Shame. That was what luscious, raven-haired Susan Merritt felt every time after she succumbed to the delicious sensations of her sturdy vibrator or the delightful ministrations of her accomplished friend, Christine. She felt ashamed every time she gave in once again to the lustful demands of her insatiable body. And yet she couldn't seem to help herself. She felt even more ashamed after Greg and his gang used and abused her provocative body in every violent and degrading way and yet, to her great horror, she found that her traitorous flesh felt no shame at all. Instead, it seemed to thrive on all the perversions that were heaped upon it ... and cry for more ... and more ...
CHAPTER 1
Susan Merritt closed the door to her small office in the basement of the church's social services department. She replaced her handbag in the bottom drawer of her desk while she frowned at the note centered upon the desk top. Susan was a tall girl with raven-black hair parted in the center, its glossy abundance framing her pretty face and brushing her shoulders like dark wings.
She shook her head as she read the message: STOP IN AT THE HOUSE ON YOUR WAY HOME FROM WORK. LUCILLE. Not even a please, Susan thought with resentment tinged by resigned amusement. That was her watchdog older sister for you, although Lucille certainly had problems enough these days to excuse a certain amount of brusqueness. If only her phone calls weren't such an almost-every-day affair. Susan was beginning to feel she had no life of her own.
She smoothed the back of her print dress over a plump hip before sitting down. The demurely knee-length print was in contrast to the brightly attractive dresses with their provocative miniskirts in Susan's closet, but she felt that something more dignified was required on the job. Her boss, Roger Whittaker, never brought up the subject, but his own ministerial garb and majestic manner intimidated Susan. She stood in awe of his bland, colorless efficiency.
Mr. Whittaker wasn't much older than her sister, Lucille, yet he somehow contrived to give off an aura of nit-picky prudishness. Lucille was thirty-six, with a daughter, Rosalie, seventeen. Susan was twenty-two. Six months ago after a flaming row that was the successor to many previous rows, Bill Sampson, Lucille's husband, had walked out of his house and never returned. He had quit his family, his job and his hopes for a pension from the company he had been with for twenty years.
Susan had been a witness to the deterioration of the marriage. Lucille was strong-willed, with a quick-flaring temper. So was Bill Sampson. Before matters turned serious, Lucille had often laughingly showed a blushing Susan the distinctly visible fingerprints left by Bill Sampson's hard hands upon the sleek curves of Lucille's milky-skinned big buttocks.
Susan almost admired Bill Sampson's complete pull out although she could never say so to Lucille. Bill had warned Lucille that he would never pay alimony if the marriage disintegrated under the cattle-prod of Lucille's nagging and he was true to his word. He had simply disappeared. Lucille had finally hired a private detective, but it had done no good. Lucille worked four mornings a week in a real estate office now to supplement the money for Rosalie's support which came from a lawyer each month, a lawyer who refused to even discuss the subject of Bill Sampson's present whereabouts.
Susan typed letters steadily for the final hour of the working day. Her fingers flew deftly over the typewriter keys as she listened to the dictating-machine, smooth-sounding voice of Roger Whittaker in her earphone. The work was so familiar that she was able to still give a part of her mind to Lucille's problem.
Not that Lucille would admit she had a problem. Or not very much. Once Susan had timidly suggested initiating a reconciliation via the lawyer. Lucille had refused scornfully. "I wouldn't give the sonofabitch the satisfaction of knowing I missed him," she had declared flatly. "And I miss the hell out of him in bed. I get so goddamned horny I can't stand myself. But he'll come back on my terms or he won't come back."
Susan pulled the final letter from her typewriter, sighing. She had always thought Lucille and Bill a well-matched pair. Both were boisterous rough-housers about almost anything. Susan was timid about sex, but when Lucille had had it, she almost flaunted it. Her big-bodied casualness about such matters had always made Susan feel envious.
She cleared her desk, put everything carefully away and locked up. Her office was in a hideaway corner of the church basement and rarely subject to interruption of any kind, but Mr. Whittaker insisted upon a locked desk each night and Susan obediently followed orders.
She removed her handbag from the desk again and walked through long, deserted corridors to the side door exit leading up a flight of stairs to the church parking lot. She said good night at the last office doorway to Miss Penelope Crispin, secretary to the unctuous-voiced Reverend Paul Stanhope. Miss Penelope was sixtyish, already shriveled in old-maidish, white-haired semi-senescence. Susan often wondered uneasily if that was what she had to look forward to in the sometimes-smothering embrace of churchly employment.
It was a concern of Lucille's, too. "What happened to So-and-So?" she would inquire after the disappearance of another of Susan's short-lived suitors. Lucille's matter-of-fact earthiness was as much a part of her as her quick temper. "Not enough prick for you? Or too much?" She would grin at Susan's embarrassment. "Don't tell me you're not getting any, baby." The difference in their ages had resulted in Lucille's calling Susan "baby" from Susan's childhood. "If you're not, you'd better get with it. You've got to hustle up a hard-knocking type while you've still got your flower years."
Susan couldn't explain to Lucille that it was the hard-knocking types-or the would-be hard-knocking types-who turned Susan off. She couldn't explain it. She had tried sex in college and it hadn't been all that much. It seemed she instinctively shrank from a pair of bold, probing, masculine eyes. It hadn't been only Lucille who suggested that Susan's tall-bodied, luscious figure was withering on the vine, but Susan still kept suitors at arm's length. She didn't consider herself prissy, merely choosy.
Out on the parking lot she turned the key in the ignition of her Chevelle and settled under the wheel for the drive to Lucille's. She had wished for a bigger car and she could have afforded it since her living expenses were minimal and her salary quite good, but Mr. Whittaker drove a five-year-old Dodge and Susan couldn't bring herself to seem ostentatious.
Lucille had questions about Roger Whittaker, too. "How about that stuffed shirt?" she would badger Susan occasionally. "Does he ever take it out and wave it at you?" She would grunt loudly at Susan's attempt at dignified silence. "He will, baby. If he's got one. Just you wait and see." Susan never bothered to reply to such a ridiculous assertion.
She turned into Lucille's driveway in the row of pleasant-looking dwellings on the quiet, tree-lined street. She parked, then entered the kitchen door, the front door being used infrequently. "It's me," she called.
Lucille appeared from the living room in her housecoat. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth. Two inches shorter than Susan, she weighed fifteen pounds more. Lucille assessed herself as well-fleshed, not roly-poly. A hardness of features had dimmed what had been striking good looks. In her youth Lucille had been much more dramatic-looking than Susan's sweet-faced beauty.
"Glad to see you, baby," Lucille addressed Susan in her normal, husky-sexy voice. "C'mon in."
She led the way back into the living room. She pressed a drink upon Susan that Susan didn't really want but meekly accepted. "I've got a problem," Lucille announced, dropping down upon a couch in a relaxed sprawl. The housecoat's semi-unbuttoned condition revealed Lucille's plump white thighs. Her careless posture parted her thighs to disclose the beginning of a shadowy juncture and Susan instinctively looked away.
"What's the problem?" she asked, taking a first sip from her drink. She could hear no movement upstairs, so she assumed her niece, Rosalie, wasn't in the house.
"Well ... " Lucille paused to light a cigarette; she was an inveterate chain-smoker despite Susan's protestations that it was bound to affect her health. "I stopped in at the house here on my way to show a house to some clients the other morning," Lucille resumed. "And what did I find but Rosalie, when she was supposed to be in school. With a boy friend."
Susan raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I know," Lucille continued. "They had their clothes on, but I didn't get the feeling they'd had them on all that long, if you get what I mean. I rousted the kid out of here-a big bastard he was, too-and I laid down the law to Rosalie ... no more of that kind of shit. She gave me some lip and I slapped her. For a second I thought she was coming right after me-she has Bill's share of temper as well as mine, you know-but she doesn't have that much nerve yet. She finally cooled it."
"It could have been innocent," Susan defended her niece.
"Rosalie is not the innocent type," Lucille said grimly. "At age fourteen I caught her in the basement with her pants down and a boy's cock in her hand. I'd like to get her married so she'll lay off my birth control pills."
"Your birth control pills? Why do you need ... " Susan swallowed. "I'm sorry," she said with a stiffness that surprised her. "It's none of my business."
"You wouldn't want me to miss out on anything strange in the neighborhood, would you?" Lucille jibed. She stabbed out her cigarette in the ash tray with more force than necessary. "Not that there's all that much available. Take it from the voice of experience. But getting back to Rosalie: I'm damned if I want any kid of mine taking on the Rumanian Army while she's still in high school."
"But it's so different these days," Susan protested. "And if it's only one boy ... "
Lucille shook her head. Her hair was as dark as Susan's. "She's running with a rough-looking crowd. I don't like their looks." Lucille was looking speculatively at her younger sister. "Were you fucking at seventeen?" she asked bluntly.
Susan could feel herself coloring. "Of course not. I mean ... " She hesitated. "I might have wanted to," she chose her words carefully, "at least once in a while, but as you said a minute ago, I didn't have the nerve."
"But you tried it in college?" Susan nodded self-consciously. "How'd you like it, baby?"
A renewed tide of color surged upward from beneath Susan's high-necked dress, creating an attractive-looking glow upon the pale ivory of her features. "Since we seem to be speaking frankly, not as much as I expected. It wasn't ... it wasn't ... well, it left me wondering what all the shouting was about."
Lucille cocked a cynical eye at her sister. "You must not have had the right man in the saddle, baby." She shook her head reminiscently. "The first time Bill got my pants down, I nearly went out of my mind. God, I can get wet right now, remembering." Her right hand edged toward the parted juncture of her housecoat, paused, then dropped upon the couch by her side. Susan could see her sister's long fingers twitching.
"Were you a virgin when ... when Bill did it to you the first time?" Susan had never had the temerity to ask it before.
"Hell, no!" Lucille laughed. It sounded like a bugle blare. "I had a fragile little capsule of blood taped inside me I'd gotten from old Doctor Ransom. Bill was more than satisfied with the evidence when he looked at the sheet." She stood up abruptly. "Listen, I'm not doing myself any good talking about this kind of crap. C'mon upstairs. I want to show you a dress I bought."
Susan followed her sister upstairs. The dress was brought out and displayed and Susan said tactful things. Since Lucille disdained a girdle, anything she wore achieved a titillating effect if not one of haute couture.
"Where the hell I'll ever wear it, I don't know," Lucille was saying when she paused at the sound of a slamming car door. She went to the bedroom window and looked out. "There he is again!" she exploded. "I warned her not to go out with him again!"
Susan went to the window. On the street below was a fender-dented car with psychedelic decals all over it. Rosalie Sampson, tall, slender and with athletic good looks inherited from both parents, was leaning in the car window saying good-bye to a broad-shouldered youth with rough-looking, long blond hair that trailed well down upon his shoulders.
"I'll break that pair up or know the reason why!" Lucille snorted as Rosalie left the car and walked to the house.
"It may not be what ... "
"Don't try to tell me what it's not!" Lucille's face was flushed. "And I'll not permit it at her age." She listened to the sound of her daughter's footsteps ascending the stairs. "Rosalie!" she called. "Come in here!"
Susan wished uneasily that she were elsewhere. Rosalie appeared in the bedroom doorway, beautiful despite the handicap of jeans and a boy's shirt. She nodded to Susan before looking at her mother warily.
"What did I tell you the other morning?" Lucille began in a high-pitched voice. "Didn't I tell you I didn't want to see ... "
"Forget it, Mother," Rosalie interrupted. Her voice was cool, but Susan detected whitened knuckles.
"Forget it?" Lucille's voice soared shrilly. "Don't tell me to forget it, you ... you ... Who do you think you're talking to, your father? Well, I'll teach ... "
"Sure, you'll teach me like you taught him," Rosalie said in a world-weary tone.
Lucille advanced upon her daughter, elbows out like a fullback protecting the ball as he plunged into the line. Rosalie didn't retreat, but Susan could see the girl brace herself. "That's not you talking," Lucille stated positively, planting herself aggressively in front of her daughter. "That's him talking. Isn't it?"
Out bulked by Lucille's full some curves although she was an inch taller than her mother, Rosalie hesitated before replying. "No, it's not," she said finally. "I'm ... "
"He's putting words in your mouth," Lucille said. "And you told him I drove your father away. Is that right?" Her voice was curiously gentle.
"Well, didn't you?" Rosalie flared.
"You put the family's dirty linen right out on the front lawn," Lucille went on in the same quiet tone. Then her right hand rose suddenly and cracked viciously on Rosalie's cheek. "WELL, I'LL TEACH YOU BETTER!" It was uttered in a trumpeting shout all the more startling after her previously subdued manner.
Rosalie staggered sideways from the force of the slap. Then she rushed at her mother furiously, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears. Lucille coolly seized her arms and pinioned them. Rosalie stamped on her mother's foot and Lucille emitted an angry cry of pain. She swung the girl around and launched her at the bed. Rosalie bounced once upon its center and sprawled half on her side, her ash-blonde hair flying.
Lucille advanced upon the bed and loomed up over her. Rosalie cowered instinctively and Lucille laughed gratingly. "Not so brave now, are you? I tell you, I won't have a kid like you associating with a character like that! I checked him out and he's no damn good! I tell you I won't have it!" She was almost screaming.
Rosalie rolled onto her back, a hand protectively upraised to guard her face. Her eyes, dark-pupiled but with lighter green flecks-a cat's eyes, Susan had always thought-glared defiance at her mother. "You hit me again and I'll leave this house!" the girl blazed. "You couldn't handle your own man, so leave me alone with mine!"
Lucille seized a slim ankle and flipped Rosalie onto her stomach. "Man! Yours!" Lucille panted. She was almost choleric with rage. "What the hell do you know about a man, you pipsqueak! You're a child! And by God you're going to be treated like a child!" She reached for the belt supporting Rosalie's jeans.
"You leave me ALONE!" Rosalie cried out, trying to wriggle from her mother's grasp. "Don't you TOUCH me! I'll ... ohhh!"
Lucille ripped Rosalie's jeans from her slender waist, disdaining to unfasten the belt. "I'll guarantee you one thing, missy!" Lucille raged. "You may leave this house, but you'll leave it with the sorest ass you've had since you were a five-year-old! Any time you think you can speak to your mother in that tone ... "
Susan watched, startled, as Lucille worked the ripped jeans free during this tirade until the whole of her daughter's quick-flaring, pink-pantied behind was exposed.
"You STOP it!" Rosalie shrieked. She rose on one elbow and tried to grab at the down-sliding jeans. Lucille slapped her hand away. "Ohhh!" her daughter wailed.
Lucille peeled the jeans down completely and pulled them off over the girl's tennis shoes. "Come over here and hold her shoulders, Susan!" she ordered.
Susan stifled the instinctive "Oh, no!" that sprang to her lips. She didn't want to become involved in this family quarrel even though she was part of the family, but from childhood she had been accustomed to obeying Lucille, who had functioned as a second mother due to the difference in their ages. Susan approached the bed reluctantly and placed her hands tentatively upon Rosalie's shoulders.
The girl raised her head and stared at Susan in disbelief. "You're helping her!" she cried. "I thought you were my friend! I'll never forgive you for this!"
"Shut up!" Lucille demanded, cuffing her. "I said hold her!" she shouted at Susan as Susan started to back away. "When I finish with this smart-ass, she'll be singing a different tune!" She took the shredded jeans and tied Rosalie's ankles securely.
Lucille marched to the bureau and picked up a flat-backed, wooden hairbrush. "Meet your old acquaintance, Rosalie," she drawled in one of the lightning changes of temper her mercurial disposition afforded. She sounded almost pleasant, but she waved the hairbrush menacingly under Rosalie's flinching nose. "I'm going to wear about an eighth of an inch of this off on your bare butt, girlie," she declared. "And you know something? I'm going to enjoy it. You're not, but I am."
Susan winced as Lucille leaned down over the bed and delivered a full-armed smack of the wicked-looking brush upon her daughter's tight-pantied bottom. "Ohhh!" Rosalie exclaimed involuntarily. Her dazzling white thighs writhed together.
Lucille dropped the brush momentarily to seize the waistband of Rosalie's panties and draw them swiftly down the girl's legs. The gusseted crotch parted company lingeringly from the area it was meant to conceal. Susan stared down at Rosalie's exposed, bare globes upon one of which was the starkly pink imprint of the hairbrush's single, smarting descent.
Rosalie fought unavailingly against her exposure. "Let me go!" she gasped to Susan. "Don't help her do this to me!"
"Hold her!" Lucille commanded Susan. "I want her to remember this." She picked up the brush again, knelt down on the bed at a right angle to her prostrate daughter's upturned, nude buttocks and raised her hairbrush-wielding arm.
"The "Ooooooh!" was preceded by a loud, smacking sound. Rosalie's bare hips rotated in a furious circle as the mate of the first hairbrush mark sprang up on the opposite full globe.
Rosalie's shoulders bucked futilely under Susan's restraining hands. The girl tried to roll onto her side to get away from the devilishly smarting hairbrush. Lucille flattened her out again, never missing a spank. Susan felt half-revolted yet half-excited at the changes the loud-smacking brush was wreaking upon Rosalie's tender behind. The girl's knees scrabbled ineffectually while her crimsoning, naked seat bobbed up and down in frenzied torment. Rosalie collapsed upon her stomach again with a despairing wail.
Lucille pursued her daughter's writhing, vermilioned backside steadily, the hairbrush smacking impartially upon the full hind cheeks and the lower sitting portion. Two buttons of her housecoat had come undone from the fury of her efforts and Susan could see Lucille's large, grape-nippled bare breasts bobbing in the open from the violence of her hairbrush-wielding.
SMACK!! "Mo-THER! It ... owwww!" SMACK!! "Oooooh, it h-hurts!" SMACK!! "Ohhh, please!" SMACK!! "No more, no m-more!" SMACK!! "Owww! My bot-TOM!" SMACK!! "OWWWWwww!"
The frantic gyrations of Rosalie's ruby-red, burning globes availed her nothing against her mother's unerring aim. Rosalie half wrenched herself from Susan's grasp and rolled onto her side, disclosing the bunched, blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.
"Hold her!" Lucille snapped, poising the hairbrush.
Susan flattened out the struggling girl and put her own stomach on Rosalie's head.
Lucille at once resumed the spanking.
It seemed to Susan that her vigor had increased.
Even the sound of the hairbrush biting into Rosalie's contorted bare seat changed.
Rosalie sobbed, moaned, yelped and pleaded as the relentless brush blistered her fiery behind. Her bare bottom heaved up and down as its pain-racked surface turned almost maroon. Susan could detect an incipient note of hysteria in the girl's hoarse outcries.
Lucille reached down suddenly and gripped one of her daughter's spanked buttocks in her hand. She separated it from its twin, then spanked at the newly disclosed, white, unspanked flesh. Rosalie's shrieks and contortions increased. Her mother, unmoved, did the same for the other hind cheek while her daughter's immolated flesh sought to turn itself inside out.
Lucille flung down the brush finally. "There, by God!" she declared with obvious satisfaction. "That's what I call a well-spanked behind!" She leaned down until her nose was inches from her daughter's rosy, pebbled, grainy-looking flesh and sniffed strongly. "There's a smart-ass you can smell the heat in, Susan," she chuckled.
Susan wondered if Lucille had any idea how she looked. She was nearly out of her housecoat, both top and bottom. Her face was almost as scarlet as her daughter's quivering backside and a sheen of perspiration glistened on her face. Susan raised herself from Rosalie's shoulders as the girl's moans continued in a minor key.
"Giving me that lip about her man!" Lucille snorted. She stared down speculatively at her daughter's twitching, reddened behind. "I wonder if she's really been putting out for that long-haired character?" She reached down, put her hands under Rosalie's stomach and flipped her onto her back.
The girl whimpered as her weight pressed down upon her smarting bare behind, but she offered no resistance. Lucille impatiently removed the knotted jeans from Rosalie's ankles, then parted the girl's slender thighs and inserted a crooked finger into her daughter's golden-haired pussy.
Rosalie's body jerked convulsively at the abrupt intrusion, but again she made no effort to resist. All the fight had been spanked out of her. "She's got a goddamn wet deck down here," Lucille announced matter-of-factly, continuing her probing as Susan stared, half-embarrassed, half-excited. Lucille's long forefinger disappeared inside Rosalie's vaginal orifice and the girl flinched again, then covered her face with both hands.
"No more hymen than a bitch running with a pack of dogs," Lucille declared as her knuckles folded back her daughter's cunt-crease from the depth of her probing. "How do you like that? I ought to whale her all over again." She removed her hand and wiped her greasy-looking finger on Rosalie's torn jeans.
"Oh, no, she's had enough!" Susan protested. She couldn't seem to remove her gaze from her niece's slack-kneed exposure with the girl's pouting, pink cuntlips oozing slightly from her mother's vigorous exploration. "I'm sure ... I'm sure you've made your point, Lucille." With an effort Susan finally wrenched her eyes from Rosalie's apricot-colored, firmly jutting sex-crypt nestled amidst damp-looking, fleecy blonde curls.
"I wish I were as sure of it as you seem to be," Lucille declared. "She's been defying me for months. It was more than time I showed her what's what around here. And I'll ... " Lucille paused at the sound of the faintly heard ringing of the telephone downstairs. "I'll get it," she said and hurried from the bedroom.
Silence settled down after Lucille's departure. Rosalie shifted onto her side to get her weight off her behind. Susan could see the girl's surprisingly full moons again, already fading to a dusty pink after her sound spanking.
Rosalie whimpered softly as her changed position caused a renewed, burning smart in her immolated body-cushions. "You h-helped her," she said over her shoulder, her back to Susan. Her voice was a hoarse whisper racked occasionally by choked sobs. "I th-thought you were my friend." She sniffled loudly, then raised her head to look over the curve of her shoulder at Susan. "I'll get even w-with you, t-too. And with h-her." The girl stared balefully at the door through which Lucille had disappeared a moment before.
"You don't want to feel like that," Susan insisted. "She's your mother and she loves you. But you disobeyed her, so she punished you. But she does love you."
Rosalie started to say something but was interrupted by another strangled sob. "She's got a damn f-funny way of sh-showing it," she got out finally.
Susan couldn't seem to properly assess her own feelings. Compassion for the soundly spanked Rosalie, yes; but all through the latter portion of the admittedly severe spanking, she had experienced a strange, tingling excitement centered in an intimate portion of her own anatomy. When Lucille finished, Susan had found her own thighs tightly clenched against a sudden onset of dampness. Her gaze returned fascinatedly to Rosalie's pinkened behind. She felt ashamed of herself for staring so avidly at her niece's girlish, bare hind cheeks, still glowing slightly, but she couldn't seem to help it. What must a hot-looking, nude backside like Rosalie's really feel like? Susan swallowed hard against a constriction in her dry-feeling throat.
Rosalie turned her head again and caught sight of Susan's prolonged inspection of her naked rump. Deliberately the girl reached behind her and lifted and spread a florid-looking hind cheek, disclosing the perspiration-darkened, blonde hairline inside her deep crevice as well as her tiny brown buttonhole. "Go ahead and l-look," the girl said defiantly. "My day is c-coming."
Susan felt herself blushing furiously at Rosalie's almost total self-exposure. She wrenched her gaze away for the second time. "I'm not ... I'm not trying to make you feel worse," she stammered. Rosalie's tear-streaked face regarded her stonily. "Honestly."
The girl sniffed but made no reply. Susan heard the sound of Lucille's footsteps on the stairs and the older sister re-entered the bedroom. Susan was glad of the interruption. "I've got ... I should get home right away," she said hurriedly. "I'll leave. I'm sure you two have ... have a lot of things to talk over."
"I'm sure we have," Lucille agreed with a sardonic glance at the semi nude girl on the bed. Rosalie had turned her face toward the wall at her mother's entrance. "Like where her virginity went."
Susan left the bedroom after muttering an embarrassed good-bye which seemed to be heard by neither mother nor daughter.
Seated behind the wheel of her car again, she stared unseeingly through the windshield.
The palms of her hands felt damp and there was a fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't seem to control the rapid rate of her breathing. She couldn't obliterate the image of her niece's brilliantly crimson, bare bottom plunging wildly under the smarting hairbrush.
Susan found that her hands were shaking slightly when she finally started the car and drove the few blocks to her inexpensive, three-room apartment. She had the top floor and the second was vacant right now. The landlord, an elderly man, lived on the first floor, but was often absent.
She parked at the rear of the building as usual. She waved absently to Wally Duncan, the hulking janitor and man-of-all-work about the place, who was pruning a hedge. Wally waved back shyly. The slow-witted big man, burdened with a low intelligence quotient, still was cheerfully eager to take care of Susan's occasional, small requests in the way of maintenance.
Susan climbed the back stairs on legs that trembled slightly. She unlocked her door and went inside. She placed her handbag on the telephone table in the tiny hallway, then advanced into her bedroom like a sleepwalker. She studied her features in her boudoir mirror. Only a slight dilation of her eyes in the high-cheekboned, piquant-looking face under her crown of dark hair betrayed her inner unease.
She returned to the hallway, locked the door and slipped on the chain latch. Back in the bedroom she began to undress, slowly at first, then more quickly. Dress, half-slip, panty-girdle and bra were rapidly discarded. Susan's stockings hung limply on her sturdy-looking thighs with their garter supports removed.
She opened her closet door, revealing a full-length pier glass on its inner side. Only her stockings and high-heeled shoes broke the symmetry of the ivory-and-cream flesh-symphony in the mirror. Firm, jutting breasts flaunted their dark-nippled monitors. The solid-looking sweep of her round belly dipped sharply into her raven-haired thigh juncture.
