The eternal triangle is one of the oldest sources of conflict in the history of the world. Since time began, there has been the battle for a mate, to assure the survival of the species. Not long after the first living organism prowled the primordial seas, that first battle was fought. The fittest was the one to survive, the one to claim his mate, and to assure that his superior characteristics would be carried into the next generation.
When mankind first arrived on the scene, he was little better than the animals. He would fight his fellow man with his teeth and his claws for the favor of the woman. As his brain grew and his capacity to utilize weapons increased, the battles became more ferocious, with clubs, spears, and even more deadly arms supplanting the feeble weapons with which he was born.
Along with new weapons came new understanding, however. As a need for order was recognized, rules were established. Ritualized combat became the style of civilized man, from the Code Duello of Medieval Europe to the Rules of Queensbury. To breach these rules was to bring dishonor upon one's self, and upon one's family.
Modern society has eroded these concepts of personal and family honor. Today the tendency is not to judge an act by the standard of honor, but by the standard of effectiveness. If the act goes unpunished or undetected, there is no dishonor; no wrong has been committed. The foundations of "civilization" are more weakened than they have been in centuries.
Thus, today, when the battle has been joined, there is no code to govern the duel. No weapons are barred, no tactics are forbidden. To the victor go the spoils, while to the loser go disgrace and ruin.
But what happens when the woman herself becomes a weapon in the hands of one contestant or the other ? What happens when one man is willing to turn the very prize of the battle against his opponent ? Then, during the course of the conflict, the woman herself, the root cause of the struggle, may be destroyed.
In Forced To Please, a woman finds herself in just such a position. Author Jason Simmons takes you into the mind and body of a young woman who has struggled up from a pitiable background through the help of one man. She finds, however, that as his possession she is his to use as he sees fit
With a ruthlessness that belies his civilized exterior, he turns her to his own use. In his continuing struggle for power and status in the unforgiving world of today, he uses her body as a weapon. When his dominance is threatened, he thrusts her forward into the heart of the battle.
Stripping away the layers of hypocrisy, the author reveals the uncivilized core of man today. Codes and rules vanish as two men join in a struggle from which only one can emerge a victor.
Probing into the past of the woman, the author reveals just what it is that can make a woman vulnerable to being so abused. The climb upward from the mud can leave memories more horrible than any present or threatening future. Eventually, a home filled with luxuries is turned into a house of horrors from which the only escape seems to be death.
Right down to the explosive final chapter, this is a story of today. At stake are not only the favors of the woman, but also all the trappings that supposedly label "success" in today's world. To the victor will go not only a mate, but also wealth, status and power. The loser will be left only with ashes where hopes and dreams had once existed.
The tactics of the men may shock you, the language horrify you. But, throughout, you will never forget that this could be happening today, in your town, perhaps even on your street. This timely novel will indelibly impress upon you just how thin the veneer of civilization is, and just how brutish the core of man can be when he enters into battle to gain a mate.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
Karen Hopkins rolled slowly over, sat up, and dropped her dainty legs over the side of the huge bed. Squirming her toes into the thick, warm carpet, she combed the tangles out of her sleek brown hair. Her husband, Harry, had been up and gone for hours. His side of the bed was rumpled and cool and empty.
"Well, now what?" Karen asked, still sitting on the side of the bed, her reflection in the mirrored sliding doors of the closets lining one wall of the large bedroom. Ruefully, she surveyed the short, nearly transparent baby-doll pajamas she was wearing. They had been, it turned out, as much wasted effort as every other trick she had tried in the last-how long?-weeks?
Her mind drifting idly, Karen found herself wondering when she had ever gone this long without sex before. Certainly not since she had gotten married. And before that Harry and she had managed to find time alone at least once a week. Before Harry there had only been Carl.
Carl had had her one time, her first time. God, that had been good, even that first time it had been good, making her regret all the wasted years.
It had started as one of their usual dates. . . .
* * *
He had picked her up at the diner in his battered old Chevy pickup truck. The night was warm, the sun was sending a final glare of red light down the road at them as they had driven toward the drive-in movie. She had snuggled against his side just the way she had been doing for weeks. But this time he had draped his arm over her shoulder. That had been the first hint that perhaps this night was going to be different.
Through the first feature they had stayed parked in their customary spot not far from the refreshment stand. But this time, when she had come back from the rest room, Carl had started the car. She didn't protest, and he drove to the shadowy back row and parked under a huge tree. The speaker had been stolen. Both of them knew they wouldn't miss it.
Karen had never gone "oil the way" and she had no intention of doing so this time. But Carl's kissess were searing hot, and his strong tongue drove into her mouth in a way that permitted no argument. Karen's heart had hammered like never before.
When his big hand had descended on her soft breast, and pressed warmly through her soft sweater and flimsy bra, she had gripped his wrist, intending to remove his hand. Instead, she had pressed his palm down even harder, mashing her soft, hot mound, feeling her nipple harden like a pebble. It was painful against the lace cup restraining it.
In hours, or perhaps minutes, or probably seconds, her skimpy sweater had been opened, letting cool air touch her skin. Carl had rubbed his demanding hand over the lace of her bra, making it scrape her nipple, triggering searing fire in her body like she had never felt before. When Carl had wormed his hands behind her back for the hooks to her bra, she had leaned against him, fighting for breath, willing him to hurry-hurry.
When he had closed his sensuous lips on her taut, excited nipple, the last fragments of her resistance vanished. He hadn't needed to guide her hands to his slap, where a velvet-covered, hard as steel erection pulsed warmly. Her fingers curled around his powerful cock as if they had been made to grip that hot tool. Carl had slid his hand up under her short skirt and her thighs had opened easily, letting his fingers press into her hot, warmly wet crotch. The filmy barrier of her panties was pushed aside and his fingers plunged into her sticky, oozing crevice, passing through the curling hairs as if they weren't even there.
Ignoring the entanglements of the steering wheel and door handles, Karen had lain back on the front seat, letting Carl lewdly spread her legs wide. Her skirt was up around her waist, her panties wadded in a ball on the floor. Her hungry vagina open and sweating in the night air, she had waited eagerly for his assault.
His heavy body covered hers, his big chest crushing her lush breasts. There was a hard mass between them, and then it was poking at her cuntal opening. Gripping his shoulders, Karen braced herself for the moment of truth.
She had cried out with pain at his first hard drive into her. Then, when he had seemed willing to back out because of her cry, she gripped at him, hauling him into her, burying his wonderful hard phallus deep in her. And the pain had vanished in a wash of unbelievable pleasure.
Karen had thrilled to the friction of his hot cock against the slick, clinging walls of her virgin vagina. With the night air brushing the tears from her cheeks, she had welcomed the flood of hot fluid pouring into her eager young body.
The only regret she had had after it was done was that she had waited so long.
* * *
Now, Karen thought as she sat on the bed, how long had it been since her husband had last had her? It seemed like years, but it could only be a few weeks at most. Even that, though, was too long.
Karen frowned, and pursed her lips in frustration. She clenched her fingers tightly on the corner of the mattress. The baby-doll pajamas had been just as much a waste as the mirrored wall she was staring into. Harry had insisted it would be the "piece de resistance" of their new home, the crowning touch that would complete the bedroom of their lush love nest.
With a snort of frustration, Karen hauled her mind away from that train of thought. Getting up, she reached for her short, frilly robe. As she slipped it on, she couldn't help noticing the way her prominent nipples shifted inside her sheer pajama tops. She couldn't help remembering how Harry, an ex-Navy man, used to say she carried a lot of sail for such a small ship.
Karen turned sideways, pausing before she slipped her robe on. She pulled the hem of her pajama tops in, tugging the filmy fabric tight against her full breasts. There was no more hint of sag now than there had been when she had been sixteen.
With a shrug of irritation, Karen pulled the robe on and fastened a single button at the throat, letting the rest of the front hang open as she strode into the bathroom. Finishing there, she didn't even bother to dress, but wandered out into the rest of the house, still in her filmy pajamas and brief robe.
Passing through the kitchen, she assembled a makeshift breakfast, then wandered into the living room. Picking up the remote control, she flicked the big console color TV to life. Without bothering to sit down, she thumbed the channel selector button on the control. The scene on the screen flickered from women's talk shows to soap operas to screaming game shows to preschool children's shows. Nothing caught Karen's attention.
Karen resolutely refused to even contemplate the empty day ahead of her. She was beginning to wonder if this lush life was all it was cracked up to be. Searching for some compensation for boredom, frustration, and loneliness, she switched on the four-channel sound system and picked up the morning paper beside Harry's chair.
Nothing, absolutely nothing. The headlines were meaningless, and the sound surrounding her was an irritation rather than a soothing blanket. A quick twist of her wrist silenced it.
"What's the matter with me?" she asked aloud, then wished she hadn't. The sound of her own voice in the empty house only emphasized her hollow feeling.
Didn't she have everything she had ever dreamed of? This house was beyond her wildest expectations-modern, with every convenience and comfort-from wall-to-wall carpeting to central air conditioning and a dishwasher that did everything but load itself. There was a speaker in every room, color televisions wherever she wanted them, fine furniture. But it felt as totally hollow as if it were a cave.
Of course, no one had yet come to welcome her to the neighborhood. She had left her old friends behind, with no misgivings, because of what she was moving up to. But no new friends had moved in to fill the vacuum. Just like them. Snobs. And who wanted to have a snob for a friend?
Karen gazed out on the glaring hot pool deck. There was no hint of the day's real heat inside the house. The summer hot spell had held for five days, and promised to hold for at least five more. The surface of the pool sparkled invitingly, until it at last lured Karen out through the sliding glass doors.
The summer heat descended on her all at once as she slid the doors closed behind her. Even in the shade of the patio, it was almost furnace hot. Feeling totally secure behind the eight-foot fence, Karen carelessly shed her robe and dropped it on the wide, double chaise. Grasping the hem of her filmy pajama top, she stripped it up over her head and let it drop. She felt the warm summer air touch her bare breasts and midriff. Quickly and gracefully, she shed her little panties and stepped to the edge of the pool.
Cautiously, conscious of her limited swimming ability, Karen went down the stairs molded into the corner of the pool, the cool water feeling like an icy ring as it crept higher on her shapely thighs. Its first touch against her completely exposed crotch brought a gasp from her lips She sucked in her stomach as the water surged still higher with her final steps into the pool. Pushing off from the bottom, she leaned forward and drifted through the water. She could feel her nipples tensing from the sudden change in temperature from the warm air to the cool water.
Conscious of every eddy of water past her naked body, Karen slowly paddled the length of the pool. Reaching the deep end, she clung to the edge beside the diving board she had never had the nerve to try.
Overhead, the sky was unbelievably blue. Somewhere on the other side of the fence, some birds were singing listlessly in the heat.
Maybe if I put up some kind of bird feeder, Karen thought.
When she got back to the shallow end, she trudged up the steps to the concrete deck, droplets of water sparkling on her bare skin, beading the darker circles of her nipples. She dragged one of the lounges out from the shade of the patio and settled into it to let the sun dry her off.
With nothing else to really occupy it, her mind drifted unerringly back to what was really bothering her. Harry hadn't paid any attention to her in weeks. She had come to love his rough, demanding way with her. He had swept her off her feet in the first place, given her no chance to resist or turn him down. From the first time he had come into the diner and she had served him coffee, he hadn't let anything stand in his way.
The diner! God, was it good to be out of that hideous trap. Never again was she going to have to endure endless hours on her feet, serving greasy hamburgers and dishwater coffee to a bunch of truck drivers who came not for the food but for the chance to grope her and ogle her as she served them. She would never, ever again be dodging their grabbing hands or flinching under their leering stares. She had been mentally undressed a hundred times a day.
There had been a few, a very few of the drivers-the regulars-that had been halfway decent to her. Until Harry had come along there had been Carl.
And then Harry had come along, and that was all there had been to it. All the others, even Carl, had been driven away, instantaneously.
Karen hadn't mourned their passing. Harry was everything she had ever dreamed of while she had lain on her dismal cot in the back of the diner. He was strong, powerful, handsome in a rugged way and, above all, successful. She had found out quickly enough that he was the owner of the biggest trucking outfit in the area. He had built it with his own hands, starting by driving his own truck, then expanding until he was "numero uno," his firm standing head and shoulders above all the rest.
Perhaps that was the reason the other drivers had suddenly backed away from her, Karen thought. Harry was powerful. He had ways, she had heard, to make, or break, any driver he chose to. If an independent driver got in bad with Harry Hopkins, he suddenly found himself with no customers. With no customers, there was no way to pay for thirty thousand dollars' worth of long haul rig and it was back to the factory assembly line or the unemployment line.
But what was wrong with Harry? He was behaving as if he were made of iron. Karen had tried every trick in the book, and he had refused to lay a hand on her.
Pensively, Karen looked down at her nude body as it tanned slowly in the sun. A few lingering beads of water dotted her skin. Her breasts were large and full for someone as small as she was, just like Harry said. And there was no hint of sag to the full mounds. As if to double check that thought, Karen ran gentle fingers along the curving underside of her firm boobs. The touch of her own hands there made her shiver. Dropping her arms, she gripped the metal arms of the lounge until her knuckles were white.
What if Harry were getting what he needed somewhere else? The thought sent a sick, icy chill deep into her guts. Dear God, what if she were losing him to another woman? The thought that he might even discard her brought a knot of terror to Karen's throat. What would she do ?
It couldn't be that, it just couldn't be! Harry had never even looked at another woman since they had met. Besides, he was almost as married to his trucking business as he was to her. His business was booming, was more successful than ever. Karen knew he spent every hour he wasn't with her trying to expand, to line up still more customers, hire more drivers, lease or buy more trucks.
That was it! That's what the trouble was. His business. He was working so hard he was exhausted when he got home. He brought contracts and papers home with him and sweated over them late into the night. When he finally did fall into bed he was so nearly asleep he hardly ever even looked at her.
Karen sighed deeply, making her large breasts rise and fall. That had to be the explanation. There was the house to be paid for and the new car and everything, so he had to work hard.
But where does that leave me? Karen thought. She had her needs, too. What was she supposed to do? It wasn't that she was a wanton. She had been a virgin, almost, when they had married. There had only been Carl, that once, and then only because she had thought he might marry her, she told herself. That had been just the week before Harry had appeared on the scene. But, after all, now she was a married woman, had been married for over a year. She had gotten used to getting it regularly from Harry. She liked it, the feel of his strong, rough body against her, crushing her breasts. She loved that big, hot mass of his filling her tight channel, pumping her full of hot, thick fluid.
Just thinking about it was enough to make Karen's guts knot with desire. Her fingers tightened on the arms of the chair as she fought the urge to scratch that desperate itch that was growing in her guts.
No. Never. She had never done that, ever. She couldn't. She couldn't!
Her fingers unwrapped from around the arms of the chair, touched her ribs, slid upward to cup the heavy globes of her breasts. Her chest heaved with a sob as a wandering finger and thumb tweaked her exquisite nipples, pinching the bud, sending ripples of excitement burning through her body, unlocking the muscles of her slender legs, sliding her shapely thighs open. Warm sun spilled onto her sensitive folds, sending a wave of heat through her sensuous tissues.
She had to do something! And this was the only thing she could do. She knew she shouldn't, but she had to do something. Maybe this would work, maybe this would quench the fire in her.
Slowly, hesitantly, she slid her right hand down her lush belly, letting her finger dip enticingly into her navel. She pressed her hand lower, reluctantly prodding her finger through the curling wisps of her bush. She was fighting herself desperately, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't want to do this, but she had to do something for herself or she was going to go mad.
Her fingers pressed over the full lips of her cleft, and she let her breath out in one hot gust that hissed loudly in the late morning silence. Writhing on the lounge in the hot sun, she fought the urge to probe herself more deeply, to find the hot, sensitive spots that would bring her shuddering release. The sun burned through her eyelids, heated her breasts and her belly, as she desperately massaged herself and brought her lust boiling higher and higher.
The outside bell of the telephone brutally jarred her back from the heights. With a guilty jerk she lurched up, her hands torn away from their hot work.
Damn, damn, damn, she had been so close, so very, very close.
The phone shrilled insistently, dragging her up off the chaise. On shaking legs she tottered over to the instrument in the wall by the doors. Gripping the receiver, she heaved one deep breath in an attempt to steady herself and her voice. Then, leaning against the house, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.
"Hi, Baby. It's me, Harry."
"H-Harry? Hi, Honey!" Karen was jolted, as much by the sound of her husband's voice as by her brutal sexual disappointment. She felt a quiver of shame talking to him, considering what she had just been doing.
"You okay? You sound kind of funny," Harry commented.
"I'm fine, fine," Karen insisted, a little too sharply. She was not okay. The was ashamed, but even worse, she was more frustrated now than she had been. That itch down inside her was almost irresistible, and she had to fight the urge to reach down with her free hand and pry into her slit even while she was talking on the telephone.
She took another careful breath. "It's just that you never call at this time. Is anything wrong?"
" 'Course not, he assured her. "I just called to tell you I'll be home a little early tonight, and to tell you to put on that roast that's in the freezer."
Karen's heart leapt. With Harry coming home early, and a special dinner, maybe he had the same idea she had been burning up with. She carefully kept her voice steady. "Sure, Honey. I'll do the roast. Medium rare, huh?"
"Hold on a second," Harry answered. There was distant, muffled talking as he covered the receiver with his hand. "Make it more on the rare side, Baby."
"Are you sure? You like it more mediumish," Karen pointed out.
"I'm bringing a special client home for dinner," Harry explained. "He-likes it rare."
Karen's hopes dropped sharply. "A special client?"
"Yeah," Harry answered. "He's not coming with me exactly. He'll be along about seven for drinks and dinner and stuff. Make sure everything's just right for him, okay?"
Karen sighed. "Okay."
"Take care, Baby, I'll see you at six," Harry said.
"Bye-bye," Karen replied. "I love you."
