It is with a great deal of pride that the publishers offer The Hungry Debutante to the reading public, a literary achievement that has been described by advance reviews as "the most important commentary on the ever-changing class war since Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities."
The Hungry Debutante author Cory Randolph, widely read San Francisco society columnist, drew from his first-hand experiences from many years of covering the fables and foibles of the so-called upper crust. Without taking a biased editorial view on the seldom talked-about caste system that exists in the United States, Mr. Randolph skillfully and with subtlety demonstrates vividly what F. Scott Fitzgerald first touched on in his acclaimed novel The Great Gatsby when he wrote, "The rich are very different than you and me."
The Hungry Debutante will make many readers wonder if the privileged members of American society consciously perpetrate a serf system in which the lesser fortunates toil as virtual slaves to unfeeling masters.
When agreeing that this indeed is the case, the reader readily will understand how the events drawn by the author, a symbolic uprising of the oppressed against the offspring of their oppressors, should naturally come to pass.
Author Randolph, replying to critics who have accused him of being unfair for singling out two beautiful young rich girls and making them the targets for the pent-up hatreds and frustrations of the men who serve them, argues that in every war it is the helpless and innocent non-combatants who suffer the harshest treatment.
It is the skillfully drawn Grayson who best illustrates the underdog forces in the never-ending conflict between the haves and have-nots. Employed as a maintenance man at the country club, Grayson has the ideal platform from which to view the milieu of the privileged. He resents the fact that while all men are created equal, the rich are created a little more so. Being a functionary in the pleasure dome of the wealthy, Grayson is unable to deliver the decisive frontal blow to The Establishment; instead he must conduct a guerrilla attack, singling out a token representative from the foe's fortress.
The unfortunate victim is Kathy Carlson, beautiful and virtuous daughter of a prominent professional man. It is hardly a fair contest, but there are no Geneva Convention articles that govern the timeless battle to erase social barriers.
From his years of deprivation and servitude to others, Grayson has developed an animal cunning that has enabled him to survive-with his burning hatred intact. This fundamental instinct, keeping the species alive, has often made Grayson a companion to humiliation and degradation, and it is from cruel lessons in his own experience that he is able to mete out mental anguish to Kathy with methodical precision.
As Grayson represents one level of status, the opposite layer is personified in two persons: Jean, Kathy's best friend, and Craig, Kathy's fiance. With a delicate handling of nuance, author Randolph employs dialogue of revealment and flashback scenes that make the "beautiful people"-as chroniclers of the Jet Set have felt free to not altogether accurately categorize the rich and youthful -come to life on the pages. It may be somewhat shocking for readers to learn that the rich are not free of pettiness, base motives and the other malaises we are prepared to concede to persons who already have more than their share, greed. Nor does this caste that Jean and Craig represent lack in the passions of the flesh, but these two characters are shown to practice their sexual prerogatives with twisted savagery born of prior emotional experiences, Jean with an unwanted fetus in her womb and Craig with his haunting memory of a "woman of the streets."
We commend this valuable human study to the readers. It is a novel of social importance that you will feel compelled to refer to time and time again as some of the social conditions capsuled in these pages begin to take on global implications.
-The Publishers
January 1971, EL CAMINO
If it was for sale, you could buy it in El Ca-mi-no. Anything. Five hundred shares of General Motors, live lobster fresh from the Maine seacoast, shoes hand-stitched in Italy.
All this and more were available, quickly, though the nearest stockbroker's office, seafood distributor and custom bootery were forty miles south in San Francisco. You simply said, "I'm calling from El Camino," and the people at the other end of the line busted their asses to satisfy. They knew that anyone with an El Camino address had it made. Services follow wealth the way a hound trails the bitch in heat, with his nose in it.
The luxurious life of rural seclusion in El Camino was enjoyed by an elite corps of seven hundred, who retained an almost equal number of servants and owned half as many horses.
But their money, all the millions in real estate, securities and numbered Swiss bank accounts, did not intimidate the elements.
There was no one they could pay to influence the sudden fierce streams of air, whipped up by bellows from somewhere far out in the Pacific, that nourished and angered the ocean breakers until they threatened to impale the small sailing craft on the treacherous underwater reefs or smash them against the jagged rocks that lay offshore. The helpless helmsman could only shake his fist at the sky and strongly steer a course for protected calm water, to wait. Wait and watch as the waves pounded harshly at the sandy stretch of private beach that leveled off from awesome steep cliffs topped by wind-misshapen trees. The cliffs served as the rock solid foundation for the estates of El Camino, surrounded by gently rolling greenery that contrasted sharply with the unpredictable foamy turquoise Pacific below.
When fog appeared, life in El Camino held its breath. The lush hills submitted to suffocation in the damp dense clouds without a protest. Nothing moved save the pleasure horses, snorting fearfully and nervously pacing and pawing in their stables. The women dialed the plush Bay Area offices of their commuter husbands and advised them to spend the night in town, wondering if they had something stashed away on the side for times such as this.
Nature, more often than not, smiled benignly on El Camino. Understandably so, or the favored ones would have chosen to live elsewhere.
If any one thing tangibly symbolized the genteel lifestyle of El Camino, it was the Seaview Country Club, a low rambling monument to wealth designed by the best California architect money could buy and constructed of native stone and mortar.
It was nestled in a protected valley like an impregnable medieval castle-fortress, an appearance that had been the stated desire of the syndicate of landowners that financed it. They wanted an imposing structure, one that said, "Stay away, riffraff, until you've made it like us." The master planners, every single one of them quick to contribute generously to humanitarian causes from their temples of commerce in the city-providing they could write it off-exhibited a more basic nature in El Camino. Here they were country squires, ruling lords of households and of the castle they had paid to see erected, and no threat to their ex-halted social station could be tolerated. They were entitled by the fortunes they had inherited or amassed to expect finery and to demand obsequious conduct from all those beneath them.
The serfs who tended their country club, with its golf course, tennis courts, swimming pool, bowling lanes, polo field, bars and dining rooms, were faceless replaceable cogs in a machine built solely for their regal leisure, mere bootblacks undeserving of notice, with no bodies or passions, no thoughts save how better to serve their masters: stupid inferior peasants they, these lackeys who fed on crumbs from the floor at the castle-fortress.
Chapter I
They were two hours out of San Francisco Harbor, slowly steaming south, when all hell broke loose in the wheelhouse. There was no threat from an enemy mine, or an ugly deadly torpedo from nowhere surfacing near the stern of the luxury cruiser of Italian registry. War was thousands of miles from this part of the Pacific, where the craggy California coastline was visible in the distance on a perfect bright warm day.
The captain, a ruggedly handsome Italian of forty-five, did not feel compelled to bark sharp commands to his subordinates. Instead he calmly lit a panatella and elbowed himself a place among his international officers and crew members who were pressed against the wall of glass overlooking the bow deck.
"Blimey, them's the sweetest pieces o' cake these eyes has seen this side o' Liverpool," said the valet assigned to the captain.
"Nein, Englander, not since Frankfort," corrected the man at the wheel, a well-built Teuton with closely cropped fair hair, his eyes lured away from the broad expanse of ocean highway by the sight below.
The captain lifted his binoculars. He had not seen the young women board in San Francisco. There had been hundreds of people marching up the gangplank to the ship, true, but it must have been a consuming distraction that caused him to miss their arrival.
The girls, epitomizing the beauty and wholesomeness the captain had grown to appreciate in American women, were taking off their short beach robes and stretching out on deck chairs to sunbathe. Why they had chosen a spot facing the wheelhouse, instead of the aft section with its fresh water swimming pool favored by the majority of guests, was a mystery to the man.
Both were wearing bikinis made of even less material than he had seen on the women at Riviera beaches. The darkly tanned blonde girl had chosen a brightly hued Hawaiian print. She unlaced the shoulder strings to prevent them from interfering with the work of the sun on her gently rounded shoulders. A light tug on the line dangling at her side would spring out one of the broad full white breasts battling for freedom with each breath she took. She pulled mirror-lensed sunglasses from the robe pocket and challenged the bright sun with her protected eyes, her chair adjusted to a half reclining position. She raised one knee slightly, revealing the soft golden hair of her inner thigh.
The captain turned his glasses on her companion. Her chair had been unlocked to the full flat length and the dark-haired girl lay on her belly surrendering her back to the rays of the sun. Her feet were spread wide with the toes squeezed between the mattress and aluminum frame of the lounge. The captain moved the powerful binoculars up her well-turned calves, over the firm inviting thighs, to a spot on her rounded buttocks where the black satiny bikini panties had slipped into the crevice. While he watched, the thumbs of her limp upturned hands slipped into the back of the tight elastic leg bands and tautly stretched the material gradually working into the crack, her pelvis imperceptibly undulating into the lounge as if the inanimate object had sprouted a prick for her to secretly admit through the fleshy lips of her cunt.
"Burton," the captain spoke softly, "please extend my compliments to the young ladies and ask when I may have the pleasure of their company for dinner at my table."
"The pleasure of their what, sir?" the valet said straightfaced.
Others in the crew who had served years with the captain laughed outright.
"Use your own discretion in the phrasing, my good man," the captain grinned, not taking the glasses from his eyes. "However, I don't believe 'the pleasure of your pussies' is advisable."
"Aye aye, sir," the little Englishman saluted smartly. "Your valet and chief pimp will carry out 'is orders."
He left and the wheelhouse rocked with lewd laughter.
Kathy raised a hand and combed back the long blonde hair hanging freely over an ear. She tilted her body to one side and reached underneath a hip, squeezing gently, relieved that while a dull ache persisted in answering her questioning touch, at least the ugly red welts on her thighs and buttocks had disappeared.
She wondered if the wounds that had been inflicted on her in the last weeks, the ones no eye could see, would heal and vanish as magically. Her friend, Jean, on the verge of an innocent sleep on the lounge next to her, looked no worse for wear.
Jean, in fact, readily admitted that she was ready for new adventures. Jean's voracious appetite was only whetted when others would be satiated, Kathy thought. A slight smile tugged at her lips. How much we have in common.
Kathy began to consider the first of a whole series of questions she hoped to answer for herself during the cruise to Mexico.
Had she been born the way she felt now, or was it something that had sparked within her at the age of ten and then smouldered, to be fanned into a roaring furnace by the unexpected events of recent days?
"Folks, now we're going to musically bridge the generation gap."
The leader of the combo winked maliciously at the well-dressed crowd milling on the dance floor and then the room exploded with the throbbing beat of a hard rock number, heavy on drums, electric organ and amplified guitar.
Parents and older guests at the Welcome Home Ball at the Seaview Country Club in El Camino beat a hasty retreat to the tables ringing the floor to get a better idea of what the thousands spent for tuition and room and board had produced in their offspring, home from their colleges for the summer recess.
Simon B. Carlson, the prominent San Francisco attorney, watched amused as his blonde only child, Kathy, writhed in faultless tempo to the deafening din. Her fiance, Craig Nichols, responded from a distance, his arms flailing the air like palsied pistons. Simon grinned across the small cocktail table at his escort, Kay Randall, a Bay Area fashion designer weekending at his home.
"Doesn't this kind of ritual usually end up with a virgin being offered to the flames?"
"Be prepared to sacrifice your daughter, lover," Kay replied. "Kathy probably is the only girl on the floor with her maidenhead intact."
He signalled a cocktail waitress to bring more drinks. Simon edged closer to Kay.
"It's a mystery," Simon sighed, lighting a cigarette and handing it to Kay, then lighting one for himself. "Three years away at college and I'm willing to bet a thousand bucks she's still cherry. It scares me a little. I think she's afraid to let herself go because her mother was such a slut."
"You mean she fears being a latent nymphomaniac?"
"Could be," Simon said, his mood suddenly brightening. "Did I ever tell you how I unhinged the judge at my divorce hearing? I described my ex as a 'porcupine in reverse.' Judge Fletcher is a pious old fart and he says, 'Please explain yourself, Mr. Carlson.' Then I let him have it. 'Your honor, my wife's got more pricks going in than she has coming out.' He nearly swallowed his upper plate."
Kay leaned her elbows on the table and slowly exhaled smoke in his face through her circled full lips.
"How are we going to behave later with Miss Goodie-Two-Shoes traipsing around the corridors with her milk and cookies?"
"You're a morally bankrupt old broad, aren't you?" Simon teased.
Kay fished under the table and gripped his knee, her hand tantalizingly sliding up the inside of his thigh and coming to rest against the tip of his prick. He felt the involuntary stiffening.
"One is as old as one feels. How do I feel, Simon?"
Simon first met Kay, almost by accident, as he was leaving his office one afternoon for lunch. He overheard the argument she was having with his young probate clerk and stopped by the door to listen and learn if the longhaired hotshot from UCLA was driving away another client. Her husband, a wealthy building contractor, had been killed several months before in a hunting accident and Kay was planning to cash in some stock. The goddamn kid, who read the underground press instead of the Wall Street Journal, was giving her advice that would cost her a bundle. Simon had intervened and wound up taking her to lunch. Afterwards he invited her to his townhouse where, to his delight, he found out that Kay loved to blow and had been starving for cock since the funeral. Their relationship had blossomed.
Kay made Simon feel like a young stud again. She sucked him until the sperm gushed from his cock faster than she could swallow it and flowed back down the length of his prick into the tight tangle of hair at the stump. After a brief rest, her talented and teasing tongue could rejuvenate his worn-out pecker into the driving tool he used to fuck her to the edge of madness. The second climax took much longer for Simon, and Kay would cum once, twice, sometimes even three times, screaming and thrashing on the rumpled bed in blissful agony at each mounting pleasure peak, until his testicles heaved and pressured out their freshly produced contents into the damp and dark depths of her twisting cunt.
Kay had a crooked smirk she could use to inflame Simon with guaranteed results. When he saw her lips curl in that telltale manner, a bell in his head sounded the news that Kay was drooling to taste his prick, to lick away the dewdrops that already would be formed in anticipation of her hot mouth sliding down the full length of his cock until it was fully enveloped in the moist cavern. While her tongue tried to force its way into the pee hole, or her lips tightened and drew the flesh of his blood-filled member in with the pressure of the backstroke, she would at the same time perform marvelous feats with her hands. Simon turned into putty as Kay's inhaling throat and probing tongue worked a corkscrew motion one way and her hand turned half circles around the stump of his prick in the opposite direction. Meanwhile the other hand kneaded his balls until the inquisitive fingers began to dance little designs in the soft hairs up the inside of his inner buttocks. Reaching the rubbery ring of his anus, the fingers would hesitate as if wondering what to do next. The fingers would withdraw momentarily, until one had been wetted in the flowing inkwell of Kay's pussy, and then returned. The underside of the dampened digit would lazily sketch circles around the ring of the asshole and then come to rest with the mound of the finger intruding into the rectum.
The twisting of the base of his cock by the one hand, the lips pulling and skipping along the wet length of his prick during the backstroke, and the other finger gently massaging and probing the outer edges of his asshole made Simon buck and snort like a rodeo bronc until that instant when his loins exploded into her mouth, spraying his seed like molten lava through the passage of her throat, where later it would be joined by the hot jizz he pumped into her womb.
Kay gently nudged Simon's semi-erect prick and then demurely removed her hand from his thigh as the waitress arrived with the drinks. Kay gave Simon that giveaway smirk, changing it into a decorous, Orphan-Annie-eyed, schoolgirl smile. He threw her a mock mean glare, telling her without words just what she wanted to know: "Just wait until I get at your furry little pussy, you prick-teasing bitch." Kay was certain Simon would fuck her tonight even if he had to scale the ivy-covered trellis under her bedroom window.
Youthful dancers were sardined on the floor as the sound of their generation continued to assault the eardrums and nerve ends of the elders. Most of the onlookers had given up their attempts at conversation to nurse their drinks and hold their breaths for a blessed break of silence, to be followed, they hoped, by the more recognizable melodies of musical standards from the World War II era.
Craig edited his dancing motions to a minimum, finding it much more enjoyable to keep his eyes on Kathy and see how she reacted to the savage music with utter abandon. She was an inspired dancer and replied to each suggestion of the rhythms with creative innovations all her own.
Her eyes were clenched and her luscious inviting lips were drawn back over the perfectly formed bright white teeth. She lashed her head from side to side and the long yellow-gold hair flogged violently at her shoulders and breasts. Her arms and hands drew surrealistic canvases in the air, and her hips and thighs struck out at wild angles, returning in place to gyrate sensuously.
Others on the floor had stopped dancing, many of the young men mopping perspiration from their brows as they feasted on Kathy's frenzied body, being burned from inside by the demons who possessed her, and her face, locked in an unfluctuating strained expression as though she were in a hypnotic trance.
Craig barely breathed as he saw Kathy's plump firm breasts fighting the confines of the bra, the harness that blocked her body from total freedom of movement. A deep tingling in his balls made him feel weak at the knees. Her mini-length cocktail dress was working up her tanned thighs. He thought, for a flash, that he saw the crotch of her panty hose. He pictured her on her back, naked, performing the same wild motions. Oh, sweet Jesus, he thought, it's as if she has a gigantic burning cock stuffed so deep and painfully in her belly that she's fighting for her very life to shake it out.
Kathy had grown more beautiful, if that was possible, in the year they had been apart, she finishing her junior year at Mills College up the coast in Oregon, while Craig completed the second year of law school across the continent at Harvard.
The guys in the fraternity house blew a lot of smoke up his ass about his girl humping every lumberjack in the Great Northwest while they were separated by the entire width of the United States. He took it in stride, good-naturedly, and turned the same line of jazz on the others at every opportunity. Once he found a terrific photo in one of those magazines from Sweden. The girl, a big-titted redhead with dimples in her cheeks, was an absolute lookalike for the steady of the jock from Tennessee who lived across the hall. Craig's roommate forged the inscription and the signature on the picture to perfectly match the writing on the portrait the student from Nashville kept on his dresser. Then they bought a gold frame for the magazine photo and shipped it to a mail forwarding house in Tennessee. The whole second floor of the fraternity house gathered around when the bundle marked Fragile, addressed in a feminine hand and postmarked Nashville, was unwrapped. The shit really hit the fan. The girl in the picture was being fucked dog-style by a giant black and the inscription read, "Dearest Powell: Until you learn to ball as good as he does, don't bug me." The slow Southerner had been completely taken in by the prank. He skipped a football game and hopped a plane home that very weekend to straighten things out. Craig would have liked to have seen that.
Small beads of perspiration had appeared on Kathy's upper lip. All eyes in the big dining room were focused on her and she didn't even know it. Craig imagined the churning of her pelvis working up dripping candied juices to line the walls of her cunt, a thick layer of wetness that would enable him to sink in his entire prick in one neat smooth thrust.
He had never eaten pussy before, only seen it being done in the pictures in the Swedish magazine, but he wouldn't hesitate to drive his sweets-seeking tongue to the roots inside Kathy's sugared snatch. He wanted to cannibalize her. He wished he could marinate the length of her body with his tongue, starting with her pink little toe. He longed to taste every crack and crevice of her frame, to propel his starving tongue over every hill and mound, to work his mouth on her sensitive parts until Kathy cried aloud for him to heighten the intensity of her pleasure by parting the lips of her soaking sweet vagina with his prick, driving through the membrane that attested to her virginity and plunging into the untouched region of her womb until his balls smacked hard against her upthrust little asshole.
Craig was positive he would be the only man ever to know Kathy's body so thoroughly, inside and out. But when? Her innocence, which made her so maddeningly desirable, formed the cornerstone of the pedestal upon which he viewed her. That very innocence was also his own worst enemy. She was firmly and unalterably opposed to premarital relations. Perhaps this explained why he could endure the bawdy fraternity house joshing in good spirits. If he had any reason to doubt, Craig would have gone out of his mind worrying that she was putting out. Craig saw nothing wrong with being intimate with the girl you were pledged to marry. It probably was a good idea. An introduction, so to speak, to smooth out the wrinkles of fumbling inexperience to insure a healthy, wholesome and pleasurable sex life after marriage. Craig had a good business head on his shoulders. That was plain or Kathy's father wouldn't regard him so highly and hold out the vice presidency in the law firm. Even Kathy's old man wanted Craig to give her a bang; he'd hinted about it often enough, telling the young man, "It's okay if you knock her down now and then, just don't knock her up." Craig was convinced, even more so as the music ended and a laughing Kathy threw herself into his arms in exhaustion, that she would thank him in the future if he slipped her the meat tonight. Fucking her now, later to gradually instruct her in the finer techniques he shared with the prostitute at the fraternity Pig Night, made sense. It was a good investment. A good fucking investment, he smiled to himself.
"Whew, I'm beat," Kathy panted, drawing away from Craig as she felt a disturbing pressure against her stomach. Her eyes fixed on his faraway face and then dropped to the front of his pants. She thought she saw the bulge twitch. She felt her face redden and she looked around quickly to see if any others had noticed. Fortunately the lighting was dim and the other couples were too busy threading their way to the tables around the floor.
He's gotten himself that way again, Kathy thought, hoping it would go away fast before someone saw. He had brought it on to embarrass her, she believed, not understanding that she was the party responsible for the semi-hardon leaking on Craig's thigh and making him squirm.
"Let's get over to daddy's table so you can sit down," she said reproachfully.
Craig followed, his famished expression replaced by a sheepish grin. She raised pricks all over the house, Craig shook his head, and doesn't understand how or why.
The young couple joined Simon and Kay. Carlson, moving his chair forward to let them pass, upset his drink and the glass rolled to the floor and shattered. He motioned to the waitress.
"Tell the janitor to mop up the mess."
Grayson, the country club maintenance man, appeared promptly with a broom and dustpan, and started to sweep up the glass. He worked double slowly beneath Kathy's chair, glancing longingly at the point in mid-thigh where her mini-dress ended. His eyes traced down her firm thighs to the smooth knees pressed together primly. Grayson wished she would uncross her ankles and part her young well-conditioned calves slightly so that when he stooped to pick up the glass he could sneak a glance up her skirt.
Kathy felt a strange chill and turned to look in the direction of Grayson. He had his head near her shoulder as he lazily looked for shards of glass on the floor. The man is staring at my legs, Kathy realized with a start, automatically tugging at the hem of her dress and feeling goose bumps rising on the insides of her thighs. Grayson detected the modest gesture and turned his face to hers, wearing a leering grin that disclosed stained chipped teeth.
"You'll have to move your dainty dancing toes, miss, so I can get my broom under there."
Kathy gripped the seat of her chain with both hands and pushed with her feet to slide back. Seeing her leg muscles tighten and her full breasts heave with the simple motion made Grayson's throat spasm and a cough escaped, a rheumy wheeze that brought phlegm up from deep in the lungs to his mouth. Grayson choked and his eyes watered. He pounded his chest with his palm. He couldn't control the coughs that crackled one after another from his pounding chest.
Through tear-filled eyes he saw the look of horror and disgust on Kathy's face as she shied her body away from him. Grayson clutched at his back pocket and produced a filthy handkerchief, pressing it to his lips. The coughing fit died and he spat the contents of his inflated cheeks into the rag.
"Christ, man, you better see a doctor. You shouldn't be allowed around food and drinks."
It was the voice of Kathy's father, Simon Carlson, a country club trustee. Grayson wished he had spewed the bloody mucus into his face, the wealthy unfeeling sonovabitch.
"Only a slight cold, Mr. Carlson. Too many cigarettes. Sure hope I don't pass it on to any of you folks."
The thought of picking up an infection from Grayson, or anyone like him, was repugnant to Kathy. His clothing was filthy and a size too large for him. There was a stale perspiration odor that combined with another pungent smell, possibly from something he used for cleaning the floors or toilets, that made it unbearable to be as near to him as she was now. His hands were raw red and chapped, the nails cracked and grimy. He had a whiskery stubble that was flecked with gray and grime. His breath, when he first spoke to her, was an assailing mixture of rotting impacted wisdom teeth and cheap wine.
Grayson stooped and stretched under the table, reaching for a last invisible fragment of glass. His head was level with Kathy's knee and she could see a reflection from the overhead chandelier on the baldness of his head. Kathy momentarily turned her attention to the table conversation, but when she looked back the custodian had turned his face and his eyes were brazenly searching the tunnel between her thighs formed by a small opening between her knees.
Kathy's mind raced, wondering what to do in near panic. She felt a wave of nausea flit through her intestines. She considered screaming, but she realized it would cause an awful scene that would crush her with embarrassment. Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes at the thought of the dirty man attempting to look into the very fountain of her womanhood and she feeling totally helpless to stop him. Through the misty film in her eyes she saw that his face was twisted with a look of unbridled lust... and he was licking his lips as if preparing to make a meal of her body.
Kathy trembled, wondering why her father and Craig kept up their silly debate on judicial reform when they should be able to see in her face that something was very, very wrong. She wanted to lean over and nudge Kay, to alert her with a look another woman immediately would recognize, a terrified face to convey Kathy's great distress. But Kay seemed absorbed in the conversation, hanging on the every word of her father.
A hand settled on Kathy's shoulder and brought her up out of the chair with a stifled scream of alarm and a shudder.
"My God, Kathy, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a corpse."
It was Jean, Kathy's best friend and nearest neighbor. She felt like embracing her for freeing her from the predicament in which she had been helplessly trapped. She hung on Jean's arm and followed her away from the table.
"Am I glad to see you," Kathy said, trying to get a firm grip on her runaway emotions. "You have no idea what I've been through."
"What the hell are you talking about?
"That man," Kathy said, indicating the custodian at the table with a sharp nod of the head, "was staring up my dress. It was awful."
Jean's hand flew to her mouth to stifle the laughter.
"God, Kathy you're such a lamb. Why didn't you pop open your legs and wink at him. The poor old fellow would have had a seizure."
Jean's easy dismissal of her dilemma made Kathy's face color. She felt like a silly goose again. Jean was much more mature in worldly matters, language and conduct, although only a year older than Kathy. She depended on Jean's good judgment in coping with many of her personal problems.
Kathy now felt guilty for being stupidly unfair to the poor sick janitor. The sight of the living instrument in Craig's pants had set her mind to creating sexually oriented fantasies that had no basis in fact. The stooped fellow nearly had strangled during his coughing spell and the fact that he moistened his lips while appearing to be looking up her thighs merely could have been a coincidence. Yes, that had to be the case, Kathy decided, knowing the maintenance man never would make open advances to her.
"I'm sorry, Jean. I'm such a dummy sometimes. I must have worn myself out dancing."
"You wore out the eyes of most of the men in the room too," Jean said. "But look, sweetie, I have something important to discuss with you. Can't talk now. Can you make it for tennis tomorrow at one?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Won't you give me a hint? You know how I hate surprises."
Jean frowned, thinking. She put her head close to Kathy.
"Big problems spring from little seeds," she whispered. "Mull that awhile." Jean turned away.
Perplexed by the riddle, Kathy slowly returned to the table. The man straightened up with the last of the glass in the dustpan. He flashed a yellow-tooth smile at Kathy. It must not have been the awful leer she had first suspected, but the only way the poor ugly man can manage to grin, Kathy thought. Feeling awful for allowing her imagination to run amuck, Kathy graciously returned his smile.
"Hey, whatever your name is, get a mop under here before somebody slips and breaks their neck."
"Right away, Mr. Carlson. Yes sir, I'll be right back with the mop in a flash," the maintenance man said, bowing over and over in humble servility as he backed away from the table.
"Daddy!" Kathy protested when Grayson was out of hearing range, "You shouldn't talk that way to the help. You're never that harsh with the servants at home."
"That Grayson, now I remember his name... he's a regular deadass," her father said. "I've been meaning to have the club manager can him. He's keeping house in the boiler room and lays around down there most of the day with his pictures of naked women."
Kay stretched in the chair, arching her back like a feline caged too long without exercise.
"Those who can't... look," Kay drawled sensuously.
Her tone of voice did not go unnoticed by Simon.
"Look, you kids, it's time for us old folks to head back to the house and hearth." Simon faced Craig, raising his brow to be sure of having his full attention. "Be sure to buy Kathy an ice cream soda before bringing her home." Simon and Kay turned to leave.
"My stomach feels pretty empty. I bet I've danced away five hundred calories," Kathy said.
Craig, with her father's blessing clearly implied, was thinking of his own way to fill Kathy's belly.
So was Grayson.
The maintenance man slammed the door to the mop closet and gave it a vicious kick. He squeezed the handle of the mop until he thought it would splinter in his grasp. He thought of better ways of breaking it, either across the bridge of the nose of Simon Carlson, who treated him like so much cow dung beneath his expensive custom boots, or up the snatch of his full-titted rich bitch daughter after he first split her pampered pussy with his own hard-driving cock.
Grayson hated privileged people, unfeeling assholes who believed they were justified in spitting and shitting on others because of money that was handed them or they stole outright in sinister ways called legitimate. He despised them with each degree of fury he could muster, and he schemed with all the deviousness at his command to get even with them.
He knew for a fact that the women of the rich were dirty fucking pigs, because he had unplugged the plumbing packed with their bloody menstrual rags. And he was sure the men were no better than he, once parted of their money. He had watched them in the locker room after their golf games, preening, boasting about women they had made to one another and announcing the name of the new conquest-to-be. They were able to afford fancy meals and drinks in expensive restaurants, and then screw the shit out of their mistresses on satin sheets in costly hotel suites. The moneyed cock-suckers would notice him listening and shoot him a knowing grin, as if they thought Grayson himself often had the opportunity to dance with cultured cunts in exclusive bistros, dine on champagne and the finest cuts of meat, and then to sink his prick into the warm wet fleshy snatch of a broad whose earrings alone cost more than he earned in a year.
