INTRODUCTION
ABDUCTED ON VACATION is the story of four people-two couples-who leave the raucous night life of Los Angeles for a quiet, mellowing vacation on a beach in Big Sur.
Carla and Paul, Mae and Chet.
The first is a sophisticated beauty, engaged to the second, a Hollywood talent agent whose hard-driving energy and lofty ambitions with work and women often get him into trouble with the first. Third is leggy Mae, a blonde with a body that won't quit. Once, not long ago, she was Paul's lover. Occupation: Model for nude sex magazines. Hobby: Sex ... and her own style of game playing. Fourth is Chet, an independently wealthy man, deeply in love with Mae, but frustration over her recurrent amours drives him to find solace in the bottle.
The foursome weave a web of self-inflicted impossible jealousies, spitefulness and vengefulness that can only lead to disaster.
The disaster comes in the form of two war veterans, who, deformed and maimed by a hand grenade tossed by Viet Cong women posing as prostitutes, leaves them bitter outcasts of society.
Together the six create a story of intrigue, violence and bleeding emotions that will entertain anyone with a thirst for the macabre, and a taste for lust in its darkest forms.
PROLOGUE
Ocean fog moved sinuously as it hugged the jagged mountain tops and smothered the Pacific coastline in a protective blanket. The scene was placid and serene with the crash of rising tide splattering white caps against the rock boulders, brining the air with saltiness and a damp chill that cut through to the bone.
A female camper lay snugly in the goosedown flaps of her sleeping bag, fresh from Los Angeles, a devotee of the idea that the ocean is a healing place. There exists, too, the element of adventure within her. Alone she has come to face the elements and to forget-a broken relationship. Here at the ocean she can think, ponder on the meaning of it. Sleeping now, dreams flitter through the subconscious. In the pine grove skirting the sandy beach, rested her backpack, a pair of hiking boots neatly ready for the morning.
A twig snapped behind her. Footsteps sinking silently into the humus earth. She sleeps on, undisturbed. Somewhere in the night a knife is drawn from its sheath. Footsteps, frenzied and rushed ... down on all fours, creeping from tree to tree like a guerilla warrior waiting in ambush for its prey.
A scream rents the air ... a knife jabbed into the soft flesh of a female neck. Terrified eyes open to stare into the scarred features. Another scream of horror and fear. Fighting, kicking, screaming, tearing loose of the four hands pinning her to the ground. Tom from the warm cocoon of her sleeping bag, heels dragging over the tide-wetted sands for the rock outcropping where waves splash in chilling fingers washing far up on shore. The panting, adrenalin-powered body is dumped in the sand near a cave. More screams, muffled by a briny hand clamped over fear-quivering lips, while more hands, hungry, murderous hands tear at her clothing, ripping modesty from her shivering body. Knife to the throat while men step out of their clothes.
Short man, sniveling with lustful rage, drops to his knees, pinning his victim to the sand. Nakedly, he straddles her breasts, quivering and goosebumped. He kneads them in his hands, flesh oozing between his fingers. He mauls the nipples, bites them between his teeth. Chews them until she nearly faints in agony.
Then she sees it ... the ugly stump dangling between his legs.
"Noooo!"
A hand whacks across her cheeks, stunning her. Her nostrils flare with the musky, unwashed scent of him. She feels the rubbery tube drub at her lips, rubbing over her soft lips with a disgust that fills her with dread stronger than death. Rearing up on his haunches he forces it between her teeth. She spits, sputters, refuses to let him have his way with her.
Angered, outraged, he jabs his dirty finger in her mouth, trying to pry open her lips. Strong jaws clamp shut, biting his finger. Another whack across the cheek. Legs kick and thrash. Second man holds her ankles in his steely grip, while rapist and the raped struggle for dominance.
Clamping shut her teeth, she refused to accommodate him. Fingers pinch her nostrils until she is forced to open her mouth for air. It slips in, that musky tasting tube of flesh, violating her mouth.
"Noooo-!"
No one hears her cries in the deserted, damp cave. The threat of death hovers over her, the dark shadow. Stronger is the fear of defilement.
Nausea chokes her, and in a final struggle, she bites hard on the stubby flap of flesh.
"AAAAEEEE ... " Softens in the foggy air as the knife plunges into her chest, slicing through her breasts. The mouth opens in a dying moan of agony and death. The rubbery tube slips from between her lips.
Somewhere in the Pacific ocean a bleeding, naked female body floats with the flotsam, to beach somewhere between the rocks.
CHAPTER ONE
Deep brown eyes, wide set and feathered by spidery lashes, squinted through rose-tinted sunglasses perched on a high cheek-boned face. Carla tucked auburn waist-length hair behind her shell-like ear, and shivered. "Look! There's our turn-off. It's got to lead to the beach!" Her voice strained above the heated growl of Paul's MG convertible.
The California five o'clock sun hung like a fireball on the western slope of a jagged Big Sur mountain framing the backdrop of Pieffer Park. If they wanted to find a camping spot on the beach, decisions must be fast in the making.
That came easily to Paul, a self-starting music promoter from Venice, California. The MG fairly spun on its rear wheels in a tight left-hand turn following the hand signal of his fianc'e's red polished fingertip. Out of the corner of his eye, an ever-alert blue one caught the braless jiggle of Carla's breasts hugged tight in a red and white striped jersey that hugged her milky mounds caressingly ... as his hands were aching to!
Slowing long enough to shift from second to first gear, he glowered at a "No Trespassing" sign hung by a two-penny nail to a dusty pine tree at the fork of the road dividing public property from private. Such signs offered little deterrence to city campers who'd come for a noiseless night under the stars and an open vista unto the vast Pacific, rugged and mean as a Sumo wrestler here in untamed Big Sur.
Dust billowed like dragon breath as Paul played the steering wheel like a child driving bumper cars over the eroded pot holes leading from Highway One to a veritable cow trail winding hopefully toward the beach. Paul squinted over the car hood, suddenly aware of a lack of tire tracks. "Doesn't look like anybody's been on this road for a while! Maybe we're in luck!"
Overhead wisps of fog charged off the ocean, dissipating in the mid-August air, leaving the distant mountains to glow orange in the last few hours of sunlight. The air became tangibly moist ... balmy, like the chilled lining of a damp rain coat.
Two miles westward, judged by the meter, the rugged road opened onto the gray Pacific. Through low hanging tree boughs, they could see choppy, high-tide waters washing up on the yellow-lighted beach in warm streaks of summer sun. Four eyes scoured the shoreline for campers. Nothing moved on the beach save for entangled seaweed and kelp, washing up on the beach like a woman's hair. The solemnity was eerie, too definitive to be comfortable for those accustomed to the raucous Los Angeles night life that ages men like Paul well beyond his years-if he's not careful.
Carla shivered and swung around to rummage under the backpacks and camping gear for a heavy knit sweater. She shot Paul a quick, disconcerting glance as he braked thirty yards from the beach and clung to the leather-covered steering wheel, searching the beach mesmerically with the unspoken sensation that despite its purity, this was no virgin beach. Now why would I think that?
"What's the matter?" Carla caught a flicker of in-decisiveness behind his amber-colored sunglasses.
"Nothing ... I was just wondering why Chet didn't beat us here." He made small talk, pushing aside the disquieting premonitions.
"I could tell you why!" She cast her fiance a knowing look. He shrugged acknowledgingly. "You don't think we'll get in trouble for camping here, do you?"
"Naw. But I wish I knew who owned this property." Paul hung his sun-glasses on the mirror where they dangled, shooting prisms of light in the leather-interior convertible.
"I'm freezing!" Carla shivered, anxious to peel out of her shorts and into warmer and more modest attire. "Let's get settled before they get here." She rolled her eyes heavenward, a gesture which Paul chose to neglect.
Paul hopped over the car door and took off for the windswept forest of storm-bent pine offering a windbreak from the roaring ocean. He searched for a dry patch of even ground to set up camp for the weekend. No one heard the whine of his zipper as, with back to the car, he urinated into the marshy spring-fed ground trickling toward the Pacific. His eyes roamed over the pine-needled ground, surprisingly clear of litter which mars most California beaches. Maybe the owner was one of those fanatics, he surmised, his mind ticking away at breakneck speed reluctant to shed city pressures for the slower pace of nature's subtleties. Poor old bastard probably comes out here every night with a plastic bag to clean up the beach.
"Hey, Paul!" Carla cupped her delicate hands to her mouth. "Come here!" Through the low-hanging boughs Paul caught the slender figure of his fianc'e gesturing wildly. He yanked up his zipper and dug the heels of his lizard cowboy boots into the damp sand, reminding himself to change into his old tennies before he ruined his city stompers.
Ocean breezes tossed Carla's auburn hair about her shoulders wildly, curtaining her lovely aristocratic face. She pointed to a leaning pine tree supporting a back pack with attached sleeping bag. Beside it sat a Coleman cooler. "Looks like we have company, sure you want to stay here?"
Paul scoured the beach with his eyes. With intent deliberation, he reached down ran his fingers over the backpack. "It's damp, almost molded, like it's been here awhile."
"Don't be silly! Who would run off and leave their backpack and God knows how much a cooler like that costs. Sixty dollars maybe!" She watched concern furrow his brow and, noting this, he hastily lightened his attitude.
"You're right. I don't mind sharing the beach if you don't." He swung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest and kissed her forehead. "I wish we would be alone all weekend, you and me." He breathed deeply, pulling balmy air into his city-polluted lungs. "God, it feels great being off Hollywood and Vine!" Holding her at arms length, he tucked an obdurate strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes fastening on the gold earring sprinkled with sunlight. "It wasn't my idea that Mae and Chet come along." He jerked his head and shrugged his shoulders innocently. "You know what happens when you have a couple drinks and start making plans you can't back out of."
Carla turned her face from him. He waited for the shy smile of acceptance that he had grown to love. None came. Clearly, she was troubled ... about more than sharing the beach with unseen strangers!"
"Hey, what's the matter?" he questioned, knowing very well the cause of her discontent. "You're not- having it, are you?" Paul sighed with self-pity. Nothing worse than going camping with a woman at that time of the month. Carla could get awfully out of sorts ... downright bitchy and he needed her vibrance and acceptance this weekend, with his outrageously sexy ex-girl friend strutting her bikini-clad body on the beach.
And Mae would do just that with biting deliberation. He needed Carla to be competitive this weekend, strut her stuff too, instead of withering in the shadows. He didn't want Mae to beat Carla at her own game and, unless Carla opened her myopic eyes, that was inevitable.
Carla pulled loose of his clutch. "No that's not the problem ... " And emotionless expression was plastered painfully on her face.
"It's Mae, isn't it? You hate the idea of spending the weekend with Chet and Mae, don't you?" More than a suggestion, it was an accusation and Paul was smart enough to realize that. He tried to camouflage the caustic sting in his voice, but it was too late.
Narcissistically, Carla studied a chip in her red nail polish blemishing her thumb. "It seems a little weird, don't you agree?" Now she lifted her chiseled features, aristocratic and arrogant enough to be snobbishly alluring, a characteristic which had caught Paul's eye that night in the club. "Mae being an old client or yours, not to mention near-wife!" Her normally sweet voice was sour with borderline bitterness. "Not to mention the fact that she's treated me like dirt since you dumped her and started dating me!"
This again ... Paul raked fingers through his dark curly hair and turned a disgruntled profile to his fianc'e, choosing instead the white-capped waves crashing over boulders as his point of reference. His teeth ground together, rippling the strong line of his square jaw.
Feminine jealousy, dangerous and predatory as a mountain lion. Black vibrations, ill meaning and dangerously well targeted. This was going to be one unjoyous weekend, if she kept this up. Christ, he'd rather be sitting at his littered desk with a telephone receiver cradled on each shoulder, fingers punching at his calculator, struggling to make a buck ... than step between two feisty human cats.
He spun around, the cowboy heels of his lizard boots digging into the damp sand. "That was last year, honey ... this is now. N-O-W." He spelled it out for her, shaking her gently by the shoulders. "Come on ..." he grabbed her cold hand, squeezing it in his warm one. "Let's set up camp ... some place off by ourselves. I want you all to myself, understand?"
They unloaded the back seat and, parking the car safely under a grove of trees to avoid chipping the paint in case of blowing sand, Paul returned with a wine bottle tucked under his arm. He settled good-naturedly on the space blanket covered with zipped together sleeping bags splayed open and opened the bottle.
"Sorry I don't have a crystal goblet for my sweet," he apologized. "If you don't mind sharing germs ..." He handed her the bottle in a gesture as polite as Paul himself.
That toothy, well meaning grin on his handsome, tanned face, so self-assured and well meaning cut through the ice, tearing a warm smile of familiarity from Carla. The wind whispered through her hair tumbling about the bulky white Shetland wool sweater gave her a childish grace that no sour mood could curdle.
The anxiety of coming face to face with the woman who had been in her place the year before faded in the deepening orange sunlight as the sun hung precariously on the horizon. The lingering dread of spending a weekend struggling to keep pace with Mae's high-strung energy and near nymphomaniac cravings, thickened in her veins. Mae and Carla had been acquaintances; indeed, the blonde-haired striving movie star and entertainer had introduced the two at a Hollywood party.
I'm being a child, Carla rebuked herself moodily as she lifted her lips to the bottle of California burgundy and upended it thirstily. I can't let myself fall into a bad mood because Chet 's only going to let her win! And with a prize like Paul Baxford, it was a race worth running!
Still her heart beat a bit faster at her mind's eye image of Mae-her waist-length blonde shimmering hair and snappy blue eyes. And a body that wouldn't quit! She'd carefully fashioned herself after the 'Charlie's Angels' look. Leggy, slender hipped, generously buxom ... that was Mae and she wouldn't let you stop looking at her. Now for a weekend of feigned smiles and phony endearments. Not that she harbored any ill feelings against Chet. Oh, he was innocent enough. He had his hands full, keeping up with Mae. And to be realistic about it, Paul didn't have to pursue the idea of them going camping for a weekend. Lord knows, he'd used the excuse of having to work seven days a shot before.
Not that Paul and Chet were close friends, either; though Paul had Voiced a concern for the ne'er-do-well acquaintance who turned to alcohol to the extreme of late. The 'of late' being the start of his relationship with the illustrious would-be movie star.
Or was Paul's enthusiasm based on a deeper, more selfish concern-like cleansing his soul of the blonde-haired extrovert? wondered Carla, feeling the suspicions prick at her insides. Coincidental with the time Carla had met Paul, was Mae's sudden attraction for Chet, with his inherited Malibu Beach-front property and motorcycles and vans. A man who need not work has plenty of time for a woman, and Carla guessed that might be the case. Oh, this was a silly game of Hollywood Squares! she thought with bitter amusement. All the ifs and what thens were mind-boggling.
"Wonder what happened to them?" she quipped, catching his noncommittal expression out of the corner of her wary eye as she handed him the wine bottle.
"Like you say, they probably stopped in Big Sur for a quick one. I hear Chefs been hitting the bottle pretty heavy lately. It's his new drug."
"And yours?" she quipped.
"Need you ask?" Resting the wine bottle in a pine-needle bed, he playfully grabbed Carla's Levi pant leg and tugged her in his direction until she tumbled on the goosedown bed into his lap. "You ask too many questions ... get your tight little buns over here!"
"Oh, you ..." tutted Carla, knowing what was coming next. One thing about Paul: he was predictable when it came to sex. Once he got that glimmer in his blue eyes, that was it. Only one thing could extinguish it.
His masculine arms were around her, warming her from the ocean breezes growing more nippy with growing darkness. Flapping the sleeping bag over them, he kicked off his cowboy boots, set them protectively against the backpack, and, beside her in a kneeling position, he peeled down the tight, faded Levi's clinging to his muscular frame. In a second, back to the ocean, he was naked from the waist down. "You're gorgeous, you know that ..." he murmured, slowly lowering his hands to feet off her heavy wool sweater.
"I'm freezing!" she complained, feeling her nipples harden from the soft-fingered touch she'd learned to associate with love. With them it was love, passionate love ... not senseless lust that propelled women like Mae to carouse in singles bars and discos, finding new toys for a night's pleasure. He worked at the zipper of her Levi's then, stripping them down to her knees and lifting each foot in turn to unlace her tennis shoes until her wool socks and skimpy T-shirt were her only protection against the cold.
She shivered ... that old jealousy again. "I don't want you to compare me to her," she let burst unchecked. "You know what I mean? I couldn't stand to have you-"
"Come on, let's not start on that, Carla! I love you, you know that!" He eased her down in the sleeping bag, while the low-hanging pine boughs dipped' like green fingers overhead and the ocean's breezes sang a passionate song for them. His warm hands roamed over her firm breasts, tweaking her nipples under the skimpy protection of her T-shirt.
He had never stopped marveling at her beauty, high cheeked, almost arrogant in a touch-me-not sort of way. Shy, too, in the way she submitted to him, as though she was a virgin every time, as if he was the only man on God's green earth who could arouse her to where passion overwhelmed reluctance. And he was the only man! Of that he could bet a million dollars. He looked down at her now, smiling, while his hands kneaded the soft, tempting nakedness of her breasts.
A gush of emotion warmed Carla. Oh, she needed him to want her ... needed his love as a reassurance that she was the only woman for him. Not Mae, not any of the slender, bosomy models and would-be-actresses who clung to his arm the second he let the word 'talent agent' spill from his lips. Oh, how some of those cheap women would fall over him ... promising him any carnal pleasure for the promise of listening to a pro-tape. How cheap some women made love!
"Paul ... love me ... love me!" she pleaded, desperately. Insecurity stoked need. To feel him deep inside of her would integrate mind and body ... and with anticipation of Mae's sashaying bikini-clad body for the next forty-eight hours, Lord only knew she needed it!
Paul's eyes lowered to the curls of auburn fleece peeking out around the tight legband of her black bikini panties. His cock leaped for joy, blood fed and pointing skyward. He arched his groin, moving his hardened shaft up and down over the bowl of her soft belly, dipping into the jewel of her navel teasingly. He was on his knees, she sitting up. He groaned, feeling the heat of sexual fire raging like an inferno inside his lust-bloated penis and sperm-heavy balls.
Leaning back, his cock sprang up, leaping toward her breasts. For a moment, with the wind brushing his hair, he shut his eyes and let remembrance of Mae's tantalizing lips play in his passion-filled brain. God, how that woman had loved to suck cock! She had a technique that would make Xaviera Hollander seem like Pollyanna! He groaned from deep in his chest and slid up on the sleeping bag, angling his mushroom-tipped cock so that his brushed against Carla's dimpled chin.
His hand snaked along the down of the sleeping bag while his mind clung tightly, possessively to the lusty images of Mae's blood-red Marilyn Monroe lips ovalled around the head of his cock. Jesus, he had to admit, he hadn't had a gonad-crunching experience to match Mae's fervent suckings for a long while. Too long. God, help me, but I'm going to try ...
"Kiss me ... honey, kiss me there!" His hardened prick was a dribble away from her ruby lips. She need only to bend her head a few degrees and her mouth would be closed over the throbbing tip of his sensitive cock-head.
Carla shuddered, and not from the cold. "No ... no ... not that, honey! You know I don't like ... oh, please, let's not fight about that now!" She turned her face to the side, her features contorted in a worried look of revulsion as if to kiss him, to suck his penis in the velvety moistness of her mouth, was a foul, bitter thing to do. "Please ... just put it inside me," she whispered pleadingly. She moved forward, her arms encircling his head and pulling him downwards, full length along the warming pad of the sleeping bag. "I know you want me to ... but after we're married ... then I'll learn to."
Learn to? his mind raged. She should want to ... to please him, if not herself.
As always, the female won the war of do-nots and as always the urgent and gut-wrenching desire to feel his lover's delicate, soft, warm mouth close around his prick died like the fading sun. The image of her mewling and crooning as he spurted his white-hot sperm into her delicate throat vanished like fog on a summer's day. This was the one flaw in their otherwise-perfect relationship.
He held her tight, feeling her warm body undulate against his body, her softness grinding into his hardness as she rubbed her belly against his pelvis until her refusal was accepted and disappointment momentarily buried.
"Oh, honey ..." she read the grief on his face, the tight-lipped expression of doubt, a doubt of his fianc'e's sensuality. She had to eradicate that! "Don't be mad a me, honey. I need you inside of me so bad. You and me and the ocean," she whispered seductively, tearing his mind from his unholy desire.
"Yes ..." he heard himself acquiesce, shouting above his disbelieving libido, too many times quelled by need to keep the relationship moving on a smooth track. He drew her close to him, moved one hand down to cup the smooth curves of her buttocks tightly clad in black panties.
Carla glued her sweet-tasting, wine-scented mouth to his, darting her pink tongue in and out and along his even, white teeth, and then brazenly moved her hand down to grasp his throbbing penis in her hot fist. The sudden contact made him shiver, and he pressed his lips harder against hers to show his appreciation. The full length of her satiny, wind-chilled body ground and pushed, and then she spread her legs and thighs wide and hooking her thumbs in the elastic of her bikini panties, peeled them down. The moisture of her desire was evident. Paul's eyes descended to the pouting pussy mound where the crotch band of her skimpy bikinis was glued to the swollen, ragged lips of her cunt. A tiny wet spot attested to her passion. His penis beat like a separate heart.
Worming out of her panties, the cool ocean breezes played over the hot lips of her womb, wafting the auburn curls, long and silken like prairie wind over ripened wheat. "Give it to me, Paul!"
What man wouldn't? He lunged, his hips thrusting heavily as he drove into her like a pearl diver into aqua waters. He felt her fevered, pulsating cunt greedily clasp and milk him. She wanted all of him today, and Paul was ready to give it! Whatever it was that sparked this sudden wantonness, he wasn't questioning it; deep in his consciousness, the idea percolated that maybe it had something to do with Mae. He couldn't understand this insecurity over Mae, and didn't try now, not with her pussy pushed forward until the head of his cock was pressed hard against her spongy cervix, her motions squeezing into a muscle-spasming tempo.
Carla held him tight, feeling the muscles ripple in his back as she slid her legs around his back and pulled him tight to her, locking her slender ankles around him possessively. Paul grunted, and fucked into his fianc'e with maniacal fury. Oh, God ... he gnashed his teeth. He wasn't going to last long at this pace! Sometimes they would make love for hours, but not today. The ocean's vast energy must have something to do with it, he mused.
"Oh, Paul! Paul! You feel so good inside of me!" His voracious girl friend whimpered, kissing his neck and shoulders. "Yes ... that feels so good!" She babbled mindlessly ... which told Paul she was ready to cum. That was her sure-fire signal to let her have it!
And let her have it he did! His balls smacked against her buttocks punishingly, keeping rhythm with the ocean's roar as wave after high-tide wave slapped against the boulders. Her knees drew up as she raised herself higher off the sleeping bag until her buttocks were waving in the air and her moistly opened cunt bucked wildly back against his ramming penis.
"Ohhhh ... ohhh gooood dddd ddddl," she moaned out as if being strangled. "I'm ... I ... I'm going to-" With a deep-throated groan, Carla erupted beneath her lover's hard-pounding prick.
Paul threw back his head as if someone were holding a knife to his throat and groaned into the wind, the whispering pines absorbing his lusty cries. His cum churned through his swollen testicles and up his penile shaft, bursting through the unseeing eye to flood her hungrily milking cunt. Spurt after scalding spurt shot through that hole and into hers until at last he collapsed, a sigh of contentment mingling with her mewlings of satiation.
Sanity returned, and Paul edged his body off his girl friend and rolled over. Panting with contentment, she lay on her back, staring up at the striated feathery clouds in the sky that looked pregnant and tropical from the orange splash of the setting sun. God, if only she and Paul had the weekend alone ...
Her head popped upward. Amidst a billow of dust, a burgundy van with desert scenes painted on the sides zoomed toward the beach, the tape deck screaming out a Rolling Stones tune.
They scrambled for their clothes. Carla yanked up her Levi's just as the inebriated twosome hopped out of their van.
"Here we go ..." moaned Carla to the wind. "Forty-eight hours of her!"
CHAPTER TWO
The ocean roared like blood singing in a jealous lover's ears. A safe distance between the crisp pine-needled forest floor and the frothing tide, a fire crackled under a hard, moonlight sky. Flickering tongues of fire lapped at dried branches, spitting sappily. Four figures sat on the makeshift bench of driftwood. The coals glowed red around the aluminum-foil-wrapped hamburgers. It was to be a simple meal.
