseled features into a grotesque caricature of some candidate for a Fat Girl of the Year award. She laughed again, tossing her glossy head so that the long raven-black tresses tumbling over her shoulders caught the trembling light of a candle flame and threw it towards the mirrored wall.
Opposite her, Mason Thorneycroft glanced up from the outsize menu he was studying. His pale eyebrows climbed the furrows of his intellectual brow. "Something amused you, my deaf?" he inquired.
"N-n-no. Nothing really." Carol lowered her brown eyes and spun the slender stem of the candlestick between her finger and thumb.
"Nothing? But I distinctly heard you laugh."
"Uh yes. Yes, I guess I did laugh, Mason," Carol said.
"Well?" The lawyer was staring at her over the crimson curlicues of the vast menu.
"I up it was nothing really, darling. I just happened to catch sight of my reflection in the spoon. That was all."
"In the spoon. And that was all?"
"Why yes. That was all, Mason. That was all."
Thorneycroft's eyebrows were still raised in puzzlement and she hurried to explain further. "You know how a convex surface distorts," she pursued.
"The inner surface of the spoon is concave," Mason corrected.
"All right concave. But you know how curved metal does distort...Well, I just happened to see myself and I looked so bloated and chubby, so...well, so silly ....I thought it was kind of funny. I mean in here, and all. So I laughed. I'm afraid I just laughed." Her voice trailed off as he continued to stare at her. "It looked so, you know, ludicrous," she explained lamely.
Under the blond crew cut, Mason's face creased into a tight little smile. "I see," he said. "Yes. Very droll." He went back to the menu.
But it was funny, Carol thought rebelliously. It was amusing, like all comic situations, because it was something out of place, something that didn't belong. It was the only thing in the discreetly appointed room that wasn't absolutely perfect. She glanced around the restaurant. The low-key wall brackets and the candles on the tables cast a soft glow over the scrubbed, intent faces of the diners, most of them far older than she. The subdued hum of conversation was punctuated by the well-bred tinkle of cutlery and glass. Waiters glided cat-like over the deep-pile carpet among the clinging odors of garlic and roast meat and cigars. And Mason, with his lean, handsome face, the touch of gray at the temples that made him every inch the future District Attorney that he hoped to be, sat across from her, choosing the perfect wine to go with the perfect meal he would select. Yes, Carol thought reprovingly, the giggling fat girl in the spoon was decidedly out of place!
A sudden glow of pride suffused her. How lucky she was to be engaged to be married to Mason Thorneycroft! He was still a young man but he had already gone from a profitable consulting practice with Holmes, Stark, and Rush, Isola's most important law firm, to the
State Prosecutor's office. The step had considerably added to the prestige he already enjoyed in the city, though it had substantially reduced his earnings. But fortunately this made little difference to Mason: there was as much money in his family as there was in Carol's. He had in fact told a reporter for the Isola Star, interviewing him after his appointment: "I consider it a privilege to serve the community in this way, and I am happy to be in a position where I can do so."
It was the only time Carol had heard her finance talk about money, even indirectly. like herself, he had been brought up to believe that it was as unseemly to speak of one's wealth as it was to discuss sex. Yet Carol laughed to herself this time it was evident that both families were well-off. And she and Mason were the living proof that both sets of parents had indulged in sex at some time! She found the thought amusing...but she kept it to herself. Mason would not have thought it funny. He didn't, the lovely brunette reflected, think many things funny. A sense of humor was not one of his most obvious assets.
Did that matter though...when you were as devoted to your work as Mason was? Or as determined and conscientious? Those were the qualities for which he was respected. They were what people had in mind when they spoke admiringly of his propriety and moral rectitude. Oh yes, Mason was respected all right. Carol had to admit that there were many who didn't like him, but they respected him just the same.
He looked up from the menu at last and asked, as she knew he would: "What would you like, dear? Avocado stuffed with shrimps followed by a Tournedos Rossini, and then perhaps a green salad?"
It was the choice Mason invariably suggested, and Carol wondered fleetingly what he would do if she asked for something else clam chowder, for instance, or asparagus or spare ribs or osso buco. For a moment she considered doing so, but something in her fianc''s manner put her off and she simply said obediently, as she always did: "That sounds marvelous, darling. Thank you."
"And a Martini to start with, naturally?"
"Yes, Mason, naturally."
He confided the order to the head-waiter hovering solicitously at his elbow, and then turned his attention to the wine list. Carol looked fondly at the network of fatigue lines creasing the corners of his eyes, the tensed muscles of his neck. He was overtired and overworked, she thought. But that was only to be expected, considering the strain he had been going through. That damned trial! Those damned people! For weeks he had been prosecuting in a complicated conspiracy case involving a number of people also accused of arson and rioting, trying to foil the attempts of different defense counsels to obscure the issues, cross-examining innumerable witnesses, searching for arguments to convince the judge that he should overrule the ceaseless defense objections, listening to interminable speeches. No wonder he was bushed! Yet when Carol had sympathized a few days ago, he had appeared to be surprised at her concern. "I'm only pleased that I am able to serve the community in this way," he had said again.
The wine waiter whisked the frosted Martini glasses from a silver tray and set them respectfully down on the table. "Chin-chin, darling!" Carol said, raising hers at once and twirling the long stem between her fingers.
"Your very good health, my dear," Mason said, adding rather self-consciously as he raised his own glass: "Cheers!"
The ice-cold cocktail tingled agreeably on Carol's tongue as she swallowed her first sip. A moment later the familiar glow seeped warmly through her. She took a second sip. "I heard the news on the radio just as I was leaving," she said.
"About the trial, you mean?"
Carol nodded. "Darling," she said impulsively, "I'm so glad it's over. Aren't you?"
"Quite frankly, I am." Mason rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers almost, Carol thought, as though he was rehearsing to be a judge! "And naturally I'm pleased that my arguments carried the day and the jury saw its duty and returned a verdict of guilty. That was a fit and responsible jury." He sighed and then added: "So few of them are."
"But surely it was clear enough that they were guilty, wasn't it?"
"It was very clear to me and I think to Judge Harvey too."
"Well if it was clear to you and to him and if he directed them properly why shouldn't it be clear to the jury too?" Carol asked.
"Darling you're such an innocent!" Mason said, shaking his head affectionately. Carol had the impression that he was secretly laughing at her. It made her feel uncomfortable.. . as several aspects of their engagement had recently. It had all been so...so impersonal! Not that Carol would have thought of going to bed with Mason before they were married any more than he would have thought of asking her. Yet there had been none of those little intimacies between them that most young lovers enjoyed, she thought, casting her mind back over the period of their engagement. Still, this trial was over at last, and now Mason would have more time for her . . .
"A jury, after all, is a cross-section of the community," he was saying earnestly. "Sometimes you get intelligent people on it more often you don't. Then you expose that mixture of citizens to a barrage of conflicting arguments day after day, in this case week after week, and of course they're confused. You cannot expect you cannot necessarily expect such a collection of people to bring in the right verdict automatically."
"Of course not," Carol murmured. She speared the olive in her drink, popped it into her mouth, and then began twirling the stem of the glass again.
"There is, too, the element of personality," Mason continued. "I mean, someone on a jury may take a dis-like to a lawyer on one side or the other for some absurd reason because he's wearing a color the juryman dislikes, or because he's Irish, or because he comes from the East Coast, anything and then that lawyer's pleading becomes useless, as far as that juryman is concerned, no matter how eloquent he may be or how many witnesses support his case." He noticed that his fianc'e's glass was empty. "Would you like another Martini, Carol?"
"I'd love one, thank you darling."
"And then there's a third factor," Mason went on. "One that could have been important in this case the matter of people's attitudes. Now, in a normal case, where a man is accused of theft or murder or robbery, it's a simple question of guilt or innocence. But in this case ' the so-called Liberation for Individual Behavior people it was different. You had half a dozen defendants accused of arson and rioting with a conspiracy charge attached. Those are crimes just like theft and murder and robbery, and the people who commit them are criminals. But because it's tied up with this damned L.I.B. movement, someone on the jury is liable to see it in a different light. He's-likely to remember all the idealistic claims these people make. Note that I said 'claims'. And then that juryman won't see these people for what they really are."
"And what are they really, Mason?" Carol asked.
"Troublemakers, my dear," the lawyer said decisively. "Just troublemakers, nothing more."
"But darling," the lovely brunette protested, "I've seen some of the Lib pamphlets and broadsheets and things. I mean, it seems to me that they are pretty idealistic. The movement, stands for a lot of things most people would agree with."
"Such as?"
"Oh...peace and equality and an end to discrimination. Things like that."
Mason gazed at his fianc'e and smiled indulgently a smile that showed plainly that he considered her as foolish as she was naive. "So you've been taken in by all their propaganda too," he said, shaking his head.
He stared at her over the avocado heaped with shrimps that the waiter had slipped discreetly in front of him. It was just as well that she hadn't been on that jury, he reflected. Fortunately the jury, ably directed by Judge Harvey, had seen its duty and found all the accused guilty. And Harvey had seen his duty and sentenced them to the maximum terms of imprisonment allowed sentences they richly deserved, Mason told himself. From the moment he had seen them, he had known they were no better than common criminals, despite all their talk of liberty and freedom and all their high-faluting ideals. The men were bad enough their hairy chests showing through gaudy open-neck sport shirts-looking like the bums and winos drying out in the county jail, with their soiled jeans and long hair. Why couldn't they wear jackets and ties like everybody else and show some respect for the court?
But the women! My God, the women! Some of the members of the public, whose sympathies obviously lay with the accused, wore sweaters so tight you could actually see their nipples standing out on their breasts! Or they wore blouses cut so low and opened so wide that their round, sensuously full breasts risked bouncing out! There was one girl who wore a see-through blouse which concealed nothing neither the tautly swelling orbs of her breasts, the darker flesh of the areolas, nor the pert little nipples either! She'd worn pants too, that one...pants so tight that they looked as if they'd been sprayed on, pulling and straining against the curve of her buttocks, cupping them, rippling like flesh itself as they molded to her skin when she moved lasciviously across the courtroom. Every man in the place was staring at her, practically panting with sheer raw lust!
But the most disgusting of all, the lawyer remembered, was the girl who'd come in late that day and taken a seat in the front row. She was young and slim about Carol's age and Carol's build: he could have spanned her slender waist with his two hands and she'd even had a certain beauty, with her swarthy skin, her huge dark eyes, and the hair that hung almost to her waist. She'd worn no pants, this one, but a mini-skirt that was almost as brief as a bikini: it had barely covered the hard, round half-moons of her buttocks, scarcely hidden the vee of her crotch!
The little whore's rich, fleshy thighs were bare. Why on earth couldn't these girls wear girdles and brassieres like decent women? Her breasts were provocatively tilted, the nipples taut under the sheer summer blouse she wore. And she had flashed Mason a knowing look as she walked sensuously behind his table, a look that told him plainer than words that she would be willing to what was that vulgar expression? "put out" for him any time he wanted. Her walk had been an open invitation to him and every other man in the courtroom: she was just begging for some male to shove his rock-hard penis deep up into her quivering little belly . . .
A deceptive calm had settled over the place when the girl sat down, just in front of the bench. She smoothed her ridiculous skirt over the lushness of her hips, pressed her knees together, even crossed her ankles demurely. Beneath the calm, though, there was an undercurrent of excitement that threatened to explode at any moment. But as the day wore on, as witnesses were called and sworn and cross-examined, the excitement drained away and the court was left blanketed in lethargy.
Mason flung an arm over the back of his chair and looked around the public gallery as one of the defense counsel droned interminably on, wasting the court's time with an unnecessary digression about the good character of his client as if people like that ever had good characters! Why did these people flock to the court, day after day, Mason wondered? That elderly woman on the right, for instance she had been there three days running. Who was she? A relative of one of the accused? The mother? He glanced at the jury box; several jurors were letting their attention wander too. Then his eyes settled on the girl in the front row . . .
Her lithe young body had gone slack with boredom, and now she sprawled in her chair, legs wide apart, knees teasingly splayed to show the smooth, soft inner flesh of her thighs and the thin strip of nylon that would be tightly sheathing her . . .
Mason Thorneycroft started. The girl wasn't wearing any panties! No strip of nylon, however thin', concealed the tender flesh of her smoothly curving thighs and between them, nestling in the sparsely curling triangle of silken hair in the tight little vee between her legs, he could distinctly see the delicate coral slit of her moistly pouting pussy!
The girl shifted in her seat, pushing a strand of her long dark hair out of her eyes, and now her legs slid further apart, her smooth-skinned swelling thighs spread open even wider. The hair-lined, pink-flanged slit lay open now, the lips parted like the petals of a flower to reveal the tiny bud of her clitoris within.
Mason stared in shocked fascination, his attention riveted. He longed to turn away, to ignore the lewdly exposed secret flesh, to close his eyes and his mind. But he was transfixed, hypnotized by the obscene sight. In the back of his mind, he knew that a lawyer was cross-examining a witness, that words were being bandied back and forth but the words were far away and without meaning: only the girl's full, fleshy vaginal lips seemed real, seemed near. They filled his horizon.
Suddenly the room was full of people on their feet. The court was taking a recess. Mason's palms were moist and his entire body was dripping with sweat as he plodded out with the other counselors, trying desperately to marshal the points of his final speech in his mind. When Judge Harvey resumed, the girl had gone.
Where was she now, Mason wondered? Probably thrashing around in bed in some sleazy hotel with some man she had picked up during the lunch recess! Lying there with her legs flung wide while he licked and sucked in there between them...or heaving and groaning throughout the hot, humid afternoon while he pistoned rhythmically into her.. . or sucking him, taking him into her mouth until she almost choked on the plank-stiff length of his hard, jutting cock . . .
She was a menace to society, Mason had thought, with her openly wanton attitude and her shamelessly splayed thighs. But she was no worse than the defendants and all the other weirdoes and perverts and kooks who went around spouting slogans and stirring up trouble, banding together in whatever screwball movement happened to catch their imagine at the moment. They were all a menace to society! Judge Harvey had been absolutely right to sentence them to long terms, he thought now, sitting in the Ecu de France as he stared at his fianc'e over his Tournedos Rossini. That would give them time to think things over and reflect on their obligations!
Carol picked at her salad, wondering at Mason's long silence. Why didn't he talk to her? What was on his mind now? He seemed to be a hundred miles away!
Suddenly his mood changed. Where he had been withdrawn and almost stuffy, he became affable and for him very nearly effusive. There was even an unaccustomed hint of warmth in his voice to which his fianc'e at once responded when he said brightly: "But I almost forgot! Darling, I have something important to tell you!"
"Oh, Mason! Is it about a house?" Carol demanded impatiently.
He smiled fondly. "Yes it is. I just heard of one and I think it may be just what we're looking for."
She listened with rapt attention as he described it. The master bedroom was here, the guest rooms here and here, the study there, the dining room at the far end of the hallway. "At least," he jested, "I imagine so. I haven't even seen the place yet."
"Haven't seen it? But, darling, that's not fair!" Carol protested.
"Not fair? My dear, I'm being generous! I'm giving you the chance to see it first!"
"Oh, darling when?" Carol's brown eyes were shining.
"Would tomorrow morning be convenient?"
"Of course. You know it would."
"That's fine," Mason said, "because that's when Mr. Bronwen is taking you to see it."
"Mr.. .Bronwen?"
"The real estate agent. He's from that new place...I forget the name. It doesn't matter. What's important is that he's picking you up tomorrow morning to drive you out to see the house. It's on the Westford road, on the far side of town."
"I'll be ready," Carol promised happily.
Mason Thorneycroft looked at his watch. "It's getting late," he said abruptly. "I'd better call for the bill and take you home." Once again his mood had changed; his tone was now as cool as before, almost insultingly casual.
Carol sighed and pushed back her chair. Would he always be like this, she asked herself. Even after they were married? When they were settled in their new home? Wistfully, she wondered if that home would be the house she was to see the next day. She hoped it would.
Mason eased her into the passenger seat of his Buick and then slid behind the wheel. Carol inched nearer to him until her ripely molded thighs brushed against his. The contact sent a little flicker of sensation thrilling through her. Tiny shafts of flame licked deliciously at her loins. Mason's very nearness teased and tantalized her until a ripple of arousal caressed her whole body, crawling over her flesh to make it tingle maddeningly. Aching for him to take her in his arms, she let her glossy head fall on his shoulder. Surely he felt something too? He must! But if he did, her fianc' showed no sign of it. When they reached the Findlater home, he helped Carol out, saw her to the door, and then kissed her lightly on the lips before she vanished into the darkness of the hallway.
He wouldn't even come in for five minutes, Carol reflected bitterly as she climbed the stairs to her room!
For the hundredth time, she asked herself: would Mason always be like this?
CHAPTER TWO
Carol went straight to her room. Taking off her mink jacket, she let it slip to the seat of a watered silk boudoir chair in front of her dressing table. She unzipped the deceptively simple little black dress that had cost so much and allowed the clinging material to slide rustling over her smooth, creamy shoulders, over her ripely mounded breasts, past her trim waist and then over her voluptuously curved hips until it settled to the floor with a faint sound that could almost have been a sigh. She stepped out of the crumpled circle of black fabric on the thick white rug and pulled the froth of her petticoat over her head, dropping it too by her feet. Reaching behind her, she unfastened the shaped strip of black lace that was her brassiere and shrugged out of it. The flimsy garment joined the dress and petticoat on the rug. Next came her sheer nylon panties, first one stocking and then the other, a garter belt, high-heeled pumps. The clothing lay scattered around the room when Carol pulled a robe of lemon yellow silk around her, sat down before the long mirror at her dressing table, and began her nightly ritual with the hair brush.
One hundred strokes for the glossy, shoulder-length black hair. "...sixty-two...sixty-three...sixty-four.. . " she counted aloud as she stared at her reflection. Her skin was clear, almost translucent, glowing with subdued color where it stretched across the high cheekbones that were perhaps her best feature. Her mouth was maybe a shade too wide and generous, but her teeth were perfect. With a final glance at the long sweeping lashes that gave her brown eyes their particular fascination, she swung around on the antique Victorian chair and the robe fell open to reveal the firm, snowy mounds of her breasts, the subtle curve of her belly and the silkily curling black hairs that grew scantily over her pubic mound. With a gesture of impatience, she pulled the garment close around her and tied the sash.
Then she stood up, walked to the bed, and turned down the silk coverlet. For a moment she stood there hesitating. Finally she switched off the light, shed the robe in the dark, and climbed into bed.
For a long time she lay awake thinking. Was there something wrong about Mason? He had seemed upset at dinner. Was that why she seemed to have so little effect on him? Or was there something wrong with her? Was it wrong to feel this way about the man you were going to marry? She remembered her mother's scathing voice when once she had denounced one of Carol's friends as lewd, immoral and wanton; and she recalled the haughty tones in which Mrs. Findlater had added: "People of our class are not interested in sex, Carol."
"Well, Mason was certainly "of our class" Perhaps he really wasn't interested in sex. Maybe marriage was only a convenience to him, and Carol herself an asset, a hostess, someone of use in the furtherance of his career rather than an object of desire, let alone passion...If not, then the fault must lie with her: even though she was beautiful, she might not be attractive to men in that way.
Feeling suddenly sorry for herself, she experienced again that childhood despair...she was the only girl not invited to the party, the one too young to stay up late with the others. She was Carol Findlater, and dimly she seemed to hear a once-familiar voice saying scornfully:
"Carol Findlater? Oh, no man would ever go for her! . . . "
The words repeated themselves over and over in her mind like a broken phonograph record. Was it a real voice...and had someone once said that? She listened to the voice, struggling to place it. No man would go for her. Not for Carol Findlater. Who had said it? Where? When?
