Emily Marsden was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal for her fifteen-year-old daughter Wilma when the phone rang. Frowning with annoyance at the interruption, the handsome dark-brown haired matron turned the gas low under the pot of stew and, wiping her hands on her apron, headed for the phone in the hallway.
"Hello?"
"This is Ken, honey." It was her husband calling from the office. "I wanted to call you before you went too far with supper."
"Well, Ken, as a matter of fact I was just giving the finishing touches to the stew. It ought to be ready by five-thirty."
"That's just the point, honey, I won't be able to make it. The boss is sending me out of town on an emergency presentation to a New York client. I'm going right from the office to O'Hare and take a United Airlines jet into La Guardia. It looks as if I probably won't be back until about Wednesday evening of course I'll call you and by the way, I'll be at the Barbizon Plaza Hotel. I'm awfully sorry, honey, I was looking forward to the weekend."
"So was I," Emily ruefully confessed. "You know, Wilma was expecting you to take us both out to the Flower Show tomorrow afternoon."
"It's a darn shame," her husband regretfully agreed, "but it can't be helped. Anyhow, Mr. Delmar tells me that if I bring off this account, there will be a very nice promotion and a substantial raise and maybe we can go to Hawaii for Christmas on the strength of it. That ought to make up for the Flower Show, you tell Wilma." He chuckled. "They tell me they've got lots of orchids out there, and you tell Wilma that if we make it, I'll see that she had the most beautiful corsage any girl ever had. Well, I'd better leave now if I'm going to catch that plane. Take care of yourself, and give Wilma a big hug and a kiss for me."
"I will, darling. And you be careful too. Oh, that reminds me. If you are not going to be home for tomorrow, Sunday, Wilma and I could go out and see Grandma on the West Side. We've really been neglectful of the poor darling and this would be an excellent time to make a courtesy visit."
"That's a fine idea. Well, if you're going to be gone tomorrow, suppose I call you when I get up Monday morning-that will be about seven-thirty in New York and about eight-thirty back in Chicago. Okay?"
"Fine, darling."
Emily Marsden hung up the phone, a thoughtful look on her lovely face. At thirty-six, she was almost as deliciously attractive as when Ken had married her seventeen years ago last month. Wilma had come along two years later, but then the doctor had said that Emily couldn't have any more children. It didn't seem to matter between Ken and herself, Emily thought with a happy smile as she went back to the kitchen. The two of them had had a wonderful life, and Ken was a marvelous father. Wilma adored him. Of course, it would have been nice to have had a son that they could have named Kenneth Jr., but there wasn't any point in regretting it now. And besides, there had been nothing to mar then-happy relationship in bed, even after the tragedy of discovering that Emily couldn't ever bear another child again.
Emily Marsden was about five feet six inches in height, with a rounded smooth face, a full generous mouth, soft Grecian nose, dark blue eyes, and her body was voluptuously ripe. She had fine milky skin, and a superbly lush body which still seemed to entice her husband when fuck it time rolled around. So far as she knew, he'd never cheated on her with another woman. She smiled deeply to herself at this thought, for she knew that so long as she could keep herself seductive to him at night, she really wouldn't have to worry about her darling husband. He was just thirty-eight, with black hair that didn't show any gray yet, tall and sturdy, with a nice smile and a good resonant baritone voice. He was a very successful advertising man, and he had done it without getting ulcers in the process. Yes, she was quite happy with life. The thought of going to Hawaii for the first time made more than up for the disappointment of not having Ken home with her tomorrow to take Wilma to the Flower Show.
CHAPTER TWO
Wilma Marsden, thought it was Saturday afternoon and about an hour away from dinner, wasn't home yet. She had told her mother that she was going to see a Peter Sellers movie with her best girlfriend Joanne Brent. Her mother thoroughly approved of the friendship between the two girls, for Joanne had lost her parents when she was only two years old through an automobile accident and had been brought up by a stern old aunt who almost never let Joanne have any fun at all. In fact Emily Marsden had had to put forward her best and sweetest manner to talk the old lady into letting Joanne and Wilma occasionally go to a movie or do their homework together. Emily Marsden also suspected that Mrs. Hochstetter, Joanne's aunt, often spanked the poor girl for no reason at all, because Wilma had sometimes told her that Joanne had been crying when she had come over to see her friend and had been unable to sit down comfortably. Emily had never laid a hand on Wilma and hadn't really needed to.
But this afternoon, if Emily Marsden could have seen where her darling daughter was at this very moment, she might well have decided to use the maternal hairbrush for the first time in Wilma's carefree young fifteen-year-old life.
Wilma was slim and pert, her jet-black hair done in a thick pageboy. Her face was oval, with high-set cheekbones and a small petulant mouth. Her nose was daintily aquiline, with sensuous nostril wings, and her face was very expressive of emotion. She had a warm olive-sheened skin, and already at fifteen her titties were budding young pears, standing boldly out and well spaced on her chest. Her bottom was a pair of saucy ovals with a widening furrow between them which led to both her maiden slits. At this very moment, however, one of those slits was in danger of losing its chaste purity, for Tommy Bridges, a tow-headed freckled-faced sixteen-year-old senior at Senn High, was trying to make Wilma.
She had been seeing him on the sly for the last several weeks. Emily Marsden had gently told Wilma that she didn't quite approve of girls having dates with boys until at least sixteen, which of course was a year away, only Wilma really went for Tommy Bridges. Her girlfriend Joanne had gigglingly told her once that Tommy was the daringest boy in school and he was a great football star and was going to the University of Illinois where he would probably be a football star too, and maybe a professional. He was a rangy, lanky, very fast runner and played left end for the Senn Team, which had gone through the City League last fall losing only one game, tying one and winning seven as the result of Tommy's sensational catches of forward passes.
Right now he was trying to complete a pass at Wilma. Joanne had agreed to lie for Wilma just in case her mother called; she would be home all afternoon and would answer the phone so that her aunt wouldn't get on the line and blow the whole thing. Because Tommy had suggested that Wilma and he go to the movie instead, and Wilma had naturally been thrilled and said yes, and told Joanne that she was just dying to go. But then it turned out Tommy wanted to take Wilma to his house, since his mother and father had gone out of town, and he wanted to play some new jazz records for her and maybe dance with her. Wilma was a great jazz fan, in fact Emily had often had to plead with her to turn down the blaring phonograph in her room or the radio when they were playing rock'n roll.
Right now, Wilma was on the living-room couch in Tommy Bridges' house, and he had his right hand under her short blue cotton skirt and her white cotton slip and his fingers were rubbing against the crotch of her white nylon panties. His other arm was around her shoulders and they were kissing hotly. Wilma's eyes were closed and she was moaning and squirming, laying back along the edge of the couch with her feet on the floor while he turned towards her. His young cock was digging stiffly at his fly, and he was staring at Wilma's flushed passion-contorted face with greedy anticipation. Any minute not he would tug down his zipper and pull out his prick and try to give it to this sweet little bitch. He always had had a hankering for slim brunettes, especially when they had warm olive skin as Wilma had. Tommy Bridges had long ago lost his virginity. About two years ago, in fact, there had been a gang shag of a thirteen-year-old grammar-school girl who was notoriously know for "putting out" in the basement of her apartment building with some of the fellows. One of Tommy's pals had suggested he come alone, and sure enough Lucille Burny was down in the basement lying on an old mattress, her skirt up and her panties rolled around her ankles, and a fourteen-year-old boy from the same building in front of her digging it into her eager pussy. Before the afternoon was over, Tommy had had his first piece and he liked the experience enough to try a little on his own. Two of the Senn High juniors, in fact, had already given up their cherries to Tommy. He wanted Wilma's as the third in his list of conquests.
"Oooh-oh, We m - musn't, Tommy h-honey," Wilma gasped in a husky tone that denoted wanton passion. "Please don't do that-I've got to go home for supper-"
"Not yet, baby. I'm crazy about you, can't you tell? Give me a little kiss, and lemmee show you what it's like when I put my tongue in your mouth. You'll really get hot from that," Tommy urged.
His forefinger began to move against the slit of her cunt, and he could feel the outer lips opening even more under the tickling sensation through that thin nylon. Wilma arched up her loins, weaving them feverishly about, no so much to escape that audacious liberty which Tommy Bridges was taking with her pussy, but to accentuate the delicious friction which was making her nearly faint.
Just then the telephone rang, and Tommy gulped and got up, his face flushed and contorted with lust, and made his way to the phone. It was his father, calling to tell him that he and Tommy's mother would be home in about an hour; they had finished their business out of town and were now at O'Hare on their way back home. It was a whole day ahead of schedule, and Tommy Bridges cursed the luck, because now he didn't dare go ahead and try to fuck Wilma Marsden.
"I guess you better go, Wilma baby," he blurted, running a hand through his tousled hair. "That was my folks. They'll be here in about an hour, and you said you had to get back for supper. But there will be other times, won't there, honey?"
Wilma sighed and slowly rose from the couch, feeling her legs totter beneath her. She also felt that her pussy was slightly moist, and she blushed violently when she met Tommy Bridges's eyes. She knew that his tickling had done it there because she had played with herself, doing just the same thing that he did with her own finger, to make her pussy give down it's juice. And she was secretly a little reluctant to leave, because she really wanted to know what it was all about. After what Joanne had told her about what a chaser Tommy was and how all the girls flung themselves at him, Wilma had had half a subconscious yearning to be fucked and exactly to find out what it was like to have a boy's cock stuck into her tingling pussy.
CHAPTER THREE
"Wherever have you been, Wilma?" Emily Marsden exclaimed as she saw Wilma go past the kitchen door. "You're almost late for supper."
"I was with Joanne at the movie, Mom, and we liked it so much we sat through the start of it again until I remembered the time. I'm sorry," Wilma said contritely.
"Well, I suppose there's no harm done." Emily sighed. "Your father just called and said that he had to go out of town on business. And I don't think he'll be back until the middle of next week. You better go wash up and get ready for supper, honey."
"Yes, Mom." Wilma went off to her room with a sigh of relief. One thing about Mom, she really didn't nag, and she didn't spank either, not like Mrs. Hochstetter. And neither did Dad. Relatively speaking, Wilma was really a very lucky girl and had a great deal more freedom than most girls her age and in her own class.
In the bathroom, she critically examined her face, and noticed that her lips looked rather swollen, that was from Tommy's kissing. And her chin was a little scraped, too. She ran a bowlful of hot water, hot as she could stand, then plunged her face into it, then massaged with cold cream, again examining herself intently. Her mother's voice floated to her: "Wilma! It's on the table, dear!"
"Just a minute, Mom!" she called back, grimacing with nervous and anxiety. Mom might not ask her embarrassing questions about the movie - oh, gosh, she didn't even remember the plot - but she would notice if Wilma's face was marked up a bit. And Wilma wasn't very good about fibbing, because she really hadn't done very much in her comparatively short young life. Hastily she wiped off the cold cream, applied just a bit of her mother's face powder to her chin and cheeks, gave her hands a lick and a promise so far as washing was concerned, and then hurried out into the kitchen. When Dad wasn't home, they ate at the kitchen table. It was a pleasant view from the kitchen window out into the little garden with the white gazebo summer house, and the jonquils and petunias and peonies were just beginning to come up now that it was mid-April and the weather getting warmer by the day.
Wilma took a last critical look at herself, smoothed down her blue cotton skirt and hurried to the kitchen. Just as she got there, the phone rang.
"I'll get it, Mom!" she called. But her mother shook her head and interposed, "No, dear, let me, it may be your father again calling long distance. If it is, I'll certainly let you talk to him, baby."
Wilma waited as her mother moved ahead of her into the hallway and picked up the phone: "Hello! Why yes, Joanne. How did you two enjoy the movie this afternoon?"
Wilma's heart sank and her face went very red and she gulped and wished she could sink right down through the floor or turn invisible. "What's that? Oh. Oh, I see. Wait a minute, I'll ask her." Her mother put down the phone and turned to Wilma: "It seems that Joanne doesn't remember anything at all about the movie you two went to this afternoon. She was calling to ask if you could come over and help her with her English after supper. Before you do, dear, I think you and I had better have a little talk. I'll tell her that you'll be over about eight, but you're to be home by ten, you understand?"
"Y-yes, M-Mom," Wilma faltered, utterly miserable. She lowered her eyes before her mother's mildly accusing face. Actually, seeing Mom so calm was even worse than if Mom had got real mad at her. She almost wished that Mom did spank the way Mrs. Hochstetter did, so that she could make up for having fibbed so awfully. Then she would feel better in her conscience.
"She'll be over about eight, dear. How's your aunt? Fine. Give her my regards, will you? Good night."
The phone once back in place, Emily Marsden turned to contemplate her crestfallen daughter. "Now where were you this afternoon, really, Wilma?" she wanted to know.
"Mom-I-I didn't mean to fib-"
"But you did. And that's something I don't like in a daughter of mine, Wilma. You've never had any reason to hide anything from me - or have you now?"
"Mom, please-" Wilma desperately groped in her mind, trying to find some solution to her predicament. But fate was about to take a hand and solve it for both of them!
CHAPTER FOUR
The doorbell rang at the precise moment when Wilma was searching her feverish brain to come up with a rational and believable answer to her mother's direct question.
"I-I'll get it, Mom!" she gasped, hugely relieved to be saved, or at least reprieved at this critical moment. Before Emily Marsden could tell her no, the provocative black-haired teenager had opened the door, and then Emily Marsden heard her gasp out "Ohhh!!"
"Who is it, honey?" she called.
A wiry man, with a battered fedora hat pulled down over one side of his face, in a dirty, torn gray overcoat, stood in the doorway and had menaced Wilma Marsden with a squat black automatic in his right hand. "Get inside, baby," he growled, gesturing with the gun.
"Y-yes s-sir," Wilma stuttered, her tongue almost cleaving to the roof of her suddenly dry mouth, her heart thudding madly, and very pale. She stepped backwards, the gunman entered and closed the door, then locked it. "Now, who else is in this place?" he gruffly demanded. His voice was harsh and resonant, and his face was peaked, with a thin but hawk-like nose, thin lips, angry dark blue eyes. He was unshaven, with a dirty black stubble around his jowls and chin.
"Just-just my m-mother. - oh please, what-what do you want?" Wilma stammered.
"Get her!" the gunman ordered and gave Wilma a shove on the shoulder that made her stumble forward with a little cry.
"What's the matter, Wilma? Who's there, I asked you?" Emily Marsden's voice rang with impatience. That girl! First fibbing to her about going to a movie with her girl friend, and now this nonsense. She was really going to have to speak to Ken when he got home next week about disciplining Wilma. They'd never spanked the girl, but maybe stopping her allowance and forbidding her to go out on dates at all even with Joanne Brent might be one way to get Wilma back into line.
Quickly she doffed her apron, and walked out into the living room. Then she uttered a cry, a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and incredulous.
"That's right, lady, don't try to yell or you and your girl here are gonna be awful sorry," the gunman growled.
"Please-don't hurt my daughter-if-if you need money, I can give you some. But don't hurt us," Emily Marsden stammered.
"Take it easy, and we'll all get along better. Now look, I'm on the lam from the cops, see? I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. You got a hubby, I suppose."
Emily Marsden could only nod, for she felt like fainting. Wilma, meanwhile, her hands clasped in front of her, cowered back against the wall, scared and pale and trembling. She sent her mother a piteously imploring glance, as if begging forgiveness for having opened the door to this marauder, and for having lied. Now how desperately she wished she'd never agreed to meet Tommy Bridges at the movie and then still less at agreeing to go to his house with his parents out of town the way they were.
"Sit down there on the couch, both of you, where I can watch you," the man directed with a gesture of the automatic. Emily Marsden obeyed, trembling in every limb. Her eyes fixed on her daughter as the latter hurried over to sit down beside her and to put an arm around her mother, then burst into tears: "Oh, Mom, I didn't mean to-honest I didn't-I oughtn't to have-"
"Shut your mouth, girl, or I'll shut it for you," the gunman snarled. Then, addressing Emily Marsden, he went on in a menacing tone: "Now look, lady, get this through your head once and get it straight and we'll get along, see? Like I said, I'm on the lam from the cops. I pulled a stick-up in Evanston a couple of hours ago, and I think I shook them. But I've got to have a place to stay until I can get in touch with my buddy, get me?"
Emily nodded, unable to speak, her throat constricted with terror. She felt Wilma's arm convulsively tighten around her waist, and in turn, consolingly she put her arm around her daughter's shoulders and hugged her. "I-I'll do what I can, if only you won't hurt us," she pleaded.
"All depends on you, sister," the gunman grinned. "Now, what about your hubby?"
"I told you he-he was out of town."
"For how long?"
"Until tomorrow," Emily Marsden stammered, "yes, he'll be back tomorrow noon. You'd better be gone by then."
But unfortunately Wilma chose this moment to gasp, so stunned with her own terror and contrition at how her thoughtlessness had caused this terrible situation that she forgot her reaction might well be a telltale sign to the assailant. And he quickly caught her reaction: "You're lying, sister. Don't try that again, get me? I can be real rough on a bitch that tries to double cross me, understand? Now give me a straight answer - when he's really suppose to be back? And no tricks, sister. Or maybe I might just start roughing up that cute little black-haired girl of yours-"
"Oh no, please, for God's sake, let Wilma be!" Emily Marsden groaned. "He-he won't be back till Wednesday. There, that's the truth, isn't it Wilma, dear?"
