They will try anything to cut the boredom of deadening solitude-endless strings of soap operas, the latest crash diet, pills to induce sleep and relieve depression. A sad lot they are, these housewives whose husband's work pre-empts marital responsibilities. Worse still, many of these young and attractive women are approaching their thirties when the female animal's sexual appetite has been whetted by experience and craves total and unabashed satiation.
Crumbling it is to a woman's ego to discover that a weekend romp in the bedroom is her sole raison d'etre, that to please her husband, her life mate, is the skimpy reward for sacrificing a career and refusing tempting extra-marital affairs behind his back.
Edward Mitchell has again surprised us with an energetic work, The Kidnapped Housewife, the story of one such woman, Jill Carlson, who has fallen into the dark trap of the abandoned housewife and who goes to bed one evening deeply depressed over her husband's obvious infidelities. She contemplates suicide and awakens after a drug-induced sleep with the horrifying realization that she has been kidnapped by the burglars who have stripped her house clean. The contortions, the madness of buying minutes of life with inches of flesh is the ultimate conclusion to this story.
We, the publishers, present to our avid readers our latest edition of the Captive Women series which explores the inner workings of the female mind under humiliation and distress.
The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
Bob's thirty-fourth birthday dinner was everything his wife had planned it to be.
Jill Carlson smiled coquettishly under a halo of honey curls, her blue crystal eyes reflecting orange spots from the flaming cake she set on the table before him. As she did, the top layer slid lopsidedly. Jill giggled. "Oops! ... Make a wish, darling, and blow them all out!" she said gustily.
Jill was happy and relaxed tonight; happy because her Greek Moussaka had just the right hint of cinnamon, and relaxed because as she looked at her tall, handsome husband, she realized just how much she loved him ... even if he left her alone much of the time.
She pecked him fondly on the cheek as they hollowed and he puffed out the last smoldering candle. "Happy birthday, baby," she murmured hotly into his ear.
A relief it was to be home with his wife tonight instead of sitting cooped up in a showroom watching haughty homosexual male models waggle their tight buttocks in tailer-made suits. It was a small price to pay as senior buyer for Sanger's Department Store for whom travel was a prerequisite to advancement. Miles behind meant money ahead. Bob grinned and kissed her back. He looked up at his wife, once more feeling the stirrings of love and sensuality that had first excited him and had never once stopped making him want her body and soul for four married years. Jill was a lithe, vivacious woman, bubbly and just aggressive enough to be flirtatious. An ex-model by profession, four years off the runway and in the kitchen had put a few healthy pounds on her slight frame until now her ripe figure nearly burst the white gauze blouse she wore. The plunging neckline disclosed more than a casual view of her sun-bronzed breasts, breasts which Bob knew had been first caressed by him. Jill had been a virgin at marriage.
Jill was suddenly pop-eyed alert, as if she'd forgotten something; she scurried into the kitchen, her high-heeled sandals clapping against the linoleum floor. Bob craned his head, watching the smooth enticing undulations of her buttocks, the twin globes a rhythmic reminder of the warm wet passion she stored between those slim thighs. He had just enough alcohol in his brain to let his thoughts roam to the 'birthday present' he was going to ask for in the bedroom.
She returned with a chilled bottle of vintage champagne clasped in her red-tipped fingers. "For my special baby on his birthday," she cooed, clasping her hands and bending servicely over his shoulder to fill his glass, her lushly bronzed breasts grazing his chin.
Eyes wide, Bob sucked in his breath trying to calm his lecherous impulses. Jill was looking her provocative best tonight and he wished to hell he could spend every night at home feeding her libido.
Sanger's Department Store had given him the career break he needed, flying him from coast to coast and abroad to Paris, London and Rome to view the spring lines in men's fashions, putting business before marriage. That pre-emption was building towards Jill's ruination. She abhored staying alone in the house at night and their trained-to-kill Doberman pinscher was no more brave. As Jill's physician, Dr. Kinder, had told Bob icily, "Nothing can replace a warm protective body when you're feeling lonely," making Bob feel like a two-inch rat for leaving Jill alone.
His wife's mental well-being worried him, a worry that often fringed on guilt ... especially when she started whimpering girlishly when he packed to leave on a business trip. Insecurity had become a disease with her, and insomnia a nightly symptom. Christ, his doctor bills!
But tonight ... tonight he was home and Jill was aglow, the woman he'd remembered her to be. Now to the bedroom....
Smoothing her skirt tight to her smooth buttocks, Jill took her seat, and bracing her elbows on the tablecloth, took Bob's hand between her own delicate ones. Lifting it to her glossy cherry lips, she kissed it, nibbling teasingly on his knuckles.
His mouth went bone dry; this champagne was going to his head-via his penis! For an instant, his eyes blurred and made a quick enlargement, bloating that skinny finger into a hot pulsating cock-his cock-with her succulent lips sucking and pulling at the rubbery flesh until he. ... Stop it! he told himself, shivering to the bone as his wife's long silky eyelashes fluttered flirtatiously over her rouged cheeks.
"Baby, honey, it's so wonderful having you at home with me. Jilly gets so lonely without her hubby around to keep her tootsies warm at night." She was sucking on his finger now, leaving glossy red smears of lipstick along its knobby length. "Does the birthday boy want to go into the bedroom now and let his wifey give him a birthday kiss?" Jill pooched out her lips and closed her eyes, and compliantly Bob pressed his dry lips to her soft ones in a warm, loving kiss which he quickly broke.
He threw down the remainder of his glass, grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck, tucking it under one arm and snatched his wife by the arm. "Got yourself a deal. Like wine, I get better with age!"
"Oh, you're so cute," she moaned passionately, clinging to him needfully as her gold-trimmed ankle strap sandals dug into the carpet, treading onward toward the bedroom.
"I love you, too, dearest," he replied throatily, throwing open the bedroom door until it banged against the rose wallpaper. He flicked on the light and adjusted the rheostat. The champagne bottle clinked heavily on the marble top nightstand and the sound of tinkling change and keys echoed in Jill's ears as Bob unzipped his suit pants and shimmied out of them, standing before his wife in his striped boxer shorts, tenting ridiculously from his forty-degree erection.
"Ohhhh...." she giggled hand up to her mouth like a twelve year old at her first dance, her eyes glued on her husband's incipient virility. Sticking her tongue tip between her pearly teeth, she kicked off her shoes. Immediately her hands reached up under the flouncy white gauze skirt where her thumbs hooked in the delicate nylon of her pantyhose, pulling them down gently so as not to put runs in the Givenchy hose. Ten painted toenails squirmed expectantly into the inch thick smoke-colored carpet as Jill watched her husband carry through with the preliminaries-fluffing up the pillows and pulling down the blankets. Her delicate fingertips worked at the drawstring of her bloson blouse, loosening it, then pulling it over the lace-cupped mounds of her brassiere and over her head. Draping her skirt on the nearest chair, she watched Bob take a healthy swig of champagne and smack his lips like a truly content man.
Naked now except for her lace trimmed panties and matching brassiere, Jill darted toward the dressing room where she brushed her curls, sprayed an aromatic streak of Lacome on her creamy cleavage and behind her ears. Tonight's dinner had been so yummy ... and now for the dessert.
Smelling lavishly, she pranced into the bedroom, ready to jump into bed; but Bob was standing brooding, the telephone receiver held limply in his hand. What was wrong with him?
"Oh, I love you so much," she moaned passionately, kissing his neck, wondering what had plunged him into this dark mood. Gosh, maybe he had heartburn from her Moussaka ... it was rather rich.
"I love you, too, baby," he echoed, and then pulled away, unprepared to let his eyes tangle with his wife's probing ones. "But ... but I'm afraid we don't have much time."
"Don't ... don't ... have ... much ... time?" She mouthed the words as if he'd spoken a foreign language.
From five feet away Jill could hear his dry mouthed swallow. "I ... I have to shower and get ready to leave," he said guiltily.
"Leave?" She eyed him with growing apprehension. "Leave for where? This is your birthday, Bob!"
Bob closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. "I know, honey, please try to understand. That was Loren on the phone just now." Lowering his head, he touched his fingertips to his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot ... I was supposed to meet him at the airport. We're flying out for New York tonight."
"New York? But you promised we'd have tonight together!" she blasted, her pale blue eyes turning sallow.
"Now please, honey," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shook him off like a swarm of annoying insects. "It'll only be overnight, and we'll be back tomorrow night for sure. It can't be helped. If I'm gonna make head buyer I have to...."
"Can't be helped!" Jill, already at nerve's end, trembled with anguish and disappointment. Her cheeks reddened and a single tear slowly coured down from her watering eyes. "Of all the times to have to go away and leave me alone ... after I...." she ceased her wailing, catching her breath. "After I baked you that cake and spent all afternoon in the kitchen peeling those damned eggplants ... I cut myself slaving over that damned dinner!" she accused, doing her level best to make him feel like a worm. "Look!" She brandished a bandaged finger in his face. Seeing the hurt look on his face, her angered cooled. "Oh, don't go, Bob ... please tell Loren you can't go!"
Bob stared at the ceiling, his jaw muscles working overtime. "You know better than that, Jill," he said, trying to comfort her fears and feeling impotently unsuccessful. "Like I said, I'll be back tomorrow night. I'll take you out for dinner and a movie afterwards to make up for this ... gosh, I'm sorry."
"No! No, stay with me, Bob, stay with me tonight! I ... I need you so bad!" Jill couldn't go on, humiliation and hurt burgeoning up and filling her throat. Damn, damn, damn! If only she could accompany Bob on this trip, but even without asking, she knew that was a pipe dream. They'd discussed that matter before.
With a desperate moan, she watched Bob walk across the room to the bathroom, wearing only his boxer shorts. She could tell he felt terrible about leaving her alone after their plans of spending all night in the bedroom, but that was cold comfort indeed. She fought to control her sobbing as she heard the shower's spray and the scraping sound of her husband pulling shut the shower curtain. She lay back on the wide double bed, groaning with the misery she felt deep within her. God, how she loathed staying home alone in this big house at night. A rash of burglaries had been reported in the last few weeks and she shuddered in horror remembering that night down in Bogota, Colombia when she'd been visiting her grandparents.
Her grandfather, a chief executive with an American based mining company had awakened in the night, hearing suspicious sounds. A veteran of the first world war, he was afraid of nothing. Even now Jill shuddered and clamped her hands over her ears, recalling how as a five-year-old girl she'd hid under her bed while the crackle of gunfire put a dime-sized hole in her grandfather's forehead. In the opposite bedroom, her grandmother's screams echoed in the ears of her memory.
Jill hadn't lied about needing Bob tonight ... and she wanted him as badly as she needed him. Her blood was seething with a strangely gripping sexual excitement that even chilling memories couldn't freeze. She was hot, primed and ready to be loved. Jill glanced down at her lightly clothed body, groaning to herself: Bob ... Bob, hurry up in there. Maybe we'll have time ... I need you right now ... I have to know you love me and need me.
The shower's spray squirted to a stop, and after a few more moments, her handsome husband came out of the bathroom, rubbing himself dry with a large fluffy bath towel.
"Bob," her voice sighed, and she hardly recognized the provocatively husky new tone of it. "Bob, don't get dressed ... yet. Come here to me."
"Huh?" His eyes flashed to the digital clock on the bed stand.
"Here ... to me, baby...." Impulsively, she stretched out fully on the bed, then rolled slightly to the edge and stood up. Tantalizingly, like an exotic stage dancer practicing her moves, she reached behind her back and unhooked the fastening of her brassiere, pulling the netted cups away from her warmly tingling breasts, doing it slowly and making sure that the hardening pink nipples were the last to meet her husband's-wide-eyed stare. She dropped the brassiere on top of the skirt and then raised her hand to cup the full rich mounds, kneading them as a lover would. Finally, she dropped her fingers to her nylon panties and slowly worked them down over her long, tapering legs until she was standing before him completely nude.
Then seductively, using her palms and undulating rhythmically, she slid back on the coverlet and lay down on her back, glimpsing down her fully naked body ... down at her breasts now unhampered by a brassiere and down at the flat plane of her trembling belly, down to where her blonde pubic curls covered her pinkly quivering cuntal slit. For one mortifying moment she saw that her vaginal lips were shining with the excited honeyed dew of her secretions, and felt the erotic moistening up between her thighs. Jill felt an inexplicable boldness she had never experienced before, an irrational desire to do something she shouldn't do. Jill gradually spread her legs wide in an obscenely audacious position, exposing to her husband's startled eyes all of the wet pulsating crevice of her pussy. Her hips began a lewd rotation on the bedspread beneath her buttocks, arching upwards in a measured, intoxicating invitation, and she cooed up at him: "Please, Bob ... Come here...." The tip of her pink tongue slithered out to wet her dry lips.
"Jill!" he croaked hoarsely, struck by the lascivious sight of his modest wife acting like a slut. He glanced at the digital clock, and groaned at the time. "I can't, honey," he said, shaking his head and scrunching up his forehead until his heavy dark eyebrows met in a frown. "We'll make love for two days straight when I get back ... but now I've got to get going!"
"Sit down, Bob. Just for a minute and that's all. You can spare sixty seconds for your wife, can't you?"
"Honey ... Loren'll be pissed off if I...." Letting out a deep relenting sigh, Bob sat down on the edge of the bed as if he were giving himself running room, but he couldn't keep his eyes off her sensually naked body in spite of his certain knowledge that delay now would look bad to Loren ... after forgetting the appointment in the first place. He'd have hell to pay if he were late. "Honey, I'm sorry...."
"Darling ... don't I please you any longer?" she asked with sultry pouting, undulating her naked body against his. Her hand encircled his waist and drew away the towel; he had come from the bathroom without any underwear and was now as naked as she. The sight of his soft cock nestled against his testicles incited Jill's passions still more, and of their own volition, her fingers slid slowly over his hips and thighs and dipped down into his loins. Bob gritted his teeth with the delightful sensations of her feather-like touch and the sensuous sight of her salaciously squirming beside him, from her erotic pink nipples downward to the delicate triangle of soft, blonde pubic curls.
"You know you please me, Honey, but-" He abruptly had to suck in his breath, for his wife had caressed his penis. As limp as it had been a second before, it was now throbbing with blood-pumping tingles and growing hard. "No ... stop Jill!"
She moaned softly and stroked his beginning erection with fervent desire. She watched his lengthening manhood rise into full, heated hardness, its blunt cock head becoming swollen and purplish and pulsing. Her mind and loins were a maelstrom of scorching excitement as she pumped at his penis, her fingers gently rubbing its thickening length up and down, building her own passions as they created erotic shocks in Bob's groin. God, she wanted him! Her naked body cried out to be stuffed with his wonderful penis so that she could relax and feel like a whole woman.
"Take me, Bob...." she cooed, still stroking, still pumping with clenched fingers as only she knew how. "God, please make love to me, Bob! Ohhhh, take me!"
Bob felt his heart hammering with the beating of her pressured demands, and he felt himself slipping from his self control, changing from a salesman to a lover. Christ, Jill had always affected him this way, even after all their years of marriage! If it only weren't for this damnable trip to New York! Ohhhh, but Loren was waiting for him at the airport! He had to contain himself! He glanced at the clock again with agonized eyes, only to feel his throbbing cock ache with obscene urgency. How could a man deny his basic needs? Above all, he was a man and as his wife continued to caress his penis and testicles and entwine her hotly panting body around his hips in squirming insistence, he couldn't resist taking her.
"Yes ... Yes!" he responded, running his hands over her nakedly straining breasts. His fingers tweaked her nipples into rock hard buds, and then he moved his right hand down the fleshy valley between her firm, high set breasts, thrilling from the sight of her pleasure radiating from her lovely face. Her features were almost cherubic with an aura of innocence about them which made loving her all the better. It was like making love to a virgin every time, like arousing the woman in a girl and seeing passion overcome resistance as it had that first time. Then, his eyes trailing along the path his lowering hand was making, he looked down ... down past the flat, rippling plane of her white belly to the softly curling blonde hair framing her pink vaginal slit. Her tender cunt glistened wetly in the bedroom light, her sexual ferment secreting droplets like morning mist on her golden pubic hair.
Bob leaned downward, unable to control his impulses any longer, and he crushed his mouth against her inner thigh. He tried to suck up every sweet flowing drop of her succulent pussy juices, brushing his tongue against her fevered cuntal lips with yearning lust. Jill moaned but brought her hips up sharply to stop him.
"No ... no ... not there, Bob! Not with your mouth!" Her arms encircled his head and pulled him upward along her body toward her warm, pliant mouth, opened with supplication. "Kiss me on the lips, darling," she whispered. "Not down there...."
Bob didn't resist. He allowed himself to be urged up along the naked length of his wife's twisting body and ground his mouth down onto hers, slithering his tongue between her teeth. This was the one flaw in an otherwise wonderful sexual relationship, he thought. He had tried to show her the erotic arousal lips against vulva, mouth around penis, could produce. Other girls had sucked him in the past, before he and Jill had met and married, and naturally, he wanted his wife to do the same to him. Yes ... and to see her head roll from side to side as he tongued the velveteen insides of her cuntal slit in return. It wasn't an unfair request. He had only to shut his eyes to imagine that butter-soft mouth of hers sawing hungrily around his long hard cock while he lapped at the delectable flesh of her pussy, and the very thought made him tense his loins, even as he kissed her on the mouth. God, how he wanted to cum inside her there, to spurt his hot creamy sperm down her throat as he had other throats, and hear her mewling and crooning with desire as he did so. Yes, and he wanted to make her reach a climax by taking her clitoris between his front teeth and running his tongue tip around her pussy, until finally he plunged his tongue deep into the warm wet cavern of her cunt to soak up its juicy secretions, just as he was now moving his tongue in her mouth in a sexual parody.
But it was never to be, not with as modest a woman as he had married. It had never happened once in four years and with that track record, he couldn't fool himself into thinking those dreams would ever come to fruition. In four years he'd come to know every action, every motion that they would make, for their lovemaking had become a ritual over the years. He was aroused and wanted her, but ... but what? Was it the sameness? Was it the fact that some of the spice he'd enjoyed with other lovers wasn't to be found in this little dish? Bob loved his wife, but the mystery and exploration were gone like March's snow.
"Is ... is something the matter, Bob?" whispered Jill
"Shush...." He kissed her eyes. "I was just thinking how beautiful you are."
"Oh, Bob ... I need you so bad. I need you inside of me now."
"Yes...." he heard himself comply. He drew her closer to him, pressing his lips harder against hers to push back his doubting thoughts. Eagerly, she strained the full length of her luscious curves and bumps, grinding and pushing, and then spread her legs and slender thighs wide as he rolled over on top of her, her one hand still firmly around his warmly pulsating penis and poising it against the snug mouth of her hungry young cunt. The thin, hair-fringed lips of her vagina opened to him.
"There, Bob! Right there-now!"
Bob lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into her hotly expectant hole, feeling her quivering vagina greedily clasp around his cock and absorb it. She wanted all of him, and Bob was amazed that she seemed almost whorish. He couldn't understand her urgency ... but he didn't try, not with her nibbling pussy pressing upwards until the head of his cock was hard against her cervix, her motions making his muscles spasm. Jill clutched him tightly, not only with her gripping, smoothly sliding cunt, but with her widespread legs, kicking them out to the side and locking her slender ankles tight around his driving hips. He increased his strokings to keep up with hers, fucking into his whimpering wife with maniacal fury. Oh, Christ! He wasn't going to be able to last long this time! There were nights when they would make love slowly by the hour, but not now, not after all of her prick-teasing! His orgasm was rumbling in his testicles!
Bob drove deeper and faster into her cunt with each thrust of his buttocks, Jill twisting against him, screwing every portion of his cock and routing the huge head around inside her seething belly. He gasped and quivered, a fierce storm whirling through his flesh and his penis was sucked up into her wetly clasping pussy and battered her cervix. The eruption of his male seed started deep in his testicles....
Jill sensed that her husband was going to cum, feeling his penis swell and strain against the moist flesh of her cuntal walls was a sure-fire omen. She begged and pleaded: "Please, not yet, Bob! Not yet! Wait for meeeee!" Her legs splayed wider and her calves locked tightly behind his back as she writhed beneath him on the rebelliously squeaking bed. "Not yet! Not yettt!"
