Vern Beauchamp was finishing his packing. His destination was New Orleans, where he would be covering State University's opening football game against New Orleans Tech in the famed Sugar Bowl Stadium.
As he finished his packing, his wife Sally, was registering her complaints about life in general and Vern in particular.
"At least I'll have some peace and quiet around her for the next couple of days," she said sarcastically. "I get so damned sick of hearing you talk about sports."
"Writing is what I do for a living," he said, as he packed his last shirt into the suitcase, closing it up.
"You never leave that job," she chuckled sarcastically. "That's all you know. That and your bottle. You're a typical newspaperman."
"I do wish you'd please get off my back, Sally," he said.
"You wish I'd get off your back!" she laughed at him. "How about this ridiculous charade of a marriage that I've been going through for eighteen years? I've been married to a little boy who's wrapped up in child-like fascinations with sports cars."
"You knew what I did when you married me," he said. "You were in the same business. You worked on the society page."
"It was a means to an end, my dear. I honestly never dreamed that eighteen years of marriage would produce nothing but free tickets to sporting events."
"I've supported you well," he said. "You've got no right to complain."
"I've got every right to complain. As a matter-of-fact, if I even began to list half of the complaints that I have, you'd never make it for that plane."
"Speaking of the plane, dear, are you going to drive me to the airport?"
"Are you out of your mind?" she laughed at him sarcastically. "You drive yourself. We've got two cars. That is one luxury that you've been able to provide for us, as surprising as that is to me. Of course, both of the cars are getting pretty old, so I really shouldn't praise you all that much."
"You're not driving me?"
"No, I'm not. You can take the Mustang. I'll hang onto the Olds this weekend."
"If that's the way you feel. I've got to go to a lot more trouble this way. I've got to park the car there at the airport. That costs money."
"Chalk it up to expenses, dear. I'm sure your editor won't mind."
"You can be awfully cruel when you want to be."
"I'm not being cruel, I'm just getting smart. You're just a mature little boy wrapped up in his sports heroes. You still haven't recovered from that injury that forced you out of football. Your whole life is going to be nothing more than a series of games. You might as well be MC for a kid show, so you can supervise some interesting encounters of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey."
"Please get off my back, Sally," he raised his voice.
"Don't raise your voice to me," she said. "I've already got a headache for having to get up at this hour of the morning."
"I didn't tell you that you had to get up. With all this bitching, I'd just as soon that you stayed in bed."
"With all the commotion you were making getting ready to go to the airport, what else could I do?"
"I didn't force you to get up."
"The noise certainly did," she said. "Now I am going back to bed. Good riddance."
"Same to you," he mumbled under his breath.
She never heard him. She stalked back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
He sighed with frustration, then walked toward the front door with his suitcase in his right hand.
Much of Santa Monica was still sleeping as he walked toward his car. He and Sally shared a dozy apartment not far from the beach.
As he got into his car and pulled out of the garage, he thought about how things had been in the early stages of their marriage.
They had moved into that same apartment building some fifteen years earlier. At that time they were both filled with hopeful optimism concerning the future. He had thought Sally to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A striking blonde with a gorgeous figure, she to that very day, some eighteen years after their marriage, retained most of what had attracted him.
The stunning figure was still ravishing, and her face bore not-one wrinkle. As for her disposition, however, it had consistently worsened during their marriage. Whereas in the early stages of it, she had been satisfied to the wife of a fairly prominent Los Angeles sports writer, she ultimately reached the point where that was not good enough.
As time went by, she began complaining far more frequently and vociferously about his inadequacies. She maintained that he was not making enough money, and they were not progressing like so many of his contemporaries that he had gone to college with.
As he got on the San Diego Freeway heading for Los Angeles International Airport, he began thinking about Sally with great sorrow.
Just one month earlier he had endured one of the most sorrowful experiences of his life at a party with Sally.
The incident had taken place at the home of the party's host. Carl Early had enjoyed a reputation with the women all his life.
While Early's wife had been entertaining guests in the living room, Vern included, Carl had enticed Sally into the bedroom.
Vern was not aware of what was happening until he went upstairs to use the bathroom. As he passed the bedroom, he heard some strange chuckling sounds.
The voice had sounded mysteriously like Sally's. She had had a lot to drink, as had Vern and the rest of the guests, and Vern's first thought was that she had become so drunk that she had been forced to lie down in bed. But the laughter struck him as exceptionally strange.
He opened the door to the bedroom a crack and observed his old fraternity buddy, Carl, slicing his hot dagger-like cock deep inside Sally's mound.
"Oh, darling, the way you do it, I love it. You're fantastic," she exclaimed. "You're so much better than Vern that it isn't even funny. Keep it up, keep on grinding, keep on working it around inside me. Oh, I love it. You're great."
"Damned but you've got a beautiful body," Carl replied. "I just love fucking it. I wish to hell I was married to you."
"I wish I was married to you," Sally exclaimed.
Vern's heart sank when he heard her make that admission. He knew she was dissatisfied with things, but he genuinely never expected to hear her say that she preferred being married to a friend of his.
He watched her smooth, supple body glide around on top of that bed as she met every penetrating forward thrust that was put forward by Carl's aroused cock.
He hurled his flaming organ forward, allowing it to stab inside her with relentless zeal. He was making every movement count.
While his surging spear-like rod was thrusting forward at a great pace, he allowed his fingers to work their way around her ass-cheeks. He squeezed them with just the right type of sensual feeling, imparting additional sensations inside her already jet-propelled body.
As Vern noticed just how much she was enjoying it, it made him both sad and disgusted. He thought about running into the room and attacking Carl physically. He weighed the possibilities of such an action for several seconds.
The longer he weighed them, the more he decided against such a tactic. After all, such an altercation would only make everyone at the party, Carl's wife, as well as the rest of the guests, fully aware of what was happening. He decided that the humiliation he would be forced to endure would be that much greater as a result.
On top of that, he decided that he had no reason for punishing Carl and not doing the same thing to Sally. He knew that he could never bring himself to hit Sally or, more than--likely, even talk sternly to her. Things had gotten so far out of hand that he found himself fearful about even raising his voice to her.
On top of all of those other points, he genuinely felt that it was Sally who had been the aggressor in the relationship. He had recalled the many times that she had spoken knowingly of Carl Early to him, and several times she had compared him unfavorably to Carl. He had thought very little of such signs at the moment, based upon the frequency with which she had been complaining lately. But now it appeared to all fit into a central pattern.
Sally grinned broadly as the brisk sex activities stepped up to an even greater level.
"Keep stabbing me with that big dick," she sighed exhilaratedly, "keep on fucking me, my dear. I love your fuck. I love it, love it."
He could still hear those excited words reverberating in his ears. She had been thrusting that body eagerly forward to meet his every urgent stab.
"Oh, you're great, you're absolutely great," he sighed.
"Keep stabbing me, I want you to juice inside me. I want to feel you inside me."
"Oh, you will, I want to fuck you, I want to drive my hot cock into your mound."
"Keep it up until you shoot."
"I can't stop now. Oh, I can't."
"Oh, you're going faster. Keep it up, keep it up," she said.
"This is it," he said as he tightened the grip on her ass-cheeks and plunged his dagger-like dick into her with even greater excitement than before.
He let out a huge sigh a few seconds later, after which the hot white jissum had spurted inside her moist mound.
He recalled how he had quietly closed the door and walked away. The last sight he had observed was that of the lips of his wife pressing forward eagerly to meet those of Carl.
She was expressing her gratitude to him for the fuck he had supplied.
It all appeared so vivid to him as he continued on the freeway in the ever-increasing early morning traffic.
It gave every indication of being a warm, late September morning, but by the time it got hot, Vern would be well on his way to New Orleans.
He tried to lift his sagging spirits by thinking about the on-coming football season.
State University, the team he had been covering for the Los Angeles Globe for the past five years, had been rated among the top five teams in the country, according to most of the pre-season polls.
State had shown gradual improvement over the course of the last three seasons, and in his column which would be appearing in the Globe that very day, Vern had emphatically predicted that State would win its conference championship.
He thought about State's prospects for championship honors for the next few minutes. His thoughts then shifted to a charge his wife Sally had leveled just prior to the time he had left the apartment.
She had accused him of living in the past, of never outgrowing his fascination for football. He recalled his senior year of college, when he had been named as a consensus all-American end.
He had been drafted by the professionals, and had been intent upon a long career as a pro footballer. But he sustained an injury at training camp in his rookie season. He had shattered his right knee to such an extent that it never completely healed. Even today he walked with a limp.
His pro football career had been shattered along with his knee. It had been shattered before it even had an opportunity to surface.
He had to admit that it had left him with bitterness, since he had been shooting for professional plaudits and recognition from the very moment that he first put on his uniform as a high school player.
With his football playing days over, he wanted to remain in touch with the game he loved, so he joined the sports writing staff of the Los Angeles Globe.
He had written for the college newspaper, and had had sufficient exposure to journalism to know his way around. He used his school contacts to get the job, which consisted of covering the local Los Angeles high school gridiron scene.
Eventually he worked his way up to top assignments, obtaining his own column and covering professional boxing. He was later given the assignment he had so long cherished, that of covering his old alma mater, State University.
He arrived at the airport half an hour before the plane was due to depart.
He parked his car in the second tier of a giant garage across the street from the main entrance to the airport. He got out of the car and lugged his suitcase across the street.
As he approached the main entrance, he observed Vince Cantwell", State's head football coach, saying goodbye to his wife.
Vince planted a firm kiss on her lips, which she promptly returned. He sadly contrasted Vince's send-off with his own. Not only had Sally failed to kiss him, she slammed the bedroom door in his face and had not even said goodbye.
He watched Vince's wife break their kiss. She walked away and got into her car, which was parked at the curb in front of the airport entrance.
Vince spotted Vern as he crossed the street with the suitcase in his hand.
"Hello, there," Vince waved and smiled with his left hand. His right hand, like Vern,'s held a suitcase.
"Good morning, coach," Vern said.
Vern's mind flashed back to when Vince Cant-well joined the State University football staff. He had been assigned to coach the freshman team and the varsity defensive backs during the first year that Vern was assigned to cover State.
The two men had come to know and respect each other a great deal through the years.
They walked inside the airport and took the escalator together up to the second floor, where they would board the chartered jet which .would take the team members, coaches, writing and broadcast fraternities, and assorted university friends and hangers-on to New Orleans.
"How's the team shaping up, Vince?" Vern asked.
"You know how it goes, Vern," the coach shrugged noncommittally. "You watch a team practice for weeks, but you really never know how good it is until that first game. That always tells the story."
"That's so true," Vern laughed. "We won't get a true line on the boys until tomorrow night."
"And I'll probably smoke five packs of cigarettes between now and then," Vince Cantwell laughed.
"This is the moment of indecision."
"I know, there's nothing quite like that wait before the opening kickoff of the first game. You feel so helpless, you know you've done all you can."
"From that point on it's up to the boys."
"Exactly," Cantwell nodded as they got off the escalator together.
They walked toward the waiting room where the team members were assembled.
CHAPTER TWO
The New Orleans evening was humid as the game commenced.
Vern's trip got started on a rocky note. Not only had he been involved in an argument with his wife Sally just before leaving the apartment, he also had committed the unpardonable sin among sports writers. He had forgotten his typewriter, something that had subjected him to great ridicule among his writing peers when he arrived at the airport.
"Where's your typewriter, Vern?" one of the writers grinned.
"My God, I must have left it at home," he shook his head disgustedly.
The argument with his wife had so unnerved him that he had forgotten it, taking with him nothing but the suitcase.
He remedied his problem, however, by buying himself a new portable at a typewriter shop in downtown New Orleans.
He sat high in the press box, his typewriter perched on the desk in front of him, as he watched the gridiron action unfolding.
A smile crossed his face as State jumped on top fast with a first-quarter touchdown. A long pass completion had put the ball deep in New Orleans Tech territory. Several plays later State's fullback plunged over the goal line.
It was an auspicious start for the visiting team. More of the same quickly followed.
Two touchdowns were added in the second quarter. State left the field at half-time leading 21-0.
"Looks like Cantwell has himself a real powerhouse," one of the local New Orleans sports writers exclaimed to Vern at half time.
"Certainly looks like it," Vern nodded.
The second half was boring and repetitious. It was repetitious in the sense that the pattern of the game had been clearly established in the first half. State was the markedly dominant team, and poor New Orleans Tech was doing its best just to stay on the same field with the visitors.
When the score mounted to 34-0 late in the third quarter, Vince Cantwell began substituting with regularity.
The fourth quarter produced nothing but absolute boredom. The only thing that was in doubt was the final score.
In the middle of the fourth quarter, New Orleans Tech mounted its most serious drive of the entire game. After taking the ball on its own 20-yard line, Tech marched deep into State territory, moving successfully against State's inexperienced substitutes.
Vern's mind was wandering. He knew that the game was no longer in doubt. He thought back to Sally and the way she had talked to him the day before as he was getting ready to leave for the airport. He thought about how she had sex with Carl.
His mind began to wander back to when he had been a college football star. He remembered with gleeful vividness over his success with girls at school. Most of them had been extremely eager to date him, and he had been in the selective position of being able to make his choice.
He thought about those days with vividness as he looked across the field and observed the Tech cheerleaders dancing excitedly to the strains of the school's fight song.
"One thing about it," the New Orleans sports writer who was sitting next to Vern said, "Tech might be whipped, but you can't tell that to those cheerleaders. They've got lots of spirit."
"That they have," Vern grinned.
The girls were clad in green sweaters and short matching skirts.
As their bodies shook and they waved green pom-poms in their hands, Vern found himself forgetting about the gridiron contest, which was no longer in doubt, and concentrating on the girls.
One in particular seized his interest. She was a striking redhead with a slim, voluptuous form. He observed her slim beautiful legs as she danced to the tune of the music.
Vern thought back to his sophomore year in college. He had just made the first team at State,, making him a figure of celebrity status on the campus.
At that time he had met a cute red-haired cheerleader. They struck up a fast acquaintanceship which developed into a torrid affair. It lasted during the course of their entire college careers, after which the girl had surprised Vern by marrying an older man.
The longer that he observed the redhead shaking her body rhythmically, the hotter he got.
His penis thrust out beneath his trousers. He trained his eyes with keen interest on her body. The longer he observed her, the more he recognized that she was even lovelier, both in face and form, than the girl he had had the affair with during his college days.
He found himself longing to know this striking redhead in the green skirt and sweater. He thought about all he would be willing to do to make her happy. He wondered just what kind of girl she was, and how many boyfriends she had.
Tech kept on driving deeper into State territory. Eventually the home team scored, causing the Tech rooting section to unleash its loudest cheer of the evening.
He was happy to see Tech cross the goal line, since it meant that the gorgeous redhead would have an opportunity to celebrate.
Once more she went into a long dance with the other cheerleaders.
When the extra point was successfully kicked, bringing the score to 34-7, yet another dance ensued.
Vern was now nervously shifting in his chair. He could hardly hold back the floodtide of excitement he felt.
Once more he was a very young man. He was the enthusiastic sophomore. The young cheerleader held a great fascination for him.
He thought about how nice it would be to know her. He thought about how much satisfaction an experienced man like himself would be able to supply to such a young, energetic girl.
The longer that her body swayed and the pompoms flipped over her head as she held them, the more enticing a sexual object she became.
He liked the spark of enthusiasm in her. She was fresh and unspoiled, the kind of girl he would have liked to know.
"Well, they finally got on the scoreboard," the man next to Vern remarked.
"Huh?" Vern looked at him.
"Tech scored."
"Oh, yeah," he nodded.
But his mind was totally removed from the game by that time.
CHAPTER THREE
As difficult as it was for him to keep his mind off the gorgeous red-haired cheerleader, Vern was forced to.
As the game ended, he began hammering out a complete account of what had taken place in the football game.
He looked over his copy, then picked up the telephone in front of him and phoned in the story to the Globe in Los Angeles.
As far as stories went, he considered his account of the State-Tech football game to be just an average job. For one thing, he knew, the game had been anything but exciting.
Due to the lack of excitement inherent in the contest itself, he felt obliged to cover up by stressing how powerful State had looked, which was hardly an exaggeration. The team had looked like one of the most powerful college clubs in the country, just as he had cracked it up to be before the season started.
He finished his story, then took the elevator down to the ground floor. He went into the dressing room and, along with other writers, interviewed Vince Cantwell.
The triumphant coach was sipping a coke and relaxing in a corner of the crowded, elated State University dressing room.
The questions were routine, and so were the answers. But Vern accomplished what he wanted. He managed to obtain a few useable quotes for his next column.
He left the dressing room and went back to the press box to pick up his typewriter. He rode the elevator back down to the ground floor.
Now most of the huge crowd was on its way home as he walked toward the hotel where the team and individuals associated with it were staying.
It was located far enough away to justify him taking a cab, but Vern felt like walking.
As he moved toward the entrance to the dressing room, he observed several of the Tech cheerleaders standing around outside, milling with the rest of the crowd.
His eyes fastened on those green outfits, and he looked carefully, seeing if he could observe the beautiful redhead who had attracted his attention on the field.
His heart stopped as he observed her talking with two of the other girls. It then began fluttering. Once more his cock thrust out with full intensity.
He sat his typewriter down and stood just outside the gate which led to the stadium itself. His eyes were fastened on the beautiful redhead.
As he stared in her direction, one of his sports writing colleagues from Los Angeles walked past him.
"Where you headed, Vern?" he asked.
"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders, miffed over being disturbed. "Guess I might head back to the hotel."
"Some of the guys are heading out to the French Quarter. Aren't you going to join them?"
"I don't know. Maybe later."
"Okay, see you," the man moved off.
"Yeah," Vern nodded, happy that he was leaving.
Vern then observed a huge, broad-shouldered young man with blonde hair walking through the milling throngs of people. He carried an equipment bag in his hand. Vern immediately recognized him as one of Tech's top varsity linemen.
He looked around, attempting to spot a familiar face. When his eyes met those of the beautiful young redhead, he waved.
She waved back, walking toward him. He dropped the equipment bag to the ground and threw his strong arms around her. He planted a firm kiss on her lips.
Vern continued to watch with great interest. But now he was disgusted, observing her kissing another man. He longed to be in the place of that lucky individual.
Vern watched as the football player placed one arm around the cheerleader, picked up his gear bag, and walked away.
Vern walked not far behind them as they moved down a darkened street. Since there were others walking along the street as well, it was not difficult for Vern to follow them without being detected.
He continued to follow them until they reached an old apartment building some two blocks from the stadium.
They walked down the sidewalk and entered the building. Vern stood behind a tree not far away.
A few moments later he observed a light on the second floor switch on. He could see through the window. He watched the football player slip his right hand inside the blouse the redhead wore underneath her sweater.
He observed the football star grabbing ahold of her breasts. He ran his fingers over them and she grinned and chuckled.
He withdrew his fingers from her breasts and walked over toward the window. He drew the drapes, cutting off any opportunity to observe the couple any longer.
By that time he was almost two miles away from his hotel room, but he still wasn't in the mood to take a cab. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote down the address of the apartment building.
As he walked away, hugging his small typewriter in his right hand, he was determined to pay this beautiful girl a visit.
He was eager to find out all he could about her. Then he wanted to have sex with her.
As he walked, he wondered about himself. He couldn't understand the bold feelings that were coming over him. It just wasn't like him at all to be acting this way. But he had never quite been affected in this way before. Something about this beautiful young girl had intrigued him, casting him back a number of years into the glorious and trouble-free era when he was a college football star.
He arrived back at the hotel and dropped his typewriter off in his room. He then went back down to the lobby, walking into the hotel bar.
He sat in an isolated corner of the bar, which was doing a brisk Saturday night business. He wanted to drink by himself.
Vern had three scotch-and-waters, thinking about the gorgeous redhead all the while. The longer he thought about her, the greater the degree of hunger that stored up inside him.
All he had to do was think about her, and that hard dick of his once more surfaced.
His mind was rapidly formulating a plan. He was devising a means by which he could make his presence felt in this beautiful redhead's life.
As he recalled the sight of the young man slipping his fingers inside her blouse and bra and touching her voluptuous breasts, he became angered.
He didn't think that that big football player had a right to do something like that to her. He, on the other hand, felt he had a perfect right to do such a thing.
He finished his last drink, walking up to his room. He couldn't have cared less about going to the French Quarter, even though on any other occasion he would have been more than happy to visit it with some of his sports writing colleagues.
At that moment, however, he had something far more important on his mind.
Somehow he was going to derive great sexual satisfaction at the expense of this stunning redhead, he thought. And he was more determined than ever to see that his wishes were carried out to the ultimate detail.
He could barely sleep that evening. Several times he awakened just thinking about this stunning girl.
Vern knew that he was hooked.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vern arose early Sunday morning.
Since he had a plane to catch that afternoon, he knew he had to work swiftly in order to carry out his plan. He had great difficulty finding stores open on a Sunday morning, but he finally managed to find two that were able to carry out his purposes.
He went to a variety store, where he purchased a pair of gloves and a mask which bore the smiling face of a clown.
