There are certain parts of the world where no woman should be, let alone a twelve-year-old girl. Yet, Kay lived among the fisherman along the banks of the Alaskan shores, and she was accepted in No Woman's Land ... until her breasts started budding, her hips started bulging, and her virginity became even more prominent behind the adolescent shadow of her womanhood. Then her father died, and she became the sole protector of her chastity-protecting herself against men who went years without a woman. Her baptism into the realm of sensual darkness roughly parallels the stark statement written in the book. The Sex Offenders, by Paul Gebhard, John Gagnon, Wardell Pomeroy and Cornelia Christenson...."girls aged twelve to fifteen ... are sufficiently developed physically and sufficiently aware of social attitudes for a man to have to use considerable force or definite threat if the girl objects to sexual contact."
CHAPTER ONE
When Kay's mother lay dying of childbed fever she asked Sam to raise the baby Catholic and he agreed. But two hours later Sam shook his fist at the gray sky and yelled, "Up yours!"
Kay spent her first twelve years aboard a floating cannery, climbing in and out of every fisherman's boat up and down the Alaskan coast, learning to sweat with the best of them. Then one day old Sam caught a fisherman looking at her in a certain way.
Kay couldn't figure it out. Sam would never leave her alone. He would always be around and if he wasn't around, he would be following her everywhere!
And the way he kept looking at her! It didn't make sense to a twelve-year-old girl who had always been able to take care of herself.
Kay peeled off her oilskins and hung them inside the doorway. Sheddding sweaters and overalls, she was down to her ankles-to-chin underwear by the time she reached her room. She shucked off the thermal underwear and stepped into the shower.
At twelve, Kay had already reached her full height. She was a scrawny five and a half feet tall with long straight legs and matching hair that reached a pinched-in waist that would never get much thicker. On her chest two tiny bee-sting bumps promised to be interesting before long. Some of the fishermen found them interesting already, though she couldn't imagine why. To her, they seemed to be a painful nuisance.
She reveled in the feel of the hot, almost scalding water pouring over her shoulders, temporarily assuaging the ache in her tender young breasts. The water felt good between her thighs, too-where old Sam had explained that from now on she had to put up with cramps and wear a bandage between her legs as if she were some kind of an invalid. It didn't seem fair to her!
She wondered if there was anything fair about being a girl. Every time she wanted to take a leak, she had to spend fifteen minutes undressing. She had envied boys since she had seen Tommy Taskoosh take out his coffee-colored nozzle and blithely urinate over the side of his father's boat. She wondered why she couldn't be built like Indian boys. Maybe it was because she was white. Then she wondered if white boys were built the same way. She had seen old Sam let fly off the dock when he thought nobody was looking. His was bigger and whiter than little Tommy's, but there wasn't all that much difference.
She continued musing in the shower, enjoying the warm feel of water trickling between her thighs. She would have to start supper pretty soon. There was a full-length mirror on the other side of the bathroom door. Kay stood naked before it, trying to understand what was happening to her body. Are my little breast buds going to grow and grow until I droop like the squaws who work in the cannery? she wondered, and my hips are just beginning to round out. What will I look like in a dress?
The door opened and old Sam stumbled in. "For Christ's sake, put something on!" he growled. "You'll catch cold."
Kay began climbing into clean long underwear. Old Sam stared sadly, unbelievingly at the wispy dark-brown hair that was sprouting between her thighs. "This ain't no goddamn place to raise a girl," he finally said. "You've got to go outside."
Outside, for Kay, was a place where men spent the winter months getting drunk and getting the clap. "Why do I have to go?" she asked.
Sam scowled. "If I don't get you outa here soon, some goddamn gill-netter'll get you knocked up."
"What's knocked up?"
Sam sighed. "Goddamn cannery's broke down, and I have to to Anchorage and see why Veely hasn't come up with money for parts anyhow. I'll put you on a plane for Seattle and maybe the goddamn nuns can do something with you."
"But I don't want to go!" Kay wailed.
Old Sam's face was lined with despair. "Be lonesome here in the winter," he muttered.
And somehow Kay knew better than to argue.
In the convent she learned to love God. She also learned about sex. Since she learned, not from the sisters but from other girls in the convent, her information was not totally wrong. Only ninety-eight percent.
On her sixteenth birthday the Mother Superior called Kay into her bleak office. "I hope you've enjoyed your stay with us," the old woman said.
Kay didn't know how to answer. God wanted girls always to be truthful, but the truth had put Kay on her knees reciting Acts of Contrition so many times that she had learned a certain Jesuit flexibility in the art of veracity...." ticket's ready. Sister Mary will drive you to the airport at noon."
Kay woke up from her mental deliberations abruptly. "Noon! That's only an hour from now!"
"I know," the Mother Superior said. "Your father was very insistent that you come home this summer. I'm sorry you won't be able to go to Switzerland with the other girls."
Kay almost said, "I'm not." She caught herself and put on a properly sorrowful expression. Two hours later she was flying back to Alaska.
Old Sam was grayer and his granite-hard face had new wrinkles. The floating cannery seemed smaller and shabbier than she had remembered. But it was nice to be home. She scrounged about the company store and found some thermal underwear that was a reasonable fit over her slight sixteen-year-old body. She found some overalls and a flannel shirt. Then she put on a couple of old sweaters before she covered herself with oilskins. Ready for the day, she went out onto the dock just as the first boat was pulling in.
The fishermen were awed by the girl standing at the scales. "You Kay?" one finally asked.
"Yes."
"Goddamn! Did you ever grow up!"
Kay winced. She had heard that kind of talk all her life-until she went off to the convent. Now she knew it wasn't nice to talk that way. The fishermen continued staring. She wondered if she had forgotten to button something. They were undressing her, gawking as if they had never seen another woman. Probably they hadn't for three or four months, Kay realized.
Finally they began using one-tined pitchforks to toss sockeye salmon up toward Kay. One fish missed the bucket and splashed irretrievably into the chill gray water. "Goddamn it!" a man roared, "Why didn't you catch that?"
"Why can't you hit a hole as big as that bucket?" Kay retorted.
There was a moment's silence. Another fisherman started to say something, then changed his mind as he saw old Sam coming. Both fishermen suddenly became very busy.
"I'll take over," Sam said. "Go get some breakfast."
Kay nodded and trotted toward the far end of the floating cannery. Dock, cannery and living quarters heaved gently with the ocean swells. She had never noticed it before, but now she was aware of the motion. Coming on top of the odor of fish and diesel, it wasn't giving her much appetite for breakfast. She hoped coming home this summer hadn't been a mistake.
The grocery boat had been around that morning and she had splurged an extra five dollars for a head of lettuce and some tomatoes. She looked longingly at them but resisted temptation. The salad was for supper, when she and old Sam might find a few moments to sit down together. She scrambled an egg into the potatoes he had left in the skillet and poured coffee. And then she wondered. Old Sam ... Was it normal for a man his age to be so gray? Not just his hair. His skin too.
Tonight she would have to lead up to it somehow. She also had to see if there was anybody else she remembered from four years ago. Some of the old Tlingit women on the cannery line seemed familiar. She wondered about little Tommy Taskoosh whom she had once envied for having a handy brown nozzle that saved him the trouble of undressing every time he ... She almost said "took a piss" when four years of discipline muzzled her mouth.
Sipping coffee, she felt her underwear chafe her tender breasts. In the last six months they had suddenly started growing again. She wished the convent hadn't considered brassieres part of the Devil's work. A bra, she knew, would protect her sore nipples from the scratchy underwear. She felt a prickle of sweat, then she glanced irritably at the stove. She wondered if it was worth the trouble of taking off her clothes just for another shower.
She was unfastening the collar of her oilskins when she heard a boat whistle. To her amazement, Kay thought she recognized it. She stepped outside and saw old Sam pumping diesel oil into a gallon can.
"Goddamn Indian ain't got a brain in his head!" he growled. "Leaves his boat go to hell all winter, then when the fish come, he's always breaking down. One of these days he's going to disappear."
"George Taskoosh?"
"George's dead. That goddamn useless Tommy's running the boat now. Watch 'im," Sam added. "Goddamn lying sea lawyer!"
There was a sudden cessation of noise as the cannery machinery stopped. "Now what the goddamn hell?" Sam thrust the can at Kay. "Take that stupid bastard some fuel before he goes aground."
Kay took the can and got into the outboard. Tommy was drifting a mile down the inlet. From the trim, Kay figured he must have about half a load. She studied wind and tide. She got the skiff planning down the inlet.
Tommy looked down into the outboard and smiled. He was not at all like she remembered. He was a handsome young Indian now. Watching his toothy smile, Kay suspected he knew it. "Who're you?" he asked. "Old Sam add something new?" Then he hesitated and did an exaggerated double-take. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, "It's Kay. Goddamn! Take off some of them clothes and I bet there's a woman inside there!"
Kay felt awkward, out of place. She handed him the can of diesel oil.
"Come aboard," Tommy invited. Before she could refuse, he grabbed her hand and helped her over the rail. She gulped at the realization that he was helping her with one hand while he juggled the can of fuel with the other.
"What's wrong with your boat?" she asked.
"Come inside and you'll see."
Kay stepped past him, expecting the usual tangle of stinking blankets beside a raised floorboard. She stopped in surprise. The engine wasn't uncovered. Tommy's cabin was clean, blankets neatly stretched over his bunk. On the table a plastic rose nodded in an empty whiskey bottle. Beside it stood two empty glasses and a large bottle of champagne.
"What's going on?"
"Welcome to your engagement party."
Kay studied his brown face. Tommy was a handsome young Indian. After much ponderment Kay finally decided this was his offhand way of proposing marriage. "But you didn't even know I was here!" she protested.
Tommy grinned. "Old Sam's had a new picture of you on his desk every year. I been keepin' track."
"But how did you know I was here?"
Tommy gestured at the microphone in the pilothouse. "Radio's a great invention," he said. "But it's not much good for keeping secrets." He began peeling off his slicker.
Kay panicked. Tommy was blocking the doorway. "I've got to go." she gasped. "Old Sam'll be out here with a shotgun in a minute."
Tommy grinned and continued shedding his oilskins. "In what?" he asked. "Old Sam gonna swim?"
Kay suddenly felt faint. There were other boats around the cannery, but it would take time to dig one out and get it running. And old Sam was up to his neck in a breakdown. It might be hours before he remembered her.
She wondered what Tommy intended to do. The convent sisters had warned her about evil men, but they had obstinately refused to explain what evil men actually did.
Tommy had his oilskins off. He was unbuttoning his shirt.
"You'd better let me go," she said in a quavering voice, "I have work to do."
Tommy grinned and began removing his pants. Underneath he wore the same two-piece thermal underwear that everyone else wore. She wanted to get through the doorway and back to her outboard before he took any more clothing off. Nibbling at the back of her mind was the temptation to wait just a moment longer-to see what was inside his pants before she fled. Sudden shame welled up in her at how quickly she was forgetting the good sisters' teachings.
There would be awkward moments as he struggled to free his legs of pants and underwear but, braced in the doorway, he could grab her before she could get clear. Kay decided her best chance would be while he was peeling his undershirt off over his head. She waited, then she saw that he was waiting too.
Kay had a sudden inspiration. The sisters would never approve of it, but then, they never approved of anything. She smiled timidly, doing her best not to show how scared she was. When Tommy grinned back at her, she began removing her oilskins.
CHAPTER TWO
Tommy smiled and finished removing his pants. He peeled off his underdrawers and Kay's eyes widened. She stared with unwilling fascination as his nozzle broke free to stand at attention. As a little girl she remembered seeing mens' machinery before as they fired away over the sides of boats. She had seen Tommy's before, too, and she had envied his freedom from so much unbuttoning. But this was the first time she had ever seen an erection.
Good heavens, it's big! Surely the convent girls were wrong when they said men actually put that tremendous thumping thing inside girls. It's impossible. Or is Tommy a freak? Is that why he's so wild? Something has to be wrong with him to be as careless of his boat as old Sam said he was.
Kay wanted to get out. His great purple-tipped thing was ugly. Looking at it, Kay knew she was looking at something evil. She waited for her chance to escape. Tommy waited too.
Finally she began unbuttoning her sweater. Tommy had stripped off everything but his undershirt. Kay shuddered at the nameless horrors that would come when he completed that final act.
Tommy waited. She was removing an arm from her sweater, then he whipped his undershirt over his head. Lightning-like, Kay rammed her arm back into the sleeve and lunged. Tommy was still blocking the doorway with his near-naked body. She caught the hem of his undershirt and jerked.
Instead of struggling with his tangled clothing, Tommy grabbed her by the bib of her overalls. She twisted, struggling to free herself. She thought of slipping out of the overalls but, it would be too hard to do. Tommy forced his head back through the neck of his undershirt so he could see again. Breathing fish and old whiskey, he tried to kiss her.
Kay was vaguely mystified. She knew Indians couldn't handle liquor very well, but Tommy didn't seem that drunk. And she wondered why Tommy Taskoosh had set his sights on her, of all people. She was only sixteen and underage. It didn't make sense to her.
Indians like Tommy were always hunting for blondes, and Kay's waist-length hair was such a dark brown that against her milk-white skin it seemed as glossy black as Tommy's. He was a smooth-looking young stud and Kay knew the smell of fish would wash off. She wasn't so sure about the smell of whiskey.
She twisted, trying to loosen his grip on the bib of her overalls. Tommy got his other arm around her. He began to rub his hand across her tender young breasts. Despite the way they were hurting, Kay felt a sudden stirring within her.
He fought to kiss her again. Locked in silent combat, they struggled. His arm grew tight around her, and he began fiddling with the strap of her overalls. She batted at his hand, wondering how it would feel if he were touching her bare breast instead of rubbing her tit through the scratchy cloth. Tommy laughed, exhaling another wave of whiskey-breath. He tried to kiss her again.
She bent over, trying to get away from his foul breath, and she found herself facing his throbbing penis. It smelled better than his breath.
Tommy sensed the hesitation in her struggling movements. "You like it?" he asked. "Want a taste?"
Kay had heard words like cocksucker as a little girl. She had never given them much thought. Now suddenly she faced the possibility that maybe people actually did things like that. Horrified, she caught herself wondering what it would be like to put that sausage-sized piece of flesh in her mouth. It was so purple-ugly that she couldn't imagine why the thought was so strangely, perversely attractive.
"Taste it," Tommy urged. "If you like it, I'll give you a whole one."
He was fiddling with the straps of her overalls. In a minute he would have her so undressed she could never brave the chill wind outside. And that great purple throbbing penis was still jerking up and down in time to Tommy's heartbeat. She couldn't do what he asked. She couldn't believe that anyone really did that; it was just something people joked about. But she wondered what it would feel like just to touch it. She thought that if she did touch it, Tommy would relax enough to let her loose. Cautiously, she put her hand out.
She felt Tommy's hands slide down under her loose-fitting overalls and worm their way up under her sweater. He tried to find his way under her underwear, but he couldn't quite make it. His hands cupped her firm young breasts with a thickness of cloth between them. He squeezed.
It hurt. Kay's hand clenched involuntarily over the shank of Tommy's penis. His hands clenched tighter over Kay's tender young breasts, and she screamed-not so much from the pain as from terror. Tommy stopped squeezing. They remained frozen in this strange posture-with his hands under the bib of her overalls while she was doubled over the throbbing nozzle that she now gripped with both hands. She remembered garbled stories that other girls had told about how to hurt a man. But she remembered the pain when Tommy's hands had closed over her breasts. She decided not to struggle again.
Tommy strained, and she sensed dimly that he was struggling against his own over-eager instincts, his mind blown with the thought of a sixteen-year-old virgin's hands on the part of him that begged for handling.
They remained in frozen expectation. It was strange, interesting-but Kay knew it was wrong.
What does Tommy really want me to do? Surely he doesn't expect me to put it in my mouth! She squeezed experimentally. Tommy stiffened, and she felt him tremble as he strained against her. Puzzled, she gripped the shank of his instrument. She felt his hips moving. It reminded Kay of the motion she had observed with innocent twelve-year-old interest when sled dogs coupled.
She saw the loose skin sliding up and down the shaft of Tommy's tool. Would he expire in howling, yapping ecstasy like the sled dogs? Maybe I can escape then. His hands cupped her breasts. Through the scratchy cloth she could feel his searching fingers. She felt her nipples rise to marble hardness as she squeezed his purple-tipped thing. Then she felt new revulsion and horror as the thing in her hands forced its glowering damp tip out of the encasing skin.
Straining to control her mixed fascination and disgust, she caught the straining skin and tried to draw it back down over the head of his thrusting penis. Tommy's hands tightened over her breasts, and he groaned.
"Wait!" he said in a strained voice. "Wait till we get undressed!"
That was the last thing that Kay wanted to wait for. She fastened her other hand over the throbbing knob at the end of his maleness. She wasn't sure what was going to happen, but Tommy was moaning and bucking and jerking.
His hands clenched uncontrollably over her breasts. "Oooohhhh!" Kay moaned. It hurt. Yet suddenly, perversely she found herself wishing he would do it again. She held onto Tommy's throbbing stick with both hands while he bucked and jerked and lunged and moaned, "Oh, oh, OOOOHHHH!!!!"
Then she felt the warm juices flow, saw his nozzle spurt like a spastic fire hose, firing great gobs of white goo across the cabin.
His hands released their passionate grips on her breasts. Suddenly Kay realized he wasn't holding her at all. His hands slipped out of her overalls as she straightened. "Wait!" Tommy wailed, "Next time'll be better!"
Kay scrambled over his limp, spent body. She ran across the deck and sprang into her outboard. The outboard started on the first jerk. She was twenty feet away before Tommy appeared on deck, yelling something she couldn't hear over the roar of the outboard motor. Kay wondered. Had she led Tommy on in some way without really knowing or intending to? As the skiff headed toward the cannery, she remembered the feel of Tommy's hands on her tender young breasts. Would it have been a mortal sin just to let him fondle her through her clothing? But then she realized Tommy Taskoosh was not the kind of boy who would be willing to leave it at that.
When she got back, Sam was just finishing up with cannery repairs. He looked despairingly at the pile of unprocessed fish, then at the low-setting sun. The Tlingit women had been at work fourteen hours already. There was no use starting up again until they had eaten and slept.
Kay went toward the kitchen to start supper. "Where's the fuel can?" he asked as she walked past.
"I forgot it."
Sam looked at her. Abruptly she remembered Tommy had her oilskins too. A puff of smoke shot from his boat, and a moment later the ragged sound of his engine reached them across the chill gray waters of the inlet.
Kay suddenly knew she was going to faint for the first time in her life. If she didn't faint, at least she wanted to faint. Tommy Taskoosh was going to unload his fish. She would have to face him again, face him under old Sam's watchful eye and pretend nothing had ever happened.
Then she saw Tommy's boat turn in a sharp half-circle and chug out to sea. She saw old Sam looking. He knew as well as she that Tommy had fish to unload.
There was an awkward silence. "Tommy wants to marry me," she finally said.
"You'd have to get permission," Sam said.
"From you? Oh, you mean from the Mother Superior."
"I mean from his wife in Anchorage."
"Oh!"
"And if it's all right with her, then all you've got to worry about is his other wife in Sitka and his girl friend in Ketchikan."
Thoughtfully, Kay hung her oilskins inside the kitchen door. She got the oil-burning stove going and started a stew, then she shed the rest of her clothes on the way to the bathroom. She was down to her underwear by the time she turned the corner out of Sam's sight.
The hot water faucet was stuck so tight she couldn't open it. "Sam!" she called.
Old Sam stuck his head in the bathroom and saw her struggling with the faucet. He was reaching to turn it on when he saw something else. Kay's breast was an angry-looking purple. Where Tommy's overeager fingers had pinched and twisted, the tender flesh was turning black and blue already. "What happened?" he started to ask, then old Sam saw the answer in Kay's eyes.
"I'll kill him!" Sam said. He didn't seem angry or upset. He didn't raise his voice or shout like other irate fathers. Instead, old Sam wrapped his naked daughter in his arms and patted her back.
Suddenly Kay was crying-shrieking and wailing like she hadn't since she was a little girl and old Sam used to kiss away the hurt from a skinned knee.
Finally Kay became uncomfortably aware that she was naked-a fully developed young woman sitting on an old man's lap. A sudden warm, tingling rush of blood suffused her face, her neck. Even her perky young breasts were blushing between the bruises.
She knew that to old Sam she was still just his little girl. It had felt so nice to be in his arms again, cradled in his lap while he patted her back and kissed her bruised breasts to take the hurt away. It wasn't at all like Tommy's brutal overtures.
Finally old Sam realized he was holding a well built young lady in his lap. "Go finish your bath," he said.
As she got up, he once more said methodically, "I'll kill him." Suddenly his gray face became pale. "Kill him," he croaked, then he fell off the chair.
