Taking a slip of paper from his pocket, he checked a number on it, then glanced at the building he was passing. The number he wanted was still several blocks away. He sighed.
This was the third job prospect that the agency had sent him to the seventh agency he had gone to in his four days of steady job-hunting. There just didn't seem to be any jobs for a young man with no particular qualifications other than the rather vague "good at figures." It's a good thing, he thought, that he was leaving out of the many applications he filled any mention of his stay at the detention farm. That would really louse up his chances.
Two girls passed him going the other way, and he watched them with interest. Their hair was done up Bardot-style, their breasts moved subtly under their blouses, and their skirts were fashionably short. He turned as they passed him and watched them walking away, noticing the sensuous movements of the muscles in their legs.
A whole year, he thought. A year since he had had a woman. A year of fences and guards and doing what he was told. Not even the sight of a woman, except on visiting days.
The last time, he remembered, had been with Leona. It had been just before the big rumble, the one in which he'd gotten picked up. He'd been tensed up, as he always was before a fight. They were in Leona's apartment. Her parents, as usual, were out somewhere. Leona had been his deb for several months. She was a small, dark-haired girl with perky breasts. She sensed his tenseness, and was trying to make him forget it and concentrate on her body. He wasn't much interested at first, but he could never resist Leona for long.
He was lying stretched out on the couch, and Leona was lying stretched out next to him. Her soft, warm lips nibbled at his ears, his neck, his cheeks, and finally closed over his mouth. She made soft sounds as she rolled her lips on his. Her breasts were mashed against his chest, and she moved her body so that they rotated sexily. He could feel hard nipples surrounded by soft flesh, even through her sweater and his shirt. Her body was never still. Her legs moved back and forth over his.
His breath began to come faster. He put his arms around her squirming body and tried to crush her even closer to him. Her tongue moved tantalizingly into his mouth. He heaved up, and they rolled over so that he was looking down at her flushed face, her open mouth, her heaving breasts.
Frantically, they began to undress each other. He pulled her sweater over her head and dropped it on the floor. She wore no bra. Leona didn't believe in underwear. Her breasts pointed up at him, firm and quivering. He cupped them m his hands and she moaned. She had gotten his shirt off and was fumbling with his trousers. He helped her with his pants and shorts, and then he was naked. Leona's thrashing legs had caused her skirt to ride up around her waist, so that except for the strip of cloth around her middle, she was completely exposed.
He caressed her legs. She loved to have him do that; it drove her wild. Her breath came in gasps as he ran his hands over the smooth, curving calves and thighs. She arched her body, driving her breasts against his face. He took one in his mouth, caressing the hard nipple with his tongue. She gave a sobbing cry, and her legs moved up to his waist. She locked her ankles on him, and he could feel the entire curved length of her pressing against him, pulling him down to her.
He could wait no longer. As they went together she moaned again. Her head went back, and her hips began jerking frantically. He felt the full length of her body moving uncontrollably beneath him. She sobbed in rhythm with their movement. He ran his hands over her squirming warmth. Each time his hand moved over her thigh, her sob became a gasp and she increased her tempo.
As Vic felt the peak approaching, he wrapped her frantic nakedness in his arms and strained her to him. Her hips moving at an incredible rate, she seized him desperately and mashed her moaning mouth on his. But as her peak was reached she ripped her mouth away, threw back her head and gave a strangled scream of ecstasy. Then they lay still, panting, clinging to each other.. .
And that night the Blazers, his gang, had invaded the territory of the Silver Satans. The Blazers and the Satans had been rivals for years, and there had been several rumbles between them since Vic had joined the gang. But this was the biggest of them all. Tension had been building steadily for months, until it wasn't safe for a member of either gang to venture even a block into the other's turf.
That night, the tension exploded. There were no holds barred. Switchblades were the weapons most employed, but razors, tire chains, and car-radio aerials were also used. Vic had gotten into a knife fight with Big Bart Jackson, one of the wheels of the Satans. He was a huge, powerful fighter. He had pressed Vic hard, and Vic knew he couldn't expect mercy if Big Bart got the better of it. Suddenly seeing an opening, he had lunged desperately at Bart's face and lain his cheek open from jaw to ear.
When the rumble was over, one of the Blazers was dead and many members of both gangs had been severely cut up. The police, spurred by a wave of public indignation against the juvenile violence that was currently alarming the city, picked up as many members of the two gangs as they could find. But there was no real evidence to go on, and most of them were set free.
But not Vic. Big Bart didn't tell the cops who cut him up, preferring to stick to the gang code of having nothing to do with fuzz, and avenging one's own injuries. But the Satan who had committed the fatal stabbing of Tom Bowers, the dead Blazer, had broken down and confessed. He had seen the fight between Vic and Bart, and to help his own case as much as possible, he testified as to what happened. Vic was sentenced to fifteen months at the juvenile detention farm upstate. He'd been just under eighteen.
At the farm he did a lot of thinking. He'd grown up in a rough section of the Lower East Side and, like most of the neighborhood kids, he'd joined a gang when he was old enough. If you didn't, you were an outcast. He'd made out pretty well, too, getting to be one of the leading members of the Blazers very quickly.
But it had made him thoughtful to see what happened to the older guys as they outgrew the gang. Most of them either became aimless drifters, spending their time hanging around bars or pool halls, picking up a little work here and there when they could; or else they were hoods or petty thieves, always being picked up by the cops, spending more time in jail than out. Very few of them seemed able to break out of the pattern.
It frightened Vic a little. He knew he couldn't spend his life just hanging around, and his experience at the farm was enough to convince him that he didn't like being locked up. The farm was modern and well-run and the boys were treated as human beings, but still Vic hated it, every minute of it. He'd hated getting up when he was ordered to and going to bed when he was ordered to. He'd hated the restrictions, the routines, and most of all he'd hated not being free. He didn't want to have to live like that ever again. He didn't want to have to be afraid of being locked up again. He wanted to lead a free, normal life.
He decided he'd break the pattern.
When he got out, he wouldn't go back to the gang. He'd get a job and try making his way in the "straight" world. He had no illusions he hadn't even finished high school, and had no experience of any kind but he knew he was intelligent and quick to learn. He could start at the bottom somewhere in an office or even as a laborer, if necessary. He would work his way up.
Determined to be free as soon as possible, he became a model prisoner. He did his work well, and was careful not to get into trouble. At the end of a year, he was let out on parole.
He'd been out now for about a week. He hadn't wasted any time. He'd spent his first couple of days at home with his mother, who, since Vic's father had died six years ago, had meagerly supported herself and Vic on her Social Security checks. On Monday morning, he had put on his only suit and gone out to look for a job.
It had been more difficult than he'd expected. Most of the jobs advertised in the newspapers, those which he had any chance of qualifying for, were obtainable only through employment agencies. Those few ads placed directly by employers, he discovered, always drew hordes of applicants, reducing his chances to almost nil. He resigned himself to the agencies.
He had decided to represent himself as a high-school graduate. And, of course, to omit mention of the farm. He couldn't pretend to any experience, but he'd had a flair for math in school. He hoped to find a minor clerical position, one perhaps where they would train him. He wanted a future.
But he had gone from agency to agency for days. Some told him right away that there was nothing for him. Others sent him out to one or two places, but the closest he had come to a job was a few vague promises that "we'll call you if we decide on you." He knew it could take weeks to cover even half the agencies, but already he was pretty discouraged. It looked hopeless.
He was getting close to the number he wanted now. He quickened his step.
He hadn't seen any of his old friends since he'd gotten out. He wanted to avoid the people he'd known. He had deliberately not passed the Blazer clubhouse, even going out of his way to avoid that street. He knew they'd expect him to resume his old place in the gang. They wouldn't understand his new feelings. He didn't want to get into a hassle. He thought it best just not to see anyone as long as possible. He was bound to run into some of the gang in the neighborhood, of course. Maybe, he thought, when he got a job, he'd get a room someplace and move away from there for good. Maybe, though, he could just look up Leona and his heart skipped a beat as he remembered again her willing mouth, her writhing legs. But no, he thought, better not. Better start clean. There would be other women.
He had arrived at the number he wanted. It was a low building with a large, glazed window facing the street. On the glass of the door was printed in gold letters; p. j. funstan co. wholesalers
This was the place, all right. Vic straightened his tie, ran his fingers through his crew-cut hair, and walked in.
The girl at the switchboard said, "You'll have to see Mr. Keith. Upstairs, first door to your right."
She nodded at a flight of steps to the left of the entrance. Vic ascended, and found himself facing a corridor with a series of doors, each evidently leading to an office beyond. The first one on his right said "Personne!". He went in. A secretary was typing away at a small desk. Vic gave his name and she showed him an application form to fill out. He did so, quickly. When he had finished she pressed a switch on the intercom box on her desk.
"Yes?" came a man's voice.
"Mr. Hadley is here, from the Denton Agency."
"Send him in, please."
"Yes, sir." She indicated the door to the inner office. "Go right in, please," she told Vic.
Vic went in. This was a larger office, with pictures on the walls and a couch in one corner. A man who he supposed was Mr. Keith, rose from behind a cluttered desk to greet him. He was a thin, middle-aged man with a small mustache and a sly look. He shook hands with Vic, asked him to be seated, and began to look over his application.
"Um, yes!" he muttered. "I see you've had no working experience at all, right?"
"Yes, sir, that is, no sir," said Vic. He felt a hopeless sinking in his stomach. This was going to be like all the others.
"Um. Well, we are looking for someone we can train to do things our way. Good at math, are you."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes. Well, this is only a trainee job at the start, and excuse me." The buzzer on his intercom had sounded. He flipped the switch. "Yes?"
"Miss Linton is here, sir."
"Oh, yes. Have her wait, please." He turned back to Vic. "As I was saying, this job doesn't pay an awful lot to start with, but there's a chance for advancement after you've learned the ropes, so to speak. That's why we want someone permanent." He looked at Vic with a mixture of shrewdness and inquiry.
"I'm looking for some thing with a future," said Vic sincerely.
Keith nodded. "Good. Well, this job starts at.. . " He went on, telling Vic about such things as salary, working hours, policy, and so on; but Vic was not sure that he had the job until Keith finally said, "Well, that's about all. Now, can you start Monday?"
Vic could have shouted for joy, but he said, calmly as possible, "Yes, sir."
"Fine. I'll have my secretary give you a few forms to fill out in the meantime." He pressed the intercom switch. "Miss Wilson," he said into it. There was no reply. He glanced at his watch. "Must have gone out to lunch, I guess. Well, you can get them Monday.' He shook hands with Vic. "Hope you enjoy working for us."
"Thank you, sir." He rose to go.
As he reached the door, Keith said "Oh, would you ask the girl who's waiting out there to come in, please?"
"Yes, sir," said Vic, and went out.
The secretary was gone, but there was a young woman waiting in the outer office. She was very pretty, with long red hair and high breasts. Her slim legs were crossed, her short skirt riding halfway up her thigh.
"Mr. Keith said to send you in," Vic said to her.
"Thank you," she said, smiling at him. She went into the inner office. He watched her rear twitch through the door.
He was about to leave when he was startled to hear Keith's voice, as clearly as if he were in the same room. "Ah yes, Miss Linton," it said. "Sit down, please."
What the hell, he thought. Then he realized what it was. The intercom was on. Keith had neglected to flip back the switch when he had tried to get his secretary. The voice was coming from the box on the desk.
"It's been brought to my attention," Keith was saying, "that your attendance and punctuality have been extremely bad in the six months you've been here, Miss Linton."
The girl said something, but it was unintelligible to Vic. He knew he shouldn't be listening, but he was interested.
"Mr. Winston tells me," Keith went on, "that he's warned you several times about your frequent absences, and that the last time he made it clear that it was a final warning; but your record has not improved. As you know, we're somewhat strict here about attendance. I'm afraid, Miss Linton, that we'll have-"
"Oil, please," came the girl's voice. It was clearer now, as though she were leaning forward over the desk. "Please don't fire me. I need this job, really I need it. I'll try to improve, I "
"I'm sorry," Keith's voice broke in, "but I have no alternative. It's a matter of policy. We can't "
"Mr. Keith," the girl's voice said, slowly, "I need my job. I would do anything to keep it." A pause. "Anything."
There was no mistaking her meaning. Vic stood rooted to the spot, listening, knowing he should leave, but unable to bring himself to move.
There was a short silence. Then the voice of Keith, sly, insinuating. "Anything, Miss Linton?"
"Yes," said the girl. "Anything."
"Well," said Keith softly, "I don't like to think of myself as being unreasonable. Perhaps, after all, we could come to some arrangement. Stand up please. Miss Linton."
A pause. Then Keith's voice again. "You have a very nice figure, Miss Linton. I'd like to see more of it."
"I think we could probably arrange that," said the girl's voice.
"Now," said Keith.
"Now?" said the girl, sounding startled.
"Yes, Miss Linton. Why not? No one will disturb us. Just to make sure, you may go and turn the lock on that door."
Vic felt panicky for a second. Was he going to be discovered listening ? Hut t he door between the offices did not open. It simply clicked.
"Good," came Keith's voice again. "You can understand that I don't want to wait to see that lovely body. All of it. Perhaps you would like to take off your blouse?"
A pause. Vic was terrified that the secretary might return, that someone else might come in. Still, nothing could drag him away now.
"Ah," said Keith's voice. "Very nice, Miss Linton. Very nice. Tantalizing. Now the skirt, please."
Another pause.
"Lovely," said Keith. "Lovely. You look very good in short skirts, Miss Linton; I noticed that before. But you look even better in no skirt. You'll look better yet in nothing at all. Take off the stockings, please. Such legs shouldn't be covered by anything."
Pause.
"Thank you. Now the brassiere." Pause.
"Ah," said Keith. His voice seemed a little unsteady. "Your breasts are truly beautiful, Miss Linton. Firm. Smooth. The nipples relaxed. But they'll get hard, I promise you. Take off the panties."
Pause.
"I was right," said Keith's voice. "You do look best in nothing at all. You have a wonderful body, Miss Linton; I congratulate you. Now, come her, please. Come here to me. That's right. I want to find out if that body feels as good as it looks.. . Ah, it does. It does indeed. So soft. So yielding, so sweet.. . "
Vic heard the girl give a low moan. "Ah," said Keith's voice. "You like me to touch you. Good." The girl moaned again, louder. "Ah," said Keith again. "The nipples are no longer relaxed. I promised you they would get hard, didn't I? They're hard now, my dear. Now suppose I do this to them."
Vic heard a loud gasp.
"Do you like that? Yes? Good. And this?"
"Oh, God," came the girl's voice.
"Good. I like it too. Now to taste those nipples."
"Oh, God," came the girl's voice again. "Oh, that's good. Oh. Don't stop. Please don't stop . . . "
"Just for a minute, my dear," said Keith's voice. "I think we'd be better off on the couch."
A pause, then Vic heard the girl's voice again. It was fainter, obviously coming from farther away, but he could hear her clearly.
"Oh," she was saying, "oh, God, oh yes, do it, Yes!" Silence, broken by gasps and moans. Then: "That's it, oh, more . . . hard."
Silence again.
Vic came to his senses. He'd been lucky he hadn't been found there by someone before this. He went quickly out. As he opened the door he heard Keith's voice, faintly, saying, "I think we'll keep you on here, Miss Linton."
He went down the steps and out of the building. He was sweating, and his hands were trembling. That was quite a way to get a first impression of the place you were going to work at, he thought as he walked down the street. Quite a way. Then he had another thought which made him smile.
Things were starting off with a bang.
CHAPTER TWO
On Saturday, the inevitable happened. Vic was on his way home from the supermarket with some groceries his mother had asked him to pick up when someone yelled at him from down the block. "Vic I Hey Vic!"
He turned around. Benny Perletti was running toward him. Benny was one of the younger members of the Blazers. Vic sighed. Now the gang would know he was out, would want him to come back. He didn't relish having to refuse. Would they think he was a quitter? Would they make things tough for him? Not that he was afraid, but he didn't want trouble. Besides, he had nothing against the guys in the gang. He'd try not to get them mad at him, but he'd be firm. He wasn't going back.
Benny had caught up to him. "Hey, Vic, man!" he shouted. "Wow, it's good to see ya! When'ja get out?"
"Hi, Benny. 'Bout a week ago."
"Yeah? Hey, we thought ya was gonna be in for months yet."
"I got out on parole. Good behavior."
"Hey, great, man! Wow it's gonna be like old times around here. Hey, how come ya ain't been around to the clubhouse? The guys don't even know yer out."
"Well.. . " Vic hesitated. It was awkward. How could he start explaining his feelings to this kid? "Well, you know, Benny, I've been kind of busy. Getting adjusted and all. And my mother.. . you know."
"Yeah. Guess it feels kinda funny bein' outside after a year, huh? But Vic, ya oughta come down and see the guys. Hey, c'mon down with me now. Buzz and Frankie and a lotta the guys are there. Man, will they be surprised when you walk in I"
"I.. . I can't right now, Benny. Gotta get home. I'll see you around, okay?"
"Yeah," said Benny, sounding puzzled. "Yeah, okay, Vic. See ya soon down at the clubhouse, huh?"
Vic gave him a friendly but non-committal wave and walked on. He felt a little angry at himself for his evasiveness. Why didn't he just say he didn't want to be part of the gang any longer? They'd have to know that soon, anyhow. It was foolish to shilly-shally around.
He didn't have to wait long for another chance. That afternoon Vic was alone in the apartment, his mother having gone to a movie with one of the neighbor women, when there was a knock on the door. It was Buzz Muller, the president of the Blazers, and Frankie Denzer, his sidekick and chief lieutenant.
"Vic, buddy!" exclaimed Buzz, enthusiastically shaking Vic's hand. "Benny told us you were out, man. How the hell are ya?" Buzz was a big fellow with a loud voice and boisterous manner. He was tough and could be mean in a fight, but he had a sincere, direct quality about him, and he was nobody's fool. He and Vic had always gotten along well.
"Fine, Buzz. Hiya, Frankie. C'mon in."
"Boy, it's sure great to have you back, buddy," said Buzz as they settled themselves in the living room. "Things have been pretty dull around here. I been planning a couple things you're gonna want to be in on."
"Benny says you been out for a week, Vic," Frankie said.
Vic didn't like Frankie. He had an aggressive, suspicious manner and his meanness, unlike Buzz', was always present.
"About that, yeah," said Vic.
"Whatsa matter you ain't been around sooner?"
Before Vic could reply, Buzz broke in. "Hell, Vic's been in for a year. Give him a chance to breathe, huh, Vic? Wait'll you see the place. We done some fixing up. And they condemned the building, ya know? They don't even know we still use the basement. We got practically the whole damn lot to ourselves. They been tearing down the block like crazy."
"Buzz-" Vic began, but Buzz broke in again.
"Hey, Vic, you got back just in time. The guys are ready for some action. Hell, we been sitting around getting lazy lately. Them Silver Satans are beginning to think we turned into a bunch of girls or something. We never did really get back at them cruds for killing Tommy. We gotta have a rumble, and damn soon, too. And there's some other things I been thinking about. There's a new gas station opened up over on "
"Listen, Buzz, willya?" Vic interrupted.
"Yeah, sure, buddy," said Buzz, surprised. "What's up?"
"I don't I'm not coming back in the gang."
There was an astonished pause. "What ? " said Buzz finally. "Oh, you're kidding, man. What the hell kind a talk is that?"
"No, I mean it, Buzz. I just well, I mean, I was locked up for a year, you know? I didn't like it much. I don't want to take a chance on it again. And-"
"You mean you're yellow," sneered Frankie.
Vic looked at him. "You know I'm not yellow, Frankie. You know that damn well. I just don't want to have to worry about that all the time. And I I don't want to end up being a hood or something." He was finding it very difficult to bare his feelings before Frankie's animosity and Buzz' incredulity. But he felt he had to. "I mean, I want to try leading a regular life. I don't know, maybe I can get someplace. Maybe not. But I'm gonna give it a try, anyhow."
Frankie sat forward in his chair. "Listen, you fink," he snarled. "You can't punk out on the gang like that. Who do you think you're foolin'? You think you can just "
"Knock it off, Frankie!" Buzz commanded, and Frankie quieted. "Hell, Vic," Buzz continued "you want to quit the gang, I guess you got a right. But look, you ought to wait a while. You been away a year, a lotta new guys in the other gangs don't know you. You could get in trouble playing it alone. Besides, we sure could use you when we go up against the Satans."
"Can't do it, Buzz," Vic said. "I gotta start clean. I got a job already I start Monday and I don't want to louse it up. I got nothing against you and the guys, Buzz. I just don't want to take chances."
Frankie snickered. "I guess the punk thinks he can handle Big Bart Jackson by himself," he sneered.
"Yeah, that's another thing, Vic," Buzz said. "Big Bart's out to get you for cutting his face open. That scar makes him look like hell, and he don't like you for it. He finds out you're around, he'll be after you for sure. He's the prez of the Satans now, ya know. Damn it, man, you need protection. Stick with the gang till we cut down them guys, anyway huh? Then you'll be okay on your own."
Vic shook his head, but he was worried. He had expected that Big Bart would probably be out for revenge, and the thought didn't make him happy. He knew that if Bart got the chance he wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing to Vic's face as Vic had done to his, or maybe worse. And deliberately, rather than in the heat of a fight. But he wasn't going to let the threat of Bart interfere with his plans.
"Thanks, Buzz," he said, "but I'll be all right. I know enough to stay out of Satan turf anyway, and Jackson's not going to come around here."
"Damn right he's not. We'd send him home in a box."
"Besides, I think when I get a little money I'll get myself a room someplace out of this damn neighborhood. Close to nineteen years around here is enough."
"Too good for us around here, huh?" Frankie put in.
"Shut up, Frankie," said Buzz. "Listen, Vic, that's the way you wanna go, so okay, go, man. I hope to hell you make it your way. But listen, you decide you wanna come back with the gang after all, you just get the hell down there. Long as I'm head of the Blazers, you can come and swing with us any time."
"I'm not going to change my mind, Buzz. But thanks."
They rose to go. Vic wanted to ask about Leona, but he forced himself not to. He didn't want to be tempted to see her again. One thing might lead too easily to another. He put the image of her body firmly out of his mind.
"So long Buzz. Frankie."
"See ya around, Vic," said Buzz.
"So long, quitter," snarled Frankie.
They were gone.
Vic felt relieved that things had gone so easily. Frankie was simply a trouble-maker by nature, and his attitude didn't bother Vic, but he was glad that Buzz had taken it so casually. He didn't want any conflicts. Now, with that problem out of the way, with his new job ahead, the future seemed bright.
Except for the shadow of Big Bart Jackson.
On Monday morning Vic arrived at his new place of employment well before nine o'clock. He wasn't going to chance being late on his first day. He reported to the personnel office, was given the forms to fill out, and was then sent down to Mr. Panzer, the office manager, a large, cheerful, and very busy man, who gave him a quick guided tour of the office.
The Funstan Company took up the ground floor of two buildings situated back-to-back with a passageway between, so that one could enter by the from door, on 26th Street, walk through, and go out the rear door onto 27th Street. The rear building was used as the stock room and shipping room, while the office itself took up the front section. This part consisted mostly of desks situated around the large room in groups of anywhere from three to six or seven. These groups, Mr. Panzer explained, made up the departments handling the various phases of the company's work. Rows of filing cabinets took up much of the remaining space.
The manager led Vic to a group of about six desks near one wall. "This is where you'll be working," he said. "The order department. Unfortunately, the young man who previously held this job left us rather suddenly; but Miss Flock is acquainted with the work, and shell be able to break you in, so to speak." They had arrived at a desk behind which a pretty, dark-haired girl was sitting. "Miss Flock," said Panzer, "this is Victor Hadley, who'll be taking Mr. Bertrand's place."
The girl smiled at him, a warm anile. "How do you do?" she said.
"Well," said the manager, "I'll leave you in Miss Flock's capable hands. Good luck." He walked quickly away toward his office.
The girl rose and led him to a vacant desk with a calculating machine on it. "This will be your desk," she said. "Before we start working, let me introduce you to the other people in the department. Incidentally, we're all on a sort of first-name basis here. They call you Vic, I guess."
"That's right."
"My name's Deborah, or Debbie for short. Either one." She smiled at him again, and Vic found himself smiling back.
The rest of the department consisted of a block of four desks, each with a typewriter on it. Three of them were presently occupied. Debbie introduced him to the typists. One, Antonio Rapello, was a smiling, elderly man with horn-rimmed glasses and a thin mustache. The second, Anna Mason, was a plump, pleasant-looking matronly type. But it was the third, a girl named Joyce Lawson, who immediately captured and held his attention.
She couldn't have been more than eighteen, but she seemed to Vic to be the most sensuous woman he had ever seen. She radiated sex in a way that was apparent without being blatant. She had long blonde hair, gray-green eyes, and Vic couldn't think of any other word for it a beckoning mouth. Her breasts were very large and firm, and they thrust boldly out against the pullover sweater she wore. What Vic could see of the rest of her body as she sat behind the desk was a symphony of curves. He felt desire tug at him from the sight of her. She smiled at him slowly, seductively.
Then Debbie was leading him back to his desk and beginning to explain to him about his duties.
The Funstan Company manufactured and sold wholesale many kinds of items, from leather goods to toiletries. The Funstan brand name was well known, and its products were carried by thousands of stores all over the country. These stores ordered Funstan products from the office in New York, either directly or through one of the Funstan salesmen. When these orders came in, it was Vic's job to price them. Sometimes the store doing the ordering had put down the prices of each item; in this case, Vic checked to see that they were correct. If the store had not put down the figures, he affixed the correct price to each item. Then he figured out the total charge of each according to the quantity ordered, and totaled these figures to arrive at the final charge. He added the correct amount of tax on taxable items. He made deductions when stores were entitled to discounts. The typists then typed up the orders in the form of bills. The work seemed simple at first, but he found there were many things to keep in mind, and some of the orders got quite complicated. Vic had never used a calculator before, but he found after a little while he could pick it up fairly easily.
With Debbie instructing him, he became absorbed in learning the work, and time passed quickly. He was surprised when it was suddenly time for lunch. But then he realized that he was hungry.
He left the office, not knowing where he was going to eat, and walked to the corner. Across the avenue was a luncheonette. He crossed over and went in.
The place was jammed with the lunch-hour crowd. All the stools along the counter were filled, and a number of people were standing along the wall, waiting for vacant seats. The booths and tables in the rear were also filled. As Vic was about to leave to try his luck elsewhere, he saw Debbie standing among the people waiting for stools near the far end of the counter.
She saw him too, and waved. He went over. "Hi," she said. "Crowded, isn't it."
"Is it always this bad?"
"Always, at this hour. And every place else around here is the same way."
Just then two people who had been occupying one of the rear booths got up to leave. On an impulse Vic said, "Look, there's a booth over there. Why don't we take it?"
She hesitated for a second, then smiled and said, "All right, let's."
They made their way through the tables, dodging waitresses, to the empty booth. As she walked in front of him, Vic watched her trim figure with approval. Her body was not as immediately overpowering as was that of Joyce, the blonde typist, but it was quite attractive, with shapely legs, a slender waist, and high, full breasts.
As soon as they had settled themselves in the booth a waitress was there. They ordered sandwiches and coffee.
"Well," she said, when the waitress had gone, "how do you like the job?"
"I can't really tell yet," he replied. "I've been too busy to decide."
She nodded. "You'll be keeping busy for quite a while, even after you've learned everything. The heavy season is just beginning about now. The Christmas rush for merchandise starts in the early fall, and it won't let up until January."
"Looks like I got here just in time," said Vic, and they both laughed.
Their food came, and as they ate, Debbie told him about her job. It consisted of recording the orders as they came in, keeping various records and tabulations, and handling special problems relating to any of the orders, which were numerous. She also told him a little about the workings of the rest of the office.