"Getting ready for Halloween early, huh?" the salesman smiled, as he made the purchase.
"Yeah, Halloween. Lots of laughs," Vern grinned.
"Thank you," the man said.
"You're welcome."
The next store he located was a war surplus. He was able to secure a hand gun there. He succeeded in purchasing bullets as well.
Now he was ready for action. He flagged down a cab, directing it toward the area where the girl's apartment was situated.
He got out of the cab some two blocks removed from the apartment, just to avoid any possible suspicion.
He paid the cabdriver and walked slowly toward the apartment building. The closer he approached, the more nervous he became. He rubbed his hand across his sweaty brow, wondering whether he would have the nerve to go through with his plan.
The closer he drew to the point of destination, the more he recognized that he would have to go through with it, or else he would lose face with himself. It was imperative for him to get to carnally know this girl.
He stopped as he reached the apartment building, looking up toward the second floor room. He observed that the drapes were still drawn. He wondered if the football player was still there.
He hoped that the young man would be gone, but even if he was there, he would still go through with things. He would merely force the young man to leave at gun-point.
He recognized that violence might ensue, but he was not about to let a little violence deter him. As he mounted the steps leading toward the apartment building, he got to doing some heavy thinking.
The more he thought, the more fascinating the whole ordeal became to him. It was the first time he had done anything that daring and fascinating in years.
He stopped in front of the door to her apartment. He looked both ways several times. Fortunately there was nobody else around.
He took the Halloween mask out of his pocket and slipped it over his face. He removed his gloves from his pocket and slipped them on his hands. His last step was to reach inside his back pocket and pull out the hand gun.
Vern Beauchamp took a deep breath. He heaved a sigh, and knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" he heard the young girl's voice call.
"I've got a package for you."
"Can you just slip it inside the door? I'm busy right now."
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that. You'll have to sign for it."
"Just a moment."
The redhead had been busy polishing her fingernails. Her boyfriend had left in the wee hours of the morning, and would be back at two in the afternoon to take her out to a movie. She wanted to look her absolute best for the man she loved, particularly since he was still a little in the dumps from his team's disappointing loss at the hands of State.
She moved toward the door quickly. She opened it and stared with flabbergasted amazement at her masked pursuer.
She almost screamed when she saw the mask, and as she observed the gun in his right hand, which was pointing toward her, she let out a muffled gasp.
She stopped herself just in time from screaming, knowing that if she had made a great deal of noise, he might shoot her on the spot.
"Don't make as much as a sound," he told her sternly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd ask me in."
She held the door open for him. Her entire body shook as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Anybody in here with you?" he asked. "No, just me."
"If you're lying to me, I'll find out about it soon enough. And you'll be sorry if you've lied."
"No, I'm not lying. Honest I'm not."
"Good. I expect you to be completely honest with me. Just what is your name, honey?"
"Sherry. Sherry Roberts," she replied nervously.
"That's a beautiful name for a very beautiful girl."
"If you want to take something, just help yourself. Take anything you want, just please let me alone."
"I didn't come for material objects," Vern laughed, a little nervously. "I came for something much more important to me."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I came for you, darling. I want you."
"Please, please leave me alone."
"Certainly I will. Provided that you're a good girl. And, of course, provided you give me a good time. Now let's go into the bedroom."
"Do we really have to?" tears began to surface, in her eyes.
"Yes, we do. Now I don't want anymore of this foolishness. I don't want any noise, and I don't want you arguing with me. I want you to do everything that I tell you. You understand?"
"Yes," she nodded.
"That's good. Now you're talking. Now, let's go into the bedroom."
She walked slowly toward the bedroom. She was clad in a white blouse and tan slacks. He observed the way that she was put together as he walked behind her.
He liked her tight, lovely ass-cheeks. Each moment in this girl's presence indicated to him the importance of having sex with her.
They were now standing in the small bedroom.
"Okay, Sherry, baby, take off your clothes," he urged. He was still pointing the gun directly at her.
"Do I really have to?"
"You're damned right you do. I'm telling you, you do. Now I don't want to hear any more guff. You see this gun? Well, I'll use it if I have to. I can be a spoiled kid when it means getting what I want. And right now, darling, I want you."
He watched with mounting interest as she began to peel off her blouse. One by one, she undid the buttons, taking the blouse off and tossing it to the floor.
"You look so cute in that bra," he laughed. "Now take that off, darling. I want to see those nice naked tits."
The beautiful red-haired college cheerleader quickly undid the bra.She was afraid of antagonizing this man, who was growing increasingly hotter every moment that he looked at her.
She observed his legs shifting nervously. She knew enough about men to recognize when one was absolutely hot with animal lust. She knew that Vern was as hot as a man could be, and that there was no way that she could stop him, short of risking her life, from carrying out his aims.
Once she discarded her bra, he let out a loud sigh.
"What tits!" he said. "Damned, but you've got a nice set of knockers. I'll bet you've got plenty of boyfriends, honey. Don't you?"
"No, I just have one," she said in subdued tones.
"That's nice. Does he fuck you a lot?"
"I'd rather not talk about that. It's too personal."
"I'm making it my business to know about your personal affairs. I said, does he fuck you a lot?"
"Yes, quite a lot. He's a football player, and very strong physically. He--likes a lot of action."
"With a body as good as yours to fuck with, I don't blame him," Vern laughed. "Now, while I'm looking at these beautiful knockers, you can take off those slacks. And after that you can take off your panties. I want to see you totally naked, baby."
A chill shot down her spine the moment that he revealed his intentions. She hated the thought of standing naked before this lustful beast, but she recognized that her only opportunity to escape death or serious punishment lay in doing precisely what he wanted her to do.
She allowed her shaky fingers to reach behind her slacks and tug down steadily at the zipper.
"That's the girl," he smiled. "Now you're playing it smart. You're keeping your mouth shut and doing exactly what I want you to do."
The longer he watched her, the hotter his cock became. It danced around inside his shorts with great excitement. He desperately wanted to shoot his cock off inside her.
His heart thumped with ever-increasing rapidity as she finished unzipping the slacks and slipped them down her legs. The better look he got at those sleek, trim legs, the more excited he became.
He thought back to the evening before, when she had been dancing around in a short green skirt. She had attracted him for the first time then, and now he was seeing her from closer up than he had been able to view her before.
She slid the slacks downward, at first exposing her lovely thighs. As they slipped ever lower, his eyes bulged with great anticipation.
"Will you look at those beautiful legs," he exclaimed. "You're really some piece of ass, baby. I can hardly wait to turn my prick loose on you."
His remark made her more fearful than ever. She was certain that this beast did not just want sex. He wanted to taunt her as well. She hoped that he would not abuse her physically, but something inside her said that he probably would do that. He seemed like the type who would be willing to do just about anything and stop at practically nothing.
Soon she was slipping out of the slacks. He eyed her legs hungrily, then said:
"Okay, baby, now all we've got left is your panties. Now take them off."
She hesitated momentarily before starting. She hated this man so much, and she detested having herself be made a spectacle. But she recognized how helpless she was to do anything about the situation.
She slipped her fingers around her panties and slid them downward rapidly over her legs. She wanted to get this ordeal over with as fast as possible.
He practically orgasmed when he observed her furry mound. He possessed an aching desire to reach out and touch it.
"You've sure got a delicious looking cunt," he laughed, as she stepped out of her panties. "You look beautiful enough to eat. Just lie down there in bed, baby, and I'll take real good care of you."
"Please don't make me do that," she decided to put forward one last plea.
"What did I say about handing me guff?" he erupted angrily
"It's not guff, it's that I'm just not used to doing things like this."
"Hell, I'll bet that boyfriend of yours does everything imaginable to you," he said disgustedly. "I'll bet he fucks you, I'll bet he sucks your box, and I'll bet you go down on his cock. I'll bet there isn't anything you won't do for him."
"But that's different. I know him, and love him. Please leave me alone."
"That's the last straw," he flared angrily.
He reached out with his left hand and delivered a stinging slap across her face. It landed with thundering impact, knocking her backwards.
Her back landed on the bed and she began sobbing.
"Cut that out," he said gruffly. "I'm not taking any of that guff. I'm going to fuck you and that's all there is to it."
He lowered his body into the bed with her. With, his left hand, he reached down and unzipped his trousers, pulling out his hard and impatient dick.
"Damned, but I'm going to have myself a nice fuck," he grinned, running his fingers over his long cock, which was growing more excited every second.
He quickly withdrew his fingers from his cock. He allowed them to work their way earnestly around her breasts. He reached out and pinched her nipples, causing her to gasp in pain.
"You're hurting me," she said.
"You're damned right I am. I'll hurt you all I want, and you won't say a word, if you're smart. If you act up and make any noise, I'm going to blow that pretty little head of yours off your shoulders."
After he contented himself for a few minutes playing with her breasts, he allowed his fingers to drop down between her legs.
He fingered the furry triangle around her mound, then let his lips glide over her pussy lips.
"I just love playing with this pretty little box," he laughed. "I'm going to treat you just like you were my very own."
As he let his fingers slide rhythmically over her red vaginal walls, he once more was transporting himself back to his glory days as a college football star.
He remembered the redhead that he had fucked throughout college. She had liked him to play with her pussy. He had stimulated her many times by running his fingers over her box. Now he was doing the same thing to another beautiful redhead, a lovely cheerleader, just like his old friend.
It made him angry to observe that, in place of her enjoying his finger movements inside her mound, she was resenting them. He observed the look of disgust on her face, the twisted frowned expression. It made him angry. He wanted her to enjoy what was going on every bit as much as he was enjoying it. He finally removed his fingers from her mound. Now he knew precisely what he wanted to do.
Vern jumped to his feet, standing right next to the bed. Once more his fingers were massaging his cock.
"I want you to suck this prick of mine," he said.
She looked up at him with mounting fear. He reached out and grabbed ahold of her beautiful red hair. He clutched it tightly, causing her to gasp in pain.
"You poor little thing, you just can't take it," he said sarcastically.
He tugged violently at her hair, jerking her head forward to the impetus of his pulling efforts.
He kept on steadily pulling until she fell off of the bed and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Once more she was sobbing.
"You just can't take it, can you?" he said bitterly.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Grab ahold of this cock of mine before I blow your brains out," an impatient Vern said angrily.
She was lying on the floor sobbing. She looked up and rubbed her eyes, brushing the tears back. As Sherry Roberts looked up at him, she observed the gun being pointed menacingly in her direction.
"I mean what I say," he said tersely. "Either you do what I tell you or I blow your brains out. There's just no other way. Now crawl over here on your hands and knees. That's what I want to see you do."
A terrified Sherry did precisely what he told her. She crawled on her knees toward him, her body trembling all the while.
With his left hand he was jerking up and down on his huge penis. He wanted her to suck him. He wanted to dominate her by forcing her to suffer the indignities of sucking his prick.
"Now reach out and grab ahold of this cock," he said, as she knelt before him on the floor.
Sherry allowed her right hand to reach out definitely. She thought momentarily about grabbing ahold of it and tugging on it hard, or perhaps of even biting on the end of it. But she knew better. That would be too hazardous a risk, one fraught with danger. He would more than--likely be able to get away at least one accurate shot, which would be all it would take to snuff out her life.
Sherry grabbed ahold of that long dick. She pumped up and down on it eagerly with her fingers.
"Nice, very nice," he said. "Now work those fingers a little faster. I like the way you're pumping on my prick."
She allowed the fingers to circulate just as quickly as he wanted them to. He had her terrified. She was totally overwhelmed by him. Shestill could hardly believe what was happening to her. Just a short time ago she was contentedly polishing her nails, concerned about nothing more in the world than getting ready for her boyfriend and looking as beautiful as possible.
Suddenly a man had appeared at the door. Now this same beast of a man was subjecting her to all kinds of pain and torture. She hated having to run those fingers over that big, long dick of his.
He was panting with great excitement as the finger movements continued.
"Okay, now move that finger work to my balls," he said. "Better yet, keep the right hand pumping up and down on my prick, while you let the fingers of the left hand work their way around my balls. That's what I want for you to do, baby. That's the kind of action I want."
While the right hand continued steadily manipulating up and down Vern's long dick, the left hand was playing with his balls. She noticed them inflating with great excitement, expanding as she kept on working those fingers around.
Her fingers continued to slide with great urgency as his legs began trembling from the accumulative sensations she was providing for him.
"Okay, now you can stop," he said abruptly.
She was more than happy to let her fingers rest themselves from the ordeal of working themselves around his cock and balls.
"Now I want you to suck this thing," he said, as he grabbed ahold of it in his right hand.
He held it forward proudly, eager to have her engulf it in her mouth.
She allowed her head to drop and she gulped. She found his hard dick totally repulsive. To toy with it in her fingers was one thing, but to actually be forced to suck on it was too much.
Her body shuddered with great fear. She did not want to have to suck that cock.
An impatient Vern was not about to take no for an answer. He reached out and grabbed ahold of her hair, tugging on it every bit as hard as he had before.
"I mean business, you little slut," he growled. "Sure, I'll bet you can let that big stud boyfriend of yours fuck you every which way, but you can't even perform a simple little act like sucking a guy's cock for me. Well, I expect you to suck it.
Now get that tongue down there, baby, and start sucking, and I mean right now."
While his hand continued to hold on steadily to her hair, she dropped her tongue downward toward his cock. Up and down she slid it.
"That's a little better. That's more like it," he nodded happily.
He loosened the grip on her hair as she continued to slide that tongue up and down the length of his huge prong.
"Suck me, suck me faster," he said, tightening the grip once more.
He liked the way he was able to manipulate the pressure over his cock by tugging at her hair. Whenever he tightened his grip and hurt her some more, she knew enough to do precisely what he wanted.
Now she was slipping that tongue up and down his pecker at a feverish clip.
"While you're sucking me, I want you to play with my balls," he said. "And I want you to start concentrating on the tip of it. Lick the very edge of it, baby, that's what I'd like to see you do."
She went to work answering his request. She let her tongue slip over the very tip of his huge prick. While she was sucking the end of it, she allowed her fingers to roam over his balls.
"Nice, very nice. That's what I like," he said. "That's what I call sensation. That's what I call good fucking, baby. That's great."
Now she was working that tongue at a blistering clip. He loosened the grip on her hair in that she was doing such a spectacular job.
"Keep it up just a little while longer," he said, "because I'm going to be shooting pretty fast. That's it, just nudge the end of my cock, just nudge the end of it with your tongue. Keep that up just a few more strokes, then I'm going to have you go back to sucking the whole thing."
Those fervent licks over the tip over his huge cock caused Vern to get so excited that he could hardly hold back the juices inside him.
He knew how he wanted to orgasm. He wanted to do it while she was running her tongue frantically up and down his entire cock.
He wanted her to slip that tongue eagerly over the lengthy base of his swollen organ. At that point he would climax inside her.
"Okay, honey, you can suck up and down on it. I want you to run that tongue all the way up and down that cock, and I want you to play with the balls," he said. "I want you to give me the whole works, and if you let up at one point, baby, you're really going to get hurt."
She slipped her tongue up and down the lengthy base of his rod. He was trembling now with great satisfaction, his body vibrating eagerly every touch she supplied with her tongue movements.
He continued to hold that gun on her. The barrel was pointed constantly in the direction of her head, indicating bluntly what would happen in the event that she did not follow his orders.
Fervently she continued to stroke his cock. Yes, she hated it, but she wanted to maintain to live. She had lots to live for, and she wanted to survive this brutal ordeal, no matter how painful the process might be.
"Oh, I'm just about there, stroke those balls, honey. Stroke them real nice for me," he said. "I want you to play with them. I want you to play with my testicles. While you're doing that, keep that sucking up. Keep up that great sucking, because I'm going to juice inside your mouth."
She kept up the steady activity, letting her fingers toy with his balls while her tongue was relentlessly sucking his dick.
"Oh, I'm there, I'm there, I'm there," he gasped.
He tightened the grip on her hair. He wanted her to eat every drop of his hot sperm.
"Eat it, eat it, you bitch, eat every drop, eat my load, swallow my cum. Eat it, eat it, eat every drop," he said.
The shock of the hot juice exploding in her mouth at the same time her hair was being pulled caused her to begin coughing.
Sherry coughed several times in rapid succession. As a result she could not hang onto the entire load. Most of it spurted out of both sides of her mouth.
"I'm disgusted with you, bitch," he said, dropping his fingers from her hair after he unloaded his last drops of juice.
He had wanted her to eat his entire load, and she had not done that. Instead she had insulted him by spitting out his hot sperm.
"I'll fix you for that," he said.
He reached out and slapped her across the face. Once more she fell backwards, falling down hard.
She landed on her back, stunned by the combination of the blow and the act of falling backwards. She shook her head, then looked up at him. Her face wore a glazed expression.
"Now we're going to get back into bed," he said. "I feel like I'm due to explode one more time. You really get me hot and bothered, baby, and I'm going to finish you off but good. I'm going to shoot off my dick inside your pussy."
He reached downward with his left hand and grabbed ahold of her right tit.
He clutched at it, holding the skin tightly in his hand. He pinched at it, causing great pain to well inside her. Her body tensed and tears of pain surfaced in her eyes.
"Get up, broad, and get on this bed," he said angrily.
With his left hand supplying great impetus by clutching at her skin, she rose rapidly. She moved over toward the bed, collapsing on her back.
He continued to hold onto her breast as he lowered his body into bed with her.
He still held the gun on her intently. He removed his hand from her breast, causing her to sigh with relief.
She watched as he reached down and began pumping up and down on his hard cock.
"I'm getting this meat good and hard for you, baby. I'm getting ready to fuck you again," he said. "This time I'm going to give you a nice ride, just like that big he-man of a boyfriend of yours must do. I really envy that guy, getting to fuck you anytime he wants to."
She continued to lie there, her body trembling, as she watched him play with himself. The longer he stroked his cock, the harder he became.
It was not taking him very long to pump it back up to full length. She knew that once he succeeded in getting it there, it would just be a short matter of time before he would be turning it loose inside her love-nest.
The harder the cock became, the wider the smile that surfaced on his lips.
"You see what you do to me?" he laughed.
Once he got it up to full length, he dropped his fingers from his cock and parted her legs.
He used his left hand to initially part her left leg, then her right. He looked down at that lovely inviting mound.
"What a beautiful cunt," he sighed. "I can hardly wait to turn my cock loose on it."
He shoved his hard stick forward, allowing it to penetrate inside her snatch.
"Oh, what a tight fit this cock is inside your pussy," he exclaimed proudly. "Ah, what a fuck you are, am I ever going to give this cunt a ride, am I ever going to fuck you."
He allowed his cock to surge forward with blinding speed. He hurled it into her like a dagger, driving it forcefully inside her mound.
She was nice and tight, and he loved fucking her.
"Just feed me that vagina, honey, just feed it to me. This juicy old cock of mine is getting set to unload inside your pussy," he said.
As his body rocked back and forth with great delight, stabbing her pussy eagerly, he observed her lovely ass-hole.
Her anus looked tight and tempting, and he felt that it would be a good idea to provide himself with some added action.
He allowed his left forefinger to work its way around the outer edges of her ass-hole.
At first the finger probed slowly and cautiously as Vern worked himself into the scheme of things.
Finally he began probing eagerly inside there. He shoved that finger higher and deeper inside her ass-hole.
Soon that finger was shoving as high into her ass-hole as he could get it. He was stabbing relentlessly into her ass while his hot cock continued to thrust piercingly inside her mound.
"Oh, what a hot fuck you are, what a hot ass-hole you've got, what a hot cunt you've got. You're quite a little bitch. Yeah, I'll bet that guy enjoys fucking you. If he digs it half as much as I do," he said, "but I'll bet he doesn't do half as good a job as I do, I know how to treat you. I treat you like the bitch you are. You're just a whore as far as I'm concerned, and that's why I can have fun with you. Respect a broad and you're dead, just like I respected my old lady. No, you're a bitch whore, as far as I'm concerned, and that's just the kind of action I dig. I really dig fucking you."
Now action was swiftly proceeding on all fronts. His finger was eagerly stabbing her ass-hole, while his cock was continuing to grind eagerly inside her mound.
He was slicing that prick into her, pushing it ever more closely toward orgasm.
"Oh, I'm just about there, just a few strokes away. And I'm going to keep playing with this ass-hole," he said. "I really love this fucking, I really love fucking you. I really love shoving this hot shaft into your mound."
As his surging cock continued to stab blindingly inside her mound, he decided thtat it would be a good idea to punish her some more.
He impulsively released his forefinger from her ass-hole. He reached out and delivered a judo chop which caught her in the back of the neck.
He wanted to jar her. He wanted to hurt her, but not badly. He delivered the blow with just the right amount of stinging pain.
That cock was stabbing with blinding excitement. She was a little shaken by the sudden impact and the pain of the judo chop.
She hung on desperately as he kept on driving that huge cock inside her.
He slipped his finger back inside her ass-hole as he ripped her cunt eagerly, putting every ounce of energy of his efforts as he neared his moment of climax.
