For most of us, life is a comfortable routine which progresses from day to day in a completely predictable manner. Or so we think. For as the sameness of our daily life comforts us and eases the performance of our daily tasks, so, too, does it seduce us, lull us into a false sense of security, and deceive us into believing that what is will always be.
But the only thing constant about life is change. And most changes come as surprises to us, shocking and taking us off guard by coming at times when we feel we are least prepared. And so we struggle, physically and mentally, to hang on to the old ways, the old ideas, and the old routines.
But fate doesn't permit interference by mere interested mortals. And in any tug of war between man and his destiny, the outcome, like destiny itself, remains unaffected by man's pathetic desire to cling to the status quo.
Cheryl Burke, the main character in Mr. Mark Jeggers' latest literary contribution, is an example of man's tenacious but ill-fated attempt to hold fast to the comfortable ways of the past. Her stubborn refusal to accept change becomes evident early in the work, when we find her-an adolescent girl of thirteen-confronted, for the first time, with the realities of human desire and sexual expression. Not even waiting long enough to try to understand what it is that she is seeing and experiencing, Cheryl runs from the encounter. And like the species of creature which she represents, she continues running until her way is barred.
As we observe Cheryl during a short but important period of time in her life, we see her being confronted by one shocking surprise after another. Each time circumstances force her to accept change-both in her life and in her way of viewing it-Cheryl allows herself to be deceived again. Each time that she thinks she has come to a new understanding of the ways of the universe, she learns, only moments later, that she is wrong again. Each time she concludes, "Oh, life is like that? she is brought swiftly to the realization that it isn't like that at all.
As Cheryl's world continues to change abruptly -each change a little more drastic than the previous one-a pattern begins to emerge. First she is forced to reject all the things that she has always believed in, learning to see herself, her brother, and her life in a new light. Then, as she gropes about in the dark for a new set of standards to replace those which she has lost-or abandoned-she begins to doubt that any solution to her problems will ever be found.
By weaving the lives of the characters into a tightly meshed fabric of adventure, the author manages to imbue this novel and the development of its plot with a total sense of surprise. Bobby, the tough young Black with the beat-up old Chevrolet, turns out to be a Black knight. But the weapon with which he rescues the damsel in distress is a weapon of the ghetto and of the mobsters against whom he is working. David, the twenty-eight-year-old white man, turns out to be a student, the last thing that Cheryl would have taken him for. Frank Moran, the smooth-talking, sharply dressed businessman, turns out to be a cruel monster whose only desire is Cheryl's degradation. And her degradation at the hands of a French mobster is avenged by the use of sevate, the French art of foot fighting.
As Cheryl is dragged to the very depths of degradation she begins to adopt a new way of looking at life. And here again the characters in the book as well as the readers are faced with a series of surprises as Annie, the hip young coed, simpers and goes to pieces while Cheryl, the sheltered and innocent teenager, faces life's problems with calm, tough reserve.
But, of course, the greatest surprise comes at the end when we see where Cheryl's horror and degradation at the hands of Frank Moran and his band of cutthroats leads. Not even the skillfully written juxtaposition of Cheryl's degradation by a white man with the filmed rape by two Black brutes of a white girl prepares the reader for the shock of recognition which occurs in the final chapter of the book.
And then, just as the reader begins to nod his head knowingly and murmur "aaah" at his new understanding, the author shocks him again with the final surprise. The message is clear. Those who think that they know what is coming next are also wrong because it will always be the unexpected.
In addition to holding the reader in its fascinating grip, this book will teach him a valuable lesson. Keep your mind open to life's surprises. Don't get too attached to anything, whether it be a way of life or a way of looking at life. For man is small and not the least in control of the forces which mold and shape his destiny.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Cheryl Burke awakened with a muted groan and sat up in bed, shaking uncontrollably. Broken images, fragments of the dream floated through her mind, and she clenched her eyes tightly shut, trying to erase the stark pictures. The dream was part of her, like a tape that kept replaying itself in her mind. The dream had haunted her many times, but recently-since she had moved away from home and into the college dormitory-hardly a night went by without a trembling, tortured awakening in the middle of the night. When would it end?
She had been thirteen years old, a slender, pretty, shy Negro girl, the color of coffee and cream. She had been walking home from school on a warm and fragrant San Francisco day, making her way down the length of Golden Gate park to her home in the avenues. She had been in a dreamy, wistful mood. Deciding to leave the main walkway through the park, she had been exploring the hidden paths and garden labyrinths of the place. She was a child given to daydreaming, and she had been immersed in some romantic fantasy of her own, curled up beneath a huge eucalyptus tree with her schoolbooks strewn on the grass beside her when she realized that there was somebody nearby-only a few feet away on the other side of the tree.
There was soft talking. Cheryl was about to slip away, to find another spot, when there came a sound that made her freeze with terrified uncertainty. A girl moaned-a funny, catlike mewing sound that was unlike any sound that Cheryl had ever heard.
What was going on? Was somebody being hurt.
Trembling, tentatively, she peeked around the tree.
What she saw made her freeze with shock and horrified fascination.
There was a couple on the grass. The girl was tall and slender-with long, straight blonde hair. She didn't look too many years older than Cheryl herself. The boy was dark and swarthy. He was kissing the girl, hard, holding her tightly up against his muscular body. With his free hand, he was tugging hard at her skirt, yanking it up around her sleek white legs, until Cheryl could see the lacy fringe of the girl's black panties. The girl was twisting back and forth, but Cheryl couldn't tell whether she was resisting the boy, or urging him on.
Then Cheryl saw the blonde girl drop her hand into the boy's lap and begin fumbling quickly with his zipper. He parted his legs a little to give her better access, and she reached into his fly and pulled his nude penis out into the cool air. Then she began to rub the length all over, tugging it quickly up and down until it became enormous, like a young tree growing from between the boy's beefy thighs.
Cheryl felt sick in her stomach. She wanted to run, to forget what she was watching. But her body wouldn't respond, wouldn't move, and she watched, frozen in a fascinated trance. With the girl still tugging at his huge, white, stiff organ, the boy managed to lock his fingers in the elastic waistband of her black bikini panties. He jerked them down roughly, and the girl fell back on the grass, her legs falling apart and flailing spasmodically.
Then the boy pushed his body over on top of the girl, and while Cheryl bit hard into the heel of her hand to keep from screaming, he stuffed his huge, meaty pole into the damp blonde gash of the girl's vagina.
Cheryl jerked to her feet, like a puppet, and ran, ran furiously through the park, ran until her chest burned from the effort, ran until she was safely locked in her room.
And, it seemed, she had been running ever since.
Now, five years later, she sat up in her bed in the dormitory at San Francisco State and she tried to forget the dream.
There was a sigh from across the room. Cheryl glanced at Annie, her roommate. Annie was a white girl. For the first time it occurred to Cheryl that t Annie looked a lot like the girl in the park. Annie had boyfriends, lots of them. Cheryl found herself wondering how far Annie went with her dates. The two girls were very different. Cheryl was determined to make something of herself. She had come to college to be educated. She didn't know Annie very well yet, but Annie's attitude was very different. She seemed almost indifferent to schoolwork. She seemed to spend most of her time going to parties and having a good time.
Cheryl drew a deep breath and lay back down. She had an early class, and she simply had to get some sleep. Just before she dozed off, it occurred to her that Annie was the reason that she had been having the dream so frequently. Annie looked so much like the girl in the park.
* * *
Cheryl was coming out of the science building when she saw Bobby waiting for her. Bobby was her brother. She recognized the ill-at-ease expression that he wore whenever he came on campus to visit her. He was twenty-two, but he had never wanted to go to college. It had hurt their parents that Bobby seemed to have so little ambition. In fact, it was partly because of Bobby that Cheryl felt compelled to make something of herself. Her father had worked hard and had managed a good life for his family. They weren't wealthy, but they lived comfortably. His dream had been that his children would do better than he had. He himself hadn't had much to work with-having to drop out of high school to help support his family. It wasn't easy for a Negro to better his lot, but he had worked hard, and now Bobby seemed content to throw it all way. Bobby liked fast company, sharp clothes and beautiful women, but he didn't like work or responsibility.
Still, he loved his sister.
"Well, if it isn't little miss coed," he said grinning.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. unemployed," she snapped back. She felt tense and irritable that morning-she didn't feel like taking his teasing. He looked a little stung by her remark, and she instantly regretted having made it.
"Come on, big brother," she said, softening her voice. "You can buy me a milkshake . . . " She knew that he would have money. Somehow he always did-and sharp clothes, too, but how he got it was a mystery.
Despite his aggressive, bantering remark, Bobby seemed strangely subdued, preoccupied.
"Have you called the folks?" she demanded, when they had found seats in the booth of a nearby coffee shop. He grimaced and looked away. Cheryl knew that he didn't want her to pursue the subject. It was a sore point between them. Something in her made her push on, anyway.
"Bobby," she said. "It's been over a month."
"Get off my back," he snapped. "I don't need a sermon."
"But they worry about you," she persisted. "It wouldn't do you any harm to . . . "
"Goddam it," he hissed, with an intensity that made Cheryl jerk back from the table, "I told you to get off my back. Forget it. You can play the dutiful daughter with your own life, but don't preach to me about life."
She looked at him silently, and she was aware of the great gulf between them. Words formed in her mind, but she sensed the futility of speaking them. As close as they were in many ways, there was something, some cleft of the spirit that seemed to be growing wider each time that they saw each other.
Cheryl forced a smile. "Okay then, big brother," she sighed, "what have you been doing with yourself?"
He grinned. "Been educating myself," he said. She waited for him to go on, but he just grinned at her.
"I don't suppose you've been taking correspondence courses," she said.
He snickered. "No," he said. "I like to get my education firsthand . . . On the job experience, you might say."
She looked away. "What do you know about jobs?" she asked.
"More than you think," he said. "There's more than one kind of job."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, looking him in the eyes. She didn't like the drift of the conversation. She knew that Bobby had been hanging out with a group of people that always seemed to have money, but without visible means of support.
He regarded her intently for a moment. Then he shrugged.
"Never mind, little girl," he said. "You're not old enough to know about some things."
She looked away, feeling her chest go tight. At the same time, however, she felt relief that he had dropped it. He was right in a way. She didn't want to know. If he had to do whatever it was that he was doing, she wanted to be left out of it. She had her world-her studies, her career. Some day she would be a teacher-maybe even a college teacher. Then maybe she would have some respect, some influence with her brother-if it wasn't too late. Now she was just a little girl to him, and he wasn't about to take her seriously-even if deep down inside he knew that she was right.
After Bobby had left, Cheryl found herself wondering why he had come in the first place. They had never really managed to loosen up with each other, but she had the feeling that he wanted to tell her something, or ask her something, but that he couldn't bring himself to do it.
There was a freshman English class, and then a biology lab in the afternoon. It was dark when she finally got back to the dorm.
As she closed the door of her room behind her, she saw Annie, lying naked across her bed, except for a tiny blue pair of bikini panties. She looked away from the girl's slender, milky-fleshed form, but Annie didn't seem at all self-conscious.
Cheryl dropped her books on her desk and sat down on her own bed. It was rare that the two girls ran into each other in the room. Cheryl spent most of her daytime hours in classes and in the library. Annie was just plain gone most of the time-until very late at night. Her books sat in their places on her desk for some times two or three days at a time with no sign of being used. Annie certainly didn't seem to take her school-work very seriously.
"Hi," the blonde girl said, propping her face up on one hand. "You look like you've had a hard day."
Cheryl groaned her agreement, kicked off her shoes and sat on her own bed. Her eyes flickered over Annie's ripe body quickly, then she looked guiltily away, feeling a flush in her cheeks. Annie was . . . well, more developed then she appeared to be with her clothes on. Her breasts were round and stuck out like mounds of cream. Her skin was so white. There was a kind of feline sensuality about the white girl that made Cheryl feel almost sick with embarrassment. Maybe she could find a new roommate next semester-someone more studious, someone more like herself.
"Aren't you cold?" Cheryl asked.
A faint smile appeared on Annie's pale lips. She sighed and stretched, raising her arms above her head and pushing her firm breasts out in front of her. "Not at all," she said softly. "I love being nude."
There was a stiff silence.
"How do you like your classes?" Cheryl asked.
For a moment, Annie seemed not to have heard. Then she glanced at Cheryl and shrugged. "They're okay, I guess," she said. "For the most part, they're a bore. Although my English prof is beautiful."
"What do you mean?" Cheryl asked, faltering. "You mean he's a good teacher?"
Annie giggled. "No, silly," she said. "I mean he's hung like a horse."
Cheryl looked away, fighting down the tension in her chest.
"How . . . how do you know?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
"He wears tight pants," Annie breathed. "I always sit on the front row and cross my legs a lot. He likes to look at me . . . And, then I like to look at him, if you follow me. Maybe something will come of it."
Cheryl coughed to cover her embarrassment. She had known girls in high school who were "boy crazy," who didn't seem to care about anything else. But she had never met a girl that was so cool and unabashed about her fascination for men. It made her blood run cold to hear talk like this. To signal that she didn't want to pursue the conversation, she reached over and took a book off her desk and opened it in front of her face. She didn't want Annie to see how distraught she was. She didn't want to give her the satisfaction.
"You're kind of a prude, aren't you?" Annie asked softly.
Cheryl lowered the book slowly. "Just what do you mean by that?"
Annie shrugged. "You're beautiful," she said. "But you seem ashamed of it . . . The way you dress . . . " Her eyes flickered over the plaid skirt that Cheryl was wearing. "It's fashionable, but not very foxy. You could be dynamite if you wanted to, with your skin and your body."
Cheryl felt her ears burning. She felt like an insect being studied under a microscope.
"What if I don't want to be dynamite?" she said, her voice thick. "What if I don't want to be foxy?" She glared at Annie with a fury that she could barely control. She forced herself to draw a deep breath. She felt a little dizzy.
Annie didn't seem at all upset by Cheryl's reaction. In fact, she seemed a little amused. She smiled sleepily and slowly licked her lips.
"No offense," she said. "It just seems like a waste . . . "
"Isn't there more to life than just sex?" Cheryl asked, her voice almost pleading.
Annie lifted her hands slowly up to cup her milky breasts. She caught her little puckered nipples between her fingers and sighed. Then she grinned saucily and stuck out her little pink sea-shell of a tongue at Cheryl.
"I suppose there are other things," she said. "But sex is my favorite thing."
Cheryl watched her with a horrified fascination for a few seconds. Then again she hid her face behind the book that she was holding. She just couldn't believe that anyone could be so guiltless, so unabashedly straightforward about her own sexuality, her own animal nature. Cheryl had been brought up to believe that girls like Annie were the shame of right-thinking people. And yet Cheryl was somehow made to feel ashamed of her own decency.
Or was it decency?
After all, times were changing. Moral standards were changing, and Annie was a perfect example of the change. Cheryl flinched at the thought that there were those who would explain her own attitude as the result of guilt and repression, rather than decency. Maybe she was the abnormal one. After all, she was a physically beautiful eighteen-year-old girl, and she didn't have any boyfriends. Oh, she had been on dates. She had even been kissed a few times. But that had been expected. It had been the thing to do.
The thought that her whole attitude toward Annie, and toward sex, was a front, an elaborate rationalization, upset Cheryl and depressed her, and she tried to concentrate on the book in front of her.
But, for once, it didn't work.
Annie slithered off her bed in a few minutes and began to dress. Despite her resolve, Cheryl kept peeking over the top of her book, fascinated by the milky nudity of the slender blonde girl.
Annie dressed slowly in front of a mirror, her eyes scrutinizing her body with unashamed interest. She slipped into a tiny leather skirt that barely came to her crotch. Then she slipped into a brightly colored slipover top that was barely more than a T-shirt. Her breasts pushed out with insistence against the material of the blouse. Her nipples were prominent, and, as Cheryl watched, she wondered-feeling a funny itch in her own breasts-what it felt like to dress like that.
Annie stood in front of the mirror, brushing her long, fine hair, and Cheryl watched her until her own nipples were stiff and aching with a strange tension.
She was grateful when Annie finally left. She seated herself at her desk and tried again to concentrate on her book. But for a long time, her mind was swimming with images and thoughts which filled her with a strange, sick excitement.
Finally she gave up and slipped into a nightgown.
Before she turned out the light, she walked in front of the mirror and stopped. Feeling guilty, she looked at her own image. She was a tall, slender girl. Her hair was soft and black, framed her face in a modest Afro-style. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she reached down and slipped the nightgown up her sleek, brown legs until it was gathered around her waist. She tried to imagine what a man would think of her. Many times she had been told that she was beautiful, and she supposed that it was true-yet, she did not want to be beautiful. She hated the way that men undressed her with their eyes.
And yet, why was she breathing so hard now, watching her body like this? It felt so shameful to indulge herself this way. But why was there this hot restlessness in her body? Disgusted with herself, she turned away from the mirror, flicked out the lights and fell on her bed.
But it was a long time before she fell asleep!
CHAPTER TWO
Cheryl found herself becoming more aware of her body.
She was striking in her appearance-that was something that was just her, and she couldn't hide it. Men noticed her. When she would walk into the student cafeteria, there would be a rippling wave of turning heads. She hated being noticed. Her defense was to hold her head high, to act cool and aloof-disinterested. This facade seemed to work -at least as far as keeping men at a distance.
But gradually the ice began to melt between Cheryl and Annie.
In her own way Annie seemed honest, and even sweet. She didn't seem to wish anyone any harm.
She was certainly different from anyone that Cheryl had ever known, but apparently she was just as alien, and-in a different way-just as fascinating to the blonde girl-and there was growing a shy affection between the two of them.
"If you let me direct your social life," Annie said in their room one night, "I could solve your problem in a month."
"What problem?"
Annie grinned. "No offense," she said. "But you have a problem relating to the opposite sex."
"I wouldn't call it a problem," Cheryl said, a little stiffly.
"You just don't do it."
Cheryl raised her eyebrows.
"But that's not right," Annie insisted. "God put us here to love men, and he put men here to love us-and part of that-the most important part is sex."
"I didn't know you believed in God," Cheryl said.
Annie sighed in mock impatience. "It was just a figure of speech," she said. "But really, Cheryl . . . You're so beautiful. You have the makings of a gorgeous woman, but you work so hard to deny it, to cover it up."
As the weeks of the fall quarter passed, Annie's point of view began to have an effect. Cheryl began to feel that she really was missing out on an important part of life. She began to think that she should open up a little more-go out on dates. She had had a few offers, but she had always found excuses. When men would approach her after class, or in the cafeteria, she would automatically stiffen up, and turn them off. It was an involuntary reflex that seemed to be so deeply imprinted on her nature that she despaired of ever breaking its hold.
One night she woke up sweating from the old dream, the dream of watching the couple in the park. For once, Annie was awake-studying for a mid-term exam.
"What in the world is wrong with you ? " Annie asked, her voice filled with real concern. Before she could control herself, Cheryl told Annie about the dream, about what had happened in the park so many years before.
When Cheryl finished, she looked at Annie cautiously, almost expecting a laugh, expecting to be ridiculed. Annie didn't laugh.
"So that's it," Annie said softly. "That made you afraid of men, and you've never gotten over it."
Cheryl dropped her head, feeling like a foolish child.
Annie walked to her and touched the back of her neck lightly, warmly. "So you're not really very happy with things," she whispered. "You want to break out, but you don't know how, right?"
Cheryl nodded. It was true. She didn't want to be an old maid, a bookworm. It was just that she was so afraid. . . .
"Trust me," Annie said. "I'll help you. Trust me."
In the following weeks, the two girls became even closer. There was a kind of balance between them. Annie was world-wise and sophisticated, but she had trouble with her schoolwork. She advised Cheryl on making herself attractive. At first, the skirts that Annie egged Cheryl into wearing were just too short for comfort, but eventually Cheryl found herself wanting men to look at her, wanting to be attractive. In return, she helped Annie with her schoolwork.
The two girls began to meet frequently between classes for coffee. A few times, Annie arranged double dates. The dates that she found for Cheryl were always polite, considerate boys-boys who settled for a goodnight kiss. Cheryl began to feel that she was not so hopeless as she had feared. She began to like the company of men-or, rather, boys, for she couldn't think of these college students as men in the same way that her father was a man. Often the dates that Annie found for Cheryl were on the bookish sort-and, in that area, Cheryl could more than hold her own.
When the boys would bring the girls back to the dorm, it was a simple matter to break off a kiss. Cheryl even began to enjoy the necking, and with growing confidence, she gave herself to it. But there were limits. She wouldn't let a boy touch her under her skirt. When one of them would try to do that, the date would be over. After all, she didn't want to be like Annie. She just wanted to lead a normal social life. She wanted to make the most out of her college years-and not everything to be learned in college came from books. She was broadminded enough to realize that.
Life was richer. Now there were dances, dinner dates to look forward to. After all, a girl couldn't work all the time.
She began to breathe easier about herself. She even began to look at men differently-with a more critical eye. After all, they weren't all alike. And it was quite likely that she would meet her future husband at some dance, or in some off-campus coffee house.
And, best of all, she stopped having the dream, the terrible dream that had tortured her for so long.
Bobby didn't come around.
At first Cheryl didn't give it much thought. After all, it was common for him to lose touch for weeks at a time. But as weeks turned into months, and she didn't hear from him, she began to worry about him. She remembered their last meeting, and the strange way that he had behaved. It had been as if he had wanted to tell her something--or ask her something-and she hadn't wanted to hear it. Now she worried that he was in some kind of trouble-that she could have helped him and didn't. Weeks before, she had called his apartment only to find that he didn't live there anymore. She knew that he had never told their folks where he lived, and she didn't tell them that he had moved for fear of worrying them. It was a matter of pride with her father that he never asked about Bobby, but she knew that he cared. The mother made no secret of her concern, and the fact that Cheryl had nothing to report about her wayward brother kept her from going home more often than she did.
Then one day, he was waiting for her after class.
She was so glad to see him that she almost cried. She hugged him joyously, and it was a full two minutes before she realized that he wasn't alone.
The man beside Bobby was about thirty years old, and he was obviously not a student.
"Cheryl, this is my good friend Frank Moran," Bobby said, and Cheryl noticed the difference in his voice. Frank Moran was obviously a man that Bobby respected, and-knowing Bobby's taste in friends-that fact put Cheryl on her guard, made her scrutinize the man with some suspicion. Whatever Bobby had been doing these last few months -wherever he had been-she was sure that Frank Moran had had something to do with it.
He smiled and tipped his head. He was dressed very expensively-and very tastefully. There was a dignity about him-and yet his smile seemed genuinely warm. He was a tall, well-built man with sandy hair and aristocratic features. He gave the impression of a man who was completely at ease with himself and supremely confident of his abilities. Cheryl found herself fascinated by him -and yet, at the same time, a little afraid of him.
"It's such a beautiful day," Frank said. "Do you have time to take a drive with us-or do you have a class?"
She hesitated. She did have a class, but she hadn't seen Bobby for so long that she was reluctant to let him slip away after only a few minutes. "I'll cut it," she said. "Let's go."
Frank's car was a silver Mercedes Benz. Cheryl decided that the car fit his personality, but she found herself wondering where he got his money. There was definitely something big-time about him, and she also found herself wondering what his interest was in her brother. Bobby was a sweet kid, and he was her brother-but she knew that he was a high-school dropout with limited skill, and she found it curious that a man like Frank Moran would choose Bobby for a friend.
