Maryjane, pretty and sexy but untouched teen, lived a bucolic, sunny life in the Pennsylvania countryside, where nothing ever happened.
Nothing, that is, until her sexy mother and sister met sinister danger at the hands of a couple of New York smooth-talking gangsters.
Poor Maryjane. She seemed to meet one disaster after another. Was it her beautiful body that kept getting her into compromising positions, where she, too, became a rape victim, not once, but three times?
It was just about then, in flight from her last rapists, that handsome and well-hung John picked her up one evening on a deserted road, with his Uncle. She was crying...and naked.
She swears she will find those gangsters...if she has to go all the way to New York to do it.
She will go even alone. Her decision impresses John, as do her curves. He will help her...in every way possible.
CHAPTER ONE
A sharp wind out of the East rustled through the wheat field, and sixteen-year-old Maryjane Reynolds shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted off in the direction of the distant horizon.
The road was out there. The road had always been out there. For as long as Maryjane could remember there had been that road. She knew that it led to big cities, cities like
Scranton and Carbondale and Philadelphia and, if you went down it far enough, New York, which Maryjane knew was the biggest city of them all. But she had never been to any of those places. For throughout her entire young life she had never been more than seven or eight miles away from the farm where they all lived.
It was a good farm, and even though the acreage was small and the soil was poor they still managed to make enough money from it to live comfortably. Ever since Maryjane's father had died, several years ago, her mother had run the place all by herself, although naturally Maryjane and her sister Sarah helped whenever they could. Sarah was only twelve years old, but she could be pretty handy with a spade or a hoe at times, and she knew how to operate a tractor better than Maryjane did.
For as long as she could remember Maryjane had wanted to go down that road, had wanted to take that long trip off to New York City. She had never been there, but a friend of hers who lived a half a mile down the road, a girl Maryjane's own age named Tina Montgomery, had gone to New York once last summer, and the tales of wonder that she had to tell to Maryjane after she had returned were enough to make Maryjane want to kiss the farm good-bye and start walking right then and there.
On this particular day Maryjane was thinking about New York even harder than she usually did. It was a hot day and Maryjane had been hard at work for most of the morning threshing wheat, and whenever she worked at farm chores she found herself thinking about New York, wondering what it was like to live in a city so huge and so imagine that most people never even saw a blade of grass, much less a whole field of wheat that had to be threshed.
Maryjane leaned on the handle of her scythe and closed her eyes, trying to remember all the fantastic stories that her friend Tina Montgomery had related to her about wonderful New York City. It seemed to Maryjane that if she could ever actually see the place for even one minute then her life would be complete. She could not stand the thought of growing old and dying in this dinky little gopher-hole of a place where everybody was a farmer.
The sun of oncoming afternoon blinked its light into Maryjane's eyes, and she snapped out of her reverie with the realization that she had better get this work done now, or else she would be in trouble with her mother. With a sigh Maryjane bent downwards, seized the scythe firmly in both her small girlish hands, and resumed the abominable task of threshing the wheat. HONNNNKKKKK!
The sound shattered itself against Maryjane's eardrums, and she gave a start of surprise and dropped the scythe, narrowly missing one of her feet with it in the process. The blaring hoot sounded again, and she turned quickly, feeling a combination of surprise and anger, to find out just exactly who or what it was that had made this noise.
In the middle of the road was a car. Maryjane had seen cars before, plenty of times, but she had never seen one that was quite like his. She'd seen pictures a lot like it in magazines and on television, but she'd never dared to hope that she would ever actually lay eyes on one.
The car was long, low-slung and a brilliant fire-engine red. A white vinyl hood lay folded . down over the back of the rear seat, and two gleaming exhaust pipes chugged out a steady stream of monoxide as though the car was attempting to break the speed record at Le Mans. It was the sort of car that Maryjane had always dreamed of seeing, and it was the sort of car that belonged in a far-off place like New York, a shining metropolis of chrome and aluminum.
Sitting in the car were two men, both m their early twenties. The man in the front seat was tall, with an angular face and quick, excitable hands. He was clad in bright green suit with lapels that pointed straight out towards his shoulders.
The second man, who was sitting hunched over in the rear of the car, looked a bit younger and frailer than his companion. He had on the kind of work clothes that are made to be used as formal wear; as far as Maryjane could see there was not a sign of manual labor on either man of the two. It seemed to her that there was something bright and snappy and sophisticated about these two men, as though they belonged in a big city like New York, the kind of a city that would make a proper home for that flaming red sports car.
The sharp honk of the horn sounded in Maryjane's ears once again, and then the man in the front seat looked up at her and grinned. "You wouldn't care to help out a couple of lost city slickers who took a short cut that turned into an obstacle course, would you?" To simple, unsophisticated Maryjane it seemed that this man, the way he looked and the way he spoke, was the ultimate in what she liked to think of as "class."
She pushed aside her scythe with the toes of one foot and walked closer to the sports car. Maryjane was under the impression as she came towards that car that she was approaching some sort of idol, some sort of religious object that she was not worthy to be in the presence of. But she was so anxious to get a closer look at that wonderful car that she pushed her fears out of her mind and kept on walking towards the two men and the car in which they were sitting.
She came to within ten feet of the thing and then stopped. To come any nearer would be sacrilege, it seemed to her. Now that Maryjane was closer she could see that the man who sat in the rear seat was surrounded by boxes and packing cases of every conceivable size and shape. To her eyes this made the men seem even more important than they had been already.
The man in the front seat was watching her with an amused look on his face. "I said we're lost. You wouldn't be able to tell us how to get over to Honesdale now, would you?"
Maryjane was about to answer, but the fellow in the bright green suit made a beckoning gesture to her with one hand "Hell, come closer, baby. I wanna be able to make out what you're sayin'. "
Maryjane came closer hesitantly. She had never been referred to as "baby" before, or even as anything remotely resembling it, and she got the feeling that she was insulted and complimented at the same time. Obeying the man's orders the young girl came closer to the car, still not daring to actually touch the thing. Then, seeing that the man had meant what he'd said, Maryjane came all the way right up to it, resting both her arms comfortably on the edge Of the window frame. That car felt like all the wonderful things she'd ever dreamed about, the sights and the sounds and the smells of a far-off world that was known as the Big City.
And then Maryjane saw a small decal in the corner of the car's windshield, a circle of color with an apple in the center and the inscription "I'M FROM NEW YORK." And as soon as Maryjane saw that she felt as though this car and the people in it were the most wonderful things that she had ever seen.
The man in the front seat seemed to be more amused then ever, and hastily Maryjane averted her gaze from the wonderful automobile entirely. She was sure that she looked exactly like some kind of silly little hick gawking at imagine cars from the Big City.
The man in the green suit didn't seem to object to this, however. Leaning forward and looking Maryjane straight in the eyes, he asked her: "You know the shortest way for us to get back onto the main road, sister?"
Maryjane gulped. Such terms of familiarity. especially from a total stranger, were completely unknown to her. Struggling desperately to recall the information that this fellow wanted, Maryjane stammered: "Well, you take this road here over to the sign that says 'BRIDGE OUT,' and then turn left at the...no, you turn RIGHT at the sign and keep going until you hit...wait a minute, I'm thinking of how to get to the RIVER...." She thought a moment more, then sighed wearily and shrugged with both hands outspread. "I'm sorry, Mister, but I guess I just don't know the way."
"Hell, that's okay," the fellow told her. "Better you admit yuh don't know something than to try ta lie about it." He paused for a moment to take a cigarette out of a gold case and light it with a bright silver lighter. Maryjane was getting more and more impressed with these two men every minute.
The one in the front seat snapped his lighter shut with a click, flipped it back into his pocket, and blew smoke out of his nostrils in the direction of Maryjane. "There anybody around here who could give me accurate directions, do you know?"
Maryjane hesitated a bit before answering. "Well, you COULD ask my mother. But I'm afraid that she may be pretty busy right now; maybe you'd better wait a while before you...."
"Hell, baby, I been waitin' all my life." As he spoke the big man was pushing open the car door and standing less than a foot away from Maryjane. "Now is there or is there not somebody around here who can tell me how to get back t' civilization?"
"I...I guess maybe my mother IS through working now," Maryjane hazarded. There was something in the manner of this fellow that intimidated her a great deal. Brushing her hair out of her eyes with one hand and pointing out across the field with the other she announced: "The farmhouse is down over that way. You knock on the door and...."
The man in the bright green suit laughed. "Oh, Jesus, kid, you don't have to TELL us. You LIVE with your mother, right? Sooner or later you gotta go HOME, right? Hell, then, why don'tcha just come on along with us?"
"Wellll...." Even though Maryjane would have given anything she had for a ride in that imagine car she felt oddly hesitant about actually riding in it, as though to do so would be an act that she was unworthy of. Casting about in her mind for a reason to refuse, the girl mumbled at length: "My mother told me I shouldn't go riding with strangers, and...."
This time both men laughed, and Maryjane was startled by this, the first sign of life from the man in the back seat. He had a lean, rat-like face and an expression that seemed filled with cunning.
"Damn it, baby," the first man was saying to her, "forget about what your mother told you. We're takin' you TO your mother, ain't we? What the fuck can happen to you between here and your own front door, huh?"
This time the man in the back seat laughed in a high-pitched snigger that sent his shoulders and head bobbing up and down spasmodically, but at a withering glance from the bigger fellow he silenced himself immediately. "Come on, baby, hop in and we'll take you to your mother's place." And before Maryjane could help herself the man in green was tugging her into the front seat beside himself and starting up the engine.
"But...but...really, I shouldn't be riding with strangers because...."
"Strangers?" the green man asked her. "Who's strangers? My name's Amos and this is Itchy. Now that you know us we can't be strangers, can we, now?"
If the girl had an answer to that it was drowned out in the choking roar of the engine as the bright red sports car lurched forward and headed towards the farmhouse where Maryjane lived with her mother and her younger sister Sarah.
"Oh, we don't get too many visitors in these parts," Mrs. Reynolds, Maryjane's mother, was telling the two men a few minutes later. "Especially fellows like you, from a big city like New York and all. Why, I'll bet that you're both just full of all kinds of stories about what it's like to live there."
"Oh, ah, sure," nodded the one named Amos nervously. "Just full." And his companion Itchy chimed in: "Just full, all right." For some reason they seemed to be nervous about something, and the fact that Mrs. Reynolds was a full-busted woman who had not yet reached age thirty-five made them all the more nervous. It can be extremely difficult at times for a normal man to carry on a conversation with a woman when she has a body like Maryjane's mother did.
"Well, you can both just forget about finding a place to spend the night," Maryjane heard her mother telling the two visitors, "because I want you to stay right here. We haven't had a man in this house since my husband died, and I'd feel pleased to have you."
Amos was about to say something, when for some reason his partner Itchy broke into a fresh fit of sniggers, a fit that was cut off as abruptly as it had begun by a swift elbow to
Itchy's solar plexus. "We'd be delighted to stay, Ma'am," Amos replied with a slight movement that roughly resembled a bow. "That is, of course, if we're not being any trouble, Mrs. Reynolds...."
"No trouble at ALL!" the woman told them. "And by the way, my name is Sharon." Then, turning to face her two daughters, Maryjane's mother called out: "Maryjane, go get some eggs from the henhouse for supper. Sarah, you show these two gentlemen to the guest house...."
Maryjane didn't hear any more. She was already outside and heading for the henhouse. Her mind was filled with all the things that had happened in the last quarter of an hour or so: the sudden appearance of these two sophisticated men from New York, the ride they had given her in their marvelous car, and now the chance to get to know them better and to find out all about New York. It was indeed a welcome change from the young farm girl's dreary routine.
It took her a lot longer than she'd expected to get the eggs out of the henhouse, because the hens just hadn't been in a laying mood that day and Maryjane had had to check practically every nest before she'd gathered enough eggs to satisfy her mother. Then she was trudging back towards the farmhouse, the wicker basket filled with eggs tucked under one arm as she walked.
Apparently Maryjane's sister Sarah had already gotten the visitors settled in the guest house, because as Maryjane approached it she saw that a light had been turned on inside.
As Maryjane began to walk past the place a sudden gust of wind sprung up and whisked her hair in front of her eyes. Quickly the girl struggled to push the hair out of her way without dropping the egg basket. In her excitement one of Maryjane's hair ribbons pulled loose, and the wind blew it up against a corner of the guest house. Getting down on hands and knees the girl crawled forward slowly to try to reclaim the thing. It was nearly dusk now, and getting so dark that soon Maryjane would not be able to see.
"Well, what do you think?" said a strange voice suddenly.
Maryjane was so startled that she nearly answered the voice, but then she suddenly realized that what she had heard was Amos, the big man in the bright green suit, speaking to somebody else, presumably his smaller friend Itchy.
I ought to get out of here, Maryjane thought to herself. It's not polite to listen in on other people's conversations. I'll just find my ribbon and pick up my basket and go.
Maryjane scrabbled about in the dust for her misplaced ribbon, and as she did so she heard the dry dusty voice of the fellow named Itchy. "I'll tell yuh what I think, Amos," she heard him wheeze. "I think we walked right into a fuckin' good set-up. One woman an' two sexy little girls an' not a man in sight."
"Yeah," agreed Amos quickly. Maryjane could make out scratching sounds that suggested somebody was lighting a cigarette and smoking it, and then Amos was saying: "Man, didja get a load of the jugs on that bitch? I'd like to fuck her good. It may be a long time since she's tasted cock, but maybe I'll do 'er a favor and give 'er what she's hungry for."
To young, innocent Maryjane, most of the words she was hearing simply did not make sense at all. What, for example, was "a fuckin' good set-up?" And she knew that a cock was a rooster, of course, but what did it matter to these men how long it had been since some woman had tasted cock? Apparently city people were not quite so perfect as Maryjane had always fantasized.
She felt her hands close around the silken bit of ribbon, and a moment later she was rising to her feet, brushing off her dress as she did so.
She picked up her basket of eggs and was about to turn and sneak away, when suddenly Maryjane heard the voice of Itchy saying, "Damn, man, I still hafta laugh whenever I remember the look on that fat Jew's face when you stuck that knife in his neck."
Maryjane stopped dead in her tracks. What was going on here? She couldn't be sure, but it sounded to her as though these two men were discussing a murder!
"Not so loud, Itchy," she heard Amos reply. "You want all those nice juicy pussies to hear you an' throw us outa here before we even have a chance to fuck 'em?"
Itchy giggled in that irritating way he had. "You mean that woman an' her two girls? Fuck 'em, man; if they find out what we did to Rabinowitz we'll just do the same to them." There was a slight pause, and then Itchy added, "Brother, I sure would get off on slicin' up the tits on that fuckin' farm woman."
By this time Maryjane was straining to hear every word. She had a little trouble making out the urban vocabulary of these two men, but from what she managed to make out it was pretty clear what Amos and Itchy were discussing. Maryjane shuddered in the night air and came closer to the wall of the guest house, determined not to miss a word of this. There was another pause, a longer one this time, and Maryjane was leaning forward as much as she dared, hoping frantically that the men hadn't lowered their voices to whispers. A moment later, however, she could hear one of them, Itchy, saying: "I'll tell yuh one thing, though. You know those...."
"Wait a minute," Maryjane heard Amos interrupt. "Did you hear something make a noise outside?"
Maryjane froze in panic, her heart pounding a thousand beats a minute inside her throat. One minute, two minutes, three minutes went by it seemed, before she heard the sound of bedsprings creak beneath Amos and his voice saying, "Nah, I guess it was my imagination." There was a sound like somebody drinking out of a bottle, and then Amos said, "What were you tellin' me just a minute ago, Itchy?"
Itchy grunted, and then Maryjane heard him say, "Yuh know those two sweet little girls that live here? Well, I'd like to fuck 'em both good. An' then if they tried any shit with me I'd whip out my little knife and give it to 'em right across the old jugular."
Maryjane didn't wait to hear anymore. She got up and started running, running like mad. She didn't know whether she should run to her mother or to her neighbors or to the police. She was too scared and too excited to think properly.
Maryjane staggered and ran through the dark, wanting to cry out for help but knowing that the men in the guest house would hear her. She felt her foot strike a stone and she stumbled headlong, and then another stone was crashing into the side of her head, and then everything just went black....
Sharon Reynolds, Maryjane's mother, had offered her two guests some supper, but they very politely refused, telling her that she had done enough for them already and that they had brought some food of their own with them.
So now the woman was in the kitchen of her home, helping her daughter Sarah get the supper ready, and wondering what was taking Maryjane so long to get the eggs from the henhouse. The girl was a dawdler, but she had never taken this long to do anything before.
"Sarah," Mrs. Reynolds called out to her younger daughter, "I'm beginning to get worried about what's keeping your sister. You finish getting the roast cooked while I go out and see if I can find her."
Sarah nodded obediently, and a moment later her mother was wiping her hands on her apron and striding towards the door to the kitchen, to go out through it and into the room beyond.
She never got that far.
Suddenly the door was opening, and at first Sharon Reynolds thought that her daughter Maryjane was coming in, but then she saw that it was the two men, Amos and Itchy. There eyes were glazed and their tongues were coated and their faces had the look that a man can get only from drinking a good half-gallon or so of cheap wine.
In panic the woman stepped back, but still the men kept coming towards her. As they came into the room Itchy reached backwards with one hand and shut the kitchen door softly. The two men didn't want any sudden intruders to walk in on the them while they were busy....
The woman and the twelve-year-old girl looked on in terror as the pair of booze-sodden lechers came slowly forward, lurching and stumbling as they advanced. It was clear that what they had been drinking had affected their sense of balance, but apparently it hadn't done anything to take away their desires....
Suddenly Sharon Reynolds screamed, and as soon as she did so the spell was broken and the two staggering men suddenly burst into a run. Both mother and daughter turned and tried to flee, but a moment later they felt strong hands attack them in a double flying tackle, they felt strong muscular bodies pushing them down against the hard surface of the kitchen's linoleum floor.
Sharon opened her mouth and attempted to scream, but almost instantly a dishtowel was crammed into her throat, gagging her completely. The big man named Amos was on top of her now, pressing her downward as his strong hands undid the buttons of her dress. "I want you naked, bitch," he cursed in his drunken stupor. "I want your fuckin' naked twat wrapped around my goddamn cock."
At the same time Itchy was seizing Sarah and tearing the dress from her little-girl body, ripping it into shreds and stuffing pieces of it into her mouth to prevent her from calling for help. There would be no help for either of the two females now....
Amos had divested Sharon of her dress, and was now working her out of her bra and panties, while not too far away Itchy was doing the same to the girl. The two men stripped their prisoners and dropped them, naked and trembling, upon the bare hard linoleum floor, where they lay waiting in terror for the fate that they knew they were going to receive.
Amos and Itchy were standing side by side now. Slowly, deliberately, in perfect unison the two of them reached up and seized the zippers of their trousers, seized them and slowly tugged them downwards. The woman Sharon shut her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the obscene vision that she knew would meet her gaze, but little girl Sarah watched in helpless fascination as the zippers opened, as the trousers parted, as the two men reached into their pants simultaneously and slowly withdrew twin shafts of glistening man-flesh. And suddenly Sarah, who was a total virgin and knew practically nothing about sex, felt a hot twitching deep within the crevice between her legs, and she knew exactly what the organs that these men were equipped with had been created for.
The two men were on top of the females now; Amos on top of Sharon and Itchy on top of little Sarah. They were reaching outwards with feverish hands, reaching out to seize the ankles of their chosen victims, to grasp the ankles and spread the legs, spread them wide.
Sharon Reynolds writhed in agony and bit down on the gag in her mouth as she felt her legs being pulled to the sides, being spread so wide that she felt as though she was being split in two. Soon she would be being split open from the inside....
The big man named Amos watched in satisfaction as his quivering organ reached the desired state of erection and enlargement, and then he gave his crotch a powerful thrust and sent his pulsating organ plunging deep into the innermost recesses of this helpless women's throbbing pussy.
Itchy, meanwhile, was faring equally well. He was pinning down the reluctant little girl, who was kicking and screaming, and now he seized her firmly by both of her flailing thighs and roughly PULLED her onto his cock, practically impaling her upon the hard tumescence of his juice-flooded javelin.
The two men were pushing their vibrating phalluses deeper and deeper into the reluctant flesh. Little Sarah could feel the delicate tissue of her maidenhead give way, spewing blood and various fluids out to cascade down her thighs and form a puddle upon the floor.
Farther and farther the twin pillars of prickmeat forced themselves, not caring if the fit was too tight, not caring if the pain was too great, not even caring if the blood began to flow provided that it was Sharon and Sarah who felt the pain and bled the blood. All that either man worried about now was fucking, was forcing their huge throbbing pussy-pistons into the quivering tunnels of girl-flesh that groveled before them.
