Usually, when a writer proposes an idea for a novel in which the basic background is to be the publishing industry itself, we throw up our hands in despair. The reason is not that we have any special secrets we wish to conceal from the reading public. More realistically, it is our strong feeling that there is nothing particularly glamorous about the business we are in, any more than there is in the manufacture of ships or shoes or Chevrolets. A writer using publishing as his theme may be relying on his own experience to avoid the work of doing research, and his own experience is usually duller than he thinks it is. Worse, he will probably tend to write about the difficulties and frustrations of finishing the great American novel, and the result is usually a terrible bore to read.
There are exceptions, of course. Thomas Wolfe, in such novels as You Can't Go Home Again and The Web and the Rock, was obviously writing about himself, and his books are "must" reading, even though somewhat long-winded and pompous by today's standards of criticism. View from the Fortieth floor by Theodore H. White is a gripping, compelling novel, encompassing contemporary history as well as writing and publishing. Asleep in the Afternoon by the English author E. C. Large is a completely fascinating story, although not as well-known as it deserves to be. We have probably not seen the end of the spate of books, both fiction and non-fiction, about the death of The Saturday Evening Post. We could go on citing such examples, but each has special qualities that makes it an exception to the general rule.
That general rule, unfortunately, seems to be that when writers write about writers and writing they are taking the easiest way out. The supreme example, perhaps, is Clifford Irving, who sold McGraw-Hill a plagiarized biography of Howard Hughes and is now writing a book about how he did it. Even honest writers, however, can be lazy, and laziness results in bad books. It is the job of publishers and their editors to keep writers on their toes. As Nancy Mifford has said, "I want every bit of critical acumen an editor possesses leveled at the text; I am not looking for friendly persuasion."
This quotation was printed in the centennial issue of Publishers Weekly, the invaluable trade magazine of the industry. It was included in a forum on the editor-publisher relationship along with many other pithy thoughts by those in the business. Arthur Hailey said: "No matter how skilled the editor and how talented the author, unless they can understand and appreciate each other mentally, their relationship must fail. Luck and chance are involved ... . The two people who would form an ideal combination may never have the good fortune to meet."
Ann Birstein put it this way: "A good editor doesn't have to agree with what you're doing, only agree that you know what you're doing ... . A good editor is your fight manager, your intercessor in that big outside world, but without making a great issue of letting you know that. (A bad editor is somebody with a lot of silly temperament and no talent of his own.)"
Such insights are interesting, but we think it can readily be seen that more than a few of them would become a bore to the average reader. At any rate, when Jack Angleman originally proposed the idea for Girl in a Cage to us, we were not particularly enthusiastic. It sounded at first like just another novel with a publishing background. However, Mr. Angleman is definitely one of our more talented writers, and he usually does know what he is doing. So we listened as he went into more detail, and when he described his proposed leading characters to us, we were convinced that he was going to produce another winner.
The protagonist is Karen MacLean, a girl who has just turned nineteen as the story opens and, since she is a product of a real backwash of society, is extremely inexperienced even for that tender age. She has obtained a degree from a small private college some two years earlier than most students graduate, but of practical matters she has virtually no knowledge at all. A major in English literature, the one thing she knows is that she has a deep desire to get into the publishing world, and eventually to become a writer herself. She is naive, but she is intelligent enough to know that she needs experience in many areas. She is far from prepared, however, for the kind of experience she actually gets as the story unfolds.
Karen is fortunate enough to obtain a job as first reader in a substantial Madison Avenue publishing house, but she soon begins to wonder if her fortune is good after all. Roger DeWilde, her new boss, turns out to be a very strange man indeed. In the office, he praises her work; but outside the office, he expects and demands other services from her-services that to Karen's bewildered mind seem perverted in the extreme. Her first impulse is to flee, but she finds that there is no escape for her; truly she is a girl in a cage ...
This new novel will provide some behind-the-scenes looks at the publishing industry, but that is not its purpose and these scenes certainly do not get in the way of the vivid, entertaining, and enlightening story. We are sure our readers will welcome the book and remember it long after they have finished it. And we are convinced that they are intelligent and objective enough to be aware that not all publishers are monsters like Roger DeWilde!
-The Publishers
CHAPTER I
Karen lay back in the bathtub and wished that the hot water could soak the unhappiness, the loneliness, the despondency out of her body as easily at it removed the grime of New York from its surface. It wasn't at all the way she had thought it would be when she was back in Rancho Santa Madre: exciting, cosmopolitan, sophisticated. It was dirty and scary. People were mean, not urbane and charming. Oh, there were concerts and theaters and night clubs, all right, but all of them so expensive that for her they might as well not exist.
Her long golden hair pinned up on top of her head stayed dry as she reclined, soaking the tiredness out of her lovely nineteen-year-old body. As she worked up a lather in the washcloth, her elbows created little ripples which splashed against her firm young breasts, jutting high out of the tub's water like twin reefs along a rocky shore. The ripples moved on down to break against her thighs, twin pillars of white flesh against which the water shoaled. Between them a patch of equally golden hair curled, surprisingly thick and luxurious to be found concealing the womanhood of so young a girl.
Washcloth lathered to her satisfaction, she laved her thighs, working the suds vigorously into her skin. Spreading her knees, she lathered away the soil of the day from her private femininity, soaking the golden curls and the red, young flesh between them.
For some reason, as she did so the thought of Doug Morgan popped into her mind. What a groovy guy he was. His flaming red hair curled over his head like statues of Greek gods in her school books. It was longer, of course, but not too long-just about shirt-collar length, curling over his ears and joining his sideburns.
She continued to soap her patch of womanhood as she thought of his heavy, broad shoulders and his powerful arms. He must be a lot older than she, Karen speculated-at least twenty-six or twenty-seven. He was the head of Packaging and Shipping, she knew; he must have worked at the publishing firm for some time to get so responsible a position. Doug was the first man she had met when she went to work only three days ago on her very first job.
Except for Roger DeWilde, of course, the owner of the book publishing firm and the man who had hired her. At thought of him her feeling of depression returned. A little shudder of distaste went over her and she forced her thoughts back to Doug Morgan as a sort of mental chaser.
No real reason that she should, actually. He'd never been more than polite and friendly. She'd only seen him a few times in her three days on the job. But he was there and he was groovy and certainly nothing else nice had happened to her in her many weeks in this frightening city.
A pleasant tingle spread through her body; a tightness, a warmth, began to glow in the pit of her tummy. She realized she had dropped her washcloth and had been rubbing the warm red flesh inside her cuntal opening with bare fingertips as she thought about Doug; the sensation was highly pleasurable.
An emotion of utter shock chilled her. She sat upright instantly, splashed some water over her body to remove the suds and scrambled from the tub. She swathed herself in a towel before pulling the drain plug and wiped herself vigorously as a fiery red blush spread over every inch of her bare body. What an utterly shameful, filthy, disgusting thing for her to do. She'd had no idea that if she rubbed herself there too long it would feel like that. Somehow it was Doug Morgan's fault that she had done it. She hurried into her housework clothes and went to the kitchenette to fix herself some dinner.
Just turned nineteen, alone in New York, Karen MacLean was unbelievably a virgin. Not only virginal, but utterly innocent. So innocent was her mind as well as her body that she was only vaguely aware that some girls her age had sexual intercourse.
To Karen, sex was a thing which unequivocally went with marriage, after the ceremony, for the purpose of creating babies. Perhaps somewhere deep in her subconscious was a feeling that a wife might also do it with her husband to make him happy, in between children, men being the coarse creatures that they are, but certainly one never talked about it, not even with the husband in question.
It would seem incredible that a girl, especially such a beautiful girl, could reach the age of nineteen in our modern age and be in this condition, short of having been raised in a Sultan's harem, guarded 'round the clock by a staff of eunuchs.
In a sense, that is just about the way Karen was raised: in a quiet backwater of society as remote from modern reality as a cloistered cell. She was born and brought up in Rancho Santa Madre, a tiny town tucked away in the orange and avocado ranching country in southeastern Orange County, California. The town itself was originally a land grant to some Don from the Emperor of Spain, when the Golden State was a part of the Spanish Empire; became ranching country in the 1880s; has changed very little since.
If you were to walk the main street from one to the other of Rancho Santa Madre, a task which would take perhaps five minutes, it would be hard to believe you were only a two-hour drive from the bright lights of fabulous Hollywood. It is less than an hour from the cosmopolitan city of San Diego. The center of the pot-smoking, amoral, free-love, hippie culture which runs from Laguna Beach on up to Venice is only an hour or two from here by car.
For Karen, as for most of the rest of the kids in her town, these sophistications whether they be good or bad might as well have been on the moon or Venus. The closest she had ever been to Hollywood was Disneyland in Anaheim, and then with her family; the only time she had ever seen San Diego was on a school-sponsored trip to Sea World and the zoo, closely chaperoned. That her personal chaperone, a Miss Tallman, was sleeping with the vice-principal was completely unknown to her-as it was to the vice-principal's wife. It was very fortunate for Miss Tallman that this was so, because in Rancho Santa Madre had it been discovered, Miss Tallman would have been instantly discharged and possibly drummed out of town for such scandalous behavior.
Such towns, and such seemingly chaste societies, do exist in the United States today, and in far greater numbers than headlines in newspapers about delinquent youth and the widespread drug culture would lead to believe. They are most frequently not out in the boondocks, but close to major metropolitan centers as is Rancho Santa Madre. The reason is that this location permits the responsible adults of the town to practice their personal depravities in the big city but keep their own home territory clean and their families pure.
The wife of the vice-principal with whom Miss Tallman was sleeping, for example, made a shopping trip to San Diego at least once a month. On this jaunt she invariably dropped in to the bar at the El Cortez Hotel for a drink at five o'clock, met some charming businessman who would invite her to dinner, then checked into one of the city's many motels to ball the hell out of him all night. She would be back home by ten in the morning, refreshed, relaxed, and ready for another month of helping her husband administrate the town's school system.
She would have been the first to blow the whistle on Miss Tallman had she discovered that the young teacher had been going down on her husband in his office once or twice a week for more than a year, something which she refused to do with him but delighted in doing to the various men she met at the El Cortez.
The purity of the town and its young people was protected because Mr. Ekkleman, owner of the largest spread of avocados and the chairman of the city council, thus the most powerful man in town and arbiter of its morals, could get up to Hollywood every week or two. This permitted him to sneak into the Paris Theatre on Santa Monica Boulevard to view films of unparalleled raunchiness; movies of detailed sex acts shown in close-up and living color which in a small town out in the boondocks of the Midwest he would had to have gone to a stag dinner at the American Legion Post to view.
Leaving the theatre with a monstrous erection, he would invariably hurry to an apartment on St. Andrews Place where two professional call girls he knew lived together. By giving them one hundred dollars apiece he persuaded them to make Lesbian love together, an act which both thoroughly detested, while he watched. He would then finish his evening by pushing his erect penis into them alternately, one stroke for each, until he ejaculated. He was never sure in which one of them he would come, which for him was the supreme fun of the whole evening.
In a sense Mr. Ekkleman was a Sultan, and every lesser man in town was his eunuch, and the children of his community were raised in an atmosphere more pure than that of many a convent. It was simply that when you reached a suitable age, you went to one of the nearby metropolitan cities to satisfy your desires.
Miss Tallman had been raised in a remote town in Nebraska and had been sucking off her stepfather for years, which was why it seemed quite natural for her to do it to the vice-principal.
As for the drug scene, there had once, just once, been a pusher in town. It was about two years before Karen left for New York. A young chap about twenty or so had gotten ten pounds of marijuana and a few pills, uppers and downers, in across the border from Mexico, only a few miles away from the town. He parked his camper-equipped van in the local county camp grounds, made friends with a few of the high school youths and tried to introduce them to his weed-rather good grass, at that.
In less than two days his activities came to the ears of the responsible, moral adults in Rancho Santa Madre. They in turn informed the chief of police, who also happened to be Mr. Ekkleman's son-in-law. The town has no vice squad, no narcotics officer. None are needed, because the young would-be pusher was not arrested.
Instead, the chief of police and three of his best men visited him in his camper to persuade him to leave town. They broke both of his arms with clubs, smashed three ribs with their blackjacks, beat his face out of all recognizable proportions with their nightsticks, then put him in his van and drove it up an onramp onto the San Diego Freeway where they smashed in into a guard rail and left it and him.
A little while later the California Highway Patrol who police the freeways found him, arrested him for fleeing the scene of an accident-it didn't matter which one because they had plenty of them-and somewhat later found the grass. The young man is now doing ten years to life in Soledad although he coughs a lot and can't use his hands very well.
No one else has ever tried to peddle narcotics in Rancho Santa Madre.
So, no, it is not unbelievable that Karen should be a virgin, and an innocent virgin, at nineteen, if you take into consideration the feudalistic society in which she was raised. No wonder she flushed when, by accident, she found herself indulging in erotic self-stimulation in the bathtub. She had never even heard of masturbation until three days earlier.
Karen flushed again as she seated herself behind her desk at the Garden Books Publishing house the next morning and stared at the pile of manuscripts on it. Hateful things. She had to read every one of those awful things and decide if it should be rejected or sent on to the editorial board for further consideration. Her job carried the title of First Reader, an important-sounding name but really the lowest person on the editorial totem pole. She was the rock upon whom many a would-be novelist's ship would founder.
Karen could say no, but she couldn't say yes. That is, she could reject a book after reading it if she felt it had no merit, but she couldn't tell the author yes and buy it if she thought it was good. She could only send it to another office for editorial consideration.
Not that she found anything in the preceding three days in this awful stack of wordage she felt was worth publishing. Her cheeks flushed again at the thought of what she would read today. She had an urge to tell Roger DeWilde that she was quitting and stalk out of the office. Her thoughts brought his face to mind and she felt disgust.
She hadn't liked him from the first, even if he had been the one to hire her and give her the first job she had ever had. She should have been overjoyed. She was three weeks behind in her rent and Mrs. Martino had told her pay up by Friday or get out. She had just five dollars left in all the world when DeWilde had smiled at her in his unctuous way and told her he'd give her a chance at the job of First Reader.
Oh, he had been gracious and charming enough; smooth-pleasant, actually. But she hadn't liked his pudgy figure that might have once been athletic but now merely flabby; his straight-across dangerous eyes; the bluish color of his face from having a heavy black beard which he had shaved so closely as to almost remove the surface skin. He was a one-eyebrow man; that is, his heavy black brows had no hairless separation in the middle.
But he had been polite, and he had offered her fifty dollars more a month that she had expected to get. With the grim face of Mrs. Martino in the back of her mind, she had accepted gratefully, in spite of his conservative dark blue suit fitting him just a little too tightly and too well; that his loosened necktie and unbuttoned collar revealed a wedge of coarse black hair unavoidably sticking up from the opening, like the tuft of hair which hangs down from the neck of a plucked turkey gobbler.
She didn't really have any cause to worry about him, she told herself as she settled down to her task of reading for the day. She'd only seen him once since he hired her. That was the first morning of her first day on the job; actually, she had been at work at her reading desk about fifteen minutes. She had started in on page one, chapter one, of the manuscript on top of the pile, determined to be the fastest and best reader the firm ever had. She became engrossed with the lead characters, a little intrigued by the author's editorial hook, a little involved with the protagonist.
And then all of a sudden there it was-a dirty word, and then several of them, and then the author was describing a terrible act that shouldn't be thought of, let alone printed. The manuscript fell from her hands onto the desk, and then she was picking it up again to study the words on the paper carefully to make sure she wasn't mistaken; that these were actually the words she thought they were. She had seen them just once before in her life; on the walls of a women's rest room in a gasoline station where she and her parents had stopped. Somehow she had guessed at their meaning and was as appalled by them then as she was now.
Determined to do her duty, she had clutched the offending manuscript and hurried into DeWilde's office. Trembling, she blurted out her accusation to him as she held out the pages.
He seemed very concerned as he took the script. "Bad, huh? Hell, this is from Barney Jones." He had flipped to the title page. "He knows we don't buy junk and I didn't think he wrote any. Let's see-" He quickly scanned the paragraphs she had indicated.
He seemed puzzled as he read them; turned the page to read what came after it, then back to read the page before. He looked up at her and shook his head.
"Sorry, Peaches, I just don't get it. What's wrong with it?" Her pointing finger shook. "That."
His tone was apologetic as he replied: "Oh, for Christ's sake, Karen, it's only the word 'fuck.' It's perfectly legitimate; the boy has dated this girl several times and he asks her if she'd like to fuck. She says yes but she's not on the Pill, so they go down on each other. Now, what the hell is wrong with that?" Then he added morosely: "Except that it's not very original."
It takes quite a shock to leave a person truly speechless, unable to gasp out a single word in reply. Karen was literally unable to give voice to any word in the language, so stunned that she could not even croak. She looked at him a long minute, turned and went back to her office. She sat down at her desk and wondered if she could stall Mrs. Martino off for another week if she quit now; speculated on what chance there was of any other job turning up in the next seven days.
Karen was quite wrong, as she was to be about so many other things in the days to come. Whatever his personal life might be, DeWilde ran a respectable publishing house. Garden Books put out hundreds of paperback novels each year, all of them no better and no worse than you will find for sale in any drug store in a big city.
Lacking any standard of comparison, Karen sat for quite a time at her desk before timidly picking up the manuscript and going on with it. She completed her reading by noon, decided to reject it on the basis that she didn't want to be too enthusiastic about anything for fear of being labeled not a sufficiently critical reader, and picked up another. She finished that just before quitting time and returned it, too, to its author because it was late and she didn't want to take the time to go up to the next floor to the Advanced Reading office.
By the end of the day, Karen knew more about sex than any other girl in Santa Madre.
Her education continued the next day and the next. She also taught herself to skim, her eyes picking up only salient passages, and for some reason she didn't understand these always seemed to be the sexual ones. Her reading speed increased and by the end of the third day she had come across one book she felt was worth taking upstairs.
Now, on the morning of her fourth day at work, she found herself wondering if anything would be in the pile she wanted to advance one rung on the ladder of acceptance. The manuscript stack had become taller rather than shorter; a dozen new ones had been added to the bottom of the pile after the morning mail.
She flipped through the first chapter of a Western and rejected it by page twelve; the author had a tribe of Paiutes attacking a wagon train moving through the open range country of the Southwest. She decided that if he didn't know they were mountain Indians, mostly inhabiting the area where California and Nevada adjoin, and were mostly diggers rather than a war-like tribe, then the author probably hadn't done any of the rest of his homework any better.
The new one she rejected because it was typed on a machine having a script typeface and it was too difficult to read; the next because it had so many editorial corrections made by the author with a pen that it was hard to follow and she suspected that it was an off-the-top-of-the-head effort.
The next manuscript was well-typed, properly spaced and easy to read. Its author caught her with a good strong hook in the first paragraph and instead of skimming the first chapter she read it word for word. She went on to the next, still interested. She didn't even wince when she came to the first sex scene. It was well integrated into the story line, the characters referred to it as "balling" instead of "fucking," but above all, the author had created a living character instead of a plastic figure. Karen found herself identifying with the girl, even younger than herself, who was having this experience.
As she read, she wondered about this girl; what did it mean, to have a boy do this thing to you? The author described her feelings so keenly; the touch, the penetration-the horror at first and then the wild-eyed ecstasy.
Engrossed, she read on, feeling a funny little tingle in her mid-section. She was at first unaware of it enjoying its warmth at a subconscious level. As she read the feeling grew until it impinged upon her consciousness, strengthened until she recognized its similarity to the way she had felt when soaping herself in the bathtub the preceding evening.
Somehow it was more acceptable this time. She continued reading until she had finished the book.
She stood uncertainly in front of DeWilde's desk. She had forced herself to tap on his door in spite of her dislike for him, because she felt she ought to call this manuscript to his attention before sending it upstairs.
"I wanted to talk to you about this book, Mr. DeWilde," she began. "I think it's awfully good, but before I send it up to the editorial board I want to ask you something."
He looked a query at her as she hesitated.
"Well, there's this one scene where the girl-uh-makes love to a-well-a Negro," she blurted out. "It that all right for us? I mean-do we have any color taboos or anything?"
DeWilde grinned a heavy, thick-jowled leer at her. "Honey, in our books the characters can do anything except be dull. She can ball a cactus if she wants to as long as it's an interesting fuck."
Four days earlier Karen would have screamed and rushed from the room at such a coarse remark. Now she merely nodded and replied: "I understand, Mr. DeWilde. Anything goes so long as it's well-written."
She started to leave but he stopped her by asking: "How do you like your job so far?"
She considered. "Well, fine, I guess. Books of this kind take a little getting used to-they're so, uh, frank-but I'm sure they're what a lot of people want to read."
"We published 172 books last year and most of 'em made money."
"It's kind of discouraging, though. I majored in journalism and creative writing because I wanted to be a novelist. That was why I came to New YorkI wanted to work in a publishing house for a few years, then start writing. But now"-she stopped, helplessly-"I never in a million years could write anything like these."
He chuckled. "You read a couple hundred of them and you'll find they're not all that hard to turn out. And you're in a good position, you know-direct pipeline to the boss. Get together a synopsis of a story line, write the first twenty or thirty pages, and let me take a look at it personally." He rose from behind his desk, walked to where she was standing and slipped a fatherly arm around her waist. She tensed to pull away but his words stopped her. Looking up at his face, she asked: "You mean, if I did write something you'd look at it?"
"Honey, I'd like to look at everything you've got." The fatherly arm slipped down from her waist; in one quick movement the hand darted up under the rear of her skirt, to cup one buttock lovingly while the fingers dove into the crack between it and the other cheek. The top of her pantyhose prevented any direct contact of his flesh with hers, but the pressure was there and she gave a gasp as she jumped away from his touch.
The conditioning she had received from the manuscripts prevented her from screaming "How dare you, sir," or slapping him, or even being insulted. The man himself was revolting to her but she tried to keep it from showing in her face.
DeWilde lifted the hand and gave a general wave in the air between them. "If you're nice and cooperative with me, we'll have you between covers in no time." He winked an eye at her to punctuate his meaning. "Bed covers and book covers-I'll give you something to write about that you couldn't learn from those hick boys parked in an orange grove."
The thought of letting this man do the things to her that she had been reading about hit her with a feeling of nausea. His offer of publication of a book to be written by her was lost in the feeling of disgust he evoked. She steeled herself to give him a half-smile as she said: "I really don't think I'm ready to write anything yet, Mr. DeWilde," and slipped from his office.
She glanced at her watch. An hour until quitting time. She couldn't go back to her desk; she was too upset. Her buttocks still burned from the touch of his hand. She could hardly wait to get home and into the tub and lave away the filth of him from her body. This manuscript-she'd take it upstairs and turn in at the editorial board offices.
She did, and found herself turning down the corridor that led past Shipping. The back staircase was really more convenient, she told herself, and faster than the elevator. Besides, it led almost directly to her desk. As she walked past the bins of books with their neatly stacked titles, she saw the glow of Doug Morgan's red hair. He was checking an order invoice which the packers had readied for shipment.
"Hi, Karen," he hailed her as she came up to him. "What's the good word?"
"Nothing much, really. Read a script today that the front office might like, so I took it up to them. Now I'm just waiting until time to go home."
"What do you do for entertainment in the evenings-read?"
She smiled ruefully. "Not hardly. I think I'm going to start sitting with my eyes closed all evening to rest them."
He asked her in genuine curiosity: "Isn't it a hell of a dull job, just sitting and reading all day long? Any time you're not reading you're goofing off."
"I haven't been here long enough for it to be a drag yet. I'm sure it will be eventually, but by then maybe I'll be ready for something else."
As she spoke, she looked with pleasure at his smiling face. He certainly wasn't good-looking; he was much too rugged, even craggy, to be handsome. His nose was uneven, pushed off a little to one side, as if it might have once been broken, and the smooth line of his forehead was decorated by a couple of scars. She couldn't say he was "charming" either, she reflected; they'd really never talked about anything but the most superficial office affairs.
All she knew was that he was nice; that she liked very much chatting with him about nothing; that she felt good standing here and talking with him. That warm little glow began again in her tummy, only this time it was just fine and she did nothing to shake herself out of it. A character in any of the books she had been reading would have said she was getting "hot pants," she realized, and for some reason she did not even blush inwardly at the thought.
There was a little pause between them which Doug broke by asking: "Say, Karen, would you like to go someplace one of these evenings? Not to the movies-I know you wouldn't want to watch anything-but maybe-oh, skating, or a baseball game, or something like that?"
She hesitated just long enough to keep from sounding too anxious before replying: "Why, yes, Doug, I'd like to very much. I really haven't seen much of New York City at all." Not quite sure what to say after that, she breathed a quick: "See you tomorrow" and trotted off down the hall.
She was careful to soap herself quickly in her tub that night and not think of Doug at all while doing it.
CHAPTER II
Karen finished a manuscript and leaned back in her chair for a few minutes rest before picking up the next one. Strange, she thought-it seems as if I've worked here for years. The vision of her paycheck, now in her pocketbook, came to her. It was the second one she had received, so it meant she had been here only one month, as of today.
The job was routine by now. Read 'em, try to find some merit; if she did, send it on upstairs. She had been keeping a little score card of her own. As of yesterday, she had sent ten books upstairs for further consideration. Of the ten, four had actually been purchased. A very good score, some of the other readers had assured her. Most of them averaged nine turndowns for every one book accepted by the higher echelon.
That brought to mind some of the other people in the office, and that in turn took her thinking around to Doug Morgan. They'd been out together three times now, she reflected; once a week for the last three weeks. Dinner, and then the rest of the evening at a few kooky little places he knew where the music was wild and the people--likewise. They'd shaken hands good night after the first date. She'd let him kiss her at the end of the second. Most of their third evening together she had spent looking forward to a good night kiss and worrying a little that he might not try to, for some reason.
He had, He'd done an amazing thing. As he was kissing her in the privacy of the little front vestibule between the outer entrance doors and the hall, he had thrust his tongue between her teeth and into her mouth. Shocked, she had tried to pull away, but he had held her motionless with a hand behind her head. Then, in a second or two, it hadn't seemed so shocking any more. With a sucking action he had drawn her tongue inside his mouth, titillating the tip of it with the tip of his, sending all sorts of wild sensations she had never known before flowing through her.
At the memory of it she found herself flushing; hoped no one would come up to her desk until the redness had gone from her cheeks.
She didn't know just what was going to happen between her and Doug but the prospect was exciting.
Doug seemed-well, rather serious. About her, that is. She wasn't quite sure just how she knew, but even in her complete inexperience with men the thing within her which was woman knew.
like-oh, like when he had scribbled his phone number on a piece of paper and told her to tape it to the base of her phone. He said he wanted her to call him if an emergency ever arose-if she woke up at night sick or something. She had done so. Not that she'd ever phone him, of course. In the social structure from which Karen came girls just don't call boys for any reason whatever. Still, it was kind of a thrill to think about it. Most nights, just before going to sleep, she would read the number taped to the instrument and think: "Good night. Doug."
And now that was enough daydreaming. Time to get going on another script. She glanced at her watch; an hour until quitting time. She could skim one book and make up her mind if she wanted to go through it more thoroughly when she came in Monday morning.
As she picked it up, DeWilde appeared in the doorway and beckoned to her. The slight stab of uneasiness which every employees feels when the boss signals flickered in her but she shrugged it off. Obediently she rose, paused long enough to check her makeup and then trotted down the corridor toward his office.
He was seated behind his desk when she entered, shuffling stacks of papers and looking a little harried. There were two huge piles of galley proofs; sample pages printed from newly-set type which would have to be read and corrected for typographical errors before they could be locked up in the printing forms and the press run begun.
Karen left the door to his office open but he signalled to her to close it. She did. The pudgy face broke into a smile as he said:
"I don't know how you'll feel about this but I'm hoping you'll be pleased. It's a chance for you to make some extra money. I want you to read these galleys this weekend and correct them so that the-typesetters can get to work on them the first thing Monday."
Karen hesitated. "I did some proofreading in school, Mr. DeWilde, and I know the correction marks, but I've never done it professionally."
He brushed it aside with a wave. "It's not all that hard," he assured her. "Of course readers don't usually correct galley proofs but this time we're stuck. Two proofreaders are sick and production is waiting for this."
"I'm willing to try."
"I'll be there to help you. I'm going to take them home with me tonight and get started on them. Tomorrow morning you come out to my place on Long Island and complete the job."
It didn't sound right although she couldn't explain why.
"Couldn't I do it just as well at my place?"
He shook his head. "Not on your first time at proofing. I want them double-read. You go over them first and then I'll read them to pick up what you miss." Then, with what was probably intended to be a winning smile: "You understand, you'll be paid for this. Regular overtime; time-and-a-half of your usual daily rate."
That made it sound better. With an extra check she could clear up a couple of small bills. Or, maybe get a new blouse to wear with that pink skirt on her next date with Doug.
"How do I get out there?"
"Take the 9:14 tomorrow morning out of Long Island Railroad Station. Change trains at Jamaica onto the South Shore local and get off at Baldwin. That's the first stop after Rockville Center. I'll meet you at the station and drive you to my place in Baldwin Harbor. It's about forty-five minutes on the train and another five in the car.
"Here-he held out a ten dollar bill-"this will take care of your train and subway fare and leave some over for pocket cash. Your extra pay will be in your next check."
