It is hard to conceive in this day and age, and especially in our Western society, that individual human beings could be and are now being treated like mere possessions--and worse.
Yet there are examples to be found all around us. Migrant workers labor for a pittance, and are beaten or thrown out of their jobs if they protest against their meager wages or disgraceful working conditions. Sharecroppers are forced to turn over as much as fifty percent of their produce to large landowners to pay off an ever-increasing debt whose termination they will never see. Illegal aliens must work for cruelly low wages or face exposure and deportation.
And then there are men like Vincent Kingston, a man whose only goal in life, it seems, is the humiliation and degradation of young girls. He collects them as one would collect antiques or coins, only to abuse them, forcing them to sink to the depths of shame.
RAPED VIRGINS--a novel about a warped man, and the girls he uses to satisfy his depraved cravings. A shocking story with a message for today's society.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
The large basement room was comfortably furnished with a bed, sofa, and enough kitchen utilities. The walls were bare of decoration and were painted a hot pink. The girl lying on the bed was young, about nineteen, and she had blonde hair that reached halfway to her wasplike waist. Her face had a pretty but used look. She was nude and her body appeared none the worse for the wear it had suffered at the hands of Vincent Kingston.
She sat up and stared at the barred window, then she looked toward the thick oaken door.
It was secured from the other side with an iron bar and heavy lock.
She put her hands over her face, trying to blot out the sight of the torturous pink walls.
She'd always liked pink before--until Vincent had thrown her down there two weeks before. It was unfair. All she had done was threaten to leave him.
It was difficult for her to remember how it had all begun some three months before. Like a dream--or a nightmare.
She'd been selling magazine subscriptions, trying to help pay her way through college.
When she'd approached the stately, obviously renovated old mansion, she'd expected to be greeted by an elderly goateed gentleman wearing an immaculate white suit. Instead, a handsome, dark-haired man of thirty-five had welcomed her spiel with an instant purchase of more magazines than she had sold in a month.
He had been so damned smooth. Maybe he had drugged her. She'd had a drink with him.
Anyway, it had seemed like a dream when she'd found herself in his bed. The nightmare began when he fucked her, shattering her precious virginity. She remembered thinking that it had been a lousy trade: A few magazines for her cherry.
His lovemaking had captivated her and she had willingly become his mistress. The things he could think of doing to a girl's body! She had discovered that he was insatiable and she'd been amazed that her own body had hungrily met his demands. And then something happened. She had tired, and his interest in her had waned. They'd argued, she threatened to leave, and he'd thrown her into the basement like a common prisoner, stripped of both her dignity and her clothing. She looked across her belly and studied her plush pussy-mound. He could have at least left her a bra and panties.
She looked toward the door again, then at the clock beside her bed. The minute hand was moving rapidly. A red blur. The time had passed when she'd have been impatient for Vincent's coming. Not any more. She stared at the door again, her eyes large and empty- looking. He would arrive in minutes and she hated the thought of what he would do to her.
Footsteps sounded. She heard the lock being turned, the bar being lifted. Vincent walked in.
He smiled at her with those even white teeth but did not speak. The ritual disgusted her.
He took off the jacket of his two-hundred-dollar suit, pulled the knot of his tie loose and unbuttoned the collar of his stiff white shirt. He went to the whisky cabinet, poured himself two fingers of Scotch and took it straight.
He studied the bottle. "You've hardly touched it," he remarked.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her long blonde tresses. "I know what you want.
You want me to drink myself to death."
He chuckled. "I just want you to drink enough to keep your blood warm. You've become as cold as a fish, Becky."
"And I'll stay cold," she said.
"Once a woman's cunt has been heated by passion, it never grows cold again," Vincent approached the bed. He ran his fingers along the nape of her neck and she shuddered slightly. "Repulsion?" he asked.
"Just weary," she said, but the very touch of his hand had started a reaction inside her and she couldn't stop it.
He fingered the nipple of her left tit. "Ill have to give you due credit, Becky. You tried." Her nipple stiffened. "You tried as hard as any of them" She felt less disappointed with herself. "There were others before me?" she asked.
His fingers moved to her right nipple but it had already hardened of its own accord. It was a dainty, succulent little red knob on the tip of her large uplifted tit. He leaned over to kiss it. She felt the roughness of his tongue and pushed him away.
"Were there others?" she asked.
"You know there were," he said. "I'm a patron of the arts. I collect beautiful things. And nothing is more beautiful than a young girl. A collector isn't satisfied with one painting or one bit of sculpture. Why should you expect him to be satisfied with one girl?"
"How many, Vincent?"
"Does it really matter?"
She hated herself. She hated the emotions she couldn't control. As much as she despised him, she wanted him to suck her nipple again. She wanted him to suck it until she cried out with ecstasy.
"It matters, Vincent," she said. "It matters how many like me you have ruined."
"Ruined?" His lean jaws were set. "You should thank me, Becky. I've taken a shallow slip of a girl and given her life new meaning. Given it a depth she's never known before."
"I'm no good for anything or anybody," she said. "You've made a shell of me. I'm all empty inside."
He fondled her tits again, his fingers trailing over the tingling globes. "Don't blame me," he said. "You're victim to your own desires."
"I didn't want to," she said falteringly. "I didn't want to do any of it."
He backed away from her. "I think you really meant to leave," he said.
"I did."
Vincent stripped away his shirt, then paused. "You don't want to make love?"
"You've never asked my opinion before," she said. "You've just taken me."
His eyes burned into her. "I'm asking now."
She eyed the awful cock-bulge that pushed against his neatly pressed trousers, and she thought of how his tongue had felt on her nipple. Her belly churned with revulsion, but her cunt was a hot, hungry mouth between her legs. "I don't care what you do to me anymore," she said.
She watched as Vincent finished undressing. His body was lean and muscular, almost free of hair except in the pubic area. His cock-shaft jutted out from his groin, a deadly lance designed to penetrate, punish and degrade all womankind. As he approached the bed, the facade disappeared. He was no longer a well-dressed, dignified executive. He was a naked animal, his eyes brimming with lust.
He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees beside the bed.
"Kiss my prick with your pretty red mouth," he said.
"Vincent... " Just this once she wanted to protest, wanted to refuse him, but she could not bring herself to do it. Her will was gone. The homy bastard thrived on cock-sucking. The second night she'd been with him, he'd forced her to take his prick in her mouth. She'd hated it then, but gradually learned to love the taste of his cock.
His large prick was but an inch from her mouth. Her lips trembled, then touched his heated prick-knob. Immediately, she felt a surge of desire sweep through her. Quickly she slipped her lips over the throbbing cock-head and began a hungry sucking.
Vincent grimaced with pleasure. "At least you've improved in some ways," he said. "You know how to use your tongue."
She angrily removed her mouth from his cock-head. He was always trying to make her feel small and cheap. "Kiss my ass," she said. --His laughter was lascivious. "Such language," he chided. "What happened to my innocent little college girl?"
"You shredded my innocence," she cried. "You tore it up into small pieces and I'll never put it back together again. You're a dirty bastard, Vincent Kingston!"
He slapped her and her teeth chattered from the blow. A tiny bit of blood appeared at one corner of her mouth.
"I know what I am," he said. "I don't like to be reminded."
The girl looked chastised. He had struck her perhaps four or five times since she'd come to live at the mansion, but this time had hurt most of all. Psychologically, if not physically.
"I don't like for anything to go unfinished," he said coldly.
She reached for his thick shaft with both hands and welcomed his hot prick-knob back into her mouth. Her tongue curled lovingly around the underside, and she was soon sucking with abandon. God, she thought, hating herself more than ever, I love it. How I love it!
"Ahhhh," he sighed. "Wonderful." He drove forward, filling the girl's jaws with his big cock- shaft.
She hesitated for a moment, made a slight gagging sound, adjusted, then resumed vigorously sucking his throbbing cock-meat.
Vincent continued to ram his prick into her throat. Her head bobbed, her eyes shook in their sockets, but her lips still tightly clasped his thrusting prick-shaft. It was no longer simple cock-sucking. He was virtually fucking her mouth.
"Mmmmm... oh... mrnmm." Her lips moved, gasping for air, but she did not try to escape the impalement. He was tugging at her tits, trying to bring the nipples up against his balls.
Her arms went around his hips. She was enjoying the pain in her pale, stretched globes.
Her fingernails dug into his tensed ass-cheeks. He cursed and humped madly into her warm, wet mouth.
She was no longer human. Not a shred of decency remained. Her mouth was a voracious, flesh-engulfing whirlpool of lust as she strove to bring Vincent to an orgasm. His cock-juice had become an elixir, a maddening drug. She could not live without it.
Her eyes were hot, her cheeks flushed. Small tremors of excitement ran down her slender throat and shook her breasts.
"Come, Vincent," she gurgled. "Come!"
She concentrated on his swollen, deeply pulsating prick-knob. She teased it with her tongue, she nibbled, she dug her sharp teeth in at its base. Her lips caressed it, cooed over it, then encircled it with a powerful suction.
"Ahhhh! Mmmmm!" She savored the powerful volley of cock-juice that lanced hotly across her tongue. She slurped at it, swallowed strongly, then began a steady sucking that was meant to take every drop of his lovely cum.
Vincent gnashed his teeth, pulled away, then jumped her. She lay on the bed, her thighs widely spread, her cunt a gaping red slit, the crest of her clit shining like a lusty ruby.
"Oh, fuck me quickly, Vincent! Fuck me!" she cried.
Vincent was already driving. He struck her twitching pussy-hole, embedding his thick cock to the balls as his victim squealed with delight.
"Eeeee!" She closed her eyes, sobbing with ecstasy. "Fuck me," she said deliriously.
"Fuck me to death!"
He rammed her cunt-channel with long, vicious thrusts. She writhed and pushed her ass at him in a pounding counterattack. She loved it. She lived only for his cunt-filling prick.
She forgave him for all the degrading things he had done to her.
He loomed above her, laughing down at her passion-contorted features. As her climax approached, she looked almost ugly to him. She was blue in the face. Her mouth flopped loosely and she groaned as she strained to climax. Sweat dotted her forehead and dampened her tit-flesh.
"Lost innocence?" he mocked. "You little slut!"
"I don't care what you call me," she gasped. "Just keep fucking... "
Her pussy-walls suddenly gripped his cock in a series of powerful milking contractions. He timed his orgasm then let his cock-juice shoot into her cunt just as her eyes went sightless with pleasure.
"I'm coming," she moaned. "Oh, shit, Vincent, doll! I'm coming!"
He slowly withdrew from her warm, wet pussy-hole that sucked at his cock. When he had completely extracted his prick-shaft, a surge of cum-juices sprang from her twitching pussy-hole and bathed her pale, trembling ass-cheeks. He shook his head. She had the wettest pussy on earth when she came.
The girl remained sprawled on the bed. After a few moments, she delicately closed her thighs. The remorse was creeping back into her system as the warm glow crept out. She felt dirty. She felt useless. She wanted to die.
Vincent walked across the room, poured himself two more fingers of Scotch and downed it. He picked up his pants, took out his wallet, and approached the bed. The girl was sitting up, staring morosely at her cum-saturated pussy-hair. Her face was expressionless.
"You wanted to leave," he said, his voice void of emotion. "Go. I won't keep you under lock and key any longer."
"You're through with me?"
"We've taken a keen edge and blunted it," he said.
"I'm glad it's over." She tried to smile but couldn't. "I'm glad it's time for a change."
"You can go upstairs and get your clothing as soon as you're rested," he said.
"I... I'm rested."
He took five one-hundred-dollar bills from the wallet and handed them to her.
She looked hurt. Five minutes ago she couldn't have torn herself away from him. Now she never wanted to see him again. She took the money and gave him a scathing look. Her final smile was bittersweet as she clutched the money to her breasts.
"This is your final act of degradation, Vincent," she said. "This makes me your whore."
CHAPTER TWO
Vincent was relieved that Becky had left without making trouble. He'd only locked her in the basement to prove that she would leave at his, and not her, own choosing. Actually, he'd tired of her after the second month, and he would have replaced her sooner, but his type of woman was harder and harder to find. Young, pretty, and virginal. The third requirement was the most difficult to meet. It seemed that a large number of girls were fucking boys by the time they were thirteen. By sixteen or seventeen, approximately half had lost their cherries. And at twenty, virginity was almost nonexistent. He supposed that the agreeable Southern climate tended to make them more hot-blooded.
For a few days he worried about a visit from one of Becky's irate relatives. One silly girl had reported her ruination at Vincent's hands, and her burly father had appeared with murder in his heart. Fortunately, Vincent's glib tongue and dignified appearance convinced the man that his daughter was a lying little whore who'd been shacking up with some unknown hippie for two months. The enlightened father had taken off his belt on the spot and ordered the girl to raise her dress above her hips. He had then commenced to whip her until her panties hung in shreds around her lovely little ass. Vincent had found it amusing.
With Becky gone, Vincent began making plans for obtaining a new fuck-mate. His lust could not long go unfed. He'd looked over the new girls at his office, and he was experienced enough to know that none met his stringent standards. They were all fucking someone or had been fucked recently. Most young girls, he had found, left home and came to the city because they had been screwed or were looking to be screwed.
He supposed that he did have one virgin in the office. She was the office manager. Not really bad-looking, but nothing to crow about either. Her name was Agatha Sims. She was a spinster of thirty-eight, and she'd come to work at the trucking terminal several years before Vincent's father had died and left him a fortune.
The old man had doted on Agatha, but he had never once tried to fuck her, and neither had Vincent or any of the other male employees. The old man had sailed a stern ship, and fuck-play was forbidden. And so, Agatha Sims had withered in her prime from lack of physical love.
Scratch the office help, and scratch the local girls. Not only were most of them wellfucked, but they could eventually cause him trouble. Sooner or later some irate father would try to blow Vincent's brains out, regardless of his wealth and position in the community.
What he needed, he supposed, was a healthy girl right off the farm. A great percentage of them retained their innocence. No. His memory was getting bad. About two years before, he had seduced a country bumpkin. A cute little thing of eighteen. She'd cried after he had fucked her, and she'd cried the entire two weeks she'd stayed with him. Every time he'd fucked her, she'd cried, even while he had his cock in her cunt.
She'd wanted marriage in order to wash away her sins of the flesh. Her greatest failing was that she could never learn the finer points of fucking, even from such a teacher as himself. She had never truly appreciated the delightful little perversities.
He'd finally soothed her and dried her tears with a stroke of pure genius. He'd given her enough money to return home and the finest wardrobe a girl had ever taken into a haystack.
Ah, well. A man had to learn by his mistakes. He had to reach out and take the bull by the horns. With this thought in mind, he placed an ad in several metropolitan newspapers.
Each was in a Northern city, and each was at least six hundred miles away from his home base. The ad read: Girl Friday needed by prominent trucking executive. Good pay and excellent fringe benefits. Travel allowance for trip to the beautiful Southland. If interested send for private questionnaire. Must be under 21. Enclose photo. All replies confidential.
He was besieged by responses within the next few days. He studied the photos with great relish. Some of the girls were homely, some so-so, and some very beautiful. A few who were onto his game but couldn't have cared less about his motives enclosed nude photos, some downright pornographic. These he immediately dropped into the wastebasket. Not a virgin in the lot, he reasoned.
The process of elimination was tiring but enjoyable. He cut the number in half, then halved it again. From the remainder, he chose twelve girls to receive questionnaires. The rest he ignored.
He waited. Six of the girls did not reply. The questionnaire was too intimate. Six were left from which to choose.
He looked them over, carefully comparing the photos with the questionnaires. He quickly eliminated four, for they were obviously lying--about their ages, about their virginity, about everything.
Two were left. His heart began a mad thumping. From the very start one girl had captured his imagination. She had survived cut after cut after cut. He had feared that she would not reply to the questionnaire, but she had. Fuck. He could get a hard-on just by looking at her picture. He tossed the other photo in the wastebasket. She alone remained.
He looked at her picture. Her big innocent eyes could not lie. If anything, she was younger than eighteen. Her face was slender and well-sculpted. Her mouth was wide and full, and yet she appeared to be more child than woman.
He grimaced. His prick was large and stiff. His balls ached with lust. He wished that she had sent a full-length photo instead of one cut off just above her tits. He wished that she had sent a nude picture of herself. God. He wished that the photo was pornographic, that she'd spread her legs and taken a picture of her ass and furry little pussy.
No female had ever so affected him. Perhaps he had abstained from fucking too long since Becky had left his bed. He had the urge to dash into the street, grab the first woman he saw and fuck hell out of her. Instead, he stripped and ran himself a cold bath.
He put the girl's picture at the end of the tub. It thrilled him to think that she was looking at him as he sat naked in the cold water. His balls were icy, yet his prick stuck out of the water like a large ivory iceberg. God, but he wanted to fuck her.
It shamed him, but he gripped his cock-meat and began to wildly jack himself off. It had been years since he'd stooped to the act, but he couldn't stop hammering his hard and tortured cock-shaft.
The girl was looking at him and he was looking at her. Fuck. She was admiring his cock- shaft, watching him flog it to death. He thought that she was smiling. It felt wonderful. He tried to hold back, tried to make it last, but he couldn't. He was coming. His cock-juice jetted across the surface of the water like a large oil slick. He'd never come so strongly, so profusely.
Quickly, he wrenched the plug from the tub. The water made a loud gurgling sound as it went down the drain. He watched his cock-juice being sucked into the pipe, and he shuddered with pleasure. The girl's wonderful little cunt would be drawing in his next healthy load.
When Vincent wrote the girl, he put a plane ticket in the envelope. He specified the flight that she was to take and gave her instructions to report directly to his home if the plane arrived after office hours. He had shrewdly checked the flight schedule, picking out one with a layover in D.C. She would have to come to the mansion.
He was beside himself on the evening that she was to arrive. When darkness began to fall, he became worried. He had visions of the plane crashing, of that beautiful young body lying crushed on some lonely hillside. He walked to the large window that fronted the living room, and parted the drapes. A cab was creeping up the long, winding driveway.
The cabby escorted the girl to the door. Vincent opened it with a trembling hand. The girl looked pale and scared. "I... I didn't have the money to pay him," she said.
"Forgive me, my dear," Vincent said. "I should have thought of that." He removed a bill from his wallet. The cabby took it, nodded his thanks, and left. The girl moved slowly into the room and Vincent closed the door behind her.
"I was stone-broke when I saw your ad," she whispered nervously. Vincent took her small suitcase. "I just had time to get a few things," she said. "I left rather quickly when I received the plane ticket." She walked around the room, awed by Vincent's collection of paintings and sculptures.
Vincent had the urge to grab her, tear the clothing from her body, and fuck her. He wisely decided to put her at ease before he tried anything. "Do you like art, my dear?" he asked.
"Painting, you mean?"
"All forms of art," Vincent said. "I have one room that is filled with nothing but Civil War relics." He sighed. "Ah, but I'm completely wrapped up in my art collection. It captures me.
I become uplifted and refreshed when I look at a religious painting, a country scene, or a lovely nude."
The girl blushed, and the blush pleased him.
"Truly great art is more than simple entertainment," he said. "It involves the emotions. It sucks us into an abyss of pleasure from which we don't want to return."
"It does?" She looked bewildered.
Vincent smiled and tried not to look lecherous. "Even love is an art. Probably the most intriguing and rewarding of all the arts. Don't you agree?"
She smiled nervously. "I'm really quite dumb about such things," she said. "Art, I mean.
Not love."
Vincent looked disappointed. "Ah... you're experienced in love?"
She blushed more deeply than before. "I didn't mean it that way, either." She wrung her hands. "Oh, Mr. Kingston, I'm all tangled up!"
"I understand," Vincent said. "I suppose it is rather unnerving to discover that all Southerners don't sit around under magnolia trees and sip mint juleps."
"Yes," she said weakly.
Vincent led her into the study and took her questionnaire from the file. He looked at it and at the girl. Her face was exactly like the photo. Now that he had the body to go with it, he was even more intrigued by the possibilities. Her raven hair had been recently clipped, making her face appear a bit more mature than the photo, but her figure was that of an adolescent's. Prominent titties but very slender hips and buttocks.
The long moment of silence worried her. "If I don't get the job, I... I don't know what I'll do, Mr. Kingston."
"There are one of two things that must be made clear," Vincent said. "You did answer the questionnaire truthfully, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're eighteen?"
"Closer to eighteen than to seventeen," she said. "I... I lied just a little."
Vincent cleared his throat and looked displeased at the thought of even a small lie. "I suppose you might even be lying about your name?"
"No... sir," she stammered. "It really is Karen Bliss."
"You might even be lying about item number four," he said. His tone was firm, scolding her. "Do you recall item number four, Karen?"
"Yes, sir."
"And what did item number four refer to, Karen?"
"My... uh... " She looked deeply embarrassed.
"Go on, Karen. Say it."
"My'... my virginity," she squeaked.
"Are you a virgin, Karen?" he asked sharply.
"I swear it!" she said, almost on the verge of tears. "Oh, I do need the job, Mrs. Kingston!"
"And you'll get it," he said soothingly, "if you are very frank and truthful with me, Karen."
"Oh, I will be, Mr. Kingston!"
"How is it that a girl bordering on eighteen still retains her virginity?" he asked. "Do you come from a religious family?"
"No, sir," Karen said. "My father wouldn't let me go out with boys."
"Why?"
She averted her eyes. "He... he wanted me for himself."
Vincent tried to look shocked, but deep inside he was chuckling at his good fortune. He put the questionnaire back into the file. "I shall have to think about it overnight," he said.
"Ill give you my answer in the morning."
"I'll have to go to a hotel," she said. "And I have no money."
"You can stay here," Vincent said.
She looked doubtful.
He gave her a fatherly smile. "You'll be perfectly safe. There is no one here except the butler and the gardener. They stay out of sight unless I call them."
"Your wife?"
"I'm unmarried," Vincent said. "But if you don't trust me, I'll give you money for lodgings."
She saw that he was annoyed with her. "Oh, I trust you, Mr. Kingston."
"Good." Vincent walked around her, resisting the impulse to pat her firm little assflesh.
"Come with me."
He led her into a room across the hallway from his own. A painting of a nude girl who appeared to be struggling with a dark-clouded beast graced the wall above the bed.
"Correggio," Vincent said. "One of my favorites. I look at it and see all womankind struggling against evil men. Men such as your father."
"I'd rather not talk about my father," Karen told him.
"Of course." Vincent pointed to a door. "The room has its own bath in case you'd care to freshen up before you retire."
"Oh, a warm bath will be wonderful," she sighed. She took off her thin jacket and undid the top button of her blouse. And then she paused, waiting for Vincent to leave the room.
He smiled. "I admire modesty in a woman," he said.
Vincent returned to his own room. Desire gnawed at his cock as he waited for his lovely victim to prepare herself for her unknown fate. He gave her ample time. Finally, when she'd had time to fall asleep, he crept into the hallway. Her door was locked, but he was prepared with a key that quickly opened it.
He stood in the darkness of the room, listening to her even breathing. She gave no knowledge of his presence, and he eased to her bed and sat down on the edge of it. He gently explored the curves of her body through the sheet that covered her.
"Ummm." She stirred when he touched her breast-flesh and he took the violating hand away from her warm mound.
He could hear the pounding of his own heart.
Vincent could not see her face, and he leaned very close to see if her eyes were open. He could feel her breath, warm and sweet against his face. He kissed her faintly and did not get a response. She was very tired from the trip and very sound asleep.
He carefully pulled the sheet away from her body. He touched her breasts, cupping them with his palms. They were firm and warm and virginal. He took a nipple in his mouth and tenderly sucked it. He was elated. She even tasted like a virgin.
"Mmmm." His tongue movements against her taut nipple made Karen's eyes pop open.
The room was inky black. She could not see the man who caressed her, but she sensed that it was Vincent Kingston.
She started to pull her tit away from his mouth with a cry of outrage, but she dared not anger him. She needed the job. She slyly shifted to her side and the nipple slipped from his mouth. Then she turned over onto her stomach.
His hand was on the small of her back, moving downward. She tried to pull the sheet across her buttflesh while making slight snoring sounds.
Vincent laughed softly. "Stop playing possum, Karen. You're not asleep."
"Mr. Kingston?" She pretended to have awakened suddenly, but she remained lying on her trembling belly. The position offered a small measure of protection.
"Don't be frightened," he said. "I only want to talk to you."