"This is it, you little bitch. I'm gonna shoot my juices off inside of you," he said. "This is it. Get ready. Ohh, ohh, here it comes. Ohh, ohh, I'm exploding in you, you little bitch. Ohh, ohh, ohhhh."
He disposed of almost as much juice the second time around as he had the first, when he had exploded his hot sperm inside her mouth.
He released his cock from her mound, satisfied over all that had happened since he had entered her apartment.
"I gave you quite a fuck, if I do say so myself," he laughed.
He slipped his prick back inside his trousers, zipping them up.
He climbed to his feet, continuing to look at his dazed victim.
She lay naked on the bed, her body sore from the physical battering she had been subjected to by him.
"Now if you're smart, you'll just lie there and not do a damn thing," he said. "You get brave and call the cops right away, and so help me, I'll fix you. If I get caught, I've got other people who will come back and get you."
Vern could see from the expression on her face that his warning had made an impact. That was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted her to remain scared even after he left.
He backed up slowly toward the door, continuing to hold the gun on her.
After he got to the living room, he made a break for it to the door.
Vern opened the door slowly, looking both ways. When he saw the coast was clear, he darted out the door and closed it behind him.
He slipped the gun into his pocket, then tore off his gloves and Halloween mask, slipping them into his pockets as well.
He walked swiftly down the steps and was soon back on the street.
He walked two blocks at a brisk pace, then hailed a cab.
He arrived back at the hotel with plenty of time to spare. The plane would not be leaving for Los Angeles for two more hours.
Vern immediately entered the hotel bar. He felt that he owed himself a treat after achieving a magnificent sexual conquest.
CHAPTER SIX
Sherry Roberts' boyfriend found her lying naked on the bed when he arrived to pick her up for their date.
He immediately knew that something was wrong. He observed her body carefully and saw the bruises on her face where Vern had slapped her. He also observed a swelling on her neck from the judo chop.
"Who attacked you? I'll kill the son-of-a-bitch," he erupted angrily.
"Please, honey, it's nothing," Sherry had said.
But the boyfriend was not about to be put off. He succeeded in dragging the entire story out of her. He then called the police.
About the time that two members of the New Orleans Police were arriving at Sherry's apartment, the plane carrying Vern Beauchamp and the victorious State University football team was leaving New Orleans airport.
As the plane soared high into the clouds, Vern looked down at the ground below. Ordinarily, all cities were the same to him after covering a football game, but now things took on a different significance.
Somewhere down there, somewhere on the ground, there was a girl who had been fucked royally by Vern. He thought back once more to that stimulating episode in her apartment. He remembered with great vividness how enjoyable it had been when he shoved his hot dagger-like dick deep inside her pussy.
Arriving home was an anti-climax. He wondered if his wife's nastiness had worn off in the meantime.
It was with great reluctance that he got into his car and drove back toward home.
He was surprised to observe that his wife was not at home when he arrived.
He fixed himself a drink, then another. He watched a motion picture on television and got drunk. He wondered where she was, and he did not feel like doing anything other than just sitting there and drinking.
Just being around that apartment depressed him. It got to him because of what it represented. It represented a shrewish wife who seemed to be growing increasingly more fond of picking on him.
He had been in his glory fucking lovely Sherry Roberts, but he had not felt that way toward his wife in quite some time. As a matter-of-fact, their bedroom life had been deteriorating over the course of the last decade. The last two or three years, however, the deterioration was even more marked.
The movie he had been watching ended, and he was getting increasingly drunker. He finished one more drink, then became drowsy.
He fell asleep on the couch, not wakening until his wife arrived home.
"Well, you made it back," he heard her say sarcastically.
He blinked his eyes open, squinted several times, then took a look at his watch. It was a quarter past eleven.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"Just what the hell is it to you?"
"I am your husband, you know," he exploded. "Maybe you've forgotten."
"I forgot that a long time ago," she laughed. "A husband isn't really a husband unless he can please his wife in bed, which you obviously can't do."
"What kind of a nasty crack is that."
"It just happens to represent the truth, my dear."
She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a drink. She strutted arrogantly back into the living room.
"If you really want to know where I've been, I'll tell you," she laughed. "Do you really want to know?"
"I said I did."
"Okay, I've been out fucking."
"That's not a very funny joke," he said angrily.
"It doesn't happen to be a joke, cutie pie," she said, grinning sarcastically. "It happens to be the truth, the absolute truth. I enjoyed every minute of it. He's a lot better man than you are, Vern."
"Is this on the level?" he eyed her soberly.
"Of course it is. I let a guy pick me up at a bar last night. I had an absolute blast. He took me to a motel and did we ever fuck."
"I still think you're putting me on."
"Just a second. I'll show you a thing or two."
He watched her as she walked swiftly toward the bedroom, where she quickly rummaged through her purse. She picked up a matchbook, which she carried into the living room and waved before his face proudly.
"You see, here's where we fucked, here's where we signed in as Mr. and Mrs., " she laughed. "I'm happy we did, I'm happy we made it together. He's a lot more man than you are. He really loved it when I went down on that big cock of his."
"So you are really leveling with me."
"I sure am."
"That's very nice to know. You're an absolute slut."
"Just look who's talking," she laughed. "You couldn't get that cock of yours up for me if your life depended on it. I'm beginning to wonder if you're not some kind of queer."
"Shut up," he said, jumping to his feet and clenching his fists.
"You'd just not better even consider hitting me," she told him. "I'll have you thrown behind bars so fast it'll make your head swim."
"Don't be calling me a queer."
"Okay, dear, perhaps you're not overt. Maybe you're just a latent one. Anyway, all I know is that you can't make it with me. Maybe you ought to get some kind of psychiatrist to straighten you out. Maybe you're a latent homosexual. Maybe you ought to go to Sunset Boulevard and let some cruising boys pick you up."
"I'd like to break your head in two," he growled.
"like I said, dear, you'd just not better try it."
"I don't feel like sleeping with you tonight," he said. "Not after what you pulled on me while I was away."
"That sounds very good," she said. "I agree. Why don't you sleep on the couch?"
"That is exactly what I was doing before you came in, and rudely interrupted me."
"I'm so sorry," she said, starting for the bedroom. "You go right back to bed. If you get excited, you can always jack off."
"Go to hell, you bitch."
"Up your ass, you son-of-a-bitch," she shot back.
"You're rotten to the core."
"You couldn't give me the kind of action I got last night. Last night and into today. We just couldn't leave each other, we dug it so much."
"Then why don't you marry the guy?"
"I would love to," she admitted, "except for one thing. He's already married and he's got three kids. He just can't afford to split up with his wife. But I think I'll be meeting with him some more."
"By all means, you should. Now just leave me alone. I want to get some more sleep."
"Gladly," she said.
He heard the door slam. It reminded him of the way that things had ended the morning that he was leaving for New Orleans.
The more he thought about his steadily deteriorating relations with his wife, the more he recognized that something was going to have to be done. Things could not continue in the same terrible vein. Who was he kiddin? It was a waste of time living under the same roof with somebody when you obviously had nothing more in common with that person than he had at that point with Sally.
The thing that hurt him the most was the way that she would wound his male pride. She would talk to him in tones worse than any individual would use toward an animal. Then she would expect him to routinely perform sexually for her.
He was a little too sensitive for that. He could not hope to get that cock of his up and ready for action after a woman had treated him like the worse possible scum.
He kept asking himself why he took it. He had an answer. In spite of the way she treated him, he kept hoping that they could recapture the kind of blissful romance they had once enjoyed together.
She was still a beautiful woman who possessed a stunning form. He continued to leave out some hope that maybe she would mend her ways and they could enjoy a stimulating relationship again.
It might have been a small hope, but he continued to desperately cling to it.
He tossed and turned the better part of an hour, thinking about his wife. He then finally managed to get to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Life grew almost unbearable for Vern during the next two weeks.
He stayed at home in that State University had games slated for the Los Angeles Coliseum.
The team won convincingly, and was rated number two in the country.
Ordinarily Vern would have been extremely happy about things in general, since his old school and the one he was presently covering for the Los Angeles Globe was doing so well. But he was distressed by the way that his wife was treating him.
He was just as happy to get away when it came time for him to go to Denver to cover a Saturday afternoon struggle involving State against Denver Mines.
The Denver team was basically mediocre, and Vern anticipated that State would run up a convincing score.
Vince Cantwell told him that he anticipated letting a lot of his substitutes see a great deal of action. That was one of the things that Vern respected most about Cantwell. He did not approve of running up big scores just to make a point. He was concerned about winning football games and was not eager to humiliate other people.
It was a bright and sunshiny Denver afternoon as Vern sat poised in the press box, watching the action unfold on the gridiron below.
State kicked off to Denver Mines.
The Denver team, hoping to take State by surprise, immediately launched a passing attack.
When the Denver team chalked up two quick first downs, moving into State territory, the Denver rooting section began sensing a possible upset. It exhorted its troops to score a touchdown.
"They're fired up, that's one thing you've got to say," the sports writer seated next to Vern in the press box exclaimed.
"Yeah, I wonder just how long they can keep this up?" Vern said.
"We'll see."
They moved the ball all the way to State's 25-yard line.
When the referee signalled a first down at that point, the localites practically dismantled the stadium with rousing cheers.
Vern was unmoved. He recognized that State was a vastly superior football team, and was just getting caught napping in the early stages of the game. Man for man, the edge was so devastating that he couldn't see any way that Denver Mines could stay on the same football field with State.
The Denver quarterback fumbled on a first and ten situation on the State 25. A loud moan went up throughout the entire stadium as a bulky State lineman fell on the football.
State, boasting a significant size edge in the front line, immediately began taking the Denver defensive line apart seam by seam.
State methodically moved 75 yards, all on the ground, toward an easy touchdown.
"They're absolutely killing them," the Denver sports writer next to Vern shook his head.
"Isn't that what you expected?" Vern asked.
"I guess I did," the writer reluctantly admitted, "but you never know when there's going to be an upset. A guy can always hope, can't he?"
"Yes, but it's generally best to confine your hopes to realistic situations. Let's be honest. Your club doesn't belong on the same field with State. It's a damned shame that the game couldn't have been cancelled."
"Yes, that's the only realistic assessment," the writer admitted.
By the time the first half came to an end, Vince Cantwell was already freely substituting his players.
The half ended with State boasting a 24-0 lead.
The second half was not nearly as one-sided as it could have been, had Cantwell wanted to run the score up to a greater extent.
As the third quarter ended and fourth commenced, Vern became increasingly bored.
He kept on pecking at his typewriter, hammering out a running account of what was happening on the football field.
By then, however, the score was 38-0 and Denver's defeated ranks were on the verge of total collapse.
Vern got up and walked to the refreshment stand, getting a coke, which he sipped casually.
He went back and sat down. He began observing carefully the Denver Mines cheerleaders.
That was one thing you could always count on, he thought. No matter how bad a situation might be, those game cheerleaders would always be able to grind out another number.
Speaking of numbers, the one that attracted him was a stunning blonde girl whose blonde hair and blue eyes matched the colors of her cheerleaders outfit.
As she waved blue pom-poms and danced eagerly below, a hungry Vern Beauchamp began getting hard.
He leaned forward and observed the girl closely. He got a good look at her trim waist and her lovely breasts, which thrust out of her blouse. He observed her trim legs and he became even more aroused than before.
He picked up the program in front of him. He had been skimming it at half-time, and he recalled having seen a shot of the Denver Mines cheerleaders.
He opened the program to the page where the cheerleaders were featured. Sure enough, there was a picture of this beautiful blonde girl that his eyes had feasted on hungrily.
Her name was Melissa Kallen, and the program revealed her to be an 18-year-old freshman who was planning to major in education. Her ambition, the program reported, was to become an elementary school teacher.
Vern concentrated on the blonde through the rest of the game. Even though Denver Mines had nothing to cheer about, she, like her cohorts, made the best of a bad situation.
There was no scoring in the fourth quarter, thanks to Vince Cantwell's humaneness. Denver didn't have enough potency to score even on the State reserves, while State, though driving, never put the ball in the end zone. Vern observed that Cantwell was using players that hadn't seen action all season long.
Vern could hardly wait for the game to end. A number of the writers filed out, including the one who was sitting next to Vern.
"Leaving already?" Vern asked as the man got up to leave with a full six minutes left in the game.
"I'm afraid so," the man grinned. "I should have left six minutes into it."
"How about the interviews?"
"Nan, why waste my time? What could Cantwell say? That he had a team capable of hutching us? That's about all he could say. As for our coach, I wouldn't want to bother the poor guy. He's got problems enough already."
"Guess you've got a point there," Vern nodded.
"With those big bruisers from State running into our boys, there will be a lot of weary bones dragging themselves around for the next week. That means they'll probably get clobbered next Saturday, too."
"I hope not," Vern said. "Hope your luck changes for the better."
"That's the only way it could change," the man said. "It can't get any worse."
The game finally ended and Vern phoned in his final story to the Globe.
He went down to the dressing room to get a few post-game tidbits from Cantwell. He liked to sprinkle his columns with occasional perceptive notes by the State coach, a man he greatly admired.
But his mind was far removed from Cantwell, even while he was asking him questions and jotting down notes in his pad.
His mind kept focusing on Melissa Kallen. What he wouldn't give to know her. He thought about Sherry Roberts and what he had accomplished with her. He wondered if he would ever get to know Melissa in that same way, or if he should even make an effort to get to know her.
The problem kept plaguing him. He went out to a bar with several of his sports writer friends after the game.
They enjoyed a few beers together and talked about football.
All of them, with the exception of Vern, were in a jovial mood. Vern was quiet and sullen.
"What's wrong, Vern?" one of them asked at one point.
"Why do you ask?" he replied.
"You're so quiet, you don't have much to say. Usually you've got a lot to say at the end of a football game. Last year we were listening to you complaining about how badly things were going, about how many bad breaks State was getting. Now that it appears State has a world-beater on its hands, you're so quiet."
"Maybe he can't adjust to prosperity," another writer said.
Laughter ensued.
"I guess that's it," Vern grinned apologetically. "It's probably partly that, and partly a case of me being infatuated with what you guys are saying. I like to hear you experts talk."
"Will you listen to that," one of the writers said. "Here this guy makes ail-American, and he's telling us we're experts."
He went back to the hotel with the other men. They asked him if he wanted to have dinner with them, and he told them that he wasn't feeling well and wanted to be by himself.
Only half of what he said was true. He did want to be by himself, and for a specific reason. His mind was troubled by Melissa Kallen.
He had been lucky enough to run into Sherry Roberts after the game. That had given him an opportunity to follow her home and find out just where she lived. He had not been as lucky in the case of Melissa.
He found himself wondering all about her. What kind of family she came from, what kind of boyfriend she had. He imagined that she was quite a swinger. A girl that lovely, who was a cheerleader as well, must be besieged by athletes and fraternity bigwigs on campus.-
He spent about an hour just lying on his bed thinking. He then decided that it was time to get up and have something to eat.
As he got down to the lobby, he observed Vince Cantwell heading for the bar.
"How about having a beer with me, Vern?" the football coach asked.
"I've got somewhere I've got to go right now, Vince,' Vern said apologetically. "I'll have to take a rain check on that."
"Make sure it's not a long rain check," Cantwell grinned. "I've got lots of exclusives all set to reveal to you for your column."
"Hope they can hold for a few hours."
"Yes, I guess they can. Incidentally, a few of the assistant coaches and some of the writers are coming up to play a hand or two of poker-in my room a little later. Can you make it?"
"I might be able to," Vern said. "I'm not feeling too well though."
"I hope it's not because you're losing your sporting blood," Vince laughed, patting Vern on the shoulder.
"No, I'll never lose that."
"Spoken like a true State man," Vince laughed.
Vince excused himself, walking over to the bar. Vern heaved a sigh of relief, then walked outside.
He wanted to be by himself. He purposely had dinner at an obscure little restaurant a few blocks away. He knew that there wouldn't be any of the football crowd in that restaurant.
It wasn't until after he had ordered that he realized how hungry he wasn't. He didn't really feel like eating at all, and it was quite an effort just to pick at his hot beef sandwich.
He got up from the table with most of his food still on the plate.
He walked toward a phone booth at the front of the restaurant. He stepped inside the phone booth and closed the door, thumbing through the pages of the local Denver telephone directory.
His fingers rushed through the pages quickly as he worked his way to the K's.
He finally located the name Kallen. He held his breath and hoped that there would be a Melissa listed.
He heaved a sigh of relief and his fingers began trembling with excitation as he observed the name Melissa Kallen before him.
Vern took out a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down her address and stuffing it into his pocket.
He left the restaurant and immediately hailed a cab.
He took the cab to the area where Melissa lived.
He deliberately did not want the driver taking him to the precise address where she lived.
She resided in an apartment section several blocks away from the school.
Vern got out of the cab and walked slowly toward the building where she resided.
It was an old brick structure. He climbed the steps leading toward the main entrance and observed the directory carefully.
He discovered that Melissa Kallen lived on the fourth floor.
It was still early in the evening, and he wondered if she was in the apartment. He had packed his revolver, mask, and gloves in his suitcase. But they were all back at the hotel.
He had wanted to find out where Melissa lived, and now he knew he could find his way back to her apartment, since it was situated not that far from the hotel where he was staying.
He decided to take a walk back to the hotel. The walk would give him a chance to clear his head. He was bristling over with the enthusiasm of a young teenager, and he wanted to curb the enthusiasm prior to entering her apartment.
But curbing his enthusiasm was not easy in that he was bubbling over with anticipation.
His cock was throbbing with blinding need. He hungrily desired this young woman.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The longer that Vern walked, the more pent-up with excitement he became.
Now he was on his way back to the apartments. In his coat pocket he had his gun, and he would use it to force his way inside that apartment.
It was just a few minutes before nine, and he recognized that there was a good chance that the girl was not even in the apartment.
He took the elevator up to the fifth floor. He encountered no one on the way.
He got out of the elevator and walked toward her apartment. He looked around, then slipped the mask over his face.
He knocked at the door, failing to receive a response.
Unknown to Vern, Melissa Kallen was enjoying a motion picture with a soft-spoken young freshman.
She purposely went with quiet young men. She preferred their personalities to those of the more effervescent, outgoing types.
He knocked several times, then sighed. He slipped his mask back into his pocket, then walked away.
"She must be out on a date," he told himself disgustedly. "And she'll probably bring some stud football player up to her pad to bang her. I probably lost out this time."
Vern decided to accept defeat and walked back to the hotel. He remembered the invitation that Vince Cantwell had extended to him to join their poker game.
He thought that maybe he could placate his frustrated feelings by at least winning a few hands of poker.
After he walked several blocks in the direction of the hotel, however, he realized just how futile it would be for him to go back to the hotel without at least sticking around to see if Melissa would return.
He walked back toward the apartment building. He observed how dark it was between the building where Melissa lived and the apartment house next door.
He reasoned that he could hide stealthily between the buildings and observe what was going on in the street.
He stood for better than an hour. He was beginning to wonder if she would ever come home.
He then began to think that perhaps she had shacked up with a boyfriend at his house.
"Damn, that was stupid of me," he chastised himself. "Sure, she's sleeping over at some guy's pad. He's a lucky son-of-a-bitch, too, no matter who he is."
He was just about ready to walk back to the hotel when he observed a car stopping in front of the building.
His heart began to pound as he observed beautiful Melissa getting out of the car.
He observed the young man behind the wheel of the car wave to her, then drive off.
His eyes followed the beautiful young girl as she walked toward the entrance to the apartment.
He waited several minutes for her to get inside her apartment.
He then heaved a deep sigh, then walked back inside the building.
Once more he rode the elevator to the fifth floor. As he got out and began walking toward her room, his cock throbbed with pulsating excitement. He had seen her once more, and now he wanted her with greater desperation than ever.
He stopped in front of her door and slipped on the mask. He also put on his gloves and took out his revolver.
He knocked at the door.
"Who is it?" she asked. "Is that you, Roy?"
He then realized that he had been given a break. At least, so it seemed. He hoped that maybe Roy was the young man who had driven off, and she thought that he had come back to see her.
"Yes," he said, deliberately muffling his tone so she would not be able to recognize the voice clearly.
"I'll be with you in a second," she said.
She had just finished drawing back the covers of her bed when the knock had come at the door.
Melissa wondered why Roy would be making a return trip to her room. She hoped that something had not gone wrong. She remembered one time two weeks earlier when he had experienced car trouble. She hoped that the car trouble had not recurred, even though she was inclined to think that that was the problem.
She opened the door and observed the revolver and the clown's mask on Vern's face.
"What do you want?" she gasped breathlessly.
"I want in," he said softly. "If you don't try any funny business, then you won't get hurt."
She opened the door and let him in.
"Please, take anything you want but just let me alone," she said fearfully. "I won't try and stop you."
"You'd better not," he said, "but I'm not here to pull off a heist. I'm here to have a little fun."
He walked toward her and allowed his fingers to touch her breasts. She flinched, being unaccustomed to being treated in such a way.
"Now that isn't the way I want you to act," he said angrily. "I don't like this kind of snobbish stuff. Now let's go into the bedroom. If you know what's good for you, you'll play right along with me.
She walked toward the bedroom and he followed two steps behind.
