Elinor softly closed the door, feeling weak and faint from the scene she had just witnessed. She had never seen anything like that before in her life. She had been unable to stop herself from watching them; something seemed to have frozen her to the floor, forcing her to keep her eyes on their heaving bodies, forcing her to watch those two in there.
She leaned back against the wall now, fighting the emotion sweeping through her. She tried not to think of how their faces had looked, tried not to remember the sweet anguish that had been so plainly clear to her, so plainly clear on Mrs. Parker's face. Elinor shook her head from side to side and moved from the wall on unsteady legs. She had never felt like this before; there was a warm flush spreading all over her, and she could feel the moisture of her panties as she moved. She touched her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, feeling the flush there.
CHAPTER ONE
Debbie Nieman sat in the long, narrow room, cheerless with its clean gray walls and its sterile hospital furniture despite the morning sun streaming through the partially open Venetian blinds. She tried hard not to think of anything, least of all where she was and why she was there.
She fixed her eyes on the bouquet of pink roses in the white urn on the table beside the bed, thinking of the many long hours she had spent working on the rose bushes in the backyard. Who would take care of the rose bushes now? Who would tend to the tulip beds? Certainly not Don. He loathed working in the yard; it distressed him to get his hands dirty in the soil.
How long will I be here? she asked herself silently.
The question disturbed her, brought a sadness and confusion to her gray-green eyes, marring the magnificence of her classic beauty.
Her golden blonde hair was worn in an old-fashioned pompadour, with a French twist in the back. Her face was classically structured, faintly tanned, a long, Grecian nose, firm chin beneath a full, sensuous, almost petulant mouth, and high cheekbones.
She wore a loose-fitting, pink nightie which failed to conceal the lush curves of her young body.
Debbie was twenty-three years old, and she was bewildered and distraught, unable to comprehend either herself or her surroundings. She was desperately trying to keep her mind clear of all thoughts, yet she wasn't succeeding very well. There seemed to be a wall around her mind, keeping the disturbing thoughts locked within. She could remember Don fucking her last night....
She had been lying in bed, reading a book, the bedside lamp casting curious shadows on the walls of the room. She heard the sound of the car entering the garage, the garage door slamming shut, the heavy footsteps through the front door of the house, and then Don was standing there at the foot of the bed, an evil kind of grin on his handsome face, his dark hair mussed, his tie pulled off to one side, both unusual for him because he was so neat at all times.
"Is that all you've got to do, lie around in bed and read?" he snapped at her. "Please, Don ... it's late."
"That isn't any excuse. A wife should be waiting at the door, no matter how damn late it is, no matter what time her husband comes home."
"Let's not argue again, Don."
"And why the goddamn hell not?"
He was angry; he was always angry of late, and she wondered why. There seemed no reason for his anger. She knew he was working hard at the office, knew that the head of his accounting firm had placed great responsibilities on Don's shoulders; and she knew that Don resented those responsibilities. He was not a man who enjoyed such things.
She watched him in silence as he began undressing, dreading the moment that she knew was coming. He was a tall, angular man, long-legged and long-armed.
She lay quite still, hoping against hope that this night might be different from all the others. He was so vicious at times, like a man gone insane, as though he were punishing her for something she had done, something wrong.. She had tried to talk with him about that, but talking seemed to make him even angrier.
He finished undressing and turned toward her, his cock standing up so hard and long and thick that she wanted to weep from fear. He came around to her side of the bed, standing there beside her nakedly, demanding. He reached down, pulling the blankets and sheets from her. Debbie whimpered slightly, knowing full well that there was nothing she could do about it. The pale pink nightie had crumpled high above her knees, almost at her crotch. He stared down at her, smiling evilly.
"You're a goddamn beauty, Debbie, I'll say that for you."
"Don, please ... I don't...."
"I don't particularly give a shit what you want or don't want!"
"Please, Don," she pleaded. "Please, not ... not tonight. Please."
For his answer, he reached down and grabbed her nightie, ripping the flimsy material right away from her body, tossing the ruined garment across the room. His long fingers began squeezing her now-naked breasts, probing into the resilient flesh, hurting her. He bent down on his knees, his fingers still working at her upstanding breasts, his eyes wide and bright, gleaming in his lust, watching her face for some reaction. Debbie didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her, but she couldn't hold back the yelp of pain that leaped from her lips.
"Baby ... baby," he whispered huskily, "you've got the most beautiful pair of tits I've ever seen. So gaddamn beautiful ... luscious ... suckable tits!"
He bent his mouth to the jutting nipples. His teeth clamped painfully down, sending a shock of pain throughout her entire being. She yelled out in anguished pain.
"No, Don! No ... no!"
She tried to twist her breasts away from him, but his hands were like steel wires, holding her completely immobile. One hand went down to grip her upper thigh, squeezing and twisting the flesh viciously. And then his mouth was pressing down against hers, bruising, punishing, and demanding, and she knew the moment would be soon ... too soon.
The room was whirling before her eyes; everything seemed to be turning topsy-turvy. And then he was forcing her thighs apart, forcing her into this sadistic act, whispering to himself, telling her what he was going to do, using the words that she hated to hear from him.
"I'm going to stick this cock right in that tight pussy, Debbie. I'm going to put it in there and fuck the piss out of you. I'm going to fuck you until the goddamn thing is raw! I'm going to shoot my come up your twat until you can taste it in your throat!"
The initial shock of his entrance sent her into a spasm of pain. And he began moving his hips cruelly, laughing to himself.
His movements, as always, were rapid and punishing. His hands kept twisting at her naked flesh. She lost herself in a high climb up an impossible cliff. The pain mingled with delight and steaming desire, and then everything seemed to be all mixed up together, driving her on and on, and she thought that it would never end, never....
She cried out, whimpered, and then shouted, begging him to keep on, to continue, pleading with him to keep plunging into her body, to never stop. It was turning into pure deliciousness, as always.
And she felt her orgasm grow, then start to shudder.
Debbie screamed.
The purple glow burst through her brain....
Now, Debbie came back to the present, suddenly aware of someone near her. Her thoughts of Don vanished in an instant. Startled, she turned in her chair, seeing the woman standing in the open doorway leading to the corridor outside. The woman was tall and slim, dark hair falling in loose bangs across her wide, intelligent forehead. There was a kind of subdued violence about her, as though she were just waiting to spring on the first unsuspecting prey that happened to come along. She was beautiful in a sleek, tigerish sort of way.
"Welcome into Hell," the woman said.
"Is it that bad?" Debbie asked.
"It's much worse," The woman answered. Her voice was vibrantly alive, commanding. "You're the new one. I saw them bring you in early this morning."
"Yes," Debbie replied, frightened despite herself. There was so much violence, so much pain ... and now this strange woman looked fully capable of inflicting more pain.
"I'm Stella Snowden," the tall woman said, slinking further into the room. She wore a print dress and high heels without any nylons. "I've been here almost two weeks. Anything you want to know, just ask me. I can tell you the whole damned routine."
"Thank you, but...."
"I didn't get your name," Stella interrupted rudely.
"Debbie Nieman."
"You're married, aren't you?"
"Yes, but...."
"That figures."
"I don't understand," Debbie said, annoyed at this woman's habit of interrupting her.
"Oh, don't worry, honey. You will."
Debbie felt the fear leaving her. She studied Stella Snowden carefully, noting the brightness in the other's eyes, the curious way she was leaning against the wall, sort of like an animal at bay.
She thought: I'm like her ... we're both here together ... we share the same problem.
The thought ripped through her mind, leaving a new ripple of fear and uncertainty.
"Fucking," Stella said, smiling.
"What?"
"You heard me, honey."
"Yes, I guess I did."
"Fucking is the root of all our problems."
"Well ... I'm not so sure."
Stella laughed. It was a strange sound against the hospital silence in the background.
"Has the good doctor seen you yet this morning?" Stella asked.
"No ... not yet."
"Don't let him frighten you."
"Why should he frighten me? He's a doctor, isn't he?"
Stella moved away from the wall. She came to stand directly "above Debbie, staring down into Debbie's face with her bright eyes. She smiled at some secret apparently only she could understand, and then backed away to resume her post against the wall.
"We're supposed to discuss our problems with each other," Stella said, her voice strangely strident now. "It's part of the master plan around here. I tell you my problems and you tell me your problems. Group therapy, they call it. That's the whole clue. Fall in with them and everything will be just fine for you. We talk and talk and talk and then talk some more. It's good for the soul. Or the mind, or the something, I don't know. That's what they tell me, anyway. We're supposed to talk all the goddamned time, anything that comes into our minds-even real dirty sex stuff." She grinned suddenly, widening her eyes. "Tits," she continued. "Tits ... breasts ... boobs ... knockers; that's my problem, my goddamn tits."
Debbie felt herself flushing all over. She wanted to scream out at this absurd, crazy woman, drive her out of the room, as far away as she possibly could.
This is so goddamn ridiculous, she thought. I don't belong here. Why am I here? What in the hell am I doing here?
"Yes," Stella was saying, "my whole problem is my tits. Oh, they're big enough and pretty enough, I know that." She raised her hands up and began to fondle her own breasts through the fabric of her dress, curling her fingers about them and cupping, squeezing at them. "But I can't stand to have a man touch my tits. Can you imagine that? I know that's not the way to be, not the way I should be with a man. So many men have told me that. You know something, honey? I've never had my goddamn bra off in front of a man, not even when he's got his big dick up my snatch. Not even when he's fucking me. I just can't stand the thought of having a man...."
"Will you please shut up?" Debbie asked, her voice tightly controlled, but very near the verge of hysteria.
Stella grinned again. "You've got a lot to learn, honey, believe me."
"Please go. I'd rather be ... alone."
For a brief moment, Stella's eyes lost their brightness. She seemed to almost shrink within herself physically, and then she was bright and slinky once more and she laughed loudly, bitterly.
"You're really something, you are," she said. "A real, honest stuffed cunted lady, huh?"
Debbie knew, suddenly, that she couldn't take any more of this. She didn't have to take it. She rose on unsteady legs, feeling faintly nauseous as she did so, remembering the pills they had given her when she had arrived. She wasn't sure that she could maintain her standing position, so she sank back into the chair, aware of giving in to her weakness, wishing that she had not done so.
"Oh, don't mind me, honey," Stella said, suddenly contrite. "Don't mind what I say. I'm a nut, pure and simple. Half the time, I don't know what I'm saying myself. I've got the habit now."
"Habit?" Debbie's mind was whirring around.
"Sure. The habit of talking all the time. I don't know what in the hell is wrong with me." Her eyes were suddenly serious, almost pleading. "Please try to understand, Debbie. I want to be your friend, I really do. I don't mean to shock you or confuse you. You'll find out that it gets to be a habit, this talking, this running off at the mouth like you have verbal diarrhea or something. It's just something you can't resist, no matter how hard you try. I think it's those fucking pills they give us around here. We all call them the talk-pills."
Debbie remained silent. She didn't know what to say, or even if she were supposed to say anything. This was an entirely new experience for her, an experience for which nothing in her previous life could have prepared her. She simply didn't know what to do, which way to turn; she seemed to be continually groping in the dark shadows, searching for the right answer. She knew-or felt she knew-that she was mentally ill and that she had done the right thing-the correct thing-in coming to this place. The people here were supposed to be able to help those like herself.
Oh, did I do the right thing? she asked herself. Perhaps there is nothing really wrong with me, other than being weary and tired of my life with Don. If he had been just a little more understanding ... perhaps I shouldn't have let him talk me into this. But Don had been so insistent and, as was usually the case, she had let her husband talk her into this, convince her that it was necessary. Why? He had told her that she was a cold woman, a frigid woman, that she gave nothing to him. Was he right?
Debbie looked up as a short, stocky man entered the room quietly, almost as though a wisp of wind had blown him inside. He had a face that looked as if it might have been chipped out of pure stone. His whole body appeared to be one entire muscle. Debbie never before had seen anyone who gave the impression of such pure physical strength.
He was wearing dark brown pants and a lighter brown shirt, open at the collar. His hair was cropped close to his skull and the hair was long and dark on his muscular arms. As he stood there, he lifted his hands before him in a kind of pleading gesture, staring straight at Stella.
"Not yet, Mister Akerman," Stella said.
"But why not?" the man asked.
"You know why not, Mister Akerman."
"But it will be good for you."
"I can't let you, Mister Akerman, and you know that."
"You're fighting the issue, Stella. It never does any good to fight the issue."
Stella moved along the wall, getting as far away from the muscular man as she possibly could. Her eyes were wide with a deeply real fear and she raised her hands before her, as if to protect herself from a suspected attack. She was an entirely different person than she had been a few minutes before.
"I won't hurt you, Stella," the man said. "You know that. One little look at your tits ... one little feel of them."
Debbie was appalled by the scene in front of her. She couldn't understand it, couldn't understand what was happening here in her own room. There was obviously a conflict of some kind between these two. It was as though the world had suddenly stopped and there were just the three of them left, herself and these two absolute strange creatures.
"I can't, Mister Akerman ... I'm afraid."
"You have nothing to fear but the fear itself, Stella. Believe me, I know what is best for you."
"That's easy enough for you to say." Stella was cringing back against the wall, a terrified expression on her face.
"I'll bet you have beautiful tits. Rich and lovely with nice big, rosy nipples, really delicious to look at and to feel and to play with and to kiss with my lips ... to suck and taste...."
"No, Mister Akerman! No!" The man, Mister Akerman, turned and left the room as quickly and quietly as he had entered it. Debbie suddenly realized that she had clenched her hands into very tight fists, that the strain was beginning to tell on her knuckles. She closed her eyes, opened them again, hoping, by some miracle, to awaken from this horrible nightmare. But the time was still now and the place was still here; and Stella still stood against the wall, cringing like a terrified creature watching the doorway as though she expected the muscular man to return at any moment....
"He wants to ... he wants to play with my tits. He wants to look at them and suck on the nipples. I can't let him," Stella said in a strange-sounding voice. "He thinks that would help me. I know it wouldn't." She straightened upright, regaining some of her former manner, smiling slightly. "Shit, if I wouldn't let my own husband see my tits, feel of them and kiss on them, why should I let that nut do it?"
Debbie sighed deeply. Her nerves were jumping all over the place. She felt as though she might burst through her very skin at any moment. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to control herself. She could not lose control this time; she could not allow herself the luxury of becoming that crying, sobbing animal so full of self-pity again. No, not that; not that ... ever again. "Good morning!"
Debbie almost jumped right out of the chair at the sound of the new voice. She pivoted around, saw the tall, slim man entering the room, a broad smile on his thin face. He wore dark-rimmed glasses and a small, carefully nurtured mustache adorned his upper lip. He was dressed in a pale gray business suit and he carried a large manila envelope in his left hand.
"Good morning, Doctor Brake," Stella said.
"And how is everyone this morning?"
"Mister Akerman was just here, trying to feel my tits again." Stella replied quickly. "I wish you would tell him to leave me alone, Doctor Brake. I can't take much more of him."
Doctor Brake's smile seemed to break up his face into so many small pieces. "Now, now, Stella," he said quietly, cheerfully, "you know better than that, don't you? Mister Akerman is only trying to help you overcome a certain fear, a fear that we both know is plainly ridiculous. He means well; he wants to help. His intentions are of the highest."
"I don't give a dry fuck about his goddamned intentions!" Stella retorted angrily, sharply.
Doctor Brake carefully controlled his smile. "Anger never solves anything, Stella."
"Oh, fuck you up the asshole!" she snapped.
Doctor Brake nodded slightly as though in secret agreement with what Stella had just said, and turned to face Debbie.
"I hope the scene was not too distressing for you," he said.
"I...." Debbie shook her head; under the circumstances, with both of them staring at her so intently, what could she possible say? " ... never mind. I would just like to be alone for awhile."
"Perfectly understandable," the doctor said.
Debbie was surprised. She had expected something else from him, though what it could be she had no idea. She had never met a psychiatrist before. She stared at him closely, a vague memory of having seen him earlier stirring within her mind. She wished that she could remember everything that had happened ... but after Don's fucking her so violently, everything was still hazy, unsure. There were too many gaps to be filled in. She wondered if this man-this psychiatrist-could help her. She certainly hoped so, prayed so. She knew she couldn't go on the way she was.
Doctor Brake glanced at his wrist watch, nodding his head as though conversing privately with himself. He wasn't exactly Debbie's idea of a psychiatrist....
Doctor Brake was saying, "We would appreciate it if you could talk with our psychiatric social worker, Miss Palmer, before the group meeting later this afternoon. Your husband, of course, filled us in on some of the details last night when he called. But we will need your full cooperation if we are to take successful forward steps." His grin was quick and efficient. "Miss Palmer is in the counseling office, Room Three, just up the corridor. She will be there...." he glanced at his watch again, " ... within the hour."
Debbie hesitated, conscious that Stella was watching her eagerly. "Do I have to go this morning, doctor?"
"You don't have to do anything around here, Debbie," the doctor replied, a little stiffly. "We have only one hard and fast rule around here, and that is that the door to your room never be completely closed. I'm sure you can understand the reason for this. There are certain factions in the hospital administration who disagree with our having men and women housed together in this ward. Any kind of scandal would be disastrous to our whole program here. We try to make this as much like a normal home situation as is feasibly possible, under the circumstances."
"How long will I be here?" The question had come out abruptly, involuntarily.
"That is difficult to say, Debbie, at the present time."
"Can't you give me some idea?"
"We'll know much more after you've talked to Miss Palmer and have come to our first group meeting," he replied evasively. He again glanced at his watch. "The first meeting for you will be at three o'clock this afternoon. Please be on time," he added, and then turned abruptly, leaving the room.
Stella laughed.
"What's so funny?" Debbie asked.
"I was just thinking how funny that would be to see that skinny bastard in bed and fucking a woman," Stella answered. "I'll bet he's a real riot."
"I'd prefer not to...."
"Okay ... okay," Stella interrupted. "You trot your cute ass on down for your talk with Miss Palmer. Give her a few juicy items about how you do it with a man; you know, whether you suck, fuck or cornhole ... that stuff. I think she gets her comes that way."
Before Debbie could say anything, Stella had left the room.
Debbie sat there, awed by what was happening to her, unsure of herself, more confused and bewildered than she had ever been in her life.
This can't be happening to me, she thought. I'm not a nut ... I'm a normally sane person. I don't belong here! I don't!
CHAPTER TWO
Peter Larison finished dictating the letter to his secretary, leaned back in his swivel chair, and stared at the ceiling. He was thinking of the argument he had had with his wife earlier that morning, the strident sound of her voice following him as he left the house. He silently cursed her, regretting the day he had met her, wishing that he had had better sense than to have married her in the first goddamn place. Sure, she was a damned good piece of ass, an almost perfect fuck, but that was about all she was good for; and even that was beginning to pall a bit. There wasn't the urgency within him that there had been before. He knew what he needed....
He glanced over at his secretary, Elinor Skys. Elinor had her head bent over her shorthand notebook, intently going over the letter he had just dictated. She was young and lovely and bountifully stacked in all the right places, the way a young, pretty girl should be stacked. She rose to her feet now, wearing a trim gray skirt that clung to her thighs and buttocks, almost revealing the warm crevice there, and a short-sleeved white sweater tucked in at the waist to reveal the ripe, curving abundance of her pointing breasts. A pleasing smile was on her wide red mouth as she looked down at him.
"Is that all, Mister Larison?"
He hesitated for a moment, letting his mind run through the possibilities there could be with her. She wasn't married, yet she was always aloof and distant around the office, adopting the same sterile attitude of most of the nurses around the hospital. She looked as if she were in a constant state of sexual excitement, but then many young girls looked that way in this day and age. She had been his secretary for the past three months and there had been many times, like the present, when he had considered making an approach to her, to see if she would be willing to play a few sex games. But he was the public relations director for the hospital and he was fully aware of the risks he would be taking in getting involved with a hospital employee.
"I guess so, Elinor," he finally said.
"I'll get this letter out first thing."
"Fine." He hesitated, building a temple of his fingers, sighting at her over the tips. Her skirt was short, and most of her slender thighs were exposed. He liked her thighs, so smooth, so kissable-looking. "Are you happy here, Elinor? I mean, do you like the job?"
"It's ... interesting. I've never worked around a hospital before."
"What do you do in your, uh, spare time, Elinor?"
Her smile was small and distant. "I find many things to do, Mister Larison."
"I'm sure you do, but...."
"I hate to interrupt, Mister Larison, but you're supposed to meet that reporter from the paper at eleven this morning, and Mrs. Parker is still waiting in the outer office. She realizes it's inconvenient, just dropping in on you like this, but she seemed to think it very important that she see you this morning."
He sighed deeply, swiveling around in the chair, trying not to show his annoyance. He had been gently but firmly rebuffed with his initial approach to Elinor. Well, perhaps there would be another time....
"All right, Elinor," he said without looking around, "you can show Mrs. Parker in now."
Peter stared out the window at the new wing being built. The workmen looked like so many tiny ants climbing around the new frames. He searched through his mind, remembering that he had met Virginia Parker one time,: and that one time had been more than enough. She was the wife of some big banker in the city who had managed to get herself appointed to the Board of Directors of the hospital. She spelled trouble, pure and simple. He had her pegged as one of those nosy do-gooders who would try to involve herself in as many activities as possible. True, she was luscious, stacked with a sweet pair of boobs and a nice, swelling ass on her, and she always looked like a million dollars. But she was still trouble.
He rose and turned to face her as he heard the door closing. She had come part way into his office, smiling hesitantly, a kind of curious, questioning expression on her beautiful face.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important," she said in a softly modulated voice.
"Not at all, Mrs. Parker," he said quickly.
She was wearing a severely tailored blue suit, white gloves, a big white hat, and had a string of pearls around her neck. He took her by the arm, guiding her to a chair beside his desk, and then perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at her. She crossed her legs and he couldn't help but notice the trim lines of her calves and delicate ankles. She was still in her early twenties and he knew that she had married a man at least twice her age.
"Actually, Mister Larison...."
"Peter will do quite well, thank you."
Her eyes as she looked up at him were deep and probing, with a hint of humor in them. "All right, Peter," she went on. "The purpose of my visit this morning is to forewarn you about the reporter you are seeing. He's been known to dig deep, possibly too deep. At the Board meeting yesterday, this subject came up and we were all concerned as to the proper image we want to give the general public."
"I don't think there's any reason to be concerned, Mrs. Parker," Peter said. "I've handled reporters like this before."
"My understanding is that Mister Gannon is not just an ordinary reporter."
"Please, Mrs. Parker, don't worry about it. Gannon is an old friend of mine."
"It isn't that we have anything to conceal, of course." She smoothed her skirt over her thighs, looking up at him from the deep depths of her green eyes. "It's just that we have to be very careful."
"I realize that, Mrs. Parker."
Her skirt slipped above her knee. He couldn't keep his eyes from those slender, luscious thighs. A faint drum of warning began beating in his temples, yet he couldn't keep his thoughts from sizing up the possibilities with this beautiful woman. She could be lonely, what with being married to such an older man ... she could be in need of a decent fuck. He closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing her without her clothing, seeing her in his minds eye wonderfully naked, with those perfect breasts standing out, and the sweet tangle of her pussy hair at the junction of her thighs. What in the hell was wrong with him this morning? It seemed that he was looking at every woman with the possibility of fucking her today. He had to stop that.
Mrs. Parker rose to her feet. "Well, I won't keep you any longer, Peter. We on the Board wanted to make sure that you understood our position."
"Of course, Mrs. Parker."
She extended her right hand. He took her hand, gripping it warmly. There was strength in her grip.
"You're a ... beautiful woman, Mrs. Parker."
Her mouth widened in a pleased smile. Her lips were very full, slightly moist, with a slash of pale red lipstick. "You're very nice to say so, Peter."
He hesitated, unsure of himself. He glanced at the door, thinking what a fool he could be making of himself. If he made the wrong advance at a time like this, all sorts of hell could bust loose. Yet, the beginning desire was building for him, forcing him on. He could even feel his prick stirring underneath his pants.
She solved his immediate problem for him by moving up against him, putting her arms around behind his neck, pulling his face to hers. The kiss was long and sweet and delicious and then her tongue was running along the edges of his lips, driving him almost wild with wanton desire. His cock surged, swelled into almost full hardness.
"Good God!" he murmured.
She opened her mouth all the way. She moved her body against his, pressing breasts and pelvis up at him, playfully at first, and then with more meaning, bringing him to full erection, an erection she could plainly feel probing her pubic area. He gripped her harshly, knowing only that this beautiful woman was close to him.
And then she backed away, breathing heavily, those two sloping breasts heaving up and down.
"Virginia," he said, and reached for her again.
"No," she said, twisting away from him. There was a bright glare in her green eyes now. "This is foolish, Peter. Some other time, some other place ... but not here."
Peter could think only of how hard his dick was, of how much he wanted to fuck her. He moved to her once again, and this time she did not attempt to pull away. Her mouth met his longingly, passionately. He ran his hands along the smooth outline of her sweetly swelling bottom, felt the pressure of her body pressing against his, her hips squirming slightly at his bulging cock. Even now, even fully dressed, he had never wanted to fuck any woman quite so much. He backed her toward the couch against one wall, not giving a damn whether or not anyone walked in on them.
They fell side by side onto the couch, their mouths never parting, their tongues probing, lips sucking. He ran one hand up beneath her skirt, touching the burning texture of her flesh, driving himself even wilder with excruciating desire.
Virginia pulled back her head, whispering to herself, shaking her head from side to side. "This is pure insanity ... sheer madness," she managed to say. "We can't do it here, can't screw in this office. What if your secretary walked in right now?"
"Piss on her!"
"No, Peter ... please, not now."
"But I can't wait ... I'll come in my goddamn pants!"
"But you must wait, darling!"
His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her suit jacket. She lay her head against the back of the couch, her eyes slitted, smoldering. He unbuttoned her jacket down the front, discovering a frilly white blouse beneath the jacket. He could see the sweetly rounded mounds of her breasts through the semi-translucent garment. He caught his breath as he discovered that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her rosy-tipped nipples were hard and thrusting against the thin fabric. Peter almost ripped the blouse down the middle, so anxious was he to get at those luscious breasts of hers. He fumbled with the buttons, and her breasts leaped into freedom, huge and tip-tilted, widely-spaced, the skin creamy and warm to his touch.
"Kiss them, baby!" Virginia whispered urgently, arching her back to make her breasts stand out even more. "Oh ... please! Kiss my tits ... suck my nipples! Please ... please!"
Peter bent his mouth to one hardened nipple, caught it with his teeth, holding her there for a moment before he swept his lips across the whole of her swelling breasts. Then he began to suck on her nipple, creating terrrific suction that made her whimper in steaming desire. Virginia made soft, pleasure noises low in her throat, arching her back further to feed more of her breast to his devouring mouth, her hands holding his head down tightly.
"Good, baby!" she whispered huskily. "Ahhh ... that's good! Oh, my ... you certainly know how to suck a girl's tits, don't you! Harder ... suck my nipple harder! Bite it ... chew on it...."
Peter buried his head against her breasts, feeling the touch of her naked flesh against her cheeks. His hand was working further underneath her skirt, sliding along the nylon, then above to the warm flesh ... searching ... finding ... caressing. He cupped his fingers about her vagina, feeling the heat through her silken panties. Virginia rolled her head along the back of the couch, biting down on her lower lip with her teeth, whimpering to herself, then begging him to go on, to slide his hand inside her panties and stick his finger into her there, pleading with him to never stop sucking on her breasts, her voice urgent and demanding.
"Suck them, darling," she hissed. "Put your hand under my panties ... feel my pussy ... finger fuck my pussy ... Ohhhh, it's wonderful!"
Peter continued kissing and sucking at her breasts and working his hand around her crotch, conscious of the feverish pitch of his own almost bursting desire. Nothing could hold him back now-nothing. He lifted his lips from her naked breasts, ran his lips along hers. They held that way for a long while, losing themselves in their mutual passions, unmindful of where they were, unmindful of any consequences.
"I've got to have you in me, Peter!" Virginia said in a throaty voice. "I don't give a damn about anything else! Do you understand me, Peter? Take me and fuck me! Fuck me anyway you want ... do with me as you wish. Oh, Peter, darling ... please fuck me right now!"
He moved to stand above her, watching in urgent silence as she slipped her skirt off. She was wearing only a panty girdle and silken nylons and the urgency was there in those green, smoldering eyes as she looked at him, pleading with him, her right hand cupping and fondling her hair-lined vagina without shame or embarrassment. Then she reached for him, undoing his belt, pulling his pants and shorts down. His cock stood strong and dripping from the bush of hair, and she reached out, touched it tentatively, then wrapped her fingers about it, stroking firmly and heatedly. She masturbated him only for a few moments, however. Sitting now on the couch, with just her nylons and panty girdle on, her blouse hanging open, she leaned forward and pressed her lips onto the tip of his drooling penis, kissing the sensitive head, unmindful of the sticky fluids collecting there. He looked down at her, saw her lips open wide, and then she sucked well over half of his prick into her warm, wet mouth. Her lips gripped the shaft of his dick, gliding smoothly and wetly back and forth, her tongue darting and flicking, licking at the head and tasting his juices. Soft moans of delight rippled up from her filled mouth, and her eyes gazed up at him with an almost glassy expression as she sucked on his dick.
The touch of her lips around his cock, the way she ran her tongue over the head, tickling the small, dripping slit with the tip of it, it all drove him to the very point of gushing down her throat, but he held it back with a tremendous effort. She was so good, so wonderful at sucking cock, so much more than anything he had ever experienced before-better than any girl he ever knew before. Virginia Parker was artful and knowing in the way she went about fellating him as he stood there before her, seemingly frozen to the spot, watching her stretched lips slide up and down his throbbing cock, her pretty face bobbing in pleasure. It was so good he was almost unable to comprehend anything but the pure joy of her mouth on him, of what was happening to him. He was climbing the high crest of that final moment just before ejaculation when she ceased sucking him. She drew her lips from his dick with a moist sound, grinned wickedly at him, patted his dangling balls, then lay back on the couch. She lifted her hips and removed the panty girdle and her nylons quickly, all in one swift motion.
"Fuck me, baby," she said in a whispered, urgent voice. "Please! Let's get that big cock up my cunt and ride the waves together! Now, Peter! Goddamn you, fuck me now!"
Virginia was already rocking her open crotch up and down as though he were already in her. He could see the pink lips of her vagina, the swelling throb of her excited clitoris peeking from the moist folds, all surrounded by soft, curling hair. He crawled between her wide open thighs, and she gripped his cock in one hand, guiding him to her waiting vagina. Peter plunged into her, and began pumping up and down, meeting the upthrust of her crotch with downward motions of his own, feeling his testicles slap gently at her upraised buttocks. It was like nothing that had ever happened before. It was a whole new awakening, a flashing of myriad colors before his eyes, a bursting pain of passion within his brain.
It was quick from the beginning.
They matched each other perfectly in their animal-like rhythm, punishing each other in their need, demanding more and more from each other, until Peter thought his head was going to fly off his shoulders then and there. The passion began, rose to a heightened explosion....
His dick swelled, lurched, then he gushed copiously into her convulsing vagina, filling her spasming twat with the thick juices boiling from his aching testicles. He could feel her pussy tightening around his driving dick, clutching and milking him....
Virginia screamed once.
He felt as though someone had swatted him viciously across the naked, pumping ass-cheeks.
One moment, he was high and lofty; the next moment, he was lying tired and breathless.
"That was wonderful, so good, my darling," Virginia whispered into his ear. "Such a wonderful fuck."
"Baby," was all he could say before he kissed her one final time on her moist lips.