"Can't it wait until morning, Mr. Kingston?" She tugged at the sheet but he was holding the other end. His crawling fingers moved back and forth across her assflesh. The mounds contracted into hard knots of resentment. She considered herself a fool. She didn't know why she'd decided to sleep in the nude. It was something she had never done before. She supposed that the luxurious mansion had cast a spell on her. She'd also been ashamed of her tattered underclothing.
"I couldn't sleep," Vincent said. "I kept thinking about you and your father."
"My father?"
"You said he wanted you for himself," Vincent whispered. "Did he get you?"
Karen's breathing became erratic. His fingers were caressing the crevice of her ass. "N... no."
"I want to hear about it, Karen."
"Please, Mr. Kingston," she gasped. "I'd rather not." Those hot caressing fingers against her thighs and buttocks were driving her mad.
"You do want the job, don't you, Karen?" he asked. "Two hundred dollars per week?"
"Oh... yes, sir!" The astronomical figure shocked her. She had been thinking in terms of much less.
"Then tell me everything, Karen," he urged. "From the beginning. From the very first time he touched you."
"Must I?"
"Yes."
She took a deep breath, then began. "I... I was about thirteen."
"A mere child," Vincent interrupted. "Hardly any hair on your sweet, lovable little pussy."
"Please don't talk that way, Mr. Kingston. It embarrasses me." She had a double reason for being disturbed. Vincent was pushing a finger across her ass and into her pussy. "Go on, my dear."
"Well... " Karen faltered momentarily. She couldn't think. "He came to my bed one night- just like this. He put his hands on me. Except not behind. In front. Between my legs."
"On your pussy?"
"Yes, oh, yes!" Karen shuddered. "Please don't rub me like that, Mr. Kingston!"
"Don't you enjoy it, Karen?"
"Yes, but... "
"Continue your story, Karen."
"I was scared," she said weakly. "I started to cry. He left, but he came back the next night, and the next, as soon as my mother was asleep. I wanted to tell my mother but I was afraid she wouldn't believe me."
Vincent continued rubbing his fingers in and out of her cunt.
Karen tried to hold her legs together, but it was apparently impossible to protect her cuntarea with Vincent attacking from the rear.
"Mr. Kingston... don't... please." She drew her knees up but the action only made her cunt more accessible. "I... oh!" Vincent had found her clit and was pressing firmly against it.
Vincent was pleased. The pussy-folds that had been dry and clutching were beginning to grow moist and pliable. He began to frig her clit with his finger.
"I... oh... I... oh," Karen whined.
"Keep talking," Vincent said.
"I can't," she gasped. "Not with you doing... that!" She flipped to her back. Vincent's hand was instantly on her lower belly, his fingers playing in her cunt-hair. She reached around his wrist and . put her hands over her cunt.
"You were saying?" Vincent gritted his teeth He wanted to fuck her at that very moment.
She tried to continue. "One night he came to me and he was naked." She swallowed hard.
"He took my hand and put it on his penis. It was very large and hot. He told me how good it would feel if I'd let him put it between my legs and push it up in my belly. And then he tried to do it."
"But he didn't succeed?" Vincent panted as his own hardon neared bursting.
"No, I fought him off," Karen said. "He kept trying. And then he groaned and started shooting off, all over my belly. The bed. Everywhere." She trembled. "It went on like that for years."
"But he never once managed to penetrate your pussy, to have intercourse with you?"
"No."
"I find that difficult to believe," Vincent said flatly. He tried to pry her hands away from her pussy-mound. "No normal girl could go that long before succumbing to her own desires."
"But he was my father!" Karen cried. "I couldn't. Even if I had wanted to."
"Did you want to, Karen?"
"I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I felt like giving up the fight and just letting him have his way."
Vincent tore her hands away and forced his fingers between her legs. He cupped her moist little pussy and rubbed it. "You understand that you must be a virgin, Karen," he said. "I made that clear on the questionnaire."
She pulled at his invading hand. "Why is my virginity so important?"
"You know that I collect lovely, precious things, Karen," Vincent said in a hypnotic voice.
"And I've explained the difference between simple entertainment and true art. Any girl can give entertainment. It becomes art when the girl is pure and fresh."
Karen tore at his wrist but was helpless. His hand was firmly entrenched against her moist, pulsating pussy. "I don't want to become a part of your collection," she said fiercely.
He suddenly took his hand away from her cunt and his voice became icy. "Do you have a choice, Karen?" he asked. "You're penniless. And even if you do somehow manage to get back home, your father will beat you."
"No!"
Vincent was treading on thin ice. He had to proceed carefully or he'd lose this fine little cherry before he could pluck it. He could rape her, but he did not know how she'd react to force. She might go to the police. He had to make her want him.
Karen relaxed slightly and Vincent put his hand on her cunt once more. He followed by taking a nipple in his mouth. He sucked.
"Dooooooon't." Karen pushed at his head but not very forcefully.
His tongue dug at the nipple until it firmed.
His mouth was filled with hot tit-flesh, but he managed to murmur around it. "Two hundred dollars per week and you'll never have to worry about your father again."
"I would feel awful afterward," she sobbed. Her clit felt wonderful. Her tit felt delicious. Her father had never been such an expert.
"Two hundred," he repeated. "A fortune for a girl like yourself. Complete independence."
Karen relented. She knew that she was selling herself, but what he was doing felt so good she didn't want him to stop. "Just... once?" she asked, and her face grew hot with shame.
Vincent released her tit. "Just once," he said. He knew that one time would lead to another and another and another. No woman could ever stop fucking once she was fully awakened to the joys of sex.
"I wouldn't... I wouldn't... " She found it difficult to talk. He was rapidly frigging her clit.
She'd never had an orgasm before, but she realized that her first would take place at any moment. The heavenly sensations were moving through her pussy and into her belly and ass. She was very wet between her legs. "I wouldn't want the girls at your office to think I've become your mistress."
Vincent struck the worry aside. "You won't be going to the office," he assured her. "You'll be working here, doing papers that I bring home at night."
He suddenly kissed her and she responded. When she did, he took her hand and brought it against his prick-shaft. She jerked the hand away.
He forced it back. "Touch my prick," he urged. "Hold it. Get familiar with it."
Karen clutched it and she was awed. "It's so terribly big," she whispered, although she could not see it in the darkness.
"Larger than your father's?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Say you want it, Karen."
Vincent frigged her clit unmercifully. She was delicately lifting her ass and spreading her thighs so that he could get more fingers into her seeping cunt-slit.
"Say it, Karen!"
"I... I... oh, I want it, Mr. Kingston!" she cried, then clutched him to her as he fell between her legs.
Vincent was too impatient to be tender with her.
"Oh!" Karen cried out as he jammed his bloated cock-head into her moist pussy-folds and rammed it directly against her maidenhead. The stiff cock in her tiny pussy-hole was more painful than she had thought it would be. Her cunt-lips gripped his thick boring cock-shaft.
Her hymen resisted his advance. "It hurts, Mr. Kingston!" she cried. "Don't. I... ohhhhh. I've changed my mind. I don't want to do it!"
The driving weight behind Vincent's initial fuck-thrust could not be stopped. He tipped the scales at one-eighty and he put every pound of it behind his powerful rod.
"Aiiiiii!" Karen screamed mightily, as his enormous prick burst through her hymen and plunged deeper into her cunt-channel. She writhed, trying to escape the awful pressure in her belly. Her ass trembled violently. Perspiration broke out on her tit-flesh. "Oh, stop!"
She couldn't believe what was happening. His prick was still moving inward, inch after inch after inch. She feared that its length was endless.
"Uhhh!" Vincent groaned as he banged his swollen cock-knob against her cervix. The entry into a virgin cunt was something that not even heaven could match. He lay there trembling, relishing her moist burning pussy-sheath as it grasped his prick in reluctant embrace.
Karen cried a little and he hoped she wouldn't turn out like the hayseed. "Mr. Kingston, dont... fuck me." The word was not foreign to her. She'd heard her father use it many times. But hearing it from her excited Vincent. He began a vigorous screwing of her cunt that caused the girl to pray aloud.
"God. God. God," she sobbed. "I can't take it. It's so big and long. Oh, stop, Mr. Kingston.
Oh, God. My pussy!"
She was a victim of lust at its worst. Vincent's huge cock-shaft pounded her virgin cuntchannel and the pace did not slow until he ejaculated. Karen felt his cock jerking against the mouth of her womb. She felt the hot jets of cock-juice pouring into her hole. And she cried a little more.
Vincent kept pumping. The odor of her young slit permeated the room. His awful desire for her kept his prick erect. He thrust more rhythmically into her loosening cunt. Her clit was a slick rubbery sliver of hot bloated flesh, frictioning wetly against his cock-shaft.
"Ah, ahhhhhh," she sighed. She was beginning to respond. Even the deep hurt in her belly felt wonderful. She was a complete novice, but she was awkwardly lifting her ass to meet his many fuck-thrusts. She could sense a profuse flow of fluids in her pussy. His prick was moving like a thick piston, and the sleeve that enclosed it was alive with a million nerve endings.
"Oh, Mr. Kingston," she whined. "I... I... "
"Coming," Vincent groaned. "Coming like hell." He ejaculated again.
Karen sobbed gratefully before the shame set in. Strangely, she thought of her father and wondered if it would have been as good to fuck him.
CHAPTER THREE
Her shame did not last the night, and Karen hated to see Vincent leave the next morning.
From the moment he stepped out the front door, she found herself eagerly anticipating his return. Since he had fucked her she felt more alive, more vibrant than ever before. Vincent had plucked the tender fruit her father had carefully nourished for so many years.
She spent the morning roaming through the many rooms in the mansion. A large collection of old Grecian and Roman coins caught her eye, but mostly she noticed the many paintings. The subject matter varied, except for the ones in Vincent's private bedroom. They were portraits of reclining nudes, voluptuous women glorying in their own sexuality. Some of the pictures appeared to be very old, especially the ones that portrayed naked females struggling against some mythical god.
Karen sighed. She was either dumb 0r uncultured, or she didn't have Vincent's taste for art. She didn't feel uplifted, didn't feel as if she were being drawn into the paintings. The muscular, virile-looking male gods did make her body tingle. And the struggling women with the I-want-to-be-ruined expression on their faces made her wish that Vincent would hurry home and fuck her again.
She finally tired of the house and went outside. The grounds were green and well-kept and the enchantment of them drew her deeper into the garden. She spotted a small white cottage near the gate and walked toward it. A man came out of the cottage and she impulsively waved to him.
He nodded silently, giving her the idea that he wasn't really interested in meeting her, then moved toward a tall hedge and began to trim it.
She didn't know why, but the young man intrigued her. Perhaps it was because she had never been around many young men. She moved closer, until she was standing only a few feet behind him.
"Do you work here?" she asked innocently.
"My God," he said slowly, turning around to face her. "What's Vincent got himself this time? Little Bo Peep?" He scowled. "Shit, yes, little girl, I work here."
"You don't have to snap my head off."
His voice softened. "Okay, I'm sorry."
She flushed under his appraising eyes. "I guess I did sound stupid."
"No," he said. "I just can't keep from getting angry every time a new girl shows up at the mansion. As for the stupid part, it all depends. You could be Vincent's niece or something?"
"No, his new secretary."
He smirked. "You fell for that line of shit... uh, pardon me, baloney?"
"It's not a line."
"Then you are stupid," the young man said. "I've seen a dozen like you come and go."
"Maybe they didn't do good work," she said.
"Maybe they didn't." He shook his head in disgust, turned his back to her, and resumed clipping the hedge.
"If you don't want to talk... " she began.
He threw the shears at his feet. "Honey, I've got one firm rule. Had it ever since puberty.
Don't waste time talking to a girl unless there's a future fuck in it. And you--well, Vincent's already got his brand on your pretty little ass!"
Karen blushed. She knew that she should be angry, but she wasn't. She liked the gardener, liked the serious expression on his lean tanned face, liked the strength that showed in the rippling muscles of his bare arms.
He was eyeing her again. His eyes ran up and down her trim figure, undressing her in his mind. She could feel his eyes burning into her tits and it made her nipples grow hot.
"You better be getting back to the house," he said.
"Why? Vincent is gone."
"Torne will come looking for you."
"Who is Torne?"
"He's kind of a foster mother hen who looks after the chicks while the rooster is away," the gardener said.
"Silly." She laughed. "Who is he, really?"
"The butler," the young man said. "You haven't seen him?"
"No."
The young man grinned broadly and Karen liked him even more. He had a pleasant, warm smile beneath his gruff exterior. "Well, brace yourself for a shock, honey. You won't see old Torne often, but hell be there. Creeping around, unseen and unheard. But there all the same, watching your every move. He thinks that Vincent Kingston is the greatest guy on earth."
"I take it you don't have the same opinion of Vincent," Karen said.
"He's just the man who pays me. When the check stops coming, I stop working. I think Torne would hang around for nothing."
"Why?"
The young man shrugged. "I guess Torne has his reasons. He worked as a dockhand at the trucking terminal for years. A forklift gave way, dropped a heavy carton of freight on his foot and crushed it. Vincent gave him the soft job at the mansion in gratitude for long years of faithful service. Or so Torne thinks."
"What do you think?" Karen asked.
"That Vincent wanted a strong-arm black buck around the house and Torne fit the bill."
"The way you talk, you must hate Vincent," Karen said.
The young man's eyes were focused on her bra again, seemingly reaching underneath to caress her titties. Her nipples stiffened. "I don't hate him," he said slowly. "I just hate the things he has that I haven't got."
"The mansion? The paintings?"
"You," he said, almost raping her with his eyes.
She saw the expression of raw cunt-hunger on his face and it made her uncomfortable.
"I... better be going," she stammered.
He chuckled at her sudden uneasiness. "If you need me, just call."
Karen smiled. She had to let him know that she wasn't displeased with him. "And whom will I call?"
"Billy," he said. "Billy Denim."
Karen moved slowly back toward the big house. Billy Denim had made her uncomfortable in more ways than one. Her cunt-mound was itchy. She could feel a small trembling in her belly. And the nipples of her tits remained taut against her bra. The sensations she felt were not at all unlike the ones Vincent had created with his lovemaking. And Billy had not made love to her, except with his eyes. He had wonderful eyes.
"Oh!" she cried out sharply. Just as she had reached for the door, it swung open. A huge, informally clad Negro man was standing before her. "I was just coming to look for you," he said.
"You must be Torne."
"Yes, ma'am."
She smiled. "Were you afraid I'd get lost?"
His expression remained frozen. "The grounds are large, Miss Karen."
"You know my name?" She had to look up into his face. He was over six feet tall, and his skin was a creamy brown instead of the coal blackness she had imagined. He was, in his own way, quite handsome, with sharp high cheekbones and deep-set brown eyes.
"Mr. Kingston told me all about you," he said. "He told me to look after your needs."
She was amazed that she felt quite at ease in the black man's presence. "Are you really my bodyguard, Torne?" she asked impulsively.
A faint, critical smile formed at the edges of his wide mouth. "Denim told you that?"
"Shouldn't he have?"
"He don't like me," Torne said bluntly. "And I don't like him. But let me tell you something, Missy. Denim guards the gate. Me, I just help Mr. Kingston look after the big house.
Denim? He's just an ex-cop who didn't know nothing about no growing thing until he came to work here. Ask him how to prune a rose and he can't tell you without looking at a book.
Ask him how to kick in a man's ribs and hell show you right off."
Torne turned, moved down the hallway with a noticeable limp, and vanished.
When Karen greeted Vincent at the door that evening, he immediately took her into his arms. She felt the heat of his half-hard cock pressing against her cunt-mound as he held her close.
"Let's go to bed," he murmured in her ear. "You were wonderful last night. I've had you on my mind all day. To bed. To bed."
"Before dinner?" She was almost shocked at the immense stiffness of his growing cock- shaft.
"Torne knows that I don't like to eat until late," Vincent said. "The culinary arts cannot compare with the nourishment of love."
"I suppose," she giggled, becoming titillated as he ground his hard cock-shaft against her cunt-mound.
Vincent took her by the hand and led her upstairs to his bedroom. He quickly stripped to the waist. "Take off your clothing," he said. "Do you know that I've never seen you in the nude?"
She blushed. Last night he had fucked her in complete darkness. Neither had seen the body of the other. They had only felt.
"Hurry," he said impatiently.
Karen began to undo her blouse. She wanted him to fuck her again, but a bit of innocence and doubt remained. "Is this all you want me for, Mr. Kingston? My body?"
Vincent did not deny his motives. "Your body got you the job, Karen."
"Yes, but... "
He ignored her as he took off his shoes and pants. "You must have suspected something when you read my ad."
"No, not really." She removed her blouse and fumbled with her bra. She had come this far and there was no turning back, but she hated the thought of exposing her naked tit-flesh to him.
Vincent chuckled with disbelief. "Even the intimate nature of the questionnaire didn't arouse your suspicions?"
She allowed the bra to slip from her breasts. "I was just thinking of the job," she whispered.
Vincent almost drooled. Her dainty titties were virginal but full, the pink nipples delicate and tasty-looking. "Your skirt," he said, leering at her.
Her hands trembled as she peeled her skirt and half-slip away. Her body looked very slender, but the slight immaturity of her girlish figure excited him even more. "Well have to do something about that," Vincent said, pointing at her crotch.
Karen looked down at her belly. Her panties, were almost threadbare. A quarter-size hole just above the crotch-strip allowed a small bunch of dark cunt-hair to protrude through. To her, it appeared almost obscene, and she put her hand over the tiny patch of hair. Vincent laughed. "You'll have clothing tomorrow," he said. "A whole new wardrobe. And panties. A lot of pretty panties. Can't have my employees going half-naked when they're supposed to be dressed."
"I can wait until I draw my first week's pay," Karen said.
"No," Vincent told her. "I'll see to everything. You'll have no need for money while you're here. Ill put your salary in a trust fund, and you can have it in one lump when you're ready to leave."
Karen stared at him. He was down to his jockey-type Shorts and his cock-bulge was enormous. She pulled her panties away from her belly, then hesitated.
"Damnit!" Vincent reached out and tore the fragile, worn panties from her hips. He flung them across the room. "They aren't good enough to be near your precious skin," he growled, then his voice softened. "Nothing but the best for you from now on, my dove."
The sudden and complete nudity shocked Karen. And when Vincent pushed his shorts down his thighs, she was further shocked. His cock-shaft sprang out from his hairy groin like a threatening lance, the swollen cock-head surging red with desire. His balls were large and hairy and bullish.
She took a step backward. "Mr. Kingston... "
"Vincent," he said. "You don't address a man who has fucked you as Mister." He reached for her.
His naked body burned against her. He was stroking her ass-cheeks and pushing her toward the king-size canopied bed. She fell beneath him and his weight bore down upon her slender frame. The long length of his prick could be felt along her upper thigh. She remembered how it had been the night before. Good. Very good. Desire flooded through her pussy and she spread her legs to him. A, tenseness filled her belly, although she wanted him to fuck her. She braced herself for the mighty fuck-thrust that would come from his stiff cock.
"No haste tonight, my love," Vincent whispered, then began to smother her tits with kisses.
In her innocence, Karen was amazed at his technique. He nudged, manipulated, licked and sucked her tits until the nipples were erect, the areolas swollen to smooth pink perfection. They tingled, actually throbbed, rising and falling with her uneven breathing.
"Oh, my titties," she sighed. "My titties feel so good, Vincent!"
His breath was hot as he buried his face between the mounds of her tits.
"Ummmm." Karen sighed in wonderment. Vincent's mouth left her breasts and the nipples shone wet with his saliva. His lips were moving, nibbling, tasting her soft flesh as they moved farther down her body. She closed her eyes, holding the lids tightly together. Her belly trembled violently. He was kissing all over it and digging his tonguetip in her navel.
"Ahhhh!" She didn't know what he was going to do and she didn't care. Anything he did to her had to be good, had to make her feel more like a woman. Vincent Kingston was supreme--something that most girls only dreamed about and never got.
"Uhhhhh!" Karen drew in her breath. Vincent's lips were moving along the edge of her cunt-hair. And then he sucked at each hip. She waited expectantly, wishing he'd put his mouth back on the lower part of her belly, right next to her hot little pussy-mound.
He did.
"Vincent," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.
She almost died. He was sliding his tongue through her pussy-hair, leaving the curls wet and plastered against her cunt-mound. He edged ever closer to the very beginning of her slit. Surely, he wouldn't. She shuddered in anticipation. It was too lovely to think about.
"Oh!" She gave out with a startled squeak as his tongue stiffened and lunged inward.
"Dear God!" The tip of it brushed her clit. It was heaven.
"Sweet... sweet pussy." Vincent was obsessed with the newness of his victim. She was faceless, she was nameless, she was but another lovely young female whom he had not yet fully tasted. His tongue worked expertly, sliding back and forth across her love-flesh until it grew in a hot lump against his taste buds.
Her pussy-fluids began to trickle, like honey from a freshly opened beehive.
He lifted his face momentarily from between her widespread thighs. He admired his handiwork. The fine line of dark hair on either side of her pouting pussy-hps was moisture- laden. The lips of her almost virgin cunt were slightly parted so that the delicate inner pink showed. From this valley of delightful pussy-folds, her small love-flesh rose in all its crimson glory, awaiting his next caress.
Karen's buttocks quivered. Her hands rested on her tits, squeezing them. "Vincent... " she said.
"Yes?" His soft laughter teased her. He knew that she was in sweet agony.
"Do... do it again."
"You delight me, little girl," he said. "Bashful. Modest. Inexperienced. And, oh, so damned lovable." He let his tongue creep across her quivering ass-cheeks, and then he dragged it across each inner thigh, just a fraction of an inch from her pussy-slit.
"Please do it again, Vincent," she whimpered. "I love it." She slowly eased her beautiful little ass from the mattress. The thin line of red between the lips of her pussy widened.
Vincent tongued the hot sliver of congested love-flesh.
Karen gasped as he sucked it between his lips. "Oh, you're sucking my clit. Darling. I love it!"
Karen was awar^ that he had utterly corrupted her in two short nights. She had fled her incest-minded father's clutches only to fall into something more terrible. What made it terrible was the fact that she was loving it, thriving on it, desiring it with all her heart.
Nothing seemed sacred or forbidden to Vincent Kingston. Her mouth, her tits, her pussy- they were all the same to him. Something to love.
"Ah... oh... ah... oh." She was ecstatic. Vincent was driving his tongue deeply into her cunt. It slithered in and out of her dripping hole like a half-hard prick. It was licking her, sucking her, fucking her. "Oh, God!" The cozy warmth inside her belly exploded unexpectedly. "I... came," she said in a surprised voice.
Vincent wasn't listening. His mouth enveloped her twitching pussy-hole, slurping at the sweet come-juice it offered in abundance. This he loved most of all. Nothing was better than to bring a young girl to the glorious summit and then to taste the fruits of his efforts. It made him feel like a hummingbird robbing a beautiful flower that had just opened its petals to the morning sun.
Karen lay exhausted on her back. Her pussy was a wet, tingling thing nestled in soft fur.
Her clit throbbed gently in its heated bed of fluid and flesh. Her eyes were shining as she looked at Vincent, who was still kneeling between her legs.
"You are mad," she whispered.
"Am I?" His mouth was firm, his eyes set hard with passion.
"No," she said. "I am mad for letting you lick my pussy."
He leaned forward, whispering, "Then let us go stark raving mad together, my love. Mad for one another's flesh."
She stared at his cock. It protruded across her cunt-mound, a good eight inches long. His hands rested on either side of her tits as he came forward. His bloated cock-head brushed hotly across her belly and retreated through her cunt-hair. It touched her clit.
"Vincent... I... " She wanted to tell him that she was satisfied, that she didn't care for more sex at the moment, but he was already pushing his huge glans into her cunt-hole. "I.
. . uhhhhhh!"
His cock felt even larger than it had the night before. But there was very little pain this time, and she had to admit that there was something very wonderful about having a big hard cock-shaft deep inside her pussy for a second time.
"Won-der--ful!" She liked the way her pussy-walls gripped his thick stalk as it penetrated deeper and deeper. Especially, she loved it when it had threaded all the way in, every last inch of it and the slick glans rested against her cervix, just waiting to spit out that wonderfully hot prick-juice.
"Exquisite," Vincent breathed, relishing the tightness of her recently virgin cunt-sleeve.
"Ummmm," Karen agreed. She was content with just having Vincent's big cock resting inside her belly. Her reverie was short-lived. "Uh... uhhhhhh!"
Vincent suddenly began a deep and prolonged thrusting that made her tits shake. For minutes he fucked her viciously, without plan and without mercy. Karen clung to him while his huge cock-meat ravaged her tender cunt. She was becoming numb from the force of it.