His cock was throbbing with expectation as he observed her beautiful legs and her ass-cheeks.
He kept thinking about how great it would be to get her clothes off and play with her beautiful body.
Now they were in the bedroom, and his cock was as hard as it could possibly get.
"Come on, honey, and take off those clothes," he said.
"Please don't make me do that," tears began to . surface in her eyes.
"Look, I'm sure your boyfriend fucks you all the time. I'm sure he sees you naked all the time. Now if you can do it for him, you shouldn't have that much trouble doing it for me, particularly considering that your life is at stake."
"That's not so. I don't take my clothes off for my boyfriend."
"Yeah, I can really believe that," he chuckled. "A beautiful girl like you, and he's never seen you nude. I suppose he doesn't feel up your breasts and I suppose he doesn't fuck your cunt."
"As a matter-of-fact, he never has taken me to bed," she said.
"You've got to be some kind of a little liar."
"No, honest. I'm a virgin. I'm just a young girl. Please have a heart, mister. Please find some girl that at least has a little more experience. You won't like me anyway. A man like you would want a girl with more experience."
"I'm not so sure," he said. "As a matter-of-fact, I think you'd be very appealing just the way you are.
Yes, I think so. I fact, I know so. I'd rather do it, come to think of it, with somebody who hasn't been shopped around. You mean to say I have a chance to defrock a virgin? That's really something. I didn't even know there were any more virgins around. Particularly beautiful girls like you. I thought the only virgins were in cribs."
"The world hasn't gotten quite that corrupt yet," she said.
"Just exaggerating a little, baby, but I really can't believe that you have never been dicked."
"Honest, I never have been."
"Then that's all the more reason for you to find out what it's all about," he laughed. "Now get those clothes off, and I don't want to hear any more static. You might just talk yourself into a bullet in the head."
She shuddered when he threatened her.
Her trembling fingers went to work on her dress. She hated the idea of stripping for this masked stranger who was holding a gun on her, but there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Sure, she could always yell out, but by the time a rescuer arrived she would be dead.
She was confident that this terrible stranger was not bluffing. That meant that she had to be very careful.
His eyes popped out with mounting enthusiasm as he watched her unbutton her dress.
"No need to be shy about it, baby. You've got a beautiful body and it's about time you were showing it off for the opposite sex," he quipped. "I'm really doing you a favor, and some day years hence you might recognize it as such."
She hated this man's antagonistic attitude. He was so cocky and foul that she would have loved to have the opportunity to tell him what she thought of him.
But for the moment she had to be concerned about pleasing him. So she struggled out of the dress, revealing herself in her panties and bra.
"Wow, you're quite a woman!" he sighed. "And to think that you haven't ever had the old dick stuck in you. Of course, you might be just feeding me a line of bullshit. We'll soon find out. If I draw blood, I'll know you were telling me the truth."
The longer he looked at her beautiful ivory skin, the hotter he became. He felt like orgasming on the spot.
"Okay, honey, don't stop there," Vern said. "Now I want you to take off your panties and bra. I want to see you totally nude, honey. I want you to let it all hang out. Then I'll take care of the rest."
Her mouth tightened and she grimaced. She recognized that she would have to comply with his every wish, even though she hated the prospect of doing so.
CHAPTER NINE
Melissa was shuddering at she stepped out of her panties.
"You don't have to be scared around me, dearie, unless you try and pull some crap on me," Vern said, continuing to hold the gun on her.
He looked over and observed her snowy blonde nest. He liked the looks of her cunt, and he thought about how great it would be to slam his hot dick into it.
He couldn't help but wonder if she was telling the truth of not about being a virgin. If she were a virgin, then he was all the more happy to enter inside her snatch. It would be a bold new experience for him to defrock a young virgin.
"Okay, baby, now take off your bra," he said.
Her trembling fingers reached up toward her breasts. She reached around and unstrapped her bra, letting it fall to the ground. Now she was just the way that he wanted her. She was totally naked.
"I don't know why a beautiful girl like you should be so shook just standing naked before some hot stud like me," Vern said. "You ought to be happy to show off that beautiful body. I know that I'm going to do a big favor for you. I'm going to give you one hell of a good fuck. Now just climb into bed, honey, and relax. I'll take care of the rest."
She eased her body inside the bed. She looked at him with wide-eyed terror. Her fear was mounting each minute.
"Now just hang in there and relax," he laughed. "Here I come, baby."
She watched as he reached down with his left hand and unzipped his trousers.
He pulled out his hard dick, which sprang forward with great elasticity.
It was big and hard, and she feared the thought of that huge instrument making its presence felt inside her.
He slipped into bed, tilting over to one side as he lay next to her. He continued to hold the revolver on her.
"Now reach out and play with this dick," he said. "That's the kind of action I want from you, baby."
She reached out with her right hand and seized possession of his cock. She ran her fingers up and down it, stroking it slowly. She thought of it as poison, and wanted badly to drop it. But she knew better.
"Okay, now start moving those fingers a little faster, I want some faster action," he said, demonstrating a little impatience. "You really are a strange chick. Just because a guy wants a little action, you get all bent out of shape. You act like it's impossible that some guy would want to make it with you. Well, I think it's awfully strange that nobody has made it with you up till now. Provided you're telling me the truth, of course."
"It is the truth," she said softly.
"We'll find out in time," he chuckled.
Now her fingers made their way over his hard prong more speedily than before. She was afraid that if she did not comply with his every wish, she would get her head blown off.
As the fingers continued manipulating their way around his cock, Vern began to grow increasingly hotter.
"Great, this is absolutely great," he nodded. "Now, keep up those fast movements, and play with my balls with your other hand, honey. I love the ball actions, too. I like getting the cock and the balls stroked at the same time. That's where the action is."
His balls were inflating with great excitement. His testicles were turned on along with the rest of him, and he knew that he could not withstand very much more in the way of finger activity from her. Pretty soon he would just have to get his hot rocks off.
Her fingertips continued to skirt around his warm testicles. At the same time the fingers of her other hand stroked vigorously up and down on his hot dick. As the action continued, he felt himself growing irresistibly attracted to her box.
While her fingers were working their way up and down his naked cock and balls, he reached out with his right hand and began to toy with her pussy. He, at first, rubbed his fingers over her white thatched pubic mound. He then reached inside that mound and began to play with her red vaginal walls.
When he began to massage her clitoris, he noticed a marked change in her responses.
Her entire body began to shake, and he could see sex vibrations triggering through her entire body.
"You like that clit action, don't you?" he asked.
"Please don't do any more of this stuff to me," she said, abruptly halting her finger movements. "It just isn't right. It's also dirty. I feel like going into the bathroom and taking a bath."
"Don't hand me any more of that shit," he growled. "If you're going to go to the bathroom at all, it'll be to take a shower with me. But I'm not in a showering mood right now. I'm in a fucking mood, and you happen to be my love object. So don't hand me any more guff."
"Couldn't you please go away and leave me alone?" she pleaded.
"Damn it, that's the last straw," he growled.
He reached out with his right hand and slapped her across the face. His face was crimson with anger.
"You don't talk to me like that, you little bitch," he said.
Her face then turned red at the point of impact.
He had hurt her with his slap. A stinging ring was heard the moment that it landed.
"I'll teach you any way I have to," he said. "Things are going to be done strictly my way. There's just no other way I'm going to play the game. I'm pissed at you, you little bitch. I'm real pissed. I don't like the kind of static you've been handing me. like I said, I'm here for a good fuck and that's what I'm going to get. If I don't get that, you'll get your head on a silver platter. Do you read me?"
"Yes, I understand," she said, her voice trembling.
"Then start acting like you understand," he said.
His fingers went back to massaging her clitoris. Every time that she moved her body in vigorous response to the movements he put forward, it made him feel all the happier.
By then the burning urges had built inside him to such an extent that he felt a burning need to get his rocks off.
He abruptly ceased his finger efforts. He looked down at his bulging cock and decided that it was time to get down to brass tacks.
"Okay, darling, now we're going to find out just how much of a virgin you are," he laughed.
He reached out and separated her legs roughly, grabbing ahold of her thighs and parting them.
He then allowed his fingers to reach up toward her breasts. He let his fingers wrap themselves around her tits. He clung to her breasts, holding on until he caused the skin to whiten from lack of circulation.
"Does that hurt?" he asked.
"Yes, it hurts a lot," she whispered in a quavering voice.
"Then that's good."
He chuckled, continuing to clamp ahold of the skin. He pinched, and pinched hard, and all the while the excitement continued to mount inside him as he got set to penetrate his cock inside her mound.
He wanted to make her hurt, and he was hoping that she was a virgin for that very reason.
He couldn't stand that the way she was resisting him. She reminded him of his own wife, and that was enough to put a certain degree of hostility into his behavior.
He looked down one more time at his hard, piercing prong. He recognized just how ready he was for the big moment.
The moment of truth had arrived. It was time for him to go after his just desserts. He had taken quite a chance in breaking into her apartment in that manner, and now he was out to get her cunt.
His fingers kept tearing at her breasts and he hunched his body forward dramatically.
He allowed his long hard dick to enter inside her mound.
"Oh, damned, but you're tight in there," he said. "That's great. I was hoping you'd be that tight. Oh, do you look good. Yeah, you're an even better fuck than I figured you'd be. Oh, move those hips when I'm fucking you."
From the way that he tightened his grip on her breasts, she knew that she had better abide by his wishes. So she rotated her hips back and forth to coincide with his forward prick stabbing "movements.
He started at a slow, deliberate clip. He wanted to enjoy this fuck to the utmost, and consequently, did not want to go off too fast. He wanted to move at a rhythmic clip, to let the action manifest itself on a gradual basis.
Back and forth he kept on sliding that steel-like prick of his, entering more deeply inside her with each succeeding penetration.
"Oh, are you ever tight, do I ever love fucking this," he said.
The stabbing thrusts he put forward with his huge pecker caused her to feel great pain.
Several times she let out pained gasps, which went completely unappreciated as far as Vern was concerned.
"What's your problem?" he said between stabs.
"This hurts, it really hurts."
"I'm giving you a little experience," he laughed. "If I didn't hurt you like this, someone else would sooner or later. So you might just as well get it now and learn to live with it, baby."
He kept on rocking back and forth, permitting that huge dick to enter deeply inside her mound.
He was now beginning to increase the tempo of his pace. He slid that huge prong in and out of her like it was a knife. He wielded it like a sword, sending it surging with relentless energy inside her.
"Please, please try not to hurt me so much," she sobbed.
"Shut up," he said.
He became so angered by her sobbing and crying that he reached out with his right hand and delivered another slap, which landed in the same spot as the first slap had.
She sobbed a little more after he slapped her, but then the sobbing suddenly died. She was afraid to do any more of it for fear that he would kill her.
Just to let her know how much displeasure he felt as a result of her sobbing, he dug his fingernails into her breasts.
"That's just a sample of what I'll give you if you don't shut up," he said.
She had no choice other than to do what he commanded.
Now he was thrusting with firm, steady impact. His hot dick was getting that much closer to exploding.
As he picked up the rhythm and began to enjoy the tightness of her hot snatch, his forward movements took on even greater meaning than before.
His cock was darting into her with great anxiety. The longer he did it, the more speed he continued to generate.
With each effective stab he drew that much closer to the big moment of climax.
His balls were inflamed with hot, white juice, which was ready to explode at any instant.
"Oh, what a fuck you are. Do I ever love pouring myself into these fucks," he sighed. "Just keep that ass rotating. Just keep those ships moving around like that and I'll be happy. You behave yourself and I won't slap you around so much."
Now he was wielding that dick with shotgun authority, shoving it into her twat at a relentless clip.
He continued to clutch ahold of her breasts, letting his hips flail eagerly as he poured his virility into each punching stab.
"I'm getting close now, baby, I'm getting close to shooting off this prick inside you," he said. "Just get ready, get ready for a big explosion."
She closed her eyes and braced herself for his orgasm. She thought it was the most humiliating thing she had ever been subjected to in her entire life.
Not only was it humiliating to Melissa. It was painful as well.
"Oh, are you ever tight down there, just keep flipping those hips around," he said.
As he moved that much closer toward orgasm, he removed his fingers from her breasts. He allowed them to slip down to her ass-cheeks.
His fingers gripped her buttocks tightly. They clasped eagerly around her firm, lovely skin. He let the fingers dig in eagerly as he kept on stabbing her cunt with relentless zeal.
The thrills within him multiplied all the more as he clutched those ass-cheeks tightly.
He drove his cock-like ramrod, pouring eagerly inside her pussy-well.
"Now you're gonna get juiced, baby, you're gonna get the hot juice inside you," he gasped. "I can't hold on much longer. I'm just too hot, too hot for sex, too hot for you."
The fingers continued to clutch her ass-cheeks as he rocked his body back and forth several more times.
Now he was beginning to sweat and pant as he pushed himself into the final stages preceding climax.
He pinched her ass-cheeks with great fervence as his body kept rocking back and forth with great zeal.
"Oh, I'm just about there, I'm about to shoot inside your mound," he announced.
He probed her searingly, sending his prick into the innermost depths of her pussy.
"Oh, here it comes. This is it," he announced. "I'm shooting, baby, I'm shooting inside that mound of yours. I'm fucking your cunt, I'm really fucking it. Oh, here comes the hot white stuff. Here it comes, the goo. Ohh, ohh, I'm shooting, I'm shooting, shooting, shooting."
He looked down and observed the stream of thick, gooey jissum pouring out of the end of his inflamed peter.
As he observed the sea of white spurting into her mound, he also saw the blood that he had caused to surface by penetrating her cherry.
"Yeah, I guess you were a virgin, after all," he laughed, as he removed his still flaming spear from her mound.
CHAPTER TEN
Even though Vern had exploded inside her mound, defrocking a virgin, he wanted to do more.
The hot burning urges inside his prick and balls remained intact. He needed another explosion, and he needed it fast.
"I guess I'm teaching you a little something about the facts of life," he laughed.
His still pained victim made no response. Melissa kept hoping that, now that he had sampled sex with her, that he would leave her apartment. She wanted badly to be left alone. She was still unnerved by the constant presence of that revolver, which was pointed in her direction.
"I've got something else in mind for you," he chuckled. "I want to get my rocks off inside you again. I'd like to give you a little lesson in how to suck a man's cock."
He could tell from the fearful manner with which she looked at him just how reluctant she was to go through with something like that.
"What's the matter? I'm not asking you to do anything dirty," he said.
"Nothing's the matter," she said, not wanting to trigger his anger again.
"That's good. That's the way I want to hear you talk," he said. "My prick just happens to need a little more action, and I think that you're just the girl to supply it with the kind of kicks it needs."
Once more Vern's eager fingers reached down toward his prick. He moved them vigorously up and down his long dong, watching with great joy as the hot stick continued to inflate.
"Yeah, it'll be up there all the way in no time," he rejoiced. "It's good and hot for you, and you're going to do a great job of sucking it. I just know you are."
She watched fearfully, expecting the worst, as he continued to massage his prick.
He was getting more and more proud of his peter. He wanted to see it explode once more, this time in the girl's mouth.
"Okay, baby, just grab ahold of this with your right hand," he said.
She reached out and with great reluctance, took hold of his long stem.
"Now start jerking it," he said.
She worked her fingers up and down his prick. A big grin surfaced on his face as she kept up her movements steadily.
"Alright, baby, now move those fingers down to my balls," he commanded. "I want you to play with my nuts."
Once more she did precisely as he commanded. Her fingers worked gingerly around his balls.
The longer she toyed with his balls, the hotter his cock became.
"Okay, now I want you to lick "the end of my dick," he said. "You can keep on playing with my nuts. In fact, I want you to. But I want you to start sucking my cock. Begin by just sucking the tip, baby. Then I'll give you instructions from that point on."
She frowned, then looked at him.
"Do I have to do that?"
"You're damned right you do," he shot back angrily.
He reached out and grabbed ahold of her hair. He kept a tight grip on it, pulling it hard.
"Now get down there and suck it, and I mean suck that cock," he said.
She did precisely what he had demanded. She slipped her tongue over the end of it, and as she began to circulate it over the tip of his prong, he loosened his grip on her hair.
"Now you're playing it smart," he said. "You'll give me what I want and I won't give you such a hard time. You buck me at any point and I'm going to give you big trouble."
He settled back and enjoyed her tongue movements.
"Now do it nice and slow," he said. "I don't want you to go too fast in the beginning. I'll control the tempo by telling you exactly what I want. As for right now, I want you to suck on the tip of the thing, and I don't want you to suck real fast. Do it nice and slow. I can collect a lot of sensation that way."
Her tongue continued to slide over the tip of his big dick.
The longer she kept it up, the hotter he became. Soon his body began to tremble with great exhilaration. He enjoyed the movement she dramatically supplied with her tongue.
As he grew increasingly hotter, Vern felt that it was time to step up the tempo of the entire action.
"Oh, okay, honey, now I want you to start running that tongue up and down my long pole," he said. "I want you to start giving my whole cock the action now, rather than just the tip of it. So slide that tongue up and down it, baby, I really want you to."
Just to let her know who was boss, he tightened his grip on her hair once more. He decided to continue pulling her hair during the entire act. It was one way to ensure himself of getting things done in the manner he prescribed.
As she began to supply him with the actions he wanted, he once more loosened the grip which he held on her hair.
Up and down, her tongue manipulated with deliberate speed. He smiled and nodded as her tongue worked up and down the entire length of his hot dick.
"Just keep on doing what you are," he said, "I love this sucking action. Keep it up, keep on sucking my dick, keep on sucking it good, suck it, darling, suck my cock."
She was eager to get it all over with. She felt that if she supplied him with just the kind of action he wanted, she would be more--likely to be dealt with generously.
She was sorry about the mistakes she had made earlier. She realized she had done wrong in giving him any kind of an argument. It was imperative that she placate him, she now realized.
So her tongue worked sweepingly up and down his hot dick. As it slipped and slid, his entire body began to vibrate noticeably.
Now he could feel the sensations all over his cock and balls as that hot sucking continued.
"Now you're really getting the hang of it," he complimented her. "Now I want you to move the tongue even faster, suck me, suck me, honey, I want you to go all out. I want you to suck me with everything you've got."
He even did her a favor at that point. He released his fingers from her hair. He ran them instead over her breasts, allowing his fingers to sweep over the hot, voluptuous folds of firm flesh.
"Okay, baby, play with those balls while you're sucking my dick," he encouraged. "You do that and you're really going to have me on fire. Then I'll be exploding pretty soon. So keep up the hot pace, I dig it, I really dig it. Keep it up, honey, keep up that action."
She stabbed up and down his dick with her tongue and simultaneously played with his balls.
His body began to vibrate in a noticeable manner. His breathing was becoming increasingly heavier as she realized just how close he was coming to the big moment.
She saw this as an opportunity to get this whole terrible episode over with. She was hoping that if she really pleased him from that point on, he would not use that terrible revolver on her.
"That's it, just a few more finger strokes, just a few more tongue strokes, and I'll be there," he said. "Just keep that up, just keep up what you're doing, I really like that."
Several tongue stabs later he found himself unable to hold back the deluge of hot white juice that was stored up inside him.
"Oh, I'm there, I'm there," he gasped.
The hot floodtide of white juice shot inside her mouth.
"Swallow it all, swallow it, baby, swallow every drop," he urged.
She gulped and gasped, and attempted to swallow every drop of pecker juice.
She lost several drops, which pelted out of her mouth, but managed to hang on to the rest.
He was generally pleased with her efforts.
"Okay, honey, now you just lie down there," he said, as he got up from the bed. "I want you to just lie on your stomach and close your eyes. Don't move for fifteen minutes."
He slipped his cock back inside his trousers, which he then zipped up.
He walked backwards toward the door, observing his beautiful victim lying there. She was doing precisely what he had asked her to do.
He slipped cautiously toward the door. He peeked out the door and observed that there was nobody around.
He was happy that he had handled things that smoothly. There had hardly been any noises made at all, and he had headed off trouble before it had an opportunity to develop. He closed the door behind him, then tore off his mask which he slipped into his pocket. He also put his revolver away, and took off his gloves, which he shoved into a back pocket.
Now he was back on the street, walking toward the hotel.
He looked at his watch and observed that it was only a few minutes past eleven.
He would have an opportunity to play a few hands of poker with Vince Cantwell and his group.
A game of cards, he thought, would be just the thing to provide him with a little relaxation after a fantastic episode with Melissa.
But there was one thing he knew for sure. He could not hope to receive merely the amount of thrills from a poker game or anything else that he could from taking on a beautiful young girl like Melissa Kallen.
Perhaps he was taking an awful risk in doing what he was doing, but at that stage of his life, it was one that Vern Beauchamp was willing to take.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Vern swung his car into the driveway.
It was late on a Wednesday evening, and he had just finished covering a heavyweight fight.
His post-fight activities had taken him into the respective dressing rooms of the participating fighters. Now that he had talked to the participants, their managers, and other principals relating to the fight, and had completed his story, he was all set to go home and have a drink.
He got out of his car and walked toward the apartment. He was hoping that his wife, Sally, would be there. He wanted very much to be able to share a few happy moments with her.
