Sociologists, criminologists, and psychologists are fond of making the point that environment creates criminals; that bad homes make bad citizens, unsavory surroundings breed unsavory behavior. This is indisputable ... but the example serves to illustrate only a part of the truth behind the precept. So conditioned are our minds to run in pre-conceived channels that we at once assume the environment producing the criminal to be a bad one. Yet the point - and it is a valid one - has a more general application.
For the environment which obliges an individual to discard the rules by which his fellows have chosen to live is, quite simply, an environment ill-suited to that particular individual... an environment which by its nature and its pressures produces an irresistible impulse to rebel. And this can occur as easily - and as tragically - in what is normally regarded as a "good" home, as it can in those homes categorized as "bad" or deprived". A glance at the crime statistics will show, if attention be paid to the backgrounds of the human beings behind the figures, that by no means all thieves, murderers, forgers, rapists, agitators, or con-men sprang from the ghetto or the slum.
The problem reduces itself to a matter of rules - for society in its present complex state is forced to make rules for its members: the rebels' Utopia of an anarchic state in which everyone does exactly what he likes can be applied only in the simplest of rural communities. But rules, as the law-makers so often forget, need not necessarily be as inflexible as a literal interpretation of the written word in the statute book would seem to portend... nor, in the use of the term law-maker, does one exclude that special category of authority vested in a parent. To the children who will grow into criminals, the parent is I he law-maker.
And of all authorities, parents should remember that people - even very young ones - should always be treated as individuals; that rules, necessary though they are, were not invented to be applied mechanically, regardless of the personalities of those obliged to obey them. They are there only as guidelines, to ensure conformity... and if that desired conformity is to be obtained, they must be made themselves to conform to the individual to whom they are applied. It is when the reverse is the case - when the individual is warped to conform to the rule that the embryo criminal is born.
The case-history traced in this novel is an illustration of the most heartbreaking type of this tragedy. For it is story of the corruption of the innocent ... an innocent moreover who comes from the least corruptible kind of background, with many of the advantages denied to her less fortunate fellows. But it is precisely because she is an innocent, because, for her own good, as they think, her parents have sheltered her from the crude realities of the world and imposed on her an unnaturally rigid code of conduct, that she eventually falls. And when such a person falls, the drop, as it was for Icarus, is a long one...
Lyn Dunnett comes from a respectable middle-class American home. Her father is in the insurance business, her mother a socialite in the small New England town they inhabit. But the rigorous social code in which the parents grew up is applied in an entirely rule-of-thumb way to the developing teenager: her life is conditioned, surveyed, and hedged about with restrictions at every point: even the boyfriend she is permitted must come from the home of rich and socially acceptable neighbors. Thus sheltered from the realities, Lyn has no equipment and no armor to deal with the shock to her outlook when, during the temporary absence of her parents, chance brings her into brutal contact with a group of contemporaries with very different mores from her own.
Her studious boyfriend, who evaluates problems in terms of literature rather than life, is too inexperienced to help. And when the one friend to whom she turns in her trouble proves in his way to be as unreliable as the code of conduct which has been imposed on her, her feet are already firmly set on the downward path. Entirely unfitted by her strict upbringing to deal with the complex physical and mental problems of life in the world outside her home, bewildered by the revelation of the unsuspected sensual depths within herself, she is at the mercy of any ill wind that chances to blow...but, in defiance of the old adage, the wind that does blow is one that definitely does nobody any good!
In his penetrating character study of a could-be good girl doomed to a bad end through no fault of her own, Mr. Pike has written a challenging and provocative novel that should give every thinking parent food for thought... and reason for an after-dose of self-examination!
-PUBLISHERS
CHAPTER ONE
The rain began to fall just before Lyn Dunnett's date arrived to take her to the movies. She was standing in the darkened living room, looking out the wide windows toward the granite shore, when the first heavy drops pattered on to the canopy over the back porch - a tall, slender, sixteen year old with a cascade of red-gold hair tumbling to her shoulders and full, high-set breasts thrusting out the starched cotton of her shirt.
Lyn frowned and pressed her short, straight nose to the cool glass of the window pane. In the gathering twilight she could see that the ocean between the rocky foreshore and the distant outline of Cape Ann was steel-gray and crested with white. On the lip of the bluff at the far end of the garden, clumps of golden rod were leaning away from the wind. She bit her lip and watched the dollar-sized rain spots darkening the flagstones of the terrace until they coalesced and the whole area glistened wetly in the fading light. If Willie Miller thought she was going to ride the mile and a half along the rutted sea road to Grantley on the back of his bike in this weather, he must be crazy!
By the time the doorbell chimes sounded in the hallway, the rain was drumming noisily on the roof, water was gurgling in the gutters, and the yew tree outside the living room windows was tossing its branches in the gale. Lyn switched on the lights and hurried to answer the door.
Willie was standing in the porch, his long dark hair plastered to his narrow skull, his tee-shirt and jeans drenched, and his spectacles spotted with rain. "Hi, Lyn!" he said with his toothy smile. "Seems like the gods are against us tonight!"
"Willie! You're soaked to the skin! You'd better come on in!" The voluptuous teenager turned and led the way back into the living room. He followed her, blinking the moisture out of his eyes as he admired the trim lines of her figure, the seductive taper of her waist, the ripe swell of hip and thigh beneath the pale green pants. She sure was one hell of a good-looking girl!
"Only thing is," he began awkwardly, "the movie starts at eight and I guess we better be-"
"Movie?" Lyn interrupted, swinging around to face him. "Movie! You don't imagine that I'm going to ride into town on a motorbike in ... in this!" She flung an arm toward the windows, outside of which the crash of surf punctuated the relentless pelting of the rain.
"B-but I thought... I mean there's this kung-fu film, and ..."
"There'll be others," the seductive young redhead cut in. "Surely you'd have more consideration for a girl than to expect her to get wet through on some bumpy old motorcycle and then sit shivering all night in damp clothes on a hard theater seat?"
"Well, gee, I'm s-s-sorry," Willie stammered. "But I mean, like I thought we had a date. Couldn't you put on a waterproof? What else can we do, for God's sakes?"
"I thought we might stay here."
Lyn said demurely. She crossed to the door and switched off the ceiling light, leaving the big room illuminated only by a heavily shaded television lamp beside the fireplace.
"Yeah... well... Look, I think your folks are great - just great," the boy blurted out, "but I mean-"
"My folks are not here."
"N-n-not here?"
"My Aunt Hilda's sick. She's been taken to the hospital. Mom and Dad have gone up to Brockton to see her... and they'll be staying two or three days - maybe a week - at her apartment. We have the house to ourselves." Lyn moved across to the stereo unit and pressed a button. Violins playing the verse of The Way You Look Tonight drifted out of the speakers located at each end of the built-in bookshelves between the windows. She sank gracefully down on to the davenport and crossed her legs. "I thought we might make ourselves dinner from the icebox and listen to music," she said. "Can I fix you a drink, Willie?"
"Well, gee!... God, I mean, like that would be swell! Just swell! I... Do you have a beer?" he gulped.
"I think we might manage that. But wouldn't you prefer something a little stronger? A highball maybe... or a vodka martini?" Lyn was playing the sophisticated hostess line as hard as she could, a role that she had perfected from watching old movies on TV but had so far had very little chance to play for real. Her parents were strict, believing that a properly brought-up young lady, even in 1974, must be sheltered from the crude realities of the world for as long as possible. Her father took her to school in Manchester every day and collected her again in the evening; she had to attend church every Sunday; she was only permitted to go to parties given by classmates whose parents her own folks knew socially; all her more adventurous plans were either squashed or watered down by the addition of some dull companion of her mother's choice; and Willie Miller was the only date she was allowed.
She looked at him standing there before her - a thin, sallow youth of seventeen whose wealthy father was president of a local real-estate company. Willie was majoring in Law and Economics, though he would much rather have studied Literature, and he was constantly at a disadvantage at home through being unfavorably contrasted with two elder brothers enjoying brilliant careers at Princeton. He looked ill at ease now, shifting from one foot to the other in the center of a spreading pool of dampness seeping from his sodden sneakers and wet jeans. "Well, I don't know ..." he said.
"Oh, come on - have a man's drink!" Lyn urged.
"Aw, well... okay. I'll take a martini, thanks, Lyn," he replied, flushing slightly under her scrutiny.
"And you'd better get those pants and that tee-shirt off," the girl went on, her innate maternal sense overriding the fantasy she was trying to create. "I'll dry them on the heater while we eat. You'll catch your death if you stand around dripping like that!"
Willie blushed a deeper red and stared down at his rain-darkened knees. "Hell, I couldn't do that, Lyn," he muttered. "I mean with your folks away and all. It's not as though you had a brother who could lend me something, is it? I mean, I'd be half-"
"Why ever not?" the girl burst out. "You're wearing shorts, aren't you - or underpants or whatever you call them? Don't be so square, Willie! Why I see more of you every time we go swimming at the beach!"
"Well, if you think it's okay ... I - uh - I guess I do feel kind of damp ..."
"You take them right off this minute. I'll go fix the drinks and see what's in the icebox. By the time I come back, I want to see those wet things in a pile on the hearth there," Lyn said.
"Okay, okay." Shamefacedly, he turned his back, waiting until the curvaceous young redhead had left the room before he unzipped the fly of his jeans.
Lyn found tinned lobster soup, a packet of shrimps from Guaymas, and strawberry shortcake in the deep-freeze. Putting them on the kitchen counter to thaw, she went into the dining room to mix the drinks. George Dunnett, her father, was a temperate man himself - except at Christmas and New Year's and family celebrations her parents rarely drank - but there was a small stock of liquor in the sideboard which he kept to offer to occasional business friends brought back to the house in connection with his work for an insurance company in Boston. Although it was the first time in her life that Lyn had been left in the house on her own, she knew where things were, and she had watched her father mix highballs and martinis often enough. The only thing was - as she found out when she had gotten the bottles off the shelf - she had never really noticed the proportions he used. Hesitating for a moment as she splashed spirit over the ice cubes in the tall glasses, she finally shrugged and topped them both up.
The highball she had made for herself looked strangely dark in color, and Willie's martini - mixed with equal proportions of vodka and vermouth - was less pale than she had expected also. Never mind, she thought to herself: if they weren't right, she could always try again! Dropping a slice of lemon into her guests drink, she carried the two brimming glasses into the living room.
Willie started nervously as she came in. He was standing flipping through a stack of discs by the hi-fi, his hair combed back slickly on his narrow head, his spectacles perched on his nose. His damp garments were in a pile on the hearth and he was naked except for the blue jockey shorts around his loins. Not for the first time, Lyn noticed that, although thin, he looked far less like a beanpole undressed. His body was quite muscular and his stomach flat. Between his lean thighs, the soft bulge of his young genitals pouched out the thin material of his shorts.
"Happy days!" she said in her best TV manner, handing him his glass before she took a large gulp from her own. The fiery liquid took her breath away and she almost choked, tears starting from her eyes as the liquor seared the flesh of her throat. Willie, who had taken a wary sip of his martini and made a wry face as he swallowed, set down the glass and hurried to thump her on the back.
" 'S all right," she gasped. "Went down... wrong way!... Oooogh! Sorry! ... Is your drink the way you like it?"
"Great!" the thin boy lied, unwilling to admit that he had never tasted a dry martini in his life. "Just great! Did you find something for us to eat?"
"Sure I did," Lyn replied. "Something real good. But we'll have to wait a little while it thaws." She changed the disc for an album of instrumental oldies and took another, more cautious, swallow from her glass. The drink certainly seemed kind of strong, but this time the warmth spreading outward from her stomach sent a pleasing tingle through her veins and set her foot tapping to the music. "Kind of groovy, this number, isn't it?" she said. "Come and dance with me, Willie."
The boy downed half his drink in one hasty gulp, grimaced again, and moved toward her. She sure was one hell of a piece of tail, he thought to himself as he eyed the tautly upthrust swell of her breasts beneath the crisp blouse, the ripely contoured curves of her hips and thighs, and the sensuous curl of her full lips, parted slightly now to reveal a wet white gleam of teeth. To his horror, as he put his arms around her seductive body, he felt his penis lurch and stiffen against the flimsy material of his shorts. A cold shiver seized him as he felt the telltale bulge. This was terrible! Whatever would Lyn think of him? She'd think he was going to rape her or something, imagine he hadn't been brought up properly, didn't know the way a gentleman should behave!
Abruptly he moved away from her, sidling towards the low table on which he had put his drink as he left her standing in the center of the floor. "Willie! What are you doing? Why on earth are you walking like that with your back turned on me?" the discomfited girl demanded.
"Sorry. I don't go too hot on slows, Lyn," he mumbled awkwardly, still facing away from her. "Couldn't you put on something fast... something kind of zippy? You know I'm no good on this smoochy ballroom stuff!" Desperately striving to fight down the erection outlining his virile young penis against the nylon of his shorts, he reached for his glass and gulped down another large mouthful of the extra-dry concoction.
The perplexed young redhead stared at his back for a moment and then shrugged. "Just as you like," she said. She went over to the stack of discs and selected an old Beatles record, slapping it on the turntable and lowering the needle as she turned the volume control up slightly. A moment later the room was echoing to the raucous jangle of electric guitars and the once world-famed pop group went into the first chorus of Twist and Shout.
"Now put down that glass and come and dance!" Lyn ordered.
The boy swung around, his hard-on now slightly deflated, and lurched into the middle of the room like a boxer leaving his corner for the decisive round. When he was still three or four feet from his girlfriend, he crouched forward in an exaggerated fashion and began to Twist and Jerk in time to the music, his bent knees swiveling and his extended arms crossing and recrossing in front of his loins.
Lyn raised her eyebrows. "You look like something out of the Ark, doing that old-hat routine," she said. But she began obediently following his lead, swaying her supple body as she moved.
For a couple of choruses they danced in silence, the embarrassed youth keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. And then, as he raised his glance, he saw that the curvaceously Twisting redhead's ripely swelling young breasts in their snug-fitting brassiere were bouncing provocatively up and down under her blouse as she moved. The tantalizing sight added to the silky friction of his shorts against his swinging genitals as he gyrated his hips in time to the music - at once caused his cock to lengthen and stiffen again, wagging lewdly between his thighs as it thrust out the front of the skimpy garment while he bent lower still in attempt to hide the shameful bulge. Then, to his dismay, he saw that a bead of seminal fluid had seeped from the throbbing head of his penis and made a small dark stain on the pale blue nylon surface!
As the track on the disc ended, he threw himself as if exhausted into a deep armchair and, before the next number started, gabbled frenziedly: "Hell, but it's hot tonight! D'you think you could fix me another drink, please, Lyn?"
Her flawless brow knitted in bewilderment, the astonished teenager crossed the room to pick up his glass. "Why certainly - but you haven't finished what you've got!" she pointed out, holding it up for him to see.
"I haven't? Gee, how dumb can you get! What do you know about that! That's a hell of a thing, asking for another drink before you sink the first!" Willie babbled, leaning forward to snatch the glass from her hand. He drained it at a gulp and handed it back. "Still," he gasped, "I can go another just the same, if you don't mind! Dancing's thirsty work!"
Shaking her head, Lyn picked up her own drink and carried them both from the room. If he was like this after only one short dance... !
As soon as she had gone, her embarrassed guest leaped to his feet and dragged a handkerchief from the pocket of his soaking jeans. Then, stripping off the shorts with their giveaway stain, he swabbed frantically at the leaking head of his still partially erect penis and dragged the shorts on again back to front. Finally, he mopped his brow with the damp handkerchief and lowered himself gingerly back into the chair.
In the somber dining room, Lyn reached for the bottles again. She had a confused idea that it wasn't good manners to fix a second drink for a guest without finishing your own. Hadn't she heard her father say once that it looked as though you thought them greedy... that it made them feel they were drinking too much? She couldn't remember. But the Millers were sticklers for the social niceties; Willie was always being laughed at in school because he had been brought up hedged around with do's and don'ts to an exaggerated degree. She didn't want him carrying tales to his stiff-necked parents how Lyn Dunnett didn't even know the way to serve a drink! Repressing a shudder, she finished the remainder of her highball and dropped more ice into the empty glasses.
For Willie, she poured in equal amounts of vodka and vermouth once more, but her own drink she made very much weaker. Nevertheless the over-strong mixture she had so hurriedly consumed was already affecting her. There was a strange warmth coursing through her veins and she felt an overmastering desire to giggle. Her head, unused to the effect of alcohol, was swimming and she found it difficult for some reason to focus her eyes. Turning around with the refilled glasses, she felt a sudden sensation of giddiness, lurching slightly against the bedpost as she returned to the sitting room and slopping some of the drink onto the floor.
On the youth, too, the effect of a hastily swallowed tumbler of mingled spirits and fortified wine was having its way. As he rose to his feet when Lyn came in, he staggered a little and had difficulty in regaining his balance: it felt as though his foot, instead of coming up hard against the solid wood of the floor, was going through something soft and penetrable, like cotton! Mumbling his thanks, he took his glass and sank gratefully back into his chair.
To his relief, Lyn didn't ask him to dance again. The problem didn't seem so acute now - with the curious lightheaded feeling that was suffusing his mind, nothing seemed to matter much - but he was still conscious that his back-to-front shorts were stretched unnaturally tight over his buttocks while the more generously cut rear hung baggily over his genitals in front. Never mind: he would change them back again when the moisture had dried in back!
For a while they sat sipping their drinks, exchanging gossip about classmates and school during the coming semester in the fall. The disc came to an end and started to replay, but neither of them noticed. Then Lyn walked unsteadily over to the windows and closed the drapes against the drumming of the rain and the crashing of surf. She switched on the television and they watched an old Western, laughing immoderately in the wrong places, and after that - their glasses were empty and she refilled them once more - she contrived to fix dinner in the kitchen.
It didn't turn out quite the Homes and Gardens spread that she had planned, but Willie was drunkenly effusive and complimentary. And when she had made coffee and taken it into the living room, he began paying her extravagant personal compliments drawn from the literature he so desperately wanted to study.
"With that hair of yours," he said thickly, swaying slightly as he lifted his coffee cup from its saucer, "you remind me of that girl Eliot wrote about... you know: 'Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair' an' all that. Did you know that this was the part of the coast that Eliot wrote about, Lyn? What he was describing when he talked of the lost lilac and the lost sea voices and the scent of pine and woodthrust calling through the fog? Did you know that?"
She was standing by the stereo, snapping her fingers in time with the compulsive beat of a Nelson Riddle album of Cole Porter songs. "Oh, you and your old poetry!" she said mockingly - but she was flattered just the same. She looked approvingly at his thin, tanned body, curiously anomalous clad only in the pale blue shorts in the over-furnished room lit by the softly shaded lamp by the television. Really, he had quite nice shoulders... Turning around, she pretended to study the liner notes on the album cover.