"This is fan-tas-tic!" gushed Mae, the firelight playing goldenly over the shimmering ponytail hanging sensually over one shoulder, the end curl strategically dipping about the puffiness of her right nipple immodestly poking through the thin T-shirt she wore. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously from face to face, resting on Paul's tanned features. "Don't you think so, Paul? It was so kind of you to invite us along ..." Her voice dripped like honey, felt like imaginary fingers playing over the softness of Paul's testicles.
Stop thinking like that! he rebuked himself silently, taking a swig from the communal wine bottle and wiping a burgundy dribble from his cleft chin. Around the phallic glass he eyed her staring at him with her baby blue pleading eyes. Jesus, Mae could talk with her eyes ... she didn't need a mouth. Well, except for sucking ... the sweet little bitch! Paul's cheeks flushed, and it wasn't from the fire that Chet, down on his knees, poked at with a charred stick. Surreptitiously his eyes roamed from her baby-faced features, far softer but less sophisticated than Carla's, down to the fullness of her swollen breasts pressed tightly against a promotion T-shirt he'd given her a year ago. She wore it for a reason ... she won't let me go! Down to her nipped-in Scarlet O'Hara waist to slender hips and thighs. A model's body without challenge! Paul's throat went tight, guilt choking him.
Sensing her ex-lover's curious stare, Mae shot him a made-to-order cheesecake grin and arched her back, pressing the hardened nubs of her nipples so tight to the cotton jersey, he was shocked they didn't burn holes in it! She wore a pair of cut-off Levi's; dear God, he'd seen more modest bikinis.
"Did Chet tell you Playboy called me for an interview?" she giggled, batting spidery eyelashes. A hand flew to her chest, fingers spread. "Really, can you see Mae in a Playboy centerfold? It's too much!"
Paul offered a tittering laugh, bordering on nervousness. Beside him Carla sat taciturn and cold, hunkering down in her bulky sweater like a baby swathed in blankets. It would help if she opened her mouth and involved herself in the conversation, he thought somewhat bitterly, instead of leaving him to carry the ball. If Mae made a play for him, Carla had only herself to blame. Then of course it would help if Chet would lay off the bottle of Southern Comfort he hoarded beside the driftwood log.
"Might be just the break you need, Mae. Maybe you've got talents we don't know about!" he added innocently. Beside him he could sense Carla stiffen. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he'd seen her upper lip curl.
"If anybody knows about my talents, it's you, Paul ..." she purred, her golden thighs shimmering in the firelight. "You are a talent agent, after all ..."
"I'm a promoter, not a talent agent," he reminded her firmly, more for Carla's sake than his own. "You have to have tal-" The words stuck in his throat like bad meat as the willowy blonde slowly spread her sleek thighs to warm her legs.
Paul squinted, grew nervous, as his eyes fastened on the impossibly tiny crotchband of her cut-off Levi's! Dear God, he could see the blonde pussy curls entangled around that flimsy strip of denim! He'd seen more modestly dressed Playboy centerfolds. He gnashed his teeth. Why was she tormenting him? Didn't she realize he and Carla were engaged to be married? The feel of a snake crawling up his spine made him stiffen. Christ, forgive him, but he wanted to climb off that log and inch hands and knees to force his way between those luscious thighs and feast on the sweetness of her juicy sensuality. One year ago, he would have ... did, in fact, many times. A fluttering in his chest reminded him of days when Mae would sneak into his office and kneel on her haunches; her raspberry polished fingertips would haul down his pants and up would spring his prick. He'd sit at his desk making business calls, while Mae sucked his cock. Wasn't good for the pocket book, but damn what it did for his libido!
That was then and this was N-O-W, just as he'd spelled it out for Carla in an effort to waylay her fears.
Who was afraid ... he or Carla?
A fleeting turn of his head caught a cold, accusing brown eye curtaining with softly blowing auburn hair. With emotional survival his driving force, he turned to peck his fianc'e on the cheek, his warm lips branding her cold flesh. Abruptly he fell to his knees before the fire and jabbed at the smoldering flames, hoping to God nobody had seen the growing bulge in his pants.
"Wanna hit a Comfort?" It was Chet talking thick tongued and obviously inebriated
Gratefully, Paul accepted the half-empty, preciously proffered bottle. Carla's eyes shifted from the fire to the orange-splashed features of Chet Duran. A good looking, roughneck type, she surmised. Premature age lines were etched about his soft dark eyes. Such a pity, she thought, what a waste of humanity. In his pre-Mae days he been a prime competitor for Paul, another hard-hitting promoter out to make his million on the abundant Hollywood talent. Now he'd lost it to the bottle. She wondered if he realized that.
Rubbing her hands together to warm them with the friction of her own skin, Carla watched her boyfriend unwrap a corner of the foil to check the hamburgers. He was clumsy, unstable ... unusual for the sure-foot, nimble fingered entrepreneur. And she knew why!
Carla shivered on the log, feeling like the beauty pageant loser as the tiaraed queen sat on her driftwood throne, directing the show with calculated if not exaggerated gestures which to mature men would appear laughable. Certainly Paul had sensed her aloofness, and had Mae been able to drag her blue eyes off Paul long enough she would have seen the flinty stop-this-nonsense look in her chocolate eyes. How women could be so deliberately cruel to each other was heartbreakingly astonishing!
Carla's eyes shot back to Chet, a softening wane of empathy smoothing the rough edges of insecurity. No wonder the man never spoke, except to offer his alcohol. Mae did the talking for everybody. She was the writer, the director, the actress for a one-man sex circus ... and Paul the great judge of talent, was eating it up! Chet had the answer, thought Carla, watching him tip the near-empty Southern Comfort bottle to his lips and drag a cigarette from the crinkled pack in his shirt pocket, incognizant of his girl friend who was spreading her legs a foot from Paul's face! Carla sucked in her breath then, catching the first naughty glimpse of Mae's proferred pubis. No wonder Paul had fallen to his knees and feigned concern over the hamburgers!
Forty more hours of agony, thought Carla in hot-blooded dejection and flushing anger.
The evening passed tensely. They ate their overcooked hamburgers in near silence, punctuated by Mae's abundant, chimey laughter as she and Paul filled the silence with one-line jokes. Chefs hiccoughs served a background music while Carla glowered from the sidelines. The time for bed came at last when Chet slumped drunkenly on the sand. That, judged Carla, was the first time Paul used his brain all night!
"Let's hit the sack, Carla ..." They headed for the wind-chilled down sleeping bags awaiting them under the pine trees. Brooding moodily, Carla kicked off her tennis shoes and slipped into the icy, damp sleeping bag, anxious to yank the zipper up to her throat and forget about the x-rated soap opera.
"No hug, no kiss? What's this?" demanded Paul. It was obvious he'd had his share of the Southern Comfort. He fell to the ground on his knees next to Carla. She turned a cold back to him. "Hey ... snap out of it!" he goaded, knowing he was in for it if Carla had seen him peeking between Mae's golden thighs. The suave, gentlemanly demeanor hardened now as one arm on either side of his girl friend's head, he grated down at her, attempting to roll her over onto her back and discuss the matter.
"Let me sleep, Paul."
"Not until you've told me why you're withdrawing into your tight, little shell." His voice was cold as the ocean breezes.
Carla shot upright, her auburn hair flaming in the moonlight. A venomous stare narrowed her wide brown eyes. "If you don't have the brains to figure it out you're more ignorant than I thought! You get down on your knees and toy around with the fire with your eyes fastened on another woman's genitals-and you ask me why I'm uptight! Huh!" Her upper lip curled with disgust for his behavior and her own jealousy. "Why don't you go sleep with your Hollywood Barbie doll and leave me in peace!"
"Oh, for Chrissakes, Carla," groaned Paul. "Give me a little credit, will you? Don't you know I love you?" He kneaded his way into the flaps of the cold sleeping bag and after a moment's struggle with the stuck zipper, he rolled over onto his side and stared towards the burgundy van parked a hundred feet away. Behind him, Carla's sobs whispered in accompaniment to the ocean's frothy roar and nippy night breezes.
Utterly disgruntled, the promoter rolled over onto his back and cogitated on the veracity of his fianc'e's accusations. Maybe she was right, maybe he was stupid for pursuing the idea of a camping trip together; but his reasoning had been fraternal and well intended. He'd hoped a weekend on the beach might help Chet dry out and open up his head to the possibility of going into business together. First Chet had to come to grips with his weakness that was slowly eating away at his brain. As for Carla's charge that he still wanted to sleep with the Hollywood Barbie doll, well ... he was innocent, wasn't he? If something happens spontaneously, free of deliberation, it was innocent and allowable, he decided.
Damn, I had too much to drink. Southern Comfort and California burgundy were bad bed partners and he rolled over onto his side to snatch a bottle of Calistoga from the nearby cooler. His hand froze, fingers wrapped around the icy bottle.
Behind him, he saw a flicker of light, as if someone were lighting a match. A cold shiver snaked down his spine. Twigs snapping. It's probably the hikers coming back to retrieve their backpack, he decided, flopping back into the sleeping bag. Yet ...I'm acting like a cowardly boy scout camped in my mother's backyard.
Still he couldn't rid himself of paranoia. With little effort, he forced himself to concentrate on distraction. Hollywood Barbie doll ... that's kind of funny, actually, he chuckled to himself. Mae ... He visualized her all-American baby face on a poster, her rich swells and curves draped in a skimpy bikini showing the nubs of her swollen nipples ... her dripping wet like the Cheryl Tiegs poster. Hell, Mae's body's a helluva lot sender than that one ever thought of being ... maybe I was a fool for not promoting her. Every man in America's mouth would water for wanting to crawl between her legs.
Carla's biting remark fled back to mind. "WHY DON'T YOU GO SLEEP WITH MAE?" Would he if the chance came? That was a question an honest man cannot answer ... at least not with his fianc'e sleeping next to him.
With a sigh of fatigue, he rolled over onto his other side, wishing he could cuddle up to Carla's warm body instead of hugging his own cold, bony knees. Abruptly, his head shot up. The metallic thud of a car hood slamming clanked above the ocean's heady roar.
Probably Chet climbing out of his van to take a leak, he decided and fell asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
High tide was in, thick morning fog blanketing the horizon creating a monochromatic picture. Paul stirred restlessly in his sleeping bag. Slowly his eyes pried open. The morning air was succulently moist and balmy, almost warm. Damn ... he had to urinate. Nothing like rousing yourself out of a warm sleeping bag, dig your feet into cold, wet sand and relieve yourself. Cautiously, he unzipped the sleeping bag, folded back the flap and stood up.
He stretched his arms high over his head and arched . his back, then yawned. Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he headed for the grove of underground springs fifty yards from the burgundy van which, in the morning hours was misted with dew. It looked cold but strangely inviting.
A metallic whine of the zipper and his cold fist dipped into his open fly to probe for the limp warm tube of his penis, semi-flaccid from a full bladder and morning erection. He yanked it out unceremoniously, feeling it jump to life in the morning air. An arc of spray puddled the ground. Satisfied, and still shivering, Paul reached down to tuck the flaccid worm back into the warm cave of his pants, when he heard a low, sexy wolf whistle from behind.
Savagely, he glanced over his shoulder, startled. Defenses melted when he saw Mae standing there, draped in a goosedown coverlet the color of Caribbean skies. Her baby soft blonde hair hung in sexy snarls over her shoulders. Her rumpled appearance, he decided, feeling his cock lurch, was definitely intoxicating.
"You haven't shrunk with age," she teased, her blue eyes dancing.
Paul couldn't help but grin. "What are you doing up this time of morning?" His voice lowered to a whisper as he approached her, remembering that Carla was a whisper away. A jealous woman has a way of hearing everything.
"Chet is drunker than a skunk. Lord, how he snores!" she complained, the dimples in her cheeks depending as she tutted. "Besides, I love to walk on the beach at sunrise. It's the most beautiful time of day."
Paul studied her faraway expression as she turned her face to the ocean, and walked toward the water. The reversible tan and blue goosedown coverlet draped around her body ... God, was she really naked under that thing? ... was the perfect compliment to her perfection. The blue matched her eyes, the tan the ripened wheat tan of her slender legs now scissoring nakedly toward the water. Blonde hair was tossed recklessly in the breezes. He watched her throw back her head, close her eyes and breathe deeply for a long, silent moment.
Something about this Mae, this beach-walking nature girl, was totally different from the sexpot, baby-talking girl she'd shown herself to be. Maybe there was more to her than fluff. For her sake, he hoped so. He felt a definite tightening in his pants and realized the morning semi-erection was a full-tilt hard-on. He followed the muse-like figure to a boulder out-cropping where the waves crashed in cold rhythm. She settled on the rock, blanket tucked about her, hugging her knees; he stood at her side.
Slowly she turned her face to him. "Carla hates me, doesn't she?" she stated rather than asked. "She's very cold to me." The tone of her voice tied a knot in Paul's stomach.
"It's not that she doesn't like you, Mae ... you haven't done anything to hurt her. You're a beautiful woman and you intimidate other women by your looks. It's an old recipe ... I've seen it plenty of times." He reached down studiously and plucked a bird-pecked sand dollar from its briny grave. "She's jealous of you ..."
There it was out.
Mae's head shot around. She surveyed his expression for a long moment. "Jealous of me?" she tittered. "But she's got you ... how can she be jealous of me?"
Gently he stroked the dew-entangled blonde hair from her forehead. "That's women ... I work with them and I love them, but I still don't understand them." His hand dropped from her face after brushing her cheek with his fingers.
Mae shook her head incredulously. "I don't understand why she would be jealous of me. What am I? Just a low-paid nude model for sexist magazines. What's there to be jealous of?"
Paul's eyes descended lustfully to the swan-like neck and further down to the swell of her breasts feebly camouflaged by the coverlet tucked around her. The heavy fabric gaped at the neck, showing off the luscious tanned mounds of her breasts. She caught the smirk in his eyes.
"It's only genetic. My mother had big breasts, too. No big deal."
"I'd love to meet your mother," he blurted unchecked.
Mae grinned her baby-faced smile that never failed to make his penis lurch. A nostalgic feeling of sadness settled over him unexpectedly. No amount of love for Carla could erase the erotic sensations this woman provoked within his male body. And her vibrance, if only Carla shared some of that bright-eyed, hip-swinging jubilation she wouldn't be moping around like a lost puppy. Still, there was no denying it, Carla was his woman.
Dependable, level headed, moral, just the right amount of mother with a smattering of the child, made her the female for him. They fit together naturally, their personalities melded. Her rationale balanced his hyper craziness. It was right and fit ... but this was N-O-W and here ... and available.
Paul's cock leaped in the cotton trap of his pants. He cast a searching glance over his shoulder, selfishly guarding the moment reserved for the two of them and the Pacific.
"How's everything with Chet?" He skillfully changed the subject.
Mae shrugged. "The usual ... he gets plastered every night ... and we fight about his drinking. I guess I might be too much for him."
"You're a hell of a lot of woman, Mae. Aren't too many men have the machinery to keep up with you."
"You did." She turned her baby blue eyes to him and let them linger over his face beguilingly.
"And Chet?"
"When he's sober he's a great lover ... one of the best. When he's drunk I might as well forget it. It's frustrating for a woman like me who's used to a lot of attention. You know how I like sex."
"Yes, I know how you like sex."
She winked up at him. "How 'bout it? Want to share my blanket with me?"
How could he say no to that? He stiffened, trying to fight temptation, but the devil won in the end. He jerked his head toward the southern end of the beach. "Like to take a sunrise walk on the beach? We can pretend to act out "From Here to Eternity".
"You're crazy!" she shivered, laughing. "It's too cold!"
Like two colts, they ran toward the end of the beach toward a cove protected from the winds. The blanket flapped like butterfly wings around Mae's naked body. Out of breath, lungs burning, they reached the dry sandy spot and collapsed in giggles.
Slowly, keeping her blue eyes peeled on his dark ones, she unwrapped the blanket from her naked body, shivering with goosebumps. "Want to share my blanket?"
"How could I refuse?"
They snuggled in the goosedown wrapper. Her naked golden thigh was like fire next to his denimed leg, and he wanted more than anything to crawl on top of her luscious flesh and make love to her like they used to-wildly, savagely, like a couple of untamed animals. Dear Lord, how good it would feel to knead the swollen mounds of her gorgeous breasts. And she had gorgeous breasts, the most gorgeous he'd ever seen. Firm and melonous with puffy pink nipples the color of doeskin.
She stared into his eyes, reading his thoughts. "It's been too long, Paul ... far too long. Carla is a lucky girl. But I need you."
She slipped her raspberry polished fingertips in between the buttons of his shirt and teasingly brushed over the hairs of his chest. Below his belt, inside his pants, he could feel his cock stiffen like concrete hardening, up so hard through his jockey shorts that he honestly felt it might tear through.
Mae's snappy eyes didn't fail to notice it, and she waited not an instant to take advantage of his male weakness. He was following her script perfectly. "I see Paulie misses his Mae," she murmured, taking her cue expertly, her hand settling on his wildly pulsating hardness with the jolting electricity of a blast of summer lightning. It felt like a million tiny pin-pricks all jabbing into him at once. Painful, yet deliriously so. He soon forgot about the cold and he forgot about Carla. The here and N-O-W mattered and that was all.
Without another word, Mae pulled his zipper down slightly past the woolly patch of pubic hair on his belly, yanking it anxiously as it stalled near the end of the metal slide. His breath froze in his lungs as her fingers made maddening contact with the hardened shaft of his cock, and he was powerless to move, to speak. He did manage two cursory glances: one in the direction of the boulder behind which slept his fianc'e; the other toward the burgundy van where he hoped to God Chet didn't emerge.
Finally, he regained a fraction of his composure. "Are you sure we should be doing this? I swore you off for Carla, you know. I don't like feeling like a guilty creep ... if they ..."
Impishly, she pressed a raspberry fingertip to his lips, silencing him. "Shhhh ... this is for us."
A chill rippled through him. Paul could barely believe it! He felt like an actor in some corny movie. Woman and man meet on beach make love ... huh, it was laughable! Both of them cheating ... CHEATING ... CHEATING ... CHEATING ...
He fought down the impulse to blame himself. Still, somehow it didn't seem quite proper.
"If you're sure ..." He dipped his hand inside the cocoon of her blanket and noticed with a thrill that she was naked beneath. His hands slipped over her satiny flesh, luxuriating in the sleekness of her curves. Down to the warm curve of her buttocks slipped that hand. They were every bit as finely sculpted and firm as he remembered them and her lush young body was incredibly, sensuously, warm against him as if she were literally burning inside. She met his soft lips tenderly as her fingers closed tenderly around the thickly swollen hardness of his penis. Her lips gave in like a soft cushion, her tongue darted between his even white teeth. She crawled onto him, pushing him back onto the ground, at the same time easing the blanket beneath him for their bed. She crushed the length of her supple body against his and squirmed furiously against him before pulling away, mashing the globes of her warm, swollen breasts against his heaving chest.
She slid over far enough to unwrap the blanket from her naked body, then sat back on her knees, the wind blowing her blonde hair from her angelic face, goosebumps polka-dotting her tanned breasts and softly bowled belly. God, it was a sight to make a man cry! thought Paul, totally enraptured. Beautiful body with the incipience of intelligence. No, not as bright and perceptive as Carla, more simple and girlish; this morning she had opened herself to him more than in the total three months they'd dated. Maybe someday her brain would catch up with her body, he thought. Right now, he didn't give a good goddamn about her brain.
He noticed with a thrill that her lusciously smooth curves had filled out womanishly, richer and fuller, and her breasts were heavier, still exceptionally high and firm, her doeskin nipples deliriously erect in the cold morning air. The muscles in her thighs rippled pantherishly and the ridge of her hip bones showed ever so slightly into two tiny peaks. "Perfect hand holds," he said to himself, one at each side of the sparsely tufted patch of blonde angel-hair pussy curls beneath her flat belly. He thought about that warm beckoning crevice concealed up there between her ivory smooth legs and how fantastically wonderful it would feel to slip his lust-thickened cock into the hot liquid depths-warm and clinging like honey.
He stripped off his clothes without hesitation and groped for her hungrily, gasping out loud at the surging touch of their two superheated bodies in the cold ocean breezes. Her hands searched down over his nakedly excited body, exploring all the muscular hollows, probing, caressing ... fondly re-acquainting herself with every inch of his sinewy, muscular maleness. His erect, pulsing penis snapped up between her cozy thighs as they ground together, and he let it rest there, beating, brushing lightly and teasingly against the juicy pussy lips nestled up between her silken thighs.
Paul ran his warm palms along the curve of her bare spine, tracing the ridges of her backbone as she let the coverlet drape around her naked body. He followed it to where the flesh suddenly dipped and dimpled then flowered into the firm twin mounds of her buttocks. She had certainly managed to keep her body in great shape; her skin rippled with an animal strength trembling just beneath the surface. He wondered if her luscious thighs could still grip him and ride him as they used to. He shivered, knowing they would.
Casually, he stole another glimpse in the direction of the sleeping bag where Carla lay. CHEATING ... The searing reality flashed in his brain. But he was powerless against his woman.
Mae caught the surreptitiously stolen concern and erased it. "She can't see us from here."
"God, you're beautiful," he murmured.
Of course she'd probably fucked armies of men since he'd dated her; in fact, she fucked armies of men when he dated her. He was well attuned to her near nymphomaniac proclivities.
She kissed him again, her tongue probing hungrily over his and into his sweet mouth, her naked hips writhing passionately against his. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, leaving tiny tracks of crimson as evidence of her growing lust for him. He gripped the fleshy mounds of her buttocks, pulling them towards him, rubbing his long, aching cock agonizingly between her closed thighs.
"Oh, I have to have you Paul ... I need you ... I need you inside of me sooo bad!" she pouted.
Flesh fussed upon flesh, they locked in a surge of passion. Her fingers slipped along his bare muscular belly and guided his throbbing penis towards the wetly quivering lips of her cunt. She was already wet, and moaning into his face, her eyes clenched shut in a mask of pleasure-pain, her hips groping and grinding ravenously as steam billowed from their nostrils stentoriously.
He thrust into her frantically, with a blind rush and the most passionate grip of her pussy was as he remembered it, surprisingly tight and clasping like a heated velvet glove clutching at his painfully throbbing cock as he rammed it into her wet tightness.
His penis slipped up into her, a little painfully at first. Paul prided himself on the size of his cock, and to be able to tunnel to the end of Mae's cunt, was a compliment indeed. It hurt along the hard length from her milking cuntal muscles. Salaciously, it began pistoning in and out, easier now as her cuntal sheath adjusted, accepting all of him.
Mae let out a muffled gasp, choking for a lungful of air, and he thrust right up into her savagely so that their loins bruised and ground together wetly, lubricated with the warm flowing wetness that oozed around his frantically pumping cock and eased its entry like a river of warm melted butter.
She strained back under him, arching her loins up at his, lifting them both off the sandy ground with little strain. Moaning, she squirmed and writhed under him, her buttock cheeks grinding into the ground. She bit his lips, nibbled at his neck, kissed his eyes and snaked her tongue into the cavern of his mouth, turned away gasping for air, then came back for more, again and again.
"Your finger, honey," she gasped hoarsely, her voice rising and falling with his cock pounding far up into her belly.
"What?" His breath billowed white with labor in the cold morning air.
"Stick it ... awww ... s-stick it up my ass while you f-fuck me!" she moaned needfully. The words caught him by surprise-this was something he'd never done with a woman before. For a moment, though still screwing into her frantically, he was jealous of the man who'd taught her this lusty trick, of another man with his finger stuck up her ass, up his girl's ass. The change in his thinking was so subtle that he failed to sense it himself, but he was hooked again, caught in her net ... hooked.
He reached under her, between her soft buttery ass cheeks as he stroked steadily into her moistly sucking cuntal hole. He spread her buttocks apart, felt, her passion-moistened pubic curls, found her tightly puckered ring and apprehensively thrust his finger in. It eased in a little at first, entering with a soft popping sound, then all the way in to the last joint as she gave another deep soulful moan and screwed her buttocks back against his pleasure-giving finger. He moved his finger around in the velvety channel of her rectum and heard her choke painfully as his fingernail gouged the delicate flesh. She grunted then and squirmed down onto it again, offering her forbidden anal passage for his exploration.
Paul's loins wound tightly like a coiled spring, and his penis felt as big as a tree limb, as if it were growing out of control and would keep growing until he lunged one last time and thrust right though her belly to pulverize her insides. It expanded, bloated and contracted like a pump, and throbbed painfully with every swell.
She held him prisoner in her strong thighs, clamping them around his hips, loosening them, clenching them tightly in a practiced rhythm he adored.
He could hear her cursing under her breath, something else he had never heard her do, and her face was suddenly deeply flushed, the veins in her neck sticking out like telephone cords as her sharp nails raked across his back and shoulders painfully.
