"Man!" Tony watched the nurse move. She walked with the grace of a ballet dancer, buttocks rubbing lightly together beneath the tight white uniform, breasts jouncing. Her hair was long, pulled straight back from her brow and tied in a girlish pony tail. How old could she be, he wondered. Twenty-two? Three? Too young to be working in a maximum security prison with a thousand men who hadn't known a woman in years.
Years! Twenty-five to thirty the commitment papers read. Tough Tony Giardino. He hadn't meant to kill the man, merely punch in his greasy face for the smart remark directed at Lois. But he was a pro boxer, a man whose hands were considered deadly weapons by law. All for Lois, whose hair was the same white-blonde color as the gauzy stuff on the young nurse's head. He opened and closed his fists, remembering. He eyed the attractive girl ... small, fine blemishless features ... lips that were naturally pink and pouting ... long and smooth peaches and whipped cream legs. Thighs.
What was Lois doing now, he wondered. Who was she fucking? Who?
"Do you have a pass?"
"Wha ...?" He blinked at the lovely girl, at the name on the badge-like pin all civilian personnel were required to wear. Jean Simmons. Jeanie? Was that what they called her? Like the movie star of the same name?
"A pass!" the nurse snapped. Her blue eyes grew cautious. A frown marred her brow. She looked about, as if searching for the cop who was somewhere in the quiet infirmary, supposedly keeping a sharp eye on things. "You ... you're not permitted in this area without a pass from your wing officer."
Tony scowled. The cop was off drinking coffee somewhere, he knew. Or reading a Playboy magazine. Or making a play for one of the other nurses. The new prison wasn't much different from the outside world: cunt all over the place, and everyone-cops and cons alike-making their pitch. "Nobody said anything about no pass," he said finally. "I cut myself is why I'm here."
He thrusted his bloody hand at her, displaying the gash where the homemade shank had sliced into three fingers. Good guy Tony. He deserved it for butting in; he should have known better than to try and break up a fight, to take a knife away from another con with a grudge. With ten years in, the possibility of parole a few months off and the rest of his bit to be served at the spanking new prison where everything was different-cleaner, better food, nurses and secretaries roaming the inner compound under guard-he had no business at the infirmary with a knife wound.
The nurse took his hand, examined the wound. "It ... it's awfully deep," she said in a small, soft voice, a voice that said, I'm new at this ... at prisons ... at nursing. "How ...?" She looked questioningly into his face.
You know how, he thought. Violence. A shiv. And I bet your cunt is deep too. Deep 'n' tight. I bet you could take a sore prick 'n' make it all better.
"Hobby work," he answered, using the excuse that had become a joke among the cons. No one would question it, he knew. The administration too had accepted the explanation as an out for a guy who couldn't say a buddy had gone off on a fit, flashing a shank. As long as no one was seriously hurt, the warden and his staff, under pressure because of the riots plaguing prisons throughout the country, figured a guy with a sliced hand had done everyone a favor, perhaps saved a life. He could see that even the new girl had been briefed on the ruse; that although she didn't believe him, she knew enough not to complicate things by asking more unanswerable questions.
He watched the nurse reach for a sterilized swab from the jar on the medication tray, felt the sting of the damp treated cotton. He flinched.
"Oh! I ... I'm sorry," she said, eyes wide, almost pleading. "It's gonna hurt some. I ... I have to get it clean before we stitch you up."
Tony nodded. He held his hand steady while she dabbed at the cuts. He looked swiftly about the glass cage, beyond which the hospital corridors, closed doors branching off either side, stretched like spokes from a hub. The building, like the rest of the prison, was ultra-modern, with recessed fluorescent lighting in the ceiling; floor to ceiling jalousie windows, tiles, a color TV in the lounge where the nurses sat and gossiped each noon, and the various tanks and equipment, all new and polished to a high gleam, to be found in an emergency room on the outside.
His gaze settled on the swinging door to the operating room. They'd have to go in there, he thought. Just him and Jeanie. Alone! He looked back at the girl, watched her tits press against the tight uniform with each breath she drew. Lois! If her face were painted, thick with red lipstick and green eye shadow, Jean Simmons could pass for Lois' twin. He wondered if she had the same white-blonde fuzz on her pussy.
"There!" Jeanie looked up with a smile, cocked her head. "A few stitches 'n' you'll be as good as new."
Tony felt her small slender fingers close reassuringly over his. His joint ached. She was beautiful-young, innocent. The type girl he'd been dreaming about for a decade of lonely nights in a cell. He was tempted to crush her to him, to mash her pink lips and bruise her soft body with the frustration that made his dick hard whenever a woman-any woman: young or old, fat or skinny or ugly-swished a female ass within shouting distance. He took a deep breath. "I'm as good as new just talking to you, baby," he blurted.
The frown returned to the girl's brow. She studied him, as if trying to decide whether he was just being nice or had cunt-her cunt-in mind. She released his hand. A tiny foot touched the pedal that opened the lid of the waste can, and a tinier hand dropped the bloody swab into the trash. She drew herself up tall, sniffled. She squared her small chin. "We'd better get you sewed up," she said, refusing to meet his gaze, staring instead at the large white-faced clock on the wall. "My relief'll be here in twenty minutes. I ... she's not as liberal as I am about guys in here without passes."
* * *
Alone that night, the lights out, the moon showing bright through the barred window high in the wall of his cell, Tony flexed the bandaged hand and thought about Jean. He hadn't felt the needle closing the cut. He'd felt only the girl's tiny fingers, her nearness. She'd seen the bulge at his fly, he was certain. She knew he was looking through the white, summer-weight uniform, envisioning her tits and belly and twat. And when she turned to go to the medicine cabinet across the operating room, wide hips working smoothly, the light from the window outlining her figure, the swell of her ass, he felt sure the abrupt backward glance held a promise, maybe even a dare.
He groaned. Rolling onto his side, he clutched his stiff cock. "I'd give my right nut for a piece of that pussy," he mumbled-almost a prayer. "Jesus!"
But he was in prison, he reminded himself. No matter how modern the complex, no matter how liberal the administration that allowed women to walk the grounds as if it were a college campus, he had only to touch the girl, make an improper advance and have her yell rape! and he'd be back in the dungeon upstate-the riot-torn, crumbling monstrosity being used to house only what the press called "the hard-core criminal"-with thirty years more on his time sheet.
He squeezed his prick hard, as hard as he could. Until the hunger changed into hurt and the stiffness was gone. He sighed, closed his eyes. Outside he heard footsteps; the screw taking a head count. The flashlight glared into his cell, left. The footsteps continued on down the catwalk, became faint, faded.
Lois! he thought, sleep clouding his mind. Jean was too much like the girl who'd taught him all there was to know about sex-the blonde with the insatiable cunt and hot nipping asshole. But it wasn't always like that, he recalled. Not when they first met. Not when Lois was fourteen, a virgin, and he was the one who initiated the love play.
He willed his mind back, recapturing the scene in the car, the first time. Inside his head it was fifteen years in the past ... five years before the creep with the wise mouth called Lois "a pig in a blanket" and got himself killed. It was their fifth date. It was summer, the season for shorts. But no one wore shorts like those Lois had on.
A pig in a blanket, he mused ... drifting ... falling into a restless sleep, and the cramped front seat of the borrowed convertible where he first saw the rare white-blonde hair that grew in abundance between pretty little Lois Fielding's plump teenage thighs.
"How come we always have to park?" asked Lois as he silenced the engine and turned toward her. She looked at him with apprehension. She sat the seat sidesaddle, one leg curled beneath her cute butt, creamy thighs forming a provocative V which led to the smaller, maddening V, the swell of her virgin pussy, at the crotch of the tight yellow shorts. "Every time you take me out we end up here," she continued in a huff. "In the woods. Boy!"
Tony laughed. He moved closer, moved his hand up her arm to her shoulder. Already his dick was rock-hard. Lois in shorts and a matching crop top was the sexiest chick in town. He pressed his lips to her cheek, remembering the last date, a week before, when she showed the first signs of coming around. When her mouth opened beneath his, and she allowed him to ease her down on the seat, scurry atop her and dry lay. Tonight was going to be different, he'd promised himself. This time he wouldn't pop in his pants, wouldn't be satisfied with a dry run when with a little more patience ...!
"That tickles. Stop," whispered Lois as he blew in her ear. Her hands came up to his chest, as if to push him away. She leaned back into the corner against the passenger door, half reclining. She pouted-a sweet little girl trying to get her own way.
"Tickle or not, you dig it," said Tony in a gruff voice, gaze darting from her firm breasts to the puffy place atop and between her gapped open thighs. He used his nose to push her long hair aside, nibbled her ear lobe. His hand slipped lower, brushed the side of her tit. "Like last week. You dug it real good when I was on top."
"I didn't. I ..."
"Shit!" He slid his lips across her cheek to her mouth, dabbed with his tongue.
"You're terrible," breathed Lois, slipping lower in the seat. "Ouch!" She made a face, uncurled her leg and squirmed to get comfortable. The shorts pulled even tighter at her crotch, the material digging into her cuntlips, outlining the objective. Moonlight from the windshield licked her white thighs, made them glisten like marble.
But soft marble, thought Tony. So fucking soft the bulge in his pants leg dented one tender expanse. The wrinkled skin on his nuts grew tight. His rod pulsed. "Lay down like you did last time," he said.
"Nooo."
He kissed her, mashed his lips to hers until her mouth opened with a long sigh. He put his arm about her slim waist, hand splayed at the small of her back, applied pressure. Her ass began to slip lower. He eased his legs onto the seat and went down with her. Lower and lower until they lay side by, side, with one of the girl's lovely legs over the edge of the seat, foot on the floor, the other pressed to the throbbing maniac at his crotch. He left his hand where it was, wedged beneath her at the waist of the shorts ... massaging.
Lois began to breathe faster. The hands at his chest came up, clutched at his upper arms. She didn't resist when his tongue slipped deep in her mouth; played over, around, under hers, licked her teeth. She was a hot one, mused Tony. He could feel the innocent fire in her young loins: the inexperienced but nonetheless exciting spasms making her thighs quiver, making the flesh pliant, willing. He touched her tit, heard her moan no-owl but felt the fat nipple grow rigid against his palm. He applied pressure there too ... working the crop top and bra on the taut bud ... working her into compliance.
The first real resistance came when he moved the hand beneath her down the seam of the shorts and into the hot crack of her ass. Lois tore her mouth from his. "D-don't!" she stammered, big baby blue eyes glazed, moist lips swollen, face flushed. "I ... you k-know I'm ... oh! OhhhhhHHHHH! Y-you know I never di-id!"
He knew. She'd told him often enough-half a dozen times on every date. But he couldn't forget her gyrations the week before, and he was determined to make her give up what she'd been teasing him with for a month; he was determined to snatch her panties off, fix it so she'd never again be able to tell him about her fucking cherry.
He wedged his leg between hers, felt her shiver as his thigh met her damp crotch. She was pissing cunt juice all over the place. He could smell it; a fishy but pleasant stink, the strong odor of a young, unused pussy, a cunthole in heat. "I won't really do it," he lied. "Not all the way, Lo. Only like last time ... but maybe with your shorts off."
"No!" Her hands returned to his chest, tried to push him away. But her cunt wasn't resisting. Her hips moved gently, almost imperceptibly. Round and round. Grinding. Pleading for the stiffness in his pants leg.
Again Tony kissed her. He drove his tongue so deep in her mouth that she gagged. Her hands balled into fists, pounded his chest. But when the hand on her ass found the zipper, worked it down and crept inside to cup a plump buttock, the gagging became an incoherent pleasure sound. Then she moaned-the way she'd moaned the week before when he centered his dick and began to dry-hump it to her.
Her ass was so soft, hot. He traced the crack all the way down, to where the twin melons flared out and turned back to meet full satiny thighs. She was a bake-oven there. He pushed the panties into the split, fingers exploring until they encountered a springy mound of cunt-hair. He groaned. Quickly, before she could resist further, he wedged his other leg between hers, centered the bulge of his meat, and began to pump.
He might have come in his pants despite his resolve had Lois not tried to escape him again. But just as it was getting good, just as he got his fingers beneath the panties, seeking the tiny brown hole low between her quivering cheeks, the girl twisted away, turned onto her side and tried to sit up. "No, Tony," she wailed. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"My fucking ass, no," he growled, wanting her more than he'd ever wanted anything. "You'll gimme some cunt or ...!"
He locked one arm around her waist, pulled her back down, this time with her bottom tight to his enraged cock. With his free hand he fumbled between them, loosed the monster. It grew harder, burrowed into the open shorts and forced the panties deep in the split up her little round backside. "You'll gimme some or I'll take it," he barked in her ear. "Then I'll tell everybody you fuck-the whole goddam neighborhood! I'll pass it aroun' so's the guys take you off whether you dig them or not. You'll have more big fucking cocks up your belly than a chicken shits eggs."
The threat made the girl whimper. She stared back at him with doleful eyes. "They ... n-n-no-body'll believe you."
"Won't they?" Tony laughed.
"You ... you ...!" Lois began to cry. Her hands came up to her face to hide the tears, the shame. She trembled-a frightened little girl in his arms.
Tony experienced a momentary stab of compassion. But his dick, the fat pulsing glands, was experiencing a different, stronger emotion. The hot split where the panties were sucked deep between the halves of the girl's luscious bottom seemed to be breathing: the melons of satiny flesh opened and closed, caressing his need, teasing the monster until he thought sure the cream in his nuts would cannon off before he got himself sheathed.
Quickly, ignoring the girl's woeful sobs, he undid the one button at the back of the shorts. The garment fell open. He thrust his hand inside shorts and panties, cupped the springy mound of her pussy. "Chrissakes!" he hissed. "Jesus, Lo, it's soft. The softest cunt ever."
"Oh, don't. Ohhh! OHHHHHHH!" Lois doubled up, tried to escape the cruel fingers seeking her virgin cunthole. "T-T-To-neeeeee!"
He was beyond hearing her pleas. The feel of her delectable young-girl pussy-the hair like goose feathers, the lips fat and wet and nipping in spite of the minx's loud complaints-made him wild: a rapist, if that was what was required. He simply couldn't wait any longer, had to have her.
"Easy, baby. You know-" he drove two fingers roughly up her tight cunthole-"you dig it real good. Gooder than anything! I knew it last time when you dry-humped me like there was no tomorrow. Man! Lo wants to screw!' I been tellin' myself all week. 'She wants it but she's got to be persuaded some is all!'"
"I ... I ow! OWWWWwwwwwwwwwww!" Lois stared back at him with confusion in her wide tearful eyes.
"It feels good, don't it?" he pressed, working her clit, grinding the length of his stiffness into the crack of her ass. "Admit it, Lo. You want my dick up your belly as bad as I wanna put it there. Say it! Say, 'Fuck me, Tony! Put your big rod up my pussy!' Say it, Lo. SAY IT!"
The girl shivered. The muscles along the inner expanse of her thighs grew taut. Her jiggly ass flesh tightened. "I ... I w-want you ... I ... oh! Oh, it'll hurt. I know it. I ... I know it'll hurt something awful."
He had her, he thought. Pretty Lois Fielding was going to let him fuck her. Every guy in town was on the make for the adorable blonde with tits out to there I but he-Tough Tony Giardino; the nothing kid from the slums with the fast hands, fists that were going to take him somewhere, make him somebody-was going to cop her sweet cherry.
First in war, first in peace, and first in the heart-shaped wedge of Lois Fielding's virgin cunt, he thought triumphantly. Was it blonde like the silken hair on her pretty head? Or was it black like the scruff on the other pussies he'd poked in? He abandoned her twat, pushed the shorts and panties down her legs, off. He unbuckled his belt, kicked free of the pants and cumbersome shorts. He didn't much care what color her soft pussy hair Was. He didn't much care about anything except the pink slit nestled below the short springy curls, and the barrier, her maidenhead, waiting within for the bludgeoning force of his angry hardon.
She didn't resist when he turned her onto her back once more, nor when he climbed between her trembling teenage thighs. He paused for a moment to lift the crop top to her neck, undo the bra and bare her big-too big for a girl of fourteen-red-nippled titties. "Manoman, you're beautiful," he croaked, meaning it, thinking she was the most provocative girl he'd ever undressed. "Your tits, your cunt. Manoman!"
He glanced down, groaned. She was indeed a true blonde: moonlight played on the triangle of spun gold atop her swollen vulva. He positioned himself, the tip of his dick at the wet mouth of her sex. She even looked like a virgin, he thought. Her body was unmarked, with not so much as a freckle to mar the stretches of whiteness and pink ... belly ... smooth inner thighs. "Baby!" he grunted, fucking his hips suddenly forward.
"Tony, d-don't hurt meeeeeeeee," cried Lois, shrinking back, grinding her ass into the cool leather seat as the knob of his prick parted the moist lips of her pussy, burrowed in. "Ow! Ow, it ... it's too bi-ig!"
But it wasn't too big, Tony knew. There had been other protesting young girls-lots of them in the tenement neighborhood where he grew up fucking everything in sight; fucking even his two little cousins, one with barely a hair on her twat. Each had complained about the size of his member ... all the time taking it in, in. Gobbling him up until only the roots remained outside, then straining for more, for his balls. Lo was tight, new. But there were many tight cunts that had held his eleven-inch stake. Assholes too. Tiny pink mouths. Girls were built to be stretched to accommodate, to be used.
"Hold tight," he directed. "It Um, baby, it's fucking hot. Hotter than any other mother fucking ohhhhhhhh! Just push up with your hips, doll. Help me. It ah! It umahhhh! It'll only hurt 'til we get my dick, all the way up your hole. Then ...!" He expanded and contracted the glands against her hard clit, demonstrating what was in store.
"Umph! Um-umph! UMMMMMMmmmm!" Lois threw her ass up off the seat, thighs gapped wide. A spasm passed through her belly. Her cuntlips tugged like miniature fingers on the tip of the long cylindrical rod protruding from the satiny fuzz on her eager white-blonde pussy.
"Yeeeah," breathed Tony, fucking in short rapid thrusts until half the length of the formidable monster was in, the glands throbbing at the elastic-like barrier. "Now ... now raise your knees," he hissed through clenched teeth. "P-plant your feet on the seat, 'n' when I say go! you push up hard so's it'll go in. Push as hard as ah! Ah, Je-zus H. Fucking Christ! Go! Now! Push up h-hard!"
The girl began to comply. Knees up and pointed out at either side of his loins, thighs forming a pink and creamy white thoroughfare to the tiny hole that had never before known a man, she planted her feet and lifted her little round ass off the leather. Then she gasped, fell back. Her face squinched up. "Ow! You-ow! Ow-wow! Stop! It ... it ... owwwwwwWWWWWWWWWWWW! It hur-urts! I ... you OW! You ... y-y-you're k-k-kill-ing meeeeeee!"
"Shuddup 'n' fuck!" Tony reached beneath her, took firm hold of the satiny cheeks of her ass. He pulled back, until the tip of his joint-slimy with the jellylike lubricant from inside her sopping wet sheath-almost popped free. He looked into her flushed lovely face. There was fear in her eyes. Fear and hurt. But there was something else too: the residue of the thrill of having her hot clit awakened.
He waited until her belly and thigh muscles relaxed; until the girl, as if she thought the painful part was over, began to moan and move her hips tentatively. He watched her eyes flutter closed; he watched her head jerk slowly from side to side as the pain receded and his fat throbbing meat soothed her hard pleasure bud into renewed compliance. Then he lunged.
"T-T-To-neeeeee!" The girl's blue eyes flew open. Her hands clawed at his T-shirt, trying to push him away, to ward off the fiery sting being shoved up her tight virgin love-hole. "It hurts. It oh! Oh please! God! No! Oh-ah-ohhh! Stooooooooooooop!"
Again he lunged. Kneading her ass, drunk with the feel of her tender flesh in his huge callused hands, the sensation of tearing into her belly, her pleas, he fucked his dick in and out, in and out, in and out-deeper and deeper each time, until the barrier, as taut as a drumhead, gave, allowing the last inches to glide smoothly up her now bloody, no longer virgin, hot and tight and pulsing little-girl cunthole.
He groaned, fell with his weight full upon her. His lips covered one pink tensile nipple, sucked it deep in his mouth. His fingers moved deep in the crack of her ass, to the tuft of fine hair at her anus. One twisted in and tore another loud cry from the girl. "It's done," he said against her lush tit. "All the fucking way in, Lo. Man, you're good. Great pussy. The best. Wiggle some. Get used to it up there, because from now on, every night, two and three times on weekends, me 'n' you're coming out here to screw."
"I ... I ... Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ...!" Lois shivered. Her pussy spewed blood and juice down his balls onto the leather. Her asshole opened and closed, opened and closed on his long brutal stink finger. Her hips bucked.
Tony knew the struggle was over. He could feel her inner cunt muscles absorbing the hurt of first penetration, working now to please instead of repel. He raised up, glanced down at the union. "Motherfucker!"
It was a delicious sight. Superb. Her fat little blonde pussy, the hair matted with sweat and cunt juice and watery blood, lay flush with his coarse black cock hair, the mouth sucking the roots of his bloated pole as a baby greedily sucks a bottle. His nuts rested against the smooth underside of her buttocks. Their bellies touched with each labored breath she drew. Best of all was what was happening inside ... the feathers dusting the glands of his prick ... the lubricants heating the furnace, caressing the shaft of his manhood as they washed down the slippery walls of her snug vagina.
His mouth returned to her tit, teeth nibbling the turgid pink bud crowning the lush jiggly mound. He spread the halves of her ass, said, "Fuck, baby. Move. Show me what that sweet cunt can do."
Lois obeyed. She wiggled, slowly at first, but with abandon as his dick began to grind in and out. She raised one leg timidly to his waist. The other she threw over the edge of the seat, opening wide, making her pussy and asshole more accessible. "To-neeeeee ...!" she cooed, hips matching his steady fuck rhythm. "Ow! Ow-wow! D-do it, Tony. Hummm! Ho-ow! Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ...!"
Tony knew how she felt. Fucking was great-the greatest thing ever. Particularly when it was him doing the screwing on someone as new and lovely as Lois Fielding, ex-virgin. He kissed her neck, her chin. He traced her lips with his tongue. He gripped her ass, fingers digging deep in the versatile flesh, pulled back and slammed his dick up her round belly with all the force in his loins.
"Owah! Ummmmmmmmm!" The last ounce of hesitation left the girl. "K-kiss me," she whimpered, leg high on his waist, toes curled on his back. "Oh, kiss me 'n' fuck me, Tony, Tony, Toneeeeeeee. Make me oh! Oheeeeeeeee! M-m-make me come! Fuc-fuck c-c-cream up my pus-eeeeeeee!"
He didn't have to be told. Already the gism was climbing up from the wrinkled sacs smacking her ass with each forward stroke. His prick was leaping inside her, the glands swollen twice normal size and thumping like an abscessed tooth. He mashed his mouth to hers, slipped another cruel finger up her tight rectum, and fucked as he had never before pounded it into a girl.
When it happened, when the semen spurted and tore a blissful moan from the blonde, Tony went limp. He gasped. He drooled into her mouth ... the spit shooting off in time with the hot goo firing like molten lava at the depths of her silken vagina. He felt her pussy close tight, trapping his cock, the lips holding the vibrating length buried to the hilt in the wet warmth of her newly discovered weapon-the persuasive tool she'd carried between her legs for fourteen years, and was only now, after countless denials, learning to use.
"Go ah! Jesus! Go again, baby," he grunted, wishing it could last forever. Wishing they could remain in the car, cunt and cock united, hips and buttocks working as one, and come and come and come until time washed them away.
CHAPTER TWO
Tony awoke in a sweat, the dream, pretty blonde Lois Fielding, still vivid in his mind. Sunlight had replaced the moon in the barred window over the bunk. Another day closer to home, he thought. One less night in the seemingless endless stretch that left his eyes black-ringed from restless tossing caused by nagging desire.
He lay with eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the prison-cons storming from their cells, shouting to one another on the way down the stairs and outside into the main courtyard, and the nerve-wracking click-click-clang of the night locks being electronically sprung, the doors rolling open. Far in the distance, beyond the hospital area, the dull thumping of the tag shop presses had already begun the day. He could almost see the new license plates streaming from the machines, being stacked, then wrapped and sent off to the State Motor Vehicle Agency. He envisioned the screws taking the 6:45 a.m. head count, calling "Numbers clear!" over the bitchbox.
Tony frowned. He listened hard, trying to detect what was wrong. "The head count!" he blurted.
He leaped from the bunk to the door, peered out the small window. He could hear the electric time locks being released one by one down the length of the upper and lower tiers, could see the men flinging the doors back to race from their cells. Yet the intercom system hadn't cleared the numbers, and the cells-the locks controlled by a master panel at the Operations Center-were never, but never! opened until each con had been accounted for, the number tallied with that on the count roster, and the Supervisory White Hat at Center, the man in charge of the shift, had given the okay. Impatiently he waited for the electronic click-click to reach his door.
"Hey, white boy," called Slick Jack as Tony stepped from the cell. "You ain't gon' be much help to us like that." The tall husky black in for murder, doing life, pointed and roared with laughter.
Tony glanced down at himself; at the piss-hardon protruding from the open fly of the shorts. "Shit!" He returned to his cell to dress, reappeared as Jack and several others were lifting the huge desk at the far end of the tier. Mouth agape, he watched them throw the thing through the floor to ceiling plate glass window across the front of the housing unit.
Riot! It made sense now; a takeover was the only way the time locks and count system could be gotten around. Upstate, at the monstrosity he'd left barely a week ago, tension was building. The late news report the night before had said state officials expected trouble at any time, and that precautions were being taken through transfers-getting the ring leaders, those like Jack, those with little or nothing to lose, away from the tempers ready to blow. The Governor's Penal Reform Committee was, the commentator had said, trying to meet legitimate inmate demands before blood was spilled.
So they'd sent Slick Jack to the spanking new complex made primarily of glass, Tony mused, the crash of the shattered pane still ringing in his ears. And now ...!
"Who got the Center, man?" called Spider, another black-a wiry little man doing thirty years for rape-from the top tier of the cell-block.
"Never min' who," answered Jack with a scowl. "We got it is what counts, baby. Now let's go get us the rest o' this zoo." He waved his arm in a sweeping overhead motion, bellowed triumphantly and leaped through the space where moments before a plate glass window had stood.
The others whooped and followed, dragging the gagged and bound wing officer with them. Tony hesitated. He watched them, and the cons pouring like excited ants from the other cell-blocks situated around the open courtyard, race toward the besieged Operations Center, where the entire first shift-White Hats and Blue Hats and those civilian personnel unfortunate enough to have come to work half an hour early-was surrounded by hundreds of inmates brandishing bedposts and homemade shanks and artillery from the arsenal, in support of their rebellious brother cons upstate.