Screwing up her eyes, the naked brunette in the big bed seized on a fragment of memory clamoring for recognition on the far fringes of her mind...boarding school...a dance in the gym where her classmates wore long dresses and the band played sentimental oldies and everybody drank a pink punch that tasted like a patent cough cure...Carol hadn't gone to the dance but Cindy had. . .
Cindy Rothwell!
Cindy had said it and Carol seemed to hear her voice-again, just as she had heard it then, high-pitched and contemptuous through the flimsy wall between her room and Cindy's: "Carol Findlater? No man would ever go for her! . . . "
Cindy Rothwell.
* * *
Cindy Rothwell squirmed beneath Buzz Pearson's hand as it explored her slim young body, caressing the firm buds of her breasts, tracing the swell of her belly, stroking her milk-white thighs. But when it roamed insistently down to the patch of tawny pubic hair nestling silkily between those trembling thighs, Cindy pushed it away. "No, Buzz," she whispered breathlessly, "we mustn't! Oh God! You know we mustn't. . . ! "
"I know," Buzz murmured into her ear. "I know. But it's so good, Cindy, isn't it?"
"Oh God, yes," the aroused teenager gasped. And for a moment she stopped struggling. Buzz's hand moved cautiously to the small tufted vee up between her quivering legs. Probing gently, he found the tiny moist cleft of her pussy and gently parted the delicate hair-fringed lips as the girl trembled uncontrollably from the new experience. She turned on the bed, pulling Buzz's lithe boyish body close to her own, his face to hers. Small shocks of excitement jolted through her as his tongue flickered into her mouth. Cupping her firmly ripe young breasts in his two hands, he felt the nipples harden with desire, and he rubbed the stiff little buds between his thumbs and forefingers as Cindy moaned with pleasure.
He trailed his tongue down her softly pulsating throat to the furrow between the snowy mounds of her breasts then over the cool curve of one breast itself. As he slid a hand down to her belly again, his lips closed over one taut nipple. He sucked on it at first with tantalizing gentleness, then with an ever increasing pressure while Cindy gasped with wanton arousal.
His probing middle finger wormed its way through the tangle of pubic hair and found the wetly heated slit of her vagina, twisting and turning inside the narrow scalding passage as the girl writhed and squirmed with ecstasy under his plunging hand. Oh God! It was good, she thought! She never knew it was going to be like this! She lay on her back, responding to the maddening movements of Buzz's fingers, pushing her hips up, rotating them, jerking back and forth in wild, excited spasms.
"Oooooh, baby!" he groaned. "It's so good! like it, baby?"
His words broke the delirious spell for Cindy and a small voice inside her warned her to be careful. My God! Had she no sense? What was the matter with her? Supposing someone heard! What about Carol Findlater, asleep in the next bedroom what if they woke her up? She'd run straight all the way?...What if she had a baby?...God! They couldn't do this! Not here, not now! "Buzz," she begged him, "we've got to stop! Now. Please. Don't do anything more. We mustn't . . . "
But the boy only spiraled his finger deeper into her virginal little passage, sawing it back and forth as she ground her buttocks desperately up off the mattress, seeking more and more of the ecstatic sensations. When he found the tautly quivering bud of her clitoris, Cindy quivered and a long drawn-out moan escaped her lips. Her hot little cunt was burning with flames of desire. As they leaped and licked remorselessly at her loins, setting her whole body on fire, she knew suddenly that nothing...nothing at all...would make her stop Buzz now. She would rather die, she thought. She would really rather die!
Her hand searched for his virile young cock and found it pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh. She grasped the lustfully throbbing staff and heard him give a low groan of satisfaction. It was beautiful, she told herself. Beautiful! She hadn't known that either. She rubbed the loose foreskin back and forth, teasing him, exciting him still further. Then she cried aloud in delight as his awakened young penis jerked in her hand, massaging it furiously, milking it back and forth as she reveled in the lewd excitement that made itself felt in Buzz's hoarse panting gasps and her own quick, labored breathing. Unaware of anything now but an overwhelming desire for release from the abandoned lust pervading her entire being, she guided the bulbously throbbing head of his cock down to her openly gaping pussy. A stifled moan burst from her contorted lips as with an uncontrollable jerk, her knees spread wide to open a clear, smooth path to her moistly steaming, tight little virginal cunt.
Buzz rolled over on top of her, his hardened young shaft of flesh parting the thin silken hair that guarded her vaginal mouth to ease slowly through the wetly sliding, interfolded lips and drive hotly up into the moist unplundered tunnel of her pussy. At the first touch of the rubbery, sperm-bloated cock-head against her secret inner flesh, Cindy jerked so convulsively that the headboard of the bed battered against the wall. At the same time a spine-tingling wail escaped her writhing lips . . .
In the room next door, Carol Findlater started suddenly awake. What was that noise in Cindy's room? Cindy was at the dance wasn't she? Everybody Carol thought bitterly is at the dance but me! Snuffling into the bedclothes, she remembered her mother's admonition: "You're far too young to date, Carol," she had said decisively. Not that anyone would have asked her to go to the dance, even if her mother had approved. She was still a gawky adolescent, so shy that she was tongue-tied every time a boy looked at her. If only her own flat, childish breasts were as developed as Cindy's, her hips as sensuously rounded, her buttocks as curved! A dozen different boys had begged Cindy to go to the prom! Right now, Carol was certain, she would have a crowd of them fighting over her on the dance floor in the gym downstairs!
But...if Cindy was whirling around the dance floor like some movie starlet or something...who was making that noise in her room? Carol simply had to find out!
Slipping from her bed, she threw a robe over her short nightie and padded barefoot into the hall. Outside Cindy's door, she stood hesitating on the carpet, afraid at first to knock. But the noises grew louder and more mysterious and at last Carol summoned up her courage and stepped forward to rap lightly on the panels.
When there was no answer, she rapped again, louder this time. There was still no answer though the curious rustling, creaking, groaning sounds continued. Maybe Cindy was in there...perhaps she was sick, Carol thought. In any case, she had better find out what was going on! Knocking a third time, she turned the handle and eased the door open.
As her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, Carol froze in shock. Her legs seemed to go as soft as cooked spaghetti. She grabbed the doorknob to keep herself from falling. The moans had changed to clearly recognizable words.. . in Cindy's voice. "Oh Buzz, Buzz honey," she pleaded, "do it to me! Do it to me now! Please!. . . "
She was lying naked on the bed, her legs shamelessly spread, with a naked boy hunched obscenely between her trembling thighs!
Carol's head whirled as the lewdly begging words and the shocking sight of the salaciously coupled pair registered at the same time in her outraged mind. She longed to turn away, to run, to hide in some dark corner where nobody could see her fear and revulsion. She tried to close the door but her trembling hands hung limp at her sides, refusing to do her bidding. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to lift one foot and put it ahead of the other to carry her away from this disgusting spectacle!
A" cold chill rippled up her back from the base of her spine to raise goose flesh on her neck and arms. She shivered and her teeth began to chatter. And yet she knew her forehead was burning: perspiration rolled down her cheeks in large limpid drops.
"Oh my God!" the boy on the bed groaned. "I want you, Cindy. I want to fuck you!"
Carol clapped her hands over her ears as the foul words echoed in the room but it was too late. She had heard them, and Cindy's gasping reply: "Yes, yes, yes! Go on...you're already in there, Buzz! Go on...fuck me!" She bit her lip as her classmate opened her legs wider, pulling her knees back until they almost brushed her shoulders. Yet as the boy's blood-engorged penis thrust into the small pink hole of Cindy's tight little pussy, a twitch of excitement rippled through Carol's own body. Drops of warm sticky vaginal fluid oozed from her virginal cunt and filtered through the black silk of her pubic hair to trickle hotly down her thighs. A deep throbbing ache sent small waves of pleasure coursing through her clitoris, and without realizing what she was doing she touched herself there under the hem of her short nightie, tentatively at first and then as the lustfully coupled pair began heaving and thrusting together mere deliberately.
"Oh God! I'm as wicked as they are," Carol told herself through muffled sobs. "I'm evil and vile and filthy. Oh, I'm worse than they are!" But she was no more able to stop herself than she had been able to walk away a few minutes earlier. Through tear-blurred eyes she watched Cindy squirm and flail on the white coverlet as Buzz plunged his wetly glistening cock deeper and deeper up into her gratefully accepting belly. He slid his hands under Cindy's firmly rounded young buttocks, cupped them, lifted the smooth white cheeks from the bed, clenched them, released them, clenched them again. Then he jerked back, completely withdrawing the blood-filled cock-head that was now moistly gleaming in the dim light of the room.
As the lustfully writhing girl bucked and heaved beneath the nakedly fucking boy, he parted the silken strands that guarded her cuntal flesh with the rubbery glans and his proud, stiff young cock speared deeply back up into her hotly sucking vagina. It was moving like a piston now, ramming all the way up to her cervix, sliding out, plunging urgently back into the young redhead's desperately working loins.
Still transfixed, Carol stood watching the abandoned scene. The dull tantalizing ache of her own warmly throbbing pussy up between her thighs maddened her. She stroked her tiny budding clitoris into a steel-like hardness while electrifying bolts of forbidden pleasure drummed through her from top to toe, and she quivered like a violin string stretched too tight. It was wrong...it was wrong! She was wicked, she was vile, she was depraved and corrupt...But she continued massaging the taut shaft of flesh as if driven by the Furies. She was powerless to stop!
As the lewd couple on the bed copulated with wild abandon, oblivious of everything but the crazy desires of their lust-filled bodies, Carol parted the thin pink edges of her vaginal lips and wormed an exploratory finger into the moistly throbbing passage while her pleasure mounted to an almost unbearable ecstasy. She slipped another finger into the burning cavern and then a third and her tender virginal flesh closed over them, sucking them, swallowing them inside.
The rhythm of the lasciviously lovemaking couple on the bed was becoming faster as it crescendoed to a nakedly writhing climax. Cindy rotated her hips wildly, rising to meet Buzz's thrusts and then falling back as he withdrew. Watching them, Carol began moving with them, matching the thrust of the boy's obscenely spearing cock, the lewdly smacking slap of his belly against that of the wantonly twisting young girl, with her fingers.
Then a long wail of desire assailed the eavesdropping teenager's lust-fogged brain. It was Buzz howling: "Aaaaggghh!...Oooogghh! Fuck back, baby!...fuck back!...I can't hold it any longer; I'm cumming! I'm cumming!"
Cindy grasped him tighter, her fingernails trailing across his nakedly threshing buttocks to leave red welts mingled with white scratches. Her knees were pressed tightly back up to the twin moons of her breasts, pinned there by the weight of Buzz's strong, lean body. "Oh my God!" she squealed, her voice made almost inhuman by her burning desire. "Oh Buzz!...Ooooggghh!...I'mm cumming too!...I'm cuummiinngg!"
She jerked and flailed beneath him as his hard, virile young cock hammered deeply into the soft fleshy recesses of her cunt and then, with a final convulsive spasm signifying the ultimate ecstasy, she lay back, legs splayed out obscenely once more as the boy pumped his hot, steaming sperm deep into her belly to mingle there with her own scalding juices of release.
Carol saw his pearly semen spill from Cindy's widespread young pussy to flow over her thighs and drip down into the cleft between her ass-cheeks. Her own excitedly jerking cunt was still impaled on her fingers and she moved them rapidly back and forth now, back and forth, in and out, deeper and deeper, stimulating the super-sensitive flesh of her vagina. "Oh God!" she thought. "I can't stand it any longer! I can't! I'm going to explode!" And then, with shock and wonder, she felt it coming at last! "I'm cumming too! Oh my God I'm cumming too!" The words spiraled through her desire-fogged brain.
A pleasure so exquisite it was almost pain surged through Carol's climaxing young body, leaving her quivering and shaking, almost bereft of her senses. She was lost in a world in which there was no time, no place, not even a Carol Findlater, but only bliss and passion and ecstasy . . .
Slowly the passion ebbed and she came back to reality. A shudder of horror shook her slim body and she was once more convulsed with sobs. "What have I done!" she thought wildly. "Oh, what have I done!" Why had she cravenly given in to the desire drenching her nerves? Didn't she know any better? Of course she did, she answered herself, hearing again her mother's stiff voice: "People of our class, Carol, are not interested in sex!" What if she should find out how wicked Carol 'was? The thought was too much for the distraught young girl and she sobbed aloud.
There was a sudden sound from within the room where Cindy and the boy lay, bodies nakedly entwined, all passion spent. Quickly, quietly, Carol drew the door closed behind her as Cindy's voice asked suspiciously: "What was that?"
"I didn't hear anything," Buzz yawned sleepily.
"Well, I did!" Cindy snapped. "I'll bet it's that little prude Carol Findlater snooping around!"
"Come off it honey," Buzz murmured. He pulled her over to him and ran his hand down the length of her slender outstretched legs, bending his head to kiss the small indentation of her navel, her still erect nipples, the hollow of her throat. "That little prude Carol Findlater will be down at the dance like everyone else."
"Think so?"
"Sure honey. Of course she is."
"Then you don't know Carol," Cindy said. 'Wo man in his right mind would ever go for Carol Findlater.. . "
At Cindy's first words, Carol had scurried back to her own room and dived into bed. pulling the covers up to her chin. She lay in the dark, shaking with terror at the enormity of what she had done. And through the thin walls separating their rooms came the echo of Cindy's voice. "No man in his right mind would ever go for Carol Findlater . . . "
* * *
Now, lying in the dark after her dinner with Mason, Carol heard again the phrase Cindy Rothwell had uttered so long ago. That must be the answer, she decided bitterly. Beautiful as she now was, she lacked something essential. She was not attractive to a man in a sensual, carnal way.
She thought once more of Mason...of the boy named Buzz all those years ago...and of Cindy Rothwell too. Buzz and Cindy were "our class of people" just as much as Mason was. Yet Buzz had done that to Cindy, and she had been as excited as he was! Had Mason done the same thing to some other Cindy? Had he made love to some girl in the back of a car somewhere in the living room of her house while her parents were away, in her room at the dormitory in boarding school?
No, Carol decided. Mason hadn't. He had controlled himself at that age, just as he controlled himself now! The problem was her own...and it was not so much that she was unattractive to men as that her own mind was filled with lechery and evil...Her head was whirling with tiredness. But just before she fell asleep she promised herself one thing: if her disappointment with Mason was not because he was un-like other men but because she, with her vile and lewd and wicked thoughts, was un-like other women then she would vow to control her wanton nature. She would be a good an exemplary wife to Mason when they were married . . .
CHAPTER THREE
The sun was shining when Carol awoke, slanting through the half-drawn drapes to stripe the citron wallpaper with bars of brighter gold. The lovely brunette yawned, sat up in bed, and stretched. It was good to be alive, to have slept well, to awaken refreshed. Vaguely, she recalled the tormented feelings aroused by her memories of the night before but now, in the warmth of the sun and the reassuring light of day, they seemed absurd. Carol stretched her arms above her head again: it was going to be a gorgeous day!
She got up, showered, and dressed quickly in a tailored tweed suit that was discreet enough to please even Mason, yet managed still to set off the delicious curving slope of her soft full buttocks, her firmly rounded thighs and tapering calves. She wore a frilly white blouse beneath the suit to make it more feminine, and tied a bright scarf around her neck. Her lipstick matched the scarf; her high-heeled pumps contrasted.
It was thus elegantly attired that she sat down to coffee and bacon and scrambled eggs in the breakfast room. Her father had already gone to his penthouse office suite in the city and her mother, after a few minutes desultory conversation, had disappeared into the kitchen to discuss the day's lunch and dinner with the cook. Carol picked up a copy of the Star and scanned the headlines. As she expected, the trial made the main banner on the front page. LIB LEADERS GUILTY, she . read. HEAVY SENTENCES IMPOSED. A paragraph lower down the page in bold type caught her attention before she read the full report. The members of the group, it said, which professes idealistic aims, are considered by many to be dangerous militants. Even so, spectators at the trial were surprised by the harshness of the sentences, which were thought especially severe in the light of contradictory testimony from several witnesses which seemed to cast some doubts on the credibility of the prosecution case. A scuffle between supporters of the group and police broke out on the courthouse steps soon after the verdict was announced.
Pouring another cup of coffee after she had read the main story, a commentary on the handling of the trial, and an editorial on the protection of society against anti-social minority interests, Carol saw a picture of Mason on an inner page and then drew in her breath with dismay as she read the caption above. "Threats made against State Prosecutor" she read with a chill. And then a brief account of an anonymous letter received at the newspaper offices which promised that members of the L.I.B. movement would avenge themselves for the harsh sentences imposed on their fellows. It was Mason rather than the judge who had come in for the full wrath of the letter writer, who seemed to think that, had the prosecution case not been so weighted with evidence that the writer termed misleading and false, then the jury would not have found the defendants guilty. Somehow, in some way, somewhere, Mason would be made to pay for this, the letter added menacingly.
Carol sat gripping the paper in shaking hands. These people were dangerous troublemakers, she knew. Mason had told her so. Now, in the middle of her happiness, the sunlight no longer seemed so reassuring: her future with the man she loved was threatened: Premonition of danger prickled the hairs on the nape of her neck as an icy thrill tingled her spine. She had no idea how long she sat there with the paper gripped in her nerveless hands, her under lip clenched between her teeth...but suddenly she was aware of a shrill insistent ringing that seemed to have been going on forever, a sound that seemed to be no more than an exteriorization of the panic she felt in her mind. Abruptly she recovered herself and pushed back her chair from the table. The telephone was ringing in the hall.
Struggling to her feet, she moved to the instrument in a semi-trance and lifted the receiver. Mechanically, she announced the number.
"Carol darling?" It was Mason's voice. "Carol? Oh, darling I thought you must have left already. The phone's been ringing for ages."
"Mason! I...I'm sorry, I...that is to say, I was upstairs and I didn't hear at first," the frightened brunette faltered, her voice so weak that it was almost a whisper.
"Carol? Are you all right? You sound so strange."
"Yes, yes, Mason. I'm all right." The girl's voice faded away and then there was silence. "Carol?"
"Oh, darling, darling," the distraught brunette burst out. "It's that story in the paper this morning! About you. Have you seen it? Those dreadful people . . . ,they're going to harm you, hurt you, perhaps even kill you! Mason, I'm so frightened. What can we do?"
"Nothing whatsoever," Mason said calmly. It startled Carol that there was no trace of agitation in his voice. "There is absolutely no reason to get upset, either about what you read in the paper or about what these people say. Anonymous or at least quasi-anonymous letters should be treated with the contempt they merit."
"B-b-but they're going to k-k-kill you," his fianc'e stammered.
"They are not going to kill me," Mason said briskly. "They will neither kill me nor harm me in any way."
"You can say that," Carol cried, "but how can you know? You have no idea how far these people are prepared to go. You said yourself that they are troublemakers and kooks and cranks and-"
"Because I've been assigned a police guard," Mason interrupted brusquely. "I thought a lot of people thought that these madmen might try something. Violence is never far from their minds, and we are under no illusions about them: we know them for what they are. Nobody was in the least surprised by their threats. We even anticipated them and so we were prepared."
"Then...everything will be all right?" Carol gave a long-drawn-out sigh and blinked back the tears of relief from her eyes. The dull ache of fear that had been spreading out from the center of her being and forming a crushing burden on her young shoulders melted away like mist before the sun that was shining between the cedar trees on to the shaven lawn beyond the hall windows. The tears welled up again, and this time she allowed them to flow. "Oh, Mason," she sobbed. "Oh, darling!"
"Now, now, my dear!" The lawyer's voice was soothing. "You mustn't cry. There's nothing to cry about."
"But I'm so happy, Mason; so relieved!"