But Bob's time was up.
He clamped his mouth tightly down on hers, starting a long, low groan that rose from bass to tenor as he spurted his heated sperm deep up into her slippery hole. Jill could feel it surge into her womb in great, gushing tides, on and on as he emptied his spasming testicles like two big bursting tomatoes squirting out their juices ... until at last his jerking cock began to deflate with the last dregs of his semen. Jill was one bump and grind away from her own climax!
"No! No, darling, noooo!" she sobbed. It was a useless plea. She squeezed her buttocks up against his softening penis which had lost its mastery, and her bare heels pounded desperately against her husband's spent body. With an empty, apologetic groan, he rolled from between her still hungrily twitching thighs to lie exhausted beside her. "Bob ... don't leave me like this! Make love to me! Make love to meeee! OH, please, Bob!" Her eyes were wild and sparkling, almost dangerous.
Too late. Bob had returned to the world of sanity, his orgasm satisfying every inch of his body. He muttered something unintelligible, seeing by the digital clock he might lose his job if he didn't high-tail it out to the airport. "Honey ... I can't, honey. In a little while I could ... after I've rested a bit, but I just don't have to sit around and...."...." and satisfy your wife?" she blasted, making him feel like a heel. "Bob, this isn't fair!" she palintively whined, gasping at the sensual force tingling up in her pussy. "Please ... you have to get hard and make love to me! I'll go crazy! I'll ... I'll rape the paper boy!"
"Jill! What's got into you? I've never heard you act this way before!" Bob said, taken aback now by his wife's over-sexed reactions. "Stop it and calm down. Be a good wife and help me pack, will you?"
Jill shuddered, torn between the hot desires scorching her cunt and the heavy twinge of shame that flickered through her confused mind from his words. This was no way to behave ... it was wrong, all wrong, and she had to stop! Ohhhh, God, she had to stop! Subconsciously she knew she was testing his loyalties, but he shouldn't have to jeopardize his job to prove he loved and needed her-at least, that's what Dr. Kinder had said. Of course Bob loved her ... but oh why, then did he leave her alone all the time? She rolled her head from side to side, tears of frustration and humiliation streaming down the delicate contours of her cheek bones. But somehow she managed to still her pulsing body, though ripples of lecherous desire still prickled her naked flesh. When she managed to look around, she saw that Bob was stuffing his shirt tail into his pants and fumbling with a pair of cuff links, his mind already riveted on business matters.
Jill glanced down at the warm, white semen ozzing from her vaginal crevice and grimaced at the only sign that her husband had shown any interest in her. The searing thought crossed her disturbed and hotly aroused mind that perhaps something had changed Bob's once tender and romantic affection for her, and that he no longer cared about her as a person, as his wife. Possibly it was her own fault, nagging him about his out of town trips. Maybe he was carrying on an affair behind her back ... certainly he had the privacy to do so without a word of his infidelities slipping back to wifely ears.
Your imagination is running wild again ... stop that!
"Jill?" he said, snapping her train of thoughts back to the present.
"Yes, Bob," she sighed in a tremulous voice. "I'm okay ... don't worry about me." Slowly, she slung her legs off the bed and stood up, weak and dizzy. "Of course I'll help you pack ... one favor deserves another," she put in caustically.
Stiffening at her blunt reproach, Bob slammed the hairbrush down on the glass dresser top and glared at his wife's reflection in the mirror. Why did she insist on making him feel like a heel? His business schedule was open to attack-that he'd concede-but did she have to belittle his masculinity, too?
"Jill ... don't act this way!"
Lower lip quivering, Jill clamped her front teeth over it, trying to still the emotional storm and the maelstrom of sexual frustration in one feeble attempt. Cringing at the thought of ruining Bob's birthday, she hastened to make amends:
"You're right ... I'm acting like a little brat, but I'm scared of staying alone here ... especially after the Henderson's were robbed."
Bob let out a sigh signaling serious concern. "Jill, I promise to install one of those fool-proof burglar alarms the second I get back." He knotted his tie, inspected it briefly and darted into the dressing room where he threw his shaving kit into an overnight bag. Returning, he found his wife surreptitiously screwing the top back onto a medicine bottle.
"What's that?"
"Oh, don't get all upset," she retorted with weary boredom. "Dr. Kinder prescribed them to help me sleep," she said with a twinge of guilt, throwing the blue pill down her throat and washing it down with a swig of champagne.
"My God, Baby, you're gonna turn into a pill addict! Counting sheep would be a helluva lot healthier." Bob eyed his wife askance.
"Don't worry about me," she snipped. "Jill can take care of herself ... nobody else does." Slipping into a nightgown, she crawled into the rumpled bed, fluffed up the pillow and told herself there was nothing to fear.
CHAPTER TWO
Peter Parker pulled up in his van with "Pete's Trusty TV Repair" freshly painted in gothic white letters. Last week he'd scouted the Henderson's home posed as a plumber and the week before that as an electrician somewhere else. Before he retired he would be a jack of all trades. "I don't know a goddamned thing about fixin' TVs," he muttered to himself, gathering up his tools. "With my luck it'll turn out her sonofabitchin' TV really is on the blink!"
Thumbing through the notebook he carried in his coverall's pocket, the wily scout purused the facts: "2233 Collins Avenue. Married couple, no children. Husband out of town. Accessible through bedroom glass sliding door. Dog suspected."
In the burglary racket you had to stick your neck out to make a buck, and after two years in the pen for bad checks, he had learned to crack a safe with his hands tied behind his back ... the Houdini of rip-off artists.
He shuffled up the sidewalk, rang the doorbell and waited, making a quick survey of the tidy front yard, eyes zeroing in on the garage door and raking over windowsills for evidence of a burglar alarm system. He paused, then rang again, and before he'd removed his finger from the button, the door popped open and a curly-headed blonde with baby blue eyes stared him sleepily in the face. Obviously she had just rolled out of bed, for she clutched shut the waist-dipping neckline of a pink peignoir, wadding up the diaphonous fabric in one delicate fist. Her creamy, otherwise flawless skin, was etched with little sleep lines around her wide sparkling eyes, hinting at fatigue or unhappiness.
"Mornin', m'am," Pete boomed, shooting her a Cheshire cat grin and tipping his billed cap with a red embroidered "P" on the front. "I hope I didn't shake ya outta the rack, lady....I'm here to fix your television set."
Jill blinked at this man, her silky eyelashes fluttering over her rosy cheeks, eyes squinting against the nine o'clock sun. "Our television set is working fine ... I didn't...."
"Hmmmmm...." Pete scratched his chin, stealing a peek over her shoulder into the sunlight interior of the Carlson's tastefully decorated home, his eyes registering dollar signs as he appraised the custom-built stereo system. Probably worth about four bills to the fence, calculated Pete. "Your husband called us. Here...." He delved into his pocket to pull out a crumpled piece of paper and brandished it before Jill, then tucked it back into his coverall pocket before her sleep-blurred eyes could decipher the messy penmanship. "Got the work order right here."
Jill shrugged, swallowing a yawn. "Could be ... he's so seldom at home I don't know who he's called for what." After a cursory inspection, she said, "Come on in."
Jill held wide the door, letting the morning sun shimmer through the immodest filmy nylon of her peignoir, giving Pete an eyeful of her creamy curves. Quickly, he sidestepped her, torn between taking a survey of her physical assets and her furniture, both of which were in excellent taste.
Tiredly, Jill's succulent lips parted in a yawn; she had hardly slept a wink last night and the Valium failed to relax her. That was Bob's fault for leaving her with a tingling pussy that screamed to be filled with hot male flesh. How could she possibly sleep with that gnawing frustration! Now, in her dulled mental state, she neglected to realize that the lush contours of her slender body were open to inspection beneath her peignoir that shadowed the brown tips of her nipples and accentuated the pouting mound of her hair-fringed vagina. "I hadn't noticed the TV was on the blink...."
None of this luscious shadow play was lost on Pete who pushed his cap back on his head and choked down a low wolf whistle. This lady was a real looker! His eyes refused to budge from the Grand Canyon cleavage between those strawberry tips long enough to scan the room for valuables. Who the hell could concentrate on the value of paintings with this sex-pot mind distraction!
"Look at whatever you wish. Don't mind me," she said with a lopsided, helpless grin, oblivious to his insistent gaze. "Hmmmmm ... as a matter-of-fact," said Jill, placing a red painted fingertip to her pouty pink lips, eyes squinting with thought, " ... he might have called about the TV in our bedroom. I never use it, but Bob is a nut for watching TV in bed."
Pete followed her docilely down the hallway, his eyes fixed upon her softly undulating buttocks, and his mind fixed on his lazily stirring prick awakening for a morning feeding. What kind of broad would greet a TV repairman in nothing but her birthday suit shadowed by a bit of pink fluff ... unless her husband had left her high and dry the night before.
"Hubby travels a lot, huh?" Pete clenched his fists, fighting the temptation to grab those beautiful buttocks and slam his prick up into her hairless little asshole.
At the bedroom door, Jill spun around and looked Pete square in the eye, for the first time regarding him as a human being. A handsome guy he was ... tall, blonde, and square-shouldered with a bristling mustache shrouding his upper lip. "Take a look for yourself." She pointed to the television set atop a glass etagere which Pete quickly assessed at forty dollars to the fence.
Pete read the subconscious implications of her receptive blue-eyed gaze that swept over the airy bedroom, settling on the king-sized bed that dominated it, deciding that this little lady was out to get herself a little extra nooky while ol' Bob left her with cold sheets and a hot pussy. Forcing a serious expression, Pete knelt down on one knee behind the set, pushed back his cap and started fiddling around with the screws and knobs.
"It hasn't been turned on in a week ... you might try looking at the picture first to see what needs adjustment...."
"Oh, sure ... good idea," he beamed. Christ, I can count the pussy hairs, with her standing in the sunlight like that! One eye on Jill's Boticelli nymph-like stance and the other on the TV, he yanked loose a wire, then turned on the set. The screen was solid black.
"Looks like it'll need a lot of work ... I'm not sure I have the tools."
"Oh, that's just dandy!" sputtered Jill, bracing her hands on her hips, giving the repairman a healthy peek at her slender thighs and long, luscious legs. "This husband of mine ... I swear ... doesn't take care of anything!"
... lean tell lady! Your cunt lips are achin' for a rub.
"I've been bickering with him for weeks to install a burglar alarm. Why, you never know who's going to come through your door."
"Ain't that the truth, Mrs. Carlson...." snickered Pete, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
Jill busied herself making the bed. "Like our neighbors down the street. Why, just last week they came home to find their house empty."
Pete swallowed dryly. Maybe it was a dumb idea hitting the same neighborhood in a month.
"Can you imagine that? Coming home to find everything gone? They even took their toothbrushes!" Her voice went high with excitement. Fluffing up a pillow, she tossed it to the other side of the bed, giving him a profile view of her firm mammary glands and flat tummy. "Nothing but crooks in the world." Standing with legs spread wide, her nearly naked buttocks waving before Pete's face, she bent over to pick up a carelessly strewn sock.
Christ, I can see her asshole!
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" she beamed over at him.
"That's not all I'd like...." murmured Pete. Jill flew around, facing him.
"Wh-? Oh!" She glared down at her gaping neckline and the filmy pink nothing that covered her nakedness. In a horrified jaw-slackening gasp, she clamped her tiny hands over the mountainous bumps of her breasts in an untimely show of modesty. Her Mediterranean blue eyes popped wide in mortification. She had been parading about almost naked in front of this total stranger! What must he think of her? With a shriek of terror, she darted from the bedroom toward the dressing room where she ripped off the two layers of filmy nylon and slipped into a sweater and a pair of slacks. But the sweater cupped her high upthrust breasts in a way that her negligee hadn't, and the pants were a bit tight, making it difficult to pull the zipper. She sucked in her breath, flattening her stomach, and tugged.
"I'm ... I'm going to the kitchen to make some coffee," she called out in a shaking voice. "Can I get you some?"
"Sure can, m'am!" Jesus, nothing like a few buns with morning coffee, he thought, the vision of her ass cheeks imprinted in his mind, knowing that whatever he wanted to do with this hot-assed little housewife wouldn't get back to Pete's Trusty TV repair.
Minutes later, Jill sashayed into the bedroom toting two steaming cups of coffee on dainty porcelain saucers which she set on the dresser. "Oh ... they're hot!" she cooed, blowing on her fingers and wincing. "Do you take cream?"
Pete stood up and licked his lips salaciously. "Do you take cream?" he mimicked, pinning her to the wall in one easy stride, pressing her soft, yielding body against his broad chest, and thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth with a smooth even motion. His tongue searched way back, down to her tonsils, probing at the insides of her squeaky clean teeth, his mouth sucking at her tongue with a loud wet slurping noise.
Jill struggled fiercely, biting and clawing at his face, hysteria rising like mercury in her veins. But Pete's arms were strong, stronger than any that had even held her, and she was helplessly trapped in his arms. Her screams were stifled in her throat by the persistent snaking tongue that slithered into her wide-open mouth, and he clamped her arms behind her back, grinding his jabbing penis into her belly.
Crazy thoughts ran through Jill's mind ... mostly horror stories of women being raped in their own homes while their husbands were away at work. She could be a statistic.
A maniac! He was some kind of maniac! She would call his boss and have him fired immediately ... and then press charges. That was in the future and this was the present, and that thick hard rod pressing against her tummy was enormous! Good God, could that be all him? Her imagination went to work, bloated that penis into a battering ram that could shatter her vagina to bits.
Holding tight to her arms, Pete walked Jill backwards toward the bed. A little fight in a woman was icing on the cake, but this one had more frosting than cake! Maybe the poor dumb broad hadn't meant to parade around half naked. Time would tell.
He could feel the mounds of Jill's breasts cushioned against his chest, making two large warm spots there.
Christ Almighty! She was built like Aphrodite and probably equally as unfaithful to her husband as well! He backed her up until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and he forced her down on her back. They landed flat like two boards on the big bed. One hard thigh pressed between her legs, separating them and making it impossible for her to move one way or the other. He would have to work like a beaver, he thought, grinning at his own pun, or the whole thing would be a total bust!
His hands fumbled about searching for the secret of getting off her slacks; his thievish instincts took over, and he found the secret in the elastic waistband. His hand slipped surreptitiously beneath the stretching elastic and then down into the soft white flesh of Jill's still-squirming hips. Just below, the smaller elastic of her nylon panties hugged her slender hips and his fingers raced to explore beneath it. Her alabaster skin was smooth as satin as his hot nervous hand shoved beneath Jill's twisting hips, but he swiftly cupped one forbidden buttock, kneading it, pinching it, enjoying its secrecy to the fullest degree.
"Nice little ass, baby, nice little ass!"
The second Pete's mouth left Jill's, she let out a piercing scream. "Tobeeeee!" She squirmed wormishly and spat up at him, her eyes two burning coals of fear. "Please ... let me go! Let me go." She tried to bite Pete's lips, but he drew his head back quickly and clamped his big paw over her rosy lips.
"Hey, you're actin' like you weren't askin' for this ... coming to the door with your boobs hanging out like that. Come off it, sweetheart! You're one horny little bitch and you know you were beggin' for this."
His hard cock throbbed against the wide split between Jill's legs, and he considered just ripping off her slacks and plugging it into her pussy without further nonsense. Her struggling and yelling had only excited him more, preferring a woman with a little fight-and now he wanted to get this conquest over with.
Jill listened to his words with a sinking sense of doom. A flood of bad memories of Bogota and the sound of her grandfather's dead weight hitting the floor in a blast of gunfire spated her mind. He actually thought she wanted to be pinned to her own bed by a stranger? Carelessness had gotten her into this mess.
Pete removed his hand from her mouth to see if she would stop screaming, and Jill implored pitifully: "Please ... it's all a mistake ... I didn't mean to come to the door in that nightie ... I was asleep. I swear it!"
Pete was half-listening ... his hands preoccupied him ... sliding beneath Jill's sweater, invading the filled cups of her lacy brassiere, holding onto the warm trembling orbs, jiggling them in his hands as if weighing cantalopes. Then he tweaked and twisted at her nipples with a sudden pinching motion.
Where was that lazy dog? "Tobeee...!"
"Mfffff ... ohhhhh...." Jill cried out in real pain, and it sounded so wretched, her pretty rosebud mouth puckering up into a pretzel, that Pete stopped abruptly and looked down into her angel face. Her words floated through his mind like a taped replay.
God ... she's not kidding.
Furious ... he couldn't rape her, not after she'd been so nice and trusting. Letting out a deep disappointing sigh, he shook his head and studied her watery blue eyes. His cock felt like a shaft of granite stuffed inside his. coveralls, but it would have to remain in that tortured state until he could get down to the Boardwalk where the hookers would be all too happy to trade his twenty bucks into fifteen minutes of cock-sucking heaven.
"Baby," he spat the word out into her face, snickering lightly, "you're a real cock tease, you know that?"
"No, no I'm not!" defended Jill, yanking her slacks up and scrambled out from under his weight. "I ... I'm sorry if I led you on ... but I'm very happy with my husband!" she screamed over her shoulder as she darted out of the room. In her haste, she tripped twice as tears blurred her vision. Once in the study, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and grunted and puffed until Bob's mahogany desk was propped up to the door. Her breath came heavily, wretching sobs racking her body as she stood with one ear keened to the door, listening for the TV repairman's footsteps that never came.
Jill stared at the telephone, dashed toward it and plastered the receiver next to her ear, her shaky finger jabbing at the 0 button. She would call the police and report this crazy rapist! Suddenly, her jaw fell slack. What would she say to them? ... that she'd answered the doorbell in her nightie and after fifteen minutes of prancing around before the TV repairman, he'd kissed her? They would laugh in her face! Men always defended each other in those situations; that kind of empathy ran deep.
The receiver dropped from her hand and her fear-widened eyes riveted on the door. Her knees did a weak, shaking dance against each other, and she slumped down to the floor where she crouched, listening, waiting for the door handle to turn.
"Haaahhhh...." Two wide blue eyes turned pale at the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway approaching the study. Closer, closer ... then passing, followed by the front door slamming. Seconds later the sound of a motor starting up and the screech of tires that accompanies a hasty departure. From the window she watched as "Pete's Trusty TV Repair" hurtled down the street sliding sideways, nearly clipping off the corner street sign.
Dazed and trembling, Jill braced her lithe one hundred and seven pounds against the heavy desk and freed the door. Once in the bedroom, she decisively pulled open her dresser drawer, unscrewed the bottle and gulped down a Valium. Throwing up her arms, she yanked off the sweater, wadded it into a ball and tossed it into a corner. The same fate befell the slacks, panties and brassiere. Shaking in a hot rage of fear and anger, she climbed naked into the bed she shouldn't have got out of that morning.
The cool sheets had a placating effect on her naked body, somehow cooling her overheated flesh, and she buried her flushed cheeks in the soft feather pillow, trying to blot out the memory of all that had just happened. Like a scratched record album, each insult, each insinuating detail ran over and over in her fevered mind. The whole incident was insane ... impossible! Life was crazy! ... Bob leaving her alone most of the time, that useless dog lolling out in the backyard, the TV repairman showing up without notice. J can't cope ... sorry Dr. Kinder, but I can't cope with all this nonsense.
Perhaps it would have been easier, had she a man around to keep her company and bolster her courage now and then with tender lovemaking.
Jill's body trembled between the clinging sheets and a kind of prickly sensation played along her voluptuous curves ... little tongues of fire nipping her naked flesh. The speculation of what might have happened caused her to jerk spasmodically. That monster, with his enormous penis ... was going to ... God, it was so huge ... it must reach down to his knees!
"Ohhhh...!" Her hand shot down between her thighs to cup protectively the pouting mound of her pussy. He would have shoved his penis way up there! She hugged it again, this time letting the palm of her hand rub tantalizingly over the hard nub of her clitoris. Instantly, she pulled her fingers away. Why, she was soaking wet down there! Her fingers caused a wild tingling sensation that pierced her belly with a stab of acute pleasure-pain.
"Aaaaahhh...." she sighed softly, and somewhere in her brain, a voice said:
"Take your hand away, little girl! what are you doing?" It was her mother's voice speaking to Jill as a ten year old. "Such a dirty thing to do!"