Elinor softly closed the door, feeling weak and faint from the scene she had just witnessed. She had never seen anything like that before in her life. She had been unable to stop herself from watching them; something seemed to have frozen her to the floor, forcing her to keep her eyes on their heaving bodies, forcing her to watch those two in there.
She leaned back against the wall now, fighting the emotion sweeping through her. She tried not to think of how their faces had looked, tried not to remember the sweet anguish that had been so plainly clear to her, so plainly clear on Mrs. Parker's face. Elinor shook her head from side to side and moved away from the wall on unsteady legs. She had never felt like this before; there was a warm flush spreading all over her, and she could feel the moisture of her panties as she moved. She touched her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, feeling the flush there. That had been ... what?
She couldn't shake the image from her mind. She wished that she hadn't seen them. She wished so many things. She stumbled almost blindly across the small room and sat down in the chair behind the desk, resting her elbows on top of it. Her office was small and cramped. There were her desk and chair, three huge filing cabinets stuffed against one wall, and a matching chair and couch in a soft shade of blue leather on the other wall. She stared now at the couch, wondering what that had been like for Mrs. Parker, wondering what that had been like to have a man stick such an enormously thick thing into your body between the legs, to let a man fuck you....
Why am I this way? she asked herself. Why?
She was twenty-two years old, intelligent and beautiful, yet never had she been able to bring herself to do that with a man. There had been many opportunities, of course, but always she had backed away from it, backed away at the last moment. She had seen Mrs. Parker sucking on the cock of her boss, and she remembered the time she had come very close to doing the same thing. That was the story of her life: almost. She wondered how long she could protect her virginity. And why was she saving herself? What good was that doing her? Would she be considered no longer a virgin if she sucked a man's cock the way she had seen Mrs. Parker doing to Mister Larison? Elinor didn't know.
She sighed, knowing that she would go home this night and lie in her lonely bed and remember what she had seen this morning. The inevitable would then happen, as that always did when she thought about men ... and that thing hanging between their legs. She always hated herself afterward, but she couldn't stop herself from fingering and feeling between her thighs, from enjoying that shuddering relief....
She looked up suddenly as the door to Mister Larison's office opened and Mrs. Parker came out. Elinor noticed there was a definite glow of self-satisfaction in the woman's face as she walked unhurriedly by Elinor's desk.
"Was everything ... all right, Mrs. Parker?" She hadn't been able to stop herself from asking the question.
The older woman stopped, turning slowly to look into Elinor's pretty face. "Quite satisfactory, thank you."
"I hope Mister Larison won't be late for his appointment with the reporter."
"I'm sure neither of them will mind."
Elinor sat stiffly, watching the other woman open the outer door and disappear into the corridor. A jealousy began spreading throughout her body. Goddamn her, she thought. Goddamn her smug self-satisfaction.
She turned to her typewriter with busy fingers, forcing herself to keep her mind blank, forcing herself not to think about anything but her work, and especially not to think about Mister Larison's huge penis sliding in and out of Mrs. Parker's mouth.
But it was a useless task, as she well knew. She looked up as Peter Larison came hurriedly through, barely nodding as he went quickly through the door. She felt alone and useless now, and she wished that she could become more a part of life and not just be an outside observer, masturbating nightly....
CHAPTER THREE
Debbie had no idea how long she had been sitting there, unmoving, unthinking, but she suddenly realized that the only way out of her present predicament was to face it squarely, meet the situations as they arose.
She got to her feet, feeling the stomach-clutching nausea sweep through her, fighting it, gaining control over it. She walked unsteadily out into the corridor, pausing there. She heard a woman's shrill laughter coming from the end of the hallway. She couldn't remember this corridor from before. Nothing seemed familiar to her. She stood for a moment in indecision, glancing up and down the corridor. She could hear the sounds of people moving around, the high whine of a vacuum cleaner somewhere in the distance.
But she could see no one.
She walked along until she came to Room Three. This door, like all the others along the corridor that she could see, was open. She smelled the odor of a cigarette and, hesitantly, entered the room. It was long and narrow, like her own room, but used as an office. A woman of about thirty sat behind a desk before the windows at the far end, writing something on a desk pad. There were two leather chairs spaced neatly before the desk, two oil paintings-blobs of mixed colors and designs-on opposite walls.
"Come right in, Mrs. Nieman," the woman said in a husky voice. "I'll be with you in just a moment."
Debbie clutched her robe more tightly around her body, moving to one of the chairs, sitting down. Miss Palmer stubbed out a cigarette in a huge ceramic ash tray, finished her writing and looked up brightly, expectantly. She was not an unattractive woman, yet there was something about her that seemed completely repulsive to Debbie. Her face was broad, yet not fat, and, individually, the features were fine; but, putting them all together, looking at them as a whole, gave Debbie an eerie sensation of unreality, as though Miss Palmer had been stuck together by some master craftsman who had, at the last moment, forgotten some minute detail in the finished product.
Miss Palmer rose from behind the desk, adjusted the slant of the Venetian blinds carefully, then turned to stare at Debbie. She wore a tweed skirt of some indefinite rust color, a wide leather belt with a Mexican design on it, and a heavy, rose-colored sweater which could not hide the abundance of her magnificent breasts. She was rather thin-hipped and long-legged, giving the definite impression of a smooth-moving athlete.
She sat down again, placing a yellow writing tablet on the desk before her. "You won't mind if I take notes while we talk, will you?" She didn't seem to expect an answer. "We, of course, got a great deal of information from your husband when you were admitted, but we do like to have an initial contact with the patient whenever possible."
"What do you expect from me?"
"Anything ... everything."
"Such as what?"
"Well ... why do you think you're here?"
"I don't know."
Miss Palmer's smile was slight. "Oh, come now, Mrs. Nieman. You signed a release when you were admitted here. There is a law in this state that says no one can be admitted to the psychiatric ward of any hospital without that person's consent. You must have some idea of why you wanted to come here."
"I didn't want to come here."
"Then why are you here?"
"I don't know. I really don't know."
"Mrs. Nieman," the woman said patiently, the way one might speak to a misguided child, "we will need your full cooperation if anything of a positive nature is to happen during your stay here. You are an intelligent human being. You must understand this."
"Of course."
Miss Palmer leaned back in her chair, sighing deeply. Her glance stole to a small electric clock on the desk, then settled on Debbie once again. Debbie felt as if she, Debbie, were intruding into some private sanctuary, as if she had no right to be taking Miss Palmer's valuable time in this manner. Doctor Brake had made her feel the same way. They've both put me on the defensive, Debbie thought, and, if they were any good at their jobs, they wouldn't have done that. For the first time, Debbie began wondering about the competency of the people in whose hands she had placed her life.
Debbie let the silence build up, and then she finally broke it by saying: "My husband and I haven't been getting along too well."
"Is that why you feel the way you do?"
"I suppose so."
"Don't you ... trust him?"
"I ... well, yes."
"But not fully ... is that it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Are you happy with him?"
Debbie paused for a moment before answering. "I was."
"But you're not now?"
"No," she whispered.
"Is there another man?"
"Miss Palmer, I don't...."
"Is there?"
"Of course not!"
"He thinks there is."
"Did he say that?" Debbie's eyes widened. "Yes, he did."
Debbie relaxed in the chair, but she was seething inside. Damn him for blabbing everything to this silly, cold woman! What right had he to say such things? No matter who she was or what she represented, Miss Palmer was still a total stranger ... and a woman. Unconsciously, Debbie moved slightly in the chair, her robe parting a little above her waist as she did so. Looking up, she caught Miss Palmer staring at her curiously. The woman compressed her full lips before taking her eyes from Debbie.
"He's always ... been jealous," Debbie said, eyeing Miss Palmer with caution now. What was it that Stella had said about her? She searched her memory.
"Violently so?" Miss Palmer asked.
"In a way, yes."
"But there is no other man?"
"I said there wasn't, didn't I?" Debbie retorted harshly.
"Why should your husband think there was?"
"I haven't the slightest idea why he thinks anything."
"There must be some reason for his thinking so."
Debbie remained silent.
Miss Palmer lit a cigarette. Debbie noted that her fingers were trembling just a little.
"Are you and he ... well adjusted?" The question was softly, innocently put.
"I don't know what that means," Debbie answered.
"Come, come, Mrs. Nieman," Miss Palmer said, leaning forward, tapping the pen against the desk, "you're an educated woman, obviously intelligent. You've read all the books. You know what I'm getting at. You can't put love-or sex-in the corner and then ignore it. Does the subject of sex and love bother you?"
"Yes."
"Why should it?"
"I don't feel like talking about that with you, that's all."
"Because I'm a woman?"
"No, because that's none of your damned business!"
"Mrs. Nieman ... Debbie, if you will allow me ... we have to have everything out in the open here. We have to get into the furthest corners of your mind, find out the reasons for things, the whys." She paused, almost dramatically, almost as though she had rehearsed this particular little speech many, many times and it was a vital part of her presentation. "All right," she went on casually, "we'll leave this at that. I'll put down that you are embarrassed by the subject of love and sex and that...."
"I am not embarrassed by that!"
"Then why can't you talk about that?"
"I...." Debbie hesitated; she was so unsure of herself, as though she were groping around in the dark, looking for the right door to open. " ... I don't see what that has to do with my present ... situation."
"That might have everything to do with it." Again, the near-dramatic pause, and then: "Your husband doesn't think you're happy with him. He thinks you withdraw from him."
"I ... I do."
"Why?"
"I wish I knew."
"Do you find him repulsive?"
"Of course not!"
"Then the sexual aspect itself?"
"I don't know!"
"I see," Miss Palmer said, smiling brightly.
There was a stilted silence between them. Debbie sat quite still, almost afraid to move, or even breath. She knew that Miss Palmer was staring at her. There was something about this woman, something that was different-what was it?
Miss Palmer slowly rose and came around from behind her desk. She came around behind Debbie, placing her hands on Debbie's shoulders, bending low to whisper into Debbie's ear, "That's all right, Debbie ... that's all right."
"What's all right?"
There was no answer. The woman's palms began slowly massaging Debbie's shoulders, moving the flesh gently, soothingly. Debbie felt herself relaxing, relaxing against her own wishes. Perhaps this was part of the therapy ... perhaps many things. She only knew that she enjoyed the woman's hands there; they were soothing her frayed nerves.
"Does he ... hurt you, Debbie?"
"Yes."
"A man can be cruel and vicious at times like that."
"He's so vicious ... he wants so much."
"He forces you in sex, doesn't he?"
"Yes, but-...."
"But what?"
"I don't know-nothing."
"Relax, Debbie. Just ... relax."
Debbie put her head back, letting her muscles go limp. She was aware that the woman's hands were moving down, reaching beneath her robe. For a brief moment, fear seemed to touch her, and then just as quickly left. Miss Palmer was bending over, letting her hands go further and further under Debbie's robe. Debbie felt the first touch of the long fingers against her naked breasts, the twanging thrust of her pink nipples as the thumbs and forefingers closed themselves around them, tweaking gently but firmly. Miss Palmer was playing with her breasts, feeling them ... slowly ... tantalizingly ... teasingly ... drawing them to full, rigid life. That wasn't the way Don had treated her breasts ... not in the least.
Debbie sighed and looked up and saw the stark look of exposed lust on the other woman's face. Miss Palmer's mouth was open, her eyes brightly gleaming.
"This is better, isn't it, Debbie?"
"I don't ... oh, please, don't do that. Stop."
"Don't you like the way I fondle your breasts, Debbie? Don't you enjoy the soft feel of my fingers on them? Why, your nipples are standing up so lovely and hard. Surely you like what I'm doing to them."
Debbie shook her head.
"Isn't this better than when your husband feels of them? Aren't my hands softer ... Gentler? Don't you like the way I play with your breasts?"
"Please ... no."
Debbie didn't know what was happening to her. There was a bubbling little fire slowly kindling somewhere inside her body, a fire that she couldn't understand. She could not deny the fact that she was enjoying Miss Palmer's hands on her breasts, cupping and squeezing ever so gently, lovingly. They were so warm; they spread a heat over her entire body, a warmth she had never known before.
The woman's face came down, her lips slightly parted and moist. Debbie tried to avert her head, but couldn't seem to move. Before she knew what was happening, Miss Palmer's mouth had closed to her own. Her lips were sweet and gentle and soft, driving tiny needles of alarm throughout Debbie's brain. Stop, she kept saying to herself. Stop it right now! Stop this immediately! This is madness ... insane ... wrong! I can't let it continue!
Miss Palmer's mouth traced a route along the edges of Debbie's lips, and then Debbie jerked her head away, saying hoarsely: "No! I can't ... I can't let you do this! No!"
Miss Palmer straightened upright, pulling her hands from the folds of Debbie's robe, leaving her breasts with a tingling sensation there. "As you wish, Debbie," she said.. "You will agree ... in time. I know. I've seen too many girls like you not to know the signs."
"What are you talking about?"
Miss Palmer shook her head, helping Debbie to her feet. "Not now, Debbie. We've talked enough for this session. You go on back to your room and get some rest."
"But I...."
"Just do as I say."
Numbly, Debbie nodded. She walked out of the room on stiff legs, more unsure of herself than she had ever been, completely bewildered now....
Cynthia Palmer watched Debbie walking away, fighting to gain control of herself and her emotions. Every fiber in her body was screaming with her need. She closed her eyes, remembering the firm feel of Debbie's sweet, rounded breasts beneath her hands. She could almost still feel them, the hard little nipples burning at her palms. At another time, just one more moment ... she shuddered at the thought. She could have Debbie this time; the young, beautiful wife could have been hers, if only given a little more time.
There are so few of us, she thought, so few of us who really get to know the true meaning of sexual desire.
She turned, and went back to her desk, tried not to think of Debbie, the luscious curves of the younger woman's body, of those delicious breasts, so firm and round, of the sleek thighs and especially of that hair-rimmed pussy hiding behind the robe. That, Cynthia Palmer thought, would be such a tasty morsel. Cynthia was nervous and jumpy now, almost beside herself with desire; even her panties were moist at the crotch. She had to learn to control herself, consider her position here at the hospital. If someone like Debbie ever told ... there was no telling how much trouble she, Cynthia, would have to face.
She turned around suddenly, unable to contain herself any longer, driven by the fury rippling through her in hot waves. She walked out of the room, turned right into the corridor. There was a reception desk at the right and two women were sitting there, idly talking, as she went by. The door at the end of the corridor separated the psychiatric ward from the rest of the hospital. Cynthia opened this, and walked through the large waiting room on the other side, barely conscious of the people waiting there. She had only one thing on her mind.
There were two women in the small cubbyhole which served as a reception desk for this part of the hospital. One of them, aged and graying, was leaning across the partition, idly talking to a tall man in sports clothes. Cynthia paused by the opened door, looking inside. The tall, thin young black girl sitting behind a typewriter looked up at her, smiled her secret kind of smile, and nodded her head.
"Miss Dickens," Cynthia said, managing to keep her voice under control. "May I see you for a moment?"
The young black girl nodded and rose to her feet, coming through the door. Cynthia took her arm and led her further down the corridor, around a corner. Sunlight streamed through an opened window. The morning traffic of the city sent its blatant noise into the hospital from the busy street outside.
"Sweetie, I've got to...." Cynthia started.
"I understand, honey bunch," the young black girl replied. "Doctor Ender's room will be vacant.
Cynthia heaved a sigh of relief. The burning desires were flooding through her body with pulse-pounding fury, engulfing her, pushing her onward. They walked side by side until they came to a series of doors on the left-hand side. The young black girl opened one of the doors and stepped into a small office; Cynthia followed her.
Immediately, Cynthia swept the other woman up in her arms, bringing her close to her, feeling her breasts press against her own, her lips meeting, clinging to the black girl's mouth hungrily, almost viciously. The black girl murmured low in her throat, moving her hips against Cynthia, grinding together.
"Lorrie, oh, baby," Cynthia whispered urgently. "I can't stand this. Please, Lorrie ... please!"
Lorrie Dickens was tall and thin, built like a, grayhound, an eager intensity in her every look. She was much younger than Cynthia Palmer, yet there was an aged wisdom about her that the other woman would never have. Now, she calmly pushed Cynthia away, holding her at arm's length for a moment, looking into her eyes steadily.
"Are you all that hot, Cyn?" she asked.
"Worse, baby ... oh, so much worse!"
"What happened? You didn't...."
Cynthia shook her head. "I don't know, Lorrie. I was interviewing a young wife. She was beautiful and ... and ... I couldn't keep my hands off her. She had such lovely breasts. I simply wanted her."
"You wanted to lick her pussy? You can't do that, Cyn ... that will cause trouble."
"I know. Oh God ... how I know!"
Lorrie went to the door, locking it, then turned to face the other woman. The young black girl was wearing a pale yellow sheath dress that clung to the firm lines of her sleek body, and she had a matching pale yellow band through the front part of her hair.
"All right, Cyn," she said slowly and throatily. "All right."
Cynthia gasped with her bubbling excitement. She had never been quite so urgent for sexual release before. She didn't know what had happened to her; usually she could control herself in such circumstances. But not this morning, not with the lovely Debbie. Debbie Nieman's naked breasts in her hands had driven her wild, had sent her blood to pumping so feverishly, she had come dangerously close to experiencing an orgasm while she fondled those beautiful mounds.
Now, she watched in rapt silence as Lorrie slipped out of her yellow dress, neatly folding the sheath and placing it on the back of a chair. She wore pink panties and matching bra, which seemed to set off the light brown of her skin to perfection.
"You finish unwrapping the goodies, darling," Lorrie murmured, licking her tongue across her lips in anticipation.
Cynthia went quickly to the taller woman, her fingers quick and nervous. She undid Lorrie's bra, tossing it to one side. She bent her mouth to the naked brown breasts, touching the nipple of one to her moist kiss, knowing the ripe urgency was growing and swelling. They stood like that for a long moment, Lorrie's hands busy themselves with the task of undressing Cynthia as the psychiatric social worker sucked avidly on her nipples. Finally, Cynthia pulled her mouth away, stepped back, ripping away the last of her own undergarments, knowing that she couldn't wait any longer, not caring about anything other than the satisfaction that would be hers.
Their naked bodies clung to each other, their hips pressing and writhing, pubic hair mingling. Their mouths met passionately, hungrily, demanding, Lorrie's quick surge of lust taking command. They turned and, with each holding onto the buttocks of the other, walked to the couch against one wall.
Cynthia lay down, twisted with the agony of her rampant desire. The black girl began stroking Cynthia's legs with the tips of her fingers, moving slowly ... purposefully ... teasingly ... and then she bent her lips to the thighs, her tongue fluttering as she kissed and licked, driving Cynthia wild with her already overwhelming need.
"Oh!" Cynthia cried. "Please!"
Lorrie's lips moved across the quivering waist, moved up to the full breasts, the nipples hardened with passion. Cynthia rolled her head on the couch, enjoying the warm rapture as Lorrie nibbled and sucked at her nipples. The sensations passed over her body, causing her to shiver, wave after wave of them. Lorrie was so expert, so knowing in everything to please a woman. Cynthia simply gave herself up to the joy of being suckled and felt by this lovely brown girl.
And then, Lorrie's dark face, her eyes bright with passion, was looking down into Cynthia's passion-contorted one. Lorrie said: "I love you, my darling. I'll always love you."
"Always and always?"
"Oh, Lorrie. You've given me so much already."
"Is it bad for you? Is it time now, darling? Right now?"
"Please, please!" Cynthia sobbed, squirming her naked buttocks against the couch. "Oh ... do it for me now! Kiss it, darling! Kiss my pussy!"
Lorrie's lips touched her own, quickly, efficiently, driving the want higher and higher, beyond the point of no return.
And then the brown body was moving and the superbly wonderful sensation of touching and feeling and kissing was a part of them both. Lorrie twisted about on the couch, her feet toward Cynthia's head, and her soft hands played up and down the white thighs before her face, moved around and squeezed the full bottom. Cynthia lifted one leg, placing it over Lorrie's head, and closed her hairy-rimmed, thoroughly soaked pussy into the willing face of the black girl.
And as Lorrie began to kiss and lick at the moist slit, her hands gripping each cheek of Cynthia's bottom tightly, Cynthia moaned and jammed her face hard into the crotch of the young black girl, her tongue diving deeply into the steaming snatch, plunging in and out. Cynthia gripped Lorrie's buttocks tightly, pulling and pressing on the cheeks, her eyes glassy, but seeing the filmy pucker of Lorrie's anus wink at her. She welcomed the banging, slamming blows Lorrie was making into her face with the crinkly-haired pussy, and she sucked and licked passionately, trying to draw the face of Lorrie harder into her own crotch.
The two women gave themselves to the thrilling joy of their twisted love.
Soft, moist, slurping sounds bubbled up from squirming crotches, hands fondled and felt, and tongues licked in liquid delight. They writhed their hips against the sucking faces, each lost in their individual world of lesbian need. Cynthia felt Lorrie's finger brushing along her anus, and welcomed the intrusion as it slowly entered her there, working in and out like a tiny penis, working in conjunction with the dipping tongue, and her mind reeled with the exquisite delights she was receiving, and she strived mightily to give the same delight to the black girl. Both women murmured and whimpered, moaned and cooed as their passion grew.
That was, as always, the pure end for Cynthia, the end and the beginning and the everything.
Her emotions and her senses went from one extreme to another, scaling the dizzying heights. The frenzy of lust had grabbed her, and it forced her on and on and on.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ray Gannon stood quietly in the waiting room, conscious of the unreal hospital quietness all about him. There seemed to be an odor, too, an odor of waiting and of sickness and of disease, and that odd, faintly familiar scent of impending death. There was something about hospitals in general that had always bothered Ray Gannon, a man who was not bothered much about life as a rule. Now, he was trying to keep his mind free from any prejudices directed toward hospitals, keep his mind free of any one thing that could keep his reporter's objectivity from maintaining control of the situation.
He was a tall, ruggedly built man, with a craggy face and deep-set eyes that looked out on the world with a kind of humorous disdain. He was in his early thirties, old enough to have been involved in a conflict of combat no one in the country wanted, and to have judged himself against the harsher realities of violence and death, old enough to have travelled throughout the world and see with his own eyes what the world had to offer a man like himself. He was also old enough to have formed a definite opinion of himself, an opinion which often disgusted him and thwarted him, yet an opinion which in all honesty he could not deny.
This opinion was that he was born to be a bystander, a person not caught up in the emotions and struggles of the majority of humanity. Most times, he didn't care what happened, and this simple fact bothered him. He knew he should care.
He wore a brown suit, white shirt with button-down collar and a wide brown tie.
He heard the ringing of a telephone somewhere close by, the sonorous tones of a sexless voice calling over the intercom for Doctor such-and-such to report to Ward A immediately, the quiet shuffling of slippered feet along the corridor to his left.
He grimaced inwardly, lighting his second cigarette within the past five minutes, staring at the clean gray wall opposite him, wishing-as he had done so often in the past day or so-that he had not let the old man talk him into this assignment. He knew almost nothing about psychiatry, and he didn't like to write about things of which he knew so little. "It won't kill you," the old man had said. "Get yourself down there and learn a little something."
He heard the sharp clicking of heels to his left and turned to see Peter Larison approaching him, right arm extended, fingers wide and expectant. He took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly.
"Ray," Peter said exuberantly,. "good to see you, boy. When I heard you were on this, I was happy as all hell, believe me."
Ray nodded noncommittally, releasing his hand from Peter's grasp. The hospital's public relations director was one of those bubbling bits of humanity for whom Ray Gannon had nothing but contempt. The two had met a few times at the Press Club during the six months in which Ray had been working in this city, and now Peter was greeting him like he was a long-lost buddy from South East Asia. "I told old man Winston that you were the best writer he had down there," Peter was saying rapidly, "that you were the only one who could do this story any justice at all. I guess he listened to me."
"Yeah ... I guess he did," Ray said.
"Well, what'll it be?"
"I don't even know where to begin."
Peter's smile was only slightly condescending. "That's why I'm here, Ray," he said. "To help you and guide you along the way. I'm sure you know why we're anxious for this series you're going to write. The damned morons running this place-and don't quote me on that, for Christ's sake!-can't see beyond their collective noses. Money, money, that's all they're interested in. Cut expenses here, trim them there, and they're happy as larks."
"So you want a little free publicity so that the great public-the do-gooders-will apply the proper pressures in all the proper places?"
"You get right to the point, don't you?"
"Why not?"
Peter shrugged and waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the question as unimportant.
"I've heard the name Brake mentioned a few times," Ray said casually, watching the other for his reaction.
Peter managed to keep his face blank. "You would."
"I thought he would be a good man to talk to in the beginning."
Peter glanced at his watch. "I suppose that could be managed. He's a busy man. Come on ... I'll check."
Ray grunted to himself, knowing full well that this whole thing had been prearranged, disliking the public relations man even more for pretending that it hadn't been. They walked along through a confusing maze of corridors, Peter keeping up a running commentary, Ray only half listening. I've got to keep an open mind here, he kept telling himself. I can't allow myself the luxury of prejudgment simply because I don't like this guy.
He was vaguely aware of the other man saying something about the new wing being added to the hospital, about the wonders of preventive therapy, and then they were standing before a large door painted pure white. There was a small peephole set at eye level. A black-rimmed card in the middle of the door read: Psychiatric Ward ... all visitors please ring bell.
Peter pressed the buzzer beside the door, smiling at Ray as he did so.
"Is the door locked from the inside?" Ray asked.
Peter shrugged. "I don't know."
The door was opened from the other side. A small, bright-eyed woman in her early twenties greeted them pleasantly. She was wearing a tannish skirt of some rough material and light brown sweater, the sleeves shoved up to her elbows.
"Is Doctor Brake free at the moment, Nancy?"
"He's been expecting you, Mister Larison," the woman replied.
Ray laughed to himself.
They followed the girl down the long corridor, Nancy walked purposefully and proudly, her dark head held high, the exotic tightness of her delightful buttocks evident against the tautness of her skirt. Ray watched the play and ripple of her bottom with appreciation. He noticed her legs were good, too, and there was almost five inches of thigh showing under the hem of the skirt.
Doctor Brake's office was small and cramped, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase on the right wall overflowing with books. A simple gray-topped desk was at the rear of the room, with several leather chairs spaced around. A huge green plant in a ceramic pot almost blocked the entrance into the room itself.
Doctor Brake wasn't there and Nancy turned to the two men apologetically. "He was here just a moment ago," she said. "I'll see if I can locate him."
"That's okay," Peter said quickly. "I'll go look for him. You stay here and fill Ray in on the latest hospital gossip, Nancy."
Ray smiled to himself as the public relations man hurried from the room. He had a feeling that Larison wanted to make sure that Doctor Brake was properly informed before talking to a member of the press.
"I guess Mister Larison forgot to introduce us," Nancy said, ignoring the fact that their names had already been mentioned in passing. "I'm Nancy Stevens."
"Ray Gannon."
"I know. I've read some of your articles. That one on the cannery workers was especially well done." Nancy laughed almost silently. "I should know. I spent my summers during college working at the cannery. It wasn't the most pleasant experience of my life."
Ray offered her a cigarette, which she took, and then he held a match for both of them. He relaxed in one of the leather chairs, idly watching her. She exuded an animal vitality that was difficult to ignore. She had seated herself in a chair next to his and his eyes followed the sweeping curves of her body, the jut of her breasts against the sweater, the narrow waist, the long, smooth thighs.
"What do you do around here?" he asked bluntly.
"I'm a psychiatric nurse."
"Registered nurse or practical?"
"Registered."
"No white uniform?"
"Of course not," she replied. "Doctor Brake has definite ideas on the subject. None of the nurses-or technicians-in this ward wears a uniform. We try and make our patients feel as though they were at home as much as we possibly can."
"Isn't that sort of beating around the bush?"
Nancy exhaled a column of smoke in his direction, smiling faintly. "We don't think so, Mister Gannon. Most of the people who come to our ward are in desperate need of help. Whatever we can do-regardless of our methods-to help them regain their proper places in society is permissible."
"And not wearing a white uniform helps them?"
"We like to think so."
"But you're not sure?"
She shook her head, not answering him.
Ray leaned forward, looking into her eyes. They were a deep shade of blue, almost purple in their intensity. "I don't mean to subject you to unnecessary grilling," he said, "but I am here to get a story. I would appreciate it if you would be frank with me."
"Mister Gannon, you rather ... well, frighten me."
"I do? Why?"
"I'm not sure." Nancy crossed her legs, giving him a brief glimpse of her upper thighs, and then straightened her skirt to reach almost to her knees. "Perhaps because I really believe that we are doing some good in this ward. Perhaps because I'm afraid that you'll write something to harm us, harm our whole program. You sound like a man who has already made up his mind, has prejudged us, and doesn't like what he sees."
Ray grinned at her. "What time do you get off work?"
"You don't mince words, do you?"
"I consider it a waste of time."
"Five o'clock," she said, and smiled brightly at him.
"Fine ... I'll be waiting for you."
"Are you that sure of me?"
"We'll see."
It was at that moment when Doctor Brake and Larison returned....
CHAPTER FIVE
Stella Snowden stood beyond the waist-high partition, waiting impatiently for the nurse to okay her pass. She was nervous and ill-at-ease, and she couldn't understand why. Doctor Brake had given her permission to leave the hospital every day after lunch for a period of two hours, and now she felt that the nurse was cheating her out of some of that time. She had nothing to do with her time, yet she wanted the full two hours. It was, somehow, very important to her. The past few days she had been walking in the park across the street, just enjoying the outing, just being by herself.
"You're to be back by two forty-five sharp, Mrs. Snowden," the nurse said, finally handing her the pass.
"I'll be on time, don't worry."
"We don't worry, Mrs. Snowden. We have faith in you."
Stella was chuckling to herself as she walked out the door, down the corridor, and then out the outer door. Goddamn them, she thought. All they want to do is make me happy. Why don't they just leave me to hell alone? She thought fleetingly of running away, of leaving the hospital behind, never to return. But something deep within her told her that that would be wrong, much too wrong. She would have to go back.
The sun beat down on her bare head warmly. The afternoon was beginning to become sultry as she cut through the parking lot, following a narrow cinder road toward the rear of the hospital. Gigantic old and twisted oak trees shaded this part of the grounds. There was an occasional bench spotted here and there, and one or two picnic tables. She could see a young intern and a nurse walking along, their heads close, hand-in-hand, oblivious to everything around them. She envied them-those two young people-their attachment to each other. She knew she shouldn't spend the time worrying about herself, about her own problems. Doctor Brake had told her so many times not to dwell too much on her own problems.
Stella thought of her divorced husband, Rich. He was, as far as she was concerned, no good ... a rotten bum. He had wanted nothing but to stick his long dick up her, night after endless night, never worrying whether or not she was achieving the same glorious orgasm he was. She silently damned him, damned all men in general. They were all alike, all of them, just wanting to get at her breasts, just wanting to touch them ... fondle them ... kiss them ... suck on them ... she shook her head, trying to stop herself from thinking such thoughts. There was always Mister Akerman. Strange she didn't even know his first name, couldn't ever remember anyone ever calling him anything but Mister Akerman.
She came to the street at the rear of the hospital, waited patiently for the few cars to pass, then went quickly across the street to the park, as though this was the one place where she could relax.
She followed the narrow pathway, set between shoulder-high hedges, walking slowly now, savoring her aloneness, not wanting it to end.
How long has it been? she asked herself. How long has it been since I've been fucked by a man? Really enjoyed myself with a man? For the life of her, she couldn't remember. There had been no man for her, she knew, since she had divorced her husband some eight months ago. At least eight months. How many lonely nights? How many tearful nights? A warm feeling suddenly began to spread throughout her body, her mind. She stopped her walking, shuddering slightly, then turned off the pathway and pushed her way through the hedges, coming onto a small, grassy knoll shaded by a huge elm tree.