When they had finished talking about the office, they talked about themselves. Debbie lived on the upper West Side with her mother and two sisters, all of whom worked. She had been at Funstan for two years, since graduating from high school. Vic found her interesting and easy to talk to. He told her a little about himself, but he did not mention the Blazers or his year at the farm. He felt instinctively that he could have told her and that she would have understood, but something held him back.
They warmed to each other quickly. By the time lunch was finished, they both felt the beginning of a bond between them. They were strangely quiet as they walked back to the office.
The afternoon passed as swiftly as the morning, except for one incident. At about three o'clock, Vic found that he had run out of the square yellow paper which he had been using to scribble on and to attach to those orders which had no room on them for the necessary figures. A quick search of his desk failed to turn up any more of the paper. He consulted Debbie, who was busy trying to check up on several orders at once.
"Oh," she said, "you'll have to get some from downstairs, I guess. I'll get someone to show you." She called over to the typists, "Will somebody take Vic down and show him where to get paper arid stuff?"
Joyce, the blonde, rose quickly. "I'll show him," she volunteered. She smiled at Vic. "Come on."
Vic followed her, watching the movement of her buttocks through her skirt as she walked, noticing the sensuous play of the muscles in her smoothly curving calves. Even from the rear, she was sex personified.
She led him through a door, down a flight of steps and into a basement corridor which was lined with shelves. "This is where all the supplies are kept," she told him. They stopped in front of a tier of shelves on which were boxes of all kinds and sizes of paper. Vic, after some searching, located the kind he needed and lifted a box of it down from its shelf. He turned to Joyce. "I guess this will " he began. And then he stopped, looking at her.
She was standing against the wall in a kind of niche between two tiers of shelves. One leg was bent at the knee, making her skirt ride up and revealing a good deal of smooth, curved thigh of the other leg. Her back and shoulders were flat against the wall, causing her large breasts to jut firmly out against her sweater. He could see the outline of the nipples. Her mouth was open, and in her eyes was a look that could only have been one of invitation. As he looked at her she poked the tip of her tongue out of her mouth and drew it provocatively across her lips. Then she smiled, looking into his eyes.
He could feel his heart racing. Everything in his body was reminding him of his year of enforced celibacy. He started toward her. But when he was almost touching her, he stopped, hesitating. There was less than an inch of space between their bodies. Still smiling, Joyce took a deep breath, causing the tips of her breasts to touch his chest. Then, tantalizingly, she moved her shoulders back and forth so that her nipples grazed him through his shirt.
He didn't need any further invitation. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily. She responded. Her lips moved on his. Her mouth opened and her tongue was in his mouth, moving endlessly. Her body pressed against his and aroused him to a frenzy. He felt her breasts mashed against his chest, felt her hips squirming against him, her legs rubbing his. He ran his hands down her back and over her buttocks. He felt her gasp against his mouth. He brought his hand up between their bodies to cup her breast. She pulled away, panting.
He pulled her back to him, but she put up her hands to stop him. "No," she said.
He thought he would die if he didn't have her. "Joyce," he said, still breathing hard. "Joyce, my gosh "
Her breathing had slowed. She had straightened her clothing and now looked as composed as she had before. He was amazed that she could be so passionate and so calm within a few seconds. "We have to get back," she said. "Besides, someone might come down here any time." She turned and walked toward the stairs.
He took a few moments to compose himself, then followed her back up to the office: As he passed her desk, Joyce did not look at him. He sat down at his own desk, angry and bewildered, and with an ache in his stomach.
Damn teaser, he thought, that's what she is, a tease likes to get guys hot for her then leaves them cold.
But he could not escape the thought that while she was in his arms she had been as eager and as passionate as he.
He found it difficult to concentrate for the rest of the afternoon.
During the next few weeks, Vic learned his job thoroughly. He was determined to make good, and he worked hard, being careful to arrive promptly every morning, sometimes working overtime when the work load got a little ahead of him. He felt he was doing well, and he was happy.
He was trying to save his money, but he found this a little more difficult than he had expected. He contributed a good part of his modest salary to help his mother with the expenses of the house, and the rest just seemed to dwindle away, so that the end of each week he had very little to put aside. But he counselled himself to be patient and keep plugging.
Joyce had more or less ignored him since their scene in the supply cellar, and this puzzled and annoyed him. He wanted to speak to her, but she seemed to avoid all opportunity to be alone with him again. From his desk he saw her in profile as she sat at her typewriter only a few feet away, but he avoided watching her as much as possible. Her straining breasts, her curving, sensuous mouth, were like taunts to him.
He ate lunch with Debbie every day. At first they had eaten together only occasionally, when they happened to be going out the door together at the lunch hour, or to meet in the luncheonette; then he started asking her to eat with him two or three times a week, until gradually it became the accepted thing. As they learned more about each other, as they grew closer, they liked each other more and more, and the feeling of a bond between them increased. After a while Vic told her about the gang, about the rumble and his year at the farm. She was a little taken aback at first, but she understood and sympathized, as he had felt she would.
He hadn't had any more visits from anyone in the gang. Once in a while he would see one of the guys on the street, and they would usually just say hello casually and walk by. He guessed that they had orders from Buzz not to bother him.
As the weeks went by, his days at the office got gradually busier. Although Christmas was still several months away, the stores were already beginning to order and stock merchandise for the holiday season. Vic found himself putting in overtime several evenings a week. He did not mind; he felt a sense of accomplishment in keeping up with his work load, he had nothing much else to do with his evenings, and the extra money enabled him to save more than he had been.
In fact, with several weeks of accumulated overtime pay due him, he felt so suddenly affluent that he decided to spend a little of it by going out and enjoying himself one night. He hadn't really been out at all since he'd been home; he needed a little recreation. Then he had an idea, and it seemed so evident that he was amazed he hadn't thought of it before. He would ask Debbie for a date.
He did so the next day. "It's about time," she said, with a smile. "I was wondering when you were going to ask me." They both laughed.
Vic had visions of dinner and a show, but Debbie demurred. "That stuff's too expensive," she said. "I know where you work, you know. Let's go to a movie."
They decided on the next evening, a Friday. Vic was happy. He liked Debbie as much as any girl he had ever known, and he felt that she returned his feeling. Something was developing between them. A girl and a job added up to a good portion of the new life he wanted to make for himself.
The next afternoon he was looking up something in the files when Joyce walked up to him. "Hi," she said. It was the first time she had acknowledged him since the supply cellar incident.
"Hi," he answered, surprised. She had on a snug-fitting wool dress which followed every roundness and hollow of her body and thrust out boldly with her firm, curved breasts. He felt himself growing taut and tense at her nearness.
She smiled at him and came closer, shifting her hips. They were between two tall rows of filing cabinets, and thus were not visible to the rest of the office.
"Working overtime tonight, Vic?" she asked softly.
"No," he said. "Why?"
"I am," she said. She was standing so close to him now that her breasts just grazed his chest when she breathed. He had to clench his fists to keep from grabbing her. "I thought we might be able to talk a little."
"Well, I I have a date," he said, wishing passionately that he and Debbie had decided on another night.
Joyce leaned forward just a little. Her breasts flattened on his chest. She strained upward on her toes so that she could bring her mouth to his ear. "Break it," she whispered. She blew gently into his ear. "You won't be sorry. I have a proposition for you. You'll like it." He felt her tongue for a moment, stroking gently, sensuously, in his ear. He reached for her, but she drew quickly away.
"I'll be working up in Mr. Millard's office," she said softly. "Alone." And she turned and was gone.
Vic was in a quandary. He didn't want to break his date with Debbie; but the thought of Joyce's young, ripe body straining against that wool dress was overpowering. After a short struggle with conscience, he approached Debbie and explained that his work load had grown so heavy during the week that he felt that he had to stay that night and try to catch up before the new flood of orders came in on Monday, and suggested that they change their date to the next night. Debbie seemed a bit surprised, but she agreed. Vic hoped she didn't think badly of him, but the feeling which still lingered of Joyce's breasts against his chest, her tongue in his ear, soon drove all other thoughts from his mind.
At five o'clock he stayed at his desk while the office slowly emptied, trying hard to concentrate on his work. After another half hour he got up, put his work away and pretended to be leaving. When he got to the entrance he looked around to see that none of the several other people working overtime were watching him. Then he went quickly up the stairs.
A few doors down the hall, on the left, was the office of Mr. Millard, the firm's chief bookkeeper. He went in. Joyce was sitting behind the desk, filing some papers in a drawer. She looked up as he came in and smiled slowly. She put the papers away and leaned back in the chair.
"Well," she said. "I began to think you weren't going to come."
"I'll bet you did," Vic said.
She smiled again. "Sit down a minute," she said. "I want to talk to you about something."
He sat down in a chair to the left of the desk. "From that scene this afternoon," he said, "I didn't think you wanted to talk."
She gave a small laugh. "We'll talk," she said slowly, ". . . first." Her eyes looked into his, and her mouth was beckoning again. "Later . . . maybe . . . we can find something else to do."
Vic's blood was racing, and his heart was pumping. This girl was getting to him and she knew it. But he tried to appear calm.
"All right," he said. "What'll we talk about?"
"I told you I had a little proposition for you," Joyce said. "It's a little . . . sort of deal we have going here. Actually Mr. Millard worked it out with me and Bertrand, the fellow who used to have your job."
"What kind of a deal?" asked Vic, somewhat mystified.
"It's like this. Old Millard works out a thing with some of the stores here in New York who buy our products, see? It's an arrangement where they get charged lower prices than ordinarily, and they give him something in return."
"Like what?" asked Vic.
"Like money, what else? And he gives us a little cut of it Now here's how it works. You put the prices on all the orders that come in, right? Well, when the orders come in for these particular stores, you fix the prices up a little bit, that's all. You have like a special price list for those stores. Then you make sure that I get those orders to type, so that none of the other typists will notice any difference in prices. Nobody else who sees the order is familiar enough with the prices to notice anything. So the order gets filled, the stores get charged their special price, Millard gets his kickback, and you and I split a quarter of it. You won't get to be a millionaire from it, but it comes out to a nice piece of extra change some weeks."
Vic was taken aback. "You mean Millard does this for his own private profit?" he asked. "The company doesn't know about it?"
"Of course not, silly. This is kind of a.. . private business arrangement. Millard's the bookkeeper, see? He goes over the bills when they're paid, he keeps the records; nobody's the wiser."
"But he's cheating the company," said Vic.
"Yeah. Gee," Joyce said sarcastically. "Listen, they can afford it, believe me. They'll never miss it. And like I say, it's a nice bit of extra cash for us."
"Now look," Vic said, "I can't go along with something like that. I mean hell, I just got this job. I want to keep it, I want to stay out of trouble."
"Don't be a jerk," Joyce snapped. "I told you, there's no way anybody can find out. Things like this are done all the time, let me tell you. Besides, we need you to make this deal work."
Vic got up and started walking around the room. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't do this. It's not.. . well, it's not right in the first place." He knew he sounded naive, but he couldn't help it. "Besides, I've been in trouble before all the trouble I want to get into. I don't need this. Forget it."
Joyce looked at him steadily for a minute; then she slowly leaned back and slid down in the chair.
"There's another little benefit you might be interested in," she said softly. She stretched in the chair, her arms over her head, her body arched. Her large, thrusting breasts pushed at the wool of her dress. Her hips posed provocatively and settled back into the chair. Vic watched, immediately caught up again in her pure sensuality.
"I go with the deal," she said. "All of me.. . " She paused. ". . . goes with the deal."
She was almost reclining in the chair now. Slowly, she lifted her legs to the top of the desk in front of her, and crossed them at the ankles. Her woolen skirt began to slide slowly down her legs. Vic' began to breathe rapidly.
She wore no stockings. Her skirt traveled very gradually, of its own accord, back over her knees and over the curving, softly firm thighs. Her legs were as magnetizing as the rest of her. Vic watched, hypnotized, as they were gradually bared. Her skirt came down almost to her hips, then stopped.
Vic felt at that moment that this was the most erotic sight he had ever seen: Joyce, her blonde hair falling around her lovely face, her half-closed eyes, her inviting mouth; her arms stretched backward still, lying in the chair with her body etched against the dress; those nude, maddening legs stretching up, seeming to strain toward him as they rested on the desk.
He found himself irresistibly propelled across the room till he was standing by the desk. He reached out and put his hand on her ankle. She smiled. Slowly, he began sliding his hand up her leg, over the smooth calf to the knee. His body was rigid; he was almost panting. He slid the hand above the knee, over the young softness of her thigh. Suddenly she put up a hand in a gesture for him to stop.
"Wait a minute," she said. "I said I go with the deal. What about it?"
Vic found himself almost struggling for breath to speak. "Forget the dealv" he said. His voice was hoarse. His hand traveled further on her thigh; but Joyce reached out her own hand and stopped it.
"Uh-uh," she said. "It's all or nothing. Are you in?"
"No," said Vic doggedly. "But Joyce -" He reached out for her.
"Sorry," she said. "No deal, no Joyce." She abruptly swung her legs down from the desk and got up.
"Wait a minute," said Vic. "You can't just -"
"The hell I can't, honey. If you want to be goody-goody, well.. . let's play it all the way. If you want me badly enough, you'll change your mind. Let me know." And she started walking past him to the door.
Something in Vic snapped. He grabbed her by the arms as she came past him and bent her forcibly back over the desk.
"Oh, no you don't!" he said. "Not this time."
"Let me go," Joyce said coldly. She struggled, but he held her down. "Let me go or I'll yell."
"Will you?" he said hoarsely. "I don't think so, Joyce."
He was no longer in control of himself. He forced her down until her back was flat against the desk, and then brought his mouth down toward hers. Her body twisted, trying to get away, and her hands pushed at his shoulders; but he was much stronger than she. She twisted her head away from his mouth, and he grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and forced her head back to him. He put his mouth over hers and forced her back with his body.
The lower part of her body was forced up by her leverage; her feet were clear of the floor, and her hips were jammed hard against the edge of the desk. She kicked mightily as she continued to struggle; but the feel of her body squirming against him in her efforts to get away increased his lust. He tore his mouth away and, grasping her tightly jn his arms, heaved her body the rest of the way onto the large desk, and pinned her down with his own.
"No," she said. "Let me up, damn you! Let me up!" She continued to fight and to curse him, but Vic realized that she wasn't going to scream. Maddened by the writhing of her soft, ripe body under him, he doubted if he could have stopped now if she had.
He brought his mouth down to hers again, but she bit at his lips. Her small hands clawed at his face. He captured her arms, brought both her wrists together, and pinned them down with one hand, while with the other he ripped at the neck of her dress. Buttons popped. He yanked the dress off one shoulder. She wore a thin bra underneath, which hooked in front. One strong jerk and it opened. One large, round, perfectly formed white breast thrust up at him, its pink nipple trembling. She heaved and squirmed mightily as he covered it with his hand. He squeezed, released, and squeezed again, hard. It was his first contact with a naked female breast for much too long a time.
He continued to squeeze and release the breast, and gradually he felt Joyce's struggles diminish. The nipple was becoming hard against his hand. Still pinning her wrists, he tore the dress down off the other shoulder. The twin of the breast he was holding popped up at him. He lowered his head and took it in his mouth, tonguing the nipple.
Joyce was gasping now, partly from her exertions, but partly, he began to think, for other reasons. She was beginning to make little sounds in her throat. Her struggles got weaker and weaker; and finally she lay exhausted, panting and gasping, as he continued squeezing one breast with his hand and manipulating the other with his mouth and tongue.
The sounds in her throat became stronger. Her body started to twist in a different way. Suddenly, she let out a great, shuddering gasp of surrender.
"AU right, you rat," she breathed huskily. "All right, damn you. All right."
Her body surged up against his. He released her wrists, and her arms went around him and pulled him to her. He brought his mouth to hers again and hers opened beneath it, and her tongue pushed against his teeth and went into his mouth.
He kept their mouths together, their tongues dueling, enjoying the tantalizing touch of her soft lips rolling on his, as he frantically pulled the dress the rest of the way down and off her body, ripped off the bra, and pushed her last remaining garment over her hips and down. Still kissing her, he tore off his own clothing and pressed her back on the desk.
"Wait," she gasped. "Not here. The couch or on the floor. Let's "
"No," he breathed. "No. Here. Right here. Right here and now."
He pushed her back against the desk and went down hard on her body. She gave a strangled moan of pain and pleasure and dug her fingernails into his back. Her legs came up, caressing his thighs, then gripped him tightly, then released him and pointed straight up to wave in the air. Her head thrashed back and forth wildly. Her long blonde hair was disheveled; her eyes were glazed.
Vic was crazed with the feel of this sensual young animal naked underneath him. His hands caressed every part of her body he could reach. He squeezed her breasts, stroked her sides, fiercely clenched her hips. He drove his body harder and harder against hers, pounding her against the desk. She responded, her gasps and moans becoming more and more frantic. He could hear the sound of her buttocks slapping against the polished wood of the desk.
Her beautiful, curved legs were never still, clenching him to pull him tightly to her, releasing to strain upward, coming down to squeeze his sides, arching backward in ecstasy to a point almost over her head. Faster and faster their bodies moved against each other, until finally Joyce arched her body almost completely off the desk and gave a last strangled gasp. At the same time Vic felt himself reach a peak such as he had never known before, and with mighty lunges fulfilled himself on her straining body.
When they had recovered themselves they quickly dressed again, thankful that no one had been close enough to the office to hear the noises that must have emitted from behind the door. Luckily, Joyce had brought her coat to the office with her, and so was able to button it over her torn dress.
"Well," she said as they were ready to leave, "you've had that part; now what about the rest? Are you coming in on the deal?"
Vic sighed. "Sorry, Joyce," he said. "But what I said before still goes. I can't do it."
Her eyes blazed at him. "Okay, good boy," she said. "You managed to get a free sample, but that won't happen again, believe me. You remember how it was, and when you get to thinking about Joyce again, tell me you've changed your mind." And she went out.
Vic thought it much more than probable that he would want Joyce's body again, but he determined to keep that desire suppressed. He wasn't going to get into any shady deals. Maybe it was square; maybe it was even dumb; but he wanted to try to go straight. He knew it was now or never.
The next evening he called for Debbie at her home and they went out to a movie. They enjoyed themselves, as they always did when they were together. At her door he kissed her good night, and she returned his kiss gently. There was no passion in the kiss, but there was promise; and somewhere inside him he knew that it was a promise of something deeper than anything he could have had with Joyce. He went home contented.
During the next few weeks Joyce approached him from time to time, in spots in the office where they were temporarily unseen, and asked him if he'd changed his mind. Vic always said no, even though he found it extremely difficult sometimes, when Joyce would rub her nipples against his arm, or come up behind han and press her body for an instant into his back, or quickly lift her skirt so that he could see her legs up to the bottoms of her panties. But she never again gave him an opportunity to get her entirely alone.
CHAPTER THREE
Vic continued to see Debbie for lunch, and for an occasional movie in the evening. They gradually began to see each other more frequently outside of office hours. Sometimes on a Sunday he would take her to a baseball game, or they would simply go for walks in the park. On one occasion she invited him to have dinner with her family, and Vic found that he got along with them very well and that apparently they liked him.
Although they realized that what was developing between them was more than friendship, they limited themselves for the most part to friendly embraces and good night kisses. Vic was hesitant to push things too fast. Debbie was not like Leona and the gang debs that he had grown up with; nor was she a purely physical animal like Joyce. Although he often thought of her slender, supple body with desire, he felt it would be best to let things work themselves out in their own time.
One evening Debbie invited him over to listen to some new records she had bought, after which they talked for a long time. It was late in the evening now; Debbie's mother and younger sister had gone to bed, and her other sister was out somewhere with her boy friend. Vic was telling her of his plans for the future.
As always, he found Debbie wonderfully easy to talk to. She understood and sympathized with his feelings, and she admired his desire to make a secure life for himself. He was telling her that he planned soon to move out of the old neighborhood and find a larger apartment for his mother and himself. His mother had been a little reluctant at the idea of leaving the neighborhood in which she had spent so much of her life; but Vic hadn't wanted to leave her to live alone, and had managed to talk her into it. Debbie was enthusiastic, and offered to help him look around for the kind of place he wanted.
"Then you'll be all set up," she said, smiling at him. "The new Vic Hadley!"
He laughed. "Yeah. You know, I've sure been lucky," he said reflectively. "When you think that a couple of months ago I was an unemployed delinquent just out of reform school."
"It wasn't luck," Debbie said. "It was the fact that you were smart enough to want to make yourself something more and determined enough to go ahead and do it. You should be proud of that."
"It was luck, too," Vic insisted. "It was a break for me, finding this job." He paused, looking at her. "And you," he added.
Their eyes met and held. After a minute, Vic rose from his chair and went over to sit next to Debbie on the couch. His arms went around her, and they kissed. When they parted, Debbie's eyes were moist.
"Oh, Vic," she breathed.
"Debbie," Vic said hoarsely, holding her. He could smell the faint fragrance of her hair and skin. "Debbie, I I think I'm in love."
Debbie moved her head on his shoulder and he felt her lips on his cheek. "Me too," she whispered.
They kissed again. It began gently, but as it continued the kiss grew more and more fervent. They clutched each other tightly. Debbie turned to get closer to him. He felt her soft breasts against him. He moved his hands up and down her back. The kiss continued.
Debbie began to breathe more rapidly. Gradually, her mouth opened under his. His tongue moved tentatively into her mouth. He brought one hand around to her breast, cupping it gently. It felt warm and sweet under his palm. She gave a little sigh into his mouth. He caressed slowly, and felt the nipple hardening through her blouse.
He started to press her body down onto the couch, but she resisted. She broke the kiss, and gently but firmly pulled away from him.
"Wait, Vic," she panted. "Please."
"Debbie," he muttered, and reached for her again.
She caught his hands. "No," she said. "Vic listen. Please. Let's-let's not get carried away. Not right now. It's too soon."
"But Debbie . . . I love you."
"I know, darling," she said. Their breathing was returning to normal now. "I love you too. And I want you. You know that. But we have to be sensible. Besides Betty might come in any minute."
"Yeah." He laughed, trying to make a joke of it. "She'd probably be jealous."
Debbie smiled at him. She moved close beside him and placed her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her. She took his hand and rested it gently on her breast, placing her own hand over it.
"Don't think I'm a prude, Vic," she said softly. "I just want it to be right for us. A time and place where things can be well, as good as possible. Not all quick and furtive. You understand, don't you. darling?"
"Yes," Vic said gently. "Of course." He kissed her hair.
They continued to sit quietly in pleasant intimacy, their low conversation punctuated by occasional, gentle kisses, until Debbie's sister and her date came in. Then after a little general chitchat, Vic took his leave.
He was very happy. He felt he was probably the luckiest person alive. He and Debbie had not mentioned anything about marriage. Vic knew it was much too soon for either of them to begin thinking along those lines. But he realized that all his future plans now suddenly included Debbie. He very much wanted her to be a permanent part of his new life.
He walked all the way home that night, through the cool, dim streets, singing softly.
A few days later, Joyce approached him. "Mr. Millard wants to see you in his office at five o'clock."
"What about?" Vic said, although he knew.
"You'll see," Joyce said. "Just be there."
At five o'clock he went up, knocked on Mr. Millard's office door and was told to come in. Mr. Millard was sitting behind his desk, and Joyce was in another chair.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Vic said.
"Yes, Victor," Millard answered. He was a rather heavy, bald-headed man, a little past middle age. "Uh sit down, please. Now Joyce has told me," he begun slowly, "that she's filled you in on the little uh arrangement that we have with some of the stores in this area, and that you have been, shall we say, uncooperative."
Vic shifted uneasily. "Well, sir," he said "it seems to be . . . taking advantage of the company. And besides, I don't want to get into any trouble. I'd like to keep this job."
"Of course, I understand," said Mr. Millard. "But there is no possible way that you could get into trouble, my boy. As I'm sure Joyce has explained to you, the process that we uh employ is uh completely safeguarded. As for your pangs of conscience, let me assure you that this sort of thing is done all the time in the business world. There's nothing unusual about it; everyone knows that it goes on. You'll learn if you're going to be part of it soon enough. You may as well take advantage of the offer. And it's quite profitable. Mr. Bertrand made quite a bit of extra money by going along with us. Of course, he got a little too greedy, so he soon found himself out of a job. I'm sure we wouldn't have that problem with you. On the other band, if we have another type of problem, you could find yourself in the same situation."
Vic felt panicky. "But Mr. Millard," he said, "I can't "
"Now look, Victor," Millard said. "Let's lay it on the line. I'm not without influence with Mr. Keith, as well as many others in positions of importance. Now that fact can be advantageous to you, or it can be disadvantageous. Take your choice."
Vic hesitated. He felt himself besieged, pressured. He was getting into a situation where he would have to decide between his honesty and his job. He didn't seem able to save both.
"If the company found out about this-" he started.
Millard cut him short. "Look, son," he said, "if you're about to threaten me, you'd better stop before you start. I'll tell you something about the company. A company is made up of individuals. Some of them do know about this. That's right," he said, seeing Vic's surprised face. "And I know about various things that some of them are doing. We cancel each other out. It's a nice, reciprocal arrangement. Everybody gets something everybody who's smart, that is. Now what do you say?"
Vic felt defeated. Well, he thought to himself, maybe I can find another job. There are lots oj companies. And then he wondered; would it be the same anywhere else? If this type of thing, as Millard had intimated, was an integral part of business, could he ex-cape without being drawn into it somehow? Should he even try?
Joyce was watching him, sensing his indecision. "Besides," she said softly, "remember the fringe benefits."
Mr. Millard looked at her and chuckled. "Oh yes," he said. "If Joyce has offered you 'fringe benefits', young man, you're a fool to turn down any proposition."
Joyce smiled at him. "Yes," she said. "You should know, shouldn't you?"
"Yes," said Millard, "I certainly should."
They were looking into each other's eyes. Vic could see Millard's breathing quicken perceptibly as Joyce smiled at him.
"Vic should know too," she said. "But he's got a short memory. Maybe you and I could . . . remind him of what he's missing." She looked at Vic wickedly, then back to Millard, whose startled face said that he thought he understood her, but couldn't believe it.
"You mean " he said. "Now? With him here?"
"Yes," said Joyce. "Why not? You want him in on the deal, don't you? This might convince him. Besides . . . it'll be kicks."
She walked over and stood next to Millard's chair. She was still looking into his eyes. "Watch this, Vic," she said. "Watch this very, very closely."
Vic got up and started to leave. "Hold it!" Joyce said. She turned to Millard. "Tell him if he goes out that door now he's as good as fired."
Millard said, "Joyce, I don't know about this."
She stepped up so close to him that his face touched her breasts. She swayed. "I promise you, you won't regret it," she said. "Tell him."
Vic saw Millard's face turn red and his hands start to tremble. "Okay," he said in a low voice. "You heard what she said, Victor. Stick around."
Vic sank slowly back into his chair.
"Now," Joyce said to Millard, "let's do this nicely, the way you like. Vic will like it too. Do you want to take off my panties?"
Millard reached his hands under Joyce's skirt, caressing her legs and hips, and pulled the panties down. They fell to the floor and Joyce stepped out of them.
"Now," she said, "we'll just turn the chair around sideways, so Vic can get a good view. That's right. Now." Her hand went to Millard and manipulated. "There," she said. "That's right. Now we're all ready."
She straddled Millard's lap, facing him, and slowly, slowly, settled herself. Millard gasped. His head rolled back. Joyce's skirt had ridden up to her hips. Her sensuous, bare legs hung down on either side of the chair. Millard's eyes were closed; he was making funny noises. Joyce smiled at Vic, and began to move her body, up and down, up and down.
Vic watched with a mixture of fascination and disgust as Millard brought his hands up to play with Joyce's breasts through her blouse, moaning as she continued to pleasure him, moving her body in a slowly increasing tempo.