She murmured something hoarsely, and he didn't hear her at first. "I'm al-almost there ... I'm about to cum!" she gasped again, then repeated the last word of her litany over and over until her words fused together in one passionate chant. She pulled back her thighs, presenting his with a wide-open playground of wet, pink flesh. Her legs slid up and over his shoulders. She ground her genitals up against his with bruising force, her lewdly grinding buttocks arched high off the ground to meet his deeply furrowing thrusts into her very womb. Her eyes were open now, but glazed as if she were drugged, and her mouth hung open limply. She emitted an animal cry and impaled herself suicidally onto his desire-hardened penis and held herself there, lifting him boldly off the bed while her sweat-soaked loins worked feverishly up and down on his deliriously spearing cock.
"OH GAWD ... I'M CUMMMMING!" she grunted, the breath exploded from her lungs in a puff of frozen air and she collapsed under him, falling back against the ground as his full weight crashed down onto her nakedness. She was limp as an unstarched shirt, and lay there quivering, her breasts heaving as she struggled to fill her lungs with air.
Paul's forehead furrowed with concern. "Christ, he might really have hurt her, but after a couple of moments, his cock still inside her and as rigid and eager as ever, she began to revive.
She looked at him with that baby-faced angelic smile, her eyes then closed and she clutched him tight against her as he burrowed a little deeper into her wetly twitching cunt.
"Warm me up ... brrr ... I'm getting cold," she begged, throwing a corner of the blanket over her back. She rubbed her goosebumps until they disappeared.
"Anything for you, honey ... anything."
She gasped again as he snapped his loins like a handle of a great bullwhip and shuddered his long hard penis to the hilt once more in her ravaged pussy, ramming it tightly and viciously between her swollen cuntal lips.
"Don't cum inside me ... I quit taking pills."
"You? Quit birth control?" He couldn't stifle his laugh.
"So what the hell am I supposed to do?" His balls were a seething cauldron of white-hot cum and they threatened to explode any second into her belly in a torrent of relief.
Mae was a woman attuned to men's desires. "Don't worry, honey. Turn over on your back and I'll fix you good."
He had no reason to doubt her. This one had a helluva track record. He rolled over onto his back compliantly, feeling the sand under his weight and squirmed in between Mae's naked body and the ground. He slipped out of her moist cuntal grip with an audible pop that he was sure echoed throughout the whole beach. His penis rose straight up toward the sky as he lay on his back and felt unsure exactly what she had in store for him. This one was full of surprises, and with the tricks she'd shown him this morning, he knew it must be good.
She leaned over him, her blonde hair curtaining her shoulders, tickling his bare chest. Tenderly she stroked the stiffened organ, first with one and hand and then with both, pumping gingerly and letting the wet, gleaming length slide between her fingers. She brought her lips down to it eagerly, breathlessly and warmly fastened them around the throbbing, blood-filled head with a moan of ecstasy. When the jarring awareness of her intentions registered, a bolt of adrenalin shot through his body. He felt his whole body tense in anticipation. She held his cock in one hand and began to suck on it, steadily, hungrily, rhythmically, up and down with a swirling movement of her tongue at the apex of each loving stroke.
His loins tensed as he looked down at the sight of the action, wondering when the last time was he'd felt like this. Certainly not with Carla. Carla would never suck his cock ... until after marriage.
She sucked harder, sometimes giving him a tiny teasing nibble, or scraping the thick fleshy stalk with her teeth. His cock was white where her teeth had been and blood purple on the lustfully pulsing tip.
Mae released her grip on his cock and placed both hands under his buttocks, lifting them up as she slid her ovalled lips up and down on his meaty stalk. It disappeared completely down her warmly sucking throat, and he wondered why it didn't choke her; she knew what she was doing all right. Had he thought about it, he would have done the same for her.
Her rough tongue with its coarse swiping lick, was making the head of his penis quiver and vibrate as if it were coming alive. He stiffened his hips, crossing his legs, clamping his muscular thighs tight together as if maybe he would squeeze the flood of scalding hot cum back into his pounding testicles. He could feel the movement stirring in his balls, as if he had to urinate, but couldn't. He watched her angelic face work over his loins, her lips stretched, clinging to his long, swollen cock, sucking it ravenously.
Paul reached over to spread his discarded shirt over her naked back, knowing she must be damned near freezing to death lying on top, naked, with the ocean winds blowing over her back. One touch of the damp cotton soaked with morning fog told him there was no warmth there and he tossed it aside. Mae raised her head and smiled around his throbbing cock as if to thank him for the kind thought.
That smile of gratitude did something indescribable to him and he pushed his loins right up at her face, arching his body from waist to curled under toes, and her nibbling lips gulped in every inch of his burgeoning manhood. His own throat and mouth were bone dry; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. He thought of his painfully hardened cock exploding in her mouth, emptying down her throat in a seething flood of cum, and he tried to hold back.
Maybe he shouldn't let it get like that ... maybe she had planned to stop just before he came. Strained noises made their way from his lungs, and he rammed his hips as high as they would go, cramming every inch of his wildly pulsating cock down her clamping throat, but she showed no intentions of stopping. A few seconds more ... just a few. NOW!
His hips writhed uncontrollably and his vision blurred as the delicious agony grew more unbelievable. His eyes opened on a fantasy vision of her lovely young lips pursed around his aching cock, sucking hungrily, his whole body straining to hold back the inevitable. A gasp broke finally from his parched throat.
"Aaaaggghhh!" His hands grabbed her head near the ears, and he shoved her hungrily sucking mouth down hard onto his maniacally jerking cock. His breath tore from his lungs and he shuddered as his cum-filled balls emptied their precious fluid in a stinging jet of white sticky sperm, racing along the swollen length of his shaft at a great, unstoppable speed. She sucked on, greedily as every, every drop emptying down her gullet, and she licked the moist threads from the madly throbbing head of his cock.
Finally, his tender, sore penis deflated like a pricked balloon in the hollows of her flooded throat; but she kept right on nibbling on it, sucking clean every last drop of his life-giving sperm. He gave a heaving sigh and flopped back onto the sand, exhausted and completely spent. For a long while he lay motionless, her head flat against his belly, her tongue still lashing out at the smooth flaccid head of his spent organ. Then she slithered like a snake up along his naked body, rubbing her tender sensitive nipples along his bare skin until her lips found his.
They kissed lovingly for a long time ... until the sky turned blue, and he could taste the strange tanginess of his own cum flavoring her lips and mouth.
Slowly, she arose and pulled her blanket around her naked body, while Paul lay shivering. An electric current seemed to pass between the two, sparkling smiles and giggling hugs before the two of them parted, taking separate trails back to unsuspecting partners ... or so they prayed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Carla's self-pitying glower was worse than a temper tantrum. Her dark chocolate eyes studied the bottom of her coffee cup with the intensity of a psychic reading a crystal ball. Paul had tried to explain to her that he'd only awoken to relieve himself and, invigorated by the crisp morning fog, had gone for a walk along the beach at sunrise. He was entitled to a bit of solitude, wasn't he? he'd defended.
"An hour and a half ... ?" she'd returned coldly, backing her charges with, "Why didn't you wake me up and we could have gone together?"
"I thought you wanted to sleep, that's why. Besides, I just wanted to be alone. I'm with people twenty-four hours a day in LA ... give me a break!"
A break she gave him: stony silence. Every glance in her direction proved his suspicions; reproach in her dark brooding eyes spelled dejection and misery. He knew he should gather her up in her arms and alleviate her fears, but something within him stopped those efforts. To do so would admit guilt, the same guilt that gnawed at him deep within his soul, making him edgy and nervous. Now, as Carla was kicking into her shoes, sitting on the sleeping bag, his eyes lifted to the burgundy van and knew without a sliver of a doubt ' that his voluptuous ex-girl friend had won this first battle. Carla, the dejected, sulking loser; Mae, the victoriously vibrant winner. That old magic spell had been cast over him. Even now as he pulled on his wool sweater, he felt the stirring in his groin just thinking of her.
He built a fire in the pit and boiled water for morning coffee. Chet would need the caffeine; he needed the distraction. Deliberately Paul ignored Mae's blue eyed sparkle as they sat on the driftwood bench. She cupped I the steaming coffee cup in her hands, staring at him avidly through the rising steam as if injecting in his brain more thoughts of this morning's episode. Lusty thoughts of passion. Yet Paul knew he couldn't repeat the performance. That would give validity to Carla's fears and, after all, he did love Carla. He desired Mae, God forgive him, but he loved Carla.
"Lovely morning," he nodded in Chefs direction who sat slumped hunch-shouldered on the log. His eyes were red road maps of lingering inebriation. He spoke little, and looked far beyond his years.
That reticence added to Paul's discomfort, stoking paranoic fantasies. That he'd spent the morning screwing Mae half to death and getting his balls vacuumed behind a rock, naked in the sand, was forming in everyone's mind, he figured, blowing into his cup of instant coffee. Chet must have become suspicious when Mae disappeared for the equal amount of time. Hell, everybody knew but nobody was owning up to it.
Except of course for silent Carla who sat cross-legged on the ground, cuddling her warm cup in her hands. Snake-cold eyes caught his and snapped back a silent threat like the venomous hiss of a reptile.
Defensively, he stared back at the fires smoldering flames across from which sat Mae looking fresh as a spring daisy on next to no sleep. Her skin-tight Levi's molded her body in Hellenistic perfection. A purple knit sweater added a sparkle to her blue eyes. Next to her Chet sat sipping coffee, looking disgusted with himself.
The sky was clearing of fog and the high tide had abated. "What's up for today, Carla. Any plans?" The inquiry was business-like and direct, a fact which she noted with deepening aggravation.
"What's there to do on a beach?" She shrugged her lovely shoulders and shot him a bored look. "I'll probably just grease up and try for a tan."
"Don't you feel like taking a walk ..."He jerked his head in the direction of this morning's excesses.
Carla caught the subtle innuendo and stiffened. "No thanks ... I'm content right here."
Paul squinted steamy-eyed at his fianc'e. "If that's the way you want it, fine!" He was tiring of playing negotiator, agent, diplomat to two women. Shit, he should have come here alone with Chet, the way they had originally planned, instead of letting himself get enmeshed in everyone's insecurities.
Mae, who'd gathered up the coffee cups preparing to wash them in the van, caught threads of the conversation. A smirk creased her lips. She shot, Chet who'd collapsed back in bed, an angry glance and decided that nobody was going to ruin this weekend for her. If Carla wasn't secure in knowing she was going to marry Paul, nothing could make her secure. Anyway, she thought selfishly, it's only one day in a life. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Chet staring at her and knew from the flinty-eyed glance, that he'd caught wind of her infidelities. Well, damn it, she thought turning the water on in the small aluminum built-in sink, if he weren't drunk all the time, their relationship would be spontaneous enough to suit her.
Through the convex window she spied Paul and flapped a teasing hand in his direction. Instantly the sullen look faded from his face, replaced by curiosity. She turned off the water decisively and tore out of the van. Skipping towards him, her full breasts bounced joyously. Grabbing him by the arm, he offered no resistance as she flung her arms around his neck.
"What a bunch of dead heads, huh? Nobody wants to play ..."
He unpeeled her arms from around his neck. "Don't say nobody ... that's not true ... let's say some." He jerked his head toward Carla who'd turned her back on him, absorbing herself in a magazine.
"Just give me a minute to peel out of these clothes and into my suit. See ya in five!" Her blonde hair, shimmering in the morning sunlight, flapped about her shoulders and back as she skipped back to the van, emerging moments later in a terry cloth swim jacket under which Lord only knew what she wore-if anything, surmised Paul who'd changed into cut-offs and T-shirt. A towel was draped over his shoulder.
Far down the beach in the same direction where they'd spent the morning in each other's goose-bumped arms, they stopped to sit on a boulder and stare out over the Pacific. Fog dissipated, leaving blue striated streaks to widen in promise of a gorgeous California day.
"Somebody told me about this beach. Her father knows the guy who owns the land ... I don't know how." Mae's shoulders shivered. "Doesn't it seem odd that we're the only people camped here? It's nice to be alone ..." and here she grabbed his arm and rubbed her cheek against his upper arm.
Paul gave fleeting consideration to her statement, nodded his head in answer and let his eyes rivet on the fullness of her breasts cupped in a skimpy red bikini top visible through the open flap of her terry robe. For a moment, he remembered the slam of the car hood and envisioned the flicker of match light in the bushes the night before. Were they alone? "I'm not sure we are alone. Carla and I found somebody's backpack and cooler last night and later I saw a match light and heard somebody slam a car hood."
Mae's blonde head shot around. "Strange ... I thought I saw a man outside the van last night. I was stripping off my clothes, ready to climb into bed. I thought I saw a man's face ..." She shrugged her shoulders dismissingly. "My imagination again." As was her habit, she made light of the situation.
"Let's head around the cove. Maybe we can find a cave to explore ... better than the streets of LA!"
"Race ya!" she challenged and they took off like two deer, splashing through the low-tide waters, skipping over slippery rocks strewn with barnacles, mindlessly tromping sea anemones. Around the cove they came onto a wide sandy beach, untouched, it seemed.
"What'd I tell ya? There's a cave!" Grabbing her hand, they took off, bare toes digging into the sand.
The temperature dropped ten degrees as they started into the damp cave hewn by years of slapping salt water; over the years, the formation of the beach had changed, leaving the cave's mouth dry inside and out. A natural rock awning was left for the protection of lovers.
They collapsed down on the warm sand, laughing, breathless. Her lithe arms slunk around his neck, pulling him close to her, mashing her breasts against his muscular chest. "Do you still think of me once in a while?" she teased, nibbling at his earlobe with her even white teeth. She knew that always drove him crazy. "Hmmmm ... ?"
The answer came slowly. "Sure ... once in a while ..." he returned, nestling his nose in her fine blonde hair curtaining her shoulders.
"Just once in a while?" she wrinkled up her nose in disappointment.
"Hey! I'm a busy man! I'm engaged to be married. A guy can't dwell on memories forever ... they don't fill your stomach or get your rocks off, now do they?"
He didn't want her probing for his emotions. Should Carla or Chet come looking for them, he didn't want his private life exposed. He cringed at the thought of someone overhearing their conversation.
Mae's voice was knife-blade cold when she pulled her arms free of him and stared into his eyes. "You really love Carla, don't you? I've never had a guy give me up for another girl, you know." A tinge of bitterness clouded her sunny disposition.
Paul drew in a deep breath, feeling trapped, an emotion he didn't relish. Then, for the sake of her faltering ego, a weakness he was beginning to discover, he added: "You were too much woman for me, that's all." It wasn't true, but he couldn't handle another depressed woman on his hands this weekend. The music business was full of them, he needn't bring them along on his free time. The medicine worked. The smile returned to her rosebud lips, the sparkle to her blue eyes, and her hand descended to clamp his strong thigh.
"Ahhhh shit ..." moaned Chet, blinking against the noon sun peeking through the van window. Sweaty and dirty, with a throbbing head to crown it all. Growling, he rolled over and struggled up to sitting position. With the balls of his fists, he rubbed his eyes and staggered out of bed, wincing and scouring the campsite for signs of life. Damned deserted for a Big Sur beach he thought bracing his hands against the van's door before hopping out.
"Mae! Mae! MAE! Where the hell are you?" he bellowed through cupped hands. Dejectedly he stomped towards the fire pit, deserted and empty.
They took off," he heard someone call out behind him.
Pivoting on his heel, he squinted against the sun to the pine trees under which Carla lay on the sleeping bag. She'd shed this morning's heavy clothes in favor of a pink polka-dot bikini that showed the luscious mounds of her breasts and the soft bowl of her belly. Chet blinked. Christ, he'd never noticed what a great body she had. Not as mature and full or tall as Mae, but damned close to perfection. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Took off for where?" he grumbled, his burly dark hair a mop of sweat-soaked curls. His reddened eyes lingered on the soft curves of her hips, centering on the jewel of her belly button. He licked his lips. "Mind if I join you? ... since we've been deserted."
Carla's eyes lifted above the rim of the Cosmopolitan Magazine she had purchased enroute from Los Angeles. Funny, she had never noticed how curly his eyelashes were. When he was rested, he was very good looking-very. She sat up, leaning against the tree trunk and backpack. And the dimples high on his cheeks, softening the rugged, biker look that dominated his features. The air of recklessness auraed his smile.
He settled down on the sleeping bag, unzipped and flapped open wide as a blanket. "Christ, I could go for a beer to wet my throat."
As if expecting to see a vending machine out there in the middle of nowhere, his dark eyes scoured the pine grove. Abruptly, he rose to his feet and left Car la to peruse the horoscope section of her magazine. "Taurus ... expect changes in relationships this month. Don't worry, Taurus, you're the sexpot of the skies. Perhaps you're not the impulsive type ... Venus adversely aspected. Jealousies could erupt this month, but remember that all things pass."
"Great!" snorted Carla, throwing down the magazine. That's all she needed was more affirmation of emotional upsets. She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering out at the ocean, when she heard a deep laugh and pop behind her.
"Would you believe it? Just found a beer in the middle of nowhere!" Chet threw back his head and took a grateful gulp from a pop-top Miller beer can.
"Where'd you find that?"
"Over there!" He pointed to the abandoned backpack with Coleman cooler under a tree. "You want some watermelon ... bologna sandwich?" he tittered. "That cooler's full of food."
A worried look creased Carla's brow. "That's odd. I heard someone slam a car door last night and I was positive it was the campers coming back to get their things. Wonder who that was?"
"Don't ask me, hon ... that Southern Comfort did me in. Somebody could have shot a bullet through my window and I wouldn't have heard a thing."
"Hmmm ... well, it's their loss."
"Where'd they go?"
"You tell me, she's your girl friend ..."
"And he's your fiance," quipped Chet a bit defensively.
Carla laughed bitterly. "Maybe ... maybe not ..." She retrieved the discarded magazine and feigned interest in the lingerie ads.
"Hey, don't get jealous over Mae. Paul knows a good thing when he's got it ... that's what I admire about the guy. He's no fool ... not like me," he added in a soft aside. An unfiltered cigarette dangled from his lips; he left it unlit and spoke around it. "Good to see you and Paul gettin' together. Nothin' wrong with marriage if ya got the right gal."
Carla contemplated those words for a moment, her eyes fixed on the white-cap waves slapping against the boulders. A light breeze tossed her auburn waves about her shoulders delicately, like the warm breath of a lover. Maybe it was cruelty that made her say it:
"When are you and Mae going to get married?"
Chet threw back his burly head and laughed bitterly. "Married to Mae? Are you insane? She can't be satisfied with one man, no matter how much he loves her. I can't stop her. She's a natural flirt."
A gush of sympathy rippled through Carla. Two peas in a pod-she and Chet. Two wronged lovers sitting drowning in self-pity while their lovers frolicked off into the sunrise, stealing kisses and Lord knew what else behind rocks. In the end, her reticence and defeatist attitude had only hurt herself.
"I wish she'd flirt with somebody besides Paul! I've had about enough of this!" She flipped a strand of auburn hair over her creamy shoulder glistening with baby oil and raised her eyes to catch the set expression on Chefs profile. Save for the crows feet etched around his eyes, he had a perfect Roman profile. Hurt and lack of self-respect was evident in the curve of his lip. In that instance, Carla was filled with dislike for Paul for cheating on his friend, just as Mae was cheating on her.
What a mess, she thought, hugging her knees. If there was a bus back to Los Angeles, she'd hop it right now and let them all play out their pathetic games.
Chet had struck a match to the cigarette dangling between his lips, when Carla's ears honed to the sound of twigs snapping through the thicket of low-hanging pine boughs. The noontime sun caught the glimmer of something shiny, metallic. Her breath caught in her chest; she shot a wide-eyed glance in Chefs direction.
"Did you hear that?"
Chet, ears buzzing from a horrendous hangover, threw back his head and laughed. "You're imagination's going berserk, lady. Settle down and take it easy." He shoved the beer can under her nose. "Here, this'll calm you right down."
They lay in the sand, their naked bodies protected from the grainy sand by a spread-out beach towel. Together they stared up into the blue sky, watching the fog disappear like breath on a dewy morn. The mouth of the cave was hidden and dark as a lover's womb. Mae's head was filled with lusty promises and Paul's, filled with Carla, reticent and pouting. Glimpsing the sullen look in his dark eyes, she broke the spell. She pumped his swelling organ in the warmth of her fist. Her fingers couldn't quite close around it.
"You look so serious, Paul. How come?" She gave him a tight squeeze, forcing a pearl of pre-cum from the oozing tip of his cock. His response was not satisfactory, and to get her way, she bent over him, her blonde hair softly brushing his chest, and kissed the tip with her swirling tongue, tasting, licking, savoring. She lifted her head, tossed her blonde mane of honey hair behind an ear and studied him with laughing, mocking eyes. "Does Carla suck you?"
"Huh?" His forehead furrowed, hearing such filthy words spew from such a beautiful woman. Something didn't add up there. He shook his head.
"Is she good in bed?"
He nodded this time, a twinge of guilt seeping into his lust-filled thoughts.
"Then why won't she give you head?"
"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" It was more a statement than a question. He wished she would stop interrogating him and putting Carla on the spot in her kangaroo court of sexual do's and don'ts.
"Maybe I should start giving lessons in giving head. God, I love to eat cock! I love to suck it, I love the taste and when my lover cums, I like to hold it in my mouth for a long time and swallow it drop by drop."
"Mae, you don't have to be so descriptive ..." This morning she had been an angel, sensitive and almost compassionate, shedding her characteristic narcissistic cloak that made Mae a difficult person to be around-especially if you were a woman or an attached male. But Mae was a game player all the way, always would be, and he and Carla, he was beginning to suspect, were her pawns.
"Should I eat your cock now?" she gave it a possessive squeeze. She ran a hot tongue over her rosebud lips. "Can I taste it?" Those baby blue eyes boring into his deep ones again. What could he say?
He leaned back on the sand, arranged the towel under his head, and lay back, a willing victim to her wiles.
Winking, she lowered her blonde head, opened her mouth and slowly drew the full length of his bulging, veiny cock into her mouth, twisting drew the full length of his bulging, veiny cock into her mouth, twisting her tongue around it and sucking steadily, pulling at it with her lips, making it grow.
She noted the sudden glint of dissident in his eye. "Are you tired of this? Maybe we would try something else."
Paul's mind was glued on Carla. Somehow this morning's enraptured magic had dissipated with the afternoon sunshine. The moodiness had brightened into a lucid image of right and wrong. Yet here he was on a beach, safely tucked away from prying eyes in a cave ... with a gorgeous hunk of a female, crawling over his body, her fingers marching over his flesh like army ants.
Mae took his hands in hers and guided them to the sleek crease of her buttocks. She slipped easily out of her bikini bottoms and unpeeled the tiny bikini top covering her breasts.
"Wanna try something different, honey?"
Paul blinked. "You mean you want to ... naw ... come on ... that's for faggots!"
"Oh, don't be so square!" she tutted, beginning to suckle his bulging penis again, wetting it from tip to base in long, licking strokes. "How long have you lived in LA, anyway?" she mocked.
Maneuvering on her sleek belly, her trembling buttocks high in the air, she spread her legs wide and rose to a half-kneeling position.
God help me, but I can't resist this woman! Later he would suffer the guilt; right now he wanted to feel her velvety cunt on his lips. Rolling her over, he knelt between her legs. His tongue flicked out and he began to lick the satiny flesh of her thighs, tasting salty from frolicking in the ocean's waves. He swiveled his head from one to the other as he moved slowly toward the bush of honey pubic curls. The ragged pink line of her slit showed through it, pulsing, swelling and opening around his tongue as the tip made the first luscious lick. Mae squeezed her slender thighs together tight for a languid moment against his face, then slowly parted the coral hole. He could smell the hot, musky heat of her body as she opened her legs wide in invitation.
The flat of his warm, velvety tongue swept between the ragged, tasty lips and brought a rising gasp of appreciation from her throat. Her hand shot behind her head and she tilted herself up so she could watch. His warm mouth glued to the ragged lips and he sucked hard, letting his tongue curl deep into her moistening cuntal hole and then twitched as her cuntal muscles closed around it like a sea anemone. He worked it around and then out, searching, licking for the tip of her clitoris and teasing it, then nipping lightly, expertly with his teeth, grabbing the oily nub and giving it a babyish nip. She squealed with delight.
"God, you eat pussy ..." she mumbled, tossing her head wildly, thrusting her pelvis up to his demanding mouth. "Nobody ever ate me out like you do ... not even another woman ..."