She took the bill, thanked him and left. On the way back to her desk she kept telling herself that she ought to be happy that it was a nice break, that she hadn't had anything planned for the weekend.
It did very little good. She was still up tight about the whole thing.
DeWilde was waiting for her at the station when her train pulled in. He was wearing light yellow wash slacks and deck shoes. A startlingly colorful Hawaiian print shirt was open at his throat. Somehow he looked more Californian than anything she had seen in the east. It provided a little nostalgia for her.
He gallantly assisted her into his car, then headed down Central Avenue toward the harbor, turning left when they got to the waterfront.
"My place is a little further around the cove," he explained. "I'm right on the Sound and have a boat dock on the water, but I like lots of privacy so when I built I also bought the property on each side of me.
Karen caught her breath when they came to the house. It was like something you'd read about in Better Homes & Gardens. An eight foot high, solid brick wall screened it from view of the road, giving only a glimpse of the house through high wrought iron gates. They swung open electrically as the car approached, closing behind it as DeWilde drove down the curving driveway and up to the Colonial front door. High, white colonnades supported the veranda around the second story: on each side the shimmering blue of Long Island Sound stretched away, a few sail boats dotting its azure surface.
"It's just utterly beautiful," Karen murmured.
"I'm very proud of my place," he replied with simple sincerity. "I'm happier here than I've ever been before in my life. Sometimes the ride into town on that Toonerville Trolley they call a railroad is a bit of a blister, but when I get home here again in the evening it's worth it."
The uneasiness flickered into life again. "Do you live here alone?"
It brought a sort of half-smile. "Well, I have lots of friends who stay with me from time to time, but right now I'm alone. A housekeeper comes in five days a week but I always batch it on Saturday and Sunday."
Karen had an urge to run but fought it down. Get to work. Start reading galleys. She was sure that if she just got to work and kept at it steadily all day it would soon go by and she'd be on her way home.
He led her into a study which faced the water. The sliding panels of a glass wall opened out onto the boat dock, where a large cabin cruiser was tied up.
"like boats?" he asked, as he gestured toward it. "Maybe we'll go for a ride later if we get enough work done."
"Oh, I'll really have to go as soon as we're finished with the proofs," she replied quickly. "I have some things I want to do tonight."
"So have I, honey, so have I."
She didn't like his reply at all so she sat down and attacked the first stack of proofs. She flipped through a few of the pages, found no correction marks at all. Apparently he hadn't done any work on them the night before.
She picked up a pencil from the desk top and started to read, rapidly but carefully. She concentrated almost hypnotically upon her task, determined to be oblivious to DeWilde and the sound of his movements around the room. By the time she got to page ten she heard his steps recede. Even the thick carpet couldn't muffle the sound of his going.
She breathed more easily for a few minutes but tightened up again when she heard him return. From the comer of her eye she could see he was now dressed in bathing shorts, also a colorful Hawaiian print such as men wore back home. She simply had to glance at him. She noted expensive thong sandals on his feet. He wore nothing on the upper half of his body and Karen was revolted by the thick mass of black hair which curled from every portion of his chest and back. Its black swirls were relieved only by the white skin around his paps; otherwise, she thought with an hysterical inner laugh, he looked like an animated bear rug. One could skin this man and make a fur coat out of him, she reflected, and the idea of doing it pleased her.
She only flicked her eyes over him and was again engrossed in her reading. She heard the thong sandals scuff across the carpet until he was behind her and then, with a shock, felt herself being surrounded by those great, pudgy, hairy, bear-like arms.
"Please, Mr. DeWilde," was all she could gasp out before a hand was cupping itself over each of her breasts.
She didn't scream. Without even thinking about it she knew to do so would be useless. Instead she threw her body forward, trying to break free so that she could run. He seemed to be expecting this for as she moved he clenched his fingers into the soft flesh of her breasts, digging them in until she did scream-a shriek of pure pain.
An evil voice breathed into her ear: "Did I hurt you, honey? I'm sorry, but you shouldn't jump like that."
She tried to twist away from him but his strength was too great. She was horribly frightened-more terrified than she had ever been in her life. Her only thought was that he had gone mad and was going to kill her. So great was her innocence that the idea he might be lusting for her never entered her head.
As she hesitated for a fraction of a second, he slid one hand down to encircle her wrist, placed the other on her shoulder and twisted her around so that she faced him.
"Now, don't get excited, honey. We're going to have fun and you're going to enjoy every minute of it."
Again she tried to pull away but the movement put a strain on her wrist. The pain made her stop. She managed to gasp out:
"Please, Mr. Wilde-you're breaking my arm."
"No I'm not. I know how tightly to hold a girl. Now, relax and let's enjoy ourselves."
She tried to control her emotions; appear calm so that he'd let go of her. That would give her a chance to run. She ceased struggling but DeWilde kept his grip on her wrist; a grasp so tight that it shut off the circulation to her hand. She could feel her fingertips already beginning to tingle in pain. She remained motionless, hoping to lure him into releasing the pressure.
With his free hand, DeWilde gripped the waist band of his trunks and pulled them down below his hips, working them loose until they slid down to his ankles. Lifting each foot alternately he kicked them off. They sailed across the room and he stood before her naked except for the thong sandals on his feet. The pendulous, pudgy belly swung free, but below it bulged a fully inflamed penis; a huge, ugly, mottled man tool which projected straight out from beneath the shelf of his belly.
It was obscene, that turgid cock; vulgar in its sheer size and strength and rigidity. No man should have a cock like that. It ought to be attached to a horse or a bull. He had been circumcised and the missing flesh of the foreskin left the purple-blue glans even more prominent; even more utterly revealed as a great ugly cock head.
It would have been a little frightening even to an experienced woman but to Karen it was an unbelievably monstrous sight. She had read much about sex acts in recent weeks. Unavoidably she had thought about sex a little and wondered what it would be like when the time came for her first experience. However, nothing in her imagination had prepared her for the situation she was in now, or for the sight of that terrifying cock which confronted her.
This was the second when the realization came to her. This man wasn't a mad killer. He was going to-to do sex to her. So confused was her mind that the word "fuck" could not be formed mentally in spite of the many times she had read it recently. She was driven to the most abject reaches of terror by the idea that this man was going to try to place that awful thing within her body.
She threw herself backwards in another attempt to pull away from him. Her wrists didn't hurt so badly this time, since his numbing grip had brought with it a certain anesthesia. She got away to arm's length but DeWilde roughly pulled her back to him. With his free hand he grabbed the front of her dress, his fingers curling down inside the modestly veed neckline, grabbing dress, underslip and brassiere all in one handful.
He ripped at it and even the three layers of material were no match for the man's bull-like strength. The garments tore but their resistance pulled her down to her knees in front of him as the fabric gave way. He grabbed the edges of the rip and brutally stripped the ragged garments from her as one would shuck an ear of corn. As he leaned over her, Karen looked up and saw his great sagging balls swinging back and forth above her in their sack of flesh. On top of them stood that terrible tool, its cock-head visibly throbbing with lust for her.
It only took one fast swipe of his hairy arm to rip her flimsy underpanties from her thighs and then she lay before him on the carpet nude, blushing, terrified, frantically trying to cover her nakedness with her free arm and failing. The ripe, full, young breasts poured over her forearm; the silken peach of hair gleamed between her legs. She tried to roll over but only revealed her fine, young buttocks by so doing.
For the first time, DeWilde spoke. "For Christ's sake, don't be a God damned prick teaser with me, you little slut." He stopped speaking long enough to plant one brutal, stinging slap of his open hand across her face. The blow had such force behind it that it snapped her head to one side, producing almost as much pain in her wrenched neck muscles as it caused her cheek.
Then he went on: "No fucking broad is going to get me all hot and then walk out on it, you understand? You got it hard and by Christ you're going to make it soft again."
His words had no impact on her fear-numbed brain. She continued to struggle on the floor even though he was kneeling on her now, one paunchy leg doubled beneath him and his knee pushing its way into her soft belly.
The pressure forced the wind from her. Some consciousness of his words seeped through to her. She heard him grating through his clenched teeth at her:
"Now, there's two ways we can do this, baby. I can slap the shit out of you first and then fuck you, or you can quiet down and take the fucking without the beating. Which shall it be?"
She was incapable of making a decision. Terror, disgust, shame, sheer horror kept her from forming a conscious thought. She had to gasp to get air into her lungs because of his knee in her belly. She had to lie quietly to breathe at all. Taking her quietness for consent, he swiveled around until he was kneeling astride her supine body. His huge testicles dangled above her delicate chin. His swollen penis stuck out above her head.
Holding her down with his thighs, he twisted the fingers of both hands into her hair; pulled her head up to him, straining her neck muscles cruelly.
"Get it nice and wet for me, baby, to make it go in easier."
With that he thrust his hips forward, slamming the end of his cock against her clenched lips. In her fear she was hardly conscious of its pressure. Seeing her resistance, he gave the hair in his hands a vicious twist. As she opened her mouth to scream he crammed the end of his cock into it, ramming it so far down her throat that she gasped and choked.
"If you bite it, baby, I'll rip your hair out by the roots," he warned her. "Just suck it nicely and tickle it with your tongue."
He began a coital movement with his hips. "I'm fucking you in the mouth, baby, and oooh it's wonderful," he crooned, as he pumped his tool in and out of her straining mouth, her lips stretched to the limit to contain its enormousness. "God, honey, you're playing it like a flute," he groaned in his joy. "You're a natural born cock sucker."
Karen felt a sticky goo begin to leak from the red-eyed hole she had seen in the end of it. The warm stickiness of the liquid coated her tongue; trickled over it back toward her throat. She realized that this was man juice coming put of him and into her. She was afraid she was going to be sick and throw up; knew instinctively that if she did it would infuriate DeWilde and make him even more cruel. With an effort of will she forced herself to let the nauseating juice flow down her throat.
"That's enough of that," he said in a few minutes, regretfully. "Any more and you'll make me come." He lifted himself from her body and lay on the floor beside her, giving her a playful slap on her thigh which was hard enough to leave the mark of his hand behind. "Spread 'em wide, baby, and I'll give you some cock that you'll never forget."
Karen neither obeyed nor disobeyed his order. She was so far into shock that she was incapable of responding in any manner. Dumbly, with eyes of a frightened animal, she looked up at him as he rolled onto her body. His great, gross weight mashed her flat beneath him. His flabby chest pressed down upon her high, firm young breasts, spreading them out into distended blobs toward her armpits.
He thrust his knees between her thighs, spreading her legs. He cupped his knees behind hers and pulled his legs upward, spread-eagling her beneath him. He slid an experienced hand between their bodies, grabbed his penis with it and directed the head of it to her virginal opening. He found the lips of her vagina with the tip of his forefinger, brushed them back and put the head of his cock against her hole, pushing it down to the rear of her slit where he knew the entrance to her body would be. He gave a tentative lift of his hips to force the head of his cock into her, past the tightly constricted lips which shielded her opening. The saliva from Karen's no-longer-virginal mouth had lubricated the first few inches of DeWilde's penis and this, plus his own seminal seepage, permitted the huge, oval-shaped head of it to slide inside her up to the ridge at the base. Even this slight penetration distended her delicate flesh horribly; sent a surge of pain roaring through her delicate parts which brought her to full consciousness in a hurry. She screamed; a penetrating shriek torn from her tortured body.
The sound excited DeWilde. He began to wriggle his hips back and forth, putting pressure on her opening. It took him half a dozen strokes to force another inch of cock inside her, the girl continuing to scream all the while. Another thrust, and DeWilde felt his cock head enter the beginning of her vaginal passage. He pushed fiercely, ramming the knob in further; felt the tight flesh around it stretch, distend, and begin to throb against him in agony.
Karen was screaming now as if her tortured organ was being ripped out of her by the metal instrument of a Spanish Inquisitor. Her shrieks echoed through the huge room.
DeWilde stopped his thrusting to gasp for breath. While doing so he fumbled around for the remnants of her clothing which lay beneath them. He found a portion of her dress, pulled it out and stuffed a wad of it into her open, screaming mouth.
"You're giving me a headache with that noise, baby," he grunted.
He wriggled his hips experimentally. He gave another hard but short thrust with his prick; felt the end of it come up against solid resistance from uninvaded territory.
"Jesus Christ, honey, that's the tightest hole I've ever been into in my life. Good thing I've got the granddaddy of all hard-ons or I'd never make it."
He continued his prodding of her, holding the cloth into her mouth with one hand but feeling her screams still vibrating against the fabric. He withdrew his cock until just the head of it was still inside her, then skillfully rubbed it in and out, in and out, to work her juices into his flesh. Feeling that it was slicker now, he returned to the attack. He pressed it in to the point where he had been before, increased his drive and conquered another fraction of an inch of the tight passage.
Again he retreated, satisfying himself with expanding the area he had already achieved. He had fully half of his cock inside her now, but that half was enough to fill her completely.
In her excruciating pain, Karen could feel every millimeter of the hateful organ's progress. First the bloated head had slid into her and her vaginal lips had been stretched around the shaft. Then the horrible snake-like thing had gone in further and she had felt her inner passage being stretched to receive it. Now the fierce cock head was up into her belly. The lips of her vagina which had been stretched at the beginning were now drawn tight until, in her pain, they were like a rubber band drawn to the breaking point. She could feel them cutting into the meat of the awful shaft which probed her.
Then he was ramming it into her again and now she felt a sharp, stabbing, new pain. The monstrous thing had been shoved clear into her until it was encountering her rectum; jabbing forcefully against the thin wall of membrane which separated her uterus from her bowels. He was going to kill her! He was going to stab her to death from the inside!
DeWilde rested for a few seconds, forced himself to relax, and found his second wind. Redoubling his efforts, he thrust and withdrew, stretching the passage to fit his own hugeness, banging up against a solid backstop on his inward movement, feeling the tightness of her cunt wrapped around his cock on the backstroke, like circling, tightly clenched fingers.
Karen's constant screaming had given way now to hoarse moans of exhaustion. Her vocal cords were frayed, as tortured as the membranes of her cunt, but her agony still required vocal relief. To De Wilde, his half-entry of her, with half of his cock still exposed to the air, was the utmost in provocation. He became like an aroused bull.
"Stretch your legs wide, you miserable slut," he raged at her. "Spread that cunt and let me in or I'll kill you."
Karen was past hearing or responding to commands. She had no idea what he meant; had no thought of anything. All she knew was the pain of that ugly thing she had seen which was now hidden in her; which filled her full; which was ramming against her rectum and which was producing more torture than she knew a human could stand.
She was flowing woman juices now in a steady stream. The liquid drained down the portion of his cock which was still exposed, exciting him like a bitch dog in heat arouses a stud. With a bellow like the animal he was, DeWilde reached both hands down to slide them back of her knees. Then, with a roar, he pulled her legs upward, forcing them to bend back upon themselves until he could slip her legs over his shoulders. He reached forward, grasping her shoulders with his hands, pulled her body toward him. Then he raised his body on his knees and, with another roar, thrust himself into her now-distended opening.
In this position he had Karen rocked up onto the small of her back, the only portion of her body touching the floor. The rest of her was bent almost into a ball, her legs spread the full width of his shoulders, her thighs pulled far apart by his barrel chest and belly forced between. It exposed her utterly; distended her to the fullest, while at the same time uncovering the innermost recesses of her body to the exploration of his throbbing cock.
Raised on his knees he could use the full weight of his body to hammer his cock-hard ram into her. He did. He rested his pudgy, heavy frame on the end of his cock; literally leaned on it. The flaring head of it sunk down into her agonized flesh. DeWilde felt it come up against the solid flesh at the end of her passage. He lay there with his weight resting on it. The pressure mounted against her tender inner flesh and suddenly, something gave way. like a tent stake driven into soft earth, the remaining half of his monstrous shaft plunged into her in one movement.
Karen's torn flesh gushed blood and the liquid added to his penetration. He was bottomed out in her now, ever bit of his cock solidly inside her. He began to thrust and retrieve, thrust and retrieve, arousing himself to climax, merely using her tight cunt to masturbate himself to ejaculation. At every stroke his testicles banged up solidly against her rectum, itself so distended by the stretching of her vagina above it that it seemed as if it, too, must be torn.
DeWilde was in ecstasy now. Throwing his weight down upon her upturned buttocks at every stroke, he began to murmur aloud:
"Oh God baby, what a fuck. I got it up into your womb, baby, and I'm gonna squirt my juice right into your baby bucket and make it come out of your ass-hole. Jesus, baby, what a fuck. I never felt a cunt like yours in all my life. Jesus, baby, I think you invented fucking. Aieeeeh-God above, I got it up into your belly."
The gagging cloth had fallen from her mouth by now but her vocal cords, worn from much screaming, could no longer produce the piercing sounds which had shaken the room. She still screamed, but it came out a hoarse, rasping whimper. Every inch of her body was in pain.
When a human body is subjected to torture for a certain time it either goes into shock or creates for itself a certain ability to exist with the pain. For Karen, her body took the latter course. She was certain she was going to die but was now fully conscious, comprehending; heard every word which DeWilde murmured in his ecstasy. She could feel every individual movement and throb which he made. When his last, sudden, full penetration of her had taken place, she felt the knob slide up into her, felt her inner flesh tear, felt the heat of her own blood as it gushed out to surround his cock.
She felt the passage of that knob which she could now clearly visualize run into her all the way, to bang up against her spine; could see in her mind's eye how her own vagina must look, stretched so tightly around the ugly shaft. She could visualize how the cervix of her womb must have been ripped open when the knob had forced its way in.
On every stroke she felt two big fat things ramming against her and she knew it was those big blue balls she had seen, hanging in a wrinkled, hairy sack of flesh, which were slamming up against her rectum. The sensitive little thing at the top of her vagina with which she had played in the bathtub while thinking of Doug was being battered by some bone in this man's body every time he completed one of his agonizing strokes into her, and he must have rammed her a hundred such strokes by now, maybe more. The curly, black hair which grew like a forest around the foul cock, was rubbing against her little thing, burning and irritating it.
Now that Karen knew she was going to die, and that she was probably bleeding to death already, she hoped it would come quickly and bring an end to the pain. If she were lucky she might faint and never know when the end really came. She tried to will herself to die but the thrusting kept on and she lived and the big purple knob kept up its probing of her while the shaft kept her spread out and the big blue balls kept banging her behind.
DeWilde was in full control now; had her clasped tightly to him, rocking with his every movement, knowingly compressing her flesh in her upturned position so that the deepest possible penetration was his. His ecstasy had been succeeded by a coldly analytical delight. He was savoring each sensation, as a wine expert enjoys tiny sips of a good vintage. At length, almost regretfully, he said to her:
"I'm going to juice you now, baby. My cock's getting sore. That sweet little cunt of yours is so tight you've rubbed all the skin off of me." He chuckled. "And when I squirt you, you'll never forget it, because you've pumped up all the come I've got in me."
Instead of speeding, he slowed his pace to a gentle, rubbing motion which almost thoughtfully moved his cock in and out of her. One long, slow stroke into her; a slow, methodical withdrawal which pulled all of it out except the head which he kept stuck into her, the while he felt the cool air of the room against his soaking wet shaft, then back into her again, all the way to the uttermost depth which to her cunt felt like a tight buttonhole around the base of the head of his cock, then back into her again like a porpoise plunging down to the depths.
All the while he chattered to himself in his happiness:
"God sweetie, what a fuck. You could make a million with that little hole. Oh God, baby, it's starting now. The juice is coming into my balls. It's coming up my cock-oh Christ, baby, there it is--oh AIEEEEEEEEEEEEH!"
He rammed himself tightly into her, compressed her flesh so that their loins were welded into one, probed her with his tool until he too felt real pain from the compression of his flesh against the bones of her spine, and exploded into a shuddering orgasm. It was not just one ejaculation, this come of his. He was so deeply aroused by her tightness, by the great length of time which he had spent fucking her after fully entering her, that his prostate was determined to empty itself as a reward.
When his cock began to throb, the ugly purple head of it began to distend and relax, then distend again, meanwhile pumping semen into her in successive gouts. He squirted and squirted, as if putting out a fire, and his man juice flowed into her every cavity.
He felt almost frightened as he felt himself discharging into her so fully. He had never had a come like this, he realized, in spite of the uncounted numbers of women he had laid. His huge tool filled her so completely, her cunt was stretched so tightly around him, that there wasn't any place for his come to go. His first squirt filled the tiny part of her womb which was not full of his cock; his second squirt overflowed into her uterus and then ran back down and out of her body. He continued to pump his jizz into her and he could feel every squirt twice-once when it shot up the inside of his cock and out of her, the second time when it flowed back again on the outside of his cock between his body and hers.
He could feel the stickiness of his own come now as it emerged from her cunt and trickled out from between her vagina's lips, soaking his balls, then trickling off to run down the crack of her ass-hole. He shot her again, felt his juice come out to soak his balls some more and had an hysterical desire to laugh. Jesus, he thought, I've had many a man tell me to go fuck myself but I never thought I'd really do it.
For Karen, DeWilde's climax provided a new frontier in agonizing pain. She had thought she was to die before this; had thought she had already experienced the utmost in pain the body can endure. Her agony had produced its own anesthesia and she had been able to live with it. She had only vaguely understood what he meant when he said he was going to "come." She knew it meant something would come out of the nasty little red eye she had seen in the end of that ugly thing, and that this was what men always wanted to do to women, and in the books that was always the end of the thing they were doing.
But nothing had prepared her for the sudden feeling of something exploding inside of her. She felt what she knew was the head of the cock, pressed tightly up against the end of her spine, pushing back against the inside of her rectum, swell and grow until it felt like a football inside of her. It stretched her insides until she knew they were hopelessly torn, and this great throbbing thing moved in and out and around inside her, and then the scalding hot fluid began to gush.
It was the same sticky, hot stuff he had leaked into her mouth earlier, she realized, and which she had forced herself to swallow so as not to infuriate him. Now he was shooting some more of that awful stuff right into her body, where she could never get it out again. Now she felt the heat and the creaminess of it squirting into her womb. Now he was shooting some more of it and it was flowing back down out of her cavity and running down the outside of her.
She felt him shoot her again and this load ran back out quickly. She felt it course its way down between her thighs, trickling into the opening of her upturned rectum, and she thought my God, it's going to get into that opening too. He's killing me and shooting me all over with that stuff.
Above it all was the pain; her real, utter climax of pain, which all the previous pain had merely been building up to. With every squirt of his juice DeWilde's shaft expanded, the head of his cock throbbed, and every throb sent exquisite agony through every nerve in her body. Every time his cock head throbbed the agony echoed through Karen, soaring up into her head with dizzying pain. One final, hoarse rasp of a scream bubbled up from her tortured throat, and the blessed relief of unconsciousness came over her.
DeWilde felt her body go limp beneath him but thought she was merely relaxing after an orgasm of her own. He lay on top of her, enjoying the feeling of his cock getting soft; reveling in the sensation of his prick soaking in a combination of his juices and hers.
"Soak it until its nice and soft, baby; that's what a woman has a cunt for," was what he murmured down at the unconscious girl beneath him.
He lay there, relaxing and enjoying, finally becoming a little surprised that she wasn't asking him to get off; telling him how heavy he was, as women usually did after climaxing with him. He touched her cheek. He realized she had passed out. He lifted himself from her, picked her up in his arms and carried her to a bedroom.
As he dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, he stared down at her for a second, then said aloud:
"Baby, you're the best fuck I ever had. And to think I've had you around the office all this time and let you hold out on me."
CHAPTER III
Karen's state of coma lasted for hours, gradually giving way to a fitful sleep. Delirious dreams plagued her which finally quieted into restful slumber. DeWilde, eventually becoming a little uneasy, looked in on her from time to time. He noted the change when her heavy breathing indicated the beginning of a real sleep and, less worried, went to bed himself. He used the bedroom next to the one she was in so that he'd hear her if she awakened. He didn't really like to sleep with women; much preferred to finish off his sexual experiences in a bed all to himself.
He slept soundly, waking up around nine Sunday morning. His first thought was of Karen and the day before. Jesus, what a fuck. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about it. He relived every second of it, enjoying his sensations a second time; enjoying the feeling of the erection which the memory gave him.
He yawned a couple of times, caressing his erect cock with an affectionate touch. He really loved his cock, he reflected. It was the most wonderful thing he had, even finer than his successful publishing business, his beautiful home, his fine car. He loved all of those things, too; but above all he loved his beautiful cock.
He stretched, stood up and removed his shorts, the only sleeping garment he ever wore. He went into the bathroom and urinated, having great difficulty in hitting the bowl because of the way his cock was sticking up in the air. He had to bend over, squat a little and push it down to make it pee into the fixture.
Relieved, he brushed his teeth and removed a jar of sun tan cream from the medicine chest. With this in his hand he strode purposefully across his bedroom and into Karen's.
The girl was awake and conscious. At least, her eyes were open, looking upwards as she lay on her back. DeWilde noted a bad bruise on her wrist where he had held her so tightly. Her cheek and eye were discolored where he had slapped her and there were some scratches around her mouth; from when he had gagged her, probably. He regretted slightly that he had made her look this way. She wasn't anywhere nearly so pretty as she had been yesterday, but what the hell-she'd heal, and there wasn't anything wrong with that nice little cunt which had so delighted him.
"Good morning, sweetie," he said jovially. "How's my girl today?"
There was no reply. Even her eyes did hot turn toward him. Only her regular breathing indicated that she was living.
He moved to the side of the bed, threw his shoulders back and thrust his hips forward. He swung his hips from side to side so that the erect cock with the purple head wiggled in response.
"See that beautiful thing, baby?" he asked. "Let's have a little morning fuckie fuckie and then I'll drive you back to town." Slowly, with relish, he opened the sun tan cream, dabbled his fingers in it and began to work it into the skin of his prick.
"This will make is easier on both of us," he explained. "To tell you the truth, my cock is still a little sore from yesterday. How did you ever manage to keep such a tight twat?"
No reply. Completing his lubrication, he took hold of the bed covers and flung them back across the foot. Karen lay absolutely unmoving; stared at the ceiling, hands thrown upward above her head, utterly passive.
Something about her acquiescence excited him more than her violent resistance of yesterday. He wasn't going to have to fight her this time-she was just going to lay there and let him feel the flesh of her body surround his, let him dump his semen into her without resisting. Good. That's what women were meant to be, basically. A receptacle for his semen.
Now let's see, how should he do her? From the side, with her leg thrown Tip over his belly, so he could watch her tits jiggle as he rammed her? Or maybe roll her over onto her hands and knees so that he could fuck her dog-fashion and watch his cock slide in and out of her twat? Maybe he should lay on his back and make her ride the pony? That way he could watch her tits and see his cock working in her too.
It was a hell of a decision to make. As he pondered he looked down at her bare body, white flesh gleaming in the bright daylight of the room, ripe breasts moving gently with the rhythm of her breathing, golden hair concealing the crevice of her womanhood. His brutal cock gave a pulse with excitement and he thought, what the hell-fuck her the ordinary way. It's usually the best.
He threw himself on top of her, crushing her into the bed. Frantically his hands searched between them found his tool and aimed it into the proper place. He hunched up his thighs and gave a thrust and in one motion his cock slid into her body and all the way home.
Karen's uterine passages were still full of the liquid with which he had injected her the day before since she had hardly moved since he dropped her on the bed, and with the lubrication which he had applied to himself he entered her, if not easily, at least without fierce resistance. He felt their pubic hair make contact as his cock head bottomed out against her spine; enjoyed the sensation of the lips of her vulva being stretched tightly around the base of his shaft. He even thought he could feel her little clitoris pressing up against the bone above the base of his cock.
Oh, God, ecstasy. He was getting the greatest fucking from the greatest little cunt in the world. Take it easy, now; don't hurry it. Fuck it good and fuck it slow and make it last a long time.
Karen was accustomed to pain now and did not even quiver when he entered her. It was still agony for her; her torn membranes began to bleed afresh and her vagina still felt as if it were being ripped apart. But the pain was not as bad as yesterday, even if her feeling of utter degradation was far stronger. She lay there quietly, absolutely unmoving, passively letting him have his will of her and hoping that death would come as her release.
DeWilde continued his thrusting into her body, concentrating every portion of his being upon the enjoyment of the sensations being created in his organs. He savored each one of them in turn as he pursued his rhythmic movements in her unwilling body. There-that's the feel of his balls banging against her little ass-hole. He'd have to fuck her in the ass-hole, too, some day; bet that's a tight little rosebud. There-that's her curly blonde pussy hair rubbing up against the inside of his thighs. Christ, what a pretty little pussy she has. I'm going to have to suck her off some day, while she sucks me. Usually I don't like to go down on girls because it makes them think they're equals, but I'll suck this little cunt off with pleasure.
That's what we'll do next time, he resolved, as he transferred his concentration to the feeling in the base of his cock shaft. We'll swap sucks. She sucked great yesterday and I'll bet she's even better when she sucks a man all the way off.
Now the base of his cock. That's where the real sensation is. No matter what a girl does to the head of your cock you can't come unless something good is happening to the three or four inches right at the base of the shaft where it comes out of your body.
This was where this little broad excelled. Her tight little twat felt like a big rubber band stretched around his shaft. Every time he drove into her and moved back out again it massaged his shaft, like a skilled cock sucker uses her fingers when blowing a man off.