Susan turned to look over her shoulder at the wide-flaring, alabaster buttocks beneath the slender stalk of her waist. The silky-looking flesh with its downy little hairs adorning the nascent amplitudes stared back. Two deep dimples at the outer quadrants of the luscious white spheres winked at each movement.
She confronted the mirror again. Her right hand stole downward toward the glossy black curls hiding her mount, then retreated. Susan backed toward the bed and sat tensely on its edge, still watching herself in the mirror. Her hand moved once more in the direction of her thigh juncture, but restrained itself.
Then, with no further hesitation, Susan rose from the bed, walked rapidly to her bureau and opened the bottom drawer.
CHAPTER 2
Susan pawed through underwear impatiently before she located what she was seeking at the back of the drawer. She straightened up, holding a vibrator in her hand. It was ivory-white in color, seven inches long and an inch and a quarter thick. It was battery-operated and Susan switched it on, listened to its purring buzz, then placed the rounded tip on her abdomen.
Gooseflesh jumped up on her bare arms and she hurried back to bed, kicking aside her discarded clothing on the floor. She sank down on the bed and immediately dropped onto her back, elevating her superb legs. Across the room in the pier glass mirror, a full-figured girl displayed a mossy cunt which pouted for the advancing vibrator.
Susan averted her eyes from the mirror as she worked the tip of the vibrator inside her salmon-lipped vagina, gently at first, then with increasing force. An inch disappeared, then two inches. Susan's breathing turned harsh as she worked the vibrator in and out, increasing its depth. Her distended pussy gulped still more of the offering and she shivered at the flood of excitement assailing her. Her nipples stood erect, hard as gumdrops.
She reached for the base of the vibrator and again switched it on. Her entire body quivered and she moaned aloud as the muffled buzzing inside her flesh nearly drove her wild. She plunged the vibrator fiercely inside her ever-more-lubricated channel while she groped with her free hand for her upstanding clitoris.
A gasp escaped her parted lips as her forefinger massaged the stiff-standing little bud. Muscles jumped in her upraised thighs and she threw her hips upward at the vibrator jammed inside her. Her legs rose still higher as she plucked and pinched her rosy clit feverishly while her upraised buttock cheeks shivered and shook in an insane dance. Susan wailed aloud as her legs began thrashing. Her head went back and her eyes closed tightly as a hot gush of quick-spurting, sexual juices enveloped her interior walls and the vibrator.
Long shudders rippled through her naked body for a few, delicious seconds.
Then she reached for the base of the vibrator again and switched it off. She slumped on her back, eyes glazed. She stared between her still-upraised legs at the mirror image of the girl on the bed with only the one-inch butt of the vibrator protruding from between her slack-looking thighs.
Susan moaned aloud as a quick rush of shame enveloped her. How many times had she promised herself she wouldn't do it anymore? She was no better than an animal. A sexual animal. She was disgusted with herself. She plucked the vibrator angrily from her twitching core, heedless of its rough displacement. Sticky strings of her own spend dripped from the vibrator's well-lubricated length onto her bare thighs.
Susan stumbled from the bed and rushed into the bathroom.
She couldn't bear to look at her flushed face in the mirror.
* * *
Wally Duncan knelt in the hallway outside the door of Susan Merritt's apartment, applying his eye to the keyhole. The mounting excitement with which he had watched her graceful progress across the yard combined to quicken his breathing and blur his vision. He backed away from the keyhole and brushed quickly at his eyes with the backs of his dirt-stained hands.
He knew there was no one in the building except the two of them, so he had no fear of discovery unless Susan exited suddenly. It wasn't the first time he had crouched outside this particular door. He reached into a pocket of his work pants and removed a penlight-sized, miniature telescope, the end of which he applied to the keyhole. He put his eye to the telescope, trying to control his labored breathing.
He had noted long ago, while doing odd jobs inside the apartment, that the keyhole commanded a tunnel-vision view of Susan's bedroom beyond her living room. If the bedroom door was open. Sometimes it was closed and he had to go away disappointed. But today it was open and he focused the telescope eagerly.
The girl's bed with its deep-maroon bedspread sprang into clear view. Beyond it was an armchair and a reading lamp. The bedroom appeared to be empty. He wondered if Susan were in the kitchenette. Then he sucked in his breath sharply. She appeared suddenly in the bedroom.
Wally Duncan shivered. He licked his thick lips avidly. The girl was naked, her white body silhouetted against the dark bedspread. Naked! He had caught glimpses of her in various stages of undress as she walked from bedroom to bath, but never anything like this. He ogled her, petrified, as the magnified girl in the telescope-eye sat down on the bed. She held something in her hand, but he couldn't make out what it was.
Ardently he gloated over the superb figure on the bed. She hadn't a thread on except for shoes and stockings. The beautiful, swelling breasts with their chocolate-nippled teats made his mouth go dry. The sweetly sloping curve of white belly merging into plump, snowy thighs caused a pain in his groin. The raven-black, mossy triangle covering her lower stomach and mound tantalized his popping eyes.
The girl in the telescope-eye dropped onto her back suddenly and elevated and widened her legs, her ungartered stockings dropping. Wally Duncan's breath almost stopped. He had a head-on view of her pink sex-crease, openly displayed. He licked his lips again. He had never seen anything like this before!
He watched puzzledly as the girl on the bed poked at her gaping snatch with the object in her right hand he had been unable to identify. She was poking right at the sweet core of her being. The upthrust pussylips at first refused the offering; then it slowly began to disappear inside her. She was shoving something way up inside herself, Wally Duncan told himself ecstatically. Right where a man's prick should go!
The beautiful girl worked the object in and out, in and out. Wally Duncan groaned. His bulging prick was hurting him within the tight confinement of his drawers. The telescope-eye picked up clearly the girl's distended nipples straining toward the ceiling. The object in the girl's pouty-lipped quim went in farther and farther and his breathing turned harsh. He could see her round, white thighs fluttering and the soft bowl of her stomach heaving.
He unzipped his work pants frantically and dragged his heavy, meaty-looking cock out into the open, meantime pantingly observing every writhing movement of the girl on the bed. He worked his prick in his hand, slowly at first, then harder. The girl on the bed suddenly threw her legs straight up in the air. She was plucking and pinching at herself, near the inserted object and the deliciously round cheeks of her bare ass rose from the bed and shook themselves like a dog just out of the water.
Wally Duncan growled deep in his throat as the girl's slender legs kicked steadily and her naked behind humped itself repeatedly. Without his even realizing it, his prick started to spurt and he deluged the apartment door with his come. He lost his view temporarily as his orgasm racked him, but he sought to renew it eagerly. The girl was sprawled limply on the bed, her previously thrashing legs quiescent.
Afraid suddenly, Wally Duncan snatched a rag from his back pocket and swabbed off his diminishing prick. He wiped up the evidence of his spend from the door and the hallway carpeting. He applied his eye to the telescope once more, but the bed was empty.
He returned the telescope to his pocket and hurried down the back stairs.
* * *
Susan drew a tub of hot water in the bathroom, then looked down at it restlessly. She sat down in the tub, finally and laved her pussylips with both hands, then climbed out again. There was a fire in her interior that refused to be extinguished.
She wrapped a towel around her dripping middle before walking to the hallway and the telephone. She dialed quickly. "Christine?" she said when a feminine voice answered. "May I come over? Right now?"
"Why not?" the voice said cheerfully. "You sound turned on."
"Am I ever," Susan agreed. Her tone was grim. "I'll be right there."
She threw on a minimum of clothing and went out to her car. It was a short drive. Christine Serban, physical education teacher at the local high school, had a room on the second floor of a comfortable, private home. Susan shivered when she climbed from her car. She hadn't dried herself thoroughly and the vagrant breeze was chill as it inserted itself under her single garment. She felt wickedly depraved at her unconfined freedom of movement.
She trotted up the stairs to Christine's room, closed the door and stood with her back pressed to it. She could hear her own rapid breathing. "I don't know what's the matter with me," she said huskily, "but do something, Christine! Please!"
Her friend raised an inquiring eyebrow. Christine was a chunky redhead with a pleasant, lightly freckled face. She had on a short, wrap-around bed jacket disclosing powerful-looking thighs and calves indicative of many hours of field hockey. Additional scattered freckles adorned her upper thighs. She advanced upon Susan and threw her arms around her. "Well!" she exclaimed in surprise as her quick-patting hands discovered Susan's nearly nude state. "Lady Godiva one degree removed?"
"I feel ... just awful!" Susan said jerkily. Lightning flashes of sensation assailed her as Christine's clever hands stroked her buttocks, breasts and thighs.
"Sounds to me like a classic case of the hots," Christine said shrewdly. "And you came to the right place." She tugged at the hem of Susan's dress and Susan assisted in pulling it off over her head. Christine's blue eyes darted over Susan's nudity. Her capable hands stroked and patted Susan's bare flesh while Susan bit her lip as heat lightning infiltrated her interior.
Susan's hands plucked at the waist-tie of Christine's bed jacket and the redhead shrugged out of it casually. Her skin was flawless, dazzlingly white and juicily plump, her femininity concealed only by severely cut, white panties. Christine drew the unresisting Susan to the bed.
The redhead dropped to her knees between Susan's parted legs and at once pressed her warm lips to Susan's smooth belly. Christine's bright chestnut head moved north, east, south and west as her soft lips imposed butterfly kisses upon Susan's quivering flesh. "Dear God, Christine!" Susan groaned. "Don't tease!"
Christine at once raised Susan's thighs and widened them additionally. Susan sank back upon her elbows while Christine draped Susan's legs over Christine's shoulders. She swooped down with her mouth again upon Susan's upthrust, hot-feeling jewel box. Susan moaned in shivery delight as the warm mouth and probing tongue lipped and sucked ravenously at her highly sensitized twat.
Christine raised her head to look up into Susan's flushed face. "Damn, but you're hot!" she observed. "Live steam any second now."
"Don't talk!" Susan whispered. Her eyes were closed and she was twiddling her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
The redhead plunged her mouth again upon Susan's twitching pussy. She tongued it from end to end, penetrating every millimeter of the sex-crease. Then she swished her tongue flirtingly into Susan's hole and Susan's thighs jerked mightily.
Christine sucked the whole of Susan's cunt into her mouth and worried it forcefully. "Oooooh!" Susan breathed. Her breath whistled when she exhaled. The redhead nipped at the brunette's clit, then grazed it with her teeth while shivering explosions threatened to shatter Susan's mind. Christine's generous-sized mouth noisily swallowed and expelled the whole of Susan's quivering quim.
"Ohhhhh!" Susan cried out as she felt a deep, interior tingling. Her legs stiffened around her friend's head. "Here it comes!" she gurgled, thrusting upward with her hips. "Ohhh, God! Here it COMES!"
Her middle jerked spasmodically as she spent furiously into Christine's hard-working mouth. Susan's hands reached downward to clutch at Christine's bare shoulders and hold her closer to her task. Susan ground her wet-lipped, oozing cunt into Christine's face as her convulsion racked her.
She sank back with a tired sigh, still breathing hard. Christine separated her slack legs still more widely and daintily licked away the cream from Susan's oily pussylips, crimson now rather than pink. "Ohhhhh!" Susan moaned softly upon an expiring note. "Did I ever need that!"
Christine climbed upon the bed with her and took her in her arms. "You were a mite warm," The redhead admitted as the two soft bodies snuggled together. "Someone wave something at you from a doorway?"
"No." Susan kissed the point of Christine's smooth shoulder, then a strawberry-nippled bubby. "I just saw my niece get a real, honest-to-john, bottom-reddening, behind-hurting spanking."
Christine nodded understandingly. "It can turn a girl on."
"It surely can," Susan sighed. "I still feel squirmy."
Christine lowered her head and ran her tongue into Susan's navel. "I'm glad I was the beneficiary," she said when she stopped.
"It's your turn now," Susan reminded her. "What would you like me to do?"
"I'd love a good dildoing," Christine said wistfully.
"Fetch it," Susan said promptly. "I'll do you up brown."
Christine went to her closet, her large breasts bobbing freely. She returned with a thick rubber penis attached to thigh loops and a waistband. Christine removed her white panties while Susan slipped her feet into the loops and drew them up on her thighs. Christine buckled the waistband of the dildo behind Susan's back, cinching it tightly. The eight-inch black piece of hard penis-rubber jutted firmly upward from between Susan's bare thighs.
Susan dipped a hand into the bright-red curls clustered at Christine's lower belly and fingered her fat, firm-feeling pussy. Then she patted her friend's large, soft buttocks before squeezing the pliable hind cheeks in her palms. Here was a bare behind made for spanking, Susan thought fleetingly; massively full-fleshed and exhilaratingly resilient.
Christine shivered at the playful gambolings of Susan's hands. She backed toward the bed and arranged herself in its center with a pillow under her bottom. The thick red hair on her belly thinned out to wispy traces over her gash, revealing moist pink lips already dilated slightly. Susan traced with a fingertip the entire course of Christine's damp slit and a long shudder rippled through the redhead's abundant flesh. She stared up at the ceiling, her mouth working.
Susan inserted a finger inside Christine's fat-lipped twat and found it juicy. She finger-frigged the redhead briskly and Christine's round thighs climbed as a tide of color rushed into her face. "Oh, Jesus!" she groaned, grinding her thighs together over Susan's wrist. "Put it in me! Quick!"
Susan moved on her knees in between Christine's wide-parted legs. She dipped two fingers again into the redhead's swimming chalice and moistened the tip of the black rubber prick. The dildo harness held the mock-prick in place so firmly it almost seemed an integral part of Susan.
She leaned forward and inserted the tip of the dildo into Christine's gaping quiver. The redhead panted loudly as she felt the longed-for contact. Susan pressed forward slowly and the black cock separating the two white bellies began to disappear inside Christine. Susan joggled her own plump hips from side to side, widening the redhead's passageway and Christine emitted a soft moan that became a squeal. She threw her hips up eagerly to meet the rubbery intruder spearing her smoldering cunt.
Susan lunged forward, backed off and lunged again. "Aieee!" Christine squeaked as the penetration was completed and the warm bellies slapped together. Susan lowered herself upon her friend's round belly until four stiff-nippled breasts rubbed at each other. Then she began to pump in a steady rhythm as the hard, black rubber prick glided in and out of Christine's lubricous hot-box. The redhead's hands came down upon Susan's shoulders and gripped her firmly. Susan's bare buttocks quivered from the effort she expended each time she drove the pseudo cock to the hilt inside Christine's red-fleeced pussy.
For minutes the only sound in the room was the girls' commingled heavy breathing and the slight sucking sound made by the dildo as it was worked in and out of Christine's clinging cunt by Susan's energetic, hip-thrusting movements. Then Christine squealed again, shrilly. She threw her head back and her hands kneaded Susan's shoulders forcefully while her thighs tightened on Susan's waist. Her robust behind rose clear of the supporting pillow each time she thrust upward to meet Susan's down strokes. Her head tossed from side to side as she bit her lower lip, a strained look on her face. Her bright chestnut hair was wildly disordered.
"Ahhhhhh!" she burst out hoarsely. Her hip movements became more imperative. "I'm ... coming!" Her voice sounded strangled. "Oh, Roy! I'm ... ohhhh, ROY! I'm coming! Fuck me, Roy! Fuck meeee!"
She subsided at last with a long, drawn-out whimper. Susan rested quietly upon the broad platform of her friend's perspiring stomach while she curiously watched Christine's flushed face. "Who's Roy?" she inquired. Christine didn't reply. Susan reached down and pinched a malleable buttock sphere. "Who's Roy?" she repeated.
Christine smiled up at her dimly. "A fellow I knew," she answered. "I should have married him, but my folks objected." She inserted a hand between their bodies and began to play with one of Susan's breasts. "You want some, dear?"
"Not from this monster," Susan said emphatically. She withdrew cautiously from the redhead's creaming cunt and sank back on her heels. Both girls looked at the long, glistening expanse of rubber-prick coated with Christine's spend. "That big thing would kill me," Susan added. "I don't know how you can take it all inside you like that."
"It's no good unless it feels like it's tickling your tonsils," Christine replied comfortably.
Susan climbed from the bed. She reached around behind her to find the buckle on the waistband of the dildo harness. With that released, she pushed the thigh straps down her long legs and stepped out of the apparatus.
Christine left the bed and joined her. The two nude female figures blended as they exchanged a long kiss. Christine reached around behind Susan and played with her swaying ass cheeks, but Susan broke the kiss finally and stepped back. "I've got to get back to my place," she said. "Thanks for the mouth job. Maybe with a tranquilizer I can get some sleep tonight now."
She walked across the room to pick up her dress, then looked around uncomprehendingly a moment before she remembered. "Did I really come over here without a stitch of underwear?" She shook her head ruefully. "Isn't it awful to be so ... so animal-like sometimes? I get so ashamed when I use the vibrator on myself."
"Not before and not during," Christine answered lightly. "Just afterward. Doesn't that tell you something about our female natures?"
"Sometimes I don't think well of my female nature," Susan said seriously. She pulled her dress down over her head and settled it over her firm-fleshed hips. The expression on her beautiful face was sober.
"Do you dream about men?" Christine inquired.
Susan paused to consider. "Not really. Not men that I know, anyway. I do have a persistent dream about some unseen person taking down my panties. And I dream about what we do together once in a while."
"But you feel that what we do is awful?"
Susan nodded shamefacedly. "When I think about it in cold blood. But when I get hot, I want it. Every bit of it."
"You need a man," Christine declared.
"You mean you don't?"
"Of course I do. And I'm looking. Meantime, our little games together are second best."
They exchanged smiles, kissed again lingeringly, then Susan left for her own apartment.
* * *
Susan went home from work on Friday afternoon looking forward to her free weekend. She had no special plans except her every-other-week trip to the hairdresser's. She parked her car in its usual slot and climbed the two flights of stairs at the rear of the building to her third-floor apartment.
She unlocked the door and let herself in, humming softly. Two strides inside the living room she came to a dead stop, both hands pressed tightly to her breasts as she stared at the two silent figures sitting in her living room chairs. "Ohh!" she gasped as recognition dawned. "Rosalie!" She drew a deep breath. "You startled me so!"
Her glance flicked from her silent niece to the occupant of the other chair. With a growing sense of unease she recognized the broad-shouldered, long-haired blond boy out of whose battered car Rosalie had emerged the afternoon she aroused her mother's vengeful wrath. "How ... how did you get in here?" Susan asked with more nervousness than she cared to admit. That hulking boy with his Prince Valiant haircut and the mocking smirk on his handsome face ...
"Did you forget that mother had a key to your apartment, Aunt Susan?" Rosalie broke her silence. Her voice was as mocking as the blond boy's smirk. "I borrowed it. Without asking. And I brought you something." She opened her handbag and took out the same flat-backed, wooden hairbrush Susan had last seen being wielded so vigorously by her sister Lucille.
She stared at it uncomprehendingly for an instant, then with dawning awareness and finally with outright fear. "You ... you don't mean ... " she began in a choking voice, then stopped. She didn't want to put any ideas into Rosalie's head.
"Oh, yes, I do," Rosalie said. She rose to her feet, waving the brush. "I told you I'd get even, didn't I? I brought this along to give you a taste of the same thing."
Susan found it difficult to breathe. Surely it was a joke? A hideous joke? But the look in Rosalie's eye, the determined expression upon her young face and the deliberately suggestive movement with which she swished the hairbrush through the air ... Susan felt her stomach lurch. "You don't m-mean it," she forced herself to say.
"Say hello to Greg," Rosalie said casually. "I thought I might need him. If you don't strip and turn up your bare behind to the hairbrush, Greg will undress you for me."
Susan stared in mounting horror at the openly grinning blond boy who was regarding her with zestful appreciation. She could see that his blond hair was matted and his open-necked shirt dirty, "You w-wouldn't shame me like that?" she pleaded.
"But she's your mother! She ... she's entitled ... "
Susan paused when Rosalie pointed the hairbrush at her. "I'm entitled," the blonde girl said grimly. "So stop stalling. Get your clothes off." She smiled wickedly. "Have I ever been looking forward to this!"
Susan groped for a plea that would make a dent in the hard shell of her niece's vindictiveness, then realized miserably there was none. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, then spun around and ran for the telephone in the hallway. Behind her she heard the quick pad-pad of footsteps as Greg bolted from his chair like a big cat. He ran her down before she reached the phone. He grabbed her around the waist and swung her back into the living room and his big hands managed to be both rough and suggestive upon Susan's body at the same time.
"Told you she'd make a break for the phone, didn't I?" Greg grinned at Rosalie.
Susan struggled in the grip of the hard hands. An odor of unwashed male assaulted her nostrils. "You let me ALONE!" she panted in what was almost a shriek.
Greg released her. "Go ahead and yell," he invited her with a leering smile. "The place is empty. I checked."
Susan thought she was going to faint. This couldn't be happening to her, but there stood her hard-eyed niece, Rosalie, hairbrush in hand and that smirking, leering monster, Greg ...
Rosalie took charge. "Get her skirt off, Greg. I'm tired of waiting for her."
"No!" Susan exclaimed. The monosyllable burst from her explosively. Her hands went fumbling to the waistband of her skirt into which her blouse was tucked. "I'll ... I'll do it."
"Then do it," Rosalie warned, then added sarcastically, "Greg would love to help."
Susan felt sick at the sneering inspection she was undergoing from the blond boy's mocking eyes. Her hands slowly unfastened the catch of her skirt while she tried frantically to think of a way out of her dilemma. But she couldn't think of anything. With the building empty and the phone denied her ...
"How you gonna do it?" Greg asked Rosalie.
"We'll take her into the kitchen," Rosalie replied. "Bring a pillow from her bed and we'll stretch her out over her kitchen table. I want plenty of arm-room when I swing this thing at her bare butt." She swished the hairbrush again.
Greg went into the bedroom. Susan reluctantly guided her unfastened skirt down over her hips. She stepped out of it as it collapsed around her ankles and looked appealingly at her niece. "Greg!" Rosalie called. "She's stalling again!"
Susan's hands flew to the waist of her half-slip. "I'll do it! I'll d-do it!" she said shakily. The thought of Greg's hard hands and his unwashed, male odor made her feel faint again.
Greg walked into the kitchen, carrying a pillow. "Bring her along, Roz," he said. "The light's a lot better in here."
"March," Rosalie said to her aunt with another flourish of the hairbrush. Susan had to force her weak-kneed legs to carry her across the room. In the kitchen Greg already had the pillow draped on its long axis on the formica-topped table. The roof of Susan's mouth went dry as she looked at it. To actually lie down on that pillow on her stomach with her bare behind thrust ignominiously backward over the table's edge ...
"Awww, I'd better shuck her out've her things," Greg suggested to Rosalie.
"You're a bit too willing!" Rosalie snapped as Susan jerked awake from her half-paralysis. She stripped down her half-slip and unzipped her panty-girdle. "What I want you to do is hold her on the pillow when she gets down on it," Rosalie continued. "Stand at her head."
"How'm I gonna see what you're doin' to her ass?" the blond boy complained.
"You can see it when I've finished with it," Rosalie said shortly. "You!" she barked at Susan. "Get out of that girdle!"
Susan could feel her lips quivering. She circled her dry mouth with the tip of her tongue. She took two quick steps toward the table, turned her back on Greg, peeled the panty-girdle from her hips and thighs and flung herself at the pillow in the same motion, denying the leering Greg a look at her raven-haired mound.
The panty-girdle slid down her legs and came to rest at her ankles as her flinching stomach came to rest upon the pillow. Susan could feel her out-thrust rump spread widely in its flesh-tautened position and she clenched her cheeks frantically against her humiliating exposure.
The momentary silence was broken by a long whistle from Greg. "Now there's a piece of machinery!" he said admiringly. "Eat another barrel of flour and you might match it, Roz."
"Never mind the wise remarks," Rosalie said coldly. "You don't complain about mine when you're using it. Now get around the table and hold her. You're going to see some real action back at this end."
Greg rounded the table and placed his big hands on Susan's shoulders. She almost whimpered in fear. The only reason she was acting so submissively was to keep this ruttish brute as far away from her as possible.
She wasn't really afraid, she insisted to herself. She would bear this mortifying, degrading experience with as much dignity as possible, then get rid of this unholy pair. And tomorrow she would change the lock on the apartment door.
Greg leaned forward until his stomach covered Susan's head and his upper body was extended along her prostrate back. He was looking straight down at the exposed upper slopes of her nude behind and Susan cringed inwardly. It was small comfort to know that Rosalie was looking at a great deal more. Susan had never felt so exposed in all her life.
"Start the parade," Greg invited Rosalie. "I got her. She's not goin' anywhere."
"Wait till I get her shoes off," Rosalie replied. She jerked off Susan's high-heeled pumps but left the panty-girdle draped around her ankles. "There!" she said with satisfaction. From the corner of her eye Susan could see her niece raise the hairbrush. "Now we'll see a little dancing back here!"
Her arm flashed downward at the last word and Susan closed her eyes instinctively.
CHAPTER 3
WHACK!!
Susan's eyes flew open as the devilish hairbrush cracked against a bare hind cheek with an obscenely loud noise. A white-hot pinpoint of flame ignited in her plumped-out, soft globe, then slowly spread. "Ohhhhh!" she exclaimed breathlessly, startled at the pain.
WHACK!!