Stella sat down at the base of the tree, leaning her head back against the trunk, closing her eyes, losing herself in her solitude.
She had no idea how long she sat like that, but she was suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. She opened her eyes and saw the man standing there, a few feet in front of her, smoking a cigarette, his veiled eyes watching her warily.
"Hello," she said.
The man flipped his cigarette away, taking a step toward her. He was big and rough-looking, a day-old beard darkening his face. His hair was long and dark, but combed neatly. He wore faded Levis and a rough work shirt, open at the throat, showing a mat of hair on his chest.
"You shouldn't be sitting out here alone," he said, and his voice went with the rest of him, gravelly and deep.
"Oh? Why not?"
"This isn't safe, lady."
"I'm not afraid."
He shook his head, moving to sit on the ground beside her. "I would be, if I was you."
"You're not, though."
"No, I'm not," he said.
"What's your name?" she asked suddenly. What was wrong with her? What was she doing? "Buck," he answered.
"Buck," Stella said, and there was a lingering undertone to her voice. She giggled softly, thinking: Mmmm ... buck rhymes with fuck.
The man laughed deep in his throat. "Lady ... you give a guy ideas."
"Maybe that's what I want to do," her voice came out low and teasing.
She moved closer to him, kicking off her high-heeled shoes as she did so. Suddenly, there was that warmth spreading all over her once more, driving her on. She let her dress slip higher on her thighs, saw him look quickly down at them, then up again into her eyes.
"Baby," he said, "you're really something."
"That's right," she said in a slightly breathless voice. "I'm something."
The man's arm went around her shoulders, pulling her roughly against him. His beard was rough against her cheek as his mouth sought hers, found her lips, punished them cruelly. She felt his teeth smash against hers, the sharp pressure of his lips forcing her mouth open and his tongue inside. Suddenly, Stella wanted to cry out, to scream at him to stop; but something within her prevented that. Instead, she let him continue to kiss her, knew his increasing lust before their mouths parted.
"Baby ... baby...." he whispered hungrily. "Is this for real?"
Stella started to move away, frightened for the moment, wondering what had happened to her. But his arm held her tightly, forcing her to remain beside him. The fear stayed with her, enveloped her strongly.
She said, "No, I...."
"Hey ... what gives?" he asked angrily.
"Nothing. Please...."
"Bull shit, lady, you're too fucking late," he snapped.
Stella couldn't get away from him. He was so strong, holding her tightly against him, his mouth seeking hers again, finding it. One of his hands slipped beneath her dress, touched her naked, smooth thigh flesh. He began stroking her thigh, and at the same time bruising her mouth with his. The wild surge of demons began leaping within her. Suddenly, Stella threw all caution to the wind, thinking how long it had been for her all of those long, lonely nights.
She reached with one hand for his knee. Her hand groped, moving up until she found what she wanted. Her fingers fumbled around the zipper of his Levis, and she tugged it downward. Then, reaching into the open fly, she found his throb-bingly hard prick, pulled it out, and wrapped her fingers tightly about it, fist stroking up and down the thick length. He was like a wild animal, mean and cruel, as he moved his cock against her hand, rubbing it at her bare thigh, his own hand under her skirt, probing at her pulsating pussy.
Stella groaned inwardly.
The man's mouth left hers and then she was free from him for a moment. He moved, and she looked up to see him standing above her, his huge shape blocking out the sunlight, his huge, hard cock jutting from the gape of his fly, head bulbous and inflamed.
"How about that, lady?" he asked huskily. "You like me, honey? You like my big cock?"
"My God! I've never...."
"You want some of my cock, honey? You want me to stick this nice thing up your twat? You just ask for it, lady. Go on ... ask me to fuck you!"
Stella could only stare at his dick.
"Ask me, goddamn you!" he snarled. "I like to hear the women ask me!"
"All right!" she almost screamed at him. "Take me! Let me feel it inside me ... fuck me! Goddamn you, you bastard ... fuck me!"
The man laughed harshly. He bent down and pulled her skirt high above her waist. For one fleeting moment, the fear of letting him touch her breasts ripped through her. She was wearing only a pair of pale green panties, and the man reached for them, pulling them down over her legs, tossing them to one side. He then stepped out of his pants completely, removing his shorts along with them, standing there above her now with only his shirt on, his huge dick sticking out, testicles dangling in pendulous fullness, thick, dark hair surrounding them."
And as she stared at his genitals, the man was looking down between her thighs, seeing the curling triangle of her pubic hair, the slightly moist lips through the silken strands, the dew of her readiness beading them, and the slight pulsation of her vagina.
"You look good, honey," the man said. "Real good. That's a real pretty cunt you have ... nice and pink. I bet it's tight, too. Yeah ... I think you're gonna give me the fuck of my life, honey. We'll make this fuck a real trip, huh? You just lay back and hang onto old Buck and stare at the trees and live. Old Buck will make that snatch feel real nice. That's the way to do it, honey ... live, honey, live!"
Stella continued to stare avidly at his already dripping cock.
"Come on, honey, tell me again," he said, his voice husky. "Tell me how you want me to fuck you!"
"Now! Oh, please ... fuck me now," she whimpered, spreading her thighs wide. "Stick it in my pussy ... fuck me ... fuck me hard! Oh, God ... stretch my goddamn cunt wide ... rip it apart! Fuck me ... fuck my cunt!"
The man stooped before her, carressing his rough hands up her inner thighs and feeling her flesh. Stella's body and mind swelled by the mere touch of this stranger, her pussy vibrating like a taut wire, her clitoris inflamed and twitching. She had never wanted to be fucked so badly before in her life.
"I want you to fuck me, Buck! I want your big cock jammed up my pussy and fucking me. I want you to fuck the shit out of me ... fill my cunt with your come ... make it run out of my goddamn ears!"
"Okay, baby, okay," he answered, his voice harsh with passion. "I'll fuck you right now!"
"Yes!" Stella screamed. "Oh, fuck, yes!"
The man bent over her.
She thought the world was going to end.
The blunt tip of his prick probed between her wide-stretched thighs, and then she felt him enter her. A whimper of pleasure bubbled from her lips as her bottom rose to meet him. His hips pumped up and down, and Stella gurgled happily, her own hips bouncing with him in a matching rhythm of sheer lust.
"Wiggle that naked ass, baby!" he grunted into her ear, exhorting her to go with him on the high tide of passion. "Wiggle your ass ... fuck it, honey! Fuck that cock ... oh, man! What a pussy ... what a hot, hairy cunt! Fuck me, honey ... roll that ass ... Jesus! Ohhhh, what a piece you are, baby! Fuck ... fuck ... fuck...."
Stella moved her hips quickly, wanting to go that way. She wanted the man to fuck her violently and swiftly, but he maintained his own rhythm, slowly and painfully, forcing her to match him. She begged him; she pleaded with him; yet, he kept working up and down in his own way, laughing all the time.
"Faster! God, please ... faster," she urged him, placing her palms on the naked buttocks of the man, pressing hard as she lifted her crotch to take the full, thick length of him into her. "Fuck me faster ... harder ... Ohhhh, wonderful ... terrific ... Mmmmmm, fuck me hard ... fast!"
She had no idea how long it lasted. She was on the high crest of the end, close to the delicious explosion several times, yet never quite reaching the finish. That was like nothing she had ever experienced before. She kept climbing higher and higher, her mind whirling with heated passion, kept begging and pleading with him, asking him to come into her as soon as possible, wanting his semen to gush and fill her vagina with its sticky substance, wanted to feel it squirt into her body.
But the man was heedless of her words.
And then, suddenly, the ferocity of his rhythm increased, and he was pumping faster and faster, driving her out of her mind with the pure, animalistic force of his passion, his prick swelling and jerking deep inside her pussy.
He shuddered all over, moving hard into her crotch one last time, and Stella felt him gushing into her, spurt after powerful spurt.
The pain and the passion mingled, got lost with each other, and a black bubble of desire burst within her mind. She felt herself soar, and she groaned, stifling the scream in her throat as her vagina went into ecstatic convulsions of an overwhelming orgasm.
The man lay beside her on the soft grass, staring up at the sky, his chest heaving up and down with the exhausted effort of his breathing.
"That was ... wonderful," Stella stammered, feeling the wetness of his ejaculation seeping from her vagina.
"Yeah ... I know."
She tried to get to her feet. Her knees were like water, and she was weak. For a brief moment, she imagined that she was going to faint. Everything whirled before her eyes, and then sanity returned and she realized where she was, what she had just done with this never-before-seen man. She tried to straighten her rumpled skirt.
"Tomorrow?" he asked. "Here, the same time?"
"We'll see," she answered.
"You're the best, honey. You're the best piece of ass I've had in a long time. You're one hell of a good fuck."
"Yes," she said simply.
"We should rent us a room, really fuck up a storm," he said. "Take everything off. I bet you can suck a mean cock, right?"
But Stella was walking away and his words were lost to her. She was in a world of her own.
CHAPTER SIX
The mahogany table was long and wide and highly polished. The matching chairs were spaced neatly and precisely on either side of the table, with one chair at either end. The room itself had walls painted a pale blue, with no furniture other than the table and chairs. A large round electric clock was on the wall at the far end, its red second hand sweeping around monotonously.
Debbie Nieman slipped into the room as quietly and unobtrusively as was possible. She had dressed in sweater and skirt and low-heeled shoes, and now she stood in indecision, wondering what she should do next. Doctor Brake sat at the far end of the table, his head bent over some papers on the table before him. Debbie recognized only Miss Palmer and Mister Akerman among the others. Miss Palmer gave her a quick smile of condolence and went back to talking with the woman standing before her. Mister Akerman seemed lost in deep thought.
Debbie took a seat near the head of the table. She tried not to appear conspicuous. She wondered what kind of an episode lay ahead of her, wondered what she was even doing here. The thought kept running through her mind that she didn't really belong here, didn't belong in this place, that this was all some kind of huge, distorted mistake.
Doctor Brake, clearing his throat, looked up from his papers. This seemed to be some kind of signal to the others present, as they immediately chose seats.
Doctor Brake said: "I guess we're all here now." He paused for a moment, and then added: "All except Mrs. Snowden. Miss Palmer, will you check on Mrs. Snowden for us, please. We don't have...."
Just at that moment, the door opened and Stella Snowden entered, hurrying to a seat, a rather guilty expression on her face.
"Mrs. Snowden," Doctor Brake said, a little haughtily, "we must impress upon you the need for promptness in situations like this. A minute wasted is a minute lost."
"I understand, Doctor Brake," Stella said.
"I hope so." He paused again, looked at each face in turn around the table. "We have a new member with us this afternoon," He went on. "Debbie Nieman: Mrs. Nieman."
Debbie felt the blood rising in her face as every eye in the room turned in her direction. She wondered what they could be thinking about her. She felt like a specimen on view and resented Doctor Brake for calling attention to her. She stared down at her hands, folding them neatly and a bit nervously in her lap.
"Please don't be embarrassed, Debbie," Doctor Brake's voice said soothingly. "We're all friends here." He chuckled, before adding: "Or at least our enmity toward each other is maintained at a gentle pitch." He cleared his throat before continuing. "For Debbie's benefit, I will introduce the others. Reading clockwise from my left, we have Jack Davis, Maria Mason, Liza Putnam, Ruth Sherwood, Miss Palmer, Hugh Akerman, Harry Stillis, Stella Snowden, Debbie Nieman, and of course, myself, Doctor Brake." He grinned pleasantly, obviously pleased with himself. "Our little family," he added. Stella laughed bitterly.
Maria Mason, a tall, solidly built redhead, said, "I don't think this is a joking matter, Stella. You seem to have the rather snide habit of poking fun at Doctor Brake whenever the situation presents itself. Also I've noticed an increasing tendency toward sarcasm in your comments during these meetings."
Doctor Brake sighed deeply, settling deeper into his chair, his hands folded on the table before him. Debbie got the impression that he was happy, that he had managed to get the ball rolling and now he was just going to sit back and listen in, keep his private observations to himself.
"I don't think that's quite fair of you, Maria," the woman named Lisa Putnam said, a little haughtily. She was a cool-looking blonde wearing pearl earrings and a semi-formal evening dress. She had the look of the idle rich about her, of long years of excellent grooming and the correct schools. "We must realize that each of us is hiding behind our own protective shield. Stella's happens to be sarcasm. If that helps her, I see no harm in it."
"You wouldn't, of course!" snapped Maria angrily.
"We're not here to attack each other verbally," Doctor Brake put in. "Rather, we're here to help each other in whatever way we can. Let's try to keep that in mind during this period of discussion."
The two women, Maria and Liza, glared at each other, the anger and dislike between them quite evident.
Debbie shrunk further within herself. She didn't want to listen to these people; she felt very positive that she didn't belong here, that if she could only talk to Doctor Brake privately, he would understand and let her leave. But she would be going back to Don and the violence of all that he stood for. She didn't want to think about Don now. She didn't want to think about anything. She felt very strange, as though she were floating through space on a soft, cushiony cloud. She was suddenly aware that the man across from her, Jack Davis, was speaking.
"...and it was the same old problem. I don't know." He shook his head from side to side, staring straight across at Debbie, as though speaking for her benefit alone. He was short and dapper, extremely handsome except for a curiously feminine mouth. "Every time I make it with a woman, I can only see my sister's face. It's always my sister that I'm doing it to. It never starts that way ... never. But the minute we're actually engaged in sexual intercourse, the woman's face changes to that of my sister." He pulled at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger, blinking rapidly. "Last night, for example. I was on my three-hour pass and I went to this bar and...."
Doctor Brake lifted his head, interrupting. "You know our rigid rule about drinking alcoholic beverages."
Jack said, "I only had a coke, Doctor. Anyway, there were two women at the bar. One thing led to another, as things always seem to do with me. The first thing I knew, the three of us had gone to an apartment."
"Are you that good at intercourse?" Maria asked bitterly. "It seems to me that you're always bragging about your goddamn sex life ... about your goddamn conquests. According to you, women simply fall all over themselves trying to get out of their panties and into bed with you."
Jack turned to look at her slowly. "There's one way to find out, isn't there, Maria," he said.
"I think you're disgusting!" Maria snapped.
"You would," Liza put in.
"Come, come, let's not bicker like this," Doctor Brake said, spreading his arms wide. "Please continue with your story, Jake."
"Well, the three of us went to bed, of course," Jack went on. "One was a...." he smiled as he glanced at Maria, "One was a big redhead. She was good, I mean she was damn good at screwing. I screwed her first."
Debbie tried to shut out the sound of Jack's voice, but she could not. She sat there and listened as he told with intimate detail how he had fucked first one of the women and then the other, each of the women taking turns at looking on. He spoke calmly, not really boasting, and she found herself believing him. He told of all the details, leaving nothing out, describing their bodies right down to the "cute little curls around their twats". She kept looking around the table at the others, saw that they were all intently listening to Jack's lurid story.
"I finally screwed them both to a frazzle," Jack finished. "Yet, nothing happened for me. I kept sticking it in and out of-them, time after time, making them come and come, and still nothing happened for me. I just couldn't seem to have an orgasm. I'd reach a high point, but then I just couldn't come ... nothing."
"And you saw your sister's face on both of these women?" Doctor Brake asked.
"Yes ... both of them."
Maria said, "I don't believe you. No man alive is that good between a woman's legs. No man can fuck that good."
Ruth Sherwood suddenly bent her head over the table. Her shoulders shook with her silent sobbing. No one said anything; they all merely looked in her direction, and then ignored her. She was the oldest of the women present, perhaps around thirty, slim and fragile-looking, with large, round eyes of an innocent child. Debbie wanted to go to her and soothe her, comfort her in some way, yet something held her motionless.
"I seem to recall you saying once that you and your sister had continual sexual experiments when you were young." This bit of information came from Harry Stillis, a short, round man with an equally round face and a bland complexion.
"Yes, that is correct, Harry," Jack answered. "She was fourteen and I was sixteen. We indulged in sexual relations quite a few times. I might add that my sister was very good at screwing, and not at all bashful about ... about other ways of doing it. I mean, using her mouth on me. I must admit, also, that I performed the same thing on her many times, too, of course."
Debbie stared across at the man in fascination. He simply sat there and admitted what, to her, was a horrible thing. She thought of her own brother and remembered how she had seen him naked one time, with his prick standing up very hard, the shock that had been to her at the time. Now, guilt touched her as she visualized him once again, and it stayed with her.
"Your problem is quite obvious," Liza said in that superior way of hers. "You feel guilty because of your relationship-your incestuous relationship-with your sister earlier in your life. Now, you're paying for that guilt."
"I know that!" Jack snapped testily. "What I want to know is how to rid myself of this ... this problem that is hanging over me. It hasn't bothered my sister that I can tell, but it does me. Don't you realize what I'm saying? I never achieve an orgasm-an ejaculation-any more ... none at all. No matter how long and no matter how hard I try, I'm still unable...."
Maria laughed bitterly, interrupting him. "I'm happy to hear that the shoe is on the other foot for a change. Most men I've met never consider the woman during the sex act. They're simply animals, climbing into bed with that hard thing sticking out like it was a gold wand, climbing into bed with some poor woman simply to satisfy themselves. They never consider that a woman likes to achieve an orgasm, too. They think that hairy hole down there is made just for their pleasure alone."
"You've been giving it out to the wrong men, that's all," Jack said blithely.
"How many men have you given it to?" Liza asked innocently.
"I don't think that's any of your fucking business!" Maria retorted.
"Oh, quite the contrary, my sweet," Liza said coolly. "If there have been many men under your skirts, then I would suggest that the fault lies with you. However, if there have been only a few men, then I think you should shop around, as Jack has suggested."
"Maybe you like to shop around, as you so sweetly put it, but I certainly don't! "Maria's anger was quite evident. She slammed an open hand against the top of the table. "I'm not that cheap, darling," she added, glaring at Liza.
Debbie was sure that she was involved in some kind of bizarre dream. This sort of thing just couldn't be happening! Surely these people didn't normally discuss such things, and in such language! She sat there and listened to the talk going on all around her, hearing the somewhat polite terms become gross and gutter-like, watched the pathetic Ruth Sherwood still sobbing and wished that someone would come along and wake her up. The voices droned on and on and on, becoming even more explicit, never-ending, the same old story time after endless time.
The main speakers were, of course, Liza, Maria, and Jack. Harry Stillis entered into the conversation only occasionally. Mister Akerman sat as though he were carved out of stone, never even looking at anyone other than Stella, or rather at her breasts. Ruth Sherwood wasn't even a part of the scene; she seemed alone, shoved to one side in a heartless manner. Debbie wanted to scream out at all of them, to tell them to shut their goddamn foolish mouths.
Doctor Brake and Miss Palmer acted as moderators, each occasionally asking a question or making a comment, just to keep the conversation rolling.
Debbie was aware that Miss Palmer was continually staring at her. The woman made Debbie nervous. The memory of Miss Palmer's hands fondling her naked breasts was still very much with Debbie; she couldn't rid herself of that.
There was a slight lull in the conversation. Miss Palmer looked directly at Debbie and said: "You've been very quiet, Debbie. Haven't you anything to say?"
Debbie felt herself blushing once more as the others turned to look at her. "I ... I don't think so."
"Debbie finds herself embarrassed by the subject of sex," Miss Palmer said, quite bluntly. "I am not embarrassed!"
"I think we should realize that this is probably extremely difficult for Debbie," Liza said. "She's new here. I can remember my first session. I was appalled by the conversation, the words used. Shocked, really." She leaned forward, smiling. "Don't worry, my dear. We're not quite as immoral as we make ourselves out to be. You'll find that out in due time."
Doctor Brake cleared his throat; it was an annoying habit of his. "Still," he said, "I do believe that Debbie could make a beginning this afternoon."
Debbie wrung her hands together. "But those others...." she glanced around the table at Stella, Mister Akerman, and Ruth Sherwood. " ... they haven't said anything, either. Why should I?"
No one seemed to have an answer to that, for which Debbie was grateful. They suddenly seemed to forget her, immediately going back to their own problems. She was only half-listening now, aware that she had been placed in a niche by Miss Palmer's statement. She felt a loathing for the woman, a deepening emotion that swept right through her body.
The minutes ticked by slowly. Debbie wondered if it would ever end.
Liza Putnam sat quietly in the chair a moment longer, watching the others file out of the room. She noted the way Maria hesitated at the door, turning to give her a last dirty look. The look was wasted; Liza was used to having people dislike her; she had gone through life in this manner. Women, especially, seemed to take a special delight in trying to annoy her. She knew why. There was no mystery attached to that. She happened to be beautiful and a very talented artist and she wasn't the kind of person to keep her thoughts to herself. She never had been.
"This is all a little disgusting, isn't it?"
Liza looked up at the sound of the voice, realized that Harry Stillis was still in the room with her. He took out a thin cigar and lit it, waving the heavy smoke from in front of his face.
"Yes, I suppose it is," she answered finally.
"Aren't you sure?" Harry asked.
"I haven't really been sure of anything since coming to this stinking place."
"I know how you feel."
"I doubt that."
His smile was smooth and placating. He would have been a handsome man if he had not been so heavy. She seemed to recall that he was a salesman of some kind, apparently very successful.
He came around to stand beside her chair, putting a hand on her shoulder. The mere touch of his hand sent a wave of apprehension through her.
"Liza," he said, "we're not like those others. You and I we're different. I've sat here in his room too many times not to have realized that. These others...." he hesitated, apparently searching for the right words. " ... there's little doubt in my mind that each and every one of them is seriously ill-mentally ill. Take Jack. What kind of a man would do those things to his own sister? What kind of man would not only screw his sister, but admit it to a group of people? And that part about them using their mouths on each other! Why, it's even worse than normal intercourse-incestuous intercourse, that is. He's an animal, pure and simple, with an animal's hungry sexual desires. Maria is a female Jack, in a way. I wouldn't doubt anything she might say. I can look at her and see that she's probably screwed well over a dozen men, perhaps even hundreds of men."
"Yes," she managed to say, wishing that he would remove his hand from her shoulder. Didn't he realize what he was doing? Didn't he even know about her?
"We're not animals, Liza. You and I ... we're different."
"Are we? Are we, really?"
"Of course we are."
She remained silent. She pushed her chair back, rising to her feet. She suddenly felt sort of giddy, all over. She wished that she could have a drink; she wished that the foolish Doctor Brake would change his stupid rule about no drinking. One little martini right now would really hit the spot, and do more for her than four of these discussions. But she knew what always happened when she had that first drink. She would then need a second, and a third. And after that, a man ... always a man.
They walked out of the room silently, turning right down the corridor toward the recreation room. Nancy Stevens, the nurse, was sitting on the quilted sofa, talking with Maria. The latter turned her head and gave Liza a nasty look, then went back to talking with Nancy again. Mister Akerman and Jack Davis were playing a game of chess on a card table set up in the corner. Sunlight filtered through the high French doors on the left and soft music was coming from the stereo on the other side of the room....
How many hours had she wasted in this room, sitting and listening to the music? How many wasted hours!
Before she realized it, she and Harry Stillis had gone through the French doors to the covered patio outside. A few pieces of redwood furniture were scattered around in no certain pattern. She saw a robin waltzing proudly along the lawn at the edge of the patio and thought to herself what a wonderful painting that would make. She should have brought her sketching pad with her. She never liked to be without it.
This outside area was surrounded by high brick walls, partially hidden by green shrubs and climbing vines. She always thought of this as a prison, as though she might be here for the rest of her natural life. How long had she been here? There were times, like right now, when her memory seemed to be playing tricks with her.
She realized, suddenly, that Harry had been speaking to her.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't listening."
"I was saying that this is the perfect time of day."
"I agree."
The trees on the other side of the walls were casting long shadows around the lawn. They walked together near one wall.
"I could certainly stand a drink right about now," Harry said.
She smiled. "You must have been reading my mind."
"Would you...." he turned, glancing back at the French doors, as though frightened by something inside there. "If we could both get a pass, Liza, we could go out and have a quiet drink."
"You know that's against the rules, Harry."
"So what? Rules are made to be broken."
She smiled at him again. He wasn't bad-looking really after all. There was a gentle kindness about his eyes and he had a genuine sincerity that couldn't be missed.
"No, I don't think so," she said.
He shrugged, dismissing it. "You're an artist, aren't you?"
She watched the shadow of a bird rippling across the smooth-cut lawn, pass along the wall and disappear. "I like to think I am, yes," she answered. "There are those who would disagree with me, though."
"You don't do those-what do they call them-those modern things?"
"Abstractions? No, Harry ... I don't do those."
They came to the corner of the wall. They were in deep shade here. For a moment, she could almost imagine that she was free once more, that the walls did not exist, that she was not in this silly, idiotic hospital. They were out of sight from the French doors, out of sight of Doctor Brake and all the nurses and Miss Palmer, and everyone else.
"Did you ever ... you know, paint a nude?" His voice sounded strange.
She turned slightly, looking at him. His eyes held a curious shine in them. now. His cigar was smoked halfway down and he tossed it to one side.
"Yes," she answered. "Men and women?"
"Of course."
"Didn't that ... I mean, when you were painting a nude man, didn't you ... well, there was all of him showing. You know what I mean."
"Yes, Harry, I know." She searched her mind, thinking how curious it was that she had been able to steer clear of sex at such times. There had been the exception, of course. The huge black man-the fighter-she had painted once while attending art school. The mere sight of him had sent chills right through her whole body; his smooth, rippling muscles, his perfect torso ... his magnificent penis. She shook the thought from her mind. She shouldn't be thinking such thoughts at the present time; they couldn't be good for her. "As a matter-of-fact, Harry," she went on, "I found it quite easy to hold my emotions-my passions-aloof at such times."
"I know I couldn't ... with a nude woman, I mean."
"Harry, you surprise me."
"I don't know what hits me, Liza. Just the sight of a naked woman and I'm ... well, all burning up, really hurting, with a deep ache down ... you know." He put his hand on her bare forearm. "Even now, standing here beside you knowing what kind of clean and decent person you are, I can't help but think what a wonderful thing that would be for me to be able to see you without your clothes on-to see you naked. It would be wonderful to see you that way, with your breasts free and all, to see the hair between your legs and your buttocks." His voice changed abruptly, became more husky, more urgent. "You're so beautiful, Liza, so beautiful and so clean-looking. I wish I could...."
She felt the warm flush spreading over her as she stepped closer to him, moving right up against him. She wasn't really aware of what she was doing; she knew only that he was a man and that he found her attractive and that they were alone, and that it had been so long, so very long since she had been with a man. How long?
His arms came around her as she molded her body tightly against his. Their lips met, clung together hungrily, and she heard the low groaning sound deep in his throat. His hands were moving over her back, going down, cupping and gripping the swelling of her bottom tightly, pulling her pelvis against his. She could feel his sudden growth there, the hardening of his cock, his sudden gasp, the quickening beat....
They parted, both breathing deeply and somewhat raggedly.
Liza said: "This is ... foolish, Harry, extremely foolish."
"Sex is never foolish."
She was surprised at the word. They both turned to look back at their wing of the hospital. She wondered if they could possibly do it here ... but that would be insane. Someone could walk out on the patio at any moment, see them. Yet the hunger was beginning to burn deeply within her body and her brain. She could see the excitement on Harry's face, and the bulging of his prick in front of his pants.
"Just let me see you ... let me touch you, Liza," he begged. He ran his fingers down her hip, caressed her thigh. "Please, just let me see what you look like under your dress ... touch you there for a minute."
"Harry, we can't do anything out here. Someone would see us, surely they would."
"Back here, then." he said, taking her arm, leading her to a small niche in the shrubs which would partially conceal them from view.
He began unbuttoning her dress down the front. His fingers went under the dress, touched her bare flesh between the bra and the panties.
"Just look at you for a little, touch you between the legs," he whispered.
Why not? she asked herself. Why the hell not let him have some enjoyment? Harry is a nice guy. What harm would it do?
She let him undo her dress, then unsnap her bra. Her breasts fell free, pear-shaped, full and almost pointed straight out, her nipples hardened now and nut-brown in color.
"Sweet," he murmured softly as he gazed at her breasts. "You have wonderful, simply lovely breasts and nipples, Liza."
He took one rigid nipple with his thumb and forefinger, teasing it gently, tantalizingly, then twisted it, pulled on it. The shock went right through her, from head to feet.
She said, hoarsely, "Kiss them, Harry. Oh, please kiss my breasts for me!"
He bent his face to them, his warm lips running all around the hardened nipples, never touching them, driving her into shivering delight with anticipation. And then, finally, his mouth settled to one, sucking in gently at first, then harder, releasing the sweet, tortured passion from her very being. Liza threw back her head and stared up at the fading afternoon sky, knowing the rapture of pure joy at that moment. Harry kissed her breasts for a long time, such a very long time, running his hands over her body as he did so, feeling around her bottom and into her crotch as his tongue and lips worked on her sensitive breasts. What he was doing caused her passions to mount until she was almost in a frenzy of sheer lust.
Finally, she drew his head from her now moist breasts, kissed him longingly and passionately on his mouth, and then removed her dress completely, standing before him in only her sheer bikini panties. She didn't care then if the whole goddamn hospital had a ring-side seat, didn't care if they all-nurses, doctors, patients-came out and watched them. She didn't care about anything.
Harry put his fingers under the elastic band of her panties, drawing them down over her slender thighs and legs, going to his knees as he did so. His lips touched her thighs, his tongue licking like a searing flame along them, and then he was pressing his face hard against the bushy juncture of her thighs, kissing and licking into the strands avidly, and she almost exploded when he ran his tongue in circles about her swollen clitoris. She spread her thighs, straddling his face and holding his mouth between there. He was sucking and licking at her vagina like she had never before been licked. There was such a wonderful feeling of pure ecstasy now.
"Ah ... Ooooo...." she crooned, rolling her pelvis into his face.
He gazed up the length of her body, past the curling hair of her vagina, his tongue licking, then he pulled back long enough to say: "You really like this, don't you? You like to have this sweet thing licked, don't you?"
Liza couldn't answer him.
"Tell me, Liza," he insisted in a muffled voice. "Tell me you like to be eaten!"
"Oh, I do ... I do ... I do! Lick me some more, Harry! Don't stop! Oh, my God ... please don't stop! Go on ... I'm about to come!"
Harry was kissing and licking at her crotch again, driving his tongue everywhere ... in her ... along the sensitive vaginal lips ... dragging his tongue over her bursting clitoris ... driving her out of her mind with his lips and tongue. Never had she known anything like this; never had anything been quite like it. She never wanted him to stop. She wanted this to go on forever ... and she would come and come and never stop coming.
Liza reached the high crest of sensation, felt herself going over the edge. The bubble burst, exploded within her brain, darkening everything for her as she went into a soul-shattering orgasm against Harry's relentlessly probing, licking tongue.
She was aware of sound, aware of voices. She knew that she was still standing there, her legs straddled widely. Slowly, the reality of the time and the place came back to her. Harry was standing before her now, his eyes veiled. Jack Davis stood beside him, a curious kind of grin on his face.
"And now that you've had your pussy licked off, it's time for the real thing, huh, baby?" Jack asked, loosening his clothing, letting them drop to the ground, where he kicked them aside. He then removed his shorts, his penis bobbing upright. "Good old Harry just got that woolly booger warmed up a bit, didn't he? Now Jack's going to fuck you, and fuck you real good, baby. The best fuck ever. The real greatest!"
"No," Liza murmured, still shaky from her tremendous orgasm.
But he only laughed at her, grabbing her roughly, almost throwing her to the ground. She felt the soft turf beneath her naked flesh, looked up to see him standing there, his penis rigid, challenging her. Harry was standing to one side, slightly bent over at the waist, his face a curious mixture of revulsion and lust.