"Oh yes, yes it is, Mom doesn't lie," Wilma's voice was tremulous and high pitched in her anxiety and fear.
The gunman, without bothering to remove hat or overcoat, but had plumped himself down into a comfortable low armchair opposite the couch. Keeping the automatic in his right hand trained upon the two huddled and trembling victims, he delved with his left hand into his overcoat pocket and came up with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Pulling one out without taking his eyes from them, he stuck it into his mouth and then glanced around for a match. Discovering a pack on the little table beside the armchair, he lighted the cigarette, tossed the smoking match onto the Oriental rug, at which Wilma gasped, and then chuckled: "That's just fine, lady. And there's no rush about my leaving here. The cops would never think of looking for this place. Now, you got a car?"
"Yes-in-in the garage. It-it's a Plymouth station wagon."
"Great! In case my buddy doesn't come across with a getaway car, we'll just use yours to get to Indiana. I've got a moll there who'll take care of us until this blows over. Now we're all going to stay here nice and easy and no problems, and later tonight I'm gonna call my buddy and get him over here, see?"
"Oh my God!" Emily Marsden ejaculated hoarsely, clutching Wilma to her with desperately protective arms.
"You sure set a lot of stock by that cute black-haired girl of yours, don't you, lady? What's your name?"
"E-Emily M-Marsden."
"That's a nice name, Emily, huh? Sort of old-fashioned, but you don't look old-fashioned to me, lady. You look like a real stuff. I bet your old man still goes for you in a great big way, if you know what I mean." He gave the trembling matron a salacious wink. "And what's the kid's name, how old is she?"
"She-she's fifteen and her name is W-Wilma-oh please, Mister, don't hurt her, please promise me you won't!"
"Why should I promise you anything? Like I said, it's all up to you. You act nice and put us up here and don't give us no trouble, and we won't hurt you not at all. Otherwise, there's gonna be trouble, and I know how to dish it out. So does my buddy Al. He's a two-time loser, so you can see from that he won't put up with any funny tricks from you broads. Now, got any supper?"
"We-we were just going to sit down to it when-when-"
Emily Marsden faltered. Then she burst into tears. Wilma also began to cry. pressing her cheeks against her mother's.
"Cut out that bawling before I really give you something to bawl about, both of you," the gunman angrily commanded. "All right, let's go eat. You can call be Bob. Now, whatcha got on the menu, Emily, for a hungry man?"
"L-lamb stew."
"Fer crissake," he snarled disgustedly, "I ain't had that since I was a kid. Well, if that's whatcha got, that's whatcha got. How about some beer to go with it, though?"
"I-I just have some Pepsi in cans, I'm afraid."
"Jeez, don't tell me you're on the wagon. How about your old man?"
"We-we have a little bourbon, but K-Ken's the only one who drinks it," Emily Marsden quavered.
"That's great," he grinned, "why didn't cha speak right out and say you had it? Get it and bring it to the table. Go on, I said hustle, and when I say hustle, I mean it. Come on, Wilma baby, let's you and me go in to supper in style." He made a mock bow to the terrified young brunette, holding on his right arm, as he transferred the gun to his left hand. "Let's go, I said!" he snapped, his face hardening. Then, taking off his crumpled fedora, he tossed it into the armchair. With a gesture of his gun, he made the terrified young girl rise from the couch and come towards him. Then, seizing her by her left elbow, he growled, "Now let's go on in to supper and be nice. You can pretend I'm you old man, see, and you're gonna treat me nice just the way you'd treat him, get me, Wilma?"
"Y-y-yes, s-sir."
CHAPTER FIVE
The gunman who called himself Bob took off his overcoat and flung it over the back of the chair in which he had been sitting. "you're gonna serve me in the dining room just the way you would your hubby, Emily?" he sniggered at the handsome brown-haired matron.
"I-I thought we'd eat in the kitchen to save time and making any fuss about cleaning up," Emily Marsden explained in a low voice. She had decided that the best way to avert catastrophe was for herself and Wilma to do everything this awful man wanted and not to argue with him or make any comments about what he had done or try to moralize. She could only pray to God that this Bob, whoever he was, would somehow decide to leave their place before that friend of his, whom he had called Al, came over. The idea of having two hoodlums with guns around Wilma and herself with her husband out of town was unthinkable. And then a terrified thought came to her: suppose Ken called while they were here or while just this one man was here? What was she going to do? He'd be in New York and he couldn't help her at all except call the police back in Chicago and tell them to get out to her place. Yes, she'd have to be very careful and not to show panic if he did call. She'd have to try to convey to him in some code just what was happening so that he'd get the idea and notify the police and save Wilma and her from the harm.
The idea gave her something to cling to, something to distract her mind so she wouldn't worry about the danger. Because a man with a gun, a criminal, wouldn't stop at anything to get his own way. And, heaven forbid, he might look at her on at Wilma and decide that because they helpless, he wanted to have-have some fun with them. She felt her knees get shaky as she thought of this. She had never had a man besides Ken, but he had satisfied her gloriously. She didn't regard herself as a prude either, not because she had been a virgin until her marriage. It was only right and natural that your husband should teach you the beauty and the joy of making love, so that you would give yourself entirely to him and that all your happiness would be that when he got into you and kissed you and loved you up. She loved Ken's ways with her in bed, because he always was considerate of her and made her happy and fulfilled her. But a cruel hardened criminal like this Bob or this Al whoever he was, could never in the world think of act like that. He would just be a lusting animal, and the worst of it would be that poor little Wilma would probably be just as tempting to a beast like this as she herself.
No, she mustn't think about it she told herself. She'd have to plan what to say to Ken when he called. She'd have to think it all out in advance so that-
"What's the matter, Emily, you off in dreamland?" Bob's raspy harsh voice broke in on her thoughts. He was standing right in front of her scowling, and the gun was held against his hips. Somewhere she had read that when a man held a gun in his hand right against his body, then there wasn't much chance you could have to knocking it out. It was only that when he held his hand out that a clever man could, like a policeman, could twist his wrist or swing the gun away and be out of danger. But she certainly wasn't going to try it. If a wild shot would ring out and Wilma would be hurt, she'd blame herself for the rest of her life. There was no need to show heroics, not until she could think things out. But the only way was to tell Ken in some sort of code ...
"No, I-I'm sorry-I guess I was just worried about your being here with us, that's all," she faltered.
"Yeah?" he growled. "You get this right through your thick skull, Emily baby. When I talk to you, you jump. And that goes for that cute little bitch of a daughter you've got too. Hear?"
She nodded dumbly, her face coloring at the vicious epithet he had applied to her lovely daughter. Oh, how she detested him, how she wished she were a man, how she wished she had a gun and could kill him!
"We'll eat in the kitchen, then, but get it ready fast. I'm hungry. And get that Bourbon out fast. No, you stay here and have Wilma get the bottle."
"Wilma dear," Emily Marsden said trying to keep her voice calm so that Wilma wouldn't panic, "You know where Daddy keeps the bottle of bourbon in the pantry. Please get it and bring it out to the kitchen table, and a glass."
"Two glasses," the gunman corrected with a chuckle, "you're drinking too, Emily baby. Now get ready and serve up that lamb stew and make it damn fast."
A few moments later, Emily, her knees trembling, but trying with all her might to compose her face and even to force a smile on it, was standing over Bob and dishing out with her ladle a generous portion of the piping hot lamb stew. She had prepared a green salad with oil and vinegar dressing, and she had heated some frozen pre-baked biscuits and there was a jar of honey, and a pot of freshly made coffee. She had Jell-o in the refrigerator, but she didn't imagine that a man like Bob would care for a simple child's dessert like this, though she did mention it. He made a disparaging gesture. "Ain't you got any cake or ice cream?"
"I'm sorry, no. You see, I was going to market tomorrow with my husband out of town. I didn't expect-"
"You don't have to tell me what you didn't expect, baby," he chuckled, eyeing her lingeringly as he chewed a piece of biscuit, "this ain't a bad stew I'll give you that. Now I tell you what. Around ten o'clock tonight, I'll think I can get my buddy Al. I'll find out about that car. Oh, while you're at it, you may as well gimme the keys to your station wagon you said you had. Just in case Al doesn't come up with another car."
"All right, whatever you say."
"Now you're getting sense, Emily baby. Here, shove over that bottle, Wilma. Make yourself useful. It ain't gonna be too long before you go around with a guy and he'll be asking you to do things for him. And not only passing him bourbon either, hahaha!" he burst into a peal of salacious laughter, and Emily Marsden's face turned scarlet. She shuddered with revulsion at the way he was looking at poor little Wilma. Wilma was behaving herself, thank goodness, keeping her eyes down on her plate and not saying anything but just being nice and quiet and not making a fuss. That was the only way not to attract attention, but now this awful and was beginning to say nasty things.
Of course Emily Marsden didn't know that even at fifteen Wilma, that very afternoon, had found out what French-kissing was like and also what a boy's finger felt like tickling her pussy. With just a little more luck, and if the telephone hadn't rung at the critical time, Emily Marsden might have been looking at a fifteen-year-old daughter who had just lost her cherry and had her first fuck that very afternoon. That was how close it had been with Tommy Bridges.
So Wilma understood pretty what Bob meant when he said what he had said and she blushed a little too, and her warm olive skin looked all the more delicious with a blush suffusing it.
Emily suddenly remembered her conversation with her husband. She had told him she was going to take Wilma out to go see Grandma tomorrow so he wouldn't call until Monday evening. Oh dear Lord, she prayed to herself, please make him call me tonight as soon as he gets into New York. Please!
Wilma had gone to get the bottle of bourbon and brought it back to the table and was setting it down along with the two glasses Bob had ordered. He took the bottle and uncorked it, laying his gun down in his lap, and then poured out a generous swig into each glass, shoved one across towards Emily. "Drink it down, baby," he instructed as he re-corked the bottle, and took his own glass. "Here's to getting better acquainted with the two of you. You're both pretty cute, I'll give you that. You've got a nice little girl here, knows how to mind when she's spoken to, and that's gonna come mighty handy. Well, here's mud in your eye!" He gulped the bourbon down in a single swallow, and Wilma looked at him wide eyed. Emily took a hesitant sip of her bourbon. She really didn't care for it. She liked occasionally a creme de menthe or maybe some apricot brandy after a good dinner, but that was the extent of her drinking. Ken used to tease her about it when occasionally he took her out to some of the fancy French restaurants in town. She would only have about one glass of wine, as she was afraid that even one goblet of champagne might make her tipsy. He had made her drink a glass on her wedding night, she recalled with a sudden blush at those happy memories. But the blush disappeared when she thought with horror that maybe this horrid man, now that he had eaten and drunk his fill, might begin to think how helpless she and Wilma were all alone with him, him and his gun. She had read in the newspapers about how helpless women were raped, and couldn't get help, and sometimes the men beat them up cruelly and killed them. She didn't know what she would do-
"Boy, you're sure off in the land of dreams lately, baby," Bob had broken into her thoughts again. "And it's about the last time I'm gonna tell you, too, get me? I said where'd your hubby go?"
"New-New York."
"That's great. What time is he supposed to get into New York?"
"I-I'm not sure."
"Like hell you're not. He must have told you what train he was going to take? Now let's hear it. Don't make me get nasty with you, Emily, baby."
"He-he called and said he was going right from the office to O'Hare and that's the truth."
"So let's say he left the office around four or so and got out to O'Hare around five or so, and it takes about an hour and a half to fly into New York. Hell, he oughta be there right now or just about. Finish your likker. I don't like to see a woman sit by with a full glass when I'm drinking."
"I-I really don't care for bourbon, thank you."
"My, you're a polite piece," Bob sniggered, and then glanced over at Wilma who was watching him with anxiety on her lovely face. "How about Wilma here? Maybe she'd like a little drink."
"Oh no! Of course she wouldn't and she's too young for strong drink like that," Emily Marsden's voice broke with desperation. "Please don't force a child to drink bourbon, it certainly isn't good for her."
"You want me to smack you across the face, Emily?" he calmly asked as he reached for the glass and shoved it over to Wilma. "All right, honey, now that I'm here you can have a little fun. Take it up and drink it down. Not too fast, mind you, but drink it. I mean it, baby."
Emily Marsden bit her lips and wrung her hands in her lap, agonized at the turn of events.
Wilma picked up the glass and slowly sipped at it, made a wry face. "It-it's bitter." she complained in a trembling voice.
"Sure, but it feels good when it gets down. Keep at it, baby." He turned back to eye Emily. "So what, he'll probably call you when he gets to his hotel, won't he?"
"N-no, I-he said he was going to call me Monday, I-I was going away to visit my mother and take Wilma with me tomorrow."
"Well, that's out. You can call her and tell her so too. We'll do that right after you finish washing the dishes. You're sure you ain't got no pie nor ice cream or nothing?"
"Only the Jell-o."
"Okay, dammit, bring it out. I'll eat the crap. You sure didn't give me much to eat here. Oh, the stew was all right, but that crummy salad, that's for the birds. If we stay here, you better get some good eats."
"But then I'll have to go to market."
"No you won't. There ought to be a place around her so that you can call up and have them send stuff out."
"There-there is, but it's like a delicatessen and their prices are awfully high-"
"So you're hubby's rich enough to go on to New York and own a house like this, he'll pay for it. You'll feed me good, me and Al, too, or you'll wish to hell you had, baby. Now let's get at those dishes after you dish out that Jell-o, hear?"
Emily Marsden was trembling as she went to the refrigerator and brought out the bowl of Jell-o, scooped out three portions and set the bowl before Wilma first and then before her unwanted guest and finally herself. Bob dipped the spoon into the Jell-o and tasted it, grimaced, shoveled a few more spoonfuls into his mouth and then shoved the bowl away. "Real crap for the kids," he pronounced contemptuously. "Let's get at those dishes. Then you're gonna call your old lady and tell her it's off."
"Well, I- I told my husband-you see, we had plans for tomorrow, but then when he called and said he couldn't be here, I told him I hadn't seen my mother in quite a while, and I'd take Wilma out there. So I hadn't called her yet to tell her."
"That's fine. Then you won't have to call her now. You'll just do the dishes, then we'll go out to the living room and get better acquainted or maybe," and this with a suggestive wink, "we'll try the bedroom. You know, Emily, you're a real piece. And me, I ain't had a piece in longer than I want to remember."
And there it was, the bold, cruel, obscene declaration of his intention, and if she had had any doubts, the glitter in his eyes as he swept her quivering figure with a burning and appraising look would have told her precisely what he had in mind.
CHAPTER SIX
Bob waited in the kitchen while Emily Marsden and her daughter Wilma did the dishes. The lovely matron was almost numb with terror, remembering the gunman's last and atrociously suggestive words about her being a real piece. If he had been in prison, obviously he hadn't slept with a woman all that time; shudderingly, she told herself that he was surely going to force her to sleep with him. And she didn't know what she was going to do. Maybe she could talk with him plead with him, or reason with him. Maybe the fact that Wilma was such a young innocent girl and was there would make him be more merciful ...
"Well, now, baby, everything's nice and neat," Bob chuckled. "Wilma, pour out another shot of bourbon bring it to me fast. Your mother and I are going to have a little toast, and then we're going into the living room and get comfy. You know, that meal wasn't too bad, I gotta hand it to you for that, Emily. Only tomorrow, we're gonna order good stuff like steaks and canned salmon and a couple of frozen pies and quarts of ice cream. Al's a big eater like me, too. And you can imagine we didn't get much chow in stir. Me, I just got out a couple of months ago after a five-year stretch, and like I told you already, Al's a two-time loser. So while we're on the lam, we're gonna live it up. Wilma, didn't you hear me? Get me that hooch and do it fast or I'll have Mamma spank!"
He make a gesture with the gun towards the quivering, highly strung girl, and she nodded, gulped and then hurried back to the pantry to fetch the bottle of bourbon and a glass. She uncorked it and almost dropped it in her feverish haste to avert his anger, and he chuckled as he looked over at the cowering Emily by the sin, "See, baby? Your little girl's learning fast to do what I say when I say it. You get that through your head and we'll get along just fine, understand?"
Emily Marsden nodded. She couldn't bring herself to speak. She was praying that some miracle would happen. Maybe some neighbor would come to the door, or maybe a policeman. Yes, that could be it-maybe she hadn't locked the garage and she'd left the lights on the station wagon, and the policeman would come to tell her about it. But then maybe there would be shooting, and the policeman wouldn't know that she had a convict in the house with a gun. Oh dear Lord, what was she going to do?
Wilma poured out the bourbon, glancing up at him fearfully until he nodded that she had put enough into the glass. "Might as well leave the bottle on the table, just in case we need it later," he gestured with his gun to her, and Wilma put the bottle on the kitchen table where they had had supper. Transferring the gun to his left hand, Bob picked up the glass in his right, then handed it over to Emily Marsden. "Drink the rest of it down. I mean it!" his voice was harsh and surly.
Emily Marsden bit her lips, but slowly took the glass and put it to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to swallow the fiery liquid, and coughed and gasped because she wasn't used to it.
"And I'll bet you don't smoke either, Emily baby. I bet you haven't got any vices at all. Well, that's the kind of girl I like. A nice clean cut decent piece. That way, I can't pick up a dose of clap. Okay, finish it!"
"Please-I-I never-"
"Want me to smack you around some? Some dames like that. Maybe you're that kind. Finish it up and be quick about it," he ordered.