In they went, in they went, farther and farther, until each man felt the hard bump of a female's thighs come up against his balls, the signal that he was in as far as he was ever going to get. They both knew that their cocks had been forced far enough into these females to do both Sharon and Sarah a great deal of damage, but neither man cared. What did it matter if a woman got her guts torn out by having a prick stuck in them? If she wasn't big enough to take it all then that was her problem and nobody else's.
And now the twin organs began to pump, began to churn up and down within their respective captive cunt-holes with ever-increasing speed. Sharon gasped in pain and panic and terror as she felt the-blistering bulge within her begin to drag her against her will closer and closer to the brink of an orgasm, to a sexual climax. She groaned in agony as she realized that this was the most humiliating tiling that could ever happen to her: to have an orgasm from being raped!
The cocks picked up speed now, and even virgin Sarah could feel herself being sucked into an ever-widening vortex of pure driving lust, of sex lechery incarnate that could never be satiated and never be quenched. Hot seething tears welled up within her innocent eyes as she realized that the damage being done to her now was something that could never, never be repaired. For as long as Sarah lived she knew that her pussy-hole would burn with an unwavering fire, reminding her for always of the indignity that she had suffered at the hands of these malicious sex-fiends....
With each lance-like thrust the shuddering peckers went that much deeper, did that much more damage to the delicate tissues between the captive female thighs.
And not even the groans of passion that escaped from the lips of the sex-starved men were as loud or as frenzied as the cries of pain, genuine writhing pain that were emitted by the woman and the girl. These cocks were ripping them open, these cocks were tearing them apart....
And then both dongers exploded at once in a double orgasmic eruption of hot seething cock-sauce, which rammed its way into the scarlet gaping wounds between these females' thighs and filled them with a blast of orgasmic energy of hot scalding dimensions....
And the pricks kept creaming and creaming....
There was a buzzing noise somewhere. Maryjane groaned fitfully and struggled into a sitting position. A five-alarm fire was clanging on and off inside her skull and it took her the better part of ten minutes to get it out of her, to start her mind functioning properly.
Something terrible was going to happen. She knew that that was true, because that was why she had been running, why it was that she had tripped and fallen. But for the life of her Maryjane was unable to figure out what the important thing was.
Perhaps her mother would know. Groaning with pain as her stiffening joints were forced to unbend, young Maryjane pulled herself into an upright position and ran back towards the farmhouse as quickly as she could. The cold night air was whipping its way right under her skirt and through the flimsy fabric of her panties, and as she clattered back towards the farmhouse Maryjane could feel the coldness numbing her buttocks.
Maryjane ran back to the farmhouse, ran back and threw open the door, hoping that perhaps her mother would be able to tell her what the Very Important Thing was.
"MOM!" the girl shouted.
No answer. She walked through the living room and into the kitchen, pushing open the door and sticking her head into the darkened room beyond. "Are you there, Mom?"
Still no answer. Fumbling about in the darkness, Maryjane's fingers located the light switch, and a moment later the entire kitchen was flooded with illumination.
She glanced at the kitchen table and the kitchen chairs, not seeing anybody in them. And then, when Maryjane saw what was lying twisted and battered on the bloodied kitchen floor, she let out a scream that echoed for miles in the night air's stillness. And then it was very quiet. For a long, long time Maryjane sat, hearing the DRIP...DRIP...of a water faucet and seeing the drip, drip, of the blood onto the floor. In some dim and unlit corner of her consciousness it seemed as though she could hear a car driving away, a racy red sports car with a white vinyl hood. It seemed as though the sound of the car was growing fainter and fainter until at last it faded away altogether. And then it was very cold....
CHAPTER TWO
The police had come, and the reporters, and the photographers, and the curiosity-seekers, and all the other inhuman hordes that seem to specialize in swarming to such things. The ordeal that Maryjane had to undergo at the hands of those reporters and policemen and busy bodies was nearly as arduous as the shock that she had suffered after she had turned on the light switch in the kitchen. There were no questions about anything, only a great deal of discussion regarding what would be done about Maryjane, and what would be done about her mother and her sister. Maryjane listened to all of it and agreed with none of it.
To her way of thinking there was only one possible sane course of action, one possible thing that could be done. And that was to seek out the bastards that had done this, to track them down and to kill them slowly and agonizingly as a way of paying them back with interest for what they had done here. To Maryjane any other decision made absolutely no sense at all.
She remembered that the car she had seen the two men driving bore a New York City sticker, and also that the license plate had said "New York" on it, even though for the life of her Maryjane couldn't recall the numbers on it. This information, coupled with the fact that the car had been driving in the general direction of New York City, led Maryjane to the logical assumption that her quarry lived within that city, or if not within it then certainly not too far away from it.
But of what help was that knowledge? Maryjane had never been to New York City, but she knew enough about it to know just how many literally millions of people dwelt within it. Maryjane was sensible enough that trying to find two specific people in a city of that enormous magnitude would be a well-nigh impossible task.
As the days went by she heard the fools dressed as policemen, the fools dressed as reporters, the fools dressed as government authorities and everything else, all of them babbling incoherently about everything but the subject. Maryjane cursed these people under her breath as she saw that it would have to be up to her and her alone to bring those two bastards to justice.
She spent nearly a week working over her plan before she put it into operation. A knapsack was packed with clothing, with food, money was withdrawn from the bank and obtained from as many other sources as possible. Road maps were purchased that covered every inch of the United States between the scene of the crime and New York City, and street maps were purchased showing every important part of the city and the fastest ways to move around within it.
Not too long ago Maryjane Reynolds had been nothing more than an innocent little girl, naive and trusting to the point of ignorance in regard to most forms of human affairs. Now she had been forced to leam about life the hard way, to discover that the Tooth Fairy carries a switchblade, to realize that it was every woman for herself in this world.
For as long as she thought it advisable Maryjane prepared. Finally she was ready. At ten minutes to midnight less than one month after what had happened had happened Maryjane shrugged the knapsack onto her shoulders, flung wide the door of her house, and stepped out into the world beyond.
The first step in her plan, obviously, was to secure passage to New York City and then try to pick up the trail from there. A train or even a bus would have gotten Maryjane to New York quickly enough, and she had the money to pay for either one of them, but unfortunately the part of the state in which she lived was so far off the beaten track that the nearest bus depot was fifteen miles away and the nearest train station twenty. There were quite a few people, friends and neighbors, whom Maryjane could have asked to drive her to the nearest large town, but after thinking this over the girl decided that it would be inadvisable. She wanted nobody to know of her departure until after she had gone, until after she was so far away that they would be unable to find her until she had done what she had set out to do.
So the only way, obviously, to get out of here was to hitchhike. With any luck at all she would get at least one lift to some town or city which was connected to a railway or a bus service. Unfortunately, since Maryjane was traveling at night, she was that much less likely to get any sort of decent lift.
Maryjane had spent long hours poring over the road maps, so that even though it was dark she knew exactly which way to go. She carried a flashlight in one hand as she walked, and the yellow puddle of light that it emitted skittered from side to side to the beat of her slow, hip-wiggling walk.
Soon she was out on the main highway and walking in the socially acceptable fashion for soliciting a ride: backwards on the right side of the road, right arm upraised and thumb protruding. At that time of night few cars went by, and none stopped or even bothered to slow down. As Maryjane walked she could feel the weariness gradually beginning to bring her down to the ground and force itself into her body. Her eyelids fluttered and drooped, and then suddenly one of her ankles was twisting the wrong way and she was falling over backwards and not hitting anything, simply falling, falling, falling....
When she woke up the first thing she noticed was that her knapsack was gone. For several frantic seconds Maryjane's heart pounded furiously as she realized that someone must have found her by the side of the road asleep and stripped her of all her belongings.
Then she saw the dirty mass of canvas lying not too far away and realized the truth: that in her fall the knapsack had merely slid from her body and landed several feet away.
She went to pick it up. One of the straps had been snapped in half, and the other one wasn't in very good condition. From now on she'd have to carry the thing in her hands. A quick inventory of the contents assured Maryjane that everything was there and nothing broken. (Part of Maryjane's exhaustive planning had been the deliberate exclusion of breakables from her provisions wherever possible.)
Her flashlight, however, was gone completely, and she assumed that she must have let it slip from her hand when she'd collapsed from exhaustion. Since it could have rolled a great distance in any number of directions there was really no sense in wasting time looking for something that was probably gone forever.
Gripping the broken straps of her knapsack with one hand Maryjane stepped out onto the highway and turned to face New York City.
The sun was coming up.
She walked for several hours, and although the traffic was getting decidedly heavier nobody showed signs of stopping to pick the girl up. On several occasions a roadster or a dune buggy or a Volkswagen minibus filled with hippies or teenage boys would slow down alongside Maryjane and the occupants would lean out and hurl obscene remarks and suggestions at her, but if she simply ignored them and kept on walking they always sped up and disappeared.
Maryjane could feel a stinging sensation in her eyes that was a prelude to tears. It just didn't seem right to her somehow, she thought. You would think that people who weren't going to give her a ride would at least have the common courtesy not to mock her and make lewd suggestions. She sighed wearily, brushed the side of her face with her free hand, and kept on walking.
The cars kept coming and passing her, coming and passing her, and as Maryjane resigned herself to the fact that none of them were going to pick her up ever then all of the cars began to blend together until they were all the same design, all the same color, all the same car rushing by her again and again, taunting her more and more each time it passed. Once Maryjane thought that she saw a different car go by, a red sports car with a white vinyl hood and two men inside and a sticker on the windscreen that said "I'M FROM NEW YORK." But when she tried to get a closer look at the thing the car vanished into thin air, and she knew that it had only been her fevered imagination playing tricks on her.
By this time Maryjane had gotten the art of hitchhiking down to a science. Wait until the car comes by, stick out your thumb, turn away when they don't pick you up. Wait until the car comes by, stick out your thumb, turn away when they don't pick you up. And so on and so on and over and over and over again.
From ahead of her on the road a horn was honking. For one brief moment Maryjane was reminded of the honk of the horn of the red car with the vinyl hood, but when she knew that it really wasn't she ignored the thing. The horn blared again and again, until finally in annoyance Maryjane turned to see what all the commotion was about. A car had stopped about a hundred yards ahead of her and pulled over to the side of the road. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with HER, of course; the car was so far away, and who was going to give HER a lift anyway?
But the car just stood there with its engine idling and its horn blaring, and gradually it dawned on Maryjane that the car really WAS for her, that somebody had finally decided to offer her a lift. She ran forward hastily, as quickly as she could with blistered feet and a knapsack banging against her hip. She hoped and prayed that she would get to the car before whoever was driving it got tired of waiting and drove away.
But the car just stood there as she came closer. Apparently whoever was the driver wanted to impress upon the girl the favor that he was doing her, by having her run like crazy to catch up to the car. But finally she was there, breathless and gasping, and it was all that Maryjane could do to keep from slamming against the side of the auto in her exhaustion.
"You look pretty tired, little girl," said a voice, and Maryjane turned to see who it was that had spoken.
Standing in front of her was a man who looked to be about thirtytwo years old. He wore i loud polo shirt and a pair of dark glasses, while an extremely ostentatious-looking camera dangled from his neck. He was the epitome of the boorish American tourist. He turned to face Maryjane and the lenses of his dark glasses glinted brightly in the sun as he faced her.
"You going this way, little girl?"
There was something about the man's manner that Maryjane resented very strongly,' but she was too exhausted to stop and argue. She nodded spastically and allowed the man to take her knapsack and push it into the back seat, then to sit her down in the front seat next to him as he scrambled in behind the steering wheel.
Maryjane closed her eyes and leaned back and heard the satisfying sound of the stick shift changing gears, and a few seconds later they were sidling back into the traffic flow. For a moment Maryjane was afraid that she would fall asleep again, but she quickly fought the impulse off.
For the space of an hour or so the two of them drove on down the highway, the man in the driver's seat chattering asininities and not even really caring whether or not his passenger was listening to him. They passed through several towns from which Maryjane could have gotten eastern-bound trains or buses, but since the car she was riding in seemed to be heading towards gradually more well-populated communities she decided to hang onto this ride for as long as she could and really get the most out of it.
They drove on and on, and the rhythmic rattling of the wheels, combined with the totally insignificant babble of the man behind the steering wheel, helped to lull Maryjane into a relaxed state. They were driving directly into the rays of the morning sun, and she found it much more comfortable if she leaned her head backwards and closed her eyes.
Suddenly there was a tremendous BUMP-P-P, and when Maryjane opened her eyes she realized that she must have fallen asleep again, because they had gone off the highway completely and wherever they were now it certainly didn't look too well-populated.
The car was on a dirt road, parked on the top of a small hill, and on either side of the road at the hill's bottom were thick bushes and weeds. The dirt road stretched into the distance in front of the car, and Maryjane couldn't see any indication of it ever turning into an improved road.
Maryjane yawned and stretched her legs. "What happened?" she wanted to know. "What did we stop for?"
The dark glasses that the man sitting beside her wore made it very difficult for Maryjane to read the expression on his face, but for some reason she got the idea that it wasn't very pleasant-looking. He pushed open the car door nearest to her and pointed out at the wheel immediately below. "It's a flat tire," he reported to her dully. "See for yourself. It's right there."
Maryjane, automatically leaning out of the car to get a good look at the thing, asked: "Right where."
"Right THERE!" He gave her figure a savage push, and a moment later the girl was hurtling down the hillside screaming and wailing. She was dimly aware that the man with the dark glasses was running down the hill after her, and then Maryjane's head hit a tree root, and for several seconds she was too dazed to move, merely able to observe what was happening without being able to take any action upon it.
In a matter of moments the man was on top of her, seizing her dress and tearing it forcibly from her body. Maryjane lashed out at her tormentor with both hands, but a single well-aimed punch from his right hand left her dazed and temporarily submissive.
"Try that again, little girl," he hissed at her fiercely between his teeth. "Just try that again, and you'll get the same treatment again. Only this time much harder."
He demonstrated his point by striking the helpless girl with a savage blow to the nose, and for several seconds there was nothing that Maryjane could do but lie there wallowing in her own pain and watch as the man divested her of all her clothing.
She looked on helplessly as the man pulled off the last remnants of her tattered dress, and then started in on her bra and panties. For one brief moment Maryjane considered calling for help, but she knew that there was nobody around to help her. And even if there were, by the time they got here the man with the dark glasses would have had more than enough time to have his way with her.
Deftly, with feverish hands the man unbuckled the bra and flung it into the branches of a nearby tree. "You won't be needing that anymore," he said with a grin, and then did the exact same thing to her panties. Then he was gripping Maryjane's squirming thighs with his two strong arms and relieving her of her shoes and stockings. She was naked now, naked and unwilling to receive what this man wanted to give to her. But she knew that she had no choice....
The man was upon her now, spreading her tender thighs with the weight of his body, burrowing into his trousers to force them open and unsheathe his pulsating cocker, glistening with body juices. Maryjane remembered the maidenhead, the shred of unbroken tissue between her legs that bore mute testimony to her purity, to her chastity. She realized that soon that piece of tissue would be ripped apart and flung aside, flung aside just as her clothes had been, flung aside just as she herself would be after this man had forced his pleasures upon her.
And now his bulging tumescence was coming dangerously close to her, and Maryjane gritted her teeth in preparation for the approaching onslaught. She wanted to shut her eyes, to blot out the sight of what she knew was coming, but somehow she was forcing herself to look, like a spectator at a freak show who is disgusted by what she sees but cannot stop looking.
The tight red head of the gargantuan pillar of flesh was scant inches now from the taut drumhead of hymen that marked the entrance to Maryjane's genital cavity. She knew that it would only be a matter of moments before the thing was tearing its way into her and impaling her upon its rough stiffness....
And then it was in, forcing itself inwards a fraction of an inch at a time, and each tiny bit that the throbbing phallus advanced was a fresh throe of agony for the writhing little girl. She shut her eyes quickly, slammed them tightly shut so as to blot out that repulsive vision of seeing the tissue between her legs being so thoughtlessly mutilated, and with it her privacy and dignity. But it seemed to Maryjane that the tighter she closed her eyes the better she was able to see that bloated, blue-veined organ. The less she wanted it, the more she had to have it.
Farther and farther into her the thing went, and Maryjane watched in horror as the red full lips of her vulva reached outwards and sucked at the organ greedily, trying to swallow it, trying to suck it dry of all its juices. Maryjane was completely repulsed by the thought that this piercing organ that she hated so much was obviously DESIRED by her own cunt.
She didn't want to believe it, but it was obviously true. Her genital cavity was reaching out thirstily to snatch all of the hot throbbing man-meat that it could find. Her soft pink clitoris suddenly convulsed into a flame-red, erect knob of passion, and against her own will Maryjane could feel her entire body beginning to respond to the call of this cock.
And even as she lay there helplessly the swollen man-thing was getting bigger and bigger within her, until Maryjane felt as though her entire body were being ripped and torn apart by the monstrous thing that was inside her. She squirmed and struggled, but a few deft punches from her tormentor, and Maryjane knew that the only way out of this was to lie back and submit.
The man's cock got larger and larger inside of her, and then it began to quiver and jerk with the unmistakable signs of an oncoming orgasm. Quickly he whipped the shuddering phallus out of the girl's gaping cunthole, and then before she knew what he was doing her head was clamped between his knees and he was popping his organ into her mouth.
"I'M GOING TO CREAM IN YOUR MOUTH!" he gloated, the fiendish expression on his face indicating his total and unbounded cruelty. "I'M GOING TO SHOOT MY HOT STICKY WAD RIGHT INTO YOUR MOUTH!"
And then his throbbing organ shook and jumped, and Maryjane felt her mouth and throat fill up with a hot stinging sensation. Gasping and spluttering as the hot frothy liquid tumbled down her throat, she gave a low moan and then lapsed into blessed unconsciousness.
* * *
Her entire body was aching uncontrollably. Blood was pouring from her ruptured maidenhead and soiling the pure whiteness of the inside of her youthful thighs. Maryjane looked ruefully at the damage that had been done there and realized that she could never again be totally pure, totally virgin. For the rest of her life she would always bear between her legs the Mark of the Cock, the symbol that told the world that a man's organ had conquered her and subdued her and claimed her for itself.
Slowly Maryjane staggered into a position that was roughly vertical, and surveyed the wreckage of her youthful body ruefully. Besides the crimson stain that streamed from her shattered maidenhead, her elbows and knees had been badly scraped and large portions of her white flesh were defiled by jagged scratches and bruises.
Sorrowfully Maryjane turned to look for her clothes. Her attacker had flung them in every direction prior to raping her, and it took the pain-wracked girl several minutes to find them all and put them on. It took her a particularly long time to get her panties, because they had been flung into a high branch of a tree, and recovering them was not as easy as Maryjane would have liked it to be. Also her dress and skirt, as she quickly discovered, had been torn almost to shreds, making it practically impossible for Maryjane to wear the thing. She stood there in her bra and panties staring at the tattered garment for some time before she finally flung it aside in disgust.
"I'll have to go get another dress from my knapsack," she muttered to herself. Then, suddenly: "My knapsack!" And then Maryjane was running uphill towards the road as fast as she could, desperately trying to convince herself that what she feared had happened had really not happened at all.
But of course it had. The car that had given her the lift had vanished, and with it the knapsack containing all her clothes and possessions. Maryjane searched about frantically, hoping against hope that the man in the dark glasses had left her knapsack here for her, even though she knew that he really hadn't.
And then Maryjane remembered her money. She'd left it in a pocket of her dress, and hopefully it would still be there-or she would really be in trouble.
Maryjane ran back down the hill again, back towards the dent in the foliage that marked the spot where the man in dark glasses had forced his throbbing organ into her unwilling but yielding flesh. She snatched up the tattered rags of what had once been her dress and searched them: no money. Frantically, her heart in her mouth, Maryjane widened her search. She checked under the bushes, behind the trees, even turned over the rocks in her desperate search for that money. Now that she'd lost the knapsack with all her possessions in it, that money was all she had.
But at last there was nothing she could do but admit the awful truth: that the money was lost forever. Maryjane pursed her lips and sighed: she had no food and no money. She didn't even have a complete set of clothes, as anyone would have guessed who had seen her standing there helplessly in her soiled panties and bra.
For a long time Maryjane did absolutely nothing at all but stand there, feeling the wind blow through her hair and trying to keep the tears from falling down her cheeks. She knew that she had absolutely nothing now; her money was gone, her clothes were gone, even her virginity was gone. She had no idea of where she was or of how to get from here to New York City, and she certainly couldn't go back to her mother and her sister.
Suddenly she was aware of a crackling in the underbrush behind her, and Maryjane turned to see a man standing there. A man wearing dirty work clothes, with a fuckgy beard surrounding a very angry-looking face. "What you doin' on my land?"