Tony cursed. He suddenly realized what Jack and the others had in mind. He strode outside, shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and watched them run past the gate separating the main area from the West Sector where the infirmary was located. Jeanie Simmons! The petite blonde had relieved the third shift nurse at 6 o'clock, he knew. And now there were a dozen jubilant cons, among them a rapist and a murderer, headed for the place where she-perhaps unaware of what was happening-stood dropping pills and medication into small paper cups, preparing for the 7 a.m. sick call.
* * *
Jeanie frowned. Usually the hospital was bustling with activity long before sick call was announced over the loudspeaker system, the men anxious to get the pill-line out of the way and go to chow. But now there was no one-not even the officer assigned to watch over her. "As if I need watching over," she murmured, dropping the last capsule into the last paper cup on the medicine cart.
It was the silliest job she'd ever held. The inmates, even the old ones, those too wrinkled and lame to do anything with or to a woman, ogled her openly, and the officers, even those with families, kids, repeatedly warned her to stay out of "tight situations" and did their hungry eye-balling on the sly. But she knew how to handle men; she'd come through school and nurses' training with only one lover, Mike, her fiance, and she had no intention of marring the almost virginal record-prison or not! Not for anyone!
Sighing, thinking wistfully of Mike, wondering what he was up to in Europe-supposedly studying, gathering data for his master's thesis in Paris and Rome-she pushed the cart from the protection of the glass cage, down the long silent corridor to the outside door.
"Oh!" She stepped back, blinked at the group of whooping inmates turning the corner at the security gate near Center. Her mouth dropped open. Fear gripped her chest, chilled her nipples. Where were the guards? Where were the other nurses? Where was anyone?
For a moment she stood transfixed, watching the men eat up the distance between her and the gate. Confused, not wanting to accept what she knew was happening-riot! Just as the news reports the night before had predicted-she glanced back at the cage. The phone! She ran to it, fumbled with the receiver. She placed the reassuring instrument to her ear, pressed the button marked CENTER, and was about to speak when a strange voice, someone other than the polite lieutenant who usually answered her calls, said, "Yeah?"
"I ... this is Miss Simmons at the infirmary." Her hand trembled. Her breath grew labored. Now she could hear the men outside coming closer, almost at the door. "I ... t-there's something hap-happening here. The men. Inmates. They ..."
"Har! Fuckin' right there's somethin' happening," growled the mocking voice at the other end of the phone. "An' if I know them-guys comin' over there, lots more's gonna be happening to you in a little while, baby. I may be over there myself in a little bit-for a little bit!"
Jeanie gasped, dropped the phone and looked frantically about the deserted hospital; just her and two patients, those bedded down far in back, cons who would stick with their own. Her mind raced. Her legs felt like jelly. She stared at the door at the opposite end of the corridor ... waiting ... not knowing what else to do.
Slick Jack was the first through the door. He paused for a moment-crouched, the muscles standing taut in his arms, beneath the tight T-shirt, dark-lidded eyes searching the tiled terrain. He nodded, as if satisfied. He straightened. His gaze settled on her.
Jeanie gulped. She clutched the edge of the medicine counter to keep from falling. "You ... y-y-you men aren't sup-s-supposed t-to be in this area without a pass," she stammered inanely. "G-go back to your wings."
Jack, those who had entered behind him, guffawed. They came slowly toward her, moving as one: an octopus with arms that were going to encircle her body, she knew. With hands that were going to violate her clean flesh, and dicks-she could already see the incredible monster in the ringleader's pants leg-that were going to force their way up the hot special place belonging to Mike. Mike who was always in Europe, at college, cramming for an exam, but never where she needed him most. Never there ... except for an occasional lay.
"Please!" She made an impulsive dash, darting around them, trying for the door.
A strong black arm caught her around the waist. "Bitch! Where in the fuck you think you're goin'? Ain't this the hospital? Ain't you the nurse? I come to get medicated!"
Wide-eyed Jeanie stared into his sweating face. Her belly turned over. She could feel his stiffness against her buttocks ... pressing ... pressing. "Let me go!" she yelped, struggling to break free of the brute, to escape the hands coming at her.
"Hold it!" snapped Jack, thrusting his free hand out, traffic-cop fashion. The others stopped, apparently having agreed on him as their commander-in-chief. "Me first," he continued, the tone of his deep voice silencing any would-be objections. "I had my eye on this one since I come down here from upstate. Now ...!" He tightened the arm at her waist, brought his free hand down hard on one jutting breast.
"You ... you filthy black bastard!" hissed Jeanie, furious. She kicked back and up, trying for his balls. The effort brought only a gruff mocking laugh. The hot blood of shame rushed into her face. It was a bad dream, she told herself. A nightmare. Something she'd seen on TV-an old gangster movie, where the heroine was always an innocent girl, and there was always someone to save her.
But there was nothing unreal about the hand kneading her tit, or the hard cock digging through the summer-weight dress into the split up her ass. Nor was there anyone coming to save her. She felt herself being lifted, the arm at her middle become a cruel steel band hoisting and turning and pointing her toward the lounge. She screamed. The others cheered as she was carted away-an armful of kicking garbage.
Jack threw her roughly down on the sofa where, each day at noon, she and the other nurses sat to gossip and giggle about the ogling cons. She struggled to rise. A huge hand covered her face, slammed her back against the armrest, arms and legs flailing. "Ain't no use fightin' me," he told her. "Ain't had no pussy in eighteen years, an' I mean to get me some now."
God! thought Jean, staring incredulously up at the tall well-built man. He'd kill her! Eighteen years without a woman, and a dick as big as the one plainly outlined at the fly of his pants meant sure disaster for her delicate wedge. And a filthy black dick at that! She didn't know which was more loathsome-rape, or being subjected to ... to ... to the savage attack of ... of a nigger!
She was so busy with thoughts of shame, of her own degradation, she didn't notice that the dress had ridden high on her legs, exposing the tops of her stockings, her garter belt, and the warm shadowy area between her succulent thighs.
But Jack hadn't missed it. He stared hungrily into the breach, eyes growing large. He looked from there to her beet-red face, grinned crookedly. "Bet you ain't never had no big black meat in you," he said. "Bet you ain't never had much o' anything 'cept some dumb white boy who don't know nothin' 'bout what ails you."
"I ... I'm engaged to be married," she blurted, stunned because what he said fitted Mike, who was what the girls at college used to call a jack rabbit. "He ... we ... I ... oh ...! I never d-did it with anyone else. Please. Please let me go!"
Jack grunted ugly laughter. Abruptly he sat at the edge of the sofa, thrust his hand under the hem of the dress.
"Oh! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" She wrestled the wrist at the end of the hand groping to get at her pussy. She closed her legs tight, protecting her cunthole from the stab of his fingers. Her head spun. She felt nauseous -mostly because of the shame, the humiliation, but partially because her body was reacting ... anticipating ... all pleasure points hypersensitive to manipulation.
"I said I mean to get me some pussy!"
A hand closed at her throat, cutting off air and forcing her down on the cushions. She thrashed. Her legs came slowly apart. The hand under the dress cupped at her sex, squeezed. She gasped. Her hips bucked uncontrollably.
"That's more like it, baby. White sugar." Jack relaxed his grip on her neck, leaned to touch his lips to the bruises left by his fingers. The hand at her crotch slipped beneath the leg-band of the panties, rubbed her mound, teased her tight slit.
She moaned. Further resistance was useless, she knew. There was no place to run to even if she could wrestle free of the beast. She could hear the others in the corridor to the right of the lounge. They were making crude jokes, about her-about what they were going to do when their turn came. She was helpless. Worse! Her entire lower abdomen was afire. Her nipples were hard little points showing through the bra and thin dress. Her cunthole was wet. The sex part of her, the part Mike ignited each time they screwed but always left screaming, unsatisfied, was cooperating with the filthy black fingers exploring all over down there.
"D-don't!" she breathed, struggling with the shameless desire. "You oh!" Her ass shot high off the cushions. "Oh, you mustn't. Um! T-take your hand a-way-ay."
"White baby wants somethin' bigger, huh?"
"No!"
"Sure she does." Jack captured her hand, steered it to the mighty bulge in his pants leg. "Somethin' big as that maybe. Big 'n' good 'n' hard. Take it out fo' me, white baby."
"No! No! No! No! Nooooooooo ...!" But her trembling hand was already there, clutching his hardon, unable to escape his strong grip on her wrist. She felt the links of the zipper-as cold as the stiffness was hot. She felt his huge balls like billiards beneath the coarse khaki prison garb. She felt him go tense, the veins popping like cords in his neck, like tempered steel cables in his powerful forearms.
"Take it the fuck out!" he demanded, the hand on her pussy rubbing, a smoldering threat in his dark hooded eyes. "You a fuckin' nurse, ain't you? Do some nursin' on me. Whack me off. Gimme a nice white girl han' job."
The horrid black beast, she thought, the words making her ears burn with new shame, clogging her throat. He was no better than a gorilla; he even looked like a gorilla with his brown-blackness and rubbery lips and dark staring eyes. And the thing in his pants-oh, the awesome hose throbbing in the sweating palm of her hand-was even bigger than the fat filthy cocks on the apes she'd once seen at the zoo.
But it wasn't as if she'd been given a choice. Slick Jack-wasn't that his name? Hadn't she once heard someone call him Cool Man Slick Jack?-was "telling" not asking her to commit the perversion. And her fingers, as if hypnotized, as if wanting to-actually wanting to!-holding the terrible thing, were suddenly working the zipper ... slipping inside ... inside the shorts too ... caressing the long veiny shaft ... fumbling to free the fat tip she expected to look like the red bulb at the end of her Mike's short handsome hardon.
"Ar-arrrrr!" Jack drove his fingers deep in her cunthole as she freed him.
Jeanie yelped from the pain and the sight of the ugly uncircumcised thing in her hand. Did he actually intend to shove the unwholesome thing up her tight little pink slit? It was madness! Too big, too! She sniffed, caught the awful smell of his black balls and stinking asshole, recoiled. Yet her fingers remained. Her hand gripped the long pulsing shaft as if it were a life preserver, and she, adrift on a turbulent sea, needed something to hang onto.
"Ahummm! N-not too much," sighed Slick Jack, face contorted, loins pumping slowly. "Nice 'n' easy or arum! Um!" He fucked his prick in and out of the soft circle formed by her tiny hand. "Don' whack too hard or I'll be blow-in' the roof off this place wit' my load. Don' want that, sugar. Wanna save it for here!" His fingers slipped from her sopping wet cunthole, curled at the crotch of the panties, and yanked.
Lungs refusing to work, tits threatening to explode, Jeanie opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. She heard the panties rip, felt the nylon being torn away from her sex. The faint morning breeze from the open jalousie windows licked her gash. A delicious thrill passed through her loins. She moaned, closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the look of triumph on Slick Jack's black face. She didn't want him. She didn't! She didn't! She was holding his big filthy cock because he wanted her to, was making her do it. Her cunthole was nipping because ... because ...! Her asshole, too! Her tits! There was no use resisting, was why. It was as simple as that; it had nothing whatever to do with wanting the long steely thing up her belly.
Jack lifted the hem of the white uniform high on her waist, bent close. He sucked breath through his teeth. "Lordy-Lord!" he exclaimed, fingers gently stroking the satiny yellow curls of her hot pussy. "Ain't never poked in nothin' as pretty as you got, sugar. Lordy-Lord-ain't never even seen one like it before."
She tried not to hear the words, tried to ignore the wondrous caresses. It was like the first time with Mike, she recalled. She'd always accepted the springy blonde curls as a simple natural phenomena, unaware that most pussies- no matter what the color of the hair on a girl's head-were midnight black, and hers was a prize. But the first time Mike saw it, touched her there, parted the glistening ringlets with his long middle finger as Jack was doing, she'd known there was something special about her sweet little mound of fine fuzz. She'd known by his loving words, by the way he'd rained kisses over her young thighs and belly, and later, when she grew bolder, began to talk intimately with other girls, that hers was the dream of most men: true blondeness! And pinkness beneath. A slit that opened onto a slippery passage as rosy as a baby girl's spanked behind.
"Hum! Ha-hum! Hummm! He-ummmm!" She threw her hips up onto the sandpapery tongue that had begun to lick her wet cunt, her clit. She looked down at the kinky head between her plump thighs, whimpered. What was wrong with her, she wondered. She was being raped-she was being sucked off by a disgusting black giant she loathed. He was washing her thoroughly, preparing her tight lovely slit for the thrust of the filthy thing in her hand. Yet there she was ... bucking! The halves of her ass were squeezed tight together, awaiting the lunge. It was dreadful of her. Obscene.
"L-let me goooooo," she wailed suddenly. She twisted abruptly away from the rubbery lips, knowing it was futile but compelled to do something, anything at all, to assuage her own conscience. "You ... you animal! Pig! I won't! I WON'T!"
On hands and knees, round ass turned to the surprised brute, she scrambled to the end of the sofa. But she had barely gotten one leg over the armrest, planning to flee to the operating room for a weapon-a scalpel, a broken bottle, anything-when Slick Jack growled, caught the neck of the uniform and ripped the summer-weight garment as easily as he'd disposed of the crotch of the panties.
"Still wanna play, huh, white baby?" Jack dragged her back onto the cushions, on her belly this time, the dress open from neck to hem. Deftly his fingers undid the snaps of her bra, tore the last shred of nylon from her thrashing hips. One hand locked at the cheek of her ass, thumb low in the crack. "You stay put or I'll tear your sweet asshole up some," he warned. "Ever feel a fingernail cut through a sphincter?"
Jeanie felt the sharp jagged nail at her anus, gasped. She didn't dare move. She was a provocative sight, she knew-naked except for the sheer nylon stockings, and the pink garter belt biting into her hips and soft upper thighs. She heard something drop to the floor, looked and saw his belt. The khaki pants followed. Her body went cold. He was undressing, preparing to fuck his ugly black dick up her hole. She whimpered as the hand left her buttock, too numb to move now. She tried to convince herself it wasn't happening, even as the boxer shorts and T-shirt joined the things on the tiles.
Huge hands closed at her waist, turned her over. Her gaze met his. "Ain't no mo' play-in'," he told her. "Now we gon' fuck!"
Before she could utter a cry, a last futile protest, Jack was atop her, and was setting the tip of his long-unbelievably long ... longer than anything she'd ever seen, it seemed-uncircumcised dick at the mouth of her delicate pussy. She felt it tear in past the lips, grate across her sensitive clit. She yelped. She saw him grimace as his hips applied pressure and forced the terrible hose halfway home.
Tears flooded her eyes. She was being driven in two, split up the middle. "Owah! Owwwww-WWWWW!" Her mind and body recoiled from the long veiny black stiffness being shoved up her belly.
"Raise them pretty legs," Jack directed.
"I ... I won't!"
"You do like I say or ...!" His hand lashed out, cracked loud against the side of her face; whipped back the other way, back again, slamming her head from side to side on the sofa; jarring her teeth loose, it seemed.
Her vision blurred. She felt weak, dizzy. The sting of the blows made her forget for a moment the terrible hurt at her cunthole. She did as he said-she raised her knees, dropped her legs wide ... all the time blinking back tears. She wouldn't add to his triumph by crying, she told herself. Nor would she move once it was in. She'd lie there like a cold fish, helping only to get the thing planted so the burning would stop.
"Ahhhhhhhhh! Jus' keep doin' like that." Jack pulled back, withdrawing all but the tip of his bloated member. Then he fucked his loins slowly forward, driving more of the awesome length into her small swollen pussy. "Ar! Ar! Ummmm! Push up, sugar. Use your nice plump ass. Wiggle so's I get all of it up you next time I hump."
"I ... I won' ..."
"You won' what?" Again Jack raised his hamhock of a hand, ready to whip it back and forth across her bruised face if she didn't comply.
Frantically she wiggled, frightened now, knowing it meant nothing to him if her lovely young face were left scarred-nose broken, bleeding. Hating herself, hating him, she lifted her buttocks high off the cushions and fucked and fucked herself onto his cock. She watched it go in, inch by fat terrible inch. She watched him pull back again, and drive, and grind the last black millimeter up her tight hole.
"Arrrrrrr!" Jack fell heavily upon her. One hand encircled her tit, squeezed until the ripe pink nipple popped twice normal size. He mouthed the tidbit, sucked. His free hand traced her rib cage, crept around and under her waist, found the split up her trembling bottom. "Airtight!" he croaked. "We gon' fuck with all holes blocked so's you know you been laid."
New pain shot through her as his cruel middle finger twisted high in her asshole. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her pussy pissed juice down his balls. Then his lips-his horrible black nigger lips and foul-smelling mouth- were covering hers, sucking the breath from her lungs as he'd sucked her cunthole her tit. Airtight! she thought. So's she'd know she'd been laid! She wanted to laugh and scream, cry, do she didn't know what all. Because she didn't need anything more than the magnificent ...
No! Not magnificent! she quickly reprimanded herself. Horrid and beastly! Shameful!
She didn't need anything more than the thing beginning to dip in and out, in and out of her sopping wet cunthole, to know she'd been laid. Screwed like never before. Ravished. Abused. Taken by force by a black-the worse degradation a good white girl like her could imagine.
Out in the corridor the others were becoming impatient. Spider, who had raped three young girls before he was caught, was kneading his meat, keeping it hard and ready. Julio, one of four whites in the group that continued to grow as jubilant cons found their way to the hospital, was flashing the knife Tony Giardino had tried to take away from him the day before.
"Motherfuck all this one by one shit," someone growled. "That bitch in there got three holes, man. Ain't no sense lettin' two of 'em go to waste."
"I'm an asshole man anyway," agreed Julio.
"Don' matter to me," said Spider.
The three laughed, moved closer to the lounge. The others began to group off; the strongest, those known to be tough, in front, the rest content to accept seconds or thirds, fourths or fifths-wherever the number fell, whichever hot hole-on the lovely young blonde Cool Man Slick Jack was fucking loudly enough to be heard in the corridor.
Beyond the infirmary the prison was a bedlam. There were two women, a middle-aged commissary worker and the warden's elderly secretary-both having come in early because this was the one day each week commissary orders were given out and inmate accounts tallied-among the civilians being held at Center. The hospital routine was spreading; men without women were eyeing the two well-built hostages, talking rape.
Tony Giardino stood where Slick Jack and the others had left him. He could almost see what was going on at the hospital, the dream of Lois nagging at the back of his mind. He could imagine black dicks pissing cum all over the nurse who was so like the blonde he'd punched a man into eternity for. His bandaged hand throbbed. He wanted to run past the security gate, find Jeanie Simmons, and get her the hell out of there. But there was no place to run to. Around him a thousand cons were kicking out windows, yelling heave! as they tipped and snapped the tall aluminum posts atop which the searchlights rested. Others were in the gun towers at the four corners of the wall surrounding the complex, shouting to reporters, local bureaucrats and state policemen outside.
Perhaps later, he thought. After dark. There was no getting out, he was certain. He could hear the loudspeakers outside the high wall, coming from all directions, gruff voices issuing threats of reprisal if anything happened to the hostages. They-the cons, the civilians and cops-were trapped until the men in the riot-torn prison upstate saw physical evidence of the reforms being promised.
It was a standoff which could last for days, a week. More. He looked about, not wanting any part of the riot or negotiations. Wanting out. But wanting Jeanie Simmons, too. Wanting to rescue her, hide her. Wanting to do to her what he knew Jack and the others were at that very moment doing.
"Fuck 'er!" he mumbled. He clubbed his hard cock, remembering Lois, the dream. "Stick this up 'er pussy."
He groaned. Stepping back into the relatively quiet cell block, he went to his room, closed the door. There were plans to be made, and rest to be gotten for the long night ahead. The machines in the tag shop were still thumping. But the place was deserted, he knew. It was where the riot had started, he'd learned. The cons working the graveyard shift to get the license plate tags out on time had made the first move. Now the building was the perfect place to hide a young cunt, with only the presses-left running to burn out the bearings-as company. He lit a cigarette, fell back on the bunk, and stared at the barred window.
Outside the destruction continued. Glass shattered. The men raced aimlessly here and there. By nightfall they'd be exhausted, Tony mused. They'd post a skeleton guard while the majority slept, and he'd get his chance to get next to the girl whose face and lush little body were emblazoned on his mind.
CHAPTER THREE
She ached all over. The dressing gown they'd given her to replace the torn uniform, the same-type garment the patients wore, tied up the back, exposing the split up her ass and a two-inch strip of skin from hemline to neck, did nothing to hide the bruises, angry scratch-marks. She wished she were dead or that the tile floor of the operating room, where Jack and the others had locked her up for the night, would suddenly open and swallow her shame.
Huddled in a dark corner far away from the door, as far as the room would permit, she hugged her knees and winced from the searing pain at her cunthole. A dry sob came from her throat. She wished she could cry, wash herself. But there were no tears left. There was only the shame, and a dull unexplainable hunger at the pit of her belly.
Outside she could hear the wiry little man called Spider pacing the corridor. She held her breath each time he passed the closed door, afraid he would stop, rush in and again ram his awful dick in her face. Yet each time the footsteps faded, echoing faintly as Spider completed his tour to the end of the hall, paused before coming back, the gnawing at the depths of her womb seemed not to regret but to cherish the memory of hours and hours of every perversion imaginable.
She wished she could sleep. She stared into the dark, mentally identifying familiar objects about the room-the fat oxygen tanks opposite where she sat huddled, the medicine bottles she'd learned to distinguish the contents of by touch, by the various shapes of the bottles. Now all looked alike: phallic symbols! Cocks all around her.
She shivered. "Nurse, heal thyself," she whispered at the dancing shadows near the moonlit jalousie windows.
But there was no way to sterilize her used body, she knew. There was no way to cure the scars left by filthy black pricks pumping cum up her pussy and asshole, down her throat. There was no cleansing her mind of the images and the threat of what was going to happen tomorrow.
"Miss Simmons?" The soft voice came from beyond the windows, from a silhouette without an identity.
Jeanie gasped. She hugged her knees tighter, trying to make herself small. They were coming again, she was certain. They hadn't locked her up for the night, after all. They'd lied to put her at ease, to bring her guard down, and now they were going to rush in, thinking she was asleep.
"Hey, Nurse Simmons, you in there?" A bandaged hand appeared between the parallel panes. "It's me, the guy you stitched up yesterday. I came to help you."
Tony Giardino! Could it be, she wondered. Did he actually mean what he'd said? For the first time since Jack and the others trapped her early that morning, she dared to hope. She remembered the man's dark good looks, his black wavy hair and brown eyes; she recalled the way the muscles bulged all over his body-including down there! In his pants leg!-as he braced himself against the needle closing the wounds.
"I ... I'm here," she called in a small voice, still uncertain, unable to make herself move.
"I thought so," said Tony in a hoarse whisper. "I brought tools from the tag shop. I figured they'd lock you up for the night. But I'll get ya out. Don't worry. Come gimme a hand, will ya?"
Somehow she managed to stand and make her trembling legs go. She reached the windows, swayed. It was still a bad dream ... riot-and ravishing cons ... the pain and desire intermingled, united to plague her ... Tough Tony, Slick Jack. She couldn't be sure what was real anymore.
"Man, baby, you look beat," observed Tony. "What the fuck did they do to ya, anyway?"
"I ... they ... it was awful. Awful!"
"Never mind now. Hold the pane." He showed her which one. "If I can get one or two sections out we can squeeze you through. I got it all figured-r-a hidin' place where no one'll ever think to look. We can hol' up there 'til it's over. Me 'n' you. I won't let them hurt you anymore."
Jeanie welcomed the touch of the strong bandaged hand upon hers. She sobbed-part relief, part apprehension because he too was a man, a con who had been without a woman for too many years, and she couldn't forget the mighty bulge in his pants leg. She did as he directed; she gripped the cool glass in both tiny hands, held it steady while Tony cut rapidly away with a hacksaw at the steel tits at each end.
She blinked. Why had her mind labeled the pane hinges "tits," she wondered, her own breasts atingle. And why was Tony Giardino, who, if he were caught by the others, would be beaten, labeled a stool pigeon, perhaps killed-why was he helping her? Had he seen her backward glance the day before? Had he, while she stood bent forward at the medicine cabinet, ass tilted high, knowing his eyes were devouring her hips, her plump cheeks, creamy thighs-had he read her thoughts when she compared his powerful build to Mike's slender frame? What in heck was wrong with her, anyway?
She felt the two-foot-wide parallel pane give at one end; she felt it yanked from her fingers as the large calloused hands took firm hold on the glass, tugged with brute strength and snapped the second steel dowel. She stepped back, knowing that once she went through the opening, was alone with the man, he too would demand something: a reward.
But it wasn't as if she had a choice, she reasoned. As with Jack: it wasn't as if lying still would have stopped him, and that wiggling-excited by the brutal thrust of his long black cock up her belly in spite of the shame-was so wrong. She'd always liked sex. Ever since the first time with Mike, when she learned that the hot hairy hole between her soft legs had a function much more delightful than pissing, a dick made her wild, wanton. But she was a good girl; she'd been brought up to believe sex was something a girl shared with only one man, and that asshole fucking and cunt and cock sucking were religious taboos: horrid perversions. Now, in the space of one day, everything was topsy-turvy. Her body was no longer clean. Her thoughts were no longer stable. The world had spun out of orbit, rearranging her life and igniting her pussy so that now, the pain still fresh, her body still protesting the sudden abuse, she almost wished handsome Tony Giardino would take her in his strong muscular arms, soothe the hurt; and, when she grew quiet, relaxed, at peace, would fling her down on the cold tile floor and make violent love not with but to her.
"C'mon!" Tony's tone was urgent. He reached through the space that didn't seem big enough for a child, took hold of her shoulders, dragged her close. "Get the fuck out before somebody checks 'n' finds me here. This ain't no game, baby. Move!"
Breathing hard, unable to speak, troubled by her own confused thoughts as well as the threat of discovery, she allowed him to steer her head and shoulders into the narrow space. She felt his hands slip to her waist, close tight. She felt herself being lifted-a weightless rag doll. She whimpered as the tie strings snapped open one by one up the back of the hospital gown, and her white ass, the back of her thighs, met the cold upper pane. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as the metal frame dug into her bruised flesh, and she was turned head over heels, Tony maneuvering her like a puppet through the limited space. She heard the door to the operating room burst open as her legs came through the window, heard Spider roar. The ground came up hard, and she wondered how she'd managed to land on her bottom instead of her head. Wide-eyed, still finding it hard to believe the day wasn't a dream, she watched Tony step back and wait until the wiry little man poked his ugly face through the narrow opening.
"Dirty mother fuck ...!" Spider began.
Tony brought his huge bandaged fist up from the ground, connected solidly with the man's jaw. Spider's head snapped. His eyes rolled back white. He went limp. Tony grunted, patted the kinky hair almost affectionately, shoved and sent the unconscious man sprawling back inside.
Suddenly Jeanie couldn't breathe; she couldn't tear her eyes away from the man who reminded her now of the pictures in the Charles Atlas type magazines she'd often sneaked excited peeks at as a girl. She watched him turn, thrust his hand toward her. His cigar-like fingers closed over hers. Again she was lifted-yanked from the ground, the gown flaring wide in back, the cool night air washing the sting from her loins. There was no time to think, to reason. Time only to flee.