With a supreme effort Emily Marsden forced the rest of the glass down and coughed and gasped, tears running down her cheeks as she reached blindly for a paper towel from the holder over the sink and mopped at her eyes and then put it to her mouth. He watched her with a cruel little smile playing on the corner of his lips. "All right, now let's go into the living room. You too, Wilma."
"Please-please let her be. Please let her go up to her room and go to bed."
"Not yet. Besides, I want to get acquainted with her too, you know. Anyhow, it's too early for a grownup piece like Wilma to go to bed, isn't it, baby?"
"I-I do what M-Mom tells me." Wilma quavered, looking at her mother forlornly.
"Now, ain'tcha the nice obedient little doll?" he jeered. "I bet you don't even have any boyfriends and you never necked or let a guy put his hand under your skirt and fell your cute little furry slit, did ja?"
"Please, please don't talk to my daughter like that. I brought her up properly, and it's not right to talk like that -" Emily faltered.
"You keep telling me what to do one more time, Emily, and you and I are going to have a session. I guess your old man never smacked you down when you got uppity, but I won't think a second time if I hafta. Now let's all go into the living room and be nice, huh?"
Emily Marsden reached out her hand and Wilma took it, and the two walked on ahead while Bob sniggering, followed them at a leisurely gait, the gun trained at them both.
"Pull down the shades," he commanded. Emily Marsden began to tremble more than ever how, realizing that this prelude could only mean the unthinkable, the awful and horrible fate she dreaded. She turned desperately back to the gunman, her eyes blinking with tears: "I beg of you, don't let my daughter be here-I-"
He walked over to her and, shifting the gun to his left hand, slapped her viciously across the cheek. Emily Marsden recoiled with a cry of pained alarm, a hand to the place he had struck, her eyes very wide with consternation. Wilma had uttered a "Ohh!" at the sight of her mother's humiliation.
"Maybe that'll teach you that I mean business when I say something. Now pull down those damn shades. Wilma stay's here till I give the word," Bob directed.
Her head bowed, her shoulders slumped and quivering with her anguish, Emily Marsden mutely went to the windows and drew down the shades. "Is the door locked good?" he asked.
"Y-yes."
"Fine. Now you and me, we're gonna sit down on the nice big couch you got and get cozy. Wilma, you go sit in the arm chair right across the way so you can watch. And better not try any tricks, honey, 'cause I'd hate to hafta hutrcha."
"Do-do as he says, Wilma dear, please, for my sake," Emily faintly ordered.
"Now you're showing some sense. Okay, kid, you heard your Mom-go do it," he gruffly commanded. Wilma gasped again and sat down in the armchair, her eyes fearful, her body tense.
Emily Marsden, trying to maintain some little dignity in the face of this appalling disaster, walked slowly to the couch and seated herself. She bit her lips as she saw him advance to her, then sit down beside her. He lifted up one of the couch cushions to his right and thrust the gun under it, then pushed the cushion down and tucked it firmly into place. "There. I don't figger that I need a rod when we're playing house, Emily baby. Leastways, not that kind of rod-if you get what I mean-haw, haw, haw!"
Emily Marsden shuddered violently at this obscene pun, and she no longer had any doubt that she was soon going to be subjected to the proverbial "fate worse than death." All she could pray for now that this ruthless, uncouth convict would spare poor Wilma.
"If-if you'll let Wilma go to her room, I-I promise I won't-I won't make any trouble," she faltered, tears welling to her eyes.
He stared at her greedily, then shifted closer to her and put his left arm around her waist and pulled her tightly up against him. Emily Marsden uttered a cry, and Wilma also gasped to see her mother thus manhandled.
"No, trouble, huh? Just whaddya mean by that, baby?" he leered, pressing his unshaven cheek against hers. He could feel her trembling, and it only whetted his animal lust. "Go on, lemme hear you say whatcha mean, Emily baby," he urged.
She felt his wiry thigh press hard against hers, and a violent repugnance made her shiver and shrink, but his left arm held her as in a vise, and now he cupped her chin with his right hand and forced her to turn her face as he stared into her eyes, a merciless glitter blazing in his and a smirk on his lip's as he comprehended her shamed maternal anguish to have to be thus subjected before her own daughter's eyes to such intimacies which only her husband had the right to enjoy.
"Please-if you've any decency-please let Wilma go up to her room please."
"Not on your life, baby. If I let her go, first thing you know she'll be at a phone calling the cops. Oh no, we don't play it that way. Now, gimme a little kiss, and put some life into it. One reason I got Wilma down here, Emily baby, is that if you don't give like a good sweet girl, I'm gonna smack her around until you do, understand me?"
"Oh G-God, Oh please no." Emily Marsden breathed.
"You better do like I said, Emily, or I'll go right over there and give her a good sound crack in the face like I just gave you," he ordered.
His fingers roughly cupped her chin till she moaned with the pain. Then, seeing him advance his grinning mouth, she shuddered, closed her eyes and passively surrendered her lips. Her mouth was soft and sweet and quivering, and her bosom had begun to rise and fall violently now with her emotional distress.
"You call that a kiss?" he disgustedly snarled as he pushed her face away. Then he rose and headed for the armchair. Wilma shrank back, her eyes enormous, uttering a strangled little cry "Oh, Oh M-Mom-he-"
"Oh no, don't do that, oh please, please I'll do what you want for God's sake, don't hurt my little girl!" Emily Marsden moaned, clasping her hands and wringing them in frantic soul-agony He turned back to watch her, smirking. Warily he had kept his eye upon that cushion where he had hidden the gun just in case she had tried to make a desperate move. He knew himself to be agile and swift and he almost wished that she would have tried a stunt like that, because then he could really have smacked her and Wilma around. As it was, he was already beginning to feel a itch in his balls just from looking at those two pieces of cunt, because this little Wilma broad was nifty enough already to take on a good-sized shagging, if he was any judge. "Well, if I don't smack her, whadddya gonna do?" he queried with a leer.
"I-I'll kiss you the w-way you want-oh please don't hurt her!"
"Okay, I'll give you another chance. And you better start calling me Bob, nice and friendly-like, see?" he menaced as he slowly walked back to the couch, then seated himself again and once more put his left arm around her supple waist. Emily's eyes were blurred with tears which had begun to streak her congested cheeks, but she forced herself by dint of a supreme effort to turn her face to him and to advance her mouth towards his. He waited to see how she would behave. Closing her eyes, the chaste housewife pressed her mouth against his, and he could feel her lips trembling at the contact.
"Not too bad. Now we're gonna try it again, only this time, you're gonna stick your tongue into my mouth. Yeah, baby, a real nice French kiss, just like the kind you give your hubby, huh?"
"Oh,-"
"Too bad for Wilma," he chuckled as he pretended to rise from the couch again. In sheer desperation, Emily Marsden burst into sobs and, putting her hands on his shoulders, forced her mouth against his. Her eyes closed, her titties rising and falling violently now, she compelled herself to pry her dainty pink tongue in between his lips. At once his hands reached out and squeezed her bubbies. Emily Marsden caught her breath and stiffened for a moment, then, all too aware of the risk she ran on Wilma's account if she resisted, compelled herself not to break away from his ignominious touch. His fingers sank into those juicy gourds, palpating and squeezing them, while now he added his own tongue to goad her, rubbing her en-route to her panting mouth.
"Now that's a little more like it," he grudgingly conceded when he finally released her. Emily promptly bowed her head and plunged her face into her hands, her shoulder shaking with stifled sobs at the shame and disgust she felt at this obscene embrace. He leaned back and smirked, in complete control of the situation, savoring and anticipating the pleasures he was going to exact from his handsome matron and her delicious daughter. He felt his prick begin to swell and to tingle and to throb with lust as he stared greedily at Emily Marsden. Then he said in a casual tone of voice, "It's getting sorta warm in here, baby. You better pull off your dress so you'll be lot more comfy."
"Oh God, not in front of my daughter, I beg you in the name of mercy, in the name of human decency, don't make me do that!" Emily Marsden sobbed as she turned to regard him with a pathetically appealing look.
"You're just the stubbornest and most obstinate bitch I ever run up against, Emily," he drawled, "I bet you really want to see me smack Wilma around. Is that it? Maybe you and your old man can't handle this wild little piece, so you don't mind if I give her a little touch of discipline, huh? Well, I'll be glad to, only it's gonna cost you, see? Wilma, if your Mom doesn't start peeling by the time I count five, I'm gonna come over there and whack you so hard your teeth are gonna rattle!"
"Oh, M-Mom, please, I'm scared!" Wilma sniffled.
He reached into his lapel pocket and took out a crumpled half-empty pack of Chesterfields, put one to his mouth, fumbled in his outer coat pocket for a match, lit it. Then he stood up and leisurely took off his suit coat. "I ain't such a bad-looking guy," he told the two terrified females. "This here suit makes me look a lot better than I did in stir, you can bet on that. It's a little tight in the crotch, but that's jist fine, cause all you hafta do is look at me and you can tell I'm gonna be able to take good care of you. Yeah, I sure am!"
Hands on hips, he arched himself towards her, so that she couldn't help seeing the unmistakable bulge at the fly of his trousers. She closed her eyes hastily and groaned aloud.
"One ... two ... three ... better start peeling, Emily, or Wilma gets banged around until she's black and blue," he warned.
Emily uttered a cry and totteringly rose to her feet. Then she stooped and seized the hem of her dress and lofted it over her head and shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She stood in her white slip, demurely cut and Bob devoured her with greedy eyes. Under the slip was a white nylon bra and matching panties, and she wore a garter belt which held up her flesh-colored nylons. Her round, dimpled shoulders with their soft warm milky skin and her beautiful bare arms drew his appreciative gaze, but then he started to stare at the full round globes of her titties, closely spaced and set high on her chest, Under his scrutiny, Emily Marsden blushed violently and lowered her eyes, her arms at her sides, unable to control the fit of trembling that ran through her voluptuous, ripe, and still very seductive body.
"That's pretty good. Now let's have that slip off," he ordered.
"Oh no, please don't make me undress in front of Wilma-please don't - I beg of you-I'll do what you want, I promise I will, but please don't shame me this way in front of my poor girl," she sobbed.
"One ... two ... three ... " was his answer.
With a hysterical little groan, Emily Marsden removed her slip and let it fall to join the dress on the floor. He sucked in his breath as his eyes fixed on the swelling globes of her bubbies. The aureole were large and of a brownish-orangish hue which could be vaguely seen through the snug cusps of the bra. Her nipples were ripe and crinkly, and they strained against the thin gauzy fabric. The bulge in his fly became even more noticeable as he devoured her with his eyes. Wilma, too, noticed this, and in a fascinated and horrified sort of way leaned forward to watch breathless and trembling.
"Now get down on my lap and put your arm around my neck, Emily baby, and give me a nice big smooch. Just like I showed you the last time, remember? With your tongue, and dig it right nice and deep and hot into my mouth," was Bob's next order.
He seated himself complacently on the couch, spreading his thighs and arching himself out so that even Wilma couldn't help noticing the growing protuberance of his cock straining against his fly. Emily Marsden the tears running down her cheeks, resignedly and slowly walked towards him, and then slowly seated herself on his lap and circled his neck with her trembling right arm. He grinned to watch her expressive, lovely tear stained face, gloating over his mastery. "Whatcha you waitin' for now?" he wanted to know.
With a choking sob, Emily Marsden closed her eyes and again pressed her mouth with a desperate urgency to his, openly to appease him so that he could grant her the mercy of not being shamed before her own daughter. He tongue crept out and thrust between his lips, and Bob slid his left arm down over her hips, his hand stealthily squeezing her lusciously rounded hip and upper bottom cheek, while his right hand cupped one of her panting titties and squeezed it lubriciously. She moaned and squirmed on his lap, her eyes huge with terror and shame and distress, but the menacing glitter in his eyes warned her not to break away from his embrace.
"You got gorgeous boobs, Emily baby," he said thickly, when the kiss at last was done. "I wanna feel them nice and bare. Just slip off that bra, you won't be needing it anyway."
"Oh my God-oh no, please don't ask me to do that, not in front of Wilma, I implore you, I beg you, I'll do anything you want, anything in the world, but please send Wilma up to her room, at least do that much! I-I've tried to obey you, please don't you understand?"
"I understand that if you don't start donin' what I say, I might just decide to peel down your brat and see if she's faster than you are," was the terrible reply.
With a cry of horror, Emily Marsden reached behind her, fumbled for the hooks and eyes of the sheath which held her magnificent titties in check, loosened it, and then let it fall. She covered her face with her hands and wept hysterically as Bob, brushing the bra to the floor with an impatient gesture, clutched both her titties in his greedy, calloused hands and then bowed his head and took one of her crinkly ripe nipples between his lips and began to suck it noisily.
"Oh Gosh-oh don't hurt my M-Mom!" Wilma sniffled.
At the sight of those magnificent milky globes with their provocatively colored aureole and the feel of her crinkly, ripe tittie-buds, Bob's prick grew to furious dimensions, and poor Emily Marsden could feel it prodding her quivering bottom as she shifted uncomfortably and wretchedly over the gunman's lap.
"Gimme another kiss," he hoarsely ordered, his hands leaving her titties to roam behind her and squeeze both bottom cheeks and fondle and pinch their resilient contours through the thin gauzy nylon panties. His eyes flickered downwards to see the thick triangular patch of dark-brown pussy hair, and Emily intercepted his gaze and uttered a groan of object and abysmal woe and shame. Just then the phone rang. She started with a cry: "Oh God-it-must be Ken-"
"Your hubby? Okay, we're goin' to go to the phone together, see? and I wanna have this gun in your back all the time you're talking to him. And you're gonna make him think that everything's just wonderful, get me?" he growled, as he delved his right hand under the cushion and retrieved his automatic. "Let's go fast, because if he doesn't get an answer, he'll get worried. Shake that ass of yours, Emily. Emily. Wilma, you stay put!"
He urged the scantily clad matron on into the hallway, and she tremblingly reached for the phone while he stood behind her, jabbing the gun into the small of her back. "Now pick it up and say hello," he orderly huskily.
Emily Marsden obeyed. From the other end of the wire, she heard Ken's resonant, affectionate voice: "Honey, it's me, Ken. I'm safe at LaGuardia. Stopped here a little while because I ran into an old buddy of mine from college. We're going to have a midnight snack together. How's everything back at home?"
"It's-it's fine, K-Ken d-darling," Emily Marsden quavered. Tears were running down her cheeks and her eyes were misty and wide.
The gunman was standing behind her, admiring the quivering flexions of her stockinged thighs, and the smooth warm silky expanse of her naked back. Her spine was deeply hollowed and he followed it with his eyes till it reached the shin-bone, just hidden under the tops of her thin white nylon panties. He was already in ferocious eruption, and it amused him sadistically to add to the matron's torment by prodding her bare back with the muzzle of his automatic. At that moment Ken was asking her if she had called Grandma yet, and Bob now moved around to Emily's right side so that he could watch her facial expression and also command her to make certain responses.
"No-no, K-ken, I haven't called her yet. I-I was just about to when you phoned me. Is there any trouble out at LaGuardia?"
"Why no, honey, why do you ask?" her husband puzzled, retorted.
Bob gave her a snarling look and, transferring the gun to his left hand, doubled his right fist and showed it to her: "Jist watch yourself, baby," he said in a hoarse whisper.
Emily Marsden's tear filled eyes went wider than ever with anguish and terror, and she tried to crouch a little to cover up her naked titties, for this exposure before a man not her husband was absolutely anathema to her.
Bob now transferred the gun back to his right hand and, sniggering softly, moved up close to the harassed half-naked woman and slipped his left hand down just inside the waistband of her panties and garter belt. The feel of his fingers on her naked flash made Emily Marsden utter a convulsive and hysterical "AAah!"
"What's going on, honey?" Ken sounded worried at the other end of the line. But Bob, who had his ear up against the receiver, heard that question and murmured to Emily, "Tell him you saw a mouse or something, get rid of him, or you'll really be sorry!"
"It-I-I just saw a mouse run through the h-hall, Ken darling," Emily stammered, her heart thudding wildly, and squirming frantically to escape her assailant's roving hand.
"Oh. My gosh, we never had mice before. Well, anyway, you go ahead and call Grandma and you can have a nice time and give her a big hug and a kiss for me. And give Wilma one too. Tell her if she's a good girl, I'll bring her back a present from New York."
"I-I'll do that, Ken h-honey. A-and K-Ken-"
Bob's hand roamed down a little farther till he could feel the curve of one juicy bottom cheek and he squeezed it threateningly while he hissed,
"Watch your tongue, bitch," and prodded the muzzle of his automatic right into Emily Marsden's belly button.
"What it is, sweetheart?" Ken asked at the other end of the wire.
"I-I hope you don't mind if I go out on a date or two while you're g-gone, darling."
"What's that you said, Emily?" Ken's voice was incredulous.
"I-I have to hang up now, honey, because I want to call Grandma. But if I have a date or two with men, don't you worry any. I'll still be here when you get back, lover," and then Emily Marsden hung up.
"Hey," Bob growled, angrily staring at her, "I didn't tell you to go that route, you dumb twerp! Now you've gotcher hubby all hot up and thinking that maybe you've got a boy friend coming when he is out of town. That's real smart. I oughta smack you senseless for that one, Emily! Now get right back in that living room and over to the couch. And just for that, you can take you pants off too. I wantta see if all that pussy hair is real!"