Willie set his empty cup down very carefully in the saucer. " 'She turned away'," he quoted as the wind scattered a shower of raindrops against the window pane, " 'but with the Autumn weather compelled my imagination many hours and many days...' "
" 'Good authors, too, who once knew better words, now only use four-letter words' ..." Lyn began tauntingly, reading from the notes on Anything Goes. And then, realizing what she was saying, broke off and blushed. "I think it's time you danced with me again," she said, holding out her arms.
His mind still spinning dizzily from the effects of the liquor he had drunk, the half-tipsy youth obliged this time without demur. Holding her close to him, he laid his cheek against hers and stumbled clumsily through the steps of an old-fashioned foxtrot as she hummed the tune in his ear. His pulses quickened as he felt the soft thrust of her breasts against his naked chest, the pressure of her jean-covered knee between his thighs. God, but she was a sexy armful! For a wild moment he imagined himself naked in bed with her, those milk-white breasts exposed to his lustful gaze, her naked loins revealed to his inquisitive eyes. At once his penis sprang into erection, pushing out the baggy front of his shorts to bore into the soft curve of Lyn's belly.
If the intoxicated young redhead noticed, she gave no sign - and Willie himself, in his euphoric state of alcoholic bliss, no longer minded or was embarrassed. His cock was where he wanted it to be... or almost where he wanted it to be, separated from its goal only by a few layers of clothing and the soft flesh of Lyn's belly!
And then suddenly the music stopped and they were kissing.
The boy's loose-lipped mouth clamped avidly down on hers, his tongue spearing wetly into the hot, winey cavern of her mouth as she closed her eyes and sucked on its gently probing tip. Hearing her breath quicken with excitement, he tightened his arms around her slender body and rocked her to and fro as they stood swaying in an empty room.
Lyn's hands came up behind his bare shoulders to cradle the back of his head as she melted against his spare frame, her pelvis oscillating gently against the hard thrust of his young loins. She knew what the routine would be; she had always refused to go the whole way with him - although in fact Willie's upbringing and natural diffidence had prevented him from trying really hard. He wasn't a very positive person, and that was the truth. He would always rather talk about lovemaking - or quote what other people had written about it - than attempt to do it for himself! But they were used to petting. Sometimes Lyn would let him reach under her sweater, unfasten her brassiere, and massage her ripely swelling breasts until the berry-like nipples spiked out into maddening hardness; sometimes she would even allow his exploring hand to stray hotly over the trembling mound covered by her nylon panties. But that was all.
Tonight, though, she was dimly aware of a new resolution in his approach. His hands clawing her blouse from the waistband of her jeans were less hesitant than usual, the pressure of his lips was more demanding. And the voluptuous teenager herself, sensitive to the urgency implicit in Willie's hoarsely rasping breath, felt unaccustomed thrills of erotic sensation coursing along her veins to flare through her nerve-ends in unexpected flickers of rapture.
Willie's fingers massaged the satiny skin covering the subtle planes of her back and then, moving up the cool flesh to insinuate themselves under the strap of her brassiere, began fumbling with the fastener under the fabric of her blouse. Finally he managed to unhook it and, as her breasts sprang resiliently free, he wrenched his mouth away from hers with a gasp, dragged her down onto the couch in front of the hearth, and stammered incoherently: "Lyn... Darling... You're so... I've got to ... "
Letting her head fall back against the cushions, she felt the room spin away in an alcoholic haze as she closed her eyes and felt him unbuttoning the front of her blouse. The next moment he was panting above her, his hot breath playing moistly over her naked breasts as he hauled up her loosened brassiere and began caressing the lusciously rounded globes, rolling her now erect nipples around between his trembling fingers and grazing his palms against the sensitive areolas until the tiny bud-like shafts of flesh throbbed achingly with desire.
Suddenly, the reclining young redhead sucked in her breath as he dropped his head and took one of her tautly spiked out nipples into his mouth. The gentle playing of his tongue around the super-sensitive dark flesh sent tremors of erotic arousal spasming through her whole body and, as he increased the tempo and pressure of his sucking caress, drove the squirming girl to near desperation. Floating away on a tide of sensual ecstasy, she hardly noticed when his hand slipped down to her waist and opened the fly of her jeans. It was only later that her drink-fogged mind realized that she had herself lifted her hips to allow him to peel the garment down to her knees...
Then his hot fingers were stroking the cool skin of her inner thighs, moving higher and higher as she writhed beneath him, until at last, sensing that this time she might not be able to hold him back, she gasped: "No, Willie! Please don't! We mustn't!"
But his hands kept on stroking her, roving the full length of her half-naked body now, over the gently heaving flatness of her belly, across her ribs, back to the hard ridge of her hips, and finally down to the nylon-sheathed softness of her loins while his lips continued their maddening sucking of her nipple. Only this time the lewdly exploring hands did not remain on the outside of her panties: he insinuated his fingers under the elastic waistband and eased them, too, down over her hips.
Then the lustfully probing digits were tangling in the sparsely curling pubic hair mantling her quivering loins. Stroking her there, he parted the silky down and slowly worked his extended middle finger into the moist virginal slit of her vagina... and she jerked sharply, experiencing a tingling, forbidden thrill that sent the pulses racing in her temples as she writhed her naked buttocks down against the cushions under the pressure of Willie's inexpert hand.
Still murmuring incoherent refusals, she opened her eyes and stared down past his bobbing head to the triangle of blue nylon covering his genitals - a triangle now thrust outwards as though by a tent pole under the expanding pressure of his rigidly throbbing cock, a triangle darkened again by a spreading stain of moisture seeping from his rubbery, pulsating cock-head.
The desire-inflamed youth paid no attention to Lyn's protests, and she closed her eyes again under the teasing ministrations of his rummaging finger between the damply throbbing lips of her cunt. Then suddenly there was a whisper of nylon moving over flesh and she felt a blunt, hot pressure against her thigh.
It was Willie's penis! She had never felt one before and the muscles of her body contracted away involuntarily from the unfamiliar and oddly disturbing touch.
She opened her mouth to scold him and tell him he had gone too far... and then abruptly his obscenely exploring finger plunged up to the second knuckle into her hot, wet vagina, sending a galvanic thrill of forbidden pleasure rippling through her loins as his palm grazed hard against the tender, sensitive bud of her clitoris.
For a moment she couldn't move: she was frozen to the cushions as the electric sensation seared through her nerve-ends, flooding her veins with delight. And Willie took this to mean that she had surrendered!
Raising his head from her inflamed nipple, he groaned inarticulately, took one of her hands in his own, and wrapped her trembling fingers around the rock-hard shaft of his cock. Automatically, she clenched them tight, hearing his answering groan of pleasure and relief over the gasping intake of her own breath. She had never expected that an erect penis would be so huge! Her fingers seemed barely able to go around it! Without thinking, she began to massage the loose foreskin back and forth, up and down the massively throbbing staff. Nothing in the world, she thought hazily, had ever felt so good or so right...
Now his raping Finger was plunging deeper and deeper in and out of her hotly contracting cunt as the interfolded, fleshy lips slickened wetly with the vaginal secretions seeping excitedly from the hair-fringed slit. His invading finger was stretching the tiny ring of her still-intact maidenhead, and in an instant of clarity Lyn was frightened that it would split then and there and rip her virginity away on the spot!
But there was nothing she could do about it: the lewd thrills of pleasure that Willie was inducing in her were racing too wildly through her body for her to resist! Relaxing the muscles of her inner thighs to give him greater access to her, she increased at the same time the speed of her own caresses. The seminal fluid now flowing freely from the bulbous, rubbery cock-head had seeped between her obscenely milking fingers and lubricated the plank-stiff shaft, so that each gentle stroke was accompanied by a lewdly wet sucking sound as his lust-thickened pole of male hardness jerked into even greater rigidity with her every thrust.
Suddenly, the passion-crazed youth tried to roll over on top of her. But at the last moment, remembering in a flash of sobriety how often she had been impressed that she must keep her virginity for her husband, Lyn mouthed an incoherent negative and clamped her thighs tightly together, trapping his penis and her own pumping hand between them.
He struggled to free the hotly pulsing shaft, seizing her wrist in an attempt to thrust the wetly seeping tip in between the quivering lips of the panting young redhead's passion-damp vagina. But even though she wanted it as much as he did, something in back of Lyn's mind repeated over and over again that it was wrong, she must wait, she must wait... She resisted him with all of her strength - and inadvertently her grip tightened around his straining cock. Just as he managed to force the head up and nose it between the splayed lips of her cunt, she felt the thrusting, fleshy staff begin to jerk uncontrollably.
Willie groaned aloud. His breath blew out in a shuddering sigh and she felt a hot, thick stream of fluid spurt from the pulsing rod in her hand, the scalding liquid pumping out in diminishing squirts until her pubic hair was drenched with sticky sperm. It ran between her convulsively clenching fingers, covered the insides of her naked thighs, and dripped wetly down between her legs to moisten the cushion beneath her buttocks.
The satiated youth emitted a final moan of release and collapsed across her body. Then he was mumbling abject apologies for his incompetence into her ear, seemingly unaware that she had in fact resisted him. For a long time after that he lay silent while she stared up at the high ceiling, and the sperm grew cold on her skin.
The rain seemed to have stopped, but the wind was blowing and the waves crashed more loudly than ever on the shore.
At last he pushed himself off her and stood unsteadily upright. Wordlessly, he held her hand for a moment and then walked shamefacedly from the room. She heard the water running in the bathroom. Soon after he was back.
"Where did you put my clothes? I guess I'd better be on my way," he said sheepishly.
Lyn was dressed again and standing by the stereo. "I put them on the heater at the end of the hallway hours ago," she replied distantly. She was a prey to mixed emotions, uppermost in her mind the seething frustration at being lifted so high up on to a plane of sexual excitement - and then dropped abruptly down before she had a chance to attain the release she craved. But she was also furiously angry... angry with the callow youth for having taken advantage of her intoxicated state, angry with him for his subsequent clumsiness - and, if she was honest with herself, angry at the back of her mind because, having aroused her desire, he had neither had the sensitivity to realize how frustrated she was, nor been man enough to try again once he had failed!
Willie was standing in the doorway with his dry clothes on. "Well, I guess I'd better go," he said awkwardly. "Gee, I'm sorry I... Oh, thanks for the dinner, Lyn. It was swell... Say, can I see you again tomorrow?"
"If you like."
"Okay," he mumbled. "I'll be around about eight as usual."
He turned and slunk from the room. Lyn had gone to her bedroom and slammed the door before she heard the motor of his bike sputter to life.
* * *
Outside the living room windows, a young man hidden in the fork of the yew tree swore softly to himself and increased the speed of his obscenely milking hand as it skimmed the loose foreskin of his penis up and down the massive rigidity of the thick shaft jutting lewdly from the opened fly of his leather pants.
He had been concealed there ever since the rain stopped, spying on the voluptuous young redhead and her date through a gap in the drapes which Lyn had failed to notice. They had told him at the hamburger stand where the high school kids and the motorcycle gangs hung out that that punk Willie Miller had a real far-out chick, a genuine stone fox who ought to be the best lay in town... only her folks kept her so closely guarded that nobody outside their snobby circle ever got to see her! Then, when he was filling up his BMW 650 at a gas station on the outskirts of town, he had chanced to see old man Dunnett and his dried-up wife filling up... and he had overheard them say something about going up to Brockton for a few days. Did that mean that the broad was going to be alone in the house while they were away?
Waiting outside the Miller home that evening, he had seen Willie leave and throttled back his big machine to follow the kid's bike that the young jerk rode through the rain. Once he had located the house, he parked the BMW under a big pine in the driveway and rolled himself a couple of joints before he braved the downpour and cased the place.
He need not have worried. There were no more lights showing. The carport was empty. Those two kids were alone in the place! When the rain stopped, Kline hid his bike behind a hedge on the far side of the dirt road, rolled himself another joint, and prepared to enjoy an evening's vicarious sex. And then the goddamn bitch pulled the drapes across the windows...
Swearing aloud, he tramped across the waterlogged lawn. To his delight, he found that the tipsy teenager hadn't quite closed the gap between the curtains on one of the windows. There was a big yew standing just outside. If he could get up into that fork, he could find a comfortable seat, keep off the worst of the rain if it started again... and at the same time see right into the lighted room.
Laboriously, he hauled himself up among the wet branches and installed himself there, licking his lips in anticipation as the half-naked boy and his seductive companion came back from their dinner and began to dance.
From his position high up in the old tree, he could see over the back of the sofa, and he stared with bated breath as Willie, emboldened by the drink he had taken, unbuttoned the ripely curved redhead's blouse and began to caress and suck her tautly upthrust breasts.
When the lust-inflamed boy pulled down her jeans and panties, exposing the red-gold vee of her pubic hair and the delicate coral slit of her pussy to the unseen watcher's hungry eyes, Kline's hand moved stealthily down to his own loins. Tossing away the butt of his joint, he slid open the zipper of his fly and took out the hard, stiff pole of his lecherously throbbing cock. Then, as Willie pulled down his shorts and wrapped Lyn's fingers around his penis, the Peeping Tom grasped his own pulsating shaft and began pumping it up and down in time with the inexperienced girl's lewdly caressing hand.
His eyes glazed, his breath rasping from his excited lungs in competition with the wind sloughing through the branches around him, Kline listened to the obscenely wet sucking sounds made by his clenched hand milking at the wetly seeping, bulbous head of his massive cock, imagining himself in the Miller kid's place.
Slowly masturbating, he watched fascinated as the thin youth in the living room maneuvered himself into position on top of the now sexually aroused teenager. He could almost feel the sucking clasp of that tight little hair-fringed pussy around his own aching staff!
And then the dumb bastard had to go and louse it all up! He shot his load before he had even gotten inside the bitch!
Disgustedly, Kline felt his cock go limp in his hand. Now he'd have to wait until that half-assed little prick in there summoned up enough spunk to try it again!
But Willie slumped off out of the room and the broad got up and dressed herself... looking mad as a nest of hornets, Kline was glad to see. Holy Christ, if he'd been in there instead of that Miller punk, she'd be spread-eagled on the floor, begging him for more, pleading with him to stuff his cock up into that soft little belly!
For a moment he toyed with the idea of busting in and throwing it to her as soon as Willie left. But he didn't want to tangle with the law: it was late now, and she might refuse to open the door, might even call the fuzz. He couldn't afford to have the pigs hang a breaking and entering charge on him! No - he'd leave it to another time. Once he was inside the house legally, he could always claim that she'd led him on, that she'd been a willing accomplice. It would just be his word against hers... whereas a forced door or a broken window catch could get him busted right away. But once he was in there - his pulses raced at the thought - why, he'd ram his aching cock so far up into her juicy little cunt that she'd feel it in her throat! He'd screw the ass off her until she couldn't walk! He'd fuck her so good and so hard that she'd come crawling on her knees crying for more... and more and more!
The lascivious thought sent the blood pounding through his veins again and his penis jerked into throbbing life in his hand. As the lamp in the living room went out and a thin thread of light showed through a shuttered window on the upper floor, he began fiercely pumping his rock-hard staff, squeezing the foreskin over the lubricated, wetly gleaming surface of the rubbery glans, and then skimming it forcefully down and up the lust-thickened shaft. The only thing to do now was to jack off... while he allowed his mind to dwell on the things he would do when he got that hot little number into the sack tomorrow... !
Gradually, as the salacious images passed before his lecherous mind, his panting breath quickened and the tempo of his pistoning hand increased. Then suddenly he uttered a hoarse cry, half-standing in the fork of the tree as his penis started a wild staccato jerking that spewed his hot, thick sperm in viscous spurts among the concealing branches of the yew.
Two minutes later, his leather jeans zipped up again, he dropped silently to the ground and stole away to recover his bike.
CHAPTER TWO
Willie Miller came out of a booth in back of the hamburger stand the next afternoon and pushed his way through the ranks of kids thronging the bar towards the door. Outside, the rain was holding off but there was a moist breeze blowing off the ocean and the sky was low with scudding gray clouds. Between two stores on the far side of the street he could see a glimpse of angry whitecaps out in the bay. Whistling to himself, he made tracks for the back of the parking lot where he had left his bike.
Passing along the wooden rack where the bikes were parked he came to the space where he had left his own... and halted. The space was empty: his bike was gone. Frowning, he retraced his steps in case he had inadvertently mistaken the number and passed it by. But there was no mistake: the machine was definitely missing.
"Hey, Willie!"
The lanky youth swung around. Brad Holman, a chunky boy who hung around with the motorcycle gang, was calling him from the far end of the wall running along the back of the lot.
"You lost your mount, man?" Brad called. "That's the red and cream job, ain't it? The little Honda 50? Like I think I saw some kids messing around with it in the lot back there ..."
"Oh... Thanks, I guess I better take a look." Willie hurried across. There was a gap in the wall just behind Brad which led to a vacant lot on the other side, a weed-grown wilderness that had once housed a small auto repair shop which had been burned down years ago. The blackened walls and charred roof spars of the gutted building still stood empty among the trees on the far side of the lot. He went through the gap ahead of the other youth, and heard voices coming from around the comer of the abandoned shop. Quickening his pace, he ran across.
As soon as he rounded the corner he saw his mistake. His bike was there all night. But these were no kids who had it. There were three powerful motorcycles drawn up around the Honda, their owners leaning indolently against the saddles as they watched him approach with sneering smiles on their faces. Nearest to him was the thin, weasel-faced Rats Harriman, beyond him Denzil Best, the toughest fighter in school, and finally Marshall Kline, tall, burly leader of the motorbike gang of which the other two were leading lights.
Willie's first impulse was to turn and run. Kline and his friends had the reputation of being cruel and callous practical jokers as well as terrorizing the younger and weaker high-school boys and breaking up their dates. Rats and Kline were supposed to have raped a senior girl from Manchester last spring, though it had all been hushed up, and Denzil Best had once broken the jaw of a doorman who had refused to let him into an apartment block. On Saturday nights they roared through the town scaring pedestrians and elderly folks and shopkeepers in the time-honored Hell's Angels fashion. The studious real-estate man's son didn't want any part of them: his father would be furious if he knew Willie had even talked to them! On the other hand, he wanted to get his bike back. It was a long walk home, and the old man would be equally angry if he returned without it...
For a moment he hesitated... and then the decision was taken for him. Brad Holman, who had followed him through the gap, pushed him forward and announced triumphantly: "Fell for it like a fish with a worm!"
Willie stumbled and then forced a smile. "Hi, Marshall," he said weakly.
Kline pushed himself upright and stood before him, lazily, arrogantly alert, his small eyes slitted under heavy brows. "You lose something, Willie?" he asked sneeringly. "Like a cute little kid's bike for instance?"