Oh Jesus, he was getting there now. His cock head was pressed right up against her back from the inside. He could feel the hole in the end of it bottoming out on every in thrust. It would be leaking now; dribbling little drops of semen and sperm into her in preparation for the big thrust. The stuff he was leaking would be flowing around inside her now. It couldn't drain out because he had her hole plugged up so damn tight, like a wine cork driven into a bottle. It was so tight now, what with the fluid he had added, that on every backstroke there was a little suction; a sort of drawing sensation on his whole cock head.
Jesus, that was it: she was so tight she felt like a woman sucking him off; drawing hard on the end of his cock with her lips and tongue, meanwhile massaging his shaft thoroughly with tightly-clenched and circling fingers. When he banged the hole in it against her spine it felt like a girl's tongue tip thrusting down into it, reaming the hole and seemingly attempting to crawl inside of it.
He hadn't intended to go off so soon but the realization of the similarity in sensation between a skilled blow job and fucking this cunt pushed him over the edge. He had time for only three decisive strokes before he was again erupting in her, gushing his sperm into her very vitals and feeling it squirt back out to drip down between them.
He relaxed, rolling off her more quickly this time. He lay beside her, savoring what it felt like to be utterly drained; have every last drop of his semen pumped out past his prostate and into her uterus. He hadn't been so utterly empty since-well, let's see: when he was sixteen he used to fuck that little thirteen-year-old-Mary, that was it. He'd banged her as many as five times in one day. She used to be able to pump him dry like this one. Last year there had been the authoress, the brunette-Vivienne-who used to suck him off until he couldn't come another drop.
That was all she liked to do, he remembered; just suck and be sucked. Afraid of getting pregnant, probably, and scared to take the pill. He never did decide whether she really liked him, or was just willing to do anything to get published. He'd finally bought a book from her, he remembered, and lost his ass on it.
He winced. No blow job was worth the bundle he dropped on that shitty novel of hers.
He thought back, trying to recall other fucks that even approached this one, and eventually dropped off into a doze.
Karen realized her bladder was bursting and rolled away from the bestial thing laying beside her. She got up, searched until she found the bathroom and sat down to relieve herself. From force of habit she glanced down between her legs. She saw a great mass of white, sticky fluid drain out of her before her urine began to flow. It was some seconds before the muscles of her bladder relaxed enough for her relief to begin and during that time she stared in both fascination and horror as the gooey stuff which DeWilde had twice deposited in her drained out to drip into the water of the bowl.
That was it, she thought. Her ultimate degradation. This filthy, dirty thing called sex had been done to her and it meant that a man wanted to squirt this stuff into you. The books said it was beautiful and exciting and felt wonderful. She knew they were lies, now. It was shameful and degrading and horribly, horribly painful. It made you dirty all the way through; dirty deep inside you where no soap and water could ever reach to wash it out.
Where could she go now and what could she do? She never wanted to see a man again, ever. She couldn't go back to the office. She could never do that job again, because every person there could look at her face and tell what had happened to her.
She thought of Doug. It would be terrible never to see him again. But she couldn't. He'd know instantly what kind of a girl she was now. There was really no point in seeing him anyway. She certainly wasn't going to marry him or any other man. Sex was part of marriage, and she never wanted a man to do sex to her again.
Her mad urge to get away from this house and this horrible man was tempered by a wonderment-where would she go? Back to her apartment, perhaps, but she couldn't stay there. If she just tried to hide inside Doug would come looking for her. She could never face him again. Too, she'd have to come out eventually to buy food, and to make money somehow, and then people on the street would see her.
She couldn't sit here on the toilet any longer. She glanced down again; noticed the water in the bowl was tinged with blood. It had produced a burning sensation when it flowed out of her bladder. That would be the damaged tissue up inside her, she realized. She didn't really care how much she had been injured. What was important right now was to get away. How?
Karen wiped herself and returned to the bedroom. DeWilde was awake now and staring at her.
So smashed was her psyche, so completely degraded was her picture of herself, that she felt no hint of embarrassment to stand in front of him nude. Twenty-four hours before, to stand thus even in front of her doctor would have suffused her with shame. Now, in her deepest subconsciousness was the feeling that her body was no longer of value to anyone, including herself. Her complete nudity meant no more to her than if only her hands or feet were bare.
Another change which had come over her was that she was no longer afraid of DeWilde. True, he might be planning to kill her, but it didn't matter really. It might be a solution to her situation. It might even save her from having to do it herself.
"I'd like to leave here as soon as possible, Mr. DeWilde," she said to him in a perfectly flat voice, staring out of the window at the blue Sound as she spoke.
He was puzzled at her matter-of-factness. He was accustomed to various reactions in this situation. Sometimes it was fulsome praise of his magnificent cock and the great job he had done on them with it. Sometimes they belonged to the you-bastard-wait-till-I-see-my-lawyer school. Sometimes it was an abject query, how soon may I come again?
And sometimes, of course, it was a coy hint that maybe he should furnish an apartment for them and move them in, so that each of them could save all of it for each other. This was the ploy which irritated him most. Dumb broads; did they think he'd even spend good money for it, when he could get all of the fucking he could handle for nothing?
But this one was weird. There she was standing in front of him with her bare ass hanging out behind, her bare quim hanging out in front, both bare boobs swinging around up at the top, and asking when she could leave as casually as if she were standing in his office asking him if he had any further instructions.
Better get rid of this kook. Keep her under observation for a few weeks before inviting her back. If she seemed stable he might get a good thing going here. His friends would sure think she was great. They'd think him a real winner, if he showed this broad off as his during a party at his house.
"Sure, honey, right away. Let's have some coffee and eggs before we leave, though." He looked at her nakedness and grinned. "I'll find you some clothes around here to wear home. Afraid we got the things you wore down here-a little mussed."
The mention of her destroyed clothing meant nothing to her, as sparse as her wardrobe was. She just wanted to get out of there. In the last few seconds Karen had made up her mind exactly what she would do. Get back to her apartment, go to the makeup box where the cash from yesterday's pay check reposed, pack a few things and get on a Greyhound bus. A bus going anywhere. Boston, or Detroit, it didn't matter. She would have enough cash to live for two or three weeks and she'd find work of some kind. Even if she didn't, the main thing was to get away from here and among strangers. That would give her time to take stock of herself and decide what to do with her life.
DeWilde rose. "Come on into the kitchen with me while I get us something to chew on." She followed him like a trained dog. He was naked; offered her nothing with which to cover herself. Quite uncaring she walked behind him to the kitchen. She stood there passively until he pointed to a chair; sat down in it when he gestured for her to do so.
She watched him as he got coffee, eggs and toast going. "You're quite a girl, Karen," he said to her affably as he worked. "I've never had an experience with anyone like that before. You are an exquisite joy to make love to." DeWilde prided himself that he seldom, if ever, used obscene words in front of either man or woman. Sometimes in the office it was necessary to utter them when they were part of the context of a book, and once in a long while he spoke them to help break in a new reader (as he had done with Karen) but generally his speech was snow-pure.
In his private thoughts, he invariably used mental language as foul as anything to be heard in the most depraved segments of society. To a certain extent it was a form of self-stimulation and, when in the grip of sexual passion, it added to his enjoyment to speak as foully as possible to his partner.
Karen made no reply. His euphemistic phrase "make love to" as a reference to what he had done to her failed to impinge upon her consciousness. He pursued it a little further as the eggs sizzled.
"Have you had a lot of lovers, Karen?" he asked. "I'll bet a beautiful girl like you has been beating boys off with a stick ever since she was ten."
In her depressed condition the question didn't matter and neither did answering it. "I've never had a lover," she said flatly.
DeWilde was startled. "Well, not a lover, then, but many sexual experiences?"
"I never had a sexual experience of any kind," still in the same dead tone.
He almost spattered hot grease on his bloated belly.
"Are you trying to convince me that yesterday was the first time that you-that you were a-well, virgin?" The word was so completely incredible in the world in which DeWilde lived that somehow he was embarrassed to utter it.
Without rancor, without emotion of any kind, she replied: "I'm not trying to convince you of anything, Mr. DeWilde. It's the truth, but if you don't believe me it doesn't matter."
Even as exhausted as his cock was, it gave a little twitch where it hung between his legs at the admission. Sweet sufferin' Christ, no wonder it had been such a sweat to get it into her. She was a fucking virgin. That had been a real genuine hymen he had popped when he rammed her. Jesus, he hadn't had a virgin for-my God, since high school days. The last cherry he took was Mabel Calhoun, when she was fifteen years old and he was nineteen. She had screamed like this girl did when he put it into her and his cock was nowhere nearly so big then as it is today. He remembered she had raised hell the first time, and then thought it was pretty good the second and, after their fourth or fifth trick, she had gotten to be a nuisance following him around and begging for it all the time that in disgust he had turned her over to a buddy of his to keep fucked.
He'd never had a cherry since then. He didn't think girls were even born as virgins any more. Now here was a real live one, or had been, and nobody had ever shot stuff into it except him.
He was every thoughtful as he served her and sat down beside her to eat. There could be a lot of problems here, and yet maybe there might be a lot of fun.
DeWilde's calculating mind clicked off the possibilities as he munched his toast in silence. If she ran to a lawyer Monday morning and screamed rape, it might be expensive. Sometimes it took fifteen or twenty thousand dollars to get a broad to shut up. If she complained to the police it would be easier. They were much less expensive to buy off than a smart lawyer. A new car or something like that made them decide there was "insufficient evidence" in a hurry.
That she might be pregnant was trivial. An abortion cost only a few hundred dollars these days and he could see that she had one whether she wanted to or not. Then, a grand or two for a trip abroad would settle that.
On the other hand, there was the possibility that she might be a smart enough broad to realize where her best interests lay. Another trick or two with him and she might decide that fucking wasn't so bad after all. And what a hit she'd be at one of his parties. Just to show her off and let them know that this one had been cherry and he'd gotten it would be the hit of the season. Guests would be green with envy when he told how tight it was and how regularly he was getting it.
She'd get over that screaming soon enough, he was sure. That little thing of hers would stretch to fit his cock, as they always did. He thought with grim humor of the old saying, a cunt will stretch a mile before it will tear an inch.
He noticed Karen had eaten the eggs and toast he had placed before her; mechanically, stoically, but she had eaten. He cleared his throat and asked in the most casual of manners:
"Do we have to hurry? I mean, is there anyone at home waiting for you?"
"No. I live alone."
A pause. "Did you mention to anyone that you were coming out here?"
An older, wiser woman would have replied, sure, I told everyone in the office you told me to come out here and if I'm not back pretty soon a hundred cops will be out here looking for me. Instead, she simply answered:
"No. I don't have anyone to tell."
DeWilde cautioned himself take it easy; explore this thoroughly now to make sure there won't be any unpleasant surprises. While she was in this passive mood, get every bit of information to be had.
"You haven't been in New York very long, have you? It must be a lonesome life for a young girl."
"Yes."
"Have you made any friends?" he prodded.
"No. I haven't met a soul except the people at the office and I only know them to say hello to." Something inside her kept her from mentioning Doug Morgan; shame, perhaps, that she was no longer worthy of him. Maybe she felt protective of Doug; was subconsciously afraid DeWilde might do something to him for being friendly with her; for dating her.
DeWilde made his decision. Karen was going to stay with him for a time. She was going to meet his friends he was going to show her off, and maybe if they were good guys and things were just right he might let them sample a little of that delicious ass; in exchange, of course, for a sample of the ass they brought with them.
He leaned back and relaxed for a second, the decision made, then stood up and smiled at her. "Why don't you do these dishes up, Karen, while I take care of a couple of other things?"
She immediately arose and began to clear. He strode from the room, returned in a few seconds with the remnants of her clothing from the day before which he stuffed into the chute of the kitchen incinerator, gave her a friendly pat on the fanny as she stood at the sink and again left.
Karen finished the dishes and wandered into the living room. She found DeWilde seated at the desk in the study alcove in front of the phone, a small black notebook in his hand. He was fully dressed in blue denim yachting trousers, a knit sports shirt and deck shoes. He lifted his head and looked at her as she entered. The fact that he was now clad made her conscious of her own nakedness.
"Please, Mr. DeWilde, isn't there something I could put on? I'll have to have something to wear home."
He waved his hand airily. "Oh, we'll get you something to wear when the time comes. I want you to spend a few days with me, or maybe longer, so that we can get to know each other better and you can meet some of my friends. Meanwhile, I love to look at you walking around that way. You have a beautiful body."
Her hands had moved to cover herself in the universal gesture of naked women the world over-one arm across her breasts, the other hand dropped down to conceal her patch of loveliness.
"Please, Mr. DeWilde, just give me anything-one of your robes-anything. I'll make it do to get me home."
DeWilde's expression darkened a bit. He spoke more firmly.
"Listen, Karen, I said I wanted you to spend a few days with me and I meant it. I'm going to have some friends in tonight and I'll give you something to put on before they come. Quite a few of my lady friends have left things here from time to time and I'm sure we can find something which will fit."
The voice dropped to a soft, silky smooth tone which was more menacing than his previous bluster had been. "You stay naked because I like to see you that way, and because I won't have to guard you. You won't try to split if you have nothing on your body but your skin."
Karen had known the feeling of helplessness before in her young life; when she had tried to explain to her parents why she simply had to go to New York, when she had been unable to find work in the big city and had been desperate, when she had been unable to pay her rent; but never had she felt it so keenly as now. She couldn't run and she couldn't hide. Frantically she tried to think of a course of action. There was none, she realized. She couldn't leave without clothes, she couldn't run naked to a neighbor's house screaming, because this place was so vast that DeWilde could run her down and beat her before she got more than a few steps into the yard.
Defeat brings with it a measure of resignation, and Karen knew she was hopelessly, utterly defeated. She was a prisoner in this house until DeWilde decided to let her go, and even without his threatening her she knew that to disobey him would mean a terrible beating. It was obvious as the curly black hair which stuck up from the vee of his shirt. She knew that her only way out of here was compliance, and that if she ever did get out alive she could do nothing to get him punished. She couldn't tell the police this awful thing had happened to her. It was too shameful and must forever be kept concealed. What he had done to her would have to be kept as her secret as well as his.
Karen sank into a chair and let her arms drop to her sides, revealing her beauty. What did it matter if he looked at her. Her body was defiled, worthless, and wasn't even worth covering.
DeWilde picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Hello, George?" [Pause] "What are you and Lorraine doing tonight?" [Pause] "Well, I thought I might have some people in tonight ... Oh, maybe we might have an auction." [Pause] "Sounds like fun to you?" [Pause] "Oh, seven-thirty or eight, maybe ... So long."
Again the dialing.
"Hello, Bruce? DeWilde here. I'm having an auction at my place tonight." [Pause] "Swell. Who are you going to bring? Barbara? Are you still dating her? Sure, she's very nice and a lot of fun. And Gwen? She's with you, too, this weekend? Well, bring her along. We can always use a couple of spares if they're female. No guys, though. Except you, of course." [Pause] "Fine. See you around eight."
The calls went on, with very few refusals. As Karen listened she somehow knew that something very dreadful was going to take place. On the surface it was all very casual, just a friendly get-together, but there was an unwholesome undertone which made Karen panic.
When he finished his calling, DeWilde turned to her with a pleased expression.
"Well, I guess there will be about thirty people here, more or less, if they all show up." He chuckled. "And I'll bet they do. My crowd very seldom misses a party, let alone one of my auctions."
No response. He went on: "We've got hours yet to fix some snacks and get the bar set up." He looked at her musingly. "You know, I think I've got exactly the right thing for you to wear. Linda wore it once about a year ago, and she was a knockout in it."
Karen shuddered.
CHAPTER IV
"There, I guess that does it," said DeWilde as he checked over the sideboard. "That's enough to give 'em something to munch on between drinks. My crowd isn't much of an eating bunch anyway."
He turned to survey the liquor layout on the matching sideboard. A variety of bottle, mixes, silver ice buckets and glasses had been arranged by Karen under his direction.
"That's what they'll go for. Plenty more bottles in the cabinet in the kitchen if they drink those dry."
He turned to Karen. "Time to get ourselves dressed. Come with me."
In the last few hours, Karen had gotten into the habit of doing exactly what he told her to do as soon as he said it. Even her nudity seemed natural, as if she had never worn clothes. It was almost a surprise to her when he mentioned dressing.
She followed him to the master bedroom, off which was a huge bathroom. In addition to the bathtub it contained a stall shower; a king-size one, Karen noted, as he opened the glass door and turned on the water. On the wall alongside it was a handsomely made sign with gold lettering embossed on a mahogany background. It read:
Help Conserve Water-Take a Shower With a Friend.
He stripped off his clothes, dropped them on the floor and motioned to her to enter with him. He lathered himself and then her; scrubbed her back with gentleness and seeming affection. He gave her a washcloth with which to scrub his and she nearly vomited as she worked the lather up in the coarse black hair which covered his back, seeing the soap foam up until it looked like a shampoo. Taking it from her, he lathered it again, using it to wash his private parts well and then hers. A stab of pain went through her when he touched her bruised flesh but no trace of it crossed her face. Finished, they emerged and dried each other.
"Now, see what I've got for you," he told her pleasantly. "A very attractive white outfit, two piece, which will look great against that fair skin and blonde hair of yours."
Karen looked at the clothing he held toward her. It was snow white, of a very soft and sheer knit jersey; flared trousers with the waistline cut low, hip hugger fashion, and a halter top having a plunging neckline.
"It might be a trifle small for you," he told her, "but the material has a lot of stretch to it."
Silently she took the two garments from him. She spoke the single word:
"Underthings?"
He shook his head.
"Don't have any, I'm afraid. But it doesn't matter. Lots of women in our crowd don't wear them and with that beautiful young body of yours, you don't need anything to hold you in."
By now Karen had been in this house, in this man's presence, for a little over thirty hours, and already she had become accustomed to obeying him completely, without arguing. She had abandoned self; had become his robot. She put on the top and trousers, struggling a little to get into them and having to work them up over her slightly-damp body.
"They fit beautifully," DeWilde said approvingly. "They look like they were spray-painted on."
Karen looked at herself in the full length mirror. The deep-vee in the neckline plunged down to the bottom of her bust, slightly revealing the inner curve of each breast. A little collar stood up around her throat. The bottom of the halter top was elasticized and clung to her rib cage tightly just below the bottom of her breasts, giving some support. However, the material was so sheer that the pink coronas around her nipples showed through as a darker circle, while her nipples themselves pushed prominent peaks outward from the cloth.
She looked at the reflection of the pants. The waist was cut low; so low that the tops of her pelvis bones stuck out above them. The rest of the trousers clung to her like skin to a little below her knees, at which point the flare of the legs began. They had no fly or zipper; simply clung because of the elasticity of the material. The cloth was so sheer and clung so tightly that every curve of her lower body was revealed. The rising bone of her mons pubic stuck out like a mound, while her pubic hair showed as a dark patch in the crotch. She looked at herself with utter distaste and then dismissed her image.
Quite calmly she said: "I have a comb and some cosmetics in my handbag, Mr. DeWilde."
He pointed to where it lay on the bed; it was all that remained of what she had brought into this house with her. As she picked it up, he entered the bathroom ahead of her and rummaged around in the medicine chest on the wall.
"Here," he said triumphantly, "I knew there was a tube of Clearasil in there someplace. A little teenager used to visit me who had a bad complexion and used this to hide it Try it on those scratches and the bruise on your cheek."
When she emerged a few minutes later DeWilde appraised her closely. "You look just beautiful," he told her. "The lighting in the living room is much softer than this and no one will see a thing."
He handed her a pair of silver clogs; strap-backed, with high, clubby heels, thick sole and a big silver buckle for decoration. "Put these on," he directed.
When she straightened up after complying, he took a deep breath and said to her firmly:
"Now, I want you to listen to me, and listen carefully, without interruption. From now on you are to call me Roger, or Roge, and not Mr. DeWilde. Furthermore, I want to be proud of you this evening. I want my guests to have fun, and I want you to have fun, and I want to have fun myself. For that reason, you will do exactly as you are told whenever I speak to you, and you will do whatever I tell you to do the second I tell you to do it."
He cleared his throat before finishing his instructions.
"If you should fail in any respect, after my guests leave, I would probably take a notion to put that pretty face of yours in such condition that no amount of Clearasil could ever make it look nice again. Understand?"
Without a second's hesitation Karen replied:
"Yes, er, Roger."
"Good. Now let's go have a drink."
Karen's head buzzed with the noise of conversation, the smoke in the room and the throb of music from the stereo. Not from drinking-she had told DeWilde that she'd never had a drink with alcohol in it and he had replied bluntly that she should stick to ginger ale; that there was nothing he detested more than a drunken woman, especially an inexperienced drunk.
She remembered Roger had introduced the first few guests by name as they arrived but had soon given it up, telling her that she could never remember them all. That was George and Lorraine, she knew, and over there were Gregory and Martha. Bruce was the one who had walked in with two girls, Barbara and Gwen, apparently not married to either of them. All of the rest were just a blur.
When the first couple arrived she had remained seated, arms crossed over her chest, hoping to conceal her near-nudity in the see-through outfit she was wearing. As others joined them she got over that feeling, since most of the women were far more scantily clad, once they shed their summer wraps. Karen was agape at some of the costumes, having no idea that people wore such things in public.
Lorraine had seemed the most modestly dressed at first, in a green cover-up dress with a long wraparound, ankle-length skirt and a neck-high bodice with a buttoned collar. However, when she moved, it became apparent that the skirt was split clear up the side, to her waist, and that she had no undergarments of any kind on under it. When she turned her shoulders the front of the bodice swung open, since it was slit from waist to collar, revealing her breasts alternately, free of the restraint of a bra.
Barbara and Gwen were both wearing tight but sheer sweaters, revealing their breasts as clearly as were Karen's, and mini skirts without any panties on beneath. Bruce had been dancing with them alternately, his arm tightly around them, turning his wrist a little every few seconds so that he hiked the girl's skirts up in the rear. So short were they to begin with that in a very few steps the curves of their buttocks were clearly revealed, to the delight of men and women guests alike. Barbara and Gwen were well aware of what he was doing, although pretending to be obvious, and made no attempt to pull them down.
The men were all wearing short sleeved sports shirts, wash slacks and loafers, of every gay color and pattern imaginable. No one seemed to be paying much attention to the near-nudity; not even to one girl named Eloise who was wearing a scoop-necked dress with the collar cut very full. She had no brassiere on beneath it and was leaning over at every opportunity, which exposed both breasts fully to anyone who cared to look.
The music changed to a hard-rock piece with an insistent beat. A tall brunette with long, flowing hair stood up. She had very large, firm breasts, only partially concealed by a thin silk blouse, unbuttoned down the front but with the tails tied in a knot in front. She began to gyrate wildly to the throb of the music, swinging her head from side to side so that the flowing hair formed a crown of movement around her head. The generous breasts also swung, partially freeing themselves from their concealment. Pagan sensuality expressed itself to the primitive musical structure. Both men and women watched, fascinated, as the writhing, twisting dance of extemporaneous lust continued. The knot worked loose and she flung it off. Her short skirt flapped around her strong, straight thighs as her breasts jiggled in rhythmic counterpoint to the beat of the music.
The music ended and the woman stopped, breathing deeply, her fine breasts rising and falling. The group applauded, sincerely, for she was a good dancer.
Roger stepped forward immediately, took her by the hand and, raising it above her head, called out:
"Okay, men, what am I bid for this fine specimen?"
Karen didn't understand what was happening. Some man shouted "thirty bucks" and another quickly raised him to forty. The bidding ended at seventy-five, with a man called Harold being the winner. When Roger declared the bidding ended, he took a silver bracelet from his pocket which had a short leather leash attached to it. He snapped the metal band around the brunette's wrist and handed the leash to Harold, who promptly led the girl away by it to a corner of the room.
The girl made no move to retrieve her missing blouse. Nothing about the auction made any sense to Karen. She noticed that Barbara and Gwen were sitting alongside each other on a couch which backed up to the chair Karen was in, at a slight angle. They were talking earnestly and Karen found that by listening quite closely, she could hear what they were saying in spite of the music, which was now a somewhat softer melody.
Gwen was asking Barbara:
"What was that all about? I've been to parties here a couple of times before but never to one of these auctions."
"Well, that's Deirdre, and Harold just bought her for seventy-five dollars. He gives that money to Jerry, who brought her. Now, for the rest of the evening, she is his slave and has to do anything he tell her to do."
"Anything?"
Firmly: "Anything."
Gwen, thoughtfully: "Gosh."
"Oh, of course, she could tell everyone to go to hell and walk out if she wanted to. She'd never be invited again and Jerry would probably bawl hell out of her when they got home, but she can always quit the game if she feels like it. Only nobody ever has."
Gwen was still curious. "What does Jerry do with the money?"
"That's his capital for the night. Now he can bid for another girl. Or, he can add some money to it and buy two girls; as many as he wants."
Gwen giggled. "Could he handle two or three of them?"
"Maybe or he might be out to make a coup-corner the market. About a year ago we had a guy who had lots of money and he bought up seven or eight of them-I don't remember how many. The other guys didn't catch on to what he was doing until he had most of the girls in the room on his leash. Then he rented them out by the hour. He made a bundle that night. He was never asked back again, either."
"Is Bruce going to auction us off?"
"Sure. It'll be a lot of fun. He might offer us as a matched pair and get a big price for us."
Gwen looked speculatively around the room. "They all seem like nice men."
"Oh, they are. This is the finest crowd of people on the Island. You'll like any fellow you wind up with. I've been bought by most of them from time to time and always had an enjoyable evening."
The music stopped and George was pushing Lorraine forward. Roger stepped up, took another bracelet from a side table where a pile of them lay, and started again.
"What am I bid for this luscious specimen of womanhood? Beautiful, obedient, graceful-a slave of whom any man would dream. Do I hear fifty dollars?"
The bidding started. It was rather more cautious, perhaps because there was a long evening ahead, hut DeWilde finally worked it up to an even hundred. The successful bidder came up, took hold of the leash and passed some bills to George. He then turned to his purchase and said eagerly:
"Let me see what I got for my money. Take 'em off."
Fumbling at her waist, Lorraine undid the snaps and swung off her skirt in a swirl of green silk. Next she loosened her bodice at the throat and slipped it off of her shoulders, sliding it down the leash toward him. As he pulled the leather through it and dropped the bodice on a chair he looked her over and said approvingly:
"Beautiful. Worth every penny of it."
He turned her around again by the leash, stared down between her legs and said: "Wow. Look at that beaver."
Lorraine was one of those girls with luxuriant pubic hair. A veritable forest of long, curly, black hair grew between her legs, covering the entrance to her womanhood completely. Not the vestige of a slit could be seen beneath the heavy patch of brush.
Her purchaser put his hand on it and combed the growth with his fingers. The hairs were at least six inches long as he extended them.
"It's beautiful," he smiled up at her, "but is there a place for me beneath it?" He stuck one finger probingly into the mass and then gave a whistle of mock relief.
"Yep, she's got one. Just wanted to make sure I didn't get shortchanged."
Satisfied with his buy, he led her away to show her off to some of the others.
Karen felt like she was going to be ill and hoped desperately that she wouldn't do it and draw attention to herself. Barbara and Gwen seemed to be amused were giggling at the byplay between Lorraine and her buyer.
They made the circuit of the room and dropped down to the floor not far from Karen's feet. Lorraine was calling him Marvin, so she must have learned his name. His wife was the next to go on the block. Roger got the bidding up to one hundred and twenty-five dollars for her. As Marv stuffed the currency into his pocket Lorraine said to him:
"Well, you got me and twenty-five bucks profit. You're a winner."
Marv was fondling her pubic hair with his other hand, twisting it around his fingers and twirling it into long mustaches which extended out to each side.
"My wife shaves her pussy, except for a little tuft of hair over her clit. I can't get her to stop doing it. It makes her look like a little girl and I feel like I'm banging a kid. Besides," he added, "the stubble irritates my tongue."
Lorraine laughed; stopped in mid-chuckle as the bidding began again. A man was pushing a girl toward Roger; a slim, rather short redhead with a tiny but voluptuous figure, fiery hair worn in a tousled little boy's bob, and the florid complexion which usually accompanies hair of that hue.
"Isn't she cute?" Lorraine asked Marv. "Who are they?"
"Gregory and Martha. They're new on the Island, comparatively. I've seen them just once before at one of Roger's auctions."
The bidding was slow on the little redhead and DeWilde had trouble working it up to an even fifty dollars. In a low voice, Lorraine turned to Marv and said: "Why don't you buy her? I'll bet you can get her for seventy-five."
"What the hell would I do with her? That beautiful beaver of yours is all I'll be able to handle tonight. What would I do-take her home in a doggie bag for tomorrow?"
Lorraine leaned toward him and said softly: "Buy her for me. I'll go halvers with you. I've always wanted to try making it with a woman and something about her turns me on. She seems so-well, child-like."
"Anything you say," he replied and firmly bid seventy-five. There was no contest; she was his and DeWilde led her over to where they were sitting.
After giving him the cash for her, Marv pulled her down to the floor beside them. Martha seemed bewildered at joining him and the nude Lorraine but sank to the floor, unresisting.
Marv pulled her to him so that she lay across his thighs and began to undress her. He unzipped her dress and slipped it off over her head. She was wearing a half slip, brassiere and panties, which he also removed. Naked now, she lay on her back looking up at the two who were peering down at her in interest.
Marv caressed her thighs, then ran his fingers experimentally over her pubic hair. "Look at that pretty red stuff, Lorraine," he said. "She's a real redhead all right-this is just as flaming as what's on her head."