Frank suggested that they drive to the beach since it was a clear day. When they got there, he excused himself for a little while to make some phone calls. Bobby and Cheryl were left alone on the footpath that wound along the high bluff beside the King's Highway. Below, the beach was long and ash-white. It was clear out to sea.
"Let's go down," Cheryl urged. "It's too beautiful to watch from up here."
Bobby glanced nervously in the direction in which Frank had disappeared.
"Maybe we'd better wait."
"Come on," she said, taking his hand and pulling him toward the concrete steps down to the beach. "He'll find us." Bobby gave in reluctantly.
On the beach, Cheryl kicked off her shoes and sprinted across the cool sand joyously for about fifty yards. Behind her, Bobby lumbered awkwardly. He was wearing stylish high-heeled shoes, and, if she knew her brother, he wasn't about to kick them off and run on the beach like a child. He had too much macho, too much foolish dignity for that.
"It's beautiful," she said when he caught up with her. "The beach is so soft, and there's hardly anybody here!"
"Reminds me of the sand in an ashtray," he said glumly, and Cheryl smiled at his cynicism. He didn't sound as if he had changed very much.
"You look great," he said, eyeing her skimpy dress appreciatively. "I never thought I'd see my sister dressed like that."
She grinned. "I've learned a few things outside of English and History," she said.
"So I see," he said.
"Bobby, where have you been? What have you been doing?" She turned to face him directly. "Who is your friend Frank?"
He hesitated. "Look, sis," he said. "Everything is going fine. I've been all right. I've been making a lot of money. And, like I said before, Frank is my good friend."
She studied him closely, suspiciously. "Do you work for him, Bobby? Is he your boss?"
"Yeah, that's right. I work for him," he said guardedly.
"What do you do?"
Bobby looked away. "Frank is a businessman. I run errands, I'm learning the business."
"What kind of business is it, Bobby?"
He looked at her and laughed. "What do you think, Cheryl ? Do you think I kill people or something? I told you, Frank's a businessman, and I'm helping him out. There's a real future in it."
"And it's against the law. Isn't it?"
Bobby turned and looked hard at her. This time he didn't laugh. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.
Frank appeared on the beach. They watched him approach, and Cheryl noticed that although he didn't take his shoes off, he didn't seem at all awkward in the sand. He was the kind of man who wouldn't seem awkward in any circumstances. He was like a cat, she decided-like a big, strong cat. And yet, even as she watched him, thinking that he was a man to be distrusted and feared, it occurred to her that he was one of the most strikingly handsome men that she had ever laid her eyes on.
When the silver Mercedes was several blocks from the campus, Frank pulled over unexpectedly to the curb.
"I've got to see a man, sis," Bobby said, letting himself out. "Frank will take you back to the dormitory."
Cheryl fought back a wave of apprehension.
Bobby was gone, and she was alone with this strange man. It was a strange thing for Bobby to do, but he had acted as if it were perfectly natural. She forced herself to relax. Bobby loved her. He wouldn't have left her alone with Frank if there was anything to worry about.
He went straight to the dorm without speaking and pulled up alongside the curb, not bothering to turn off the motor.
"I would see you in like a gentleman," he said. "But I think that I would feel a little silly, so if you don't mind, I'll leave you here."
"I don't mind," she said, reaching for the door handle. "It was a nice drive. Thank you." She paused, wanting to say something more, wanting to ask questions. But the questions wouldn't form in her mind. She couldn't come right out and ask him if he was a criminal.
"I like you," Frank said. "I sense that you don't quite trust me, and I understand-believe me, I do. But I would like to get to know you better, and I would like for you to get to know me better. Why don't I pick you up about eight tomorrow for dinner?"
He smiled at her, and-despite her misgivings about him-she found herself smiling back without strain. After all, Bobby wouldn't have introduced them if he wasn't sure of Frank. Maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe she was letting her concern for her brother get out of hand. Maybe she was being paranoid about Frank.
"That will be nice," she said, smiling again.
"I'll look forward to it."
"So will I," he said.
* * *
That evening Cheryl told Annie about her date. As she had expected, Annie was fascinated.
"You've come along quickly," Annie told her. "But I didn't expect you to make the major leagues so soon. A silver Mercedes. He must be a pretty extraordinary man. He certainly has good taste."
"I want to know what his business is," Cheryl said. "I'm only interested in him because of Bobby."
Annie looked at her with an expression that was openly skeptical.
"Are you sure that's the only reason ? "
"Of course I'm sure. My God, he might be some kind of underworld figure. He sure has a hold on Bobby. I want to find out more about him."
"And he apparently wants to find out more about you," Annie countered.
Cheryl hesitated. It was true. And she had scarcely given a thought to that. Why was he so interested in "getting to know" her better? If it was hard to understand what Frank saw in a boy like Bobby, it was twice as hard to understand what he saw in Bobby's sister.
"Well, in any case, I'll help you get ready for him," Annie volunteered.
"What do you mean 'get ready for him'? "
"I mean if you're going out to dinner with a man like that in a silver Mercedes, you're not going to look like a college coed. We've got to buy you some new clothes."
CHAPTER THREE
Cheryl stepped out of the shower and reached for the oversize towel. As she dried herself briskly, she eyed the reflection of her body in the bathroom mirror. Beaded with water droplets, her skin looked soft and dewy-like cocoa-colored satin. Her nipples were dark-brown, standing up like little nuts all puckered and hard from the stimulation of the stinging shower spray. She was a slim girl, and yet there was a ripeness to her hips and thighs. She felt embarrassment at the lushness of her body. How much easier things would be if she were ugly and flat-chested. Her breasts weren't large, but they stood straight out -pert and firm. She tried to view her body through Annie's eyes. Annie would be proud of a body like that-why couldn't she feel the same way?
When she was dry, she dropped the towel and stood facing the mirror, conscious of a little tingle deep in her belly. The little black triangle of hair between her legs was thick and curly-just like the hair on her head.
"Powder yourself-make yourself smooth all over," Annie called from the bedroom.
"Oh, Annie," she called back. "What difference is it going to make? He's not going to see me, you know."
"But you'll feel different. A woman has to make use of what she has, and, baby, if you want to hobnob around town with a man like that, you'd better feel like a real woman-because he sure as hell feels like a man."
Cheryl shook her head. She didn't follow Annie's line or reasoning, but she had promised to follow the blonde girl's instructions. After all, she was new to this kind of life.
She sprinkled some baby powder on the soft slopes of her shoulders, shivering at the touch. There seemed something almost indecent about giving so much attention to her own body. Then she rubbed it into her skin with her soft fingers until her dark flesh began to look dusky. She couldn't shake the strange, guilty feeling that overcame her. Annie was telling her that to look beautiful would make her feel more secure. For her part, she would have felt more secure dressed in an old sackcloth or a suit of armor. But, she had promised.
She replaced the tin of powder on the shelf. Okay, she had done it. Enough was enough.
The bathroom door opened, and Annie walked in. She was naked except for a tiny, skin-tight pair of black bikini panties that stood out in sharp relief against the milky whiteness of her firm flesh.
"Ummm," she murmured, eyeing Cheryl's nakedness critically. "Not bad."
It was horribly embarrassing for Cheryl to stand there stark naked while Annie looked her over like a window display. She felt her skin growing warm with her embarrassment, and she was thankful that on her, at least, it wouldn't show.
"You know," Annie mused. "A lot of men are turned on by girls like you. It's the little girl bit. It brings out the father in them."
"You mean a lot of fathers are turned on by their daughters?" Cheryl asked incredulously.
Annie eyed her. "You'd better believe it," she said.
"Annie," Cheryl said, a little stiffly, "I don't want to turn him on. Can't you understand that?"
Annie looked at her as if she didn't believe her. "Come here," she said. "We have to have a little talk."
Cheryl pouted as Annie led her into the other room. Annie was treating her like a child-acting like she was her mother. Cheryl had had enough of being mothered.
"Sit down!" Annie said, gesturing to the bed.
"Look Annie," Cheryl said. "Can't you understand? I'm not like you. I don't think you're wrong to be the way you are. But I'm not like that, and I never will be. It just isn't in me."
Annie smiled with good natured skepticism. "It's in you, all right," she said, flicking her eyes meaningfully over Cheryl's luscious body.
Cheryl looked away in embarrassment and frustration.
"Look," Annie said. "If you feel that way, if you don't want to be attractive, then why are you going out with a man like that?"
Cheryl thought about it. She had been asking herself the same question. Partly, mostly in fact, it was her brother that she was worried about. If he was mixed up in something that was dangerous maybe she could get him out of it before he ruined his life. Not that he had ever listened to her yet. She was just a kid to him, and she always would be. But she had to do something, and he wasn't going to give her anything to go on, so she was going to the source.
Cheryl thought about Frank. There was no doubt that he was the source. And, she had to admit this to herself if she was going to be honest, that he did fascinate her. But not in the way that he fascinated Annie. Cheryl didn't see him as a lover-the very thought made her skin crawl.
"It's just a matter of what's right," Annie said. "When you go out with a man like that, you make yourself beautiful. Fortunately, with you, that isn't much of a problem. If he takes you some place that's full of elegant, foxy women, then you're going to feel like a fool if you're dressed like a college freshman. That's all. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. If you want to get inside this guy, then you have to talk his language -and this is his language." She walked to the closet and drew out a lush, orange velvet dress with a skimpy skirt and a very low neck.
"Oh, Annie, no . . . I couldn't wear that."
"Sure you could-and you will. After all, you promised to follow my advice-this time, at least. Remember, he's a friend of your brother's. Relax, you don't have anything to worry about. He's a gentleman."
* * *
The evening started out very much in accord with Annie's expectations. Frank took her to an exclusive restaurant perched on top of a high-rise hotel. The Pacific twilight was long and wondrous, and the view was breathtaking. The place smelled of money and power, and Cheryl did feel out of place, but she disguised her doubts behind a facade of self-assurance.
Frank was perfect, of course. He didn't challenge her act-he made everything seem perfectly natural-even to the point of ordering for both of them from the menu-which was entirely in French. Still, there was something faintly amused in his eyes, as if he sensed and understood perfectly how alien all this was to a girl like Cheryl.
The dinner was succulent, and the wine made Cheryl feel a little dizzy. She wasn't used to drinking. She didn't think of it as wrong-exactly-but she had been brought up to think that it wasn't very lady-like. There was little choice about it here, however. Her glass was refilled again and again. Despite her reservations, she found herself sipping away at the wine-as much out of nervousness as anything-and by the end of the meal she began to worry that she had drunk too much. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. She felt more relaxed. But there was some sense in her that warned her that it wasn't the time to relax. Oh, Frank was being charming enough-he had more than enough of that. But there was still something dangerous about him. There was something dangerous about any man that seemed to feel as completely self confident as he did.
She looked him in the eyes, feeling bolder now, under the influence of the wine. He smiled and met her gaze. There was something cold in his eyes-something that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but it chilled her. She thought of her brother. Somehow, it seemed, that anything Bobby was mixed up in with this man must be bad. There was something underneath his handsome, debonair exterior-something sinister and snakelike. She was quickly deciding that she didn't like him-for all his charm and witty worldliness.
"Frank," she said, "you certainly seem to be successful at something. Do you mind my asking what it is?" It was time to start doing what she had gone there to do-trying to find out something about this man.
His smile didn't waver.
"I'm an international spy," he said.
"Really. What business are you in? My brother said you were a businessman."
"Did he now? Why didn't you ask him what business?"
"I did," she said. "But he wouldn't tell me."
"Hummm," he mused, "that's strange. Why do you think he wouldn't tell you?"
"I don't know," she said. "I really don't know."
"Did it ever occur to you that it might not be any of your business?" He said it without changing the tone of his voice a bit; he said it without changing his smile.
She stared at him as if she had been slapped.
"I think," she said, ". . . that I would like to go home."
"Certainly," he said, raising his hand for the waiter.
* * *
There was a stiff silence between them all the way down the elevator and to the garage where the silver Mercedes was parked.
Then she was sitting stiffly beside him. He didn't seem at all ruffled or upset. He steered the car into the street with the same nonchalance that he had displayed all evening.
But, when he started to drive, she realized with a chill, that he wasn't heading for the campus.
"Where are you going?" she asked, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. She didn't feel the light-headedness of the wine anymore. This wasn't like the restaurant. Here she was alone with him and she suddenly felt very vulnerable.
"It's too early to end the evening," he said. "I wanted to show you a few things."
"I'm really not feeling very well," she said. "I think I should get back."
Why had she gotten herself into this? Despite her extravagant dress-that made her look like a street-corner hooker, despite her sophisticated act, she really was a college freshman, and a shy one at that. She was out of her depth, and she knew it.
"Relax," he said. "I'll take you back when I'm ready."
There was just a shade of emphasis on the I'm. It was subtle, but, in its own way, absolute. He was going to call the shots-things were going to happen when he wanted them to, and how he wanted them to, so she might as well accept it.
She stared woodenly out at the street. She was being kidnapped. It was being done with great civility, but that's what it amounted to, nevertheless.
"Frank," she said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. "I don't know what you have in mind, but I don't like it. If you don't want to drive me back, then just let me off here, and I'll call a cab."
He laughed. Suddenly his hand shot out, and he yanked her miniskirt up around her waist, leaving her long, rounded legs naked. She gasped and pulled the skirt down quickly. She was shaking very badly. She began to fumble with the door handle. It was locked in some way that she couldn't release it.
Frank was still laughing.
"When I tell my brother about this," she hissed. "He'll kill you."
Frank laughed even harder. "That's a good one," he said.
Cheryl fought down the panic that she felt. She tried to think clearly, rationally. She could scream for help. But what good would that do? Who would hear her? No, she would have to deal with Frank somehow.
Suddenly he pulled over to the curb.
Instantly there were two men beside the car. He flicked a switch and something clicked. One of the men opened the door.
"Take her upstairs," Frank said. "I'll be up in a minute."
They went about their job with precision. The man snaked his hand out and caught her by the wrist. She opened her mouth to scream, as he pulled her out onto the sidewalk, but he clapped his free hand over her mouth, jerking her toward the doorway.
"Make it easy on yourself," he said. "You could get hurt otherwise."
She felt like a feather-incapable of resisting. When they were inside the house, there was the click of a lock behind them. The man took his hand away from Cheryl's mouth, but kept her wrist twisted behind her.
In a moment, the door was unlocked again, and Frank came into the room, grinning triumphantly.
"You can let her go. I can take care of things," he said to the goon who was holding her. "You can go . . . Take the night off."
The two men looked doubtful.
"Go on," he said.
They left.
Cheryl watched him fearfully, rubbing her wrist where the man had twisted it.
"Now," Frank said. "Now we get to know each other better. That's why you came along tonight, isn't it? You wanted to get to know me, to know what kind of people your brother is getting mixed up with these days."
He took a step toward her. She backed away. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked, her voice cracking with her fear.
He smiled, obviously enjoying her anguish.
"Can't you guess?" he smirked. "I'm going to fuck you."
She shook her head, wordless with shock. "You can't . . . You can't . . . " she sobbed, when she had recovered her voice.
"Why not?" he said. He was advancing steadily. She was crying openly now. He watched her closely. Suddenly he made his move. She uttered a frantic little shriek, and tried to jump out of the way, but she stumbled. He grabbed her and pulled her body up hard against his. She raised her hands to claw his face, but he caught them, laughing, and pinned them behind her back. She could feel the overwhelming power in his lean, hard body. She tried to twist away, but he held her fast against him, insinuating his crotch against the firm, warm plane of her belly. She could feel his huge erection through his pants and she thought that she was going to faint from the sickness that she felt. It was all like a weird nightmare-a nightmare from which there was no way to wake up.
"Please," she moaned. "You're hurting me."
He trapped both her wrists in one hand, then slipped her skirt up in back and began to slide his hand around on the sleek, quivering globes of her buttocks, which were covered only by the tight, gauzy nylon of her tiny bikini panties.
"You don't like to get hurt, do you?" he muttered thickly, pushing his mouth close to her ear.
"No," she whimpered. "Please don't hurt me."
"Are you going to be a good girl? Are you going to try to claw me again?"
She shook her head, her body racked by deep sobs. He let her wrists go, but continued to push his body against hers. Her skirt was just a tangle of cloth around her slender waist. Her long legs were naked, and his hands were moving all over her firm, tight ass. She stood rigid, trying to block out the overpowering sensations of shame and guilt that flooded her body. Then he slipped his fingers underneath her panties and felt her bare bottom.
"Oh, God," she pleaded. "Please don't do that . . . Don't touch me there."
He laughed thickly and skinned her panties down until they were furled around her knees. Her knees were shaking badly. If it had not been for the strong force of his arm around her waist, she would have collapsed.
"I'm going to touch you everywhere tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, you're my plaything."
"No, no," she wept. "Please don't make me . . . "
His fingers unhooked her dress deftly. Then he stepped back and pushed the lush orange velvet down over the warm slopes of her shoulders. Her breasts were like whipped cream, where they were exposed above the thin, cutting edge of her white bra. She clasped her hands in front of her protectively. He pushed her hands away, then reached around behind her again to unfasten the bra. She whined like a baby as her firm brown breasts spilled free.
No man had ever seen her naked. She felt like she was going to pass out from embarrassment.
He forced the dress down over the full curve of her hips.
Now she was naked except for her tiny panties. . He stepped back. Her panties were transparent. Instinctively, she reached one hand down to cover herself.
"Beautiful," he laughed. "Maidenly modestly. I love it."
Her face was slick with tears. She kept shaking her head. She felt close to the edge of hysteria.
"Why don't you take off your panties?" he said softly. "I want to see all of you. I want to see what I'm getting."
She just continued to stare blindly in front of her, shaking her head.
He shrugged and reached into his pocket. "All right," he said. "I'll take them off myself." His hand came out with something in it. There was a click and a flash. He had a knife.
Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, God, no," she cried. "Please don't."
He pulled her roughly up against his body. Then she felt the could steel of the knife blade against the firm backs of her legs. She was stiff with terror-afraid to move a muscle. He ran the point of the knife up under her panties and with one smooth motion, he sliced them away from her body. Now she was completely naked.
He stepped back again. His eyes were funny--he was excited now, as much-she sensed-by her fear as by her nudity. Her eyes fixed on the knife.
"Why don't you get down on your knees?" he said, in a funny thick voice.
She stood still, frozen with fear, watching the knife. He moved the knife in a quick jabbing motion. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Now," he said.
She dropped to her knees. Frank stepped up close to her. Then he reached over with his free hand and stroked the nape of her neck-gently, almost lovingly.
"You're beautiful," he said softly. "You've just led a sheltered life. Tonight you're going to learn the facts of life."
He took his hand away, and began to fumble with his belt. She watched in horror while he unfastened his pants. Then she gasped wordlessly as his pants fell to the floor, and his huge, meaty organ sprang out of its confinement.
It was bigger than she had imagined a man could be. He was much bigger than the boy in the park that day. His penis was long and curved a little, like a sword.
"Play with it," he muttered, stepping up so that it almost brushed against her face. "Use your hands on it."
She reached up with trembling fingers. She brushed her fingers lightly over the drum-tight skin of his cock. It burned her fingers, felt like dry ice against her skin. She held it lightly, not knowing what to do, what he wanted.
"Squeeze it a little," he said, putting his hand back on her neck. "Rub it all over."
She took the thing in both hands and did as he directed. It was impossibly hard-like a young oak tree growing from between his legs. The head of it was like a big plum, that looked ripe and about to burst. There was a little vein fluttering wildly just behind the knob. She fingered his tool, fighting back feelings of disgust. It was obscene, like a big fat worm.
"Now," he whispered. "Kiss it."
She shook her head. "I can't." she groaned.
He laid the knife blade against her cheek. It was very cold.
"No?" His voice was ominously quiet.
She bent forward, closed her eyes and pushed her mouth against the end of his blunt, hard cudgel. He jabbed his hips forward, pushing the smooth knob of his turgid dick between her pale soft lips and into the hot cavern of her warm mouth.
She gagged and tried to back away, but his fingers were forceful against the tender skin at the back of her neck-holding her firmly in place.
"That's it," he groaned. "You know how to do it. . . you Black chicks are born knowing how to do it . . . just try to remember . . . use your tongue. Lick it all over . . . pretend it's a stick of candy."
Her lips were stretched painfully and lasciviously by the thickness of his meaty cock. She could hardly breathe. She licked it and sucked it, hollowing her cheeks. She felt faint and sick. It was just like the dream. The dream was coming to life.
He moved his hips back and forth, pushing his hot erection in and out of her mouth slowly. When it emerged, it was red and glistening from her saliva. Tears were spilling hotly down her cheeks, and she was fighting for air. His fingers tangled in her hair and he pushed her head back and forth rhythmically, forcing the passion-inflated length of his cock in and out of the soft oval of her warmly soft lips.
"That's it," he grunted. "Suck it, baby . . . suck it hard."
She strained the muscles of her mouth, hollowing her cheeks with the effort. She had to do as he said-she was naked and helpless and the knife was like a deadly snake in his hand. If it could just be over.
If she could finish it quickly, maybe he would let her go. Maybe he wouldn't want to do . . . the other thing. She made her tongue flutter over the hot knob of his pistoning cock as if it were a moth against a burning light bulb.
The thing was so hot and smooth against her tongue. He moved it in and out of her mouth smoothly-without friction-with a measured, regular rhythm. His fingers were tangled in her curly black hair, guiding her. He was looking down on her with glazed eyes, and his breath was beginning to quicken. She doubled her efforts, sucking and tonguing his juicy prong with all the energy and expertise she could manage. Somehow she sensed just what movements of her mouth would excite him. It was like some deep instinctual knowledge.
"Use your hands," he muttered. "Feel my ass--hold me."
Groaning helplessly, with her mouth stuffed full of his scalding cock, she lifted her hands and cupped the meaty globes of his ass. She was aware of the weight, the male solidity of his body, and she felt even more frail and helpless because of it. She was powerless-he could make her do anything he wanted her to do, and the realization made her sick to her stomach.
She felt the knotting, grinding motion of his hard buttocks under her hands. She squeezed him hard and scraped her little teeth along the length of his big bone. He groaned and shuddered. She sensed that he was close to having an orgasm.
But then he pushed her roughly away from him. She fell back, gasping on the floor, wild eyed and hysterical.
"Now," he said tightly. "Now for the main event . . . "
He kicked his pants away calmly and began to unbutton his shirt.
Her eyes never left his rigid truncheon-which was jutting up like a telephone pole from between his legs. He was going to put that thing inside her body. She was cold and stiff with fear.
It was too big-much too big. He would split her in two with that big battering ram.
She began to edge away from him, crawling like a naked, frightened animal. He watched her, savoring her fear, while he peeled his shirt away from his lean, muscular body and tossed it casually to the floor.
He stood for a moment, exposing the naked length of his body to her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Then he eased himself down to the floor, pushing her roughly over onto her back-moving his hot hands all over the silky smooth skin of her ripe young body.
He pinched her little nut-brown nipples, making her groan and shudder with the pain of the feeling. Then he squeezed her nipples hard, and she screamed from the pain.
"I like to hurt you,' he said hotly. "You're so easy to hurt."
She was sobbing, trying to push him away, but he was too strong and too willful to resist. "Don't," she wailed, as she felt his strong hands prying her rounded thighs apart. Then he was cupping the little tuft of black wiry hair between her legs. She scissored her thighs together, but she only succeeded in locking his hand in place.