"See?" she said huskily to Vic. "Wouldn't you like to be in his shoes?" She kept moving her body. "Wouldn't you like this to be you?" Her legs lifted and fell with her movements. She still watched Vic.
Then she smiled. "Hey," she breathed, "come over here. Come on," she said as Vic didn't move. "Don't be shy. You weren't shy before. Come on, we can all have some fun. Especially if you be sensible."
As if in a trance, Vic rose and walked over behind the desk. He could see that by now Millard was aware of nothing in the world outside of the feel of Joyce's body. Joyce was evidently enjoying what she was doing, but was keeping herself under control. He felt that his own control was not nearly as stable. His heart was racing; his breath was coming fast. As Joyce had thought, the sight of her in erotic action was enough to drive him almost mad.
When he got close enough to the chair, she reached out a hand and pulled him near her. By this time Millard's head was buried in her breasts and his arms were around her squirming body, pulling her desperately to him. "Now let's see if I can make up your mind for you," she said to Vic.
She turned up her face to him. "Kiss me," she said. She reached up and pulled him down to her. "Kiss me, lover."
Vic felt a faint vestige of something deep inside him warning him to resist, that this might be his last chance. But it wasn't very loud against the desire pounding through his veins. He bent down and put his mouth on hers, and Joyce moved her head from side to side, moaning into his mouth, slipping her tongue in and out and around, pulling his tongue into her own mouth; while all the time she continued to writhe on Millard's lap, moving her body now quickly, now slowly, while Millard hungrily chewed at her straining breasts through the thin blouse.
Lost in the softness of Joyce's moaning mouth and lashing tongue, Vic reached blindly down to caress one smooth, exposed leg. But Joyce suddenly pulled her head away and smiled at him. She was almost gasping herself now, and her eyes were very bright.
"We've only started, lover," she panted. "You haven't seen anything yet. Come over here. Sit up on the desk. Go on, that's right. Sit right up there."
Vic had no will left. He sat on the desk as Joyce instructed. She reached out a hand to him and fumbled with his trousers. He knew she could feel plainly the state of his excitement. Her hand dug and found him. Then she released him and, never pausing in her body movements, turned her head and leaned down close to his lap.
"Now, lover!" she breathed. "All you have to do is say yes."
Her face was inches away from him and her eyes were looking up into his. He tried to pull her against him, but she turned her head. His hands dug into her hair and twisted her around to him again, but Joyce was stubborn.
"Say yes," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Say you'll do it."
He felt the touch of her; he felt her breath on him; and he knew the decision was made. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "Yes, all right. Joyce-"
She gave a short, gasping laugh of triumph; then her head moved, and Vic went spiraling off into unbelievable ecstasy.
CHAPTER FOUR
With his new life going so well, Vic had gradually stopped worrying about Big Jackson and any revenge he might be planning. He had no reason to go into the territory of the Silver Satans. He would soon have enough money to move out of the neighborhood and get himself an apartment uptown.
Late one Saturday evening, Vic and Debbie were returning home from a late movie, along an apparently deserted street. Unexpectedly, the sidewalk in front of them was blocked by four menacing figures. Debbie gave a startled gasp and clutched at Vic's arm. The figures approached, and Vic suddenly realized that one of them was Bart Jackson.
He glanced around. There was no one in sight. Most of the buildings on the street were offices or factories, long deserted at that hour. Vic hadn't carried a knife since he'd gone to the detention farm; and even if he had, it was all he could do to handle Jackson, let alone three cohorts. He was alarmed not only for himself, but for Debbie's safety. This kind of gang was not noted for chivalry, especially toward rival gang members' girls.
The four youths were upon them now. Vic recognized one of the others as a long-time member of the Satans, but the remaining two were new to him. The four spread out and surrounded Vic and Debbie.
Jackson grinned evilly at Vic, "Well now," he sneered. "This is nice. This is nice. I been wanting to see you, Hadley."
Vic looked at him steadily. "You're out of your territory, aren't you, Jackson?" he said.
"Yeah. That's right," Big Bart replied, still grinning. "But I got kind of tired of waiting for you to come to my turf. You don't seem to like it there. So me and the boys decided we'd have to come and get you. We just been waiting for a good chance."
"Some other time, Jackson. I'm taking Miss Flock home."
"Oh yeah?" said Bart. He seemed to notice Debbie for the first time. His eyes traveled slowly, deliberately down her body, over her breasts and hips, down her legs, and slowly up again. Vic felt Debbie shudder slightly beside him.
"That's a pretty girl you got there, Vic," Jackson said finally, "You must be doin' okay, have a chick like that. 'Course . . . she might not like you quite so much after our little . . . visit. Because you might not be quite so good-looking as you are now. Know what I mean?"
Debbie had started to tremble. Vic could feel his own heart pounding, but tried to appear calm. "Look, Bart," he said. "If you're out for some kind of revenge or something, the girl has nothing to do with it. Let me take her home."
"Well now," said Jackson sneeringly. "Isn't that sweet? But you know, I think the boys would be a little disappointed if you deprived them of the company of such a pretty chick. Who knows.. . " He paused as his eyes went down Debbie's body deliberately again. ". . .She might get along with us real good."
Vic tensed angrily, but suddenly there was a knife in Jackson's hand. He heard three clicks as each of the other youths pulled out his own knife. Debbie gave a soft scream.
"Now," Jackson said, "we're all gonna get in the car and take a little ride down to the clubhouse.. . where it's nice and private. See if he's got a knife, Red."
One of the hoods searched Vic's pockets. "Nothin', " he said.
"I heard you were goin' soft, Hadley," said Jackson. "Well, you'll be softer when we're through with you. Okay, let's move."
Vic tried to insist again that they let him take Debbie home, but it was useless. They walked up the block to where an old car was parked at the curb. Vic and Debbie were pushed into the back, with one of the Satans on either side. Bart got into the front seat with the driver. Debbie clung to Vic's arm. She was trying to keep her fear under control, but her breathing was rapid and her eyes were wide.
They were driven downtown, to Satan territory, and taken through an alley to a back courtyard in which stood the dilapidated shack the Satans used as a clubhouse. There was no one else there. The place was bare except for an old table, a broken-down couch, and a mattress on the floor in a corner.
"Now," said Jackson, when they were inside. "You know why we're here, don't you, Hadley? Sure you do. But does your girl know, I wonder?" He turned to
Debbie. "See this?" He indicated the ugly scar running down the side of his face. Debbie didn't reply. "Your boy friend gave me that. A year ago. I been carrying it ever since, to remember him by. And now I think I ought to give him a little souvenir in return. I mean it's only fair, right? You can watch, honey. Then later maybe you'll feel like being kind of friendly with us."
Vic took a step toward him, but the knife gleamed in Jackson's hand. "Tony, Red," he snapped. "Hold him."
The two youths obeyed, each grasping one of Vic's arms in a powerful grip. Jackson brought his knife up to a point toward Vic's face. "I been waiting a long time for this," he said, as he moved slowly forward.
Debbie gave a strangled scream and ran to Vic, clutching him. "No!" she said. "No, don't!"
"Hey, Chug!" Jackson yelled crossly to the fourth youth. "C'mon, take care of the dame, will ya? Keep her quiet."
The one called Chug grabbed Debbie roughly and flung her away from Vic against the wall. He held his knife at her throat. "Just keep quiet and watch, baby," he said.
But Debbie did not heed him. "No!" she yelled at Bart. "Please. You can't! You're not giving him a chance. You can't!"
Chug raised his hand to slap her, but Bart stopped him. He had lowered his knife and was looking intently at Debbie now.
"I can't, huh?" he said. His eyes were slitted. "I can't, huh? Got a little piece of news for you, baby.
This -" he held up the knife "says I can do anything I want. Yeah. Just about anything at all."
He walked slowly over to where Debbie stood. She cowered against the wall, but he reached out and pulled her into the center of the room. Vic lurched forward, but the two Satans maintained their tight hold on his arms and Chug came over and held his knife at Vic's throat.
"I'll just give you a little sample of what I can do," Jackson said. "Just a little sample before I give your boy friend his present. Something to inspire me."
He grabbed Debbie's right arm and twisted it roughly up behind her back. She gasped in pain and opened her mouth to scream. With his other hand, Bart brought up his knife to her throat. "You scream and you and your boy friend will get it right now," he told her viciously. Her pushed hard on her arm again, twisting it up and in. Debbie's back arched and tears stood in her eyes. He increased the pressure inexorably, and Debbie was forced to move slowly toward him. He brought her closer and closer by this method, until finally her body touched his, her breasts flattening against his chest. She was sobbing with pain.
Vic watched in helpless rage, cursing at Jackson, but unheeded.
"Okay, honey," Jackson said. "Kiss me."
Debbie stared at him for an instant and pulled her head away. He jerked her arm up brutally. Debbie gave a strangled scream. She went up on her toes to try to relieve the pain, and her body was pressed even more tightly against Jackson's. His grip on her arm did not let up.
"Kiss me, I said," he muttered. "Kiss me or I'll break it, so help me."
Vic watched as Debbie's head gradually came around to face Jackson. Her eyes were swimming with tears. Her entire body was quivering with the pain. She could bear no more. Slowly, she brought her head forward and placed her mouth briefly on Jackson's, pulling away again instantly.
"Oh no, baby," Bart said, not letting go of her arm. "That's not good enough. I said a kiss. Now try it again, and hold it till I tell you to stop."
He continued his pressure on Debbie's arm. With his other hand, he held the point of his knife at the side of her throat. Sobbing, Debbie again brought her mouth to his, and kept it there, while he savored his power over her, the softness of her mouth, and the feel of her body straining tightly into his.
Finally he released her and shoved her aside. She fell to the floor, still sobbing. "Okay," he said. "We'll finish this off later, baby. After I deal with handsome, here." He started toward Vic again.
But Debbie rose to her feet, stifling her sobs. "Wait!" she said. Desperately, she ran in front of Vic, facing Jackson. "Wait," she said again. "Don't! Please! I . . . I'll do what you want . . . I'll do anything you want." She was forcing the words out. "I won't object. Just.. . just leave him alone."
Vic was stunned. "Debbie! No!" he yelled hoarsely, straining to break away. "Don't!"
"Shut up, punk," said Chug, and pricked Vic's throat with the point of his knife.
Jackson looked at her in surprise. The vicious grin slowly spread over his face.
"Well now," he said. "Listen to this. This must be true love!" His gaze traveled once more over Debbie's slender, well-formed body. "That's quite an offer, baby. What do you think, boys?"
"What the hell, Bart," said Chug. "We're gonna get the broad anyway, ain't we? What's the difference?"
"What's the difference, he says," the one called Tony put in. "Listen, a chick who's willing can make it a lot more fun for a guy than one you have to be forcing all the time."
"Hell, I like it when they fight," said Chug. "And this one looks like a real scrapper."
"Well, I don't know," said Bart. He was still grinning. "There's things to be said for both ways. But when a cute kid like this says she'll go along with anything we want.. . You did say anything, didn't you, baby?"
Debbie, her head bowed, slowly nodded. "Yes," she said in a low voice. "Anything."
"That's what I thought," smirked Bart. "And this chick is not at all bad." He reached out his hand and deliberately placed it on one of Debbie's breasts, which stood out against the snugly-fitting sweater she was wearing. He squeezed softly, as if he were testing it. Debbie went rigid, but she stood still, making no move to stop him. He moved the hand to the other breast and squeezed that the same way.
"No," he said. "Not bad at all. And if she likes this guy so much, chances are he goes for her too. I like the idea of him watching her perform for us.. . of her own free will, you might say. What about you, Red?"
"You mean just let this punk go?" the fourth gang member asked. "Just let him walk outa here?"
"Oh, we can maybe blacken his eyes a little or something. After he watches us with the girl. She just doesn't want to see his pretty face cut up. And another thing if the cops see him cut up, whose the first guy they're gonna go after? That's right me. But this way, he's not gonna go to the cops, because he can't prove anything and he'll just get himself into more trouble. He's on probation. Besides, we know where his girl friend lives. He'll play it cool. As for her.. . " He turned to Debbie. "There won't be any trouble afterward with the cops. That's part of the bargain. Right, baby?"
Debbie nodded again.
"As for what I owe this punk," Jackson went on, and for a minute his face lost the wolfish grin and his eyes became vicious "There'll be other chances. He won't always have a dame to bargain for him."
"Well, I'll go along if that's the way you want h, Bart," said Red.
"Well I guess that settles it. But remember, honey," he said to Debbie, "you do everything we tell you, and do it right, or both you and your boy friend will have scars. We'll start out by seeing if you can kiss any better than last time."
Vic, oblivious to the knife at his throat, struggled furiously. "Damn you, Jackson," he yelled. "Leave her alone. I'll kill you, damn it!"
Jackson just grinned at him. "I'm getting tired of you," he said. "I'm gonna be busy and I don't want yon interfering. Take him over there and tie him up and put something in his mouth," he said to the others.
The three youths forced Vic over to the couch. Tony produced a length of rope and tied his wrists behind his back, securing them to one of the slats in the back of the couch. His ankles were also bound, and two handkerchiefs were employed as an effective gag.
"Now," said Jackson. "Let's test the chick out. Come here, honey, and give me another little kiss. But mean it this time, see? I want the full treatment, the whole works, everything. And act like you like it. And it better be good."
Debbie lifted her head. Her eyes were blank, but her movements were determined. She walked over to where Jackson was standing and, putting her arms around him, pressed her body into his from chest to toe. She lifted her mouth to Jackson's, and as Vic watched, he saw her mouth open under the gang leader's, saw her tongue move deliberately into his mouth.
After a few moments, Jackson broke the kiss. "That's pretty good, baby," he said roughly. "Now move around a little." He put his hands on her buttocks and drove his mouth to hers again. Debbie responded to his order by shifting her hips against his and moving her upper body as much as she could from side to side, so that her breasts rubbed against his chest.
Vic turned his face away from this brutal sight which he was so helpless to do anything about. But Chug pricked him with his knife again and forced his head up. "Watch it, punk," he said. "Just keep watching. Who knows, you might learn something." He giggled.
"Hey, Bart," Tony called. "Don't hog all the fun, huh? What about us?"
"Yeah," Red put in. "C'mon, let's see what she looks like, huh?"
Jackson released her. "Okay, okay," he said. "Don't get impatient. You'll all get your chance." He walked back to join the other three near the sofa, leaving Debbie alone in the middle of the room.
"Okay, honey," he said. "Show time. Take your clothes off."
Vic could see Debbie tense, but she hesitated only a moment; and then, while the youths watched avidly, forced herself to lift her hands and begin unbuttoning her sweater.
Her hands were trembling as she undid each button in turn, then finally pulled the sweater off and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing a white bra, under which her breasts rose and fell with her agitated breathing. Jackson grinned hugely, enjoying her embarrassment as much as her exposure.
She bit her lips as she reached down to undo the button of her skirt. She pulled at the zipper and pushed the skirt down over her hips. It fell around her feet. She stood before them in only bra and panties. Her body was well formed and supple, her skin smooth and soft. She had lovely thighs, which curved gently down to slender calves in which the delicate, feminine muscles played enticingly under her skin as she moved.
Debbie hesitated again.
"Oh, don't stop now, honey!" Tony shouted in mock-alarm, and the others laughed.
Her face red from shame and humiliation, Debbie continued to force herself to go along with their debasement of her. Not looking at them, she brought her hands up behind her back and undid the clasps of the bra, then slipped the straps from her shoulders and let it fall.
The admiration of the gang members was obvious from the whistles and gasps that came from them. Debbie's breasts were not large, but were perfectly proportioned, standing out invitingly from her body, the small red nipples pointing upward. She started to cover them with her arms, but checked herself and let her hands fall to her sides.
Finally, her head bowed, she pushed down her panties and pulled them off her legs. She stood before them nude.
They kept her standing there for some time while they gorged themselves on the sight of her exposed figure They had her turn completely around, slowly, so they could study her from every angle. Then, to build up their excitement even further, they ordered her to walk around the room. She walked up and down in front of them, her dark hair bobbing about her bare shoulders, her breasts swaying with her movements, her legs and buttocks rippling as she walked.
Finally Tony spoke up again. "Oh man," he said. "I can't take much more of this. C'mon, let's go. Whose first?"
Jackson stood up. "I'm first, stupid," he said. "Who else? Hey drag that mattress out here on the floor. I like lots of room." .
Tony and Red pulled the mattress from the corner into the middle of the room and returned to the couch.
Bart was removing his clothes. Vic struggled desperately against his bonds for the hundredth time, but it was hopeless.
Jackson was almost ready. "Okay, baby, get down there," he said to Debbie, indicating the mattress. Debbie lowered herself onto it and slowly lay down on her back. There was fright as well as shame in her eyes now. She crossed her arms over her breasts and doubled her legs up, knees tight together.
Bart had finished undressing. He bad obviously been extremely excited by watching Debbie. He looked down at her and grinned.
"Stretch out," he said.
Obediently, she brought her legs down flat, still keeping them together, and stretched her arms out over her head. Her lovely skin was stretched taut, her breasts pulled up, the nipples pointing at the ceiling.
"Atta girl," Jackson said. "Now move your legs."
Slowly, reluctantly, Debbie's legs moved as he watched, until they formed a large V, one foot pointing toward each corner of the mattress.
"More," said Jackson again.
Helplessly, she obeyed his order. Her heels touched the floor on either side.
"More," said Jackson again.
Realizing that he was determined to drive his humiliation of her to the utmost, Debbie moved her legs as far as they would go, the muscles straining in her thighs.
For a long moment, Jackson eyed her in this position; then suddenly flung his huge body down upon hers and wildly, savagely, lunged at her. She gave a low scream, and he continued pounding her body with his.
Vic felt he might be sick behind his gag. He couldn't tell whether Debbie had been a virgin, but it was obvious that Jackson was causing her great pain with his animalism.
Finally, Bart gave a loud, hoarse cry and lay still. He picked himself up from Debbie's body and walked back to the couch. Debbie lay where he had left her, gasping with pain, her eyes closed.
"Tony!" snapped Jackson. "You're next."
Tony jumped up eagerly, and hastily stripped himself. Ordering Debbie to get up, he lay down on the mattress. "This time you do the work, kid," he said to her.
He had her stand over him, one foot on each side of his body. Placing his hands on her smooth calves, he pulled, so that she fell heavily to her knees, straddling him. "Okay, you know what to do," he said. "Send me. I'll just lie here and enjoy it."
Steeling herself, Debbie got into position; then she slowly lowered her body, while Tony's face showed the ecstasy this was producing for him. "Keep goin', baby," he gasped, and brought his hands up to caress her breasts.
Debbie moved her body up and down, again and again. Tony squeezed her breasts hard. "Faster," he said. Obediently, she quickened her movements.
Tony made it last, ordering her to slow down when he felt he was getting too excited. She varied her tempo according to his commands. Her exertions made her gasp for breath. Tony released her breasts and rubbed her legs and buttocks. He brought her head down and kissed her roughly. At one point, he had her lie down flat atop him so he could savor her whole body at once; then ordered her back into the straddling position so that she could more freely continue to move at his direction.
Finally, he could hold back no more. He made Debbie go faster and faster, until her hair was flying around her face and the breath rasping in her lungs with the effort, until Tony let out a series of ecstatic cries and reached out to hold her body still.
Debbie fell back onto the mattress as Tony rose and joined the others. Red had already divested himself of his clothes in anticipation. Debbie was struggling to regain her breath as he knelt down by her and ran his hands over her nakedness.
Then, grasping one of her ankles in each hand, he suddenly gave a quick yank, and Debbie was roughly and unexpectedly turned over so that she was lying flat on her stomach. Before she could react, Red was upon her. Instinctively, she tried to protest, but it was too late. Red had expertly found his goal, and was forcing his way. He kept her head pressed down so that her mouth was pushed into the mattress, and her cries were muffled.
Red lunged and lunged at her, forcing one hand beneath her body to squeeze her breast. The choked cries continued. Debbie's hands dug convulsively into the mattress on either side. Her lower legs kicked wildly, but Red, snorting and panting, continued oblivious until in a short time, he too was delivered of his passion.
The one called Chug was now left. He ripped his shirt and stood looking down at Debbie's pain-racked body.
"I got something nice for you, girlie," he said. "This won't hurt you at all." He opened his trousers and shorts and let them fall about his feet. "Okay," he said, "let's go. On your knees."
She looked up at him, and her eyes went wide with horror as she realized what he meant. She shook her head and cringed away. Chug reached down, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her roughly to her feet.
"I'll show you who's boss," he said raspingly. He pulled her head back with a hand in her hair and brought his other arm back for a vicious backhand slap across the face. But Jackson stopped him.
"Hold it," Bart said. "Cut it out, Chug." He strode over to them. "Cut out the rough stuff," he said. "That shouldn't be necessary." He looked at Debbie. "The chick said she was willing to do anything we wanted. Anything at all, she said. That was the bargain, right? So I expect her to do it. Or else. Now let her go."
Chug released her hair. "Okay," Jackson said to her. "Now do what he says."
Debbie looked at him for, a moment; then, with a sob, sank slowly to her knees in front of Chug. Obviously fighting a sense of revulsion against every move she made, she reached up and put her hands on the sides of his legs. Sobbing brokenly, the tears running down her face, she moved her head closer to him.
"That's right, baby," said Chug, as she did what he wanted. "That's good. That's very good. Oh yeah. Keep it up, baby." His mouthing gradually grew less intelligible, and soon turned to growls and moans, mixing with Debbie's sobs. Then, with a low guttural sound of release, he pulled away from her and she fell, choking and gasping to the floor.
Jackson had watched this last performance intently, his eyes growing wilder and wilder. There was a cruel, almost sick look on his face now as he spoke to Debbie.
"Okay, honey, you're not through yet. I got a little trick I wanna try. Let's find out just how far you'll go to get Romeo off." He went over to the table in a corner, took a cigarette from a pack that was lying there, and lit it. "Stand up," he ordered.
Debbie got painfully to her feet. Her abused body was as desirable as ever, and her heaving breasts still held the interest of the youths eagerly watching the scene. Vic felt as though he had died a thousand times as he watched Debbie's humiliations. He knew that if he got out of there, he wouldn't be able to rest until he had hunted Jackson down and made him pay. He also knew that Jackson would welcome him to try.
"Now," Jackson was saying to Debbie, "this is very simple. All you have to do is walk over here and give me a kiss. Of course, there's a little hitch." And he suddenly brought the cigarette up in front of him, to the level of Debbie's breasts.
Debbie went pale, and the other three gang members caught their breath. Bart grinned, but there was something deranged about the grin which hadn't been there before.
"But that's not gonna make any difference, honey," he went on. "You just walk right through it like it wasn't there, see? Just walk straight over here.. . and kiss me. Oh yeah, one other thing. Remember, no screams. We don't want anybody busting in here and breaking up the party. So if you should get the urge to scream.. . for some reason . . . " The sick grin got wider. "Forget it. Clear? Okay, move."
Vic felt the black blood boiling through his brain till he thought it would burst. He yelled through his gag, but only slight muffled sounds came out. The other three were holding their breaths, their eyes wide.
Debbie was white as a ghost. Her entire body was trembling. Her eyes were fixed on the glowing cigarette in Jackson's hand. Vic realized that Jackson knew she would do it. Everything she had done up to now would be thrown away if she did not. She had to go through with it to the end.
Holding herself erect, she began to walk slowly, steadily, although trembling with fear, toward Jackson. As she crossed the room he aligned the cigarette carefully and deliberately with her nipple. As she neared him, she forced herself to keep going and to keep her arms at her sides.
She walked right up to him, never stopping, reaching up to put her arms around him. As she did so, her nipple pressed tightly against the burning cigarette-tip. Her face twisted horribly with agony; her mouth opened wide. A scream was bursting to come out of her throat, but she choked it back, and only a strangled, animal-like moan came from her. Then, obeying her orders to the last, she blindly thrust her twisting mouth to Jackson's.
Bart, excited beyond endurance, bore her down to the floor, where he satisfied himself once again on her brutalized body.
After that, Debbie lay quiet as a corpse while the other three each took another turn with her. Then they dressed and, at Jackson's command, untied Vic.
He immediately lunged wildly for Jackson, but was held back by the other three. Then he felt a fist bury itself in his stomach, another smash into his right eye. Something hit the back of his neck. He dimly felt more blows, but then slipped foggily into blackness.
CHAPTER FIVE
He came back to consciousness slowly. His body was a mass of pain. He seemed to be lying on something rough. When he moved, his head throbbed madly. With difficulty, he sat up and looked around.
He was in an alley. They had dumped him. He remembered Debbie, and a flash of fear went through him. Where was she? Then he turned and saw her, sitting on the ground a little way off. Her head was bowed and she wasn't moving; just sitting, staring at the ground. She was dressed, but her clothes were dirty and her hair was matted.
"Debbie!" He moved painfully, trying to get to his feet. He fell, then tried again and this time succeeded. He stumbled toward her. "Debbie. Are you all right?"
She didn't answer, but continued to sit motionless. He knelt down by her, wincing with the pain in his body. "Debbie," he said again. "Are you all right?"
She looked up at him finally. Her face was streaked, but she was not crying now. Her eyes had a strange look in them, a kind of absent-minded look, as though she were somewhere else. Vic feared she might be in a state of shock; but when she spoke her reply was rational.
"Yes," she said heavily. "Yes, I'm all right. What about you?"
He nodded. "Debbie-" He reached out to touch her. She made a sudden movement, avoiding his hand, and stood up.
"I have to go home," she said; and then again, as if to herself: "I have to go home."
"Yes," said Vic. "Come on, I'll take you." When he got painfully to his feet again, Debbie had started walking toward the mouth of the alley.
He caught up with her as she emerged onto the street. He saw now where they were, on a block just over the line separating the Satan turf from that of the Blazers.
"We'll take a cab," Vic said. "Well get one on the corner." He didn't know what to say, how to comfort Debbie, who was acting so strangely.
"No," she said. "I want to go by myself. It's all right," she said as Vic started to protest. "I'm all right, really. I just want to go home alone. Please."
"Debbie," he said. "Do you think you should see a doctor? I mean do you don't you think you should "
"No," she said quickly. "No. A doctor would have to report it, wouldn't he? I think I'll be all right."
Just then, a taxi came cruising slowly up the street. Before Vic was even aware of it, Debbie had run out to stop it, running almost in front of it so that the driver had to slam on his brakes. By the time Vic reached the cab she was inside. He yelled to her through the closed window and he thought she replied, but he couldn't make it out. Then the vehicle moved off.
He made his way painfully homeward, worrying about Debbie. It was natural that she should act strangely, of course, after what she had been through. He hoped she was all right. He would call her first thing tomorrow and try to persuade her again to see a doctor.
And then he was going out to look for Big Bart Jackson.
The next morning he called Debbie's house. Betty, her older sister, answered the phone, and he asked to talk to Debbie. There was a pause, then Betty's voice came again.
"Vic? Listen, Debbie's not feeling very well. She says she doesn't want to talk to anybody now. She's in bed."
"Oh," Vic said. There was a pause. "Uh is she all right? Are you going to call a doctor?"
"No, she says she's just tired or something. She wants to rest."
"Oh. Okay," he said. "Well thanks, Betty." He hung up.
He was worried, but he couldn't insist on talking to Debbie. Perhaps it was best that she be left alone for a while, if that was what she wanted. He needed a rest that day, himself. His body was stiff and bruised. He had explained his battered appearance to his mother by inventing a taxi accident.
The original blind fury of his rage having lifted somewhat, he began to realize the impossibility of going after Jackson alone. He wouldn't get two blocks inside Satan turf on his own. Jackson, he knew, would be expecting him; and this time he would have more than bruises to show for the experience.