The phone went dead. Karen hung up slowly, trying to ignore the steady, nerve-racking itch deep down in her being. Sullenly, she sauntered back to the lounge and stretched out in the sun.
"Darn, darn, darn," she muttered angrily.
She had cooked dinners for clients before and it didn't bother her. Usually it was someone already doing business with Harry, but whose contract was nearly up. Harry called it greasing the wheels, to give them a pleasant home-cooked meal while haggling out the final details. Sometimes the wife was along, which was good and bad. It meant that Karen had someone to talk to herself but, frequently, the wife looked down on Karen as "that truck-stop broad." Usually, though, the wife was not along, if there was a wife. Karen had learned not to ask that question. When that happened, when the party was stag, she felt almost as if she were back in the diner again. Harry usually wanted her in one of her sexiest outfits, and no matter what, she had to be nice to the client.
Tipping her head back to let the sun hit her full in the face, Karen's forehead furrowed as she thought of this. From what Harry had said, it was to be one of those nights again.
Well, it would just serve Harry right. Maybe she would just be especially nice to his client, she thought vindictively.
Then she shuddered at the thought. No, never. The only man she wanted was Harry. He was her husband, she was his woman and no one else's.
But, dear God, she was horny. Just the warmth of the sun was enough to drive her crazy. She let her beautiful legs slide open again and felt the hot summer air chill her own moisture between her thighs. There was that ferocious, unending itch. She just had to do something about it. And if they were entertaining a client tonight, it would be best if she did something about it now, as best she could, rather than disgrace her husband by fawning all over him at dinner. He hated that in public, her always touching him.
With this excuse, Karen's left hand quickly found her heavy breast. She rolled the nipple between her finger and thumb, sending new excitement flashing through her as she baked in the sun. Bending her knees, she spread her shapely thighs, providing a funnel to lead her fingers into the sparse curls of her pubic hair. This time she slipped one finger between her labia, probing the opening, searching for the special feelings she knew were there.
Her finger touched the hot button of her clitoris and a shock wave of pleasure ripped through her, knotting her muscles, wrenching a soft moan of pleasure from her lips. She rolled the bud against the hard ridge of bone just under it, and her entire body started to jerk and quiver from the marvelous sensations.
It was just the way it had been when Carl had done that to her, that incredible, wild time at the drive-in.
What was she doing, thinking of Carl again? Harry was her husband, he was the one she should be thinking of as she fingered herself to the brink of ecstasy.
But Carl had been her first. Remembering that hot, searing time, Karen wriggled a finger deeper into her body. The heat in her own body was matched by the hot sun burning the insides of her naked thighs. Her hips were writhing and jerking.
Cock was what she had waited anxiously for, hot, hard cock to be sunk deep into her young, virgin opening. And Carl had delivered it, at last. He had rammed his powerful shaft deep into her guts. Then there had been one short, sharp, searing pain, then delicious fullness and incredible pleasure.
Karen rammed her finger deep inside herself, a feeble imitation of the hot rod she really needed hammered into her. Grinding and squeezing her clitoris, she wriggled her finger deep in her vagina in a frantic attempt to attain the peak she so desperately needed.
Closer and closer she soared to that crest, to that cascade of pleasure she knew was there.
There were no interruptions, no intrusions. Locked in her mind she held the memory of her first incredible experience, while she fought to recreate it with her own hands on her own body.
She was doing it! She was going to do it! Just a few seconds more and it would happen, just one, tiny, incredible fraction of what had to be done was left to be done.
"Aaaahhhh," she sighed, a gargling sound deep in her throat, a desperately strangled cry of pure pleasure. Her orgasm roared over her as she writhed in the sun, her hands working and working on her hot flesh. The muscles of her shapely buttocks gripped at the rough plastic webbing of the lounge, knotting as the pleasure roared through her.
Then, at last, the crest of pleasure was past, her muscles relaxing all at once, her body falling limp, her thighs spreading wide open to the warm summer sun. Reluctantly, she withdraw her hand from her crotch and wiped her sticky juices on her naked stomach. She felt them dry chill and cold on her bare skin.
With a groan of effort, she rolled upright, swinging her legs over and putting her dainty feet on the hot concrete deck. For a few seconds she sat, slumped, staring down blindly at the hairs of her pubic vee, sticky and gleaming wet with her own juices. Then she pushed herself to her feet and stepped over to the edge of the pool. Sitting down, she dangled her feet and splashed cooling water over her steaming vaginal lips. A quick levering of her arms and she was standing in the pool, the cooling refreshing water up to her slender waist, sluicing away the sticky traces of her self-abuse.
Carefully and wearily, she side-stroked her way down the length of the pool, feeling the water wash away her lustful sweat. Her body was relaxed and at ease for the first time in weeks, no longer knotted by its own frustration. But her mind was as troubled as ever.
Why was Harry ignoring her? It was a perpetual, nagging question. She had carefully kept herself the way he liked her, the way he wanted her. She did what he asked her to do, and yet he hadn't laid a hand on her in weeks.
It just had to be the job, there couldn't be another reason. And, remembering how she had thought of Carl as she had masturbated, she thought of something else. At dinner a few nights ago, Harry had been fuming about Carl, something about Carl building up his own trucking firm. Harry had been furious about it.
Karen had tried to make light of it, telling Harry that he didn't have anything to worry about. Her assurances had done nothing to calm her husband.
"I'll ruin that SOB," Harry had insisted. "I'll grind him right down into the dirt. Nobody's going to cut in on my business. And certainly not Carl Sands. Bastard!"
"What's wrong with Carl?" Karen had asked carefully and softly. "I always thought he was-sort of nice. At least, he didn't strike me as being as bad as all that."
"You know damn well why I think what I think about that bastard," Harry had rasped sharply. "You think I don't know about you and him?"
Karen had felt an icy chill. "About him and me?"
Harry had braced his elbow on the dinner table, and aimed his fork sharply at her. He had punctuated his next remark with sharp jabs of his hand. "Nothing, but nothing, goes on in trucking in this town that I don't know about," Harry had snarled. "And that means who's screwing who, and when and where. You and that bastard had a hot thing going, and I know it."
"But, Harry . . . " , "Shut up," Harry had snapped sharply.
Karen had stared at her plate in silence, hoping he was cooling down. Finally, she had had to say something. "That was over a long time ago," she had muttered softly.
"That was over when I put an end to it," Harry had informed her. "And now that bastard is trying to cut himself in on my business, and I'm going to put an end to that, too."
"Yes, Harry," Karen had agreed softly and timidly.
Pushing off from the deep end of the pool, Karen paddled back toward the shallows. She felt badly about what was happening. It wasn't just not having any attention from Harry that bothered her. She still had some feeling for Carl, too. He had been rough and demanding that one time, but he had been nice, too. And, besides, he had been her first, her very first, and that meant something, too.
Fortunately, Karen thought, Carl can take care of himself. He had battled his way up from even farther down that Harry had. When Karen had first served Carl in the diner, he had had one battered truck. By the time Harry had come along that had changed, had been traded up for a brand-new rig, one of the best, and Carl had been talking of taking on another driver and adding a truck. He had even been talking with banks about getting the loan he would need.
Since then, since Harry had taken up all of Karen's time, she had lost track of Carl, until just this past week. And now he had come up in her mind again today.
Standing in the shallows, Karen eyed the clock and decided reluctantly that it was time to do something about the roast. Since it was still frozen, she would have to get it started now if it was going to be ready for the client by eight, even rare. She sloshed up out of the pool and stood for a few moments to let the water stream off her nude body. This was one of the luxuries she had always dreamed of in her dingy room. Now she had it, a secluded swimming pool where she could go skinny dipping whenever she wanted to, with no worries about prying eyes or groping hands. There had been parties, when she was in high school, parties she had been horrified to hear of, fearful of being invited to. She had also been miserable when she hadn't been invited.
She still wasn't invited to parties, even the decent, polite cocktail parties that had replaced the wild high school blasts among her associates. But now she had her own pool, for her own, private skinny dipping. And she would invite none of them to her house, now.
Finally dry enough, she slipped on her skimpy robe and buttoned it all the way down the front. It was short, so short it barely covered the cheeks of her bottom, but there was no reason to wear anything at all even, as she went in to begin preparing dinner. Strolling through the living room, she turned on the radio, switched on the speakers in the kitchen, then went and got the roast out. The kitchen floor felt cold under her bare feet, and the air-conditioned coolness chilled her, drying the last lingering drops of water on her hair.
CHAPTER TWO
Karen grabbed a makeshift lunch as she started the preparations for dinner. Nibbling on a slice of salami, she opened the oven door. She was lifting the heavy roasting pan in when the doorbell rang. Poised halfway between the counter and the oven with her heavy load, she froze and muttered around her mouthful of salami. Panting under the weight, she decided that whoever was at the door would have to wait, at least until she got the roast started.
Just as she banged the oven door closed and set the temperature, the doorbell went off again, more insistently this time. As she darted out of the kitchen, she suddenly remembered her state of undress-just the short robe over nothing at all. She turned, heading for the bedroom to get something more suitable on, when the doorbell sounded again. This time it kept right on ringing.
"All right, all right, I'm coming," she muttered. Whoever it was had just lost any chance of a sale, or a donation, or whatever it was they wanted.
Karen opened the door a crack, hiding behind it and peeking cautiously out. She was ready to say "NO" and slam the door, but the word caught in her throat, and she stood there with her mouth hanging open.
"Hi," Carl Sands greeted her. He was leaning casually against the door frame. His smile was loose, easy, and totally confident.
"C-Carl!! ! What are you doing here?" Karen stuttered.
"Right now, standing out here in the open on your front porch," he answered insolently. "Don't you invite old friends inside?"
Karen was shaken. It was getting to be too much. Last week it had been her husband fuming about her old boyfriend. Then, this morning, she herself had been-been daydreaming about him. Now he was standing right on her front porch.
Carl was obviously enjoying her predicament. His smile was almost cruel. "You keep me standing out here much longer and people will think you've erected a statue in my memory," he informed her. "And we both know that's not what you really erected, don't we?"
"Go away," Karen hissed desperately, as if she were afraid someone would hear her talking to him.
"Now, you're not going to turn an old friend away from your door, are you ? It wouldn't be like you, to turn away someone in need."
"Please," Karen pleaded.
Carl slid one big foot forward, too keep her from closing the door. "No way," he answered.
Karen was terrified. If Harry were to find out about Carl coming here, there was no telling what he would do. The longer Carl stood on the front porch, the more chance there was that someone would see him and that word would get back to Harry.
"All right, all right," she sighed giving in. "Come on in." Before she closed the door, she peered out, and looked up and down the street anxiously.
"Relax," Carl told her easily. "No truck, no car, nothing to tell anyone; that I'm here. I got no reason to want Harry to know I came here today."
Karen leaned back against the door, folding her arms defensively just under her breasts. She didn't realize that this drew the front of her short robe upward, nearly revealing her dark pubic hair to her visitor. "Why did you come today?" she asked warily.
Carl's eyes flickered up and down Karen boldly. "For old time's sake," he answered.
Karen brushed past him. "I thought you were 'in need', " she reminded him.
"I'm in more need than ever, now that I'm looking at you," Carl answered following her. "I'd almost think you were expecting me, with that outfit you're wearing."
Karen felt even more naked than she was. She tugged futilely at the hem of her robe. For a second she debated excusing herself to go change, but she was afraid to turn her back on him, and knew it would be a disastrous mistake to give him any lead as to where the bedroom was. "What do you want?" she repeated, unable to think of anything else to say.
Carl sauntered around the posh living room, studying the expensive furnishings critically. "Quite a nice place you got here, you and Harry. You've come quite a ways since I saw you last. How long ago was that, anyway?"
Karen watched him warily as she would watch a snake. "I don't know."
"I'll tell you, then," Carl went on. "It's been one year, four months, and six days since I last saw you. That was exactly when good old Harry
Hopkins made his appearance on the scene.
Carefully, Karen backed up to one of the armchairs and settled into it tensely. Hands on her knees, arms stiff, she felt better with at least her back protected. "I didn't tell you to stop coming to see me," she pointed out carefully.
Carl snorted softly! "No, but your precious Harry did. The bastard."
"Carl!"
Carl's face hardened. "I knew what side my bread was buttered on, Karen. Your precious Harry said 'jump' and everyone asked 'how high?' while they were on the way up. It's still that way, for most drivers."
"Then what are you doing here?" Karen asked again.
Carl sat down carefully on the arm of her chair, forcing her to twist her head to look up at him. "Because," he answered, running a gentle finger along the line of her jaw, "it isn't going to be that way much longer. You know why you didn't see a truck parked out in front?"
Karen shook her head, trying to pull away. His touch had sent an unexpected shiver through her body. Her nipples hardened abruptly.
"Because, over in the next block is a Cadillac," Carl answered. "And the plates read 'CS-1' because it belongs to me." He stroked her jaw again.
Karen was frozen, staring up at him as if hypnotized, terrified of him, and of her reaction every time he touched her.
"No more days and nights on the road," he went on. "I got three trucks with three drivers working for me now, and more in the works. I got clients, more clients than I can handle right now. Pretty soon, no one's going to tell me to jump. I'm going to be telling Harry when and which way and how high to jump."
Karen tried to pull back from her ex-boyfriend's insolently stroking finger, but he slid his hand around to the back of her neck, and gripped the back of her head with powerful, hard fingers, and held her immobile. She blinked back tears of pain.
"You know what else is mine, besides three trucks and a Caddy?"
Karen shook her head as much as his merciless grip allowed her to.
"You are," Carl told her, his voice soft and deadly. "He may have you on a short-term lease right now, but that's all it is."
"We're-we're married," Karen reminded Carl fearfully.
Carl snorted. "Marriage doesn't mean anything. What matters is how two people feel about each other, and that means you're still mine. I got a claim ticket on you, and I'm calling it."
"No," Karen argued, choking the word out desperately.
Carl's smile was hard and confident. Without letting go of the back of her head, he stood up and brought her up out of the chair with the sheer strength in his hand and arm, strength developed in long hours of wrestling a truck's steering wheel. Twisting her head back, he brought his lips down on hers, in a grinding, brutal, demanding kiss.
Karen tried to fight back, and Carl's grip tightened on the back of her head, bringing more tears to her eyes.
"Please," she pleaded when he finally lifted his head, freeing her bruised mouth.
Carl wasn't smiling now. There was a hot gleam deep in his eyes. "It'll take some time to convince Harry you're mine. But I'm going to prove it to you right now."
"Please," Karen whimpered softly. Carl ignored her. He brought one strong hand up and gripped her full breast through the filmy robe. She tried to push his hand away, but the strength in his right arm was more than she could apply with both of hers. His fingers closed on the tender mound of her boob with bruising power. When she tried to twist away, he tightened the grip on the back of her neck and she winced with pain.
"No, please," she moaned, still trying to push his hands away from her breast.
Carl ignored her plea. Taking his hand off her full breast, he lifted it to the top button of her robe, paying no more attention to her feeble efforts to push him away than he would to a fly. Instead of slipping the button through its hole, he pinched it off with his powerful fingers as easily as he would free a grape from its stem. He flicked it away, and Karen heard it rattle off across the room.
"Please don't," she moaned.
Ignoring her, Carl plucked the next button off her robe and tossed it away. He licked his lips hungrily, his eyes feasting on the pale vee of skin being exposed as he disposed of the fastenings.
Karen felt cool, air-conditioned air strike her skin as the robe opened, and felt totally naked and vulnerable. Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to pull the robe closed but Carl's hand tightened on her head until she thought she could feel the bones in her skull bending, and she dropped her arms helplessly in surrender.
The buttons stripped from her robe, Carl brushed the garment open, exposing her down the middle, leaving her nipples still covered but baring her sex to the cool air. Using his grip on the back of her head, he made her stumble blindly backwards until her knees bumped against something, then folded, dropping her onto the couch.
Carl never released his grip on her head. Forcing her backwards onto the big couch, he leaned over her as he fumbled with his own belt, then tugged his zipper down. In seconds his massive cock was freed from his clothes.
"Please, no," Karen cried softly. "Please, Carl."
"I was the first," Carl said with deadly softness as he forced her further backwards on the couch. "You're still mine, and you know it."
"No," Karen protested.
Carl plunged his big hand into her crotch, probing her hot slit brutally with his fingers, spreading her tender lips open. He rammed his thumb down on the hot button of her clitoris as if he were starting a truck. He jammed a huge finger deep into her steaming vagina. "Always hot and ready, that's my Karen," he whispered harshly and triumphantly.
Karen realized with dismay that the hot juices she had triggered herself that morning were still soaking her, making it just that much easier and more exciting for Carl. She tried to wriggle her hips away from his invading fingers, even as she felt fiery bursts of lust ripping through her despite the pain.
"HOT AND WET AND READY, THAT'S MY
KAREN," Carl repeated. He pulled his hand away from her vaginal opening and lowered himself onto her. Gripping his erect cock, he aimed it into the heart of her ready sex. He ignored her futilely battling hands as if they didn't exist. She felt the head of his organ nestle at the gates of her opening and tried to wiggle away from it.
"HOT AND READY," Carl said again, driving his massive organ into her guts with a steady brutal thrust of his hips. He felt her hot sheath mold itself to his turgid staff. He felt her hot, slick tissues slide against his sensitive skin as he drove his powerful penis deep into her vagina.
Sprawled on the couch, one foot trailing down to the floor, the other pressed against the back of the couch, Karen absorbed his hot shaft, the pain of his unrelenting attack becoming mixed with an unwanted pleasure. She felt his hot bulk stuffing her and her sleek legs opened still wider to give him even better access to her. Bending her knees, she folded her legs upward to let him into her still more deeply, while tears of remorse and pain were staining her cheeks. Dear God, she was being raped in her own home!
"TIGHT," Carl grunted with pleasure. "NICE AND TIGHT." He drew back, savoring the hot friction of her folds against his big organ. He felt the head of his cock pop free of her tight channel and rammed back at her, His cock slid up the furrow of her lips, spreading them open, then hammered down on her swollen clitoris.