She clenched her teeth against the quick-stabbing smart of the brush's return upon the other cheek. Despite her self-willed determination to lie quietly and get this hideous performance over with as quickly as possible, she could feel her bare seat twitching uneasily of its own accord.
WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!
Susan gulped and swallowed, gulped and swallowed as Rosalie delivered successively harder spanks with the flat-backed, wooden brush. A hot flame built up in her tender bottom. The pain was incredible and the hairbrush was quickly eroding her resolve to be a stoic. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other continually as the dreadfully smarting hairbrush blazed alternately against each quivering hind cheek.
She surged upward beneath Greg, wholly involuntarily, restraint forgotten. The blond boy's weight flattened her out again. "You're gettin' to her," he encouraged Rosalie. "She's squirmin'."
"You ought ... to see ... her ass ... squirm," Rosalie panted between full-armed swings of the hairbrush. "I can see ... her whole twat ... and her ... pussy hair."
"Mebbe we oughta change places," Greg remarked with a grin.
Rosalie didn't reply. She aimed the hairbrush deliberately, snapping its burning flat surface against the whiter portions of Susan's rotating, crimsoning bare backside. Susan's resolution broke down as the brush's hot kisses built up and multiplied in her soft, emblazoned hemispheres. "R-Rosalie!" she pleaded in a high-pitched voice. "Ohhh! Rosalie! Owww! Please! Not so h-hard!"
"Sing, damn you!" Rosalie retorted.
WHACK!! "Ooooooh!" Susan yelped. WHACK!! "Owwww!" WHACK!! "OWWWWWW!" she shrieked, all resistance gone. WHACK!! "Ohhh-h-h!" WHACK!! "Owwww!" WHACK!! "OWWWWW-W-W!"
She danced in ungainly fashion from one foot to the other. One leg came free from the constricting panty-girdle and kicked frenziedly at each sizzling descent of the hairbrush. Susan kicked with the other leg in involuntary anguish at the throbbing inflammation afflicting her torridly feverish, nude rump and the dropped panty-girdle was propelled into the air and across the kitchen. Rosalie never missed a single, sadistic spank upon the hot-glowing, wildly-plunging, writhingly vermilioned, gyrating surface of her aunt's naked backside.
Rosalie stopped spanking and Susan's scratchily breathless shrieks died out to piteous, sobbing pleas. Greg raised himself from his position where he had been trying to stare down into Susan's deep buttock-cleft. "You finished?" he asked. He sounded disappointed.
"The hell I'm finished!" Rosalie declared. She ran her palm roughly over Susan's flinching, spanked flesh. "She can stand more heat than that and she's going to get it." She studied Susan's twitching, fiery-hot globes an instant. "Aunt Susan?" She had to repeat it before the words pierced the haze of Susan's suffering. "Aunt Susan?"
"Y-yes?" Susan whispered.
"Where does it hurt?"
"My b-bottom," Susan murmured and blinked away tears of mortification.
"That's not what I want to hear," Rosalie announced and swung the hairbrush hard against a ruby-red hind cheek.
"Owwwwww!" Susan shrieked.
"Where does it hurt?"
"M-my ass! My ass!" Susan moaned.
"What kind of an ass?" Rosalie demanded inexorably.
"My b-bare ass," Susan sobbed, then began to cry openly. In all her life she had never felt so degraded.
"Okay," her niece announced. "Hold her, Greg. I'm going to finish her off now."
Susan caught her breath as the hairbrush descended again. Still, the resulting loud smacks and lightning bolts of pain convulsing her nude flesh felt different somehow. The incessantly implemented, unbearable burning sensation in Susan's bare behind engendered by Rosalie's previous free-swinging assault upon it had given way during the short period of surcease to an inner heat that felt extraordinarily strange.
Rosalie spanked steadily and Susan's bottom still hurt terribly, but she was startled to experience a quivering tingle deep within herself that she had no control over. She was surprised to find her hairbrush-smarting hind cheeks rising and falling on the pillow while her thighs writhed against each other.
Her cries continued as she still felt each individual spank, but there was a different caliber to them, even to her own ear. She still kicked at each explosive impact of the brush, but-unbidden-her mound was rubbing itself against the pillow under it.
"Ohhhh!" she mewed, terrified that her uncontrollable reaction might be correctly interpreted but unable to prevent it. "Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhh! OHHHH-h-h-h!" A dam seemed to break within her quivering cunt. Susan's breath caught in her throat again from the violence of her desperately repressed emotion. I came, Susan thought dazedly. I ... actually ... had ... an ... orgasm ...
Rosalie stopped spanking again. "I think she's had enough now," the girl said. There was a faint note of unease in her voice. "Look at how red in the face she is. I wouldn't want her to burst a blood vessel or something."
Greg again lifted the weight of his upper body from Susan's head and shoulders. Despite the release she sprawled limply on the pillow. With the cessation of her surprising come she felt anew the burning smart in her soft body-cushions and fresh tears streamed down her hot-feeling cheeks.
Greg walked around the table where he could see all of Susan's bare behind. "Oh, wow!" he exclaimed immediately. "Like you really scorched the beef, Roz."
"I'm satisfied," Rosalie said curtly. "Let's get out of here."
"You know somethin'?" Greg said in a thoughtful voice. "For a second there I thought she was comin'. You don't s'pose ... "
"With an ass like a hot stove-lid?" Rosalie demanded scornfully. The voices grew fainter as Susan's tormentors moved out into the hall. "She was just trying to get away from the hairbrush."
"Well, okay," Greg said, but he still sounded doubtful.
Susan heard the sound of the apartment door closing.
She heaved a long, tremulous sigh that turned into a shudder that rippled to her clenched toes, then buried her tear-stained face in the pillow in a renewed freshet of helpless sobs.
She never knew how long she remained prostrate upon the pillowed table in her kitchen after the departure of her niece and her boy friend. Surely no one had ever been so unspeakably debased. She felt humiliated beyond words to express.
Susan stirred herself to movement when, despite the nagging smart in her poor behind, her thighs began to feel chilled. She passed a hand behind herself and cautiously felt a spanked globe. She moaned pitifully when she felt the hot, roughened, pebbled surface which had replaced her usually silky-smooth buttock skin.
She raised her head with an effort and brought both hands forward to brace herself preparatory to rising. She pushed upward, then gave a soft little howl as the movement stretched her spanked buttocks. She persisted, though, until most of her weight rested upon trembling legs which almost refused to support her. She clutched the end of the table and held on, breathing deeply.
Directly below her eyes was that portion of the pillow upon which her stomach had been resting. Her gaze intensified as she saw an unmistakable damp spot upon the pillow. There was no doubt about it; incredibly, in the midst of that dreadful spanking, she had come more copiously even than when induced by the artful tongue and mouth of her friend Christine. She quickly averted her eyes from the damp spot on the pillow.
She tested her legs and found they would support her weight. She wobbled unsteadily into the bathroom, clutching at any support en route. Then she went out into the bedroom and opened the closet door, disclosing the pier glass. She turned on the closet light, then turned and looked over her shoulder to see her wickedly spanked bottom in the mirror.
She whimpered aloud at the sight of her rose-pink, throbbing hind cheeks. She put both hands behind and gently rubbed the hot-looking surfaces with her palms. The flaming burn which had so agonized her during the spanking had departed in favor of a lower-keyed, smarting sensitivity, but this seemed somehow to have spread all through her buttock area.
Susan went back into the bathroom again. She squatted awkwardly above the toilet seat, unable to force herself to bring her sore bottom into contact with it, then directed a torrential stream into the bowl. Her pee seemed to go on and on and on. She raised herself painfully, hobbled to the tub and turned on the hot water. The bending movement produced a gasp from her as fresh muscles pulled under her simmering flesh.
She remembered the unlatched apartment door and shuffled to it to put on the chain. On her way back she stopped; Rosalie had left the hairbrush squarely centered upon the living room table. Susan picked it up gingerly. It was unbelievable that such an innocent-looking object could create such furnace heat in a girl's behind that it turned her into-well, into a mindless animal.
Susan stroked the smooth-backed surface almost timidly. In her mind's eye she could see only too plainly its series of flashing descents upon her own upturned nudity and she shivered. She held the hairbrush under her nose and sniffed at it. Then, ashamed of the sudden thought that her own effluvia might still be clinging to its sleek wood, she set it down hastily and returned to the bathroom.
She eased herself gently into the steaming water, mewing softly when her heated buttocks touched down, despite the towel she had placed on the bottom of the tub to cushion herself. Immersed to her breasts, she relaxed with a long, tremulous sigh. The hot water was wonderfully soothing; its heat seemed somehow to draw off the heat in her flesh.
The events of the previous hour ran through her mind like a recently seen movie. The spectacle she knew she must have presented to the mocking eyes of Rosalie and Greg turned her scarlet with shame. A grown girl having her bare behind spanked like a five-year-old! And reacting just as juvenilely. It was dreadful even to think about it.
Susan stayed in the tub until the hot water turned cool, then climbed out, her movements stiff but less inhibited. She returned to the bedroom and immediately presented her damp backside to the mirror again. She was surprised at how much of the scarlet mosaic on her wide-flaring hemispheres had faded. Most of the spanked area was a light coral-pink. She pressed her fingertips to her fulsome hind cheeks lightly and found them just slightly tender. She was still aware of subdued heat in her bottom, but it felt almost interior now.
She wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, looked in irresolutely, then closed it again. She didn't really feel like eating. The kitchen table caught her eye. The pillow, mute witness to her degradation, still rested upon its surface. Susan picked it up and sniffed at the damp spot on it. She thrust it hurriedly away from her as the essence of her body secretion wafted to her nostrils. What an awful thing to do, she told herself severely. Such curiosity was unladylike.
In the bedroom she changed the pillowcase and turned down the bed. She slipped under the top sheet, disdaining a nightgown and stretched out tiredly on her right side. She reached behind her with her left hand to stroke soothingly the soft hind cheeks which seemed to be rapidly returning to their former silky-skinned, pristine condition.
If she could just rest for an hour, she'd feel up to par again.
She closed her eyes, cradling her left breast in her right palm, her left hand fondling her bottom.
Her breathing slowed and quieted and gradually her hands became still.
* * *
Morning sunlight streamed in the bedroom window when Susan opened her eyes. She stared at it in disbelief. She had slept the whole night through! Slept like a baby! She looked around the bedroom and the memory of the previous afternoon's events rushed over her like a flood tide. She could feel herself coloring furiously. The incident had been so ... so indecent she didn't even want to think about it.
She reached behind her and tentatively explored her bottom. She couldn't believe it when she felt no pain. She swung her long legs to the floor and padded to the pier glass. Bright sunlight illuminated her reflected, bell-shaped posterior with such crystal clarity that individual, downy hairs showed on the sleek-looking cheeks which appeared as alabaster-white as before the spanking. Only by the closest scrutiny was Susan able to observe shadowy, subcutaneous marks.
She bent down exploratively and touched her toes. There was a pulling sensation in her backside, but no real pain. She went into the bathroom and sat down on the seat. Again, there was sensitivity, but no acute discomfort. She could hardly believe it. She was sure she had received a much harder than average spanking, yet tangible aftermaths appeared to be negligible. A girl's bottom was a sponge when it came to sopping up a paddling.
Susan dressed quickly. She was ravenous, but she didn't feel like fussing with breakfast. She'd treat herself to breakfast at the restaurant on the corner. She was looking forward to scrambled eggs. Or perhaps French toast. She didn't bother with a girdle, encasing her chubbiness in lace-edged, pink panties. Her behind wasn't swollen, but it felt larger-than-life somehow. It's probably just because I can't get out of my mind what happened to it yesterday, she thought. In the bright morning sunlight it seemed impossible.
She walked down the stairs and emerged into the warm, summery air of the beautifully clear, Saturday morning. Her spirits lightened as she walked to the restaurant. She couldn't even find it in her heart to be angry with Rosalie. Her niece undoubtedly felt she had sufficient provocation. Susan supposed she should tell Lucille, but did she really want Lucille to know about her humiliation? And telling her would almost surely create more family friction. Susan put it out of her mind for the time being.
She lingered in the restaurant over a second cup of coffee. Despite her many hours of sleep, the sunlight filtering through the restaurant window made her feel pleasantly drowsy. She roused herself finally and walked back to the apartment, removing last night's unread newspaper from its box before she climbed the stairs.
She was humming to herself as she entered the apartment. Should she call Christine and see what she had on for the weekend? Susan couldn't understand why she felt so well. She had expected to be sore and lame for days. She wished she could tell Christine about the sensation of the spanking without going into its humiliation. Christine, always avid for new sensations, would surely be interested.
She walked into her living room, still carrying the newspaper. Perhaps she would call Christine. They might find something to do together. Not sex necessarily, Susan reminded herself with a frown. Sometimes it seemed to her that was all she ever thought about recently. It wasn't nice. It wasn't ...
She stopped in mid-stride.
Her heart fluttered in a burst of panic.
It was almost like seeing the same movie twice.
Except that this time instead of finding Rosalie and Greg seated in her living room awaiting her appearance, there was Greg and three boys she had never seen before. Her shocked gaze went from Greg's handsome face under his thick-thatched, blond hair to the newcomers. One boy, seemingly much younger than the others, rose from his chair and sidled to a position between Susan and the hallway, effectively barring her from the telephone.
Her heart thudded loudly inside her chest wall.
It was Greg who broke the pregnant silence as he sprawled on the couch. "Wonderin' how we got in?" he asked genially. "Easy. When Roz gimme your sister's key yesterday to check out if anyone was in the buildin', I slipped around the corner an' had a duplicate made." He grinned at Susan. "I just had a feelin' it might come in handy sometime. Like before you had time to change the door lock."
One of the boys snickered. Susan tried to get a grip upon herself. Don't panic, she thought. That's what they want. That's what they expect. "Wh ... what do you want?" she asked. She heard the tremor in her voice and hated herself for it. The way to handle these ... these creatures was to hold her head high and show no fear.
"What do we want?" Greg repeated. "Oh, just a little fuckin'."
Susan blinked. The verbal crudity shocked her while the image it evoked appalled her. She had the same sense of disbelief she had felt the previous afternoon when Rosalie confronted her, hairbrush in hand. This couldn't be happening.
"But first I thought we'd check out the condition of your ass," Greg went on easily when Susan remained silent. "In case it needs any attention." He smiled and the same boy snickered again.
Susan glared at the snickerer. The boy, a nondescript, scruffy-looking type, returned her look coolly. Sitting to one side was a dark, good-looking boy who hadn't moved since Susan's entrance, yet managed to look as if he were sitting on coiled springs.
Susan felt panic surging. Is yesterday's spanking to become common knowledge around town? she thought wildly. I'll be a laughingstock. I won't be able to look anyone in the face. I might lose my job. I ...
Uncannily, Greg read her mind. "No one's gonna know a thing except us," he said soothingly. His handsome features broke into another sunny smile. "If you're nice to us."
Susan's hands started to tremble. "I th-think you'd better leave now," she said unsteadily.
"No." Greg rose from the couch and approached Susan. It took every bit of will power she possessed not to retreat. "I forgot you haven't met the boys." He waved at the younger boy standing between Susan and the telephone. "That's Georgie." The boy's grin was both sheepish and excited-looking.
"An' that's Max." Greg indicated the snickerer. "An' Carlos." To Susan's surprise the good-looking dark boy rose to his feet and made her a courtly little bow.
Her throat was dry. "What do you w-want?" she asked. Despite her best effort at voice control, it came out almost as a whisper.
"I told you," Greg said patiently in the manner of an individual explaining matters to a backward child. He smiled lazily.
"Ahhhh, tell her the truth!" Max snorted. He pointed a finger at Susan. "We're here because we're gonna fuck you, baby."
Susan's lips felt stiff. She was sure her mouth was frozen in a grotesque grimace. She looked from the grinning Georgie to the coldly staring Max to the silent Carlos and finally to the hulking, smiling Greg. She was afraid ... oh God, she was afraid!
"I h-haven't done anything to y-you," she heard herself saying childishly.
"Sure 'nuf, sugar," Greg agreed easily. "But we all figured you wouldn't mind sharin' the wealth with that handsome little fuckin' machine you got under your skirt."
She could hardly breathe. The panic she had felt at first sight of the group seemed to grow and grow until she felt a scream of hysteria tickling the back of her throat. She could barely repress it.
Greg was watching her closely. "What's a little gang-bang among friends?" he was saying with apparent reasonableness. "An' then you'll keep your mouth shut afterward." He lowered his voice. It took on a sing-song quality, all the more menacing in its incongruity. "You're a pretty girl, right? Beautiful, even. Gorgeous. Ever seen what brass knuckles do to a pretty girl's face?" He thumped a clenched fist heavily in the cupped palm of his other hand. Susan shivered at the explosive sound. "Teeth splintered," Greg continued. "Mashed-potato nose. Thick lips. Face all lumpy. For months. Maybe permanently." His hard, blue eyes impaled Susan. She felt almost hypnotized by the eyes and the sing-song voice. "Maybe she don't believe us, fellas. Show her the knuckles, Max."
She couldn't look away from the icy-blue eyes that had her frozen in place, but she sensed rather than saw the glint of light on metal in Max's hand. Her throat dried up completely. She could feel a quivering in the backs of her knees. She tried desperately to swallow and found she couldn't.
"Why me?" The words burst from Susan's lips before she realized she was going to speak. She hurried on, afraid she was going to break into humiliating tears. "I've done n-nothing to you. Why do you want to ... to do this to me?"
"You drew bad cards, sugar." Greg's voice was matter-of-fact. "It just worked out that you're the cute li'l ol' rabbit in the big ol' trap. An' you couldn't really expect us to pass up a dee-licious li'l ol' honey-nugget like you, now could you?" The big blond boy was plainly enjoying himself as he baited Susan.
"There's too goddamn much bullshit flyin' around here," Max declared. "How about a little action?" He took a step closer to Susan.
"You see how it is, sugar," Greg said softly. "The troops are gettin' restless."
They had all moved closer to her, Susan realized dimly from the depths of her semi paralyzed shock. Originally they had all been in front of her and she had been able to watch them. Now they had enveloped her until, even if she turned, someone was always behind her back. But she kept her fear-stricken eyes on Greg. He was the leader, and the danger.
He smiled at her pleasantly. "Now!" he said clearly.
A hand struck the backs of Susan's knees and she shrieked aloud as she felt herself plunging floorward. Her knees struck heavily and she pitched forward on her hands. She screamed piercingly as the boys leaned down over her and ripped her clothing off in huge, tearing handfuls.
"Scream your goddamn head off, bitch," Max snarled, yanking at Susan's bra. "We already checked. The other apartments are empty."
She was stripped in seconds, almost before she could breathe. Before she could think. Her lace-edged, pink panties were torn from her shrinking flesh and she thought she would faint in her anguish at the thought of the leering, gloating eyes staring at her nude bottom. "What'd I tell you about her ass, guys?" Greg's voice said from above her. "Ain't that a hunk of meat?"
A hand smacked her bare behind, hard and she flinched. Another probed between her thighs and grabbed for her fleece-surrounded pussy. Hands were all over her, upon her breasts, upon her shrinking belly despite her attempt to flatten out on the floor, but mostly on her backside and her sex-grotto.
"You should've seen her ass yesterday," Greg's voice continued. "Talk about a flamin' sunset, she really had it."
"We could do it again," Max said eagerly.
"Hell with that," Georgie's young voice declared. "I wanna fuck her. I ain't never seen nothin' that good."
"Well, let's get with it," Max said impatiently. "Lift her up so we can see her face."
Hard hands gripped Susan's arms and raised her until her weight was on her sore knees. She thought she would die at the mortification of having the eyes of the group on her heavy, free-swinging, dark-nippled breasts, rounded belly and mossy mound.
Max unzipped his pants deliberately and removed a lazy erection from dirty-looking shorts. He approached Susan who tried to shrink away. Her eyes were enormous, her breathing labored. She stared in disbelief at the crusted-looking, blue-veined cock just six inches from her face.
"I ain't washed it since our last job," Max informed the shrinking Susan. "With a colored whore on the other side of town." He laughed heartily. "Take a good suck, bitch, or I'll change your goddamn face around."
He crowded up against her, rubbing his rank-smelling penis in her face. Susan choked, tried frantically to get away and drew breath to scream. The purported scream degenerated to a whimper of pain as the hands on her soft arms tightened and twisted. "Ohhhh!" she moaned.
"Suck it!" Max growled, forcing his stiffening erection against Susan's lips. "Open your mouth or you'll be livin' on soup, y'hear me? I'll knock your damn teeth right down your throat!"
A new pain added itself to the agony in Susan's arms. A big hand had hold of the nape of her neck and was squeezing unmercifully. She gasped aloud and Max thrust his hard-warm prick between her half-parted lips. Susan shook her head from side to side desperately, trying to dislodge the gristly intruder.
The side of her face exploded in sheet lightning. "Owwww!" Susan cried out. Max had slapped her heavily. "D-don't!" she pleaded. "Don't!"
"Suck it, damn you!" Max rasped. He presented his greasy-looking cock again, squarely in front of Susan's mouth. Tears streaming, arms hurting, neck hurting, face flaming, she lipped gingerly at the distasteful object thrust at her.
Max immediately rammed his hips forward, shoving inches of his prick into Susan's engorged mouth. She gagged, tried to swallow, tried to back away and was able to accomplish nothing. Max moved his hips in a fucking movement and his thickening cock moved in and out between Susan's flinching lips.
The odor almost made her sick to her stomach and the knowledge of what she held in her mouth made her senses reel. This can't be happening to me! Me, Susan Merritt, with a boy's cock thrust deeply into the back of my throat while I'm forcibly held by his cohorts-it can't be!
"Use your tongue!" a voice said from behind Susan. One of the hands on her arms shook her impatiently. "Use your tongue on his prick!"
"Whack her ass an' she'll use her tongue!" She recognized Greg's voice. She could see nothing. Her whole world was made up of the hairy belly into which her face was thrust and the fleshy rigidity crammed into her mouth.
WHACK!! A hand caromed smartingly on her soft buttock flesh. WHACK!! She scrambled futilely on her knees, trying to get away from the assault on her tender backside. WHACK!! She tried to yell but could only gargle, her mouth was so full.
"Use your tongue, damn you!" the first voice insisted.
Desperately she swirled her tongue around the stiff pole immersed in her throat. "Ohhh, Jesus!" Max exclaimed at once. "She's really gettin' with it now!"
Susan thrust and probed, thrust and probed with her tongue until the back of her neck felt tired as well as painful from the fierce grip still immobilizing it. She heard her own sobbing, slobbering breath as she licked and lapped at the sour-smelling cock.
Max pulled away from her suddenly, leaving Susan's mouth working grotesquely on air. "I ain't comin' off in her mouth," he declared. "Not yet, anyway. I want to fuck her first." He looked down at his saliva-slippery prick projecting stiffly in front of him. "C'mon, guys. Haul her into the bedroom."
The hands on Susan's arms jerked her upright. She hung from between them, breathing hard, her wide-flaring hips with pink-stained handprints showing plainly thrust backward slightly. Before she could even begin to form in words the plea trembling on her lips, the group hustled her into the bedroom and threw her face down across the bed, so hard that she bounced once and then lay there, breathless.
"You're gonna have a prick-happy cunt before you get off that thing!" Max declared gloatingly. "We're sure as hell gonna show you what you been carryin' it around for all this time, understand?"
"You think she could be a virgin?" she heard young Georgie's voice inquiring.
"No such luck," Max replied. "But from the way she's reactin', she probably ain't had no freight cars run through there, neither. Okay, turn her over an' hold her down."
The hard hands again seized Susan and she screamed again as she felt herself forced onto her back with hands on her wrists holding her arms above her head and a hand on her right ankle spreading her leg toward a corner of the bed.
She was flat on her back with only her left leg free.
CHAPTER 4
Susan stared upward at the faces above her. She was under no illusion about what was in store for her now. The knife edge of panic had returned, sharper than since she had first found the boys in her apartment. She licked her sticky-feeling lips unconsciously as she continued to watch the truculent Max who frightened her somehow even more than the others.
"N-no!" she bleated as Max leaned down over her. He tangled a finger in her pubic curls, then slowly drew the finger downward into her slit. Susan tried to prevent it by holding her free left leg as close as she could to her spread-eagled right one, but she closed her eyes as she felt the hateful finger prodding and probing at her soft, fleece-lined pussylips.
"Jesus Christ, she's got a fat cunt!" Max exclaimed. "Man alive, I'm really gonna live awhile in that cunt! I'm gonna ... "
"Hold on a second," Greg interrupted him. The blond boy was holding Susan's right ankle. "Georgie here's been tellin' us this long time what a hell of a cocksman he is. I vote we let him go first an' show us how it's done."
Georgie looked startled, the silent Carlos smiled and even the surly-looking Max suppressed a grin. "I'm perf-perfec'ly willin' to ... to go after you guys!" the youngest boy stuttered.
"Grab her other leg an' spread her, Max," Greg directed. When Max complied, Greg looked similingly at Georgie. "There you are, Georgie," he declared. "How's that for a launchin' pad for you?"
Susan closed her eyes again, part-mortified, part-terrified at the extent of her spread-legged exposure. She couldn't ever remember her pussy feeling so bare as in this leg-widened, ignominious position.
"Get your goddamn pants off, for Christ's sake," Max ordered the bug-eyed Georgie who was staring avidly at Susan's disclosure. The boy fumbled with his belt, paused to kick off his shoes, then pushed down his pants. He paused before removing his shorts. "Who's gonna hold her other hand?" he asked, indicating the hand of Susan he had been holding before he started undressing.