He needed a plan. If he could get Jackson on Blazer territory, or alone on some neutral ground.. . But he knew that was hopeless. What he really needed was help. Reinforcements. What he really needed was the Blazers.
But he didn't want them. Savage as his determination was to get Jackson for what he'd done to Debbie, he knew that to go back to the gang now would be almost like throwing away everything he had done since he'd been out. If the police picked him up while he was on probation, he'd be back in jail. If he sacrificed his determination to stay away from the gang and got pulled back into the old life, what might happen to his plans, his future, his job to Debbie?
But it seemed the only way.
He tried calling Debbie again that evening, but there was no answer.
On Monday she was not at work. At his first opportunity Vic called her house. Her mother answered.
"Oh, Vic," she said. She sounded worried. "Vic Debbie's gone away for a while." His heart sank. "She's gone to stay at her grandmother's in the country. She said she wanted to rest."
"Oh." There was a pause. "Well uh how long will she be away? What about well, her job . . . "
"I don't know, Vic," Mrs. Flock said. "It was all very sudden. She asked me to call up and tell them she was leaving her job."
"Oh," Vic said again.
"Vic-" Mrs. Flock said hesitatingly, "Vic, did something happen between you and Debbie? A fight or something? She was acting so strangely she seemed very upset, but she wouldn't tell me anything. And then she suddenly decided to pack up and go away."
Vic thought he'd better use this as a partial explanation for Debbie's mother. "Well, we did have a small argument," he said. "But nothing very important. I think she's been working too hard," he went on. "Things have been so busy at the office.. . she's been exhausting herself." He paused. "Mrs. Flock, could I have her address, where she is? I'd like to write to her."
Mrs. Flock hesitated. "I'm sorry, Vic," she said finally. "Debbie asked me not give her address to anybody. Even to you, she said. That's why I thought maybe something had happened between you. She was so fond of you . :. "
"I see," Vic said slowly. "Well-" There didn't seem to be anything more to say. "Well, thank you, Mrs. Flock."
"I'm sorry, Vic," she said. "Good-bye." They hung up.
Vic went through the rest of the day blindly. He could understand that Debbie might want to be alone for a while, to get away and come to terms with the thing that had happened to her; but why didn't she want him to write to her? Did she blame him for what had happened?
He was so upset that he had trouble doing his work, and even Joyce couldn't distract him. He came back from lunch early and found her in the cloakroom. She brushed up against him to tease him as he hung up his coat, but he ignored her.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said curtly. "Gotta get back to work." He started out.
"Hey," she said. She looked at him speculatively, standing with her weight on one leg, one hip thrown out, breasts thrusting. "You're not getting tired of me already, are you?" She smiled slyly. "Maybe you just need some variety. I could fix it up.. . "
"Oh, cut it out, Joyce," he said impatiently, and went out.
The next day he got a letter from Debbie, Dear Vic, Please forgive me for going away so abruptly. I felt I had to be by myself. You can understand that what happened was a great shock. I still feel confused and frightened. But I have been trying to straighten things out in my mind, and one thing is clear. It would be best for us not to see each other again.
Maybe you will agree with me that this is the best way, I don't know. Maybe after what happened you don't want to see me any more. But even if you don't agree, please try to understand, Vic. It just wouldn't work out now. It isn't that my feelings toward you have changed. Right now I feel that I couldn't bear to have any man touch me, even; but I'll probably get over that. I feel completely soiled and filthy, but I suppose that may go away in time too. But that memory would always be there, for both of us. It would come between us. No matter how you feel about me, you'd always have those pictures in your mind. And I'd know it. So please let's be sensible.
You mustn't try to see me or get in touch with me. I'm going to stay away for a while, and if I do come back to New York I'm going to get another job. Please don't worry about me. I am perfectly all right.
I wish you all the best of everything, Vic, and I hope your life will be as successful as you want it to be. Don't think badly of me.
Love, Debbie
There was no return address.
After reading the letter, Vic left the house, a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wandered aimlessly, his mouth set in a grim line, his thoughts jumbled. Two things stood out in his mind. He had lost Debbie. And Big Bart Jackson had been the cause.
Suddenly, he found himself at the block on which the Blazers had their basement clubhouse, and he realized that this was where his subconscious had been leading him.
What Buzz had told him about the block was true. All the old buildings either had been torn down or were about to be. Construction work was going on in some of the lots; others were still littered with ruins and debris. The building whose cellar the Blazers still used as a clubhouse stood in the middle of the block, a crumbling ruin slated for destruction, its windows mostly broken. Vic stood regarding it for a few minutes, but he knew what he was going to do.
He crossed the street and went down the three steps and along the passageway at the side of the building, until he came to the familiar doorway to the basement room. He heard voices and sounds behind it. He opened it and stepped in.
There was a sudden silence. Seven or eight Blazers were scattered around the room, drinking beer, smoking and talking. Vic knew most of them. Buzz and Frankie were among them. Frankie was the first to break the silence.
"Well," he said sneeringly. "What're you doin', slumming? "
But Buzz had been looking at Vic closely, an Buzz was no fool. He came over to where Vic was standing in the doorway and grasped him tightly by the arms, grinning. "Hey, man!" he said eagerly. "You in?"
Vic looked around the room and nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I'm in."
CHAPTER SIX
"I want Bart Jackson," Vic said grimly.
It was some time later. The flurry of enthusiasm that had greeted Vic's announcement had abated. He had greeted his old friends, and they had spent some time talking about his stay at the farm and what had happened in the gang during the time he'd been away. Now he was sitting quietly, talking with Buzz and a few of the others.
"Yeah, we heard something about some kind or run in you had with Jackson," Buzz said. "I was thinking maybe you'd come around. What happened, anyway?"
Without going into detail, Vic briefly related the incidents of a few evenings before.
"Damn!" said Buzz, when he finished. "No wonder you're after him." He shook his head. "Those dirty creeps. Well, okay, we been building up for a rumble with them for a long time. This is it. Now we got you with us, we'll clobber 'em. Just say when you want to go, buddy."
"As soon as possible," Vic said.
"Right. Me and Frankie'll set it up."
"One thing, Buzz. Jackson's mine. I want him to myself." His voice was hard. "I'm gonna break every rotten bone in his body. That's the reason I'm here. That's the only reason, Buzz."
SO
"Okay, buddy, you got him," said Buzz. "But listen, be careful will ya? You don't want to go getting yourself into more trouble with the fuzz."
"Don't worry about that," Vic replied. "Just remember, he's mine."
Buzz jumped up suddenly. "Hey, man, you know what we gotta do? We gotta have a blast to celebrate you coming in with us again. Hey listen, you guys," he said loudly. "Friday night we'll have a big blowout here. The whole gang, right? Lots'a beer, all the chicks. We'll really swing. How about it? Hey, there's lots of new chicks around, Vic. You'll be fighting them off."
That reminded Vic. "Say, how's Leona, anyway?" he asked. "She still around?"
Buzz hesitated and looked uncomfortable. Vic was puzzled. Then Frankie stood up.
Leona's my deb now," he said, Vic looked up at him. "Oh?"
"That's right. We have been makin' it about three months now." He paused, watching Vic. "Any objections?"
Vic realized that this was part of the reason for the animosity that Frankie had continued to show toward him. But he wasn't about to make any trouble over it. He was a little surprised that Leona had gone for Frankie, but his feelings for her hadn't been that strong, and he didn't have any claim on her. And it was Jackson he wanted to fight, not Frankie.
"No," he said easily. "I don't have any objections, Frankie."
Frankie sat down slowly, still watching him. Frankie wasn't used to people who didn't make trouble.
The next day, as he was leaving the office after work, Arlene, the office manager's secretary, called to him. "Vic, could you hold on for a few minutes? I want to ask you something."
Arlene was a smart-looking girl in her early twenties. Extremely businesslike in manner, she was known as one of the most efficient people in the entire office. Vic had heard her boss, Mr. Panzer, say on more than one occasion that he would have been completely lost without her. This was easy to believe, for Mr. Panzer was a disorganized and very excitable person. Arlene was always able, calmly and with dispatch, to locate precisely the file he wanted (even when he wasn't sure which one it was) or to straighten out his conflicting appointments.
Vic watched her as she briskly filed away some papers and cleaned up a few odds and ends. She was of medium height, with a compact but clearly feminine figure. Her neat, dark hair hugged the sides of her face. She wore shell-rimmed glasses, which did not hide the fact that she was quite pretty.
By the time she finished, the office was nearly empty. She turned to Vic and, in her usual matter-of-fact manner, said, "I understand you're quite a lover."
At first he didn't think he'd heard correctly. "What " he began.
"Joyce told me," she said calmly. She nodded at his look of amazement. "Yes, Joyce often tells me when she thinks I might be interested in someone. She's not at all jealous."
Vic was speechless.
"My apartment is only a few blocks away from here," Arlene went on. "I'm going there now. Would you like to come with me?" He stared. "You mean "
"I mean would you like to come home with me and go to bed with me." As he still did not answer, she went on, still talking matter-of-factly and looking at him steadily. "I mean would you like to watch me take my clothes off, lie down on a bed with me, and love me."
These words coming so composedly and so unexpectedly from this cool young woman had a compelling effect upon Vic. He felt his heart speeding up. "Arlene," he said, wonderingly, "why "
"I told you, Joyce said you were good. Now stop dilly-dallying," she said crisply. "I have a pretty good body, Vic. I'm offering it to you for a little while. Do you want it, or not?"
He suddenly remembered what Joyce had said about variety. Was this how she had "fixed it up"? Well, why not, he thought. Why the hell not?
"Sure," he said.
"Then let's go," she said, standing up and pushing her chair back precisely under the desk.
They walked the several blocks to Arlene's apartment. On the way, she talked about the office. Her place was a small one-room-and-kitchenette affair. When they were inside, she took his coat and hung it up with her own.
"Help me with the couch," she said. She had the kind of sofa that opens into a bed. Vic helped her unfold it.
Then she began to undress. She didn't make a production out of it; she simply undressed. And she talked, in the same calm, unemotional way.
"I think it's very good of Joyce to share her men with me," she said, as she unbuttoned her blouse. "I do the same for her, of course, but she mostly likes to find her own. She doesn't have any trouble finding them, either." She drew her blouse off and hung it neatly over a chair.
"Did you know that the first time she had sex it was with her brother? She told me all about it." She unzipped her skirt, pulled it off, folded it neatly, and hung it over the blouse. "She was only fourteen and her brother was a couple of years older. He didn't want anything to do with it; he was shocked by the whole idea." She was pulling her slip over her head. "But she wanted to find out what it was all about, and he was the handiest person. So she kept teasing him." She folded the slip too, and put it over the skirt and blouse.
"Whenever they were alone, she'd start stripping, or fooling around. Pretty soon, he avoided being alone with her." She unsnapped her garter belt and took it off, sat down took off her shoes and began to roll down her stockings. "So she used to walk past his bedroom with nothing on whenever she got the chance, and when they were eating dinner with their family she would rub her leg against him under the table, or if she could get away with it, she'd get her foot in his lap and start wiggling it around."
Her stockings were off and placed on the chair. She stood up in bra and panties. She still wore her glasses.
"One night she sneaked into his room, and when he woke up there she was in bed with him, naked, playing with him." She unhooked the bra and drew it off, laid it on the chair. "Well, I guess he just couldn't stop himself. A few minutes later, Joyce wasn't a virgin any more. And neither was he." She pulled off the panties and stood nude.
Her body was like a coiled spring. There was not an excess ounce on it. It seemed as functional and businesslike as Arlene herself, but in a curved and delicate manner. Her breasts were round and tight, tipped with small, brown nipples. Her stomach was flat and hard. Her legs were very slim, but exciting in then-curved smoothness. As she walked toward the bed, her entire body moved like a well-oiled and perfectly coordinated machine.
She lay down on the bed. She still wore her glasses, an incongruous sight with her bare body. "Well," she said. "Aren't you going to get undressed?"
Vic had been sitting almost hypnotized, but now he quickly roused himself and rapidly tore off his clothing. As he joined her on the bed, he reached to pull off her glasses. She stopped him.
"No!" she said sharply. "I want them on." Then her voice softened. "Come on," she said. "Kiss me."
He kissed her. Her mouth opened under his and their tongues met. He lost himself in the feel of her silken-steel body next to him.
He broke the kiss to bring his mouth down to her breasts. "No," she said. "Not yet. Play with them first."
He stroked the hard breasts with his palms and felt the nipples stir. He manipulated them with his fingers. "Yes," she said. "Now kiss them."
She continued to direct his movements in this manner. "Kiss them harder," she would say. "Bite just a little; not too much." Or: "Stroke my legs. Yes. Higher now. That's right. That's right." Or: "Do that with your tongue now." And he would obey.
Even as he followed her instructions, he wondered why he was doing so. He enjoyed what he was doing, of course; but usually he liked to take the initiative himself. But Arlene had been so matter-of-factly in control from the beginning that he'd accepted it almost automatically.
Finally she said, "All right. Now," and pulled him down to her. Their bodies joined. They moved together slowly at first, gradually increasing their tempo. Beneath him, Arlene's body moved as if on ball bearings, with a smooth, even rhythm.
Vic marvelled at her control. He knew her pleasure was mounting with his; but her breathing, though more rapid than usual, remained fairly even, and her eyes were open and clear behind her glasses.
He picked up the tempo, lunging harder, but she stayed with him easily, her hips rotating fluidly, her thighs clasping him. As Vic reached his irrevocable peak of passion, Arlene's body held still for an instant, straining; then she gave a soft, gasping sigh and relaxed.
They lay together talking for a while, but Vic had the feeling that Arlene was waiting for him to leave. He supposed he had served his purpose. So finally, he got dressed and went.
He felt strangely unsatisfied as he rode home on the bus. He had certainly had fun with Arlene, but it had all been at her whim, not his. He wondered if it were possible to break through that control, strip away that detached efficiency. He'd like to see if he could break her down, make her really need a man. He'd like to get to her where she lived and make her beg and grovel and crawl.
Maybe some day he would.
Vic, as he'd agreed, had been participating in Mr. Millard's "arrangement". It was really very simple. Millard had given him a list of about twenty stores to memorize, and told him how much to deduct on their orders. Since, for the most part, the percentage to be deducted was the same for all the stores, Vic had no trouble adjusting the figures. Whenever he received an order from any of those stores, he simply affixed the special prices and gave the order to Joyce to type. There was nothing to it.
Each week, Millard gave him an envelope with cash in it. It wasn't very much, but it added to his savings. He had soothed his conscience as best he could. At least he still had his job. And on two more occasions, he had enjoyed Joyce's favors after working hours on the couch in Millard's office.
He decided not to say anything to Joyce about the incident with Arlene. Joyce didn't bring it up either, although on the following day, Vic thought she looked at him more mischievously than usual. He wondered if she had any other little surprises for him.
On Friday night, the Blazers had their party.
By the time Vic arrived at the clubhouse, a great many of the gang were already there. Most of them had their debs with them, and there was also a small group of girls who were not, for the moment, attached to any particular Blazer.
The room, though quite large, was fairly crowded. The couches and chairs that were scattered about were too few, and most of the later arrivals made themselves comfortable on the floor. Beer was in plentiful supply Someone had brought along a record player, and a few couples were dancing strenuously in the center of the room.
Buzz jumped up to greet Vic as he came in. "Hey, it's the guest of honor!" he yelled, throwing his arm around Vic's shoulders. Several people shouted greetings to Vic over the noise of the music. Buzz led him over to where he'd been sitting and pushed him down on the sofa.
"Sit there, buddy. 'Bout time you got here. Well, the action hasn't started yet. Hey, have a beer."
Vic wanted to ask about the rumble, but Buzz was rattling on. "Hey, you didn't bring a girl, huh? Well don't worry, we'll fix you up." He looked around. "In fact, I'll get you something right now. Hold on."
"No, Buzz, wait-" But Buzz was gone.
At that moment, Frankie came in with Leona.
Leona hadn't changed, he decided. The dark-brown hair, the high pert breasts, the petite but suggestive body all were as he remembered them. He wondered if she still rejected the idea of wearing underwear.
She caught sight of him and came over, Frankie following. She seemed a little nervous, but she smiled at him. "Hello, Vic."
"Hi, Leona. Long time."
"How've you been?"
"Fine," he said automatically. "How about you?"
"I was glad to hear you were out," she said.
"Let's go," Frankie said, roughly. Taking her arm, he pulled her away toward another part of the room. As they moved off, Vic saw Frankie talking rapidly to her and scowling. Leona appeared to be protesting.
Then Buzz was back, and with him was a tall, auburn-haired girl wearing a tight sweater and blue jeans. "Here, buddy, I want you to meet Liz," Buzz said. "She's new in the neighborhood since you been away. Liz, this is Vic Hadley, a great guy who's just come back where he belongs."
"Hi, Vic," Liz said, smiling at him. She squeezed down next to him on the crowded sofa.
"Buzz, what about the rumble?" Vic asked.
"I'm on it, buddy. Well have it set up in a couple days. Listen, tonight we relax, have fun, right? Hey, I gotta see Bill. See you later." And he was off again.
Vic drank beer and talked to Liz. He didn't feel at all like a party, but since he was the excuse for this one, he felt he had to stick around, at least for a while. The evening, he knew, hadn't really gotten started yet. The Blazer parties usually got pretty wild.
After a while, the noise began gradually to die down. An atmosphere of waiting pervaded the room. Someone shut off the phonograph. Imperceptibly, tension began to grow. They were waiting for the action.
After a few more minutes, Buzz moved to the center of the room. There was sudden complete silence.
"Okay," Buzz said, "let's have some entertainment, whaddaya say?" There was an expectant murmur.
"Well, what'll it be? How about one of you chicks doing a little strip to warm things up?"
A curvaceous brunette jumped up. "I will!"
"Sitdown!" the boy she was with growled. "You did it last time." He pulled her back to the floor amid general laughter.
"Hey," somebody yelled, "let's have Jane and Edna do their act."
"How about the dice game?" someone else suggested.
"Yeah, the dice game!" This was taken up by a number of voices. Finally, Buzz raised his hand for silence.
"Okay, the dice game it is. Let's have some volunteers."
"There was a pause. Then a tall youth and a slim, blonde girl stood up and moved to the center of the room. They were followed by a brunette the one who volunteered to strip with her boy friend in tow.
"Okay, Joe and Peggy, Eddie and Nancy. Who else?" Buzz asked.
This was new to Vic. "What's the dice game?" he asked Liz.
"Well, it's sort of like shooting craps," she answered. "Except that the guys are, like, gambling with their girls instead of money. That's why most of the guys don't like to play too much. They like to watch all right, but.. . Anyway," she went on, "what happens is, a guy rolls, and if he makes a pass he gets to take off a piece of clothing from one of the other guys' debs any piece he can reach. Then whenever he wins he gets to take off something else from that same girl. But if he loses, he has to take something off his own chick. Then the first girl who's completely naked, she's the loser, her and her boy friend, and she has to make it right here with the other guy, the one who chose her."
The Blazers hugely enjoyed exhibitions of this kind. Couples making love for the entertainment of the gang was a regular feature of the gang parties. They were imaginative at thinking up ways to vary the spectacle. For example, on some occasions, after the couple had undressed, their wrists would be tied together behind their backs, and they were required to accomplish the act without the use of their hands.
They had an enormous number of erotic games, too, which they delighted in. One common practice was to have all the girls line up and raise their skirts; while the boys, keeping their eyes closed, would pass down the line, running their hands over each girl's legs, squeezing, rubbing; the object being for each boy to try to identify his particular deb by the feel of her legs alone. Sometimes the same thing was done with breasts.
Understandably, both the gang members and their girls became so aroused by these games that a general orgy usually followed. But this dice game had been introduced since Vic had left the gang.
Another couple had come forward now, a large, muscular youth and a delicate-looking brown-haired girl. Mitch and Joanne, Buzz called them.
"Okay, you guys, let's have somebody else. Come on, don't be so stingy!" There was laughter. "Hey, wait!" Buzz looked at the three girls who had come forward. "Look, we got blonde hair, black hair and brown hair. What we need is a redhead to round things off. Nothing like variety, right?" He looked around.
"Hey, Marge. C'mon, you and Pete get out here, how about it?"
Marge, a large-breasted redhead, got up shrugging. Pete followed, somewhat reluctantly. "Okay, that's enough," somebody yelled. "Let's go."
A table was cleared and brought out to the center of the room, and a board was placed at one end for a backstop. Meanwhile, Vic watched the four girls. He decided that Joe's girl, Peggy, was the most desirable. She was wearing a man's white shirt, blue jeans and sandals. She was quite slim but had good-sized breasts which pushed out the front of the shirt. Her yellow hair was completely straight and fell beneath her shoulders. She had a wide mouth and a very small, uptilted nose which somehow did not detract from, but even added to, her aura of sexiness.
The other girls were also attractive, especially Nancy, the curvy brunette: and he knew that in spite of himself, he was very much interested in watching this game.
Someone produced a pair of dice. "Okay," Buzz said. "You shoot in the order you came up here. Joe, you're first."
Joe shook the dice and rolled. "Three," Buzz announced. "A loser."
This meant that Joe had to take a garment from his own deb, Peggy. He knelt down and drew off one of her sandals.
"On their own girls, the guys just take off things like shoes and stuff, as long as they can," Liz whispered to Vic. "With the others they try for the big time."
It was Eddie's turn. He rolled a point of six, then a nine, a three, a five, and finally a seven a loser. His girl, Nancy, had her hair tied with a white ribbon, which Eddie pulled off. This brought loud boos from the audience.
Mitch now took the dice. His first throw was an eleven. The audience murmured. As the first winner, Mitch now had his choice of helping to undress Peggy, Nancy or Marge.
He chose Peggy. He knows what he's doing, Vic thought. Joe scowled. Peggy stood calmly, smiling a little, as Mitch slowly unbuttoned her white shirt.
"No feeling the merchandise!" somebody yelled.
Mitch pulled the shirt out of Peggy's jeans and drew it off her arms. She wore a black bra, which was almost starding against her creamy white skin.
"Okay, Pete, you're next."
"Doesn't he get another turn when he makes a pass?" Vic asked Liz.
"Not in this game, honey. One to a customer."
Pete rolled a nine, and after several tries, made his point. He chose Nancy. She was wearing a cotton blouse and slacks. "Let's start at the bottom," Pete said, and put his hand on the button of her slacks. Nancy smiled. She seemed eager to have her charms displayed.
"Wait," Buzz said. "Can you get them off without taking her shoes off? If not, you'll have to take something else."
"They'll come off," Nancy said. "They stretch."
Pete opened the button and pulled down the zipper; then, with his thumbs in the waistband, eased the slacks down over Nancy's hips. They fell the rest of the way down her smooth young legs, and as she lifted each of her feet in turn, Pete with some difficulty pulled them off over her shoes.
It was Joe's turn again. He threw a ten, but sevened out before he could make his point. He cursed softly as he bent down and pulled off Peggy's other sandal.
Eddie rolled an eight and matched it on his next throw. He hesitated between the voluptuous, big-busted Marge and the delicate sensuality of Joanne's rounded figure; but the former's straining sweater finally decided him. He grasped the bottom of this article on either side, and Marge raised her arms as he pulled it over her head and off. A little buzz of disappointment went through the audience. Marge wore a slip.
Mitch threw boxcars and took off one of Joanne's shoes. Pete lost his point and did the same for Marge. Joe threw a seven for his first win.
Joanne was the only girl unclaimed. She wore a simple, one-piece dress, but over it she had a light cotton jacket, which Joe pulled off. Joe wasn't very lucky tonight, Vic thought.
Eddie then crapped out and divested Nancy of her left shoe. Mitch did the same and Joanne's remaining shoe was gone. Joanne alone among the four girls was wearing socks.
Pete threw an eight, and after a number of throws, matched it. Nancy turned to him eagerly. Would he take off her blouse now, Vic wondered, or would he remove her panties first?
The panties. Eddie looked uncomfortable as Pete drew them down Nancy's legs and off. The bottom of her blouse did not quite reach the juncture of her legs. From there down she was naked.
The watchers were suddenly very silent. The tension was building.
Joe threw a five, then lost. He cursed. Peggy's shoes were gone and he had no choice but to take off her jeans. He undid the buttons in the front and grimly pushed them down her legs and over her feet. Her panties were black, matching her bra. Her legs were round and flawless.
The strained silence was heavier than before. But the next few rolls relieved some of the tension. Eddie lost his point and took off Nancy's second shoe. Mitch rolled a two and pulled off one of Joanne's white socks, as the audience groaned. Pete sevened out and Marge's remaining shoe went.
But Joe won this time. He turned eagerly to Joanne. Her dress had buttons all the way down the front. Joe started at the top and worked down, between her breasts, past her waist. Joanne explained that it wasn't necessary to open all the buttons in order to take the dress off, but Joe wouldn't listen. He undid each button down to the bottom with great enjoyment, then pulled the dress off.
Joanne's bra and panties were white. Her skin was very smooth, her figure graceful and gently curved. She and Peggy were both down to bra and panties (except that Joanne wore one sock) and Nancy bad just her blouse and presumably her bra. Marge seemed almost overdressed.
Eddie lost again. That meant Nancy's blouse. The silence was once more complete as he unbuttoned it and drew it off. She now wore a brassiere and nothing else.
Vic was aroused; he felt the tension getting to him. He was acutely conscious of Liz's leg pressed against his. He could hear her breathing in the silence. He put his arm around her and touched the side of her breast. She drew closer to him.
Mitch rolled a seven. The audience gasped. Joe bit his lip. Mitch approached Peggy, hesitated, then walked around behind her to open the bra. Peggy still had the same little smile on her face. He opened the clasp and pushed down the shoulder straps. The bra fell. There was a subdued murmur.
Peggy's breasts were two perfect, white spheres which stood out from her chest proudly, the pink nipples seeming to beckon as they bobbed softly. Peggy's smile widened a little as she sensed the appreciation of the watching youths.
Vic let his fingers slide gently over the rise of Liz's breast, thrusting so tautly against her sweater. Her breathing quickened and she pressed her leg more tightly against his.
It was Pete's turn. If he won, he would end the game by removing Nancy's brassiere and claiming her as his prize. But he rolled a twelve, a loser. Marge still wore her skirt over her slip. He unzipped the skirt and let it all.
Joe could now end the contest by losing, thus forfeiting Peggy to Mitch. His face was tight as he rattled the dice. He rolled an eleven.
Vic guessed that he would take Joanne's bra off first, as Mitch had taken off Peggy's. He was right.
Joanne did not seem as happy about being exposed as had Nancy or Peggy, but as she had volunteered for the game, Vic didn't think she could be suffering too much. She closed her eyes as Joe pulled the bra off. Her breasts were gently rounded, smooth and delicate, like the rest of her.
Vic thought the game would surely end as Eddie took the dice, for his loss would forfeit Nancy to Pete. But it was not to be. He rolled an eight, and after four more rolls, another one. He pulled Marge's bothersome slip over her head, revealing her fully-packed figure in bra and panties.
Peggy wore only panties, Nancy a bra, and Joanne panties and one sock. Vic's breath came rapidly as he almost unconsciously caressed Liz's breast. The entire room seemed to sit forward, holding its breath. A winning throw by either Mitch or Pete now would deliver them their prize.
Mitch rolled a six, but couldn't match it. He, of course, elected to remove Joanne's remaining sock. Pete, looking hungrily at Nancy, shook the dice mightily, but rolled a snake-eyes. Unhappily, he unclasped Marge's bra, releasing her huge breasts, which hung full, ripe and amazingly firm, before their eyes.
Now every eye in the room was fixed unwaveringly on Joe, for the game rested on his throw. If he won, he took Joanne; if he lost, he would see Mitch take Peggy.