Lorraine reached out both hands to Martha's breasts, cupping them in her palms. "Beautiful," she murmured. "Two little globes that just fit my hands."
Karen was unable to tear her eyes away from the scene being played out before her. Every word spoken came to her as if they were shouting although they were speaking in quite a low tone.
It was Martha who spoke next. "Both of them together wouldn't make one of yours." Lorraine continued to massage the little breasts. She cupped her hands around their base, letting the nipples escape through the circles made by her thumbs and forefingers. The nipples stuck up proudly, the coronas around them puckered up until they were dotted with little goose bumps. In response, Lorraine's nipples were erect, sticking out like twin prongs of passion.
Marv was watching the two of them keenly. He spoke in a low tone to Lorraine. "You really are going to fuck her, aren't you?"
Gleefully, the girl replied. "Honey, I'm going to fuck the hell out of her. You can have me later."
Martha moved as if to draw away but Lorraine threw herself down on top of the redhead, pinning her to the floor beneath her larger, heavier body. She forced Martha's legs apart, getting her body between them, and mounted her like a man, pressing her long black pussy hair against the delicate red cover of the girl beneath her. Lorraine began a coital movement with her hips, like a man, massaging her womanhood against that of Martha's.
At first the redhead resisted but slowly began to respond with hip movements of her own. Soon she spread her legs wider, slid both hands between them and with her fingers pulled back the lips of her vagina. She reached her fingers upward to do the same to Lorraine's, then pushed her hips upward to place their clitorises in firm, direct contact. Done, she pulled out her hands to lock her arms around Lorraine's thrusting body and pull it tightly to her. Together the two girls rocked in a frenzy of sexual passion.
Marv was watching them in fascination. So were Barbara and Gwen, still seated on the couch. Gwen murmured to the other girl in a tone of admiration: "God above, that's real fucking."
Barbara nodded; replied: "It's giving me a hard on myself."
Without rising, Marv began to slip out of his clothes. Naked, he sat cross-legged on the floor beside the panting girls, an erection making his penis stick up from his loins. Karen looked at it; to her, it seemed as if it were only half as big as the awful thing with which DeWilde had abused her. It was still a horrible sight; red and ugly, puffed up and inflamed, but at least it was nowhere nearly so big.
Lorraine and Martha were beginning to reach climax now and several more people in the room were watching them with interest. The big-breasted girl who had done the dance which got the bidding started, her leash still in the hand of Harold who had bought her, was watching them intently as was her owner. She was sitting in his lap in an overstuffed chair, playing with herself as Harold nursed on one of her ample breasts. As the girls' tempo increased, so did hers as she manipulated herself. Harold had disrobed; removed his mouth from her breast just long enough to say: "Here, work on that too," as he thrust his erection between her legs where she sat on his lap. It stuck up between her loins, almost like a penis of her own. She pulled it tightly against her, stretched the lips of her vagina around it and began to massage both organs simultaneously, with one hand, while Harold resumed sucking on her breast.
The girls were reaching climax now, frantically clutching each other tightly. Lorraine came first; the shuddering jerks of her buttocks and the tensing of her back muscles proclaiming to every person in the room that she was having a gigantic come. Seconds later Martha erupted beneath her, spasmodically thrusting her hips upward to gain every last ounce of pressure to enhance her glory. Still shuddering, both girls experienced several lesser orgasms, then rolled away from each other on then-backs on the floor, side by side, arms clasped around each other.
This was what Marv had been waiting for. He mounted Lorraine immediately, desperately thrusting with his cock. She obligingly reached between them to take it in her hand and guide it to her opening, moving it up and down across her slit once or twice to lubricate the head of it. She spread her legs wide to permit him easy entry and held it by the base to guide it well into her.
Marv's prick entered easily because of Lorraine's thorough climaxing with Martha. As it slammed home and their pubes banged together, she locked her arms around his shoulders and said to him:
"I'm afraid you're sucking on a mighty dry orange. That redhead fucked me out until I won't be able to come for a week."
Marv was taking long, gentle strokes in her, completely composed and unhurried. In a conversational tone he replied:
"That's all right. I'm enjoying being in that lovely crotch of yours, with all the beautiful hair around me. I can feel that bush of yours crushed between us, and it's great."
She lifted her long, lovely legs in the air to lock them around the small of his back. "Well, if you don't mind my not coming, please be my guest."
Lorraine rocked away beneath him for a few minutes, expertly matching her thrusts to his. The others in the room were no longer watching, having lost interest in this more mundane activity. Marv was enjoying himself hugely but with composure, lifting himself up on his knees to withdraw almost completely, then plunging his cock back into her again so vigorously that their loins made an audible slap when they came together.
Martha had rolled over beside them and lifted herself on one elbow to watch them, as if with envy. Marv noticed her and removed one hand from Lorraine's shoulder to place it between the redhead's legs, where he began to fondle her cunt.
After a few more strokes he stopped his thrusting to lift himself on his arms, the fingers of one hand still between Martha's thighs. Speaking down to Lorraine he asked her: "No chance whatever of my making you come?" She smiled up at him in a friendly fashion and patted him on the shoulder. "None whatever. I'm absolutely numb down there. Maybe later in the evening, but not now."
"Okay, then. If you don't mind, I think I'll shoot my load in Martha. I'd like to try a little of that redhead stuff too."
"Not at all," Lorraine replied. "That's a hot little pussy. I can vouch for that."
Martha lay down on her back and spread her legs. Marv pulled his still-stiff cock out of Lorraine and moved from her body to the tiny redhead's, who promptly seized it and guided it to the place as Lorraine had done. Marv grunted as he shoved it in; hesitated, before beginning a slow, almost hesitant thrusting.
"I'm afraid this won't take very long, Martha. I'm so aroused this thing is going to go off pretty quick."
"That's all right," she said soothingly. "I couldn't come for hours. You just go off whenever you feel like." She put her fingers on the nape of his neck and began to caress it, crooning to him very softly.
"You just go ahead, big daddy, and juice your little redhead as soon as you feel like it." A continuing slow roll of her hips, punctuated by the words: "My, but that's a nice big stiff prick you've got inside me. It feels wonderful up in me, even if I can't get my gun off to show you how good it is to have it up there."
That did it. Marv tried to hold back, at least for a few more strokes, but without even moving his hips he ejected into Martha. When she felt him come she tightened her thighs to give him a solid friction against which to eject. Spewed empty, breathing heavily, he rolled off between the two girls.
Content, Marv spoke to both of them. "I wish you two girls would come over to my house and give my wife fucking lessons. Both of you are the greatest lays I've ever had."
Lorraine laughed. "That's just because we're strange stuff to you. I'll bet the man who is balling your wife is saying the same thing to her right now."
Martha contributed: "I'm beginning to think no man really enjoys his own wife in bed. That's why Gregory insisted we start coming to Roger's parties. He said if he and I were going to bang, he wanted me to learn how to do it right."
"I think you do it great," Marv told her. "You too, Lorraine."
Modestly, both girls replied, "Thank you."
Karen was listening to all this and by now had gone beyond the stages of surprise and disgust and, ultimately, fear. At this point she was perilously close to what a doctor would diagnose as the edge of shock; true shock, which incapacitates by depriving the individual of voluntary movement or resistance. She glanced around the room; saw couples everywhere, nude, locked in sexual embrace. Others, apparently having completed a sex act, were laying in each other's arms; smoking, sipping drinks, talking, watching others.
Barbara and Gwen had abandoned the couch and Karen saw them now, on the other side of the room. Bruce had put a bracelet and leash on each of them, tying the two leashes together. These he handed to Roger, who was waiting for a recording to end before commencing the bidding. Karen's attention was drawn back to the trio because Lorraine was asking Martha:
"Does your husband really tell you that you are a lousy lay?"
"Oh he's not really nasty about it, but he does intimate in a kidding-on-the-square way that I'm nowhere nearly so good as a lot he's had."
Marv spoke emphatically. "Well, I've had my share of tail too, and I'm telling you that you're as good as the best."
"You're also very good at balling a girl," Lorraine grinned.
Martha was a trifle embarrassed. "That was a first for me. Maybe that will help me improve."
Marv asked her very seriously: "Do you suck cock?"
"I'm trying to learn but I don't seem to be much good at it. Greg says I either bite him or don't come on strong enough."
"Well, I'll bet you're good at that too. Let's wait an hour or two until I get pumped up and have a go at it."
Lorraine spoke up: "I can help you with that, too, Martha. That's one thing my husband says I'm good at." She giggled. "You know I really enjoy it. I like to have a man's thing in my mouth between my teeth, and know I could bite down on it until he screamed. Maybe it gives me a feeling of power to know I could bite it off if I wanted to."
Marv looked at her a little askance. "I don't believe I'm going to let you go down on me, if you have ideas like that in your head."
"Don't worry," she assured him. "I've never done it to any man. Just thought about it a few times."
The music ended and DeWilde began his patter. "Only a few more items to be disposed of, and as usual we've been saving the best for the last. Here's a lovely matched pair. They'll cost you money but they're worth it. They work singly or in double harness; get two for only slightly more than the price of one and have the time of your life. Let's start the bidding off at a hundred and a half for the pair."
He got his hundred and a half which quickly moved up to two and then two and a quarter. It hung there for a time. To keep it moving, De Wilde interjected: "This lovely girl is Gwen, and it's her first time on one of our auction blocks. Her chum is Barbara, one of our long-time friends and always a joy to every man who has ever bought her. Their purchase price goes to a very worthy charity--namely, their mutual boyfriend Bruce." A general laugh at that, followed by a bid of two hundred and fifty dollars, where the action died. DeWilde knocked them down at that price to a tall, sandy-haired chap named Edgar.
He promptly paid his bill and led them away to a wide Oriental divan in an alcove off of the main body of the room, in a direct line of vision from where Karen was sitting, just beyond where Marv, Lorraine and Martha were still reclining on the floor. Edgar was the first to speak. "I've been waiting all evening for Roger to put you two on the block. I was determined to go to any price to have you.
Barbara replied: "You bought me at one of Roger's auctions a few months ago, didn't you?
"That was almost a year ago," he replied, "and I've never forgotten it. I've been away a lot and when he invited me tonight, I hoped you'd be here." A grin-"I had no idea I'd be lucky enough to get a parlay out of it."
Gwen giggled. "I've been laid a lot of ways but never parlayed. How do you do it?"
"Let's find out," he suggested. "Both of you take your clothes off."
He started to disrobe himself and was stripped as soon as they were. Together the three of them stretched out on the divan looking at each other's nakedness. Edgar lay on his back, his erect penis standing stiffly upright, and Karen could see both it and the shadow it cast on the wall behind them. Both girls reached for it at the same time, to caress its swollen length.
It was about the same size as the thing she had seen sticking out of Marvin, she noted, but seemed to have more of an upward curve to it. It, too, was considerably smaller than the tool DeWilde had used on her.
Now Edgar was rubbing Gwen's buttocks. She was speaking to him. "You're not circumcised. I like that. I like to feel a foreskin rubbing up and down in me."
Barbara lowered her face to his loins and rubbed her cheeks against his cock. "Mmmmmm good," she murmured. "I remembered you had a very nice one-big enough to fill me up but not big enough to hurt."
Edgar pulled Gwen's head down until it rested on his belly. "Sweet little baby, come blow my horn."
She laughed as she slid her head lower, opened her mouth and engulfed the head of it with her lips. Grasping the shaft with her hand, she massaged it with long, slow, steady, full length strokes while sucking greedily. After a few seconds Edgar moaned; said:
"Take it easy with the tongue action, Gwen--that's a sensitive little thing." She must have complied because he relaxed and a smile of contentment crossed his face.
His next words were to Barbara. "How about a little bitty tittie?" Laughing, she swung around so that her body was over his, braced on her elbows, and lowered her chest until her right breast was draped across his mouth. Edgar's tongue appeared to trace a lazy circle around her corona with the tip, tickle the nipple for a second or two, then his lips closed over it as he began to nurse on her.
Soon Barbara spoke. "Now you're giving me a hard on." In response, his left hand slipped beneath her body, searched and found her crotch, began to manipulate the center of her sensations where it stood up, tiny but proud, at the top of her gash of womanhood.
She wriggled her hips in appreciation.
It was Gwen who spoke next. Lifting her head from his belly, she asked: "Edgar, are you leaking or coming? It's really running out of you."
He had to remove Barbara's breast from his mouth to reply. "You're playing such a beautiful tune on my organ that you've got me ready to shoot. Better quit for a little bit or you'll put me off."
Gwen continued to play with his balls, keeping her mouth away from his penis head and her fingers off of the shaft. He breathed deeply, then pulled her hips toward him. Spreading her legs, he buried his face between her legs as his searching tongue probed for her slit. Finding it, he began to lick the tiny little penis at its top, her clitoris, moving alternately down and away from it to run his tongue the full length of her womanly opening; probing inside it to titillate its delicate inner tissues as deeply as he could reach.
"Ooooh, God, that's so good," she moaned. "Oooh, God, that's just heaven," she sighed as she wriggled her hips in joyous response.
Without stopping the probing of his tongue, Edgar reached out a hand to Barbara, urging her over to lie beside them. She did, and he began to manipulate her pussy with his fingers, spreading its lips with his fingers, elongating the folds of flesh and rolling them backward so that her moist red inner meat was exposed. He manipulated her until she, too, was writhing in the beginnings of arousal.
At that point he lifted his head from Gwen's cunt, placed his hand behind Barbara's neck and urged her toward the place he had vacated. A sort of stricken look came into her eyes as she said:
"Oh, please, Edgar-I've never eaten pussy. I just couldn't."
Soothingly he urged: "Go ahead, Barb. It tastes just like cock only it's got more vitamins in it."
She hesitated a long second, staring at him, then slowly, obediently, lowered her head to Gwen's loins and put her tongue to work.
Edgar moved out from between them to station himself alongside Gwen's head. Gently but with great strength he grasped Barbara's hips in his arms and lifted the lower half of her body into the air, moving it sideways and lowering it over Gwen's upturned face so that Barbara's bent legs were on each side of it. Reaching between them from the rear he spread the lips of her vagina, smoothed the pussy hair back and said to Gwen:
"Here. Eat."
Gwen's protest was merely a startled look upward at the exposed womanhood above her. Edgar soothed: "Just go ahead and do to it what feels good when someone does it to you."
Tentatively, experimentally, Gwen extended just the tip of her tongue and barely touched the wet, red flesh above. At the contact, a quivering began in Barbara's loins and her hips lowered to make a more solid contact with the exciting tongue. At the same time she increased her own activity in Gwen's womanhood. Gwen's response was a more wholehearted probing of Barbara, and soon the two girls had abandoned themselves utterly to the joy of bringing and being brought to climax.
Edgar sat on the divan beside them, watching with enjoyment the struggling pair, occasionally rubbing his hands with a soothing motion over parts of their bodies. He massaged Barbara's upturned back; ran his hands up and down Gwen's extended thighs.
Both girls reached climax at the same time, each in her own way. On the bottom, as she exploded Gwen reached her arms up to clasp them around Barbara's buttocks, at the same time locking her legs around the girl's neck as if trying to strangle her, or to absorb her utterly. Barbara thrust her face deeply into Gwen's pussy as if to tear it out of her by the roots, meanwhile beginning a rapid pumping of her hips which rubbed her cunt against Gwen's mouth as if trying to shove her womanhood all the way into her throat.
The violence of their lust spent, Barbara removed herself from Gwen and swung around to sit, facing her and Edgar.
"Well my goodness, that's really something, isn't it?" she said to both of them.
Musingly, Gwen replied: "I knew a lesbian once who told me that no man can make a woman as happy as another woman can, because only another woman can know exactly what feels right, and how much, and just where and how to do it."
Barbara answered: "I never believed stuff like that-not until now." A grin-"Maybe the next time I don't have a date and I get real horny, I'll call you up and ask you to ball me again."
Gwen's voice sounded sincere as she replied: "Any time, Barb, any time."
Edgar stretched himself out on his back in the center of the divan and interrupted: "Now me, ladies-it's my turn."
If his penis had been erect before, it was now monumentally hard. It stood up from between his legs like a flagpole, like a fence post, like a bridge piling waiting to be driven. Both girls giggled. To the observing Karen, it seemed to have grown in length and thickness during the girl's byplay.
"We're going to have a contest, to see who gets my load. Each of you is going to ride the pony, and you get ten strokes each, turn and turn about, to put me off in. I'm going to lie dead still without moving and let you jack me off with your pussy. Or pussies, I guess it should be," he added.
"Who gets into the saddle first?" Barbara asked.
Edgar considered. "Gwen, I guess, because I've never balled her before."
Gwen kneeled alongside of him, lifted her right leg and threw it across his body so that she was astride his pelvis on her knees. She grasped the head of his cock between her thumb and forefinger, placing it carefully in her hole, tucking the head of it in as far as her fingers could reach.
Then, with both of her hands on the shaft to brace it for entry, she spread her knees a little farther apart on each side of his body and began to lower herself onto the supine man.
"Take it easy, now," she cautioned. "That's a big stiff thing you've got and my pussy hasn't stretched to fit it yet."
"It's all yours, Gwen," he told her. "You're running the show."
Carefully the girl eased herself down on it, raising and lowering her body with her thighs to stretch herself and spread her lubrication, getting a fraction of an inch more inside her on every gentle down-stroke.
"Do these strokes count?" she suddenly inquired.
"No. We start counting after you've got it all the way in."
She continued her efforts and soon contained it all. She relaxed the muscles of her thighs so that the full weight of her body rested on his pelvis, fully stabbed by his tool, her rectum nestling against the top of his scrotum.
Gwen spoke. "Wow. That's a lot of cock up there, in this position. I think I can feel the head of it in the back of my throat."
"You're stalling, and that's cheating," Barbara accused. "Start pumping while I count."
Gwen grinned at her. She placed her hands on Edgar's belly to give herself balance, rolled her hips backward and forward for ten lazy, full length massages of his cock while Barbara kept score. When her ten was reached, she put her weight on one knee and swung her other leg up and off Edgar, thus dismounting.
Barbara practically jumped on him, to seize his cock with one hand, place it in her opening and slam her body down upon it with one movement.
"See, Gwen?" she said to the other girl. "That's the right way to take a man's dick in you."
"After I get it all slicked up, it is. I'd like to see you do it dry, to one that size."
"You know I was only kidding, honey," she soothed. "Keep count."
Ten languorous strokes later, Gwen took her place, this time slamming herself down on Edgar's prick as Barbara had done. She had her try, then dismounted. It went on and on, Karen watching as if observing the antics of a group of playful animals.
That was it, she thought. They were all animals, crazy animals. It didn't matter what they did because they were all crazy. She was in a madhouse and these were the inmates and if she didn't keep very, very quiet they would turn on her and kill her. Even stronger than the Puritanical inhibitions which had been ingrained in her during her upbringing was the basic animal desire for self-preservation; the urge to live, to survive at all cost. This urge was uppermost in her now, making her mask her disgust, her nausea, even her fear behind a completely expressionless face.
The turn-about riding contest continued, until all of a sudden Edgar's hands whipped up from his sides, grasped the waist of the girl above him and pulled her down fiercely to his body while his back arched to thrust his hips upwards in one seemingly agonized drive. His face contorted as he ejaculated. While he grimaced, a beautiful smile came to the lips of the girl as she felt his semen flow into her.
Turning to the other girl, she said: "I win."
It was Gwen.
* * *
Karen was not the only one who had been watching the riding academy session. Marv, Lorraine and Martha had been taking it all in, silently, Lorraine's hand in Marvin's lap absentmindedly playing with his cock as she watched.
When the trio on the divan had finished, Martha turned to her companion and said: "See? I wouldn't know how to do a imagine job of balling a man like that. All I can do is lay on my back and let a man fuck me." Morosely: "No wonder my husband would rather have any girl's ass than mine."
Marv was moved by this tiny, appealing little redhead. "He's crazy, honey. You're a great little bang."
"No I'm not," she insisted, "and I know it. George says that laying me is merely masturbation using my pussy instead of his hand to jack off in. He says I'm the kind of woman that makes them call the sex act a lay-I lay there while he does it to me."
Lorraine said, quietly: "I don't think your husband is very nice."
Martha didn't seem to hear the remark. Instead she turned to Lorraine and said: "Somehow I'm always the one laying on her back, looking up and taking it between her legs. Even with you, I just got on my back, spread my legs and let you fuck me."
"Did you mind it?"
"No-it just seemed the natural thing for me to do. Anybody wants it, in it goes."
The girl seemed to want to talk and both Marv and Lorraine were sympathetic listeners.
"I always wanted to be popular and well liked but somehow I never was. Maybe because I'm so little. In high school, most of the girls were as well developed as I am now, while I was an even skinnier little thing. My father used to say it didn't matter if I wore a topless bathing suit or not-nobody would notice."
"You seem to have known several nasty men in your life," Marv observed.
"Maybe. Anyhow, when I was fifteen, I went to the movies with this boy. My first date with him. He was sixteen. After the show, we drove out in the hills and parked. He didn't say anything to me at all. Didn't ask me anything; didn't even kiss me. He just parked, rolled up the windows, pushed me over on my back on the front seat and reached up under my skirt to pull my panties off. Then he turned the front of my skirt up neatly around my waist, slipped down his trousers and bogged his peter into me. All without even asking if I minded."
"Didn't you scream or struggle?" Marv queried.
"I thought I wasn't supposed to, I guess. I guess I thought he'd be angry if I made a fuss. I remember it hurt like hell going in, and hurt worse after he got it in and went to work on me, but I never let out a sound. I was afraid he'd get mad if I complained."
"The little bastard."
"Oh, he didn't do anything any other boy wouldn't. It just seems that-well, I seem to have been born to be the one on the bottom. Every boy who took me out banged me, and none of them seemed to think it was good enough to keep coming back for more. Not very many times, anyway. After a few years of that, a girl gets to thinking that she isn't really very much of a person."
Marv spoke very solemnly. "And when she thinks of herself that way, very soon it becomes true."
Lorraine said with conviction: "Well, I think you're very cute, and there are thousands of men who would agree. Not all of them go for a big horse of a girl with huge boobs. Lots of men are turned on by what they call the cute, dainty, petite, and you're all of those things."
"Look, Martha," Marv told her, "you are as cute as a bug's ear. You've got a perfect little figure and all the parts necessary to be rated as a complete woman. All you need is a little confidence in yourself and a man to show you how to do something else besides laying on your back and taking it between your legs. Now, I'll make you a proposition. We'll have to be very discreet because these parties are supposed to be one-night-stands only and it's against the rules to get anything started. However, just for a few months, let's you and me get together a couple of afternoons a week, while your husband is at work, and let me-well, get you up off of your back."
She seemed impressed. "Do you really think you could?"
"You can be as good at imagine fucking as any of 'em, if you will only get that defeatist attitude out of your head. You could be the star of these parties instead of an also-ran, if you just learn to turn yourself loose."
Martha smiled at him. "It's a deal," she said and, leaning forward, gave him an affectionate kiss on the lips to seal the bargain.
Lorraine nudged Marv. "Start now," she told him. "Give her a cock sucking lesson and I'll help."
Marv looked down at his groin and saw what Lorraine had already noticed; that his tool stood up straight and proud, ready for further action.
He stretched out on his back on the floor. "Come on, Martha, take that thing in your mouth and let Lorraine teach you how to polish my pole."
Karen observed both girls stretch themselves out across the man's recumbent figure, Martha taking his organ in her mouth as the other woman began giving her instructions in a tone too low for Karen to hear.
Her attention was drawn away from them by the voices of several men talking to DeWilde on the other side of the room. They were louder than usual; not argumentative, but persuading. One of the voices was saying:
"But when are you? You promised us."
Then Roger was saying something, and another man replied:
"Well, I don't believe it anyway. Nobody is these days, except maybe a little kid."
She heard Roger saying: "But it's true. I swear it."
A third man came back: "You mean, only twice?" Roger, positively: "Twice. And me, both timesonce Saturday noon, and again this morning. That's all."
The first voice said: "Well, you've got to, or I'll never come to one of your auctions again. I'll start the bidding off right now at two hundred dollars."
Another cut in: "Cheapskate. I'll make it three."
Roger cut them off with: "Hold it, you guys. The bidding hasn't even started yet."
Several of them at once: "Well, it better." Karen's attention wandered; came back to the trio on the floor in front of her. Apparently Marv was getting ready to come in her mouth and Martha, to judge from the gleam in her eye and the rapid motions of her hands, was excited and happy about her approaching success. Karen didn't understand the conversation she had heard among the men on the far side of the room. It didn't make any sense, but then neither did any of the other crazy happenings in this house. They were all crazy and she would just have to endure until she could escape; escape without infuriating any of these men enough to make them kill her.
She saw Roger break off from the group and come toward her. He was naked, his pendulous belly swinging from side to side as he walked. His ugly thing was limp, hanging straight down between his legs, she noticed, still bigger in its softness than most of the other men here were in erection. He had something in his hands; a leash attached to a leather collar, not a silver bracelet like the other girls were wearing. He walked up to her and said:
"Come, dear Karen. You've been so quiet this evening I'll bet you have felt neglected. Here"-he extended both hands, slipped the collar around her neck and fastened the buckle-"let me lead you up to the auction block. A lot of eager suitors are waiting to bid on you."
She sat sill, absolutely frozen to her chair. Her eyes flew open to their widest possible span. She looked up at him in terror.
DeWilde urged her in the gentlest of voices. "Come on, my dear. Our guests are waiting." With that he gave a slight twitch of the dog leash in his hand and the collar jerked once against her neck.
Karen put her feet on the floor, rose on trembling legs and followed DeWilde to the other side of the room.
CHAPTER V
Had Karen known what awaited her in the next few hours she would gladly have accepted death as an alternative. Probably, the knowledge would have produced the shock needed to kill her. Since she did not, she merely rose and on quivering knees let him lead her to the auction block; the corner of the room which was most easily visible to everyone present.
The leather collar seemed like a hot iron around her neck as DeWilde pulled her to a halt with the leash, then put one hand or her arm to signify that she was to turn as he began his sales pitch.
"Here is what I've been promising you all evening, gentlemen-Karen, a young blonde vision of loveliness. She goes to the highest bidder, and don't let considerations of money keep you from enjoying the experience of a lifetime with this beautiful creature."
He paused for breath, while the eyes of every person in the room devoured the near-fainting Karen. He let them look for a good long moment then said briskly: "Well, let's get the bidding started. Just as a beginning, do I hear two hundred?"
Gregory raised a finger to signify the offer and was instantly topped by George who said two-fifty. It was raised to three, then three-and-a-half, then to three seventy-five, where it seemed to stick. Seconds went by with no action. De Wilde resumed his pitchman routine.
"There is no reason to hesitate, gentlemen. This is prime merchandise. She's beautiful, fresh; also, most docile and obedient. Only been had twice, I warrant you, and both times by me-just enough to loosen her up to provide you with the delight of a lifetime. Let's take a closer look at this lovely being."
With that, he turned and spoke directly to Karen for the first time since putting her on the block. "Take those things off, dear, and show them what they are bidding on."
Karen had known this was coming but still it hit her with a shock when it did. She stood still for just a second, tensed, ready to explode; saw the steely look in DeWilde's eyes, the eager stares aimed at her around the room. Something within her wilted. The last vestige of the values with which she had been raised collapsed. Nothing really mattered. These people were all crazy and they would kill her. It didn't make much difference how she died, so long as it was quickly.
Obediently she pulled the halter top off over her head, blonde hair floating around her bare shoulders, freeing the luscious breasts which swung before her unimprisoned. She slipped the pants down over her hips, having to peel them off because of their tightness; pulling them down around her ankles and kicking them free.
DeWilde didn't start the bidding right away; waited for the effects to sink in. "Look at that figure Look at those firm young breasts which have never been nursed upon by man. I never got around to it fellows. Look at that lovely crotch, covered with fleece of the finest gold. Only been invaded twice-just enough to loosen it for pleasurable entry. No man has ever eaten that patch of beauty-the first nibble of it goes to her buyer, if he cares to sup. See her beautiful mouth and lips, still waiting for their first full load of manhood to be injected. All right, gentlemen, let's not fool around any longer. What am I bid?"
Four hundred and then four-and-a-half came quickly but got stalled again at that point. DeWilde appeared to be considering.
"Tell you what I'm gonna do. I realize one evening is hardly enough to experience this loveliness completely, so for this one purchase only we're going to suspend the usual rules. This purchase and ownership will not end with the end of this evening. No sir. Karen's buyer will get one full week of enjoyment of her before the contract of purchase expires. I will keep her here in my home, and he can enjoy her as often as he wishes-or is capable of doing" [laughter] "or he can share her with his friends." With this clause in the contract of purchase, what am I offered?"
It was Bruce, the man who had brought Barbara and Gwen to the party, who made the winning bid of six hundred and fifty dollars. He received general congratulations, marred only by the miffed voice of Barbara exclaiming:
"He never spent that kind of money on my ass for all the times he's had it," to which Gwen soothingly replied: "Yes, dear, but then your ass had been pretty well had before he ever got around to it."
As Bruce took possession of his prize he mentioned that he didn't have that much cash with him. DeWilde replied payment any time during the coming week would be acceptable. Bruce led her away making a full circle of the room, inviting everyone, men and women alike, to feel the breasts of his lovely chattel. All of them did. Many of them slipped a hand between her legs too, caressing her private womanhood. As many women as men seemed to enjoy feeling her private parts, some of them remarking upon its tightness.