She wished that he would stop. The hammering in her belly continued endlessly.
"Please," she grunted. "You... it... uh! Uh Uh!"
Her battered ass bounced on the bed as his heavy balls slapped against it. His thick prick- shaft frictioned excitedly against her clit, and she felt the upper third of her pussy-channel ballooning open. She sensed the impending orgasm, and she no longer wanted Vincent to stop. She wanted him to keep fucking her... forever, if necessary.
"Oh, fuck," she whispered softly.
Vincent grinned as her nails dug into his back Her ass began to lift, meeting his thrusts in mid-air "You love it, you little bitch!" he gritted, and continued to fuck her vigorously.
"I love it!" she sobbed. "Yes, I do! I love your fucking!" Her forehead was dotted with perspiration. Her face was immensely pale. "Oh, how I love it!" She shuddered and began to whimper gratefully as she felt his hot come-juice pouring into the deep recesses of her prick-filled cunt.
And then she closed her eyes and came with him. Gloriously.
CHAPTER FOUR
The large array of clothing that Vincent provided was enough to drive Karen to new heights of elation, but she noted that very little of it was for partying or street wear. Mostly it consisted of pretty things to wear while lounging around the mansion and walking in the spacious garden. And much of it was frilly, colorful lingerie. Fuck-clothes.
She found Vincent more than bearable as the days progressed, although his lovemaking became more demanding after the first week. Not that she exactly understood what was perverse and what wasn't perverse when it came to fucking activities. It was just that some things didn't seem quite normal. Like Vincent wanting to tongue-fuck her all the time.
Karen admitted that she had grown fond of being tongue-fucked, but it was the other little things that disturbed her. Vincent was always rubbing his long stiff cock-meat all over her body, sometimes much too intimately. Not that she didn't think it was beautiful to look at, but... well, once he had put it between her tit-mounds and had drawn the globes around the thick cock.
She'd laughed at first, and then she'd just looked at him, not knowing what to do. Vincent had suddenly grunted and had shot off between her tits. She hadn't exactly appreciated having his cock-cream in such an odd place.
All in all, she supposed the one thing that bothered her most was that Vincent never brought any work home from the office. It did not take her long to realize that she was not truly an employee, but a fuck-mate for Vincent. As Billy Denim had said, she was dumb.
She thought about walking out, but she was helpless without money. Anyway, Vincent was good to her. He offered her a security she had never known before. And when he fucked her, she felt so good all over that she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him. It was difficult to admit to herself, but she knew that she was becoming as wild over sex as Vincent.
Another week passed, and Karen had not yet made a definite decision. She did know that immorality ran rampant in the mansion and that she was becoming more trapped by her own fuck-need with each passing day. How did one escape from something from which one did not really wish to escape? She could not answer her own question.
It was Monday, and she heard Torne talking to someone at the front door. His voice was stern, and he was obviously denying the visitor entrance.
Karen approached and she could see that Torne was talking to a young girl not much older than herself.
"You better get on your way, Miss Becky," Torne said. "Mr. Kingston won't like it if he comes home and finds you here. I reckon it's about time for him now."
"Don't you think I know all about Vincent's schedule, Torne?" Becky asked, smirking. "He won't be back until late this evening."
Torne continued to block her way. "You better leave anyway, Miss Becky."
"Are you going to throw me out, Torne?" She took a cautious step forward.
Torne stood his ground.
"Maybe if I'd be real good to you, Torne," she said.
"Good?"
"You know," she said huskily. "Let you put your hands on my tits and feel me up a little Would that satisfy you, Torne?"
Torne went silent.
Becky laughed. "Have you ever fucked a white girl, Torne?"
"You got no cause to say things like that," Torne protested. "I never once tried to put a hand on you while you was here."
"I know, Torne," she said softly. "But I saw the way you looked at me. Like you wanted to eat me alive. Like a girl-eating cannibal, hungry for white flesh."
"Just go, Miss Becky," Torne said coldly. He extended his huge palms. "These hands can do more than feel you up. They can crush the life outta you."
Karen intervened. "Let her come in, Torne," she said. "She means no harm."
"You don't know her, Miss Karen," Torne protested.
"Please, Torne."
"You better let well enough alone, Missy," Torne said to Karen. "You better not talk to her."
But he stepped aside and shuffled off.
"Shit," Becky breathed as she entered the living room. "He always gave me the creeps. I used to wonder what would happen to me if he really got cunt-hungry while Vincent was away. I used to wake up nights, expecting to find him hovering over my bed like a big vulture, grasping his enormous prick... "
Karen didn't care for the girl's all-too-vivid imagination. "You used to live here?" she asked abruptly.
"You might say that I warmed Vincent's bed until he decided he wanted a new girl," Becky said bitterly. "But don't mind me. Actually, I was curious to see what my replacement looked like." Her eyes swept up and down Karen's figure. "Well, you do have nice tits."
Karen flushed. "Thank... you."
"Vincent always was one for tits," Becky said. "Always acted as if his mother had never bothered to wean him."
"Just why did you come by?" Karen asked. "Not really to see me, I know."
"No, I couldn't care less what you look like." Becky grimaced. "I suppose that I wanted to warn you."
"Warn me?"
"About Vincent," Becky said. "Vincent treats you like shit when he's through with you. But the bad thing is--you can't get him out of your system. I guess every woman is a whore at heart, if the right man comes along to teach her. Do you know that I've fucked with every boy who asked me since I left here, hoping to find one that could make me feel the same way Vincent did?"
"How did Vincent make you feel?" Karen asked. She was beginning to wish she had allowed Torne to throw the girl out.
"Like I was the only girl in the whole universe and he was the only man," Becky said. "Just blending it all together in one big sex-crazed body. Doesn't he make you feel the same way?"
"I... I've never really given it much thought," Karen said, turning and walking away.
"Maybe he's not really got his claws into you yet," Becky said. "Well, if he hasn't, you'd better get out before the poison gets in."
"I'm not afraid of him," Karen said. "He's been very good to me."
"That's the point, you dumb bitch." Becky hissed. "He showers you with kindness, he wins you over bit by bit. All the while, he's creeping up on you, taking control of your body.
Before you know it, you're a damned zombie. Just a pretty body with no mind. You'll do whatever he says, no matter how distasteful it seems. And then you'll grow to love everything he does to you!"
Karen whirled to face her would-be benefactress. "Torne was right. You had better leave."
"Wait... "
"Get out!"
"All right!" Becky shouted. "I'll go. But when you find yourself gagging on his flesh, or wasting away in the pink room, don't say you weren't warned!"
She turned to go, then paused with a smile frozen on her lips. "And keep your eyes on that big buck, in case he gets a yen for your sweet ass. He's hung like Goliath."
Karen was left deeply disturbed by Becky's visit. She could not forget the blonde's washed-out face or the lines of bitterness around her once-pretty mouth. She did not know why the girl hated Vincent with such passion, and she searched the mansion, hoping to extract the secret from Torne, but he could not be found.
When Vincent arrived home that evening, he poured himself two fingers of Scotch and studied the strangely silent Karen. She had her nose buried in a rare handbound book of poems she'd found in the library.
"Quite valuable, that volume," he said. "Do you know that it was given to me by my old professor at the university? Left it to me in his will. Southern authors. All of them."
"Some of the poems make me want to cry," Karen said. "There's one about this girl who was cast out by her lover... "
Vincent took the hint. "Something's bothering you, Karen. What is it?"
"You never bring any work home for me to do," she said.
"It's more than that," Vincent said. "Out with it." His whisky was untouched.
"Do you know a girl named Becky?" she asked. Vincent flushed. "Who told you about Becky?"
"She came by today."
"You talked to the little bitch?" Vincent growled. "Yes."
"I suppose she told you some wild tale about me?"
He looked so angry that Karen wished that she had not mentioned the girl's visit. "She said she used to live here."
"A maid. Just a maid." Vincent downed the Scotch and grimaced. "What else did she tell you?"
"She told me I had better keep an eye on Torne."
Vincent laughed. He was obviously relieved that Becky had not completely exposed him. "Don't worry about Torne," he said. "He worships the ground I walk on. He'd cut his own balls out before he'd touch you."
Karen coughed and looked embarrassed.
"Anything else you want clarified about this Becky?" Vincent asked. "Let's get it all out in the open while we're talking about it."
"Did you fuck her, Vincent?"
"Hell, yes," he said. "I fucked her. Don't most rich men fuck their maids?"
Karen put the book aside and stood up. "Could I have a drink?"
He grinned and poured one for her. "Just a little," he said. "I hate making love to a drunk bitch."
"Are we going to make love now, Vincent?" Karen drank the whisky and it warmed her belly and eased her worry.
"Don't we always, as soon as I come home?" he asked. "Or don't you want to?"
"Yes, Vincent," she said softly. "I want to." She desperately needed reassurance, and only his body could give it to her.
"Then go upstairs and put on something pretty and sexy," he said. "Something I like.
Perhaps something blue?"
She smiled and went toward the stairs, then paused briefly on the first step. "Vincent?"
"Yes?"
"Where is the pink room?" Vincent shrugged. "Never heard of such a place."
"Becky mentioned it," she said. "So did Torne."
"Everybody has gone nuts around here," he said. "Have you seen a pink room in the house?"
"No."
"Then it must not exist." Vincent chuckled.
"Unless Billy Denim has painted the inside of the cottage pink."
The mention of Billy Denim ended the conversation. Karen hurried up the stairs.
She undressed in her own room. When she was naked, she ran her hands over her breasts, trying to create a desire that she didn't feel. The whisky had warmed her belly but the heat had proceeded no further. She felt tense between her legs. Her ass-cheeks were hard in silent resistance to what was coming. The specter of Becky hung over the room.
Karen stood before the full-length mirror. She was not vain about her body, but it had grown more voluptuous since she had come to the mansion. Vincent's lovemaking had done something for her, if only in her imagination. Her titties were fuller, the nipples a healthy glowing pink. Her stomach was a bit more rounded, the pussy-mound more developed, the thick dark curls more profuse. Vincent was not making her a zombie. He was turning her into a sensuous, full-bodied woman.
She was suddenly relaxed. The warmth was spreading now, into her genitals, buttocks and breasts. She went to the bureau and took out the thin blue negligee. Vincent especially liked it because it covered her body like an almost invisible veil. It was there and yet it wasn't. Everything showed through.
She tied it at the neck with a tiny bow. An inch of flesh showed through from the valley of her breasts to the beginning of her pussy-mound. She smiled to herself, then went down the hallway and climbed into the king-size bed in Vincent's room.
Vincent entered the room. She couldn't help staring. She didn't know where he had shed his clothing, but he was already naked. His prick was dangling against his balls, bloated and thick, but not at all hard. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his finger from the bow at her neck down the narrow strip of pink flesh. He paused at her furry mound and tickled beneath the thick curls. She giggled.
Vincent looked down at his prick. "Sometimes," he drawled, "I feel a little dissipated."
"Maybe you're tired of me," Karen joked.
"Hardly," he said with a faint smile. "It's just that I have a need for variety. That little something extra to give me a jolt."
"Would it help if I touched your prick?" She cautiously reached across his thigh and caressed the hot, soft mass just behind the glans. His cock stiffened somewhat but not considerably. "I just don't know how, I guess," she said.
"You will in time," Vincent said. "There are ways and there are other ways." He leaned across her body and undid the bow. And then he pushed the negligee to either side of her breasts and hips.
Karen arched her breasts, thinking he was going to kiss them as he eased over her. She opened her legs to him, but he surprised her by pushing them flat against the bed between his knees.
He was sitting high on her thighs, his cock protruding just across her pussy-mound. The swollen glans burned against her lower belly. Vincent gripped the half-hard shaft and dragged his prick back and forth between her hips. All the while he was inching higher and soon she could feel his cock-knob caressing just above her navel.
Although she didn't like what he was doing, she didn't protest, but she was once again remembering what had happened the last time he had climbed high on her body. Just slowly creeping up on her until his thick stalk lay between her tits. It hadn't really been that horrible, she supposed, but it had been messy, him coming between her tits that way and getting his cock-juice all over her. And she hadn't gotten even the slightest thrill from the obscene act.
She encouraged him to do something else. "It's getting stiff, Vincent, try to put it in me now."
Vincent ignored her. He kept inching along her flesh. He had a weird look in his eyes-like he had been gripped by some new obsession she didn't know about. Actually, she couldn't think of anything that he hadn't already tried.
She squirmed a little. Vincent's big vermilion cock-knob had edged into the lower valley of her tit-flesh. He cupped the globes and pressed them against his cock-head. And then he began to make a small fucking motion into the warm crevice formed by her tits. Karen didn't exactly feel thrilled, but she saw that her nipples had become erect of their own accord. They were tingling and she wished that Vincent would take his prick away and kiss them.
Suddenly he let her breasts fall away from his thick cock-shaft. It throbbed and jumped between her tits. "It... it's hard now, Vincent," she whispered. "And... I want it. I'm getting all wet between my legs." She expected him to come at any moment, and when he did his cock-juice would shower all over her upper body, maybe even into her face. "My pussy's so hot, honey," she whispered, being more bold. "Oh, hurry and put it in me."
Vincent seemed determined to do otherwise. He lifted his buttocks and she felt his balls dragging across her breasts. And then his cock-head was touching her slender throat. She swallowed nervously, "Vincent, what are you trying to do?"
He gripped his cock-meat and drew the heated glans back and forth beneath her chin. His knob was, in fact, just an inch or so from her lower lip. Her lip trembled and she tried to pull her chin higher, but the hot red knob followed. "Vincent... "
"Don't be afraid," he said. "Stick your tongue out and tickle my cock."
"What?"
"Kiss it."
Her eyes questioned him.
"Kiss it," he said. "Kiss it like I kiss your nipples."
"You mean put my mouth on it?"
"Yes."
"I... can't, Vincent. I've never done anything like that before."
He looked displeased. "You can do anything if you set your mind to it, Karen."
She turned her face to one side, away from his threatening cock. "Please don't make me, Vincent."
"Nobody is going to make you do anything, Karen," he said, trying to soothe her. "Just try it a moment. If you don't find it enjoyable, we'll call the whole thing off." He rested on his left hip, pushing his cock-end at her mouth from another angle. She put her hands before her face, and he tore them away with a curse. "Damnit, Karen. Do it. Do it now!"
"You're hurting me, Vincent," she cried. "Stop squeezing my titties."
"Take it." His glans brushed hotly across her mouth.
"Mmmmfff!" She drew her lips against her teeth in protest.
"Do you want to go back to your father, Karen?" he snapped. "Once he discovers you've lost your virginity, you won't be able to keep him out of your cunt."
"I'm not going back!"
"Do you want to lose your job and all your pretty clothing?"
"I... " His prick was very large. Karen's eyes traveled down the long thick shaft to his hairy groin.
She was trying not to look at his glans. His cock came at her in a crimson blur and she felt it jam against her teeth. Her lips gave way. His prick was so hard that her lips were being bruised by the relentless display of force.
"N... mmmmm... glaaaah!" Karen was startled to find his cock-head inside her mouth.
For some crazy reason she remembered what Becky had said. When you find yourself choking on his flesh...
Karen shuddered. The unbelievable was true. It was happening to her. She tried to push her tongue under his cock-head and force it away. Vincent reacted by driving his rod deeper into her twitching throat. "Glaaaaah!" She almost strangled.
Vincent's eyes were brimming with mad lust. "Damnit. Suck it!"
"Mmmm... uhhhh... I can't," she gurgled around his mouth-filling prick.
"The first time I've asked you to do a little something for me and you refuse," Vincent groaned. "No... gratitude."
Her tongue wiggled against his glans as she spoke. "I... mmm... hate it."
"Uhhh," he said. "You little bitch. Ill make you love it!"
He reached behind him and began to caress her belly. And then he rubbed lovingly at her cunt-mound before pushing a finger between her cunt-lips and searching out her clit.
"Oh, baby!" she breathed.
She began to succumb. The practiced movement of his fingers was exquisite. Her thoughts were drawn from the prick that filled her mouth to the activity between her outstretched legs. She whimpered softly. Vincent's thumb was jammed against her love- flesh and he was threading the next finger into her cunt. He wiggled it about in her pussy- hole, frigging her clit simultaneously.
"Vincent... love," she whined. "Oh, God! Heaven! Uhhh!" Her mouth flew open in surprise as he jammed another finger against her asshole.
His prick fell away from her lips.
"Take it," Vincent gritted. "Take my cock back in your mouth!" Slowly, he ground the finger into her puckered asshole up to the second joint.
Karen squealed with delight. "God. God. God, Vincent! Frig me. Put all your fingers inside me!"
The triple sensations ran head-on with an erotic crash. She was eyeing his cock again.
Suddenly, his big fat cock-head looked delicious. She grasped his shaft, enveloped the throbbing knob with her lips and began a mad, uncontrollable sucking.
"That's it!" Vincent groaned. "Ah, my pretty little... uhhhh... Karen!"
Karen's thoughts were made hazy by lust. The girl, Becky, had simply tried to frighten her, wanting to get even with Vincent for throwing her out. What Vincent was doing to her at the moment was wonderful, and what she was doing to him was even more wonderful. His fingers were moving everywhere. Her clit, her pussy, her asshole. The sensations were so lovely as to be unbearable. She bordered on a new kind of ecstasy. One that was even better than just plain fucking.
"I... mmmmm!" Her lips tightened around his cock-shaft. Her fine white teeth gnawed tenderly on it. His cock-head surged against her tongue. She began to suck it like an experienced whore. She wanted to draw all of his big, sweet rod down her throat, even it she strangled on it. "Baby, baby, baby," she gurgled. "Ahhhhh. Oh, I'm coming!"
Karen felt as if she were coming from her cunt and her asshole. Her come-fluid gushed around Vincent's pussy-clutching fingers. She drooled wetly around his prick, and, driven by the supreme hunger, managed to draw another inch of it into her mouth.
The big knob jerked against her tongue. The hot, profuse jets of cum filled her mouth to overflowing, and yet she did not attempt to release his cock-shaft. Vincent sounded as if her were crying for joy. Karen sobbed happily as he forced the remainder of one finger into her asshole. "Uhhhhh." She came again, abruptly and thoroughly.
She was still quivering in the throes of her last orgasm when it came to her attention that her mouth was filled with his cock-juice. She pondered on what was the proper thing to do with it. She swallowed strongly. It was like warm honey going down her throat.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alone in her own bed, the spell worn off, Karen began to realize what a perverse act Vincent had forced her to commit. No. Forced wasn't the right word. He had pushed his cock at her, then he titillated her until she had willingly sucked him off. She had, in fact, become voraciously involved at one point. Her own weakness made the act of cock- sucking seem even more horrible. Was there no limit to what she would do when she wasa sufficiently aroused? God. And to think that she had once been repelled because her father had made a few simple advances toward her!
It made her doubly bitter because she had been forewarned by Becky. She was a fool to have ignored the girl's words of wisdom. She was indeed becoming a zombie. A wanton, flesh-loving zombie. Vincent was gaining control of her mind and her body.
She made a firm decision. Even if she was penniless and homeless, she had to get away from the mansion before it was too late. She didn't want to end up like Becky--bitter lines around her mouth and an empty expression in her eyes.
Karen swallowed nervously. The taste of Vincent's cock-sap lingered in her mouth. Finally, she slept, and her dreams were filled with gigantic pricks coming at her from all directions.
She moaned to show her fright and disgust, but she knew that she loved the sight of them.
The next morning, about an hour after Vincent had left the mansion, Karen took out her small suitcase and packed it. She was wearing the same skirt and blouse that she had worn upon arriving at the mansion, and the battered suitcase contained none of the pretty underclothing that Vincent had purchased for her. When she left, she didn't intend to be carrying anything that would remind her of him.
She crept cautiously down the stairs. As usual, Torne was out of sight and hearing, and she proceeded to the front door. She paused between the tall white columns, suddenly filled with a sense of reluctance. She actually hated to leave!
She fought against her own flesh. Her cunt-mound was itchy and congested, and her nipples tingled with forbidden excitement. She would never forget the things that had happened to her here, and she could not truthfully say that Vincent had not been good to her.
Karen took a deep breath. She knew that she was trying to rationalize, trying to build justification for staying. It would be so easy to say that everything was good, that nothing was wrong, but this was always the argument of the totally corrupt. Dear God. I don't want to be totally corrupt! With this thought she leaped down the steps.
She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Torne lurching after her on his bad foot.
When he did not appear, her heart beat more easily. It was going to be a whole new world for her. She could hear the birds singing and the dew was still fresh on the grass. She approached the tall iron gate. It was locked. Her heart did a slow flutter.
"You can scale the wall."
She turned to see Billy Denim coming from the gardener's cottage. "Open the gate for me," she said. "You must have a key."
"No can do," he said. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his arms were crossed against his hairy, slightly perspiring chest. "Vincent would have my ass if I even gave you a little push up the wall."
"I've got to get away, Billy," she said desperately. "I can't stay here any longer. You don't know what it's like."
"I think I do." He grimaced. "Vincent is getting to you?"
"No," she blurted, ashamed to tell him the naked truth. "I... I've just decided to go home."
"I've heard about his fuck-sessions," Denim said. "I sit down here in this lousy cottage at night and I can almost hear the pretty girls moaning with pleasure as he makes love to them. Two damned years I've sat here and wondered what it would be like to be in Vincent's shoes--or drawers. Young, naked girls dancing around me and doing all manners of things to make me happy."
Karen blushed hotly. She wished to God that she could stop telegraphing her inner feelings. "It isn't that way," she said. "It isn't that way at all."
"Oh, shit." Denim scowled darkly. "Why do women do the things they do if they value the aura of innocence so much? You can find one with a ten-inch prick shoved up her snatch and she'll proclaim her innocence."
"Don't be vulgar," Karen said.
"Then don't be lying to me," Denim said. "Becky told me how it was."
"You talked to Becky?"
He nodded. "She stopped and chatted for a while when she was here. Even came into the cottage for a few minutes. Now me, I'm truthful. She's a pretty fair piece of ass considering that Vincent had already run her through the wringer."
"You... " Karen was blushing again.
"I never could refuse anything that was offered to me for free," Denim said, grinning. "Oh, stop blushing, Karen. I'm sure that Vincent's taught you all the ABC's of sex."
"Oh!" Karen stomped her feet like an angry child. "Just open the gate."
"Nope," Denim said. "This job beats pounding the beat and having some beefy-faced horse's ass with a badge giving me hell all the time. If I let you go, I'm out of work. Vincent, bastard though he is, pays better than the city council."
"I'll do anything, Billy," she whispered desperately.
"Anything?"
"Anything!"
His eyes ran up and down her body, mentally undressing her again. "I believe you would," he said.
"I don't mean... " she stammered.
"Sure you do," he said. "You mean exactly that. Anything. Anything old Billy wants." His arms snaked around her narrow waist and he pulled her to him. His prick was hot and pulpy against her pussy-mound. She struggled for a brief moment as he kissed her deeply, and then she let the suitcase fall at her feet.
"Don't, Billy," she protested, but she could not put together a great deal of resistance. His prick stiffened against her pussy. She felt a glow in her pussy-slit and buttocks.
His fingers dug at her ass-flesh, and then he suddenly released her. "Right now, honey," he said hoarsely, "you're too hot for me to handle."
Karen noticed that Billy was looking toward the mansion. She turned. Torne was standing in the doorway, looking toward the cottage.
"You better go back," Denim said, obviously unnerved by the sight of the big Negro.
"I can't, Billy!"
"You have to," he insisted. "Torne's as strong as three men. I can hold my own in any street brawl, but I'm not crazy enough to go up against Torne without a billy in my hand.
Even then, I'd probably lose."
"You're afraid?"
"Shit, no!" Denim spat. "I just don't want to lose my head over a piece of ass."
"Oh, shit," she said miserably.
"Don't look like it's the end of the world," Denim said. "You can try again tomorrow, when Torne isn't looking. I'll see that you get out the gate-if you keep your end of the bargain."
Karen could almost feel his stiff prick-shaft still probing at her cunt, although he was standing several feet away from her. She had made no agreement with him, but she knew what he meant "I'll keep my end of the bargain," she said.
"Before you leave?" His lust-filled eyes were intense and his mouth was a hungry line in his face "Before I leave," she promised, then picked up the suitcase and slowly walked back toward the waiting butler.
"I'll carry that back upstairs for you, Missy," Torne said solemnly, taking the suitcase from her hand.
"Torne," she said, "I wasn't going to... "
"Makes no difference to me what you was going to do, Miss Karen," he said. "You didn't.