"Ahhhh," Karen growled at the sudden slamming jolt of pleasure this gave her.
Carl was staring hungrily at her face as it twisted with lust and fear and pain. He licked his lips with excitement as he stroked his impatient cock along the length of her hot crevice. He saw her arms slacken and fall to her sides, no longer resisting him as he drove her mad with his huge shaft.
"Awww, put it in me," Karen growled, "put it in me again, hard."
Carl chuckled with his power over her. He taunted her with the head of his prick, plowing it along the length of her fiery furrow, using the bulbous head to spread her hair-sprinkled labia. He battered it over the bud of her clitoris, watching as lust twisted her face and made her writhe with hunger for his tool.
"Please, please, please," Karen pleaded desperately. She was insane with lust. "Please give it to me." She didn't care any longer who it was she was taking into her, it didn't matter, she just had to have a searing hot desire-bloated cock jammed into her wanton cunt.
Carl had to have it himself, now. The sight of Karen's lush nude body and the feel of her hot slit being spread open by his staff had made him so hot he was about to explode. He felt the tip of his huge spear enter her slick vagina and rammed it deeply into her guts again.
"Wahhhh," Karen exploded, her breath driven from her lungs as her muscles convulsed with pleasure.
Carl pulled back, then rammed his cock into her again, hammering his body against her, knowing he was pulping her clitoris between his hard pubic arch and her own. The feel of her hot folds sliding past his cock lifted him to the brink of his own climatic orgasm. He drew back again and then rammed his staff deep into her belly. Sperm erupted from his balls like lava from a volcano's guts, powering down the length of his convulsing rod and spraying deep into Karen's desperately hungry body.
"Awww," she growled, driving her hips up against Carl's, striving to get still another fraction of an inch of his big tool into her guts. She felt his hot cum streaming into her and cried because she was hanging at the brink of her own orgasm and knew she wasn't going to reach it. "More," she pleaded desperately, "dear God, don't leave me like this."
Carl savored the slowly dying pulses in his groin, then pulled slowly away from her, drawing his now shrinking shaft from her deep hole. Deliberately, cruelly, he abandoned her, leaving her hanging helplessly at the brink of her own completion. He stood, staring down at her as she lay quivering on the couch, her beautiful legs spread wide, the lips of her vagina flushed, pink, soaked with juices, the pubic hair twisted and stringy with her own love potions. He watched as she reached down blindly to grab at her empty, desperately hungry opening, and tried to finger herself to an orgasm.
"Please, please, please," she moaned, her eyes squeezed shut with her agony. She groped for him, trying to find him, trying to grab him and drag him back into her. When she couldn't find him with her hands she opened her eyes, terrified that he had left completely.
Carl was smirking at her, his pants around his ankles, his cock hanging limp, gleaming stickily with their mingled juices. "You want more?" he asked softly.
"Please," she whimpered.
"You're mine, right?"
Karen tried to deny it, but couldn't. Her own lust forced her to agree. "Yes. Oh, please, Carl, I need it so bad."
"Then get on your knees and beg for it," Carl ordered harshly.
"What?"
"You want it, you get on your knees in front of me and beg for it," he explained. "And then you get me so I can give it to you again."
Even as she was shaking her head, Karen was slipping down off the couch, feeling the lush, expensive carpeting against her knees. The desire in her guts was driving her mad. She had one hand buried in her own hot tissues, right in front of him, where he could see her, fighting in vain to trigger her own completion. But the only thing that could give her what she needed was his big organ. It dangled limply in front of her.
"No," she choked out. "Please, Carl, can't you do something for me?"
Carl braced his hands on his hips, his legs spread as wide as the clothes tangled around his ankles would permit. He looked down at her mercilessly. "You want me, you prove it," he insisted, savoring his power over her.
Karen gulped. She knew what he wanted, knew what she was going to have to do to get him up for her again, and was sickened at the thought. Hesitantly, frightened at what she was being driven to, she reached for his limp, sticky organ and fondled it gingerly between her fingers.
"It'll take more than that," Carl growled.
She gulped again. She brought her face closer and closer to him, until she could feel the heat of him against her face. She pursed her lips and hesitantly touched them to the head of his limp penis. It felt burning hot, and she could feel the juices from her own body and the lingering traces of his cum sticking to her dry lips. Her stomach knotted at the smell. But her desperate need drove her to do anything to get that big staff up and hard for her. She opened her lips and licked hesitantly, tasting the salty, metallic cum coating his hot flesh.
The sight of Karen, lush and desperate, crawling toward him, gave Carl a tight, hot feeling deep in his guts. He had her just the way he wanted her. The sight of her crawling over to suck him back hard and ready for her was almost enough to get his rod up.
The first touch of her lips sent a triumphant wave of pleasure through him. When she finally licked the bulbous head of his organ he couldn't control it any longer and felt it begin to rise slowly. When she closed her warm, sensuous lips around his shaft, he felt the blood pouring into it, felt it swell, harden, stiffen and rise, and drive itself deeper into her mouth.
Karen's throat knotted, making her whimper softly as the big mass filled her mouth. Tears of humiliation poured down her face as she sucked life back into Carl's cock. Memories of lewd, filthy stories she had heard filled her mind. She had never done this, ever, with her husband, or with Carl. But she would have done anything at all to get that wonderful shaft into her again. She had to have her vagina filled to bursting with that hot mass or she was going to go crazy.
Carl guided her moves by knotting his fingers in her hair, gripping her head as ruthlessly and painfully as he had earlier. He pumped her head, forcing her to take his rapidly swelling organ deep into her mouth, feeling the head of his staff ram the back of her throat. He could see her convulse as she gagged on the hot, heavy mass he rammed into her. Her robe was open, baring her tits. Her nipples were hard little rocks of desire. Her shapely thighs were open, letting him see her steaming, slick, swollen and ready folds. The sight of his powerful cock disappearing into her working, sucking mouth was the crowning touch. He was starting to get close to a second cumming, but he didn't want it to be here, not this time. He wanted to pour his second load deep into her vagina again.
He pushed her head away, pulling his erect cock out of her mouth. He turned her face upward so he could stare down at her. Her expression was one of total, abject devotion and need, pleading desperation.
"Please?" she whimpered. "Please?" When he released her she sprawled on her back on the floor in front of him, heels up against her buttocks, thighs spread wide in invitation. She gripped her breasts and tortured them, pleading desperately for him to take her again.
Carl kept her hanging for as long as he could stand it himself. He studied her exquisite, exposed body hungrily, feasting on her lush curves, eyeing the hungry, gaping eye of her vagina, its lips pulsing red with desire for him. Then he came down on her, and rammed his big shaft deep into her hot nest.
"Aaaaahhhh," Karen wailed at the feeling of his hot tower jamming into her belly, driving her vagina open, stuffing her guts full. Her lust roared upward at the wonderful, welcome feeling of being stuffed full of hot cock again. Drawing her knees up, she folded herself double in a desperate attempt to get still more of him into her. Wrapping her arms around him, she hauled him tight against her, feeling his shirt buttons grinding into her tender skin, feeling her big breasts squash flat against his strong chest.
Carl rammed at her, again and again and again. His first orgasm had desensitized him, eased his own need. He had the powerful feeling he could go on forever now, ramming his hot shaft into her until Hell froze over. He savored the feel of her hot tissues whipping past the length of his staff as he pistoned it in and out of her hot hole.
"AH-AH-AH-AH," Karen grunted with every driving impact, as she was pumped closer and closer and closer to the completion she needed. "AHHH, OOHHH, I'M ALMOST THERE," she panted in his ear, urging him on. "I'M ALMOST THERE-I'M GOING TO-I'M CUMMMING-I'M CUMMMMINNNNGGGG," she wailed wildly, every muscle in her body knotting as she climaxed.
Turning himself loose as Karen began to climax, Carl rammed deep into her guts, felt his balls tense and then savored the feeling of his hot stream of cum pouring from him into her, pressuring deep into her folds. Locking himself tightly to her, he filled her until his semen oozed back out around his organ to spill for her already full belly.
Karen dropped gratefully back from the magnificent peak, feeling fulfilled at last. Then she remembered who she was with and what he had done to her and misery flooded her. She pushed at him, trying to lever his mass off her, struggling to free herself of him. She felt his cock shrinking in her, slowly dying, leaving her empty except for the heavy, sticky load of cum.
Finally Carl pulled away, knelt between her open legs, and stared down at her triumphantly. Then he got to his feet, pulled his pants up and began fastening them. "You're mine," he said at last.
Too weak to argue, Karen rolled over, wishing she could crawl into a hole to hide from him, and from herself. Shaking, she struggled up and sat on the couch, pulling her flimsy robe defensively around herself, bending herself double.
"You bastard," she finally ventured in a harsh whisper.
Carl snickered. "You were begging for it, Baby, just like the first time. You didn't do a thing you didn't want to do."
"Go away," she replied miserably.
"I'll be back," he promised.
"When Harry hears what you did, he'll destroy you," Karen said bitterly.
Carl chuckled confidently. "But he won't find out, will he? Because I'm not going to tell him-not yet. And you won't tell him either, will you? Because if you did tell him what we did, he'd throw you to the wolves-if he didn't kill you. He thinks you belong to him, for him to use as he wants. You tell him about this and you'd be right out in the cold again, slinging hash."
"Get out!" Karen whispered harshly.
"I'll see you around," Carl promised calmly. "You're mine, and I have you back."
"Get out," Karen repeated more loudly, pushing herself up off the couch, forgetting to hold her skimpy robe closed as she tried to get her tormentor to the door.
Ignoring her shoving, Carl sauntered slowly to the door. Before opening it, he turned around. Before she could back away, he had her by the scruff of the neck again, and was pulling her against him for another brutal, unforgiving kiss. He plunged his other hand into her soaking tissues, feeling her up brutally and boldly, possessively. Then, pulling away, he took his cum-smeared fingers and held them before her pretty face. "That's us," he said softly. He smeared the tip of her nose with the sticky juices, opened the door, and went out in the afternoon.
Karen leaned against the door, sobbing, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. She could still taste his cock in her mouth, could feel the heavy load of cum oozing from her ravished vagina to soak her pubic hair and trail coldly down the insides of her thighs.
Carl was right. She couldn't tell Harry what had happened. He would kill her if he found out. Desperately, Karen turned and headed for the bathroom to wash away the telltale traces coating her belly, thighs, face, and mouth. After showering and brushing her teeth, she still thought she could smell the aroma of sex on herself. Even expensive perfume failed to cloak the smell. She was terrified that Harry would detect it, but couldn't think of anything more she could do.
Wrapping herself in her robe, she hurried out to the living room to clean up in there. There was a wet stain on the couch where she had sat, cum pouring from her. A wet rag removed the thick traces, leaving only a damp spot to explain away.
She had just found the last of the buttons to her robe when she heard Harry's car pull in the drive. Desperately, she tossed the buttons in her jewelry box and hurried to greet him, praying that nothing would make him suspicious.
CHAPTER THREE
Karen fought down the impulse to throw herself at her husband as he came through the door. Instead, she held back, trying to act as normal as possible. But she couldn't restrain the type of kiss she gave him. She wound up wrapping herself around him tightly, then bear-hugging him, her cheek tight against his solid, powerful chest.
Harry disengaged himself from her. "What's got into you ? " he asked.
Karen resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him again. She didn't dare do anything that would make him suspicious. She knew he was jealous of her, knew what his temper was like. She also knew she couldn't stand up to his questioning if he did get suspicious.
"I'm just glad you're home," she answered. She thought her voice sounded high and tense and hoped he wouldn't notice. "What's in the box?" she asked, indicating the package he was holding. "It looks like clothes." She felt a surge of hope that it was for her. She doted on clothes-new clothes, exciting clothes.
"It is," Harry answered uninformatively.
"For me?" she squeaked, reaching for the package.
"For later," Harry answered tersely. "When's dinner going to be ready?"
Karen was put off by his brusqueness. "Eight o'clock. You said the client was coming at seven.
I thought I should allow time for drinks."
Harry strolled into the living room, tossed the package on the sofa, and settled into his easy chair. "You thought right."
Karen was suddenly terrified. The box had landed right on the wet spot. She didn't know what to do. If Harry picked up the package later, he would be certain to notice the stain. But if she tried to get the package herself, right now, she would call attention to the telltale mark. She finally decided to do nothing.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked nervously.
Harry was drumming his powerful fingers on the arms of his chair, staring blindly at the blank television screen. "Yeah," he answered at last.
Karen quickly poured bourbon and water over two ice cubes from the ice machine. One of the luxuries Harry had had installed in the new house was a bar in the living room, complete with a sink and ice machine.
Afraid of intruding on his thinking, Karen set the drink beside him carefully. She was startled at the way he snatched the glass up and drank quickly. Harry rarely drank heavily, a holdover from the days when he might have to take a rush shipment over a thousand miles of twisting roads in the dark.
"I'll-I'll go get dressed," Karen ventured cautiously. "Is there anything special I should wear?"
"Sit down," Harry ordered.
"But it's getting late," Karen said tensely.
"Sit down," he repeated sternly. "We've got some talking to do before Krautz gets here. Don't worry, you'll have time to dress."
Nervously, Karen sat down on the luxurious couch. The package slid toward her as her weight flexed the cushions. Carefully she slid the box back to cover the wet spot.
"I won't ask about Mr. Krautz's wife, honest I won't," she assured Harry tensely. "I won't ever do anything like that again."
"That isn't what this is about," Harry answered. "You aren't that dumb anyway."
Karen kept her mouth closed. Harry was using his "Bosun's Voice." When he addressed her in it, she knew the safest thing was to keep her mouth shut.
"You know I haven't touched you for over a month," he went on.
"Huh?" Karen didn't see what that had to do with anything.
Harry's lips curled in exasperation at her ignorance. "I haven't screwed you," he detailed. "We haven't had marital relations, we haven't made love. Right?"
"Yes, Harry, that's right," Karen answered meekly. She was completely bewildered by this. She also felt a quiver of fear. What if Harry had been getting it somewhere else? Maybe he was trying to tell her he was through with her. Maybe he was trying to tell her he didn't want her anymore.
"I did it on purpose," Harry went on. "And believe me, it hasn't been easy."
Relief flooded Karen. He did still want her. She toyed with her robe. What if he wanted her right now? Right after she had had Carl? "Th-there's not really time now, before Mr. Krautz gets here," she pointed out nervously.
Harry's mouth twisted with exasperation for a second time. "That isn't what I'm talking about at all. Now, will you shut up so I can tell you?"
"Yes, Harry," Karen agreed meekly.
"like I said, it hasn't been easy, especially with you doing everything you could to get me into you. Right?"
"I did it for a very good reason. I've had this night planned for a long, long time," Harry went on. "Matter of fact, I knew something like this was going to come along even before I married you."
Karen frowned, trying to follow what he was saying. It didn't seem to make any sense at all.
"Last month I knew it was just about due. Now you're going to start earning your way as Harry Hopkin's wife. Right?"
Karen was totally at sea now. "Earning my way as your wife?"
Harry waved one arm expansively, taking in all the luxurious expensive furnishings. "You think all this comes cheap?"
"No, Harry," Karen assured him quickly.
"It doesn't. I've spent a bundle on all this. I don't need all this crap for myself. I did it for you."
"I know that, Harry, and I love it all, really I do," she assured him, as puzzled as ever.
"So, tonight you start paying for it," Harry stated.
Karen shook her head in bewilderment. "I don't understand."
"Tonight you are going to be exceptionally nice to Mr. Myron Krautz," Harry informed her.
"Sure, Harry, I'm always nice to your clients," Karen answered.
"I know you are always nice to my clients, but tonight you are going to be especially nice to Mr. Krautz."
Karen felt a chill gather in her. A horrible suspicion grew in the back of her mind. She tried to put it down, unable to believe Harry was suggesting what she thought he was. She was afraid to even open her mouth. She gulped.
"You are going to do anything Mr. Krautz asks you to do. You will do it cheerfully, happily, willingly, and you will at least give the impression that you are enjoying whatever it is you are doing," Harry went on relentlessly.
Karen shook her head silently, struggling to deny what she was hearing. Harry was her husband. He couldn't possibly be asking her to-to do what he seemed to be. It just could not be. She must not be understanding him.
Harry continued on almost as if he could hear her thoughts. "I mean that you are going to do anything he asks you to do. If he wants to grab a peek at you, you will do nothing to hinder his view of your charms. If he wants to cop a quick feel, you will give him ample opportunity to cop a quick feel."
"No, Harry," Karen whispered softly.
Harry went on as if he hadn't heard her. "If Mr. Krautz wants to make that a longer feel, you will let him make it a longer feel. You will smile happily at him as he takes his long feel, no matter where he is taking that feel from."
"Please, Harry," Karen whimpered.
"If Mr. Krautz wishes to avail himself of the pleasures of our bedroom with you, you will go along with him happy. He might like the view in those great mirrors of ours," Harry reflected.
"Please, please, please," Karen pleaded softly, horrified, still trying to understand what was being asked of her, trying to understand how Harry could even mention such a thing.
"If Mr. Krautz wants to insert his cock into you, you will spread yourself and cheerfully accept his offering. You will be cheerful and pleasing and active and exciting," Harry continued.
"No, Harry!" Karen cried, the denial wrenched from her.
"If Mr. Krautz want you to suck his cock, you'll do it," Harry added. "That's just the kind of action he-likes, a bit of head."
"Harry!" Karen screamed, her hands over her ears, trying to block out the awful things her husband was telling her to do.
That single, sharp, desperate shriek cut him off. He looked at her, his expression one of mild surprise.
"You-you can't be-you can't mean it," Karen stuttered frantically. "I'm your wife. You can't be asking me to-to be a whore, you can't be!"
"I don't think you should put it quite that way," Harry said mildly.