He licked his lips nervously. He was muttering to the dice under his breath. Then he rolled. A six. He rolled again. Four. Then a nine. A twelve. The strain was unbearable. Joe was sweating. Joanne watched him with wide eyes. Peggy was still smiling. Nancy, Vic noticed, looked disappointed. She wouldn't get her brassiere removed in any case.
Joe continued to roll. An eleven. A three. A ten. And then seven. A loser.
A small sigh went through the audience. Joe blanched. He pounded his fist on the table. Then he straightened and seemed to collect himself. He walked over to his former place and sat down.
"Come on, Joe," said Buzz. "You gotta take her pants off."
"Hell with it," Joe muttered. "He won, let him do it."
"Come on, Joe, you know the rules. You're in a game, you play the rules, you know that."
Joe hesitated. Then, mumbling, he rose and walked over behind Peggy, who still stood smiling slightly; and, as Mitch and the rest of the room watched, he grasped the waistband of her panties at the back and pulled them down.
Peggy stepped out of them and turned to face Mitch. She spoke for the first time. "How do you want it, Mitch?" she asked.
Mitch cleared his throat. He seemed a bit nervous now. "Straight," he muttered.
The other participants in the game had sat down now, and the table was moved away. Mitch looked around at the watching, waiting audience, then back at Peggy's nude figure, and began to pull off his clothes.
Peggy walked to the exact center of the room, lowered herself to the floor, and watched Mitch. Her little smile never left her face.
Vic felt Liz's hand on his leg. He tightened his grip on her breast. Mitch had finished undressing and now lowered himself beside Peggy. His nervousness was soon forgotten as he put his hands on her breasts.
There were few preliminaries. He squeezed the breasts, then ran his hands down over her stomach, down the smoothness of her thighs, and back up. Then he positioned his body over hers. She moved to accept him. He lowered himself and they joined.
Peggy's smile grew wider. She put her arms around him and began to move her body wildly to meet his lunges. They lunged at each other. Her ankles locked behind his back. Their mouths fused. They writhed frantically together on the floor.
The Blazers and their girls watched avidly. The strained tension had broken now, and a different kind of excitement permeated the room. The boys began shouting remarks to the couple on the floor.
"Man, look at them got"
"Atta boy, Mitch, give it to 'er!"
"Ride 'er good, Mitch!"
"Man, she's a wildcat! No wonder Joe wants her for himself!"
"Pour it on, Mitch!"
"Mamma mia, can she move!"
Peggy and Mitch were working furiously to a finish. Peggy's arms and legs tightened even further on him. Her head fell back. Her body jerked spasmodically several times. Then she relaxed, but continued moving, until after a minute Mitch, too, gave in to his passion.
Mitch rolled away from her. He got to his knees, still breathing heavily, and reached hastily for his clothes. Peggy still smiled. She got easily to her feet, and calmly dressed herself.
Many of the Blazers had now begun necking and petting with their girls. But they were not yet ready to abandon the "entertainment". Excitement was still building. They wanted more.
"Let's have Jane and Edna!" somebody suggested again.
"No, not Jane and Edna, for God's sake."
"Well, somebody volunteer."
"Hey, Joe! What about you and Peggy now? You can show us if you're better than Mitch!"
"Go to hell," Joe said.
"How about the blindfold?" said Buzz. This met with general approval.
This was something that was familiar to Vic. The boys and the girls each separately picked one of their number, who was then blindfolded; and the two, not knowing each other's identity, made love without removing the blindfolds. They were not allowed to talk to each other. If the boy correctly guessed the girl's identity, he was allowed to choose any deb he wanted for the next round, and vice versa.
The gang members all gathered at one end of the room for the choosing, while the girls huddled at the other. Buzz got a bunch of wooden matches, burnt one, mixed it with the others, and passed them around.
"Okay," he said when they had all picked. "Who's the lucky man?"
Vic looked at the match in his hand, and gave a start. He had the burnt one!
"Hey, how about that?" Buzz said. "The guest of honor gets the prize! That figures, right?"
"No, Buzz," Vic said. "I don't want to. Give it to somebody else."
"Hey, what kinda talk is that?" Buzz demanded. "Don't be crazy, buddy. Besides, it's just what you need. Here we go." He took a piece of cloth from his pocket and before Vic could do anything, his eyes were covered and he felt the cloth being tied tightly at the back of his head.
Vic might have argued further if it weren't for the fact that the dice game and the sight of Peggy with Mitch had strongly aroused his desire. So, though part of him was still very reluctant, he gave in.
He was pushed out to the center of the floor. He walked blindly ahead, his arms outstretched in front of him, until his hand touched something. It was a covered breast.
Vic brought his hands up to touch the girl's face. He felt her blindfold. He touched her mouth, then brought his hands to her hair. It seemed to be tied back in a pony-tail. He had no idea who she was.
The room was silent. The audience refrained from making remarks when a blindfolded couple had the floor, for fear of revealing someone's identity. Vic felt the girl's fingers on his own face. He was certain she didn't know him either.
Vic felt strangely excited. His imagination was stirred by the thought that this young female whose identity he did not know, who did not know who he was, whom he very possibly never had met, was his for the taking. Having sex with a woman without knowing what she looked like, an idea which had never seemed especially thrilling to him before, now affected him like an aphrodisiac.
He brought his hands down again to the girl's breasts. They were neither especially large nor especially small, but they were firm and upstanding. He brought her body in against him, placing his hands on her buttocks. He felt her mouth searching for his and he kissed her. He pushed with his tongue at her lips and her mouth opened. Their tongues caressed each other. The girl's body moved against him.
He was bursting with lust. He would have taken this unknown girl now if they were in the Grand Central Station information booth. He felt for the buttons on the front of her blouse and began to undo them. He felt her hands going to his own shirt buttons. He pulled her blouse off impatiently. There was a bra. Her skin was smooth and warm-She had his shirt off now and was pulling at his undershirt. He felt for the bra catch and opened it. He pulled at the straps and the bra slid away. Her breasts were naked under his hands. They were soft and springy. The nipples were hard. He squeezed them and heard her gasp.
Her hands were at his trousers, opening his belt. The pants fell down. He kicked his shoes off and kicked the trousers away. She unsnapped his shorts, and those were gone too. He felt her hand groping for him; then it found him, and caressed hesitantly. His Wood raced.
He pulled her to the floor. She was wearing some kind of skirt. His hand traveled over it until it came to the hem, then went underneath. Her legs were very smooth and firm to the touch. He brought both hands beneath her skirt and explored the legs, the curving calves, the soft insides of her thighs.
He put his mouth to one round breast and tongued the nipple, then drew as much of the breast as he could into his mouth. He felt it heaving with her ragged breathing. Her hand closed tightly on him.
Now he reached for the fastener of her skirt and drew it off. He pulled at her panties, and her body was nude. Somehow it seemed even more nude for the fact that he couldn't see it. He held her body against his. He kissed her and brought his hands around to hold her soft buttocks. She squirmed. He couldn't hold back any longer. Her rolled her on her back and took her.
It was fantastic. The unseen body writhing beneath him was bringing him to a pitch he had seldom experienced. He pounded away at her softness. Her breasts seared him. Her mouth was a sweet haven for his tongue. Little whimpers came from her throat.
It seemed to go on and on, and yet it seemed much too short. The moment came nearer and nearer. Then Vic felt himself torn apart by the power of his passion, and the girl gave a loud, inhuman cry.
And it was over.
Then he heard Buzz' voice. "Okay, does either of you think you know who the other one is? Nod your head if you do." A pause. "No? Okay, take off the blindfolds."
Vic tore the cloth from his eyes and looked at the girl beside him. He was astonished to see that it was someone he knew, a dark-haired deb named Barbara. He couldn't believe it. She was not really bad looking, but was a somewhat drab girl who had never appealed to him. He would never have been the least bit interested in her, ordinarily. Just goes to show you, he thought.
She smiled at him, timidly. "Oh, it's you, Vic.
Hi."
"Hi," he said.
She began dressing. He picked up his clothes and went back to the sofa where Liz was waiting for him. "Well," she said. "You certainly had a good time, didn't you?"
He grinned. "I guess I can't deny it."
The Blazers had now gotten enough entertainment, and were by this time well in the mood for doing, rather than watching. Someone switched off all the lights in the clubhouse except for one, a small red-coated bulb in the ceiling, which cast a murky glow over the room. Someone else had put some soft jazz on the phonograph.
The party now moved into its final stage. All over the room, Blazers and their debs were plastered together, on the couches, on chairs, on the floor. Over the soft music, sounds could be heard; sounds of zippers, of moans, of creaking springs. His passion spent for the moment, Vic watched the proceedings detachedly.
Through the dimness he could make out Buzz and his girl, Annie, in a large leather chair. Buzz had slid down in the chair, his legs stretched out. Annie was sitting on his lap facing him, her skirt pulled up. Her legs were doubled under her. She was moving gently.
Across the room, a naked girl was lying face downward over the arm of a sofa. The lower half of her body was on the couch; the upper half was supported by her hands, propped on the floor. Her breasts dangled. A boy on the couch was crouching over her, his hands on her hips. As Vic watched, another boy slid beneath the bridge of her upper body, raised his head, and began to kiss her hanging breasts.
In a corner, a boy and a girl were kissing and fondling. The boy placed his hand on the girl's breast and whispered something into her ear. The girl nodded and slid slowly to her knees, reaching for him.
There was one couple on the floor that looked strangely like two girls kissing each other. He looked again. It was two girls kissing each other. Must be Jane and Edna, Vic thought.
From somewhere nearby, a hoarse female voice was moaning: "More, honey. More. Ooo-oooh. Give me more. That's it. Ah."
And the party went on . . .
Beside him, Liz was getting restless. The other occupants of their couch had disappeared to find some convenient floor space, and he and Liz had stretched out comfortably side by side. Liz took "his hand and placed it on her breast. He had thought himself drained of desire, but the activities around him and the feel of Liz's breast roused him faintly.
Liz squirmed. Her nipple was hard. He rubbed it roughly, and she moaned. He switched to her other breast, enjoying its tautness almost objectively. She arched, pressing it harder into his hand. "Vic," she moaned softly.
Her hands went to the front of her jeans and opened the buttons. She reached over for his other hand and brought it to the opening. "Vic, please.. . "
His hand went inside her jeans, moving over her panties. "Mmmmmm," she said. The hand found the waistband of the panties and slid beneath, going down. Her head rolled. "Oh, yes," she said. The hand traveled farther. She gasped.
He began to pet softly, gently. She groaned, and drew her legs up, moving her knees for him. He continued to caress her. He heard her breath hiss between her teeth. Her hips writhed on the couch.
With one hand, he continued to fondle her breast, while the other carried on its sweet ministrations. Her moans became louder, her writhing more violent. Suddenly, she reached down and pushed frantically at her jeans and panties, then kicked them off. Her legs were long and white and squirming.
She reached over to touch him. "I'll bet you could . . . go again now," she gasped. "Couldn't you?" She fondled. "Oh yes.. . Sure you can." Her fingers teased him. "Oh, honey.. . you're ready now."
With that, she turned and rolled on top of him. Her breasts grazed his chest, her fine thighs straddled him. With a groan, she lowered herself. He felt her soft warmth on him.
She was right. He was ready.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A few days later, Vic got a phone call at work.
"Hello, Vic?" a woman's voice said. "Vic, this is Debbie's mother." His heart leaped.
"Hello, Mrs. Flock," he said. "How are you."
"Fine, thank you. Vic . . . Debbie's back."
"Oh," he said, keeping his voice calm. "How how it she?"
"Well, I don't know," the woman replied. "She seems well enough, but I think she's still very upset. I just can't imagine what's troubling her, and she won't say anything. She stays in her room most of the time, she doesn't want to see anybody. Well, Vic, I thought maybe you could come over and see her. I know she wouldn't like it if she knew I was doing this," she went on. "But I thought that if it's because you had a fight, you might be able to straighten things out with her. And even if it's something else, it might do her good to talk to you."
"Yes, of course," Vic said. "I'd like to see her very much."
"Why don't you come around one afternoon, if you can. I'll be at work then, and you can talk to her alone."
"Yes, I will. As soon as I can. Thank you, Mrs. Flock."
"Thank you, Vic," she said. "I hope things will be all right with you two. Good-bye."
He went to see Debbie that same afternoon. He got away from the office by saying that he felt ill and was going home to bed. He was eager to see her. He felt suddenly confident that he could work things out with her., that everything would be all right. She couldn't have meant what she'd said in that letter. She'd been too upset to thank clearly. Her coming back so soon seemed like a good sign.
He was a little nervous as he rang the bell outside her apartment. Debbie opened the door. He thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. His heart raced.
"Hello, Debbie."
She looked at him in surprise. "Vic I" she said. She hesitated. "Well.. . I guess you better come in."
He followed her inside. "How did you know I was back?" she asked.
"I heard," he said vaguely. "How are you, Debbie?"
"I'm all right. Sit down, Vic."
They sat. Looking at her more closely, Vic noticed the beginnings of small dark circles under her eyes, and faint lines around her mouth. She was paler than usual, and there was something about her eyes that he couldn't quite identify, that he sensed rather than saw, which hadn't been there before.
"I've been pretty worried about you," he began.
She wasn't looking at him. "Vie.. . didn't you get my letter?"
"Yes, I did," he said.
"Then why did you come."
"I had to, Debbie. You're too important to me just to let you go like that." She said nothing.
"You were upset when you wrote that letter," he went on. "You certainly had good reason to be. But that's all over. We can "
She was shaking her head. "Don't, Vic. I was upset, yes, but I knew what I was doing. Don't you see, it wouldn't be any good for us now. Not after . . . "
"That's not true," he said, firmly. "It was a terrible thing, and I don't suppose we'll ever forget it completely, but it doesn't have to ruin our lives."
"Doesn't it?" she said in a low voice.
"Of course not. It can't come between us if we don't let it." She shook her head again. "Oh, Debbie." He leaned forward. "Debbie, I love you. That hasn't changed. Nothing can change that."
She got up from her chair and walked over to a window, her back to him. He heard soft crying sounds.
He stood and walked over to her. "Debbie . . . " He touched her arm gently.
"No!" She jerked away violently. He looked at her in surprise as she moved away from him.
"Oh, Vic, you shouldn't have come," she said. "It just makes things worse. Please go."
"Debbie, you don't mean that." He started toward her and she backed away again.
"Yes, I do," she said. "Try to understand. Even if you could forget what happened, it wouldn't be any good for me. Something's happened to me. I can't stand to be touched, or held. Just the thought of somebody even you making love to me, putting his hands on me, makes me feel.. . "
Vic swallowed. "But-but that's pretty natural, isn't it?" he said. "You even said in your letter-"
She shook her head. She was trembling. "No," she said. "It's not natural. I thought I'd get over it at first, but I don't think so now. It just gets worse. I don't even like to get too close to people. Even my mother.. . " She put her face in her hands.
"Debbie, don't." Automatically, he reached out to comfort her.
"Don't touch me." She flung his hands away and backed up till she was against the wall. She was shaking, uncontrollably. Her eyes were wild.
He didn't know what to do. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, Debbie." He sat down, helplessly.
"You see?" she said. Her voice was shrill. "So things aren't going to work out just fine, are they, Vic? Now, please, will you just go? I'm sorry," she added more calmly. "It's just too bad it has to be this way, Vic. But you shouldn't have come. It's just no good."
But he didn't move. "Debbie, listen," he said doggedly. "We can do something. You can get help. You can "
She gave a strange, forced laugh. "You mean a psychiatrist or something? What are you going to do, wait ten years while I get cured? If I could?" She was still trembling.
"But, Debbie-"
"Oh God," she said, wildly. She started walking aimlessly about the room. "What does it take to get it into your head? It's over, it's no good, I'm no good, leave me alone!" Her voice rose; she was almost shouting. "That's all there is to it. Just get the hell out of here. What do you want, anyway?"
"Debbie, I want to help you." He started to reach out for her as she passed his chair, but stopped himself in time. She noticed the gesture and jerked away reflexively. She was breathing rapidly, jerkily. She was trembling violently again. The strangeness in her eyes frightened Vic.
"You want to help me?" she said hysterically. "What are you going to do, cure me? Is that it? All right. Go ahead." Suddenly, without warning, she put her hands behind her and unzipped her dress down the back. Before he realized what she was doing, she pulled the dress swiftly up over her head and off. She dropped it on the floor. She wore bra and panties.
"Debbie, what "
"What's the matter?" she said wildly. "This is what you want, isn't it?" She unsnapped her bra and flung it away. "My body. You want to cure me so you can have my body."
"Debbie, don't!"
She ignored him. She pulled the panties down. "Well, here it is," she went on. "It's all yours." Naked, still shaking, she threw herself down onto the couch, arms and legs flung wide.
"There," she said. "Go ahead. You want to, don't you? What are you waiting for?"
"Debbie, please "
"Debbie, please," she mimicked. She was approaching hysteria. "What's the matter? Don't you like me this way?" She made a movement with her hips. "Or do you want me on my stomach? Or on my knees, like Chug?"
"Debbie, stop it!" he said loudly.
She got up from the couch. Her face was twisted. "What's the matter?" she shouted. "You wanted to cure me, didn't you? Old love-conquers-all Hadley. What's wrong? Am I soiled?" She came toward him, moving spasmodically. "Come on," she shrilled. "I'm still good. Take me." She reached out wildly, grabbed his hand, and thrust it to her thighs. "Take me!" she screamed. "Take me!"
He slapped her, hard.
She gasped loudly and drew back. She stood still, breathing heavily. Very slowly, the wildness in her eyes diminished and sanity crept in. Her trembling lessened. She began to moan, softly. She sank slowly to the floor and huddled there, covering her body with her arms. She started to sob.
"Go away," she said brokenly. "Get out of here." When Vic did not move, her voice rose again. "Get out!" she yelled. "Get out, Get outV
He went. There was nothing else to do. Her sobs followed him through the door.
CHAPTER NINE
He sat in the Blazers' clubhouse, waiting for Buzz to show up. Rage, bitterness and pain had formed together into an icy lump in his stomach. His fob, the future he'd planned, had been pushed to the back of his mind. They were almost unreal now. The only thing that seemed important aside from Debbie was getting Jackson. And he wasn't going to wait any longer.
Leona came in with two other girls. When she saw Vic, she came over and sat by him. "Hi, Vic."
"Seen Buzz?" he asked her.
"No, not tonight." There was a pause. "Vic I been wanting to talk to you," she said, hesitatingly. "I haven't had a chance since you been back."
"Well, I think Frankie's the jealous type," he said.
She looked embarrassed. "Vic, you're not mad at me for being Frankie's deb, are you?" She looked at him anxiously.
He shook his head. "'Course not. Hell, I didn't expect you to just wait around for a year or so till I got out."
She hesitated again. Then she said in a low voice, "I wish I'da done that, now." He didn't say anything.
She made a face. "I don't know why I took up with Frankie," she said. "He didn't seem so bad at first; but he's really a louse. He gets mad if anybody else even talks to me, but then he treats me like dirt anyway. I'm getting so I can't stand him any more."
"Well, why do you go on being his deb, then?" Vic asked.
"I don't know. I guess I'm a little scared. He can be awful mean, Frankie can."
At that moment Buzz came in. Vic called to him and he came over.
"It's all set up, buddy," Buzz said. "Sunday night. The fuzz won't be lookin' for any trouble then. We're gonna rumble in the old lots off Pitt Street. All out, anything goes. How's that? We'll bury those rats for good."
Vic nodded. "Okay," he said grimly. "Sunday night it is."
Buzz went off to talk to one of the other Blazers. Leona was silent for a time.
"Vic," she began finally, "I heard you had some trouble with the Satans . . . about a girl."
He said nothing.
"This girl?" Leona went on. "Is she is she something serious? I mean, is she your girl now?"
When he answered, it was only to the second question. "No," he said in a low voice. "No, she's not my girl now."
"Oh." There was another silence; then suddenly Leona said, "Vic I'll be your deb again, if you want." When he didn't answer, she went on, hurriedly: "I mean I'm gonna quit Frankie, anyway. It could be like it was before. You and me. I'd really go for that."
Vic didn't know what to say. He felt almost nothing for Leona now. She was cute and sexy, but his feelings were all bound up with Debbie. And he still didn't want trouble with Frankie. He didn't want any complications, anything that might interfere with his reaching the goal toward which the cold, hard ball in his stomach was pushing him. He didn't like to hurt Leona's feelings, but.. . Then Frankie walked in.
He immediately spotted Leona sitting with Vic and slouched over to them, his face tight. Leona stood up nervously as he approached. "Hi, Frankie," she said.
Frankie put his arm around Leona's shoulders and deliberately covered one breast with his hand, squeezing it softly. This, Vic knew, was for his benefit, to show him that she was Frankie's property. "You two havin' fun?" Frankie asked.
"Just talking, Frankie," Leona said.
Frankie suddenly gave her breast a hard, brutal squeeze. "I thought I told you to stay away from this punk," he snarled.
Leona gave a loud gasp of pain. Vic got quickly to his feet, but Leona pulled away from Frankie and turned to face him.
"Listen, Frankie," she blurted. "I'm not your deb any more. We're through. I'm going back with Vic."
Frankie's mouth twisted. "Like hell you are!"
"I am!"
He slapped her viciously across the face, then hit her again with the back of his hand. Leona screamed and fell to the floor. Her skirt flew up to expose her thighs. Frankie started forward to pull her up.
Vic hit him.
Frankie stumbled backward under the force of the blow, but kept his feet. He shook his head, then lunged for Vic. Vic set himself to meet him.
"Hold it!" Suddenly Buzz was between them. Frankie started to brush past him but was held back by two Blazers grabbing his arms. Two others stood ready to restrain Vic.
"Listen, if you guys want to slug this out, do it outside," Buzz said. "We got a rule against fighting in the clubhouse, you know that."
"Okay, okay," Frankie snarled. "Lemme go." They released him. "C'mon, Hadley." He started for the door.
Vic followed. In spite of his reluctance to get involved with Leona, his desire to avoid complications, he had felt a great satisfaction in hitting Frankie. The anger and bitterness in him needed something to hit out at, and Frankie had provided it. And having found that outlet, he wanted more.
A street lamp shone on the vacant lot next door, where Vic and Frankie headed. Most of the others in the clubhouse came along to watch. They formed a large circle around the two youths.
Frankie immediately lunged for Vic again and swung his fist at Vic's face. Vic blocked the blow, but Frankie's other fist landed in his ribs. He stepped back, keeping his guard up. He remembered now that Frankie was a pretty tough fighter. He hadn't gotten to be Buzz' chief lieutenant on the strength of his personality.
Frankie swung again. Vic ducked, and landed a hard punch to Frankie's stomach. They circled around each other. Frankie's face was twisted with hatred. Vic knew his own suppressed rage was directing itself, perhaps unfairly, at Frankie.
Frankie suddenly lunged again and landed a hard blow on Vic's chin. Vic felt himself falling. He hit the ground hard. Frankie came down after him, fists flying. They rolled on the ground, pummeling each other. The breath rasped in their lungs. Vic took a solid blow on the cheekbone and felt blood. His own fist caught Frankie hard on one eye.
Vic rolled away, and they got to their feet again. Frankie's nose was bleeding.
This time Vic went for Frankie. He landed a glancing blow to the head. Frankie hit him again in the ribs. This left him open for a minute, and Vic threw a hard left at Frankie's jaw. Frankie went down, but rolled over and got up again immediately. Vic went after him again. They were both gasping for breath now.
Vic swung and missed. He retreated. Frankie came in slowly now, watching craftily for an opening. He suddenly landed a hard blow to Vic's stomach and another to the face, in quick succession. Vic continued to back up.
Frankie threw a hard right which Vic ducked, causing Frankie to go a little off balance. Vic took advantage of this by throwing his own right, hitting Frankie hard on the side of the jaw. Frankie went down.
He shook his head as if to clear it and climbed to his knees, then to his feet. He moved toward Vic, but he seemed a bit unsteady on his feet. His hands were high. Vic hit him in the midsection. Frankie gave an inarticulate cry and came in, swinging wildly. One blow glanced off Vic's arm, another hit the side of his head. Neither punch had much strength to it. Vic's left caught Frankie in the mouth, and as he stumbled back, Vic followed with a right to the point of the jaw. Frankie went down again.
He rolled over slowly and pushed himself to his knees. But trying to get to his feet, he fell again. He let out a curse. Then with a sudden movement, his hand went to his pocket. Before Vic realized what he was doing, Frankie had pulled out a vicious-looking switchblade and clicked it open.
There were gasps and startled shouts from the watching group. But before Frankie could move to get to his feet again, Buzz had stepped swiftly in and kicked the switchblade out of Frankie's hand.
"Knock it off, Frankie!" he said angrily. "What the hell ya think you're doin? Save that stuff for the Satans."
Frankie's eyes blazed, but he wouldn't cross Buzz, Vic knew. He pulled himself to his knees again, and this time managed to get to his feet. Buzz picked up his knife, closed it and handed it to him, and Frankie put it away. Then he turned to look at Vic. The hatred was still in his eyes.
"Okay, punk," he snarled. "You can have the pig. But I'm warnin' you, Hadley. Stay the hell outa my way from now on!" And with that he lurched off.
Buzz turned to Vic. "Don't worry about him," he said. "He's just letting off steam. He hates to lose anything. You okay, buddy?"
Vic nodded. He was still breathing hard. "Your face is kinda bloody. Better get it fixed up." Leona was beside him. "Come on up to my place, Vic," she said. "We got some stuff up there. I'll fix you up."
"Okay," Vic panted. "Thanks."
On their way to Leona's place, he told her about Debbie and all that had happened. She didn't say anything when he'd finished. Finally, after a long while, she spoke.
"Vic?"
"Yes?"
"I'd still like to be your deb, if you want." This time he said nothing.
At the apartment, Leona took him into the kitchen and cleaned his face. He had a number of bruises and several cuts. Gently, she washed away the blood and dirt. "I think we have some iodine and stuff up in the cabinet," she said. "Wait a second, I'll get it."
There was a cabinet high on the wall, above the sink. Leona moved a chair over and climbed onto it to open the cabinet. She then climbed up to stand precariously on the sink. "The stuff's on the top shelf," she explained.
"Here, I'll get it," Vic offered.
"No, I know right where it is," she said.
She stood spread-legged over the sink, one foot on each side, and reached to the top shelf, holding onto the cabinet door. Vic was suddenly very aware of her curved, straining calves, now almost at a level with his eyes. He had a quick, disturbing memory of how they felt on him. He felt a sudden, powerful lust.
Fighting always had that effect on him, he knew. Fighting plus somebody like Leona.
He looked at the curve of her buttocks beneath the skirt. He wondered again if she still.. .
"Leona," he said.
"What?"
"Do you still go around without underwear?"
She looked down at him, surprised; then she grinned. "Why don't you find out?" she said.
He looked at her a moment longer; then deliberately he went to her, lifted her skirt, and looked.
She wore no panties.
"Well?" she asked, when he'd straightened up. "You haven't changed a bit," he told her. She giggled.
Vic placed his hand on the inner curve of one of those smooth calves and stroked gently, enjoying the softness against his palm. Then slowly, he moved the hand up the inside of the calf, past her knee, under her skirt, up her thigh. He didn't stop.
Leona gasped and swayed slightly, holding onto the cabinet. "Vic," she said weakly, "you'll make me fall."
He removed his hand and reached up to grasp her waist and help her down. She turned, putting her hands on his shoulders, and then slid slowly down along his body. The length of her thighs brushed his hips. Her breasts grazed his face.
She touched the floor and stood tight against him, looking into his eyes. His heart was pounding. Leona's mouth tilted up, lips parted, a moist invitation. But he held back. Her breasts against his face had told him, if he hadn't already known, that she wore no bra. He brought his hand around to caress her breast through the blouse. The feel of that smooth, yielding firmness, covered only by the thin material moving under his hand, made his breath come faster. He moved his hand in small circles, stroking his fingers over the nipple. He felt it grow beneath his touch. Leona moaned softly.