He let that comment pass. What was she telling him? That she'd turned bisexual? "Hmmm ..."
He lifted his head from her steaming genitals and stared at her. "Oh, don't get so serious, Paul. They make us models do some pretty crazy things for those magazines. You wouldn't believe the things I've learned!" she stated.
He let that pass too. Dimly the words registered in his mind as he continued to lick and suck, driving her wild with his thrusting tongue, exulting in her silken thighs clenched around his flushed face smeared with her tasty juices. "Mmmmm ..."
"Ahhhhhh!" she hissed.
Her raspberry-red fingertips clawed at his head, pulling him tight against the wet forest between her golden thighs and she started to buck, back arched, screaming, cumming hard, gushing over his face, clamping him tight with her strong legs, holding him captive until the final spasm ebbed. Then, while she was still trying to catch her breath, he rolled her over onto her belly, over onto the thick clump of wadded up discarded clothes beneath them and spread her legs wide.
If she wanted to play whore, he would play the game! He dipped a finger into the secretions of her milking vaginal hole and spread it around the small, tightly puckered button of her anus, feeling her tremble in anticipation as, with his thumbs, he spread the smoothly curved half-moons of her buttocks wide. She raised her tail high in back, wriggling, taking her weight on her knees and elbows digging into the sand as the throbbing head of his steely cock touched the sensitive, cringing hole of her anus. He grasped her trembling hips in his big hands and held her tight as he pressed forward, clenching his teeth with the effort.
"Ugggghhhh!" she gasped softly, accepting the pain, as the blood-engorged knob bored past the fleshy outer lips of her tightly clenched anal sphincter. But she gritted her teeth bravely and jerked back toward him, offering herself, and the head popped all the way up inside the warm, rubbery opening.
"Ummmmmm ... go in slow ... honey ... very slow ..."
Gritting his teeth, beads of sweat pearling on his forehead, Paul held back the urge to ram the entire length of his cock into her with one powerful lunge. She rotated her hips and pressed slowly. A fraction of an inch at a time, his heavily pulsating cock sank deeper into the hot, moist tunnel of her ass. Her face contorted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, her eyes looking directly out on to the ocean, watching waves slap against the boulders, the frothy, briny water trickling up to wet the sand and recede again.
Mae's lips were drawn back tight against her even white teeth, and her breath was slow and deep as, with each manipulation of her body, she absorbed more of his meaty prick. Each slow stroke measured only a fraction of an inch, but his progress was determinable, and her taut, nakedly curved buttocks swayed from side to side and up and down in perfect rhythm, helping him, urging him on, leading him. Finally he was entirely inside of her, his hairy balls mashed tight against the softly curling hair of her pussy below. She sighted softly, relaxing, and sank down onto the ground. Her anal sphincter tightened hungrily around the base of his penis and she started to work her rectal muscles, clenching her buttocks back tighter against his naked penis. She squeezed him, she sucked him with muscles she didn't know she had!
She made a soft, humming sound. He couldn't see that her body was moving, but Paul felt as if a hundred tiny fingers were milking his prick, running its full length, squeezing him.
"God, you've got a beautiful ass!" he gasped.
She turned her face to the side so that he could see the lusty effect he was having on her. "I love to cum with you fucking me hard up inside my ass like this. I go crazy with you fucking into me fast ... I get so damned wild!" He got the hint and started boring into her with faster strokes. "No ... not yet ... just lie there and let me do the moving ... ummm ... Paul ... you should fuck Carla in the ass like this." She laughed mockingly then, knowing that would never happen.
Paul reassured that suspicion. "Forget it ..." he whispered in her ear. "She doesn't like oral sex either."
"That's nobody's fault but your own ..."
"Wh-what?"
"You should have fucked her the first night to set the pattern."
"How did you know that?"
"Hollywood's a small place sometimes. Word gets around ... nobody could believe it when you gave me up for her," she added a bit bitterly.
"Women ... asses and mouths ..."
"Don't make fun of my ass, sweetheart," she said, giving it a twitch that sent waves of sensation along his cock. "You'll never be faithful to Carla and you know it. You find another one like me who loves to suck you off and feel your prick up her ass, and you'd be leaving poor Carla in the dust. Come on," she urged, "move it a little."
She ground her ass against his deeply embedded cock and he drew back and fucked hard up into her rectal hole, bringing a soft little grunt of mixed pain and pleasure from her rosebud lips. She raised slightly up onto her dimpled knees and writhed as he drove deep into her upturned asshole again.
"Aaaagghhh ... Gawd! Work it around a little up there ... deep, hard ... HARD ... oh, yeah, baby, like that ... like that!" she mewled, hissing through clenched teeth.
Beneath him she began to heave and pant, thrusting her openly clenching anal mouth upward, moving it in tiny circular motions with each growing stroke of his long, unbending rod of steely flesh that made one body of them. Her face, and then her entire, lusciously curved body flushed with her exertions and pain and her breathing was fast and ragged. With each withdrawal, the clutching anus drew back like a fish's mouth, and she gasped as the heavily fucking cock plunged deep into her again, churning in the hot, wet depths of her back passage.
She raised herself higher, on hands and knees and met each punishing stroke with a backward thrusting that took all of his huge length. His balls slapped wetly down against the opening thrashing lips of her cunt as he drove viciously into her to the hilt, then withdrew with just a fraction of his meaty girth in the briny air. Only the bulging head remained up inside the warm, spongy walls of her rectum. His hands held her thrashing hips, leaving cruel red welts, and, with each massive stroke, she cried out, her screams of joy mingling with the ocean's roar. Her blonde hair flailed wild as the wind with the tossing of her head, and her mouth was drawn in a wide grimace of passion as a series of orgasms each stronger than the last, wracked her eagerly working young body.
"God, you can fuck!" she cried, clenching her buttocks, holding him tight as the spasm of churning cum gave way to the words: "My ass ... fuck my ass ... fuck ... fuck ... fuck!"
She was gyrating so wildly he could hardly hold her still and finally, as he felt the cum amass in his testicles, he threw his full weight into her, crushing her to the sand, grasping her hard by the shoulders as he skewered into her with a vengeance. Insanely, violently, the great load of semen gushed into her hotly thrashing hole and they cried out together in a wild, cataclysmic climax.
For a long while he lay on her naked back, feeling her heavy breathing, until his penis became soft and limp up inside her semen-drenched rectal channel.
"I should have married you ..." she gasped.
Paul knew better. He didn't want a whore for a wife ... he wanted a lady, maybe even someone who thought ass fucking was perverted. "Why, because I throw you a hunk of meat?" His guts knotted when he thought of her earlier comments about making love with other women. A cold shiver snaked up and down his spine. Sure, Mae was a good lover, but she'd never be a good wife. He thought of Chet ... poor Chet ... living in a bottle to escape the horrendous jealousy and insecurities he must feel watching his girl friend trying to make everything that had a cock.
Paul raised up on his elbows and let his eyes roam over the floor of the cave. The barnacles polka-dotting the cave wall, the sea anemones the ...
His head shot up and he pulled himself loose from Mae's quivering body. His feet dug into the loose sand; he bent over. It was cold and sharp. Now in the sunlight he could make out its form decisively. It was a knife, a sharp machete, the kind used by the military. Deeper inside the cave he found a woman's hiking boot.
He kept these discoveries to himself. Yet an emotion he could not gauge rippled through him. The car hood slamming, the match light, now this.
"Let's get dressed and out of here."
CHAPTER FIVE
A few more beers stolen from the abandoned Coleman cooler helped revive Chefs solemn mood and brightened his depressive state animating him greatly. Sitting beside him on the spread-open sleeping bag, Carla praised the skies for the sudden burst of sunny disposition that pulled Chefs thoughts from the wells of despair to something approaching happiness.
"Why don't we go for a walk and pull ourselves out of this rotten mood?" he nudged her with his elbow. "They're off romping in the waves and here we sit like a couple of miserable jackasses."
Chet hardly appeared to be the hiking type, in Carla's estimation, but his reasoning was straightaway. If the cheaters could forget about fidelity and honesty, then why should the cheated sit on a stump? she reasoned.
She lifted her eyes to Chefs face. Hurt and childish innocence made strange companions. He needed attention and self-assurance as badly as she did. Something about the blind leading the blind flashed through her mind as she made sandwiches for the hike, leaving Chet to search around his van for a bottle of wine though he couldn't remember whether or not he'd drunk it.
Now he charged jubilantly from the van brandishing the bottle of wine, and met Carla at the mouth of a pine-needled trail that wound under the low-hanging grove, bent and prematurely aged from the ocean's fury, up the slope to the cliffs.
Dressed in a pair of cut-offs and loose-hanging shirt, she felt a quiver of excitement course through her leggy body. Hurt and spite are strange bedfellows, but Carla didn't care. A fresh smile creased her lips. Just let them come back and try to find us ... just let them! They deserve to feel as rotten as Chet and I do!
Being alone with Chet and his bottle of wine was hardly the makings of a romantic afternoon for Carla, but it was better than sitting miserable and blue, tortured by jealous thoughts. Chet, too, seemed in a fresher mood as they headed off through the trees. She had tied her auburn hair back in a ponytail that swished with each ginger step. The air became warmer the farther they climbed from the ocean.
They didn't talk much as they walked, following the trail of manzanita and scrub pine, carefully avoiding the dangerous red poison oak now at its threatening potent peak in August.
"Let's stop at the top of this knoll and have lunch. Maybe we can find a place to catch some sun." To the right and left of them stubborn manzanita branches scraped her bare legs, cross-hatched with tiny twig scratches. The reward lay ahead ... the vast Pacific ocean was spread out for them like a corny calendar, the beaches and coves making jigsaw patterns of the shore. It was enough to make one want to cry.
At the top of the cliff the winds had swept clear a sandy knoll, warm and soft and inviting. Succulent ground cover had won the battle of manzanita versus sand and here they collapsed on the ground.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chet said with a grin, and for the first time, Carla noticed the dimple in his chin. His eyes were clear, his smile bright.
She grinned back, feeling clumsy in his presence. For the sake of distraction, her dark eyes swept over the beach below, trying to catch sight of movement ... that movement being Paul and Mae!
"Forget about them," he said, reading her thoughts and taking off his shirt for her to sit upon. Then he lay the plastic bag with two ham and cheese sandwiches on the sand and, propping the wine bottle between his legs, used the cork screw of his Swiss Army knife to open the bottle. They washed down their sandwiches with warm red wine. Conversation was sketchy, the sun warm, the wine relaxing.
"That was a nice lunch, Chet. Thanks for the wine ... it really helps take the edge off." She smiled up at him, sensing a soulful sensitivity about this man that made her wonder how often, if ever, Mae did anything to heighten his manly ego. Despite his neglect of appearance, he was a sweet man, mindful of the needs of others. Perhaps too much so.
Since Paul was giving Mae what she deserved, why not turn the tables? she decided. With every sip of wine, his conversation became more chipper, taking her mind away from jealousy. "Nothin' like sitting on a mountain top to make you forget your problems," he said philosophically. "I heard you and Mae were friends at one time. Then he dumped her for you ..."
Carla took a long swill of the wine. She wrinkled her nose against the freckling sun. "To be honest, I've always been rather jealous of Mae. I mean, my God ... look at her body for starters!" Her open admission took Carla by surprise. The wine was working on her senses, a fact clear as the sun shining overhead. "Why Paul dumped her for me is something I'll never understand."
"Hey, don't be modest. Paul knows a good thing when he's got it. Paul needs a woman like you ... sex-pots come a dime a dozen," he looked straight ahead over the Pacific. "I guess I'm just cheap ... I'm easy. A lady gives me a little bit of attention and I go crazy for more." His voice assumed a strange, beware tone. "Like you ... like now ..."
Swiftly, he pulled her into his arms in an unsuspecting movement. His lips bruised hard down on hers in a tight, grinding kiss, forcing his tongue between her tightly clenched teeth. The movement was unceremonious, ungentle.
Caught off guard, Carla froze under the hot sun. His mouth was pressing hard against her teeth. Insulted by his burlishness, she pulled her mouth free of him and pushed him away from her, bracing her hands against his chest.
"Hey, come on ... a little kiss is nothing ... compared to what Paul and Mae are probably doing!"
"That shouldn't matter," she averred defensively. "We don't have to act cheap just because they are."
Chet snickered. "Carla, let me tell you something about Paul. I've known the guy longer than you. Paul likes a woman who can make her own decisions ... the best thing you could do is to give him some of his own medicine. Sure, he'd be pissed off at first, but it would make him look at his own silliness."
Carla sniffled. The word silly seemed hardly applicable to the act Paul was committing!
"Come on, let's have a little kiss."
"No ... please, Chet, I didn't mean to mislead you I-" He plastered his lips to hers, forcing her backwards onto the warm sand. His hands were tender on her breasts, kneading them, stroking the swan-like length of her neck.
"Mmmmmfff ..." She wriggled beneath him, trying to squirm out from under his weight. But he had her pinned with his body and his superior strength. "Mmmfff ... nnnnoooo ... Chet!" Fighting was useless, futile, she realized, relaxing back into the warm sand, feeling the wine's affects on her dulled senses. And, after a moment of struggle, she realized it felt good having strong arms around her. Dimly, she dwelt on Chefs wisdom. One good deed deserves another, she thought bitterly, and that was to be the last of rational thought for Carla. After all, one man's body wasn't much different from the other, save for their emotions and Paul certainly was giving her no emotional input!
The once bruising kiss transformed to a warm, exciting mingling of lips and tongues. The confused young woman felt her resistance melting like June snow. A little surge of longing swept through her and she pressed her love-starved body against his strong one. It could have been Paul, for her response was the same.
Chet's hand dropped and began to lightly caress the smooth, bare expanse of her firm, scratched thigh, sending little shivers of arousal tingling through her pinned down body. Her head began to swim and rational senses were blown to the wind.
His softly caressing mouth sent wave after wave of unsuspected pleasure, and his hand pulled at the flap of her blouse, working at the clasp of her lacy brassiere. Still, she did not resist, even as the soft blowing wind rose goosebumps on her naked flesh. She felt the protective garment fall away and knew that her swollen breasts were free to his touch. Instantly, her nipples hardened into little joy-buds, crinkling in the air; Chet's hand closed in on first one, then the other, caressing and tweaking the hard knobs with practiced caresses.
"Paul and Mae are together right now ... doing the same thing we're doing," he whispered coercively into her ear. It didn't register in Carla's misaimed mind that maybe Chet enjoyed the idea of Mae cheating on him, giving him free reign to play with whatever woman caught his eye. His hand dropped to the fastening on her shorts. His other hand held her firmly at the small of the back, and he pressed his masculinity close to her.
Carla was beginning to realize that just maybe she'd misunderstood Chet; he could be soft and gentle, persuasive and subtle at the same time. That, she thought bitterly, was far more than she could say about Paul!
"They left us alone ... they don't care what we do."
Carla's head started to spin from the hot sun, the wine and the tempting hands teasing over her body. Paul and Mae were together, it was true. Just what they were doing together was another matter. In the wine-sodden depths of her mind, she realized that Chet was working at the zipper of her shorts, sliding them down over her suntanned thighs and long tapered legs ... then she was naked except for her flimsy panties!
"No, please, Chet ... this has gone far enough," she whimpered up into his handsome face. She was lying and they both knew it. The look in his flinty eyes told her that.
His hands, his words were mesmerizing. It was so easy to lie there and let him have his way with her. And he did ...
Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he peeled down the white lace of her bikini panties, baring the soft bowl of her tanned belly jeweled with a deep navel. He drew in his breath sharply as the auburn triangle of her pubic fleece peeked around the tight elastic leg bands; her pouting pussy mound was snug and warm inside the crotchband soaked with her juices. Carefully, he eased them down over her curving hips. Lower still until he peeled them down over her slender ankles. She lay naked beneath him.
"God, you've got a great body!" he hissed, staring down at the luscious flesh, so innocent, stretched out hesitantly for his taking. Her body was in perfect proportion, perfect harmony, from the rich swell of her nippled breasts, milky arid firm, to the curve of her hips.
"Jesus, I wish Mae had a little bit of your innocence," he mumbled somewhat sadly.
Could this be the same clumsy, drunken Chet? His sensuality was consuming, very consuming. Carla swallowed dryly, suddenly frightened by his closeness. She knew she was stark naked, out in the open, with almost a complete stranger. What if Paul should come panting up the trail ... with Mae hot on his heels? What if other hikers happened by and found them lying there. She knew she should put a stop to this, but somehow, she couldn't make the first move.
The vulnerability of her position, she decided, wasn't so unpleasant after all. With that rationalization, she put Chet in the responsible position. Whatever happened would be his doing. She was as innocent in this situation as she'd been in the torrid triangle of Carla, Mae and Paul ... the same pawn.
She shivered, feeling Chefs hands on her dully throbbing breasts, cupping them firmly, fondling the passion-stiffened nipples. Now his warm hands dropped to caress the warm satiny flesh of her rounded hips, stopping at the sleek firmness of her trembling upper thighs. She drew in her breath sharply when she felt him wedge one hand between her tightly clamped legs, and then she moaned as his fingers moved upward to make searing contact with the sensitive inner flesh of her thighs. The first wisps of her softly curling pubic hair grazed invitingly against the back of his hand, and a groan of desire bubbled from her rosebud lips as he began to caress her quivering buttocks.
With, a languid moan, her naked thighs spread in silent invitation, and Chet immediately moved his roaming hand closer toward the glistening pink lips of her wetly pulsating cunt. He stared down at the moistened pussy split, and saw the cuntal lips nestled protectively around the fragile pink flesh. Abruptly, his mouth watered as gently he parted the fleshy outer folds to unveil the fluted, ragged lips of her cuntal orifice. The red tip of her pulsating clitoris pounded with expectation.
Carla's brain swam with feverish indecision. She knew this was wrong, knew she would regret it later ... knew she was acting out of spite-yet none of that seemed to matter now.
Chet was leaning over her now. "Don't be so uptight, Carla ... relax." He smacked his lips and wiped a pearl of burgundy wine from his lip. "Lay back and let me pleasure you."
"NO! NOT THAT!"
She struggled up on her elbows, struggling to sit up. Her consciousness screamed objections to what he was saying, while her brain went wild with protest. "Let me up ... stop that, Chet!" she sobbed desperately. Her panicked lunges to get to her feet were futile against his brutish strength and he eased her back down onto the sand. His voice was soft and persuasive, as persuasive as his tender hands coursing over her nakedly squirming body.
"Lay back and relax. I want to kiss your pussy ... I'll make you cum that way."
She lay back, her brain rioting, hardly aware that Chet was once more bending over her, between her nakedly outstretched legs. Then he drew aside her wetly throbbing cuntal lips, baring the delicate heart of her sensitive little womb. He lowered his head decisively until he could inhale the musky scent of her intoxicating female perfume. Then, without warning, his wetly eager tongue flicked out and licked the ragged lips of her quivering, moist pussy lips!
"AAAGGGHHH!" Carla's back arched. It was more pleasure than she could stand. She ground her nakedly rounded buttocks into the sand in a last attempt to elude the searing contact with his tongue between her pulsating pussy lips, dipping the tip into her cunt's honeyed recesses, tasting the succulent sweetness of her cunt.
"Noooo ... don't!" She sobbed again, flailing her hips wildly as Chet slavered at her wetly throbbing cuntal slit. She groaned, her pussy on fire from the first contact of tongue on vagina. Electrical pleasure shot up the channel of her womb, making her cuntal walls weep for joy. Groaning and grinding her hips, eyelids fluttering over glazed passion-filled eyes staring blindly up into the afternoon sky, she grabbed his head in both hands and ground his face into the heart of her womb. The tormenting wet licking was more than she could stand. She could hear him slurp at her juices, felt his tongue scrape against her clitoris.
The pleasure was too great. It plummeted in a wave of repulsion. What's the matter with me? I can't let him kiss me down there! I won't even let Paul do that!
How could she debase and humiliate herself by lying naked under God's nose and let a near stranger lick and suck her vagina! Spite reared its head, then, smoothing the ragged edges of guilt. It was Paul's fault ... his fault for acting like an utter bastard toward her.
They began to work on her then ... those little wisps of forbidden pleasure swirling around inside the depths of her hotly throbbing pussy. She drew a deep breath, exhaling it slowly, allowing herself the freedom of mind to enjoy the lascivious licking by this man crouched between her nakedly spread thighs. She tried to fight the pleasure, but she couldn't stop herself from groaning out in passion when he took the rigid little bud of her clitoris between his front teeth and taunted it with his tongue.
"Oh GAWWWWD ... !" she gasped, arching her back up off the sand and forcing her aroused, dripping pussy up against his face, mashing her genitals juicily, slicking his cheeks with evidence of her heated pleasure! Oh, God, and what his five o'clock shadow was doing to her clitoris! It was on fire!
Her writhing body was a raging forest fire by now. Who cared about Paul? Who cared about Mae? Why should he get all the pleasure? He'd starved her for love, for appreciation, and why shouldn't she take it when it was being offered to her?
"Mmmm ... Ohhhh ..." she mewled, her swollen breasts sheened with the heat of her desire, her body rippling with shudders of electrical arousal spasming through it. On either side of his head, her thighs trembled.
And Chet was loving it! He mashed his face deeper into the steamy morass of her juicy pussy, inhaling and licking the warmly perfumed flesh rimming his nose. He began to jab his tongue at the wetly contracting hole of her cunt, feeling the sucking, greedy movements working to pull it into the dark, mysterious hole of her cunt. Her cuntal muscles milked his tongue.
Abruptly, he stiffened his wet, lashing tongue and rammed it as deep as it would go up between her legs.
That was too much for Carla. "OH GAWWWDDD ..." She was on fire now. She couldn't take much more of this bittersweet pleasure. Her quivering cuntal walls clung voraciously to his daring tongue, and her thighs trembled, her back arched, her breasts, swollen and needful, pressing upwards as if expecting a hungry mouth to suckle them as her vagina was being sucked. Every nerve ending in her body was poised and tensed for the bittersweet agony of orgasm.
And then she was there, soaring through the Pacific skies as if she'd been lifted up bodily and was floating on soft fleecy clouds, gently undulating, drifting towards heaven. Her body stiffened, suspended in space as passion exploded, starting at the tip of her clitoris pounding between her thighs, reverberated like silent thunder up the juicy channel of her pussy to the spongy tip of her cervix. A flash of ecstasy sprinkled before her eyes.
Almost there, climbing higher ... higher ... and then-
Despite the rockets firing in her body, despite the passion rumbling within her, she distinctly felt eyes on her. Someone was watching her shame, witnessing her sins. But orgasm was too strong and her suspicion fled as she came, screaming out her passion.
"I'm ... I'm cummmming!" she chanted as her grinding hips battered mindlessly against Chefs cum-slickened face. Her inner cuntal walls milked greedily on the thrusting tongue, and her hands dropped to his head, forcing his face deeper into the steamy morass of her cunt. Never, even with Paul, had she experienced such wildly exciting joy, and as he voraciously tongue-fucked her hotly convulsing pussy, she was frantic with lust. God, she could go insane from the electrical sensations shooting through her young body.
It was wild and exquisite, and her excited body agreed. Oh, to be kissed and licked between her thighs was heaven's gift to women! And it mattered not that Paul was not the man giving her that joy-Paul the man who would soon be her husband.
The tremors rattled through her satiated body and Carla lay back, too exhausted to care.
At least for the moment-
CHAPTER SIX
Chet worked at the zipper of his Levi's. Beside him lay Car la stretched out on the sand. Her long, tapered thighs deepened to the color of ripe wheat. God, what a body, and his for the taking! Chet swilled from the nearly emptied wine bottle, held it up to the sun to measure the remaining dregs and with a reckless shrug of the shoulders and muttered, "What the hell ... ?" upended the bottle selfishly. Wobbling up to his knees, he hooked his thumbs in his pants and started hauling them down over his hips and knees when the crunching footsteps on shale dirt hit his ears.
Between the manzanita bushes he caught a glimpse of dark-haired man. Their eyes met for a short moment, before the man ran off through the shrubbery, leaving Chet to stare dumbfoundedly. An uneasiness bordering on queasiness knotted in Chefs stomach; the glint in the stranger's eye was something close to murderous.
Why would anyone want to spy on them? For a scary minute, when first he noticed movement, he feared Paul might have discovered him in his fianc'e's arms. Or maybe the backpackers had returned to find their six pack of beer missing. Dizzily, he considered all this and glanced lustfully down at Carla's stretched out nudity. With a goddess like that ready and waiting, it didn't matter if the whole world was watching!