The truth was that Grayson's last piece came from the obese black slut who scrubbed windows at the country club until she was fired for stealing half-empty bottles from the bar. That was two months ago. He fed her wine until she was blubbery. When the goddamn nigger lush finally got around to removing her soiled panties and spreading her legs. Grayson had been repulsed by the layers of lard between her thighs. His cock met no resistance when he plugged in, and he discovered that her snatch was such a yawning wide-stretched cavern that there was no friction to trigger the blast from his swelling nuts. He felt that he could have driven in the flagpole at the front gate of the country club and she wouldn't have known the difference. Grayson humped over her for what seemed like ages, the tightly curled steelwoolish triangle above her vast vagina cutting into the tender flesh beneath his navel like the needle of a tattoo artist, until he collapsed in worn-out defeat on her fat belly and massive breasts. If he had the strength, he would have rolled her over and tried his prick up her asshole, where there might have been a better chance for success.
"You needin' some 'sistance, white baby?" the barrel-assed wench taunted him.
With that she had ringed his cock with her short fat thumb and forefinger and twisted her hand clockwise and counter-clockwise, hand masturbating him and seesawing her cunt at the same time so that the plum-sized clitoris rubbed rawly against the head of his unsheathed cock. Almost in spite of himself, Grayson's balls grew tight and he unleashed a few unenthusiastic spurts of cum into her bulging black belly to float in the sea of muscatel. She fell asleep while he was cumming and he held a lighted match to the tip of the thick slab of meat she called a breast to waken her long enough for him to boot her waddling black ass out the door. The next day he stole the liquor from the bar and fixed it with Barker, the bartender, so that she took the rap.
Grayson had stored it since then, what did not evaporate from his frequent nocturnal emissions, and now he was certain why. He was going to pump it into the mink-lined tight cunt of Simon Carlson's gorgeous daughter. He would spurt and flow until the cum ran out of her pretty little ears. Rich pussy was the same as poor pussy, only better. It would have a richer taste and scent. Her clitoris would smell like gardenias and the juices of her twat would resemble mulled wine. Once his prick was buried in her cunt, she would beg and cry for more. Her hips would ratchet the soft teeth of her pussy until his tool was pulled in firm and fast within the fleshy folds of her tightening vaginal walls. Then Grayson would bide his time, torturing her with his deliberate slowness, nibbling at the raised pink tips of her unlined breasts, stretching his tongue into the depths of her throat until the tip found her tonsils, sliding his hand into the crack of her ass and tantalizing her with tickling fingers that circled until the tight asshole pounded against them screaming to be plundered. She would cum over and over again, whispering impassioned entreaties for him to deliver the torrent of burning sperm into her belly. But Grayson would be running a tight ship, controlling the impulse of his balls to rocket their creamy ammunition into the womb of the enemy. He would pace himself and fuck her until the walls of her cunt no longer produced the natural lubricant. Then he would make her spread petroleum jelly on his relentless prick so that he could fuck her some more.
Grayson dreamed of fucking Kathy Carlson to the point that afterwards she would require a motorized wheelchair to get around. He would bang her until she passed out. He would grab her ankles and force them high over her head, splitting her snatch with the message that her father and all of her rich friends were no better than he. They put their pants on one leg at a time, the way he did. Kathy would learn from him that the rich don't make love as rawly or as well as the poor. And, with that lesson fucked into her, she would be back begging for more.
When Grayson returned to the table with the mop the Carlson party was gone.
Chapter Ii
Craig piloted the little roadster expertly, dogging the water as it backed up to form a new breaker and then turning sharply and gearing down, causing the rear wheels to spin and slap until they bit into the wet sand and propelled the little convertible back toward shore just ahead of the new wave that would wash away the tracks. The powerful engine and Kathy's laughter were the only sounds to pierce the silence hanging over the deserted beach.
It was a warm and clear night, without a sign of fog or the trace of a breeze. The full moon played hide and seek behind the high drifting clouds, blinking on and off like a heavenly neon sign when a cloud passed under it. Had it not been for the dance at the country club, this was the kind of perfect evening that would have attracted the residents of El Camino en masse to their private beach. Fires would dot the shoreline and the steaks being grilled over the flames would compete with the smell of the sea air.
Playing tag with a rushing and retreating surf from Craig's car pushed from Kathy's mind the doubt she had felt when he veered from the highway and began the winding steep descent to the beach. Yes, it was a lovely night. And, yes, she would enjoy kicking off her shoes, the wet sand beneath her feet and the cool waters teasing her toes. But, contrary to their custom, Kathy had no prior role in making the decision. He simply had cornered sharply from the main highway and there they were, beach-bound. It was almost as if he had a secret plan for the balance of the evening. Once the car was heading down the narrow rocky road, Craig had asked the questions she could not answer honestly without sounding encouraging about the whole idea. What really bothered her was that while the incident with Grayson earlier that evening was a mistake due to her creative imagination, the bulge she saw in Craig's trousers at the dance was very real indeed. Worse, he knew she looked at it, making it a shared secret experience of the most intimate variety.
She was afraid of secrets. She worried when others wanted to confide in her, weighting her down with the burden of their trust. Kathy had only one of her own, one she had never revealed to anyone, not even Jean. In spite of her strenuous efforts to blot it forever from her mind's eye, it flared up time and time again, a cruel brushfire in her memory, when she was least able to drive it away. The scene from the past manifested itself in her brain while she slept. The defenses of her body fought to extinguish the flames by releasing cold perspiration through her pores until she snapped awake with a heart-stopping shock, soaking wet. The sound of her soft cries would fill the darkened room and the tears streamed from her eyes down the sides of her face until she convinced herself it was only the dream again.
Kathy dreamed of a little girl of ten playing quietly in the loft of a stable separated from the two horses below by a thin wooden flooring punctuated with knotholes. Her playhouse is an exciting place because, for her own safety, she has been forbidden to go near the large animals without the company of an adult. It is thrilling to disobey, particularly since the threat of punishment came from her father, an affectionate man who has never raised an unloving hand to her and who even had to work hard to appear strict and crabby when he issued the order.
The sound of shuffling feet and the welcoming snorts from the horses alert the little girl to the arrival of someone in the stable. Her body tenses with a fear of being discovered. Then there are voices, a man and a woman, the familiar voices of Jake, the handyman who has a gift for the horses, and her own mother.
The little blonde girl cannot resist the lure of a new game, one that carries with it a penalty if she is found out. She locates an apple-size flaw in the lumber floor and quietly crawls over to it, pressing her body flat on the rough unfinished grain with her eyes directly above the peephole. She has a full view of the stable floor and can hear without straining her ears.
Her mother, dressed in riding breeches, feeds an apple to her favorite, an Appaloosa mare named Candy. The hired man is standing strangely close to her mother, stroking the neck of the animal while she munches the apple and then nuzzles her mistress for another treat.
"That's enough for now. An expectant mother has to watch her diet. How long before she foals, Jake?"
"Another month or so. I made a note of the date we took her to stud if you want me to figure it down to the day."
Her mother lifts her face to the man.
"It must have been quite a sight."
"You ought to have a good idea, 141."
The girl is shocked. She has never heard the man address her mother with such familiarity before. Lil? No one calls her by that name. Even her father refers to her mother as Lillian. Jake slips his arm around her waist. The eyes of the little girl bulge in amazement.
"A horse has such a long thing. Does the stud actually get it all the way in?" the woman asks.
"Enough to do the job. Poor ol' Buck here would've liked the work if he'd been able."
Buck, the other riding horse, was a large gentle chestnut, given to the girl for Christmas.
"It's cruel to make them geldings. Does it really calm them down?"
"Uncut, that stallion would run wild all over the countryside whenever he smelled a filly. Wouldn't be much of a riding horse for your little girl."
Jake puts his hand in the back of the woman's riding breeches, sliding it from one side to the other, the knuckles showing through when he squeezes the flesh of her buttocks. The little girl's eyes fill with hot tears of protest.
"They should do that to you... to keep you from chasing the fillies."
Jake presses his other hand on the front of the riding pants and quickly lifts it up beneath her sweater to cup a breast.
"I don't go galloping after it. I just hang around and all the hot pussy I can handle comes right through that door, usually wearing khaki-colored riding trousers."
"You dirty fucking bastard. You heavy-hung Texas stud."
He kisses her hard and her mother's hand claws wildly at the front of the man's pants. The girl wants to cry out in pain. She had never heard her mother employ such awful language. She had never seen her in the arms of a man other than her father, accepting the stranger's hands on her private parts eagerly and returning his caresses with ones of her own. The woman's hand opens the front of the handyman's pants. She holds something.
The tears dry up at the source, the little girl overwhelmed by mounting curiosity. She had seen boy babies. She is aware that, different from her own body, there is a limp round tubular length of flesh between the legs of the male. But she has no idea it is anything like Jake's long thing being squeezed in her mother's hand.
The woman spins free from the hands prying into her clothing and faces the handyman. She unbuckles his belt and pulls Jake's pants and underwear down to his knees, stepping back to look.
"My, my, cowboy, you'd give Candy's studhorse a complex."
Jake looks down his shirtfront amused.
"That comes from pumping it when you're a growing boy."
The thin white flesh hangs down slack, the pointed end nearly level with the middle of his pale inner thighs. Behind it is a heavy-sagging wrinkled skin sack sprouting long black hairs.
"You don't have all your growth yet, country boy."
"That so, ma'am? You going to leave me with my ass flapping in the wind, or you aiming to do something more about it?"
"Oh, I aim to, all right, big fellow. Just make sure you aim when the time comes."
She reaches forward and lifts the length of flesh in her hand, gripping it from where it begins in his lower abdomen. More than half still is uncovered to the little girl's eyes. The other hand quickly envelops the remainder, and the pointed tip continues to elude the two-handed grasp. The woman looks down and intently tightens her fingers, and the penis begins to expand in her hands.
"God, each time I see you it's grown larger."
"In horse talk, Lil, you could say it's better'n two hands high."
The woman thrusts both hands forward and the little girl catches a fleeting glimpse of a shiny smooth-looking redness emerging from the pointed skin. It reminds her of the tubes of lipstick on her mother's vanity table and the way you can make the colored mounds appear and disappear with a turn of the fingers.
"Don't talk horse talk. Talk love talk," the woman says, her voice a harsh whisper.
One hand works the flesh forward and backward and the other reaches beneath to the wrinkled bag, first tugging it downward with a milking motion and then cupping it from underneath and gently circling upward, flattening the pouch and its contents high between his legs.
"You don't mean love talk, Mrs. Carlson. You want fuck talk. Why not admit it?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. You know I'm not afraid to say it now. I want you to fuck me... this minute. I want you to jam your huge Texas longhorn deep in my cunt, until your big balls beat against my asshole. I want you to make it hurt."
"My pleasure to serve you. If you'll just wet my cutting tool..."
The girl watches in bewilderment as her mother, pale and breathing hard, drops to her knees. Her hands clutch the man's bared hips and she begins to run her tongue over the erect pole growing from Jake's loins. The tiny pink tip of her tongue probes the pointed end as if it contains a secret something sweet to the taste. Then her tongue extends full length and bathes the instrument on our sides with long slow swipes.
The man's hands find her hair and hold her head rigid. He pushes the end of the hard blue-veined flesh against her lips.
"Open," he commands.
"No, I can't. It's too... aarghh!"
The protest is muffled as Jake thrusts his hips forward sharply, burying half of his shaft in her mouth.
"Hmmmmra," the woman croons contentedly, sliding both hands from his backside to the dangling hairy bag. The thumb and fingers of each hand locate something inside and press gently. The girl can see the outline of a walnut pressed tight against the flesh, and is wondering if the bag is going to inflate like a balloon as her mother fills up her cheeks blowing air into the white pole.
"Easy with my jewels, bitch," the man warns.
Gagging and puffing, making slurpy wet sounds when she gasps for breath, the woman little by little noses nearer to the oily matted hair at the trunk of his giant growth, tugging forward on the bag to pull Jake's flesh deeper into her throat. Finally she gives up and throws back her head, staring up at the man's face through glazed eyes, swallowing huge gulps of air.
"No one could take it all without strangling."
The little girl can see a pearl-colored dewdrop materializing at the end of the glistening pole. The woman spots it also and wipes it away with a swipe of the tongue.
"You'll do better with practice. You'll drink a whole tankload of my cum one day soon."
Her mother leaps to her feet, fumbling with the zipper on the back of her riding pants.
"Now, Jake, while you're wet and ready."
The man grabs her by the shoulders roughly and turns her around, duckwalking with his knees bound by his own clothing as he pushes her forward to where bags of feed are stacked. He finishes opening the zipper on her pants and shoves her belly down on a three-high stack, placing her raised buttocks slightly higher than his bared loins. He plunges his fingers under and wrestles the tight-fitting riding pants and sheer blue panties down her thighs and calves, slipping off one of her boots to fully free a leg.
The girl struck dumb and frozen in fear, sees her mother directly beneath her not six feet away, her creamy white buttocks exposed to the eyes and rough touch of the handyman. She still wears the beige cardigan sweater. The riding breeches and her panties hang to the stable floor, trapped by the boot. The other leg is totally bare except for the stocking on the foot. The trousers of the man droop about his knees and he is rolling his flannel shirt and undershirt one inside the other up the sides of his body.
"You being so taken with how horses fuck, it's time someone showed you first hand," the man says.
Her mother's buttocks grind forward, pressing her uncovered front into the coarse feed sacks as if straining to satisfy an itch.
"I don't care how. Just get it in. Fast!"
She sees her mother's face, turned to one side, wince as Jake plunges a finger deep into a spot somewhere between her slightly spread thighs. He moves it back and forth, pulls it out, and raises the finger to his nose.
"Yup, it's the right time to fertilize this hot little mare."
She twists her head.
"Hop to it, you cold-blooded sonovabitch, or you're never seeing me again."
The blonde girl's eyes widen as she sees the man take her mother's leg below the knee and force it up and out until the heel of her stockinged foot digs into a fleshy buttock and her thigh is pressed out as far as it will stretch away from its partner.
The man grips his stiff member and places it against the soft folds of hair-lined red flesh that must open to her mother's very insides. Why doesn't mother scream? If she cries for help, the little girl will rush down the ladder steps from the loft and rescue her. There is a pitchfork down there and she will plunge the sharp prongs into the man hurting her mother.
But she does not shout. There is no plea for rescue, and the little girl can only watch.
The man nudges his hips forward and she sees the end of his maleness disappear partway inside her mother. The woman squeezes her eyes shut and tightens her hand into a claw on the feed sack. She shifts the position of her hips, not to repel but to adjust them to welcome the awesome intruder into her body.
"Ready for more?" the man drawls calmly.
"This part of me can take anything you got, mister, with room for more."
The man chuckles and suddenly thrusts forward violently, burying the entire length of his tool inside the woman.
The shriek that is ripped from her mother's throat is forever burned in the child's mind. The little girl is dizzy, feeling faint, realizing she waited too long to help her mother. She saw her mother about to be speared and killed before her eyes and she hesitated. The girl finds the courage to look down again at her mother's bloody, still body. But she is not dead. She is an animated rag doll with arms and legs thrashing wildly, beyond control, as if being jerked by unseen puppet strings. The man over her body has his hands up inside her sweater cruelly twisting at her breasts while his loins pound a steady slapping cadence on her straining upraised buttocks.
"When you cum," the girl hears Jake telling her mother, "I want you to whinny like a horse. From now on you come running when I whistle and I'll make you whinny some more. You never going to have a better stud."
"Just don't stop. Don't ever take that horsecock out of me," the agonized female voice cries.
It was always the same sound that revived the sweat-soaked Kathy from the never-changing nightmare... her mother's frenzied whinny ringing in her ears.
As Kathy grew older and capable of forming her own moral code, she drew more heavily from that traumatic experience of her childhood than common sense would demand.
Kathy devised a doctrine made up of splinters, twigs and limbs from the faiths she studied, but never the whole tree of any one denomination.
When all was boiled down to the specific act of sexual intercourse, her code stated it was a privilege a divine power had bestowed only upon a man and woman joined in marriage, and for the sole purpose of procreation. Sexual relations outside of marriage, deviations and exaggerations upon the divinely described style of copulation, were expressly forbidden, the cost being a life of wanton lustfulness and eternal damnation.
Kathy had laid down her beliefs with fervor and conviction the night a year before when Craig slipped the engagement ring on her finger.
Craig listened quietly throughout the discourse, and she felt certain she was winning him with her sound reasoning and extensions of logic. They were on the couch in her living room. She completed her long and impassioned remarks with a flourish of one tying down the last knot of doubt securely. She turned to him with a beaming face, waiting for the words expressing his willingness to share a non-physical love until they were married and desired children. Craig stared straight ahead dumfounded.
"I just engaged myself to a kook."
With that his hand tickled up inside her sweater and latched on to a plump breast, the finger and thumb tweaking the nipple into a tingling hardness within the confines of the bra. It was Kathy's introduction to the involuntary work of her own lush young body.
"Honey," he said, welding his fingers to her breast as she struggled to push the hand away, her elbow brushing against an odd hardness in his lap, "that's the biggest crock of bullshit I've listened to in my entire life."
Kathy convinced him of her absolute sincerity and Craig, shaking his head perplexed, made no further advances. He had not tried to be physical with her since that evening. Kathy believed they were both agreed on the need to remain chaste until their wedding night.
She tried never to think about the after-effects of that first touch on her breast, how the strange sensation in the nipple lingered long after Craig took his leave, rippling down her body to the vagina entrance behind the golden triangle between her legs. Kathy experienced a twinge of doubt. Was her code of conduct in truth a crock of what Craig called it? Was it constructed on a foundation of intellectually defensible principles, or was it the twisted rationalizations of a frightened and disturbed young woman who never fully recovered from a sight she looked down upon at a tender and impressionable period of her life, that of a woman she recognized as her own mother absorbing a massive stiff male instrument first deep into her mouth and next to its hairy hilt, her buttocks rising high from the feed sacks and gyrating obscenely, in the orifice to the womb from which the same viewing child had emerged a short decade earlier?
Kathy wondered if she would ever reconcile this conflict that raged inside her.
The salt spray softly stung her face and neck as Kathy's fiance eased off the throttle and turned the wheel gently, guiding the sports car away from the water's edge and up the damp incline to dry sand. The car bumped over small soft dunes and abruptly came to a halt. Craig revved the high-performance engine and cut the headlamps before switching off the ignition. He reached under his bucket seat and withdrew a blanket.
"End of the line. From here the safari moves on foot."
Craig wrestled out of his coat and removed his tie. He unlaced his shoes and removed them, slipping out of his socks and wadding them inside. Craig opened his door and stepped out of the car. He crossed around the front to Kathy's side and opened the passenger door. Kathy leaned forward in her seat and slowly looked around the beach. Not another living soul in sight. No fires to add to the moonlight, no portable radios competing with the constant breaking of the surf, no tempting odors of flaming marshmallows and overcooked frankfurters to spice the salt air. She looked then at the face of her fiance and found it expressionless, the eyes appraising her coldly. Were they glazing over out of boredom while he patiently waited, as she had seen them a number of times when she was a half-hour late for a date? Or was it the same unfathomable look he had earlier when she rushed to his arms to be greeted by the unwelcome nudge against the softness of her belly?
If Kathy could not trust Craig, who could she rely on? Who or what could betray her? Certainly not her own convictions. She would be able once again to neutralize whatever blandishments, if any, Craig offered, no matter how enticing.
Kathy kicked off her heels and stepped out of the car, dismissing the ping pong game in her head as more of her girlish foolishness. After all, she considered with finality, if everyone had been petrified by all the "what ifs...?" each new challenge presented, man would never have left the Stone Age.
She allowed Craig to slip his arm around her waist as they strolled away from the car toward the never-still surf. Craig chose a spot on a rise overlooking the water and spread the blanket. He plopped down and drew up his knees, gazing out across the dark sea.
"Just think," he said, not looking at her, "out there lie Hawaii and Tahiti. How about honeymooning there?"
Still standing, Kathy found herself peering out at the ocean as if she expected the horizons of the faraway islands to materialize. The vision of spending their beginning days together in a thatched hut on a serene lagoon of a Tahitian outer island was appealing to her Platonic concept of their romance. Slowly she sank down beside him on the front of the blanket. Their shoulders and heads leaned together, and Kathy felt they were communing with the ocean sounds and star-t added darkness with the same eyes and ears.
"Tahiti would be wonderful," Kathy nodded, snuggling closer in her excitement. "To see the land and people Paul Gauguin painted, and to walk on paths Robert Louis Stevenson captured in words."
Craig took her chin in his hand, turning her face toward him. He kissed her on the lips lightly.
"Don't forget, we'd swim in the same waters as the mutineers from H.M.S. Bounty," he said softly.
Kathy smiled contentedly. What a wonderful preface it would be to the satisfying chapters that would follow. She found herself wishing the wedding date nearer, not a year away after both finished their schooling. Craig's hand found her petite foot, his fingers absently massaging the arch through the fabric of the panty hose, tightening and relaxing, a good sensation after the hours of dancing in high heels. She sighed and leaned more heavily against Craig.
"Umm, yummy, that's delicious."
Craig massaged the other foot tenderly, allowing his fingers to ripple slowly and tantalizingly on the sole, sending ticklish feathery arrows climbing up her legs. Kathy giggled.
"Stop, Craig. You know how ticklish I am there."
He took her beautiful laughing face between his palms and again kissed her, softly and enduring, ending with the tip of his tongue wetly circling her hot full lips. He held her against him tightly, pressing his mouth to her ear, first nibbling at the lobe and then darting his tongue lightly inside. His hand moved to her back and his thumb and finger gently traced the length of her spine on each side of the zipper of her dress, from the base of her neck down to her tailbone. She tilted her head to escape the teasing tongue and stiffened when she heard the soft whisper.
"Make believe we're in Tahiti, Kathy. Let's take a moonlight swim."
She pulled back and stole a quick glance at the front of Craig's trousers. There was nothing discernible, and his legs were now out in front of him so that it would be impossible to hide. It was a warm and lovely night, and they were sitting on a blanket only ten yards from the churning surf. What invitation could be more natural? Except...
"We don't have our suits."
Craig gave her a look of total exasperation.
"I can't begin to count the number of times we've been together and you've worn a two-piece suit that barely covered the essentials. Surely you have that much on underneath now. And I happen to be wearing very distinctive Scotch plaid boxer shorts."
Kathy couldn't fight the laugh, picturing Craig in the bright colorful underwear. Goodness, she thought, it's a wild, fun and outlandish idea, and all the more intriguing for being just that. Feeling the excitement mount in her muscles the way it did when she was stirred by rock dance music, Kathy reached behind her neck and unfastened the eye to her dress. She unzipped partway down her back until her arm could go no further and then caught the tab in the fingers of her other hand, pulling it all the way down. She leaped to her feet twisting her shoulders and the dress crumpled down to her thighs, sliding from there to her ankles. She stepped out and hooked her thumbs into the waistlining of the pantyhose and began peeling the clinging nylon over the hips and down her thighs.
"Last one in's an Army draftee," she shouted merrily.
Craig was stiff everywhere but where he would need to be, flatass frozen in place. I'm halfway home, he told himself, feeling like an Irish Sweepstakes winner, unable to believe his good luck. His chin dropped slack and his eyes riveted to Kathy's body as she hunched over working the panty hose off her legs. He could see her silhouetted against the moonlight. Her straight golden hair hung free across the side of her face, obstructing Kathy's view and making her unaware of his eyes nibbling greedily at her flesh. The broad plump breasts, incredibly aglow with whiteheat beneath her tanline, strained to escape-roll over the top of the brief lace bra as Kathy bent to free the body stocking where it was binding at the knees. Craig yearned to throw himself amidst the triangle formed by her legs and the arms down-stretched to her knees, to rip the titholder upward over the inhumanely imprisoned mounds toward her throat, and then to know the crushing impact of the mammaries falling free, one heavy weight to smother his face, the nipple elongating and stiffening under the prodding of his tongue and teeth and transmitting the electrical signal that would unleash the damwalls of her vagina, spewing forth her liquid ambrosia lubricant that he would blend with his saliva to create a gushing cuntal waterway against which his prick would swim upstream like a salmon to spurt a cargo of searing sticky cum to drown the fissures and faults of her willing wanting womb.
Craig blinked as he fully realized he was very close to claiming her cherry tonight if he continued to hang loose and play his hand in the proper sequence. And now he had to drive back the tightening in the crotch he knew would soon reshape his still-limp cock into a visible threatening foe to his virtuous Kathy. He struggled with the curtain to his masculine subconscious, concentrating on his aching testicles and trying to dull their stimulation the way he remembered doing in prep school when he had to discourage a hardon before the annual cough-cough examination by the nearsighted physician retained by the physical education department.
He ground his back teeth together and swallowed, as if this somehow would dampen the fuse that raced for the powderkeg in his scrotum. He ought to close his eyes, he felt, to black out the moving body standing before him. She was shedding the last of the snug-fitting hose, which had held as flesh-close as he wanted to be to the in-sides of her firm tan thighs, a silky curvaceous snake finally victorious in disposing of its unwanted skin.
Craig's eyes refused to obey. His fingers clumsily sought the buttons of his shirt, but he could not take his eyes off Kathy's living, breathing, moving profile. She wore hip-hugging bikini panties of the same white lace texture as the bra. They were more brief than her swimsuit pants, leaving a half-inch gap in the tanline on her hips and thighs, above and below the gripping elastic. Craig thought with delight the lines were top and bottom halos sanctifying the loins he worshipped-and intended to supercharge with stimulation from his fingers and tongue and then assault and enervate with piledriving pounding from his pressure-packed prick.
"Surfs up, slowpoke. You lose," Kathy cried, tousling Craig's hair playfully and then sprinting away from him toward the water, leaving him dumbly fingering his still-buttoned shirtfront. He marveled at the moment, her hair flying every-whichway and her firm slender rump bumping saucily, the cheeks, alternately grinding high and low. If harnessed, Craig conjectured, the friction energy from her inner buttocks might spark a nuclear power plant-particularly once he had split her figurative vaginal atom.
Without conscious effort on his part, Craig was on his feet, shirtless, seeing the surf suck up Kathy's calves and thighs to possess them the way he wanted to do. The gorgeous girl who soon would belong wholly to him turned and beckoned with a curving arm. His pants dropped to his ankles and he almost tripped and fell on his face in his rush to reach the water. Kathy had dived and disappeared in the midsection of a large wave. Then Craig saw her streaming hair bob up as he reached the water and thrashed in to join her. When the water covered his waist, Craig pulled off his shorts and left them to float ashore. The cooling water surrounding his balls caused the creased pouch to constrict, the nuts huddled for warmth closely to his loins. The drop in temperature, he noted with masculine pride, did not daunt his prick, which hung hot, hard and heavy in his hand as he worked his way nearer his girl.
Kathy, chest deep in water, watched Craig approaching and slapped water in his direction with the heels of her hands.
"Chicken!" she shouted. "Your hair isn't even wet yet."
Craig ducked under the water, pushed off with his toes and submarined at her legs.
Kathy guessed what was up, that Craig was going to grab her by the legs and pull her under, the smarty. Then she felt queasy. In the instant before she felt his hands reach her waist, she saw a flash of whiteness between Craig's tanned back and thighs. He was naked! Craig's submerged hands groped at her waist and then quickly slipped underneath the elastic of her panties and tugged them down. They were at mid-thigh before Kathy recovered sufficiently to resist.
"Craig, don't!" she screamed at the unhearing body under the water in front of her. Her hands rushed over the contours of her naked hips and thighs to do combat with his downpulling fingers. Craig outmaneuvered her. He locked an arm behind her calves and lifted Kathy's legs out from under her. Her arms flailed up and out automatically as she fought for balance. She felt the panties slipping first off one struggling foot and then the other as she went back-first under the water. Craig released her legs and they parted involuntarily, as though each limb was striking out as a separate buoy for her sinking body. The heavy dark water rushed in to taste samples from the bareness of her lions as Kathy's body sank in the shallowness until her nude rump gently touched the hard sand bottom. Despite her shock at Craig's dirty-minded trick, Kathy could not help but notice the unfettered sensation that came over her in that second it took her to pull her way sputtering to the surface, the saltiness of the clinging water unceasingly stinging softly the tender entrances to her loinal orifices.
"Give them back!" she demanded, pushing strings of wet hair away from her eyes. "I don't think you're one bit funny."
Craig took the flimsy briefs and rolled them into a rag ball, lifting them high over head like the panties were a prized trophy.
"Come get them," he taunted.
Kathy had the appearance of being held afloat by the fully inflated white band, suspended by two shoulder straps, that ringed her back and bosom. The cool water continued to probe her loins, trying to perform a healing miracle on the revealed crevices in her otherwise smooth flesh. While she was chest deep in the water, it only reached to Craig's navel from where he stood facing her some four feet away. Kathy speculated about the size of his male thing hidden beneath the surface, and then she realized she wanted to see it. She had absolutely no idea what it looked like.
"Toss them... from there," Kathy said, the anger gone from her voice. If she had such thoughts, Kathy mused, the very same ideas probably are running through Craig's mind. He wanted to see her naked body. Kathy held no views detrimental to the appreciation of the human body as an art form, studying the shapes and geometric precision of design. Her concern was with the abuses that could be inflicted upon the body in the name of free sexual expression.
"I'll bring them," Craig volunteered, closing the distance between them with long powerful strides against the pressure of giftwrapping sea.