It was Gregory who slid a finger up inside her, then said: "God, if I'd known any pussy could be that tight I'd have outbid you at any price."
Bruce pulled her away from him by the leash, almost snarling: "Yeah, but you didn't, so keep your finger-fucking hands off of it."
At this point Karen passed into a trance-like state in which everything around her became unreal, more like an unpleasant dream during which the dreamer realize that it really isn't happening and that will soon awaken. She submitted to the invasion of Gregory's finger without even flinching at his touch. She followed Bruce when he led her away, stopped when he did, sat when he indicated that she should..
Affectionately he patted her on the head. "Nice little doggie," he cooed to her. "Pretty little bitch doggie. You're a little sweetie pie."
From her sitting position, she looked up at him. He had a strong, slim, well-muscled body, she noted; only moderately-haired, with a cross of golden red hair on his chest and a light growth on his lower legs. Curly hair of the same color surrounded his penis, which was standing up straight in erection. It, too was a finely muscled thing, she observed. Ram-rod stiff, she saw a thick blue vein which traced its way down the bottom of it, on its lower right side. Beneath, his testicles were drawn up tightly against his body, the sack in which they hung contracted; covered with the same soft, curly red-gold hair. The head of this thing was somewhat different from the others she had seen tonight; more pear-shaped and rather elongated at the top, where the hole was.
Withdrawn as she was, she looked at his organ with interest because she knew it was soon going to be forced inside her. It was quite unavoidable and there was nothing she could do to stop him doing it. He had paid six hundred and fifty dollars to put it into her and no amount of screaming could keep him from it. Her screaming hadn't stopped DeWilde and it wouldn't stop this man.
It was rather larger than the other men's, though a great deal smaller than the ugly thing with which Roger had initiated her. It wasn't so much that it was long; rather, it was thicker. Bigger around. A piece of flesh obscured the base of the head. This must be a foreskin, that thing she had heard some of the girls discussing, so this cock must be of the uncircumcised kind. She wondered if it would hurt as much as Roger's cock and decided quite calmly that it wouldn't. It would stretch her more because of its girth, but wouldn't penetrate into her as deeply. She supposed that foreskin would be pushed back when it entered her and the head of it would probably feel the same although it wouldn't go into her so far.
Bruce saw her looking steadily, without expression, at his organ.
"Nice little puppy looking at her master's tally-whacker?" Bruce asked, as one would speak affectionately to a prized pet. "If she's a good little girl, daddy will give her a great big bang with it."
What was it which made a man want to do this thing to a woman? Karen wondered. What possible pleasure could it give him to push this stiff flesh into that part of her body, and keep it there until it ejected that white stuff into her? People did that to produce children and certainly he had no desire to have babies by her. Yet he had paid a big sum of money just so Roger would let him do this. She wondered vaguely if it hurt a man to put it in as badly as it did when a woman received it.
Bruce tugged slightly on her leash, urging her up again. "Let's go for a walk, little doggie. Exercise is good for doggies." As she rose he pushed her down again until she was on her hands and knees. That seemed to be the way he wanted her to proceed, so she followed after him in this bent posture.
He led her across the floor to the center of the room, looking down at her fondly.
"Pretty little doggie. Daddy's going to fuck the nice little doggie because she's been so good."
Bruce kneeled on the floor behind her, dropped the leash at her side and with both hands gently spread the cheeks of her buttocks. He reached below them to part the lips of her vagina and brush the surrounding hair back with a soft touch. Moving closer he inserted the head of his cock in the hole thus exposed, being very careful to get it lined up in the deeper portion of her opening. He flexed his hips just once, to drive the cock head in, then stopped.
Karen felt only slight pain at the penetration. Was it because of the smaller size? she wondered; or because the foreskin had slipped back, thus cushioning the entry? It didn't matter. That pear-shaped object was inside her now. Next it would begin to progress up and into her and she would feel it moving up through her inner passage.
Karen became aware that everyone in the room was watching then now; heard Gregory say; "Here goes Bruce with his six hundred and fifty dollar fuck," in a slightly sneering tone. Otherwise, the room was still.
Bruce wrapped his fingers around his shaft and pulled its surface skin rearward to permit penetration without painful stretching of his own flesh. With Karen braced on her hands and knees, thighs widespread, Bruce rocked his hips backwards and forwards, urging a little more of his cock inside Karen at every stroke.
Gwen commented: "I hope he doesn't hurt the kid that way. A man can get an awful lot of prick into a girl by fucking her dog-fashion."
Barbara replied: "I never cared for it that way myself. Gives a man too much leverage over you."
"Roger wanted to do me that way once, on my first party here, and I told him to go to hell. With that prick of his he could have killed me."
"The only way I'll take Roger is over the hip, and he knows it. A well-hung man is wonderful but that prick of his is ridiculous."
The girls whispered to each other without removing their eyes from the kneeling couple on the floor.
Karen felt the progress of Bruce's cock inside her; felt her flesh distend to permit its passage. She felt his cock head up inside her uterus now; decided that he must have about half of it inside her. She had a little flash of gratitude toward her purchaser that he was being so gentle with her, when if he had been as brutal as Roger there was nothing she could have done about it.
With half of Bruce's cock in her the pain was intense, but nothing to what it had been when DeWilde had possessed her. She continued to crouch, suffering, as Bruce resumed his penetration of her. There it was additional pressure. The cock head was slipping in further now. She felt it enter and begin to cross her inner chamber, beyond her uterus. It was hurting badly now but nothing she couldn't stand. She mustn't cry out; must bite her lips and keep silent no matter what her pain. Her cries would only arouse him; excite him until he gave her more agony.
The cock head invaded still further and then she felt it bang up solidly against the back wall of her cavity. This was it. Now the real hurting would start when he had to stretch that wall to get the rest of his cock into her.
But then she felt the tickle of hair against her distended rectum. The touch came and went rhythmically, and she realized that Bruce already had all of his cock inside her. That was the golden hair around its base that was tickling her rectum, which meant that she had already received all he had to give. There was a firm, prodding contact of his cock head against her rear wall on every in-stroke, but not so badly that she became dizzy with the hurt of it.
Bruce was speaking to her. "Wriggle your hips for me, nice little bitch doggie, and give me a good fuck. Brucie wants to bang his bitch real nice."
She didn't understand what he wanted her to do. The man seemed to sense this. He placed both hands on her pelvis and manipulated her hips back and forth in a rolling motion, instructing her in the rhythm of the female coital movement. Now she understood and, for fear of, him responded in the way he demanded.
Her newly-learned movement brought Bruce to the edge of ecstasy. "Oh baby do you learn quick," he sighed. Pressing his hips tightly against her upturned backside, he bottomed out in her completely. He remained motionless, letting Karen massage his prick by means of her movements alone.
"Ooooh, honey," he moaned. "Nice little doggie is jerking her master off with her pussy." He dug his fingers into her hips in a spasm as he tried to hold off, and failed.
He pulled her backward to him as he ejected, at the same time thrusting forward, trying to cram one more fraction of an inch of his throbbing prick into her warmly wet womanhood. This hurt Karen sharply, as did the expansion of his cock head when he blasted his sperm into her.
She felt this load more clearly than she had the previous two with which DeWilde had injected her, probably because the pain of Bruce's come was less intense. She felt a hot fluid pour out inside her; felt the warmth of it as it spread out over her back wall against which Bruce's cock head was so tightly pressed. From there she felt it spreading outward, soaking her inner tissues, welling up in her as Bruce injected the last of his charge of liquid into her.
There, now. It was over. Bruce had squirted her and his cock felt differently now. All of it was still inside her but it was soft. It was still a piece of meat with noticeable warmth to it, and it still stretched her to surround it, but it had no punishment factor. It didn't really hurt much. Maybe the stuff he had shot into her acted as a sort of balm to her injured parts.
Karen felt a little twinge of pain as Bruce withdrew his organ from her-what did they call it?-her cunt. She had begun to think to herself using the words she had heard so often in these last few hours from this crowd. Her knees were hurting and he didn't tell her not to, so she swung herself sideways and sat down on the floor. Maybe that would keep her cunt from aching so badly.
"Baby, that was wonderful," he told her appreciatively. "That was just the first of some wonderful fucks we're going to have during the next week. Maybe I'll even ask Roger how much he wants for a renewal of your contract for another week or two," he smiled at her.
He didn't make much sense, Karen thought. I'm going to die before long and none of them will want to put their cocks into me then.
One of the men called out to Bruce: "Hey, old buddy, remember when I fixed you up with that broad in Chicago, during the convention? How about paying me back with a little piece of Karen?"
Bruce said emphatically: "I never heard of you."
Gregory said, in mock astonishment: "Aren't you going to pass around your box of goodies?"
"Hell, no," he replied.
Deirdre, the tall brunette with the big breasts who had done the spectacular dance, sat down alongside Bruce and whispered something in his ear. He looked at her and grinned.
"Did you bring that damn thing of yours?"
She nodded. Bruce pondered a second, considering.
"Okay. Be my guest."
Deirdre disappeared in the direction of the bedrooms.
Bruce rose and took a pair of throw pillows from one of the couches, returning to Karen to drop them beside her. "Here, honey," he said. "You're going to need these. Lie down."
She did, without remonstrating. As she lay on her back, Bruce slipped one pillow under her head; told her to lift her hips and when she did so, he slipped the second pillow beneath her buttocks.
Karen lay quietly, waiting for what was to happen next. Was Bruce going to-uh-fuck her again in this position? She thought men had to wait awhile between the times that they did it. That was what the other men had done. Could Bruce do it again so soon? She hoped he wouldn't pull her legs up over her shoulders like Roger did. That hurt so badly.
Deirdre reentered the room. Karen looked up at her and saw an amazing thing. The brunette was still naked except that the curly black hair between her legs was now covered by a pink rubber thing; an amazing creation shaped exactly like a man's cock! Karen stared at it. This cock, about the size of Marvin's, was fastened to a triangular rubber pad which formed a base for it, and this pad was strapped tightly to Deirdre's crotch by belts which went around her waist and around each thigh. As she approached Karen she wriggled her hips from side to side as the men had done, and the pink rubber cock swung from side to side just as did theirs.
"Get me a pitcher of cream from the kitchen, will you, Bruce?" she asked, and he rose to comply.
He was back in seconds with a small glass pitcher. As Karen watched, Deirdre bent the cock head down into the pitcher, then reached into her crotch, behind the triangular base pad, and gave something a squeeze. Karen could hear air bubbling through the cream. The brunette relaxed her grip and Karen saw the level of the cream go down as it was sucked up into the rubber cock. She handed the pitcher to Bruce, knelt beside Karen and said:
"Now, honey, get your first real fucking-from a woman."
Deirdre mounted Karen like a man, kneeling astride her, looking down at her nakedness with evident appreciation. Satisfied, she stretched out full length on top of her, pushed Karen's knees apart with hers and lay between her thighs. like a man, she lifted one hip to reach between them, grasp her pink rubber cock and get it started fairly into Karen's opening.
It was fortunate for the girl that she had been possessed previously by Bruce, whose seminal liquid still remained inside her. They lubricated the passage of Deirdre's imitation cock into her. Fortunate, indeed, for Deirdre had no intention of being gentle as he had been. With the cruelty, the ruthlessness of an aroused woman, she literally stabbed Karen with her attached instrument.
Karen felt the awful thing penetrate her with one rush. The simulated cock head tore its way inside her, ramming her flesh aside to make room for its passage. My God, it's tearing up the inside of my cunt, Karen thought, as renewed pangs of agony swept through her. She was too sick, too weak, even to scream with the pain. All she could do was close her eyes and suffer.
Lorraine said to Marv: "Jesus, look. Deirdre's got her dildo on and is fucking Karen with it. I wonder what kicks she gets out of that?"
"She jacks herself off with the base of it while she's doing the balling. Then, when she's come enough to satisfy her, she'll squeeze her pussy together over the bulb and shoot the cream into Karen."
"Well, everybody has his own thing," Lorraine replied philosophically.
To Karen, the instrument was pure torture. Deirdre could use it as roughly in Karen as she wished without causing herself any pain, as a man would feel if he became too violent and, in her warped passions, she chose to do just that. Fiercely, repeatedly, she pumped it in and out of the recumbent girl, bruising as well as abrading the delicate flesh of her internal organs.
Karen suffered in silence. It felt entirely different, this thing; far more painful, much more hateful. For one thing it was cold, not hot like a real cock. For another, it ripped and tore even worse than DeWilde had done to her the first time.
Deirdre had to use a violent motion if she herself were to achieve orgasm because she had only the friction she could produce between the base pad and her own clitoris to give her arousal. She pumped and thrust away, much of her stimulation coming from her consciousness that she was acting like a man, fucking a woman, and that it was she who was in the superior position, with a beautiful young woman prostrate beneath her, legs spread wide to permit her entrance. Deirdre would have denied that she had lesbian tendencies; however, there was much of sheer penis envy in the pleasure she took in probing Karen beneath her, even though with a mock tool.
Karen endured, and Deirdre's lust began to mount. Her movements became more rapid, almost spasmodic, and then she climaxed with a continued shuddering of her loins. At the peak of her orgasm, she clutched her thighs together to squeeze the bulb which forced the cream to cascade out into Karen's uterine passages.
The fluid was cooling. It didn't feel even slightly like getting fucked by a real cock, Karen reflected. The cock head didn't throb when the juice shot, and the juice itself was cold, not hot like real come. It hurt to be fucked by this thing, and she hoped the other women in the room wouldn't want to take turns doing it to her.
But Deirdre appeared to be alone in her passion to simulate the sexual ability of a male. She removed the thing and offered it to some of the other women, saying they were welcome to borrow it, but all refused. Gwen was rather blunt. She remarked that with all these good peters in the room, she saw no reason to employ an imitation.
At this point a hiatus came over the sybaritic gathering before the next act was to begin. Some of the guests dispersed to the bathroom. Some wandered over to the sideboard to mix drinks and munch on snacks. Marvin was huddled in a deep and seemingly serious conversation with Martha, his sexual protege. Karen, aching in every portion of her flesh, lay without moving and prayed for release.
She realized that she was terribly, terribly thirsty. Her mouth was so dry and swollen she couldn't swallow. Her throat ached from the soreness induced by her suppressed screams. God, she was so thirsty. But she didn't dare move.
Now Bruce was sitting on the floor beside her again, a glass in his hand with ice in it which tinkled. It looked so good and cool and frosty. He sensed what she wanted. He held the glass out to her while lifting her head so that she could drink. She took one gulp; choked and let the liquid run out of her mouth and down onto her breasts.
"Liquor-awful," she croaked. "Could I have some water, please?"
Bruce immediately went to the sideboard and returned. "Here, Karen," he said as he lifted her, "straight ginger ale and ice. It's better for you than water."
She drank, greedily; the most satisfying sup of her life. No vintage champagne was ever enjoyed by a wine buff so much as Karen relished that ginger ale.
"Deirdre hurt you, didn't she."
Karen nodded.
"I shouldn't have let her do that. She's kind of a nut. I'm sorry."
Karen couldn't reply. There was nothing she could possibly say.
Bruce got her another glass of ginger ale and fed it to her in little sips. The crowd had been drinking very little up until this break. Now, everyone was on the second or third drink and voices began to be just a trifle louder; talk, a little wilder.
Lorraine and Deirdre had both had one extra drink and were revealing a more brassy side of their personalities. They were seated nude on the floor now, side by side, each with a glass. They were both at the point where they were ready to begin bragging about their sexual prowess and experience, as men often do in like circumstances. They began to get confidential with each other.
Karen heard Lorraine ask the brunette:
"Tell me, honey, do you really get a kick out of balling a girl with thater, ah-thing?"
Deirdre shrugged.
"Oh, it's no big thing. No fetish, or like that. Just once in a while, I kind of like it for a change." She chuckled. "Maybe I get my large charge out of shocking people by using it at a time like this."
"Did you ever have a girl use it on you?"
"Only a couple of times. It's-well, it's a mighty poor substitute for the real thing. Want to find out?"
"Not really."
Deirdre got more confidential.
"Actually, I got it when I was married to my first husband. I was crazy about him in every way except in the bedroom. The poor guy was one of those rabbit men-he'd get me all hot and going good, then push it into me and-wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. It was all over and I was left climbing the walls."
"I've known men like that. I feel sorry for them but that doesn't make it any easier for the woman." Deirdre shook her head as if in wonderment. "I don't know why I ever married him, except that I loved him anyway. I thought maybe after we were married he'd relax and be better in the sex department than he was while we were just going together. Too, I don't think I noticed how serious his trouble was. I was going with a couple of other guys while we were engaged. They were taking care of me good and I don't think I realized that Don wasn't."
"That's an easy mistake to make."
"Anyway, after a few months of marriage it got pretty rough. I didn't want to cheat on Don-I really wanted to make it with him. He tried so hard, poor boy. He'd go down on me, get me to really creaming, then push it into me and poop! it was all over."
"I'd have wound up jacking off."
"I did--many's the time. So I had this bull dyke who was a good friend of mine-well, as good a friend as a straight can have with a gay-and I asked her to get me a dildo. Joy stick, they call them. She did, and Don started to use it on me, After he'd shoot his load, he'd put it on and work me over until I got off."
"That must have been pretty hard on his ego." She nodded in agreement. "It was. It really wasn't much of an improvement for me and it destroyed him. So, we began to fight about things that didn't matter, just to work off our hostilities. I phoned some of my old friends and got myself the kind of balling I was used to before I was married. He began to drink and it wasn't long before the whole thing was washed up."
"Well, it's a kind of lesson, isn't it?"
"Yeah-never marry a man without trying him out first and making sure he can do what he's supposed to."
Now it was Lorraine's turn to become reflective. She took a sip of her drink and began: "You know, when I think back over all the men I've balled, ever since I was fifteen-"
Deirdre interrupted: "I started when I was fourteen."
"Yeah-well, as I say, when I think over them, it's quite surprising how many of them really were disappointing. Men talk about sex and think about it a lot, but when it comes right down to it an awful lot of them are poop outs. You know-they get you hot and then can't get a hard on, or they go off too soon, or they have Puritan hang-ups and won't go down on you, or else they are freaked out about it and all they want to do is French and be Frenched-most of them can't relax and enjoy."
"I think that's why I like to come to Roger's parties so much. If you meet a man here, you know he's a performer. If he weren't he wouldn't be at a gathering like this."
"Yeah." They both took another sip of their drinks. "You know," Lorraine began again, "when I think back over some of the weirdoes I've balled-"
"No weirder than mine, I'll bet."
"I even had a black man once. A great big guy, hung like a mule, who was a musician in a club where I worked."
"I've had blacks too," Deirdre boasted back. "They're not so hot."
Lorraine looked at her drinking partner in astonishment. "That's just what I was going to say. All my life I've heard this stuff about how Negroes practically invented sex. Hell, he was no different from any white man I've known-no better and no worse."
Deirdre giggled. "When the lights are off you can't tell the difference."
"And the black doesn't rub off," the other added sagely.
Deirdre became curious. "Tell me, honey, is your husband good with you in bed? He always makes it fine with me but I was wondering if he's as good at home."
Lorraine shrugged. "Oh, average, I guess. A lot of nights he's too tired because his job and the long commute takes a lot out of him. He gets home, has a couple of martinis, eats and has a couple more, and by that time he's more interested in sleep than pussy."
Deirdre lay back, stretched her legs, wriggled her hips and then crossed her ankles. "You know. I don't really think I've ever had enough balling to satisfy me. What I'd really like is to take on every man here, one right after the other, and I'd enjoy the last man as much as the first."
Lorraine was not to be outdone. "I'd love to take them all on. It's been a dream all my life, to have a line of men waiting with hards-on for the guy ahead of them to get finished with me."
"Did you read the Revolt of Mamie Stover?"
"I sure did. That part in the bull pen, where she was servicing the men one after the other, every five minutes? Gad I flipped-I had a hard on all the time I was reading it."
Both girls were a little bit drunk now; a tiny bit belligerent. "I wish we could get all the men to line up and have us," Deirdre sighed.
"They wouldn't have anything left for you after they got through with me."
"G'wan," Deirdre scoffed. "You'd poop out halfway through. You haven't had the experience. You don't have the talent for banging like I have."
Lorraine resented the challenge. Hotly she replied: "I can bang anybody you can bang, and do it better and oftener."
A sly look came into Deirdre's eyes. "So you've banged black and whites. Did you ever bang a dog?"
The other girl's eyes were round. She hesitated. "You mean-really do it with a dog? Well-I've heard of it."
Deirdre was triumphant. "You see-you've heard of doing it. But you'd be scared to try."
"Do you mean-ah-have you'? "
A secret grin. "You might be surprised how good it is."
Lorraine remembered something. "That dog of yours-a big black German shepherd. Does he--? "
"Every time I give him the chance. Twice a day, if I feel like it. He never gets tired." A giggle. "Maybe it's because he doesn't have a job to worry about."
All Lorraine could say was, "Gosh."
Deirdre pushed her advantage. "Well, what d'ya say? Game to try? He's right outside in my car."
Lorraine accepted the challenge. "Anything you can ball, I can ball better. Go get him."
Few guests noticed Deirdre step out the front door, to dart across the secluded yard the few steps to where her car was parked. In seconds she returned leading a handsome German shepherd, having paused just once to let him relieve himself against a bush.
Triumphantly she led the dog up to where Lorraine reclined on the floor, against the couch. "Good, Hans," she said. "Sit." Instantly the dog dropped to a sitting posture, extending his neck to sniff at Lorraine's thigh. The contact of his wet nose against her bare flesh gave her goose bumps.
"He's a beauty," she admired. "Actually, a hell of a lot better looking than some of the men here."
"He's got a better dong on him too," Deirdre replied proudly. "Well, are you ready to get banged?"
Lorraine was just drunk enough not to even hesitate.
"Hell, yes. What do I do?"
"Wait just a second." In her hands, Deirdre had a pair of leather gloves, rather like mittens, which laced at the wrists. "Got to put these on him first," she explained. "Otherwise, he'll claw the hell out of you when he gets his forelegs wrapped around your waist and really goes to work."
The sight and smell of the gloves aroused the dog's desire. His head and ears became even more alert and his penis began to extend itself, its head peeking forth from its full length sheath. Two lumps began to swell on each side of the sheath near its base.
"Boy, he gets turned on right now, doesn't he?" Lorraine said admiringly. "I wish I had a man who could get ready to go like that."
Deirdre felt both paws to make sure the leather mittens were securely fastened. "Okay, honey, he's ready. Now, get on your hands and knees, spread your legs wide-and hang on for the ride of your life."
Some of the guests had noticed the dog's entrance and paid little attention. Now, realizing what was to happen, everyone stared in fascination at the crouching Lorraine. like a dog handler, Deirdre said: "Okay, Hans, let's go."
The dog needed no urging. He sprang forward, standing on his hind legs, only to be pulled down to all fours by Deirdre. "Not so soon, boy. Here, boy-get it." With that she put her fingers to Lorraine's exposed vagina and pressed the gash of her womanhood apart. Hans moved in close to sniff it appreciatively a few times (at the contact of his wet nose Lorraine gave a stifled, rather excited yelp) and then began to lick it hungrily.
After a few laps at the wet flesh, Deirdre pulled him back a foot or two, patted him on the head and said: "All right, now-go get it, boy," and dropped his leash.
The dog darted at the woman, rose to throw his forelegs around her waist and pulled his hips up tightly against hers. The long, pointed tool flashed fully out of its sheath, searching, stabbing, throwing shadows on the floor beneath them as his fevered organ searched for its mark.
The experienced dog needed only a few seconds to find the place where he wanted it to go. He found it and rammed it home. The viewers knew, too-Lorraine screamed, "Oh my God" as the full length of his long, thin shaft slid into her.
The dog began a rapid motion with his hips, almost too fast for the eye to follow. Lorraine began to moan: "Oh my God-he's killing me. He's ramming it right through me."
The dog continued his rapid movements as the woman moaned. Her moans changed to a rasping sound as her hips began to move in a slower counterpoint of motion against the dog's. She still grunted at the fierce stabs of the dog's penis inside her, but she was beginning to come up to climax now. The speed of her movements increased and suddenly she was in the grip of a violent orgasm. She came once, twice, three times, then started to relax. The dog kept banging away fiercely inside her.
Lorraine screamed. "My God he's killing me. I can't come any more. Jesus, get him off of me."
"Too late, darling," Deirdre laughed. "Once he starts fucking there's no stopping him until he's had his come. Better get your ass to wagging again so he'll come sooner."
Through her howls, Lorraine began to rotate her hips vigorously, matching the dog, thrust for thrust, urging him on to his completion. She even moved her body back against his in an attempt to increase the stimulation he was receiving from her.
It worked. The dog's hips jerked a few times, and then he was clinging even more tightly to her, pouring everything he had into her. They hung together for a few seconds, and then in response to a command from Deirdre the dog backed off. Sis organ was now shrunken; had disappeared within its sheath.
Lorraine collapsed on the floor, while a roar of o-what? applause? laughter? admiration?-went around the room.
"Jesus, what a sensation," Lorraine moaned. "You didn't tell me it would be like that, you dog-fucking bitch you," she complained. "I think he poked a hole in my guts with the point of that thing."
"It's different, isn't it?" Deirdre persisted. Somehow she was a little miffed that no one was admiring her fine dog. "And in another ten minutes, he'll be ready to go again."
"Not with me he won't," she replied emphatically.
"What are you complaining about?" Deirdre asked her. "You've been fucked by a guy and a girl and a dog tonight. Lots of women live out their whole lives without ever having it that good."
Bruce had been listening, Karen's leash held in his hand. He entered the conversation.
"Why don't you make a grand slam of it by swapping blow jobs with my sweet little doggie?"
Lorraine groaned. "I won't be ready for action for hours yet."
Deirdre was triumphant. "There, you see? I said you were a poop out."
"Go ahead, Lorraine," Bruce urged. "Make it a night you'll remember. I'm offering it to you for free-no rental charge."
She considered. "Well, maybe, in a little bit. Let me wash myself up after that damn dog, and have a drink." She got up, disappeared in the direction of the bathroom; returned, to mix herself a drink at the sideboard. She sipped it as she came back to sit beside them.
Karen realized she, too, was in need of relief. Appealingly she spoke to Bruce. "I'd like to go, too. May I?"
Instantly he arose. "Of course, dear. Right now. Me too, in fact." He led her by the leash to the master bathroom; entered with her and closed the door behind them. He gestured toward the toilet. "You first, dear."
She no longer hesitated at anything. Without even thinking she lowered herself to the seat and began to urinate. A long, grateful stream flowed out of her. Staring down between her legs, she saw it preceded by a drainage of Bruce's semen which dripped down into the water, to be followed by her flow which landed on it and diluted it. More of that stuff inside, she reflected. She was soiled beyond all cleaning now. She completed her act, wiped herself with toilet paper and arose. She stood quietly and watched Bruce as he stood in front of the bowl and relieved himself. Funny how soft and flabby his cock was now, in comparison to the fierce thing it had been before. It wouldn't hurt if he pushed it into her the way it was now, but she supposed it wouldn't go in when it was in this condition. She noticed the way the flesh thing they called a foreskin had rolled down to partially cover the knob on the end. Even the knob looked harmless now, as a steady stream of water shot out of the hole in its center.
Bruce completed his act, shook it two or three times and flushed the toilet. He took the, end of her leash where it hung from her neck and led her back to the living room. Funny, she thought, he didn't wipe the end of it with paper as she did. Maybe men don't do that when they go tinkle.
Lorraine was still sitting on the floor where they had left her, at one end of the largest couch, Deirdre crouched beside her. Bruce dropped beside them and pulled Karen by her leash. "What are you two chinning about?" he asked.
"Actually, we were watching Roger and that big brown-haired girl-what's her name?"
Deirdre supplied: "Jeannette."
Karen saw that DeWilde was on his back on the floor of the raised alcove where she had begun proofreading in the first hours of her residence in this house. A tall, beautiful woman with long, almost straight hair of a honey colored sheen flowing down her back reclined on one elbow alongside of him. She had large but firm breasts which jutted up from her fine chest; long, tapered legs, crossed at the ankles, extended below prominent pelvic bones. A thick patch of hair the same color as that on her head puffed up from between her loins.
She had a jar of some sort of unguent in one hand and was dabbing it on DeWilde's penis, working it into the skin with long strokes of her tapering fingers. Even at this distance Karen could see that their length was enhanced by her nails, almost claws, worn much longer than is the usual fashion. A light shell pink polish made them glow in the soft light of the room.
This was really the first long look Karen had ever had of this awful cock of DeWilde's and it again made her shudder. It was thick and long; reddish-purple and unutterly horrible. Now as she gazed at it she marveled that it hadn't torn her more than it did. To her eyes it seemed to be at least twice as large, twice as thick, twice as long, as that of any other man in the room. Brace's cock had hurt her painfully a couple of hours ago, and Deirdre's dildo had been agony, but both of them put together would not have equaled this awful piece of flesh which Jeannette was anointing.
Lorraine said: "I guess she's really going to take him on."
Deirdre replied: "She may be able to handle it. I know she's had three children, so she must be pretty big."