The way to the tag shop beyond the infirmary was clear, the rebellious cons having concentrated their night watch at strategic points near Center and the cell blocks. There was thick brush to hide them as they made their way along the banked side of the gravel footpath, Tony holding tight to her hand. She'd never seen this sector of the vast prison complex, never imagined the place was so big. It wasn't at all like a prison, she thought. It was an entirely new concept in penal reform, with trees, open spaces, and constructural design supposed to dispel the reality of confinement. It was why she'd taken the job; why she'd taken the chance after friends and Mike, particularly Mike, had warned her about what could happen. A woman. Young. Beautiful, some said. A helpless minx in a houseful of men. Yet she'd been willing to take the risk, and now she found herself wondering why.
"This way." Tony pointed to a tall building flush with the granite that stretched like the Great China Wall around the complex, tugged her toward it.
Jeanie stepped on a sharp stone, yelped.
"Quiet!"
"Oh ...!" She stopped, lifted her bare foot to soothe the new hurt.
"Will you shut the fuck up 'n' c'mon, or do I have to fucking drag you?"
She stumbled after the hand he was holding, wanting to yell, to say, "Leave me be! I'm not yours! I don't belong to you or anybody!"
But she did, in fact, belong to him, she knew. Either him or Slick Jack and the others. She was, until the riot ended, a piece of recreational equipment-no better than a punching bag. Silently she followed him into the dark building with a thumping heartbeat of its own.
There was a small room at back, far away from the loud presses, which Tony-at least she supposed it was Tony who'd done it-had stocked with crates marked CANNED GOODS-INMATE COMMISSARY. A naked light-bulb dangled from a cord in the center of the ceiling. There was a sink and a dirty toilet, a sliver of mirror hung on one wall, and a filthy cot, equipped with even filthier bedding and hidden behind the crates piled one atop the other. She shuddered, made a sound of disapproval.
"What the fuck'd you expect?" demanded Tony.
She spun, caught him staring at the open back of the gown, at her bruised ass. "I ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean ..."
Tony moved to the door, paused with his hand on the knob. "You'll be okay here." His gaze moved down the front of the gown to her thighs, her dirty feet, returned to her face. "I gotta make sure nobody saw us," he said in a tight voice. "I'll be back though. You can bet on it."
"Wait!" But he was already gone, the heavy oak door closed behind him. She looked about, frightened. She sat at the edge of the cot. She wanted to weep, to stretch out full length and pound the filthy bedding. Tony's words echoed in her ears: I'll be back! You can bet on it!
She fell back on the cot, on her side, suddenly aware that she hadn't slept in what seemed like a lifetime. She curled up in a tight protective ball, knees almost touching her breasts. She tried to think, to formulate some plan of escape. But her mind refused to obey. Nothing worked. Her body was an uncontrollable mass of Jell-o.
She closed her eyes-but only for a moment! she told herself. Because the gown was open, exposing her backside, the raw wet slit of her pussy. And she knew what would happen if Tony found her like that. She sighed. Before the sound died, the thumping presses, the rhythm vibrating through the walls of the room, the wooden legs of the cot, the crates of canned goods, had lulled her to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
After arming himself with a homemade shank, rigging a dummy in his bed and locking his cell door, Tony started back-past the vocational shops, now deserted, the modern architecture suggesting a sleeping industrial center; past Center and the high gates to the big yard, the recreation area; and past the skeleton force, most of them glutted on the food and candy commandeered from the inmate commissary, and those not asleep, those too excited by the riot and the presence of female hostages, insatiable, taking turns on the warden's elderly secretary and the middle-aged civilian storeroom worker. Rumor had it that the warden's Girl Friday was a thrashing nympho. But Tony's thoughts remained with Jeanie Simmons. Not even the sight of the naked well-built women at Center could dissuade him. He crouched low-a darting shadow in the pale moonlight-and raced stealthily past the unattentive watch, past the infirmary, where Slick Jack and the others were cursing loudly enough to be heard outside, belaboring Spider, and again down the path he and the lovely nurse had traveled an hour ago.
Inside the dark tag shop he paused. The thump of the presses had grown labored. He sniffed the air. Grease burning. The bearings were almost shot. Soon the machinery would lock, the unattended gears frozen in protest to match the rioters' hatred of the license plates they were forced to turn out.
Prison! thought Tony. The men had good reason to hate the tag shop-almost as if it were human. It was the state's big moneymaker, and yet the men, those who ran the presses, some working all night to get the new tags out on time each year, were paid a mere few cents a day.
And no cunt! Years of lusting after everything that entered the prison in a skirt, and nights of whacking off.
His dick began to stiffen. "Pussy," he whispered, almost able to smell the fishy aroma of a woman's genitals. The skin on his nuts grew tight. He clutched the front of his pants, groaned softly. Cunt! he thought. A woman's ass grinding beneath him!
He stared longingly into the darkness, in the direction of the heavy door on the supply room at the back of the shop. Jeanie Simmons ... so much like Lo. Blonde and soft. Helpless. At his mercy.
Again he groaned. He threw the steel bolt on the outside door, locking the shop from within, and made his way quickly down the aisle between the thumping machinery.
The packing crates hid her from view of the door. But once the door was closed, locked, and he stood at the foot of the cot, the exquisite split up her blemishless backside and the golden-blonde curls of her young pussy were open to inspection. He'd never seen an ass quite like it- round, a basketball with a tight seam up the middle, and snow-white except for the bruises left by the others. She was a pink and satin-cream doll curled appealingly on the soiled bedding, the hospital gown bunched high on her waist.
"Mother ...!" hissed Tony through clenched teeth. His eyes bulged. His nuts felt like cannon shot. His prick pressed against the seam of the khakis, threatening to explode the zipper into a million tiny brass links.
He moved to the side of the cot, bent close and sniffed the delicious pocket at the back of her closed thighs. He closed his eyes ... remembering ... squeezing his cock while he drank the sweet woman stink and anticipated the struggle to come ... the futile cries ... the parting of the lips of her cunt as his stiffness forced its way up, up. He knew what it meant: the riot would end in a few days, a week at the most, and then the police would come rushing in on him and Slick Jack and the others. Another charge. Rape! He wished he could walk away. He wished the riot had never happened. He wished ...
God! He wished his dick wasn't so hard, and that the girl, breathing evenly in sleep, unaware of his presence, exhausted, wasn't so lovely, so blonde, so much like Lo. But she was-all those things and more. And he had to have her, no matter what the consequences.
Quietly he stripped. Body tense, prick standing rigid, he eased himself onto the soiled bedding behind the adorable sleeping beauty. The cot was small. So small the tip of his rod grazed her silken bottom before he meant it to. The girl stirred. He waited, trembling. He didn't know why it was suddenly important that she remain asleep, but it was. It reminded him of long ago, when he was a boy and spent summer weekends at his aunt's house. Cousin Betty! Not blonde, nor nearly as well-stacked as Jeanie, but nonetheless good even in memory.
He let the tip of his dick burrow in the hot crack of the nurse's ass ... gently ... so as not to wake her. He wanted to savor the moment, just as he'd held back with luscious little Betty. So small. Young. Barely two dozen-he'd counted them, every one!-fine black hairs on her succulent pink pussy.
"Ummm ...! Baby-baby," he sighed, allowing his meat to dig deeper, close to the heat of the blonde's asshole-but remembering the weekends with Betty; the one in particular when she finally allowed him to go all the way after months of stopping him at the last minute, saying silly things like, "You're my cuz-zin, Tony. Nooo ...!"
He closed his eyes, listened to Jeanie's breathing, waited for it to grow even once more while he recalled the Saturday night Aunt Vi and Uncle Stu went to a Broadway show, leaving him, because he was the oldest-four years thirteen-year-old Cousin Betty's senior-in charge of the button-breasted minx wearing baby doll pajamas.
"You're not my boss," she protested when he ordered her up to bed. She stomped her foot, crinkled her nose at him in the cute way she had of pretending to be angry. "I won't go unless you do too."
"I'm coming," he told her, not far from wrong. His cock had been hard since he learned they were going to be alone most of the night. "We're gonna sleep together like always. You know goddam well I crawl in with you every week, so stop playing dumb or I'll spank your ass."
Betty cocked her head, grinned mischievously. "Ha! Says you!"
Before he could grab her, she was on her way upstairs like a shot. But he was right behind. And what a behind she had: it was more out than in the flowered shorty pajamas, the cheeks jiggling excitedly all the way to the little-girl bedroom with frills and a canopy bed. She flopped at the center of the mattress and stuck her tongue out at him.
Tony paused at the door. The week before, after her parents were asleep and he had sneaked into the room, they had wrestled. Then she fell asleep in his arms-cunt to cock! But just when it was getting good, when his meat was steely hard and ready to shoot and he was taking it out to stick it up her delectable cunthole, she awoke and stopped him. But he wouldn't let her stop him this time, he decided. There was no one to hear her tonight if she yelled.
He closed the door, moved to the bed and sat. He eyed her crotch. He grinned and she made a face. She was sitting Indian-fashion, and he could see the short ebony hairs at the leg band of the pajamas. No panties! Just Cousin Betty beneath the provocative cotton.
Suddenly she fell back on the pillows. Her trim little legs worked a mile a minute until the blankets and spread were bunched at the foot of the bed. She yawned. She moved one bare foot up and down, making the sheet whistle faintly. "I'm sleepy now," she said. "Put out the light 'n' come to bed, Tony."
He didn't have to be told twice. Before she could blink, he was out of his clothes and beside her in jockey shorts that made no secret of his desire. He doused the lamp on the night table, rolled toward her. "I should beat your ass for downstairs, and for sticking your tongue out just now."
"Can't!"
"Fuck, I can't!"
She giggled when his hand brushed her firm little tit, and locked at her waist ... tickling. She turned toward him, twisting to escape his fingers. Her leg went up, knee on his thigh and hips thrashing as he continued to tickle. "Toneeeeee ...!"
He knew she felt him; his prick was bulging, digging deep in her crotch. She was a tease. He wondered if she'd even been screwed, or if she was just another of the dumb cunts who let a guy do everything but stick it in. He decided to find out. He moved his hand from her waist, over her hip to her plump ass, and cupped the warm flesh protruding from the pajama bottoms.
"We're cousins," whispered Betty.
"So?"
"We ... we should-shouldn't be fooling aroun' like ... umph!" She thrusted her hips forward, cunt tight to his rod. Her arms locked at his neck. She stared wide-eyed into his face. "Like you was my ... my b-boyfriend or something."
Tony's fingers were busy inching the pajama bottoms further back, seeking the crack of her ass. "We can be kissin' cousins," he said, dick so hard and ready to plow he thought sure he'd pop before the girl opened her trim cousin-legs and gave him some hot cousin-pussy.
He kissed her before she could protest further. Her lips tasted of milk and strawberry lipstick. Her breath was sweet. And her ass-God, her plump little round bottom! His fingers had found the deep crack, and were creeping down, down. He encountered a tuft of fuzz so soft it was like touching the feathers at the tip of a baby bird's wing. His cock leaped. He probed her tiny pinched asshole, and grinded his meat in and out, in and out, in and out between her quivering young legs.
Betty twisted suddenly away, yelped, "I ... I'll tell! You ... you-ow!" She reached back, smacked his hand from her exposed cheek, and rolled away, onto her back. Her tits rose and fell erratically. Her eyes flashed. "You ... you're terrible, Tony."
"Shit!" He too rolled away, back to her. He didn't know whether he wanted to screw her or wring her cute neck. Girls! They were all crazy, he mused. Fuckable but weird. Fucking fruitcakes!
They remained silent for a long time-he staring darkly at Betty's hazy reflection in the dresser mirror across from where he lay, she lost in thoughts of her own, staring at the ceiling. Until Betty rolled. Until the hot white flesh he'd held in his hand became visible in the mirror. He watched her wiggle to get comfortable, bend her legs at the knee. A shaft of moonlight from the window made the roundness of her ass appear translucent-glass! He thought of milk. Pure cream. There was no other way to describe her smooth skin.
"You awake?" he asked softly over his shoulder.
No answer! The girl was breathing deeply, as if she were asleep. He turned, brought himself close and touched her thigh gently. Still nothing. He glanced down, groaned. The cotton was sunk deep in her ass. He inched his hips forward, placed the bulge of his dick snug with the pinched crack. She was only pretending to be asleep, he knew. But that was okay. Anything she wanted to do for now was fine, because once he got his rod out, once he set the glands at her tight cousin-slit, she could holler all fucking night and he wouldn't stop.
He massaged her thigh, fingers working the elastic leg band of the shorty pajamas further and further back. Until the cotton was a tight band that sliced down the center of her succulent cheeks, leaving the entire upper half of her ass, one complete melon, exposed. He'd done that before: each weekend the game was the same, with Betty pretending to be asleep, him feeling her and working himself to fever pitch, and then bang! Innocent Betty, eyes wide and appealing, stopping him with the usual, But you're my cousin, Tony, nonsense. Not this time! This time they were going to screw, even if he had to take it.
He inched back just enough to allow his stiff prick to pop free of the jockey shorts. Wouldn't she be surprised when the fat tip bored into her tight pussy, he thought. Would she yell? Fight him? She wouldn't tell, that much he was sure of. If she did, then she'd have to explain what he was doing in her bed in the first place. She'd have to tell about the other weekends too. She'd have to admit to being a tease-a dick-crazy minx, but with last-minute reservations, little-girl willies. He took firm hold of the base of his hardon. His free hand went to her belly, splayed. It was now or never.
Betty squealed when the hot glands of his meat was thrust into the gap at the back of her thighs. Her hips jerked forward, but the hand low on her belly prevented escape. "Oh! Oh, Tony, nooooooooooooo!"
"Shut the fuck up 'n' hold still," he growled in her ear. "You been wantin' it ever since we first wrestled-even before you had tits 'n' hair on your pussy. Now ...!" He wiggled, used his hips to force the tip of his dick beneath the rolled pajama bottoms and into her hot wet cuntlips. She was close-not quite virgin-tight, but still retaining the delicious viselike little-girl snugness that older girls lost through years of fucking. He pressed with the hand on her belly, coaxing her back, back, and strained to get the glands all the way in.
"Owwwwwwwww!" Betty thrashed. One tiny hand flailed back at him. She closed her legs tight, trying to dissuade the rigid monster burrowing up her thirteen-year-old cunthole. "Noo! Tony, it ... it's eee! Oh! Oh, you're too big 'n' my cuz-zin!"
Her pleas spurred him on. Rape! The mere thought made him burn with desire. Quickly he rolled her onto her belly, used his knees to pry her trim little legs apart, and thrust ... pulled back and thrust again. The roaring in his ears muffled the girl's frightened cries. He gritted his teeth, took hold of the rolled pajama bottoms and yanked. The material gave. "Jesus H. mother-fucking Christ! Baby!" Her round ass glowed white in the dark. But there was light enough from the window to see where his joint was parting the fine black hairs on her pussy, sinking deep. "Um! Goddam, cuz baby. Man!"
"Oh, no! Oh! STO-op! OH!"
He was beyond hearing her screams, beyond caring. Taking pussy was good. Far better than he'd ever had before. There was only one thought in his mind, to drive his big dick as far up her hot little thrashing belly as it would go, and plant cream, the cum already inching up from his bouncing sacs, at the depths of her fiery cousin-cunthole.
* * *
But it wasn't Cousin Betty whose fiery little cunthole Tony was burrowing in-that was long ago; long before Lois, the man in the bar, and the sentence to prison. Now it was Nurse Simmons' hot slit his dick was violating. And like Betty, the captive girl yelled. She fought. She felt the thing grinding in, yanking her out of sleep and back to reality. Her cunt was so sore. Raw red chopmeat! And she'd thought-she had actually dared to hope for a time that Tony Giardino was her friend, and expected nothing more than a "thank you" for rescuing her from Slick Jack and the others.
"Good pussy," hissed Tony, slamming it roughly to her. One hand cupped low on her belly, the other worked the hospital gown up over her breasts. "Ummmmmmm! Ah! Fuck for me, baby. Screw!"
She was almost too exhausted to fight. But she did. She tried with all her might to keep her thighs closed, to prevent him from getting more than the terrible glands in. Her head spun. Her insides recoiled from the prospect of another cruel bludgeoning. She clawed at the callused hand rubbing her curly blonde wedge, and at the rough fingers taunting her nipples. She whimpered. Then she yelled: she sucked air into her lungs, and let it out in a high-pitched wail she thought sure would be heard by someone-anyone!-outside the high prison wall.
"Fucking scumbag!" Tony abandoned her breasts, wrapped his fist in her hair and yanked.
"Owwww!"
"Then give!" he snapped. "You fucked for the blacks-Jack 'n' Spider, probably the rest, too. Now it's my turn, bitch. You think I risked my fuckin' neck for nothin' maybe? Shit! I been thinkin' about you since yesterday ... your ass ... your pussy. Shit! You'll gimme some or I'll make you wish you were still at the infirmary." Again he yanked her long hair, wrenching her head back. The hand on her pussy slipped lower. His fingers dug brutally into the top of her swollen gash.
The pain was so sharp, so blinding, that when Jeanie opened her mouth to scream again only a gurgle came out. They were killing her-cock by big filthy cock! She'd never survive, she was certain. She could feel the long steely thing re-igniting the friction burns along the tortured inner walls of her sheath. Jack and the others had fucked her dry, going again and again and again and again and again. Until there was no juice left in her cunthole. Until their dicks tore a strangled cry from her lips with each mighty lunge, and only the wetness of semen could soothe the hurt-lubricate her for the next violation.
"Ah! Ah! AHHHHHH!" Tony went rigid. His prick, the fat glands a mere two inches inside her pulsating pussy, erupted thick goo. His lips dribbled spittle down the back of her neck. His rod leaped like the rattle on an angry sidewinder, cum spurting and oozing out of her gash, making the inside of her thighs sticky and adding to the filth on the rumpled bedding.
"Oh! You ... you animal!" She stared accusingly at him, disgusted beyond words. It was bad enough to be raped, but to be taken by a man who couldn't restrain himself, a man unable to hold back long enough for her to achieve an orgasm too ...
She gasped, stunned by the unwholesome thought. She looked sharply away from Tony's sweating face. What was wrong with her, anyway? She didn't want to have an orgasm. She wanted only to be left alone, to be set free. She wanted her Michael, who was somewhere in Europe. She wanted ... oh, she wanted only to be as she was that very morning, before the sex-starved rioters stormed into the deserted infirmary and subjected her to perversions-asshole fucking and sucking, three spitting rods in her at the same time-not even the matter-of-fact instructors at nursing school had mentioned. She didn't want that! It was confusion that was responsible for the sudden warped thinking. Orgasm! It was absurd of her mind to even suggest such a thing to her bruised, tortured, and protesting body.
"Jesus! It was too fast," breathed Tony, dick going limp at the mouth of her inner vagina. "Damn! It's been so long I ... Christ, I forgot how good it is to screw. Man! I just had to shoot. There's nothin' like fuckin', baby. Take it from me." His hand returned to her tit, toyed with one turgid pink nipple.
"Animal!" she reasserted, spitting the word back at him. "Let me go!"
Tony laughed. "Sure!"
She gulped when his rod popped from its niche, and lay draped like a soggy spaghetti on her thigh. Her cuntlips turned suddenly cold. She tried to work the muscles, to close herself. Nothing happened: her sweet little slit remained open, as if numbed by Novocain. Oh, how she hated Tony Giardino, hated men. Her face burned with shame. Her ass flesh tightened, pulling away from the wiry cock hair that grew in abundance all over the brute's muscular loins.
Abruptly Tony sat up. His hand gripped her small shoulder, forced her onto her back. He took hold of her chin, made her meet his hot gaze. "Look," he said huskily, "I got you out of that mess in the hospital because those fuckin' guys would've lined you up for the whole population. A thousand guys, baby. Think about it. Your cunt-" he glanced at her cum-crusted blonde bush - "your fuckin' cunt'd be stretched from her to here!" His free hand went to her gash, sliced sharply up to her throat.
"Ow!" Jeanie shuddered, horrified by the prospect. Her cunt! Her sweet little pussy!
"Yeah! Like the Holland Tunnel! You'd be no more good. Think real hard about it."
She thought real hard about it: she envisioned 1000 stiff dicks pissing cum-from the sky, drowning her. Her gaze dropped to the half-hard cylinder in her captor's lap, jerked hastily away. Her breathing quickened. What was he saying? That she had a choice of one stiff prick or many? Some choice! She wished she'd had foresight enough to secret a scalpel in the hospital gown before allowing him to drag her through the window. Or that she had courage enough to take his penis into her mouth, as if to suck him, and chew and chew until only a bloody stump remained. "I ... I ..."
"Can it," barked Tony. "You wanna walk out that door, go. But while you're here ...!" His hand returned to her pussy, rubbed gently.
"I ... it ... I ... oh, I'm all sore down there," she whimpered, blinking back tears. "Please."
Tony considered her for a moment. She watched his hungry eyes caress every inch of her body, pausing at the secret places, eating her up. She supposed she couldn't blame him for wanting her. She was beautiful, soft and tiny, but big in all the right places. Stacked! And ten years was a long time, even she had to admit. She supposed under different circumstances ... if she wasn't engaged to Mike ... if she wasn't a good girl ... under those circumstances she supposed she might even consider him. He was handsome enough. Tall. And his dick-although she detested the thing, wished he'd cover himself so she wouldn't have to keep glancing at it-was bigger by far than Mike's. Bigger limp than most of the others had been when they plowed into her belly. She supposed he had the most awesome prick in the world, or at least in the prison, and that a girl-not her, though: a girl who was like that-might even count herself lucky to have such a marvelous tool to pump electric-like thrills into her willing cunthole.
She moaned, closed her eyes, and turned her head away. Her legs trembled, parted. Her pussy grew tight in spite of the soreness. "Don't," she sobbed, wanting to resist the hand massaging her bush but unable to deny the soothing effect. Wanting to scream again, but unable to do more than gasp each time his rough fingertips grazed her slit. What, what, what! was wrong with her, anyway!
"Yesterday you fixed up my hand," said Tony. "Now it's my turn to do some nursin'. I got a wonder drug for what ails you, baby. Somethin' that'll make the hurt go away. Fast! Real quick-like!"
"Hummm!" Her eyes shot open as the livery thing flicked gently up her swollen vulva. Her ass lifted itself off the cot. Oh, God! she thought. God! God! He was going to suck her. Eat her pussy. The pig! The filthy bastard! There was nothing-absolutely nothing in the entire world she enjoyed more than having her twat lapped by Mike.
But it wasn't her Michael whose dark head was burrowing there, she reminded herself. She chewed her lip, stared at the blue-black curls that contrasted so perfectly with her creamy thighs and golden bush. "Ohah!" Her hips bucked again, of their own accord, making her gash more accessible. "Um!" She tried to hold herself still; tried to tell her hips not to wiggle, her ass to stay put. "N-no-ooooo!"
"No? That's a fuckin' laugh!" Tony locked his hands at the upper inside of her thighs, spread her wide. "Shit! Lookit that cunt nip. What I hear from up there I don't see down here, baby." Again he licked, this time batting the tip of his tongue against her pink clit.
"Iiiieeeeeeeeeeeee!" The hurt was suddenly gone, washed completely away. The shame, too. It was wrong! She looked about the cluttered supply room ... at the wooden crates marked CANNED GOODS ... the naked light bulb overhead ... the jagged chunk of mirror hung on the wall across from the foot of the cot and above the makeshift barrier that hid them from view of the door. Dirty! The room and the deed! But her pelvis refused to recognize the filth. Her ass refused to be still. Her hot cunt-oh, her lovely but unruly blonde pussy-wanted the gentle lapping to continue.
"That's it, honey," mumbled Tony into her breathing cunthole. "Christ, you smell good. Taste good, too." His hands crept under her ass, cupped. He licked down, into the valley between the plump melons and back, laving her anus as well as her slit. "Baby. Goddam."
Tentatively she raised one knee, dropped it wide to one side. The wetness darted deep in her gaped love-hole. She yelped, raised the other knee. Her loins gyrated. Round and round. Fucking. Mashing her cunt in his face. She felt his whiskers, his breath. Her clitoris grew, popped from the lips of her vulva and sought the medicine he prescribed. It lulled her, made her forget where they were ... who he was ... who she was. The cot became a gently rocking cloud, the soiled bedding the smoky folds. The room was a kaleidoscope of sexual bliss, approaching but not reaching, prolonging, keeping as a promise, the-ultimate thrill. Her nipples begged for attention, and it was as if their bodies were in communication, silent harmony; because, without having to be told, as if the message had reached him through the pink inner walls of her sheath, Tony relinquished one half of her ass to minister with his fingers to first one then the other rigid peak. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and gave in completely to the wonderful fiery sensations coursing through her vagina.
She felt the cot shift abruptly, felt the head between her thighs turn completely around. Before she knew what was happening, she smelled him-the sweat on his huge dangling balls, his asshole. "Wha ...?"
"Suck me off, too," croaked Tony, dick standing full hard and pointed straight at her mouth from above. He set his knees wide, at either side of her face, and thrust the veiny meat poker at her moist lips. "Sixty-nine, baby. Pass the medicine around some. Gimme a blowjob."
She sobbed. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she would have considered the request an impossibility; she would have thought her mouth was too small, too delicate to take a foot-long cock. But now she knew better. Slick Jack and the other one-she just couldn't remember his name, didn't want to-had used her that way, had fucked out her face. Now only the strong male stink gagged her, made her want to vomit. She hesitated, studying the slightly bowed, enormous red-tipped monster. She reached with one tiny trembling hand for his nuts, hefted them in her palm. He was a bull! An elephant! None of the medical books had ever depicted a human stallion as low-slung and handsome as Tony.
"Suck it!" he demanded into her cunthole. His tongue flew up one sensitive cunt-lip and down the other, coaxing compliance. His fingers crept low in the crack of her ass, tapped her blood-engorged sphincters, teasing there too. He lowered his hairy bulk, and brushed her nose, her lips and chin, with the throbbing glands of his manhood-the smoking meat still slick with gook from her pussy.
Nurse Jean Simmons, she thought dismally. The girl who had always excelled. With her looks, and a mind that absorbed data like a sponge, she'd go far, everyone-her teachers in high school, the instructors at nurses' training class, her parents, Mike-had always said. The prison was only a stopover. Experience! But she hadn't anticipated the range of that experience. She'd heard stories about other women caught in prison uprisings, raped. But never her. Never had she expected to be used like a thing; a receptacle for gallons and gallons of semen, with cocks-black ones, white ones, brown-fucking out every hole in her body. That kind of experience happened only to "the other guy."