He gouged a finger up into the soft, vulnerable lips of her cunt, and she groaned deeply at the invasion. Then he pushed another finger up inside her and wiggled it around. She felt stuffed. His fingers were like a relentless, burrowing animal between her legs. The feeling was unbearable-she wanted to scream.
Then his weight was on top of her-crushing her to the floor.
She felt the nose of his blunt, hard tool pushing against the soft, virginal lips of her cunt. To her horror, she felt herself growing moist and sticky. It was as if her body was betraying her--refusing to resist the brutal, carnal invasion of her flesh.
Then he pushed his dick up inside her, and she groaned deeply, as if she had been wounded. He was so strong and heavy. She felt his hot breath against her neck. He was strong and furious-like a stallion. She was whimpering mindlessly-her voice sounded strange and far away to her own ears.
His hips were slamming into the yielding softness of her hips like a jackhammer. Her breath was coming in short little, high-pitched gusts. He was spearing her with relentless brutality, pinning her body to the floor with each thrust, grunting like a beast in her ear while he speared her with his meaty bludgeon again and again.
She was moist now-the terrible pain had eased a little as she had stretched to accommodate him. Now there was a frantic heat rising from the base of her belly like an obscene balloon. Her hips took on a life of their own, and she began to push back at him, even while she was groaning "No, no, no," over and over in time with his brutal humping.
Then she felt his cock swelling, twitching crazily. "Ooooh God . . . " She groaned as she felt his hot cream spurting up into her tortured womb. She raked her nails down his heaving flanks--rolling her eyes back into her head and wailing like a dying animal.
Cheryl lay on the floor for a long time without moving, without making a sound.
She was aware of Frank's weight for a while on top of her-then he was gone. After awhile, she started to cry.
"Shut up!" he snapped. "You've got nothing to cry about. I could have cut your damned throat."
She sensed that the edge was gone from him now-that the moment of high danger had passed. He wasn't flashing his knife any more, at least.
"Get your clothes on, bitch," he spat. "I'm through with you-for now."
She scrambled to her feet, still sobbing.
When she was dressed, she looked around, but Frank had disappeared. In a few minutes, he reappeared. There was a young Black man with him.
"Curt will take you home," he said. "Don't tell anybody about this," Then he flashed that cool, sinister grin. "That wouldn't be very smart at all."
She looked at him, feeling wooden and dead. Her sobbing stopped, and now she felt nothing but cold hate for him.
"I'll get you back,' she said fiercely. "I'll get you back for this. I don't know how, but I will."
He smiled and winked at the Black man. "Did you hear that Curt? You're a witness. She threatened me. If anything happens to me, you know where to look.
The Black man smiled.
"I know," he said.
Cheryl sat motionless in the seat. The Black man who drove her seemed to have no interest in her.
As he steered the car through the campus gates, Cheryl felt a wave of profound sadness.
She was coming back to her life-but after this nightmare, she knew that nothing was ever going to be the same. Her days of being an innocent, shy eighteen-year-old girl were finished.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cheryl opened her eyes.
Her body felt leaden, lifeless. The rain was beating on the window. Cheryl moved a little and groaned with the pain that lanced through her groin. There was a pain in her head, and she remembered that she had drunk a lot. Then she remembered the rest of it, and she closed her eyes, trying to sink back into the warm gray sleep, to some place where it would never have happened.
It didn't work. There was a faint nausea now, spreading like an oily stain at the base of her belly. She opened her eyes again. She lay that way, staring sightlessly at the ceiling for about five minutes, trying to fight back the nausea. She tried to think of peaceful things, settling things. She thought of a farm in the country. Grass, silence, animals. She thought of Frank, naked and white, spearing her again and again with his rigid white bludgeon of flesh. She ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet bowl.
Afterward, feeling better, she stood in front of the mirror and examined herself. She didn't know what she expected to see, but she didn't see it. There was no telltale mark, no scar, no blood. Her body didn't look a bit different. But it felt so different. She felt as if it weren't completely her own, anymore. It had been invaded-forcibly. She had had a man's penis jammed up into her body-she had accepted his spurting seed-not lovingly, but fearfully, hatefully, in terror and pain.
She had never imagined that it would happen that way. There had been many times when she hadn't ever wanted it to happen at all, when the thought of spending her life a virgin had seemed pleasant and safe.
Now that dream was over.
She eyed her image in the mirror, and fought back the urge to break into tears. That was it--no romance, no mystery, no emotion, just raw, hard lust. It was savagery, and now that she had tasted it, she felt certain that no man would ever want to touch her again. And, even if one did--well, even the thought made her sick.
It was a Sunday, and there were no classes, so Cheryl stayed alone in her room all day. She was grateful that Annie had stayed away. She didn't know how she would face Annie now. It wasn't that she blamed Annie-it was herself that she blamed. She had wanted to help her brother. She had trusted him and wanted to help him. And what had it gained her ? She thought about Bobby. Somehow, even now, she didn't blame him. How much easier it would have been if she could have found someone else to blame. But the plain truth was that she was eighteen years old now, and responsible for herself.
In the evening, when Annie still hadn't come back to the room, Cheryl took advantage of cover of darkness to slip out of the dormitory and off the campus without being seen. She was hungry, and she couldn't stand another minute locked in the room with her thoughts of guilt. But, she couldn't stand to be seen now. There wasn't much danger. She hadn't cultivated friends among the students, and it was very unlikely that she would come across one of those few who might consider himself on speaking terms with her. But the city streets at night afforded her an anonymity that she needed. She seldom ventured off the campus at night. The neighborhood around the campus was tough and dingy-there were always stories of coeds being raped. But tonight, Cheryl wasn't afraid. What had she to be afraid of? Hadn't she already been raped?
She was hungry, not having eaten all day. She kept watching for a place to get a bite to eat, but it was Sunday night, and not much was open. She walked a long way through the dark streets before she found a business open. It was a greasy-looking hot dog palace. There was quite a crowd. She hesitated before going in. These were obviously not college people. There were some members of a motorcycle gang in greasy denim cut-always. There were a few surly-looking ghetto Blacks, and a few whites with long, dirty-looking hair, who looked as if they might be drug addicts. But she was half-starved. Ordinarily she would never have gone into a place like this. But tonight wasn't ordinary. She felt oddly fearless. It was as if part of her had already died.
She found a spot at the crowded counter, ordered a foot-long hot dog and a cup of coffee. The hot dog was shoved across the counter at her, wrapped in wax paper. The coffee, of course, was served in a plastic cup. She ate greedily, trying to close the clamor of the place from her mind, not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead. She had finished the hot dog, and was scalding her mouth on the coffee, when she became aware of a presence beside her. She didn't turn her head, but she knew that it was a man, and that he was watching her with undisguised interest.
"You look good eating a hot dog," the man said.
She turned and eyed him coldly. He was young, with fine blond hair that fell to his shoulders. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and his skin was milky white. She felt a chill pass through her as she watched him. There was something ominous in his pale-blue eyes, something creepy. Even his grin was threatening somehow.
She glanced quickly around the room. Nobody was paying any attention. She would have to handle him, somehow, by herself.
She ignored him. Maybe he would get the message.
He leaned closer. She could smell the odor of cheap wine on his breath. She put her coffee down.
"I bet that's not all you eat, is it?" he said softly. Cheryl fumbled in her purse, trying to catch the eye of the old man behind the counter.
"How would you like to go home with me?" the man whispered, bending very close. "I'll give you something to eat. You can eat it all night long."
He reached out and placed his hand brazenly on her thigh.
She jerked, as if she had been shocked, slapping his hand away. She turned and stared at him with burning fury in her eyes.
"Look," she said, "leave me alone. If you touch me again, I'm going to claw your eyes out."
He looked startled. Cheryl didn't wait for him to react, she slapped a dollar bill on the counter and walked out quickly, not looking behind her.
Se walked a block and a half before her anger abated enough for her to realize that she was walking in the wrong direction. In fact, she didn't remember which way the campus lay. She stood still, trying to get her bearings, trying to remember which way she had come. The street was completely deserted. Back down the street, she could see the lights of the hot dog palace. It was the only place open. She would have to walk past it again to get back. Either that, or walk a block out of her way. She was about to go back when she saw a man walk out of the place and start in her direction. She hesitated.
Then he looked up, and she saw that it was the man who had bothered her. She turned, knowing that he had seen her, and walked quickly back in the direction from which she had come. Her heart was beating wildly. Her courage, the courage, that had come out of her anger-was gone. The street was cold and wet. There was nobody in sight. It was different out here.
What should she do? He had walked out of the place behind her. And then he had seen her, standing there. Had he thought that she was waiting for him? Had she given that impression. She should just turn around and face him. She had backed him down in the restaurant-she could do it again. But she was afraid now-so afraid that her knees were knocking. She knew that he would sense her fear-like a dog. She tried to calm herself, tried to collect her wits to confront him. But her legs just carried her along faster and faster. Behind her, she could hear his footsteps keeping pace with her in the empty street.
She came to a corner. She looked quickly both ways. Maybe there was something-a coffee shop, a hotel that she could go into. Nothing. Nothing but houses. They were apartment houses. They were the kinds of houses that had buzzers. She would have to buzz, then wait for someone to buzz back, unlocking the door. She would never have time. He was gaining on her. He was closer, although she was afraid to look back, afraid to see how close.
She turned into the side street. Maybe it was all her mind, maybe he wouldn't turn to follow her, maybe she had been mistaken, and it wasn't even the same man. She walked quickly, searching for a doorway, a hiding place.
Quickly, she climbed a short deck of steps and slipped into the deep shadow of an arched portal. She listened for his steps. He hadn't reached the corner yet. Maybe he would go on.
Then she heard his steps at the corner.
They stopped. He must have seen her turn. Go on, go on, she prayed silently. The steps began again. They were getting louder-he was coming her way.
She tensed with horror and tried to push herself back into the wall. The steps were relaxed, confident. He knew he had her now. She thought about running. She slipped off her shoes and got ready to run.
He stood in front of the doorway, looking up at her. He was smiling. Then he started to climb the steps.
"Well, well," he said. "This looks like as good a place as any for you to eat my hot dog."
"I'll scream," she said.
"No, you won't," he said. Then he moved-with extraordinary speed and grace-so quickly that Cheryl scarcely had time to catch her breath. He caught her wrist and bent it around behind her in a hammerlock, while his free hand came up to clamp around her mouth.
His hand was dirty and callused. She tried to scream, but she could hardly breathe. The power in his lean body was incredible; he was holding her almost completely immobile without any strain at all. Her arm felt as if it were being torn from its socket. The pain was almost unbearable.
"If I take my hand from your mouth, are you going to scream?" he muttered thickly in the dark.
She was wild with horror and pain. She just groaned mutedly against the heel of his hand. He jerked her arm another notch upward. She thought she would faint from pain. "Uh-uh, uh-uh," she muttered. She had to" get the pressure off her arm, or she would die from the pain.
He took his hand away from her mouth and released the tension on her arm. Then, while she gasped deep, shuddering lungfuls of breath, he groped her taut breasts through the thin fabric of her dress. He mauled her and felt her hard melons, kneading them between his thick, dirty fingers.
Then he slid his hand down to the hem of her skirt and jerked it quickly up around her waist.
She shivered as she felt the misty night air against her warm, naked thighs-felt the cool through the gauzy nylon of her panties. His hand was between her legs, feeling her there roughly, gouging into the soft clump of her cuntal hair with his blunt fingers. She was still sore there from what Frank had done, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming at the pain, the fear, the humiliation. She couldn't scream-she would have to submit to him, or he would kill her. She was sure of that.
Then there were steps, approaching.
Instantly, his hand was over her mouth-he was drawing her back into the depths of the portal. The steps continued to approach, at a leisurely rate. A young man came into view.
Cheryl bit the man's hand as hard as she could.
"Shit!" he spat.
The other man looked up, startled.
"Help!" Cheryl screamed. "Please help."
The man in the street seemed to take stock of the situation very quickly. He braced himself and started up the steps in a half crouch, his eyes scanning the darkness of the portal.
Suddenly Cheryl felt herself flung violently away. She fell hard against the apartment house door and slumped to the floor, groaning with pain. Through her fear-dimmed eyes she saw her tormentor grope in his pocket. Then there was the glint of a blade. He grinned wickedly and jabbed the knife casually in the direction of the other man, who backed away a step.
"He's got a knife," Cheryl moaned. "Run, go get help."
The man glanced at her very briefly. Then he half-turned, and she thought that he was going to follow her advice. He had something quite different in mind.
It happened so quickly that Cheryl wasn't quite sure that she had actually seen it. One moment the man was turning to go back down the steps. Then, like a great, swift, hammering fist, his leg whipped out, face high, connecting with the other man's jaw. The knife clattered to the ground. The man fell back, groaning, holding his face.
Immediately, the other man was at her side.
She was vaguely aware that the first man was getting away, but she didn't care-didn't care about revenge. She was so frightened that it took her several tries to answer the question.
"I think so," she said at last. Her ribs were sore from crashing into the door-her breasts felt raw and bruised from the mauling they had received. But she wasn't seriously hurt.
He bent over her, and for a few moments, there was no sound but her labored breathing. Once, she tried to get up, but her knees were shaking so badly that they collapsed under her.
"It's okay," he said gently. "Take your time."
"But.. . shouldn't we call the police?" she muttered.
To her surprise, he laughed. "The police. This happens a dozen times a day around here," he said. "I doubt they would even send someone out to investigate."
Finally she was able to stand. She was still feeling weak, and the man supported her with his arm.
"I'm afraid I don't have a car," he said. "I could call a cab."
"No, that's all right," she said. "I can walk."
"Then I'll walk with you. You are a student, aren't you ? "
She looked at him. "How did you know?"
He smiled. "You have that look."
She looked at him. He wasn't very big. Somehow he had seemed huge a few minutes before when he had been disarming the mugger. Actually he was less than six feet tall-rather on the wiry side. He looked about twenty-eight. He was dressed simply, but not extravagantly.
"Would you believe," he said, "that I'm a student, too?"
"Really? I would never have guessed," she said, thinking of his performance of a few minutes before.
He read her mind. "That?" he shrugged. "Just something I learned a long time ago. Now I'm learning philosophy."
He took her arm and they began the long walk back to the campus. There was no sign of the mugger-or of anyone else on the street.
"By the way," he said, "my name is David Andrews."
She looked at him. There was something strangely formal, almost bashfully polite about him. "I'm Cheryl Burke," she said. "I can't thank you enough."
He waved her gratitude aside. "I won't lecture or preach to you," he said, "but this neighborhood is really no place for a girl to walk alone."
"I believe you," she said. "I didn't know."
"Next time you decide to take a walk, invite me along," he said.
"Thanks just the same, but I think I'll confine my walking to the campus after this," she said.
He walked her solicitously up to the door of the dormitory.
As he was walking away, Annie appeared--home from her own date.
"Well," she said conspiratorially. "I see you're branching out."
"It's not like that Annie," Cheryl said. "It's not like that at all."
CHAPTER FIVE
Cheryl tried to immerse herself in her school-work more deeply than before. Whenever she let her mind wander, it wandered back to the night with Frank. Bnt, even though she tried to eradicate the memory, to proceed as if it had never happened, she felt that there had been a change in her. She became even more withdrawn than usual around the other students.
"Come off it," Annie told her. "Whatever happened can't be that bad. You're acting like some 'tainted woman' a hundred years ago. So, you got laid. What makes you think you're so special? What makes you think it's all that important? People get laid every day these days, and nobody locks them in a pillory."
But Cheryl felt tainted, polluted. If she had fought her hardest, then maybe she would feel different. But her body had responded to Frank, even while her mind was denying him. She couldn't forget that.
Then there was Bobby. She was afraid of seeing him-afraid that she would lose control of herself. But she was even more afraid of not seeing him. He was really the only person in the world that she felt completely close to, and she couldn't afford to lose him. She couldn't tell him what had happened that night with Frank. He might lose control of himself and go after Frank. She sensed about Frank that he would get the best of that kind of encounter, that Bobby would be lucky to come out of it alive.
When she finally saw him, it wasn't at all what she expected.
The call came at midnight, when Cheryl had been asleep for an hour.
"Get dressed," he said. His voice was terse.
"You've got a nerve," she said. "You think you can order me around, get me out of bed and tell me to get dressed."
"Meet me in front of the dorm in ten minutes. It's important."
"Important to whom?" she asked. But he had already hung up.
She sat on her bed, suddenly very wide awake. She was angry at his manner, but she was worried, too. It wasn't like him. It must have cost him something to admit to her that she was important to him. His style was cool and aloof, and he hadn't sounded very aloof on the phone. She dressed quickly. She felt that Frank had something to do with Bobby's call. Then it occurred to her that Frank might be with Bobby. She didn't like that idea at all, and she wished that she had thought to tell him to come alone.
It turned out that he was alone.
She was waiting in the lobby of the dorm. The sleepy counselor looked at her quizzically as she signed out, but she wasn't breaking any rules, and she didn't have to tell her anything. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and there was no sign of Bobby. She was about to forget it and go back up to bed when his battered old Chevy turned into the parking lot and pulled to a stop in front of the building.
She got in and he pulled away without speaking. She turned and looked at him in the glitter of the passing street lights. He looked tense and nervous. He kept glancing into the rear-view mirror.
"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" she asked after a long silence. "Not yet," he said.
Cheryl pouted and turned away. Still, she didn't push it. His tone of voice was final.
Bobby drove North, then East-toward downtown. Finally he turned into Grant Avenue in the heart of Chinatown. It was a week night, and it was very late. The street was deserted except for a few vegetable stands left open and a few restaurants.
Bobby spotted a parking place and pulled into the curb in front of a cheap chop suey joint that was still open, though empty.
"This is a funny time of night to get a craving for Chinese food," she remarked.
He turned off the key and turned to look at her. "This is where I live," he said.
She followed him down the length of the abandoned counter, past the curtained booths to a flight of stairs in the back. The upstairs of the building smelled like dirty diapers. He led her down a dingy corridor to a door. Inside, there was a mattress on the floor, a stereo with twin speakers on either side of the window. He turned a switch, and a naked bulb snapped into life on the ceiling. She looked around.
"You should have left the light off," she said. "The place looked better in the dark."
It was true. There were several ashtrays that had long before overflowed. There was a pile of dirty clothes in a corner. There was a hotplate and a pile of empty cans.
"I don't spend much time here," he said. He walked to a table that was cluttered with dirty dishes.
"Can I offer you a glass of wine, sis?" he asked. "To compensate you for your trouble in coming here?"
"You know I don't drink," she said.
"Well, if you don't mind. . . . " He twisted the cap and lifted the bottle directly to his mouth.
"Well, you're quite a drinker," Cheryl commented acidly. "You don't even use a glass, anymore."
He looked at her as if he had not heard her.
"You know," he said. "You're the only person who knows where I live."
"What about you friend Frank?" she asked softly.
He looked at her quickly. "He doesn't know," he said. "I brought you here because I have to have your trust. I thought if I trusted you, you might listen to me."
She arched her eyebrows. What was he driving at?
"I know what Frank did to you," he said.
Her eyes widened in shock. "You do?"
He nodded, and-she noticed-he avoided her eyes. He seemed to be searching for words. She tried to digest the meaning of his remark. He knew. He knew what had happened.
"Sis, how much do I mean to you?" he asked.
She hesitated. He was really not himself. The Bobby she knew would not have asked a question like that in a million years. She realized, for the first time, that whatever had made him call her and bring her here, it was serious-very serious.
"How can I answer that?" she said softly.
He looked at her. "I want you to see Frank again."
"No." Her voice was like a pistol shot. She hadn't even had time to think of an answer; it had come out of her as if jerked by a string.
He looked at her without expression. "I know," he said softly. "It was bad. Maybe the worst thing that's ever happened to you. But you're going to have to do it again."
Cheryl was speechless with shock. What was he saying? What was he asking?
"But . . . but . . . why?" she stammered.
Bobby shook his head slowly. "I can't tell you," he said.
"What?" She stood on trembling legs. "What are you talking about? What kind of monster are you? Oh, my God, what have they done to you? What have you become?" Her voice was high and shrill. She was on the edge of hysteria.
He took her verbal barrage with his head lowered, his eyes averted, no visible emotion.
"I know what you must think," he said. "I know it sounds terrible, but I can't tell you how important it is."
She stopped. "But, Bobby, my God, what in the world could be that important to you? What could I mean to you for you to ask me to do such a vile thing? Your own sister-you ask your own sister to sleep with a man-a man she despises-and for what? So you can make more money? So you can buy some more stylish clothes?"
"No!" The edge in his voice was violent. Cheryl stopped speaking and watched her brother fearfully.
"It's not for me," he said, his voice soft again. "You've got to believe me, it's not for me."
"Then who is it for?"
He looked at her for a long time. "I can't tell you, damn it, I just can't tell you. If you knew, then you'd just be in danger-more danger than you are, anyway?"
"Danger? Bobby, what in the world."
"You've got to see Frank. You've got to do what he wants. Just one more time."
She lowered herself into a chair. "Bobby," she said. "I'm sorry if you've made a mess out of your life, but I'm afraid you're going to have to handle it by yourself.
He stood for a long time looking out the window.
"I'm sorry, sis," he said at last. "Come on, I'll drive you back to the dorm."
As he flicked out the light, she saw, to her amazement, that there were tears in his eyes. She had never known him to cry.
* * *
Back in the room, Cheryl slipped out of her clothes and into bed in the dark to avoid waking Annie. She lay for a long time, her body tense and still, her mind careening through a wild, stormy sea of thoughts and fears.
Then she started to cry.
She tried to muffle her sobbing in the pillow, but it was like some strong demon pushing up from inside her body, and the whole bed was shaking and creaking with her convulsing body.
The lights went on.
Annie was bending over her, touching her naked shoulder.
"What is it, Cheryl darling? Please, baby, don't cry."
The soft touch of the blonde girl's hand on her shoulder only seemed to bring out her grief, making her cry harder, making her lose control completely.
Annie sat on the edge of the bed and bent over Cheryl's slender, shaking form. Cheryl felt the warmth of Annie's big, milk-white breasts against her shoulder-she felt the soft cascade of Annie's long blonde hair over her back. She felt the protective warmth of the other girl's ripe young body.
Very slowly her crying subsided until she was finally limp and whimpering in the warm circle of Annie's cradling arms. She was suddenly very embarrassed at the intimacy of their two bodies. She tried to pull away, but Annie held her tight.
"It's okay," Annie murmured throatily. "You need to be held, I can tell-don't be embarrassed."
Cheryl sighed and let Annie pull her cheek up tight against the plump swell of her firm white breast. She was aware of the baby-smooth texture of Annie's milky skin, of the soft, fragrant scent of Annie's body.
Then, with slow, halting sentences, she told Annie about Bobby, about what had happened, about what he wanted her to do. When she had finished her story, she felt a strange, sad relief. She was such a closed-in person. It was a new experience sharing her problems with a friend.
Then Annie did a strange thing-she bent over and kissed Cheryl on the mouth. Cheryl felt a tremor of shock ripple through her tawny body. At first the kiss was chaste and soft. Annie's mouth was moist and warm. Then she parted her lips, and Cheryl felt her little seashell tongue swiped back and forth against Cheryl's cool, dry lips.
Cheryl opened her eyes wide. She found herself looking into Annie's clear blue eyes. Cheryl pulled her face back with a breathless little jerk.
"Annie, what?"