"Nobody's big enough for that thing. I got drank at one of Roger's parties one night and let him have me. I didn't know what I was doing, but I soon found out. It was a month before I could pee in comfort."
"It might be nice if he were gentle, with it, but he's so rough-I think he enjoys giving the pain more than the sex itself."
That he does, thought Karen; that he does. Oh, how he enjoys hurting a girl with it.
DeWilde was becoming impatient now; rolled onto his side to push Jeannette almost roughly onto her back. A low, throaty chuckle came from her lips. "Ready now, lover boy?" she asked as she spread her legs wide and held out both arms to receive him.
As he threw one leg over her body she stopped him with both hands on his chest; removed one hand to flex her fingers before his eyes.
"See those nails, honey? Well, let's get the rules straight. If you hurt me, or don't stop when I ask, I'm going to rake the skin off of your back until your ribs are showing. You might even get one of them in your eyeball.
"Now, if you still want to, go ahead."
She dropped her arms at her side, pulled her knees up almost to her armpits, and waited. Her buttocks were toward Karen and she could see the thick, curly brown hair parted by a wide, wet red gash of exposed flesh, waiting for the entry of that awful thing on DeWilde.
The pudgy man didn't hesitate. He mounted her, stretched his body full length on top of her lovely figure and guided his red cock head to her waiting hole. With a thrust of his hips he entered her. As the head slid in, both of her arms wrapped around him and her nails, like the splayed paws of a jungle cat, pressed firmly into the flesh of his shoulder blades, on each side of his spine.
"Hold it right there," she said, firmly.
DeWilde didn't stop. He gave another thrust of his hips. The finger nails sunk in; pulled away slightly from the spine. A look of pain contorted DeWilde's face, and his movements stopped.
In a silky smooth voice which sounded like a cat's purr, much in keeping with her nails, she murmured: "You think I'm kidding, honey, you try that one more time and you'll be in the bathroom looking for your iodine."
DeWilde lay absolutely still and the girl removed her nails from his flesh to press her palms flat against his shoulder blades. She moved her hips a little, as if experimentally; apparently satisfied, began an up-and-down rocking motion of her pelvis to distend herself and spread her own lubrication over him.
"Try a little more, lover boy, until mamma says quit."
Obediently, quite gently for him, DeWilde urged some more of his manhood inside her womanhood. He stopped at her command; resumed when she told him to. Expertly she wriggled her hips from side to side to dilate herself for his entry; moved her hips up and down to facilitate his passage.
At one point she told him to stop and lift his hips. He did, and she slid one hand between their bodies to place it around his shaft.
"Ummm, good," she said approvingly. "We got half of it in already."
She removed her hands to place both of them, palms down, upon his rounded buttocks. "Now, honey," she told him. "I'm going to piss you the rest of the way in. When you feel it start to flow get all of it into me, like you were a salmon swimming upstream."
She giggled. "That's what you want to do, isn't it-spawn?"
Karen saw a flow of water begin, surging out of the gash so tightly circling the distended cock of De Wilde. It splashed over DeWilde's testicles, soaking her own hair and the inside of her up-thrust thighs; spread out in a dark stain upon the carpet beneath her.
As eagerly as Hans, the dog had mounted Lorraine earlier, De Wilde thrust the rest of his tool into the girl. All of it went into her with a rush, without hurting her, because of her hydraulically-distended organs. She sighed with satisfaction as she felt his testicles meet her rectum; murmured a gentle: "We got it, honey. Now, you just take it slow and easy from here on in, so that I have time to stretch to catch your come."
She paused a second, then added: "Mamma's going to teach you to fuck like a gentleman."
Karen saw both pairs of hips begin to writhe in unison, DeWilde's surprisingly gentle. He even lifted the upper half of his body onto his elbows, supporting himself so that the entire weight of his gross body was not bearing down upon the slim one of his partner's. Gratefully Jeannette's arms encircled his waist. Her legs lifted up to encircle his body. Her feet crossed each other and her ankles locked, to hold the man tightly to her.
She was enjoying herself hugely now, rocking back and forth beneath him with every millimeter of that unconscionable prick inside her, pleasured with every thrust of it.
Deirdre whispered delightedly to the other three: "She really does know how to fuck, doesn't she? She's tamed Roger into doing it her way; and then a huge cock like that is fun."
Karen continued staring at them, wondering what would happen when Roger began squirting his stuff into her. She remembered how awful his two comes in her had felt; thought vividly of the sudden spasmodic jerking of his groin as the come began, the hot scalding of its flow inside her accompanied by the agonizing pulse, pulse, pulse of the foreskinless red cock head as it pumped the load into her.
It was starting now, she noted. Roger's hips had doubled their tempo and Jeannette wasn't stopping him. She was speeding up her pace to match his. Together they rocked on the floor, reaching toward the heights.
There. That was it. He was shooting her now, Karen knew. She saw the trembling in his loins and buttocks, saw them give tiny little jerks, saw the grimace contort his face almost like a man in pain. She saw it matched by a look of ecstasy on Jeanette's; saw her lift her hips even higher to receive his flow fully and as deeply as possible. Her entire body was quivering now. She was coming too, Karen knew how many times? That was once-the woman quieted, moved her hips once or twice, then quivered again as she repeated her orgasm.
Two.
Again she moved her hips, rotated them slightly from side to side, and erupted into a third come.
That makes three, Karen thought.
She knew what she was seeing now. She had observed other women this evening having this funny thing happen to them; this feeling of joy in what was to her so horrible. She had seen Barbara and Gwen explode this way; had seen Martha do it when Marv had come in her.
There Jeannette went again. That made four comes for her. DeWilde was holding on manfully, still propped up on his arms, hips thrust forward, maintaining a tight pressure between his groin and the top of her cunt, to give herself something to put herself off against. His cock must be getting soft by now, Karen realized. It always did, right after a man shot his stuff. Now it would begin to leak out of Jeannette's cunt, and dribble down, and when she went to pee the rest of it would drip out into the bowl.
She must be through. Karen saw her wriggle her hips a few more times but nothing happened. She didn't have another come left in her. She sighed and slumped back, her legs and arms sliding from around Roger's body to drop limply on the floor. Now she spoke.
"Honey, you're wonderful, when a girl makes you do it right."
A slight flush of pleasure showed on Roger's countenance.
"You're pretty good yourself, sweetie," he replied. '"Not the best I've ever had, but right up there at the top."
The verbal exchange broke the attention span of the audience. Light conversation began. Aroused by the action, some of the men resumed fondling the women they had purchased. Karen saw Marv and Martha, hand in hind, move to a large overstuffed chair opposite the couch. Marv sat down in it and pulled the tiny redhead down until she sat on his lap, facing him, one leg on each side of his body and doubled, resting on her knees.
Reaching down, she manipulated his limp penis, skinning the foreskin back, circling the base of it with thumb and forefinger and making a stripping motion, doing everything in her power to urge him to erection.
Marv reached up to cup a tiny breast in each hand. "You're beautiful, baby. I'm trying, but you've already fucked me and sucked me and you've drained me pretty nearly dry."
"Try one more time, honey, please. I'd like another lesson from you tonight."
That did it, at least to an extent. His penis stiffened; swelled somewhat; did at least lift its head if not stand upright. Marv looked down at it.
"Well, that's what we call a half-hearted hard-on at least, I'm game to try to get it in if you are."
"What do I do?"
"Lift yourself up on your knees, put the head of it in your slit and lower yourself onto it. Keep tight hold of it in both hands to support it and kind of squeeze it into you, like you were poking a sausage up there."
She followed his bidding, moving it back and forth across her gash and forcing the semi-stiff fingers. Karen saw a smile come to her face as more and more of it entered.
She's going to make it, Karen thought. Their hair is almost touching now. She only has about another inch to go. There-she was reaching her fingers up inside her cunt to tuck more of it further up, to urge the last bit of it into her.
She made it. She was settled down tightly against him now, in his lap, facing him, their private hair intertwined. Marv put his hands around her buttocks, cradling their soft smallness in his palms. His fingers curled and one of them tucked itself into her rectum.
"Ooh, that feels good," she commented.
"It's going to feel better," he told her. "Now, reach down between us and pull your lips apart, so that your pretty little clittie is pressed up tight against the base of my tool."
She did, afterward leaning forward to embrace him and press her chest closely against his. Karen saw her little breasts push out to her sides from the pressure of body against body.
"Now you start rolling your hips," he instructed. "Every time you rock forward you're going to get my peter further up your slit, and every time you rock back you're going to get my finger up your little bunghole."
She did, and in a half a dozen strokes practically squealed in delight. "Ooooh, that's so good," she told him. "I think this is the best yet."
"You just enjoy, darling. I'm going to make you come whether I can or not."
"Oh, you've got to," she remonstrated. "It won't be any fun unless you get off too."
"I'll try," he assured her. "Let's go, baby."
Martha closed her eyes and redoubled her efforts.
She seemed to be in an utter abandonment of joy. She rolled her hips forward and back, getting her kicks on both strokes. This obviously couldn't hurt too much; Marv's cock had been quite small when it went in. Karen wondered what it felt like to get fucked with a soft cock? It must be a lot less unpleasant than when it had all that bone in it.
There she goes-Martha was shaking, seemingly trying to swallow all of Marv's body up inside her. She quieted. Marv lifted his buttocks from the chair slightly so that he carried all of her weight on his body, arched his back, and her quivering began again.
That's two comes, Karen counted. She wondered if they'd quit now. No, Marv was thrusting upward into her again, pulling her down onto him with his hands on her shoulders. There-Marv was coming, too. That was three times for him this evening; two fucks and a blow job, plus a partial third fuck in Lorraine in whom he hadn't come. She wondered how many times a man could squirt in a girl, either in her cunt or her mouth, and how long he had to wait between them.
They were relaxing now, arms locked around each other. Marv spoke.
"See? You weren't the one on the bottom that time, just there with your legs spread and having it poked into you. You were on top, and you balled me great-you even made me come, although it was a pretty small load."
"It was marvy, darling--a perfectly beautiful load. I've taken your stuff in both ends of me tonight, and loved it both ways."
The pretty little Martha dropped her head to the man's shoulder and they relaxed together. Karen's attention was drawn to Lorraine, who spoke to Bruce.
"Well, that got me worked up enough that maybe I will accept your offer. Maybe I ought to make it a complete round robin tonight."
Bruce extended the leash to the woman. "Here you go. Be my guest."
She took the leather, but looked around a trifle nervously. "I-ah-I feel the need of a little privacy. Not you two, of course-" a gesture indicated Bruce and Deirdre-"but all these other people kind of turn me off. I've never sucked a muff before."
"I think one of the bedrooms must be empty--he's got five of them in this place."
Bruce rose and led the way, followed by Deirdre and Lorraine. Karen trotted behind the tall brunette obediently on the end of her leash.
CHAPTER VI
The bedroom to which Bruce led them was the same one in which Karen had spent the night after her brutal rape by DeWilde. The bed was still rumpled; her pocketbook lay on a chair next to the vanity. Dully she remembered that it was in that mussed bed he had possessed her a second time. Now she was to get on it again to be ravished by these people, and the sex act was to be an unnatural one.
She stood motionless, waiting for instructions. Bruce and Deirdre seated themselves on the foot of the bed. Lorraine stretched out a full length in the center of it, held out her arms to Karen invitingly.
"Come here, little one. Give me my first taste of a new experience and make it a complete evening for me."
like a robot, Karen sat on the edge of the bed, swung her legs up and stretched out beside the brunette. Lorraine turned onto her side, propped herself on one elbow and gazed down at the girl as she began to run her hands the full length of her body.
"My, you are young, aren't you? How old are you?"
"Nineteen."
"Have you ever done this with a woman before?"
"I've never done any of this before."
Lorraine smiled a little. "I didn't really believe Roger, but now I do. Well, I've seen it done plenty of times, so let's see what happens."
The brunette lowered her head to Karen's chest and sucked one of her ripe breasts into her mouth. Karen felt the pressure; felt something warm and wet begin to circle her nipples, massaging the corona. This was followed by a pulling sensation as Lorraine began nursing on her breast.
Disgust filled her. Her stomach tightened and she felt as if she were going to vomit. The muscles loosened a little as she felt a hand begin to caress her belly; knead its firm flesh softly. She felt the hand cross down to her private hair; felt fingers move in between her legs. Now it was moving back and forth slowly across her opening, the place she peed through. The flesh, damaged by both man and dildo-clad woman, ached at the touch.
She had an urge to jump up and run from the room screaming; fought it down because she knew it would mean a beating from Roger. She lay quietly, hoping it would soon be over.
Lorraine swung her body sideways so that she lay at right-angles to Karen. In this position she lowered one shoulder so that her breast hung invitingly over Karen's mouth. She lowered it until her nipple came into contact with Karen's mouth. She waited that way, expectantly.
Karen knew she had to do it, regardless of her disgust. Slowly she parted her lips; accepted the proffered breast and began to duplicate what she felt Lorraine doing to hers.
With her free hand, the older woman reached for one of Karen's, pulled it to her and slid it beneath her, between her legs. Karen could feel the thick patch of black hair; felt the woman move her hips from side to side to wriggle her womanhood more firmly into Karen's hand. She had to obey the unspoken command. Tentatively, she parted the long hair until she found the opening; inserted her fingers into it as Lorraine was doing to her and began to massage the woman's clitoris.
Deirdre moved closer to Bruce until their bodies were touching, leaning against each other. Both of them watched the woman and the girl intently. Deirdre's hand strayed to Bruce's cock, to grasp it and hold it firmly. The man responded by placing his hand between her legs and sliding one finger up inside her opening, where he moved it back and forth in imitation of a coital act.
Lorraine was now becoming aroused. Deliberately she lifted her upper body from Karen's, moved down until her head was above Karen's pelvis and lifted one leg across the recumbent girl's body to straddle her. She leaned forward and down, to bury her face in the sparse golden curls between her legs. Her tongue slid out to lick the hair away on each side of the opening, then darted inside to taste Karen's hidden recesses as far up inside as it could reach. At the same time she lowered her hips until her body rested at full length upon Karen's.
When she did this, the bushy forest of her pubic hair was lowered against Karen's upturned mouth. Oh God, Karen thought-wiry, thick hair. Her father had worn a beard for a few years when she was young and when he used to kiss her goodnight it felt like this. God, why did she have to think of her father at this time. She could never see him again. She wasn't fit to associate with him or anyone else in Rancho Sierra Madre ever again.
Lorraine's tongue had done with its probing of her insides, had finished tickling the ends of the little tubes inside her opening and was now directing its attention to some little thing up at the top of her cunt, almost on the outside of it. This thing had been particularly sore due to the other's abuse of it. The tongue's touch was not pleasing but it was not painful either, and for this at least Karen was grateful.
The touch of Lorraine's pubic hair against her mouth and lips was more than Karen could stand. It was a furry torment. She reached both hands up and around Lorraine's outspread thighs, found the hair with her fingertips and parted it, smoothing it back as one might when combing the hair on the head and parting it in the middle. This exposed wet, red flesh to her gaze. She looked up and saw the older woman's parted vagina, the lips flared wide around it because of her spread-leg position which pulled it open. She saw the little bit of erect flesh at the top of it; thought how much like a miniature of a man's penis it looked. That must be the little thing which had such sensitive nerves in its end.
Lorraine could wait no longer. She lowered her hips until the lips of her vagina met those of Karen's mouth. Automatically Karen's mouth opened, her tongue protruded and began to lick the tiny little penis. She imitated the things Lorraine had been doing to her; was met by Lorraine's hips beginning to roll up and down, joyously rubbing her cunt in long strokes across Karen's mouth and parted lips.
Karen prayed that it would end soon, but Lorraine seemed to be willing to continue forever. Karen's clitoris was becoming sore again from Lorraine's continued manipulation of it, while her jaws were aching from the unwilling tonguing she was giving the older woman.
Lorraine interrupted her oral act upon Karen to moan: "Oh, suck it, honey; suck it good and hard." She then grabbed all of Karen's private flesh in her mouth, sucking it in until all of the young girl's fleshy vagina lips were pulled inside her mouth, to lay on top of her tongue.
Karen imitated the movement, pulling the flesh which was now beginning to ooze liquid into her lips and mouthing it. She sucked it in and nursed on it, manipulating it with her tongue and teeth, wondering for a moment what would happen if she were to sink her teeth into it as hard as she could; rip her head sideways and tear at it. Objectively she decided they would kill her, and wondered if it might not be worth it.
She lost her chance. Lorraine, frenzied, twisted her hips sideways so that her vagina parted again, at the same time separating Karen's and furiously resumed tonguing of the young girl's clitoris. Karen copied the change, and soon Lorraine was climaxing in a wild, erotic orgasm. Karen stuck her tongue up inside the older woman's cunt when she felt the come begin; was surprised to feel the inner flesh contracting wildly as she orgasmed.
So a woman throbs, too, when she gets her nuts off, just like a man's cock head expands. The twitching up inside her continued, then slowed in its frequency. At that point Lorraine's hips began to move again. Ready for another come. Karen moved her tongue from the inside to recontact the clitoris to another climax, stuck it back inside to feel the contractions during her come.
Twice. A repeat of the cycle, and a third orgasm. How many was that for Lorraine tonight? Karen tried to count. First she'd fucked Martha like a man and gone off three or four times at least. Then Marvin had fucked her-no, he'd put it into her for some time but couldn't make her come. Then the dog fucked her and made her come a few more times, and now-there she was, coming again. That made three times from this blow job alone. Idly Karen wondered if her cunt had throbbed like that when the dog made her come, and if so had the dog liked it.
Lorraine was pooped out now. She rolled off Karen in her reversed direction, and moaned:
"Oh, God, I'll never need to get my nuts off again."
Bruce rose to his knees on the bed and Deirdre's hand slipped from his cock. Karen saw that it was again erect, though not standing up quite so stiffly, quite so proud, as it had been when he possessed her earlier after her purchase.
"You girls got me all hot again," he stated. "Now I want a blow job too." He moved until he lay beside Karen, reversed, his body heading in the same direction as Lorraine's. He rolled toward Karen until his cock was in front of her mouth.
This was the first thing Roger had done to her--defile her mouth with his cock. Now it was to happen again. Past caring, she opened her mouth and barely shuddered as she sucked the cock head in.
She was surprised to find it was really quite soft. She nursed on it as she had done on Lorraine's vagina. Bruce found her hand, guided it to his cock and wrapped her fingers around it.
"Pump on it, baby," he directed. "I want you to make me come, and you're going to have to stroke hard to do it." He guided her hand for the first few up-and-down motions to give her the pace and direction which stimulated him most, then removed his hand to turn the job over to her when she seemed to have found the pace.
Funny-his cock shaft seemed rather soft now in her hand. She guessed men were only terribly hard and stiff the first time; were softer for their second and third shots in an evening. She ran her tongue around his cock head. It was quite noticeably pear-shaped and rather elongated toward the hole. That was the foreskin she was tonguing now. She pushed it back with the tip of her tongue, then ran it around the ridge at the base of it; the place from which the foreskin grew. She was surprised to feel little knobs, or tiny buds, in the flesh of this recess. As she did so a quiver went through all of Bruce's body and she wondered if it was enjoyment or pain.
She decided she'd better leave those buds alone. She moved her tongue tip back to the cock head, circled it two or three times more, then explored the hole in the end of it. She tried to thrust her tongue down into it, as she had run it up inside Lorraine, knowing it wouldn't fit but wondering. Again the quivering in Bruce's body told her she had hit a sensitive area.
She meantime continued her steady stroking of his shaft with her hand as he had instructed her. It wasn't getting any harder. She was surprised to find she could bend it with her fingers. He seemed to be enjoying everything, however.
She put her tongue tip back into the hole and found that something sticky, gummy; a thick liquid was oozing out of it. Now, every time she ran her hand down his cock shaft this stuff came out on the return stroke. Was he coming? No, it couldn't behe wasn't jerking in an orgasm yet. She remembered that DeWilde's cock had leaked in her mouth, and how she had let it run down her throat. She moved her lips; pursed them in a sucking motion and swallowed. As each subsequent drop appeared she gulped it down, to make room in her mouth for the next.
What would she do when he came? Could she swallow fast enough to keep ahead of the gushing, or would she gag on it? She gulped a little at the thought.
Bruce was moving his hips now, trying to thrust it even more deeply into her mouth. She obliged by stretching her lips forward, getting more of his shaft inside. Feeling with her fingers, she estimated that at least a third of it was in her mouth. In this present erection his cock was a good deal smaller than earlier in the evening.
She felt his thigh beneath her head stiffen. His hip movement stopped and he began to tremble. This is it. He is on the edge of coming. She gave one more stroke on his shaft with her fingers, then squeezed it tightly and deliberately thrust the tip of her tongue as deep inside the hole as it would go. She felt the sticky stuff surge up from his balls and flow down his shaft; felt the first lump of it pass between her fingers. Then it was shooting out into her mouth, surprisingly warm when it passed over her tongue.
She moved her tongue to the bottom of her mouth so that it cradled his pear-shaped cock head arid swallowed. She gulped quickly enough so that her mouth was empty and she was ready for the next shot. The cock shaft pulsed in her hand just before the head of it expanded to shoot the juice, giving her warning of when the next swallow was due.
She kept count, and found that he gave her only three shots with any real amount of come in them, although his cock continued to pulse a number of times after that. There was no taste to his come, she noted; only a sticky, gummy texture. It was rather like sucking a thick but utterly tasteless malted milk through a large soda straw, she decided.
Bruce's cock was completely soft now. She removed her hand and found she could suck its entire length into her mouth. She did so, and her nose came up against the hair on the top of his ball sack. It tickled. To stop it she pressed her face tightly against his balls, crumpling the hairs. She pressed her tongue upward against the limp shaft in her mouth, nursing on it at the same time, milking every last drop of the come out of him.
Bruce gave a satisfied groan and rolled away from her. He sighed and said to no one in particular:
"Oh, my God, that blow job alone was worth six hundred and fifty dollars."
Would that be the end of it? Were these animals through degrading her now? She was so tired--would they just go away and let her rest before she killed herself? She knew now that she was going to end her life but somehow she wanted to rest before doing it.
She heard the rustling of movement on the bed; opened her eyes to look upward at Deirdre moving toward her. The woman slid her hand down Karen's body, fingers encountering and curving into her tortured gash. Bruce stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
"No, leave her alone now. She's had enough and she's exhausted. I want to get my money's worth out of her this week before I turn her back to Roger."
"What about me?" Deirdre demanded. "I got the hots watching all three of you going to it. What am I supposed to do-jack off?"
"Oh, go fuck yourself with your dildo," Bruce told her, as he unceremoniously urged her and Lorraine to their feet. "Go on outside and let the kid sleep."
They left the bedroom, grumbling. Bruce closed the door behind them and Karen heard the sound of a night-bolt sliding home. She saw him cross the room to the sliding glass panels which looked out over the Sound; saw him lock those too. He came back to the bed to help her aching body beneath the covers; snapped out the room lights and got in beside her.
"Now we can sleep undisturbed. I don't want Roger stretching that pretty little hole of yours out of shape before I've gotten my money's worth out of it."
He patted her body affectionately in the dark. "Besides," he added. "We've got a lot more fun things we're going to do together before my week is up."
CHAPTER VII
Karen's dreams that night were a horror of black pits, screaming people, animals torturing her and wild running but so deep was her sleep that they couldn't awaken her. She slept on until mid-morning, awakening to find herself alone. It took some minutes for the awfulness of the night before to come back to her. With them came the deep depression, the shame, the determination to seek the purgation of death.
She was alone. Hadn't Bruce gotten into the bed last night? He wasn't there now. She listened intently; could not detect a sound of any kind.
Could she escape? She might find some sort of clothing to put on. If not, she might be able to drape a bedsheet over herself sari-style well enough to get her to a police station where she could seek help.
What could she tell them? They'd ask her why she was there and what she wanted to do and she'd have no explanation-obviously she couldn't tell them or anyone what depraved things had been done to her, and what she witnessed in this house. They were too utterly foul to tell anyone. Her throat would constrict and she wouldn't be able to get the words out and they'd think she was insane.
Even while she pondered, her chance, if she ever had one, disappeared. She heard steps coming to the door, a lock click back, and Bruce entered the room. He was wearing one of DeWilde's robes which wrapped almost twice around him. He smiled at her.
"So you finally woke up. I've been up for hours. We're alone, Roger left for the office as usual this morning. I told him I'd take care of you while he was in town."
She sank back to stare up at the ceiling.
"I'm taking a few days off so we can have fun together. Just called in and said I had the flu-not to expect me before Thursday or Friday," he chattered on. "Ready for breakfast?"
Stoically she arose to sit on the edge of the bed. He looked at her admiringly for a second; God, she did have a beautiful young body. He tossed a flowered Oriental robe at her.
"Put this on, honey. It's a little chilly this morning."
For some reason she felt almost grateful toward him as she slid into it. How nice to have one's nakedness covered again. She found her comb in her pocketbook; stood in front of the mirror as she groomed her hair. The reflection of her face almost staggered her because of the surprising fact that it looked just as it always did, except for the discoloration on one side of it which was already disappearing.
Karen tried to analyze what she had expected to see. Hollow eyes, the face of a slut? Marks of dissipation and debauchery? Horns and pointed ears, maybe?
It was nothing short of amazing that there was no change visible in her. Still puzzling over it, she followed Bruce to the kitchen.
The coffee was already made. He poured her a cup as he turned on a burner beneath a skillet.
"Hotcakes and ham for breakfast," he announced. "Roger keeps a well stocked refrigerator and all of us bachelors can cook at least a little bit."
A second surprise came to Karen. She discovered she was hungry. As he poured the batter into the skillet, she asked:
"You're not married?"
"No, I was for seven years, but about two years ago it came to a sudden end."
"That's too bad."
"Not really. She was a lousy cook, a lousy housekeeper, and a lousy lay. And, if a woman can't cook, keep house or fuck, what in the living hell is she good for?"
"I suppose so," was all Karen could think of to say.
"It finally came to an end when she had a baby. I always wanted a child and was delighted when she told me she had one in the oven. The only trouble is, when it was born it was as black as the ace of spades. Well, chocolate colored, anyway. Then she confessed she'd been balling our Negro gardener for years. She said she had been sure the kid would be mine because he'd been off on vacation during the month she'd gotten pregnant and I was the only one who had fucked her after her period."
Karen didn't understand. "Then how could the child be black?"
Bruce grinned. "Because she was one of those women who have a period for a month or two after they get pregnant. It's not too uncommon. The baby was born eight months after her last period."
"What did you do-throw her out?"
Bruce looked grim. "Hell, I didn't have to because I never let her come back to the house from the hospital. I found her a decent little apartment, paid the rent for six months, gave her two thousand dollars in cash and told her never to come near me again. My lawyer got me an uncontested divorce and I was free."
"You were generous," Karen commented.
"Oh, I had to give her some kind of a start. She'd never worked so she had to have some time for an adjustment. Besides, she did put in seven years with me-me and a dozen other guys."
Karen ate some pancake before speaking again. "Is it lonesome to be alone, after that long a marriage?"
"Good God no. An unmarried man today, especially one with a little money to spend and a nice house and car, can get all the female companionship he wants. Barbara and Gwen are only the two current members of my stable. They just go nicely together, like ham and cheese, and I enjoy banging both of them-often, at the same time."
They finished eating and Karen did the dishes without being told. As she was putting them away the chimes of the front door sounded. Bruce rose.
"That'll be Ted. He's a kid friend of mine, only fourteen, who crews on my boat and helps me generally. I phoned him this morning and asked him to get some clothes together for me and bring them over here."
He left, and Karen heard the front door open and close. Voices; Bruce was saying: "Thanks, Ted, I appreciate your bringing this stuff over here. Did Barbara and Gwen get home safely last night?"
The voice which replied was young. It was just now deepening in timbre. It had the quality typical of the not-yet-man, no-longer-boy voice. It was saying.
"I guess-they both let me in this morning to get the clothes you wanted, and neither of them looked any the worse for wear."
"Did they seem pissed off because I stayed here last night?"
"Not that I could tell. They were both very nice to me, as usual-nice, but-ah-distant."
That was Bruce laughing. "I'll bet you made another pass at them and they cooled you. They have to be distant with you or you'd bang both of them, and their pussies are under exclusive contract to me. At least, for the present."
A pause, then Ted replying: "You sure are a lucky guy, Bruce. Every time I'm in a room with them I get a hard on."
They had moved across the room now, into Karen's line of vision from the kitchen. Bruce had his back to her. Ted was facing him. He looked even younger than his fourteen years, Karen thought. He was short for one of today's youth, and slightly built; probably an inch or two over five feet and at least three inches less tall than she herself was. He had a nice face, not yet scarred by teen-age acne; straight black hair worn only collar-length. He was wearing a sport shirt and Levis with sneakers on his feet.
Karen was disappointed. A half-formed plan to rush into the room screaming when Brace's clothing messenger arrived died. This slight youth could be no help. Brace could beat up both of them at the same time, with one hand for each.
Brace was speaking again. "Ted, I just thought of something. Didn't you have a birthday last month which I forgot all about?"
"Aw, that's all right. I didn't expect you to get me anything."
"Well, I'm going to give you a belated birthday present, and it's going to be the nicest one you've ever had, or ever will receive. Here-here's ten bucks. Go pay that taxi driver off and tell him we'll phone for a cab when we want one."