Kay stared horror stricken. Finally she half-lifted, half-dragged him up onto her bed and got a blanket over him.
"Nitroglycerine," he managed. "In the bathroom."
Kay found the pills in the medicine chest and for a little while Sam seemed to regain a healthy composure. "Do you have a bad heart?" she asked.
Sam grinned feebly. "Since before you were born. Didn't you know?"
Kay hadn't.
While she watched, his face turned ashen again. She remembered the radio. It was new, and once she figured out the controls it wasn't nearly as complicated as the one they had four years ago. She interrupted a gabfest between a half-dozen fishermen and their wives ashore and finally talked to a doctor via a radio-telephone.
The doctor told Kay what to do. Old Sam's gray face became even more pallid, his shallow breathing interspersed with deep gasping sighs. Kay tried to keep him warm. Frantically, she asked what else she could do.
"There'll be a plane there in four hours," the doctor explained. "We'll get him to the hospital and make some tests."
An hour later old Sam roused. Kay put her ear to his lips. "Goddamn Indian!" he warned. "All those Taskoosh ... crazy."
Kay waited for more, but old Sam lapsed into mumbling incoherence. Old George Taskoosh had always been a responsible citizen and one of the leaders of the Indian fishermen. Sadly, Kay realized her convent training was no preparation for the harsh facts of life in Alaska. She glanced at the clock. In three more hours the plane would be here.
The plane was still two hours away when old Sam roused again. He sat bolt upright and repeated in a conversational tone, "I'll kill him!" He fell back on the bed, and Kay knew it no longer mattered when the plane arrived.
Suddenly the whole world turned into a blur.
CHAPTER THREE
A week later Kay sat in an office in Anchorage, listening to a short, balding man who explained, "Your father was really not well off. Once the cannery's been liquidated, it's doubtful if assets will cover liabilities."
"What does that mean?" Kay asked.
The lawyer paused, running a handkerchief over his bald spot. "Succinctly," he said, "It means you're broke."
Broke didn't mean much to a girl who had always helped herself to whatever she needed at the company store. After a moment she asked, "Do you mean I won't have any money?"
"I'm afraid not." The balding lawyer braced himself, expecting an explosion of some sort. He was puzzled by Kay's total lack of reaction.
Kay knew about poverty. She had just never applied such a possibility to her own future. "I suppose I'll have to get a job, won't I?"
The lawyer coughed. His bald spot turned bright red and his eyes gleamed. "Not necessarily," he explained. "Your father and I were associated for many years. I'm not about to see an old friend's daughter turned out into the snow."
"Snow? It's summer."
"Figure of speech," the lawyer explained. "Now, I have a small apartment on the other side of town. You can stay there for a while-until we can think up better arrangements."
"Oh?" Kay was puzzled. She had met the lawyer's motherly wife and liked her. Somehow she had expected to be invited....
The short balding man coughed again. "Mrs. Veely's not been well lately. I really couldn't impose more housework on her."
Kay had assumed she would do her share of housework, but if Mr. Veely had other plans...."But I'll have to earn my keep somehow," she protested.
Mr. Veely seemed to be having trouble breathing. He fished a key from his pocket and handed her a hundred-dollar bill. "There's a cab stand right outside the office," he explained. "For appearance's sake it's probably better that you go alone. Umm, yes. Much better. Now, you move your things out of that hotel to my little apartment. The address is right there on the key."
"I don't know how I'll ever repay you...."
Mr. Veely put a fatherly arm over her shoulders and squeezed. "I'm sure we'll find a way," he said. "As a matter-of-fact, I'll be around this evening and we can discuss it."
Vaguely mystified, Kay took the key and the money. Moments later she had removed her meager belongings from the hotel and was stepping into the apartment.
It was a nice little place: kitchenette, a knotty-pine living room with a polar-bear rug before the fireplace. But there was no bedroom. Puzzled, she inspected the apartment. The refrigerator was filled. There was whiskey, brandy, and several liquors she didn't recognize in a small cabinet in the living room.
The bath was larger and more luxurious than she had ever seen. Its mirrored walls and ceiling seemed oddly out of proportion in so small an apartment. Kay wandered about bemusedly, wondering if she was to sleep on the couch. She inspected the liquor cabinet again. She decided to taste the whiskey. She poured a cautious teaspoonful. It was terrible.
Putting the bottle back in the cabinet, she leaned against a lever and the bedroom mystery was solved when a Murphy bed descended from the ornate knotty-pine paneling. Kay put her clothes in the closet. There were a few recent issues of Playboy, but she found the stories even more boring than the improbable females in the centerfolds.
The floating cannery where she had spent her first twelve years had possessed only a shower. And the convent shower was considered equally good for the soul and the exchequer. Kay decided to risk mortal sin by trying a bathtub for the first time in her life.
It felt so good she knew it must be sinful. She reveled in the feel of soap and hot water, scrubbing her armpits, her crotch, very gently soaping her tender young breasts.
She stood before the multiple mirrors, wondering if Tommy Taskoosh knew his impetuous wooing had cost Kay her father. There had been no word of his boat anywhere. She had said nothing about the incident. In the rush of Sam's funeral, Kay realized that she had forgotten the scandalous scene.
She surveyed her lithe young body in the mirrors. She knew her self-admiration was sinful. Girls were supposed to dress and undress under the covers. But she wanted to know what had provoked Tommy's sudden seizure. She was not much taller than the local Indian girls, but her lithe body made her look taller.
Indian girls never had much waist. Maybe it was that tiny twenty inches between her burgeoning hips and those troublesome, still-growing breasts that had turned Tommy on. It couldn't be my straight, waist-length hair, she decided. Tommy's seen enough of that.
There was body powder and an immense powder puff. She dusted her smooth young body. The smooth feel of her hand over her tender breasts reminded her of Tommy's grip as she exploded. Would another man ever grab her like that? She hoped not. Finally she turned away from the mirrors and began deciding what to wear. Apart from school uniforms she only had two dresses so it didn't take long.
Then Kay hesitated. After the hotel bill and her cab fare she still had twenty-eight dollars left out of the money the lawyer had given her. It was still early afternoon. She put on her coat. I've held a man's thing in my hands, she rationalized. I can't go much deeper into hell for buying a bra.
The saleslady wore an elegant coiffure and clothes of such sophistication that Kay felt reluctant to enter the shop. Finally she plucked up courage and asked for a bra.
"Next counter," the elegant saleslady said.
Kay picked one up and looked helplessly at it. Finally the saleslady noticed. She wore an identification pin that said, Miss Purlett. "Are you having trouble?" she asked.
Kay hesitated. "I've never had a bra before," she admitted embarrassedly.
Miss Purlett's eyebrows raised. "Hmmm. Perhaps you'd better step into one of the dressing rooms."
Kay followed Miss Purlett into the tiny cubicle and struggled out of her dress. Beneath it she wore the bottom half of a suit of long jeans with the legs cut off just above the knees. Miss Purlett's eyebrows arched again. "Very practical for this weather," she said.
"I suppose so," Kay sighed. "It's all I could find when we left the cannery."
Miss Purlett whipped a tape measure around Kay's tender young breasts. "Only thirty-four!" she murmured. She slipped the tape down over Kay's waist and was even more incredulous. "They look so big because your waist is only twenty," she explained. "Hmmm. Hips thirty-two." She exited, and Kay stood alone in the. cubicle. Moments passed. An elderly man with a broom and dustpan stuck his head in. "Oops, sorry," he said, shuffling out and looking anything but sorry. Kay had her back turned when Miss Purlett returned with a handful of brassieres.
"My, you have a nice young body!" Miss Purlett said. "I wish I could be like that again."
"I don't know why," Kay said. "I was just wishing I could be like you and know all about clothes and things."
"How far back in the woods did they keep you, dear?"
Kay sighed. She felt Miss Purlett's hands around her waist. The elegant saleslady stepped behind her and cupped her hands over Kay's tender young breasts. "They're so nice and firm, you really don't need support," she said. "But we can't have you flopping all over the place like some Women's Lib freak."
"They don't flop," Kay explained. "It's just that they're sore and this dress scratches."
"I know, dear. I remember when I was growing." Miss Purlett cupped her hands over Kay's breasts, and again Kay was reminded fleetingly of Tommy. Miss Purlett's hands remained cupped over her breasts, gently supporting them. Her hands were warm and soft. Daintily, her fingers parted to make room for Kay's ultrasensitive nipples. She knew how to support Kay's firm young breasts in just the right way to relieve the ache. It felt heavenly to Kay-just like the hot bath she had had an hour ago. Kay sighed.
She began wondering. She had stepped into the cubicle to be fitted for a brassiere. Instead, Miss Purlett was standing behind her, cupping her breasts in soft warm hands. Puzzled, Kay felt warm fingers very gently begin to massage her tender nipples. She felt so deliciously warm and relaxed. Blood rushed to her face and neck. She felt a warm blush descend from her head to her tiny waist. Suddenly she remembered. "About the bra...." she said.
Abruptly Miss Purlett was all business. Within minutes Kay had been fitted with a bra that had wide satin straps guaranteed not to cut into her shoulders. She was puzzled by Miss Purlett's abrupt icy manner. "I'd like to buy some more things," she said wistfully, "But I just don't have the money right now. I'll have to find a job pretty soon."
Miss Purlett thawed abruptly. "Job?"
"Yes." Kay explained about her father and the cannery.
Miss Purlett was thoughtful. "I have a partner," she said. "I'll have to talk it over with him, but maybe you could work here for a little while. In the summer, business picks up and we could use an assistant."
Kay noted the empty dress shop, and she wondered if she had come into the shop during a lapse in business activity.
"Give me your address and I'll let you know," Miss Purlett continued.
Kay finally remembered the address.
"Old Randy's place!" Miss Purlett exclaimed.
"Randy? I don't know his first name, but he was my father's lawyer," Kay explained.
Miss Purlett smiled. "I'll see you soon," she repeated. "I'm sure we can work something out."
Kay walked back to her apartment. The bra did nothing for her figure, but she felt more comfortable. Why, she wondered, did everything that tasted good, or smelled good, or felt good, have to be part of the Devil's work? She shuddered. It was dangerous to think such thoughts when the sisters had said that Satan was waiting everywhere to ensnare young girls who lusted after nylon underthings and bathtubs full of hot water.
There was caribou steak in the freezer. Kay got one defrosting, then ransacked the refrigerator for greens. The refrigerator was amazingly well-stocked for a vacant apartment. Kay wondered who the last tenant had been.
After supper she washed the dishes and re-explored the apartment. This time she found another button that exposed a TV.
That was something else the sisters hadn't approved of. She fumbled with the controls and learned how to tune it. She was just settling down to a giveaway program when she heard the scratch of a key. A moment later the door opened.
"Mr. Veely?"
It wasn't the short balding lawyer. It was Miss Purlett. "Mr. Veely was called out of town on business," she said. "I dropped around to see if there was anything you needed."
"You know Mr. Veely?"
"He's the partner I was telling you about."
"Oh?"
Miss Purlett grinned slyly. "Guess who dreamed up the business to send him out of town?" She laughed.
Kay smiled uncertainly. She had no idea why Mr. Veely had to leave town. Miss Purlett obviously knew her way around the apartment much better than Kay did. She gave the TV a look of distaste, turned it off, then poked hidden buttons that started some kind of sensuous thumping music on a hidden hi-fi. She found mixer and ice in the refrigerator.
"I don't like whiskey," Kay said when she was offered a glass.
"Really? Probably you've only had it straight.
Try this."
Kay sipped cautiously. She had to admit it wasn't as disgusting as the spoonful she had sampled that afternoon.
Miss Purlett poked more buttons and a wood box appeared. She got a fire going, then squatted on the polar-bear rug in front of it. "Come on down here, dear," she said. "It's much more comfortable than up on the couch."
Kay didn't think it would be, but she didn't want to seem impolite.
Miss Purlett kicked off her shoes and sighed. She stretched luxuriously and lay on the polar-bear rug, staring into the flames. "What's your name?" she asked.
"Kay."
"Tocaya!"
"What?"
"It's a Spanish word. It means a person who has the same name."
"Your name's Kay?"
"Catarina," Miss Purlett said. "I was born in Bolivia."
"Oh?"
"My father was a mining engineer." She snuggled closer to Kay. "My goodness, take off your shoes and relax. Nobody's going to bite you."
Kay took off her shoes and lay beside Miss Purlett. Miss Purlett tossed more wood on the fire and it became uncomfortably warm. "Let's take off our dresses," she said. 'No use getting them all wrinkled."
Kay complied, remembering the winter evenings aboard the floating cannery when she and old Sam had lounged about, wearing nothing but thermal underwear. But this time she wore only the bottom half of her long Johns. From the waist up she was clad in the bra Miss Purlett had sold her this afternoon. She watched in envy as Miss Purlett peeled off her dress to reveal the most amazingly dainty black satin bra and lace-frilled matching panties. Miss Purlett sat on the rug, slowly and sensuously removing her heavy stockings. Finally she lay down beside Kay again. "There now, isn't that more comfortable?" she asked.
Kay guessed it was. At least it wasn't quite so hot.
"You went to school in a convent?" Miss Purlett asked.
Suddenly Kay was talking, spilling her own heartbroken twelve-year-old's version of her first parting from old Sam and the floating cannery.
"I guess he must've known he hadn't long to live," she concluded. "Otherwise, why did he suddenly bring me home?"
Kay began sobbing.
Miss Purlett gave her a sudden vicious pinch.
Miss Purlett patted her, comforted her, kissed her until finally Kay calmed enough to gulp, "Why did you pinch me?"
"Don't you feel better now?"
Surprisedly, Kay realized that she did. She relaxed in Miss Purlett's arms, then wondered if she would ever possess a lush ripe body like hers-a body that wore black satin underthings as if they were painted on. While she watched, Miss Purlett removed her black satin bra. Miss Purlett's full firm breasts sagged slightly as she gave a gusty sigh of relief. "If the world weren't full of gawky men, I'd be a nudist," she sighed. Kay thought it was a strange attitude for a woman who made her living selling clothes.
She offered no resistance when Miss Purlett unfastened her arm-breakingly hard-to-reach catch and unfastened Kay's own bra. They relaxed before the fireplace. After a moment Miss Purlett got up. "Finish your drink, dear. I'll make us another."
CHAPTER FOUR
Obediently, Kay gulped the last half of her glass. She was beginning to agree with Miss Purlett that whiskey in small and diluted doses wasn't bad at all. But something was making her warmer and more drowsily relaxed than she could ever remember.
She stood up to accept the drink, swaying slightly. Miss Purlett put her drink down and knelt in front of Kay. She put her hands on Kay's hips and murmured, "We'll get you some nice smooth ones tomorrow. Those things must scratch horribly."
They did. Kay felt them scratch all the way down her legs as Miss Purlett pulled her underwear off. Bemusedly, she lifted first one foot, then the other. Miss Purlett tossed Kay's cut-off thermal underwear into a corner. Somehow in the last few minutes Miss Purlett's black satin panties had disappeared. Kay studied her lush, round belly and saw a navel as deep as her own. Miss Purlett's luxuriant pubic triangle was of the same buttery blondeness as her elegant coiffure.
Miss Purlett put out one enameled fingertip and very gently scratched a tickling line down Kay's flat, firm belly. Kay was overwhelmed with a sensation that she remembered vaguely from certain troublesome dreams she had been having with disturbing regularity for the last couple of years. She felt blood rush to her face, suffuse her shoulders and breasts. The tingle spread, until Kay knew she was blushing clear to her navel.
Miss Purlett laughed and buried her face in Kay's belly. Kay felt a warm wet tongue dart into her navel. Her hands clamped involuntarily over Miss Purlett's elegant hairdo, drawing her in deeper. She felt Miss Purlett's hands slide up the backs of her thighs, felt her soft warm hands cup her firm little buttocks and pull her forward. Suddenly they were both on the white polar-bear rug in a giggling heap.
It was weird.
She felt a hand between her legs and in their laughing, giggling, wrestling match she got her own hand between Miss Purlett's lush thighs. Kay wriggled it upward until she felt sleek soft pubic hair. Suddenly Kay stiffened.
"What's wrong?" Miss Purlett asked.
"We shouldn't be doing this."
"Doing what?"
"What we're doing," Kay insisted. "It's a sinful carnal pleasure."
"Pleasure? I suppose it might be," Miss Purlett agreed. "But if wrestling's sinful then so's tennis or volleyball."
"Wrestling?" Kay was incredulous.
"What do you call it?"
Suddenly Kay was confused. She didn't know if she was in the wrong-or if Miss Purlett was right.
Miss Purlett sensed her confusion. "It's all right, dear. You can't be expected to know everything after the kind of sheltered life you've led."
"But I...."
Miss Purlett put a motherly arm around Kay's shoulders. "Here," she urged, handing Kay her drink.
The fireplace was roaring. Kay felt a faint prickle. She drank deeply. It tasted mostly of ice and soda. Soon she was on the rug again, resting on one elbow as Miss Purlett explained the history of massage-how it had originated with the pyramid builders in Egypt.
"Lie face down, dear," Miss Purlett said, "And I'll show you."
Still vaguely worried, Kay rolled over. She felt Miss Purlett's lush thighs rub her own as the voluptuous saleslady straddled her. Then Miss Purlett was rubbing her back, kneading her shoulders. , Kay had never in her life felt so deliciously relaxed. She had never realized the potential for pleasure within her body. Surely this couldn't be sinful, she thought. Miss Purlett was not touching disputed territory. She wasn't touching any part of Kay that couldn't be found outside a very modest bathing suit.
Miss Purlett's warm soft hands were kneading and poking, removing the stiffness from muscles that hadn't relaxed during the hectic week since old Sam had died. She felt so good, Kay hazily realized, that when Miss Purlett turned her over Kay was too relaxed to protest.
She felt warm soft hands rubbing her tender young breasts, working the hurt and ache from them. Dazedly, she noticed that her nipples were hardening under Miss Purlett's ministrations. She felt that blushing rush of blood again. She didn't know if it was the fire, the whiskey-or Miss Purlett's hands that felt so nice, so soft, so warm as they gently rubbed her swollen young breasts.
Kay was spread-eagled, watching the interplay of muscles as Miss Purlett knelt astraddle her. Each time the blonde saleslady leaned forward to rub Kay, her lush blonde pubic patch bumped Kay's wispy dark-brown hairs before continuing its sensuous tickling slide up Kay's belly. Kay felt her taut, flat belly rise to meet the seductive slide.
Abruptly, Miss Purlett bent over and kissed her. Kay had never been kissed so lingeringly before. Finally she gasped for breath and was startled when a strange tongue invaded her mouth.
This had to be sinful! But Kay couldn't help herself. She was allowing a strange tongue to invade her mouth, then abruptly her tongue was reciprocating, daintily exploring the inside of her blonde partner's mouth. She felt soft warm hands creeping up and down her flanks, tickling her into a giggling ecstasy. She wanted to stop but....
Somehow they had rolled over and Kay was on top now. She felt her body glue itself to Miss Purlett as their arms and legs entwined. Belly rubbed belly, thigh against thigh. She felt her marble-hard nipples poking into the warm flesh of Miss Purlett's firm forty-inch bosom.
There was something unbelievably exciting about the feel of warm skin rubbing against warm skin. Kay's breath came in short gasps as the felt a mounting pressure within her taut quivering belly. Something was going to happen. She could feel a growing excitement, a sense of a coming crisis.
Kay was too busy to analyze the impending dilemma. She was trading tongues with Miss Purlett. Their entwined bodies were busy transferring electrical messages from skin to satiny charged skin. Kay felt a mounting tension in her belly, between her legs, and she thought momentarily of Tommy's tremendous tool. Thank heavens, she told herself, she wasn't doing this with a man who might try to put something like that into her. It would split her in two!
There was something between her legs-something warm and tickling soft and delicious as it caressed the lips of her vulva, fingernails counting individual pubic hairs. Kay felt her thighs open involuntarily, to make the invader more comfortable between her wide-apart legs.
It had to be Miss Purlett's hand. Kay got her hand between Miss Purlett's lushly sensuous legs and began counting hairs. Miss Purlett giggled. She drove her finger just a tiny bit harder into Kay's crotch, and Kay felt her vulva lips part. Miss Purlett's probing finger tickle-tortured its slow way up and down Kay's barely gaping slit.
Kay clasped her thighs tight shut. Miss Purlett's imprisoned hand stopped walking up and down her slit. Instead, it burrowed deeper and began tickling at a spot Kay had hoped her knowledgeable blonde partner wouldn't discover-the ultrasensitive spot Kay had always treated with such care whenever she washed herself.