"Watch me, buddy," Jack said. "See how a real man fucks a broad."
"Please, no," Liza whimpered.
She tried to roll to one side, kicking out with her legs. But he was too strong for her, pinning her down immediately, forcing her, raping her. His hands gripped her naked shoulders roughly, pinching her tender skin. She tried to tell him to stop, that this was rape, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She was remembering his boasting, how nothing ever happened with him, how he never ejaculated, how he just continued....
He was taking her. The initial pain of his penetration was almost unbearable, his cock was stiff and thick, and very long. For a moment, she imagined that she might faint. And then his pumping rhythm settled into steadiness, and she heaved a big sigh and bit down on his shoulder.
Jack screamed in pain.
She was aware now that Harry was kneeling beside her, close to her face, edging closer still, telling her what to do with Jack in dirty words she seldom heard him use.
"Fuck him, Liza," Harry was saying. "Squeeze his cock dry! Rock your cunt up ... roll your ass ... bang him, baby!"
Liza was also aware of something else. She was aware that this was good, wonderful, really fantastic ... and she adapted her pelvic motions to those of Jack, her hands reaching around to caress and fondle his bottom as he plunged in and out of her. She heard Jack murmur in appreciation as she did what Harry was telling her to do, and then she was reaching out for Harry with her right hand, gripping his already exposed prick tightly, moving her fist back and forth on his penis as her hips gyrated and bounced underneath Jack's driving cock. She pulled Harry's penis close to her face, pursing her lips to kiss the smooth tip as her fist masturbated him rapidly.
Liza was climbing a high mountain and yet the peak was still far ahead of her. The whole world seemed to be revolving before her eyes, a world of continuous motion ... of pleasurable motion. She heard Harry gasp and opened her eyes, seeing the thick semen pour from the tip of his prick as her hand moved up and down it faster yet, not minding that Harry was spewing his discharge right into her face, smearing her eyes, nose, cheeks and mouth with the liquid. Her hand dug into the crevice of Jack's buttocks. She realized that she was saying one word over and over again: "Fuck!"
She had no idea of time.
She had no idea of anything other than the pure joy of their mutual existence, of the semen dripping on her face, of the jerking, spurting of white fluid from Harry's penis, of the still rigid penis pounding into her convulsing vagina.
Then that was as though someone had picked her up and tossed her aside, so great was the sensation of her second orgasm that it literally rocked her body.
She lay back, gasping for breath, hearing Jack's insane laughter, the strange name he was calling her, a name she had never heard before, and the semen running from her face, and then Jack was crying, his face buried against her breasts.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The restaurant was on the top floor of the highest building in the city. Bluish-green tinted windows surrounded the wide room, blocking out the fading sunlight. There was the usual hustle and bustle of any decent restaurant at this time of the evening, the tinkle of glasses and silverware, the hushed voices in conversation, the occasional laughter.
Ray Gannon sipped at his second martini, looking over the rim of his glass at Nancy Stevens opposite him. They were seated in a secluded corner of the restaurant. They had been silent for some time, but the silence was a comfortable one, as though each realized that there was no need to hurry things.
Ray was surprised both at himself and at Nancy. He had known she was a beautiful woman-girl, rather-from their previous meeting, but he had not been prepared for her lavish beauty when dressed up. She wore a black gown now, a gown with a deep, plunging neckline, accentuating the fine thrust of her breasts. Her dark hair was brushed back at the temples, worn in loose and flowing waves. She wore a crimson lipstick that highlighted the fullness of her mouth-a mouth that he now saw was soft and sensual-looking, setting off the unexpected sensuousness of her whole being. Her perfume was only faintly sweet and errotically suggestive. And he was surprised at himself because he was actually interested in her for other than the obvious reasons any man would be interested in a lovely, seductive young girl. He was the kind of man who had always managed to evade any serious entanglements with women; he preferred it that way. To him, marriage had always seemed a definite and inescapable trap, something to be avoided at all cost.
He wasn't, of course, thinking about marriage with Nancy, or any woman, for that matter. But he was thinking how beautiful and desirable she looked, how proud he felt just to be sharing this booth with her. There was a magnificent pride in this woman, a kind of disdain for everything cheap and sordid in life. He had the feeling that she would put her whole being into any situation in which she could believe.
"You surprise me, Ray," she said, breaking the long silence.
"I do? In what way?"
"I thought you would be glib and talkative and tell me about all your exciting adventures around the world, the exotic places you've been, the easy conquests you've had with many races of women, that kind of thing. I also thought you'd probably grill me about the psychiatric ward for your series."
"The latter idea has crossed my mind," he admitted.
"Please, don't, Ray. I think I could learn to like you. You have that certain air of the complete male about you ... the kind of man any woman likes to conquer in her own way." Nancy sipped at her martini before continuing. "If you start questioning me, well ... I'm afraid our conversation would simply come to an end."
He laughed gently. "At least you're honest."
"I hope so. I've been told that it's one of my more serious faults."
"Honesty is a fault?"
"In some circles, yes."
The red-jacketed waiter was hovering near them.
"Another martini?" Ray asked and, when she shook her head negatively, he ordered one for himself.
"Two is my absolute limit," she explained. "I know my own weaknesses."
"What happens when you have three?"
"Are you questioning my virginity?"
Nancy had a way of getting directly to the point. He was smiling as he said: "I hadn't thought of you as a virgin. But now that you mention it...." he shrugged, leaving his sentence unfinished.
"Go on," she prodded him.
"There would have to be something wrong with you if you were still a virgin," he said. "A woman as beautiful as you. Looking at you, I find that very hard to believe. You'd have to be as cold as an iceberg to have resisted all the passes you've obviously had over the years."
"Well, I'm not." She said the statement defensively.
"Not what? Cold or a virgin?"
"Neither," she answered, and turned her eyes away from his face, almost shyly, but he knew she wasn't embarrassed.
"We've got that detail out of the way," he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.
"You wanted me to know that you're not a virgin. You brought up the subject. Okay ... fine. Now, I'm free to think that you're fair game ... that whatever happens later on is...."
"I don't pay for my dinners by giving every handsome guy who comes along a free lay, Mister Gannon."
They began bickering back and forth like that, always just on the edge of a real argument. They continued this through dinner and brandy, and Ray wondered why she was acting in such a manner. She seemed to be deliberately challenging him. She had a knack of getting to him, irritating him beyond the point to which he was accustomed. It was the old man versus woman conflict and he found himself, for once, enthralled by the challenge.
The stars above were a blanket of brilliant lights when they finally left the restaurant. They rode the elevator down the outside of the restaurant, absorbing the panoramic view of the city. They ignored the attendant in the parking area below, walking to his car.
As they drove out of the parking lot, he wondered how he should proceed with this strange and alluring woman. Normally, he would have gotten right to the point, let her know what he was after. But she had taken that initiative from him earlier in the evening.
He had picked her up at the hospital and he had no idea where she lived. She gave him directions to her house, which was in an exclusive district on the east side of the city, set in the high foothills leading to the mountains beyond. As he turned into the winding driveway, he noted the rambling house of brick and glass, the wide, sweeping view below, and he wondered how a woman in her position-a nurse-could afford such a luxurious location. He knew the wage scale of nurses, and it didn't come close to the price of this house, even the rental price. He lived in a hotel in the downtown district but he knew the real estate values in this part of the city, too.
He parked before the front door, shutting off the engine, turning slightly in the seat so that he was half-facing her. The faint scent of her perfume wafted against his nostrils, dimly reminding him of some other place and some other time. She sat stiffly erect, refusing to look in his direction, her hands primly folded in her lap, her mouth set in firm, stubborn lines.
"The end of the evening," she said presently. "I want to thank you, Ray. It was very nice."
"What a horrible word."
"Yes, I agree."
"Does it have to end like this, Nancy?"
She moved slightly, glancing sideways at him. "Everything has an ending, Ray. This should be the ending for us. I am back in the world in which I belong. You will write your series of the hospital, and then you will write other stories ... many stories. The time will come when you will tire of this place, the people you've met here. And then you will move on, searching for a new place and new people."
"You seem to have analyzed my character to perfection," he said, unable to keep the annoyance from his voice. He was wondering how she could have read him so aptly; it was as though she knew his innermost thoughts, had him pegged in that dreadful niche in which he belonged. He put a hand on the steering wheel, puzzled at himself, puzzled that he could be so taken by this woman. She was a total stranger to him, nothing more; and yet her acceptance of him seemed so vital at this point. He wanted her to admire him; perhaps he wanted more. "Does this have to end right now, Nancy?" he asked, surprised at his question.
"Yes, I think so, Ray. I think this would be better that way."
He remained silent.
She turned to face him. Her hands came up to frame his face, her fingers gentle and soothing against his cheeks. She bent forward, kissing him lightly on his lips. The kiss held the suggestiveness of so much more, of delightful promise, that he reached for her eagerly, quickly. But Nancy ducked back from him, her palm pushing against his chest.
"I think that's all, Ray. Good night."
She was out the car door and almost running up the flagstoned walk before he realized it. He sat still for one long moment, then slid across the seat, chasing after her. He hadn't felt like this since he was a young stud in high school. There were all kinds of crazy thoughts running through his mind; but the one that was uppermost was that he didn't want to leave this girl ... not yet. Not by a long shot.
He caught her at the door. She had just put the key in the lock. He gripped her by the elbow, turning her to face him. The moonlight was reflected in the deep purple of her eyes and he thought he detected a sheen of tears in them.
"Don't, Ray," she whispered. "Please ... don't."
"Why not?"
"I just ... I'm not sure. You do things to me ... funny things that I don't want to admit, even to myself."
"What's wrong with admitting them?"
"Ray, I don't want to...."
"Are you frightened, Nancy? Is that it?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped at him. "It's just that this morning when I first saw you, I looked into your eyes and I knew that you could make me do anything you wanted me to do. I don't like that feeling, Ray. I had that feeling once before and that was twisted inside me. I was tortured with the feeling. I never want that again, not that way. I want to be cool and detached and simple, quite simple. I don't want to think about love and sex and purity and all those things. You don't know me, Ray. You don't know how I can be when I'm ... when I'm really flipped-gone. I don't think you would want to know. My life hasn't been all that good."
He tried to laugh. "You're talking like one of your patients now," he said.
She fell against him, her head resting against his shoulder. He put his hands on her back, holding her lightly, letting her mull over her personal thoughts for the moment. There was an urgent necessity within him, a necessity to know and possess this woman, to strip her of clothing and gaze upon her exquisite body without coverings, to feel the heat of her as he penetrated her vagina, to know her passions and desires. Yet, he resisted making the attempt, which was a very strange thing for him to do, something he had never done before in his life.
Nancy sighed, finally, and kissed his throat, her hands tight against his arms. "All right, Ray," she murmured softly. "All right. Let's ... go inside."
He found himself actually trembling like a virgin school boy as he followed her into the house.
There was a large sunken living room on the right, lighted by a single table lamp at the far end of the room. A dim hallway led down the left side of the house. The living room was furnished in Danish modern, but not the severe kind that he detested. It was carpeted in beige shag, the furnishings mostly in bright oranges and deep browns. A wide picture window overlooked the vast panorama of the city below, the lights winking and blinking down there like so many children's toys.
"Home is where you hang your jacket," she announced.
He wanted to ask her so many things, yet he kept his questions to himself, following her into the living room. There was a garish female nude, slashed in oranges and pinks and bright reds, above the wide couch on the back wall. He noted the name in the corner of the painting-Liza Putnam-and searched through his memory. It seemed to him that Doctor Brake had mentioned something about a Liza Putnam earlier that day in their interview.
"Yes," Nancy said, turning at a doorway at the far end of the room, "she's the same person. She's a very talented artist, Ray. She's been with us almost two months now. I had purchased that painting at an art show a year before she came to us. I haven't had the heart to tell her that I own one of her paintings."
"Why not?"
"It would seem ... cruel, I suppose." Nancy stood framed in the doorway, a vision of sheer loveliness in the black dress, regal and commanding, yet with a quality of unreality about her, as though someone as intoxicatingly beautiful and sensuous as she could not possibly exist.
"You're very lovely, Nancy. You're the most desirable woman I've ever seen. I don't know what's happened to me. I'm not usually this serious ... about women."
"Would you like a drink ... or ... something?"
"I think I would prefer the latter."
Her smile was tentative and cautious. They stood the length of the room apart from each other, yet each knew that it was only a matter of minutes until they would be together, naked and bursting with passion. There seemed to be a kind of magnetic air-an electrical current-drawing them closer together. Ray was puzzled; he wanted to resist this strange feeling within him, yet he could not. There seemed so much more involved than simply the mere possession of this woman, the mere aspect of finding himself locked in sexual embrace with her. He had the feeling that she was going to overwhelm him, mentally as well as emotionally-and yes, physically. He had never had that feeling before.
He walked slowly across the room. Nancy lifted her arms when he was close to her and her lower lip was quivering uncertainly.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," she whispered throatily. And then: "Oh, Ray!"
She threw herself against him, bringing her body abruptly against his, plastered there as though she had gone completely out of her mind, breasts smashed at his chest, pelvis glued to his. Her sudden attack caught him off guard for a moment, and then the surging passion swept through him and his mouth searched for hers, locked against her soft, moist and yielding bps. The power of her kiss was like an electric charge burning right through him.
He bent down, sweeping her up in his arms, staggering along the hallway, never letting his mouth leave hers. She guided him with one hand down the hallway, through an opened door into a darkened room. Still kissing, tongues surging, still holding tightly to him with one arm, Nancy reached out and switched on a lamp, flooding the room with light.
Their lips, already beginning to puff from the force of the kiss finally parted and he put her down, shaking with the full intensity of his passion for her.
"Wow!" he murmured.
"And wow some more!" Nancy added.
"You're...."
"Never mind. Wait until we're finished with this." Her eyes were bright and shining, her full lips warmly crimson and lusciously moist now. She turned her back to him, saying, "Undress me, darling. Take everything from me-make me completely naked-and then I'll do the same for you."
His fingers were trembling almost violently as he reached for the hook at the top of her dress. He undid that, unzipped her down the back. Nancy pivoted around, stepping neatly out of the dress and tossing it to one side. She wore a pale pink slip which she quickly pulled over her head. She stood proud and lovely before him in her scanty bra, a sheer panty girdle, sheer nylons, and high-heeled shoes.
"You like it so far?" she asked, smiling seductively.
"You're ... you're ... Christ! You're making me boil!"
"That's the whole idea of this, isn't it?"
He unsnapped her bra, almost tearing it in his feverish haste. Her naked breasts bobbled free and firm before his gaze. He had never before seen such things of pure beauty. They were firm, perfectly molded, the nipples overly large, erect and elongated now as he ran his fingers across them. They were wide-spaced breasts, sloping gently to those deliciously rosy tips, then curving in perfect symmetry underneath. He felt them, squeezing gently, caressing them with his hands, feeling the smooth, vibrantly warm texture, forcing the passion higher within his slightly shaking body.
"Ohhhh, Ray!" Nancy whispered in a thick voice. "Your hands! They do so many things for me. I like them. I like the way you feel my breasts this way. It makes me all ... shivering inside."
He was almost beside himself with his joy of pure ecstasy, his penis throbbing inside his pants, feeling harder than any time before in his life. He wanted to do so many things to her, for her, everything the human mind could possibly conceive concerning sheer sexuality, to do them all at once. The impossible, he thought, fondling her breasts. I want the impossible.
Stepping back slightly, he removed her panty girdle, and Nancy moved away to sit on the edge of the bed. She lifted one long, slender leg for him to roll down her nylons, then, when he had done this, she lifted the other one. He held her heels in his hands, standing before her, holding her legs up, gazing at her.
"I'm not sure I can wait!" Nancy exclaimed, staring at the enormous bulge of his pants.
And then her fingers were tearing and ripping at his clothing, stripping the garments away as quickly as possible. She squealed excitedly when she exposed his turgid organ, saw his steaming excitement straining toward her. With her right hand, she gripped his penis, felt around it, cupped his testicles and gave him a squeeze there, then wrapped her fingers around his throbbing organ again, jerking up and down tightly, her eyes wide and filmed with lust as she gazed at the almost purple tip, the small, unwinking eye there.
"Quick!" she whispered huskily, pulling him by his penis to the bed. "Quick now, Ray ... please! Right this minute! Put it in me ... put it in me and do it! Now ... now...!"
She was moving onto the bed, pulling him by his penis, laying back, opening her long thighs, unashamed and wanton in her exposure and need.
Nancy began squirming her hips up and down even before he entered her. She still held his penis, and she brushed it up and down the steaming moistness of her vagina, then he sank downward, entering her in a swift lunge, sinking completely into the heated depths of her pussy, his full, aching testicles slapping gently at her uplifted bottom. Ray tried to hold his rhythm in check, not wanting to explode into a tremendous come too quickly; he wanted to draw it out and make it last. But his effort was to no avail. Nancy was like a creature gone completely out of her mind with lust, twisting sensuously underneath him, her crotch banging up and down and whirling in tight circles as he pumped up and down, her pussy gripping his dick like a fleshy vise, and he detected a slight nipping sensation deep inside her. She had her arms around him, dragging her fingernails along his naked back, wrapping her arms around his waist, locking them there as she drew her legs up, heels banging at his naked buttocks, her head twisting, eyes almost glazed. She met his plunging with upward motions of her hips, crashing hard into his groin, her smooth buttocks sliding about with total sexual abandonment. They screwed each other desperately, like two animals fighting for sheer survival.
Nancy had a movement of her hips that shook him to his very core. It was a tricky thing, and he couldn't understand how she did it, but it was sensational. Their lips met, tongues slithering and licking; their breathing became labored and husky, almost gasping like a death pant. Ray's brain was reeling with his effort, whirling in amazed fascination at her pure animal sexuality. He was falling down and down, unable to stop himself. His penis swelled, became even more engorged, and suddenly he began to spew his semen deep into her quivering pussy.
Nancy's scream punctured through his brain as she convulsed into a mighty orgasm, and he could feel the delicious contractions of her pussy closing around his spurting dick.
He gasped one last time, gave one last, weak squirt of his penis.
The wave began and moved, breaking harshly and violently over him.
Then it was over.
They lay clinging to each other in exhaustion, her kisses sweet and moist and dispassionate now, her low murmurings pleasant to his ear. He stroked her hip, her smooth, curving bottom, touching and feeling her in languid gratification.
"My love," Nancy whispered. "My dear, dear love. I knew you would be this way. I knew you would be good ... knew it from the first moment I saw you."
Ray's lungs ached for lack of air. His hand cupped one cheek of her bottom, fingers in the warm crevice there.
He rolled from her, collapsing on the bed. Nancy curled up in his arms, her hand cupping and resting on his now flaccid genitals. She laughed good-naturedly and happy.
"What's so damned funny?" he asked.
"You, darling."
"I don't see anything funny about me."
She nuzzled at his ear playfully, squeezing his limp dick and testicles firmly, but not hurting him. "I warned you," she said. "Don't forget that."
Ray closed his eyes, his head still whirring.
Her hand moved, teasing his penis and testicles with fingertips, then grasping him firmly and shaking it. She looked down at his genitals in her hand.
"You know, darling, I've never kissed a man like that," she said. "I've never kissed his cock ... and I think I'd enjoy that very much. I've thought often about taking a man's cock in my mouth and sucking on it; drawing him out ... make him come in my mouth. Would you like me to do that for you?"
Ray groaned.
She giggled girlishly, then moved her mouth down onto his, bringing the sudden passion to the fore once more, her tongue wicked inside his mouth, surprising him by her intensity. Then she moved away, running her lips and tongue across his chest. He looked down the length of his body, saw her hover above his penis, then her lips came down onto the tip, kissing him there as she held her fist tight around him. Nancy pulled her face up, grinned impishly at him, then stuck her tongue out and brushed it over the smooth head, tickling at the small slit, unmindful of her own juices mingled there with his. A soft moan came from her throat as she opened her lips, then closed them around his penis. For just a moment she held him this way, her hand now cradling his testicles. Then Nancy dipped her face, sucking well over half of his penis into her mouth. He felt the roof of her mouth scrape along the sensitive head, her tongue flat along the underside. A muffled squeal came from her, and her eyes were open and bright as she began to suck in earnest now, using all of her previously imagined technique, performing on him orally with more experience than any woman had ever done before. It made him wonder about her statement of never having done such a thing before.
Soft sounds came from her tightly closed lips as she glided them up and down, struggling to take the full thickness into her mouth. She was unable to accomplish this, but still she tried. Now and then she would lift her mouth from his penis to lick her tongue all over it, even around his testicles. Then she would quickly suck his penis back into her mouth, avidly.
Ray reached for her hips, running his palm over her, exploring and feeling her bottom, feeling between her smooth thighs, insetting his finger into her thoroughly moist pussy. Nancy's hips moved gently back and forth as she sucked him, as though she were screwing at the same time.
Ray had been sucked off by women before, certainly, but never had he been sucked the way Nancy was doing it. The way she did it was totally new, an agonizing delight of sensuousness. It wasn't so much the way she sucked him, really, but the manner in which she did it. She seemed completely wanton.
He pressed his finger into her pussy, working it in and out with a rhythm that matched her bobbing face. Nancy lifted her lips from his penis, ran her tongue around it, then looked up at him, her eyes smoldering as though an inner fire was raging out of control inside her body. Her hips didn't stop moving.
"Come, darling," she murmured, holding his testicles tight in her hand, her other hand underneath him, clutching at the cheek of his buttocks. "Come in my mouth., .let me taste your come. I want to suck your cock off all the way." And she was back on him, sucking faster now.
Ray wanted to errupt, but then he didn't want to. He wanted it to keep on and on, it felt so good. He was aching all over his body, trembling and squirming as she mouthed and licked and sucked on his penis. Then, he went rigid, unable to move, unable to even think of anything but her pretty face bobbing, her moist mouth sucking, his gratification.
He grunted when he came, the semen flying forcefully from his penis with a power that amazed him. His ejaculation came with a suddenness that shocked him. One moment, he was high on the crest ... waiting. The next moment, an explosion rocked his complete body.
Nancy squealed softly as he ejaculated into her sucking mouth, and her eyes turned glassy, her tongue fluttering furiously, her slim throat working as she struggled to swallow the spewing semen. Soft gurgles came from her as she drank.
Ray thought, for a brief moment, that death was staring him in the face. All of his faculties-mental and physical-were keenly attuned to what Nancy was doing to him, the sweatiness of her body against his as she squirmed her hips along his arm, the delight of her touch on his penis with her still gulping mouth, the warm fragrance of her whole body, especially the scented perfume that came from her hair-lined pussy.
Even as he was still ejaculating, he shoved his face between her thighs, burying his mouth into her open, moist pussy, sucking hard at her inflamed clitoris, tonguing at it with frenzied passion, feeling her smooth thigh press against his cheek as her body shuddered. Both of them were lifted almost bodily then, held in suspension for an eternity of time. The high, piercing scream ripped from her throat as she went into a fantastic climax against his mouth, and her hand on his testicles almost ruined him.
He had no idea how long he lay there. There was a blackness within his brain; there was an aching within his muscles, an awareness of being only just alive ... barely alive.
Nancy was saying something to him.
He stirred, opened his eyes.
He noticed, for the first time, the beamed ceiling above him, the yellow walls of the room. There was a sweet fragrance of roses coming from somewhere.
"I told you," Nancy was saying. "I told you about me."
"My God," he stammered. "Is that all?"
"What else is there to say?"
"You might tell me how wonderful I am ... how good I am ... what a great fuck I am ... what a fantastic cocksucker I am ... how much you love me."
"Yes," he said, weakly. "Yes what?"
"You're all those things ... and more."
"You're pretty good yourself." She moved to lie beside him, her soft hair brushing against his cheek. "I want you to believe something, Ray. This is important to me. I've never sucked a man off before. I don't know what hit me. I have no idea what made me do it now. I just wanted to take your cock in my mouth and suck it, feel it in my mouth like that, taste your come there. You know something, your come is wonderful, tasty. I wanted to explore sex ... try something different that I've thought of doing so often before. I couldn't stop myself. I just couldn't stop myself from sucking you off."
"Don't try to explain," he said. "That was a wonderful experience to me. We were both experimenting ... both looking for something new in our lives."
"Did you find it? Something new, I mean."
"Yes, I think I did."
Nancy was so soft and warm lying beside him. His hand rested on the curve of her buttocks. He looked into her eyes, seeing the sheen of their passion, satisfied with himself for having brought to her the luxury of what they had just discovered together. He felt as though he belonged here, right on this bed, as though that would be very much wrong if he ever left. The feeling annoyed him slightly, warned him of what could happen to him if he weren't careful, very careful.
Nancy kissed him on his chin, her fingers playing a soft melody down his rib cage.
"Is this for real?" she asked.
His hand slipped over the hollow beneath her firm breasts. He touched the smooth underpart of her breasts, enjoying the satin of her skin. His other hand moved about her bottom, stroking and feeling, tracing a finger up and down the warm crevice. Her nipples looked pink now, the surrounding ring a darker color. He cupped one breast to his hand, one cheek of her buttocks to the other, surprised at himself. He had thought he had his fill of her, that he was thoroughly drained, had imagined that he was finished with sex for the night. But now, looking at her, seeing her naked like this, the surge was beginning to build for him once more, his penis swelling for the third time.
And Nancy was ready for him.
Her mouth came to his; their lips and teeth met.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, maddened by a sudden desire to kiss and suck on her breasts, her nipples. She seemed to be reading his mind, because she pulled his head down, closer.
"Kiss them, darling!" she hissed. "Oh, please suck my nipples!"
His lips were eager as he reached for one satiny breast. He teased the sensitive tip with the edges of his teeth, sensing the motion of her body beginning already. While he was sucking on her nipple, she bent her own head to nibble at the lobe of his ear, murmuring invitingly, "The other nipple, darling. Don't forget the other one. There are two nipples for you."
He shifted his lips from one beautiful nipple to the other, shocked at the burning reaction to what he was doing.
He pulled his face back, pushing her breasts together with the palms of his hands, then running his lips and tongue to each lust-hardened tip in turn.
"Wow!" Nancy whispered. "The things you do to me!"
He was near the edge of sexual madness again, no longer able to contain himself. His penis stood up rigidly again, and there was a dull ache of need in his testicles. Nancy reached down and stroked his penis in her hand.
"Let's do it again, darling!" she exclaimed with a voice filled with emotion. "I'll suck you off ... you eat my pussy. Let's suck each other and make ourselves come that way. I want you to come in my mouth again, to feel my pussy explode with your tongue deep inside it."
He hesitated for a moment, taking one last look at the length of her body as she twisted about on the bed, thighs wide open, exposed for him.
"You on top!" she squealed, pulling at his dick. "You get on top of me and fuck me in my mouth! Hurry ... oh, hurry, darling!"
Ray crawled over her, holding his hips up by placing his knees on each side of her face, his own face gazing down at her hair-rimmed pussy. Nancy lifted her crotch, and brushed it over his face. Ray plunged his tongue into her, licking and lapping in a furious desire that seemed to inflame him to insanity.
Nancy slipped her hands about his hips, her fingers clawing at his buttocks, brushing along his anus. Her mouth opened, and she sucked his cock into it. Then, using her hands, she forced him into pumping up and down, driving his prick deeply into her throat. Her tongue went wild with passion along his penetrating dick, and she gazed up at his swinging testicles with burning eyes.
Ray gobbled into her scented crotch, his own hands now gripping her smooth buttocks. He rubbed his index finger along her anus, and Nancy crooned her pleasure, giving a short, muffled yelp when he pressed his finger into her bottom.
Nancy was good ... she was fabulous! He had never experienced any girl like her before. His lips and tongue worked feverishly, his index finger plunging harshly into her anus. Nancy, too, was sucking in a frenzy, gripping his buttocks in fingers of steel, letting his passions drive his penis almost all the way down her throat. She was bent almost double underneath him, forcing her crotch hard into his face.
She slammed hard at his tongue, then withdrew.
And then slammed up again.
Ray knew her moment was close. He didn't hold back with his own up and down movement, instinctively knowing she wanted him to screw her in the mouth brutally.
Then they both experienced at the same moment that once-in-a-lifetime climax of pure beauty, perfectly timed, perfectly executed, their mouths gurgling the juices of each other, throats working, tongues and lips sucking hard.
Ray rolled from her, hearing her gasp, "Ohhh ... that was perfect, my darling man! That was the best ever. Oh, I do love sucking your cock!"
Complete exhaustion overcame him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Debbie Nieman lay quietly in the darkened room, thinking of the day just ended. A tiny beacon of light came through the open door from the corridor outside. She could hear someone moving around out there and, in the distance, the almost subdued clicking of a typewriter. She thought this very funny, that someone could be typing at this time of night, though she really had no idea of the time.
She wondered what Don-her husband was doing. Did he miss her? Did he even think about her? Could they possibly pick up their lives together after all this?
There were so many questions that refused to have answers.
She wished that sleep would come. She was so unused to sleeping alone. A slight breeze came through the partially opened window, stirring through the room.
She was aware that someone was in the room with her. The cold fear settled within her; she wanted to scream out, but the sound stuck in her throat. She tried to tell herself that nothing could happen to her here in the hospital, that she was perfectly safe. But the fear remained, like a cold knife in her stomach.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
A dark shape moved over to stand beside her bed. She felt the warm fingers on her bare arm and jerked quickly away.
"Don't be frightened, Debbie."
She recognized the voice of Miss Palmer. "What do you want?"
"I came in to see how you were getting along, that's all." Miss Palmer's voice sounded strange.
"I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Your husband called. I had a long talk with him. Debbie, I ... I feel sorry for you. I probably shouldn't say this." The fingers were there once again, playing along her arm, now kneading the flesh ever so slightly. "I always try to stay neutral in situations like this. But I can't this time, Debbie." Her voice changed subtly. "Your husband sounds like a horrible man, a man who would only think of himself. I feel so sorry for you, honestly."
Debbie felt uneasy. She didn't know what to say. The fear had left her, replaced by the beginnings of anger at Don. He had no right to call up and make a scene. There was no doubt in her mind that he had made a scene; he was that kind of man, impressed with himself, impressed with his own self-importance. Goddamn him!
"It's really a pity, Debbie," Miss Palmer was saying.
"What is?"
"I don't understand."
Miss Palmer's fingers moved along her bare arm, touching the flesh. Debbie remembered that morning, wished that she didn't. But the woman's touch didn't revolt her. Now, she was finding that strangely exciting, as though she had found a certain kinship with this strange woman.
"You're such a beautiful woman, Debbie, so very beautiful. I hope you don't mind my saying that."
Debbie was suddenly aware of an added pressure from the woman's fingers. An inkling of knowledge touched her brain, then quickly left. It was ridiculous to even think of such a thing! A woman like Miss Palmer could not possibly be a lesbian. Oh, Debbie knew about lesbians. She had heard the tales that were told in college. But the world of lesbos was something far out, different, something of which she had no real knowledge.
"A man like your husband, he wouldn't even know how to begin with a woman like you," Miss Palmer said. "You're too good for someone like him ... too beautiful ... too sweet."
"What's your first name?"
"Cynthia."
"May I call you Cynthia?"
"Of course, Debbie."
"Cynthia, I'm tired tonight. I'm wrung out. I don't know which way to turn. I'm confused and puzzled."
"That's understandable, Debbie."
"Help me." Debbie realized there was a whining tone in her voice, and she wondered why. "Please help me. I'm so alone."
"Here, do this," Cynthia said.
She helped Debbie to sit up. Then, with shaking fingers, Cynthia pulled the nightgown over Debbie's head, folding it neatly before placing it on the foot of the bed.