"Don't come nearer," Kathy urged, turning away to move, to maintain the proper distance between bare genitals, but her feet churned futilely against the slow steady sucking of the undertow. Craig grabbed her shoulders, the hand scratching down her spine as his fingers found the elastic back of her bra. Kathy's forward lunging body was braked sharply by the tightening pressure on her breasts as the material edges of the punishing tit pockets dug into the tender flesh.
Craig clenched the wet panties in his teeth while both his hands struggled to unhook the bra. Kathy's thrashing feet painfully landed on his own as she fought to break his hold on the tit leash. Angered, Craig jerked back hard on the elastic, colliding Kathy's body against his own and folding the length of his still-hardening prick into the crack between her water-chilled buttocks. Craig's breathing picked up as he worked the first hook free, followed in nothing flat by the second and third locks. Next he dropped the hands to the front of her thighs, pressing tight against her tensed firmness, at the same time gently rotating his pelvis to inter his cock more deeply into the break between her muscular buttocks. The electric charge of contact made the sinews of her ass tighten and Craig's prick responded to the welcome pressure with growing stiffness.
Kathy fought at the hands binding her thighs and drawing her back against the living fleshy tool that opened the door the length of her buttocks and allowed water to seep inside to wetly kiss her tightly puckered anus. She elbowed loose and faced Craig, her hands over her breasts to keep the unlocked bra in place. Her initial suspicions about Craig's innocent beach outing were being confirmed, and it was becoming an ordeal. He had her panties in his teeth and his damp hair hung in his eyes to give him the appearance of a deranged stranger.
"You must be out of your mind, Craig. What's come over you?" she demanded, frightened, the tears coming to her eyes.
"Give me that," Craig growled through the skimpy underthings hanging from his mouth. His hand shot out quickly, finding an unguarded place in the valley between her breasts. He pulled and Kathy felt the evening air strike her hulking bared bosom. The bra straps burned down her upper arms as if the hide were being stripped by a skinner's knife.
Kathy never had experienced such a feeling of total humiliating nakedness, made even worse by the sight of Craig continuing to advance with a piece of her underclothes held in each hand. She hunched forward in the water trying to conceal her exposed breasts in her hands. They reminded Kathy they had a mind of their own as she felt the nipples tingle and stiffen against her fingers. In addition, the cool salt water teased mercilessly at her vulnerable asshole.
Craig rolled her lingerie into one wet rag ball and heaved it into the surf rushing toward the shore. He grabbed her by the hair and crushed her body against him, feeling the hard rivets of her breasts bore into him as the plump ripe globes flattened firm on his chest. He kissed her savagely, forcing his hot tongue through her resisting teeth and deep into her throat. His hands worked down the smooth unblemished surface of her back until they cupped the underside of her pale slender buttocks, his fingers digging deeply into the flesh as he lifted her up to the tips of her toes, the head of his hardening cock cleaving into the tautness of her stretched underbelly.
Her struggling had weakened. He continued to kiss her, trailing his hungry lips over her eyes, nose, cheeks and neck, savoring her salty flesh, famished to lip the nipples of her unnursed tits.
"Please... oh, please. Stop before we go too far," she pleaded hotly in his ear.
She shifted her belly slightly to ease the digging pain. Craig's rockhard cock lay sideways imprisoned by embracing bodies. His feet spread wide on the sandy floor, Craig pressed and nuzzled her mouth open wider as his tongue searched deeply into her throat. He heard the soft yielding moan as she began to answer his kisses, breathing hotly in his mouth as her tongue painted wetly on his own and she sucked it into her mouth.
Her knee climbed Craig's inner thigh, hesitating and then coming to rest easily against his tightened scrotum. Craig moved his hand along the underside of her hip, finding the top of the crack in her ass. He felt her shiver against him as the fingers worked their way inward from the rear passage, pausing briefly as they trailed lightly over the puckered rubbery ring of her anus and then coming into contact with the hair-lined lips opening to her cunt.
Kathy rolled her head, groaning uninspired protests into Craig's burning mouth as she felt the soft fingers digging in and spreading the never-before-touched hair-fringed tissue between her legs that guarded the mouth of her vagina. She considered dropping her raised knee to trap the hand and bring the tingling in her loins to an end, but that would mean removing it from the tight wrinkled sack between Craig's legs. She had no idea how her apprehensions had so quickly been consumed by curiosity and the raw pleasure from the mutual exploration of one another's bodies. She enthusiastically reacted to Craig's newest piece feeler by softly thrusting her knee higher into his bulging bag, harshly increasing the knowledge of her presence against the tightly enclosed orbs. Craig twisted his head and grunted into her mouth, pulled his hands from her body and backed free, staggering and clutching his lower abdomen. Kathy did not understand what had happened to bring pain to Craig, causing him to suck in huge breaths of air as he massaged his hairy belly. Kathy had to know if his hurt extended to the stiff flesh that had straightened out from its crimped place between them to float on top of the water like a huge fallen swamp tree with a weather stripped bulbous head still connected to the hairy roots at the base.
Craig's brief contact with Kathy's vaginal lips had set off a strange and furious chain reaction in her body, a series of eerie sensations she had never known so completely. When his fingers tenderly parted the fleshy gateway to her womb, they were greeted instantly by a rush of lubricant along the inner walls of her cunt and a further hardening of the nipples on her breasts, both already swollen to the bursting point. Kathy also realized her pelvis, on its own volition, lurched forward to meet the touch and then rocked there, setting off still another symptom, a squirminess in her anal passage. It was clear to Kathy that her female parts paid little heed to the commands of her obdurately catalogued mind and instead hungered for more of the dreamlike inner cunt stroking, the way a cat arches its back and rubs a leg to attract petting.
Kathy was amazed and bewildered by the feats her body performed with no conscious effort on her part. And she was intently interested in learning how, if at all, her self-powered stunts compared with the invisible forces in Craig's body that transformed his male thing from the semi-limp meat wiener her innocent buttocks had been forced to embrace into the thick fleshy rod that now periscoped up at her from under the water as Craig tilted backward sucking air, pushing down on his abdomen with clenched fists in an attempt to ease the mysterious suffering that besieged him.
She took the end of his hard member in the vee of two fingers, gripping it just behind the ridged dark head and lifting it as though she expected to keep it from sinking and drowning.
"What's hurting you? I'll do what I can to help," she told him.
Craig recovered quickly.
"Help me back to the blanket. I'll try to explain," he said through dying lips.
Craig put his arm around Kathy's waist, the hand slipping down to rest with a tight grip on her buttock.
"No, don't let go," he said hoarsely. "Keep hold."
Kathy shifted her loose two-finger grip and wrapped the front half of Craig's member in her hand, leading him as if by a tether connected to his groin, as they struggled, seemingly uphill into a strong wind against the jealous consuming forces of the water retreating through their legs, until they reached the dry sandy beach and the blanket.
Craig fell back on the cover with his knees in the air and opened his legs. The pain was gone, but Kathy didn't need to know. She sat close to his side favoring one bare hip, her knees pressed together and drawn up against the underside of Craig's raised thigh. Her anxiety over Craig's condition made their nakedness seem very minor. Craig had his first clear view of her remarkable breasts when she freed them of clinging wet hair. They were magnificent monuments out of proportion to her slim waistline, slender hips and delicate shoulders. How she was able to walk holding them erect and ever reaching outward, instead of stooping forward under the weight, amazed the young man. The nipples stood erect from dark brownish rings the size of small pancakes. He didn't think his mouth would cover all of one.
"Show me where you hurt," Kathy encouraged him.
Craig knew a suck would put him in heaven, but he stopped short of saying, "Kiss it and make it well," knowing also that it would spook the quarry out of reach. He had made it this far and wasn't about to jeopardize the final objective with a stupid slip. Instead he took her hand and placed it over his tightly wrinkled scrotum. He braced himself to withstand the spasms inside his prick from the warmth of her small hand on his balls.
"You pushed too hard and drove them up inside my stomach. It stabbed like the devil. A man's balls are sensitive, something like your nipples and clitoris. Rub them softly and you'll be able to feel them relax as the pain goes away."
Kathy followed Craig's instructions and gently fingered the tight pouch crowding up against his loins. She also used the time to further study his prick, rising straight up from his lower abdomen like a dark-topped long-stemmed mushroom.
"It helps if you hold the penis," Craig prescribed eagerly.
Kathy was happy he mentioned it, for she was very curious now that she finally had touched a man's prick. She tried to measure it with her hand. When she placed her thumb at the stump, the tip of her little finger reached almost to the slit on the peak of the ridged head. She circled it and her thumb and middle finger barely met.
Craig groaned.
"Keep your fingers tight like that and move them."
Kathy obeyed and discovered there was a giving looseness that permitted her to grip the penis firmly and still move the hand half an inch either way. The flesh became warmer and fuller in her hand. She saw Craig burrowing the back of his head into the sand beneath the blanket, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and staring blankly above.
Craig's tight pouch was loosening, the tight flesh gourds hanging freer in the other hand as if being lowered gradually by rope from inside. She could pull the skin up and away from his thighs. She was reminded of bubble gum and how it is hard until softened by saliva and working teeth to an inflatable softness. Kathy knew she was ignorant about so many things and she was feeling secretly grateful to Craig for acquainting her with the male body.
Craig lifted an arm from the elbow, like a beggar pleading for alms, and cupped it beneath Kathy's right breast, the one with the twin beauty marks on the side as if from a vampire's bite. He tested the firmness and weight, a finger supping up from the underside of the mound to scratch gently at the nipple.
"Oooh, that gives me a funny feeling below," Kathy squealed.
"I know, baby. No, no, don't pull away. See how it's gotten hard."
"I ought to, I'm holding it."
"No, dummy, I mean your nipple, not my thing."
"Oh, yes. Now I understand what you said about sensitive nipples. But you also said something about the clitoris. What happens there?"
Craig lay still for a moment, opening his legs wider and burying his hips into the blanket, as if he were weighing an important decision.
"Stop! Now, quick!"
Kathy released the prick and looked closely at Craig's face. He was holding his breath, his face contorted as if fighting back tears. She turned back to the stiff flesh and saw that it was moving of its own accord, the veins bulging and lightly jerking. Then it was still.
"Too... too goddamn close," Craig muttered between heaving breaths.
"There's something coming out the end, Craig. Have I hurt you again?"
Kathy gently took Craig's tool in her hand and ran her thumb over the seepage at the end, spreading the liquid around the head, enjoying its running yet semi-sticky composition. It reminded her of diluted clear syrup.
"Let go, dammit, I told you to let go," a strange voice ordered.
Kathy pulled her hand back like it had been resting on a burner.
"You needn't curse. I only want to help."
"Okay," he said, catching his breath anew. "You want to help me and I want to help you. We're going to help each other."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I'll show you. You asked about your clitoris. Lay down on your back."
Kathy scooted up to the middle of the blanket and fell back, stretching her legs straight out in front of her. Craig moved down to her feet and rose to his knees over them, his prick suspended above her toes like the baton of an orchestra leader.
"The next thing you feel will be your clitoris," he announced.
Craig took one of her knees in each hand, spread them wide apart, and fell open-mouthed into the soft golden mink fleece covering her womanhood.
Kathy jumped as if the tip of his tongue on her clitoris was an icepick splintering her body into a million little pieces, and shocking back into place all of her strayed beliefs and backsliding resolve with cold exact precision. She sat bolt upright.
"Craig, what are you doing?"
Craig was on fire and butted her belly with his head, rooting between her thighs like a crazed hog on the scent.
Kathy was shamefully aware that she had gone crazy temporarily and allowed herself to lose control. She would lose more if she didn't act quickly. She had to snap Craig out of his sex-crazed spell before he did irreparable harm to their patient understanding relationship.
She slapped his face hard, the flat palm of her hand landing squarely over the opening to his ear, scrambling his brains with an aching stinging ringing. He flew back to his knees howling, instantly hauling back his fist to instinctively kill whoever was responsible for the agony in his head.
"Craig!"
He couldn't smash that face, those gorgeous innocent features that were even more beautiful with her cat-narrowed eyes disarming him as totally as if a six-inch pane of glass had been put between their naked bodies.
"You're crazy," he pleaded, fighting to gain back some control, the upper hand that had slipped away from him. "Look at us. We're completely nude... two young beautiful bodies needing to make love."
"No!"
Kathy's voice was cold. She jumped to her feet, trying to hide her naked body from him. She found her dress and pulled it over her wet hair.
"You can't leave me like this."
Kathy saw Craig gesturing toward his stiff thing and she looked away. He had hypnotized her, mesmerized her with touches and kisses, but she came out of it just in time. He had planned the whole evil thing this way, including a phony injury to enlist her sympathy. He had coolly planned her seduction and she almost stepped in the trap.
"You made it that way," she declared spitefully. "Now make it go away."
"Kathy, you don't understand. I've been trying to make you see the light. Girls turn on, not off, when a fellow kisses their clitoris."
It was the wrong thing for Craig to say.
"You've done that horrible dirty thing with other girls! You make me sick. Get dressed and take me home." Kathy stalked down to the water's edge to retrieve her underthings.
Craig watched disbelieving, his prick shriveling in dishonorable forfeit. He wondered why he hadn't popped her in the chops and fucked her then and there. It could have been a blessing, because things couldn't have worked out any worse. He had his big chance and blew it. It was weird, more than that, outright spooky, how a luscious piece like Kathy could transform herself from a yielding warm creature to a granite shell with ice water for blood. Where was his masculine violence? Why hadn't he creamed her and raped her silly, that abstinent nun in the flesh of a sex goddess? Craig was concerned that possibly his virility, not her frigidity, was to blame. Had he been lacking? But what could have been handled differently? He was gentle, considerate and conventional. That must be it! He was so fucking thoughtful she had no compelling reason to respect him as a man. Craig knew he was a man; the whore in the fraternity house told him after she turned him every way but loose. (Or was that something she told all the boys?) All right, Craig thought, he would score another round for her. He pulled on his pants. Fuck the shorts. Let some goddamn beachcomber wonder about them. Craig conceded the skirmish, knowing he would behave much differently in the battles ahead.
The drive home could have been in a snow shoveling truck for all the warmth Kathy radiated. Craig let her out at her front door. Kathy was away and fumbling with her key before he had time to crawl out his own side.
"Call you tomorrow," he called, not certain she heard him over the sound of the door slamming.
Kathy leaned against the door and sobbed. What had she done? She knew she had been a minute, an inch, a sensation away from willingly contributing her virginity. Somewhere in her own body was a chest that could be unlocked, and its contents were capable of sapping her strong reserve. It was terrifying to Kathy when she considered the numerous access routes to her strongbox of passion: a tender wet kiss, fingers on the nipples of her breasts, the tip of a tongue making obscene and unexpected contact with her clitoris. So many enemies to defend against.
Craig had gone mad, it went without saying, but Kathy's own emotions were in such turmoil that she did not know if she wanted to forsake or forgive him. If she allowed the relationship to continue, Kathy would be forced to maintain the decorum. Craig had sacrificed her trust. His flesh was weak and Kathy would need to be strong enough for both of them. She relented and decided to forgive Craig for his lust-crazed lapse, but she would not forget. She would be ever alert.
She tiredly trudged the stairs to her room, the sand in her wet underthings irritating the tender flesh between her thighs. She noticed the line of light beneath Kay's door at the far end of the hallway. She must be reading in bed, Kathy supposed. Maybe she, an older and more worldly woman, would give answers to some of the questions burning in her confused mind. Kathy quietly approached the door, pausing abruptly in her tracks upon hearing the muffled cry from inside the room.
"Simon, you master fucker, ram in your huge cock. Split me, you bastard." It was Kay's whiskey voice, strained as if life was being squeezed from her.
Kathy pressed an ear to the door and detected the sounds of wet flesh slapping, of the bedsprings creaking, of her own father grunting like an animal that's been run to the ground. The slam of the front door had shaken the whole living room, Kathy knew. Could they be so oblivious to the outside world that they did not know Kathy was in the house? Or didn't they care?
"Work your cunt like your mouth. Tight... tighter... pull!" Simon Carlson's voice directed with a detached hardness Kathy had never heard before.
They were coupled obscenely on the bed, Kathy saw without seeing. Her father and Kay were interlocking their loins like her mother and the hired man did those short years ago. Kathy was stunned by the generation of insight she had gained in only a few hours. She tiptoed to her room, undressed, chose a nightgown and slipped into bed. Kathy thought she could hear emotional profanities and the pounding of flesh on flesh from Kay's room, the way she waited and listened for the next drip after a leaky faucet had been tightened. Her chaste world was spinning in confusion, her mind reeling from an overexposure of raw sex being practiced out of wedlock. Kathy's beliefs were being put to a severe test. She needed an explanation to satisfy her immaculately catalogued mind in the light of this night's evidence. Jean was a peer who refused to shelter herself the way Kathy did. Possibly she would help unravel Kathy's moral dilemma. At tennis tomorrow.
Craig couldn't sleep. The dull ache in his swollen unrelieved testicles wouldn't permit slumber. He was thinking of the sweating young whore at the fraternity house, how she had admitted him a strong and handsome young man full of false bravado, and released him an hour later a quaking mass of jelly. God, that mouth, he remembered, a tingling chill gripping his scrotum and snapping his prick erect. He gripped his hardened rod firmly and pumped. That tongue... where she put it? He had almost jumped out of his skin. And what she did when she knew it was his time. How he had cum and cum and cum, actually crying out loudly in pain as the spent balls contracted themselves hopelessly dry. The hot prick in his working hand jerked and fired. Craig groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as the sperm spread over his covering sheet, trying to make himself believe that the ingenious whore was methodically working the cum out of him, spurt on top of spurt after spurt, but knowing sadly that he would never, not in ten centuries, convince Kathy to apply the prostitute's special techniques after they married, if indeed they married.
Chapter Iii
Kathy was glad her father and Kay had left for the city the next morning before she finished dressing. She was certain her face would tell them something. She knew she never would look at them in the same way, just as she had seen her mother with new eyes after witnessing the horrible spectacle in the stable as a little girl.
Unlike most cases, the divorce of her parents had not been an emotional circus with the lone adolescent child the prize in the center ring. There was never any question about custody. Her father had anted up a large cash settlement on the condition that Lillian never again set foot in the State of California, or make any effort to contact Kathy.
From the age of twelve, Kathy was the mistress of the Carlson house, the only woman other than servants. She quickly mastered the supervision of a household, leaving every duty to be performed by others. The major disadvantage in the new solo arrangement came the day she did what she had been doing ever since when confronted with a problem of a personal feminine nature. She had gone to Jean.
Kathy ate a light brunch and packed her tennis costume in a bag. She climbed in her car and drove over to the country club. The old man at the gate, a cripple Kathy had long ago decided was senile from the eager delighted grins he always gave her, waved her through with his cane without leaving his stool in the tollhouse.
Jean, who had driven from home wearing her tennis clothes, was waiting for Kathy in the parking lot, sitting on the fender of her new Mustang smoking a cigarette. Jean stalled the welcome until Kathy had joined her alongside the car, and then she dropped the bomb.
"I'll give it to you straight. I'm pregnant."
She said it evenly, as a simple statement of fact, without the slightest show of emotion.
"B-but how?"
Under different circumstances Jean would have laughed out loud.
"The usual way. You mean who?"
Kathy nodded, or she thought she nodded, not sure it wasn't just the weight of her jaw dropping.
"He's a medical student from Southern California. We met at a party over the Memorial Day weekend. I had too much to drink and... well, it happened."
"He took advantage of you."
"Advantage, hell! I loved every minute of it. I never felt so gloriously female and wonderful in my whole life. It was great. I was stupid, that's all."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, Kathy, when are you going to stop behaving like you're starring in old Margaret O'Brien movies? Doesn't that dreamboat Craig ever stick it to you? I'd let him if he was mine."
"Heavens, no!" Kathy replied. "Not until we're married."
"That's your hangup. Mine is that my period is four weeks overdue."
"Have you seen a doctor?"
"You nuts? My father's a dear and glorious physician, remember? The medical Mafia has a pipeline that puts the CIA to shame. Dad would know the minute the rabbit died. I have to handle this on my own. With your help."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Be my cover. Go with me on a cruise to Mexico. You see the sights and I'll see an abortionist."
Kathy was staggered by such an idea.
"That's terrible. Doesn't the fellow want to marry you?"
"He doesn't know and I'm not going to tell him. We're big girls and we have to be responsible for our mistakes. I wouldn't marry him regardless. He's studying proctology. Can you feature talking hemorrhoids at the breakfast table?"
Jean's brash proposal made Kathy's head spin. What made it all the more strange was that Jean had no remorse whatsoever about giving up the virginity that Kathy valued so highly. And to a virtual stranger. In fact, she relished the memory of surrendering it. Jean no longer was a fit person to hear Kathy's problems; she, like the others near to her, was committed to the life of the flesh, from which there was no turning back.
"I was going to ask your advice today... about a personal matter," Kathy shook her head, seeing the irony.
"I presume about S-E-X. Take my word, it's groovy. But be smart. What do you say about Mexico?"
"Let me think about it while I change," Kathy said.
"Okay. I'll be waiting on the court."
Jean left for the clay playing courts and Kathy walked with her head in a fog in the other direction, toward the women's locker room beside the pool. Grayson, the maintenance man, was coming out as she entered, carrying his toolbox under his arm. She tilted her head in thanks as he held the door open for her with his back, Kathy hardly noticing who it was, the silly notions of the night before overwhelmed by the weight of subsequent developments.
"Afternoon, Miss Carlson. Fine day for your little tennis game," he said, glancing up and down her body with undisguised longing.
Kathy didn't even hear him, too preoccupied was she with the lewd images of Jean and her faceless man, her father and Kay, and even herself and Craig naked on the dark beach, all blurring together in her head.
She stepped inside a dressing cubicle and drew the curtain behind her. She was startled to see her own reflection, her troubled face straining in a futile quest for answers, looking back at her. A new full-length mirror had been installed, a good idea probably suggested by some of the older women who were weary of bending over backwards like contortionists to see if their slips showed while dressing after a day at poolside.
Kathy kicked off her sandals and changed into sweatsocks and sneakers. She pulled the bright paint-splashed granny dress over her blonde head and unhooked the bra, tossing both down on the bench and picking up her tennis suit. She turned to the mirror and hesitated, naked except for bikini panties through which bulged the golden triangle above her vagina.
Kathy closely studied herself in the mirror, mystified by what it was there on her body that turned a sensible young man like Craig into an unreasoning animal. Her breasts were large and full, but they were only breasts. Every woman had them. She took a lot of envious ribbing about their size from Jean and girls at school, which made her blush. Jean told her if they swapped some ass for some titty, both of them could have perfect hourglass figures. Jean's hips were full and rounded, while Kathy's were slender and compact. Jean mercilessly kidded Kathy about her thinner hips: "Honey, the guys say the sweetest meat is closest to the bone."
Kathy was beginning to see everything with a sexual connotation, and that worried her. She remembered the damage of promiscuity. It had cost her mother a good marriage and was about to result in the destruction of an inborn fetus in Jean's womb. Kathy herself had gambled by not letting Craig take excessive liberties, and she was certain he respected her more for it.
Thinking of Craig, her hand absently slid down the front of her belly to her crotch, gently feeling for the clitoris through the panties. The effect was instantaneous. The sensory nub of her vagina filled to a bursting hardness and Kathy's body jerked as if the finger had wandered into an open light socket. She had to see, to closely examine this part of the body that operated independently of her conscious commands. Kathy poked her head out the curtain and looked around. The locker room was empty. She slipped out of the panties and moved closer to the mirror, her hands parting the golden patch and peeling back the fleshy cunt-lips to expose the raw pink mouth of her unmolested vagina. The clitoris protruded like a bud, tingling and throbbing, crying to be stroked back to peaceful inactivity.
Kathy touched her clitoris again and felt her knees give forward, her loins instinctively leaning into the stimulation and the automatic pump in her vagina clicking on to feed liquid lubricant to its walls, drooling out the open mouth of her cunt. Now her hand was drawn to the pulsating bulb magnetically, soothing it with a single stroking circling digit, gradually applying greater pressure, keeping alive the foreign flowing current that made her thighs tremble and the nipples on her breasts smart with prickliness.
Kathy felt something building from deep inside her, as if little balloons packed inside her womb were waiting for instructions to burst. She was standing flat-footed, knees bowed out, her head turned upward and eyes clenched shut and straining, her every body fiber reaching out to that spot where her finger worked magic on the sexual control box of her womanhood.
Goosebumps broke out on her flesh and a chilly phantom finger crawled up her spine. Her loins were bucking, sweeping the clitoris up against the charged finger in a conflicting direction.
She pitched her head forward and her whirling brain was unable to guarantee balance. Kathy opened her eyes in fear of falling face forward into the mirror. What she saw horrified her, the wanton, contorted, crazed expression on her own face. A wave of shame swept through her body, drowning the fires that had been ignited by her manipulating finger. Kathy found her panties and pulled them on, afraid to face her own reflection in the mirror. She hoped she never again would wear such a look of uncontrolled abandonment. She shuddered as she felt the crotch of the panties filling with her vagina's sensual excretion. She hurriedly put on the tennis costume and threw open the curtain to the dressing cubicle. She put the bra, dress and sandals in her locker, and removed her covered tennis racket and a can of balls. She closed the metal door with a slam that cleared her head of the last dying pleas for fulfillment. She passed by the open curtain on her way out, but kept her eyes on the concrete floor, too ashamed to look at her own face in the mirror and see the self-rebuke she knew was there.
Grayson had been converted. He now believed there was a merciful God who favored him from somewhere in the heavens. He had a massive leaking hardon that stained the front of his trousers and threatened the very strength of the denim material. He could have masturbated, but he was supremely confident he was going to do better. Better than he had ever done in his entire life.
He was going to screw the snotty blonde babe.
He knew it as sure as he was standing there in the darkness, in front of the full-length two-way mirror looking into the now-empty dressing cubicle, with a Polaroid camera in his feverish hands.
The country club architect had thought of everything, including concealed utilities, electrical, gas, water and telephone lines that ran through a shaft, big enough for a man to enter to repair without having to tear up the fucking walls of the joint, separating the locker rooms near the pool from the main banquet room in the clubhouse. What the architect forgot, Grayson took care of, cutting out two doorways linking the tunnel to the women's dressing cubicles and installing a pair of mirrors, camouflaged on the shaft side with twin thin sheets of easily-removed paneling no one would ever think to look behind.
At best he hoped for a few snaps of rich broads to add to his collection of naked pictures, just something he could invite the guys on the staff over to see for laughs. They would be impressed as hell, because Grayson wasn't going to let them in on how he got the pictures. He'd smile and let their imaginations do the rest. He figured if he got real lucky he might get a snatch shot of the Carlson girl, hopefully a double feature with her dark-haired girl friend naked in the next cubicle. But it worked out better than he might have dreamed.
He had only just finished the mirror job when he met her coming into the locker room, waltzing by him without looking, treating him like something she found on a toilet seat in a whorehouse. Grayson hightailed it to his quarters down in the boiler room and found the camera, then back out and racing alongside the pool, slipping on the wet surface of the deck and nearly breaking his ass, over to the narrow unnoticeable door opening to the utilities tunnel, for which Grayson alone had a key. He was afraid to use a flashlight, not knowing if the illumination would show through on her side of the glass, and so he felt his way along the dank walls in the darkness until his fingers found the rough edge of the first sheet of paneling and he detected the vibration of a body moving on the other side of the glass. He softly removed the covering and that was when the hardon arrived to stay.
She was pulling off her low-cut panties and then she turned to face the mirror, spreading her snatch right in front of his eyes! The ragged pink hair-lined lips of her cunt called to him to burst through the transparent barrier and taste the inner sweetness they protected.
The tunnel was steamy hot, but Grayson was hotter. He could feel the sweat rolling down off his forehead and burning into his eyes. He mopped his brow with his sleeve and fell back against the wall facing the mirror for added support as he steadied the camera. Then he remembered! Shit, there were only two exposures left. He had wasted all the other shots on the flabby slut who had been almost as good a fuck as a pile of rising pizza dough.
No matter. He'd have to make the two he had count. He wanted the most erotic ones he could get and he shuttered quickly on the split beaver, a pose where her face had a curious expression, as if contemplating the size of an off-camera dong about to split her pussy. Grayson waited quietly, watching the necessary minute spin off on the luminous dial of his wristwatch with one eye while the other grew wide in depraved glee as the bitch began to softly finger her clit.
Everything suddenly fell into place in Grayson's mind. This was a picture that could be converted into a currency more meaningful than the money that separated them socially. He would have that rich bitch's body twisting and cooking on his spit of a prick before the day was out.
He tore out the first picture and loaded for the last, one that would win him the cunt of someone who spurned him and viewed him as a bug.
Grayson breathed quietly, his eyes shifting from the finger in the wet cunt up over the mountainous tight tits to her working face, aiming the camera and holding out for the right second.
Then it was there, an unearthly immoral face above the straining stance of a savage African dancer, and Grayson clicked, capturing and freezing on a chemically treated small sheet of paper the single most impassioned second Kathy Carlson had ever known.
Grayson acted just in time, for then the girl changed as though someone had dumped a bucket of snow over her head. She didn't look at the mirror again. Her face was flushed with exertion, Grayson presumed, leaning forward as the aroused cunt disappeared inside the panties and then to see the heavy heaving tits jacketed into the skimpy tennis suit. He pocketed the second print and waited until she walked by the dressing cubicle on her way out before he folded the camera and began feeling his way out of the tunnel.