"Then you had better dry your tears and get on with what you have to do and don't worry! The only worry I have is whether or not you'll like the house."
"House?...Oh darling! I'd completely forgotten! I was so scared I forgot all about it! I guess that must be the agent calling for me now: I can hear the bell ringing."
"They promised they would call in good time yes, I imagine that must be Bronwen," Mason said. "You'd better hurry off and have a look.
Call me later and tell me what you think."
Mr. Bronwen was a personable young man of about 28 with a tanned face and wary eyes. His dark crew cut, strong mouth, firm chin and straight nose made him look a little like one of those clean-cut college boys in the soft drink ads, Carol thought. As he drove her through the center of town and out on the other side, she asked him excitedly about the house they were going to see, but his answers were disconcertingly vague. He didn't even know how many bathrooms it had, or how many acres there were in the grounds! It was a new sector for him, he said, and he hadn't had time to study the specification before he left the office.
How odd, Carol thought, for an agency to send a junior and an unbriefed junior at that! for so important a client as Mason Thorneycroft! It was hardly the way for a new agency (hadn't Mason said they were new?) to make a good impression in town. Still, he was a nice young man, she thought and it was a lovely day to watch the stores and offices and factories dwindle away as the green countryside took over.
It was not until they were speeding along the Westville freeway that she became a little apprehensive. "Mr. Bronwen," she said, "I thought this house was out on the road to Westford?" .
"Westford?" he repeated absently. "Oh...yeah. Yeah, it's out near Westford, that's it."
"But we're heading for Westview. If we wanted the Westford road, we should have taken the underpass at the last intersection."
Bronwen said nothing. He leaned forward and switched on the radio, fiddling with the tuning knobs until the blare of a soul band filled the small car. The pressure of his foot on the accelerator increased.
"Mr. Bronwen!" Carol shouted. "Mr. Bronwen Westford is back that way!" She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.
He stared ahead through the windshield and increased the speed of the car still more, a small smile playing about his lips. But he said nothing. They were leaving the city behind them now, and the houses were spaced far apart. Carol's hands were clammy. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach and small flickers of fear flamed through her. "We're going the wrong way!" she yelled over the din of the radio.
He turned the volume down slightly. "I know where I'm going," he said flatly.
"But Westford is back behind us!" 'That's right."
"And we're going in the opposite direction."
"That's right."
"Then why don't you turn around?" A touch of panic had crept into the frightened brunette's voice. What was the matter with this man? Was he mad? If the house was behind them, why was he going ahead? Why didn't he listen to her?
She took a deep breath. There must be some reason for his odd behavior, she told herself. Perhaps he wanted to show her another house first. Real estate agents did that sometimes, didn't they? Especially the unscrupulous ones. They showed you a house you'd never buy in a million years, a house that really turned you off. Then, when you saw something even a little bit better, you snapped it up! But surely an agent Mason had chosen would never descend to a cheap trick like that? In any case, she wouldn't play along with it. Bronwen would simply have to turn back and show her the house she wanted to see, or take her straight home again . . . "Look," she said firmly, "either I want to see the house at Westford or I want to go back home!"
His lips curled into a mocking grin...and she saw suddenly the face she had considered clean-cut could also be read as ruthless; the expression she had thought firm and inspiring of confidence could be interpreted as vicious. "Oh, you do, do you?" he said.
"Certainly I do," Carol snapped, beginning to lose her temper. "I insist on it!"
He laughed aloud a harsh grating sound that frightened her more than anything that had happened so far. He was glancing sideways at her, his eyes slitted and his lips still twisted into that smile. With a blush of shame she saw that the skirt of her suit had ridden up over her thighs, showing the firm white flesh above the tops of her stockings. Furiously, she smoothed it down. So that was it! This disgusting little man was driving her to some secluded spot where he would ask her to get out of the car, to sit beside him on the blanket he would spread under the trees...She could almost feel those grubby paws of his crawling up her legs, parting the sparse little patch of dark pubic hair down between her thighs, trying desperately to force their way between the moist pink lips of her vagina to stroke her defenseless clitoris while his foul breath panted warmly into her averted face!
She leaned back in the car seat, her head resting on the coolness of the window, her mind in a whirl. She was vaguely aware that they had turned off the freeway and taken a country road, that they had bumped through a village flanked by a general store and a gas station. There were people living in the houses in that village, children playing out front. A little further on, a man raked leaves. He would help her if only he knew what was going on. She tried to scream but although her mouth opened, no sound came out. And when she tried again, they had passed the man and it was too late. Limp as a rag doll, trembling with frustration and fear now, she slumped against the seat again.
Bronwen if that was his name glanced at her once more. "Something wrong?" he rasped.
Carol sat silent, staring straight ahead. "Something wrong?" the man mocked again. His eyes now held a steely glint, and for the first time the girl felt truly frightened. Such determination allied to so apparently a personable manner, she felt, betokened the kind of personality that would literally stop at nothing. Gathering the remains of her courage, she took a deep breath and replied icily: "Certainly not. It's just that I should like to know where we are going. Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me?"
"Uh-uh."
"You refuse to tell me?" She could scarcely believe her ears.
"Yep. Hole in one."
"But why?"
"Sorry, Miss Findlater. Not allowed to tell you that."
"And just who is it that won't allow you to do that?" Carol asked with heavy politeness.
"Sorry, Miss Findlater. Not allowed to tell you."
The color was heightening on Carol's cheeks. "Well, just what are you allowed to do?" she snapped.
Bronwen laughed again. "Just what I am doing," he said. "Pick you up at your place and take you where you're going."
"But.. . " Carol relapsed into frustrated silence and bit her lip. They turned off the road into a rutted country lane running between high hedges and then, passing a weathered farmhouse with the shutters closed, swung onto a dirt road that twisted away between densely packed trees.
It was then that the scared brunette broke. Sheer terror took possession of her, draining her of what little strength she had left. She slumped forward, her head against the windshield, and began to sob hysterically.
"Stop that!" Bronwen shouted. He slapped her viciously across the face, and then, seeing that she was only weeping all the more uncontrollably, he braked the car savagely to a halt. Carol was at her wits end. She had to get away from this evil man, with his vague hints of superior forces telling him what he could and could not do; she had to free herself from this apparent kidnapper, shake off the clouds of mystery and doubt that were fogging her mind, get out and away into the freedom and the fresh air of the woods. The door handle was by her elbow. The car had stopped. If she was to jerk open the door and make a dash for it, she might not get far before her captor overtook her but at least she felt she had to try . . .
Before her fingers had closed around the chromed lever, Bronwen's hand tangled fiercely in her hair, pulling her head back on to the padded seat so cruelly that tears spurted from her eyes. At the same time he pulled a small bottle from his jacket pocket with his other hand, eased the cork from the neck with his forefinger and thumb, and jammed the bottle under the weeping, struggling brunette's nose.
Carol writhed and twisted frantically on the seat, trying to free her head from the agonizing grip on her hair, trying desperately to avoid breathing in the sickly fumes rising from the uncorked bottle. She tore at the man's forearm with her hands, scrabbling at the stuff of his sleeve with her fingernails as she tried to force down the muscular arm and the bottle it held.
But her struggles were useless. Her wildly kicking legs couldn't reach Bronwen's body; with her head fixed in position by the cruel fingers in her hair, and her torso crushed by the weight of his chest, she was pinned as immovably as an insect on a board. And like an insect on a board, her movements became feebler and feebler, her ineffectual struggles Jess and less strong as the vapor she was forced to inhale suffused her lungs and fogged her reeling mind.
Her fingers became thick and buttery, her arms as heavy as lead. Gagging and choking and retching, she was dimly aware of her hands falling uselessly to her lap, her legs subsiding helplessly to the floor of the car, as the world in front of her eyes began to whirl around her head. Bronwen's face blurred and became fuzzy...and then her mind was invaded by a tide of crimson darkness into which, falling slowly over and over, she fell. . .
CHAPTER FOUR
It was dark when Carol awakened and she had no idea where she was. She only knew she was lying on a small cot, that her mouth was dry and that her head ached. Her stomach churned, and when she tried to turn over, she found she had no strength to do so. She tired to remember what had happened, but her memory was a confused blur. She wondered how she had got to this dark room and how long she had been there...and why. But the effort of thinking exhausted her, and she closed her eyes and fell asleep again.
It was still dark when she returned to consciousness, but not so dark that she couldn't make out a shadowy figure standing at the end of the bed. She took it to be that of a man...and suddenly, with terrifying clarity, the events of the past few days, the scaring car ride, her abduction, the bottle with the drug in it, crowded into her mind. A cold hand of fear clutched at her vitals, sending a shiver through her entire body. Shuddering, the reached for a coat, a jacket with which to cover herself and with a shock of pure terror realized that she had been partially stripped. Her legs were bare, her jacket, blouse and skirt had disappeared: now she wore nothing but her panties, her brassiere and a flimsy wisp of petticoat. Where were her clothes? Who had removed them...and why? Choking with fear, she knew: it was that horrible man Bronwen! That must be him standing at the foot of the bed now!
He must, evil, filthy brute that he was, have drugged her in the woods and brought her here to this house! He must have unbuttoned her jacket, wrenched it from her limp form and thrown it away with her skirt; then he had ripped her blouse open, sending the tiny pearl buttons sailing out in all directions, and torn off her stockings while he lunged at her, pawing her soft flesh with his huge hairy hands! And then . . . ?
Dear God! Oh my God! Had he...had he touched her, ravaged her poor, defenseless, unconscious body, forced her unknowingly to submit to his lewd, indecent advances? No! Oh, dear God, no! And what was going to happen to her now? Was she to be attacked, viciously assaulted, her helpless body plundered and invaded by this shadowy figure standing before her? Was she to be raped again by this man...this Bronwen? She shuddered violently and then, all her control gone, she began wildly to scream: "No! For God's sake no! Leave me alone...don't touch me!. . . "
The figure moved. "For God's sake!" a voice exclaimed.
Carol gasped. The voice was a woman's! Footsteps clattered on wooden stairs, a door was flung open and suddenly the room was blindingly illuminated by a naked electric bulb. Through the fingers of the hands she had clasped involuntarily over her eyes, the captive brunette saw two men pile into the room. Bronwen?...No, to her relief both were strangers!
"What the hell's going on here, Kristy?" one of them shouted.
The woman she was short and blonde and curvaceous shook her head. "She's hysterical, Butch! She doesn't know what she's doing!" she said.
"Well for Chrissake do something! Make her stop screaming! She'll have the whole neighborhood in on us!"
"Oh, come on, Butch!" Kristy protested.
"You know there is no neighborhood! Who's to hear except us? There isn't a house for miles!"
Butch scowled. He was a beetle-browed man, dark and stockily built. "Look, Kristy it'd be just out goddamn luck to have some son of a bitch out there shooting rabbits, or taking a leak, or throwing it to some broad or something. Suppose there is and he hears something? You know as well as I do what would happen to us!" He drew a stubby finger across his throat. "So you keep her quiet and that's an order!"
"How am I supposed to keep her quiet?"
"Slap her face. And go on slapping until she stops screaming."
"You're talking about orders. You know I'm under orders not to touch her. You want me to break those orders?" Kristy said sullenly.
"A little slap across the face ain't goin' to hurt nobody," Butch yelled. 'Things are goin' to be tough enough around here without her squealing her head off! I don't care what you do, but you gotta keep her quiet, understand?" He flourished a fist at the girl and Carol, lying defenseless on the bed, saw with a shudder of horror that there were black hairs downing the backs of his fingers.
The second man, a ferret-faced youth with thin, mousy hair, spoke for the first time.
"What the hell's she yellin' for?" he enquired in a shrill voice.
The blonde shrugged. "She'd got some fool notion that Charlie tried to rape her when he brought her in," she said.
Ferret-face burst into a guffaw of coarse laughter. "Christ!" he exploded. "That'd be the day!....Hey, Butch, didya hear that? She thinks Charlie tried to rape her!"
A broad grin spread lewdly across Butch's face. "Jesus!" he said. "We send the only faggot in the whole outfit to pick her up and she thinks he's raped her!" He walked over to the bed and stared down at Carol's trembling body, his tongue stealing out to lick lecherously at his lips. "You know, Louie," he said to ferret-face, "she must be really hard up for it if she has to think that! Whatsa matter, gorgeous? That legal boyfriend of yours not slipping you any meat?"
"Looking at her," Louie said, a lewd gleam in his shifty eyes, "I'd say there must be something the matter with Thorneycroft, wouldn't you, Butch? I mean like havin' a luscious little number like this hankerin' to get laid just hankerin' for it and doin' nothing about it! . . . "
Carol writhed in shame at their obscene jesting, struggling to cover herself in some way, hauling her petticoat down over her fearfully trembling thighs, crossing her arms over the rounded globes of her breasts which bulged so tautly out of the wispy brassiere, pressing her legs together in a futile attempt at modesty. God, they were foul, these men! Base, depraved creatures who would rape a woman as casually as they would smoke a cigarette, would force her into unimaginable indecencies to satisfy their vile cravings! And they dared to talk that way about Mason...fine, decent, wonderful Mason! Oh, she loved him more than ever now, she truly did!
The men's knowing eyes roved over her lushly ripened body again, and then Louie said with a nudge of his elbow: "Hey, Butch you think she's been saving her high an' mighty little cherry for him?"
The dark man shook his head. "Who? Thorneycroft? I doubt it! Not a hot-looking bitch like her! Think she'd give us some if we asked?"
Kristy whirled on the two of them. "Okay, boys, cut it out!" she snapped angrily. "You know what the orders are. You leave her alone."
Butch sighed. "I know," he said regretfully. "But, honest, I can't keep my eyes off that tight little ass of hers!"
"Well, you can keep your hands off!" the blonde ordered. She pulled a wooden rocking chair across to the side of the bed and sat down in it. "What's going on downstairs?" she asked.
"Not a damned thing." Butch was suddenly serious. "Dave and the Boss are pretty worried."
"Why? They sent the ransom note, didn't they? They've been in touch with the people at the radio station and that faggot minister, haven't they the ones who are secret sympathizers and promised to act as go-betweens?"
"Sure they did. But there ain't been no answer not yet. I guess we better go on down and join 'em." He shepherded Louie towards the door.
Kristy got up and followed them halfway across the room. "Let me know what's going on, will you?" she asked. "Keep me in the picture. I'm going out of my mind alone up here with her." She nodded at Carol.
"Any time you want to change places Butch began. But the blonde silenced him with a withering look. "Okay, okay," he said hastily, "We'll keep you in touch." Then, with a final unmistakable leer at the helpless girl on the bed, he went out, slamming the door behind him.
Kristy went slowly back to the bed.
"Scared?" she asked softly.
The captive girl turned her face to the wall. "Oh God, they're vile!" she moaned. "They're so crude and vulgar and...How can they talk like that?"
"Sure they're crude and vulgar," Kristy admitted cheerfully, mimicking Carol's voice. "But then they never had the chance to go to imagine schools, the way you did. Makes a difference, you know." She sat down by the bed again. "Anyway, they won't bother you, most-likely. It'd be too much of a risk...and they don't want to tangle with the Boss, so you can relax, see?"
"The Boss!" Carol repeated shrilly. "Who is this man? Who are you? And why am I here?"
"My name's Kristy, you know that. The Boss is called Peter."
"Peter who? That tells me nothing!"
The blonde shrugged. "It tells you all you'll learn about us."
"But who is 'us'? I don't understand! Why have you brought me-"
"Look," Kristy interrupted swiftly, "Your precious boyfriend, Thorneycroft, was responsible for six of our members getting sent up for long terms yesterday people in the Liberation for Individual Behavior movement."
"My God!" Carol sat up suddenly, her face drained of color. "You...you mean . . . ? You mean to tell me that you're . . . ? " Her voice trailed away into silence as the full implications of what the girl had said penetrated her dazed mind.
Kristy nodded. "When I say 'us', I mean members of the L.I.B. Well, we warned him, didn't we? We told him we wouldn't let him get away with it! Okay our members were sent up just the same. Well, you're part of our revenge: you were brought here as a hostage."
An icy hand of fear was clutching at Carol's stomach. She was remembering the story in the newspaper...some harm would come to Mason, it had threatened. Now it was beginning to stack up: in some way, he was going to be harmed through her! "You're telling me I've been kidnapped?" she said in a very small voice.
"If you want to call it that," Kristy said. "We don't think of it that way. We feel that you your side has taken something that belongs to us our members, the ones that Judge Harvey sent to prison yesterday. Understand? Well, we're not going to get those people back just by asking for them, are we?"
Dumbly, Carol shook her head.
"Damned right we're not! We're only going to get them back if we have something to trade...and that something is you!"
Numb with shock at the thought that she herself had become in some way involved in the shady undercover battles between the members of L.I.B. and the law, Carol could nevertheless see, even in her still-half-drugged state, that Kristy had a point there. But that was no reason to take her clothes, was it? She glanced down at the curves of her almost naked body, revealed in all its voluptuousness through the flimsy petticoat, the wisps of lace and nylon left to her, and felt the full humiliation of her position. Why had they taken her clothes?
Following the direction of her glance, the blonde girl replied, almost as though she had read Carol's thoughts: "Wondering why we took your clothes, are you? We had to send them to your family...as proof that we really had you. Otherwise you could have been taken by some other group, or even gone off on your own, and we could be cashing in on it. If you want to bargain, you have to show the merchandise first!"
"What are you going to do with me?" Carol whispered.
'That depends. If our people are released, as we ask then of course you'll be released too."
"And...if not?"
Kristy turned away her head. "Let's just hope your friends see reason and let our people go," she said distantly.
"Oh, God, please don't hurt me," the frightened brunette whimpered.
"We don't aim to. We don't believe in harming anyone not even your people, who would imprison us all for life or shoot us down like dogs if they had the chance. Not even those who convicted our fellow members without a shred of genuine evidence. We don't believe in doing violence on people...unless of course we are forced to."
The last phrase, spoken calmly but with an undercurrent of menace, sent cold chills racing along Carol's spine. What did the girl mean . . . "unless of course we are forced to?" But before she could ask Kristy to elaborate, the door burst open and Butch came in with a frown creasing his brow. "We just had a message," he said gruffly. "They called in the police and put the whole works in their hands."
Kristy whistled softly. "That's bad," she said soberly. "That's very bad."
"Damn right. It's the very thing we warned them against, too!"
"But if you're asking them to trade your friends' freedom against me," Carol ventrued, "surely they'd have to inform the police. I mean, they're in jail, aren't they? And the jail is run by-"
"Stick to your imagine high-school lessons," Butch interrupted sourly, "and leave real life to those who know the score. There are ways of doin' these things kinda behind the scenes. But once the fuzz are called in officially, the whole damned world gets to know about it...newspapers, the whole fuckin' shoot! And then neither side dares to back down because they're scared of losing face. So you can't bargain any more."
He took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, took one himself, and then offered one to Kristy and Carol. Fumbling for a book of matches, he struck one, held the match to each of the girls in turn, and then lit his own. "I think this means trouble," he said to Kristy. "For them as well as for us...My God! Did you see what I just did! Three on a match! Jesus Christ!" There was a look of horror on his surly face as he went out.
Carol's mind was whirling both with the after-effects of the drug and with the shattering things she had heard so she lay down again and tried to sleep. She managed to doze from time to time, tossing fitfully on the bed. Once
Kristy wakened her to bring her a bowl of soup, insisting that she had something to eat and the captive girl was astonished to find how hungry she was. Another time, her blonde jailor scrounged a pack of cigarettes for her, and even came in once with the remains of a small flask of Scotch which she offered to Carol. Once when she awoke, Louie and Butch were in the room, deep in discussion with Kristy and although Carol couldn't hear what they were saying, she knew by the solemn tones of their voices that things were not going well.