"Oh ...!" She pumped her cunt onto his dipping tongue, closed her fingers tight on his balls and stared cross-eyed at the fat red tip of the prick pulsing like an excited aorta at her mouth. Her head thumped in time to the machinery in the outer shop. Her own aorta felt as if it were going to burst. She'd never seen anything so steely, so ... so fascinating. Her tongue, without any help from her, flicked out-licked the pearl drop of cum from the tiny aperture in the pear-shaped glands.
"Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh!" Tony's hips bucked. He lowered his genitals even farther, blew hot moist air up her pussy. One long finger parted her sphincters, and pressed ... opening the tender rear channel ... grating cruelly up her tight asshole, and making her moan, thrash.
Her lips opened. Dizzy, unable to think of anything but the delicious warmth spreading like forest fire through her gyrating loins, she moved her hand from his balls to the mighty roots of the dagger, and steered the tip to her mouth. It tasted of cunt juice. Never before today, before Slick Jack fucked out her pussy and then her face, had she sampled her own inner goo. Now she licked it greedily from Tony's member, surprised that the tang, the smell, wasn't revolting, as she had once assumed. It took only some getting used to-like when she was a little girl, and her father, who used to laugh when she cried-were all men like that? Brutal?-made her eat head cheese for the first time. She remembered how the stink of the cheese seemed to go away when her father took her onto his lap, kissed the tears from her cheeks. Eleven? Twelve? She couldn't remember! She was young, hadn't yet reached puberty, but had begun to lose the awkward bulging hipbones and elbows and skinned knees of childhood, and was just beginning to sprout tits and a soft little round ass. The head cheese was her father's favorite. But she hardly noticed the taste after the first time ... though she had never before wondered why. Now she took the huge glands of Tony's stiff dick into her face, and recalled that her father too had developed a hardon that first time, and had, whenever he got the chance after that, whenever her mother wasn't around and they were alone in the house, used the cheese-pretending to tease her, calling her Daddy's little big-girl-to get her onto his lap. And later, after she had reached puberty, how he made silly excuses to come into her room while she was dressing. The last time was only a week ago, she recalled. Her own father. Staring. Eyeing her tits and plump ass. Sometimes rubbing against her. Sometimes, like when they went swimming, holding her close in the water-she with her feet off the sand, legs thrashing, and him with one hand on her bottom, and laughing, pretending it was a game; but, she realized now, her mind zeroing in on the sordid events of the day and the sex of a lifetime, using her as Tony was doing. She sucked, astounded that Tony's ferocious penis should fit so neatly in her small delicate mouth. Had Daddy wanted her ever since she first sat in his lap? A blowjob? Fucking? Her uncle's too? All men? She fucked her ass wildly off the soiled bedding, drew as if she were sucking a thick malt through a straw and thought about things that had never before-not even in her kinkiest dreams, or when she and Mike screwed-entered her mind.
"Honey. Ah, baby-baby. Um! Jesus!" Tony drove another long finger up, her nipping asshole, and shoved the remaining three darts on each hand into her lower gash. He spread her so wide Jeanie thought sure she'd split up the middle, covered the sloppy gap of her sex with his mouth and blew and sucked alternately. His hips set a steady fuck-rhythm. Slow. Planting more dick with each downward grind, until the entire shaft was wet with her spit and slipped smoothly in and out, in and out. "Suck it, sweetheart," he groaned into the breach. "Yeah! Um! Ah! Ah! Ah, ba-beeeeeeee!"
She sucked. Noisily. Greedily. Closing her eyes, hands caressing his sacs, fingers weaving an excited unfamiliar pattern in his wiry cock-hair, she drew from deep in her throat on his throbbing meat. Her father! Why hadn't she seen it before? Was she so naive? Did she have to be raped, fucked every which way by an endless line of brutes, before the obvious dawned on her?
She recalled other times. She remembered the night long ago, her mother babysitting with a sick neighbor's child, when she fell asleep on the living room sofa with Daddy. Fourteen? Not much more! The hair on her pussy was still growing, her tits and hips filling out. The movie on TV was a western. She remembered because it was the cowboy shouting, "Get up, there! Get up!" that woke her. Still groggy, only half awake, she'd felt the stiff thing rubbing up and down the rear seam of the thin pajamas she wore. Warm all over. Giddy. She remembered wondering what her father was doing to her back there ... against her cute little ass ... grinding ... grinding ... panting. She remembered snuggling close. Sighing. She was too sleepy, too warm, too ... too something! to keep her eyes open. The stiffness felt good. So good. Her own handsome daddy. She remembered drifting again, hearing the cowboy prod his horse-"Get up there, boy! Get up!"-and Daddy, one hand moving gently over her hips, her thighs, the roundness of her small bottom, dry fucking and groaning-doing her buttocks as Tony Giardino, the rapist, the man who had rescued her from the others only to use her himself, was doing her face. Fucking! Only Daddy's fucking was dry, subdued, cautious, and Tony's dipping was wet and eager, better than pretense.
"Ummmmmm!" She sucked harder, as hard as she could, wanting to taste the thick semen Slick Jack and the other man had introduced her to. She'd seen a man's wiggly cum worms under a microscope, the minuscule tails wagging furiously, futilely, seeking the ovum in a cunt they'd never enter.
Poor things! she thought now, surprised by her own brazenness. Her mind was a maze of unwholesome images. But there was nothing unwholesome about the dick in her face. It was circumcised. Long. Burning hot and dipping in time with the tongue prodding her clit-get up there! Get up!-toward orgasm.
She opened her eyes to study the cordlike vein along the bowed underside of the thing in her mouth. Her gaze swept up the deep dark stinking crack of his ass, down. His asshole winked from beneath a clump of interwoven black bramble. The purple-blue vein at the base of his meat was as fat as an industrial cable, and growing. The wrinkled skin on his balls had grown taut. She moaned, knowing he too was nearing orgasm. It was so different from what they wrote in the medical textbooks-so much better. She had studied it all: she knew the inner workings of a man's genitals, her own cunthole. She knew every sensation point. Yet Tony's tongue had found new, unlisted nerve ends. His magnificent member was teaching her mouth that it too was a cunthole, a receptacle. She sobbed. She sucked and threw her hips high, a full foot off the cot, telling him with her body that whatever she'd said before, whatever she might say afterward, she wanted him now. Wanted cream.
Suddenly Tony fell. He dropped his knees off the cot at each side, and slammed the roots of his dick, his cock hair, into her face. He mumbled incoherently into her gaped pussy. He bit down on the sensitive tip of her clitoris, and rolled his hips ... shooting ... filling her gullet with spurt after spurt of hot liquid love.
Jeanie couldn't breathe. She gagged, spitting the stuff up and out the corners of her mouth. But there was so much-more than any three dicks had pissed earlier. She was caught between desire and loathing; between being what she'd thought she was-a good girl-and what Tony was making her.
Then she stopped caring who and what she was, because the nibbling teeth at her crotch were lifting her over the precipice, pummeling her into bliss. The juice spewed thick and creamy from her pussy. Her insides exploded. She threw her legs up, locked her quivering thighs at his neck, her ankles at the back of his damp head, and yelled, "Ohah! Oh, do it! Suck meeeeeeeeee ...!" into the Brillo-like hair bruising her face.
When it was over, when Tony had slipped his long wet meat from her mouth, and she lay, legs scissored like the hind legs of a frog, the delicious thrill fading, leaving her sore pussy empty, degraded once more; when Tony lay at her side, gulping air, raining wet kisses over her breasts and neck, hands caressing, spreading the goo from her cunthole through the yellow-blonde curls of her bush; when the room came back into focus, the crates, the naked light bulb and soiled bedding, Jeanie cried, "I ... I'll n-never b-b-be able t-to look at myself in ... in the mirror. I won't! I won't!"
Tony grunted breathless laughter. He raised up on one elbow, looked into her face. Again he took hold of her chin, made her meet his dark gaze. "Sure you will, baby. You may even get to like what you see."
"Nooo!" It wasn't true. It wasn't! she protested mentally. She didn't like being violated; she didn't like thinking those awful things about her father, or sucking big dicks, or enjoying it in spite of herself. Yet she had to admit that never before had her pussy been so thoroughly sated. Never before had she experienced such lasting warmth and sexual satisfaction.
"I ... oh, I hate you!" she spit at the darkly handsome face suspended above her.
Tony grinned. "That's okay. Just so long as you keep hatin' like you did."
"You bastard!" she yelled, lashing out with tiny inadequate fists.
Tony trapped both her wrists in one huge hand, pinned her arms. He lowered his face to her tits, sucked one hard pink nipple into his mouth and chewed. He wedged his muscular leg between her thighs, rubbed.
"I ... I ... Iiiiiiiiiiii ...!" she breathed, fighting, thrashing again, wanting to kill him but secretly glad his dick hadn't gone limp. Secretly recalling the partial entry, the premature eruption, and wanting it in her again. Up her pussy, where his tongue hadn't reached. She sobbed-pretending it was because of the struggle, the never-ending fight for her virtue, but anticipating. Wanting to hate him again in the way he liked best.
CHAPTER FIVE
There were no windows in the supply room, no light except the one naked bulb, but Tony had grown so used to prison routine, to rising at daybreak and turning in shortly after dark, that he knew it was morning. He yawned, glanced at the sleeping girl at his side.
"Man!" Even after hours of lovemaking and in the torn and wrinkled hospital gown, she was a beauty. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to start the day with a ravenous breakfast ... Nurse Simmons as the main course.
But there were things to do, he reminded himself. It had been too dark for Spider to see who slugged him and ran off with the girl, but Tony knew that sooner or later Slick Jack would become aware of his absence, would look for him on the compound-if only to brag-and might put two and two together if he couldn't be found. He didn't want that; he couldn't afford to have a thousand angry cons suspect he'd taken the ripe girl for himself, was getting what they were missing. Which meant he had to be seen on the compound. He had to make Jack and the others believe he was staying in the background because of the parole hearing a few months away. They'd understand that. It was the only thing they would understand, and he had to get the word out before they came looking.
Quietly, he rose from the cot, dressed. He went to the sink to wash the stale taste of cunt from his mouth. The tap hissed. He adjusted the cold water to barely a trickle, so as not to disturb the girl. Hurriedly he washed his face, combed his hair with his fingers, and moved to the door.
Outside the sky was red-gold at the horizon, and clear blue higher up. The long gravel path from the tag shop to the main area was a runway from soft Jeanie Simmons to the hard life he'd known for a decade, and he was a jet, moving swiftly, crouched low at the brush abutting the walkway-unwilling to return, but compelled to if he was to have the girl to himself until the besieged prison was retaken. He was a prize fool, he knew. For a few days of sexual bliss he might forfeit yet another lifetime. If he had any sense at all, if he could think for a change with his head instead of his prick, he'd get the girl out and maybe put himself in line for an Executive Pardon.
"Shit! Who the fuck're you kiddin'?" he demanded of himself, nearing the hospital area. The damage was already done. Taking the girl out now, even if he could manage it-and he wasn't at all sure he could-would only mean a few less days of having what he'd been denied for too long.
He dismissed the thought, circled behind the quiet infirmary and peered around the edge of the east wall. Already the compound was stirring, the prisoners, now with prisoners of their own to feed and see to, were carrying large trays of food from the mess hall kitchen to the bedraggled hostages herded like cattle into the hexagon-shaped Operations Center. He could see the two women through the glass partition, some of the huge, supposedly shatterproof, sections broken, that rose from the chest-high concrete apron to the rain shield overhang. He almost laughed. How many times had he heard the cons razzing the screws at Center, calling them "car hops" and demanding burgers and Cokes. Now, with the food going in, men moving briskly back and forth, only the absence of cars marred the image.
He waited until he was certain no one was looking his way, and stepped from behind the infirmary. He crossed unseen to the wall abutting the mess hall, hugged it to the big gate. A group of boisterous cons ran joking from the kitchen entrance. He fell in at the rear.
Spider, who was leaning on the concrete apron in front of Center, saw him first, waved. The left side of the wiry little man's jaw was puffy, black-half a dozen shades darker than his complexion-and blue, and his eye, the one opposite the side Tony had connected with, was swollen shut.
Slick Jack! thought Tony as he approached. Apparently the ringleader had belted the creep for allowing their blonde prize to escape. He looked past the man's gigantic Afro, so huge it dwarfed the rest of his head, through the glass partition at the con inside Center who was feeling the secretary's ass while she ate.
"Where you been, man?" asked Spider.
Tony scowled. "Miami Beach."
Gingerly, Spider rubbed his bruised jaw, and eyed him, as if thinking he was about the right height and weight, and could be the man who had punched him through the jalousie window. He stared speculatively. Tony stared too, an unspoken threat in his eye. Until Spider laughed, refusing the dare, lit a cigarette and snorted two streams of gray smoke from his wide flattened nose.
"You find the guy who sprung the nurse?" prodded Tony, certain the news would by now be all over the compound and anxious to learn what Jack and the other knew. Knowing too that the minute he left, Spider, eager to get back in Jack's good graces, would trot to the infirmary and mention that he was seen.
Spider grimaced, then winced in pain and resumed rubbing his jaw. He threw the fresh cigarette violently to the ground. "It was them fuckin' sneaky troopers," he said hotly. "Snuck in after dark, the way I figure. Must've used a ladder 'n' come over the wall behin' the infirmary, man. Three of 'em. Two held me while the other one punched me out."
Jesus H. Christ! thought Tony jubilantly. He wondered if Spider had told Jack the same story to get himself off the hook. Troopers! It was believable. The State Police were the elite, and when the prison was retaken, when those outside got tired of waiting and negotiating, it would be troopers who came over the wall. He breathed a sigh of relief. His stomach growled. He was suddenly hungry. Starved. He glanced again at the con fondling the elderly secretary's big ass, working the dress up in back.
Spider followed his gaze. Together they watched as the con lifted the hem of the dress to her waist, exposing filthy white panties, a greasy handprint on one cheek. The woman, bent forward over the counter that ran around the inside wall of Center, broken only at the exit, continued to eat. The man said something to her. She looked back at him, her tired face blank. She barely blinked when the hand on her ass traced the crackdown, and the man's fingers disappeared into the gap at the back of her full woman thighs.
Tony's dick stirred. Every morning he watched the warden's secretary walk through the compound, and wondered if the flesh beneath her skirt, her wide swishing ass, was as firm as her shapely calves. He could see that it was: firm and white and appealing. She was a big woman-five-seven or eight-with long legs, and hips that would someday grow fat, but were, right now and from where he stood, perfect for fucking.
"Ain't had her clothes on more'n two hours," said Spider. He rubbed the front of his pants, massaging his limp hose-like prick. "She been fuckin' since we took over, man. Likin' it, too. Want a shot?"
Reluctantly Tony shook his head. He could believe the big woman enjoyed screwing; he could almost see her spread-eagled, legs high, thick black pussy working beneath a stiff dipping cock. But he had to maintain the image of a guy who didn't want trouble; he had to use Spider to get the message to Jack and the others, so they wouldn't get curious. He had to have blonde Jeanie Simmons for himself.
"I ... I'm counting on a parole," he said at last, chest tight, dick growing rapidly stiff. "I see the board in a couple of months, and if I get involved in this ... shit! I got too much time in to shoot craps with another thirty years for rape. No cunt's worth it."
Spider looked from him to the secretary. The con had yanked the woman's panties halfway down and was moving his stink finger along the crack of her ass. It was a good ass, Tony mused, round and soft, with an abundance of black hair growing low in the split. Whether she liked fucking or not, whether she was willing or not, he wished he could take the other con's place for ten minutes ... just long enough to sample the woman's enormous bottom. Asshole fucking! She was made for it! And it was the only way he hadn't screwed Jeanie.
The civilian commissary worker stepped uncertainly from the room at the rear of Center, two grinning cons behind her. The room was used by the graveyard shift, Tony knew. There was a cot and a table and chairs inside, the former for catnapping, the latter for coffee breaks. But the cons had put the room to better use, he could see. The woman's red hair was a mess, and her clothing, what was left-her blouse was torn at the shoulder, revealing the fact that she wore no bra and had drooping tits, and her skirt was ripped up the side with no panties beneath-was even filthier than the secretary's underwear. She moved as if she were sleepwalking. As if she'd been caught in a bad dream, hadn't yet accepted her plight as reality, and had been fucked almost senseless.
"Here comes my tray," said Spider.
Tony eyed the plateful of scrambled eggs and buttered toast, the steaming pot of coffee. He watched Spider fall in behind the kitchen worker. His stomach grumbled. He hesitated. But Jeanie was safe, he reasoned. It wouldn't take long to get some hot food into his belly, and it would give him a chance, maybe the last for a long time to come, to get close to two more chicks ... if only for a better look at the secretary's wide ass.
Inside Center, he paused at the open door to the small room. The place was a shambles; the walkie-talkies the guards used for emergencies were shattered and strewn about the floor; the straight-backed chairs were dismantled, the seats piled in a corner, the legs being used as clubs by the men stationed outside Center. The sheet draped over the cot was stained yellow where, if two people were fucking, the woman's ass would lay. The redhead's missing underwear was hung on a nail hammered into the wall, a trophy. The rioters were in for big trouble when the prison was retaken, he mused.
Another kitchen worker entered Center with a tray. He took it from the man, set it down on the counter a few feet from where the anxious con was manipulating the secretary's genitals. He ate with one eye on the pair, and listened.
"Hurry it up, will ya?" complained the con. "You eat like you fuck-from now on!"
The woman ignored him; she stuffed the last hunk of toast in her mouth, wiped her lips with a napkin. She glanced back at the hand on her ass, as if becoming aware of it for the first time. She sighed and straightened. The buttons down the front of her dress were undone, and her tits, surprisingly firm for a woman her age, the nipples dark brown and red at the base, came into view. "I'm ready," she said huskily. "Let's go fuck, honey."
Tony almost choked on his eggs. He watched the pair head for the back room, the con's hand still working beneath the hem of the dress. His dick ached. He glanced from them to where the redhead was being served breakfast. The torn skirt revealed her thigh to the hip. Smooth white skin. Freckles. He could see the gentle swell of her belly, and the dip where her pussy began. As he watched, Spider leaned close, said something in a whisper and made a grab for her tit. The woman tried to move away. Another con stepped up close behind her. She looked hopelessly from him to Spider, dropped her fork, and buried her face in her hands. She trembled as the two felt her-Spider kneading her breasts with one hand, shoveling food into his face with the other, the second con grinding slowly against her plump buttocks.
Tony watched until the two men relented and allowed the woman to eat. Spider kept glancing his way, as if to say, "It's free, man. Better get it while the getting's good." The other man moved to the open door to the back room, where a group of cons were watching the show inside.
Prick throbbing, torn between the desire to take some of what the others were getting, and the need to maintain the image he'd created for Spider, Tony finished his breakfast and joined the whispering cons at the door to the small back room. He groaned. The secretary was laid out on the cot-spread-eagled as he had envisioned her-the dress bunched at her waist, open on top, the soiled panties twisted at her ankle. The man seated at the edge of the cot was sucking one fat brown nipple, his hand working roughly in the black scruff between her full raised thighs. Eyes Closed, hips churning, the secretary undid his fly and freed his hardon.
"Um, baby," grunted the con. "Ah! I ... I like that real ... ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! Real good! Nice! Jerk me off, baby. Yeah! Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah."
"Goddam! I'm comin' in my pants just watch-in' it," croaked the con who had grinded his meat into the redhead's ass moments before. "Motherfucker! Lookit that!"
Tony looked. He looked so hard his eyes almost popped from their sockets. The secretary had flung her legs wide, and the man's hand, every finger, had disappeared up her cunthole. "F-fuck it," she moaned. "With your-" she jerked hard on his prick, tore a strangled cry from the con. "Hurry! S-stick it in me. You ... your dick, not your fingers. Hur-reeeeee!"
The man obliged. Without pausing to remove his pants, cock standing straight out from the open fly, he climbed into the breach and allowed the thrashing woman to steer the tip home. He lunged, grunted. The entire length of his tool-not as long or fat around as Tony's, but bigger than average-burrowed up her pussy.
The door, opposite the foot of the cot, was the perfect vantage point: Tony could see the deep alluring split up the secretary's fat rear, the pink gash of her nipping cunt. And hair! Curly black hair all over the place! He could see the con's stiffness dipping. Faster and faster as the woman's legs shot up, locked tight at his waist. His own meat threatened to piss cream. He forced his eyes away, knowing that if he watched a moment more, if he saw them come, heard their sighs of pleasure, he'd have to take some ... and to hell with the image!
But looking away did no good. Now he saw the redhead, who was younger and more appealing than the warden's secretary. And Spider, who had turned the struggling woman to face him, had her ass pinned to the metal counter and was standing close ... grinding ... grinding ... rubbing his meat into her crotch as he hissed threats in her tormented face.
Again Tony groaned. He clutched his cock, squeezed. He watched Spider rearrange the woman's skirt, so that the slit up the side was centered in front and her bare pussy-almost as red as the tangled hair on her head-was flush with the bulge in his pants leg. He heard the woman sob as Spider buried his face at her neck, sucking a hickey. Black and white. The contrast turned him on. He wanted to see Spider's ebony dick part the folds of her sex, disappear to the hilt up the pink and white belly. He wanted to help; he wanted to come up behind the protesting woman, hold her arms until Spider got his joint in, then whip out his own burning meat, spread her cheeks, and do to the redhead what he'd speculated about doing to the elderly secretary. He wanted to do to someone what he had neglected to do to Jeanie.
The thought of Nurse Simmons sobered him. He had gone to one hell of a lot of trouble to kidnap the minx from the others, he reminded himself. He'd taken his life in his hands. It was foolish of him to be there after taking such a chance, and while the blonde-perhaps awake now, frightened to find him gone: perhaps entertaining thoughts of escape-was safe at the tag shop. Through Spider, he had accomplished what he set out to do. He was free of suspicion. Jeanie was his for as long as the riot lasted. And there was nothing to stop him from doing to the adorable blonde what he most wanted to do.
"Fuck out her sweet little asshole," he whispered, envisioning the tender round melons he'd held through most of the night. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cock, remembering the tuft of blonde fuzz at the girl's tiny anus, and the way she squirmed when he twisted a finger up there. He remembered the taste and smell. He was indeed a fool to consider the others when Jeanie was so much softer ... blonde ... younger and firmer, more appealing.
Quietly he slipped from the unguarded exit. The cons stationed outside Center were busy watching Spider and the redhead through the glass partition, and those inside were glued to the room where the secretary was doing her thing. No one paid any attention to him.
He made his way unseen to the big gate, then along the wall abutting the mess hall. He paused opposite the infirmary, glanced back to be sure no one was watching. Quickly he crossed the open area and ducked behind the corner of the building.
Again he paused, this time to listen. Something was happening: the loudspeakers weren't barking, which meant something was up. Outside, beyond the high wall fifty feet from where he stood, large vehicles-perhaps trucks, army equipment-were pulling up to the prison. Had the State Police called in the National Guard, he wondered. Were they about to storm the wall? He knew, and he supposed all the cons did, that it was only a matter of time before the authorities, whoever was charged with the responsibility of the hostages, grew impatient and threw caution to the wind. Then it would end-suddenly, the prison retaken and locked up as tight as a clam. Then he and the others would pay for their brief pleasure.
Tony cursed. There might not even be time to get back to the tag shop. For all he knew, the forces outside the prison were, at that very moment, standing ladders against the high gray wall, and, on signal, before he could get to Jeanie, a thousand riot guns would appear, helmeted heads behind them, sharpshooters all.
His heart raced. His hard dick protested. There might not be time to sample the only lovely hot hairy hole he'd neglected. He had to move swiftly; he had to get back to the tag shop supply room, and fuck and fuck and fuck like there was no tomorrow. Because, once the riot was over, once Jeanie told what had happened to her, there would be many tomorrows ... but alone! Without pussy! Just him and his callused hand in the bunk each night.
Crouched low, he raced around the infirmary to the gravel path. He was a jet again, scorching the runway. The large building in the distance loomed closer. The labored thumping of the machines grew loud. He covered the last yards at a pace that would have done justice to an Olympic champion, entered the sunlit shop. His breath came in gasps. The stink of hot grease seared his nostrils, and the prospect of losing Jeanie, of losing her tight little asshole, seared his loins.
Quickly, he slammed the outside door, threw the bolt. He ran down the aisle toward the supply room at back.
CHAPTER SIX
She was scared silly. Had he left? For good? Had she, through her struggling and protests, driven her one hope away? She looked uncertainly about the room. What would she do if he didn't return, she wondered. Her gaze settled on the sliver of mirror hung on the wall. She'd slit her wrists, that's what. She'd kill herself before allowing Slick Jack and the other blacks to abuse her again.
Her heart leaped into her throat when the door burst open, and Tony, looking more frightened than she was, strode into the room. She gulped-on the one hand relieved, but noting the incredible bulge at his crotch and recalling the maniac cock that had fucked her every which way.
Their gazes locked. She wanted to say something appropriate; she wanted to tell him she was glad he came back, but to leave her alone because her pussy was raw, and ... and she didn't know what all.
"I ... I t-thought you had g-gone for good," she managed in a small voice. "I ... I ..."
"You missed this!" Tony supplied, clutching his monstrous hardon.
"No!"
Tony laughed-a deep, lusty sound. She watched him close and lock the door, come toward her. God, he was huge. His prick stuck out like a crowbar. His nuts were softballs bulging inside the khakis. She recalled the driving power in his lean hips, the strength in his hands and arms. He was hard muscle all over. Brute force. All man.
She thought suddenly of Mike, her fiance, who was nowhere near as tall and masculine as Tony. She remembered the last time they made love ... the gentleness ... endearments. Mike would never hurt her, she knew. Mike would never make her commit the horrid perversions Tony had subjected her to. Never, not once, had Mike even dared to twist a finger up her tight rectum, or suggest that she blow him. With Mike it was love, where, with the man coming toward her, clutching his meat, taunting her with it, it was merely sex. Fucking! A dick in a cunthole, any cunthole, and pop!
She shivered. Pop! How many times had he and the others shot cum up her belly, in her mouth? She couldn't remember-she didn't dare try to keep count. She could remember only the steely length of Tony's long cock. The pain. Then the thrills, the physical willingness, in spite of mental revulsion.
She shrank back when he sat at the edge of the cot, took her hand and placed it over the bulge. She huddled inside the ridiculous hospital gown, conscious of the fact that her tits showed through the material, and that, seated as she was, legs drawn up beneath her bruised cheeks, thighs bare, he could look under the hem of the garment and probably see her blonde pubic curls. The beast! The pig! she thought. She stared into his dark lidded eyes, read the Just there. Her pussy tingled. Her nipples grew taut. She waited for him to say something. She braced herself for what was to come ... the dirty words ... the dirtier actions. She felt tiny. Helpless. At the mercy of the man with a prick so big it had to be the eighth wonder of the world.
Grinning, Tony undid the zipper of his fly. He thrust her small hand inside the pants, closed her fingers around the shaft of his rod, and made her take it out.