Too late! Miss Purlett must have a tender place just like it, Kay guessed, for Miss Purlett's educated finger seemed to know exactly where to poke and push and tickle and squeeze and flutter to make that spot quiver and swell marble-hard. Kay's hand was caught between Miss Purlett's tight-clasped thighs just as the saleslady's was caught in hers. She tickled Miss Purlett the same way the lush blonde was doing to her. She wiggled her finger amid Miss Purlett's lush blonde pubic hair and was rewarded when her fingertips found its way into the damp of Miss Purlett's secret slash.
Kay ran her finger gently up and down the slick hole, exploring, seeking out the tender spot that would make Miss Purlett suffer as deliciously as she was suffering. Finally she found the tiny set of lips inside Miss Purlett's larger, labia lips. Kay put the tip of her finger over the elegant blonde saleslady's clit and began gently tapping, tickling, torturing the voluptuous blonde just as the blonde was inflicting delicious torments on her own slight body.
It felt so good! So deliciously, edibly, chewably good that Kay knew she couldn't stop. She was patting and poking at Miss Purlett's throbbing clit just as frantically as the elegant blonde was working on hers. They clung to each other, kissing, swapping spittle, rubbing breasts and bellies against one another.
Kay felt her thighs opening against her will, knew a moment's panic when she thought Miss Purlett's hand had escaped and would no longer inflict the tender torment on her throbbing clit. Then the miraculous finger was there again, tapping, tickling, torturing her to the shrieking edge of ecstasy.
Miss Purlett's body was beginning to betray her too. Kay could feel the lush blonde struggling to keep her thighs clasped, to keep Kay's hand imprisoned at its tender task. But Miss Purlett's creamy thighs were opening, gaping uncontrollably as she moaned her joy.
Kay knew it was sinful. She didn't know why. It felt too good to be Good. But good or evil, Kay knew she could not stop now. She had delivered herself into the hands of the Evil One. How could she have known how soft, how warm, how ticklishly sensual those hands would be?
She felt the hand of Evil sliding up and down her slit, flicking her tremulous clit with each stroke. Suddenly Miss Purlett's other hand was digging into the tender flesh of her inner thigh, pulling her legs apart. Kay's hand slipped from the blonde's secret slash as the voluptuous saleslady jerked and thrashed uncontrollably.
"Ooooohhhh!" Miss Purlett wailed, "Oooohhh, Kaaaayyyy!"
Suddenly the voluptuous blonde was attacking Kay from a new angle. She knelt beside Kay's passion-paralyzed body and kissed the hollow of her throat. Meanwhile her tireless hands worked their relentless sensual way up and down Kay's trembling body, searching out the secret triggers that reduced the sixteen-year-old virgin to witless desire.
Slowly, Miss Purlett was kissing her way down Kay's throat, kissing her swollen breasts in descending spirals that threatened to drive the girl to shrieking ecstasy before she reached the marble-hard nipples that wanted to be fondled, to be kissed, to be sucked and licked.
Kay's hands sought frantically and found the blonde's voluptuous breasts. She fondled their firm roundness, ran her caressing fingers over their rock-hard nipples. She wanted to kiss them, to take their firm roundness in her mouth and tongue it until Miss Purlett was reduced to the same level of hedonistic sexuality as she was.
But Miss Purlett was pulling away as she kissed and nibbled her way down past Kay's perky little breasts to her midriff, kissing her way down to Kay's tiny twenty-inch waist. Kay quivered in agonized expectation, bracing herself against something she knew was imminent as Miss Purlett's warm wet tongue augered its way into her navel.
Then Miss Purlett was kissing her way down Kay's belly, daring little runs of kisses on her flanks while Kay braced to contain her giggles, trying not to shriek out with maniacal laughter as Miss Purlett's tongue tortured her to the edge of insanity. She stretched frantically for the lush blonde's full pink-tipped breasts, but she could not reach them. She stuck a fingertip in Miss Purlett's ear and was rewarded with a giggle.
Miss Purlett tongue-tortured Kay's flat, firm belly to the edge of her pubic triangle, then she moved down to kiss her toes, kiss the bottoms of her feet, kiss her tender tickling way up the back of Kay's calves. She dwelt lovingly at the backs of each knee, licking her sensitive skin until Kay unwillingly curled her legs around the blonde's head.
Kay reached longingly for Miss Purlett. All she could find was Miss Purlett's shapely knees. She wrapped her arms around them, buried her face in the voluptuous saleslady's lower thighs and reveled in the feel of smooth warm skin, wishing she could give the same kind of pleasure she was receiving as the blonde parted Kay's long, well-tapered legs, kissing the smooth delicate skin of Kay's inner thighs.
Then she felt Miss Purlett's thighs straining to escape from her embrace. Kay took the hint, and she began nibbling and kissing at the flesh of Miss Purlett's thighs. There were subtle readjustments of positions as they moved gently up each other's thighs. Then suddenly Kay realized her forehead was brushing Miss Purlett's lush pubic patch.
She thought fleetingly of Tommy-the way he had wanted her to put that great thumping thing in her mouth. She wondered if he would have been willing to get his mouth as close to her secret slash as Miss Purlett was at this moment.
Kay knew she should stop. It was all wrong. Yet, the sisters had never said anything about this kind of possibility. Their minds seemed fixed on the idea that Sin was something that only happened with men.
Whatever Miss Purlett did to her, Kay felt duty bound to do it right back to Miss Purlett. Fair was fair. The sisters had been very firm about that too.
At the moment Miss Purlett was spreading Kay's willing thighs wider. Kay felt her vulva gape open, felt a cool draft that meant her secret slash was exposed for Miss Purlett's pleasure.
It didn't remain exposed very long. Kay felt something warm and soft and wet close over her shameful slash. Suddenly something wonderfully warm and wet and ticklingly subtle was sliding up an down the entry to her secret joy palace. Kay felt the tension within her belly grow to a shrieking crescendo. She wanted to shout, to wail, to scream her joy.
She wanted to burrow deeper into the joyful canyon between Miss Purlett's lovely thighs. Kay pushed and nuzzled and rooted, until her face was buried deep in the blonde pubic patch. Finally her questing tongue found the opening to the elegant saleslady's loins. She ran her tongue experimentally up and down the slick slit.
Kay had expected to do it as a sacrifice for Miss Purlett-something she would do unwillingly just so the elegant blonde would keep doing it to her. Suddenly she realized the sisters had known what they were talking about when they said it was more blessed to give than to receive.
Her eager tongue had found Miss Purlett's clit and she was licking its marble hardness to the point of no return. The lush saleslady was returning the compliment. Kay felt a supple tongue rasping in lascivious circles around her throbbing clit, taking occasional detours to prove the tender hymen membrane that protected her virginal vagina.
Once the blonde removed her tongue to lick Kay's perineum-the ultrasensitive trigger that lies between anus and vulva. Kay almost went out of her mind with the sudden electric joy. She was relieved when Miss Purlett returned to the slowly, steadily building pleasure of licking her clit. Kay eagerly fastened her lips on the elegant blonde saleslady's clit, licked, sucked, nibbled gently, then prayed that she was giving as much as she was getting.
But how long could it last? All good things, Kay knew, came to an end. She supposed this was true for bad things too, though she would have been content to spend all eternity with her head buried between Miss Purlett's lush, lovely thighs, savoring the feel of their warm tender skin over her ears. Kay sensed Miss Purlett's restlessness. The blonde's lovely thighs were opening and closing involuntarily, clasping and unclasping over Kay's ears. Suddenly Kay realized her own self-control was no better. She was opening and closing her thighs over Miss Purlett's elegant hairdo. Their bodies squirmed, rubbing against each other like charged particles, frantic in their efforts for more and better contact.
Kay felt the tension in her belly mounting to an unbearable level. She knew if it kept on this way, she would burst or faint or run shrieking out into the cold street. Something had to happen soon.
Then abruptly it was happening. She felt a sudden wetness just as Miss Purlett's juices were flowing into Kay's eager mouth. Great rippling waves of muscular contractions passed through Kay's firm flat belly. Momentarily she thought of Tommy Taskoosh firing his passion in great jets across the cabin of his boat. Then she was too busy with her own rippling, jerking, spurting finale to the hour of passion that Miss Purlett had brought her. "Ooooohhhh!" Kay moaned. "Ooooohhhh!" Miss Purlett chorused.
CHAPTER FIVE
Finally, their passions spent, they lay on the polar bear rug before a dying fire, heads still cradled on each other's thighs. Miss Purlett sighed luxuriously. Then suddenly she noticed that Kay was quietly crying.
"What's wrong, dear?"
"Ooooohhhh!" Kay wailed. "It's all wrong!"
"Did it hurt you?"
"N-no."
"Did it hurt me?"
"No," Kay sniffed, "I guess not."
"Did it hurt God?"
Kay gave another wail of despair.
"I don't like to attack religion, dear," Miss Purlett said. "But a .decent respect for the properties is one thing. Letting it ruin your entire life is another."
"What do you mean?"
"You have no sense of history, dear. The Christian religion served a useful purpose in its day.
It helped the nobility keep the slaves and commoners in their place. If you have nothing to live for, sometimes it makes life easier to have something to die for."
"I don't understand," Kay said.
"What I'm trying to say is that when life's not worth living, then a belief in heavenly rewards after death helps people get through it. And naturally there can be no rewards without punishment. Therefore some stone-age intellectual invented hell."
Kay was horrified. "Don't you believe in heaven and hell?"
"I certainly do," Miss Purlett said. "I had four years of hell living with a man once. Tonight I had an hour of heaven."
"You know that isn't what I mean," Kay retorted.
"Yes, dear. I know. To answer your question, no. I don't. And before you convince me, you're going to have to produce one witness who's actually died and come back and can give a coherent account of what it's like over there."
Kay bit her lip. It had sounded so beautiful when the sisters explained it.
"Do you really want to go to heaven?" Miss Purlett asked. "Personally, I can't stand harps, and all that hallelujah singing must get terribly old after the first week or two."
Tears coursed down Kay's cheeks, but she could think of no answer that wouldn't sound silly.
"Let's put it this way," Miss Purlett began, "Do you want to go to heaven and wear a white dress and play a harp, or do you want to go into the bathroom and freshen up and then come back here and lie on the rug before the fire again. When you come back, I'll tell you a story and show you something different-something you've never seen before. And after you've seen it, you'll still be just as much of a virgin as you are now."
Kay sobbed silently. She didn't know why she was crying. Slowly she got to her feet. She intended to clean up in the bathroom. She also intended to lock the door and stay there until Miss Purlett lost patience and put on her clothes and went away. And, as soon as she left, Kay was going to fasten the chain on the door.
It was a dirty trick, Kay knew, because Miss Purlett had been kind to her-offered her a job and had given Kay more pleasure than the svelte sixteen-year-old had ever imagined could exist in the world. But Kay knew that no matter how long she cooled off in the bathroom, if she came out and the elegant blonde saleslady was still there, one word would lead to another, and sooner or later Kay would be finding out what new thing the sophisticated blonde intended to teach her. And no matter what it was, Kay knew she would be unable to resist another lesson-and that she would probably go out of her mind with passion.
To her amazement, Kay realized she was wishing for it already! She drew the curtains around the tub and began taking a cold shower.
When it was over, she felt better. Still, Kay knew she shouldn't go out into the living room again. If she did, she knew that in a matter of minutes she would be back on that polar-bear rug, rutting around, rooting her soul deeper into eternal damnation. Where she really wanted to go was to church.
Then she hesitated. Could she really bring herself to confess-to tell a man, even if he were a priest, all the things she had just done with Miss Purlett? She supposed she could. But Kay wasn't sure she was sorry.
Kay thought a moment. Maybe she could confess. The way she had blubbered and cried, she thought she was really sorry it had happened. Thinking it over carefully, Kay decided she was sorry. The thing she was sorriest about was that she knew she wanted to do it all over again.
Miss Purlett was waiting. Kay realized that she might want to use the bathroom too. Suddenly Kay realized how childishly selfish she was being. She decided to go out and let Miss Purlett have her turn at the bathroom. Meanwhile she could get dressed, and when the elegant blonde saleslady came out, they would make polite conversation for a moment and maybe have a final cup of coffee. Then Miss Purlett would leave, and Kay would say an Act of Contrition and a hundred Hail Marys, and then maybe she could go to sleep with a halfway clear conscience.
Kay had her hand on the doorknob when she heard a key turning in the lock on the outer door. A moment later she heard it open, and she heard Miss Purlett's startled gasp.
"Randy!" Miss Purlett exclaimed. "I thought you were out of town!" .
"No doubt you did," a man's voice answered. "Now just what led you to think I'd be out of town, unless perhaps it was you who dreamed up a wild goose chase?"
Kay squatted and put her eye to the bathroom door keyhole. She could see the fireplace and the polar bear rug but not much else in the room. Finally the man came in view. It was the balding little lawyer, Mr. Veely, who had given her a hundred dollars and a key to his apartment.
"Where's the girl?" he asked.
"What girl?"
"You know goddamn well what girl!"
"Randy, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. The furnace is on the blink in my apartment building, so I just moved over here until they fixed it."
Kay was amazed at the convincing way Miss Purlett lied. She had wrapped her coat around her nakedness and was the picture of outraged innocence.
Randy Veely mumbled and grumbled around for a few minutes, not sure whether to believe her or not. "What the hell?" he finally growled. "I've had a rough day. Fix me a drink."
While Kay squatted naked before the keyhole, Miss Purlett asked, "Isn't your wife expecting you?"
"Let her wait."
Miss Purlett's glance strayed involuntarily toward the bathroom door, and Kay had the oddest feeling that the blonde knew she was looking through the keyhole. "It's your funeral," Miss Purlett shrugged. "I guess you can afford a divorce."
The balding lawyer laughed. "Hurry up with that drink."
Deftly, Miss Purlett kicked Kay's glass out of sight before the lawyer could notice it. She busied herself preparing a drink. The balding lawyer eased up behind her and slid his hands up under her coat. "Now, Randy," Miss Purlett laughed, "You sound like you came here expecting some other girl, I really should be jealous."
"You know me better than that," the small man said. He was an inch shorter than the elegant saleslady, Kay noted. He sighed and added, "Any port in a storm." , "Is it storming outside?" Miss Purlett asked-innocently.
Mr. Veely peeled her coat off. Surveying her magnificently naked body, he said, "There's gonna be a storm in here pretty soon." He bent over to nuzzle her firm full breasts. "Pretty nice port," he murmured.
Over his head Miss Purlett glanced nervously at the bathroom door. Kay was still naked. All her clothes were out in the living room where Miss Purlett had kicked them behind the couch. What would happen, Kay wondered, when he had to use the bathroom?
She studied the tiny window high over the tub. There was barely enough room for her to squeeze through it. She stood tiptoe on the rim of the tub and slid the frosted glass open. Thirty feet below her, several Eskimos shared a bottle of wine in the alley. Kay closed the window.
Back in the living room Miss Purlett had fixed a drink for the balding little man. She looked toward the bathroom and shrugged as if to say to Kay, "The quicker it's over, the quicker he's gone."
Kay saw the wisdom in her mental statement, but she still suspected that sooner or later Mr. Veely was going to want to use the bathroom. She stared as the little lawyer shed his coat, then his vest. Soon trousers and underwear were flying about the room as the little man undressed between swigs of his drink. "Jesus!" he said, "You made it strong enough."
"I thought you needed a strong one after chasing around in the cold."
Mr. Veely grunted and finished his drink. Another appeared in his hand. He was naked now. His rigid rod attained a respectable length for such a small man. Kay stared, fascinated, trying to understand what was different about him. She had no way of knowing that the little lawyer had been circumcised and Tommy Taskoosh had not.
He sat on the sofa, almost out of Kay's line of sight. He pulled the equally naked Miss Purlett on his lap. There was some casual wrestling that Kay could not clearly see. Then they carefully put their glasses down before sliding off the sofa onto the polar-bear rug.
Kay watched as the balding little man nuzzled and nibbled on Miss Purlett's magnificent mammaries. Kay felt a twinge of jealousy. She knew it would have been more fun for her to kiss those lovely lush breasts than to watch some bristly faced interloper taking her place and enjoying the rites of love.
While she watched, the small man got his knees between Miss Purlett's thighs and knelt. Miss Purlett raised her knees. The lawyer lowered himself over her, resting his weight on his elbows as he rubbed his hairy chest over Miss Purlett's magnificent pink-tipped breast mounds.
He kissed her, and after a moment Kay guessed from the duration of the kiss that he was invading her with his tongue. She saw the elegant blonde saleslady reciprocate as her breathing speeded up. Then suddenly they were sticking tongues in each other's ears. I wonder how that feels?
From the way they squealed and giggled she concluded that it must be fun. Kay wondered if she would ever get a chance to find out. Sooner or later Mr. Veely was going to want to use the bathroom for some reason, and when he found her naked-and when he realized she had been there all the time he was ... Kay didn't know what was going to happen. She was afraid to think about it.
Miss Purlett's firm breasts were squashed against the lawyer's hairy chest. She was breathing almost as hard as the lawyer. He bent over, fastening his mouth over one nipple. Miss Purlet shivered and made a low moaning sound. He shifted to the other nipple, nibbling so hard that Miss Purlet's face occasionally contorted with ecstatic pain.
Miss Purlett's gaping thighs gyrated frantically, bumping against the lawyer's pelvis, begging for something to happen. Finally she got her hand on his rampant rigidity. She squeezed.
Peeping through the keyhole, Kay thought fleetingly of Tommy Taskoosh and the day she had grasped his handle. Sadly, she remembered that it was Tommy who had provoked her father's heart attack. Even if he weren't such a rambunctiously unsophisticated lover, Kay knew she could never forgive him for being a factor in old Sam's death.
Kay had learned from the sisters that all men were raging beasts, yet the lawyer seemed reluctant to do what was expected of him. Kay could see Miss Purlett gripping his swollen manhood, trying to guide it toward her secret slit. Contrary to all Kay's expectations, the small balding man was not eager to get it in. He shrugged his masculinity out of Miss Purlett's hand and got his mouth on one of her nipples again.
Miss Purlett's amazingly long legs whipped up past his shoulders, and she locked her ankles behind his neck. The lawyer ducked, but he couldn't escape the sudden scissor-like action of her legs. He kissed his way down her belly into the lush blonde hair of her pubic triangle, then he cupped her buttocks in his two hands and spread her labia wide.
Instead of diving in all the way, the little man limited himself to tantalizing licks and nibbles, barely touching the sensitive inner membranes of the lush blonde's labia majora. He rapsed his tongue over her labia minora and nibbled her turgid clit while the lush blonde squirmed, moaned, then scissored her long legs and inner thighs over his ears. Kay could see Mr. Veely's bald spot turning red as he continued nibbling, twisting his head to kiss his way up one lush thigh and down the other while Miss Purlett moaned and squirmed and tried to force her gaping gash against his mouth. Finally he obliged her again, fastening his lips over her marble-hard clitoris and sucking it rapidly in and out.
Miss Purlett's thighs lost control, lost their grip on the lawyer's bald head as she moaned, squirmed, and twisted in the throes of passion. Her legs opened, clasped and unclasped spasmodically as she felt building within her a sweet hurting pressure that threatened to tear her apart.
Watching from the keyhole, Kay was almost as excited as if it were all happening to her. She saw Miss Purlett's bottom begin a rhythmical churning, bumping the bridge of the lawyer's nose, grinding, trying frantically to pull him in deeper.
The lawyer rode with her, licking and nibbling. Kay could see his rampant rigidity was not so throbbingly near to explosion as it had been a moment ago. Now she knew why he had not been anxious to put it in.
Suddenly the blonde saleslady's lush body went berserk. Thrashing like a snake, she squirmed and twisted, howling screams of joy as her belly exploded, flooding his face with her joy juice. Her quivering, snapping legs waved wildly above the polar-bear rug. Kay saw the balding man grab at himself and squeeze brutally as he tried to ignore Miss Purlett's abandoned squeals.
Finally the little man's crisis passed and he could relax. While Miss Purlett still thrashed weakly, he found his drink and had another sip.
Finally, as the luxuriantly built blonde slowed her movements, he eased himself in between her relaxed legs. He spread her vulva and very gently guided the tip of his long rigid rod against Miss Purlett's well-juiced receptacle. Kay saw the head of his thing pushing, straining as he put his hand out to spread the blonde's lips farther. He was pushing so hard that all of Miss Purlett's apparatus tried to pucker inward.
Kay waited for the lush blonde to scream. Surely it would hurt any woman when something this big went into her! But Miss Purlett only moaned and wrapped her arms and legs around the balding little man. She rotated her bottom around and around, helping him to get it in.
Slow as an hour hand, he kept pushing. Miss Purlett rose to meet his thrust, and her vagina puckered more deeply around his massive masculinity. Instead of helping her, the balding man backed away, carefully keeping his distance so that only the head of his thing poked at her moist, warm slash.