Dirty, yes ... but, God, I need it! Her fingers moved lightly over the sensitive slippery folds, playing her cunt like piano keys, creating tiny tracing lines of lust wherever they touched. This delicious sensation was rising ... overtaking her sensual nakedness with its demand for satisfaction. It swirled in her belly and along the satiny tissue to her breasts ... up to her stiff nipples. Automatically, her other hand reached to twist the aching nipples.
"Aaaahhhh...." she sighed, her eyelids fluttering. All of her seemed to be waiting for these touches. Her hands moved blindly now, quickening their licentious probings as Jill began to twist her body and to rise and lift herself on the bed, arching her back until her buttocks were grinding in circles in the air.
"Oh, Goawd!" she murmured. "Oh, Gawd!"
Her lithe body turned, twisted and gyrated, tortured by her teasing fingers. Lust became an all consuming fire and she its sacrificial fuel.
"Ah ... ahhh ... AAAHHHHH...." she cried out as her finger slipped into the pink wet opening of her pussy. This was food to a starving body. She would die without these fingers which should have been a huge penis, hard, shoving brutally up into her seething pussy, pushing against the wetly sucking walls of her cunt, throbbing deep inside of her. Hard! HARD!
Jill's fingers battered into the burning hole between her silken thighs, her entire body bent into an obscene contortion by her mounting desire. She sighed and cried out, groaning with pleasure. This was ecstasy, this big make believe cock rising and thundering inside her pussy, while her body and twitching hips answered in rhythm.
"Oh ... oh ... yesssss!" throwing back her head, her mouth hanging open gasping for the next breath. It was the TV repairman's big, lust hardened cock fucking into her mercilessly, his massive prick hurting, smashing. She had to get him into her deeper, behind her fluttering eyelids Jill could see his purpleveined blood fed cock with its mushroomed head oozing pre-cum as its naked, shiny head hammered into her pink pussy lips, drawing the velvety folds in with each thrust, pulling out, then in again ... hurting, smashing, ramming! Deeper ... oh, deeper!
"I cannnnn't staaaand it! Oh, oh, ohhhhhhh!" she cried out. Back and forth, back and forth. In and out, in and out. She bucked against the palm of her hand, her fingers straining to accommodate the hair-lined pussy that was over-flowing with lust. On and on she finger fucked herself furiously while a tiny stream of saliva dribbled from the corner of her rosebud mouth.
"Aaaaahhhh, AAAHHHH!"
CHAPTER THREE
"Don't put it off, son ... call the little woman and let her know she won't be rubbin' up against your backside tonight," Loren said jovially, flicking his cigar ashes. "Here, you need a dime?"
Bob Carlson stood in his trenchcoat, briefcase in hand, exhausted after a frustrating meeting with the New York clothing manufacturers of Bason & West concerning the sloppy airbrush work on the six dozen silk shirts Sanger's had custom ordered. They reached no mutual settlement, spelling out one more night in New York and one more night away from Jill, who would be righteously irate.
In one conceding movement, Bob set down his briefcase and plucked the tiny dime from Loren's fat warm palm and disappeared into the phone booth.
* * *
Jill lay in a semi-stupor for hours after her wild, self induced orgasm, and then slowly the Valium's hazy, sweet glow blended with the bliss of satiation and she slept until the sun dipped in the West.
"Bbbbrrrrnnggghhh...." The telephone jostled her out of bed and amongst a comet of flickering lights, she stumbled druggedly for the telephone in the hallway. The cold fingers of reality suddenly gripped her. What was she doing naked? And where was Bob?
"H ... Hello?" She clutched the receiver desperately to her ear, uncertain, in her weary state of confusion, of the cause of anxiety.
"What's the matter, honey? You been sleeping?" As he spoke, Bob checked his wrist watch. Seven o'clock was too early to be in bed. If she's been popping those damned sleeping pills again, I swear I'll flush them down the toilet!
"Yes ... I was." In the mirror facing the telephone stand Jill studied her dimly reflected image, gazing at herself suspiciously. Blushing red, a dull sensation spread throughout her lower belly. Lord, her body felt as if she really had made love to that awful TV repairman ... how horrible! She cringed at the recollection of her carnal weakness. True ... she had wanted him, a perfect stranger, to fuck her ... to take her without love.
"Honey ... you okay?"
"Oh, just fine." She forced a crooked innocent grin as if he were standing there in the room with her.
"Listen, babe ... before you get all pissed off, listen to me. Bason & West screwed up the custom airbrush order we came to inspect and I'm gonna have to stay another night. You understand, don't you? ... It's not my fault, believe me, I'd rather be home warming your feet." Christ, why should I defend myself? I didn't commit any crime ... why the hell do I feel guilty?
It hisssed over the phone into his ear-just as he'd expected-that long, disappointed sigh. "If that's what you have to do...."
"Thata girl ... chin up. Hey ... anything exciting happen today?" He hastened to change the subject.
"No ... the TV repairman came to fix the set.'-'
"Huh ... I didn't know it was on the blink,"
"What?" Jill clutched the phone tight. "You're the one who called him. He showed me the work order," she snipped back, perturbed at her husband for calling a disreputable service when the yellow pages was full of them.
"Honey, I didn't call...." Bob stopped short, cautious not to raise suspicion and fears. His eyebrows knit in puzzlement and he touched his fingers to his bent forehead, thinking. "Give me the company name." He jotted down her reply. "Listen, I'll be at the Fairmont in Suite 393. Give me a jingle later. Gotta split! Love you!" He blew a kiss over the phone and folding back the scraping door, stepping into Loren's periphery of stenching cigar smoke.
"How about a coupla drinks to take out the kings, huh, buddie?" winked Loren, raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx and jabbing Bob with his elbow.
Shades of his used car salesman humor never set well with Bob ... that unbending persistence that could be quelled only by an affirmative nod of the head. "I don't know, Loren. I'm pooped." Rubbing his forehead wearily for effect, he shrugged, wanting to refuse but hating to cause friction between himself and his boss who always seemed to need an accomplice in his vices.
"Hey, come on ol' chap. No better way to discuss business than over a coupla martinis!" he laughed raucously, popping out a shirt button. "If you're gonna make it in this business, you're gonna have to take on a few vices, kid."
Bob felt acutely uncomfortable, a quick drink with Loren usually terminated in six hours on a bar stool and a hell of a hangover ... and something strangely disquieting about his conversation with Jill preoccupied his concerns. He scratched his head, as he followed Loren out the door, trying to recall telephoning ... what the hell was the name of that company?
Loren and New York were old buddies, and he led Bob to a swank hotel lobby down the street from the Fairmont. Under the neon lights, Bob spotted a wicked glint in his boss' eyes, and the way he was rubbing his hands together! The only time Bob had seen this miniature Santa Claus do that was after swindling a manufacturer out of a few samples, but he followed docilely through the revolving glass door, into the thick carpeted lobby.
The hotel's cocktail lounge was called The Polynesian Paradise and was decorated in a mock island opulence replete with potted palms, fallen coconuts and cocktail waitresses with long shimmering black hair pulled back on one side and pinned with an orchid, and inches and inches of naked honey colored skin peeking out between the coconut cup bra and grass skirts that hugged their hips and swooshed in an intimate hush with each sway of the hip. In spite of himself, Bob looked ... then he gawked.
Loren's eyes were fastened on this Polynesian honey who led them to their table near an outrigger canoe. "Hot damn!" he rasped over his shoulder at Bob. "She's got a motor attached to that ass!"
Smiling a toothpaste ad grin, the waitress swept barefooted over to the table where they sat and she smiled perfunctorily at Bob, and grinned at Loren who made a habit of flashing before pretty ladies his diamond pinky ring and studded watchband to match. 'Two scotch up, with water backs."
"Loren ... I...." Bob started to protest, but Loren's fat hand slapping jovially into his chest was reason enough to stop.
"The night's young, my boy ... we have business to discuss." He winked at the waitress. "Gorgeous belly button, huh?" Another nudge in the ribs. "We oughta start marketing navel jewels ... ain't that a hot idea? I could see an opal hanging in that little dimple, could you?"
The drinks appeared and the girl swished her thighs and jiggled her full, barely concealed breasts. This time Loren leaned over and patted her buttocks lightly; the scent of sex was suddenly strong in the air, and trembling, Bob downed his drink before he realized how strong it was. He exploded with the burning heat in his throat and stomach, reaching for his water back.
"Another round, honey!" crowed Loren, thumping Bob on the back at his coughing.
He gulped his own as if it were lemonade.
"Here's a toast, Bob," Loren said on the third double. 'To the only man in my business I can trust. Yes sir, I'm gonna give you a nice Christmas present this year, Carlson."
The room suddenly lost its clarity, but the words reverberated in Bob's head; he felt important and proud, and vowed that he would concede to any of Loren's demands and he would do so in the name of his career. "You're one helluva boss, Loren. You know that? You know how to treat your men," he slurred appreciatively.
Another slap on the back. "Well, kid, I'm giving you a nice hot bonus for leavin' the little lady in the sack and jumpin' plane with me...." Suddenly Loren stopped short, and glanced intently across the room. "Here they come now."
"Who?" asked Bob cringing; he was in no condition to discuss business, it being all he could manage to see straight.
"Couple of lookers, heh?" winked Loren.
Bob stared over his shoulder at the two women approaching their table. He wanted to get up ... to run home and bury his head in Jill's breasts and get away from what was happening ... but home was fifteen hundred miles away ... and this was his boss' idea of a bonus. He must appear grateful.
"I was gonna keep 'em both for myself, but I wanna share with you, kid."
The women were now at the table, and Loren slid his hulk over to make room for one, a short, highly developed brunette in a white jumpsuit. Bob suddenly found a tall, lithe blonde beside him, her luminous green eyes sparkling and her tightly encased buttocks against his. "Hi," she said musically. "I'm Janie."
"He ... hello," Bob replied. "I'm Bob."
"And this is Linda ... and I'm Loren."
"Pleased to meet you, Bob," said Linda, smiling, then flicked Loren's shoulder chidingly and said, "Where's my stinger, Lornie?"
Loren snapped his fingers and gave the waitress another order for two more double scotches and two stingers. Linda and Janie laughed, and Loren laughed, and Bob laughed, although he couldn't fathom why.
They fell into an easy conversation, far easier than Bob would have believed possible. Both girls seemed to be witty conversationalists, both divorced, and both had jobs as models, though they spoke of their work in very vague terms and giggling unnecessarily. It grew obvious to Bob that Loren had known these two girls for some time. The drinks arrived, and Bob sampled the stinger and promptly handed it back to Janie, and then another round appeared.
"Gee," Linda said at one point, "I'm sure glad your friend Bob came along. I don't like competition in the sack." She winked conspiratorially at her friend across the table and Bob had the uneasy feeling that he was the brunt of the joke.
Even in his liquor fogged mind he was able to see the inevitable: Loren would disappear with Linda and leave him with Janie ... which would have been alright, of course, were he a single man. But he couldn't see satisfying a woman he didn't love, when the one he adored was laying in bed right now, wanting him. Yet, as he looked at those flashing green eyes and fleshy mounds hidden under white nylon, he suddenly wasn't piqued with his boss. What the hell; everyone was having a good time, weren't they? No harm done....
Another round ... then Linda said, "Well, there isn't much time left ... unless you wanna pay overtime, honey."
At first Bob thought that was the cue to break up the evening, say goodnight, and head on down the street to the Fairmont. But he was wrong. He found himself linked arm-in-arm with Janie, walking across the street to the Fairmont, following Loren and Linda, across the lobby to pause at the elevator. Confusedly, he glanced around, the walls melting around him. "What?" He squinched up his nose, then Janie said something to him....
"I said, it's exciting being in the Fairmont with you. It's a real classy hotel ... and just the two of us."
"But ... what about Loren ... and Linda?"
She giggled and shrugged her shoulders. 'They'll be right next door...." and here she paused, breathing hotly and wetly into his ear. "I can tell you want me."
Wild-eyed, Bob looked to Loren for help, but he was pressing Linda against the otherwise deserted elevator car, kissing her hotly ... and Linda was kissing him back with the same salacity! Numb, he staggered from the car and down the hall, his mind screaming for him to stop, but his will to resist was eroded by scotch. As Janie took the key from him and slipped it into the door lock, he cried out hoarsely. "Loren...! I-I!"
"Don't worry about a thing," grinned Loren. "I paid for both of 'em-company money, you know!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Jill stirred restlessly in her sleep. In her dreams, Pete's Trusty TV repairman was crawling around in her backyard, knocking over patio furniture, sneaking like a nocturnal predatory reptile, clawing at windows to find entrance. Crash ... ! His knobby fingers were prying at the sliding glass bedroom door now, his nails scratching over the smooth glass.
"Oh, oh, oh!" She wakened with a start, her blue eyes popping open like window shades on tight springs. A clenched fist flew to her mouth.
Crash! Somebody was in the backyard. Jill sprang to her feet and nudged the slumbering Toby with one delicate foot.
"Toby ... Tobeee...." she hissed. "Wake up, you useless beast! Somebody's prowling around in the backyard!"
The animal reluctantly lifted his head, yawning half-heartedly and obediently followed the line of her pointing finger, lumbering over to the sliding glass door. His black nose wiggled, picking up the intruder's scent; then he threw back his sleek black head and howled like an Irish widow at her husband's wake.
In a flutter of action, Jill gasped, closed her eyes and threw back the curtain, prepared to face her death. Instead, she stared into the lu-qiud dark eyes of her neighbor's gray poodle.
From Toby's instinctual response and the poodle's belly scraping hunch, she didn't have to be a veterinarian to know the animal was in heat ... a bitch in heat.
Laughing at her own insecurities, Jill flicked off the light, switched on the radio and listened to soft mood music, thinking about Bob. Soon she would call him.
* * *
Janie slammed the door shut behind Bob. He was alone ... in his hotel room with ... with a whore! But as he sat on the bed, staring weakly up at this beautiful woman of the streets, he had to admit that she was one hell of a woman, bought for or not. She exuded pure animal sex, and he had to admit it would be sort of tempting to take her in his arms and kiss her, love her up a bit ... oh, nothing more. He wouldn't fuck her or get intimate, but Lord, it would be nice to kiss those cherry-lips, caress her pert breasts to hardness....
He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to rid the lewd thoughts swirling in his scotch-sodden head, but it remained throbbingly swollen. Guiltily, he looked away.
Janie chuckled, "Bobbie's got a hard-on." She was eyeing his bulging pants. "Bobbie's got a great big beautiful hard-on because he wants to fuck Janie's pussy."
Bob had never heard a woman talk in such filthy language. "Janie ... cut it out, for crying out loud!"
"You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me...." She brushed up to him, and her breath was like a firebrand on his cheek. She touched his knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she reached higher, higher ... and touched the throbbing male flesh down between his legs!
"Ohhhhhhh God!" he managed to breathe, almost leaping off the bed in a spasmodic reaction. He could feel his testicles ache with a sudden pressure of sperm, and try as he may, he couldn't break away from that sweet caress. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, searching for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub his penis.
"Loosen up, it's only physical. I'm not asking you to marry me," she droned on hypnotically. "You want to get that hard cock into my wet pussy...."
"I ... I'm a happily married man," he protested weakly, his voice cracking on the word man.
"Of course, all men do! But that has nothing to do with us."
This is wrong! his tortured mind screamed. Jill would die if she found out. He wrenched himself off the bed, his heart hammering and he was aware that his prick was still granite hard and seeping hot drops of excited lubrication: He had to compose himself! To somehow make an excuse and leave ... Loren or no Loren....
Janie's husky voice whispered, "I've got a treat for Bobbie!" She crooked her finger at him.
He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words froze in his throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes bulged.
She stood before him, completely naked!
The lovely prostitute had unhooked her jump suit, and it lay puddled at her feet. Neigher panties nor bra were evident, and as he grazed mesmerically at her white supple body, he could see she didn't need any artificial supports. She smiled at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue showing. The hair lined lips of her cunt were open for him, the golden down glistening lusciously in the pale glow of the hotel room light. Her high, perfectly rounded breasts, startling white against the rest of her tanned body, jutted out, and her long slender legs trembled with desire.
"Well, lover? You like me or not? Would you like to kiss ... down here?" Her hands had moved to her pubic curls, and when she said here, her fingers blazed a trail down through the pink pussy lips and spread them slowly apart, revealing the tiny trembling bud of her erect clitoris. Eyelashes fluttering, she began to stroke it back and forth, round and round.
Bob was mad with lust! The thought of kissing, of licking her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild pulsation. "Janie ... please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped.
"And I'll kiss your cock. I want to kiss and suck it ... I love to suck cock!" On and on she droned, until Bob couldn't say no. He'd been denied oral love by his wife ... and he had wanted to feel the softness of a woman's velvety pussy as it opened to his mouth ... if only his wife understood that, wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock in her mouth ... oh, God! He could feel his swollen penis palpitate again.
He had to have her! He suddenly didn't care about Jill or that this girl was a whore! The heat in his genitals was his sole existence, and the scalding need to suck and be sucked! Yes! He had to have her!
He unfastened his belt and removed his clothing, dumping them on the floor. Finally, they stood facing each other, both stark naked.
"Oh, it's lovely," mewed Janie, staring down at his bursting shaft standing out at right angles. She walked to the bed, and lay down on the cover. "Come here, Bobbie," she purred, "let me suck you off."
Bob came to her, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside her, feet-to-head, and Janie's fingers scratching lightly over his cock, her expert lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs, offering him a little glimpse of heaven.
"God! Hurry!" groaned Bob, not sure he could keep his boiling semen inside his testicles another minute.
Immediately Janie plunged her head forward and Bob felt the incredible hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the sensitive head of his cock, felt her tongue licking tiny circles around it. Sighing, completely succumbed to her fingers, Bob moved toward her, and buried his face in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of contracted muscles in Janie, and she pressed closer to his mouth. The complete sensuality of this whore blotted out all thoughts except for the delicious lechery of his bought-and-paid for lovemaking.
Practiced professional that she was, Janie tasted the salty tang of his secretions, twirling her tongue faster and faster. Then she began to suck him rhythmically, while Bob looked up and watched her lipstick -rimmed lips ripple up and down his hardened penis, watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker outward and then back in as she sawed over his penis. Christ, it was an erotic sight! That aroused him still more and his loins tensed, jerking upwards, smashing into her face.
His head darted back down to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firm rounded buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the soft-rimmed flesh. Both hands grasping her buttocks, he held her tight, jabbing his tongue up into the pink folds. He heard her gasp with pleasure and renew her nibblings. Moving his hands down, he opened her wider and curled and flicked his tongue at the smoothness of her ass cheeks. He sucked and licked while she swayed above him, completely out of control, her cunt flowering wider and her vaginal juices mingling with his saliva and dribbling down his cheeks.
He plunged to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue reaming the sensuous little button while she churned and writhed, bucked and moaned in a lewd dance of lust ablve him. Bob sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks sucking wildly at his penis as her breasts danced in rhythm to her sucking. And then....
"Ummmmmmmm...." Janie fought for her climax and the warm pungent juices of her softly pulsating pussy spread across his face. She screamed out her orgasm, though her mouth was still stuffed with his deep thrusting cock. She snaked her heels around his shoulders and rubbed her heaving cunt in a tormented motion.
And then....
Brrruuuugggghhhhh!
What was that? Dizzy with pleasure, Bob fought to lift his head, struggling against Janie's clutching hands that nailed his head to her still flowing vagina. Bewildered, he stared at the telephone an easy arm's reach away. It might be Loren; he had to answer. Wiggling free one hand, he clawed at the receiver and plastering it to one buzzing ear, muttered a hello.
"Hello...?" The voice was distant. Jill! Christ, what a time for her to call!
"Bob ... is that you?"
"Sure is. (pant) ... how are ya?" he mumbled, staring down at Janie who pumped his penis, taking all of his testicles into her mouth, bathing them in her hot cavern. Little bubbles of lustful delight erupted from her throat. Bob clamped his hand over the receiver, shooting grimaces at Janie who either didn't care or didn't notice.
"I'm fine ... Bob, you sound strange. Are you feeling okay? You sound woozy...."
"Oh ... no...." Christ, she's got her tongue tip sliding into my cum slit! He tried to pull loose, but Janie wouldn't budge. "I'm ... fine," he choked, his words coming out in a low groan.