When she slept again, the events of the last few days passed before her in a confused, distorted dream, like some weird surrealist movie: it was a dream in which everything was turned upside down the good became evil, the vile became pure, and Mason kidnapped her and drove her to a lonely moorland where he brutally raped her just as she imagined Charlie had done. She awoke bathed in a cold sweat to find Kristy asleep in her chair and daylight filtering through the drapes drawn over the window.
The second day of her imprisonment was fraught with a sense of impending doom. A heavy pall of gloom hung over the house and all the people in it although Carol had no idea of its size or position, since she saw nothing of it but her room and a bathroom next door, and all the windows were shuttered. Kristy spent the day wrapped in thought as she rocked back and forth, back and forth in the chair, springing up every now and then to pace nervously from one end of the room to the other. Once in a while one of the others Butch or Louie or a tall, fair man called Dave opened the door a crack to hold a whispered consultation with the blonde girl.
As the hours dragged past, Carol a prey to nameless dreads heightened by the fact that she could find out nothing about her situation or how the ransom negotiations were going-found that her nerves were beginning to go. The slam of a car door somewhere outside sent her diving for the blanket which had covered her sleeping form. A shout of anger from somewhere below made her tremble from head to toe. She tried to read books that Kristy had brought her books setting out the aims and principles of L.I.B. But the words blurred on the page and the philosophy expressed seemed to her arid and academic in contrast to the very real danger she was in through their application.
Towards evening, after another whispered consultation, she was led from the small room in which she had been kept to a much larger room up a flight of stairs. The windows here, however, were smaller and covered by heavy black curtains nailed into place. Carol wondered if there were bars outside them. She knew instinctively that she had been transferred as a matter of security. There was trouble brewing-and when it came she would be safer here than before, though whether this meant safer for her own sake or safer as an unharmed bargaining center she had no idea.
Her fears and suspicions were confirmed a little later when a heavy-set young man Carol judged him to be about twenty-four with biceps bulging under the thin shirt he wore and muscles rippling across his chest, was brought up to take Kristy's place.
"This is Bruce Harding," the blonde girl said as she went out. "You'll be much safer with him than you would be with me . . . " Despite the reassuring words, Carol for some reason felt a twinge of uneasiness at Kristy's tone: there seemed to be a hint of some allusion, a double meaning she hadn't quite grasped, in what her previous jailor said.
* * *
Bruce Harding sat in the battered chair he'd pulled close to the bed and stared at Carol's sleeping body. God, but the luscious little bitch was built. Just looking at her lying there was enough to make his balls ache and his thick cock stiffen and jerk inside his jeans...especially the way she was lying now, her magnificent, tautly swelling breasts just bursting out of that skimpy black lace brassiere, the soft pink flesh of her thighs displayed below the petticoat that had ridden up almost to her waist as she threw off the blanket in her sleep! Best of all was the glimpse of the narrow crotch-band of her white nylon panties up between her limply open legs! Christ! It didn't even completely hide her cunt! Bruce stared in lewd delight at the silkily curling pussy hair that nestled darkly there.
Even the way Carol's hair curled against her cheek, the way one smooth arm lay across her marbled forehead, sent a dull pounding ache coursing the length of his rigid penis. God, but he'd like to have it rammed up into her right now...shove it deep inside her time and time again while she moaned and thrashed and bucked under him! And begged for more! Jesus, that would be half the fun, to hear this stuck-up little bitch Counselor Mason Thorneycroft's fianc'e, no less! actually begging his sworn enemy Bruce Harding for more!
But the orders, Bruce reflected morosely, were strictly hands off. When she went home, it had to be the way she came in no damaged goods. That was the rule and he was going to stick by it. He sighed at the opportunity denied him, but consoled himself with the thought that such self-denial was in a good cause. He'd gladly die for the principles of L.I.B. But he wished to hell they wouldn't tempt him so goddamned much first!
Carol stirred and opened her eyes. She wasn't sure where she was at first, or who that was sitting by the bed. But his desires were unmistakable! His lecherous eyes crawled all over her like dirty little insects they might have been cockroaches or lice or fleas, and the girl, crushed and humiliated, tried to brush them away. What was wrong with these people? Were they all perverts, rapists, voyeurs? She saw with disgust the telltale bulge at the young man's loins and turned away in revulsion. "Do you have to sit there and ogle me like...like some dirty little schoolboy?" she said scathingly to the wall. Then, when he didn't reply, she threw aside the blanket with a sudden movement, pulled down her petticoat, and stalked across to the far side of the room. "Well, do you?" she repeated angrily.
Bruce stared at her rounded ass-cheeks quivering enticingly as she walked. He grinned and licked his thick lips. "Nope," he announced. "Don't have to: just want to!"
A cry that was half rage and half shame escaped Carol's lips. "You're just rotten all through, aren't you, the whole lot of you?" He started to speak, but she strode over to him and burst out: "You and your precious LIB movement or whatever it is? Why, you're nothing but a bunch of thugs and criminals her voice became shrill, turned into a choked scream of rage. "Kidnappers...liars...rapists . . . ! "
Bruce leaped to his feet and strode across the room. He seized Carol by her shoulders and his nails dug cruelly into the soft, tender flesh as he shook her savagely. "Shut up!" he grated. It was bad enough that he was forcing himself to suppress his natural inclinations through loyalty to the movement's principles; but to be accused of the very things he was striving so hard to put from his mind was too much.
The girl squirmed and writhed, trying to escape his powerful hands, but he held her fast. She threw back her head and gave a hysterical laugh. "Oh," she cried, "you're so big and strong and brave, aren't you? Just like all the others with your imagine speeches about peace and equality and justice! But what happens when it comes to the crunch? Do you really care a damn for the poor and the downtrodden? like hell you do!" Her lovely mouth twisted into a sneer of contempt. "You only care about yourselves! You want everything you can get without working for it and if you haven't got it, then you just go out and take it. Big deal!"
She stopped, panting for breath, and Bruce pushed her away from him, holding her at arm's length, his eyes glittering dangerously. When he spoke, his voice was cold and cruel. "Okay, Miss High-and-Mighty," he said slowly. "So we're just a bunch of selfish bastards spouting slogans we don't believe in, are we? We're only after what we can get, is that it? Is that what you really believe about us?"
"Certainly it is!" Carol said defiantly, wondering if she had gone too far.
"All right then. We're just lousy sons of bitches who take what we want when we want it. Have it your way. I'd hate to make a liar out of you, you with your fine principles and all," Bruce said.
"W-w-w-what do you mean?" Carol was afraid she really had overstepped the mark: there was an ugly gleam in the man's eyes now.
"I mean I'm going to play the role you insist on giving me. I mean I want you. Now. And I mean I'm going to have you...now!" He stared insolently into her frightened face and added: "I'm going to fuck you, Miss Carol Findlater, like you've never been fucked before since that seems to be what you expect of me. And if, come to think of it, you ever have been fucked before . . . "
Before the meaning of his words could sink in, his hand shot out to seize the fragile nylon of her panties and petticoat. Hooking his fingers into both the waistbands at once, he ripped the garments from her in a single savage jerk and threw them to the floor. As she gasped in horror and outrage, his hand flashed out again to grasp the narrow band between the twin cups of her brassiere. Another fierce tug, and the flimsy foundation had been torn from her heaving breasts to be wadded into a ball and tossed into a corner. Speechless with mortification, she stood naked before him.
Holding the shock-frozen brunette with one hand, Bruce began struggling out of his own clothes. His shirt came first, joining Carol's brassiere over in the corner. Quickly, deftly, he unbuckled his belt one-handed, then unzipped his pants, easing them and his cotton undershorts over his muscular hips. His thick, rock-hard penis immediately sprang free, stiff as a pole, its bulbously swollen head oozing tiny drops of seminal fluid. As he tramped the nether garments to the floor and stepped out of them, Carol gasped in terror. She was too frightened even to cry out. And even if she did scream, who would come to her aid? Would the others, despite all their talk of leaving her alone, lift a finger to help her when one of their own number was having his will of her?
She gaped in horror at his lustfully throbbing, menacing pole of flesh. Oh God, it was huge! Would he really dare? Would he actually try? Oh no he couldn't! It wasn't possible! He would kill her, she thought, ripping her tender flesh to bits the way he'd ripped her clothes!
Bruce followed her horrified gaze downwards as she stood mesmerized by his lewdly jutting cock. "What's the matter?" he gloated with an arrogant sneer. "Never seen one before?"
Carol stiffened in revulsion as his hand slid down over her naked stomach to the gentle mound of her pelvis, slipping with insidious ease between her legs to crawl with lust-provoking slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She gave a small, choked scream, struggling to free herself from his lecherously stroking fingers...and then realized with a chill of horror that, despite the peril of her situation, a tiny spark of unwanted pleasure had momentarily glowed into life up between her legs! Oh God what if Mason should ever find out! Huge tears welled from her eyes and ran down her face. Even if he didn't, she would never be able to face him again with this guilty secret, the secret of her rape and her unwanted excitement on her conscience . . .
Pitifully, she began pleading with her ravisher. "Don't do this to me, please! I'll do anything...anything you say...I'll do anything if only you'll let me go! I won't tell anyone...I won't!" She buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God! Please let me go!"
Bruce gave her a look of withering contempt...then he was forcing her nakedly trembling body down on the bed. In a moment he was on his knees over her defenseless form, his mouth twisted sadistically and his eyes glittering with lust. He brought his mouth savagely down on hers, his tongue forcing its way brutally, viciously between her futilely resisting lips. She struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength was expended...and then she submitted weakly.
She lay beneath him, sobbing softly as his hands roamed at will over her helpless body, stroking her neck, her throat, the soft naked flesh of her smooth white shoulders. They shifted down, and he cupped the heaving flesh of a ripe young breast in the huge palm of each hand, kneading and squeezing. His hot hungry lips explored her face again, then his tongue traced a salacious path down the narrow valley between the rapidly rising and falling orbs. With an inarticulate cry, he fastened his teeth on the small bud of one nipple as Carol recoiled in pain. She began to struggle feebly once again, her naked flesh squirming up against the lean, hard body that pinned her down, vainly seeking to push him away.
Bruce caught his breath. Seizing both her wrists in one powerful hand, he forced them above her head and growled: "You little bitch why did you do that?"
"I...I was trying...I wanted you to stop," Carol began piteously.
"like hell you did, baby! Deep down inside that puritanical mind of yours, you love it! You want me to go on!"
"No! Oh, no! Leave me alone!" But even as she made her frantic denial, the kidnapped brunette felt a lewd flickering of wanton delight in her belly, and a low, involuntary mewl of pleasure rose in her throat.
"You do love it!" Bruce exulted triumphantly. "And in a few minutes you're going to love it even more!" He bent his head again, and now his hot hungering mouth roved moistly over the snowy whiteness of her breasts, teasing the nipples into taut little shafts of tingling flesh. At the same time his two hands slid down the trembling flesh of her belly, roamed over the soft, sensitive curves of her hips, and slipped beneath the twin half-moons of her futilely squirming young buttocks.
His touch once more sent quivers of unwanted passion tingling through Carol's nerves and against her will she found herself responding to his tantalizing touch. She made no effort to stop the hand that sought the sparse, softly resilient curls of her pussy, the outstretched middle finger that parted the silken strands of hair and eased itself slowly, deliciously, into the narrow, wetly throbbing slit of her vagina, searching teasingly in the warmth between her inner thighs until they found the tiny bud of her clitoris and massaged that, too, until jolt after jolt of pleasure surged through her virginal loins.
Then, as suddenly as he had begun, Bruce stopped. He snatched his hand away from Carol's helplessly quivering cunt and reared up over her again. "I told you! You loved that, didn't you?" he mocked.
The harshness of his voice brought the luckless girl back to the reality of her situation with terrifying abruptness. She thought of Mason again and the utter contempt he would have for her, giving in this way to her basest passions. With a little cry of fear, she clamped her fearfully quaking thighs together against this man's plundering of her long-preserved virginity.
Roughly, Bruce hauled her knees apart, hunching over her loins with his head poised just above her hair-framed little pussy. As she realized what he planned to do, Carol gave another horrified cry. She'd been right all along: he was a pervert! He was going to perform obscene immoral acts on her as she lay pinned beneath him. She mustn't let him, though. Oh God! Somehow she must fight him off. . . !
She thrashed about, flailing her arms until she was exhausted, while Bruce's superior strength held her fast. When at last she lay back, limp and unresisting, he fixed his eyes with a mocking grin on her coral-hued cuntal lips, already moist and visibly throbbing with unwanted desire.
He rested the palms of his hands on her trembling inner thighs, while his thumbs sought out the fleshy edge of her wetly heated pussy. Then with a slow torturing outward movement, he pressed the hair-fringed vaginal lips apart, exposing the pinkly gleaming hole of her pussy to his salacious gaze. He uttered a satisfied grunt...and then with a low animal cry he shifted himself forward and down to bury his face in the "vee" of her splayed loins. Lizard-like, his tongue darted out past the moistened black hair to spear deeply up inside her warmly perfumed cunt.
Carol cried aloud at the lewd, delicious sensation that raced through her entire body, making it tingle against her will with a crazy, all-consuming desire. Convulsively, against every conscious effort of her will, her legs now jerked wide apart, scissoring out obscenely to hang over the edge of the bed as limply as those of a rag doll.
Bruce ran his tongue up and down her feverishly pulsating furrow, probing and exploring until he found the tiny bud of her clitoris again and then, once more, he licked the quivering, rubbery little shaft into trembling erection with maddening spiraling movements of his tongue. Torn between shame and agonized pleasure, Carol arched backwards, struggling for one last time to free herself from this vile, conscienceless monster who ravaged her so lewdly. Then with a groan of mingled despair and desire, she slumped helplessly back on to the mattress while the kidnapper continued his maddening tongue-fucking of her defenseless secret flesh.
God, but she's a hot little bitch! Bruce Harding thought as he pistoned his tongue in and out of her passion-dewed cunt. She was ready to fuck right now! Well, by God, he was the one to give her what she wanted! All thoughts of disloyalty to the movement had vanished from his lust-crazed mind as he took his thick, rigid cock in one hand and, kneeling up between her widespread thighs, guided it towards her virginal little cunt in its nest of wet hair up between her legs pushing forward insistently until the lust-swollen head nosed through the soaked strands of black pussy hair to touch the hotly dilated lips of her vagina.
Carol gasped and held her breath as feelings of intolerable desire warred with the tremors of overpowering guilt shuddering through her. She fought against the delicious quivering that assailed her body, while the thought of the disgrace implicit in this vile plundering of her loins assailed her mind. Then, as the blood-engorged head of Bruce's enormous penis slipped into and slightly penetrated the tightly clenched opening of her naked cunt, she started, partly in pain and partly with pleasure, and whispered in a choked scream: "Oh, don't!...Bruce...for God's sake don't...Aaaggghhh!"
With a sudden cruel thrust, the lustfully panting young man flicked his hips forward and lanced his long thick cock deep into the narrow, tightly resisting vaginal passage, ripping her virginity away in one flesh-splitting rush as he slid his thrusting pole of male hardness deep into the scalding depths of her resilient belly. "Bruce" she had called him! A feeling of elation warmed his whole being. He was a person to her now...she had accepted him as a human being, a man! It was up to him to show the squirming little bitch just how much of a man he was...and by God, he was going to do it!
"No.. . " she shrieked as she felt his sword-like penis cleaving away her innocence. Oh God, he had done it! He had raped her, taken her virginity. Her mind swirled again in agonized confusion.
Again he thrust his lean hips forward, plunging his hotly throbbing penis further and further in until Carol felt as though his long hard maledom had exploded up inside her to fill the very center of her being, sending waves of painful ecstasy crashing through her. She lay still, exhausted, and weeping futilely beneath him, impaled on the iron-hard cock that crammed every part of her belly, pressing on the soft-ridged walls of her cunt, inflaming them, transforming them into a searing sheath of fire.
Bruce withdrew his rigidly pulsating penis slightly, raising his head as he looked down at her and demanded, "You love it, don't you?"
The captive brunette lay with trembling lips as she stifled another sob, refusing to answer him.
He flicked forward again, sending his lustfully pulsing rod of flesh surging up into her belly once more. Then, as she wailed in pain, he half-withdrew and demanded for the second time: "Love it, don't you, baby?"
His tone had become brutal, his manner cruel and menacing. Terrified, Carol at last found her voice and gasped: "Y-y-yes! I d-d-do!"
"Yes what?" Bruce's voice left no doubt that he knew he had finally conquered her now.
"Yes, B-B-B-ruce. I-I-I-love it."
'Then ask for some more!" he commanded savagely.
"Please, Bruce . . . "
"Not like that. Beg me, you goddamn little snob! Beg me!"
Carol sucked in her breath. "Do it!" she pleaded. "Please do it!"
"Say Fuck me! Say Fuck me with your big cock and say it like you mean it!"
Tears streamed down the nakedly ravished brunette's lovely face as she submitted totally to his humiliatingly degraded demands. "Oh, Bruce," she begged, "fuck me! Please fuck me! That's what I want you to do! For God's sake, fuck me with your big cock . . . ! "
Bruce's mouth twisted scornfully. "You don't sound too sincere," he jeered. "But I'll be magnanimous I'll do it for you!"
Slipping his hands beneath the smoothly rounded cheeks of her ass, he began the slow, building but frenzied rhythm of thrusting and withdrawing that would soon mount to climax. He slaved above her, fucking in and out of her tightly clenched pussy in long, smooth strokes, sending his cock racing deep into the liquid heat of her vagina that scalding sheath of pure sensation that clasped and released, clasped and released in time with his plunging thrusts.
In gradually increasing tempo, he pistoned wildly into Carol's nakedly splayed loins, battering into her until she felt she was on fire with unwanted exquisite tongues of flame searing through her belly, shooting high up into her body to lick at her tender breasts. She was possessed by an insane passion, a lewdly thundering storm of mindless desire that blotted out everything but the ecstatic pleasure of the young man's hard-driving penis, the pounding of his hips on her, forcing her into submission, forcing her to admit for the first time that she was a whole woman.
As he thrust into her again and again, he felt the violated brunette suddenly wail and stiffen before she began to jerk and lurch beneath him. A hot sticky fluid gushed out from the walls of her desperately clasping vagina to froth around the stump of his pumping cock and stream over his balls and then, unbelievably to both of them, as she bucked and writhed frenziedly in the throes of her orgasm, she chanted wildly: "Aaaaagggghhhh!...Ooogghhh! I'm cumming!...Oh God, I am! Yes. I'm cumming...I'm cumming...Don't stop! Don't stop! I'm cumming!...Aaaaaiiiiiiii eeeeeee!"
Bruce felt the flesh of his own tormented penis bulge and expand in an agonizing spasm. The inside of his testicles seemed to explode and split wide open. The hot white flood of his sperm raced the full length of his wildly ejaculating shaft and then spewed out into Carol's hotly contracting womb in powerful, gushing squirts. It mingled there with her own excitedly churning juices, then overflowed back out of her tightly distended cuntal lips to trickle in lewd rivulets of surrender down her trembling thighs.
With an animal gasp that was half sigh and half groan, Bruce collapsed over her voluptuously curved young body, already lying limp and exhausted beneath him, her legs spread obscenely open in utter defeat...and release . . .
CHAPTER FIVE
The telephone rang on Mason's desk and he snatched the instrument from its cradle. "Yes, yes, this is Thorneycroft," he said impatiently. Turning to the dark young man beside him, he placed one hand over the mouthpiece and said in a low voice: "Police headquarters. They've been in contact with the kidnappers again."