"Oh my God, please, not in front of Wilma, I beg of you, have mercy on me, don't shame me like this in front of my own daughter, B-Bob." Emily sobbingly pleaded as she went down on her knees before him, holding up her hands in prayer. She was the most mouthwatering sight the gunman had ever seen in all his life. The vision of her bare round full bubbies rising and falling with their agitated emotion, her half nakedness, the while milky skin of her soft flesh, and the poignant tearful look on her lovely face, made his prick almost burst into his fly and lust.
"I'll let you chose whatcha want, baby," he said hoarsely, as he put his left hand on the top of her head and stroked it with a mocking ironic tenderness, while showing her the gun in his right. "Either you go in there on the couch all peeled down except for your stockings and that belt you got on to hold them up, or I'm gonna go in there and have Wilma take off everything she's got on. I mean it, Emily, every stitch! Now, you go ahead and chose whitcha want to do!"
Emily Marsden burst into tears as she slowly gasped the waistband of her white nylon panties and began to shove them down, her bubbies jiggling violently with her convulsive sobs and with the maneuvering of her luscious body. Bob stared avidly at her rounded dimpled belly and then the glowing thicket of dark-brown pussy-fleece which framed the plump pink lips of Emily Marsden's voluptuous, exciting cunt.
"Boy, you could sure use a shave down there at the Y," he obscenely sniggered. "All right pull 'em all the way off, then get up and go on back to the living room. And you better tell Wilma she better stay in the chair and not budge if she know's what's good for her, no matter what I do, get me?"
"Y-yes."
"And call me Bob from now on. I want to hear it lots, see?" he chuckled lewdly. "After all, baby, didn't you just tell your hubby that you were gonna have a boyfriend around while he was in New York? Well, you got one. Tomorrow you'll have two-me 'n Al. I'm gonna call Al after breakfast tomorrow, see? Yah, that's a great idea. It will be real cozy in this nice little house. Al can have Wilma and me, I'll take you because I saw you first, baby. Now get into that living room fast!"
Emily Marsden was numb with horror. This nightmare was now becoming even more dreadfully real than the worst of nightmares? because now if this other man was going to come here, he was going to shame and strip and abuse poor little Wilma. Oh God, she would do anything to stop that. And so in desperation she seized his left hand and, as she rose, standing against him, panted. "Look-I-I'll be nice to you. I'll do whatever you want. All I beg of you is not to do anything like this to Wilma. That-that friend of yours-please don't let him come here."
"Knock it off, sister," Bob snarled. "Of course he's gonna come here. He and I are gonna take it on the lam and use your car if he hasn't got one for us already. And he's gotta moll he's gotta pick up in Evanston, as soon as the coast is clear. You're gonna have company for awhile, Emily Marsden, so you better get used to it, get me? And if I know Ginny, she don't like dumb bitches that keep yapping and crying all the time. She's a nice sweet smiling sort, and she doesn't go in for dames like you that drown out a guy's ears and make him deaf with all that squalling."
"Please," Emily Marsden played her last trump card in a desperate effort to avert disaster for Wilma. "Please. Let me show you how nice I can be to you, B-bob. I I'M still pretty good in b-bed, my h-husband says I am. Please, I'll do whatever you want, and I won't f-fight, I swear I won't, if you'll only make some other plans and not bring that man here. Please leave my little girl along. She's only fifteen, Bob. How would you like it if you had a daughter of your own and-"
"No sale, Emily. But I might just take up your offer and see how good you are. Then I'll tell you what you hubby's opinion is worth as an expert, haw haw haw!" he burst into bawdy laughter, than he nudged her in the side with the gun. "Get going into that living room, and fast."
Hiding her face in her hands, scarlet with shame, tears running down her cheeks, the beautiful dark-brown haired matron stumbled back into the living room with Bob behind her. Wilma, in her armchair, uttered a horrified cry of disbelief. She had never seen her mother naked before, and to see Emily Marsden now in only a white satin-elastic garter belt whose tabs clung to the tops of her flesh-hued stockings, and her pumps, was to discover her mother a total stranger-although a most beautiful and alluring one.
"I see you stayed put, Wilma," Bob commented with a smirk of satisfaction, "and it's a damn good thing you did, baby. Now you stay where you are and learn something. You Mom and I, we're gonna play house, aren't we, Emily baby?"
Emily Marsden turned, uttering a sobbing groan of utter mortification, putting her right hand quickly over her furry mount, and she gasped, "Oh no, oh you can't be so vile! You surely don't intend to to-to-" she couldn't finish overwrought as she was by her furiously conflicting emotions,
"I sure do, Emily," he grinned. "You know, you read a lot in the papers about how kids don't learn right from their grownups and especially about sex. Well, I figger if Wilma sees you and me fuck, she'll get a real first-hand information on what it's like when she wants to go out shagging with the boys. Tell me, Wilma honey, you got a special kid you got the hots for in that cute little snatch of yours?"
Wilma, her eyes huge and glassy with terror, could only shake her head. First of all, she wasn't ready to admit to Mom that she had been fooling around, and now she knew very well that if she hadn't fooled around and paid more attention, this awful gunman might not be in the house right now with poor Mom naked. And Wilma knew what the word "fuck" meant because her best girlfriend, Joanne, had used it lots of times. But most of all, crowding every thought out of her mind was the fact that this man was actually going to fuck Mom right in front of her. Wilma had never seen anyone making love before, and her heart began to beat very wildly, and her face began to redden, though of course she had compassion for poor Mom.
"Oh God, please, I-I'll go with you into the bedroom willingly, I'll do everything you want, only not in front of Wilma, not in front of Wilma!" Emily Marsden hysterically pleaded as she again sank down on her knees. She even so far forgot her modesty as to lift both hands up in prayer again to the grinning criminal who stood there swaggering, with the gun in his right hand, his eyes feasting on the upheaving turrets of Emily Marsden's titties, the dark-brown shaggy bush of love-hair that grew between her soft white rounded thighs. He liked his lips and gestured with the gun: "Don't start that all over again, baby, because the answer is no soap. Now you get onto that couch on your ass and spread your legs out good, the way you do for your hubby. Wilma, you let one peep out of you and move outta that chair, I'll peel your clothes off, tie you back over the chair with your ass up and lay on with my belt till you've got the stars and stripes painted all over it, hear me?"
"W-W-yes, yes-sir," Wilma's teeth were chattering now.
Slowly, shuddering violently, tears running down her cheeks, the beautiful naked matron rose to her feet and started to move toward the couch, head bowed, her fists clenched in a last, supreme repugnance. Arrived at the couch, she seated herself and looked up again at Bob in a final, tearful supplication:" "Oh don't do this, please don't! You-you don't have to force me-I-I'll do it willingly with you, but only, please, please, come into the bedroom, like any two normal decent people! Please!"
He walked back to the couch, thrust the gun in under the cushion way at the back, and then casually drew down his zipper, fumbled in his shorts, and his elongated, dark-veined prick bobbed out. Wilma let out a gasp and leaned forward, hypnotized by the obscene sight.
"Oh God, don't look, Wilma, close your eyes, please close your eyes for Mother's sake," Emily hysterically called to her lovely daughter.
"You keep them open, Wilma," Bob countermanded, whirling toward the frightened teenaged brunette," Or I'll give you a clout on the head that'll make you see stars, do you hear me? Keep them open and watch, because when we get done, I'm gonna ask you questions about what you saw, you hear me?"
"Oh dear God," Emily Marsden hysterically sobbed and twisted her face to the back of the couch to hide it from her horrified young daughter.
"I want an answer, Wilma, when I talk to you," Bob said as he took a step towards the frightened young brunette.
"I heard you, I will, I'll watch, I promise-oh please don't hurt mom!" she babbled.
Satisfied at the effect of terror he had created over his two captives, the gunman now walked back to the couch, kicked off his shoes and in his sox, still clad in his shirt and pants, his obscenely protruding cock jiggling, started down at the shuddering milky naked body of beautiful Emily Marsden. In that scanty costume of stockings and garter belt and pumps, she was even more appetizing than if she had been all naked, and even a coarse and hardened criminal like Bob could savor that difference. He bent now and put his hands on the gourds of her bubbies, his thumbs and forefingers pinching her nipples till she groaned and twisted her face to look up at him, hopelessly and pitifully staring in a kind of agonized entreaty. She read only the merciless glitter of passion in his darkened, narrowed eyes.
"Boy, you sure are something, Emily," he hoarsely muttered, "Now I can see why your hubby hated to leave town so much and you did too. Never you mind, Emily baby, I'm gonna ride you good enough tonight so you'll forget him. And when Al comes tomorrow, you'll have two guys to fuck with, not just one."
All Emily Marsden could play for was that Ken had somehow become mystified enough by her question about trouble at LaGuardia and then finally to wonder what in the world could have possessed her to taunt him with the threat of bringing boyfriends over on dates now that he was out of town. He knew very well that she never even looked at another man all this time. Yet she couldn't be sure that he would get the message. Maybe he would think she was just having a little joke, although it was in bad tastes.
But now her very flesh crawled at the nearness of this odious man, and she winched at the pain of his fingers pinching her nipples, and her eyes couldn't help seeing, hypnotized and riveted to the object, the bugling long gnarled-veined shaft of his cock with the elongated angry red spear point on the end of it, looming so menacingly over her.
"Okay, Emily, let's fuck. Let's show Wilma a couple of things. Bet she's never seen you and your hubby do it, huh?" he jeered as he got down on his knees on the couch and crawled towards her. Emily covered her face with her hands and twisted her head to one side again, like an ostrich in the sand. He chuckled greedily as his hands came down now to squeeze and stroke her trembling, shuddering inner thighs, feeling the protesting ripple of all her muscles as his fingers so perilously approached the fleecy spot of her cunt. He could see the plump pink twitching lips just shielded by the dark-brown thicket of pubic hair, and now he shifted himself so that he knelt directly above her and, put his hands on her bubbies, he lowered his loins till the tip of his ramrod pressed against the thick curls of Emily Marsden's cunt.
He glanced over to Wilma in the chair, and chuckled to see how she was taking it: "That's the girl! Now you keep those eyes open, hear me?"
Wilma nodded, gulping, for her throat was very dry. Secretly, if the truth be known, she couldn't have taken her eyes off her mother even if she had wanted to ... because she was remembering how Tommy Bridges had been fingering her own itching cunt and how she had wished at the time that she could be all bare and ready for him and really find out what fucking was. And now she was going to see exactly what it was like.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Well, Emily, We're all set, I guess. Are you ready for your fucking?" Bob demanded cruelly. He was savoring the rare delight of having intimate relations with this magnificent aristocratic piece of ass, right in front of her own tasty young daughter. And by a refinement of sadism, he meant to pit one captive against the other, to procure for him the most intense erotic pleasure he had even known in all his life.
"Oh God, get it over with, please get it over with and let me be and let my daughter go." Was all Emily Marsden could whimper.
"I asked you a question, honey. Maybe you're starting to forget all over again. Maybe I oughta take off my belt and lace it onto your big white ass until you learn your lesson. I got a better idea. I'll have Wilma spank your bottom for you till you talk. Wilma, come here!"
"Oh please-" this form the trembling brunette in the armchair.
"Oh no, don't make her do a terrible thing like that to her own mother, don't! I-I'm ready," Emily sobbed wildly.
"You're ready for what?"
"To-to give myself to-to you," the dark-brown haired matron faintly murmured.
"Uh uh. I wanna hear exactly what you're ready to do, Emily baby. Use the right word, you get me? I asked you if you were ready to be fucked. Well, let me hear you say you are or you aren't and use that word. Use it good and loud so Wilma knows what it means. Go ahead!"
"I - I - I'm ready to-to be-be-f-f-fucked," Emily Marsden breathed between her sobs and tears, then she covered her face with her hands again and lay shudderingly abandoned on the couch.
Bob thrust his cockhead against the thicket of her pussy hair once more, and now lightly probed onward just through the curls until he could feel himself engaging the outer labia of her slit, Emily stiffened at the contact, knowing that the hellish nightmare had become reality ... she was going to be raped. Another man was going to use her sexually. For chaste Emily thought exactly in such words and terms, and the violent, brutal, lustful word Bob had made her use still made her quiver inwardly in revulsion.
"Is that the way you lay for your hubby, Emily baby?" Bob now demanded as he halted himself, his prick head just inside her twitching love-lips.
"Oh, why must you torture me, when I'm - ready to do what you want? Oh please have mercy, how can you be such a heartless fiend?"
"Because I get a kick out of you dames who think yourself high and mighty and too good to go to bed with a guy, see?" was the surly answer. "Because I met a lotta broads like you, Emily honey, who think theirs doesn't smell and they have to have the lights out and all their clothes on and you dassn't touch except just to put it in real fast and take it out when it's done. My folks were like that, see, and they made me think that wanting to shag a bitch like you would get me down to the bottom fires of hell. Well, I don't buy that crap. Now let's see some cooperation, Or the kid gets it next. Reach up your arms to me and pull me down and give me a big hug and wrap those nice sexy legs of yours over my ass when you feel me push on into you, Emily girl."
Her body was trembling violently as she now slowly took her hands away from her tear stained swollen face, and falteringly reached up her arms to the gunman. With a cruel leer, he leaned himself down, feeling his cockhead lead the way and press between the secretive inner lips of Emily Marsden's vulva. She let out a stifled gasp and closed her eyes and compressed her lips, but her arms continued to be reached up and out for him. Now with a grunt, Bob buried himself to the balls inside his victim's cunt, and stretched himself out over her. Timidly, shrinkingly, Emily's beautiful rounded white-skinned arms closed over his shoulders, but she had turned away her taught face, eyes and lips still frantically closed as if to deny him all her emotional turbulence. She wished herself to be a will-less body, incapable of feeling, She wished herself to be invisible, and to have Wilma miles away. But all she could do was play the role of the unseeing ostrich and pray that Wilma wouldn't remember this shameful, atrocious scene.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Now, Emily, that's a little better, but you're still too damn unfriendly. I wanna feel you kiss me. Yeah, I mean it. Hug me tight and kiss me real hard on the mouth, the way you do your hubby. You kiss him when he fucks you, don't you, Emily?"
She couldn't speak, so oppressive was the agony in her soul. She stared at him supplicatingly, tears blinding her widened eyes, running down her swollen, contorted and flushed cheeks. And yet she couldn't help feeling his weapon crammed to the hilt inside of her quivering snatch, for she had always been an ardent woman in the privacy of bed with Ken whom she loved so much. She had been chaste till her marriage, but she had believed it only right and natural to give all of herself to the man she loved, and that was Ken. And yet now this brutal strange who was shaming her before Wilma had an animal power and a strength that made her gasp as he slowly drew himself back halfway, only to dig back down till their hairs merged.
"I said kiss me, bitch," he snarled.
And then Wilma saw her mother tighten her arms around Bob's shoulders, and tender him her mouth through, her eyes still closed, she tried at least to hide the awareness of his presence and of her own desolate despair from his cruel gaze.
Her lips were trembling violently as they brushed against his. Bob chuckled thickly, and then mashed her lips with his in a ferocious and savagely draining kiss, slipping his tongue between her trembling lips as he performed the last intimate rituals of cohesion between them.
"That's a little better, Emily," Bob huskily muttered. He settled himself over her, crushing her down, his cock thrust up as far as it would go inside her tensing quim. His hand's cupped the ripe gourds of her milky titties, and his mouth was inches from hers as he stared greedily down into her tear stained contorted face. Her eyes were tightly closed, but the lids and lashes were fluttering because she couldn't control the spasms of shame and degradation which she felt at being so abused in the presence of her own young daughter.
As for Wilma, her fingernails were dug into the arms of the chair as she leaned forward, her eyes very wide and glazed with stupefaction. So this was what fucking was. This was what Tommy Bridges had wanted to do to her this afternoon. My gracious, it was exciting! And it didn't really seem to hurt Mom, even though she cried and whimpered a lot, because she was just lying there with her arms around that man's shoulders and her bubbies were going up and down as they did when she was excited because Wilma had seen them often that way through Mom's clothes.
There was an unholy and unhealthy fascination for the fifteen-year-old brunette, and somehow the gunman had sensed this and was purposely forcing his mature victim to pleasure him while he had the psychological fillip of having the young girl's eyes on what he was doing to her mother.
"Say, Emily," he praised her, "You're nice and warm and tight, and it sure feels good to fuck you. No wonder your hubby hates to go out of town, just like I said. But now, you're not going to miss him quite so much, are you? I bet I'm just as big and hard and thick inside of you, aren't I?"
"Oh please-please, don't talk, don't talk about it-I want to die-I'm so ashamed-just d-do it to me and get it over with for the love of God!" she whimpered.
"Not me, baby," he gloated, "I'm not the sort of guy who comes on a nice new piece like you and wants to be like a jack rabbit. I like to take my time, nice and slow, and give the girl all the fun I'm getting. Don't tell me your hubby's a jack rabbit, Emily. With a dish like you, with nice big juicy titties and a sweet round ass, a tight warm moist little box, don't tell me he gives it to you in a couple of minutes and then turns over and goes to sleep? I wouldn't believe it of the guy. Now gimme another kiss, and this time use your tongue! I mean it, Emily, Or else the kid gets it!"