The younger boy flushed. "That is mine, yes," he said. "Uh - thanks for f-f-finding it. I... I guess I'll go now." He moved forward toward the Honda, reaching for the handlebars... but Kline stepped in front of him, barring the way.
"That's nowhere, man," he said coldly. "Like you can't ride a hog like that with a flat on the rear."
"I don't THINK I do have a flat," Willie said nervously.
"Sure you do." Kline turned around. "Rats!" he called. "Like run a check on our friend's bike, willya? Seems to me I saw a goddamn flat!"
Guffawing coarsely, the lounging youth pushed himself upright and slouched across to the Honda. Then, bending down swiftly, he yanked the valve from the back tire and tossed it away into the weeds. "Sure as hell is," he said with mock regret over the hiss of escaping air. "Flat as a motherfuckin' pancake!"
Willie bit his lip and said nothing. They were four to one and they were only waiting to get a rise out of him.
"Too bad, man. It's like I told you - you have a flat," Kline said, shaking his head.
"Hey, Marsh!" Denzil Best shouted suddenly. "Goddamn machine's fresh outa gas, at that!"
"Is that so?"
Grinning evilly, Rats seized the light bike by the wheels and turned it upside down. Then he twisted the cap which was now on the underneath of the tank and stood back as gasoline splashed to the wet ground. "See what I mean?" Best chortled. He kicked out with one heavy foot and the bike careened over and fell on its side with a clatter. "Only one serviceable wheel and no gas - lousy thing ain't fit for anything but the junkyard!"
"Now ain't that too bad," Kline said softly. "Poor Wee Willie Winkie... he's due upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown - and he ain't got no transport!"
Brad Holman burst into a raucous laugh. "Willie, won't he... Willie, won't he join the dance?" he jeered with a sly glance at Kline.
There were two angry red spots burning on Willie Miller's cheeks. "What are you guys getting at?" he asked levelly, keeping his temper with an effort.
Kline swung around and gazed at his cronies with his eyebrows raised in feigned astonishment. "Like did we say something?" he asked in an injured tone.
Rats guffawed again. "Somethin' like this, wasn't it, Marsh?" he enquired. And then, unbuckling his belt, he slid his jeans down to his knees, crossed his splayed hands over the shorts covering his genitals, leaned far forward, and began a grotesque parody of the Twist that Kline had watched Willie doing in his stained undergarment the night before.
As Willie flushed scarlet with embarrassment and mortification, the four young hoods burst into jeering laughter. "Oh, Willie," Kline choked, "like, man, you're too much! You guys shoulda seen him! He really came on strong! A heavy dude as far as the chicks are concerned, that's our Willie!"
"You were spying on us! You must have been! I suppose you were out in the garden?" the Miller boy blurted furiously, too angry and too humiliated at the realization that Kline had witnessed his discomfiture to be frightened anymore.
"Like who could pass up an opportunity like that?" the gang leader snickered. "I mean watching a real expert in action! Man, you really had something going there! And as for the chick ... I tell you studs, she's something else!"
"Just leave her out of it and quit ribbing me, will you?" Willie snapped. He turned on his heel to go. He'd see about rescuing what was left of his bike later. For the moment, he had to get out of there before he ran into real trouble...
He had gone less than three steps before a strong hand clamped over his shoulder and spun him around. "Like what do you think you're at, man?" Brad Holman demanded aggressively. "You ain't goin' no place!" He shoved the thin youth viciously towards Kline.
Caught off balance, Willie staggered and almost stumbled. Before he could regain his equilibrium, Kline pushed him violently in the chest and he shot across to Denzil Best, who in turn thrust him savagely at Rats. The weasel-faced youth stuck out his foot and Willie tripped to fall heavily on his back on the muddy ground.
At once the four of them were around him, their cruel, mocking faces staring down as he squirmed panting among the weeds. Then Kline leaned down, wrapped his fingers in the lapels of the fallen boy's jacket, bunched up the garment and dragged him half off the ground. "Now listen," he said between his teeth. "Like I got reasons for thinkin' you have a date with a certain broad tonight. True or false?"
His eyes behind their spectacles wide with fear, Willie tried to still the chattering of his teeth as he shook his head dumbly.
Kline bent him arm and straightened up, hauling the boy savagely upright. At the same time, Denzil Best pivoted on the balls of his feet, clenched his fist, and drove a punishing short-arm jab straight into the pit of Willie's stomach.
The vicious blow smashed sickeningly into the boy's defenseless belly, exploding the breath from his lungs as bolts of agony shot through his whole body from his tortured abdominal muscles. Kline relaxed his grasp on the jacket, and Willie slumped to his knees, his head hanging low, and vomited noisily. Then he rolled over and collapsed on his face in the mud, his body jackknifing like a gaffed fish as he tried desperately to drag air back into his savaged lungs.
Kline nodded to Rats, who went to the saddlebag on his bike and came back holding several lengths of rope. While the felled boy writhed and whooped, they bound his wrists and elbows behind his back and lashed his ankles together. Then, at another sign from their leader, they picked up his squirming body and carried him into the burned-out workshop. Kline looked cautiously around the empty lot and then followed them.
In a corner of the gutted building under the blackened beams of the old roof there was a small office roofed with corrugated iron which had somehow escaped the holocaust. There was no glass in the window, there were weeds growing through the broken floorboards, the place was mildewed, smelly and dirty. But there was a door with a rusty lock and it was private. Some of the younger high-school kids brought their roaches here to toke up on forbidden pot, others not too particular about their surroundings brought girls there on Saturday nights... and today Marshall Kline and his toadies brought the bound and helpless body of Willie Miller.
They dumped him on the damp floor and Kline leaned down over his still contorted face. "Like next time, answer when you're spoken to, man," he snarled menacingly. "I asked you a question: is it right you have a date tonight with that hot little Dunnett bitch?"
The terrified youth blinked his eyes and nodded wordlessly. His lips were drawn back from his teeth as the air wheezed back into his lungs, and tears of pain and frustration streamed from underneath his glasses.
"Well ain't that too bad," Kline said softly. "Like I mean you ain't gonna be able to keep it! With your hog outa commission an' all, you'll never make to the Dunnett home on time ..."
Rats plucked the glasses from the helpless boy's nose and dropped them to the floor. "Even if he thought of walkin'," he giggled, "he'd never be able to find his way, would he? Not with his specs smashed when he fell off of that broken down bike!" He placed a heavy foot on the frame and ground his heel until the lenses splintered against the wooden boards.
Willie struggled futilely against his bonds, his eyes searching desperately from face to callous young face as if he might discover some sign of decency or mercy there. He found none. "So seein' as you're gonna be forced to disappoint a lady," Kline continued remorselessly, "it seems only polite to send someone else in your place. 'Course, it won't be a real hundred percent ball the way a heavy dude like you would handle it yourself. But we gotta do the best we can: it's the least I can do for you, Willie boy. In the meantime, my buddies will look after you here."
The bound, defenseless youth on the floor was crying now, his squirming body racked with hoarse sobs. "Let me go!" he croaked. "My... my folks are expecting m-m-me. I'm due home before I go to Lyn's place. They'll miss me. They'll call the p-p-police ..."
"Like that's nowhere, man," Kline said for the second time. "We had your place staked out before you came down to the hamburger stand. Your old man's off in Boston on some lousy development conference and he won't be back until after midnight. And your ma's playing bridge with a whole lot more of them dried-up old bitches out at the country club. They can't be expecting you."
As Brad, Rats and Denzil guffawed their coarse good wishes, he strode to the door. Just before he turned the handle, he swung around and spoke to the kidnapped youth.
"I'll do the best I can for you, Willie, boy," he said tauntingly. "You never know: it might turn out to be... like you know ... a real thing!"
CHAPTER THREE
The soft chimes of the doorbell sounded promptly at eight. Lyn Dunnett sighed and went slowly to answer it. At first she had thought that Willie might not show, embarrassed by his failure and lack of consideration the previous night. Then she realized that he was probably too immature to feel either of those things; he would come back tonight expecting that they could simply start over. It would be the same routine again. There had been nothing special about last night - except maybe Willie's odd behavior when she first asked him to dance! - he had tried, a little harder than usual, to make her. And as usual he hadn't made it! Tonight she supposed he would try once more... and she would have to scold him, telling him that he must never do that again, while all the time some obscure demon in back of her mind was encouraging her to urge him to go on: even his fumbling caresses served to awaken some dark side of her nature that frightened her as much as it insidiously fascinated her.
She opened the door... and gave a small exclamation of surprise.
It wasn't the familiar figure of Willie, with his lank hair and his toothy smile, that greeted her. A boy she had never seen before was standing on the front porch. He was older than Willie - about 19, she judged - a tall, husky, dark boy wearing black leather jeans and a leather jacket patterned with silver studs. "Oh," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I guess there must be some mistake ..." She made as if to close the door.
The strange youth wedged his booted foot into the opening. "No mistake," he said easily. "Expecting Willie Miller, wasn't you? Figurin' he'd show at eight for his date with you?"
"Y-y-yes. But ..."
"Well I got a message from him. He asked me special to come by and see that you got it." He stared at her appraisingly, his small eyes narrowed under overhanging brows, a slight smile on his reddish, coarse-skinned face. "Ain't you gonna ask me to come in?"
Lyn hesitated. Never keep a visitor standing at the door, her mother always said. Tradesmen and servants came to the back door; anyone at the front must be asked in, even if it was only for a few moments, even if it was only into the hallway. And there was a list of graded priorities ranging from church visitors seeking charity money (hallway), through business associates and people leaving (her father's study) to folks Mrs. Dunnett actually knew (the sitting room facing the ocean, with the offer of refreshment). But was this rather rough looking youth a visitor? There was something about the calculating expression on his face, the twist of his thin lips, that she didn't quite trust. On the other hand, if he really did have a message from Willie, if he had come by specially, it seemed ungracious to keep him standing on the porch. In any event, the decision was taken from her hands. Shoving the door open with a thrust of his large hand, the boy coolly walked past the astonished teenager into the house.
"Nice place you got here," he said, looking over the heavy, dark furniture, the framed Victorian prints on the wall, a glimpse of the richly carpeted sitting room through a half-open door. "Like it ain't my style, not my style at all, but expensive, huh?"
'Tin glad you approve," Lyn said drily. "You said you had a message... ?" She stood in the hallway with her eyebrows arched making no move to lead him further into the house.
Marshall Kline's lips stretched as he repressed a grin. Change the rules of the game, behave in some way that wasn't laid down in their fucking code, and the pigs floundered about like a ship without a rudder! It would be a gas to shake up all this prissy little bitch's ideas of what was done and not done! "A message," he repeated aloud. "Yeah, I sure do." He opened the door of the living room and walked through.
"Well, really... !" Lyn gasped in her best imitation of her mother. Helplessly she followed him in to the room and switched on the lights.
"You moved the davenport!" he said accusingly, nodding to the empty space it had occupied the previous day.
"Yes, Mrs. Rimmer thought it would look better against -Abruptly she broke off in mid-sentence. "How do you know?" she demanded.
Kline grinned wolfishly. "I know lotsa things," he said.
"Well if you can remember that message... ? I am rather busy, and I'm afraid ..." The nonplussed young girl used another of her mother's famous trailing sentences, one of which was usually enough to send any visitor who had outstayed his welcome hurrying apologetically on his way.
The ploy had no effect on Kline whatever. "Willie's message?" he said. "Oh... yeah. He's sorry but he can't make it tonight."
Lyn frowned. "Then why didn't lie call me?"
"He figured he'd ask me to take his place. That way it"d be better for both of us... like I mean you and me," Kline said calmly. "He was real sorry to pull out on you like this at the last minute ..."
"But I don't understand. "Why ...?"
"... only poor Willie's all tied up in town," the unwelcome visitor completed with a crooked grin. He wandered through the dining-room door and switched on the lights. "Liquor's in here, ain't it? Yeah... that's what I thought. What are you gonna have to drink, baby?"
Lyn was stunned by the youth's effrontery. How in the world had he known about the sofa being moved only that morning? How did he know where her father kept the liquor? Surely he couldn't have been invited there by her parents sometime when she was away? She looked at him again. It was unthinkable! Yet he was behaving as if it was his own house: the situation was intolerable! "Look," she began spiritedly. "I don't know who you are - "
"Friend of Willie's. I told you. Scotch? Yeah, I guess that's best," Kline's voice said from the other room.
"I don't want a drink!" Lyn cried, stamping her foot with vexation. "Look, you can't come in here like this-"
"Can't?" Kline interrupted. "Like it seems I'm in already, baby. In like Flynn, you might say!" Chuckling coarsely, he reappeared carrying two tumblers half-full of neat Scotch. He held one out to the angry young redhead but she compressed her lips and turned away.
"Please leave this house at once." she ordered coldly.
Kline laughed aloud, his eyes resting appreciatively on the taut swell of Lyn's youthfully budding breasts. For the first time she began to feel afraid. She was wearing jeans and a sweater in soft white wool over a new brassiere she had bought only last week in Beverly. She had wondered at the time whether the exaggerated uplift it gave her might not be a little immodest... now she was agonizingly conscious of the shape and size of the resiliently mounded globes.
"I ain't leavin'... yet," the leather-clad youth continued imperturbably. "Willie was most anxious you shouldn't be disappointed. He wanted to carry on right where he left off last night - only seein' he can't make it himself, he asked me to do it for him! 'Course, I can't promise to dance the way he did, an' I don't cut such a glamorous figure as him in my underpants, maybe... but like I'll do the best I can!"
Suddenly realization flooded Lyn's mind. "You must have been watching!" she cried furiously. "Out in the garden, I suppose! Why, you're nothing but a Peeping Tom, a voyeur, a cheap little eavesdropper getting his dirty-minded thrills spying on other folks!" Her voice was shrill with indignation and scorn and contempt. No wonder he had known about the sofa, been familiar with the layout of the house!
Kline was unruffled. "Just because people like you wouldn't like to be called them names," he said mildly, "it don't necessarily mean they rile me. Anyway, there's something you forgot."
"That doesn't surprise me!" the outraged teenager flashed contemptuously. "I'm sure there are any number of unpleasant things about you that I don't know! What was it that you had in mind?"
Kline's voice hardened. "I got a big cock and I'm gonna fuck you silly with it, you snobbish little bitch!" he said venomously.
Lyn flinched from the coarse words as if he had struck her. "Why... how dare you!" she spluttered. "Who do you think you are, you... you unspeakable brute? You get out of this house this minute before I call the p-p-police!"
There was an angry light in the youth's eyes now. Striding abruptly forward, he seized her wrist and thrust his face close to hers. "Like don't threaten me with the fuzz, baby," he said menacingly. "I don't like it and I might get tough with you! Now ... I asked you to drink with me. So drink!" He thrust the glass of Scotch toward the trembling girl.
She turned away her head, trying to mask the fear in her eyes. "I don't want a drink! You can't make me!" she cried wildly.
"Try me!" Kline said. Suddenly he let go of her wrist and slapped her viciously across the face, once, twice, forehanded and backhanded, the savage blows echoing in the room.
The scared young virgin reeled back under the impact of his assault, her hands flying to her face as she burst into tears.
"Drink!" Kline commanded mercilessly, thrusting the glass at her.
Cowering away from him, terrified at the fresh outburst of violence she might unleash if she refused, Lyn tearfully took the tumbler and swallowed a cautious sip. The raw spirit burned her throat, causing her to splutter and choke as tears spurted from her green eyes once more.
"All of it," he rasped. "And get it down quicker than that. I got hot pants for you, doll!" Obscenely, he patted the visible bulge thrusting out the crotch of his leather jeans.
Sobbing aloud, the fearfully cringing teenager began to choke down the unaccustomed liquor as he felt in the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a hand-rolled cigarette with the paper curled into tight twists at each end. Snapping a lighter into flame, he dragged smoke deeply into his lungs and watched her through narrowed eyes. The cigarette had a sweetish, aromatic smell, unlike the Pall Malls and Chesterfields her father smoked.
Kline took another deep drag and downed half the contents of his own glass at a single draught. "Smoke?" he said curtly, thrusting the joint towards her.
"N-n-n-no thank you. I don't-"
"I said smoke!"
Under his hard-faced scrutiny, she took the wet-tipped cigarette and inhaled the herbal-smelling vapor, gasping again as the unfamiliar sensation affected her innocent lungs. Yet curiously, by the time she managed to swallow the rest of the whiskey and the cigarette was finished, a strange and pleasing warmth was stealing through her body, masking the worst of her fear and even lending her a kind of defiant valor in her extremity. When Kline returned to the dining room to refill the glasses, she took a sudden decision and plunged for her father's study. If she could slam the door and lock it from the inside, she could simply pick up the phone and call the police! Then, if the menacing intruder was fool enough not to make good his escape, all she had to do was wait until rescue came...
With a smothered curse, Kline caught her before she was inside the book-lined room on the far side of the hallway, pinning her to him, holding her wrist in a vise-like grip from behind. "Oh, no you don't, you little bitch!" he snarled. "I got plans for you in the other room... starting right where Willie-boy left off!" Picking up the phone in his free hand, he yanked it so savagely that the cord ripped away from the plug in the wall. Then, dragging her screaming and protesting back into the living room, he grated: "You know what's gonna happen now, don't you? I'm gonna screw the fuckin' ass of you-and you're gonna love it!"
She struggled futilely in his bear-like grasp. "No!... Oh, please... no!" She pleaded piteously. "Let me go!"
"Not a chance, kid... I've waited too goddamned long for this! Like all the while since this time yesterday evening!"
"Noooooo!" Lyn screamed frantically.
Kline pushed her savagely down on the floor, his own muscular, leather-clad body following, pinning her there as one of his hard hands covered her mouth. His voice was gritty. "Like you let out another yell like that and I'll knock your motherfuckin' head off, bitch! You're gonna get fucked... and there ain't nothin' you can do about it!"
Shifting his hand down to hold her jaw, he dropped his mouth to her, capturing her lips, swamping them, engulfing them moistly as his tongue darted out to force itself obscenely between her teeth. She resisted his kiss, frantically attempting to turn her head aside', but his grip prevented her, his fingers pressing with cruel force into the muscles at the hinge of her jaw, forcing her mouth to open to him.
Lyn fought against him desperately, trying to worm her body free of his weight, disgust and revulsion sweeping through her at the vile physical contact with this young hoodlum who had forced his way into her parents' home after spying on her and Willie the day before. But he held her brutally down, his free hand moving searchingly over her curvaceous form, gouging and kneading the soft flesh of her hips while his pelvis ground into her squirming loins. She could feel with a thrill of alarm the bulging hugeness of his erect penis through the creaking leather of his pants as it pressed hard into the triangle of her genital mound.