Howard Groves, the lawyer's assistant, picked up the extension and listened as the police sergeant on duty at the desk filled Mason in on the latest developments. "We have confirmed, sir, that the kidnapers are members of the Liberation for Individual Behavior movement," the policeman began.
"We've known that all along, for Heaven's sake!" Mason snapped.
"Suspected it, Counselor. Now it's confirmed. And they have reiterated their demands and sent us further proof that they do in fact have Miss Findlater in their power."
"Meaning?" Mason's voice was harsh, his face pale and drawn, and his eyes red-rimmed through worry and lack of sleep. His hair was mussed and there was stubble on his usually immaculate chin.
"We have her clothes now," the sergeant said.
"We already had her clothes," Mason said wearily.
"Some of her clothes," the policeman corrected. "A skirt, a jacket and a blouse, sir. The contacts at the radio station received some more this morning, along with the new ransom note just a reminder, the kidnapers said."
Mason's face was ashen. "What are you trying to say?" he croaked.
The sergeant cleared his throat. "We have now received Miss Findlater's uh panties and brassiere, Counselor," he said awkwardly. "They were wrapped up in a pair of stockings and a kind of lace slip."
The lawyer swallowed. "Mrs. Findlater has confirmed that the...that these items belong to her daughter?"
"Yes, sir. As far as possible. The uh foundation garments had been damaged."
"Damaged?"
"The bra and panties and slip were all torn, Counselor," the sergeant said gently.
Mason slumped back in his chair with a cry of despair. The telephone receiver fell from his nerveless hand to dangle at the end of its cord as Howard Groves leaped to his side and put an arm around his shoulders. "Steady, Mason!" he said sympathetically. "I'll go get you a shot of brandy you look as though you could use a drink."
Before he left the room, he picked up the phone and said: "All right, sergeant. Mr. Thorneycroft was called away. Maybe you'd like to ask Inspector Tyrrell and the Chief of Police to come over right away? I guess we should have a council of war to discuss this latest development."
"Very good, sir," the sergeant said. "I'll call you back."
Mason sat like a man stunned as his assistant left the office. So now they had even sent in Carol's stockings and undergarments! That meant that she was running around naked! He passed a hand over his sweat-dewed forehead. No! Not Carol! She'd maintain her decency and modesty, even in those circumstances!
So okay, he thought, gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles showed white through his skin, she's pulled a towel around her...The towel would just cover her ripely swelling breasts and the slim, luscious curve of her belly but it would be slung low in back, almost, but not quite, reaching the lower edge of the rounded cheeks of her firmly fleshed buttocks. The furrow between the hemispheres would be exposed...and some lewd, evil character-some vile political extremist with no sense of honor or decency would be staring at Carol's undulating buttocks as she threw herself across the room in a brave attempt to evade his grasp. In no time at all, the guy's penis would lurch and jerk inside his pants, hardening into a stiff, blunt rod that would ache unbearably . . .
And how long, then, would it be before the guy had his pants open, before his grubby hand encircled that iron-hard shaft and maneuvered it out into the open, massaged it and stroked it, drew the foreskin back to expose the bulbous bloated head oozing with drops of thick fluid? How long would it be, as his savage lust mounted within him, before his other hand would be on one of Carol's snow-white breasts-before he had taken one small budding nipple between his fingers, squeezing and rolling it into a hard point while Carol screamed under the steadily increasing pressure screamed with pain...and possibly in unavoidable pleasure too?
Because eventually she would, Mason knew! She would finally find some kind of perverted pleasure in the obscene act of this foul, filthy kidnaper. Oh, she'd fight against it: Mason would give her credit for that! But although she would be shocked and horrified, although she would fight like a wildcat, that would only be the beginning. Later, after she had been forced down on to a bed, when she was stripped completely naked with her legs held apart and the hair-lined slit of her vagina exposed to the man's sadistic gaze, his plundering rapist's fingers, she would find helpless little thrills of perverted pleasure ripping through her sensually quivering body, he knew she would.
My God! As this brute entered her virginal young cuntal passage, already passion-drenched, already steaming and hot, Carol would begin to moan and mewl ecstatically, threshing about under his heavy bucking body, rising to meet his thrusts, falling back, arching up again, responding to his every lascivious move . . .
Mason wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He gasped for breath. Oh, God! Carol would submit. She would resist at first but Carol his lovely, charming, intelligent, well-bred Carol would submit like a common prostitute, begging in the most obscene manner, the most obscene words, to be taken like a street slut! And then, God help her, she would lose herself in wild abandon, spreading her legs wider in welcome as she climaxed with shrieks of unearthly joy!
"Mason! For God's sake pull yourself together! Take a sip of this!" Howard was by his side, holding out a glass of brandy. "Look," he said quietly, "I know how you feel believe me I do. But you simply must get control of yourself, for Carol's sake as well as your own.. . "
Choking down the fiery liquor, Mason heard his assistant's words echoing through his tortured brain. Control! That was what Carol lacked not him! She had never been able to control herself, he thought bitterly. Why, only a few days ago she had practically offered herself to him, her fianc'! She had invited him to take whatever liberties he wished, although they would not be married for several months! Her mother would never have done such a thing at her age! Nor would anyone in the Thorneycroft family. There was an inexplicable touch of.. . well, of the tramp...in Carol, despite all the advantages she had had. If only this wanton streak could be wiped out, if only marriage could extinguish this lascivious spark in such an otherwise lovely girl, she would be an asset to him in his career!
Gosing his eyes, he thought of her as a gracious hostess, a charming companion, taking her place in the community . the way the Findlaters and the Thorneycrofts always had, as a social leader, as a patron of the arts, a benefactress of charitable causes. She would be as respected as he was; the two of them would make a model couple. They would have a happy and adequate sex life, of course: Mason was no prude, and sex between a man and his wife was normal, even desirable at times. But Carol, he reflected, was given to excesses, and that he could never permit.
And now she was alone, alone with these depraved sex fiends, these monsters! He remembered the girl in the courtroom a girl who had obviously been one of their friends. She even resembled Carol in some ways. They were about the same age...and Carol might have been like that; she might yet be like that, he thought with a shudder of horror, shedding all her inhibitions, letting herself go in the throes of passion! Dear God, how could he stand it! They would rape Carol's nakedly helpless young body and take her virginity, he was convinced of that. And that in itself was enough to kill a man.
But to think of her enjoying it as well God, there was no hell worse than that! Nothing more cruel than the knowledge of what could happen to her tender mind if she was exposed to raw, animal sex...He sat pale and still with shock, staring blankly at the wall until Howard's voice brought him back to reality.
"Mason! Chief Carter and Inspector Tyrrell are here along with your old law partner, Bob Rush. I guess it would be a good idea to talk to them, huh? The Chief can fill us in on the latest developments and then maybe we can all get together and agree on a plan of action. Okay?"
Mason nodded and swallowed the rest of his brandy. A moment later the two policemen and Rush, the distinguished, gray-haired senior partner of Mason's old firm, were ushered into the office.
Carter cleared his throat and looked around the room before he spoke, "this is a dirty, lousy business, Mason," he began, "I don't need to tell you how we all feel.. . We have a few facts: Sergeant Phillips will have given you most of those. In addition we have turned up two other things the real estate agency who contacted you, Mason, was a plant, a fake. So they must have planned this some time ago, expecting their members would be convicted. And secondly, we traced the car they used. We hope but it's a slim hope that the tire tracks may give us a clue."
He paused and looked straight at Mason. "So far as the rest of it goes," he said slowly, "we know roughly who the kidnapers are though we don't know which actual members of the organization are involved in the abduction. We can't pull in every single L.I.B. supporter and hold 'em on suspicion! And, of course, we know what their demands are too . . . "
Nobody spoke for what seemed like a long time. Outside Mason's office, wind whistled through the dusty branches of an elm tree and a sudden scatter of raindrops were hurled against the window. The lawyer looked up. The tiny beads of moisture were trickling down the glass, leaving grimy runnels along the dusty surface. "They want the release of the six members I prosecuted the other day," he said absently.
Carter sighed heavily. "That's it," he said.
"But you know that's impossible. We could never agree to that."
"We know how you feel, Mason," the police chief said. "You believe in law and order, have done so all your life. So do we all, of course. But now it's Carol's life that's threatened . . . "
"That only made it more impossible,"
Mason cut in. "Since I'm the one involved, can't you see I have no alternative? I can't go around preaching law and order to everyone else, then cave in when my own interests are at stake!"
"Everyone would understand," Howard Groves assured him.
"Judge Harvey and the D.A. would agree if you give the word," Carter urged. "They're leaving the ultimate decision to you, since you're the one, as you said, personally involved. But they'll go along with anything you say. They'd understand too."
"I wouldn't!" Mason said flatly.
"But Counselor, it's...that is, it may be Carol's life!"
"And it's my honor," the lawyer said coldly. What was the matter with these people? Couldn't they see that right was right, and wrong was wrong? The world was divided into two halves: one was good and the other was bad. And Mason was pleased to think that he was on the side of everything good. Others, he knew, had slight imperfections. Even Carol, fine and strong and courageous as she was, would cave in, in a crisis. Again the thought of his fianc'e being raped flashed through his mind; he seemed to see her in all her degradation, lying beneath some depraved brute, writhing lewdly on some dirty bed in a wild, abandoned climax. Carol, he was sure, would have dishonored her own name; and he was afraid that some day she might dishonor his! But he, Mason Thorneycroft, would never budge an inch!
"It's my honor," he repeated. "I'm sorry, but I cannot under any circumstances be a party to any kind of capitulation under duress whatever my personal involvement."
Carter sighed again, more heavily this time. "What do you suggest we do, then?" he asked.
"Do? Do your duty, of course!" Mason's lips were compressed into a thin, tight line. "I thought that was understood."
"Track down the kidnappers, surround them, and then go in with guns blazing, is that it? Mason have you stopped to think what that might mean?"
"I can't afford to stop and think. I only know what's right."
"Counselor!" Inspector Tyrrell spoke for the first time "They might kill Miss Findlater before we could get to her; that's what usually happens in such cases! Some of my officers may lose their lives! We may never even find the place where they're holed up . . . "
"Your job is to find them and do your best to get her out. My job, along with the judge's, is to see that justice is done. I think I have done my job so far, and I shall certainly continue to do it. Now I must insist that you do yours," Mason said coldly.
Chief Carter stared at him levelly for a moment and then shrugged. "Okay," he said at last. "We'll do our best but I can promise nothing."
Robert Rush, who had been listening to the exchange with knitted brows, spoke up. "Mason, I think you're wrong," he said. "God knows I respect a man with principles but now I think it's time to compromise...for the good of everyone."
Mason flashed him a look of contempt. "Robert," he said to the old man, "I'd thought more of you than that!"
He sank back in his chair as Carter produced a map of the area and began explaining how they were deducing from times between messages, concentrations of population, witnesses' reports of the kidnap car, and so on which regions on the outskirts of the city the hideout was-likely to be in.
Mason listened but he heard nothing. His mind was on Carol once more and on the possible humiliations she was being subjected to at that very moment.
* * *
Carol lay on the narrow bed, her ravished young body aching under the thin blanket. She was clad in an ill-fitting blouse and a loose skirt, under which she wore only a pair of panties much too wide for her slim figure and the blouse gaped open, revealing the smooth, snowy mounds of her naked breasts as she tossed and turned. Her head pounded and throbbed with a tormenting rhythm that recalled the terrifying events of the night before the piston-like thrusting of the young man called Bruce, the sawing of his huge rigid penis into her virginal vaginal passage, the rippling shafts of unwanted pleasure that had finally resulted in her abandoned and debased orgasm at his raping hands!
Oh, it was unbearable that she, Carol Findlater, soon to be the wife of a respected attorney, had been thus defiled by an oafish brute like Bruce Harding when Mason, to whom she was engaged, had demanded nothing of her that she was not willing to give, had in fact demanded even less than she would have given! She could never face Mason again, of course: he would only have to look at her face to know the guilty secret she harbored; to know that, despite her horror and revulsion, despite the physical struggle she had put up, she had in the end submitted willingly, almost blissfully, to her ravisher's vile demands. She was not fit to be the wife of a fine man like Mason Thorneycroft, to be the mother of his children! No decent man would want her now that her belly had been filled with a total stranger's hotly spurting seed! She turned her face to the wall, sobbing quietly to herself.
When she heard the door open quietly, she shuddered and tensed herself, waiting for Bruce's ribald laugh or the coarse comments of Louie of Butch. Instead, she heard Kristy asking gently: "Is there anything I can do, Carol?"
The violated brunette shifted in the bed, her body aching painfully as she dragged herself into a sitting position. Outside the shuttered window, she could hear the monotonous pelting of rain. The blonde girl was holding out a glass to her. "I brought you some Scotch," she said. "I thought you might need it."
Gratefully, Carol took the tumbler and drained it. The fiery liquor suffused her body with warmth and soothed her jangled nerves. When Kristy offered her a second glass, she accepted it with alacrity.
By the time she was sipping the third, the curvaceous blonde was sitting on the bed next to her, with one arm around the captive girl. Slowly, tenderly, she began to stroke Carol's shoulder as she spoke, lulling the broken young brunette into a dream-like state in which the horrors of yesterday became vague and insubstantial in an alcoholic haze.
"That bastard Bruce!" Kristy said, continuing her slow, hypnotic caressing. "He's been bragging to the boys and me about the way he fucked you! Said you were a hot little number and he had you begging for it!" Half whispering, offering Carol her sympathy, she slipped her fingers under the loose blouse the kidnapped girl wore, easing the fabric down, working the garment partially off, exposing one firm, lush breast. "They're all a-like, men," she crooned. "You can't trust any of them ever!"
She began to stroke the lushly rounded globe of flesh with a soft, tantalizing movement. "Now women are different," she breathed. "A woman gives you something, brings you warmth and tenderness, makes you happy...Men they don't give a damn about anything but themselves, isn't that right, Carol?" With her free hand, she unbuttoned the blouse, drew it away from Carol's limply sagging body, and dropped it to the floor.
Too surprised, too weakened by her earlier ordeal and by the drink to protest, the captive brunette mumbled incoherently as Kristy's fingers trailed lightly over first one breast and then the other, gently teasing the nipples into taut erection, then slipped down over the smooth curve of Carol's belly. She closed her eyes, instinctively pressing her thighs together to prevent any new invasion of her ravished vagina. When she opened them again, she saw that Kristy was removing her own clothes, working awkwardly with one hand while she continued her beguiling caresses with the other.
"It's different, Carol, isn't it?" she murmured softly, her breath heavy with passion. Without waiting for an answer, she drew the young brunette to her, pressing her own unexpectedly lovely naked body against Carol's. Her tautly thrusting breasts crushed against the kidnapped girl's, their nipples meeting as Kristy's hand moved down the firm flesh of Carol's stomach underneath the waistband of the loose panties to the tangle of silken curls sheathing her loins. "Oh, darling," she whispered, "you're so beautiful! I want to take care of you . . . "
Carol's head was swimming in helpless confusion. She let it fall on the girl's shoulder, allowing Kristy to cradle it between her chin and the cool smooth flesh of her arm. She felt strangely relaxed and peaceful, a small child soothed in the arms of a loving mother, and at the same time the most desirable woman in the world responding to a strong, virile man!
Suddenly, Kristy pressed her lips to Carol's, her tongue darting out to probe the soft warm cavern of the captive girl's mouth, searching, finding her tongue while Carol gave a little shocked gasp of delight. She was aware of Kristy's hands roving over her body, aware too that the blonde was toying in some way with the clothes she still wore and then, as she felt the thin nylon panties drawn slowly down over her hips and thighs and a cool breeze wafted across her exposed genitals, she realized that she lay beside Kristy completely naked! . . .
The young captive closed her eyes again as she was held tight Kristy's body rubbing against her own, Kristy's thighs curled around her, clasping her while the golden pubic hair and the dark mingled together in a hot embrace. Carol felt a tiny thrill of pleasure ripple through her, even as her alcohol-dimmed mind recoiled from the perverted assault on her naked flesh. With a shudder, she realized that the girl was caressing her buttocks, gently at first, then with more determination, parting the softness of the twin mounds until the tip of her finger teased into the tiny puckered mouth of Carol's anus, shocking her again yet oddly delighting her too.
She moaned faintly, then collapsed limply on the bed as Kristy twisted around, moving her head sideways and down to the trembling white flesh of Carol's thighs. She began to kiss the sensitive surfaces there, making the nerve-ends quiver with that strange, wonderful excitement Carol had felt so recently under Bruce's forced attack. As the tipsy brunette moaned again, her legs falling slackly open, Kristy's lips wandered to the tingling little black triangle up between her thighs, explored it, searching out the fleshy, hair-lined cuntal lips. Her moistly pointed tongue flicked out to penetrate the soft warm folds, licked slowly at the hotly pulsating opening, and then probed the tight narrow passage until it found the tiny pink bud of her clitoris.
"Ohhhhh...no...you must.. . not.. . " But even as Carol's almost incoherent protest was coming out of her throat, her shamelessly aroused cunt rose to meet the other girl's wet hungry mouth. The tantalizing contact of Kristy's tongue against her sensitive pussy lips sent new waves of ecstasy searing through
Carol's receptive body, while her brain or a part of it reeled with horror at the depravity of what was happening. God, but it was wonderful, she thought dazedly...yet she longed for the strength to fight off this further obscenity and humiliation! Dimly, she was aware of noise in another part of the house shouting voices, the sudden blare of a radio, clattering footsteps on the stairs. But none of it registered through the crescendo of excitement that thrilled almost to bursting point through her now hotly drenched, pulsating pussy.
It was only when Bruce's voice called urgently from outside the door that she recalled dimly where she was and how she came to be there, His usually gruff tone was tinged with panic as the words tumbled out.. . they had picked up a police radio broadcast...they were on the trail.. . it was only a matter of time before the hideout was discovered...there was still no word about the release of the prisoners . . .
Kristy made no reply; perhaps she hadn't heard. Then the door burst open and Bruce's words were bitten off in mid-sentence as he stared into the dimly-lit room. "Christ!" he exploded. "I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes!"
Kristy raised her head from the softly curling triangle of Carol's lewdly undulating pussy. "What the hell d'you want?" she cried angrily.
A lewd and lecherous grin spread across the young man's face. "What do I want? Just what you're getting!" he replied. He strode across the room and yanked the blonde girl roughly away from Carol, to cast her brutally to the floor. "My turn, I guess," he guffawed.
In an instant Kristy was on her feet, her naked breasts heaving. "Leave her alone!" she spat. "You know the rules."
"Rules? You don't seem to pay too much attention to them!"
"That's different! This time she wanted it!"
"Oh yeah?" Bruce jeered. "I suppose she's a dyke too?...Well, we'll see! We're really gonna find out right baby?"
Carol cowered away from his leering glance, wishing desperately that the ill-fitting blouse and panties, the blanket she had discarded, anything, was at hand to hide her nakedness from his lascivious gaze. She shrank back against the wall with a moan of protest as he kneeled suddenly up on the mattress and jerked his zipped fly open. A moment later, he had hauled out his stiffly throbbing rod. "Ever sucked cock?" he demanded lewdly and then, as she watched paralyzed with fear, he straddled Carol's naked breasts, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees as he seized his obscenely pulsating penis in one hand and advanced the rubbery blood-engorged head until it was pressed against her tightly clenched lips.
"Come on, Miss Rich Bitch, you can take a mouthful of this: it wants to spit right down those high-flown tonsils of yours!" he grinned, reaching out with his thumb and forefinger to pinch the nostrils of her finely chiseled nose together so that she couldn't breathe.
"Mmmmmmph!...Mmmmmmmmmpphhh!" Carol moaned desperately, striving to hold her breath as long as she could to avoid opening her mouth. But finally, under his mocking gaze, her contorted face crimsoning through lack of air, she was forced to gasp her lips open...and at-once he shoved the hotly throbbing shaft deep into her mouth, ramming it down until it seemed to stuff her gullet right back of her throat.