He was steadfastly determined at that point to change their relationship. He couldn't get the two girls he had attacked off his mind. He knew that there was a correlation between those savage attacks and the manner in which his relationship with his wife was steadily deteriorating.
He reasoned that if he were willing to go the extra mile, if he could just show his wife that he really cared about her, maybe she would change her hostile attitude toward him.
He knocked on the front door of the apartment several times. When he was unable to precipitate a response, he slipped the key into the door and entered the apartment.
He sighed sadly as he looked around the living room. She was nowhere to be seen.
He walked into the kitchen and fixed himself a scotch and water. He was hoping that she would come home soon. If she did, he thought, he would be able to successfully patch up some of their differences. He was in that kind of determined frame of mind.
He had one drink, then a second. He looked at his watch and observed that it was past midnight. Now he was really starting to get frustrated. The high hopes he had held toward making progress with his wife were slowly dwindling away.
He wondered just where she was, and why she was there. He hoped that she would not come in in an antagonistic mood, since he still hoped to achieve some kind of meaningful dialogue with her.
She did not finally arrive until one o'clock, at which time he had finished off four drinks and was in a maudlin frame of mind.
Although he was bordering on drunkenness, Sally was already there. He could easily tell from the way that she staggered into the room.
"Well, well, the old sports writer is here," she laughed derisively.
"Just where have you been?" he asked sharply.
"Why should I tell you?"
She strutted tippsily into the kitchen.
"If you're gonna get swakked, I guess I can, too," she laughed.
"You're a whole lot more swakked than I am."
"like hell," she laughed. "I'm gonna catch you and pass you."
"You passed me long ago. You passed me by so far that you're in orbit. Only outer space lies beyond."
"You're sure talking like a wise-ass," she said as she poured herself a scotch and water.
"I'm talking sense, and you're just too drunk to realize it."
"Kiss my ass."
"You're really showing a lot of class."
"Class would never be appreciated around this joint anyway," she said. "You're a crude crumb, and you're tastes prove that."
"Meaning what?" he said tightly, as she picked up the glass and staggered back into the living room, sprawling out in an easy chair.
"Meaning just this," she said, "that you have very crude tastes. Your idea of a good time is to go to some football game and watch some poor clown get leveled on the grass. Or, like tonight, going to see two poor idiots knock their heads off in front of a bunch of howling, sadistic spectators."
"This is the first time I've ever heard you argue from a humanitarian standpoint."
"Balls, it's no humanitarian standpoint," she challenged him. "It's just a common sense standpoint."
"Have you ever attempted to study football or boxing?"
"I'm not in the least bit interested."
"Maybe if you were, you'd learn a little something and you wouldn't talk so ignorantly."
"Yeah, yeah, don't bore me with that argument you always use. I suppose you're going to tell me next that football and boxing are both sciences."
"You said it for me. Both of them do have scientific elements about them."
"Yeah, I suppose it's science when some rube gets off of a barstool and slugs somebody. Your idea of science and mine aren't exactly alike."
"It's beginning to look like our ideas aren't alike on very many things."
"You're damned right, it is," she said, taking a long sip from her glass. "I'll tell you one thing, though. I had a real good time when I was out tonight."
"Just where were you? I suppose some bar."
"I started out there, but I ended up somewhere else," a seductive grin crossed her face. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning that I waited for the right stud to drop in that bar. When I saw him walk in alone, I knew he was for me. All I had to do was give him the eye. He picked up."
"How far did you go with this guy?" Vern gulped.
"He took me over to his pad and really gave me a good screw."
"How do you think it makes me feel to come home from work and hear you saying stuff like that?"
"You got your jollies tonight, dear. Remember? You went to the fight. You watched two guys knock their heads off. That's your idea of kicks. Me, I go for something a little less violent, like letting a guy shove his cock inside my pussy until he shoots. That's what happened over at that guy's pad."
"It sounds like you're really serious."
"Of course, I'm serious."
"Not only are you playing around, you're coming home and bragging about it to me. How do you think that makes me feel? It makes me feel like I'm about two inches tall."
"That's just about how tall you are, as far as I'm concerned, especially intellectually," she said.
"I'm getting tired of hearing you griping about what I do for a living."
"Then why don't you change jobs?"
"You know that it's late in life to do that."
"It's late, but it's not too late. Except for one thing. You like that lousy sports writing job. Admit it."
"Okay, I'll admit it. I do like my work."
"Certainly you do. That's exactly what I was talking about."
"But I don't like you going out with other men."
"That's just too damn bad."
"Just who is this guy that you slept with tonight? What's his name?"
"Fat chance I'm going to tell you," she laughed. "The only thing I will tell you that he's ten times the man you are when it comes to wheeling his dick in bed."
"I'm sick and tired of this talk," he exploded angrily.
"I know, you generally do get tired of the truth awfully fast. Well, it just happens to be true. I wish that you were a little better under the sheets, baby. But, unfortunately, you just aren't."
He gulped down the rest of his drink angrily.
"I suppose you want me to prove to you how good I am in bed," he said.
"That would help a little. I haven't had much action from you lately."
"It's a pretty understandable why, isn't it?"
"Is it?" she looked at him, puzzledly. "I don't think it's clear at all. Just why aren't you giving me more action?"
"You sure have a hell of a way of showing it, if that's what you want. I hear nothing but a lot of static from you about how bad I am. That takes the cock and balls out of any guy. Nobody wants to listen to this kind of bitching all the time."
"Oh, my, you really are quite the martyred little boy, aren't you?"
"Do I have to listen to your sarcasm all the time?"
"Until you start supplying me with a little better style of life, you're damned right, you do."
"Just what more do you need?"
"Right now I could use a good stiff fuck. I'd like to see you prove to me that you can match this guy that I got it from earlier tonight."
"I guess this marriage has come to a pretty terrible state of affairs. To think that I've got to match some other guy to prove a point to my own wife."
"You put things at this level, honey. Let's see if you can work yourself out of it."
"Okay, you bitch, let's go to bed."
"I'm with you," she laughed.
He got up from the sofa and watched her bolt down the remaining contents of the drink.
She set the glass down on top of a table, then rose slowly.
She still had a beautiful body, he thought, but her mind was becoming so poisoned and dominated by sarcastic thoughts toward him that his previous love for her was diminishing greatly.
They entered the bedroom and he watched her carefully as she worked her way out of her dress.
She unbuttoned the back of it in a careless, haphazard manner. She looked sexy, alright, but the problem was one of working himself up into a state of excitement.
A few years earlier he would never have had that problem. Such excitement would have himself so generated without any problems at all.
But now things had changed to a great extent. She was no longer strongly drawn toward him.
Since he was easily able to discern her lack of receptiveness, it made things all the more difficult for him.
He could not respond to her in the same way that he had been able to do earlier.
"How do you like this body?" she asked.
Now she was slipping out of her dress. Her body was smooth and firm, just as appealing as it had been when he met her years before.
"It looks good," he said.
"Glad you can still recognize a good thing."
He observed her tugging at her bra. She let it fall to the floor, slipping her body forward and allowing her tits to hang out.
"How do you like the looks of these?" she asked.
"They look very good."
"So nice of you to notice," she said sarcastically.
The one thing that bothered him at that stage, however, was that he wasn't the least bit hard. He had thought that once she got out of her clothes, he would have no difficulty at all in getting his cock up.
But he was, at bottom, sensitive enough to where her steady conduct had an effect on his overall sex responses. When she treated him like dirt and talked to him nastily, he had great difficulty in being able to respond to her sexually.
He kept on eying those large, firm boobs, hoping that he would start to get excited. He thought that once she removed her panties, he might then feel the shocking waves of sexual exhilaration in his body that he had felt so many times before earlier in their relationship.
He watched carefully as she began to slip her panties down her legs.
She did it very tantalizingly, seizing on the moment and stealing every conceivable bit of dramatic thrust from it by moving her fingers slowly downward on the elastic waistband.
He kept watching the silken panties drop down her legs. Now they were down to her hips.
"Keep on watching, baby, because you're going to see something real nasty," she laughed.
He couldn't help but notice just how much of an exhibitionist she could be in the final analysis.
"You would have made a good strip teaser," he said.
"You think I'm built like one."
"You know you are," he said. "But I was thinking of something else."
"like what?"
"like the fact that you're a real exhibitionist."
"Oh am I?" she giggled, girlishly.
"You should be able to answer that question without any trouble."
She kept on working the panties down her legs. He thought that once he was able to observe her pussy, he would get good and hot.
The panties were getting lower and lower. Now they were down to her ankles, and he could see a glimpse of her snatch that he had hoped to receive.
"Keep those eyes fastened, because I'm going to take everything off," she said.
"Looks like you're just about there."
"Yes, I am, as a matter-of-fact."
She stepped out of the panties.
Sally stepped forward and allowed the fingers of her right hand to go to work on her nest.
He watched as her fingers moved devastatingly around Her box. He observed the tufts of golden pussy hair, and the passionate red vaginal walls which rested beneath it.
"You like what you see?" she asked.
"Yeah, it's pretty nice scenery."
"Then how come you're not hard yet?" she asked.
His heart palpitated nervously. She had asked a probing question. He was wondering the same thing. Even now, when she was naked and was displaying her passionate body before him, he still couldn't get an erection.
"Maybe after I take my clothes off," he said.
"Do you have to take your own clothes off, to get turned on with somebody who's already naked?"
"No, not exactly. It's just that when I'm naked, I'm more in the mood for sex."
"Maybe that will help," she said. "You need some kind of help."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ambivalent feelings ran through Vern as he began to take off his clothes.
He was hoping to generate enough excitement inside himself to where his cock would get hard and he would be able to supply his wife with a good screw. But he remained reluctant, in that he seriously wondered whether he would be capable of mustering such an effort.
The big reason for his doubt was the way she had been treating him. He had been having great difficulty in feeling strongly toward her. He had worked himself into a positive frame of mind that night as he drove home from the fight. But she had ruined his positive spirit by her drunken entrance and her revelation that she had been to bed with another man.
He pulled off his trousers, then his shorts. He looked down between his legs and observed that his cock was hanging as limply as a rag.
"Is that the best you can do?" she asked disappointedly.
"I've had a lot to drink," he said.
"I don't think you've had that much," she said. "I think you're just at the point now that you can't make it any more."
"Don't say that," he snapped. "No, guys like you never want to hear the truth."
"That doesn't happen to be the truth."
"Then prove it's not."
"I can get the thing hard. It'll just take a little time."
"like what? All night?" she laughed.
"I don't like the way you're mocking me."
"You've got it coming, baby. You just can't make it any more. You just can't give the old lady a good screw, can you?"
"You sure are a foul talking broad."
"Sure, you've got deficiencies a mile long, so why not pass them on to your wife. Just what do you plan to do now, lover boy?"
"I'm going to fuck you."
"With that cock?" she laughed.
"I don't like your attitude at all."
"I'm just asking a practical question. How in the hell can you fuck me when you can't even get your cock hard?"
"It'll come up in time. Just give it a little time, that's all."
"What am I supposed to do? Just stand here and wait?"
"I've got an idea."
"What's that?"
"Maybe if I can just kiss you a few times, I'll get good and hard."
He slipped into bed with her. He slipped his arms around her body, holding her flesh tightly and pressing it against his own.
It used to be that the very moment that her breasts brushed against his chest, he would get good and hard. But he wasn't hard at all then. He could feel her solid breasts pushing against his own, but his prick remained limp.
He reached out and kissed her lips. He put a greater measure of desperation into his effort than he normally did. He was pressing hard, too hard, in fact.
His whole body was shaking, and he was doing his best to force his cock to come up, but it just wouldn't obey his wishes.
Down deep, he wondered if he really even wanted it to come up. He sensed that he probably didn't. He kept thinking about all she had said about the man who had taken her to bed earlier that evening.
Just what husband would want to listen to conversation like that from his own wife, he asked himself. That was probably what was having such an effect on him.
He allowed his lips to remain frozen against hers for several long seconds. He kept hoping that soon his cock would pop up soon, but it did not.
He removed his lips from hers, then let his fingers sweep across her breasts.
They were every bit as erotic as usual, firm and smooth, but he still could not seem to make his cock erect.
"Think I'll slip my tongue in your mouth," he said abruptly.
"Go ahead. Whatever is your pleasure."
"Just open that mouth for me."
"Be my guest."
She opened her mouth good and wide. He shoved his tongue inside it. He allowed his tongue to splash against hers with uninhibited zeal.
He was hoping that the french kissing would work, that it would get his cock hard to where he would be able to supply her with some hot action.
Now it was becoming a game, more than anything else. His masculinity had been called into question by her, and he hated morbidly the idea of her comparing him unfavorably to another man.
Their tongues glided against each other, and he kept hoping that his dick would spring out in all its glory.
But it still did not happen. No matter how hard he seemed to try, he could not seem to get his cock up.
"It's still not up there," she shook her head disgustedly.
"I'll get it up, so help me, I will," he said.
"Why don't you go down on my box. That might get you a little more inspired."
"That's a good idea," he said.
She stretched out on her back and spread her legs willingly.
He reached down with the fingers of his right hand and toyed with her box.
He let the fingers flow smoothly over her pussy lips. He could tell how excited she was at the prospect of sex by the manner in which she began to moisten around there.
"Oh, I'm all gooey inside for you, baby, now go down there and suck me," she said.
He kept those fingers rotating around her box at an eager clip. While the fingers of his right hand continued to toy with her dewy mound, the fingers of his left began to work their way vigorously around her ass-cheeks.
The longer he kept up his precise finger movements, the more aroused she became.
"Oh, I like that. Now you're really getting me hot," she said. "Go down on my cunt. Suck my pussy, suck my snatch out, I want to shoot my juices inside you, baby. Go down there and suck."
His tongue went to work on her mound. He let it slip around every crevice of her snatch.
She was so hot that she knew she could not hold out for long. She would be shooting in no time at all, and the longer he kept that tongue sweeping passionately over her box, the closer she drew to that big moment.
"Just a few more sucks," she said, "keep up the sucking. I want you to eat me, I want you to eat all my juice. I want you to suck it, I want you to suck it all out. Suck it all out, baby."
Several stabs later she bolted her juices inside his mouth.
"Go back there and suck again," she said excitedly. "I've got some more juices for you. One more time, baby."
He went back to work, slipping his tongue around her box again. Back and forth that tongue of his slipped and slid as he drove her into a passionate state of ecstasy.
"Here I go. I'm going to shoot in your mouth," she said. "Oh, here it is, ohh, ohh, ohhh."
The juices filled his mouth.
He released his tongue from her mound. He looked down between his legs one more time. He was still not hard.
"You're hopeless, you little bastard. You're really hopeless," she laughed at him. "You just can't get the old cock up any more. You're not worth much in bed. Sure, you can still put out your tongue, but what about that cock? What about that once proud dick that used to do such a great job on my twat?"
"Don't rub it in."
"Just why shouldn't I? I had every right to say what I did to you earlier tonight. I had a feeling you wouldn't be able to back up your desires. You just don't have it any more, and the sooner you admit it to yourself, the better."
"Forget it. I don't want to hear that talk any more."
"I don't really care to talk to you at all any more. We really don't have much in common."
"I guess not. But I gave you a good cunt suck."
"Sure, but that just steamed me up all the more.
And now you're not able to deliver. You just don't have it when the chips are down."
"I agree with you about one thing. I don't want to talk to you either. Why don't you just shut up?"
"I don't like your sassy attitude."
"Look who's talking," he shook his head. "You're the one who has been handing me all the static."
"I don't even feel like sleeping with you now."
"I don't feel like sleeping with you."
"Then why don't you go downstairs."
"Sleeping on the couch sounds better all the time."
"Go ahead and sleep there," she said. "I'm sick of you, really sick of you."
"Okay, you're going to get your wish."
He got up and stalked angrily out of the room.
He picked up his underwear and took it with him downstairs.
He slipped it back on after he got to the living room. He felt sick at his stomach from the combination of the booze he had sampled and the terrible argument that had ensued between him and his wife.
He thought back to her entrance into the apartment. He recalled vividly the brassy announcement she had made about having had sex with another man.
He was disgusted no end. He felt like someone looking down into a bottomless pit. That's where his life was at that point.
As he turned off the light and closed his eyes as he laid down on the sofa, he thought about Sherry Roberts and Melissa Kallen, his two victims.
He had been able to get good and hard with them. There had been no problem at all. So he knew that Sally was all wet in her claim that he was unable to sexually perform any more.
He had a feeling that he was just sick of Sally, and all that she represented. The more he thought about her, the more he recognized that he was completely justified in feeling that way.
She was exerting a terrible drag on his life. He wondered just how much longer things could go on in the way that they were proceeding.
He was beginning to wonder just why she hadn't mentioned breaking up with him. The more he thought about it, the more he concluded that her basic reason for staying with him was that she derived a lot of kicks from abusing him.
But he didn't like it one bit. He hated the way she ridiculed his way of making a living. He felt that she had no right to act in such a way.
The more he thought about her, the angrier he got. He was angry because of her conduct, and because he could not see any foreseeable way of patching things up between the two of them.
One thing made him happy. He would be going away that weekend. He was happy that State would be playing another game on the road.
He thought about the two cheerleaders he had raped. He wondered if there would be such an opportunity available once more.
He wondered if there might not be another beautiful little cheerleader out there that he could perform sex with and get his kicks.
He certainly was not enjoying his sex life with Sally.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The huge jet swept down the runway and gradually lifted into the air.
Vern looked out the window, observing the city below swiftly drifting out of view.
Soon all he could see was the clouds.
A pensive Vince Cantwell sat next to him, tapping his fingers on the side of his seat.
"Should be a rough game Saturday," Vince said.
"You're favored by two touchdowns," Vern reminded him. "It shouldn't be all that rough, should it?"
"Yes, it should."
"Sounds like you're being a little overly pessimistic. I guess you've got to be that way to prevent the players from being over confident."
"I wish that was all it was," he chuckled. "No, Vern, this should be a tough ball game. The Chicago Spartans have been playing good football all season long. Yeah, they lost their first game, but they've won every one since. Not only that, but we beat them last year in Los Angeles and they're really pointing for us."
"But you've still got too much manpower for them, we both know it."
"Maybe if we were completely healthy. Maybe then I wouldn't be as worried as I am now, but we've got three starters out on defense and our best running back is running at half speed this week."
"No kidding? Gordon's only at half speed."
"I've been keeping it to myself, but that's it. It should be one helluva rough game for us."
"Maybe so."
"But sooner or later we find ourselves in a toughie. It might just as well come now."
They did not talk for most of the remainder of the flight. They were both trapped in their respective worlds.
Things had gone poorly that morning for Vern. He had another argument with Sally.
Once more she thoroughly castigated him for being a sports writer. She had compared him unfavorably to other men he had gone through college with, all of whom had gone on to achieve fame and fortune in other walks of life.
"Admit it," she said tersely at one point, "you're just a little boy who never grew up. Most guys start with the sports pages and wind up with something else, the financial page, the news section, something like that. You never got out of the sports section."
He had his mask and revolver, along with the gloves, stashed inside his suitcase. He kept wondering whether he ought to take another risk like the two he had previously taken.
He spent Friday night quietly. He chatted with Vince Cantwell for a few minutes in the coaches' room, discussed the prospects for the game the next day, then left.
He tried his best to get a long night's sleep, but did not succeed. He spent much of the time tossing and turning, thinking about whether there would be some young girl out there for him to victimize.
He wondered if he should take another plunge. He had taken two, and had been successful on each occasion, but he was aware that in life, just as in sports, your luck could always run out.
He got to the stadium early the next day. He was a little nervous, wondering just what he would do once he got the opportunity to encounter a young woman.
He watched the Chicago Spartan cheerleaders march on the field with their football team.
He immediately spotted a beautiful young girl with brown hair and huge breasts. He was hypnotized by her, and his cock immediately hardened upon looking at her.
He recognized then just how much these young women meant to him. Maybe he couldn't get hard for his wife, but he could certainly get hard and plenty hot for this beautiful young girl.
He searched in his program for a picture of the Spartan Varsity cheerleaders. He came across one. He observed the beautiful girl with the big breasts crouched in the first row. Her name was Geradline Statler.
Soon the game got underway. Just as Vince Cantwell had predicted, it turned out to be a very close struggle.
The first half ended in a seven to seven tie. The Spartan hopes were high as they held the second rated team in the country to a deadlock after thirty minutes of play.
The second half was every bit as exciting as the first had been.
Things were closely contested all the way. In the middle of the fourth quarter the Spartans kicked a field goal, putting them ahead ten to seven.
For a while, Vern was fearful that his team would absorb its first defeat of the season.
But State launched a comeback late in the game. With only two minutes to play, State's bulky fullback charged through the middle of the line and romped twenty-seven yards to a touchdown.
State ultimately won the contest by a fourteen to ten score.
Just before the game ended, Vern heard an announcement of great interest on the public address system.
It was revealed that friends and alumni of the Chicago Spartans were welcome to attend a cocktail party after the game.