"But that's what you're asking me to be!" Karen argued. "Just a plain, ordinary wh-whwhore!" The word caught in her throat. Totally forgotten in the horrifying rush of what Harry was saying was what had happened earlier with Carl Sands.
"All I'm asking you is to do your part to keep oil this. Myron Krautz represents a hundred and fifty thousand gross a month," Harry answered. "I'm asking you to make your contribution to Hopkins' Transport. When I took you on a year ago I did it for just that reason."
"Noooo," Karen moaned, futilely trying to deny what she was hearing. Harry had married her because he loved her, hadn't he?
"I needed a good, healthy, reliable, sexy woman I could depend on, and you were it," Harry continued. "You've got a body that just does not stop. You've got curves in places where most women don't even have places. You look as sweet as a Sunday school teacher, with that plump-cheeked baby face of yours and those big, soft brown eyes. With what I've taught you since we got married you've become a real pro. Tonight you get to show the world just how good you really are."
"Nonononononono," Karen repeated endlessly. She was bent, her elbows on her knees, her head buried in her hands.
"Shut up," Harry told her.
"Nonononono," Karen went on. Her ears were ringing from the shock of what she'd heard. The ringing was blocking out the sound of her husband's voice.
"Shut up!" Harry snapped again, sharply.
Karen's voice stopped, halted by the sound of his voice slashing through to her brain. She lifted her tear-stained face to look at him, terrified. She looked at him, really looked at him. She was seeing a man she had never seen before. It couldn't be Harry, it couldn't be the man she had married, but it was. It was his rugged, seamed face, his rigid flattop haircut, graying at the temples, his cold gray eyes, his cruel mouth, the mouth that she had seen such strength in once.
Karen's fear and loathing were replaced by an icy chill as she stared at him. She thought some sign of hope, some hint that he was teasing her. Maybe there was just the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth ? Maybe there was a twinkle hidden deep in his eyes?
Nothing. His expression was as relentless as she had ever seen it.
"Open the package," Harry said calmly.
Blindly, Karen fumbled the box over. She wasn't even thinking of the damp spot it had covered. Fingers like sausages, she plucked at the string, trying to undo the knot.
"Use this," Harry ordered, tossing his pocket knife over to her. It bounced on the cushion beside her.
Somehow Karen managed to get a blade out and cut the string. Carefully and slowly, using the action to delay whatever horror was coming next, she closed the knife. She looked at it blankly for a second, then at Harry. He was holding his hand out. Rather than get up and go near him, she clumsily tossed his knife back to him. He snatched it out of the air effortlessly.
"Open it," Harry ordered again.
Numbly, Karen took the lid off the box and set it aside. She stared at the tissue paper for a second. She didn't want to look any further. She didn't know what was in the box, and she didn't want to know. But, if she didn't do something in a moment, she would have to look up at Harry again, and she couldn't face him, couldn't meet his eye.
The rustle of the paper seemed terribly loud as she folded it back. She stared blindly at the contents of the box. What she could see didn't make any sense to her. It was obviously something to wear, but that was all her stunned consciousness could make out.
"Don't just sit there like a dummy, take it out of the box and hold it up!" Harry ordered.
She obeyed him as if she were a robot. She lifted the folded garment by the-the straps, or whatever they were. The dress or skirt or whatever was long, and trailed into the box, forcing her to dump the box off her lap and stand up to get it all out. She held it gingerly between her thumbs and forefingers and stared at it.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Harry asked.
Unable to do anything else, Karen nodded.
"That's your outfit for tonight," Harry informed her smugly. "That, and not one thing more."
"No," Karen whispered.
There was almost nothing to it. It was pale and sheer, a shade of blue that was perfect for her. She was holding it by two-suspenders, sort ofwhich were evidently supposed to tie behind the neck. Only inches wide, they were attached to the front of a long skirt.
"Don't just stand there, put it on," Harry ordered sharply. "Take off your robe and put it on."
Karen was suddenly ashamed to strip in front of her own husband.
"Hurry up," Harry insisted. "Krautz'll be here before you're even dressed. Get a wiggle on!"
Turning her back on him, Karen unfastened the belt on her robe, shed the garment, and dropped it on the couch. Blushing with shame, she bunched the skirt and dropped it over her head. It settled precariously on her hips. Pulling up the suspenders, she bowed her head and tied a bow knot behind her neck. Then she tugged vainly at the narrow strips, trying to get them to cover more than just the dark circles of her prominent nipples.
"There's a string thing to tie in the back, at your waist," Harry informed her.
Karen was suddenly aware of a cold draft on the crevice of her ass. She found the strings Harry was talking about and tied them. The top of the skirt tightened more securely around her upper hips. The skirt was a hip-hugger, cut very low, barely above the top of her pubic triangle.
The tie in the back did nothing to close a gap that exposed the crevice between her buttocks. Karen tugged blindly at the sides of the opening, then had to give up.
"Turn around," Harry ordered softly, admiration in his voice.
Her head hanging, Karen turned to face him. Then, in a surge of defiance and pride, she tossed her head back, brushed her hair aside, and stared at him boldly.
"Nice, very nice," Harry commented. "Walk around a bit."
Turning, Karen walked proudly across the room, and discovered still another opening to the gown. It was slit straight up the front, almost to her crotch. Shame flamed in her again at the feel of the cool air touching her so intimately.
"Harry, you can't mean it," she wailed, turning on him.
"That specialty shop did a real nice job," Harry commented. "I would have ordered from a catalogue, but you're too short and too big around the tits for them to fit you well. I took a picture in and had that made special for you."
"Harry, I can't possibly do anything like-like what you said," Karen argued desperately.
"You can, and you will," he informed her coldly.
"No, Harry, really, I just can't. I'm no whore, you know I'm no whore!" Karen insisted.
"What about that thing with Carl Sands?" Harry asked coldly.
Karen's heart stopped beating for a long, horrifying interval. She felt the blood drain from her face. Harry couldn't possibly know Carl was here today! He couldn't possibly have found out so soon. "What thing?" she managed to croak.
"What thing?" Harry snorted. "They say you chicks never forget the first time. Hah!"
The first time! Relief poured through her.
"That was different," she argued faintly, trying to steady herself. "He didn't bribe me or anything."
"Yeah. From him you got nothing. From me you get all this," Harry pointed out.
"Harry, I'm not a whore," Karen insisted desperately. "Don't you care about me?"
"Sure I care about you. I want to give you everything you're willing to earn. You can do it, it's in your blood."
"What?"
"like mother, like daughter," Harry explained, finishing his drink and letting the cubes clink back in the glass.
"That's a lie!" Karen exploded furiously. "That's a filthy, rotten, stinking lie!"
"Come off it," Harry retorted cruelly. "We both know better than that. Your precious mother put out for five bucks with every trucker that asked her."
"That's a lie," Karen screamed, near tears. "You take that back!"
Harry looked at her coldly. "You want me to describe that birthmark she had on the right cheek of her ass?" he asked emotionlessly. "The one shaped like a little arrowhead, about an inch long? It was so close to the crack she had to bend over for me to see it, so maybe you don't know about it."
Karen's legs folded, dropping her back on the couch. She had known, dear God, yes, she had known about that birthmark. She had known about her mother, too. "I won't do it," she whispered at last, gathering her strength.
"You'll do it," Harry said calmly.
"No, I won't," Karen answered, shaking her head slowly for emphasis. "And you can't make me."
Harry was across the room in one quick stride, his fingers gripping her face cruelly, tipping her head up, forcing her. to look up at him. His steel-hard fingers ground her tender cheeks in against her teeth. "What was that?" he asked viciously.
Tears of pain flooded Karen's eyes. "You can't make me," she repeated awkwardly, her words slurred by his relentless grip.
Harry released her face and brought her to her feet by twisting one arm behind her sharply, forcing her up on her tiptoes in a vain attempt to relieve the pain. He dragged her toward the front door.
"You aren't going to do it? You aren't going to do it? Then you can just get the hell out of here. Right now!" He reached for the doorknob.
Karen set her feet, trying to pull back, terribly conscious of her skimpy outfit. "No!" she wailed.
Harry left the door closed and turned, his face inches from hers, his grip on her arm as relentless as ever. "Either you do just what I say, or you get out of here," he snarled. "And you'll get out of here just the way you are right now. No money, no clothes, nothing! Because everything you've got I gave to you."
"Please," Karen pleaded.
"I took you out of that crummy greasy spoon," Harry reminded her. "I gave you a home and clothes and all the luxuries you always wanted. If it weren't for me, you'd have nothing, except maybe a screaming bastard kid, 'cause you're too stupid to know enough to avoid one. You'll do what I tell you or I'm through with you. You'll be a two-bit piece of tail because that's all the truckers'll give you. You'll spread your legs to every horny driver that comes along, just to get enough to eat."
"All right," Karen wailed, the pain of her twisted arm driving her on as much as his vicious words. "All right, I'll do it."
Harry released her arm. "One slip, one little hesitation, and you're out," he informed her.
Karen was totally cowed. The whole day had been too much for her. First her masturbating, then Carl coming by, and now Harry. His threats had obliterated her resistance entirely.
"You better get straightened up a bit," Harry informed her. "Krautz'll be here any minute. Oh yeah, one more thing you should know."
Obediently, humbly, Karen turned to listen.
"Krautz is one of the big customers your old flame is counting on," Harry told her. "That's why tonight is so important. When I get through, Carl Sands won't have enough business to run a kiddy car. Now go and wash your face. Take your robe and the empty box with you so they aren't cluttering up the joint."
Blindly, Karen picked up the box, tissue paper, and her robe, and went into the bathroom. Closing the door behind herself, she dropped everything and leaned over, bracing herself on the sink. Her head hanging, she fought back the tears.
She was beaten, and she knew it. She knew Harry was right. If he threw her out, she would wind up just like he had said, exactly what her mother had been. She had nothing of her own. She had no place to go, no friends left, no relatives. Her mother had died shortly after Karen and Harry had been married, of booze and a beating inflicted by a drunken customer. Her father had never been.
Her mother. Karen always denied the dirty snickers and nasty stories, the vicious gossip and foul teasing. She always denied the stories, but she couldn't ignore the endless trail of strange excitement that had drifted through the back room of the diner. She couldn't ignore the animal pawing she had caught glimpses of when the door hadn't been closed tightly, or the haggling before the price had been settled. And the sounds, night after night after night, the sounds had come through the flimsy wall separating her room from her mother's. There had been the squeaking of the bed, the muffled thumpings, the sound of flesh against flesh, and the pantings and groanings that had seemed to go the entire night.
Her head hanging, Karen let the tears flow. She was going to turn out little better than her mother had been. She had hoped and prayed for so much, and Harry had seemed to be the answer to her prayers. And now he had turned out to be nothing more than a pimp. He was using her to build his business and to destroy the only man in the world that had treated her as a human being.
"You still alive in there?" Harry called through the door.
"Yes," Karen croaked, her voice failing. "Yes!" she said louder.
"Well, get a wiggle on, it's almost seven," Harry reminded her.
Wearily, Karen lifted her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Tear stains streaked her face and her eyes were puffy and red. Her cheeks showed where Harry's fingers had squeezed them in. Her hair was a tangled mess.
Mechanically, Karen started repairing the damage with a cold washrag and a comb. Carefully she sealed off in one corner of her mind everything that Harry had said, and everything that was-likely to happen in the hours ahead. She felt totally dead inside as she combed the snarls out of her soft brown hair. The gentle curls brushed her shoulders. Her face, she knew, made her look like a teenager. Her body, so slightly concealed by the provocative gown, disputed that fact.
Her nipples showed faintly through the thin straps that covered them, while the full curving bulges of her breasts were totally exposed. Her torso tapered to a narrow waist, then flared out to full, womanly hips.
She looked fantastic, and she knew it. But it didn't mean anything at all to her. From the neck up she looked like a sweet and innocent sixteen, and from the neck down she looked like a hussy, and she knew that was exactly what her husband wanted her to look like. But not for himself, for his client.
Dear God, she thought, how will I ever be able to do it?
Maybe, just maybe, Mr. Krautz won't want to do anything more than look. Karen held desperately to that hope for a few seconds, then lost it. No man seeing her in this outfit would want to look only. He would want to touch, and after he touched, he would want more, and still more, until there was nothing more left to want, nothing he hadn't had.
Karen blinked back fresh tears.
She was holding onto the last faint hope that perhaps Mr. Myron Krautz would not show up when she heard the doorbell through the closed bathroom door.
"Come on, Baby, time to get the show on the road," Harry said from right outside the bathroom, rattling the doorknob.
Taking a deep breath, Karen turned away from her reflection in the mirror and faced the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Karen felt totally cowed. She felt anesthetized. It was as if all her sensibilities, all her feelings, had been given a massive overdose of Novocain. She felt as if she were outside herself, looking on, watching, as she followed Harry to the front door.
Some lingering trace of common sense made her stand back, and let Harry open the door. She hung back out of sight, afraid some passing neighbor might see her scandalous outfit. She heard her husband greet their visitor and a sharp stab of fear and misery threatened to bring the tears to her eyes again.
Karen shut her eyes, and silently prayed that Mr. Krautz would ignore her, though she knew he would have to be made of stone to do that.
"And this is my wife, Karen," Harry was saying as he ushered their guest into the entrance hall.
Karen opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. She pasted on what she hoped was a sincere smile and extended her hand politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Krautz."
He was short, not much taller than her, making her glad she hadn't bothered to put on shoes. His handshake was pudgy and soft. Her first impression of his face was of bulging eyes, eyes that fastened on her barely concealed breasts, then flickered nervously to her face. She wondered if the man's eyes always bulged, or if it was her breasts that were doing it.
"The pleasure is all mine," Myron Krautz rasped, his voice nasal and grating.
"Come on in and make yourself at home, Myron," Harry urged. "Karen, fix Myron a drink, will you ? A dry martini, right, Myron ? "
"Yes, please."
There was an awkward moment as they went from the hall into the living room and sorted themselves out. As she led the way, Karen was conscious of Krautz's eyes on her nude back and lush ass. She braced herself for the touch of his hand on her, and hoped she wouldn't flinch. The touch never came. She heard Krautz wheezing softly as he followed her into the living room.
While she was fixing his martini, Karen took the opportunity to study the "important client". She decided that the man's eyes always bulged. Krautz's protruding orbs flickered around the room as if he was assessing the value of the furnishings, then returned unerringly to her. Karen tried to smile when he caught her staring at him.
Her stomach knotted with revulsion. Dear God, she wouldn't have to do anything with him, would she? Myron Krautz was everything she dis-liked in a man. He had combed his thinning hair across his balding pate in stringy strand, producing a Venetian blind effect that emphasized his baldness rather than concealed it. Between and below his wet brown eyes was a prominent nose, the pores visible from across the room. His thick-lipped mouth hung open slightly, exposing the tips of his yellow teeth.
His face was round, fat, and soft, just as his body was.
"Hey, Myron, take off your coat and tie, we're not formal around here. How's his drink, Karen ? "
"Coming up," Karen answered, hurrying out from behind the bar with a tray.
Karen caught the mingled odors of sweat and cigar smoke from the fat man as he shed his jacket and removed the "cheater" bow tie he was wearing. Dark sweat stains showed under his arms.
Karen bent to offer him the tray, and instantly wished she hadn't. The changed position let the straps of her dress fall away from her breasts slightly. Cool air brushed her nipples, making the rosy buds stiffen. Krautz's bulging eyes riveted on the exposure instantly.
A knot formed in Karen's throat as she fought the urge to throw her free arm across her breasts in an attempt to conceal them. Only remembering what Harry had instructed kept her from straightening up.
"Thank you, my dear," their guest rasped, taking the proffered glass in a hand that was sweating and shaking visibly.
Karen straightened up with a feeling of relief, then approached Harry with his drink.
"You see anything you want, you just ask for it," Harry offered freely, his meaning not lost on either Karen or Myron Krautz. "Anything at all catches your imagine, you just let me know."
"Thank you, thank you very much," the rotund client replied, sipping his martini. "Mrs. Hopkins, you make a delicious martini."
Karen caught the sharp glance from her husband. "Please call me Karen," she said figuring that was what Harry wanted. She felt her strength beginning to crumble and sought some escape. "If-if you'll excuse me, I have to attend to dinner for a few moments."
"Certainly, certainly," Krautz assured her. "Your husband and I have some things to discuss that would bore you."
"Don't be too long, Baby," Harry ordered significantly.
Karen resisted the urge to dash headlong into the kitchen. She knew Myron Krautz was again studying her ass as she pushed through the swinging door. As it swung shut behind her, Karen crumpled against the counter. It the tears would have come, she would have cried, but she had dried up. Heaving deep, shuddering breaths that scraped her nipples against the straps of the dress, she fought to gain control of herself. She didn't see how she could possibly get through the evening. She felt sick at the thought of Myron Krautz's pudgy cold hands pinching and squeezing her warm full breasts. The thought of having him touch her-down there-was even more horrifying. And that would be only the beginning.
Dear God, the only man she had ever wanted in her life was Harry-and maybe Carl, she admitted to herself reluctantly. How could Harry-degrade her like this? Turn her into a common tramp?
Remembering what excuse she had used to escape from the living room, Karen tried to get herself organized. She suddenly realized that in the confusion of the day, the only thing she had done was start the roast. What would she be able to fill the meal out with ? Salad and frozen french fries were quick.
Desperately, Karen set to work shredding lettuce while the deep fryer got up to right temperature. She was putting together salad dressing when Harry came through the swinging door.
"Hey, Baby, what're you doing out here?" he asked. "You're supposed to be entertaining our guest."
"I've got to get some food on the table, don't I ? Karen protested.
"Well, what the hell were you doing all afternoon, anyway?" Harry asked angrily.
Karen froze. "I was-doing stuff for myself," she lied desperately.
"Well, hurry up and get your ass in gear. Myron's starting to cool down. Take some snack out to him to keep him interested. And make sure you give him a nice view when you serve him."