"Bob ... what is going on?" Jill's suspicions were piqued, one eyebrow cocked, ears keened for evidence.
"No ... nothing, honey." His dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth while he stared wild eyed at Janie who was working at the crevice of his buttocks, slithering and probing her tongue in search of his puckered anal hole, carrying on her business solo. Her free hand stroked over her clitoris, obviously not caring that her partner had taken a short reprieve.
"Bob ... is there somebody in the room with you?" Jill's pouty mouth puckered into a tight line.
"Wh-what? Some ... somebody in the room with me? No, hon. What ... makes you ... (Christ, I'm gonna cum) ... ask a sil ... silly question like that?" He chuckled hysterically.
"Bob ... what's going on?" she blasted. Fifteen hundred miles distance is no impediment to a woman's intuition, and when Janie broke into a low moan that suddenly erupted into a hard flailing, open-mouthed shriek of lust, Jill's temper was stoked.
"I'MMMMMM CUMMMMMMMING!" Janie shrieked in a banshee yell that could have shattered crystal. Bob glanced down horrified to see his whore finger fucking herself into oblivion.
On the other end of the line, Jill sat up in bed, feeling as if she'd been kicked in the guts. There was somebody in Bob's hotel room ... a woman!
"Bob, who is that you've got in your room? Bob ... Bob ... I want an answer right now!" She clenched her fists so hard her lacquered fingertips dug bloody lines into the palms of her hands, while Janie's fingers rubbed at her swollen clitoris, bringing it to a ripe explosion.
"OH ... OH, OH ... IT'S SOO GOOD. CUMMM WITH ME, BOBBIE!"
"BOBBIE? I hate you, Bob Carlson. I hate you!" she snarled and threw the receiver against the wall in an ear drum bursting smash.
But Bob heard little of it-his ears buzzed with an impending eruption. This little woman slaving down between his legs outmatched his guilt. The telephone slipped from his grasp and dangled loosely by the cord. And then....
Bob, too, felt the erution of fire leap along his penis. He gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a wild, convulsive jerking that flooded without advance warning into the whore's bobbing mouth with rush after rush of boiling sperm, bloating her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. Then, as quickly as it started, there was one final spurt and he lay back, half unconscious, wilted.
Still the girl sucked ravenously at his juices, milking every drop of the hot gushing sperm until at last, his penis jerked softly and deflated in the warm sperm filled cavern of her mouth. She slid her lips from his cock with one last swallow, and cradled her face to his still throbbing groin.
"How was that, lover?" she murmured appreciatively.
He could only sigh in answer. Somehow the stirrings of remorse and shame were not there; he only felt like a satisfied, virile male, one who had satisfied a woman. A certain power, a certain pride bubbled up in the fact that he had proven that his desire for oral sex was right, not something obscene as his wife had thought.
Jill ... Jesus Christ Almighty! She knew.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Dog tranquilizers. Did ya remember the dog tranquilizers? I ain't gettin' in no tussle with a goddamned Doberman," mumbled Speedy, slamming the accelerator to the floorboards. Charlie pulled down the brim of his black hat, clutched onto the dashboard for support and glowered at Speedy who took a hairpin turn off the freeway, slamming his passengers flat to the cab door.
"Jesus H. Christ! Would ya take it easy? You're gonna get us busted before we make our hit!" blasted Pete.
The three were old friends, having shared a cell in Santa Rita prison out on the West coast; Pete for bad checks, Charlie for embezzlement, and Speedy for auto theft. Now, dressed in black coveralls, their faces smeared with coal dust, they were riding the high tide of good luck. Henderson's last week, Carlson's this "week ... they would be sitting pretty. After tonight's hit, on to Tucson to unload the goods to Charlie's brother, their fence.
The atmosphere in the cab was sparked with tension. Charlie drew heavily on a cigarette, blowing smoke through his flaring nostrils, his deep eyes darting rabbit-like, keeping a watch out for cops. Across from him, Speedy ground the gears and crunched on butterscotch lifesavers. Squashed in between Speedy who smelled perpetually of perspiration and butterscotch lifesavers, and hollow cheeked Charlie, sat Pete, a handsome blonde haired man whose respectable appearance won him the position of scout. It was his job to scan the houses and make an estimate of its worth. A spontaneous snicker charged through the cab like lightning. Pete rubbed his hands together, smiling a faraway grin.
"What's so goddamned funny?" Charlie's deep set eyes stared into Pete's glinting ones.
"I was just thinkin' about that Carlson lady." He cut an hourglass in the air. "Chick's got a pair of tits on her you wouldn't believe ... Jesus, and her ass-"
"Knock it off, man. We ain't gettin' messed up with no rape charges." Charlie's gaze was dark and infinite as the night. He sucked in his breath, letting it out in a slow hiss that foreshadowed cringing apprehension. "Somethin' tells me we're playin' with fire hittin' the same neighborhood in a week."
Speedy's black Hawaiian eyes danced with fire. "Don' go talkin' like that, man ... you bring bad luck down on our heads." Speedy, a hefty Samoan from the islands who'd stolen aboard a freighter bound to the mainland some ten years back, had been in trouble with the law since. Still, that island mystique ruled his life.
"Cut that bullshit mystical crap...!" snapped Charlie, the pragmatist of the group.
* * *
Jill sat slumped at the kitchen table, a pile of shredded, tear-sopped kleenex piled at her elbow and a bottle of wine an easy reach away. She stared mesmerically at the bottle as if a geni inside would burst out in a puff of smoke and solve her problems forever. Her perky nose wrinkled in a sniff and she delicately dabbed at her watering eyes. What good was crying anyhow? Tears couldn't salve the wounds of an adulterous husband, any more than this wine bottle encased a geni.
An annoying scratching sound rattled her out of her misery, and the distraught woman looked up, a faint smile coming across her pallid features. Toby sat whining at the kitchen door, turning hes sleek black head now and then to shoot her a plaintive glance, begging to be let out for a night's fun with the ripe little poodle from next door.
It seems to be a night for bitches, thought Jill ruefully, wondering what little New York City hussie her husband had picked up. What did she look like? Probably a secretary ... one of those supple bodied little snips who man the front office, pulling up their skirts in exchange for lunch in some fancy restaurant. Little whores taking messages ... that's all they were! Oh, Bob probably tried to play hip by taking her to a Disco and got her drunk ... while she lay back here alone, fighting off horny TV repairmen. It wasn't fair!
"Why not, old boy?" she sniffed, scraping back the kitchen chair and rising dizzily to her feet. Her naked breasts danced provocatively beneath her gossamer nightie as she fumbled with the dead bolt. "Don't blame you-I'd like some love myself." Toby sat staring at his mistress, licking his lips and whimpering pathetically. He bounded out of the kitchen, his nose twitching orgasmically as he scampered toward the fuzzy grey poodle rubbing her hind quarters against the white wrought iron lawn furniture.
Jill burst into a flood of tears and, scurried to the living room, her visions blinded by scalding elephant tears. She flung herself defeatedly down on the sofa, her supple body shaking with anger, hurt and resentment. Her tiny hands drew up into white knuckled fists that pounded into the sofa cushions, beating them to a pulp. The harder she pounded, the harder she cried. Oh, it was no use!
To make him suffer as she suffered now became her sole objective.
Jill's wide eyes slitted with hatred. "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," she hissed through clenched jaws as she lept to her feet and stomped down the hallway, shoulders squared. Yanking open the dresser drawer, she reached for the bottle of sleeping pills and rattled a few into her hand. Trance-like, she studied those magical little blue circles that promised rest and peace. What did it matter?
One trembling red lacquered fingertip toyed with the pill, turning it over, examining it until, impulsively she plucked it from her sweaty palm and threw it down her throat. Through slitted eyes she stared at the other two. Why not? Three of those little angels of mercy would put her out for a full day. Bob'll come home andfiny me lying there in bed and he'll hate himself for hurting me.
Decisively, she stepped coltishly for the dressing room where she splashed on perfume, combed her curls and redid her makeup. A hanger spun crazily against the closet wall as she yanked from it the sinfully sexual 'wet look' nightie Bob had given her for Valentine's Day ... the thigh-high red one with a boa flounce that made her look worse than naked. When Bob found her lying there in a coma, looking ravishingly desirable as a virgin sacrifice, his heart would bleed with guilt.
With the bittersweet taste of spite in her mouth, Jill lay down supine on the bed, a mysteriously ebullient feeling charging through her veins. She prepared her 'deathbed' as did pagans milleniums past, placing near her body items that would promise a safe journey. Next to the pillow she propped up the bottle of sleeping pills and closed her eyes, ready for a long, peaceful sleep. Something inside her knew she wouldn't die, but Bob had killed a certain irretrievable part of her soul, and this was her way of showing that deadening pain. Closing her eyes, she waited for the warm, numbing sensation to encompass consciousness. Thoughts of leaving a note filtered through her miasma brain, but she negated that plan. The bastard didn't deserve one!
* * *
Speedy cut the engine and the truck rumbled emptily down the slope between tree-studded Collins Avenue and Jennifer Street, coming to a jerking halt in the back alley used only by garbage collectors. The brakes squealed complainingly, for the ex-service truck had been owned by a slow-paced Mexican vegetable distributor before being 'liberated' one dark night and, in retribution for being painted black and robbed of her identity, the truck developed a case of faulty brakes. Such abuse as its driver Speedy incurred, this truck had never witnessed!
It must have been a new moon, for the sky didn't have a twinkle in it; even the stars were at rest. The only sound in the vacuous early hours of gray pre-dawn was the howl of a bitch dog in heat, followed by the whimpering of heated copulation.
"Goddamned dogs," snarled Speedy. "I ain' gettin' near the bastards."
"Don't worry, man ... you're stayin' with the truck. Pete and I do the crackin." Charlie took one final puff of his cigarette and extinguished it on the truck door, a little river of sparks fell dying to the floor.
In unison, all three necks craned, the white circles of their eyes staring out in stark contrast to their coal blackened faces. The backyard of Bob Carlson's rambling brick home stole their attention ... the perfect little two bedroom abode with its manicured lawn, trimmed hedge and small swimming pool centered in the midst of it all. The home bore all the evidence of a man on the up and up, the type of householder who bought on credit and furnished his house tastefully with money that wasn't yet his.
By the flickering light of a Bic lighter Charlie and Pete checked their tools, loaded their .38s and slipped noisily from the truck, their Addida shoes stealing over the spongy lawn of Bob Carlson's backyard. The night was unusually cool for summertime and the cool, nippy air calmed their thumping hearts and stung their flushed cheeks.
The thrill of risk taking made Pete's groin ache with excitement. Burglarizing and making love to a virgin was one and the same to him, though he wasn't the philosophical type, he'd given it some thought. It's kinda like when you 're a teenager and you got a hard-on ninety-nine per cent of the time and you're laid out in the backseat with a little honey and you got her panties down to her ankles. Do you go ahead and ram it to her ... or do you sweet talk her into wantin' it? That's how Pete described this passion. It didn't matter how you took it, only that you took it.
The house looked blissfully at rest, except for one perturbed light emanating from a far corner room. Staying close to the ground, Pete crept up to the brick wall and pausing outside the bedroom sliding glass door, peeked through the slit separating curtain and wall.
What he saw made him rock on his heels.
"Holy shit!" Pete sucked in his breath, the sight within causing a sudden lightheadedness to overcome his senses, nearly obliterating from his mind the object of his mission. Sex and crime ... sex and crime.
He hadn't expected to see her lying there stretched out as she was in a gossamer red nightgown that covered her lush nakedness in a shimmer of strawberry red. The uneven line of the fluffy boa trim skirting the thigh-high nightie was the only evidence that she was clothed in anything but a red light. She lay supine, bathed in the soft yellow glow of lamplight, her curly blonde hair glistening like cornsilk on an August afternoon. One lithe, tanned leg was bent, raising her knee and opening to his view the wide hair fringed slit of her pussy. He wiped his forehead free of perspiration and licked his lips.
Suddenly, he stiffened. Something was wrong. He squinted again. She looked (and here he gulped) ... corpse-like, all dolled up in her shorties with fresh spots of rouge on her cheeks, her pouty mouth as red and glossy as the see-through nightie she wore. Barely rising and falling, her luscious breasts that yesterday morning had provoked Bob to madness were flattened a bit, their strawberry tips little nubs of red poking up under the nylon. She looked waxen.
A noise from behind him sent him spinning around, his hand shooting toward the gun belt strapped to his back! He clicked the safety, and a second later a dog's yelp of pain whined in his ears. Across the green stretch of lawn, he focused on two dogs, a sleek black one humping up behind a grey ball of fuzz. Pete snickered and breathing easier, stared back inside the house.
Pete crooked his head, signaling in the direction of the Carlson's garage. The blackness of night their shroud, the two men hedged close to the bushes, hugging the brick wall, wary of complaining neighbors awakened from the yelping animals. Their shadows froze at the laundry room window and in a flurry of fingers and prying tools, the window opened without a crack of glass and Charlie's lankiness slithered in through, reptile-like, swallowed up in the darkness of the Carlson's home with Pete on his heels. Inside, Pete flicked his Bic lighter, his nostrils tingling from the sneezy scent of laundry soap.
"Into the kitchen," he rasped. "The living room is to the right ... check out the stereo." He pulled from his coverall pocket a pair of wire cutters and handed them to Charlie who stumbled toward the kitchen, an empty sack slung over his shoulder, the shiny metal of his gun gleaming metallicaly.
So far so good. "Ouch!" Charlie's yelp cut the silence. "Goddamned bicycle!" he hissed, limping into the kitchen where he unlocked the door and left it safely ajar.
"Give me the sheet ... I'll take care of the chick...!" Charlie dug out the chloroform-soaked sheet.
"Don' get carried away messin' around with that woman or I'll break your Goddmaned head open!" Pete was one of those men who couldn't get enough pussy.
A splash of light from the bedroom cast a dark shadow that blended shapelessly with Pete's black camouflage as he plastered himself against the bedroom door and peered within. Sweat popped out on his forehead and his mouth went dry. She hadn't moved one luscious inch! From his vantage point he could see her pouting pussy lips, red and swollen, wet with feminine juices as if crying for attention. Jill lay with her palms up in a helpless gesture, her mouthwatering pose resembling a sallow cast of Marilyn Monroe in a wax museum.
Pete craned his neck, checking about the room for burglary alarms, then pulled the surgical mask up over his nose and unfolded the chloroform sheet ready to flap it over her hapless body. Three long strides brought him to the edge of her bed where he stared down at her slumbering beauty. A lunging snarl curled his upper lip, when suddenly his eyebrows arched concernedly. Holy shit, she was barely breathing ... barely alive! His eyes fell on the bottle propped up beside the pillow, sitting there like a wordless suicide note.
Peter Parker gulped in a rare moment of gullibility. Just my luck to run onto a suicide! Had it been a male lying there he wouldn't have batted an eyelash, but to leave a pretty little woman alone to die would be cruel. For a reckless moment he considered calling the police ambulance, but then who would be committing suicide? He gulped and squinted down at the bottle, relieved to see it was nearly full; she couldn't have downed more than four.
Tentatively, he touched her. Jill's warm, soft skin pulsed with life. Pete's fear slackened and his indecision deepened. What to do? He picked up her arm and dropped it. It bounced against the mattress like a dribbled basketball and she didn't bat an eyelash. Jill slept on.
Pete's calculating mind breezed over the facts: He couldn't leave the poor bitch to die of an overdose ... or she might wake up and finding her house stripped, take a couple more sleeping pills; and he couldn't call an ambulance. He had only to recall those excitable innocent blue eyes and vivacious smile to plot his course of action, though Charlie would raise holy hell. Somehow in his twisted, criminal mind, saving the woman from self destruction compensated for stealing her blind, and he knew what he must do.
A little coffee and the right kind of exercise in the right place would perk her right up!
Out in the living room Charlie was busy as a housewife on the first day of spring, emptying out silverware chests and rattling their contents into bags. Those filled, he went for the electronic equipment-always a hot item on the market-and clipped wires and wrapped up cords in a flurry of activity. Those ready for hauling, he toted them out to the truck where Speedy packed them in the back of the van. And Jill slept on....
The living room furniture came next ... the white upholstered sofa and matching ottoman, the brass lamps and glass etageres. The three synchronized their movements in acrobatic perfection, sweeping clean the Carlson's living room, save the aquariums and ceiling high plants. The sky turned pink and the grinding of garbage trucks two blocks away shattered the silent morn.
Jill slept on....
"Gotta get the fuck outta here!" panted Speedy, his underarms two half moons of sopping sweat, the crotch of his pants hanging halfway to his knees, exposing a blubbery crevice from the rear view. Charlie was wound up with worry, shoulders hunched tight. He drummed his knobby fingers on the dashboard, rolling sweat streaking white down his gaunt, blackened cheeks. Where the hell was Pete?
"I swear to Jesus, if that sonofabitch is in there gettin' a piece of nooky, I'll blow his goddamned brains out!" Charlie gnashed his teeth, his fingers tracing the steely outline of his .38. One more felony and it was an automatic ten to life for Charlie.
Speedy's black eyebrows cocked, perspiration popping out on his forehead. "Shit, man, coulda used a little myself," he scratched his genitals and grinned crookedly.
"If we don't get the hell outta here, pussy's gonna be scarce as a Sunday suit!"
In the Carlson's rose-walled bedroom, Pete tossed aside the chloroform sheet and yanked the bedsheet loose from its tucked-in corners. Reverently, he wrapped the cool cotton around Jill's limp body, her slender legs spreading wide to give his hungry eyes a heady feast. She was all strawberries in cream, dressed up in that naughty nightie, her blonde wispy curls haloing her head. Lifelessly, she lay there, her cupie-doll face sticking up out of her cocoon. He told himself this wasn't kidnapping, but down in his dark soul he knew he wouldn't let the little bitch go until he'd had his fun with her. What the hell ... she owed him a favor for saving her life. In his nigger disguise she would never recognize him-if she could get her drugged eyes to focus-and even if she did, what could she do? Call his boss at Pete's Trusty TV Repair and complain?
Pete snickered to himself. Once out on the highway, it would be no problem dumping her off in the desert between here and Tucson. A pretty little thing like herself all dolled up wearing that naked looking nightie wouldn't have to hang out a thumb to catch a ride.
Pete stooped down ready to swing her dead weight over his shoulder, when his lizardy eye caught sight of a hand carved jewelry box. What the hell? he muttered under his breath, dumping down Jill's lax body and filling his pockets with Bob Carlson's diamond cufflinks and heirloom rings.
Out in the van Cahrlie glanced at his wristwatch. The sound of the garbage truck gnashed in his ears. "Give 'im thirty seconds and we're leaving without him," he said in a rusted voice.
Speedy scratched at his double chim and squinted at the black outline scampering over the Carlson's back yard like a rabbit on the chase, toting over his shoulder a rolled up object that neither could distinguish in the mistiness of early morn.
"Shit, man ... looks like a rolled up carpet to me...."
"Persian, if he's got any brains."
Speedy's black eyes slitted in puzzlement, then in fear as he caught a glimpse in the side view mirror of the garbage truck rumbling across the street some seventy yards behind them, two men riding the runners. "Jesus, they're closin' in on us!" His double chin jounced and a fresh bead of perspiration popped on his forehead as he jammed the truck into gear and revved up the motor. The first grind of gears synchronized with the sliding sound of the truck door closing shut, and they all breathed a little easier when they pulled out of the alley, the garbage truck grill nearly rubbing bumpers with them. "Let's get the fuck outta here!" cawed Charlie, loud enough for Pete, hugging the floorboards in the box, to hear. And Jill slept on....
CHAPTER SIX
Bob Carlson teetered on the brink of emotional despair. Compared to the heady ecstasy of oral sex with a professional like Janie, the platitudinous bliss of missionary lovemaking with Jill, his wife, was a meager morsel of carnality. An urgency to communicate his appreciation for satisfying his secret fixation gnawed at him, but when she zipped herself into her one piece jumpsuit and sashayed to the door, he couldn't conjure even a glimmer of affection. A silly little half-grin crossed his face as she blew him a kiss from the door. To combine Janie's ripe sensuality with Jill's angel faced innocence would be the cherry on the whipped cream, utterly glorious ... and hopelessly impossible.