"Don't worry about it," Greg told him. "If she tries to give you a hard time, we'll tie her wrist to the bedpost."
Georgie dropped his shorts and Susan saw a modest-sized, red-eyed, slender young prick dancing stiffly beneath his belly. She held her breath as the boy knelt on the bed. Her emotions swiveled between mounting horror and sense-numbed detachment. Think of it as a bad dream, she commanded herself as Georgie moved in between her parted knees. Think of it as a bad dream.
She looked down the deep valley of her breasts and saw the trembling tip of Georgie's young shaft as he maneuvered awkwardly onto her bare belly. "Please!" she said involuntarily. "Please!" She hadn't meant to beg.
"Shut up!" Max growled.
Susan bit her lip as Georgie lowered himself onto her stomach. The boy seemed taut as a fiddle string. Plainly he didn't know what to do with his hands.
Behind the boy's back Greg winked at the others. "Lookit all that pussy hair, Georgie," he drawled. "Wouldn't you like to line your wallet with a bushel of it?"
The boy didn't answer. He paused with the slender rigidity of his throbbing prick resting on Susan's round belly. He reached down with his right hand to insert a finger inside her vaginal orifice which flinched with a seemingly independent life of its own at his touch.
Greg reached out suddenly and seized a boyish bare buttock which he squeezed. Georgie had already been breathing hard; at the unexpected contact he screamed hoarsely and jerked upward. The slender prick released from confinement between his belly and Susan's throbbed once, then cascaded thick jets from its tip as it sprayed Susan's thighs, belly, breasts and even up under her throat.
"Goddamn sonofabitch!" Georgie howled. He bounded from the bed, scarlet-faced. "I never even got it into her!" the boy raged angrily.
Greg was shaking with helpless laughter. The swarthy-skinned Carlos was smiling broadly. Max shook his head in disgust, but he couldn't hide his grin. Greg spoke to Georgie when he could stop laughing. "You'll be ready again time the rest of us, are through," he consoled the younger boy. "Get a wet towel from the bathroom an' clean up that mess you made."
Susan lay limp with closed eyes. Georgie's scream had frightened her almost senseless, because she hadn't known its cause. Georgie returned from the bathroom with a face cloth with which he proceeded to wipe his drying sperm from Susan's body. The warm face cloth titillated her flesh. "Christ, I wanted to fuck you!" Georgie assured her earnestly as he cleaned her. "You're so soft an' warm an' ... an' cuddly."
"Cuddly, my ass!" Max rasped. He had removed his trousers and stood in his filthy-looking undershorts. "I'll show you how to use her goddamn cunt!" He scowled down at Susan. "An' don't expect to lay there like a piece of dead meat or I'll leave my handprints all over your ass."
He took Georgie's place between Susan's thighs and removed from his shorts the flange-headed, stout-looking prick he had so recently crammed into her mouth. Then he reached down and fingered Susan's pouting, pink-lipped gash showing plainly in her legs-apart position. "She's damp," he announced.
"All aboard what's goin' aboard," Greg told him. "Don't hold up the parade."
Max crowded up against Susan, jabbing at her distended twat with his stiff shaft. Susan winced at his forceful inaccuracy. "Take it ... easy!" she pleaded, trying to avoid the painful jabbing.
"Don't you try to tell me what to do, cunt!" Max snarled at her. He finally lodged the tip of his cock in Susan's hole and began to shove vigorously. She gasped, a long, whistling breath, at the abrupt entry into her tight channel. The hard gristle surged up inside her in a series of battering-ram plunges. "Damn, she's really ... tight!" Max grunted, but he continued his efforts to pierce her more thoroughly.
Despite the pain she fought to remain silent. She was more afraid of Max than any of the others. She was afraid of provoking his quick-flaring anger. Her pussy walls seemed to be tearing under the violent prodding of the male organ and her head tossed from side to side in the depths of her distress, whipping her disheveled dark hair from shoulder to shoulder.
Suddenly mindful of Max's warning about lack of activity, Susan raised her bottom and thrust upward. Max jolted into her to the hilt. "Owwwww!" Susan moaned at the interior, burning sensation. But she made herself buck up into Max again.
He ceased his plunging upon her while a peculiar expression appeared on his face. Susan heaved her behind up again. "Hold ... it!" Max exclaimed in a strangled tone. "HOLD IT!" His harsh-sounding voice trailed off in a deep groan as his buttocks inside his dirty-looking undershorts began a quaking, shivering dance. He shoved in and out of Susan briefly but furiously, paused, then raised himself with his flat-featured face distorted by fury. "You bitch, you made me come before I was ready!" he bellowed. "You wanted to spoil it for me!" He doubled up his fist and slammed it into Susan's unprotected round belly.
Her breath blew out in a wet spray as the air was driven from her lungs. The first mark showed as a round, white dot on her pale-looking stomach, but then turned pink at once and finally a dark crimson. A terrible, burning pain enveloped her lungs as she struggled to replace forcibly expelled breath. The room swam mistily before her bulging eyes.
Max aimed another blow at Susan, but Greg's big hand grabbed his arm. "Goddamnit, she did exactly what you told her," the blond boy growled. He shoved Max away from Susan's prostrate body. "Get the hell away from her if you've shot your load."
Susan thought she would never draw another natural breath. Her stomach hurt; her lungs hurt; her throat hurt. Even her sheath felt raw and scraped. Weak tears ran down her cheeks as the sound of her gasping efforts at breathing filled the room.
She started at a touch on her bare shoulder. When she turned her head, Carlos was standing beside the bed. Unlike the first two, he had stripped completely. His dark-skinned body was naked except for a gold chain around his neck and a leather holster strapped to his left forearm. From it protruded the bone handle of what Susan knew instinctively was a knife. She had an almost atavistic fear of knives and she shuddered.
Carlos' body was sinewy-looking and well-made. His cock was half-stiff, its plum-colored, blunt head matching the color of Susan's nipples. She swallowed convulsively when she saw it lengthening as Carlos stared at her already ravaged pussy.
The swarthy-skinned boy replaced the angry-looking Max between Susan's firmly grasped legs. He searched busily with the rounded tip of his prick for Susan's entrance. His shaft rubbed along the length of her coral-lipped slit and she moved uneasily on the bed.
Carlos lunged into her suddenly and Susan heard her own squeak of pain. These devils were killing her, inch by inch and she was helpless to do anything about it. Carlos went to work at once with hammer-like thrustings that forced him deeply inside her hurting sex-chute. Susan could hear her own inelegant grunts as Carlos' hard belly slapped fiercely against her soft one.
The boy's prick bored and re-bored into her flinching cranny as his lean hips slammed away at Susan's upturned, bulging pussy whose cock-strained lips were turning crimson from friction. Unexpectedly, a slow, surging tide of warmth swept over her, deep in her interior and Susan bit her lip in surprise. She was feeling ... she was feeling almost ...
A cunt-seated tickling itch curled her toes. Unbidden, her thighs rose up and seized Carlos' waist. Her head went back and her eyes closed as the dark boy continued to bang into her bruisingly. She no longer felt so much pain. She could hear her own panting breath again. She was ... she was nearly ...
But then the swarthy-skinned boy snorted loudly through his nose, buried his face in the soft junction of Susan's neck and shoulder and roared hoarsely in her ear. Carlos jerked and twisted and gyrated and corkscrewed his hips in a prolonged flurry as he shot his wad into Susan's interior. She tried to prolong her own rising sensation after the dark boy's movements upon her stilled, but she had lost the fine edge. Her previously taut thighs slackened.
Carlos rose from her scarlet-looking belly, his dripping cock bedewing her legs with stringy spend. "You did not come?" he asked Susan gravely, his dark eyes almost liquid-looking in the surge of his emotion, his voice soft-sounding and almost stilted in its phrasing of what was plainly his second language.
She shook her head mutely, afraid to lie to this dark-skinned boy with his evil-looking knife. She turned her head away petulantly. She felt cheated. She had been tiptoeing along, right on the verge of coming; then Carlos hadn't waited for her. It wasn't fair. He could have. The significance of her petulance overwhelmed her suddenly. Good God, had she lost every ounce of respect for herself that these animals could make her feel ...
Georgie bent down over Susan with his lips almost at her ear. "You'll come with Greg," he assured her in a confidential tone. "He's the class in fuckin' in this outfit." The boy grinned at her cheerfully. "He's the dessert course for you broads. He's not only got a big prick, he knows what to do with it."
Susan felt herself coloring at the shameful words. Max was still glaring at her malevolently as he gripped her left ankle and Susan realized with a thrill of apprehension that the boy undoubtedly wasn't through with her yet. When she turned her head away from Max, she saw Greg with his pants already off, stripping down his shorts. She swallowed at the sight of his muscular stomach, thighs and legs thickly matted with blond hair. Greg's cock, only half-erect, was already substantial-looking, fully in accord with the rest of his physique.
Greg lowered his head until his long, blond hair tickled Susan's bare stomach. He sniffed strongly between her wide-parted legs. "Sugar, you got a really juicy cunt down there," he said judiciously.
Susan thought she would expire from shame. Greg's prick had stiffened as he spoke. Her eyes widened when she observed its musculature. Long and thick, it surged menacingly from above hairy, heavy-looking balls. Its deep-purple head glistened at the blunt tip from an already visible drop of moisture. The blue veins on the white cock stood out in their own miniature rigidity.
She tried to speak but found her throat still painful from the aftermath of Max's stomach punch. "You'll ... kill me ... with that!" she managed to get out huskily, unable to restrain her alarm.
Greg laughed. "You're wet enough now to take a telephone pole," he said exuberantly. "Hot damn, I've really been lookin' forward to pluggin' your cunt, sugar!"
He widened her left thigh which Susan had instinctively closed, then moved in between her legs and jockeyed his blunt-headed, powerful-looking steed toward Susan's orifice. She stared fearfully at the knobby-headed, big prick nuzzling at her slowly oozing channel. "You'll ... split me!" she pleaded. Her breath whistled sharply as she felt his initial penetration of her wincing cunt.
She gasped aloud when he surged into her, applying brutal pressure. Her plump thighs flailed aimlessly as the thick prong swiftly dilated her tender-feeling pussy walls. "Ooooooh!" she exclaimed in a half-shriek as the big cock advanced relentlessly. "You're ripping meeeee!"
Greg joggled his rocklike, gristly tool from side to side in Susan's tight-feeling enclave, then advanced again. "Owwww! Owwww! Owwwww!" she gasped as the stalwart rod seemed to lodge itself solidly, only to advance again by virtue of renewed hard shoves. Susan's soft mouth shaped itself into a round little O of increasing apprehension as the thick-knobbed prick further distended her already strained cunt. Never in her admittedly limited experience in college had she felt so plugged!
Greg's hip-surging movements ceased. Susan, who had been staring blindly at the ceiling, biting her lips in pain, raised her head again to look for the cause of the cessation. Greg, half-crouched over her, was looking right into her eyes. "It's in, sugar," he said softly.
Confused, Susan could only stare at the blond boy. His voice seemed to come from a long distance away. She couldn't believe that all of the wide-shafted, monstrous erection she had seen projecting from above Greg's hairy testicles was now totally lodged within her. She was also distracted by a flood tide of new sensations tugging at her visceral nerve ends. Christine's dildo, no matter how expertly wielded, had never produced the full extent of the sensations assailing Susan now. The feel of the hard gristle enormously distending her sheath walls seemed to persist right up into her stomach!
Greg lowered himself upon her and began to move slowly. Susan almost yipped at the prickling-itching explosion of sensation centered in her stuffed vagina. Muscles twitched involuntarily in her round white thighs and the sleek skin on her nude bottom felt tautly stretched.
Greg turned his upper body sideways until his lips were upon Susan's left breast. She was shocked to hear her breathless squeal as her stiffened, grape-colored nipple was lipped into the blond boy's mouth and vigorously sucked. She certainly didn't want these ... these creatures to think she was enjoying being manhandled! All she wanted was to get them out of her apartment without additional physical injury to herself.
But the traitorous nipple in Greg's warm mouth paid no heed to her desire for ladylike self-composure and restraint. The boy's quick tongue plunged at it, then circled it rapidly and Susan had to compress her lips tightly to hold back the excited little cries she felt welling up at the back of her throat. Then Greg began to move his hips again, in and out and a starburst of exquisitely sensitive, tactile tinglings exploded in and around Susan's prick-filled pussy.
"Ohhhhh!" she exclaimed despite her good intentions. Her eyes closed, opened, then closed again as Greg began to ride her with a tightly controlled rhythm. She felt no pain, hardly a trace of discomfort even, but each time the big whang reamed her lubricous channel, she thought her bulging eyes would fall out. The rough cord on the big cock titillated her stiffening clit until she wanted to yell with delight.
Restraint fell away under the increasing stimulation of the fucking she was getting. "Ohhhh! Ahhhh! Oooooh! Ohhhh!" she heard herself murmuring as the steady shafting continued. She could see the faces of Carlos and Max as each grasped an ankle, watching curiously and she knew she should feel unspeakably humiliated at the spectacle she knew she was presenting with her legs somewhat elevated and almost her whole bare behind exposed as Greg's meaty pole glided in and out of her oozing cavern. Instead, she could seem to work up no concern except at the myriad sensations taking place inside her inflamed and throbbing cunt.
"Dear ... God!" she stammered aloud as the metronomically plunging prick in her pussy ignited a hot-glowing coal deep inside her. She bit her lip with sharply piercing white teeth while the big cock power-dived her depths. "Ahhhh!" a half-yelp burst from her straining throat. "Ohhhhh! Ooooooh! Ohhhhh!"
Greg switched his clinging mouth to her other nipple, bent pretzel-like and the new sensation was all that was necessary to send Susan over the dam. "Aieeeee!" she exploded in a half-scream as her bare hips swiveled upward to meet the steady tattooing of the thick gristle plunging upon her broiling quim. Breathless surprise permeated her choked utterances as additional shrill cries were forced from her parted lips. "Ohhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Oooooh, I'm ... coming! I'm ... ohhhhh! ... COMMMMING!!"
Her soft-fleshed behind jerked uncontrollably in the throes of fierce passion as her quicksilver orgasm wrenched her. Panting loudly, she sank back limply and used her free left hand to cover her face. It felt blazing hot to her touch. She felt immeasurably disgraced by the presence of spectators at such a moment, but she had been completely unable to restrain her reaction. She couldn't really believe her abandonment, intellectually, that is, but she was still experiencing deep-throbbing aftermaths testifying to her physical enjoyment.
She was waiting for Greg to withdraw when she realized the big prick was still buried inside her, hard and strong. She marveled that he hadn't even come off, apparently. And his slow-teasing, jogging movements in and out of her sticky-feeling pussy were once more occasioning tremors in her interior. She debated pleading with him to stop, since her vaginal walls were beginning to feel tender again and sensing-incorrectly, possibly?-that he was less brutal than the others, but she decided it was useless until he had come to orgasm with her.
But then she had a further surprise. "Pull her legs up!" Greg muttered hoarsely to the others. Immediately she felt her thighs elevated higher, then doubled back upon her breasts. With his stout shaft still lynch pinned to Susan's mossy, vermilion-lipped chasm, Greg began another solid assault upon her upturned quiver, withdrawing almost to the tip of his blue-veined, blunt-headed, hard-reaming big cock each time before once again ramming it deeply inside Susan.
The new position exposed Susan still more to the avidly staring eyes at the foot of the bed and for an instant that was all that was on her mind. Then the faint tremors centering in her prick-stuffed chute spread rapidly again to her hard-nippled breasts and her fluttering, white belly. "Ohhhh!" she said faintly. Her voice sounded choked. "Ohhhh, I'm ... you're ... " The volume of sound ascended in a soaring soprano-crescendo, "Ohhhhhh! I'm ... doing ... it AGAIN!!"
She pumped furiously upward against the blond boy's restraining weight as her creamy bottom went berserk. She tried to widen her legs still more to engulf every last quarter-inch of the thick rod imbedded in her steaming hermitage. Her wide-cheeked, nude rump quivered gelatinously as her out-of-control, internal combustion engine once more delivered her over to a quaking, pulsating, dervish-like come.
She sank back upon the bed as far as the gripping hands would permit, exhausted. Tears of mortification filled her eyes as she once more came to her senses. What alchemy was being forced upon her by this devilish boy which resulted in her body's betrayal of all that she had previously considered ladylike in her nature? How could it have happened when she had been confident she would emerge unscathed, except in the most primitive physical sense, from the animalistic contact forced upon her? Instead, here she was cooperating actively and to the most disgusting degree.
She raised her head, blinking her emotion-clouded eyes. Incredibly, the blond boy was still fucking her, apparently unslaked. Susan submitted almost indifferently to his hard-lunging assault. Nothing more could happen to her now. The other boys had lowered her legs again and Greg was screwing mightily against the less-elevated fulcrum of her perspiring belly. She could hear his heavy balls slapping against the upper slopes of her bare behind, an obscenely degrading sound.
He seized a soft buttock in each hand and pulled her up tightly against him on each pounding downstroke. She could hear the guttural sounds he was making deep in his throat. Unbelievingly, she could feel the first, deep-tingling, faint itchings of a re-arousal of her sexual forces occasioned by the remorselessly plunging, great cock buried inside her pussy walls. "Oh, nooooo!" she breathed in anguish.
Greg's piston-plunging regularity shifted to a wildly diffused bucking and lunging. Susan was horrified to find her free hand resting upon a hard-working shoulder almost caressingly. She withdrew it as if burned. She felt the hot jets of Greg's ejaculated sperm inside her almost before she realized he was finally coming. His big shoulders shuddered in the aftermath of his orgasm as Susan tried to repress her own internal sensations. To her relief, with his cessation of movement her own reaction blanched, withered and died.
Greg pulled out of her with a squishily sucking sound. "Now that's what I call a fuck!" Georgie's voice said reverently in Susan's ear. The boy released the wrist he had been holding and bent down over her to curiously examine her hard-used, juicily dripping, scarlet-lipped twat, still fully exposed.
Susan burst into nervous tears.
Greg paused in the act of climbing from the bed. "What's the fuss?" he demanded. "You hurtin'?"
"Not ... very m-much, but I f-feel so de-degraded!" she sobbed.
"Hell with that noise, sugar," he said energetically. "You did what comes natural, an' a good job of it, too. You're cheatin' the world if you don't put out all the time with that handsome piece of brisket between your legs."
Hot tears streamed down Susan's flushed face. Caught up as she was in commingled sex-excitement and abhorrence of her reaction, she couldn't seem to stop them. All eyes in the room were still focused upon her semen-soaked cunt. The realization made her cry harder.
Georgie tugged at Greg's arm. "Look, I'm ready again!" the younger boy declared excitedly, pointing down at himself. Under his shirt Susan could see Georgie's slender prick probing the air again. "I want to fuck her, too!"
Greg smiled. "If you climb in there now after my prick just reamed her out, you'll think someone waxed the ballroom floor on you for fair."
"I don't care," Georgie insisted.
"Okay," Greg shrugged. "She's there for the takin'. Hop aboard."
"No!" Susan protested. "I'm s-sore there and I ache all over and ... "
"You wouldn't deny the kid his simple pleasures, would you?" Greg cut her off, his tone sardonic. "Just hustle it up," he added to Georgie. "We've got to get the hell out've here."
The boy climbed onto the bed eagerly and Susan barely suppressed a groan. Her cuntlips already felt flamingly tender after Greg's hard-boring scouring and now she was going to be fucked again. Greg took hold of the wrist Georgie had released to hold her upper body in place. The sour-looking Max and the intently watching Carlos had never released their grasp on her wide-spread ankles.
She watched helplessly as the slight-figured Georgie scrambled between her legs and introduced the tip of his slender peg to her crimson-pouting receptacle. She felt sweaty, sticky, wet and dirty. Georgie turned his head to look suspiciously over his shoulder. "Don't none of you wise guys spoil it for me this time," he warned. "I ain't never had nothin' this good, an' I don't want you bastards ruinin' it for me."
"Stop flappin' your mouth an' shove it into her," Max snarled impatiently.
Susan winced as Georgie's prick prodded her sex-slit. Will it ever be over? she thought wearily. She had never felt so abused. All she wanted now was blessed privacy and a steaming hot tub after this nightmare was ended.
Georgie was having trouble finding her hole. It was the final straw for Susan. Exasperated, she reached down and took hold of the boy's surprisingly hard, young prick and inserted it into herself for him. There was no point in being delicate about it now, she thought bitterly. None of her finer sensibilities had been spared this day.
"Ahhhhh, Jesus, that's great!" the boy sighed ecstatically as their bellies merged. He had gone into her like a fireman going down a greased pole, but Susan could feel his sturdy young root inside far more plainly than she had expected. Unexpectedly, her sheath walls contracted upon this newest intruder in her grotto. "What the hell was that?" Georgie gasped, startled.
"What was what?" Greg asked curiously.
"Her cunt is grabbin' at my prick!"
They all laughed. "Ream it out," Greg advised. "Teach it a lesson, Georgie. Pour on the coal."
The boy began an ill-timed, inexpert surging of his hips. Susan resettled herself under him slightly to make herself more comfortable. She was thankful it wasn't another bull-cock like Greg's working away at her, as sore and tender as she was feeling. Actually, the feel of Georgie's spirited young staff wasn't too unpleasant. It was so much less gross that the previous burning friction was greatly diminished.
And the boy began to manage his fucking of Susan more deftly. She could smell the cheap grease in his hair as he rose and fell upon the perspiring bowl of her belly with increasing dexterity. She wrinkled her nostrils against the unpleasantly nauseous odor.
Georgie's hands crept down Susan's flanks and slid under her Warm, plump buttocks in a move obviously copied from Greg. Susan was amazed to feel a renewed, quick stirring inside her as the boy's bantam-sized rigidity energetically prodded her cunt. This little boy couldn't possibly be ... but in another instant she knew very definitely that he was.
Greg had brought her to the verge of a third come but had left her dangling. Now Georgie's rapid-fire prick action had breathed new flame into Susan's over-titillated pussy. She had no control at all over that part of her anatomy, she thought despairingly.
"Ohhhh!" she whispered as the re-ignited hot coal in her interior curled her toes. "Oooooh!" She bit her lip in an effort to remain silent. Almost at once, though, her voice rose precipitously. "Ohhhh! It's ... OOOOOOh! It's starting again!"
"Is she putting him on?" Susan could dimly hear Max's voice in the background. If anyone answered, she didn't hear it. She knew the others were observing every sexual nuance of her subjugation, but she found suddenly she didn't care. The delicious, trembling tingle in her depths precluded all other thought.
Her legs shot up into the air, dragging the hands holding her ankles with them. Her thighs ground against Georgie's slim middle. The boy lunged into her with fanatic energy, his harsh breathing feeling hot against her neck. A paroxysm racked Susan; the mindless upthrust of her hips as her volcanic lava boiled over lifted Georgie's knees from the bed.
"Aieeeee!" she shrieked passionately. She flung her free hand around the boy's shoulder and clasped him to her. "Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Ahhhhhh! OHHHHH-h-h-h!" Her ululations died away in a whimpering moan.
Engrossed in her own reaction, she almost failed to realize that Georgie was coming, too. The boy's scrawny-looking, pinched white behind shuddered and shook as his joystick jetted sperm into Susan. Back in the world of reality, she self-consciously removed the arm she had around his shoulders as Georgie's orgasm ran its prolonged course.
Slack-kneed and debilitated, Susan lay exhausted as the boy pulled out of her. He hopped from the bed, then danced around the room, his diminished, red-looking cock bouncing up and down against his belly. "I made her come!" he crowed exuberantly. "You can't say I didn't! I made her come!"
Susan tried to shut her ears to the exultant pronouncement of her added abasement.
CHAPTER 5
Greg was laughing openly; Carlos was smiling. Only the scruffy-looking Max still seemed sour. "Big deal," he said disagreeably.
"You're just jealous," Georgie said complacently.
"Big deal," Max repeated, scowling. "A slut like her."
"Don't knock the product, Max," Greg interposed. The boys had all dressed hurriedly. Greg re-approached the bed upon which Susan still reclined dazedly. "On your feet, sugar," he told her.
He had to help her up. She was barely able to stand, tottering slightly before she gained her balance. When she knew she wasn't going to collapse, a fresh wave of self-consciousness assailed Susan. Standing, she felt twice as nude somehow as she had on the bed. The knowledge that the boys' eyes were upon her crimson-frictioned, bare stomach and vermilion-pouted pussy as well as her sticky-looking muff and semen-stained thighs sent a hot tide of color rushing into her face.
Greg stood almost nose-to-nose with her. "We got to run, sugar," the blond boy said. "For now." He grinned at her, the same lazy, superior grin which was an integral part of his burly good looks. He continued speaking before the import of the "now" in his last remark penetrated Susan's dulled sensibilities. "Just a couple of things before we leave."
He put two fingers under her chin and tipped her head back until she was forced to look directly into his mocking, glinting, icy-blue eyes. A cold finger touched the base of her spine. It wasn't outright cruelty she saw there, Susan felt, as it would have been in the case of Max, but the expression of a life style in which the strong felt no compassion for the weak.
"No calling the police, right?" Greg said to her. His voice was quiet but with an edge of underlying menace that made her flesh crawl with goosebumps. "We wouldn't like it."
"You sh-should realize I don't want any more p-publicity about this than y-you do," she answered shakily.
"You damn well better mean it!" Max snapped threateningly. "Or we'll be comin' lookin' for you."