His fingers tightened on her nipples, and Emily uttered a groan and promptly hugged him and crushed her mouth to his and thrust her tongue between his lips. Bob sighed with pleasure, as he slid her hands under her body and took hole of her bottom cheeks. He felt his hairs grind against hers, and felt her quivering response. For Emily was a passionate and intense woman in bed, and even though she loathed and abhorred the man who was forcing in front of her own child, her quim had no conscience and no morality and could feel only the surfeit of good hard gorging prick.
Now he put his own tongue deep into Emily's mouth, and then slowly drew himself back, gasping with delight at the tight enclaspment of her vaginal walls around his organ.
"Wrap those sweet legs around my ass, and hold on tight for dear life, you're really going to get fucked now, baby," he rasped.
Emily Marsden, with a groan, twisting her face to the back of the couch and closing her eyes as tightly as she could, complied. Wilma gasped aloud as she saw her mother's stockinged legs clamp over the gunman's sinewy thighs and lower buttocks, and then saw him jerk and thrust himself back to the hilt inside of her. A stifled gasp was exuded from Emily Marsden's lips.
"And now keep kissing me and using your tongue while we fuck, because this is going to be the best fuck you've ever had, yah, even since you've been married," he boasted greedily.
Shuddering with revulsion, the brown-haired matron resignedly obeyed. Her tongue hesitantly crept between his lips, but his boldly rapiered inside her mouth and began to slush and rub around. And then arching and lowering himself with more rapid thrusts this time, but drawing himself only about halfway out of her quim, he began to fuck her.
The feeling of her warm ripe body cushioning him was exciting for the gunman. Now he slid his right hand away from under the bottom and edged his forefinger into the shadowy groove between her buttocks, searching for the crinkly petals of her bung. Emily Marsden stiffened, and her eyes went very wide, blurred with tears, as she panted, "Oh my God-please don't-don't shame me like that-not in front of my own girl-I beg of you-be satisfied-Please-it's awful to do that to me-"
"What's the matter, Emily, doesn't your hubby ever brown you?" Bob chuckled as, sadistically grinning, he pressed his forefinger's tip between the puckering lips of Emily Marsden's virgin bottom hole, - for it was true, even Kenneth Marsden had never violated the sanctity of that nether clan in all their marital life.
The helpless victim uttered a strangled, sobbing wail: "PL-please!!" and thrust her burning tear stained face against the back of the couch as she arched and twisted vainly in a frantic attempt to eject his profaning finger. But by now he was far too well planted, and grinning like a fiend, he worked it on up to the hilt inside her tightening asshole. Low panting sobs escaped the unfortunate woman at this desecration of her pride, and her convulsive twists and jerks added furious excitement to her rapist's pleasure. He felt the surge of gism throb along his stiffened and imbedded cock, and he gritted his teeth to keep from ejaculating in that warm chasm where his prick was so tightly and snugly and warmly confined.
CHAPTER NINE
Wilma Marsden sat there with her mouth gaping and her eyes bulging. She had never before in all her life expected to see her own mother naked and lying under a man and being fucked. She had expected Mom to scream for help and to try to fight the man off, but of course she knew that Mom hadn't because the man had a gun. But just the same, she hadn't been prepared for the way Mom was taking it. She could see Mom's stockinged legs twist and rub together over the man's bottom as the man's hips jerked back and forth, and she knew that the man was putting it in and out of Mom's pussy. And Mom was whimpering now, but her face was still pressed hard against the back of the couch and her eyes closed so as to hide what was happening to her, just like an ostrich. Wilma was a very intelligent girl and could reason things for herself. But the singular thing was, even though she was scared to death of this awful man with the gun and mad at him for doing what he was doing to Mom, she still couldn't prevent the most curious tingling feeling in between her legs ... a feeling just like the one she had had when Tommy Bridges had been tickling her slit and trying to get her to take off her panties and let him shag her. She knew it was a terrible thing to think about but she had to admit that was exactly what was happening to her. In fact, if there had been a chance to get help for Mom, Wilma wouldn't have even thought about it at the moment because she was so distracted and hypnotized at the sight before her eyes.
"I told you not to turn your face away, bitch, but to keep kissing me and using your tongue. Now do you want me to use the belt on Wilma?" Bob growled.
His finger was still inside Emily's bottom hole, and he must have given it a sudden yank or something because Wilma saw her mother jerk and kick her legs up in the air and then heard Mom cry out stridently: "Aiiii! Oh, you're hurting me, don't do that to me, please don't! I'll do what you want but for God's sake stop that awful thing!"
"Stop what?" she heard Bob growl, but he had an amused tone to his voice.
"OH-you know-oh God, it's so shameful-oh please, I want to die-Awwwwooohhh!!! PI-please!"
"I'm going to keep jerking my finger inside your brownie, till you tell me what you don't want me to do! Now tell me, loud and clear, or I'll keep it up all night." he chuckled.
"Oww, please don't-oh take your finger out of my-my-b-bottom!" Wilma heard her mother gasp.
"All right, if you ask me like a nice sweet girl. Now, will you suck my cock when we get done if I take my finger out?" she heard the gunman ask her Mom, and she gasped aloud at the shocking question.
"OH God-I couldn't do a thing like that, oh please, oh no-Oww-Oww-oh don't pinch me there, please don't, I can't stand it there, Oh please, have mercy!"
For Bob had slid his thumb and finger to the crinkly lisp of Emily Marsden's bung and was sadistically pinching that nook while immobilizing over her with his cock thrust in her to the balls.
"You gonna do what I want or do I have to keep this up till I make you bleed there?" he panted and applied another fierce pinch.
Emily kicked her legs up in the air and waved them wildly back and forth while she screamed aloud, "Stop, I'll do anything, only stop that, please, yes I will, I will!"
"Will what, Emily?"
"Oww-don't pinch, I said I would, I would. Oh for God's sake don't pinch me, oh please-I'll-I'll do what you ask!"
"You stubborn bitch, I wanna know exactly what you're gonna do if I stop pinching your bum-hole," Bob growled.
"I-I'll s-s-suck your th-th-thing," Wilma heard her mother whimper.
"That's not what I said you oughta say, bitch, I said cock. Now let me hear you say you'll suck my cock. Say it!" he insisted gloatingly. And again he gave her a pinch on the tender lips of her bottom hole.
"Aiiii! Eeeyarrrrrrhhh!! I'll suck your cock, oh please, I'll do anything, only I can't stand such pain, please don't!" Emily Marsden shrilled.
"Good. Wilma, didja hear your mother says she was gonna suck my cock when we get done?" the gunman turned his face to look at the horrified, magnetized brunette in the armchair. She gulped and nodded, her face turning scarlet to her hair roots. "You see, Emily, you've got a witness! Okay, Emily baby, now let's finish our fuck nice and easy, because I'm gonna make you cream it down. And me, I'm gonna fill you with about a quart of oil!"
With this, grabbing hold of both buttocks again with his hands, Bob began to rise and fall quickly inside Emily's vulva, his body flattening hers, his mouth seeking and demandingly crushing hers as his tongue foraged deep between her lips. Emily Marsden moaned and squirmed, for in spite of herself, and to her own horrified consternation, she was beginning to experience the warm steady throbbing pulsating waves of passion inside her beleaguered cunthole.
Suddenly his face convulsed as the savage frency of lust took possession of him, and he groaned, "Get ready, Emily, I can't hold it back much longer, but gimme all you got, you sweet hot bitch!" And with this, sinking his fingers deep into her white quivering bottom cheeks, Bob rose and fell digging his tool to the hilt, as he rapidly fucked her several times and then, with a shout sagged over her, his rod pumping his bubbling gism deep into her matrix.
If it hadn't been for the abhorrence which Emily had felt at the thought of being forced to copulation with this criminal, she assuredly would have had orgasm along with him. As it was in spite of all her disgust and horror and fear of the man, this sudden discharge after the ruthless way he had pillaged her cunt had left her gasping and trembling, the lips of her crack twitching and fluttering with tumescence. She could feel the willing throes of her innermost emotions surging up deep inside her sheath, but the pain of his pinching and the taunts and the knowledge that little Wilma was watching this horrible scene held her back from achieving a simultaneous climax.
Nonetheless, when he finally rose and drew out of her, she lay sprawled, panting, her titties heaving wildly, and her nipples were noticeably darkened, while the pink lips of her cunt, stickied with his viscous drench, were uncontrollable twitching and palpating, a sure sign that Emily Marsden was as near the peak of passion as she would have been with her own adored husband!
CHAPTER TEN
Wilma stared as if hypnotized at the sight of Bob's greased limpened organ dangling outside his rumpled trousers. He smirked at her: "Well, Wilma baby, ever see a guy's cock before? This is the way it looks when it comes outta a nice hot cunt like your mother's. Now you go get a towel so you can mop your Mummy's pussy nice and dry. Then you know what she's gonna do, dontcha?"
Again Wilma blushed furiously as she faintly nodded. She slowly rose from the chair, trembling violently an aftermath at what she had seen.
"Oh no," Emily brokenly pleaded, covering her scarlet face with her hands and weeping convulsively, "Don't shame my little girl like this, don't shame me, aren't you satisfied that I've obeyed you? Oh God, how can you be so cruel?"
"You wait till Al and Ginny get here tomorrow, Emily, you'll see whose cruel. I bet you'll be begging me on your knees to take you into the bedroom and shag you good when they get here." he gloatingly replied. Then, turning back to Wilma he commanded, "Do what I said and be quick about it!"
Wilma scrambled out of the room and hurried back a moment later with a hand towel. Bob went to the couch and began to mop Emily Marsden's seeping pussy, while the naked woman groaned and sobbed, disconsolate at the atrocious shame and humiliation which she was undergoing in her martyrdom.
"There now, you're as good as new, Emily baby, and you're oiled up for another fuck. Now you gotta do what you said you would. Okay, let's get set," he panted eagerly as he stood over her. His hands on his hips, he let his penis dangle, while slowly the distraught naked and ravished matron turned her head, a look of piteous horror in her dilated, tear brimming eyes as she saw the obscene object of his depleted prong offered to her so salaciously in front of her own daughter's horrified eyes.
"Oh please," she breathed, "please send Wilma away, send her off to bed, and I'll do what-what I said I would but for God's sake don't make her watch this horrible thing, I beg of you, Bob, please don't!"
"Wilma, suppose you told your mother you'd do something and then you said you wouldn't? What do you think she'd do?" he turned to ask the gaping brunette.
"She-she'd scold me," Wilma faltered.
"Yeah? Only I'm not so nice, I guess. Wilma, you're gonna use my belt on your mother's ass and give it to her good and hard if she doesn't keep her promise, you hear?"
"Oh, I-I couldn't do that, I just couldn't-"
"Well in that case," Bob chuckled sadistically, "I'll just use my belt on yours. Get up and take off your clothes, baby. I've been dying to see what you look like peeled down anyhow, and now is as good a time as any."
"Oh Mother-oh Mother-" Wilma wailed, now really frightened. Now suddenly her unholy interest in seeing her mother's ordeal had been banished from her impressionable mind and in its place there had come a sickening terror of what this man could really do to her. It wouldn't be as nice as with Tommy Bridges, that was for sure. She didn't like the way he smirked at her, and his face was cruel and hard and he needed a shave and he was dirty, and he looked ugh, just awful with his-with his-with his thing sticking out like that.
"Oh no, let my baby be, I'll do it, I'll do it, you horrible brute!" Emily Marsden sobbed.
"Now that's showing sense. All right, bitch, you're gonna do it on your knees right in front of me. That way, Wilma can watch and see what it's all about. Get off the couch and come in front of me, come crawling, Emily, That's the way I want to see you," he directed. And he plunged his hand under the cushion of the couch to draw out his gun and to keep it trained in his right hand on the frantic, sobbing, hysterical matron.
Emily Marsden dragged herself off the couch, distraught, her eyes swollen with tears, her bubbies rising and falling rapidly, and Bob greedily stared at her with glittering eyes as she sank down on her knees and despairingly made her way in front of him. She had her back turned towards Wilma, but Wilma could not help seeing Bob's cock as it dangled out of his open fly. He straddled his legs, his left hand on his hip, his gun aimed at Wilma now, as he reminded the mother, "Just in case you're gonna try some tricks like maybe biting, baby, I wanna tell you I got my gun on your little bitch of a daughter, and she's gonna get plugged in her titties if you try anything funny. Now put your hands on my bottom and suck my cock and do it nice and slow and clean it up good," he directed.
Emily Marsden raised her ravaged face to the pitiless criminal. She saw the cruel twist of his lips and his bared teeth, his flickering nostrils, his narrowed and gleaming eyes, and she read no mercy whatsoever in that look.
She saw also the gun aimed at her daughter, and a sick churning horror made her helplessly comply. Because she had never, even though she loved Kenneth desperately, ever thought or dreamed of doing a thing like this even to him. Her mouth was virgin as was her asshole. But before the gunmen and the voluptuous moll Ginny left the Marsden house, Emily Marsden would have lost her two remaining cherries!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"What are you waiting for, baby, Christmas? Put your mouth up, open it and clamp on," Bob grinned evilly.
Wilma again wanted to close her eyes, but not only did she remember Bob's threat about doing that, but she was also once again horribly fascinated by the sight. Her mother on her knees, naked except for garter belt and stockings, trembling and whimpering, slowly lifting up her face towards that greasy, limp thing which stuck out of the man's pants. She had never in her life seen anything like this before. Not even her girlfriends had told her about Frenching or what it was like. She was seeing it for the first time, and she squirmed a little on her chair. Did-did fellows actually like that? Would Tommy Bridges have wanted her to do a thing like that to him?
Closely her eyes, Emily Marsden steeled herself and with a tremendous effort opened her mouth, her teeth chattering. As she neared him, he slapped her face viciously with the palm of his left hand and sneered," I want you to keep your eyes open so you'll know what you're doing. I bet you've never sucked cock, have you, Emily? Answer me!"
"N-n-n-no-" the unfortunate naked woman breathed, more dead than alive of shame.
"All the more reason you've gotta see what you're doing. And just don't forget that I got my gun on Wilma right in the titties, Emily. Right in the titties."
His voice was harsh and inflexible, and Emily groaned as she opened her eyes and saw his face again, and then she put her mouth bravely forward and her lips brushed the greased limpened meatus of his tool, and then she grimaced: "Oh I can't, oh my God, it's so vile, oh please don't make me do that, please, please have mercy!"
"Suck it!" he angrily exclaimed," Or I'll have Wilma do it for me!"
At this, on her desperate frenzy, Emily Marsden quelled the revolting horror inside her nature and desperately took hold of his cockhead with her lips. Her eyes implored him and her nostrils flared and shrank as the fetid pungency of his maleness assailed all her senses. "That's the way to start, baby," he exulted gloatingly. "Now take a little more inside and start sucking. I want to hear you suck, do you understand, you stupid bitch."
"OH, Mom-" Wilma moaned, clasping her hands and squirming back and forth on the edge of her chair.
"Getting randy, huh, kid?" Bob winked salaciously at the frightened brunette."When your Mom gets done, maybe I'll just give you a little lesson in fucking. Would you like that, Wilma baby?"
"Ohh!" Wilma gasped, speechless for words.
"Oh, don't harm my baby, I'll do it, I'll do anything you say, I swear I will, you can have me all you want, but please let her go!" Emily prayed, clasping her hands and holding them up to the cruel criminal.
"You're supposed to be working on my dong, bitch, so get with it," he brutally demanded and gave her a cuff with his left palm across the cheek again. Whimpering, Emily Marsden obeyed and, taking more of his tool inside her lips this time, began noisily to suck if only to satisfy him and end her martyrdom the sooner.
But her martyrdom was only just starting. And if she thought that tonight was degradation and horror, what would tomorrow bring!
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Now that's a good bitch," Bob panted huskily, staring down at the bent head of the unfortunate naked matron, feeling her trembling hands against his bottom, while her lips noisily sucked at his slowly stiffening prick.
"Take a little more, all you can, until you choke on it, baby. This is Frenching a guy. When your hubby comes back from New York, you can practice on him and show him you learned a new trick. So you told him you were going to have a boyfriend, huh? Well you can tell him that I taught you how to French. I bet he'll real grateful to me I bet the next time I come around he'll want to invite me for dinner, haw haw law!"
Emily groaned and choked as she felt his cock stiffening again, to her horror, and prodding her palate and making her cough and choke. He pushed her face away, and snarled, "You gotta get used to that, baby, because a man get as a hard on just by feeling that soft sexy mouth of yours around his prick. Now get with it again and do it nice and slow. And I want to hear that sucking sound too. Later on, I'm going to teach you how to use your tongue all up and down my cock, and maybe let you find out what a trip around the world is. Get with it, Emily!"
Groaning again, the unfortunate woman once more resumed her odious and disgusting task. The smell of his maleness was nauseating to her, but still worse was the knowledge that she was presenting her naked back an d bottom to her own daughter who was watching Bob in this horrid and obscene ritual which she hadn't even permitted her husband to perform with her.
Accustoming herself out of desperate fear and terror, however to the situation, she found that she could manage a few inches of his organ inside her lips and suck at them noisily to satisfy him. Now he plunged his left hand into her hair, and roughly rumpled it down till it streamed down her bare back and shoulders. "That's better," he said, "I like broads with long hair and that's all they've got to wear on them when I'm around them. Yeah, Emily, you're not gonna put on any clothes tonight. We're gonna go to bed all bare naked. But I think you can keep your stockings and that cute sexy garter belt on. It makes me horny. We're all gonna sleep together tonight, you and Wilma and me."