A little sliver of hall light stole in through the door, then quickly erased itself as Janie closed the door behind her, leaving Bob to face the inevitable trauma of picking up the telephone and confronting Jill head-on. The old acquiescent Bob who soaked up his wife's fears was now replaced by a more worldly husband who would make demands of his wife. This telephone call was merely the anesthetic; face to face he'd surgically remove whatever obstruction had blocked her from enjoying oral sex. She had to understand that there was more to sex than climbing on and climbing off!
Decisively, he picked up the receiver, feeling a new charge of energy, got an outside line and dialed his home number. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the empty ring. After eight rings, he rammed the receiver back on the cradle and gritted his teeth. I see ... she's being dramatic ... trying to make me feel guilty again. It's not going to work this time, honey!
He squinted at the illuminated hands of his travel alarm. Jesus Christ, it was six thirty in the morning! And he had meetings all day! Groaning to his feet, he stomped into the bathroom and washed away the pungent scent of lovemaking, wondering deep in his soul if he'd have the balls to come home to his wife after staying out all night in Dallas. Would he have accepted Loren's 'bonus' back home in Dallas.
As he lathered and hummed, scrubbing away at his genitals, he wondered what his response would be should he come home and find his wife with her pouty red lips wrapped around another man's cock while she mewed and cooed delighting in the feel of another man's nose grinding against her clitoris, his tongue laving its way up into her tender pink pussy. It'll never happen ... not my Jill, he thought, bouncing from the shower and wrapping himself in a towel before plunking down on the bed and dialing home one more time.
* * *
With the sublime bliss of a mother taking her first peek at her first born, Pete unrolled his swaddled cargo and stared with softened eyes at Jill Carlson's peacefully slumbering face. Her red lips were parted slightly, showing even white teeth, and her black eyelashes flickered as if her dreams were punctuated with spurts of painful emotion. Immediately he flicked off his flashlight and went to work.
Standing up in the back of the heaving and listing truck was no small accomplishment; Speedy took to the curves with the ferocity of a race track driver, sloshing the heavy cargo around in the box like so many bushels of tomatoes. The expensive upright brass lamps with their parchment shades crashed to the floor, smashing down on top of the turn table's smoked-plastic protector and rolling about on the floor like bowling pins gone wild. Twice he had to shield Jill's body with his own hulk to keep the whirlwind of flying objects from bruising her.
After those first rough minutes, the holocaust quieted and Pete assumed they had hit the straightaway of the desert freeway, heading west to Tucson where they would unload the goods to their 'fence.' The temperature change was shooting the mercury high; it was insufferably stuffy back there in that heated tin can and the pungent smell of onions and the earthy musk of potatoes stung his nostrils.
Pete was all hands fumbling in the dark, reaarranging things by touch and repiling the clumsy cargo, clearing a safe center circle. He cleared the litter from the Carlson's new white sofa that still bore the manufacturer's tag and spread Jill's limp, supple body out on it. A little sigh of relief bubbled from her throat. He must work fast; she would soon awaken. In case she might thump to the floor in a sudden stop, he unrolled a carpet and placed it before the sofa. Across from her sat her colored portable television atop a marble topped end table. On outward appearances it appeared to be an altruistic apology for having spirited her off in her sleep ... but in truth his homey arrangement reeked of selfishness. Pete was getting ready to awaken her ... and it wouldn't be pleasant.
It must have been around breakfast time, between seven and eight o'clock when her heavy lids first flickered open and her first terrified scream rent the dusty air. Jill stared into infinite blackness, her mind a cluttered whirlwind of disjointed memories and faceless images, merged together in a maelstrom of gut-wrenching terror. Her fist flew to her mouth and she nibbled fearfully at her knuckes. Where ... oh God, where was she? The dusty odor of rotting vegetables and the stinging suffocation of unvented cigarette smoke stung her nostrils in heady confusion. Wild eyed, she mustered the strength to prop herself up on one elbow and glanced around in the dead dark to where the orange flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a black face shiny with man sweat. Jill opened her mouth to scream but a hand, muddy with sweat and grime, clamped over her parched lips, making her swallow her own fear.
"Don' make a sound now, honey. You won't get hurt."
Oh, dear God! Her lacquered fingernails clawed at the darkened face, aiming hysterically for the eyes, but were quickly thwarted by a sinewy arm that caught both of her delicate wrists in one steely grip and held them helplessly above her head.
"I said, don' make a sound. I'm tryin' to get us nice and comfy back here ... we're gonna be doin' some travelin' together in the next coupla days, Mrs. Carlson. You better start makin' friends with me." The voice was even and calm ... almost friendly. Pete gnashed out his cigarette on the hard heel of his shoe and fumbled through his coverall pockets with a free hand. Out came the .38, a few stray bullets and a pack of cigarettes. He flicked the switch on a penlight and shone it into her reddened eyes.
"You was in pretty bad shape when I picked you up, lady. What made a pretty lady like you want to take all of those sleeping pills, anyway?"
My dear God in heaven, how could he know about that? Jill tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as if she'd been eating sand. No words came out.
"Hubby out fuckin' around on ya?" Pete snorted as he laughed, running the flashlight over her trembling goosebumped flesh that even in the stifling closeness, shivered with cold.
Who is this man? How does he know so much about me? Jill screamed silently in her drugged confusion. The insufferable heat was making her sweat rivers, and she could feel a thin gauze-like fabric clinging heatedly to her body, sticking obdurately to her naked breasts as if glued to the spikey nubs of her nipples. Her mouth flew open and she muttered not a word, even though that filthy paw had mercifully lifted from her lips, leaving a salty taste. In her slack jawed horror she stared down at the quarter-sized spot of light that had flitted over her body to pause deliberately at the nub of her right nipple.
"Nice lookin' boobs you got lady. Good 'nough to bite into."
That voice ... God, it was familiar! Jill was numb with disbelief. Her last conscious memory was letting Toby outside for a midnight run ... and ... that's how they must have broken into her house! What did they want with her?
After a few seconds of rumbling around, her disguised kidnapper mumbled, "Now if you'll promise to sit nice and quiet, I'll try to open a coupla vents to get some fresh air and light in here." There followed a crash as Pete, attempting to reach the side vents, climbed up on a wobbly stack of furniture that came crashing to the floor.
"Shit!" he muttered, picking himself up and trying again. A Venetian blind strip of light slivered in through the wedged open vent, spotlighting the center of the truck where Jill sat wild-eyed and shaking, little tortured mewls muffling from her throat.
Her wide eyes adjusted to the darkness, and flitted about the truck. She gawked, her blurry vision struggling to focus on the piles of furniture and household goods stacked in towers about her. Jill blinked, then shook her head, closed her eyes and blinked again. Was that her new portable color television set sitting on top of her marble topped end table ... or had she gone completely bananas? Something stirred within her, alerting her to an awesome familiarity with these items; it slowly grew to panic proportions. She ran her dainty hands over the soft pile of the white sofa she lay on, stroking it, looking first at the sofa, then at the man hidden in the shadows, refusing to reveal his face. Her aqua eyes squinted down at a dark spot on the sofa, her finger tracing its smudged outline. The urine stain....
"This ... this...." OH, she couldn't talk! Her tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she felt weak and faint. Two reddened orbs scoured over the shadowy outline of a turntable, with a bunch of silver items junked on top of it. Bob's new stereo-and it wasn't paid for!
"This ... this is my furniture. You thief! You dirty rot-!" Her voice died in a high shrill, quickly silenced by a .38 that rubbed its hard cold nose against her own. "You ... you've stolen everything from my house and kidnapped me along with it!" she wailed, feeling instantly weak after her hissing outburst. "Why? Why?"
"Like I say, don't go getting all riled up, because we've got lots of miles to ride together
... and I wouldn't raise my voice if I was you, 'cause my buddies in the cab ain't the sensitive type like me." He grinned crookedly, waving his pistol in the direction of the cab. "B'sides ... the desert ain't fit for no lady dressed like you. Those rattlesnakes and lizards would make puddin' outta you."
Jill sucked in her breath and grabbed for the sheet to cover her near nakedness as she stared into the whites of her kidnapper's eyes all that she could see of him. "You ... can't get ... away with ... this!" she blasted. "Let me out of this damned truck this minute!" she shrieked, feeling the panic of claustrophobia close in on her.
"Lady ... I saved your life."
If at least she could get a good look at him, perhaps she could reason with him ... or buy her way out. It suddenly struck her that ironically this man already had everything she owned! She struggled to scrape together a coherent plan of escape, raking her bewildered mind for old television detective stories, but all the women on the tube these days were bionic, and she Jill Carlson, was just flesh and blood woman.
"Lay down."
"Lay...? down...? NO!" Jill's curls kinked even tighter as she watched in horror the black-faced man step into her circle of filtered light and yank down the zipper of his coveralls. His calloused hands slipped the heavy cloth down over his shoulders and the garment fell to his ankles in a clink clank of gold jewelry that spilled from his pockets as if that spot of light he was standing in was the pot at the end of the rainbow. She was about to be raped by a Negro! OH, my God! "Get away from me!" she shrilled, flapping her hand at him and wincing pathetically.
Her weak defenses curled his lip in amusement. A couple more tugs with that steely hand and his jockey shorts puddled to his ankles. His long hard white cock jutted out inches from her face, shadowed as it was in the dusty morning light.
His long white cock...! OH, dear God, no! Wait a minute ... Jill blinked, her gaze shifting first from his black hand to his white purple-veined cock and back to his hand. His white cock...! At least he wasn't black. But that was precious little placation in a spine curdling moment like this!
Dear God, Bob....
Pete gave a short laugh, then with a sudden movement wagged his penis at her, bringing its fleshy, rigid length dangerously close to Jill's gaping mouth. "Ever sucked cock before, baby?" he demanded lewdly, while the young nearly naked woman cringed at the crude words he had uttered as if she had been struck with a closed fist.
Wide-eyed, paralyzed with fear, she watched him straddle her naked breasts, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees and saw the blood-fattened head of her kidnapper's penis thrust forward and press wetly against her tightly clenched, parched lips.
Oh, Bob ... where are you? Oh, God! Oh, God, oh, God!
"Come on, you little cock tease. It wants to spit on those pretty little tonsils of yours!" He grinned lewdly and with his thumb and forefinger reached down and pinched the nostrils of her finely chiseled little nose tightly together until she sputtered out in a desperate need for air.
"Mmmmmmpphhhhh! MMMMff!" Jill groaned, dizzy from holding her breath as long as she could before the truck's grinding gears and the stuffiness conspired against her. It was either open to breathe, or die.
"Come on, open up and let a little fresh air in that pretty mouth ... and a big bite of cock!" he laughed cruelly, watching her desperately struggle not to breathe.
And finally, her lungs searing from lack of oxygen, her eyes blinking against the stars, her lips popped open wide, sucking in great gulps of long denied air.
"Oh ho, now you want to milk a little cock, huh?" he mocked above her and then he shoved it into her helplessly gasping mouth, ramming it down deep inside her parched throat, until it seemed to brush all the way back against her open throat. Jill gagged and fought wildly to expel the rock hard intruder that filled her mouth so cruelly, so unnaturally. She moved her head from side to side, struggling helpless, gasping for breath. My God! This was disgusting, sinful and unclean! She would suffocate ... she couldn't breathe ... she would die!
Viciously, Pete grasped Jill's head in both hands and yanked it forward, as Jill broke free just long enough to suck in more of the cool fresh air, filling her lungs, panting with relief. Then the triumphantly grinning man with the black smudged face sank his lust hardened pole deep into her mouth again ... in ... in ... up to the hilt ... and the short, wiry hair around his penis grazed and tickled Jill's lips, while his sperm-filled balls slapped lewdly down against her chin, beating a lewd tattoo. Now he began to fuck in and out of her widely ovaled mouth with long, quick strokes, and strangely, partly due to the Valium's numbing effect and partly due to a rising tide of masochistic acceptance of the debasing act she was being forced to perform in this godforsaken truck, Jill began to feel a whispering wind of unwanted passion again rising in her that took possession of her body leaving her helpless to fight against this obscene defiling of her cock-stretched lips.
He rammed so hard into her mouth that Jill could feel the tight, parched corners of her lips stretch, then split painfully. Chills of damning excitement whipped up and down her goosebumped spine, little sparks of lascivious delight seemed to explode, fluttering like butterflies in her blood. With a terrible shame masked by the darkness of her confinement, she felt the sticky moistness seeping wetly between her now wide spread legs, felt the warmth of it suddenly hotly flooding her pulsing pussy, felt the ache and s throb of desire down there between her legs.
And she had refused to accommodate her husband Bob because the thought of taking his organ into her mouth revolted her, made her wretch with disgust. How could it be she was surviving this obscene maneuver? Oh, God! It was wonderfully horrible! Wicked and evil. In a sudden burst of enlightenment, she shed her inhibitions in the darkness of the truck and went at her act of cocksucking, running her shamelessly searching tongue back and forth over the sensitive surface of Pete's huge prick, teasing the tiny slit into its tip, licking the drops of sticky fluid that oozed from it, tasting it, savoring it, as he jerked his hips forward and fucked deep down inside the saliva filled cavern of her mouth. It throbbed there like a heartbeat in its hotly clasping liquid warmth a moment, withdrew, and plunged in again.
Jill's lust-distorted brain brushed aside all rational thought, all memories of Bob, including her suspicions and his adultry, and she gave herself completely to her task of being fucked in the mouth, of actually sucking off a man ... an utter stranger whose face she could not even see. No! No, she'd never sucked cock before, she thought hazily, remembering the man's question a few short minutes before. Never! And now it seemed she could never get enough of the stabbing of his swollen penis deep into her throat, as if she could not bear to wait for him to shoot his creamy white sperm, filling her mouth with the searingly pungent male liquid, pouring it down her throat, letting it flood out over her parched lips, dribbling down her dimpled chin while she thrashed in erotic bliss below him.
Madly-insanely, now-she sucked on that rubbery knob, her cheeks of their own volition contracting, tightening around the fleshy staff that moved in and out between her tight, pursed lips like a well-oiled oil rig. And then, suddenly, the man's faceless body above her went into a violent, wild spasm and his abruptly jerking testicles sent the hot stream of thin, milky sperm gushing warmly into her tightly locked mouth, welling up and over her young lips like a fountain of half-whipped cream. Jill gulped to swallow every precious drop, her throat constricting and relaxing in turn to squeeze it dry.
She mewed and cooed and gurgled delightedly as she licked and swished her tongue hotly around the now slowly deflating penis, clinging possessively to it with her elastically ovaled lips in a last desperate effort to prolong the ecstasy for another moment. At last the man grunted and pulled away from her mouth with a wet, sucking sound, and reeled backwards, a thin, glistening strand of his sperm following him away and across the firmly rounded mounds of her shimmeringly covered heaving breasts as Jill's exhausted head sank heavily down onto the pillow once more.
Bob ... In her flummoxed state, sparked by her new-found sexual pleasure, she had responded to this man's perverted attack and forgotten about Bob? What evil demon could have taken control of her body and soul, leading her to this ugly degradation?
With a suppressed sob of utter despair, she collapsed back on the sofa again, burying her face in the cushion. Images of Bob, proud and tender flitted through her mind. She drifted into a light, troubled sleep, the Valium, the heat and the mind-shattering bliss of forced fellatio combining to sweep away her consciousness. The sounds of her attacker stepping back into his clothing was a mere hush in her ears, and she didn't notice when the truck's squeaking brakes grinded to a halt, followed by the heavy slamming of the cab doors.
Jill slept on....
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Sir, this is hardly a matter for the telephone company," snipped the telephone operator's voice, starched with Eastern arrogance. "I suggest you telephone your local police department."
Bob's face went livid with rage. "I want to know if my home telephone is working and that goddamned well is your fucking business!"
A loud tut and a final click was his answer.
Bob stood holding the dead telephone receiver in his white knuckled fist, glowering at it. "Goddamned telephone people think they own the world," he snorted, dropping another coin into the machine, his dial-weary finger retracing his home number again. It rang fourteen times before he conceded to defeat.
Sleep-deprived furrows wrinkled his forehead, deepening now with worry.
He feared the worst: Had Jill packed up and left ... or worse ... God, no! ... fallen into the false security of those damned tranquilizers that Dr. Kinder handed out like Halloween candy!
Behind him, Bacon & West's receptionist snickered, sitting demurely nibbling her lunch time yogurt, her wide green eyes sweeping over the six foot virility of Bob Carlson's lanky back. Sensing her curious stare, he glared over his shoulder at her, a glare that could slice steel. He stretched the telephone cord as far as the emptied conference room and pulled the door in after him.
"Long distance for Dr. Raymond Kinder in Dallas, please ... and make it collect!"
* * *
"Open up, Pete!" Charlie hammered ferociously on the truck's loading door.
Inside, Pete fumbled around in the dark, snapping shut the last fly in his coveralls. His penis gave one final dying jerk, spurting a little dime-sized wet spot to soak through his jockey shorts and leave a tell-tale stain. Charlie was nobody's fool; he'd been on the inside long enough to know the rap for kidnapping and he would bash his head in for taking the Carlson woman along! Charlie was like that-a veritable bedspring of tension ready to uncoil and puncture at any second.
In retrospect, it was a damned stupid move, taking that blonde haired jewel along. But God knows she might have gone into a lethal coma if he hadn't roused her up a bit and gotten her juices flowing. And flow they did! Now to dispose of her somewhere ... somehow. Maybe leave her in a motel room someplace along the way or maybe in a ladie's room rest stop.
Hastily, he prodded the vents shut with the pointed tip of an upright brass lamp and, pulling the sheet up over Jill's comatose body, he slid open the door a crack and jumped out.
The piercing light of day stung his eyes, temporarily blinding him, and when he could focus it was to see sagebrush and sandy prairie stretching flat as a plate as far as the eye could see. Christ, there wasn't even a tree to hide behind! Only rattlesnakes and armadillos could survive this cursed land. Pete scratched his head and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, congratulating himself on his impeccable timing. Fifteen minutes earlier and he and little Jill Carlson would be so much fodder for the vultures.
"Thought we'd get us a little motel room and freshen up. This fuckin' coal dust is makin' me itch." Speedy's pudgy hand made a white streak down his cheek. He brushed at his forehead, his hand coming away muddied. " 'Sides, I wouldn' want none of them jack-assed red necks thinkin' I'm a nigger in these parts."
"Yeah ... I could go for some grub. Been a helluva long night ... could use some protein."
The three of them climbed back into the cab and headed on down the freeway toward a dumpy, forgotten little town called Clovis, near the Texas/New Mexico border. Speedy pulled off the main highway into a crumbling, stucco-fronted gasoline station with a rusted flying red horse sign nailed with a two-penny spike to a telephone pole, behind of which stood a line of cabins that appeared to have been denied attention since the last rains ... and God knew when that was.
They took a room there, paid the owner-a toothless, leather faced ex-rodeo rider who apologized for the sorry state of affairs, explaining that since the new highway sliced him off from the line of traffic, business hadn't been so good. After a shower, the odd-threesome ambled over to Mamma Chico's Truck Stop for a man's breakfast of steak, eggs, hashed browns, pancakes and coffee. The breakfast was enough to feed a family of five.
A Tex-Mex waitress in a too-snug uniform with jelly smudges on her bulging bodice poured another round of coffee. "Anything else for y'all?" she asked, swiping a strand of greasy black hair behind her ear.
Charlie popped a rolaid into his mouth, and Speedy sat back massaging his blubbery middle and working up a belch. "Naw, thanks though."
Pete scanned the menu. "Yeah ... I'll have a hot ham sandwich with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise ... hold the mustard."
Charlie grimaced and cocked an eyebrow. "Where the hell you puttin' this grub, man?" He stared down at Pete's half emptied plate, then back at Pete.
"Somethin' to nibble on out on the road."
Charlie squinted suspiciously, but held his tongue. He wasn't totally convinced that was a Persian carpet Pete had slung over his shoulder back there at the Carlson house.
The door handle was almost too hot to touch in the scorching mid-morning sun, and Charlie climbed in first, sliding over in the wide girthed seat to make room for Pete. Speedy revved the engine, the exhaust pipe sputtering smoke hot as a dragon's breath. After a moment of indecision, followed by questioning stares, Pete stepped back.