"She means it," Greg said soothingly. His hard grin turned down the corners of his mouth. "She knows if we get mad, we'll pull her into an alley some night for a real gang-bang. Like a lineup of fifteen-eighteen."
Susan's mouth felt parched. "I s-swear I won't ... "
"A gang-bang an' a little exercise with the knuckles," Max interrupted. He drew them from his pocket and fitted the cruel-looking, spiky metal over his hand. He flourished it at Susan. "How'd you like to qualify for instant false teeth, cunt?" he demanded.
"She gets the picture," Greg said as Susan's stomach lurched sickeningly. He spoke to her directly again. "Don't change the lock on your door."
For an instant she failed to comprehend. "Don't change ... ?"
"We'll be back."
A surge of genuine anger swept through Susan. She hadn't known that much emotion remained in her as otherwise drained as she felt. "I'm n-not a plaything!" she cried out fiercely. "I'm a person! How can you think I'll willingly submit to this ... this type of indecency that ... "
Her voice died away when she saw Greg shaking his blond head. "You're just too good a fuck, sugar. We can't pass it up."
She stared blankly at his derisive smile. "But it's ... it's impossible! It's ... " Panic raced through her. "You can't come back here! People will notice! They'll talk! Somebody may have noticed how long you've been here now! I'll lose my job! You're ... you're ruining me!" The words burst from her in a semi hysterical torrent.
But glancing from face to face, from Greg to Carlos to Georgie to the hateful, smirking Max, she knew she was making no impression at all.
"Now don't start shakin' yourself to pieces," Greg warned, frowning at Susan. "If anyone says anything to you about our bein' here, just tell 'em you called us in to move some furniture for you."
"She's probably right about people noticin' if we keep comin' here, though," Georgie observed.
"We could take her to the cabin," Carlos said in his quiet voice.
"Yeah," Max chimed in. "No one'd hear her way out there, no matter what we decided to do to her fat ass."
The conversation with its matter-of-fact indication of a continuation of her sex-servitude seemed almost more dreadful to Susan than what had just happened to her. She began to cry again, helpless sobs that shook her plump flesh.
"Shut it off," Greg ordered her. She could tell from his tone of voice that he was angry. "We like you better when you're comin' than when you're blubberin'. Just remember what I said about keepin' your mouth shut. All right, gang, let's move it out've here."
"I want another feel of her ass before we go," Max spoke up. "An' I claim firsts when we have her again. I didn't get nearly what you guys got this time."
"Yeah, I'd like to feel her, too," Georgie said eagerly.
He and Max crowded around Susan. Max darted a hand into her wet crotch. It hurt and she flinched. "Spread your legs, you lousy cunt!" he demanded. Susan flushed dully but obediently raised a leg while Max pawed at her greasy-feeling pussy.
Georgie played with a breast, tickling its nipple before transferring his attention to a nude hind cheek. He compressed and released it several times. Max abandoned her pussy only to spank her other hind cheek crisply enough to put an increasing smart in it.
The boys' hands raced over her. Her breasts, her belly, her pussy, the deep crevice between her heavy hind cheeks; all were thoroughly re-explored. Susan's breathing almost stopped. The rough handling was extraordinarily mortifying. Greg and Carlos stood to one side, watching. When Max and Georgie showed no signs of stopping, Susan burst into tears again.
"Oh, shit!" Max exclaimed in disgust. "C'mon, guys, the damn waterworks just busted loose again."
"Ain't she a handful of ass, though?" Georgie asked admiringly. "I'd really like to ... "
"Shhhhh!" They all looked at Carlos from whom the hissing sibilancy had come. "There's someone outside," he murmured.
They stood motionless, listening. Before Susan's eyes, a knife appeared to grow in Carlos' right hand. She never saw the snakelike movement which produced it from his arm holster. The swarthy boy moved stealthily to the apartment door and pulled it inward. Janitor Wally Duncan, crouched at the keyhole in the corridor, sagged across the threshold and landed inside the small hallway on his hands and knees.
Greg recovered first. "Well, will you look at the rube!" he sneered. He advanced on the janitor and clouted him on the side of the head, knocking him onto his side. Wally Duncan peered up at the group standing over him as the others moved in. His expression was anxiously stupid-looking. Greg and Carlos dragged him inside the apartment and Carlos closed and locked the door.
Susan flung her left arm across her nude breasts and covered her mound with her right palm. That the janitor should see her in such a state ... It was dreadful! Simply awful!
"What the hell'd you think you was doin' out there?" Max snarled at the apprehensively crouching janitor.
"I was ... I was wipin' down the walls," he whined.
"You're a goddamn peepin' Tom!" Greg snorted. He looked at Susan. "I don't think you've had as much privacy around here as you maybe thought, sugar."
"Like just about none," Georgie agreed.
"Oh, no," Susan said faintly, comprehending their meaning. She could feel herself turning scarlet from her breasts upward. Had this hulking creature actually made a habit ... ?
"Wipin' down the walls!" Max mimicked savagely. "Lookit the goddamn front of his pants, guys!"
Susan felt a renewed sense of shock when she saw the thick bulge at the front of the janitor's work trousers. This was terrible! She had always considered the man a harmlessly cheerful half-idiot. And now he had seen ... How much had he actually seen?
She was not the only one wondering, although not for the same reason. "If he saw what we did to her," Georgie said uneasily, "an' he talks, she'd have a witness if she decided to ... " He didn't finish it.
"He will not talk," Carlos said. There was a biting edge to his quiet voice. He leaned down over the half-kneeling janitor and placed the point of his knife against his neck. Wally Duncan tried to shrink away, but the knife point pursued him. The big man started to whimper. "Take out your prick," Carlos ordered him.
Duncan peered up at him stupidly.
"Out!" Carlos repeated and pressed home the knife point lightly.
"Owwwww!" Duncan bleated. He fumbled at his work pants and laboriously pulled out a blood-engorged erection. "I didn't mean no h-harm," he sniveled.
Max whistled shrilly at the sight of the janitor's exposed penis. It was bulgingly meaty, a monstrous prong. Susan looked, hastily averted her gaze, then despite herself looked again. She remembered all the times she had undressed and used the vibrator on herself on the bed in full view of the keyhole and she felt sick at the thought of Wally Duncan crouching outside in the corridor at the keyhole, watching her.
Duncan knelt miserably with his swollen, purple-headed distension in his hand. He looked at Susan's nakedness, licked his lips and his prick stiffened perceptibly. He ducked his head and looked down at what he held in his hand as though he wished it would go away.
Greg laughed, then sobered. "I guess we better beat the livin' shit out've him an' promise him the same again if we get an echo he talked about this," he said.
"Let's put the boots to him!" Max said quickly. He shuffled closer and drew back his foot.
"There is a better way," Carlos said. Max paused and the others looked at him inquiringly. "We will put her on the bed again and he will fuck her." He pointed to the janitor. "Then he will be as guilty as we are and cannot talk."
There was an instant's silence which was broken by Susan. "No!" she screamed hysterically. "No! No! No! I won't let ... "
Greg slapped her casually in the center of her bare belly, driving the breath forcibly from her lungs. "You got the program, Carlos," he approved. "C'mon, let's move her. Him, too."
They dragged the breath-strangled Susan to the bed and threw her across it. Carlos prodded Wally Duncan into the bedroom with the knife point jabbing his buttocks. "Get your pants off, jerk!" Max flung at the janitor. He was obviously enjoying himself. "We'll hold her down for you."
The big man started to blubber. He looked ludicrous beyond words, standing there with his fleshy slab of gristle projecting stiffly from the hand which encompassed it. "I don't wanna hurt her," he whimpered. "I don't wana ... "
"We don't give a damn what you want, rube!" Greg rasped. "Get your ass an' balls out into the breeze an' climb onto her snatch!"
Susan was face down on the bed, still struggling for breath, wishing she could disappear through the mattress. She shrieked hoarsely in despair as hard hands seized her and once again flipped her onto her back. Her chafed wrists and ankles were once more gripped by unfeeling hands as she was spread-eagled on the bed under the incredulous eyes of Wally Duncan.
Urged on by Carlos' ungentle knife prods, the big man had removed his pants and shorts. He stood huddled together, staring at Susan's nudity, licking his thick lips, his big shoulders drooping, his long, stiff-standing penis stabbing the air before him. "Fuck her!" Carlos said fiercely and jabbed the janitor in a bare buttock.
Duncan yelped and lurched toward the bed. "I don' wanna hurt ya," he was blubbering even while he crawled in between Susan's spread-eagled legs. His huge erection prodded her nude stomach and Susan moaned. "You're so pretty an' soft an' ... "
"Ahhhh, for Chrissake," Max growled. "Better'n he ever had in his stupid life, an' he's cryin' about it. Stick him again, Carlos."
Wally Duncan flinched away from the knife point he could see advancing. He seized his blunt-headed massivity in his right hand and sought to apply its bulging head to Susan's still-wet pussy hole. Her dark fleece was stickily matted from the group's accumulated deposits. "Jam it into her, rube!" Greg ordered.
The big man probed ineffectually at Susan's pink gash, seemingly unable to locate her vaginal entrance. Then the purple head of his huge prick lodged in her dampest spot and wormed its way inward. Susan caught her breath at the distension. Carlos pricked the big man again in a hairy buttock. Duncan yipped and surged forward. Susan echoed his yelp as the monstrous pole between her legs rammed into her aching crypt.
For an instant she couldn't breathe. Pure flame seemed to immolate her sore cunt. Then suddenly the janitor was thrusting away inside her like mad, slobbering, grunting and making animal-like noises in her ear as his gristly rod tore viciously into her flinching cavern. "Owwww!" she gasped. "Owww! Owwww! Ohhh, dear God! Take him ... owwww! ... off me! Owwww!" Her thighs shuddered each time the rubbery-feeling, big cockhead lunged against her cervix.
"Hey, man!" Georgie crowed delightedly. "Lookit him go!"
"Yeah, man!" Max echoed, stooping to see better as the thick prong slammed in and out of Susan's distended, scarlet twat. "That's a really well-stuffed cunt she's wearin' down there."
The janitor mumbled and whistled and brayed as he thrust furiously in and out of Susan. His action was so rapid she felt only pained bewilderment; she had no time for sensation from one fuck-stroke before she was overwhelmed by another. And the janitor's brute power was so great that, despite the holding hands, his bucking lunges were moving her inexorably toward the head of the bed.
She groaned as he rose up on his knees suddenly and redoubled his efforts. Then she felt a torrential load of semen over flooding her scarified interior. The janitor gave a long, shuddering sigh, raised his head and peered miserably into Susan's face. "I didn't wanna ... hurt you, Miss Susan," he panted earnestly. "I didn' ... "
"No post mortems," Greg said briskly. "Roll him off her. An' you," he growled at the sweaty-faced janitor when the boys' hands had deposited him on his side, "one peep out've you an' you'll be doin' twenty-to-life for rape. Understand?" Duncan stared at him, bleary-eyed.
"He's hopeless," Greg declared. "All right, gang. Let's get out've here."
They herded Wally Duncan from the bed and shepherded him along with them to the door. Susan sat up, the janitor's spend oozing from her burning slit. They left so quickly she was still on the bed when she heard the apartment door close. She eased herself from the bed painfully and got to her feet, Wally Duncan's come trickling down her thighs.
The sudden silence in the apartment was almost as frightening as what had gone before.
She didn't want to be left alone with her thoughts.
Unbidden images of the totality of the rape flashed through her mind like the jump-cuts of an avant garde movie.
She threw herself face down on the bed again and wept unrestrainedly.
She hated herself and she hated the boys and she hated the janitor, Wally Duncan.
She could never look at herself in the mirror again without recalling this dreadful experience. How could she after all the mortifying things that had been done to her shrinking flesh?
She became aware that she was uncomfortable when the worst of her crying jag ended. She had collapsed on the bed right where the excess jism from the boys' combined spend had trickled from her bruised pussylips and soaked the bedspread. She rolled onto her back and scrubbed with her hands at her greasy, clammy-feeling stomach. She felt so dirty that fresh tears of self-pity welled up in her reddened eyes.
She climbed to her feet wearily, stripped the bed and carried the sodden linen to the laundry hamper. Then she opened her closet door and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. She stared in stunned disbelief at her disordered hair, hag-like in its dishevelment; at the first, faint marks of hickies on her breasts from hard-sucking, male mouths; at blotchy, red marks from multiple-friction on her jism-shiny belly which was centered by a blue dot she knew would develop into an ugly bruise from Max's cruel punch; and at the soaked fleece on her mound which concealed little of her bright red, swollen-looking cuntlips.
She stared at this apparition for a long moment, then turned away from the mirror with a despairing, choked wail.
This hideous thing couldn't have happened to her!
But her mirror said it had.
She went into her bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet door and stood looking for a long time at the bottle of sleeping tablets. Wouldn't it be easier to end it all than to try to carry the crushing burden of worry that someone would find out what had happened to her?
How could she face her sister Lucille?
Or her boss, Roger Whittaker, the embodiment of cool correctness?
How could she face anyone who learned the savage use that had been made of her body by four urchins whose lewd, bawdy actions had so thoroughly debauched her?
She reached up slowly and took the bottle down, opened it and looked at the innocent-appearing pills. Take a handful, she tried to urge herself. Float away on the final black tide. Put an end to agonizing reappraisal of her debasement. Take a handful and turn her face to the wall.
But never again to open her eyes upon a bright morning's' sunlight?
Never again to experience the good things in life? The pleasant things?
No.
She recapped the bottle and shakily returned it to the shelf.
She couldn't do it.
She wouldn't do it.
That was the coward's way.
Despite the threat implicit in Greg's final words to her, she'd find a way to manage.
She returned tiredly to the bedroom and stretched out on the stripped-down bed,
Sunday was a long day for Susan.
She didn't leave the apartment.
She hadn't left it on Saturday, either, after the departure of the boys and that hulking slob, Wally Duncan. She had rested for an hour afterward, feeling sorry for herself and her sore-lipped, tender-feeling pussy. Then a sudden thought had stifled the breath in her throat. Heavens, she was practically awash with accumulated semen! Suppose she had a baby? The very thought sent her trotting to the bathroom where she douched herself with the strongest solution she had. She waited ten minutes and repeated the performance, wondering anxiously if she had been in time.
Sunday morning her vaginal lips were still extremely sensitive. She found herself walking through the apartment with her thighs gingerly apart. Each step she took was a bitter reminder of the events of the previous day. And her anxiety increased steadily. Would she have to have an abortion? Suppose one of the boys or the janitor had had a disease? None of them had used a condom. Should she go to her family doctor for an examination and treatment? She shied away from the thought of trying to explain her situation to Dr. Miglio, who had known her since childhood.
Time and again through the day her distraught mind-wandering returned to the possibility-the probability, she told herself fearfully-that the entire hideous nightmare might even be repeated, as indicated by Greg and the others.
She ought to go to the police.
Yes, that's what she should do.
But she shrank from the humiliation of relating to hard-eyed officialdom the degrading details of her rape. She shrank from the very thought of the ugly word: rape. No, she couldn't go to the police.
A doctor made more sense.
Single girls with steady boy friends were on the Pill, but Susan wasn't on the Pill. If she should become pregnant ...
At noon she had another terrifying thought. Suppose Greg boasted to Rosalie about what his gang had done to Susan? How would she ever be able to hold up her head in the presence of her niece again? And there was nothing to prevent the blond boy from doing it. Nothing.
Twice during the day Susan went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and looked at the bottle of sleeping tablets. But she didn't take it down again and neither time did she stand considering it as long as she had the previous day. No, that wasn't the answer. She was even able to walk from the bathroom indignant that the gang had forced her to such a consideration.
Late Sunday afternoon her telephone rang.
She stared at it stupidly.
She had retreated so far into semi-isolation after her devastating experience that it was almost as though she no longer had outside contact with the world. She picked up the phone finally. "Y-yes?" she said shakily.
"How you doin', sugar?" a familiar voice drawled in her ear.
Susan's hand tightened on the receiver until her knuckles whitened. "What ... you ... you ... " She stammered, unable to shape a meaningful phrase.
"I ain't buggin' you sugar," Greg's deep voice continued. "I mean it. How you doin'?"
"All ... all right," Susan managed to say.
"Your cunt sore?"
She winced at the Anglo-Saxon. "A l-little."
"It'll be good as new in a couple days," he informed her breezily. "Well, that's all. Just wanted to check."
"Greg!" she said quickly, afraid he was going to hang up.
"Yeah?"
"You're not ... you won't ... " She sought for words. " ... you won't tell Rosalie about ... about what h-happened, will you?"
"Naah. I've about had it with Rosalie. Thinks her shit is ice cream. Best thing she ever done for me was steer me to you." He chuckled throatily.
"Please don't tell her!" Susan begged. "I could ... I could never look her in the face again."
"Don't worry," Greg assured her. "I doubt I see her again. That way." The line hummed emptily for a moment. "You know," Greg went on as if it was necessary there be no possible misunderstanding. "To fuck her. You're so much better there's no comparison."
Susan thought of a hundred things to say but could get none of them out of her dry throat.
"So long, sugar," Greg continued. "See you around. We'll be gettin' together."
The phone clicked and it was too late for Susan to say anything. She hung up the receiver bemusedly. What a strange call! Almost ... almost solicitous. Not that it was, of course. Not after what had happened.
She slept poorly that night.
Saturday night she had slept like the dead.
Sunday night she had nightmares!
Nightmares featuring her own almost slavish submission to Greg's long, thick cock pistoning in and out of her cunt, triggering a wild sexual abandon which had forever destroyed her own ladylike image of herself.
She woke once, found herself wet as she groped sleepily between her thighs, wiped her fingers angrily on the bedsheet and cried herself back to sleep.
And just before she drifted off again she realized she wasn't sure why she was crying.
* * *
Susan went to work on Monday morning as usual.
Saturday and Sunday she'd felt as if she never wanted to face anyone again, but Monday's clear, crisp morning sunlight revived her spirits. No one can tell anything by looking at me, she assured herself.
She felt a moment's panic the first time she stood at Roger Whittaker's desk. If by any chance he had an inkling of what had happened, she couldn't bear it. This man epitomized for Susan the essence of cool, unsweaty competence. She knew there was no way he could know and yet she dreaded that he might. But his manner with her was correct as always.
Once during the day she turned away from a filing cabinet and bumped into him. For a fleeting instant the knuckles of Roger Whittaker's hand fitted almost snugly into Susan's buttock crease. They moved apart abruptly, Susan breathlessly apologetic, Roger curtly apologizing before he referred to the papers in his hand which had brought him into Susan's office. He departed without a backward look.
Susan watched him go, unable to fully analyze her feelings. Roger Whittaker was married, although she had heard whispers that the marriage wasn't a happy one. She had never known him to cast a single look at her that was anything but businesslike. But he was a handsome man, albeit a bit on the rugged side. She sighed unconsciously.
At closing time she cleared her desk, locked up and walked through the quiet corridors of the church basement to the stairs leading to the parking lot. She did a couple of errands she would normally have done over the weekend before driving to her apartment. When she parked in her usual slot, she saw Rosalie lounging at the apartment's rear entrance.
Susan sat with her hands limp upon the steering wheel. What could this visit presage? Had Greg already gleefully betrayed Susan's shameful exploitation? She made herself get out of the car. "Were you waiting for me, Rosalie?" she forced herself to say when she approached the girl.
"Yes. I'd like to come upstairs and talk a minute if you'll let me," Rosalie answered.
"Surely," Susan answered with as much heartiness as she could muster. She thought that her niece seemed subdued. "Coffee?" she asked the girl when they entered the apartment.
"No, thank you." Rosalie seemed definitely ill at ease. "I can't understand why you haven't told mother about what I did to you," she said abruptly.
"Well ... " Susan began.
"At least I assume you haven't told her, because she hasn't made me re-acquainted with her hairbrush yet," Rosalie went on. Her attempted smile was somewhat grim. "All through the weekend I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop and it hasn't dropped. I thought I'd better find out why."
"I haven't told your mother," Susan began again, "and moreover ... " She was surprised to find her decision full-formed in her mind. " ... I'm not going to tell her."
"You're not?" Rosalie bit her lip. "But after ... "
"That's between us," Susan said firmly.
"Now you make me feel worse than ever," Rosalie said ruefully. "My second reason for coming here today was to apologize to you. Not for the spanking, but for bringing Greg into it. I should have brought a girl friend. It was beastly of me shaming you like that."
"It's done now, dear," Susan said gently. She wondered what Rosalie's reaction would be if the pretty seventeen-year-old knew what had followed from her vindictive spanking of her aunt.
"You know you'd only have to tell Mother and she'd blister me."
"I know," Susan agreed. "But a blistering for a blistering seems like a fair exchange. I didn't feel exactly right about my part in your spanking."
Rosalie still looked troubled. "I feel like a heel," she said frankly.
"It's past," Susan said briskly.
"Well ... " Before Susan had an inkling of her intention, Rosalie crossed the room to where Susan was sitting on the couch and draped herself over her aunt's knees. The girl reached behind her and flipped up her brief skirt and slip, revealing a panty-stockinged, sleek-looking, bell-shaped behind. "I'd feel better if you took a few whacks yourself," Rosalie said in a muffled voice.
Susan dropped a palm upon the chubby backside and patted it. Her hand glided smoothly over the girl's warm buttocks. "You really have a lovely little seat, Rosalie," she said softly.
"Nothing like yours," the girl replied. Her hips moved lazily in their thin covering under Susan's stroking palm. "You could have knocked Greg's eyes off with a stick when he saw it. Greg used to be my boy friend. I gave him what he wanted and now I think he's tired of it." Rosalie thrust herself upward so that more of her bottom was available to Susan's hand, which stroked the girlish hind cheeks with increasing fervor. "Sometimes it's not easy to be a girl," Rosalie said moodily.
"Indeed it's not," Susan agreed.
"You never know what they want. I don't think they know what they want. From one five minutes to the next, anyway. Say, you know your hand is really getting to me?"
"Is it, dear? Would you prefer that I stopped?"
"Oh, no. It feels nice." Rosalie's tone turned introspective. "I had a girl friend once, really a good friend. We used to ... you know."
"Play girl games together?"
"Mmmmmmm. But I was afraid I was getting to like it too much. I cut it out."
"I think most women like it, dear, regardless of what they're getting from their men."
"Really?"
"Really." Susan drew down the elasticized waist of the thin material of Rosalie's panty-stocking, exposing three-quarters of the girl's bare behind. "Just checking for scars from your mother's hairbrush," Susan said lightly. She felt surprised at her own boldness. Her palm spatted lightly in turn upon each soft, nude globe. "There's your spanking, dear."
Rosalie's long legs moved in a languorous rhythm that gently agitated her naked hemispheres. "Aunt Susan?" she said. Her voice sounded hoarse.
"Yes, dear?"
"Let's play."
"I think that's an excellent idea," Susan found herself saying.
CHAPTER 6
Rosalie scrambled upward from Susan's lap. The girl kicked off her shoes, peeled down her panty-stocking and got rid of it, then discarded the rest of her clothing. Baby-naked, she sat down again on Susan's lap. "It's all yours, Auntie," she said with an attempted lightness which didn't quite conceal a hint of nervousness.
Susan patted her, fondled her, played with her dark fleece, then kissed a tip-tilted breast. "It's all right, dear," she soothed the girl. "You haven't made any mistake."
Rosalie wriggled contentedly. "What are we going to do?" she inquired. "And may I undress you first?"
"You certainly may." Susan spanked the portion of Rosalie's smoothly rounded rump overhanging Susan's supporting thigh and they got up and walked into the bedroom.
Rosalie seemed light-heartedly joyful. "You'll never know how long I've wanted to do this," she giggled, her hands flying over the fastenings on Susan's clothes as she rapidly stripped her aunt. The two white bodies came together beside the bed, belly-to-belly, with four hands cuddling four luscious, nude, hind cheeks. They exchanged a long, lingering, breathless kiss. "Mmmmmm," Rosalie murmured when their mouths separated for air. "That was lovely."
Susan sank backward on the bed, drawing her niece down on top of her. Rosalie's pert breasts merged with Susan's larger ones and Susan filled her hands with the fullest amplitudes of the girl's upturned buttocks, kneading the soft flesh. She ran a finger deeply into Rosalie's warm crevice and the girl squirmed. "You're getting me ... hot!" she gasped.
Susan separated her niece's resilient globes with her wrist while she curved her hand far around so a probing finger touched the girl on her delicately flowering pussylips. Rosalie gave a little jump. Susan rolled the girl onto her side and stared down at her niece's piquant features. "You really want to play, Rosalie?" she asked. "Honest-to-John and cross-y our-heart?"
"Honest-to-John and cross-my-heart," Rosalie affirmed solemnly.
"And no loose talk afterward?"
Rosalie encircled her aunt's bare waist with a fiercely affectionate arm. "You can paddle me purple if I talk."
"Then let me up for a moment."
Rosalie withdrew the encircling arm and Susan rose from the bed and walked to the telephone in the front hall. She dialed Christine Serban's number. "Christine? Why don't you come over? I have a recruit."
"A recruit?" her friend's voice echoed, "How lovely! Anyone I know?"
"Why don't you come over and see?"
"I'm on my way. Leave some for me!"
Rosalie was sitting on the bed when Susan returned to the bedroom. "I could hear," she said, hugging her doubled-up knees. "But who is it?"
"The phys ed teacher at the high school."
"She's cool," Rosalie said warmly. "All the girls like her. She plays?"