With all her strength, she wrenched her face away, breaking the kiss and escaping his voraciously devouring lips as she struggled to free herself from the weight of him. "Damn you!" she panted. "Let me go! I'll never, never let you-"
Crack! His open-handed slap rocked her already drug-dimmed and alcohol-fogged head. "Like you keep on asking for it, don't you?" he roared angrily.
Lyn moaned, a hand going to the side of her face where the ugly imprint of his fingers had joined the livid weals left by his earlier blows. "You might as well make up you mind," Kline snarled. "You can cooperate and we'll both have a ball, or you can fight and I'll be the only one. Either we do it my way, or by God I'll tie you up and beat the shit outa you... and you'll still get fucked! It don't make no difference to me-and you can scream all you like: there ain't no neighbors near enough to hear. I already cheeked."
She saw the mean determination in his eyes. He meant every word of it! His lust for her could lead him to do anything: he was acting and talking like an insane man...
"Please... don't hurt me any more," she said pitifully, all the haughtiness and defiance beaten out of her by the realization of how far he was prepared to go to get his way. Her decision had been made for her. The slaps, the threats, the liquor in her veins and the drug unknowingly affecting her mind ... all of them combined to weigh her down, to defeat her. She was alone and helpless at this young monster's mercy; there was nothing she could do... unless she wanted to risk being seriously hurt!
Once again Kline captured her mouth, his tongue spearing between her gasping lips, probing avidly as he rolled slightly away from her to clasp one firm young breast, his fingers digging into her soft flesh through sweater and bra. Lyn struggled again, writhing beneath him as she tried to avoid his pillaging tongue, to shake his rapacious fingers from her body. It was futile: he held her in a vise-like grip. Perhaps if she gave in and allowed him to have his way, the horror would be over sooner... and then she could wait for an opportunity to slip out of the house and escape? She would just lie there, not responding, and let him use her as a receptacle for his lust. There didn't seem to be any other way out. She was trapped and all alone... Abruptly she relaxed and subsided back on the floor, all of her will to fight evaporated, with a groan of submissive resignation.
The braggart boy, used to easy victories, misinterpreted the sound as one of sexual arousal. It signaled his victory! She was his already! Avidly, he began to kiss her neck, his tongue flicking wetly out to lave her soft skin; now it was probing into her ear, its hot moistness as the tip ran around the outer edges of the lobe unexpectedly sending uncontrollable shivers of unwanted sensation along her spine. "You sure are a cute little piece, babe!" Kline breathed. "Now I'll find out just how hot you really are!"
The terrified redhead lay stretched at full length under him, her softly curving thighs clenched tightly together, dreading the moment when he would want to touch here... down there: in that private, secret place between her legs. She didn't want it to happen yet she knew now that it must. She cringed from it with every fiber of her being, for somehow she knew that it would be the beginning of the end for her...
Kline leaned up on one elbow, his hand roaming across her flat belly, on down a tapered thigh, then up again to the tightly sheathed triangle at the junction of her trembling thighs. Unfastening the waistband of her jeans, he slid his hand inside and his fingers crept down the warm moist curve of flesh to touch the wisp of nylon panties covering her loins. His hand went smoothly in under the elasticated waist to fondle her soft, silky pubic hair, then he deftly pushed his outstretched middle finger into the crease at the top of Lyn's quivering vaginal furrow, sliding it in to locate the tiny bud of her clitoris.
The virgin teenager jerked convulsively at the alien touch of her secret genitals and moaned in protest. He grinned salaciously and rubbed the pad of his finger across the sensitive shaft of flesh, feeling it come up hard and firm under his raping touch. He knew that no girl, once she had been brought to full arousal, would be able to resist such teasing manipulation of her pussy!
Lyn tried to squirm away from his questing digit, thrusting her hips hard against the floor as she attempted to roll from under him... but it was useless. The heel of his hand pinned her remorselessly down while the teasing finger continued its maddening stimulation of her cunt. "Oh, please... please... d-d-don't do that!" she whimpered.
Kline laughed. "It's a little late for that, ain't it, doll?" he jeered. "You're already getting hot! Shit, that little clit of yours is as hard as a rock!"
It was true. With a groan of despair and abject humiliation. Lyn realized that his continual rummaging in the supersensuous folds of her sex flesh had stimulated her to unwilling arousal: she could feel the wet warmth of her secretions seeping out of her pussy to moisten the insides of her thighs - and with a flush of shame she heard the small lewd sucking noises made by Kline's finger as he plunged it in and out of her cunt.
"Okay," he said suddenly. "Time to take those clothes off now!"
She opened her eyes wide with disbelief. "W-w-what did you say?"
"Like you heard me. If you don't want me to beat you half to death, get moving and take 'em off!" Pulling his hand away, he sat up on the floor and hauled the cringing girl up beside him. For a moment she stared at him piteously, her lower lip trembling and the tears brimming from her eyes. Then something she saw in his flinty regard caused her to scramble hastily to her feet, strip off the jeans and pull the white sweater obediently over her head.
Kline gave a satisfied grin. He liked it when they were shit-scared of him. Reaching up a lean hand, he twisted it into the legband of her nylon panties, gave a quick, hard yank, and tore them off her, the thin material ripping completely away to leave her tender young loins totally defenseless before his lascivious gaze. Then, dragging the desperately sobbing girl down beside him again, he hooked his fingers into the strip of elastic joining the cups of her brassiere and wrenched that off too in a single brutal jerk. She was naked and at his mercy!
Instinctively she clamped her legs together and pressed her hands into her groin. "I c-c-can't let you d-d-do it to me!" she wailed.
"You can't let me... ? But you sure as hell were going to let Willie Winkie last night, weren't you, you little whore?"
"That was different... w-w-we're going steady... you don't really know how it was."
"Don't give me that!" Kline shouted. "I was there, wasn't I? I saw! The only difference is that I have a bigger cock and I know how to do it! Now, forget that half-assed little jerk and open your goddamn legs!"
Beaten down by his intimidating words and threatening manner, the helpless teenager lay back with a groan of despair. And as defeat, disgust and terror mingled in her drink and drug-blurred mind, she relaxed the muscles of her thighs slightly, allowing her white, curvingly tapered columns to part, revealing the delicate coral slit moistly glistening there in its ring of sparse young pubic hair. Her whole body was quivering with fear... and in some indefinable way with anticipation. For in spite of her revulsion at the intruder's cruel assault, those flickers of sensation that Willie had induced in her last night were tremoring insidiously through her loins again...
She didn't want it to happen... she would rather die than let it happen, she told herself fiercely ... but as Kline replaced his extended finger in her defenseless cunt, as she felt it moving in her flesh, tracing the thin pink furrow of her naked pussy, she shivered with a renewed attack of revulsion - then there was an inexplicable moment of strange, tortured agony, of salacious agitation, that seared through her belly with an aftermath of delicious, ecstatic need!
He insinuated the outthrust finger deeper and let it slide up into the wetly trembling depths of her vaginal passage, where he rotated it in tiny teasing circles just inside the now desire-slickened cuntal lips, eliciting a long, low moan from the helpless teenager's agonized mouth. Then, as she writhed at the mercy of the sensations chaotically affecting her confused mind, he threw himself across her nakedly prone body, clawing at her tender young breasts with his free hand, gouging and squeezing the soft, sensitive flesh with maniac fury as he lowered his mouth to one of her nipples and began sucking furiously on the nerve-webbed bud.
Lyn cried aloud with pain and with surprise. Her reeling brain screamed soundlessly that this horrifying nightmare must end... that she must get away... that she must somehow escape the fear and the disgust and forget - but at the same time a distant corner of her mind was in a frightening way exulting in, almost craving, the senseless brutalizing of her body, the sadistic domination of her spirit. It was a strange kind of exultation, a masochistic exultation, yet the very fact that she was stripped naked before a total stranger in her own living room, completely at the mercy of his rampaging animal lust, was sending forbidden thrills of erotic excitement coursing through her veins!
She shivered with anticipation as she heard over the hoarse panting of Kline's breath playing on her savaged nipple the metallic whisper of a zipper being opened. The next moment, with a groan of brutish desire, he hauled his lust-thickened, massively erect cock from the open fly of his leather jeans and kneeled up before her, lasciviously fondling the veined, iron-hard shaft as the purplish, bulbous head slid wetly gleaming from the pulled-back sheath of his foreskin. "Look at it!" he commanded thickly. "You ever see a cock that big before? I'm gonna stuff that cock right up inside your tight little cunt in a minute... and you're gonna beg me for more, you hot little bitch! I'm gonna fuck you silly, and you're gonna love it!"
Lyn lay shivering below him, unable to move a muscle. It was almost as though she didn't want to move, now that the moment she dreaded, the moment of truth in the nightmare she was living, had arrived. Then all at once her hazy mind cleared and she knew... knew with a certainty that brooked no denial: she had to have it, and she had to have it now! Her whole world was suddenly centered in her throbbing loins!
Magnetically, her eyes were drawn to and locked on Kline's long, thick, hugely pulsating penis, the lust-bloated glans glistening with seminal fluid, his sperm-filled testicles in their hairy pouch resting obscenely in the splayed open vee of his leathers. And she knew she had to have it inside her, tearing away her virginity, racing in and out of her now hotly quivering vaginal passage! She had to have it or she would go insane! Even the great pain she knew it would cause her as it forced its way up into her tight little pussy would be welcome. Anything would be better than lying here hanging on the brink in an unsatisfied limbo of sexual arousal... now that she knew what it was that she wanted. God! she thought to herself frantically. Why doesn't he get on with it? Why doesn't he just put it into me and... and do it?...
Kline was straddling her on his hands and knees now, his bulging cock wagging obscenely from his opened pants, a glistening thread of seminal fluid stringing down from its blood-engorged tip to moisten her naked thigh. His face was contorted in a sadistic leer. "All right, doll," he ordered. "Like take my cock in your pretty little hand and guide it straight into that tight little, hot little cunt of yours!"
This was it! Lyn's brain turned over in her skull. She froze. God! She couldn't do it! She couldn't! "Nooo! Don't make me, please! Don't make me do that too!" she faltered.
"Put it in!"
Forced, against her will, helplessly, she slid her small hand down over her flat belly, her fingers reaching for his monstrous, hardened rod of blood-engorged flesh. And then she stopped short an inch away. She was unable to bring herself to perform this final act of degradation. "No!" she groaned again.
"Do it, you little whore, or so' help me I'll ..." Kline's face was a mask of rage. Without finishing the sentence he dropped his head and took a pinkly erect nipple into his mouth... biting hard down on it so that Lyn's salty blood flowed warmly into his mouth from the wound.
"Aaaaaaaaggggghhhh!"
The recumbent redhead's scream was more of a surprise and outrage than of pain... but she reached her hand immediately the final inch and encircled his thick, lust-inflated cock with her fingers, feeling for the first time the true massiveness of his hard, pulsating staff. She was too fearful to resist anymore.
"That's better. Now let's go... all the way, babe!"
Working the desire-slickened head up and down between her open thighs to part the moistly hair-lined lips of her trembling cunt, Lyn placed the tip at the mouth of the tiny cringing channel. Her mind was reeling with shock... and anticipation.
The bulbous, rubbery glans paused there for a moment, nosing at the entrance of her cunt. Kline flexed his penis involuntarily and moved against the folds of her moistly heated flesh, sending shivers of sensual delight through her loins... and then he flicked his leather-clad hips forward to force his great lust-bloated cock-head up into the elastic tight sheath, stretching the virginal opening so cruelly that Lyn was sure his monstrous pole of male hardness was tearing her apart. With every fraction of an inch that it wedged itself up into her, she felt her tender cleft unbearably distending!
"Aaaaaaiiiiieeeee! Ooooogggghhh! God, no!... NO!... It's ripping me! I can't stand it! Pleeeeeeease!" she shrieked, the pain more than she could bear. Through agonized eyes she begged him for mercy, but she saw on his face such an expression of pure sadistic pleasure that she knew it was useless. Kline liked hurting people: for him it was a delight to watch her suffer. Inch by tortured inch, with inexorable pressure, he continued his cruel impalement of her ravaged cunt... and then suddenly, with a choking grunt, he lunged with every ounce of his weight, shoving the rock-hard shaft the whole way up into her tightly resisting cuntal passage with the force of a rutting bull to tear her virginity away in a single hymen-splitting rush. A a a a a a a a u u u u u u ugggggghhhhhh!"
Lyn threshed wildly beneath his weight as he panted on top of her. Her entire body on fire with searing pain. Then he grunted again and expanded his deeply buried cock. Hexing it inside her against the tightly stretched sheath of hot sex-flesh, grinding it into her deeper yet. The brutally skewered girl groaned deeply. Every vein and ridge of that huge penis could be felt up inside her belly. But after a few moments, surprisingly, her distended vaginal walls began to adjust to the massive presence of the throbbing length rammed far up inside them. Her moans of agony and shame came with less frequency as Kline commenced a slow, undulating grinding movement of his pelvis that pistoned his raping cock in and out of her naked loins, expanding and stretching the resilient vaginal sheath more and more, until the groans transformed themselves into mewls of unwanted and forbidden pleasure, humming wantonly in her throat. She was-unable to control them they came from her of their own accord, unbidden and unwanted as the erotic delight that produced them!
And suddenly the ravished teenager was on fire with passion. Uncontrollably, her hips began to move under him, grinding in tiny tight gyrations up against him, countering his movements in and out of her in rhythmic thrusts.
She's ready to beg for it now! Kline grinned to himself triumphantly. Levering himself up on his arms above her, he pulled his thrusting fleshy staff out of her now gently clasping cunt until only the throbbing cock-head remained between the folds of her sucking, hairlined pussy. Hungrily, her heaving loins thrust upward, attempting to regain it... She wanted all of it inside her! ... but he wouldn't play! He kept the great bulbous glans there immobile, only just inside the warm elastic lips of her demanding cuntal canal. "Now," he leered, "you can start begging me to fuck you!"
"Begging ...?" The erotically panting girl didn't understand.
"Yes, goddamn it - beg me for it!" Kline yelled. This was his revenge on the stuck-up, prissy little pigs' daughter who had treated him with such contempt and scorn when first he came in.
"Oh, no! ... I can't. I can't!... Just go ahead and d-d-do it to me!" Lyn wailed. She threshed her head from side to side under him, overwhelmed with frustration and humiliation, her legs expectantly widespread below his hips.
"Not until you beg me!"
The ravished young girl couldn't help but obey. Every fiber in her being rejected it... she didn't want to say it... she was being forced again, against her will, to say lewd words she disapproved of ... if she was to get what she so desperately wanted. But she had to have it, so there was nothing she could do but beg.
"Fuck me!" she spat furiously up at him. "Oh God, I need it! I want it! Please fuck me... now!"
The words grated out between clenched teeth. It was the final humiliation. She had nothing left now... nothing but the perverse desire for the huge cock taunting her desire-inflamed pussy.
"Like where? Where do you wanna be fucked?" Kline mocked.
"In my c-c-cunt." She was finding it easier as she went along. "Fuck me in my cunt! Quick - I can't stand it any longer!"
"What with?" He was twisting the knife again and again.
"Oh God! Your cock! I want you to fuck me in the cunt with that big cock of yours. Please!" she gasped, completing the litany as required.
"Like anything you say, babe!" Kline grinned. And she shivered with the ecstasy of the moment as he began to rock above her, fucking into her with short, smoothly powerful strokes while her body began to respond of its own accord. Now she knew she was totally committed: there was no more will to fight; only the will to surrender totally to the perverse and wanton desires of the flesh that consumed her.
Faster and faster Kline jackhammered into her, and Lyn's whole being responded to the increased speed and depth of his raping strokes. She began to squirm and writhe beneath his pounding hips as he lowered his lust-twisted mouth to engulf her lips in his. Frenziedly she pushed her tongue deep into his throat to be sucked and nibbled in the fury of his lust, moaning incessantly now up into his face, her passion-crazed mind willing to accept anything he chose to do to her. As her nakedly wet cunt ground furiously up and down to match the tempo of his plunging cock, she scissored her legs wide and then wrapped them fiercely around his waist, winding her calves wantonly up his lunging leather-clad back.
Never in her young life had she realized that there could be such rapture. She had never expected, from the unwanted and resented manipulation of her genitals and the rough mauling of her breasts to this very moment of her attacker's penis pistoning into her cunt, tilling it completely, fulfilling her, that she would ever desire or appreciate anything so much. It was too much! It was marvelous... and as she writhed and groaned under him she forgot temporarily that the youth above her was the same vile monster who had forced his way into her home and robbed her of what she had always been told was her most prized possession!
* * *
Alice Rimmer was washing the dishes after her son's dinner when she realized that her purse was missing. At first she suspected that pesky little devil Andy might have snitched it: he'd said he was going to a movie, hadn't he? Then she remembered - she must have left it in the Dunnett's kitchen that morning when she was doing the house. She'd put it down on the counter after she'd paid the paper boy... and she'd clean forgotten the damned thing in her hurry to get back home in case that nice young insurance man passed by today! Well, the insurance man hadn't called, and now she'd need the purse early tomorrow morning if she was to do the shopping for Miss Lyn before she left for work at eight-thirty! It was only a few blocks away and a breath of fresh air would do her good! She'd slip around there now and get it back...
The rain, which had been falling heavily earlier in the evening, had settled into a light drizzle gusting in from the sea. Mrs. Rimmer shrugged into her raincoat, put up her umbrella, and began trudging the short distance from the tenement apartment block where she lived to the tree-lined avenue in which the Dunnett home was situated.
There were no lights in the front of the house. Maybe Miss Lyn had gone to a movie with that nice young Miller boy. Such a quiet, studious boy he was. She wished her Andy showed half as much love for his work... but he was only interested in saving up for a motor bike and hanging around that awful hamburger joint with all the other loafers in town! It just showed what a good home could do for a boy!
She let herself in at the back door under the carport and switched on the kitchen light. Yes - the purse was just where she had left it! With a sigh of relief - you never knew, these days! - she tucked it under her arm and prepared to go. Her hand was reaching for the light switch when she heard a curious noise from the inside of the house. It was a strange, high keening noise overlaid with a heavy grunting. It seemed to come the living room. Could some animal have gotten into the room in some way? A big dog trapped there perhaps? Or could Miss Lyn have been taken ill? It didn't seem likely... not with that sort of noise! But maybe she had better take a peek... just in case... Tiptoeing to the hallway, she saw a thread of light showing under the living-room door.
The noises were louder now. It sounded almost as though someone was being hurt... like one of those dreadful torture scenes they were always having on TV these days! Her heart thumping in her chest, Mrs. Rimmer softly turned the handle of the door and eased it open a crack.