"Who was that?" Carla shot upwards, her auburn hair shimmering red in the sunlight.
"I didn't hear nobody," stammered Chet, working the wad of denim down over his ankles. "Just you and me here."
"No ... I heard somebody. I want to go back to the camp, Chet ... now!" She scrambled for her clothes. Out of the corner of one chocolate eye, she caught sight of his naked loins, erect and ready to give her a pleasure she didn't want. On hands and knees, she grabbed for her discarded clothing and slipped into it. Chet grabbed her by the arm.
"Take it easy." But it was no use restraining her. "Besides, I haven't had a chance to-"
She shot him a venomous look and grabbed for her shirt. "Get it from Mae!" she snapped, hating herself for once more being made a pawn in this crazy chess game. Anger rushed in where desire had five minutes before. "I'd give anything to be back in LA, if you want to know the truth."
"But ..."
"And forget what happened between us, Chet, because nothing happened. It was all a mistake, I never should have let you touch me ... it was wrong!" Up on dimpled knees, she punched one fist through each sleeve and buttoned up her shirt. A slender foot jabbed into her shoes and with auburn hair flying in the breeze, she was off. Behind her Chet disgruntledly yanked up his zipper and grumbled to his feet.
From the sand pile he plucked up skimpy bikini panties and brandished them in the air. "You forgot your panties, hey you!"
Too late. Carla was off down the path, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Somebody had been spying on them. Someone had seen her lying naked before God, with Chet mashing his face into her genitals, slobbering up her love juices. The idea was too much to accept ... too damning for her soul.
And that person's eyes were leveled on her now. A figure crouched in the manzanita bushes, hungry eyes devouring the rich swells and curves of Carla's mod-elish body. Carla's tennis shoes dug into the shale earth a leg's stretch away from the man who'd witnessed her lust. Had she known, her pace would have quickened. But now Paul filled her mind. The danger lay within herself, or so she thought ...
It was a glowering, suspicious foursome who huddled about the fire that night exchanging heated glances and speaking in monosyllables. Dinner was simple: hot dogs. The air was biting and damp, chilling as a wet towel draped about a goosebumped body.
Even Mae's bubbly mood had deflated, a fact which stoked Carla's suspicions. Through the fire flames she watched the blonde-haired, angel-faced lovely chase the weiner around on her plate picking at it with a plastic fork heartlessly. Beside her, Carla sensed Paul scrutinizing his ex-girl friend's every movement, every gesture, every non-communicative glance. Wasn't it strange, thought Carla, that after spending all afternoon with Paul, she should feel sorry for herself?
Paul regarded Mae with a fresh curiosity now. Through the fire flames he squinted at her, trying to read her thoughts. Half-girl, half-woman, jealous and insecure. After this afternoon in the cave he'd come to realize that foggy morning walks on the beach are not the proper place to make rational decisions. Early morning hours are vulnerable hours, and he was sucked into Mae's sex games like a fool. He felt curiously like an object now ... a sex object like the woman herself. As he studied the baby-blue eyes he wondered how anyone that beautiful could have so many loose screws. Asking him to make anal love to her, hinting of bisexual romps ... just what kind of woman was she, anyhow? Men were toys to her.
Warily, his eyes fled to Carla sitting beside him, half-heartedly choking down a dry hot dog, eyes fixed on the fire that played over the cascading wealth of her shimmering auburn hair. Features set placidly, an aura of decisiveness to the set of her jaw. Had he lost her? The thought stuck in his throat like bad meat. This lack of communication made him terribly uneasy. If those two women would talk to each other and forget this nonsense, everybody would be better off. Hell, Chet might even put down the bottle and get himself back into shape. Situations like this demanded a catalyst, but what and how was the question. Something had to spark the light of conversation and understanding, or they might as well all go home.
Still, Carla seemed changed somehow. Less uptight and more self-confident as if something definite was brewing in her lovely brain. He only hoped it was not revenge or thoughts of breaking off their engagement. Somehow, he'd manage to get her alone tonight and try to talk sense to her.
He turned to Carla. "Want to take a ride into Big Sur with me to pick up a bottle of wine ... maybe a couple of six packs?"
Chet who had been sitting taciturn and unresponsive, lit up. He dipped into his pocket and hauled out a crumpled wad of money. "Get me a bottle of J.D. while you're there ... and a pack of Camels. Hell, I'm almost out."
Mae tutted and rolled her eyes at the stars on this clear, dark night. The moon was a thumbnail sliver in the navy-blue sky. "You've still got a bottle of Southern Comfort in the van, Chet. You don't have to get drunk every night!"
The public rebuke was well aimed. Everyone had noticed Chet making repeated trips to the van and a glance into his eyes cemented the suspicion that he was well on his way to inebriation.
"Hey, I thought we finished that bottle off last night. You mean you been holding out on us?" Paul tried to make light of the heavy situation. Then to Carla: "Choke down the rest of that hot dog and let's get going ... stores close early down here."
Aloof, ensconced in her own world, Carla followed him to the car and slipped in. It started on the fifth try.
"Huh ... wonder what's wrong with it this time. Hell, I just sank three hundred dollars into it last week! Wait until I get my hands on that mechanic ... I'll make him eat his goddamned clutch!" He struggled with the starter. It sparked and they took off down the rutted road, gingerly avoiding pot holes until they reached Highway One. When he accelerated, the car sputtered and lurched forward like a lion.
In the cold night, her voice was icy as a sharp knife. Carla clamped her arms over her breast, hugging herself against cold air and colder emotions about to freeze in her veins. "Did you and your Barbie doll have a nice time at the beach today, Paul?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" he spat back. "Just because I went for a walk on the beach doesn't make me a criminal. Hell ... you were no fun, turning your back on me." He let out a deep sigh, disgruntled with himself. Leaning his elbow on the car door, he raked fingers through his burly brown hair. It was with an expression of sincere regret that he studied her features, softened by the car's dashboard lights. "Let's bury the hatchet, Carla. I'm not in love with Mae, if that's what you think. I was attracted to her sexually at one time, but the woman's not for me."
"You sure didn't act that way," she tutted. "Forty-five minutes to go to the bathroom? You really think I'm a fool!"
"Okay, okay," he acquiesced. "So Mae and I went for a walk on the beach this morning ... so what? I apologize."
She turned a bitter face to him. "Oh, so now we're making apologies. Before everything was innocent, but now you're sorry! That doesn't add up, Paul!"
He pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and reaching over the gear shift, hugged her shoulders, pulling her tight to his chest. He buried his face in her soft hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear.
"Please, don't bore me ..." she groaned, pushing him away from her. "There's nothing to discuss."
"There's everything to discuss!" He stared at her for a long moment, catching the shimmer of headlights in the rear-view mirror. An old pickup truck whizzed by, honking. "You love me, Carla ... we can't let a weekend break us up."
The words escaped her lips before she weighed the consequences. "I don't know why you think you have the monopoly on apologies ... you might find it amusing that this afternoon Chet and I made love. What do you think of that?"
Paul's jaw fell," his eyes bulged. His right hand smacked across her face with a resounding whack that left a painful welt on her cheek.
"You creep!" She jumped to her feet and leaped over the low car door. The car's headlights blanched her trembling frame, her face pale, drawn. "You think you can mess around with Mae, but when I start feeling a little loose, you go crazy! You and your damned double standards! You can both go to hell!" Her voice cleaved the night air, her hands drawn into fists. Crying hysterically, she ran down the road into the night.
"Carla! Get back here!" In the confusion, he hadn't noticed the engine had died. "Shit!" he grumbled, pounding the steering wheel when the engine stubbornly refused to turn over. On the sixth try, it started. He made a tight U-turn in hot pursuit. Lurching, the car advanced a few yards, then died. He stomped on the accelerator. Nothing. First gear, more gas. It was no use.
He squinted into the dark night. No sign of Carla. Clenching his fists, he hammered at the steering wheel and let fly every swear word he had ever heard ... including a few in Spanish. Leaping over the car door, he rolled the MG onto the shoulder in case a vehicle should come swerving around the bend.
Traffic on the country road was sparse and most drivers, fearful of picking up strangers, unsympathetic. Two cars passed him by and one motorcycle with a blonde haired girl clutching her lover around the waist, hair flying in the breeze, golden thighs clamped to the bike. Jesus, she looks like Mae! Nope, he had to quit thinking that way. Carla. He cupped his hands and called out to her. He squinted into the forest, trying to catch sight of her willowy figure, but the moon was but a sliver in the cold, dark sky.
A Highway Patrol car ground to a halt. "Got a problem, mister?" The uniformed policeman pushed back the bill of his cap and regarded the young man suspiciously.
"My car broke down. Where can I get a tow truck?"
"Get in and I'll drive you to the store. They've got a garage. Maybe Joe can help ya out. Kinda late though."
The sky was hard and cold and clear as the black and white patrol car rolled into Joe's Grocery parking lot, just off the main stretch. Next to it sat a gas tank and a small station above which the flying red horse made strange contrast to the dilapidated building. A closed sign hung by a string dangling from the rubber gas hose.
"Don't look too promising," said the patrol man, opening the car door and heading for the coffee shop section where he spent his nights drinking hot coffee and watching the slender string of traffic on the highway.'
Paul headed for the cooler and drew out a six pack of beer. That and a bottle of wine sat on the counter top now. He was ready for something with a punch ... besides Carla's insults.
An old man with wire-rimmed glasses was pouring the patrolman a cup of hot coffee. He turned to regard his new customer.
"Anywhere I can get a tow truck?" he asked, then jerked his head toward the row of hard liquor bottle in back of the counter. "Better give me a fifth of Southern Comfort too."
"Tow truck? Not at this hour. What's your problem?" The older man wiped the dust from the bottle with the sleeve of his shirt. His fingers played over the cash register keys.
"My car's broken down about three miles out of town. I need to haul it to a garage before somebody crashes into it." The man leaned his age-spotted hands on the counter top and studied his young customer. "You stayin' in a hotel?"
"No ... we're camping down the road." He lowered his voice and evaded the subject, knowing full well he was trespassing on private land. All he needed was a ticket to make his weekend a total disaster.
"Where 'bouts?" The old man was insistent.
"Down off Johnson Road a bit. But we're pulling up camp tonight," he added hastily in a voice low enough to evade the policeman's ears. He glanced over the old man's shoulder to see the patrolman heavily ensconced in the green sports sheet section of the newspaper.
Joe stared long and hard at the young man. "How many people you camping with?"
"Just me and my wife and another couple."
It sounded strange to hear him call his wife. After tonight they were total strangers, it seemed. "Why do you ask?"
"We people down here in Big Sur like to keep to ourselves ... we don't gossip much, but we've been hearin' stories about campers down on Johnson Road getting harassed. Don't know if there's any truth to it ... but I wouldn't stay there if I was you. Cops been looking around those parts for a coupla campers that never showed up again. Think they mighta got washed out by a wave. Can't be too careful, though."
The tinny sound squawked on the patrolman's beeper. He grumbled, folded up the green sheet, rattled a few coins on the counter top, mumbled a "Thank you," to Joe and the screen door banged shut behind him.
A look of startled concern creased Paul's brow. The knife, the woman's hiking boot ... the slam of his car hood ... and Carla out there in the woods alone melded into one horrifying sensation constricting his throat.
"You see any other campers out there?"
Paul shook his head. "I found an abandoned backpack and a cooler full of food. Aside from that-" His face went tight. "I better get back there right away. Anybody here can give me a ride?"
The old man shook his head. "Too late for that ..."
Paul's jaw fell slack; he swallowed tightly and picked up the grocery bag, hearing only half of what the man was telling him. Dear God, don't let Chet be drunk, he thought miserably. Mae out there alone. No, he didn't have to worry about her; she had the van to lock herself up in. But Carla ... his wife to be ... the woman he'd slapped across the face in a fit of unjustified jealousy. Carla headed for the campsite with no flashlight, no weapon, tromping through the woods, insane with anger and hurt.
His hand clamped on the old man's arm. "I gotta get a ride back there. Christ, I have to! Lend me your car, please ... I'll give you mine!"
The old man shook his head again. "Sorry, kid. I don't drive no more ... I live in the back of the store."
Paul tore through the screen door, his heart pounding, blood singing in his ears.
"Hey, mister ... where's my money! Hey, you can't leave without paying!"
Sitting on the driftwood log, staring into the flames slowly dying now, Mae felt a loneliness a woman of her pulchritude seldom felt. She shivered, shoulders hunched against the biting night cold. Her blue eyes rose to stare up at the thumbnail moon where slivers of clouds blanketed its skimpy light. A splattering of stars sprinkled over head. Sniffling, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand and searched for the Big Dipper, her thoughts lost in emotional storm of regret. Paul in love with another woman, Chet lying drunk on the sand like some Bowery bum.
Chet groaned, eyelids flickering from the warmth of the fire. He grabbed for the nearly emptied Southern Comfort bottle that found its way from the van only when the others had left.
"Do you always have to get drunk, Chet," she tutted disapprovingly. "Why do you do that? Why can't you be happy just to be with me?" Bitterness sparked in her veins, a bitterness normally camouflaged by her syrupy attitude towards the opposite sex. "Other men like to be with me."
Chet snickered drunkenly. In his inebriated state his handsome face aged-like now. Mae glared down at him. He was no longer the fun-loving, happy-go-lucky rich boy she met six months ago: he was a worthless bum. Frustrated, she leaped up from the log and screamed down at him. "Just for your information, Chet, I made love to Paul twice today! How do you like that? But you don't care. You don't even make love to me anymore. You make love to your fucking bottle!"
Chet glared back at her through drunken, venomous eyes. "Got news for ya, honey ... little Carla and I sucked each other off today. Yeah, Chet can get it up ... but not for you!"
"You bastard!" she yelped, tears stinging her blue eyes. "Go ahead, get drunk! Who needs you? I'm going to bed!"
Fifty yards away, crouched in the bushes, two men listened to her rage, and four eyes followed the leggy blonde storming back to the burgundy van.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The tree bark scratched her flushed cheeks, the cold night air bit at the tender nape of her neck as a forest breeze tossed her auburn hair recklessly over her shoulders. Carla clung to the pine tree as if it were the warm arms of a compassionate lover. Hysterically, she sobbed, struggling to catch her breath. Finally, when the sniffles subsided, leaving open her senses to the deplorable state of her situation she glanced wild eyed through the dark silhouetted trees. Panic set in.
Running, stumbling over the soft forest floor, she heard the nearby purr of a car's engine. Wildly she squinted through the trees, and shot a withering glance at the moon. The thumbnail sliver hung stoically and unaiding in the brittle sky. The forest was damp and dark, cave-like and terrifyingly eerie. The thought raced through her mind that something predatory could be out there watching her every movement, listening to her helpless cries ... just as the stranger had witnessed her lust with Chet today on the mountain top! That thought shivered through her lithe body as her legs, charged with adrenalin, scissored towards the splash of car headlights washing over the tree trunks.
"Wait ... help! Stop ... please!" Panting, she tore down a shallow ravine, and tripped over an exposed tree trunk. The earth was moist and cold under her cheek. Wearily, she pulled herself up onto her knees and crying, brushed her sweater clean of pine needles and dead leaves and made her way to the highway.
Two cars whizzed uncompassionately past the woman waving her arms. Another drunk, they thought, passing her by. Hardly a night for a stroll with the sky hard and dark. That was precisely what the driver of the third vehicle contended.
Through tear-wetted eyes, Carla caught the blurry image of an elderly man with a fluffy white beard pull onto the shoulder and open the door of his beat-up pickup truck. "Ain't no night for a gal to be walkin' by herself," he cajoled. "Hop in ... I done my share a hitchhikin', too," he assured.
Carla would have refused the offer had it not been for the orange tabby tiger cat perched on his owner's shoulder. A more comfortable and harmless two-some she couldn't refuse. She was miles from the beach, cold and depressed. At the Johnson Road turn off she asked to be let off. Reluctantly, he did so, and rattled off his rusted truck.
The shocking adjustment to the darkness made her wish she had accepted his offer to drive her to the campgrounds. Miserable and self-pitying, she started to take bitter delight in the knowledge that if anything unpleasant happened to her it was Paul's fault. No self-respecting, sane human would let a woman walk alone in the woods with no flashlight, no weapon, leaving her to the elements.
And where was Paul? Why wasn't he looking for her? Selfish bastard, she thought bitterly. His precious beer and Mae are more important than me! To think I was going to marry a selfish creep like him! How could I be so stupid? Those negative thoughts were hardly convincing, though, as she raised a balled up fist to her trembling lips and bit down hard in attempt to stem the tears flooding her eyes and making a watery blur of the stark tree silhouettes closing in on her threateningly. The idea of letting Mae see her in this tremulous state was equally devastating. Well, if Mae wanted to play her games, let her ... this one was dropping out of the running!
Mae stormed to the van, her heavy breasts rising and falling from anger snorting from her deer-like nostrils. So Chet and Carla-pooh spent the afternoon sucking each other's genitals! How cute ... how disgustingly cute. She threw herself through the opened door and collapsed on the lower of the two single-bed mattresses built into the deluxe camper van. Anger, a rage so hot her cheeks flushed in the bitter air suffused her lissome body. She felt as if she might burst out of her skin! "Damn!" She punched the bed with a balled up fist and swore until her breath failed her.
She'd been so certain, so confident that Paul still loved her. And she'd tried being the mellow, magnanimous ex-girl friend, feeding him little tidbits of goodies toward Carla. Oh, he'd gone for it hook, line and sinker ... gobbled up her honeyed phrases like a bear licking honey ... and then poof. The second she wanted him to get a little kinky with sex, he freezes up worse than his cutsie fianc'e!
"Men-fuckers!" she spat, wishing there were somebody there to listen to her, somebody to take frustrations out on ... somebody to fuck and get her mind off these stupid creatures. "Shit!"
And Chet, the stupid bum, curled up on the sand like some Central Park bum, hugging his bottle. She pressed her perky nose to the window, the stentoriously flaring nostrils steaming the window. That's just fine with me! Wait till Paul comes back ... just wait. I'll fuck him right in front of everybody and then see what they do!
A portable heater sat on the carpeted floor. With an angry twist, she turned the knob, delighting in the warmth. Hell, he could sleep out on the sand for all she cared. She was going to bed!
Stretching her arms over her head, she pulled free of the bulky wool sweater covering her naked, melonous breasts. Tiny goosebumps polka-dotted her luscious flesh, a tingle of salacious expectation shivering through her body at the feel of being naked from the waist up. Standing up, she pulled at the metal tab of her Levi's zipper and hauled the denim down over her hips, stepped out of them, and kicked them free of her ankles.
Naked and loving the feel of being unrestricted, a shiver of naughtiness crept into her brain. Tossing honey blonde hair over her naked shoulder, she squatted down next to the refrigerator and dipped a delicate hand beneath; her fingers touched the gold glass and she hauled it out. With a retributional snicker, she twisted open the cap of the Jack Daniels bottle, broke the seal and tossed back her head. The liquor burned like a fire eater's show time lunch, but she endured and spitefully tipped the bottle again. She swished her head from side to side loving the feel of her soft hair brushing over her back.
Then with curl-lipped deliberation, she stretched out nakedly atop the goosedown coverlet and with the heater warming her as an absent lover couldn't, she stretched languidly, taking long deep swills of the liquor in between heady thoughts of lying there naked until Paul came to find her. Then she'd screw him silly ... in front of snob-nosed Carla and her drunken boyfriend.
Raspberry polished fingertips ran narcisstically over the goosebumped bumps and curves of her bronzed nudity, coming to rest on the strawberry tips of her nipples, puckering from the titillating touch of her own admiring fingers and expectation. Another deep swill of. the burning alcohol tickled down her swan-like throat, while curtains of honey hair sprayed over the coverlet. If touching her own body could feel this wonderful to her, Lordie what it must do to men!
The thought of how fantastic it must feel to be a man, to have the power to penetrate a woman made her pussy burn with lust. During a few photography sessions, she'd been asked to squat naked next to a woman in the simulated act of lesbian love. A few times, too, the temptation to let a woman fondle her had popped to mind and along with it snuck the temptation to penetrate a woman, to share the power afforded only to men. Frantically, she lifted her head from the mattress and took a deep sip of the Jack Daniels, noting that she was well on her way to drunkenness. Spite rippled through her as she became aware of the stubborn pulsing in her female flesh, deep in the valley of her thighs.
Lying naked in a warm spot like here next to the heater, always made her feel happy and sexy. Smiling crookedly, she drew her dimpled knees up to her fully swollen breasts and turned her face to the heater, feeling the slight tingle, like the sun's rays, playing over her anger-flushed cheeks.
With deliberation, she rubbed her fingers over the tips of her breasts, warming them with her hands. It was an automatic reaction, something she'd been taught to do by photographers who wanted their models warmed up and ready for a sexy photo session. The touch of her own fingers against the sensitive flesh provoked an unusual response, a thrilling jolt that seared to her belly. Suddenly, the snugly fitting bikini panties felt horribly restricting, confining the hair-fringed fleshy lips of her pussy. God, they were soaked too! She could feel them sticking to her inner thighs, crying for attention. She lifted her hips from the coverlet and peeled them down over her swelling hips and slender thighs, and kicked them off her ankles. She drew a deep breath, another shock of excitement racing through her loins as her vaginal furrow rubbed down against the coverlet.
"Damn you men!" she snarled under her breath. She seemed to have become a toy for men ... an object of their selfishness. A cold rush of night air rushed over her suddenly exposed pussy and she caught her breath, sinking down into the coverlet. Lazily, languidly she stretched out now, arching her back a little to stretch out like a cat before the fire. Oddly, she sensed her muscles tightening sensuously under her sun-bronzed skin. God, she needed to make herself cum ... just to forget.
With a little smile of anticipation, she slowly spread her legs apart and let her hand drift down over the shallow bowl of her belly into the chestnut burnished thatch of her pubic hair. Her eyes were half-closed, the thick, dark lashes fluttering over her cheeks as her fingers lightly brushed the swollen bud of her clitoris. Already she could feel the lips of her love-hungry pussy growing hot, tingling and throbbing under the gentle rubbing pressure of her fingertips. God, it wouldn't take long ... not long at all!
She raised a delicate hand to cup one after the other of her fleshy breasts, taunting the tightly clenched nipples between her fingers, after propping the Jack Daniels bottle up against the van's wall in a cuddly nest of the coverlet's wrinkles. As her breath began to come in short labored gasps, she felt the lust smoldering in her loins ignite into a bonfire of passion.
Her long shapely legs began to scissor open, making folds in the coverlet half-draped over her thigh, while the heater warmly kissed her nakedness. As she stroked the hotly throbbing nipple of her clitoris, her eyes became glazed and smokey and she felt her nerve-endings tingling with the needs built up in her womb. Her smooth rounded buttocks twisted frantically against the mattress. Her full sensuous Clara Bow lips fell open in delight as her trembling fingers slid downward to the soft, hair-covered lips of her pussy and pulled them outward to expose the tiny opening that throbbed hungrily between them.
Tenderly, cooing to herself, she wormed her outstretched middle finger into the moistly quivering hole of her sex, forcing it into the clasping wet hole until her finger was squirming up inside the warm, liquid tightness. A shudder of delight rippled through her naked body as she began to fuck it slowly in and out of her hungrily working belly, feeling her greedy cunt walls pulling and nibbling on her finger.
But one wasn't enough for Mae ... men, fingers, cocks ... one was never enough. She quickly thrust another finger past the swollen flanges of her moist cunt, gradually widening the lips as she rotated the inserted fingers deep around up inside her cunt with sensual abandon. Disconnected images of Paul fucking his cock into her hotly writhing body began to flash through her inebriated mind as she drove her hips eagerly upward to meet each downward sloshing movement of her fingers into her penis-starved pussy.
Abruptly that image faded. No not Paul ... not a man ... not someone to use her and throw her away. Gradually, almost before she was aware of it, the erotic visions transformed into the softer features, softer body, softer touch of a woman. A woman's soft fingers tracing the luscious bumps and curves of her naked body with an appreciation a man wasn't capable of. The idea of rubbing her flesh against another woman's was hellishly intoxicating filling her hungering vaginal cavity with a heated presence of her own fingers. The idea brought a groan of lust from her lips, and she pulled her knees back up to touch her breasts and lewdly ground her hips upward to meet each delightful stroke of her fingers fucking into her desire-drenched pussy.
The sand was damp and cold as a wet towel, but Chet felt more than a vague discomfort that centered somewhere in his chest like an ache of longing disguised by inebriation. The tide was rising to its peak, frothy waves crashing against the night-hard silhouettes of rock outcroppings that mark the Pacific as treacherous. Through his brain rattled hate-filled words accompanied by a deep sense of loss. He rolled over onto his back, nostrils stinging from smoldering logs.