Kay was fascinated. After all the sisters' stories about men being unfeeling monsters! This bald little man was giving Miss Purlett twice as much pleasure as she had! The blonde's thighs trembled. Her thrashing body was trembling, pulling, straining into some impossibly contorted ... Suddenly Kay heard her scream, "No, oh no! More! Yes, yeeees, NOW!"
CHAPTER SIX
Miss Purlett's pelvis was slamming recklessly against him, but the little lawyer's self-control was absolute. Her labia had lubricated and no longer puckered around his gigantic jock. Little by little his organ had gone in until their bodies were mingling and meshing pubic hairs, but the small man made no effort to run it in or out.
Instead, he wrapped his hands behind the lush blonde's wildly thrashing buttocks and held himself tightly against her, until she was through wriggling about.
"Give me a drink," Miss Purlett finally said weakly.
"First things first," Mr. Veely said. While Kay watched fascinated through the keyhole, he pulled his still rigid eminence from the luscious blonde's hole. He got his knees on the outside of her thighs, then crawled his way up her supine body until his buttocks were brushing against her full, firm breasts.
"Oooohhhh noooo!" Miss Purlett wailed. But to Kay's amazement she did what Tommy Taskoosh had once wanted her to do: Miss Purlett opened her mouth wide and took the tremendous throbbing head of his unrepentant rammer inside. Kay saw her throat and cheeks sucking hungrily as the lovely blonde struggled to keep her mouth around his tremendous tool. Miss Purlett's tongue was titillating the underside of his enormous erection while her lips slid juicily back and forth over the rest of it.
Watching her, Kay felt pity mixed with fear. She knew the tremendous mouthful was threatening to choke the luscious saleslady. She knew if she, Kay, ever had to do it she would die.
Meanwhile, Mr. Veely was slowly pivoting until he faced Miss Purlett's lovely belly. While the blonde continued the good work on his swollen skewer, he leaned forward and lifted up her ankles. The lower half of Miss Purlett's body became vertically upright from the floor.
Kay had supposed he was going to lick and chew on Miss Purlett as she was doing to him, but instead, Mr. Veely produced a short length of rope and bound the elegant saleslady's ankles loosely, leaving a foot of rope between them. He put his head between her legs so that Miss Purlett was held half-hanging upside-down by the rope over his shoulders.
Then, instead of kissing or tickling or sucking or caressing or showing any form of tenderness to the lady who was treating his penis with such tender loving care, the balding little lawyer rubbed his palms together.
He clapped his hands once, as if applauding himself. Then he began spanking Miss Pureltt's bare bottom. Behind the door Kay gasped and almost cried out. Mr. Veely glanced up sharply, then he went back to spanking his blonde partner.
He was hitting her hard. Even in the bathroom Kay could hear the vicious smack each time his hands slapped Miss Purlett's rapidly reddening bottom. The lush blonde's body was squirming in torment. Mr. Veely's robust rigidity remained in her mouth. Despite her suffering at Mr. Veely's ungentlemanly hands, the elegant saleslady's loving licking care did not falter. Finally Kay understood that no matter how cruel or painful the little lawyer's spanking might seem, there was nothing to stop Miss Purlett from ending it any time she wanted to with one solid bite.
But Miss Purlett was not biting. She was sucking and kissing and licking. Her hands were caressing the balding little man's scrotum, inventorying each individual hair, running a caressing, tickling and titillating finger up and down the sensitive skin between the little man's anus and scrotum.
Mr. Veely's bald spot was turning redder each moment. His eyes gleamed, the way Kay remembered them this morning when he had given her the key to the apartment. Suddenly Kay realized what the little lawyer had been planning for her. If it weren't Miss Purlett that Mr. Veely had stumbled into, Kay knew she might be forced to do all the things the lush blonde was doing.
Not that the elegant saleslady seemed to be suffering....She was still licking and sucking and tickling while the little man spanked her, chafing his hands as he reddened her beautiful bottom. Then suddenly the little man's pelvis was moving, gyrating and jerking as Miss Purlett's had a moment ago. Miss Purlett gagged and choked as his thrust drove his monstrous meatus deep down her throat, but she gamely stuck with it, moaning and groaning her delight as the balding lawyer gave a final lunge, then collapsed atop her. His still spurting spindle withdrew from Miss Purlett's mouth with an audible thuck, like the cork from a champagne bottle. He fell to one side. Miss Purlett bent forward, giving his love muscle a final lick and a promise, then she extricated herself from the octopus-like tangle of naked limbs and rushed into the bathroom.
"What'll I do?" Kay whispered.
"Do what the sisters taught you to do."
"What?"
"Pray."
Miss Purlett drew warm water in a basin. She got soap, towels, and a washcloth, then hurriedly exited. Kay locked the door and fixed her eye to the keyhole. While she watched, the elegant blonde saleslady gently sponged off Mr. Veely. The half-asleep lawyer demurred at first. "Want to take a bath," he insisted, but Miss Purlett continued her ministrations. Before he quite realized what was happening to him, the diminutive man was hustled into his clothes and being shown out the doorway with a lingering good-night kiss.
Miss Purlett chained the door. Kay opened the bathroom door and stepped out. She began looking for her clothes. "He'll be home with his wife before he realizes this is his apartment and not mine," Miss Purlett stated in a mocking voice.
"You're marvelous," Kay said. "How did you do it."
Miss Purlett laughed. "It isn't easy," she admitted, "Especially when you know you're doing it for an audience."
Kay gulped. It would have been hard enough for her to do half the things Miss Purlett had done-even if she had been in total darkness and with a contract signed by God promising that no one would ever know who she was. Suddenly she realized what a strain it must have been for the blonde saleslady, trying to act uninhibited and natural while knowing all the time that Kay was watching her and facing the additional possibility that at any moment Mr. Veely might decide to take a bath.
"Why did you do it?" Kay asked. "Did you do it for me?"
Miss Purlett grinned, then sobered. "That's too important a question in your young life for me to toss it off with a fast answer." She poured herself another drink and sat on the couch. "Partly for you, I guess. Partly because I just didn't want to go through a big angry scene when he found you in the bathroom. But mainly-and this is the point for you to remember and think about-I did it because it was fun."
Kay was astounded for a moment. "You're in love with Mr. Veely?"
Miss Purlett laughed. "Love is for children-and for timid souls who have to brainwash themselves into sticking it out with one spouse they tired of years ago."
Kay still didn't understand. "Don't you hate him for making you do all those things?"
Miss Purlett sighed, dropping her arm around Kay's shoulders. "Do you hate me for what we did together?"
Kay thought a moment. "I guess not," she said. "It's wrong. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I know you'd have stopped any time I really wanted to."
"And don't you think Randy would've done the same, if I'd really wanted to quit?"
"But you and Mr. Veely don't love each other!" Kay protested. , "We're too much alike to fall in love," Miss Purlett said. "We're good friends; we do each other favors, both physical and financial."
"But what about his wife?" Kay asked.
"Yes, what about her?"
Kay didn't know what to say.
Miss Purlett sighed and poured Kay another very weak drink. She tossed more wood on the fire, and Kay suddenly realized they were sitting naked on the couch. "I don't know Mrs. Veely well," the elegant blonde said. "But she's two years younger than I."
Kay doubted this, remembering the motherly lawyer's wife.
"If she loves eating and housework more than she loves her husband, that's her kick. She has no right to complain, if he goes out looking for the little spice of life that she's too busy, or too tired, or too apathetic to provide."
"But why do you do it?" Kay asked.
"For the same reason you did-because it's fun."
"But it's wicked!"
"Why?"
"It's a carnal pleasure; it's a mortal sin!"
"Perhaps, dear, if your loving God had a body, he'd be more understanding of people who make the best of theirs. Now, for example...." Miss Purlett's arm over Kay's shoulder dropped and her fingers began idly twiddling Kay's nipple.
Kay halfheartedly attempted to stop it. Miss Purlett got her other hand on Kay's other nipple, and before Kay realized it they were back on the rug again. This time there were no preliminaries. Miss Purlett had her mouth fastened firmly on Kay's throbbing clitoris, and the eager sixteen-year-old was making up for all the frustration she had experienced while watching the juicy scene through the keyhole.
Kissing Miss Purlett's well-rubbed clitoris, Kay wondered how it would feel to have the little lawyer's tremendous tool inside her-between her legs or in her mouth. She didn't know which way would be best, but either way promised to be worth a try.
There was a scratching noise in the bathroom. Kay wondered briefly if she had forgotten to latch the tiny window over the tub. It was much nicer to relax and see what would happen if Miss Purlett kept kissing and sucking that hard spot between her vulva lips. There was a growing, swelling feel in her belly. She wondered if that delicious feel of a melting explosion would come again. She kissed Miss Purlett's bouncy bottom enough to let the blonde know she was on the right track.
Abruptly the bathroom door burst open with a tremendous bang. Kay and Miss Purlett took their faces from each other's crotch to look, startled, at the source of the noise. There was a blinding flash. While Kay was thinking irrational thoughts of nuclear attack and Viet Cong invasions, Miss Purlett hurled herself toward the bathroom door just as another flash lit up the room. The bathroom door slammed shut, then the lock snapped loudly.
Miss Purlett hit the door low and hard. Kay heard wood splinter. Miss Purlett lunged again, and the door opened. By now Kay could see dimly again. Uncomprehending what was happening, she followed Miss Purlett. The tiny window above the tub-the one she had thought to escape from, was open. Kay crowded beside Miss Purlett to stare out of it into the dimly lit alley. This time there were no Eskimos sharing a bottle of wine. The alley was empty, except for the ladder that leaned against the wall of the apartment directly under the window.
"What happened?" Kay asked.
Miss Purlett gave her a pitying look. "Smile," she said softly. "We're on candid camera."
"Somebody took our picture?" Kay was beginning to believe it, but she didn't want to believe it. If a picture of her and Miss Purlett naked and sucking each other ... If it ever became public, Kay knew she would kill herself. She knew she would die of shame.
"But who?" she asked in a fear-choked voice, "Who'd do such a thing?"
Miss Purlett checked the chain on the front door. Satisfied, she went back to the bathroom and stuck her head out the window, draping her magnificent mammaries over the window as she pushed the ladder away from the wall. Kay heard it clatter in the alley as Miss Purlett closed and latched the window.
"You'd better get dressed, dear," she warned as she came back into the living room.
Hurriedly, Kay got into her clothes. Miss Purlett finished dressing and began making coffee in the kitchenette.
"Shouldn't we-uh...."
"Run away?" Miss Purlett gave a bitter laugh. "You'll never get away from that picture as long as you live!"
Kay was near panic. She wanted to scream and cry and run, but some thin thread of sanity told her it would do no good. "Who did it?" she repeated.
"That's an interesting question," Miss Purlett mused. "It has to be one of two people."
While Kay watched, puzzled, the elegant-looking blonde picked up the phone and dialed. Moments later she heard a tinny voice. It sounded like a man. "Randy, is your wife home?" Miss Purlett asked.
"No." The little lawyer's voice was faintly puzzled. "I don't know where she could have gone off to this time of night."
"Are we on a private line?" Miss Purlett asked.
"I think so."
"Did you know your apartment had a visit from Candid Camera?"
"WHAT?" Mr. Veely's panic-stricken voice filled the room. "While I was there?" he continued, "Oh Jesus! Are you still there?"
"Yes."
"Sit tight. I'll do some checking. I'll call you back."
"Yes, you do that," Miss Purlett said, then hung up.
Turning to Kay, she said, "Well, that eliminates half of our suspects."
"But who is it?" Kay asked.
"His wife's private detective. Who else? The way old Randy's been making out for the last couple of years, I'm amazed it's taken her this long."
"But what're we going to do?" Kay wailed.
"That's where the question becomes interesting," Miss Purlett said.
"How can you be so calm about it?"
"It isn't easy," the elegant blonde conceded. "If you can keep your head, when everyone else is losing theirs ... perhaps you just don't understand the situation."
"I understand it perfectly now," Kay answered.
"I wonder if you do," Miss Purlett said thoughtfully.
"My reputation's ruined," Kay exclaimed. "I'm under age, and I'll probably end up in reform school. You'll get in trouble, too. Oh, Miss Purlett, I'm sorry!"
"Not half as sorry as the man who took those pictures." Kay gaped.
"By now he must realize he got the wrong pictures. If not, he will as soon as he develops them."
"I don't understand."
"Randy's wife wants evidence for a divorce settlement. What possible use could she get out of a picture of a couple of girls having some fun? Randy isn't in the pictures. They're useless to her. She won't give that detective a dime for them."
"I see," Kay said slowly.
"Do you?" Miss Purlett asked. "An unscrupulous man has pictures that can ruin both of us. He's angry, because he thought he was going to make a lot of money and now all his work was for nothing. Now what will he do to turn some small profit on this otherwise wasted evening?"
"Sell the pictures?" Kay guessed.
"Naturally. But who would pay the most for them?"
"Some dirty book publishers?" Kay guessed.
"Grow up, girl!" Miss Purlett snapped. "Every newsstand in Anchorage is loaded with better pictures. Do you think they were all taken through keyholes?"
Kay hadn't seen that many newsstands in her sheltered life. "You mean girls let other people take pictures of ... "
Some enjoy the work so much, they don't even ask for pay," Miss Purlett said. "But the question at the moment is, who would pay the most for these particular pictures of you and me?"
Finally Kay understood. "We're going to be blackmailed, aren't we?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Any minute now," Miss Purlett said. She handed Kay a business card. "Here's my number. I've got to get back to my own place and start some wheels turning. Meanwhile, don't let anyone in here. Not even Randy, if he's stupid enough to come within a mile of this place. If someone calls and offers a deal, stall them. Say you have to talk it over with your friend or something. Don't mention me by name. In a town as small as this it's a faint chance ... but there always is a chance ... our camera-carrying friend doesn't know me."
"Maybe he doesn't know me either," Kay said hopefully.
Miss Purlett thought for a moment. "You may be right," she said.
"What can I do?" Kay asked eagerly.
Miss Purlett thought for a moment. "If you were out of town, it'd cut in half the danger of being recognized. The trouble is, my shop's right around the corner. Sooner or later whoever took the picture is going to see me. But with you gone, at least there isn't the seducing-a-minor angle ... Hmmm? Is there anywhere else you could go?"
Kay thought a moment. "The convent in Seattle," she answered hopefully. "I can't afford to live there any more, but maybe they could help me find a job."
Miss Purlett tapped at her teeth with an elegantly enameled fingernail. "You're Randy's client," she mused. "All correct and proper for you to visit him at his office tomorrow. Have him put you on the plane to Seattle. Meanwhile, stay out of sight. Don't leave this apartment for any reason. Call a cab and wait till you see it in the street. If anybody tries to talk to you or detain you, scream 'police' as loud as you can."
"But what if the police come?" Kay asked.
"Tell them some masher was bothering you. I doubt if your cameraman friend'll stick around to argue the point."
Kay memorized the instructions, making sure she got them straight. "What is Mrs. Veely calls?" she asked.
"Say hello," Miss Purlett said, then she stepped out the door.
Kay locked and chained it behind her. She went about the apartment, picking up glasses, emptying ash trays, and straightening up. Finally the place seemed civilized again. She went back into the bathroom and, after double-checking the small window, took another shower.
It was no use. No matter how she scrubbed herself Kay felt soiled and shabby. She felt used. She felt dirty. Quite apart from her hopelessly ruined reputation and apart from the very real danger of spending the next few years in some kind of correctional institution, Kay carried another burden.
She could argue it all night long. People like Miss Purlett who were clever with words might demolish her arguments and make her look silly, but they could not wash away the slimy feel of sin. Kay's soul was lost. She was in mortal sin, and she knew it.
There was only one way to absolve herself. Dangerous or not, Kay wanted to see a priest. She wanted to go to Confession. Miss Purlett had warned her not to leave the apartment, but the burden of her guilt outweighed all consideration for her reputation. She was in enough trouble now. Kay combed her hair again and began dressing for the street. She was almost ready to go when she heard a knock on the door.
Kay froze. Only three people knew she was here. Miss Purlett had just gone. If Mr. Veely knew what was good for him he wouldn't be coming around. It could only be one other person.
Kay held her breath. The door was locked and chained. This time nobody was putting a key in the lock. She wondered if the light in the room was cast into the darkened hall beneath the door.
Just as she was beginning to think the stranger had given up and gone, there was another knock. Kay breathed quietly, wondering if the intruder could hear her breathing. She had been sitting rigidly on the edge of the sofa for hours, it seemed. With her coat and sweater on she was becoming hot and stuffy.
Slowly, she began removing her coat and sweater. There could be no hope of going to Confession as long as the nameless menace lurked in the neighborhood. She looked at the wall clock and realized incredulously that less than two minutes had passed.
Silently, she put her coat and sweater on the floor and stretched out, trying to get comfortable on the sofa without making any noise. Finally the silence lasted so long that she was sure the man outside had given up and gone away. Then, just as she was beginning to breathe normally, she saw an envelope sliding under the door.
It was a large manila envelope, and Kay suddenly understood how diabolically cunning her assailant was. The large envelope was almost through the doorway, but one corner was still visible outside in the hallway. If she picked it up, Kay knew she might as well shout or paint a sign that she was in here.
She lay on the couch, staring at the envelope. Loud footsteps clumped down the hall, and she could hear them going downstairs. Kay knew better than to be fooled by such a ruse. She lay silent, looking at the envelope so tantalizingly within reach. She wanted to go to bed and leave it lay until morning. Then she thought, what if some curious neighbor, some newsboy picks it up. If somebody saw that picture and recognized her when she left the building tomorrow, Kay knew she would die.
She watched the clock for a half hour, and there was no sound outside. Finally Kay slipped noiselessly from the couch and picked up the manila envelope. She heard a faint chuckle outside. Then footsteps ran down the hall.
Kay cried. She couldn't help it. The tension had been too much and too long. By the time she opened the envelope, Kay had cried herself dry, and she could only look at the photos with numb despair.
The two pictures were even worse than she had imagined. She and Miss Purlett were entwined like amorous snakes. Kay's crotch gaped open, her pink oval outlined by her wispy dark-brown hairs. Her startled face peered at the camera over Miss Purlett's widespread legs. It was awful. Kay got up and went to the bathroom. Maybe if a man had lived here there would be some razor blades....
Then she realized that was a worse sin. She had sinned and now she was paying for it-paying far sooner than she had expected. Kay picked up the pictures again and forced herself to look at them. They were practically the same picture. In each of them she looked wide-eyed at the camera over the golden fuzz of Miss Purlett's well-furred crotch, and in each picture the elegant saleslady's blonde head was lifted just enough to expose every tissue of Kay's....
She laughed loudly and bitterly in the empty apartment, laughing at the realization that she was actually still a virgin. Studying her gaping pink slash and comparing it with Miss Purlett's her hymen membrane was clearly visible. Kay was showing her maidenhead to the world!
Abruptly her laughter became sobs again. Even with the evidence in plain sight for all the world to see, who would believe she was a virgin? She didn't even believe it herself!
Then, apathetic again, Kay picked up the pictures and studied them. Whoever had taken them was an expert photographer. Focus and color were professionally sharp. Every tiny mussed hair in the back of Miss Purlett's elegant coiffure was clearly visible. The phone rang.
Startled, Kay let it ring several times. Then she realized it might be Miss Purlett.
"Hello?" she asked.
"Hello." It was a man's voice.
"Who is it?"
"Are you the one facing the camera or the blonde with her back turned?"
Suddenly Kay realized something else. Only Kay was identifiable in the pictures. Once Miss Purlett saw these pictures she would know she was off the hook. Kay would be left to face the problem all alone. She was going to hang up the French phone when the man's voice came rasping across the footwide gap to her ear. "Are you the blonde or the brunette?" he asked.
Kay gulped. "I'm the brunette," she whispered.
"Louder, damn it! I haven't got all night."
"I'm the brunette," Kay screamed.
"All right. Now do we do business, or do I sell the negatives elsewhere?"
"You'll sell the negatives to me?" Kay was incredulous. To her surprise Kay realized she hadn't prayed at all. She had been too sunken in her own despair and self-pity to do any of the things the sisters had taught her to do. Why, she hadn't even done an Act of Contrition!
"Yes," the voice rasped. "I won't sell them. I doubt if you've got enough money to buy them. But I'll trade them for something you do have."
"What?" Kay asked. Then she remembered Miss Purlett saying this man was probably a detective gathering divorce evidence for Mrs. Veely.
"I don't know if I have what you want," she quavered, "You've got it all right. Now, do we do business or don't we?"
"I guess so." Kay knew this was against Miss Purlett's instructions, but she also knew Miss Purlett's face was not exposed in living color for all the world to laugh and point at.
"Good," the man said. "I'll be there in about an hour and a half-say one o'clock. I'll knock once, and then I'll knock twice. This time you better let me in."