Maryjane felt she ought to do something. To turn and run, to call for help, even to break down and cry. But all she did was stand stock-still, her knees banging together and her tongue tied in fear-struck knots.
The man came closer. "Ah said, 'what you doin' on my land?', " he repeated suddenly producing a shotgun and leveling it straight at Maryjane's head.
She knew that she had to say something, and say it damned fast. "P-p-p-please, sir," the panic-stricken girl managed to stammer out, "l-I-I was just...."
"Ah see what you was just," cut in the farmer, running a bleary eye over the battered and twisted foliage that had been damaged during the struggle Maryjane had put up to hang onto her virginity. "You was just damagin' all my plants, that's what you was just." He turned back to facing her and waggled the shotgun in Maryjane's direction. "My plants cost money, you ever think of that? I don't suppose you got money to pay for 'em, do you?" He ran his eyes up and down the bra-and-panty ensemble that was all the girl had on. "No, Ah don't suppose you do. Ah don't see no room in that outfit for any pockets."
Trying to cover her near-nakedness as best she could, Maryjane stepped forward fumblingly. "Please, sir," she confessed, "I haven't any money, but if you'll just...."
"If Ah'll just! If Ah just kept on lettin' you damn hippies an' communists come tearin' up my gawdamn propitty every time you feel like havin' one o' your perverted orgies then I'd be losin' money hand over foot." He thrust the barrel of his shotgun closer until it was dangerously close to Maryjane's face, and then announced: "You jest come along with me."
Maryjane's heart sank. "But I...."
WHAMP! The cold hardness of the shotgun slammed into the side of her head, and the poor girl saw the ground come up and hit her in the face. The next thing she knew the farmer was standing over her, straddling her body with his legs like some sort of immense Greek colossus.
The small black hole that was the end of the shotgun barrel danced before her eyes, and Maryjane heard the sharp metallic click of the hammer being pulled back. "I ain't in no argyin' mood," the man drawled slowly and deliberately. "Now if you don't come on along with me like Ah tells you to Ah could pull this damn trigger an' blow your damn head off."
For a moment the eyes met, the big man's and the little girl's, and then Maryjane looked away as she realized that this man had complete control over her. She started to get up and he stepped aside quickly so that she could rise to her feet.
Maryjane felt the kiss of cold steel prodding her between the shoulder blades. "Get movin'. " The semi-naked girl bowed her head submissively, and a moment later he was leading her off through a narrow trail and into the dense undergrowth of the forest.
Maryjane had no idea at all of where she was or where she was being taken to, but she knew that she was gradually sinking deeper and deeper into trouble. First she had been brought to an unknown part of the countryside by a man who had raped her. Then she had been deprived of her money, her possessions and even the dress off her back. Now she was heading deeper into the woods, farther and farther away from civilization or of any chance to escape.
The road that they were walking on was a trail so narrow that Maryjane would never have found it on her own, even if she had known where to look. She knew that if she managed to get away from this man she might not be able to find her way back to the dirt road, and even if she did get to the road she might never get back to the highway. It looked to Maryjane as though there were no way out of this. No way out of it at all.
For several minutes the man and the unclothed girl walked along in silence. It was extremely dark in the heart of the woods, even though the sun was almost directly overhead, and Maryjane's feet hurt from the roughness of the twigs and pebbles on the forest floor beneath her foot.
Finally some light began to break up ahead, and Maryjane could make out what appeared to be some sort of a building. As they got closer she saw that it was a tumbledown farmhouse, a building that decades ago might have been considered respectable but was now not even that.
The girl and her captor stepped out of the woods, and as they did so Maryjane saw what had once been the door of the farmhouse fall open and two tall, rawboned youths came running out. One was roughly Maryjane's own age, but the other one looked as though he were several years older. Both were thin and gangly, and although neither one of them was particularly muscular they both had that look on themselves that men have when they KNOW they can handle things. Maryjane saw that both boys were barefoot and that the quality of what few clothes they wore was, if anything, even less admirable than that of the clothes that the bearded man had on.
As the gun in her spine goaded the helpless girl forward the two boys came closer, and Maryjane felt an acute wave of embarrassment mingled with humiliation as they both began to examine her semi-naked body minutely. Maryjane knew that she had a good figure, but she was beginning to wish that she didn't; so many men and boys tended to stare at her in a way she didn't like.
Maryjane felt the blessed removal of pressure in the small of her back, but a moment later she felt the firm hand of the bearded man gripping her around the arm. "Boys," he was announcing to them, and Maryjane felt an unmistakable tone of triumphant glee in his voice, "I caught this here girl messin' up our propitty, an' it seems that she hain't got the money to pay fer it."
"Maybe not, Pa," grinned the younger of the two boys, staring very hard at both of Maryjane's bulging breasts at once as they fought and struggled to burst through the bra that confined them, "but I know somethin' that she DOES have."
WHANG! The butt of the shotgun whistled through the air, and a ringing sound was heard as the younger boy staggered and fell. "Gawdamn it, Larry," the boy's father swore, "ain't Ah told you a million times that it ain't polite fer a boy to go starin' at a lady's tits? That's somethin' only men kin do."
"Yes, Pa," whined the boy, making no attempt whatsoever to stand up.
"Well, boy," spouted his father, "is you gonna git up or ain't you?"
"Ah don't tlunk so, Pa," the boy named Larry decided. "It's kinda nice an' comfortable down here."
WHAM! BLAM! The butt of the shotgun rose and fell again and again, and a few moments later Maryjane saw the boy disappearing over the horizon, his father in hot pursuit. Maryjane began to wonder whether or not she ought to take the opportunity to make a run for it, but before she could do anything the man with the scraggly beard was standing before her again.
"Well, gal," he said thickly, "Ah guess you see how I han'les people who git smart with me. You wasn't plannin' on gittin' smart with me now, was you?"
Maryjane glanced down at the butt of the shotgun, which had now been battered into a shape roughly resembling the top of a small boy's head. She gulped nervously. "N-n-no, sir."
He grinned. "That's good. That's damn good." As he spoke he gestured towards his older son, who stepped forward eagerly. "Harry, you take this here naked hippie-gal inta the house thar. I guess you knows what to do with her."
The older boy, the one named Harry, came towards Maryjane, his eyes shining eagerly. "You BET I knows what to do with 'er, Pa."
WHONK! The butt of the shotgun was true to its mark. "Ah didn't mean do THAT to her, Harry." The bearded man winked as he spoke. "Not yet, anyway."
"Yes, Pa. Come on, you." Young Harry roughly seized Maryjane by her bare arm and began to drag her towards the open door of the ramshackle farmhouse.
Maryjane was understandably frightened. "But...but why are you doing this?" she shouted at the tall bearded man. "What are you going to do to me?. '
"What am Ah gonna do t' you?" The unkempt farmer scratched his chin with one hand idly as he spoke. "Wal, I figyer it this way: you done some damage to my propitty an' cain't give me no money to pay fer it. So you're just gonna have to give me somethin' else is all. An' maybe because you damaged my land Ah might feel entitled to damage YOU a little...."
Maryjane screamed in protest, but her cries went unheeded. The rawboned boy pushed her inside the farmhouse and closed the door, and a moment later the two of them were alone in the darkness.
CHAPTER THREE
No matter how hard she struggled, Maryjane was unable to avoid being dragged into the farmhouse, being savagely carried in there by this dull-witted farmboy who could have only one thing on his mind. Even as she looked on in horror Maryjane saw everything grow black as she was pulled inside the darkened, unlit farmhouse. And then she saw the door to the outside world, the door through which the sunshine streamed and the road beckoned, being slowly but decisively pushed shut.
For one awful, terrible moment everything was darkness and silence. And then suddenly Maryjane could feel strong hands grabbing her, powerful arms lifting her up and into the air. And a moment later she was flying through the darkness, to fall with a thud upon something that was thick and not as soft as it ought to have been. The something that Maryjane had landed on recoiled slightly beneath her weight and made a grunting sound that reminded her of the creak of rusty bedsprings, and then Maryjane knew that she had been thrown onto an old mattress.
Maryjane didn't have to ask why they wanted her on that mattress. There could be only one possible reason, and it was not a reason that Maryjane cared to think about.
She heard a hollow echoing sound that sounded like a door being opened and closed, and then suddenly the entire room exploded with light, and the sudden burst of illumination that stabbed itself into Maryjane's young face was enough to blind her for several seconds. She tried to scream in fear and protest, but all that came out was a whimper of pain.
With what was almost an agonizing effort, Maryjane raised her head and looked up. In front of her field of vision was a huge wooden door, the door that she had been brought in here through. And even as Maryjane watched Larry, the younger of the two boys, was shooting home the cast-iron bolt that would keep the door closed, while not too far away Harry and his father were coming towards the bed on which the helpless girl lay with a look in their eyes that was not very pleasant.
Maryjane raised herself to a sitting position, acutely and uncomfortably conscious of the fact that was clad in only a bra and panties. Flimsy clothes that could be torn away and flung aside in a half a moment, leaving absolutely no protection against the forces of lust that wanted to ravish her flesh.
Maybe Maryjane wouldn't be strong enough to prevent these lust-filled males from raping her, but she certainly wasn't going to take it lying down. Trying to swing one leg over the edge of the bed so that she could spring out of it at a moment's notice, Maryjane blurted: "Who are you people and why did you bring me here? What do you want?"
The younger boy, Larry, looked at Maryjane in a way that was extremely precocious for a boy of his tender years. "I know what I want, Pa...."
THPONK! The butt of Pa's shotgun did not miss its mark, and an instant later Larry was giving a howl of anguish that would have done credit to a timberwolf.
The tall, dirty man with the scraggly beard turned to face Maryjane, and split his own face wide open with a grin that displayed perhaps a dozen yellowed teeth. The teeth looked so old and decayed that Maryjane was surprised none of them fell out of the old man's mouth and hit the floor.
He was coming closer to her now, and his shotgun nestled in the crook of his arm, ready for action at a moment's notice. "Ah'll tell yuh what we want with yuh, gal," he announced laconically, and Maryjane detected an edge of malice in the voice that did unpleasant things to the pit of her stomach. "I done caught you messin' up my propitty, an' you tells me you got no money to pay fer the damage. Well, if yuh cain't pay fer it with money, then you'll jus' have to pay me an' my boys here with somethin' else."
What happened next took place so fast that Maryjane was not even aware of it until it was far too late to resist. Because suddenly the man's two sons were pulling out a stout iron chain, perhaps thirty feet long, with a large shackle on either end. Maryjane felt the dull click of metal against metal as the shackle on one end of the chain snapped shut and locked around her neck, while the other boy attached the second end of the chain to a thick iron bar screwed into one of the walls of the farmhouse. Maryjane was trapped!
"Now then." she heard the bearded man say, and there was a tone of self-satisfaction in his voice that was impossible to miss, "you is gonna stay here an' be our li'l housemaid until we decides you's paid us back for the damage you done."
Maryjane gulped nervously, and fingered the shackle that restrained her with the fingers of both hands. The metal was cold and clammy, and there was an unmistakable tang of death that hung about it.
At last the girl managed to muster up the courage to speak. "But...but how long are you going to keep me here?" she stammered nervously.
The bearded man pursed his lips in thought and squinted his eyes up towards the ceiling, while with one hand he absently toyed with the contents of one of his pockets. "Wal, now, nobody could ever say that I weren't a fair-minded man," he replied. "After all, yuh didn't do THAT much damage to anything." He paused for a moment to contemplate the length of the girl's sentence, and then looked towards her. "Ah don't think we'll be keepin' you here for much longer than two or three years."
Maryjane's jaw dropped so suddenly that it struck against her cast-iron collar and sent a wave of pain into her lower row of teeth. "TH-THREE YEARS?" she bellowed, shocked beyond belief.
The man grinned. "Just until you start turnin' nineteen er so. That's too old fer us. Me an' my boys like 'em young."
Maryjane was too shocked and terror-stricken to even speak. It was all too clear to her that she was in trouble, serious trouble, but for the life of her she could not see a single way out of this. What would she be like, she asked herself, after three years of involuntary servitude to these perverted plowmen? In her mind's eye Maryjane could imagine herself being flung out of this farmhouse into the dirt, naked and bleeding and throbbing in every comer of her body. She was thin from starvation, weak from exhaustion and aged much more than was natural. A permanent, unhealing sore ringed the torn muscles of her vagina to indicate where her flesh had been pierced and pierced again by the thrust of a thousand javelins.
"NO!" Maryjane shrieked, and instantly the unpleasant vision faded and gave way to unpleasant reality. She couldn't help wondering which of the two was worse: the way, she was now, chained and semi-naked in the clutches of these sex fiends, or three years from now, when the tender flesh of her vaginal regions had been squeezed dry of everything it had.
But then she no longer had any time to contemplate either of these situations, because now her three captors were coming towards her, and there was a bright gleam in their eyes that was nothing human. It was the look of animals, of unthinking, unreasoning beasts who live by their instincts and who exist only to sate their unquenchable lusts.
The lean, tall man with the bird's-nest beard reached out one foot and deftly hooked it around a rickety chair, then pulled the chair underneath his buttocks and sat down with his shotgun placed across his lap, ready at a moment's notice or at the first sign of trouble. Smiling his yellow-toothed grin at the captive Maryjane, he announced: "Wal, I guess my boys are kin'a impatient t' get to work on you, if yuh know what I mean." He settled back in his chair with a relaxed look on his weather-beaten face, and added: "Me, Ah just like t' watch. It's just as interestin' an' a hell of a lot easier on the rheumatism."
By this time the two boys, Harry and Larry, were practically quivering with impatience, shaking with anxiety to have their way with the virginal little girl that lay helpless and in chains before them. They were eager to begin, but they had been taught respect for their father-he had literally hammered it into them with his shotgun butt-and they knew that they had to wait for his permission before they began anything.
Both of the youths turned plaintive faces towards their father, silently begging for his assent. He paused a moment, as though deliberating whether or not his offspring were worthy of sampling the erotic feast that lay helpless before them, and then suddenly he nodded.
"Go ahead, boys," he instructed them, "but remember: don't start anythin' you cain't finish."
"Well remember, Pa," promised Harry, the older boy, as he and his brother ran towards the cowering Maryjane. "Hey, Larry, there's two of us an' she's got three holes. You take the one you want an' leave me the other two."
WHAMP! BLAMP! The old man was out of his chair, bopping both boys over the had with his trusty shotgun, and sitting down inthe chair again in two seconds flat. "You damn fools!" he bellowed at them. "Ain't I tole you a thousan' times what you supposed ta do first?"
"You're right, Pa," admitted Harry abashedly. His face was flushed with repentance, and his younger brother looked even more ashamed. "We done plumb fergot all about it." He tapped his brother on the shoulder. "Let's get it over with, Larry."
Larry nodded, and then both boys were kneeling at the foot of the bed to which the half-dressed Maryjane was chained, kneeling on the floor with their hands clasped across their chests and their eyes raised reverently to heaven. "Oh Father," they both chimed in perfect unison, "we thank Thee for what Thou hast given us. Amen."
Then, to the tune of a war whoop and a rebel yell, the pair of sex-starved teenage boys were both leaping into the bed, both reaching eagerly outwards to snatch the frightened form of the helpless Maryjane.
The poor girl was hit by the weight of both bodies at once, and all the breath was knocked out of her. When she recovered from her daze she saw that the older boy, Harry, was kneeling over her legs, gripping her by the ankles and spreading her thighs, spreading them wide. While at the same time Larry was straddling her neck and shoulders with his body, placing his hot sweating crotch directly over poor Maryjane's face.
"Open your mouth, girl!" the youth commanded her. "I want my hot meat in your mouth. Ah want to cream down your throat again an' again."
And then he was forcing his thin, muscular fingers into the girl's mouth, prying it open so that it could receive his hot throbbing meat.
And then suddenly something happened to take her mind off of that entirely. A blast of hot aching pain lashed through her hips and torso as the other boy, Harry, pulled Maryjane's legs apart as though he were trying to tear her in half. His pants were open and his long, pendulous cock was out and ready for action. Maryjane squirmed and struggled in protest, but there was nothing she could do, for a moment later Harry gave a thrust of his powerful torso, and his glistening javelin rammed its way deep into the quivering flesh of the girl's vaginal cavity.
And as she felt her pelvic muscles instinctively tight about the phallic intruder, Maryjane suddenly had something else to worry about. For now young Larry had forced her mouth open until it gaped like a scarlet wound, forced it open and then filled it with his ever-growing penis, penetrated her oral erogenous zone with every ounce of the succulent boy-meat that dangled between his legs.
Maryjane had never had cock in her mouth, and to her it was a strange and repelling sensation. The thing tasted awful and it filled her entire mouth and throat with its unwelcome hotness. Besides, she found it extremely humiliating to have this thing inside her like that. To be fucked, to be raped, to have her virginity ripped from her flesh without her permission was degrading enough, but to have this grinning youth place his butt on top of her face and force his prick into Maryjane's throat was, in her opinion, the most humiliating of all acts.
She didn't have much time to think about it, though, because now both organs were all the way inside of her and sending a tidal wave of pain bouncing and reverberating around and around within Maryjane's frail body, sucking her more and more into a passionate vortex of lust.
The girl was impaled upon two cocks at once; one in her mouth and one between her legs. It was as though she was a piece of meat turning on a spit, and in a sense she really WAS nothing more than a piece of meat, nothing more than an object that existed merely for these boys to derive pleasure from, to have their way with and then to fling aside.
And now the two cocks were pumping, were grinding in together, out together, pounding out a rhythmic beat of pulsating lust. And with each thrust of the twin passion-pillars Maryjane could feel them invade her body that much more, force themselves into her flesh another fraction of an inch. She wept with rage but did not dare struggle; she was afraid that by resisting she would tear herself apart on one of the dagger-like lust-lances that were buried deep within her.
Harry was having the time of his life. He'd fucked before, but it had always been grown women. He'd never had little girl ass before, and it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. He shot a glance at his father, who was sitting in the nearby rocking chair with a smile on his face. The old coot had his meat out, and was rocking back and forth in time to the pumping of his sons' cocks as he gripped his own organ in both hands and jerked off furiously.
Maryjane felt sure that she was going to cry. It was extremely painful to feel those two swollen wads of muscle inside her, ripping her apart, and they were both tearing deeper and deeper into her with every passing second.
"Suck my cock, you little bitch!" she heard Larry roar exuberantly as he forced his bulging tumescence even deeper into the girl's helpless throat. "I want to come in your mouth! I want you to suck every bit of my hot juicy cream! I want you to take my cock and suck it dry!"
And then Maryjane could feel a bolt of liquid lightning spurt into the naked rawness between her legs, and she knew that Harry, the older boy, had creamed. And then Larry's prick too was shaking and jumping, and it dumped its hot load all the way across her tongue and down into her throat, down into the deepest depths of her flesh.
And an instant later she saw something white dart through the air, and then a puddle of hot creamy liquid lay in the middle of Maryjane's flat firm stomach. She looked across the room and saw that the old man in the beard had had an orgasm, and even as Maryjane watched the man's withered wingding shot again, and the white cock-sauce flew through the air in a perfect arch and splashed against the hollow between Maryjane's full, ripe breasts.
Suddenly there was a scream, and then another scream, as both boys reached sexual climax simultaneously, literally creaming their guts out into this girl. And then something happened that for the rest of her life Maryjane was never to forget.
Slowly, slowly she became conscious of her own cunt getting hot, getting hot and excited from the feeling of this boy's huge swollen meat within it. And then, before she could control herself, Maryjane's hips and clit began to twitch, and a gusher of hot steaming vagina-juice was spewed out and onto the mattress.
SHE WAS CREAMING!
The two boys saw this and laughed, and their father seemed to be even more amused than they were. "Okay, boys," he announced to them in his slow, dry drawl, "Ah guess we can leave 'er here fer a while. When we get back we'll have 'er fix us our supper." He gestured towards the door, and quickly his two young sons got up, stuffing their now-flaccid organs back into their pants as they did so.
"But, Pa," muttered the boy named Harry, "it ain't safe t' leave her like this. You an' Larry go, Ah'll stay here."
"You'll stay up yer own ass in a canoe," barked his father angrily, picking up the shotgun as he spoke and then seeming to think better of it. "Hell, she ain't goin' nowhere wit' that chain on 'er neck like that." He nodded at the door as he spoke. "Now let's git movin'. "
"Yes, Pa." Harry and Larry went towards the door, and both boys cast longing looks back at Maryjane as they did so. Standing near the captive girl, the bearded man said: "Now, girl, we'll be back in a hour with some squirrel. An' you's gonna cook it fer us or else feel the kiss o' my shotgun butt." He slapped the firearm for emphasis as he spoke, then turned to face his sons. "Let's go."
And in a moment they were gone, and Maryjane lay alone in this strange and awful place.