At once she froze, her eyes wide in disbelief at what she saw. There were two people in the room, locked in an obscene and filthy embrace on the floor. The woman lay naked on her back, panting and groaning like a wild thing, her bare legs twined around the waist of a man in a black motorcycle suit, her arms wrapped around his neck. His hips were pumping up and down disgustingly over her lewdly splayed loins, and he was muttering incoherent obscenities into her ear. There were two glasses half-full of liquor on the hearth, and the air was full of a sweetish aromatic smell that Mrs. Rimmer suspected must be marijuana smoke.
She knew at once who they were. The boy was that no-good Kline youth; she would know that suit anywhere - Andy was forever admiring it and saying he wanted one like it. And the wanton, shameless hussy beneath him... with that mass of red-gold hair and that husky voice, who could it be but Miss Lyn herself!
As she secretly watched the lasciviously coupled pair, her eyes glittering with indignation and outrage, the cleaning woman was aghast to hear the voice of the Dunnetts' innocent daughter gasping hoarsely: "That's right! Go on, damn you - fuck me! Fuck me hard! Fuck me with that big cock of yours until I can't walk!...
Alice Rimmer silently closed the door. Had it been anyone else, she would have stormed in and proclaimed her disgust and contempt for the vile and immoral act the fornicating pair were indulging in with such abandon.
But she was afraid of the Kline boy: you never knew what he might do!
One thing was certain though, she thought viciously as she turned off the kitchen light and silently locked the back door: Mr. and Mrs. Dunnett should hear of this! Even respectable people like that couldn't leave their children alone for a single night in these terrible times without their homes being turned into a modern equivalent of Sodom and Gomorrah! She would call the Brockton number Mrs. Dunnett had left her the moment she got home! That would soon put an end to their nasty little games!...
Alice Rimmer's husband had died five years ago. Since then, Brett Gowans had kissed her only once at a New Years' social when she wasn't looking... but nobody had ever kissed her again, though she was looking all the time! Back in her own comfy kitchen, she went through her purse looking for the scrap of paper on which she had written down the telephone number. As she drew the phone towards her, mentally reviewing the disgusting scene she had to report, her other hand crept stealthily beneath the hem of her skirt, eased itself under the legband of her voluminous panties, and touched her neglected genitals. It was filthy, she thought furiously to herself as her fingers began massaging the fleshy, swollen lips of her cunt, what people got up to these days!
It was vile and indecent and depraved! It must be put a stop to at once...
* * *
Back in the Dunnett home, Kline began to plunge in and out of Lyn's inflamed pussy with increased speed, inciting his aching rod to even faster and deeper thrusts up into the tightly clasping sheath of her wetly sucking cunt. She writhed wildly beneath him, her vaginal lips nibbling up and down his hardened shaft with ever-building fury, white thighs jerking, heels drumming high on his back, toes curling and slaving buttocks squirming in abject submission to his ravishment of her body.
Kline couldn't wait any longer. Pounding into her with increased speed, depth and vigor, he used both hands to press her knees cruelly back until they framed her face, mashing them back against her ripely mounding young breasts until her whole genital plane was exposed and defenseless before his pile-driving cock. Her face was contorted with wantonly reckless passion. She felt it coming to her now. The dizzying approach of an orgasm poising her on the brink of supreme rapture, and she began to croon into his face.
"Oooooooh!... Oh!... Oh!... Oh! - fuck me! Puck me deep and luck me hard!"
Slaving above her, he stroked insanely in and out of her scalding young pussy, his jackhammering pelvis smashing her down brutally against the floor. He could feel the obscenely milking walls of her cunt clasping and unclasping around his steel-hard length as lie slammed his big, aching penis home with each powerful thrust, the ever-expanding, sperm-bloated head battering against her womb with every surging plunge!
Then suddenly it was there for her!
It surged over her, drowning her in indescribable sensation. She flailed her head wildly as the convulsive waves of release swept over her and transported her into a limitless space where everything was rapture and delight. As if from a great distance she heard herself screaming out the timeless cry of the satiated female: "Aaaggghhh! Eeeuuuggghhh! Oh God! I'm cu mining! Yes. Tin dimming, I'm cumming, I'm cu mining' Aa aa u u ugggh h h h!"
Above her jerking, shuddering body, her callous young ravisher, pounding into her naked, upturned loins, cradled between her widespread legs, felt the surging, galvanic tremors rippling through her no-longer-virginal cunt even as he knew with a gasp of anticipation that his own orgasm was beginning for him deep in his balls.
And suddenly he was cumming too, his cock jerking crazily, the viscous hot sperm jetting forcefully in spurting gouts of boiling semen far up into the wildly clasping confines of the ravaged teenager's open, still hungrily sucking vagina. With a deep groan of satisfaction, he collapsed on top of her satiated, exhausted young body.
Then, without a word to the violated redhead, he pushed himself upright, stuffed his deflated penis back into his jeans, zipped up the fly. drained the remainder of his drink, and walked out of the room without a backward glance... leaving her alone with her dwindling ecstasy and the agony of disgust, shame and remorse that must follow it.
CHAPTER FOUR
For some time after Marshall Kline had left, Lyn lay in a tearful semi-stupor, her drug-dimmed mind a chaos of conflicting emotions. But as the euphoric effects of her unwanted orgasm wore off, the two things uppermost in her reeling brain were revulsion at the brutal ravishment of her body... and a bitter shame and humiliation at the realization that all her principles had been betrayed by her own body's unexpected reaction. Finally, her chest racked by deep, tearing sobs, she dragged herself to the bathroom and took a hot shower, hoping in some vague way that the cleansing water would somehow purge her of the horror and the guilt.
But the needle-sharp jets cascading over her naked flesh served only to re-animate the forbidden sensations flickering through her ravaged nerve-ends, erecting her inflamed nipples as the tingling spray showered over her breasts, and sending tiny ripples of pleasure searing through her plundered loins. Completely confused and bewildered now, she toweled herself dry and staggered, still weeping, into her bedroom.
Unused to alcohol and still less familiar with drugs, she was incapable of dealing with the maelstrom in her own mind, totally unable to rationalize or cope with the warring instincts battling for supremacy in her now-fading, now-heightened consciousness. She had been brutalized and violated, her virginity cruelly ripped away, to be tossed aside like a broken plaything the moment her savage attacker's animal lust was assuaged. Yet at the same time, against all the tenets of her upbringing and the fastidious instincts of her reasoning mind, she had found herself wildly responding to - even craving - the very assault she condemned with such horror!
Disgust fought with astonishment at her own behavior. It was intolerable! It didn't make sense! It was too much for her to bear!...
Pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes, the anguished young redhead knew suddenly that she couldn't bear it... alone. She had to talk to somebody, to confide in someone, to share the insufferable burden of her shame and her guilt with a sympathetic listener. But who? Calling her parents at Aunt Hilda's apartment was unthinkable: her mother would have a heart attack and her father would throw her into the street! Mrs. Rimmer? No - although the cleaning woman was an outwardly motherly soul, there was something almost sly about her that Lyn didn't trust. Willie was obviously the last person to choose ... he was too weak and had his head-in-the-clouds - and what had happened to him tonight anyway? He should have been here to protect her against that vile, despicable boy!
Mr. and Mrs. Miller were far too distant, too grand. She could no more imagine herself telling them what had happened than she could imagine herself confiding in remote Dr. Shribner, the high school principal. Nice girls didn't get themselves into predicaments like that! Nice girls didn't get raped! And folks didn't want to know unless you were a nice girl...
There was nobody! Nobody at all! She was alone and friendless in her misery and her confusion... And then suddenly the near-hysterical teenager stiffened. There was somebody! Somebody sympathetic, somebody who wouldn't be too shocked at her revelation - and somebody nearby!
Mike Howell was their next-door neighbor, a large, bluff man of about 40 whose wife had died a couple of years ago of cancer. Mike had always been good to Lyn, ever since she was a little girl. He had rigged up a swing for her under the yew tree when she was only a baby: he had carved her toy boats and funny animals out of driftwood; he had made her Halloween masks and told her stories at Christmas. It was Mike who had taught her to conquer her fear of the water and swim, Mike who had been so sympathetic and listened so seriously to her problems when boys had first wanted to date her only last summer. Mike would understand!
Also - Lyn thought excitedly Mile Howell worked for a security firm in Boston! He was a kind of policeman! He would be able to advise her and he would know what to do! The big private cop - "a bit of a rough diamond", her father called him suddenly assumed almost godlike proportions in her mind. She would go and see him this minute!
With trembling fingers, the raped teenager dragged on the jeans she had been wearing and pulled on her sweater. She couldn't wait to look for fresh clothes now. Thrusting her feet into sneakers, her luscious body still shaken by an occasional sob, she hurried out of the house and ran across the yard.
The rain had stopped but there was a moist wind blowing off the ocean, threshing the branches of the yew and whistling in the clumps of sea lavender on the edge of the bluff. Lyn hurried down the steep sandy slope to the shore: it was quicker that way than going around by the dirt road.
Howell's ramshackle, weathered clapboard house was in a slight depression where a stream ran down to the sea, and as soon as the distressed young girl reached the shelter of the trees surrounding it, the wind, which had plastered her clothes to her shivering body on the beach, dropped completely. In the comparative silence, she could hear the sound of Mike's television over the subdued hiss of the waves. Thank God, he was home!
Mike never heard the doorbell when he was watching some sports program on the box, but there was a thread of light showing through the shutters of the front sitting room. Lyn reached up on tiptoe and battered her fists against the flaking paint of the salt-bleached wood.
She had to bang on the shutter three times before she heard a chair scrape back on the board floor. A moment later, the front door opened and Mike's shadow, burly and reassuring, was thrown across the verandah in a shaft of light streaming out from the hallway. Abruptly, all the pent-up emotions seething through the ravished teenager's mind burst the floodgates of her reserve and she threw herself sobbing uncontrollably into his arms.
"Lyn! ... Good God!... For Chrissake child, what's the matter? I never saw you in such a state!" the big man stammered.
"Oh, Mike!... That awful boy! He was... he made me ... he ... he... Oh, it was awful!" she wailed between her sobs.
"What was awful? What boy? What happened?" Shaken out of his usual phlegmatic calm, Mike led the weeping girl inside, his muscular arm around her shaking shoulders, and stood awkwardly beneath the naked electric bulb in the hallway.
Lyn buried her face in his shoulder, weeping bitterly, her red-gold hair tumbling this way and that in the bright light as she repeatedly shook her head, too overcome to reply. Soothingly, his craggy brow knitted in a worried frown, Howell stroked the tawny tresses, stroked her back, murmured reassuring nothings in her ear. "There, baby," he crooned. "There, there... everything's gonna be all right!... You'll sec... You just tell old Mike all about it... There!"
"I... I c-c-can't! ..." she sobbed, raising her head for an instant and then twisting her tear-stained face into the hollow of his shoulder again. "It was too awful ... I just can't ..."
"Baby!... You gotta talk it out!... You can tell me - ole Mike knew you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper!... Now come on now: what is it that's bugging you so?"
"That boy!" she choked at last. "It was ... he was ... I was waiting for Willie and he... he just walked in and ..." She was overcome by tears again.
Patiently, Mike Howell shepherded her into the sitting room, sat her down on the sofa, and gradually broken sentence by broken sentence - he drew the story out of her. Some wild kid had spied on her petting with her boyfriend, thought he'd like a basinful for himself, and then busted in while her folks were away and screwed the ass off her. That was about the gist of it! And now the kid was upset because what that stiff-necked old man of hers had taught her to regard as her most precious possession had been taken away: she wasn't a virgin any more!
Privately, Mike could hardly blame the boy who had done it. Lyn just had no idea how sexy she looked with those luscious tits of hers, that mess of tawny hair, and those shapely legs! Christ, he'd lusted after her often enough himself, secretly admiring the ripe contours of her seductive young body as she lay on the beach, thrilling to the touch of her satin skin as his fingers closed around her slender waist when he taught her to swim! He wouldn't mind wading through that barefoot himself, and that was the truth! It wasn't Lyn's fault that she was so goddamned innocent!
She was standing pressed against him now, the whole slender, trembling length of her smashed warmly to his hard body, the twin resilience of her breasts squashed against his chest... and as his hands continued to stroke automatically up and down her back he realized that there was no obstacle to his fingers beneath the smooth wool of her sweater. Goddamn! The little bitch wasn't even wearing a brassiere! What the hell did she think he was made of?
He swallowed, sensing from the tightness of his pants around his loins that his penis was involuntarily stiffening and lengthening against the denim. "Look here, kid," he said gruffly, "you need a drink! I'm going out to the kitchen right now and get you a stiff brandy."
"Oh no, please... Really, Mike, I don't-"
"You do what I say," he cut in. "You need a pick-me-up to set you back on your feet before we decide what to do." Abruptly he left her and went out of the room. In the kitchen, downing a generous measure of brandy himself before he splashed three fingers of the amber liquor into a tumbler for Lyn, he noticed that his own hands were shaking now.
She was sitting up on the shabby sofa, patting her hair into place when he returned. Her eyes were red from weeping but her voluptuous body was no longer racked by the tearing sobs that had seized her when she came in. "All right, baby, get some of this inside you," Mike commanded briskly, handing her the glass.
The anguished redhead looked at it doubtfully. "Mike, I don't know ... I already had ..."
"Go on - drink! Nothing like it for making you feel yourself again!"
Hesitantly, Lyn took a small sip of the brandy, making a wry face and almost gagging as the raw spirit seared its way down her throat. "It's... kind of strong!" she choked.
"Sure it is. That's what you need. But it'll make you feel better in two shakes of a 'possum's tail! You'll see."
And even as he spoke she could feel the healing warmth spreading sensuously outward from her stomach, anesthetizing the frantic jangling of her ravaged nerves and inducing a sense almost of well-being right down in the very center of her. She took another cautious swallow. This time, although the fiery liquid still made her splutter a little, it no longer took her breath away - and she definitely felt better, less panicky, more balanced and sure of herself.
Mike drew up a chair and sat down facing her. "Now we got to decide how to set about this thing," he said seriously. "You gotta get your story straight in your mind before you go to the cops. The police have a funny idea that girls who get themselves raped kind of ask for it ... if you know what I mean."
"The p-p-police?"
"Certainly the police. You gotta report this, Lyn: you have to."
"B-but I can't! My folks... Dad would throw me out! Mom would never speak to me again! They'd think it was all my fault. They-"
"That's just the way the cops figure it," Mike interrupted brusquely. "That's why you have to get the story straightened out in your mind first - so you don't trip up or contradict yourself or any of that jazz."
"But if none of them know, then they can't-"
"Lyn, baby: be your age!" Mike cut in reproachfully. "Even if you clam up about it, do you really think the kid who raped you will? Once he sees you ain't gonna squawk, d'you think he'll keep his big mouth shut? Not on your sweet life! He'll be boasting and bragging how he laid old George Dunnett's daughter while her pa was away... and before you know what hit you every other hoodlum in town will be standing in line outside your front door, waiting to try the same thing on!"
The girl shuddered and covered her eyes with her hands. "But I can't go to the police!" she burst out wildly. "It'll be in the papers... everyone will know!... People will point me out in the street!... Mom and Dad won't dare show their faces for shame! ... I'd rather die!" Her voice cracked on a note of near-hysteria and she started to cry again, her shoulders shaking convulsively and the ripely swelling globes of her tender young breasts shivering loosely against the material of her sweater.
Mike swallowed, forcing himself to be tough. "Not only that," he pursued relentlessly, "but if you say nothing, your folks'll get to know anyway. Bad news travels fast, especially in a small town like this. The gossip'll reach their ears -but it won't be the true story, and that'll make you look worse than ever."
"W-w-w-what do you mean?"
"I mean that once that kid sees he's gotten away with it, he'll start shooting off his mouth like I say. You know how gossip goes. Before you know what's happened, it'll be all over town... probably twisted so that it seems like you seduced him! Is that the story you want your folks to hear? Because there's gonna be some kind friend who'll wise them up, that's for sure!"
She stared at him dumbly, her cheeks streaked with tears, her world in ruins. Jesus! Howell thought to himself. Seeing her sitting there on that sofa where Martha and I used to. . Christ, there's something about that goddamned innocence of hers that makes you want to rip the sweater off her body and... Taking a grip on himself, he forced himself to add gently: "And there's other people to think of besides yourself, too! Don't forget that."
"Other people? What other people?" Lyn asked dully.
"All the other girls like yourself. If that kid is allowed to get away with it, like I say there'll be others trying on the same routine... but it won't only be with you. Any young girl in this town will be fair game. It's got to be stopped, don't you see that, Lyn baby? And you're the only one who can do it."
"I ... I s-s-suppose so."
"Anyway, you play it my way and there may not be any publicity," the big man went on persuasively. "Lieutenant Harbord down at the station is a buddy of mine. I can fix it so you see him personally... and maybe they could nail this young hoodlum without your name ever being mentioned... indict him and have him sent up before your folks are even back. How long do they figure to be away?"
"They said maybe a week. It depends how sick my aunt is. Oh, Mike - do you really think you could? Fix it so I remained anon-anon-"
"Anonymous? It's a possibility. I can't say more than that. Depends on how fast we work... and on the evidence. D'you know this boy's name?"
"N-no. But I think he knows Willie."
"That should be enough to get a line on him. What was he like?"
"Oh... kind of tall. With dark, curly hair. He was on a m-m-motor bike."
"Aren't they all?" Mike said bitterly. "What was he wearing? Leather jacket and jeans? Crash hat? All the gear?"
She nodded. "Kind of a black leather jacket ... a short one, with patterns of silver studs across the back. And leather jeans."
"And you'd never seen him before? You're sure?"
Lyn shook her head violently. Beneath the thin wool of the sweater, the unfettered, fleshy mounds of her breasts shivered and swayed, the tender nipples clearly outlined against the soft material. There was a tiny dew of perspiration lining Mike Howell's upper lip. He cleared his throat. "Look, baby," he said earnestly, "you'll get asked all kinds of personal questions when you report this. Embarrassing questions. But they have to ask them; it's the law. It's so they can be sure it really was rape and not some chick saying Yes, and then changing her mind afterwards. Do you understand?"
"I ... I guess so."
"Okay. Now here's what I want you to do: I want you to go through the whole thing with me, step by step, just as it happened."
"Oh, Mike - I couldn't!"
"You got to!" he said urgently. "It's the only way. You got to get that story straight and watertight, so you don't make no mistakes when you tell it to them down at the station."
"But... but you talk as though I was making it up ... as though it wasn't a true story, Mike! Don't you believe me either?"