Vern was familiar with the restaurant-bar where the reception would be held. He had been there many times before. Chicago was a city he knew well. At one time he had been assigned to cover major league baseball, and his travels with the local Los Angeles club took him to Chicago.
After the game he went to the dressing room to talk with Coach Cantwell.
When he finished his interview and filed his story, he grabbed a cab back to the hotel.
He quickly visited his room, divesting himself of his typewriter. He then went back downstairs, calling another cab.
This time he went to the bar where the reception was being held.
He hoped that the cheerleaders would be in attendance there, or at least one cheerleader that he was very concerned about meeting.
He stood near the bar and ordered a drink. He looked around the room and observed the beautiful young cheerleader.
His eyes were captivated by those lovely breasts, and he immediately imagined himself playing with them.
The longer he looked at the breasts, the more appealing they became to him.
There were several young men standing around her. He recognized two of them as being Varsity football players.
Suddenly his pulse began to race as he observed her walking toward him. She had an empty glass in her right hand.
She was walking a little unsteadily as she approached the bar. He was standing now only inches removed from her.
He got a good look at her light blue eyes and observed a redness in them from all that she had had to drink.
"Move it, old man, I want to get in there," she said to him gruffly.
The anger he felt for her cut through him like a knife. He hated the way she was talking to him. He had worshiped her from afar, and now she was mocking him from up close.
But he honored her request without so much as a whimper, quickly moving off. He did not want her to get a good look at him.
He decided to remain in the crowded room until Geraldine Statler decided to leave.
He was afraid that she would probably be leaving with several admirers.
By the time she got ready to go, she was so drunk that she could barely stand up.
The two football players had to catch her several times to prevent her from falling.
Finally, she left with the two football players and one other young man.
They walked into the parking lot next to the bar.
Vern walked out the front door, standing in front of the curb and doing his best to flag down a cab. One finally stopped.
"Could you follow that blue Ford pulling out of that parking lot?" Vern asked as he got inside the cab.
"Sure thing, Mack. You a cop or something?" the cab driver asked curiously as he started up the cab.
"No, nothing like that. I'm going to a party over at their place."
"Then why aren't you riding with them?"
"Because it's a surprise party. I'm the uncle of that girl in the front seat."
"Oh, I get it," the cab driver nodded. "You want to see that the poor girl remains alive. With those two apes gaping at her like that, I don't blame you."
"Sure, I've got to look after her."
"You're damned right," the man nodded determinedly.
"I've got three daughters, and I'm pretty protective about them."
"This girl's parents haven't been protective enough," he said. "That's the big problem. But I'm trying to help out in my own way."
"That's good of you, real good of you," the cab driver said.
The car pulled to a stop in front of a dormitory not far from the field where the game had been played earlier that day.
The girl staggered out of the car. The two football players helped her walk toward the door.
"Looks like she's damned drunk," the cab driver shook his head.
"Yeah, she's really tied one on. It's pathetic, isn't it?"
"It's pretty bad when you can't walk a straight line."
He paid the driver, who then said: "Thanks, and good luck."
"Thank you. I need it."
Vern watched the cab drive out of sight. He reached into his pocket and nervously lit a cigarette. He had had the foresight to take along his materials just to be on the safe side.
He knew that he was helpless to do anything until those three young men got their kicks. And there was no telling just how long they would stay inside that dorm.
But she was so beautiful and those breasts excited him to such an extent, that he was willing to wait for quite some time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Vern became so nervous waiting that he smoked four cigarettes.
He walked up and down the deserted street several times, then realized that he was taking a chance of making himself appear all too conspicuous.
So he hid at the side of the building, hoping that the young men would come out soon.
He heard raucous laughter coming from the dorm. Since there was nothing other than peace and quiet in the other dorm, he concluded that there probably weren't many girls around.
As a matter-of-fact, he felt reasonably confident that Geraldine's dorm was the only one that was occupied. Otherwise, she probably would not have been bold enough to take the young men into her room.
It was almost pitch dark by the time that he heard heavy footsteps and laughter.
The three young men came stumbling out the door. One of the football players pushed the other one, causing him to fall to the grass.
The player who had been thrown to the grass quickly jumped up and started chasing the other player. A wrestling match ensued on the lawn.
The third young man stood and laughed, chiding the two football players as they rolled around on the ground.
"You guys are making yourselves look like asses," the third young man said. "You're really looking stupid. You're ruining your clothes, too."
They then quickly released each other, jumping to their feet.
"You know, you're right," one of the players said. "There's no need ruining our clothes."
They got into the car and drove away. Vern watched until they were completely out of sight.
He walked toward the front of the front entrance to the dorms. He slipped inside, looking at the directory on the first floor, which told him that Geraldine lived on the second floor.
He mounted the steps quickly, walking toward her room.
He was surprised to see the door to her room partially open.
He wondered what he ought to do. He wondered if he should knock anyway, or whether he should just walk in.
He debated both possibilities. He wondered if he might supply her with too traumatic a shock if he just walked inside. But after thinking about the revolver that he had and could employ, he decided that it would be wise to burst in on her.
He put on his mask and placed his gloves on his hands. He then took out his revolver.
He walked inside the door, looking around as he entered the living room. "Anyone here?" he asked.
He was unable to find a soul. He then walked into the bedroom.
He observed Geraldine lying face down on the bed. She was totally nude and there was a thick stench of marijuana cigarettes pervasive in the tiny room.
He stood over the edge of the bed and observed that she was fast asleep.
"Asleep, baby?" he reached over and ran his fingers over her shimmering brown hair.
All the while his eyes were darting up and down her beautiful form. He loved the way that her ass-cheeks were shaped. They were firm and fully packed. He wanted to reach out and touch those globes of white flesh. He knew that they would be like hot pokers in his hands.
He continued to observe her as he ran his fingers through her hair. It was amazing just how lucky he had been to be able to come upon her just like this.
She gave every indication of a girl who had been fucked a good many times. He was sure that the three hot studs who had just fled her dorm had received more than their share of kicks.
He wanted to wake her up, to get his own show on the road. As for his prick, it was throbbing with passionate excitement, ready to move into brisk action.
"Wake up, little Susie," he laughed.
Geraldine began shaking her head.
"Go away, you guys," she yawned. "You got your screw."
"This is a new guy," he whispered.
She turned suddenly and blinked her eyes wide open. When she observed him standing there, mask and all, her mouth flew open.
"You sonofabitch, who are you?" she asked.
Before he had an opportunity to answer her question, she reached out and delivered a solid backhanded slap which caught him on the upper lip.
She stung him enough to where he staggered backwards several paces. In addition, she cut his lip.
He recovered in time to realize how important it was to put forward a brisk counter-assault.
He reached out with the revolver and clobbered her along the side of the head with it.
The blow caught her on the left side, adjacent to the temple.
She fell backwards and landed with a thud toward the end of the bed. She rolled over several times in agony.
"Oh, you're hurting me, hurting me," she shrieked.
"Shut up or I'll kill you," he shot back.
He did not know that they were alone. It appeared that the other dorms were empty, but he couldn't be sure.
Even assuming that to be the case, all it would take would be a little bit of noise in order to startle somebody somewhere in the neighborhood.
She shook her head and moved her hands from her face. She had thrown them up protectively after he landed his stunning blow.
He observed the blood trickling down the side of her face.
"You got what you deserved, and if you don't listen to me you're going to get that pretty head of yours blown off," he said tersely.
"Help, help," she shrieked.
He reached out and caught her with a stiff left hook. The clenched fist landed against her jaw, causing her to lapse into unconsciousness.
Now that she was lying there in bed as stiff as a board, he realized that he would have to act fast.
He immediately observed the swelling that had formed at her jaw where he had slugged her.
He decided that the only safe thing to do would be to gag her. Otherwise she would be more than--likely to shout one more time. He did not want to kill her, at least not before having some sexual satisfaction derived from her.
He observed a pillow lying on the floor. He took a look at it and observed that it was wet with male sperm.
He removed the case from the pillow, then proceeded to gag her with it. He tied it around her and stuffed some of it inside her mouth.
"That will fix you, you bitch," he said, as she began to gag on it.
He reached out with his finger and touched his lip daintily. And he observed the blood on his finger, it made him all the madder. He did not like being slugged by this young girl.
She had a strange and wild look in her eyes. He remembered how she had called him an old man at the reception. That caused him to become even more incensed.
"You wiseass little slut," he said, holding the revolver on her menacingly. "Do you know that I can kill you any time I feel like it?"
He watched as she nodded.
"You're damned right I can," he said. "And I'm not afraid to try it either. Do you think I'm afraid to try it?"
He watched as she shook her head "no" emphatically.
"Maybe you're starting to wise up now that I've taught you a little lesson," he chuckled.
He was happy that she was already naked. Now he had her just like he wanted her. She was naked and subservient, forced to do anything he sought to force upon her.
He quickly unzipped his trousers. As he pulled out his pecker, he realized that it was necessary for him to release some liquid from it.
He had had several cokes to drink during the course of the game. It had been so closely contested and exciting that he had become thirsty, hence resulting in his drinking more cokes than usual.
On top of the cokes he had consumed at the game, he had had several drinks during the reception.
He felt the strong desire to urinate, and simultaneously was experiencing great hostility within him concerning his victim.
He desired to teach her a lesson. He wanted to humiliate her, to show her just how low she really was and how elevated a plateau he currently occupied.
As she lay there helplessly, watching him with great concern, he tilted his body so that his cock rested just above her head.
At that point he allowed the hot yellow urine to stream out of the end of his long dick.
The voluminous spray hit her on the face, rolling down both sides and hitting the bed.
She gagged and coughed as the hot trickly stream made contact with her face.
"That's all you're worth, you bitch, you're worth piss, you little slut," he said. "Sure, you had three guys in here, and they all did a great job of banging you, you can be sure of that. Well, I'll bet they didn't have the guts to piss on you. But I sure as hell do."
It gave him great satisfaction to urinate on her. It made him even happier that he was unleashing a huge stream of the warm liquid.
Now that he had humiliated her once, he longed to do it again.
His heart was pumping with great anxiety. He. had plenty more in the works for this helpless victim who lay on the bed.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette lighter. He kept thinking about how nasty she had been to him at the reception. He was out to show her that she couldn't treat men that way. At least she couldn't treat him in that manner.
He pushed down on the cigarette lighter and flames erupted.
He shoved the lighter downwards toward her breasts. They were big and beautiful.
"I'll bet you think a lot of these tits," he laughed.
She began to struggle, so he reached out and placed the gun against her forehead. That convinced her that it would be futile to struggle any longer.
She painfully endured the torture of the hot cigarette lighter's fires against her breasts.
He burned her nipples, smiling all the while.
"Now you don't feel so smart, I'll bet," he laughed. "I guess you're finding out the hard way that you're not as smart as you thought you were."
He did not realize just how turned on he could get from exerting pain until he actually did it.
There was something about letting the hot fires of that cigarette lighter come into contact with her nipples that really turned him on.
He got so hot while applying it to her tits that he almost orgasmed several times. It was a magnificent thrill, one that got him all the hotter for sex with her.
But he would have to keep hurting her in order to exert his passions to the fullest.
He began thinking about ways to fuck her. Since he had her gagged, he could not throat fuck her. Of course, he thought, he could always release the gag from her mouth. But that would be too big a risk, considering all the noise that she had made previously on those occasions when she had had the opportunity.
No, he thought, the thing to do would be to sodomize her. He wondered if her hot, well constructed ass had ever had a hot dick shoved inside it.
His fingers reached out and began exploring the smooth crevices of her buttocks flesh.
"You've really got yourself a nice ass, you little slut," he said. "I wonder if your boyfriends ever fuck you that way. Do they ever ram their hot dicks up your rectum?"
She shook her head "No."
"My, oh my, and I'll bet they think they're swingers," he laughed derisively. "It just goes to show you that these young punks who think they know everything don't know nearly as much as they think they do."
The longer he allowed his fingers to explore those hot crevices of flesh, the hotter he became.
He looked down between his legs and observed his huge cock standing practically on end. It could not possibly be harder.
He thought about his wife and the way she had castigated him for not being able to get hard enough for her.
Well, he thought, maybe he couldn't get hard enough for Sally, but there was certainly no problem in getting hot for beautiful Geraldine.
"Sure, I'll fuck you like you've never been fucked before," he bragged.
He reached out and pinched her left buttock, causing her body to squirm slightly.
"That's just a sample of what's coming up," he told her sternly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Geraldine had never been exposed to such a nightmare.
Her body was sore all over, but the pain was centralized in her nipples, where he had so crudely burned her with his cigarette lighter.
Now he was infatuated with her ass-hole. He wanted to pour his hot penis inside it relentlessly. He wanted to hurt her some more.
His heart thundered with erotic stimulation. The madder he got at her and the harder his dick became, the more eager he was to shoot his rocks off inside her ass.
"You sure do have a cute ass," he laughed.
He reached down and pinched her ass-cheeks. He let his fingers clench the skin until she once more started to squirm with pain.
"You really are a big baby," he laughed. "You just can't take it, can you? All I've got to do is apply a little pressure and you look like you're ready to fold. I don't think your hot stud friends that just left here would be proud of you if they saw you like this, would they?"
It gave him a feeling of satisfaction to mention her three boyfriends. He knew that he was doing things to her that they would never dream of even trying. That gave him a feeling of satisfaction, one of knowing that he would carry things just as far as he could, do things that young guys never would think of trying.
He continued to clench his fingers tightly around her ass-cheeks. He looked down at his hard dick, knowing just how eager it was to make contact with her anus.
He observed the tight ass crack, and realized that it was time to shove his cock forward inside it.
"Oh, I've just got to fuck you now," he said. "I'm going to drive this pecker right in there, baby, I'm going to fuck the hell out of that hot ass-hole."
As she lay there helplessly, he shoved his rigid prong forward, letting it make contact inside her ass.
She quivered once more with pain. He allowed his fingers to continue squeezing her ass-cheeks while his body bolted back and forth eagerly, supplying her with tremendous pain in the form of his piercing stabs.
He started out at a slow level, pushing the prick in and out of her with caution.
He was cautious only because he wanted to develop his own tempo, to let things build at a gradual level.
On top of that, he had not done very much in the way of sodomizing in his entire life. His wife, in the early stages of their relationship, had permitted him to do it to her a few times, but it was still the exception rather than the rule, and as a result, he was guiding himself at a gradual level.
He finally tired of letting his fingers come into steady contact with her ass-cheeks. He moved them upward toward her breasts, which he skillfully fondled with his fingers.
He liked the size of those huge boobs which he had admired from the very beginning. It was the size of her breasts which had first attracted him in the first place.
Now he still felt that strong attraction, only it was accompanied by a brisk anger. He was determined to show her who was boss at any and all cost.
He reached out and clenched his fingers, letting them pinch against her breasts. That hurt her a great deal, since the breasts were sore from where he had burned them.
She gasped and squirmed as he ran his fingers over them.
"Hang on there, bitch, you stop that squirming or you're gonna get shot," he said, keeping his revolver poised.
Her body went limp at that point. She knew that she couldn't even give vent to her feelings of pain.
And while she continued to feel pain her breasts, she was feeling it in her anus as he continued directing his hot stabs high inside her ass-hole.
He had started out slowly enough, but now he was slamming his prick into her at a speedy, relentless clip.
Back and forth that hot pecker manipulated itself, pushing even higher inside her ass-hole.
"Ah, you've really got a tight ass," he said. "Boy, is it ever tight in there. Do I ever like it, do I ever love shoving my hot dick into it, this is really something, I really like this kind of action, oh, I love it, just love it."
His fingers continued gripping her breasts tightly as his prick drove spiritedly inside her anus.
Back and forth he maneuvered that dick as he pushed that much closer toward climax.
As he drew closer to the big moment, he now was beginning to feel the hot erotic pre-orgasm sensations throughout his entire body.
He felt those sensations in particular in his cock and balls. His balls were inflating with great passionate zeal, and he felt tremendous stimulation at the very tip of his dick, which meant that he was not all that far from orgasm.
"Nice, this is real nice," he gasped, continuing to shove that hot prick inside her anus.
The faster and sharper he drove that rod into her, the more it hurt her.
The pain was great inside her ass-hole, and he wasn't about to let up for one second. He wasn't about to stop until he exploded his juices inside her.
"I'm gonna fuck you till I shoot my rocks off," he said. "I'm gonna keep driving this thing in there until I explode. That's not far away, it's gonna happen pretty fast, real fast. Oh, I really love this, oh, this is great, this is fantastic fucking, I really love plunging this pecker into you, I'm gonna keep on plunging it till I shoot off these rocks."
Back and forth he kept on relentlessly plunging, moving that dagger even deeper inside her anus.
Now he was shoving it into the hilt, plunging that huge rod as deeply into her as he was physically able to.
All the while he pushed himself that much closer to orgasm. He was beginning to feel that strange itch at the end of his cock, at the very tip of it, that he always felt prior to the time that he was ready to explode.
The itch in turn circulated throughout the remainder of his cock area. It focused in his balls as well. The itch was great as he kept on pushing and plunging that huge pecker inside her ass-hole.
With each effective, darting stab, he found himself joined that much closer to the big moment.
"Hang on, baby, because I'm going to shoot it all off inside you," he said.
He released his fingers from her breasts and placed them once more around her ass-cheeks. He pinched her buttocks, precipitating within her as he continued stabbing her ass-hole.
"Yeah, I'm really going to town now, I'm really fucking you," he laughed. "I'm going to keep fucking you, I'm going to keep screwing you, I'm going to keep firing that prick away until I shoot off my rocks inside your ass-hole. What a cute ass-hole you've got, what a tight one you've got, it's just made for my style of fucking, it's just made for me, I dig it, I really do, I really dig it, and I'm going to shoot off my rocks inside you."
He kept on thrusting. With each succeeding thrust, he drew that much closer to the big moment that he was awaiting.
As for Geraldine, she was hoping that he would soon explode, since it was the only way that she would ever see the pain subside. She wanted to be able to enjoy life again, something that could not be reconciled with the conduct to which she was being subjected. As long as this madman remained in her life, she thought, it really wasn't worth anything.
She was also keenly aware of the gun that he held. Maybe she had been stupid in the beginning, when she was still under the influence of the drinks and the marijuana, but since she wised up somewhat. She now knew that he would kill her if he thought that such an act was necessary.
Now he was gasping and sputtering as he moved into the final stages of his screw.
His rigid prong moved sharply inside her ass-hole as he kept on driving himself forward in a spirited fashion.
The sharper and more intensely he drove that pecker into her, the greater the thrill it gave him.
Now the only thing that was left was the orgasm itself. He had already proven to himself what a hot stud he could be, when it came to shoving his dick around inside a woman.
"O.K., here it comes, I'm going to explode in just a few seconds," he said.
He released his fingers from her ass-cheeks and delivered open handed slaps in the direction of her buttocks.
He did it swiftly and repeatedly, causing her ass-cheeks to redden and feel pain.
He was hurting her, and he was enjoying it. Every time that his fingers cracked against her warm smooth skin, it made him that much hotter and drove him that much closer to orgasm.
"O.K., get ready, oh, here it comes," he gasped. "Oh, I'm shooting, I'm shooting, my rocks are hot and bothered, oh, here comes the juice, here it comes, oh, oh, oh."
He watched the hot white jissum spurt out of the end of his big dick and into her ass-hole.
A big smile surfaced on his lips as he dispelled his hot stored up juices.
A peaceful feeling of contentment came over him now that the orgasm had been completed.
He released his dick from her anus, looking down at her. She was still lying there very helpless.
"That was quite a fuck I just gave you," he sighed, "and I hope you're smart enough to realize that."
He got up from the bed and paced back and forth several times.
As he looked down at her, he once more became angry. He thought again of how she had treated him at that reception. She had called him an old man, and he had been determined afterwards to prove to her that he was anything but old.
Now that he had exploded inside her once, he wondered if he might not be able to orgasm a second time.
The angrier he got, the hotter he also seemed to get. Soon that prick of his was standing almost as tall as it had before he exploded inside her anus.
He reached down and began stroking it proudly with his right hand.
When Geraldine observed him running his fingers over his dick, she became distressed. She had hoped that, after he had experienced an orgasm, that he would leave her alone. But now it appeared that he was ready to go back for more in the way of sexual satisfaction.
"This is a pretty damned good cock," he looked at her with vengeance in his eyes, "and you'd just better not forget it."
He was determined to leave an imprint on her as to his being a great stud. He wanted to let her know that he could keep up with her young friends or anyone else in the art of screwing.
He also experienced a desire to humiliate her. He had experienced a great measure of satisfaction in exploding his dick inside her ass-hole. Now he wanted to receive action of another type. He wanted to both explode his dick and display contempt toward her at the same time.
A thought flashed into his mind. He came up with the perfect act, one that would supply him with a measure of satisfaction and enable him to shoot off his rocks, but one which at the same time would provide great humiliation for his victim.
He walked over and stood at the side of the bed. He jerked at his cock frantically, leaning over and positioning it just above her head.
"Think I'll splash my prick juice in your face," he laughed.