At this, the horrified naked matron drew back her head and uttered a cry, "Oh you can't mean that-oh my God, here I'm doing everything you want, even if it's killing me, and you won't let my poor baby be! Oh, what sort of a horrible brute are you?"
"I'm a guy who hasn't had any pussy in a hell of a long time, just remember that. You get it regular from that hubby of yours, and he doesn't know what it is to be hard up. And here I come and find a beautiful bitch like you and that sexy little black-haired piece over there in the chair, and you expect me to act like a monk, huh, do you? Well, Emily, you've got another think coming. Now get back to work and suck my cock some more."
Emily had to obey, there was no help for it. Eyes bulging, choking, as he purposely and sadistically twisted his fingers in her hair and forced himself forward to thrust more of his length inside her, she managed to such noisily to satisfy him. Wilma, gaping and petrified, watched with a hypnotized fascination while all this went on.
"Now you can stop for awhile, and I want a cigarette," he ordered.
"You smoke, Emily?"
"A little." she panted, bowing her head and rubbing her lips with the back of her hand with a grimace of revulsion.
"Wilma, go get your mother's cigarettes. Be quick about it too," he ordered.
But when Wilma turned to the left which was down the hallway instead of to the right which was on the way back to the kitchen, he took after her. The brunette had suddenly shaken off her hypnotic state of fascinated sensuality and had gone right to the phone and was trying to call the police. He took her by the ear lobe and twisted it till Wilma squealed with pain. "You march right back into the living room, you cute tricky little bitch, because now you're really gonna get yours," he greedily exulted.
And then he brought up his right knee hard against her bouncy bottom, propelling Wilma forward with a wail of pain, "Oww, Oh, Mom, oh help me please, Mom!"
In this house tonight there was going to be no help for either Emily Marsden or her voluptuous young Lolita of a daughter. Wilma was going to pay now for her unholy experimentation with Tommy Bridges. She was going to get a lesson that would be far more than she had ever bargained for in finding out how her pussy could serve a man's cock!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"This cute little girl of yours was trying to call the cops, and the only reason I don't tear off the phone is that I figure your husband might get suspicious if he tried to call and didn't find you or heard that the line was out of order, and also because I've gotta call Al in the morning. Now then, what you're gonna do, Emily, is undress her, pull her down over your lap, an d give her a good sound swatting on her bare ass. You've gotta teach her how to mind, you hear?"
"Oh please don't make me do that! I-I'll spank her-"
"Mom!" Wilma gasped in a horrified tone, staring incredulously at her mother as if she couldn't believe her ears.
"But-but don't make me undress her, please don't," Emily continued, ignoring her daughter's startled plea.
"You two dames are really gonna get smacked around if you keep that up, Emily. You rather have me fuck her right now then? See how hard you've got my rod just from that sucking of yours and it was only your first time." he grinned crookedly. "By the time I finish with you, Emily, you're going to be able to be a first-class Frencher on your own, why hell, if you hubby leaves you, you can hand out the shingle and make a good living. Yeah, and Wilma can help out with the extra customers. Now get with it, undress that little bitch, because I'm gonna see you fan-tail her or else I'm gonna do it myself with my belt."
"Oh don't let him, please, Mom!" Wilma cried.
Emily Marsden had seated herself on the couch, trembling so fitfully that she was nearly fainting. The events crowding in on her were dreadful, and she didn't know what to do, except that she was no match for this man with a gun and his cruelty and lechery and she hoped against hope that if she yielded to his whims, she might somehow save Wilma's chastity.
"Come-come here, darling," she sobbed, "Mother's got to do this, she just has to."
"Oh no, please Mom, don't sp-spank me, not in front of him," Wilma moaned, while her face was vivid scarlet with the blush of shame. It was only poetic justice, in a sense, that Wilma was not going to have to pay for having fibbed to Emily Marsden and for letting Tommy Bridges go as far as he had gone with her this afternoon.
"I have to, Wilma," Emily Marsden repeated, "Please don't make me use force, please, baby!"
Wilma began to sob as she slowly advanced toward her mother. Emily Marsden seized her daughter by the wrist, and lifted up the girl's short blue cotton skirt, then unfastened and let it drop.
"Take off that blouse, too and the slip," the gunman instructed.
"Oh no Mom, please don't do that. Please not bare ... please not bare." Wilma began to cry. But her mother was unbuttoning her blouse and forcing it off the girl's arms and shoulders, and then she was lifting up the slip and pulling it up over Wilma's head and dropping it on the floor, and Wilma stood in her white nylon panties and matching bra, with yellow bobby-sox and strap-on pumps.
"Now the pants, and get her over your lap and fan-tail her bare ass good." Bob pantingly instructed, feasting his eyes on the slim nubile figure of the olive-skinned brunette teenager.
"Oh not my panties, please not those, let me keep them on, please, you can spank me twice as hard but please let me keep my panties on," Wilma pleaded.
But her mother's eyes were suddenly fixed on Wilma's panties. Because there was a suspiciously moist patch right over the crotch, where the black curls of Wilma's virgin snatch were gaudily outlined by the think white nylon. And that moisture, Emily Marsden knew with a mother's intuition, could come from only one thing; pussy-hots.
"Wilma," she said sternly, "I want you to tell me the truth. Where were you this afternoon when you lied to me about being with your girlfriend? I want the truth, Wilma?"
"Well, now," Bob broke in with a greedy laugh. "I see that Wilma here has come tricks of her own. I didn't think she was a sweet little unkissed piece, myself. Not with that shape and those eyes and that mouth. Yeah, Wilma, where the hell were you this afternoon when your mummy wanted you? You better tell the truth, or I'll take a belt to you after your Mom finishes whacking your bare ass!" He took a menacing step toward the trembling girl, who shrank back from him in only her bra and panties. His eyes devoured her quivering olive-sheened figure, observing the bouncy contours of her bottom, the perky jut of her young virgin titties against the tight bra. And suddenly the idea of the fun she had had with Tommy Bridges, the spicy thrill of the forbidden being all alone with a boy in his apartment, had begun to pall on Wilma Marsden.
"Tell me, Wilma," Emily Marsden gasped her daughter by the elbows and shook the girl till her teeth rattled. "You're going to tell me, do you hear? Maybe all of this wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for your lying and doing something wrong-now what did you do? and why are your panties wet?"
"Well now, we're really getting to it aren't we, Emily? The panties are wet because she's probably frigged herself or let some boy do it to her," Bob hazarded. And the guess struck home, because Wilma turned her guilty, flushed face to him and gasped, "You couldn't know, you weren't there - I mean - oh my gosh-"
Then realizing that she had committed a most irretrievable slip, she burst into tears and bowed her head.
"Well. Wilma, I'm waiting," her mother said. Somehow Emily had forgotten her own misery in the horrified discovery that her daughter wasn't quite the pure little lamb or the truthful angel she had always thought Wilma to be.
So in a way, this terrifying ordeal was clearing up a long - standing problem except, Emily Marsden wouldn't herself have chosen this way of solving it!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bob had flung himself down into an armchair, his limp cock still obscenely dangling out of his trousers, while he watched the scene between mother and daughter which had suddenly taken on an unexpected turn of events. He lit a cigarette now and he found that his fingers were trembling with lust. Because this fifteen-year-old piece of pussy, Wilma, with her black hair and her hoity-toity airs, was really a delicious piece of quim. As a matter-of-fact, Wilma in her panties and bra, yellow bobby-sox and strap-on pumps was right now even more exciting to him than her naked mother, whom, after all, he had just fucked and whose possibilities and potential and pussy-pleasure he had learned. He had the gun in his right hand and he was watching both of them intently.
"Go on, answer your Mom when she talks to you, Wilma," he growled.
Naked Emily Marsden reached out and grasped Wilma's hands with both of hers, as she insisted, her voice feverish and hysterical from her own agony of soul, "now you're going to tell me exactly what happened this afternoon! And don't lie to me, Wilma, don't you dare lie!"
"Mom-please-I-I didn't mean to do anything wrong-and I didn't-"
"You'll remember that just before this man came here, Wilma, I had phoned Joanne and found out that you and she didn't go to the Movie at all. Now, it's go back to where we were before he got here."
"You see, Wilma, you were saved by the bell!" Bob chuckled yearningly. "Tell your Mummy what you were doing. I'll bet you were necking with a guy, weren't you?"
"Well, Wilma, where were you instead of being at the movie? I don't like liars!" her mother insisted, giving Wilma's wrist a yank.
Wilma began to cry. "I-I went out with Tommy B-Bridges, Mom."
"And who is he?"
"A-a boy I know from school, Mom," Wilma stammered.
"Didn't I tell you that you weren't to have dates with boys until you were sixteen, Wilma? Didn't I?"
"Y-yes, M-Mom, but there wasn't anything wrong-"
"Ask her if she didn't have a great old time and if she went over to his place," Bob interposed.
Emily Marsden shot him a look of undying hatred and shame, but the idea which he had planted in her feverish mind couldn't be overlooked. And the way Wilma was blushing and crying and averting her face and trying to tug her wrists away confirmed in Emily Marsden's mind the terrible possibility that her daughter had not only lied to her but perhaps had even gone much farther morally than she should have done at her tender age.
"What did you and he do and where were you; I want you to answer me this minute, Wilma!"
"Let me handle the little bitch, Emily baby," Bob broke in. "I'll make her talk, you'll see! I'll get those pants of hers down and I'll use my belt on her bare ass till she hollers bloody murder!"
"Answer me!" Emily Marsden insisted. And then, exasperated by her daughter's reticence, she pulled the unhappy girl down across her naked lap, clamped her hand around Wilma's smooth olive-sheened bare back and her right hand inserted inside of the waistband of the white nylon panties and yanked them down summarily down to Wilma's knees, thus effectively hampering the girl from kicking. Then, with hardly a loss of motion, she raised her right hand and brought it down with a ferocious smack on the right upper cheek of Wilma's bare, palpitating olive-satiny bottom. There was a shrill cry and Wilma glanced around and sobbed frantically, "Oh. Mom, please don't spank me on the bare in front of him, please don't! I'll tell, I'll tell! Please let me put my panties back on, I don't want him to see me, please, Mom!"
"Then tell me everything at once! Smack-Smack! Emily Marsden's right hand vigorously descended, flattening each of Wilma's bare bottom globes in turn, right in their bounciest centers. The half nude young brunette howled with pain and kicked her legs frantically, and Bob's eyes gleamed as they saw the thatch of black pussy-curls fleecing her between those long lissome thighs. "Oww! Owweee! I'll tell, Mom, I went to his place, we didn't do anything wrong, honest we didn't! Oh please don't spank me. Please let me pull my panties up now!"
"And so you stayed there all that time and let me think you were with Joanne at the Movie, did you, you naughty girl?" Smack - Smack - Smack! Three times Emily Marsden's hand rose and fell to deal out justice to the palpitating, squirming oval-cheeked olive-satiny behind, and Wilma almost plunged off her mother's lap as she kicked her legs way up in the air and again Bob could see pussy.
"What did you do with him, young lady? I want the truth, and I want it quickly!" Emily panted, and again her hand belabored that lovely pert oval backside, twice smacking down on the base of each bare bottom cheek, and the four successive noisy slaps to speals and tearful protests and pleas for mercy from the half-naked brunette: "Ouch! Aaieeee!! Oh don't, Mom, not so hard-Owwaaahhh!! I'll tell, Oh please stop spanking, Oh do let up, oh please let me put my panties on, I'll tell you everything!"
"Then let's hear it," Bob chuckled, feeling his cock stiffen. Glancing down at it, he confirmed that it was indeed throbbingly erect now as if demanding new sacrifices. And he knew just the one he was going to take; Wilma!
"I can discipline my own daughter, thank you, so please keep out of it!" Emily gasped, as she glanced at him, then turned crimson as she remembered what horrible and shameful commerce had been between this criminal and herself. Not all the showers in the world and all the soap and perfume, could cleanse away the odious taint she had suffered from the contamination she had known by being forced by him to give him she same rights she had accorded her darling Kenneth!
Wilma was sobbing now, and squirming over Emily Marsden's naked lap. the scene was highly salacious, and Bob's eyed feasted on the incestuous and suggestive tableau which Wilma made with her naked loins rubbing her mother's. Finally Wilma sobbed in a fluttering voice, "We-just kissed a little, and-we played around-"
"Sure, I know what sort of playing around a guy like that would do with a piece like you, baby," he said hoarsely. "He probably tried to peel you down and feel your pussy, didn't he?"
Wilma began to cry very loudly at this, and Bob's hazarded guess was again right; Emily gasped with horror as Wilma's frantic tears confirmed her suspicions: "you mean you let him touch you and undress you-oh, you shameless, wicked, lying girl, you! How could you do such a thing? Haven't your father and I brought you up properly, Wilma Marsden? You deserve to have bottom thrashed off you, you do!" And in her anger, and her own shame having to have such a scene before this uncouth and vicious man, she tightened her left arm around Wilma's waist and applied a flurry of stinging noisy slaps, all over the lovely bottom, coloring it a hot crimson. Wilma wailed and sobbed, squealed and pleaded, kicking her legs frantically up in the air, till at one time they were much higher than her mother's head, and the full vista of her delicious black-furred slit appeared to Bob's entranced gaze.
"But you still don't know what your kid did with the guy, Emily," he said at last hoarsely, as he rose from the chair, his prick stiff and bobbing with every step. "You let me handle her, I'll find out in a hurry exactly what happened."
"No, please, I don't want you to, Oh please let my little girl a lone-please!" Emily gasped.
But Bob had reached down and seized Wilma by her right wrist and, twisting it, made her wail and scramble off her mother's lap onto her knees. She presented an enchanting picture, naked except for the bra and with her panties rumpled around her calves, her bobby-sox and pumps, tears running down her contorted and congested face, and her magnificent perky young titties rising and falling violently against the white gauzy bra which was really her only covering.
"Now, baby, I wanna hear what you and this guy did. Did he put his finger right there?" And with a lewd chuckle, the gunman stooped and prodded Wilma's cunt with his left forefinger. Emily Marsden gasped, but the sight of the gun in this other hand compelled her to accept this shocking treatment of her teen-aged daughter.
"I'm talking to you, Wilma, or shall I take my belt to your bare ass till it bleeds?" Bob growled.
"He-he-Oh I'm so ashamed. I didn't mean to Mom. Honestly I didn't. I didn't-he-he put his f-finger there just-just like you did but that's all. I swear that's all, Mom! Oh. Mom, you've got to believe me! Please!"
Bob gave the girl's wrist another yank: "Is that all he did to you; let's have it, baby!"
"He-he only rubbed against my p-p-panties, honest that's all he did. Mom-"
"That's how they got so wet. Emily baby, you little girl gave down her pussy cream," the criminal chuckled as he straightened up. "I think she really needs a fan-tailing she'll remember. I'm gonna use my belt on her."
"Oh God, no, don't hurt my baby! I'll punish her. I swear I will, but don't hurt her!" Emily begged.
"Wilma, go over to the armchair, kneel down on it and put your head over the back and hold on to the back tight." he ordered roughly.
Wilma began to cry and clung to her mother's legs, glancing back with tear blinded eyes at the menacing gunman. "Don't let him. Oh don't. Mom. Please don't! You can punish me all you want, you and Daddy too, but please don't let him touch me!"
But the gunman had by now determined to enjoy the tender charms of this delicious nubile brunette, and so, thrusting the fingers of his left hand into her thick pageboy and twisting it, he forced her to her feet, and then brutally brought up his left knee to bang against her naked, crimsoned, well-spanked bottom. With a cry of pain, Wilma stumbled forward to the armchair and knelt down in it as he had commanded. There she sobbed as it her heart would break, and now she was really beginning to regret her foolishness in lying to her mother and letting Tommy Bridges take her up to his house. Of course it was a good thing that Tommy Bridges' folks had called, or else Wilma would probably have been playing house with him that afternoon. But as it was, she was about to get her initiation into the mating of cock and cunt quite more violently and her initiator would be a hardened criminal who had no compassion for a girl of her tender years.
He dragged his belt out from the loops of his trousers, and swished it in the air. Wilma sobbed and tightened her bottom-muscles, and plaintively looked round to plead for mercy from her mother. But Emily Marsden, wringing her hands and rocking back and forth on the edge of the couch, could only sit there and stare and weep, for she knew she was helpless with the gun in Bob's hand.
He pocketed it now and stepped to the left and swung the belt out lightly, just enough to flick the tops of Wilma's bare bottom cheeks. She wailed as if she had been really whipped, and wriggled and twisted, begging him not to hurt her. But without warning and without the slightest concern over her pleas, the gunman lifted up the belt and then slashed it down brutally across the tops of her pert bouncy hips, wrapping a black leather band around and into her tender groin.
A shriek of agony responded to this, and even Emily cried out, aghast at the loud sonorous smack of leather against naked flesh and seeing the bright red hand which striped Wilma's jerking and contracting Wilma's naked bottom-ovals.
A second lash followed, a little lower down, but by the third, which swept vigorously the plumpest curves of both naked huddling bottom cheeks, Wilma threw back her head and emitted a loud shriek, and then scrambled off the chair and ran to the couch and flung herself at her mother's feet, hugging her mother's hips with her arms, cradling her tear stained face in her mother's lap, and begging to be spared.