"Sure I believe you, Lyn. But even a true story has to be rehearsed before it's told to the cops or to a judge or jury. You only have to trip up on a coupla details and they'll throw out the whole works! Now come on - I know it's embarrassing, but you have to go through with it. I'll ask you them personal questions the lieutenant will ask later. It won't be so bad, coming from me... and then, when you have to answer them the second time, it won't throw you so much. Okay?"
"I guess so," Lyn said dubiously.
Mike hitched his chair closer, uncrossed his legs, and then crossed them the other way around. He cleared his throat again. "This boy," he asked, "you didn't ask him in, did you?"
"No. I was expecting Willie. I answered the door and he... he just sort of pushed his way in."
"Good. You said he made you drink. You didn't offer him none?"
"Oh no. He helped himself. It was just like it was his own house. He... oh, it was awful!"
"But you did drink with him?"
"He made me. He forced me to. He hit me and ... he threatened to... to... !!" The distressed young girl bit her lip, on the verge of tears again.
"Okay, okay. Now - when he... when he raped you: was there any foreplay first?"
"F-f-f-foreplay... ?" .
"Yeah." Mike leaned forward and for the first time she realized from his breath that he had been drinking too. "Did he... touch you... here?" His hand reached out and the fingers rested for an instant on the tautly resilient curve of her full breast. "Or... here?" The hand dropped for a brief second to the rounded swell of her thigh just below the vee of her crotch.
Lyn had started away from his touch each time as though she had been stung. Now she hung her head and blushed scarlet with embarrassment, unable to reply.
"Well, did he?"
Mutely, she nodded her head, the cascade of red hair tumbling about her shoulders shimmering in the light.
Mike licked his lips. There was sweat on his forehead too, now: the brief feel of the voluptuous teenager's flesh through the material of her jeans, the seductively trembling weight of her breast against his palm, had sent wild ripples of sexual arousal flaring through his veins, and his long thick cock had hardened to full erection, was throbbing achingly against the tight confines of his pants. "What did he do?" he asked hoarsely. "He stroked your titties? Pinched you? Squeezed your... nipples?"
Lyn's hand reached out impulsively for her glass before she replied. When she had swallowed a large gulp of brandy, she nodded again and said in a small voice: "Yes, all of... all of those things."
"He put his fingers in your pussy?"
She stared at the floor between them. "Y-y-yes."
For the third time, Mike Howell cleared his throat. "Tell me, Lyn -when he... did it to you... were you, you know, wet down there?"
"Down there?"
"Were you wet between the legs? Had he excited you?"
She blushed furiously. "Mike, do I have to answer all these questions?" she burst out. "Really, I don't think-"
"Sure you do!" he snapped. "They're the questions the cops have to ask. Now come on - were you?"
The distraught young redhead's lower lip was trembling. Hardly noticing what she was doing, she took another sip of brandy. "I guess so."
"That's bad. If they think you were excited, it makes it look... Never mind. What clothes did you have on at the time? Had he torn them?"
"He ... he made me take them off. I told you: he hit me and threatened me. I was frightened. I was wearing this sweater and these jeans... and after I'd taken them off he... he ripped off my bra and panties. They were all torn, I couldn't wear them again."
"So you were naked when he raped you. Did you try and fight?"
"Of course. But it was no use. He was much stronger than me. Besides he terrified me. I told you."
"Did you mark him in any way, scratch him maybe?"
"I d-d-don't know. I don't think so." Her glass was empty now.
"H'm." Mike dragged his eyes away from her ripely contoured young body and rose to his feet, hoping she wouldn't see the hardened bulge of his stiffened cock thrusting out the crotch of his pants. Why the hell was he doing this - getting the poor kid to re-live the whole damned scene, tormenting her... and tormenting himself as he imagined the sonofabitch stuffing it in to that tight little cunt? He knew goddamn well why he was doing it: because it turned him on like crazy to hear the little innocent being made to go over all the sordid details! Because there was a faint hope in back of his mind that maybe it might turn her on in some way too? Maybe -but he sure felt envious as hell of that young bastard getting it into her! Jesus! I'd give ten years of my fucking life to ram my cock straight up into her soft little belly right now!...
He wiped his forearm across his forehead and carried her glass into the kitchen for a refill, taking a long pull himself from the neck of the bottle before he returned.
She looked up at him as he stood before her - a tall, muscular man with workpants belted over a undershirt, the wiry hairs curling darkly on his chest showing above the rounded neckline of the sleeveless garment. His craggy face was flushed, the eyes bright and the lower lip moist.
"There's a couple more things you'll have to answer," he said, setting the glass down on a low table beside the sofa. "How big was his organ?"
"His what?"
"His penis. His cock. How big was it?"
"Mike! Please ..." Her green eyes filled with tears. "Must I ...?"
"They're gonna ask you that!" he shouted. "How big was it? This big?" He held the tips of his extended forefingers about six inches apart.
Lyn refused to meet his eyes. "It was... bigger than that," she faltered. "It was huge! It ... it hurt terribly."
"This big?" He widened the space between his fingers to nine inches.
Her eyes flicked up and then down again. "Maybe. Perhaps a little less. I don't know."
Jesus, that was some well hung young bastard got in there! Aloud, Mike said: "And the girth? Was it thick?"
"Oh, it was enormous," she said impulsively, seeing her violator's hugely throbbing pole of hardened flesh in her mind's eye. "I thought it would split me apart! I could hardly get my hand-" Abruptly she bit off her words, realizing what she was saying.
Goddamn! The sexy little bitch had it in her hand! She had her fingers wrapped around it! What kind of a rape was that, for CI iris sake.'
"Did he give you an orgasm?" he asked thickly.
"Did he... ?"
"Did you cum?"
Lyn stared at her leg, thrust out before her on the floor, twisting the toe of her sneaker this way and that. "I couldn't help it," she said in a low voice. "It just sort of... I mean I didn't want to - but it kind of swept over me." I'll bet my sweet life it did! Howell thought to himself enviously. But all he said was: "Did the boy ejaculate?"
She stared at him in bewilderment, the glass to her lips again.
"Did he cum inside you?" Mike said irritably.
"Well... yes, he did, I suppose."
"Then there should be semen for the police doctor to identify, seminal fluid on your pubic hair..." His color was more heightened still. A pulse beat rapidly in his temple.
"Oh, but ... I washed myself afterwards. I had a shower and a douche. I mean I didn't want to get pregnant," Lyn said, proud of her foresight.
Howell gave a theatrical sigh. "Baby, you seem to have as much evidence for collusion as for rape," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"Forget it. We'll have to go on the exterior signs. Now - you said that he hit you, that he mistreated your breasts, that you put up a fight. All those things should show marks - on you if not on him. Bruises, lacerations, that kind of thing." He moved across until he was standing directly in front of her, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Show me the marks, Lyn."
Steeling herself to answer the last series of questions, the girl had unknowingly drained her second drink. Now she half rose to her feet, starting to protest once more. But the insidious effects of the liquor, added to the marijuana and the scotch she had been made to take earlier, suddenly hit her. Her knees wobbled and her legs gave way under her. Suddenly she collapsed back on the sofa, her head swimming giddily and Mike's rangy figure blurring before her unfocused eyes. And all at once her predicament seemed almost funny!
She giggled. What was old Mike wanting her to do now? Show him the marks that horrible boy had made? Well, why not? Hadn't she known Mike since she was so high? It seemed somehow the most natural thing in the world to pull up the hem of her sweater. She didn't hear Howell's hiss of indrawn breath as the garment rode over the swell of her breasts to expose the fleshy, milk-white globes with their inflamed nipples: the friction of the soft wool over the sensitive, nerve-webbed skin sent little tingles of sensation flaring through her veins. She giggled again and squirmed her hips against the cushions.
"Show me the bruises, Lyn," Mike said huskily.
She cupped her hands over her nipples and lifted the heavy mounds of resilient flesh slightly, revealing the purplish marks of sharp teeth marring the satin skin of the under-curves. Mike's hands reached out impulsively... and then dropped back to his sides again. "And...and the marks... down there," he pursued in a hoarse whisper.
Why was there so much sweat on his brow? It wasn't really hot in here! Almost of their own volition, Lyn's fingers fumbled with the zipper of her jeans and then peeled them down over her hips. The cool air playing over her loins felt good, and she squirmed against the cushions again. She was feeling for her panties when she realized she wasn't wearing any. Goodness -she was quite bare! She was naked between her pulled-up sweater and her pulled-down jeans ... in front of Mike!
He stared mesmerized at the blackish bruises and red weals pockmarking the subtle curve of her belly, the tender skin of her tapering inner thighs. The fleshy folds of her distended cunt were still slightly spread, the outer lips pouting invitingly through the nest of tawny, silkily curling pubic hair mantling her loins, the tiny shaft of her inflamed clitoris protruding like a diminutive tongue through the coral inner lips.
Goddamn it to hell, Mike thought wildly, that's the cutest, tightest little pussy I've seen in years! Jesus - I've got to get in there! I can't draw hack now! I've got to have it! I must!... "Lyn, baby," he said breathlessly, "show me exactly how you were lying when he... when he... "
"When he did it to me?" The pleasing warmth of the brandy spreading through her body was combining with the euphoric after-effects of the other stimulants the half-tipsy girl had taken earlier, and now it seemed no trouble at all to oblige the kind man who was being so sympathetic about her problem. Her problem? What problem? Did she have a problem? What did it all matter anyway - life was so much easier if you just relaxed and took it as it came! All her inhibitions and taboos diluted away by the alcohol coursing through her veins, Lyn smiled drowsily and subsided back against one arm of the old sofa. "It was kind of like this," she said thickly, spreading her legs apart as far as the jeans bunched around her knees would allow. "Only, of course, he was holding me down!"
"You mean... like this?" Like an automaton powered by some force outside himself, Mike advanced with staring eyes. Then, leaning down, he gripped her soft upper arms in his calloused hands and pressed her hard against the cushions.
"Y-y-yes - but he... he had pushed one of my legs up along the back of the sofa." She tried to separate her legs, gave a stilled exclamation of impatience at the confining jeans around her knees, and then kicked them off. Silly old trousers! What were they doing there? She giggled sleepily and lifted her leg, hooking the heel over the upholstered roll topping the couch. "That's more like it!" she murmured.
The feel of her bare flesh under his hands had sent wild electric thrills searing through Mike's body, causing his penis to expand and throb into even stiffer erection. Now, at the sight of her naked loins splayed wide before his lustful gaze, he went out of his mind. The delicate coral slit of her vagina glistened moistly between the fleshy, hair-fringed lips of her tender, no longer virginal cunt. The gentle, slack curve of her belly above the silkily curling triangle of sparse pubic hair rose and fell softly as she breathed. The ravaged young breasts, swellingly upthrust below the hauled up sweater, heaved their bud-like nipples seductively up and down beneath his fascinated eyes. And out of the tumble of red-gold hair fanned across the arm of the sofa, Lyn's drink-blurred eyes regarded him with childish pleasure over her wetly parted lips.
The combination of innocence allied to the obscenely exposed, half-naked body and the lewdly splayed loins sent uncontrollable thrills of erotic arousal flaming through Mike's nerve-ends. It was more than he could bear. Uttering a strangled, inarticulate cry, he sank to his knees beside the sofa and stretched out his trembling hands to place his sweating palms on the soft surfaces of her inner thighs.
"Lyn, baby," he breathed huskily, "Was he... did it... did he do it like this?" Shifting his hands further up, he pressed his thumbs into the fleshy, hair-lined folds of her outer cuntal lips and drew them apart with a slow, torturing outward movement, exposing the petaled depths of her vagina to his hungry stare. Then, crooking his forefingers, he began gently stroking them up and down the moist warm flanges of her cunt.
The drunken teenager started at the sudden tingling contact, and then squirmed her buttocks deeper down into the cushions of the sofa. A calf muscle in the leg lasciviously hooked over the upholstered back began shuddering convulsively. "Oooooooogh!" she gasped. "Yes... No! He was so rough - it wasn't nearly so - Aaaaaahhhhh! - so nice!"
Her hips began writhing involuntarily in tiny abandoned circles as he continued his compulsive manipulation of her quivering cuntal flesh. Tiny beads of moisture dewed the redly glistening walls of her vaginal passage... and soon, as she gasped and mewled under his teasing caress, the wetly sliding secretions seeped past his probing fingers to be smoothed salaciously into the trembling folds of her splayed pussy, so that the whole gaping slit of her genitals was wet and ready beneath his touch.
The sight was too much for Mike. He gazed lecherously at the moistly pouting young cunt lips in their nest of drenched hair, at the tiny protruding shaft of Lyn's clitoris at the apex of the fleshy slit... and then with an animal groan he dropped his face between the liquor-dazed teenager's thighs.
The next moment, his lips clamped themselves to the moist, warm hair-rimmed opening and his tongue laced snake-like into the scalding depths of her cunt.
She jerked convulsively at the unexpected contact, lifting her face to protest - but the words were choked off in her throat as Mike's obscenely probing tongue tunneled voraciously into the hotly throbbing passage. Her head fell back on the arm of the sofa and her eyes closed. "Ooooooogggghhhh!" she breathed. "Mmmmmmmm! That's so gooooooooood!"
He moved his hands to grasp her fleshy hips, pulling her loins up tighter against his face as he flicked his raping tongue in and out of her vagina. Then, sweeping his fingers down over her belly, he pinched up the soft hair-covered flesh of her pubic mound to deepen the cleft between her pussy lips as he plunged his tongue through the hot wet furrow to circle maddeningly around the super-sensitive clitoral bud.
Lyn jerked again convulsively under the tantalizing intrusion into her secret genitals of the hot, wet, muscled shaft of flesh. She threshed her hips against his salaciously bobbing head, small moans of involuntary delight crooning from between her moistly parted lips. Almost of their own volition, her arms reached out and her fingers tangled in Mike's crisp, curling hair, pulling his face tighter down into her now steaming loins. And she pulled back her knees to drape her legs over the hard maleness of his shoulders.
Locked in position between her lasciviously widespread thighs, the lustfully slaving private cop accelerated his obscene sucking of her naked pussy, his slobbering mouth clamped wetly to the tender, quivering lips of her cunt as his tongue speared with mind-blowing insistence against the hot, throbbing shaft of the trembling young redhead's clitoris. He could feel tiny tremors of desire shuddering through the muscles of her belly. The sparse hair mantling her pubic mound ground fiercely up against his nose as she squirmed her hips wildly under the wanton assault on her excitedly contracting vagina. The tendons behind her knees tensed steel-hard against his shoulders while she twined her legs forcefully around his sweating back.
The pressure building in Mike's balls was becoming unbearable. The whole area of his loins was on fire with uncontrollable desire and the pain of his lustfully expanding, plank-stiff cock against the tightly restricting sheath of his pants leg was driving him out of his mind. He had to ram it into her soon! He had to plunge his hotly throbbing pole of male hardness in between those wetly clasping pussy lips, to stuff his bursting cock far up into the scalding depths of her cunt! He wanted to feel his hot cum squirting into the writhing teenager's heaving belly!
But he must wait a little while longer, he told himself desperately. He couldn't risk lousing it up now.
If he could make her climax first, she would be begging him for it, pleading with him to fill her voraciously demanding cunt with his long, thick cock! Trying to get it in too soon could scare her off so that she would fight against him... and he couldn't afford to have her accuse him of rape as well! No - it had to be of her own free will; she had to ask for it. He had to make her cum!
And it wouldn't be long now, he knew. Jesus, but she was a hot little bitch! Her hips were slamming wildly up and down on the sofa, her heels drumming frenziedly on his back as she held his head fiercely to her seething loins and jerked him this way and that in her liquor-induced abandon.
Over the lewd wet sluicing sounds of his slavering lips and tongue, he could hear the panting rasps of her quickening breath and the sporadic groans of lustful ecstasy choking from her throat.
Panting with exertion too, Mike redoubled his efforts. Continuing his obscene sucking of her nakedly splayed cunt, he lanced his plundering tongue alternately far up into the desperately contracting tunnel of her vagina... and then hard, hard against the hotly throbbing shaft of her erect and inflamed clitoris. As she thrashed wildly under his erotic assault, he stretched up his arms and felt for the jiggling mounds of her ripely swelling breasts, fingering the sweat-slick, lustfully heaving globes until he found the taut, spiked-out nipples and then rolling and tweaking the sensitive buds of flesh in time with his oral attack on her seething loins.
The tongue-fucked young girl's head twisted wildly on the arm of the sofa, her red hair flailing whip-like about her shoulders. Her hips arched up convulsively against Mike's lustfully bobbing head and her fingers clenched ferociously in his hair. Galvanic shudders spasmed the muscles of her thighs as they clamped powerfully against the sides of his head. This was it! he thought exultantly. She was almost there... only a fraction away! In another moment she would be his!...
The frantically aroused teenager had lost all sense of time and place. Willie, the boy who had raped her, her parents, her home, her inhibitions, even the personality of Mike himself - all had vanished into the darkness of her drug-dimmed mind. Only the present was real. And the present was nothing but the delicious sucking of her naked loins... the fantastic, unexpected, deliriously exciting sensation that was sending lightning bolts of rapture searing outward from her belly to flare through every nerve in her body! She was being whirled up into the sky on one of these pyrotechnic rockets ... at any moment it would burst into a shower of incandescent stars ... at any moment now...
Abruptly she tensed, every muscle rigid, her back arched up off the couch like a tightly strung bow. Her breath hissed between her teeth. Riding up with her, Mike Howell drew a deep breath: this was it! She was there!...
Thrusting his face hard against her wetly trembling loins, he seized the shaft of her clitoris between his teeth and plastered his tongue in forceful swirls around the hotly shuddering tip.
Lyn's breath exploded from her lungs and she collapsed with a scream of ecstasy on the cushions, her belly shuddering in convulsive spasms as the rocket burst and she was swept away with the brightly colored stars to the four corners of the earth.
"Aaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!" she shrieked frantically. "Oh my God! Oh, dear God, I'm cumming!... Yes, I'm cumming, I'm cumming... I'm cumming!... A a a a a a a gggggghhhhh!"
Her thighs tightened vise-like around Mike's head. He allowed his face to be carried up and down on the undulating waves of her bucking hips. And then, as the tremors galvanizing her frame gradually subsided, he relaxed and slowly unclasped his lips from the passion-drenched folds of her cunt, his rigidly throbbing penis aching unbearably with anticipation.
For a moment she lay there, trembling with the sweet agony of her release. Then - as he had hoped, as he had planned - the lascivious thought, unbidden and unwanted, forced itself into her reeling mind. It was beautiful, it was marvelous, it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened...
But it wasn't enough!
There was an aching void in the very center of her being... a thrilling, wantonly forbidden void that cried out to be filled! Her breath quickened again, rasping in and out of her lungs as her trembling breasts rose and fell with increasing speed. "Mike," she choked huskily, her quivering fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair, "I want you to ... I want you to f-f-fuck me! I want to feel your big cock in my cunt! ..."