Geraldine thought that he was kidding. She was certain that he would find another way to get his rocks off before it was time to explode those juices out of the end of his rod.
She watched him with great concern, however, as he kept on jacking off frantically. His prick was hard and excited as he manipulated it with his searing fingers.
The faster he worked his fingers over his dick, the closer he got to orgasm.
"Just look at that prick, will you?" he laughed. "Just look at how hard it is. Just look at how much sensation it can feel."
He kept on jerking diligently on that hard prick. The longer he moved those fingers around it, the closer he drew toward the big moment of climax.
He was determined to satisfy himself to the very limit.
"Here it comes, catch my juice," he laughed.
A few seconds later, the hot white juice shot out of the end of his stick.
It landed on her face, splattering all over it.
"How do you like that?" he laughed.
Orgasming in her face had been the final act of humiliation for her, and it made him in some ways even happier than the orgasm inside her ass had.
He quickly zipped up his trousers.
"O.K., you little tramp, roll over and lie on your stomach," he commanded sharply.
She did exactly as he commanded her.
"Now close those eyes and keep them closed," he said. "That's it, that's being a good girl. Keep in that same position for the next fifteen minutes. You cross me, baby, and you'll be a dead girl."
He moved backwards slowly, observing her every step of the way.
He moved stealthily towards the front door. He checked the premises outside. Upon observing that there was no one around, he took off his mask and gloves, slipping them into his pocket. He then put his revolver away.
A few moments later he was on the street.
He walked several blocks, then decided that he needed a drink.
He just happened to see a bar in the next block.
"That looks great," he said to himself.
He walked inside the bar and ordered a Scotch.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was a chilly mid-October morning in Washington, D.C.
The wind was brisk and F.B.I. Agent Chuck Hansen was more than happy to leave the chilliness of the outdoors and move into his office.
After thumbing through some reports, he went into the anteroom adjoining his office for a look at the giant computer that he spent so much of his time sifting facts out of.
The huge machine was something that the newer agents related to with a certain amount of diffidence, and a number of the older agents resented based upon an unwillingness to believe that a simple machine could deal in cold and often brutal world of federal investigation.
He sipped a cup of black coffee and removed some paper from the machine.
An item of interest suddenly overtook him. A crime had been reported from Chicago. A girl had been brutally raped and beaten in a dorm.
He scratched his head and his eyes lit up with instant recognition. He nodded his head, then walked briskly with the paper in hand back into his office.
He ran through his files of the past few weeks, allowing his fingers to rifle through sheaves of paper.
He then quickly uncovered another crime of an identical nature which had taken place in Denver, Colorado.
"There's one more, I'm sure of it," he said to himself.
He kept going back through the papers, finally arriving at the one last tidbit of information that he felt had been eluding him.
"That's it, I knew there was another one," he nodded.
He read carefully the police report of the attack of Sherry Roberts in New Orleans.
As he studied the three reports, he concluded that there was no room for coincidence. All three of the girls had been cheerleaders, and every one of them had been attacked by a man who was wearing a mask and held a revolver on them.
No, he thought, one couldn't chalk all of that up to coincidence. There had to be something of a common design in mind. There had to be a madman loose who picked on young cheerleaders.
He jumped up from his desk, armed with the information in question, and crossed the hall into the office of fellow agent Steve Keasey.
Keasey was a close working confidante of Hansen's. He had expressed a great deal of skepticism concerning the huge computer after it had been installed. He had argued with Chuck many times concerning its ability to assist the agents. But now Chuck had been given an enormous assist by it. He had read the report of the latest episode, which had immediately triggered his chain of consciousness. He recalled the other two identical incidents.
"I've got something here that's very interesting," Chuck said as he stepped into Steve's office.
Steve had also been rummaging through some papers. He took a gulp from his coffee cup, then looked up at Chuck.
"Still playing games with that machine?" he asked.
"You think that it just gives us too much paperwork, that it bogs us down too much, right?"
"I think so. We get bogged down in too much trivia. After all, you can't hope to investigate and relate to all those isolated facts from all those different communities. Most of those cases that that machine ferrets out are nothing more than clear cut local problems. We're a federal agency, my friend."
"Yes, but sometimes there's an overlap."
"An overlap?"
"I mean that when a guy does the same thing in two States, it suddenly becomes a federal problem, doesn't it?"
"Yes, give me credit for knowing that much after fifteen years in the F.B.I."
"Well, I'm onto something, old buddy, I really am."
"So tell me all about it," Steve leaned back in his chair. "Don't just wave those papers at me, let's have some facts."
"O.K., you're on. First, a girl is attacked and raped in her New Orleans apartment. She's a cheerleader at New Orleans Tech, and her attacker holds a revolver on her and wears a mask."
"O.K., so where's the federal question involved?" a still skeptical Steve Keasey asked.
"I'm coming to that. A few weeks later the same thing happens in Denver to a girl who's a cheerleader from Denver Mines."
"That still doesn't have to mean anything. After all, cheerleaders are young and pretty. That makes them vulnerable to sex nuts."
"O.K., so this guy has a revolver and wears a mask just like the guy who raped the first girl. You're still willing to chalk everything up to coincidence?"
"I'll admit. That does sound a bit more conclusive."
"So try this on for size, Steve. The same thing happened Saturday to a girl in Chicago."
"A cheerleader?"
"Yes, a cheerleader. And the guy who did it was wearing a mask and carried a revolver."
"Now that is something," he nodded. "But something like this is as difficult as hell to deal with. What can we do about it?"
"About all I can think of, at least in the beginning, is to issue a bulletin to the agents in all the big cities. The places where the big universities are located. Every one of these girls was a cheerleader for a major university."
"Better just send out a blanket report to all of our agencies," Steve said. "He could always hit a small college just as easy as a big one. We don't want to take any chances."
"I guess you're right there."
"But we're still helpless to really deal with this problem, at least at this stage of the game. Who knows where and when a guy like this will strike again?"
"It's one of the most mysterious things I've ever come into contact with," Chuck shook his head. "I mean, I saw the first report and didn't think much of it. like you, I figured it was strictly a local question, and there was no need for us to get involved. The second time it happened, I thought that maybe I'd seen something like that before, but I read so many of these reports during the course of a week that I often think that I've seen things twice when I really haven't. So I didn't think too much of it then. But when it happened a third time, there was just no mistaking the fact that there was a pattern involved."
"It certainly appears that there is," Steve Keasey got up from the chair and paced back and forth. He took out a cigarette and lit it, drawing a long reflective puff.
"It sure makes you feel funny when you're that hopeless to deal with something," Chuck said.
"The very thing I've been thinking."
"I mean, when there're so many colleges around, just how do you figure it? There's got to be some kind of a common denominator linking all of these crimes, but just where and how do you look?"
"That's what I'm racking my damned brain trying to think of," Steve said. "There just aren't any easy answers at all."
"Of course, if the answers were all that easy, you know where that would leave us, don't you?"
"I sure do. Out of a job."
"That's right, friend. We're paid to solve the hard ones, not the easy ones."
Steve looked out the window of his office, then sat back down at his desk.
"There's one thing we can do," he said.
"I'm open to suggestions," Chuck said.
"We can call up the police departments in New Orleans, Denver and Chicago. And we can have agents in those areas do a little digging for us."
"Yes, I'll take care of that right now," Chuck said. "Good idea."
"But I have a hunch that there's not going to be that much information for us, other than what we've already got."
"I hate to say it, but I fear the same thing. This is a real flabbergasting deal."
"But we'd better give it a try."
"Certainly we'd better. It's our only chance right now."
Chuck walked back into his office. He made the calls in question to the police departments.
The officers he talked to were unable to shed any more light than what he had already received from the reports.
The one thing that all three of them had agreed upon, however, was that the perpetrator of the attacks was a very brutal man who thought nothing of beating up women.
Chuck Hansen knew that he was dealing with some kind of beast. And the fact that the situation was so perplexing grated on his nerves.
A best like that, he thought, just had to be caught. For all hew knew, the guy would use that revolver on one of his future victims.
But when a person struck in cities as geographically disparate as New Orleans, Denver, and Chicago, there was just no way to establish a trend.
At the very least, Chuck thought, he wished that the guy would remain in one place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
While Chuck Hansen and Steve Keasey desperately sought new clues to link them to the mad rapist who had been attacking cheerleaders, Vern moved from one frustration to another in his home life.
The situation between him and his wife Sally was rapidly deteriorating from bad to worse.
Sally was going out more frequently and enjoying it all the more. She would antagonize him upon coming home by relating to him the intricate details of her lovemaking for the evening.
"He's much better man than you are, with your limp as a rag prick," she would chide him time and again.
He began to feel smaller than a wart, and the more depressed he became, the more disposed he was toward staying away from home.
Several times in bars in the Santa Monica area, he attempted to get acquainted with women, hoping to succeed in the same domain wherein his wife was-that of picking up strangers and having sex with them.
In his case, however, the results were nonexistent. He found himself unable to make a rapport.
He found himself very shy and unable to steer the conversation. Generally, the women would get bored and either leave the bar, or start talking to somebody else. In either event, his ego would be greatly piqued.
Vern was so upset about his home life that he wasn't even enjoying the football season as he normally would have otherwise.
State was moving into its final game of the regular season with the championship of the league at stake.
State remained undefeated and untied, and was rated number one in the country. Harvey University was supplying the opposition in that final game, and a capacity crowd was expected at the stadium to witness it.
Under ordinary circumstances, Vern would be waiting with ecstatic anticipation for such a contest, but instead he felt dejected, since his football team might have been winning battles on the field, but he was losing the war at home.
His team had made two more forays out of Los Angeles. During those occasions, he had taken his mask, revolver, and other pertinent equipment with him. But each time he had been unable to make contact.
On one occasion in Indianapolis, he had followed a beautiful young cheerleader up to the house where she had lived. But a party ensued which lasted until late in the evening. Since he had an early plane to catch out of the city with the team, he couldn't wait around for it to end.
On the second occasion, in Pittsburgh, Vern had only a few hours following the game to make his move, since the plane was slated to pull out that same evening after the game had been played. The girl's boyfriend had taken her home, and after a disgusting wait of some two hours outside her apartment, Vern had been forced to disappointedly leave.
Now his cock and balls were on the verge of erupting. He couldn't form a rapport with his wife either psychically or physically, so he knew there was no need for him to jump into bed with her. He was certain that, as had been happening so frequently lately, his cock would remain totally limp.
But away from her, he knew that there was much of the young stud in him. He wanted to bring that side of him to the fore once more.
He got to thinking about the beautiful local cheerleaders that he had watched going through the paces all season long.
He recalled that one of the members of the Globe sportswriting staff had even done a story on the State cheerleaders, maintaining that they were among the most beautiful of those at any school in the country.
The more he thought about that article, the more eager he became to go back and read it.
He made a trip up the library of the newspaper late on a lazy Friday afternoon. It was the day before the big game with Harvey, and the sports department was somewhat dead, in that all of the stories had been filed for the next edition.
He kept systematically thumbing through old copies of the paper. He finally arrived at the story in question, which had been written in the middle of September as the football season was just getting underway.
He closely surveyed a picture of the cheerleaders. They looked lovely in heir short skirts and radiant sweaters.
He looked up and down the line several times, wondering which girl he would prefer if he had a choice.
His eyes finally came to rest on a honey blonde. He recalled having seen her many times, and she had fascinated him. But he had always stayed clear of getting involved sexually so close to home. He preferred finding his rape episodes in cities in other parts of the country.
But the longer he looked at his beautiful honey blonde, the more aroused he became. He kept thinking it was the end of the season anyway, so this might be the perfect way to cap the season in a blaze of glory.
He was convinced that, by the time the next football campaign dawned, he would have his problem ironed out, whether that meant divorcing his wife or whatever. But he felt he would not be dominated by the compulsion which now circulated through him, that of hungrily desiring the bodies of young cheerleaders.
Jane Glass was her name, and he kept repeating it over and over to himself as he left the library. He felt both a measure of contentment and anticipation. He was contented because he had finally decided on a course of action, and was anxious in anticipating what he hoped would be a satisfying conquest.
He was hopeful that somehow he could make contact with her. One thing was for certain. He did not have to do it immediately after the game, just as long as he was able to find out where she lived.
The following day, the day of the game, started in a difficult fashion for Vern. His wife began castigating him once more over his anxiety concerning football.
"You're just a little boy who'll never grow up," she shook her head as she cleared the table away following breakfast.
"You sound like a broken record," he said, looking up from the sports page.
"You're so unsubtle that I feel I have to repeat myself."
"You're the one who's being unsubtle. Believe me, even if my memory was the worst in the history of mankind, which it certainly isn't, I would have the point by now."
"If you had the point, you'd act on it. You haven't acted at all. You've just gone sailing along, staying within your realm of fun and games."
"It isn't just fun and games. It's a living."
"Yeah, and look at where some of your fellow graduates from State have gone. Doctors, lawyers, prosperous businessmen. And where are you? The big all American football player is still reliving his moments on the gridiron."
"Now that isn't true," he said angrily, stung by her remark. "I'm making a good living as a sports writer and I'm pretty well known within this community. Just because you don't think anything of it, and just because you knock me all the time, doesn't mean that everybody does."
"I guess you're right."
"Certainly I'm right," he said, a bit startled that she had agreed with him.
"But, then again," she smiled sadistically, "they're not married to you either, I am."
At that point he jumped up from the chair and stalked angrily out of the room.
He left for the stadium without saying another word to her.
The game was the most exciting one of the season for State. It was not decided until the final minute of play, when State's place kicker booted a long field goal to break a fourteen to fourteen tie.
The State rooting section tore into bedlam after the field goal was kicked, and the game and the championship was decided.
Vern watched closely the reactions of the cheerleaders. He observed Jane Glass bouncing around on her toes. As her skirt pulled up, he got a good look at her panties.
His prick immediately turned to concrete. He knew just how badly he needed her.
Following the game he finished his story as quickly as possible.
Rather than going down to the dressing room, as was his normal custom, Vern decided to hang around outside the entrance to the dressing room and see if the State cheerleaders would emerge.
Sure enough, they did, with Jane Glass among them. He stood not far away, making himself inconspicuous, yet remaining close enough to them to where he could get a good look at Jane.
The longer he surveyed her young, beautiful body, the more carried away he got.
As the State football players began filing out of the dressing room, hoards of children descended upon them, seeking autographs.
When State's all American center, Randy Brown, left the dressing room, he signed a few autographs then broke away, looking through the crowd.
Jane Glass was rushing forward to meet him. She planted a kiss on the lips of the big center. He grinned broadly, took her by the arm, and led her through the milling throngs of happy State grid fans.
Vern walked behind, his typewriter in hand, as Randy Brown and his lovely girlfriend Jane headed towards the parking lot.
Vern smiled over what appeared to be a favorable twist of fate. His car was parked in the same area. Just maybe he could follow them and find out where Jane lived.
He knew he had to be careful, since otherwise he would arouse suspicion. But they both appeared to be carried away with the spirit of victory and the presence of each other. He could tell by the way that Randy looked into Jane's eyes and she looked into his, that they felt strongly toward each other.
Randy got into an old Ford and started it up, driving out of the lot.
Since Vern was parked one lot removed from where Randy had parked his car, the football player got a half a block head start.
Since the traffic had slowed up somewhat in the better than an hour since the game ended, he did not have as much difficulty catching up with Randy as he thought he would.
He followed not far behind, turning every time that Randy did.
The football star brought the car to a halt at the curb of an apartment section some two miles from the university.
He got out and opened the car door on Jane's side. She got out of the car and accompanied him inside the building.
Vern parked just down the street, wondering what would happen. Since he had brought his equipment with him, he was hopeful that Randy would leave the apartment, enabling him an opportunity to receive the kicks that he needed.
But that did not happen. Some twenty minutes after they had gotten out of the car, they emerged from the apartment walking hand in hand toward the car.
Now Jane was clad in a blouse and purple mini skirt, looking absolutely lovely. His cock throbbed eagerly as he watched her get back into Randy's car.
He decided not to follow them any more. He was certain that Randy would be dominating the rest of her afternoon, as well as her evening. It was too risky to attempt to intervene at that point.
He knew that they had a lot of celebrating to do, and his guess was that Randy was taking her to a victory party. He recalled the many victory parties that he had attended while a member of the State University Varsity.
He jotted down her address on a piece of paper. He would strike as early as possible perhaps the next day.
He knew one thing for sure. He needed her badly. His throbbing cock was definite proof of that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was a warm and rather lazy Sunday afternoon as Vern drove toward Jane's apartment.
The more he thought about her dancing around on the football field, revealing her beautiful form, the more turned on he became at the prospect of sex.
He pulled his car to a stop just outside the apartment building where she lived. His eyes searched both sides of the street, looking for Randy's car. When he was unable to locate it, a smile surfaced on his lips.
"If she's only at home now, maybe this will be my lucky day," he said to himself as he got out of his car, his anxious penis throbbing.
He entered the building, observing the directory closely and discovering that Jane lived on the first floor.
He knew that he had to play things cautiously, and scare her at the very outset. If he did not, he could easily get into trouble.
He looked around as he stood in front of her apartment. After observing no one in either direction, he slipped on his mask, his gloves, and took out his revolver.
He knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" he heard her voice call from the distance.
"Special delivery," he called back.
"Oh, you can slip it in the door if you like."
"Very well."
She had told him all that he needed to know. The door was open. He held the revolver extended outward as he opened the door cautiously and strode slowly inside the apartment. His major concern was that of somebody else being there.
He walked slowly through the living room. He observed no one there.
He continued walking until he reached the hall.
"Hello, is there someone in here?" he heard her voice call out again.
He immediately walked toward the room where the sounds were coming from. It was her bedroom and she was standing at the door investigating.
A textbook was opened on her bed, and she had been stretched out on the bed reading it. Soft music played in the background to supply her with soothing accompaniment in her study efforts.
He walked toward her and she got a look at him in his mask. She then observed the revolver and gulped. She wanted to cry out, but was afraid to for fear that he would shoot her on the spot.
"Who are you?" she asked in a soft, hesitant voice.
"Wouldn't you like to know. Let's just say that
I am an admirer."
"What are you here for?"
"Silly, silly girl," he laughed, continuing to hold the gun on her steadily.
At that point he surveyed her body closely. She was dressed in a white blouse and a pair of cream shorts. She was barefooted. Jane had been reclining on the bed and studying, and had been jolted out of her tranquil frame of mind by this man's sudden entrance.
"Please don't hurt me," she said.
"Get those clothes off."
"What kind of a beast are you?" she looked at him sternly. "Shut up."
He reached out with the gun and allowed it to make contact with the side of her face. The impact of the blow knocked her backwards, where she fell to the floor.
"That will teach you that I'm not putting up with any guff," he said.
"My boyfriend's an all-American football player, and he'll absolutely kill you if you do anything to me," she sobbed, wiping blood off of her lips which had been cut as a result of the blow.
"Don't be telling me about anything like that," he said angrily. "I don't want to hear about any other man. I just want to drink in your beauty, baby. Now get up from that floor and take off those clothes. You're lucky I only swatted you in the face. I could have blown your pretty little brains out. But you can serve a purpose for me. My hot cock needs action and you're just the girl who can supply it."
She got up slowly from the floor. She remained in something of a daze from the terrible blow that he had landed.
She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, taking it off.
"Now that's more like it, now you're behaving yourself," he laughed.
As she undid her bra and dropped it to the floor, his eyes practically popped out with excitement.
She had beautiful flowing breasts, and when he got a good look at those firm nipples, he longed to make contact with them.
"O.K., so far so good," he said. "Now finish the job, baby, I want you take off those shorts too. I want to see everything, especially that cute little pussy of yours. I'll bet it's real gorgeous with those nice golden pussy hairs and all."
"Look, I'm just an inexperienced kid," she said. "Wouldn't you rather have sex with a more mature woman?"
"No, I'd rather have it with you," he said. "And don't try and pull any of that innocent little girl stuff on me. I suppose that this big stud football player you were telling me about has been preserving your virginity for you."
"You have a very foul mind," she shook her head.
"I have a very realistic mind. Come off it, you're just as much a little bitch as anybody else. I'll bet he bangs you every which way. I'll bet there isn't a position he hasn't tried on you.
"It's sickening to hear you talk this way."
"Then let's stop talking," he told her a little gruffly. "I didn't come here to talk anyway. I came here to fuck you, and the sooner that I get what I want, the better it will be for you. If I don't get what I want, it's going to be curtains for you. It's just that simple, baby."
He watched with great interest as-she removed her shorts, allowing them to wiggle down her hips.
As she stepped out of them, he observed her silky panties. His eyes were fastened on them.
"Now finish the job," he said.
Without saying a word, she slipped the panties down her legs. Once she stepped out of them, he got an opportunity to look at her cunt.
He observed those golden hairs that he had reflected on even before seeing them. A big smile surfaced on his lips. He observed her red vaginal walls, and looked forward to coming into contact with her snatch.
"O.K., now stretch out on that bed," he said, "and I'll just give you one last warning. No more funny business of any kind. You only hurt yourself when you hand me a lot of verbal static. Now just lie there on your back and let me take care of everything."