Back in his boiler-room quarters, Grayson massaged the straining front of his pants as he carefully examined the two photographs. He returned one to his shirt pocket and put the other in a plain white envelope, deciding against sealing it. Then he reloaded the camera with a roll of film from his trunk. He checked his watch and calculated that Barker, the bartender, would be finished with his luncheon shift upstairs in a few minutes. He gently slid the envelope into his back pocket and left the room to wait for Barker in the kitchen.
The volleying was more with words over the net than tennis balls. They weren't bothering to keep score, each girl halfheartedly swatting the ball and not stretching to return a shot just out of reach. It was a slow-motion physical background music, that was all, quite a contrast to the usual fiery tournament-style of their competition. Jean noticed a change had come over Kathy when she arrived at the court and felt a stab of guilt. It was her predicament, Jean felt certain, that had made Kathy finally aware that life's harsh realities are far different than she had imagined in her Pollyanna world of innocence.
They met over the net after an unspirited warm-up exercise.
"What exactly do you want me to do?" Kathy asked, staring at the tennis ball in her hand as if it were a crystal containing the secret of her future.
"Agree to go to Mexico. Cruise ships leave San Francisco every other week. I'll dip into the trust fund and pay all expenses. It won't cost you a dime. It'll be more comfortable in Ensenada with you there... just in case."
"You've thought about that?" Kathy said, raising her face to Jean. There was a flicker of fear, disappearing as easily as Jean might have swept back an irritating lock of her dark hair.
"Everything's crossed my mind, but I'm not afraid. It's as simple as pulling a loose tooth at this stage. Any later and there could be complications."
"I'm not sure daddy will let me go to Mexico."
"That's baloney, Kathy. The way I get it he's scared to death he raised a potential nun. We're liberated modern women and your dad's a worldly understanding guy. Didn't you notice him practically screwing that Kay with his eyes last night?"
Kathy pulled back, debating whether or not it was incumbent upon her to defend the morals of her father. Sounds through the closed door to Kay's room re-echoed in her ears and she remained silent.
"I'm right," Jean said prophetically. "You haven't learned the signs yet. If you were better trained you'd also know how much poor horny Craig is suffering because you won't let him in your pants. Do yourself and him a favor, Kathy. Just be careful."
Kathy was appalled by the suggestion and backed up to the service line. They hit a few balls back and forth, the exercise helping to settle Kathy's jangled nerves. She wondered how her whole life had been altered irreversibly by the sordid events of one evening and an afternoon. Confused, she had allowed her emotions full rein until her remaining good sense checked them at the very edge of a plunging precipice. Jean's return of her serve zinged by to the right, but Kathy made no effort to reach it.
"All right, I'll do it," she called.
Jean rushed to the net. "Thanks, Kathy, I'll never forget," Jean said, almost bursting into tears of relieved joy. Kathy joined her at mid-court.
"I want to discuss some things with you on the trip. There are a number of questions you may be able to answer for me. Let's leave as soon as we can."
"That's all I want to know. I'll make arrangements this very afternoon."
Jean dashed off the court, sprinting for the parking lot. Kathy walked over to the bench wearily and mopped her forehead with a towel. She hooded the racket and canned the tennis balls. She went to the drinking fountain and tasted a cooling sip, spotting someone entering through the chain-link gate. It was the country club custodian and he had an envelope in his hand.
"Miss Carlson, I was asked to give this to you."
She took the white envelope curiously. Perhaps a quickly scribbled note of thanks from Jean, she thought. The man stood his ground, smiling at her strangely, the look that made her feel so uncomfortable and afraid at the dance.
"Thank you," she said, dismissing him with her tone. "I'll read it later."
"Read it now," he replied with a directness Kathy thought rude and frightening. "The party is waiting for an answer," he added softly as if trying to explain his bluntness to her.
Kathy's displeasure was gone as she looked into Grayson's unusual eyes. The envelope was not sealed and she was able to remove the contents without taking her eyes off his face. The note paper, little more than the size of a playing card, had a strange sticky substance on it that made her look down inquisitively.
The first sight of the pornographic photograph, the vile, disgusting paper in her hand, made her want to heave up the contents of her stomach. But in the next split-second she realized that the twisted spellbound face beneath the long blonde hair was her own. Now she could feel Grayson's eyes burning into her body even though she dared not look again at his face.
"There is another picture, much more lively, that a certain party has for you in the boiler room. Unless you arrive to pick it up in the next ten minutes, it goes in the mail somewhere you wouldn't like."
Grayson turned abruptly and sauntered off, leaving the gate to the tennis court open wide behind him.
Kathy ripped the offensive photo to pieces, stuffing the fragments back into the envelope and wadding it into a ball so tightly that it hurt her fingers. She threw the paper into the trash barrel by the drinking fountain, wishing she had a bar of soap to scrub the filth from her hands.
What could she do? She saw Grayson's slouched figure shrinking as he spread the distance between them, on the way to the boiler room. It was clear to Kathy that the unnamed "party" was Grayson himself.
She had no time to listen to the pros and cons from the debate going on in her mind. Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds stood between her and a disaster unknown. Kathy would make the custodian understand the pain she felt, the shame that coursed through her body, the humiliation she wallowed in from head to toe because of one deranged moment in which she had yielded to sensual temptation somehow being preserved on film.
She had to have the picture at almost any price. Grayson was a reasonable person she could convince with her entreaties, her kneeling prayers if need be. Human beings were rational. She was certain she could make him see.
Kathy ran in Grayson's tracks.
Chapter Iv
Nothing in Grayson's history equipped him for the thin-air heights of the feeling of complete and absolute control over another human being. The beautiful blonde young woman standing defiantly in front of him in the obviously expensive brief white tennis outfit was his to use fully, to do with as he pleased. He would take the Chippendale chip off her shoulder and stick it up her ass. He would degrade her to the limits of his inventive mind. She would be unable to protest. She was totally at his mercy, as if she were a slave he had purchased from among the human wares of an Arab flesh peddler. He was going to let her know it-in the best basic way. The consciousness of power was increased in Grayson's mind by the fact that she was rich and young, a living symbol to lash with invective and his seething hatred for the privileged class who robbed him of his youth, forcing him to kowtow to their demands and rewarding him with shit.
"How much do you want?" Kathy said.
"Strip," he ordered.
"No, Mr. Grayson. I can give you money, but that's all."
Grayson's laugh was a snorting snarl, his cracked lips stretching back to reveal decaying stained teeth that would drive a dentist to despair. It was a sinisterly non-human sound that chilled Kathy to the very marrow of her bones and made her feel wobbly on her feet.
"You'll pay. You'll pay plenty, bitch. From here... your tight pussy of a purse."
Grayson's language and vehemence so unnerved Kathy that she didn't have the presence of mind to attempt to dodge the stubby fingers that shot up to the front of her tennis shorts. She gave a startled gasp as the back of his hand slipped inside the loose leg opening and the knuckles grazed through the panties against the soft fur mound above her vagina. A look of open-mouthed horror was on her face and she cried out and fought to pry loose the hand tightening beneath her clothing. He had shoved it in all the way to the wrist and there was no escaping short of ripping the entire one-piece costume from her body.
The full impact of what he expected now struck Kathy with thudding force. There were to be no negotiations over blackmail money, the very least she had expected, or a payoff with the pleasure of her company and possibly a few distasteful kisses, the very worst she had feared. This man, whose smell of sweat and cleaning fluids made Kathy nearly physically ill, thought that she would willingly yield her body to him in return for the incriminating photograph.
She pushed hard against his chest trying to drive his body back, but the futile gesture only unbalanced her and gave his hand freer access to her crotch. He threw his other arm around her back and crushed her against him while the hand buried in her private parts twisted over and worked into the passage between her thighs, the unkempt nails digging painfully into the smooth resisting flesh. Grayson had forced the whole of his hand beneath her hot cunt until the short thick fingers could touch the crease where the buttock folded over the thigh. Now he squeezed lightly as he would do to half-drain a sponge.
Kathy was on the verge of hysteria, becoming aware that she was a captive in the grip of a sex-crazed maniac. He was trapping her so tightly with the arm around her back that she could hardly breathe and thought she might faint. The hand cruelly hurting between her legs served as a double lock to the imprisonment of her body. Tears of fear and helplessness rushed from her eyes.
One of her arms was a useless stranger stiff against her body inside Grayson's bearhug. The other hung limp and free, but it might as well have been tied. She knew if she used it to claw at his eyes, or to rip at the dandruff-specked graying greasy hair beneath the freckled bald dome, the muscled forearm with the bulging tendons and arteries could command the buried hand to close like a vise and crush her pelvis. She could scream, but the cries would only bounce back and forth off the thick concrete walls in the humid boiler room sunk in the earth beneath the large kitchen of the country club.
Her acceptance of the total helplessness of the situation involuntarily untensed her muscles and she felt as if she were shrinking and the full weight of her body was being redistributed to her lower parts. She was sinking within herself until she existed only as a side of beef being supported in a vertical position by Grayson's hand uplifting tightly against her cunt, and he was the meatcutter about to cleave through her hide to select the tender cuts.
"Please give me the picture and let me go. I won't say a word. Oh, please... please..."
Grayson had felt the first signal of submission from the girl's body and he replied with a slow sawing motion of the hand, hooking his middle finger to insert the crotch of the panties into her vaginal slit. The material skipped and pulled unevenly over the arid hair-lined cuntlips and burned abrasively until the trenching finger reached the sensitive budlike clitoris, springing it instantly into a hardened knot and triggering the automatic sprinkler system inside the vaginal walls. At almost the same instant Kathy felt a strange stirring in her breasts, as if they were growing fuller while being crushed against the man's chest, the nipples sympathizing with the clashing in the cunt below by bursting out as hardened blisters.
Kathy's breath was coming in tight gasps and the burning sensation bubbling in her belly grew in maddening intensity as the finger now slid smoothly over her moistening slit. The lubricant was pouring out of her cunt from the little-tapped spring inside. Beads of perspiration formed on her upper lip as the flood from between her thighs soaked the crotch of her panties and seeped through the material into the thick palm of Grayson's hand.
"That's the idea. Get lathered up good. You'll be needing all the cunt juice you can produce."
"No, stop now! No one's ever talked... treated me this way," Kathy pleaded in a daze.
Grayson made that cold and frightening sound that passed for his laughter.
"Don't shit me, rich bitch. This velvet-lined snatch has squeezed half the young pricks in El Camino. The only difference between you and poor girls is that they have to get theirs on the wet grass while you fuck in comfort in Cadillac back seats."
"Believe me," Kathy protested weakly, "no one has ever..."
He interrupted. "Somebody taught you something, missy. You were doing a fair job finger-fucking for the photographer."
Grayson found the zipper on the back of the playsuit. The shrill zinging sound of its parting from one long downward stroke was a further grim warning signal to the girl. He grabbed a handful of the material at the chest and stripped it away from the top of her body, his eyes widening as the large breasts with pink peaked brown nipples sprang into view, the heavy bags jiggling with the effort of Kathy's uneven breathing.
"You like to hang loose to bounce free and easy-like playing tennis. Feels good to have the material scratching the end of your nips like a cat's tongue. That's why you do it, ain't it, bitch? You like the tingling it starts down in your cunt."
Kathy saw through her tears that Grayson's unfeeling eyes had grown even more cruel as he hungrily feasted on the bareness of her upper body while the wrist continued to disappear between her legs, the finger gouging deeper into previously unexplored regions of her vagina. Did he actually expect her to answer the taunting and obscene questions he was spewing at her? Could he be so sick and depraved as to find enjoyment, a perverted form of self-gratification, by soliciting replies to such crudely phrased queries? He was demanding answers that would imply, from her own lips, that she was as lust-crazed as he. Kathy shook her head rebelliously.
She was unprepared for the sharp pain from between her legs. Grayson had located vaginal hairs protruding from her panties and pulled until she thought they would rip from the tender flesh by their roots. He slapped his hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that was building from the very center of the pain cores in her body. Salty indignant tears washed down her face to the muffling hand of her oppressor.
"Things'll be easier when you cooperate. Now you just answer the questions or I'll pluck your pussy bald."
Seldom in her life had Kathy known true physical pain, and Grayson had the looks and demeanor of a man who knew how to inflict hurt skillfully and ingeniously-and enjoy himself immensely at the same time. Her only thoughts were how she could get the picture and be free of this ordeal with the least amount of lasting harm. He wanted her to make untrue sexual admissions. He wanted to hear the obscenities roll from her own mouth. All right. Kathy would invent lies and speak profanely. She would say anything that would help bring this nightmare to an end. Kathy knew she had better do what he asked, or those flat blunt instruments at the ends of Grayson's short hair arms could maim her for life.
Her head weakly bobbed surrender and Grayson took his hand off her crushed lips.
"That's better, bitch," he said, smiling evilly in victory to offset the angelic softness of his voice. "Tell how you like my hand on your pussy."
"I like your hand..." she faltered, unable to form the word.
"Cat got your tongue?" Grayson's fingers found more loose cunt hairs and brutally braided.
The wet rattle in her throat was changing to a piteous howl of excruciating agony when Grayson relaxed his hold. The sound died deep in her chest, broken by quick relieved gasps.
"... on my pussy," she said, caving in completely to Grayson's dirty word game.
"Now tell me some of the other names your pussy is called," he said, addressing her like a stern headmaster during a Latin drill.
Kathy frantically searched the trash bin of her memory for bits and pieces of conversation overheard at her college dorm.
"C-cunt... snatch," she said, little above a whisper.
"Very good. Louder next time, please. A few more and we'll start the next lesson."
Kathy's mind raced. She knew there were more vulgar words used in analogizing the female genitals.
"Box... slit... hothole... cockpit..."
Grayson tilted his head as if listening to music, a satisfied smirk on his lips.
"I like cockpit best," he said.
His hand pushed from its nestling place against her cunt back and over the slender hips until the fingers found the elastic waistband of her bikini panties. He pulled and she felt the crotch-soaked briefs sliding down her legs to the top of her tennis socks, trailed to the floor by the white costume that had been bunched at her hips. She stood, naked except for shoes and socks, a dull defeated look in her large brown eyes. Grayson stepped back to more fully survey the attributes of his chosen receptacle for the hot sticky sperm generating furiously in his fuck-starved balls.
The long light hair fell straight to her bare shoulders, as if protecting them from his hot eyes, and framed the wholesomely colored outdoorsy face. The wide hazel eyes were downcast behind the long curling lashes, contemplating the dainty small hands demurely crossed in front of her vagina. The full slightly parted lips wore a perpetual pout and the cheeks hollowed beneath the high facial bones, creating a picture in Grayson's mind of his thick cock lying stiff on the back of her tongue while her mouth inhaled air around it. She needed no makeup. The breasts rose majestically like massive pale dunes on the white highway ringing the upper half of her body between the darkly tanned shoulders and belly. He had to see those tits move.
"Hand behind your head!"
Kathy had no will to resist and she laced the fingers of both hands behind her head. A prisoner of war, she thought.
Grayson's breathing grew labored as the upraised arms lifted the breasts to an even greater uncreased firmness, the elongated nipples giving the impression of a finger inside the globe trying to push its way through the flesh.
"Drop 'em, bitch. Hands behind your ass. Open your legs."
Kathy stalled, pleading with her eyes. Grayson's look threatened mayhem.
"How you plan to explain a hairless snatch to your boyfriends?"
"God, please don't hurt me again."
She dropped her hands, resting the backs against her buttocks, clenching them into tight bloodless fists, the knuckles pressed hard into the resilient flesh of her ass. Her ankles opened only a foot, trapped by the confines of her clothing.
Grayson crouched and freed her legs, also pulling off the shoes and stockings. From his kneeling position he could have been one of the faithful praying at the loins of a beautiful nude statue to a fertility goddess. He looked head on at her cunt, which started terrain level with the firm flat belly and then plunged into the protective valley formed by contours from her sound thighs.
Kathy was naked, in the military "at-ease" position, engulfed by waves of humiliation and shame as Grayson's eyes freely traveled over the secrets of her body never before seen so clearly by a man. She wished the nerve ends would flee her flesh just as the spirit of resistance had vanished at the first flash of pain. Instead each uncovered pore seemed to ignite on contact with Grayson's searing eyes. A knuckle rapped her ankle bone sharply and she obeyed the unspoken command by slowly inching the foot out across the concrete floor, feeling the damp pubic hairs parting and the air rushing into her open cunt, the dripping fountain of womanhood she now expected Grayson to violate again with his hand. But Kathy was wrong.
Grayson stuck his head in.
She looked down horrified, repulsed by the sight of Grayson insinuating his scaly skin-covered pate against her vagina, ramming and rolling his head amid the tender fleshy folds of the cunt lips as if believing they formed a soft bristly archway to a reservoir of magical hair restorer. A terrible taste came to her mouth and her insides convulsed as though she might vomit. There was a humming noise emanating from his body like the drone from a beehive as he bobbed his small evil head, painting his bare scalp with coat after coat of the secretions from her vagina. He grabbed the cheeks of her ass with both hands to keep his balance as he bored his whole head between her legs, now oiling the hair fringe on the back of his skull with the lubricant from her cunt. His unshaven cheeks scraped against her smooth inner thighs and her buttocks bounced from the subterranean buffeting they received. Grayson eased back slightly and tilted his head up. She saw his neck muscles tense as he corkscrewed his crown hard into her cunt. The demented animal must be trying to return to the womb, Kathy thought, before a sudden thrust from below nearly lifted her off the ground.
Grayson caught her before she could fall. He stood up and unbuckled his belt. His head shone in the dim light of the room and there were patches of the hair horseshoeing his skull that had been slicked down by her cunt juice.
"Unbutton my shirt."
Grayson liked the way her hands flew to his shirt without hesitation and began nervously to unbutton their way down the front. He liked it because it meant she had snapped like a twig, this haughty blonde bitch who got everything she wanted because she could pay the price. She hadn't been able to settle the score with Grayson by offering legal tender. He would make her pay the tab with sweat. He was going to sweat her until she was parched and screaming for him to fill her dehydrated body with his thick life-giving cum. The delicious thrill of turning the tables on this richly endowed rich girl, of jamming and fucking his ripping prick deeper into her belly until she begged, yes, begged for the first time in her entire pampered life for him to end it with wild waves of his white washing cum, set up a tingle of excitement in Grayson as his pants fell to the floor, the belt buckle striking the concrete with a clink, his heavy sagging balls adjusting to the change in temperature.
He had rutted his head into her cunt and the wet lips had parted and tried to cover the whole top like an oily fur skull cap. The high-class bitch thought her pussy was full of gold, but she split apart the same way every female animal on earth did, and Grayson was going to make sure she realized it. She had a hole between her legs the same as the fat nigger he had fucked until frustration, except that her snatch would be tighter and her face more interesting to study, twisting and crying out passion-filled curses as he jackhammered his blunt thick spear up the warm dark tunnel into her midsection.
Grayson knew how he would complete the humiliation of the stunning sex slave completely under his domination. The master's stroke of his genius made him grin widely as the naked girl came to the last button on his shirt. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, fed on genuine sterling silver dinnerware, clothed and cared for with silver that her father extorted from poor people like himself when they ran afoul of the regulations enacted and enforced by silver-tongued lawyers like her dad. He knew exactly what he wanted to do after he slowly withdrew his deflated cock and watched as his cum overflowed the hairy pink lips of her cunt and worked its way down to the puckered ring of her anus. Wasn't her fancy world founded on silver? Just so she would get the message that she was no better than a slut he could pick up out of the gutter for a fast cheap fuck, Grayson was going to wedge a quarter up her ass.
Grayson spread open his shirt like parting a curtain and Kathy blanched as the thick upturned prick came into full view. It was huge, long and thick, and leaking a clear fluid from the skin-covered end. The uncircumcised cock was repugnant to her with its bluntness. It looked more like a dark heavy clublike instrument of harm when she compared it in her mind to the pale stiletto between Craig's legs with its forthright exposed ridged head. Grayson's cock flared out from his fishbelly white lower abdomen and was surrounded at its base by a thick tangle of cum-matted hair, making Kathy suspect that the filthy man's concealed penis head could be infected with any of those awful venereal diseases she had read about. Kathy shrank away from him with a growing dread of his touch.
There was a sound trying to tell her something, a deep reverberating echo bouncing against the walls of her audio reception room, but being out-shouted by the pounding of her heart inside her eardrums.
While Kathy could not unscramble outside sounds because of the confusion boiling in her brain, she did recognize her own lungs when they produced a shrill scream.
"Aarreeeeiiieeeeee!"
The irregular, gurgling lunatic outcry had emitted from her throat, Kathy realized, because the flesh was being stripped away from her body at one of the most sensitive places. Grayson had the dark skin beneath the pointed peak of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and was pulling and twisting murderously. Then he released the breast and grabbed her hair in both hands, shaking Kathy's head violently until her teeth rattled together.
"Slut, you listen when I talk to you!" he screamed in her face. "Goddammit, I told you to take off my shoes."
Grayson jerked down on her hair and she sank to her knees in front of him, tear blinded, her hands groping for his shoes. She found them and untied the knots, slipping off the leather workshoes and peeling away the smelly tight-fitting stockings. She detected a softening in his voice as she felt a light stroking in the silkiness of her hair.
"That's a nice girl," his voice was crooning. "Do exactly what Mr. Grayson tells you and everything will be fine."
She wondered if the pain and dishonor he heaped upon her finally had gotten through to his conscience, that perhaps there was an ounce of human decency in the depraved man who was tenderly smoothing over the soreness he had inflicted on her head.
She tilted her head... and nearly gagged.
Grayson was petting her with his prick, squeezing it near his stump so that seminal fluid oozed out into her hair and filtered through to the scalp.
Kathy needed no more proof that he was dangerously insane, a degenerate who was capable of strangling her with his hands and then sexually abusing her corpse. Suddenly the issue shifted to one of simple survival. If she hoped to live, she would have to do exactly as he ordered, fully and without hesitation, no matter how painful or depraved his wish.
She arose with his shoes in her hands and stood before him waiting for the next command like a spaniel with the master's slippers in its mouth.
Grayson slapped the shoes to the floor and took her by the wrist, leading her to the rumpled bunk, a light oasis in the dim room from a shaded coldly bright bulb overhead.
Now it's coming, Kathy thought. He'd throw her down on the dirty blanket and ravish her the way he would a filthy whore off a Skid Row street. Grayson, holding her by the wrist firmly, surprised Kathy by stretching himself out on the blanket, thrusting his ugly dark prick higher in the air as he smoothed the lumps under his buttocks.
"Now you find a seat," he said, jerking her arm.
"W-where?"
"On my face."
He pulled her wrist until she loomed over him from the top of the bed, staring down the length of his body from behind his bald head.
"Get up on your knees."
She crawled forward on the bed and he roughly prodded until she was in a kneeling position with the back of her buttocks level with his upturned eyes. She had to press forward against his chest to stay upright.
"Settle down, easy like," he said, pulling back on her thighs and descending the darkness of her open crotch down over his face.
Lightning struck inside Kathy when his tongue first contacted her clitoris. The stupefying electrical shock made her body pitch forward out of control. She fell face down on his hairy thigh, her breasts cushioning the impact on his bloated belly. She tried to squirm forward down his leg and away from the rigid prick leaning against the side of her face, but Grayson dug his sweating fingers into her thighs and brutally shifted her hips so that his upturned animal face could feed at her trough of a cunt.
She struggled to close her thighs, but it was hopeless, only serving to implant his mouth deeper into her vagina and force his nose against the rubbery ring of her anus. Her knees dug into his shoulders to no avail and her feet, toes curling inward tightly as if to block and ricochet the strange current coursing down her legs, flailed futilely in the empty air at the head of the bed.
The pink moist flesh of her naked vagina was presented down to his working lips in defenseless sacrifice. Kathy lay frozen on Grayson's midsection as his tongue tortured her by running circles over the ragged pink edges of her cunt and flicking at the clitoris until it was a throbbing tight bud. She groaned like a victim on the rack as he pushed his face forward and the full length of his slippery snake of a tongue buried itself into the warm flowing walls of her pussy.
"Oh, God... ooohhh, God," she heard herself moaning, pounding her perspiring forehead against his thigh as if searching blindly for a button to turn off the machine lewdly ravishing the entranceway to her womb. She could not believe such a depraved attack actually was happening to her.
Her virgin genitals were being crudely plundered by a despicable madman only a matter of hours after she denied a similar intimacy to the man she loved. What pitiless irony.
It can't be happening to me... such a humiliating attack by this unsanitary animal with unwholesome indulgences, she tried to tell herself as the tongue repeatedly speared in and out the involuntarily dilating lips of her cunt.
She convinced herself it would be possible to be considered a virgin after her relentlessly licking despoiler took his fill of the oral outrage to her loins and set her free. In her pounding heart she knew the face barbarously raping her vagina with a thick twisting tongue had succeeded in its mission by employing sheer force. No man of reason or spiritual force would view her as a willing accomplice to the abomination. No countenance, human or divine, demanded that she lay down her very life rather than open her thighs.
Grayson pried apart her buttocks with his strong fingers and his slavering tongue tip flickered against the tight puckered ring of her anus.
"Oooooooohhhh, geeeezus... geeeEEEEzus!"
A sadistic smothered laugh helped weaken Kathy as she tried with all her remaining strength to force shut the flesh mound doors to her asshole, to push out the featherlike tickling of her anus that threatened to push her over the brink to madness.
Grayson drew his face back and blew a hot pointed stream into her asshole, as if trying to fan up the flames he was lighting in her sensitive anus.
"You have to speak louder. Use the microphone by your head. Maybe I'll stop."
Grayson's face plunged back into the crevice, and he worked the muscles of his tongue until the tip broke through the tight rubbery ring and penetrated inside the virgin asshole.
"Aaaaaaaggg," she gasped between clenched teeth, flailing her head from side to side, her face scrubbing Grayson's thigh with her tears of anguish. Her fingers stretched and dug into the filthy blanket. One hand flew to her hair to tear it out from the side, self-inflicted torture to clear her head from the thought of the bloodthirsty assault on her asshole that caused an ache in the depths of her bowels. Her hand was detoured by the thick flesh of Grayson's cock beside her head.
The microphone?
Her hand gripped the swollen prick and the awful tonguing paused. Kathy hesitated in doubt, turning her face on the thigh to face the monstrous member. She focused through the tears and saw her small hand holding the dark fat cock just below the covered head, only inches from her eyes. Grayson's tongue impatiently shot up her backside. She gently squeezed the prick, feeling a response from within, and the tongue popped out of her ass. It was Pavlovian; ring the bell and the dog's mouth waters. If she attends the cock, the tingling tongue lashing of her twitching asshole ceases. Grayson was driving another hard bargain, but Kathy would do anything to bring to an end the maniacal moist manipulation of her asshole. Kathy discovered she had a lower threshold to soft sensation up the ass than to harsher pain elsewhere on her body.
Kathy worked the penis as she had with Craig, watching closely as she pulled the flexible skin and unmasked the raw red head of the prick, hiding like a tightened turtle inside a foreskin shell. Sticky clear seminal fluid dribbled from the end as she worked the cockskin furiously, relieved that her effort was paying off with the terrible tongue in her anus taking a recess. Fortunately she had discovered the Stop button for Grayson's ass-licking machine and she pumped on the prick with grateful vigor.
The resting tongue suddenly snaked back up her asshole, telling the scouring Kathy that she no longer was satisfying the insane inquisitor of her loins.
"Suck it!"
She wasn't certain she heard correctly. She twisted her head to look back over her buttocks.
"W-what did you say?"
Grayson's bald head and mean dark little eyes surfaced over the twin rounded mountains of her ass. She could see the droplets of sweat on the brow formed by the long interment of his face against her steaming bubbling crotch.
Like a nearsighted surgeon making an incision, Grayson held the part in her ass open with the fingers of one hand while he moistened the index finger of the other hand in the juice running from her cunt. The finger poised over her tightly closed anus and then ruthlessly and without warning plunged inside to the first knuckle, the ragged fingernail scratching the unstretched rubbery ring.
Kathy hollered and jerked uncontrollably, her limbs flying straight out from her body as if the bones hoped to cannon free from her wrists and ankles. Her throat belched unintelligible protests as Grayson hooked his finger and probed in a circle, spooning deeper and deeper, expanding the tightness of her rectum until she knew she must lose consciousness from the intense suffering. The finger withdrew with a slight popping noise, like the cork from a wine bottle, and her injured asshole ring rushed to seal shut the breached gateway to the rectum, shooting spearthrusts up her back.
"Suck that cock or next time I'm jamming in a cucumber."
Whimpering softly, Kathy took the end of the stiff cock between her lips and choked at the first strange taste of the leakage. She pulled a piece of the dirty blanket to her face and scrubbed the seminal fluid from her tongue.
Grayson bit her ass with a new warning.
"Keep it in. Swallow every drop."
She covered the end of his prick with her mouth, trying to keep her tongue off the wetness by drawing it back into her throat. Grayson parried with a short jab of his loins against the underside of her half-rolled tongue, driving it back into her throat to block the breathing passage. She struggled to get air, finding it possible to inhale only if she allowed Grayson's prick to rest on the surface of her tongue and breathed through the corners of her mouth. As she adjusted her mouth to accommodate the gagging intrusion, Grayson's nose submerged in the crack in her ass and his mouth once again concentrated on the pussy.