"I will," Kay promised. As she said it, Kay almost changed her mind when she remembered how Miss Purlett had said, "Don't mention my name. There's a chance he might not know me." Once the elegant blonde saleslady found out her own reputation was not in danger, Kay would be strictly on her own. She hoped she could find whatever it was that the photographer wanted.
She sat looking at the clock, thinking ruefully of how soon four years of convent training had gone down the spout. Then suddenly she remembered what she had been about to do before the photographs were shoved under the door. The man would be here to sell the negatives at one o'clock. It was only eleven-thirty. She knew that if she hurried and if she was lucky maybe she could find a church and confess. Maybe a priest could advise her if she was doing the right thing. Maybe he would tell her to give herself up and take her punishment! Kay hoped not.
Kay put on her coat and sweater again. She opened the door and locked it behind her, then she stepped out on the street to look for a church.
There was no church in sight. She walked hurriedly to the end of the block. Walking past the alley, she glanced quickly down its empty length. The ladder Miss Purlett had pushed over was gone.
She walked another block, and a group of fishermen in front of a tavern noisily invited her to join them in a drink. Kay turned her face the other way and walked on. She wondered what they would have said if they had seen the pictures she had just seen and then a moment later seen her come walking down the street in living natural color, showing every most secret and intimate part of her body to the world?
Her eyes misted with tears, and she angrily brushed them away. Two blocks farther and still no sign of a church.
Suddenly Kay realized she was almost lost. She turned and studied the streets behind her until she was sure of her bearings. Even though it was June, it was still cold and a raw wind was blowing. A block ahead was an all-night drugstore. Kay walked in.
"Yes, can I help you, Miss?" He was a nice-looking young man. Looking at him, Kay realized that decent young men and a decent life were all behind her now. What could she ever say if a nice young man found her picture-that awful sinful picture in a girlie magazine some day and brought it home and showed it to her?
Kay gulped and forced herself to speak. "Could you direct me to a Catholic church?" she asked.
"Why yes, St. Jude's is three blocks down and one to the left," he said.
"Thank you," Kay said. She left the store. She felt the young man's admiring eyes on her back. What would he say, how would he look at me if he knew?
The streets were almost deserted. Anchorage, she knew, was a rough town in summer. Drifters of every kind came in from working in the logging, the mining, the fishing-with two things on their minds: whiskey and women.
A half-dozen staggering men came toward her, singing and arguing incoherently. Kay detoured a block and almost lost her way to the church. Soon she was walking in a part of town she had heard about and imagined, but had never thought she would see.
From second-story windows painted girls in abbreviated dresses whistled and winked and waved at each man who staggered down the street.
"Hey, Flo, look at the amateur!" a brassy redhead called and pointed. Incredulously, Kay realized the women were pointing at her.
Amateur! How long will it be before I'm a professional? Kay hurried around the block and walked down the main street toward the church. Somewhere a clock struck twelve. A half hour gone already! Kay saw the steeple in the distance and began walking faster.
She thought about the photographs. They showed her face and the other secret part of her. Hardly anything else of her body was visible apart from a stray hand or foot. But the elegant blonde, Miss Purlett's exquisitely perfect body, was displayed from end to end as if she had spent hours searching out her most graceful position. Every curve and highlight of her superbly formed seductiveness was there for the world to see-except her face!
It was ironic. Kay was a virgin, and Miss Purlett the wanton woman. The steeple was closer now. She turned the corner and saw a ragged wild-haired Indian wobbling toward her.
Kay looked around. The church was so close and yet a drunk was in the way. There was no telling how much time she could lose trying to avoid him. A quick look told her she was on her own. She reluctantly decided to turn around and walk an extra block so that she could reach the church without incident.
While she was pondering the situation, the Indian looked up. He was younger than she had thought. Some solitary fisherman off on a drunk, she decided. He saw her and began walking faster toward her. Kay spun around and began walking rapidly in the opposite direction.
"Kay!" the Indian yelled, "Is it you?"
Kay turned around and looked. He was closer now, and in the dim midnight light Kay recognized him. It was Tommy Taskoosh.
"Kay!" he yelled, "Wait!"
"Go away!" she shrieked. "You killed old Sam; do you have to kill me too?" She began running.
At the corner she glanced back. Tommy wasn't running after her. He wasn't running at all. The whiskey must've caught up with him, she guessed.
Tommy was leaning drunkenly against a fence.
Somewhere a clock bonged once. Kay knew there was no time to circle around and find a priest at this late hour.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Suddenly Kay realized she was lost. She glanced around for a moment, breathing raggedly. She walked to the middle of the deserted street, then she turned slowly until she could barely make out the light atop the church steeple. Taking bearings from the light, she walked another block and found herself back on the main street.
Another gaggle of drunks came staggering down the street. One started to say something to her, but another larger man whacked him vigorously across the face, mumbling something about dirty old men. Fifteen minutes later Kay was back in Mr. Veely's empty apartment.
The fire had died down, but the automatic furnace had taken over. Kay surveyed the empty rooms, then decided she might as well liven the place up with a fire. She was tossing more wood on the coals when the knock came.
Automatically Kay glanced at the clock. It was one minute to one. At least he was prompt.
On her way to the door she took off her coat and tossed it behind the couch. Then she took a deep breath, crossed herself, commended her soul to heaven, then opened the door.
The man who stepped in was like a thousand nondescript men she had seen in her lifetime. They came and went on fishing boats, unloaded their catch and bought fuel and groceries and disappeared into the great unknown Outside.
He was about five-ten, Kay guessed. At least his chin was on a level with her eyes when he stood straight. He wore a plaid flannel shirt. Over his long reddish-brown hair he wore an outdoorsman's cap with turned up ear flaps. He was neatly shaven except for the Lincoln-style beard without mustache that lined his jaws from ear to ear. Under one arm he carried a large manila envelope like the one he had slipped under Kay's door. His other hand was loaded down with a cased camera and a gadget bag hung from a strap over his shoulder.
"Yep," he said. "You're the one."
"Who are you?" Kay asked.
"I might ask the same question." He grinned.
Kay bit her lip. "What do you want?"
"Depends." Eying the liquor cabinet he added, "Right now I could do with a bourbon and some branch water."
"What's that?" Kay asked.
The stranger gave her an odd look. "Bourbon or branch water?" he asked.
"Both."
"Looks like I got me a live one," the stranger murmured. He got up to check the door that Kay had locked and chained after him. Satisfied, he prowled restlessly about the apartment, checking windows and closets until he was satisfied they were alone. "Bourbon is whiskey," he explained. "Branch water is that funny stuff that comes out of faucets whenever they ain't froze."
"Oh. Do you want ice?"
The stranger shook his head. He put down his camera and gadget bag, then sat on the couch. "Now," he said as she handed him the whiskey, "What've you got to trade?"
"I don't know," Kay stammered. "Wh-what do you want?"
"Money."
"But I haven't got any money!"
"You can afford this apartment...."
"No, I can't," Kay said. "My father died last week, and his lawyer let me stay here till I could get a plane back Outside."
"I suppose you were mourning in those pictures."
Kay did her best but it wasn't good enough. Remembering how old Sam had died trying to protect her from just the kind of thing in those pictures was just too much. Emotion built to the bursting point and tears began streaming down her face.
"Whenever you're through with that we can get down to business," the stranger said dryly.
Kay had not known such cruelty could exist in God's perfectly ordered world. She made an effort and stopped crying. "I haven't any money," she repeated. "Why do you want to ruin my life? I've never done anything to you."
"I don't want to ruin your life," the stranger said. "I'm in business. I did a job tonight, and now I'm not going to get paid for it. Therefore, I've got to try some other way to turn a buck. I have two interesting pictures. Do you want the negatives, or do I sell them to a girlie magazine?"
"I want them," Kay said. "I'd do just about anything to get them back. But I have...." She fumbled in her purse. "I have twenty-three dollars and twelve cents. Is that enough?"
The photographer laughed. He reached into the envelope he carried and took out two more prints like the ones Kay had already seen. "I'd like to get the blonde too," he said, "But there isn't much chance of getting her to cooperate."
"If you want evidence, so Mrs. Veely can divorce Mr. Veely...."
"Forget it. I'll nail him sooner or later. That baldheaded little bastard's balled every widow and orphan within five hundred miles. I'll get him sooner or later."
"Then what do you want of me?" Kay wailed.
"I want a decent set of pictures: something I can sell."
Kay gulped. "Aren't you going to sell the ones you took?"
The photographer laughed. "They may be valuable to you," he said. "But nobody would look at them twice for publication."
Kay didn't know whether to be relieved or angry. "Why?" she asked.
"Nothing's happening. Two girls sixty-nining it and the good one's got her back turned, and you can't see anything but hands and feet and the scared face on the other."
That, Kay thought, was quite enough, considering the other part of her that was so gapingly visible. She took a deep breath. "What do I do to get them back?" she asked.
"Pose for a better set of pix and I'll give you these negatives with no strings attached."
"What do I gain by that?" Kay asked. "Why should I do the same thing all over?"
"Because this time you'll be wearing a blonde wig and so much makeup even your mother wouldn't know you."
"You mean my face wouldn't show?"
"Who looks at faces?" The photographer laughed.
"What do I have to do?"
"Take off your clothes and act beautiful."
"But I've never...."
The photographer started picking up his things. "You're talking to the guy who's seen you bare-assed," he said. "Either do the job, or I salvage what I can with the prints I've got."
"Wait!" Kay said. "How long will it take?"
"Two or three hours. Stop wasting time and I could have you back here before daylight."
Kay thought a moment. If only she had been able to go to confession. She weighed two or three hours nude posing against a lifetime of degradation and made her decision. "I'll go," she said.
All the way downstairs to the photographer's beat-up old car she said Acts of Contrition. All the way across Anchorage she said Hail Marys.
Finally he parked the car and led her up the outside stairway to the second floor of a run-down building. It was dismal, but the blackmailer's apartment had one large room with heavy drapes. There was an oil heater blazing in one corner. The photographer-detective shed his heavy lumberjack's jacket and sighed. He began setting up cameras and lights.
"Hurry up!" he insisted. "The quicker you undress, the sooner it's over."
Slowly, Kay began removing her coat.
The man fussed with lights, arranging them in a half circle around a spot in the middle of the bare floor. He went into the other room and returned with a couple of quilts and a bedspread which he spread on the floor. "Looks cruddy," he admitted, "But you'd be surprised how this stuff photographs." Humming, he peeled off his flannel shirt and continued fiddling with a movie camera on a massive tripod. "Aren't you undressed yet?" he demanded.
"How about the wigs and all that stuff?" Kay demanded.
"Over there behind the screen." Kay walked behind the screen and found a light-rimmed makeup table. She piled her dark waist-length hair atop her head and tried to get a curly blonde wig atop the whole mess. Finally her dark-bfown, almost Indian straight hair was all hidden. She began fiddling with the makeup.
Stripped naked, with his king-sized honker hanging at ease, the detectivephotographer stepped behind the screen to see what was keeping her. "Not that way," he growled. "You look like an ass-calloused veteran in a five-dollar crib."
"What'm I supposed to look like?" Kay asked. "Innocence," the photographer explained. "You're supposed to look like a nun that just stepped out to pick up the milk and she found herself surrounded by twelve greasy motorcyclists with chains. Hell, anybody can get pix of naked women. It's innocence that's hard to come by. With the right makeup you could look like a virgin-like some little cunt that didn't know her ass from a hole in the ground."
"I am a virgin," Kay said quietly. "Hah!" He jerked the curly blonde wig off her head. "Too bad we can't use your real hair," he grunted. "Makes you look younger. How old are you anyhow?"
"I'm a sixteen-year-old virgin," Kay repeated. "There ain't no such thing!"
"Will you give me back those pictures, if I prove it?"
Instead of answering, he grabbed her feet and dumped her out of the chair. It happened so fast that Kay didn't have time to struggle. Flat on her back, she felt him spreading her legs, looking down at the most secret part of her. "Well I'll be goddamn!" he marveled.
Glancing at the naked photographer, Kay's terror was dampened by a vague sense of humiliated disappointment as she saw his masculinity still hanging relaxed. He was examining her innermost secrets with no more involvement than if she were another salmon some fisherman was plucking from the net. Suddenly she had a premonition of what it would be like. She would become another faceless piece of meat. Faceless men would rent her, use her, then forget her. Why, she wondered, did the priests and sisters have to keep harping about a hell after death? Weren't there enough living hells to suit them?
He dropped her legs and offered her a hand. Sitting naked, he drew her nude body toward him. As Kay's face approached his crotch and his still-relaxed rod, she wondered if she was finally going to be forced to do what Tommy Taskoosh hadn't been able to make her do.
But the detective-photographer didn't draw her face into his crotch. Instead, he selected a wig of long straight red hair and began carefully settling it over Kay's dark-brown tresses. Finally he was satisfied.
"What about down below? Won't they know it's a fake?" Kay asked.
"Of course. Who cares? How many people in the world recognize you by the color of your snatch?"
Kay wished she had kept her mouth shut.
The photographer began smearing bright orange makeup on her face. "Looks weird, but it comes out right with color film," he explained.
Kay wondered if he was going to smear the grease paint over her body, but he stopped at her neck, carefully blending the orange makeup into her skin's natural tone. "Put 'em off the track," he explained. "The orange makeup'll film so white, the rest of you will look Indian or mulatto."
Noticing Kay's grimace, he continued, "I'm no more interested in getting arrested for making a sixteen-year-old than you are."
"Then what would you take your clothes off for?" Kay asked bitterly.
"We're making movies," he explained. Picking up a black domino mask, he continued, "I'm your co-star."
Kay looked at the mask. When he put it on the black cloth covered his head, except for his eyes. "Why can't I have one of them?" she asked.
"These films are for men. If I covered up your face, I'd be cheating. Nobody gives a damn about my handsome profile. Nobody gives a shit about me: I'm just some handy piece of furniture to show off what you can do. I'm faceless, so every stiff-pricked weirdo in the world can identify with me when I'm pouring it to you."
"But you were just going to take pictures!" Kay protested.
"That's right. Pictures of me fucking you. Then we'll work out a few other things to fill up the reel."
Kay scrambled to her feet. She grabbed her coat and bolted for the door. But the door was bolted too. While she was fumbling with the latch a sudden blaze of lights startled her. She half-turned and saw that the photographer was shooting her ineffectual attempts at escape with a hand-held camera.
"That's good!" he called. "Now I wave the key at you and the other camera catches it. Plenty of time to patch it together later. That's right! Show a little more despair now that you know you're cornered. See if you can cry a little."
Kay gave a wail of inconsolable despair.
"Wonderful!" the photographer said. "Goddamn, if only you could see yourself in the view finder!"
He put down the hand-held camera and approached Kay, his arms outspread like a wrestler. She noticed that he kept slightly to one side, so the fixed camera would miss nothing of her attempts to escape. She was naked and the camera was grinding away, recording every instant of her entrapment for posterity. She tried to cover her pubic patch with her hands, then she changed her mind and hid her face.
"Beautiful!" the cameraman said. "Best goddamn reluctant virgin act I've seen since I raped my first Eskimo girl!" Still keeping carefully out of camera range, he said, "Now, just when it looks like I've got you cornered, you duck past me and run toward the camera. Make sure you don't cover your tits or your snatch when you're rushing the camera."
Ducking past his grabbing hands, Kay wondered if he thought she was acting. Did he really believe she wasn't frightened out of her wits trying to escape him? How long would he continue to film this cat and mouse game before it was time for the finale?
"Oh, horseshit!" he yelled and suddenly stopped cold.
Kay stared, open-mouthed.
"Lights," he growled, pointing at a floodlight that had just flared and burned out. "Keep your shirt on," he said, rummaging for a spare.
Kay wished she had a shirt to keep on. She really couldn't believe what was happening to her. Ten days ago she had been saying her prayers in a convent. Now, still a virgin, she was making a pornographic movie. How long, she wondered, would she remain a virgin? Glancing covertly at his machinery, she saw that its rigidity was wilting rapidly as he changed the lightbulb. She realized with a sense of indignity that the sight of her taut young body was not as devastating as she had thought. She had the sudden feeling that if this man wasn't hoping to make money from it, he wouldn't look twice at her. She wondered how big his thing would swell if he were filming this scene with Miss Purlett.
The light was fixed. Kay saw him looking at her, his eyes darting rapidly from her firm, perky little breasts down to her wispy black pubic hair. Watching his manhood slowly bulge, Kay realized he was deliberately working at it, thinking all kinds of evil thoughts so he could get it up.
Finally the man in the domino mask was ready. He stepped in front of the camera. "Now, you run past me and try the door again. Stoop over and act like you're fiddling with the lock or something." He began moving toward her. Kay wondered. His rigid rod was rubbing her, tracing slick little snail tracks up and down her taut firm belly before she finally bolted for the door. She had found a bobby pin in the wig. She stooped over the keyhole.
"Turn a little to one side so they can see your tits," he called. "Now, concentrate on picking the lock and pretend you don't see me."
He didn't have to tell her. Kay was doing her desperate best to get the lock open.
From the corner of her eye she saw him approach slowly, his swollen thing preceding him. Frantically, she rammed the bobby pin into the lock.
Suddenly she felt his large muscular hands grasp her hips. Still stooped over the keyhole, she felt his hot throbbing thing pushing at the crack that divided her firm little bottom into the two shapely halves Miss Purlett had kissed such a short while ago. His hands were gripping harder, pulling her back. She could feel the growing pressure of his rod, ramming at the crack between her buttocks. "Jesus and Mary help me!" she prayed.
CHAPTER NINE
Suddenly the man in the black domino mask took his hands off her shapely hips. She felt his firm thing jiggling against her buttocks, then she felt it soften and fold. "Ah hah!" he roared. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make fun of you. It's just that it struck me as so goddamn funny. Now we'll have to shoot the whole sequence over again, damn it!"
Kay's relief at her deliverance was mixed with a certain annoyance. "What's so funny?" she grumped. The more she thought about it, the more degrading it seemed for a man who had been intent on robbing her of her virtue to suddenly collapse on the job.
"What's funny? Oh, I don't know. Here you are getting fucked ... raped. Losing your cherry, and who do you ask for help? Some old cunt who was a professional virgin and some dippy guy that walked around in a nightgown ... never wore a pair of pants in his life and never went out without twelve other guys. Oh, Christ!" He exploded again in uncontrollable laughter. "Sometimes this crazy business is just too much!"
"I don't think it's funny," Kay said. But the hell of it was, the longer she thought about it the funnier it got. Against her will, Kay felt the corners of her mouth turning up in an impish smile. It sounded like the kind of thing old Sam would have said when he was younger. Remembering him, she stopped smiling.
The naked man in the domino mask went back to the camera. He turned the lights down while he changed reels, and Kay used the interval to poke her bobby pin into the lock again. It was hopeless. Glancing back covertly, she saw the man's tremendous thumper was relaxed again. Suddenly she realized time was passing. If she didn't get this ordeal finished by morning and get back to the apartment, anything might happen. Looking at the relaxed man, who hummed as he fiddled with camera and lights, Kay wondered if her slight, sixteen-year-old body was enough woman to hold any man's attention. Certainly she hadn't been doing as well with this man as she had with Tommy Taskoosh.
Her mind went back to their momentary encounter an hour ago. What was the Indian boy doing in Anchorage? Did he somehow know that she hadn't told the authorities how he'd tried to rape her? Did he know his rash wooing had killed old Sam?
"Okay," the man in the domino mask said, "Let's try it again. You're fiddling with the keyhole. Stoop over a little farther. Now I'm going to sneak up behind you and slip it in. Pretend you don't see me."
Stooping over the keyhole, still poking helplessly at the lock, Kay gritted her teeth. She felt his large hands grasp her hips again, felt his masculinity nuzzling at the crack between her buttocks. Involuntarily, she clenched them together, hoping to delay the moment of truth for another instant.
"Cut that out!" he snarled, delivering a stinging backhand slap to her upturned rump. "I'm having trouble enough getting it up without you gettin' cute."
Kay realized how hopeless her situation was. She tried to relax. The sooner he did it, the sooner she could have those other films and be free of the whole terrible business.
The man in the domino mask spanked her upturned bottom again, and Kay thought fleetingly of the way Mr. Veely had bound Miss Purlett's ankles together and had a field day slapping her satiny buttocks to an angry-looking, inflamed pink. She hoped the blackmailer wouldn't mistreat her that way.
Apparently he was ready now. She felt his revived meat nuzzling at the crack of her buttocks. She fought against the natural inclination to flinch and tighten up. Cameras whirred faintly in the background as she felt his tremendous blunt instrument probing, feeling its way inward.
Contrary to a lot of convent girls, Kay had watched enough sled dogs to know which hole he would put it in. She remembered grimly the hours she had spent kneeling in a corner saying Acts of Contrition for having tried to put some sniveling little tattletale straight on this elementary fact. No girl who had helped whelp pups could seriously believe children came out of the same hole as last night's supper.