A bloodcurdling glint simmered in the short man's eyes as he stalked the helpless figure slumped before the fire. Scrambling beast-like, the knife between his teeth caught the slender glimmer of moonlight as he neared his prey. Adrenalin pumped in his veins when Shorty stretched out a cold bony hand to awaken the drunken camper. He'd heard the gorgeous-bodied blonde rail at him for being drunk and watched surreptitiously from the sidelines as she ran towards the van.
Through murderous eyes, he glanced over his shoulder to stare long and hard at the burgundy van that had been his object of attention since the last campers got here. Tonight was the night ... she would be his! Oh, she would get it ... every place he wanted to put it ... like the other fool women who thought they were alone on this beach! His dark eyes snapped toward his lanky friend hovering in the bushes. A nod of the head was the signal.
On all fours, resembling a warlock, gnarled and quick, Chuck sneaked toward the van. Ten feet away, he dropped to the ground and crept reptilian-like toward the shiny vehicle. His fingers touched the dew-wetted metal as he pulled himself up to nose level with the low convex window.
Abruptly he pulled in his breath, his ghoulish features leathery from months of living on the briny-aired ocean beach, cracked into a lecherous grin as he stared at the lusciously naked body of the bitch blonde that he and Shorty had stalked ... as they had the slimy Viet Cong back in Nam.
From his back pocket he hauled out the pair of bikini panties he'd found earlier in the day from the mountain top where he'd discovered the drunk and the dark-haired bitch lying naked under the sun. He would have got the dark one then ... would have plunged the knife into her heart ... but she had seen him and foiled his plans.
Chuck's bony hand wadded up the bikini panties; he brought them to his nose, sniffing, taking in the' rich muskiness of a female in heat. The bushiness of his hair and a pair of foreboding eyes rose above the ledge of the van's window as he watched the gorgeous blonde fucking herself with her fingers, lying outstretched nakedly, just waiting for him and Shorty. It seemed too perfect, too easy. He balked, waiting for Shorty.
In the valley of his thighs, Chuck felt his cock bloat from the salacious finger fucking the blonde woman was giving herself. Christ, what a body ... ! His hand slithered down to his pants to cup the weight of his cum-filled balls. Jesus, he couldn't wait ... couldn't pry his eyes off of the bronze-bodied bitch tossing her blonde hair over the bed, trying to make herself cum. His cock was hot and thick when he yanked down his pants zipper and hauled it out into the night air. Hot and thick beneath his fingers as he envisioned her pink pussy lips wrapped around his cock while he screwed into her, pulverizing her guts!
Chuck's hand stroked steadily up and down the bloated length of his hard cock, pumping it, pulling the foreskin back and forth lustfully with teeth-gritting lust. The bitch ... the bitch ... like the whores back in Nam who jammed glass tubes up your prick and laughed while a scrawny Cong Commie grumbled out interrogations, threatening you with worse than death if you didn't cooperate. Two years of that was enough to make any man go fucking crazy ... want to kill.
His hand began to beat up and down his penis, making lewd slapping sounds against his hairy groin each time his gnarled, leathery fist struck downward. His body tensed and trembled and he chewed on his bottom lip as he concentrated on the feast a window-glass away. He could hear her grunt and groan, twisting and arching her back off the mattress while she finger-fucked herself into oblivion.
On the other side of the window he watched as Mae delved down between her satiny legs with the other hand and feverishly pinched and teased at the tiny, swollen bud of her clitoris while her hotly clenching buttocks danced insanely to the savage rhythm of her driving fingers. Choked gasps of animal pleasure and lust arose in her throat, and her face contorted to a wild mask of lust as she speeded up her rhythm, straining toward her orgasm that she needed so badly. Her long blonde hair tossed around her baby-featured face as she struggled for it and hung there ...
Hung there while the lusty-eyed murderer watched with hollow-cheeked glee ... knowing that in minutes she would be his to play with and taunt. And nobody was there to help her, nobody to hear her screams.
Shorty had done a helluva job on the MG's clutch and both of them had watched from the manzanita bushes the driver curse and swear as his car lurched down Johnson Road ... never to return ... with the dark-haired bitch beside him, leaving them free to do as they pleased with the baby-faced bitch.
He glared through the window, his breath steaming on the pane as Mae hovered for what seemed like a year of seasons on the edge of her climax, and she placed both hands over her straining young cunt, frantically massaging and fingering the hot, slippery inner walls with all the strength remaining her. Mae forced herself to finger fuck long after she realized it was no use ... she was too drunk ... something was wrong. She needed a man to make her cum, needed something more adoring than her own fingers dipping in and out of her crying cunt. She needed attention ... and groaned aloud with frustration.
Chuck's body became board stiff as he watched Mae's luscious breasts jiggle from her thrashing movements. Ah, in a little while she would be going wild and her slippery pink cunt would bathe his cock in hot, musky juices. Tight and smooth and velvety on the inside would be her cunt ... he thought, licking his lips as he stared at the woman's crying genitals. He gave his cock an extra pull as he stared at the glistening oil drops of her lubricants. Christ, this one would cum the second he shoved it to her, unlike that other bitch who fought and scratched ... until they were forced to hurt her-bad.
He knew he would cum in three more strokes. He felt it amass in the hairy balls of his testicles, felt it burn in his gut ... then felt it gush. His knees buckles and for a steadying moment, he was forced to lean against the van to keep from collapsing. He cupped his hands to the main force of his semen and with a grunt, gave it a last pull of the foreskin ... the one that arched his cock backwards, and pulled hard on the skin of the head so that it stretched painfully. Then he grabbed the panties from his back pocket and with a snarl of contempt, let the shower spurt onto the black undies. His head snapped back, his ghoulish face bathed in threads of moonlight as his mouth fell open in slack-jawed ecstasy and relief. Christ, he couldn't wait to fuck her! Grinding his teeth, he groaned a muted gurgle of pleasure-filled expectation and, breathing hard, glanced over his shoulder to see Shorty winding ropes around the drunken man's arms pulled back behind him.
The fun was about to begin. As always happened on nights when he and Shorty felt the unstoppable thrill of bringing back to life the gut-tearing reality of war, a tingle of wariness crept in beside expectation. He could feel it in his fingertips, feel it in the soles of his feet, could taste it in his mouth. The thrill of fear was tangible within him.
Cramming his flaccid, sticky tube back into his pants, he zipped them up and stole around to the door side of the van. He could smell her womanly scent through the metal door. There was no stopping them now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The air within the van smelled heavily of musk, fairly twitched with the itch of unsatisfied sex. Mae crooned drunkenly on the mattress, the bottle of Jack Daniels propped up in the goosedown folds of the coverlet rumpled about her body shivering with the dread of passionate need. A sob tore from her throat. Deserted ... utterly deserted by Chet and Paul. Why? Wasn't she a gorgeous-bodied woman, uninhibited and willing to give a man exactly that which made him feel like a man and proud of it? Wouldn't any man give his worldly possessions to see his girl friend's naked, oiled body decorating the glossy folds of a sex magazine?
Wouldn't they? A curtain of honey hair spilled over her shoulders while tears seeped from her eyes. Alone ... alone on the beach in this empty van.
Abruptly, she sniffled and wearily raised her head off the mattress. The moment she heard the scrape of the van door, she twisted her head around. Blue eyes stared drunkenly up at the ceiling under spidery eyelashes.
"Paul ... Paul is that you? I've been-"
The van dipped suspiciously under the weight. A dark shadow of a figure blanketed Mae's naked body, shading it with the dark omen of lust.
"Paul ... oh, Paul ..." she slurred.
A crooked smirk creased her intruder's leathery face. A bony hand raised to his face and his nostrils flared from the scent of fresh sperm sticky in the wadded up skimpiness of a woman's bikini panties.
Chuck took a head-spinning sniff and tossed the panties to the sandy ground outside the door, and turned, prepared, to see her face to face.
Cop cars, like taxis, were never there when you need them, grunted Paul, half-walking, half-jogging, keeping watch over his shoulder for any car that might careen over the hill. Carla, Mae, car hoods slamming in the night, missing campers, woman's hiking boot, knife ... everything congealed like the scattered clues of a Sherlock Holmes movie into something too foreboding to ignore.
The night was stony silent, unresponsive and unyielding. How long had he been walking fifteen, twenty minutes, and not a single vehicle. His only hope lay in the unplotted theft of the old man's liquor which he'd left alongside the road. If the policeman came back for a cup of coffee, certainly the old grocer would complain and send the law after him. God, he'd never thought he'd want to be arrested. What a woman can do to a man!
"Ahhhh ..." Mae's balled up fist flew to her mouth, her wide blue eyes saucered in white-hot fear as she stared up into the flinty eyes of the scarred face man grinning down at her.
"Who-who are you ... please, go away, leave me alone, please ..." she whimpered, raising up on her hands and knees and cowering into the goosedown coverlet, frantically trying to cover her body. His face was horrifying, scarred from cheek to chin and part of his nose was disfigured as if a knife had cleaved it in half. The smell of him was nauseating.
"Don't try nothin', Blondie," he grinned. "Me and my buddy been watchin' you flingin' that hot ass 'round for a day now ... and we intend to get a little ourselves ..." He closed in on her, his bony hand reaching for the knife sheath hanging from his belt. The van light caught the shimmer of a knife blade.
"Ahhhhhh! No ..."
"You shuddup or I'll make ribbons outta that pretty face ... then you'll look like me!" he snarled, placing one knee of his filthy pants on the mattress, his foul breath bathing her face.
"No ... please ..." His eyes were eating her alive and when Chuck worked at the zipper of his pants, real fear so strong she could taste it watered in Mae's mouth. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, this was a nightmare, but no, it was very real. The cold touch of his reptilian hands and (Oh God, she couldn't look at it) his nose, was all too vivid for the imagination.
He yanked down his pants, holding his knife in his teeth, and kicked the dirty fabric over the sandy soles of his army boots. Then he turned to her, and ripped off his shirt. A man accustomed to living on cold beaches needs to become acclimated to cold nights and seldom wears jackets. His thick army jacket had gotten too bloodied from the red-headed camper ... fiesty little bitch she'd been-all fight. Too bad they had to hurt her.
He swung around, completely naked and knelt down on the bed. His long purple-veined cock was partially erect, a pearl of pre-cum oozing from the mushroom like tip.
Mae sobbed, hanging her head, hiding her face behind the blonde curtain of honey hair. "Don't hurt me, please ... I'll do anything ..."
"Don't worry," he grated. "You will!"
"Nooooo!" Rearing up on her haunches, she pushed tear wetted hair from her eyes and spat at him. "No, you won't ... Chet won't let ... Paul won't let you!"
"Forget it, honey. Paul ain't gonna get back here. He ain't got a car and your drunk buddy's all tied up by the fire ... just you and me, and my little buddy here." He wagged the stiffened tube of his penis at her.
Squeezing back tears, Mae glowered at him hatefully. She was being used as a man's toy again. Lord, would it ever change? Only this one meant to hurt her. She whimpered from deep in her soul, imagining her face being ripped to shreds by the knife he held in his hand.
"Now you gonna suck me off? Or do I gotta cut up that pretty face?" He ran the tip of the cold knife blade along her jugular vein. "I cut up plenty of Congs ... don't think I won't do the same to you."
Her blue eyes fell to the hunk of veiny meat dangling between his hirsute thighs. Deep within her a masochistic yearning began to churn within the un-sated depths of her womb.
"I been watchin' ya play with yerself in here, Blondie. I saw ya dippin' yer fingers in yer cunt ..." he chuckled lewdly. "Wouldn't ya rather feel my hard prick boring into that pretty little hole?"
Mae hated herself for thinking it, but she had to admit it would have been far more satisfying (if only she didn't have to look at his face), than her skinny fingers. Some jobs belonged to a man. She closed her eyes, sensing his weight beside her, felt his hairy body touching her satiny one and winced as if the knife blade had plunged into her heart. She felt his bony hands dig into her shoulders and lower her down onto the mattress. To look into his ugly, disfigured face would have been too damning and so she clenched her eyes behind a curtain of hair.
She felt him lifting her head and peeked through the shimmering curtain of hair to see him wadding up the pillows. A lewd chortle broke from his mouth and she felt his naked chest brush over her bronzed breasts as he reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels.
"Mighty nice of ya to leave me some booze ... ain' had J.D. for long time." The sound of liquor gurgling down his throat sounded in her ears. "Ahhh," he smacked his lips and threw the empty bottle to the floor. "Now we gonna get down to some real cock suckin'."
Oh, God, if only he'd just shove that knobbed hulk of meat into her pussy, cum and be done with it? He was going to torture her to the end! With a withering shame burning within her, she realized he knew her shame: he had seen her, a sex-crazed woman, trying to satisfy herself. And he was coming to her rescue. She'd brought this upon herself, she realized in a burst of understanding.
In terrified disbelief, she watched as he lifted a leg over her naked body and positioned himself, straddling her breasts. His knees clamped into her armpits, his throbbing, seeping cock dangling inches from her face. The smell of his musky genitals told her he had orgasmed not long before ... and that she would have to suck the pearls of his sperm still drying on the purple-veined tip. The thought made her wretch in disgust.
"No ... please, cum inside of me ..." she begged. Then in her flirtatious girlish voice: "Push it in my pussy, Blondie'll make you feel sooo good!" The words choked from her baby-soft lips unconvincingly.
"Don't play no games with me, bitch!" In answer, he shook his blood-heavy cock before her eyes. A dribble of its cum flew from the tip, pearling the trembling line of her rosebud lips. "Suck my cock ... or you know what I'll do!"
Mae closed her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to do it. It was too ugly, too demeaning. For once in her life she had to make a stand and defend herself. Rolling her blonde head from side to side, she avoided touching the salty-smelling flesh with her lips. Chuck grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder, digging into her shoulder bones until she swore he'd cracked her clavicle. "Open your mouth, you slut!" Wrapping his bony knuckles in her baby-soft hair, he yanked her off the pillow, mashing her face into his groin.
"Owww! Stop! You're hurting me!" she sobbed, whimpering.
"Open your mouth!"
Slowly, knowing there was no choice, she parted her rosebud lips, trembling from pain and fear. Mortification swept over her, but she obeyed, knowing she must. She closed her succulent lips around the blunt, musky-tasting head of his meaty stalk. The taste of his earlier orgasm lingered, making her nostrils flare and her mouth water. Strangely, however, it wasn't disgusting. Anything was better than having her face lacerated by the knife that sat conveniently in the folds of the blanket. This man was insane; he'd hesitate at nothing.
He shoved his briny-tasting organ between her lips another inch. Despite the horror of her situation, she felt a strangely kindled excitement in knowing that she was acting sluttishly to save herself, instead of destroying herself. That her earlier nymphomaniac experiences with men had been a subconscious act of self-destruction did not strike her just then, but she acted upon that subconscious reality soulfully.
"Lick it ... lick off the cum ... the cum that came gushin' out while I watched ya fingering yerself," he breathed, panting from the thrill of seeing his cock disappear through the blonde-haired lovely lips. For the past day he'd watched her crawling all over the dark-haired man, sneaking off and making anal love, and he'd been carrying around a load of cum that damned near threatened to explode. Steam hissed from his lungs as he pulled it from her lips and growled: "Lick it all over ... lick it nice and clean, Blondie ... and keep them blue eyes on my face so you can see who you're gettin' it from."
Reluctantly, her eyes lifted to his disfigured face, half-blown away by shrapnel in a senseless war that nobody won. She winced.
Chuck's face went tight. "Lick it ... bitch!" he spat. He jerked it in front of her nose. It was hard, so hard the skin was stretched purplishly over its stony surface. Lined with thick veins, it pulsed madly against the tightly drawn skin. Below, his testicles hung pendulously, swollen and heavy with cum. Hesitantly, Mae ran her hot pink tongue over the warm rubbery surface, feeling the blood pulse against her tongue wormishly. Kittenishly, she swabbed it clean with her tongue, then ran it along the underside, a feat she'd prided herself on many times.
As she slaved over his genitals to save her life, she began to feel a strangely eruptive pleasure growing in the pit of her stomach at the idea of saving her own life by acting a slut. Held captive in the van while Chet- (what had happened to him, the drunken creep) ignored her, Paul ignored her, leaving her to save her own soul with the one weapon the Lord had given her-her body, her sensuality.
Deep in the soft bowl of her belly, she could feel a burning heat the only joy left her from her pitiful attempts at satisfying her crying need for attention. She sucked a little harder.
Above her, he trembled from the exquisite sensation of her wet tongue bathing his cock that dangled like a carrot before the horse. "Come on ... lick it, bitch! Lick it like you licked his cock!"
Her blue eyes rose to meet his snappy ones, then quickly lowered; the murderous glint in his eye was too terrifying, too real. In a burst of self-pity, she trailed her velvety tongue back down the veiny pole and ovalled her rosebud lips so that they might slip more easily over the naked, briny-smelling head of his cock. Chuck flicked his strong hips and groaned from deep in his lungs. Then he slid the full eleven inches of his lust-engorged flesh into the wet hole of her mouth and pushed further until it gored down the length of her tongue to bang painfully against the back of her throat. Panic flooded through her and she gagged from the taste of him; his genitals filled her nose. She sucked and slipped her warm tongue up and down the hot tube, nibbling softly at the base with her front teeth.
"AAAAGGGHHH ... Jesus!" he groaned, throwing back his head, exposing the disfigurement that marred him for life openly to her macabre-awakened curiosity. Slowly he rocked his strong hips back and forth, jamming into her ovalled mouth as if it were her cunt. He rammed hard, tearing the breath from her overworked, burning lungs, boring into her throat and pulling out only to shove it harder back down her throat. Her cheeks hollowed on each out stroke, bloated, tears stinging her eyes when he rammed his slippery, cum-tasting penis back down her esophagus.
For Mae sex had been her game; she had been the manipulator, the progenitor, the actor, the director ... calling the shots, barking out the yes and no. Not so now. This was one chess game where she was the pawn. Being held captive in a van and forced to suck a stranger's cock salved the change of roles. Strangely perverse it was for the LA Barbie doll to discover herself the responder instead of instigator. Minute by minute she endured the torture, fearful she might go insane and start screaming ... then he would use the knife. For the sake of her beauty, she must face her fate. As if to prove her acceptance of his mastery, she raised her head and bobbed it up and down while her tongue worked over the rubbery length of cock, licking it, sucking it, giving it all the attention it needed.
Chuck craned his neck and squinted through the van window to where the drunken man lay gagged and roped on the sand near the fire. The man was moving, struggling against his bonds. Chuck grinned, knowing Shorty would soon be joining him to ravish little Blondie's hot-assed body. He glanced down at the flossy, ovalled lips hugging the thick base of his unwashed penis. His jaws meshed, feeling the adrenalin shoot through his body to the cock. Too bad she was so pretty; the world shouldn't be robbed of her pretty face. Like the last two, he didn't want to hurt her, but he wasn't about to be sent back behind bars. A year of being held prisoner in the Viet Cong jungles, fed snake meat and maggoty rice was enough for him.
To distract those thoughts he watched the ridges of soft pink flesh as it pulled back from her gently sucking lips that slipped back inside as he slipped it forward again. A laugh tore from deep in his chest as he mashed his groin into her face until his kinky pubic hairs made a moustache of black in striking contrast to her ivory-haired beauty. The beauty and the beast he thought self-demeaningly. Let her see how it feels to be made a fool of. That thought made him slap his sperm-heavy balls punishingly against her dimpled chin.
She was good, he had to admit that. Her rosebud lips wrapped around his hard prick ... the doll-like features scrunched up while she sucked a rapist turned murderer. His heavy hips rolled in a chin-slapping rhythm as he sawed away, back and forth, back and forth, never quite drawing it all the way out ... then slamming it back to plumb her throat and graze her tonsils. Cruelly, he grabbed the knife and held it in front of her saucered eyes as she sucked with vacuuming pressure. He ran the tip along the arched curve of her cheekbone tauntingly. Tears spurted from Mae's eyes and she sucked with every ounce of self-preserving strength in her body.
"Oh ... ahhh!" His abdominal muscles became steel. "Suck meee!" He bared his teeth and threw back his head and locked his hands around the back of her bobbing head, forcing her to swallow all of his cock. Only a quarter inch of quivering, red-veined skin could be seen around the rim of her wildly sucking lips. He gnashed his teeth, shoving his cock down her throat trying to drown her in cum. It erupted, pulsed and shot out in great salty gulps.
His hands gripped her hair, making her eyes water from the pain of his powerful strokes. Her cheeks were flushed the color of ripe apples as she gulped the briny fluid to keep from drowning. She sucked furiously, yet dribbles of cum seeped from the corners of her ravaged mouth to wet the coverlet below. Finally, he grunted in satiation and his deflated rubbery tube went soft in her cum-filled mouth. The reddened, wormish stalk plopped from her lips. Mae struggled to catch her breath as Chuck's weight collapsed on top of her, his chest rising and falling from the labor of breathing.
Chet ... Paul somebody come help me! her mind pleaded. Get this creature off of me! Yet she dare not move, fearing one jarring movement would rile him and then she would be as ugly, as deformed as he. Her eyes turned toward the van window. Who was he looking for? Had Chet, the drunken bum, shown signs of life? Damn him, how dare he abandon her like this? Didn't he care?
CHAPTER NINE
Carla trod decisively down the long, lonely stretch of Johnson Road. She thought about herself, about Paul and about Mae. Paul, she realized, had become entrapped in Mae's lethal web and snared in the venomous threads of her game, couldn't fight loose. Poor, drunken Chet. Probably drunk and passed out in the van. Without Paul to taunt and Chet to degrade, the black widow spider would be righteously caught in her own web.
Self-confidence and a sense of well being within herself soared as the moon rose high in the sky. No longer would she wither in Mae's threatening presence and if Paul was fool enough to fall into her trap, then he deserved losing her. Jealousy was a bitter pill to swallow, no matter what rationale you washed it down with.
Ahead the metallic glimmer of Chefs camper van shone under the moonlight. A beam of light shone from the window. Carla squared her shoulders for the showdown. Her mind started to race. Determinedly, her slender legs scissored toward the van, without a glance to right nor left. She sensed that Paul hadn't returned. Probably moping in some bar feeling sorry for himself, she snickered with a curl of the upper lip.
And that was her last thought ... from that point on Carla was too terrified to think.
They rushed at their prey, attacked her from inside the second her tennis shoe stepped on the mottled red carpet, had plotted her demise from the first shadowed movement coming unaware and on foot. They threw her down on the bed and clamped salty hands over her mouth, muffling her scream.
Carla's blood froze in her veins from the first glimpse into the disfigured face, her eyes shooting wildly to the shorter one's leathered features. Knocked down on the sofa, she felt her head hit flesh ... naked flesh ... Mae's flesh! Kicking, she gouged her pearly teeth into her attacker's hand; but it was too late. He had an accomplice-human and a knife!
The sharpened tip of a cold blade was jabbed under her chin. "I won't think nothin' about slicing your throat, honey ... better sit still." She felt the tip prick her skin. She screamed, again a hand clamped over her mouth. "You don't believe me, ask yer girl friend here."
Carla choked; her throat was bone dry and aching. Her eyes riveted on the knife blade. Compliantly, she nodded her head, agreeing to their games. They let her go-for the moment. There in the confines of the camper van, she turned her head toward Mae. Was that lifeless body she'd been tossed against dead? Maimed? Raped? Carla's terrified eyes stared in meaningful contact for the first time that day into Mae's horror-struck orbs. Fear and terror flashed between them like lightning. When the tall one spoke, both women shivered, knowing the worst was yet to come.
Chuck chortled cruelly. "Okay, you cunts ... we been watchin' you fucking and suckin' balls and cocks and assholes-now we wanne see ya suckin' each other's cunt!"
The man Carla had glimpsed spying on her had not been a figment of her imagination. The abandoned backpack and cooler, the slam of the car hood ... it was all falling together into an ugliness so black she felt dizzy.
"You two," she heard the tall one admit, "is two a the prettiest lookers we seen yet." He jerked his head toward Shorty. "He ain't had much pussy since he come back from Nam ... he don't hear too good or see too good, so I want you two girls to get nice and close."
Carla feared she might vomit when she stared up into the wild eyes of the war victim. And the smell of them filled the van-that and the heady scent of musk. Behind her she heard Mae and knew that they had raped her. She should have felt pity for the lush-bodied sex-pot, but something forbid emotion. Her thoughts fled to Paul, and she cursed him for not being here to protect her.