Kathy's snatch reminded Grayson of the warm and soft lusciousness of a sweet peach after the first bite has been removed, the furry tickle on the edge of the lips as you press and suck hungrily for the seed in the center. The rich aroma of Kathy's cuntal perfume filled his nostrils. He had eaten stinky pussy before where the taste had stung his tongue and the acrid fumes had almost knocked him out. And he had sucked bland pussy, juicing tepid distilled water and with an odor that would be undetectable to a horny bloodhound. But this pussy was unlike any other. Nature douched the rich bitch with nectar from a private supply. Since feeding on the affluent cunt he now owned, Grayson had felt no need to cough. Instead he was drawing from her cunt a warm honey butter that teased slowly down his tongue and throat and coated the ruptures in his lungs with a soothing sticky sealing substance from under the influence of which they had neither the strength nor desire to burst open.
Grayson could feel the sweat pouring off her belly onto the hair of his chest, and the perspiration from her hot inner thighs blending into the cunt juice covering his face. She wasn't much of a blowjob artist, he could tell as the lips toyed and tugged half-heartedly over barely one-third of his cock. He bit into a cuntlip and thrust his pelvis up sharply, giving a better idea of what he expected. His prick muffled her sob and she got the idea, accepting the cock further into her throat, haltingly bringing her tongue into play against the surface of the prickskin. Her hand found his balls and softly crushed them up into his groin.
Kathy began working to end it, even if she would have to choke down and swallow a quart of his punishing putrid sperm. It would be over. She could vomit it out of her system. Healing time would lift her from the degrading gutter in which she was wallowing. She knew she could find the strength, eventually, to overcome this ultimate humiliation that Grayson was forcing upon her.
She sucked at the choking cock hungrily, her elastic lips pulling with all their might as they fucked the fattened prick deeper into her throat. Her cheeks hollowed on the outstroke and expanded obscenely on the instroke as she labored with her mouth and hands, the fingers cajoling the jawbreaker-size balls to ignite and blast spurts of hot sperm against her tonsils. She wanted to gulp it down with bulging eyes and then puke it up with revulsion once free of this stinking room and her mad captor.
The change in her sucking tempo did not go unnoticed. Grayson was glad he had chosen his position well, on his back where gravity was his aide. The bitch pulled with all the strength in her lips and lungs, sucking on his cock as if it were a straw leading directly to the cumwells of his nuts, sucking to oilstrike and bring Grayson's hot liquid seed up to drown her thirsty belly.
Grayson might have shot his wad had their positions been reversed, if he were fucking her mouth from on top, making her afraid he would ram his prick through the back of her neck. He wanted to smile at her agitated effort as he continued to burrow his tongue in her cunt. She could try all she wanted to get him to cum, to influence his heaving balls to unload in her mouth until his sticky juice flowed from her ears, but Grayson was in full command. He noticed the first backheave of her snatch against his face, a sure sign that the patient ministration of his tongue had taken its toll. He fought back the frantic message from his balls pleading for permission to unleash their lava up his fleshy chimney into the warm wet sucking vessel plaintively beckoning to them. Grayson saw she was near the moment when her will would collapse, when she would plead with him to end her suffering by replacing his tongue with his deeper-reaching cock, shoving it into her crying bucking cunt until it cured or killed her.
Grayson wanted to cure her first, his huge prick as the medicine giver. He would treat her cunt with his filled prescription of prick pounding in the discovery that all men are created equal, his injection forever ridding her body of the disease that told her well-manicured men like her father and shithead boyfriend, because they had money, were a little more equal than he. The cure might kill her, but Grayson, like an insane man of medicine, was prepared to bury his overdose victim.
Kathy's head bobbed wetly along Grayson's thick cock, her face on the instroke like an innocent surprised child's with a corndog wedged too deeply in the throat. Fluid dripped from the corners of her mouth and ran in tiny rivulets back down the length of the glistening dark pole that impaled her mouth and cut off the air in her windpipe.
Strangely something was spreading through her body that made her gradually forget her humiliating posture, which was higher in elevation to her master, but none the less one of total servility to his depraved demands. An utterly foreign sensation creeped up from her loins to compete for attention with the prick in her mouth she was trying so hard to detonate with constant wet sucking.
Her body was beginning to desert her under the prodding of Grayson's tongue in her cunt.
In spite of the mortification she felt at the scene she knew they presented, each feeding like a crazed animal at the loins of the other, Kathy's pelvis began to respond as if it were instinctively aware of suggestions her mind could not yet comprehend. Her back arched and the flesh of her buttocks tightened as she strained to work her flowing vagina higher so that the slavering tongue could concentrate its full fury upon the bulging bud of her clitoris. The darting tongue answered with two tantalizing teasing touches of the tip to the tightened lightswitch, throwing out a series of impulses that flowed through her body to charge and illuminate every raw nerve end in her feminine sensory machinery.
The long low howl crept up from her toes and escaped with an indescribable bubbling babbling over the sides of the prick buried in her mouth.
Grayson caught his second wind, gleefully concentrating on the clitoris pressing like a hard seed into the hollow of his all-encompassing tongue.
Kathy felt the control slipping away with the overflowing dam in her body and there was nothing she could do except ride the crest. There was no recalling the demons that had been unchained inside her by the ceaseless licking at her naked clitoris that had spread sparks now bursting into uncontrolled flames to devour her. Kathy's shamelessly aroused loins jerked spasmodically and began to slowly move the clitoris in a circular motion against the divine wet rough texture of the outstretching tongue.
Forgotten was the prick still pressed against her tongue as her mouth flew open wide; gone was the feeling of abject surrender to the depraved lust of the man Grayson; erased from her mind were thoughts of fiance, father, home, shame and humiliation. All that mattered in the shabby room, on the face of the earth, in the entire universe, were the delicious shafts of pleasure previously unknown that were being propelled through Kathy's flesh like tiny pricking needles of fire, spurred into life by the tongue of the horrible stranger whose face rubbed raw the insides of her sweaty thighs.
"Aaaiiiiii... Don't stop... noooo, aaahh, don't stop!" Kathy slobbered, out of her head, around the shaft shoved into her mouth.
Grayson buried his nose against the anus and once again thrust his thick wet tongue like an arrow into the quiver of her vagina to meet and absorb the milky outpourings of her climax. He could feel the soft silky pubic hairs tickling the sides of his rough cheeks as she ground her spreading cunt in a slow hypnotic rhythm down against his face, her cumjuice flowing wetly over his lips and down his face and tensed stretched neck to the hair forest of his chest. His prick slipped from her mouth as her head collapsed hard on his thigh and he felt the full weight of her drained body settle on his head and torso.
Grayson pulled back his face to stare up over the soft untanned mounds of her ass while he caught his breath. Now it would be his turn, he gloated with excitement. Now he would jack it up her tight pussy, ripping and smashing into her crotch until the hydrants in his balls opened and he hosed in a substance to drown the new fires he would torch in her belly. He had shown Kathy that her rich ass wasn't out of his league. She was just another burning pussy dying for a cock, for a fucking from any long round thing she could wrap twat flaps around. She had a bite of Grayson's cock in her mouth, and now she was going to get a real hard-driving taste from the other end. She would never forget it, Grayson vowed, if she was banged ten thousand times by Mongols in the next week.
So that was it.
That was the roller coaster ride she had been trying to forestall ever since her body had been old enough to experience it. Kathy was flopped on her belly in an uncaring boneless heap, her arms and legs spread wide, on a strange lumpy human mattress she didn't want to think about. She had forgotten who she was, why she was where she was, and with whom. It all happened at the peak of an unearthly trip induced by what means she didn't want to try to remember. All that mattered was that at last it had happened from a source outside her own powers and it had been unbelievably good. She had been a surfer hanging on a nine-foot-high ride that had disappeared beneath her, and all of her insides had churned up into her breasts as she fell... to return like an anchor settling into her lower parts after she crashed through the veil of water. Since then she had been sinking and she never wanted to hit bottom. She had been soaring aloft like a human glider until a wing fell away and then she had plunged twisting wildly toward the earth, the friction of re-entering the atmosphere nibbling at her every naked pore like fiery kissing lips, but somehow she had not yet crashed. She was still circling, nestled in the embrace of a spongy soft cloud that reluctantly swayed downward and downward.
The afterglow of her climax was so intense that Kathy was only vaguely aware of Grayson turning her body over, his runny prick sliding down between her breasts as he lifted his groin from her reclining head, straddling her body briefly from his knees until he climbed off the edge of the bunk. He looked down at her naked nearly-unconscious body with a grin of cruel determination as he slipped his hands under her arms and slid her body the rest of the way up the blanket.
Kathy was dreamily unaware of what caused the lifting pressure in her armpits and sighed half-smiling behind closed eyes when it subsided and instead became a gentle kneading from the outside of her swollen breasts, forcing the nipples together high over the plunging chasm of the flat bone valley that separated them.
She could not feature in her mind a force that now pressed her knees together and lifted them erect until they stood on their own, supported by her own little feet on a surface rumpled and scratchy to her unknowing touch. Then she felt her knees parted wide, and her wet warm relaxed clitoris being introduced to the open air, the drenched lips of her vagina inhospitably squeezing shut protecting against the sudden drop in temperature. A new weight on her cloud mattress, one which made her think her ass would slide off the edge and fall crashing to earth, convinced Kathy to open her eyes... thus shattering the subliminal spell.
Grayson, from a kneeling position between her widely splayed thighs, rose over her, his leering face gleaming with the rich outpourings of her loins, which he hungrily licked from his lips. Kathy's eyes sunk and she froze in terror, petrified by the sight of the huge blunt cock being stroked by Grayson's stubby fingers only a few inches above the golden carpeting paving the path to her vagina. His thing was still moist from her mouth and gleamed in the light like an unsheathed killer blade.
"Ask Mr. Grayson to fuck you in the cunt, bitch."
A sweeping sickness flowed out from the pit of Kathy's stomach. She would have heaved except for the dryness in her mouth suddenly brought on by the anticipation of the most tormenting pain imaginable to her, that of being impaled and split apart from her loins by the huge wedge Grayson held iii his hand.
"God, no!" she rasped through the cotton stuffing in her mouth. "Don't hurt me more. I'm too small for... t-that. You'll kill me."
Grayson's heartless laugh cut like razor blades through the stale air of the room.
"I can see the tombstone now... fucked to death."
Kathy pushed with her feet and tried to slide up the bed away from him, using her elbows as ski poles and climbing with her buttocks.
Grayson dropped his cock and thrust his thumb into the entryway of her cunt, the middle finger searching and finding the tight puckered anus and driving inside to the first knuckle. He had her like a bowling ball and his mean meaty hand clenched tightly in an effort to bridge her flesh separating his fingers. Kathy's head flopped and her mouth flew open wide in a soundless scream. Nothing, nothing in the world, could equal this pain digging into the tender twin sphincters, or the inventiveness of the agony-oriented perpetrator.
"You were saying...?" The ominous growl, dripping with venom and the promise of greater degrees of discomfort, assaulted her ears.
The finger digging in the asshole mined her final ounce of resistance. The fighting thighs relaxed and fell useless, spread to their limits to ease the pressure from the vise closing between her cunt and asshole. The elastic ring of the anus gave to welcome the finger. Words from her own mouth, filtered through gritted teeth, sounded to Kathy's ears as if spoken by a stranger capitulating to the deathbed.
"F-fuck me in the cunt, Mr. Grayson."
Another squeeze piercing the tenderest of female flesh.
"Say please."
"Oh, please."
Fingers withdrew and Kathy lay still to allow her manhandled orifices to reshape themselves, the only sound in her ears a heavy thumping inside her chest from the adrenaline pain-pumped into her heart.
Grayson leaned over the prostrate body and harshly fastened his teeth into the nipple of Kathy's large left breast. He switched to the other breast, leaving the wet imprint of his teeth around her twin beauty marks. Kathy groaned, but lacked the strength to struggle away. His greedy lips wetly roamed the white mounds, and again to her surprise the breasts automatically telegraphed a blissful twitch down the belly to her open wet cunt. Her buttocks ground into the mattress to combat the tickling.
Grayson raised up over her, gouging his stiffening arms into her shoulders. He dropped one hand down between their bodies and guided the hard throbbing cock forward until it gently parted the full fleshy hairlips of the cunt. Kathy shuddered and threw her head to one side as she felt the uncomfortable electrical contact against the sensitive ragged edges of her moist pussy. She held her breath for what seemed an eternity, lying still in utter subjugation beneath him, waiting for the final awesome thrust that surely would kill her with tearing pain and mercifully end the rite of human sacrifice she was forced to perform.
Suddenly the patiently cruel grin on Grayson's face faded and was replaced by a contorted expression of raw lust. He could stand it no more, seeing the helpless innocent girl spread-eagled beneath him with just the tip of his dick splitting her snatch. His stimulated balls demanded that he fuck her, to deeply penetrate the tight cunt now before he exploded. The muscles of his ass tightened and he rammed forward with a vengeance.
"Aaaaaaaggggghhhh!"
The cry was forced from deep inside Kathy, driven out of her chest by the blast in her loins as a broad red-hot poker skewered like a spinning bullet into the smooth virginal flesh of her cunt, bursting through the tight ring of her virginity and on into the wet and warm cavern beyond. The white hot ingot plunged endlessly and without mercy deep into the expanding channel. Kathy groaned and twisted in anguish beneath the depraved attack on her unprotected genitals. Through the failing consciousness of her tortured brain, she felt as if her entire lower body had been descended into a bubbling pot of molten lead. The flaccid symbol of her virginity had been ripped away savagely, but all she could think of was the shock and pain as her body went limp from the giving and tearing of her flesh. Grayson's thick destructive cock tore into her cunt like a burning freight train, pushing and bayoneting the moist flesh of the vaginal wills in front of it without thought of injury, ripping apart a tight seam that had protected her womb for so long. The surging waves of agitated cuntal flesh went before the driving pressure of the rock-hard drill until suddenly Grayson's pelvis smacked solid into the split loins and his balls bounced heavily into the upturned cheeks of her tightly clenched ass.
Her agitated lips struggled to define and form into words the incoherencies rushing from her throat. The spear ripped through a thousand tiny threads inside her and now the head was sunk deep in her belly, filling the space available and throbbing for more. She felt the hardness of the tip pressed tight against the end of her cervix. Grayson lay heavily on her breasts, his hands slipping under her buttocks to part them as if trying to open her cunt more to assault whatever remaining obstacle blocked his prick from absolute interment.
Grayson was still for a moment, staring down into her pained wide eyes until the pupils rolled back into place. He could feel the stiffness in the body beneath him, clinging to one posture as if any movement would restore the splitting pain.
Kathy felt her soft wall passages expanding more and more apart in stuttering jerks to accept the bulk of the invading cock. She could smell Grayson's vile breath as he panted unevenly in her face. She felt a sharp throb deep inside as he cruelly flexed his buried cock. Miraculously the walls, already stretched beyond her endurance, adjusted to accommodate more.
"You weren't lying when you said you were virgin. You must like sucking cock more than fucking," he tormented her.
Kathy was amazed at being alive, at seeing a human face over her, smelling the foul odor from his mouth, feeling the pain inside subsiding. She had survived a killer attack, losing her virginity much in the manner of women before her who were violated by Huns, Vikings, Vandals, Christians, Moslems, Turks, Nazis, Japanese. It didn't matter, she conceded as she learned the lesson millions of women had learned. A membrane inside the cunt is not important; survival is all that matters. Women can adapt to a terrible prick rack stretching their very insides... and survive.
Her tears of shame and humiliation would not cease, but now Kathy understood they were merely cosmetics protesting the parting of her maidenhead by a stranger. Kathy appreciated the fact that at least she might live to be married.
"How d'ya like getting it from a real man?" Grayson pulled an inch back on his vacuum-sealed cock and then accelerated forward to be sure her attention, at least, was undivided.
There was no answer. The cords in Kathy's neck bulged with a fresh onset of pain.
"Good, ain't it, bitch?" he persisted, flexing his cock.
"Ooooh, yes, yes," she cried, fearing the wrong answer would aggravate him into deeds of greater brutality.
Grayson clamped his sticky wet lips down on her mouth and drove his tongue between her teeth. He began a slow rocking motion between Kathy's thighs, his fingers folding into her buttocks and pulling her high onto his jabbing shaft. He rammed with mounting abandon into the dark depths of the unresisting beautiful tender flesh beneath him. He could feel his heated cock increasing in size and pressuring out the walls of her cunt to their strained limits as he savagely ground into her. His fondest wish had been granted, that of brutally banging the insides of this lovely rich girl and for her to tell him that he is a masterful fucking partner.
Kathy felt the tight narrow passage widening with each smooth short stroke against it, and her mind recalled the lewd picture of the two dogs she saw fucking, oblivious to the outside eyes on them. She could feel her vagina behaving as she had seen the female dog's hind quarters acting, the lips of her cunt holding tightly to the pumping prick on each outstroke and reversing and folding inward as he pushed forward.
There was no way to resist the fleshy instrument burrowing deep inside her burning vagina, pinning her hand-cupped ass deeper into the mattress with each thrust. The slurping sound of his prick withdrawing played at her ears tantalizingly. It was the most unusual sound she had ever known, and the awareness that it came from a rigid cock deep inside her own flesh quickened the involuntary reactions of Kathy's old feeling of helplessness and abuse had given way to lewd flames of desire licking through her veins. Her total degradation no longer was an enemy, but was soldered as an ally to sensations within her produced by the first fuck. Since Kathy could sink no lower in her estimation of herself, she smiled in that she was free to ride the unexpected heady experience to the fullest. Her acceptance of the inevitable sent chills running along the base of her spine, swelling in intensity as Grayson set a slow and regular cock-versus-cunt skewering rhythm with his loins.
Her body began to twitch and writhe in time, and she groaned as his tongue probed as a bonus into her open mouth. With sudden complete abandon she responded with her own tongue and attempted to catch the beat of the music from her groin. She began to ride the relentless cock, adapting to the gait as if her body were astride a cantering horse.
A steady low passionate hum crawled from deep in her chest as her face contorted in ecstasy, mouth working feverishly on Grayson's lips and tongue, neck straining, nostrils flared, a light sweat breaking out on her forehead under the disheveled blonde hair.
Grayson tightened his grip on her buttocks, holding one slender cheek in each hand, feeling them flex and unflex, submerging his fingers down against the cuntlips to feel his fullsize prick pulling out and pushing in, his hands monitoring the cockwork through her velvety flesh curtain. Grayson felt the limp thighs come to life, striving forward until her hot wet hole of a cunt had swallowed his cock to the greatest depth allowed.
Kathy felt no discomfort and the groans had turned into mewly sounds of pleasure to be transmitted into Grayson's open mouth. She writhed beneath him with the intensity of her feeling, straining for the climactic peak his mouth produced earlier. She had no thoughts except how to get the most from being fucked against her will. Her body was giving back to Grayson what his prick was giving her.
Grayson lifted his face from hers and stared down past his paunch as he shifted into a longer stroke, seeing the glistening cockveins stand out as he withdrew until only the head was inside and then watching her muff flail hungrily as it gobbled on the crushing instroke when their pelvic hairs meshed together and his balls smacked wetly into the crevice of her ass.
He slid a hand inside the crack until he felt the tightly puckered tiny anus cradled defenselessly below. It was stretching with the intense movement of her buttocks pushing against his loins. Grayson cursed himself for forgetting to leave his pants nearer to the bed. He would be unable to fish in the pocket for a silver coin to shove up her asshole as his final gesture of supremacy over an offspring of the rich. Instead he pushed a finger in with a quick movement, feeling the soft rubbery flesh yield once again to his sodomizing digit.
"Ah!" she gasped in painful surprise.
He thrust harder, shoving the finger in to the second knuckle. Grayson relished the fact he now had deeply violated her every sensory orifice capable of rape.
"Aaahhhhhh!" she groaned louder this time from the further outrage against her defenseless asshole.
Grayson had her good. He wished he wasn't ready to cum so that he could roll her over and give her tight little asshole a well-deserved stretching with his prick. He worked the finger around inside, pulling the rubbery softness open wider and wider as he continued to slam into her cunt with long strokes increasing in their velocity. He slipped in a second finger and smiled when the tightness gave way to the twisting of the two deep in her rectum.
The noises coming from her chest became broken gasps of pleasure as her anus grew accustomed to the unnatural invasion, and Grayson's lips split wide in victory as he felt her begin slowly screwing her rectum back on his fingers as they probed methodically around the warm rubbery depths. He finger-fucked her asshole in concert with the drubbing of her cunt by his huge blunt instrument, and she twisted and squealed from the pain and sensual delight of the double impalement of her loins.
Grayson flattened himself heavily on her breasts, making her breath come in labored gasps, and reached with his other hand to above where his cock pounded into her snatch until his prying thumb located the swollen clitoris. Resting his hand on the sweat-soaked pussy hair, he pressed the bud as if it was a doorbell, lightly skimming the wet smooth surface and pressing again.
The legs on either side of him flew up and open and she shrieked hysterically. She opened herself in total offering to the ravishment of her asshole, cunt and clitoris by the inventive lust-crazed demon assaulting her loins. Her drive for fulfillment surpassed even his as her groin bounced back from each jab of cock and fingers like a masochistic punching bag.
"Fuck deeper... I'm going to..."
Her face was contorted and pale with strain as she drove her body against him violently, the hardened nipples digging into his chest like vest buttons. Grayson tore his fingers from her asshole with a wet sound and put his hands beneath her knees and pushed them back and hard down against the mattress on either side of her shoulders. The plane of her crotch was stripped of any protection from the pile-driving prick that slapped brutally into her.
"Ah... ahh... oooohhhhhh... good, good... yesssss," she groaned as if in anguish, her hands clawing at his back, sliding down to his buttocks and pulling in an attempt to make his prick pierce through to her vital organs. Suddenly her body stiffened and it was as if she hung in the air supported only by the length of stiff flesh inside her. She shivered violently.
"I'm cummmming! GeeeEEEzus! I'm c u m m m m m m i n g!... Oooooooooooh!... Ooooooooooh...!"
Grayson felt her cunt opening and the warm gushes of wet sticky liquid flooding hot around his pistoning cock. He released her legs and concentrated on thrusting faster, digging deeper and deeper inside her punishment-demanding cunt. Her legs shot straight out into the air, frozen there as she reached for the full intensity of every split second of her prolonged climax.
He could feel the muscles inside her stomach working the lips of the vagina as if trying to snip off his penis at the stump, sucking tightly as she milked it to keep her own orgasm alive. While Kathy did not appear even to be breathing, Grayson's chest was heaving so hard that he was afraid he would fall into one of his coughing fits before his moment arrived.
But the insane wildness of her climax had an effect on him too. As her warm wet vaginal walls continued to tighten around his hard-driving cock he threw back his head with a wild animal grunt and exploded his lewd hot sperm deep into her womb, his prick jerking and spurting the long-stored cum like from a sputtering geyser into her body. He emptied himself until his aching balls twitched blanks, satisfied in the knowledge that his poor man's cum was forming a deep dense pool that threatened to burst the belly of a beautiful rich blonde girl.
Both bodies went limp and they collapsed in a heap on the rumpled bunk. Kathy, her eyes glazed, gasped what seemed the first breath in an hour, filling her lungs with the perspiration smell of the man sagged on top of her, mixed with the pungent overflow of his cum now running out of her gently palpitating vagina and down her asshole.
The thick penis inside her cunt was shrinking to softness and Grayson withdrew it with a wet sucking noise, a transparent thread of cum still seeping from the head. He rolled over her leg and stood beside the bunk looking down at her. Kathy's body was beaten and used as it never had been before. She lay completely exhausted and lifeless, her legs still splayed obscenely as he had left her. She saw how he was looking at her like a conqueror. The wave of shame and humiliation returned and she closed her legs suddenly and struggled to a hunched sitting position, drawing up her knees and attempting to conceal her breasts with her arms.
"Real modest now that you've had the best fuck you'll ever get."
Grayson edged up to the bed and rubbed the sperm residue from his prick against her bare shoulder.
Kathy said nothing. There was no evil he could subject her to that would surmount what she had just suffered. She climbed off the bed and picked up her clothing. As she stooped over, Grayson snaked a leg around behind her and stuck his toe up her bruised open asshole.
Kathy jumped away and dressed hurriedly. Grayson took his time finding his clothes, whistling softly to himself as he put them on. Kathy held her face away from him until he was fully clothed, then she faced him with eyes aglow from new tears of bitterness and rage.
"Give me the picture," she demanded.
"Why sure, lover," Grayson smiled, reaching into the pocket of his flannel shirt and producing the photograph. He held it out just beyond her reach. "You've forgotten your manners. Remember how I taught you to say please?"
"Please."
"That's nice," he said, holding the picture out closer to her. "Just one more thing. Thank me for fucking you."
Kathy felt the blood rushing to her face. The sordid man wanted the last ounce of his flesh. Then she realized she was being foolish under the circumstances. What more could he do to her? What humiliation could exceed what she had just endured?
"Thank you for fucking me. Mr. Grayson," Kathy said, her words covered with frost.
"I'm a man of my word," Grayson said, handing her the photograph. "You'll never want to fuck your hand again now that you know what's in my pants. Come see me again soon."
Kathy ripped the terrible picture into confetti and scattered the shreds on the concrete floor. She faced Grayson with contemptuous eyes.
"You're a janitor. Sweep it up." She turned for the door.
"Not so quick, bitch. We haven't set up our next meeting."
Kathy wheeled on the steps to the doorway, leveling a murderous glare at Grayson.
"Don't think you can ever do that again. You took me by force. Remember, there are rape laws in this state."
"Rape!" Grayson chortled, stroking the fly of his trousers. "I'm going to fuck you in your smartass mouth for saying that. Tomorrow you're going to meet some pals of mine. And you're going to bring along that little number in hot pants who plays tennis with you."
Kathy stared at the leering lunatic in outright amazement.
"You're crazier than I thought. If you so much as look at me again, I'll have you put behind bars."
Grayson cocked his head to one side and glared coldly.
"Those are the words you're going to eat... right off the end of my prick. May I introduce Mr. Barker, a dear friend of mine who's ready to swear you came to me on your knees begging to be fucked."
Kathy's legs went limp when she saw the figure stepping out of the darkness near the noisy boiler only six feet from the bed. Barker, who she recognized as a country club bartender, smiled evilly as he moved out into the light of the room. Then she saw he was carrying a Polaroid camera. She thought she was going to be sick. He not only witnessed, he had photographed the entire loathsome episode. Kathy sank to the steps and buried her face in her hands. Uncontrollable tears washed out of her eyes and her shoulders were wracked by wild sobs.
What sin had she committed that would result in her life taking such an unpredictably dirty twist? Must she forever pay for her one lust-driven attempt at self-gratification, responding to the spark of damning curiosity Craig placed in her innocent body only the evening before?
"Some real collector's pieces here, Grayson," she heard the bartender say.
She looked up and saw Grayson smiling down at a half-dozen or so photographs spread like poker cards in his hands. He approached her and dropped one of the pictures in her lap.
"Take a look. Your screen test came off real good."
Kathy reluctantly picked up the picture. Steadying her trembling hand, she saw a crazed expression on her face, the arms pulling on Grayson's bare buttocks with all their strength, sucking him deeper into her cunt.
"No, no, no!" she cried out in nauseating remembrance, shuddering with revulsion as she ripped the picture to pieces.
"Doesn't matter, miss fancy bikini panties. I have much more interesting shots. They'll be yours after we do some trading," the bartender sneered.
He stepped up and dropped a piece of paper in her lap.
"That's my address," he said. "Be there tomorrow night at eight. There are still a few things you need to learn."
"Don't forget to bring your little friend," Grayson added. "You wouldn't want me to have to send this here picture to your boyfriend. Your sweetie might not like to kiss a cocksucker."
Chapter V
If she lived to be a hundred Kathy believed she always would feel Jean's eyes after they had changed from the look of unbelieving surprise to one of unmasked loathing that consumed her very soul.
It was the first wrong that Kathy ever committed against another human being with cold premeditation. There was no other way. It was out and out, fundamental, classic blackmail. Kathy laid it squarely on the line with no preface, no soft-soaping. Just the bare facts.
"Screw a bunch of strangers? You've flipped your lid, Kathy."
"You don't have any choice. You're pregnant and once more won't matter."
"But Kathy, there's a big difference."
"If you want me to help you out of your mess, first you have to help me out of mine."
"They might hurt us, even kill us."
"That's a chance we have to take."
The drive to the address Barker had given Kathy was made in total silence. Jean, from the passenger seat, fixed her eyes on Kathy's face and never once moved them, penetrating her with a look of absolute hatred of an intensity usually reserved for an accused toward a hanging judge.
Kathy viewed herself as a Judas goat leading an innocent lamb to slaughter, and she tried to rationalize, to see Jean as the black sheep, tainted. It didn't work. The horrible scheming Grayson, that filthy heartless beast, had discovered a humiliation overcoming even his animalistic attack on her virgin body. He had changed her from an innocent victim into a monster capable of delivering her best friend, like the lowliest of procurers, into the lap of debauchery and whoredom.
Her whole lifetime of rigid observance of moral principles had been flushed down the tube in one day. Kathy wasn't beyond seeing the gallows humor of the situation. This must be what they mean when they say masturbation makes you crazy, she thought. It would be simple if only she could be a poor loony, a mute unfeeling vegetable. But Kathy's faculties were very much present and active as she parked the car behind the others in front of Barker's secluded beach cottage.
"Now that we're here and there's no turning back, tell me what they have on you," Jean said coldly as they walked toward the lighted house.
"Photographs."
"Photographs? What kind?"
"The only type that would make me do this to get them back," she said, the aches in previously unused muscles bringing back with clarity the memory of the day before with Grayson.