That's all that counts. Mr. Kingston would've been mighty displeased to come home and find you gone."
"Would he have blamed you?" Karen asked, following him inside.
"He'd have blamed everybody," Torne said. "Heads would've rolled."
"I don't want to make you lose your job, Torne," she said.
"I do need it, Missy," Torne said. "Don't nobody care about hiring a crippled black man, even if he can do the work of a mule."
"I'm sorry, Torne."
"If you're sorry, you won't cause me no more aggravation," Torne said. "And you'll stay away from the cottage. Ain't nothing down there for you but trouble. Trouble for me, too."
He limped up the stairs and left Karen standing in the living room.
That evening, as usual, Vincent made love to Karen. She responded ardently, not because of Vincent's technique, but because she did not want to arouse his suspicions.
Obviously, Torne had not told him of her attempted escape from the grounds.
"You're homy tonight, baby," he said, thrusting his cock-meat into her deeply.
"Hot... hot," she murmured, whipping her ass at him in a frenzy of make-believe passion.
Then, on the verge of climax, she discovered that the make-believe passion had become the real thing. Her thoughts were suddenly centered on Billy Denim and not on the man who was fucking her.
She could not believe the things going through her head. She was being loved by one man, yet she was wantonly thinking of another. It only went to prove that Vincent had indeed made a whore of her.
It was not a very nice thought. She wasn't educated in the psychology of sex, but she knew how society would judge her. A man who desired variety was virile. A woman who desired variety was a slut. It was discomforting to think of herself as a slut when she had not yet reached her eighteenth birthday.
"Fuck me, Vincent," she cried, trying to shut out the image of Billy Denim's laughing face and bulging cock-lump. "Oh, fuck me!"
She shuddered ecstatically as Vincent ejaculated. But it wasn't Vincent who was coming in her pussy. It was Billy Denim. And each hot jet of cum was putting her one step closer to freedom. Once, the final drop was spent, he would rise from between her legs and fling open the iron gate.
"Oh, Billy!" she almost exclaimed, but stifled the sound by biting her tongue. Vincent caught the final desperate nibble of her pussy-walls against his cock-head and never knew the difference.
When she left the house the next morning, Karen was wearing her housecoat. She wanted to make it appear that she was going for a stroll in the garden. Underneath she wore a skirt and blouse, and she had purposely left her suitcase behind. If Torne saw her, he would suspect nothing.
She made a wide circle through the greenery and came out beside the cottage. Billy Denim was standing in the doorway, looking toward the mansion. "You should have been a commando," he said. "Did Torne have his eye on you?"
"I haven't seen him this morning," she said.
"You can bet your sweet ass he's around somewhere," Denim said. "Well, let's get inside before he does spot you." He led her into the cottage, bolted the door and pulled the shades.
"Mmmmm," she sighed as he kissed her in total darkness. He had named his price and she meant to pay it. And, strangely enough, she felt no reluctance to do so.
Denim released her and turned on the light. "I'm not rushing you," he said, "but I wanted to know if you were just leading me on."
"Do you think I am?" she asked impishly. "No." He grinned. "I liked your response. You kissed like you meant it."
"You bet I did," she whispered. "And I'm not ashamed of it."
He kissed her again. Karen took off her housecoat, but did not attempt to remove the clothing she wore beneath it. She didn't deny that she wanted Denim to make love to her, but rewarding him with her body made her feel cheap. The warm trembling in her belly pushed aside any reservations. She couldn't wait for Denim to start.
"We... we'd better get it over with," she said. "I mean I have to get away quickly if I'm going to go."
Denim was already barefooted and shirtless. His thumbs were hooked near the zipper of his jeans. Karen could see the magnificent cock-bulge forming at the tight crotch of his pants.
"You sure you want to?" he asked.
"I have to, don't I?" She thought it was kind of him to make it appear that she had a choice, that she wasn't really trading her body for her freedom.
"I was just thinking it might all be for nothing," he said. "Even if I let you go, Vincent might send Torne after you."
He wasn't kidding. He was sincere!
Karen began to fear that he wasn't going to fuck her. "I'll chance that," she said quickly, then backed toward the bed without further encouragement from Denim. She sat on the edge of the mattress. Jittery. Time was an important factor. "Oh, hurry," she whispered.
Denim skinned his jeans and shorts across his narrow hips. Karen caught herself lusting over his body. His belly was flat and muscular, his thighs strong and lean. His prick-shaft protruded long and thick from his hairy groin. It was lovely to look at. Even his balls excited her. So pink and virile-looking.
He sat on the bed with her and put his hand on her knee. "You want to take your clothes off?" he asked.
"Not everything," she said softly. "It'll take too long to undress, then dress again. Just my panties."
"Well?"
"You do it." She smiled.
She lay on her back and Denim reached beneath her skirt, searching for the waistband of her panties. She lifted herself while he peeled the panties over her trembling ass-flesh.
And then she stared hot-eyed at him as he pushed her skirt high on her belly. The sight of the pale female belly leading to lush dark hair on her pussy-mound caused his hard-on to twitch.
He caressed her flat, quivering belly. His hand was damp against her skin. "I'm a little nervous about the whole thing," he said.
"Why? Torne?"
"I just can't believe my own good fortune," he said. "That I'm finally getting one of Vincent's girls. Besides Becky, I mean. She doesn't count, having already been thrown out. But you're prime stuff, honey. He still wants to keep you. That's enough to make me get my rocks off. Vincent's girl in my bed!"
"Don't talk about Vincent anymore." Karen continued to he on her back, her face flushed, her eyes misty with desire. She liked the way his hand traveled around her body from the waist down. His fingers were not demanding or brutal. They were simply touching, gently exploring each curve and crevice of her ass-flesh, thighs, and pussy-mound. Her clit was beginning to throb and her cunt-slit was becoming moist with excitement.
His hand clutched her furry cunt-mound and she sensed his desperation. "You're so damned beautiful," he croaked. "But... you're just a kid."
"I'm a woman," she whispered, wanting him, arching her pussy toward him.
His smile was tight and serious. "When I was a cop, I wanted to run every boy in that I saw trying to seduce a young girl like you." He continued to rub her, his fingers caressing the lips of her pussy.
"I... I've already been seduced," she said urgently, wishing he'd hurry and put that big delicious-looking prick-shaft between her legs.
"So damned young," he said.
"It doesn't matter!"
"Once a cop, always a cop, I guess." But even as he was talking, he was easing his finger against her love-flesh.
"Oh!"
She put her hand over his, holding it to her cunt.
"I mean, I keep thinking you'd have been jail-bait in the old days," he said. "Before free love. Before the Lib movement. Now it's considered chic for a girl to fuck as soon as she has hair on her little pussy." His finger tenderly caressed her asshole, then slipped back through her seeping pussy-slit. He slipped a third of his finger into her pussy-channel.
"Uhhhh... oh!" She lifted her ass, pushing her cunt toward his probing finger. "Don't be so moralistic!" she cried.
"Damnit!" he gritted. "I've been trying to give you an out. I've been trying to tell you that you don't have to go through with the deal. You don't have to fuck me! I'll get you through the gate, anyway."
"But I want to!" she cried, eyeing his big hard-on. Suddenly, her hand snaked toward the thick prick-meat and she captured it in a viselike grip. His cock-head surged beyond her fingers.
"You... asked... for... it." With a groan Denim rolled between her spread white thighs.
She lifted her body to meet his initial fuck-thrust, and he fed his cock-meat quickly into the gaping, twitching lips of her hot little pussy.
"Oh, my sweet!" she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck and nibbling hungrily at his mouth as his huge prick sank to the hilt in her pussy. "Oh, fuck me, Billy Denim. Do it because it feels so good. Fuck me because... because I love you!"
His prick amply filled her hungry, clutching cunt-channel. She felt as if her body had just received a badly needed injection. They were perfectly matched. Her cunt was like a snug wet glove against his cock. Her pussy-walls gripped his smooth, slippery glans, and her clit slithered deliciously against his thrusting cock.
"Oh, God!" Karen was ecstatic. She felt wonderful, and it wasn't just lust. Vincent Kingston had done all manners of things to her body, but he'd never managed to make her feel quite like this. Denim was pounding furiously into her cunt, and her rapidly working ass was making vigorous movements as she tried to match his fuck-thrusts.
There was a tapping at the door. Karen tried to sit up, but Denim's pounding cock forced her down again. It was too good. She couldn't leave it. The thick cock-shaft was slick with her love-fluids, moving freely and easily into her expanding pussy-channel. The ballooning had started. The terribly wonderful congestion was growing. She was very near a climax.
"Somebody's... ummmm... knocking," she managed to say.
His cock-thrusts deepened. "The door's locked," he groaned.
"Oh, keep fucking me," she whined, and tried to open the front of her blouse so that he could kiss her breasts. Denim was trying to help her.
"Damnit." He tore the buttons away and her bra was exposed, the heaving tits pushing over the cups.
The tapping continued.
"It might be Torne," she gasped, trying to writhe from beneath the bra. Finally, her tits popped out of the cups. The nipples were hard and pointy.
Denim screwed her furiously.
"Don't stop," she cried, lifting her tasty globes toward his straining, reaching lips. "Oh, suck my titties!" Her desire at the moment was more powerful than her fear of the black giant.
Denim began to smother her tit-flesh with kisses as he fucked frantically. "Deeper," she sobbed. "Oh, put that big prick way up in my pussy and... oh, God! I'm coming, Billy!"
Her come-fluid spurted around Denim's embedded cock. He made guttural sounds. His teeth clung to one nipple, his lips sucking just beyond the areola. He jammed his prick- shaft in to the balls and ejaculated, then took a few short quick afterstrokes to completely drain his cock-juice into her clasping pussy.
"Bravo," she said, commending his efforts. "That was wonderful, Billy Denim."
Denim groaned, stiffened his legs, and reluctantly withdrew his cock from her pussy. The hammering at the door had grown more forceful. "Torne... " he said.
Karen sat up. She searched for her panties, couldn't find them, and jerked the hem of her skirt over her cum-streaked thighs. She looked toward the door. She regretted not having been able to lie in Denim's arms and enjoy the aftereffects of her orgasm, but her heart had begun to pound with a new kind of excitement. She heard the loud thump of a man's shoulder against the door. Once. Twice. Three times.
The door splintered open and Torne stood spraddle-legged in the doorway. He glared at Denim. "You just had to do it, didn't you, boy?" he said. "You just had to get in the pretty Missy's pants."
"Just get the fuck out of here, Torne," Denim said. "What's done is done. There's nothing you can do about it now."
"I can whup your white ass," Torne said. "That's what I can do. Mr. Kingston ain't gonna like it when he finds out you been doing it with Miss Karen."
"She's through with Kingston," Denim said.
"I'm afraid she ain't," Torne said. "Not 'til Mr. Kingston says so."
"I told her she could leave," Denim said.
Torne looked at Karen, who was still searching around the bed for her missing panties.
"Denim tell you that you could go, Miss Karen?"
"Yes."
"Well, he's done told you a big lie, Missy," Torne said. "You got to stay right here until Mr.
Kingston gives the word."
"Until he tires of me," Karen said bitterly. "When will that be, Torne?"
"I don't know, Missy," Torne said, shaking his head. "I just know that you just got through trad in' Denim something for nothing. You got to go back to the big house."
"Wait until I find my... "
Denim said, "You're not going anywhere with this big buck," he gritted, placing himself between Karen and Torne. "I said you could leave, and a promise is a promise."
Torne gave out with a menacing grin. "A promise ain't a promise if you can't keep it, Denim."
"Wait," Karen said quickly, jumping from the bed. "I don't want any fighting over me. I... I'll go with you, Torne."
Her decision came too late. Denim had already swung a fist against the big black's chest.
Torne hardly lost his composure.
"You're just a fly, Denim," he said. "And I'm gonna swat you like one."
"Damn you!" Denim bravely swung again at the advancing butler. Torne took the blow squarely on his rock-hard chin. He blinked once, snarled, then picked Denim up and flung him bodily across the room. Denim crashed against the wall, tried to pull himself erect, then sprawled helplessly on his face.
Karen rushed toward her lover, but Torne stopped her. "He ain't hurt, Missy. Just got the wind knocked out of him right good."
"Let me see him, let me talk to him," Karen cried.
"Later," Torne said.
"Now!"
"No."
Karen fought him as he picked her up in his muscular. arms. He spotted her panties sticking from beneath a pillow, picked them up, and shoved them against her exposed tit- flesh. "Here," he grunted. "You might need these."
Karen blushed hotly. As Torne carried her out the door, she looked back to see Billy Denim getting to his knees. She was greatly relieved and she stopped struggling with the big Negro. "I can walk," she said.
Torne grinned broadly, his teeth like white pearls against his dark face. "You can run, too, Missy, and I ain't hankerin' for no race with this bad foot of mine." He lugged her toward the mansion, and she could see that he was trying hard to keep from looking at the pale globes of her exposed breasts. They were but partially hidden by the panties she clutched between them. The nipples shone redly.
"Do you like me, Torne?" she asked.
"I reckon I do, Missy."
"Better than Becky?"
"Never did care much for that honky," Torne grunted. "She was hard to get along with.
Always yelling at me, telling me something to do for her. You know. Like I was her slave or something."
"She said you wanted her," Karen told him.
"Never thought much about it," Torne said, averting his eyes. "Never thought much about any of Mr. Kingston's girls."
"Not even me, Torre?"
"Not even you, Missy." His big hand carefully pulled the front of her blouse over the tempting tits. "And you don't have to play up to me, either. I ain't gonna tell Mr. Kingston that you tried to run away. Don't want to see you get no beating. And don't want to see you put in the pink room."
The pink room. He had whetted her curiosity again. "Just where is the pink room, Torne?
Everybody talks about it, but nobody seems to have seen it."
"It's just a place that Mr. Kingston puts the girls when they're bad," Torne said.
"Is it really so horrible?"
"It all depends," Torne said. "Me, I wouldn't like it."
"Why?"
"Don't like pink and don't like going around naked all day," Torne said.
"He takes away the girl's clothes?"
"Better not talk about it anymore," Torne said. "I've done said too much already."
He carried her into the living room and lowered her feet to the carpet. He backed away from her almost cautiously, then turned and hurried down the hallway.
In spite of his stated disinterest in her, Karen had not missed the cock-bulge at the crotch of his pants. It almost frightened her. The huge hard-on Torne had achieved simply from carrying her to the house dwarfed anything she had ever seen on either Vincent or Denim.
She shuddered, and she wasn't sure whether the reaction was fear or anticipation.
CHAPTER SIX
Vincent was sitting on the sofa and Karen's head lay on his lap. He'd practically had to force her into the intimate position and her reluctance worried him. For the past two days he'd sensed a strangeness in her. They seemed to be slipping apart, much as he and Becky had done, and he was not yet prepared to rid himself of Karen. No other girl in his life had so obsessed him, had been so adept at keeping his desire on a sharp edge.
Karen stirred uncomfortably and tried to rise, but he held her in place. "Let me up, Vincent," she said. "I'm thirsty." She felt his prick-shaft rising beneath his pants, pressing firmly against the side of her face.
"Let the nectar of the gods quench your thirst," he said.
She tried to shift away from his enormous hard-on.
"Stop fighting it," Vincent said. "Do... do we have to make love tonight, Vincent?" she asked. "Why shouldn't we?"
"I'm tired," she said. "Exhausted." He chuckled. "This performance will require very little effort on your part. You simply have to... " He reached for his fly.
Karen closed her eyes. She didn't want to look. The scraping sound made by his zipper sent a chill down her spine. The inevitable had to happen. She moved her head further down his thigh. It didn't help. When she opened her eyes, she was staring directly at his bloated cock-head.
Vincent pushed his thick prick-shaft downward so that his glans was but inches from her reluctant lips. "If you're tired, make it quick," he said.
"Please, Vincent," she said. "Don't. Do I have to suck you off so much?"
"I thought you'd grown fond of it," he said. "Well," she grimaced. "I've grown unfond of it."
Vincent scowled and tried not to appear too disgusted with her rejection. "I'm very horny for you tonight."
"You're horny every night," she retorted. "You can't put me off, sweet," he said. "You can be angry, disgusted, belligerent. The end result will be the same. Why not try to get in the mood and make it good for both of us."
"Then, if we must," she sighed, "let's go upstairs to the bedroom. You can... fuck me."
"No," he said firmly. "You know my tastes. Here. Now. My way." He grasped her short black hair in his fingers and brought her pale face closer to his throbbing cock-meat. The huge knob glistened hotly as she continued to reject it. "Torne... " she said.
"You always use Torne's presence in the house as an excuse," Vincent said. "He sees nothing, he hears nothing unless I want him to. Now, suck it!"
"No," she said weakly.
"Maybe you need a little encouragement," he said.
"Vincent!" Karen gasped as he brutally ripped open the front of her lounging pajamas, baring her tit-flesh.
He ran his hands over her firm white globes until the nipples hardened. Karen closed her eyes again as the kneading continued. He knew her weaknesses. Their sensitivity could be felt throughout her body. She liked having them fondled by a man. They glowed warmly, the nipples tingled. And sooner or later, she always felt the contractions in her cunt. Like now. Her pussy was beginning to twitch. It made her want to do evil, lewd things to anyone within reach.
"Vincent," she whispered, as she turned her head to face his bulging cock-meat. She touched the long pale shaft and ran her fingers gently along the congested blue veins.
She flicked her tongue out, wetting her lips. And then she brought the puckered lips against the fiery cock-head.
Vincent pressed her tits flat against her chest, forcing the nipples back into the globes.
"Oh!" Her mouth enveloped his glans.
"Go to it, baby! Suck my cock!" Vincent's eyes glowed as he watched her hungry red mouth work at its task.
"Oh, mmmmm!" Karen hated herself, but she couldn't stop. She drew Vincent's thick cock- shaft halfway down her throat, then shook it loose and rolled her wet velvety tongue around his knob. Vincent's fingers were clutching her tits more strongly, pulling, kneading, pressing. He could almost make her come just by playing with her breasts.
She sucked his prick-meat hungrily, her flesh crying out for him. She knew that she was mad with lust, that Vincent's power over women was spawned by their own weakness for the very perverse.
She tried to fight it. Almost viciously, she grasped his stalk and tore it away from her mouth. The big fat knob glistened, engorged with blood and wet with her saliva. "I can't...
oh, I can't let it go," she murmured, then took it back into her mouth and did not stop sucking it until she felt his thick hot prick-cream flowing down her throat.
Vincent's eyes were frozen with intense pleasure. "You see, my dear," he cooed, "you are still quite fond of it."
Karen was on the verge of coming. "Wonderful, sweet cock," she sobbed hysterically, tearing the pajamas down her thighs. "Oh, I can't wait. Shove your cock in me, love!"
She stood up, stepped from the pajamas, and was so impatient that she didn't bother to remove her panties. She drooled over Vincent's big hard-on, then jumped onto the sofa and put a leg on either side of his body.
"Oh, God, Vincent!" she cried. "I want it so badly!" She held the crotch of her panties aside. Her gaping slit showed red, her clit protruding like a hungry tongue. Desperately, she jammed her cunt at his stiff cock-meat, but the crotch of her panties kept snapping back over her pussy-hole. "Oh, shit!" she said angrily, then ripped the crotch out with her own hands. She slammed her cunt at his prick again, caught his knob just at the edge of her cunt-mouth, then whipped her cunt at it until she fully drove herself onto the fleshy spike.
"Oh, fuck me!" she sobbed, desperate for gratification. Vincent was amused at her efforts.
He leaned back, laughing, and did not try to assist her.
"Oh, damn you, Vincent," she said, grinding her ass against his balls and hunching madly at his cunt-filling cock. "I'll help myself!" Panting and mouthing obscenities, she buried his cock in her seeping pussy time and again. And then, suddenly, she threw her arms around him and smothered his laughing mouth with her tits.
Her ass quivered, her thighs trembled, and her climaxing cunt gripped his thick cock-meat in a strong come-spasm. The tight sleeve of pussy-flesh did not relax until the spasm had spent itself and her come-fluids ran profusely down her ass-flesh and thighs.
"Oh, dear God, Vincent." She shuddered. "That was good!"
"Indeed," Vincent said. He stopped laughing, groaned, and dug his fingers into her ass- cheeks. "A regular collector's item!" He ejaculated.
"Oh, mmmmmm!" Karen savored the hot cum spilling into her belly.
When it was over, Vincent retired to his bedroom. Karen flopped on the sofa, watching him climb the stairs without looking back. The brightness left her eyes, replaced by dull remorse. When he was through with her, she meant nothing to him until the next time.
Hers was only a body to hold his lust.
She arose and went to her own bedroom, feeling thoroughly degraded. Sometimes she felt wonderful after it was over, and sometimes she felt dirty. Tonight, she felt dirty. She showered, soaping herself profusely, especially between her legs. For long moments she let the water run near the scalding point. Then she abruptly turned the knob and the cold water sprayed against her extended tits.
The shock brought her back to reality. She was burying herself here, and tonight had driven another nail into her lust-filled coffin.
Calmly, she reassessed her position, and she became more determined than ever to get away while a measure of will power existed. She had to make her move while she was satiated, while she was firmly in control of her own flesh. Vincent only had to touch her, only had to expose himself to her, and she became instantly powerless. She could not tear herself away from him while her blood boiled hot and the hunger gnawed at her cunt.
Next week she would be eighteen. Next week she wanted to give herself another chance.
Seventeen and a lustful father would be behind her. Seventeen and the spell of Vincent Kingston also had to be left behind. The memory of her would be but a part of his musty collection. And she hoped that her memory of him would not even exist.
Escape. It would not be easy. She had tried twice and failed twice. She had removed one previous obstacle, because Billy Denim was now her friend. The second obstacle remained--the formidable Torne. But she felt that she could move Torne as she had moved Denim. With her body.
For several days she tried to remain in Torne's presence while Vincent was away. When he was not in sight, she searched him out. The big Negro began to find her bothersome.
"Every time I look around, you're on my heels, Miss Karen," he said finally. "You spying on me or something?"
"No."
"I got work to do," he said.
"I haven't," she said, "and I get lonesome when Vincent is away. I need somebody to talk to. Would you rather I go to the cottage?"
Torne's dark face looked unhappy. "Stay away from the cottage," he said. "I don't want to have to kill Denim."
"Billy hasn't hurt you," she said.
"He made love to you," Torne said.
"Do you mind?"
"
"I got an obligation to Mr. Kingston," Torne said bluntly. "That's all."
"Maybe it's more than that, Torne," she suggested. "Maybe you'd like me for yourself."
She reached out and touched his hand.
Torne jerked his hand away as if she had burned him. "I ain't scolding, Missy," he said, "but you'd best keep your hands to yourself."
She smiled. "Are you afraid of me, Torne?" She pulled her shoulders back, taunting him with her high-rising breasts.
His eyes settled on her tit-mounds and his tongue ran across his lower hp. He looked away. "I ain't scared of you, little girl. I'm just scared of myself." He abruptly left the room.
Torne stayed out of Karen's way for the remainder of the day. He did not reappear until Vincent arrived home that evening. But, as he served the evening meal, Karen noticed that he looked at her at every opportunity. He had a strange expression in his eyes, more of wonderment than desire. Karen was confident that she could win him over. Especially when she caught him trying to look down the neck of her blouse as he served dessert.
"The dessert looks delicious, Torne," she said.
"It sure does, Missy," he said, and she thought he leered at her. "Too bad I'm off sweets."
The next morning, after making certain that Vincent had left for work, Karen put a second idea into action. She was in her bedroom, still wearing a frilly negligee and a pair of skimpy panties that hardly concealed her cunt-mound. The negligee was blue, the panties white, and the shadow of her pussy-curls showed through in a dark triangle. Her breasts were bare and the ripe pink nipples could be seen against the clinging fabric. She screamed loudly.
Torne's footsteps sounded on the stairs. When he dashed into the room, his limp was hardly noticeable. "Miss Karen?" he panted. "Something wrong?"
She moved across the room toward him, trying to look frightened. "I thought I saw a rat," she said.
He flashed a broad, relieved smile. "Ain't no rats in this place," he said.
"Except Vincent," she said.
"You got no right to talk that way, Missy," Torne said. "Mr. Kingston has been good to you.
Better than to any of the other girls."
"Good?" she protested. "Do you call white slavery good, Torne. That's what it is, you know. I'm a captive. I stay here because I have to."
Torne did not reply, but he could not keep his eyes off the young, luscious body that showed through the negligee.