Yet, unless Kay was sorely mistaken, that was where the man in the domino mask was putting it right now! Didn't he know any better? She wondered. Surely he knew better than that. Oh well, Kay decided, I've made a fool of myself often enough. She decided to wait and let him discover his own mistake.
Meanwhile, cameras were grinding away. She also wondered if the red wig and the orange makeup made her different enough not to be recognized on the street. Maybe a stranger wouldn't know her offhand, but Kay suspected anybody who really knew her wouldn't be fooled. Irrelevantly, she wondered if Tommy Taskoosh would ever see the film.
Whom else did she know well enough to worry about? Sadly, Kay realized there was nobody else who was close enough to her to recognize her in a bareback movie.
The man in the domino mask was still augering at her backside-at the place old Sam had always called "your bung". His hard-on seemed to be failing him. He bent over her back and grasped her firm, upstanding, young thirty fours from behind, fondling them in an effort to preserve enough rigidity to ram his rod past Kay's tight anal sphincter.
It had hurt when he had first started ramming her, but now his skewer had secreted some lubrication. She assumed it was the same slick juice that had flowed a few hours ago when she and Miss Purlett had turned one another on. The lubrication was serving the purpose. Little by little Kay felt her anus stretching as the blunt head of his tallywhacker inserted itself. It felt like she was going to the bathroom in reverse.
There was a sudden slipping and sliding that Kay felt as his thumper slid its full six firm inches up her anus. There was a sudden sensation of fullness, as if she had to defecate badly and right now. She conquered the sensation and remained bent over the forgotten keyhole. The first time he pulled it back out, Kay thought all her insides were going to come out with it. But he stopped short of forcing his tremendous knobbed head back out past her sphincter muscle. Kay held her breath and waited.
Very slowly and gently, he began pushing it back in again. At the end of his stroke, she felt the furry mat of his pubic patch tickling her smooth buttocks. There was another gentle tickle which she finally realized was his dangling scrotum bumping her at the bottom of each stroke.
He was poking her slowly, taking his time and holding for a moment at the outer end of each stroke. Finally the edge of her consciousness heard the whir of the camera and she realized why. He wasn't doing this because he liked her. He wasn't even enjoying her body. He was doing it to make a movie and make money. Someday when lonely men would sit in theaters watching her get buggered, they would get more of a thrill watching her than either Kay or the man in the domino mask were getting right now.
Then abruptly, Kay knew this wasn't true. It wasn't the same exquisite torment that she had experienced trading thrills with Miss Purlett. As Kay stooped before the keyhole, listening to the whir of the cameras, feeling his tremendous tool slide in and out of her, feeling his large capable hands fondle her dangling breasts, she wondered if it wouldn't be possible to do it just a little faster. Half-horrified, she felt her buttocks rear back to meet his slow slide into home base.
"Like it, huh?" he asked. But he didn't speed up or ram any harder. Kay found herself comparing this man with Tommy Taskoosh. Tommy had been violent ... Tommy had tried to rape her. But at least he was doing it because he wanted her-wanted Kay's body more than all others. This man didn't even seem to care much for women, and he was raping her, too, only in a different way. This man in the domino mask held her by bonds tighter than Tommy's iron grip, even if the bonds were only of color film.
But he was going at it so slow! Kay's bottom had accommodated to the tremendous bulk sliding in and out of her. It still hurt a little, but the hurt was something like the lovely wounds Miss Purlett had given her. It was a hurt mixed with a joyous anticipatory tingle that made Kay realize she was actually waiting and wishing for more.
Kay wondered if any of the saints in heaven had enjoyed their offering. As long as she looked at the keyhole, she didn't have to look into the lens of that whirring camera. She bent over the lock, poking idly with the bobby pin and trying not to think about the large capable hands that grasped her dangling breasts and fondled the smooth skin of her firm flat belly. She wanted to forget the tremendous thumping knob-tipped thing that was sliding in and out of her bunghole with the passionless motions of a piston rod.
Kay's breath was growing shorter. She was growing so excited, so desperate for some change and variety from the endless pumping that she was beginning to gasp. In her bent over position, it wasn't easy to breathe. She wanted to buck, to slam herself back against him each time he bottomed. She wanted to do anything that might awaken some emotion in the domino-masked man-something to prove that she was a human being.
"That's right," he encouraged. "Twist and squirm like you're suffering. Now turn around and look at me like you were asking for more."
Kay gave a shriek of despair as she saw her soul descend irretrievably into hell. "I am asking for more!" she sobbed. "Won't you hurry up and do it?"
There was a sudden flapping noise, and the camera whirred louder. "Balls!" the man growled. Kay felt him start to pull his enormous red knob all the way out. "No!" she shrieked, remembering how it had hurt going in.
The photographer laughed. "All right," he said. "Stick close while I change a reel." With his hands on Kay's buttocks, he steered her in front of him like a wheelbarrow as he walked to a cabinet and got out another reel of film. As he concentrated on getting one cartridge out of the camera and another in, Kay could feel his thing shrinking. He turned suddenly, and she wasn't quick enough. There was a thuck like the sound of a cork coming out of a champagne bottle, and Kay was disconnected. She stood up straight, trying to ignore the feeling of desolation and emptiness between her buttocks.
Somehow Kay knew all the hot water and soap in the world could never rid her of the feel of dirtiness. She found herself wishing that he would finish loading the damned camera so they could get back to work. Ironically she remembered Miss Purlett. It had only been two hours ago that the elegant blonde saleslady had explained to her that, "Some of them enjoy the work so much, they don't even ask for pay."
Finally the camera was ready again. This time he focused it on the padded bedspread in the middle of the big bare room. Kay knew she wouldn't be jabbing bobby pins in the lock any more-as if it had done any good. The man in the black mask walked about relaxed, his equipment dangling as if he had no knowledge of a naked sixteen-year-old virgin within grabbing distance. Horrible as the thought of rape was, Kay somehow felt even more insulted and degraded by his very failure to be aroused by her.
Am I that bad? Good heavens, Kay thought, I'm sixteen. If I can't attract a man now, what'll it be like when I'm an old woman of twenty-or thirty! The makeup table had a mirror. Kay stood before it, studying herself. Under the red wig her milk-white skin seemed much darker than usual. But her slight young body was still smooth and without blemish. She studied her tiny twenty-inch waist, comparing it with the smooth swell of her firmly rounded hips. She wasn't a big girl, so her breasts didn't sag. They were only thirty-fours, she knew, but above her tiny waist their perky arrogance should be able to get a rise out of that black masked cameraman's languid lance.
"All right," he called. "Your makeup okay?"
"I ... I guess so," Kay answered fearfully. She wondered if a wig and false eyelashes and all the guck on her face was really enough to make her unrecognizable.
Remembering those two pictures of her peeping surprisedly from Miss Purlett's crotch, Kay knew that whether she liked it or not, her disguise had better do the job.
"Now we get to the moment of truth," the cameraman said. "Lie down on the spread."
Kay took a deep breath. Might as well get it over with, she decided. She could guess what the moment of truth was going to be. After all the other things that had happened, losing her virginity didn't seem all that important. She had heard that some girls bled. She hoped it wouldn't hurt as bad as it had when he had first pushed his thudding blunt instrument into the crack between her buttocks.
"Not that way," he was saying. "Put your feet toward the camera. No, damn it! Face up!"
Obediently Kay moved, until the camera was centered on the sparse black hairs of her tiny pubic triangle.
"Now cringe."
"What?"
"I'm gonna whack you in the ass with this whip. Act like it really hurts-like I'm killing you." Before Kay could absorb what the cameraman was saying, the whip cracked loudly.
It was a long black whip, and it reminded her of the things men were supposed to use driving stagecoaches. The cameraman had popped it with a pistol-sharp crack in the general region of her already tender anus. Involuntarily, Kay drew her legs up. The whip popped again. This time it felt as if a knife had carved a piece from one of her tight-stretched buttocks. Kay screamed.
"Spread your legs!" he yelled. "Let's get a good view of that cherry."
From the corner of her eye Kay saw his thing starting to rise as he raised the whip for another slash.
CRACK!
This time the lash popped over her firm flat belly. Suddenly Kay knew that he was going to kill her. He wasn't paying any attention to the camera any more. Abruptly, he dropped the whip, and Kay was almost relieved when she saw him kneel to aim his quivering bargepole straight at the delicate membrane she had spent sixteen years saving and protecting.
Suddenly she didn't care. He knelt between her legs as Mr. Veely had done to Miss Purlett. Remembering the scene she had witnessed through the bathroom keyhole, Kay bent her knees to make it easy. She felt his thing pushing into her. He was twisting, grinding it against her hymen membrane, poking and lunging ineffectually.
Finally she raised her head to see what was wrong. She gasped. Already his rod had wilted. Each time he poked, it betrayed him, bending double or scooting off.
Good heavens, she thought, Aren't men interested in me at all? Then she remembered Tommy Taskoosh. Timidly, Kay reached out and grabbed the masked man's thing the way she had Tommy's.
"Naw!" he growled, slapping her hand away. "You're a reluctant virgin getting raped. What the hell you grabbin' it for?"
Kay didn't know. "I thought I could help," she finally said.
"Have to cut that out," he growled. "You're sure a hell of a reluctant virgin."
"And you're some rapist!" Kay shot back.
"Yeah," he said disgustedly. "A man can only do so much. Oh, well. You can blow it a while and use up the footage. Then we'll work something out."
Kay had been about to ask what he meant, when she remembered the way Mr. Veely had straddled Miss Purlett and, instead of putting it in like this man had tried to do and failed, the little lawyer had waddled all the way up her supine figure until he had it in her mouth. Kay wondered if she was going to vomit. Then she remembered her strange mixture of revulsion and fascination as she had watched the balding lawyer and Miss Purlett. She wondered what it would be like to have something that big in her mouth.
The man in the domino mask was standing in front of her. In the background she could hear the camera whirring. "Up on your knees," he instructed. "Now crawl toward me."
Dying inwardly, Kay did as she was told.
"Balls, this is no good!" he said. "Back down again."
Kay got back down on the padded bedspread, trying not to cry. If she did, he would probably get mad and hit her again. Even if he didn't, her tears would lose her false eyelashes and ruin all the bright-orange makeup. When she looked up again, the man had the whip in his hand.
"No!" Kay screamed, "Don't hit me again! I'm doing everything you want!"
"You ain't gettin' it up, kid," he said grimly.
Kay glanced down at his relaxed muscle. Before she could look up again, the whip cracked. She screamed as it flicked across the tip of one nipple.
"Now!" he yelled, "Forward quick ... on your knees ... and start gobbling!" Through a mist of pain and tears Kay could see his jock was beginning to jive again. Before he could hit her again, she rushed to cram it in her mouth.
CHAPTER TEN
It was big; it was hard. As the knobbed end of his thing slid into her mouth, Kay thought she would gag. But she was surprised. For some reason she hadn't expected it to be hot. She felt muscular hands clasp over her ears.
Kay struggled and managed to draw in a gasp of air. She got a firm grip on the end of his thing with her teeth and started to blow.
WHACK!
One hand detached itself from her ear and hit Kay so hard she tumbled out of camera range. "You stupid bitch, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Kay wiped the tears from her eyes. One false eyelash was half off. "What'd I do wrong?" she asked.
"You're supposed to suck, not blow!"
"Then why did you call it a blow job?" Kay asked.
The man in the black domino mask did a double-take and finally decided she wasn't kidding.
"How the hell would I know? Anyhow, next time don't bite it either."
He waited until she had gotten the eyelash in place and fixed the rest of her makeup, then he started the camera whirring again. "Now take it easy," he warned. 'That's my cock you're eating; not a banana."
He was standing in camera range. Kay scurried on her hands and knees and got his half-flaccid penis in her mouth, hurrying to get it rigid again before he started using the whip.
She tried to lick it and suck it the way she remembered seeing Miss Purlett tend to the balding little lawyer's needs, but whatever she was doing, she knew it must be wrong. His hands gripped her ears and jerked her head back and forth. She saw his pelvis thrusting, felt his meatus drive deep into her, poking at her palate and making her gag.
Kay knew she was going to vomit, but he held her head so tightly that there was no way for the bile to get past the monstrous cock he kept tamping halfway down her throat. She remembered the way Tommy Taskoosh had exploded like a punctured balloon when all she had done was touch his throbbing masculinity.
She could still hear the faint whir of the camera. She wished he would let go a moment, let her catch her breath and get control of herself. Then abruptly he did.
Kay breathed deeply. She realized her body was shuddering before the one-eyed monster that whirred amid its nest of lights across the room. Finally she collected herself. And just in time, she realized. She could feel his erection grow limp. In another moment he would start using the whip again.
She pulled gently back until the head of his hammer was halfway out of her mouth. She ran her lips daintily back and forth a few times and was rewarded with returning rigidity. That was a little more like it. She had been wondering if her little body was totally unattractive to this man. Now, as his rod returned to readiness, Kay knew she was not a total loss. Before he could think about the whip again, she let it fall clear out of her mouth. It was all the way up now, straining and rigid, jerking up and down with each pulsing beat. She licked its throbbing head. Gently, she snaked one hand up his hairy leg and began teasing his scrotum.
"Mmmmm," he said. "Not bad, kid." Then the camera made its loud flapping noise and whirred louder.
"Goddamn it to hell!" he growled. Kay grabbed at his tool and tried to get it back in her mouth, but he was charging across the room toward the camera. She sank back onto the floor, feeling more dirty, more used, more useless, than she had ever imagined possible.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"Quarter of four," he growled and continued loading film into the camera. Finally he was finished and ready to film the next chapter of her descent into hell.
Kay crouched, waiting for some hint as to how she could get his thing up again before he started using that whip.
It hung limp as an empty glove. The man in the domino mask stared at Kay. He beckoned. She came forward, and he ran his hands over her perky little breasts. With mounting self-disgust, she felt her tiny nipples turn hard and rigid. The cameraman's tool remained soft. She flinched as his rough hand pinched the nipple where his whip had landed minutes ago. He knelt to nuzzle her breasts and belly while his hands snaked up and down her thighs, stopping to flick her marble-hard clit. Still his jock hung slack.
Kay could see him eying the whip again. Frantically, she threw herself on the floor where she could reach his flaccid phallus. She stuffed its limber length in her mouth and began sucking, licking, tonguing it frantically.
Abruptly the naked man in the domino mask stood up. "No use," he growled. "Got enough footage on the blow job anyway."
"What are you going to do?" Kay asked, eying the whip.
He stopped the camera's whir and turned off the floodlights. Then he peeled off the domino mask and began dressing.
"Are we through?" Kay asked. "Can I have the pictures and the negatives now?"
"Not yet," he grunted. "Still one more scene to shoot. You wait here." He stepped outside and closed the door after him.
Frantically, Kay tore off the red wig and the false eyelashes. The gooky orange makeup could wait. She threw her clothes on and tried the door. It was locked.
She scrambled frantically over the bare floor, looking for the bobby pin she had been using. She couldn't find it.
Finally she thought to search the discarded red wig. There was a bobby pin in it. Twenty minutes later Kay was finally convinced that even without somebody sliding something in and out of her bunghole and fondling her firm little breasts, she would never get the door unlocked with only a bobby pin.
The nameless cameraman had told her to wait. She put on the false eyelashes and the red wig again. Then she waited.
The studio was big and bare. There were no windows. It was warm. Kay looked vainly for some place to sit comfortably. Finally she collapsed on the bedspread in the middle of the room and tried to figure out where her life had started going all wrong.
She remembered when she had just turned eleven. That was the year the Indians had all started the fishing cooperative, and suddenly old George, little Tommy Taskoosh's father, had become an important man. While old George and her own father, old Sam, had conferred endlessly over prices and contracts, Kay and little Tommy Taskoosh had played tag up and down the floating cannery dock, chasing each other noisily across whatever boats and barges happened to be tied up.
It had been such a wonderful summer. For the first time Kay had possessed a live friend instead of dolls. She and Tommy had played checkers and had played the Indian stick game and they had played poker. Suddenly Kay remembered the day they had played strip poker.
It was funny. Suddenly they were talking about strip poker and afterwards she honestly couldn't remember who had brought up the subject.
They were in the warm place near the boilers that kept the floating cannery running. It was warm and quiet, and Kay had just introduced Tommy Taskoosh to her hideaway. "Nobody else knows about it," she had said. Then seemingly without any interruption or buildup, her memory had them playing poker. After four years in a convent she could scarcely remember the rules of the game. But she remembered that she had won the first hand and Tommy had somewhat sheepishly removed his cap.
Kay remembered that she had also won the next three hands, which had left Tommy barefoot and jacketless. Then Tommy had won a hand and claimed the right to remove her boot. Kay worried momentarily about establishing a dangerous precedent, but Tommy pointed out that he was behind in the game and it was only a boot and if she wanted to be that way about it they might as well forget about the old game and go feed the gulls. Reluctantly, Kay had agreed.
The cards favored her and Tommy was stripped to his trousers before he won his next hand. He looked sp forlorn that Kay could not deny him the pleasure of removing her jacket. Tommy won several more hands in quick succession, and before she realized it Kay was allowing the delighted little boy to undrape her gangling body clear down to her underwear.
The atmosphere in the snug little boiler room was changing. Tommy was down to his trousers, and Kay was having mixed feelings. Did she hope he was wearing something underneath them or didn't she? Two more losing hands and Kay would be out of the game. Was that good or was it bad? Tommy shuffled. She cut and he dealt.
They turned their cards up, and a moment later Tommy did his best to look triumphant instead of frightened as he peeled the top half of her underwear over Kay's tousled head.
Kay remembered that she didn't exactly have breasts yet, but her nipples had become painfully sensitive in the last couple of months and had seemed definitely swollen. Behind each tender nipple was a tiny breast the size of a walnut. Tommy's eyes remained glued to them. Clearly his hands wished to know if they were hard or soft. Just as clearly, he seemed to know Kay would never allow him to touch them.
Grimly, he dealt another hand. He lost!
Kay remembered the look on his face and she had abruptly known it was the end of the game. Obviously, Tommy wished most desperately and thoroughly that he could have won this final hand and satisfied his growing curiosity about what wonders lay beneath the bottom half of Kay's long Johns. But had he realized that her curiosity had equaled his own?
Tommy was down to his last garment. Now he had to remove it and in return ... Instinctively, Kay knew Tommy wouldn't do it.
"I will if you will," she offered.
Thinking back on it, Kay wondered ... Had Tommy's brown, nearly hairless machinery remained flaccid because he was too young-or because he was as frightened as she was? Standing naked before the little Indian boy, Kay had been even more hairlessly exposed than now.
"You ain't even got as much hair as I have," Tommy had said.
"I have too!" Kay retorted, though she knew it wasn't true. They stood woodenly, inspecting each other at arm's length like strange dogs making up their minds whether to fight or sniff each other's hind ends. By now Kay was heartily sorry they had started this silly game and she suspected Tommy was too. Now that they were naked and alone in this warm room, clearly something else was expected.
Kay knew that boys and girls kissed on occasion. There seemed to be no connection between kissing and taking one's clothes all off. Silently they stared at one another. Tommy swallowed a couple of times. "Can I touch it?" he asked.
"If you let me," Kay said.
"Tommy!"
For an instant they froze, too terror-stricken to move. Then they both realized old George was yelling clear from the other end of the dock. Kay stuffed her underwear and sweater in a hole behind the boiler. She got into her overalls and buttoned her flannel shirt as she crawled down the back of the cannery line to the opposite end of the dock. When little Tommy finally appeared fully dressed, she was feeding seagulls a hundred yards away. She remembered nearly freezing to death before she had a chance to go back and put on her underwear.
The next time she and Tommy met, neither of them mentioned what had happened. A month after that Kay went off to the convent and managed to convince herself that it had never happened. It was just another of those odd dreams she had been having lately.
But now, sitting alone in this big bare room, wearing false eyelashes and a red wig, Kay knew it had been no dream. Had Tommy...? Had he been sitting on that memory for five years, brooding on it? She remembered old Sam's dying words: "All them goddamn Taskoosh are crazy!" It didn't make sense.
Old George had worked hard for his boat. Why had Tommy let it run down? Oh, what difference does it make? If Tommy ever saw me again he'd spit on me.
When was the detective-photographer coming back? Was he going to keep her a prisoner here indefinitely? Soon it would be morning. Kay wondered how long it would take for Mr. Veely to start wondering where she had gone. Then she wondered if he would bother. After the performance she had witnessed through the keyhole, Kay preserved no illusions about the balding little man's character. She understood perfectly well now, how the red-pated, puffing little man had intended to extract payment for room and board from her.