Carol gagged and fought wildly to expel the plank-stiff cudgel that filled her mouth so cruelly, so unnaturally. She moved her head frantically from side to side, struggling helplessly, straining for breath. My God! She would suffocate!...She couldn't breathe!...She would die! For an instant she broke free just long enough to suck in a lungful of cool air, panting with relief and then the triumphantly grinning young man grasped her head in both hands as he sank the lust-thickened pole of flesh deep into her mouth again...in, in, up to the hilt, and the short, wiry hair around its stump was grazing her wetly ovaled lips while his cum-filled balls slapped obscenely against her trembling chin.
Now he began to fuck in and out of her suddenly salivating mouth with long quick strokes and strangely, partly due to the alcohol and partly to a rising tide of masochistic acceptance of the lewd, debasing act she was being forced to perform, Carol felt a whirling storm of unwanted passion take possession of her. It left her helpless to fight against the obscene defiling of her cock-stretched lips. Without looking, she knew that Kristy was watching them, despising her and Bruce too-and this added an extra fillip of perverted pleasure to the ravishment of her now willingly open mouth.
Chills of excitement whipped up and down her spine. With shame, yet with an indefinable pride, she felt the sticky moistness seeping more fluidly between her widespread legs, felt the hotness of it suddenly flooding her pulsating pussy, felt the ache and throb of desire down there between her thighs. Oh God! How wonderful, how horrible, it was! Wicked and evil though it was, it was wonderful too! With a moan, she abandoned herself to the wanton delight of the lewd, cocksucking act she was performing...running her tongue shamelessly back and forth over the sensitive surface of Bruce's huge penis, teasing the tiny slit in its tip, licking the drops of salty fluid welling from the glans, tasting it, savoring it as he jerked his hips forward and fucked deep down inside the saliva-filled cavern of her mouth.
Carol's passion-distorted brain rejected all rational thought, all conscious knowledge now, in the slavish acceptance of her debased position: she gave herself up completely to the delirium of being fucked in the mouth, of actually sucking a man. No, no she'd never done it before, she thought hazily, remembering Bruce's question a few short minutes ago. Never! And now it seemed she could never get enough of it, as if she could not bear to wait for the swollen penis stabbing into her throat to shoot forth its white-hot sperm, filling her mouth with its pungently searing male liquid while she moaned and threshed in erotic bliss.
Madly, insanely now, she sucked on and on, her cheeks of their own volition tightening, contracting around the thrusting fleshy staff that sawed in and out of her tightly pursed lips like a well-oiled piston. And then suddenly Bruce's body above her was seized with a wild, violent spasm and his abruptly jerking testicles sent the eagerly welcomed stream of thin, milky sperm gushing warmly into her locked mouth. Carol gulped to swallow every precious drop, her hungry throat constricting and relaxing as the staccato pumping of the penis wedged between her jaws ejaculated the scalding fluid from its tip.
At last Bruce pulled away from her elastically ovaled lips with a lewd wet sucking noise and reeled backwards on the bed, a thinly glistening string of semen following him away to thread across the nakedly writhing girl's breasts as she dropped her head exhaustedly to the pillow. Just before she closed her eyes, she caught sight of Kristy edging towards the door, her face a mask of fury at Carol's betrayal of her. The ravished brunette smiled inwardly. A dyke, had he said? Well, the blonde girl should know better than that by now!
Bruce had left her and she was drifting off to sleep when she heard again the voice of a radio announcer from below. Struggling to her feet, she tiptoed to the locked door and pressed her ear to the panels. Mason's name was mentioned, and her own, in a welter of words she could not distinguish...And then, as someone turned up the volume on the transistor, she heard quite clearly the newscaster's final announcement.
The police had definitely picked up the trail in the Findlater kidnapping, he said confidently, and State troopers were moving in from all sides. It was only a matter of time before the abducted girl was rescued, her terrifying ordeal ended. The police, the announcer went on, were being led by Miss Findlater's fianc', prosecuting attorney Mason Thorneycroft, who had helped plan the operation and insisted, in an act of rare courage, that he accompany the officers on their perilous mission.
Carol clapped her hands over her ears. Mason! In her lewd, newfound sexual pleasure, as she responded for the second time to the debased assault of the man called Bruce, she had forgotten him completely!
Now she dared not think of him...think of how he would react were he ever to find out what had just transpired! Dear God, what had possessed her? What evil demon had taken possession of her body and soul to lead her to such inexplicable depths of degradation?
CHAPTER SIX
Inspector Tyrrell leaned in the back window of the police patrol car and spoke in a low voice. "We tracked the car from the fake real estate agency as far as this clearing," he said. "The tire marks stop here and from our examination of the footprints in the mud, we figure Miss Findlater was taken out of the car and then picked up and carried to a second vehicle. The tire tracks of that one lead along a rough track through the woods, out across a patch of moorland, and then vanish a quarter of a mile before a deserted farmhouse. The ground's too rocky after that to pick them up."
"But...you think that's where they're holed up?" Mason asked. He was sitting with Howard Groves in the back of the patrol car. They had been waiting over an hour in the muddy, rutted country lane while the driver joined the other police officers searching the wet ground somewhere ahead. The rain had stopped and a thin sliver of moon had ridden out from behind the low, scurrying clouds, but all around them the night was loud with the stealthy dripping of moisture from the leafy branches.
"It could be," the Inspector answered cautiously. "Too early to say yet. It looks-likely, I'll admit but we have to check out some more things before we move. I have men searching the ground near the place under cover of darkness. We don't want to act hastily: we have to be sure." He straightened up, murmured: "I'll be in touch the minute we have definite news that's a promise!" And then he stepped back and was swallowed up in the night.
The two lawyers settled themselves down to wait again. It seemed a long time since they had left the city, Howard Graves thought. He wondered idly how the men who had snatched Carol were supporting the suspense. What kind of men could they be, to abduct a girl from her own home and hold her for days in pursuit of a political aim? Were they in fact all men? There were plenty of women supporters for the L.I.B. movement. How did they behave, cooped up together as they must be? He knew from hints that Mason had dropped that the attorney feared a sexual attack of some kind on the girl. He himself was inclined to doubt such a thing; the men in the movement were certainly fanatics, but that didn't necessarily make them rapists!
Nor did he think they would kill the girl-even if the police found the hideout and rushed it. They would never dare! As long as they were free, she was useful to them only if she was alive and well; she would be useless as a bargaining counter if she was dead! On the other hand, if they failed and were caught, they could certainly expect no leniency if she had been harmed. Mason himself had personally sworn that he would see to it that they died if anything happened to her. No, the kidnappers would not harm Carol, Howard thought not willfully.
He pulled a hip flask of brandy from his pocket and silently offered it to Mason. Far ahead in the darkness, lights twinkled briefly...and then, swelling louder on a gust of moist wind, they heard the distant baying of dogs. For a long time after that there was no sound but the raindrops dripping from the trees. Then Inspector Tyrrell materialized suddenly by the car window again.
"This is it all right," he said. "Two of my boys wormed their way up to the house in the dark, and they found a set of tire tracks in a patch of soft ground just outside the yard. They correspond to the set we identified leaving this clearing after Miss Findlater had been transferred to the second car. The dogs confirm it; they're holed up on that old farm!"
Mason expeled his breath in a long sigh. "So what's the next move?" he asked.
"We're cordoning off the whole area," Tyrrell said. "I've set up roadblocks on Route Seventeen, Route Twelve and Route Nine; I've closed off the crossroads at the intersection of the State highway and the country road; I have men moving in on the farm from all directions. By the time it's daylight well have the place surrounded. Nobody gets in and nobody gets out; we're clearing the area of everyone but police and State troopers until this thing is over." He paused and added soberly: "That includes you too, Counselor, I'm afraid."
Mason stiffened. "Absolutely not," he said heatedly. "I'm going in with you and my friend here too, if he wants to."
As Howard nodded his agreement, Tyrrell shook his head. "It's not safe, sir. God knows what will happen when we close in on these people. They're certain to be armed and they'll be desperate." He patted his holster. "We're armed too. It could turn out to be a bloody affair."
"Exactly. That's why I have to be there," Mason said.
The policeman started to protest, then thought better of it. "As you like, sir," he said heavily. "But I'll take no responsibility for it."
"I don't ask you to," Mason snapped. "I only ask you to let us go along."
Tyrrell unhooked the radio mike from the dashboard of the patrol car and began barking orders deploying officers to strategic positions, informing police headquarters of the latest development, requesting reinforcements, ambulances, arms, checking to see that the roadblocks had been set up. Then he turned back to the attorney and said: "We can get nearer to the house on the far side of that stretch of open land. There's a small wood where I can set up a command post and keep the place under observation. I'm going to turn around and drive there now by a circuitous route. You two gentlemen had better come with me."
He got into the car with his driver, and they began slowly backing up along the muddy lane, reversing through the mournfully dripping trees towards the final denouement which would dispel or substantiate the fears from which Mason had suffered so hellishly, and it seemed, for so long.
* * *
Inside the abandoned farmhouse, Louie, Butch, Bronwen, Kristy, Bruce and the young man called Dave Davis who was second-in-command of the movement, sat around an upturned orange crate on which they had set up a powerful short-wave transistor radio. They were listening in on the police channel and they were worried.
"Car 42!" the radio ordered. "Proceed with caution along Route Nine...Car 29!...Car 29! Proceed along Route Twelve and link up with Car 6 at .the intersection with Route Seventeen...All cars are to proceed with caution; suspects may be armed, repeat, armed...Will Inspector Tyrrell please call in and contact Chief Carter immediately...Calling Sergeant Phillips; calling Sergeant Phillips! You are to move your unit up to the edge of Sector D and await further instructions under cover of the trees.. . "
Dave Davis got to his feet with an oath and began pacing up and down the blacked-out room. "The bastards are closing in on us!" he gritted.
"You're certain they got the right place, Dave?" Butch asked nervously. "I mean, it could be some other farmhouse they're surrounding."
"Don't be a dope!" Davis barked. "Of course it's the right place! We heard them giving the map coordinates, didn't we? We checked them our, didn't we? You'll see the sons of bitches under those trees as soon as day breaks, I'm telling you! The bastards have been smarter than we figured, that's all."
"We still got the broad, ain't we?" Louie protested. "Why don't we just get into the cars and take her someplace else?"
"Because the goddamn place is surrounded, that's why. And even if we did break through the cordon, there's roadblocks. You heard. We got no place to go."
"Yeah, but the girl's our trump card and like Louie says, we do still have her," Bruce objected. "Why don't we call up the Boss and ask for fresh instructions?"
"Because the call would be monitored and it'd lead the pigs right to the Boss! Jesus ain't nobody any sense around here?" Davis shouted. Although he was only Number Two in the organization, the Boss the man they knew only as Peter had entrusted him with the entire tactics and strategy of the kidnap operation. The responsibility was his alone and that responsibility was weighing heavily on him now.
He had vowed once to die for the movement if it was necessary. Now, for the first time, it looked as though it might actually come to that; it might be...necessary. Mopping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, he tried to think of some way out. He could turn Carol over to the police, forget about the release of their members in jail and save his own skin that way. But it wouldn't be for long; L.I.B. had its own executioners and they wouldn't be as considerate as the police, if it came to the crunch! Or he could surrender to the police personally, throw himself on their mercy. No, that was out, too. Maybe he didn't want to be a martyr Jesus! He sure as hell didn't want to be a martyr! but he wasn't a lily-livered bastard either. Anyway, he knew he'd spend the rest of his life in jail if the fuzz once got their paws on him! Even dying would be better than that! But as for getting out of here without any of those alternatives...Christ! They didn't have a snowball's chance in hell!
He sighed. He'd have to persuade them to do it the hard way! "Look," he said. "So they found the hideout. So they got the place surrounded. But what difference does that make to the basic pain?"
"Every difference in the world, I'd say," Charlie Bronwen said with a nervous laugh, and the others chorused their agreement.
Davis shook his head. "Nope. Not really. They've located us, is all. That's the only difference from when we first snatched the girl. And, like Louie says, we do still have the bitch. They won't dare rush the place in case we kill her; they can't touch us while she's still here. So it's back to starters; if they want her back, they gotta set our people free!"
"Sure, Dave, but.. . " Bruce's brows were knitted in thought.
"All we have to do is sit it out.. . see who cracks first," Davis urged. "And I'm damned sure it's not going to be us!"
"You say she's our trump card," Kristy cut in. "But, Dave, they have all the other cards! They can sit it out for days, for weeks, for years if they like! They can get supplies. We only have a limited amount. When they've gone, we're finished!"
"You're forgetting the psychological angle," Davis said. "The girl's parents, that damned lawyer, public opinion, for God's sake! They're gonna be wondering if she's starving too, if she's okay. The longer it lasts, the more screwed up they'll get. I think there's a chance they'll still crack first.. . so we're gonna make a fight for it, okay?"
Again there was a general murmur of assent, and he went on: "I know I can count on all of you!" That's a load of bull, he thought to himself. They're just as-likely to chicken out as me or anyone else! But he repeated nevertheless: "I know I can count on you so let's get busy. Butch, there's a case of guns in the cellar. Kristy has the key. Check them all, see that they're cleaned, and hand 'em around. Louie take all the supplies upstairs. Food, water, bandages, first-aid kit, everything. The rest of you can help me make this dump as secure as humanly possible."
Later he went upstairs himself and called Kristy out from the Toom in which Carol was held prisoner. "How is she?" he asked in a low voice.
"Okay," the blonde girl said. "I'm keeping her plied with firewater, just in case. She seems happy enough."
"Is she fit to walk to the window and wave if necessary?"
"Walk to the window? Who?"
"Who!" Davis bellowed. "The fucking broad, of course! That goddamn attorney's girlfriend! Who else, for Chrissake!"
"All right, Dave. You don't have to bite my head off!" Kristy paused and then added: "You sound like you could do with a drink yourself! Pull yourself together!" She went back into the room and returned carrying a half full bottle of Scotch.
"Sorry!" the young man said sheepishly as he swallowed a long draught. "I'm a little on edge, I guess." And indeed, the atmosphere of suspense and tension in the empty house was an almost tangible thing, crackling between the besieged kidnappers like a menacing electric current.
"Why do you want her to wave from the window?" Kristy asked quietly.
"To show the bastards she's really here and to keep them from firing if possible. If the fuzz are going to get any target practice in, it's going to be at her expense, not ours. I told the boys to stand well back once the day breaks."
"I'd better go on giving her this then," Kristy said, taking a swallow from the bottle before she recapped it. "All we need is that high-class bitch getting hysterical around here and setting everyone else off! It's going to be tough enough for all of us as it is!"
"Too right," Davis said. "We have to keep her happy at all costs. Tell you what what's the surest way of all to make people happy? Hash!" he cried, answering his own question. "Pot! Grass! That's better still! Roll her some joints, Kristy, that's it! Make her smoke, get her stoned and keep her stoned!"
"Okay, Dave. What are you going to be doing?"
"Me and the boys," Davis said soberly, "are going to be turning this place into an armed fortress!" He paused and cocked his head, listening from below came the sound of heavy objects being dragged across floors. "You hear that, Kristy? And you remember how we always used to talk about fighting behind the barricades? Well, right now our boys down there are building those barricades! . . . "
* * *
The rain clouds had disappeared with the coming of the day. The sun climbed the eastern sky, its heat drying off the sodden uniforms of State troopers and police surrounding the house m damp swirls of vapor. Behind the glinting gun barrels hidden by leaves and branches and ramparts of sandbags, weary but still watchful eyes scanned the facade of the once-abandoned farm, searching for any movement, any sign of life.
There was none. The windows were dark, covered with some black material that cut off any view of the interior. Nothing stirred inside or outside. Beside the police command car, concealed behind a spinney at the edge of the woods, Mason grew impatient. Carol was inside that house; the police, hordes of them, were outside. Why not storm the place, shoot their way in, rescue her and carry her off to safety?
"Impossible!" Inspector Tyrrell said with a decisive shake of his head. "Suppose we did start shooting? The chances are that Carol would be the first person we'd hit. D'you think they're not smart enough to put her up as a shield the moment anything starts?"
"So we don't shoot. So what do we do?"
"We wait and leave the first move to them," Tyrrell said.
The day wore on. The sun beat down on the old house, on the police hiding in the woods around it, on the barrels of their guns. Mason and Howard sat under a pine smoking innumerable cigarettes. Occasionally one or the other of them would rise and creep forward to the edge of the wood to peer at the house as if somehow that would change things. But everything remained the same; nothing moved in the house, nothing moved outside. And always whichever of them had moved would return, weary and disconsolate.
By noon the sun was blazing, broiling the officers hidden behind the leaves and branches camouflaging their guns. Around the house, in the cleared area that had once been a lawn and garden, the air shimmered in the heat. Sharp beams of sunlight slanted against the cracked glass of the windowpanes to reflect back into the eyes of the watchers with blinding intensity. Birds fluttered and chirped in the treetops, and all around them was the lazy hum of insects.
Mason had taken off his jacket, loosened his shirt collar and removed his tie. His eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue and worry, and he was unshaven again. He walked up to Inspector Tyrrell and said roughly: "Look you say we can't shoot in case we hit Carol. But supposing she isn't there!"
The policeman turned away from his radio transmitter. "Supposing she . . . ? But of course she's there!"
"We have no proof that she is," Mason urged. "We know they are. But they could have transferred her someplace else before we surrounded the place. In which case your men could storm it with impunity."
"Maybe you have a point there, Counselor," Tyrrell said slowly. "We could insist that they show us Miss Findlater if not, we'll storm the house." He picked up a bull-horn and walked to the edge of the woods.
"Attention! Attention!" he bellowed. "You are surrounded by police! We will attack at once...unless you can show us the whereabouts and the state of health of Carol Findlater.. . "
Mason was watching the weathered facade through binoculars held in his trembling hands. For some time nothing happened...then a black drape was drawn aside from an upper window and a figure appeared. "My God!" he gasped. "It's her! It's Carol!" He could feel a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, and the blood thundered behind his eyes as he watched. She was there! Alive and apparently unharmed...his lovely Carol!
The girl in the window was smiling dreamily. She waved, almost as though she was some minor member of royalty acknowledging the salutes of the crowd from a palace balcony. She seemed totally unaware of any danger.
"All right.. . we have seen her!" Tyrrell shouted.
"Will you release our members if we return her to you?" The voice, borne on a sudden gust of hot wind, carried clearly from the old house.
"We will withdraw our force in return for her release."
"That's not what I asked. You haven't answered my question."
Tyrrell glanced questioningly at Mason, who shook his head violently. The policeman sighed. "You already have our answer!" he called.
The drape was jerked back over the window and Carol disappeared. "Well?" Mason demanded.
"There's nothing to do but wait," Tyrrell said. "That's the hell of this kind of situation. I know how you must feel. I feel the same way myself.. . if we could just do something, anything get out there and fight, rush the house, anything! It's the waiting drives everyone mad. And that's what they're counting on, mark my words."
"How long will we have to wait?" Howard asked.
"God only knows. Could be another day or two...a week. Depends on what supplies they have, on how long they can hold out."
The day wore on. Tyrrell used the bull-horn several times more but the questions and the answers were always the same; neither side would give in. Once a shot cracked out and a bullet winged the corner of the house to send splinters of brick flying. It was answered by a hail of fire from the upper windows that poured slugs into the trees, ripping leaves from the branches as they went. After that, Tyrrell gave strict orders that there was to be no shooting unless he himself gave the command.