Annie licked her lips slowly. Her eyes were wild and hot-looking. She seemed a little flushed.
"It's okay," she whispered. "I won't hurt you . . . I'll love you softly . . . I won't be like a man."
Cheryl was flat on her back. Annie was leaning over her so that one pendulous breast was brushing lightly across Cheryl's naked shoulder.
Cheryl felt a chill course through her body. She felt funny sick sweetness in the pit of her belly. Annie's skin was so milky-white next to her own dusky flesh. Her skin was so white, and so smooth-so incredibly smooth. It was an almost unbearable feeling to be forced into such intimacy with another girl. But she wasn't sure whether she loved it or hated it.
"Please, Annie," she heard herself whisper. "I'm not a . . . a Lesbian."
Annie reached out and slipped a slim white finger across Cheryl's lips. "Shhh . . . I know you're not . . . and I'm not, either. But there's nothing wrong with love . . . there can't be anything wrong with love."
Cheryl felt tears in her eyes. Somehow, she couldn't believe that it was wrong. How could such a sharing be wrong.
Annie kissed her again.
This time the kiss was less chaste, less restrained. Cheryl didn't resist this time, but gave her mouth willingly to the passion of Annie's kiss. Again her tongue fenced its way between Cheryl's parted lips and into the cavern of her hot mouth. Cheryl felt the sweetness of Annie's slippery little tongue; she tasted Annie's soft, warm breath, and she almost fainted with the heady thrill that she felt.
Annie's body was pushing more insistently against Cheryl's body now. The blonde girl slipped one of her long legs onto the bed and pressed it down across Cheryl's smooth, brown belly. The heat from Annie's firm thigh made Cheryl whimper and moan.
Annie pulled her ripe, moist mouth away from Cheryl's full wet lips. Her silky hair fell in a curtain across Cheryl's face, engulfing her in its shimmering softness.
Then Annie reached down and drew the bedclothes all the way down, exposing the full length of Cheryl's hot, squirming young body.
Cheryl made a soft, cooing sound deep in her throat. She was wearing a thin, tight pair of bikini panties that made her feel deliciously naked.
Annie trailed soft fingertips down the front of Cheryl's body, through the warm, scented valley between her pert brown breasts, then down over the trembling plain of her belly to the edge of her panties. Her clear blue eyes fixed intently on Cheryl's face. Then she slipped her fingers under Cheryl's panties.
"Ooooohhhh, Annie," Cheryl whispered hotly. "Please, don't." It was one thing for girls to hold hands, or even to kiss. But Annie was doing something perverted. The idea of another girl touching her between her legs made her feel sick with embarrassment. But somehow her body wouldn't respond to the commands of her conscience. She felt Annie slip her warm, white hand all the way under her panties; she felt Annie's palm cupped over the little wiry tuft of dark hair that covered her soft, moist vagina.
"It's all right," Annie breathed. "I'm going to make you feel good. You're going to love what I'm going to do to you . . . it's nothing like anything you've ever felt before. Trust me."
Annie reached down with her other hand and skinned the panties over the sleek fullness of Cheryl's lithe brown hips. Cheryl moaned aloud as she felt her vulnerable center exposed in complete nakedness to Annie's cool blue eyes.
Then Annie was feeling her legs, opening them up gently but firmly. Cheryl cried out and trailed her fingers through Annie's fine blonde hair as the white girl leaned over and planted her open mouth squarely on Cheryl's hot, squirming tummy. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she felt her body surrender to the delightful, delicious things that Annie was doing to it with her soft, shameless fingers. She knew that she was going to let Annie carry it through to the conclusion.
Annie was breathing warmly, dipping her hot tongue in and out of Cheryl's navel. Her hands were stroking the silken brown flesh of Cheryl's slender inner thighs, lighting little fires of excitement that made Cheryl whimper and bite her lips. It was such a different feeling from Frank. Frank had been so brutally demanding, so crudely direct. Annie seemed to know exactly what buttons to push, what places to finger and suck to drive Cheryl half-wild with fever. Annie was so soft and knowing, so unabashedly sensual.
Annie slipped one hand up and parted the musky, oozing lips of Cheryl's sticky cunt with her fingers. Cheryl made a funny gurgling sound and spread her legs as far as she could, bracing her heels on the mattress. She couldn't seem to keep her hips from rolling slightly up and down, pushing her firm belly up against Annie's hungry mouth, rubbing her hot, naked ass deliciously against the cool crumple of the bedsheets.
Annie slipped her fingers up and down the gooey gash between Cheryl's legs; then she jammed her finger all the way up inside.
Cheryl sobbed and brought her legs tightly together, locking her thighs around Annie's hand, trapping it in place. Then she relaxed and let
Annie push her thighs apart again, dipping her face even lower on Cheryl's berry-brown body.
Cheryl began to realize, with a hot, thrilling ache of anticipation, what Annie was going to do to her. Dear God, she was going to put her mouth there, she was going to kiss Cheryl's hot, sticky, pussy. Annie blew hotly on Cheryl's soft, fragrant bush, then she dipped her sleek, blonde face all the way down to the base of Cheryl's body and pushed her open mouth right up against the soft, spongy mouth of Cheryl's eager cunt.
Cheryl groaned deeply, as if wounded, when she felt the fluttering lance of Annie's tongue probe thrillingly up into her hot, hairy gash. Annie worked her way down until she was lying all the way across Cheryl's body, moaning and sucking on Cheryl's pussy as if her life depended on it.
Cheryl lifted her slim legs reflexively and brought them down across Annie's warm, white shoulders. She had the blonde girl's face trapped securely between her legs now. She was rocking the bed with the rhythm of her body as she ground and shimmied herself against Annie's burrowing face with growing excitement. She had never dreamed it could be like this. Annie was licking and sucking at her puckered little clit-driving her up the wall with the knowing pressure of her soft lips, the expert probing of her hot, sticky tongue. Annie's hands, meanwhile, reached up to cup the taut little melons of Cheryl's breasts. Cheryl arched her back and squealed with the hot thrill of having her nipples pinched and teased, plucked and twisted. The two sensations-the feel of Annie's mouth and the stimulation of her soft fingers-was quickly bringing the pitch of Cheryl's delirium to the edge of mindless hysteria.
Annie was soft, but she was relentless. She fucked her tongue so quickly in and out of Cheryl's aching, hair-fringed cuntal opening that Cheryl was having difficulty keeping herself from screaming with the guilty thrill of it.
Cheryl was carried higher and higher on the bone-grinding waves of her ecstasy. Annie was firm, rhythmic, but unhurried. She seemed to delight in building Cheryl's excitement up to a point, then slacking off to let Cheryl whimper and beg with her eager straining body, for more.
The room was filled with the sound of Cheryl's muted whining and feverish simpering, combined with the wet, nasty, sucking sounds of Annie's mouth between her legs. Cheryl reached down and tangled her fingers in Annie's long hair, pushed her face even more firmly up against her hotly throbbing, hungry blossoming pussy.
Annie's tongue was stuffed obscenely up inside her sticky cunt, thrusting in and out like a little penis. She pushed her hips hard against Annie's face and locked her slim, firm thighs tightly around the blonde girl's smooth warm cheeks. It was delicious; Cheryl was losing her mind.
Then Cheryl reached a frantic peak of excitement. This time, Annie didn't back off, didn't withhold the darting, slippery kiss of her scalding tongue. She groaned into Cheryl's dewy muff and sucked hard, as Cheryl arched her hips off the bed and let herself be carried over the edge of bliss into the throes of a sobbing, clutching, bone-dissolving climax that left her weak and whimpering for breath when it had passed.
* * *
In the morning, the two girls dressed for school without looking at each other. There was no reference to what had happened in Cheryl's bed, but Cheryl knew that both of them were thinking about it. It had been wrong, Cheryl knew that. But it had happened, and nothing could change that.
CHAPTER SIX
It was almost dark when Cheryl finally emerged from the biology lab in the basement of the Life Sciences building. She had made a special appointment to reserve the lab to herself -to try to catch up on some of the work that she had missed during the last few weeks. Bobby's visit had upset her to the point of being unable to concentrate on anything for a week afterward. Finally she had pulled herself together-or, at any rate, she was trying to.
The men were waiting in the shadows. They weren't students-she knew that at once. She just had time to think that it was a funny place for them to be standing, when they approached her quickly.
"Good, evening, Miss Burke," one of them said, "Yes," she answered, startled. "What do you want?"
"Your brother asked us to pick you up. It's important that you go to see him, and he couldn't come himself."
She stiffened. The man who was talking was a young, slender Black man, dressed in a mode similar to her brother's. The other man was very heavy-set, a white man, who plainly looked like a thug, thickset and with small, brutal eyes. She glanced around quickly, but they were truly alone. She was suddenly frightened.
"No," she said. "If my brother wants to see me, he knows where to find me. He would have at least called me. I don't believe you."
She was looking at the young Black man. His expression showed no surprise at her reaction. He nodded, still smiling politely, almost as if he had expected her to refuse. Then he reached his hand out of his pocket.
Cheryl was watching his hand, expecting there to be a gun in it.
But no, there was no gun. Somehow the thickset man had eased around behind her, while she was watching the other man's hand. Suddenly the hand, the hand which had no gun, raised very quickly toward Cheryl's face. She uttered a little shriek of surprise and jerked back, meeting the resistance of the thug's muscular body. Instantly, beefy hands closed around the supple bend of her waist, and she felt her body crushed into immobility against the man's chest. The Black man, still smiling, pushed his hand against Cheryl's face, covering her mouth and nose with a damp handkerchief. Cheryl went stiff with horror. The smell was ether. She felt herself floating away, going limp and passive in the big man's clutch.
* * *
When Cheryl finally opened her eyes she was lying on a bed in a room that was lit by faintly flickering gas-lights that had been built into the walls. She listened. There was no traffic noise. No noise at all. She raised herself on one arm and looked around the room. It was a large bedroom, furnished in a baroque, Victorian style. She stood up and almost fainted. Then she made her way to the door. It was an enormous door of solid oak, and it was securely locked-bolted, she guessed, from the outside. A sick feeling of apprehension swept over her, made her feel weak and dizzy. Where was she? What did they plan to do with her? She closed her eyes and tried to clear her head. She tried to figure how long she had been unconscious. It seemed like days.
Cheryl lay for a long time on the bed, ears straining to pierce the silence. Occasionally she could hear what sounded like the laughter of a group of men somewhere far below-reverberating upward through the ventilator shaft.
She made her way silently to the wall and pressed her ear against the shaft. She could hear the laughter now with more clarity. She still couldn't make out what was being said, but she was almost certain that she could hear Frank's voice in the group. She listened for a while, straining to pick up the words, but the conversation sounded as if it were being held in a foreign language. At last she gave up. There were no windows in the room-no access to the outside. Cheryl realized with a shock that she had no idea what time it was-even what time of day. It had been about seven o'clock when she was taken from in front of the lab. Was it an hour later or two days later? Her sense of helplessness was increased by her complete lack of ability to orient herself. She collapsed weakly on the bed and buried her face in her hands. Suddenly she looked up.
There were footsteps in the hall-sharp purposeful footsteps. The footsteps came to a stop just outside the door. Cheryl got to her feet and walked around the bed quickly, putting it between the door and herself. The bolt slid open, and the door swung open. A man walked in quickly, closed the door behind him, then turned to eye Cheryl. She had never seen him before, but she was frightened of him. He was in his early thirties, with fine brown hair that was combed straight back. He was wearing tight bell-bottomed trousers and a jacket with a flaring, pointed collar. His skin was very smooth and tanned-his eyes were dark and brown and somehow ominous.
"Who are you?" Cheryl asked, her voice quivering. "What do you want?"
He looked at her for a moment with no expression. Then he sighed and turned to lock the door from the inside, using a key, which he then pocketed.
Cheryl raised her hands unconsciously to her throat. The man's coolness chilled her. There was a strength, an awesome reptilian strength in him that frightened her more than the thugs who had kidnapped her.
"If you don't let me out of this . . . this place right away," she said, trying to control the quaver in her voice, "I'm going to have you arrested for kidnapping."
The man looked at her with the same dead, uncomprehending eyes. Then he fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and produced a strange, fat cigarette, which he stuffed between his thick lips and lit. He pulled a chair away from the ornate, mirrored dressing table and straddled it, bracing his arms on the back, eyeing her and puffing slowly at his cigarette.
Cheryl watched him silently. She didn't try speaking any more. She was convinced that she wasn't going to talk her way out of here. There was a grim resignation about the man that seemed as impenetrable as a brick wall.
"What is your name?" the man asked. His voice was strangely accented. He was obviously a foreigner-French probably. She watched him without speaking.
The man stared at her for a long time, then shrugged. "My name is Claude," he said. "It does not matter . . . I do not really have to know your name."
He took a deep drag on the cigarette and stood up. He found an ashtray on the end-table beside the bed and set the cigarette down carefully, not bothering to crush it out. Then he locked his fingers together and popped his knuckles, sighing and stretching.
"Take off your dress," he said, waving casually at her.
Cheryl's eyes went wide with horror. "What in the world do you mean ? " she hissed.
"I mean," he said, "get your clothes off right now." His voice was hard and flat.
"No," she said contemptuously.
He smiled a little, for the first time. Then he started around the foot of the bed.
Cheryl braced herself and moved the other way, keeping the bed between them. He moved slowly, balanced on the balls of his feet like a hunting cat. She watched him with fearful intent, moving as he moved-always keeping the bed between them.
He moved faster-still without hurry, but almost running now, circling the bed as if it were a miniature track. She scrambled to keep pace with him. He was grinning broadly now, obviously enjoying this. She was breathing hard. She could never keep this up as long as he could.
He broke into a run, making the corners gracefully, using the bedposts for leverage. Cheryl ran, her breath tortured, burning in her chest, half sobbing from fear.
Suddenly he reversed himself. She stopped and tried to do likewise, but her legs buckled under her and he was on her.
She cried out as his body slammed into hers and mashed her face downward on the bed. He was on top of her, pushing her shoulders down hard against the bed-sitting across her hips so that she could scarcely move at all.
"You're hurting me," she squealed. "Damn you, you're hurting me."
He chuckled thickly behind her. Then he felt her shoulder, still covered by the fabric of her dress. He squeezed her shoulders, as if he was evaluating a cut of meat. Then he circled her neck with his hands. She felt the power of his hands. His fingers locked over her throat, and he pressed lightly. She stopped breathing. The strength of his hands was enormous. She knew that he could kill her now with his hands-almost instantly-before she could even scream. She was stiff with horror, not daring to make a sound or move a muscle.
Then, slowly, his hands relaxed their grip and slipped away from her throat. She drew a long, shuddering breath. His fingers went to the zipper at the back of her neck, and he drew it down--all the way down to her waist. She shuddered as he trailed his fingers lightly over the soft, warm flesh of her back, between her fragile shoulder blades. Then he took her dress and jerked it quickly off of her shoulders.
"No," she squealed uselessly, as she felt her dress being pulled down to her waist. Next the man sat up, still keeping Cheryl pinned securely to the bed, and he fumbled in his pocket. There was a click-metallic and frightening-and Cheryl strained her head to one side. She drew in her breath sharply, then let it out in a low, feverish moan at what she saw. He was holding a six-inch pointed switchblade knife delicately between his fingers.
"Oh, please," she sobbed. "Please, don't hurt me."
He chuckled softly, and every bone in her body went rigid as she felt the cold, sharp point of the knife between her shoulder blades, moving up her spine.
The blade was pushed gently under her tight bra. Then she screamed as he brought the knife up quickly, lifting her half off the bed and arching her back painfully. The bra was severed, and he clutched it quickly and snatched it out from under her, making her utter a choked little scream of pain as the material of the bra pulled roughly over the sensitive flesh of her taut brown breasts.
She started to cry-from the pain, from the fear, from the humiliation of being treated this way by this horrible man, this strange, perverted man.
She felt his weight ease off of her, but she refused to move, lying face down, cupping her hands up under her breasts, burying her face in the pillow.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, urging her to roll over, urging her almost gently. She stiffened and resisted the pressure. Suddenly he jerked her over, as if she was a feather. Then he pulled himself quickly astride her and grabbed her wrists, prying her hands away from her firm breasts, pinning her arms to her sides.
She turned her face away and closed her eyes in shame and humiliation. He was using her, as if she were some kind of toy or object that existed for nothing except his own use and pleasure. He released her wrists, and she instantly covered herself again.
He slapped her hard.
Her face spun sideways on the bed-stinging and smarting from the force of his blow. She opened her eyes and looked up at him through tearful, red-rimmed eyelids. He slapped her again, even harder. She felt as if her brains were being jarred loose. "Please," she moaned weakly, "not again. Don't hit me again."
"Take away your hands," he muttered thickly. "Let me see . . . "
She shook her head. "No," she pleaded. "I can't."
He slapped her again-a vicious chop that split her lip. She tasted the warm salt of her own blood. Sobbing, she let her hands fall to her sides.
She felt a wave of hot shame rise up in her body. He looked at her with mad, starved eyes, and his eyes were like blunt, dirty fingers on the satin slopes of her plump, exquisite breasts.
Then he took her breasts in his palms-touching them ever so lightly, rubbing his hands lightly around and around across the puckered tautness of her hard chocolate nipples.
She squirmed back and forth, trying to somehow twist her body away from the maddening torture of his touch. He grinned-her motion only succeeded in rubbing her naked tits more actively into his open hands.
Then he took her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs and twisted them lightly back and forth. Cheryl whimpered and bit her lip to keep from screaming.
Then he pinched her nipples hard, and she screamed despite herself. She felt as if he was going to tear off the ends of her breasts. The pain was a white-hot agony that brought her to the pitch of hysteria. She looked at his face through fear-glazed eyes. His brown eyes were cold, detached, even a little amused at her agony. He was revolting, some kind of sub-human monster in human form. He could kill her as easily as look at her-she sensed that and it added a profound dimension to her terror.
Then he was standing by the bed, looking down at her while he slowly unfastened his belt. At first she thought he was going to take off his pants, but she began to shake when he simply drew the belt out of the loops, doubled it in his hand and swung it lightly back and forth.
"No," she begged, her voice choked with tears. "No, please don't hit me. I can't stand any more pain. I'll die if you hit me."
He grinned his lizard-like grin at her and gestured for her to turn over onto her belly.
She shook her head and tried to sit up. He pushed her down and made the same gesture of command.
Again she shook her head, raising her hands toward him. He smiled calmly, drew the belt back and slashed it across her upraised arms.
She shrieked with the pain of the blow.
The man smiled and bent over. He took her hip and rolled her over. This time, she didn't resist.
When she was whimpering, limp and frightened, on her belly, he reached over and drew the hem of her short skirt up around her waist. Now her dress was just a tangle around her waist. She was completely naked except for her little yellow panties. He brought out his knife again and slashed Cheryl's panties from her body.
Then he leaned over and placed one hand softly on her ass. She groaned at his touch, feeling goose bumps erupt on her satin skin as he slid his palm slowly around the plump contours of her luscious ass. Then he slipped his fingers between the tightly knotted cheeks of her butt and probed against the resistance of her little puckered asshole with his finger.
She whimpered and clenched her muscled cheeks together, but she only succeeded in locking his hand in place. Then he gouged one finger up into her rectum and she groaned as if she had been speared with a telephone pole. The pain was profound. She felt as if he were damaging her, injuring her sensitive tissues. He stuck his finger all the way up her ass and wiggled it around until she thought she would faint from the pain and the humiliation of it. There was something unspeakably perverted about what he was doing to her. She was nothing to him but a piece of warm flesh to stick the fingers into. She felt sick with guilt about lying still while he did this thing to her, but she was too frightened to move. He would hurt her again-he would use the belt on her unless she did what he wanted her to do.
He began to move his finger slowly in and out of her ass, and she drew in her breath sharply at the weird painful friction of his finger.
Strangely, as he continued to work his finger in and out, she seemed to stretch to accommodate him. The pain lessened, or was somehow transformed into a kind of frantic urgency-like having to go to the bathroom. Cheryl moaned at the new feeling, feeling strangely excited despite her fear and her hatred of the man kneeling on the bed behind her.
He chuckled with that odd, foreign laugh of his and quickened the obscene fucking motion of his finger. She whimpered and bit into the pillow. She tried to squirm away from him, but he reached down with his free hand, and held her firmly in place against the mattress. She simply had to make him stop-she was feeling hot and sick and slightly dizzy. It was torture of a terrible kind-she kept feeling her body growing tight with a new tension-and she had no ability to control it. She felt her naked pussy growing moist as it rubbed back and forth across the cool satin coverlet. He was jabbing his finger in and out of her rectum with quick, insistent thrusts, and she was uttering high-pitched, breathless little squeals of pain and excitement.
Then his finger was gone, and Cheryl shuddered and groaned with relief, but also with a strange hollowness. She half turned to look at him.
He was standing by the bed, fingering open his trousers. He was wearing a thin, tight pair of bikini underpants that looked obscenely feminine against the hard muscled contours of his body. What was inside the underpants didn't look feminine. It was huge, and half-stiff, like a slowly awakening python. He put his hands arrogantly on his hips and stood before her proudly, letting her look with awe at the massive bulge between his meaty legs.
Then he snatched down his undershorts, and Cheryl clutched her throat.
His huge fleshy pipe sprang free and leaped forward as if propelled by a giant spring. It was long, unbelievably long, thin, curved up slightly, like a scimitar. It was obscenely white, like a fat white worm.
He reached down and placed his hands across the firm, sleek back of her thighs, pushing them apart, moving at the same time, into position behind her. Cheryl craned her neck to the side, afraid to take her eyes off him. What was he doing? What terrible, sick thing was he going to force her to submit to?
He parted her plump brown asscheeks and insinuated the blunt, hard nose of his long shaft against her asshole. She groaned and tried to roll away from him, but he clutched her rounded hips with hard, cruel fingers, holding her in place with the incredible strength of his hands.
"Oh, my God," she screamed, "not that. You're not going to do that to me."
He didn't say anything, but pushed his iron cock hard, jabbing the purplish knob of his distended cockhead into the tightly clinging sphincter of her asshole. She wailed at the brazen intrusion. It was terrible, much worse than his finger had been. She didn't think she could stand the humiliation of being treated this way. She cried and squeezed her eyes tightly closed, trying to deny the reality of the terrible thing he was doing to her.
He chuckled strangely in his throat and pushed his hard tube all the way up her ass.
She groaned, feeling the sound rise up of its own accord from deep in her guts, at the feeling of his fleshy spike being buried to the hilt in her hot, clinging rectum.
It was like having to go to the bathroom, an awful feeling of being stuffed full of the alien, throbbing pike of hard white flesh. It was hot, and it seemed to probe so deeply into her body that she almost felt she could taste it in her throat. He withdrew a little and slapped his crotch up against the plump, upturned slopes of her satin buttocks. She felt the lean power of his hips, pinning her to the bed. She opened her eyes wide. A little spit ran out of the corner of her mouth and she cried softly.
He began to fuck his shaft in and out of her tortured asshole with quick, measured strokes Each time he drove home, his body slapped against her fleshy ass with an obscene, smacking noise. Cheryl expelled her breath in quick little gusts, whimpering high in her throat. It was worse than anything she had ever imagined a man could do to her. It was incomprehensibly degrading to be used this way. She was so ashamed, but also afraid that he would hurt her. Her tears were hot on the pillow as she lay still under the hammering of his hunching body.