Jeanie gasped, awed anew by the sight of him. The pear-shaped glands seemed to have grown. Her cunthole quivered. Goose-bumps popped all over her bottom. It was impossible; she knew she'd taken the evil thing in her pussy and mouth, but looking at it, seeing it in full bloom and ready to dip-which hole this time?-and contemplating the tightness of her tender pink sheath, was like trying to imagine a giant redwood fucked up her belly.
"Wanna suck it?" asked Tony. He moved her hand slowly up and down the hard stalk, made her feel the veins and ridges. His own hand crept up the inside of her thigh, under the hem of the hospital gown to her pussy.
"D-don't! I ... I'm so s-sore. I ... it feels like ... I-like ... oh, like the first time I ... I ... the f-f-first time I ..."
"The first time you was fucked?"
"Ummm."
"Man! I bet that was some screw." Tony leaned close, nuzzled her firm breasts. His fingers weaved intricate designs in her cunthair. He held her hand tight to his stiffness, pressed her back until she unfolded her legs and slid down on the soiled bedding. The hem of the hospital gown shifted high on her hips. He stared at her pussy.
Why her, she wondered. What had she done to warrant such continuous torture? She felt his hot gaze on her sex, felt the fingers slipping lower, inching close to her slit. Her hips bucked. She too glanced down. Her little blonde wedge was still stiff with hard cum, the mound beneath swollen. How much punishment was she expected to endure? How long could her senses survive in a body that refused-even in pain, even while she hollered and fought-to lie still?
Tony lifted her shoulders, reached beneath her and undid the tie strings holding the gown closed on top. He made her let go of his cock, raise her arms. He tossed the garment to the floor. "You dig bein' forced, don't ya, baby?"
"I don't, I ..."
But it was no good; she could tell by the look in his eye that he knew, had recognized the signs of arousal. It was the same look her father got when, as a young girl, she had done something naughty and lied. Was she two people? Wanton flesh and a mind that rebelled?
"Know what I want?" said Tony.
She stared wide-eyed into his face ... anticipating ... dreading ... not sure what she felt, but ashamed. Her father! Her own lovable Daddy! Why was it her thoughts kept returning to him ... the nights she'd sat in his lap ... the time on the sofa ... in the water, when he held her plump bottom? Incest! What was happening to her? What had become of the clean-minded good girl she was only the day before?
The fingers returned to her bush, tore a sob from her lips. A moment ago she'd been frightened, thinking Tony had left her to fend for herself in the riot-torn prison, and then happy to see him, and now ...? Her head thumped in confusion. Her pulse raced. Did it matter at all what she thought anymore? Would anything she said or did change what was going to happen? No! There was no way to dissuade the handsome brute. Yet a part of her, a part that was growing weaker with each caress, demanded a token resistance.
"Stoooooooooop!" she wailed, pushing at his broad chest, knowing it was hopeless but compelled to try.
Again Tony laughed. The hand on her lush pussy slipped lower, coaxing her thighs apart. She bit her lip, watched his grinning face as the fingers brushed her swollen wet cunthole. She held her breath, expecting the darts to rake across her clit and grind up her vulva. But the fingers didn't stop there. They slipped farther and farther down, into the pinched crack of her ass to the tiny brown pocket the man at the infirmary had reamed.
"Oh, no. No! No! Noooooooo!" She threw one leg over the other, trying desperately to close her plump cheeks. "No! N-not there. PLEEEEZE! Oh! OH! OHHHHHHH! n-n-noooooooo!"
Tony ignored her. His fingers bored in, forcing her delicate sphincters open. One rough dart slipped in to the first knuckle. Another followed. "I gotta get some of your sweet little asshole," he breathed hot in her face. "Man, it's fucking tight. TIGHT! Give a little, Jeanie. Jeanie, baby. Open your legs. Lemme juice it up some beforehand. It won't hurt if you help."
"It'll hurt anyway," she bellowed, recalling the sharp stab of pain when the other man, Slick Jack's buddy, fucked it up her small rear. "It ... I ... oh, I'm too little back there. You ... your t-t-thing is too bi-ig! Please. No. Stop. It ... it'll hurt something aw-ful!"
She gulped, stunned when the fingers popped wetly from her asshole, and Tony stood and began to undress. Had he relented? Pity? Did he have a heart, after all? She was almost ready to believe it, to thank him, when the last garment fell from his magnificent frame, and he turned, rod bobbing, longer and stiff er than anything she'd ever seen, and sat again at the edge of the cot.
"Climb on my lap, baby. On this." He gripped the pulsing shaft of his dick, squeezed. The head swelled bright red with blood. A drop of clear lubricant appeared at the tip, glided smoothly down the fiery glands, over the mark of his circumcision and onto his hand. "Sit on it!"
She couldn't speak-the breath was stuck in her lungs, which refused to work, and the protests, all the futile objections she could think of, seemed small and unimpressive compared to the hard cylinder of meat he was asking her to-actually asking her to-take up her chute. He was trying to kill her, she was certain, to use her every horrible way, and leave a corpse, something that couldn't tell, couldn't point an accusing finger at him when the riot was over. She felt her legs being lifted, held aloft for a moment while he eyed her white bottom, then set down across his muscular thighs. She felt his hands at her waist. She closed her eyes and sobbed ... pussy dripping goo ... asshole twitching. She felt herself being positioned on his lap, the stiffness bending beneath her, the fat glands probing.
"Please," she whispered, horrified, yet recalling the happy lap-sitting days of her girlhood. Daddy! He had indeed wanted her, she admitted at last. She felt Tony's big prick burrowing in the crack of her ass, content for the moment to savor the heat, the satiny skin, not yet at her anus. Daddy too had longed to ream her, to fuck her back there. She'd known all along, but always, each time he came near, each time she sat in his lap and felt his dick swell-because he was Daddy and she was his little big-girl-she had forced her mind blank; unwilling to face his unwholesome desire, and unable to justify her own incestuous hunger. Like the time on the sofa ... snuggling back into him, pretending to be asleep. And recently, since she took the job at the prison, the good-night kisses that lasted too long, left both of them breathless. Daddy! She wished he had taken her. She wished he had fucked out her ass, spread her back there, so that now, Tony groaning, ready to put it in, the bigger, more demanding cock, a cock like none other, could dip smoothly instead of tearing her sphincters apart.
"Da-deeeeeeeee," she moaned as Tony lifted one cheek of her ass, set the hot tip at her anus and let her down. "Ah! Umahhhhhh!"
Tony's hands locked at her waist, held her from wiggling free. "What's with the ah?" He pumped upward, forced the glands up her asshole. "What's with the Daddy shit, baby? I ... ummmmmm!" He pumped again, trying to plant the thick shaft, to get it all in.
"He ... he ow! Ow, Tony, it hurts!"
"Open your legs then. Swivel aroun' 'n' face front. Make like you're shittin' the biggest turd in your life."
The suggestion made her want to puke. Shitting! She was certain she'd never shit or pee again; never again use her holes for anything but fucking. But she complied. She spun like a top on his joint, threw her legs wide, astraddle his knees, gritted her teeth and strained to take his rod in. And thinking of Daddy-her own handsome, incestuous daddy, who would have done her as Tony was doing when she was a girl of thirteen. If only she'd known about fucking, known as she knew now. If only she'd had courage enough to tell him she knew; that she looked forward to the lap-sitting sessions as other young girls looked forward to dances and clothes.
"Ah, honey. Honey, baby." Tony lifted her high in the air, until his dick, the part that was planted, almost popped free. He groaned, expanded and contracted the glands. He tightened his grip on her waist. Pulling her down, grinding her onto the stake, he fucked himself upward.
"To-neeeeeeeeeee!" Jeanie stiffened, the pain glazing her eyes. Her sweet little chute! He was tearing her up back there. She could feel the cruel monster-cock spreading her sphincters, making them bleed. Yet she wanted it so; she wanted it all, every stiff inch, up her belly. She couldn't say why; her mind wasn't her own anymore. Something had happened to her in the twenty-four hours since Slick Jack bared his black dick, and he and the others-how many were there? How many big dicks had she entertained?-introduced her to degradation. She was no longer the girl who had saved herself for only one man: Mike! Mike was in Europe ... probably fucking a Parisian whore. And she was there, in a world turned upside down, a receptacle for gallons and gallons of convict goo.
She did as Tony had directed; she strained, pretending his cock was a turd, but going in instead of coming out. The pain lessened as the glands became slippery with the gook from her rectum-lesser still as he retreated, redistributing the shit from deep in her bowels, greasing the snug passage for the next mighty lunge. She whimpered. She threw her head back on his shoulder, braced herself with hands splayed on his thighs and fucked downward. It was impossible; the position was awkward, and she, her plump bottom, was far too little to accept the full length of his member. Yet she felt it going up, up. Halfway home. Grating against the membrane separating front and rear channel. Forcing her open. Stretching her. Disappearing inch by hard incredible inch into the tiny hole between her soft white buttocks.
Tony's hand shot into her crotch, cupped. His fingers slipped high in her cunthole. His other hand went to her breasts, leaving her partially impaled, suspended above the roots of the burrowing monster. He grunted, fucked his hips upward. But his dick refused to go farther, as if her sweet asshole, outraged by the steely intruder, had suddenly set up a roadblock.
"Ow. Owah. It ... it won't goo," she wailed, the pain returning, firing electric-like charges into her brain. "It won't. It w-won't. Ow, it won't!"
"That's what the fuck you ah! Jesus, baby, it's hot. Hot 'n' so fuckin' tight! But it'll go. Dammit! I'll get it up there if I have to ahhhh! Motherfucker! Honey! It'll um! Man-o-fucking-man! If I have to split you up the middle, my prick's going in!" He fell back, taking her with him, wrapped his forearm around her thighs, and pulled her legs onto the cot along with his own.
Was he insane? Completely mad, Jeanie wondered. He was rolling her onto her belly, his fat dickhead still up her ass, his balls at her cunthole. Her plump cheeks closed tight on his member, narrowing the channel even more and making it impossible for her to assist in the violation. Where before the entry was tiny, too close to take the entire length of his penis, it was now the eye of a needle-too tight to accommodate a toothpick, her insides screaming because of the part already embedded.
"On ummmmmm! Ah! On your hands and knees, baby." Tony's hand splayed low on her belly, lifted. He kneeled between her gaped thighs, guided her up and back. "Ah! Oh, yeah, honey. Um! It's goin' now. Ahhhhhh! Fuck your hips back. Put your head down 'n' screw."
She gasped. Her asshole and cunt were wide open, and it was indeed going in. She could feel his big dick inching bit by bit past the roadblock, conquering her reluctant rectum, making it give. Her face burned with shame and desire. She felt like a bitch; a female Chihuahua being raped in the ass by a determined Great Dane.
"Wiggle!" demanded Tony. "Fuck! Move like you did last night. Help-Jesus! Oh, man, man! Help me get the last few ah! Um! Inches in."
Gulping air, trying to catch her breath, trying not to think of the filth, the perversion, but of the rhythmic thrust of his loins, the fire scorching her clit, Jeanie rested her face on the bedding and stared past her bouncing tits-pink and white stalactites hanging from her chest, the nipples hard and pointing out at either side of the action below-past her belly-round and heaving, still lovely despite the bludgeoning it had received-more cocks in twenty-four hours than it had known in a lifetime-to where his coarse pubic hair and nuts were humping closer and closer as his meat advanced between the tender halves of her upended bottom. Tentatively she wiggled. The monster-cock slipped farther in. The hair on his balls met her cunt-lips ... tickling ... exciting the sensitive mouth of her nipping pussy. Moaning, thinking it was the most loathsome thing ever, yet felt so good-pain and all-she set her bottom in motion and watched the union completed.
"Goddam! I knew you'd be good, but man!" groaned Tony, face contorted with pleasure as he stared down at the split that had swallowed his cock to the hilt. "The best fucking asshole fuck ever. Ummm!" His hands moved roughly over her quivering cheeks ... pausing here to knead the soft flesh ... there to trace the crack with a finger, probe the blood-engorged sphincters caressing the roots of his meat. He pulled slowly back, withdrawing half the length of the shit-smeared cylinder, reversed the motion of his hips and slammed into her.
The thrust jarred her teeth. But inside, deep in her belly and cunthole, a small voice cried more! She couldn't wait for the next terrible drive. She extended her arms, took hold of the wooden frame of the cot for leverage. She leaned away from his balls-a greased gasket slipping off his long meat-piston. With all the strength in her hips, she fucked her ass swiftly back onto the stake.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!" Tony's hands locked at her waist, pushed her forward again and yanked her back. "Mo-ther-fuck-er! I don't care if they give me a hundred years," he blurted. "You're worth it, honey. Worth every day. Fuck! Do like you're doin' ... on 'n' off. Go, baby. Go!"
She obeyed. The rhythm of the thumping presses in the outer shop crept into her loins, paced her buttocks. Her pussy spewed goo. She felt it running down the inside of her thighs, growing sticky as it cooled. She felt his nuts slapping her crotch. Her gaze locked on his huge wrinkled sacs. They were such silly-looking contraptions-balloons that had been blown up too many times. And his dick, although handsome now, irresistible when veiny and stiff, was an equally dopey-looking invention when limp. But within, at the heart of the dual mechanism, the cum worms were waiting to wag their way up her chute. And the small voice inside her, the cry of the wanton born in the past twenty-four hours, guided her hips, her ass, demanding she wrench the wiggly darlings up the shaft of his sex, out the fat glands, and into the hungry cavern that only moments ago had seemed too tiny, too fragile.
Frantically she fucked. She would never be the same, she knew. It was like when she was a girl, and first discovered that there was a difference between her and the boys who pulled her hair and tried to get their hands up her dress each day after school. Like when she first became conscious of the delicate pink folds of her slit. More so! Like Daddy-the time on the sofa, when she shut her mind to reality, storing the incident, but knew all along what was happening and went along with the pretense. Now her mind was a sponge ... absorbing ... becoming accustomed to shame ... flashing back and comparing Mike and her incestuous Daddy. Her loins thrashed out of control ... bucking ... grinding on and off Tony's tool. The voice in her belly grew louder; the one in her head-conscience? Morals?-grew faint, almost imperceptible. She closed her eyes, sobbed. Images danced at the back of her eyelids ... her father in shorts, his big dick hanging limp until she entered the room in pajamas, then growing, rising up hard while she pretended it wasn't there, and then climbing onto his lap-his own little big-girl. And Mike, his smaller, less handsome hardon, dipping wetly in and out of her pussy ... always the same ... never varied ... dull. Not like Slick Jack. Spider. Tony and the others. What was wrong with her was that she liked what was happening, she realized. She was a good girl who didn't want to be good, who wanted to be raped and abused. Who wanted to be fucked every which way.
"Almost; Al-ah! AHHHHHH!" Tony's hands closed low on her thighs, yanked her legs out from under her. His weight came down, knocking the last ounce of breath from her lungs-a mountain of hard muscle and dick, crushing her like a bug underfoot.
She didn't care. She cared only that he was coming. She could feel it in the head of the stake up her ass. It swelled. It seemed to grow longer. She tightened her cheeks, held him trapped. "Do it," she heard herself moan in an alien voice. "Oh, please. Shoot! Fuck out my asshole. Like ... oh, like Daddy wanted to. Hard! Fuck cum up meeee!"
"Goddam!" Tony went rigid. His hands closed on her tits. His dick exploded.
Jeanie yelled. The thing inside her jerked, triggering her clit into orbit. Her eyes rolled. Her throat filled with saliva. She couldn't think, breathe, move. Hot thrills spiraled up her spine, whirled around inside her skull, began to fade and were re-ignited when he spurted again. The cream gathered high in her rectum, the passage closed, too tight for the goo to seep out. She blubbered incoherently. Loud. Her sighs and moans and sobs high-pitched, rising above the thump of the presses, the sounds Tony made. Never before had she experienced such overwhelming sensations. She was a thing. Used. Totally dominated. It was a brand of sex she'd heard other girls talk about, had read about. Masochism: male superiority v. female humiliation. She was seeing herself for the first time, her secret desires reflected in a mental mirror.
The cream was still pouring from Tony's cock when the door shattered, the oak panels splintered by a makeshift battering ram, and a dozen angry cons, Slick Jack and Spider in the lead, rushed into the room, scaled the packing crates and surrounded the cot. She gasped. The meat up her rectum went slack.
"Wait a min ..." Tony began.
She heard him grunt, felt his body go as limp as his dick as Jack hit him a stunning blow at the back of the neck. Fear gripped her throat. Should she plead? Beg for mercy? Her mouth dropped open but nothing came out. She looked frantically from one sweating black face to the other.
"Dirty white motherfucker," growled Jack.
"I tol' ya," said Spider. "I know'd the punk wasn't too right. Ain't nobody turns down good pussy like he done. Parole, my ass. I was right, wasn't I, boss? He the motherfucker who slugged me!"
Jack gave him an ugly look. "Shut your face 'n' get 'im the fuck off 'er before I slug you again."
"Nooo ...!" Jeanie breathed, knowing what would happen when the unconscious body was rolled away and they viewed her nakedness.
Jack stared her into silence. He took a handful of Tony's hair, lifted. Spider and the others grabbed his feet. She whimpered as Tony was flung to the floor, and the cum, now that the plug was gone, seeped from her rectum, flooded the crack of her ass and spilled out over her burning cheeks. She clutched the soiled bedding, tried to cover herself. That too was wrenched away, flung to the floor.
"Please!" she cried, remembering the filthy black dicks, Jack's in particular. It was yesterday all over again, with all that had happened between-her acceptance of Tony, of subjugation-gone with the gook that had trickled from her anus. She was frightened again, alone-at the mercy of the entire prison once more.
A hand clamped tight on her ass. Another shot into her pussy and two more clutched her tits. She screamed. Someone slapped her. She screamed again. Louder. A continuous wail. The hand whipped back and forth across her face, cracking like gunshots, making her ears ring. Her head was yanked back by the hair. Her legs were gaped wide. Above her she saw an ebony rod spring from an unzippered fly. Another appeared to her left ... three ... four. She tried to lash out, but strong hands trapped her ankles and wrists, held her down, spread-eagled.
"You'll kill meee," she choked, trying to close herself as Jack placed one knee at the edge of the cot and wagged his uncircumcised meat above her tense belly. Tony! she thought. Mike! Daddy! Where were they? Where were the troopers and National Guardsmen who were supposed to quell riots?
"Did white baby forget what she done yesterday once'st we got to fuckin' good?" asked Jack. Dick in hand, he knelt between her spread thighs. He stared hard at the man who was finger-fucking her pussy. The hand shot away. His replaced it, rubbed her mound.
"No. Don't. I ..."
"You gon' fuck, is what. Like you done fo' me yesterday. Likin' it, too."
"I didn't. Oh, I didn't. I DIDN'T LIKE IT!"
Jack's laughter was cruel, mocking. The others joined him. Another man-blue-black and uglier than anything human she'd ever seen-a new addition to the group from the infirmary, sat beside her, leaned and placed his blubbery lips to one turgid pink nipple. Jack's fingers tore into her raw swollen cunthole. Other fingers-she knew they weren't Jack's because they were smaller, less brutal-fucked the cum from the crack of her ass back up her rectum.
Tears sprang into her eyes, blurring her vision. The room began to spin. The ceiling turned over and over, whipping down one wall, across the floor and up the shattered door. She saw Jack's descending face as a shiny black balloon; felt his weight, the coarse khakis and T-shirt, a belt, on her belly, his prick seeking her gash.
It was more than she could endure and maintain her sanity. Her mind went numb. She gave in to the blackness all around her-black grinning faces, black dicks. Her body went slack ... allowing Jack's stiffness to grind in without a struggle ... accepting the mouth greedily sucking her nipples, the long filthy fingers fucking her ass.
She screamed one last time and drifted into the temporary safety of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The negotiations to end the riot had come to a standstill, the authorities upstate, at the old maximum security complex, admitting to fault -archaic living conditions, bad food, bread and water for anyone who griped-but refusing to implement change until the rebellious cons relented and went peacefully back to their cells. The cons, on the other hand, refused to relent until their demands were met, and throughout the state, at every lockup including the one where Nurse Simmons and the other hostages were being held, the prisoners were with them. The press was being allowed in to meet with inmate spokesmen. But the revolt could continue for weeks, or at least until the food ran out, and Tony knew, could feel it in his bruised neck, the reopened cut in his hand and the kick marks down his back, that Slick Jack and the others would see to it that he didn't last as long.
He lay curled on his side on the cold tile floor in the corner of the operating room where they had flung him, pretending to be unconscious still. But the men were paying no attention to him. Someone had discovered the rubbing alcohol supply, and what seemed to be a celebration was keeping everyone busy.
Outside, beyond the high gray wall, the loudspeakers were blaring again-first warning through innuendo of the dire consequences to be faced by anyone who harmed the hostages ... a pause ... mention of the negotiations going on upstate ... then beseeching the ringleaders within to set the women free as a public display of good will.
Tony almost laughed. The riot, although some of the cons were sincere, actually were backing the men upstate, was merely an excuse for Slick Jack and his clique-the hard core, those who would most likely never get out of prison alive-to rip off the broads, to rape. They would never give up the women. And those who were sincere, those who were quietly waiting it out, weren't strong enough to take what the others had and intended to keep.
Jeanie! He almost bolted up from the floor, had to force himself to lie still. He'd forgotten the girl. Where in hell was she? What had they done with her? Eyes lidded, neck aching from Slick Jack's blow, he looked about the sterile operating room. Already some of the men lay drunk on the floor. Others were drinking deep from the bottles of alcohol mixed with juice from the commissary, the empty juice cans stacked neatly, forming a pyramid, at the center of the operating table. But there was no sign of Jeanie. Or Slick Jack and Spider. There was only the ersatz booze, the shiny hospital equipment, the glaring light overhead and the guzzling cons.
His gaze shot to the hall door. There was a commotion out in the corridor-whoops and jeers. Spider, wearing wet shorts and shower clogs, appeared in the doorway, shouted, "She been scrubbed 'n' fixed up real purdy, y'all. Act like gen'elmen."
The room quieted down, all eyes on the door. Spider stepped back, bowed at the waist. Several more men entered. Then came Slick Jack and another man, with Jeanie, a stunned look on her beet-red face, bouncing naked atop their shoulders. The girl's skin was bright pink and glowing. Her long blonde hair was still wet, hanging in cordlike bunches past her tits, down her back. There was a silk bow tied to her pussy. It was apparent that she had been bathed in the whirlpool tub at the rear of the infirmary, and that she was the cause of the celebration.
A cheer went up from the men. Bottles were raised in a toast. Jack and the other man stood at the door, their black hands clutching the girl's creamy white thighs, both staring up at their captive.
"Clear the table," someone yelled.
"Yeah, man. Let's do some operatin' on 'er. Give 'er a beef injection," said another.
Spider grinned crookedly. Moving briskly to the operating table, he used his arm to sweep the juice cans to the floor. The tin clattered on the tiles. Another cheer sounded. Before the noise died, Jack and the other man had set Jeanie down at the edge of the table beneath the round glaring ceiling light.
Tony wanted to leap from the corner, tear into Jack and the others. But that would be suicide, he knew: there were a dozen blacks-no! Thirteen ... fourteen, and no whites-in the room, and the memory of the angry faces that had rushed into the tag shop, the hate generated because he had stolen their white prize for a day, was enough to convince him that Jack and the others would tear his head from his shoulders. He lay still, breathing hard, angry because he was as helpless as the frightened girl.
Jack snatched a square alcohol bottle from one of his men, chug-a-lugged half the contents. He wiped his mouth and extended the bottle to Jeanie. The girl shrank back-a helpless blonde kitten in the circle of ruthless men, the red bow drawing all eyes to her pussy.
"Bitch!" Jack slapped her. He held the bottle to her swollen lips, made her drink. The men roared with cruel laughter when she gagged and tried desperately to push the bottle away.
It went on for a long time, Jack slapping her each time she refused to drink from the bottle ... calling her names ... a white slut ... a pig ... the others squeezing her tits, kissing her between drinks. Until Jeanie swayed, her big blue eyes lidded and glazed. She seemed lost. Tiny. At her wit's end.
"We gon' play a game," announced Jack at last. He fingered the ribbon at Jeanie's crotch. The others set their bottles down, waited expectantly. "First one who can untie the bow," he continued, "get the first shot o' pussy."
Spider stepped forward, reached greedily for the ribbon. Jack cuffed him. "With your mouth!" he snapped. "Hands behin' you. Like you was dunkin' fo' apples."
Immediately the little man bet his face to the girl's crotch. The others balked, shoved him aside to get at the ribbon. Jeanie sobbed, head lolling drunkenly as face after black face dipped into her pussy. Whoever had tied the bow had done a good job. Each man came up with hair in his teeth and the ribbon remained.
In spite of his fury and the pain from the beating, Tony felt his dick growing hard. He couldn't blame Jack and the others for wanting the minx. She was a goddess beneath the bright light. Her nipples were little pink gum drops on jiggly mounds, her belly a pillow, and her snatch, puffed up from the bath, silken and clean, was a small furry pie any man would be anxious to eat. He wished he hadn't alienated the men. He wished he could join them, tear the ribbon loose with his teeth, and fuck his stiffening meat back up the girl's tight succulent rectum.
The cons were growing impatient. Jack seemed to have planned it that way. He stood back, arms folded, legs wide apart and big black uncircumcised joint showing hard at the fly of the shorts, watching what was done to the girl with the look of a DeSade advocate in his eye. There was plenty to watch. The men, unable to undo the bow, had begun to abuse Jeanie. The girl teetered at the edge of the table. Soft mewing sounds came from deep in her throat. Her small frame shook, breasts aquiver. One of the cons had found a broomstick, had shoved it under her cheeks from behind, and was ramming the tip into her cuntlips. Another had climbed onto the table, had whipped his dick out and was rubbing the glands in her hair.
Still another had found a filthy plunger, and, while several continued the game, nipping at the ribbon and tearing high-pitched yelps from the girl each time they came away with their teeth full of blonde pubic hair, was working the thing on her tits, plunging it down over first one tender mound then the other. The instrument came away with loud pops-the sound of someone smacking their lips. It-caused her breasts to swell rapidly, left bright red rings at the base. Her nipples grew elongated, inflamed. Weakly, as if to ascertain her tits were still there, hadn't been torn away by the cruel suction, Jeanie brushed at the agonized buds each time the plunger was removed for the moment it took to release one melon and cover the other.
By the time Slick Jack elbowed his cohorts aside, ripped off his shorts and pressed the girl back-legs gaped wide over the edge of the narrow table, her head moving feebly from side to side at the opposite end of the improvised sacrificial altar-stepped into the provocative breach and announced that he, because the others had failed to undo the ribbon, would initiate the fucking, Jeanie was a trembling mass of fresh bruises, moans. Her tits had grown huge from the plunger, almost twice normal size. Her cunthole was wet. The cheeks of her ass seemed to breathe, asshole winking. From where he lay, Tony could see up both hot hairy holes, could see Jack's black dick parting the pink folds of her lush little pussy. His own dick was harder than the tiles he lay upon. He clutched it, knowing the others were too busy enjoying the rape to pay much attention to him.