She cried. For a long time she cried. She had been humiliated by these people; she had been abducted and stripped and raped in two holes at once. And, to make matters worse, she had had an orgasm from it. That had been the crowning indignity: to have climaxed from the rape.
For at least twenty minutes Maryjane lay there thinking. All the time during the multiple rape she had hated it, she had loathed it, she had known that it was sex and that it was therefore evil. But apparently even though she herself had detested it her body had WANTED it. It must have wanted it, otherwise she wouldn't have had the orgasm.
So who was right then, Maryjane or her body? Was it possible that something that had felt so bad had also felt so good? Was it possible that the humiliation and torture and agony and sexual violation that Maryjane had been subjected to was something that she had actually ENJOYED? The poor girl was so confused by this., and by what had happened before, that she didn't want to think about it any more than she absolutely had to.
But there was one point upon which the girl stood absolutely clear: that she had to get out of here, she had to escape. Even if Maryjane really DID want sex, she would rather be damned then get it from these three pigsty perverts. Because Maryjane didn't want to be a captive, a prisoner in a farmhouse with a chain around her neck. She wanted to be free, to live her own life and to make her own decisions.
The first thing to do to get out of here, of course, was to find some way of removing the chain that was shackled to her neck. Slowly Maryjane got out of the bed and staggered stumblingly across the room towards the iron staple screwed into the opposite wall, the metal bar to which the other end of the chain was attached.
It seemed to Maryjane as though that walk across the room was the longest walk of her life. Throbbing, shuddering, weakened from shock and from lack of food and rest and loss of blood the girl fell down several times, and each time it was a bigger battle for her to force herself back to her feet. It was so nice, she told herself, it was so nice just to lie down on the floor and go to sleep. Once the girl stood up only to slip and fall down again, and the feeling of the hard dirt floor hitting her in the stomach was enough to make the poor girl retch.
But finally, finally, finally she was near the opposite wall. She saw that the iron bar had been screwed into a wooden wall, and that the aged wood was already pretty well rotted through and decayed.
Mustering together all her strength, the girl took the hard metal in both hands and pulled. In her weakened condition the job was tough going, and on the first few tries she lost her grip quickly and fell.
But finally, bit after bit and an inch at a time, the iron bar began to move. Splinters and sawdust and bits of dry rot drifted down to the floor, and then there was a cracking sound and the metal staple twisted and clanged to the ground, missing Maryjane's toes by scant inches.
She collapsed upon it, crying out tears of relief. Even though she was still not in the clear, at least now she had a chance of getting out of here. Naked and carrying the chain which was still shackled to her throat, she had a chance of getting out of her.
Suddenly she froze in panic and terror. Someone was approaching, someone was stomping through the underbrush back towards the farmhouse. Through the flimsy wooden door Maryjane heard a creaking voice suddenly break into a lusty rendition of "Old Hundred." She recognized the voice as that of her captor, the man with the beard and the two sons and the shotgun.
A scrabbling noise was made on the outer surface of the door, and Maryjane's heart exploded as she realized that the man was right outside! If he came in and saw her here there would be hell to pay. Maryjane knew that if she was to escape it would have to be now or never.
She gripped the iron bar in both hands, being careful not to make a sound, and then eased one hand gently up the bar, past the shackle that connected it to the thick chain, and then several feet up the chain. Stepping back from the door Maryjane spread her arms wide so that as much tension as possible was on the part of the chain between her hand and the bar.
The door began to open, and she heard the man saying, "Okay, slave-girl, Ah done brought yuh some game for yuh ta cook fer me an' my...."
Maryjane released her grip on the iron rod, and for one moment there was a look of sheer terror upon the bearded man's face as he saw the lethal projectile come hurtling towards him. Remembering it afterwards, Maryjane was certain that she saw the flying rod reflected in the farmer's eyeballs.
And then the thing hit him square in the face, and he just groaned once and fell over. It seemed to Maryjane that he was taking an eternity to hit the ground.
Then he was down, and unconscious. Maryjane knew that she had to work fast before Harry or Larry showed up. Frantically she knelt and pulled open the man's pockets, turning them inside out in search of the key that would open the shackle on her neck.
From one pocket tumbled a greasy packet, and with feverish hands Maryjane opened it up. A key! It took her almost a minute to calm down enough to fit the key to the shackle on her neck, and she dropped the key twice, but finally she heard the click of the metal and she knew she was free!
Quickly, the girl stood up and turned towards the door, the sun was shining in her eyes. Suddenly she heard two voices, voices coming nearer, and she knew that Harry and Larry were about to return.
The voices seemed to be coming from the woodsy area behind the house. Maryjane spun on one heel, suddenly charged with so much energy from a ferocious desire to complete her escape. She was determined not to be foiled so soon.
But the wounds she had received from wearing the shackle and chain, to say nothing of her sore mouth and cunt hole added to and distracted her slightly from what otherwise would have been a speedy retreat.
In what seemed like minutes, but was only seconds, she darted glances in both directions to see which direction would be the safest. She made for the distant, large windbreak, the numerous trees planted decades ago, to prevent the strong Pennsylvania wind from lashing to hard at the farmhouse.
Beyond that, she knew, lay the dirt road. It was the direction from which she had come, where the old farmer's damaged plants lay, where she herself had regretfully and painfully left her maidenhead.
But she had to put all bad memories aside. She would have given anything not to return to that terrible place where she had been so painfully and inhumanely devirginized. But return she must, and she promised herself she would find that dirt road again, and follow it to the highway along which the man had driven her, and from whence he had brought her to satisfy himself in such a lustful, selfish and painful manner. And once she attained the road, she would hitch again, after she'd rested from her many wounds and her painful rapes, and she would again be embarked on her route of revenge...to the Big City to avenge the mutilated deaths of her dear mother and sister. She ran towards the windbreak. She ran as fast as she could, though it didn't seem very fast. She had just reached the first tree and disappeared behind the second when she heard the angry and astonished cries of the two big and lanky farmboys back in the farmhouse.
"Pa, wha' happened?" Harry cried out.
"How'd she do it?" yelled Larry. "I'll get 'er. Pop, wake up. Where'd she go? Tell us, quick! We gotta git her, 'fer she gits us in any trouble."
Maryjane heard the slam of the screen door ten yards behind her, and her heart lurched. She began crying and stumbled, falling headlong in the underbrush.
She picked herself up and, all arms and legs, began running like a mad woman. Her sexuality, nay, her very life depended on it. A teenager a few days ago, she seemed now, having experienced two such vicious rapes, to have aged five years. And if she met with any more violence, her fragile system, used to only country sunshine and friendly people, could not take much more and she would lose all her girlish nature. One look at her, and she would look the part of a thirty-year-old woman.
But it was not her young and creamish looks she cared about at this point, it was her very survival. No sooner had she picked herself up again, then she tripped headlong over a huge, projecting root of an aging oak tree. ! She swore to herself, scrambled up, and picked her way carefully among the thickly placed trees. She knew the general direction she was going in, and tried her best not to get lost. Although the late afternoon sun still shone, it was dark and shady in the thick midst of the trees.
Maryjane was getting used to the light by now, but her body was dead tired. She so wanted to rest, hut the sounds of scrambling feet behind her made her realize that she didn't dare.
She fled further, and tiny woodland animals jumped out of her way, a brown squirrel on her right, and a chipmunk on her left. Not even the forest creatures had sympathy with her. She was their enemy too, as she kept plopping down here, and flopping down there.
At last, she seemed to see a break in the trees up ahead. She knew it would be the dirt road. She planned not to break immediately out in the open, but to stay parallel to it, till she was sure she was out of sight and out of danger.
As she darted toward the break in the trees, the birds flew left and right, scolding at the loss of their private roosting places. Marianne hoped they wouldn't give her position away. She believed the big stupid boys to be too crazy to even perceive such a clue.
Her neck, around which the shackle had been so savagely placed, was beginning to ache terribly. She felt gingerly at her throat. There was a big sore spot, just to the right of it, that chafed and pained on touch. She hoped it wouldn't become infected. But She couldn't think of such things just now. She had gained her freedom, and she meant to keep it. She had to remember, too, that captivity was only minutes behind her.
She prayed to the heavens for a second wind. As she broke through the final row of trees that held her back from the dirt road goal, she saw the splendid rosy colors of the sunset on the narrow horizon where the road bent to the right. She was relieved that her path would be hidden soon by darkness.
She paused for a moment, basking in what little sun was left, and feeling its patterned stripe on her face and mostly naked body. She had only managed to grab, before she left, her panties from the floor. It had been a hasty escape. And the night air would be cool.
She looked around. She tried to orient herself. To her left to the rise of hill where she was sure the man in the car had taken her. She wondered if one last look for her other clothes would pay off. At least she would gain a vantage point from which she could view the surrounding territory. She had to be careful, though, to keep watching for the farm boys, hot on her trail. She listened intently for the sounds of twigs snapping or heavy breathing or yells or SOMETHING that would tell her where they were or how near. Nothing.
The sound of silence frightened her. What if they were sneaking up behind her for a surprise attack? She wheeled around and thought she saw the shapes of men lurking behind the trees. But she waited, like a poised and wounded doe, for a sign or a definite shape, but there was nothing but the projection of her own fears.
A car, of which there were few on this quiet country road, suddenly appeared at the top of the road, even before she heard its sounds. As it approached, she didn't know whether to cheer, or to run for cover. Her friendly approach, or at least unfearful approach to strangers had not been rewarding. She was beginning to trust no one, except herself.
Besides that, she was nude except for her panties, which clung in threads around her narrow hips. Certainly she was a tempting sight for any man traveling alone at sunset.
She looked down at herself and stepped back into the shadows of a tree, watching the car curl its way down the hill slowly. As it came toward her, her indecision made her very anxious. Was this help, or was it more trouble?
She squinted to see who was in it. It seemed to be a couple, but she couldn't be sure. The car was an old model. Again, she couldn't help but see a flash of the red convertible with the white vinyl top in her mind's eye, an image that provoked fear and rage in her as nothing else did.
The car turned out to be a green two-tone hardtop of questionable vintage. With blurred vision, Maryjane squinted, shielding her gaze from the last bright rays of the setting sun. The light seemed also to be in the driver's eyes, because she saw his hand go up to his face. She doubted if her saw her, but she took another backward step just to make sure.
Suddenly she heard a twig snap directly in back of her and the war whoops of her two crazy country captors. She saw their bony hands reach out for her, and, just in time, she dashed out onto the highway directly in front of the approaching auto, wildly flailing her hands.
She heard the sharp screech of brakes and some loud swearing coming from the direction of the open car windows, but she passed out before she knew what fate befell her, whether the hands of the farm boys had grabbed her around the neck, or the fender of the car had caught her.
She awoke in a few seconds, with the eyes of two strangers peering into her face. The light had already decidedly waned, as night encroached about them. She shook with fear and trembling, as she felt the man's arm around her.
"What happened? She tried to peer into his face, not so much as to try to acquaint herself with his looks, but simply to try to discern if her would be friend or foe. She couldn't tell. It was getting darker. In the twilight, his features looked both sharp and soft. She didn't know which were his, and which were the tricks the light was playing on his features.
She had no choice but to trust him. She couldn't have escaped if she'd tried.
CHAPTER FOUR
Maryjane looked up into his face, trying to decipher his behavior with her woman's mind, rather than her childlike trust. There was a certain warmth she felt, from his thick arm under her back, but she distrusted this perception. She knew only too well where THAT led her.
The person stood behind the man, and turned out not to be a woman at all, but a man, a younger man, perhaps eighteen. She saw a resemblance and wondered if they were father and son. The youth was tall and lanky. He had a thick, strong nose, just like the older man. His eyes were larger, though, and very clear. He seemed kind, almost virginal, as if he had not yet proved his manhood. Again, Maryjane shook her head, trying to brush the cobwebs away of her perhaps faulty perceptions. It frightened her, knowing she could no longer trust her own judgment.
"Was someone chasing you?" the older man said. "John, go get that old shirt I have in the trunk of the car... ' Without a word, the younger man departed.
Maryjane could only nod. Words failed her. She was abashed to be lying naked in this stranger's arms, but there was suddenly a pleasant sensation of being among friends and family again. Again, she shook herself, giving her a wordless bawling out for trusting too soon. How did she know she wasn't going to be raped by them around the next comer, as soon as they offered her a ride, as she knew they would, and pulled her into the car.
She had no guarantee that they wouldn't rape her. She only knew, she had no choice, but to go along with them. She was too tired to break free. And to return to the woods, through which she'd made her escape, was to face the certain disfavor, rape and revenge of those savage hillbillies. A shudder passed involuntarily over her.
"You're going to catch cold out here in your birthday suit," the man said gently. "It's okay. My nephew's gone to fetch something you can put on. ("Distrust him," her mind interpreted faithfully for her.) She heard him go on, "Just how'd you get out here on this old country road? You're lucky anyone was passing here at this hour. Most folk are home to supper by this hour."
Maryjane nodded again. She wanted to laugh, cry, talk, do something. But all she could feel was a terrible fatigue, a terrible relief, sweeping through her limbs. She didn't want to trust, but already she was trusting.
A picture of her mother and Sarah's mutilated bodies flashed through her mind, and she started up and tried to exclaim, to explain, but there was so much to explain. So much had happened. The morass of words that she would have had to spew forth to tell this man why she was here, now, nearly nude, would have taken so much sorting out, that she had no energy to muster an attempt.
She could only mutter a few incomprehensible, incoherent syllables, before she shook her head again and shrug her shoulders.
The man nodded. "It's okay, dear. Tell me later."
The youth returned just then with a soiled, large shirt, in a man's size. "Here," he said.
The older man took it and draped it around Maryjane's shoulders. "It's dirty, but it'll keep you from getting chilled. Hey," he said, noticing Maryjane's chafed neck, "you got yourself quite a burn there. Better take care of that before it gets infected."
Maryjane nodded again. She heartily concurred. She only wished she could find the words to express herself, but all she could do was sputter and foam at the mouth. She drooled and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"You weren't hit, but you came close," the man said. "I think you panicked. We missed you by a foot. I guess you fainted from the shock. We saw a couple of men take off into the shadows. Over there." He pointed in the direction of the woods. "Do you belong to them?" he suddenly asked, severely. "Are you their kin?" He obviously wanted no trouble from meddling in others' affairs.
Maryjane nearly panicked again. "Oh, no, no," she managed to say. "They...they found me...r-r-ra-ped me." She felt the need to cry, but her tears caught in her throat. Instead, her emotion turned to hysteria, and she started to shake violently all over.
"We better get her into the car, Uncle Louis," said the grown boy. "She's cold."
They half carried, half guided her to the car, parked on the road's shoulder, with the inner door wide open. They placed her between them on the wide front seat and closed the doors behind them.
The man John had called Uncle Louis turned the lights on and started the car. As the car rumbled to its awakening, Louis looked at her and said, "Put the shirt on over her, John, ALL the way. Put her arms in the sleeves. Button the buttons. The child's going to catch cold."
But Maryjane knew better. She knew, but couldn't care, that her slim, fleshy thighs were peaking out from under the long tails of the shirt, that her buttocks were naked and pressed against the vinyl seat, sticking uncomfortably, and that her partly naked breasts peeking out from under the shirt sleeves that had been thrown around her front were just too tempting for Louis, as nice as he was She unconsciously glanced down to his crotch. And sure enough, she saw a massive bulking between his legs. She closed her eyes, she couldn't bear the thought. She had a mixed reaction. She was incredibly aroused at the same time she was fearfully repulsed. She put her hands over her stomach, for the result was a wave of nausea.
Louis pulled into the blob of light that pointed the way on the darkened road. The car moved smoothly along, for as old as it was. Maryjane didn't know where they were going, but she really didn't care. She let herself look forward to a nice of rest and rehabilitation. She knew she didn't k now whether it would come to pass. But she let herself enjoy the fantasy while it lasted. Basking in it gave her a certain comfort, a warmth that soothed her tired limbs and was a balm to her broken body.
They moved mile after mile down the rode. She went to sleep several times, her head nodding lower and lower. When her chin reached her chest, she would waken with a start, for at the same time, the memories of her horrible rapes would invade her dreams, as if they were just a hair's breadth below her level of consciousness. She would be afraid to sleep that night.
But right now she felt safe between these two men. She was amazed at that. Her horrendous treatment from men would be enough to turn a woman gay. But, instead, she felt their warmth and solidity that generated from their bones.
"Uncle Louis, won't Aunt Phyllis wonder about this?" said the boy. Maryjane wondered what she would wonder. Maybe the woman would turn her out of the house. Maybe she would call her a filthy girl, for being picked up nude on a dirt road. She, Maryjane, would try to explain herself, but she would be tonguetied, and unable to defend herself.
She snapped herself out of that thought. "Phyllis is a church-going lady," reminded Louis severely. The youth said nothing. "She takes care of people in need."
Maryjane could only see his need prying too well at the seam of his pants. She hoped Phyllis would take care of that need, too, so she wouldn't have to.
She thought she felt Louis' hip nudge her own pressed tightly against him, but she couldn't be sure. She tried to readjust her weight, so she wouldn't touch him quite so hard, but it was impossible with the three of them crammed in there.
His hip seemed to crush her own, all the more. She wondered if she were imagining it. She stole a glance at him, and his attention seemed rooted to the moving light in front of the car, made by the sweeping headlights. She couldn't be sure.
John, on the other hand, was trying to readjust his own weight, so as to move away from her. It was impossible for him too.
Maryjane laughed to herself.
He certainly wouldn't have a hard-on, a boy of his seeming inexperience. She glanced at his crotch just to verify her prediction, and there, literally teeming between his thighs; was the most gigantic of bumps she had ever seen. Her heart went to her mouth and she clamped her hand over her mouth, pretending to yawn as she thought her heart would leap right out.
She was having the strangest sensations. Suddenly, she knew it was just a plot, just another plot, like all the rest. These men had evident hard-ons. They were going to rape her just like the others. How could they help it, how could they avoid it, what man in his right man would NOT rape a poor, helpless half-clothed victim of a girl they found by the side of the road at twilight. All features pointed toward sex, the way they found her clad only in frayed lacy panties, being pursued by two sex maniacs that had disappeared into the woods. How could they have anything but distrust and disgust for her? Women were always the temptresses, weren't they?
She plotted her escape, automatically, once again. The breeze from the car window made the car very cool and-John wound the handle so the glass went halfway up. Maryjane began to feel claustrophobic. She began to gulp for air.
"Are you all right?" said Louis, placing his hand gently on her thigh, and staring at the road, straight ahead. She jumped at his touch and he quickly removed it. Surely it hadn't been an act of getting her attention, but of bodily expressing his desire for her, without getting his nephew's attention.
"Mm-hmm," she mumbled, opening her mouth to get fresh gulps. It was all she could do to concentrate on her breathing.
Suddenly the car turned off the dirt road and onto a concrete highway. Cars moved far in front of them, and far behind them. To see other signs of life, at last, should have been a great relief to her, and for a moment it was.
Then she made herself remember that that wouldn't do her any good. These men could, and probably would, turn off the road again, in another strange place, and finish her off, after raping her bruised and aching cunt hole another time. To say nothing, of having to go down on them with her poor little mouth that she had known only as a part of her body that kissed mouths and ate food, never that was stretched over some strange man's red-headed cock. She gagged at the thought of another prodding muscle, another man's needy meat, pressed into her unwilling mouth. She would die first, she thought, before participated in another rape. If she had a chance, she meant.
She shook her head. Her fears had taken her far, and she forced herself back into the present. John had lit up a cigarette, after glancing over at his uncle first. When his uncle had said nothing, he'd proceeded. The smoke was choking Maryjane, but she said nothing. It was making her feel faint.
She wanted to lean on one of the men, on one of her would-be rapists, wanted to lean on their manly arms, but she forced herself to sit upright and pay attention. It was the instinct to survive, and that only, that kept her attentive.
She wondered how far they'd gone.
"What time is it?" she asked, forcing each word out of her mouth.
"I can't look, honey, I'm driving," said Louis, lifting his left wrist off the steering wheel and passing it in front of his body. His hand was fisted and Maryjane thought he was going to hit her. "Here, you look," he said.
When she saw the glint of glass in the half-light, she knew he meant she should read the time. 'Too dark." She shook her head.
"I think it's about eight, don't you, John? What time were we at your place? I mean, when'd we leave? You know?"
"Six thirty," muttered John, between puffs. Maryjane couldn't figure him out. He seemed so young, but occasionally almost insolent.
Maybe it was just a screen of indifference he pulled over his shyness. A shy rapist? She had to be kidding herself.
"Where are you taking me?" she forced herself to ask.
"You need rest and a good meal, under your belt," said the man named Louis. "My wife will take care of you. It's not so much further." As these comforting words issued from his mouth, in deep and friendly tones, Maryjane felt his hip prod hers all the more. She elbowed him in the ribs and the car lurched out of control.