Then his arms went around her and he put his mouth on hers, straining her body tightly to him. His tongue was in her mouth, seeking, probing. He grasped her buttocks and ground her against him. She felt the pressure of his lust and squirmed against him. She pushed her own tongue into his mouth. It moved endlessly, searching the sensitive hollows of his mouth, stroking and teasing.
After a long time, they broke away from each other panting. "Oh, God," Leona said breathlessly. "Let's go to my room, Vic."
He followed her to her bedroom. His face was forgotten. "I'm sure glad my folks are out tonight," Leona said, as they frantically undressed.
He was stirred by the remembered yet new sight of her body, the high, perky breasts, the lovely legs that were so sensitive to his hands. She reached out to touch him gently. "I missed you," she said.
He brought himself to her and they kissed again, their hands exploring. They moved with one accord toward the bed, still kissing, and fell upon it without breaking their embrace. One of his hands stroked over her buttocks, then moved lower and paused. She moaned into his mouth. His other hand, traveling over her thigh, brought soft whimpers from her throat. Her hands found him, held him, caressed him knowingly.
Then neither of them could delay any longer. Their bodies joined smoothly, easily. Leona gasped with joy. They moved feverishly, plunging swiftly toward fulfillment. The old bed creaked in protest. Leona's whimpers became moans.
Suddenly, Vic heard something. With an effort, he stopped moving and lay still, placing his hand gently over Leona's mouth. He had heard a sound like a key being turned in a lock. Now he heard a door opening, and voices.
Leona took his hand away. "Oh, God!" she whispered. "It's my folks."
He cursed under his breath. Luckily, he had closed Leona's bedroom door when he had followed her in.
"Leona?" a woman's voice called.
"Be quiet," she breathed into his ear. "They'll think I'm out, or asleep. They won't come in here."
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
She nodded.
The voices continued. He heard movements from the living room, from the kitchen. Then he heard the television set come on.
"It's okay now," Leona whispered. "But we gotta be quiet."
Their bodies were still locked together, but the necessity for quiet kept them from continuing their wild lovemaking. They moved together slowly, silently. They writhed against each other like lazy snakes.
Their legs slid softly against each other. Her thighs caressed his hips. Inch by deliberate inch, they ascended the ladder of passion. Their mouths joined, their tongues moved, slid, teasingly, sensually, against each other, around each other. Then his head moved down to her breast, his tongue circling the nipple, brushing it, testing its erectness.
Leona's body gradually began to arch. Her head fell back, her eyes glazed. He felt his own peak rapidly approaching and held her tightly to him.
Leona seized a corner of her pillow and stuffed it frantically into her mouth to stifle her cries. Their bodies went rigid, straining against each other from shoulder to toe. They jerked spasmodically several times, again and again; then relaxed, trembling.
They listened fearfully, not sure that they hadn't made some sound to betray their presence. But they heard nothing but the voice from the television set, running smoothly on.
Vic got up and dressed quietly. There was a fire escape outside Leona's window. He had used that route once or twice in the old days.
But he didn't feel the same way as he had then. Then, he remembered, there had been an elation, a sense of adventure; the gallant lover, having taken his pleasure with the beautiful lady, scaling the fortress walls to make his escape. But tonight, he felt depressed and furtive. Well, he was outgrowing that stuff.
And there was still the hard ball of ice in his stomach. He had tried to obscure it or diminish it by fighting with Frankie, by making love with Leona. But they were substitutes, and it hadn't worked.
Deep down he had known it wouldn't.
CHAPTER TEN
Saturday morning. Vic got a call from Joyce at home.
"Did you hear about Millard?" she asked him.
"No, what about him?"
"He was killed last night."
Vic was stunned. "What how?"
"Car crash. But in Jersey, where he lived. Big four-car smash-up. It's in the papers. His wife got killed too, and a couple other people."
Vic took a moment to digest this news, and its implications. "What will they do at the office, I mean," he asked finally.
"Give somebody else the job, of course. I don't know if they'll promote somebody in the company or hire someone from outside."
He swallowed. "Will they find out about "
"About our little deal? Well, I don't know. The guy'll probably have to go over the books or something, so he'll know what he's doing. I don't know too much about how Millard fixed them up. They might notice something fishy, and they might not."
"But "
"Listen, Vic," Joyce interrupted. "If you're not doing anything special today, why don't you come over here? We can talk about this. And." she added in a softer voice, "do a few other things."
Vic hesitated. He knew what the "other things" were Joyce had in mind. Sex. Well, why was he hesitating? he asked himself. Joyce was the sexiest girl he knew. What was the matter with him? He had nothing to do that day. All he was doing was waiting for Sunday night's rumble. The time between then and the next night stretched like a desert before him.
"Yeah, okay," he said. "I'll be there."
She gave him her address and they hung up.
Joyce lived in Brooklyn. It was a short ride by subway. During the trip, he worried. His job hadn't seemed so important lately. But he realized that he still didn't want to lose it. It was something to hang on to. But if Millard's scheme were discovered, he would certainly be fired. Or worse.
He found the address Joyce had given him. The front door of the apartment building was open. He took the elevator to Joyce's floor, located her apartment and rang the bell. Joyce answered the door.
She was stark naked.
The sudden, unexpected sight of her bare body took his breath away. He stared at her. He felt weak.
She smiled at the effect she had on him. "Hi," she said. "Come on in."
He stumbled inside and she closed the door, then stood with her back against it, letting his eyes devour her nakedness; the large, firm breasts with their thrusting nipples, the sensually rounded stomach, the wide, inviting hips, the smooth, wickedly curved legs.
"My God, Joyce," he said finally. "You -" he shook his head. "You're unbelievable. What if it hadn't been me at the door?"
She shrugged. "So somebody would've got a cheap thrill," she said, casually. "What's the matter, don't you like it?" She stretched, pulling her body taut, setting all those curves in motion.
He stepped forward and pulled her to him. She grinned up at him, moving her body slowly against his. "Oh, so you do like it," she murmured. She bumped his hips softly with hers. "Oh, yes I can tell you do."
He kissed her tempting mouth. Her lips parted under his, and then closed, teasing him. She did this several times, touching her tongue quickly to his and then withdrawing it. Then she surrendered and let his tongue search her mouth.
She brought her hand to the front of his body, moving it gently up and down. Then the hand went to his trousers and pulled them slowly down. He gasped as she found him and caressed him lovingly. After a minute, he felt his control in danger of slipping. He reached quickly down and pulled her hand away. She laughed softly against his mouth.
Her hands went to the buttons of his shirt. He helped her, stepping from his trousers, kicking off his shoes. Between them, they got his clothes off.
He grabbed for her again. She sank to the soft carpet, pulling him with her. He pushed her onto her back. His hands found her bursting breasts, and squeezed. He pulled at her thighs frantically.
Then he saw the girl.
She was standing in the doorway leading from the living room to the rest of the apartment. She was a small, young-looking girl with light-brown shoulder-length hair. She wore a transparent shortie nightgown which came just below her hips and did very little to conceal what it covered.
She was round all over. She had a round, pretty face with round, bright eyes; high, round breasts, round hips, smoothly rounded buttocks, and round, tapering legs. Vic didn't know how long shed been there. She was watching them calmly, with no expression of surprise.
He pulled away abruptly and stood up, flustered. He tried to cover himself, but that made him feel even more foolish, so he gave up the attempt.
Joyce seemed unconcerned by the girl's presence (had she known she was there before? he wondered) and amused at his discomfort. "Don't panic, lover," she said, getting up. "Everything is cool. This is Sally, my roommate. Sally, this is Vic."
The girl smiled, a little timidly, and nodded at him. Vic nodded back.
"Sally doesn't say very much," Joyce said. "But she doesn't have to. Come on and join us, Sally." She approached the other girl, and taking her hand, led her over to Vic.
Another one of Joyce's surprises, he thought. Might have known.
"Isn't she pretty?" Joyce asked him. "Want to see the rest of her?"
She undid something at the back of Sally's nightgown. Sally made no move to stop her, and the garment slid to the floor. Although she did not try to cover herself, she lowered her eyes modestly as Vic's glance traveled over her nude, young body.
Joyce was evidently enjoying this game. "Nice, isn't she?" she said to Vic. "She feels good, too. Here, try it." She reached for his hand and placed it on Sally's breast.
Joyce was right. She did feel good. He rubbed the nipple. Sally still didn't move.
"She's a little shy at first," Joyce explained. "She has to be warmed up a little. Once she gets going she's not shy at all. Are you, honey?" She put her hand on Sally's other breast and smiled at her. "I'll warm her up for you," she said to Vic. "I know just how to do it. You sit down and watch for a minute."
Vic, a bit taken aback, did as he was told. He watched in surprise as Joyce put her arms around Sally and kissed her firmly on the mouth.
Was Joyce a Lesbian ? He wondered. No, it couldn't be that she was a Lesbian as such. She enjoyed his kind of lovemaking too much for that. He decided it was just that Joyce liked sex; liked it any way and every way. She loved to excite people with her body, to turn them on men and women, both. Now she was turning Sally on.
The brunette was returning her kiss. Their bodies were pressed together. Their tongues began to work. Joyce's hands went down to the other girl's buttocks and caressed slowly.
Sally broke the kiss and lowered her head to Joyce's breast, kissing the nipple. Joyce smiled. One hand crept to Sally's thighs. Sally hissed through her teeth. She moved her head to Joyce's other breast, her tongue coming out to taste the smooth skin.
Joyce's caresses continued. Sally gasped, softly. Her fingers clenched on Joyce's sides. She sank slowly to her knee. Her hands pulled at Joyce's hips.
But Joyce pushed her away gently, and lowered herself to the carpet. She then maneuvered Sally until the brown-haired girl lay flat on her back, with Joyce crouching over her.
"Now you just lie there and be good," Joyce said. "I'm going to get you all warmed up for Vic."
With that, she kissed the other girl again, lowering her tongue into Sally's mouth, while her hands went to the round breasts, squeezing and stroking. Sally's eyes closed, and her legs began a slow, unconscious movement, moving slightly, repeatedly.
Vic found this spectacle, added to the thwarted lust that Joyce had aroused in him earlier, tremendously exciting. He was torn between a desire to throw himself on one or both of the nude girls, and curiosity to see how far Joyce would go.
Joyce's mouth now left Sally's and moved down over the other girl's throat. Sally was breathing rapidly. Joyce worked her way slowly down to her breasts. Her hand continued to caress one while she kissed the other, moving her mouth in little circles around the nipple. Sally shifted her body in an attempt to bring the nipple to Joyce's lips, but Joyce avoided it, teasingly. Sally groaned, and Joyce, grinning, relented and put her lips to the small, red tip. She lashed it with her tongue. Sally whimpered.
Joyce moved to the other breast, drawing it into her mouth as Sally arched. Her hands traveled over the sweet flesh of Sally's stomach, to her thighs. Her mouth followed, her tongue tracing moist patterns over the sensitive skin, dipping teasingly into Sally's navel.
Slowly, her head moved lower and lower. Sally's breath was coming unevenly, in gasps. Her head rolled.
Joyce was crouched beside Sally's legs, her hands moving over the other girl's thighs The blonde head moved, then stopped, agonizingly, just short of its ultimate goal, and rose. Sally groaned and arched her hips, digging her heels into the carpet. Joyce grinned again and lowered her head.
Sally's fingers dug into the carpet, too. Continuous moaning sounds came from her throat. Her torso writhed and twisted, breasts shaking. Joyce crouched over her on hands and knees, her blonde hair falling over Sally's hips, her breasts dangling temptingly, her buttocks swaying in the air.
Vic couldn't hold back any longer. He threw himself down beside the two naked forms. One of Sally's squirming breasts, with its rigid nipple, was in front of his eyes. He put his mouth on it.
Sally's moans got louder. Her hands came up to clutch the back of his head. He bit the nipple gently, then not so gently. She gasped with pain. He felt a strange flash of pleasure in this small cruelty. He wondered why. He didn't stop to figure it out. He moved his mouth to the other nipple and bit that one hard, too. She gave a small cry, but her moans of pleasure continued.
He chewed on her breast, gently now, for a minute longer. Then he moved to Joyce. His excitement was at the bursting point. He knelt behind her and ran his hand over her smooth back. She wiggled invitingly. He put both hands on her buttocks and positioned himself.
Joyce's head came up. Her eyes widened as see saw what he was going to do. He lunged. Joyce gasped and closed her eyes. She braced herself harder. He lunged again. Joyce whimpered, but she was game, he knew. She was game for anything
He pushed, slowly attaining his goal. Joyce's gasps had elements of pleasure now. Sally was groaning and pulling at Joyce's hair. The blonde head lowered itself again to the other girl's thighs.
Vic moved faster. He reached around to grasp Joyce's hanging breasts, squeezing them, tweaking the nipples between his fingers. The pleasure was intolerable, but it kept building. He moved harder and harder, clutching the yielding breasts in a punishing grip.
Animal sounds were coming from Joyce's buried head. Over her shoulder he could see the upper half of Sally's squirming, tossing body, her rolling head, her wild eyes. It added forcefully to his lust.
Then Sally arched tautly. Her body spasmed, breasts jerking. She drew a long, shuddering, gasping breath, and released it in a moan of completion. She pulled herself away from Joyce and rolled over on the carpet, gasping for breath, her body drawn up into a tight ball.
Joyce dropped flat on her stomach, Vic with her. Their own peak was approaching. She wriggled on her belly like an eel, her breasts scraping on the rug. Her arms and lower legs flailed at the carpet as she emitted cries of mixed pain and pleasure. Vic pounded at her viciously, his joy reaching incredible heights. Higher and higher they drove themselves until, with a simultaneous shout, they flung themselves over the sweet, sharp pinnacle of passion and slid breathlessly down the other side.
The three rested for a time in silence. Joyce was the first to speak.
"Well!" she said in mock reproach. "I go to all that trouble getting Sally warmed up for you, and look what happens. Now I suppose you have nothing left for her."
But Sally spoke up. "Don't worry," she said. "I can make him ready again."
Vic looked at her, surprised. She had certainly gotten over her shyness. Joyce had been right. But lie was depleted for now.
"I'll make it up to you," he said to Sally. "But you'll have to wait a little while."
The brown-haired girl smiled. She slid over to where Vic was lying. "I bet I won't have to wait too long," she said.
She rolled over on top of him, stretching the length of her body flat on his. Her young breasts flattened against his chest. She put her mouth close to his and traced his lips with her tongue, slowly, teasingly, around the circle of his mouth. Then she kissed him, her tongue moving tauntingly in and out. She rocked her body on his, slowly, from side to side.
Then she rolled off to lie beside him again. Her tongue found his ear and caressed it, while her fingers played lightly over his body.
Joyce was watching closely. "I think you're having an effect already," she said to Sally. "Here, I'll help you."
She slid her gorgeous body tight against Vic's other side and let her own hands play over his body. She rubbed one smooth, soft leg against his and flicked her tongue lightly over his nipple.
Then the two girls really went to work on him. Their hands were everywhere at once, stroking over his legs, his chest, his stomach, and below; teasing hands, knowing hands. And their mouths, and tongues, kissing double trails of pleasure along his body. And breasts, sliding softly against him as they moved. And legs. And long hair sweeping over his flesh.
And of course, he responded.
He would have had to be a statue not to respond as Sally lowered her breasts into his eager mouth, while Joyce, playfully taking little nips at his chest, moved her thigh high on his, slowly, up and down.
He would have had to be a corpse not to respond as Joyce moved down, sliding her breasts over his stomach to where her thigh had been, and brushed him teasingly, while Sally again put her tongue to his ear and whispered very specific and very un-shy suggestions into it
He would have had to be a mummy not to respond as Joyce's lips and tongue worked slowly along his thighs, moving upward, while Sally's did the same on his stomach, moving downward . . .
Then the girls stopped and sat up, one on either side of him. They looked at him critically.
"Well," Joyce said, "I think we've done a pretty good job." Her hand reached out and touched him. "What do you think, Sally?"
"Let me see," Sally replied. Her hand replaced Joyce's, "Oh, yes, I think so." Her other hand touched him. "A very good job, I'd say," she said, her hands moving.
"You know," Joyce said softly, "I think Vic deserves a reward for being ready again so quickly."
"What kind of reward?" Sally asked. Her hands were still moving.
"Oh, something nice," Joyce said. "Like a kiss."
"That's a great idea," Sally said. "Who's going to kiss him?"
"Why don't we both kiss him?"
"At the same time?" Sally asked.
"That's an interesting idea," Joyce said. "But we don't want to spoil him. Let's take turns."
"Okay," Sally said. "You go first." She took her hands away.
Joyce bent over. He felt the soft touch of her lips, moist, lingering. They moved on him, and an intense bolt of pleasure shot through him. Then she sat up.
"Your turn," she said to Sally.
Sally's lips lingered longer than Joyce's. He felt her tongue tease him briefly. Then she too sat up. There was a pause.
"I think he liked it," Sally said. Her voice sounded huskier.
"Let's do it again," said Joyce.
This time they didn't take turns. Two pairs of lips brushed him, two tongues tasted his tingling flesh. An involuntary sound escaped him.
"He likes it, all right," Joyce said.
Sally didn't answer. She hadn't stopped kissing him. Her mouth was moving over him, and her hands were back too.
"Well," Joyce said. "Aren't you the greedy one! I'll just have to find my own territory."
Her mouth went on a slow search across Vic's stomach and up over his chest, kissing, licking, biting; while Sally continued to use her mouth, tongue and hands to send the fire in his veins higher and higher. Then Sally's hands fell away to clutch his hips, and he felt her mouth close over him. He twisted on the carpet.
A moment later, Joyce's mouth came down on his, her head moving from side to side. Her tongue filled his mouth, thrusting deeply.
The sensation was unbelievable. The two talented pairs of lips drove him nearly crazy. He felt Joyce's tongue moving in his mouth at the same time that he felt Sally teasing his sensitive flesh. His passion bounded. He thought he would burst with it.
One of his hands caressed Joyce's breast, which lay against his chest; the other tangled in Sally's brown hair as she moved. His tongue, battling with Joyce's, now pushed its way into her mouth, stroking in a rhythm that matched Sally's maddening movements.
Those movements accelerated. Vic groaned. He tightened his hand on Joyce's breast. Her soft lips seemed to melt on his mouth, around his tongue. The incredible pleasure went on and on.
Sally moved faster, her sweet mouth bringing him to the absolute limits of passion. He wanted to tell her to stop before it was too late, but Joyce's mouth on his kept him from speaking. Besides, he didn't really want her to stop. He wanted her never to stop.
She didn't stop.
And then he felt himself drawn once again into the irrevocable vortex of his passion. His breathing was hoarse against Joyce's mouth. His body twisted. Sally kept on. Higher and higher she brought him, to a fantastic intensity he felt he had never known before. Higher, and incredibly higher, coaxing him on till he thought he must go mad under her ministrations.
Until finally, with a loud groan, the world split apart. He was tossed wildly about by the violence of the explosion; then floated numbly into the sweet stillness of its center.
They rested again, three nude figures stretched laconically on the gray carpet. After a while, Joyce suddenly jumped up, announcing that she was hungry. She went into the kitchen and came back with a large platter of cold chicken and three cans of beer. They ate ravenously, sitting on the floor.
They were almost finished when Vic suddenly remembered Joyce's news of that morning. "Listen Joyce," he said. "What are we going to do about this Millard business?"
She shrugged. "I don't guess there's much we can do. We'll just have to wait and see if they catch on to anything."
"But we could both get fired," Vic said. "Or even go to jail."
"No, they wouldn't bother to put us in jail for our measly part in the thing," Joyce said. "We might get fired, sure. But there's no sense getting worked up about it. I mean, we can't change the books or anything, right? We just have to wait and see."
"If they do find something wrong, how will they know you had any part in it?" asked Sally, who had evidently been informed of the situation.
"Well, that's another thing," said Joyce. "They can figure it out if they want to if they dig into it and get hold of the orders. They know Vic puts all the prices on, and they'll see my initials on all of them as the typist. It won't be hard for them to figure how it was done. But they might not do that. If they find something wrong with the records, they might just think Millard was doing it on his own, and not worry about whether he had help."
"I wish there was something we could do," Vic said.
"There's another thing, too," Joyce went on. "How do we know the new bookkeeper won't want to go along with the same deal? I mean, Millard made a lot of extra profit out of it. If the new guy is smart, he'll keep quiet about what he finds if he finds anything and take over where Millard left off."
"But he'd have to know which are the right stores and"
"Sure, but we'd fill him in on all that stuff. Look, here's what'll happen. If the guy finds something wrong, he's either going to take it to somebody higher up or look into it himself, right? Okay, if he takes it to somebody else, we're dead. If he digs into it, finds out about us, and then takes it to somebody else, we're also dead. But if he finds out about us and calls us on the carpet himself, it might mean he wants to get in on the deal himself."
"Or it might not"
"Or it might not. If it does, fine. If not, if he's just looking into things before having us fired, then maybe we can talk him into it." She smiled. "If the money doesn't get hkn, I'll bet I can persuade him. The way I persuaded you."
He shook his head at her. "Is there anything you won't use your body for, Joyce?" he asked.
She grinned at him. "Why shouldn't I?" she said. "It usually works. And it's the best thing I've got. She stood up and stretched, then posed provocatively. "Not so bad, is it?" she asked. Swaying, she ran her hands slowly over her breasts, down her stomach and along her thighs.
It was not bad at all.
"Hey," Sally spoke up. "Don't go seducing Vic now. He still owes me something." She lay down on her back and stretched out, legs askew, arms thrown carelessly over her head.
"Come on, honey," she said. "Play with me a little."
He was still feeling satisfied, but the rest and food, plus the two naked young bodies, generated a new spark of interest inside him. So he played with her.
He played with her soft, round breasts, rubbing them and squeezing them and poking at the nipples, rolling them on her chest and bouncing them and crushing them together, tasting them with his tongue and gnawing them lightly with his teeth.
And he played with her legs, running his hands over the sweet length of them, testing the softness of her thighs and the finely muscled curves of her calves, running his tongue along the sensitive inner surfaces of her upper legs, enjoying the involuntary spasms this caused, the twitch of her thighs beneath his fingers.
And he played with her at her most sensitive places, caressing and petting, so that she squirmed against his hand and panted through her open mouth.
And by this time, the spark of interest had become a flame, and he went to her. She accepted him eagerly as he found her and their bodies joined. She whimpered with pleasure. Her arms went around him.
Because of all that had gone before, it was sweet and slow. Her body rippled gently under his.
Joyce sat down by them, eager to join in the fun. Vic felt her hand stroking his back, moving down to his buttocks, caressing. It was a strange sensation, but very pleasant. Then she leaned over and ran her tongue slowly along Sally's leg, curled by Vic's side. This made Sally moan and clasp her legs harder.
But Joyce soon tired of this kind of play. She moved around Vic and Sally, then lay down on her back with her feet toward their heads. Then, moving her legs, she slid her body forward, one leg on either side of them. She kept moving, until finally her body touched Sally's head. She lifted her hips and moved a little further between the two of them.
Vic kissed her. Sally kissed her. She screamed.. .
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The rumble took place Sunday at midnight.
The lots off Pitt Street were in neutral territory, a few blocks away from the dividing line between Blazer and Satan turf. The empty lots had once held crowded, rat-infested tenement buildings, long since torn down. The area was still a slum, but no longer residential. K was an area of broken-down factories and sleazy secondhand stores. Eventually they too would be torn down, in the never-ending process of destruction and creation that is New York City; and the displaced and bewildered old Italians and Jews and not-so-old Puerto Ricans who owned them and worked in them would have to find somewhere else to forage for their meager living.
This type of rumble, which had been set up in advance between the two gangs, was of a different character from the kind in which one gang invaded the other's turf without warning. This was a grudge fight and a test of strength, an all-out contest to determine which gang was the toughest. The winners would gain the reputation of being the top gang in the neighborhood, holding the ascendancy until such time as they were challenged again.
The Blazers and the Satans were both out in force, and the two sides, having been worked up to this moment for days, attached each other immediately. The battle began with fist-fighting and wild wrestling among the two groups. This was the usual pattern. As the righting got more intense and emotions pitched higher, various weapons would come into play; and ultimately the switchblades and other lethal tools would make their appearance.
Vic didn't join in the first mass attack. His one consuming purpose was to find Jackson, but he couldn't immediately locate him among the mass of flailing bodies. As he was looking, something rushed at him, and he went down under the impact. One of the Satans was on top of him, pummeling him.
He heaved up and rolled over, trying to get to his feet, but the other youth grabbed him and pulled him down again. They scrambled together in the dirt. The Satan rolled onto his back for an instant, and in that moment Vic drove his fist as hard as he could into the other's stomach. The youth doubled up, gasping, and rolled away. Vic got to his feet, panting.
He still didn't see Jackson. He made his way carefully around the brawling, shouting mob. The lot was illuminated very dimly by the nearest street lamp, halfway down the block.
Then he noticed Buzz, a short distance away, trying to fight off two Satans at once. Vic stepped forward, grabbed one of the youths from behind and swum; him around. With a start he recognized the one called Chug.
Rage exploded in him. He lashed out at Chug's face, and felt something snap beneath his fist. Chug stumbled back, blood coming from his mouth. Vic hit him again and again, blind with the sudden release of his fury. Chug fell in a heap on the ground, twitching.
Buzz had meanwhile disposed of the other Satan. "Thanks, buddy," he panted.
"Where's Jackson?" Vic shouted.
Buzz shrugged, and threw himself back into the fight.
Vic searched anxiously among the battling youths. Could it be that Jackson wasn't there? No, that was impossible. As president of the Satans, he would have to be with the gang. Well, then where the hell was he?
Then he spotted him. He was some distance away, a huge, menacing figure, battling ferociously and with obvious enjoyment with any Blazer who happened to get near him. Vic started toward him. A Satan got in his way, but he merely pushed him roughly aside and kept going.
Jackson, momentarily free of opponents, turned and saw him coming. The wolfish grin spread slowly over his face. He stood and waited as Vic approached. His hand went to his pocket.
Vic felt for his own knife. He was tense. His heart pounded. This was the one moment he had waited for ever since that night in the Satans' clubhouse. His eyes blazed. He stepped forward slowly.
Then he heard a siren.
Suddenly there was silence on the lot. The fighting stopped. It was as though this had been a movie on a giant screen, and the projector had suddenly been halted. All sound, all movement was cut off. The gang members froze, listening intently.
The siren got louder.
"It's the fuzz!" somebody yelled.
"It can't be!"
"The hell it can't! Let's beat it!" Silence again. The siren was unmistakably nearer now. It was joined by another one. "Let's get outa here!"
They ran, scattering in all directions. Jackson hesitated, but the sirens were getting closer. "Next time, Hadley," he yelled, and then he too turned and ran.
Vic cursed loudly and took a step after him, but something was pulling at his arm. It was Buzz. "Come on, man, you wanna get picked up? Get the hell outa here!"
The sirens were almost upon them. He fled, still cursing.
He ran until he was out of the immediate area, then slowed to a walk, panting heavily. The cops would probably be combing the neighborhood, but he didn't want to go home. He headed uptown, moving through side streets and alleys as much as possible.
When he got above Fourteenth Street, he felt safe. There, in the eyes of the cops, the Lower East Side ended and respectability began.
He paused in the doorway of a building to get his breath. He was furious. His chance at Jackson had been snatched from his hands at the last moment. When would he get another? Frustration and rage pounded in his head. He hit his fist against the side of the building again and again, till he drew blood.