Repressing a triumphant smile, the big man levered himself to his knees and began hastily unbuckling his belt.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day was Monday and Lyn set off for the vacation job she had taken with a heavy heart. The young, no-longer virginal redhead had awakened with her mind in a turmoil. All the standards she lived by had been set at nought; the taboos scrupulously presented to her by her parents as the correct social code had been broken one by one; even the personal guidelines she had laid down for herself had been transgressed... and she, Lyn Dunnett, was solely responsible for those transgressions! It was easy to blame the liquor to which she was unaccustomed, the drugged cigarette she had been forced to smoke, the state of shock she had been in but she knew, deep within herself, that the real motivating force was something buried within her own nature, something which had never before shown its evil head but which, given half a chance, would emerge like some primeval monster and take charge of her.
An unknown youth had forced - well, practically forced - his way into the house and raped her... and she had ended up by cooperating and enjoying it! Mike Howell, dear, friendly Mike to whom she had gone for comfort and sympathy, had lusted after her and seduced her... and she had enjoyed that too! She had even been irritated when inoffensive Willie Miller had miserably failed in his inexperienced attempt to do the same thing... she was a whore and a slut and a disgrace to her family and her upbringing, she told herself tearfully as she dressed, still overcome with shame and humiliation and remorse. Even gossipy old Mrs. Rimmer seemed to act differently toward her when she bustled in with the groceries before Lyn went to work. Instead of her normal inconsequential chatter of neighbors and friends and town affairs, she did nothing but mutter dark and gloomy prophecies to the kitchen wall about how people were no better than they should be, and things were going to the dogs, and how the world had come to a pretty pass!
It was therefore in a mood of almost suicidal depression that Lyn arrived at the dry cleaners where she worked as a counter clerk. Her world had been turned upside down and bewilderment was the only clear reaction she could positively identify in her confused mind.
Mike had been sheepish and guilty when finally he had escorted her back to her home. When she had asked him what she should do about the boy who had raped her, he had hummed and hawed, refusing to commit himself, until at last he had come out with the advice that maybe it would best if she didn't report it to the police. All his own arguments in favor were demolished: perhaps there would be some unsavory publicity, her parents would almost certainly get to know, it was unfair to subject her to the ordeal of answering all their personal, intimate questions -and anyway what good would it do? It couldn't restore her lost virginity! And it would probably result in her getting a tarnished name in the town! Besides, her evidence, such as it was, pointed as much to collusion as to actual rape - particularly as she had taken a douche and removed the clinical evidence before she complained... and so on. For a moment, Lyn had harbored the ungenerous thought that maybe Mike's vehemence sprang more from a desire to avoid getting mixed up in the affair himself than from a genuine desire to help her. But she had taken his advice anyway. What else could she do?
Halfway through the morning, bewildered and wretched, she saw the familiar lanky figure of Willie loping past the window. To her consternation, he came into the store. She was in no mood for explanations or excuses... but she didn't know what had really happened to him last night, and she was glad to see that he appeared to be all right, so she forced a smile of welcome despite the fact that Miss Foster, the gimlet-eyed manager, disapproved of personal visitors.
"Good morning, Willie," she said as cheerfully as she could.
"Hi, Lyn." The boy stood awkwardly on one leg and then the other. "I'm... sorry about last night. I ... I was... that is to say, some guys stopped me coming to see you."
"Stopped you?"
He flushed shamefacedly. "I was... locked in a kind of hut. There were three of them guarding me. They wouldn't let me go until... until... they didn't let me out until almost midnight. Dad was wild when I got back."
"I was fairly wild myself when you didn't show up," Lyn said coldly.
"Yeah. Well. You see... " He traced the edge of the counter with his forefinger, watching his hand carefully as it moved. "Lyn," he blurted out, "it's not true what Kline says, is it?"
"Kline? Who's Kline? Do I know him?"
"He's the leader of the gang who... the guys who stopped me coining to see you. He said he was coming instead. And when he got back he said he'd... that you'd ..." Willie broke off in mid-sentence and bit his lip, his jealousy and his curiosity warring with good manners and his own shame. "It isn't true, is it?" he finally burst out. "He's just boasting, isn't he, the way he always does?"
There were twin spots of color burning on Lyn's cheeks. After all she had gone through, it was really too much to be cross-examined almost like a naughty child by the person who had been indirectly responsible for everything that had happened! "As I don't know what Mr. Kline is supposed to have told you," she answered tartly, "I can hardly say, can I?"
"He did come and see you though? He knew all about the house. He must have. He said... " Willie blushed and fell silent again, his big teeth gnawing his lower lip as he struggled to master his feelings.
"You don't have to believe everything you hear, Willie," Lyn said.
"I don't know what to believe. I feel like the man in Macbeth... you know: 'Present fears are less than horrible imaginings. My thought shakes so my single state of man that function is smothered in surmise, and nothing is but what is not'."
"Oh, Willie," she exclaimed in exasperation, "when will you learn to stop existing through books and really live?"
"If only you'd tell me it wasn't true - " The discomfited youth broke off abruptly. Marshall Kline himself had entered the dry cleaners. He was carrying a pair of black leather jeans over his arm. Taking in the scene at a glance, he flung the garment across the counter.
"You handle skins here?" he demanded arrogantly.
"We have a special department for dry-cleaning leathers and suedes, sir," Lyn said stiffly, conscious of the fact that Miss Foster was now listening from her glassed-in cubicle at the back of the premises, having heard voices for longer than was normal for an ordinary customer. "Did you want them cleaned and pressed and then re-texed - or just spotted?"
"Baby, they're spotted already!" Kline guffawed coarsely. "In fact I've cum in them. I don't mean I've come wearing them," he added in heavy mock explanation. "I ain't gonna embarrass you by stripping off in the store! Maybe that wouldn't embarrass you, though -you've seen a man without leather pants before, haven't you? Any case, here's what I mean."
Lyn was scarlet with mortification. She looked, Willie thought, more embarrassed than she would have done if the insolent young hoodlum had stripped in front of her in public. But Kline insisted on pointing out the whitish stains that stiffened the leather near the fly, and going into great detail over the techniques to be used to remove them.
"Anyway, Miss," he concluded with a knowing smirk, "I guess you know a lot more about this than me, working here an' all. After all, you've had the experience, haven't you?"
The girl was almost crying with vexation. How dare this bragging bully confront her like this, where she worked, taunting her with his brutal conquest of her the previous night, knowing she dare not react because of the presence of Miss Foster - practically flaunting his victory in front of Willie!
"I'll have our experts do the best they can, sir," she said tightly. "Will Friday afternoon be all right?"
"Any afternoon's okay by me, doll," Kline murmured in a low voice. "Especially if last night's anything to go by!"
"I think you know what I mean...Mister Kline," Lyn said.
"And I think you know what I mean... Miss Hot Pants," the leering youth whispered suggestively. Then, pretending to see Willie for the first time, he said genially: "Hi, Miller. Like nice to see you. It's always good to gee the younger set hanging around to pick up a few tips from their elders!" Scooping up the ticket that Lyn pushed across the counter and stuffing it in his jeans pocket, he added: "Too bad you were tied up last night. You should have been along on that party I told you about. Like we had ourselves a ball!"
Whistling cheerfully, he raised a hand in farewell and walked out into the street. The younger boy cast an agonized glance at his girl friend - but she had turned on her heel and taken the leathers to the back of the shop. With an angry shrug, Willie too swung around and left.
Kline was waiting for him on the corner. "There's gonna be a repeat performance tonight, boy!" he said with a malevolent grin. "Why not come along and do yourself a bit of good? You might even learn something huh?"
* * *
Lyn Dunnett's thoughts were in such a turmoil when she left her work that evening that she hardly noticed how she got home; her subconscious mind directed her footsteps, advised her which bus to take, guided her along the lane to the house while her conscious mind was wrestling interminably with the self-doubt and guilt tormenting her. It was only when she was mounting the steps to the front porch that she became fully conscious of her surroundings - because, for the first time since she had left the dry cleaners' premises, her eyes were presented with something out of the ordinary, something that wasn't normally there.
There were three shadowy figures leaning against the wooden rail of the porch as she fumbled in her purse for the front door key.
Panic! The startled girl's first impulse was to scream... then to turn and run as fast as her legs could carry her back to the lights of the avenue... but her muscles refused to obey the commands of her terrified brain. She stood rooted to the spot, convulsed with terror, as one of the figures detached itself from the darkness and advanced towards her.
"Hi, doll!" Kline's voice said insolently. "Like welcome home!"
"W-w-w-what... ? How did you... ? How d-d-dare you come here like this!" the fearful teenager stammered.
"We thought it kinda sinful that a sexy broad like you should be left all alone on a night like this," the voice said mockingly. "So we figured it'd be neighborly to drop by and like keep you company!" His words were answered by sniggering guffaws from his two companions on the porch, and Lyn felt the chill hand of fear clutch at her heart. Dear God, was she to be subjected to the same kind of abasement and humiliation again tonight? Would the hell she was living through never end?
"Ohhhhhhh! ... I ... I ... I don't have my key! I must have left it in the back room at work!" she blurted wildly, seizing on the first feeble excuse that came to her frightened mind. "I c-c-can't get into the house! ..."
"Now ain't that too bad!" Kline said softly. "In that case we'll just have to keep you company out here on the porch. Or maybe in the carport. It's kinda dark too: lucky for you you got three husky dudes to protect you. You never know what can happen in these outa town neighborhoods. But first off, let's just run a check, shall we...?"
Abruptly he moved toward her and her purse was snatched violently from her hand. As she gasped in surprise, Kline turned to his companions and asked with mock concern: "Got that light with you. Rats boy?"
"Sure have. Marsh," a strange voice answered, and the weasel-faced youth clicked on a small pocket flashlight which carved a thin beam of illumination through the blackness of the porch. Into the circle of radiance which this cast on the board floor, Kline suddenly upended the purse he had seized. Lipstick, handkerchief, coins, ballpoint and billfold tumbled pell-mell on to the porch - and glittering among them was the telltale silver shape of a latchkey...
"Well, well, well," Kline drawled. "Like ain't you the lucky one to have such smart friends! There the bastard is all the time!"
Flashing the beam at the door, he inserted the key and turned it. The door swung open on the unlit interior of the house. Bereft of speech, Lyn stared as he flicked on the porch light... and then gave a stifled scream as the third member of the trio, a tall, heavily built boy with a low brow, hustled her forcefully indoors. "Okay, Den, bring her in here," Kline said - and he closed the door and led the way into the living room.
The cringing young redhead gazed aghast at her three captors -Rats Harriman, undersized, sneering and malevolent; Denzil Best, a lowering hulk of a youth making up in sheer force what he lacked in brain-power; and Marshall Kline himself, insolently confident, the archetype of the destroyer. She was a helpless prisoner, kidnapped in her own home, the telephone still unrepaired, defenseless and at the mercy of these three depraved and callous young hoods. What further horrors were they planning for her?
She had not long to wait to find out. The intruders took off their jackets and tossed them carelessly to the floor. Each of them was wearing a turtle-neck sweater and jeans. The two she had never seen before were staring at her lecherously, their mean, calculating eyes roving with undisguised salaciousness over her ripely rounded contours, mentally undressing her as she squirmed inwardly under their humiliating regard. "Jeez, Marsh - you sure weren't tellin' no lies about this one," Denzil Best enthused. "I can't hardly wait to get my hands-"
"Quit that, Den!" Kline interrupted with feigned severity. "Miss Dunnett here, she's kind of a socialite in her way. Like, you know, a lady. She likes to have things done the way they should be. Folks in this part of town, they ain't crude like us... they don't just start in to fuck."
"They don't?" Best repeated, his eyes round with astonishment.
"Certainly not. You gotta have elegance, you gotta have style, boy, if you wanna stick around this neighborhood. Ask our hostess here: she knows. Ain't that so, doll?" He looked enquiringly at the terrified girl.
Lyn bit her lip and gazed stonily above his head, trying desperately to infuse her expression with some of the hatred and contempt she felt for this unprincipled and degrading interloper in her home.
"That right, Marsh?" Rats sniggered, entering into the spirit of the game. "You ain't puttin' us on, man? What do they do then?"
"They sit around an' they talk an' they drink some... and then they start in to fuck!" Kline said triumphantly.
"You don't say, man! Is that what we're gonna do then?"
"It sure is. Rats. Outa politeness to our hostess... and she's gonna smoke and drink and talk right along with us." Before Lyn could say anything. Kline strode across to her and, without any warning, raised his hand and gave her a stinging slap across the face.
She fell back before the unprovoked assault, tears of pain and outrage springing to her eyes. He leaped after her tigerishly, twisting his fingers in her hair and pulling her head back cruelly back while he struck her again and again on the cheeks with the flat of his hand.
" Aaaaaaaaagggghhhh!... No! Stop! Please stop!" the cowering teenager shrieked as he forced her gradually down to her knees. And then suddenly he released her and stood back panting.
"That's just to remind you," he hissed. "And like to save time. There's plenty more where that came from... and that's what you'll get if you don't do like we say. So play ball and remember: each time you cross me you get more of the same, okay?"
The weeping girl nodded her head dumbly. She had suffered too much at Kline's hands before to doubt that he meant every word that he said. To attempt to resist him would simply mean that she would be roughed up again... and the end result would be the same.
"Right. So we smoke and we drink," her tormentor said, pulling four marijuana cigarettes from the breast pocket of his jackets and then dropping it back to the floor. "Den - you'll find liquor and glasses in the other room. Fix us four jumbo scotches, will you?"
The next hour passed like an endless nightmare for the captive teenager, and she was never afterward able to remember exactly the order in which things occurred or who said what. Her throat was seared with the fiery liquor she was forced to swallow, her mind, already swimming with the effects of the unaccustomed alcohol, was fogged by the narcotic in the forbidden cigarettes they made her smoke. The conversation of the three youths, crude and salacious beyond her wildest imagination, was mercifully erased from her reeling mind by the drugs confusing it. At some point, accompanied by lewd guffaws, hands began pawing her unresistant body, lifting the hem of her mini-dress and obscenely stroking the smooth flesh of her inner thighs; coarse fingers wrenched open the buttons down the front of the garment and started to knead and pinch the soft swell of her breasts; somebody lasciviously fondled the trembling mound of her pussy through the tightly stretched nylon of her panties. The panties were hauled roughly down to her knees. And then suddenly she was naked and kneeling on the floor...
Abruptly her mind cleared for a moment. The three youths were standing facing her, the flies of their pants unzipped and - horror of horrors! - their three obscenely erect cocks spearing out from their loins towards her averted face, Rats' long and thin and thickly veined cock, Kline's massively throbbing, the sperm-bloated glans protruding redly from the foreskin like the snout of some evil primeval animal, Denzil's thick and menacing, the tautly stretched underside webbed with veins.
Before she had realized the depravity of the vile thing she was about to be forced to do, Kline strode forward, hefted his genitals with one hand and guided his hotly throbbing penis towards her fear-quivering mouth.
Trembling with terror and revulsion, she started at the blood-gorged head and the muscled rigidity of the shaft where it thrust forward from the splayed fly of his pants. He tensed his hips slightly in preparation for the first soft contact with her warm lips. And then suddenly his palms were pressed hard against her ears and he was dragging her head towards him as his lust-thickened cudgel crushed through her parted lips and into the wet warm cavern of her mouth. She could feel the hugeness of it slithering up the length of her tongue and filling her mouth completely with its thick fleshy hardness.
The sadistic youth caught his breath with depraved and lustful excitement as her lips closed scaldingly over the throbbing head of his cock. Slowly he began undulating his hips toward and away from the drugged young redhead's tear-stained face, screwing the thick shaft in and out of her wide-stretched mouth.
Struggling mentally through the fog hazing her brain against the obscene rape of her mouth, Lyn closed her eyes to shut out the vision of the two other bestial faces leering at her, reveling in her humiliation. Devoid in her brief moment of full consciousness of all sensations except disgust, she felt numbed with despair. In a trance-like state she heard the grating voice of her violator. "Suck, doll! Go on - like let's have some head there! Suck! Suck! Suck!" he commanded harshly above her abjectly bent head.
Dully she complied. She was conditioned to obey his every order now, from the anesthetizing effect of the alcohol and the drug working in her veins as well as from fear of the pain she would suffer if she refused. Her reluctant lips began to nibble slowly at the fleshy staff thrusting into her as she coughed and spluttered, still unaccustomed to the unnatural invasion of her mouth. She tried not to think about what she was being forced to do, but it was impossible: the raping shaft of iron-hard flesh spearing wetly in and out of her mouth was stretching her jaws cruelly wide; Kline's cum-filled testicles, which had escaped from the confining sheath of denim at his groin, were bouncing against her chin; and there was an odor of male sweat around his pelvis that filled her nostrils with a constant reminder of the depraved and sadistic debauch she was being subjected to.
Rats and Denzil were watching with riveted attention as their leader forced Lyn to suck him. Their eyes were bright with excitement and they were breathing fast. Stroking his own massive rod furiously as he watched Kline's cock disappearing into the chalky whiteness of the violated teenager's face, Denzil muttered over and over again, "Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!" as he gazed at the girl's slender naked body and lustfully bobbing head.
Lyn worked in a daze at the command of Kline's fingers and hands, licking and sucking like a hungry child as he forced her to follow slave-like with her lips his every thrust into the soft shelter of her mouth. The saliva flooding around her tongue was becoming sticky now as small emissions of seminal fluid seeped from the throbbing tip of Kline's cock. She could feel his hips writhing and straining beyond her pumping head as though he was in the grip of some galvanic seizure. His long hard fingers were now entangled in her hair, slipping her wetly ovalled mouth up and down over the end of his plunging fleshy instrument as though it was a cunt into which he was venting the full bitterness of his hatred for the way she and her parents lived, the full fury of his animal lust.
She could feel his penis stretching and expanding inside her mouth, filling its every last crevice as the youth's breathing quickened and deepened. Moaning piteously around its gagging bulk as it skewered down towards her tonsils, she sucked wildly in an attempt to end it as quickly as possible. It was the only thing she could do: she had never felt so utterly debased and debauched in her life.
Abruptly her sadistic ravisher jerked as though he had been stung, grinding his denim-sheathed hips tight into her face and sinking the full length of his insanely jerking cock deep down in her gasping throat. As Lyn fought for breath, the throbbing shaft erupted in the warm moist interior of her clasping mouth while incoherent sounds of profanity streamed from Kline's lips. His hot thick sperm squirted into her mouth like the spurting of a torrent through a storm drain, and she sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed, her cheeks inflating and deflating as she gulped down the scalding liquid to keep from choking.