Suddenly she realized how neatly Miss Purlett had foiled his plans. Why had she done it? Kay wondered if it was jealousy-if Miss Purlett simply didn't care to be replaced by a younger woman? Or had Miss Purlett done it merely for the opportunity of a quick rub against Kay's virginal body? Then she thought of a third possibility. Maybe Miss Purlett had taken pity on her innocence and had done all this merely to save Kay from being raped by the voracious lawyer. It would have worked too-if only this photographer hadn't happened along.
She wondered where Miss Purlett was? At home waiting for Kay to call? What would the elegant blonde saleslady think when she finally checked out the apartment and found Kay was gone? Probably, Kay decided, Miss Purlett would assume she had scraped up money somehow and caught a plane out of here for Seattle-for anywhere to get away from those pictures! Then she wondered if Miss Purlett had seen the pictures. Did the elegantly constructed blonde know her face didn't show in either shot?
Kay's exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her. She stretched out on the pad and dozed, resigned to the knowledge that she could do nothing to help herself. Sleeping, she dreamed of Tommy. But she dreamed of a tender-hearted young Indian who did not try to rape her or to poke his big brown thing into her unwilling mouth.
They were on the ice floe together and it was breaking up. The ice was drifting, and then somehow they were on separate pieces drifting apart. As Tommy drifted away into the fog, she could hear his despairing shout, "Kaaaayy!"
She woke suddenly. Nobody was shouting. Somebody was clumping up the outside stairs in heavy boots. The photographer entered. Behind him came a smaller man in a domino mask. Both men wore street clothes. While she stared, they peeled off overcoats and scarves. "Hurry up," the cameraman said as they continued undressing.
Remembering the whip, Kay whipped off her dress. The red wig came with it, and then she had to spend extra minutes before the makeup table. While she was stuffing the last stray strand of her dark hair up under the wig, the little man in the domino mask came up behind her. He cupped her breasts in his soft, well-manicured hands and spoke for the first time.
"For a sixteen-year-old you've sure got the equipment," he said. "But from reports I hear, you don't know what to do with it."
Kay continued applying makeup, trying to ignore the feel of his rigid rod poking at her back. It felt different from the photographer's. Her mind was so full of what was going to happen to her that she couldn't put her finger on what else was odd. Finally she had it. She had heard the masked man's voice before.
He couldn't have traveled around town with a mask on. He must have put it on while he was coming upstairs. The cameraman hadn't bothered with a mask until he had actually started filming. Therefore, Kay reasoned, this stranger's wearing a mask because he doesn't want me to recognize him.
She took a deep breath and plucked up her courage. There was no escape. If she struggled, they would only whip her. "I'm ready," she said facing the masked man.
He was short. Automatically, Kay glanced down at his tool. It was amazingly large for such a little man. And it was different from the cameraman's, just as she had sensed it would be. Kay had seen the word, Circumcision, on convent calendars, but the sisters had always been so vague she had no way of connecting the word with his baldheaded cock that jittered up and down each time this little man's heart sent another rush of blood coursing through him.
But now Kay knew where she had seen that baldheaded cock and its baldheaded owner before. She had seen him stuffing it down Miss Purlett's throat while he spanked her lovely bottom to an angry redness.
And just as suddenly, Kay realized that if Mr. Veely ever found out that she knew he was hiding behind that domino mask, she would never leave this room alive!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If Mr. Veely saw her face, Kay knew he would read the knowledge that could only mean her death. She knelt and opened her mouth wide, stretching to get the hard dry knob of his circumcised skewer inside. This time she had to be careful and not scrape it with her teeth like she had the cameraman's.
"Eager little bitch, aren't you?" Mr. Veely chuckled. He caught her by the ears and gently disengaged her. "Save it until the cameras are rolling," he advised.
Kay was afraid to let him see her face. Was there any chance that he had guessed she was peeking from the bathroom keyhole when he had indulged himself with the voluptuous Miss Purlett? He must have seen the pictures.
Still kneeling, she followed him until they were in position on the bedspread. Good heavens, his thing must be twice as big as the cameraman's! Kay remembered how she had naively thought Tommy Taskoosh would split her in two if he ever put that great brown nozzle between her legs. How long now before Mr. Veely wounded her with his equally massive masculinity?
Then she remembered the way Miss Purlett had begged for penetration. Mr. Veely had seemed to take a perverse delight in denying her this pleasure. Kay wondered if the lawyer preferred blow jobs. Did the balding little man in the domino mask prefer this or would he in his own due time ram that horrendous harpoon into her? It would hurt like hell, she knew. Yet Kay found herself wondering. She had had it in her mouth and up her bung and she wasn't dead yet. Could losing her cherry hurt any worse than the cameraman's rod had hurt as it augered up her innocent anus?
"Now!" Mr. Veely said. He stood in profile to the camera with his lance protruding at a jaunty angle. "Now move in on it slowly," he instructed. "A little more to the left so they can see your tits."
Remembering the whip, Kay crept forward. "Hands behind you," the cameraman said. "They cut off the view."
Abruptly he stopped the camera and dimmed the lights.
"Now what?" Veely asked.
The camerman came forward with a short bit of rope and tied Kay's wrists behind her.
"Good idea," Veely approved.
The lights and cameras came on again. Kneeling, Kay faced his enormous erection. It was hard to get it in her mouth without using her hands. She began licking it.
"Great!" Mr. Veely said. "Now, when he gives the signal, you gobble it."
Before Kay could ask what the signal was, the whip popped at the nape of her neck. As her mouth opened in a soundless scream, the balding little lawyer grabbed her head and lunged. Kay felt the tremendous thing slide past her lips and teeth. It kept on going and going, until it seemed he was going to ram it halfway to her stomach. Then he stopped thrusting and began slowly pulling it out. Kay had thought she would vomit like she had the last time, but instead, to her growing horror, she felt a thrill of excitement.
Good heavens, they are torturing me. It's the hurting. Why do I have this all-over tingly feeling just like I did the day Tommy and I played strip poker? Dazedly, Kay felt Mr. Veely's enormous erection passing slowly in and out of her mouth. She seemed to be sucking it and licking it satisfactorily. At least he wasn't whipping her. She felt hands over her firm young breasts, and at first she thought they were Mr. Veely's. But his hands still guided her Jiead. The cameraman was fondling her from behind. She felt her nipples swell-the one that was sore from the whip was responding too. Good heavens, is there anything I can't enjoy?
Kay felt her upper body blush at the feel of the cameraman's rough hands. She felt his semi-rigid rod nuzzling the small of her back as he squatted to get his other hand up her crotch.
The cameraman's rough hand was surprisingly knowledgeable in the way it sought out that nameless tender spot where she and Miss Purlett had known such joy. She felt warm juices flow as his calloused finger continued gently patting and circling her clitoris.
Then his hands were busy spreading her legs. He rotated her, and, to Kay's intense disappointment, Mr. Veely's, smooth-sliding rod came out of her mouth. She caught it and held it lovingly in her hands for an instant, but the small man in the domino mask stood to one side. The cameraman grabbed her by the shoulders and began slowly bending her backward. With her legs widespread, Kay felt herself being twisted unnaturally backward. Dimly, she realized he was lining her up so the lens could focus on her unbroken hymen.
"You won't get a movie of that very often," Mr. Veely said.
Kay was flat on her back now. She felt the cameraman lift her bottom and slide a pillow beneath her. Bending her knees, he said, "Wiggle a little. You're supposed to be fighting us off!"
Abruptly, Kay realized that was exactly what the sisters would expect of her. Death before dishonor and all that tired old crap. She wondered how many of them would struggle in her place. She felt the pressure of Mr. Veely's quiff-splitter and automatically recoiled.
CRACK!
"Goddamn you!" Kay wailed, "That isn't fair! I'm doing everything you tell me."
Both men seemed to think that was uproariously funny. Mr. Veely gripped her buttocks firmly and began pressing again. He pushed gently, alternately forcing and relaxing as he worked at busting Kay's surprisingly firm cherry.
To hell with this! Kay decided. III let him, he'll go on playing around all day! She waited until the next time he was pushing. Then, without warning, Kay lunged. She threw her weight, her ass, her body and soul directly toward the point of Mr. Veely's torturing tool.
There was a tearing sensation and a single sharp pain as if someone had cut her with a knife, then Kay felt his slick spear sliding in, into her secret depths. Will it never stop going in?
Finally Kay felt the pressure of pelvis against pelvis, and she knew the lawyer had bottomed out. "Ooooohhhh!" he sighed.
But the cameraman was less delighted. "Goddamn it!" he roared. "We could have strung that out for half an hour!"
Even when she felt the whip slash against her hip, Kay was not sorry she had done it. It was better than being tortured with the eternal poking and stretching. The stinging sensation was going away now. Feeling Mr. Veely's arrogant erection sliding smoothly in and out of her hungry sheath, Kay decided it was a lot better. And getting better every minute!
Mr. Veely's masked head was nuzzling her perky young breasts. Kay felt his hands gripping her waist, pulling her down each time he rammed that hammering hammer into her. It all felt so good, so solid. Thinking back to her delicate, fluttery encounters with Miss Purlett, Kay finally and irrevocably realized that, at least for her, nothing could ever begin to compare with the simple solid joy that was penetrating her innermost being with each bottoming out of Mr. Veely's pelvis against her vulva.
The sisters probably had other words for it, but now Kay finally realized that, though there might be other words-euphemisms to describe the various delaying tactics and preliminary maneuvers that had occupied her up to now, for what she was doing this moment there was only one satisfactory word. I'm fucking! After sixteen years of thinking and wishing and being scared shitless, I'm finally fucking! Maybe I'm going to hell, but it's a nice trip.
The way the balding little lawyer was going at it, it promised to be a very leisurely trip. He was pouring it to her slowly, with the steadiness of a pendulum, in and out, in and out. Then he began stopping at the bottom of each stroke. After an instant's rest, the little man would rub his pubis against hers with a grinding rotary motion that drove his rigid rod into unexplored corners of Kay's being.
She felt the rush of blood, the sudden tingling warmth that grew and grew until the feeling of imminent explosion was unbearable. "Faster!" she moaned.
Mr. Veely chuckled and checked to see if the camera was still properly aligned. While Kay writhed beneath his relentless prodding, he became even more leisurely. Now, in addition to stopping for a grind at the bottom of each stroke, the diminutive lawyer was stopping on the outstroke too.
Each time he withdrew, Kay could feel the burning tip of his tool hesitate a moment while bobbing up and down the tortured slit between her aching thighs. Each time, she held her breath in an agony of suspense, hoping and praying he would put it back in again.
And each time he did!
What am I doing enjoying myself? I ought to be planning some way to get out of here! But instead, Kay surrendered herself to the sensuous feel of skin against skin-the soul-satisfying surge of a man's thudding thrill drill where no man had gone before. She felt that tension build within her belly, growing, straining, stretching. Mr. Veely was going even more slowly now as the camera recorded her helpless lust, filling each frame with her futile lunges and plunges. II only he'd let go of my hips, so I could really come up to meet him!
Then finally it was happening: the abrupt explosion came as every nerve simultaneously stretched to the breaking point, then snapped. Kay felt her insides dissolving-felt her heart and her immortal soul melt and pour like liquid fire in gushing jets around that diabolical piston that still pumped, ground, withdrew, hesitated a tantalizing moment, then slowly drove for home again.
Over and over she felt that spasm within her belly, felt herself dissolving, melting, flowing. Soon she would be empty, totally drained. It had taken her forever to reach this peak, but now that Kay was on a plateau of pure pleasure, she couldn't seem to get off it. Mr. Veely cooled it, pumping ever more slowly and waiting longer intervals between each stroke. Still Kay's slight body was purged with constantly repeated orgasms. "Please!" she moaned, "More! Now! Faster!"
The sight of her ecstatically flailing body had finally done something for the cameraman's dormant dong. He checked the camera and, satisfied, came back to the scene of the action. Sliding in behind Kay, he lifted and pushed until Mr. Veely was in a sitting position with Kay sitting astraddle his lap. They rocked back and forth like a short-coupled seesaw, and Mr. Veely's prodigious prong achieved new depths each time he rocked back, pulling Kay with him until the entire weight of her body was spiked on Mr. Veely's throbbing thumper.
Between the shattering spasms that threatened to tear her apart, Kay sensed vaguely that the cameraman was getting into the act. His legs inserted themselves between hers and Mr. Veely's. Another pair of hands lifted her high, and the back-and-forth rock with Mr. Veely was momentarily interrupted. "No!" Kay moaned, "Don't stop. Keep it up!"
"As long as there's an inch of film," the cameraman promised. Gently, he lowered her, and Kay was spiked from another source. The cameraman's knob was sliding back up her bung, just as it had when they had done the lock-picking sequence with her humped over a doorknob. Only now his rod had to share space with Mr. Veely's indefatigable erection. Kay felt as if she might burst at any moment. Was this how it felt to have a baby? Probably not. Having a baby couldn't possibly feel this ecstatically good. Kay relaxed, let herself slump, and savored the sensuality of being passed back and forth from one man's hands to the other. Each time Mr. Veely's whooping organ slid up into her, the cameraman's would pull out, until the knob threatened to snap past her sphincter.
Each time Kay clenched her anal sphincter over the cameraman's thrill drill, Mr. Veely's pile driver would threaten to make good its escape so she would have to rock forward and recapture it. It was hard work, but it was rewarding.
Finally Kay began to understand that the men were finally losing their cool too. Mr. Veely's manhood was rebelling against the anal invasion which had sharply reduced its room for enjoyment. And on the back porch Mr. Veely's organ was creating similar difficulties for the cameraman.
Gradually their movements became less coordinated. Half the time they were pulling out and ramming at the same time. The sensation was so excruciatingly delicious for Kay that she heard herself emitting a high wordless squeal of joy. Suddenly Mr. Veely was gripping her hips, slamming her brutally down over his joint. All at once the cameraman began whipping her. Mr. Veely's mouth fastened on one of her nipples. He sucked it rigid and rapidly switched to the other.
Kay was starting to come again, but that damn cameraman was still pounding on her as his jock spurted its jolly charge up her bung. "Please, Mr. Veely," she pleased, "Make him stop hitting me!"
Even as she said it, Kay knew abruptly that the party was over. Mr. Veely wouldn't have gone to the trouble of putting on a domino mask, if he hadn't thought it very important that Kay not recognize him. And now she had blown the gaff!
There was just the tiniest instant's hesitation on Mr. Veely's part, then he surrendered himself to the joys of sexual abandonment as his pipe spurted and squirted, firing great joyful jets into Kay's tenderness.
Finally it was over. The unheeded camera made the loud whirring and flap-flap sound that meant it was out of film.
Despite the totality of her repeated orgasms. Kay was the first to get up. Possibly because she thought she had the most to lose.
She had to go through the motions just as if nothing had happened, but Kay knew that now they would never let her go. Probably they would keep her locked up here until she became a nuisance. Then....
Somehow she had to get a message out of this room. Somehow she had to make one of them carry it. There was neither pencil nor paper. What?
The men were stirring, talking lazily as they lit cigarettes. The cameraman stretched his hand and pulled a cord. The camera stopped and the brighter of the floodlights went out. In the sudden near-darkness Kay stumbled over Mr. Veely's overcoat, then sat down.
The men were on their feet, getting dressed now. Kay decided she had better put some clothes on too. She was just reaching for her bra, when the door burst open with a tremendous splintering crash.
A wild-eyed Indian stood in the doorway, gripping a short log he had used as a battering ram. It was Tommy Taskoosh.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Still carrying the fencepost-sized log, Tommy charged across the room. The cameraman had been threading one leg into his pants when the door burst open. He snatched up a whip. Before he could use it, Tommy's log hit the sadistic photographer in the stomach. There was a sound like a ripe melon hitting concrete. He collapsed.
Tommy was on top of the lawyer. Punching and kicking, the irate Indian had bitten one ear nearly off before two uniformed policemen ran through the gaping door and pulled him off.
Mr. Veely's presence of mind did not desert him even then. "Thank you, officers," he said. "I'll be down to press charges just as soon as...." A woman came through the doorway, and Mr. Veely's pompous platitudes faltered. "Myra!" he groaned.
Kay finished pulling on her dress and peered bemusedly. It was the balding little lawyer's wife-the pleasant motherly woman Kay had thought might invite her to stay in their home. Mrs. Veely didn't look pleasant or motherly now. She looked mad. "We'll see who goes about pressing charges, you triple-timing sonofabitch! I've covered up and done your dirty work long enough!"
Kay tried to stand. The cops were still holding Tommy Taskoosh, who struggled and swore. He exhausted his English and mouthed Tlingit curses which, if Kay still understood the language correctly, seemed to involve roasting Mr. Veely's undetached testicles separately over slow fires. Kay was halfway to her feet and wondering when Tommy would finish detailing the lawyer's future and start programming hers. Then suddenly the room was spinning around. Dazedly, she wondered if it was an earthquake.
As it turned out, she had only fainted. She woke up in a bed with rails on the sides, feeling very sore all over. Moments later a nurse came in. "What happened?" Kay asked.
"D and C," the nurse said and slid a bedpan under her.
"What?"
"Dilation and curettage. It's standard procedure after a rape."
Kay felt drained. Finally she asked, "When'll I get out of here?"
"Depends. Maybe tomorrow. You'll have to take it easy for a few days."
"Oh." From the fuzziness around the two pieces of pipe she seemed to be looking through, Kay sensed that she must be under sedation. She closed her eyes.
The next time she opened them, a middle-aged woman in a severely tailored suit sat next to the bed. "I'm Mrs. McAlistair," she said. "I'm a policewoman."
"Oh?"
"We've developed the film."
That was the absolute end right there. Kay wondered if she could kill herself by holding her breath.
"How did they make you do it?"
Kay hesitated. If she told this grimly efficient woman what had happened between her and Miss Purlett, she would be no better off than she was now. No matter how it came out, Kay knew her innocence was gone forever. She sighed and told Mrs. MacAlistair about the blackmailing pictures.
"You'll swear it was Alma Purlett in the picture with you?"
Suddenly Kay realized what a fink she had been. The elegant blonde saleslady had been in the clear until Kay had thoughtlessly mentioned her name.
Mrs. MacAlistair noticed her hesitation. The policewoman's grim efficiency relaxed for a moment. "Don't sweat it, kid," she said. "If you knew how many other innocent children that blonde bitch has recruited, you'd be happy to see her put away!"
"Oh?"
"Understand now," the policewoman said. "I'm not offering any deals. You're underage and you've been running with a pretty rough crowd. But you might feel better about it if you knew you'd done something to keep some other girl from getting sucked in."
"What do you mean about deals?"
"I'm sorry," Mrs. MacAlistair said. "It's really not your fault, but you're only sixteen and you have no family. After an incident like this, no judge is going to turn you loose on the streets until you're of age."
"I see," Kay said.
"Will you identify Alma Purlett?"
Kay nodded.
"I'll type up a statement and be back tomorrow with a judge. You can sign it in front of him and we'll save a little time."
It sounded screwy to Kay, but she didn't know that much about law. Besides, she was tired and sleepy.
She felt much better the next day. She had gotten out of bed and walked up and down the hall once. She was resting when Mrs. MacAlistair came back with an elderly man. Mrs. MacA'istair handed Kay a couple of pages of single-spaced manuscript Kay read it. It seemed to tell the story of her involvement with Mr. Veely pretty much the way it had happened.
"You realize we're making no deals in exchange for this statement?" the judge asked. He seemed unhappy about the whole thing.
There was a sudden commotion outside in the hall. "You can't go in there!" a man's voice shouted.
An instant later a very angry, young Indian burst into the door of Kay's room, trailing an intern and a nurse who struggled to detain him. Glaring at the judge and the policewoman, Tommy growled, "Now just what kind of a fast shuffle are you pulling on my wife?"
Mrs. MacAlistair made the quickest recovery. "Your what?" she sneered. "Why wasn't the marriage ever recorded?"
"Common law," Tommy said. "And before you make any noises about corrupting a minor, I'm a month short of being eighteen myself. But as an emancipated minor, I'm capable of marrying without parental consent. The judge here can give consent for Kay and we can make it legal right here."
There was a moment's awed silence in the room. "You want cooperation and my wife'll give it to you," Tommy promised. "On the other hand, I and the rest of my nation have been shafted long enough by white lawyers. You fuck with me one more time, and the Tlingits are going on the warpath."
The aging judge looked at Tommy. The young Indian had a black eye and a purple bruise on his forehead. "Are you Tommy Taskoosh?" he demanded. "That's right."
The judge grinned. "From what I hear, you're already on the warpath." He turned to Kay. "Do you want to marry this young man?"
"Of course she does!" Tommy said. "Do you think she wants to rot in your fucking reformatory for five years? If she changes her mind, she can always get a divorce tomorrow. And a divorced woman's not legally a minor no matter what her age."