She heard him grunting, strange tortured animal sounds as he drove his dick up into her guts with brutal force. She was making funny sounds, sounds that didn't even sound like her own voice. She felt the heat of the friction from the hard thickness of his fat white prick. She felt a horrible excitement, a frantic urgency flare like a torch in her body. She closed her eyes. No, she couldn't stop him, but she wasn't going to let him excite her-that would be the final sign of his dominance.
But the pain was almost gone now, or rather it was changed to something else-to a wild new heat that made her mew like a kitten and wiggle her firm ass back against him.
Her hot pussy was pressed hard against the cool satin coverlet, and somehow she couldn't control the building of her excitement. She tried to think of something else, she tried to hold back so he wouldn't know what was happening to her, but her body kept giving her away.
He grunted and chuckled as her lower body came to life, a life of its own. He was steady and relentless, churning his iron cock up into her ass with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
"Oooooh, oooh," she whimpered. She was so hot-her asshole was on fire. She was burning up-she couldn't stop moving. Her eyes were glazed. Something inside her felt as if it were being drawn as tight as a bowstring. She was hot and tight, and her ass was rolling against his thrusting body with a rubbery, sensual undulation. The bedsprings were creaking wildly. Cheryl's breathy little whimpers became higher and higher pitched as she felt the scalding tension build within her.
Then she felt his hot meaty length explode inside her, swelling and throbbing as it spurted bolt after bolt of his sticky hot cream up into her tortured guts. His climax seemed to snap the tension that was possessing her. She screamed and threw her face into the bed, trying to choke off her gasps of ecstasy, but the impact of her climax was too strong to resist, and she quaked and shuddered beneath the Frenchman's spasming body as if she were possessed by a demon.
Afterwards he lay on top of her, breathing with relaxed indolence, making no move to remove his hated weight from on top of her body.
Cheryl lay still, sobbing quietly, feeling his penis slowly wilt inside her tortured rear entrance. Finally he dislodged himself and began to dress. She lay still. She couldn't bear the thought of looking at him, so she pretended to be unconscious, praying that he was through with her.
Finally she heard him leave. She sat up and listened to his footsteps receding down the hallway. He had locked the door behind him.
Then there were new steps.
Another man came in, also locking the door behind him. He was older than the first man. He had a distinguished look about him-but something about him was distinctly foreign, too.
"Hello, Cheryl," he said. "My name is Alphonse." He had a slight, but noticeable accent, but he seemed to have a perfect command of English. She looked at him, surprised that he had called her by name. He sat beside her. She searched his face. Somehow he seemed warmer, kinder than the other man. She tried to speak, but it was a few seconds before she could make the words come out audibly.
"Please," she said. "I don't know who you are, but please let me go. I won't do anything . . .
I won't try to cause any trouble for you. I'll forget it. I won't go to the police or anything, but please let me out of here."
He listened to her intently. Then he smiled and shrugged as if someone had asked him the time and he had suddenly remembered that he left his pocket watch home.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't control these things."
She tensed and pulled away from him, suddenly aware of her nudity.
"Please," she persisted, sensing that he was somehow powerful enough to help. "Help me."
He nodded, but he seemed to be considering it.
"Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps I might do something."
She listened carefully, holding her hands over her small, hard breasts. He turned and smiled at her-an almost fatherly smile. Then his eyes moved down to her ill-concealed nudity.
"Perhaps," he said, "if you help me, then I will be able to help you."
She arched her eyebrows quizzically. "What. . . what do you mean?" she asked tenuously.
He smiled and shrugged again, that laconic French gesture. He didn't say anything, but his eyes roamed over her body with brazen frankness.
"Oh, no," she whimpered. "God, no . . . please . . . not that."
He smiled. "As you wish," he said, and suddenly his eyes grew hard, his mouth set cruelly.
"There are others," he said. "Some of them are more . . . , " he waved his hand, "more sadistic than Claude." He paused and studied her. "It will be a long night." He waited another moment, then stood and began to unfasten his belt.
Cheryl fell back on the bed whimpering. "No," she moaned. "Don't hurt me."
"If you are nice to me," he said. "I might be able to arrange for you to leave . . . at least to be spared the others . . . I don't really enjoy beating up girls. Oh, I do it, but I don't enjoy it like the others."
He paused, and their eyes met.
"What . . . what do you want me to do?" she asked tremulously.
He sighed and reached down to stroke her neck gently. She flinched at his touch, but forced herself to hold still. She would have to make herself please him-it was her only hope at this point. He could help her-she had to do what he wanted -whatever it was.
He pulled her to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, holding her by the shoulders.
"Unzip me, Cheryl," he whispered. "Unzip me with your teeth."
She looked up at him, not understanding.
"Go ahead," he said. "I want you to unzip me with your teeth."
His hands urged her forward.
Her face was pressed against the front of his trousers. She could feel the hardness of his swelling organ against her cheek. She started to cry.
He was just like the other one. He had just pretended to be friendly. He just wanted to use her, to degrade her, to make her do perverted things to him. But his hands were still in place on her neck. She had to do as he asked, or he might hurt her. She couldn't stand the thought of being hit, or being hurt anymore. She had to do it. There were those others.
She caught the tab of his zipper between her teeth and worked it down. It was awkward, and she couldn't stop crying. It was so filthy. He was making her act like a whore. Finally his fly was open. She could see his meaty cock straining the fabric of his undershorts.
"Now get it out with your tongue," he said softly. "Go ahead."
She shuddered from revulsion, but she bent forward. She stuck her tongue through the opening of his shorts, almost gagging when the tip of it brushed against the thick shank of his shaft. She fought to unsnap the shorts, but it was almost impossible without using her hands. She fought against the snaps, crying from shame and frustrations. Finally one snap popped open, and she stuck her tongue inside his underpants, tasting his hot, hard meat. The other snap came open and his hard prick jumped out at her, striking against her mouth like a boxing glove. She pulled her head away, but his hands were firm, pushing her face back up against his crotch.
"Now," he murmured. "I think you know what I want you to do now."
She knew, but she couldn't make herself do it. She looked at the thick white shaft poised ominously in front of her lips, and she tightened her lips together. She felt sick to her stomach at the very thought of the disgusting thing that he wanted her to do.
He pushed his hips forward so that the knob of his swollen prick pushed insistently against the softness of her mouth. It was very warm against her lips-very warm and very smooth. She could see a little vein throbbing right under the baseshe could see the little hole at the end of it.
"If you're not good to me," he said. "I'm going to have to spank you."
She couldn't stand the thought of more pain. She opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and let him guide her face forward. The thing slipped into her mouth, and her mouth was full of his hot meat. She didn't move.
"Lick it," he said, his breath coming thickly. "Lick it and suck it . . . move your head. You know how. You must have had a cock in your mouth before."
She remembered the couple in the park-the couple she had seen when she had been thirteen. It was as if the dream was coming true, after so many years. Now it was she who was doing that perverted thing. She remembered how the girl had moved her head up and down. She tightened her lips around the circumference of his granite erection, groaning as he shoved it all the way into her mouth. It was like a big hard banana stretching her lips. She let her tongue move around and around. It was so smooth and funny tasting. She felt him quiver at the touch of her tongue, and she felt a strange sense of her own power. She clamped her teeth around the hard bone, but his fingers tightened around her neck.
"Don't bite," he warned, "or I'll kill you."
His fatherly manner, his pretense of being her friend were gone. He was excited now-his voice sounded funny. She sucked on his hard dick, laving the fleshy helmet at the end of it with her saliva. It fit into her mouth so snugly. She experimented with the rhythm of her stroke. She closed her eyes and pretended that it was something else-a banana, or a salami in her mouth. She moved her head quickly up and down. If she could just make him cum, maybe he would leave her alone. She sucked harder and bobbed her head faster. His breath was coming very quickly now. His fingers were guiding her face, setting the pace of her sucking.
"Yes," he said, his voice sounding oddly far away. "Yes, suck it . . . suck it, child . . . suck it hard."
She sucked him until her mouth was sore. Her lips felt raw and bruised. Her mouth was like an open wound, and he kept jabbing his massive erection in and out of it. He was fucking her in the mouth. The room was full of the sound of her sucking-wet, smacking, nasty sounds. He was making funny little gasps of excitement. His breath was quickening.
Then his fingers tightened on her neck cruelly, and he slapped his hips hard against her face. His desire-distended cock swelled and his-hot, salty cum boiled out of the end of it and down the arched tunnel of her throat like a scalding river, while he wheezed and gasped and held her firmly in place.
He held her face against him until his penis wilted. She sat still, frozen with horror at what she had done, at what she had been forced to do.
Gently he pushed her back on the bed. She tensed, expecting that there was more, but he stroked her forehead tenderly. "Sleep," he said softly. "I'll see what I can do for you."
She lay awake a long time. Then, somehow, she did fall asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Cheryl opened her eyes there was a man sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. It took a moment for her to clear her vision. It was the young Black hood who had chloroformed her at the biology lab. She watched him warily.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
She looked at him with no expression. "How do you expect me to feel?"
He nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I see what you mean."
"I suppose you're next," she said bitterly.
"No," he said. "I'm not next. I'm supposed to take you back to where I got you."
She was incredulous. "Do you mean it?" She sat up, not bothering to cover herself.
"I mean it," he said. His eyes flicked quickly over her naked, bobbing breasts, and he licked his lips. "Get dressed." He said it as if it hurt him.
She didn't waste any time. She fumbled into her clothes, which were still scattered across the floor like so many discarded rags.
She was curious to find out where she was, where this horrible place was. But the young hood had other plans.
When she was dressed, he handed her a bulky coat to disguise the disheveled condition of her clothes.
"Turn around," he said.
She looked at him questioningly. He reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief. She drew back, remembering that the last time he had brought a handkerchief out of his pocket, he had knocked her out with it.
"It's okay," he said, letting the handkerchief unfurl and hang loosely so she could see it. "It's a blindfold. The boss says you have to wear it."
She hesitated a moment. Was it a trick? She felt helpless enough without being blinded, too. Still, he was holding the blindfold, and he wasn't going to let her out of this place until she consented to wear it. Reluctantly, she turned around.
He tied the blindfold around her head, then took her arm and guided her to the door. She felt sure that they descended two floors before he led her out through another door and helped her into the front seat of a car. Another man--the second thug who had kidnapped her she felt certain-sat beside her.
They drove for a long time-maybe forty-five minutes. At first there were very few other cars. They were obviously out in the country somewhere. Then the sounds of city traffic became apparent. At last, she felt hands untying her blindfold. The car was on the main approach to the campus. It was broad daylight-Cheryl guessed it was the middle of the morning.
The young Black man pulled the car up in front of the dormitory. A few girls were starting off for classes-she didn't know any of them, and for that she was grateful. She didn't want to be seen by anyone she knew-in this condition, with these people.
The Black man turned to her and smiled.
"We're going to be seeing more of each other." he said. "The boss said for you to be ready to go with us again-without the ether next time. And if you have any other ideas-or if you go to the police about this-or tell anybody at all . . . your brother gets killed."
He said it in a flat voice, completely void of emotion. His eyes met hers.
"It's not just jive," he said slowly. "The boss doesn't say things like that unless he means them. Remember, your brother gets it-just like that."
"Just like that," parroted the thickset thug. She looked at the Black man in awe. Could there really be people like this in the world? It was like a crime movie, like a bad dream.
"I'm not going to tell anybody," she said slowly. "But if you think that I'm going to do this again, you're out of your mind."
The Black man grinned and shrugged. "No skin off my nose," he said. "I'm just passing along instructions."
She blinked.
"Go on," he said. "You'd better get out. If anybody wants to know who we are, just say we're discussing an insurance policy with you . . . a life insurance policy." He reached over and opened the door. Cheryl stumbled out of the car, turned and watched it cruise slowly toward the campus gates.
Upstairs, she locked the door to the room right away and sat down on the bed. She sat there for a long time wondering what she was going to do. She couldn't go back again, she couldn't let herself be used so vilely, degraded and humiliated like that again-it would kill her. But what about Bobby? She fumbled in her purse for the phone number he had given her, then dialed it quickly. The phone rang fifteen times without an answer. Cheryl hung up and sat staring blankly into space for a long time.
* * *
"Why are you so down in the mouth?" Cheryl looked up from her cup of coffee, which had long since grown cold. There was a man standing over her, grinning like an idiot, grinning like they were the best of friends. She looked at him with as cold and put-off an expression as she could summon, "David Andrews," he said. "Remember."
Then it all came back. He was the man who had saved her from the mugger that night. Her face softened.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was thinking about something."
"Not anything very nice, I'd venture to guess."
She looked at him abstractly. "No," she said. "I guess not."
"Do you mind if I sit down?"
She hesitated. She really didn't want company -she had to come to some kind of terms with her situation. But, after what he had done for her, she couldn't very well tell him to get lost. She owed him that much. But, she was worried that he thought she owed him more than that. She nodded toward the empty chair across the table.
"Go ahead," she said.
It had been over a week since the nightmare in the mansion with the perverted Frenchmen. She had tried constantly to get in touch with Bobby. If she could only find him, they could work something out. They could leave-they could go away for a while-surely they weren't that important to Frank. But if she left now, she would be risking his life. She had been told to remain available. She had no intention of remaining available, but she had to warn him before she ran. Once he knew, then she wouldn't be responsible for him anymore if he didn't want to come with her. But she couldn't get in touch with him.
So, she had been spending most of the week sitting in the coffee shop, making periodic trips to the pay phone in the corridor outside. She hadn't wanted to hang around the room because she hadn't wanted to take the chance of running into Annie. Annie would know that something was disturbing her-deeply, and she couldn't tell Annie, she couldn't involve the blonde girl in this, too. There were too many people involved already.
"Hey," said David brightly from across the table. "You're drifting off again."
"Am I?" she said vaguely. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company today."
"You're fine for me," he said. "I've been by your dorm trying to ring you half a dozen times in the last week. You weren't home."
"No," she said. "I wasn't. I've been busy."
"Busy with what?" he asked bluntly.
She studied him before answering. "I've had a lot to think about," she said. She was watching him with a deep feeling of distrust, and for the life of her, she couldn't decide whether he deserved it, or whether she was reading something into his manner that wasn't there. She hadn't been able to look at men objectively since that night of torture. Perhaps she had never been able to look at them, but now it was all she could do to be in the company of a man. She knew, somehow, that they weren't all like Frank, like those disgusting Frenchmen, like the two thugs--like the mugger on the street. After all, David hadn't been like that. He had helped her, he had defended her, and he hadn't tried to take advantage of her. But, as she watched him, she found herself expecting him to push his advantage. Maybe all men weren't muggers and rapists, but she was beginning to suspect that down deep they were all animals who carried their minds between their legs.
It was true, David himself had given her no reason-so far-for thinking of him this way. But she couldn't help feeling that all he needed was a chance.
"Okay," he said, raising his hands in mock exasperation. "I won't probe any more. But I think you need to get out and get a little fresh air. Why don't we take a walk-through safe neighborhoods only, of course."
"No thanks," she said. "I'll just stay here."
He smiled. "You're a tough one," he said. "Sticking to your guns all the way. You treat me like I'm out to rob you, and all I want is a little fresh air and some company-and maybe a smile. You look awfully grim."
She looked at him for a moment. She hadn't smiled in so long that she had forgotten what it felt like. There just didn't seem to be anything to smile about these days. It had been an hour since she had tried to call Bobby. She had been three days in this place, only slipping back to the room late at night-after Annie was asleep -then leaving again early in the morning. She couldn't keep this up for much longer-centered around the pay phone, watching the door nervously, expecting every person that entered the room to be one of Frank's goons come to kidnap her for another session of perverted sex. It was one of the reasons why she didn't dare to leave the coffee shop. She felt sure that if they did come, they wouldn't take her away forcibly in a public place. There was always a campus security cop on duty anyway. But she couldn't do this forever.
Suddenly she realized that she was smiling back at David. Was she losing her mind because of lack of sleep, because of the pressure under which she had lived for this past week?
Then she felt the tears in her eyes. She tried to blot them away, but it was a release that could not be held back, it had been building for too long.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go." He pushed his chair back and stood beside her. She let him take her by the arm and guide her from the room. The coffee shop was filling with students coming in for their mid-afternoon break. She didn't think she could stand to sit through another rush hour-sifting the throngs of students with her eyes, trying to pick out someone who might be following her. She didn't want to trust
David-she knew that she shouldn't trust him-but right now, she had no choice. She couldn't go on alone any longer.
The daylight was brilliant enough to hurt Cheryl's eyes. They pushed their way through a clot of students.
"Let's go somewhere away from the campus," she said. "Somewhere where we don't have to look at students.
"My sentiments exactly," he said. "Students are never quite there. They always seem to be passing from one class to another. In fact, the state of being a student itself is a passing thing-a time of preparation. It's a little trying after a while. I like to be around people who are there, who are living their lives-for better or worse, rather than preparing themselves to live it."
She thought about what he had said as they made their way down the walk that split the main quadrangle toward the bustle of the nineteenth street business section. She had never heard him say anything philosophical before, but she had to agree that he had hit the nail on the head. She smiled bitterly to herself. In a short week, she had left the company of students. She was playing it for real now-maybe that's why the freshness, the untested quality of the other students depressed her so. God, she was so tired of sitting in that damned coffee shop, listening to talk about exams and fraternity social events.
The people on Nineteenth Street were more worn looking, tougher and uglier, but she felt comfortable walking among them, to her surprise. After what she had been through, she felt that she had a right to walk with them as equals. There were hookers. She had always looked down on hookers with contempt, but was she any better, after what had happened to her?
David seemed at home on the street too. In fact, many of the passers-by seemed to know him.
"Come on," he said, drawing her into the doorway of a little greasy-spoon cafe. "You look like you need to eat."
With a jolt of surprise, Cheryl realized that she had eaten nothing for the last three days but a couple of tuna fish sandwiches from the snack bar.
The place was deserted. David guided her to a booth in the back, out of the light of the window. He seated himself so that she could face the door. She noticed his consideration with surprise. It was true, she was too paranoid right now to be able to relax with her back to the door. And he had sensed it.
"Now," he said. "Let's try again." He smiled at her across the table, and she had to laugh at him. It was different now-here, in this place. It was good to be someplace new-someplace where she was not known. There was a feeling of safety in that, but now she was ready for any kind of safety she could get.
David ordered hamburgers for both of them. When the order came, Cheryl wolfed hers down without looking up. She was starved-she just hadn't thought about it-her mind had been elsewhere. She found herself beginning to feel more human again. But then she realized that he had done an expert job of thawing her out. And that made her wonder about his motives.
"How about going to a movie with me?" he said, after a long silence.
"No thank you," she said. "I really have to be getting back."
He hesitated. "Look," he said. "I won't pry, anymore. But if you need any help;"
She looked up quickly. Did he know? No, of course not. How could he have known?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Anything you want me to mean," he said. "I like you. If I can help you settle your problem-whatever it is-then I want to do it."
"And why would you want to do that?" she asked.
He looked puzzled. "I just told you," he said. "I like you. I like you a lot. Of course I'm white and . . . "
She didn't understand. Then she did, and she laughed. "No," she said. "That's not it. Believe me-if that was all that was wrong."
"What is wrong?"
He eyed her levelly. She met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
How could she tell him the truth? He would do something about it. He was that kind of man. And, whatever he did, he couldn't win. Not against Frank's kind of power. He had done well against a single mugger. But Frank-whoever he was-was another story entirely. She would be endangering him by telling him, as well as Bobby, and herself.
"No," she said. "I can't."
He paused for a long minute. "All right," he said. "I'll walk you back."
As soon as she was back in her room, alone, Cheryl tried to call her brother. There was no answer. She lay on her bed for an hour, feeling herself sink back into the state of depression that David had managed to pull her out of for an hour or two. She had dozed off when the phone rang.
It was the desk calling.
Bobby was waiting for her in the lobby. He wanted her to hurry.
She ran down the stairs not even bothering to put on a coat.
As soon as she appeared in the lobby, he took her arm and ushered her out. His car was still running. He drove quickly, in the general direction of downtown. His eyes were quickly, and frequently checked the rear-view mirror.
"Where have you been?" she demanded. "I've been trying to get in touch with you all week!"
"I've been busy," he said. "Now listen to me, I'm going to tell you the truth. I know about what they did to you . . . " He turned and glanced at her.
"Bobby, we've got to get out of here . . . let's leave now . . . tonight."
He shook his head tautly. "No."
"But why? They'll never find us."
"That's not the point," he hissed. "If I run out now, I've accomplished nothing. I've wasted everything."
She looked at him in total revulsion. After what had happened to her-all he could think of was his personal fortunes-his money, his slick car, his stylish clothes.
"You're wrong," he said. "You don't understand. I'm a cop."
Cheryl's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "I don't believe you," she said softly.
"I don't blame you," he said, allowing himself just the flicker of an ironic grin.
"Who would have ever thought it?" He paused and fumbled for a cigarette. "But it happens to be true. Frank is a big man in a very big organization. His organization is trying to establish a direct connection with a very big French heroin syndicate. Those boys that you entertained were ambassadors, so to speak. I'm the only one in a position to blow the whole thing apart. But you have to co-operate-for just a little longer."
She closed her eyes; her head was spinning crazily. "Bobby," she said. "Do you have any idea what they did to me?"
He didn't look at her. "Yes," was all he said.
"Do you really?" she insisted.
He hesitated for a long time, choosing his words carefully. "Sis," he said at last. "I saw movies of it."
"You what?" She recoiled in horror at the idea of anybody, much less her brother seeing what they had done to her.
"It was Frank's idea of a fun thing to do," he said. "It was kind of a test."
"What did you do?" she whispered. "Did you laugh and make obscene remarks?"
"Yes," he said. "I did laugh and make obscene remarks. I had to." He turned and looked at her. His eyes were pleading.
"My God," Cheryl groaned. "Oh my God." She felt sick to her stomach. A little vein was fluttering crazily in her temple.
"Cheryl do you have any idea how many people-how many of our people die every year in this city of smack overdose-and how many more might as well be dead?"
She stared before her sightlessly.
"Look around you," he said.
He had turned into Fillmore street-the main drag of the San Francisco ghetto. The streets were filthy with trash. It was a chilly evening and on every corner stood little clots of ragged-looking men. In many of the doorways stood chocolate-skinned girls with very short skirts and stiletto heels-hookers. There was a tenseness about the street scene-everyone looked hungry, on the make. There were conspiratorial little conferences between well-dressed men and the girls who strutted up and down the sidewalk-displaying their bodies like pieces of merchandise.
She looked closer. Most of the men she had taken at first to be elderly bums were really quite young. A few looked as if they might be in their teens-younger even than Cheryl herself. She knew the scene-her family had been lucky enough to move away from it-to free themselves of the continual struggle for survival of streets like this one-but she knew all about it. She had known friends who had died of smack--she had known many more lives ruined, families wrecked. But that was something abstract-something detached from her life. What those beasts had done to her was anything but detached-it was terrifying.
"Bobby," she said, feeling the heat of tears scald her eyes. "Don't make me do it . . . don't make me go back there."
She looked at him beseechingly. His eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror, widened and did a double take.
"Sis," he said in a funny, quiet voice, "I'm afraid it's out of my hands."
She turned around quickly. The silver Mercedes was right behind them. The young black man and the other man-the heavy-set man-were sitting in the front seat. The black man, who was driving grinned casually and waved.