Bob followed her, the belt upraised, and slashed it down twice over her naked hips and the small of her back. Wilma shrieked and twisted and jerked, putting an arm out behind her to evade the ferocious lashing. Emily hysterically implored pardon for her little girl, but Bob's lust was not imperious and it knew no refubb. Again the belt wrapped itself over Wilma's bottom, and this time at the base of both huddling cheeks, and then gathered up Wilma's pageboy and yanked her up screaming and pleading, to her feet, and marched her over to the center of the room. There, letting her stand facing him, he drew back a little, the belt dangling from his right hand, and growled thickly, "Now take that bra off!"
"Oh no, you can't ask that of my poor little girl, oh not all naked, oh don't touch her, don't hurt her, please, it's not fair, it's not right!" Emily panted. "Take me instead, oh for God's sake. I'll do anything you want. I'll s-s-suck your c-c-cock again, if only you'll let Wilma go!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"One word out of you, Emily, and I'll let you have a taste of this belt. Seems like to didn't bring up that little bitch of yours so good, huh? Well, her panties got wet from being frigged, that's what and I'm gonna make her cream when a prick, not a finger, goes into that little black nest of hers. Get that bra off, I said, Wilma, or do you want me to belt you right across the titties!" Bob drew back his arm and Wilma hollered and screamed, and rushed both hands behind her and fumbled with the hooks and eyes of the bra. It dropped to the floor and she was stark naked except her bobby-sox and strapped-on pumps. Immediately her hands clamped over her pussy-fur. The gesture was ludicrous because Bob had already seen it quite a while ago when her panties had come down for the spanking. Calmly now, he took off his own trousers, and then his shorts, and his hairy, sinewy thighs and loins appeared in all their obscene randiness. His cock stuck out boldly, as it had when he had first taken charge of poor Emily Marsden. He carried his pants over to the armchair, stuffed them under the cushion of the seat, because the gun was in them. Then, belt still in hand, he returned to the cowering Wilma, who looked frantically over to the couch for help. Her mother rose, imploringly clasping her hands and holding them out to the half-naked gunman, "Oh for God's sake, you can't be thinking of-oh you won't - you couldn't be so cruel-please-"
His answer was a slash across her belly with the belt, and Emily screamed and doubled up and sank to her knees, choking with sobs. Dropping the belt, furious with lust, Bob seized Wilma in his arms. She shrieked and beat at him with her fists, but he laughed and bore her down to the floor. Madly she tried to wriggle and weave her hips, to kick, to clench her legs, but he had already planted a knee between her thighs, and now mounted over her, his stiff hard prick routing for her furry crotch.
Thus heartrendingly, stridently, Wilma announced with a frenzied shriek the perforation of her maiden cherry.
"God, the little bitch is tight," Bob gasped as he worked his way in till his cock was stuck inside her to the balls. "Now I'm going to give you something better than a finger, you randy little bitch. You'll be a better fucker than your mother ever was when I get through with you!" and then, pantingly, he lifted his triumphant twisted face to stare at poor sobbing crouching Emily, and warned her, "Just keep out of this. Emily baby, or I'll take that belt to you, you hear?"
"Now," he continued, gloating as he stared down at the contorted face of the unfortunate Wilma, "put your arms around my neck and let's fuck. I gonna show you that I'm better than this jerk of a Tommy, whoever he is. Put your arms around my neck I told you!" Lowering himself he sank down on her, his panting chest mashing down the bouncy cones of her bare titties. Wilma screamed and sobbed, but his mouth clamped over hers, and desperately she at last enclasped him with her bare arms, trembling as she felt the twinges of pain from the laceration of her maidenhead.
The feeling of constriction, the tight warm moist clamping of her cunt-wall around his imbedded cock were ecstasy for the criminal. He found the taking of her virgin snatch a rapturous achievement, and he savored it as long as he could, remaining immobilized deep inside her, buried in her to the balls, while the convulsive muscular tension of her channel against his prick gave him one delicious sensation after another.
He drank in her sobs and groans and tears, and now his mouth flicked in between her lips, as slowly he drew himself back, only to plunge back to the balls inside her tight and quivering cunt.
Then he began to fuck her vigorously, but not too quickly, and Wilma sobbed and groaned and arched and wriggled at each harpooning thrust. The pain was considerable, but gradually it began to diminish, and now the regular friction back and forth inside her tight young channel roused slowly but inexorably the feverish pitch she had know with Tommy Bridges.
But now his own passion betrayed him, the tight clamping of her cunt, and the squirming that she did under him, and brought him to his own peak of passion. Quickening his gait, his sinewy bottom rising and falling he drove himself to and fro inside the unfortunate girl, who groaned and gasped, tried to twist her face away, but his mouth followed, tightly merged with hers, sucking in her cries and gasps, tasting her sweet salivic nectar.
And then with a groan, he felt himself stiffen and jerk, and his bubbling spunk poured deep as balsam into the martyred young cunthole. The deed was done.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At last he drew himself out. His organ bloodied and stickied from his own outpourings and Wilma's maiden sacrificial blood. The girl lay sprawled, her thighs wide, her knees up. Her face hidden in her hands, sobbing disconsolately. But her body still vibrated with the exquisite and libidinous pleasure which this fuck had occasioned, for even with the pain there had been a secret and stealthy lustful pleasure ... for Wilma was wakened and Tommy Bridges' finger had done it to her cunt.
"Go clean her up, like a good mother should after her daughter's just had her first fuck." Bob chucked gloatingly. "Me, I'm gonna get me another shot of that bourbon, and no tricks, you two."
He reached under the cushion seat of the armchair for his trousers, took the gun out of the pocket, and marched out to the kitchen where he took a long swig of bourbon. Then he took a towel and washed himself, admiringly regarding his cock which had still some vigor to it judging by the stiffness it still retained.
Meanwhile, Emily, weeping as if her heart would break, had lifted the sobbing brunette and helped her into the bathroom, where she made Wilma immediately take a douche. By the time he emerged, the two naked females were still in the bathroom, and he loudly bawled for them to put back a reappearance: "Hey, you two, get back in here or I'll come getcha!"
"Oh my God, darling, we have to! Oh my poor lamb, I didn't mean to spank you," Emily Marsden wept as she stroked her daughter's reddened bottom.
Wilma clung to her mother, her face against her mother's heaving titties as she sobbed, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to lie, and I'll never never see Tommy Bridges again, I mean it. Mom! Oh, can't we get rid of him, can't we get the police? I'm so scared!"
"I don't know what to do, darling, I really don't. And that horrid brute says he's going to bring another man and some awful girl tomorrow. Oh God, isn't there any help for us? If only your father understood what I was trying to say on the phone when he called-but I don't know if he did. Oh Wilma, forgive me, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"If I have to come in there," Bob yelled. "You'll both get the belt until you bleed! Now make it fast!"
The door opened and Emily and Wilma tremblingly emerged. Wilma's eyes were red and swollen from crying, but she tried to walk with a certain assurance as if nothing had happened. Emily had her arm around her shoulders, and she held Wilma's right hand in hers to steady and to give the girl courage.
"It's about time." Bob snarled. "Now let's watch TV a little. Then we're all going to bed. Only we're all going to bed together and I'm gonna tie you girls up so you don't try any tricks."
"Oh no, please don't," Emily panted.
"Ah ha!" he laughed cruelly, "so you thought I might fall asleep and then you could get up and get a gun and go out and get the police, did you. Emily baby? You gotta get up bright and early in the morning to get ahead of Bob. Now turn on the TV set. Wilma, before I give you another belting. How did it feel when I was giving it to you, huh; better than that Tommy's finger, huh?" he threw back his head and laughed uproariously at his own obscene joke.
"Please. Oh for heaven's sake, won't you show a little mercy to us, now that you've had what you wanted?" Emily Marsden groaned.
"Why ... baby, you're only starting to come alive, both of you." Bob chuckled. "Don't tell me you're both honked out after just one fuck apiece? And the night's still young. Now. Wilma, get over there and turn on the TV set!"
The pretty brunette, naked in just her bobby-sox and strap-on pumps, stumbled over towards the television set and turned on the power. Bob, meanwhile, calmly stripped off all his clothes and was naked in his socks, lit a cigarette and perfectly at his ease. He seated himself on the couch and then gestured to Emily to come sit at his left, and Wilma at his right. He had put the gun hack in his trousers pocket and shoved the trousers under the cushion seat of the armchair. The two naked females were too cowed to think of trying to get it, he was quite certain.
"Well, now. this is what I call living, a real nice family." he sniggered as he put his left arm around Emily's bare waist, and his right around Wilma's and eyed each of them in turn, devouring their tear stained faces and their crestfallen looks. He added, "Cheer up girls, it could be a lot worse. Tomorrow when Al and Ginny come, you'll both be kept pretty busy. I've got a hunch that Ginny likes to go down on girls, and she specially liked young pussy. Wilma. have you ever been gamahuched?"
Wilma shuddered and shook her head. She didn't quite know what the word meant, but she had an inkling of an idea, because he had said that another girl was going to do something to her. And another one of her girlfriends at school had had once whispered to her that she and still another girl had had a pajama party one night and the two of them had been all bare-naked and played around and done some kissing and rubbing and used their tongues on each other's spot. And she had an idea that gamahuching was what that was.
"Yeah," Bob continued, in great good humor now, "you might as well make the most of it. This is sort of like a honeymoon, gals. Both of you and just me. Of course tomorrow. Al is quite a cocksman, and he's gonna want to work on both you broads. And since Ginny is his moll. I don't get much of a chance at her, so I'm afraid I'm gonna have to get my innings in tonight."
Emily Marsden closed her eyes and bit her lips and prayed for strength to live through the ordeal which he had outlined. Wilma was shivering violently. Bob edged his right hand upwards and around to squeeze one of her titties, and Wilma closed her eyes and squirmed and groaned, "PL-please don't!"
"Now, none of that, you little bitch," he warned in a surly voice, leaning over to put his cheek against hers and menace her with a cruel look. "You got no kick coming at all. If you hadn't started fiddling around with that kid your Mom didn't want you to play around with, maybe all this wouldn't have happened."
His words struck a responsive chord in poor Emily Marsden's soul, because she knew very well that if Wilma had been home on time and the two of them hadn't been quarreling about Wilma's having told a lie, Wilma might have been more careful about opening the door without putting it on bar.
"Gimme a little kiss, Wilma!" Bob now ordered.
"Oh Mom-" The pretty brunette whimpered.
"Do as he says, please, you've got to," her mother panted.
Wilma closed her eyes and slowly turned her face towards the gunman, who let go of Emily and, cupping both her bubbies with his hands, mashed his mouth on hers and then forced his tongue in between her lips. Wilma groaned and squirmed, and then she put up her hands to try to push his away. It was a great mistake, because Bob immediately drew back his right hand and slapped her face viciously, snarling. "You try that again, and I'll go back to work with my belt!"
"Please, please, we we'll both do what you want, only don't hurt us and give us time to understand what you want." Emily faltered.
He released Wilma and turned back to the mother, grinning crookedly. "Well, I'm glad to see you're finally getting a yen for me, honey. You know, I've always had a yen myself to have a nice broad, sort of like you to sixty-nine with me. Let's show Wilma how it's done, shall we?"
"I-I don't know what you mean," Emily faltered.
"I'll show you, baby. Get down there on the floor and spread your legs apart," was his next cruel order.
Emily stared at him with horrified eyes. "Oh certainly you can't oh not before my daughter-oh haven't you had all you want please, I'll do anything you ask if you'll only-look, you can lock Wilma up in her room, and then you and I can be alone-and-"
"I said get down on the floor, do I have to belt you around to make you obey me?" was his rough answer.
Tremblingly Emily Marsden rose from the couch and made her way to the middle of the room and slowly laid down on her back, closing her eyes, her arms at her sides.
The naked, hairy, sinewy criminal turned to Wilma: "Now you better watch, baby, because I'm gonna have you do it later on, see?"
Wilma stared at him with horror, frightened nearly to death. He slapped her face again: "When I speak to you, you little bitch, gimme an answer. Are you gonna watch like I said?"
"Y-yes-"
"Say, 'Yes, Bob,'" he directed drawing back his right hand again. Wilma obeyed, tears running down her cheeks.
"All right, Wilma, you sit on the edge of the couch, and I want you to put your right hand against your pussy. Do it right now," was his next order.
Wilma blushed violently as she slowly obeyed, while poor Emily Marsden looked up from the floor to see what new horror this odious and vicious man was dreaming up for their martyrdom.
"See how your girl does it natural, Emily?" Bob quipped as he stood looking down at the naked matron." I bet she's been playing pussy finger for a long time before you ever found it out, and she just figured that she had to have a boy. Isn't that right, Wilma?"
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and Wilma, in trembling fear, stammered, "Y-yes, B-Bob."
"See, she admits it. All right now, Emily, now I in gonna show you what sixty-nining is."
With this, he got down on all fours, maneuvering himself so that his face was directly over Emily Marsden's dark-brown furry thatch. He put his hands on her inner thighs and pushed them a little more apart, and then he lowered himself till his stiffening organ was just a few inches above her trembling mouth. "Now the idea, baby," he instructed. "is for us both to suck and lick. And then when you've got me all hot and worked, I'll really put it into you. Get going! Take my cock into your mouth and suck it!"
"Oh, not before Wilma! I beg of you-I-I'll do what you say, but not in front of her!"
"If you don't do it, your daughter's going back over to the chair for another dose of the belt, and this time it'll be on her titties and over that hairy little gash of hers." he warned.
Emily Marsden burst into tears and stammered faintly, "All-all right I I'll do it, but for God's sake have pity on us!"
He shot Wilma a furious look: "Now you put your finger right into your spot, do you hear, Wilma? That's it. And now you start frigging yourself, nice and slow and easy, and you keep your eyes open and watch what happens."
With this, he bent his head and put his lips to Emily Marsden's cunt, and gave it a long noisy sucking kiss. Emily groaned and squirmed, fear fully ashamed, and her blushes spread down to her throat as well as to her hair roots. "Well, I'm waiting," he commanded in an angry voice, "Let's see you do some work down at your end!"
And then he added, "Reach up and drag my cock down with your hand and put it in your mouth and start sucking like a lollipop, Emily! Otherwise Wilma gets it on the tits and on the cunt!"
Then he gasped with pleasure as he felt Emily's soft trembling hand reach up and take hold of his stiffening ramrod, and draw it down to her trembling moist warm lips. He felt them graze the tip of his cockhead, and with a sigh of anticipatory pleasure, the naked criminal again plunged his face down into Emily Marsden's bush and then began to gamahuch her ardently.
Emily closed her eyes, grimacing at the taste and the feel of his organ, as she performed an act which she had never done even for her own husband. He kept urging her to swallow more and more, to take all she could take inside her mouth and suck noisily so he could hear it, and she did not dare disobey, for he repeated his threats to Wilma, who had begun to whimper with fear ... and also with a little rising passion. For all this while, the slim young naked brunette had been forced to frig herself with her forefinger back and forth, and now the lips of her cunny were moist and twitching.
Now Bob began to delve his tongue between the plump pink outer labia and against the secretive inner lips of Emily Marsden's sheath, and found the clitoris hiding in its protective little pink nest of pussy flesh. He began to lap at it to prod and to flatten it, till Emily, beside herself with a new and furious tumult surging in her womb, began uncontrollably to arch and to weave her naked hips, groaning aloud, as she felt her passions roused despite her terrible repugnance at having to perform such obscene and intimate acts with such a man, especially in front of her own daughter.
"Keep friggin, Wilma, go find your little button and play with it," he called out lecherously as he lifted his face from Emily Marsden's moist quivering cunt." I want you to come, and I want to hear you say you're coming too, you little bitch!"
Then to Emily he directed, "Now lemme feel your tongue slushing all over my prick, and keep sucking at the same time, too!"
Emily, half fainting with her task, forced herself to obey. Her dainty pink tongue tremblingly rubbed along the sides of his shaft, rasping the taut cockhead and the groove with joined it to the shaft itself. She was nigh onto choking, for he kept forcing himself deeper and deeper into her mouth as his passion mounted.
But in return, his tongue now drove and rub and plied Emily Marsden's clitoris with constant tactual caresses, and the naked woman groaned and squirmed, beside herself as she felt deep in her womb the surging tides of lust cumulatively mount.
Wilma Marsden had closed her eyes, her legs were spread to maximum, and her right forefinger was rubbing violently now against her stiffening tickler. Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her nostrils flickering, and Bob raised his face to watch her, with a greedy smile of triumph: "That's the way, baby! Are you close yet?"
I a-a-h-oh! Mom-ooh. I-yes-I am oooh! Oh, Lordie! Oh Mom!" Wilma moaned. Her titties had begun to rise and fall violently now and long spasms raced up and down her supple thighs.
Bob went back to gamhuching Emily, his tongue rubbing her clitoris back and forth into its little cowl, while her gasps and sighs and sobs exuded more and more feverishly proclaiming her own approach to kingdom come.
Meanwhile, his tool had become ferociously rigid, and he felt the urgency come upon him. He pulled himself out and snarled. "Now get ready for a real fuck, Emily!"
And so saying, he fell upon her, buying his tool inside her moist and twitching slit with a single lunge that buried him up to his balls, merging their hairs together in a grinding friction of salacity.
Emily groaned and squirmed, for she could not help the erotic feelings that were beginning to take possession of her cunthole.
And Wilma suddenly uttered a cry, "Oohh-eeeyooooowww!! I'm coming, oh. Mom, please. I can't help it. I'm coming. Mom!"