Silence. The sound of the front door opening and closing, a pause, then the opening and closing again. Ted was back.
Bruce spoke. "Karen, come into the living room, will you?"
Her now-familiar fear tightened her throat again. Nevertheless, she obeyed, walking into the living room with steady stride.
"Karen, may I present Ted, a good buddy of mine and a reliable crewman. Ted, this is Karen."
The intensity with which the lad stared at her made Karen unthinkingly clutch the flimsy robe around her more tightly. One hand went to her chest to pull the lapels further closed; the other went down to make sure the skirt below the belt was fully overlapped. By doing this she merely made the thin garment more tightly fitting, more revealing of the curves of her body.
"This is the birthday present I got for you, Ted. Take her and enjoy."
A flush started at the base of the boy's throat and spread quickly up over his face. His voice was husky as he replied:
"You mean it? I mean, really?"
"I wouldn't joke about a thing like that with a buddy like you. I've been promising you for a long time that I'd get you your very first piece of ass, but I haven't been able to do it until now. I'm not ready to share Barbara and Gwen yet, except at an occasional party on a swappie-swappie basis, and I haven't been dating anyone else."
Ted gasped out, "Gosh."
"So there she is. Take her-she's yours. For today only, of course, but up until five o'clock you can do anything you want to with her, as many times as you can."
Did Bruce mean that he was going to let this child perform a sex act with her? For some reason this seemed more disgusting than any depravity she had yet seen in this house. She didn't think a boy this young was capable of sex. Somehow, she had felt sure that males had to be much older before the sexual instinct emerged.
But they did mean it-both of them. Ted wasn't holding back, or acting embarrassed, like she would have expected a young boy to do. He was moving toward her, with a pleased flush on his face.
"Karen will be great for a first-timer like you, Ted, because she's only had a little bit more experience than yourself. You'll have fun starting out together."
The boy was in front of her now, his hands reaching out for her. As she stood still, unresisting, he untied the belt at her waist, pulled the robe apart and slipped it down over her shoulders. It dropped to the floor. Ted was eating her up with his eyes. The intensity of his gaze had an almost tactile impact on her skin.
"God, but she's beautiful," he gasped, awed by her lovely young nakedness. "I never thought I'd be so lucky, to have such a beautiful girl for my first. I don't know how to thank you, Bruce."
As he chattered his joy, his hands fumbled with his clothing. He got his shirt off quickly enough, but the zipper on his trousers jammed and he had to fight it to get it down. He kicked off his white jockey shorts along with his shoes; peeled off his socks to stand before her naked. Without a second's pause he took her by the hand, pulled her down to the living room floor beside him and promptly mounted her body.
Bruce was laughing uproariously. "Hold it, hold it kid," he chortled, as he reached down to take the young boy's arm and partially pull him off of her. "Don't rush it, Nobody's going to take her away from you. Do it right and make this first one something you'll remember all of your life."
He helped Ted to his feet; assisted Karen to hers. "Come on, let's go into the bedroom and make this a thing."
Leading the way, he marched down the center hall to the bedroom they had occupied last night Ted followed behind him, holding Karen's hand as if afraid she'd escape.
As they walked, Karen looked at the nude boy beside her. The muscles of his chest and shoulders were just beginning to form with approaching manhood; the pot-belly of childhood had already disappeared. He was some five inches shorter than she; the top of his head was about even with Karen's eyes. His body was still hairless except for a sparse patch of black fluff which curled around the base of his penis.
She saw that his penis was erect, almost painfully so. It was so stiff that it stood straight up almost touching his belly; so hard that it didn't even swing from side to side as he walked. It was small, little boy's sized; in keeping with the rest of his stature, she reflected, but not over three or four inches long and perhaps three-fourths of an inch in diameter. He had been circumcised and the lack of this missing flesh made his little cock head seem to stick out even more naked and alone.
It was hard to believe that his modest little cock could be the same kind of fearful tool DeWilde had used on her, or be blood brother to the other cocks she had seen in this house, and which had been inserted in her and others. Yet, she reflected, this little man was just as eager to put his little prick up her cunt and squirt his stuff into her as the owners of the medium sized and huge tools had been. Actually far more eager.
They were in the bedroom now and Ted gallantly led her to the bed. He pushed her down on it, then sat beside her to gaze down at her, reveling at the sight but uncertain where to begin. Finally he reached out both hands to grasp her breasts, kneading them awkwardly but joyously.
"Jesus, but she's got pretty boobs," he almost crooned.
Bruce removed his robe, dropped it on a chair and sat on the foot of the bed. "Go down on my young friend, Karen, and get him all nice and slick for his first entrance," Bruce directed.
Karen turned onto her left side facing Ted, who went down at full length beside her, hands still grasping her breasts. His face was pressed against the lower portion of her belly, his forehead pillowed against the curly soft hair which sprouted from between her legs. Ted lifted his right arm to place it around her waist and pull her body even closer to him.
Karen opened her mouth and sucked in the turgid little tool. She was amazed at how hard it was; by far the hardest she had ever mouthed. She put her teeth against it experimentally; gave it a little bite. It was like biting down on a raw corn cob, she reflected, or like a stick. As she did so Ted moaned; la moan of pleasure more than agony.
She felt the tickling of hairs against her nose and chin, which made her realize she had all of this cock, right down to its base, within her mouth. There was no room on the shaft for her fingers. She felt the cock head in the back of her mouth, the top of it pressing against the base of her tongue, the bottom of the cock head against the rearmost portion of the roof of her mouth. That would mean the hole in the end of it was pointing down her throat, just in front of her palate. It was not quite long enough to make her gag. She swallowed so that she would know what to expect; found that the base of her tongue moved easily up toward the roof of her mouth and compressed the cock head between.
As she did this Ted gave another moan of sheer ecstasy; blurted out with his lips pressed against the beginning of her pussy hair: "Ooooooh, God, that's good."
His little cock began to leak furiously, oozing more fluid than she had ever yet experienced in her brief sex life. It was running over the base of her tongue as copiously as Bruce had come last night when she had given him that final blow job.. She swallowed regularly. Each time she did so the back of her tongue compressed Ted's cock head and made it leak more furiously. She tightened her lips against the base of his shaft to see what would happen and found this added to the involuntary flow.
This was about as deeply as Bruce's prick had filled her mouth last night during that final blow, she compared; as deep, but much smaller around. Even when he had been completely soft, the girth of his cock had distended her lips. This little prick merely nestled in her mouth and she could even purse her lips around it. She did, just to prove the comparison, and Ted's hips began to quiver.
"That's enough, Karen-you'll suck him off before he knows what's happening."
Karen released the organ and made a quarter-turn onto her back. like a flash Ted was on top of her, grabbing for her body almost desperately, his hips swinging in wild lunges in the air. Karen spread her legs, doubling her knees and opening her thighs. Ted crouched over her on his hands, thrusting at her opening with his hips and missing.
As she looked down at his penis between the curves of her breasts, she could see her own pussy hair curling upward. Between Ted's legs and hers she could see Bruce's face. He was saying soothingly: "Take it easy, little stud. You've got to learn to pace yourself."
She saw Bruce's hand come into view; saw it grasp Ted's cock firmly from behind and direct it toward her hole. The man's big hand completely enveloped Ted's little cock. With one fingertip he got it started right and she felt the cock head enter her hole.
"There you go, youngster, give it a shove."
Ted was fully into her long before the sentence was completed. She felt the cock head go into the entrance to her main chamber, then stop; felt his testicles bang up against her rectum. Was that it? Apparently. She felt warm meat inside her and that was about all. She could feel her clitoris compressed against Ted's groin, felt scratchiness as their cunt and cock hairs mingled and that was about all.
Ted was grinding his loins against her now, thrusting into her with everything he had to offer, and it didn't hurt a bit. He was groaning, too; matching groan for thrust and thrust for groan. The sounds began to form themselves into words.
"Oh, God, how good. What a fuck. Fucking is great. Oh, God, nothing in the world ever felt like fucking."
His babbling ceased; became groans again as the pace of his hips redoubled.
"Jesus, I can't hold off any longer-oooh, Jesus, I'm going to-ooooh, God, I'm COOOOOOMING," he fairly screamed as he blasted into orgasm.
Karen could feel a little expansion of his cock head as the come began, and then an absolute stream of hot liquid began to flow into her body. If his cock was little, his come was monumental, she reflected, as she felt the solid impact of his first shot almost like something striking her on the inside. The smallness of his penis left plenty of room inside her for his come and he seemed determined to fill the space.
She resumed her habit of counting. Another pulsation of the cock head and bang! shot number two. Expansion; another shot. She could feel the hot liquid being forced into the back of her chamber by the subsequent shot, and then another, and then another. He was pumping her full.
Now he seemed to be finished, his ecstasy trailing away in little jerks that had no flow of stuff behind them. He lay on her, exhausted, and his body was so light she saw no reason to ask him to get off.
Eventually he did so himself. He slipped off alongside her on his back, a leg crossed over one knee and his hands clasped behind his head.
"How absolutely great, Bruce. That's the greatest thing in the world. I feel so wonderful now."
"Sure beats jacking off, doesn't it?" Bruce grinned.
Ted looked through the triangle formed by his crossed legs. "I wish I could have lasted longer, but I haven't jacked off for almost two weeks and I was so loaded up I couldn't hold back."
"You'll be better next time," Bruce assured him.
"You gonna fuck her now?"
Bruce shook his head. "No, I'm going to wait for an hour or two until you get pumped up again, and then I thought we might try something special. She drained me pretty good last night," he explained, "and I have to save my shots. I'm a lot older than you are, you know. A kid your age can flow like a fountain."
"Could she just suck on me again? That would feel so great, even if it is soft."
"She's all yours, Ted. She'll do anything you say."
For the first time Ted spoke directly to her. Shyly he said: "Please?"
It didn't really matter any more one way or the other. Karen swiveled around until she was at right-angles to the lad's body, wiped his cock as dry as she could with the bed sheet, placed her head on his belly and pulled his limp penis into her mouth. Ted sighed with joy as he felt the warmth and pulled his legs up, bent-kneed, like a young frog on its back.
Karen mouthed the limp tool which was now only a few inches long. She squished it back and forth from side to side in her mouth, kneading on it with her tongue. She was on her left side so her right hand was free. She reached in between his legs, cradling his ball sack in it, and was surprised to find it was big and heavy; amazingly large. It felt fully as big as Bruce's. She hadn't noticed this when studying Ted on the way to the bedroom, or when she had gone down on him the first time.
She opened her eyes to look at the thing she was holding. Two massive globes bulged the surface of the sack; her hand could hardly contain this scrotum and its contents. Bruce was observing the phenomena too.
"For such a little guy, you sure have a big pair of nuts," he commented. "If your prick ever grows up to fit your balls, you'll be another DeWilde."
Karen massaged the big testes gently. She knew this was a very sensitive part of a man. She also knew that so long as she was doing this nothing else would be happening to her, so she continued to do what she thought Ted would enjoy. Alternately she nursed hard on the limp cock, drawing deeply on it with the pressure of her tongue, then relaxed to flip it from side to side within her mouth. Occasionally she bit down with her teeth, just a little, to increase his sensations.
Time went by. Karen didn't know how long. She was content to keep at her task so long as Ted enjoyed it. At least no one was hurting her now. Bruce sat silently, watching them, in his own way enjoying the enraptured expression on Ted's upturned countenance. He smoked an occasional cigarette; once, crossed to a sideboard, mixed himself a highball and drank it. Later, she heard him go into the bathroom, followed by the sound of him urinating.
A funny thing began happening. The cock in her mouth seemed to be growing. Her tongue was meeting with more resistance when she pushed it sideways. Its head no longer rested against the front of her tongue but had moved backward considerably, almost to the base of it where it had been originally. She gave it a little bite with her teeth and was surprised to meet a great deal more solidity.
Bruce returned to the room and resumed his seat on the bed, a small jar of something in his hand. Ted's breathing increased. She could feel her head lifting and falling more where it lay on his belly. He spoke, in an enraptured voice: "It's getting hard again, Bruce."
Even as he spoke, the leaking began. Karen felt the first drop ooze out but without the flow which had marked the previous time she had gone down on him. She swallowed, flexing her tongue, then moved her head back and forth on his cock, squeezing her lips tightly around it, and found that this stimulation completed the job. The head of his cock was now as deeply down in her as it had been before.
"Ready to go again?" Bruce asked. Ted nodded assent.
"God, it's great to be young. I used to be that way myself," he added a little wistfully.
He extended the jar to Ted. "Here, smear some of this on your thingie. I want you to try something you'll never forget."
"What's that?"
"All in good time. Go ahead. Grease it."
Karen released her grip on Ted's penis. It was standing up straight again, its proud little head high. The skin on its shaft was quite the whitest she had even seen on any part of a human body. In stark contrast, the head was a delicate pink, even rosier than it had been before because of her prolonged nursing on it. Ted lubricated it thoroughly.
Bruce moved up to lay beside her. "Get up on top of me, Karen, and put my thing in that nice little hole of yours."
Karen straddled Bruce as she had seen Gwen do with Edgar the night before. She grasped his prick, which felt like a monster in comparison with the organ Ted had used to possess her and taking its knob between thumb and forefinger, placed it into her opening. Now that her body was erect, the large quantity of semen with which Ted had injected her began to dribble out. A little of it dripped down to land on Brace's pubic hair before she got her hole plugged up with the end of his organ.
"I don't really like playing with a wet deck," Bruce commented, "but I guess since it's such a close friend it'll be all right."
The entrance of Bruce's cock was eased by it, however, and Karen felt no great pain-at least, not anguish-as she lowered herself onto his stiff tool. The sensations were familiar by now; almost routine. First the cock head siding into her, then the stretching of the lips of her vagina around the shaft, then the slow progress of the cock head which felt like a knob going on up into her. This was the pear-shaped cock head, she remembered. It felt different inside her mouth but was just like any other when it was in her cunt.
She felt the curve of her buttocks come up solidly against Bruce's thighs and knew it was all the way home. A sudden twinge very far up inside her told her that he was getting even more cock into her in this position than he had the evening before when he had dog-fucked her. It must be that her own weight was pushing down on him, adding to its penetration.
To ease herself she leaned forward. Bruce took her arms and pulled her down so that she lay full length on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her, ran his hand down her body and grasped one of her buttocks in each. He massaged them, kneading them with his strong fingers, then alternately pulled them apart and pressed them together again. This hurt her rectum slightly but not enough to make her complain.
Then he spoke. "Now, Ted, get up on top of her and poke your stiff little thing into that pretty rosebud you see staring up at you."
She felt the slight weight of the boy's body on her back, felt warm, slippery flesh poking between her buttocks. Bruce pulled the cheeks of her buttocks wide apart with his fingers and she felt a steady pressure from behind prodding at the opening of her rectum.
My God! He was going to invade her from behind! She wildly tried to struggle; found she could hardly move because of the way her legs were spread-eagled, clamped between Bruce's on the inside and Ted's on the outside. Her arms were locked to her sides by Bruce's being over them. She couldn't even move her hips because the cheeks of her buttocks were clenched in Bruce's powerful fingers, while Ted had both of his strong young hands firmly cupped around her waist.
Wild, terrified thoughts raced through her. Words formed mentally in her newly-acquired vocabulary. God, he's pushing it into my ass-hole. God, there goes the head of it; he's slipped it in and he's tearing my bunghole apart. He's pushing now. He's ramming it into me.
Wild pain began, even more painful than before because it was entirely new. She felt Ted's cock going further in. It felt as big as DeWilde's; like the boy was pushing a watermelon up inside of her. She struggled as much as she could, which was little; succeeded only in increasing both the pain in her ass-hole and the pain in her cunt. Exhausted as much by pain as by her useless struggles, she stopped her efforts. Bruce sensed this but retained his tight grasp on her buttocks.
"There, honey, you'll find you're making it a lot easier on yourself." He moved his cock upward and downward, easing it in and out of her gently. He spoke again.
"Got all of it in, Ted?"
An ecstatic grunt from the boy signified yes.
Bruce chuckled beneath her. "I knew you had, kid. I can feel your cock laying against mine with only a thin wall of her flesh between."
Both of them ground away on top of and beneath her. To Karen it felt like she was utterly full of cock. Her vagina was stretched, distended around the shaft of the cock beneath her; her rectum was dilated by the tool of the boy on top of her. She felt both of these hard things merging inside her. She found it was of no use to struggle; it only made the pain worse.
She endured, trying to ease the agony by moving her hips to various positions. It didn't help. If she turned her hips downward to open herself to the up-thrusts of Bruce it made Ted's cock in her ass a torture. If she turned her buttocks upward toward the boy, Bruce's cock tore her cunt.
The man and boy had their hands on each other's shoulders now, timing their movements so that their thrusts into her were simultaneous; feeling each other's bodies and seemingly ignoring the fact that she lay between them. She had the feeling that she was only there to enshroud their cocks and receive their semen.
They quickened their movements. She heard Bruce speak. "Soon, Ted, soon. Let's try to go off together." The pace became even faster, and then they were both hunching up against her, trying to cram even more cock into her as both of them began their ejaculations.
Karen lay still and felt it flow into her. Bruce's come in the front of her body scalded her as it always did. She felt its heat surge up into her, felt the pumping of successive shots, felt his come hit the back of her tightly-packed hole and then start leaking out again, between the walls of her gash and his shaft. Bruce's cock plugged her so tightly it had no place to go except back out.
Ted's come in her ass was stretching her rectum with every pulse, and each pulse brought stabbing pain to its distended muscles. He was shooting her but it wasn't flowing back out, she noted; she must have plenty of room there to receive it from him.
The two hardnesses were replaced by limpness. She lay still, sandwiched between the pair of exhausted males. Eventually Ted slipped off, to lie beside her in a doze. Bruce too seemed to be sleeping. Quietly she removed herself from his body; sat crouched between them for a few minutes to make sure both were really sleeping; satisfied that they were, Karen stealthily removed herself from the bed. Her bare feet were silent on the thick rug as she returned to the living room.
She found the robe the young boy had stripped from her, put it on and tied the sash tightly around her waist. She sat down quietly in a chair, winced as her weight came down upon her invaded rectum; settled back quietly with her hands clasped in her lap.
Quite calmly Karen decided that the time had come when she must die. Longer shadows outside the windows indicated it was afternoon. In a few more hours Roger would be home and there would be more torture in store for her. Probably he would want to do it to her again and death was much preferable to feeling that horrible thing of his go into her. She knew she could never stand it.
Who knows what goes on in the mind of someone who has determined upon self destruction? The act of suicide is so complete a reversal of the most basic human instinct, self-preservation, that to even contemplate it seriously one must have first experienced a complete breakdown of all other mental processes.
In her hours of degradation in this house, Karen had suffered just that: an utter disintegration of all of her life values. She had been raised with standards of purity, decency and morality. She loved those standards. Now she had experienced illicit sex, deviated sex and perverted sex. Every part of her body had been defiled. Therefore, she was no longer fit to live among decent human beings.
How could she kill herself? In her trance-like state, the problem of how loomed with much more importance than should she. For some reason the name of Dorothy popped into her mind. When Karen had been about twelve she had known a girl named Dorothy who was older; maybe sixteen or so. Dorothy had gone away to school and when she came home at Christmas time had tried to kill herself by slashing her wrists. It was whispered that Dorothy had done it because she was pregnant. Her parents had found her in time to stop the bleeding and save her life.
Karen remembered that some of the kids had stated that it hadn't been a bit painful for Dorothy; just a couple quick slashes and that was all. They said she had held her wrists under the hot water faucet and hadn't felt a thing.
Moving softly, slowly, Karen got up and went into the kitchen. Quietly she opened and closed drawers until she found the one where the knives were kept. She felt their edges; decided they are all too dull to give the sharp, deep slash she knew she must have to avoid pain.
Aimlessly she opened another drawer; found in it some odds and ends of small hand tools; a small screwdriver, a pair of pliers and similar things. Among them was a window glass scraper. Alongside it was a package of new razor blades which fitted into the scraper to provide its cutting edge.
Karen knew that here was her answer. Carefully she slid two of the blades out, peeled their paper covers back to glance at each one's shiny new edge and knew that in them lay her deliverance.
Quick. Do it now, before Bruce or Ted woke up; before Roger returned. How long would it take? Five minutes, she guessed; maybe ten.
She started to unwrap one of the blades but paused. Suddenly she felt alone. She remembered something the instructor in one of her psychology classes had said; we are born into this world alone and we die alone, and everything we do in between is an attempt to avoid being alone. Now she was facing the ultimate loneliness, the aloneness of death, and she wished she could say good-bye to someone before she did it.
Doug Morgan. She'd like to hear his voice again. It would give her something to think of when she made the slashes and waited for it to happen. She could just ask him how he was and maybe say how much she had enjoyed knowing him and somehow she wouldn't be all alone when she did it. She wouldn't talk to him long because she might not have much time but she wanted to chance it. If she kept her voice low Ted and Bruce wouldn't be awakened; it was a long way from the kitchen to the bedroom they were in and a kitchen phone extension was on the wall right in front of her.
Her mind flashed back to Doug's number, taped to the base of her phone in her apartment; the number she read every night when she pretended she was phoning him and saying. "Good night, Doug." She picked up the receiver and dialed the digits carefully, to make sure she didn't waste time by getting a wrong number. She heard the ringing signal begin and waited. It rang once, twice, three four times-kept ringing.
She glanced at the kitchen clock. Five twenty-five. He ought to be home from work by now. Oh, God, if he had to work late tonight! She'd have to do it without saying good-bye to him; without hearing his voice just once more time. She'd be all alone when she did it, if she didn't have one last conversation with him to remember.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen times it rang. No use. He wasn't home and she could wait no longer to do what she had to do. She started to hang up. When the phone was halfway to its cradle she heard a click and a voice crackled out of the earpiece.
"Hello? Hello? Still there?"
It was Doug. Gratefully she put it to her ear again and breathed a soft:
"Hello, Doug?"
He was puffing heavily as he replied. "Karen, is that you? Are you all right?"
"Yes, Doug. I'm all right."
"I had to run all the way up the steps when I heard my phone ringing and I'm winded. Where have you been? I called you a dozen times over the weekend. When you weren't at work today I got worried about you."
Careful-he must never know what had happened to her. He must be left to think of her forever as a nice girl. Her ravishment must be kept a secret.
"I'm fine. I just decided to go out of town for a few days and didn't get back to work."
A puzzled pause. "Karen, that's not like you. Where did you go? Where are you now?"
She had to offer some explanation or hang up, and she didn't want to do that just yet.
"Oh, I'm at the home of someone I know."
"Honey, you're in trouble of some kind. You don't have any friends here you could visit. Where are you and what are you doing?" His voice was demanding.
She couldn't tell him but she did want him to continue talking so that she could soak in the sound of his voice. Dreamily she replied:
"It will be all right, Doug-quite soon everything will be all right again." She waited for him to resume speaking.
"Karen, you're not yourself. You're tripped out on something. Has somebody been feeding you booze, or drugs, maybe?"
Oh God, he mustn't think that. "No, Doug, no, nothing like that at all."
"Then what is it?" he insisted. "Why won't you tell me where you are?"
A long pause. She had to say something. Her throat tightened but she choked out: "I-can't. I just can't."
"Well, what you mean is that you won't. In that case, I'm going to hang up now." His voice was cold, suppressed, angry. Silence. Karen could say nothing.
A sudden sound of indrawn breath crackled in her ear. "Say-it was DeWilde who reported you wouldn't be in today. How did he know that? Has that bastard got you out at his place?"
She mustn't let him know he had guessed the shameful truth. "No, Doug, no. Everything's all right. It will all be over soon."
Dead silence. Then, quizzically: "Well, if that's what you want out of life, I guess it's not up to me to interfere. Good-bye, Karen." The phone clicked dead in her ear. She held it tightly to her head until the dial tone began. She hung it in its cradle before returning to the sink. She turned on the hot and cold water, mixing them until they ran warm. Satisfied with the temperature, she calmly picked up one of the razor blades and held it as she stared down at the blue veins on the inside of her left wrist. One quick slash, she reflected, then change the blade to her other hand and slash her right wrist too. Afterwards hold both wrists under the warm water to encourage the flow of blood. Right now is the time she must do it-now is the time.
A stunning blow from a powerful fist hit her squarely in the center of her back, between her shoulder blades. The tremendous impact of the punch drove all breath from her lungs; caused her to sink to the floor where she lay, convulsively trying to get some breath back into her body. Pain spread from her spine to her every extremity. As air returned to her lungs it was even more painful than the blow itself. Her vision swung with shock, but she looked up from the floor and squarely in the eyes of a very angry Roger DeWilde.
CHAPTER VIII
"Get up, my dear." DeWilde spoke in a courteous, pleasant tone. Gasping, Karen managed to haul herself to her feet. She stood facing him. Measuring the distance between them with his eye, DeWilde moved a few inches closer, drew back his right fist and landed a solid punch squarely in the pit of Karen's stomach. It wasn't a hard blow for a man of his strength; if he had really put his weight behind it he would have killed her. He contented himself with just connecting solidly, driving his fist into the soft flesh of her belly until his knuckles were buried in her.
The wind was driven from her and she sank to her knees; fell forward onto her hands. When the first gasping breath of air returned to her she vomited. It had been so long since she had eaten that she had no solids in her stomach to throw up. Instead, sour green stomach bile poured from her mouth to dribble on the floor, gagging her. Nauseated by her own ejection, she threw up again.
Expertly DeWilde grabbed one of her supporting arms, twisted it behind her back and shoved her hand up toward her shoulder blade. Holding it in this position with one hand, with the palm of the other he pounded upward sharply on the point of her elbow, driving the twisted arm up further. Karen screamed. Dragging her by the twisted arm, he pulled her to the adjoining dining area, throwing her roughly on the floor.
She lay on her back looking up at him, eyes wide with terror. DeWilde leaned over her, grabbed one of her knees to pull her legs roughly apart, then with a vise-like grip reached between her legs to ram his thumb up her vagina, his index finger up her rectum both as far as they would go, then pinched them together until the fingernails tore into her tender inner flesh. With this strong grip he shook her body back and forth, as one would swing something he was trying to tear out.
Karen howled and tried to twist away from him. No use-it only made her pain more intense. Satisfied, DeWilde gave her tender organs another couple of shakes and turned her loose.
Still speaking in a kind, almost friendly tone, DeWilde said:
"That bit with the razor blades was a very, very foolish thing for you to do, my dear. I had planned to send you home in a few days with a present in the form of a sizable sum of cash, but if you feel so desperately about things, I'll have to make other arrangements."
Despite his pleasant tone, inside DeWilde was seething. This dumb fucking broad was making such a big thing about a little balling. Plenty of girls would be damn glad to accept an invitation to one of his auction parties. Women came up to him all the time and hinted how they'd like to participate. Some young girls, when they saw the thousand dollars in cash he had sent home with them, had announced they'd like to be invited back the next weekend.
Now this one had been on the verge of killing herself; would have succeeded if he had been a few minutes later getting home. It would have meant an inquest and the spreading of all sorts of stories. He gave an inward shudder at the thought.
Well, he'd have to see that this broad made the same trip which a little girl named Elsie had taken a few years back when she had put up a fuss. He'd gotten her pregnant during a week-long fucking session between just the two of them. He remembered how she had told him she adored the size of his prick, that she couldn't get enough of it, and the more it stretched her the better she liked it. It had been great fucking, that week, and he had outdone himself.
Only thing was, the little bitch either forgot or deliberately neglected to take her daily pill. Two months later, when she knew for certain she was knocked up, she had come to him. He had offered to pay for an abortion but she had refused, saying it was against her religion. Instead, she had demanded he sign an agreement of child support until the little bastard was twenty-one.
So, instead, he sold her for two thousand dollars, he recalled with grim satisfaction. He had driven her up to a small town in Nevada and turned her over to some friends of his who operated a whorehouse in that state. A good looking white girl was currently bringing that amount, even if knocked up. A young beauty like Karen would fetch three thousand easily. They'd have to tame her first, slam her around a bit when she tried to escape as some of them did. Then they'd send in a succession of men to her room in one evening-trainers, they were known as in the business-who would ball the hell out of her. After a few such evenings she'd accept herself as being a whore and obey docilely until she was too old to serve as a semen receptacle anymore.
Yes, DeWilde reflected, Karen would have to make the same trip which Elsie had taken. He'd keep here for a few more days and enjoy her, meanwhile making a few phone calls to his Nevada syndicate friends. A broad this good would be worth shopping around, taking competitive bids.
He glanced down at her. "Now that you've caught your breath, my dear, I want you to clean up the mess you made in the kitchen and then come to my room." He smiled at her pleasantly but waited until he saw her begin to obey his orders.
In the kitchen, hunting for a rag, Karen could see easily into the dining area. She heard Brace's voice saying something like good-bye, Ted, heard the front door open and close; saw Brace, fully dressed, come into the dining area to stand firmly in front of DeWilde.
"Say, what is this? What was the screaming I heard?"
"Oh, just a little family discipline. Sometimes young people need straightening out, you know."
"Yeah? Well, not my young people. That girl belongs to me for the rest of the week, so you keep your hands off of her."
A pause. DeWilde spoke. "You know, I'm beginning to regret that deal already. I think I had too much booze in me when I was running that auction. What do you say I cancel your verbal I.O.U. and we just call it square? That way you've had a free ride last night and today, and neither of us owes the other anything."