She regretted doing what he requested, but saw no other way out. He watched as she eased her body inside the bed, clearing her book away and placing it on a table not far away.
She lay there on her back, her body trembling with great nervousness. She wondered just how far this madman would go to please his own jaded senses.
As he held the revolver steadily in place, he reached down with his left hand and allowed his fingers to run up and down her thighs.
"Very rich, very creamy," he nodded. "You sure do have a beautiful set of legs, baby. I'll bet the football player really digs you. I'll bet he's done it to you every which way. If he hasn't, then he's a damned big fool."
After spending several minutes running his fingers over her thighs, he put them to work on her snatch.
He ran his fingers over her gnarled pussy hairs, then permitted them to work their way eagerly around her snatch.
"I love this pussy," he exclaimed. "I'm just sorry I didn't get acquainted with it before."
He played with her snatch until his cock got so hard and erotically carried away that he had to do something about it immediately.
He withdrew his fingers from her pussy and quickly unzipped his trousers, taking out his hard, rigid dick.
"Just get a look at the size of this cock," he said proudly as he took it out and stroked it several times. "I'll bet this is every bit as big as the one your football player friend has. And I'll bet that it's able to do things he hasn't even done. Sure, like I said, he's probably done it every conceivable way, I mean as far as positions are concerned. But there are things that I would do to you that he probably wouldn't even think of doing. You need a man of experience to supply you with those thrills, and I'm just the guy to do it."
A look of fear surfaced in her eyes as he climbed into bed with her.
As far as Jane was concerned, he was too close to her for comfort. She hated him, and she was only sorry that Randy was not there to protect her.
He moved toward her, straddling his legs over her head. Now his huge cock was resting just above her mouth.
"Have you ever had your throat fucked?" he asked her.
"No," she said softly.
"I told you that that football player had something to learn about life," he laughed. "A girl with a mouth as beautiful as yours, and to think that he hasn't even throat fucked you. That is an absolute tragedy."
She watched with mounting fear as he slipped the cock downward towards her mouth.
"If you don't want that pretty head blown off, then you just better open that mouth and open it wide," he warned, holding the gun menacingly toward her.
To supply her with even more incentive, he reached out and tugged at her hair.
"You heard what I said. Now open that goddamn mouth of yours because I'm going to slam my cock into it. You're going to learn to love this dick, baby, or even if you hate it, you're going to learn to put up with it. I'm going to slam this prick into you, I'm going to force you to eat it, force you to eat every drop of my juice."
With great reluctance she opened her mouth. He then slid his cock downward, entering her mouth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
"I'm going to throat fuck the hell out of you," he said with determination as he lodged his huge penis into her mouth. "I'm going to fuck the hell out of this mouth. You're going to eat every drop of my hot juice and like it."
He slammed his dick into her, driving it eagerly inside her. He shoved it in as deeply as it would go, driving it to the very base of her throat.
At first he accompanied his movements by using his free hand to pull her hair. But soon he decided upon another course of action.
Even though he was erotically carried away by what was going on, and despite the fact that he was extremely hot for this woman, he still remained angry at her. He had not liked the way that she had disparaged him by saying that her boyfriend would have made mincemeat out of him.
He hated hearing that kind of conversation from her. He wanted to make her pay, and by doing so he recognized that he would be providing himself with greater sex excitement.
He reached down with his free hand and tore off his belt. He looked down at those solid globes of flesh around her ass-cheeks and he became desirous of putting the belt to work on them.
He reached out and began thrashing at her left ass-cheek. He attacked it vigorously.
While he was letting the belt thrash against her ass-cheek, he continued to slip his dick into her mouth.
She could hardly breathe, and was unable to cry out, as she might have been forced to do by instinct, since he was hurting her to such an extent with his sweeping belt movements.
Once he finished whipping one side of her, he switched his revolver to his other hand and did the same with his belt, going to work with the same degree of fervency on her other ass-cheek.
He whipped and thrashed her, causing the blood to surface. Her skin was red and raw from the pummeling to which he subjected her with that belt.
He kept up the belt activity until his arms were so sore that he could not wield the belt with any effectiveness any more.
At that point he dropped the belt to the floor and concentrated on finishing his throat fuck.
"I'm really hot for this action, honey, and I'm going to pour that juice into your mouth," he said.
Back and forth that huge pecker stabbed. The hot shaft was bulging with great excitement, moving that much closer toward orgasm.
As his testicles began to swell more noticeably than ever, he recognized that they were filled appreciably with a load of voluminous hot semen. Since he had not exploded in quite some time, he recognized just how much he had stored in there. He would soon be flooding her mouth with the stuff, and he was determined to make her swallow every drop.
His free hand then went back to her hair. He pulled and tugged at it, causing more great pain to surface within her.
"I'm warning you, you lousy little bitch, you'd just better hang on to every drop of my hot juice when it shoots out of my prick," he said. "If you so much as let any of it escape, you're going to be in for some real trouble. I'm going to flood that mouth of yours, and you'd just better be ready to assist me in every way. You'd better be ready to catch it all, you'd better be ready to eat it, and you'd better be ready to enjoy every solitary bit of it. It's good stuff, it's good cum, and you'd better like it."
Back and forth he manipulated those hips, moving with uninhibited zeal toward the big moment of climax.
"I'm just about ready to shoot this thing off," he told her, "I'm ready to explode this pecker inside you. You had better eat it all, eat it, eat every drop of this juice, you lousy little slut, you and your football player friend. I'll bet he never treated you this way. I'll bet he wouldn't have the balls to do what I'm doing."
He kept on shoving that huge shaft into the deepest reaches of her mouth. She was practically ready to gag on that huge spear. He continued exerting great force as he pushed the prick into her with punishing movements.
"O.K., get ready, because here it comes," he said.
He tightened his grip on her hair as he wielded his dick with great authority, pushing it in as far as it would go, preparing to unload his juices.
"Oh, this is it, oh, here it comes, oh, catch it, this is a big load, a hot load, oh, is the juice very shooting, it's spurting like crazy, it's shooting like mad all over you, all over your mouth, eat it, eat every drop, you bitch, eat every drop of this hot stuff."
He watched as the huge cock ignited. The hot sperm shot out of the end of his hard rod.
It spurted with magnificence, shooting effusively into her waiting mouth. She gasped and sputtered in pain from the way that he was pulling her hair, doing her best to eat every drop, not wanting to make him any angrier than he already was.
Even though she tried to do the best of her ability to swallow every drop, she was not able to succeed. Since it was such a huge load, and in that it was so thick, it spurted out the sides of her mouth.
Several times she could not help but cough, even though she had attempted to prevent herself from doing so.
He was incensed over the fact that some of his precious sperm had been wasted. He had wanted to observe every hot drop of it disappearing down her throat.
"So you weren't able to do it," he said angrily.
He released his hand from her hair, but slapped her roughly on the side of the face.
"That's what you get for pulling something like that on me," he said.
He climbed off of the bed, reaching down on the floor and picking up his belt, which he slipped around his waist. He inserted the belt into his trousers with one hand, continuing to hold the revolver on her with the other.
As he buckled his belt and looked down at his cock, he wondered if he ought to stick around and fuck her some more.
His eyes moved down toward her snatch. He would like to shove that prick of his inside it. Already he was feeling the heat inside him rekindling.
The energy was flowing through his body. Certainly he could stick around and fuck her once more, shoot off his rocks and really please himself after experiencing not one but two orgasms from this beautiful cheerleader.
"How'd you like a good fuck up the cunt?" he laughed.
"Can't you leave me alone?" she whispered.
"What's the matter, don't you like my fucking?"
"You're so cruel to me. Why?"
"I had to teach you a little lesson. But if there are any questions to be asked in the future, I'll ask them. Now all you've got to do is just lie there on your back and I'll fuck the hell out of your cunt.
I'll give you a better fuck than that he-man football player of yours ever dreamed of giving you."
He reached down and proudly stroked his cock several times. He thought about Sally. No, there was nothing whatsoever wrong with his cock. There was just something wrong with Sally, and that was what was causing him to fail in bed with her.
But at that point he couldn't care less if he went to bed with Sally. She just didn't concern him any more. Not as long as he had a beautiful young cheerleader like Jane Glass to fuck.
He removed his fingers from his cock and stepped over toward the bed. He was all set to shove his prick inside her inviting mound.
At that point something happened to suddenly disturb his plans. He heard the front door open. He cursed himself for being such an idiot. In his anxiety to locate Jane and get on with the fucking, he had not even considered locking her door.
"Jane, baby, where are you?" he heard husky Randy Brown's voice.
He couldn't help but think of the irony of the moment. He had interviewed Randy during the middle of the football season. That voice was so familiar to him.
"In here, honey, quick, help me," she shrieked.
A startled Vern brought the gun down on the top of her head, knocking her into unconsciousness as she collapsed on the floor, falling off of the bed and landing with a great thud.
"What the hell's the matter?" a startled Randy asked.
Vern's heart palpitated rapidly as he listened to the sound of running footsteps. Randy would be in the bedroom soon.
Randy opened the door and opened the bedroom. He observed Vern holding the gun, then turned pale as he saw his girlfriend lying unconscious on the floor.
"You madman, you sonofabitch, you," he said angrily.
The husky football player moved toward Vern. Vern saw no other alternative other than to use his gun.
He pulled the trigger and caught the football star on the left arm. The shot caused Randy to stagger and fall to the floor.
Vern took advantage of the opportunity and ran quickly out of the room.
A weakened Randy Brown, his arm bleeding from the gunshot, staggered to his feet and attempted to chase Vern.
But Vern was able to get away. About the time that he began sprinting down the walk leading to the street, Randy collapsed at the door.
By the time Randy was able to stagger out of the apartment and on to the street, Vern was already halfway to the freeway.
He ripped off his mask and pulled the car to a stop a half block from the freeway. He slipped the revolver back in his pocket, then entered the freeway, driving swiftly back to his apartment.
He was just as happy that his wife Sally was gone when he arrived.
"She's probably out screwing with some guy," he told himself as he moved into the kitchen and poured himself a drink.
He heaved a sigh of relief, hoping that his ordeal was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was early Monday morning and Chuck Hansen received the information.
"My God, he struck again," he said, shaking his head.
He darted across the hall into Steve Keasey's office.
"Guess what, the cheerleader rapist struck again," he said. "This time he really beat the girl up. Knocked her unconscious when he hit her over the head with a gun."
"She hurt real bad?" Keasey asked.
"Sustained a concussion. Her boyfriend, a big husky football star, ran into the room. He got shot in the arm."
"And the guy got away?"
"He certainly did. Same guy too. Wearing a mask, gloves, with a revolver, the whole bit."
"This guy doesn't miss a trick," Keasey shook his head. "Now he's struck four times, every time in different states. Just how do you figure it?"
"There just has to be something that we're missing. Maybe something pretty obvious," Hansen said.
Keasey paused reflectively for a moment. "Wait a minute. Was this girl a State University cheerleader?"
"That's right. How did you know?"
"They played for the league championship and the game was on national television. When did this happen?"
"Yesterday afternoon."
"Wait a minute!" Keasey's eyes sparkled with a sense of sudden recognition. "How stupid of me. Let's see now. Those other victims. One was in New Orleans, one in Denver. And where else?"
"The third one was in Chicago."
"How stupid of me. And me being a big college football fan. You'd have thought I'd have seen .the connection before. Of course."
"Since I'm not a football fan, at least a college fan, you're going to have to fill me in on some details," Hansen said.
"I'll be glad to. I'll just bet that every one of those victims was attacked the weekend of a football game with State University. It didn't dawn on me until now. We might be looking for some deranged football player, coach, or whatever. Anyway I want to first of all check out State's schedule just to be sure. That way we can verify the dates. Then, if we're o.k. there, the thing to do is run a check on all of the personnel traveling with the State University team."
"That will be quite an involved situation."
"I know it will."
"How should we check this thing out? Through our agents in Los Angeles?"
"No, I think that we ought to notify the Los Angeles police," Steve Keasey said. "After we check out the details and see that the dates coincide, I'll call up my friend Lieutenant McCoy of the L.A. police. He's a good man and I've worked with him on other cases. I'll call our men too, notifying them to be on the alert. And I'll tell McCoy that he can use them if he wants. But they ought to handle the investigation, and they'll be happy, I'm sure, to get a lead like what we're going to supply them with. If I know McCoy, he'll pounce on it awfully fast."
Hansen went into his office and immediately called a local Washington newspaper, checking on the schedule that the University had played that year. When all the dates coincided, he walked back into Keasey's office.
"O.K., it all matches," he nodded.
"Thanks, Chuck. I'll make the call now to McCoy."
Lieutenant Terry McCoy was anxious to talk to Steve Keasey. They had always worked well together, and each respected the other's abilities.
"That's an interesting angle, a real interesting one," McCoy said. "We can't pass anything like this as coincidence. The same guy did it every time. And he's probably right within my jurisdiction right now. It will sure take a lot of checking though."
"I guess so, what with all the people that travel with the football team."
"Sure, you've got the players, coaches, other people."
"That's right. You even have members of the working press, television, radio. You've got a whole flock of people to check out."
"That's right. We've got a lot of work to do, but thanks for the info, that really narrows it down."
"At least we think it does," Hansen said. "It could be some weird lone wolf that just happens to travel with the football team by himself."
"Maybe so, but I doubt it."
"So do I."
"I can't thank you enough for this information, Chuck."
"Don't try. You've been more than helpful to me. I'm always happy to pass on anything that may be of any help."
"I'll keep in touch."
"Right. If I hear anything more I'll let you know."
"Thanks for calling."
"Don't mention it. Goodbye."
As Lieutenant McCoy put the phone back on the cradle, he scratched his head reflectively. It would take a lot of painstaking effort to track down the beast who perpetrated those four rapes, but somehow he felt, he would find him.
Lieutenant McCoy was a veteran policeman who took great pride in his work. There was nothing like a perplexing challenge to make him function at optimum.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Three weeks passed.
Vern had read with interest the newspaper accounts of his rape and shooting attack at Jane Glass' apartment. He also watched with interest the television reports. But he did not see or hear anything following the accounts which occurred within twenty-four hours of the rape and shooting.
Now that the football season was over, he wondered what he would do to achieve sexual satisfaction. He was afraid to continue his rape activities, particularly considering the close call he had had at Jane's apartment, when he had been forced to use his revolver for the first time.
Lieutenant McCoy and his cohorts had spent the intervening three weeks interviewing people who traveled regularly to State University's road games. They were intent upon checking out every person who made the trips to New Orleans, Denver, and Chicago.
It was early on a Tuesday morning, and Lieutenant McCoy was getting frustrated over his lack of success.
His assistant, Sergeant Ben Lewellyn, walked into his office.
"Any luck yesterday?" McCoy asked.
"Same old stuff," Lewellyn shook his head sadly. "I talked with five football players, and they all had people they claim would vouch for them."
"You checked every one out?"
"I just had time to check on three of them. Two of the other guys in the department are following up on the other two cases. But I really don't think that any of those guys did it. You know how you get these gut instincts when you've been in this business for a long time."
"I know," McCoy nodded. "I haven't been having any luck either."
"What's on the agenda for this morning?"
"We've got a name to check out. Might as well go over there together and see him. I'm sure this guy didn't have anything to do with it, but we've got to check him anyway."
"Who is it?"
"An old hero of mine," McCoy laughed. "Vern Beauchamp."
"Oh, the sports writer," Lewellyn nodded.
"But to me was a lot more than a sports writer. This all happened a little bit before your time, Lewellyn, but he was a football star at State when I joined the force. I took in most of the games, and I really rooted for the guy. He was a great all-American. One of the best pass receivers I ever saw play the game."
"No, I wouldn't think he'd be a very--likely prospect," Lewellyn laughed. "He's been married to the same woman for many years, hasn't he?"
"That's right, and she's a good looking woman. I went to a football banquet he was at a few years ago and saw her. A real knockout. On top of that, he's a real solid guy. He's got a pretty good job with a top newspaper. No, not a--likely prospect, but in this business, you never know for sure till you check."
"Not only that, but you never know when you can get a lead from somebody. I mean, he might have noticed something strange. You just never know until you ask."
"I know, but when you've been asking as many people as we have and drawn as many blanks as we have, it really gets tiresome," McCoy shook his head wearily as he got up from his desk.
"I know what you mean. I've been going through the same thing."
They got into Lewellyn's car. A few minutes later they were in Santa Monica.
As they got out of the car and were walking toward the apartment, Lewellyn said:
"I was just thinking of something. He's probably at work right now."
"You must think I'm an awfully dumb policeman," McCoy laughed. "Don't you think I checked that out? He's not due to hit the desk until early this afternoon."
"Alright, some people really lead the charmed life. I've got to get up at six every morning."
"Well, he's a member of the writing fraternity. We're just a couple of hardnosed cops."
Lewellyn laughed at McCoy's tongue in cheek humor.
Inside the apartment, a disturbed Vern Beau-champ was just finishing an early morning drink. He was drinking more now than ever. He had just had an argument with his wife. Now he was seriously contemplating more than ever leaving Sally. He had the feeling that the only reason why she tolerated him at all was that he was at least paying the bills. That and the fact that she had an opportunity to give vent to her hostility by picking on him.
He heard the doorbell ring and gulped down the rest of his drink swiftly.
"Wonder who the hell that is," he shook his head disgustedly.
He answered the door and observed the two plainclothesmen.
"Yes?" he looked at them curiously.
"Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Beauchamp, we're police officers," McCoy said, thrusting his identification at the sports writer.
Lewellyn did the same. "Could we step in and ask you a few questions?"
"Certainly," Vern said, letting them in.
"Thank you," McCoy said.
"Please sit down," Vern said.
His heart was pounding. He wondered if they could be on the right track. He had done everything as smoothly as he had known how. He had worn gloves, and he had attacked every time in a different state.
"Could I get you guys a drink?"
"No thanks, it's a little early for me," McCoy said.
"Me too," Lewellyn said, "but thanks all the same."
As McCoy began to discuss the nature of his visit, a curious Sally who had been listening to the conversation from her bedroom, decided to make an appearance. As she entered the living room, she was uncomfortably introduced to the police officers by Vern.
"Pleased to meet you," McCoy said.
"How do you do, Ma'am," Lewellyn said.
"Just what is all this about, Vern, have you done something wrong?" she laughed.
"This is just a routine investigation, Mrs. Beau-champ," Lewellyn explained. "There have been a series of rape incidents that we think could be related to people associated with the State University football team."
"The football team?" she shook her head in bewilderment.
"Yes, Mrs. Beauchamp. You see, all of the girls were cheerleaders from schools that State University played on the road. Then there was one more attack of an identical nature that happened to a cheerleader on the State University football team. We think there's a definite tie-in, and we're talking to everybody that traveled regularly with the team."
"You're certainly talking to the wrong man now," she looked at Vern and laughed sarcastically.
Vern winced. She had come in late the evening before, and had been very drunk. She related details of what an interesting time she had had at a man's apartment.
She had had two Bloody Mary's in the privacy of her room that morning, and was feeling a bit on the tipsy side.
"We're just asking routine questions, mind you," McCoy told her. "We think that maybe some of the people who traveled with the team, even though not involved personally in something sordid like this, can still assist us by supplying information."
"There's one thing for sure, this guy couldn't have done it."
"Mr. Beauchamp, I'm asking this just to give you a chance to put yourself completely in the clear. I suppose that you can account for your time in those various cities. I mean, the times that these attacks took place. Since you stayed at the hotel with the team, you should be able to find somebody to vouch for you."
"He doesn't have to find anybody to vouch for him," Sally burst into vigorous laughter. "I can vouch for the sonofabitch. He couldn't get a hard on to save his life. I can't even remember the last time he gave me a good fuck. This guy's cock is as limp as an old rag. He couldn't do anything like that even if he wanted to."
At that point Vern's blood came to a boil.
He jumped up from the chair, his face reddening with rage.
"As a matter-of-fact, I did do it, you slimy little bitch. I needed action somewhere else, I needed it from somebody a helluva lot better than you," he screamed.
He moved quickly toward Sally. He reached out and delivered a solid wallop with his clenched right fist which caught her on the jaw.
She dropped in a heap to the floor. The two startled policemen got up and moved toward Vern.
"Sure I did it, you bitch. How do you like it, you bitch? Every one of them was a helluva lot better than you," he screamed hilariously.
She was unconscious, but that made no difference to him. He was immersed in rage, and he reached out and began kicking her in the side of the head.
McCoy reached out and grabbed him around the waist. Lewellyn then grabbed him at the chest, and between the two of them they were able to pull him off of his unconscious wife.
"Hold it, Beauchamp, hold it," McCoy said, pulling out a gun.
Lewellyn quickly handcuffed a still trembling, panting Vern Beauchamp.
"I did it, sure I did it, and I want her to know it!" he gestured with his head toward his unconscious wife.
"You'd better call an ambulance, I think she's hurt pretty bad," McCoy said tightly.
Lewellyn nodded and moved toward the phone.
"I'm glad I did it, I'm glad it's all over," the handcuffed Vern Beauchamp said.