Both women were paralyzed in fear. "I said git naked, you dumb bitch!" barked Chuck, brandishing the knife before Carla's dilated pupils. "I wouldn't wanna git this van all bloodied up ... people git kinda touchy 'bout stuff like that ..."
His intentions were unmistakable. Carla's heart pounded in her chest; her throat was dry, her stomach in a knot. Gently, she let her eyes close as if in expectation and acceptance of death. She knew that before Paul came back to camp, one of the two ugly rapists would have put his cock in her. She had to fight ... had to live through this outrage no matter what horrors they forced her into. She was far too in love with life to hesitate a second with that ugly-faced man brandishing his knife under her throat.
"I said git naked!" His breath was foul on her face, the knife, sharp against her jugular vein.
Slowly, hands inching down to the hem of her sweater so as not to create any jarring movements that would spark off their rage ... to leave her bleeding to death with her throat split from ear to ear. Her fingers froze as she hauled up the bulk of her sweater, pausing as the first rush of cold air bit at her stomach knotted with fear. Something she heard made her stop in mid-movement. It was the whine of a zipper. She closed her eyes, praying to forces above this was not true. It seemed incongruous, humorous, even, in a sardonic way that she had survived the wilds of Los Angeles her entire life and now, on the privacy of a beach she would lose her life.
"I said git naked!"
Behind her, Mae sparked to life. "Do it ... please," she sobbed.
Stealing herself for the worst, Carla yanked her sweater up over her head, leaving her breasts naked, the rounded spheres of her breasts swollen with fear and goosebumping in the night. Her nipples fear-hardened, crinkling from the soft mounds of her breasts. The haplessly wounded vets stared at her full, womanly figure. Carla stared at the floor, blood singing in her ears.
"I thought Blondie here was the tits girl ... you got nice ones, honey, a little smaller but damned nice," congratulated Chuck.
Slowly, she worked at the zipper of her jeans, easing them down over the curve of her hips, leaving her lacy white panties to cover her nakedness. Down over her hips she peeled then, hooking her thumbs in the waistband to haul them down over her buttocks and finally over her thighs to her knees.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched him as intensely as they watched her, averting her eyes when they met. She stepped free of them, leaving them crumpled at her feet. Hesitating, she balked as her fingers froze on the elastic waistband of her bikini panties ... until Chuck waved the knife under her nose, laughing jubilantly. That was enough for Carla ... in a flash she'd had pulled them down over her swelling thighs and spread her legs slightly to peel them down over her smooth calves. Instinctively, her hand snapped to her pelvis to cover her fluffy triangle, while the other arm clamped over her breasts. Their lusty gaze was too much. A tear stung in her eyes.
Naked and vulnerable with two demented creatures who had performed Lord only knew what indignities upon Mae ... what could she do? What good was modesty? The men ogled her smoothly flaring hips, the arch of her buttocks.
"Spread yer legs, bitch and bend over ... I wanna see yer cunt close up this time." He snickered. "You miss yer panties up there on the mountain top? You know what happened to em? I cum in 'em ... squirt my cum right where your pussy was. How you like that?"
Carla feared she might be sick. Her face grew crimson red, but obeying his instructions, she bent over, placing her sweating hands on her trembling knees, opening up the soft crevice of her genitals to his eyes. With her hands resting on the mattress feet above the van floor and Chuck standing behind her, she was an easy target for anything. Abruptly he stiffened, arching her back and throwing back his head. She sucked in her breath as a cold bony finger bored unwetted into the taut ring of her anus ... up to the second knuckle. She tried to squirm away, but he held her captive with one finger hooked in the tender passage. She couldn't jerk away ... there was that knife. "Please ..." she whimpered.
The act was humiliating, but the witness damningly. She imagined Mae's snickers as she watched Paul's wife-to-be defiled so shamelessly. And her tormentor was reveling in it, squirming his bony digit inside the buttery tissues of her nether hole.
"Nice 'n tight, nice n' tight. Okay girlies ... now let's see some action." His eyes fled to Mae cowering in the corner. He jerked his head in her direction. "What's the matter, Blondie ... you was all hot sucking my cock ... now let's see what them lips can do with a pretty cunt like this one's." Lewdly, he licked his finger and said: "I seen ya fucking that bastard with the sports car back there near the cave ... lettin' him fuck you in the ass ..."
Carla feared she might pass out. She was afraid to meet his cold eyes and more afraid of Mae's tight smirk. It seemed there were no secrets left.
"You two's gonna play Cong whores ... just like the bitches who sucked us in and blew us up-the cunts!" He pointed to Mae. "Get on your back so I can see your cunt." She didn't argue, but whimpered as she lay trembling back on the mattress. She lay perfectly still, not protesting as long as he kept the knife a safe distance from her baby face. He grabbed her slender ankles and she clenched her tear-filled eyes tightly, lower lip trembling, knowing she was going to die. With his hands, he pried open the hair-lined slit of her pussy so that he and his buddy could see the pouting lips. They were still swollen from earlier sex with Paul.
"Looks like you been screwin' already," he sneered.
His attention turned to Carla. "Git down there and start suckin' cunt, bitch!" Without hesitation, Carla obeyed; the look on his ugly face was beyond murderous-contempt, pain and bitterness shone in his eyes. She placed her knees at Mae's side and knelt on all fours as she was ordered, awaiting the next humiliating, perverted instruction. Her breasts dangled ripely from her chest as she knelt and as Mae breathed in and out, they lightly touched her naked body; the pink nipples tingled and quivered, but this time not with excitement, but revulsion and dread.
The idea of having sex with a woman was beyond repulsion. Her stomach began to bubble in dread. Worse: To make love to the woman she utterly despised was emotional punishment beyond the horrors of any World War II concentration camp. That she would be tasting her fiance's sperm struck her between the eyes like a sledge hammer. But do it she must ... or die.
"Git on with it!" growled Chuck.
For the first time Carla managed to speak, but the words hung in her dry throat; she managed finally to choke them out: "Please ... I can't ... not with her ... not with Mae!" Her pleas fell on deaf, uncompassionate ears, but Mae saved her the trouble of another try.
"Don't worry ... I won't hurt you," offered Mae, stretching flat on her back beneath Carla. "It's not so bad once you get used to it." She gazed up at the man with the knife. "Right?" One more baby-faced grin up at their tormentor to test his vulnerability. But Chuck was the winner and Mae knew it. Her charms weren't working on this one.
Now Mae could see all of Carla's lusciously naked body kneeling above her, the female scent of her genitals filling her nostrils. Her full breasts teased over Mae's naked abdomen if she breathed hard enough to raise it that high; the effect was titillating, exciting ... could have been a treat under different circumstances. The slim, creamy thighs were just a few inches from her face now. The warm, inviting hairy slit nestled there above the fleecy down of Carla's pubic mound was a tongue-lash away. She had to admit that Paul was a lucky man for having a woman as beautiful and flawless as Carla.
Now she reached up and locked her soft hands around the curve of Carla's back and pulled her trembling pelvis toward her waiting lips. She sensed Carla tense and pull away, and to speed the act she relaxed and lowered her loins to Carla's face. A shiver raced through Carla's body as Mae's pubic fluff brushed her nose, filling her nostrils with the heady scent of sex. Closing he eyes, Mae pressed her lips hard against the moist lips of Carla's vagina and felt the other tense, her thigh muscles growing hard and sinewy. But Carla, terrified; followed her leader and lowered her own lips until her auburn head was cradled against the flat plane of Mae's belly and touching the hard mound of her pubis.
Tentatively, cautiously, Carla touched her lips to the fragrant cleft between her foe's legs, fully aware of the shivers that her gentle touch sent through Mae's belly. It wasn't as disgusting as she'd feared, though she was still fighting to hold back choking nausea in her throat. She followed the instructions of her teacher, and as Mae began to nibble tenderly on the soft, ragged lips, she returned the same favor.
Don't think ... don't think ... don't let yourself know that Mae has made love to Paul with this part of her body ... don't go insane ... just act out their perversions and live!
Yet she couldn't escape the haunting eyes or their two tormentors. It was all so insane ... so crazy, wondered if this insane day might be some psychotic fantasy. But it was real, very real. She was making love to another woman, the woman who'd tried to lure Paul away with her cheap sex and cheaper emotions. The Barbie doll of LA.
Still, she could not deny the soft touch of another woman's satiny, naked body, so tender and delicate compared to the hard muscled virility of men with their hairy bodies.
Mae's tender nibbling between her widespread thighs grew more frantic, almost desperate in intensity, almost as if Mae were enjoying this salacious feast under the direction of two moronic uglies!
Curiosity softened repulsion and she burrowed her slithering tongue between the girl's pussy lips to find the hot, moist slit. Mae's tongue snaked in and out of her Carla's pussy hole, and a quiver of titillation passed through her as she felt Carla's body begin to writhe and squirm under the wicked tonguing. Mae's snaked tongue slipped in and out of that wet hole, prodding lizardlike the sensitive walls, making Carla shiver and goosebump with guilty desire.
Carla eased her licking motions in a fit of dizziness. The reality of making love to another woman was too hellishly damning. But the cold nudge of a steely blade at her throat quickened her pace once more. Her tongue burrowed back between Mae's pussy lips, nibbling and sucking slurpingly. She told herself she was feigning pleasure ... but this time something different, some signal she couldn't pinpoint told her differently. It's impossible, she thought. I can't be enjoying this-not with Mae!
Carla struggled to fight down that damning sensation, to suppress and unnatural desire. It started as a tiny fluttering deep in her belly, then shot up to her breasts and centered in the tingling tips of her mammary glands. The harder she fought it, the stronger became the sensation until now it overwhelmed her body and soul. A sense of power surged through her knowing she could excite Mae, the lusty sexpot, and the fact that she was making Mae the submissive one (for once) in front of two men added to her supremacy. She loved the feel of Mae squirming as she held her arms locked around the small of her back, forcing her pussy down against her probing, sucking, nibbling lips. Lips that searched and explored every pore, every crevice, every fold of the woman's soft yielding pussy, snaking into the warm, tight hole, flicking playfully at the throbbing bud of her clitoris. Carla wasn't the only one feeling the effects of lesbian love.
Mae could feel the delicious heat welling in her pussy, titillating the frustrating itch of unsatisfying onenistic love making. She thought it was a man's cock she needed, boring into her belly, but oh, how wrong she was! Carla's slithering tongue slicking into the lubricated hole between her quivering thighs was doing wondrous things to her libido ... in a way a man never could. Every pore of her body secreted desire and she gripped desperately with raspberry fingertips the other's naked hips while she ground her baby face into her quivering cunt, ramming her long velvety tongue as far up into that cry hole as it would go.
The women mewled and cried and mashed their faces into each other's pussies as if their life depended upon on it-and indeed it did! "Jesus, look at them bitches!" snorted Chuck, a look on his face of a sex monger. His face and that of his short friend were inches from the girls' naked, squirming bodies, their flesh glistening and sheened from the heat generated from their own bodies and that of the electric heater that had been kicked over in the fray.
Carla tried to shut out all thought and center all attention on feeling ... on sensation. Sobbing, she sucked and kissed and licked just as Mae was doing to her until the two women had become one ... a sobbing, moaning tangle of female flesh, forced into this disgusting act by the brutality of two demented men. They'd found a common depth of feeling, of sharing, a pinnacle of passion they'd never known before; neither fought it now, not even Carla. She was lost in her own forbidden wickedness, the prohibited pleasure.
Mae stiffened and let out a cry straight from her anguished loins. "Ahhhh! C-Carla ... I'm cumming! Don't stop ... please, I'm cumming!" Her body heaved and thrashed wildly beneath the other's weight, and Mae red fingertips dug into the other's satiny hips and held her prisoner to her hungry, nibbling lips. She sucked hard and fast, chewing like a starved child on the fleshy lips and pulsating, quivering nipple of her clitoris. She could feel Mae was teetering on the light splattered brink of orgasm, and knew that in a few more seconds she, Carla would have the power of pushing her over that brink. She sucked and kissed and licked the tender pink lips until ...
"AAAHHH!" Mae's body went board stiff, breathing snorted from her flaring nostrils and every nerve in her sensitive body pulsed with a mind shattering orgasm. Their quivering bodies were one, locked and fused together by tongues and cunts. One unbroken curve of soft female flesh ... drawn together in total subjugation in this act of lesbian love. Their nudity wriggled and squirmed together in a passionately desperate need of raging girl lust.
Then it was Carla's turn. Stars sprinkled before her eyes and all sensation was centered in the oily bud of her clitoris. It pulsed as if someone were holding an electrical cord to that tender bud, sizzling and electrocuting all emotion ... and the knowledge that they were held prisoners by two demented war veterans bent on destroying them ... but only after they'd tormented them to the fullest.
Now, orgasms spent they collapsed in a panting heap. Rational returned slowly to Carla and she wanted to cry from the shame of it; but tears refused to come. What use was crying?
Beside the fire, groveling in the sand, hands rope-tied behind his back, Chet squirmed in semi consciousness. He struggled to rise to his feet; that's when he discovered his ankles were bound too. Breathing short, labored behind the dirty rag stuffed between his lips and tied behind his head. Beside him the fire was dying. A cold fear suffused his drunken body like the crawl of a dead snake up his spine.
His blood shot eyes lifted toward the van. A splash of light shone through the van window. Hysterical female crying stung his ears in echoes of self-denegrading guilt. The effort of craning his neck was too much and his head flopped lifelessly down onto the sand. As he drifted off into a stupor, female cries stung the air.
Mae! Someone was hurting her bad. What kind of a man was he to leave a woman alone? Black guilt blanketed those thoughts and he fell into a deep sleep, one he wished he'd never awaken from.
CHAPTER TEN
Chuck and Shorty were gloating over their victories. This night was turning out more entertaining than last weekend's foray with the stubborn little redhead who thought more of morality than life. Chuck could tell Shorty had his eyes on the redheaded one. And Blondie ... well, what challenge was she? Beautiful body ... Christ, what a body ... but no fight. He could read in Shorty's eyes that he was going to shove his hot aching cock into that gorgeous creature's pussy, going to feel the blood throbbing knob of his cock far up in her sweet little belly, going to screw her like a stuck bird and fuck her until she begged for her life ... just like he'd done to the Viet Cong back there in Nam. Those goddamned betraying whores ... pay them a week's salary for an opium high and a little cunt ... and they toss a hand grenade in your face! Those whores, those women who competed with men. Jesus, how he hated their guts!
Collapsed on the mattress beside Mae's shivering, semi-comatose satiny bumps and curves, Carla prayed to the forces above that the men had had their treat. Carla's eyelids fluttered in the pre-stages of sleep ... then she awoke with a start.
The cold steel of a knife blade slithering up the slender underside of her cum glistening thigh made her eyes fly open as if on springs. She lay heaving with gut wrenching anxiety. She tried to jerk away but the cold prodding was dangerously insistent. Chuck's rasping laugh made her turn her head to see whose hand held the blade. To this point Shorty had spoken little, a fact which surprised her; of the two, Shorty looked the most normal, but then one couldn't judge a mental state entirely by looks. The feeling something satanic lurked in his soul shivered through her.
Her eyes fled to Shorty. A fierceness burned there, born of repressed hatred and fear and a very real hatred of women. He terrified her-one look into his cold, steely eyes convinced her Shorty had singled her out, that she would be the star of tonight's cruel sex circus! She knew her life was in danger if she crossed him up. He grinned lopsidedly at her, showing off a set of dark teeth. No warmth brightened his grin; it was dark and ominous as his eyes and the idea that struck him. He was searching for an act that would leave its marks like a scorched brand on her brain. She could see the rusted wheels turn in his brain.
"Looks like Shorty there's taken a liking to you, hon," sneered Chuck. "You know, my buddy here's had a couple problems ... ain' been real good at gettin' it up since Nam. Now," and here Chuck turned diplomatic, "I'm gonna give ya a chance to live. I want you to get him hard, you hear ... I don' care what it takes, you get him hard ... and if you don' ..." He snickered and ran the knife under his own chin.
Carla's blood froze in her veins. Her fear-taut features turned to Mae for support. Carla gulped dryly, feeling her stomach knot. She, the inexperienced of the two women, forced into satisfying a demented man under the threat of death to both she and Mae!
Her fear-widened eyes fled to Shorty's leering grin. A wet grin spread over his face, a look of jubilation, when she realized what Chuck had in store for him.
Carla's shook her head dumbly. "I don't understand," she whispered meekly, a faint germlike notion of what these men were planning starting to ferment in the back of her mind. The idea of making love to these filthy creatures was too horrid to believe. She, who had never experienced oral sex with a man.
"You ... you can't do this to me!" she wailed. "Paul will be back here soon," she warned, her upper lip stiff and suddenly defiant. "This is kidnapping ... you could spend the rest of your days behind bars! Don't you understand that?" It was a plea, it was begging.
Mae touched her arm without looking up and said a dozen words with that single movement. Carla's mouth fell silent, her threat, in mid-sentence dying. They were alone with these two demented creatures and a knife ... and they were nothing more than sex slaves to them all until they had sated their lustful thirsts, until they'd drunk their fill of humiliating females. Carla felt her stomach sink. If she'd been stripped naked and paraded down Hollywood and Vine, she wouldn't have felt more cheap, more ashamed. She thought of Paul, thought of the moment when she would (hopefully) repeat this scene to him, and was sickened at the very idea. How could she possibly ever be his lover-his wife? How could she ever live with this degradation? Being forced into helping an impotent creature (and surely that must be his problem) into getting an erection, no matter what the psychic cost to herself.
"Git naked, Shorty, and show the gal yer stuff," chortled Chuck lewdly, a tinge of bitterness acrid in his voice. "Show 'em what those Cong whores done to your prick!"
Carla clenched shut her eyes, listening dumbly to the whine of his pants zipper, the swoosh of denim as he yanked the Levi's down over his stubby hips. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks and sing in her ears, and when she had gulped down disgust and garnered the courage to peek through the curtain of auburn hair hanging about her shoulders, she thought she might faint.
His penis could not have measured more than a few inches at best. Scarred with red streaks and diminished to a few flaps of skin, it hung pathetically above where his testicles should have. More scars along the insides of his thighs attested to the maiming results of a hand grenade's fury. How a man with such a deformity could ever have an erection again, was a scientific marvel. And now it was up to her to play Florence Nightingale, if they wanted to keep their heads on their shoulders. She wished he would plunge the knife through her heart right then and get it over with! It was inevitable. She realized beyond a doubt that he would not hesitate to kill her if she refused his slightest whim; her eyes fled pleadingly to Mae, but Mae's eyes reflected defeat; she could offer her no relief, no consolation. There was nothing to do but pray.
"You didn' have no trouble gettin' a woman hard," he sneered. "Let's see what you can do for my buddy here, Shorty. Watchin' you whores go down on each other got my buddy all riled up ... now you damned well better do somethin' about it."
Carla swallowed down pride and looked at the short man who was crawling up on the mattress just in front of her, his face alight with anticipation. He licked his lips with the point of his foul smelling tongue. Aside from the scars on his genitals, his stomach had been ripped to shreds. Zigzagged scars crosshatched it. His navel was off center, a chunk of his hip bone missing, giving him a stubby, appearance and was responsible for the limp in his walk.
"Come on!" barked Chuck.
Gulping down disgust and shame, Carla climbed atop the mattress and Mae slithered off. Chuck slammed the blonde woman into a reclining chair near the front of the van and held the knife to her throat. "You wanna see baby face here bleed all over this van?"
Maybe yesterday Carla would have had no problems wishing that upon the woman who'd stolen her boy friend, but this was no silly love triangle, no game. This was beyond war, beyond imagination. She reached out tentatively to touch his stomach. The clammy skin, almost reptilian, made her shiver.
"No! Please ... I can't ... you don't understand ... I'm not a whore! I'm not a whore!" Her cries reverberated off the van walls. But Chuck wasn't moved; the knife was an inch from Mae's temple now and the cold mask of savagery on his scarred face told her she had better begin her task.
"Jus' give him a blow job ..."
Mae suddenly lunged upward. But Chuck was too quick for her agile reflexes. He spun around in a blinding fast twist of his body and caught her with his free hand and threw her back into the chair. "Okay, Blondie," he spat between his teeth. "One more stupid move like that and you'll both get it!" He knotted his knobby fingers in her blonde hair and twisted it until she knelt at his feet, her head turned upward and her face contorted in pain.
"You shouldn't a done that!" he growled. "Somebody's gonna pay for that!" An idea hit. "I just might get you into red's act here ... maybe you could suck his asshole. I have a feeling you'd like that!" He turned back to Carla. "I said suck!"
Carla stared at the lewdly glistening stump and at the grenade-gouged base where the remainder of his hairy testicles dangled impotently. She saw it, but her mind refused to record it; it seemed impossible that anyone could demand this awful act of her ... a woman who had never performed oral sex on a man.
Trembling with fear and repulsion, Carla slowly reached out to touch the reddened hunk of flesh between her fingers. Shorty squirmed eagerly at her soft touch.
Chuck was right there guiding her. "Keep your head turned so I can see the look on your face."
The tall tormentor was the kingpin of the operation, that was easy to see; and he used his friend's sexual deformities as a detraction for his own horrid disfigurement. Carla tried to close her thoughts to this, to focus on something else, on Paul maybe ... something healthy and normal. No, she'd never sucked his penis before, had found it disgusting and unnatural. How she wished she had! The spasms of reeling nausea tearing her stomach apart were growing more intense now. With every muscle in her body fighting her, she placed her face on the man's warm stomach, her fingers encircling the shaft of his tapered penis. It struck her in a flash of disgust that his penis looked much like the family dog Toby's. Long, narrowly tapered, red. Slowly, as Chuck egged her on, she studied the pink gleaming tip that oozed now from the tiny hole at the top and slowly moved it forward until it was less than an inch from her lips. She was heaving with deep gasping breaths as she fought down the choking ball of nausea in her throat.
"Jesus Christ, ain' you got ears!" barked Chuck.
Carla submitted with a whimper, pushing every confused thought from her mind and opened her lips slightly and let the tapered tip slip into her mouth, over her quivering lips. The stubby hunk of male flesh snaked far back over her tongue, its smooth shaft gliding easily over her moist lips. The taste shocked her ... it was tangy, not dirty as she'd imagined that part of a male's body to taste. A tang of sweat fragranced it, like after a bout of love making.
The short man responded with a twitch, his back arching and breath raising and falling on his chest as she hunched forward to sink his cock into the warm depths of her throat. She sensed Chuck hovering over her, checking her actions; quickly she feigned enthusiasm, giving Shorty's prick a kittenish lick from the stubby base to the tapered tip. Shamed beyond belief, she swallowed down pride as she twirled the man's pink cock around in her mouth as it began to throb and wriggle. Shorty was ecstatic.
"Rub his balls," grated Chuck. "I think Shorty might like that."
Carla didn't protest this time. So far so good. She moved her hand down to cup and lightly caress the furry meatball-sized testicles with her nails, brushing over them to bring a long, low whine from his throat. Somehow it was becoming less repulsive with every passing moment.
That thought registered in her mind searingly. want to live, she told herself, I want to live ... that's why I'm acting like a whore!
Her mind was a blank sheet, forgetful of her own vulnerabilities as she concentrated on the degrading act. Buttocks high in the air, she knelt over Shorty's body, her still moist pussy lips open and unguarded from behind as her ass cheeks wiggled and squirmed in unintentional invitation to Chuck.
Chuck snickered to himself, wiped his nose with the back of his hand and reached over to secure the lock on the van door. Mae lay crumpled at his feet, sobbing hysterically. With the toe of his army boot, he kicked her so that she rolled over onto her back.
"Get outta my way," he grumbled. "I wan' a little piece a red here ... an don't try no funny stuff or you know what's gonna happen to that baby face!" he warned, hissing through clenched teeth.
Carla couldn't see him as he stood behind her, but he quickly yanked down the zipper, and stepped out of his dirty pants. His cock jutted out and stood at right angles to the ceiling. Roughly, he pulled back the loose yielding skin from his penis and let the purplish knob see what a treat it had coming. Like it had a mind of its own, his long penis leapt forward and snaked between the soft, round globes of Carla's naked buttocks.
Carla stiffened, recoiling in horror at the warm, rubbery feel of her rapist's penis drubbing at her genitals. She knew that he wasn't alone behind her ... he had his knife with him. His cock jutted forward as he crawled up tight against her trembling buttocks crevice and dragged it slowly and tauntingly along the juicy furrow of her pussy, spreading the gentle pink lips with the throbbing head of his orgasm as her own juices glistened the way for him. He pulled it back through the moist slit again, then touched the swollen lust-inflated head to the tightly puckered rim of her pussy hole, his hands roughly clamped to the curve of her hips.