Debbie lay down again, on her stomach, resting her face on her folded arms. She was naked now, and she was aware of Cynthia's strong fingers, the play of them along her back, down over her curving buttocks, then down the smooth backs of her thighs. There was a kind of electric shock running throughout her body, causing her to tremble slightly. Her brain was telling her to stop this insane foolishness, to cease this activity before it got out of hand. But her body had a mind of its own, was reacting in a way she hadn't thought possible. The hands were soothingly gentle, not rough the way her husband's hands had always been on her.
"Do you like this?" Cynthia asked in a halting voice.
Debbie's voice choked with her answer: "Yes."
"Does this make you feel better?"
"So much better ... you'll never know how much."
Debbie was surprised at herself. She knew that what was happening to her was wrong, somehow deviant. She had never imagined that she could be in a position like this, a position of letting another woman put her hands on her body and make her feel this way. But there was such a soothing quality to Cynthia's hands, the kind of thing she had never experienced before. And, with that, there was a thrill, a much different thrill than she had experienced with Don. There was not the same kind of violence attached to it that there had been before.
She felt Cynthia's hands squeeze into her buttocks, pulling and pushing, probing and caressing the cheeks, then there was the moist touch of her lips on the small of Debbie's back, caressing her there gently at the same time as Cynthia's hands were fondling her luscious bottom.
"That feels so strange," Debbie stammered.
"Let me show you, my beautiful darling," Cynthia said, her voice tight with barely controlled passion now. "There are so many wonderful things that women can do together." She trailed a finger along the split of Debbie's bottom, dragging the finger from the base of her spine to the bottom curve of her buttocks, insinuating it down between Debbie's thighs, where she touched at the slowly moistening pussy, a fleeting touch, almost like a feather, then back up again. "Please, darling ... let me show you, let me lead you along the right way to love."
Debbie didn't know what to say. In one way, she was frightened; in another, she was horrified. Yet, she didn't want Cynthia to stop her hand from moving on her body. That fleeting touch on her pussy felt fantastic, wonderful, and the way she was cupping and holding her buttocks sent shivers of growing delight through her. It was good all over, sending those tingling currents to all parts of her body.
Before she fully realized what was happening, Cynthia had rolled her over onto her back. She felt the other woman's hands now at her jutting breasts.
"They're so lovely, my sweet darling," Cynthia said softly. "You have truly lovely breasts. May I ... may I kiss them for you? My kisses on your breasts will be different from those of a man, I promise you."
"Cynthia, I'm ... I'm afraid."
"Don't be afraid, darling. I won't hurt you. I promise I won't hurt you."
Cynthia's hands began roaming over Debbie's body now, discovering, sending new thrills shooting through Debbie, thrills she didn't know existed in her, but the desire had no name. She had no knowledge of what was happening; she didn't know what was expected of her, what was happening to her mind and body.
And then Cynthia bent over, touching her lips to those of Debbie. Debbie started to resist, shocked that she could actually be kissing another woman in this way. But the soft, warm, pliable lips of Cynthia took hold, found their mark, built the desire higher in Debbie. And as Cynthia kissed the trembling woman, her hand moved down the quivering, flat stomach, stroked the softly curling hairs on her pubic mouth, them moved a finger up and down the moistly pulsating slit of Debbie's pussy.
Cynthia moved her lips down the column of Debbie's throat, gently and still passionately, until they came to the upstanding breasts. The touch of the other woman's lips there on her nipple brought a fire shooting into Debbie's body, and the finger now massaging at her clitoris caused her hips to jerk in spasmodic answer.
Debbie couldn't stop the murmur. "Wonderful ... wonderful."
"And this is just the beginning," Cynthia whispered, running her tongue over the slope of one breast, then an erect nipple. "I'll show you everything, my beautiful darling. I'll do the whole thing for you."
There was confusion in Debbie's mind, yet she could not resist the pure enjoyment of what was happening to her. She lay back and let Cynthia move her lips and tongue across the length and breadth of her naked body. Never had she realized that there could be such exquisite sensations of pleasure. She was sighing and whimpering in delight as Cynthia dragged her fluttering tongue down ... down. And when that delightful tongue scraped into the tangle of her pussy hair, Debbie's thighs opened of their own volition, and then the tongue was licking softly but insisently at her inflamed clitoris. Debbie almost screamed out loud because the pleasure was so great. She placed her hands on Cynthia's head, holding her mouth tight into her crotch, begging her not to stop ... pleading with her to continue what she was doing with her tongue, her lips.
"Ohhh ... good, so good! Please, Cynthia ... don't stop doing that. Ohhh, it makes me feel so ... tingly all over!"
It was something new for Debbie, something delightful.
It was an awakening.
She held Cynthia's face into her pussy, squirming and twisting her pelvis against Cynthia's sucking mouth.
"Ohhh ... I'm going to ... to ... do it!" Debbie cried out, revolving her pussy up with movements she had never used before. "I'm going to ... to come!"
When she reached that final moment, when she exploded within and without in a terrific orgasm, her pussy convulsing like never before, it was so much better than anything she had ever felt before with a man. There was no pain this time, only a slowly bursting bubble over the full length of her body.
Cynthia pulled her mouth from Debbie's slowly quivering pussy. "Did you enjoy that, darling? Did you like the way I sucked you?"
Debbie could only lie there, her thighs still wide apart, and feel the warmth of the tears on her cheeks.
"My sweet, sweet darling," Cynthia crooned.
Debbie knew that life would never be the same for her again-never.
And then she surprised herself by saying: "Teach me, Cynthia. Teach me how to do those things. I want to do the same for you. I want to do it to you so very much." Tears of joy streamed from her eyes, and then Debbie used words she had never used in her life. "I want to eat your cunt, Cynthia ... suck it and lick it and make you come. I want to taste your pussy around my mouth, my tongue. I want to fuck you with my tongue in your pussy!"
Cynthia laughed with happiness, and Debbie was laughing with her. Then Cynthia was peeling out of her clothing, Debbie's hands already moving over her body, caressing ... feeling ... stroking....
CHAPTER NINE
Peter Larison sat in the back booth of the dimly lighted bar, nervously puffing a cigarette, continually glancing toward the entrance, wondering when Virginia Parker would arrive. She was already fifteen minutes late, and he didn't like to be kept waiting.
He didn't know what had gotten into him. He was playing with fire, and he damn well knew it. This was a dangerous game, foolish as all hell, meeting a woman like Virginia at this time of night. But she had called him at the hospital just before he was leaving. Her throaty whisper had been so inviting that he had been unable to resist meeting her. "I've been remembering this morning, Peter," she had said to him, "and the memory has made me warm all over-hot, to be truthful about the matter. I'd like to see you again tonight. Can that be arranged?"
And now here he was, waiting impatiently.
He was a man who had carefully courted success, wanting to make sure that he got the better things in life. Money was very important to a man like him; it was vital, in fact. He needed big money to .live the way he did. Now, he was taking a chance-a definite chance-of losing his job, simply because a beautiful woman had hot pants and was making a pitch for him.
He wished that he had the backbone to resist her.
But he knew that was impossible.
He again looked at the entrance, but there was still no sign of Virginia. He sipped at his drink. He had argued with his wife again tonight. It seemed to him that their argument had become a continual one, just one long episode of angry, biting words hurled at each other. When would it ever stop? He knew they couldn't continue this way, not the way they had been going. There was nothing but anger left between them now.
"You look angry about something, Peter."
He glanced up quickly. Virginia Parker was standing by the booth, smiling down at him. She was wearing a powder-blue knit dress that clung to the lines of her slender body. He could almost see her nipples sticking through the dress, and the hem hung six inches above her rounded knees. She slipped into the booth next to him.
"I hope you're not angry at me," she said.
"Of course not. I was thinking of someone else."
"Your wife?"
"To be honest, yes."
Virginia laughed softly. "It has been my experience that most men are angry with their wives." She put a cigarette between her lipsticked lips, waiting while, he held a match for her. "I'm the exception, of course. My husband never gets angry with me. He's too old for much of anything."
"Why did you marry him?"
Her laughter was bitter. "My, what a foolish man you are, Peter! I gave you credit for more sense than that. Why in the world do you imagine I'd marry a man like him? I'm a selfish, egotistical woman, Peter, and I demand the better things in life. My husband was a plan ... I deliberately married him. He was ripe for the picking. I went to work at his bank as a secretary. Within a week, I had him wanting to screw me so damned badly, his tongue was hanging out almost to the floor. But I played it cool. I let him believe that I was a sweet young thing. He still doesn't know otherwise. He gets up the courage and the strength to screw me every once in a while, but that isn't enough for a woman like me." She smiled and touched the back of Peter's hand. "But you know all about me now, don't you, from this morning."
He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly.
"That was sweet, Peter," she said. "I can't remember when a man has kissed my hand like that. You know where I'd like to put that hand, don't you? I mean, right now!"
She had this knack of getting him aroused almost immediately. He wanted to strip away her clothing right then, right there, and throw her naked ass on the table and fuck her hard; he was burning just sitting there beside her, his cock hard and throbbing.
"Let's go," he said.
She held back. "There isn't any hurry darling. My husband always takes a sleeping pill. He's dead to the world until eight o'clock tomorrow morning." She ran the tips of her fingers across his lips. "We can sit here and think about that first. It's always better to think about it a while and discuss it first."
"I've been thinking about it all day."
"Have you?"
"Virginia, I don't think I can wait."
"But you have to, darling. Even if you come in your pants, we must wait a while."
The waitress came up and Peter ordered two drinks, wishing that they could leave right now before he did come in his pants. He didn't want to sit here with her, his cock hard. He was afraid that someone he knew might come in, even though they had picked this out-of-the-way bar to meet in. Besides, the urgency was on him, in him, building and bubbling powerfully.
He was suddenly aware that Virginia's hand was on his thigh beneath the table. She was simply sitting there, staring into his face, yet her hand was moving along his thigh, groping higher and higher ... inching up toward his bulging cock.
"What the...." he started.
I just want to caress it for you, darling," she said, her voice low and husky. "I just want to hold your cock a bit, feel how hard it is. Maybe I can squeeze you off in your pants." There was devilish twinkle in her eyes, along with the smoldering quality of her sexuality.
Her hand touched his prick now, touching the bulge, then to his surprise, she had pulled the zipper down and her hand snaked inside, fingers wrapping tightly about his hard on. The touch of her hand on his naked cock sent a shocking, perverse thrill through him, and he glanced quickly about to make sure she couldn't be seen. He gritted his teeth together, supressing the yearning.
"Oh my...." she murmured. "You have a wonderful hard on, darling. So big and already wet on the head." She slowly rubbed her fist up and down his cock, her thumb brushing over the slippery, smooth head. "You do want to fuck me, don't you?"
"Goddamn you, you teasing cunt!" He snapped. "Let's...."
"In due time, darling, all in due time. Let's just sit here and have our drink. I'll play with your lovely prick for you."
Again his eyes swept around the room. He wondered if anyone could see what she was doing to him beneath the table. But no one was paying the least bit of attention to them. He tried to move her hand out of his pants, but her grasp was firm.
"You know, I haven't got a thing on underneath my dress," she said suddenly. "I'm absolutely naked under it, Peter. Doesn't that excite you ... to know I'm sitting here in a public bar naked? With my hand inside your pants? Would you like for me to jack your cock off, darling? Would you like for me to make you come on the floor under the table?" She smiled wickedly at him, her hand pumping a bit faster. "Doesn't it thrill you, darling, to know I'm sitting here on my naked ass, jacking you off? Doesn't the thought make you want to fuck me even more? Wouldn't you like to slide your hand under my dress and play with my nice warm pussy? I wouldn't mind if you fingered my cunt and made me come, darling."
"You fucking prickteaser!" he snapped. "I want you so goddamn bad now I'm almost out of my fucking mind!"
"What a delightful thing to say, darling." She laughed low in her throat. "I think you're almost ready to shoot in my hand."
Virginia suddenly removed her hand from his pants. Calmly, she reached for her glass, emptied it, then said, "I think it's time we left this place, Peter. Come along."
He was almost ashamed of his hard on as they walked out of the bar. The night was beautiful, but he had no time for nature right then. He could think of only one thing-her eager body. They walked quickly through the parking area, going to his car. He opened the door for her and, as she crawled in, she let the dress slide high on her thighs, her legs bent slightly, giving him the briefest peek at her pussy.
"See, Peter, darling," she said huskily, looking at him, touching her skirt and lifting it to her waist. "I wasn't telling you a lie, was I? Not a stitch of clothing. See my pussy? Would you like to give my pussy a nice kiss right now, darling? I'd like that ... for you to kiss my pussy right here in the parking lot."
Peter looked down at her. She was sitting on the seat of the car with her feet still on the ground, knees open, her skirt held at her waist. There was a full moon, and it cast shadows over her exposed body. Without even looking about to see if anyone was watching, he dropped to his knees on the gravel, unable to contain himself any longer, driven by forces that he hadn't known existed within him. He darted his face between her thighs, kissing at her pussy, licking it with his tongue, slobbering and moaning as he tasted her juices.
"Oh, please, darling," she urged him, lifting her feet and draping her legs over each of his shoulders, holding the back of his head tight into her crotch. "Go ahead! Eat me ... please, please! Eat my cunt, darling! Lick me off right here! Suck my pussy ... chew on it ... tongue it!"
Peter Larison couldn't stop licking at her crotch. He didn't give a damn where he was or who might be watching him. He knew only that he had to lick and suck her pussy right then. He was conscious of her voice ringing in his ears, urging him to greater efforts in the most gross words imaginable, her heels banging into his back. He slipped his hands underneath her bottom, cupping her buttocks as he slobbered into her genitals, his tongue probing in and out, then over her clitoris.
Virginia screamed once ... twice.
She held still for a long moment, then shuddered in rippling convulsion, and then relaxed again, sighing deeply with satisfaction.
"So beautiful, so wonderful, darling," she said, sitting upright, pulling her legs into the car, straightening her dress. She pulled his face down and kissed him on his moist mouth, not at all concerned that her juices still lingered there. "That's one I owe you, darling. A blow job, I mean."
His own desire was burning brighter than ever after what he had just done for her. He wheeled around the car, almost jumping inside behind the wheel. He left a couple of inches of rubber on the gravel as he tore out of the parking lot.
They drove south, out of the city. Virginia rested her head against his shoulder, her hand fondling his once-again-exposed penis, stroking up and down it with firm, gentle motions.
"We better do something quickly, darling," she whispered in her husky voice. "I want the whole thing tonight ... everything ... all of it, and I want it soon."
A motel's blue neon winked from the side of the highway. Peter turned the car in, almost skidding to a stop before the office. A big, lanky youth wearing a teeshirt and skin-tight jeans came sauntering out of the office, blinking his eyes.
"We want a room for tonight," Peter said, trying to keep his voice under control.
"Sure thing, mister," the youth said, leaning against the car, looking inside. "One night.?"
"That's right."
"You look in a hurry. You wanna sign the register later?"
The youth's insolence angered Peter, but he was in no mood for bickering now. "That's fine," he said.
"Take Cabin eleven." He was around opening the car door for Virginia when the youth appeared with the key. He wore his blond hair long, carefully waved at the sides, and he gave Virginia an inquiring look as he handed the key to Peter.
"Have a good time, folks," he said.
Peter and Virginia entered the cabin, the former slamming the door shut behind him. The room seemed small and crowded with furniture. A single bedside lamp shone weakly from the corner of the room.
Virginia whirled to face Peter immediately, throwing her arms around him, bringing her mouth tightly against his. Peter ran his hands along the swell of her buttocks. He ruffled up her dress in the back, pulling it up to her waist, placing his hands on her naked ass, a cheek in each hand.
"Oh, baby ... darling ... lover," Virginia whispered urgently. "Make me go wild tonight! Fuck the piss out of me, darling! Come on, sweetie ... let's fly to the moon!"
She stepped back to remove her dress. She stood then before him wearing only the high-heels. "Am I the best fuck, the ever-loving best fuck, honey? Tell me ... don't be bashful. We're adults ... tell me what a good fuck I am."
"You bet your sweet ass, baby! You're a fantastic fuck!"
He shrugged out of his suit coat, tossing it aside. Her fingers worked frantically on the buttons of his shirt, tearing a couple in her haste. She removed his shirt and then undid the rest of his clothing. He finished undressing, the hunger keen as he watched her walking toward the bed, her sleek buttocks jiggling only slightly. Virginia threw back the blankets and turned to face him.
"I'll give you a time you'll never forget, big man," she said throatily. "How should we do it first? Shall I give you a nice blow job ... or would you rather fuck me first? I still owe you one suck, remember?"
"You name it, baby."
They leaped for each other at the same moment, two wildly hungry animals. She bit his lower lip and he could taste the blood inside his mouth. Her fingernails were scraping along his back, digging gouges in the bare flesh, down onto his buttocks, probing between them.
"This way, darling," she breathed heavily, forcing him to lie down on the bed. "We'll do it my way ... first."
He lay on his back, staring at her. Virginia stood there for a moment, staring back at him, a wild, predatory gleam in her eyes, her thighs wide, one hand on a breast, the other rubbing unashamedly at her pussy.
"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Your cock is still nice and hard. Are you ready for me?"
She moved to the bed, resting on her knees. She kissed him on his mouth, sending him into a fit of desire. Her mouth moved along his chest. The initial touch of her lips on his upstanding cock was almost like a searing flame. She licked at his dick with the flat surface of her tongue, twirling it all over the hardened flesh, then moved down to suck one of his testicles into her mouth for a moment, then back up to his cock again. Then she did something Peter found amazing. Virginia sucked the full length of his prick into her mouth and throat. She began sucking on it, her head moving up and down quickly, hungrily, a woman gone mad with unhidden sexual desire.
She pulled her mouth off him, jacked her fist up and down the wet dick, then crawled onto the bed with him. For a long moment, she stood up on the bed, a foot on each side of his body. He stared up at her, watching her openly run a finger in and out of her cunt. Then Virginia squatted over his cock, her genitals widely exposed. With her other hand, she took firm hold of his dick. Peter watched in surprise as Virginia moved the tip of his penis not to her vagina, but to her anus.
"You mean...." he said.
"That's right, darling," she grinned wickedly at him, her breasts jiggling. "Up the ass! I'm going to fuck you with my asshole, Peter! I'm going to sit right down on your cock and fuck you with my ass. And you know what else I'm going to do? I'm going to fuck you with my asshole and ... and masturbate! That's right ... finger fuck myself while you watch. Wouldn't you enjoy seeing me finger myself, Peter, while I have your cock up my asshole?"
He couldn't say anything, but managed a weak nod of his head.
His eyes were so glassy with passion, he wasn't sure he was actually seeing her do this. He saw Virginia insert the head of his dick into her anus, without any strain or pain. Then she was lowering herself down until she had every single inch inside her bottom. A soft sigh came from her, and she leaned back slightly so he could see the whole thing clearly. Now, spreading her pussy, she began to play with herself, moving her hips slowly up and down on his cock at first, then faster as her lust swelled.
Once, Peter started to drive his cock upwards, but she stopped him.
"No! Let me ... I'll do it all, you just watch and have fun, Peter."
So he tried to remain still and watch. Her anus was very tight around his dick, squeezing and relaxing. Her hand was almost a blur at her pussy as she alternated stroking her elongated clitoris and shoving a finger deeply inside.
He seemed lost in a vacuum of pure excitement, doing everything at one time. This was new to him, this screwing a girl in the rear, new and wonderful....
Virginia wouldn't change her steady rhythm. It was like being caught in the swell of an ocean wave, gentle and long and never-ending. Up and down her bottom went, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out of her tight anus, her fingers stroking herself.
"You've got to come, darling," she hissed in a quivery voice. "You've got to come up my asshole! Make it shoot up my ass ... flood my hot asshole! Ohhhh, I'm going to come ... too!"
Then she picked up the pace, her movements almost jerky, her hand flying up and down her exposed pussy, her ass moving. It was frenzied and shattering to the soul. Peter errupted with a terrific gush of semen into her anus, and Virginia squealed as her fingers brought her to a shuddering, shivering orgasm.
He lay back as she crawled from him, his lungs hungrily sucking for air before the blackness of unconsciousness overwhelmed him.
CHAPTER TEN
Ray Gannon sipped at his second cup of morning coffee, curiously eyeing the man on the other side of the table. Doctor Brake was painfully thin and he kept running one finger up to his small mustache, as if to assure himself that it had not disappeared in the interim. Now, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, shaking his head slightly.
In a way, Ray felt sorry for the man. He had taken it upon himself to delve deeply into the lives of other people; perhaps some of the slime and filth that he obviously would rake up would taint him. Ray smiled at himself, thinking of the curious similarity between their jobs. Ray, too, dug into other people's lives.
They were sitting in the hospital cafeteria at a small table off in one corner. Quiet murmurings were going on all around them. Ray wondered where Nancy was at the moment., then tried not to even think about her. Last night had been one of the best in his life, like nothing he had experienced before ... or would again. Now, this morning, facing the new day, he was more than a little worried by his unusual feeling for her. He wanted nothing permanent in his life.
"It's a never-ending problem, Mister Gannon," Doctor Brake said, his voice sounding tired. "If I sound as though I am complaining ... well, perhaps I am. My profession is still relatively new in the world of science. It's still viewed with apprehension and a certain fear-perhaps even loathing-by a large segment of the population. I suppose we cannot blame those ignorant ones. What they do not understand, they tend to shove off to some secluded corner of their brain."
"Maybe I can enlighten some of them," Ray said.
Doctor Brake's smile was tentative. "I doubt that, Mister Gannon. It has been my experience that those in your profession-and pardon me if I'm wrong about you-usually seek out the sensational aspects that can always be found in any segment of life. I have little doubt that your articles will be unbiased; I also have little doubt that they will be tainted by sensationalism. It's part of your ... creed, shall we say."
Ray lit a cigarette. There was a nagging tiredness in the small of his back and he knew the reason why. "Doctor Brake," he said, "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't prejudge me. What you say might be all too true. But I am just as proud of my profession as you are of yours."
"I'm sorry if I offended you."
"My skin isn't that thin, doctor."
"I should hope not."
They both paused and looked up as Peter Larison approached. There were dark circles of fatigue beneath the man's eyes. His smile was not quite so cheerful this morning, a little more forced than usual.
"I hope you two are getting along," Peter said. "I'm not revealing any of the hospital's secrets, Mister Larison," Doctor Brake said acidly.
Peter grimaced, winking broadly at Ray, before turning and leaving them alone.
"That young man doesn't trust me in the least," Doctor Brake said. "I am positive that he thinks he must keep a sharp eye on me, hoping that you won't outwit me. He makes me feel like a child wanting to get away from an overprotective parent."
Ray laughed. "He's a fool, doctor, pure and simple."
Doctor Brake's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Mister Gannon, I think you and I have finally found a common bond. Perhaps we can proceed from here."
"Fine."
Ray pushed his coffee cup away and stretched his legs beneath the table. Yesterday's interview with the doctor had not been very productive. Doctor Brake had a way of avoiding a direct answer to a direct question.
"Doctor Brake," he said slowly, "I would like to know one thing. I have heard some criticism because of the housing in your ward. Men and women housed together. These people obviously are mentally ill or they wouldn't be under your care. Aren't you playing with fire by letting them stay close to each other?"
"But what could be more natural?"
"I'm not sure, doctor. I'm not that well versed in psychiatry. It just seems to me that, in mixing up the sexes the way you have, you're leaving yourself open to the possibility of something serious happening. From my brief and fleeting knowledge of Freud and Jung, I had imagined that many of the mental ills stem from some deep-seated sexual problem. You're staring that problem right in the face, forcing these people to do the same."
"That's it exactly."
Doctor Brake was proving to be a difficult man to interview.
"Doctor, you want me to be as fair as possible in these articles I'm writing. Okay, I can understand that. I also want you to be as fair as possible with me. I'd like to know exactly what you're trying to prove by putting men and women together in the same ward. Isn't there a chance that-being the kind of people they are-some of them might ... well, to put it kindly, get together occasionally?"
Doctor Brake's smile was mildly superior. "Mister Gannon, I feel quite sure that some of them have already done so. But is that a crime?"
"No, not a crime, maybe ... promiscuity."
The doctor waved a hand in the air. "A useless word in our present civilization, my friend. These people under my care are searching for something tangible in their lives, something they can grasp, something they can hang on to and thus face the harsher realities of the outside world. I am not going to damn them if they can find someone with whom to satisfy their urges."
"But you do condone that?"
"You're trying too hard to pin me down, Mister Gannon. If I say I do condone it, then I could be made to look quite foolish in print. "Psychiatrist condones free love" would appear in your newspaper. The old rusty biddies would be ringing up the hospital administrator within minutes, demanding the immediate dismissal of this dirty old man. No, I'm not going to say that I condone free love. Off the record-I sincerely hope that I can speak that way with you-I would say that there is nothing at all wrong in my patients finding sexual gratification with each other. Love-and sex-is a natural, human thing, Mister Gannon, or don't you agree with me?"
Ray couldn't conceal his smile. He wondered what the doctor would say if he knew about him and Nancy last night. As if his secret thoughts had triggered her appearance by some magic, Nancy Stevens entered the cafeteria at that precise moment. She was a sheer vision of loveliness, wearing a dark brown skirt and a frilly white blouse. He was surprised at the sudden emotion within him at the sight of her. Something must have showed on his face, because Doctor Brake turned slightly, following Ray's gaze, and then smiled.
"I'm glad to see that you, yourself, are not above the normal emotions, Mister Gannon," the doctor said.
"She's a beautiful woman."
"And an extremely intelligent one, believe me. If there were more women like her, there would be less of a need for people like me." The doctor rose to his feet. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
Ray, too, rose. "Doctor Brake, we've talked twice now and I still don't have much to write about. You're a difficult man to interview."
"That would depend upon what you wanted from me."
"The simple truth."
"Ah, I see. We'll discuss that later."
Ray was left standing by the table as Doctor Brake hurried off. The tall, thin psychiatrist paused momentarily to exchange words with Nancy, then quickly rushed on his way. Nancy came toward Ray, carrying a cup of coffee in her right hand.
"Would it be decent for me to sit with you?" she asked.
He held the chair for her, then sat down opposite her. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. She stared directly into his face, making him a bit uncomfortable.
"What's wrong, Ray?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"You're sitting there like a stone statue. Are you afraid that I'm suddenly going to leap to my feet and scream out to the world-and this hospital-what happened between us last night?"
His smile was slow in coming. "Frankly, gorgeous, nothing you could do would surprise me in the least."
"I'm not sure whether or not that's a compliment."
"Neither am I, Nancy."
She exchanged greetings with two nurses and a doctor passing by, then looked back at Ray. There seemed not a trace of their violent, but extremely passionate, activities of the previous night on her lovely face. She was vibrantly alive, a woman who took life as it came along. Strangely, he found himself wondering how many men there had been in her life; he had never wondered that about any other woman.
He stretched his tired muscles. "You frighten me in a way I don't like," he said.
"Oh ... how's that?"
"Well, last night was more than a quick piece in the dark for me. I'll admit that much. I guess maybe you got under my skin a little. I don't like that. I'm used to being alone, thinking only of myself. There's never been any room in my life for another person. But you, damn you, you come along and in a matter of a few hours-quite pleasant hours-you've gotten me all confused and running in circles."
Nancy grinned. "You have a nice way of putting things. I'm the big, bad woman who's leading the poor little country boy sexually astray, is that it?"
"Sarcasm is the mark of a small mind, gorgeous. Don't try it on me. It won't work."
"I don't think we'll get along much, Ray. Other than the sex thing, that is. We're fantastic together in bed." She finished her coffee, then got to her feet quickly and fluidly. "For what it's worth, mister, I'm not usually that easy a lay. Think about that."
She left him alone.
He couldn't take his eyes away from her retreating figure. She had a nice way of walking. There was a fluid rhythm to everything she did, a natural sensuality that was difficult to conceal.
Ray smiled, watching her ass as she left the cafeteria.
Don stood at the foot of the bed, an evil smirk on his face, staring down at Debbie.
"Are they treating you okay?" he asked.
"They're treating me fine, thank you."
"I guess...." he shrugged, looking back at the door leading to the corridor.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. You seem different this morning, Debbie."
"I do? How?"
"I'm not sure."
"Are you getting along all right?"
"Of course I am!" he snapped angrily.
She moved slightly on the bed, making herself more comfortable. The morning sunlight was streaming through the window. She could hear the birds chirping and singing away outside. She thought it quite funny that Don thought she was different this morning. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him just how much different she really was-now. But the words wouldn't come out. She supposed it was just as well that way. You never could tell which direction his violent temper would take him.
"I was talking with that Miss Palmer and she...." he stopped, his eyes squinting dangerously, " ... what's so goddamned funny about
"Nothing, Don ... go on."
"You have changed."
"Of course. There wouldn't be much sense in my being here otherwise, would there? Tell me about Miss Palmer."
"She gets right to the point, doesn't mince around with her goddamn words. She tells me that she thinks it might be my fault that you're ... well, the way you are. Have you ever heard anything crazier in your goddamn life? She's a fucking creep believe me."
"Please, Don ... I'm tired."
"In other words, you want me to get my ass out."
"Yes."
He came around the bed. His hand reached down, touching her cheek. It was the most gentle touch-the most gentle thing-he had ever done to her. Looking up at him, she found herself feeling pity for him. He knew so little. He was so blustery and commanding; he never could see the other person's point of view, never even attempted to do so. To Don, there were two worlds; his and the rest. His, of course, was always the right one.
"Are you ... watering the roses?"
His hand jerked away angrily. "Is that all you can think about? Those goddamn roses!"
"Please, Don. Let's not argue, not here and not now. I've had enough arguing to last me a lifetime."
He looked down at his hands, his mouth trembling ever so slightly. "Debbie I ... I miss you. Maybe I have been a little hard on you. But you knew what kind of a guy I was before you married me. Don't ... well, don't get to thinking that it was all my fault. Maybe I've made a couple of mistakes. I'm only human, for crying out loud! But I want you home. I want you with me."
"Why, Don?"
"Why do you think?" He couldn't keep the sullen anger out of his voice. "I don't like being alone at night. I lay there last night and thought about you, about those wonderful tits of yours and those long legs and your warm little pussy, and how funny your eyes always get when I'm dicking you and...."
"That's enough, Don."
"Come home, baby."
She remained silent. He bent down to kiss her forehead, but even then he couldn't keep his hands from squeezing one of her breasts, hurting her brutally. She was thinking how gentle Cynthia had been with her the night before as her husband walked out of the room. Lesbian, she thought. The term stunned her, brought her to the sudden realization of what she had done with Cynthia. She had used her mouth between Cynthia's thighs, kissed and licked at her ever-so-moist vagina, clutching at the woman's bottom as Cynthia performed the same act upon her body. Debbie had never done such a thing before with Don-use her mouth on his penis. She had never wanted to, thought it was nasty, filthy. Last night seemed another world now, a strange, different world. The sensations of the night before were vague within her. But they were there, nevertheless. She lay there and thought of what had happened to her, of the way Cynthia had kissed and sucked between her thighs, and then of the way she had shoved her own tongue into the hair-rimmed vagina of the woman. Debbie thought she could still feel the softly curling hair on her cheeks, the taste of the exotic female genitals still in her mouth. Was that sordid? Was it sordid to eat another woman's vagina ... make her enjoy an orgasm? Of course not! Anything that could bring her such exquisite pleasure could not possibly be sordid and nasty.
Yet, she was tainted now. The years of morality by which she had lived were rigid reminders of certain things that were right and certain things that were wrong. Oh, she was so confused!
She wished she could answer all her questions.
"Good morning, darling."