He felt the hard, icy ball in his stomach expand to the bursting point, threatening to blow him open. He had to do something, to hit out at something besides a brick wall. He needed a release for the savage bitterness and frustration that gripped him.
He thought of Leona. He remembered how she always used to wait for him after a fight, how she would be ready for him, knowing he'd want her. But that was different, that healthy feeling of lust.
Still, a woman might help him now. A woman could provide a kind of relief, a partial outlet for his thwarted desires. But it wasn't safe to go back to Leona's now. Joyce was over in Brooklyn. . .
Then he remembered Arlene.
Arlene, the unruffled, imperturbable young woman with the silken-steel body. Arlene, who had calmly propositioned him, calmly instructed him how to make love to her, and calmly dismissed him. Who got her kicks so efficiently, so mechanically. Whose maddening composure he had promised himself he would one day penetrate.
His mouth set in a grim line, he headed uptown again.
A clock in the lobby of Arlene's apartment building told him it was after one. Arlene might be asleep. Well, if so, she'd wake up.
But there was a light under her apartment door. He knocked.
"Who is it?" Arlene's voice called.
"It's me, Vic."
There was a pause, then Arlene opened the door. "Why, Vic," she said. "This is certainly a surprise." She stood aside for him to enter.
She had evidently been just about to go to bed. The sofa-bed was open, and she was in pajamas. She was wearing her glasses. He wondered for an instant if she slept in them.
Her eyes widened a little as she took in his appearance. "Why, what's happened to you?" she asked him. "Have you been in a fight?"
"Yeah," he said curtly Then he gestured at her pajamas. "Take those off."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Really?" she said. She sat down on the bed calmly, crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. "That's a bit blunt, isn't it? I mean, you might ask me first."
He started to unbutton his shirt. She watched without expression as he pulled it off and dropped it. He kicked off his shoes "Take them off." he said, "or I'll rip them off."
She made no move. He unbuckled his trousers and pulled them off. The socks came off with them. He tugged his undershirt over his head.
"This behavior is mystifying," Arlene said. "If you want to go to bed with me, Vic, as you obviously do, I really have no objection, you know. But I don't appreciate the cave-man tactics."
He opened his shorts and let them fall. He stepped over to where she was sitting, took the cigarette out of her hand, and stubbed it out in an ash tray. Then he caught her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. He put his hand to the neck of the pajama shirt, and tugged. Buttons flew. The shirt came open. Her breasts bobbed.
She slapped him.
He slapped her back.
She didn't flinch. For a second her eyes widened in surprise; then she smiled a small, amused smile.
"Oh, well," she said. "If you put it that way. I guess you 're stronger than I am." She shrugged the shirt the rest of the way off, then pulled the string of the pajama trousers at her waist. They fell to the floor.
She stood for a moment under his gaze, then sat down again and lay back on the bed. "But you can't rape me, you know," she said, "because I'm willing."
He stood over her for a moment, looking down at her lovely body. The high, tight breasts, the flat stomach, the supple hips, the slim legs. In spite of all his activity with Joyce and Sally only the day before, lust was strong in him now. But the desire to somehow defeat this woman, to break through her self-satisfied shell, was even stronger.
He sat down beside her and put his hands on her breasts.
"Kiss me first," she said.
"Shut up."
He squeezed the breasts gently. Then he removed his hand from her right breast and concentrated on the left one. He stroked it very gently with the tips of his fingers, moving them in slow little circles over the upper slope of the breast, brushing briefly over the nipple, playing along the soft sides and lightly stroking the delicate undersurface; then moving to the nipple again, playing softly around the small aureole, feeling the little knob grow taut. He rubbed it very lightly with his palm, as his fingers continued to stroke the surrounding softness of the breast.
"The other one too," Arlene said.
"Shut up, I said," Vic muttered. "We'll do this my way."
She sighed resignedly, and let him do what he wanted.
Only when the nipple was diamond-hard and stood rigid, a small brown spike, did he move to the other breast. There he repeated his manipulations, achieving the same result.
Then he put a hand on each breast again and began to caress both of the firm mounds, moving his hands on them now lightly, now with increased pressure, fingers kneading the flesh. He pressed and squeezed, he stimulated, he pinched the nipples lightly-
He kept this up for some time. Finally Arlene's breathing became rapid. His pulse jumped. The beginning!
He removed his hand from one breast and leaned down to stroke his tongue over the sensitized nipple. She caught her breath softly. He bathed the breast with his tongue, moving it over and around and under. He kissed the nipple, caressed it with his lips. Then he kissed his way across the valley between her breasts. Her breathing had become audible now.
At the other breast he bit the nipple gently. Holding it between his teeth, he lashed it with his tongue. Arlene hissed. Her hands came up to his head, holding it to her breast. He compressed the breast with his hands and pushed as much of it as he could into his mouth, tasting it, scraping the underside gently with his teeth. Arlene gasped loudly.
He straightened up again, and ran his hands lightly down over the flawless skin of her flat stomach.
He caressed her silken hips. Arlene's knees came up, but he ignored this. His hands went up to explore her belly again, rubbing more roughly this time, so that the taut flesh mounded and hollowed under his hands.
"All right, now," Arlene said.
Though she was breathing heavily, she had kept her voice under control; but Vic thought he detected a slight tremor in the words. He ignored them.
His mouth followed the paths his hands had taken on her stomach, while at the same time the hands stroked at her hips and the tops of her legs. Arlene moaned softly. This was music to Vic.
His hands moved to her thighs, sliding over the slim, supple legs, moving down over her calves, and up again over the smooth inner thighs; up, teasingly high, but not too high, back down, then slowly up again, stroking, caressing; higher, higher than before, but still not quite high enough; and back down.
She moaned louder. Her hips moved restlessly. "Now. Vic," she said again.
His hands continued. Down again past the knees, over the sweet curving calves, back up with agonizing slowness, inching higher, higher and down again.
Arlene was squirming now. "Vic," she moaned. Her voice was no longer steady. Her legs moved under his hands.
This time his hands didn't stop. Arlene gasped sharply. He caressed and petted her. He watched her face. It was not calm now. Her mouth was contorted. He continued what he was doing. This was how he had wanted to see her, her control gone, head thrown back mindlessly, hips writhing with need, breasts heaving. But it was still not enough.
He removed his hands. She groaned and arched her slim body, pulling at him. "Now, Vic, now, please!"
His own breath was becoming rapid, his passion soaring. But he held himself back. "Not yet," he said. "You're not ready enough yet."
He turned her over onto her stomach. He caressed her smooth back, the neat ridge of her spine. He bent and moved his lips softly over the back of her neck, just under the line of the short, dark hair. She shivered.
He put his hands on her firm buttocks and kneaded them roughly. She moaned, and shoved her hips hard against the bed. The hands moved to the backs of her legs, still kneading. Then he bent and placed his lips to the hollow at the base of her spine. He tasted the small depression with his tongue.
He moved the tongue caressingly over the smoothness of her lower back, and then down over her buttocks. Her moans increased in volume as he continued, moving from one rounded hemisphere to the other. Her hips writhed from side to side against the bed. Her lower legs came up to wave abandonedly in the air.
He straightened up. She rolled herself over onto her back again. Her face was flushed, her eyes were becoming glazed. Her body rocked back and forth. She grabbed for him.
"Now!" she gasped. "Please. Love me now!"
His Wood sang. He bad gotten to her! "Not yet," he said.
She gave an anguished moan and clutched at him again, but he avoided her. Once again, his hands and mouth made a tour of her squirming body: the breasts, the stomach, the hips, the legs. This time his mouth moved over her legs and lingered, kissing, tasting. He moved to the inner slope of one white thigh and, as his hands had done earlier, worked slowly upward; but instead of traveling down again, he skipped to the other thigh, kissing his way along the quivering warmth.
Arlene's hips were off the bed, straining. Her moans changed in tone, became hoarser, deeper, interspersed with rasping gasps. Her bands clutched at the sheets. She began to quiver. The moans were faster, building. Then he stopped.
He stood up beside the bed and looked down at her. He drank in the sight of her disheveled head, her gasping, moaning mouth, her quivering breasts and tossing hips.
"Arlene," he panted, "I wish Mr. Panzer could see you now!"
He didn't know if she heard him. "Vic," she moaned. "Please. Please, Vic." Her hand reached out, found him, held him.
"You want me?" he asked her.
"Oh, God!" She pulled at him, but he held her wrist.
"Ask me nice," he said.
"Oh please, please Vic, please!"
"Please what?"
"Love me!" she yelled. "Vic, please, I'll go crazy! Love me, love me now!"
"Okay," he said. "Just one thing first."
She groaned piteously.
"Take off the glasses," he said.
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide, almost fearful. distinctively, her head moved negatively.
"Take them off," he said, "or I'll leave right now."
She gave a little whimper, then reached slowly for the glasses and pulled them off.
He stretched out his hand. "Give them to me."
She did so. Somehow not only her face, but even her body looked more naked without them.
He took a swift step to where he had left his clothes, and slipped his bare right foot into his shoe. He dropped the glasses to the floor. Deliberately, watching her, he raised his shod foot and brought it down hard. The glass splintered. Arlene gave a stricken cry, like a wounded animal, and sank back on the bed.
Vic joined her. "Now," he said. "Now, Arlene."
They went together. She let out a small scream. Her arms wrapped around him, dug into him. She moved frantically.
He forced himself to go slowly at first. Arlene whimpered and tried to speed the tempo, bucking her hips desperately; but he continued to impose his slow, steady rhythm on her.
She flailed at him with her arms. "Faster, damn you, faster," she cried. But he caught her wrists and held them down as he continued to move.
She squirmed and heaved under him. The smoothly-running machine that was her body had gone out of control. Her breasts rolled against his chest, her legs slid along him, her hips heaved but remained forcibly subservient to his.
Only when he was satisfied that he had shown her who was in control, did he gradually speed up his rhythm. Breathy whimpers came from her throat. Her teeth caught at her lower lip. Her head moved slowly from side to side.
He went faster now, and still faster. Her body strained, arching. Her whimpers mounted to a crescendo. His movements brought her closer and closer, up to the brink of ultimate delight.
And then he stopped.
He stopped moving completely. His hands went down to her hips and held them still.
She gave out a loud, almost inhuman shriek. Furiously, she tried to move against his hands, but she couldn't budge.
Her body twitched uncontrollably. Her head rolled weakly. She began to plead with him and curse him simultaneously.
He stayed motionless, watching and listening. This was his final triumph. He was exacting his revenge.
And a substitute for the revenge he wanted more.
The pleas and the curses went on.
"Beg me," he said. "Beg me for it."
"Oh please, please, please, I'm begging, what do I have to do?" She burst into sobs.
He released her hips then and began to move again. She started to whimper again, still sobbing. In a minute, he had brought her back to the brink, and this time sent her gloriously over, with a heaving, arching convulsion of her body that almost knocked him off her.
But he continued to move; and soon she was caught up again in the sweet madness, panting and jerking and digging her heels into the mattress, until, with a shrill cry, she found another crescendo of bliss.
Still Vic was not finished. He felt invincible. He felt as though he could go on forever. And on he went, bringing Arlene to another screaming peak, and another after that, until she was making babbling, incoherent sounds and begging him to stop.
But by then he couldn't stop. His own finish was imminent. He drove on, pounding Arlene into the bed. She was sobbing again, amid loud cries of mixed pain and pleasure. As he felt the end approaching, he lifted Arlene's slender legs and bent them slowly back. As he continued to lunge at her, he bent them back until her hips were lifted from the bed, until he could support the backs of her calves with his shoulders. Each time he moved, her legs were forced back over her head. Arlene shrieked. He lunged again and again. Then, with a searing, blinding flash, it was over.
He lay for a long time, recovering his strength, and trying not to think. Finally, he got up and dressed slowly. It would be safe for him to go home now.
He thought probably he should say something to the sobbing, dark-haired girl crumpled on the bed. But he couldn't think of anything to say. He stepped carefully over the broken glasses on the floor, and went out
CHAPTER TWELVE
He dragged himself to work the next morning.
The office buzzed with the news of Millard's death. There was much speculation as to who would take his place. The choice unless they hired a new man from outside seemed to He between two of the men in the accounting department. Vic hoped it would be someone new. An outsider, less familiar with the Funstan price lists and other data, might be less likely to discover anything.
Arlene was not in. Poor Mr. Panzer would have a bad day.
Vic forced himself to concentrate on his work. He no longer felt much interest in it. There was a numbness in him, cutting him off from everything but his need for revenge. The day dragged by.
That night, he went around to the clubhouse. The Blazers were irritable and chafing over the abortive rumble.
"Talk about lousy breaks!" one of them was saying as Vic came in. "Hell, we didn't even get started. The whole thing was a waste of "
"What I want to know," another one interrupted, "is how the hell the cops knew about it."
"Ah, some nosy fink probably saw us and called them," Frankie said.
"I'd like to get my hands on the dirty fink!"
"Yeah? What would you do with him, Harry?" Frankie asked jeeringly. "Slap his wrists for him?"
Harry flushed. "You wanna find out?" he asked angrily. He stood up.
"Knock it off, knock it off!" It was Buzz. "What say, Vic?"
Vic nodded and sank into a chair. He was tired. The tiredness added to the feeling of numbness inside him. He felt almost as though he were in a void, aware of his being only through that throbbing ball in his stomach. He was hardly himself any longer, he realized dimly. He was becoming a hollow kind of creature, manipulated and controlled by the bitterness that gripped him and drove him on.
"That was a tough break for you, losing Jackson that way," Buzz said.
"Yeah."
"What're we gonna do, Buzz, set up another rumble?" a youth called Steve asked.
"Yeah, after a while, I guess," Buzz replied.
Vic sat forward. "Why not right away?"
"Man, things are getting rough. The fuzz is really cracking down. Best to hold off for a while," Buzz said.
Vic's mouth tightened. "I'm not waiting," he said.
"Take it easy, Vic. You'll get him. We'll pulverize those guys next time. We just gotta let things cool off for a while, is all."
"Then I'll go after him myself," Vic said grimly.
"Oh, man, you crazy? You go in there alone, you'll get cut to ribbons."
"Even if you got to Jackson, you'd be in trouble,"
Harry said. "That guy is a mean man with a knife."
"I took him once before," Vic replied.
"That don't mean you'd be lucky again," Frankie put in.
Benny Perletti spoke up. "I heard just last week he cut up some poor guy that tried to get rough with his sister."
"I wouldn't want to go up against him, that's for sure," Steve chimed in.
Vic's eyes had narrowed. "I didn't know Jackson had a sister," he said slowly.
"Sure," Benny said. "He's got two sisters, but one of 'em's married. But the other one'll probably never get married as long as he's around. Any guy even goes near her is liable to get his head knocked off."
"Where'd you hear all this?" Vic asked him. "My cousin, she lives over there. She knows them."
"Yeah, I seen his sister once," Harry put in. "She's only about fifteen-sixteen, but man, she's a luscious little thing!"
"Well now," Vic said softly. This was something he hadn't thought of. He had been dense, he thought. Though he hadn't known about the sister, the possibility of getting back at Jackson through his own girl should have occurred to him. But this was even better.
"Buzz," he said, "that's the answer. It's beautiful!"
"What're you talking about?" Buzz asked.
"The sister, of course. We put the snatch on her and bring her here. Then " his voice hardened "we give her what they gave Debbie."
"You gotta be kidding," Buzz said flatly. "Like hell!"
"Oh, come on, Vic. You wanna get Jackson, sure; that's one thing. But his kid sister's another story."
"What are you so worried about all of a sudden? You didn't have any objections when we lined up on the Reynolds chick that time."
"Oh, man, that was different. She was a pig. Besides, she deserved it. But this kid hasn't done anything to you."
"My girl hadn't done anything to Jackson, either," Vic said angrily.
"Sure, I know, but hell, Vic "
"But nothing," he interrupted. "I told you what they did to Debbie. How would you like it if they did it to your girl?" He felt himself starting to tremble, but he controlled it. "How would you like to watch them make her take her clothes off, and force her to do everything they can think of, and burn her with cigarettes "
"Okay, sure," said Buzz. "I'd like to cut up the guy myself. All of 'em, in fact. But how's it gonna help if you do the same thing to his sister?"
"I want him to feel like I felt," Vic said. "He's so mad about her, I want him to know that she got what Debbie got, and more. I want to send her back to him after she's been worked over by every guy in the gang. That's the way to pay him back. That's why I joined the Blazers again, Buzz, to pay him back. And I'm gonna do it!"
Buzz shook his head. "No," he said. "It's no good, Vic. We're not gonna do it."
"I say we are!"
Buzz looked at him levelly. "I'm still Prez of the Blazers, Vic," he said.
Vic returned his gaze for a moment. "Well, maybe that should be changed," he said finally.
Buzz' face tightened. He rose slowly to his feet. Vic stood up also. There was dead silence in the room.
"You wanna challenge me, Vic?" Buzz asked in an even voice.
Vic shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "I don't want to challenge you, Buzz, not unless I have to. Hell, I'm not interested in being; Prez of the Blazers or anything else. All I'm interested in is giving Jackson what's coming to him. And this is the way to do it. I'm damn well going to go through with it, and if I have to fight you to do it, then I will."
The two youths stood tensely, regarding each other. Vic knew that if Buzz decided to fight him, he was in trouble. Buzz was faster and better with a knife than he was. But nothing was going to stand in his way.
For long moments, they looked at each other. No one in the room made a move or a sound.
Then Buzz, with an impatient gesture, turned away. "Nuts," he said. "I'm not gonna fight with you, Vic. The hell with that. But I don't want any part in this. I don't want anything to do with it. If you can get the guys to go along with you, okay. That's up to them. If they got any sense, they'll stay out, too."
Then he turned aggressively to face the other Blazers. "Okay," he said loudly, "any of you guys wanna call me chicken for not fighting with Vic, do it now."
Nobody did. After a moment he turned and walked out.
"Well, you all heard it," Vic said. "Now I want to know who's with me."
Most of them weren't. Though few of them had any qualms about participating in a mass rape, the facts that this was Jackson's sister and that Buzz was against it made them cautious. But a small group of about half a dozen, including Harry, Benny and Steve, agreed to go along with him. Surprisingly, Frankie also volunteered. Vic thought this strange, but put it down to the fact that this was the kind of project Frankie would undoubtedly enjoy.
"Okay," he said. "That'll be enough. That'll do fine."
"How're we gonna grab her, Vic?" Harry asked.
"Well, I don't know; we'll have to find out when she'll be alone."
"We can't snatch her outa her place," Benny said. "My cousin says her old man's always up there, usually drunk."
"She must go out sometimes," Vic said. "She goes to school."
"That's no good. We couldn't even get into Satan territory in the daytime, let alone pull a snatch."
"Benny," Vic said, "your cousin knows them pretty well, right? Can you find out from her about whether she goes out at night and stuff like that?"
"I can try," Benny said. "I'll have to be sneaky about it, though."
"Well, try," Vic said. "Maybe we'll have to think of something else, but if we can just find her alone on the street some night, we got it made!"
Arlene was back at work the next day, but she avoided him, and he made no effort to speak to her.
The day after that, the appointment of a new head bookkeeper was announced. It was one of the candidates from the accounting department, a man named Bryson, who had been with the company for many years.
Vic waited.
A few days later, Benny reported.
"I talked to my cousin on the phone," he said, "and I got her talkin' about the Jacksons you know, casual-like. It seems the chick don't go out much. But on Thursday nights, Jan says, she gets together with a bunch of her friends at this one girl's house. Sorta like a club. It's just girls, so she must go alone, bub?"
"Maybe, maybe not."
"Well anyway, I know where the house is."
"Okay," Vic said. "Next Thursday well sneak in there in Harry's car and see what the deal is. If we get a chance, we'll pull it off then. Get some ropes and staff."
"Right."
What Vic had been fearing came with startling suddenness early the next week. He had just returned from lunch when he got a call on the inter-office phone. When he hung up, he was pale.
He went over to Joyce's desk. "Bryson just called," he told her. "He wants to see you and me in his office. Right away."
She looked up at him. 'Both of us? Together?"
Vic nodded.
She moistened her lips. " Is anybody else up there?"
"He didn't say."
Joyce stood up slowly, took a deep breath, and smoothed her blouse and skirt. "Well, here goes."
They went upstairs together.
Bryson was alone in his office. He was a thin, rather tight-lipped man of middle age, with graying hair and steel-rimmed glasses. At present, his face wore a serious expression. He asked them to sit down.
"As you know," he began, "I have just recently assumed this position, due to the tragic death of Mr. Millard. Now, in going over the records in order to familiarize myself with the workings of this office, I have come upon what seem to be some rather curious discrepancies. Discrepancies which upon closer inspection assumed a certain pattern."
He paused.
"It was a pattern which was unmistakably deliberate," he went on after a moment. "I was forced to the conclusion that Mr. Millard had not only known of these discrepancies, but had indeed created them for his own purposes."
He did not look at them as he spoke. His eyes stayed on his desk.
"Being reluctant to make such accusations against a dead man without being completely sure of my ground, I followed these conclusions up further, obtaining other records I thought might be pertinent. I don't think I need go into detail. The point is that the evidence indicates that you two, taking advantage of your respective positions, were involved in this matter. Before proceeding further with such serious charges, I thought it best to confront you directly."
He looked up at them now. "I take it that you do not wish to deny your complicity," he said. "In that case, would you care to enlighten me further?"
Vic felt worn. He had them. They were as good as fired, if not worse. Bryson didn't seem like the cooperative type.
As Vic kept silent, Joyce outlined the details of their arrangement with Millard. They had nothing to lose now, and evidently she still hoped that Bryson would go along with the scheme.
"I see," he said when she had finished. "That tallies substantially with my conclusions." He paused. "I will, of course, have to report this to Mr. Panzer and Mr. Keith. The matter will be in their hands."
Joyce glanced at Vic, but he remained silent. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Bryson," she said, "why don't you just sort of go along with things as they are? I mean, everything is all set up for you. Mr. Millard made a lot of extra -"
She stopped. Bryson was shaking his head.
"My dear young woman," he said to her, "I may or may not be as good a bookkeeper as Mr. Millard was but I am, I flatter myself, a much more honest man." He looked at her, then at Vic. "That will be all," he said.
"Wait," Joyce said. She stood up, taking a deep breath.
Here we go, Vic thought.
Joyce smiled. She stood with her feet slightly apart, in that provocative manner she had, her shoulders thrown back, her woolen blouse drawn tightly against the bursting mounds of her breasts, her hips swaying slightly.
"I'll bet you and I could make a deal," she said.
"I have just said, Miss Lawson, that I-"
"Oh, I don't just mean money," she said. "There are other things besides money." Her hand went to the top button on her blouse, played with it. "You and I could become very close friends," she said.
For the first time, Bryson seemed a little unsure of himself. He moistened his lips. "I really don't think -" he began.
Joyce took a step forward, and opened the top button. "Oh, we could be such good friends," she said. "I could come up here and visit you in your office."
Her hand went to the second button. She opened it, taking another step forward. "It's got a lovely lock on the door. We could do such nice things together."
Another step, another button.
Bryson swallowed hard. "Miss Lawson -"
"And you wouldn't even have to go on with Millard's deal if you don't want to," she said. "Just forget about it. And about Vic and me. That's all. And I would be so grateful."
She undid the fourth button, taking another step. Creamy white skin and a band of black material were revealed by the nearly opfti blouse. Bryson's eyes were on it. He cleared his throat.
"Miss Lawson," he said, "please leave this office at once."
She took another step. Now she was standing beside his desk. Simultaneously she opened the last button. "Don't you like me?" she asked softly. She shrugged, and the blouse fell to the floor.
Bryson swallowed again. He tried vainly to drag his eyes away from the large, firm breasts encased in the black bra, moving slowly with her breathing.
"You do want me to be grateful, don't you?" Joyce continued. "You just have no idea how grateful I can be. More than you can even imagine."
He cleared his throat. "This is preposterous," he said. "I really must insist-"
Joyce took a step nearer to him, around the desk. Her hands went slowly behind her back and reached up to fumble with the clasp of her bra. Her back arched. This caused her breasts to thrust out dramatically, almost in Bryson's face. She held the pose for several moments, pretending to have trouble with the catch.
Bryson bit his lip. He seemed to be breathing more rapidly. Perhaps Joyce was going to win the day after all, Vic thought.
"Oh, dear," Joyce said. "I'm having trouble with this." She turned around, presenting her back to Bryson. "Would you help me take it off, please?"
With a convulsive movement, Bryson pushed his chair back, away from her. It made a scraping sound on the floor.
"No?" she said, sounding disappointed. "Well, maybe I can oh, yes. There it is." She opened the clasp and, with her back still turned to him, drew the bra off.
"Miss Lawson," Bryson said, huskily. He was having difficulty getting the words out. "Either leave this office immediately, or "
"Or what?" Joyce asked sweetly. She turned around slowly to face him, her naked breasts swaying gently.
Bryson's face flushed. His hands clenched on the arms of his chair, as though they were holding him in it.
Joyce smiled. "You don't really want me to go, do you?" she said. "I'm sure you'd like to play a few games with me."
She hitched herself up onto the desk and lay down across it on her back, her arms over her head. Vic was reminded of the way she had posed for him in the chair in this same office. She brought one foot up, resting it on the desk, letting her skirt fall back over her bent leg.
"I'm all yours," she said to Bryson. "Any way you want, any time you want me."
Bryson endeavored to calm himself. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat several times. "Miss Lawson," he said finally, his voice still husky, "your behavior is disgraceful. I have never "
"Oh, yes," Joyce said. "It is disgraceful. I'm a very bad girl." She lowered her foot and turned carefully over onto her stomach. She was bent provocatively over the desk now, her feet on the floor. "Want to spank me?" she said.
She reached down and tugged at the back of her skirt, pulling it all the way up and tucking it under her at her waist. Then she pushed her thin panties slowly down over the round, inviting buttocks. She shifted the exposed and jutting rear sensually.
"Go ahead," she said. "Spank me. Show me what a bad girl I am. You can, if you want. You can do anything you want with me."
Bryson made another convulsive movement, this time toward the telephone on the far side of his desk. He lifted the receiver.
Joyce reached out quickly and put her finger on the phone button to break the connection. As she did this, she shifted to her side, and accidentally or purposely, Vic didn't know one large breast made contact with Bryson's mouth.
He leaped up as if he'd had an electric shock. "This is intolerable," he choked. "Intolerable!" He moved around his desk and headed for the door. When he reached it he paused, turned, and drew himself up. He was trembling slightly.
"Provided you are out of this office within three minutes," he said, "I will not bother to include this this outrageousness in my report to Mr. Panzer and Mr. Keith. I shall, of course, still report on the other matter. I suggest you go back to your desks and await their decision." He left, banging the door.
Joyce got off the desk and straightened up. In spite of everything, Vic had to smile at the expression of amazement on her face. For once, her body had failed her.
"Why, that dirty old man!" she said, furiously, reaching for her brassiere. "He must be an oddball, or something!"
"I'd hardly say that, considering the effect you were having on him," Vic replied. "Still, he certainly did resist, didn't he?"
Joyce got into her blouse without replying.
"I guess that's what I should have done," Vic said.
He went back to his desk and tried vainly to work. He didn't have to wait long for the results of Bryson's report. About an hour later, he was called to Mr. Keith's office.
"I don't think I have to tell you why you are here," Keith said to him.
He didn't reply.
"I also assume that I don't have to tell you that we are shocked and distressed by the things Mr. Bryson has told us. I understand you do not deny his allegations."
"No, sir."
"I don't suppose there's any point in lecturing you on the seriousness of what you have done," Keith went on. "I hope you realize it. If not, I don't suppose anything I say will remedy that. But we had certainly hoped for better things from you, Hadley." He paused.