Karen started to protest, then gave in when she caught sight of Harry's expression. He would make good on his threats in an instant, and she knew it. She followed orders, fixing a tray of potato chips and dip hastily, then backing through the swinging doors with them. She thought Harry had followed her out to the living room, but when she bent to serve the rotund client, she discovered she was alone with him.
Myron Krautz drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, appearing to study the food. But when he moved, he reached for Karen, not the potato chips. Saliva glistened wetly on his lips as he looked up at her. His hand slid under her strap, cupping her breast in an obscenely intimate caress, weighing the soft mass, his clammy palm pressing against her sensitive nipple.
Karen managed to avoid lurching back in disgust. Then, in spite of her efforts; she felt her nipple stiffening against his palm. She held her breath, struggling to keep from moving against the man's intimate touch, fighting to prevent any response. Remembering what Harry had told her, she struggled to smile pleasantly into the man's ugly, leering face.
The sound of the kitchen door opening saved her at least, after what seemed like hours of agony. Krautz hauled his hand back and took a potato chip. Scooping it into the dip, he stuffed it in his mouth. He smirked up at Karen, a smear of dip on his bottom lip.
"Delicious, my dear," he rasped, making a deliberate show of licking off his fingers.
"Thank you," Karen answered softly. "Would-would you care for another?"
The fat man selected another potato chip and scooped up more dip. "Thank you. No more just now."
Somehow Karen managed to curtsy, then straighten and turn away. Her cheeks were flaming with embarrassment and shame.
Harry was refilling the glasses as she set the tray on the bar. She knew her nipples were both hard and poking boldly against the soft fabric of the dress. She knew Harry saw it, knew what had happened, knew what Krautz had done, which added to her misery.
"I'll just finish up in the kitchen, and be right with you," she stuttered tensely. She cut Harry's next comment off quickly. "I won't be but a minute. I have to put the potatoes in."
She lingered over the simple job just as long as she dared, then went back to the living room. She gulped. Krautz had shifted over to the couch.
Harry's sharp glance left no doubt where he wanted her. She took a huge gulp of her drink as she went to sit down next to their guest. She tried to sit a decent distance from the repulsive man. His arm was stretched along the back of the sofa. His hand dropped, cupping her bare shoulder, guiding her over closer to him. She couldn't help noticing the damp spot, now barely visible, on the rich upholstery. She restrained a shudder.
She tried to listen to what Harry and Myron were saying, but it just didn't register. All she was aware of was the stink of the man next to her and the possessive touch of his hand on her bare skin. He pulled her against his soft bulk, then slid his hand up from her shoulder to the side of her neck.
His touch sent shivers rippling up her spine. She gripped her glass desperately, fighting the urge to pull away. She looked at Harry, misery in her eyes. But there was no hope there. Harry was beaming pleasantly, his expression unmistakably designed to encourage Myron Krautz to further intimacy.
Krautz had just slid his hand down over her shoulder and begun pressing his fingers against the soft swell of her breast when the timer on the stove dinged musically. Even as she carefully disengaged herself from him, Karen felt her nipples hardening, betraying her again.
Harry was grinning at her as she went past him. Suddenly she realized that he was enjoying this. He was actually enjoying the sight of his wife being fondled right in front of him. He was obviously looking forward to whatever else he would be privileged to see.
Mercifully, the need to get the roast out, the potatoes draining, and the salad tossed and the table set kept Karen's mind occupied, and she was able to avoid thinking about what was happening. Every minute was bringing a deeper and more shameful intimacy with their visitor. Every minute that went by was bringing her closer and closer to-to whatever was going to happen.
With a final rush, everything was ready. She went into the living room and waited submissively until Harry noticed her. Myron Krautz noticed her immediately and licked his hands.
"Anything at all," Harry was saying, "I've always wanted to watch, but I suppose-oh, m, Baby."
Karen desperately hoped that she was guessing wrong about what she had just heard. "Dinner is on the table," she managed to whisper.
She didn't even taste what she was eating. She was sitting across from Krautz. His eyes rarely left her throughout the entire meal. She sought refuge in her wine, until she started to feel giddy. She was about to reach for the bottle, for a refill, when Harry moved it out of her reach. She started to protest, then saw his expression, and didn't.
"I got some real good brandy, Myron," Harry said. "Would you like to try it?"
"That would be very nice," the fat man agreed.
"I'll clear the table and get the dishes started," Karen said, getting up.
"Just leave it all for now, Baby," Harry ordered softly.
"But.. . . " Karen saw her retreat being cut off.
"Leave it." There was a deadly soft note in
Harry's voice. "Bring the snifters for Myron and me instead."
"Yes, Harry," she agreed. She didn't miss the exclusion of herself from that offer. Harry wasn't even allowing her to retreat into drunkenness.
She didn't wait to be told. She sat down next to Myron, under his arm again, fighting back the sickness in her guts. She tried to smile at him, tried not to flinch away from the stench of his breath. His cigar rested in an ashtray and was sending up a streamer of blue smoke. Nodding stupidly, not hearing a word of the conversation, Karen retreated into a smiling shell. Using one hand, Myron Krautz alternated sips of brandy with puffs on his cigar. He slid his other hand down to cup her breast through the flimsy strap covering it. Karen's nipple stiffened treasonously, poking against the fabric, prodding into the man's hand.
His fingers massaged the warm, tender, soft but firm, mass intimately, lifting it and weighing it. He stroked his fingers over the hard bump of her nipple, pressing it in and letting it spring back out against the material.
She had to fight to keep her breathing steady. She didn't know if it was fear or what, but she was panting, gasping. She knew the man could have his way with her, and she desperately wanted to avoid giving him any encouragement.
But how could she discourage him, when the dress she was being forced to wear was an open invitation? When she sat down the slit in front opened, exposing her legs to high on her shapely thighs. The little straps that covered her nipples showed more than they concealed.
She felt a surge of relief when Krautz's hand left her breast. When she felt it on the back of her neck, seeking the bow knot that was all that held the straps up, her relief vanished. He couldn't be going to do that! Not so soon!
She felt the tug as the knot released, felt another tug as Krautz loosened the straps. Her hands in her lap, Karen fought to keep from reaching up desperately to hold the straps up. She didn't look down as she felt one strap slip downward and to the side, exposing her erect nipple to the air, and to the hungry eyes of Myron Krautz.
Karen looked pleadingly at Harry, but found no hope there at all. He was sipping his brandy. When he lowered his snifter, his eyes were hot, fastened on her and the man baring her.
Karen gulped down a whimper when the visitor's hand came down on her hot, bare breast. Gritting her teeth, she fought back waves of fear, disgust, and misery as he weighed and massaged her heavy boob with insolent familiarity. He pinched her erect nipple between thumb and forefinger, and tears blurred Karen's eyes, mercifully blotting out the sight of the lump in the obese man's pants. Harry would just have to stop this. It couldn't be that he was going to sit there and watch this total stranger degrade her like this.
Harry felt his own pulse quickening as he watched. The brandy was hot in his belly, but not as hot as the excitement in his groin. He had never expected this side benefit, that he would so enjoy watching his wife being fondled by someone he knew she loathed. When Myron had bared Karen's tits, Harry's heart had hammered harder than it did when he bared them himself. When
Myron was done with Karen, she was going to get a hot delivery from him, one that would make her eyeballs pop.
Myron was panting softly, wheezing. His cigar and brandy were forgotten as he measured the magnificent mass in his hand. Karen's nipple was rubbery hard and burning hot between his fingers as he twisted and pulled at it. He could sense the woman's growing excitement as he toyed with her. This beautiful broad was going to deliver it all to him, and she looked to be the hottest piece he had ever had. His wife turned him off as much as he turned her off. He hadn't bothered with her in years, and she liked it that way. Myron had been cut off from his usual sources lately, so he was hot and ready for the precious Mrs. Harry Hopkins. Harry wanted his business bad, and Harry was going to pay to get it. Myron looked at Karen, and she turned to meet his eyes. She was scared, and it showed, and that made it all the better. He grinned at her, reached for her hand and guided it to his hard cock. The feeling of her delicate fingers touching his hard rod through his pants damn near made him cum right then and there.
Karen was sick. She looked at the man fondling her. He stank of alcohol and cigars. His thick-lipped mouth hung open, he wheezed in her face, his tongue licked across his lips obscenely. When he took her hand she tried to pull it away, but he wouldn't let her. He forced her to feel the hot lump ridging his pants. And when he ran his zipper down, Karen wanted to scream and run, but his hands held her immobile, his grip on her breast suddenly painful and domineering instead of just revolting.
Karen's eyes went unwillingly to the man's lap. The sight of his organ made her want to cry. She thought Harry had a beautiful cock, and Carl, too. But this man's shaft looked hideous. It was a turgid mass of gristle, capped with a purplish crown. As she looked, he made her wrap her fingers around it. It felt hot and hard in her fingers. It swelled and pulsed from her touch.
"Great looking, isn't it, Mrs. Hopkins?" Myron asked her softly. He deliberately called her "Mrs. Hopkins" to remind her of her status, of the man, her husband, across the room from them, of her degradation. He wasn't going to let her forget what a slut she was being.
"Looks delicious, almost good enough to eat, doesn't it ? " he asked nastily. "No," Karen whimpered softly.
"Do it, Karen," Harry ordered softly, his tone deadly.
"Those sweet lips of yours should feel really great around it," the client commented. "Come on, let me feel your hot little mouth on my cock."
"No, please," Karen pleaded desperately.
"Do it!" he man rasped sharply, his fingers digging into her breast painfully. "Do it while your husband watches. He says you've never done it for him. It's about time you learned."
"Please, no," Karen begged, tears trickling down her cheeks. She knew her misery was only making it more enjoyable for the men watching her, but couldn't help begging for release. The thought of taking that hideous instrument in her mouth and sucking it made her belly knot violently.
"Do it!" Krautz said sharply. "And look like you're enjoying it, damn it."
"Karen, remember what I said," Harry reminded her sharply, his tone crushing her completely. "You've got two seconds to get on your knees and do what he wants."
With a sob, Karen lurched out of Myron Krautz's grip, and slid to her knees in front of the posh couch. She turned, guided now by his hands on the sides of her neck. Then he was gripping the sides of her head, digging his fingers through her hair to grip her ears. Resting her arms on his hairy, hot thighs, she let him haul her head forward over his lap. He spread his knees, allowing her in between them.
His cock was right in front of her eyes. Driven by fear of her husband and the pain Krautz was causing, Karen lifted the head of his tool, and gripped its base hesitantly in her fingers. Her stomach knotting, she lowered her mouth toward the obscene object. She hesitantly touched her lips to it and felt a hot drop of something scald them. Forced on by his relentless pressure, she took the hard shaft into her mouth, and scrubbed her tongue along the base of it.
"Aahhh," Myron sighed. The feel of the young woman's mouth around his cock was like nothing he had ever had before. He had had head jobs before, and had paid well for them. But this was going to be the best yet. It was sheer ecstasy to watch her sweet young face being spiked on his prick. The feel of her tongue lapping at the underside of his organ was exquisite. Her teeth nicked the tender skin delicately, adding a tingle of pain to the pleasure.
"Suck it," he ordered softly, "but watch the teeth. Scrub it up real nice with your tongue, Mrs. Karen Hopkins."
Harry Hopkins was unable to resist it any longer. Running his zipper down, he pried his own shaft out of his clothes to ease the agony his erection was giving him. He watched hungrily, feasting his eyes on his wife's sleek bare back as she bent to her task. The sight of her sweet young mouth circling the engorged shaft of the other man burned into his eyes. He could imagine just how good that hot little mouth felt wrapped around Myron's cock. Maybe he would have Karen do that to him tonight, instead of what he had been planning for after their visitor left.
Karen was nauseated. She could smell the man she was sucking. His thick, matted mass of pubic hair was inches in front of her nose. His hard cock was stuffing her mouth, poking the back of her tongue, forcing her to breathe through her nose, making her inhale his essence with every gasp she took.
He was guiding her moves now, lifting her head, then shoving it back down on him, ramming her down on him. His cock jammed the back of her throat, making her guts spasm as she gagged on the huge, invading lump. Tears poured down her cheeks from the pain, the misery, the humiliation. Her breasts scraped the rough fabric of the sofa, making her nipples burn like fire.
And down in her own belly she felt a steadily growing excitement. She hated what she was being forced to do, but dear God, she liked it, too. How could it be? It was vile, disgusting, humiliating, and yet there was a sickening pleasure in the degradation. She hated the though that Harry was watching the entire performance, but liked it at the same time.
She could hear the man gripping her wheezing with excitement. Telling herself it would be best to end her humiliation as quickly as she could, she rubbed her tongue harder against the underside of his cock. Sliding one hand under her chin, she found his balls in their wrinkled sac and lifted and weighed them. They felt unimaginably heavy because of the load she knew they were carrying. The thought of what might pour into her mouth at any moment made Karen gulp and pull back.
To her surprise, he let her pull away, and spit his hard, saliva-covered organ out.
"Yeah, let's make it last a long time," he wheezed. "Let me see your face, Mrs. Hopkins. Let me see just how much you're enjoying this."
Karen tipped her head back and looked up past the man's big belly. She managed a sick, weak smile. She didn't want to admit it, but she was enjoying it. For some insane, obscene reason, there was a growing excitement in her own guts from the revolting act.
When she dipped her head and took the hard, hot rod in her mouth again, it was her own idea, not forced by the grip he still maintained on her ears and hair. She took the bulbous head between her eager lips and drove her head downward, ramming his cock against the back of her mouth with bruising force.
Harry's excitement was built still higher by the sight of his wife's ravished face. When she had backed off and looked up at Myron Krautz, Harry had been able to see that sick smile, the glistening spit covering her chin, the saliva coating the man's cock. Harry's own prick felt as if it were going to explode.
The sick pleasure Myron Krautz saw on Karen's sweet face made him determined to force her to take his load. There was no way she was going to escape absorbing his wads of cum, no way in the world. That would be the final, magnificent pleasure of the evening, to pour wave after wave of his semen down her pretty white throat.
Karen was striving to bring the man to completion, praying she would get the chance to escape the flood. Opening her throat, she fought down the gagging, and rammed the head of his cock still deeper. Desperately, she slipped her fingers up into the sweaty pocket behind his scrotum, weighing the heavy round masses of his testicles in her palm.
Krautz was beginning to move himself, lifting his hips, driving his cock still deeper into Karen. His fleshy thighs and buttocks flexed as he jammed upward again and again and again, fucking his shaft down her throat. He felt the growing rush, felt the fire exploding through his body. His grip unyielding, he rammed Karen's head down as he heaved his hips up. He felt the girl trying to pull up and away as she anticipated what was about to happen, and that made him feel good, too. He defeated her feeble escape attempt. His muscles convulsing, he poured his heavy load into Karen's sucking, working mouth, forced it down her throat. The feel of her swallowing the waves of cum kept his orgasm going on and on ' until he was pulsing dryly.
Karen had felt it coming, had felt his balls tensing up, had felt his body knotting, and had tried desperately to pull back, but it was hopeless. She actually felt the vibration of the first pulse of semen ripping down the length of the mass in her mouth. Hot, thick fluid poured into her throat, forcing her to swallow or choke on the heavy load. Wave after wave after wave of semen poured into her, down her throat into her churning stomach. An overflow of the liquid poured backwards into her mouth, coating her tongue, oozing from her lips, streaming down into Krautz's pubic hair, dribbling down her chin, mingling with her spit. Her stomach knotted at the hideous load it was being flooded with, but her guts were flaming with an obscene lust all their own.
Harry sensed the nearness of Myron's orgasm, saw the bulky man's hips lifting, then saw Karen take still another fraction of an inch of the man's cock in her mouth. He watched hungrily, licking his lips, as the obese man quivered in the throes of his cumming. When creamy semen oozed from Karen's tender, gripping lips to trickle down her chin, Harry had to tear his eyes away to avoid cumming himself, just from the sight.
The scene was frozen for long, tense, quivering moments, and then Myron Krautz released his grip on Karen's head. She sank back limply, gulping desperately for air. She was trying to keep her stomach from emptying itself in violent heaves. Eyes closed, she leaned back away from her tormenter, making no attempt to cover her naked breasts or her crotch where her dress had fucked up. She fought for breath, tears trickling down her cheeks to mingle with her saliva and the man's cum. Finally, in a gesture of horror, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
Turning, she struggled to her feet, looking desperately at her husband. She didn't know what she was looking for from him. She wanted approved she wanted sympathy, she wanted revulsion, she wanted regret for what he had forced her to do, she wanted love.
All she saw was lust. She saw that he had taken his cock out of his pants and that it was erect. She saw the naked excitement in his eyes. She saw none of the things she wanted to see. As she staggered from the room to rinse her mouth out, his order rang in her ears.
"Don't be gone long, Baby!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Karen took as long as she dared. After brushing her teeth and gargling, her mouth still tasted foul. She thought she could even smell the man's semen on her breath. Trying to ignore the smell, she washed her face again and again and again, striving to remove all the slimy traces from her cheeks and chin.
Finally, judging that if she failed to reappear soon Harry would drag her back, she combed her hair, pulled up the straps of her dress and retied them. Then, taking a deep breath, she went back into the living room.
"We did it, Baby, we did it," Harry crowed. He was standing by the bar, a drink in his hand.
The shock when she realized that Myron Krautz had left was almost physical. Her head whirling with relief, her knees folded and she sat dumbly on the couch. She wasn't sure what she had expected of the rest of the evening, but this wasn't it. She certainly hadn't expected to be free of further degradation.
Harry was pacing the floor exuberantly. "Man, of man, we really did it! Old Myron'll be in my office at nine in the morning, ready to sign. I could name any terms I wanted, any at all. I could double my rates and he'd sign. Ha ha! One of the three biggest shipping clients in the state, and he's all mine. Right in the palm of my hand!"