His men were tired; some were trigger-happy. Shooting could break out at any moment. It was a risky situation, the Inspector knew, and getting more dangerous every minute. He went to find Mason.
The lawyer was squatting under the pine tree surrounded by a ring of cigarette butts, staring moodily at the ground. His mind was tormented by thoughts of what might be happening what might already have happened to Carol, alone in the house at the mercy of those vile brutes. "Tyrrell," he said fiercely, "you've got to get her out of there! You've got to."
"There's only one way to do that," the policeman said. "You're not going to like this, Counselor but I think we should give in, release those people from jail and the hell with it."
Mason turned pale. "Never! That's the one thing I can't agree to!"
"It's the one thing to do if you want to be certain of saving your fianc'e," Tyrrell said quietly.
The distraught attorney shook his head violently. He drew a deep breath. "I want you to send your men in," he said through set teeth. "Yes, using their guns! If that's the way it has to be. I want you to take that house and rescue Carol."
"But...what if she is killed? By their bullets or ours even!" Tyrrell was aghast.
"There are things worse than death," Mason said curtly.
Two spots of red glowed on Tyrrell's cheeks. "Maybe," he said. "Depends where you're standing, I guess. Depends on who you are, too. Miss Findlater, for instance there may be things worse than death as far as she is concerned...but surely that's for her to decide. And there certainly isn't anything worse than death for my men out there. Unless it's the living death of being maimed for life, crippled by a slug in the spine or turned into a vegetable by a bullet in the brain. I'm sorry, sir, but the risk is too great; an attack on the house such as you suggest is out of the question at this time!" He turned on his heel and walked away through the trees.
The sun was setting behind the wood in a blaze of crimson and orange when Mason finally went to seek him out again. The lawyer's face was haggard and his hands were trembling; his custom-made shirt was grimy with dirt and sweat, his brain so numbed that he spoke with difficulty. "Tyrrell," he croaked, "we can't go on like this...I can't go on! Knowing Carol is in there...not knowing what's...what's happening to her.. . " His voice broke. He could hardly tell the policeman that his worst torment was imagining how fervently the girl would ultimately respond to the vile, lewd manipulations of her ravishers! He beat his fist against the palm of his hand. "Oh God, I can't stand any more of it!" he groaned. "Sitting around helplessly, waiting for something to happen! And not being able to do a goddamn thing about it!" He stared at the officer with bloodshot eyes, a man near to breaking point. "I can't go on," he said.
"You want to try negotiating with them?" Tyrrell asked sympathetically.
"Yes...no...That is, you know I can't agree to their terms, ever. I can't exchange their people for Carol. I can't agree to that, not even for her...But I was wondering . . . "
"Yes . . . ? " the Inspector prompted helpfully.
"Well...I was wondering if they'd agree to exchange her for me...What I mean is, they want a hostage, don't they well, why couldn't I be that hostage instead of Carol?"
Tyrrell looked at him for a moment then shook his head and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You really love her, don't you?" he said gently. "Okay, we'll try." He turned away and picked up the bull-horn.
* * *
Inside the old farm, Davis was triumphant. "Yes, I think we could agree to that!" he exulted and he shouted back his acceptance of Tyrrell's offer through the opened upper window.
In the rooms around him, the members of the movement momentarily relaxed their vigilance. All of them even Kristy had pitched in to board up the windows downstairs. They had moved what furniture there was, dragged in cases and timber from the yard, and built their barricades as they had been ordered to do. And now they were staffing the upstairs rooms so that every approach to the house was covered through the peepholes left in the blacked-out windows, their eyes alert, their fingers on the triggers of their guns, watchful for any surprise move on the part of their adversaries.
Carol had been moved to an attic room at the back. She sat in a rocking chair, her legs curled under her, sweltering in the close air under the roof. Occasionally one of the men brought her a drink of water or fruit juice or even Scotch, and she sipped it gratefully. Once they brought in a sandwich, but she left it almost untasted on the paper plate. It was Kristy who kept offering her the sweet-tasting cigarettes that did so much to clam her shattered nerves, rolling and lighting them for Carol herself. The captive brunette inhaled deeply, letting the aromatic smoke swirl around her lungs as long as possible before blowing it out again. A strange feeling of peace and well-being had come over her; oddly, she was no longer frightened, although she knew she was in greater danger than ever. She was certain through the effects of the marijuana she was unknowingly taking that nothing could harm her. She was content to rock dreamily back and forth, staring at the faded roses of the wallpaper, which seemed to grow larger and clearer and brighter the longer she looked at them...to listen to the creak of the rocking chair, which became louder and louder and more musical...and to chat with Kristy and Bruce, exchanging words which seemed to her infinitely wise and profound. When Dave Davis came into the room and told her that she would be seeing Mason in a few minutes, she only smiled sleepily and murmured: "Oh really? But how very, very nice! . . . "
* * *
Darkness had fallen and the once deserted farmhouse was bathed in the eerie glow of police spotlights when Mason Thorneycroft edged out of the protection of the trees and began to walk slowly across the stretch of barren moor separating him from the kidnappers' hideout. His hands were held high in the position of the defeated, the prisoner and all eyes were on him, both within the house and in the woods from which he had emerged.
Reason told Mason that he risked being shot, out there in the open silhouetted in the floodlights as a perfect target for the guns of those who hated him. Reason told him too that shooting him would be pointless at least for the moment. No, the members of L.I.B. had promised to release Carol in return for his own surrender. They would not harm him yet. After his fianc'e had been released it would be a different story, and the attorney wondered how many ways there were to die, and which was the most painful. Maybe he would soon find out. But at least he would have saved Carol . . .
Mechanically, he walked on, lifting a foot, setting it down, lifting the other...the two or three hundred yards between the trees and the house seemed to stretch for miles, the few minutes it took to cross them extended into centuries...But Carol would be waiting for him, just inside the yard gates. As he went in, she would be allowed to leave. He wished he could talk to her, even if it was only for a moment. But that was against the agreement Tyrrell had made with the gang: she was to leave the instant he entered not before and not after. He sighed, wondering how long it would be before he could leave...and whether it would be upright or feet first!
At last he had reached the dilapidated wall surrounding the house. He tramped along until he was outside the wooden gates with their cracked and peeling paint. As he raised a hand to knock, one of the gates swung silently open. With a last look over his shoulder at the safety of the woods, he drew a deep breath and walked inside.
The yard was small and in total darkness. Reflected light from the floods over the wall struck a gleam from the coachwork of an automobile parked under an open barn and from the blued steel barrel of a gun closer at hand. But where was Carol who should be passing him, who should be leaving, freed, at this very moment? There was no sign of her.
Before his mind had time to register the fact, the gate banged shut behind him, and he heard the protesting scroop and thump of heavy bolts being shot. He felt sick with rage and disappointment and fear.
Carol had not been released, would not be released. He had walked straight into a' trap...and now the members of L.I.B. held two hostages!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mason was shaking with fury when the two men who had overpowered him in the yard brought him into the upstairs room and thrust him into a wooden chair before Butch, Louie, Charlie Bronwen, Bruce and a grinning Dave Davis. "We should have known better than to trust bastards like you!" Mason seethed.
Davis nodded. "You, you should," he said mildly. "You know, Thorneycroft, it appalls me that a man in your position should know so little about human nature. We learned to distrust your side years ago."
"You're nothing but a...bunch of wild animals...worse than common criminals...the dregs...at least they don't clothe their violence in self-righteousness!" Mason spluttered.
Davis smiled thinly over the radio balanced on the orange crate. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he said. "Oh the other hand, if you're willing to cooperate, we might still make some kind of arrangement. You know what I mean?"
"You'll never make me order the release of those prisoners," the attorney said flatly.
"Too bad. Carol...Miss Findlater you don't mind if I call her Carol? will be especially unhappy about that decision of yours."
"What do you mean?"
"How do you think she's going to feel when we start in...oh, you know...we won't be too harsh on her at first," Davis said.
Mason paled and clenched his fists. "You can't frighten me that way," he said tightly.
"Not now, of course," Davis said. "But later when you hear her screaming then you may become a little nervous." He smiled sadistically. "But as I said we'll go easy at first. You know-begin with the finger-nails. Just the pinky, first time around. And after we've pulled the nail out of her little finger . . . "
"You dirty bastard!" Mason yelled furiously.
"Oh, come now," Davis wagged an admonitory finger. "You said we couldn't frighten you! But if you're going to scream when we only talk about pulling out her nails, how are you going to feel when we start burning that lovely tender skin of hers with cigarettes or matches? Of course, if that doesn't frighten you, we may have to recourse to stronger measures . . . " He pulled a switch-blade knife from his pocket and snapped open the blade. "But don't worry we'll only carve Carol up where it won't be seen. like an initial or two on her private parts, for example though from what I've seen while she's been here that might be pretty public...her cunt, I mean!"
He broke off as Mason leaped to his feet and hurled himself across the room, his flailing fists striking out at his tormentor's face. Butch and Louie immediately threw themselves on him from behind and wrestled him back into the chair, cuffing him brutally with the flat of their hands. Davis waited until he had quieted down and then went on evenly:
"In the end, you know, we might have to...well, I hate to use the word 'kill'...but we might have to do away with Carol. That would be a real shame, wouldn't it?" He looked around at the other members of the gang. "But I can't think of anything else to do, can you?"
They all scratched their heads, feigning perplexity. Finally, Bruce spoke up, clearing his throat and glancing sideways at Mason as he spoke. "Dave," he said, "isn't there something even stronger than that? You know a fate worse than death?"
Davis pretended to search his mind. "I guess you're right, at that," he said.
"Well if that's the worst there is, why don't we do that to her?"
"Do what?" Davis was playing straight man to Bruce's buffoon.
"Whatever it is that's worse than death."
Davis stroked his chin. "Yeah but who would do it?" he asked.
"I would," Bruce said. "For the movement. You know I swore I'd do anything for the movement, anything. Well, I guess I'd do even this!" He raised his hand in the group's salute.
Davis returned the salute solemnly. "You're a brave man, Bruce," he said. "A credit to the movement.. . so go ahead."
Bruce ran his tongue salaciously around his lower lip and stared mockingly at Mason. "She's in there?" he queried, nodding his head at a door above a short flight of steps and when Davis nodded he sighed, hitched his belt, and moved purposefully towards it. The others followed, hauling the speechless Mason with them.
Carol was sitting on the bed inside the room, with Kristy in a chair under the blacked-out window. The captive brunette, who was smoking another of the thin brown cigarettes, looked up at Bruce and smiled as she inhaled deeply. He was a beautiful young man, she thought. Kristy was beautiful, life was beautiful, and she wouldn't for a moment have changed anything. "Hi!" she called, grinning lopsidedly, her eyes squinting slightly.
"Hi there!" Bruce grunted, waving a hand in greeting.
Trying to focus on the others crowded in the doorway, Carol saw that Mason was there too. That was just marvelous! Everything was wonderful! Bruce in her confused, drugged state, the memory of Bruce's hands on her naked body sent her soaring Bruce was here! And Kristy! Everybody! She puffed at the cigarette again. And when Bruce moved forward, pulling her brutally off the bed and against his hard muscular body, she responded with an unearthly thrill. Every nerve in her own body tingled with anticipation of the pleasure to come when Bruce fucked her again yes, that was the word, "fucked" her as she knew he was going to do...just the way he had before. Her mouth...her vagina...everywhere!
Without a word of protest, she allowed Bruce to unbutton the loose blouse she was wearing so that she stood before all of them with the lovely rounded white mounds of her breasts thrust out like twin moons, hanging suspended in the open air. There was a moan of lewd appreciation from the group standing at the open door, punctuated by a groan of fury and agony from Mason...and then the ravisher's strong hands were ripping at the cheap undergarments Carol wore, tearing the thin elastic away from the panties so that they fell to the floor, tangling around her ankles. He offered her his hand, in some insane parody of a traditional dance, and she took it, stepping from her clothes with all the unconscious grace of a Marie-Antoinette leaving her coach at Versailles!
Across the room, Davis sucked in his breath at the sight of Carol's voluptuously naked body. My God, she was gorgeous! Why hadn't he sampled it, like Bruce? He'd never seen a woman with such delicacy, such sheer beauty! Her matchless arms might have been chiseled from the finest Italian marble; her breasts smoothed by the hands of a master craftsman. Her legs were long, the thighs rich and full and firm. Davis whistled in amazement. It was Bruce's turn now, he thought. But his turn would come soon and so would Louie's and Butch's and Charlie's...well, perhaps not Charlie's but all the others...if this sonofabitch Mason didn't break soon!
Bruce's hands roved down Carol's compliant body, rolling the nipples into taut erection, caressing the firm flesh of her gently swelling belly, moving on to explore the mass of darkly curling pubic fleece up between her legs. The kidnapped brunette stood passive, transfixed in her drugged haze, a rising tide of passion surging through her at the delicious touch of the young man's fingers. Tingling with excitement, she stepped backwards and, mouth hanging open with expectation, seated herself on the edge of the bed. At once Bruce dropped to his knees and spread her thighs wide, gently parting the fleshy, hair-lined lips of her cunt while the girl threw her head back and gasped with delight. She felt the surging desire flowing through her whole body but concentrating in her loins in a wild throbbing sensation that was completely beyond her control, a yearning that turned her narrow cuntal passage into a scalding cavern of moistness. Groaning softly, she lifted up her feet and planted her heels far apart on the edge of the bed, presenting the whole flat plane of her naked loins to Bruce's lewdly gaping eyes...and the eyes of everybody else in the room.
Watching from a few feet away. Mason gave a bellow like a wounded bull and made a last desperate attempt to break away, to rescue her. A blow to the side of his jaw sent him reeling to the floor, and another speeded him on his way. Opening a swollen eye, he saw Davis standing over him with clenched fists. "Were you figuring to go some place?" Davis asked sarcastically and he hauled the attorney to his feet and propped him against the wall to witness his fianc'e's degradation.
Bruce's fingers were now worming tenderly into the warmly exposed wetness of Carol's nakedly revealed cunt, and she responded with little spasms of pure delight and a sensuous grinding of her buttocks that was visible to all the onlookers. She knew they were there, in some dim way, and she knew dear Mason was there. She turned her head to seek him out. She loved him so much! But why did he seem to be angry? He was angry, she was sure. She could see it plainly in his face! Searching her befuddled mind for an answer, she thought she had found one: the Findlaters and the Thorneycrofts didn't believe in sex, she remembered. They thought it was nasty. Necessary sometimes, but nasty. Well, they couldn't have known what it was really like, could they? How could anything so wonderful possibly be wrong? She dismissed the question from her mind and lay back, throwing her arms around Bruce's neck as she rotated her hips against his searching fingers, moaning and tossing beneath him as the invading digits probed deeper and deeper into her hotly steaming little cunt.
Slje caught sight of Mason's face again, bright red now with fury, with hatred, with disgrace, as two of the men held his struggling figure by the arms. She would make it up to him, she told herself dimly, she would explain and he would understand...of course he would understand. They could do this together and Mason would see how wonderful it was and he wouldn't be angry any more...he would feel just the way she did, she thought in her haze of hashish-aroused desire.
She held Bruce closer to her, but there was something wrong his body, which should have been smooth and warm and glistening, was for some reason rough, irritating, and somehow dry and uncomfortable! She focused her eyes on him, puzzled and then it dawned on her that he was fully dressed: he was wearing the scratchy shirt and stiff denims he'd been wearing for, oh, Carol thought, ever so long. But he shouldn't be doing that it spoiled half the fun! She began to rip the buttons from his shirt, then reached for the zipper of his pants.
She pulled, and something snapped, and then she pulled again, and there was a shrill rustling sound as the fastener opened...and then her hand was inside, maneuvering under his jockey shorts, worming its way beneath the restricting clothing to find the hidden, hotly pulsing length of his penis. Carefully, Carol wrapped her fingers around the young man's blood-engorged cock, massaging it gently, moving the foreskin up and down, up and down until the throbbing rod of flesh grew strong and wiry, springing into existence as a separate living thing, she thought in her drug-dazed reverie. Then she drew it out, still holding it in her hand, and gazed at it, admiring its size, its now rock-hard rigidity, staring at the unblinking small hole that was like an eye at its very tip, noticing with a flash of pleasure the drop of seminal fluid that welled there like a single pearl.
"Oooooooh!" she moaned, writhing softly on the bed, her legs spread wide, her heels splayed over the edge. "Ooooogghhhh! Bruce!"
Abruptly, he stood up, stripped off his shirt, unbuckled his pants, and let them slip to the floor. Leaning over the prostrate brunette with his steely shaft of flesh wagging obscenely below his belly, he asked coldly: "What do you want me to do, baby?"
Carol giggled. "Oooooh!...You know."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do! You know you do!"
"Tell me!" Bruce ordered.
"I want you to fuck me, of course," Carol said, all inhibitions swept away by the exhilarating effects of the hashish. "Go on-fuck me!"
He shot a quick glance at Mason, who was .watching in utter shock. "Say ft again, Carol," he commanded, twisting the knife. "Say it loud so that your boyfriend can hear it!"
Mason wanted to hear her say it? Carol thought. Well, of course then she would say it for him! She would do anything to make Mason happy. They were engaged to be married and some day they would be married and then they too would do this sort of thing, and she would make him ever so happy when that time came. But right now she would make him happy by saying what he wanted to hear again. "Fuck me, Bruce," she said in a low passion-thickened voice. "Fuck me like you did before! . . . "
She heard a shout that sounded as if it came from Mason, but she couldn't understand why he should yell when she was doing what he wanted her to do...and then the voice died away and she forgot about it as Bruce, kneeling eagerly between her open thighs, used the thick bulbous head of his cock to part the already moistened strands of her pubic hair, sweeping them away from the fever-filled lips of her cunt, leaving the vertical little mouth up between her legs completely open to him. And now he forced the lustfully pulsating, rubbery head into her unresisting pussy, thrusting inch by inch into the softly yielding walls of flesh as she squirmed in lewd delight. He settled his body upon her, grinding his hips between her splayed thighs, filling her belly with his lewdly spearing pole of male hardness, then momentarily withdrew...only to penetrate her again, deeper this time, until the skewering head battered rhythmically, relentlessly against her cervix.
"Oh, God! Oh, darling you fuck so beautifully!" she cried.
He rotated his hips, and Carol moved against them, gyrating hers in turn as beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip. Bruce reached down around her hips and cupped her naked ass-cheeks to pull them up closer to his won surging loins, and the drugged brunette captive was filled with an insane delight, a bliss so intense that she found it almost intolerable. Nothing mattered now, nothing was real, nothing existed except Bruce's warmly pulsating cock thrusting in and out, back and forth, in and out of her nakedly trembling belly to set her love-starved body on fire with lust!
"Oh!...Oh!...Oh!...Oh, God!" she grunted softly in time with his rampaging thrusts. And now his strokes quickened as her cuntal lips sucked at his charging shaft, milking it crazily. She writhed beneath his tough, muscular body, her legs spasmodically jerking to wrap themselves around his back, ankles locked together, as he ground his fleshy lust-hardened staff ever deeper into her hungrily clasping young cunt. And then, before Mason's horrified eyes, Carol began to lurch from side to side, her face contorted, mouth open wide, in the mindless throes of orgasm. She gasped, panting hard, her breasts damply heaving against Bruce's hairy chest, and her mewls and groans of pleasure rose to a frantic shriek: "Aaaaggghhh! Oh, God!...Oh, my God! I'm cumming!" she wailed ecstatically.
Christ me too! Bruce thought...and then he felt the boiling sperm in his lust-swollen balls bubble up and spurt forward, to mingle in forceful staccato squirts with Carol's own hot juices as it jetted against the interior of her pussy and they both felt the incredible tension of the last ten minutes dissolve and disappear in a wildly exploding moment of supreme joy!