Maryjane screamed and the man swore, as he grabbed the wheel tight and pulled the car back on this side of the white line, just out of the path of an oncoming car.
"My heavens, girl, why did you do that? You nearly kiled us!" cried Louis. "John, she's obviously not well, maybe from what she's been through. Put your arm around her and hold her arms, so she doesn't try that again."
John did, awkwardly, as his uncle told him. Maryjane, though tears of frustration were blinding her pretty eyes, could tell he'd never held a girl before. And though his strong arms were controlling her, they were strong, warm arms. She breathed a sigh of relief. If they were, indeed, going to rape her, she could at least enjoy this last tender grasp of a masculine arm about her. She relaxed and her head fell tiredly on his shoulder.
Maryjane closed her eyes, and tried not to think of the lump she'd seen just before her upper and lower lids touched. She couldn't be bothered, she couldn't worry anymore, about future possibilities.
When she went to sleep, she only remembered the kind comfort of the boy's large arm.
She awoke once, as the car turned again, this time, off the main highway, to the left. Here it comes, she thought. Her whole body was alarmed and alerted and the adrenalin started pouring through her again.
She still had her head on John's arm, but her neck was stiff and unrelaxed now. She moved her eyes from side to side, across the front windshield to the wing windows on either side. It was as far as her eyes would move, without her moving her head. She searched the black countryside for a sign of a landmark.
But she not only failed to see a landmark she recognized, but she couldn't even spot a building, a . windmill, anything whose shape might prove valuable to her later. She was in a no-man's land. She shuddered at the thought of another escape. She didn't think she had the energy. The pain and brutality of the other rapes stayed with her. But that seemed to bother her less than the thought of fleeing and the possibility of being caught, and the terrible fear that floated through her bones when she was in flight.
That was it. It was the fear of being caught again, of being mutilated, of being killed. She began crying.
"Comfort her," directed Louis. Yes, she thought to herself, give the poor girl a modicum of comfort before her terrible fate unrolls itself. They could at least be honest about it. Why deceive her so? If she was going to meet a dreadful end, they might as well be direct. Call a spade a spade. She hated deception in any form. She wanted appearances to be running straight and true, through to the base, like a piece of marble candy, with the veins running all the way through, not like a piece of chocolate covered candy, whose fillings you could never detect until you bit into them. And by then it was too late. If it was creamy chocolate, that was wonderful, but if it was coconut, she had to spit it out. She hated coconut. It made her nauseous.
She feared coconut like she feared these men. She'd bit into this experience and she wanted to spit it out. She wished she had dashed away from the car, away from the pursuing hillbillies, away from everybody. Perhaps a third alternative would have presented itself.
She sighed. What the hell of a kind of choice did she have? Here she was thinking in swear words already, and before a month ago, she'd never sworn in her life. Her. life, with her mother and her sister had been a gay reverie, a country idyll. No more.
She'd grown up. Her pleasant life had been ripped away from her. Again and again and again. She was tuning into the underside of human nature, all the things that her mother had kept her from, had protected her from. She had no idea that life could be like this. To her, humans were always kind.
And now the swearing. Hell, damn, fuck, cock, suck. She'd heard all the words, all the bad words she'd ever wanted to hear. They frightened her in the beginning, but she was now swearing them like a sailor, and they were sounding natural to her.
The car bumped along the dirt road and only occasionally did the lights of a distant farmhouse blink into view. The shapes that surrounded them were black and the night was black so nothing gave away the identity of those houses.
The road curved around and around, went up and down. In the far distance she could see the rolling foothills of the Appalachians. Here it was only gently rolling, and sometimes flat.
John switched on the radio suddenly. It was a news broadcast. "Warm and cloudy tomorrow with a chance of rain," the broadcaster was saying. "And now, we repeat the first news item before closing off. Clem Ogelthorpe, father of Harry and Larry Ogelthorpe, is in Mantel Hospital tonight in serious condition from what is believed to be wounds suffered at the hands of a female intruder, according to the sons."
Maryjane felt her body stiffen as she listened. The voice went on. "These residents of a rural section of Cracker County say that an iron bar was thrown at the old man as he entered the living room of their farmhouse to investigate some strange sounds he had been hearing."
"The sons say, that they returned shortly after this unfortunate assault on their father and headed in hot pursuit after the young woman. Authorities are investigating."
Music blared from the radio at that point and John switched it low.
"No, no," Maryjane screamed. "That's not right at all. No, no, oh, why did they lie?"
She was squirming around in her seat and yelling and John tried to clamp a hand over her mouth, but she fought him.
"Hold on, hold on," yelled Louis, trying to control the wheel and hold his leg over the flailing legs of this maniacal girl next to him at the same time.
Maryjane was hysterical. "No, no, they chained me up and raped me first and I escaped. I ESCAPED! And then when the old man came back, he saw I'd gotten loose and I threw this big iron thing WHACK right at him. And I saw him slump over, and I ran. That's how it was. Oh, please, somebody believe me." And she burst into tears. Her frustration had at last brought her voice out. She was angry and confused, she could only blurt out everything.
"Are you crazy? How could you do that," exclaimed John, disbelievingly, "how the hell could you break out of a chain. An IRON chain?" He couldn't think of what other kind of chain there was.
Maryjane had dissolved in a pile of tears. She would blurt out words every once in a while and then began crying all over again. The horrible experience would out. The men just shook their heads.
"Iron, yes, metal, iron, they had my NECK in a...like a collar, a dog collar!" screamed the girl and collapsed on John's warm and supporting arm again. "Oh...oh...oh." She sobbed for minutes.
"Where did they find you? Where do you live, anyway?" asked Louis. It was a question he'd forgotten to ask. "Do you live around there, where we found you?"
The girl had seemed so helpless, he hadn't even bothered to ask. He should have asked first. He didn't even think about asking, or turning her into the police. Eventually, yes, but he'd thought a warm meal and some sleep would help bring her out of her hysteria. Now, he wondered if she were nothing but a common criminal. His foot lifted from the gas and the car began cruising down a slight decline in the road.
Maryjane paused in her intermittent sobs and crying out. Was this it? Now that they'd heard the fabricated story of those horrible men, heard their stories on the radio, they were just going to drop her off. They didn't want any trouble. They were going to drop her off in the middle of nowhere. Was that it? After raping her, of course. She had no value any more. She had nearly murdered an old man. She saw his old, wizened form laughing nastily at her again, as he jerked off and watched her poor body being invaded by his two horrible sons. Then she saw the blur of his body as it fell to the floor. She hadn't meant to kill him, only to defend herself. What if he died?
"How did they ever get ahold of you? This is the boondocks, but people are still rather civilized around here. It's not like the Big City."
The words "Big City" made her dissolve in another pile of tears, reminding her of her impossible mission to avenge the deaths of Sharon and Sarah. The men did not understand. They just shook their heads and remained silent.
Maryjane knew they were just politely tolerating her, before they could find a place to rape and dump her. But by now, she was so bitter, she didn't even care. She thought nothing worse could happen to her now, she'd been through so much.
She tried to answer Louis' question. "Another man picked me up on the highway. I was hitching. He took me to the top of a hill and dumped me, after raping me. The first time. I never had a man before." She blurted it all out, and sobbed for a long, long time. She held her crotch, for the soreness of having been fucked so much was now terribly physically evident to her again.
"You were raped before the men, the man's sons, raped you?" Louis choked the wheel. He was incredulous. This was quite a crazy, mixed-up story this young demented girl was spouting out. He decided to follow it a bit further. "And why were you hitching? Where were you hitching to?"
"To New York," said the girl. "New York? Like that?" Louis nodded at her attire.
She wished he'd been more kind, but she was patient for the moment. "No, I had a dress and a knapsack. And money. Not very much. But I had money."
"You're so young," said Louis. "Were you running away?" He dared a sidelong glance for the first time, steadying the wheel and returning his gaze to the road almost immediately.
"No!" said Maryjane, suddenly petulant and defensive. "I was chasing some killers. The killers of my mother and sister. They raped them and killed mem. And nobody cares. Nobody's going to find them but me. They were from New York. They have a red car, a convertible with a white top. I'm going to find them and murder them."
"You know, if I hadn't heard a story like that on the radio, or read about it in the papers, about a month ago, I'd never believe it in a million years. You aren't the...the, let me see, Reynolds daughter? I remember the name." -
Maryjane looked up at him, hopeful for the first time in an hour. "Yes. They were raped and killed. Murdered. It was dreadful. And the police aren't about to find them. I don't know why. Why couldn't they find a red car with a white top? It's the first thing you notice about them. And they were so big cityish. I was in awe of them! I'll never forget. How stupid I was. I thought they were this big and I was this big." She held her hands up to demonstrate her feelings of minuteness and their pedestal proportions. "And then they go and kill...." She broke down sobbing again.
"We're nearly there," said Louis, patting her thigh again in a comforting manner.
"Don't do that!" screamed Maryjane. jumping, and pulling her leg away, which made her squelched right up against John, again.
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Louis, defensively.
Maryjane couldn't see where they were, and didn't care. She didn't expect these strange men to do right by her. Not at all. By telling them the story, she only wanted to relieve herself of it. She fell silent.
The car turned off the dirt road suddenly and onto another road. Here it comes, Maryjane thought, and clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. She felt the car bump to a stop, like it was rolling over grass.
John opened his car door and helped her out. Maryjane got out blindly, already resigned to her fate. She'd made up her mind to just accept whatever happened. When they took her, took her body, one by one, or both men simultaneously, as with the two hillbilly boys, she wouldn't fight them. She would just let them take her, and invade her, as they pleased. If she enjoyed it, all the better. Maybe even she would have an orgasm again. That would dispel the anxiety at least, and relax her enough to face her fate with her mind alert, face whatever these new culprits had in store for her.
Men were all the same, she was deciding, as she stood numbly on the dirt ground, in the dark, unmoonlit night, waiting for Louis' car door to slam, waiting for the two strangers to guide her through the night to the terrible raping place. Only their faces changed.
"Come on, we're home," said Louis, taking her arm.
Maryjane jumped. She opened her eyes. There was a brightly lit farmhouse in front of her, and a woman waving gaily from the porch.
CHAPTER FIVE
Phyllis, Louis' wife, heard the whole story. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Phyllis, a large, portly woman, with a somewhat stiff demeanor, but a big heart, guided her away from the men and up the stairs of the large, rambling farmhouse. The older woman gave her a pair of fuzzy house slippers to warm her feet in and a comfortable housecoat.
As hard as she tried, Maryjane couldn't stop shaking. She didn't know if the shakes were from fear or from overexposure to the elements. In any case, her teeth chattered. Nan tried to comfort her, by talking kindly to her and rubbing her aching back and shoulders. She put some salve on the neck burn, and listened to her story once again, in detail.
Then she led her to the guest bedroom.
"You may spend the night here, dear," she said. "You'll feel much better in the morning. But come down first for a hot meal. I've kept supper warm for the men. You eat too."
Maryjane nodded her appreciation and let herself be guided once again down the staircase. In the kitchen Phyllis' daughter, Nan, was dishing up the meal of chicken pot pie. Phyllis was the spitting image of her mother, in chubby face and corpulent body. She was more immediately outgoing and set Maryjane at ease, at once.
They all sat down at the dining room table. Maryjane was very quiet and very hungry. She tried to be polite but she ate voraciously. She took huge scoops of the delicious casserole and couldn't help but let the gravy trickle down the corners of her mouth.
She embarrassedly wiped her face with the paper napkin, and glanced up to see if anyone had seen her. They all had, but being the nice people that they were, were busily looking down at their plates, pretending they hadn't noticed.
"Well, Phyllis, does our guest know where she's sleeping?" asked Louis.
"Yes, dear, everything's taken care of. Poor dear, she's had a frightful time of it. She needs a lot of rest and care."
Maryjane looked up at John just then and caught him staring at her. He reddened and looked back down at his forkful.
And where is your bedroom, Maryjane was thinking. The youth, in all his immaturity and ungainliness, attracted her in a special way. It was probably because he was the exact opposite of all the mean and vicious rapists she's encountered lately. She had a chance to size him up, even to be the aggressor if she wanted to. The temptress in herself surfaced, and she felt lightheaded. When she caught his eye again, she smiled. An unspeakable message transported itself between them. Maryjane knew they would get together.
She felt-her cunt unmistakably cream, and wiggled her ass on the seat. John squirmed in his seat too. He wiped a few drops of sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
He excused himself for a moment and got up and went up the stairs. Maryjane wondered if he were going to do something that she knew men did sometimes, get it off in the toilet. She was really too naive to know specifically about such things, just the generalities.
Maybe he'd gone upstairs to his bedroom. Where was it in relation to her own, she wondered. She'd have to explore. Already she was beginning to feel better.
"Have some dessert, Maryjane," she heard Nan say, and her words pulled her out of her reverie. So did John's lanky return to the table. She pretended not to watch him, but she watched anyway. From the corner of her eye. She really wanted her arms around that tall, lanky form.
They would be, in time. She need only have patience, patience till all the rest of them were in bed. As drowsy as she was, as sore as her muscles were, as muddled as her mind was, she could still want a man, her first, in one sense. In the sense that it would be the first man she had desired.
She was no longer a young, inexperienced girl. From her forced labors, she had learned. Something good had come from the rapes.
They ate the chocolate pudding and passed cookies from one to the other. Talk ranged from feeding the cows to what they would do in the morning with Maryjane.
Before the others got up, she excused herself. "Thanks to everybody," she mumbled, pushing her chair back under the table. "You've been very nice to me."
The men rose. They still had manners, manners which the rapists had never displayed. She was suspicious and thought they still might have something up their sleeves. As well as something up their pants.
She went up the stairs slowly, pulling herself up by the banister, step by step.
Then she walked slowly to her room at the end of the hallway. She peered in every room that she passed. There were three other bedrooms up here beside her own.
She saw what she thought might be John's. It was decorated in a wall paper of guns and pipes and pitchforks. She remembered its placement in relation to her own bedroom, across the hall and down two rooms. She would have to pass another bedroom to get there, a bedroom she thought might be his parents'.
She left the door to her room ajar and waited for the others to come upstairs. Meanwhile she turned off her light and slipped between the covers. Her robe immediately came off and she felt the delicious nudity of her own body, for once alone and not with the desperate, clawing passion of a rapist on top of her.
She tried to be quiet, tried not to let the lewd sounds of her passion escape her lips. She tried to keep all impassioned moans lodged in her throat, as she took her sexual ardor in hand.
She reached between her soft white thighs and felt between her wet pussy lips. She touched her clit gently and massaged it into a stiff state of arousal. Then she rubbed it hard, and the friction generated between her forefinger and thumb shot electric impulses throughout her whole body.
She moaned silently. She inserted a finger into her mouth and sucked on it, pretending it was a man's penis, pretending it was John's penis. Her head twisted from side to side as she felt the delirious pleasure her rubbed twat was giving her.
She jabbed a finger up her cunt hole and felt all the delicious juices arise. She jabbed two fingers up her cunt hole and felt her hole enlarge. It felt incredible.
She reached around and jabbed another finger up her asshole. She wriggled it around and around. The sensations it set up were nearly unbearable. It felt so good. She could scarcely bear the hots she felt as her erotic temperature kept on going up, up, up.
She spread her thighs far apart between the sheets and felt their silky softness. Oh, if she could have John between those thighs, this very night, that would be medicine enough for her ills. A man of her own at last, one that gave more than he took. She felt her tit in her hand and rubbed it. She pinched the nipple between her fingers, and kept flitting her fingers over her clit at the same time.
She rubbed as hard as she could, making the little penile projectile stand on end and as she rubbed, she felt the beginnings of her orgasm. She felt the wild sensations rise and spread all over her crotch. Her legs flashed wildly back and forth underneath the covers. She rubbed harder, jabbing fingers in and out and feeling the hot and wild, itchy feelings pass over her.
With one final series of jabs, she felt the hot crest of the wave pass, and she moaned as quietly as she could, feeling the juice of her cunt spurt inside her. A tremendous relief passed over her.
She lay there on her back, clutching her breast and her pussy. A deep, rosy feeling passed all through her body. She was contented.
For the moment. She heard voices murmur downstairs, and the sounds drifted up the stairway. Then the sources of the voices got closer and closer, as she heard the family saying goodnight and coming up the stairs, one by one.
She didn't hear Nan's voice, so she figured her bedroom must be downstairs. It was her parents' bedroom, Louis' and Phyllis', that was the one next to John's. She thought that must be a guest bedroom, too. The male guest bedroom.
She waited for the voices to divide and trail off into their separate rooms. She heard John's door close. Then it opened again, as he went down the hall towards the bathroom. When she heard his footsteps again, they retreated into his room, but the door did not close behind him. She could hear everything he did. Perhaps he was listening to her, too.
She could scarcely breathe, lying there in the darkness. She listened for him, wondering who would make the first move. Should she? Was only she thinking about how they could make beautiful sexy music together?
He was so shy, though. He would never make the first move himself. She thought she heard his door open just then and heard his footsteps again. She thought he was going back to the bathroom again. Instead, his footsteps came her way.
She held her breath. He was tiptoeing. The door to his aunt and uncle's bedroom was closed. The footsteps paused in front of her nearly closed door, then beat a hasty retreat back to the other bedroom.
That was all Maryjane needed. She sat up quickly in bed, not knowing whether to laugh or exclaim. She was so nervous. She'd never approached a man before. But she bit her lip and mustered up the courage.
She threw the robe about her and tied the sash. She slipped her soft and shapely young form off the edge of the bed, feeling for the slippers underneath. Her feet found them and she padded off to the door. Slipping out between the crack, she undertook the few feet between her own and John's bedroom.
Navigating the short distance only made her painfully aware of how unable she was to go through with her seduction. She, too, paused in front of his door, also ajar then got cold feet and pitter-pattered quickly back to her room.
When she slipped again between the covers, she felt herself wide awake. Her eyes were large saucers. She didn't know why she thought she could approach him. -
She waited till her heart and breathing quieted down. Then she heard again his muffled sounds in the hallway. But this time he went the other way to the bathroom.
She snickered. Would this go on all night? No, she had to be decisive with herself. As tired and broken as she was, she wanted a man. Now. Tonight. No more of this shilly-shallying, she told herself. No more. And he, he was so chicken, so green, he would never knock on her door. Therefore, since she wouldn't want to face the next day, not having had him, she would go. She could never forgive herself anything else.
Again she got up. Again she wrapped the coat about her. Again she slipped into her slippers, and keeping her lips pressed firmly together, she managed to walk very quickly this time and stand in front of his door.
She forced herself to knock. Very, very quietly. So she wouldn't wake the neighbors. She heard someone say, "Yes?" A male voice. John's voice.
She entered quickly. There was John, sitting up in bed, staring at the door. There was a book propped on the quilt in front of him. Unread, she figured.
"HeUo," she said weakly.
"Hi!" he said. He tried to smile, but he looked scared stiff.
"I couldn't sleep," she said apologetically.
"Me-me neither," stuttered John.
"I thought I heard you at my door," she said hopefully.
"Me?" he said abruptly. "Oh. no, not me," he denied.
She looked at him. Why lie, she thought. Oh, well, it didn't matter. She said, "Do you mind if I stay for a while?" She looked at him.
"N-no, not at all," he said. He leaped out of bed, then concealed himself with the bedspread. He had his undershorts on and that was all. Maryjane didn't mind. But he, apparently, did.
"Uh...uh, take the chair. There. Sit down." he invited hesitantly, then climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up over his groin.
Marijane sat down. "Thank you," she said.
His lack of confidence was rapidly increasing her own. She crossed her legs seductively in front of him, and enjoyed following his gaze as it jumped from her face to her knees to her crotch back to her face to see if she had seen him look at her very private parts.
She forced herself not to laugh. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to ruin her chances with him that night. She hoped his reticence wasn't typical of all normal non-raping men. She'd just have to take her chances with him. She wondered where she should begin
She smiled seductively at him. She decided that perhaps the direct approach was the best. "Have you ever had a woman before?" she asked politely.
"What? What?" he choked out. She'd obviously hit the man in the right spot. "That's none, .none of your business," he said.
His face was white.
That was the answer, she thought. She had little experience. Three rapes, or two, depending on how she counted them. Two at once, in one sense, if she counted the rape of her mouth by one brother and the rape of her twat by the other as separate, as indeed separate men had performed the acts, even though they were simultaneous. Coupled with the rape on the hilltop, that made three. What innocent young girl her age could claim so much experience to her credit, would someone tell her that, she was musing, watching John's startled expression dissolve into one of feigned knowledge.