Debbie looked up, startled. Cynthia stood there, a sympathetic smile on her face, her hand automatically reaching out to touch Debbie's smooth face.
"You look a bit wan, tired, Debbie."
"I am."
"I just saw your husband."
"He was in here, talking to me."
"He seems such a violent man, even in his speech."
"He is." Debbie took the hand against her cheek, squeezed it gently, lovingly. "But you wouldn't know about men, would you, Cynthia?"
Cynthia's laughter was soft and gentle. "I might surprise you there, darling. I have been had by men ... two men, in fact. I suppose that was why I turned to ... to what I am."
"I'm afraid, Cynthia, desperately afraid."
"Don't be. I'm here ... I'll protect you."
"Promise?"
"I promise, darling," Cynthia answered, and bent to kiss Debbie lightly on her lips.
The mere touch of the other woman's lips sent a startling thrill of anticipation rippling all through Debbie's body, causing her vagina to swell and start pulsating, and she knew that she would never be the same girl again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lisa Putnam sat in the recreation room, an opened book on her lap, pretending to read. But she had not turned a page in the last ten minutes.
She wished that she could quit thinking about what had happened to her yesterday afternoon; but she couldn't. Her thoughts were so alive, so real and vivid that she almost seemed to be going through those moments once again, those deli-ciously same moments with Harry Stillis and Jack Davis.
Oh, God! she thought, her emotions soaring. It had been so wonderful ... so goddamn good! Ahhh ... fucking Jack and jerking Harry's cock off right in my face! Two beautiful pricks ... two lovely hard pricks at the same time; one up my cunt ... one in my hand! What a thrilling feeling it had been!
Now, those thoughts in her mind, she was wishing that there was some way she could get out of the hospital. She was hungry ... hungry the way she sometimes got, the way she was right now. She wanted a man, needed a man, a man with a lovely cock and hairy balls. But only Mister Akerman was in the room, and she didn't really consider him a man.
Jack had not been bragging about his prowess, not in the least. And Harry-where were those two now? Didn't they know that she needed them, needed those hard things of theirs ... right now, this very minute? What was wrong with them?
She looked over at Mister Akerman. He sat there like a man in a daze, a trance, unmoving. She watched him for almost five minutes and she was positive that he didn't even blink his eyes during all that time. She shuddered. He wasn't human, that man. He was like an automaton, moving around when someone pushed the right button.
Liza sighted Stella Snowden entering the recreation room. For the first time, Mister Akerman seemed to come alive. He turned his head slightly, saying something in a low voice to Stella. The latter snapped back angrily, viciously, and went on outside, giving a teasing and exaggerating sway to her round buttocks for the man's benefit.
The dirty little prick tease, Liza thought. She's teasing him, leading him on. One of these days she's going to pay.
Maria Mason entered the room slowly. She was wearing black stretch pants that hugged her buttocks and a plunging blouse. She walked across the room in that insolent manner of hers, deliberately ignoring Liza. The latter had a hard time keeping her mouth shut as the redhead took a seat and picked up a magazine. The two women sat only a couple of feet apart, yet there was a current of distrust and hatred sparking between them.
Finally, Liza said, "I didn't know you could read. Or are you just looking at the pictures?"
Maria slammed the magazine down. "Just keep your goddamn vicious little mouth shut, will you? I've nothing to say to you, either now or in the future."
"That's fine ... let's keep it that way."
Maria's eyes blazed in anger. "You think you're so goddamned much better than anyone else, don't you?"
Liza remained silent, turning her eyes from the redhead. For the first time since she had met Maria, she began wondering why they detested each other so much. What had caused this feeling of hatred between them? What brought it about? Maria's physical beauty was alive and vibrant and very real, yet her eyes clung to that other world of near-insanity. She was struggling very hard with herself, and Liza felt somewhat sorry for her. There is no reason I should continually pick on her, she thought. She's fighting her emotional battles just as fm fighting mine.
"Maria," Liza said suddenly, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Maria asked, bitterness in her voice.
"I suppose for the way I've talked to you, treated you. There's no excuse for such an attitude. Why can't we be friends? We're both searching for some answers or we wouldn't be in this goddamn place. We shouldn't bite and scratch at each other so much."
Maria lighted a cigarette with trembling fingers. She stared at Liza for a long time, then shook her head.
"What is it?" Liza asked. Maria remained silent.
"We're supposed to help each other," Liza said.
"How could you help me?" Maria spat out angrily. "I spotted you from the first moment. I know what kind of woman you are. It's been easy for you. You've never had to fight and claw for anything in your whole miserable life. We all know about you, everyone of us around here. You've got money and social position and the whole goddamn bit. You couldn't understand someone like me."
"Is that my fault ... that I've had all those things? I couldn't help being born."
Maria shook her head. She got to her feet, started to walk away, and then hesitated. "I suppose I should thank you for trying, anyway, Liza. But I just can't bring myself to like you. I look at you and I see all the things that I wanted to be and never could. I came from nothing. My bastard of a father was a drunken piece of shit who always wanted to put his filthy hands on me-in my panties, if you please-from the time I started developing something to hold onto. He used to bring his sodden friends home with him and let them take peeks at me. He never let any of them screw me, but he would make me parade my ass around the apartment totally naked and those old jack-off farts would sit there and get hard cocks and then my mother would laugh about it and she and those farts-and my father-would all go in the bedroom. I knew what they were doing in there-I knew all along. They'd go in there and fuck and suck themselves silly. But you ... you would never have to go through anything like that, not your kind. You probably had a nice big house and servants and cars and you went horseback riding and learned games like golf and tennis instead of gang-banging. My games were played in dirty, dark back alleys with nasty little boys. There's that difference between us, Liza, and I'm afraid the difference is just too big."
Liza opened her mouth to speak, but Maria had already wheeled around and walked off. The cool blonde sat there and thought about what Maria had said, and that feeling of pity for the redhead came to her once again.
"She was absolutely right, you know."
Startled, Liza realized that Mister Akerman was still sitting there. His steady gaze was fastened unblinkingly on her face.
"Maybe she was," Liza said finally.
Mister Akerman nodded his head, rising to his feet, walking out toward the patio in the same direction as Stella Snowden. Liza sat still for a moment longer, then she also got up and went outside. Her curiosity was getting the better of her, and she was wondering if Mister Akerman and Stella were fucking each other. She knew that it was possible. She saw them standing partway along the wall, conversing together in low tones. Stella sighted her and started to come toward her, but Mister Akerman gripped her by the wrist, holding her there.
Liza went on out to them. There was unconcealed fear in Stella's eyes.
"Are you all right?" Liza asked. "He won't let me alone."
"Mister Akerman," Liza said, her voice stern, "if you don't let Stella go right this minute, I'm going to scream as loud as any woman has ever screamed. There will be five men out here within thirty seconds. Do you understand me, Mister Akerman?"
The heavily muscled man hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then he released his grip, and Stella went running inside.
"You should not have interfered in what was no concern of yours," the man said.
"You were frightening her."
"Oh? How, may I ask?"
"She has this foolish fear of letting a man see her breasts."
"So you thought you'd take a look at them is that right?"
"I wish you hadn't interfered."
"Do you have a thing for breasts, Mister Akerman?"
"What a stupid woman you are!"
"I resent that!" The man laughed.
"What kind of man are you, anyway?" For an answer, he reached for her, grabbing her roughly by the arm and twisting her viciously.
"You're hurting me, you bastard!" she whimpered. "Please ... don't."
Liza was helpless against his brute strength. He pulled her close against him, almost crushing her with his huge arms. His mouth came down against hers, viciously, cruelly mashing and bruising her lips back against her teeth. His hands gripped her sides and for a moment, she imagined that he was about to break every rib in her body. She pounded her closed fists senselessly and helplessly against his steel-hard chest, trying to fight free from his grasp. But she was powerless.
And then he tossed her away from him, sending her sprawling across the lawn. She fell sideways, conscious that her dress was high on her hips, conscious of the evil in his eyes as he stared at her panty exposure. She had never known quite so much fear. She lay there and looked up at him, not even trying to smooth her dress down. "Please ... don't hurt me," she begged. He only laughed at her. "Please...." she whimpered again. "Stand up, you cunt!" he snapped.
She clambered to her feet. She thought of screaming, but she was even too frightened to do that; her throat was dry and tightly constricted, almost cutting off her breath.
He came toward her slowly, his hands swinging before him. Then he swung one arm, catching her on the cheek with his open palm. Liza staggered sideways, managing to remain on her feet somehow. He slapped her with the other hand from the opposite direction. She began to back up, her hands stretched out in a feeble gesture wishing that someone-anyone-would come outside, wishing that she had not been so foolish as to follow this crazy man out here.
She felt the branches of a shrub brushing against her back. Still he followed her, stalking her like a wild beast, a tight grin on his brute-like face. Liza moved sideways now, the fear a horrifying thing within her mind and shaking body. He backed her toward the far corner, out of sight of the patio.
"And now, cunt," he said, "You shall pay the piper for your foolishness."
"I don't ... no, please! Oh, God ... please!"
"I will teach you to interfere with me, high and mighty bitch."
With one hand, he reached out quickly, catching the front of her dress. He ripped it, the buttons popping away from either side. With his other hand, he tore the bra from her body. And then his two hands were at her naked breasts, clutching and digging and squeezing, his fingers mashing powerfully and cruelly. His laughter was low, almost silent.
"Good, huh?" he asked. "You like your tits naked? You like me squeezing your tits?"
Fingers of pain darted through her breasts and everywhere in her trembling body. His hands were like two steel vises, gripping her breasts brutally, damaging her delicate nipples. For a brief moment, she thought that she was going to pass out, the pain was that excruciating. Then, he pulled her against him, bending his mouth to her exposed breasts. He placed his hands on either side of her breasts and pushed them together. The nipples, two reddish-brown points, were almost side by side. His teeth came against one, biting hard into the tender flesh, then moved to the other one. Liza stifled a scream that almost escaped from her throat, pounding futilely against his head with her closed fists, the blows as ineffectual as ever. But her pounding only seemed to drive him on. He was biting at her nipples and hurting her more and more, and she thought that wouldn't stop, never end, when suddenly he lifted his head, baring his teeth in a broad, obscene smile.
"You like that?"
"Please, go ... leave me alone."
He picked her up in his arms, burying his face against her naked and sore breasts. His lips worked against them, sucking and licking. This time, however, there was no pain. She was surprised. She had expected the pain to flow through her again, but there was none. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sucking of his lips and the licking of his tongue against her sensitive nipples began to stoke an overwhelming desire within her. She tried to struggle against the rising passion, but it was too strong, too overpowering. He held her like a baby in his arms, his lips tugging and pulling, and the steaming passion grew and bubbled within her body. Then she began to kiss at his neck, running her moist lips along his flesh there. She was suddenly on fire with pure animal-wild lust.
He put her down gently. There was a tingling sensation all over her body now, and most especially within the area of her now seeping pussy.
"My God!" she murmured, her voice low and husky.
"Tell me you didn't like that," he said. "Go on ... tell me." Liza didn't speak.
He yanked at the buckle of his belt, dropped his pants to the ground, and kicked them off his feet. Finally, he removed his shorts, and stood before naked from the waist down.
Liza gazed heatedly at his straining cock and almost swooned. She sucked in a deep breath, the inhalation causing her naked breasts to jut out deliriously. She wanted to tell him to stay away from her with that huge hard on; yet the sight of him-of his prick-brought further bubbling desire to her.
"Take that goddamn dress off," he said.
Liza removed her partially torn dress with shaking fingers, standing before him wearing only her pink panties. Mister Akerman reached out and snaked his fingers into the elastic band, then gave a powerful tug, ripping the flimsy garment from her hips.
"Lie down, lady, and ... ask me to fuck you."
She couldn't say anything. She dropped to her knees, then lay back on the grass, the passion boiling like a cauldron inside her. Slowly, she parted her legs, exposing her pulsing pussy to him.
"Ask me!" he demanded.
"Please," she whimpered.
"Please what?"
Liza lifted her naked crotch, rolling her hips in a tight circle of unashamed passion. "I want you!"
"You want what?"
She told him then. She used all the words she knew, all the words she had heard. "I want you to fuck me! I want you to stick that big cock up my hot gaddamn cunt and fuck the piss out of me! I want you to screw me and make me come and I want to feel your cock come in my twat and fill my goddamn snatch with all of it," she begged him, almost running the words together. She gyrated her naked ass, wanting him now more than anything in her entire life.
He bent to her, moving slowly, taking his time as he got between her widely stretched thighs. Liza wished he would hurry, she was literally on fire down there.
Mister Akerman moved to his task.
Liza's mind went blank with the momentary pain of his initial thrust. For a moment, she thought her ears were going to burst from the pressure. A red spot appeared before her eyes as his cock slithered deep into her hair-lined pussy and she lost all sensation but that of the severe pain. Then the pain receded, replaced by the rhythm, by the building of everything higher and higher as he started plunging his massive cock in and out of her clinging cunt.
She whimpered once.
And then his mouth locked against hers.
She was lost with the quick tempo of his furious assault. There were a couple of times when she hovered on the border of unconsciousness. Yet, she wanted to have everything, feel every last sensation. She rocked and twisted her naked ass up at him, meeting his powerful thrusts with her crotch, thrilling to the way his hairy balls brushed at her careening ass.
She was high, and going even higher.
Liza thought she would never stop soaring.
There was nothing in the world but the movement of his cock sliding into her moist, gripping pussy, driving deep before withdrawing, only to split her apart again. She was vaguely aware of the moist slap of their bodies as they ground and writhed against each other.
And then ... wham! The whole goddamn world spun around before her eyes, throwing her away in a dizzying motion of red circles. Her whole body shuddered as she exploded into a terrific orgasm, and she was faintly aware of his cock spewing thick, viscous semen deep into her receptive body.
Liza screamed to the heavens, to Mount Olympus and Zeus.
His teeth sank into the flesh of her naked shoulder as he shot his copious ejaculation into her, mingling the pain and the joy together, mixing all of it up in her inflamed mind.
Debbie turned her face away, fighting the deep sob within her. She had never witnessed anything like that before in her life. She was surprised to see Maria standing there. The redhead's eyes were wide in rapt attention at what Mister Akerman and Liza were doing.
"The greatest! A fantastic fuck!" Maria whispered huskily.
"They were ... beasts," Debbie said.
Maria stared. "I didn't know he was such a man. If I had known what a fuck he was...." She left it there.
Debbie started to go back inside. She wished she had never come out here. But Maria grabbed her by the arm, holding her.
"Did you ever see anything like that before? That man ... My God, he's an animal. Oh, I'd love to have that big cock of his up my...."
"You're worse than they are," Debbie interrupted. "Enjoying watching such a vile thing. What's wrong with you, anyway?"
Maria's laughter sounded odd. "Nothing that a good fuck by a cock like that wouldn't cure."
Debbie shuddered in revulsion, removing her arm from Maria's grasp. She didn't like the expression on the redhead's face, or the wild glow in her eyes. She went inside, leaving Maria standing there. She wrapped her arms around her waist, walking hurriedly down the corridor toward her room. What a sight ... what vulgarity! She wondered if she had looked like that during the times that Don had performed on top of her. She wanted to be sick, to vomit, to spew the filthy sight from her. No wonder she had never really enjoyed sex until Cynthia had shown her the right way, the true way.
She turned into her room and sank to the edge of the bed. She was cold all over ... cold and sick to her stomach.
It was at that moment that Cynthia entered the room. The woman came quickly across the short space from the door, seeing that there was something wrong with Debbie. She cradled the blonde's head against her chest, stroking her hair gently, soothingly.
"What is it, darling?" Cynthia asked. "What's wrong?"
But Debbie remained silent, fighting the racking sobs that were shaking her whole body.
"Tell me, Debbie. I can help you," Cynthia insisted.
"It was ... horrible," Debbie whispered. "What was horrible?"
"Them."
"Who? What?"
"They were like animals. That made me sick to realize that I, too, must have looked so ugly, so grotesque."
For a long moment, Cynthia said nothing. She held Debbie's trembling body close to her, her eyes closed, and then she said, "Don't worry, darling. I'll get you out of here later this evening. We'll go somewhere, just the two of us. We'll be alone and we'll put all those things out of your mind. I'll love you the way you like best, and then you won't even think about anything else."
Debbie looked up at her like a small child. "Promise?"
"I promise, baby ... I promise."
Debbie smiled and wiped the back of her hand across her moist eyes. It was so comforting to have someone to lean on at a time like this, someone to take all the responsibilities.
She needed someone like Cynthia.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Peter Larison sighed wearily and glanced across the desk at his secretary, Elinor. There was a kind of vague innocence about the young woman that disturbed him, something he couldn't put his finger on. She was so beautiful in a youthful, fresh, alert kind of way, and yet there was this curious distance about her, as though she were deliberately holding herself aloof from him; in fact, from all men. He smiled to himself, thinking what a sadist for punishment he was. Here he was thinking what a fine piece of young ass Elinor would be-after last night with Virginia. Good God! Didn't he know when enough was enough? He had not done so much fucking in years. But Virginia was the demanding kind-a real hot nympho type-and she had certainly drained his balls dry last night. Just the thought of what they had done together made his muscles, and especially his balls, stir and ache.
"Will there be anything else today, Mister Larison?" Elinor asked, looking up from her steno book.
There was such an innocent air in her eyes. He wondered how she would look with those clothes off, with those sweet breasts exposed, those smooth, long thighs, luscious ass ... hair-framed pussy. He wondered if her breasts were still firm and ripe. So many of them-his wife most of all-looked like a million bucks when dressed. But strip away the clothing and they turned out to have breasts that sagged all the way to their goddamn knees and drooping buttocks and upper legs the size of hams. But Elinor wouldn't be like that; she couldn't be, not at her age, not the way she looked. A vague interest stirred within him, interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.
Elinor reached for it quickly, saying, "Mister Larison's office."
She frowned slightly as she handed the phone across to him. "It's Mrs. Parker."
Peter swiveled around in his chair so that he was only half facing Elinor. She had made no move to leave the office. He silently damned Virginia for calling him here. She seemed to enjoy taking such dangerous chances.
"Hello," he said.
"Darling ... how are you?"
"Exhausted."
"Because of what we did last night?"
"Why else?"
"I thought you might be chasing that cute little piece you call a secretary. Tell me, darling ... is she as good as I am?"
"Look, I'm rather busy. Is this important?" He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Elinor. She was sitting quite primly, knees together and hands folded in her lap. "I've got a lot to get done here."
"You bastard! Talking to me like that!" Virginia's voice came to him in mock anger. "You know what I'm doing, darling? I'm lying on the sun porch and I don't have any clothing on. I'm naked-absolutely naked. The sun is beating down on my naked body, between my thighs, even. It's warmed me up nicely, especially my poor pussy, and I'm so moist there. It made me start thinking about last night, all those delicious things we did to each other. Peter, you are magnificent! I don't say that to many men, you know. Are you listening to me, Peter?"
"Of course I am."
"I have my left hand playing with a breast, Peter. Oh, that is good, but it would be so much nicer if that were your hand instead of mine. I've got my right hand rubbing in my cunt. The way you kissed my pussy last night simply drove me insane."
"Well, I...."
"Is your secretary still there in the office with you?"
"Yes."
Virginia's laughter was harsh. "The little cunt! She probably gets her comes that way." She paused and he could hear the sound of her heavy breathing. What in the creation was she doing to herself? Visualizing Virginia with fingers up her snatch prodded his senses into blazing life. "Tonight, darling?" she whispered throatily. "Same time ... same place?"
"I guess so."
"Don't make me beg you."
"You're not."
"All right, darling. I'm in the mood for a little fucking, or maybe some slow sucking on your wonderful cock, right this moment. But I guess I can wait. Can you?"
"I think so."
"Let me say something to your secretary."
"Virginia, you can't...."
"Oh, don't worry, darling."
Peter shrugged and handed the telephone across to Elinor. "She wants to speak with you."
Elinor took the phone, held it to her ear for a brief second, then slammed it down hard, the crimson spreading through her pretty face. She rose quickly, her mouth set in a harsh, angry line
"What is it?" Peter asked swiftly, also getting to his feet. "What did she say to you?"
"She said you were pretty good at ... screw ... She said I should give you a piece of ass."
Peter couldn't help laughing.
"I don't see anything funny in this," Elinor said a bit haughtily.
"I apologize, Elinor, both for her and fo myself."
Elinor stood hesitantly on the other side of the desk, half turned as though to leave. "What doe that mean?"
"You don't know?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I had."
He came slowly around his desk toward her. She backed away from him, her hands upraised a though to protect herself.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Elinor. What' wrong?"
"Nothing." , He took her by the arm, guided her toward the couch, forcing her to sit there. His mind was racing with the possibilities of feeling her up, of gettin his hands on her breasts, her curvy ass, between her long thighs ... of fucking her. It seemed to him that he was taking one lousy chance after another almost deliberately exposing his ass to danger. But what the hell? A man only passed through life once, didn't he?
He sat down beside her and pulled one of her hands into his, patting her hand gently. "Don't let a woman like Virginia Parker upset you, Elinor. She's beautiful and intelligent, yet there's a hard streak of viciousness in her. She just wanted to get you upset, that's all."
"But why?"
"Who knows?" He slid closer to her, letting his arm rest on the back of the couch. Her face was turned toward him, her eyes big and wide, her full, moist lips opened. They looked very red, very moist, and ever so enticing. "Don't you really know what that means?"
"Honestly, Mister Larison."
"Peter ... call me Peter."
"If you say so."
He let his arm slip down from the back of the couch; his hand touched her shoulder. She was wearing that trim gray skirt, but this time she wore a darker gray sweater, tight and hugging against her swelling breasts.
"Elinor, I've been watching you. You're a very beautiful girl, Elinor. There have been many times when I've wanted to...." he hesitated, searching for the right words; she was like a wild bird who might fly away at any minute. " ... to hold you in my arms."
"Like you did Mrs. Parker yesterday?"
Her words slammed into him violently. He pulled back from her, staring into her wide eyes. "Did you...."
"Yes, Peter, I did. I saw the two of you. Perhaps I shouldn't admit that, but I did. I really didn't mean to look, but the door was open and I heard these sounds-noises. I just couldn't keep from peeking."
He slipped his arm all the way around her now, drawing her body closer to him. Her lips were willing when he kissed her; he heard her gasp delightedly. The craving began for him then, his cock swelling.
"Elinor," he whispered, "you're so damned beautiful."
"Am I?" she whispered back at him. "Am I ... really?"
"You know you are."
He slid a hand beneath her sweater, touched the naked flesh of her stomach. He let his fingers move, caress, finding the fabric of her bra.
"There are so many things I want to do with you-to you," he said, his voice becoming husky.
"What's holding you back?" she asked coyly.
Peter was more than surprised. He had expected her to play around with him, maybe tease him, then refuse at the very last moment. He helped her slip the sweater over her head, and then he unsnapped her bra. It fell away from her breasts, revealing two creamy mounds of exquisite delight to his eyes. He had never seen such flawless, perfectly molded breasts. He sat a moment, almost speechless, staring at them, taking in their sloping beauty. The nipples were rounded and firm, two rubbery buttons of pink desire.
"Christ, you ... they're beautiful!" he said hoarsely.
Her skin was a curious shade of pink all over, firm and soft and ever so pleasant to the touch. He let his hands roam over her breasts, enjoying the pure pleasure of their curvy beauty. He put one nipple against his thumb and forefinger, saw its startling rigidity, and bent his mouth to kiss her. He teased her with his lips. Elinor put her own hand beneath her breast, shoving it more firmly against his mouth.
Peter lost himself with the delight of her breasts, kissing and sucking on the deliciously mouthwatering nipples. For that brief span of time, he forgot about everything else; nothing mattered to him except what he was finally doing with Elinor. She was a creature of pure perfection. He moved his lips from one nipple to the other, licking his way across the warm hollow between, drinking in their flawlessness, unmindful of anything else.
Elinor gasped, her mouth opened wide, her head rolling along the back of the couch, her hands opening and closing with her quickly increasing passion.
Finally Peter pulled his mouth away from those two delicious morsels. Immediately, Elinor brought her mouth to his, kissing him deeply with her tongue sliding in and out of his lips, driving him wild with lust. They stayed that way for long moments until finally parting, each of them breathing hard.
"You're ... perfect," Peter managed to say. "I've never seen a more beautiful pair of tits in my goddamn life."
"You make me ... feel funny-all over."
She was so innocent, yet so extremely desirable.
He stood up, helping her to her feet. He undid the zipper at the side of her skirt and she stepped out of it, standing there in her shoes and a half slip. He pulled down the slip, slid it over her long, luscious legs, tossed it aside. He then slipped her panties down, and Elinor lay down on the couch, staring at him, her eyes holding a strange expression.
Peter laughed nervously, gazing over her naked beauty. Then he bent to kiss her. He let his mouth run over the smooth texture of her flesh, one hand squeezing and cupping the flesh of her breasts. She groaned as his mouth moved, lips kissing, tongue fluttering. She shifted her body once and then lay still as he nibbled at her heated flesh, her long legs sprawled as wide as they would go, then she lay still as he fluttered his tongue along her distended clitoris.
He dipped his face again, his tongue slithering into the moistness between her smooth thighs, thrusting and licking. Elinor twisted with almost delirious pleasure, her feet kicking out. Finally, he lifted his smeared face, anxiously stripping away his own clothing. Immediately Elinor had her right hand wrapped tightly about his straining cock.
"Now!" she hissed in a thick voice. "Quickly! Oh, God ... quickly!"
He bent, surprised as he realized what was going on. A virgin! he thought, almost laughing aloud. He thrust his penis hard against the resisting area of her vagina. Elinor cried out in pain and anguish and, for a second, he thought seriously of stopping. But the end of his penis was already between those warm, clutching lips, and he couldn't quit now. With a powerful thrust, he shot his penis fully into her, bursting through until his testicles slapped against the slight upturn of her buttocks. Elinor was twisting her head from side to side, whimpering to herself, her hands sliding along his back, gripping his cheeks back there, holding him.
"There you are, baby," he snapped. "My cock's in all the goddamn way!"
"Ohhhh ... darling ... darling," Elinor whimpered, twisting her hips and meeting his thrusts.
Her virginity seemed to be driving him wild, almost insane. He wanted to hurt her, then hurt her some more. But the more he quickened his tempo, the faster he pounded into her no-longer-virginal pussy, the more she answered him with an up and down movement that was delicious on his cock. She seemed able to match anything he put forth, even to surpass him. Her beautiful young body worked and gyrated feverishly, her fingernails clawing painfully into his buttocks until he wondered if he would ever to able to sit down comfortably again.
He wanted to feel his discharge boil up and out quickly. He wanted to release his semen deep into her steaming, tight pussy. But it wouldn't happen. He came close to the breaking point two or three times, but still he hung on, waiting for her to reach orgasm with him.
THE END caught both of them unprepared. One moment, he was hanging on, knowing that he wasn't there, and the next moment the whole damn universe was exploding within his brain, and his penis was spewing copiously far into her clinging vagina, sending him floating through timeless space.
He kissed her after it was over, then rose to stand beside her, looking about the room. Their clothing was strewn about in a helter-skelter fashion. He bent to retrieve his own clothing, hoping that no one would pick this precise moment to walk in on them. It seemed to him that his head was going to split wide open. He turned to gaze at her as he buttoned his shirt. Elinor lay still on the couch, one forearm crossed over her eyes, legs together.
"I didn't know," he said quietly.
Elinor remained silent.
"You could have told me."
Still she didn't reply.
"You'd better get dressed."
She didn't move.
A wild thought of despair ripped through his brain. He didn't really know this young girl. She could-maybe-cause him all kinds of trouble.
"Elinor, just don't lie there. Come on, get up."
Slowly, she removed her forearm from her eyes. There were tears running down her smooth cheeks, and her lower lip quivered uncertainly.
"Are you all right?" he asked with concern.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
He glanced at the door quickly. Someone could come in on them at any moment, and she was still naked. But, of course, he should have thought about that before.
"Elinor?"
"What?"
"I wish you had told me you were a virgin," he said.
"What good would that have done?"
"I don't know. Come on, please get up ... get your clothes on."
"Are you finished with me now?"
"Don't say that ... not like that."
He finished knotting his tie and went around behind his desk. He didn't want to look at her, didn't want to see her lovely body; he didn't even want to think about her.
Finally she sighed and rose, then began picking up her clothing. "I feel so ... cheap," she said.
"You shouldn't feel that way."
"I deliberately teased you ... led you on," she said. "I watched you doing it with Mrs. Parker. I knew that you had to be the man who would do it to me for the first time. I didn't even think about you, about the fact that you have a wife, about...."
"Don't, Elinor."
He was feeling like the lowest kind of animal. He wasn't used to experiencing the feeling. She was just another piece of ass who had cooperated with him, younger than most he had, but that was all she was. Why should he be feeling like this? There was no sense to it, none whatsoever. He shouldn't be concerned. The wild fucking had been her fault, not his. She had led him on, teased him with her pretty thighs and curvy ass; she admitted that herself.
He watched as she finished dressing, watched as she pulled her panties up, snapping the elastic softly at her hips, then smoothed her skirt down. There seemed to be an air of defeat about her, as though the loss of her virginity had somehow caused her to change, to become another person. He had never fucked a virgin before. He closed his eyes and remembered all the tales he had heard in the past about virgins. Now he could add his own story to those. But what satisfaction was that?
She came around to stand beside him. The tears were still in her eyes, making them misty with a dream-like quality. She touched him gently on the cheek.
"I knew that it would be wonderful with you, Peter. I just knew it would be good."
"I hope I didn't hurt you too badly."
"The pain was bad enough, yes," she said. "But that's gone now-forever."
"You'll be all right, Elinor. Don't worry."
"I won't worry, not now," she replied.
She turned then, and walked slowly toward the door. She opened the door, pausing there to glance back at him. He watched her, seeing those exquisite thighs under the short skirt, the cute way her ass curved out deliciously. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something to him, and then she walked on, leaving him alone.
Peter sank into his chair, the exhaustion overtaking him. He was a glutton for punishment. There was no strength left in him, absolutely none. Yet, he still had to face Virginia that same night. He wished things could have been different, wished that he weren't the way he was. But it was far too late in his life to change the pattern now.
He slumped over, his elbows on the desk, seeing himself for what he really was.
Ray Gannon sat in the corner of the room, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could. He watched the men and women filing into the room, the way each one cast a quick, furtive glance at Doctor Brake at the head of the table, then over at him, Ray. He wondered what they could be thinking. Perhaps they imagined that he was a new patient. There were five women and three men, each going to a chair as if by some prearrangement. In addition, there was Doctor Brake, and the psychiatric social worker-a Miss Palmer-that Ray had met earlier. Nancy Stevens joined them later, taking a seat in the corner, not looking in Ray's direction.
He had asked Doctor Brake's permission to sit in on this group therapy session. He wasn't sure what he expected to learn or hear. The eight patients appeared normal to him, yet he knew he had no way of knowing how a mentally ill person might look. What had he expected? There was an obvious antagonism between two of the females, a big redhead with a luscious body and a blonde who looked like a couple of million bucks.
Doctor Brake's voice droned on, hardly above a whisper. He spoke for a few moments of small incidentals that had happened around the hospital, obviously opening up the conversation to the others, or for them, rather.
It wasn't long before the others entered into the conversation. Ray was a little embarrassed by some of the things he was hearing. One of the men kept talking about his sister, how many times he had fucked her, how often they had sucked each other to completion in the past, how he kept seeing her face whenever he screwed another woman now.