"Best white pussy ole Jack ever had. Yassir!" Jack cupped his hands under the cheeks of her ass, raised the girl's hips. The hunk of meat at the tip of his uncircumcised cock slipped smoothly up her round belly.
Jeanie gurgled something undecipherable. Her loins bucked. The cons around the table, content for the moment to observe the penetration, cheered as Jack's long prick humped all the way in, and both he and the girl-almost as if Jeanie was enjoying it too-began to fuck.
"Ain't no sense lettin' this end go to waste," said Spider, who had moved to the opposite side of the operating table and was caressing the girl's swollen lips with one hand while he massaged his rod with the other. "Ain't never seen no white girl's mouth as purdy as yourn."
Jeanie's face went pale as he placed his hand on her forehead, bent her head and shoulders back over the edge of the table. Her arms flailed. Her legs shot up, heels beating a frantic tattoo at Jack's waist. She tried to press her lips tightly shut, but Spider applied pressure until her neck threatened to snap. She gasped. Her mouth gaped hot and wet. Spider fucked his dick in, groaned, cupped his hands at either side of her head and began to grind.
Balls aching, hardon clutched tight in his hand, Tony watched the two men use the girl. She made loud sucking noises. Her cunthole slurped with each dip of Jack's tool. The others around the table played on her inflamed tits, taking turns at pinching her nipples. The broomstick that had tested her pussy was wedged deep in the crack of her ass. He panted and watched, remembering the feel of the girl's lovely lips on his cock ... the feathery caress of her blonde pussy ... the nipping grip of her rectum. Outside the prison the loudspeakers continued to blare, asking again that the women be released. Someone at Center had found a loudspeaker of his own. Curses rang out in reply to the ghostly barks from beyond the high wall. A heated exchange followed, the late afternoon air alive with indignation on both sides.
Tony envisioned the redhead in the back room at Center. Or was the elderly secretary still taking them on, he wondered. Which of the two was taking a dick at that very moment-perhaps both of them? Which was being fucked in the ass, which in the forebelly?
He groaned, cautiously whacked his stiff dick and cursed himself for having bypassed the chance to sample two more helpless pussies. And for having underestimated Spider and Jack. He stared longingly at the orgy unfolding beneath the bright ceiling light ... the small pink mouth sucking ... the pinker gash turning in and out along the length of Jack's dipping tool. He suspected the riot would end soon; that the authorities would take revenge on the brazen cons shouting taunts at the troopers and Guardsmen beyond the wall, and that if Jack and the others continued to use the thrashing girl, concentrating on her instead of him, he'd be safe until the prison was retaken. But the thought gave him no solace. The floor was hard and cold beneath him, and the girl on the table, the two at Center, were soft and warm. He didn't want the riot to end. He didn't care if Jack and the others cut off his balls ... just so long as they allowed him to fuck one last time.
Yet he remained still. He pretended unconsciousness until every man in the room had taken a turn on Jennie ... flooding her at both ends with cum ... had turned her over and fucked her out that way too, and had left the girl huddled in a small protective ball on her side on the table. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Spider approached, prodded him with a shower clog.
"You sure belted 'im good, boss," the wiry little man, his dick hanging limp and still wet with Jeanie's saliva, told Slick Jack. "The punk been out all day, 'n' pro'bly be out all night too. Whap!"
"He come to I put 'im out again," growled Jack drunkenly. "Maybe fo' good."
Spider laughed. Tony squinted at the skinny black buttocks moving away from where he lay. He watched Spider retrieve the half-empty alcohol bottle one of the other cons had been drinking from. With the exception of two other men, who stood off to one side involved in a loud chug-a-lug contest, the rapists had staggered drunkenly from the room to the comfortable hospital beds at the rear of the infirmary. Darkness was falling. Outside the chirping of crickets had replaced the bark of loudspeakers, and again the place seemed less a prison and more a co-op with gardens. He waited, wondering how long it would take the four men remaining to drink themselves into a stupor. Wondering what he would do when they did.
His gaze settled on Jeanie. His heart leaped. He had expected to find the girl senseless, as unconscious as he was supposed to be, but she was watching him with enormous blue eyes; eyes that were red from crying and black-ringed from lack of sleep. He saw her blink as she realized that he too was playing possum. She bit her full lower, lip. Fresh tears sprang into her eyes. Help me, her look seemed to say. I'll do anything you want, only get me away from ... from these awful niggers.
A bottle crashed to the floor at the far side of the room. Tony started, almost giving himself away. He stared hard at the pair in the chug-a-lug contest. One fell back against the wall. His legs buckled. Slowly he dropped to the tiles, sat. He looked uncertainly about the room, as if trying to locate his position in space, vomited down the front of his T-shirt-the only garment he wore-and leaned far to one side, asleep.
The winner of the contest glanced toward Jeanie, whose succulent bottom, stained with the gook of the orgy, presented an appealing anchorage. He grinned. He reached out, took two unsteady steps toward the operating table, and fell flat on his face.
"Ain't but two real men in the whole fuckin' joint," yelled Spider. He raised his bottle, swayed as he guzzled. Alcohol dripped down his chin. He laughed. Slick Jack joined him, the two slapping each other's back.
Silently Tony cursed the remaining pair. They seemed to have hollow legs-they kept sucking up the pure alcohol, more than enough to stagger a bull, and yet got no drunker. He was stiff from lying in the same awkward position for hours-stiff in another way with thoughts of Jeanie. Furious, he listened to the two men joke about what they'd done to the "white bitch," and what they were going to do just as soon as they finished the bottle. He met the girl's pleading eyes. He couldn't wait, any longer; he had to move and depend on the element of surprise.
Jack's dark bloodshot eyes grew as big as half dollars as Tony came off the floor, and rushed them-all in one unbroken leap. Spider turned in time to take the first crashing blow. Again Tony caught him under the chin, sent him hurtling into the straight-backed chair Slick Jack was trying to rise from. Both men went ass over heels.
"Mother fuck ..."Jack began.
It was Tony's turn to edit the sentence, as Jack had done to him at the tag shop. His foot, the toes curled inward to prevent a broken bone, lashed out and caught the tall black at the temple. It stunned Jack. Before he could shake the blow off, Tony lifted the chair and brought it down hard across Spider's shoulders and the ringleader's head.
He stood naked over the pair, arms ridged with tense muscle, the chair raised for another blow. But both men were out; Slick Jack was bleeding from the side of the head, and Spider's shoulder was twisted as if his collar bone might be broken. He felt exhilarated. Revenge was sweet.
"Oh. Oh, I ... I ache all o-ver."
He turned in time to watch Jeanie ease herself from the table. Her legs almost gave when her feet touched the floor, and she had to lean against the table to keep from falling. Her face crinkled up, as if she were going to cry again. She stared at him with wide helpless eyes.
Tony listened, making sure no one had heard the commotion. The only sounds in the room were the snores of the man in the far corner, the crickets beyond the window, the faint gurgling of the water cooler in the corridor, and his own labored breathing.
Quickly he set the chair down and strode to the naked girl. He swooped her up in his arms, cautioned her into silence when she started to speak, and carried her to the gap he had cut in the jalousie window the night before.
* * *
Jeanie shivered, the night air cooling the sticky sweat on her body. She waited while Tony fought desperately to squeeze his bulk through the opening. He was caught at the waist, his hands, on the concrete at either side of the window, straining to pull the rest of him through.
She almost laughed; a combination of relief and the sight of the brute's muscular buttocks-so different from her own little cheeks-fighting to make themselves small enough to escape. She wanted to help. But when she stepped forward, took hold of his shoulders and tugged, her legs became jelly again and Tony ordered her back. Why was she such a tiny, hopeless thing, she thought woefully. Why couldn't God have made her a man, with strength and a long hose of meat instead of the slit and blonde curls that caused her nothing but trouble? She stood silent and watched, thinking she must be a sight ... her ass bruised and wet ... the stupid red ribbon hanging askew in her bush ... hair knotted. She wondered what was going to happen next.
With a loud grunt and a last mighty lunge, Tony came hurtling out onto the grass at her feet. "Jesus!" he hissed, rubbing his skinned buttocks.
"Now you know how I feel," she whispered, recalling how he had forced her round cheeks apart to fuck his dick up her ass. She took the hand he extended, almost toppled when he used her to pull himself up. She waited for him to say something. Instead he draped his arm over her shoulders, almost knocking her down, and stared speculatively into the night.
"I ... I think we should go," she offered in a small voice. She was unexplainably happy because they were together again, but afraid Slick Jack and Spider might come around and catch them.
Tony scowled down at her. "Go where?"
"I ... I ..."
"Yeah. That was my thought exactly. We can't go back to the tag shop-they'd look for us there. Plus we got no clothes. We're fucked!"
Boy, was she ever fucked! Jeanie mused. But it had nothing to do with what Tony was talking about. It had to do with her pussy, her asshole, and mouth. Her muddled brain, too. It was as if someone-a whole lot of someone's-had fucked a big dick into her head, and now every hole in her body stretched out of shape, inflamed and raw, every other thought in her mind concerned sex.
Like the arm draped casually about her shoulders. Inside her head, with absolutely no help from her, it was being compared to a cock. Tony's was almost that fat-or so it seemed. She glanced furtively down at the loathsome thing. It was no longer as stiff as when he attacked Jack and Spider, but still awesome. Bigger by inches than any of the black rods that had used her. Fatter even half hard than the clubs the prison guards carried in their hip pockets.
"O ...!"
Tony looked questioningly into her face. "What the hell's the matter now?"
"N-nothing," she lied. She commanded her voice to behave, to forget about fucking. But that was impossible too; they were naked, alone. And Tony, she knew, expected to be compensated in the same way he had demanded the first time he rescued her from the blacks. It was hopeless. As long as the riot lasted, as long as the prison remained under siege, she could expect only the best of a bad situation. Which meant Tony-belonging to him instead of to the entire prison population.
"C'mon." Abruptly Tony started for the thick brush at the base of the wall behind the infirmary.
Jeanie stumbled. The arm about her shoulders held her upright, but dragged her along as if she were so much excess baggage. She stepped on a stone, yelped. She wasn't used to being treated as Tony was treating her-as if she belonged to him. She wanted to tell him so; she wanted to demand that he treat her with respect, take his greedy hands off her and stop thinking what she knew he was thinking. But the past two days had conditioned her to expect the worst. Silently, she trotted along beside the muscular brute. It was incongruous, absurd. She was out in the night with a naked man, a beast who had violated her; who, she was certain, was anticipating doing it again, maybe worse; and she simply couldn't muster the will to object.
They stepped into the high brush at a spot where Tony could watch the rear of the hospital and the approach to Center, but where they wouldn't be seen. He released her, stared for a moment up at the grim granite wall. He shrugged, looked about the natural enclosure. He scratched his head, faced her. "If we're lucky," he said, "those jerkoffs with the loudspeaker at Center'll sell enough shit to bring the troops over the wall."
She bit her lip, hugged herself. "What ... what'll we do until t-then?"
Tony grunted. He stood rubbing the back of his neck and boldly surveying her nakedness. His dick had gone limp. Now it stirred. His balls looked like hairy pink cannon shot in the dim light. "Make yourself comfortable," he said at last. "Sit down, go to sleep, stand there." Again he shrugged. "It's gonna be a long night, baby. Maybe days yet. Who knows?"
Heart thumping, frightened and happy and confused by the conflicting emotions, she watched him ease his bulk to the ground, stretch out his legs and lean back against the granite. Moonlight slicing through the brush danced on his genitals. Her clit throbbed. Her ass flesh tightened. It was insane-what was she doing there? How could she feel anything like desire when only half an hour ago a roomful of men had abused her? She shivered, lost in her own muddled reasoning, trying desperately to banish the lewd thoughts from her mind.
"Look," said Tony, "it gets cold around here along about midnight. We got nothin' to keep us warm except each other. You gonna stand there like an asshole all fuckin' night?" He offered his hand, patted the grass and leaves beside him.
Jeanie hesitated. She studied his face ... the strong square jaw ... the thick brows and dark eyes that seemed able to look through her. Again she thought that under different circumstances, if not for Mike and like that, she could find him attractive-the perfect sex mate. She felt his gaze on her pussy. How could he think of that at a time like this, she wondered. How could she?
Awkwardly, still holding back, she took his hand, allowed him to pull her down to the blanket of leaves. It was indeed getting cold, she told herself. Already the chill was deep in her bones: hot and cold flashes. She welcomed the arm that went about her, the rough hand grazing her swollen tit. She turned onto her side. Sighing, she threw her arm over his chest, snuggled against him, closed her eyes, and refused to think at all.
Tony remained quiet for a long time. She listened to his breathing, and the sound of the brush being rustled by the faint breeze. The ground was uncomfortable, the wall against her back harsh. But she barely noticed. For the first time since Jack and the others had rushed into the tag shop, she felt-although she didn't know why, couldn't yet evaluate clearly-something she'd never before experienced. It was a warmth that began deep in her belly, spread. In moments, it had dissipated the hurt of two days. She forgot where they were, who he was, who she was. She felt only the hardness of him, the muscle. The hand at her breast.
"That looks stupid," Tony offered at last.
She opened her eyes, followed his gaze to her bush. The lopsided bow did look silly, she had to admit. She looked back into his face.
"Those guys-they don't know the first thing about dunkin' for apples. I could've got it off easy."
It was wrong, she tried to convince herself. What she was feeling was so unlike her-not a "good girl" at all. Yet she could think of nothing but how good it had been when he ate her; when his tongue darted into her cunthole, making her like it. She'd been fucked for two solid days, her body subjected to more abuse than the average woman knew in a lifetime. Still she wanted him. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted a man. She didn't care that they were out in the open, with only the bushes to hide them from anyone who might come searching. Dozens of eyes had watched her perform, she reasoned. Dozens of dicks had used her. Out of it all-the humiliation, the horrible pain and the shame-only Tony's wet tongue seemed worthwhile.
"I ... I bet you c-can't," she heard herself dare. "W-with your teeth, I mean."
It was Tony's turn to study her. His gaze swept down her body, back up. A wide grin cut into his face. He moved his hand from her tit, down her rib cage to her belly. He rubbed ... slowly ... gently. His fingertips grazed her cum-crusted wedge. "What-a-ya wanna bet?" he growled.
Her head swam. Her nipples, still sore from the plunger, stood tall. Her cunt ached with the pain of desire. It was as if the two days had never happened; as if this were their first date, and Tony-less brutal now, almost tender-was wooing her into sex. Teasing her. Asking her with his hand to open her legs so he could make love to her slit. She offered her lips. She wanted him to kiss her there before he kissed below. She wrapped her small arms about his broad shoulders and, without waiting for him to initiate the love play, unable to wait, she covered his mouth and threw her leg over his thigh.
Tony's hand slipped lower, finger tapping the top of her gash. She moaned. His free hand crept down her back, down her hip. She felt his palm mold itself to the left side of her ass. She thought of Mike. He too was gentle. But never so good. Never with Mike had she felt the overpowering urge to take a dick into her hand, suck it into her mouth. Something had indeed happened to her since the riot began. Inside she was different. Brazen. Without restraint or compunction. She wanted only to please. To give herself in any way he wanted to take her. Was it love, she wondered. Had her emotions, by some quirk of fate, attached themselves to the man? But no! she decided. That was too simple. She had loved Mike, and what she felt now was different. What was going on inside her was the same giddy sensation she had tried to keep from herself each time her father, her own sweet daddy, came near with his hardon.
Tony broke the kiss, said, "Tell me what you want, honey. Fuck or suck?"
"Suck!" she answered immediately. "I ... I want you to ... to eat me. My p-pus-seee. Like ... oh, just like you did last night at the tag shop. With your tongue, your mouth, your teeth. Undo the bow. Lap me. Please."
"What about me?"
"I-" she hesitated, recalling the awesome length of his rod in her mouth. She stared down at his stiffening monster, gasped. It was growing bigger and harder by the second, coming to life while she watched. She snatched it up in her hand, stroked it. "J-just like we did," she finished breathlessly. "Sixty-nine. Only hurry. Hur-reeeeee!"
Mesmerized, she watched his head glide down her bruised body. She turned onto her back without having to be told, spread her young thighs. Her knees came up by themselves, feet planted wide to raise her ass off the ground. Her cunthole nipped. She could smell herself; the fishy stink wafted up from her sex in an invisible cloud of consent. She watched Tony turn, rearranging his limbs until he lay on his side and the meat in her hand bobbed close. She opened her mouth, trying to suck him in even before he was astraddle her face, and his tongue -the thing she adored almost as much as the thing in her hand-raked across her stretched out of shape, but nonetheless alluring wet gash.
Her breath caught. She fucked herself, her pussy, up into his face, and closed her moist lips over the fiery red tip of his magnificent monster-prick. She sucked the length into her face, gurgled on the fat glands.
"AhhHHHHHH! Ah! Um! Jesus Christ, baby-you ow! Man, you sure learn quick. Umah! Mother!" Tony's big stinking ass began to grind, humping the stiffness into her throat, down her gullet. His stink finger shot up her rear. Like a lion lapping up milk, he began to wash her used pussy, administer to the needs of her clit.
It was heavenly. Wild and mad, and as if she had died and lay on a bed of hot coals in Hades ... in league with the Devil, and doing all the things she had secretly wanted to do since girlhood. Only Satan had re-ascended. The ground was a cloud in the night sky. Tony's tongue was the archangel's wings batting against her stiff little love bud. The finger deep in her ass was a magic scepter promising immortality. Best of all was the hard dick in her face, slurping in and out; in-out, in-out, faster and harder each time he lunged. The change in her was complete. She sucked in abandon, wanting only to taste his thick cream; to have her own juices mingle with his soothing saliva, and have him replace the spit in her mouth with the salty goo from the sacs slapping down on her nose. Fucking, rape, perversion-she loved it! When the riot ended she'd probably hate herself, she knew. But for now she was glad. Ecstatic. Full of wonder and cock.
Something creepy, a leggy ground creature, crawled onto her ass. She yelped, tried to wiggle it off. It clung. Her movements only spurred Tony on, and held the tickly insect motionless for a moment. Was it a cricket? A centipede? She envisioned a roach with a hardon seeking her rectum. Perhaps a dung beetle. She felt it slither into the pinched crack of her bottom, nestle there-almost as if it were a tiny girl-bug, with a cunt, and it too wanted Tony's tongue up its slit.
She moaned and sucked, ashamed of herself, of the fantasy, but unable to resist the kinky thoughts flooding her mind. The cock in her mouth fucked deep, deeper still as she thrashed to shake the tiny night creature loose. Noisily she drew on the hot glands. She imagined it was a long lollipop, and that she was a young girl again. She smelled the acrid stink of his ass. The all-day sucker became a cylinder of head cheese. She drove her hips high ... straining ... hurting herself. Inside her head, in the place where she had stored unwholesome memories, it was Daddy whose tongue was laving her twat; it was his incestuous meat in her face. What would he say when the riot ended and he learned what had happened to her? Would he be indigent? Jealous, as he sometimes seemed to be jealous of Mike? Would he too recall the lap-sitting days, the long good-night kisses, hugs and hot stares, and regret that he hadn't taken what everyone else had enjoyed?
"Do it!" she gurgled, frantic, approaching orgasm and thinking how surprised her father Would be if he could see his little big-girl now. "Oh, suck me good. Hum. Harumm! Ea' me. Ea' me. Oh, ea' meeeeeee!"
Tony grunted compliance into her cunthole. He slipped another finger up her tight rear, opened her delectable sphincters to the night breeze. The crawly thing on her cheek scurried brazenly close to the aperture. Tony seemed not to notice, intent upon filling her needs and slamming his rod down her willing throat.
Jeanie panted, coughed, laughed-torn between loathing and perverted desire. A bug! She was so hot she didn't care that an insect was about to rape her, crawl up her asshole. It was another sensation. Something new. Something not even Slick Jack and the others had thought of. She worked her cheeks on the tiny intruder, coaxing it toward the brown velvet pocket Tony's fingers held open for the nose that sniffed each time his tongue lapped down. She felt the creature's legs at her anus. She felt the antenna probing the dark, the stink. She wrapped her arms tight about Tony's bucking hips, pulled him down, down ... sucking. She threw her legs up, locking her thighs at his neck and making the insect's shitty desire more accessible.
Everything happened at once: Tony gasped, "Baby-ba-beeeeee!" and came down full on her face, cock pissing semen. The curious insect found her chute, burrowed in along with her lover's cruel fingers. Her pussy exploded, yanking her loins high. Everything-the night, the whirling stars overhead, the darling thing tickling its leggy way up her gyrating rear-seemed to pop off. She was being absorbed by the cum worms, changed into a giant cunt that needed only a dick to survive. She was being reborn. The umbilical cord was deep in her face, reconnecting her with the universe.
Fucking! That's what she had been made for. Nothing else mattered. The taste and the stab of a prick-any prick, just so long as it was fat and hard-the juice gushing hot from her pussy and from big hairy balls, was what made her go.
When it was over she might indeed hate herself, she reasoned. But each time it started anew, ever since the first rape, even with the filthy blacks, the shame and perversion became secondary. Only the moment mattered. The thrill. The overpowering urge to wiggle and thrash toward the next mighty cum load.
"Suck it all out," hissed Tony. "Man! Ah! Ummmmmmmmmmm, fucking good. Goddam! Go, baby. Drink it up."
She didn't have to be told. She couldn't get enough of the gook. She remembered something she'd read while at nursing school-prostate glands! Feverishly she eyed Tony's dark smelly asshole. It was up there somewhere: the cum-trigger. She felt the thing in her own little chute crawling deeper, making her legs tremble, her pussy pop again and again. She wanted it to go on and on and on. For Tony, too.
Quickly she twisted her finger up Tony's ass, heard him roar indignation ... but fucking ... all the time spurting cream in her mouth. She might hate herself later, she reaffirmed, but for now, while the thrills lasted-while her pussy continued to nip at his tongue and his dick continued to shoot: while the sweet crawly thing up her ass continued to tinkle new wonders-she was in love with the act. With sucking and lapping. With being a nurse who administered to sick cocks.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The riot ended as abruptly as Tony had figured. Daybreak was accompanied by a barrage of threats and counter threats from the loudspeakers on both sides of the wall, those at Center making light of a final plea to free the women hostages, to be reasonable. The prison was in an uproar. Slick Jack had passed the word-get Tony Giardino! The story of what had happened the night before infuriated the cons, and the troopers and guardsmen outside the high wall, the promise of immediate repercussions if the women weren't released, merely gave them something upon which to vent their rage.
All hell broke loose. Moments after the fruitless loudspeaker exchange, Tony clutching the frightened girl in his arms, the two huddled in the spot where they'd spent the night, the helmeted heads and rifles appeared atop the grim granite parapet.
"They're comin' over," someone yelled. Rocks flew. A volley of gunshot shattered the morning calm. Tear gas grenades exploded, forming a cloud of choking mist between the rioters and the outer perimeter. Rope ladders slithered down the inside of the wall, and uniformed men wearing bulletproof vests, gas masks, riot guns slung over their shoulders, poured into the prison. All but the toughest cons scattered.
They'd had it, Tony knew. He looked into Jeanie's dirty but nonetheless lovely face. The lust was gone. Now the loathing he'd seen on the night he whisked her away to the tag shop was back in her eyes. The siege was over, her look seemed to say. It was her turn. Soon the place would be back in the hands of the rightful keepers, and he, along with Slick Jack and Spider and all the others who had used her, would be made to pay for what they'd done.
"Over here," she cried, breaking free as the first line of guardsmen kneeled, fired into the air, and then covered the milling cons while the second wave-the troopers with the gas guns and chains to restrain the rioters-scaled the wall. Trying to hide her nakedness, hands strategically placed, she ran from the brush.
Tony watched the guardsmen hesitate, eyes bulging behind the gas masks as the naked minx approached. He watched Jeanie stop, say something, cover her face with her hands, then begin to weep. He stared hard at her plump ass, etching it on his mind. It would be a long time before he saw another, he mused. Maybe never. Maybe he'd die inside the grim wall for being unable to resist the lush little blonde.
"Cover that woman," an irate guardsman with lieutenant bars barked. "On the double."
Half a dozen men rushed to obey. Bulletproof vests were flung off, and shirts-one draped over her small heaving shoulders, another with the sleeves tied about her slim waist-hid Nurse Simmons' charms.
Tony drew a deep breath, sat. He wished he had a cigarette. He listened to the gunshots and shouts, calmly watched wave after wave of troopers and guardsmen, followed by city police, come down the rope ladders. The wall trembled as the tall electronic doors a hundred yards away were opened, and trucks carrying reinforcements roared into the compound. That meant Center had already been taken, he mused. Minutes now. Soon the rebellious cons, him included, would be back in their cells, the prison under tight security while the damage was repaired. Then the indictments. Rape for him and the others. Kidnap. Destroying state property, and whatever.
He closed his eyes. Was it worth it? Jeanie? Would he think so in say a month, when the new charges were filed and he was dragged into court to be sentenced to ... to the rest of his life?
But it didn't happen that way. In the days following the riot, he watched from the small window in his cell door as Jack and the others-all bedraggled, all in need of a change of clothes and a shave-were hustled one by one to court. Each evening he listened to the radio commentator announce the indictments ... frowning ... wondering what was taking the authorities so long to get to him. He wanted it over; he wanted to take what he had coming, crawl into a hole somewhere and forget.
On the morning they opened his door, Tony braced himself, expecting the same rough treatment-the shoving and curses-Jack and the others had been subjected to. Instead, the White Hat in charge of the four-man escort detail grinned and said, "Better shave and put on some clean clothes."
He blinked, wondering if he'd heard right. "I ... it'll take me awhile."
"All the time you need. We'll wait. Here." The White Hat, a sergeant labeled by the cons as a prick, produced a pack of cigarettes, matches. He studied the hand that accepted the offering, added, "We'll take you to the infirmary and have the nurse change that dressing before we go out."
He couldn't figure it: they were treating him like royalty, a V.I.P. But ten years in prison had taught him to expect the unpredictable, and so he went along with the script. He washed himself down in the sink, shaved, changed clothes and accepted another smoke from the concerned guards. It might be a long time before he received like treatment, he thought. The radio commentator had said the rioters and rapists were being shipped back to the ancient maximum security complex upstate, where a similar surprise action had put down the rebellion and everyone involved in both uprisings was being thrown into the hole-solitary. It might be a lifetime before he saw daylight again. Grimly he followed the escort out of the wing and toward Center.
The nurse who cleaned and dressed his hand was new: a shapeless scarecrow with gold teeth. She too grinned, called him by his first name. By the time they reached the warden's office, Tony was doubting his senses. Were they setting him up for the kill, he wondered. Like a condemned man-all last requests granted, and then zap! He expected the worst as the door opened on a roomful of political brass and local reporters. It was like when he was a kid and had won his first Golden Gloves bout by a knockout.