She sank down along the couch, her thighs hugely sprawled, her clamped over her mouth, as her belly heaved in the churning fulfillment of hot girl-creaming.
Bob pulled out of Emily's cunt, and staggered to his feet then strode to the couch, and seizing Wilma by a wrist, dragged her down to the floor. "Now for you and me, Wilma baby!" he growled.
"Oh no, Oh please don't do it-oh Mom, he's going to have me again-oh make him stop, oh please, I don't want him-aaaiiiieeeowwww!!"
His hands gripping her titties, he had kneed apart her thighs and now, prodding his swollen prick against her furry thatch, had found the inlet and with a merciless thrust, had impaled her to his balls. Crushing her down, weighing over her, he watched her head roll from side to side, her eyes glazed and exorbitant. Then, shifting his hands under her bottom, and sinking his fingertips into those juicy and bouncy ovals, he began to fuck Wilma for the second time. But since he had already burst forth most of his spunk, the edge was off and he was able to take it in a more leisurely manner. With regularized digs, with slow withdrawals, Bob fucked the fifteen-year-old brunette. And falling violently, one knee up, and the lips of her cunt twitching from her own secret yearning to be fulfilled. For this gamahuching had drawn her almost to the brink of pussy-passion.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As for Wilma, the olive-sheened brunette's supple body vibrated and throbbed in spite other own fear and shame and terror from the ruthless way this man had taken over their household. Adolescent through she was and not too far from puberty, nevertheless. Wilma Marsden had already become wakened to lust this afternoon when Tommy Bridges had audaciously tickled her pussy and permitted himself many other caresses which were usually reserved for a girl of greater age or proper legal status. Moreover, the spanking from her mother and the beating from Bob together with the loss of her hymen, had further enervated the young girl. And finally, having watched all that had been done to her beautiful mother had created within Wilma whether she knew it or not, a kind of sensual awakening and an acceptance of passion.
That was why this time, after the first momentary twinges of his repeated diggings into her tender groove, Wilma began suddenly to feel waves of warm tingling atonement seething in her crotch, radiating throughout her entire body, making her tittie-buds hard and firm and darker with tumescence.
And though she still sobbed and groaned and cried out for her mother to help her, she nevertheless felt herself being drawn towards the inevitable abyss of fucking-limbo.
As for Bob, he too sensed this alteration in her nature, Besides the sadistic violence of this scene of coerced pleasure had inflamed him monstrously; to glance to one side and see the naked matron sprawled on the floor while he himself fucked her daughter was an additional erotic stimulus to his virility.
His hands had slipped under Wilma's saucy and still quite reddened bottom cheeks, his fingers digging in painfully till she groaned and begged him not to hurt her, as he growled, "Put your arms and legs around me, then, baby and French kiss me good or I'll make that ass of yours a lot sorer!"
Wilma obeyed, whimpering and twisting her face to one side. He shuddered with delight to feel her warm satiny naked long legs clamped around his straining thighs, to feel her slim warm velvety-smooth arms link round his shoulders. And then savagely he crushed his mouth on hers and jabbed his tongue between her lips, after which he urged her to emulate him if she knew what was good for her. And when he felt Wilma's dainty trembling tongue probe between his lips, a rush of fiery lust seized him ferociously, and he quickened his thrusts in and out of the naked girl's quim.
Wilma's body began to tense at every dig, and as he withdrew back to the brink other cunt, her body throbbed and tingled with a galvanized urgency as her own girl tides came upon her.
"Aaah-ooohhh, Mom Ooooh. he-he he's making me aaahhh-c-c-come, oh he's making me come. Mom. I can't help it-aaahhh! Ooh. Lordie. I'm going to come. I can't stop it. Oh Mom-aaahhhhheeeeeoowwww!!!"
And with this prolonged and raucous cry. Wilma's body arched up madly, then glued to his as with a last quick series of jabs, he thrust himself to the balls inside her churning cunt and dribbled out his essence. The hot sting of his jet provided the final fillip to precipitate Wilma over the edge of the abyss. Her eyes rolled, her head fell back, her fingernails dug into his sweating back, and her thighs convulsively clutched him as she ground her pelvic basin to his and led her dew seep down in her first woman-come induced by a solid male prick!
"Wow, that was really a fuck. Wilma baby, you see how nice you can be when you want to?" he panted as he slowly drew himself out of the girl's moist and quaking quim and knelt up, his eyes glitteringly watching her squirming body in the throes of orgasm.
"Oh please, let us go, please," Emily sobbed. "Haven't you been satisfied yet? I'll give you money I'll write you a check and I swear I won't stop payment I'll make it out to cash please go now!"
"You must think I'm a moron," Bob chuckled sardonically. "I'd rather have pussy than cash. Cash I can get anytime, and baby. I'm paying you the compliment of saying that I'd rather stick around and feel my prick in both of your boxes again tomorrow. Now you and Wilma go to the john and hurry back. And then when you get that done, you can bring me a drink. Yeah, and fix one for yourself too. Let Wilma have a drink, I just made her a woman. Boy, you should have felt her bucking under me when she felt my whang ramming in her little coozie!" he chuckled again, and reached out and pinched Wilma's pussy, making her squeal and wriggle over onto her side, clapping her hands to her cunt and bursting into tears.
Emily Marsden wearily dragged herself to her feet, and moved towards the sobbing girl. Tenderly bending down, she patted Wilma's cheek and hair and murmured soothing words of endearment till at last the unhappy brunette got up and followed her mother into the bathroom.
Bob lit another cigarette and lounged at his ease on the floor on his back, master of all he surveyed. This was sure different from stir! And he was still horny as hell. Guess when you were locked up in a cell, and all you could do was dream about nookie, you sure stirred up a lot of juice. That was the way he felt right now. He could go on fucking these two sweet bitches all the rest of his life, the way he felt.
When they emerged, it was Emily who brought him a glass of bourbon and a smaller glass for herself and one for Wilma. He sat up and sipped his, while he watched the lovely olive-sheeened brunette on the edge of the couch, whimpering and trembling, holding her glass in a trembling hand, and his eyes devoured the jiggling of her titties, then feasted along her sweet long thighs to the furry groove whose dimensions and delights his cock had already learned twice over.
After about tern minutes, he got to his feet and then barked an order: "Now, then, you two, we're gonna have a last little set-to before bedtime. Emily, get down on the floor on your back again. This time I'm gonna have Wilma go down on you. And you're gonna gamahuch her and work her up. And I'M gonna pick one of you who shows the most hots. Now get going. Wilma, get off your ass and go over and take care of Mummy!"
"Please don't make us to that, please." Emily groaned. For answer, Bob reached for his belt and snapped it wickedly in the air.
With a helpless sob. Emily Marsden moved over to the middle of the room and then slowly lay down. Wilma hesitated, staring fearfully at the gunman. The belt snaked out and wrapped around her left thigh with a cruel crack. "Eeeowww! Oh please don't," Wilma wailed as she grabbed for the wounded spot and rubbed it frantically.
"Then get over to your Mom and do like I said. You saw what Emily and I did, didn'tcha? Well, do the same with Mummy!"
Emily Marsden had closed her eyes and was trembling convulsively in her. shame and abhorrence. The slim brunette got down on all fours, bowing her head over her mother's furry cunt, and then lowered her own young loins towards her mother's face.
"All right, Emily, your little girl seems to know more about fucking and gamahuching than you do. Get to work and start learning. Reach up and grab her ass and pull her cunt down to your mouth and start giving it to her if you know what's good for you," Bob commanded.
Emily Marsden slowly obeyed, and gingerly pressed a kiss on her own daughter's soft moist cunt. Wilma in turn pressed her mouth to her mother's slit and then at Bob's order dug her tongue between Emily's cunt lips. Instantly the brown-haired matron stiffened and groaned. "Oh God, oh please don't-oh it's shameful!"
"Go ahead, Wilma, give it to her," Bob eagerly urged."Make her flow down all she's got, or I'll whip your ass off!" and to punctuate his order, he let the belt lightly slap against Wilma's upturned discolored bare bottom. With a cry of fear, the naked young brunette dug her tongue wildly into her mother's cunt, and began to plunge it in and out just as a cock might go.
Emily Marsden was hopelessly undone. Her body arched and squirmed and wriggled as she felt that persuasive and insistent and swiftly repeated goading. To distract herself, she replied in kind, and her own tongue entered Wilma's pussy and began to forage about. And soon both naked beauties were squirming and gasping and groaning, their bodies quivering violently with the onrush of erotic fever.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bob lit another cigarette, leaning forward from his seated position on the edge of the couch, his belt in his right hand, his left hand slyly stroking his limpened cock. The sight of mother and daughter doing sixty-nine inflamed him. and he followed with great interest the tableau.
"Atta girl. Wilma honey," he hoarsely applauded, "you've got Emily really hot now! Give it to her. Finish her off. Rub that tickler of hers with that cute little tongue of yours, baby-and if you're a good girl. I'll let you suck my whang like a lollipop!"
"Oh, I can't help it. Mom he's making me do it oh please forgive me, Mom, please forgive me, "Wilma sobbed.
"I know, oh my poor little darling-aaah I don't want to do this to you either-oh God-Oh Wilma - ooh-you're killing me oeeeeyahhhhrrrrr!!"
Suddenly Emily Marsden twisted her face away from her daughter's seething quim, and her body wrenched and jerked in the full throes of pussy-climax. Wilma had dug her tongue against her mother's clitoris, and Emily's loins hand hips now bucked and jerked and twisted violently as she gave down her mature flow, for the first time in her life stirred by a girl-gamahuching ...
"You're being real selfish, Emily." Bob chuckled. "You didn't finish her off. Well, I'll do it to you."
"Oh no, oh please don't let him. Oh Mom. Help me!" Wilma wailed, kneeling up and staring at the gunman with terror.
"Tell you what. Wilma." he growled, flicking the belt around in the air and forcing her to stare as if hypnotized, "You're gonna kneel over Mummy's face, and let her go on till she finishes you off. And I'll fuck her. Go on, get into position!"
Then he addressed himself to the whimpering and groaning matron: "Emily you reach up and grab Wilma's ass and pull her down to you and start licking. I'm gonna give you the best screwing you've had all night, and that's a promise."
So saying, he sank down on his knees, crawled between Emily Marsden's sprawled thighs, and, grabbing her by the hips, inserted his re-invigorated cock and thrust it slowly home. Emily shuddered, and the vaginal walls of her love-sheath were still twitching and clenching spasmodically from the throes other come which her own daughter had brought about.
"Go ahead, Emily, and take care of Wilma and finish her off like a good mother should," he chuckled. He saw Emily reach up her arms and clench them around Wilma's bare hips, as Wilma lowered herself, staring fascinatedly at him. Then he saw Emily's tongue drive into the furry nest of Wilma's cunt, and Wilma instantly wriggled and squirmed, her head falling back, her eyes closed, a beatific expression on her flushed and tear stained face.
"That's the way, Emily, now give it to her, just the way I'm gonna give it to you!" he exulted.
"I have to, darling, please forgive your mother." Emily sobbed. Then she groaned, for Bob had pinched her nipples and snarled, "Just forget the chatter and use your tongue somewhere's else, hear?"
Instantly Emily obeyed, and Wilma again groaned and squirmed on her knees, her bubbies rising and falling erratically. Meanwhile, lowering himself and cradling his head on one of Emily's titties, his hand slipping under her bottom to squeeze her ass cheeks with his stubby fingernails, her began to fuck her slowly and leisurely, thrilling to feel the hot moist clenching of her love-walls around his digging cock, feeling the warmth of her skin and the vibrance of her body and knowing that she had just passed through the aftermath of girl-creaming under his eyes and by the instrument of her own lovely daughter.
But Wilma now was nearing come, and the shrill cry announced her achievement: "Ohh Mom, Mom, Mom! Oh Lordie I can't hold it back, Oh mom, I've got to-AAAhhh!!"
She toppled and rolled over onto her side, both hands clutching her pussy, as she wriggled and kicked in the spasm. This excited Bob furiously, and now crushing his mouth over Emily's, he began to fuck her with great rapid digging thrusts, while the naked matron arched and squirmed under him, once again roused despite herself. The furious rasping of his ramrod drew her back to the edge of the abyss once more ... and with a sobbing cry, she suddenly stiffened, and flung her arms round him and, despite her own revulsion, felt herself give down the last of her Venus-tribute to his rampaging whang!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After the two women had again gone to the bathroom, Bob commanded that they return to the master bedroom. "I'm gonna substitute for your old man in bed tonight, Emily baby. And I want each of your girls next to me so I can reach out at night and give it to you. Of course I'm gonna tie you up, but before we go to sleep, we're gonna have a last little love party," he explained with a cruel grin.
"Oh God, how can you?" Emily gasped. Even her own husband, even in the early days of their marriage, hadn't show so much sexual activity in so short a time.
"You're forgetting, bitch, I've been in stir awhile, and a guy doesn't get a chance like this very often. Now get into the bed fast!"
He was lying between them, his left hand on Wilma's titties, his right stroking Emily's belly and then lowering to her cunt, inserting a forefinger to tickle her clitoris slyly, when suddenly a bull-horn boomed: "The house is surrounded! Come out of there, or we'll come in and get you!"
"For Chrissake, the cops!" Bob cried, and leaped from the bed and ran back into the living room to get his gun and to pull on his pants. Crouching by the bay window, he edged the curtain to one side and saw, with an oath of fury, two police cars with blue lights circling and the sirens going, and the cordon of policemen coming cautiously toward the house, crouching with guns drawn in their hands.
"You goddam bitches, you tipped of the cops!" he screamed, beside himself with rage. Then he ran back into the kitchen and out of the back door and into the garden. There was a sound of shots, and then there was silence.
Emily and Wilma huddled fearfully together in bed, Emily clinging her arms around her trembling and sobbing daughter. "Shh, baby, it's all over now, it's all over! It's just a nightmare. Mummy is going to take her little girl to the hospital so she won't get a disease or anything like that from the horrible brute Bob, and then it's going to be just like it always was. And you're never going to lie to your Mummy again, are you, darling?" she crooned tenderly.
"Oh, Mom," Wilma whimpered, "I ought to have been spanked lots harder for what I did. I was a bed girl, and I'm sorry. I won't ever disobey again. I won't have dates till you tell me I can, and I'll be good, I promise I will. I didn't mean to do what I had to do, Mummy!"
"There, there, honey baby," Emily consoled tenderly, "Everything's going to be all right."
CHAPTER TWENTY
And it was. Kenneth Marsden had become alarmed after thinking over the last part of the conversation he'd had on the telephone with his beautiful wife. Just as a precaution, he had had the operator at the Airport put through a long distance call to the Chicago Police and told them his suspicions. They had already had the report of Bob's escape because an all-points bulletin had been issued. So they had surrounded the house, and although Bob had had his chance to ravage both Marsden females, he had paid for it bitterly.
He had been shot to death out in the garden after firing two shots, neither of which had found its target.
The two beauties were taken to the hospital for precautionary measures. In the ambulance, Emily had whispered to Wilma that she wasn't going to tell Wilma's father anything about what had been, or about Wilma's having to do things to her, or about Wilma's being a naughty girl with Tommy Bridges.
A week later, life was back to normal. Wilma was devoting herself to her homework assiduously, and Kenneth was in bed with his beautiful wife. To his great surprise and delight, she was doing him. As he had entered the bed beside her, she had reached out her hand and begun to stroke his cock, slipping her other arm under him and giving him her mouth, then darting in her tongue. He shuddered with delight, and mounted her, rolling her over onto her back, and then with long vigorous thrusts fucked her. She bucked and twisted and groaned, her mouth crushed to his, her tongue digging into his mouth.
It was the most furious and delicious come that had both experienced since their honeymoon.
So in a way, the criminal's advent into the Marsden household had had its happier side. All Emily's lustful potential as a passionate woman had been thoroughly wakened, and now she was no longer ashamed to experience the secret joys with her own rightful husband in their own legal bed. As for Wilma, she isn't seeing Tommy Bridges anymore. But next year, when she's sixteen, she thinks she knows just how she can have a little fun. And without Mom or Dad knowing, either. You can buy a can of spray foam at the drugstore: and once you don't have a cherry, all you have to do is take care that there's plenty of foam inside before the boy puts his cock into you. And you can screw all day and night and not have a baby. And Wilma has been awfully hot, because all she can use is her finger at night.
But there are times when in her dreams Wilma sees herself again naked in bobby-sox and strap-on pumps, with a man's hands squeezing her pert bare titties, a man's hairy belly rubbing hers and his stiff hot cock pressing slowly and deeply into her tight quim. Her finger becomes her love-partner than, and sometimes she murmurs aloud in her lust-dreams, "OOoh, Tommy, fuck me good, oh stick it into me as far as you can and make it come out of my bummy-hole, darling!"
Of course, Tommy Bridges has another girl who's giving him what he wants-because a randy young upstanding male can't wait a year for a sexy little Lolita to reach sixteen and dating time. But he's heard rumors of the story at the Marsden house and how Wilma and her mother were held captive like kidnapped by a cruel gunman who made them do all sorts of things. And knowing Wilma as he does, he's sure she must have learned plenty. So when the time comes for her to have an official date with him, he plans to find out just how much she really did learn. And one thing's for sure: when Wilma and Tommy are reunited, Tommy is going to be a very delighted and surprised young cocksmith!