"You'll see," Susan predicted confidently. "But there's no need for us to be wasting time." She sat down beside her niece's nude body and cupped an erect breast with its dark areola and grape-colored crest, then lowered her head and took it into her mouth. She tongued the stiffening nipple strongly and in seconds a rash of goose bumps popped up on Rosalie's round stomach. The girl murmured something unintelligible as Susan's quick tongue continued to flirt with her sensitive flesh.
Susan's free hand sought out the smooth slope of the girl's creamy belly and stroked it. The hand dipped down into Rosalie's mossy curls and toyed with them, then slipped lower. A finger pressed urgently for admittance at the juncture of the girl's round thighs and Rosalie leaned backward slightly to permit the finger freer passage while Susan shifted her mouth-attention to the mate of Rosalie's well-stimulated, perky bubby.
Rosalie's arm crossed Susan's body as the girl in turn sought out her aunt's pubic hair. A questing finger danced lightly into Susan's grotto as Susan raised and widened her thighs. The finger traced the pouting crease and inserted itself in the damp-feeling vagina. "Glad to see I'm not the only one with drainage problems," the girl said with a nervous snicker.
For long seconds the fingers worked busily in the two fat-lipped, dark-fleeced twats. Then Rosalie sighed deeply. "I want to see yours!" she whispered breathlessly.
Susan twisted on the bed until she could stretch out on her back. She lifted her legs and Rosalie moved in between them. Susan heard the quick catch of the girl's breath as she gazed upon her aunt's furry mound and pink-lipped slit. Rosalie lowered her head until her face was inches from Susan's chalice. Susan could feel her niece's warm breath upon her most inflammable sexual part.
She had thought Rosalie might be too timid to make a direct move, but the girl pressed her face ardently into her aunt's thigh juncture and planted warm little kisses from mound to slit. When she raised her head, Susan kissed her firmly on the mouth, so her niece would have no reservations about where her mouth had been.
She was just starting to put Rosalie on her back when Christine knocked at the door. "You come, too," Susan said, taking Rosalie by the hand. They walked into the front hall in a symphony of jiggling breasts and waggling backsides. "Christine?" Susan called before she removed the chain latch.
Susan opened the door. Christine's eyes widened as her glance flicked from nude figure to nude figure. "Rosalie, you lovely thing!" she exclaimed, giving the girl a hug as Susan re-chained the door. "What a delightful surprise!" Her hand sped to Rosalie's jewel box and touched her little bird. "I'll guarantee you I'm going to have a taste of that in three minutes!" Christine announced exuberantly.
Rosalie smiled, her previous nervousness departed.
Susan and Rosalie undressed Christine in the bedroom. Rosalie was awarded the task of peeling down Christine's tight-clinging girdle. "Look at those freckles on her bottom!" Rosalie whooped, staring at the light-golden dusting on Christine's wide-flaring bare seat.
"The initiation fee is a kiss per freckle," Christine stated as she rubbed at girdle marks on her plump belly.
"But I claim squatter's rights," Susan said. She knelt down behind her friend and kissed the milky hind cheeks inch by inch.
"Let me start on my initiation fee," Rosalie pleaded, tugging at her aunt's shoulder. She and Susan exchanged places and Rosalie pressed butterfly kisses on the warm rump in front of her.
Christine stopped her finally when the girl would have continued indefinitely. "Not that I don't enjoy it," she told Rosalie, "but I don't have much time right now and Susan will tell you I have a real thing about young girls' cunts. I want to suck yours."
"Our friend speaks plainly," Susan said to Rosalie as Christine led Rosalie to the bed. She sat her down and knelt in front of her, her heavy, coral-nippled breasts dragging over Rosalie's thighs. Rosalie shivered and wrapped her arms around herself,
Christine pushed the girl onto her back, picked up her thighs and draped Rosalie's legs over her own shoulders. Susan and Christine stared at Rosalie's compact-looking, salmon-lipped quim nestled in its dark-blonde fuzz. "Look at that lovely thing, Susan!" Christine exclaimed, smacking her lips unctuously. "I can taste it already!"
She slid the girl forward so her hips rested on the edge of the bed, then plunged her ravenous mouth down upon the revealed pussy. A hissing sigh escaped Rosalie. Christine's pink tongue flicked all over the girl's slit, laving and tickling. Muscles jumped in Rosalie's thighs at the stimulation taking place below her little pot belly. Christine worked busily at tonguing every iota of the girl's squirming cunt.
Christine sucked half of Rosalie's pink gash into her mouth, lipping at it and worrying it. Rosalie squealed, then bucked her bare behind up into the air, forcing more of her excited quim into Christine's willing mouth. She chewed on it noisily as the girl's slim thighs writhed like snakes. "Ohhhhh-h-h!" she gasped.
Christine darted her powerful tongue into the pouting orifice upon whose swelling lips beads of moisture were already visible. Christine took time to lick them off before plunging her tongue within Rosalie's quiver again. "Aieeeee!" Rosalie yipped, her hips climbing again. "Aunt ... Susan! Oooooh!"
The phys ed instructor hunched her broad, glistening white shoulders as she worked her busy tongue like a little prick inside Rosalie's cunt. Then she removed the tongue and sucked the whole of the girl's play-pretty deep inside her mouth where she squirted it from side to side and tongued it up and down.
"Ohhhh!" Rosalie exclaimed in a startled tone. "I'm ... ohhhhh, no! It's ... ooooooh! Too quick!"
She humped her sleek behind furiously as she spent into Christine's tightly glued mouth which remained attached to its target like a suction cup despite Rosalie's violent reaction. Christine swallowed heartily as the muscles in Rosalie's thighs stood out like steel guitar strings. When the girl's taut, bare behind sank back upon the bed again and Rosalie relaxed with a long sigh, Christine backed off just enough to lick up the few traces of Rosalie's orgasm which had previously escaped Christine's vacuum-cleaner mouth.
"Ohhhhh, Christ!" Rosalie whispered.
"You've been done up by an expert, dear," Susan said. "How do you feel?"
"I thought my bones were melting," the girl replied. "But it was too soon. I wanted it to last longer."
Christine glanced at the wrist watch which was her only article of apparel. "Susan ... "
"Yes," Susan remembered. "You said you had to leave. What would you like us to do for you before you go?"
"The possible varieties stun the imagination," Christine smiled. "But I'll save the real goodies for when I have time to relax and enjoy them. Right now ... " She hesitated. "How about you doing me up while Rosalie lets me at her deliciously dripping cunt again?"
"Surely," Susan answered. She quickly placed Christine on her back on the bed with her wide hips close to its edge. "Now, Rosalie," Susan instructed her niece, "turn your back to Christine and sit down on her face. Carefully."
She watched while Rosalie squatted gingerly with a thigh on either side of Christine's red head. From the quick tremor that rippled through her niece's slender thighs, Susan knew that Christine hadn't dallied in the re-employment of her amazing tongue.
Susan sank to her knees and dropped her head upon the bright-red curls of Christine's muff. It stopped almost abruptly at her sex-crevice. Susan kissed the convex lower belly lingeringly before dropping her mouth to the familiar, big, sprawling cunt that seemed to wander all over the place, in contrast to Rosalie's neat, tight-looking little pussy.
Susan licked rapidly at the soft pink lips with their wispy traces of fine red hair. She knew what Christine liked. When she judged the time was right, she seized as much of her friend's protruding gash in her mouth as she could manage. Christine's quick grunt of pleasure assured Susan that she was on the right track.
Susan pulled at Christine's quivering twat with her lips. She shook it in her mouth after tonguing it briskly. Christine began to ooze. More and more of her musky moisture passed Susan's lips; then Christine's thighs jerked as Susan tasted a semi salty freshet. Simultaneously she heard a yelp from Rosalie whom she had almost forgotten, since in Susan's face-to-cunt position she couldn't see her niece.
Susan worked steadily at Christine's dripping centerpiece until she was sure her friend had had her full measure of pleasure. Then she backed away on her knees, taking her own pleasure in looking at the pinkly aroused, oily-oozing cuntlips she had stimulated.
"I almost came again," Rosalie sighed, raising her bare ass from Christine's face.
"I've got to leave, damn it," Christine declared. "But this was great. When can we do it again?"
They discussed it while they helped Christine to dress. They were unable to fix a time, but Susan and Christine agreed to work out a suitable schedule. At the door Susan and Rosalie, both still naked, kissed Christine good-bye.
"I want to do you," Rosalie said to Susan when they were alone again. "You haven't had any. It won't be as good as Christine, but I'll do the best I can."
Susan placed herself on the bed and parted her thighs for Rosalie's young mouth. She watched almost dispassionately the girl's awkward efforts to bring her to a climax. It was pleasant, but it wasn't like Christine's suction-pump of a mouth. Susan moved her hips in a simulation of excitement, but she couldn't fool her niece. "My neck hurts," the girl complained in an interval of rest. "And I'm not really turning you on."
"You're doing fine," Susan assured. "You just need a little more practice."
When Rosalie finally gave up with a little move of self-disgust, Susan sat up and kissed her. Rosalie dressed and they kissed again at the door when Rosalie was ready to leave. "It was beautiful, Aunt Susan," Rosalie declared warmly. She smiled brightly at her aunt, then stepped out into the corridor.
Susan replaced the latch on the door for the second time, then returned to the bedroom and removed the vibrator from the bottom drawer of her bureau. She sat down on the bed and watched in the pier glass while the ivory-white rod of the vibrator disappeared between the ivory-white thighs of the girl on the bed.
She came finally with a frictioning of her thighs and an involuntary jerking of her naked bottom. After she extracted the secretion-coated vibrator from her liquified chasm, she was at once enveloped in the familiar, quick feeling of shame at this violation of a childhood-engendered prohibition against self-abuse.
She set her chin defiantly.
She couldn't help it.
She got so wrought up she just couldn't help it.
That evening she decided to go to a movie. She couldn't stand the silence of the apartment after the too-brief, good vibrations afforded by Christine's and Rosalie's short stays. It was dark in the apartment parking lot and she hurried to her car. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch when a bulky shadow separated itself from the car's shadow and moved toward her. She breathed again when she recognized Wally Duncan, the janitor.
"You scared me, Wally!" Susan exclaimed. She realized it was the first time she had seen the man since her horrifying experience. A scant second later she realized additionally that Wally Duncan had been lurking in the shadow of her car, waiting for her to appear and her initial feeling of alarm returned.
But Wally Duncan was abject as he tried to convey to Susan his apology, for his own part in her degradation. "They made me," he kept saying in a hoarse voice. "They made me. I didn' wanna hurt you, Miss Susan. You always been nice to me." He was almost crying. "You was even nice to me then. You didn' call me ugly. I should've let them kill me before I hurt you like that."
"You didn't really hurt me," Susan said hastily. Was there some way she could take advantage of this doglike devotion? But she had already seen how helpless he was in the face of the gang's ruthlessness. "But you mustn't watch through my keyhole anymore, Wally. It isn't nice."
"But you're so beautiful, Miss Susan!" he said eagerly. "So white an' pink an' soft-lookin'!" Saliva trickled from the corners of the thick lips. "You're the mos' ... "
"Will you promise me something, Wally?" Susan interposed.
"Anything, Miss Susan," the hulking figure assured her.
"What happened Saturday ... " She drew a quick breath as unwanted images danced in her mind. " ... will be our secret, all right? Neither of us will ever say a word to anyone about those ... those boys."
"If you say so," he agreed. He continued in what was evidently a familiar bead on his litany. "I'll do anything for you, Miss Susan. You didn' call me ugly. You was nice to me. I'd do ... "
"Good night, Wally," Susan said hastily, embarrassed by such groveling worshipfulness. "Remember, it's our secret."
She waited for the acquiescent nod of the smallish head on the great shoulders, smiled pleasantly and opened her car door.
At least she had succeeded in putting another finger into the dike against the possibility of her gang-rape becoming known.
* * *
Ten days went by.
They were busy days at the church office and quiet evenings at home. Susan's previous, excruciatingly sharp memory of her dreadfully humiliating experience gradually dulled. The subject returned unbidden to her thoughts often, but not with the crystal-clear clarity that had tormented her immediately afterward,, The sharpest edges of her shameful debasement became blurred.
She had to admit, in fact, that when the incident of her quintuple ravishment swam into her mind now, she was additionally shamed that the thing she remembered most was Greg's long, thick, tantalizing cock. The recollection turned her knees weak and her palms moist each time it happened before she forced it from her mind. It was wanton to dwell upon such a recollection.
Too much of her life seemed given over to wantonnesss these days, Susan thought ruefully, although she and Christine and Rosalie had been unable to get together for another threesome, Susan had had a delightful, stolen hour with her niece. Rosalie was a delightfully eager novice. She had charm and grace and spirit. She was much more sexually outgoing in her cute way than Susan had ever been at Rosalie's age. Susan felt guilt at the relationship, but pleasure far outweighed it.
She had dinner at Lucille's one night in the middle of the week. Rosalie had been at a girl friend's but came into the house when Lucille and Susan were in the living room with their coffee cups. The girl had kissed her mother, then given Susan a deceptively simple smooch that consisted of running her hot little tongue into Susan's ear. Susan's thighs quivered and she almost upset her coffee. Rosalie smiled and went upstairs.
Lucille watched her daughter's retreating back thoughtfully. "She seems more settled down the last little bit," she remarked to Susan. "And I haven't seen that blond monster hanging around, either. Maybe that whaling I gave her did some good. It should have. My arm was tired for two days."
"Perhaps she's just emerging from her rebellious, teen-age period," Susan said.
"I hope so," Lucille sighed. "With all the ways for a girl to ruin herself physically these days, like reds and yellows and speed and pot, sometimes I think a stiff prick is almost a blessing, if only the girl doesn't get pregnant."
Lucille's usual, free-swinging, earthy style as she made the remark reminded Susan that her own fear of pregnancy after her encounter with the gang had proved fruitless. She was in the third day of her period, which usually lasted four days, although as a precaution she usually wore a napkin or tampon through the fifth day.
"What about you?" Lucille asked suddenly.
"Me?" Susan responded, confused because of the nature of her own musings.
"You don't seem to have much spark. Anything eating on you except Christine Serban's big mouth?"
"You know perfectly well Christine and I are just good friends," Susan riposted automatically. The remark was a familiar ploy of her observant older sister.
"I don't know that I blame you," Lucille sighed. "Some days I get so bad I think if I saw Bill coming up the front walk I'd take it from him right out on the porch."
"You could call him," Susan pointed out.
"When hell freezes over I'll call him!" Lucille flared. "You think I want him feeling I'm on my knees to him asking for the favor of his cock?"
"The two of you are stubborn idiots," Susan said calmly.
"But we'd need four cops and a Marine sergeant to search us for concealed weapons if we ever got together," Lucille said gloomily. "Oh, hell, I don't know ... " Her moment of introspection passed. "What about you, Susan?" the older sister returned to her previous question. "You've got no zip, no sparkle. What's bothering you?"
Susan hesitated. She had a great deal of respect for Lucille's earthy shrewdness. Dared she tell her about the horrible experience with Greg's gang? More to the point, dared she tell her about the threatened re-confrontation now hanging over her head with its baldly ominous intimation of further physical abuse and abasement?
The story trembled on the tip of her tongue. It would be such a relief to share her gnawing apprehension with Lucille, who might easily come up with a sensible solution. But what solution could be contrived that would protect Susan from the gang's vengeance? She pictured herself cornered helplessly while brass knuckles crashed into her face and heavy boots thudded into her body ...
She drew a deep breath. No, she couldn't confide in anyone, not even Lucille. The possibility of the gang's reaction was too awful to contemplate. She would just have to figure out some way to handle it herself.
"Well?" Lucille challenged her. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry," Susan's replied with attempted lightness. "I was thinking of something else." She tapped her upper thighs. "It's just that time of the month."
Lucille nodded slowly, although she didn't look entirely convinced. "I hope you'll always feel you can talk to me about any problems you might have, baby, since I practically raised you," she said. "I've lived a little bit longer than you have and I can tell you that the perspective is different."
It was said so kindly and with so much genuine warmth that Susan debated with herself for another moment before deciding that she couldn't risk telling her story. With the best intentions in the world, Lucille might succeed only in bringing ruin crashing down upon Susan. She couldn't risk it.
The sisters exchanged small talk for another half-hour before Susan rose to leave.
The turn the conversation had taken induced a troubled mood in Susan as she returned to her apartment.
Was she never to be freed from this overhanging dark cloud?
* * *
It was raining two afternoons later when Susan locked her desk and prepared to leave the church basement. She opened an unused file cabinet and removed a spare umbrella. Out on the parking lot she had her car door open and one haunch actually on the car seat when she saw Greg sitting on the passenger's side. Her heart zoomed up into her throat when her terrified glance disclosed Carlos, Max and Georgie in the back seat.
"Get in," Greg growled at the semi paralyzed Susan. "An' don't make no damn fuss about it."
Her coordination had almost vanished, but somehow she shuffled herself under the steering wheel. Greg reached across her and slammed her door shut and at the feeling of total confinement Susan thought for an awful moment she was going to wet herself.
"Please," she heard herself begging. "Please, no. N-not again. P-please."
She hardly recognized her own voice. She should have been ashamed of its rabbit-squeak, but she felt only fear. She had known she would have to face this situation eventually and she had told herself she would have a solution to it and now here it was and she had no solution. Not the faintest trace of one.
Greg was regarding her obvious terror with high good humor. "Don't sweat it, sugar," he told her. "Just follow directions an' drive us out to a little place we got, an' we'll all have a little fun." He grinned at her. "Don't you think it's smart of us to have you drive us there, so you can't holler to the police afterward that you were kidnapped? That's Carlos' idea."
The thought of being isolated with this brutal group in a strange place increased Susan's fear by the square of her previous unease. "I'm ... it's ... I'm h-having my period," she stammered. In a way it was true. She was on her fifth day.
For once Greg appeared disconcerted. "You hear that, guys?" he said, turning to the back seat. "The monkey's got a nosebleed."
"What the hell, she's got an asshole, hasn't she?" Max demanded. "I'd just as soon ream that, anyway."
Damp patches broke out under Susan's armpits and between her inner thighs. Would these animals actually make such a ... such an unnatural use of her body?
"Something is better than nothing," Carlos agreed with Max.
"An' she has a mouth as well as an asshole," Georgie chirped. "I wouldn't mind a bit fuckin' myself off in that mouth of hers!"
"Okay, then," Greg said.
"Maybe she ain't got the rag on anyway," Max spoke up again. "It could be a stall. Check her out, Greg."
"You lyin', sugar?" the blond boy asked.
"N-no," Susan said faintly.
Greg leaned across the front seat again and flattened Susan's skirt between her legs. His big hand traced the contour of Susan's lower belly as far as he could reach under her. Susan felt as if her whole face was on fire. "What the hell?" Greg said. "I can't feel a damn thing."
"What'd I tell you!" Max declared triumphantly.
"I'm ... I wear a t-tampon," Susan quavered. In her worst moment with these ruffians before, she had never felt so acutely embarrassed.
Greg rucked up her skirt and thrust his hand under it. Susan quivered as rough fingers traced the course of her pantied crotch. The fingers probed, lingered, then departed. "Somethin' in there sure enough," Greg announced.
"An' it ain't no sugar plum," Georgie predicted disconsolately. "Jesus, I'd have loved to fuck that sweet cunt again!"
"There are alternatives," Carlos said. "Why do we delay?"
"Right you are," Greg said breezily. "Okay, sugar. Set the wheels in motion. We'll tell you where to go."
Susan closed her eyes. What should she do? There was only one other car on the parking lot and she didn't recognize it. Then it came to her that it must be the boys'. No hope of rescue from that quarter. An icy finger was crawling along her spine.
"Let's go!" Max snapped from the back seat.
She got the car started somehow and drove slowly out of the parking lot. She followed Greg's driving instructions numbly. There were a lot of twists and turns. The rain came down harder and she could hardly see beyond the narrow area cleared by the windshield wipers.
After a time she recognized that Greg's instructions had placed them in the low foothills west of town. The road climbed in a twisting spiral. There was no conversation in the car. Susan forced herself to concentrate upon her driving. The narrow, rain-slick road was hazard enough without mental distraction. She didn't recall ever having seen the road before.
"Next right," Greg said suddenly.
Susan slowed the car and made the tight turn onto a dirt road. Arching trees closed over the road so Susan had the impression she was driving through a green tunnel. There were a lot of trees: tall pines, scrub oak, Chinese elms and cottonwoods. The rain pelted down furiously. The car bumped and rumbled over watery potholes.
"There it is," Georgie announced.
The car emerged into a small clearing. Directly ahead, Susan saw a rough-looking cabin blending into a hillside. She braked to a stop at the foot of a short path leading to the cabin. She stared at it, swallowing hard. Dear God! she prayed silently. Help me now when I need it.
"All out!" Greg commanded.
Susan opened her door. She pivoted on the seat and swung her legs to the ground. My shoes will be ruined, she thought, looking at the muddy ground. As though your shoes are important, a corner of her mind interjected.
She stood up outside the car in the pouring rain and with no conscious thought found herself running wildly through dripping, clawing underbrush. Her high heels sank into the mucky ground, nearly overbalancing her as excited shouts behind her announced that pursuit had been undertaken.
Susan's heart hammered furiously in her bursting chest as she stumbled and slid through waist-high, dead grass and spiky scrub. She ran into a tree and hurt her arm, almost falling. Between the rain and the drenched bushes she was soaked to the skin almost immediately. Desperately she forced her leaden-thighed legs to carry her deeper into the brush.
Until the moment when she could run no longer.
CHAPTER 7
She crouched behind a bush in the downpour, panting hoarsely. Despite her brassiere, her breasts hurt from their mad flopping about during her escape. The cold rain ran down the sodden back of her dress, penetrating it and her slip. An icy trickle gathered volume and ran down her back into her deep buttock-cleft. Susan shuddered and began to cry helplessly.
Greg's authoritative voice raised itself above the confused pattern of shouts somewhere behind her. "Spread out!" the blond boy was yelling. "She can't get far in those heels! Work within sight of each other so she can't slip between you! We'll get her an' wring her ass out for this little caper!"
Susan could hear her own rasping breath as the boys thrashed through the scrub oak, searching for her. Between the wet, the cold and the unnatural crouching position, her thighs were trembling violently. She scrubbed at her tear-wet, rain-soaked face with dirty hands and wondered what to do. She hadn't improved her position. She couldn't go back to the car which represented her only salvation. The gang would anticipate that. Walking in this wilderness was manifestly impossible and besides, she didn't even know where she was. Her impulsive act had left her worse off than before, if that were possible.
The penetrating rain was so cold it was beginning to numb her flesh. She glanced despairingly around for a drier spot. There was none. What could be worse than this? she thought miserably. Skulking in woods and wet mud like a hunted animal. But she shivered anew at the very thought of becoming a captured animal.
And then it happened.
Max rounded a five-foot-high, brush tangle and stood almost on top of her. Susan screamed as she tried to force her quivering legs upright so she could run again. She never got out of her tracks. Max was upon her in two jumps and seized her by the arm. "Fuckin' bitch!" he rasped and punched her in the belly.
A searing pain scorched Susan's lungs as she doubled up again from the force of the blow. Georgie burst through the dripping trees and gripped her other arm. "Hey, guys!" his piping voice soared through the rain. "We got her! We got her!"
The younger boy grabbed at Max's arm when Max would have swung at Susan again. "Hey, you wanna bust her all up before we have our fun?" Georgie asked anxiously.
Max's arm dropped reluctantly to his side. "Hustle her back to the cabin," he said. "We oughta be able to think up somethin' choice for that smart ass of hers."
They half led, half dragged Susan through the dripping woods. She hurt so badly from Max's vicious punch that she couldn't have made it without the supporting hands on her arms. Greg and Carlos met them in front of the cabin when Max and Georgie lugged her up the path. Cold, wet, battered and exhausted, Susan awaited her fate numbly. She was so low in spirit at that particular moment she felt no immediate alarm.
Greg recognized her condition. "She's almost done in," the blond boy said. "We got to give her a breathin' spell. Get her inside."
Carlos unlocked a huge padlock on the cabin door and they trooped inside. The air was dank and chill. Max flung Susan in the general direction of an old wooden rocking chair. She fell into it heavily and it skidded backward from her weight, nearly overbalancing. She closed her eyes with a stifled sob. Her bosom heaved as she still strained for the breath cruelly driven from her body.
"Who's got a match?" Max asked angrily. "I don't give a damn if her ass freezes, but I think better of mine."
Carlos produced a book of matches. Max took them and knelt in front of a wide, stone fireplace where he touched a lighted match to newspaper spread under a previously laid cross-hatching of logs. The tiny, dancing flame burst across the wadded paper and ate into dry bark. It expanded at once with a roaring sound as the fire flourished in a strong updraft.
Susan opened her eyes again at the sound of the crackling logs. The foursome stood in front of the fire, staring at her. Susan stared back, slumped loosely in her rocker. Her drenched clothing clung to the curves of her body. A wavelet of comforting heat drifted from the fireplace. She could see steam rising from the wet clothes of the boys.
The interior of the cabin was a single, large, open room. It was sparsely furnished, but there was a full-sized bed in one corner. Susan looked at the bed, then looked away. Its sheet was gray with grime and centered upon it were gray-looking, stiff splashes that brought a touch of color to her pale cheeks. The air in the cabin was growing warmer rapidly and as Susan's bodily discomfort lessened, her sense of fear renewed itself in direct proportion.