"Stick it in, whore ... put it in or else!"
"Damn kid came in here, bought some beer and a bottle a booze and took off without payin'!" The grocer shook a bony finger at the patrol man. "I don' care much for these outta towners, no I don't one bit! I want my seven dollars and fifty-nine cents. He's looking for a ride back to Johnson Road. Camping illegally, too."
The patrolman held up a hushing hand. "Don' worry, Pops, I'll go find the guy ... I know where his car is, picked 'em up myself."
Down the road, halfway to Johnson Road, Paul was frantic. He'd managed to stop a car but now the driver thought he was crazy.
"Take my car ... its a new MGB ... it's yours, just give me a ride to Johnson Road."
The driver of the station wagon regarded the man cryptically and shook his head. "Sorry ... I got kids in the back seat ... don't wanna take chances with strangers."
Paul's knuckles turned white as he clutched the half open window on the driver's side, his head level with the middle aged man on the other side. "Here, take my wallet ... take my credit cards, I'd give you my wife if I had one. Just give me a ride down the road!"
The window rolled up and in a screech of tires the driver tore off, leaving Paul stranded and insane with worry and guilt.
Paul kicked a chunk of loose pavement and let loose a stream of expletives that would have made the angels cry. He tore at his hair, cursed himself, cursed fate, and turned then as a splash of car headlights rounded the corner. The black and white symmetry decorated with red light atop the car was unmistakable. As a street hood in his teens, he'd grown to abhor police cars, but now he could kiss this one.
"Hey ... you?" The policeman stuck his head out the window. "You the guy who ripped off Pops for seven dollars and fifty-nine cents?"
"Yeah!" grinned Paul, ear to ear. "I was wondering when you would show up!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mae thought she might be ill watching the perverted act Carla was being forced to carry out at knifepoint. She'd winced, stomach knotting, watching Carla's face twitch with disgust, had watched her rib cage wretch, fighting nausea, had watched her eyes burn with tears. Now Chuck was going to take her from behind. Surely Carla would crack, lose control and start fighting. Then all would be lost; both women would end up so much whale fodder!
No, she, Mae should be the one threatened into performing these diabolical acts. She was the whore, after all. She rose to her knees, blonde hair streaming over her naked shoulders, tears streaming down her face.
"No ... stop ... you fools ... don't make her do that! Make me do it! I'm the whore, not Carla! Just let her go!" I'm already a whore, already ruined. One more cock to me is nothing. I've treated every men like a toy because they treat me like toys. Dear God if she cracks, we're both dead!
Chuck swung around, considering her pleas. A crooked grin creased his disfigured face. What the hell, he had them both no matter how you cut it. Then he laughed at his own humor and stroked the knife blade against his thigh, pulling loose from behind Carla's upraised buttocks. Abruptly, he grabbed the blonde haired lovely and swung her around until they stood belly to back. He pushed her arms forward so that she was leaning over the back of the driver's seat.
Mae sensed a movement, a stirring there, but was afraid to think what he was up to. His hand swept around her front and instantly her head snapped back, fearing the cold steel against her jugular vein. But it was his hand, cupping her swollen breast, squeezing the fleshy skin between his calloused fingers. She shivered at his animalish touch, but there was no escaping him; she must stand there and take his abuse like a prisoner of war, and to make matters worse she had to listen to the pathetic cries and tortured mewlings torn from her friend's chest as she was forced into the most heinous of acts for a woman of Carla's purity.
Mae shivered, feeling something move against the bottom curve of her ass cheeks, a huge, rustling knob prodding between her soft, tightly clenched buttocks. Chuck shifted himself just a bit and she felt something, saw something that made her blood run cold ... his huge prick stiffened and snaked with the force of a man's fist between her closed, trembling thighs.
His penis was immense and dripping! Like a tree trunk, it stuck between her thighs until the friction made it straight and fully erect My God, I've never seen a penis that big ... funny that when it was in her mouth it didn't look that big. Probably because it had sobered me up, she thought.
Mae's eyes raced down over his hairy forearm, down to the soft bowl of her belly to the soft fleece and the junction of her slender thighs. His cockhead was jutting out between her thighs as he masturbated himself between them as if they, too, were just another cunt. It looked as if she'd just grown a penis of her own ... it rubbed the whole moist furrow of her pussy as he moved his hips back and forth, clasping her nakedness soft and warm, to his hairy, leathery body, still fondling the soft oozing mounds of her fleshy breasts. His fingers tweaked roughly at the sensitive tips of her nipples. So thick was his tree trunk cock that it spread her legs apart at the top and rubbed from the nether ring of her asshole to the bud of her clitoris. Mae's raspberry tipped fingers clutched more tightly the upholstered driver's seat.
Dear God, help me ... but I've never seen a man that big. When he was in my mouth he didn't seem that big-but now! She threw back her head and hissed through clenched teeth. She felt the tingle of excitation begin as the bulky shaft rocked and rubbed back and forth over the delicate, still swollen lips of her cunt, bringing new excitement to percolate in her lusty loins. A whimpering moan of submission bubbled from her half-parted lips; she closed her blue eyes and leaned back voluntarily against her tormentor's massive frame.
I'm going to do it, dear God, Chet ... Paul, forgive me, but I'm going to do it! I'm a nymphomaniac, it's true!
Her trembling, warm hand reached behind the swelling cheeks of her buttocks and gripped the mushroom tipped knob of Chuck's organ and, with a quick movement, slipped it between the elastic lips of her warm, womanly aroused pussy. It wriggled easily into the wet hole, worming far up into her cunt passage, far up between the soft clasping walls of her pussy. He rammed it home with a punishing slap against the globes of her ass and, with a final thrust, sank his prick to the wiry haired base deep inside her belly.
Mae hated herself for wanting it, but want it she did! Her lips ovalled in attempt to protest this rape, but she couldn't ... a lewd, unstoppable desire fanned the flames of nymphomania once more. She was lost ... a lost, hopeless, beautiful woman who was a slave to her own body.
Behind her, Carla slaved over the stubby, tangy penis to save their lives, sliding it between tightly pursed lips. She was doing this degrading thing to save them both ... Mae had better appreciate this, she thought dumbly. That she would lower herself to this ugly deed for Mae's sake was beyond belief. But life was precious to Carla and used that rationalization when Shorty's penis began to taste sweeter She swirled his stubby length around in her warm mouth then with the rough surface of her tongue, bringing mewls of animalish pleasure to the deformed little man.
This day was one Carla would never be able to erase. Memories would mark it forever: making love to Chet, to Mae, and now this ugly little victim of the war. Somehow it seemed irony that Paul, the man she loved, should be left out of this unlikely circle of people.
She thought about that strangeness as she worked on the stubby protuberance, growing harder and more erect each minute. The deformed man had wrapped his fingers in her hair now, pulling her down to his groin while he babbled nonsensical mutterings and drooled. She forgot who she was sucking, wanted only to feel, to taste his seed in her mouth-because it was her indirect gift to Paul. Dear Paul, I didn't give it to you, and now I'm doing it to save my life. Please understand that. Yes, she didn't want to die without having experienced the sheer wickedness of tasting a man's cum.
Carla sucked and licked his penis, a flitter of pride rippling though her at the knowledge that she had performed her task well. And well she had! His penis stood up at a right angle toward the van's ceiling. Carla shivered at every deep, thrusting in stroke that poked and prodded toward her tonsils.
The loud slurping sounds caught Chuck's attention. As he drilled into Mae's grateful belly, banging into her cervix with chill blazing slams, listening to her mewls and cries an idea struck home. The lust crazed man rammed deep into her belly a few more strokes and whispered into her ear, foul breath bathing her face.
"Like that, don't you, whore? Like to feel my cock banging into your cunt ... you love it you slut, you love it too much!"
With that, he pulled free, a loud slurping sound filling the van accompanied by Mae's pleading mewls of disappointment. "Just to make you jealous, bitch ... I'm gonna give it to your friend. She deserves it!"
"No ... no, please!" wailed Mae, a twinge of jealousy rippled uncontrollably through her as she watched him hover over Carla's wriggling ass cheeks, and finding his target, shooting straight for it. Carla threw back her head and groaned and gripped harder the stubby cock slipping into her mouth. The hard penis made a squelching sound as it rammed between the elastic lips of her cunt. He rammed it home with one resounding slap and with a final thrust, sank it deep until it banged into the spongy tip of her cervix.
Carla wanted to scream out from this sudden invasion ... but she didn't. The lewd desire of sucking on this hapless deformed creature had done perversely strange things to her libido. She hated herself for the horrid desires rattling through her body, yet she sucked and licked to save her life on the pink shaft while Chuck rammed into her with head-banging strokes from behind. She shivered at every deep, in-stroke and goosebumped and panted at every prodding far up inside her. She could feel the demented creature's log-sized penis boring into her with a need she'd never experienced in a man. She slurped and licked and gulped and tongued Shorty in eager ecstasy.
Chuck grunted and heaved with red hot lust at the feel of the tight young pussy hugging wetly his prick, while he watched Shorty's stumpy manhood slip glistening in and out of her lips. Damn, she was good! He'd never seen Shorty get it up ... since Nam, that is ... and boy, redhead here was taking him for a joy ride. Maybe he wouldn't do her in ... maybe they'd keep her around for a pet.
Goddamn, Chuck wasn't sure he could hold out another minute; yet he didn't want to give in to the need to cum before he'd taken her in the ass. A few more delicious, juicy strokes and they'd play musical cunts. The lascivious savagery of watching this innocent looking doll suck Shorty's impotence, like the lowest whore, was something to behold. Shit, if he'd known that, he would have attacked her today on the mountaintop when she was lying naked next to the wine drinker. Instead he'd stolen her panties.
He rammed his aching cock hidden in the wet pinkness of her wide open pussy, his eyes locked on the sight of his log-sized cock disappearing with slow, slurping sounds between the ravaged, distended lips of her pussy, disappearing inch by swollen inch into the moist, tight furrow until his balls slung forward and slapped down between her smooth, sweat streaked thighs. He was delirious with pleasure as he pulled his hairy pelvis back and sucked the girth of his cock from her taut cunt, watching eagerly as the soft, fragile lips of her cunt were pulled out along with the throbbing, purple head of his burning cock. He rocked forward and eased the burning pain the moist, soothing depths of her naked pussy. His breath was heavy and fast and he knew he'd better slow down before he shot his load. He closed his eyes and pumped hard and deep into her tortured belly and waited ... just a little more ...
Carla was as lost as the rest. She was wild with a wracking, alien passion and need that she'd never felt before. It didn't matter that Mae was watching as she sucked and licked like a whore on batteries on the short man's stump of cock. It didn't matter that she'd never be able to live down the moment ... nothing mattered save for the burning savage desire ravishing her twisted, flaming belly. Where she should have felt shame and horror, there was only lust. She ground back against Chuck's thrusts, feeling her pussy walls suck hungrily on his hardened penis, sucking hard to pull every inch of his prick far up inside her, to suck his scalding hot load from his testicles and into her belly to satisfy her. Just a little more ... and she'd be there ... just a little more.
Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked faster on Shorty's penis, chewing tenderly on the pungent crimson flesh, swirling her tongue around the tip. She felt him quiver uncontrollably; his body shook and spasmed. Carla was about to let loose in a way she never had when-
A cold gush of air bathed her genitals where once a hot, satisfying penis had been. She shivered with dreadful need when she heard Chuck bark out his orders.
"Okay, Blondie ... come over here and suck your friend's cunt while I fuck her in the ass!"
"What? No! Not to Carla ... not to Carla!" she yelped defensively, forgetting that she herself had recommended precisely that to Paul just twenty-four hours ago.
"Come on ... get over here!" he snapped.
She refused. "Do it to me, not to Carla ... please!"
Chuck's hand snapped out and grabbed her arm, but Mae was agile, too, and she slipped from his grip. Then with one unerring swipe, Chuck caught the naked blonde's long hair and yanked her toward the mattress.
Carla's wide brown eyes saucered as he abused Mae. "Get your ass up there and start licking her cunt ... you didn't hate it so much before!"
With Shorty's penis drubbing into her lips, Carla could only watch dumbly, half dazed, her eyes not seeing, her ears not hearing.
The abuse didn't stop there. Chuck pulled Mae by the hair, positioning her with her head to Carla's pussy. "You're hurting me! Let me go!"
Chuck sneered and laughed, delighting in his abuse of this naked, sniveling little piece of Hollywood ass. He grinned at the sight of her pain-twisted face, her nude sprawling body, her pathetic little whelps of pain.
Now it was Carla's turn. "Get your ass up in the air ... up on your knees, bitch!" With one arm hooked under her belly, he hauled her up onto her knees in doggy-position. Now her buttocks were naked and exposed to his hungry stare as she was bent over. Chuck fondled the enormity of his veiny cock with his fingers; he was proud of his huge prick, the only manly attribute left him after the war. He watched Carla's naked, squirming ass cheeks in the van's overhead light, watched her wiggle and twist as she tried to struggle out of his grip. He could see the folds of her pink, warm flesh that formed ridges around the jewel of her pussy ... that fascinated him, but something else was more important. The puckered ring of her anus. He had to have her there!
"Please ... please ... don't do it to me there!"
"Shut up and keep sucking ... and you, Blondie, get suckin'!"
He dragged his warm prick through the moist crevice of her buttocks. "If you want an asshole left, you better relax them muscles, cause I'm tearin' in no matter how much it hurts."
She tried to do just that.
"Aaaahhh!" Carla screamed as Chuck pushed until sweat beaded his forehead. Carla's tightly clenched anus locked painfully around his cock; her sphincter ring threatened to cut off his circulation from his penis. Yet he rammed hard until the tip of his cock was peeking an inch inside the muscle ring. It was intensely erotic. "Shit," he choked, grinning down to see Shorty smiling back up at him. A hard-on did a lot for a man's ego. Chuck rammed again, winning another inch of virgin territory.
"Get suckin', Blondie ... it'll help her take it," he grumbled down at Mae who lay with her hand on her arm, sobbing under a curtain of honey hair. Obediently, wanting to make it easy for Carla, she did. She squirmed on her back until her head was wedged under Carla's belly. Her tongue licked out tentatively, then more enthusiastically.
Inch by torturous inch his penis bored into her rectum until all but the hairy base was buried deep inside her anus. He glanced down to see the cruelly stretched little hole clenching and unclenching for dear life around the thickness of his blood fed cock. By God, it's in, he thought at last, and quit pushing then, knowing that her anus must be burning like wild fire right now. Deep inside her buttery depths he felt his penis spasm.
Carla sobbed into the hairy forest of Shorty's pubic kinks as she bore the hideous shame. The pain of anal rape was beyond imagination, beyond dignity and at first beyond endurance. But now the flickering touches of Mae's soothing tongue felt like mentholatum on a sore throat, soothing her, dulling the pain into a masochistic thud that galloped through her body. Her hips bucked back against him, meeting Shorty's pounding penis drilling between her lips in mid-stroke. They buffeted her between them, slamming their virility into her orifices with wildness that Mae in the middle struggled to match. Grunting and moaning, she bucked her hips backward to get all of Chuck's punishing cock in her anus, then ground her hips to the side to allow Mae the joy of getting a juicy lick at her cunt, and lurched forward to get more of Shorty's stubby penis in her mouth. It was all so heady ... so forbidden, so packed with erotic secrets that her senses began to desert her one by one. Her eyes burned, her ears rang while she was fucked in every orifice of her near-virgin body.
The camper van was rocking on its axel as the star of the rape show was moving in heated rhythm with her two tormentors and her one time foe who was now slaving over her cunt, licking it tantalizingly. Carla's body felt like a sizzling Roman candle, short fused and ready to pop. And then it happened. Soaring to orgasm, convulsing with a scream of gratitude, she burst. It hit her like a ton of bricks, crushing and violent. Her naked curves and bumps shivered and trembled with relief as thrills of orgasmic completion shot through her. Flickers of light danced before her eyes in the dawn of fainting. Blood pounded in her ears.
Beneath her Mae squirmed, mewled and cooed as her soft, babyish tongue lapped up the juices flowing from Carla's spewing pussy. The room was burning with lust as the foursome worked toward their completions.
"Ahhh ..." Chuck threw back his head. "I'm cumming ... in your ass!" he groaned, slamming into her with a final grunt. On and on the slitted eye of his cock pumped out its load and even though he stood on his knees immobile, feeling her rectal muscles milking him of strength and rage, his penis lurched and jerked within her anus.
Shorty was next to cum. His once pathetic penis jerked and throbbed and a briny stream of male cum shot into Carla's mouth like a geyser. Delicious chills of wicked pleasure rippled like a million volts of electricity through her naked body as she sucked with nibbling lips while her mouth was filled with great gushes that almost choked her and oozed down the back of her throat in gushing torrents of warm juice. Shamelessly, she sucked and swallowed until from behind her still wildly pumping buttocks, she heard Mae's cries for release.
Ah, she'd forgotten Mae ... beautiful Mae with the gorgeously sucking lips nibbling at the swollen buds of her cunt and ... oh, God ... now she had her clitoris between her teeth. Was it possible ... was it possible that she could cum again?
"Ahhhhh!" It was possible ... very possible.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The van steamed of sex, satiated sex and an undercurrent of tension. A gushing warmth of affection flowed between the two women, so strong they could not look the other in the eye. Two women, arch enemies, thrown together in a fight for survival. Now what?
In unison their eyes turned to the men. They stiffened, dared not to move. Images of plunging knives and reverberations of their own cries screamed in their ears. Chuck pulled himself up from the mattress and was grabbing for his pants-when he swung around. The van door was opening.
"STOP WHERE YOU ARE OR I'LL SHOOT!" a voice in the darkness shouted as Shorty bolted upright, pulling free of Carla's collapsed body.
"What the hell?" Chuck's jaw fell slack. His dark eyes snapped murderously as the policeman, with drawn gun, grabbed him by the arm and yanking him through the open van door, pointed the barrel between his eyes.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Chuck guarded his face with his arm.
Every detail, every movement was lightning fast and blurred, and over with in less time than it took for Carla and Mae to realized they were safe. Outside the van there sounded a deafening report like a guerilla ambush, a noise you could feel as it echoed in the night. The women cowered together, locked in each other's arms as a scream rent the air. Sobbing, they stared into the darkened night to see Chuck lying a couple of yards away in the sand, staining it with blood spurting from his arm. He kicked and squirmed like a beached whale, and his voice was low as he groaned from the pain of the .38 slug in his bicep.
In the same frenzy, Shorty rolled over on the mattress and pounded his fists into the mattress and cried. The game of hunt and chase and kill had ended for both of them.
"You ..." The policeman's pistol was brandished before Shorty's watery eyes. "I don't want to shoot you too. Get your ass out of there!" They slapped hand cuffs on him, after forcing him to dress. There was no reason to handcuff Chuck; the bullet wound immobilized him.
The police officer and Paul exchanged looks of mingled grief and satisfaction.
"We've had reports from campers of harassment ... clothes missing, sleeping bags ... a couple of weapons found in caves." His eyes lifted to the light splashed interior of the van where the two women sobbed in each other's arms. "You two get dressed. We'll have to take you to the emergency room for a sperm count." His eyes rested on their naked bumps and curves for a lingering moment. He shook his head, muttering to himself: "Can't say as I blame those guys."
Paul hopped into the van, pulling off his jacket and draping it over Carla's shoulders, shivering and goosebumped. The full impact hit her now and she began to feel, really feel, the bottle up emotions she'd been holding back. Feebly, she opened her cum-encrusted lips to speak, to try to relate to this man, the man she loved, how much she needed him now, but words refused to form. He stroked her hair back from her head. His hands were soft and gentle.
"Oh, Paul ..." she choked out at last. "It was awful!" He pulled the jacket around her breasts and, with his arm around her shoulders, helped her limp out of the van towards the waiting police car with its flashing red light. He opened the door and helped her in. He looked at her for a studious minute, cupping her shoulders with his reassuring hands. With a jerk of the head toward the van where Mae lay in a sobbing hysteria, he asked:
"I have to know something. Did she provoke this? Did she do this to you?" When he and the patrolman had tip-toed over the sand toward the van, after finding Chet passed out in the sand, rope tied and gagged, they had heard the moans and grunts of intercourse, forced intercourse, and that roused his suspicions. The sex hungry Mae, when ignored, was capable of coercing anyone into her game, and he had assumed just that-until he'd seen the glimmer of the knife through the van window.
"No ..." she shook her head, auburn hair floating about her shoulders. Lusty scenes of she and Mae groveling in lesbian love flitted through her brain and she wondered, with a shiver, just how much Paul had seen.
But then every one of them had been acting under strange influences this weekend, relenting to temptations that ended so ungratifiyingly. So much for a quiet trip to the beach to get their heads together and mellow out, she thought squeezing back tears.
"I ... I don't want to talk about anything ... I can't." Her face was pale, her mind blank, her heart aching. Could she ever relate to this man the lusty details of forced sex with Mae, the ugly man who'd driven her to ecstasy ... the fact that three people, men and women, had been making love to her at once? Once he knew, would he want to marry her?
Love wasn't love without forgiveness, she realized, recalling the naked lesbian sex with Mae, a bizarre thing. Forgiveness had its own time table and who could predict what catalyst would spur the heart into opening onto another, of forgiving the other's weaknesses. For admitting to one's failures requires strength. That was one subject she knew little of.
Mae. Her face lifted to the van where Mae lay sobbing with no man to console her. Near the dying fire Chet lay in a drunken stupor, ropes freed from his ankles and wrists, impassive to the world. Mae had no one.
"I have to talk to Mae," she whispered softly, her voice drowned out by the scuffling between Shorty and the police man. "It wasn't her fault ... she tried to protect me, she really did ... but when they-"
"Shhh ..." He put a hushing finger to her lips. "Go to her then."
Slowly she pulled free of his arms and with the sand cold under her bare feet, padded back to the van. Mae lay naked on the mattress, crying into the blanket.
"Mae?" Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Carla pulled the tear wetted strands of silken honey hair back from her face and gently lifted her head with a hand cupped under her chin. The mascara smeared baby blue eyes had lost their sparkle, dulled to gray shades of despair.
"He doesn't even care! I've been raped ..." she gasped, "almost killed ... and he doesn't care!"
"Shhh ..." Carla wrapped her arms around the other and pulled her close, consoling her as one would a child. "It's not that he doesn't care, it's that he isn't very strong right now and he needs you ... Of course he's going to hate himself tomorrow, he's going to blame himself, and maybe that's what it will take for him to quit drinking. You have to give him some credit, Mae, you have to let him find out for himself what's right for his life. That's what this camping trip was about" she added with a snicker of irony. "None of us were ready for it, none of us counted on this happening, but it did and we have to work things out from there."
She wrapped the blanket around Mae's shivering shoulders. "Come on ... they're waiting to take us to the hospital."
Leaning against the patrol car, Paul's eyes fastened on the two women stumbling through the door emerging from the van, the hellish prison for the first time in an hour ... sixty long minutes of torture and degradation.
Mae fell to sobbing. "I'm worth nothing, oh Carla, I've been so jealous of you, so afraid of you ... I hated you for having someone who cared about you."
Carla wrapped her arm around the tall, leggy blonde and glanced toward Paul. She was lucky, very lucky. Sometimes it took pain to realize that.
Later they could discuss the horrible web of dark emotions that entangled them all in this trap.
On a weekend at the beach, away from Los Angeles. There was nothing wrong with giving it another shot.
EPILOGUE
No one can predict what will make another person change, make him see himself for the vulnerable human being he is. That weekend on the ocean beach, down the rutted path of Johnson Road to the Pacific's rugged fury, marked an unforgettable milestone in the life of each.
Predictably, Carla and Paul were married in a traditional church ceremony surrounded by flowers and friends. Paul continued his agency in Hollywood and to supplement their income, Carla took a position as photo-stylist for a Los Angeles based photographer.
Mae ceased posing for nude photographers and seeking pride in seeing her nakedly stretched out luscious in full-color glossies. Acting classes and singing lessons took up most of her time and, with Paul's aid, got a small part in a B-rated movie. The insecurities that haunted her, made her seem the empty-headed barbie doll, lifted and with a wider, more realistic view of life and the people who filled it, tempered her sexual proclivities.
As for Chet, no one saw much of him. He didn't stop drinking and he didn't stop riding motorcycles. He didn't get a job, that they knew. Some said he spent most of his time camping in Big Sur, along a lonely stretch of beach ... as if he'd left something there he needed, desperately, to retrieve.