"Considering your youth, and the fact that Mr. Millard seems to have been mainly responsible for this fraud, we have decided not to prefer criminal charges. You are, of course, discharged. That's all."
Vic rose. "You may leave immediately," Keith added. "And send Miss Lawson up to see me, please."
Vic left. Downstairs, he went to the cloakroom for his jacket, then stopped at Joyce's desk.
"Your turn," he told her. "Keith wants to see you. Don't worry, though," he added sardonically. "You'll be able to make a deal with him. But you better tell him to turn his intercom off this time."
Ignoring her puzzled stare, he turned and walked out of the office.
At a few minutes before eleven the following Thursday night, Vic, Steve and Benny were sitting tensely in the back seat of Harry's old Chevy, which was parked on a residential street deep inside Satan territory. Harry was at the wheel. They had been there for half an hour.
They had driven watchfully through the unfriendly streets, the three youths in the back crouched down out of sight to make the car as inconspicuous as possible. Frankie and the other two participating Blazers had been left at the clubhouse to wait in case they were successful in abducting the girl, and to keep the other Blazers away.
The four in the car stared with increasing anxiety at the lighted windows of an old house across the street.
"They should be breakin' up any minute now," Benny said in a low voice. "These things can't go on too late. I mean, those chicks have to go to school tomorrow, don't they?"
"Shut up, Benny," Vic said tersely.
Ten more minutes passed. Then Harry said, "Hey, look!"
The door of the house had opened. They could hear voices. Then several girls came out onto the street. "Do you see her?" Vic asked Harry. "No."
He cursed softly. The girls chatted briefly together, then dispersed, waving and yelling good-byes. After a moment, three more girls came out.
"There she is," Harry said. "That's her. The one in the white sweater."
One of the three girls waved to the others and went off down the street. Jackson's sister and the third girl turned and walked together in the opposite direction, past the parked car on the other side of the street.
Despite what Harry had said about her, Vic had not really expected the sister of Big Bart Jackson to be a very attractive or desirable specimen. He had been wrong.
She was a very pretty girl, about sixteen, Vic thought. She had an animated face and light-blonde hair, which was bobbed and curled up attractively at the ends. It bounced as she walked.
Her breasts bounced, too. They were clearly outlined against the tight pullover sweater she wore, not too large, but not too small either, two tempting handfuls pointing firmly against the clinging white material, quivering at each step she took.
What he could see of the rest of her body was just as promising. He saw what Harry had meant. She was a luscious little broad, all right. He was going to enjoy this.
"Hell," Steve muttered. "If she's gonna stick with that other chick, we won't be able to take her."
"We'll follow them and see," Vic said. "Wait till they get a little way off, Harry, then start, but stay behind them. Keep the lights off."
When the two girls were at the end of the block, Harry started the motor and pulled out, cautiously. They followed slowly, keeping well behind, as the girls walked together for two more blocks, chatting animatedly. At the end of the second block the other girl turned the corner. The two waved to each other, and the blonde girl went on alone.
"Hey, now's our chance!" Benny said, excitedly.
"Wait," Vic said. "The other one's still too close."
At the next corner, the girl turned off. The car followed. This street was more dimly lit than the other one. Vic looked around carefully. It seemed deserted.
"Okay," he said. "Let's get her. Harry, pull up right behind her." He pushed the door handle.
As the car pulled up behind the girl, the three boys in the back jumped out. Before the girl knew what was happening, they had come up behind her.
They had rehearsed this beforehand. Vic clapped one hand firmly over her mouth from behind. The other arm went around her waist, pulling her off balance. At the same time, Steve and Benny each grabbed one of her arms. The three easily overpowered the startled girl. She struggled vainly as they propelled her swiftly across the sidewalk and into the waiting car. They threw her on the car floor, piled in, and sat on her.
"Take off!"
The car leaped ahead.
The girl struggled underneath their weight. Vic had to release his grip on her to get her into the car. She started to scream. Vic got hold of her hair and pulled her head back. His knife was out. He put its point to her throat. "Shut up," he snapped.
She choked the scream off abruptly. Her eyes were wide with pain and fear.
"Give me that tape, Steve."
Steve handed him a wide strip of adhesive. He pressed it tightly over the girl's mouth. She was making whimpering noises.
"That'll hold her for now," Vic said. "Everything all right, Harry?"
"Yeah, we're almost in safe territory now," Harry replied.
Steve had pulled out some rope and, with Benny's help, was tying the girl's hands behind her. She was still struggling futilely under their combined weights.
"We're over the line now," Harry said after a minute.
Vic felt a surge of triumph. This was it I
In a few more minutes the car pulled up in front of the building that housed the clubhouse. The four youths dragged the terrified girl out of the car and along the passageway beside the building to the clubhouse door. Two Blazers waited for them.
"Wow, you got her!" One of them, Phil, exclaimed.
"Where's Frankie?" Vic asked.
"He left," Phil said. "He said he'd be back later."
Vic, without quite knowing why, felt a sudden ripple of apprehension. But he put it aside. Frankie was not important now.
"Now look," Vic said. "Somebody's gonna have to go out and stand guard."
Nobody volunteered. He turned to the other Blazer who had been waiting for them. "Smitty," he snapped. "You go."
Smitty started to protest, but Vic cut him off.
"You heard me!" he said angrily. "Go! You can come in and get yours later. And keep your eyes open. If you see anybody even coming along the street, let us know."
Smitty bit his lip, but he turned and went. The five remaining youths turned their attention to the girl.
She stood before them, her hands tied behind her, the tape still over her mouth. Their eyes went over her avidly, devouring the young, exciting curves under the snugly fitting sweater and skirt. She shrank back under their gaze.
"Oh, man," Steve breathed. "She really is a doll."
"Boy, am I ever gonna have fun with her!" Phil said.
The girl started to make whimpering noises again. Vic smiled.
"Well all have fun with her," he said. "Lots of fun." He took a step toward her. The girl moved back. "Hold her," he said.
Steve and Benny stepped forward swiftly and held her arms. She tried to pull away. Vic stepped toward her again. She struggled and kicked out at him.
"Well have to tie her feet, too," Vic said. "Give me some of that rope."
Steve released the girl's arm for a moment and bent to hold her legs still while Vic knelt and roped her ankles tightly together. When he finished, he patted her smooth calf and straightened up.
"Now," he said. "She's going to be good and take what's coming to her. Aren't you ? " He suddenly reached up, grasped the tip of one sweater-covered breast between his thumb and forefinger, and pinched hard.
The girl jerked back violently, but Steve and Benny held her still. A high, muffled sound that was meant to be a shriek came through the gag.
"Hey, Vic," Harry said. "That tape's not gonna stay on there much longer. She's starting to work it off."
"It's okay," Vic replied. "Who's going to hear her? There's nobody on the whole block." He reached up and pulled the tape from her mouth. "No sense in screaming, kid," he told her. "Nobody's around but us."
She screamed anyway, desperate, frightened screams. He waited calmly until they subsided and she stood gasping. Her breasts moved rapidly up and down. He reached out and put his hands over them. She tried to jerk away again.
"Relax," he said. "There's nothing you can do about it."
He squeezed softly, then started caressing the breasts through the sweater. Hands bound behind her, ankles tied, two Blazers holding her arms, she still struggled and squirmed. But he continued insolently moving his hands over her breasts, as if to show her how helpless she was. He rubbed them roughly, feeling them yield under his hands. He put his hands under them and pushed them up toward the top of the sweater, moved them around a little, let them drop.
"Now listen," he said to her, still playing with her breasts. "Listen to me good." His voice was grim, cold. "Your brother and some of his friends got ahold of my girl a little while ago. They had a little party with her. They enjoyed it a lot. She didn't like it so much. I didn't like it either."
The girl's eyes had widened. He continued to manipulate her breasts. "Well, we're going to have a little party with you, honey," he went on. "And when we're finished, I want you to go back to your brother. I want you to tell him what happened if you can still talk. And tell him I said this is for Debbie."
He took his hands away. The girl was trembling. She shook her head slowly. Her eyes had terror in them. She struggled to speak. "Oh, please," she said finally. Her voice was quivering. "Oh, please!"
"The first thing we have to do," Vic continued in the same flat voice, "is get you naked." This set off a chorus of remarks from the others.
"Yeah, it's about time!"
"Strip 'er down, Vic!"
"Get that body out in the open!"
"Man, I can't wait!"
"See?" Vic said. "The guys want to see what you've got so they can figure out what to do with you." There was laughter. The girl trembled ' more violently. She was struggling again.
"They made Debbie take her clothes off for them," Vic said. "A little strip tease, they had. We could make you do that. But why bother? I got a better idea." He turned to Harry. "Get that long rope," he said. "We'll string her up."
"How?"
"Over that pipe. Steve, Benny, untie her hands and tie them in front of her. Good and tight."
They did so. Harry brought the rope. He fastened one end of it to the ropes holding her wrists.
There was an old rusted water-pipe which ran from floor to ceiling near one wall. An auxiliary pipe branched out from it near the top, ran most of the way across the ceiling, and disappeared through it near the opposite wall.
"Harry," Vic said, "you're the tallest. Drag that table over here. You can reach that pipe if you stand on it, can't you?"
"Sure." Harry moved the table the one that the Blazers had used for their dice game under the pipe, and stood on it. Vic tossed him the end of the rope. By straining, he could just get it over the pipe.
"Pull it tight," Vic said.
As Harry pulled, the young girl's arms were drawn up over her head, higher and higher. The girl started to whimper. Harry pulled harder. Her body strained. Her heels began to leave the floor.
"Okay," Vic said. "That's enough. Slacken it off just a little bit, Harry. That's it. Now tie it."
Harry fastened the rope and jumped down from the table.
"Later on we can hoist her up and let her swing for a while," Vic said. "But I want her to be able to enjoy it while we strip her."
"No," the girl whimpered. "Not" She was still trembling. Her pretty face worked with fear. She was probably still a virgin, Vic thought. But not for long.
He looked her over again, speculatively. Her arms pulled high over her head brought her breasts into even greater prominence. They were thrust out startlingly against the straining sweater, like two small young animals struggling to get away from her body.
His eyes moved down over her small waist. Her hips were not broad, but they curved enticingly under her skirt. The skirt came down to her knees. Her lower legs were beautifully shaped, filling out very slightly just below the knees to taper in a smooth, exciting curve to her slim, bound ankles.
Vic took out his knife and clicked it open. "Here we go," he said. The girl shrank back as he moved toward her.
He inserted the blade of the knife at the collar of her sweater. She pulled against the ropes at her wrists. "No!" she said frantically. "Please!"
He smiled at her, and drew the knife downward and outward. The material parted easily. He cut the sweater straight down the front. It sprang open. She wore a pink bra underneath.
Murmurs of appreciation came from the Blazers at the sight of the smooth, soft flesh above and below the bra. The girl's face flushed. She tugged again at her ropes.
Vic reached up to insert the knife into the sleeve at the girl's wrist. Swiftly but carefully, he cut the material down along her arm and across the shoulder. He did the same with the other sleeve, and the ruined sweater fell to the floor. He stepped back.
The girl's bra stretched tightly over her straining breasts. It revealed the promise of their upper slope-and the sweet hollow between them. Her delicate complexion was of exactly the right shade to compliment her light yellow hair. He slid his fingers lightly over a portion of the white skin just above her waist.
He didn't bother to cut her skirt. He simply opened the button at the side and slowly pulled down the zipper while she squirmed helplessly. The skirt dropped around her feet.
Her young legs, now completely exposed, were breathtaking. The long thighs swelled and diminished in a graceful yet sensuous sweep which rounded off at the smooth knees and continued on into those rippling, curving calves.
The Blazers drank in the erotic sight of the writhing girl in bra and panties, her arms pulled high, her body taut.
"Man, isn't she somethin'? "
"Look at those legs I"
"Hey, you sure this is Jackson's sister?"
Laughter.
"C'mon, Vic, let's get with it!"
Vic stepped forward, looking her over, as if trying to decide which garment to remove first. The girl began to make whimpering sounds. She shrank back as far as she could. He raised the knife to one of the shoulder straps of the bra. The whimpers became little moans.
He cut the strap. Then the other one. The bra stayed in place, held by the clasp at the back. Vic slid the knife up under the front band of the bra, between her breasts. He paused.
The little moans became more piteous. The girl was shaking her head. She probably didn't know she was doing it. Her eyes were glazing with shame and terror. Her hair bounced.
He tugged at the knife. The bra fell.
There were low sounds and soft whistles from the watching Blazers. The girl's breasts were two creamy, exquisitely-shaped cones tipped by delicate pink nipples. The position of her arms exaggerated their thrust, but it was obvious that even without that they would stand out straight and bold, so firm, so solid were they. The girl began to sob.
"What's the matter, honey?" Vic asked with mock concern. "You don't have anything to cry about. Not yet."
He slid the knife into the waistband of her panties. The sobbing girl closed her eyes and turned her face away. He cut. The panties fell.
The Blazers regarded the naked, helpless blonde for a minute in awestruck silence. Then Harry stepped forward and put his hand on her breast.
As if on signal, the other three also approached. They crowded around the nude form, everyone touching her at once, running their hands greedily over the young body, grabbing, squeezing, rubbing; her breasts, her buttocks her thighs, her stomach, whatever they could reach. The girl screamed and sobbed at the same time, squirming wildly under their hands.
Vic watched them playing with her, enjoying her frantic writhing. Harry had wormed his hand between her knees and was doing something that made her jump and jerk her hips sharply. After a while Vic called a halt.
"Okay, okay, you guys," he yelled. "Take it easy. You'll all get a chance at ber." They stopped what they were doing, reluctantly.
"But first," he said grimly, "she's going to get a little taste of Jackson's medicine. Okay, Harry, back up on the table. Let's get her in the air."
Harry climbed up on the table again, reached up and unfastened the rope, and pulled on it. The ropes bit into the girl's wrists. Her muscles tightened. Her body strained. Her head went back. Hoarse groans of pain came from her throat.
Harry pulled doggedly. Only the girl's toes touched the floor. Her cries got louder, became shrieks. Her toes cleared the floor. Harry grunted with effort as he pulled her body upward by degrees. When her toes were several inches off the floor, Vic told him it was enough. Harry fastened the rope again and jumped down, panting from his exertions.
The girl hung by her wrists.
Her body was stretched taut. Bones and muscles stood out in relief against her tight skin. The pull had a slightly flattening effect on her breasts, but nothing could really flatten those lovely mounds. The hanging columns of her legs shifted slightly as her toes tried frantically and vainly to touch the floor. She was moaning.
"Who's got a cigarette?" Vic asked. Phil handed him a partly-full package.
"I want to show you something that your brother did to my gir!" Vic said. He took out one of the cigarettes and lit it. She watched him with wide, horrified eyes.
"Of course, when he did it," Vic went on, "he told Debbie not to scream. He was afraid somebody might hear her and come to see what was going on. He was having fun and he didn't want to be interrupted. So she couldn't scream. Even though she wanted to, because it hurt. It hurt like hell.
"But here it's different," he continued. "We don't care whether you scream or not, because, like I say, there's nobody on the whole block to hear you. Just old lots and empty buildings. So you can go ahead and scream all you want to." He raised his hand.
"Scream, baby," he said, and jammed the burning cigarette against her nipple.
"AAAAAAAAAH!"
Vic dropped the crumpled cigarette to the floor. The girl sobbed loudly, her body twitching. A strange wave of pleasure had washed over him at her scream.
"Yeah," he said. "That's how Debbie felt." He took another cigarette from the pack and lit it. "That was nice, baby," he said. "Let's try it again." He brought the cigarette up toward her other breast.
The girl gave a terrified, inarticulate cry. He brought the cigarette nearer. She jerked and heaved, twisting her body frantically in a desperate effort to avoid the inexorably advancing pain.
"Scream again, baby," he said, and pressed the glowing tip home.
"AAAAAAAAAIIEEEEEE!"
This time Vic handed the package of cigarettes back to Phil. The Blazers had watched this performance in wide-eyed silence.
"Hey, we gonna let her have it now?" Benny asked.
"In a minute," Vic said. "She's got some more punishment coming. I want Jackson to know we did a thorough job."
He walked around behind the sobbing girl, pulling off his belt.
He doubled up the flexible leather strap, holding 'he two ends in his hands. He lashed it experimentally through the air. It made a loud, whistling sound.
He stepped closer to the hanging figure. Setting himself, he drew back his arm, then swung the belt forward viciously against the blonde girl's naked back.
She gave an ear-splitting shriek. Her body convulsed. He knew that surge of pleasure again. It was overpowering.
He drew his arm back again and brought the belt forward with all his strength, a little lower than before. It made a brutal cracking sound on her skin. She screamed again.
"Man, did you see that?" he heard one of the watching Blazers say. "Do that again, Vic."
So he did it again.
He had drawn the belt back for a swing at her lovely thighs when he became aware that her screams had become words.
"No!" she was screaming. "Stop! No more! Please! Stop!"
"No," he said, and swung the belt brutally against the tender thighs.
He listened to her screaming and pleading for him to stop. He lashed her calves, then her buttocks again, then the small of her back.
"Oh, God, no more!" she shrieked. "Please! I can't -AAAAAH!"
Again and again the belt made its sharp cracking sound on her flesh.
"No more, no more!" She screamed, piteously.
Finally he stopped. The entire length of her was striped with red welts, from high on her back down to her calves. But he wasn't finished yet.
He walked around the girl again. She was sobbing and groaning. He stood in front of her, the belt dangling from his hand, and his eyes traveled over her.
Her face twisted with terror. "Oh, God!" she babbled. "No! Please! Oh, God, you can't, I'll die! Please, no! Don't!"
But he had stepped to one side to get the proper position. He was looking at her breasts.
She shrieked. "NO! Not there! Please, you'll kill me, don't, please, pi -" Her scream shattered the night.
After that, she didn't plead any more. She only screamed mindlessly. The vicious belt cracked across her soft stomach, her hips, down the length of her matchless legs. And up again. And once again across her breasts, hard, directly over the nipples.
Then she lost consciousness.
"Hey, she's passed out!" Benny said. "Jeez, I hope you didn't kill her!"
"Nah, she's just fainted," Harry said.
The belt dropped from Vic's hand. His head was pounding. "Okay," he said hoarsely. "Get her down."
Harry unfastened the rope from the pipe and the girl was lowered. She stirred.
"She's starting to come around already," Steve said. "What now, Vic?"
"Put her on the floor. Spread her out and tie her down."
There didn't seem to be any convenient way of doing this. After some discussion they arrived at a solution. There was a heavy sofa in one corner of the room. Placing the girl on the floor, they untied her hands. Then they cut a short length of rope, tied one end of it around one of the girl's wrists and the other end to a leg of the sofa. In the same way they attached her other wrist to the sofa-leg at the other end. In this position, one of her ankles could be fastened to the old water-pipe near the wall. The boys dragged the clubroom's other sofa from its accustomed place to a position in which it could be used as an anchor for her other leg.
She regained consciousness while they were tying her hands. She sensed what was going to happen now. She started to struggle, but her wrists had already been secured. Harry untied the rope holding her ankles together, but she resisted when he tried to separate them. She crossed them and locked her feet.
Finally Harry took one ankle and Phil the other, and they pulled them apart. Harry tied one ankle to the pipe, and Phil secured the other to a sofa-leg.
She lay spread-eagled on the floor.
Vic stood over her, looking down at her naked body. In spite of the red marks from his belt, it was an exciting sight, the blonde hair, the white skin, the luscious, quivering, pink-nippled breasts, the superb, sensuous legs.
He had never felt so ready. His passion surged, pounded, demanded. There was nothing else in the world.
Fear was in the girl's eyes again. She knew what was coming, and that she was helpless to stop it. Vic started to undress.
The girl began to struggle again, heaving and pulling at her bonds. Though she must have reaUzed it was useless, and although it must have caused her bruised body much pain, she continued to struggle all the while Vic was undressing, twisting and squirming, tossing and wriggling, flailing her body, straining mightily at the ropes that held her wrists and ankles. Her breasts rolled, her hips arched and fell, her legs writhed furiously.
Finally she stopped, and lay there, panting. Vic had finished undressing. He lowered himself beside her and ran his hands over her body.
The fear in her eyes had increased. There was hatred there, as well.
He covered every inch of her with his hands. He wanted to know, to feel, every small curve, every indentation, every quiver of that body. He lingered on her breasts, and even longer on her legs.
He positioned himself over her. The girl, trembling now, making small mewing sounds, closed her eyes tightly.
"Open your eyes," he said.
Her eyes stayed tightly closed.
His fingers found her bruised nipple. He squeezed. She gasped in pain.
"Open your eyes or I'll cut you I"
Her eyes opened. He looked into them, grinning at her. Then he took her.
The girl screamed. Her body bucked under him, trying to throw him off. She screamed again.
Vic's passion roared, went out of control. He moved quickly, brutally, hammering at the spread-eaglet! girl beneath him.
She screamed and moaned and sobbed. Her body, bruised and exhausted as it was, rebelled at this violation. She rolled and tossed, fighting instinctively against her attacker.
It only spurred Vic on. Every movement poured fuel on the all-consuming conflagration of his lust. He exulted as he felt her breasts flattening and shaping and sliding beneath his chest. Her wild hips, trying vainly to get away, were forced again and again to come back to meet his, to kiss them in erotic dalliance. He rubbed her straining legs with his, thrilled by the feel of the firm curves, the quivering muscles working against him.
And a myriad of other things; her disheveled, blonde hair; her open, panting mouth; the sound of her sobbing; the sight of the fingers of one of her bound hands twisting, clutching helplessly at the air; the odor of her body, perspiration and soap; the knowledge of the fear and hatred he had seen in her eyes.
It was all fuel, and the conflagration got larger and wilder, and it was all mixed up with his revenge on Jackson, and the memory of what he had done to this girl earlier, and the look in her eyes when he had made his first attack and she was a virgin no longer, and the shouted remarks and exhortations coming from the watching Blazers; and Debbie, and his job, and Joyce, and Arlene; all these and more, and it went on and on. It got stronger and louder and more overpowering; until finally passion burst for him, and he shuddered and groaned and convulsed.
He rose. He felt weak and light-headed and somehow hollow, as though a large chunk had been cut out of him and nothing put back in. He started to get dressed.
Harry was rapidly stripping himself. Vic watched without much interest as he threw himself down on the helpless girl, who still struggled and sobbed, and, wasting no time, began to move with rhythmic grunts of satisfaction. He finished quickly, and then it was Steve's turn.
Steve was slower. He went on for a long time, moving steadily, and when he rose from her, she had finally ceased to struggle. Her used, exposed body lay still, its only movement the shaking of her breasts as she sobbed.
It was Benny's turn next. He had not yet finished undressing when there was a noise outside. It sounded like a struggle. Vic started for the door, but at that moment it burst open. Smitty was flung forcibly inside. He stumbled on the threshold and fell face down to the floor.
Behind him was Bart Jackson.
For one second, there was complete, stunned silence as everyone in the room was startled into immobility. In that frozen, suspended moment Vic saw clearly. He knew, without question, how Jackson had found out. Frankie. It was Frankie's way of getting back at him for Leona and the fight. He knew that that was why Frankie had included himself in this plan in the first place, and that that was why he had left the clubhouse this evening. He had waited and seen them come back with the girl, then gone off to inform Jackson.
But he realized further that somewhere in him he had known this all along; possibly from the time Frankie had volunteered, certainly when he had not been there tonight. In some hidden part of him, he had read Frankie's mind, had expected Jackson to show up, had wanted him to.
And now he was here.
Jackson's face was terrible, his eyes blazing. His glance went immediately to the bound and naked girl on the floor. He gave a wild roar of fury and flung himself madly at Vic. The other Blazers lunged for Jackson.
"Let him go!" Vic yelled. They stopped, uncertain. Vic took a step forward. "Leave him alone," he said grimly. "He's mine."
The others backed up slowly. Jackson was snarling audibly. His hand went for his pocket. Vic's did the same. The two blades clicked open.
Vic no longer felt weak. He was tense, but he was clear-headed. There was much about what had happened to him in the last few weeks that he didn't understand, many things he had done and felt for reasons that were unclear to him. But he understood this. It was simple. It was a stand. He and Jackson. They had injured each other; they hated each other. And this was the showdown. He was ready.
The two youths crouched, hands in front of them, knives ready. They watched each other, warily. They shifted slowly, starting to circle cautiously around each other, their bodies weaving, hands moving. Jackson feinted and drew back. There was silence in the room.
The circling continued. Vic made a sudden thrust at Jackson's side, but the Satan avoided it and made an answering lunge at Vic. He dodged backward.
Jackson's feet moved lightly, surely, his eyes shifting, but always watching. Vic kept circling, not allowing himself to blink.
Jackson's knife suddenly lowered, then came up swiftly, unexpectedly, and slashed out toward Vic's face. He twisted just in time. The knife went past his shoulder. Vic thrust instinctively at the opening this gave him, but Jackson's other hand was ready, knocking Vic's wrist aside.
The tempo of the fight increased now. They moved more rapidly, feinting at each other. Their breathing was harder.
Suddenly, without warning, Jackson's knife flashed rapidly, right, left, right and then with incredible speed he had lunged around Vic's side and slashed. He felt a burning sensation. His left arm was bleeding. His shirt was cut from the shoulder three-fourths of the way to the elbow.
He still circled, retreating. Jackson pressed harder. Vic's mouth set grimly.
Jackson started a lunge to his right, changed his mind. For an instant he was open. Vic moved, but too late. He backed up again. His arm had started to throb. He was panting.
Jackson came forward, confident now. His knife moved constantly, threateningly, as Vic watched, back and forth and around. Suddenly he plunged viciously, taking Vic by surprise. The point of his blade brushed the front of Vic's shirt as he barely managed to leap back in time.
Jackson followed up, keeping him off guard. He lunged again. Vic managed to catch hold of his wrist with his left hand. But his whole arm was hurting by now, and he couldn't hold him. Jackson wrenched away. Vic went after him, desperately, thrusting. He only managed to nick Jackson slightly in the side.
Jackson came forward, enraged, wanting to finish him. Vic stood his ground. Jackson lunged again, low slashing at Vic's stomach. Vic jumped to one side. The thrust missed. Before he could pull back, Vic threw the weight of his body at Jackson's shoulder. The Satan stumbled, then recovered; but not fast enough. Vic plunged his knife blindly into the other's torso, pulled it out, plunged it again, and was about to stab a third time when he stopped.
Jackson had dropped his knife. He was not moving. His eyes were wide. His hands started to come up; then he gave a sudden sharp gasp, and fell. He didn't move.
There was absolute silence in the room. It was broken by the girl on the floor. She screamed and screamed.
Then Benny spoke. "God, you killed him!" Vic stood in silence over Jackson's body. Then he heard Harry's frightened voice.
"Hey, man, we better do something." The others spoke up. "We oughta get outa here."
"We gotta do something about Jackson."
"We could dump him someplace."
"What about the girl."
"We better figure something quick."
"Hey, Vic, what're you gonna do?"
Vic still stood motionless. The drained, hollow feeling was back again. He looked at the bruised and violated girl on the floor. She had stopped screaming now and was crying softly, exhausted. He looked at the dead youth at his feet.
This was what had come of his determination to break the pattern. He had wanted to lead a regular life, and that desire had resulted in the permanent injury of a girl he had loved, which had led him in turn to the torture and rape of a young girl he had never seen before, and the killing of her brother in front of her eyes. He had wanted to enter the respectable world, and had found himself in a world of Millards and Keiths and Joyces. And Vic Hadleys.
"The hell with it," he said finally. "The hell with all of it."
The knife dropped from his hand. He walked slowly, almost dazedly, to the door, ignoring the calls and questions from the others. He went out of the clubhouse and moved slowly along the passageway. When he got to the street he paused for a moment, then turned and began to walk heavily in the direction of the police station.