"That's okay, man. I don't mind ridin' in the back. Ain' so bad back there with the vents open. He shrugged, making for the rear of the truck, leaving the two to stare at each other dumbfoundedly.
The truck glided along at a smooth fifty-five miles per hour when it jelled in Charlie's brain. Hot ham sandwich to go, riding in the back of the truck instead of the air conditioned cab ... he snapped his fingers. "I think we got more cargo than we bargained for," he said sourly, his jaws working on another Rolaid.
"Huh?" Speedy lazed back, driving with one hand, scratching at his genitals and munching on a butterscotch lifesaver.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lieutenant Samuels of the Dallas Police Department threw down the dregs of his coffee and dropped a stack of mug shots the size of the Dallas telephone directory in front of Jose Perez who sat nervously twirling in his calloused hands the brim of his dusty felt hat.
"Lieutenant...." he said meekly, looking first at the forboding stack of photos and then back up at the lieutenant's weary face. "I remember now what he looks like. A beeg man weeth a fat belly ... like he eat too many enchiladas. He came to my warehouse and wanted to buy my truck and I say, 'no, no!'" He shook his head emphatically. " 'That truck,' I say, 'eet is my life!' I deleever vegetables ... I am a ceetizen." Jose beamed proudly, his Mexican eyes dancing, then quickly clouding with sadness. "I let heem see the truck and he say he wants very much to buy eet ... with American dollars he have right there een hees hand! But I say, 'how can I run my business with no truck?' " He threw up his hands.
Lieutenant Samuels' eyebrows knitted impatiently; he held up a silencing hand. "We'll get your truck back, Mr. Perez, now could you describe him? Anything unusual...?"
"O, si, si ... he was a fighter, I could tell by hees muscles ... and dark skin. Not Mexican ... and he smelled of." Jose wrinkled up his nose and scratched his head. "Eets like pralines...."
"Butterscotch?"
"Si, butterscotch!"
The Lieutenant's eyes lit up. "That's Speedy, all right." He motioned for Sargent Riley. "Put an APB out for Speedy ... and get that garbage collector back in here ... I think we're about to crack the bastards this time!"
The intercom buzzed and Samuels held the button with one pudgy finger. "Lieutenant, there's a Mr. Carlson out front who wants to talk to somebody in homicide. It's about his missing wife."
* * *
Somewhere between Clovis and Melrose, Jill Carlson twisted and moaned in her sleep, her red lacquered toenails digging into the plush upholstery of her white sofa that now, in the mustiness of the filthy truck bore the ravages of abuse. In her drug induced slumbers she dreamed of being locked in an attic, surrounded by broken furniture and outgrown toys. It was insufferable up there and in her sleep, her curls kinked tighter as rivulets of sweat trickled down between her creamy cleavage to leave her abdomen clammy. One weary eye popped open and closed instantly, her eyelids, heavy with slumber and heat exhaustion, finding the effort too great.
An arm's stretch away, Pete Parker popped open a tepid can of Coors and lifted it to his lips, keeping one wary eye on his cargo that lay with one leg recklessly draped over the side, giving him a healthy peek at the nest of honey curls beneath the shimmer of red. Her wet-look nightie was just that now, sticking to her luscious bumps and curves with the tenacity of wet gauze, the single flashlight beam mingling with dusty streaks of air peeping in through the air vents Pete's groin ached, just from looking at her.
Indecision gnawed at him. He hated like hell to dump something this delicate alongside the road, but this final run to Tucson was no joking matter. It was either she or him, and he knew that Charlie would make that decision with one pull of the trigger. Christ, he wanted to fuck her, slam his hard cock up between those white thighs. Tonight ... he must wait until tonight ... and then he would rape her and leave her behind like yesterday's garbage. It was no way to treat a lady, but he had to take care of number one.
Outside of the truck the desert was painted with orange streaks of setting sun, and the rattlesnakes and lizards broke their afternoon siesta in search of desert rodents to satisfy their gnawing hunger....
As the rumbling truck ground on, hot asphalt spitting under the wheels toward Tucson, Jill stirred, her stomach rumbling with hunger. Feebly, she rose to one elbow and blinked, rubbed her eyes and blinked again. Suddenly, her head spun around. This was no attic, no dream! She licked her lips, her parched tongue gritting over the salty lingering taste of ... oh God, she remembered it then! Every lurid, lustful detail! A shriek erupted from, dying as a hand clamped over her mouth..
"I told you to keep your mouth shut, bitch!" growled Pete, his profile illuminated in the flashlight's glow.
Jill's crystal eyes paled as they lingered over the profile of ... Pete's Trusty TV Repairman! "You ... you're ... mffff...." The hand clamped tighter this time, painfully so.
Pete snickered lewdly. "That's right, baby, your friendly repairman and if you don't keep that pretty mouth shut, I'm gonna stuff it full of cock!"
Jill's slender legs tingled with a white hot fear that raced up over her rippling stomach to her quivering breasts. She fought against his suffocating grip, arching her back, her hands clawing at his fists. Oh, dear God, he was going to kill her! Leave her out on the desert to die! Bob....
Up front in the cab Speedy rubbed his blubbery stomach and crumpled up a butterscotch lifesaver's pack, cramming it into the paper stuffed ashtray along with the other six. Beside him, Charlie, taciturn as usual, sat puffing on a cigarette, the brim of his hat shadowing his face as he studied the map.
"Turn off on the next exit and keep drivin' until we find a motel. We'll be in Tucson late tomorrow."
"Yeah," groused Speedy, "my back is killin' me. I don' know how the hell Pete can stand it. Christ, she must be over a hundred back there."
Charlie snorted smoke from his nostril's dragon-like. "I got a pretty good idea." He gnashed his teeth menacingly and folded up the map. "I got a damned good idea."
Jill shivered when the truck brakes ground to a hissing halt and the omenous slam of the cab door reverberated in her ears. She felt cold and hot at the same time, and breathing was shallow with the sweaty palm clamped over her lips. She heard two men's voices, one languid and slurred, the other clipped and forceful.
"We'll get some beer and a bottle. Ask the man if he knows of any motels down the road ... and if the sonofabitch seems at all suspicious, you know what to do...."
Jill's blood froze! Three ... dear God, three men! Trapped in the back of a truck in the middle of no where with three men! It seemed like a theme from a B rated movie!
"Good girl ... keep it down," hushed a voice next to her, his closeness filling her nostrils with the scent of stale beer and man weat. When the truck started up again, he removed his hand and said in an amiable tone: "You must be hungry ... how 'bout a ham sandwich?"
A ham sandwich? Her response came out a half-laugh, half-cry of hysteria, and she tremblingly held the sheet up to cover her nearly naked body, wadding it up in one tortured fist, despite the shadeless black within. "Don't ... don't touch me...!" Her body was a powerhouse of electricity, the feel of arm brushing against her naked flesh and his hot breathe bathing her neck sending sparks along her goosebumped spine.
"We'll be stoppin' for the night and I'm gonna have to leave you alone back here."
Jill's jaw fell slack. "A ... alone? Oh, no please!" She grasped onto his arm pleadingly. "Let me out, please?"
In answer, he lifted up a bag and plunked it down in her lap, the two of them sitting rubbing shoulders on the sofa, like an old married couple watching television on a Tuesday night. "Here's a ham sandwich and there's a coupla beers over there."
What did he expect from her-gratitude? "I swear I won't call the cops ... just let me out of here! I hate staying alone ... please let me go!"
"What kind of dumb ass do you take me for?" What kind of a kook was she, begging him to keep her company-him, her kidnapper, her rapist? He looked at her askance, feeling his gonads rumble hungrily.
Suddenly the cab door slammed open, then shut and Pete jumped to his feet, thrust the lightless flashlight into her trembling hands and opening the sliding door, jumped out. Charlie's gaunt-cheeked smile of contempt caught him off guard.
"You playin' house back there?"
"Hey, man, don't get hot ... I was just cleanin' things up."
Charlie stomped off toward Room 389, dangling the key from a finger. "I'll bet, you sonofabitch ... I'll just bet."
* * *
Bob Carlson was ambivalent about going up in the police helicopter to scourge the skies in search of Jose Perez's vegetable delivery truck, now painted black and housing half of his household goods. He stood there at the police airstrip, a gulp of guilt-ridden, hate-filled flesh, gnashing his teeth and pumping his white-knuckled fists. He wondered idly f, what kind of low-life scum of the earth would snatch Jill from her own home, after stealing them blind, and take her away in the back of a truck.
Had they raped her? Humiliated her? Tortured her? Jesus, he'd kill the bastards! For the second time that day his overactive mind envisioned Jill with her succulent lips wrapped around a strange man's cock, and for a moment he feared he might wretch his guts out. No ... Jill would never submit to such degradation. She would die before letting another man touch her! They could rip her fingernails to the quick-her toenails, too-and Jill would refuse to open her mouth for his filthy maledom ... just as she had refused him.
An emotion Bob Carlson had never felt shuddered through his body, and he braced himself against the helicopter blade's holocaust, feeling the rain whip through him, soaking him to the bone. Because his wife had refused him certain intimacies, she had created a chism between them, a void Jill cunningly filled with his guilt. He loved her, of course, but in that infinitesimal moment, he hated her, too, for denying him carnal pleasure which as her husband, he bore patent to. Now she was kidnapped because he wasn't home to protect her ... again he was the culprit.
"Ready, Mr. Carlson?" Lieutenant Samuels nodded toward the helicopter.
* * *
In a dumpy nine-dollar-a-night motel, Speedy sat munching candy bars and staring into space. Across the room sat Charlie glumly pouring over maps and chain-smoking cigarettes, a half-empty pint of Jack Daniels at his elbow. The room was funerally void of conversation.
Speedy broke into a chuckle, a little dribble of chocolate oozing down the corner of his mouth. He pulled down the wrapper and sunk his teeth into a Milky Way, talking around the mouthful. "You know what I'm gonna do with this bread? I'm goin' back to Honolulu to see this chick I used to know in high school ... now that I got me some bucks the bitch'll be nicer. Could sure use a classy piece of tail...."
"Knock it off," guffed Charlie. "We ain't seen the money yet." no
"One more day, man ... one more day and then we call it quits, huh?" The islander's dark eyes danced from one accomplice to the other, neither of whom felt like talking.
At length, Pete slammed down his Penthouse magazine and took a hefty swig from his bottle, then resumed flipping through pages of naked women until he came to the centerfold spread. "Hey, man, you talk about tail ... get an eyeful of this pussy!" He held it up for Speedy to squint at.
The islander grunted, scratched his crotch and took a big bite of candy. "Maybe I won' wait till I gets to Hawaii ... maybe I'll buy me a woman in Tucson ... one of them nymphos that loves the taste of cock ... yeah...."
"Shuddup, man, you're gettin' me horny." Pete stared hungrily at a voluptuously naked bob-curled blonde winking shamelessly back at him from the glossy centerfold. It struck him as incongruous that he sit licking his lips over a photograph when the real flesh and blood woman sporting the hottest body this side of purgatory was no more than a hundred yards away.
He glanced over at the bovine islander sitting chewing his cud, then at Charlie, wordlessly engrossed in maps. A farewell fuck, he grinned to himself. After the others had passed out from exhaustion and drink, he would sneak out to the truck, slam his prick into that sweet pussy, tie her up with a rag stuffed in her mouth and leave her in the ditch a quarter of a mile down the road. Somebody would find her before the vultures did ... he didn't want to, but there was no other way.
CHAPTER NINE
Bob Carlson turned ashen green when the helicopter slashed through the rain storm, its skeletal frame shuddering grotesquely. Before him sat Lieutenant Samuels, conversing heatedly with the pilot. Snatches of their conversation enlightened Bob as to the Lieutenant's hot-to-sniff enthusiasm over plunking the auto thief, Speedy, and his renegades behind bars, and he shuddered to think that his wife's abduction was just one more feather in Samuels' cap. The position of Chief of Police was vacating soon, and if Samuels could crack the North Dallas burglaries ring ... hail the new chief!
That kind of back door politicking disgusted Bob who stared shakenly down through the haze of abating winds and rain to the slender ribbon of a highway where an occasional red smear announced a lonely trafficker. Jill ... down there kidnapped. It wasn't possible. Oh, Jesus, it had to be a mistake! For the hundredth time, he thought of Janie and a sickening sensation made him dizzy with self-loathing.
The radio crackled and the Lieutenant grabbed for it. "Over...."
"Black van sighted heading west of Clovis toward Melrose. Reported having no license plates ... no citation given."
Lieutenant Samuels soured. "Contact the New Mexico Highway Patrol for lookout ... and tell the bastards to quit playin' hide and seek and bust their asses." He hung up the mouthpiece. "Incompetent sonsofbitches."
Weakness set in like laziness on a hot August afternoon. Jill crumpled to the sofa, her eyes two swollen slits from crying and pounding on the steel door that only echoed mockingly in her ears. The insides of her mouth were scathed and cracked from the dehydration of drugs and riding day and night through a scorching desert with nothing to quench her thirst. Desperately, she brandished her flashlight until its light reflected the beer cans' faint yellow glimmer. With a thankful whimper, she popped one open. Her delicate features scrunched up at the taste of the tepid beer swashing down her throat, but she gulped down the rest, little trickles of brew dribbling down her dimpled chin to dampen her gossamer nightie.
"AHHHHH ... to swallow again!" The alcohol's sweetly numbing effect relaxed her fear-exhausted body, but did nothing to quiet her tortured mind.
Now is when she needed those sleeping pills to help her cope. But no, even those little angels of mercy had betrayed her. Everything had betrayed her ... Bob included. She must cope, face reality. She couldn't live in those bad memories surrounding her grandfather's death forever.
Bob ... he would be home by now, finding his home torn apart with no furniture, no wife! The tears gushed in self-pity. He must never discover that she had been raped in the mouth ... or he would kill her for having fallen to such disgusting depths.
Oh, this was all her own fault! Spite was a tool of the devil, all right ... in wanting to hurt Bob she had hurt herself. She should have called the police the second that phony repairman left. But retrospect was useless as a plug nickle.
Her eyes were still blurry from the sleeping pills and her ears buzzed as if enshrouded in a horde of mosquitoes ... and she slept.
* * *
The night was hard and dark with the moon rising late and high in a navy blue sky. Occasionally a coyote howled to the moon while the desert predators lurked the cooling sands.
Inside the Big Sleep Motel, the whirr of the air conditioner and Speedy's walrus-sized snores cut the silence. Pete lay awake, feeling the dizzying effects of a half bottle of Jack Daniels while a slow steady ache built in his gonads. He lifted his wrist and checked the time. Good ... one fourty-five. He slid out of the sagging bed, grabbed his bottle by the neck, shoved his .38 in his belt, and stalked off for the bathroom, keeping a wary eye on Charlie who, like the desert night creatures, slept with one eye open.
Noiselessly, he closed the bathroom door, pulled the lightcord and used the toilet, then pushed open the bathroom window. A layer of stucco chipped away as he slid through, head first to land on top of a discarded rusty bedspring. The gravel crunched under his feet as he stole around the motel to the truck. Lifting the safety bar, he pushed it open a crack and jumped in.
The truck had cooled considerably to a comfortable degree. His penlight cast a dime-sized beam that traced its way to the sofa. In a grunting lunge, he threw himself down on the sofa, pinning her arms to her sides.
Jills' scream died as fast as it erupted.
"Shuddup, bitch! You got me in enough trouble already."
Shit, he didn't want to threaten her, but circumstances left him no choice.
Oh, God, he's going to kill me for sure! Her mind rebelled and her body stiffened as she felt his hands touch her quivering body. The thought of having this sweaty dirty man lying on top of her small, nearly naked body crushing and ravaging her as he heaped obscene perversions on her made her struggle harder in his arms. But he held her without effort, lowering his head to hers and locking his mouth to her lips. Jill gasped, twisting her head, trying to spit, holding her breath as she felt the rising hardness of his penis pressing through his pants against her own unexplainably heated genitals. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, fighting against him, trying to bite his lips and claw out his eyes ... but the soft pressure of this thumb and forefinger flicking teasingly against her nipple brought a traitorous moan of pleasure from her, and the slow grinding of his penis against the flatness of her belly was eroding her steely resistance.
Jill Carlson couldn't let this happen to her! Mustering up strength, she twisted her head to the side and flung it around, spitting in his face. Pete Parker didn't take that effront kindly.
"Little bitch! You need some alcohol to cool you down!" Pinning her down with his body, he fumbled around unscrewing the bottle of Jack Daniels which he wedged in between her lips and upended. Jill sputtered and coughed, trying to spit the burning alcohol out of her mouth, but most of it found its way down her throat. "Cunt ... that oughta loosen you up!"
It did. Jill felt as though her insides were frozen and a warm numbing feeling encompassed her, taking the gusto out of her kick and scratch.
"God, you're built, baby," Pete grunted. "This is one fuck I'm gonna enjoy." Reaching down between them, he pulled his gun loose from his belt and clunked it down on the floor. Quickly the hand shot back between them and Jill's body jerked stiffly as she felt hot sweaty fingers in searing contact with the softness of her naked thigh. An electrifying shock rippled along her legs as the fingers slipped slowly up underneath the shimmer of red to dip into the sensitive slit of her cunt and gently thrust into it, parting the honey pubic curls and making a sudden delicious contact with the tiny throbbing bud of her clitoris. Jill clenched her teeth, holding back a groan of lewdly rising pleasure.
There was more movement to the side of them, and suddenly the floodlight flashlight snapped on, temporarily blinding her.
"Too goddamned dark in here. I gotta see what I'm fucking...."
Immediately his tongue probed back into her whiskey soaked mouth and she jerked, half in fight, half in passion, the hopelessness of her situation adding to the excitement.
Charlie had never trusted Pete Parker. The man was too cunning, too selfish and too easily distracted. Now, as Charlie swung his legs over the edge of the squeaky bed, Speedy woke with a start.
"Hey ... we in Hawaii?"
"Stupid ass ... we're in New Mexico. Get dressed." He stooped over, picked up Speedy's clothes and tossed them at him. "Get your gun ... Parker split."
The night was chilly in the desert, and Speedy hunkered up against the biting air as the two men stalked out to the truck. The slivered streak of light emanating from the air vents and the muffled female cries told Charlie everything he wanted to know.
"I warned the sonofabitch," he muttered, as with drawn gun he jumped into the truck and pointed his .38 square between Pete's fearfully arched eyebrows.
"Oh shit...." Pete squinted against the flashlight's blinding beam and fumbled around on the floor for his .38, but as he reached for it, Charlie's foot clamped it to the floor.
The thin man glowered down at Pete who lay still, his body pinning the whimpering blonde to the sofa, stifled sobs bubbling from her throat. "You've done it this time, asshole," snorted Charlie, gnashing his teeth. "I warned you I wasn't gonna take no kidnap wrap just so's you could knock off a hunk a pussy!"
The cold silence was cut by a sudden intrusion.
The truck listed complainingly as Speedy stepped into it. Like a bull in a china shop he knocked over lamps and banged into tables trying to fight his way to the center of the action. When he stepped into the circle of light he sucked in his breath and snickered obscenely, a ripple of his brown belly peeking out between popped buttons. "Jesus Christ, Charlie, will you look at that?" The islander stared dumbfoundedly into Jill's saucered blue eyes. "Ain' she a doll?" He licked his livery lips.
"Yeah ... and this little doll is gonna die in a second."
Jill wilted and closed her eyes, waiting for the gun's blast. Good-bye Bob ... I'm sorry ... Oh God, I'm sorry....
"You ain't gonna kill 'er before we fuck her?" Speedy was incredulous. "If I'm goin' to jail for kidnappin', I wanna get me some pussy first!"
Charlie looked at Speedy, then at Pete, down at Jill and back at Speedy. For once this two-ton numbskull was making sense.
"We fuck her and then we dump her. And as for you, asshole...." Charlie brandished the gun before Pete's eyes, then laid it to rest on the tip of his nose. " ... better make this a good fuck 'cause it's your last."
Pete gulped.
They fell upon her, tons of sweaty man flesh, and Jill clawed at the figures grappling above her. Then someone held her wrists, tugging her arms forcibly upward, stretching them high over her head. The grappling stopped and she opened her eyes and stared up at them in abject terror as she realized what they were doing.