It was Max who broke the silence that had persisted since the move inside the cabin. "Ain't we a bunch of drowned rats?" he demanded bitterly. He raised a foot and looked at a muddy shoe. "I'll have to throw these away for sure." He glared malevolently at Susan. "I move we take it out've her ass."
"I agree," Carlos said. The dark-skinned boy looked with disgust at the sodden ruin of what had been an elegantly cut jacket. "I will go out and cut a switch." He extended his little finger to indicate the thickness of the switch. "Then we will tie her to a beam and when she feels the blood from her whipped behind running down the backs of her legs, she will not be so quick to repeat this performance."
"Now wait a minute," Georgie broke in. "You guys ain't thinkin' too good. Are we gonna rip up her ass before we're done with it?"
Greg unbuttoned his shirt. "The kid's got a point. It's warm enough in here now. I'm gonna get out've these wet things."
They all began to undress while Susan sat rigid. Her heart began a slow, heavy pounding that made her left bosom ache. She forced herself to look away from the multiple strip-tease taking place in front of her. She stared down at the muddy ruin of her own shoes. There were splashes of drying mud on her stockings halfway up her calves.
But a force stronger than her enfeebled will power made her look up again.
Greg was naked, the blond, matted hair on his powerful-looking body bronzed in the firelight. He picked up the book of matches Max had left on the rough-stone mantel above the fireplace and walked around the cabin, lighting candles jammed into wine bottles. He also lit two kerosene lamps hanging from ceiling hooks as more and more light flooded the cabin.
Georgie was prancing nude in the center of the room, his slender dingus flying up and down as he wrapped his arms around himself. Carlos' swarthy body gleamed Indian-like in the light as he removed the last of his wet clothing. Only Max retained what appeared to be the same pair of dirty-looking shorts that Susan had seen previously.
Greg pointed a finger at Susan. "You," he said. "Strip. Right now."
She rose unsteadily from the chair. They were angry with her; she dared not agitate them additionally. Awkwardly she pulled her saturated dress off over her head. What could she possibly say that would stay them from this gruesome performance? She knew only too well: nothing. Her unsteady breathing sounded loudly in her ears.
She pulled her clinging slip from her wet flesh and removed it. She had worn no panty-girdle in deference to her tamponed condition; elastic garters supported her stockings. She unfastened her bra and tossed it aside, her heavy breasts swaying freely with each movement of her body. Her throat was parched as she stripped down her damp panties and let them collapse around her ankles.
Georgie's grin as he surveyed her nudity changed to a look of puzzlement. He pointed to a white, threadlike object dangling against Susan's bare thigh just above a stocking-top. "What the hell's that thing?" the boy demanded.
"That's the string she uses to pull the tampon out've herself when she's finished with it," Max said scornfully. "Where've you been all your life?"
"Oh." Georgie looked at the string again, then giggled. "Be a hell of a note if she couldn't get it out sometime, huh?" He shook his head wonderingly. "I never seen one before."
"You cold?" Greg asked Susan.
She nodded, unable to speak.
"C'mon over here an' we'll warm you up," he said.
She stood transfixed, her limbs refusing to move.
Greg strode to her and gripped her arm. "I didn't care for all that wallowin' around in the bushes," he said. "Max an' Georgie, you hold her. Carlos an' I will heat her up."
The naked bodies quickly surrounded Susan. She felt her arms gripped and her upper body forced forward until her plumped-out, nude posterior pointed at Greg and Carlos standing with upraised hands. Splat! Greg's hard palm descended smartingly upon Susan's tender hind cheek as she gasped. Splat! Carlos' palm immediately convulsed its twin.
Susan's legs danced involuntarily as the hard palms went splat-splat!, splat-splat! upon her bare bottom. The pain was unbelievable, far worse than when she had been held face down upon something which offered resistance against which she could struggle. Splat-splat! Splat-splat! Susan's crimsoning globes writhed madly and her stomach jerked at each stinging spank.
Splat-splat! Splat-splat! "Owwwww!" Susan bleated, trying in vain to twist her flaming behind away from the smarting palms. Splat-splat! Splat-splat! "Oooooh!" she wailed, bounding from foot to foot as Max and Georgie continued to hold her in a doubled-forward position. "Ohhhhhh! Owwwww!"
Almost as bad as the spanking was the realization of the picture she must present, reddening bare seat gyrating furiously at each solid smack. Splat-splat! Splat-splat! "Owwww! Owwww! Owwww!" Susan screeched. The whole of her naked backside felt as if it were on fire. The smarting palms detonated loudly upon her helplessly quivering flesh.
Splat-splat! Splat-splat! Splat-splat! "OWWWWW!" Susan screamed hoarsely, kicking frenziedly but unavailingly. Then she caught her breath and the tenor of her yells changed as a quick-tingling heat flooded her loins. The heat overwhelmed her and even in the depths of her shame at her exposed position, she felt her spanked behind thrusting up and down independently of its previous frenzied efforts to escape punishment.
"Hold it!" Greg said suddenly.
The spanking stopped while Susan tried to double herself up into a fetal-like position to hide the uncontrollable throbbing of her cuntlips, which somehow seemed to alleviate the dreadful, burning smart in her bottom.
"You know somethin', guys?" Greg said wonderingly. "This damn broad comes off when she gets her ass whaled. I saw it happen when Rosalie was givin' it to her, only I didn't really believe what I was seein'." The blond boy untucked Susan's thighs from their doubled-up position and he inserted a finger between them despite her mortified moan. "See that?" he exclaimed, holding up a glistening finger.
"Why would she come like that?" Georgie asked curiously.
"Who the hell knows why broads do anything they do?" Max shrugged. "Well, are we gonna stand around here all afternoon?"
"That's a handsome red ass she's got," Georgie said admiringly, walking around behind Susan to examine it.
She felt a lessening of her abject shame as she encountered a new problem. "P-please," she got out in a strangled whisper. "I've got to ... Where's the bathroom?"
Max snickered coarsely. "Out behind the first bush," he advised. "Help yourself. It's free."
"Does she mean she's got to take a piss?" Georgie demanded eagerly. "Listen, I want to watch her do it. Wait a minute." He went to a corner of the cabin and returned with an empty milk carton. He handed it to Susan. "Do your stuff," he told her.
Susan's teeth were clenched tightly. She felt as though her bladder were already leaking slowly, the pressure from contained urine was so great. She looked through the window at the cold rain drumming down outside, shivered, then squatted swiftly, seized the tampon thread and pulled the tampon out of herself and released a torrent of piss into the milk carton. Her eyes swam with tears of relief.
Georgie had crouched down beside her to observe closely the whole performance. "Damn, she can really aim that thing, can't she?" he remarked while Susan slowly straightened up again. Her legs felt so weak she was afraid she would fall.
Max had picked up the discarded tampon. "Look, guys," he said. "No blood."
Greg looked at the damp, compressed, but white-looking tampon. "What day of your period is this?" he asked Susan.
"The f-fifth," she whispered.
"You mean we can fuck her cunt?" Georgie asked gleefully.
"Give her a rag and send her outside to wash herself," Carlos said. "Then she can dry off in front of the fire."
Georgie produced a rag and the group herded Susan toward the cabin door. "Ohhh, please," she begged, hanging back. "Not outside. It's s-so cold. Don't send me out bare. Please."
Max's hand cracked sharply under her tenderized bottom and Susan yipped shrilly. Georgie opened the door and Carlos thrust her out into the rain. "Get clean," he ordered.
Susan stood on the muddy path in her stockinged feet with the torrential, icy-feeling rain pelting her shrinking flesh. Individual drops stung her nipples. She was drenched in seconds with her hair lying lank on her shoulders. She scrubbed at herself quickly, gently at her spanked behind, more roughly at her detamponed, vaginal orifice. She hadn't felt so thoroughly miserable since a gym-class initiation had resulted in a forced cold shower.
Watching faces peered out at her from the cabin window. Susan flung the rag from her, trotted to the cabin door and pounded on it with both hands.
The door opened and she stumbled inside.
She ran to the fireplace and pirouetted in front of it, moaning in relief at the welcome heat. Georgie produced another rag and Susan gratefully patted herself dry with the coarse cloth. "Look how her ass has faded out already," Max observed.
"Yeah," Georgie agreed. "It's just a nice pink now."
Susan toasted back and front alternately before the leaping flames. Her nipples slackened from their rain-induced tautness and her flesh lost its grainy texture from the chilling rain. During one of her front-and-back toasting pivots, she noticed that the large bed was no longer in a corner of the room but had been dragged to its center in the area of greatest light. Her heart began a slow, distraught pounding.
"Who was that chunky-loo kin' redhead I saw goin' into your apartment the other afternoon?" Greg asked Susan. "The one with an ass on her that wouldn't quit."
"That was ... that was ... " Susan hesitated, taken by surprise. She couldn't give Christine's name. Suppose these dreadful boys somehow involved Christine in their unspeakable schemes? "It must have been Alice Stone," she improvised.
"A friend?" Greg persisted.
"An acquaintance," Susan answered. "She's not ... I don't see her very often."
"Listen," Georgie broke in. "It's gonna be a while yet before she warms up enough to take us on. Why can't she be suckin' on a couple pricks in the meantime?"
Susan's cold stomach crawled.
"A damn good idea," Max said emphatically.
"Then I get to go first," Georgie chortled. He went to the bed and took a pillow from it. He carried it to the fireplace and threw it down in front of Susan. "Kneel down," the boy said importantly.
Susan sought to find her voice which seemed to have shriveled in the back of her throat. "N-no," she said faintly.
"Let's use a belt on her ass this time," Max said sardonically.
"Oh, n-no!" Susan said quickly. "But don't m-make me do this. Please." Her eyes puddled with tears of self-pity.
"Here comes the damn waterworks again," Max said disgustedly. "I never saw such a weepy broad."
Georgie pointed at the pillow. "Down," he said.
"Do what he says," Greg said sharply when Susan still hesitated. "A mouthful of cock never hurt a girl."
Susan sobbed openly, then sank to her knees on the pillow. Georgie crowded up against her at once, pushing his groin into her face and Susan stared in horror at the slender penis with its red head bobbing in front of her lips.
"Prick or belt," Carlos said sadistically from behind her as Susan swallowed several times.
If she had any courage, she'd take the belt, Susan thought despairingly. But they'd just whip her until she gave in and then force her to suck the prick anyway. She moved her head forward gingerly until the rank odor of unwashed boy assailed her nostrils.
She tried to make her mind a blank as she took Georgie's slender rod in her left hand and advanced it toward her mouth. The boy already had the beginning of an erection. Shutting her eyes, Susan inched her face forward toward the stiffening cock.
The rubbery tip bumped her chin, then under her nose. It rubbed against her lips and she felt a quiver in Georgie's body. "Suck it in!" the boy said hoarsely. Susan took a quick breath and lipped the tip inside her mouth. "Jesus!" Georgie groaned.
"Work your tongue around it, bitch!" Max ordered. "Or we'll really make your ass smoke!"
Susan swirled her tongue around the slightly-greasy protuberance inside her mouth. Georgie came up on his toes and lunged at her and Susan almost choked as more of the boy's prick was shoved inside. She thought she would gag.
"Suck on it!" Max demanded. "Suck hard!"
She couldn't breathe except through her nostrils. She pursed her mouth and drew inward. "Oooooh, Jesus H. Christ!" Georgie exclaimed. Susan sucked vigorously, wanting to get it over with quickly. The quivering erection slid back and forth between her semi parted lips. She ran her tongue at it again and Georgie gasped. "Hey! She's gonna make me come! I'm gonna pull out! It's her cunt I wanta fuck!"
"Go ahead and shoot," Max advised him. "You'll be back up again before you can whistle Dixie."
But Georgie was already beyond heeding or caring. Susan's mouth and lips were assaulted by a hard-jabbing motion of the boy's hips. Then Georgie gave a high-pitched yelp and came up on his toes again as he deluged Susan's mouth with a prick-jerking, jet-propelled come.
Susan choked, swallowed desperately, choked again stranglingly and swallowed again. Her eyes bulged as rivulets of uncontained semen ran from the corners of her mouth and dripped onto her swaying breasts. Georgie pulled out of her mouth and she could breathe again. "Ohhhh-h-h-h!" she moaned piteously, wiping at her mouth, chin and bare breasts with her hands.
She doubled forward slowly over the pillow, trying to keep from retching. She felt hands on her upthrust bottom; then her still-tender hind cheeks were spread widely. She could see Georgie, Greg and Carlos, so she knew it was Max. She squeaked in dismay as he inserted his little finger into her anus. Panic flooded her as she realized how her near-total exposure must look to staring eyes.
Max probed with the finger, twisting it to widen the aperture. Susan cried out in pain and tried to shuffle off the pillow on her knees. Max seized her waist with his free arm, meantime boring deeper with the finger. "Man, I mean ... that's a tight asshole!" he grunted, corkscrewing his fingertip into Susan's flinching rectum. The first joint of his finger had disappeared and he was still gaining ground slowly.
"Ohhhh! Ohhhh! Ohhhhh!" Susan cried out in acute distress. "S-stop him! S-someone please stop h-him!"
Max released her waist and pulled his finger out. It emerged from the constrictive anus with a popping sound. "Where'd we leave the Vaseline?" he demanded.
"Over on the shelf," Greg answered. "You gonna plug her bunghole?"
"Bet your ass."
"Well, I want a shot at her cunt first. You forgotten you spoke up for first crack at it?"
"I changed my mind," Max declared. "I'd rather pack her shit."
"Okay," Greg said. He reached down and tapped the sniveling Susan on the shoulder. "Onto the bed, sugar." He paused and looked at the others. "Or does anyone else wanna waste a load down her throat?" No one replied. "Okay, onto the bed," he repeated.
Susan struggled erect as slowly as she dared. Her anus still throbbed from the painful intrusion of the hard fingertip. The nipples of her breasts felt sticky from the overflow from Georgie's come. The inside of her mouth felt defiled.
Greg took her in his arms when she was standing upright. He rubbed his stomach against hers and his chest against her breasts. Susan felt his hard muscularity along the entire length of her body; then Greg's stiffening prick rose up and prodded her between her thighs. Despite herself her breathing quickened.
He inserted a hand at her thigh juncture and forced it upward against her sex-split. "Open up, sugar," he said. Susan spread her thighs. The hand between them turned over and cupped her entire sex upon its palm. The hand squeezed lightly and Susan shivered. Disturbing sensations were beginning to materialize within her.
"Shake hands with it, baby," he told her. Timidly she took hold of the hard prong bumping against her stomach. She was afraid her mounting excitement was going to betray itself not only in her face but by an accretion of moistness upon the pussylips in Greg's warm palm. Greg moved his hand, separated a finger and inserted it into her damp passage. Susan's legs quivered.
"She's gettin' hot!" Georgie declared delightedly. "Give her a good frig, Greg!"
He worked a few sticky pubic hairs out of the way, then began to plunge the finger in and out of Susan rapidly. The penetrating finger pursued her into her quavering depths. Greg's hard-feeling mouth came down upon Susan's suddenly, startling her. In all her previous hard usage by the group, none had ever kissed her.
Greg's mouth forced Susan's open and his tongue searched for hers. She squirmed against his hard belly and thrusting cock as the steadily frigging finger in her seeping sex organ stirred a latent heat. She could feel her nipples drawing up into two tight, little purple buds while her fingers opened and closed upon the prick in her hand.
Greg broke the fused contact of their hot mouths and Susan buried her head against his shoulder, not wanting anyone to see her face. The rapidly moving finger in her flaming cunt was driving her crazy. Even the soles of her feet itched. She moaned softly and tried to sit down on Greg's hand to work the finger into herself more deeply.
Laughter from the watching group caused a wave of shame to envelop her, but she tried to tell herself she didn't care. All that mattered was the glowing, squirmy feeling inside her fingered pussy that demanded something else be done about it.
"Ask me," Greg said.
She raised her head to look at him. "Ask you?"
"Ask me for what you want."
She knew what he meant.
A few days before she might literally have died before complying. Now it didn't seem to matter. She knew she wouldn't have hesitated at all if they had been alone. The listening, watching boys were a deterrent, but only a deterrent. The heat in her flesh had changed her priorities.
"F-fuck me, Greg," she said unsteadily.
The boys whooped. Susan ignored them. She rubbed her bare thighs together over the blond boy's wrist where it curved in between her legs. She rubbed her breasts feverishly against his hairy chest. All discretion, all the time-worn tenets of ladylike behavior seemed to have flown out the window into the pouring rain outside. All Susan knew was that she wanted the steely, rod-like masculinity in her hand inside her cunt and she was going to have it.
The finger withdrew and she almost cried out at its loss. Greg picked her up and carried her to the bed. The sheet felt gritty upon her flesh, but she hardly noticed it. She sank down on her back and widened her thighs eagerly while she raised her bottom to accommodate the pillow Greg slipped under it.
"I have never seen a female in such heat," Carlos said quietly to the others.
Susan barely heard. Greg was crouching over her, his straining big cock prodding her soft flesh. She reached between her legs for it and drew it up against her slit. She heard her own hissing breath as the blunt head slipped inside. Hot sparklers seemed to be going off in her internally and nothing but the entirety of that monstrous tool was going to satisfy her itch.
The big prick slid up inside her pussy, filling it deliciously. "Ooooooh!" Susan murmured. Greg began to move in and out of her with long, slow strokes and Susan thrust her bare bottom upward in time to the deliriously penetrating down strokes. She heard herself shamelessly mouthing expressions of supreme gratification. "Mmmmm! Mmmmm! Ahhhh! Yessss! Ahhhh!"
She raised her legs higher to get more of the hard pole inside her. Quicksilver tinglings rippled through her thighs and round belly. She came so quickly and so easily that it completely surprised her. A single surge of tight-clasping thighs and she felt herself inundating the hard-working prick. She sank back, slack-limbed and dewy-eyed, while the lovely meat continued to slam up into her quivering sex-grotto.
She raised her head in disbelief when Greg's continued hard fucking of her set off another hot coal in her interior. Her eyes encountered the watching faces at the foot of the bed, but she closed them out of her mind. Her thighs rose and seized solidly upon Greg's midsection again. Her hips rose, higher and higher, corkscrewing upward until her weight rested upon her shoulders and the back of her neck. Her cunt walls fluttered madly, grabbing ecstatically at the gristly intruder therein.
Susan came again in a frenzied, wriggling burst of lustful energy that almost wrenched her out from beneath Greg. "Ohhhhh! Ohhhhh! It's good!" her excited cries rang through the cabin. "It's ... oooooh! I'm ... COMMMMING! Ohhhh, soooo gooooood!"
Then Greg's weight submerged her while he buried his chin in her neck and plunged and plunged and plunged and plunged upon her until, with a savage yell, he shot a boiling load of jism up into Susan's already juicy cranny.
Max broke the subsequent silence as the pair on the bed lay slackly entwined. "I never hope to see a hotter piece of ass than that," he said almost reverently.
Greg rolled off Susan onto his side. He looked at her half-wonderingly for a moment, then shrugged and climbed from the bed. His big chest was heaving from his exertions. Carlos was standing beside the bed, engorged prick in hand. Greg waved at Susan. "It's your ball game," he said to his friend.
Susan felt curiously divorced from proceedings as Carlos moved onto the bed and widened her slack thighs. Mentally she was still savoring the dying sensations from the tremendous fuck Greg had given her. The swarthy-skinned Carlos applied his prickhead to her swimming hole and surged inside her. Susan felt almost indifferent. Her emotions appeared to be in limbo.
Carlos settled his knees and picked up Susan's plump, nude buttocks. He began to ride her and she flexed herself under him automatically but with none of the unblushing lasciviousness Greg had induced in her. In a strange way she felt almost comfortable. She had to reach into her memory to recall that this was a terribly shocking thing that was being done to her by this group of savagely intimidating youths.
The steady slapping sound of Carlos' belly against Susan's resounded throughout the cabin. It was so quiet in the big room Susan could hear the sound of the rain on the roof. Then the soles of her feet began to tingle; to burn. Incredulously, she felt the cock in her cunt fanning another glowing coal. Python-like, her legs climbed and clamped Carlos. Her behind began to heave of its own accord. A yelp trembled in her throat, only to be expelled as a grunt when Carlos' next hard plunge buried him to his balls.
"Ohhhhhh!" Susan found her voice. "Ooooooh! You're ... I'm doing ... it AGAIN! Ohhhhh! Ohhhhh! Ahhhhh-h-h-h!"
She spiraled upward in a mind-bending flood tide of nerve-shattering sensation from the series of eruptions in her fiery vulva. Then she floated downward, feeling thoroughly drained. She barely noticed as Carlos worked himself up to his own climax and doused her slack-mouthed quim. She felt achy and sweaty and tired.
But almost blissfully tired.
She raised her head again at a touch on her arm.
Max was grinning down at her, hard-eyed, a jar in his hand. "Roll over," he said.
Susan blinked. Carlos was standing beside the bed, Georgie at its foot. Greg was sitting on its edge. "What?" she asked blankly.
"Roll over so I can grease your asshole."
CHAPTER 8
Susan looked instinctively at Greg sitting on the edge of the bed. "You're not going to let him do that to me, are you?" she pleaded.
"Why not?" he said lazily. "That's his thing. He likes to do it."
"But ... " She sat up in a panic. "You mustn't let him! It's ... it's ugly! It's dangerous! I might ... I might get cancer! Please! Please don't let him do it to me!"
The blond boy shook his head negatively. "In our crowd everyone does his own thing," he told Susan. "Look, it's not the end of the world, sugar. Plenty of assholes get stretched every day without no one readin' about it in the newspaper."
"But you were just s-so n-nice to me!" Susan's voice trembled. "And now you're being so h-hateful! Please, I'm ... I'm afraid! Please don't let him do it! I'll do anything ... "
"You're goddamn right you'll do anything, startin' right now," Max interrupted her harshly. "C'mere, Georgie, an' help me hold her." He addressed Susan again. "Now are you gonna roll over on your belly or am I gonna punch you around?"
Susan stared for a long moment at Max's brutally cynical features wreathed in a sneer.
Georgie looked interested.
Carlos looked bored.
Greg looked impassive.
Susan rolled over onto her stomach with a muffled sob. She tried hard to quell the fear-stricken sense of misgiving and outright dread that welled up inside her as she listened to the cynical Max unscrewing the lid of the jar of Vaseline. From her stomach-down position on the bed she could see through the window outside and she was surprised to see it was dark. The rain still hammered relentlessly upon the cabin roof. Susan hadn't realized that the sexual experiments of the group upon her shrinking flesh had continued for so long.
But bad as most of the other things that had been done to her had been, she was frightened most of all by Max's proposal. The thought of anything, no matter how tiny, ruthlessly penetrating her tight and extremely sensitive anus was enough to give her the shakes. Max's penis, while nowhere near as large as Greg's, was sturdy-looking enough to make her stomach quake at the thought of what was in store for her.
Greg's indifference when she pleaded with him to intercede hurt her. She expected nothing from Georgie; the boy's lively curiosity precluded his saying no to any sexual experiment involving Susan, no matter how outrageous. Carlos was coolly aloof to anything except his own pleasure. And Max appeared to be actively sadistic where all women were concerned.
But Greg ...
Actually, of course, Susan didn't quite know why she had felt Greg might come to her rescue. He had certainly abused her just as much as any of the others. Only ... only not in the same way. Today, for instance: If it had been just the two of them, alone, without the others watching, what he had done to her would have been ... Susan found herself flushing hotly at the unbidden thought that what Greg had done to her wouldn't have been too bad at all.
How could she even think such a thing? When she had been forced to accept ...
"Chrissake, you got enough there to grease the ways for a battleship," she was recalled to the present by hearing Greg say. The next second she felt her resiliently fleshy left buttock grabbed in Max's clutching fingers and a great gob of cold-feeling Vaseline plastered between the resultingly exposed, deep cleft between her hind cheeks. Her thighs tightened beneath her as she instinctively started to roll away, but she checked herself. She already had the bruises and the sore belly to show that Max would punch viciously when frustrated.
She made herself relax as Max's rough-penetrating fingers began to spread the Vaseline around her tight buttonhole. She felt her face getting hot again when she realized what she must look like with her global hemispheres spread widely while the indecent greasing of her most intimate flesh continued. Max worked the Vaseline all around her anus, then began forcing it inside with the same little finger he had employed previously to pierce her unwilling flesh. Despite her best effort to remain passive, Susan writhed slowly at the indignity and the renewed, painful finger pressure upon her nether orifice.
A rising tide of fear assailed her. What happened to women who had their bottom-holes forcefully attacked by a rampant penis? Did they have to go to a doctor? To a hospital? Would she have to have an operation afterward to repair possible damage done to her flinching rectum? In college she had listened to the girls discuss sodomy with smirks and giggles, but it was no laughing matter now.
"Vaseline your prick, Max," Greg said abruptly. "I'll get her ready." He picked up a pillow from the bed and beckoned to Susan. "C'mon," he said to her and walked to the back of the cabin.
Susan crawled from the bed and followed him after a second's hesitation. She averted her eyes from the sight of Max spreading Vaseline on his erection while Carlos and Georgie watched him. "You're h-helping him do this ... this awful thing to me," Susan said in an undertone to Greg. Her lips were trembling and her hands felt clammy.
"Don't sweat it, sugar," Greg returned airily. "Just do what you're told an' you won't get hurt. You can take four pricks up there the size of his." He grinned at her sardonically. "Now when I get around to reamin' your asshole, you'll have somethin' to worry about." He dropped the pillow on the floor and kicked it against the cabin's rear wall.