It seemed to go on forever, her ears filled with the obscene shouts of encouragement from the youth's two odious companions, her nose crushed against the wiry pubic hair framed by the splayed fly of his jeans, her mouth filled with the pungent, acrid flavor of his sperm. But at last the huge organ wedged into her mouth gave a final jerk and began softening beneath her swirling tongue. A moment later, the limp and cum-slick length of flesh oozed from between her semen-smeared lips.
Kline heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Like not too bad," he panted. "For a start. All you gotta do now is two more... and then we start rehearsin' for the Late-Late Show! Den
you take her next ..."
* * *
Behind the bushes in the garden, Willie Miller suffered every kind of hell as he watched the savage oral debasement of his girl friend in the lighted room behind the windows. Worst of all was the belief - for he had not witnessed the brutalizing of the girl which had forced her to succumb to her three despoilers' degraded commands that Lyn was doing it of her own free will. Kline had told him that he had laid the young redhead... and that she had responded incredibly. Lyn's own confusion at the gang leader's taunting sneers in the dry cleaners had served to dispel any doubts Willie had of the truth of his kidnapper's story. Now here was the evidence, as he saw it, that Kline had in fact been telling the truth... before his own eyes! There she was, naked, down on her knees giving head to three of the most despicable youths in town!...
"The dirty little whore!" Willie choked to himself. "The lousy, two-timing slut - going down on those hoodlums one after the other, when she wouldn't even let me ..."
Rage and wounded pride stifled the fury he felt for Kline and his cronies. By Christ, he'd show the little bitch! If she thought she could play the high and mighty Little Miss Innocent with him while all the time she was prepared to perform the vilest acts - acts Willie himself would never have dared think of, let alone suggest to Lyn! with trash like that, then she had another goddamned think coming! By God, he'd show her... next time he saw her, he'd stuff his cock so far up her deceiving cunt that she'd shriek for mercy! Next time... But what the hell was he thinking about next time for? Shit, what the hell was wrong with tonight? The hell with Kline and the others - he'd walk right into that house and show her now! As he strode purposefully out of the laurels, he became suddenly aware that his own penis was as rigid and throbbing as that of the loutish youth whom Lyn was so forcefully sucking...
Passing around the end of the house, he discovered that the back door was locked. Nothing daunted, all his fears and diffidence submerged by the tide of anger seething within him, he walked boldly up to the lighted front porch and tried the handle there. The door swung open before him.
By the time he had crossed the hallway and finally eased open the door to the living room, the tableau within had changed. Once more what he saw froze him to the spot as immobile as a marble statue.
Lyn was facing away from him. She was on her hands and knees, straddling the prone body of Kline. Behind the recumbent youth's head, Den knelt on the floor, his cock implanted like a huge overripe banana between the naked redhead's lips as she sucked him hungrily. And Kline's own cock, spearing up from his jean-clad loins like the trunk of some massive tree, was plunged into the distended coral mouth of her cunt wetly glistening in the hairy vaginal furrow cleaving the slaving girl's loins. Rats was squatting beside them, lewdly milking his stiffly upstanding rod as he stared with lust-crazed eyes at the cocks of his two friends plunging in and out of the nakedly writhing teenager on the floor. The room was layered with the acrid, aromatic tang of marijuana smoke; there was a broken bottle in the fireplace; an overturned glass had spilled scotch on the carpet; hard-rock music blared mindlessly from the hi-fi speakers on either side of the stereo. None of them had noticed Willie come in.
He stared mesmerized at the debased spectacle. Lyn's golden-red head bobbed lasciviously up and down over Denzil Best's tensed loins, her wetly clasping lips sliding frenziedly up and down the throbbing length of his iron-hard cock as Kline gazed lustfully up from below, his hands clawing wildly at her jiggling breasts while his hips undulated rhythmically up and down, pistoning his own massive staff into her gaping cunt.
"That's it, fellers! Give it to the bitch!" Rats shouted excitedly. "Stuff it into her, Marsh! Screw the shit outa the little whore! Shove that cock of yours down her throat, Den!"
Willie moved forward like a robot. His girl friend's naked buttocks were high in the air, waving from side to side before him with maniac abandon as she labored like a harem-slave at her obscene task. Almost of their own volition, his hands crept toward the expanding bulge at his crotch. He unzipped his fly, groped inside, and slowly drew out his rigidly throbbing penis.
Unable any longer to stand the sight of his companions' cocks plowing in and out of the drugged teenager's body, Rats now reached forward and jerked one of the hands on which she was supporting herself off the floor, wrapping the fingers around the thickness of his own lustfully expanded rod. Mindlessly, Lyn began pumping at the hardened shaft, the four of them now moving in a complicated multiple rhythm like the parts of some sophisticated machine.
At the same time, Willie leaned forward to touch the naked ass-cheeks flaunting before him, felt the wetness in the furrow of his girl friend's buttocks. His stomach tightened at the thought of others bringing her such passionate pleasure. He felt the sweat-slickened half-moons quiver at the touch of his fingers... but Lyn didn't cease for an instant the grinding of her hips down on Kline's thrusting, fleshy staff, the lewd sucking of Den's upright cock, her face burrowed against his hairy pelvis as she gagged on every inch of the stiffly bulging organ.
If she realized that a fourth person had joined in the degraded rape of her body, she didn't show it. Certainly at that time she had no idea it was Willie, the boy whose timorous advances she had rejected only two days before. Her flesh had crawled with horror when Kline and his friends had first commenced their brutal oral ravishment... and then the unexpected, the incredible, the repulsive phenomenon had occurred again! A deep, indescribably electrifying shock of pleasure had tingled through the already frayed nerve-ends of her body like a million wanton pinpricks! As the first hot squirts of Kline's lewd sperm had jetted against the back of her throat, the sensation had increased tenfold until her entire being was consumed with lightning flashes of forbidden desire. Now, with the sadistic gang leader's cock once more erect and plowing relentlessly into her defenseless belly, she allowed herself to be swept away on the seething tide of her own unwanted lust, her veins afire with the erotic delight of the two fleshy staffs thrusting forcefully into her mouth and cunt, her drink-and-drug-dimmed mind willing her fingers to continue their obscene milking of Rats' thin hard cock.
Willie drew a deep breath. Damn, he had to have her too! It was crazy but he couldn't help it! He was powerless to fight it! Nothing else was important now ... not the fact that she had rejected him, that for some reason he couldn't fathom, she preferred them. He simply had to have her! And not in the ordinary way! No sir - he wasn't going to disturb the three young hoods: he wanted to punish her, brutally to revenge himself for the mental pain she had caused him...
His exploring fingers searched for... and then found... their target. Abruptly he splayed apart the wet cheeks of her buttocks with the forefinger and thumb of one hand - and then sank the extended middle finger of the other brutally into the tight forbidden orifice of her tiny puckered anus, just above the moistly clasping cunt-lips sucking at Kline's huge cock jackhammering wildly into her from below.
"Uuuu u uuuuuurrrrrggghhhhh!"
Lyn gasped with pain around the thick penis wedged hugely in her mouth and jerked forward and away from the unexpected intrusion. But Willie seized her hips and held her firmly in position as he insinuated himself between Kline's spread legs, kneeled down, and brought his own cock up into line with the tautly puckered little hole.
Guiding it with one hand and keeping his other savagely clamped over her hips, he eased his bloated cock-head up against the tight, muscular lips of the madly threshing teenager's anus. And then, with a powerful surge of his own hips, he rammed forward, pushing with all his strength until the tight, elastic opening yielded to the remorseless pressure of his hard, rubbery glans, and his turgid cock surged inside in one buttock-splitting rush ... first an inch, no more, just enough to give her a taste of what was to come!
Lyn tried to cry out again as pain tore at her belly - but her anguished plea was drowned out as Denzil pulled her head tight up against his loins and snapped his hips upward, shoving the bulbous tip of his penis far down in her throat and muting her agonized cry.
At the same time, Rats and Marshall became aware of the younger boy's presence. Rats gave strangled guffaw as his loins jerked convulsively under the impaled redhead's obscenely milking touch; Kline called out derisively: "Well, whaddya know! Wee Willie finally pulled out his Winkie! Like join the club, man, and stuff it into her!" Denzil Best merely raised his head and gave the furious boy a long, slow wink over the doubled-up young girl's naked back.
Willie eased another inch into her rectum... and another painful inch as his thickly throbbing, anger-driven cock mercilessly split open the sensitive, until now untried anal passage. Feeling her grunting around his shaft again, Best stepped up the pace of his upward thrusts into Lyn's distended mouth, ramming his cock home fast and furiously now as she sucked with all her strength to maintain her ground and avoid choking to death on the ever-growing rod of hardened male flesh. At the other end, Willie gave a strangled cry and rammed his raping shaft home ... it sank like a heated knife into soft butter, right up to the hairy base in the unbelievably tight tunnel of her rectum. He had never felt anything like it! No virgin cunt could possibly be as good as this! It was as if a hot gloved hand had suddenly gripped his cock and was pulling and pumping him like crazy!
He looked beyond the slavishly splayed buttocks between which his penis was so tightly wedged. The sight was like something from a bizarre fantasy... the one young girl, naked and helpless, pinned as if in a vise between the three young men while she mechanically masturbated a fourth, kneeling like a slave while her whole body was wracked and convulsed with every punishing thrust Kline and Best delivered in unison. Although Willie was almost sick with revulsion, something held him to this lewd tableau of which he himself was a part like a magnet. He wanted to scream ... to take himself and Lyn away from this degraded horror, this travesty of the act of love... but he couldn't. His cock ached unbearably inside her tightly constricting anus, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it from her warmly clutching insides. Instead, he began thrusting in and out himself, falling into the rhythm already created by the others.
Faster and faster the three of them fucked into her as she continued pumping frenziedly at Rat's iron-hard cock. She was a helpless bundle of female flesh, a quivering, convulsing marionette, unable to move a muscle, forced to hang there between them as they relentlessly ground their thick, fleshy cocks into her every opening at the same time!
And then suddenly as the fury of their battering assault on her defenseless body increased in force and tempo it was all coming to an end...
Denzil Best choked out a low guttural moan of rapture and pulled the thrice ravished girl's head hard against him, drawing her throat deep down on to his wildly spewing penis as he reached his climax. Through the cascade of Lyn's tawny hair falling over the brutish youth's loins, Willie watched in horrified amazement as his girl's cheeks bloated and hollowed, her throat muscles contracting and pumping vigorously as liquid torrents of sperm spurted into her mouth.
Simultaneously, the thick stump of Kline's cock bulged and heaved between the gaping lips of her ravaged cunt as the gang leader groaned and arched his hips upward to send his own hot stream of semen pulsing for the second time into the raped teenager's shuddering belly. And Rats' cock began a wild staccato jerking that pumped thin streams of scalding cum between her mindlessly milking fingers.
Panting hoarsely, Willie felt the warm gush of juices ooze down Lyn's thighs and on to his own and he knew that she too was approaching her peak. He felt her anus contract involuntarily, tightening even more the vise-like grip her clenched back passage had on his throbbing instrument. He'd held it as long as he could: there was no point in waiting any longer. With a frenzied burst of energy, he rammed again and again deeply into her butter-soft bowels, sodomizing her viciously with each tearing thrust. Like a madman, he slammed himself into her, his own pain easing at the thought of the torment he was inflicting on her.
Best's limp, used penis had slipped wetly from the naked girl's cum-smeared lips and her head was lifted from his loins. Her eyes were closed and her teeth bared as she shuddered convulsively in a series of racking spasms while Kline's deflated cock slid from her plundered cunt with a soft wet sluicing noise. And then abruptly she screamed: "Oooooooooh! Aaaaagggghhhh! Oh, my God! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!... Hurt me, darling! Hurt me, hurt me! Eeeeeee u u u u u ggggh h h h h!"
Willie gripped her with both hands, his own eyes screwed shut as he drained every ounce of his energy into driving his thick cock deep into her insides again and again and again, harder and deeper with every jab.
" A a a a a u u u ugggggh hh! Hump back, baby!" Willie shrilled as a storm of sensation erupted through his convulsing loins and his penis for the first time exploded like a grenade deep up inside her hotly clasping rectal passage. His sperm-bloated balls slapped wetly against the nakedly kneeling redhead's thighs, drenched now with the sticky film of insanely flowing juices that seeped out of her cunt and trickled down the soft, smooth insides of her openly straining legs. His own white-hot maleness squirted in a thick torrent far up into her belly... and he thought for a fleeting instant of what she had done to him and how he wanted to punish her, so his final thrust was the hardest of all, flattening the softness of her ass-cheeks hard against her hip bones and nearly knocking her off her knees with the sheer force of it as he almost ripped her in two with the last burst of his strength. Moaning as his balls emptied inside her convulsively clasping anus, he was falling forward exhausted over Lyn's satiated body when the strange voice split the panting silence of the room.
"What in the name of God is going on heir'.'"
Aghast, the boy twisted his head over his shoulder... to see the horrified figures of Lyn's father and mother standing just inside the door!
George Dunnett was a tall man. But to the lust-sated quintet on the floor as they shamefacedly disentangled themselves and looked up at his rage-darkened face, he seemed a mile high. His rimless spectacles flashed as his disgusted glance took in the disordered room, the spilled drinks, the sprawling figures of the four youths with their wetly gleaming cocks protruding limply from their splayed flies, and the terrified, drug-crazed face of his own naked daughter in the middle of them. His nostrils twitched with distaste as he sniffed the unmistakable odor of marijuana. Behind him, his thin-faced wife's mouth had dropped open in furious disbelief, her lean jowls quivering with outrage.
"I don't know what lies behind this... this monstrous debauch,"
Dunnett thundered. "In the whole of my life I have neither seen nor heard of such a sickening, filthy, degrading, vile and disgusting spectacle! The four of you have exactly one minute to get out of my house before I summon the police. You, William ... I cannot find words to express my contempt for your behavior. But rest assured your father shall hear of this tomorrow!"
He swung around on his daughter, pointing a quivering finger at her tear-streaked face. "As for you, you brazen whore, you have disgraced and sullied the name you bear and the town you live in! You will leave tomorrow before the shame you have brought on us is bruited about ... I will see to it that you go to a place where they know how to deal with sluts like you!"
As Willie and the others scrambled sheepishly to their feet, zipped up their flies and made for the door even Kline could manage no more than a wordless sneer before he slunk out before the old man's wrath - Lyn burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing and covered her face with her hands. "Daddy," she sobbed desperately. "Mom ... I can't ... I didn't "Don't you dare to use those words, you young harlot!" her father shouted. "You are no daughter of mine and the sooner we're rid of you the better. It's the reform school for you, young woman, in the morning!"
EPILOGUE
Princey Hartz undulated her slender, ripely curving body across the cell-like room and draped a comforting arm over the shaking shoulders of the redhead weeping on the hard truckle bed. "Now look, honey," she murmured softly, "let me tell you again: it ain't gonna get you nowhere, just sittin' and regrettin'. This is a hard graft station and the screws are all bitches and bastards ... else they wouldn't be here, would they?" Her long blonde hair switched over her shoulder as she flicked a swift glance toward the closed door and a tiny smile curled up one corner of her sensuous mouth. Then she continued: "It's like they used to say about rape - whatever that is! - when it's inevitable, lie back and enjoy it! That's all you can do here, girl: go with it, go with it!"
Lyn Dunnett raised her tear-streaked face and stared mistily at her companion. "Oh, Princey," she said brokenly, "what would I do without you? You've been so ... so nice to me. You're the only one ..." Once again she broke into a fit of crying and buried her lovely face in the older girl's soft shoulder.
Princey stroked her hair, her tapering fingers sweeping down the red-gold cascade and straying across Lyn's quivering back. "In any case," she said reasonably, her huskily attractive voice taking on a persuasive note, "you'll be outa here in six months. You got a good home to go back to-"
"Never!" Lyn interrupted vehemently. "I'll never go back there. Never, never, never! It's their fault that I'm here. If they hadn't... They didn't even ... You wouldn't believe, Princey they assumed at once that it was all my fault, that I'd led the others on, that it had to be a girl's depraved nature that She shook her head violently. "I don't even want to think about it," she said.
"There, there, honey. You're all tensed up and overwrought! You'll make yourself sick, goin' on like this. Look - it's an hour and a half still to Assembly. Why don't you just lie back and relax and let little ole Princey hold your hand?" Expertly, the curvaceous young blonde's fingers were easing the drab reform-school blouse off the distressed girl's shoulders, peeling it slowly down her smoothly rounded arms, exposing the swelling curve of her breasts as she pressed her back against the pillow and murmured soothing nothings into her ear. Once again she cast a swift glance at the door, the ghost of a wink trembling one eyelid.
In the bare passageway outside, Len Dutton looked hastily this way and that, and then approached his eye again to the concealed spyhole in the door. The calloused fingers of his right hand hovered over the rigid, swelling bulge thrusting out the pants of his warden's uniform. He chuckled to himself as he stared lecherously into the room. It looked like this one would break the ten-minute barrier! You could trust Princey to deliver the goods! It was the third time the nineteen year old hooker had been at the institution... and each time she came up with something new! Princey would do anything for a few extra privileges, and this was the best gimmick she had come up with yet! If she didn't have that luscious new kid stripped bare-ass naked in less than a quarter of an hour as she had promised... well, we'd see, wouldn't we? The warden licked his lips. His fingers touched the hard outline of his lust-swollen penis through the material of his pants.
Inside the tiny room, Lyn was still protesting as she allowed her blouse to be removed and her brassiere unhooked. "But I don't know where to go or what to do," she wailed. "My relatives are worse than my parents. I don't have any qualifications ... I haven't even got through with school yet!"
"Baby," Princey breathed huskily as the ripe, swelling mounds of Lyn's tautly rounded breasts came into view, "you don't need any qualifications! Not with what you got stacked there! Not with that body and that hair!" Settling herself down alongside the half-naked new girl, she slipped her fingers under the waistband of Lyn's institution panties and began to slide them down over her hips. She caught her breath as the silkily curling triangle of tawny pubic hair mantling the voluptuous teenager's loins emerged from its nylon sheath. "Just lie back and relax," she crooned. "You'll feel better without these lousy clothes they make you wear. Now let me tell you: with what you got, honey, you'll be driving your own Eldorado in six months! You won't even need to work the bars for more'n a few weeks, if you stick with me. After that, you'll have built up enough ritzy clientele to work by phone! Lyn baby, you're gonna be rich and happy ..." The blonde hair swung lower, mingling with the red as Princey's fingers trailed along the smooth warm curve of one breast, teasing the nipple to instant erection. "My, what beautiful skin you have!" she breathed.
Lyn turned her face into the crook of the young hooker's arm.
"Oh, Princey!" she cried desperately. "Why are you so nice to me?... "