"Okay, now listen," Bobby said-half whispering, as if he were afraid of being overheard from the car behind. "There's not much time. In two blocks, I'm going to pull over to the curb, and you're going to run back and get in the car with them."
Cheryl moaned.
"You have to do it," he said. "Now it's not a question of your civic spirit-it's a question of your life-both our lives. At the first sign that we aren't going along with them-we're both dead. Do you understand?" He reached across and seized her wrist for emphasis-keeping his arm below the level of the front seat. "Do you understand?" he repeated, hissing the words between his teeth.
She nodded. Her teeth were literally chattering. She wasn't sure she could make herself get in that car with those men.
"Now listen," Bobby continued. "It won't be like last time-at least I don't think it will. Those boys were small fry-the big man is in town, and that's what this is all about. He likes black chicks, dig? That's why you were recruited. I don't think he's a sadist-he just likes black chicks. You have to keep him busy for as long as you can. It's very important. I'm not telling you everything. There isn't time, but you have to trust me." She looked at him with fearful eyes. She was chilled to the bone. At least she could have worn a coat. She felt so vulnerable and helpless. What had she done to earn this? All she had wanted was to be a student-to lead a normal life. She hadn't asked for a life like this.
"There's no choice," he said. "If we slip up, then they'll kill us."
"Where . . . where will you be?" she asked.
"I'll be near," he said. "Trust me . . . I know it isn't easy, but it's your only hope-our only hope."
He pulled the car over to the curb with breathtaking suddenness.
"Get out," he said. "Get out and go with them."
She looked at him with pleading, frantic eyes, but this time his face was set. She was so confused-she felt like she was in a dream, where things didn't connect logically. She tried to imagine her brother as a cop, or working for the cops. He had always hated cops. But he had always hated heroin too. He had had friends who had died of it. She didn't know what to do. He leaned over and opened the door. She shivered against the cool night air.
Then she was on the street, and Bobby was pulling away.
She turned and looked at the silver Mercedes. The back door opened. There was a man back there, gesturing for her to get in. It was Frank. Feeling as if she were walking in slow motion, she commanded her body to walk to the car and climb in. Frank slid over and closed the door, and the black driver steered the car back out into the traffic.
"Well, we meet again," Frank said.
She looked at him, unable to disguise the hatred in her eyes. She didn't trust herself to speak, but she couldn't make herself look away from him. He grinned at her obvious non-verbal show of emotion, then glanced quickly over her body, clucking appreciatively.
"Did your brother fill you in?" Frank asked.
She looked away and paused for a moment before nodding.
"It's not going to be like last time," Frank said. "You've earned better than that. But you'd better be good tonight. If you're good tonight, then I should have no more use for you."
She looked at him and saw the lie in his eyes. He saw that she saw, but he just laughed. "Well," he amended. "No immediate use."
She looked him in the eye. She wanted to spit in his smug face, but she didn't.
"All right," Frank continued. "The man's name -for your purposes-is Rene. He might be a little kinky, but I don't think you'll get hurt. Who knows? You might even like it. Those Frenchmen are supposed to know a thing or two."
Cheryl grimaced and Frank laughed and patted her naked thigh where her short skirt had ridden up. She flinched at his touch, but did not draw her legs away. She had to restrain herself from antagonizing him.
He took his hand away and produced a blindfold. He handed it to her, and she put it on without comment. Somehow her hatred of him was so intense that she realized it had gone a long way toward displacing her terror.
So, what could they do to her that would be worse than what they had already done. She could put up with one night with some dirty old man-she wouldn't like it, but she could do it.
A month, even two weeks before she would have died at the very thought. But she had learned a lot about herself in two weeks. At least now she knew what she was doing-and, in a manner of speaking-why she was doing it. It wouldn't be like last time when she hadn't known anything at all, when she had just been snatched out of her normal routine and taken to the incredible, baroque torture chamber. The fear wasn't of the unknown. She thought of Bobby, praying that he could pull off whatever he was trying to do, praying that together they could send Frank and the whole lot of animals that worked for him to prison for a long, long time.
She kept thinking of her hatred for Frank--thinking of him rather than of what was coming. As they drove, he spoke softly, as if he didn't want his words overheard by the two thugs in the front seat.
"Now I'm going to have one of my girls fix you up so you look presentable. Rene likes black girls, as I'm sure you've been told. But he also likes educated, cultured ones, wihch was a bit harder an order to fill. You are to act as if you care about him, at least as if you're anxious to please him. Do you understand ? "
Cheryl forced herself to nod.
"Good. Now you are to do whatever he asks you to-no matter what. Who knows? Maybe he won't be in the mood for sex tonight. Maybe he'll just want to talk about great books." His ironic laugh left no doubt in Cheryl's mind that the prospect of an intellectual evening was remote.
There was no talking for a while. Gradually the traffic sounds of the city receded, and Cheryl knew that they were getting close.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cheryl was taken to the same room where she had been held before. Again, after the blindfold was taken off, she was left alone behind a bolted door. As she sat on the bed, memories of that first night of debauchery came flooding back into her mind, making her head spin with fear and disgust. She made herself collect her wits-she was going to need them. At least now there wasn't the total disorientation. She knew why she was here, and she knew what she was supposed to do.
That was the part she was trying to avoid thinking about. If she just thought of herself as an actress-carrying out a role-maybe that would be best. What would this French dope smuggler want of her-why was she so important? Why had so much trouble been taken to provide her for him? It seemed that even Frank, with all his power, was acting as a lackey for this Frenchman.
There was a soft tap on the door, then the door opened and a girl walked in. She was a stunningly beautiful girl with soft, brown hair and incredibly white smooth skin, which was revealed to advantage by the softly draped silk minidress that she wore.
"Hi," she said. "I'm Sandy. I brought some dresses for you to chose from."
She deposited an armload of clothes on the bed.
Cheryl noticed that she had not bothered to close the door behind her. For just an instant, the wild thought came to her of running-of trying to find her way out of this house-out of this nightmare. But she knew it was hopeless. She turned and eyed the other girl with curiosity. Was she also a prisoner-recruited for the special needs of Frank and his business associates? She seemed more comfortable in her role than Cheryl did, if that was the case.
No, it was more likely that she was one of them-that she was here willingly.
She shuffled sullenly through the dresses. None of them were what she would ever have chosen to wear-although they were all very expensive. One of them was black satin-but it dipped down in front all the way to her navel. She finally chose an orange minidress that barely came down to her crotch, but at least covered her breasts.
Sandy scooped up the others and started for the door.
"Try to be dressed and ready in a half an hour -that's when we're having dinner," she said. "Is there anything else that you need?"
Cheryl looked at her in astonishment. The girl seemed friendly enough. But what amazed her was the way she was being treated. It was as if she were a guest rather than a prisoner. She started to ask the girl about Rene, but she decided that it would be a bad move. She didn't know what she was supposed to know and not know-and she decided that it would be best to just take things one step at a time.
Sandy smiled and left. This time, however, the door clicked behind her, and Cheryl knew she was locked in again. There was a limit to how much they were going to trust her. It was an elaborate charade. Apparently Rene didn't like to feel that girls had to be brought to him against their will, so an effort was being made to make the whole thing appear natural and cordial. It was bizarre-a case of highly stylized rape, but rape nevertheless. If it only worked--if Bobby could only do what he was trying to do and end this whole nightmare.
But her confidence waned once she was dressed and waiting for someone to come for her. What kind of hope did Bobby have against people like this. He wasn't stupid-he was sharp and tough, but these people had all the cards. She suddenly felt a deep despair, a blinding hopelessness. They would kill him if they found out what he was up to-who he was. And, they would probably kill her too. She tried to put those thoughts aside, but it was hard to have much confidence in such a situation.
At last there came a knock on the door.
It was Sandy again.
"Come with me," she said. "It's time for dinner."
She kept her face expressionless as she was led into the dining room. She only recognized a few of the men at the table. There was Frank, of course. And, there were the two men who had abused her the other time. Then her eyes fixed on a man seated at one end of the table, and somehow she knew that he was Rene.
He was very dark and very intense. He was watching her with unmistakable interest. There was a strange magnetism in his dark eyes. Cheryl could not look away. There was something horrible, yet fascinating about his chiseled features. He radiated power-it surrounded him like a halo. Cheryl was suddenly more frightened of him than she had ever been of anything in her life.
She was seated next to him. He sat staring at her as he would stare at an expensive piece of merchandise. Finally, she had to look down, away from his terrible, probing eyes, afraid that he would see the hate and the fear in her face.
"You are quite beautiful," he said softly, in perfect English, with only a trace of an accent.
She paused and drew a deep breath. "I'm glad you like me," she forced herself to say. She had to play her part-it was her only chance.
Dinner was served.
Cheryl forced herself to eat-grateful for something to do with her hands to hide the trembling.
There was talk among the Frenchmen-mostly in French. Cheryl didn't understand what was being said, but she had the feeling that it concerned her. She was, after all, the only woman in the room-with the exception of the girl called Sandy, who had seated herself beside Frank.
The dinner was strangely delicious. Partly, it was the fact that Cheryl had not eaten-really eaten in a long time. Then, too, it was the only thing standing between her and-God knew what kind of debauchery. It was an illusion of normality, and even though she knew it was an illusion, she clung to it eagerly.
But then, somehow dinner was finished, and the dishes were being cleared from the table.
Frank stood at the head of the table.
"Gentlemen," he said, in English. "If you will all follow me . . . " His eyes glanced quickly toward Cheryl. "Excuse me . . . gentlemen and ladies." There was the faint hint of a sardonic smirk on his lips. "I have some very special entertainment arranged for your enjoyment."
Rene stood quickly, and-in perfect continental fashion-helped Cheryl with her chair. Then he guided her toward the door at the far end of the room, with one arm lightly touching her waist.
It was all she could do to keep her knees from collapsing under her. What was going to happen? What was the entertainment that Frank had arranged?
The room they entered was spacious. There was a thick-napped carpet on the floor, and the furniture had all been arranged to face the far wall, on which was suspended a large movie screen.
Rene guided her to a couch, which was centrally located. She sat down, and he sat beside her, his arm still cradled around her yielding waist. Her short skirt rode up along her sleek brown thighs. She wanted to tug it down, but she restrained herself. If she wanted to be convincing, she couldn't act like a demure little schoolgirl.
The others seated themselves, and Frank's voice resounded clearly from the back of the room.
"I know that you French have had quite a reputation for a long time in the fields of film making, particularly films of a special sort. I think that you'll agree, after seeing what I'm about to show you, that we Americans are moving up quickly in the field. This was one of my first tries as a director. I hope you enjoy it."
The lights went out, and a projector at the rear of the room began to whirr.
A young girl appeared on the screen. She was no more than fourteen or fifteen years old-a slim blonde girl, with hardly any breasts at all, and slim legs. The film was in color, and the blue of her eyes was striking as she looked with obvious fear into the camera. She was completely naked, and she seemed to be making a hopeless effort to cover herself with her hands. There was a chuckle from the spectators at her predicament, and suddenly there was a tenseness of anticipation in the room. It seemed, for a moment like everyone was holding their breath.
A man appeared on the screen. He was a massive Black man-with slabs of muscle like sheet-rock on his broad body. He was naked and his skin was so black it was almost blue. His penis was huge and fully stiff-like a thick wrought iron poker between his meaty legs.
The girl saw him and tried to back away, her eyes registering absolute shock, horror and bewilderment. He moved quickly and gracefully, like a great panther, seizing her frail body and mashing it up hard against his own-lifting her off her feet and rubbing her smooth naked blonde skin against his throbbing erection.
She squealed and tried to fight against his overpowering hold on her, and Cheryl became aware, for the first time, that there was sound with the film.
Beside her, Rene reached down casually and slipped her skirt up around her waist, leaving her naked except for her panties. She went stiff, and tried to wiggle away from him, but his arm around her waist was firm and unyielding.
On the screen, the Negro was chuckling and shaking the screaming girl up and down against his enormous, perpendicular shaft. Cheryl watched with horrified fascination, feeling a sick dizziness at the stark brutality of the scene. Was the girl someone like her? Someone who had been snatched out of a normal life by these monsters-just for their perverted amusement? Certainly she wasn't acting-her terror was genuine, there could be no doubt of that.
Then another man appeared.
The second man was also Black-almost as huge as the first man-of a slightly lighter skin color. His penis was also fully erect, curved upward slightly-like a thick brown scimitar. The first man laughed and replaced the struggling, screaming girl on the ground.
Then he extended his hand, palm upward, and -laughing-the two men exchanged a "soul brother" handshake. Cheryl watched and felt a profound shame and disgust, but there was general laughter in the room at the gesture.
Meanwhile, Rene's hand was moving on Cheryl's naked thighs, pushing her little skirt even higher around her waist-stroking her silken skin, feeling between her legs.
Cheryl bit her lip to keep from screaming.
On the screen, the first man was holding the girl again-this time from the back-forcing his thick black pole against the pert little apples of her rump-offering the entire front of her body to the other man.
The second man, the lighter skinned man, took advantage of the offer. He reached out slowly and moved his hands gently over the girl's two little nubs. Then he bent down and sucked her nipples-one at a time until they were wet and shiny and hard, like pink little snails. Meanwhile the other man held her arms tightly. The girl's eyes were half closed and glassy. She looked as if she was about to faint.
Rene wormed his hands between Cheryl's thighs, and she groaned as he fingered her pussy through her flimsy panties.
"No," she crooned softly, not taking her eyes from the screen. "No, please."
But he persisted, rubbing his thumb up and down in her damp gash until she began to feel weak and funny in her belly at his touch.
On the screen, the man in front of the blonde girl reached down and stroked her little fluff of hair between her legs. The girl cried out in a high-pitched childish voice and tried to close her slim thighs, but the man pried them apart and kept his hand in place. The man was smiling faintly-being exceptionally gentle-but his gentleness was almost brutal in the circumstances. It was obviously a prelude-a teasing. The contrast of the child's milky-white skin and the dark skin of her tormentors was stark. She looked so small and frail-like a doll, a plaything. Her voice was so weak and girlish, contrasted with the deep chuckling of the two men.
Then the man stuck his finger up the child's little blonde pussy.
She screamed, and her eyes rolled back into her head.
The two men laughed, and the one behind her reached down and shoved his hand between the taut little globes of her ass. She was caught securely between them-pinned, like a butterfly to a collector's mat-and the more she struggled, the more she succeeded in impaling her young slim body on their strong black hands.
From the expression on her tear-stained face, it was evident that the little girl was near the edge of hysteria from the mauling she was getting at the hands of the two powerful black men.
Cheryl, who was not normally conscious of her skin color, felt a hot wave of shame at the sight before her. Why did they have to use Black men ? It was as if their blackness symbolized savagery, animal brutality.
But she was primed to a fine edge by the treatment she had already received in this house -as well as by her morbid expectations of what was to happen next.
She risked a glance at Rene.
He was reclined beside her, his hand still stroking languidly across her naked thighs-brushing his fingers lightly over her nylon-covered pussy.
His eyes were half-closed. He was breathing deeply and evenly. He almost seemed to be in some kind of trance.
Suddenly his fingers were gone.
"Take off your panties, Cheryl," he whispered, a little hoarsely.
She felt a wave of nausea and shock at the suggestion. It was the tone of his voice as much as the actual words. He had not even deigned to look at her. He had said it so casually-and yet, it was unmistakably an order.
She hesitated.
On the screen, the first man was still holding the girl in a vicelike grip. But now the second man was kneeling before her, prying her slender white legs apart with his strong hands. She was whimpering and biting her lip-trying feverishly to twist away from him.
Then he grinned and pushed his face right up between her legs.
There was nothing servile about his position. He was raping her with his mouth-devouring her like a raw clam, while she moaned in terror and submitted to his brutal kiss. He was sucking at her soft, downy cunt hard, chewing at her soft, pink cuntlips as if they were salt water taffy.
"Take off your panties, Cheryl," Rene repeated beside her. This time, there was a slight edge in his voice. Cheryl was close to the edge of tears. With shaking fingers, she skinned the tight panties over the full, brown curve of her hips and pushed them down around her ankles.
Rene began to explore her body again with his hands-never taking his eyes from the screen. From somewhere in the back of the room, there was the soft whimper of another woman. Cheryl realized that Sandy was still in the room-and was probably in a similar position to her own.
On the screen, the man took his mouth from between the child's slender, captive thighs. He was grinning broadly-his face slick and shiny with her juices.
He stood. His cock was an enormous truncheon -sprouting like a young oak tree from between his massive, knotted thighs. He grinned and poked it, like the barrel of a gun, against the blonde girl's flat, squirming little tummy. She drew in her breath and closed her eyes, but she was powerless to pull away.
Rene found Cheryl's damp, hot cunt with his fingers. He slipped his finger up inside her, and Cheryl couldn't hold back a little groan. She felt her body reacting to the sight on the screen -as well as to Rene's expert titillation. He slid his finger quickly over the stiffening little mushroom of her clit, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Despite herself, she felt her hips squirming-her naked bottom rubbing sensuously against the rough material of the sofa. It felt so perverse to be fully dressed except for her panties-naked to the hands of a strange, foreign man who was feeling and fingering her like a living plaything. That was what she was exactly, a plaything. She realized, with a shudder, that if these men thought it would amuse them to kill her, they wouldn't hesitate.
Then the man standing in front of the blonde girl bent his knees-nosed his blunt, hard tool up against the hair-covered lips of her slick young orifice, and pushed his cock all the way up into her wiggling body, while she screamed-a high-pitched wail of profound agony-and the other man held her immobile.
Cheryl felt a tight hard knot of hatred in her belly. But her breath was quick, and her skin felt hot. She hated Rene for making her body respond with his fingers-he was manipulating her like a puppet-and even while she hated him with all the strength of her soul-she felt her pussy moistening, growing warm against the relentless stroking motion of his manicured fingers.
On the screen, the girl was limp. Now the man in front of her was holding her and . . . Cheryl thought she would faint-the man behind her was nosing his long black dick into the tight little crack between her plump white buttocks. God, they were going to split the poor child in two.
The girl opened her eyes, feeling the new assault. Her blue eyes revealed a profound terror as she realized what the man behind her intended to do. He teased her-probing with his long prick against the little puckered ring of her anus, while she tried-unsuccessfully-to wiggle out of his way. But the more she struggled, the more she succeeded in impaling herself on the first man's hard, jabbing spike-to his obvious pleasure. She was crazed with fear and pain-reduced to an animal.
There was the hiss of a zipper beside her.
"Put your hand in my pants," Rene whispered huskily. "Feel me . . . feel how hard I am."
Rene shuddered, her eyes unable to take themselves from the sight before her. The man behind jabbed quickly, and the child screamed-a long, drawn-out trembling sound that sent chills up and down Cheryl's back.
Rene grabbed Cheryl's wrist and suddenly she felt his prick-warm, smooth and hard as a diamond beneath her soft fingers. She tried to draw away, but he held her hand firmly in place in his lap.
"Play with me," he muttered.
Cheryl was tense with fright, but her body was responding to his fingers, buried deep in her gooey, hot gash. She was grinding her hips against his hand with increasing urgency. She felt her hand circle his nude cock with a will of its own and begin to slide around and around on the hot, smooth knob of it. She felt him sigh, and she squeezed him a little. She felt a little crazy. If she didn't make him happy-they might do something even worse to her than was being done to the sweet-faced young girl on the screen.
The two Negros were humping quick and hard against her-slapping their bodies back and forth with perfect rhythm. The little girl was suspended between them, crying and moaning-spit running down her chin-her feet not even touching the floor. They were panting, grinning lewdly-brutally fucking the little girl-while their strong black hands moved all over her frail white body -squeezing and pinching the little nubs of her breasts, palming the trembling plane of her belly.
"Do it faster," Rene urged throatily.
"Oh, God," Cheryl groaned, her hand racing up and down his long white pole, while he masturbated her steadily. What was she doing? Why couldn't she control herself? She was sick with a perverse excitement as she watched the vile scene of degradation on the screen before her. Why couldn't she stop her hips from shimmying up and down on the couch. Her long brown legs were scissoring back and forth. The orange velvet miniskirt was just a pool of cloth around her supple waist. Her panties were a tangle at her feet.
Then the Black men were climaxing-shuddering and spasming as they pumped their glistening cocks in and out of the frail, doll-like form that was being battered between them. The girl's face was transfigured horribly-almost beyond recognition by the savage punishment that she was taking. Her mouth lolled slack; her eyes rolled back into her head-her sobbing was a mindless, animal wailing of deep anguish and sexual hysteria.
The screen went blank.
The lights went on.
Cheryl looked around, startled. Rene took his hand from between her legs and pushed her hand away from his lap.
"Let's not get carried away, gentlemen," came Frank's voice from the back of the room. "This is only an appetizer-not the main course."
His voice was calm, poised-under perfect control.
Cheryl tried to control her breathing. She pushed her skirt hastily down, covering herself. She felt wild and distraught-torn between the mixed emotions of disgust and perverted, guilty excitement.
"For the next attraction. These two lovely young ladies have agreed to . . . perform for us."
It was several seconds before Cheryl realized that he meant Sandy and her. What in the world did he mean "perform?"
Sandy walked to the sofa and stood before Cheryl. Her eyes were bright, her lips were moist. She extended her hand in invitation.
Cheryl hesitated.
"Go on," Rene said huskily. "Go with her."
She looked around, confused.
The men were waiting, watching her with bright, expectant eyes. What was expected of her.
Sandy took her hand and drew her to her feet. Her knees were trembling. She fought back tears. What perversity was planned for her now? How much more of this depravity would she have to endure?
Sandy reached back and fumbled open the catch at the back of her slinky black minidress.
Instantly she was naked. She smiled warmly and slid her long, smooth legs back and forth, exhaling softly.
"Why don't you take off your dress?" she murmured. "You're very beautiful."
"No," Cheryl muttered. "No, I can't."
Even after all she had been through, the thought of standing naked before these leering monsters was too much to stand. She felt hot tears scald her eyes, and she blinked to fight them back. She felt like the girl in the film.
Sandy stepped close to her, and she could smell the sweetness of the other woman's body-she could sense the heat of her ripe flesh.
"Have you ever made love to a woman?" Sandy whispered.
Cheryl remembered the night with Annie. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. Sandy smiled. "Just relax," she said softly. "Here let me undress you."
Cheryl felt the other woman's hands move to the clasp of her own dress. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, feeling her body stiffen in shame as her dress fell around her ankles, leaving her completely naked. There was an appreciate gasp from the audience.
Sandy moved very close-so close that the hard rubber tips of her breasts brushed against Cheryl's own throbbing nipples. "Just forget them," Sandy whispered. "Just think about me . . . I'll make you feel good all over."
Cheryl, with her eyes still closed, flinched when she felt the white girl's soft fingertips trace patterns up and down the sleekness of her arms. Then the girl was cupping her small tight breasts, hefting their delicious weight in her warm palms, as if they were hot water bottles. Cheryl felt a hot stain of excitement spread across her lower body. Sandy's touch was so soft, so knowing. She felt Cheryl's puckered breast tips slowly-took the nipples between her fingers and pinched lightly. Cheryl wanted to cry out.
Then she felt Sandy's hot breath against her face. She opened her eyes just as Sandy pressed her soft, sweet mouth-half-opened against hers, just as Sandy lanced her slippery tongue between her lips and grated it eelishly against her teeth. She moaned into her mouth, then gasped as she felt the full length of the white girl's body mash itself against hers-as she felt the incredible heat of Sandy's flat, firm belly, rubbing sinuously from side to side. She felt the soft, curling hair of Sandy's moist cunt rubbing insistently against the base of her belly, and she gave herself completely to the gentleness of the other woman's sensual caress.