"Of...of course I have," he was saying. His hand went involuntarily down to a knob under the bedspread that was rapidly mushrooming. Her eyes saw the human expansion and she couldn't take her eyes off it, nor wait to get her own. The pulsating muscle seemed huge and moved under the covers. It was very inviting. Maryjane stemmed the desire to go over to the bed, tear the covers down, rip off his shorts and massage that muscle, so ardent with desire.
She just sat there, though, and looked him in the eyes. She tried to look sexy. She didn't know if she was succeeding. She did succeed in getting him to watch her, though, and to relax.
She thought this was the moment to approach him.
She got up and slowly came towards him. His large eyes got larger. His narrow shoulders, that weren't narrow but only looked narrow in the big bed, twitched slightly. Other than that, he didn't change position at all. He just stared at her.
He watched her large breasts come closer. He could see her cleavage just above the robe's neckline. They made his hard-on harder. He couldn't admit to her that he'd never had a woman before. If anything happened, he hoped that she wouldn't notice.
She sat down on the bed. "Do you mind?" she said softly. He shook his head, breathless for what might come next. "Do you mind if I put my hand right here?" she continued, placing her hand on the bulky protrusion that was his cock, underneath the covers.
He shook with desire. A woman's hand had never been on his cock before. As a farm lad, he'd led a clean life. He hadn't even experimented with farm animals, as some boys had done. He had never done anything worth reporting, other than kiss Betty Sue down the road. Once. She'd run home screaming and he'd never attempted anything again.
He was a virgin of the first order. There had never been anyone more virginous than he.
And now this girl, this strange girl that seemed both immature and womanly, who had been through enough in a month to fill a lifetime, this girl-woman was advancing on him, and he couldn't control his cock at all.
It sprang to action and assumed a life of its own. When her fingers touched it, even through the fabric of the bedclothes, it twitched wildly and threatened to come, even as he had come all by himself, in the still of the night, in the bed or in the toilet. And no one heard.
Now his eye spied the open door. He motioned her to close it. She shook her head. He squirmed out of bed himself and this time left the covers behind as he made his way across the room. His erection led the way like a proud sentinel, a wary scout, in front of him.
He gently closed the door, hoping his aunt and uncle hadn't heard. If they had, there wasn't much he could do. To have a woman was more than he had bargained for. He would not let the opportunity slip by quickly.
He sat down on the bed beside her, and felt her hand automatically reach for his projection. He sighed as he felt her massage it. He wanted her hand on his bare skin. He took ahold of her hand and pushed it down his undershorts. She grabbed hold of his bare cock now and began to massage it.
She moved her hand up and down on it and leaned to be kissed. He grabbed her awkwardly around the shoulder and plunged his lips down to hers. She kissed him warmly as she felt his lips touch hers and rest. He did not know how to kiss, she could tell.
That much she had learned. That much she could teach him. She reamed her tongue in between his lips and touched his hot, wet tongue. She could feel his breath hot on her face.
His lips, though, inexperienced, were soft. She was delirious when she kissed him. She held his face between her own cupped hands. She kept tonguing him gently, until he got the idea.
Then he began tonguing her back. He felt good with his tongue in her small, but warm mouth. He licked her all over her face, like a puppy dog. Then he inserted his tongue back into her own, warm and waiting mouth. He began fucking motions with his tongue, in and out, in and out. She bit down on his tongue.
"Ahhhh!" he exclaimed. She laughed. He playfully threw her down on the bed and fell on top of her. The top of her housecoat came undone. She let it.
"Touch me. There. Please?" Her eyes closed when she felt his warm, strong hand go between the folds of the housecoat, between her legs. She parted her thighs, and the dike of her vaginal juices broke.
"Ohhhh," he said. "Oh, you feel so nice down there." He put his large, tanned hand over her pussy and felt its softness and its hairiness.
"Go on," she breathed, "put your finger in there. Please." She couldn't wait to have the finger, the hand, of a man she actually liked, go there, in her private pussy. It was a finger, a hand, that could heal.
He placed his hand down there, on her pussy. A finger went up her hole. It was a finger, a thick finger, that felt so good up her. Tears of pleasure came to her eyes.
"Mmmmmm," he moaned. "Ohhhhh, you feel so nice there. Really. So soft and warm."
He prodded the finger up and down and up and down. She was deliciously wet. Would she really let his dick go deep inside of her? Oh, heavens, what a blessing, he thought. He kept prodding his finger in and out and in and out of her. He didn't want to step. A woman's cunt. He was actually touching a woman's cunt! Miracle of miracles.
"Suck my nipple, oh, please, John?" she said, and he parted the front of her robe and found her lovely, large breast, and put his lips down tenderly on the tip.
He sucked just like he was a baby sucking, and he pushed his tongue around and around the large nipple, that he would push to one side, testing it, only to see it bounce back. He sucked hard.
"Bite it," instructed the pretty Maryjane. He bit it. She squirmed with pleasure. "Oh, that feels so good." Her head moved from side to side as she felt her sexual pleasure go up and up and up. "Oh, do the other one." She thrust the side of her robe over and his lips found the other beautiful tit and began sucking. This was too good to be true, he thought. Oh, she had such lovely tits, such lovely suckable nipples.
"Kiss me all over," she said. "Please?" She pulled the sash apart and let the robe fall open, exposing her exquisite body, marked only in those places where the rapists had ravaged her with teeth and finger nails, and at the throat where the iron shackle had bound her around the neck.
He did. He couldn't help but kiss her all over. If someone had held a knife over him and commanded him not to kiss her all over, he would have defied him, on pain of death.
He began with her tummy, her softly rounded exquisite tummy, and worked his way down. He nibbled over her lovely curves and licked his way into her pussy. My, how the hairs were curly and smelled of sweet cunt juice. He would learn to love that smell. He would never be without a woman again.
He curled his tongue in between her pussy lips and licked the clitoris. He did know his anatomy. He knew where everything was supposed to be. And much to his satisfaction, intellectual and otherwise, he found everything in its rightful place.
The cut was supposed to erect on oral stimulation. It did. He felt Maryjane's stiff little clit erect, and the more it erected, the more she trembled in delight.
"Ohhhhh," she moaned, "ohhhh, it feels so good. Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my...." She spread her thighs wide and rolled her head back while he ate her. "Ohhhh, oh do that some more, oh, it feels so good, oh, boy, oh, wow, oh, man, it feels so good...."
She was conscious of nothing else except his eating her. She could feel his tongue roll in between her pussy lips, in the soft folds, the soft tissues of her crotch.
Then his tongue went up her pussy hole. His warm, thick and wet tongue filled the very hole that other men had only filled with their commanding, demanding needy pricks. His tongue in her pussy and his hand on her clit made her go over the edge of her orgasm.
She was trembling, shaking all over, as she felt the pleasure of pure ecstasy fill her. She knew she shouldn't be loud, but she couldn't help emitting a loud moan as the otherworldliness of the pleasure took over her whole body and commanded her vocal cords as well.
John clapped a hand over her mouth, and the harmless gesture frightened Maryjane. Her eyes assumed the look of a terrified animal and she felt a scream coming right after the moan.
"No, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you, just be quieter. I don't want my uncle and aunt to hear you."
"It's just what the rapists did, just what the rapists did," she whispered hoarsely and began sobbing. "Oh, no, no, no."
"You've got to forget that. Try to forget it. Please. I like you. I'm not going to rape you." John looked at this lovely sobbing creatures with his large eyes. He would never hurt her. He only wanted to make love to her. He couldn't let that past terrible experience of hers rob him of his pleasure. He didn't think he could hold himself back anyway.
"No, I can't do it," she said, rolling out from under him, or trying to. She tried to pull away but the heaviness of his body weight prevented her. "Please, get off me, please, I changed my mind, I can't do this."
"No, I won't. You can't stop now," he pleaded. "You were seducing me. Please. Don't stop."
"I have to. Please, get off. You had no right putting that hand over my mouth. It frightened me. Just like I was getting raped all over again. Now get off."
"No, I won't. For your sake. Are you crazy? I'm good. I'm not a rapist. You should experience something good, not just remember those horrible experiences you had. For your sake, I'm not getting off you!"
"Yes, you are, John, right this minute, or I'll scream."
"No, you wouldn't dare scream. If you do, and they find you here, they'll believe me, not you. They've known me a long time, all my life. They don't know you at all."
Maryjane squinted her eyes. That statement was true enough. "Just get off me and let me catch my breath, will you?"
John rolled off her, his erection waving madly in the air. He was practically going to come without even getting inside her. But he knew when he jerked off, that he could come again very quickly afterwards. Several times, in fact.
"Jerk me off," he said. "Please?"
"If you don't pull that power thing on me again," she said, facing him squarely. "And don't clap that goddamn hand over my mouth. Just let me enjoy my orgasm, will you?" She lay back on the pillow, sadly contemplating her bad luck.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Really!"
"It's okay. It's not every day you get to fuck a rapist. I'll admit, it must be a strange event indeed." She was too bitter to be angry any longer.
They lay there side by side, and he ended up jerking himself off. Maryjane watched the spurt of semen arch in the air and curl over till it landed plop on his belly.
"Hey!" she whispered fascinatedly. "Do that again!"
He laughed. "I can't. You do it."
She began jacking him frantically in order to watch the human male geyser go off again, on schedule, just like Old Faithful.
She bent down to kiss him on the tip of his penis, too, and began sucking at the delicious thing. Her lips went down over the head and her tongue reamed around the rim and tickled the little puckered spot underneath.
He nearly came again already. His groin heaved up and down. She fingered his balls as she ate him, and it nearly drove him crazy.
She ate her way clear down the staff, licking up and down it like it was a peppermint stick her dear Mama used to bring her from town. Except that his cock tasted slightly sweaty and salty, it tasted nearly better than the peppermint stick
She went back to sucking the tip and he came again quickly. Right in her mouth. She tasted the sticky come and spit it out, on his belly. "I forgot to let you spurt in the air!" she lamented, laughing. "I wanted to see you come!"
"Get a tissue and wipe my belly," he said. "I'm shivering."
"Oh, you are not, you silly goose," she said. "Here, I'll do better than get you a tissue, I'll eat it."
Before you could say "I came, I saw, I conquered," Maryjane had the tasty come all eaten, all gobbled up, and wore the look of the sly crocodile on her face.
"You are advanced," admired John, pulling a strand of hair off her face. "Very advanced. I'm sure you could teach me a lot."
"You ARE a virgin, aren't you?" she queried, trying to get the truth out of him.
"Are you kidding?" he said. "Of course not. I've had girlfriends before." His face reddened under her third degree.
"Okay," she said. "I believe you."
"Let me put it in now," he said. "With your permission. Okay?" He waited till she said yes. He refused to do it unless she wanted him. He didn't want to be the bane of her existence forever after. He could afford to be gentle now, after all. He had come twice already.
Including when she sucked him off.
She waited a minute before answering. "Okay," she said. "Come." She extended her arms to him and he rolled over on top of her. His shorts were still around his knees, where he had hastily pulled them, before. Now he kicked them all the way off. His hairy thighs touched her creamy ones.
She spread her legs and eased him between her. She felt the large muscle jut up her, filling her with his youth. She grabbed him around the shoulders, around the back, and let him plow in and out of her.
"Oh, it feels so good. Oh, do it. Oh, do it. Oh, do fuck me. Oh, please. Please!"
He felt her delicious softness under him. Her movements only made him ready to come all the sooner. He stopped thrusting, hoping to last longer. "Don't move!" he commanded.
She nodded, looking up at him. She felt the power of his shoulders, the power of his loins. She loved the way he fucked her. She loved the feel of his stiff prick up her, filling her and emptying out of her. His throbbing muscle filled the bill, filled her loneliness, and made her feel less depraved. She had felt so evil after being raped three times.
Now he was quickly reviving her lovingness, as he touched off the juices of her cunt and made them teem, like a spring stream, swollen with the meltings of winter.
She felt her cunt expand and then she felt his dick plod again and again against her clit. She felt his rubbings and his fondlings and she knew she would go overboard again, in a minute.
"Ohhhhhh," she moaned, feeling her float over on her orgasm. "Ohhhhh, John, oh, do it some more, oh, fuck me, oh, fuck me. Please!"
She held her moanings down this time and he didn't clap his hand over her mouth. He enjoyed giving this poor, beautiful girl so much pleasure.
His own dam was breaking just then. He felt his balls spill their juice, and the stuff shoot out of his dick into her beautiful pussy hole, way up inside. He heard her moan, heard himself moan, and they rode for a moment in the throes of mutual ecstasy.
She was so soft under him. He lay down on her, after coming, exhausted, but still aware of crushing her mighty breasts under his mighty weight. He rolled slightly to one side of her, and fingered her nipples lazily with one hand.
"You're beautiful," he whispered.
"Can I stay here all night?" she asked him. A thousand wild horses couldn't have driven her away from him. She might have considered raping him, had he pushed her from his bed in that moment.
"Of course, of course," he said. "I wouldn't have it any other way." He rolled over next to her now, and they both snuggled under the covers, their bodies, their naked, warm bodies melting together.
Maryjane hadn't been so happy in a whole month.
CHAPTER SIX
When they awoke, it was dawn. Gray light, lined with crimson, was streaking through the sky. It was lovely. Maryjane felt like Juliet awakening on the morning after, with Romeo at her side.
Romeo, her Romeo, had another hard-on, and she was proud of it. She knew it was a tribute to her own sexiness. She rolled on top of him, this time, beaming smiles at his still sleeping form.
She already had the product of his erotic dreams inside of her, and she rode hard on his thick prick as he began to awaken. As his eyes opened, his hands went around her ass cheeks and he guided her thrusts, as her luscious cave enclosed his teeming muscle.
Her pussy hole felt tight like a glove, and he plowed in and out of it. He seemed more able to contain his erection, without shooting off right away. She went up and down on him, sitting atop of him, like a wild girl rider on a horse. She pulled her pussy lips apart and exposed her sensitive clit to the reamings of his prick.
"Ohhhhh," she moaned, as she rode up and down on him. "Ohhhh, man, ohhh, you feel good." She continued feeling the sensations of her crotch go wild, felt her clit erect and swell and throb with the sensation of nibbing against his male swelling.
He fucked her as best he could from his awkward position, let her do most of the work. He just lay back and enjoyed having this voluptuous maiden go up and down on him, holding his big adolescent prick in the tight glove of her twat.
"Mmmmm, you feel good," he said lazily. He put his hand out to feel the softness of her tits. He twisted the nipples of each one and made her moan.
"Oh, man," she groaned, "oh, that feels good. She bent down to kiss him full on the mouth. Her lips swelled with the ripe sensation of having fucked well, of having loved fully.
Hex tongue explored his mouth again, never tiring of its journeys over his teeth and tongue, over the curvature of his back cavity. She knew every filling in his mouth. He latched on to her tongue, not letting it escape from his mouth. He loved her hot, warm tongue filling his mouth. He loved her on top of him.
"Oh, suck my tittie," she moaned. "Oh, please, suck it." She pulled her head up and pushed her tit in his mouth. It was sexy, the way she lay over him, her back arched, and her bulbous breast proffered to his lips. He extended his tongue and sucked heavily on it.
"Ohhhh," she moaned. "Ohhhhh, it feels good. Oh, man, wow." She felt his hot lips on her fleshy breast. She felt his teeth bite her nipple and send quaking sensations all through her.
She continued riding up and down on his cock and felt the wet heat of her pleasure expand in her cunt.
He rolled her over suddenly and began fucking her from the top. She looked fantastic under him. Her fleshy mounds of boobies rose under him and his body, flexed like a drill, drove into her, drilling her hole and Pilling it with his electric machine of a cock.
Her groin slapped up each time as his slapped down. They were developing a stupendous fucking rhythm. Their groins crashed together sweatily again and again. The bedsprings were rocking up and down, making loud crashing sounds. John wondered if his dear aunt and uncle in the next room could hear them, but he was beginning to care less and less, and then not at all.
He was even more eager to know if his cousin Nan could hear. After all, her bedroom was right under them. Should he spring that news on Maryjane? Would she mind if the whole house knew they were fucking?
Probably not. It was he, John, who was new at all this, wondering what his relatives would think of him. After all, they'd brought him over for a few days of quiet fun, and look what he was doing...fucking the multi-raped hitchhiker they'd picked up.
Life was indeed strange.
"Oh, your body feels so good," he said. "Oh, how I like to fuck you. You don't mind if I use dirty words, do you?"
"No, fuck me, fuck me," she said, looking up at him, then feeling the overwhelming desire expanding in her cunt hole, drumming up all her juices. She felt the prick slide deliriously in and out of her.
She could go on like this forever. A trip to New York no longer even crossed her mind, in that moment didn't seem important to her. All she really needed right now was this man by her side, in bed with her, on top of her, fucking her.
But the trip to New York still lay at the back of her mind. She knew, even if the exciting lure of it rubbed off, she would still feel duty-bound to go, to avenge the deaths of her mother and sister.
Suddenly she stopped her fucking motions, and paused, poised with the giant cock inside of her. "How would you like to go to New York?" she spurted out.
"Sure!" he answered just as spontaneously. "Let's run away!" He didn't want to let Maryjane out of his sight.
"Ohhhh, you're wonderful!" she said. A big load tumbled off her mind. With him it would be a cinch. She wouldn't be alone. Companionship was a wonderful thing. She'd borne this thing too long already. John was great. He would help her. He would help her find the culprits. He was smart. He knew as much as she did. With two minds working, they would overcome everything. They would bring those inhuman brutes to justice.
He continued fucking in and out of her again. She spread her thighs, far and eager for his every thrust. "Ohhhh, Johnny, fuck me, oh, fuck me long and hard. Fuck me forever. Oooohhh, wow, hey, mmmmm, oh, here I come again. Oh, man."
Again she felt herself cream, cream while that big young dick slipped slickly in and out of her, rubbing tight across her cunt walls. Her pussy gyrated and her pleasure peaked.
"Ohhhhh," she moaned, her eyes closed and her mouth open and panting its pleasure.
She cried out loudly once, before she caught herself, and began laughing, from the intense warmth of her feelings and her body, and because she thought she heard Louis and Phyllis stirring in the next room.
Then John came, rocking in and out of her, breaking his stream of sperm up in her. He moaned and collapsed on her, then rolled off and slept.
An hour later there was a breakfast call. Maryjane awoke from a dreamless sleep, with John next to her. She smelled the breakfast smells wafting up the hallway. She wondered if someone had knocked on her door, and opened it, to find her departed.
Probably not. Probably they had heard her and John, and no one had cared. This was all a new way of life for her.
She watched the sunlight streaming in the window. A breeze curled the curtain up and dropped it again. It was going to be a cool, fresh day outside. Maryjane was comfortable here. She didn't want to leave for a while. But she knew that the longer she waited, the harder it would be to find the Big City culprits.
"We better get up," she whispered, blowing into John's ear. She giggled as he awoke and stretched his long and lanky form.
"Oh, it's too early," he said.
"But they called for breakfast," she said.
"It's only a first call. Aunt Phyllis won't serve for another half hour yet. We've got all the time in the world. Hey, this is so neat lying here with you, girl. You know?"
"You bet, you handsome bastard you," she said, rubbing her exquisitely curved hip next to his warm groin. "Oh, man, I ain't felt so good in a whole long while, you know? You make me feel fantastic, baby John."
"I hain't no baby," he reminded her playfully. "See?" He mockingly punched her in the jaw and stopped within an inch of it. Hey, eat me, would you?"
"Sure, kid. I have a suck on order right here. Is it to go or to stay?" She pointed to her lips.
"Either. Whichever you prefer. I ain't particular." He took hold of her head and motioned her in the direction of his hot cock, that was raising its erect head.
"I get the idea," she nodded, and wiggled down his side till her luscious and open mouth was within inches of his pulsating cock. Her mouth hovered over it for a minute before her lips closed down over it. She heard him moan and she slowly, very slowly began her sucking motion.
Her cheeks sucked way in as she took the gigantic organ inside of them. She grasped onto his muscled thigh with one hand as she sucked her way up the staff with the other. She grappled with his balls, pushing them first to one side and then the other, as if they were imaginary adversaries.
And he loved it. He felt her ream her tongue all over his smooth, young balls. He felt her hot, wet tongue dip down underneath the balls and lick the small portion of smooth skin between his balls and the beginning crease of his ass crack.
He rolled to his side and she licked between his thick, hairy thighs and reamed her way up his ass crack. She even had the audacity, as young and inexperienced as she was, to dip into the little pool of his ass hole, after prodding around his ass and finding it with her tongue.
She tried to push her tongue tip inside and succeeded in entering his asshole about one inch. The interior of his asshole was not the most delectable of tastes and sensations to her, however, so she pulled out and sent the forefinger of her left hand up it instead. He wiggled in delight at her penetrations of his back door. No one had ever done that to him before.
"Mmmmmm, that feels fantastic," he said. "Wherever did you learn to do that?" he wondered.