"Even yesterday," the man said quietly, "when I was with Liza there outside on the grass. I knew who she was when I started; I could see her face plainly. But once I had it in and we were going to it, her face changed. It was no longer Liza but my sister I was fucking. Afterward, she was Liza again, but not then, not at that moment."
"That's true," the beautiful blonde said. "He called me by a strange name all the time he was doing it to me."
Doctor Brake coughed uncertainly, glancing toward Ray. It was obvious that the doctor was embarrassed by this candid revelation and he was wondering how Ray was going to use that bit of information. But the doctor wasn't the only one who was embarrassed. A couple of the other people seemed shocked by what the man and Liza were admitting openly.
The redhead said, "You seem to be taking on every man who can get it up around here, Liza. Don't all that, uh, exercise tire you out?"
The cool blonde was ready with a quick retort. "If you're jealous, my dear, I'll be only too happy to fix you up with a nice hard prick later this evening."
Doctor Brake had a difficult time keeping peace between the two bickering women. They seemed ready to draw blood at any moment.
Ray clung to his corner, wishing that he had not suggested listening in on this part of Doctor Brake's therapy. He felt like an unwanted intruder, butting in where he shouldn't have been. The words ran thick and heavy, the anger building higher by the moment, both Miss Palmer and Doctor Brake continually acting as referees to keep the combatants apart.
He lost track of the time, so involved did he become in some of the revelations presented by the group. He was shocked that people could speak so candidly, shocked and a little ashamed. He was a man who liked to keep his own counsel, not blab everything to everyone around, and especially his sex life. These people-even though, or perhaps because, they were mentally ill-seemed to revel in the opportunity to confess all, and in most graphic words and detail. The deeper their problems, the more they wanted to talk about them.
Ray was surprised when the meeting came to an end. The people filed out of the room slowly, each person glancing back at him inquisitively as they walked out. Finally, there were only Doctor Brake and Ray left.
Doctor Brake leaned wearily across the table. "I hope that today's session wasn't too much of a shock for you, Mister Gannon. Normally, we don't have quite so much soul-searching as we did today."
"What happens to them now?"
"You mean the man and woman who engaged in sexual relations, I suppose." He paused, staring at his hands on the top of the table. "I wish I could give you some quick answer, Mister Gannon, but I can't. I suppose I shall have to discuss the situation with them, individually, of course. I cannot simply ignore the matter, can I? But what do I say? How do I approach them?"
"I'm not a psychiatrist, doctor ... simply a reporter."
"Yes." The doctor got to his feet slowly, stiffly, his hands in the middle of his back. "I suppose that today's episode must go into your series of articles?"
"I don't see why. Nothing would be accomplished."
Doctor Brake blinked behind his glasses. "Remind me sometime to tell you what I think of you, Mister Gannon. Do you play chess?"
"After a fashion."
"We will have to have a game, sooner or later."
Doctor Brake left him alone.
Ray sat there, thinking about what he had witnessed. What he had said to the doctor was true: there seemed no valid reason to expose what he had just seen and heard in print. That would only hurt the hospital; nothing could be gained by the revelation.
He was mulling over these thoughts, knowing that he had to come up with some slant for his articles, when Nancy came back into the room.
There was an angry glint in her eyes when she spoke. "I don't think you should have been here today, Ray."
"Doctor Brake thought it was all right."
"In some ways, Doctor Brake is a simple man."
"That isn't a nice way to talk." Ray tried to laugh it off.
"Damn you, Ray," Nancy said, angrily. "You know what I mean. I believe in what Doctor Brake is trying to do here. I believe that he can really help these people. I also believe that you're sticking your nose in where you shouldn't, that you could cause a great deal of discomfort. If you print that story about Liza and...."
"You don't give me a chance to say anything, do you?"
Nancy hesitated. "Maybe I don't."
"What's wrong, Nancy? Do you feel guilty because of what happened between us last night?"
"That's a low, mean thing to say," she hissed. "I had expected more from you."
"Nancy, I...."
But she was already gone from him, slamming the door behind her.
He felt discouraged, helpless. Yet, he also felt a curious sense of relief, too. He was not the kind of man to get so involved with a woman like Nancy Stevens.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Debbie sat stiffly in the car seat, oblivious to the evening traffic moving around them. Cynthia was driving, heading away from the center of the city. The older woman's hands were gripped tightly on the steering wheel and her teeth were biting down onto her bottom lip. She was obviously not a good driver, somewhat nervous and having a difficult time in the heavy traffic.
Debbie let her head drop back against the seat, closing her eyes. The afternoon had been like a nightmare to her, listening to those stories in the conference room, being forced to listen to those explicit and detailed sexual episodes. What was wrong with people like that? How could Liza calmly admit to what she had done right in front of all those others? Debbie simply couldn't understand that. If it had not been for Cynthia....
She turned her head slightly, opening her eyes, looking at her new friend, her lover. The word had come into her mind, shocking her slightly, yet she realized how true it was. She was different now; she belonged to that shadowy world of the lesbian. There was no turning back ... not now. She needed Cynthia, needed her way of love and, yes, her guidance. People like Don belonged in that other world, the cruel world from which she was fleeing. Only Cynthia meant anything to her now. Cynthia was good; she kept her promise. She had promised that she would take her away, and she had.
Don hardly ever kept his word. All he wanted was that one thing. But not Cynthia.
Debbie smiled to herself, reaching out, touching the other woman lightly on the shoulder.
"Cynthia," she whispered, as if to assure herself of the woman's actual presence.
Cynthia gave her a startled look.
"I just wanted to touch you," Debbie said softly.
Cynthia's smile came quickly. "I understand, darling," she murmured, and went back to her problem of driving through the traffic.
Debbie leaned back on the seat, thinking of all the long nights she had spent with Don, all the long and wasted nights with him thrusting into her in his brutal way. Why had she ever imagined she was in love with him? She shuddered at the thought of having him touch her, of having that hard thing of his probing into her body. He was nothing more than an animal, no better than her fellow inmates of the psychiatric ward. She reasoned that he should be in that place, not her. He was the one who needed professional help, not her. There was nothing wrong with her that a good long rest and being with someone like Cynthia wouldn't take care of.
She sat up, becoming aware of their surroundings. They were climbing a winding road, with huge trees blotting out the homes on either side. She dimly remembered this neighborhood as one she had visited with Don a long time ago. They crested a hill and dipped down on the other side. The road narrowed. Cynthia turned on the headlights. They were like two beacons streaming out ahead of them, picking out the highlights of the surrounding landscape. The traffic had thinned to almost nothing in this area.
"How much farther?" Debbie asked.
"Just a little longer, darling," Cynthia answered.
"It's so quiet and peaceful here."
"We like it that way."
For a moment, Debbie sat quite still, thinking about what Cynthia had just said. Then she asked, "We?"
"I have a roommate."
"Oh."
"Don't worry, Debbie ... she won't interfere with us."
"Is she like ... us?"
"Of course."
Debbie was somewhat stunned. She found that hard to think of Cynthia with another woman, the way they had been. The realization that she was jealous hit her hard. She glanced over at Cynthia. Of course, the other woman would have friends of her own, probably lovers. But what would happen to her, Debbie, in a situation like that? She didn't like to consider the possible consequences. For the first time, some vague doubt began to stir deep within her.
They came to a level stretch of land, a wide park on one side, the sound of children playing and laughing. There was a long row of two-storied apartments on the other side and Cynthia turned into the driveway leading to one. A few people were by the swimming pool as they drove past. Debbie could hear a man's deep booming laughter.
Cynthia parked the car in a carport, then they walked along a narrow sidewalk to the stairs leading to the upper floor. Her hand gripped Debbie's.
"Don't worry about anything, Debbie," Cynthia said soothingly. "Everything will be just fine. You'll see. I want you to forget everything you heard this afternoon. Put people like that out of your mind. Don't even think about them. That's the best way, believe me. That's what I do, and I find it very easy."
Cynthia opened a door and led Debbie inside to a lavishly furnished apartment. There was a shaggy white carpet covering the length of the floor, and low-built Oriental furniture-all black-was scattered around. A couple of huge orange pull-lamps descended from the ceiling, bathing the room in a curious glow. Soft music was coming from a stereo located in one corner.
"Have a seat, darling," Cynthia said. "I'll be right back."
Debbie sat down, folding her hands on her lap, watching Cynthia disappear down a hallway to the left. The music was soothing to her. She could hear the sounds of the people by the swimming pool coming through an open window behind her.
"Hi there!"
Debbie, startled, looked around, seeing the tall black girl appraoching. The girl wore a bikini swimsuit that accentuated the fine color and texture of her lovely skin. There was a bright slash of orange lipstick on her mouth and her teeth were shockingly white as she smiled at Debbie. I've never seen anyone quite so beautiful, Debbie thought, sensing a strange tug at her emotions as the young black girl walked across to her.
"I'm Lorrie Dickens," the black girl said.
Debbie didn't know what to say or do. She twisted her hands nervously in her lap.
"Don't be so nervous," Lorrie said. "I'm not going to bite you."
"I should hope not." Debbie's voice was soft.
Lorrie laughed. It was a low sound in her throat, strangely comforting to Debbie.
"I'm waiting for Cynthia," Debbie said.
"Yes, I know. She's changing. May I get you a drink?"
"I guess so."
"Martini?"
"Whatever you're having is fine."
"You're easy to please," Lorrie chuckled.
She walked to a small bar in one of the corners, busying herself with the preparation of the drinks. There was a sensuousness about the tall black girl's every movement that intrigued Debbie. She liked the way the girl's breasts jiggled only slightly, the subtle ripple of buttocks. She found herself wondering so many things about Cynthia and this thin girl, yet she knew she had no right to ask any questions.
As Lorrie turned around with the drinks in her hands, Cynthia suddenly appeared. The older woman had changed into a thin, almost transparent, purple negligee. Debbie could see Cynthia's naked breasts through the material, even the brownish-pink nipples, as well as the bikini panties underneath.
"I thought I might as well get comfortable," Cynthia said, giving a nervous little laugh.
"Why not?" Lorrie said, handing Debbie a drink, then turning and giving the other one to Cynthia. "I hope these are okay."
"Aren't you having one with us?" Cynthia asked.
"Of course." Lorrie's smile was warm and enveloping. "We'll save the champagne for later, okay?"
The two women laughed at some secret thought between them. Debbie felt left out. She sipped at her martini, unable to take her eyes off the dark-skinned woman. She had a very strange feeling, one she couldn't understand. This was the first time, really, that she had felt a true longing for another woman. With Cynthia, it had been different; she had wanted Cynthia to care for her, to love her. But now, she actually wanted to make love to Lorrie, to run her lips and tongue over that gorgeous dark skin, to touch her lips to every secret place of the black girl, taste her, lick at those long, smooth thighs, and, oh yes, run her tongue along her pussy ... in her pussy.
"There, darling," Cynthia murmured, sitting down next to Debbie, "just relax and take things easy. You're among friends now. You're with people who understand you."
Debbie relaxed. She was wearing her best blue shantung suit. She had wanted to dress up and be pretty for this occasion. It was, somehow, special. She glanced up as Lorrie approached and sat down on the other side of her.
"Isn't she scrumptious?" Cynthia whispered.
"Yes," Debbie managed to murmur.
"I simply love her, darling. She's mine ... all mine."
"She's so ... I don't know how to explain it."
"I understand, Debbie," Cynthia said. "She has the same effect on me. It's all I can do to keep my hands away from that lovely body of hers. You wait, just wait."
Lorrie gave a low, throaty laugh. "What are you two whispering about?"
"You'd be surprised," Cynthia answered.
The drink seemed to zip right through Debbie's brain, confusing her, bringing down a haze of uncertainty. She remembered what Doctor Brake had said about using alcohol. She was on drugs; she hoped there wouldn't be any bad side effects to mixing the two. But Cynthia should know about things like that. Cynthia wouldn't let anything happen to her.
"Aren't you warm in that outfit?" Lorrie asked. "Here, let me help you with it."
The black girl's fingers quickly undid the jacket of Debbie's suit, Cynthia, too, helped, and, before Debbie really knew what was happening, the two women had stripped away her jacket and blouse.
"What beautiful white skin!" Lorrie marveled.
"Thank you," Debbie murmured.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Lorrie's mouth came closer to Debbie's. Debbie's sudden hunger for the young black girl was positively overwhelming. She couldn't wait any longer. She reached out with both hands, pulling Lorrie's face close to hers, taking her lips against her own. The moist kiss sent an electric ripple throughout her entire body. Lorrie's lips were soft, moist, and pliable, strangely warm and inviting, intoxicating in the way they clung to Debbie's lips.
A long, low sigh of growing desire flowed out of Debbie.
As she kissed Lorrie, she heard Cynthia say: "Easy, you two. I'm in on this, too, remember?"
Debbie pulled her lips from those of Lorrie, fluttering her tongue over her own, savoring the exotic taste. Almost immediately, her head was turned around the other way and Cynthia's lips were then against hers. She seemed to be drowning in a high sea of passion and exquisite desire. Cynthia's kisses were slightly more punishing, more demanding than Lorrie's had been. She felt fingers working the snap of her bra, and suddenly it was gone and deft fingers were feeling and caressing her naked breasts, pulling and twisting her sensitive nipples gently. Lorrie was moving her hands over the smooth, flawless flesh, feeling the tips grow rigid underneath her palms and fingers. Debbie's desire flared higher and higher as the black girl manipulated her breasts tenderly while Cynthia continued kissing her mouth, probing her tongue into the warm, moist depths.
Then Cynthia pulled away, breathing harder.
Debbie groaned with all the sensations flowing through her. "Kiss them, please!" she urged in a low voice. "Oh, God ... kiss my breasts!"
Lorrie smiled, then bent her head to run her moist lips across the width of Debbie's naked, thrusting breasts. Her lips were like something alive, with a mind of their own. She never stopped, just kept moving her mouth here and there, licking at the warm flesh occasionally, moving ... moving ... until Debbie found Lorrie's lips settling around one turgid nipple, sucking and drawing it in, tongue fluttering deliciously.
"Ohhhh!" Debbie groaned, rolling her head back and forth. "Ohhh ... that's good! Oh, so good!"
Debbie was vaguely aware of Cynthia moving away from her. She looked through passion-filled eyes, seeing Cynthia standing above her, removing the negligee. Standing now in her panties, Cynthia cupped her hands beneath her own wonderful breasts, pushing the huge mounds upright, the dark nipples erect and full and ever so enticing.
"Come on, darlings," Cynthia whispered in a passionate voice. "Let's go into the other room."
"She's mine," Lorrie said, pulling her mouth from the nipple of Debbie's right breast. "You hear me, Cynthia? She's mine."
"We won't argue, darling," Cynthia answered. "Let's just go in the other room quickly."
Somehow or other, Debbie was on her feet. She didn't want to part from the young black girl. Lorrie wrapped one arm around Debbie's narrow waist, leading her out of the living room, down the hallway to another room. Cynthia was already standing near the bed, a huge king-sized bed. The ceiling was one complete mirror, giving Debbie a curious feeling of walking upside down. A single lamp burned brightly in the corner, giving the room a curious glow.
Lorrie turned to kiss Debbie's breasts once again, moving her lips across them, then falling to her knees before the standing girl. She undid Debbie's skirt, pulling it down over her thighs and legs, letting her fingers touch and brush the soft, smoothness of Debbie's naked thighs on the way down.
"The champagne ... don't forget the champagne," Cynthia said.
"I can't wait!" Lorrie said. "I can't! Oh, God ... I've got to have her now! I've got to kiss her ... kiss that pretty little pussy of hers!"
Cynthia's eyes blazed with sudden anger ... and hurt. She was being left out. It was obvious that she had not expected this and she certainly didn't like it.
But Lorrie wasn't paying any attention to Cynthia. She was still by Debbie, focusing all her attention on this young beauty, stripping away the flimsy panties, and gazing with wide-eyed appreciation and unconcealed desire at the triangled thatch of hair, probing and caressing up and down Debbie's naked thighs and hips, moving her hands over the flat, quivering stomach, running their through the silken pubic hair, and touching fleetingly at the already moist lips of Debbie's pussy.
"She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' Lorrie said, her voice trembling with excitement "Oh, isn't she nice? Look at that wonderful pussy!"
Debbie stumbled toward the bed, falling there, rolling onto her back. She had never felt like this in her entire life. Her skin seemed to be itching with need, burning with desire; she wanted to do everything at once, wanted to feel Lorrie's mouth on her body, feel her own mouth on the satiny skin of Lorrie, to do and experience all those lovely sensations that Cynthia had taught her. She lay there, waiting impatiently, watching the other two women, who gazed down at her naked body.
Lorrie was removing the bottom of her bikini, and then the top. Her body was like that of a dark goddess, so supple as she walked toward the bed. Debbie stared at the nakedness, seeing the large breasts jiggle slightly, the crinkly hair concealing what she wanted to see. Cynthia, too, had removed her panties, and both the naked women reached the bed at the same time.
"She's mine!" Lorrie snapped angrily. "I'm going to suck that cunt first! Mine, you hear me!"
Cynthia only groaned.
Debbie didn't care. Her mind was a complete blank to all but the burning urgency. She wanted to be touched, to have her pussy touched and caressed and felt and delved into. Her body was flexing automatically, legs opening and closing to provide tantalizing peeks at the moist, pulsing pussy between them, waiting for that wonderful moment when one of them would kiss it, lick it, make her feel terrific and everything would be as it should be.
Lorrie was with her then, running her lips up and down the entire length of her pulsing body, the moist tongue leaving traces of fire everywhere it touched. Debbie groaned with pleasure, loving the way Lorrie's tongue licked over her breasts, down her stomach, her thighs, then up along the tender inner surfaces. For a few moments, Lorrie teased her by fluttering the tip of her tongue up and down the moist pussy lips, then taking the exposed clitoris between her lips and sucking gently, her hands gripping Debbie's hips. Debbie whimpered with pleasure, her hands holding the back of Lorrie's head, keeping her face between her thighs.
"Please," she whispered softly, urgently. "Do it ... do it to me! Ohh, please, eat me! Lick my pussy!"
"A threesome!" she heard Cynthia saying. "Please, Lorrie ... don't leave me out of this. Please"
Debbie had no idea what Cynthia had meant. She knew only the passion of Lorrie's lips, moving and sucking at her pussy, driving her wild with crazy desire.
And then there was an entanglement of naked bodies. Debbie realized then what was happening, what Cynthia had meant. The three women formed a tangle of twisting bodies, and Debbie lost herself in the luxury of what was happening. Someone, she didn't know if it was Cynthia or Lorrie, was sucking furiously between her thighs, and when she found a hair-lined pussy near her face, she didn't notice whether the skin was white or black. All she knew was that she had to get her mouth on the juicy pussy, to kiss it, suck on it, the way that mouth was doing to her own. She wrapped her arms around the naked hips, clutching at the swelling ass of the woman, and darted her face between the spread thighs. She kissed and licked at the moist pussy, her body trembling at the way her own pussy was being sucked. Debbie shot her tongue as deep as she could into the pussy, lapping and slurping with soft whimpers of passion erupting from her lungs.
She heard a high-pitched scream once, and then it came again, and then it seemed as though her whole body was twisting through timeless space as she bubbled over into a powerful orgasm, feeling the orgasm of the woman she was sucking on happen almost simultaneously. She thought she was passing out, but her mouth remained pressed hard into the pulsing pussy as she climaxed.
She had no idea how long she had been lying there. When she opened her eyes, Cynthia was sitting on the edge of the bed, drinking champagne from a glass. She was lying cuddled in Lorrie's warm arms.
"The full treatment for you darling," Cynthia said. "For you, the champagne treatment."
"I never want to leave this wonderful room," Debbie murmured. "I want to die right here."
"My sweet," Lorrie crooned. "My sweet, sweet love."
Cynthia suddenly rose and dumped the contents of her glass onto Debbie's body. "This is the way we drink our champagne around here, darling," she said huskily.
Debbie whimpered.
Lorrie said, "We don't have enough, Cynthia. You'll have to go out for more."
Cynthia's eyes glittered angrily. "And leave you two alone, is that right? Damn the both of you! I know when I'm not wanted."
She stamped angrily from the room, naked buttocks jiggling, grabbing some clothing as she left.
"She's been good to me," Debbie said, relaxing in the luxury of just lying next to Lorrie. "I don't want to hurt her."
"She'll be all right, pretty girl. Don't worry about her. She gets jealous all the time."
"Are there others like us?"
"Many, my beautiful blonde. But not really like you and me. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I want you to believe that, honey ... very much."
"I do. Oh, I do!"
They rolled against each other, their mouths meeting, greedily sucking at tongues. Their hands moved and felt of each other, touching and caressing smooth thighs, swelling buttocks, and gently fondling between legs.
Debbie loved being touched by Lorrie so much. For the first time in her life, she felt completely happy.
She heard the movement from the other side of the room. Thinking it was Cynthia, she turned her head slightly, starting to speak. But she stopped in utter horror as she saw her husband, Don, standing there.
He screamed at her, "Debbie!"
Lorrie moved quickly, sitting up, trying to cover her naked breasts with one hand and her crotch with the other, and not succeeding very well.
"You dirty, cunt-licking bitch!" Don screamed. He pounded his fists against his thighs with outraged fury. "I checked the hospital. They told me you had gone out with that Palmer woman. I thought I'd come and see you. I wanted to help you, goddamn it! And now ... this! Eating pussy!" He screeched names at both Lorrie and his wife, his rage building. "You fucking cunt-suckers ... dirty pussyeaters ... cocksucking lesbians!"
Lorrie's eyes were wide with fear.
"All right," Don said, trying to calm himself. "If this is the way you want it ... if you want to eat cunt, all right! But I'll be goddamned if I'm going to...." and he continued on, telling them what he was going to do to Lorrie. "I'll teach you to steal my wife, you fucking pussyeater! I'm going to give you some cock, lady! I'm going to stuff my prick up your pussy and fuck you until you think it's coming out your goddamn ears!"
He ripped away his clothing, stripping before them. Debbie had never seen him in such a rage before. She was afraid to say anything, afraid for Lorrie, afraid of what her husband would do to the beautiful young girl.
Debbie jumped from the bed, leaping at her husband. He backhanded her hard across the face, knocking her out of his way. Debbie went sprawling, arms and legs flying. Lorrie tried to get off the bed, run away, but Don was too quick for her. He grabbed her by the wrist, swinging her back onto the bed. The slim girl fought wildly, punching futilely at him with her closed fists, but none of it did any good. He was far too strong for her.
Debbie sat on the floor where she had landed, legs wide apart, bent at the knees, crotch exposed. She wanted to move to help Lorrie. But she couldn't. It was as if she had been frozen there. Something seemed to hold her to the spot, in her exposed position.
Slowly, Don was forcing Lorrie, taking that long, slender body that Debbie had loved on, the body she had kissed and licked.
Lorrie screamed.
Don was swearing uncontrollably as he pulled her legs apart.
Debbie sat rigid, watching with wide eyes.
Lorrie raked her fingernails along Don's back, drawing blood. But this only seemed to make Don angrier.
They fought like wild animals.
Lorrie screamed again as she felt the hard penis thrusting at her pussy. "No!"
And then they were sweating and panting against each other. Debbie could see her husband's huge cock stretching the fine lips of Lorrie's pussy, then it was all the way inside, plunging far into the pussy she, Debbie, had so recently licked. The haze came before her eyes. She didn't want to look, didn't want to see her husband fuck the young black girl, but she couldn't help herself. She pulled herself to her feet finally, walking slowly across the room, her eyes on the thrusting buttocks of her husband, on the way his cock slammed in and out of Lorrie's pussy, unable to stop herself.
Don was like a madman. Lorrie was sobbing and whimpering. "Oh, baby!" Don yelled. "Oh, you black bitch! Tight ... tight pussy! Good fucking, baby!" Debbie stared.
Lorrie was twisting now, twisting all over the bed, kicking her heels wildly and whimpering.
Don made one last attack. His body seemed to hang in midair for an eternity of time, then he slammed hard into the vulnerable crotch of Lorrie, grunting. "I'm coming!" he yelled. "I'm coming right in your lesbian cunt!"
Debbie stood there for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed. Don pulled away from Lorrie, his penis making a slight, moist sucking sound as it came out of her pussy. Lorrie, whimpering, crawled toward Debbie. Debbie cradled the girl's head against her naked breasts, whispering to her, trying to sooth her, stroking her back with tender fingers.
"You two can eat pussy now," Don said. "I've fucked her. I've had my fun with you. Now, I'm finished. Go ahead, both of you, wallow in your goddamn cunts, lick each other, suck each other, sink in your own fucking filth. I don't give a shit what you do."
Debbie had never hated anyone as much as she hated her husband at that moment. She watched him dress and leave, wishing he were dead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Liza unlocked the door and stepped inside the dark apartment, then turned and closed the door. She stood for a moment in complete darkness, just enjoying the fact that she was alone. There wasn't a sound to disturb the apartment's stillness-nothing.
Finally, she walked through the darkness, finding the table lamp on the far side of the room, switching it on. The sudden blaze of light hurt her eyes momentarily and she shielded them with the backs of her hands.
"I'll never go back there. I don't belong there," she whispered aloud to herself.
Liza thought of the hospital as a prison, and she couldn't take it any longer. She was as sane as anyone. There was no sense in her being there.
She walked around the room, becoming familiar with it again. She had picked her furnishings with care, priding herself on her taste. The colors blended in neatly. Four of her better paintings were hung on the walls. She looked at each one in turn, remembering the long hours she had spent painting each one, the long struggle she had had with herself to find just the right medium. She was a success. Many people said she was a success. She walked on through the apartment to the next room, a very large room that she had converted into a studio. Her paints and brushes were scattered about in a messy fashion. She couldn't remember leaving them like that. She stopped before an easel, staring at the half-finished painting there. It was of a man with a well-muscled chest. The features of the face had not been completed. She stared at it, trying to remember who the man was, why she hadn't finished the painting. She stooped over, picking up a brush. The bristles were stiff from a lack of cleaning.
Frowning, she dropped the brush to the floor, then turned and left the room, heading toward her bedroom.
She stripped away her clothing, enjoying the feel of her own body, running her hands over breasts, hips, thighs, buttocks, and down between to caress her pussy gently. Oh, that had been good yesterday! Three times in one day she had been fucked! Good ... very good. First Harry kissing her and then Jack sticking it in, and then that Mister Akerman. Strange, she had never heard anyone mention his first name. But, what a man! Like a huge bull he was, with that enormous cock of his; the best.
She walked around naked, returning to the studio, staring at the half-finished painting again. Who was he? Why hadn't she finished that painting?
Disturbed, puzzled, she wandered around aimlessly, wondering what to do with herself. She felt a slight chill running through her body and decided to take a bath. She went to the bathroom and ran the water in the deep-tiled tub, filling it with bubble soap. She sank into the luxurious warmth and let the water creep over her body. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the tub.
Good.
So nice.
A man.
She wanted a man.
She wanted a man very badly.
Any man.
A man with a huge, hard prick. What in the hell was wrong with her? She reached into her mind, searched it, trying to remember the long talks with Doctor Brake. Perfectionist.
Yes, that was it: Doctor Brake had said that she was trying too hard. She wanted everything to be just right, just perfect. When things didn't go just right, then she blew up. She retreated from all reality.
How the hell would he know? Who the fuck was he, anyway? She thought she heard the sound of voices. She was sure she did. Someone was calling her name. "In here," she called out.
A man came into the bathroom. Jack. Ah, yes, that was his name, the funny man who always thought he was fucking his sister. That was a hell of a thing to think!
"Well," he said. "How about this?"
Harry was behind him, crowding into the bathroom.
"You shouldn't be in here while I'm bathing," she said. "How did you get in here?"
"The door was open," Jack answered. "What do you want?"
"Now that's a real stupid question, baby." Jack looked at her unconcealed breasts.
"You're not good enough for me," she said. "Go fuck your sister. Neither of you two are good enough for me. I need real men, men with nice big cocks on them, not little boys like you."
Jack gave a harsh laugh.
Harry said, "We were plenty good enough for you yesterday."
Liza rose up from the water, standing upright in the tub, letting them look at her naked body.
"I'm perfect," she said. "My body is perfect. I've got perfect breasts and perfect thighs. Look, see how perfect my ass is, round and smooth and swelling." She turned to expose her naked bottom to them. "You see, I'm perfect all over, even my pussy is perfect. Not too tight, not too loose, and soft hair around it. Perfect. No man has ever really touched my body."
"You're perfect all right, baby," Jack said, his voice changing. "You're just about the most perfect cunt I've ever seen. Right, Harry?"
"Let's fuck her, Jack. Come on ... let's fuck her," Harry said.
"Don't be in such a hurry," Liza said. "Everyone takes his time and things work out better that way. It's much more fun to take your time when you fuck."
Jack's laughter rang in the small bathroom.
Liza stepped out of the tub. Harry was there, waiting for her with a huge towel in his hand. He wrapped her body in it, letting his hands rub through the towel, drying and feeling her at the same time. She felt flushed all over. This was all right; this was what she called living. What had she been thinking about before? Her mind was so confused, so full of little odds and ends that never seemed to match up. She wished her mind would straighten itself out. What had Doctor Brake said about that?
Oh, fuck Doctor Brake!
This was better than talking with Doctor Brake.
The three of them-Liza, Jack, and Harry-left the bathroom, going to the bedroom. Jack was already unbuttoning his shirt, an evil sort of grin on his face. "I'm fucking her first, buddy," he said.
"Not on your life," Harry replied. "I'm getting my dick up that hairy snatch first."
Liza thought of something. What was it? There was a dim memory within her mind, something she had read or heard.
"How about all together?" she asked, her excitement beginning to grow now, her passion flaring like a bright bulb. "All three of us fucking at the same time? I'll take one in my pussy, one in my ass, or I'll blow one. Any way we can think up is fine with me."
The two men exchanged glances, then both smiled.
"I don't mind if you don't," Jack said.
"Who gives a fuck?" Harry shrugged.
"Okay. Now, are you two going to talk about it or are we going to fuck?" Liza asked.
The men began to strip away their clothing. Jack had a funny expression on his face. She was getting warmer and more excited all the time. Yes, this was the real thing, not all those crazy stories at the hospital. Who needed to listen to all that shit? A bunch of nuts who didn't know from nothing.
She wasn't like that.
Jack was the first to become naked.
She looked at him, saw his cock up and ready. Liza reached out and gripped his hard on, stroking it expertly, squeezing it hard.
"Not yet, baby ... not yet!" Jack said.
Harry was rushing to get out of his clothing, and finally he stood naked, also. She looked from one to the other, seeing both cocks up in throbbing hardness. There was confusion in her mind. How could she take them both on at the same time? How could it be done?
She leaned forward, kissing Jack, licking her tongue along his lips, feeling the sharp reaction run through his body.
"Hey," Harry yelled. "Me too!"
"Sure thing, sweetie," Liza said, brushing her lips and tongue over his lips. Then, without actually realizing it, she dropped to her knees and ran the surface of her tongue up the full length of Harry's cock, tickling the tip of it. Then she turned her head and repeated the action on Jack's prick.
"Come on, let's get with it," Jack said.
Liza became confused again. She didn't know what to do.
They all three stood gazing at each other, then Harry wheeled around and lay flat out on the bed. His cock stuck in the air, and Liza moved to him, straddling his body, scooting up until she squatted down on his cock, taking it fully inside her pussy. She leaned over him, using her knees to brace herself, the muscles of her thighs rippling as she began to fuck him. Jack, standing there, watched her rounded ass bob for a moment, then crawled onto the bed with them, positioning himself at her buttocks.
Gripping her ass cheeks, he spread them apart, and probed the tip of his cock against the tightly puckered entrance of her asshole. Then, with a powerful lunge, he stretched her asshole as his cock invaded her body in the rear. The pain was terrific.