"Fuck pictures! Now I get it. The virtuous Miss Kathy Carlson has been screwing around all along. You rotten hypocrite," Jean screamed, each word cutting flesh from Kathy's body.
"Please, Jean, don't make it worse."
Jean was beyond convincing, spewing out her pent-up hatred like machine gun bullets as they reached the door.
"I see it all. They threatened to show them to Craig. They wouldn't take money, so you give yourself and your best friend to bail out your ass. You would have sold your own mother if you'd known what cathouse she works in."
Kathy, her ears burning with the abuse, choked back an outraged sob as she knocked at the door.
"I'll get you for this," Jean said, smiling grimly as the prospect of retribution edged aside her anxiety at what was beyond the door.
Barker answered the knock.
"The guests of honor. Please do come in," he said, excitement showing on his hardened features.
The large living room of the A-frame beach house was illuminated by candles and the light from the fireplace in a corner. Another corner was occupied by a small bar. Kathy saw that the furnishings had been shifted to one side of the room and wondered why. Then she discovered. The other side was cleared like a bare stage, except for two mattresses side by side on the hardwood floor.
Kathy gripped Jean's arm and turned back toward the door, in time to see Barker double-bolt the escape route, then lean back against it with his prizefighter's muscular body as further insurance against the quarry fleeing.
"Quit being a lousy fucking host, Barker. Bring in the broads."
Kathy recognized the voice. It was Grayson, half hidden behind the bar, the firelight mirroring on his scalp. She held Jean's arm and noticed his cruel mocking voice had a similar effect on her. It was almost as if the two girls were exchanging a current that made flesh crawl and goose bump.
Barker parted them and put an arm around each of their waists. He led them through the maze of relocated furnishings, talking softly as he pressured their hesitant feet forward toward the figures huddled over bottles and glasses on the opposite side of the room.
"I think you ladies know most of the gentlemen. You might refer to them as the blue collar workers of the Seaview Country Club. You probably don't know their names, but most of them have been silently and loyally in your service since you were little girls. It's so thoughtful of you to volunteer to be here tonight to express your appreciation."
The taunting cynicism in Barker's voice made Kathy think he-must be Grayson's prize student of sadism. He was relishing his role as deliverer of the lush beautiful maidens to the altar. His hand had slipped down to Kathy's hip, massaging the firmness beneath her skirt each time the muscles flexed with her steps. Kathy wondered if Jean was receiving the same attention.
"There's no need to introduce Mr. Grayson there behind the bar. You know each other quite well, as I'm sure you've told your friend. Since he organized the program tonight, I have consented to let him act as ringmaster. Would you care to take a bow, Mr. Grayson?"
Barker turned the girls roughly to face the bar as Grayson stepped out. Kathy froze and she heard Jean gasp. Grayson was naked from the waist down and held his stiff prick in one hand as he approached. Kathy tried to back away but Barker held her firmly.
"It's good to see my favorite rich tight pussy again. We'll take up where we left off," Grayson grinned menacingly. "And you," he said, turning to Jean, "Just shivering with desire, ain't you? We'll feed the fever burning in your hot pants."
Kathy felt the rushing return of revulsion for the master torturer Grayson. He reached into the pocket of his shirt, the same one he wore the day before, and pulled out the Polaroid pictures. He held one in front of Jean's eyes.
"See what a good teacher I am."
"And what a good student she is," Barker added, squeezing Kathy's ass.
Jean tore her eyes away from the picture and faced Kathy with a look of a wounded frightened animal pleading to be made well again. Kathy could not meet the eyes of the friend she had betrayed, the wide tear-filled accusing eyes of a child being punished wrongly.
"There are six pictures. Each man will have one as his ticket. He gives the picture to the girl...." Grayson chuckled obscenely, "... who punches his ticket."
Grayson returned one picture to his shirt pocket and gave another to Barker. He moved in among the furniture passing out the photographs. Barker prodded the girls to follow.
"This is Billy Bacon," Barker said. "He's the chief golf caddy. He used to be a jockey and he's anxious to get in the saddle again tonight."
The little man, his face flushed with liquor, looked up from his picture and Kathy felt his crazed billygoat eyes eating through her clothing.
"You ride like I say or I'll whip shit out of you," Billy said.
Barker nudged the girls on.
"This is Mr. James. I'm certain you've seen him often."
He was the gatekeeper, the ancient cripple with the cane who waved Kathy through to the country club grounds countless times. Kathy wondered why he was there, what a man of his years could hope to accomplish. His eyes watered behind gold-rimmed spectacles as he looked up at them, clicking his plates nervously. Kathy felt Barker tighten his grip on her as the old man slyly darted his hand up her skirt, reaching the crotch and fingering the hair-covered mound gently, as if reading Braille, through her panties. Kathy squirmed to be free of the ugly old claw, as repulsive to her as a poisonous spider would be on her loins. Meanwhile Barker slipped his hand up her side and over a bra-covered breast, squeezing the nipple until it filled out to hardness in spite of the pain.
"Be nice to the old geezer," he whispered in her ear threateningly. "Show some respect for your elders." He led her away and she felt the arthritic hand scratching down her bare thigh. "Leave something for the rest of us, pop."
"This is Milo, the groundskeeper," Barker went on, stopping in front of a pimply young man who was puffing a cigarette uneasily. He picked up his glass and took a long pull before looking at the girls. Kathy's stomach flip-flopped at the sight of his gaunt, haunted face, the eyes set deep within dark hollow sockets. Milo looked as unsure of himself as the young women.
"Hurry up, goddammit, I gotta see."
"Our friend Milo is a little shy... one shy, to be exact. He's only been back with us a year after a tour of duty ill Vietnam. He lost something there most fellows consider rather important."
Milo flew to his feet.
"Shut your fucking mouth, Barker, you cock-sucker. I'll show you bastards I'm okay."
"We'll see, boy," Barker replied evenly. "We'll even let you have first pick, won't we, Grayson?"
"Hell, yes. It ought to be quite a show," Grayson said.
"I want her," Milo demanded, pointing to Jean. "I'm going to screw her until she can't walk. She's the cunt who won't give me a second look at the club. I'm fixing her so she remembers my face."
Kathy heard Jean whimpering. She saw Barker now was roughly handling her breasts and Jean was struggling against his arm.
"No, I can't go through with it. Take your hands off me. Let me out of here."
"You ain't going nowhere 'til I get mine," Milo shouted, grabbing her around the hips and forcibly taking her away from Barker. His arms gripped tightly around her waist and the hands groped for the zipper on her capris. Jean screamed as he opened her pants and pulled them down to her knees, baring the lean firm thighs.
Jean, shrieking in terror, tried to get away, but was trapped by the bonds of her own clothing. Milo caught her by the arm and threw her roughly toward a chair. The chair arm hit the spinning girl at mid-thigh and tripped her backwards into the cushion, her legs flying high in the air. Milo pounced forward like a panther and pulled off the capris and her sandals. He fell across her body and ran his hands up beneath the sleeveless pullover sweater, working them around behind to unfasten the bra.
Kathy's instincts told her to help, but now Barker had her more firmly in tow. He had moved around behind her and was cupping one of her breasts in each hand, driving a hardness from his groin into the crevice of her backside in mounting excitement as they saw Jean continuing to struggle.
"Let go of me, you sonovabitch," Jean screamed, clawing out at Milo's face.
Milo stiffened, running his hand across the scratch mark. He felt the blood. He hauled back his hand and viciously slapped it across Jean's face, snapping her head sharply to one side.
"That's it, Milo. Teach the bitch some manners," Grayson applauded.
Milo got up and stepped behind Jean, who was sobbing and trying to curl up tightly in a ball in the chair as if it were a kangaroo's pouch. The young man straightened her by twisting an ear. He pulled the sweater and unfastened bra up over her head. The luxurious pale breasts fell free, the tiny pink nipples hardening instantly. Milo took the firm young breasts in his hands and lifted from behind, the tugging pressure forcing the girl to scramble to her feet to keep the mounds from being torn off. He held her facing Kathy, harshly pinching the nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Clad only in panties, through which the triangular shape of Jean's mound of dark pubic hair was visible, the helpless tearful girl presented an enticing abused innocent sight to the depraved men, who were on their feet clustering around her to examine more closely. There was no trace of the pregnancy. Jean's bronzed abdomen ran smoothly from the hand-held breasts to a provocative narrowness below the rib cage, beneath which the hips flared out sensuously in firm rounded fullness.
"If ever a body was made for fucking, that's it," said Grayson, stepping forward and stripping Jean of her panties with a single violent jerk. He took her leg at the bend and lifted it, running his hand underneath the exposed vagina. "Hot as a firecracker and leaking like a sieve."
"Let me see," cried the dwarflike Billy Bacon, falling to his knees to peer up the wide open snatch.
Kathy felt as though she had drawn a knife across her friend's throat and was standing ankle-deep in the blood flowing from her lifeless body. Jean had been pacified quickly. Her head hung limp and her whole body sagged. Instead of being supported crane-like by the one leg, Jean appeared to be held in place by Milo's hands on her breasts. It relieved Kathy, as Barker dropped one hand and snaked up under her skirt to fish beneath the elastic of her panties, that she did not have to look into Jean's eyes as she was being scrutinized by Bacon as thoroughly as if he was her gynecologist.
"Can you tell if she's cherry, Billy?" the old man with the cane cackled excitedly.
Bacon twisted his middle finger up her cunt. Jean's loins flinched at the touch.
"Cherry, shit," Bacon said scornfully. "That hole can handle a rolling pin."
"You motherfuckers keep your hands off my meat," Milo yelled, trying to pull her away. But Grayson still held the leg. "Let go, Grayson, I'm gonna stick her right now."
"We said you could fuck first when it's fucking time. Let the boys have a little look," Grayson said. "Hey, Claudio, get your black ass over here."
A huge bulk stirred in the darkness near the fireplace. He had been sitting so quietly that Kathy had not even noticed his presence. Now he stood up. He was enormous. He slowly plodded over to the group surrounding Jean. Kathy recognized him as the hulking mulatto who worked in the kitchen at the country club. He must stand six and one-half feet tall and weigh close to three hundred pounds, Kathy estimated. She could feel the floor vibrating with each heavy step he took.
"Now the introductions are complete," Barker said behind her, releasing her breast to slide the second hand under her skirt to assist in pulling off her panties. She made no move to resist as Barker dropped to one knee to carefully slip the panties over her high heels. The air funneled up her dress to the unprotected vagina and her clitoris stiffened as if affronted by its new nakedness.
"Claudio is from Cuba and his English ain't so good. We use a special kind of sign language with him," Grayson explained with delight. "You'll like the way it works. Bring her here, Barker."
Barker kneed Kathy to move to Jean's side and she responded numbly. Grayson released Jean's leg and picked up her torn panties off the floor. He spotted Kathy's briefs and retrieved them. Then he took the big man by the arm and brought him around to face both the girls.
"Show her snatch, Barker," Grayson said.
Barker lifted Kathy's dress up above her hips. The mulatto's face remained expressionless as he slowly shifted his eyes from Kathy's bared cunt over to Jean's naked body.
Kathy felt panic slowly climb up her back. She turned to Jean and saw that she was facing the big man, her face pale and lips quivering, both of them thinking the same thing. The gigantic bronze beast could snap a spine or fracture a pelvis as easily as breaking a pretzel.
Grayson read their faces and his whole body rocked with swallowed laughter, backfiring with a crackling cough from deep inside that made his rigid penis flail weird designs in the air until he got the hacking under control. He choked down the phlegm and grabbed a fast breath.
"Show 'em your cock, Claudio," Grayson said, wiping the cough spittle from his lips with a sleeve. "You know, el pricko, you dumb jig," he added, pointing to his own stiff flesh.
The mulatto leaned his massive head to one side, reaching to comprehend.
"Yo, si, si," he grunted finally, smiling wide to reveal perfectly formed ivory white teeth behind the broad lips. He unzipped his trousers and pulled and pulled and pulled out his dick.
Kathy saw Jean's knees buckle and she would have fallen if not being held upright by the cruel hands digging into her flaccid breasts. Fear-stricken herself, Kathy instinctively drew back her bared loins, only to be met by Barker's prick jabbing into her ass through his fly.
"Christ, is he hung!" the shrill voice of Billy Bacon exclaimed.
"He'd make fifty pricks your size, shorty," the old cripple said wistfully.
Kathy's creative mind never could have conjured up a cock of such massive proportions. Even limp in Claudio's hand it resembled a thick dark salami, a killer club that could bludgeon the owner of a tight cunt to death as it knocked to enter. Because enter it could not, not without ripping asunder the flesh of the vaginal walls.
Kathy's stunned disbelief at the sight of the gargantuan sex organ of the mulatto made protesting too much of an effort as Barker unzipped the back of her summer frock and slipped it down off her shoulders to the floor. He opened the back of the lace bra and drew it down over her arms, the nipples of her huge breasts leaping to attention. The girls stood in naked formation, the pair of heels on Kathy's small feet the only covering between them.
Grayson positioned himself between the girls and Claudio. He looked at the panties in his hands and selected Kathy's.
Barker pressed close against Kathy's back, fingers laced around her bare midriff, his bulging fly tapping out a code in the crevice of her ass. She felt his belly muscles contracting to fight down a sniggering laugh.
"Okay, Claudio, try these," Grayson commanded, stuffing Kathy's balled-up panties beneath the huge man's nose, pressing them tightly against the nostrils as if trying to knock him out with chloroform. The mulatto's nostrils flared, deeply inhaling the secret fragrance of the girl.
Grayson dropped his hand and turned to Kathy. He heaved his hips forward and banged his rigid cock in her direction.
"Them belong that cunt, black-assed man. Wanna fuck her?"
Kathy recoiled as the vulgar message filtered through the mind of the simpleton and he grinned wider as the meaning struck home. The sadistic Grayson and his lust-crazed accomplices were totally enraptured by the crude game of offering the beautiful rich girls as fleshy food to feed the voracious appetite of the giant mulatto. The dark kinky-haired behemoth, suddenly aware of the offering of the white-loined blonde girl, pinched his penis to a growing hardness and nodded vigorously, his eyes bulging in mounting desire.
"Si, fuck her!"
He started to step forward and Kathy felt she might lose control of her bowels. Grayson restrained him with an upraised arm, and a pout formed on the fat lips of the mulatto.
"Don't get upset, Claudio," Grayson teased. "There's more to shop from."
He lifted Jean's torn panties to the face of the giant, daubing with the crotch like a mother treating a child's running nose. The huge nostrils flared again, the eyes rolling in his head, as he sucked in the feminine odor like a tracker dog learning the scent of an escaped prisoner.
Grayson pulled them away and turned to Jean, cock in hand. He repeated the same obscene bumps in her direction.
"Them her pants, dumb nigger. Wanna fuck her?"
Claudio didn't wait for a translation. His aroused penis had reached a full erection, protruding from the zipper of his trousers like a third leg looking for a hole to step into. He lunged at Jean.
"Si, fuck her!"
"He'll kill me with that thing. No woman could take it," Jean screamed in terror, turning to Kathy with hate-filled saucer eyes. Kathy did not see Jean's look, unable to take her eyes off the awesome tool of the mulatto. Grayson held back the big man.
"Nobody's fucking this one before me, particularly no dimwit nigger," Milo said, dragging Jean's stumbling body toward the mattresses.
"The kid's right," Grayson said. "Claudio's the main event after all the preliminaries. Then we can all watch. Since he can't decide which of them tight little snatches he wants most, we'll let him have both of them."
Kathy felt herself being pulled backwards and spun like a staggering drunk in the footsteps of Milo and Jean. Everything was so unreal, this awful slave market lineup she had just been through before a bunch of degenerates anxious to first use their bodies themselves and then to witness and cheer the final bruising brutalization by the massive Claudio.
"Loosen 'em up good. Them holes had better be opened wide for our coonskinned friend," the insane Grayson called after them. "Step up to the bar or fill your own, boys. The first show's about to begin.".
Kathy saw Milo throw Jean down on the mattress and anchor her with a foot in her midsection, pinning her like an insect to a collector's board, while he loosened his belt and dropped his pants down his thighs. Kathy felt herself pitch forward by a pressure on the small of her back and she landed face down on the adjoining mattress, her head only a few feet from Jean's.
Now, now that it was too late, Kathy realized that whatever the jeopardy to her own future, it had not been sufficient reason for her to destroy her friend, to blackmail the guiltless Jean into such undeserved servitude to the depraved sexual wishes of Grayson and his strange assortment of maladjusted friends. She realized she no longer could use girlish fears and ignorance as excuses, thanks to the lessons from Grayson. She had to accept full responsibility for her conduct in demanding that Jean join her as a common gutter prostitute to protect Kathy's virtuous reputation. It mattered little what happened to Kathy this night. She knew she had been completely subjugated by Grayson, and there could not be an indignation in the sphere of sex she was incapable of surviving... except possibly the fearful bronze specter of Claudio and his freakish firehose of a cock, but that was in a future her brain was unable to comprehend. But Kathy sorely wished she could find a flicker of warmth and understanding in the eyes of her best friend, a look of forgiveness that said, yes, she understood that Kathy would bear a cross for the rest of her life for having made her suffer so.
But Jean had her eyes clenched tightly as she lay tensed on the mattress, and when they did fly open and her face slapped down on the cushion looking at Kathy, a groan bellowed out from the deepest pit of her body, it wasn't to communicate recognition and forgiveness, it was because the devil-driven Milo had jammed his cock all the way to the stump in her unprepared cunt.
Kathy had little time to meditate on Jean's suffering as Barker's arm knifed between her belly and the bedding and lifted her up to her knees. She supported herself on her arms as she felt his fingers parting the hair-lined cuntlips and she knew he was guiding his prick to the mouth of her feminine harbor. The head of the cock peeked inside, bobbing back and forth as if arguing whether or not to proceed further, at the same time giving her vaginal juices an opportunity to line the cuntal hallway with a wet welcome.
A series of images suddenly flashed through her mind, the way a lifetime dances through the head of a drowning person in split seconds. The channel selector in the TV set of her brain was on a wild spin, flicking from a horror film, on through other jumbled scenes, and ending with a torrid late-night European film in which the contorted face of Jean is that of a French lover welcoming the intimate embraces of her soldier returned wounded from Algeria. Things began to make sense for Kathy, about to be backfucked as she had seen her mother screwed like a dog at the age of ten. The passionate groans emanating from Kay's room were caused by her father, undignified and raw, doing something like what was being done to her now. The scene shifted to Grayson, in all his hideous splendor subjecting her to the grossest imaginable abuses and grinning evilly all the while, enjoying himself immensely and finally, she almost spat rather than admit it, making her like and beg for it. Next she saw Jean's face, the twisted disfiguration yielding to something quite the opposite as the phantom lover above crashed unceasingly into her loins Kathy's whole silly book of rules was a crock, just like poor Craig, the fiance she had heartlessly held at arm's length, had maintained. Yes, a worthless crock. Kathy determined that the name of the game is Get It While You Can, while you're young enough and good enough to appreciate it. Her new resolution suffered a slight setback when she considered Jean's predicament, the seed of an unwanted child in her womb. Kathy suddenly feared, the first time the thought had occurred to her since the debauchery of so long ago, that Grayson may have made her pregnant, that his foul cum may have instructed the indiscriminate keepers of her womb to build a nest for the bastard byproduct of his filthy loins. Kathy brightened and reared back on her haunches in relief, sucking Barker's lingering cock in halfway. Kathy remembered the trip to Mexico. If she carried Grayson's stinking seed, she would see that it was poisoned there, sharing that uneasy operation with Jean as they were now sharing a measure of discomfort.
Barker ran his fingers up her thighs and belly until he held the heavy hanging breasts in his hands like money-filled bank sacks. He plunged his hips forward and drove his thirsting cock in Kathy's hole to the hairy stump, his low-slung balls bell-swinging between the soft tanned flesh of her inner thighs.
The pussy had been unresisting, in fact at one point it seemed eager to accept him, the cuntlips sucking his cock in to a deeper level of the wet warm expanding passageway. Barker was sorry there was a line behind him. He would liked to have aroused this willing pussy with his tongue and tasted the flavor of those pansize brown nipples capping her tits, the peaks of which he now coaxed into even greater hardness with his fingers. She was built, built like nothing he had ever hosed before. He thought dog-fucking her would humiliate her worse than he had seen Grayson destroy her. He had secretly hoped such a debasement would heat her highbred blood to the boiling point of outrage so that he could beat her into bloody submission and then fuck her back into reality. But she surprised him. She welcomed his cock. In fact her hand had pushed between her thighs and now urged his balls to come alive. If that's how bad she wanted the pictures, trying to make his unload quick like a teenager, he'd see that she worked her rich sweet ass off before he gave up his print. He knew all about saving something for the late rounds of the fight. He had waited all his life for a memorable beautiful young cunt like this and he was going to draw every delicious second out of it.
"Man, that Billy's a liar. She's tight," Kathy heard the voice of Milo saying, followed by hard driving grunts. "God, what a snug snatch!"
She felt the heavy weight of Barker's hard muscular loins crashing hard into her buttocks, as though answering Milo with an admission that he too was working a tight pussy. He split the crevice of her ass wider and wider apart as he pushed forward with all his strength to sink his cock inside her quivering belly as far as it would go.
She was wet and open and the cuntal muscles fit as closely around Barker's prick as another layer of skin, rippling forward like waves off the bow of a ship with the instroke, sucking hard and joined by tightly closing cuntlips on the out-stroke. The backstroke made Barker grimace, so tight was the grip of the cunt on his cock that it felt like his very innards were being sucked out the head of his prick. His hands worked Kathy's swelling breasts like an automatic milking machine, pulling them harshly for the leverage he needed to bury his expanding cock into the deepest regions of her womb.
Kathy groaned from the twisting of her firm tender breasts. Barker, misinterpreting her sound as an admission of pain from the skewering in her backthrusting cunt, smiled sadistically and rose straight up on his knees, bringing her ass higher into the air by the lifting pressure of his cock inserted in her vagina. Kathy dropped her head on the mattress, her face turned toward Jean, and adjusted her buttocks to ease the discomfort of the new position. Barker slapped her upturned ass.
"That's it. Show a little life."
She complied without hesitation, having learned from Grayson that one pain leads to another worse one if the sexual command is not followed. She rotated her buttocks slightly, testing for a new hurt from within her body. Finding none, she let herself follow his rhythm, grinding and twisting her ass back against his hard driving pelvis as if they were Siamese twins joined at the loins in a wrestling match.
"I got the live one, Milo, you one-nut sad sonovabitch," Barker chortled. "That dead pussy can't make a man out of you."
Kathy moved her head and saw that Barker was right. Milo worked furiously above Jean's splayed naked thighs, but she was limp and lifeless beneath him, enduring the rape stiff and stoically, waiting for it to end just as it had begun, without any encouragement whatsoever from her.
"Roll her over, Milo. Billy here'll give you a hand. He's got something to light her fire."
It was Grayson's conniving voice and Kathy remembered that there was a live audience for this performance. She and Jean were executing disgusting lewd acts on a mattress stage for a crowd of degenerates. She wondered how they looked, the men who were viewing them, and what they were doing with their hands. She tried to imagine the activity on the mattresses as seen from their perspective, she face down with her rump in the air being split wide open by Barker's driving pole, and the comatose Jean flat on her back with her firm open thighs admitting the pelvic jackhammer of the frenzied Milo.
"Turn her up this way so my slut can watch," Barker said.
Milo lifted his body and Kathy heard his cock come free with a wet sucking sound. She saw him take Jean's bare ankles in his hands and turn her around, her buttocks serving as the swivel, until her head was positioned at the opposite end of the mattress.
Milo was standing higher than Kathy, looking down into Jean's open juice-drenched cunt, holding her feet apart like plow handles.
"Billy, get your runty ass up her before she dries out," Milo said.
Kathy could see Milo's slender white cock glistening in the dim light and then she noticed something peculiar. The scrotum was not the full dangling pouch she had learned to expect in men. It was only half there, as if someone had opened a zipper on the side and stolen a handful of the contents.
Barker caught Kathy's attention being diverted by the sight of Milo's deformity. He rammed in a deep thrust and leaned over her back.
"He's only got one nut. Caught some shrapnel in Vietnam."
"You don't have to tell the whole fucking world, Barker," Milo spat out in their direction.
"Your girlfriend's going to have to hump some to earn his picture," Barker continued to whisper audibly. "He hasn't shot a load since he got back." He slapped Kathy's ass again. "And so are you, bitch, if you want mine."
Kathy started up her motor again, working her ass backwards in a spiraling circle, feeling the prick sheathing and unsheathing amidst the muscular folds of her cuntwalls like a cased letter opener in the hands of a fidgety businessman. But she couldn't keep her eyes off the other mattress.
Billy Bacon joined Milo. He was naked and looked like a dissipated and depraved Cupid, his diminutive body the size of a boy's and his stiff cock not much more than the length of Kathy's biggest finger. The cock? There was something strange about it. It was enclosed in some type of close-fitting protective covering that shone from a lubricating film and, unless Kathy's eyes deceived her, there was a small feather standing straight out from the end.
Billy ravenously eyed the open wet cunt.
"Don't dare think about the snatch, it's mine," Milo warned him. "She'd never even know you was in."
"Then hurry up and get her over. We'll sandwich her until her eyes pop out," Billy cried, shuffling his feet anxiously.
Milo dropped one of her feet and sharply twisted the other ankle. Jean's chin shot up and she groaned piteously.
"Over on the belly, cunt," Milo demanded.
Jean had no choice but to follow a direction that freed her ankle from pain, flipping over on her stomach as if Milo were a chef tossing pancakes.
Milo lay down in the middle of the mattress, his gleaming erect cock at Kathy's eye level. He grabbed Jean by an arm and slithered her body on top of his. He forced apart her thighs and moved his hips sideways until the searching cock located the entry tunnel. Milo pulled Jean's legs forward until they were jackknifed along his sides, the knees reaching up to his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her back, pressing her breasts firmly against his chest, and quickly thrust up his buttocks, driving his cock to the stump in the open-stretched vagina. Jean groaned at the vicious re-entry. Then she sagged, lifeless as a rag doll, permitting him whatever abuse he desired, but not cooperating.
Billy Bacon took a step forward, toward the defenselessly bared rear of the girl. Kathy, held to the scene by grim fascination, felt the floor vibrate as heavy feet rushed up to get a closer view.
"That French tickler'll bring her out of her stubbornness," she heard the lecherous old cripple say. "Let me soften her up with this first."
"Okay, you old fart, if that's the only way you get your kicks," Billy said and backed away.
The cripple replaced Billy in Kathy's line of vision. He began unscrewing the handle of his cane and Kathy gasped when she saw him remove a thin headless rubber phallus, six inches long, attached to the curved handle.
"This is one I use for asshole work," the old man said, displaying it to Billy. "I have another larger one with a head for snatches."
"Just stick it in a little. I don't want her too loose," Billy instructed.
The harsh realization of what they were going to do to Jean struck Kathy like a breath-stealing blow to the midsection. God, that dirty old man was going to stick that awful thing in her backside while Milo continued to rape her from underneath. Kathy had a clear view of Milo's long cock sliding back and forth in Jean's unresisting but lifeless vagina, the fleshy dark hair-lined lips inhaling and exhaling as if breathing from an outside source. But now this further devilish indignity was unfolding before Kathy's horrified eyes and Jean was totally ignorant of what was going to happen.
"Hurry up, you bastards. This cold fish is killing my hardon," Milo called out.
"Stick it a ways in her cunt to get it wet," Grayson, arriving on the scene with a fresh drink in his hand, suggested.
"Hey, my prick's in there," Milo protested.
"Shit, boy, there's plenty of room. These wealthy cunts been fucking since they were five," Grayson said.
The old man's bones cracked as he got down on his knees and peered closely into Jean's cunt with Milo's prick buried full-length inside.
"Hold 'er still, Milo. Let your dick out some."
Barker had stopped fucking Kathy, resting his prick tight inside and locking his arms around her belly, as they both watched captivated. He flexed his prick once to let her know he was still in command of the situation, and she automatically flexed her own cuntal muscles in acknowledgement, tightening her fleshy garrote around the long intruder inside her.
The arthritic James, using the satanic sexual accessory like a teacher at the blackboard with a pointer, placed the tip on the underside of Milo's half-exposed cock and flattened it to the same trajectory.
"Let's go in together fast. She'll think she's being screwed by a double-decker bus," James said in a voice that broke with his eagerness.
Milo drove in his cock, the flesh-tearing device propelled by the old man's hand following beneath his prick like a strapped-on torpedo.
"WhaaAAA!"
The chilling climbing one-note scream flew out of Jean's body like from a talking doll struck harshly on the voice box. Half the rubber phallus had disappeared inside her cunt, a passenger riding on Milo's cock.
"That'll help get her ready for ol' Claudio," the old man giggled, twirling the handle of the cane, spinning the rubbery end inside Jean's cunt like a high-speed drill.
The girl, locked in place by Milo's squeezing arms, pounded her head on his shoulders and sobbed out of control.
"Get the fucking thing out. It's tickling my cock."
"In her ass now. Quick," Billy pleaded.
The old man withdrew the phallus and Kathy could see the moist film covering the end. With one hand he spread the cheeks of her buttocks open wider, exposing the tight puckered ring of the anus, and placed the tip of the phallus against the defenseless tightly closed flesh. He pushed it in an inch. Jean's loins jolted and she cried out as she felt the unnatural intrusion into the tight rubbery opening. Her buttocks tensed together to try to repel the wet artificial device being thrust into her ass. Her struggle was useless and the old man pushed again, sinking it in another inch.