Karen eased closer, tempting him. "Can't you help me, Torne?"
He shook his head.
"Doesn't it bother you, Torne?" she asked. "Knowing that Vincent makes love to all the pretty young girls while you stand guard. Tell me, Torne--has Vincent ever thrown you a crumb?"
"I ain't got no hunger for crumbs, Missy." Torne swallowed hard. She was much shorter than he, and her tits were almost touching his upper belly. He could sense the heat of the globes through his clothing. Her knee brushed his leg.
"Just look, but don't touch!" she cried. "That's the rule, isn't it, Torne?"
"Yes," he said. "Mine and Mr. Kingston's."
"Well, take a good look, Torne!" She angrily stripped away the negligee and threw it aside.
All the pale, naked flesh was too much for Torne. He registered shock as he backed away from her. "Don't, Miss Karen. Don't tempt me this way."
Karen pressed him. She could see that the sight of a naked white woman was driving him mad. She pushed her tit-mounds out and took a deep breath. They swelled beautifully on her chest. The nipples were swollen and pink, tantalizing lumps of succulent female flesh.
"Touch my titties, Torne," she invited. "Touch the forbidden fruit."
"No." His long legs trembled violently and he continued to back away.
"Don't turn your eyes away, Torne. Look. Look at what I'm doing." She eased the panties below the hairy triangle. The dark pussy-curls were thick and inviting. He could see the beginning of her cunt-lips at the point where the hair ducked between her slender thighs.
The bulge at his crotch was enormous. Torne continued to move toward the door of the bedroom, trying to retreat with dignity.
"Put your hand down there, Torne," she whispered. "Touch my pussy."
"No, Missy!" He bared his teeth like an angry, snarling animal.
"Help me, Torne," she said. "Help me, and I'll be good to you."
"No!"
"Take me anyway, Torne," she said. "Rape me if you like."
"My God," he groaned.
Desperate, Karen grabbed for his groin. Torne wheeled around before she could touch him and fled down the stairs.
Karen sat trembling on the edge of the bed, staring morosely at her own belly. She felt lost and humiliated. Perhaps she wasn't very pretty at all. She'd offered herself to the big black and he had refused her. It would have been so simple if he'd reacted differently. Once he'd made love to her, he would have had to flee the mansion and the wrath of Vincent Kingston. She could have just walked to freedom.
"Oh, shit!" She felt like crying. She silently cursed her useless tits and her ineffective pussy. Her panties still rested below her cunt-mound. She studied the dark curls with disdain.
Dear God. She could feel the desire, the need for a cock's penetration between her legs.
She had offered herself for a cause, and she'd become aroused in the process. She'd ended up wanting Torne more than he had wanted her. Why? Torne wasn't really that attractive. He had nothing for her. Nothing except that huge, magnificent prick that she had never seen in the flesh.
"Oh!" she cried out her frustration as she jammed a finger between her legs and against her swollen clitoris. "Uh. Uh. Uh! Wantonly, she frigged her love-button until her hot eyes went blank with relief.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Karen was lying on the living-room floor, stripped down to her bra and panties. Vincent had on a long smoking jacket with nothing beneath it.
She'd thought at first that he was going to settle down for an evening of drinking and television. Bit by bit his attention had turned to her, and he'd gradually managed to undress her. Her clothing was scattered around the room, where he'd robbed her body a piece at a time.
The smoking jacket was open and his hairy groin was exposed. For all the playing around, Vincent had achieved but a partial hard-on. It was one of his more difficult days. Karen wondered what he would dream up this time to give him the needed excitement for a full- blown erection.
Vincent nursed the pitiful hard-on, then knelt beside Karen. He kissed her belly, rested his face in her pungent crotch, then finally began to remove her panties. The doorbell rang.
"Damn," he said, jumping to his feet. "Who did Denim let through tonight?"
Karen sat up and pulled her panties back against her navel. She'd been rescued just in the nick of time.
"Just stay right where you are," Vincent ordered. "Ill get rid of whoever it is, even if I have to order Torne to throw them out!"
"We almost never have visitors," Karen said.
"That's the way I want it." Vincent gawked as he opened the door to a frowning Agatha Sims.
"Business, Mr. Kingston," the spinster said sharply.
"She insisted upon seeing you, sir," said Denim, who was standing beside her. The half- smirk on Denim's face turned to a frown when he saw Karen lying almost naked on the carpet.
Karen's eyes met Denim's. She felt sick, having him see her this way.
"What the hell are you looking at, Denim?" Vincent barked.
"Nothing... sir."
"Then get back to your post and don't open the gates to anyone else tonight. Miss Sims will be on her way shortly."
Denim wanted to smash Vincent's face in, snatch Karen up, and flee as Jack had fled with the golden goose, but he said, "Yes, sir," and left.
"Well, Agatha," Vincent said, turning to his office manager. "Is it so important that it couldn't have waited until tomorrow?"
"I'm afraid so." Agatha brushed past her employer and smiled triumphantly when she spotted Karen lying on the floor. "Ah, Vincent!" she exclaimed. "I always wondered why you never wanted to discuss business at night, even if the terminal was burning to the ground."
Karen overcame her shame long enough to meet Agatha's accusing stare. The woman was a green-eyed, red-haired shrew. Her figure was rather plump, but Karen imagined that she had been quite voluptuous in her younger days.
Agatha's thin lips shouted at her. "Well, you little bitch. Don't just lie there. Say something."
"I... " Karen stammered.
"Oh, shut up." Agatha turned her wrath on Vincent. "Not a day over eighteen, I'd say."
"I like 'em young, you hormoneless old bitch!" Vincent shouted, forgetting himself.
Agatha stiffened. "We've had a wonderful relationship, Vincent."
"Yes, if one likes neat file cabinets and gets his rocks off at the sound of a clicking typewriter," Vincent snapped.
"Don't you dare talk that way to me, Vincent Kingston!" Agatha screamed, losing her composure. "I'm not another one of your girls. And I'm something more than a company fixture. Your father and I... "
"My father had a taste for shit!" Vincent retorted.
"Oh my God," Agatha breathed, shocked to her very toes. "I've heard the stories, but I've never believed them. Your poor father would turn over in his grave if he could see you now."
"He was only interested in dollars," Vincent said. "I've kept the company profitable."
"He built the company on honesty and respectability," Agatha said. "Not on the sins of the flesh."
"My personal life is my own," Vincent argued. "I can't live the chaste life my father lived.
It's no go, Agatha. When I start doing my fucking at the office, you can complain." His eyes narrowed.
"Something brought you here tonight. What?"
"Or who?" Agatha said. She flung open the door and Becky walked in out of the darkness.
"Proof of your wild lifestyle, Vincent," Agatha said. "A previous protegee of yours."
"Well, Vincent," Becky crowed. "This unwanted exposure should change your way of living."
"Why. Becky?" Vincent asked, and then he shrugged. "You don't have to answer. You had to have your revenge, didn't you?"
"You treated me like shit, Vincent," Becky said, her eyes flashing hate for her former lover.
"Expose me. Put it on the radio. I don't give a damn," Vincent said. "It won't change- anything. Do you hear me, Agatha?"
Agatha's green eyes were stern. "Your father wasn't exactly a foolish man, Vincent. He had his doubts about you. All those girls you had trouble with in college. And the pretty little thing you got pregnant in high school. It cost him a bundle."
"So grieve, Agatha," Vincent said.
"You'll be the one to grieve," Agatha told him. "The voting stock is split three ways. Forty- nine percent to you. Forty-nine percent to the board of directors. And, dear arrogant Vincent, two percent to his beloved and dedicated secretary, Agatha Sims. You can find yourself looking for another job."
"Shit," Vincent said.
"The directors are all staunch, upright citizens," Agatha warned. "No girl friends."
"And no balls," Vincent said. "Most of them are too old to fuck."
Agatha took the obscenity without flinching. "But not too old to vote," she said. "Their forty- nine percent and my two percent puts you out. When I tell them what I saw here tonight, when I take Becky as my witness... "
"Oh, shut the fuck up, Agatha!" Vincent paced the floor, then stopped abruptly. He smiled.
"Well, Agatha, you win."
Her eyebrows went up. "I win?"
"The war, but not the battle," he said, smirking.
"What battle?"
"The one about to take place, dear Agatha."
"Don't you dare put a hand on me!" Agatha sputtered, and backed away as Vincent advanced.
He grimly stripped away his smoking jacket. "I think you offer that extra bit of excitement that I was searching for tonight," he said.
Agatha stared at his huge hard-on, horrified at the sight of the naked male cock. "Don't be crude," she said weakly.
He grabbed her wrist. While she flailed helplessly at him, he tore away her clothing until only her underwear remained. "No, Vincent," she protested, but he ripped her expensive full-length slip to shreds.
"You asked for it," he said.
She folded her arms across her tit-mounds. "What... are you going to do, Vincent?"
"I am going to fuck you, Agatha," he said bluntly.
"No!"
He chuckled. "You always said you'd give your all for the company, Agatha. Well, you're about to be called upon."
"Let me go, Vincent," she said, beginning to whine as she realized it was not an empty threat. "I won't say anything to the board of directors!"
"It's too late, Agatha," Vincent said. "I'm too excited about adding you to my collection."
"Your collection?" She looked bewildered.
"My collection of virgins," Vincent said. "The greatest thing on earth, Agatha, is an unfucked female. I keep wondering how a virgin your age will respond when she finds herself impaled on a hard prick for the first time."
"Never!" Agatha cried. "Not you. Not any other man!" She swung at Vincent. He pinned her arm, then jerked the cups of her bra away from her buxom tits with a jarring movement that made the heavy globes bounce on her chest. She fought like a wildcat as he flung her to the floor.
"Spread your legs, Agatha!" he cried.
The frightened woman lay on her back, panting, trying to cover her huge tits with her hands, but the task was impossible. They bulged from beneath her pressing palms and the flushed nipples showed beneath her clutching fingers.
"Promising." Vincent studied her from the waist down. She wore only very sheer flesh- colored pantyhose. Nothing over and nothing beneath. He could see the thick red cunt bush and the fat lips of her mature cunt. Whimpering, she freed one breast and pushed the hand between her legs.
"You... you're lusting over my body," she protested.
"Ah," Vincent chided, "I thought your underwear would be more conservative, Agatha. You do have some degree of sexuality, some girlish dream. It shocks me to discover that you wear practically nothing between your legs, Agatha. Is it a common practice with you?"
"I forgot my panties... my girdle," she whined.
"You're lying, Agatha. You've walked around half your life without panties, hoping that some man would drag you into a dark alley and rape you. Well, your dream is about to come true. But not on hard concrete. You shall have the pleasure of coming for the first time on my carpet."
"No... "
Vincent stared at his victim, whetting his desire for her. Naked, she was not as plump as she appeared when fully dressed. In fact, he found her very appealing. She resembled one of the voluptuous reclining nudes in his paintings, with very fleshy hips and ass-flesh, and fine strong thighs that could crush a man's ribs in a moment of passion.
"God, but you are tasty-looking," he breathed, crouching over her. He found the pantyhose too strong to tear away. Agatha fought viciously as he attempted to remove them. She ended up whimpering as he peeled them over her trembling buttocks and below her furry cunt-mound. The rest was easy, but she still kicked at Vincent as the hose left her feet.
"Beast," she gasped, bringing her legs together. It was a tug-of-war, but the woman's thighs were less muscular than they appeared. Suddenly, the strength was gone from them and they broke apart.
Vincent rolled between them. "And now, Agatha, the ultimate ecstasy. The thing you've been waiting for all your life." His stiff prick inched toward her cunt.
She felt the heat of his glans near her cunt-lips. "Vincent," she cried. "I beg you not to do this thing to me. Keep your young girls. Just let me go."
"Oh, I'll keep my young girls," Vincent assured her, "and I'll let you go. But first I must taste the heady wine between your pale, virginal thighs. Wine that has aged and mellowed in a delicate keg for years. It should be delicious."
Agatha sucked in her breath. His cock-knob touched her pussy-lips. The lips began to separate. He was entering her. She screamed. "Aaaaaaaiiii!"
"Hell," he said. "I haven't done anything yet."
Vincent felt hands tugging at him. The penetration had barely begun, yet he was being] torn away from the tight warm pussy-slit. He looked around. Both Karen and Becky were trying to prevent his attack upon Agatha.
"She just thinks she doesn't," Vincent said, struggling forward, trying to bring his glans back into contact with her cunt.
"You dirty bastard," Becky hissed in his ear. "You always take what you want, don't you?"
Vincent flung his arms out and brushed the girls aside. They came back at him. The second interruption was enough to allow Agatha to scoot from beneath him. She crawled away on her knees. Vincent stared hungrily at her broad ass and exposed rift. "Torne!" he yelled.
The big black appeared from nowhere.
"Hold the girls," Vincent ordered. "But keep them here. I want them to watch. I want them to see that sniveling, nosy bitch get what she deserves."
Agatha was already on her feet, staggering away, but Vincent easily recaptured her and flung the bewildered woman to the floor for a second time. He yanked her legs apart and rammed his cock-head at her weaving, jerking crotch. Three inches of his thick cock-shaft sank abruptly into her pussy-hole. A startled, unbelieving expression crossed Agatha's face. "Uhihhh?" Vincent slammed his prick into her until his balls were crushed against her voluptuous ass. Agatha's eyes bulged at the enormity of his prick. "Uhhhhhhhh!"
Karen and Becky struggled with Torne, but their efforts were meaningless. His big arms were like a vise around their bodies. One huge paw was threatening to crush Karen's right breast.
"My tit, Torne!" she cried. He relaxed the pressure. She bounced her buttocks at him and felt the tremendous bulge of his cock. Her struggles and those of Becky were bringing him into intimate contact with their bodies. He was rapidly becoming horny. Karen gave up.
She could only stand by and watch poor Agatha being raped.
Agatha had ceased to resist. She lay, unmoving, beneath Vincent, impaled on his thick cock. "No... no... no... " she whimpered.
Vincent burst into laughter. "You lying slut," he said to his victim. "You're no virgin."
"Yes, oh yes!" Agatha cried. "I am. I am."
"Who?"
"Who?" She wouldn't look at him.
Vincent gurgled with amusement. "Who stuck his dirty old prick up your hallowed hole and pushed your cherry clear up to your tits?" he asked.
Agatha was digging her fingers into her tit-mounds, trying to punish herself for letting her long-kept secret be discovered. She wished that she had stayed at the office instead of prying into Vincent's private affairs. In exposing him, she had also exposed herself. "Oh, I hate you," she said.
Vincent kept his prick-meat buried in her heaving belly, but he made no attempt to continue fucking her. Her pussy nibbled at his glans, keeping his cock stiff. It was growing in both girth and length, virtually swimming in the surprising fluids her cunt-channel offered.
He was elated and excited. He had unearthed her secret life and he was compelled to learn all the unknown. "Who was it, Agatha?" he insisted.
"Oh, I can't tell you," she said, rolling her eyes. "I was horseback riding one day and I lost my hymen."
"Fucked on a horse?" he chided.
"No, I mean... " She looked miserable and she bounced her big ass at him in an attempt to dislodge his hurting cock.
He jammed his prick-knob against her cervix. She winced. "Who deflowered you, Agatha?
One of the office help?"
"N... No!" she gasped, beginning to appreciate the big throbbing cock-pole in her belly.
He took several quick fuck-strokes into her hole, then stopped the action. Her thighs quivered against his hips. "One of the drivers who caught you in a weak moment?" he asked.
"No, no," she said. "Oh, Vincent. Just get it over with. Don't humiliate me this way.
Everybody is watching... listening." She began to whimper softly as he renewed his thrusting. "I... oh... I... ahhhhh!"
In spite of the expression of aversion on her face, Agatha was beginning to respond more vigorously. Vincent could feel her cunt crawling along his prick-shaft, spasmodically gripping it with a clinging wetness.
"For a weathered old bitch, you're pretty good, Agatha," he said.
"You're cruel, cruel, cruel," Agatha sobbed, then began to work her ass at him, caressing his balls with the furred mass between her legs. "Oh, I shouldn't!" She caught herself, looked ashamed, then tried to make it appear to the girls that she was struggling against her attacker. However, she could not keep her cunt from making quick, minute hunches at the pleasing rod that filled it.
"I'm waiting for an answer." Vincent stopped fucking her and withdrew most of his prick from her cunt-hole. He left only the engorged cock-head inside her.
"Oh!" Agatha cried out in dismay. "Oh, put it back, Vincent. All of it. It... it's been so long since I've had a big one in me!"
He teased her with short, ineffective fuck-thrusts. "How long, Agatha?"
"Not since your father died," she cried, trying to get more of his shaft into her hungry cunthole. Then, a stunned expression crossed her features as she realized that she had revealed the utmost secret. "Oh, Vincent, that's not true! I... oh, God!" She began to blubber incoherently.
Vincent fell away from her, laughing. He rolled on the carpet, hugging his sides. "The deceitful old goat," he guffawed. "All these years the picture of dignity. And all the while he was sticking the rod to his stone-faced hard-assed secretary. Wouldn't Mother have been shocked?"
"It wasn't my fault, Vincent," Agatha whispered, dragging herself toward him. "He seduced me the first week I went to work for him. We were in a trailer, checking freight. I didn't think he was that kind of man. I was trustful. He brushed against me, and then he patted my behind. I almost screamed when he put his hand up my dress. It was the first time a man had ever touched me there. I was too frozen with fear to do anything. I let him take off my panties. He pushed me across a crate and... Oh, Vincent, I'm not bad like you think.
Your dear father was the only man who could ever lay claim to my body."
She made a desperate grab at Vincent's bobbing cock. "Oh, Vincent. You've exposed my awful sin. You might as well go on with it." She clutched his prick and showered the engorged glans with kisses.
Vincent did a flip and ended up between her thighs. This time Agatha parted them widely for him. "Ah... eeeeeee!" she squealed with delight, as he thrust all of his prick-meat into her hole.
Vincent fucked her with long deep strokes. Agatha whimpered softly as he came. His pleasure was over, but he kept balling her, wanting to punish her for the invasion of his privacy. Agatha didn't seem to mind. She'd experienced two orgasms and was patiently trying for another. Her delightfully broad ass was wet with love-fluids and so was the carpet beneath her. "You're even better than your dear father," Agatha gasped.
Vincent thought briefly about ramming his prick down her throat, but decided that she'd probably enjoy that also, having previously kissed his glans in a fit of passion. He sensed that she was near the sought-after climax, and he jerked his prick free, then just knelt between her legs.
"Oh, don't stop now!" Agatha cried, reaching for him. "Fuck me some more!"
"Anything to please you, dear Agatha." Vincent grinned and jammed his cock-knob directly against her asshole.
Agatha looked surprised. "Vincent... you... " Her eyes went to Torne and the two girls, asking their approval or condemnation.
"Yes, Agatha?" Vincent kept up the pressure, dead center on her asshole.
"You're putting it in my... in my... " Agatha said over and over. She looked toward the spectators again.
Torne was stone-faced. Becky registered no surprise. She had been through the mill with Vincent. But Karen was gawking in utter surprise at the proceedings. "Don't, Vincent," she cried. "You're hurting her."
"Oh, yes," Agatha sobbed. "You're hurting me! Your dear father never... never... never .
.."
Agatha tried to scoot away from the probing prick-shaft, but Vincent was much too agile for her. He kept his stiff prick firmly entrenched between her plump buttocks. Finally, Agatha simply slumped beneath him, hugging her heavily perspiring breasts.
Vincent took a firm grip on her hips and dug his toes into the carpet. Using the leverage, he felt that he was capable of penetrating anything, willing or not.
Agatha resumed her mouthing. "Vincent, you're putting it in... in... "
Vincent gnashed his teeth and plowed forward between the quivering hills. The tight never-before-penetrated asshole was beginning to give way.
"Putting it in my... in my... " Agatha whined deliriously.
Vincent gave a mighty thrust.
"Asssssss!" Agatha sobbed as his cock-head burst into her.
She realized that Vincent had accomplished something that his father had never even thought about. She not only felt uncomfortable, but she was also terribly self-conscious, knowing that the action was being watched by Torne and the two girls.
She wiggled a little. It didn't really hurt so badly. "Oh, Vincent," she cried, shedding a few crocodile tears. "You're ruining me. This is unforgivable. May God have mercy on you...
uh... uhhhhh!"
Vincent was grinding deeper into the tight reluctant membrane. Agatha wasn't accustomed to thinking in such vulgar terms, but she could hardly wrench her thoughts from her very private parts at this moment of sheer agony... or ecstasy? She felt like one huge split between her legs. Her cunt was her asshole and her asshole was her cunt. She didn't know which. Only that Vincent's big prick kept plowing inward, fucking her somewhere.
"My ass... my pussy... my ass," she whimpered, her eyes so hot that they dried the tears.
Vincent had about half of his prick buried inside her when he began making fucking motions.
"Ohhhhh!" Agatha's buttocks and legs were straining and writhing and her tits were rising and falling like huge white balloons. "Fuck my ass... my ass... my ass," she droned.
In her sweet misery, Agatha didn't care who was watching. She wished that the gallery would shout, urging her attacker to greater deeds. She hoped that he would bury all of that pleasing rod deep inside her. She felt wonderful. Like one huge, throbbing cunt. She was a young hot-blooded, red-cunted nymph in the woods, and some stone-balled Adonis had stepped down from his pedestal and was drilling her with a marble prick.
She was unbelievably lifting her buttocks upward, arching her hairy cunt-mound so that her .fat labia gaped open. Her clit sprang out of the steamy cunt-folds, its ruby-red head shimmering with pearly fluids.
Karen breathed uneasily. She could see the thick shaft buried in Agatha's asshole, and she could not believe that the woman was not suffering unbearable pain. And yet Agatha's quivering ass tottered in mid-air, and she burst into a wild uncontrollable sobbing as she came. The hot fluids jetted from her twitching slit as if Vincent's probing cock had struck a small well of cum somewhere inside her.
"I came... I came... I came," Agatha whimpered as her prick-hugging ass sank back to the carpet.
Vincent ejaculated, then gingerly removed his battered cock-stem from the exhausted victim. Agatha rolled over on her belly, trying to hide her shame by burying her face in the carpet. Her buttocks jerked spasmodically, quivered gently, then relaxed.
Vincent put his smoking jacket on and approached Torne and the girls. "You, Karen, I will deal with later," he said. "Vincent, I never... "
"You tried to help Agatha," he said sharply. "You'll have to be properly punished." He turned to Becky. "And you, Becky. You've tried to gather my enemies against me, and you've failed for the last time."
"Vincent," Becky said through trembling, bloodless lips. "I'm sorry. Don't hurt me. Just let me go and I'll never bother you again."
"I'm sure you won't," Vincent said. "Bringing Agatha here was a mistake. And I intend to impress the mistake upon your mind so that you won't make it again. If reasoning doesn't do the job, fear will."
"Not the pink room!" Becky said. "Ill go mad if you put me down there again!"
"Definitely not the pink room," Vincent said. Becky looked relieved.
"You have little cause for being happy," Vincent said grimly.
"Agatha?" Becky said, beginning to writhe in Torne's arms. "What you did to Agatha... "
Vincent smiled coldly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Becky? For you it would be the easy way out. No, I'm afraid that would be old hat to you. We must be devious. We must think of something that will really blow your mind."
Karen tried to intercede for the frightened girl. "Let her go, Vincent. She's done you no real harm."
"Stay out of this, Karen," Vincent snapped. "Be thankful that you are not Becky. Else it would be you that I would be turning over to Torne."
"Torne?" Becky looked sick.
"Yes, Torne."
"Oh God, no," Becky cried. "Anything else, Vincent. But don't give me to Torne!" Her struggles increased as she became even more frightened. All the while the big black had held her captive, she'd felt his huge prick-meat pressing against the curve of her buttocks.
Even now it was stiffening, becoming more thick and elongated. She could feel the gigantic knob burning into the crevice of her ass, searing through her skirt and panties.
"Do you want her, Torne?" Vincent asked.
Torne did not answer, but he smiled broadly and placed his big hands across Becky's heaving tits.
"So be it," Vincent said. "Forget that she is white, Torne. Forget that she was ever my mistress."
"Vincent!" Becky screamed as he turned away.
Vincent ignored her cries and took Karen by the hand. He led her to the sofa. "You'll stay here and watch, my sweet," he said. "I want you to see what is in store for you if you ever go against me again."
"You'd throw me to Torne, like a piece of meat to a dog?" Karen asked.
"If you deserved it," Vincent said. "Now be quiet. I want to watch this. It should be quite an orgy."