"Why'd he do it?" the newsmen, the warden, the guards and visiting dignitaries wanted to know. "Had he considered the possibility that he might be risking his own life to rescue Nurse Simmons from the ruthless bunch at the infirmary? Did he expect a reward-clemency? Was he scared?"
Tony was stunned, unable to answer with more than a yes or a no. Jeanie! The girl had omitted his part in the rape, had mentioned only the rescue. It was hard to believe. He recalled the look in her eye when the troops scaled the wall, the silent threat of revenge. Yet no one knew. Slick Jack and the others were being prosecuted for their part in the attack, while he was being commended.
Cameras flashed ... the warden shaking his hand. The newsmen attributed his evasive answers to virtue. One suggested a headline: CONVICT SINGLEHANDEDLY RESCUES NURSE FROM RAPISTS AND SAYS IT WAS NOTHING!
But why? All the way back to his cell he wondered what had motivated the girl to keep her mouth shut. All that day and the next he relived the things they'd done ... the asshole fucking and sucking ... the way the girl fought each time his stiff dick forced its way up her belly. And then the last time, the ribbon. He recalled how she had asked him; how, after Jack and the others had defiled her in every imaginable way, Jeanie had timidly dared him to eat her. He lay on the bunk with eyes closed, the smell and taste of her fresh in his mind. It was as if his brain had stored the sweet juice from her pussy, and now, him there, the girl miles away-doing what? he wondered. More fucking? Sucking as she had sucked him?-their last night together was being recreated inside his head.
His prick grew hard. His breathing grew labored. He could almost hear her soft mewing sounds, her cries of delight when he popped. And the bug! The tiny ground beetle that had crawled up her ass to help lift her to paradise. He remembered how, even after the previous hours of abuse, the black rods degrading her, Jeanie laughed when it was over and he'd fished the leggy insect out with his tongue. Was that it? Had she purposely overlooked all the bad things because of their last night together?
For days he lay on the bunk and stared thoughtfully. He refused to consider the possibility of executive clemency, as the radio commentator was suggesting. The governor, it seemed, had taken a special interest in the case, and everyone-the press, the prison officials and reformers-was demanding that he be rewarded for his bravery with immediate release. Even Jeanie's family concurred; her father, the newscaster said, had petitioned the State House.
He remembered odd things Jeanie had said-Daddy! He had intended to ask her about that; about why she called for her father at the moment when his stiff meat was grinding up her hot asshole. And Mike, her boyfriend. He'd meant to question her about that too, about why anyone in his right mind would allow a beautiful girl, his girl, to work in a joint with a thousand hard-up cons.
But her father mostly. In retrospect, it was almost as if the girl had been screwing her father. As if, as his long cock slipped deep between her round buttocks, she was remembering another time, another cock. He thought back to his own boyhood ... dredging up cousins, and a mother who, before she ran off with his own father's best friend, used to make his young dick hard by playing physical games-at least they were supposed to be games-no mother, particularly one who was stacked and good-looking, should play with her own little boy. Was it like that with Jeanie, he wondered. Was her father a secret incest freak, as his own mother had been?
"Jeanie," he groaned on the night a week after the prison was retaken, when the radio commentator announced that the attractive young nurse had been released from the hospital, pronounced physically well, reunited with her parents, and that she would not be returning to her post at the place where she'd been subjected to what the doctors called psychological trauma.
Reunited with her daddy! he thought, remembering how the girl had straddled his lap and fucked herself onto the stake. Could it be? Was she, at that very moment, celebrating her return home by grinding her adorable daughter-ass onto her own father's stiff cock?
"Jesus!" He closed his eyes tight, clutched his throbbing hardon. He could almost see it. Like the time his mother suggested they play musical chairs, just the two of them. An impossible task, with only one chair and her humming breathlessly, exciting him with the soft sexy sound, the hot look in her eye, as they circled the seat ... her wearing shorts no mother should wear in the presence of her tall horny son ... him ogling her buttocks and crotch. Her ass was bigger than Jeanie's lush melons, he recalled, her hair not so blonde. He dug deep in his mind for the far-away images, interweaving the picture of Nurse Simmons' naked behind with the hazy memory of his mother's plumper cheeks. She was no longer his mother, he convinced himself. She'd run off, a tramp-fucking for anyone and everyone, his father often said. That made it okay. That made the fantasies of his boyhood, the wet dreams about Mother, merely another lewd episode in the life she'd chosen.
Half asleep, dick hard in his hand, and his mind a collage of past sexual delight-just as Jeanie's mind had been flooded with unwholesome desires concerning her daddy-Tony recalled how his mother had stopped humming when he was in front of the chair, making it easy for him to beat her to the seat, and how her buttocks had spread in his lap, soft and warm, her arms at his neck, big mother-tits, the nipples swollen, braless, showing through the thin blouse she wore and digging into his bare chest.
"Oh, dear," she'd sighed. "Mother should've known she couldn't beat a big boy like you. What now?"
"Let's ... well, I mean ... I ... I-let's just sit here awhile," he brazened.
Mother laughed-the deep-throated sensuous sound that always left him panting. Her wide ass jiggled. His dick began to stiffen. She cocked her pretty blonde head, stared into his face. She could feel him, he knew: she couldn't help but feel the fat rod, that was, even at thirteen, almost a foot long. Yet she sat there, the leg band of the shorts biting deep in her full white thighs, the material hugging her cunt like new skin.
"What's Mother's handsome boy thinking?" she asked when, the jeans pinching his balls, he shifted to get comfortable.
"N-nothing, Ma. Nothing at all."
Again she laughed. She too shifted. The aching bulge in his pants leg centered itself in the hot mother-crack of her ass. She leaned far back on the arms about his neck, raised her legs and rocked-a sexy seesaw in his lap. How he wanted to fuck her; his own mother! He wanted to move the hands on her waist down, feel her pussy and cheeks. He wanted to tear the shorts off ... kiss her ... suck her. Instead he sat perfectly still, trying to think of her as his mother and not as a beautiful blonde woman who rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth in her son's lap.
Teasing him, making it almost impossible for him to remember who she was, Mother said, "Does my handsome big boy have a girl friend? Someone to play with when Mother's not here to play musical chairs."
He gulped, not knowing what to say. Her ass felt so good. He played dumb, as if his dick was always hard and the cheeks in his lap meant nothing. He let his hand slip lower, savoring the flare of her hip. "I ... I don't like other girls," he said finally. "Only you, Ma. You ... you're my girl."
"Darling, that's so sweet." She hugged him, kissing all over his face and caressing his youthful stiffness with the wiggling halves of her succulent bottom. Her thighs opened slightly. He glanced down, saw the round tip of the bulge in his jeans ... so close to the soft swell of her mother-pussy. "Kiss Mother," she cooed in his ear. "If I'm to be your only girl friend, then we'll simply have to kiss 'n' hug 'n' play parlor games all the time."
Eagerly he complied. He kept his eyes open, drunk on her beauty and the warmth of her breath at his mouth. It was the first time he'd been tongue-kissed by a girl. His hand slipped lower still, trembling as his fingertips met the bare creamy flesh at the leg band of the shorts. Her ass moved provocatively in his lap. Suddenly his hand was there, on her cheek, inches from the hot split. She sighed. Her thighs opened farther. The tip of the bulge in his jeans met the damp indentation where the shorts were sucked deep in her cunthole.
"My baby," Mother sighed into his open mouth.
"Mama, I ... I I-love you."
He didn't know how it had happened. Even now, in the cell, half asleep on the bunk, he couldn't remember how his hand had gotten inside the shorts at the tight leg band. He recalled only the silken texture of the hair on her cunt, and that Mother didn't object when his finger crept to her slit and fucked itself in. He remembered her moaning ... as Jeanie had moaned when he forced his dick up her asshole. And the wet kiss that lasted until he came in his pants, and then the sound of a key being turned in the front door lock-his father home from work-and the game ending. There were other games after that, before Mother left, but he had never again mustered the courage to go so far.
Groaning, Tony pissed cum over the bunk. He was caught in the childhood memory, linking it to what Jeanie had said about her father. Rather, what the girl hadn't said-the implications. Was it like that with them, he wondered. Father and daughter, as it had been between him and his mother? Incest was common enough. And with Jeanie, being the male parent of such an adorable minx, it was more understandable. Especially now. After what she'd been through with the blacks, particularly Slick Jack and Spider-sadists both-he could well understand her father wanting to take some, even if he had never done so before.
He jerked his stiff cock, shooting spurt after spurt of hot cream over the bedding. Jeanie! Would he ever see her again? Would he be given the chance to fuck her the way she deserved to be screwed? In a bed? Eating her cunt until she was ready to scream, then driving his meat so hard up her belly, so forcefully, that she cried and begged him to stop-but all the time fucking? His life for ten years had been one lonely fantasy after another. Until Jeanie.
"Just lemme get one more shot of that pussy," he choked, squeezing off the last drop of hot cum, rubbing the sticky glands of his prick in the mess, and hoping-daring to hope for the first time-that what the radio commentator had said about clemency would come true, and that soon, because Jeanie hadn't mentioned the rape, though he still wasn't sure why, he'd be free. Then he'd find her. He'd find her and eat her cunt until she gave him some answers.
CHAPTER NINE
It took a month for the clemency papers to be processed; a full pardon. But on the morning he walked out the front door of the prison, paused amid reporters and well-wishers for a last look at the grim granite wall, Tony thought how like a dream-most of it nightmare, but with Jeanie giving it a happy ending-the past ten years were. The reporters, standing back with note pads raised while he said good-bye to the warden and Center keepers, were anxious to know what he would do first. But the question was asked in a joking way ... all of them men ... all of them knowing what a man wanted most on his first day out.
"The second thing I'm gonna do," he answered laughingly, "is look up Miss Simmons 'n' thank her 'n' her parents for petitioning the State House to get me out. I owe 'em my freedom."
"You won't have to look," a high musical voice shouted from behind the reporters.
Tony blinked. He saw the tiny hand waving over the heads in the background, the white-blonde hair bobbing cutely up and down. It was too good to be true. But there she was, elbowing her way through the mob to reach him. The reporters stepped back. She rushed to where he stood, an uncertain smile on her flushed face and lips parted as if she'd meant to say something, something rehearsed, but had forgotten what it was.
"Are you gonna kiss 'im, Miss Simmons?" a pushy reporter asked.
"That'd make a swell headline picture," another prodded. "GRATEFUL NURSE REWARDS BRAVE CON WITH ..."
Jeanie laughed, stood on tiptoe, and wrapped her small arms about Tony's neck. Her moist pink lips covered his. Cameras flashed. Everyone clapped. Then the mob grew silent, everyone waiting for the long kiss to end.
Tony felt the girl's petite body straining against him, her tits digging hard into his chest. He felt the roundness of her belly, the soft dip of her crotch. He tasted her sweetness. It was more than too good to be true; she wanted him! He stood holding his suitcase in one hand, the other hand massaging her back, thinking she wanted him as much as, if not more than, he wanted her. His mind raced back to their last night together. He tried to recall every detail, everything he'd done. The girl was a contradiction ... their last night ... the hateful look the next morning ... and now ...! He didn't know what to make of her anymore.
By the time the kiss ended and Jeanie stepped back-high-pointed breasts heaving, innocent baby blue eyes wide and bright-the reporters, the warden, the guards, everyone present was staring as if to say what he was going to do first-fucking!-and what he was going to do second concerned the same person. More questions were asked. Jeanie answered them tersely, all the time tugging him by the hand toward the car at the curb. "We're going to have a welcome home party," she said by way of a requested last quote. She looked into his face, her eyes revealing the same smoldering dare he'd seen on their last night together when she bet him he couldn't undo the bow at her crotch with his teeth. "At my place. It's all arranged. I ... we intend to make Mr. Giardino's first day home something he'll remember for a long time to ... to come!"
Jesus Christ! thought Tony. Come! There was no mistaking the emphasis Jeanie had placed on the word. He slid into the front passenger seat of the car, thinking it would indeed be a day he'd remember for a long time to come, and one Jeanie would remember, too.
Silent, still trying to make his mind compatible with the two Jeanie's, trying to merge them, he watched the girl wiggle her plump ass comfortable behind the wheel, slam the door on the persistent reporters. He watched her hands move deftly to set the car in motion, her small foot touch the gas pedal. They glided smoothly away from the curb. He glanced back at the crowd in front of the prison, breathed deep of the clean smell of freedom and watched the grim granite wall recede like the gray dregs of a nightmare.
Abruptly he turned to Jeanie. "Why'd you do it?" The girl stared straight ahead, pretending to concentrate on the road. The hem of the pale yellow mini she wore rested high on her trim thighs-high enough for him to see where the dark elastic top of one nylon bit into flesh that was whiter than the glare of sunlight on the windshield. He eyed her firm tits, the cleavage showing where the neck of the dress dipped low. He'd almost forgotten how lovely she was. Now his nuts tightened with the memory of her cunt working beneath him, the halves of her ass in his hands. "You told on Jack and the others," he added, "but me-why'd you leave me out?"
Jeanie braked for a red light. Their gazes met. She opened her mouth, as if to speak. Then she clamped her lips tightly shut, looked hurriedly away. Color crept into her face. The tips of her ears turned bright red.
Tony laughed, shook his head. He knew why, though he wanted to hear her say it. Jeanie was an anomaly; a good girl who didn't want to be good. The ordeal at the prison had introduced her to herself, and now, with no restrictions on them, with him free of the threat of new charges, she was again finding it difficult to think of herself as a cunt. And that's what she was, he decided. All cunt! A beautiful blonde nympho with stiff cock on her mind. She was leaving it up to him; she had committed herself with the sex-charged kiss at the prison, and now she was acquitting her conscience through silence, leaving it for him to make the next move.
"Turn left at the next intersection," he ordered as the car nosed away from the stoplight. "Then take the road out of town."
"I ... we ... t-the p-p-party's all arranged," stammered Jeanie, her voice small and tight- almost as tight as her cunthole, thought Tony. "M-my f-f-father ..."
"Yeah, sure," he snapped and slid across the seat. "I figured that one out, too. All that 'Oh, Dad-deeeeee' shit. Did you fuck 'im yet?" He dropped one arm over her shoulders, moved close. His free hand went to her thigh, crept past the top of the stocking and began to massage the soft warm flesh inches away from her pussy. "It took me awhile to figure," he continued, dick growing stiff, "but there's only one reason a chick yells, Daddy-Dad-deee! when a rod's bein' humped up 'er rear. I know guys like your ole man-characters who wanna fuck their daughters V sisters 'n' mothers, but only in the ass. That way it isn't incest, I guess. A little asshole fuckin' never hurt no family. No babies're made that way, right? Is that the way it is?"
"You ...! Oh, you're just as horrible now as ... as the blacks were." Jeanie's hand locked tight on the wheel, the knuckles showing white.
Again Tony laughed, mocking her. He knew what she wanted. Abuse! Degradation! Being forced to spread her legs. Rape! She was all cunt, he reaffirmed mentally-fingertips grazing the springy mound of hair at the crotch of her panties. The car jerked, moving erratically into the left hand turn and onto the road out of town. "You got a thing for your ole man's prick up your brown," he growled close to her ear. "I bet you been wantin' it since you was a kid. A fat daddy-cock pissin' cum up your good little-girl belly."
"You ...! Oh, you filthy cunt-lapping bastard!" Jeanie tried to close her legs. The car swerved, almost hitting a truck in the opposite lane. She sobbed, steadied the wheel, and pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator.
Tony continued to taunt her with the truth, his fingers gently probing the mouth of her sex and where the panties were sunk in the hot crack up her bottom. Until the girl was the same trembling mass of raw nerve ends he'd rescued from Slick Jack at the infirmary. The trees and landmarks he remembered from a decade ago whizzed by. Traffic thinned. The place where he first fucked Lois, the girl so like Jeanie, lay ahead: a carport of overhanging branches, with thick brush on three sides. He directed Jeanie into the natural hideaway out of sight of the road and prying eyes.
"Now tell me," he demanded as she silenced the engine, and faced him, the same look he'd seen on the morning the prison was retaken in her flashing eyes. "About your ole man."
"Nooo," she protested almost violently.
He pressed her roughly back against the door, shoved his hand hard into her crotch. She gasped, bucked as the car had bucked when he first touched her there. The hem of the dress rode up to her waist, revealing transparent panties that were the same pale yellow color. Everything matched the hair on her snatch. He was willing to bet she'd have worn a pale yellow bra ... if she wore bras. She was perfection; a proper good girl who made you fight to get it in, then fucked as if your dick were an electric plug, the juice triggering a secret motor in her wide hips. "Did your ole man fuck out your ass when you was a kid?" he persisted, remembering the night he lay on the bunk reliving the musical-chair-sex scene with his own mother. "Or did you have to get yourself raped by a prison before the ole bastard took it? Tell me, baby. Turn me on."
"Hummmm!" Jeanie's small trembling hands wrestled his wrist. But the effort to push his hand from her pussy was merely another pretense, Tony could tell. Nothing could banish the truth: she'd met him at the door of the prison, knowing what to expect, wanting what he had to offer. Now she whimpered and squirmed. She made deep-throated sounds of protest. But as the hand at her cunt grew insistent, forcing the panties up her tight slit, into her anus, her movements became the same wild gyrations Tony remembered from their last night together. Slowly he bent his face to her crotch, kissed her through the damp nylon.
"Ohah. Umph. Ow! Owww! Owwwwwwww!" Jeanie released his wrist. Her hands shot to his head, pressed his face close. Her spine arched high off the seat. Her cunthole breathed like a thirsty guppy beneath the panties. "I ... oh, I h-hate you, I hate you, Iiiii ...!"
Tony drank the sweet smell of her pussy into his nostrils, licked the tang from the crotch of the panties. He forced one finger beneath the tight leg band, twisted it cruelly up her dry asshole. She squealed. He groaned. The inner walls of her succulent rectum began to feather the dart, just as she had feathered the tip of his prick when, more than a month before now, a lifetime ago, he fucked his enraged meat between her round cheeks. He could imagine her astraddle her father's lap, crying, Daddy ... Dadeeeeee! Was that the way they did it, he wondered. The same way the girl had fucked herself onto his stiffness? The way his own mother had tried to screw herself down-clothes and all-on his boyhood rod?
"To-neeeeee," Jeanie sighed, moving her ass on the burrowing finger, grinding herself down until it was all the way in. "Hummmm!" She threw her legs wide, one over the edge of the seat, the other hooked at the knee atop the backrest. Her hips churned slowly, maddeningly.
"Tell me about your ole man," Tony barked into her crotch. "About how he fucks out your ass."
"No! No! No! No! N-noooooo!"
"You want your cunt sucked?"
"Ummm!" She held her plump ass suspended off the seat, nylon-covered bush trembling in his face.
"Then tell me. Pretend this-" he wiggled his finger high in her rectum, began to grind it in and out along the sensitive membrane separating the rear channel from her delicate vagina. She thrashed, moaned. He slipped another finger into the brown tightness, slammed both brutally up between her quivering white cheeks. "Just close your eyes 'n' pretend you got his dick up you. All the way up you, baby. Up your daughter-ass." He used his nose to push the crotch of the panties aside, bared her pink livery slit. He covered the gap with his mouth, blew and sucked and flicked his tongue against her hard clit.
Jeanie gasped. A spasm passed through her belly, brought hot juice pouring from her cunthole into his mouth. She closed her eyes and began to pant like a ruptured bellows. The good girl was suddenly gone, with the Jeanie he knew -the one he had watched take on a roomful of demanding blacks before she dared him to eat her-emerging from the wet slit and blonde fur between her gaped thighs. The halves of her ass squeezed tight on the two fingers buried there. The strong fishy smell of a woman in heat wafted from the depths of her twat. "Tony, Daddy, Daddy, Dadeeeeee," she cried. "Do it. Like hum! Owah! F-fuck my ass like ... like ..."
"Like what?" he prompted, fingers shafting furiously in and out of her rectum.
"When I ow! Um! L-like w-when I was little 'n' you d-did it to me on the sofa. In ... in the living room. When ohah! Um!" She grinded down, asshole sucking both fingers in to the last knuckle and nipping for more. "When you r-r-rubbed against me back there-ere. W-when you t-t-thought I was asleep and didn't know-ow what you were doing."
Tony's dick shot a premature spurt of thick cream. He could almost see the girl's father dry humping her little girl buttocks, Jeanie pretending to be sound asleep but enjoying every minute of the incestuous game. He couldn't blame the old man. He couldn't blame anyone for wanting to stick a stiff prick in the girl who was all primness and blushes with her clothes on, but who became a wanton, a cum-loving whore, when the camouflage was stripped from her body and a cock or a finger or a tongue-anything male-was shoved up either of her hot hairy holes. With fingers that felt swollen, unmanageable because of desire, he undid his fly, freed his long heated cock and steered her hot little fist to the monster.
Slowly, the words coming in disjointed spurts, Jeanie told of the things she'd realized while a captive at the prison, and about the lap-sitting sessions with Daddy, her own wonderful daddy; about his dick getting hard and pressing into her young virgin split. About Mike, and how she had realized after the riot that he was a poor substitute for the man, the sex, she secretly craved. A man like Daddy. Many men like him, and like Tony. Brutes who made her do the horrid things Mike would never dare suggest.
"I ... I told him about you," she whispered as Tony pulled her low on the seat, threw open his pants, and climbed between her smooth white thighs. "About ummmmmm!" She pumped her hips up to meet the fiery glands burrowing beneath the leg band of the panties. "About how you owwww ...! How you f-f-fucked me t-the way he always w-w-wanted to ... ow ... in ... in the back. My ass. How ... how I s-sat in your lap, the way I ... I ... the way I used to sit in his lap when I was a little girl. Only naked with you. With y-your t-t-thing going up me. Um! Owah! U-up meeeeee." She jacked her hips up in jerks, cunthole taking him in.
Tony strained. The panties were an incumbrance, the nylon burning the shaft as he tried to hump his rod in. He cursed, took hold of the crotch and yanked. The material shredded. He drove. "Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Jeanie began to fuck wildly, hot blonde pussy sucking him in. The torn panties, the two halves like the flaps of a loincloth, shifted high on her belly, baring the lovely blonde curls, for his bludgeoning member.
"Baby! Baby! Ba-beee!" Tony watched his long dick disappear up her pink and white-blonde tightness, felt the delicious wet grip of her vagina. He marveled at the virgin-like grasp of her slit. It was as if he had never fucked her before; as if no one had ever fucked her. She was some cunt, his Jeanie. He wished he'd taken the time to undress her. But there would be time enough later, he reasoned. Later, after he shot the first pent-up load, when his joint was less anxious and used to a hot cunthole again, there would be time enough to do all the kinky things he had dreamed about since the morning the girl ran from his arms to the guardsmen and wept as if fucking were something she detested. For now ...!
"Do it. Do it!" The girl met his powerful lunge, took him in to the hilt. Her knees shot up. She whimpered and gasped as he doubled her legs, knees flush with her heaving tits, and set his stiff dick in motion. Her twat nipped. Her ass, the tiny brown hole low between the jiggling cheeks sucking air, matched his pace.
"Did he get it?" asked Tony, head spinning with the thought of Jeanie screwing her own father. "Your ole man-did you finally give 'im some ass?"
"Yesssss."
"Jesus H. Fucking Christ!" He drove his stink finger back up her chute, fucked his hips back, paused for a moment to watch her pink cunthole nip, and slammed his meat deep in her sopping wet pussy. "Tell me how," he groaned. "Everything. Every mother-fucking detail."
Again Jeanie began to talk in excited spurts; about how her mother-never a strong woman, she said-had suffered a nervous breakdown because of the riot, the things they said on the radio, hints of rape, and was recuperating' at a nursing home when the prison was retaken. "D-Daddy met me after the doctors released me from the hospital," she continued. "He took me home in the shirts the guardsmen wrapped me in ... all the time looking ... watching my legs while he drove. Then we were home, just him 'n' me, and it was like I was little all over again. I ... I sat in his lap, crying. Pretending I hurt all over. 'Tell me what happened,' he said. 'Tell Daddy what they did to his little big-girl.' But he already knew from the news on the radio, and I could feel him getting big against my crack. So big. Like-" she moaned, threw herself up onto his pistoning cock. Her cunt locked ... milking ... searching for cum. "He ... he wanted to do me, I knew. In the ass. I could feel him there. Hard. Harder than anything ever."
Tony's breath was coming in gasps. He thought sure he was going to fuck her through the seat of the car. Already the cum was creeping up from his jouncing sacs. He commanded his loins to break pace, holding back. His shit-smeared finger popped from her asshole, hands roaming, exploring every soft inch of her little round bottom, thighs, the satiny hair on her pussy. She was an oven inside, the walls of her cunt caressing his prick like curious mice running up and down the stiff throbbing length. Her father! Her own fucking father, he thought. She'd fuck a snake, he was certain. She'd scream and fight and protest that she didn't want to ... all the time Opening her delectable legs, gaping her tight little gash. She'd play her innocent good-girl games and take a rattler up her whore belly.
"Daddy wanted to do all the things you and the others had done to me," Jeanie panted, fingernails cutting furrows in the leather seat, hips working frantically. "B-but I was still his little girl. He wanted me so, but he was too shy, too dumb to come right out 'n' say so. I ... I had to coax him. I oh! Ohah!" Her eyes rolled back white in their sockets. Her head thrashed from side to side on the seat, as if she were reliving the scene. "I ... I hugged his neck, wiggling 'til the shirt came loose 'n' my ass, the thing he wanted, was naked in his lap. 'They bruised me something awful,' I told him. 'All over down there. Feel, Daddy. Make it better.' I made him put his hand there, on my cheek. I shifted so the bulge in his pants, his dick, got wedged in the crack, 'n' said, 'Hold me, Daddy. Hold me tight.' I was his own little big-girl again, but this time naked from the waist down. I hugged 'n' kissed him 'n' made him know with my hips that it was okay, that he could fuck me like-"
Tony gulped. Suddenly her hand was between their bodies, yanking his wet cock from its niche. He started to protest. But before the words were out of his mouth, even before the thought was completed, she was setting the fat red glands at her asshole, grinding to take him in between her glistening buttocks.
"Yeah, baby. Ah! Ah, y-yeaaah." He lunged with all the force in his hips, tore a muted cry from her lips as the entire length of his prick grated into her rectum and paused to bask in the maddening, pulsating warmth.
Outside birds chirped. Leaves rustled. A truck rumbled by on the road beyond the natural hideaway. The midday sun glared down on the roof of the car, on the windshield, on the flailing limbs and faces contorted with passion within the gently rocking vehicle. A small leggy creature, like the one that had crawled up Jeanie's rear on the last night at the prison, crept slowly along the hood of the car, reached the window and paused-paused as Tony was pausing, dick planted deep, savoring the girl's movements, her wild abandon, her heat and her uninhibited tale-as if to stare in awe at the spectacle. As if regretting its lot: that it was a mere insect, and that the female of the species was nothing at all like the young blonde thrashing about on the leather like a grounded fish. It climbed the tinted glass, leaving a thin, sticky yellow trail behind. As if it were coming. As if the scene inside the car had triggered its unthinking mind into thought, and was jacking the cum up from its minuscule balls, firing it at Jeanie in the hope that one drop, one fertile tadpole of bug semen, would enter the lovely girl's womb and create a like creature for a leggy insect to use.