"I seem to remember that from somewhere," the judge said dryly. He looked at Kay again.
"What can I lose?" Kay asked.
Moments later she was the lawful spouse of Tommy Taskoosh. "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised as he herded the rest of them from the room. As she listened to their footsteps going down the hall, Kay realized that her new husband hadn't even kissed her.
She remembered the way he had burst in on her half-undressed with Mr. Veely and the whip-wielding cameraman. No wonder he hadn't kissed her! A childhood playmate who had become a luscious sixteen-year-old virgin was one thing. The star in a pornographic movie was something else. Tommy had married her for old time's sake. Hadn't he made it clear when he had said she could get a divorce tomorrow?
By next morning Kay was almost back to normal, save for one bruise on her face and a couple of tender spots where the cameraman's whip had removed skin. She was just finishing breakfast when Tommy burst in with an intern hanging from his elbow. "Fuck off!" he snapped. The intern decided to quit before he became a patient.
"Get dressed," Tommy said briskly. "We've got to leave."
He waited outside while Kay got into her clothes, then he led her down the hall. By the time they reached the lobby, Kay was walking normally.
"You can't just leave like that!" a nurse protested. "You've got to sign out and clear with accounting and...."
"Veely can take care of it," Tommy said. "He's on your board of directors and he'll have plenty of time."
"But you can't...."
Tommy turned. The nurse took another look at his ugly bruised face and decided maybe he could. Tommy led Kay out to a waiting taxi. There were things they had to discuss-arrangements to be made, but she couldn't talk about it with the cab driver listening.
They rode to the waterfront in silence and stopped at a dock. Tommy paid the fare and got her suitcase. Silently, he helped Kay down onto the deck of his decrepit boat. Kay remembered the last time she had been aboard this boat-the day Tommy had tried to rape her, and the news had provoked her father's heart attack. She willed herself not to cry. It didn't work. She silently braced herself in the pilothouse while Tommy started the diesel and cast off lines. Grimly, he steered out of the crowded harbor. Finally they were outside and he could put the boat on automatic pilot.
Tommy turned and saw her still standing there in the middle of the pilothouse, face screwed up in silent suffering as tears squeezed from her tight-shut eyes.
"I thought you and old Sam were in on it," he said.
"What?" Kay knew she was acting stupid, but she couldn't help herself. "Hear it run?"
Kay suddenly noticed Tommy's engine was running smoothly as if it had been rebuilt. The whole boat had been cleaned up considerably. Tommy was still looking at her.
"Kay, I'm sorry," he said. "I was mad. You get fucked out of everything you spent your whole life workin' and savin' for, you get mad-especially if you happen to be an Indian. But old Sam wasn't in on the swindle. That goddamn baldheaded bastard was fuckin' him too."
Kay still stood uncomprehending.
"The whole goddamn cooperative got cleaned out," Tommy continued. "That shyster of a Veely was so used to fucking Indians, he never thought I might've been taking a few correspondence courses in accounting, just so I could figure out where all our money was goin'." Kay looked at Tommy.
"He wasn't particular," Tommy continued. "He'd fuck a white man just as soon as an Indian. I knew he was robbing us blind. Robbing you and old Sam too, but when I tried to tell old Sam, he wouldn't believe me. Hell, my own father died thinkin' what a swell guy Mr. Veely was-the way he gave us so much free legal advice and handled all the paperwork for the cannery.
"Christ, Kay, I've been looking for you ever since I got wise. You gotta believe me, I was out of my skull the day I grabbed you."
Suddenly Kay was sobbing. Tommy wrapped her in his arms, and all at once Kay knew things would be all right between them.
"I wouldn't have got anywhere," Tommy continued, "If I hadn't wandered into a skin flick one night and something reminded me of our scalpless friend, Mr. Veely. Then I got in touch with his wife, and we traded information."
"Then old Sam wasn't really broke?" Kay asked.
"Oh, he was broke all right. Veely saw to that. It may take years to untangle it all, but I promise you one thing: You'll get it all back. Until you do, that bastard's going to be safer in prison than he will be outside with a few thousand Tlingits gunnin' for him."
It was warm in the pilothouse. Outside a wind was blowing horizontal sheets of sleety rain across the windows. Tommy studied the radar for a moment, then made a tiny alteration in the automatic pilot's heading. Satisfied, he began making coffee.
Kay sat on a bunk. For the first time since she had left the convent, she felt relaxed. Safe! She went to sleep, wondering why she should feel safe with Tommy Taskoosh?
Hours later Kay awoke. This time the last of the sedation had worked itself out of her system, and she felt whole and human. She was also very hungry. Tommy sat in the pilothouse, trying to keep awake as he watched the radar screen. "Where are we?" Kay asked.
Tommy showed her on the chart. "Hole 'er on this course for a couple of hours, while I get some sleep, and we won't have to lay up overnight."
"All right," Kay said.
Tommy returned to the galley and poured coffee. Kay saw him glance embarrassedly at her legs. She hadn't worn a dress often enough lately to remember the damn things didn't have any bottom to them. How long would it take to remember not to put her legs up on whatever table or chair was convenient?
She sat before the radar. There were blips of rocks astern but nothing showed ahead. She peered from the pilothouse windows. The weather wasn't bad for this part of the world. She could see almost a hundred yards. She stretched her legs across to another stool and tried to get comfortable. Even with bare legs it was warm and cozy in here. She wished she had time to buy some stockings. Panties too.
She glanced back at Tommy's bunk. Tommy wasn't sleeping. He lay relaxed, hands behind his head. He was looking at her bare legs. Kay felt a wave of prickly heat suffuse her chest and face. My god, after all that had happened to her, she was blushing! She tried to pull her skirt down, but it wouldn't go any farther.
She remembered that she was bare-assed under the dress. Had she been putting on a free show? Her long, tapering legs had been stretched across to another stool. Tommy got up and came to look at the radar screen. On its upper edge, a thin band of land was just beginning to appear with each sweep. "Couple of hours yet," he muttered and turned to go to his bunk.
"Tommy?"
"Yeah?"
"What about your wife in Sitka and your girl friend in Ketchikan?"
"Search me. I guess they're still there."
"Is that what you'll say to some other girl about me someday?"
Tommy considered the question seriously. "I dunno. Maybe. But I been thinkin' about you a lot longer'n I can remember the others."
"What is it makes men want to look at girls all the time?"
"Well," Tommy said thoughtfully, "They're nicer to look at than fish."
Kay looked at Tommy's handsome brown face. She had spent half her life among Indians, and she still was never sure when they were laughing at her. She was afraid she might be married to Tommy Taskoosh for quite a long time. She thought of all those wasted years in the convent. How long would it take her to unlearn all that foolishness?
Suddenly, before she could change her mind, j Kay stood up. She whipped her dress over her head and tossed it in a corner. Beneath it she wore nothing.
Tommy's eyes gleamed, but he said nothing.
"That's not fair," Kay complained. "I won the last three hands."
Remembering their interrupted game of strip poker five years ago, Tommy laughed. He began unbuttoning his shirt. Kay knelt and began fiddling with his belt. Moments later she pushed him back on his bunk.
Kay leaned over the bunk and dangled her lovely young breasts within snapping distance. "You can touch me if you want," she said, picking up from five years ago.
Tommy cupped his hands over her firm young front.
It was not at all as Kay had thought it would be. She had half-expected that burning blushing sensation and the sudden breathlessness that had come when the two lechers in Anchorage had abused her. Instead, she felt the same sense of motherly virtue that came from petting stray puppies.
Tommy took his hands away and buried his nose between her firm young breasts. He fastened his lips over one areola and angled around until the other nipple was plugged into his ear. Then he began running his tongue gently around her tender, still-growing nipple.
Then Kay felt it: the same rush-blush of hot blood that had suffused her before whenever she thought of all those carnal pleasures the sisters had been so uptight about. Tommy put one arm behind her firm young nates and guided her up astraddle the bunk, astraddle his smooth brown chest. Slowly, gently, with an ineffable tenderness, he kissed his way around her perky young breasts, around her midriff, tickled her into frantic giggles as he kissed a warm path down and around her tiny waist, then drove his sleek black head down until his tongue was augering its sensual way into her deep navel.
His hands caressed her head, her ears, her neck, ran their delicate fluttering way down her shoulders to give their butterfly touch to her tender breasts. How she had ever thought of Tommy as sudden and brutal?
She marveled that his work-hardened hands could be so gentle. Unerringly, the young Indian found the secret triggers that turned her on and guided her toward a gentle, fluttery anticipation. It felt so nice, she didn't ever want it to stop. His hands were caressing her tiny waist again. Now they came down around her hips as his tongue worked its delicate way down from her navel to skirt the upper edge of her wispy pubic triangle.
Kay leaned back, stretching so Tommy would not have to strain his neck. Her hands fell on his hips. She remembered their last time together-his frantic need-how he had dissolved in a spasm of delight when she touched his masculinity. Should she grab it now? Maybe if she did, the same thing would happen and spoil it all.
She remained astraddle him, arched backward, wondering if he would continue nuzzling his way down past her wispy pubic patch, down into that secret treasure trove of ineffable delights. Slowly, she felt him kiss his way past her pubic mound, up the tender inner surface of one creamy thigh and down the other. His hands caressed her firm bottom. His fingers made darting forays into the crack between her nates, each probing tickling finger leaving her slightly more breathless.
Kay was still wondering if she dared put her hand on that supersensitive brown nozzle, when Tommy solved the problem. His hands grasped her by the hips and lifted her effortlessly. Kay felt herself spin in a half turn above Tommy. Then she was being lowered back onto his bronzed muscular body. Only this time they were head-to-foot. She felt an anticipatory quiver of delight as she remembered the way Miss Purlett had tormented her virginal slit into quivering, uncontrollable ecstasy.
Only Tommy wasn't all delicate fluttery tickles like the elegant blonde saleslady. First, he planted kisses on her clitoris. Then he really dived in, running his tongue back and forth, torturing her secret slit from end to burning end.
Kay felt her thighs clamp uncontrollably over his ears. She hunted for Tommy's thing, but that sudden rush-blush was turning her body into a mass of uncontrollable trembles. Unlike Miss Purlett and the pair of male tormentors who had ravished her, Tommy didn't hold back. She was trembling, quivering, moaning uncontrollably, and she was filled with terror at the thought that he would probably stop just short of fulfillment and force her again and again through this sweet torture.
But Tommy didn't stop. Kay felt her legs opening and closing over Tommy's ears, but Tommy kept at it, licking, sucking, nibbling on her fluttering clit, until Kay knew she was approaching the point of no return. "Ooooohhhh!" she moaned. Tommy's calloused hands continued their delicate probing around her prurient pussy, contributing nobly to the cause as his tongue tickled her to undreamed dimensions of pleasure.
"Ooooohhhh, Tommy!" she moaned, trying once again to find his rigid thrill drill. It was no use. Kay felt the sudden spurt of warm juices, felt herself dissolving in the sweet ecstasy of the most prolonged orgasm she had ever known. And still Tommy wouldn't quit. He was tonguing her, licking her, titillating her tender clit with his tongue while his fingers made darting forays into her vagina, up her anus, into each of the tender triggers of her body.
Just as her deliciously prolonged explosion was ending, Kay felt the contracting waves start anew. Her body was shaking and trembling with the violence of prolonged pleasure.
Finally it ended. She wanted to sleep, to die quietly before life overwhelmed her with disappointments. After this, what else could life offer?
Finally she found his thudding thumper. Kay forced herself to stop trembling. She felt around and slipped her mouth gently over his pounding pillar. Licking its underside gently, she ran a languid finger up and down the tender crack behind his scrotum, hoping it would be as sensually pleasurable for him as it was for her. Despite her satiation Kay felt herself reviving as Tommy's tongue tickled her clit into new dimensions of awareness.
Tommy's pelvis began moving as he gently ran his slick-sliding slammer in and out of her mouth. Kay worried about ending it all in a sudden explosion, but Tommy didn't seem to be in any danger. Slowly and sensually, he continued running his rod in and out of her lips while he pursed his lips over Kay's clit and sucked. Kay felt that sudden rush-blush of blood again, felt hidden muscles contract spasmodically and knew it was going to happen again.
Licking and sucking frantically, Kay felt the tip of his tool peep out of its prepuce. She grasped it with her hand and squeezed, helping the process along with her lips and teeth. Tommy's foreskin peeled back, and she felt the naked throbbing head of his hammer rasp over her tongue. Tommy gave a sigh of delight and redoubled his licking, tickling, kissing efforts, to force her over the precipice of pure pleasure one more time.
Tommy gripped her waist and gently maneuvered her until they lay on their sides in the narrow bunk, heads pillowed on each other's inner thighs. Kay continued cautiously kissing and licking Tommy's bare-headed barb, vaguely worried that it would erupt like it had on their first encounter. But each time she slowed down, Tommy signaled his disapproval by redoubling his efforts, kissing, licking and squeezing her, until Kay helplessly felt love's elixir flow in renewed spurts from her pleasure-satiated pussy.
She moaned uncontrollably, squeezing her thighs over Tommy's ears as he dug his head in deeper and got her clit between his teeth. This time he was torturing her past the limits of human endurance. "Ooooohhhh!" Kay wailed, "Ooooohhhh, Tommy!" She felt her body thrashing uncontrollably, abandoned to the lustful pleasures of love. She tried desperately to remember to kiss and caress his cock. If only she could do for him one tenth of what he was doing for her. Suddenly the gently rolling fishing boat seemed to be turning upside-down. She heard the growl of the engine grow louder in her ears, and then she felt nothing.
When Kay woke up, Tommy stood naked before the radar screen. "Is everything all right?" she asked.
"No sweat," Tommy said, returning to the bunk.
This time he just lay beside her, gently crowding the front of his naked bronzed body against the milk-white skin of Kay's firm, sixteen-year-old breasts. They lay quiet for a moment while Kay incredulously realized the glow of passion was growing with her again. God, she thought, all the convent crap I've still got to unlearn before I can relax and enjoy my body!
But when Tommy kissed her and invaded her mouth with his tongue, she knew this magnificent young Indian would show her the way. Gently, he got her on her back and spread her legs. Very carefully, he began inserting his fine, firm erection into her. Good heavens, she thought, it's even bigger than Mr. Veely's! She felt herself stretching more than she had ever imagined she could stretch.
"Am I hurting you?" Tommy asked.
"Oooooh, no!" Kay panted. She wriggled her bottom around, trying to make it easier for Tommy.
"You still want some more?" he persisted. "Oooooh, yes!" Kay breathed, biting his ear. Tommy finally got the head in and began his first slow, sensuous shove into those secret parts he had been longing to explore since their strip poker game five years ago. Kay sighed.
Tommy began feeding her long, slow and careful strokes as if still afraid his enormous erection might hurt such a tiny girl. Occasionally he reared back and arched his back, to nibble her tiny, perfectly formed breasts. Twisting and contorting, he even got his hand down between her legs, to flick her turgid clit, which was stretched nearly out of shape to accommodate his pulsating pleasure pole.
Tommy pumped away, slowly and carefully, pulling out with each stroke until the head nearly broke free, leaving Kay in a sweet suspenseful agony each time, until she felt that comforting bulk drive back into her. Panting and moaning, Kay wailed her joy, her gratitude at being liberated from the dry sterile teachings of the convent. Twice more she went limp in total relaxation as that rush-blush of fulfillment suffused her. Each time she woke to the joyous knowledge that Tommy was still pumping away, his tremendous tool sliding in and out of her with the tight-fitting regularity of a piston in his boat's newly rebuilt engine. It felt so relaxingly, deliciously good that Kay felt herself going to sleep.
She came awake suddenly. Still plugged into her, Tommy was lifting her out of the narrow bunk. Kay put her arms around his neck, wrapped her long tapering legs around his waist and felt his hands cupping her buttocks as he walked across the room. With each step his rigid rod achieved new depths. By the time he had stepped into the boat's tiny shower with her still skewered on his spike, Kay was gasping with delight.
It was so crowded in the shower that Tommy had to pull his purple-headed pile driver out and stand her up in front of him. Kay forgot her disappointment as Tommy washed her back, her tits, her crotch. Finally he was done, and Kay maneuvered him around until she could kneel in the tiny shower and soap his joint. Washing his rod-hard firmness, Kay suddenly realized that her tireless young husband still had not fired his first load.
Impulsively, she kissed up and down its brown, wet-glistening length. Tommy caressed her head, reached down to rub his hands gently over her firm young breasts while she put the peeled tip of his banana in her mouth. He let her suck it, kiss and lick it for a while, then he pulled her gently upward until they faced one another. Laughing, they kissed beneath the still-running shower. Then Tommy turned the water off, and they dried one another with tent-sized towels.
Tommy picked her up and went to the pilothouse. Still holding her in his arms, he studied the radar screen and made a small adjustment in their course. Then he carried Kay back to the bunk and deposited her there with the same loving care as if she were made of some delicately fragile crystal. Kay felt sudden desperate disappointment when he turned away. But a moment later Tommy returned with two brimming glasses of champagne.
Arms interlocked, they sipped the bubbly liquid. Tommy smiled. Kay smiled. They kissed, eagerly swapping tongues, then finished their champagne. Tommy got rid of the glasses, then very gently climbed into the bunk. He knelt between Kay's thighs and carefully began threading his tremendous thumping tool into the tiny aperture between her lovely thighs. Kay sighed and waited. Soon she felt that deliciously wonderful rush-blush come again. Tommy pushed very slowly, waiting to see if she would complain.
Kay didn't. Finally she felt his pelvis grind against her own. Very cautiously, Tommy wiggled in a rotary motion, searching out all the hidden corners of love's secret chamber. Kay felt a moment's fleeting pity for the well-meaning sisters who would never know this joy. Then abruptly she thought, to hell with them! If that's what turns them on, well bully for them. Just don't ever try to make me live that way again!
Tommy buried his face in her breasts, kissed her tiny nipples to turgidity without interrupting his coitus motions. Gently, he lifted her and they strained, stretching legs at odd angles until Tommy was sitting on the edge of the bunk with his feet on the floor, and Kay sat facing him, rubbing her firm young tits in his face while they rocked back and forth.
Her legs were locked firmly around Tommy's waist. Each time Tommy rocked forward, Kay was forced back, and his face would dip to kiss her turgid nipples as his throbbing tool withdrew. Then he would rock back and Kay would come forward, burying her face in Tommy's smooth chest as his rigid love muscle penetrated to the end of her vagina and just a tiny hurting bit beyond.
Gradually Kay emerged from her private pleasure, to realize that Tommy was rocking just a tiny bit faster, driving just a little harder as his pelvis lunged to complete each stroke. She felt that sudden rush-blush of hot young blood and felt her insides flow around Tommy's firm flagpole.
She felt so deliciously loose and relaxed. Tommy wasn't hurting her at the bottom of each stroke now. Then suddenly there was a sudden sharp pain, and she felt Tommy's rampant rigidity force itself past some restriction and into new depths of her being. Good heavens, is he in my womb?
Tommy felt it too, a sudden delicious constriction about the head of his throbbing honker. He gripped Kay's hips and pulled her down harder, rocking back and forth faster as he nuzzled and licked her firm young breasts with increasing abandon. "Ready or not," Tommy yodeled, "Here I come!"
"Oooooh!" Kay moaned. She struggled to stop herself, to contain the rippling waves of pleasure that threatened to tear her apart. Tommy was rocking frantically now, pulling her savagely down on his thrill drill each time she came forward. "Ooooohhhh, Tommmmy!" she wailed.
She felt the pulsating surge of his tremendous thing within her, thumping and pumping in time with his raging pulse. Then abruptly Kay felt the first tiny spurt that meant Tommy's joy was as great as her own. She stopped straining and let it happen, reveling in the joy of knowing that her own juices were mingling with the squirting jets of Tommy's joy. "Oooh Kay!" he grunted, giving a final joyous lunge.
When Kay woke up, Tommy was guiding the boat up a narrow inlet. It was morning and the sunlight glinted off the blue water. "Where are we?" she asked.
Tommy pointed. Kay got up and peered through the pilothouse window. As she stood staring, Tommy's hands cupped her fine young jugs in an affectionate squeeze.
"The cannery!" Kay exclaimed.
"It's yours again," Tommy said. "Now that goddamn Veely's not stealing us blind, we'll make a go of it. We'll get the cannery running again too. But first, I've got to do something else."
Hastily, Tommy got into pants and a sweat shirt, then ran out on deck. Still naked, Kay guided the boat toward the dock and throttled down. Tommy snubbed the bowline over the cleat. Moments later he had the boat secured. Kay killed the diesel and began hunting for her clothes. Tommy came back inside the pilothouse. "Hurry up and get dressed," he said.
Vaguely disappointed, Kay turned. "Why?" she asked.
Tommy grinned. "I want to go down by the boiler room and finish that game of strip poker," he said.