The reply was prompt. "Fair enough. It sounded great to me last night too, but today is a different matter."
There was a awkward silence, which DeWilde broke by asking:
"Care for a drink?"
"No thanks. I think I'll split for home now. Barbara and Gwen will probably be wondering where I am."
DeWilde was all affable charm. "Come back soon. You know how to let yourself out."
Bruce went back to the bedroom for a minute; emerged carrying his travel bag and left. The front door seemed to sound more final in its closing than it had at other times, Karen thought.
"Now it's just you and me, my dear, and I'm sure you won't try anything foolish again. How about a nice steak and a tossed green salad for dinner? Got to keep your strength up, you know." He patted her cheek gently before striding into the kitchen. Somehow the pat was more offensive than his abuse of her had been. Her skin crawled at his touch.
DeWilde mixed himself a double vodka martini before starting his kitchen chores. He sipped it appreciatively; set it down to light the gas burner beneath the char broiler and pushed the switch to start the vent fan whirring above it.
"Guess we'll have them char broiled tonight," he chatted. "Just fresh lime juice on the salad and a glass of cabernet sauvignon with which to wash it down. How does that sound?"
Dumbly she nodded agreement.
"By the way," he went on casually, "I'm going to invite some friends over tonight after dinner. Just a few of the boys-it'll be a stag party."
He paused. "Except for you, my dear-except for you."
Karen dried the last of the dishes and began methodically to put them away. DeWilde had stalled while making dinner, enough to give himself time to drink three more double martinis before eating. He hadn't gotten drunk but the four strong drinks did serve to make him more expansive, more affable, and somehow terribly menacing. He had finished off most of a fifth of the dry red cabernet wine during the meal, ending the repast with a golden glow. He had leaned back with satisfaction in his chair at the dining alcove table, watching her in a half-doze as she busied herself cleaning up.
The outfit she was wearing bothered her because she felt ridiculous in it. From somewhere he had dug up this costume before they had begun to eat, telling her to put it on; explaining briefly that it had been left over from a costume party he had given. She could only describe it to herself as a harem girl's outfit. It consisted of two pieces; pantaloons of a flowing cut which belled but were fastened tightly around her ankles by embroidered cuffs. Their waistband too was of embroidered satin; a wide one, which fitted tightly around her hips but came up only to just below her navel. The pantaloons themselves were made of a sheer diaphanous material, a sort of gauze, which could be seen through plainly. She glanced down now and saw clearly the little mole on the front of her right thigh. She could also see the dark mass of her own pubic hair pushing out slightly the front of the gauzy material.
The top piece was a sleeveless vest made of heavy satin richly brocaded in gold thread woven through the ivory colored cloth. It had no fastenings down the front and was cut to hang open slightly. Since DeWilde had given her no other garment to wear beneath it, when she stood perfectly still its open front revealed the curves of her breasts. If she moved at all the vest swung free to reveal her breasts almost in their entirety.
Practically speaking, she was nude, she knew, and she realized it portended another evening of horror for her. She thought with regret of the chance she had missed today to end it all and wondered if she would get another chance tomorrow morning, or perhaps even tonight. It all depended upon how deeply DeWilde would sleep when the evening was over.
Finished dishwashing, she stood uncertainly. DeWilde noticed; roused himself enough to stand up and beckon to her to follow him to the living room. Once there he sank into a large overstuffed chair, waving her to a seat opposite him on one of the huge cut-velvet divans.
"You look very pretty in that outfit, my dear," he told her. "Far more lovely than the woman who wore it the first time."
She tried to say a perfunctory thank you but the words stuck in her throat.
"I hope you'll like my friends that you're going to meet tonight," he went on. "There'll be three of them. Karl and Emma--they're German, originally, but have lived in this country for some years. The third will be Lorenzo, whom we call Larry. Some people might think they are-uh-odd types, but they do take an uninhibited joy in their own type of pleasure."
He paused, reflectively, then went on, almost as if apologizing: "Once in awhile, not often, I find a certain pleasure in joining their fun."
The crunching sound of a car turning up the driveway was followed by the chimes of the front door. Roger rose to open it, greeting warmly the single man who arrived. Karen could see the two of them standing together in the entrance hallway. The man seemed to be a larger version of DeWilde himself. Some two or three inches taller, he too was pudgy, with thin, almost transparent white skin stretched over chubby rolls of fat. His hair, however, was blondeish-white, and thin; quite thin and sparse, worn tightly plastered down to his domed, arching forehead. His suit, too, was a little too tight for him, giving him the appearance of a monstrous kew-pie doll which had been dressed in clothes too snug for a good fit.
"Come in, come in," DeWilde boomed as he led the man back to the living room. Karen tried to shrug herself into the jacket but it failed to cover her bulging breasts completely. "Karen, may I present Larry, one of my best friends. Larry, meet my latest little charmer."
"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful," Larry beamed down at her, a cherubic smile lighting up his face. His lips were thick, pouting, sensual, and he licked them with the tip of a pink tongue. "How very nice to meet you, my dear."
The American ceremony of offering a drink, its acceptance and selection, the mixing of it and the serving were complied with. Larry sipped the scotch-and-water he had requested and stared at her, devouring her with his eyes.
Again the car crunching, the wait, the pealing of the chimes. Roger rose to admit a couple who paused only briefly in the hallway, practically sweeping past him directly to the living room.
Something about them was a shock to Karen. The woman was tall, nearly six feet, and was wearing a coal black leather coat whose skirt swirled around her ankles. She wore a black leather hat of a Cossack cut, long blonde hair swinging free over her shoulders. In one hand was a thick, black leather case, somewhat like the one in which a trombonist carries his horn.
Behind her was a man at least a foot shorter than she, wearing a pearl gray trench coat of a military cut. He, too, was blonde and fair skinned; carrying himself with the same military bearing as the woman in spite of his short stature. Without saying a word, both seemed fiercely intimidating.
DeWilde spoke. "Emma, Karl, this is Karen-a newly-found friend."
Both of their faces creased in what were intended to be smiles. Both murmured a greeting with a thick German accent. This much politeness over with, Emma handed her black case to Karl and swept off her coat. Beneath it Karen was somehow shocked to see she was wearing a sort of black leather suit having extremely short hot pants. Her leather boots with high heels fully covered her legs up to her knees but above them was a long expanse of bare flesh up to the shorts, which were cut so they covered her crotch and pelvis but no more.
The top of her outfit was a black leather bodice with long sleeves cut up high around the neck where it fastened with a high-standing, military-type collar. The woman was slim, wiry, except that she had a huge bust: great jutting breasts which the garment had been carefully cut to fit, so that they could stick out as if she were concealing a couple of cantaloupes.
Karl struggled out of his coat unaided and threw it over a convenient chair.
"Schnapps, as usual?" DeWilde inquired. They nodded vigorously. He poured, handing the two glasses of fiery liquid to his guests. Both of them tossed the drinks down with one movement. They stared fixedly at Karen, taking in every detail of her body. Her skin crawled under their staring gaze.
Seconds, minutes, or maybe they were hours which passed; Karen didn't know. It was quiet, deathly quiet, and her breath seemed to be terribly noisy as it whistled in and out of her lungs.
It was DeWilde who broke the trance. "Well, shall we begin?"
Larry jumped at his words as if he had been shot. He seemed to squirm under the eyes which were turned to him. Slowly he began to undress, dropping his clothing on the floor as he took them off. He had trouble untying his shoes because of his pendulous belly but finally succeeded. Standing before them naked, he seemed somehow ridiculous.
Karen stared at him with growing shock. Was it a woman? she wondered. This man seemed to have no cock or balls at all. A fairly thick growth of curly blonde hair sprouted from between his legs but only a little lump of pink flesh poked out from somewhere near the top of it. What might have been a scrotum was pulled up tightly against his groin and only two small round lumps indicated what might have been testicles.
Emma spoke positively. "Ja, ve begin." She unbuttoned the leather tunic and pulled it off, handing it to Karl who folded it carefully. Now the gigantic breasts poked straight out like twin mountains. She had broad, strong shoulders and arms muscled like a man. Bare except for the brief shorts which fitted her like a second skin and her high black boots, she seemed to be the incarnation of strength and evil.
Karl opened the long, black case and extended it to her. Emma studied its contents thoughtfully before reaching in. Making her decision, she removed something from the case and then turned to face Larry. Now Karen could see that she had some sort of whip in her hand; a leather whip with a stiff butt about four feet long and a flexible braided lash on the end of it perhaps six feet in length. This she held in her right hand and with a flick of her wrist she made the flexible portion of it wriggle on the floor in front of her like a frenzied snake. She spoke.
"Now, Lorenzo, you must be disciplined. There's nothing wrong with you that a little discipline won't cure."
The strong right arm curled backward in a side-arm motion like a baseball pitcher's windup, then swung forward as the flexible lash on the end curled around Larry's pasty-white body. He made not a sound at the contact; did not even flinch. Again the arm swung up and back, flew forward and the lash wrapped around him. Back, forward, back, forward, and each time the lash encountered his flesh.
The first points of contact were glowing red now from the injuries the lash had done to his skin. Still he made not a sound. His eyes were closed and his teeth clenched. Karen, watching, was in a state of shocked horror at this vicious punishment of a fellow human being.
As she watched, she saw an amazing thing begin to happen. The little knob of pink flesh began to protrude. The twin mounds beneath it began to descend; to become more prominent. As the lashing continued more and more of the pink flesh peeped out until it became recognizable to her as a cock. The testicles had come down far enough to be clearly a pair of balls, hanging in a properly hairy ball-sack.
Her attraction was distracted by Karl who was moving toward her. He knelt by her side as he fumbled with the waistband of her pantaloons. She realized he was removing them; made no resistance as he pushed her onto her back and slid them down over her hips. He unfastened the cuffs at her ankles and slid them off of her. Satisfied, Karl returned to Emma's side.
The strongly-built woman continued her punishment of the man in front of her, whose back was now crisscrossed with a checkered pattern like a madman's game of tic-tac-toe. At her every stroke, her big breasts jiggled madly from side to side in an erotic dance of their own. Karen saw that now Larry's cock stuck up proudly before him, thin yet sinewy and long. It was at least two or three inches longer than Bruce's, but no bigger around then Ted's little-boy cock. It was an amazing thing to look at, more like a bare stick held between his legs than a real prick. Beneath it dangled two balls as large as apples.
Emma paused; stared fixedly at it, as if taking deliberate aim. Once more her arm swung back and then forward, this time depositing the curling lash directly between his legs, making the painful leather wrap itself around cock, balls and all.
Now Larry emitted his first sound. He gave a positive roar of agony, then hurled himself forward to land on top of Karen with crushing power. Automatically her legs opened to receive him. like an animal, he jabbed at her until the head of it found the place, then with a hunching forward of his hips he stabbed her with the whole painful length of his long thin stick as a soldier would bayonet an enemy in a foxhole.
That was what it felt like to Karen, too. It felt like he had jabbed a sharp sword up her cunt, skewering her insides like a chicken trussed for broiling. It went all the way up inside her, further than any man had ever been, and the pain was so intense it exceeded anything she had ever known.
She was in such agony she couldn't cry out; she needed all the strength she had to bear the pain without fainting.
Larry began a mad thrusting in her, furiously punching his cock in and out of her as if trying to tear it off of his own body to leave it embedded in hers. There was no passion, no lust, no sensuality involved; he was merely in the grip of a mad desire to ejaculate in her as quickly as possible.
His violent movements lasted only a minute or two. In that time his loins began to stiffen, his muscles tensed and suddenly he was ejaculating in her shooting great gouts of hot seminal fluid into her body. Almost immediately it began to trickle back out again since the diameter of his fleshy plug was too small to keep it bottled up. He continued to flow in her and his fluid drained back out, to drip between her buttocks.
Satisfied, he rolled onto the floor beside the couch, groaning. Karl leaned over him with a jar of some sort of ointment in his hands, first daubing it on and then massaging it into the welts which decorated his back. Larry was free to express his pain now, and a groan greeted Karl's every touch.
Emma's voice filled the room again. "Now we teach discipline to the little one." Karl stopped his ministrations, turned to Karen and removed the scanty vest she was wearing. Now the shocked girl lay bare on the couch, Emma eagerly devouring the ripe young breasts with her eyes. She turned to the case to remove a short dog whip.
"We help the little girl with her learning," Emma declared positively. Roger moved closer to Karen and slowly started to remove his clothing.
The sound of a car coming up the driveway filtered into the room, followed by a squeal of tires whose brakes were hastily applied. The sound stopped Emma's arm in mid-air. "I thought you said we would be alone tonight?"
"We will be," DeWilde assured her. "I'll get rid of whomever it is." He rebuttoned the front of his shirt as a knock which somehow sounded timid came from the front door. It was a soft scratching as much as it was a knock. From their position in the living room, the group could neither see into nor be seen from the entry hall but they could clearly hear the sound of the chain being removed and the door opening. They heard DeWilde speak first.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" A man's voice replied in a shy, almost diffident tone. "I just hate to bother you, Mr. DeWilde, but something has come up that I felt you ought to know about right away."
Karen recognized who was speaking. It was Doug Morgan.
CHAPTER IX
For Karen, the instant in which she heard Doug's voice was her ultimate agony. The physical pain she had experienced and which she knew she was about to undergo was as nothing compared to the horror of having Doug find out about her shame. She had to hide; had to get out of here in case DeWilde was unable to stop him in the entry hall or made a perverse decision to invite Doug in.
She slipped off the couch in a flash, stepped over Larry and ran toward the bedroom. She had only taken three steps when Emma's arm flashed out to grab her by the wrist and twist her to her knees. So powerful was the woman's grip, so unexpected the twist, that it brought an involuntary scream of pain from Karen's lips.
Her shriek was followed almost instantly by a crashing sound as Doug charged like a battering ram into DeWilde's body. He came at him low and crouched, like a blocking back, and caught him solidly in the pit of his fleshy stomach with one of his powerful shoulders. DeWilde crashed to the floor.
Doug's momentum carried him into the room in a sprint. Emma was still holding Karen twisted to the floor but was staring at the approaching Doug. As he came up to them his right fist swung out with the full weight of his body behind it to catch Emma squarely on the point of the jaw. The German woman's head snapped back with an audible crack as she fell backwards.
Karen scrambled away from the unconscious woman's body as Doug turned to face the approaching Karl. The man had a short, stiff club in his hand which he had snatched from Emma's discipline case. Raising it above his head he rushed at Doug.
As he neared, Doug waited, feinting his body to the right; but as Karl started his blow, switched his weight to his left foot then brought his right foot up in a hard kick, catching Karl squarely in the groin. Karl paused in mid-motion as the toe of Doug's hard shoe smashed into his testicles. An expression of utter disbelief covered his face before he doubled forward, hands clutching his belly and groaning. As he sank to his knees, head forward, Doug brought his doubled fist down in a smashing motion across the back of the man's neck. Karl pitched forward, unconscious.
In the few seconds this action took, DeWilde had regained his breath and was now charging across the room at Doug. He was a formidable opponent; big, strong and had been an athlete before letting himself go to seed. He came at Doug, fist doubled, left fist held high for a lead and right arm cocked. Doug braced himself to meet the rush.
As he did so, Larry, unnoticed on the floor, reached out both arms to lock them around Doug's legs and grapple him to the carpet. Doug fell, his hand encountering the short club Karl had dropped.
In one motion Doug's fingers closed over it, swung his arm and with his full strength caught Larry solidly alongside the head with it. The latter sighed and fell backward, to lie unconscious on the floor, staring at the ceiling with his mouth hanging open.
DeWilde aimed a kick at Doug's face but he rolled away from it, receiving only a glancing blow on his upper arm. He continued his roll one more turn until he could scramble to his feet in the clear, faster than DeWilde could make it to him.
Now DeWilde was moving in on him, fist raised, not in a hurry but as a skilled boxer, measuring his opponent. Doug's head was on straight now, cool and clear, his initial outrage spent and feeling more like an executioner. He raised his fist and braced his feet solidly, determined to counter-punch rather than lead.
He saw DeWilde's left flick out in a jab to set him up; knew there was no steam behind it so took it high on his head rather than block or duck it. Before DeWilde could start his cocked right first on its way Doug stepped in close and sank his own right deep into DeWilde's stomach. The belly that gets fat also gets soft, he knew, and this was the way to make DeWilde bring his hands down.
After that one punch Doug stepped back. The grunt from DeWilde had been satisfying. He led again with a left. This time Doug blocked it, again moved in close and sank his right into the pendulous belly. Another wheeze from DeWilde. His left arm came down so that its elbow could protect that sore spot. As it did, Doug's right whistled in to smash against the jaw thus left exposed. His blow landed squarely, DeWilde's head snapping away from the punch.
Doug was on him now like a demon. He caught the other side of the jaw with a left hook, smashed in a right as the head was going away, followed it up with two more one-two combinations. DeWilde was out on his feet now, backpeddling and merely pawing at Doug with his hands. He backed up until he came to the unconscious Larry, stumbled over him and fell heavily to the floor.
Doug was in a frenzy now, sheer mad with kill lust. He was on top of DeWilde; grabbed him by the hair to drag his body upright against the couch. He propped him up against it, balanced himself lightly on his toes and began driving alternate blows, left right left right, into the helpless face before him. A jaw cracked, a tooth flew, blood appeared from between the lips, and still Doug smashed blows with all his strength into DeWilde's face and head.
Something was tugging at his back. It was Karen, still nude, screaming at him. "Stop it, Doug-stop it. You'll kill him. Please, Doug, don't kill him."
The sound of her voice, the curves of her lovely young body, brought him back to his senses. Doug backed away; lowered his arms to survey the scene. Emma was moaning in half-consciousness, the side of her face already turning black from the terrific blow Doug had dealt her.
"You're right, Karen." Doug spoke in a voice which quivered only slightly from emotion. "Let's get the hell out of here."
He grabbed the black leather coat which Emma had removed when entering the room. "Here, put it on. It's all you'll need."
As she fumbled her way into it both raced for the door. Doug pulled it shut behind them; half-carried Karen to his waiting car. He wheeled down the driveway, turned toward Central Avenue and followed it down to the Parkway. Once on it he headed toward Manhattan.
Karen was finding she couldn't shop shaking. Her own trembling frightened her and she began to sob. It was a stem-voiced Doug, not a placating one, who said:
"Now, honey, get hold of yourself. I've got to watch this traffic and you can't go to pieces-not yet, anyway. Help me by controlling yourself."
Something about his approach worked. She clenched her fists tightly to keep her hands from shaking; composed herself a little. She even managed to pull the coat around her slim body and fasten its buttons.
"Where are you taking me?"
"I have a back entrance to my apartment which opens on an alley. I can park there overnight, too--at least until daylight. I'm going to take you to my place, put you to bed and get you some rest. We'll worry about tomorrow when it comes."
There was something so soothing, so reassuring, in Doug's tone that Karen settled back. Let him handle things. He'd know what to do.
Doug had gotten her up to his apartment without seeing anyone or being seen. He had bathed her, given her a pair of his pajamas which were like a tent on her, tucked her into bed and turned out the light.
She had responded by sleeping solidly for almost sixteen hours straight. Few dreams disturbed her slumber or if they did, she didn't remember them when she woke. Consciousness was slow in returning. When it did, she experienced panic while trying to discover where she was. Memory returned and with it, a dead feeling of hopelessness at the recollection of her experience in DeWilde's home.
Doug had been peeking in on her regularly for the last few hours of her slumber. Seeing that she was now awake, he entered the room to sit beside her on the bed.
"Well, Miss Bright Eyes, ready for something to eat?"
"What time is it?"
"You mean what day. It's about one o'clock-in the afternoon, that is."
A crazy urge to tell him everything came over her. Maybe she wanted him to wallow in her degradation with her. Maybe she wanted to see how much she could sicken him.
"Doug, I want to tell you what happened out there."
"I can make some pretty shrewd guesses. I know DeWilde has some pretty hot times out at that shack of his. Things like that leak out, you know."
"He told me to come out there to read proof. He said he'd pay me overtime."
Doug's lips were thin. "I didn't think you went to his place for a lark. DeWilde would have to use some lure to get you out there and set you up for one of his parties."
"Well, when I got there," she began, "at first I worked for some time. Then all of a sudden he came in." She began a recital of her abuse.
Dug cut her short in her next few words. "Honey, I don't want to hear about it. I don't want to know the details and I don't want you to relive them by talking about them."
"But I want you to ... "
"And I don't want to," he cut in. "It's just as if you had gone through a terrible illness and had a serious operation-the worst thing you could do is hash it all over with someone. It's all in the past, so forget it."
She began to sob gently. "It's so terrible, Doug--so animal."
His voice was deadly serious as he began. "Now, Karen, I'm going to talk to you straight from the shoulder, and I want you to listen and be quiet until I finish.
"You've been through a terrible thing, and I know enough about men like DeWilde to guess how awful it was. Maybe you're lucky to be alive. I know DeWilde is-" a grim grin "-because I'd have killed him for what he was doing to you if you hadn't stopped me.
"But it's all over now, and you don't have to let it affect you any more than you yourself want it to. If you want to brood over it, and rehash it all in your mind every waking moment, and dream about it every night, nobody can stop you. You can live it over and over again, as many times as you want to go through it."
She stifled her sobs enough to choke out: "They were all so-so awful. I feel so unclean."
Doug put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Karen, you had the misfortune to run into a bunch of perverts-people who aren't mature enough, or well enough adjusted, to find satisfaction in real sex-honest sex. Decent sex is good and fine and pure. They don't have enough decency within themselves to enjoy it. Maybe it's a kind of rebuke to them. Anyway, they have to go far out, going further each time, to get their kicks. They do it by making a decent thing indecent, and that's what gives them their satisfaction."
Her head was on his shoulder. He kissed her gently on the neck, pleasuring in its warm softness beneath his lips. The warmth of her body came to him through the thin broadcloth of the pajamas.
She made no move to pull away so he tipped her head back and kissed her full on the lips.
To Karen, it was a soothing and quieting caress. His lips felt good on hers. She responded by putting an arm around his neck and pulling his face back to hers. Then he did a funny thing again, slipping his tongue in between her teeth and touching its tip to hers. A little muscle deep inside her belly went tick and the sensation was pleasant. A warm glow began to spread throughout her body. She wanted it to get warmer so she moved her tongue, just a little, to make it rub against his. Now Doug was thrusting his tongue deeply into her mouth, searching out its innermost recesses, caressing and stroking her tongue with his. Warm floods of feeling spread through her body. She hoped he would never stop doing this wonderful thing to her.
To her disappointment, he did. He pulled his head away, kissed her lightly on the lips, then transferred the kiss to the front of her throat. She felt his tongue tip reappear, to trace lazy circles on her skin. The moisture left behind by each touch felt cool even though her flesh beneath it was burning.
Doug's tongue was moving lower now. It reached the hollow of her throat, just above her chest, and explored their soft curves. He pushed the collar of the pajama top aside with his chin to search them out. The top button popped open and he slid his face down between her breasts to kiss the insides of their roundness. A thousand flashes of electricity shot through her being at his touch.
Now she felt his face moving boldly to the side, to trace the corona surrounding the nipple on her left breast. Her flesh contracted until the surface of her corona was stippled with tiny mounds, while the nipple hardened and stood up straight. He brushed it with his lips. Her nipple felt inflamed, congested, sore; she wished there were some way to relieve the pressure.
As if in answer, Doug's lips parted to suck the nipple into his mouth. He began to nurse on it, sucking on it with his lips and massaging it with his tongue.
Ahh, this was it. Now she was at peace. Without even knowing that she did so, she slipped an arm around his neck to pillow his head on her breast. He was her baby; her little boy who was sucking strength and nourishment out of her body but at the same time was making her stronger too. Waves of pleasurable sensation shot through her. She was warm and at peace and doing what she had been designed by nature to do-giving nourishment from her breast to a baby.
Doug lifted himself half-upright to unbutton and remove the pajama top. Then he leaned over her to sweep her right breast into his mouth and nurse it. Now the other half of her was warming. She lay on her back, utterly at peace; enjoying but surprised at the waves of heat which were coursing through her body. Her breathing got deeper. She was almost panting.
Doug slid his hand down her body, released her breast to begin kissing her chest, her ribs. He slid his hands down over her pelvis to peel back the pajama bottoms. Now he kissed the high pelvis; snuggled his face down into the curves where her hip bones met her thighs. He pressed a firm kiss on her flat belly. The stubble on his chin scratched her flesh but somehow the slight irritation was pleasant.
Now he buried his face in the curly, golden hair which sprouted from between her legs, probed its depths with the tip of his tongue, and suddenly an electrifying contact was made. Something roamed the inside of her and a tremendous pressure began to build up in every fiber of her body. Great flashing circles of light whirled through her. Every nerve ending in her skin tingled. He kept it up until she was almost bursting with pressure; until the great whiteness surging through her brain made her wonder if she were going to faint.
He moved and Karen felt the weight of his body on top of hers. For some reason he wasn't heavy or crushing; just warm and comfortable. Her body had been made to take his weight in this fashion. Of their own volition, without her willing them to do so, her arms went around his body to pull his breasts against hers, while her legs doubled themselves at the knees and spread wide. Her hips rolled upward to offer her womanhood to him.
Doug's manhood encountered her up-thrust opening and he began a slow penetration. Karen felt him enter; thrilled to the sensation of his organ moving gently up inside hers. She could hardly wait until he was so far inside her that heir bodies would again meet and she would feel the pressure of him against the thing of hers which he had been caressing with his tongue. Impatiently she pushed her hips up at him, frenziedly trying to hurry him all the way home. She wanted all of him in her, now, as much and as far as he could get it in.
And then it was done. She felt the end of it slide up and come in firm contact with the back wall of her chamber; felt her vagina stretch tight around his shaft; felt the good feeling of being completely full of this heavenly thing. His testicles were nestled tightly against her rectum and they felt warm and good as they were cradled there. His body was pushed up firmly against the little thing in the front of her opening that has such burning sensations in it, that was so congested that she wanted to rub it against him fiercely to get relief. Somehow she knew that if she rubbed that little place against Doug's body it would feel better.
She moved her hips to do so and Doug responded by trying to drive even more of himself within her. Together they moved, each struggling to get more of the other; to give and to receive even more fiercely.
Great liquid waves of heat were surging through her now as she responded to his fierce thrusts with even fiercer thrusting of her own. Together they surged to dizzying heights of passion.
Then, suddenly, she was erupting in a wild, orgiastic spree which sent shock waves through her whole body. She was riding on a high white cloud, high above a mountaintop, and her head spun in a dizzy spiral. Doug continued his pressure on her and she climaxed again and again, until she was in a transport of ecstasy.
Slowly she began to recover her senses, her passion spent. Almost regretfully she felt herself coming down to the planes of earth again.
But now Doug was speeding up his pace in her. She savored the feeling of a great, hard, muscled thing inside her, which was prodding away at her inner parts. This bigness and hardness of his was poking at the back wall of her. It made her feel proud, that this fine man was doing this to her, and proud of herself that she could experience this ecstasy, and that she was able to make him so excited.
And then it was happening. Doug was throbbing inside her, and at every throb he was pouring the juices of his manhood into her. She felt them flow into her, sensed them spreading out to fill all of her cavities, and the joy of this feeling was enough to send her off into another smaller, more moderate, but still enjoyable climax.
They lay together, Doug still on top of her. Karen's arms still locked around him and holding him tightly to her. She wanted him never to dismount; always there on top of her. Even now that utterly beautiful thing of his was still inside her. Although limp, it still felt wonderful up there.
She squeezed her arms around him. "Doug, make it throb again," she whispered. She felt his cheeks crinkle in a smile as he obliged. He made it pulse once, twice; paused a second before making it throb in the traditional Bum-ditty-ass-ass-ass-ass. Karen giggled; the first time she had laughed in days. "You idiot," she chuckled. "Stop that."
"Why? Did you know I could send Morse Code with it?" Deliberately he made it throb in the International Distress Signal; three short, three long, and three rapid shorts.
"That's S.O.S.. " He told her. "I learned Morse Code in the Service."
Something she had read in one of the books at work came back to her. "What kind of service? Stud service?"
Doug roared with laughter. She began giggling, too, and suddenly he was terribly heavy on her; seemed to be crushing her to a pulp.
"Ooh, Doug, you're so heavy. I can't breathe."
Obligingly Doug slid on his back, pulling her to him so that her head rested on his shoulder. "You didn't think I was too heavy a half-hour ago," he reproached.
"That was a half-hour ago. Besides, you had me so excited I didn't know what I was doing."
"Well, for someone who didn't know what she was doing you sure did it pretty good."
She squirmed and punched him in the ribs with her fist. He grunted. "Quit it," she ordered.
"Fine with me. Thank God you didn't say do it again."
Karen lay quietly, wide awake, luxuriating in the sensations flowing through her body. She felt alive but still relaxed. In fact, she decided, she felt better physically than she had ever felt in her entire life.
She heard Doug start to breathe deeply. A decision came to her quite suddenly.
"Doug, are you awake?" A grunt, a pause, a deep breath followed by the words:
"Well, if I wasn't I am now. What is it?"
She snuggled closer against him as she said, dreamily:
"You know, I think maybe I'm ready to write a novel. I think I can do it."
"What about?"
"I think I'll write a book about DeWilde and his friends and when I finish it, I'm going to sell it to a rival publisher."