Tony saw the bug and recalled the thing he had sucked from Jeanie's hot little asshole on their last night together. Now her miniature shitter was doing the sucking. Deep in her rippling belly, tiny mouths were licking his cock, making him crazy. The incestuous tale continued-spasmodic, but recreating the lap-sitting scene as if he were there watching it. As if the rod in her rear belonged to another, and he was suffering the dual pleasure-pain of fucking the girl and seeing her father do it.
He closed his eyes, gripped her round bottom, and stoked. His prick moved slowly in and out. As slowly as the insect crawled on the windshield. As smoothly as the breeze blowing outside the car. But inside his chest there was thunder; the roar of the truck tires on the road beyond the natural carport. At the pit of his belly there was flame; cannon balls of thick gism awaiting the last mighty dip, the signal that would fire the load into the brown velvet pocket.
"Har-harder than anything ever!" Jeanie reiterated breathlessly. She drifted back into the tale, but fucking as if her mind, her body, her entire being were dedicated only to yanking the cum out of his sacs. "D-Daddy held me tight in his lap," she said, head thrashing again, eyes rolling back white. "His big dick grew and grew, nuzzling me while his hands felt all over the bruises. Only he wouldn't. He wouldn't! He ... he simply couldn't say what he wanted-meee! M-my ass! N-not 'til I reached for his cock, and squeezed. Squeezed as tight as I could. 'My God!' he choked. 'Jeanie, what're you doing? Jeanie, I'm your father, you're my own little girl. Jeanie, don't! Jeanie, for chris-sakes, please!' Jeanie this, 'n' Jeanie that ... until I ... I had it out, in my hand, so hard 'n' lo-ong. Until I ... Iiiiiiiii set the head where he'd always wanted it to go, 'n' did-"
"Arrrrrrrrrrrr! Ah! AHHHHHH!" Tony went rigid, unable to hold back another second. The girl's hole was a velveteen vise ... greedily sucking the knob of his prick ... coaxing cum ... driving him mad with the round and round, up and down, up and down, up and down motion of her succulent ass. "Oh, baby. Baby, fuck! FUCK!"
It was a cum load that would have ruptured the average girl, he was certain. Not Jeanie though. She whimpered, threw her legs over his shoulders-knees still flat at her tits, ankles locked at his neck. It was an impossible position. Yet she moved. She moved as if her lower body were a separate entity. As if fucking were the only function of the hot hairy hole low between her plump buttocks, and his dick-the thing so deep in her belly Tony thought sure he could feel her stomach above the fat pissing glands-was the crank that made the hole go.
"All cunt!" he croaked, the cream gushing hot, tearing orgasm after orgasm from the roots of his tool.
A pig! he thought wondrously. A common ... no, not common. Special! A whore like none other. He told her so. He grunted the words pig and whore into her lovely face. He spit it at her. Defiled her with it. Raped her verbally.
"Yes!" Jeanie cried. "YES!"
He slapped her, not sure why but wanting to see her weep as she'd wept the first time. Wanting to recreate the first delicious attack in the tag shop.
"Hurt me, Tony. HURT MEEE!"
"Cunt! Fucking no good whore bitch!" He slapped her again and again. Until her lovely face was striped with red finger marks, the tears bright in her eyes. It made her fuck harder. Faster. Wilder. The cream continued to pour from his cock, overflowing her asshole, forming a puddle on the seat and making her bottom smack wetly each time she met the leather for the split second it took to thrust upward. He'd heard about girls like Jeanie-women who derived sexual delight from abuse. It wasn't the act of fucking that turned her on, he realized wondrously. A prick, any stiff prick, was merely the culmination of a psychological drive. A compulsion. A mental and physical need to suffer.
His dick continued to spit. He dug his fingers cruelly into the girl's tender cheeks, bruising her ass anew. He recalled her reactions during the riot; how she seemed to fuck for Jack and the others in spite of herself, inviting more abuse. Rape had triggered her hidden desires, he realized, and now, with the time since her rescue to fortify the secret urges, Jeanie's mind was no longer her own. Her body, the sensitive love-bud inside her cunt, had taken over, had become her mentality. She had somehow connected sex and pain and degradation-the shame of incest, and being used by black and white cocks-with the latter two as prerequisites for the orgasmic spasms that were driving her hips, lifting them to the top of the world, where the air was thin, hard to breathe, but where heaven-a sexual wonderland-made everything right.
On the windshield, the insect lost its footing. It tumbled onto the hood, lay on its back kicking. Its legs moved furiously-like a turtle trying to right itself. Like the eager young legs in the car.
On the road, another truck whizzed by, the thunder of the big tires echoing the roar in Tony's ears. Matching the frantic pumping motion, the rhythm, the delicious tempo of Jeanie's unmanageable hips.
"Fuck me," she moaned. "Again! D-don't stop, Tony. Never, never stop fucking meeeeeeeee ..."
CHAPTER TEN
It was dark when at last they arrived at the Simmons' place, and Jeanie-thinking how insane it all was, how much her moral outlook had changed in the month since the riot-steered the car into the drive and silenced the engine. She turned to Tony, who hadn't spoken a word since they left the arbor of branches and leaves she now considered their "special retreat," to be used when she wanted only him, wanted to remember this day. Now he was watching her with an I see through you stare, as if she were a germ under a microscope. She'd grown used to such looks. In the weeks since her return home, with Daddy, with all the secret childhood fantasies become a reality, she'd reconciled herself to being an object of male wonder. It was nice in a way; it gave her a sense of power over the men in her life.
"Who's comin' to the party?" asked Tony, a hint of apprehension in his dark eyes.
She smiled. "Just Daddy." She watched him glance toward the house. The front of his pants were a mess, his shirt smeared with lipstick. In the dim light from the dash he looked like a bedraggled hitchhiker she'd found on the road. She supposed she looked worse. Icky. Disheveled. Her hair was a mop, she knew. But that was okay; she'd waited a month for this night ... just her and Tony and Daddy in the same bed. "Mother is still at the nursing home," she added breathlessly. "It's better that way. She was always underfoot. Me 'n' Daddy would've ... well, you know. We would've done it long ago if not for Mother walking in whenever we got started."
Tony grunted. Mentally he was calling her a whore again, she could tell. It made her belly turn over; it made her mind recoil, but only mildly, with only a dim flicker of shame. She didn't care anymore what anyone thought. Perhaps she was a whore. Perhaps someday, years from now when her youth and beauty faded, she'd regret what the rioting rapists had done to her mind and body. But that was a long time away. And whatever the consequences, whatever her ultimate destiny, for now, for tonight, there was Tony and Daddy to sooth the flicker of shame. It was as if she had lived her whole life for this moment, and tomorrow be damned.
The front door to the house opened, and Daddy, her own wonderful daddy, wearing a silk bathrobe and slippers-her Christmas gifts to him-appeared as a tall silhouette against the light from the living room. "Hurry!" she whispered excitedly, and was out of the car and up the stone steps, in Daddy's strong arms, before Tony could open the passenger door.
Now there was no hesitation, no pretense. Daddy's hands were all over her bruised bottom the moment they stepped inside the house. She kissed him. She sighed, hugged his neck, and took his tongue into her mouth ... all the time watching Tony watch her. Two big lovely cocks! she thought. She felt the one growing hard low on her belly, saw the hose-like limpness in Tony's pants leg stir. She could imagine the two slipping in ... one in front, parting the blonde hairs of her pussy ... the other making her whine and thrash, hurting as it grated up her behind. Which one where, she wondered, knowing the choice wasn't hers to make. Knowing that soon, after the initial love play, the men would become wild beasts and she would become the receptacle to be used as they saw fit.
Pete Simmons broke the kiss, looked from his daughter's face to Tony. "Don't think about it," he told the younger man. "I tried that. It don't work with Jeanie. For years I've been trying to keep my hands off her, telling myself it's not right. And then you, the riot. She's not the same girl anymore. She-" his hand lifted the mini in back, closed over one plump cheek. "She can't help herself. Neither can I."
"Neither can he," cooed Jeanie. She extended her small, hand to Tony, coaxing him close. It was funny, she thought. Men always seemed to need excuses for what they did to her, as if they were the ones being denied, abused. Until they got their dicks in. Until her tight pussy, her asshole or mouth-whichever sweet entry they chose-was full of their need, and they forgot all but the pounding, the thrust, the steady, giddy fuck-motion directed at orgasm. Then the roles changes completely. Then she was the one who hesitated, inflamed but unsure, as it should be. Pliable flesh. A woman. A helpless creature at the mercy of her man. At the mercy of both her men, she corrected mentally. Like at the prison ... hard cocks everywhere.
"I had a suspicion you two were, ah ...!" Tony gestured. He tried to smile, to shrug the kinky scene off as commonplace. But in his face there was doubt; a residue of the thing Jeanie herself had had to conquer. Awkwardness. Shame. "That way," he finished at last. "Fucking! That first day at the tag shop ... did she tell you about the tag shop?"
"She told me everything," replied Pete. "That's what started it. I brought her home after the riot, sat her on my lap ... did she tell you about that?"
Tony nodded. Both men grinned, then laughed, the uneasiness fading. Jeanie looked from one to the other. Her nipples ached. Her cunthole, her chute, although she and Tony had fucked for hours and hours, fucked every which way, longed to hold a stiff cock. She seemed to shrink, becoming smaller as the two men gained confidence in themselves and each other and became conspirators in her degradation.
"That first fucking time at the tag shop," Tony continued, stepping close, his hand dropping to the halve of her ass opposite Pete's kneading fingers, "when she yelled Daddy with my prick up 'er ass. Christ, I damn near figured it then. But I was too anxious to get some ... all those years. So I didn't know for sure 'til today in the car." His long stink finger slid down the split of her bottom, probed.
Jeanie gulped. She was glad Tony had ruined the panties, that she'd thrown them away and there was nothing but her back there. She rested her head on her father's chest, arms tight at his neck, and bent slightly at the waist, presenting her plump buttocks. She opened her sphincters. Tony's finger disappeared up her ass. "Hummmm!"
"It's not easy being a father to someone like Jeanie," said Pete soberly. His hand abandoned her cheek, crept around to her bush. "Ever since she was twelve ... did she tell you about the lap-sitting games we used to play?"
"Ummm!" Tony breathed hot in her ear. His finger fucked slowly in and out. His free hand shot to her tit. "That was cute-the head cheese 'n' all. Like something I would've done. Remind me sometime to tell you about 'musical chairs' for two. Me 'n' mom."
"Jeanie didn't know it," said Pete, ignoring the comment as if he hadn't heard, as if lost in the vision of his daughter as a child, "but I used to sneak in her room late at night, stand at the side of the bed 'n' think, 'Jesus, she's a beauty already. Only a baby, twelve years old, but with small pointed tits 'n' pretty blonde curls on 'er ...!" His fingers found her wet daughter-cunthole, slipped smoothly in. " 'A baby with soft fuzz on 'er pussy,' I used to think. I used to stand there 'n' ease the sheets back while she sighed in 'er sleep. She never wore much in those days ... little-girl cotton panties, no bra. A sleeping cock-teaser! My own kid! I used to stand there 'n' smell 'er, my nose right up to the crack of 'er ass. Jesus! She smelled so fucking good I wanted to bite 'er. But I used to think to myself, This is your daughter, Pete. Don't do it. There's laws. Don't touch the girl. Be satisfied with the lap-sitting games, because if you go any further 'n' she tells ..."
Jeanie rammed her cunt onto his fingers, looked lovingly into his face. "I ... oh, I wouldn't have told, Daddy. Never. I ... I wanted you too."
Pete stared into her eyes. He frowned, as if unable to believe she was the girl he had fathered. It was the same look she'd seen on the first day home after the riot-the look he got each time before they screwed. Now he stepped back enough to allow his stiff dick to pop from the front of the bathrobe. She gasped. The glands-almost as fiery red as Tony's, though not as round, more pear-shaped and lumpy where the roll of skin marked his circumcision-brushed her wedge. His hips bucked forward with the natural urge to fuck.
Jeanie sobbed, took hold of the veiny cylinder. She sawed herself back and forth, taking Tony's finger deep in her asshole, her father's up her vagina. Instinct was wonderful, she mused. No matter what inhibition dictated, no matter what moral beliefs one held, nature overrode both with her lusty demands. A stiff dick had no knowledge of incest. A sopping wet pussy knew only the need to be filled. Why had it taken her so long to realize? And Daddy! How dumb! Why hadn't he-or someone, anyone-taught her the delights of being a woman when she was a girl?
"Man! Goddam, already! Ain't there no bedrooms aroun' here?" blurted Tony. "My dick's harder 'n a railroad spike." He rubbed the bulge against her buttocks to demonstrate. "I thought this blowout was supposed to be a party."
Pete laughed. Jeanie tried to echo the sound. But there was no laughter in her, only heat. Only the emptiness at the pit of her belly; the ache at both hot hairy holes, and the tightness, the pain that was at once torture and bliss, making her nipples stand tall. Later there would be room for laughter, perhaps tears. Now there was room only for fucking.
Abruptly she unraveled herself from the tangle of arms and hands and probing fingers. She started across the room, stopped. Slowly she turned, lifted the hem of the mini and threw it off over her head. In nylons and garter belt, high heels, she stood with hands on hips at the bedroom door.
"Christ fucking sakes." Tony licked his lips, clutched the ferocious thing in his pants leg.
"Daddy?"
Pete took one step toward her, hesitated when she held up her hand. Tony too stood momentarily transfixed. She watched their hungry gazes travel up her lush body ... pausing here to stare through the white-blonde curls to the pink mouth of her sex ... there to caress a taut nipple. She felt giddy. Electrified. It was the first time since her rescue from the prison that she was in complete command-the first time ever. She thought back to Slick Jack and Spider, the other horrible blacks whose names she couldn't remember. To Tony at the tag shop, and again out under the stars. So much had happened to her. Some of it she still couldn't understand or explain. But there was no need to wonder about what was going on inside her now; she was proud of her body, her sex. She was taunting them with it. She was using what they would soon use-her breasts and pussy, the sensuous grind of her hips-to make two big dicks as hard as ... as railroad spikes! Harder still. She was anticipating, making them anticipate too. Making it better. Unbearable.
"Fuck this!" growled Tony at last.
Heart racing, blood thumping like the marching feet of an army at her temple, Jeanie watched him stride toward her. Daddy followed. Strong hands-she wasn't sure whose; she could no longer think or see straight-swooped her up, carried her into the bedroom. "I love you," she cried. "I love you both. I ... I want you. H-hurry!"
* * *
Outside the night was full of crickets and stars, like the last night at the prison. Vast. Quiet, yet alive with the subdued sounds of unseen creatures and the sudden neon-like flash of a firefly. A full yellow moon shone down on the west side of the house, cut through the blinds on the master bedroom window.
Inside, the bed seemed small. Not actually tiny, but far too restricted for the three eager bodies. Hands. Anxious fingers. One delicate blonde pussy, one female ass, but two long mighty cocks and two pair of explosive balls.
Jeanie moaned while the men made ready to plant the stakes. She thought of Michael, her ex-fiance. Was he still in Europe, she wondered. Had he gotten her letter breaking the engagement and telling him in no uncertain terms that he had never been much good as a lover? She didn't know why she'd done that. Malicious. Cruel. Almost as brutal as a dick that forced its way in. She didn't know much about why she did anything anymore. Her life had once been an orderly design ... high school, nurses' training, a job, then marriage with Mike, a home and kids of her own. Not so now. Now she lived day to day, minute to minute, cum-load to cum load. Worse, she no longer cared about being wanton. It no longer bothered her to think of herself as what Tony had called her ... a pig ... a whore.
"I'm partial to that end," said Pete.
Tony scowled. The two traded positions, climbing over her as if she were a mindless bed doll. She felt Tony's hot breath in her face, and the familiar preliminary stab of Daddy's fat cock low between the tense halves of her ass. "Do it," she whispered. "Fuck meee. B-both ends. Daddy? Tony? F-fuck me good. Do it!"
"You put it in for me, baby," directed Tony.
She didn't have to be told twice. She took firm hold of the shaft of his prick, steered the glands through her soft bush. But her fingers shook so. It was as if she had palsy and would never get the thing in. She closed her eyes tight, concentrating. She felt the fiery tip at her mound-so close to her slit, the heat of it scorched her clit. She traced the thick cord along the bowed underside, wrapped two fingers around the bloated head. She worked her cunt-lips, yelped as the red torpedo filled the livery pink opening.
Grunting like a wild boar, Tony planted half the length in short jerks up her belly. "Better every goddam time," he hissed. "I ... ummmm! Ah! I don't know how you do it, baby, but your cunt-Jesus! It never fucking quits!"
She heard the words as if from a distance, the roaring inside her head running the syllables together. But she understood what Tony meant, could sense it in the throbbing head of the monster fucking its way up her cunthole. She pressed back, wanting to feel the other dick-Daddy's incestuous hardon-up her plump rear. But Daddy, she knew, was looking at her back there ... savoring the roundness ... the softness ... the satiny whiter than whiteness. She could almost feel his eyes vying with his hands. His prick was there too, gently probing the crack. But now was his time for staring, as he did every night, and for remembering the nights he'd sneaked into her room when she was a girl.
"Lift your leg." Tony's hand cupped along the inner expanse of one thigh, coaxing her knee up. "So I can get the rest of it in, honey. You're ah! OHHHHHH! Motherfucker, you ... you're too goddam tight this way."
She knew what he meant. No matter how much bludgeoning her slit suffered, no matter how many big dicks it entertained, the delicious tightness remained. She started to comply, to raise her knee to make the lovely niche more accessible. She wanted him in there. All of him.
"Wait a minute," Pete said.
Suddenly the warmth was gone from between her smooth buttocks, and Daddy, his dick standing straight out-bigger than ever, it seemed-was kneeling behind and above her. There was a bright glint in his eye, the hint of a leer at the corners of his wide mouth. She glanced down at the rod protruding from her pink slit, back at the one suspended like a blimp emerging from a cloud of wiry cock hair. "Wha ...?"
"On your back," Pete told Tony. "Let's apply a little science here-you on the bottom, her astraddle, and me up behind. A sandwich. That way there'll be room enough to get two tanks up 'er."
"Just the cannon," croaked Jeanie. "T-the tank guns, Daddy. Yours 'n' To-neee's."
Tony grunted and rolled, taking her with him. His lengthy prick ground farther in as Daddy arranged her legs wide at either side of their guest's muscular thighs. Both tiny holes gaped. Her tits flattened against Tony's chest. She reached eagerly back, took hold of the cheeks of her ass and spread herself farther still. She wanted to tell Daddy to put it in, to hurry before the top of her head spun free. But the words wouldn't come. From the waist up, nothing worked, and from the waist down, the new focal point of her existence, her body wasn't her own to command. Even her breathing seemed to be concentrated at the two nipping holes.
"That ass!" Pete bent close, ran his tongue up and down the tiny brown slit.
"D-D-D-D-Da-deeeee!"
Tony's hands cupped at the underside of her cheeks, his fingertips grazing the lips of her cunt. He fucked his hips up off the bedding. The remaining inches of stiffness grated up her forebelly. "Ahhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Um, baby, baby, baby. Oh! Jesus! Man!"
Jeanie whimpered, held her breath, and waited for Daddy's thrust. She felt his tongue preparing the entry, his fingers testing the port. Each wet flick sent a shiver up her arched spine. Each upward stab of the pole in her cunthole burst a multi-colored flare inside her head, sent the sparks, the first hint of orgasm, dancing round and round her thumping skull. She doubled her knees at Tony's waist, presenting what she knew to be an irresistible rear view.
"Jesus! All those years," panted Daddy. " 'She's only a kid,' I used to tell myself. Over 'n' over. But all the time wanting you, sweetheart. Looking at this!" His finger twisted roughly up her asshole, made her moan. "You growing up 'n' me holding back because you're my daughter. And all the time you wanting it too. Knowing. Christ. That time on the sofa ... I was sure you knew, but ...! She's pressing back, I told myself. She can't be asleep and not know. Not as hard as I am. I wanted to rip those goddam pajamas to shreds, fuck it up you regardless of the consequences. But I kept thinking about incest. Your mother. What people would say if it ever got out. I kept pumping, dry humping your sweet little bottom, wanting you but telling myself, No! She's a good girl. Your daughter. Don't do it, Pete. Not her. Not Jeanie. It's not right, man. You just don't ream your own little girl, no matter how good she looks or how willing she seems. And now ...!"
Jeanie felt his weight on her back, felt the finger pop wet from her ass and the tip of his dick being centered at the tiny brown velvet target. She closed her eyes, envisioned the scene from her girlhood ... the sofa, with the gruff cowboy on TV barking, "Get up there, boy. Get up!" Twelve years old, with gold peach-fuzz on her pussy and button tits. Daddy's big dick rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against her back there. His hands at her little-girl hips, and her pressing back, back. Pretending. Eyes closed tight, heart thumping. Only now she was naked, no pretense. And Daddy, her own wonderful, tall handsome daddy, was doing her the way he did Mother in the room next to hers. No more lap-sitting games or head cheese. Suddenly the years between girlhood and womanhood were gone, and she was telling him with her hips, her quivering white buttocks, that incest meant nothing to her. That only good fucking mattered. That the thing he held in his hand, the long lovely meat that had planted the seed which had made her, was a stronger tie than bloodlines, and nothing, no one, no matter what happened tomorrow, no matter who knew, would ever destroy the bond the riot and rape had revealed. Inside she was new. Wanton. Alive. And she wanted him there, up her belly. Forever and ever, until he was too old to shoot -and then they'd find something as good-she wanted only what he had longed to give her for too many years. His dick. His big hairy pink balls. His thick daddy-semen.
"Fuck it in, Daddy," she cried in a voice not her own. "Pre-pretend I'm little again, on the sofa. Like ... just like this is the first time for us. Only hard. Don't hold back. Hurt me. Shove it in as if you were mad, angry with me for making you wait so terribly long."
Tony's cock leaped excitedly at the depths of her cunthole. "Arrrrrr!" Six hands-his, Daddy's, her own-held the two delectable halves of her ass open for penetration. With one mighty lunge, Pete planted the glands of his sex high in her hot and tight, young and eager, adorable asshole.
"Owww! Owah, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy-oww-wwwwww! Ummm! I ... I love you!"
"All those years," Pete groaned at the back of her neck. His hands locked at her waist, the fingers sunk in her flesh, the nails bruising. The gentleness was gone. The roles had changed. Now he was the master, she the slave, as it should be. Inch by hard grating inch, sighing after each thrust, he buried the shaft in her shitter.
On hands and knees, tits swaying above Tony's face, fucking herself onto one stake and off the other, then reversing the motion, moving wildly, without direction, trying to make herself go every which way at once, Jeanie muttered incoherent love pledges. Briefly she wondered what Mike, her mother, those who had known her before the riot, would say if they could see her now. She recalled how she'd fought when Slick Jack dragged her into the lounge at the infirmary, and again when Tony snuggled close on the cot at the tag shop. Yet even then, while she flailed and cursed her rapists, prayed for deliverance and chastised herself for participating, her body had known. Her cunthole had tried to tell her. Her nipples and ass had understood long before her mind-morals and conscience and the rest of the nonsense she'd learned as a girl-accepted its rightful lot. In truth, she was no better than what Tony had called her in the car. A pig! A brazen, cum-hungry whore! There was no avoiding it now, nor was there any need, any desire to deny truth any longer. There was nothing so good as fucking, no matter where the stiffness went in, no matter who it belonged to. It was a realization that had taken her twenty-one years, rape and confusion and self-castigation to come by.
The branch of a tree outside the bedroom window brushed lightly against the glass. The faint rustle was like the sound of naked bodies on clean sheets ... knees seeking a leverage ... a male ass touching down. Other sounds filled her ears; the steady slosh-slosh of Daddy's cock dipping, the suction drawing gook from high in her rectum, slopping the channel. The louder slurp-slurp of Tony's rod slamming greedily in and out, in and out, fucking up at an angle and pulling back at the opposite side of her sheath, stoking her sopping wet pussy as a fireman in a boiler room shovels coal into a furnace. Breathing. Hers quick and high-pitched, broken by moans, the labored sounds beneath and behind her like the panting of a lion on a hot humid day.
How long could it last, she wondered. How many minutes could she sustain their stiff cocks before the blast came? Before both Daddy and Tony went limp, and she, never sated, never full, had to wait for the next hardon to rise and seek succor in the warmth of her gyrating loins.
It seemed she had spent her whole life waiting for something. First for the hair to grow on her pussy, the soft creamy mounds to bud on her chest. Then for Daddy and the next lap-sitting game. Then Mike-for the year it took him to build courage enough to take her blonde treasure. And at the prison, waiting for what she thought was escape, but was, in fact, the first inkling of the emergence of Jeanie. Not the stupid good girl she was taught to be as a child, but Jeanie Simmons, the nurse. The healer of the sickness in stiff cocks.
She felt the two cum loads building in the fat balls slapping her crotch. She felt the calloused hands on her ass, the teeth and tongue taunting her nipples. Degradation? Shame? Neither one! This was what she'd been born for; what nature, what some called God, had designed when casting the mold that left a delightful pink slit where a man had a rod. The two went together. It was her destiny to be placed at the mercy of the plug from the mold, the thing that made her complete.
"Ahhh. Um. S-squeeze tight, honey," Daddy breathed hot in her ear. "Close your pretty cheeks. I ohhhhhhhh! Daddy's coming. Sweetheart? Be a umph! UMMMMMMumph! Be a good girl 'n' wiggle. Grind for Daddy. Screw!" He reached around and under her belly, crushed her close.
"Yeah. But don't forget me," wheezed Tony. He too planted his joint to the hilt, held. "You do the work, baby. Like your ole man said ... wiggle 'n' grind your ass, be a fuckin' good girl."
A good girl! she thought wondrously. At last she knew the meaning of the ambiguous term. A good girl was one who could satisfy a man's lusty yearning; a girl who could take a man's cock out of his pants, steer it to the hot hairy hole he preferred, and then do what both Daddy and Tony were demanding of her now.
"I will," she sobbed ... fucking ... fucking. Wiggling and bumping and grinding, screwing as best she knew how.
She closed her eyes tight, locked both little holes and thrashed. The prison, the rioting rapists, charged through her mind, stomping her flesh underfoot. The two cocks exploded in unison deep in her belly. She yelled. She kicked and clawed at the sheets. She was ninety-eight pounds of raw pussy-all cunt. Sucking cum up her asshole, in her womb. A good girl again. Content to spend the rest of her life doing what she'd been waiting for since she was a girl.