"Oh, God, don't kill me ... do anything to me, but don't kill me!"
Charlie looked down at her and snickered; he held her hands as Speedy bound them with fat, trembling hands. The other man, Pete, was standing beside the sofa, staring down helplessly at her, half torn between making an escape and ravishing his victim's lush young body. Jill looked to him to help. They were both prisoners, couldn't he see that? "Help me...." whimpered Jill up into his dark eyes. "Help me!" She kicked futilely into the air with her still free legs, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her reddened cheeks as she gazed up and saw her arms being tugged upward harder, now securely bound, the nylon rope wound tightly around a lamp on the right and a hook attached to the truck's wall on the left. She didn't want to die! She gave a last desperate tug, straining the tendons in her whole naked and defenseless body, then sank down into the sofa with a deep moan.
Unexpectedly, then, a strange feeling of security came over her, incongruous as it was: a security in total helplessness. But she still felt compelled to fight it.
"Please ... I won't say anything ... just ... let me go...."
Speedy's chuckle gurgled in his flabby throat. "I think the lady needs a drink." Snickering, he picked up the nearly empty Jack Daniels bottle and poured the contents down her throat. Rivulets trickled from the corners of her mouth to run down her cleavage and dampen her see-through nightie. Her hardened nipples spiked through as if trying to rip the skimpy garment to shreds.
Jill closed her eyes, coughing from the whiskey, and when she opened them it was to see three naked men standing about her, gawking down at her nearly naked body. Feebly, she raised her head and stared down at her creamy fleshed body. The nightie had ridden up above her pubic mound, exposing the honey curls there. She caught Speedy gaping at her vagina and licking his lips.
"No ... oh god, no!" She read his intention before he responded to his own lecherous instincts. In a thundering thump, he fell on his knees and, wedging her slender thighs apart with pudgy hands, he buried his face in her pussy and sucked on the pungent female juices. Jill was electrified with revulsion! She kicked and arched her back, trying to force the parasitic mouth away from her genitals, but the force of her struggle only widened his playground. Ripples of blubbery brown fat glistened in the light as sucking, grunting sounds filled the truck. Speedy went about his feast with a whetted appetite, dribbles of his own saliva and Jill's cuntal juices trickling down his double chin.
Oh, it was ugly, disgusting, horrible ... listening to this distasteful man slaving away at her genitals as if he were a peasant sucking marrow from a bone. Jill thought she might faint from the perversity of it. "Oh ... oh ... oh!" He was nibbling at her clitoris now, taking the rosebud between his teeth and pressing down gently ... ever so gently.
A lightning-like shock flashed through her body. Jill arched her back, gasping. Her vagina felt like it would explode! Pleasure so unbearable it turned to pain shot through her womb and Jill gnashed her teeth, while down there she felt her vagina spurt out its sticky orgasm ... right into Speedy's mouth. He hummed to himself and lapped up the pungent milk. Above on the sofa, Jill's arms and legs went numb and she collapsed, gasping.
"Looks like Speedy chose his hole," chuckled Pete.
Jill's eyes jerked suddenly to the other two men who stood glaring down at her stretched and vulnerably naked curves, the seconds ticked off like a giant mammalian heartbeat. She wondered if she would ever be the same Jill Carlson after that disgusting display of carnality. Yet ... there was no reason to restrain herself anymore. To resist would only cause more pain.
From the very lewdness of considering a willing submission, a churning hunger began deep in her loins, spreading outward, consuming her entire being. If she were going to die, she might as well know the pleasures of the flesh to the fullest.
Forgive me, Bob ... Then she remembered: Hadn't he done the same? Only nobody was holding a gun to his head, nobody had tied him down when he willingly submitted to that little snip in New York in his hotel room! An anger welled in Jill, anger from deception on every turn. It was obvious now that these other two men-the sperm whale and the bean pole-knew nothing of her kidnap, and you didn't have to be one of Charlie's Angels to figure out that a kidnap rap heaped on top of theft was serious business indeed.
The thought that in a moment these two other men would use and ravish her nakedly bodily openings, in whatever manner they fancied, sent a chill of terror and masochistic delight down her spine-for never had she seen such a lurid contrast of bodily builds.
The fat dark one with a great roll of blubber around his belly and stretch marks streaking his buttocks ... beside him Pete, young and leanly muscular, deeply tanned, attractive even ... except for his genitalia. The horror and revulsion of its earlier exposure was nothing compared to what she felt now. It was slightly bowed like a flat Polynesian canoe and already throbbing erectly, the head peeking from the foreskin like a hideous phantom's face lurking. And the beanpole with the reddish-purple penis that glistened and dripped. All those penises would fill up every hole in her body. The revulsion on her face was impossible to hide.
Pete looked at Charlie who looked at Speedy.
"Who wants what?" bellowed Charlie. "Speedy already ate her out ... that leaves her mouth for me." Unceremoniously he stepped to the sofa, reaching down to seize her head with one hand, his other behind his lasciviously formed cock downward to aim it at her mouth. He inched forward, squirming his hips and pulling her head even closer to his sweaty smelling groin, swiping his cock over her lips and cheeks, smearing its wetness over her face and pressing it once against her closed eyes, and finally shoving it into her mouth. "Kiss it!" he commanded.
Jill whimpered, pouting her lips and kissing the pungent tasting head, her nostrils flaring from the masculine scent of it.
"Lick it with your tongue."
She sucked in her breath, flicking her tongue and circling the head of his cock, teasing the foreskin so the enormously hardened head twitched against her lips.
"Open wider!" Charlie tugged harder on the back of her head, pulling her face mercilessly deeper into his loins. Jill complied with a whimper, stretching her lips and gasping for breath as she felt the slippery naked head of his cock worm between her teeth down her tongue, deeper, almost gagging her.
"Jesus...." sputtered Speedy. "I ain' never been in a gang fuck before." His belly rippled with laughter.
Then her body shuddered as Pete climbed onto the sofa, making it sag beneath his weight, and nestled his body up between her widespread legs. He beamed up at her: "You and me is gettin' to be bosom buddies, ain't we Jill?"
For a moment she even quit sucking Charlie's cock as she felt Pete's hands on her smoothly cringing flesh. An indescribably electrifying shock shot through the frayed nerve ends of her body like a thousand sharp needles. Laughing red devils danced wickedly along the inner softness of her thighs. Her buttocks ground desperately down into the sofa to quench a sudden searing flame licking at her nakedness. What was happening to her?
"Keep sucking, bitch!" snarled Charlie, pulling at the back of her head and hair until she thought he would pull it out by the roots.
As Jill gurgled and resumed the crazed sucking, Pete played on the lower half of her body, placing his thumbs on the curls of her pussy and pulling them slowly apart. Jill groaned around the monstrous shaft in her mouth as the exquisite feeling of air rushed up the rising bud of her clitoris. It rippled up her quivering belly and out into the nipples of her throbbing breasts, drowning out the fear and humiliation of being gang raped. Her breathing was labored, marked by the rise and fall of her voluptuous breasts.
"Go ahead and fuck her!" cheered Speedy from the sidelines, stroking at his fat cock and staring with glinting eyes down at Jill's squirming body.
Jill's hips undulated furiously as Pete stroked her clitoris, sending more shocking electric tingles through her passion-wracked body. She thrashed and sucked harder, tearing futilely at her bindings. The cock ramming mercilessly in and out of her mouth matched tempo with the finger stroking her budding clitoris, teasing her torturously. Every fiber of her being cried out for something that no cock in her mouth or mere finger toying with the shallow reaches of her cunt could mollify. She mourned for Pete to ram his cock (the cock that had raped her mouth) into her cunt. Pain would be better than nothing. She yearned for the pain too ... anything that could stretch her, fill her, deep inside her.
"Come on fuck her!" Speedy was nearly beside himself. "Come on, let me fuck her if you's just gonna play with her!"
Pete's dour expression silenced the islander.
In a sudden movement she twisted her head sideways, blinking against the blinding light and using the slight slack Charlie had let slip into his brutal grasp on her hair, and the slippery cock popped free of her mouth. Bill groaned angrily, jerking at her hair, thrusting harder forward so that his saliva soaked cockhead prodded at her cheek, slapping her face and smearing sticky wetness over her eyes and nose. He yanked at her hair and she gave out a soft scream, and determinedly twisted her head until she could see Pete's frenziedly finger fucking of her exposed clitoris. Unexplainably, he stopped.
Sadistically, Pete tormented her, frustrating her to the limit; he wanted her hot and panting for it, ready to beg when he finally thrust his cock into her. Jill sobbed again, her body thrashing the painful loss of his teasing finger. A rare communication between the two men sparked and Pete nodded at Charlie to release his hold on her hair, giving her enough slack that she could drop her head back to the sofa and ease the strain on her aching neck muscles. Jill slapped her thighs together, then in a futile and humiliating gesture, she lifted one leg and crooked her knee, straining as she tried to reach back and rub her hotly swollen clitoris with her own foot. It wouldn't reach, so with a cry of frustration she dropped her leg. Her wrists ached from tugging with her arms and she wished to God they would fuck her and have done with it!
"I think she's ready to fuck now," announced Pete blandly.
"Oh, God, fuck me...." wailed Jill.
Charlie looked at Pete. "Hear that? The little lady's beggin' for it!"
Pete started to lower himself toward her as she heaved out her breasts and thrust her hotly twitching cunt lips up in hope. The Jack Daniels, the helplessness of her plight and a burning masochism turned Jill Carlson into a seething mass of begging-to-be-fucked flesh.
CHAPTER TEN
By nightfall the New Mexico skies over Clovis were cluttered with blinking lights and strangely erratic flying objects that swooped over the desert highways. The unflappable Lieutenant Samuels sat smug, radio in hand. He had managed a coup d'etat in the Dallas Police Department, having gained authority to take helicopters beyond state borders, a heretofore, unspeakable request.
The radio crackled and died in endless succession ... false leads, mirages, tired eyes.
"Sir, there's no way in hell we'll find a black van on a night like this. It's humanly impossible!" complained the pilot, streaking over the small town of Clovis where small crowds were gathering, pointing at the skies in fear of this unexplainable invasion.
"Shaddup," snapped Lieutenant Samuels, a suspicious grin growing on his lips. "This case is damned important to me! We can and we will!"
Behind him, Bob Carlson chewed on his knuckles feeling impotent and frail compared to the officer's blood and guts determination. When ... and if ... they found Jill, could he face her?
* * *
Inside the truck there was a moment of rearranging, moving cushions, and Jill sobbed as she felt the pillow yanked from beneath her and gasped as she felt Pete's hand slip beneath the cheeks of her buttocks. She cried out with fear and pain and pleasure as his cock brushed teasingly against the tender swollen skin of her inner thigh, then rammed forward against her vagina. At the same time a shadow passed over her face as the other man settled his loins down over her, his cock thrusting at her lips, driving brutally down her throat until his pubic hair brushed her lips and his balls slapped against her chin. She gurgled, hating herself for giving in willingly to her kidnappers ... but that fat walrus had opened her passions until she was mad with the obscene desire to be satisfied! Jill shuddered, giving out a muffled cry as she felt hands stretching her cuntal lips and the hardness of a cock head popping up between them, stretching her with an excruciating ... deliciously welcome ... pain.
"Been waitin' a long time for this," grunted Pete, ramming viciously into her wet, elastic walls, stretching her until she thought she would burst inside. Bob was a gentle lover, but this man was purely masterful ... forcefully unrelenting. Why had Bob refused to love her this selfishly that last night together ... oh, he'd made love to her like a fifteen-year-old virgin ... and she had needed it hard and battering ... like this! Her legs thrashed out, her cuntal muscles grasping him desperately and pulling him even deeper into her.
"Look at that cunt go!" she heard Speedy gurgle on the sidelines as he pumped at his bloated cock, glaring down at her through slitted eyes.
Now both men were fucking her like there was no tomorrow, the skinny man's long lean cock crashing down into her face, ramming slickly down her throat, pulling back out until it almost left her swollen aching lips, then fucking back into her with vicious force. The lower half of her body was being ravaged just as wildly. Jill could hear the hoarse wheezing of the kidnapper's lungs, felt his building thrusts, his muscular frame crashing against her pelvic bone, smashing, grinding. His huge unbending cock probed deeper, pushing back the flaming walls of her cunt so wide she thought she could feel an exquisite ripping sensation, deeper, harder and faster with each intensified stroke.
In her mouth Charlie's cock began to flex and throb, seeming to grow larger with each twirl of her tongue. At the same time Jill felt the fluttering begin in her womb as she slipped up to the brink of orgasm. Charlie groaned above her as his lust bloated penis rammed in and out of her throat, choking her, suffocating her while her cunt endured equal fury. His lust-bloated penis swelled in her cunt and jerked spasmodically. Delirious, Jill sucked with wild abandon, her own hips squirming in frenzy as she sensed the three of them moving toward orgasm.
"Goddamn cunt bitch," muttered Pete between her legs. "She's got fingers and tongues in that cunt!"
Charlie snickered sardonically. "You ... oughtta be ... fucking her mouth." Slapping down on her harder, his cock twitched wildly against her palate as the first sticky spurts of his hot semen welled up in his testicles.
Oh, God, she didn't want them to come yet ... but she couldn't stop them! To have them stop spelled d-e-a-t-h! As bitter tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, she felt the first hotly spurting stream of cock juice spill into her mouth. A split second later, she felt the hot stream flood her vagina. And still she hadn't climaxed!
As she suffered and groaned in frustration between them, deliberately holding back her own climax, Pete rammed his gushing cock into her with a brutal force that banged her head against the sofa's arm and tugged at her ropes until the lamp holding the rope crashed to the floor. Crazily, she sucked on Charlie's spurting cock, its great sticky droplets squirting deep into her throat, her body racked cruelly with great gut-wrenching spasms of frustration.
Jill had intended it as a clever ploy, to stall time, but when she threw back her head and screamed, "Oh God, Oh God, I need it! I need it!" she wasn't kidding. In stalling her climax and buying time, she had succeeded in driving herself into a maddened frenzy that would surely kill her if Charlie's bullet didn't!
* * *
"By Jesus, I think we got the fuckers!" whooped Lieutenant Samuels, slamming down the microphone and picking up his field glasses to zero in on a black shadow that was no bigger than a cigarette ash below them.
Behind him, Bob Carlson stiffened and craned his neck, squinting through the hard blackness below. Dumbfoundedly he stared, contemplating, disbelieving, nervous. Was that ... could that ... be ... Jill's kidnappers? He felt as if he were watching an animated movie, himself one of the cartoon characters, Jill the distressed blonde in a polka dot dress being tied to a railroad tie. Laugh or cry ... he didn't know which response to give in to. Finally a whimpering wail that might have belonged to a puppy bubbled from his lips, but it quickly died there. Now he had to face her ... he the adulterous husband.
* * *
Speedy wiped the spittle from his chin with the back of his hand and snickered. "Jesus, yous guys, who taught you to fuck? Lemme give her an island fuck!" The fat man gazed at the nakedly quivering young woman, who lay bound, twitching and sobbing, her red see-through nightie a dark red shadow wadded up around her waist, her nipples standing up underneath like two rosebuds ready to burst into bloom.
Jill looked up at the whale-sized hulk ready to smash down upon her. His flushed, jowled face leered at her from between her widespread thighs as he lowered himself to take Pete's place. The look of pure animal lust momentarily froze her quivering body to stillness. She lay immobile as a cornered mouse before a stalking cat, stoically waiting to be devoured by it.
Speedy's double chin slapped against his chest. "You gotta do it like this, guys!"
"Oh ... ohhh...!"
With a grunt, he levered her legs up off the sofa in an arc far back over her head, pressing the polished toes high into the air until the sinews in her inner thighs stood out like telephone cords. Had she been more nimble she could have untied the ropes with her toes, so doubled over was she. Her tortured body was bent back double, the pain of her strained muscles almost unbearable. The glistening flat plain of her crotch was presented like a bound pagan maiden in sacrifice to a cruel god. And he poised over her in a sweating push-up position, his pudgy hands holding her ankles back to where her bound wrists were pinned, his thickly bloated cock aiming straight for the hairy target of her burning, upturned cunt.
"Fuck, fuck her good!" spat Charlie from behind.
Jill shuddered-how shameless to offer herself up to her tormentors, begging them to ravage her! Still, nothing could change the course of events; threats or no threats, she had to have somebody's (even this brown-bodied blubber belly) blood-heavy penis ramming into her vagina before she lost her mind! It didn't matter that they would put a bullet in her brain and leave her in a ditch after they had had their fun. Jill Carlson was a victim of her kidnappers' whims and her own traitorous body.
Speedy licked his thick lips. "Ready?" His eyes were sadistically glinted with lust.
"Y-yes," she sobbed her utter defeat as the fires of desire that licked through her loins were fanned by her helplessness and the humorously obscene position in which he held her. Her heavy-lidded eyes closed with a deep hiss as Speedy's heavy body dropped down on her twisting form like a sack of cement, smashing her full tight breasts flat to her chest. His thick, lust-bloated pole plunged into her hungry waiting cunt, pushing the soft unresisting folds of cuntal flesh in tiny rippling waves back and apart before its cruelly burrowing head.
Jill cried aloud at the sudden and brutal impalement, winfcing from the thickness of his manhood ... but her resistance was temporary. The greedy moist walls of her vagina clasped around that fleshy pole, slithering up wetly to devour its length, until his balls smacked hard down into the sperm drenched crevice of her buttocks. She groaned in relief at the filling of her wide stretched passage as he heaved and grunted above her, thrusting into her vagina. Her head rolled wildly, her blonde curls whipping his face, her mouth opened in ecstasy. She'd been so darned close for so long and now she couldn't hold back that elusive orgasm much longer. Even if it meant that time was up for her, she had to cum ... soon!
"Oh, God!" she. cried. "Oh, God, I can't stand it. Fuck meeee! Oh God, fuck me!"
She pleaded in long shrill shrieks, her hands tugging at her bonds, her thighs clenching tightly about his churning, fat buttocks to pull him even deeper into her widespread crotch. Her cum juice flowed wetly out and around his still driving penis, flowing down to her buttocks and flooding his own hairy testicles as they rubbed rhythmically against her tight puckered anus.
"Give it to me!" she screamed. "Shoot me full, you stupid idiot!"
Speedy, who'd taken enough ribbing from his buddies gnashed his teeth, grunted and with all two hundred and twenty-two pounds of battering flesh, drew back and rammed his blood-fed cock so far up into her vagina it banged against the cervix and doubled over at the end. He had her doubled over painfully now, fucking straight down into her until bright flashes of light blinded her eyes as the waves of orgasm flooded over her with mind-numbing intensity. Twisting and writhing and grunting with her shattering climax, the juices poured like flood waters down the quivering cheeks of her still grinding buttocks.
Above her the islander's hulk hovered darkly and she could feel the hot waves of cum shooting deep up into her dilating womb, mixing with Pete's still warm juices. Her head whirled in depraved sensuality as the hot squirts squirted wildly ... warm, sticky and wet. The hot moist walls of her pussy milked his cock. Jill's lithe body was drained of everything, her thighs collapsing loosely as Speedy released his steely grip on her legs and sagged, panting on top of her. Jill lay sobbing and gasping for breath, while Speedy's river of sweat dribbled down from his brown skin to salt her forehead and cheeks.
Feebly, Jill lifted her head, gazing with blurred eyes at the two men staring wide-eyed. The tall thin one was already reaching for his pants, his lustful expression erased and replaced by his typical sour look. Beside him, Pete stalled for time, hesitating to dress, uncertain of his own fate. A moment of fearful apprehension ensued and then she dropped her head back to the sofa while Speedy lifted his bulk from her body, letting her breathe more easily.
Was this the end? Were they satisfied after their brutal rape, their perverted thoughts turning to the quickest and simplest means of disposing of the star witness-the sole witness-to their crimes? Jill Carlson wanted to live! She had to incite them to ravish her one more time ... at least! The paltry chances of being rescued were depressing at best, but she had nothing to loose and only pleasure to gain.
"Oh, God!" she feigned another moan and twisted her body and arched her back, thrusting her glistening cuntal lips up at the men who stood transfixed, fingers fumbling with buttons, eyes glazing with renewed lust. "Fuck me ... fuck me before I die! I need a man ... I need a man!" Her voice was a kittenish whimper of unadulterated lust.