"I must have read it somewhere," she mumbled, trying to remember, never having had the opportunity to try it before. "Seems to me it's supposed to titillate and stimulate the prostrate gland. In men, that is. I know when I do it to myself I feel fantastic, and I ain't got no protrate gland, being a woman."
"For being a dumb country girl, you sure as hell got a few brains behind that expertly sucking mouth of yours, kid." he kidded her, feeling her mouth suck warmly and wetly on his needy, erect cock once again.
"Oh, you just watch out, you country boy," she mocked him, "or I'll go on a slow-down strike with you."
She eyed him sexily, looking up at him from under her sexy, long eyelashes. She was naked as a bear, now, and she had the most beautiful body he'd ever seen. Well, of course he'd never seen a REAL naked body before, but he'd sure as hell looked long and hard at those pictures of nudie girls that his friend Hank had brought to the country school one day and hid in his knapsack to look at during recess.
He felt her mouth once again close over his big dick and he just lay back on the sheet and enjoyed his big prick being eaten off. She took a detour once and felt her eat him and lick him all the way down to his big country toe.
Then she licked over the soles of his feet, tickling him. He giggled. She licked wetly between his toes, and he wished he'd bathed the night before. But no matter, she seemed to enjoy it and it felt so good, it made him shiver.
She kissed his ankles and his knees. She kissed down over his calves and shins, and up again to his thighs. She kissed all over and around them and he got even more excited as she approached his dangling cock again.
"Oh, Maryjane, oh, come up and suck me, oh, hurry up, oh, hurry, hurry, before I go and shoot off again. I want to shoot in your lucious little pretty country mouth. I want you to have a country morning breakfast with me as the meal. I want to fuck your mouth." He wiggled an inch or two down the bed toward her mouth, so she would get the idea.
But Maryjane had the idea already. She was slowly but surely making her way up his thighs. How she loved male thighs. She loved their muscularity, their hairiness. She took her time over his bulging thighs. Then she found her way back into the crevice of his crotch.
She licked over his protuberance and felt him push his cock into her loving mouth again, her mouth that was fast getting used to having a man's prick inside her, a mouth that was fast becoming expert on how to please a man. The way to a man's heart was through his cock. That's what she was quickly discovering. That was the latest message of the world to her.
She ate and sucked hard on it. It felt so big and hard in her mouth. She rolled over so she was completely prone on the bed and he rolled over on his side, so she could suck comfortably. It was no easy task to suck a big man's big cock.
"Mmmmm, mmmmm," she heard him moan, as she herself made noisy sucking sounds with her lips and sucked in air through her teeth. Her hands and arms reached around him, clasping his buttocks, and she held him tightly to her, sucking loudly all the while.
She inserted the very tip of her tongue into the pee slit and tasted of his pre-ejaculation fluid. She wrapped her tongue around his glans and rolled it around the edge that fastened the head to the staff.
She licked hard and fast in the little puckered area underneath, then used her thumb and forefinger to quickly jack him there, sending him practically immediately into the throes of ecstasy.
"Ahhhhhhh. ooooohhhhhh. ohhhhhh," he moaned, as his groin jerked forward and he emptied himself into her warm and succulent mouth, not once but twice.
She was getting to be a good sucker of hard cock now. She drained him dry of all semen, of all cock juice, by sucking hard.
Then she took not one, but two gulps, and swallowed hard. All his delicious, slightly pungent prick fluid slid down her throat and disappeared into her insides.
"Oh, that felt good," he murmured, closing his eyes, and allowing the pleasant, exhausted feeling take over his naked body.
He rubbed the hair on her head. It was squeaky and spanking clean from bath she'd taken the night before. She was beginning to look like her former self again.
She lay beside him now and rubbed her hand lovingly over his chest and belly. She picked at his pubic hairs, pulling them out and letting them spring back of their own accord. They fascinated her.
She ran her hand over his balls again. She looked at every inch of his crotch. She was fascinated. When she'd been raped, there had been no time to really look. His prick was at half mast now. She hadn't seen it in any position except erect, before.
Now she watched it bend over like an aging mushroom. She didn't believe it to be completely lax now. It seemed half up, half down. Like it was taking a few minutes snooze before waxing again, before it would once again be on the incline.
She ran her finger over its length and around the red-tipped curve of the head. She felt his groin all over. She tapped his flat belly. She loved his masculine narrowness there, and his large chest above.
She anchored her finger in his belly for a moment and ran it around inside. He was an innie. Then she dipped her tongue in, too, for good measure.
Her own hand found her cunt hole, just as they heard the second call to breakfast downstairs. "Ohhh, hurry, oh. let's do it once more before we go down," she breathed. "Oh, honey, Johnny, I need you so inside me. Hey, buster, get it up again, will you? You haven't done me yet."
She prodded the prick into erection. "You're doing a good job on it. What you complaining for?" he laughed. "Give it time. It'll get there. I ain't no superman. But I got repeating power."
"I should hope so," she said, putting her elbows on her hips in a prone position, pretending exasperation. She rubbed it hard and saw the magical stick once again assume the hardness of a diamond.
It fascinated her. She jacked it off hard. "Oh, come on top of me," she cried, fucking herself hard in her hot and needy hole with her finger, first one and then two.
She flagellated her clit a bit and made it hot and hard. She aroused herself till she dripped and waited for his entrance. She was never so ready for him, never so ready for a man as now.
"Oh,flip your prick to me," she crooned, like a pussycat. She tugged gently on his horn of plenty till he rolled over on her and lay between her legs. He prodded her hole with the tip of his prick and entered first the head up inside her.
He stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. "Oh, baby, oh, Maryjane, oh, your pussy is the wettest and the hottest I've ever had. Oh, it's really more than I bargained for. Mmmmm."
She felt him gradually pour his stiff offering inside of her and fill her pussy hole completely with his ramrod. He stopped again, enjoying feeling her tight twat walls fit like a glove on his projection.
Then he slowly withdrew till he was nearly out of her. She waited, enjoying the suspense, wondering when he would thrust hard into her again. She spread her knees almost perpendicular to her groin and dug her heels into the mattress. She was open and ready for whatever he had to offer.
Then he jammed up inside of her again, filling her. His balls banged against the soft, creamy insides of her thighs.
He felt her juicy cunt hole open up to him. It seemed to stretch tightly over his dick, to whatever dimension fit the quantity of prick inside her. Her cunthole fascinated him, since he'd never been in one, before hers.
He rotated his hips around and around, feeling the width of her twat. She responded by going up and down as he went around and around. That way, they achieved maximum pleasure.
He grabbed her around the waist, feeling her lovely slenderness. Their groins slapped together, harder and harder. The whole bed reflected the ardent fucking motion they were setting up.
While they rocked the bed, their breaths came short and hard. They felt the passion of each other's bodies and kissed each other's impassioned mouths.
The tongues roamed around and around each other's mouths, exploring the warm and wet caverns.
They had to hurry though. Life couldn't go on this way, so exuberant and lazy, all at once. Life couldn't be spent in bed, much as Maryjane and John would like it that way.
"Mmmmmmm," moaned Maryjane, leaning her head back and feeling the lazy rise of encroaching orgasm take her over.
"Ahhhhhh," groaned John, letting his prick do his talking for him. Maryjane felt his cock kiss her like they were lips. She felt her cunt mouth accept the kiss of his cock. "Ohhhhh," she moaned again, feeling her temperature go up one hundred degrees.
Her crotch was so hot. Her cunt was so hot, it felt like it was on fire. Her whole pussy felt like it was aflame, and this hot, intense feeling choked through her whole body.
"Oh, more, oh, fuck me more, oh, please, oh, mmmmm, that feels so good. Hey, wow, oh, here I come. Mmmmmm."
And with that, Maryjane felt herself cream once more. She felt the steady tide of her orgasm rise and rise again. She felt it pass over her, she felt it crest at a low level, then just like a wave, gain added strength and rise and increase more and more till it plunged again.
She was fucking like she never fucked before. She felt his cock penetrate her cunthole again and again. His thighs and hips and dick all worked expertly, mechanically, together, setting up the steady, predictable rhythm of an electric drill, of an electric sewing machine.
"Oh, fuck me, oh, keep fucking me," she cried. "Oh, let me come again, oh, it feels so good, oh, wow, oh, man, mmmmm."
He thrust several more times and she reached her highest peak. Then he couldn't hold off any longer and he spasmed and shot his wad into her cunt hole, that seemed to be opening and closing, over his cock, like a fist.
They both lay back exhausted. Their chests heaved. They were sweaty. They needed baths.
But there was no time to bathe. Maryjane clung to John, but John was ready to respond to the breakfast call.
"We better get up," he said. "They'll be other times," he reassured her. "Really," he promised, looking into those sexy large eyes of hers, shielded by her exquisite long lashes.
"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "What will we say, though, huh?"
"It doesn't matter," said John. "They're cool. I know they'll be surprised, but not surprised at all, if you know what I mean.
They may be kinda happy for us. They've wanted me to have a girlfriend for a long time now."
He sat at the side of the bed and shook himself, trying to shake the kinks out of his aching, overused muscles.
He patted himself on the his slipped dick and felt his balls, to make sure they were again in place. He rose and reached for his housecoat, to pad once again to the John.
She got up and grabbed him as he started to go out the door. "Oh, let me hug you," she cried, pressing her magnificent breasts against his hard chest and feeling the compact masculinity of his body.
They embraced, their bodies gaining a measure of pleasure and warmth from this one last embrace.
"When should we start for New York?" she asked him, kissing his lips, and having to stand on tiptoe to do it. She looked him in the eyes and pressed her hands over his ass cheeks.
"New York?" he said. "Oh, that seems awfully far away this morning," he said, trying to pull away. "Hey, I gotta piss before I bust."
"You promised." she wailed. "You did, I heard you."
"Did I?" he said, looking at her closely and seeing how hurt she was. "Wait till I pee. Then I can think."
He went into the hall and she heard the bathroom door slam. She heard the toilet flush in a moment and then his steps pad back down the hall. He reentered the bedroom.
Maryjane was still standing there. "You promised," she said again, petulantly.
"I don't want to go to New York," he said. "Stay here. Let's ass around here," he suggested.
"No," she said flatly. "I have to go. You know that." She slipped into her robe. "I'll go as soon as I feel better and as soon as I'm rested. I have to. I'll go alone, if you don't want to go."
"Well, I can't let you go," he said. "Think about it. That's a big place. You'll never find those characters. Come on, let's go to breakfast."
"My, you sure changed your tune," she said. "I'm disappointed. We better hurry, or there's going to be no breakfast for us."
When they entered the dining room in their robes, they were embarrassed. All three, Louis, Phyllis, and Nan, greeted them pleasantly, though.
"Well, hi, you guys," said Louis, rising. "Here, just sit yourselves down and have some, chow. Hotcakes this morning. Hey, Phyl, wanna put some more on? We've about finished these off, you know?"
"Sure, Dad," she said to her husband. She disappeared into the kitchen.
"Looks like we should give you guys the master bedroom," eluded John's uncle pleasantly. "You kinda woke us up a couple of times."
Maryjane looked embarrassed and John reddened. Nan laughed and then they all chuckled. It broke the tension.
"You guys must have some hearty appetite this morning, hey?" laughed Louis. "Here, I'll get you some fresh coffee." He went to the kitchen and returned with a steaming, hot potful.
He poured them each a cup and then sat down. "Well, I did all the chores this morning, real early. This is my second breakfast, you know," he said, eyeing the young snip of a hitchhiker he'd picked up just the day before, who was already taking her pleasure in his young nephew.
"Really, Uncle John?" he said. "Sorry 'bout that. I planned to help you, you know."
"No matter, nephew," said Uncle Louis pleasantly. "It's just good to have you here. To have you both here. Nan can use some young company too. We're kinda looking around for a guy for her. If you know any, let us know." He chuckled to himself and patted his full belly.
"Oh, Dad, come on. They've got better things to do that look for someone to marry me off," complained Nan, with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm too much of an armful for most, anyhow."
"Don't say that, child," said her father. "Just the right man'll come along and lay eyes on you sometime and he'll see the value in you and quick like a bunny rabbit come to me and ask me for your hand."
"That's pretty old fashioned," laughed Nan, polishing off her last hotcake.
"I ain't givin' you to any man without first lookin' him over damn good!" said Louis.
"That's part of the problem," said Nan. "You look them over so much, they think they're marryin' YOU, and you scare 'em away!"
Maryjane and John pressed their thighs together under the table and laughed. Just then Phyllis returned with a fresh stack of pancakes from the kitchen. John had the great inclination to grope Maryjane's pussy. He wondered if anyone would notice, in the moment when everyone's eyes were feasting on the hotcakes.
He did it, touching her twat just as everyone else was stabbing their forks into the luscious round dough cakes. She jumped. "John, stop that." she whispered. Everyone looked away.
"Maryjane and I are going to New York!" announced John, with a mouthful of honeyed hotcake in his mouth.
"Oh, John, really? You decided!" Maryjane was ecstatic. She reached over and hugged him, unabashedly. "When do we leave?"
'Tomorrow okay? As soon as we can get ready. I need a break from Pennsylvania, too."
Uncle Louis lay his fork down and chewed patiently. His eyes darted back and forth from one to the other. Then he said, "I know what you kids are going to do there. Be careful. There's a lot o' sin in the Big City. You know?" He was cautioning them. "Other than that, have a good time, and you better call us every night." He smiled.
John grinned a grateful smile for his approval. Maryjane was ecstatic and could barely eat. The whole smoky gray of her hazy plan for revenge now began to take form in the back of her mind.
"We'll take you to the bus early, so you get a head start," promised Uncle Louis.
Maryjane couldn't eat any longer. All she could see, rising before her eyes, so those two ghastly figures of so-called men, bending over the prone and bloody bodies of her mother and sister. She would find those bastards, or die trying.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The bus took about three hours before it even got to Philadelphia. There they would transfer before arriving in New York. They had money enough to last them for three weeks. In that time, they were to find the missing men, or bust. Uncle Louis promised to help them out of trouble, should he need them. For the sake of the farm, and for their skins, he hoped they wouldn't need him.
The family had waited for the bus with them, until they boarded. Then they tearfully kissed good-bye and wished them on their merry way.
They found an empty seat near the back of the bus. It was just about dawn when they made their way through half sleeping passengers, to the seat. They settled themselves comfortably, taking warm comfort in each other's bodies. The sex the night before had been even better than the first night, and they felt only half a person when the other one wasn't pressing next to them.
Maryjane kept her coat on and John put his coat over both of them. They huddled underneath it and Maryjane felt her pussy being rubbed by his strong, long fingers.
She snickered and darted her eyes about to see if anyone were watching. No one was. Everyone was dozing or staring out the window. He pulled her skirt up and felt between her soft, white thighs for her cunt hole. She felt herself moisten immediately. He rubbed it secretly and she moaned quietly, watching the gray landscape that was taking shape with every additional ray of sunlight.
Finally she felt his forefinger press against her clit and he massaged the tiny penis-like projectile until it was sizzling hot. She spread her thighs as best she could in the small seat. with one against the outer wall, beneath the window, and the other lying across John's long leg.
The motion of his jacking hand could be seen underneath the blanket. The man across the aisle looked their way once, raised his eyebrows and then closed his eyes again.
John felt along her lovely soft thighs beneath her miniskirt. She was such a lovely creature.
Her curly hair hung over her shoulders and she looked mighty sexy and desirable as she sat there on the seat, lying back languorously and enjoying the sensual touch of his delicious hand, so warm, so titillating.
She meanwhile grabbed onto his erect prick and massaged it heavily under the fabric of his pants.
She loved the feel of his basket prodding the seam of his pants. Her hand traced his thigh, first one and then the other.
She moved her hand up his lean, strong, young body, feeling under his shirt and playing with the nipples one by one. He claimed not to be sensitive there, but she liked to touch and feel them anyway.
Her hand touched his strong, thick neck and his fingers played with his lips. She stuck a finger inside and felt the hot wetness of his mouth. She darted her finger in and out, loving the feeling of finger-fucking his mouth.
Her hand undid his zipper, all under the camouflage of his coat, of course, and she took the prick and tendered it lovingly in her hand.
"Hey, mmmmm, that feels good," he whispered softly, shrinking down into the seat and spreading his thighs wide with one motion.
She flagged her hand up and down the stiff dick and felt his steel hardness. She reached down into his pants and took the balls into her hand, feeling their smoothness and their firmness.
She jacked his cock hard and he moaned silently. He closed his eyes and felt the warm jackings of her hand.
It set his libido on fire. He felt her hand go up and down, up and down, and measure the length of his erection with her fist.
Between her thumb and forefinger she held the fat, red head and went back and forth, back and forth, arousing no end of pleasure in his dangling masculinity.
He felt his prick expand and expand and expand. He felt his semen churn in his big, hanging balls. He felt the juice break loose from his balls and pour through his staff till it spewed out of his pee slit.
His whole groin spasmed just as the sun rose fully above the horizon, sending a new and revealing shaft of life through the bus window, that fell right across their loins.
The man across the aisle opened his eyes again and looked across the aisle furtively. He saw a spot of wet appear on the young man's coat, a spot that grew larger and larger and larger, just as the young man groaned and lurched.
The bus had not lurched. The passengers had not lurched. Only the young man had lurched.
The man shook his head, vacillating between envy and dismay about what this world was coming to. His own hand went over his groin, covering his own erection.
John leaned over to Maryjane and kissed her fully on the lips.
"Your lips are so warm," he said. "So full. You're really very beautiful. I'm glad you're my girlfriend," he added, giving her one last tonguing, and then settling back in his own seat, dozing.
"Hey!" called Maryjane softly, as the bus lurched along the highway. "You've forgotten me?"
"Oh, ho, ho," chuckled John, "so I did." His hand returned to her crotch and began massaging it lazily. A few rubs and a few attempts at concealing her bumps and grinds and she creamed almost immediately.
Maryjane felt warm and voluptuous and sexy after that. She dozed and dreamed sexy female wet dreams. The coming lasted her all the way to Philly. Just pressing her body next to his seemed to make her elastic cunt hole squeeze juice out, almost involuntarily.
She cuddled on his shoulder. They both watched the shapes of the, to them, large buildings, of Philadelphia come into view. Changing at the bus station was a big drag. They had a two hour wait, and spent it in a donut shop down the street.
When they boarded the bus to New York in late afternoon, their excitement increased. They were too excited to mutually masturbate each other.
They watched the number of traffic lanes increase. They noticed the lanes widen. The saw the number of cars and trucks and buses increase.
They fell silent as their gazes took in the countryside, that was no longer countryside, but large tracts of land dotted with factories, smokestacks, and refineries. It was a land dominated by machine, instead of crops. And it excited them, like nothing else. They felt the lure of the Big City encroaching on them. Where they came from seemed mightily unimportant. They tended to place less value on their roots, and more value on the City they hadn't even yet seen.
Suddenly Maryjane said, "Look!" It was after an hour and a half of riding from Philly. Nearly two. She pointed across the River that had marked their way for a few miles.
There before them lay the skyline of Manhattan. "Look, that's the Empire State Building," said John excitedly. "That's not far from the bus depot. About ten blocks, I think."
He pressed Maryjane's thigh excitedly. She creamed in her panties again. "I wish you wouldn't do that," she said with mock petulance. "I'm going to have to change my panties in the depot restroom. They're dripping."
The woman in front of them, elderly and as well dressed as her poor savings could muster, turned around sharply and stared at John. Then she looked at Maryjane, peering between the seats at her. At last, she sighed and relaxed, shaking her head.
Maryjane and John looked at each other and giggled. "She's old!" whispered John. "She doesn't understand." He pressed Maryjane's thigh again and she creamed again. Maryjane rolled her eyes.
They grew quiet. All the customers on the bus grew quiet. They were impressed at the scale of the skyline across the rippling river waters. They rode a while further before circling around and around on the highway.
"It's the Tunnel," said John.
Sure enough, they then circled around and around and disappeared into a long tunnel, with the traffic zooming by on both sides of them. The bus was slow but the cars were faster.
Finally they rolled into row after row of buses. Maryjane was so excited, she could hardly sit still.
John had to hold her in her seat. They waited impatiently as the bus finally found its place in the long diagonals of countless buses from all points north, west and south.
"Please stay seated until the bus comes to a full stop," droned the driver through the small microphone, just after Maryjane half stood in the small space by the window, waving and trying to point out someone to John, she thought she knew descending from another bus.
They both laughed. They held hands tightly. They were so excited. Finally the bus found its space. It stopped and the door opened. John and Maryjane hugged. They jumped up and grabbed their luggage from the compartment above and waited while the pushy passengers ahead of them and behind them jumped into the aisle. In the small towns of Pennsylvania, the two young people had been used to waiting their turn.