She would just close her eyes and pretend that it Was Annie who was doing these deliciously shameful things to her. It was only Annie, and they were in the privacy of their own room. They were completely alone-and no one was watching. That was what she told herself.
Suddenly, Sandy's fingers clamped hard around her nipples-brutally, sadistically hard. She twisted and gouged her fingernails into the sensitive, puckered flesh.
Cheryl screamed and doubled over, trying desperately to cover her vulnerable flesh.
"All right fellows," Sandy said in a hard, flat voice. "The little bitch is all hot and ready for you."
There was a rustling in the room. Through pain glazed eyes, Cheryl saw the three Frenchmen quickly slipping out of their clothes.
"No, please no," she moaned weakly, doubled over on her hands and knees on the carpet.
"I want her tied up," Rene said. "I want her tied up so that she can't move . . . I want her to hurt."
Cheryl was whimpering, struggling. Strong hands were pulling her to her feet.
"Take her upstairs," Frank said.
She screamed as she was lifted by Rene's two henchmen. She felt herself being carried effortlessly from the room. Sandy walked behind, smiling triumphantly.
"So you thought you were a great lady, eh?" Rene sneered. "You bitch . . . now you'll see what I think of your kind. You stupid bitch . . . I'm going to fuck you so hard you feel it in your throat."
Cheryl was filled with a nameless, screaming horror. She was completely out of control now. These people weren't just perverted or dishonest -they were insane, they were demented. She was not thinking now of playing roles-of her brother coming to her rescue.
Then she was in a room that made her blood run cold.
It was like a medieval torture chamber. There were ropes, straps, weird contraptions.
"Tie her up," Rene ordered sharply. "I want her completely helpless."
"Yes," Frank chuckled. "You always liked them that way . . . and I told her you were a real continental gentleman."
Cheryl was pushed down to the floor on her knees-by a man on either arm. They were bending her arms back behind her to the point where it felt as if they were about to break them off. She screamed at the pain, but nobody seemed concerned about the noise.
"Go ahead, sweetheart," Rene chuckled ominously. "Scream you head off. We're not where anyone is going to hear you. And, you're going to have a lot more to scream about. I promise you that."
Cheryl was held in a kneeling position while her hands were tied behind her, then raised up at an impossible angle and tied to a rope that was fixed to some kind of harness in the ceiling.
"A pretty picture," Rene chuckled, when she was secured. "A very pretty picture."
"Why?" Cheryl moaned, her face mashed into the carpet. "Why me?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Frank whispered. "Bring them in."
Cheryl forced her face back just in time to see one of the gunmen open the door. Bobby, then David and Annie were pushed into the room at gunpoint.
"Oh, no," she groaned. "Oh, my God, no . . . "
The thought that Bobby was discovered took away her last hope for some kind of rescue. The thought that she had involved her friends made her sick with guilt. But how? Why?
Annie was tense and scared looking. David looked like he was about to explode. She remembered the night he had rescued her from the mugger, and she was afraid that at any minute he might try something-something which, under the circumstances, could only lead to him being murdered before her eyes.
"I want them to have ringside seats," Frank said. "Bring some chairs."
David bristled, and for a moment Cheryl was afraid he would explode when he was pushed roughly into a chair.
"Do what they say," she sobbed. "They'll kill you."
"She's getting smart, the black bitch," Rene sneered.
"What is this all about?" David demanded, looking down at Cheryl. "Who are these people?"
"Oh, God, I don't know," Cheryl moaned. "Why did you bring them here?" she whimpered.
"Because I want them to see what happens to you."
Then Rene slowly unbuckled his belt and slipped it free of his trousers. He doubled it in his hand and swung it loosely back and forth a few times. Then he brought it down, brutally hard, across Cheryl's naked, quivering buttocks.
She screamed and doubled forward, her face pushed into the carpet. She felt like a great strip of skin had been torn loose from her body by the hissing snake in his hands. She moaned and bit into the carpet, and he lashed her again, with all the strength and weight of his body. The pain was terrible-worse than anything she had ever felt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David get to his feet.
"No!" she screamed. "Don't." But it was too late. One of the hoods brought his pistol full-force across David's face, knocking him back into the chair. There was a groan and David raised his hands to his crushed face. Then the strap came down again.
Cheryl passed out.
CHAPTER NINE
There was cold water on her face. She opened her eyes.
Sandy was bending over her, dabbing solicitously at her face with a wet washcloth. "Wake up," she said.
She gasped and tried to pull away from the washcloth.
Then Sandy was gone, and there was a man kneeling before her. He wasn't wearing any pants, and she stifled back a groan of shock, as she saw his penis-blunt and hard-poking lewdly toward her face.
"There, there, baby," grunted the man. "Come get your dinner."
It was the thickest little thug and he was poking the blunt, purplish knob of his meaty cock against her bruised slash of a mouth.
"For God's sake," came David's voice from some distant corner of the room. "Let her go . . . don't put her through any more."
"But we've just begun," Rene said coldly. "The night is young."
Then the man clamped his thick fingers under her jaw, elevating her face so he could have a better angle. "God I've been wanting to do this since I first saw her . . . I've been having dreams . . . "
"Yes, Jackie, I'll bet you have. Well take advantage of it . . . you probably won't get another chance."
He groaned and slid his greasy tube into her mouth.
Cheryl's eyes widened in horror as she felt his swollen bludgeon gouge all the way into the back of her throat, gagging her with its fleshy thickness. He began to pump himself in and out of her mouth, holding her with the painful clamp of his fingers under her jaw-bending her neck back at an impossible angle.
"Suck it, baby . . . suck it good and maybe we won't kill you," the thug muttered thickly. Her face was stuffed with his hot sausage-she kept feeling as if she would pass out again-but she couldn't pass out in the unnatural position she was being held in.
Then she felt hands behind her-squeezing the taut melons of her sleek brown asscheeks. She uttered a choked sob that came out odd and muffled by the length of thrusting meat in her mouth. She tried to squirm away. It was horrible, not being able to look back-not being able to get out of the way-she was so horribly vulnerable.
"Oh, my God," she heard David groan. Then she felt another dick lodged in her crack, and she felt a quiver run the length of her body. There was another man back there and he was going to fuck her in her asshole.
Then he pushed it in, and she felt like she was being torn apart. The feeling was terrible, like being injured-like having a hot poker rammed up into her guts. Her body was trembling completely out of control, shaking wildly with a palsied quiver that was almost spastic.
"I think she likes it," Rene whispered. "Give it to her harder."
The man behind her buried his thick, hard erection all the way in her, and it felt like it was pushing up into her belly. She knew she was going to die, and she couldn't breath because of the pistoning shaft in her mouth. She felt that her identity, her sanity was crumbling away under the relentless pounding she was receiving from both ends. She heard a funny, high pitched whine that sounded almost like a giggle, and she realized, with a kind of detached amazement, that it came from her own mouth. The dick in her mouth was smooth and very hot, and she could taste the first little salty drip of semen at the tip. She concentrated on making him cum-licking and sucking-wanting to bring him to a climax so that she could breathe again. But the agony of the invasion she was being subjected to in her rectum was driving her wild with pain and fear-actual physical fear that she was being torn apart by the fleshy tusk that kept jabbing with inhuman relentlessness into her tortured, squirming body. She felt the man's fingers, like cool spiders, resting lightly on her warm, smooth hips, as he humped himself against her.
Her mouth felt raw from the pounding of the big banana. On each forward thrust of his beefy hips, his heavy-hanging balls would slap grotesquely against Cheryl's painfully uptilted chin. The man behind her leaned forward and caught her breasts in his hands. His hands were rough -his fingers clutched her nipples and twisted them hard. The variety of sensations was overwhelming, and Cheryl groaned like a wounded animal. The angle that her arms were bent behind her made her feel that they were about to break off like matchsticks from the weight of the man's body. He was leaning on her now, leaning all the way over so he could reach all the way under her and jiggle her raw, aching tits. He squeezed them hard, mashed them together, yanked them cruelly, stretched them like rubber.
Then she felt the thick, steaming bludgeon in her throat thicken and swell. She gagged and clung to it desperately with her bruised lips. She heard the man in front of her utter a funny, frantic little groan, and his fingers locked themselves in her hair and mashed her face hard up against his bouncing crotch. Then she tasted the first spurt of his thick, warm cream, and she thought she would choke on it. He groaned and shuddered as he pumped his great twitching pole all the way into the back of her throat, sending big hot sticky billows of his cum into her mouth. She gagged and groaned and choked on his hot milk as he slammed his body at her captive face with machine-gun speed.
At last, he fell away, and Cheryl drew a long shuddering, desperate breath of air-like someone breaking the surface of the water after a long time under.
The pain from her reamed and tortured rear entrance had lessened as she had stretched to accommodate the stiff, quivering dick which was lodged, like a telephone pole in her guts. Now there was this terrible feeling of having to go to the bathroom, as the man behind her continued to slap his hips against the ripe, upturned slopes of her brown, satin buttocks, as a beaver would slap his tail. She heard the gusts of his breath, mixed with her own frantic moans and whimpers, and she heard the obscene wet, smacking sound of his body as he fucked her mindlessly in her asshole.
She was beyond shame or fear at this point. All she wanted was for it to be over with. She tried to grind her curvy ass back against him-to bring him to a climax so that he would leave her alone. All she wanted was to be left alone.
"Play with her pussy," Rene said hoarsely to one side. "Reach under her and play with her pussy. I want her to be turned on."
The man's hands left her bobbing breasts and snaked down between her, slender thighs. She shuddered and wailed as she felt his blunt fingers probing the velvet depths of her musky slash. He stuffed two fingers up into her warm, clinging cunt and began to fuck them in and out.
She felt her body reacting-to her own disgust. A strange, sick heat was being generated by the manipulations of those fingers. She was being excited-physically-despite her pain and fear and revulsion. She felt a blinding hatred for these people for doing this to her, but she was powerless to stop it.
Then somehow, she was looking into David's eyes.
He sat stock still in the big chair. A man behind him was holding a pistol against his head. His face was white and stiff with shock. Their eyes met for just a moment. Then she felt a little wave of excitement ripple up from her belly, and she looked away and bit her lip-ashamed to let David see what they were doing to her.
"Look at her," someone grunted. "She loves it . . . the little bitch . . . she loves getting it up the ass."
"No, no," her brain screamed silently. "I hate it . . . I hate all you animals." But her body was on fire. She pressed her face into the thick-napped carpet to keep from groaning with the perverted thrill of what he was doing to her. She clenched her teeth and fought back the excitement, but she felt it rise up and overpower her.
"Oh, God, God," she whined, rolling her luscious ass back against the hard, grinding body of her tormentor.
Then his cock was exploding inside her torn rectum, scalding her bowels with spurts of his hot, sticky cum. She wailed and moaned and shuddered against him as he gouged his fingers into her gooey snatch and snorted like a stallion against the soft slope of her shoulder from the intensity of his climax.
Cheryl heard soft whimpering and opened her eyes.
She was lying, face-up, on the floor, with her hands still tied behind her. Annie was lying beside her. The blonde girl was naked, also tied.
Frank was strutting back and forth in front of them.
"All right," he said. "It's been fun. But now I want some answers. If I don't get some answers-right now, it's not going to be half as much fun for you . . . for any of you. Which one of you is the cop?" His gaze went from Cheryl to Annie, then to David and Bobby. There wasn't a sound for a good half a minute.
He continued, his voice calm and well modulated. "I know that at least one of you is working with the police. It would be simple to just make sure that nobody ever saw any of you again. But I don't work that way. I like to know things-specific things. And I know how to find out what I want to know-just how to apply pressure-the right kind of pressure to find out." He let his voice trail off ominously.
"Now I'm not completely in the dark," he said. "I wouldn't want you to get that idea." He turned, and with a lightning-quick movement, he slashed his hand across Bobby's face. Bobby stiffened and started to strike back, but there were two guns leveled at his midsection.
"For instance," Frank continued, "I know about you." He studied Bobby for a few seconds. Bobby stared back sullenly. "What I want to know is who else is in on this. I like to patch all leaks immediately and thoroughly. "Does she know?" He waved toward Cheryl.
Bobby hesitated for a moment. "No, man, she don't know a thing," he said.
"Then why has she been so . . . so cooperative. It obviously hasn't been because she's enjoyed it."
"She did it for me," Bobby said softly, looking at Cheryl. "She didn't know why. She thought I was in danger . . . "
Frank smiled slowly, like a serpent. "She's not so far off, at that," he said. "You are in danger. But where do these other two fit in?"
"They don't fit in," Cheryl spat. "They don't fit in at all. They don't have anything to do with it."
Frank mused over her outburst. Then he looked down at her and his face was almost tender. "You know something?" he said. "I believe you. I just don't think you're a very good liar."
"Look," Bobby said suddenly. "It was me--it was all me. Nobody else had anything to do with it. I've been working for the police from the start-and if you just found out about it, then you're not as smart as you think. And, if you think these kids had anything to do with it, then you're not even as smart as that. I've been passing information. They know about Mr. Big here . . . " He gestured toward Rene, who had been watching from a corner of the room without speaking.
". . . They know about him and his diplomat friends. They know about this place. They know what's been going on here-what kind of entertainment you provide for these creeps, and what they're doing here. You can do anything you want to do to me-you will anyway. I don't really care that much . . . but, for God's sake, let these people go. They don't have anything to do with anything, and you aren't going to gain anything by hurting them."
Frank smiled slowly. "I see," he said. "You know, I have more faith in your ability to lie than I do in your sister. I'm not sure I believe you that they know about anything at all. I don't think they know, because I don't think you knew anything to tell them."
"Suit yourself," Bobby said. "But what are you going to gain by hurting them, by taking them out?"
Frank thought for a moment. "What am I going to gain by letting them go? Even if they didn't know anything, they do now-they know enough to hang me."
Nothing was said for a minute.
Cheryl was aware of the tension that had settled over the room. She was also aware that despite Frank's calm, measured tones of self-assurance, he was frightened. He didn't know how much of what Bobby had said was true, and it worried him. For that matter, she didn't know how much of it was true herself. He had told her that tonight was the night that the whole thing was going to break. But how could it break now? What could happen that would get them out of this horror pit?
Frank seemed lost in thought.
Then Rene spoke. "You promised us perfect security," he said, addressing Frank. "You assured us that there was no danger in the least to our personal security." His voice was low pitched and very ominous. Frank looked up, startled.
"You aren't in any danger," he said. "He's full of lies-he's just talking a lot because we've got him cold."
"Maybe they aren't lies," Rene said coldly.
Frank looked at the captives, obviously reluctant to argue with the Frenchman in front of them.
"I think," Rene said, "that we will leave. When you've dealt with this . . . matter," he waved vaguely toward Bobby and the rest of them, "then maybe we will be able to resume our business."
"That's not necessary," Frank stammered, now visibly upset for the first time. "I have the money now . . . we can deal tonight. This . . . this is nothing. I can deal with it in a few minutes."
Rene shook his head. "No business transaction should be tainted by even the faintest shadow of a doubt," he said. "We will leave. You know how to contact me."
He turned, and, as if on a signal, the other Frenchmen in the room turned on their heels and followed him. When they had gone, Frank stood stock still for a few moments. Then he turned quickly and drove his fist savagely into Bobby's midsection. Bobby buckled to the floor, gasping and wheezing for breath.
Frank stood straight, not a hair out of place--his former composure returned in full.
He turned to the slim, dark, black thug.
"Take these three," he said. "Lock them upstairs until I think of something to do with them. "I'm going to take care of Bobby boy myself . . . right now."
Cheryl gasped in horror. "No," she moaned. "Please."
Frank didn't even look at her. Cheryl and Annie were rolled over onto their bellies-then the thickset thug pulled a switchblade knife out of his pocket and deftly sliced the bonds which had been holding their wrists together. They got to their feet. The sudden rush of blood to Cheryl's head almost made her pass out. She started to step toward Bobby, to somehow protect her brother with her slim naked body. But the thug prodded her with the tip of the stiletto blade, and she drew back.
Then she saw that David was watching everything intently. She sensed that he was about to make an attempt. But it was hopeless. The black thug noticed the direction of her gaze and followed it quickly with his own sharp, black eyes.
He raised his pistol instantly, training it on David's chest.
"This is a .357 Magnum," he said quietly. "If you make one move, mister-I'm going to splatter your blood all over this lovely room. So don't . . . "
David stared fiercely at the black man for a moment, and Cheryl was afraid that he was still going to make a try. But then his shoulders slumped, and he allowed the other thug to march him from the room, along with the two girls.
* * *
The three of them were locked in the attic. At one end of the room, there was a small window-set into a gable of the house. David immediately investigated the window, but when he turned around, there was no hope in his eyes.
"It's about fifty feet straight down," he said. "The yard is lit and there's a man with a gun out there. I don't see how we can do it."
"I wish you'd try," said the young black man, from just outside the door. "It would solve a lot of problems." David and Cheryl looked at each other. So there was a guard there too. They wouldn't even be able to talk openly.
Annie began to sob hysterically, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, God," she cried. "They're going to kill us . . . they're going to kill all of us."
Cheryl watched her, and for a moment, she almost felt drawn into the anguish that the blonde girl felt. But if there was any hope, any hope at all, it wasn't through falling completely apart. She walked over and put her hand on Annie's shoulder. Annie only wailed and cried harder.
"Why me?" she sobbed.
She looked up at Cheryl-almost hatefully. "You," she groaned, "you got me into this."
"Look," Cheryl said calmly, "I didn't want to be here either. Nobody in their right mind would want to be here-but here is where we are, and we have to do something, so why don't you pull yourself together. If we are going to die, let's don't die whimpering and crying."
The words sounded strange to her own ears.
Somehow the blonde girl's hysteria seemed to give her a hidden strength. She hated Frank so intensely that she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of breaking her down completely. She had been through so much already-what more could he do to her? Short of killing her. She felt a chill at the thought, but she fought it back, turning to David.
They looked at each other silently. Cheryl felt a sudden sadness that he had been involved. He was a sweet guy. He had helped her once, and what had it gotten him? Somehow, they had been seen together. Frank had made the connection. Of all the people to suspect-she hardly even knew him. And now it looked like she would never get to know him. She felt, for a moment, that she could have loved a man like David. She had been so stupid-lumping all men together, being afraid of them for all her life. Now she had so little time.
She stepped close to David and looked up at him. He took her in his arms. His body was warm, solid, comforting. She looked up at him, and he kissed her. His mouth was gentle, loving. She felt a terrible wave of anguish rise up inside her. She pulled away from him, fighting to keep back her tears.
There were no lights in the room. They looked at each other in the glow of the lights that illuminated the yard.
There was a shot.
Cheryl started, then sank back, groaning weakly. "Oh God . . . they've killed Bobby. They've killed my brother."
There was another shot-then a fusillade of shots. They seemed to come from somewhere out in the night-beyond the circle of lights around the house. David ran to the window.
There was shouting out in the night. Then there were footsteps somewhere down in the house. Cheryl held her breath, praying.
"It's the cops," somebody shouted. "They hit the Frenchmen."
There were rapid steps in the hallway outside, then silence. David walked to the door and pressed his ear to it. "He's gone," he said. "We might live through this yet."
There was a flurry of shots in the night, then silence. The house was alive with activity. Suddenly there was a great voice from the darkness-an amplified voice.
"You in the house! Come out. You can't get away. We've got your friends. We've got you surrounded. You have no hope. If you're not out in five minutes, the tear gas comes in."
There was a silence that was stiff with an awful tension.
Cheryl and David crowded to the window. David pushed her to one side. "Stay out of the line of fire," he whispered.
Suddenly there was a dark form on the grass just below the window . . . sprinting for a grove of trees. Shot rang out-the darkness was illuminated by many small explosions of light. The form was slammed to the ground and lay still. Cheryl could see that it was the thickset thug. There were more shots from the house.
Then there was a silence that seemed to last forever, although it couldn't have been more than two minutes.
There was a voice from the house.
"We're coming out, hold your fire!"
The bull horn resounded. "Throw your guns on the grass stand in the light with your hands on top of your head."
Slowly a group of men filed out of the house, threw their guns on the grass and stood, huddled together, peering into the dark. So far, there had been nothing visible from the house out in the night.
There was a sudden clamor in the hallway outside the room.
Then the door opened and Frank walked in, quickly closing and locking the door behind him. He had a large pistol in each hand, and he kept David closely covered. He didn't look so suave and well-composed now. His eyes were bright, his breathing was ragged.
"Quickly," he rasped. "Get over against the wall-all of you . . . I mean business."
Cheryl started to do as he ordered. His eyes were crazy. He was perfectly capable of killing them all right now. David hesitated, and she looked at him imploringly.
Frank didn't say anything more-just raised the gun, leveled it at David's face.
"All right," David said. "I'm going."
When they were all lined up, facing the wall, Cheryl heard Frank walk to the window, behind them and break out the glass with one of his pistols.
"Listen to me!" he shouted through the window. "I've got three hostages up here-and they're going to die unless you give me safe conduct out of this place. Now think about that for a minute.
Then he turned and seized Cheryl by the arm, jerking her brutally toward the window.
"You better tell them you're up here," he said menacingly. "You better tell them good and loud, or your boyfriend's brains are going to be smeared all over the floor."
He lifted the massive pistol, training it between Daivd's eyes.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked.
He thought for a moment, still holding the pistol on David. Then he moved it just a few inches to the side. There was a sudden, deafening roar that filled the room like the sound of a bomb. When the ringing in Cheryl's ears had passed, she opened her eyes. David was still standing there, unflinching. There was a gaping hole in the plaster now four inches from his face.
"Tell them that you're here, and that I've killed one of you already," Frank said. He gestured with the gun. "Go ahead, or I will."
Cheryl leaned out the window, through the jagged, broken pane of glass. The gunmen were still standing in the yard with their hands held above their heads. There was no sign of the police.
"Help!" she screamed, at the top of her lungs. "He's got a gun. He's killed one of us . . . don't try to stop him, or he'll kill us."
She turned and looked at him coldly.
He smiled. "All right," he said. "You did fine. Now get back with your friends."
She stepped between David and Annie.
"You heard her," Frank called out the window. "I'm not playing around. You have two minutes to bring a police car up in front of the house.
"If it isn't there in two minutes, someone is going to get shot . . . do you hear me? Do you understand?"
There was a hesitation. "I heard you," came the amplified voice of the bull horn.
The time passed interminably.
Cheryl stared at the wall in front of her. Every nerve seemed alive with the terror of their situation. She could sense David beside her, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. He seemed tense and poised. She ventured a glance at him, but he didn't return it. She was terrified that he was going to try to jump Frank, and that he would be shot. She wanted to tell him to go along, to restrain himself-for now. But she didn't dare say anything. Frank was like a bomb with a very short fuse. It wouldn't take anything at all to set him off. It wasn't as if any one of them was very crucial to him-he could kill one and still have two hostages left.
Then there was the sound of a car. They were doing it!
She heard Frank chuckle behind her. With a start, she realized that she was completely naked -and so was Annie. Somehow, in spite of everything that had happened, in spite of the gravity of their situation, the thought of walking out into the yard without a stitch upset her.
"Get ready to move," Frank said. "We're going to go for a little ride." Then, to David. "Can you drive? And you better answer yes, because otherwise my use for you is ended right now."