"Jesus...." Charlie swallowed dryly, his gauntly hollowed cheeks deeply shadowed in slack jawed awe. His fingers fell away from his shirt buttons, his dour expression softening to a glint-eyed lust. "The bitch is still screamin' for cock." Without taking his eyes off her sweat glistening body shimmering through the matted red gauze of her nightie, he lowered his bony knees onto the sofa and after giving his blood engorged penis a few healthy pumps, he shoved it into her wetly sucking cunt.
"Holy shit! The bitch's beggin' for more!" In an instant Pete was stationed at her head, his slowly growing cock probing at her tender lips while the islander, grunting flabbily, wiped his genitals with the shirt tail and waddled next to Pete. His pudgy hand wrapped around her delicate one, guiding it to his penis and with a few teaching strokes, he set her to work pumping and massaging his tawny genitals to spearhead erection.
It was a broken record of a woman screaming in orgasmic frenzy, the phonograph needle stuck on the scream that played over and over again ... buying minutes of life with inches of flesh.
* * *
Bob Carlson thought he might lose that last cup of coffee when the helicopter whirled in vertiginous circles, then descended to the ground in one dizzying movement where it made rendevouz with a New Mexico squad car parked alongside the deserted highway.
Lieutenant Samuels stared long and hard at Bob, his hand reaching down to fondle reverently his pistol strapped to his hip. The sky was turning pink, casting an eerie theatrical light over the low land where the lonely coyote's howl cut the silence. "We've got two squad cars heading toward a little motel toward Melrose. We're goin' in to get them now...."
"And Jill...?" Bob paled watching, waiting for a glimmer of hope, reassurance that Jill would come out alive.
"We can't make no promises. If we gotta shoot 'em out we can't make no promises." The lieutenant spit out the corner of his mouth and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Bob's breathing became rapid, his pulse thumping. He refused to stand there and let this illiterate power-hungry policeman drag him along on this godforsaken mission only to say in the end that his wife would be sacrificed for the sake of three damned burglars. Where was the justice in that? Was this the kind of irresponsible, reckless system he was pouring his tax dollars into?
Bob glared back, his knuckles turning white from pumping his fists. "You mean to tell me my wife's holed up with a bunch of ex-cons and you intend to go in shooting?" His eyeballs were red with rage.
"That's right," Lieutenant Samuels pursed his lips, his oversized hands resting on his hips in the classic defiant stance. "We've got enough evidence against these bastards to hang 'em."
"What about tear gas?" Bob threw up his hands in frustration. "What about plea bargaining ... what about saving my wife?" he blasted, venting his anger and crippling frustration that had wilted his potency all evening long. "Isn't that what we're here for?"
"We're here, Mr. Carlson," snorted the Lieutenant, "to bust these sonofabitches asses ... not babysit your wife!" He spun on his heel, but Bob grabbed him by the sleeve, halting him in mid-step. The Lieutenant's motives were too goddamned obvious!
"You go into that motel and start shooting with my wife in there, Lieutenant Samuels," glowered Bob, "and I swear to God I'll call every newspaper in this state, and every television station and they'll tear that fuckin' badge off your stinkin' shirt and shove it up your ass!"
That one silent glance said it all, and condescendingly, the Lieutenant conceded to let Bob Carlson come along.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In its most advanced stages fear wipes itself out and a lightheaded euphoria settles in, separating the doer from the task. That's precisely what happened to Bob Carlson when he separated himself from the stalking squadron of police officers who with drawn guns and gas cannisters, encircled the crumbling stucco walls of The Big Sleep Motel from the back.
It was one man against a crazed, career-hungry police officer now, and Bob Carlson had no reason to believe the Lieutenant would risk saving Jill for the sake of his bloody career. The Dallas Police Department's reputation for killing suspects on the run was nothing short of startling, if not sickening, and now his wife Jill was about to become one more statistic, one more gold star toward somebody's salary raise.
In the pink dawn light Bob skimmed close to the ground, his Gucci shoes scuffing on the crunching gravel, his loosened tie flapping in the wind. His tired eyes watered from whirlpools of dust whipping up in the parking lot where a black truck was parked. The howling bark of the motel owner's guard dog pierced the quiet.
This had to be the truck that had taken his Jill. Hunching over, he darted toward the truck, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead, mouth dry, heart thumping hard, echoing in his ears. Bob licked his parched lips, waddling now to stay well below the motel windows. In case the Lieutenant started blasting away at the motel, he had to find something to hide behind.
Another ten yards and he had reached the front wheels of the truck, skimming along to the back now, his white shirted back plastered against the dusty sides. Unnannounced, a lone gunshot sliced the morning stillness. Bob winced, and darted towards the back of the truck.
Ahhhhhh ... ohhh ... aaaajeeeiii ... nnnggghhhh...." Bob shook his head to clear his senses. Was his imagination tricking him? Ears keened, his eyes fell on the sliding door, opened the full width of a man. Dear Jesus, was Jill tied up in there with rags stuffed in her mouth ... the dirty bastards!
With superhuman strength, he hurled himself up into the truck and grabbed a goose-necked desk lamp for a weapon. He was panting, his heart pounding furiously, and then he saw them. Bob reeled, almost turning and fleeing in revulsion at the scene that greeted him in the dark, musty depths of the truck where the smell of sex stung his nostrils. If the sight of her wasn't enough to make him wretch, the words spilling out of her cock-filled mouth was:
"Oh ... mmmfff ... fffuck meeeee ... umm ... haarrder ... mfff!" Jill was naked, save for the wadded up shimmer of a nightie that did nothing to hide the swollen mounds of her creamy breasts, and if it hadn't been the man humping over her body, Bob could have seen the red swollen petals of her pussy, glistening with excitement.
She was bound by her arms to render her body totally helpless before them, and in the shallow light of dawn he could see the red welts swelling about her delicate white wrists. Her hair was matted with sweat and slimy half-dried streaks of male sperm. The fact would have stimulated him to immediate violence if it were not for one complication: She liked it! That was made painfully clear by the look of depraved ecstasy on her face and by the stream of filthy utterances streaming from her mouth. Jill, his bubbly, blue-eyed life mate, was completely dishevelled. Her body was glistening wetly with the thin beads of sweat that covered it.
Nobody heard his entry, not the gaunt looking ghost of a figure whose blood-swollen cock was probing between Jill's hungry lips nor the whalish man whose stubby cock was clenched tightly in his wife's ivory fist, pumping it, squeezing it. Bob gagged for a moment, staring wild eyed in the shadows, his eyes raking over the jumble of mouths and cocks and arms and legs until he saw a third ... oh dear God, a third man ... fucking into Jill's battered cunt. He watched in abject horror as his wife arched her back and slung her slender legs up around the man's neck, slamming her pelvis up against him to get all of it.
Bob reeled, his mouth getting suspiciously hot and moist as he fought down a wave of nausea. His cheeks burned hotly and sweat poured from his body. In one swift teeth-gnashing, eye-popping gesture he threw the goosenecked lamp against the truck's wall and threw back his head and screamed.
In that split second all activity stopped. Wild crash followed wild crash as the three burglars dived for safety, pulling their cocks free from Jill Carlson's nibbling orifices, leaving her body vulnerable to her husband's inspection. Shiny patches on her inner thighs and the bared half moons of her buttocks, again on her breasts and even her cheeks and lips, could indicate only one thing; great flowing streams of exploded male cum! Her breasts were taut and swollen, the nipple dark and rigid, and spread about them on her inner thighs were love bites. Her eyes were dazed and watery and the stream of obscenities that poured from her mouth was something he'd never dreamed he'd hear from any female, let alone his Jill:
"Come on, somebody crawl up between my legs and suck me ... oh, fuck me, please ... oh God, fuck me!" Jill was frantic with lust and she arched her back, slamming her pelvis up to an imaginary mouth. '"Come and fuck me like a man, you bastards ... please!"
Bob's upper lips curled in disgust and with his right hand hooked in his shirt collar, he yanked once, ripping it to the waist. His pants came next, then the shoes. He stared square in the face four years of accumulated guilt which had culminated in this night of horrors. He had foolishly blamed himself for Jill's kidnapping, had even sworn to do away with himself if anything happened to her. All that self-loathing and dirty guilt for nothing! I'll make you cum."
Oh, who was saying that? Jill glanced about frenziedly. Why did they all leave her?
Behind a rocking chair, Charlie assayed the situation with cool cunning. Whoever this idiot, this raging bull was, he wasn't armed and he wasn't after them. Sure as hell, though, he had a line up of friends out there, and dollar to a donut they were wearing black shirts with shiny stars hanging on their pockets. His eyes raked over the truck's floor, littered with underwear and other strewn clothing. A metallic glint caught his eye. With bated breath, he watched the strange man ripping off his clothes while he raged against the naked well-fucked woman who lay wincing, shivering with fright. When Bob's back was turned, Charlie made a lunge for it, but Bob was too quick. His heel gnashed down on Charlie's spread fingers, grinding the bony digits against the gun's barrel. "Uggghh...." His knee came up under Charlie's chin in a tooth loosening jolt, sending him careening backwards to crumble against a glass etagere that wobbled and crashed down on top of him.
"Get out of here!" screamed Bob, knowing the other two were hiding somewhere in the suffocating confines of the truck. "Get the fuck out of here and leave me alone with my wife!"
One by one the three of them hunkered to the floor, grabbing their clothes and dashing for the door. Charlie wiped the blood from his forehead and snatched up his clothes, his eyes flinted with anger. Bob's eyes locked on Charlie's criminal ones and slowly, the distressed husband bent down and picked up the gun.
"I said get the fuck out."
Charlie didn't need to be told twice.
They left Bob staring down at his wife's sperm and sweat drenched body. Jill looked up at him, the picture of misery; yet even as he stood there watching her with his hard, contemptuous disgust, her body still squivered as if still in the twitched of her last orgasm.
"Youre a disgusting sight." He tossed the gun aside.
"They ... they kidnapped me ... oh Bob, oh Bob, don't ever leave me alone again," whimpered Jill. "They ... they tied me up and ... and made me do it."
It was difficult for Bob to believe that this woman was his wife ... his sweet wife who baked him birthday cakes. Now sketches of memories of their love making seemed to flutter at him like bats out of dark caves. It had been a long chain of "no, Bobbie's,"
"no, don't kiss me there's." Now she was going to surrender to him for the first time in his life and he could do with her as he pleased. And cruel and perverse as the idea seemed to him, taking advantage of her because she was tied up made his loins churn with a strangely cruel stirring.
He moved back along the sofa, trailing his middle finger across the glistening, cum slippery split of her pussy, then shoving deep down between her thighs and teasing the tiny, puckered little hole of her anus. Then he shoved it in ruthlessly, defying the tight elastic resistance and popping it into the first knuckle into the clasping hole.
"Aaaggggghhh!" she screamed, twisting her body and shoving her hips upward in retreat from the pain. "Bob ... oh, Bob, stop this!"
"What about that? Did they fuck you in the ass too? Or didn't you beg loud enough?"
"Noooo! Bob ... oh God, Bob ... if you have to ... make love to me ... down there ... in my cunt."
He wiggled the finger so her body contorted violently again. "I said, 'Did they fuck you in the ass too?'"
"NO! No one did!" she cried louder, cringing against her husband's righteously accusing glare.
With a slight sucking pop that made her gasp deeply, Bob withdrew the finger. "You want to cum ... I'll make you cum."
Jill shuddered silently for a moment, staring at him in complete awe. She'd become a stranger to herself during this hellish, insane night, and Bob, too, gentle, loving Bob seemed to have metamorphosized into a cold, methodical demon. Couldn't he understand that she was only trying to stay alive? Lord, couldn't he see?
Bob reached down and tweaked one of her nipples, then pinched it so hard she jumped against her bonds. The craving in his gonads grew heavy with perversity. Jill gave out a little cry, her eyes wide with the terror that he may have lost his mind finding her like this.
Then his hand trailed lightly up her bosom to her neck, at last to her mouth. He flicked at a little rivulet of glistening male sperm trickling down the side of her cheek, noting there was more in her hair.
"Bob ... oh God, Bob ... I'll do the same for you! Please ... I'll take your cock in my mouth, but just don't look at me like that!" She gazed at him desperately as more tears spilled from her swollen eyes. "No, Bob," she pleaded softly. Her anus still seared from his probing finger.
Bob didn't answer, and she knew argument was futile. She let her body sink back limply, the fight gone from it, as Bob stepped out of his jockey shorts. Suddenly she felt his hands tugging with the ropes that held her wrists and she opened her eyes, staring at his lean and muscular nakedness, recalling that night he'd left ... his birthday, was it ... when she'd begged him to stay and make love to her like a man. What had been sweet and loving was now tainted with animal lust. With a last tug he undid the rope and the strain on her arms was released. Jill drew them quickly down to her bosom, shifting them about to ease the ache in her shoulders. Finally she was free!
"Roll over and kneel up with your ass in the air!" bellowed Bob, feeling the needless guilt and remorse empty from his mind.
Jill gasped, opening her eyes and shaking her head desperately. He stared at her for a moment, then reached down with both arms and slipped them under her light naked body, lifting her and letting her bounce on the sofa on her belly. She felt him crawling on top of her, his weight pressing down heavily on her back, his hands shoving her thighs ruthlessly apart and spreading the moisture from her cunt up into the crevice between her satiny buttock cheeks tickling her clenched anus to bring a soft mewl of fear to her lips.
But she didn't fight back. She sobbed in protest as she felt his thumbs pulling the two vainly resisting cheeks apart, then shuddered at the touch of the rubbery bluntness that fitted itself between his thumbs.
"Ohhhhh ... N-No ... Bob! Please, you can't mean this!" she cried in a soul shattering screech as she felt the tight resisting nether ring give way before the tip of his heavily throbbing cock popping up inside with a quick, painful jerk.
"Ohhhh ... nngggghhhh!" she screamed, then groaned in submission, her blue eyes watering in torment as she felt his cock slither up into her, pushing apart the rubbery walls until she was certain it couldn't go any further. Again he shoved forward, and her body contorted demonically as she felt the long shaft bury itself deep inside the soft buttery depths of her stretched anus.
Bob waited, deliberately giving her anus a moment to adjust to this unnatural intrusion, before he levered himself up and with a rumbling grunt, fucked back into her with a soft, smooth stroke that pulled tiny ridges of her pinkly clasping rectal flesh out with the base of his prick as it withdrew for another buttock flattening assault. Jill's body jerked and quivered and her thighs convulsed as his thrusts grew harder and more searing in her rectum. His sadistic grunts and groans didn't seem to belong to the gentle fellow of Bob Carlson.
At last the pain was so unbearable she thought she might black right out ... until, unexpectedly, she seemed to rise above the pain. The same searing feeling was there, but it became sweetly bearable, and in a spontaneous reflex, she began to move backward to meet the thrusts, undulating her hips from side to side, increasing the friction and building the sensation to the bittersweet rhythm of pleasure-pain.
Still out of his mind with jealousy and rage, Bob gazed down at the sweating back beneath him. He remembered the innocent snow white virgin he'd married and tried to rationalize her with this writhing sex-bomb beneath him. They weren't even the same spirits any more. His hand slipped down beneath her body, gently cupping her breasts, letting his strokes slacken to an almost gentle probing. As his hands ran over the familiar curves of her body, his anger quelled a bit, and with a sickening feeling he realized that he was raping his own wife. God, forbid, he'd done s me pretty despicable things, but this was truly crossing the Rubicon. He stopped thrusting into her, while his exploring hands kneaded at her breasts. Jill had suffered enough pain ... it would take a demented monster to add to it ... no matter what.
Feeling the unexpected display of tenderness, Jill groaned softly and screwed her hips back even harder. Why had he stopped? Her anal muscles clasped tightly around the passion-hardened shaft. Something was happening to her as Bob's hands massaged her breasts and his soft pubic hair ground deliciously against the opened crevice of her buttocks, teasing the button of her anus.
Her face rolled from side to side in biting frustration. No matter how she ground her buttocks back at him, no matter how she swung her hips, he wouldn't resume his buttocks flattening lunges that drove her wild with lust. "Oh, God, darling, fuck me!" she gasped suddenly, astonished by her own voice. "I love it! Come on ... fuck meeee!"
Dear Jesus, she likes it! She's screaming for it! How could fail to accommodate the lady? Bob threw back his head and started pounding into his wife, grinding his blood heavy cock into her tender rectum in long smooth strokes. His hand moved down from her breasts along the sensitive flesh of her belly to find the hard wet bud of her clitoris and began to massage it rapidly as he quickened the strokes into her asshole, racking her body, yet balancing the pain with a rapidly growing pleasure that again became one with it.
"Oh, cum in me back there, honey! Cum in me!" A shudder ran through her and she buckled her hips up wildly, crying insanely as she felt the stirring in her clitoris spread out to mee the burning sensations in her anus, then consume her whole body in racking waves of ecstasy. Above her, Bob groaned, trying to slacken off, but it was not to be. It started in his testicles ... that heavy, churning sensation, and shot through his groin to traverse the ten inches of blood engorged male flesh. In seconds, his hot, lust heated semen gushed hose-like deep into her openly clinging rectum, flooding far up into her belly.
It happened for Jill at the same time, leaving her a sobbing, senseless whelp beneath him. Her own orgasm flooded down between her legs, soaking Bob's massaging fingers in sticky webs of milk. Jill's body felt like worn out rubber, soft and pliable, all fight gone out of it. Words seemed inadequate. How could she even begin to explain the past twenty four hours?
Bob, too, was tongue-tied. A few minutes later, his penis deflating, he withdrew it with a slow, sucking sound from her anal passage and rolled over on his back.
In the nebulous twilight zone that follows fatigue and precedes sleep, Bob lay numbly next to his wife, huddled up on their living room sofa, now sopped with sweat and puddles of cum. That could be replaced, and the smashed etegere and lamps. Thank God for insurance! But his marriage? That would require a careful audit to balance the credits and debits.
The morning sun filtered in through the air vents, sending dusty rays of light to stripe Jill's naked body. Her bouncy honey curls were bedspring tight now, her cheeks spotted crimson. The matted up fabric of her red nightie ripped to shreds, impoverished her of all modesty. She looked like a pornographic Raggedy Ann dumped on a child's bed.
A rumble of activity and the coarse language of criminals coming face to face with fate eluded their ears ... until the truck came alive with Lieutenant Samuels ebulliency and the horde of New Mexico highway patrolmen that followed him.
A snicker curled the Lieutenant's upper lip. "Well, I'll be damned," he guffawed hoarsely, hooking his thumbs in his gun holster and pushing back the brim of his hat. "Good work, Carlson! We got the sonofabitches in the squad car...." His voice trailed off into a hoarse whisper as his sleep weary eyes fell on Jill's naked bumps and curves. The Lieutenant let loose with a low wolf whistle. "You want me to get the press now, Carlson?" He turned on his heel, his bellowing laughter dying in Bob's ears.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Carlson ... you've been doing a damned fine job, damned fine job." Loren twirled the Havana cigar plugged between his beefy lips and leaned back in his leather chair. "I've been thinking, son ... things been okay with you and the little woman since those damned fools stole off with her?"
Bob shrugged his shoulders, reluctant to discuss his married life with Loren whose solution for the age-old male-female incompatibility dilemma was a stiff drink and a pretty lady. "Okay, I guess." Truth was, the sex was hot, but again Bob's absence was bringing a holocaust of emotion on his head and outrageous doctor bills.
Loren pressed his pudgy fingertips together. "We've been needing another buyer for the women's wear department. Christ, that old Agnes is still buying mini-skirts. We need somebody with vim and vigor ... somebody who knows what's going on in the fashion world." He cut an hour glass figure in the air and winked at Bob. "You get what I'm saying?"
Bob smiled crookedly. If he's trying to set me up with a female buyer ... oh Jesus, Jill will never go for that!
"I was thinking about Jill...." Loren's eyebrows arched and Bob perked up. "It's going to be a busy season ... Paris, London, Rome ... not to mention LA and New York. Think the little woman'd be interested?"
Bob was elated. He stood up, beaming. "Let me shake your hand, Loren. You're a man who understands women!"