Bruce fell beside the moaning girl on the bed, savoring the exquisite delight of the moment, only to hear Davis's voice call: "Okay, Bruce boy! Let Louie have a crack at her now!" And he rose dizzily to grope for his pants and shirt catching a glimpse of Mason's face, which at first he found it hard to recognize! The man had turned into a tormented, maddened animal, snarling at the leash, ready to maim, even to kill!
Carol was lying on the bed when Louie approached her and ordered her to put her legs over his shoulders, gazing hungrily down at the sperm-glistening lips of her open vagina. She felt a new thrill surge through her as he bent over her pulsing, still-wet pussy and placed his hands on her cuntal lips. Carefully, deliberately, as precisely and accurately as a skilled jeweler repairing a watch, he opened them, exposing the coral-colored flesh to his lust-filled eyes. As his hot breath blew across her hotly throbbing inner flesh his tongue lashed out, finding the tiny narrow slit of her cunt, and began insidiously teasing back and forth inside it.
God, but it was so good! Carol thought again. How could anything that was so good be bad? She lay back to open her thighs still wider as
Louie slavered over her, his mouth and tongue worming into the warmly quivering little crevice until they found the tiny bud of her clitoris when he devoted his entire attention to arousing it into a taut, explosive erection.
Carol thrashed and bucked under this lewdly exciting assault on her secret cuntal flesh, letting out sharp little screams of pleasure that split the tense air in the room like lightning flashes. The ferret-faced boy's tongue flicked in and out between her legs, faster and faster now, making a lewd wet sluicing sound that echoed obscenely as the captive, nakedly writhing girl's heart pounded like a hammer and her breath caught in her chest.
Suddenly, the delicious sucking of her warm wet pussy stopped. Carol uttered a tortured cry of mingled dismay and disappointment. Oh, God what had happened? Why had Louie risen from her loins, leaving her lying on the bed, her legs still splayed, her hungrily churning cunt exposed and waiting for the marvelous licking and sucking of his rapacious tongue?
She turned to look and through the fog of drugs clouding her mind, she somehow understood that everyone was looking at Mason. Something had happened to him: he was slumped against the wall, his face as white as chalk. He had been knocked unconscious as he lunged like a madman toward the bed. As she watched, Davis poked his inert body with a contemptuous foot. The lawyer didn't stir. Then the tall, fair young leader bent down, hauled Mason roughly upright and slapped his face viciously until he spluttered back to consciousness. "Frightened yet?" Davis asked unpleasantly. "Ready to order the release of our people?"
Mason struggled visibly to master his feelings. "I...am not ready...now or ever...to recommend the release of convicted criminals," he said thickly.
"Then I guess we haven't tried hard enough...Butch! Up her ass!"
As the attorney put an arm over his eyes as if to shut out forever what he had seen, and what he was about to see, the brutal, black-browed young man called Butch shot an evil glance at him, pretending to be puzzled. "Up her what?" he asked.
"Fuck her in the ass," Davis said curtly.
Butch feigned a sigh, as though he had been ordered to carry out an exceptionally difficult mission by a superior officer. "Anything you say, Dave. Orders is orders . . . " And he gave the L.I.B. salute before he strode to the bed and, with a deft movement, twisted Carol over on to her face.
She made no effort to resist.. . at least not at first. Everything had been so beautiful, she thought everything except Mason. There was something wrong with Mason; he didn't look veil. Perhaps it was something he had eaten. He wasn't really used to strange or exotic foods, she recalled. like avocado. She loved avocado, especially when it was packed with crabmeat. But Mason never ordered it when they went out to dinner, and she never asked for it because Mason didn't like it...her mind wandered again and she seemed to taste the melting, buttery flesh of that strange alligator pear in her mouth, just as she felt her legs being spread wide, as she felt Butch's tongue search out the tight, tiny hole of her anus. And then suddenly Davis's words penetrated the haze in her mind. "Up her ass," he had said...when was it? How long ago? Long, long ago as far as time was measured in this strange house where she seemed to have lived for all eternity.
But up her ass meant she tried to visualize it it meant sodomy! She was to be lewdly sodomized, right her in front of everybody, in front of Mason! And they couldn't do that to her: it wasn't legal! She'd seen that once in one of Mason's lawbooks that she'd taken down from the top shelf where he thought she wouldn't find it. Sodomy was illegal everywhere, in every state of the Union, and now these people were planning to do it to her, right in front of Mason! But he'd never allow them to go through with it, not if it wasn't legal. Not Mason.
Abruptly she screamed as pain tore through her belly. Two of Butch's fingers had penetrated the tightly puckered hole of her anus, worming around inside her rectum, widening the tiny elastic opening for the greater entry to come. As he forced her legs even wider apart and kneeled on the backs of her thighs like a wrestler, she felt the searing agony gradually adjust to a dull but strangely soothing pleasure, stimulating an aching longing in her belly, a weird masochistic desire that she knew in her heart to be wicked and evil but one that she knew she could never resist on her own, not when she felt such joy and excitement and sheer ecstasy in the lewdly debasing act. Mason would have to help her. . .
"Want it?" Butch demanded cruelly above her writhing back. And then when she didn't reply, he gave her a swift stinging slap on her nakedly squirming buttocks, leaving the angry red print of his hand on the quivering flesh as she sobbed helplessly: "Aaaaaaggghhhh! Ooooh,yes!"
"Yes what? Tell me! Tell me exactly what you want me to do!" Butch commanded.
"I...I c-c-can't," the violated young brunette wailed piteously.
"like hell you can't!" Butch growled, slapping her again. "Maybe you'd rather watch while we slit your boyfriend's cock up the center and batter it flat because that's what we'd like to do, you know."
"Oh!...You couldn't!" Carol sobbed.
"Oh, yes we could. And cut off his balls and stuff them in his mouth now beg for it, you snobby little bitch." He slapped her stingingly again.
"P-p-p-p-p I ease," she whimpered. "Please...f-f-fuck me up the ass."
"Why?" Butch demanded, tormenting her still further.
"Because...because that's what I like," Carol said helplessly.
Dave Davis gave a cry of triumph. "Hear that, Mason?" he shouted. He poked the lawyer, who was trying to hide his face in his shaking hands. "She-likes to be fucked in the ass! If ever the two of you get outa here, that's what you'll have to do if you want to make it together!"
He turned his attention back to the lewdly entwined couple on the bed as Mason groaned in horror. Butch had pulled Carol's naked young buttocks up into a kneeling position and mounted her as if he were a stallion. Now he took his thickly swollen shaft and wrapped the shivering brunette's small fingers around its rigidly throbbing length. "Put it in," he ordered.
Too terrified to resist now, and with an overwhelming desire to comply at the same time, Carol placed the tip of the stiff, blunt staff against the tiny opening of her backside. With a quick, brutal thrust that brought a shriek of pain from the ravished girl's gaping mouth. Butch flexed his powerful hips and rammed the sperm-bloated bulbous head just up inside the tightly cringing orifice...then slowly pressed forward and forced the elastically yielding walls further and further apart until he was wedged deep in the hot spongy clasp of her anal passage.
He began to grind it back and forth, and the pain Carol had felt as he entered her suddenly blended with the intense humiliation she felt and slowly but surely turned into an oddly rising sexual stimulation. She moved experimentally back against him, arching her body obscenely, thrusting her ass-cheeks up and outward, rotating them in tiny teasing circles to meet his forward movements. Oh God, the subjugated girl thought again, this was horrible, horrible...but at the same time wickedly beautiful, to be used and fucked in the ass like a common whore! There was agony and ecstasy, all whirled together in one great sensual moment and then Butch was jerking in a wild spasm of insane pleasure as the white-hot sperm spurted the length of his thrusting fleshy staff to gush forth in a delicious torrent into Carol's now openly accepting rectum. The drug-crazed girl half moaned, half screamed as the liquid surged hotly up in her rectal sheath, and she thought: Oh, my God! I'm cumming again! Yes, I am I'm cumming again!...Then, mouth opened wide, grunting heavily, her body convulsed galvanically in the throes of her second orgasm, she uttered a piercing cry of mingled subservience and shame and delight as Mason gave a choked scream and lunged forward again, only to be hammered into insensibility once more.
* * *
The captive attorney opened his eyes and asked in a whisper: "Where am I?"
"Stag show, Mason," Davis said. "You know.
like at your private club...only there you only get movies, right?"
The lawyer gasped. How did this hoodlum know how could he know where Mason spent those evenings when he claimed to be studying his brief or boning up on some abstruse legal problem?
"Here," Davis went on, "You get a live show and to make it even better, we got your own favorite hot-pussied little girlfriend performing!"
Mason groaned and closed his eyes, wondering what had happened to him and why. How had they prevailed on Carol to put on this disgusting exhibition? And in front of him! He had feared all along that she could be provoked to outrageous sensuality. But this? It was beyond any nightmare he had imagined, any horror he had ever envisaged! God, why hadn't they killed him? Killed Carol too? It would have been preferable to this total degradation. . .
Davis was speaking again. 'Wow will you cooperate?" he asked. "Now will you agree to give that order for the release of our people?"
Clinging desperately to the last shred of honor left to him, Mason shook his head. "Never," he whispered.
"Okay, boys, let's go!" Davis sang out. "Tie his hands behind him. Anything goes now!"
To Mason, his arms and hands bound with rope, the next few minutes always remained in his mind as a disconnected kaleidoscope of horror, a swiftly changing series of separate pictures, each clear and vivid and shattering, that somehow jumbled together into an even more startling and obscene whole, like a film montage assembled by a demented director for an audience of perverts.
The room dissolved in a blur of movement. Ferret-faced Louie, frustrated by the interrupted sucking of the captive girl's cunt, was the first to reach her. With a snarl of animal lust, he hauled out his savagely inflamed penis and threw himself on her sprawling figure, dragging her into a kneeling position again and plunging the sperm-bloated head of his rigid staff fiercely into the still-distended hole of her wetly dilated anus. As she screamed aloud, he rolled over on to his back, pulling her over on top of him so that she was lying face upwards with his cock wedged into her anal passage from underneath. A moment later, Dave Davis too had whipped out his lustfully thickened rod and plunged its hotly pulsating tip deep into the moistly gaping, sperm-wet orifice of Carol's fleshy, hair-fringed cunt. She lay sandwiched between them as they began panting and heaving, thrusting their iron-hard staffs up into her softly quivering belly while she moaned and writhed in renewed abandon.
Bruce and Butch were next, kneeling on the bed on either side of her, grasping her flailing arms and guiding her hands to the tightly thrusting bulges spearing out from their loins. Almost of their own volition, Carol's fingers unzipped their flies, groped inside, and hauled out the wetly gleaming shafts to milk and skim the loose foreskins obscenely up and down the hotly throbbing rods. Even Charlie Bronwen, the faggot, straddled her wildly twisting head and produced his penis, to thrust the purplish bulbous glans into her gaping mouth with a cry of glee as he cried excitedly: "Come on, suck baby! Suck baby!...Suck, suck, suck! . . . "
Carol, her drug-crazed mind now closed to everything but the exciting, delirious satisfaction of her abandoned senses, was in a cock heaven. There were cocks relentlessly plunging into her cunt and anus, there was cock in each frantically drubbing hand, there was delicious, throbbing, pulsating, iron-hard, fleshy cock in her widely ovaled, distended mouth! Oh, God, it felt so goooood! It felt so good that she wished something as wonderful could happen to everyone to Mason, for example. Craning her head sideways toward him as she continued frenziedly sucking Charlie Bronwen's penis, she saw to her astonishment that in fact this was happening to Mason . . .
While his fianc'e writhed and choked in lustful, wanton abandon on the bed, the roped attorney, slumped sick with disgust in a corner, hardly noticed when the blonde girl Kristy, the only unoccupied person in the room, went down on her knees before him and gently unzipped his pants, inserting her hand inside the fly to feel under his monogrammed silk shorts for the limp tube of his flaccid penis. She began to stroke it. softly at first and then more vigorously, nursing it to life, until strength flowed mystically into it and it jerked upright under her touch. Mason tried to squirm away, but his bindings made movement almost impossible.
"Relax, baby," the blonde girl said. "I'm going to blow you. Ever had that done for you before?"
Kristy drew his thickening penis out then, holding it in her hand, and began to tease it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her finger tantalizingly along the underside.
Across the room, Carol saw her future husband's cock swell to enormous proportions-was this her strait-laced Mason, she asked herself in amazement? then saw him begin to respond to the blonde's lascivious manipulations, moving back and forth as she clasped him tight, just as Bruce had done when first Carol held his penis in her own hand. And now Kristy was bending her head, taking Mason's long hard cock in her wide-open mouth, closing her wetly ovaled lips around its rigid flesh, sucking on it with madly working cheeks as Mason's shaft became plank-stiff and started to slide in and out of Kristy's distended mouth...shooting forward almost to her throat, retreating, penetrating again.
The fear and anger Mason had felt such a short while ago faded away, leaving in their place nothing but the ecstatic joy the blonde was bringing him. He shook his head dazedly. He, Mason Thorneycroft, was indulging in forbidden, perverted pleasures...and then it seemed that it was no longer forbidden-though it was most certainly pleasure! and he relaxed and allowed his pulsing cock to slide easily in and out of the young girl's warm buttery mouth as he felt a churning in his loins, a dull, throbbing ache of joy, and knew that this was the most important, the most thrilling, the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.
He looked over at Carol and saw that she was doing just what Kristy was doing: she was sucking the wetly glistening penis of some man Mason had no idea who he was. At the same time Mason saw that there were two other men between his fianc'e's widely splayed legs, one on top and the other underneath, buffeting her between them like a rag-doll. And it seemed to him in his newfound sexual excitement that this was just and right.
Suddenly, he was eagerly ramming his thick rigid cock forward into the wet warmth of Kristy's mouth, withdrawing, plunging in again while shivers of rapture rippled through his entire body and a strange uninhibited wave of pure joy washed over him in a bliss that he had never believed possible.
He glanced at Carol again and saw that there were two more men kneeling beside her, their hips jerking uncontrollably as she milked at their jutting penises with her hands. He quickened his thrusts into the blonde's all-encompassing mouth, fucking into it so hard and deep, his cock boring in to touch her throat, that the girl choked and fought back yet Mason plunged on and on, aware that never in his life had he felt such thrills, such heady excitement. And Carol was evidently as dazzled and delighted as he, moving against the five men surrounding her and invading her body in such diverse and interesting ways, screwing back against their fingers, their cocks, their tongues. He saw her begin to squirm and sway and rock and thrust in a wild erotic abandon, saw that the others, the tempo of their thrusts hectically increasing, were moving with her...and realized that he and Kristy too were caught in the throes of the same insane passion, moving with the others, heaving to their rhythm as though they were all performing some formalized ritual dance. So lost was he in his wanton thrashing that he didn't realize that his wild body movements had loosened the ropes binding him...and even if he had realized it, he wouldn't have put a stop to this insane pleasure for anything.
The ache in his loins became unbearable, the throbbing length of his rock-hard penis maddening beyond belief and then he heard Carol's wild groans of passion behind the gagging bulk of Charlie's cock as she climaxed again, heard the choking moans of the five men, heard their hoarse panting gasps as they sent their hot sticky semen spurting into all the openings of her hungrily accepting young body, squirting through her fingers to streak her madly heaving breasts...and he could hold back no longer, no longer control himself. He too uttered a raucous, passionate cry then sent his boiling, creamy sperm spewing into Kristy's open, sucking mouth . . .
It seemed then that everyone went limp, lying back while the world whirled around them. Mason was the first to arouse himself from this torpor, to look at the others, to evaluate the situation. It was hard for him to define: he only knew that everything had changed. His eyes roved over their slumped, inert bodies collapsed over Carol's exhausted form. They were still a bunch of punks, he told himself, a crowd of lousy leftists yet they had taught him something that they had known and he hadn't. They had taught him that he need not be ashamed of his passion and lust, need fear no guilt that it was the most marvelous thing on earth to experience what he had just felt.. .
And then he blinked. Oh God! His hands were free! And less than two feet away was the sub-machine gun that Davis had been carrying.
Mason sensed that he owed these people something. They had, he knew already, changed the whole course of his life. They had shown him what life was all about, what happiness was, how he, "uptight" as they would have called him, could attain it. Yes...yes, indeed, he owed them something...He knew he could reach the gun...would reach it. When he got it, he would be in charge. He should kill them after what they had done to Carol. He should! But he knew he wouldn't. Furthermore, he would see that the prosecuting attorney did not ask for the death sentence on the kidnapping charges.
He glanced over to the exhausted group on the bed, then roughly pushed the naked Kristy away from him and leapt for the gun.
The gang was galvanized into action as he moved, but they were too late.
"All right," Mason said. "The party's over." He saw Dave take one threatening step toward him and his finger tightened on the trigger. Slowly, the gang leader raised his hands, followed by the others.
"Carol...darling," the attorney said, "go to the window and tell the police they can come in
EPILOGUE
It was all over. The last of the State Troopers and their prisoners had gone. And, in an unexpected windfall, they had discovered a complete table of organization for the L.I.B. group, one that clearly pin-pointed the unknown leaders who gave the orders. Now only Carol and Mason remained in the deserted farmhouse.
The lawyer looked out the window at the sunshine streaming into the unkempt yard. Beyond the dilapidated wall and the open gates, the meadows stretched away to the distant line of trees, blued with shadow in the heat. It was a peaceful scene; there was little left to witness the fears and tensions, the high drama that had been played out here. Yet there was one drama yet to be enacted: the one between his fianc'e and himself. He wondered what the outcome would be.
The door opened and Carol came in. She was still wearing the baggy panties they had given her, over which she had thrown an old dress that Kristy had left behind. Her hair was mussed and she wore no make-up. Yet she looked more beautiful than ever, Mason told himself. He cleared his throat. "Carol," he said.
She blushed and looked away. He had seen her debauched, degraded, subjected to the most vile outrages...and enjoying it all! He would certainly want nothing more to do with her! True, he had succumbed to Kristy's blandishments but that had only been once, and anyway it was different for a man. Stifling her sobs, she waited for his denunciation.
"Everything has changed now, Carol," he said. "Everything."
"Yes," she said dismally. "I know. I'm sorry, Mason, I...I really did love you. But you are right. It's all changed now." Sobbing aloud, she turned to go, saying almost under her breath: "I still love you but I quite understand you won't want anything to do with me. Not now."
He caught her hand. "Carol," he said urgently. "I don't know how to say this to you...how can you forgive me for being such a goddamn jerk all my life, so inhibited, so frightened of doing what I really wanted to do more than anything else."
She was looking at him in astonished and dawning delight. "Mason! W-w-w-what did you really want to do?"
"I wanted to fuck you," he said firmly.
"For how long?"
He grinned, suddenly looking boyish and young. "Only for the past six or seven years!"
Carol twisted the hem of her dress between her long slim fingers. "Darling," she said, blushing, "I'm glad you did."
"Did what?"
"Want to...to...you know. I've wanted you to for a long time...wanted you to...to . . . "
He put his hands on her shoulders. "Carol...say it! Say it to me. You did for the others. Now say it for me."
Carol took a deep breath. "I'm glad," she quavered, "that you wanted to...to...to fuck me."
"Oh well," Mason said, "in that case shall I?"
Her lovely eyes opened wide. Was this Mason, the man she'd been engaged to? If it was, then she had never known him. And now she realized she hadn't really liked the man she had known for so long. But this was a different man. With this Mason, she would get along fine! "Yes, darling," she said, "I think you should...fuck
"When."
"Now."
"Where."
"Here."
His hands slid under the top of her dress, moving down beneath the neckline to caress the ripely inviting swell of her breasts. "I don't much like that dress you're wearing," he said.