Karen listened with only half an ear. She was still trying to comprehend how she had escaped. The stench of Krautz's cigar still lingered in the air like a bad dream. But she was free! She wasn't going to be forced to do anything more with that disgusting little man. Eventually the smell of his sweat and semen would fade, and she would be left with only the evil memories of what she had been forced to do.
She realized with a jolt of fear that Harry was standing over her, staring down at her. Feeling like a whipped puppy, she lifted her eyes to meet his. The heat she saw in his gaze frightened her and encouraged her.
Harry grinned tightly. "Baby, you did better than I expected. I thought he'd like some head, and Baby, you really gave it to him. You took that ugly little prick of his and sucked it dry, like a real pro!"
Karen winced under the sting of his words and the memories they triggered. At the same time, she felt a silly little surge of gratitude for his praise. He had forced her to do the most vile, disgusting thing in the world, with an ugly man she had never met before, right in front of him, her husband, and how he was praising her! It was--it was perverted!
"When I saw him feeling up your tits I thought I was going to cum right in my pants," Harry went on, almost as if she weren't there. "His pudgy little hand playing with those great boobs of yours was some sight. Your knockers are too big for him to get his paw around, did you know that?"
Karen shook her head dumbly, trying to understand what was happening to her husband.
"Then you wrapped your fingers around his cock and I didn't worry about you anymore. All I could do was sit back and watch, 'til I thought I'd burst. He had you on your knees in front of him, like a streetwalker. Your pretty little mouth wrapped around his prick and you sucked it like half of a twin stick popsicle."
Karen shuddered, her stomach knotting at the memory. Harry was actually reliving the whole, vile, disgusting incident in his mind, and he was loving it, loving every sickening minute of it. He was enjoying reliving her degradation.
"Open my pants, Baby, I got something for you," Harry said.
Karen wanted to jump back, to run away. "No, Harry, please!" But, despite her protest, there was an obscene excitement deep in her guts.
Harry grabbed her hair and twisted it painfully. "Open my pants and take it out, cock-sucker!"
Renewed tears of pain and shame gushed from Karen's eyes as she unzipped her husband's fly. He was standing in front of her, his crotch at eye level. His cock exploded free of his pants as she hauled them down, going even farther than just his zipper. She had unfastened his belt and pulled his pants and underpants down to knot around his powerful, hairy thighs.
She didn't want to have anything to do with him. Really, she didn't. But the burning excitement in her own body gave her no choice. The vile act of sucking off Myron Krautz had built a reservoir of lust in her that had to find release somewhere, somehow. She touched her husband's cock with the tips of her fingers, then gripped it tenderly in both hands, steadying it in front of her face. Its rounded head pointed at her like the end of a battering ram. She could see the texture of its surface, the slit at its beautiful tip. As she watched, a shining drop of fluid slowly grew at that slit. She could feel Harry grinning down at her. She stuck out her tongue and tasted that drop, kissed the hot, hard head of his organ, took it into her mouth and sucked it, and her own excitement grew and grew and grew, blotting out the memory of Myron Krautz's hot cock in her mouth.
Finally, the lust in her guts became too much for her. Releasing Harry's tool, she lay back on the couch, spreading her shapely legs in crude invitation to him, pleading with him with her eyes and her entire body. The slit in the dress had opened to expose her hairy crotch with its hungry opening. Begging for what she needed, she fingered herself, spreading the lips open to show the wet, slick, ready hole.
Harry came down on her, squashing her flat. His rod found the opening and he drilled it deep into her. The feel of her hot, slick flesh wrapping itself around his tool sent a shudder through him.
Karen didn't believe a cock could feel so good filling her craving vagina. Wrapping her legs and her arms around Harry, she hauled him tight against her, fighting to take as much of him as she could stuff inside herself.
"OH, YES," she urged hoarsely, "OH, GOD, YES, FUCK ME, HARRY, FUCK ME GOOD. AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH." Her hips writhed and jerked as he pistoned in and out of her.
She was too hot for it to last long, and so was he. The flood of pleasure began to pour through her, knotting her muscles, making her dig her heels into the expensive sofa, arching her pelvis upward to carry the full weight of her partner.
"Aaaahhhhhh." The breath gusted from her lungs like compressed gas from an air compressor being exhausted. She felt Harry pouring his heavy load into her body and tightened the muscles of her vagina to milk the last drops from his cock. Then she collapsed with exhaustion.
Her pleasure lasted only moments. She was enjoying the feel of her husband's cock slowly shrinking inside her, treasuring it as a sign of his pleasure with her, when, abruptly, it was withdrawn completely. Bewildered by the shock of loss, she opened her eyes blearily, and stared up at him as he pulled up his pants and refastened them. He picked up his drink from where he had left it and began pacing tensely again, as if nothing had happened.
"This is just the start," he whispered to himself, "just the start."
"No, Harry, please," Karen whimpered, terrified of what he was saying.
Harry went on as if he hadn't heard her. "Next week we'll see who we can get. I got about three candidates, but I got to make sure we go after each one just the right way. I'll have to put someone onto finding out just what turns each of them on."
"No, Harry, please!" Karen repeated desperately, more loudly.
He looked down at her, startled.
Karen suddenly realized she was lying just as he had left her, her lovely thighs spread wide open, her vagina gaping open, dribbling cum. She closed her legs, and pulled the skirt down to cover herself. "You're not going to make me do it again, are you?" she pleaded.
Harry was astonished. "You didn't think one night was going to do it, did you?"
"Please?" Karen begged.
"No way, Baby, no way! We're just getting started. With your talent and my brains, I'm going to have the biggest trucking company in the state. I got all sorts of plans for you, Baby."
Dear God, no, Karen thought miserably. It couldn't be happening to her.
"You did better tonight than I expected," Harry admitted. "I mean, you went down on him like an old pro, and really looked like you were enjoying it."
Karen shuddered, trying to deny to herself that she had enjoyed it, but failing.
"Now I've got that bastard Sands just where I want him," Harry hissed triumphantly. "I'm going to drive his face in the muck. I'm gonna bury him so deep he'll be eating chop suey."
"No, Harry, please, can't we stop here?" Karen asked, knowing already what the answer would be. She was asking as much for Carl as for herself.
"He had you once, Baby, and I took you away from him," Harry answered. "He didn't know what he had or he never would have let you go. Well, now he's going to find out just what a gem he missed. I'm going to make him sorry he ever lived. I'm going to make him sorry he ever dipped his wick in you in the first place."
Dear God, what if Harry found out about the second time? He'd kill her!
"He took your cherry, but you're mine now.
And I'm going to make sure he finds out. He hears everyone in town is getting you but him, that'll really drive him crazy. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll get him from two directions. He's counting on Krautz and a few others to keep his business booming. Well, I'll get them and his business'll fold up like an old lawn chair. He's gone so far in debt for trucks all I got to do is steal a few clients and he goes under like an anchor. And when he hears just how I'm stealing his customers, that you're helping me do it, that'll finish him!"
Karen had hauled herself up to a sitting position. Hands limp at her sides, she watched her husband stride around the room. She listened numbly to his monologue, despair filling her.
What would Carl do? What would he do when his business was ripped out of his hands, the business he had worked so long and so hard to build? When he saw all those long, hard, lonely hours on the road being wasted, what would he do?
And what would he do when he heard about her, heard about her being the weapon Harry was using to destroy him?
Karen wanted to cry, for herself and for Carl. But she was all dried up inside. Maybe tomorrow she would be able to think, would be able to cry. Trying to ignore Harry's excited pacing, she got to her feet and left the room. She felt fouled and filthy.
In the bathroom she quickly shed the revolting whore's costume she had been forced to wear. Filling the tub with steaming water, she sank down into it, feeling it soak the stiffness from her muscles and joints. All around her were the expensive, lush fixtures she had always wanted in her home. The bathtub was huge, the tile spotless. The faucets and fixtures glittered under the bright, clear lighting. It was so totally un-like the small, dark, cramped, reeking bathroom of the diner, with its peeling walls, its single naked light bulb in the ceiling, its corroded dripping faucets, its slimy shower stall.
Had she really sold herself out for this? Suddenly all the luxury around her seemed tawdry. Instead of being the comfortable lushness of the good, rich life, it was the polished facade of a very expensive, not terribly exclusive, whorehouse. It was a brothel, with her the only whore. Karen's dream house was now Harry's Whorehouse-one woman, no waiting.
Twisting her mind away from that, Karen bathed her battered, tender tissues. She couldn't help seeing the faint bruise marks Myron Krautz's stubby fingers had left on the tender flesh of her full breast.
Two days later, Karen was still trying to find some way to escape the trap she was in. She was also waiting-dreading-what Harry had in store for her. Would he have another disgusting little man like Myron Krautz? What would she have to do next time? What could she be forced to do that was worse than what she had already done?
As for escape, there was no way out. Divorce? Sure, she could file for divorce, but knew it would never work. Harry had clout in this town, plenty of clout. He had money, and he ran a shipping business that was critical to the welfare of some of the most powerful men in town. If Harry's trucks stopped running, stores would run out of food, factories would close, businesses would go bankrupt. Carl had been right about one thing. When Harry Hopkins said "jump," everyone asked "how high?" while they were still on the way up.
Sure, she could file for divorce. But she would never find a sympathetic judge. Judges have to run for election, and to get elected they have to have money and support from important people, people like Harry.
Even if that were not the case, there was still another way Harry could beat her. If she filed, he would file a counter-suit, on the grounds of adultery. Not with Myron Krautz, necessarily, though he might be induced to testify against her. Harry could always come up with enough drivers willing to perjure themselves to keep their jobs. He could make her out to be the biggest whore in town.
If she did get a divorce, it would be on his terms, not hers. He would cut her off without a cent. She would be broke, homeless, with the clothes on her back, if she were lucky. And then it would be back to slinging hash, spreading for the truckers just to make enough money to live.
No, divorce was out of the question.
She could just run away, of course. But where could she run to? She had no money of her own, only the sparing amounts Harry doled out to her. Now he was going to be more tightfisted than ever, knowing she might try to bolt. She didn't have enough cash to get across the street. She didn't have a car, and even if she did, she didn't know how to drive. She had no credit cards.
Even if she started walking, she had no place to go. She had no friends. She had seen to that herself, she reminded herself bitterly. She had had friends, on the wrong side of town. When Harry had taken her out of the gutter, she had cut herself off from her friends without a backward glance. They hated her now.
And the people on the right side of town hated her, too. When they weren't ignoring her, they were sneering at her.
All Karen could do was sit and wait until her darling husband decided to usher again. And after that there would be another time, and another and another. And all the while he would be sitting there, watching her, enjoying her degradation.
Karen lay in the sun, nude, trying to let the hot, tanning rays burn the hopelessness and misery out of her body. Unending baths and swims in the pool still had not removed the filth. She felt befouled with slime.
The sound of the doorbell roused her from her anesthetic stupor. There was a faint chill of fear. What if Harry asked one of his clients to come by for a quickie during the day. She hadn't thought of that until now, but it seemed a real possibility. Donning her robe, Karen started to make a dash for the bedrom for some more substantial clothes.
The doorbell rang again, impatiently, steadily, frighteningly. Karen changed course, pulling the robe tight. At least it was more substantial than the one she had worn when Carl had come by. It wasn't much longer though. The blue terry cloth beach jacket ended high on her provocative thighs.
She twisted the doorknob, only to have the door slam open and smash her fingers painfully. Someone bulled into her, shoving her back, and the door crashed close. She found herself staring into the anger-twisted face of Carl Sands.
"Slut!" he snarled.
"Carl, please, I. . . . " Karen's pleading was cut off by a stinging slap that snapped her head around painfully.
"Whore!" Carl rapped louder, snapping her head around the other way with a backhand blow. "Carl, I didn't.. . . "
"You bitch, you miserable, rotten, stinking, double-crossing, rotten bitch!" Carl continued, shaking her until her teeth rattled. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You're no better than that whore of a mother you had. You'd sell yourself for a wooden nickel and give back four cents change."
"Carl, please," Karen begged. He threw her into the living room. Bouncing off a table, almost knocking it over, she caught herself on the couch. "I didn't want to do it!" she screamed desperately.
Carl had been about to follow up, his fists clenched to rain blows on her when her desperate cry got through to him. He paused. "What?"
Karen collapsed on the couch. "I didn't want to do it," she said desperately.
"What do you mean?"
Karen took a deep breath. She found it was even more shameful to admit what had really happened, than it was to just confess to being a whore. She was being forced to admit that her entire marriage was a vile farce and make that admission to a man that, maybe, had wanted to marry her.
"Harry forced me to-to do it," she whispered miserably.
"No!" Carl shot back, denying it.
Karen looked up at him tearfully. "Dear God, do you think I would have done anything with that miserable little man willingly?" she cried desperately. "Dou you know what he made me do, do you know?"
Carl seemed stunned by her verbal barrage.
"He made me take his-his thing-in my mouth," Karen continued, "and he made me suck him and suck him and suck him, until he dumped his vile stuff in me and I had to swallow it or drown in the awful stuff," Karen wailed. "And all the time I was doing that, Harry was sitting there, watching, just watching. It got him so excited he had his own thing out. And then, after Krautz was gone, Harry made me suck him, and then he put it in me and-and raped me," Karen concluded with a rush, twisting the truth in a desperate attempt to gain Carl's sympathy. "I didn't want to do any of it, honest I didn't."
Carl collapsed in Harry's favorite chair, totally drained. "When Krautz didn't show up for our appointment yesterday, I got worried," he explained. "He was all set to sign with me. I was giving him rates that no one in town could match, because I need his business. With him under contract, I could get some other very big customers. He was all set to sign, and then he didn't show."
Carl looked up at Karen. "So, I started asking some questions. I tried to get through to Krautz, but he was always out to me. But one of my drivers had been hanging around a bar, and he heard that little-stinker bragging about the great-head job he'd gotten the night before. Krautz got pretty juiced and was really bragging up a storm. From the description of the girl, the driver said it sounded like you, but I couldn't believe that."
Karen couldn't meet Carl's misery-laden eyes. She huddled on the couch, trying to erect a shell around herself.
"Then I got word that Krautz had taken his business to Harry. Harry needs that business like he needs another asshole. The only reason Harry would want Krautz is to break me. But I knew damn well Harry wouldn't match my rates, so there wasn't any good reason for Krautz to sign with him-except the one reason I refused to believe."
Karen was flattered at Carl's steadfast belief in her, and wondered what had happened to change it.
Carl looked even more miserable. "Then I got word from another driver and I knew it was true, that it had been you. Krautz had signed with Harry Hopkins because of what you'd done. Oh man, I felt sick!"
Karen couldn't just sit there any longer. Carl was so painfully miserable she had to do something. Crossing the room on tottering legs, she reached out her hand to comfort him.
"Get away," he snarled.
"Carl, please," she pleaded. "I told you, he made me do it. I didn't want to do it."
"Well, why'd you do it?" Carl demanded, in agony.
Karen turned away. "He said he'd throw me out if I didn't," she admitted. "He was going to-to dump me, send me back to the diner. I can't face that, I just can't. You-you know what that did to my mother! There wasn't anything else I could do."
"God, did you have to do that?" Carl exploded. "You could have come to me."
Karen shook her head. , "No. Carl, he's going to destroy you. He's out to grind you to a pulp, and he can do it. If I'd run to you he just would have found another way to do it, a worse way, and would ruin both of us."
"So you had to help him screw me," Carl said bitterly.
"I told you, I had no choice," Karen insisted.
"Damn it, wouldn't it be better for the two of us to go down together?" Carl shot back.
Karen winced and shook her head slowly. "I can't go back to where I came from," she said miserably. "I just can't At least as long as I stay with Harry and do what he asks me to do, I have this." She waved vaguely at the luxuries surrounding her.
"Come with me now," Carl argued. "Right now."
Karen shook her head. She squirmed helplessly in the trap. She dreaded the future she knew she faced with Harry. But it was a future she had never seen. Maybe that was what gave her some vague hope. She knew what the future held if she chose the other route. She had been there, she could never go back to that horror, not willingly. She would wind up doing the same thing she had already done with Myron Krautz, and she would have nothing at all to show for it.
"Bitch!" Carl hissed.
"Give up, Carl, please," she begged. "Can't you give up ? Harry's set his sights on destroying you, and he'll do it."
Carl shook his head. "I can't give up."
"Harry's going to do everything he can to destroy you," Karen insisted. "He'll steal your customers, he'll hire away your drivers. He'll bankrupt you. And do you think you found out about what happened by accident?"
"Huh?"
"Do you think it was accidental you found out about Krautz and me?" she asked softly. "Carl, he wanted you to find out. If Krautz hadn't spilled it, Harry would have. He wanted you to know what had happened. It's just another way of getting at you. He's always been jealous of you, because you were my first. He wants to be first in everything, but he can't be with me. He can't change the past, so the only thing he can do is eliminate you completely."
"He's crazy," Carl said in amazement.
"He is," Karen admitted. "He's crazy jealous. Carl, you've got to give up before it gets even worse than it already is."
"No!" Carl growled.
"He'll make sure that every time he forces me to-to whore for him, you'll find out about it," Karen went on relentlessly, trying to convince her old boyfriend. "Every time he makes me service one of his clients, you'll learn about it, every horrible detail. Every time he uses me to steal more of your business through some vile act, you'll get a full, detailed report, just like you did about Krautz. Krautz was just the start, believe me."
Carl's face twisted with pain. "Then come with me," he pleaded. "You've got to come with me.
If you come with me, he can't use you against me."
Karen felt as if she were on a treadmill. "I can't-I can't leave all this. It's wrong and it's stupid and it's selfish, but I can't go back to where I was."
"But we can beat him," Carl insisted. "Without you to use, he-he's stuck."
Karen shook her head. "He'd find another whore to serve him," she answered, calling herself what she was.
"But.. . . "
"And if we were to beat him, we'd have to use the same tactics he's using," Karen went on relentlessly. "Do you think you could use me the way he does?"