"I can drive," David said.
"I thought you could."
Then, yelling out the window again. "All right . . . now clear out. If I see a single cop, I'm going to shoot the girl . . . if I even see one . . . do you hear?"
"I hear you," came the voice through the horn. "What do we do about your men?"
"Get them out of here," Frank called back. "Get them away from here." He hesitated. "You've got two minutes to get them and clear out."
Again came the tense, protracted passage of time. Cheryl could hear voices from the yard. Then, the voices died away. Once again, came the sound of the horn.
"You're clear," came the voice.
"Don't follow me," Frank called. "The first heat I see, and it still goes about the girls. Just forget about me if you want to save their lives."
"We won't follow you."
For the first time, Cheryl began to think beyond the present situation. What would happen to them when Frank was in the clear? It seemed obvious that he would kill them. They had limited usefulness to him, and beyond that point, they were a liability. She was sure that he would shoot them as soon as he was safe. But maybe something would come up by then. She would just watch for a chance to do something . . . although she couldn't imagine what.
"Okay, turn around slowly," Frank commanded. "Now I want you, blondie to lead the way. Then you . . . " He glanced at Cheryl. And Mr. smart guy and I will bring up the rear. Don't try anything. I've got all the cards . . . right here . . . , " he waved the gun loosely. "Now move."
Annie walked like a zombie-chalk-white and trembling, but not crying anymore. Cheryl saw her move slowly out into the hallway.
Then she followed. As she emerged from the door, a dark shape caught her eye beside the door.
She stifled a gasp. It was Bobby. He raised a finger to his lips. He had a long knife in his hand.
"Keep moving," Frank bellowed from behind them. She forced herself to walk ahead, scarcely daring to breathe.
Suddenly there was a flurry of motion behind her. She turned around.
Bobby brought the knife down in a swift, vicious arc. But Frank sensed the movement out of the corner of his eye. He whirled and dropped one shoulder, catching the blade. Then the pistol roared, a deafening explosion, spat a nasty looking tongue of fire that seemed to catch Bobby in the side-whirling him violently around, like a puppet on a string.
But before he had time to hit the floor David sprang into action with the speed and the fury of a leopard.
His foot moved through the air in a high arc-so quickly that it was barely visible. There was a sickening thwack as it connected with the side of Frank's face-splintering the bones and splitting the skin. Then, in one smooth continuation of the same motion, David drove his fist like a hard spike into the center of Frank's body. The air left his body like a punctured inner tube. He raised his hands to his solar plexus. There was a look of bewilderment in his eyes. Then he uttered a thin, weird groan as his eyes went glassy and he slid to the floor. He lay there without moving, and Cheryl knew that he was dead.
Cheryl ran to where her brother lay on the floor. There was a thick pool of blood that was spreading around him. She knelt and took his head in her hands. He opened his eyes, and she cried out. He was alive. He even smiled at her. His face was tranquil. She was very frightened. He obviously wasn't even feeling the pain.
"Quick," she said to David. "Get help . . . get an ambulance . . . "
She heard David calling out the window to the police, but she didn't move from her brother's side.
Bobby opened his mouth.
"I guess it could have been worse," he said. His voice sounded faint and far away.
"Don't talk," she said.
It seemed to take forever for the ambulance to arrive.
CHAPTER TEN
Time had passed.
Cheryl was with David, in his apartment. He was frying two steaks, while she watched, feeling a little silly.
"I can cook, you know," she said.
He turned and grinned at her. "Not like I can, though," he said.
"I know," she sighed. "It's another one of those things you learned in the Army."
"Aren't you liberated enough to let a man do the cooking?" He was still grinning. He loved to tease her. They had been seeing a lot of each other during the last weeks. Their relationship had been strictly platonic. She knew that he found her attractive-that wasn't the problem. It was just that after what they had been through together . . . well, she still had not forgotten what those beasts had done to her, and-try as she might-she couldn't forget that David had seen it all.
They never discussed that night, but it was going to take time for the scars to heal. After that, who knew what would become of their relationship? They both sensed that there was much to it-much that remained to be explored. But time had to pass-things had to proceed naturally. They couldn't be rushed.
That was one thing she loved about David. He was very easy going. He seemed to have the gift of making the best of every situation without having to force his will on it. She had grown to trust him in a way that she had never been able to trust another man before.
"You look foxy tonight," he said, eyeing her brief miniskirt and form-fitting sweater. "You wouldn't be trying to seduce me, would you?"
"You never know," she teased, wiggling her hips provocatively and sticking her tongue out at him. "We unliberated women are very devious. We're not like our liberated sisters who lay their cards on the table. You never really know what's going on in our minds."
He smiled and their eyes met for a few seconds before he turned his attention back to the meal he was preparing. It was the kind of light banter that had become common between them lately. Both of them knew that it was going to lead to bed-sooner or later.
Cheryl smiled wryly to herself. It wasn't just that he didn't know what was going on in her mind-she didn't know herself. She felt profoundly different from the wide-eyed chick who had enrolled in the university only a few short months before. She felt years older and wiser-but also less settled. There had been a time when she had had her life figured out. Now she didn't know where it was going to lead. After what had happened, how could someone ever really know? She had never willed any of the horror that had fallen on her-that had fallen on all of them. It had just happened. It was taking time, but she was beginning to slowly realize that the coin had two sides. Good things could just happen, too. David had just happened.
She watched him bend over the stove, and she felt a warm glow. Nobody could ever accuse David of compromising his masculinity by doing a woman's work. He was wearing a soft knit shirt that made the powerful muscles of his torso stand out like whipcords. He was such a strange combination of power and gentleness. On an impulse she walked up behind him, stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft kiss on the side of his neck. He chuckled and turned to face her.
"What are you trying to do?" he asked. "Make me burn our dinner?"
She looked up at him and licked her lips slowly.
"David," she whispered dreamily. "I think I want to be kissed."
He didn't need to be asked twice. His arms slipped around her supple, yielding waist, and he drew her slender body up flush against his. His lips were gentle and firm. She closed her eyes and quivered in the strength of his embrace, letting her soft mouth go around and around, mashed up against his. Then she lanced her tongue experimentally against his lips. His tongue flicked out to brush against her soft mouth, and she moaned softly, feeling his body stiffen.
Finally she broke the kiss, disengaging herself from him and backing away.
"You'd better watch the steaks," she teased impishly.
He looked at her for a long time, then grinned. "I believe," he said. "That you're trying to drive me crazy."
"That's right," she said. "Then we'll be crazy together."
* * *
They were sitting quietly, looking at each other over the cluttered table, an hour later, when the rain began to fall. Nothing was said for a long time. It was comfortable to sit without talking, just enjoying each other's presence. The rain was comforting-it seemed to insulate them from the outside world. Cheryl sipped her wine, and felt the warm glow from it spread throughout her body.
Suddenly she became aware that David was watching her. She met his eyes, and they watched each other for a long time. There was a heat, a mysterious energy that seemed to pass between them.
Cheryl felt a little vein throbbing in her throat. Suddenly she knew that tonight was the night. The time had come, and nothing could put it off any longer.
"David," she whispered. "Do you want me?"
His eyes widened briefly in surprise. Then he nodded. "Very much," he said.
"Let's go in the bedroom," she sighed.
It was like a dream. He stood and walked around the table.
Then his strong arm was lifting her out of her chair, guiding her toward the bedroom door.
When the door was closed behind them, he pressed his body against hers from behind. She sighed and went limp as she felt his hands slip under her arms and come up to cup her ripe breasts through her sweater. Her nipples stiffened instantly-like little pencil erasers under the manipulation of his fingers. She groaned softly and pushed her curvy bottom back against the hard swell in the front of his trousers.
"I've wanted you for so long," he groaned, planting a kiss on the soft brown flesh of her neck. "I've almost lost my mind thinking about you."
"Yes, David," she whispered. "I know . . . I want you too . . . I'm burning up."
Her words made him stiffen and push his body more firmly against her ass. She felt his thick, hot cock through his pants, and she felt weak from the thrill of it. There was no hurry tonight -they were going to be together all night long--there was no rush about anything.
"Undress me, David," she murmured throatily. "I want to be naked for you."
She felt his fingers tremble as he drew the sweater over her shoulders.
She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts spilled deliciously free, causing her to shiver and tremble from the joy of her sudden nakedness.
Now she turned in his arms to face him. She looked up into his eyes intently, and she saw the heat of his desire in his face. She kissed him, letting her tongue slip between his lips and push into the open cavern of his mouth. Then she slipped her hand down between them and cupped the outline of his meaty prong through his pants. She shaped the tubular prominence with her slender fingers, feeling him throb and twitch at her touch. He was rock hard under her knowing fingers. She was breathless at the thrill of exciting him this way. She speared her tongue all the way into his mouth and squeezed his hard dick lovingly. She felt different from any way she had ever felt. She felt free and brazen. It seemed, suddenly, to be the most beautiful thing in the world to tease and excite the man you loved.
She broke the kiss and tugged David's tight shirt out of his pants. Then she slithered her warm hands all over the firmly muscled flanks of his back. He was so strong and hard-so thick with male strength. She raked him lightly with her fingernails, thrilling at the quiver that passed through his body.
He brought his hands up to squeeze the plump melons of her dusky breasts. His hands were strong and possessive on her body, and she threw her shoulders back to push her swollen tits more firmly into the warm saucers of his hands. She loved being felt and fondled this way. She felt sinuous, like a cat being stroked. She felt beautiful. She purred and reached her fingers under the waist of David's trousers. She felt the smooth, hard knob of his big prick brush against her fingertips. She slipped her hand all the way down inside his pants and took his iron dick between her fingers.
"I've wanted to do this for so long," she breathed throatily. "I've wanted to unzip you, darling, to feel you in my hand."
He shuddered and reached down to draw her tiny skirt up around her waist. Then he was touching her, feeling her warm cunt through her panties. She parted her legs a little, moaned hotly as his fingers outlined the soft, moist lips of her pussy through the sheer nylon of her tight little bikini panties.
They stood like that, in the middle of the room, for a long time, feeling each other and kissing hotly. Then David broke away, pushing Cheryl toward the bed.
"Lie down," he said. "I want to take all your clothes off."
She whimpered and bit her lip. Then she let him ease her onto the bed on her back. His fingers were trembling as he fumbled with the clasps at the waist of her miniskirt.
"Lift up," he said, when he had finally managed to undo them.
She lifted her long, slender legs in the air and shivered joyously as he tugged the tight skirt down over the fullness of her hips and threw it to the floor. Now she was naked except for her panties.
He bent over her, and she felt his warm breath on the firm, trembling plane of her belly. Then his fingers hooked themselves in the tight elastic waistband of her panties, and he tugged. She groaned as she felt the panties being shaved down her sleek, firm legs and pulled off her ankles. Now she was completely, deliciously naked.
She pulled herself up on her knees.
"Now it's my turn," she breathed hotly, her fingers working with his belt buckle.
She knelt on the bed before him and opened his pants. They fell around his feet, and his big fleshy cock sprang out at her like a jack-in-the-box. She cooed and cradled it with her soft, warm hands. Then she circled it with both hands and twisted them slowly, teasing in opposite directions. He groaned and pushed his fat stalk toward her as she lovingly caressed its turgid length.
Suddenly she remembered the dream-the couple in the park. Now she knew that that nightmare was about to end. She pulled his iron dick, like a stick of candy, toward her warm, moist lips. She was going to do it for him-the same thing that the girl had done that day in the park. It didn't scare her or make her sick-not even a little. Far from it, she was about to faint with excitement at the idea. She had sucked cocks before-but never like this-because she wanted to, because she loved the man to which the cock was attached.
She looked up at him. Then she blew her warm breath across the swollen, purple bulb of his truncheon. "I'm going to eat you," she whispered.
Then she popped her warm lips over the bulb of his hard penis. She laved the smooth hardness of his tool with her tongue, closing her eyes, taking her time. She reached up and clutched his massive knotted thighs, feeling the power, the tension in his body-the tension that she was building with her mouth-building to a fever pitch.
She slipped a few more inches of his hot meat into the moist, sucking cavern of her mouth. She heard him groan. She raked her little diamond teeth down the length of his meaty pipe. She felt his legs trembling. She reached around to hold his hard buttocks in her hands. She pulled his body toward her, shoving the whole length of his stiff dick into her throat. She gurgled and whimpered deep in her throat at the thrilling feel, the taste of his thing.
But then his hands were on her shoulders, pushing her back, away from her delicious task.
"No," she protested. "Please, let me do it . . . let me have it in my mouth."
"You will," he said. "But let's do it differently. Let's do it like this . . . "
He slid onto the bed-with his body reversed so that his face lay against her warm, smooth thighs. For a moment, she didn't understand, but then he parted her thighs expertly, and she felt his face pushing its way into the tangled, sticky nest of her dark pubic hair.
She thought she would faint from the thrill of his mouth and what it was doing to her. She heard him groan-a strange, muffled sound, and she felt his tongue part the lips of her musky gash and delve into the mucuous recesses of her hot, sticky pussy. She whimpered and scissored her firm thighs around his face. Then she took his long dick in her hand again and raised it to her mouth.
She was so excited she couldn't keep still. Her hips were churning against his face, she was pushing her honeyed cunt against his hot, sucking mouth again and again while she tongued and sucked his big prick fervently.
She slipped her fingers into the crack of his ass and played with his asshole. She was rewarded by the feeling of having his whole tongue stuffed like a fat, wiggling worm, up her gooey hole.
The room was full of the sounds of their sucking-the soft, mindless whimpers of delirium, the nasty, sticky sounds of the thrilling thing they were doing.
Cheryl tongued David's prong and fingered his asshole until her mouth was sore-but she couldn't stop. She felt herself being carried higher and higher by the devoted attention of his loving mouth buried between her legs. She clamped her firm brown thighs hard around his face. She moaned wetly, the sound strangely muffled by her mouthful of hot, throbbing cock.
His hard-on was enormous-her lips were stretched and distended by the thickness of the meaty thing. She sucked and tongued the quivering stalk, clung to it with lips that were stretched and ovaled like rubber bands. She bobbed her head up and down. Then she felt his hands clasped around her nude hips, lifting her over on top of him, so that she was straddling his face. Her sticky pussy made a wet, smacking sound as she slapped her hips against his body, fucking his face eagerly. At the same time, his throbbing pole was buried to the hilt in her clinging throatburied there deliciously.
She found that by relaxing the muscles of her throat, she could take the entire length of his steaming organ into her throat. Each time she pushed her face down around his fleshy nail, her nose mashed itself into the dark tangle of hair at the base of his belly. He was groaning thickly, parting her firm, jiggling buttocks to finger her asshole.
Then he speared his finger up into her rectum, and she screamed from the thrill of it. She wanted him to fill her up-to put his fingers and his tongue and his beautiful iron cock in her-all over.
But then he pried her thighs from around his face and gently disengaged his thrusting cock from her soft, bruised mouth.
She looked at him, beside herself with emptiness. "Please," she crooned, reaching for him again.
He shook his head. "No," he said, his voice thick with his own excitement. "Not like that . . . not this time. I want to fuck you."
Her eyes went wide. "Oh yes," she moaned. "Oh yes, darling. I want you to fuck me."
She rolled over onto her back.
Then he was between her legs, snorting like a stallion. She felt the immense length and thickness of his probing dick, and she thought she would faint from the thrill of her anticipation. She wanted it in her-wanted it all the way up in her body, wanted to surround it with her pliant, womanly flesh, to never let it go. She reached down between them and took the meaty organ in her palm. Then she closed her fingers around it and guided its hard, blunt knob up to the lips of her oozing, sticky pussy. She looked into his eyes, savoring the fever that she saw there. His mouth was shiny with juices. She kissed him, driving her tongue down his throat.
Then he pushed his hips forward, imbedding his iron tusk in her clinging vagina. The breath left her body in a soft groan of fulfillment, and she spread her legs wider, fighting against the pain of his intrusion. It hurt-he was big, far bigger than any of the others. But the pain was different-it was agonizingly. delicious. She wanted him to hurt her, to split her in two with his gigantic telephone pole.
"Harder," she gasped. "Do it harder."
He jammed his pipe all the way up into her oozing socket, and both of them moaned with the feel of it. She braced her heels on the mattress and pushed back. It was so good, Jesus, it was so divinely good.
He began to pump his hot piston in and out of her gooey hole with short, quick strokes that took her breath away. She bit her lip and tossed her head from side to side on the bed. Then, as she stretched to accommodate him, the pain eased and was replaced by a fierce, gnawing heat that threatened to consume her.
She humped her slender body up at him, matching his rhythm, stroke-for-stroke. They fit together like a precise, well-oiled machine-each trying to draw the utmost in pleasure out of the other. Cheryl rolled her belly in a circular movement against his hard body. He groaned and bit into the satin slope of her nude shoulder.
She raked her fingernails down his back and he snorted like a bull and humped her furiously. The bedsprings were creaking and groaning as if the bed was about to collapse.
Then he slowed up, teasing her by withholding himself-leaving the blunt nose of his cock poised at the sticky entrance to her hotly aching vagina.
She wailed in frustration and kept slapping her sleek belly against him, but he braced himself on his arms, looked down at her and grinned.
"PLEASE," she moaned. "DO IT TO ME . . . FUCK ME OR I'LL DIE."
He slipped out of her and took her firmly by the hips. Then he rolled her over onto her belly.
"Bring your knees up under your shoulders," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm going to fuck you from behind."
The idea thrilled her beyond belief. She slithered her knees up and stuck her curvy little ass out at him like a bitch in heat.
"YES, DARLING," she whimpered. "OH, YES, YES, YES . . . I WANT IT NOW . . . I WANT IT IN ME."
She reached back between her tawny legs and grabbed his pecker frantically, guiding it to the lips of her exposed cunt. Then he entered her-easily this time-and she cried out and shimmied her firm ass back against him.
He leaned forward, snaked his arm under her and grabbed her bobbing melons, catching the hard brown nipples between his fingers and twisting them lightly. She shook and shivered as she rolled her bottom against him. She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, then he was sucking on her shoulder, biting her like a wild animal while he fucked his long white dick furiously in and out of her gooey snatch.
She cried out and bit into the pillow. It was wonderful like this. She felt possessed completely, overwhelmed by the strong urgency of his male need-by the power of his muscular body.
He was through playing games. He was jabbing his body against hers hard and fast. There was a slapping sound each time his loins connected with the silky, ripe flesh of her tawny ass. She moved her butt around and around like a pin-wheel. She reached back between her legs and cupped his balls in her warm palms, rolling them around and around like marbles. They were so heavy and hot, and the skin of his scrotum felt so funny and wrinkled.
Everything was moving faster and faster. He was humping her with impossible speed and fury. She thought she would dissolve in the heat of his friction. She was crying now, approaching the brink of a blinding climax.
Then his pistoning penis was going crazy inside her, twitching wildly, spilling his warm milk into her spasming womb. She heard him make a sound that was halfway between a snort and a scream, and he squeezed her breasts so hard that they felt like they were going to burst.
She gave herself to the delirium of her own climax gratefully.
She felt herself carried away on unbelievably deep and bone melting waves of scalding ecstasy. She had never dreamed that it could be so beautiful. She came so hard she cried, and it seemed to last forever.
Somehow, in the middle of the night, she found herself half on top of David. She reached down and felt his prick. It was hard as iron. She pulled herself astride him and rode him for a long time until they came together, shaking and sobbing.
Then, at dawn, she felt his weight again against her. She rolled over onto her belly, and he fucked her in the ass, while she whimpered and shook beneath him.
"We can't just do this all the time!" she said, as they were drinking coffee in the morning.
"Why not?" he quipped, grinning lewdly.
She smiled. "We won't live very long. We'll just waste away to nothing."
"What a way to go."
"I've got an idea," she said, after a few minutes.
He arched his eyebrows quizzically.
"Let's take a shower together."
He grinned and pushed back his chair. They were both still naked. Outside the rain was coming down gently.
When they were together under the stinging needle spray of the shower, she began to soap his body.
He leaned back blissfully against the tiles of the shower stall while she smeared the bar of soap all over his chest and belly.
As her hand dipped lower, his penis began to swell, like a little animal waking up.
She giggled and dipped down to slide the bar of soap around against his thick legs, never touching his cock.
"What's this?" she giggled. "What have we here?"
He sighed and spread his legs a little. "I can't help it," he said. "My body is in love with your body."
She sighed and slipped down to her knees, letting the hot water fall across the nape of her neck. Then she soaped his hardening dick with her slim fingers until it was standing straight up.
"All right, enough of that," he murmured thickly. "If you keep that up, I'm going to cum all over your pretty face."
She giggled. "That would be nice," she said, but she let him draw her to her feet.
Now it was his turn. He soaped her smooth brown body until she was slippery and glistening all over. Then he pushed two soapy fingers up into her cunt and wiggled them around, making her sigh and spread her legs.
"We're crazy," she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his warmly. "You know that, don't you?"
"I know," he muttered, nosing his blunt, soapy tool up between her legs. "I know, and I love being crazy with you."
"Oh, David," she groaned as he slipped his cock into her body.
She leaned back against the tiles and let her hips move around and around as he fucked her long and slow under the scalding spray.
When they finally came, it was a deep mellow wave that seemed to fuse their writhing bodies together.
They were still standing, locked together, limp and breathing hard when the hot water ran out. The water was suddenly icy. They yelled and scrambled out of the shower.
When they had toweled each other off lovingly, they fell asleep together.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The doorbell sounded.
Cheryl sat up. David stirred sleepily beside her. She blinked and shook him gently. "Somebody's here," she said.
"Leave me alone," he muttered thickly. "I want to sleep."
The buzzer sounded again, a sharp, penetrating sound. Cheryl scampered up and rummaged around the closet for something to throw over her body. She finally found one of David's robes-an oversized terry cloth one. She slipped it on and went to the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," was the reply.
"Who's me?"
"Me, Annie, let me in."
Cheryl unbolted the door.
Annie was beautiful in a green satin dress.
"Where are you going dressed like that?" Cheryl asked.
"You're going too," Annie said. "You and David, both. We're all going out for a night on the town."
"What's the special event?"
Annie suddenly looked coy. "The special event," she said, "is that I have a new boyfriend."
Cheryl looked around, then scratched her head. "He is special," she said. "He isn't even visible."
"He couldn't come up," Annie said. "He's the shy type. But he's going to wait downstairs in the car until I bring both of you down. He said to tell you he's not taking no for an answer."
"Who's answering no?" Cheryl asked. "I could eat a horse. I . . . we haven't eaten since last night. But why won't he come up ? "
"I told you," insisted Annie. "He's the shy type. He's a strange one . . . but I think you'll like him."
Cheryl studied her friend. Annie was certainly acting strange herself. Cheryl had never seen her dressed so immaculately-so tastefully.
David was harder to convince. It seemed that all he wanted was to be left alone to sleep.
Finally, however, with the help of a glass of cold water over his bare chest, he was awakened and convinced.
Finally they were dressed.
All the way down the stairs, Annie seemed to trip over her own feet with excitement. Finally they were on the sidewalk. There was only one car on the block-a silver Mercedes.
Cheryl felt a sudden sinking sensation-it was just like Frank's car. It was Frank's car-she would never forget it.
She balked, but Annie took her hand and drew her forward.
A man turned from the steering wheel and smiled at her.
It was Bobby.
"How do you like my new car?" he said. "I got it cheap."