Karen did not want to watch the unwilling Becky being ravished, but she was curious about Torne. Torne did not undress but simply unzipped his pants and took out his cock.
Karen shuddered. It surpassed what she had imagined it would be like. The long thick shaft was inhuman.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Torne's big cock-shaft continued to expand. "Hell kill her," Karen whispered in awe. The glans alone was enough to strike fear in the heart of any woman.
"She may think that she's going to die," Vincent said, "but she won't. I taught her too well.
She can survive anything a man can throw at her."
"Not him," Karen said. "Not that."
Torne released Becky. She moved a few steps away from him but was too frightened to run. Her eyes were frozen with fear as she stared at his blood-engorged cock-knob. She tried to think. As with Vincent, her mind became almost inoperative at critical moments.
Perhaps, if the act was to be a thing of love, she could survive. But she knew that it wouldn't be. She had taunted Torne in the past, had made him feel small, and now he would take his revenge on her body with pure hate in his heart. And it would be a brutal, destructive thing.
"You aint going to try to run, Miss Becky?" Torne asked, finally speaking.
"I think I'd give it a try, Becky," Vincent laughed.
"I'd only get to the gate," Becky said, trying to be brave while her heart fluttered wildly.
"You gonna take your clothes off?" Torne asked. "Or you want me to tear them off?"
"No," Becky said. "Ill do it. I'd like to leave here with at least something intact and in one piece."
"Funny, very fucking funny," Vincent said, slapping his hands together.
Becky moved very slowly, pulling the tail of her blouse from her skirt. She undid the top button, then the second. Something flickered in Torne's emotionless eyes. He was counting the buttons and watching the soft white flesh grow downward toward the center of her bra.
She fumbled. The third button was undone. Her bra was skimpy. Torne could see the bulge of her tit-flesh spilling over and around the cups. His nostrils flared.
"She's teasing him," Vincent said. "Good."
"Good?" Karen asked.
"It'll bring better entertainment," Vincent said gleefully. "Hell try to shove it through her guts when he gets started."
"She's not teasing," Karen said helplessly. "She's only trying to postpone the awful thing that's going to happen to her. Oh, Vincent, if it has to happen, don't make me stay here and watch."
"I assure you that it won't be a bloody orgy," Vincent said. "Now, stop squirming and sit quietly. Torne has always been a gentleman with my girls. I thought it was very considerate of him to allow Becky to remove her own clothing."
Becky shucked the blouse, then reached behind her to unfasten her bra. She allowed one cup to fall. A pale tit showed itself, the nipple frozen against the spreading areola.
Torne licked his lips.
The second cup dropped. Both alabaster-like globes were fully exposed.
"Look, damn you," Becky hissed to the big Negro. "Get your fucking eyes full."
"I'm looking and waiting," Torne said, but he made no move to touch her.
The zipper on Becky's skirt made a grating sound. Then she did a slow wiggle with her ass as she eased the skirt down her thighs and stepped clear of it.
Torne shuffled his bad foot and took a firm grip on his thick cock-stem. As long as Becky had lived in the Kingston mansion, he had never seen her naked. He'd seen only her bitter mouth and scathing eyes. Never the lovely young body that lay beneath the clothing.
She was almost as beautiful as Karen, he thought. Her panties were sheer, like wearing nothing. He could count each dark curl on her cunt. The cunt-hair excited him. He could never remember having seen a blonde woman with black hair on her pussy. But then, he'd never before seen a white pussy this naked.
Becky eased the panties downward. The dark curls began popping over the edge of the waistband. Torne looked toward Vincent for final approval, as if he suspected a trick or that the whole thing was a product of his imagination. He gripped his throbbing prick more tightly to keep from coming.
Vincent nodded, like the emperor giving the gladiator the kill sign. Torne hobbled forward on his bad foot.
Becky showed nervousness. All the while she had been removing her clothing, she had been placing it in a neat pile behind her. A plan had been formulating in her mind. She was young and strong, and certainly capable of outrunning a crippled black. She'd face the gate when she got to it. There was a slim chance that Denim had let Agatha out and had failed to lock it.
"Take one last look at my pretty white ass, Torne!" Becky screamed, then turned, scooped up her clothing, and dashed for the door.
Karen looked surprised. "If she was going to run, why did she take off her clothes?"
"She wanted to dig the knife in Torne for one last time!" Vincent hissed. "She won't get far." He sprang to his feet and dragged Karen toward the door through which the naked girl had fled.
They stood at the edge of the tall white columns, watching Torne stumble after the running girl. She was losing articles of her clothing as she ran without looking back. She soon outdistanced her pursuer and was lost in the darkness of the garden.
"Damnit," Vincent growled. "I'd hate to see her escape. I was going to enjoy this more than I did Agatha. I think Torne needs a little help." He left Karen's side for a moment and the garden was suddenly flooded with light.
"Run, Becky, run!" Karen screamed as she spotted the fleeing girl.
Vincent came back laughing. He watched the nude girl ducking behind the bushes and trying to make her way to the gardener's cottage. She had lost all of her clothing.
Becky's small fists were hammering at the door of the cottage. Karen supposed that Billy had fixed the lock since Torne had broken it that day. She could hear Becky's cries.
"Oh, God! Billy! Open up!"
"Billy will fight him," Karen said.
"Yes," Vincent agreed, "and Torne will tear him limb from limb."
Becky continued to beat at the door. It did not open and no light came on. Karen was glad.
She hated to see Becky lose, but the girl stood a better chance against Torne than Billy Denim did. No man could stand up to Torne in a fair fight. But a woman with a strong body and plenty of nerve could possibly survive on a battlefield where her only weapon was sex.
"He's gone," Karen said.
"Probably drove Agatha home," Vincent said coldly. "I always thought he was too softhearted for an ex-cop."
Becky turned. "Help me!" She cringed with her back to the door. Like a slow but steady tortoise, Torne kept moving toward her. She lunged away from the cottage door and ran toward the gate, then screamed horribly as she saw that Billy had locked it behind him.
Her hands reached upward. She tried to climb, slipped, and tried again. She looked over her shoulder. Torne was reaching for her.
"No! Oh, no!" she cried.
"He's got her!" Vincent said gleefully.
Karen's heart did flip-flops. She could only see the writhing shadow of the girl clinging to the gate. Her straining body was several feet off the ground and Torne's big hands were at her waist. He was supporting her more than trying to tear her away from the gate.
Karen heard Becky cry out.
"Oh, dear God!"
Becky could feel Torne's big cock-head brushing beneath her protruding buttocks. She tried to pull her very accessible ass inward but could not do so without losing the monkey- like grip she had with her feet on the crossbars. The possibility remained that she could tear herself from his grasp and continue her climb. The contact with his prick continued, and she was startled at the manner in which the bulbous glans dominated her rift. If anything, his prick-meat had grown larger during the brief chase. Once she had thought she could take it inside her body if it became absolutely necessary to do so. Now she wasn't sure.
"Don't, Torne... " she pleaded.
"You scared, Miss Becky?" he asked. "Why just the other day you asked me if I'd like to feel your tits. Well, now I'm gonna feel you all over."
"I... I'm sorry I tempted you, Torne," she said. "Oh!" She could feel her straining cunt-hps slowly opening to his blood-engorged cock-knob. This gave her faint hope that she would be able to take the penetration, and she was suddenly more angry than fearful. "Why me?" she groaned, her labia stretching like rubber bands about his glans. "Why... uhhhh... not that black-haired slut with Vincent?"
"Miss Karen ain't done me no wrong," Torne grunted. "I don't want to hurt her."
"You want to hurt me?"
"Afraid I do, Miss Becky," Torne said. "Plenty bad. Fact is, white whore that you are, you ain't never come up against a cock like old Torne is gonna feed you. All twelve inches." He chuckled. "Give or take an inch or two either way."
"Twelve... uhhhhhhh?" Becky's hands tightened on the gate. His cock-head was inside her, his thick shaft was slowly following. It moved mercilessly and with great purpose, and her cunt-canal was brutally resisting every inch of its progress.
"Cry, you white bitch!" Torne hissed.
"No, damn you!" she retorted.
Becky tried bravely to accept the thing that was happening to her. And she was trying even harder not to cry out in pain and give her attacker additional pleasure. She prayed silently. His progress was tedious and prolonged. She pushed away from the bars, deliberately trying to fall from the gate and perhaps escape total impalement on his cock for the moment. Torne's strong hands held her almost immobile and his stiff prick forced her back to the bars. Becky renewed her grip, once again thinking that she could pull her body upward and climb away from his punishing stalk. He forced another inch of his thick shaft into her straining cunt.
"Uh. Uh. Uh." She tried to count the gut-bursting inches. One. Two. Three. His rod pushed deeper into her cunt-hole. Four or five? Beads of sweat stood on her forehead and trickled along her flaring nostrils. Her heavy tits were also bathed with a hot dampness. The pressure between her legs was mounting. Her clit was being crushed to its very roots by his torturous pole. And still it kept coming at her.
She'd lost count of the inches. All of it, part of it, it didn't matter. It was just one long, broad hurt. "Oh, God, Torne," she whimpered, beginning to break down. "No more. I... I think I'm dying!"
"You're doing okay, Missy," Torne said. He groaned and humped another inch into her pussy-channel. "You got a lot more of this good thing coming to you yet. When I feed a woman, I give her a feast."
"I can't take it," she sobbed. "Too big... uhhhh... too long!"
"Just right," Torne disagreed, straining. "Tight, like a drum."
Becky had no fight left. Her fingers released their grip, her feet slipped from their perch.
Her entire weight dropped just as Torne gave a mightly upward fuck-thrust. "Aiiiiiiiii!" She screamed horribly as she found herself totally impaled on his stiff lance.
The hurt was still shooting through her genitals when she heard Torne give out with a series of short grunts. And then she felt huge quantities of his cock-juice being dumped into her prick-filled cunt. It was disgusting, she thought, but delightfully soothing.
Becky was both laughing and crying as Torne extracted his big cock and let her feet rest on the ground. Her soft white flesh had been too much for him. It had made him a victim of premature ejaculation--a problem he had never had with black girls.
"You are just one big farce, Torne," she said, mocking him again. "All prick and nothing else. A good piece of ass is more than you can take."
"I need another crack at you," Torne said.
"Then take it," Becky laughed, "if you can get that big black root hard again. Pitiful. Pitiful."
Torne glared but said nothing. He, too, was disappointed with his performance. He turned as Vincent called from the mansion.
"Bring her back, Torne. I want Karen to see that repeated close-up."
"You lousy bastard," Becky yelled toward Vincent. "He couldn't put his soft prick in a wash tub, much less my tight little twat!"
Becky was still laughing as Torne picked her up and carried her back toward the house.
She was no longer afraid. She had survived and she had beaten him. His once dangerous tool hung against his pants like a soft bloated sausage.
"Vincent," Karen said. "I don't care to see it again."
"This is a command performance," Vincent said. "Into the house with her, Torne."
Torne placed Becky on the carpet. She smirked at him. "Well?"
"It'll take a minute," said the reluctant Negro.
"It'll take days," Becky crowed. "You've blown your whole wad, big boy!" She found herself staring at his limp cock and thinking how it had been down at the gate. The shaft was as long as a man's arm from elbow to wrist, the knob as big as a man's fist. And stiff. Very, very stiff. "Play with me," she encouraged. "Play with my pussy and see if you can't get another hard-on."
He knelt and placed a big hand on her furry cunt-mound. She willingly spread her legs and he ran a finger through her cum-filled slit. "You ain't scared?" he asked.
"Not anymore," she laughed. "Not of anything you can do to me, big boy. Except maybe eat me alive."
He studied the hairy, red-lipped gash between her thighs, then lowered his head, capped his mouth over the steamy cunt-hole and began to tongue-fuck her.
Becky looked surprised. She'd practically invited the action, but Torne's abrupt response was totally unexpected. The thick tongue threading into her hole brought mixed feelings.
Her pussy was beginning to tingle deliciously. She was no longer so positive that she hated the big butler.
Torne slurped at her.
"Ah... ah... ah," she said, then more vigorously, "oh, eat my cunt, you big lug!" Torne sucked.
She loved his tongue on her clitoris, loved the way it stiffened and curled and slithered into her seeping slit. Torne slurped and sucked and pushed. She squealed ecstatically. "Oh, you sweet tongue-fucking bastard. Black is beautiful!"
Karen was mesmerized by the action, and her excitement grew as she watched the big buck orally stimulate his victim. Or was she a victim? Becky was bright-eyed and panting, on the verge of orgasm. Her ass writhed on the carpet and perspiration was popping up all over.
"I'm... I'm com... com... com... " Becky gasped.
She didn't quite make it. Vincent interrupted and Torne jerked his mouth away from the girl's quivering twat. "Damnit, Torne," Vincent scolded. "Can't you control your savage instincts? The shameless slut is enjoying what you're doing. Punish her, man. Punish her!"
Torne rose apologetically to his knees.
Becky looked along her quivering belly. One more quick deep thrust of his thick tongue would have brought her to a climax. She was at the moment hanging halfway between ecstasy and total neglect. "Do something!" she cried. "Anything."
Torne's prick was hard again, and his glans looked more menacing than ever, but Becky was eager to try her luck. Her thighs stiffened automatically as he placed his cock-head against her fluid-soaked slit. In spite of her own desires, her mind was remembering the painful impalement at the gate. She was finding it difficult to control her reflexes.
"Um." The lips of her pussy quickly enveloped his glans, but the mouth of her pussy was more reluctant. She tried to adjust, to make it easier, but it hurt as it did the first time he had shoved his prick-meat into her.
She whimpered out her hurt, sorry that she had laughed at him. His big cock was tearing relentlessly into her tight cunt-channel. She was beginning to doubt her capabilities again.
"Torne... stop!"
"I... can't... stop!" Torne thought it strange, but he no longer wanted to hurt her. He didn't hate her anymore. She had sighed under his caresses, she had responded. But he could not stop trying to bury his throbbing cock in her warm, quivering belly.
"Uhhhhhhhh!" Becky could not count the inches. She only knew that she was relieved when his cock stopped coming at her, when her pussy had miraculously taken all that he had to give her.
"It... it's all right," she said.
Torne began to pole her with long deep fuck-thrusts. In spite of her high degree of titillation, Becky cried out with each new penetration. She was miserable, and yet she was on the verge of experiencing something she had never tasted before. It mattered not that the man who mounted her was black, or that he was her former servant. It was true that she had shamed him and that he had tried to shame her in return. Both had succeeded, she supposed. When he had impaled her on his prick at the gate, she had felt utterly violated, but now elation had taken the place of shame. Her body was aroused in a manner that neither Vincent nor any other man had been able to match.
"Fuck me, fuck me!" she cried, her face contorted with lust. Her cunt-walls hugged and milked at his thick stalk as his glans slammed against her cervix. "Drive that big wonderful prick up to my tits!" she cried.
"You sniveling whore!" Vincent screamed, disappointed again.
Even in the midst of such supreme sexual bliss, Becky managed to turn her face toward Vincent and giggle.
Vincent clenched his fists, his face purple with rage. "Is there a woman alive who doesn't want to be fucked? Just one, somewhere in the whole universe? My God. I think they'd all like to die with the biggest prick on earth penetrating their guts and shooting cum up into their throats!" He looked at Karen. Her face was flushed, her eyes intensely bright. She had one hand between her legs, squeezing her pussy. Vincent jerked her hand away and slapped the back of it like a scolding schoolmaster. "You, too?"
"I was just... " Karen began weakly.
"I know what you were trying to do," Vincent bellowed.
"I was just... "
"You were just thinking about finger-fucking yourself!"
"Eeeeeeee!"
Becky was squealing like a happy girl on a roller-coaster, drawing Vincent's attention again. She was clinging to Torne, meeting his magnificent fuck-thrusts with a high lifting movement of her churning ass. His thick prick-shaft slithered through her fluid-filled channel more easily now, and she was accepting every inch of it without the slightest discomfort. Once again she was obviously quite confident that her cunt could take on anything, be it man or beast. It almost embarrassed her to think that she had once considered Vincent the supreme lover.
"Torne," she gasped suddenly. "I... oh, shit. I can't stop it. I'm coming!"
Torne filled her belly with cock-juice for a second time. It lashed back hotly and spurted around his deeply imbedded prick. Somewhere deep inside her belly, Becky kept the remainder of the gut-washing load.
"Torture, shit!" Vincent spat. "She thought it was pure heaven."
"Oh, uh," Karen whispered.
Vincent looked at her. She had one finger around the crotch of her panties, and it was moving gently against her clit.
"Oh, hell. Not again!"
"I... I... " she stammered.
Vincent spread his smoking jacket open and looked down at his own throbbing hard-on.
"Well," he drawled. "I suppose I can wait a few minutes to punish you." He pushed her back on the sofa, pulled her already' fluid-soaked panty-crotch aside, penetrated her easily, then began a vigorous screwing of her hungry pussy.
Karen sighed and said nothing. Vincent had no way of knowing that she had just come from watching Torne and Becky fuck. Feeling so warm and gooey inside, it was even difficult to dread the pink room.
CHAPTER NINE
Vincent had finished fucking Karen, but Torne continued to hump the exhausted Becky, who was now too weak to respond to his pounding cock. "She's getting more than she bargained for," Vincent said, then took Karen by the hand and led her down the hallway.
Karen jerked at her panties and tried to pull the cum-soaked crotch out of her slit. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"You gave a fine performance," Vincent told her, "but I'm not forgetting your punishment."
"The pink room?" she asked, not taking him too seriously. After all, he had just made passionate love to her and that meant he loved her too much to truly hurt her.
"Yes."
"The cellar?" Karen frowned as he opened a door and pointed down the stairway.
"Oh, you'll find all the comforts of home down here," he said, guiding her down the stairs toward a thick oaken door. He swung the door open and pushed her inside. "Your bra and panties, please," he said.
"Oh, Vincent," she said tiredly, "a joke is a joke, but... "
His voice was suddenly stern. "It isn't a joke, Karen. Your bra and panties. Give them to me or I'll take them."
"Naked, Vincent?" she said. "You want me to stay down here completely naked?"
"It's always been the rule when I punished one of the girls," Vincent said.
"Not even a robe?"
"Don't worry," he said. "You won't be seen, and certainly you won't be entertaining any guests." He extended his hand. "Now, your bra and panties."
"At least let me keep my panties," she begged. "Something to keep from being completely naked. The idea of going all night and all day in the nude makes my skin crawl."
"Damnit, I mean it, Karen," he said. "Everything."
"Oh, all right." Karen removed her bra and panties and gave them to Vincent. He left immediately, and she began to become truly disturbed as she watched the heavy door closing and then heard the iron bar slam into place. The ominous click of the lock followed.
She looked around the room, decided that she had nothing to fear, and went to the large refrigerator. After a light snack, she retired, and she slept very soundly for the first time in days. It was, she thought upon arising the next morning very refreshed, almost good to be locked away for a while.
She was quite content until noon, and did not pay much attention to the pink walls and ceiling until about five that evening. And then the boredom of the color began to gnaw at her. She noticed for the first time that the tile beneath her feet had dull pink streaks in it.
And even the refrigerator and stove were painted pink enamel.
It could indeed drive a person nuts in time.
She tried reading a book from a well-shocked shelf beside her bed. Somehow, it didn't seem comfortable, lying on her back with a book propped up against her naked tits. And when she raised the book a few inches, she could see clear across her pale belly to her pussy-mound. The sight wasn't conducive to serious thoughts or good reading. She felt like a nudist in a one-woman colony.
It was about seven when she heard the bar being lifted away from the door. Vincent came in, hardly gave Karen a glance, and went through the two-fingers-of-Scotch routine.
"Plenty of whisky in the cabinet if you get bored," he said, then left without further conversation. The bar clanked heavily.
Karen was disappointed. She had hoped that he would fuck her. Not that she especially desired it, but it would have whiled away an hour or so. There was no way for her to know that an evening fuck-session with Vincent had always been a part of the prisoner ritual. He had, for some reason known only to himself, changed the routine in Karen's case.
For two days Vincent did not show. The food supply proved adequate and Karen did not lack for nourishment, but she was feeling the urge to climb the pink walls. On the fourth day of her confinement, she turned to the whisky cabinet for consolation. She did not drink heavily. Only enough to warm her belly and kill some of the tenseness in her limbs.
Vincent visited that evening, said a brief hello, had his Scotch, and left. Karen cried herself to sleep that night.
It had been five days. The sun had risen and the sun had set. Karen could see the darkness through the single barred window at ground level. She went to the cabinet, poured herself a drink, then decided to take the whole bottle to bed with her.
Three drinks in succession only added to her misery. It was then that she heard the sound of conversation overhead. She tried to determine the room from which it was coming, finally deciding that it was the guest bedroom on the first level. The voices weren't as difficult. One was Vincent's, the other was a girl's.
Karen listened carefully.
The girl was very, very young. Probably no more than fourteen or fifteen. And a country bumpkin.
"I never seen so many pretty pictures," the girl said. "Are you a... an artist, Mister Kingston?"
"A collector," Vincent said. "I collect all beautiful things."
That same tired old line. Karen wondered how many times he had used it.
"Girls, too?"
"Why do you ask that, Teressa?"
"Just talk, I reckon," the girl said. "Besides, Pa always told us girls to stay away from here.
He said all sorts of bad things happened here."
"Good things, Teressa," Vincent said softly. "Only very good things." He laughed. "Your daddy just doesn't like rich people, even if he does work for me."
"I guess," she said.
"Are you afraid of me, Teressa?"
"I don't know, Mister Kingston. Would you like it if I bought you a real pretty dress?"
The girl giggled. "Ma says never to take nothing from no man. She says he always wants something for it."
"That isn't necessarily so, Teressa," Vincent said. "Maybe I want to buy you pretty things because I like you."
"I... wish you wouldn't rub my leg like that, Mister Kingston," she said. "It makes me feel funny all over."
"You have very pretty legs, Teressa," he said. "Soft and slim, and white like milk."
"Please don't push up my dress, Mister Kingston!"
"Ill buy you some new panties, too," Vincent said huskily. "You will?"
"Yes. Pink and red and blue. All colors. With flowers and butterflies on them. And so thin you can see through them."
"Ma wouldn't let me wear them. She thinks pretty underthings are sinful."
"Do you, Teressa?"
"No."
"Yours are cotton," Vincent said. "Cheap cotton. You deserve something better--a pretty little girl like you. You're growing up, honey. Becoming a woman. You already have a woman's breasts."
"Your... finger tickles," she giggled. "Anybody ever tickled between your legs like this, Teressa?"
"Just once. Ummm."
"Your daddy?"
"No, just a boy I know."
"Did he take your panties off?"
"He tried to."
"But you didn't let him?"
"No. My sister came in before he could." She giggled. "He had his thing out and you shoulda seen him trying to stuff it back in his britches. It was funny. All hard and stiff and he couldn't do nothing with it."
Karen fumed in the basement. Vincent was going too far. She didn't know where the girl had come from, but he had deliberately brought her there to add to Karen's own misery.
Karen put the, whisky aside and stood on the bed, trying to get her ear closer to the ceiling.
"Why are you taking your clothes off, Mister Kingston?" the girl asked.
"You have your dress off, Teressa."
"But you took it off."
"So I did," Vincent said. "But I'm going to get you another one. A pretty new one."
"It makes me feel funny, just sitting here in my bra and panties," Teressa said. "And I ain't never seen a man plumb naked before."
He laughed. "Well, what do you think about it, seeing a naked man for your first time?"
"All tingly and warm," she said.
"I'd like to see all of you, honey."
"Oh, I can't take everything off, Mister Kingston!"
"I gave you fifty dollars to come here with me," Vincent said. "We should have a little fun."
"You said you just wanted to show me your big house," she said. "You didn't say nothing about fun."
"Another twenty dollars if you'll take off your bra and panties, Teressa."
"Well... " She paused. "But you can't do nothing but look. I mean, you can't touch me or nothing like you was doing before."
"Why?"
"It's different--a man touching you when you're plumb naked."
Karen jumped from the bed and kicked the thick oaken door until her foot hurt. She feared that she had broken it and that she would have to hobble around like Torne for the rest of her life. Vincent was needlessly putting on the sex show. She wasn't going to listen to him seduce that moronic teen-ager. But, moments later, she found herself standing on her tiptoes on the bed.
The bastard had worked fast.
"Oh!" the girl moaned. "Don't suck it so hard, Mister Kingston. Oh, my titty!"