"Aaaaaag, God!" she uttered pathetically, Milo's cock sinking deeper into her cunt as she thrashed wildly like a fighting fish trying to dislodge the killing lure.
The old man, beside himself with sadistic pleasure, twirled the handle to bore in deeper, a millimeter at a time, and the frustrated Jean, hardening her ass cheeks with all her remaining strength, was unknowingly assisting the in-drilling.
"Take it out, she's ready for me," Billy screamed. He ripped the phallus from her ass and pushed the old man to one side. Billy grabbed Jean's ass with his clawing childlike fingers and spread open the soft white mounds of her trembling buttocks. He lowered his loins so that the feather-tipped condom was in a straight line with her helpless anus, partially stretched from the rummaging rubber prick.
"Milo, close your legs and hold her tight," Billy ordered.
Milo pressed his thighs together, the disfigured scrotum nestling in the hairy valley formed between them, and Billy straddled his legs with his knees. He pushed his hands under her loins and once again stretched open the soft white moons, guiding the feather into the misshapen asshole. Jean squirmed her buttocks as the feather entered and the head of the cock came in contact with the tiny puckered hole.
Kathy's heart leaped out in sympathy to her friend as she saw Billy's stomach muscles tense as he strained forward against the tight hairless opening. The prick was worming its way in behind the feather, and then suddenly the battered nether ring gave way under the constant pressure and the swollen sheathed head of Billy's cock popped inside. Without hesitating to allow the plundered asshole to adjust to the sodomy, Billy pitched forward on her back, throwing his head high with a satisfied whoop of victory as his pelvis smacked loudly against the softness of her twin white buttocks.
Jean's whole body stiffened and bucked as she screamed in delirious pain, succeeding only in burying the cruel feather-tipped stabbing cock to the hilt in the warm rubbery depths of her rectum. Jean, her every sensory nerve end alive as the feather maddeningly rested inside her rectum, was loath to move for fear of the pain that might rip through her inflamed anal passage, but she was also unable to stay still and stand the torturous tickle a second longer. Her ravished loins were being punished further by two cocks, the one in her pussy sliding smoothly along the tight walls from the releasing fluids of her own body, and the other that had entered her dry anus abetted by its own lubricant and now threatened to drive her out of her mind with a tingling that made the pain of penetration an insignificant memory.
Jean lay moaning and sobbing in pain and shame, meat sandwiched between two cruel degenerates, a thin wall of her flesh separating their impaling cocks. She wanted to claw through her own body to treat the infuriating voluptuous itch up her backside.
Billy wasted no time. He began furiously fucking her tight hot asshole while Milo beneath continued to thrust up into her cunt with long hard strokes. In a matter of seconds they found a common rhythm, skewering the warm neighboring orifices of the suffering girl in harmony, she the buffeted common dance partner in an obscene sexual ritual.
Kathy and Barker, locked together but still, watched intently. The low animal howl coming from Jean's throat continued as the men ground into her, and was broken only by punctuating grunts as they smacked into her body with greater force. The sight of Milo's slender long cock appearing blue-veined and glistening when it withdrew with the familiar sucking sound, the prick hairs plastered flat by the ragged-edged wet embracing cuntlips, and the dwarflike Bacon's small sheathed prick disappearing into Jean's split smooth asshole, its feather tip tantalizing the sensitive rectum walls with an ungodly touch that released thousands of other feathers to tingle her every pore, unlocked in Kathy a trunkful of lascivious desires she had never dreamed could exist in her newly awakened woman's body.
Kathy lifted herself up on her elbows when it became clear to her that Jean's pelvis no longer was a mindless volleyball being batted between the loins of the two men. She had seen the muscles of her thighs and buttocks tighten and the tempo of the twin-fucking she was receiving had picked up, not from the acceleration of the panting men, but from the sensuous steam engine in Jean's own body. The howling had changed to a different tone, little by little, and now there was no doubt in Kathy's mind. Jean was whimpering passionately. She liked it! Jean's face no longer lay lifeless on Milo's shoulder. She was kissing his face and neck amorously, driving the length of her red wet tongue into his open mouth.
The same electric current was coursing through Kathy. Barker sensed it and screwed her from behind like a wildman. And she screwed back, driving for delicious pleasure. The whole complexion of the evening had changed from one of servile acceptance of humiliating abuses to a careening climb for self-gratification. Kathy wanted prick and she felt cheated because Jean was getting two. She wanted the Big 0, the crowning orgasm, the same as her friend would reach soon.
Kathy's arms buckled as a new weight settled in front of her on the mattress. She tore her eyes away from Jean's abandoned face and smacked her nose into a prick. It was Grayson, on his knees, holding his shirt back and waving his stiff thick dripping cock in her face like a snake ready to strike.
"I told you I'd fuck your face. Suck it until I cum."
Grayson was aroused by what he saw, the two affluent cunts being treated like military camp followers by men they looked down upon because of their social differences. Grayson had choreographed the entire evening carefully, assigning the roles of the participants to milk the last lingering drop of snotty aloofness from the well-to-do wenches. He had shown them what flophouse tramps they really were and his mission would be complete when the mulatto rammed his tree trunk into their proud pussies and ruined them forever. Because search as they may in the years to come, in all the corners of the earth, they'd pay hell finding a fat cock to fill them to the bursting point the way the half-nigger would tonight. Grayson was amused to see Barker dog-fucking the blonde strumpet, because he knew it humiliated her even more than he had the day before, forcing her to ride the driving stiff cock like an animal, turning her vulnerable asshole and vagina up to her master as the ultimate sign of submission. Then seeing her saucy-assed friend being buggered first by the cane of the impotent old fart and then by the feathered cock of sawed-off Billy Bacon, who could still make jockey's weight if his pecker was any indication, was more than he could have invented. And all the while the dark-haired slut was being boned by one-nutted Milo, who was only an inch from flipping out over his disability under normal circumstances. Grayson knew if the girl failed to bring his lone testicle to life, Milo would fuck her raw and probably carve her up with his shiv to boot. It was all too gorgeous. Grayson had felt ready to jack off for joy as he watched his masterful production near its cunt-cleaving finale with Claudio when he remembered an available orifice and the day-old debt he had to settle.
Grayson put both hands in Kathy's hair and pulled her head forward, until the stickiness of the cock tip kissed her sealed lips. He jerked slightly and the lips parted, admitting the covered head to her clenched teeth. Grayson swayed, whitewashing her perfect straight teeth with his seminal fluid, and then he twisted her head back hard and breathed liquor fumes into her face.
"Gobble! Suck it like you blow your rich fag boyfriends."
As if on cue, Barker gave an extra strong lunge at her rear and Kathy gasped. Grayson, holding her head between his hands, rammed his thick dark cock through her soft, moist lips and into the wet warm cavern of her mouth. She could feel the hardness of it slithering up the length of her tongue and filling her mouth completely with its full fleshy hardness.
The old man murmured happy little notes, his bright twinkling eyes hopping from mattress to mattress in greedy voyeurism, wishing he could find a hole somewhere to stick his phony phallus. He once considered jamming it up Barker's thumping asshole, but he was afraid the host would order him out of the house. He didn't want to leave. At no time in his seventy-one years had he witnessed such an exciting gang-fuck of two beautiful rich girls, and he was devastated that he was unable to participate more fully. It's terrible to grow old. He remembered reading about a special condom, equipped with a spring, that simulated erection and he made a mental note to see about getting one before the next party. He saw the big mulatto watching silently from the shadows, holding his huge telephone pole of a cock, standing guard like a dark sentry with his spear. James could hardly wait until the others crawled away so that he could find out what kind of stuff the nigger was made of.
Kathy unwound her hips as she sucked, at first coughing and sputtering until she grew accustomed to the irregular fat fleshy boarder in her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to forget the owner of the instrument that gagged her, nibbling lightly at the thrusting stiff flesh and closing her nostrils to the unwashed stench wafting from his groin. His testicles slapped saplike against her chin as he thrashed his prick deeply into her throat. Grayson had been ready to cum when she swallowed his cock and he wouldn't need much more encouragement.
Behind her Barker also felt himself building toward the end. His fingers dug into the flesh of her belly as the tubes to his nuts inflated. Barker mercilessly battered into the quivering cheeks of her ass with his open-throttle hips as he sought to quickly find relief for his bound-up balls.
But a powderkeg on the other mattress blew up first, setting off the chain reaction.
"Shit, shit... oh, shit!" screamed Billy Bacon, ripping his covered cock from Jean's backside, slipping off the feathered condom in the same motion, and jamming his bared cum-spurting prick back into the asshole before it had time to close. "Ah, shit... ahhhh, shit!" His body jerked spasmodically as he fired into her rectum.
"W-w-whoooahh, it's h-happening!" Jean cried shrilly, rolling her head on Milo's shoulder and moving her outstretched arms like a blind swimmer in search of water. She bucked her ass and Billy's deflated prick slurped out as she drove down harder on Milo's pleasure producing cock, trying to stretch her climax to the fullest. Milo was glassy-eyed with a look of open-mouthed disbelief as he felt a nearly-forgotten discomfort in his scarred scrotum. It was like someone had untied the knot in the garden hose and the long held-back water finally had somewhere to go.
"Ooh, oooh, ooooh," Milo crooned like a baby, body relaxing, contenting himself to let Jean's solo speedy stoop-tagging on his firing cock pump up the long-siloed crop within his lone testicle.
Kathy went berserk, the saliva in her mouth becoming sticky from the small emissions of lubricating fluid from the tip of Grayson's cock, her hardened clitoris transmitting flowing, tingling messages of pleasure throughout her body from the friction of Barker's long slippery prick plunging deep within her tightened cuntwalls.
The hoarse panting she heard from front and rear blended with her own grunts of effort, and the slurping from her mouth and cunt, forming a concerto played by exhausted human musical instruments striving for a finale. The fiery hot balls in her belly screamed to be released. Her toes dug against the bottoms of her high heel shoes as she bucked and sucked, a helpless slave to the pricks flogging her body from each end. The rising tide was creating inside her fuck-racked body, heated to boiling by the ripples of fire dancing through her tattered nerves. She sucked and worked her buttocks to end it for all of them, as the hot wave in her body splashed out burning forerunners to tunnel through her veins in a ceaseless stream of insurmountable pleasure. Suddenly her wave came crashing down and the passionate scream of announcement building in her lungs was drowned as she heard Grayson groan above her and his cock erupted in the warm wet interior of her sucking mouth. His shout was echoed behind her by unintelligible profane grunts and a final battering ram thrust that forced Grayson's spurting prick into her mouth to the choking hilt.
Kathy thought she was drowning. Grayson's prick was strangling her and she had to swallow huge mouthfuls of hot sticky cum before she could catch a breath. Barker's cock drenched her womb, firing explosive hot batteries of sperm through the vaginal passage and filling the depths beyond until Kathy thought her belly would break. And she was cumming too, in great sensual waves released around the still spitting prick in her cunt, the body liquid seeping in warm rivulets out the vaginal lips clasped tightly around the base of his cock and down her lush soft inner thighs. Her whole body inside was filled with thick sticky wetness. Tears of unconscious joy came to her eyes and fell on Grayson's naked thigh.
There was a soft plopping sound as Grayson withdrew his cock from her mouth, a thin string of semen sticking to her lips as he pulled away. He moved to one side and the exhausted Kathy dropped to her face on the mattress, feeling Barker's limp prick slip from her cunt with a sucking noise and the weight of his body collapsing on her buttocks. Barker rolled off to one side and Kathy's uncovered ravished and wet loins were caressed by cool rushes of air. Her throat convulsed and she re-tasted Grayson's pungent cum.
There was no movement or sound on the mattresses. The leering old man shuffled about giggling obscenely as he viewed softened spent pricks and oozing orifices, as if he was the only survivor on a sexual battlefield. Kathy felt the phallus tip testing the crevice between her buttocks. She had neither the strength nor the inclination to resist, and so she spread her damp thighs and relaxed her anus to take his depraved abuse with as little discomfort as possible. The old man pulled back, disappointed.
"No fun when they don't give a shit," he said and dragged himself away.
Kathy heard the rustling of human flesh on the next mattress, but didn't care enough to look. She lay still, unable to move, savoring the climax that was now the merest trace of a memory. There were new aches in her body joining those from Grayson's rape of the day before. Her thighs hurt from the cramped position they were in while Barker fucked her from behind. Her back and neck throbbed from straining to suck Grayson's cock.
Grayson shattered the blissful stillness.
"Come on, Claudio. Get your ass on over here."
"Oh, God." It was a weary deep death gurgle that Kathy barely recognized as Jean's voice.
Kathy felt Barker nudging her naked hip. "Over on the other mattress."
She pulled herself on her arms, like a crawling serpent across to the mattress where Jean was crouching like a cornered rat. She seemed unaware of Kathy, as if in a drug trance, her eyes not leaving the huge cock standing out from the open fly of the mulatto's trousers. Tears streamed down her face and she shook her head from side to side.
The naked men gathered around Claudio and removed his clothing. The upper arms were as big around as Kathy's thigh. The huge head seemed to rest on the massively proportioned shoulders without benefit of a neck. The men struggled to get the pants down his muscular thighs. Finally he was naked, the prick standing out like a cannon to fire the wet ammunition stored in the grapefruit-size constricted scrotum.
"We've done enough," Kathy heard her own weak voice pleading. "Please let us go now."
Grayson had collected the pictures. He dropped all but two in front of Kathy. She tore them to pieces without so much as glancing at them.
"The last two are yours after Claudio gets fucked. The old man was only a spectator so the Cuban gets his ticket too. That means both of you screw."
Jean turned on Kathy with burning, hate-filled eyes.
"You go first." She looked to Grayson. "Make her go first. She's the guilty one."
"Smart thinking," Grayson smiled sardonically. "You figure she'll empty him and you get off scot-free. No chance. Claudio's an iron man. You'll spit up his nigger cum for a month."
The men got the mulatto on his back on the empty mattress, the huge staff rising above him like a tall fire hydrant.
Grayson grabbed Kathy's arm. "You sit on his cock." He turned to Jean. "And you plant your pussy on his face."
"Good, good," the old man giggled lewdly. "Make them look at each other while the nigger's doing it."
"You really come up with the ideas, you stinking old fucker," Billy said with admiration in his voice.
Milo massaged his aching testicle. "I got to sit down. I feel weak as all get out."
"Push up the couch, kid, and we'll all have ringside seats," Barker called after him.
Grayson yanked Kathy up by the arm and she wobbled on her high heels. He bent down and pulled the shoes off her feet.
"Can't have you digging holes in the host's furniture."
Grayson lifted her bodily over the prone Cuban until her bare feet straddled his wide hips. The mulatto's eyes bulged wide as he looked up into her dripping cunt. His large hands closed around her ankles like leg irons, trapping her helplessly. The hands worked up her legs, crushing the firm young flesh in a strong grip, downpulling in unrelenting determination to impale the golden-covered cunt over the ridged bluish head of Claudio's immense cock.
"Fu-huk... fu-huk... fu-huk," the giant grunted animal-like, as if it were the chant for a primitive tribal mating ceremony, bringing the loins of the terror-stricken blonde girl down until he felt his pee hole contact the cum-soaked disheveled cool pubic hairs around her vagina.
The tendons in Kathy's legs fought a hopeless battle to resist. She twisted her head sideways, her fearful eyes pleading to be rescued, and met only by the impassive face of Jean, the heiress-apparent to a wealth of cock. Jean studied Kathy's ordeal with clinical interest, as if eager to learn the pitfalls before taking her turn at bat.
"He'll split her wide open if he does," Barker admonished. "I don't want dead bodies around. Just cool it, Claudio."
"Do something, for crissakes, you overgrown coon," Grayson said, his patience wearing thin.
Claudio released one leg and with thumb and forefinger he spread the ragged pink cuntlips until the edges lay on each side of the tip of his knoblike prickhead.
Then with a startling deftness that belied his great bulk, Claudio ran both hands between her thighs and cupped a buttock in each huge hand. He lifted the girl off the mattress, her feet and legs dangling useless outside his arms.
Kathy reacted to the loss of gravity with a gasp, almost falling spine-snappingly backward, but Claudio's great large hands kept her upright in his sweaty palm chair, the long fingers like wickers at the base of her back. He moved the hands outward slightly, the flesh of her ass glued to his palms, and Kathy felt that her cunt opening was being stretched inhumanely by ropes attached to each lip.
Claudio grinned, his lips bared back over the big white teeth as if in murderous anticipation. He lowered her body an inch and the great bulging head of his cock insinuated itself deeper into the cuntlips, the pulsating blood-filled tip stretching the resisting rubbery flesh almost to the tearing point.
"Ahhh!" Kathy moaned, her spine sagging, now aware through the tearing pain that her own body was betraying her in a new way, that its very weight would be the momentum working her down the blunt spear that was slowly piercing her punished cunt. Her bare feet, suspended in thin air, halfheartedly searched for leverage, support, anything that would take the edge out of the agony she endured as the elastic opening to her pussy stretched to its limit. She couldn't take a cock like that in a million years.
"Nooo, I can't... it's impossible."
The old man crept up and dropped to his hands and knees, his lecherous face only two feet away from the painful union.
"Atta boy, Claudio. When you're through I'll be able to jam my whole arm up her snatch."
"Out of the way. I can't see," Milo angrily ordered.
The cripple stumbled back. Claudio, playing to an appreciative audience, lowered Kathy another inch, the ridge of the prick vanishing inside her.
"Uuuuuggg!"
Kathy's feet recklessly battled the air fighting an unbeatable enemy, her cuntlips splitting terribly, the unbearable pain making her tremble and clutch her arms closely to her body. There was no sound in the room beyond her choked broken sobbing. The men watched hypnotized as the cuntlips of the beautiful blonde girl, stretched almost to transparency, clutched the ball of the mulatto's prickhead like a child using "chicken claws" on the end of a bat handle.
The rubber bands of her vaginal opening began unknotting in adjustment to the domed monument forcing entry, snapping loose little by little in a desperate race for survival. Kathy's pain temperature dropped slightly, from excruciating agony to humanly unbearable.
Then the rampageous mulatto laughed, a belly-deep basso room-shaking thunderclap that he cut short with a furious upthrust of his loins... as he pulled away the hands that supported Kathy's weight.
The fire sirens went off in her brain, hundreds of them, screaming wailing, shrieking their mind-bending alarms. Kathy did not rush down the fire-pole; it came to her, tearing up her insides and hot off the branding fire. Shock and surprise were so great that she was beyond sounding off as the runaway cock smashed through all her resisting flesh, shoving the pink soft cuntwalls into distended oblivion before its monstrous doorknob head. She was a child on a banister who had overlooked the upturned fracture, and now the banister wood was cutting through her vagina en route to her throat. The robot prick monster rushed into her in a manner unmatched by anything in her brief sexual history, filling every natural crack and pore in the cuntal tunnelway to her womb, bullishly pushing the inner organs out of the way, intimidating the very soul within her.-She was an open-legged girl on a slide who had flown off the end cunt-first onto the barrel of the Civil War cannon and it would rip and gouge blazingly up her twat until the backs of her thighs smacked against the wooden wheels used to transport it.
The wiry tight pubic hairs cushioned the shattering jolt as her buttocks hit bottom, Claudio's pelvis. His huge upright member was completely inside Kathy's torn cunt extending, she was willing to swear, through the top of her skull. The dazed, disbelieving expression on her face changed to one of wonder as she stared down to where the prick had disappeared inside her, expecting a telltale pool of blood to confirm that she had been fatally gored.
She looked around and saw that the men were viewing her with open-mouthed amazement. Jean, from the other mattress, searched Kathy's face studiously, without words, wanting to know if life managed to go on inside her mortally violated body.
Kathy glanced down at the grinning mulatto. His arms were behind his head as he looked back at her in amusement. He saw how her pain-contorted face relaxed slightly as she became acclimated to the huge foreign presence that her body had accepted with painful, but astonishing flexibility. Her tightly clenched teeth opened slightly and she swallowed air in throaty gulps.
"Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh..." escaped from her mouth in step with her frantic heartbeat.
The Cuban's balls twitched as he inflated his prick and the girl's responding groan was pained, her teeth re-clenching, the hot passage hurrying to accommodate the increasing size of the fleshy hard intruder. Claudio shifted his loins sharply to one side, feeling the bone of her pelvis, and she moaned. She repeated the moan when he shifted the other way, but each sideways move expanded the resisting walls of her vagina until they fit the giant prick better than a surgeon's rubber glove.
There was no way he could be any deeper in her.
Kathy sat flat on his embedded cock with her legs straight in front of her, and the Cuban kissed the soles of her bare feet and ran his thick tickling tongue between her toes. He opened his thighs slightly and nodded, and Kathy instinctively knew what he wanted her to do. She reached behind and felt the huge tight balls filling the constricted scrotum to the bursting point. They must hold pints, she thought, rubbing the firm tenderness, gently pressing the oversize bag up against his groin and revolving her hand in a slow circular motion. His cock answered with a spasm, but the dreaded pain she felt was more pleasurable than harmful. His wide flat yellow palms came up and the mulatto pressed them against her breasts, shoving softly to see them flare out to rounded fullness at the sides. The hands pulled back and the resilient globes returned in shape to abundantly filled mounds swelling out to the touch. He rotated his hands in time to the easy motion of her touch on his scrotum, the feathery contact with just the tip of the nipples drawing them out into hardened capsules super-sensitive to suggestion and sending the sensuous alarm to her clitoris, coaxing it into a throbbing prick-responsive knot.
"I think I'm getting a hardon," the old man's cobwebby voice announced.
"You ain't had a stiff prick in twenty years," Milo's voice sneered. "Relax before your ticker goes out."
Claudio gently pinched her calf.
"Fuck now," he grunted like a Hollywood Indian.
Like a gymnast, Kathy worked her legs back, her feet beneath her buttocks, and testingly lifted her torso up Claudio's cock. They were sealed together so tightly that their meshed flesh was almost as one, and Kathy winced in pain at the rending separation. She lifted her cunt until the in-squeezing lips found the ridge of the head, what seemed like ten miles above the base, and slowly lowered her body down again, carefully oiling his prick with her natural flowing lubricant as if it was a new rod about to be inserted in an expensive precision machine. Claudio shut his eyes, humming a soft contented Latin tune, as if being lulled to sleep by the dreamy sensation of a snug-fitting warm buttery doughnut melting into wondrous softness as it ringed up and down the full length of his colossal consuming cuntbuster.
"Is that jigaboo crapping out on us?" Grayson asked loudly.
"Fuck, no. He's just savoring that raw stretched pussy," Barker attempted to calm him.
"I want some goddamn action." He looked at Jean. "Dump some of your asshole cum in his face to wake him up," Grayson shouted.
Jean looked at the naked man leaning forward on the couch, absorbed with the gentle fucking Kathy gave Claudio more than if it were the Rose Bowl game on TV. She wasn't sure what Grayson wanted her to do. The ringmaster impatiently looked up from the coupling couple and glared meanly at Jean.
"Move, slut, or I'll break your fucking arm. Give him your used pussy to eat."
Jean got up and went to the top of the mattress over Claudio's head. She saw Kathy's eyes turn up... and look right through her. They were drugged and faraway looking as Kathy continued to ride herself deliberately down and up, up and down, the unmoving rigid dark prick. Jean thought she saw a look she first recognized in their childhood. Kathy's full red lips, tense and straight in total concentration, were about to turn up slightly, in the very same half-smile she displayed when as youngsters they shared their first forbidden cigarette. It was her signal of the full enjoyment of something deliciously wicked.
Claudio opened his eyes and saw the dark hair of Jean's snatch above his head. He reached back and took her behind the bend in the knees, pulling her down to a face-straddling squat until her draining cunt fit snugly over his mouth. Claudio's bulbous nose split the crevice of her buttocks and nudged against her cruelly plundered asshole.
The first thrust of the mulatto's thick tongue into her stretched cunt so unnerved and unbalanced Jean that she spread her hands on his heaving chest to keep from falling forward. Kathy was climbing faster on the cock. The taste of pussy ignited the lugubrious Cuban and he responded with his loins, rushing to catch Kathy's elusive cunt as it slipped away with her each upstroke. Kathy braced herself on the man's belly and the two beautiful girls gave the appearance of erotic unmatched bookends, the dark-haired one being gently pierced by a long probing tongue, and the blonde slithering pell-mell along the greased giant cock of a reclining monster.
The mulatto bathed his broad flat face in the split wet cunt, using his hands to force the buttocks wider apart to have full access to Jean's crotch, washing her clean as a cow would a newborn calf. The long slippery tongue snaked into the wet warm walls of her pussy like a painless prick, something similar to the maddening feather that had tantalized her asshole, and Jean moaned and crashed her loins hard into the feeding face as if trying to snuff out a new threat to her sensuous system. Claudio feasted greedily, his tongue spearing in and out of her dilating cuntlips, and Jean answered with soft mewls, tensing her arms against the sides of her rounded hard-nippled breasts as if freezing from the massive waves of pleasure washing through her belly. She lurched with cardiac shock as the wet probe worked back to the damaged anus, medicating her stretched rubbery ring with soothing ointment before plunging in unexpectedly.
"Wha-wow!" she cried madly, hula dancing in place on the softly digging moist speartip.
His mouth slid back to her cunt and there were loud slobbering sucking sounds as Claudio milked her flowing juices into his throat, alternating his intake of vaginal nourishment with long torturous laps at her throbbing budlike clitoris. The fully-aroused Jean wanted to vocalize like a train whistle, to alert the countryside that she was back on the track to an unforgettable place introduced to her earlier by a pair of pricks pounding inside her in broken cadence. Her pelvis pulverized down, she arched her back and pointed her breasts high, using the man's tightly kinked hair beneath her buttocks as stabilizing handgrips.
The mulatto's loins kicked into high gear and the pistoning cock plummeted inside Kathy with such teeth-rattling impact that her blonde head nearly smacked forward into Jean's stretched flattened belly like a battering ram. Kathy was riding out the storm, her vagina lashed to Claudio's massive mast, stitched together as if with elastic line, her sensitive clitoris flattened into screaming submission as she rode it down the prick like the prow of a downracing bobsled. Her hands clawed bloodless pathways in the broad muscular belly as she rocketed upward in a trajectory toward fulfillment.
The smothered growl was that of a bear disturbed during hibernation. The escaping bass groan continued endlessly, the noise going directly up the passageway to the hollow of Jean's womb, sounding much like the reverberating faraway echo of rusted twin steel dungeon doors being pried apart. The first blast of hot cum splashed into Kathy's cunt like molten lead, the monstrous shaft swelling like puffed cheeks as the prick gushed mindlessly.
The screams of the two girls filled the room like the shrill climbing untameable cries from a crowded maternity ward at feeding time.
"Eeeeeeee-ahhhhhhh, whah, whaaaaa...!" Jean's lungs erupted, unable, uncaring, unwilling to shape her outburst into recognizable sounds.
Kathy's lips were blowjob-round, her cheeks huffing and puffing as if she had swallowed liquid fire.
"Who-ah, who-ah, who-ah, who..." she panted at locomotive tempo.
The mulatto's prick continued to fire, its hot sticky cannonade ricocheting off the embattled womb walls and back down the cuntal passage, mixing in the hairy stump base with the outpourings of Kathy's climax.
Kathy could not control her orgasm. It soared to higher and higher elevations. It was frightening how her body could run away, existing by itself on a plateau separate and removed from her powers of reason. She climbed and climbed, her climax an escaped helium balloon that suddenly popped, and she stiffened her arms against the Cuban's dry retching stomach to steel herself against the fall. Kathy thought she had been straddling a high tension line and someone finally had turned off the juice. Her whole body sagged and she became aware of her cunt seeping around its prick stopper like a partially plugged raindrain.
Kathy lifted her flowing cunt off the still rigid prick and watched the film dissolve from Jean's eyes as she threw a leg across the Cuban's drooling mouth as if she was dismounting a horse. They collapsed on their sides on the adjoining mattresses, panting into each other's faces.
"Jesus Christ," Jean said in utter exhaustion, completely drained.
Then, to Kathy's amazement, Jean smiled at her, a sleepy bedroom grin accentuated by a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. And Kathy realized that she was smiling too, the same half-drunken slight upturn of the lips that had appeared on her face at the moment her body began to run away with her while aboard the Cuban's cock.
My God, what had become of them? Kathy wondered.
They rested, reacquainting themselves in the light of their new shared experiences without speaking. Both realized their lives were altered, that every thread connecting them with their girlish pasts had been severed.
Could Jean ever forgive her? Had she already? Kathy had no more time to think about it.
"Next!" It was Grayson's governing voice, with the threat implied as always.
Jean pushed herself to her feet with an enthused fatalism that puzzled Kathy, whose leaking vagina hurt inside while her ravished walls readjusted, trying without success to locate in positions of the pre-Claudio past.
Claudio fucked Jean oh her back and Kathy was spared from participating. Jean, broader through the pelvis than Kathy, met the challenge of the giant cock with greater ease, once past the terrible splitting of her vagina by the enormous blunt head.
Kathy was startled by how Jean's wanton lewd exhortations at the apex of her intense climax made her own body come alive with intensely rekindled desires.