They finally emerged from the bus, laden with luggage and found their way into the crowded, noisy bus depot. "Let's go right to the hotel," commanded John, dismayed at the droves of people they saw, pushing in every direction, or waiting in large families. Many looked poor. Some looked crazy.
Luckily Louis had seen fit to make them a hotel reservation. It was a hotel not too far from the depot. On West 43rd Street. They decided to walk it and save the money.
They finally found their way out of the huge depot. Maryjane was bewildered by the crowds, and clung to John.
John was bewildered too, but tried not to show it. They both were terribly, terribly excited.
Their room in the hotel was dingy, but quite adequate. They'd registered as Mr. and Mrs. and tried to keep straight faces.
Once inside their room, they fell into the bed, exhausted and horny.
"As soon as we finish making love," chirped Maryjane, flushed and happy in her state of half-undress as John proceeded to rip her clothes off her, "we must mail a card to your parents. Okay? We promised. Well find the big post office your uncle spoke about and send it special delivery, okay?"
"Sure," said John. It would be cheaper. He was already ripping off the rest of her clothes. He couldn't wait. He wanted to marry her, but he'd pop the question to her later.
She made him loosen his belt and lower his pants so she could give him another of her already famous blow-jobs. The scar on her throat, from the shackle of the chain attached to her by the hillbilly father, had faded, though it was still discernible.
John kissed it and told her that with everyone of his kisses, it bleached out a little more.
They decided to do sixty-nine. For the first time. As they pawed each other, they decided that on the trip to the post office, they would stop by a book store and buy a sex book. John said they knew everything there was to know already.
Maryjane just laughed and felt their bodies, now nude, press each other.
"Mmmmm," she moaned, as she slid around, so her cunt was at his head and aligned with his mouth and his prick was dangling near her mouth. Sixty-nine.
Then they were in each other's mouths at last again. Maryjane spread her legs wide and he rolled on top of her. She felt his tongue descend into her cunt hole and her pussy expanded on penetration.
She wettened and felt his tongue crawl up into her pussy lips and flagellate her clit, gently. Back and forth and back and forth it went. She felt herself get excited once again, and the old familiar feeling, that really was so new, came right back to her. She could spend eternity in bed.
Her hips rolled up and down on the bed, as she rocked to his tongue fucking of her pussy. She herself grabbed his thighs and ass in her hands and did a number on his prick flesh.
She loved eating meat. She loved eating his meat. She loved eating John's meat. She opened her mouth as wide as her lips would allow and sucked his prick inside.
Just like a vacuum cleaner. Just like a certain sucking fish she'd read about. Whoosh! And the meat, the prick flesh was devoured, though not, of course, permanently.
It had only slid down her throat, her magnificent throat, her deep throat, her throat with the scar on it, the scar that was a tribute to her skillful escape.
She sucked his mighty cock. He came twice in succession and she swallowed the prick juice both times. She licked off any excess that might have escaped her and swallowed that too.
"Ohhhhhh," groaned John, pausing a moment from his expert licking of her cunt hole. "Ohhhhhh," he moaned both times as he came.
He rested a moment over her thighs, grabbing hold of the pillowy things and resting his head.
Then, after a minute or two, after a certain drumming on the small of his back from the fingers of the hand of the girl who had just sucked him off, he was gently reminded to continue the job that he had so excellently begun.
His tongue traveled the length of her small but very strategic pussy slit, that pointed the way from north to south, from front to back.
He was trying to make up his mind where to begin. Should he resume tongue fucking Maryjane in her cunt hole or should he prod her clit? Or, a third alternative presenting itself, should he do it in her asshole?
He decided that all three possibilities should obtain at once. His tongue traveled marvelously, quickly, from clit to pussy and back to clit again.
Simultaneously his finger did a marvelous darting in and out of her asshole.
It made her go crazy. She felt her twat hot and getting hotter. She felt her clit erect and send gentle waves of pleasure all over the lower part of her body. She squirmed her thighs still further apart than they were, under his heavy weight, and rolled her hips up and down.
There was a gnawing, increasing, burning sensation throughout her crotch, and she began gasping for more air. John thrust his wet tongue inside her again and again.
"Oh, it feels so good, oh, man, oh, wow, oh, oooohhh, mmmmmm," she moaned, not knowing what she was repeating in her wild surge of growing ecstasy.
He cupped her ass cheeks in the palms of his hands and ate her ferociously.
He sucked hard, upside down, on her pussy. He loved the little tiny curls of brown hair, some of which came off in his mouth, and he had to pause to remove one of them from his tongue. Then he dove right down again to continue the feast. He ate her until she came several times, and kept eating her.
He was so hungry for her pussy. He could have eaten her all day. He'd never tasted pussy before he had tasted hers, two days before, and he hoped that this delectable dish, this specialty, would never be removed from the range of dishes that reached his tongue.
He tasted her pussy juice and wished he could can it, bottle it, freeze it, preserve it fresh. It tasted like no other fruit juice he had ever drunk.
He ate her one last time, wanting to satiate her, drain her of all her juices, satisfy her once and for all, at least until they got to the post office and the bookstore and back again.
Finally he rolled off her and moved till his head was, right side up, between her thighs. He resumed sucking her off.
His marvelous wet, hot tongue continued prodding up, up, up into her pussy canal, navigating it the full length. He stuffed it with his tongue and felt her waters rise in the locks, then overflow.
He lapped up this pussy juice and felt the spasms of her flood, of her come, pass through her cunt, throughout her crotch, and over her whole body.
Her hips gyrated and her whole body shook. She moaned loudly. She cried out. She even screamed at one point. And there were no passengers around to turn and glimpse them and pretend to sleep.
As far as their immediate neighbors in the hotel were concerned, they could have cared less.
As her screams subsided, she came her come and she did her thing. She was finished. Orgasmed. Washed up.
She pulled his head and the body that followed up to her and she clung to him. while she enjoyed the aftermath of her orgasm. Orgasms.
They both dozed.
Then she tapped him on the shoulder. "Honey, I hate to awaken you, but we gotta make it to the p.o."
"Rats," he responded. He looked at his watch, the only thing he was clothed with. It was a new digital watch his folks had just given him for his birthday. It was something he would never take off. Ever. Such was its value, both monetary and sentimental, to him.
He rolled out of the sack. It was four o'clock. Well, that was okay. They would shower and dress. The monumentally of their brand new love, coupled with their newfound freedom, made him almost forget the seriousness of their visit to New York, the avenging purpose of it.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed as he went to the bathroom and flipped on the shower.
"I know what you mean," said Maryjane sadly. "Where do we begin in finding Mama's and Sis's killers? Hell, who wants to begin looking anyway?"
She was so discouraged. All she wanted to do was to stay in bed and fuck and suck with her new found lover boyfriend. And ramble around, seeing the sights with no ulterior purpose in mind.
They showered, masturbated each other in the shower and came out freshened and beaming and ready to go.
They walked over to Eighth Avenue again where they turned downtown in the direction of the bus depot. They were familiar with the landmarks. And the prostitutes. And the pimps. And the general run-down, honky nature of the area. The tourists were gawking, and the men, even when they were escorted by their wives, were being winked and blinked into the corners by bare-legged, platform-heeled, black, white and Spanish hookers.
John quickly steered a course through the sidewalk traffic, pushing Maryjane right along with him, as she craned her neck from side to side and tried to take in everything at once.
"The general post office is about ten blocks south, as far as I can see from the map," said John.
"I agree. That's what we decided, wasn't it?" said Maryjane. She was not to be daunted. She'd looked at the map of New York City, too, and deciphered it as much as John. She didn't want to lose the credit on that score. After all. this was the year of the woman, wasn't it?
"It seems far. but it isn't," said John, "judging from these short blocks."
"I KNOW!" said Maryjane. She didn't know why, but she felt short-tempered, and needing to talk back. It was their first argument.
Except that it wasn't an argument. It was just a mild expression of distemper.
They walked and walked. They griped about having to stop at the red lights every few blocks. They walked against traffic on the one way street. Cars seemed to be increasing in number. After all, it was nearing rush hour.
At last they sighted a huge gray stone building on the right with the inscription about the couriers and their appointed rounds, which they quoted to each other laughingly for the rest of their stay in the City.
"It's so huge!" gasped Maryjane, as they climbed all the steps to the top. "Let's see, which door shall we go through?" They had their choice of what seemed about twenty doors.
They went inside. There were scores of windows. They went up to one labeled "stamps."
"Get in line," said a gruff voice. They turned to see a uniformed black man behind them. "There." He pointed. There was one long line of about fifteen people in front of around six windows labeled "stamps." As each customer came up one by one, he dispersed himself to the appropriate window.
"We're a long way from Pennsylvania," whispered John to Maryjane, as they waited their turn in line. "There are NEVER any lines there."
A fat, good-natured-looking lady turned around in front of them. "Better get used to it, folks. Gather your reading material. You'll be waiting a LOT in New York. That's what it's all about."
Tom and Maryjane smiled politely and were silent, embarrassed by the intrusion. Maryjane tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. The woman went up to a window. They were next.
Finally, it was their turn. They purchased twenty-one postcards, one to mail every day of their projected three-week stay.
On their way to the a table to write their first one, collectively, they passed all the faces that comprised the "Wanted" bulletin board. As a joke, they stopped and read it.
"Oh, look at this guy. Crazy looking. Yeah, he looks like a real thug, all right. Dig that profile. And what a mug." John read the description aloud. "Wanted for postal fraud."
"Here's one," chimed in Maryjane. "A woman. My gosh. She looks so sweet and innocent. Never know she'd be wanted for murder of a postal employee, would you."
"Look at this one...." began John.
"John, oh, honey, oh, come here, quick, oh, my heavens." Maryjane's blood ran cold. She yelled so loud, heads turned, and she clamped her own hand over her mouth, not wanting to cause a scene.
"What is it?" said John, coming over.
Maryjane came over. She was too numb with fright to speak. All she could do was point to a picture.
"Who is it?" said John impatiently.
Big tears came to her eyes. Tears of anger. Tears of hatred. And tears of orphan hood. "Him, it's him. It's one of THEM!" she cried.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The name was different, but the face was unmistakable. It was the face of the-man named Itchy.
Maryjane turned purple first, and then green. Then her face was as' white and pale as a white marble tombstone.
"Honey, pull yourself together," said John.
"Well, what'll we do?"
"Maybe they don't know this is the same man," said Maryjane, tumbling over her words, nodding her head, then shaking it. "Of course, they don't. How could they? All they have is my description."
John read it to himself. Itchy, here known as Jack Sapphire, alias Condor J, alias Rip Ryder, alias...the list of aliases was endless. This man changed names like he was changing underwear. Maybe even more often.
"What should we do?" It was Maryjane asking this time. Her blood ran hot and cold. She didn't know whether to faint or jump for joy. Or go home and have sex. All three possibilities occurred to her.
"We'll notify the authorities," said John simply. "They already have a host of other charges against the man. Bad checks, armed robbery. Now you can add that he was last seen in Pennsylvania, raping and killing two innocent women. I'm sure the authorities will be glad to find that out."
They asked the black postal officer, who had motioned them to the right line before, where the nearest police station was.
"Precinct?" gruffly came the response. He gave them directions and they set out.
When they arrived, they wondered if they shouldn't have notified the post office first.
"Oh, well," said John. "We're here."
The policemen on duty were busy with other things, and finally one, a short, muscular Italian gave them his attention. "Yes?" he said gruffly.
Everyone seemed gruff and irritable in New York. And abrupt. And in a hurry. It made John and Maryjane talk faster so as to fit into the fast city rhythms. It was a pace they were not used to, and it caused them to jumble their words, and become a little anxious and nervous.
Maryjane related most of the story, since it was her story. She cried at the part where she told about finding her mother and sister....
John comforted her.
"And you say you recognized this man on a postal poster?" The Italian cop spat out the words effortlessly, as if postal poster wasn't the tongue twister that it was.
Maryjane nodded. "We saw it in the big post office."
"On Toity-Toid Street?"
Maryjane looked at John. He nodded, trying not to snicker at the man's odd Big City accent.
The policeman routinely took down all the information. Then he asked them where they were staying. John told him. Maryjane was afraid he would say something about their not being married. But he didn't. This was the Big City. Nobody cared. It was odd.
They went back home, baffled by their good luck. There was nothing to do but stop by a coffee shop near the hotel for supper, and go up to their room and make love all over again.
They did. All evening. And all night. Such was their view of New York for the first night.
The next morning, at precisely nine thirty-three, they woke to a knock on their door.
John woke first and rubbed his eyes. Who could that be? He got out of bed and threw on his pajamas.
He threw the top sheet over Maryjane's beautiful naked curves and went to the door. His uncle had cautioned him to query before unlocking all doors to strangers in New York.
"Who...who is it?" he said, trying to sound gruff.
"FBI," came the yawning response.
John peeped through the keyhole and saw a well-dressed man flanked by another. He did not throw caution to the wind immediately, however. He put the chain lock on and opened up. An I.D. was thrust in his face.
He was convinced, and opened the door. "Uh, my wife...uh, girlfriend is still sleeping."
"Which is she?" queried the short, handsome dark one.
"Girlfriend," stated John flatly. He didn't know why he was so nervous, except that he'd never been questioned before, by any kind of officer or authority. Nothing ever happened in Pennsylvania.
"Don't give him a hard time," laughed the tall, ugly companion. "We're here to question the girl. We just got the report last night."
"Get her up," said the shorter one, "please," he added. "We don't have much time."
"G'wan, we got all morning. He just wants to finish his morning coffee," explained the good-natured taller man, winking at John. "I rushed him over here, so we'd catch you people before you left to sightsee. Great city, isn't it?"
"I can't answer that yet, Sir," smiled John. "I haven't decided. It's certainly different."
"Yes, a lot different from Pennsylvania. That's where you're from, isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir." He swore silently at himself. He wished he could stop sayin "Sir" like some idiot just off the farm, which is precisely what he was.
"Look, do you want to get her up and dressed? We'll wait out here," offered the shorter man gruffly. He was trying to be nice, despite the fact that he wasn't feeling up to the new day yet.
"Yeah, thanks," said John, nodding and smiling a thousand times. The men turned away and he closed the door, lifting his eyebrows up and down and waiting till they had gone halfway down the hall before he deigned to close the door.
As soon as he did, he strode into the main room from the little hallway and shook Maryjane, who was, incredibly, still sleeping. She moaned and opened one eye, then grabbed his hand and yanked him down. "Come back to bed," she pleaded in broken English, broken with sleep, that is. "Come make love to me."
He pulled her to a sitting position. "Maryjane, no, the FBI are here. They want to question you about the murders."
A fog rolled away from Maryjane's expression and a gray cloud took its place. "Oh," was all she could say. "Okay. Hey, help me find my things."
"Here's your housecoat," he said, thrusting it to her. "That's all you need. Let's not keep them waiting."
"Oh, let them wait. What's this fucking super-respect of authority suddenly? They're just men."
"Oh, stop it," he said. "Don't you want to find your ma's killers?"
"Yes, but not so early in the morning. Crap, I was sleeping. I was in the middle of this fantastic erotic dream...."
"Was I in it?" asked John, encouraged.
"No," she shook her head. "No, I'm sorry to say, you weren't. But that doesn't matter, does it?"
She took the robe and slipped her lovely flesh inside it. John let the men in.
"Sorry to disturb you so early, Miss," said the tall one.
"Miss Reynolds," said Maryjane promptly, very sure of herself.
"Yes, we know," smiled the man. 'That's just a New York expression, that 'Miss,' destined to be swapped for 'Ma'am' when you go back to Philadelphia."
"Rather, 'Ms.', " she corrected. "But I see what you mean." She laughed nervously. "Please sit down," she added, hastily throwing the cover over the bed.
She and John sat down on the bed while the gentlemen FBI men took the only two (lopsided) chairs in the room.
"Now, tell us all about it," said the taller man, settling back comfortably. The shorter man sat, poised with pen and pencil, to take notes.
Maryjane sat, as straight as she could, clutching her robe at her throat and knee every once in a while, where it tended to part asunder.
The eyes of the two men tended to rove to those parts of her anatomy also, every once in a while. But, being FBI men, they had a job to do.
Maryjane fought the tears back, as she described her incredible last month. She told of the rapes and murders, and what happened to her subsequently.
"Concentrate on the men who murdered your mother and sister," said the tall man gently. "Awfully sorry about the other misfortunes, but those should be reported to separate authorities. Now about the man you recognized on the FBI poster...." He pulled out the same picture and description, but in a smaller version.
"Yes," said Maryjane, trying to control her emotions. "That's him."
When she was finished telling her story and the men were through with multitudinous questions, they got up to leave. "Well, thank you very much, Miss, MS. Reynolds," said the taller man. "This certainly throws a more serious light on the whole case. I'm sure we'll step up the search immediately. These men are dangerous."
"I know," said Maryjane. She thought THAT was obvious.
They were nice men, and helpful, though, especially the taller, ugly one. Her discovery of the postal poster was a real boon.
They said good-bye and the young couple was alone again.
"What else is there to do but fuck?" asked Maryjane. "That's a fuckin' load off my mind," she said.
"Mine, too," said John. "Wonder what'll happen now." He watched her remove her housecoat and stand sexily peeking out between the Venetian blinds. "Hey, it's a nice day out."
"I'd rather spend it in bed," he murmured, tossing his robe on the floor and sinking back onto the mattress.
They made crazy love once more, after he kept whistling wolf-like at her to beckon her back to bed. It worked, and she came tumbling back into his arms.
She tongued him gently and he tongued her rudely. She bit his tongue and he slapped her gently on the ass. Such were the playful sexual happenings of two young lovers.
They tried a new position. Sidewise. John had difficulty getting his prick in from the awkward angle over her thigh, and it kept slipping out. But they practiced and soon succeeded.
"Mmmmmmm," moaned Maryjane from this novel position. She grunted once or twice, as she felt his cock deep inside of her, or as deep as it would go from that awkward angle. Then she requested a new position.
"Get on top," he said, strongly and manfully pulling her slighter frame down on top of him.
"Ha!" she said. "I like this! I'm in control." She straddled his groin, half sat and half leaned over him. She could do what she liked in this position. She could even rape him.
She leaned over and kissed him hard on his soft lips. She tongued him deeply. She rolled her hot wet tongue all over the inside of his mouth, and he loved it.
He played with her big tits as they bobbed and bounced all over him. He pulled them and pushed them and otherwise performed young experiments on them to see what they could and could not do. He thought he wanted to be a scientist when he grew up. The thought startled him. If he was fucking madly and passionately in bed with this girl, his girlfriend, and if he was contemplating marriage, then wasn't he grown up? He was thrown into a state of confusion.
He decided to think about all that later, and continued playing with Maryjane's tits. They were truly lovely. This was one of the rewards of being grown up, of being mature, playing with Maryjane's tits. He hoped he could do that all of his grown-up life.
When he didn't play with her tits, he played with her ass cheeks, pinching them and rolling them in his palms, and burying a finger between them in her delicious crack, and playing the game of "let's find the asshole."
"Mmmmmmm," she responded, bounding up and down on his dick. "Hey, that's great. Oh, man, that feels good. Mmmmmm."
She slid up and down the Maypole of his staff. She rotated her hips around and around, as if she was a fair maiden, winding her gaily colored paper around the pole on Mayday. One of many.
She bent down and kissed his flat tummy. She stuck a finger in his navel. She tongued his navel.
She rode his cock until they both came. Simultaneously. Then they lay down beside each other and appreciated the warmth and bareness of each other's bodies.
"Uh-oh," exclaimed Maryjane suddenly, sitting up straights "We forgot to write yesterday's postcard!"
"We'll do both today," yawned John, satiated from fucking so much. That's all they seemed to do.
Sex took an awful lot of time, he thought. A big bite out of each day. He'd have to get used to that, and plan more carefully. He was a man to get a lot done and schedule his time carefully. He wasn't about to give up all that pleasure. Of course not.
During the second week, the FBI notified them that one of the men had been sighted and arrested. Maryjane was called in to identify him. She did so tremblingly. John stood beside her, holding her arm. She pointed out the man in a line-up.
Charges were filed and, to let himself somewhat off the hook, Itchy, in the true fashion of a scoundrel, told the FBI of his companion's whereabouts. He was arrested in Texas, 30 miles from the Mexican border.
"You should be very proud of yourself," said John in bed to her that night. "You helped have a public offender arrested. Will you marry me?" He rolled on top of her. "If you don't, I'll rape you."
She laughed. "You have a strange sense of humor. Look at my throat. Is the mark of the clamp gone?"
He examined her throat. "Yep, I can't see a thing."
"Your kisses worked. Yes, I'll marry you." She opened her thighs for him to enter his steaming, hot and omni-erect prick up her. She had avenged the deaths of Ma and Sis. Now she let life flow up and through her.