"Just move your legs apart," Vincent urged. "That's it. No. Don't jerk them back together like that. Let me get between them. There."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm just going to... "
"No, you can't, Mister Kingston!"
"Now, Teressa, don't be frightened. It won't hurt."
"I'll tell my pa!"
"I've a hundred-dollar bill in my wallet," Vincent said. "Do you want to see it?"
"I've never seen a hundred-dollar bill before."
"Well, it's yours, Teressa, if you let me put my cock in just once."
"I... never done nothing like this before," she whimpered.
"Don't cry, Teressa. There. See? It just slips in real easy, a little bit at a time."
"Oh! It's so big. Don't push it so hard. Uhhhhh!"
"There. Doesn't it feel good? Now I'll just move it up and down a few times. Like this."
"Oh.
Uh. Oh. Uh!"
"There. That's it!" Vincent cried. "Push your pretty little ass up to meet it. That's the girl.
Ah! Hunch. Rotate it. Shove your furry little pussy way up on my cock!"
Karen almost fell, clutched-at the wall for support, then fell anyway. She lost precious time getting her ear back to the ceiling. The bedsprings above her were being vigorously assaulted by two bodies.
"Ahhhh!" the girl cried. "Put it all the way in. Put that big cock way up in my belly. Fuck.
Oh, blow your big balls. Uhhhhh. Oh, God. You sweet bastard. I ain't never come like that before. Ahhhhh!"
A brief moment of silence. The springs squeaked slightly. A long moment of silence followed.
"You lied to me," Vincent said angrily. "You're about as inexperienced as my grandmother, and she had fifteen children."
"Just give me my money."
"A fifteen-year-old whore," Vincent gritted.
The girl laughed, and her laughter was more brassy than childish. "I ain't never given away a piece in all my life, Mister. Now, are you gonna give me my money?"
"Hell, no!"
"Let's see," she mused. "What will the charges against you be? Molesting a minor? Carnal knowledge? Statutory rape?"
"Take the fucking money and get your ass out!"
Karen sank down on the bed, shaking with laughter. Vincent Kingston, shrewd, lecherous bastard that he was, had been taken by a child less than half his age. Karen reached for the bottle, then had second thoughts. After being thoroughly embarrassed, Vincent would be ashamed to show his face for days. Karen didn't know whether that was good or bad.
It turned out bad.
� i The sixth day of loneliness and pink was pure agony.
On the seventh, in a drunken stupor, Karen climbed onto a chair and hammered the glass from the barred window with a small iron frying pan. She screamed like a banshee, again and again, then fell to the floor and pressed her face against the cold pink tile. The deep sobbing racked through her body and culminated in her violently quivering buttocks.
Oh, God! she thought. What she wouldn't give to be back in her father's bed. What she wouldn't give to be back in anybody's bed! Being so alone was unbearable. Being alone was worse than all the perversions Vincent had practiced upon her. If only someone would hear her--help her--she would pay any price!
She arose, staggered to the bed, and slept. When she opened her eyes, she looked at the luminous face on the clock beside her bed. The red hand swept around and around. She squinted her eyes. It was two in the morning.
She buried her face in the pillow, listening to her own breathing. A sound came to her ears. She sat up. Someone was on the other side of the oaken door. The lock rattled loudly, then was muffled. And then she heard the bar sliding away.
The door eased open and then closed. Someone was in the room with her. She could hear a man's deep, passionate breathing.
"Vincent?"
No response.
She flung herself at the dark figure and threw her arms around him. Tears were streaming down her face. "Vincent. Oh, Vincent!"
She clung to him, pressing her face against his chest. The smell oi him was familiar. The arms that held her were strong and comforting. She had made a mistake.
"Do you want Vincent?" Billy Denim asked. He spoke with a lump in his throat, with hurt and disappointment.
"No, no," she said quickly. "I... I'm sorry. But I was driven to wanting anybody."
"Even Torne?" he asked.
"Oh, God," she said miserably. "Even Torne. Any human at all!"
"What has he done to you?" Denim asked bitterly. "What have you become?"
She slid down his body, her hands clinging to his hips. "I don't know, Billy," she whispered passionately. "I just know that I need to feel wanted. I need you. Oh, love me, Billy!"
He stood immobile and silent, still hurt because she had cried out for Vincent Kingston.
Karen buried her face against his groin, wetting the front of his jeans with her tears. She cried for a while longer, pleading with him to speak to her, to make love to her. f He took a deep breath. "I went through a lot of trouble to get in here,' he said finally. "The lock wasn't the easiest thing in the world to pick."
"You came," she said. "That's all that matters."
"I didn't know what had happened to you," he said. "I thought you'd gone the way of all of Vincent's girls when I saw him bring that little young slut into the house."
"Seven days," she murmured. "I've been here seven days. Staring at these screaming pink walls and drinking like a fish."
"And yet you cry out for that bastard," Denim said harshly.
"I'm sorry, Billy," she whimpered, pressing her face more firmly against his groin. "I... didn't know it was you. I don't care for Vincent any more. Believe me, I don't. What... can I do to prove it to you?" He was silent again.
She sensed the warm bulge of his prick against her face. It was nestled up against his balls, but it was definitely becoming hard.
"Anything," she murmured. "Anything to prove it." She fumbled for the zipper on his jeans, found it, and pulled.
She reached inside, extracted his pulpy prick and kissed it feverishly. It stiffened abruptly.
"Ill prove it... prove it," she gasped. Her fingers worked frantically. She undid his belt and deftly peeled both his jeans and shorts down his lean tensed thighs.
He sucked in his breath.
She drew his balls toward her mouth and licked the warm curve of them, and then she kissed along his huge cock-shaft until she came to his glans. Then, almost furtively, she faced his stiff penis and took his throbbing cock-head into her mouth.
He hissed between gritted teeth.
"I'll prove it... prove it," she said, her mouth making a slurping noise. "Glaaaa... oh...
prove it!"
"You don't have to prove anything," Denim groaned, but he did not physically protest her unexpected cock-sucking. Her warm sucking mouth fully enclosed his glans, and he groaned more loudly. Had he known that this ecstasy had awaited him, he could have broken through a door of solid steel with his bare hands.
Karen was captivated by the nearness of him, by his very presence. It was great not to be alone .in the world, to know that somebody cared for her.
"Mmmmmmmmm."
The small light from the face of the clock reflected eerily on his balls and the hair bunched around his thick cock-shaft. She drove her face inward, making guttural sounds as she took in as much of his prick-shaft as her mouth would hold. He fucked his glans against her throat.
She returned to his blood-engorged knob, licking and sucking. "I love it, I love it," she mewed.
"My God, Karen," he exclaimed as the suction of her mouth became voracious. His glans felt as if it was being torn from the end of his prick by the red lips that hungrily clasped it.
He ejaculated.
She caught the first jet against her curling pink tongue. "Mmmm," she sighed. Another struck more deeply into her mouth. "Mmmmmmm." She tenderly sucked his hot stalk, drawing the come-juice from deep within his balls. He came again.
She cooed over his glistening cock-head, then licked it like a cat.
They lay side by side on the bed, resting. Denim had his hand between Karen's thighs, and the contact was comforting to her.
"Vincent had that young girl upstairs to spite me," she said.
"A little whore," Denim said. "I ran her daddy in on a carnal-knowledge charge when I was a cop. The girl was twelve at the time."
"Carnal knowledge?"
"Yeah. He fucked hell out of Teressa."
"Oh."
"Her old man works on the loading platform at the trucking terminal," Denim said. "I guess she was visiting and caught Vincent's eye. He probably worked her old man late and offered to take the girl home. He brought her here instead. Vincent didn't know it, but the girl and her daddy probably had it all set up between them. It'd bring in a few extra bucks, and Vincent certainly couldn't fire the daddy after fucking his young daughter." Denim chuckled. "That's one cherry Vincent didn't get."
Karen giggled, both at the joke and at the fact that Denim's finger was tickling her love- flesh.
"You almost got my cherry," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Just Vincent before you." She sighed and ran her hand along his prick. "I wish you had been the first with me, Billy." She turned on her side and slid one leg across his body. His stiffening prick lay just against her inner thigh. "Fuck me, Billy," she whispered. "Like it was my first time with anybody." v Astride him, she leaned forward and lifted her ass, searching for his prick-tip with her cunt.
She found it and pressed firmly against his hot knob until it began to penetrate.
"Ah... "
Denim slammed the remainder of his cock into her cunt. "Ahhhhhh!"
They made love gently until her warm cunt-fluids trickled along his shaft and began to gather around his balls. She jammed her ass at him a bit faster as he continued to thrust into her hole. The pleasing friction was too much. She couldn't wait. "Now bang me, Billy!"
she cried. "Really bang me!"
Her lovely young tits swung like pendulums, but Denim could not see their perfection in the darkness. Occasionally, the light from the clock would catch a taut pink nipple and he would thrust his tongue at it, trying to capture it. Karen became more frantic as she pressed for orgasm. Denim could feel the cunt-fluids dropping from her churning pussy in small hot globs that splattered against his balls and thighs.
He gripped her ass, trying to slow its vigorous movement. He was about to ejaculate. His fingers caressed her warm ass-crack, digging at her asshole. Impulsively, he rammed one finger inward. The tight membrane was lubricated with her cunt-fluids and his finger slipped in easily.
"Dear God, Billy!" she sobbed, crushing one breast against his mouth. "Suck my tit... I'm about to come!"
Karen thought that she would probably never experience another orgasm exactly like this one. His mouth on her tit, his cock deep in her belly, his finger pushing into her asshole.
Vincent had never matched it.
"Ah. God. Wonder... ful!" She came in gasps and gushes, then let her soft, quivering curves sink against Denim's hairy chest and muscular belly.
"That was good," she said moments later.
"Damnit, little girl," he said wearily. "I think I love you."
"Enough to take me away from this place?" She kissed him, then stuck out her pink tongue and licked at his ear. His prick had gone soft, but it still rested in the warm folds of her pussy. She wished that it had stayed hard, that it could remain in her belly forever and feed it a continuous stream of his come-juice.
"Do you really want to go?"
"I've tried twice, haven't I?" she said. "I'm tired of being a part of Vincent's collection."
Her ass-cheeks came firmly together in a clenching action. Denim's finger remained in her anus. It felt delicious. "Don't," she protested as he tried to withdraw it. "Leave it in. I like it."
He began to massage the tight membrane and it loosened to his caress. "You know we can't just walk out, dont you," he said. "Not this moment."
"I don't have any clothes," she said.
"Right," he said. "And if we try to get them tonight, it'll surely awaken Torne. He sleeps with one eye open."
"Are you afraid of Torne?" she asked.
"No," Denim said grimly. "Just cautious. If he discovers us, I know I can't whip him in a fair fight. I'll have to kill him."
"No! I don't want that," Karen said quickly.
"Not that I wouldn't like to smash the bastard's thick skull," Denim said. "But I don't want to spend the rest of my life running, when there's an easier way."
"Well... uh... oh... what do we do?" His finger in her asshole was becoming more pleasurable as Denim continued the probing. It was even making her clit throb.
"I'll go into town tomorrow and buy you a dress, shoes and panties," he said.
"Umm... ah... oh," she said. "And... and a bra," she managed to add.
"Yeah," he said. "Got to .have something to hold up those cute tits." Denim grimaced. He couldn't keep his mind on the conversation. He had another big hard-on and Karen kept squirming her hot little pussy against it. He pushed his finger deeper in her asshole.
"Uh... uhhhhh!" she groaned. "Go on. With... the plan, I mean."
"I'll come back tomorrow night and pick the lock again," he said. "I'll bring the clothes, you dress, and well be on our way."
"About... uh... two?" she asked. Dear God. She wished he'd just shove all of his finger up her ass. "Ooooo!"
"Two," he said.
His prick-meat was pinned between her belly and his. She lifted herself and sat on his thighs, clutching his thick shaft with both hands.
"If I could see it, I bet it would be beautiful," she said.
"You'll see a lot of it," he laughed. "One more time?" she asked. "I cant wait until tomorrow."
"If I'm up to it," he said. "You're up," she giggled.
Karen lifted herself on her knees and pushed his prick between her legs. His cock-head slipped through the fluid-laden slit she presented. She continued to guide it deeper between her legs.
"Damn," he said. "Are you trying to break it off?"
She wiggled her ass. "Take your finger out." He did.
She probed at herself with his prick until his glans was against her asshole.
"I love you," she whispered. "Everywhere. Every way."
"You want to... "
"Like Agatha got it," she said, and her face wasn't burning at all. "I've never had it that way before."
"In your... "
"Oh, yes!" she cried. "In my ass. Shove that big wonderful prick in my ass!"
She eased higher on him, then began to carefully lower her buttocks against his cock- shaft. She bit her lips as she began to impale herself. Her lubricated asshole slowly opened to his huge knob. She added more pressure and felt a stab of pain. It was almost like committing suicide, she supposed, but she couldn't stop. The gripping circle of her asshole continued to spread around his cock-head, then the bulbous thing slipped abruptly into her hole.
"Whew... wow!" She came abruptly.
The quick climax wasn't enough for Karen. She wanted to be loved, and she wanted to be punished for loving so recklessly and so wantonly. There was no better way than to drive his thick prick-shaft into her very bowels. She hunched softly at it, then suddenly slammed her entire weight toward his testicles.
"Uggggghhhhh!" She groaned loudly. She had almost overdone it. How much, how many inches she had in her, she didn't know. But it was gut-bursting. It was painful, and it was out of place, and she was sorry that she had asked Billy to lend himself to such a perverse act. He probably thought that she had lied to him about being almost innocent. He probably thought that she was no better than the little slut, Teressa.
She tried to withdraw from the impalement, but Denim was pushing his stiff prick back into her tight asshole. His cock-head surged, hot and sensual, sending its lustful message to her private parts. She slammed her ass back at it, not wanting to lose the strange and wonderful sensation that was suddenly creeping over her buttocks, through her slit, and to her hot, wet clit. She panted and hunched. Sweat dripped hot and freely from her bouncing tits. Denim began to react, thrusting shortly and gently.
"Oh, fuck my sweet ass, Billy Denim!" she sobbed in a sudden outburst of heartfelt passion. She hammered her ass at him as mercilessly as he thrust his stiff cock into her ass-canal.
"Karen... "
"Hold me, Billy!" she cried. "Keep thrusting!"
When he drove his shaft to a stopping place somewhere deep inside her body, Denim came in strong, hot jets that bathed her insides. And she came with him. In waves that lapped one on the other. And it was totally perverse, and thoroughly sordid, and very, very wonderful.
"Enough?" he asked.
"Enough," she agreed. "Until tomorrow."
After Denim had gone, carefully locking the door behind him, Karen lay on the bed, too happy to sleep. Her body was drenched with perspiration, and his cock-juice still oozed from both orifices. She was glad everything had happened just as it had. At least, she had managed to give Billy Denim a part of her virginity.
She reached for the bottle of whisky next to the clock and put it to her lips. But she did not drink. Instead, she flung it across the room. She wouldn't need it any more. And another thing. She didn't even care if the fucking walls were pink. She could take anything for one more day.
CHAPTER TEN
It was the tenth day.
Karen could not understand why Billy Denim had not returned for her as he had promised.
Perhaps she had been wrong in giving him all the delights her body afforded. She had withheld nothing to tempt him back. Her own perverse nature had been her final downfall.
She began to worry about the food supply. She had not seen Vincent. Perhaps he had also forgotten about her. Or perhaps he meant to keep her in the pink room forever. They would find her someday, her youth gone, her body wasted. She'd be but a screaming old white-haired woman, sucking at an empty whisky bottle.
She'd managed to stay away from the liquor since Denim's visit, but she had begun to think about it again. With it she could dull her senses.
With it she could imagine that Denim had returned, and that he had spirited her away to some beautiful place near the borders of heaven.
She went to the cabinet, took out a fresh bottle, broke the seal, and put it to her lips. Two drinks calmed her nerves, and she put the bottle away. Billy might still come for her.
It was about noon when she heard someone outside the door. "Vincent?" she asked.
There was no reply. Just the sound of a man breathing.
"Billy?"
She heard heavy footsteps going back up the stairs.
An hour later, she heard the shuffling sound beyond the door again. This time she thought she knew the man's identity.
"Torne?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Why haven't you been down to see me before now?" she asked. She was actually glad to hear his voice.
"I ain't supposed to be down here," Torne said. "Mr. Kingston's orders."
"Then why did you come?"
"I was worried about you," he said. "Kept wondering if you got plenty to eat. I don't think Mr. Kingston's ever left a girl down here this long. He must be plenty riled at you, Missy."
"I guess."
"He never would let you out if he knew you'd been messing around with Billy Denim," Torne said.
"What's happened to Billy, Torne?" she asked.
"Well, he's just unlucky enough to be an ex-cop," Torne said.
"Something happened to him?" Her heart felt as if it were in her throat.
"Naw," Torne said. "He was a witness to a killing a few years back. The guy got away and they just caught him a coupla weeks ago. His case is up in court, and it seems like he's got a lot of connections where it counts. The law's got Billy under guard, afraid hell get knocked off before he can testify."
Karen breathed a sigh of relief. "How long will the trial last?"
"Who knows?" Torne said. "Days. Weeks. Even months."
"Oh, my God." She was troubled again.
"You better get your mind off Denim," Torne said. "He ain't gonna bust you outta there."
"I wasn't thinking about that," Karen said.
"You're lying, Missy," Torne said. "Denim was here to see you a coupla nights ago, wasn't he?"
"No."
"I seen him come and I seen him go," Torne said. "He was planning to take you away?"
"Yes," she admitted.
"Best he got caught up in court," Torne said grimly. "Ain't no way I coulda let him take you."
"Vincent holds an awesome power over you, Torne," Karen said. "It's more than dedication. More than a crippled foot. What is it?"
Torne laughed bitterly. "Since you ain't going nowhere and I ain't either, Missy, I don't reckon it'll hurt to tell you. I got in a fight with a man on the loading docks. He called me a black sonofabitch and I beat him to death with my bare hands. Just went crazy, I guess.
"Mr. Kingston came onto the platform and seen me standing over the man's body. I expected him to call the law right away, but he didn't. He told me I was a good hand and he hated to lose me, and that the dead guy wasn't nothing but a no-count, drag-ass, anyway. He offered to help me make it look like an accident.
"That's the way I come by this bad foot. Deliberately crushed it with the forklift. And then we used the same forklift to drop a helluva big crate on the dead man and make it look like he was crushed to death at the same time."
Karen shuddered. "So that made you Vincent's slave?"
Torne grunted. "I like some other word better."
"Prisoner," Karen said. "You're as much a prisoner as I am."
"I reckon, Missy," Torne said. "Difference is, Mr. Kingston's gonna tire of you sooner or later and let you go. Hell hang onto me as long as I got a breath left in my body."
"We can both run away, Torne," she suggested hopefully.
"You and me?"
"Yes "
"Together?"
"Why not?"
"Mr. Kingston would have me in jail before we could get out of the state," Torne said.
"Then let me go, Torne. Please."
"You know I can't."
"You like me, don't you, Torne?"
He nodded but said nothing.
Karen was growing desperate. If Denim was detained long, she would be stark raving mad by the time he returned. She could not suffer further confinement. Torne was her only chance. She put her face close to the door, whispering sweetly and seductively to the big black.
"Whatever happened to Becky, Torne?" she asked.
"She just left," he said, chuckling. "Left the house and left town."
"Did you like her, Torne? Her body?" Karen asked.
"I druther not talk about it," he said.
"I'm better than she is, Torne," Karen said invitingly. "Younger, too. If you'll open the door, I'll be good to you."
"I can't touch you, Miss Karen," Torne said stiffly.
"I'm naked, Torne," she said. "I haven't got on a stitch of clothing. No bra. No panties. You can see my titties. Everything."
Torne took a deep breath. "It ain't no use, Missy," he said. "Now, stop talking that way. I gotta go. Been here too long already."
"Wait, Torne!" she cried, her desperation growing. "You can do more than look at me. You can do anything you want to do. You can fuck me, Torne. You can stick your big prick up in my warm little pussy and fuck me all you want, Torne!"
His breathing was harsh and grating. "Even if I wanted, I couldn't get the lock off," he said.
"I'm naked, Torne!" she cried. "All white and pink and soft... "
He shuffled up the stairs.
Karen felt close to utter defeat. The odds against her were insurmountable. She could not even use her young white flesh to seduce a man like Torne. His fear of Vincent was stronger than his lust for her. And he did want her. The lust was there. She had seen it when he had carried her from Denim's cottage, and she had seen it that morning in the bedroom. But Torne had perfect control. As badly as he had hated Becky, he had made no move toward her until Vincent gave permission. He reminded her of a well-trained dog-leaping for the victim's throat only at direct orders from his master.
The sun was setting.
Torne was outside the door again. "Missy?"
Karen got off the bed. "Just leave me alone, Torne. You won't help me."
"It ain't that I wouldn't like to," Torne said. "I been up there all evening worrying about you."
"Vincent hasn't come home yet?"
"I guess he's out beating the bushes for something," Torne said. "He ain't exactly been his self since that little Teressa girl was here."
"He deserved what he got," Karen said.
Torne laughed shortly. "Wouldn't want to let him know I said it, but I'll have to agree with you, Missy."
Karen was getting another idea. "Will you bring me something, Torne?" She felt that she had one last chance, and that was to let Torne see her in the nude and drive his lust for her body to the point of no return.
"I told you before," he said. "I can't get the door open."
"Just a bottle of milk, Torne," she said. "You can come around to the window and stick it through the bars."
"Okay," he said readily. "But you ain't gonna talk me into anything."
"Oh, I've given up on that," Karen said, smiling to herself.
After she heard Torne going up the stairs, she turned the radio on. Strangely enough, she had not played it since she'd been confined. It squawked and faded away. She searched for another station. The tubes were weak but the radio continued to make a humming noise.
"Oh, damnit!" she hissed. She had to have the radio working in order to put her plan into full action. She had to have an erection-building effect on the big butler when she went into her routine.
She flipped the switch to FM and moved the dial frantically. Feebly, the music came at her. She turned the volume to the limit. Ah. A band with a trumpet in the background.
"Missy?"
She turned toward the window.
Torne was speaking from above her. She saw him lying on the ground, his big arm extended through the bars. He was clutching a bottle of milk and his big paw dwarfed it.
"Just a minute," she said.
"Hurry it up," he told her. "I don't want Mr. Kingston to find me out here."
She walked slowly across the pink tile, her hips weaving seductively. "Do you like music, Torne?"
"Just take the milk, Miss Karen."
"Watch me." She began to move her feet, doing a little dance. Her asscheeks swayed and her tit-flesh bobbed in rhythm. She laughed. "Would you like to dance with me, Torne?"
"Can't hardly walk with this foot of mine," he said, then looked quickly away from her naked body.
Karen continued her dance. Torne was looking again. The trumpet came on loud and strong as a sudden surge of power hit the weak tubes. She reacted, undulating her belly and bumping her furry pussy-mound at him. His eyes began to bulge. She squatted and did a slow grind with her ass, pushing her lush little cunt upward so that he could see just the beginning of her tantalizing slit.
Torne licked his lips like a dog that wanted to bite and was afraid to do so.
"If you could just reach through the bars and touch it," she said, beginning to pant from the exertion of the erotic dance. "Do you want me to climb up in the chair? Maybe you can put your hand on it."
"I gotta go," he said, but he did not move.
"My pussy is so hot, Torne," she said. "I've been locked up without a man for so long, I could fuck anything."
"Me?" he croaked.
"You," she whispered.
She made a hunching, screwing movement as the music ended with a final blare of the trumpet, then she flung herself on the bed. She threw her legs apart, exposing her rift from clit to asshole. She worked her abdominal muscles and then her pussy-muscles. The lips of her pussy sucked inward.
"Torne?"
He was gone.
"You crummy bastard," she cried angrily. "You prickless, ball-less bastard!"
Her misery was short-lived. Torne was banging viciously at the door. "I'm coming, Missy!"
he shouted. "I'm coming!"
Steel sounded against iron. The heavy lock dropped to the floor and the iron bar was wrenched away. The door swung open. Torne was tearing at his clothes as he came into the pink room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Naked, Torne was a black Adonis. The muscles beneath his light-chocolate skin rippled with each slight movement of his body. His thighs bulged with strength, and between them dangled the most enormous set of balls that Karen had ever seen.
She tensed. Her eyes flitted toward the open door. There was the way to freedom, but Torne blocked her path. Now that he had made up his mind to take her, his dark face was filled with unbridled lust.