"Fuck, fuck... oh, fuck!" Jean screamed to the rooftops, oblivious to the vile language pounded out of her body by the scourging prick of the mulatto. He forced her legs back behind her head until Kathy thought they would break off as he unloaded his cumtanks endlessly inside Jean's cunt, the sperm overflowing the tight squeezed lips and trailing down over her prick and tongue-stretched asshole to drip into a sticky white pool on the mattress.
Afterwards as they dressed painfully to leave, the still naked Grayson approached with the two remaining photographs. He held them out.
"We won't need these any more. You cunts know where to come when you want fucking from real men."
Jean snatched the pictures from his hand. She looked at Kathy.
"I think I have a right to see what I worked for."
She studied them closely and her face took on a faraway expression.
"Yes, Craig would be a trifle upset over these. Allow me to do the honors."
Jean picked up her purse and walked over to the fireplace. With her back to Kathy she fed the damning evidence into the flames. She fished in her purse for a cigarette as she watched the paper curl up in blackness and then be consumed by a tongue of fire.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Jean said.
The young women approached the exit. Barker unbolted the door.
"Come see me any time, girls," he sang out loud enough for the others to hear.
Kathy and Jean filed through the front door without looking back, the obscene laughter of their attackers ringing in one of their few orifices still unabused.
Chapter Vi
When realization finally struck, Craig's hand shook so badly that he spilled coffee on the front of the anonymous envelope postmarked El Camino, which arrived at his home in the morning mail. His first thought was that his goddamn roommate told the Southerner about the prank and now the unoriginal jerk was trying to get even. But how had he worked the El Camino postmark?
Then he took a harder look at the Polaroid photograph with the sticky preservative on the face. He wasn't going to panic. He and Kathy, in a phone conversation, had patched up their differences stemming from four nights before. She had been in bed with the flu since then and had not felt up to seeing him.
The girl in the photograph had long blonde hair like Kathy's, the same heavy full breasts with large nipples, the slender hips and firm thighs. But the face was so out of shape from the cock buried deep in the mouth. The man could have been almost anyone, his face completely hidden inside the snatch of the girl on top of him. The old sixty-niner, Craig thought to himself, admiring the Tennessee jock for his resourcefulness in selecting the pose.
Then Craig made the acid test. Rifling his desk for the magnifying glass, hoping not to find it but locating it, he moved to the better light near his bedroom window. The profile was exactly right, the sucking lips he had seen countless times working on a popsicle as she stood beside him at the polo matches, the neck and shoulders, maybe.... But what turned Craig into a roaring inferno of mindless rage was the visible right breast, partially flattened against the pale paunch of the man she was blowing. The twin beauty marks, faint to the unaided eye, were unmistakable under the enlarging glass.
He fought his violent shaking and picked up the phone. He managed to dial the number, not certain he could find the words or a human voice to speak them. The private line in her room was busy. Her father was in the city and she was there alone, in her bedroom, sprawled across the bed in her nightgown, no doubt, and talking on the phone to her lover in the photograph. She would be laughing at Craig, regaling her listener, he knew, with how she was able to heat her fiance's passions and then chill them with a word. She was mocking her pansy boyfriend, who she allowed a light kiss now and then if he was deserving, to a man she let eat her cunt while she sucked his prick. This guy gets gobbled. Craig thought, staring hard at the photograph, while I get nutaches. He felt his pecker stiffening, wishing he was the guy being eaten in the picture, and the nervous perspiration rolling down his sides.
If some busy bee's been getting into my precious flower of maidenhood, then I'm due some fucking honey too, Craig's boiling mind worked out in injured masculine logic. He dashed out of the house and vaulted into his sports car, leaving six feet of rubber on the driveway when he gunned away.
Kathy had been sleeping in the last few mornings, believing rest to be the only cure for the deadening ache all over her body. It was not several aches, in the arms, thighs, back, jaw muscles, inside her vagina, but a single all-consuming hurt that was met more than halfway by her feeling of mental depression.
Grimly, the only thought that cheered her was that of suicide. For hours on end she contemplated with lively interest the ways she could do herself in. The sleeping pills in her father's medicine cabinet, the gun in his den, the blade from her own razor. She could wade out into the ocean and keep walking, or she could perform a perfect swan dive off the rugged cliff to the jagged rocks in the water two hundred feet below. It lifted Kathy's spirits to consider the number of ways to destroy herself, hanging, carbon monoxide poisoning, hari-kari, driving into a sturdy roadside tree while doing sixty-five.
She knew this was a way to rid herself forever of the self-hate, disgust, humiliation and shame that burdened her. But more frightening was that she also had a pretty good idea of how to cure her sickness, a means of lifting her mind above mundane matters of the world and onto a cloudy, soft warm plateau of pleasure. The bruises to her body would fade, the aches in her muscles disappear, but how could she deal with the new fire scorching the insides of her womb, a fire that flickered lower only after being drenched by relief buckets of cum?
The silly rift with Craig was easily mended. She smiled to herself at how juvenile it had been, the centuries of experience she had drunk in since then. She thought about the surprise she would have for poor Craig and wondered if he would be up to it. She would have to play-act, to nurse him along, so as not to arouse any suspicions. She'd let him think that he finally convinced her she was wrong about premarital fucking.
She eagerly looked forward to the cruise to Mexico with Jean. She wanted the time it would give her to put her mental house in order, to pick up the pieces of her life. She hoped her first truly intimate meeting alone with Craig could be stalled until after the trip. She had held him off with the flu story and now departure was only two days away.
The phone rang. It was Jean.
"Guess what?" the cheerful voice opened.
"What?" Kathy played along, sincerely happy to hear from Jean for the first time since that night. The voice bore no trace of malice.
"The Red Sea is flowing."
"I don't get you."
"My period has started, dummy. It was a false alarm. I'm not P-G."
"I'll be damned," Kathy said, the unfamiliar expletive dropping out of her lips fittingly in astonishment.
"Yep," Jean chirped merrily, "I must have been so scared that my girlish insides froze up... until they were thawed out by a certain firm of plumbers you recommended."
The girls talked on and on, Kathy pouring out profuse apologies for asking Jean to sacrifice so much to protect her from Grayson's sinister intentions. Jean received Kathy's comments on the subject without any of her own, and Kathy might have considered the silence from the other end of the line threatening if it had been anyone other than her best friend. Jean's voice came through again only after the conversation shifted.
"What about Mexico?" Kathy asked.
"Hell, let's go. The tickets are paid for. We'll have a great time now that the monkey's off my back... or wherever it was."
"Good," Kathy agreed. "We'll make it a first class vacation."
Kathy heard a screeching of tires outside and climbed from her bed with the receiver in her hand to glance out the window. It was Craig's roadster. She heard the front door slam below.
"Craig's here, Jean," she said into the phone. "Just a second, Craig. I'll be right down," she shouted, reaching for her robe.
She barely recognized the growling voice.
"The hell you will. I'm coming up."
Kathy heard the feet landing heavily on the carpeted stairs as Craig cleared them three at a time.
"I'll have to call you back..." she said into the phone.
The door burst open and he stood framed in the doorway, his body looking larger and inflamed, his teeth clenched together and his lips drawn back in a fearsome snarl. Craig lunged across the room and ripped the receiver from her hand, slamming it down into the cradle, and then sweeping the phone off the bedside table to the floor, the receiver bouncing free.
Kathy drew the robe around her shoulders tightly.
"Craig, what's the matter? You look like you've swallowed an overdose of drugs."
Craig threw the picture on the bed.
"Tell me what you're swallowing here, my virtuous wife-to-be," he said, each syllable honed to a terrifying cutting edge.
Jean had curled up in the leather chair in her father's study while she talked to Kathy over the phone. She watched the ash forming on the end of her long lighted cigarette, her eyes narrowing, as Kathy pleaded for forgiveness for leading her to the gang-bang. Jean's catlike eyes flashed at the memory of the mortifying sodomy by the drunken Billy, the physical abuse from the cruel deformed Milo, the rubber prod of the old man, the total debasement of her proud femininity in front of an audience of sniggering degenerates engineered by the despicable Grayson, who was aided and abetted by Kathy, her best friend. It was over, ended and she would recover. In truth, Jean admitted to herself, it wasn't such a bad night, if only the faces and personalities of the participants had been masked. She could afford to be lenient and honest now that sue had been spared the penalty of pregnancy. She liked to screw, she had found out, and there would be nothing to prevent her from safely exercising this prerogative in the future, now that she had armed herself with a prescription for birth control pills on which she had forged her father's signature.
The true resentment she harbored toward Kathy was that her best friend had resorted to blackmail. Jean might have helped her out willingly if only she had asked. But she had threatened, and this Jean would never forgive. And so Jean had faked burning both the pictures, secretly slipping one into her handbag. She had to make Kathy pay a penalty for the callous affront to their friendship. She would do it in the way women have injured other women since the beginning of time... by stealing her man. She mailed the photograph to Craig and patiently waited to hear the fireworks. After they parted, Jean could make her play for him, willingly giving what Kathy denied him.
Jean had stiffened in the chair, listening intently, when Kathy announced Craig's arrival. A slow knowing smile played at her lips when she heard his threatening voice. Then there had been the sound of a brief struggle and a click on the phone line. But it had not disconnected. There was a cushioned crashing noise and a bouncing effect, and from the sounds Jean monitored she quickly deduced that the loose receiver was laying on the floor next to Kathy's bed. It overjoyed her to be able to eavesdrop on a scene she had masterminded.
Kathy looked at the photograph on the bed and her hands flew to her face to catch the rush of blinding tears. That filthy traitor Grayson, whose appetite for her humiliation would not be satisfied until he destroyed her totally. Kathy never wanted to pull her hands down to read the anguish in Craig's face.
A savage tearing pain at her scalp brought a piercing scream up out of her throat. Craig whipped her down to the bed by her hair, seizing the picture and thrusting it before her eyes with a trembling hand.
"You tell me to save it for our wedding night and all the time you're putting out to other guys," he hissed in hatred. "I lay in bed beating my meat while some sonovabitch is being sucked dry. You owe me, bitch, and I'm taking it out of your ass."
"Craig, you have to give me a chance to..."
He slapped her hard across the mouth and she fell back on the bed. Kathy, tasting blood, tried to struggle up to plead with him, but he overpowered her with his strength, wrestling the robe off her body. He forced her face down on the bed and swiftly slipped his fingers under her hair and into the fabric of the sheer nightgown, ripping back with such force that her breasts were lifted off the bedspread.
"No... not like this, darling..."
She cried in pain as he jerked the remains of the nightgown from beneath her body, like the magician's trick with the tablecloth under the dinner setting, the nylon scorching across the tips of her breasts and the tops of her thighs like fine grain sandpaper. He ground her face forward into the bedding to smother her protests, the other hand opening his belt and sliding it off his waist.
Naked and being forced to lay belly-down on the bed, Kathy heard the belt coming off Craig's pants and a cold fear gripped her. Craig was going to fuck her in anger. He was insane with fury and the way he held her suggested he intended to punish her with a fucking in the asshole. Kathy squirmed in dismay, the picture of Jean being raped in the tight hindquarters by the shrimpy Billy fleeting through her mind.
Kathy braced herself for the expected assault on her virgin rectum. It would be brutal with his cock unmoistened and the tight rubbery ring around her anus unstretched by fingers. Surely his driving prick would split her ass and join it to her cunt, creating one big common orifice between her legs.
She had prepared herself for the painful outrage of a throbbing thick prick nosing up her backside, but she had not foreseen the agony that came on the heels of the odd swishing sound, that of the broad leather belt biting into the firm flesh of her buttocks and then slashing into the backs of her tender young thighs. Craig was cursing like a raving lunatic and Kathy screamed into her gag of bedding.
Jean excitedly stiffened in her chair as she heard Craig's swearing, the sound of leather striking flesh with welt-raising impact, and Kathy's smothered cries. Craig had balls after all. This was to be no tongue-lashing rebuke, ending with him demanding their defiled engagement ring and storming out to sulk in silence. He was going to whale the living shit out of her. Jean pressed the receiver tightly to her ear as Craig's voice, dry and cracked and crazed, ordered, "Roll over, goddammit!" The command was followed by the sound of Kathy's cries coming through the line clearly, "No, Craig, please don't hurt me. I had to do it. I swear, they forced me to pose at gunpoint." Jean snickered softly, imagining Kathy working to achieve her look of wide-eyed innocence as she lied through her teeth.
"You fucking liar," Craig's voice snarled through the phone line. "I ought to kill you for what you've been putting me through."
Jean detected a subtle change in Kathy's voice. The hysteria was being replaced by a little girl's pouting tone striving for his sympathy.
"I swear it's true, darling. It happened the night you dropped me off after the beach. I was confused by the feelings you aroused in me. After you left I took the car and went for a drive to clear my head. I was going in circles until I finally realized that you were right all along. A car must have been following me. I didn't notice until it pulled alongside and they pushed me off the road. One of the men had the gun. He forced me into their car and then blindfolded me. They took me to a shabby room somewhere and then..." Kathy broke down in sobs, a goddamn Academy Award performance, Jean conceded grudgingly, "... then they made me do things in front of the camera." Jean pictured the tears flowing by the gallon.
"It's all bullshit," Craig shouted hoarsely, and Jean thought she heard a faint note of doubt. "You would have notified the police. You would have told me or your father."
"Don't you see, darling, I couldn't. They had the pictures. They said they would make copies and circulate them, sell them in those dirty book places, if I opened my mouth."
Jean thought she could hear the wheels spinning in Kathy's head. With her woman's mind, Jean was forming her own answers to the questions Craig would be asking Kathy. What was helping make it easy for Kathy was that Craig, the dumb bastard, wanted to believe her.
"How could they send one to me? How did they know my name and address?" he said, his voice a harsh accusation. Now he had her, and Jean imagined the whip in his upraised arm waiting to fall down across the breasts of the cowering Kathy if she answered badly.
But Kathy was smart. Christ, she had gotten foxy in a hurry.
"That was the worse part of the ordeal," Kathy said softly, and Jean envisioned those huge brown cow eyes lowering in simulated shame. "The one who... assaulted me... the dirty man who touched me where only your hands are allowed... found your letter, the one I always have with me. It's that beautiful letter on your personal stationery you wrote before we were engaged. The man was a sickening degenerate. He had his friend read the letter aloud while he... abused me. He must have remembered your name and address. He wants to hurt me more because I refused to say that he's a better man than you. He hit me, over and over, but I wouldn't say it."
"You're saying you were raped too?" Craig's distraught, funereal voice asked.
"Why do you think I invented the flu story? I couldn't bear to face you. Look at my bruises. I feel used and dirty," Kathy said, and Jean guessed the look on Craig's face must have changed dramatically to permit Kathy's new confidence and inventiveness.
"Craig," she said softly after a moment, Jean spotting the timbre as silky and seductive, knowing the clincher was on its way, "Now I know I was wrong in denying you. I've been hurt by strangers, but the greatest injury is that I'm no longer a virgin for you. Help wash away my guilt. But, please... please be gentle."
Now Jean saw it, sure as hell. Kathy was stark naked on that bed, flat on her back in front of Craig, using every moving muscle to her advantage. Her yarn would have been cut out of a B movie script, but Craig heard it from the soft lips of a lovely stripped girl who was available to him. Jean, who last saw Craig at the dance, understood his whole body was swollen with horniness for Kathy, and realized how his common sense could fail him at such a moment of raw confrontation.
"That's pretty farfetched," Craig's voice offered timidly, haltingly, as if he was viewing something sufficient to make him forget why he had sped to Kathy's home with homicidal intentions.
"Help me, sweetheart. Prove that lovemaking is beautiful, not something painful and unpleasant. I'm afraid, but I trust you. I'll do anything you tell me... anything at all you say. Show me what to do, but don't hurt me, please."
Jean wanted to scream into the phone, to make the receiver on the floor in Kathy's bedroom leap off the carpet in offense at the calculated charade. Jean's whole fucking gameplan was backfiring in her face. Kathy would screw him limp and for the rest of his life the jerk would believe he had been a good Christian gent comforting his beloved through the worst nightmare she ever suffered. She was spinning a web around Craig that was almost faultless. Jean would be shut out unless she did something quickly.
Jean gently cradled the receiver and crushed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray by her side. Well, why not? Jean decided the best defense at a time like this is a direct offense. She would blatantly inject her presence into the middle of their tender domestic scene and plant her name first on the waiting list for Craig's ass. There was nothing Kathy could do about it. Jean realized she would be a wet blanket, all right, what with her flowing period, but she had enough on Kathy to work her boyfriend inside-out and there wasn't a fucking thing she could say or do to prevent it. Not if Kathy valued Jean's silence. Jean had all the chips in spite of the surprising developments and she was ready to cash in.
Craig couldn't think straight. His practiced mind, capable of turning the flimsiest straw into a mighty sword in the context of a law school debate, deserted him as he looked down at the girl he had loved for so long, beautifully naked and offering to fulfill his fondest dream for the price of understanding. Kathy lay flat on the bed, one knee raised slightly, her moist red mouth and tear-shedding eyes beckoning him to take her. Tenderly, but, at last, to take her. The implausible story didn't hold water. It had more potholes than a big city street. The steam building in his veins since he had seen the photograph, crumpled and discarded on the floor as evidence of little consequence now, had been pumped from his system with the effort of lashing her creamy buttocks, and his killer rage had waned, for all intents and purposes, with the sight of the angry red welts of his violence on her flesh and her impassioned pleas for mercy. She had promised him anything he asked if he would simply assuage her feelings of guilt for refusing him and then having been taken by others. Craig thought of the whore in the fraternity house. A repetition of the techniques he had craved since that night, sensations he never even hallucinated as being possible from Kathy, was his for the asking. The ramifications of Kathy's alleged abuse at the hands of unknown assailants, either real or imagined, were brushed aside for now.
Craig, standing over the bed, began stripping off his clothes. Kathy shifted around to rest her head on the pillow. She raised her knees and spread them, her hair-lined slit watering in invitation. Craig dropped his pants. His naked prick leaped out rigid and swollen. Kathy needed no encouragement. She rolled to her side and took the cock in her mouth, running an arm behind Craig's ass and pressuring the prick deeper into the moist warm-ness. Her free hand found the scrotum and gently played it like a fragile harp. Her lips and tongue toiled skillfully, intaking like a vacuum cleaner hose, and Craig feared that his sleeping nuts would awaken in a tantrum, spill their food and cancel the rest of his trip.
"Save it. I want to go around the world."
Kathy drew back from his cock and looked up like a student who had skipped that page.
"Anything. What do I do?"
Craig scooted her to one side and lay on his back on the bed. Kathy's hand stayed with his balls and he fought for the breath he needed to speak.
"Use your tongue everywhere. Last, before we fuck, stick it up my ass."
Kathy started at his head, kissing his brow and running the tongue across his salty eyelids. She wet his nose and kissed his mouth warmly, driving her pink wet tongue deeply into his throat. Craig groaned and twisted when she darted the tip into each ear, following with a thrust that pushed it far inside, taking his entire ear in her mouth. She trailed the tongue down his neck and perked up each nipple on his hair-covered chest, moving down his belly to pause and fish in his navel. She wet and sucked the prick gingerly, working down to the tight wrinkled scrotum and inhaling each testicle into her mouth. She moved down his thighs and shins to his feet, sucking each toe and cutting her tongue in between them, her tender plump breasts sliding across his ankles. Craig curled his toes and tensed his thigh muscles, his dripping cock jerking gently in pleasure. He rolled over and she started at the back of his neck, coating his shoulders with wet washing tongue kisses. She straddled his ass and squirmed there, brushing his rump with her bristly pubic hair and wetting it with the lubricant from her cunt, her heavy pointed tits teasing his back as her tongue crisscrossed slowly down his tremulous spine and her chin kneaded petrified muscles into pliancy. She backed down his thighs and slipped her hand under his loins, gripping the swollen prick crushed to one side, when her tongue reached the tailbone and the top of the crack of his ass. She inserted her tongue sideways at the beginning of the crevice and knifed downward between his buttocks, slicing the ass pie, parting and opening as if with a surgeon's scalpel. With the fingers of the free hand she split the hair-lined assfolds until his tightly-clenched anus came into view, agitated like the mouth of a toothless hag. She circled the tight puckered ring with the end of her tongue and Craig smothered his wild outcry with a pillow, both hands flying to his hair. She strained until the muscles of her tongue hurt and finally the tip forced through the resisting ring and inside the asshole.
Craig went insane, his feet flying back and the heels beating against her buttocks, the back arching to the breaking point as he stretched his face up toward the ceiling in strained silent agony. The prick tightly held in her hand fucked into her palm.
Kathy knew he was going to cum.
"Turn over. Quickly!" she said, using his penis as a handle to get his body over.
She leaped forward and slid on the twitching cock in the same motion, grinding the wet walls of her cunt against the fleshy hardness frantically in the hope of catching him. She was much too late. Craig groaned deeply in his chest and she felt the first hot splash of his cum, his loins coming around to hammer the firing prick rapidly inside her wet cuntal walls.
"Oh, Craig, you couldn't wait for me."
His body caved in with the last dying spurt. Kathy tried to take advantage of the remaining hardness of his prick with a violent effort of her own, riding her cunt up and down furiously on the lifeless cock inside her, the lips of her vagina sucking tightly to keep it from melting entirely.
Craig's face twisted with discomfort, his pale lips stretching at the sides. He dug his buttocks into the bedding to escape.
"Stop, stop! Jesus, you're killing me! Empty... all gone."
Kathy felt the prick dissolving into limp meat until it slipped out of her of its own weight. She fell to her side on his outstretched arm, wanting to cry in frustration, Craig's cum flowing from her cunt.
"My turn."
Kathy and Craig, as one, both sat upright facing the door, reaching for something to hide their nude bodies, finding nothing. Jean was in the doorway slowly unbuttoning her blouse.
"What the hell...?" Craig sputtered, covering his groin with his hands.
"Jean, what on earth...?"
Jean came closer removing her blouse and unhooking and dropping the bra. Her breasts preceded the rest of her body, the nipples standing out in anticipation. She bent to pick up the picture on the floor, smoothing it out on her skirt.
"That's not your best side, love," she said cattily, tearing the photograph to pieces and scattering them on the bed. "I'm awfully sorry, dear," her voice mocked, "but I was passing by and just had to pop in to chat with my dearest, most loyal friend. And now that I've wandered into all this, I'm a helpless victim of protocol. You remember the Eskimo etiquette where the host, or the hostess in this case, shares their mate with the guest. You are such a stickler for good manners and friendship, aren't you, sweetie?"
Kathy was speechless. Craig felt the blood rushing back to refill his cock as he studied Jean's upthrust breasts, smaller than Kathy's but erotic when-viewed in her entire conformation, with those sexy full hips surrounding a pelvis perfectly built for prick swallowing. Craig noticed that Jean had not appeared surprised at seeing the pornographic picture. Kathy must have confided the story to her. And if she would tell Jean about her so-called ravishment by gun-toting strangers, something so shameful and humiliating, there was nothing to keep Craig from suspecting she told her best friend Jean everything, every little detail of their own relationship, how he was so lily-livered that a single word from her, refusing him so much as a feel or taste, sent him home to beat off in his bed. So much for that shit! Jean was a tigery piece of tail, he'd suspected for some time. Now, by God, he'd show Kathy who ran the show, who had balls built for two, or he'd die trying. Fuck the consequences.
"Okay, baby, get out of that skirt," Craig smiled.
"Jean, I want to talk to you alone," Kathy said seriously, sliding off the bed.
"You have nothing to say to me in private that I couldn't improve on in public," Jean said, reaching down to pick up the phone receiver from the floor. "Look, your line has been open. I do wish you'd bothered to let me know about... your personal tragedy."
A frozen manikin smile came to Kathy's face. She fought the urge to laugh out loud. It was all so beautiful, so sinfully precise. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. Jean had a mind Grayson could aspire to. Kathy now was forced to share the one thing she had given up so much to protect. Her moment of truth had arrived and all Kathy wanted to do was to giggle at the difference between what you want and what you get.
Jean unzipped her miniskirt and it dropped to the floor. She stood by the bed naked, except for the panties, the outline of the straps holding her sanitary napkin in place etched against the sheer fabric.
"I'm wearing the rag. Do you mind?"
Craig responded by circling her hip with his arm and leaning up to nibble at a tit.
"A bitch in heat? All the better." He pulled her down across his thighs, his stiffening prick against her dark hair.
"I'll leave the room," Kathy said, moving toward her closet.
"Don't shove off on my account," Jean smiled, taking Craig's prick in her hand and pressing it to her lips.
"No, we're not through," Craig said, savoring his moment to get even. "Find a silk scarf and tie a line of little knots in it. While I fuck Jean you work the scarf up my asshole. When you see I'm cumming, slowly pull it out, one knot at a time. It does wonders for my virility."
"I won't do it," Kathy said, the disgust plain on her face.
"You promised me anything, remember?" Craig said, disappointed.
"Don't worry, Craig, she'll do it," Jean soothed him. She looked at Kathy. "You'll do it, won't you, you poor ravished girl?" she said with all the assurance in the world.
Kathy watched as Craig cautiously took the panties off Jean's legs and pushed the harnessed rag to one side, swiftly plugging his prick into her cunt to keep her blood from running down on the bed.
Kathy sighed and crossed the room to her bureau to search for her blue silk scarf.
Kathy and Jean sipped their after-dinner brandies, not in the least bit curious about the emergency in the engine room that had forced the captain to frown and apologize for leaving the table. The strolling mariachis, who bribed their way on board only minutes after the ship tied up in Ensenada, hoping to have first pluck at the feathers of the turistas, completed their song and looked at both girls, in anticipation of an appreciative American greenback.
The forewarned captain's valet stepped up out of nowhere.
"You bloomin' spies get a move on, hear? Don't annoy the ladies or I'll feed the whole motley lot of you to the sharks."
The musicians slouched away, feeling cheated that the obviously rich norteamericanas viewed them so lowly that they refused to volunteer a token in tribute to their talents. The faces beneath the floppy sombreros, worn only when the owners went after the Yankee dollar, promised revenge at the first opportunity for this slight.
"That number reminded me of our mutual dark Cuban friend," Jean tilted her head smiling, the effects of several brandies apparent on her placid features.
A tingle of pleasure slowly climbed Kathy's spine as she thought back. "He was humming it at one point... that night."
"That night he stuffed his gorgeous giant cock up our twats," Jean corrected, tempering her observation with an outburst of boisterous lewd laughter.
"You don't have to be so... so explicit," Kathy scolded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Explicit, shit! You know the name of the game... cock and cunt, prick and pussy, dick and snatch...."
"Not so loudly," Kathy shushed her companion.
Jean ignored her. "And tonight we're going to ride the captain's dinghy," she sang out, her words running together. "Both of us. We do a fucking good job together. I should say a good fucking job."
Kathy gave up trying to quiet the drunken Jean. Despite the heads turning in their direction, she really didn't mind at all.
Kathy had felt the captain's knee pressuring her thigh on numerous occasions during the meal, and he twice brushed her breasts with his arm while refilling her wine glass. The privileges of rank, Kathy thought amused, visualizing the interesting tall swarthy man with the slight touch of gray at his curly dark temples.
"Goddamn Latin lover," Jean went on. "He practically poked his finger up my box during dessert. I saw him bumping your boobs too every chance he had. We're going to make his sails flap. He'll cum all over his fucking brass buttons."
Kathy felt an involuntary twinge between her legs and the sudden wetness inside the lips of her vagina. Jean's choice of language and her own longings she no longer fought to keep buried deep beneath her surface combined to pull the hair trigger that mortared the cultured and studious college coed out into the sexually-hungry creature she had become in recent weeks.
She signaled the valet. "Please ask the captain to join us in our cabin for a drink when he finds it convenient," Kathy instructed. The valet smiled and nodded, a little too knowingly, Kathy thought.
Alone in their cabin, Kathy and Jean peeled down to their undergarments and awaited the arrival of their visitor. Jean poured herself a brandy and reclined, glass in hand, on the bed opposite Kathy's.
"You know, baby, if I was lessie I might go for you myself. You're not a bad fuck from what I've seen. I'm tempted to buy one of those strap-on jobs with a rubber prick to give you a jab on lonely nights."
Kathy laughed out loud, more comfortable with Jean's drunken nonsense in the privacy of their suite. She worked her way out of her bikini panties and let the rush of cool ocean air through the porthole do the job on her clitoris. A soft wave of sensuous delight passed over her as she imagined the look on the face of the captain when he entered.
"Think we'll ever find anything to match Claudio?" Kathy asked, languidly bathing in the light touch of the breeze between her thighs.
"All we can do is keep looking," Jean replied, her voice sobering noticeably. "In the meantime, I expect Craig to be able to throw me a fuck whenever we want without any bitching from you. I like what he's got, even if he is too asshole-oriented."
Kathy felt the heavy waiting stillness from Jean's side of the room. It wasn't necessary for Jean to elucidate further. What she left unsaid made her case a winning one; she would not hesitate to reveal to Craig, in all the damning detail, how Kathy sucked and fucked to free herself from Grayson's hold.
"Jean, darling," she said coolly, scrambling to the deck at the first faint traces of knocking on the cabin door, "you know whatever I have is yours."
Kathy knew her world no longer orbited around Craig as she padded across the floor and hesitated before turning the door handle. She looked back, displaying the hungry fullness of her new face to the friend she once betrayed, in whose betrayal both of them had become acquainted with their special callings.
"The world is full of Craigs... and Claudios. It's madness to... to select before you have a better idea of what's in the marketplace."
Kathy, naked beneath her overflowing bra, flashed her most radiant smile at Jean, held it on her lips, and turned away, opening wide the cabin door.