"Dear God, of course not," Carl yelped, horrified at the thought.
"The only thing you can do is give up and get out of town," Karen insisted, the sentence twisting like a knife in her heart. She was condemning herself to a life of carnal slavery, at the hands of her own husband.
Carl began to pace the floor. "There's got to be a way to beat him," he muttered. "Somehow, there's got to be a way to whip him until he tucks his tail between his legs and slinks away."
Karen watched Carl as he paced, suddenly afraid of the fury and determination she saw in him. Carl was being pushed beyond the limits any man should have to endure. What she saw in Carl's face terrified her. He looked like a man capable of murder.
She had to distract him, and knew only one way. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her robe.
Opening it, she let it slip down off her shoulders and drop to the floor.
Carl stopped his pacing and stared at her, an unholy light in his eyes.
Karen advanced on him, placing one bare foot carefully in front of the other, fiercely aware of her provocative nudity. She did her best to project pure, hot sexuality. She slid her hands up to fondle her full, sensuous breasts. For a long moment she stood in front of him, fingering her rosy nipples, sending waves of excitement ripping through her body.
Finally, she dropped to her knees in front of him and reached for his fly. She could see that her nudity had powered blood to his penis, making it swell to a stone-hard lump in his pants. She fumbled his zipper down and pried the massive tool free. It burst outward from the fly of his underpants, a few curling brown hairs escaping with it. The purple-pink cap speared directly at her face, begging for attention.
Her mouth open with passion and need and fear that Carl might reject her, Karen fingered the stiff tower of gristle. Tenderly she flicked her fingers at that special sensitive spot on the underside, scratching it gently and feeling a hot throbbing response from Carl's engorged member.
Hungrily, Karen licked her lips. She felt Carl trying to back away and gripped his prick firmly, using it as a hot handle to restrain him. She speared her tongue out, drilling it into the slit at the tip of his huge phallus, then wrapped her lips around the bulbous head.
Carl's cock tasted good-a hot, hard mass of meat that filled her mouth. She stroked her tongue along the underside of it, feeling its texture, savoring the warm flesh. She pushed her head forward, sliding the bulky mass deep into her mouth. She gagged, but pressed on, driving his beautiful cock still deeper. She bored in until the rubbery head of his organ was pushing down her throat, cutting off her wind.
Backing up, Karen inhaled frantically through her nose. She was desperate to please the man standing over her. She was also eagerly anticipating the flood of sticky hot cum that he would pour down her throat.
Timing her breathing with the strokes of her head, Karen pumped Carl's cock deeply into her mouth and down her throat. Saliva oozed coldly down her chin as the hot mass made her mouth flood. Pubic hairs tickled her nose with every inward drive of her head.
Wrapping one arm around Carl's hips, she gripped one of his muscular buttocks. With her other hand she reached between his legs, and gently pressed the warm lumps of his balls through his tight Levi's. She pressed the ovoid masses, trying to milk the hot load they carried into her mouth.
Carl's hips were moving now, driving his prick into her each time she pushed her head forward. The deeper penetration made breathing harder, the pleasure greater. God, to take the entire hot, hard mass down her throat would be ecstasy. She fought for every additional millimeter she could get.
She was scrubbing the bottom of his shaft with her velvet tongue as hard as she could when she felt the first pulse of his testicles. Lurching forward, she hammered his spear deep into her gullet as the first shot of semen ripped down the barrel of his prick. That searing wad spattered off the back of her throat and poured down into her stomach. It was immediately followed by wave after wave of thick delicious cum.
Karen's throat worked desperately as she swallowed the pounding waves of his secretions. Her swallowing stimulated his prick to still further efforts, until finally it was pulsing weakly, oozing out the last of its load.
Happily, Karen sucked him dry, savoring the final gobs, rolling them around in her mouth before swallowing them. Worshipfully, she gazed up at him. She knew spit and cum were glistening on her face, mute testimony of her eagerness to please him.
The look of adoration for her that was in Carl's eyes was enough to sear her soul.
"Please come with me," he asked her softly, lifting her to her feet.
Karen's eyes blurred with tears. She hid her misery from him by looking down and tenderly tucking his now limp penis back into his jeans. "No, I can't," she answered, her voice husky with sorrow and his delicious semen.
Fury gleamed in Carl's eyes. "By damn, I'm not running, and I'm not quitting. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but by God, I'll beat him. I'll obliterate that son of a bitch, and then I'll have you all to myself. When I get through with him, you'll be happy to leave him, 'cause he won't have anything left. Just look out, Karen. When he comes down, he's going to come down hard!"
Karen was sprawled nude on the expensive carpet as Carl whirled and exploded out of the house. She didn't move until the echoes from the slamming door had died away, leaving a desolate silence behind. Then, slowly and numbly, she got up, picked up her robe, and went back out to the patio and stretched out on the lounge in the sun. Carefully concentrating on the wonderful sensation of the hot sunshine on her generous breasts and hips, she refused to think of the future.
CHAPTER SIX
Karen was drifting along with the feeling she was in the still eye of a hurricane. There was a deadly calm to her existence. She got up in the morning after Harry had left. She spent the day waiting for the blow to fall. She was developing a deep, rich, all-over tan, until Harry cautioned her against it. With nothing else to do, nothing she wanted to do, she soaked up the sun. Harry didn't want her evenly tanned, he wanted stripes, suit marks. He said it made her look more innocent and naive.
So, she soaked up the sun wearing a bikini, waiting. Around her, forces were gathering, forces over which she had no control, forces that would eventually engulf her, batter her, destroy her.
Harry told her nothing. Since the night of Myron Krautz, Harry had not touched her, not laid a hand on her. Karen's hopes of defusing his plot by seducing him had failed in the face of his steel-hard self-control. Obviously, he was building her frustration, her horniness, denying her any release for her natural passions. Shame and pride kept her from providing her own release, the way she had that one time.
She decided she would foil Harry's scheme by controlling her own hot nature. But as the days stretched on, the futility of that idea became evident. She was climbing the walls with sexual frustration. Karen knew that when the opportunity presented itself, no matter how debasing, how degrading, in the end she would accept it. She bitterly told herself that she was indeed her mother's daughter. Her mother had been a whore, now she was one.
As to Carl Sands, she had heard no more from him after his last visit. She knew he must be planning something. She had no idea what his plan would be. All she knew was that, unavoidably, she was much the center of what Carl was planning as she was the center of what Harry was planning.
So Karen soaked up the sun and waited.
The telephone's sharp ring cut through Karen's carefully constructed wall of insulation like a scalpel through tender layers of flesh. Without moving from the lounge, she knew who it was and what it signified. It rang again, stabbing deep into her, knotting her muscles. Clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms, she braced herself for the next ring. Maybe if she didn't answer it, nothing more would happen. The ring came and she winced.
It wouldn't go away. Oh, the telephone would stop ringing, but then she would have no way of knowing what was coming, no warning of what to expect. Not knowing what was coming would be worse than knowing.
"Hello, Harry," she answered calmly.
"Hi, Baby. I'll be bringing a client home tonight."
It was exactly what she had expected, had dreaded. "Yes, Harry," she answered numbly.
"I mean, with me, understand? The client will be with me."
"I understand, Harry. The client will be with you."
"Steaks and salad and baked potatoes for dinner," Harry went on. "Yes, Harry."
"I want you to dress kind of special, Baby," Harry continued. "Are you listening?"
"I'm listening," she answered dutifully.
"I want you to wear the brown leather miniskirt," Harry instructed. "Wear it with that lacy, see-through blouse."
"Yes, Harry."
"And don't wear anything underneath at all, no panties, no pantyhose, no bra, no nothing. Oh, and wear the brown boots, the ones that come up to your knees. Understand?"
Karen nodded, feeling like a robot. "I understand, Harry." She hung up. For a second she debated just going back to the lounge and lying down and going to sleep. But the possibility of being thrown out changed her mind. If she was to have everything ready, she had to get the steaks thawed. And, if she was not going to be wearing stockings or pantyhose, she had to shave.
Along with fear and dread, Karen had a subtle, undeniable feeling of anticipation. As horrible as it might be, she was going to have some form of sexual release this evening. She was unable to deny she was looking forward to that.
* * *
Karen's heart squeezed into a tight, hard, cold lump in her chest when she heard Harry's car in the drive. How could she possibly go through it again ? She had lived through the incredible shame once; it wouldn't be possible for her to live through it again.
Somehow, she had managed to get everything ready. With no unexpected interruption like there had been the last time, she had the salad prepared, the potatoes in the oven. The steaks were ready to be grilled over the built-in gas-fired grill in the kitchen. The bar was stocked and ready, the table set. She had used the mechanical process of preparing for the guest to blot out the fear and loathing she was feeling.
She went to the door to greet her husband and the man who would have her this evening.
When the door opened, Karen's jaw dropped. A woman she had never seen before was standing beside Harry. The woman was tall and slender. Rather than beautiful, Karen instantly thought of the woman as "handsome." The dark hair was neat and short. The high cheekbones gave a vaguely exotic appearance. The jaw was strong and the expression, while pleasant, was uncompromising.
Karen felt a flood of relief, and disappointment. Obviously, since the client was a woman, Karen was going to be spared this evening. Then she thought again. What if she was going to be forced to watch while Harry had relations with this woman ?
"Karen, this is Ann Patterson," Harry introduced them politely. "Ann' I'd like you to meet my wife, Karen."
"How do you do," Ann Patterson responded to Karen's shy greeting. The woman took Karen's hand and gave it a hard, business-like shake, then held onto it a few seconds too long. "Harry has told me a great deal about you. I'm looking forward to the evening."
Karen felt a renewed jolt. The tall woman was studying her boldly, insolently in fact. "That's very nice," Karen responded inanely.
Harry was grinning broadly as he stood next to their guest. "I told Ann that you were always interested in trying something new and different," he explained cryptically.
Karen felt a sick, sinking feeling grow inside her. She didn't know what Harry had planned, had no idea where she fitted in, but she knew she wasn't going to like it.
While she was putting the finishing touches on dinner, Karen got a warning from her husband.
Harry took a piece of lettuce from the salad bowl and popped it into his mouth. "Remember, Baby, no matter what happens, you look like you're enjoying it."
"What's going to happen, Harry?" Karen asked timidly.
Harry chuckled. "I'm digging Carl's grave just a little bit deeper tonight," he gloated, "with your help, of course. I always wanted to see two women making it together," Harry observed smugly.
Karen winced as if she had been physically struck. Horrified, she turned on him. "No," she choked out.
"Oh, yes," Harry answered firmly. "Nobody's changed the rules, Baby. Mrs. Patterson has her own peculiar interests in life. I think it's because she's never had a real man. That jellyfish of a husband of hers sure isn't any winner. Maybe tonight, after she's had her fun with you, I'll show her what a real man can do. No matter, Ann Patterson has a lot of business to offer. She's about to sign with Carl, but after this evening she'll change her mind about that."
Karen wanted to run. She had thought Myron Krautz had been the worst possible. This was worse. This was-perversion beyond anything she had ever imagined.
"You'll do it, and enjoy it," Harry told her softly, "and then you'll watch, right? Right?"
He didn't have to repeat his threats. Karen remembered all too well what he had promised. Fighting back her tears, she nodded. She set the food on the table.
After dinner it was brandy again. Karen was hiding by staring into the amber pool of liquid in the bottom of her snifter, the aroma of the powerful liquor swimming around her head.
"Have you got some danceable music in that rig of yours?" Ann Patterson asked Harry.
Karen flinched. She could feel the other woman studying her, feel that the other woman was eyeing her breasts which were visible through the lace of her blouse. She felt soiled and dirty just from the tall woman's bold study.
Karen felt Harry's eyes on her as she danced hesitantly with their guest. Ann Patterson took the lead as if it were the most natural thing in the world. If it hadn't been for the slenderness and grace of the woman holding her, and the feel of soft breasts brushing her occasionally, Karen wouldn't have been able to tell she was dancing with a woman, rather than a man.
Ann carefully and firmly drew Karen in closer and tighter. "It's really a shame, the appearances we have to maintain," she commented. "I haven't had a chance to dance like this since I was in college. Even then, we had to be very, very careful."
Karen didn't answer. She was agonizingly aware of the soft pressure of the other woman's breasts against her. The two hard dots had to be Ann Patterson's nipples. Obviously, the woman wore no bra.
"You really do have a great body. And that outfit of yours so innocently sexy, it's like the clothes I design."
Karen fought to make some sort of conversation, some chatter that would lead the conversation in a different direction. "You make clothes?"
"Didn't Harry tell you ? I own HOT TOGS. We make clothes for young misses. You know, teenagers."
"I didn't know," Karen confessed.
"I like to think of sweet, innocent young girls wearing things I've designed. Some of our models are really quite adorable, their young legs showing, the crotch of their hot pants pulled up tight between their thighs. And when I'm doing the final fitting on a design, that is really ecstasy," Ann Patterson mused dreamily. "I have to be very careful, you understand. Most of the girls, though, are quite charming about the whole thing."
Karen was dismally aware of her dancing partner's slowly increasing excitement. She wanted to pull away, but Ann's arm gripped her firmly, held her close. When Karen sensed the designer looking down at her, she drew back her head and looked up.
The kiss Ann gave Karen was uncompromisingly passionate. The tall woman drilled her tongue through Karen's defenses. Knowing that Harry was watching, Karen didn't dare fight it. She let the tall woman explore her mouth, battled her own tongue against Ann's as if she were being kissed by a man.
Ann Patterson cupped Karen's ass in her hands, squeezing the soft masses of her buttocks, hauling her pelvis forward against her own, more bony, frame. Spreading her thighs, she guided one of Karen's thigh into her crotch, ground her pelvis down against it, stimulating herself on Karen's soft thigh.
Karen's own crotch pressed against one of Anne's hard legs, and Karen felt a surprising surge of sexual excitement from the heat and friction. They weren't dancing anymore. They were necking. The charade of dancing was gone completely now.
"Let's go over on the couch," the older woman suggested huskily. , Karen tried to escape. "But Harry.. . . "
"Let him watch," Mrs. Patterson answered. "I've never had a man watch. I understand they find it quite exciting. Besides maybe he can learn something about how to please a woman."
Karen's resistance crumbled, and she let herself be led to the couch.
"No, don't sit down yet," Ann Patterson ordered. "I want to undress you. I've got to see that body of yours naked."
Karen stood like a robot, agonizingly aware of Harry's hot gaze, horrified with what was happening to her. She felt a horrid, perverse excitement deep in her belly. She was aware just how low she was sinking. She was, in the end, going to be even worse than her mother had been.
She felt her blouse being unbuttoned. Cool air struck her breasts and her nipples hardened. She let Mrs. Patterson push her blouse back off her shoulders and down her arms. Then the woman was cupping and massaging her full breasts, and Karen fought back tears of shame. Ann Patterson's lips closed on one of Karen's nipples and a jolt of heat ripped up through Karen's body. Karen's chest heaved with an excitement she tried to deny, but couldn't.
Besides, right now, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was a man suckling at her hard tit. That was it, she would imagine a man was nursing on her breast, nibbling on her erect nipple.
Karen was able to hold that image when she felt Mrs. Patterson's hands on the fastening of the miniskirt. Karen clung to that false belief as she felt her skirt being hauled down her legs and roped around her booted ankles.
Ann Patterson suddenly nuzzled her face into Karen's crotch and Karen's legs immediately spread open of their own volition. The other woman's tongue burrowed deep into Karen's cleft, thrugh her pubic bush, wedging her labia open, spearing into her sensitive folds, and sending an explosion of excitement ripping through Karen.
Ann savored the hot, sweet juices her tongue found. This would be the most delicious meal she had ever had. She was going to have to get Karen's excitement built up so Karen would be properly responsive. But building Karen's lust was a pleasant task. Never before had Ann had such a delectable morsel to work with. The models down at the shop were delightful, tender things, but so young and undeveloped, with hesitant little breasts and sparse pubic bushes. Here was a real woman's body, all curves and softnesses and dark hollows to be explored in depth.
And that sweet, innocent face. It was going to be a real joy to have Karen's face buried in her crotch. Karen would be drilling deep into her crevice in just a few exciting minutes, and then Ann would be showing Karen just how wonderful sex could be.
Harry sipped his brandy, watching from across the room. He studied Karen's face as her head dropped back and her jaw sagged open with excitement. Damn all if she wasn't enjoying this, Harry thought. Look at that poor Patterson bitch, groveling, suffocating, her face sunk in Karen's hot box. This was going to be an evening none of them forgot. Even if he didn't get the shipping contract, it sure was going to be fun trying.
Ann Patterson drew back and looked up at Karen, sweeping her eyes up the lush body. There was an unholy excitement in Ann's eyes as she feasted her gaze on Karen's lush curves.
Karen settled back from her sensual high, and as she did, reality intruded, a brutal stabbing pain that ripped into her. She opened her eyes and tried to ignore the woman at her feet that had been devouring her, giving her such pleasure. She looked over at Harry, and instantly wished she hadn't. Harry was grinning cruelly, swirling his brandy slowly in the snifter.
"I think I'll leave your boots on you," Mrs. Patterson commented softly.
Karen was shamefully aware of her blatant nudity. With Myron Krautz she had been left a shred of dignity even though she had been forced to degrade herself on him. But now, with her boots and nothing else on but her necklace, she felt horribly naked.
Ann Patterson got to her feet, sliding her hands intimately up Karen's nude body as she rose. Gripping Karen's head hard, Ann brought her mouth down for another driving, tongue-reaming kiss. When she broke the kiss, she looked straight in Karen's eyes. There was a cruel glint in her gaze.
"Well, don't just stand there, undress me," she ordered.
Tears blurred Karen's vision as she fumbled with the other woman's business-like blouse. It spread open and confirmed that Ann Patterson wore no bra. The other woman's breasts were small, rounded and firm, capped with dark, taut nipples.