"Kneel on that an' put your shoulder against the wall," the blond boy instructed Susan. "Not your head, because your neck will start to twist when he shoves it into you. Kind of tuck your head down to one side and use your shoulder to brace yourself."
"Oooooooh!" Susan wailed in panic at the realization of the spectacle she would present undergoing sodomization. "This is d-dreadful!"
"Get down there," Greg warned. "Here he comes."
"N-no!" she cried. "I w-won't!"
"I figured that," he said calmly and took hold of her arm. "Carlos, get on her other side."
The dark-skinned Carlos stepped forward and took Susan's other arm. "No!" she shrieked as she felt herself being lifted from her feet and forced onto her knees on the pillow. Her head rammed the rough bark of the cabin's logs. She battled futilely against the strong hands holding her as she felt Max dropping onto his knees on the pillow behind her. He separated her legs so he could move closer to her greased buttock-cleft.
"Now isn't that an ass worth punkin'?" Max declared gloatingly. He shuffled forward on his knees and spread Susan's plumped-out nude buttocks widely with his hard-clutching hands, applying much more force than was necessary.
"No!" Susan howled again when she felt the fleshy prong probing at her crevice. She tried to hump her bottom away from the searching cock, but Max's hard-gripping hands prevented it. "No! No! No! Please! P-please! You'll ... oooooh!"
Her pained, horrified exclamation was caused by Max's placing the tip of his cock against Susan's anus and shoving hard. He lodged the head and shoved again, brutally.
"Noooooo!" Susan screamed. "Ohhhhh, you're splitting meeee!"
"A little higher up an' you got the angle, Max," Greg observed critically. "Then bear down on it."
Susan screamed again, full-throatedly, as Max rammed at her stricken flesh. She had never experienced such pain. She could feel her riven sphincter muscle slowly giving way in what felt like a tearing action inside. "Shove back against it an' make it easy on yourself, you stupid cunt!" Max snarled at her, resting for a moment.
Susan could no more have shoved backward against that burning, iron rod in her entrails than she could have flown. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she tried to butt down the cabin wall with her shoulder to get away from the agonizing pain in her rear end. She yelled again when Max resumed his plunging at her, although the sharpest edge of the acute, piercing agony seemed slightly dulled.
"He's in," Greg observed to Carlos.
"Yes," the dark-skinned boy agreed. "You would have had a lot more trouble."
Susan couldn't believe it. Max's better-than-average-sized erection rammed all the way between her hind cheeks, completely inside her crucified anus? But then she could feel the boy's belly against her bare behind.
Max was reveling in the feel of his flesh-constricted cock bursting through the barrier of Susan's sphincter into the warm-butter expansion of her rectum. He began to work his prick in and out of Susan's asshole in short, hard jabs. She wept, pleaded and begged to no avail. Max's excited reaming of her sorely distended flesh continued.
"Damn, she's ... tight!" he panted, working away lustily. "Her asshole ... is pullin' at ... my cock ... like you wouldn't ... believe!" His voice rose harshly. "Ahhhhhhh, Jesus! Too soon! Too damn soon!"
Susan felt his quick-jerking climax as Max boiled over inside her expanded rectum. He collapsed along her back as she felt a warm, sticky-feeling fluid run from her partly plugged anus as Max's erection diminished. It oozed down her crevice and dripped onto her calves. She couldn't seem to catch her breath fully. Her shoulder ached from her struggle against the wall. Her anus didn't feel quite as full as it had previously, but a dull ache persisted. The relief was minimal.
She whimpered in renewed torment as he began to pull out of her. Max placed his hands on her perspiration-slick waist and used it for leverage to work his way out. Even partly shrunk as it was, the head of his prick emerged from Susan's suffering anus with a cork-popping sound. Susan quivered with relief, although her lacerated flesh still smarted dreadfully.
"Turn her around," Max ordered.
Before she realized what was happening, she felt herself lifted, then replaced on her knees as she faced the sneering Max. The boy held out his flaccid penis toward her. "Clean it off," he demanded harshly. "With your mouth. An' do a good job or you'll be sorry."
Susan thought she would faint. She stared at the shriveled penis, dripping with semen, melting Vaseline and brown flecks of her own excrement. She strained backward against the hands holding her arms, but Greg and Carlos forced her inexorably forward. Max grabbed her by her hair and pulled her face down into his rank-smelling groin.
He rubbed her nose thoroughly in the commingled effluvia on his cock. "Yeah, there's some of your own shit on there, too," he told Susan with a hard grin. "Now hustle up an' clean it off like I told you."
He yanked at her hair, smearing her whole face with the leavings on his prick. "Open your mouth, damn you!" he said fiercely. He pulled at her hair until Susan thought her head was on fire.
Helplessly she opened her mouth as tears of pain and shame streamed from her eyes. Max crammed his dripping cock into her mouth. Susan gagged, swallowed desperately, gagged again and tried to expel the nauseating prick from her mouth. Max foiled her by taking hold of her ears and pulling her face right onto it. "Suck, you cunt!" she heard him rasping above her bowed head as she thought she would go out of her mind from the agony of her cruelly twisted ears.
She sucked on the limp prick frantically, breathing hard through her nostrils and swallowing noisily. The back of her neck ached dully from her unnatural position. The hands on her arms held her immobile. "You use your teeth, bitch, an' you'll lose an ear," Max warned.
Just when she thought her burning lungs would refuse to function altogether, Max finally pulled away from her. She would have collapsed on the floor except for the restraining hands on her arms which still held her in a kneeling position. Greg and Carlos lifted her upright and half led, half carried her to the bed. Susan's eyes were glazed and her tongue kept licking at the corners of her mouth, trying vainly to remove all traces of what had taken place.
She sprawled on the blanket-covered bed limply, all resistance gone. For the first time since she'd looked at the bottle of sleeping pills in her medicine cabinet, she wished she could die right that instant. She could never face the world again after what had been done to her.
"Man, he was really rough on her, wasn't he?" Georgie said in an awed tone.
"What the hell are you, chicken-livered?" Max jeered. "That's what they really like. All of them."
"You've got a turn coming when you get a hard-on," Carlos reminded Georgie.
"Well, Christ, I had a hard-on till I watched that." The boy sounded uncomfortable. "She looks kinda ... kinda used up, don't you think, guys?"
Max laughed. "Her asshole, maybe," he said importantly. "But there's nothin' used up about her cunt. Let's see you climb on an' make it with her."
Georgie hesitated, then sat down on the bed beside Susan. He reached out a hand to a nude breast heaving from Susan's hard breathing. He toyed with the nipple, which refused to stiffen, but Georgie's flutelike prick rose up from between his thighs. He looked down at it with almost comical surprise.
"There you are," Max goaded the younger boy. "Let's see you drive the spike."
"Help me move her," Georgie said to Carlos.
Together they shifted Susan into the center of the bed. She offered no resistance. The older boy spread her legs as Georgie moved in between them. The boy placed his hands on the inside of her thighs and widened them still more before lowering his slim belly onto Susan's.
She stared up at the rough-adzed beams of the cabin's ceiling as she felt the manipulation which seemed to be taking place a long way off. All her faculties seemed dulled. Her parted thighs rested slackly on either side of Georgie's young body as the boy found her loose-feeling hole with the tip of his excited prick and guided it inside with hand-action and quick-joggling, skinny hips.
Susan lay motionless as Georgie rose and fell on her sore stomach. She felt the young prick deep inside her and yet she really didn't feel it. Her senses seemed anesthetized. Sensation appeared to have been numbed. She found that she didn't know what to do with her hands as Georgie grunted and heaved and toiled.
Then the boy's thin buttocks tried to fling themselves in all directions at once as his rabbit-fast hip movements squirted his seed into Susan. The boy rested for a moment upon her, breathing heavily, then withdrew with a peculiar expression upon his face.
"Well, you made it again, kid," Greg said cheerfully, clapping him on a shoulder.
"Yeah, but it wasn't very good," Georgie said glumly.
"Wasn't very good?" Greg repeated.
"You guys spoiled it for me. She was just about knocked out."
"Her asshole's knocked out," Max boasted. "Go ahead, ask her how it feels."
"Ahhhhh, you're sick!" Georgie declared.
"Who's sick?" Max flared angrily.
"Each to his own mutton," Carlos said warningly to Georgie. "That is the rule, correct?" He looked at Greg. "I think it is time we left here."
"Yeah," Greg agreed. He looked at the naked Susan still slack-thighed on her back on the bed. "We got to get her back to the church parkin' lot."
They sorted out partly dry clothes in front of the cabin's fireplace. "These things look like they were pulled out've my asshole," Greg grumbled, holding up a pair of wrinkled slacks.
"Or hers," Max added with his mean-sounding laugh.
Greg brought Susan her clothing. Everything was damp, crushed-looking and shapeless. He had to help her into them. He tried to create some order in her tousled, rain-wet hair with his fingers but gave it up. Susan sat on the bed again like a mannequin when he left her to pull on the rest of his own rumpled clothes.
"We all set?" Georgie called from the cabin door. The younger boy seemed anxious to get away. He avoided looking at Susan.
Carlos glanced at her as she sat slack-limbed on the edge of the bed. "Can she walk?" he asked Greg.
"Sure she can walk," Max interjected. "She's just puttin' on an act."
"We're leavin' now," Greg said to Susan.
He had to say it again before she heard him. She drew a deep breath, then rose painfully to her feet. She took a hesitant, uncertain step forward, then another and finally walked unsteadily to the door. Georgie was looking outside. "Still rainin'," he said gloomily. "We're gonna get wet all over again just gettin' to her car."
"Put her in the back seat," Greg said to Carlos. "I'll drive."
Susan remembered little of the return trip, except that it seemed to take forever. There was a dull, swollen-feeling ache in her rectum. Her scalp hurt, her stomach hurt and her arms hurt where the hard hands had gripped her. She felt dispirited and exhausted. She looked around disinterestedly when the car finally stopped, then realized belatedly that Greg had pulled up beside the boys' car in the church parking lot. "You guys go ahead," Greg said. "I'll see to it she makes it to her place."
"Suit yourself," Max said indifferently.
The boys piled out and ran through the hard-pelting rain to the other car.
Greg drove Susan's car to her apartment. He helped her out of the back seat and assisted her up the two flights of stairs to her door. He unlocked it with his duplicate key and ushered her inside. He slipped on the chain latch, then walked around the living room, turning on lights.
"What now?" Susan said as she stood and watched him. She felt tired beyond belief, but for some reason she felt no real apprehension.
She had revived slightly from the emotional and physical nadir of the final thirty minutes at the cabin which she was positive now represented the absolute low point in her life. She toed off her muddy shoes before stepping upon the living room carpeting. "What now?" she repeated when Greg didn't respond at once.
"I thought I'd give you a hot bath an' get a meal into you," he said easily. He walked into the bathroom and Susan heard the welcome sound of water running in the tub.
She stared at him when he returned. "After ... after ... " Her lips began to tremble. "After the b-beastly things you did to m-me, how can you p-possibly ... "
"You don't get the picture, sugar," he interrupted her. He sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside him. "Sit down here, an' I'll explain it to you."
"There is no possible explanation," Susan said stiffly, but after a moment's hesitation, she went to the couch and sat down wearily. Her bottom hurt and she remembered the humiliating spanking she had almost forgotten in the light of everything that had happened to her afterward.
Greg was regarding her with a quizzical look in his light-blue eyes and a lazy smile on his handsome face. "How's your asshole?" he inquired.
"You're ... you're unspeakable!" Susan blazed in the first genuine anger untouched by fear she had experienced since she'd found the boys in her car in the church parking lot. But her adrenalin was still too low to maintain her indignant resentment at the intimate reference. "It hurts," she heard herself saying frankly.
"A tub of hot water'll fix it up," Greg assured her with a smile that seemed almost solicitous.
What on earth am I doing, sitting here beside this boy who helped to brutalize me? Susan wondered. The silence lengthened until it began to make her nervous. "I'm waiting for your explanation," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "Although we both know there can't be a rational one."
"That's where you're wrong," Greg answered. "Your problem is you haven't properly sized up the scene we're in." He waved a hand. "The world we're in. There's victims, an' there's victors. You're a victim."
"But ... but you can't mean ... "
"I mean the system's not like it used to be. There's no more wrong or right. It's only can you make it work or can't you. The new style is action an' reaction, an' you got to be tough."
"But that's the most nihilistic thing I've ever heard!" Susan retorted warmly. "The world isn't completely a jungle in which the weak are ... "
"Oh, yes it is," he cut her off again. "The strong make pacts to bring down the weak. Like you."
She drew a slow breath. "But you don't seem like that," she said, trying to understand. "Sometimes." She groped for words. "Suppose Max walked in the door right now and wanted to ... wanted to hurt me again? Would you let him?"
"I'd help him," Greg said steadily.
And looking into the depths of his light-blue eyes, Susan realized he was speaking the truth.
"I wasn't put here to help out with your salvation," Greg went on earnestly. "You got to work out your own. I'm not mad at you, sugar. Hell, I even like you. You're kind of cute in a simple way. An' you're a really sweet fuck. But I made a pact with the guys. That way we're all sure of gettin' what we want." He rose from the couch. "I better shut off that water. Shuck your duds an' have a good soak while I fix us a bite to eat."
Susan made up her mind while he was gone. "Greg," she said carefully when he returned. "I'm tired. I hurt. I'm just ... just naturally unraveled. Could you ... would you give me a break tonight and ... and a chance to get my second wind?" Somehow she was sure that he would when he wasn't running with the wolfpack as he had been that afternoon.
"Sure," he said easily, smiling. "S'pose I come by tomorrow night an' see you?"
"That will be fine," Susan lied. She couldn't help thinking ruefully how utterly incongruous it was for this boy to be talking about a date as though nothing had ever happened between them.
She went with him to the apartment door and they said good nights.
She stood in the hallway, the incongruity still in the forefront of her mind, after Greg had gone.
The events of the afternoon rushed through her mind and a quick shudder rippled through her. The base of her spine felt chilly. There was no glossy patina that could be applied which would erase the inner marks of the experience. For it had been a terrible experience. And despite Greg's strange gentleness when he was alone with her, it was not an experience that had ended. He had said so himself. How was she ever going to be able to extricate herself from this incredible situation?
She knew she didn't want Greg "coming by" her apartment, even alone.
And yet at times Greg could be ... he could be ...
Susan gave herself a little shake. Stop being so forgiving, she told herself briskly. They're all animals, Greg no less than the others. She was on the verge of becoming maudlin. Far better that she put it all out of her mind and get into the soaking, hot water, which would help to eradicate some of the physical aspects of the day's horror.
She had just started to leave the hallway when there was a knock at the outside door. She turned and looked at it with a quick renewal of fear. Greg had come back for something. Don't antagonize him, a corner of her mind insisted. Don't spoil this new rapport, however tenuous.
She took off the chain latch and opened the door. "Yes, Gr ... " she stared to say and the words died in her throat.
It wasn't Greg.
Wally Duncan, the hulking janitor, stood there beaming at Susan. "Hi, there, Miz Susan," he said cheerfully with more assurance than his usual shyness warranted. One whiff of his breath and Susan knew that his fortified spirits were alcoholic. "I thought you might like ... "
"I've had a bad day, Wally," she said rapidly. "If you want to talk about something, why don't you see if I'm home tomorrow afternoon? I'm sure I'll be feeling much better by then."
He looked baffled, like a lost dog, Susan thought. "Well, if it was jus' me, Miz Susan, but there's my friend ... "
He looked over his shoulder. Susan could see a dim shadow behind him in the corridor. She couldn't make out details clearly. "Your friend?"
"Yeah. My ol' Army buddy, just passin' through town. An' he's on'y gonna be here tonight." The janitor blinked at Susan earnestly. "An' I been tellin' him how nice you was to me." Wally Duncan pushed past Susan confidently and entered the apartment.
The second man, a stocky, ill-kempt type with the sour smell of cheap wine about him, followed on the janitor's heels. Susan's larynx felt shriveled as the newcomer closed and latched the door. "Wally!" she got out in a choked voice.
"It'll on'y take a few minutes," the janitor assured her. He began to remove his clothing. "My friend here didn' believe me when I told him how nice you was to me, so I told him I'd show him."
Susan felt a deep-welling scream rising from the depths of her esophagus, but she couldn't get it past the raw-feeling lump in her throat. "No!" she blurted finally. "We can't ... I can't ... you mustn't expect that just because of what happened the other time with ... with ... "
Wally Duncan paused with his pants half-down. "Ohh, I never told a soul about them!" he said quickly. "But they had nothin' to do with us." He started to push the pants down still further, then stopped. "Did they?"
Susan thought her brain would explode. She couldn't find a direct answer. She didn't want to offend him. If he ever started talking about what he'd seen, or participated in ...
"Can't you please stop in tomorrow and we'll talk this over, Wally? Please?" She hardly recognized her own strained voice.
He smiled at her helplessly. "If it was any other time," he said in his slow-witted manner. "You see how it is? Sure you do. My friend'll be gone tomorrow." He disposed of his work pants and stripped off his shorts.
Susan swallowed hard as she glimpsed the meaty hammer between his hairy legs. She hadn't felt this helpless with the boys. At least she could count upon their silence, while with this halfwit ...
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave at once, Wally!" she said sharply.
He looked hurt. "But I can't leave," he said in his pleading tone. "I told my friend I'd show him, see?" He approached Susan and put his hand on her shoulders. She shivered at the strength in his big hands. "Jus' slip out've your things, okay?" She recoiled from him as he stooped and took hold of the hem of her dress and started to pull it up over her head.
"Wally!" she exclaimed.
The hitherto silent, second man stepped forward. "If she's gonna give you a hard time, I'll help you with her, Wally," he said. His voice was alcohol-hoarsened.
"She's not gonna give me a hard time, an' you don't need to help me," the janitor explained patiently. "Miz Susan is my friend, see? She don't call me ugly. She's nice to me. We've got a secret. Friends have secrets, don't they?" A slow smile parted his thick lips.
"Ahhhhh, lemme straighten 'er out for you," the wino rasped. He drew back his right fist.
"Don' you hit Miz Susan!" the janitor exclaimed angrily, extending a blocking forearm. The misdirected forearm struck Susan with shocking force. A brilliant white light flared; then she couldn't see anything. She had no recollection of falling, but she found herself on the floor.
"There, now see what you done?" she heard Wally Duncan's voice from a long way off. "You made me hurt her." Susan felt herself picked up like a rag doll and carried into the bedroom. Her brain was functioning but not her motor reflexes. She felt as though she was under water. Her coordination was gone.
On the bed, Wally Duncan removed her dress. Susan tried in vain to scream as her slip followed. Her bra was removed; then the big, fumbling hands were at the waistband of her panties. "Pretty," Wally Duncan said slaveringly. "Soooo pretty." He pulled the panties down Susan's plump white thighs.
Susan felt like a mechanical toy with its spring wound down. She simply couldn't function.
"Pretty," Wally Duncan whispered, kissing a jutting breast. "Pretty." He groped with his mouth for a perky nipple.
Then he climbed onto the bed with Susan.
CHAPTER 9
She tried to push the burly body away, but she had no strength in her hands. Her jaw felt numb where the powerful forearm had struck her and the numbness extended to all her limbs. Wally Duncan clasped her comfortably in his arms and drew her down on top of him as he stretched out on his back.
Susan was perfectly conscious of her embarrassing position with her wide-flaring, nude hind cheeks totally exposed to the leering gaze of the wino, but she was unable to do anything about it. The janitor held her firmly, not with force, but effortlessly. She could feel his thick rod jutting upward into her crotch. "Put it in for me like you did the last time," he whispered pleadingly.
She was still unable to resist.
Wally Duncan picked her up by her hips and settled her on his enormous tool. By accident he hit her slot exactly and he gave a low grunt of satisfaction as Susan felt her pierced quim slowly begin to slip downward and engulf his turgid prong. He played pattycake with the rubber balls of her capacious hind cheeks, then raised his head inquiringly. "What's that grease all over your behind, Miz Susan?"
The Vaseline, she thought despairingly.
"Grease?" the wino said alertly.
He moved closer to the bed just as the janitor began to move up and down under Susan. A sudden shower of hot sparks flowered in her interior as the big prick dilated her, signaling at least a partial cessation of her numbed incapacity to move. She pushed desperately at Wally Duncan, trying to free herself, but could make no impression.
She quivered as she felt another hand on her nude bottom and a hard finger probed at her lacerated anus. There was a short, hard laugh. "You know what that grease is, Wally?" the wino inquired. "Someone's been punkin' your girl friend in her asshole."
"Well, maybe she likes it that way," the janitor said loyally. He jogged up and down under Susan, still holding her hips and bursts of shooting stars flared in her interior. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the wino rapidly stripping off his clothes.
The shock brought her voice back along with a bit more strength, and she began to struggle. "N-no!" she gasped as the wino moved back to the bed. "No, no, no, no! What's he doing? Don't let him n-near me! Don't ... "
She shrieked as the wino picked up their blended legs and centered them on the bed, which creaked as he climbed onto it. "You're doing fine, Wally," he encouraged the janitor. "Don't mind me."
He placed his hands in the small of Susan's back and pushed her down even more firmly onto the janitor's thick prong busily engaged in ravishing her cranny. "No!" she bleated pitifully as she felt her quivering asscheeks being separated, the soft white moons cruelly spread apart. "Wally!" she screamed full-throatedly.
"I like it, too," the janitor whispered, busily sliding Susan up and down on his greased pole.
A finger stabbed at the dark little mouth of Susan's sore rectum. She cried out again as the little reddish ring, crinkly brown, resisted the attempted entrance. The finger slipped inside and twisted, hurting her terribly. Susan moaned, then gasped as a crushing weight was draped along her back, sandwiching her against Wally Duncan beneath her. Another prick, already oozing moisture against her alabaster buttocks, pressed firmly against the rubbery opening of her asshole.
"Wally!" she cried out again in futile protest as the prick-head was lodged by a hard shove. She was distracted nearly out of her mind by what was taking place in her boiling cunt as Wally fucked her steadily. A series of shoves drove the second prick up into her rectal area. She howled forlornly as it was forced into her torturously stretched anal passage.
There was no one to listen to her outcries.
Beneath her, Wally Duncan slavered and slobbered continuously as he hovered on the verge of coming, his mighty shoves from below forcing her upward into the hard-boring cock so painfully reaming her anguished anus.
The crucifying penis in her back passageway seemed to meld with her vertebrae. Susan could even feel, through the thin wall of flesh separating vagina and rectum, the thick prick of Wally Duncan brushing against the smaller one of the vicious sodomizer on her back. Tears spurted down her face at the degrading torment in her most sensitive flesh. She hurt so much she lost her voice again.
The man on her back instituted a lumbering rhythm that roughly matched the janitor's inside Susan's prick-filled cunt. The pain began to ease, but her feeling of self-loathing increased. Her sphincter finally relaxed, as it had that afternoon. Quick little eddies of pleasure rippled through her and she was unable to tell if they came from twat or asshole.
She began to move herself, caught herself in horror and paused, then resumed again, uncaring. She ... was ... getting ... so ... damn ... hot! "Ohhh!" she squealed involuntarily. "I'm ... ooooh! ... you're ... ohhhhhhh!"
The total depravity of her situation seemed to feed her masochistic sense of bodily abandonment. She squirmed furiously as she was bounced from prick to prick. Wally Duncan bellowed like a rutting bull and came with tremendous thrusts of his massive, jetting prick into Susan's quivering sex-sheath and she felt the responsive tickle in her traitorous interior as the man on her back savagely thrust into her sore but somehow willing rectum, pierced now to its warm-molasses core. The wino came with a hoarse shout and Susan felt his overflowing sperm oozing out of her stretched anus and running down her thighs.
She yelped shrilly as she felt her own violent come which wrenched her between the two sweat-sticky bodies. "Ohhhhh!" her voice soared as her vaginal walls fluttered madly. "Oooooh! I'm ... ooooh, my ... ohhhh! I'm COMMMMING!!"
She almost fainted from the excess of her wildly stimulated pleasure-senses. She came to only when a rending pain racked her as the wino pulled his prick from her dripping asshole with a loud, popping sound as her anal area clung tightly to the fleshy prong inserted in it.
Then Wally Duncan lifted her up off himself and she collapsed on the bed, almost as weak-feeling as after the accidental forearm blow to the jaw.
She could hear the two men whispering together, the wino urging something, the janitor refusing.
She didn't even care what it was about.
She felt totally drained, totally used.
She sensed Wally Duncan leaning down over her. "You seem tuckered, Miz Susan," she heard his anxious-sounding voice. "So we'll be leavin'. Thanks for bein' so nice to us."
She didn't really believe it, but they left.
She heard the apartment door close. The throbbing pain in her anus blended with a sweet sense of easement in her vagina.
It was an hour before she climbed from the bed and went into the bathroom. She drained the water Greg had drawn, cold now and refilled the tub. She sank down into the steaming water with a tired sigh. Both cunt and asshole felt sore from the excesses of the day.
She stared at the bathroom wall unseeingly.
Greg was coming to her apartment tomorrow night.
Greg, with his daredevil blue eyes and handsome features.
She shouldn't let him in.
She would be compounding her problem if she let him in. She chewed on her lower lip. It was shameful to even think about it, but even at that moment, drained as she felt, the thought of Greg's hard, young body was exciting.
She sighed again and reached for the soap.
Of course, if Greg came to her apartment door tomorrow night and forced his way inside ...