Liza wasn't sure she could take a cock up her asshole.
"Owwww!" she screamed.
Harry, beneath her, began to thrust up into her pussy. "Let's go. Let's fuck, baby!"
Liza felt the two cocks lunging into her body, one in her pussy and one in her ass. The men were breathing very hard against her, battering her body between them. There didn't seem to be any pain now from the thrusting cock in her ass. Instead, she was lost in the pleasure, lost as the deliriums of her own flesh matched and responded to theirs. The rhythm was awkward and slow at first, then everyone seemed to catch on at the same time, and even Liza found she could wiggle her hips in time with them.
They were all working together now.
Liza panted and shouted her pleasure, commanding them in an almost incoherent voice. "Fuck me ... fuck me! Fuck my cunt! Fuck my asshole! Oh, God ... what I would give to suck a cock, too! Pussy, asshole, and one in my mouth! Ohhhh...."
Jack was saying something, but she couldn't hear him. The double sensation of taking it in both lower holes was running over her, forcing her to continue on and on ... she thought that it was the greatest thing ever.
She wondered why she had never tried this before. Two men were fantastic ... terrific ... out of this world. Three would be even better. All her nerves seemed ready to explode.
The room was spinning crazily before her glazed eyes. The ceiling seemed to whirl around and break away. She screamed as the best orgasm of her life burst throughout her whole trembling body.
Harry yelled, biting down on the soft flesh of her shoulder just above his face. Jack pumped powerfully into her asshole, wanting to come just as Harry was doing in her pussy.
Liza whimpered in pleasure one last time, then screamed shrilly with pure delight.
Stella sat watching the television set. She was only dimly aware of the program going on. Occasionally, she would focus her eyes upon the small screen, watch it intently for a moment or two, then go back to her daydreaming. Other people kept moving in and out of the recreation room, but they were just so many figures in the background.
A tall, dark-haired man that she vaguely recognized as having been in the conference room that afternoon came in and asked her if she had seen Miss Stevens, and she replied in the negative.
She watched the man walking away. In a way, he reminded her of someone she had known in that past, though the man's name kept slipping through her memory, always just on the edge.
Now, she looked again toward the television screen as she heard the sound of gunfire. But she again lost interest in the picture.
She pulled her legs up beneath her on the couch, curling up contentedly. She thought again of the man yesterday in the park. Buck. What had she done there? How could she have let herself do such a thing? She was a decent woman. She had her problem, that was true, but that gave her no right to act the way she did. What would people think if they knew? What would Doctor Brake think? Would they call her a whore? Slut? Hot-assed?
She had seen the expression on his face this afternoon when Liza and Jack were talking. He had been disgusted with them, with both of them. How could they sit there and confess such things in front of the rest of the people? Shameless.
And then, of course, there was Mister Akerman.
As if in answer to her thoughts, the powerfully built man suddenly appeared in the recreation room. He didn't say anything, merely walked across the room and sat down beside her. They sat in silence for a few moments, Stella feeling the nervous tension building within her. What was there about this man that caused her to fear him so much?
Finally, she couldn't stand that any longer. She said, "I prefer to be alone."
"The recreation room is open to all of us," he answered.
"All right, then ... I'll leave."
He turned to look at her steadily. "Why, Stella?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have I got some horrible disease? Why do you avoid me all the time?"
"You know why."
"Oh, but I don't."
"You look right through me. You want to touch me and look at me and everything."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Please, Mister Akerman. Don't bother me tonight. I'm not feeling well and I don't wish to argue with you."
She felt so alone. The others-most of them-had gone out for the night. She had seen Debbie leaving with Miss Palmer, and then Liza had left, followed by Jack and Harry. Why couldn't she go? She knew why. She had no place to go, nothing to do with herself. Of course, she could go out and wander around and, perhaps, the same thing that happened yesterday would happen again. But was that what she wanted?
She looked sideways at Mister Akerman. She didn't even know his first name.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"It doesn't matter."
"But I would like to know."
"I don't like my name."
"Why not?"
"My father wanted a girl. He gave me a girl's name."
"What is it?"
He was silent so long that she thought he wasn't going to answer her. Then he said, quietly, "Marion ... Marion Hugh."
"That's a very nice name," Stella said.
"You're kidding."
"I'm not, really."
"I hope not." His voice was tightly controlled. "I had to fight too many times because of my name. The other kids-you know how kids are. I started lifting weights when I was small. With a name like Marion, I had to be the toughest and strongest kid in the neighborhood."
He seemed almost human. Strange, she had never even considered him like that before. He had always been a dark shadow passing through her mind, worrying her.
"I'm sorry, Marion."
"For what?"
"For you."
"I don't want pity."
"No. I'm not giving you pity."
They were silent for a while, both in their own thoughts. The cowboys and Indians dashed wildly across the small screen before them. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of violence.
She suddenly felt very good, very peaceful, very relaxed. She hadn't felt like this in longer than she could remember. How long had she been afraid? How many years? How many nights had she lain awake, thinking about men looking at her breasts, wanting to touch them?
She moved closer to him.
He gave her a startled, surprised look.
"Don't misunderstand me, Stella," he said, his voice somewhat rough. "I am a violent man. I am used to violence. Don't think that you can tease me the way you've teased other men."
"I'm not thinking that, Marion. I'm just thinking that I like to be close to you, that's all."
He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She could feel the tautness of his muscles. He was like steel, so strong, so ... virile. He would be all man, this one. Perhaps the man she had been searching for all along.
She turned her head to kiss his neck.
"Don't start something you won't finish," he said. "Once I get started, I don't stop."
"Neither do I," she whispered.
"You're a strange woman."
"Not so strange."
His smile was slow in coming. He put his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face closer to his. She waited for what seemed an eternity before he finally kissed her. The kiss was not as violent as she had expected. Yet, there were tiny little prickles of excited desire running up and down her spine, causing her to shiver.
She put her hand beneath his shirt, feeling the strong muscles of his chest.
"You're so strong, Marion. Like a rock."
"I don't do things half way, Stella," he said.
For an answer, she kissed the lobe of his ear, then ran her lips along it, flicking her tongue out. The hand gripping her shoulder tightened, hurting her, though she knew that he did not mean to do so.
"I think...." she started.
"There isn't any reason to think," he interrupted. "We should let our emotions take command. If you think, there are only problems-trouble."
"Kiss me," she whispered. "Kiss me hard, very hard, Marion."
His kiss was hard, demanding, the passion beginning to build for each of them. He turned on the couch so that one hand rested on her bare knee. She felt the flood of emotion sweeping over her as their lips clung together. She wanted this man more than she had ever wanted any other man in her life; this man seemed more important to her than any other man she knew.
Their lips parted and they both were gasping.
"We're alone here," he managed to say.
"No, someone might come along," she whispered.
"I don't care."
"Marion, oh, Marion."
"My beautiful one."
They kissed again, longer and deeper this time. The swelling emotion of passion seemed to grip her entirely. She could think only of satisfying this strong man. This was very strange to her; before, she had always thought only of her own gratifications, of herself.
Once again, their lips parted.
She let her hand stray to his belt. She touched him with her hand, moving her palm down and feeling his cock swell there. Almost as though in a trance, she pulled the zipper of his fly down, reached inside and pulled his prick out. Wrapping her hand around it, she stroked it up and down, watching the small beads of fluid collect. She wiped at it with the surface of her thumb, feeling him swell into full hardness. His hand was suddenly at the back of her neck, urging her face downward.
She kissed the swollen head of his cock, then ran her tongue over it, tasting the dripples of his juices. With a small whimper, she ovaled her lips and sucked well over half of his cock into her mouth.
This was great ... this was the most ... a real thrill to her. She could only think of him, only think of satisfying his passion. She moved her lips up and down his cock, sucking happily.
His fingers gripped her hair, hurting her. But she didn't mind at all. She loved the sensation of having his hard cock moving in and out of her mouth, probing at her throat. She was finding a solution of sorts for herself, and that was all that mattered to her.
She began sucking him greedily, with more hunger and passion.
She loved it.
He groaned, tightened his fingers in her hair, shoving her face down into his lap, forcing his cock almost down her throat. And Stella felt-and tasted-as he began to spew his semen forth. She gurgled and swallowed, pleased with herself for giving him this satisfaction. He held her face down tightly on his cock until he finished. Then he jumped up from the couch, his cock dangling. He said one loud word she didn't understand, then sank back down, lifting her face to his, kissing her with passion, but with a loving passion. "You're the one," he said.
"We're together," Stella replied. "I've got part of you in me now."
"And now?"
"And now what?"
"This is your turn, Stella."
The fear gripped her again, held her. She knew what he meant. She closed her eyes as his hand went beneath her sweater, stayed for a moment against the bare flesh of her stomach, then slowly moved upward. She could feel his strong fingers through the material of her bra. She knew that her nipples were swelling, hardening; they seemed ready to burst through the bra.
She pushed him away in a quick movement, then swiftly pulled her sweater over her head. She didn't want to think; she only wanted to act, and now. He unsnapped her bra, holding it in his hands for a moment before dropping it to the couch.
She was crouched over and he could not fully see her breasts. She held that position for a long time, willing herself to sit upright. She wanted him to see her breasts!
He smiled.
She felt herself flushing all over as he stared at her breasts.
"They're ... beautiful, Stella," he said in a husky voice.
For the first time in her life, she felt like a real woman. All these years, and now this was the first time. All the many men who had wanted to see her breasts, touch them, suck on them, and she had denied every one of them.
But not Marion. He was special. "Are they? Are they really?" she asked. "I have never seen more beautiful breasts in my life."
She looked down at herself. Her breasts were huge mounds, pink-tipped, the nut-brown nipples very erect. Her nipples were aching with desire now. She placed her hands beneath them, pushing them upward.
"Kiss them," she whispered. "Kiss my breasts ... suck my nipples."
He bent to kiss each in turn. The mere touch of his lips sent a blazing fire roaring throughout her body.
He began teasing her, running his lips across both breasts, pausing to nibble playfully at each one, never settling his lips or tongue in one place for long.
"Don't tease," she whispered. "Please ... don't tease me, Marion. I've waited so long for this."
He ceased his teasing immediately. There was a new awakening, a new birth.
Together on the couch, Marion kissing and sucking and caressing her breasts, driving her wild with exquisite desire. She never wanted it to end ... never.
"Fuck me, darling," she hissed in a husky voice. "Oh, please ... fuck me! Fuck me everywhere! Use my pussy, my ass! Fuck my tits!"
He was up and ready again. She held his cock, jerking on it strongly, wanting this hard thing in her, on her. They moved on the couch, positioning themselves. Stella was in agony.
"Now!" she screamed. "Between my tits! Fuck me between my tits!"
He straddled her stomach, and as she held her breasts around his penis, he began thrusting back and forth. With every lunge, the tip of his cock brushed her lips, and she kissed it, running her tongue out. She discovered that with a slight adjustment, she could take the head of his cock into her mouth with each lunge, and she sucked him as he thrust in and out of the hollow.
She gazed up at him, knowing that she had found herself at last, knowing that her life had just begun.
Maria grimaced.
She pulled her lips back against her teeth in a snarl. She wanted to scream ... she wanted to claw at them both.
Goddamn them!
They were always leaving her out of things. She was always left out.
For a while she watched Stella and Mister Akerman. Then she pivoted around, running full speed down the long hallway, screaming at the top of her lungs. She had to get out of here. She couldn't stay here any longer with these insane people.
She ran headlong into the closed door at the end of the hallway and bounced back, falling to her hands and knees. Someone was coming toward her, speaking softly to her. Maria lashed out with her arms, wanting to hurt, to kill. She wanted to be left alone.
There was a loud ringing in her ears.
She leaped to her feet.
Someone was standing close by her. Maria swung with all her might. She felt her small fist striking flesh, and laughed loudly.
She tore away her clothing, all of her clothing, until she was naked. She had to be naked. She could not stand the restrictions of her clothing. She ran back down the hallway naked, leaving her clothing strewn around behind her.
Freedom.
She turned into a doorway, slamming it behind her.
She could hear them out there. They were saying nasty things about her, the way they always did, saying that she was free, that she was an easy piece of ass, a girl who would fuck anything as long as it had a hard cock on it, saying that she was the best fuck in the whole goddamn school. Yes, that's what they were saying. They were talking about her. She wanted to go home, go home and be with daddy and mama and all their friends. She wanted to have her daddy make her take her clothes off and parade naked for his friends. She wanted her mama and daddy to make her fuck those friends, she wanted her daddy to fuck her, to be with her mama and the two of them fuck her daddy and his friends.
Oh, goddamn them all! Goddamn every last one of them!
She threw herself against the door, pounding it with her closed fists.
They weren't ever going to hurt her again.
She was going home ... going to fuck all daddy's friends. She was going to take her clothes off, parade naked for them, then she and her mama were going to fuck every last friend, and she would fuck her daddy, too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Peter sat hunched over in the rattan chair, smoking a cigarette, watching the door. Virginia was late again. They had made plans to meet at the motel tonight, and he wondered what he was going to say when she finally showed up. He was in no mood for her. He was in no mood for anyone.
He kept seeing Elinor's face, the way she had looked at him this afternoon. How was he supposed to know that she was a virgin, for God's sake? Was he a mindreader? Why the hell hadn't she told him before it went that far?
He mashed his cigarette out in the ash tray on the floor beside him, immediately lighting another one. The windows in the small room were closed and the smoke was beginning to hang low in the room. He waved a hand in the air as if to clear the room. He looked around. It was a cheap and small room. He was hating himself for being so weak as to give in to Virginia like this. Hell, he was no moralist, but what was the future in meeting her in a cheap room like this one?
He rose and went over to the door, opened it and looked outside. There was a cool night breeze and he breathed the fresh air, enjoying it.
"Your friend is late, huh?"
Startled, Peter looked in the direction of the voice, saw the vague outline of the big youth who had rented them the room last night.
"She's a real beauty, that one," the youth went on.
"Get lost, kid."
"You wanna make me?"
The big kid was suddenly there, standing right in front of Peter, his long arms hanging loosely at his sides, a sneer on his mouth. He was willing, just waiting. He wanted Peter to do something.
"I don't like your kind, big man," the youth said.
Peter took a deep breath. He knew what he should do, but he wasn't going to do it. A year ago, maybe a few months ago, he would have enjoyed smashing this kid's smug face. But now, no. Why not? What had changed within him? What was making him afraid? That's what it was, fear, and he wasn't going to deny it.
The youth called him a foul name. "She's too good for you, old man," he said. "Much too good. She needs someone like me, someone who can keep a hard cock ready for her all the time."
"Look, kid, I don't...."
"I'm not a kid!"
"Whatever you are, just go away."
"You stink like shit, old man. I can smell it on you. You're afraid of me."
Peter turned and closed the door, leaning back against it. What was wrong with him? How could he have stood there and taken such a thing?
He moved away from the door, turning to face it. For a moment, he thought of going back out there, having it out with the kid.
Then he heard the sound of Virginia's laughter. The door swung open. She was still saying something to the kid outside, laughing as she entered. Her eyes, as she closed the door, were full of merry amusement.
"What's so goddamned funny?" He asked irritably.
"My, what a grouch you are tonight," she answered.
She came close to him, kissing him on his mouth, then moving quickly away. She was wearing black stretch-pants, skin-tight, and a baggy gray sweater. Even dressed like that, she looked like a million bucks.
"What were you saying to him?" Peter demanded.
She paused, lighting a cigarette, glancing at him quizically. "What I said to him is my business, Peter," she said coldly.
"Fine. I'll leave you with him right now."
"Go ahead."
He started for the door, then stopped. She was a big wheel at the hospital; she could cause him all kinds of hell. One word from her, and he could be out on his ass. He silently cursed himself for being such a coward. Twice in one night he had lost his courage. He felt like a whipped puppy.
"I thought you were leaving," she taunted him.
"Virginia, I...."
"Don't try and explain, Peter. You'll just make it worse."
He looked at her, seeing into her eyes, knowing that the kid had told her about him. He wanted to shrink up, disappear; her eyes were so cold and so accusing. They were robbing him of his manhood and he damned her for that. He had sunk so far into his private hell that there seemed no way out. Which way could he turn now?
She laughed suddenly. "Don't be so serious, Peter," she said. "There's nothing to be serious about. Life is one great big ball. Or hadn't you heard? Just be nice to me, Peter, the way I want you to be, and all your worries will disappear. I guarantee that."
"Yes," he muttered.
"You're still too serious."
He ignored her taunting voice. He walked to the bathroom, got two drinking glasses there and returned to the other room. He had brought a bottle of bourbon with him, and now he poured two stiff drinks, handing one to her.
"Do we really need this, Peter?" she asked.
"I thought you might like a drink."
"You're different tonight."
He didn't say anything.
She stared at him for a moment, then drank her drink straight down before saying, "And how was your pretty little secretary today? What's her name ... Elinor?"
"Cut it out, Virginia."
"Did you show her how good a fuck you are?"
"I said cut that out!"
"You're in a terrible mood, Peter. I hope you didn't waste all your load on that little hot-assed piece today. I hope you're going to be man enough to get a nice hard on for me ... for my asshole. Remember?"
He looked at her for a long moment, then turned away. She was deliberately trying to destroy him. What kind of woman was she, anyway? Did she get her kicks destroying a man? That is, other than enjoying a hard one stuffing her ass. He was such a damned fool to have gotten involved with her.
"Did you, Peter?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you fuck the little girl?"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
Virginia smiled unpleasantly. "I guess you fucked her. I hate it. I hate you for sticking your cock in her pussy. You fucked me twice yesterday and you knew you were going to fuck me again tonight, and yet you had to try the little cunt on for size, too."
"I didn't...."
"Don't try and lie about it. The truth is all over your face."
He sipped at his drink, discouraged, angry at himself. He watched silently as Virginia sat on the edge of the bed, apparently lost deep in thought. Then a slow grin spread over her face as she looked up at him.
"Come here, darling," she murmured.
He walked over to sit beside her. She put her arms around him, forcing him back onto the bed. Her mouth came up against his, warmly at first, and then demandingly. She began biting him with her teeth, hurting him. She bit down hard on his bottom lip and he yelped in pain.
Her hands were working at his belt, undoing that. The excitement began for him, and his cock swelled. She was forcing the issue, virtually raping him, and the idea caused his emotions to swing higher.
He put his arms around her, locking her to him. He began punishing her mouth with his, giving her a taste of her own treatment.
"Oh yes, baby," she whispered through her teeth, "make me like you. Hurt me, darling ... give me pain. I like you that way."
Fully clothed, they rolled around on the bed, her hand working frantically up and down his now-concealed cock all the time. He managed to get his fingers under the band of her stretch-pants. He pulled once as hard as he could, splitting the band. She gasped and rolled away from him, pulling her pants the rest of the way off, kicking her legs in the air.
Then she was removing her baggy sweater. Her breasts came free, the nipples very dark and erect. He bit them, delighted when she screamed in pain.
"Good! Oh, that's good!" she yelled. "Bite them some more! Make them bleed."
He jumped from the bed, tearing at his clothes. He could think only of her beautiful, slender body. She had challenged his manhood and now he was going to show her.
She lay on the bed naked now, her fingers working, her mouth open, a slight drop of blood at the corner, her eyes wild and insane looking.
"Baby, baby!" she squealed. "You're the greatest! Give me that cock! Oh, baby ... stuff that big cock in me!"
She rolled onto her stomach, arching her ass upwards slightly. He gazed at her bottom, seeing the flawless beauty of it, the way it swelled.
"Hurry," Virginia squealed. "You know where! You know where I want it! Fuck me baby ... fuck me right in the asshole! Tear my asshole apart ... ream it, baby! Cornhole me! Hurry!"
He crawled atop her, positioning himself. Virginia used her hands to pull the cheeks of her bottom wide apart, exposing the target for him. He pressed forward, watching the head of his penis slip into her anus.
Then he was lost in a blackness of pure lust.
Even before he could begin, she started throwing her bottom in all directions. She was vicious.
He dug his fingernails into her hips as he plunged brutally into her ass, wanting to make her scream. But she was lost in her own world, and her world centered in and around her asshole.
"God ... God," she shouted. "So good ... so fucking good. Ahhhh, wreck my asshole! More ... more! Cornhole me ... fuck my ass! Ohhhh ... I'm coming! Hurry ... hurry and shoot up my asshole!"
She shattered, her whole body going into convulsions, and he couldn't withhold his ejaculation. The explosion wracked him completely, left him on the brink of unconsciousness.
Later, she moved to lie beside him. He blinked his eyes, trying to bring his breathing back to normal, wondering if the world would ever be right again.
"Am I the best piece of ass ever?" she asked, putting the palm of her hand on his chest. He didn't answer.
She slapped him playfully on the stomach, then pinched him.
"Am I?" she asked again. "Am I the best ass you've ever had? Isn't my asshole better than some young cunt?"
"Yes, you are."
"Tell me so."
"You're the best."
"Come on, say it."
"You're the best ass ever."
"Better than Elinor?"
"Better than anyone."
"Wouldn't you rather fuck me in my asshole than some hairy old cunt?"
"Yes."
She kissed him on his mouth.
He groaned, hardly able to move.
"Come on, baby," she whispered, "we're just getting started. The night's young yet. You're not quitting on me, are you?"
"Virginia, I can only do so much."
"Are you a man or not?"
She ran her lips across his chest, at the same time letting her fingeis explore his soft cock and balls. He knew the tension was mounting again, was amazed by it. She seemed to be able to excite him at will.
He rolled against her, unable to understand himself, knowing only that his heart was pounding hard, that his excitement was bubbling insanely.
"No," she said, "not this way. I'm going to make it real easy for you this time."
She moved away from him. He was amazed at her energy. He propped himself up on an elbow, wondering what she was going to do. She disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, then came out, a smug smile on her face.
"Ready, baby?" she asked.
"Try me."
He wasn't going to let her get the best of him. To hell with that. She had ridiculed him enough.
She took a chair and placed it near the bed, motioning for him to get off the bed. He did as she wanted, sitting down in the chair.
She backed away from him, smiling. "Okay, baby ... we'll see. Just sit there and enjoy yourself."
Before he knew what was happening, she was on his knees. She was in complete control of the situation. He placed his arms around her, but she drew back. Reaching between them, she took his cock and placed it between the cheeks of her ass, and then he was in her asshole again. It was an awkward position, but he knew she could manage it if anyone could.
He sat there, and let her bounce up and down on him.
She was like a wild demon, her ass twisting and pumping.
Her action was uncontrollable.
Virginia used her asshole the way other woman used their cunts.
He groaned.
She yelled at him, telling him to remain still.
There was a long and agonizing black cloud of despair settled within his mind just before the final moments, just before she brought him off by the expert control she had over her asshole.
He was aware of her moving away from him, aware that he was almost falling off the chair. He stumbled against the bed, hearing her voice taunting him, urging him on. He couldn't even gain the strength to answer her.
"You're no better than my husband," she said, "and he's an old, old man. You're nothing, Peter, not a man, nothing. You can't get a hard on any more. You quit on me, and I was just getting started."
He tried to speak, but couldn't.
He felt a draft against his naked body, turned his head in time to see her standing in the open doorway, naked, motioning to someone outside. The big youth came into the room, a wide grin of anticipation on his face.
"Are you more man than he was?" Virginia asked the kid. "Can you keep a hard cock for a hot piece?"
Peter didn't want to watch.
The kid stripped quickly, and the last thing Peter saw before turning away was the way Virginia squatted over his upright cock, telling him she meant her asshole and not her pussy.
Peter was in his own despair and, just before he passed out with the final vision of Virginia actually raping the kid with her asshole, he thought of his wife, and then of Elinor, and then of Virginia.
He thought what a lousy life he led.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ray Gannon looked up as Doctor Brake returned to the office. The doctor had a concerned frown on his face. He paused just inside the door, rubbing a hand across his mouth, shaking his head. Ray wanted to ask him about the woman they had seen running naked through the hallway, but he thought better of it. There was no sense in rubbing salt in Doctor Brake's wounds; he had enough problems as it was.
The doctor came across and sat down behind his desk. He took an old briar pipe from a rack on the desk, filled it from a humidor, then sat back without lighting it up.
"I hope that scene didn't shock you too much," Doctor Brake said, pointing the stem of his pipe in the general direction of the hallway.
"No, not at all."
"Fortunately, we don't have too many cases like that. This unfortunate woman simply regressed to a former state of complete collapse. She has twice tried suicide in the past. During the months she has been with us, we thought that she was progressing rapidly. But then...." his smile was short, " ... we cannot always be sure about such things. When dealing with the human mind, we too often deal with the unknown quantity."
"Will she be all right?"
Doctor Brake shrugged. "I cannot give you a definite answer, Mister Gannon. I wish I could. Perhaps, with months and maybe years of therapy, she will be able to return to a normal life. Then again, perhaps not. She is in a deep emotional trauma at the present time. You see, she had an incestual relationship with her father for some years. She completely worshipped him, both mentally and, of course, physically. He was her whole life. She denies this, of course, but the fact remains."
Ray shuddered. For about the hundredth time that day, he wished that he had not drawn this assignment. He had no idea how to even begin it. He was, of course, in complete sympathy with what Doctor Brake and the hospital were trying to do; but he had seen too many adverse things not to be affected by them. He had listened to the group therapy session that afternoon. Even tonight, wandering down the hallway while Doctor Brake had been attending to that woman, he had sighted the two patients in the recreation room, indulging in sexual relations, and not making any attempt to conceal what they were doing.
How could he write their story for a family newspaper without shocking too many people?
"You've picked a rough job for yourself, Doctor Brake," he said. "I certainly don't envy you."
The doctor looked at his pipe. "I suppose I have. There have been times when I have doubted myself, doubted what I am trying to do here. But mental health is so important in this day and age. It's such a new field, new and important discoveries are being made each and every day. I hope you won't laugh when I tell you I feel something like a pioneer."
"I don't think I could laugh at you, Doctor."
"Thank you, Mister Gannon. Well, I suppose you have your deadline to meet. I hope you won't be too rough on us here. Just remember that we believe in what we're doing."
Ray rose, extending his hand. He shook hands with the doctor, mumbled a quick, "Good-bye," and turned to leave the room.
He walked slowly out of the hospital, trying to arrive at some point within his mind, some point at which to begin. He wanted to be fair about the whole thing, did not want to judge these people unfairly.
He got in his car and drove aimlessly around town. He found himself near Nancy's house and silently swore at himself for being such an idiot. He quickly retraced his route, stopping at a small bar along the way, downing three quick bourbons in succession. The drinks had no effect whatsoever on him.
He drove on to the newspaper office, thinking that he would stop there and begin his story. But he didn't feel like seeing anyone at the moment. He simply wanted to be alone.
He parked his car in the underground garage at his hotel, went through the side entrance and crossed the lobby. The balding little desk clerk kept him for a few minutes, telling him the latest hotel gossip.
Ray took the elevator to the fourth floor and let himself into his room. He sat in the dark for a few moments before turning on the light. He grimaced as he looked around the room. The story of his life, he thought. One crummy hotel room after another. One city, then another, always wandering around, always searching for ... what? He looked over at the telephone, wanting to call Nancy, wanting to make amends. She was real; she was normalcy, and yet her very normalcy was forcing him away from her.
Never in his life had he met anyone quite like her.
What in the hell is wrong with me? he asked himself. Why am I afraid?
He smiled, slumping into a chair, thinking that perhaps he should consult with Doctor Brake on a professional basis. He shook his head at such a thought.
The ringing of the telephone roused him from his private thoughts. He picked up the receiver.
"What the hell is going on, Gannon?"
Ray grinned, recognizing the old man's voice. The old man was the managing editor of the paper, a rough and tough old bastard who tried to make everyone think that he had a heart of stone and who fooled no one.
"What do you mean?" Ray asked innocently.
The old man swore for a full two minutes, tracing Ray's ancestors all the way back. Then: "You know what the hell I mean. When do I get the first story on this nut ward at the county zoo?"
Ray's temper bristled. "Listen, it's not like that at all. I happen to...."
"Don't try to shit me, boy. Our man down at the police precinct just phoned in a story that there's a guy there complaining about his wife consorting with a gaggle of lesbians. Just a minute." The old man paused, apparently searching for something, then came on again. "The guy's name is Donald Nieman. He says his wife was committed under Doctor Brake's care and he found her tonight in some lesbian's apartment, having a wild time eating snatch. What about it?"
Ray gripped the phone hard. He thought of Doctor Brake and what the man was trying to do. He knew there was nothing he could do about killing this story; he also knew what the publicity would do for Doctor Brake's ward.
"You still there?"
"I'm here," Ray answered.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What's with you, boy?"
Ray put his feet up on the bed, cradling the phone in the hollow of his shoulder, lighting a cigarette.
"I really don't know," he said finally. "Look, I've been down there for two days. I've seen a lot of things that I never knew existed before. Sure, some of those people are taking advantage of the situation. But I don't think we can afford to condemn the whole program simply because of a few sour apples."
"You mean...."
"I mean just what I say. I'd like to write this from Doctor Brake's angle. You know, a couple of days in the life of a psychiatrist, trying to do something good for humanity. Maybe humanity doesn't want that. Who knows?"
The old man chuckled. "Got to you, huh?"
"Maybe."
"I always thought you were soft in the head."
"Yeah, look who's talking."
"Do it your way, Ray, and we'll see."
"Thanks for nothing."
"It sounds like you need a good drink and then maybe a good hot woman. Not necessarily in that order, however."
"The story of my life," Ray said, then hung up.
He was suddenly aware that he was no longer alone. Looking up, he saw Nancy standing in the doorway, her hand still on the knob, a curious expression on her face.
"How did...." he started.
"What's the story of your life?"
He stood up. "A good drink and a good hot woman."
"How many drinks and how many women?"
"Does that matter?"
"I guess it doesn't, Ray I hope not."
She moved into the room, slowly closing the door behind her.
"You should lock your door," she said quietly.
"I like it better this way. You never know who might drop in."
She was wearing a heavy tweed skirt and a silk blouse with a wide collar. She carried a fur stole in her left hand. To him, she was the perfect vision of loveliness.
"I'm afraid I overheard your conversation on the telephone," she said, dropping the stole on the bed. "At least your end of it. You were talking to your boss, obviously. I think maybe I misjudged you, Ray. I came here to tell you that. I also came here to tell you that I don't care what kind of shit-heel you are, you're still...."
"Careful, honey. I might take you seriously."
"Quit interrupting me and don't call me honey. It sounds cheap. I do have a name."
"All right, Nancy."
She was moving around the room, touching each piece of furniture as if to reassure herself of its reality.
"Are you happy here, Ray?"
"Happiness is a state of mind."
"That's not what I asked you."
"No," he answered.
She hesitated, turning to look at him. There was a kind of subdued vitality about her, as though she was having a hard time controlling herself.
"Are you proposing?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Come here."
"I'll meet you halfway."
He was laughing as he reached for her. She brought her body against his, clinging to him, throwing her arms around him. They stood cheek-to-cheek, not kissing at first, letting their bodies rest together, as if each was trying to reassure the other.
"Tell me that you love me," she whispered in his ear.
"I do."
"You do what?"
"I love you."
"And I love you, Ray. I don't know why. I don't know what's happened to me. I only know that when I'm not with you I can't stand it."
"You talk too much," he said.
Their lips met, lovingly at first, and then with a growing passion.
He knew, as he began undressing her, that he had found what he had been searching for. Nothing else mattered. They were laughing as they struggled toward the bed.
"Every night for the next fifty years?" she asked. "Are you going to love me and fuck me like this for the next fifty years ... plus?"
"You bet your sweet little ass," he answered hoarsely.