"I... Ill have to get some clothes from my bedroom," she said.
"We ain't going just yet," Torne said. "I've had you in my guts since the day you first came here, Missy. Now I'm gonna get you out."
Karen couldn't keep her eyes from his crotch. She had seen his prick-meat protruding from his fly as he had taken Becky. But with the entire mass fully exposed, his cock was not only awesome but actually terrifying. The shaft looked fully the twelve inches he had bragged about to Becky, and its girth was such that it would take both her hands to reach around it. The uncircumcised foreskin was pulled tautly away from his glans by the force of his erection. The huge glistening cock-head struck terror in Karen's heart. She was beginning to doubt the sanity of her plan to escape. With Torne it would not be fucking. It would be planned suicide.
"I... I'm sorry, Torne," she said. "I just cant do it."
"You invited me, Missy," he said. "I ain't turning it down this time." She tried to dash around him, but his big hands reached out and lifted her from the floor as if she were a feather.
"No, no, no!" she cried. The scene was like something out of a science-fiction movie. A giant black man holding a tiny naked doll in his huge palms, her feet kicking uselessly in the air, her tit-mounds straining on her chest as she writhed in his clutches.
"Don't fight me, Miss Karen," he said in a kindly voice. "I'll be easy. I won't hurt you."
"How can you keep from hurting me?" She whimpered softly as he placed her on the bed.
"Your prick is so big... "
She drew her thighs together, but he separated them easily. Her buttocks were perched on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling. Torne went to his knees and eased his thick prick-stalk toward her straddle. The blood-engorged knob dominated her small crotch.
"Oh, please don't!" Karen sucked in her breath as his searing glans made contact with her cunt. The first show of force by Torne made her feel as if he were trying to put his gut- bursting prick into a nonexistent hole between her legs.
"Uh... I can't," she said.
He saw a flicker of pain her eyes. "You can't blame me, Missy," he said in a sympathetic voice. "You started it. You had on that little bit of blue nothing in your bedroom that morning. You teased me and I run off like a coward. And now you've done that little dance and showed me everything."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry."
"Too late," he said.
"Not too late," she groaned. "All you have to do is get up and leave. Lock the door behind you. I wont tell Vincent you've been here."
"I busted the lock," Torne said. "Ain't no hiding the fact that I done it." He began to shove his cock in her cunt-hole.
"Uhhh. Stop!"
"I cant stop," he breathed. "I can't stop for nothing. I got to have you." Another thrust.
Blunted.
"Your cock hurts," she gasped. "Maybe if I had just one little drink first, it wouldn't hurt me so much."
He scowled. "You can't stand the idea of being fucked by a black man, can you? You got to have a drink to take a black dick?"
His anger frightened her. It would be bad enough without any brutality on his part. "It isn't that," she said quickly. "The pain. Just to ease the pain."
"Okay, Missy."
He released her and allowed her to go to the liquor cabinet. She took the freshly opened bottle, put it to her lips, and drank heavily. It burned horribly as it ran down her throat, but she swallowed it in huge gulps. She had to drink it like water, had to make herself numb all over in order "to face what the big black was going to throw at her.
"Damnit, no!" Torne sprang across the room and jerked the bottle from her lips. "I don't want to be fucking you if you don't know it's happening," he growled.
Karen giggled as he led her back to the bed. Her body tingled all over, and behind the tingling the numbness was beginning to creep into her system. She flopped back on the bed, laughing. "I don't care what you do to me now, Torne," she said.
Torne stood over her, admiring her pale flesh. His big hands enclosed the globes of her breasts as he leaned forward. He gently caressed them, enjoying the intimate touching of her body. His face dropped, his breath blew hot against her tit, and then he took the nipple in his mouth and began to suck it.
"Mmmmmm." Karen sighed as she watched the areola disappear between his lips. More and more of the tit followed. It appeared that he had fully half of the globe in his mouth. He hungrily sucked the sensitive flesh but he managed to remain infinitely tender.
"Oh. Oh. Oh." Karen couldn't remain quiet. A sensitive wire seemed to run from the hard nipple to her clitoris. Her love-flesh jerked and stiffened with the suction against her nipple.
"Oh, baby," she breathed. "Pull all of my titty down your throat. And suck and suck and suck!"
The tit was wrung out when Torne finally released it. Karen was starry-eyed as she looked at the wet, swollen nipple. The imprint of his lips showed far back on the pale globe. She wondered why he had not bothered to suck her other tit, but Torne was already on his knees, licking her belly like a devoted dog. Except this time he was devoted to her and not to Vincent Kingston.
"Kiss it, kiss it," she murmured. "Kiss me all over."
"Sweet Missy," he said, running tongue around the triangle of cunt-hair. He sank his teeth into her mound, biting but not hurting, and then he nipped at the beginning of her puffy cunt-lips.
"Torne, oh, Torne." She did not protest as he rolled her over on her belly. He kissed each cheek of her trembling ass, sucking huge amounts of the soft white flesh into his mouth.
Once again he left the imprint of his lips like a brand in her tender skin.
"More,-more," she pleaded, her thighs spread and trembling. He licked her thighs and then ran his tongue through the delicate crevice that separated the buttocks. "Oh, God!"
she sobbed as his tongue stiffened and dug at her pink little asshole.
He flipped her over again, and she fussed at him like a child, irritated by his actions. He could have left well enough alone. She had liked what he was doing. He could have made her come--just with his wonderful tongue!
"There's so much of you, I don't know where to start," he said, grinning.
"Anywhere, anywhere," she said, easing her pussy-mound upward.
He stared between her legs, studying the lips of her pussy, as if counting each individual hair. The fine curls had no pattern where they ran between her legs, and the seemingly tiny slit was beginning to glisten red with moisture and congestion.
"Do something," she gasped.
"Sweet little Missy." His nostrils flared, then he lunged forward, his face between her thighs. His tongue flashed out. He caught the tip of it just at her asshole and dragged it slowly toward her seeping slit.
"Dear... dear... God!" she sobbed when it finally frictioned roughly across her love- flesh. "My clit, Torne. Oh, my clit!"
Torne dug his tongue back into her steamy folds, searching out the sensitive ruby. It surged hotly, tormented with desire as the tickling continued.
"Suck it," Karen gurgled madly. "Oh, suck my clit, Torne!"
Torne's hungry mouth latched onto the small lump of engorged love-flesh. Karen bounced her ass at him, sobbing softly in gratitude. And then she began to cry out with delight as the powerful sensations crept through her clit. It felt as if he had her entire pussy in his mouth--pussy, uterus, everything.
"Ohhhhh!" she sobbed deliriously. "You eat me like nobody ever has!" She hooked her heels on the side railing of the bed, pushing her ass upward and spreading her thighs widely to give him full access to her pussy.
It was heaven and then some. She wanted to come. She wanted to push her throbbing little clitoris out of her slit like a man's cock. And she wanted to shoot off--ejaculate right into Torne's sucking mouth from balls that she did not possess.
"Frig, frig, frig," she pleaded. Her slit was spreading like an elastic cap around his mouth.
Her cunt-curls clogged his flaring nostrils. He drew deeply on her love-flesh, tugging at its sensitized base. She screamed as she came.
"Coming... coming... coming," she whimpered as Torne's devouring mouth engulfed her throbbing slit and sucked it dry of the profuse flow of come-fluids that sprang from her contracting cunt-walls.
Torne maneuvered her body until she was fully on the bed. He curled up beside her, his mouth still on her pussy. His prick lay dangerously near her face. It looked gigantic and the throbbing knob threatened to explode at any moment.
Torne lifted his fluid-streaked face from between her pale thighs. "Take it, Missy," he said.
"What?" She pretended not to hear, but she knew that the tongue-fucking had excited him.
"I scratch your back, you scratch mine," he said. He eased his engorged cock-meat closer to her face.
"I don't know what you mean."
Torne did not look directly at her as he spoke. "What is it Mr. Kingston makes all the girls do?"
She saw the muscles of his thighs jerk in anticipation. "All the girls suck his dick."
"You, too," Torne said. "I never did see much when he was making love to his girls, but I got big ears."
"He made me," Karen said. "I didn't like it."
"Bet you did," Torne said. "Bet you done it to Denim, too."
"No, I... "
"Lying don't help, Missy," Torne said. "I knew Denim was here. I was watching outside the window. Couldn't see much, except for the little bit of light from the clock. But I seen enough. I seen you going down on your knees, crying and sucking at his cock like it was a buttered ear of roasted com."
"I didn't know what I was doing," she stammered. "I was so happy to see somebody that I... I... I... Don't, Torne!" He was tongue-fucking her slit again. Her genitals were wrung- out, exhausted, but she feared that he might arouse her to the point that she no longer cared what she did.
"You just can't forget that I'm black, can you?" Torne asked angrily.
"That's got nothing to do with it... ah... ahhhhhh!"
She tried to bring her legs together. He was concentrating on her clit again, and the taut slick love-flesh still contained its sensitivity.
Torne tried a new tack. He tried to prey on her sympathy. "This is as close to heaven as I'll ever get, Missy," he said. "I done killed a man, and when I'm through here, I ain't gonna be nothing but another running nigger. And I'm gonna run until they shoot my black ass off.
Then it's straight to hell for me."
"Torne, I... " She almost choked up but quickly regained control of her emotions.
"You owe me something, Missy," he said. "I'm giving you your freedom. When I blow my balls, you can walk straight out that door and not look back."
"Don't make me do it, Torne," she gasped. The intense heat was spreading through her pussy again. The nipples of her tits became stiff for a second time. Soon she might just reach out, grab his cock, and___ "Don't make me," she begged again.
"Ain't nobody making you do nothing," Torne told her. "But I could just ram it down your throat and watch you choke on it."
"Don't... "
"It might be better than having it rammed up in your belly," he said. "Do you think you can take all of it? All twelve inches in your little pussy?"
"I... don't... know." She eyed his long black prick-shaft and bulbous glans. His prick was almost cruel-looking, more like a weapon than an object with which to make love.
"You got just a few seconds to make up your mind," he said. With the warning, he stiffened his tongue and fed it back into her vagina.
"Ah... ahhhhh!" Karen knew that she was just moments away from sucking his cock.
Lust was gripping her again. Suddenly, she grasped his thick shaft with both hands. Her fingers took a tight grip on the hard, throbbing flesh. It was like solid bone. She began to pump it.
"Don't!" Torne growled. "I can't take much of that before I... before I... "
She whipped it more vigorously. The foreskin slapped against his glistening knob as her fingers tightened. She couldn't remember ever having jacked off a man before, and she found it terribly exciting.
"Damnit, stop!" Torne tried to free his throbbing prick from her grasp.
Her hands clung to the bulging stalk of flesh, creating a desperate friction. Her strokes deepened. One small fist drove against his balls. She saw his dark, muscular thighs stiffen. And then Torne groaned loudly. The cock-juice shot from his glans like a long white bullet, then dropped abruptly, showering her tit-flesh with droplets of warm cum.
Karen giggled.
Torne pulled away from her and stood by the bed. She lay on her back, watching him through wary eyes. His prick remained erect. A huge blob of cock-juice clung to the mouth of his glans.
He grinned. "You waiting for it to fall, Missy? Like it done with Becky the first time? Well, you got a long wait. Ain't no use to pull your legs together like that. I got a trip to make between them. You promised me pussy and I'm gonna get pussy."
She tried to frighten him. "You'd better go, Torne. Vincent will be home soon."
"We've been through all that," Torne reminded her. "I'm gonna leave here running, anyway. And if I don't get what I came after, I'm gonna lock that big heavy door behind me when I go. That's a bad spot for you to be left in, Missy."
"I gave you satisfaction, Torne," she said.
"Not the way I want it," he said. "I got to blow my balls deep inside your pretty white belly."
"Let me rest a while," she said. "Let me think about it for a moment."
"The more you think, the more scary it'll get," Torne said.
Karen almost relented, but the fear of being impaled on that long dark stake of prick-flesh remained. It was better to remain a captive forever than to die in such agony. And she would surely start to die the moment he drove his huge cock into her squirming guts.
"We ain't got all night," he said, smiling.
His persistence angered her. "Oh, just get out, you black bastard!"
The outburst proved to be a mistake. The smile vanished and Torne's face took on a savage expression. "That was the wrong thing to say, Missy," he said. "Now I ain't got no more respect for you than I had for that white whore, Becky. Now I'm gonna enjoy giving you what you got coming."
Karen sat up and tried to scoot across the bed. "I'm sorry, Torne. I didn't mean it. You know I didn't!"
He grabbed her ankles. "And I don't mean this."
She kicked at him, but his grip was like steel. Horror-stricken, she watched her thighs being pulled to either side of his hips, watched her trembling ass being drawn closer to his bursting cock-bead.
"Torne," she groaned. "My God, Torne. Don't!"
He took a new grip on her squirming body. His hands were around her slender hips, his fingers clutching her ass-flesh. The mounds stiffened, then trembled violently as his hot knob sought her reluctant cunt-slit. She sucked in her breath as his glans made contact with her cunt. He began to push. The force his thick shaft applied was ass-splitting.
"Uhhhh!" She almost went into shock as the actual fuck-thrust began. "If you ever liked me, Torne, ever cared for me... " she gasped.
"Don't like you anymore," he said. "Don't care what happens to you. You're just a prick- sucking little white whore. Just want to sink my dick in your pale belly and fuck you until cum runs out your ears. You ain't never had such a load like I'm gonna pour in your pussy."
He was standing on the floor, his knees resting against the mattress. Karen's tense ass was lifted high. Little else but her head and shoulders touched the bed. He thrust.
"Just starters," he said.
"Uhhhh!" Karen's eyes were round with fear. She was slowly and surely being impaled in mid-air. His grip tightened on her butt-cheeks as he continued to pull her toward him, virtually forcing the sleeve of her cunt onto his thick stalk.
"Oh, God," she cried. "I can't stand it!"
"You got to stand it," he said.
Her cunt-lips ringed his blood engorged cock-head in a tight band of tortured pink flesh.
The lips were drawn so taut that the puffiness had left them. Her clit was crushed against his pelvic bone. Her pussy-curls tickled his glans as he finished forcing it into her tight slit.
Karen tried to make believe it wasn't happening, but she could not close her eyes or her nerve endings to stark reality. She stared straight up her body, her spine arched in resistance to the inevitable.
Her tits hung toward her chin, the nipples straining with new stiffness, the globes glistening with perspiration. Her eyes scanned her tense belly and searched through the dark curls of her cunt-mound. They finally settled, hotly and painfully, on the thick black shaft that was being ground slowly into the precious, much-abused cavity between her thighs.
Even her butt-cheeks were drenched with sweat. The dark grinning savage was asking the impossible of her. Her eyes stayed glued on the long, immeasurable rod that continued to slowly disappear into her strained hole. She was already bursting inside, but inches and inches and inches remained outside her cunt-hole. He would go on and on, penetrating forever. That thick, hurting shaft would be threading its bruising muscle and bone into her pussy for an eternity.
Karen felt doubly sorry for herself. She was only eighteen. It seemed but days ago that she had been completely innocent. Lying in her own bed, safe and secure, with little to worry about except an occasional nightly visit from her father. A virgin. Her pussy made hot and wet by a probing finger. Not by some body-rending, cunt-wrecking chocolate- colored cock-stem.
She could restrain a verbal protest no longer. "I'm dying!" she cried, trying to dislodge him with a sudden vigorous movement of her ass.
He thrust another two inches into her canal as she mouthed her displeasure.
"Stop," she begged. "Ill do anything you ask. Just... don't... fuck... me. Suck your cock!
Yes. Suck it. Swallow your cum." Karen knew that the words were those of a slut, but this was no time for modesty. Death was but moments away.
"Rather fuck you," Torne groaned, relishing the tight warm sleeve her pussy made around his probing cock-knob. He thrust powerfully.
"Gaaaaaaad!" Karen was jolted as he fed the final half of his shaft into her cunt-hole abruptly. And then she began to whimper in amazement. Through the pain that ripped through her genitals, she came. It was a profuse, prick-bathing eruption mat bathed the length of his deeply embedded rod.
"Missy, Missy," Torne breathed. He was engulfed by the beauty of it. He'd seen enough of Vincent's collection to know art. Color and contrast and brush lines. Reality on canvas, maybe, but nothing like this. Lovely. White flesh, dark cunt-curls, the crimson-ringed cuntslit, a streak of pearly come-fluid, and his black, throbbing prick-shaft in the midst of it all.
"I came," Karen said breathlessly. She sucked in great lungfuls of air. Torne found another inch somewhere and forced it into her cunt.
"Uhhhhhh. God!" Karen came again.
Torne's large balls were crushed against her quivering ass. His entire prick-length was buried in her cunt.
"You little bitch," he said, grinning happily. "You love it."
"I didn't think I could do it," she gasped. "All of it. Every last inch of it." Her cunt-muscles sucked at his cock. "Oh, blow your balls!" she cried wantonly. "Fill my pussy until it runs over with cum!"
Torne let go with a great grunt of pleasure.
"Ahhhhhhh!" Karen sighed as she felt his hot prick-fluid flooding her belly. It was the most enormous load she had ever taken inside her, and she loved every soothing drop of it.
Suddenly, she couldn't get enough of the huge shaft that filled her cunt.
"Oh, fuck me!" she pleaded.
Torne fell upon her prostrate body and hammered her, belly to belly. Karen cried out in ecstasy. This was fucking as she had never known it. This was banging at its best. His cock was long and endless, its girth more than filling. It spread throughout her being, dominating her from twat to tit. She had feared it, and now she wanted to die with it in her.
She couldn't stop fucking. Her ass rose high to meet his mighty and many thrusts. She was a crazy, shameless slut, she thought hysterically. She loved to screw. She wanted to fuck forever. She wanted to come again and again. Blue. Black. Green. She didn't care.
She just wanted that lovely big prick-shaft to keep ramming her.
Torne continued to ride her rising frame. She thrust her cum-filled pussy back onto his shaft with each partial withdrawal. And with each frantic movement of her hunching ass, Torne crammed all of his stiff prick back into her seeping hole, while Karen squealed with delight.
Lust completely dominated Karen's body and mind. The shitty nudes in Vincent's expensive paintings didn't know anything about ecstasy or love or fucking. And neither did Vincent, for that matter. Oh, God! But that fluid-streaked piston going in and out of her hole was eternally wonderful!
Her eyes were glazed. Her mouth twitched uncontrollably. She wrapped her quivering thighs around his legs and raked her fingernails across her lover's back. Red splotches showed on Torne's dark skin as the blood oozed through the lacerations. The pain only served to drive him to greater deeds.
"Missy... "
"I'm coming!" she sobbed.
"Uhhh!" Torne's eyes rolled back in their sockets as he jolted her again with a powerful ejaculation. Karen sobbed gratefully, her ass writhing on the cum-saturated sheet beneath her. Her cunt-muscles clung to his cock, milking it, and it finally went soft inside her belly.
But it still felt huge.
They might have tried again, but the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs jerked them apart.
"Vincent," Karen whispered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Had Vincent arrived a moment earlier, he might have shot Torne on the spot, while the huge black still mounted his unwilling, but becoming willing, victim. As it was, Vincent looked at the ravished body of his young and beautiful mistress, the cum running down her thighs as she cowered before him, and he wanted to prolong the hurt for both her and the big servant.
"You, Karen," he rasped, his face livid, "are an ungrateful whore. And you, Torne, have made yourself a bed in hell for a single piece of ass."
Torne backed away. His size and strength meant nothing against the vicious little weapon in Vincent's right hand. The weapon appeared to be but a toy, but it spat death at every squeeze of the trigger. It was part of Vincent's collection--a two-shot derringer from the days of the riverboat gamblers.
"Well, Torne?" Vincent grated.
Torne was once again the dedicated servant, except that his master no longer wanted him. "Mr. Kingston," he blurted. "She taunted me. She invited me in. She begged me to fuck her."
Karen did not deny the accusation, but she gave Torne a scathing look for being so quick to condemn her.
"Karen?" Vincent said. "Why don't you say he broke in here and raped you?"
"He didn't," Karen said weakly.
"No force at all?"
"Well, maybe just a little," Karen said.
"But did you encourage him?"
"Yes!" she shouted. "I couldn't stand this fucking pink room any longer. I had to have my freedom!"
"And you were willing to give your body in order to obtain it?"
"Yes!" she spat. "And I loved giving it, Vincent. Every moment of it!"
Vincent slapped her. Torne started toward him, but Vincent forced him back with the gun.
"You in a hurry to die, faithful servant?"
Torne eased off.
Vincent turned his wrath on Karen again. "You cock-hungry little bitch! You just kissed all freedom good-bye. I'll see to it that you never leave this room. You'll be seeing pink when you die. And to increase your agony, neither I, nor any other man will ever fuck you again.
You'll die unloved, your hands tearing at your moth-eaten pussy, wishing you could have just one more good fuck before you go!"
"Vincent, please." Karen was near tears. Her anger was gone, her body was drained of lust. She just wanted to be normal and free again.
"Let her go, Mr. Kingston." Torne's dark face was grim. "Ill stay. I'll be your damned slave forever. Your ball-licking black boy."
"No, Torne," Vincent said. "I don't want you around to violate the next pretty thing I bring here." He pointed the derringer at Torne. Two shots sounded.
Two holes appeared in Torne's chest, very near the heart. He covered them with his big hand, a stunned expression on his face as blood began to ooze between his fingers. And then he pitched forward on his face.
Karen leaped toward the fallen servant, but Vincent grabbed her and pulled her toward the other side of the room.
"Stay away from him," he ordered. "I want him to die without a friend in the world."
"But he didn't hurt you, Vincent," she cried.
"He took something that was mine," Vincent said. "I treated him as I would any thief who breaks in to carry away a part of my precious collection."
Karen heard a groan and she looked toward Torne. The big Negro was rising, pushing himself to his knees. Slowly, he managed to stagger to his feet. He moved toward Vincent like a zombie, his hands outstretched. His expression was frozen, and the glazed look in his eyes showed that he was dying, but he continued to move.
"Stay back!" Vincent flung the empty gun at Torne's head. It cracked against his skull, but the dying man felt no pain. His huge hands snaked toward Vincent's throat. The fingers began to tighten.
"My God, Karen!" Vincent gurgled. "Help me!" In less than a minute, Vincent Kingston was dead.
Torne turned toward Karen. His lips were blood-flecked, his face contorted as the final throes of death struck him, but he managed a final smile. "Your freedom, Missy," he said, then fell and rolled over, his eyes staring unseeingly at the pink ceiling.
Karen screamed, condemning one dead lover and mourning the other.
When she had calmed herself, she went upstairs to her bedroom. She stood before the tall mirror, surveying what had become a sex-crazed body. Her breasts and her thighs were cum-streaked evidence of her misdeeds, but the insatiable lust in her belly had faded away during those few moments of bloody violence.
She bathed and dressed, then picked up her small suitcase and went into Vincent's bedroom. She looked at the painting by Correggio. It looked different. Almost as if the dark-clouded beast had ravished his nude victim and left her all alone in the exquisite frame.
Downstairs, in Vincent's study, she carefully emptied his private files onto the floor and calmly struck a match to them. When the fire had crept to the desk and drapes, she left the mansion and walked across the garden. By the time she reached the gate, the big house was engulfed in flames.
She looked toward the cottage, wishing that Billy Denim was there. She hated to leave without seeing him. Excluding her father, she had only had three men in her life, and somehow Billy had held her close in a way that none of the others had. With him it had been pleasure without remorse, sex with love instead of lust.
Headlights flashed. A car came through the gate and Billy Denim got out. He spotted Karen and ran toward her. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you later," she said.
"Are Torne and Vincent in there?"
"Yes," she said calmly. "Both dead."
"Look, Karen," he said. "I didn't run out on you. They yanked me up like a criminal and I couldn't get back."
"The trial's over?"
"Yes."
"Good." She picked up her suitcase.
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know."
"North again?"
"Perhaps."
He grinned. "Would you seriously consider going deeper South?"
"I might."
"With an ex-cop and an ex-gardener?"
"Uh-huh. Especially with an ex-gardener."
Denim pulled the car up the drive and turned around near the burning mansion. Karen could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance. The mansion would be burned to the ground by the time they arrived.
She looked around as Denim drove back through the gate. The white columns were fiery and the big house was crumbling. Suddenly, an extra-bright flame shot up from its ravaged guts.
The pink room was going. She could almost hear the wailing of the lost virgins mingling with the sound of the approaching sirens.
And she could hear Torne saying, "Your freedom, Missy."