Karen hoped to get away with just removing Mrs. Patterson's clothes, but the other woman wouldn't let her. Locking her fingers in Karen's hair, Ann guided Karen's mouth to her breasts. Karen kissed them hesitantly.
"Ah, yesss," Ann Patterson hissed with pleasure.
Karen nibbled, then nipped the hard buds. She worried one tit with her teeth and felt Mrs. Patterson's fingers tighten in her hair. Then the woman was hauling her away from that comparatively safe haven.
Karen was kneeling. She helped Mrs. Patterson out of her shoes, then unfastened the belt of her stylish slacks. Karen ran the zipper down and discovered with a feeling of shock that the woman was wearing no panties. A dark, thick pubic bush greeted Karen, inches in front of her face, as she lowered the zipper. Then she was pulling Mrs. Patterson's slacks down and the woman was stepping out of them.
Karen started to stand up but had no chance. Mrs. Patterson gripped her hair again, dragged her face forward. Karen saw the dark mass of curling hair drawing closer and closer, then blurring when her eyes could no longer focus on it. Karen shut her eyes and then her nose was into the tickling wiry mass.
Karen was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of the other woman. Karen was surprised to find the aroma faintly pleasant. She had expected to be nauseated.
Then her face was being ground into Mrs. Patterson's crotch. Karen knew what the other woman wanted. Hesitantly, Karen worked her lips against the woman's labia, then probed delicately with her tongue. She felt the thick hairs tangle in her saliva, pushed through them into the crevice, and encountered hot, metallic juices in the folds of tissue there.
Ann Patterson tightened her grip on Karen's head, hauling her face in further. The feel of Karen's tongue delicately, hesitantly probing her sent waves of fire searing through her, knotting her lean muscles. Looking down, Ann watched as Karen dug her nose into her hairy crotch. The sight of the girl digging her sweet, innocent face into her was fabulously exciting. It was pure joy to watch the naive young woman being introduced to the delicious pleasure of lesbian love. The innocent ones were always the best. And just how was this young woman's husband taking this? Ann wondered. She looked over at Harry.
Harry was loving every minute of it. Ann Patterson was kind of skinny, especially when compared to Karen's lush voluptuous curves, but the contrast made it all the more exciting. The sight of Karen shoving her face into the other woman's pussy was making him so hot, he was afraid he was going to have to take his cock out again or have it folded up like a croquet hoop. Karen was really digging into her work with gusto.
Karen was fighting waves of sickness, and waves of perverted lust. Ann had spread her legs, and Karen was driving her face deep into the woman's crotch, tipping her head back and spearing her tongue into the opening there, tasting the waves of love juices, feeling them smear on her cheeks and chin. She wanted to back off, but Ann refused to let her pull away.
Karen thought she was going to suffocate when suddenly Ann Patterson was lifting her, making her stand up. Then Karen was dragged into a tight embrace, her breasts crushed painfully flat against Ann's chest, and she felt Ann's breasts squashing against her. There was another deep, probing, lust-filled kiss. This time Karen was tasting her own juices on Ann's breath, and knew that Ann was tasting her own juices on Karen's breath.
Then they were tumbling on the couch in a tangle of arms, breasts, crotches, and thighs. The two women twined and tangled in a wild, passionate embrace. On the bottom, Karen was forced to go along with the stronger woman's demands. Thighs ground into crotches, crushing pubic hair into scratching mats, squashing clitorises against pubic bones, pulping juicy folds of tissue.
Karen felt fiery waves of pleasure ripping through her. She didn't draw back from the perverted entanglement, she was too hot for that now. Her own lust was driving her on, making her scrub her crotch against Ann's hard thigh, making her drive her leg up hard against Ann's demanding slit.
Abruptly, Ann pulled away, leaving Karen lying on the couch, searching vaguely for more pleasure. Karen looked up, suddenly filled with a desperate, horrible longing. She looked over at Harry, and almost cried at what she saw there. He was leering at her, his cock out. It was as hard as iron. His face was twisted with a cruel passion as he watched.
Karen put a powerful pleading in her gaze at him, but it was useless. She needed release from the vile passions that had been aroused in her, and there was only one way she was going to get that release. And Harry was going to sit there and watch the entire revolting scene.
Then Ann Patterson was descending on Karen again, her position reversed, her head toward Karen's crotch, and Karen was welcoming her, reaching for the woman's slender hips, guiding Ann's legs into position. Karen's eyes were fastened on Ann's dark pubic bush, already sticky and stringy with love juices.
Ann's mouth fastened on Karen's pussy, and Karen's hips lurched upward in an involuntary drive toward indescribable pleasure. Wrapping her arms around Ann's hips, Karen drew her down, pulled her hairy crotch to her face, her mouth watering with a perverted appetite for the other woman's juicy flesh.
The smell was familiar this time, and even more pleasant. Karen worked her jaw, speared with her tongue, and actually drank the other woman's secretions. Karen's lust was boiling higher and higher and higher. Ann was ripping her tongue the length of Karen's hot canyon, rasping it over the sensitive bud of her clitoris, striking fire into the very heart of her body. Karen's hips bounced and jerked as her lust grew greater and greater. She was approaching a searing, perverted, but incredibly good, climax, and didn't care what she had to do to get it.
Karen was doing her best to give Ann the same searing pleasure. Karen screwed her tongue deep into Ann's channel, driving deep into her vagina, until the muscles of her jaw and tongue ached with the effort. Her nose was grinding into Ann's thick hair, pressing against the top edge of Ann's slit, driving against her clitoris.
The two women ate each other with a desperate hunger, like starving peasants at a royal banquet. Sucking and chewing and lapping at each other, they drove each other wild with their working mouths and teeth and lips and tongues.
Ann's slender, lithe, muscular body writhed hungrily against Karen's lushly curved one.
Harry was gritting his teeth with his own voyeuristic pleasure at the sight. When it was all over he was going to have one of those women, and he didn't care any longer which one it was. But that Ann sure needed a man to show her what was what. He would hammer his cock deep into her and show her just how full a woman's vagina could be.
Underneath, Karen was fighting for breath, her orgasm drawing closer and closer. She felt Ann's pelvis working desperately, and knew that the other woman was just as close to completion, which made her work harder to bring Ann off. Straining desperately, Karen screwed Ann deeply with her tongue, sinking her fingers into the muscled masses of Ann's buttocks to haul her tight against her face. Ann's body began to knot and convulse, and a renewed flood of juices poured down on Karen's face, into her hungrily working mouth.
Karen's own body knotted with a fiery climax. She shrieked into the muffling folds of slimy tissues engulfing her hungry mouth, and her body arched desperately, then her thighs closed hard on Ann's head.
For a long, agonizing, knotted moment, the two women strained against each other as the fires surged through them. Then, quivering with exhaustion, they slumped, their muscles unknotting abruptly, leaving them limp, panting for breath.
Harry watched immobile through the entire fiery climax, then got to his feet when it was over. Without taking his eyes off the tangle of legs and arms, he began to strip off his own clothes. Then he advanced on the two women. Reaching for Ann's shoulder, he pulled her back off Karen and eased his clent to the floor.
Half-dazed with her lingering orgasm, Ann Patterson sat on the floor, leaning back on her hands, her knees bent, thighs open, exposing her wet pubic vee.
"How about it, Annie, how about a real man, now?" Harry asked softly.
Ann lurched back, further spreading her thighs. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes and, at the same time, there was a burning lust in her in spite of her so recent orgasm. A man? Why not? That hot, hard tower of gristle standing boldly out from Harry's crotch looked ready and able. Maybe he did have something that a woman couldn't offer. Ann fingered herself, prying her pussy open to show the shining red inner folds, making her hole gape open, a welcome target for his hot staff.
Karen didn't want to watch, but had to. Exhausted and shivering, she lay on the couch and watched as her husband knelt, then leaned forward and drove his ready tool deep into Ann's hungry pussy. It was the same pussy that Karen had just eaten out so hungrily, and now Harry was ramming his hot cock deep into it, filling it. Karen wanted that hard, hot tool buried in her own hungry, streaming vagina. Instead, she had to watch while it was delivered to another woman.
Harry leaned on his arms, tilting his body up away from the slender woman under him. As he powered his rock-hard cock into her gaping opening the first time, he carefully watched the sweep of emotions crossing her face. By damn, she did like men after all. She may have been turned on by having another woman's pussy to chew on, and having her own pussy eaten by a woman, but it took a real man to satisfy her. Her lips were twisted open by naked lust as he filled her slimy, hot hole with his powerful staff.
Drawing back, Harry watched his prick emerge from Ann Patterson's crotch. It looked like a tower of gristle connecting them. He paused, then shoved his phallus back into her hot nest, watching it disappear behind her veil of curling pubic hair. It looked like some weird, obscene magic trick-to make that massive object vanish into what, from Harry's angle, appeared to be solid flesh.
From Karen's angle it was neither as mysterious nor as pleasurable. Harry was sinking what she needed so badly into another woman's glistening orifice. Karen could see the hairy labia caressing every hot inch of Harry's cock as he drilled it deep into Ann's opening. When he drew back, his pale shaft glistened with the juices that Karen had started flowing with her own mouth. The next inward drive actually pumped an overflow of secretions from Ann's cylinder, and a wave of shining liquid oozed down her taut buttocks to stain the expensive carpet.
Frantic with frustration, Karen sank her fingers deep in her own starving pussy, feeling her own juices slime over her hand. She pressed the hot knot of her clitoris with her thumb, rolling the sensitive bud against her pubic bone. She drove her fingers deep into her streaming vagina, feeling the rough folds of tissue slide past her fingers. In a frantic attempt to produce the bulk she needed, she squeezed three fingers, then a fourth, into her channel. It still wasn't enough, She couldn't reach deep enough with her small hand to duplicate the cock she really needed. She wept silently with frustration.
Harry was digging his fingers under Ann's butt, lifting her hips, digging his fingers into her buttocks, massaging them. He sought still farther' under her, prying his fingers into the crevice between the cheeks. It was hot and seamy in that intimate crack, slick with the overflow from the woman's pussy. He first found where his cock was sliding deep into her body, and then the hot little opening he had been searching for. He pushed the tip of his finger at the woman's asshole.
The unexpected attack brought Ann's hips up in a powerful surge, a drive that lifted Harry clear off the floor. Clinging to his bucking mount, Harry pried into that tight opening, worming his finger into her resisting socket. He was going to give this bisexual broad a fucking like she had never had before in her life. No wonder she had accepted women, she had never had a real man before. Well, she was getting one this time.
Ann had lurched with shock at the feel of Harry's finger prodding at her anus. Then unexpected pleasure had ripped through her body, and she hoped desperately he would continue the vile invasion. Her hips shrank away from the probe, while her mind fought to overcome her body's instinctive aversion. He just had to continue! She felt her tight ring of muscle yielding reluctantly to Harry's persistent probing. God, did that feel good! She had never felt anything so fantastic in her life. She felt his finger slide further into her rectum, like a small prick, and an unexpected orgasm ripped through her, wrenching a garbled cry of pleasure from her body as her muscles knotted, spasming around the squirming digit sunk in her backside.
Karen watched Harry driving his finger into Ann Patterson's anus and cried with frustration. Harry had never even attempted anything like that with her. Her humiliation and revulsion reached new heights at the sight of her husband doing things with another woman he had never done with her. She wanted to crawl away and hide, but her own obscene curiosity kept her riveted to the spot, watching, while she mashed her juicy tissues in a futile attempt to reach an orgasm.
Harry screwed his finger deep into the hot, tight, greasy opening of Ann's rectum, and fucked his cock deep into her oozing, clinging vagina. By moving his finger in and out he increased the friction against his cock, sending his pleasure still higher. The fire was building in his loins. Soon it was going to erupt out through his cock and stream deep into Ann Patterson's guts. With all the willpower he had, he restrained that explosion, not to bring the woman under him to a completion of her own, but to make his own pleasure all the greater when he did cum.
"Cum, you bastard," Ann growled vilely in his ear, clawing at his back. "Cum like a geyser, you hairy son of a bitch. I'm cumming, cumming, cumminggg, cummmmminnnnggggg."
In response to her urging and the spasming of her vagina around his ready cock, Harry slammed deep into her one last powerful time. His body knotted and he felt pulse after pulse of semen jetting from his prick, pumping deep into the hot, clasping, pulsing well of Ann's vagina.
The two seemed to hang suspended, Ann's body in a muscle-knotted arch as she milked him of every drop. A thick wave of creamy fluid oozed from around Harry's cock, poured down, and dropped in thick, ugly globs on the carpeting. Then, simultaneously, the two of them relaxed, slumping with exhaustion and sighing with satisfaction, their bodies linked in a lovers' knot of lust.
Karen was weeping softly with misery, shame, and frustration. She was digging her fingers into her soggy folds in a futile, desperate attempt to trigger her own orgasm as she was forced to watch her husband deliver what was rightfully hers to Ann Patterson. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Karen lurched to her feet and staggered out of the room.
Miserably, Karen stared at herself in the mirror again. She didn't feel capable of facing herself. She was revolted at what she saw-her face smeared with another woman's cum. And she had enjoyed it, she had loved every vile, disgusting, humiliating minute of it. And when they had finished, it hadn't been her that Harry had turned to for his own satisfaction, but the other woman.
Burying her face in her hands, Karen burst into tears.
CHAPTER SEVEN
For the first time in her life, Karen found herself contemplating suicide. It was two days after the revolting incident with Mrs. Ann Patterson. The first day following that dreadful evening, Karen had spent in a somnambulistic trance.
The fact that she had made love to another woman was revolting. Even her mother had never descended to that despicable level. What made it even worse was the horrible realization that she had enjoyed it. The fact that it had happened at all could be excused, after a fashion, by the fact that Harry had forced her into it. Her dread of him, and of being disowned by him, had overcome her resistance.
But she had enjoyed it. That was the realization that ripped through Karen's innards, leaving her an empty, aching container of remorse. She could have pretended to have climaxed, could have simulated an orgasm at the hands and mouth of Ann Patterson. But she hadn't had to. And she could remember every blazing detail of what had been done to her, and of what she had done to the other woman. There had been nothing false about her reactions. She had had an orgasm un-like any she had ever experienced before.
She had also done everything possible to repay the favor. Willingly, eagerly, she had extended herself to the utmost to return to Ann Patterson all the pleasure she herself had been experiencing.
She had drilled her tongue deep into the other woman's innermost recesses. With her desperately working mouth, Karen had sought out every pleasure point in Ann Patterson's pubic crevice.
And that very effort had added to Karen's obscene pleasure. The smell of the woman's juices, the flavor of her oozing tissues, the grinding feel of her pubic hair on Karen's cheeks and jaw had driven Karen onward to new efforts, and upward to unbelievable heights. She had loved it. She had loved wallowing in the secretions of the woman's excited flesh, had loved the palpable evidence her efforts had triggered. When Ann Patterson's strong thighs had clamped on Karen's head, convulsed by the orgasm wracking her, Karen's own orgasm had doubled in intensity.
God, it was like being raped by the most revolting creature on the face of the earth and loving every vile minute of it.
Karen decided her existence was becoming intolerable. All the things she looked at were a sickening reminder of all that she had done to retain them.
But she couldn't go back where she had come from. She just could not return to the life she had been rescued from. What she was living through now was almost as bad as what she had escaped from-almost as bad, but not quite. Somehow, as revolting and humiliating as her life had become, it still was not as bad as what it had been, or what her mother had suffered through-not yet, she told herself.
When life became as intolerable as it had been, when where she was became as unacceptable as what she was threatened with, then she would end it all.
Karen lifted her glass from the table beside the lounge and sipped. It looked like iced tea, even to a slice of lemon drifting in it.
It wasn't. It was a tall glass of bourbon, loaded with ice, softened by a little water. The aromatic fumes of the distilled corn liquor wafted through Karen's mind, anesthetizing her agonized consciousness.
With Karen's mother, it had been gin or vodka. Toward the end, the beaten woman had always seemed to have a tumbler in her hand. It looked just like water, crystal clear and harmless. She had been pickling herself in it, trying to blot from her mind all that had gone wrong in her life. Now Karen was following the same deadly course.
But when her end came, Karen told herself, it would be of her own choosing. How much would it hurt to slash her wrists? To pour her life's blood over the glittering, lush fixtures of that bathroom would be some perverted form of justice.
Or she could drown in the swimming pool. She could just sink down into those cool, blue depths, let the water sluice away her sins along with her consciousness. A final, total-immersion baptism. And her body would be floating there to greet Harry when he returned with another "client" to be "entertained."
Boy, that would sure spoil the party. Nothing like having a dead body on your hands to put a damper on the festivities. Why, they would probably even have to change the water in the pool.
Karen realized suddenly that she was getting drunk. She felt betrayed. A sweep of her arm sent her glass flying, trailing a glittering tail of bourbon and ice cubes. The half-empty glass struck the surface of the pool, skipped once, then sank, trailing bubbles. The slice of lemon spiraled down behind it, then lost the tugging currents set up by the glass, and drifted aimlessly in the water.
There had to be something she could do, some way she could escape the trap she was in. But what? Harry had her trapped as surely as if he had her in a cage. He knew just which buttons to push to make her do what he wanted. In a week or so he would have her climbing the walls with sexual frustration. Then he would present her to another client. Once she started with whoever it was, her own sexual nature would carry her through to the ultimate degrading finish, no matter what it was.
What about Carl ? Obviously, Harry was certain he had Carl on the run. He was certain that with Myron Krautz and Ann Patterson signing with Hopkins' Transport, Carl's days in the trucking business were numbered. To add to Carl's misery, Harry was sure to make certain that this latest coup with Ann Patterson reached Carl's ears in the greatest detail possible.
Where was Carl? He should have heard what had happened to her by now. He wasn't just going to sit back and watch his business be ruined. He couldn't just sit back and watch her be destroyed, could he? Karen's pride wouldn't let her believe that Carl had consigned her to perdition without even saying good-bye. He had been her first, and if he just let her go down to disaster alone, it was concrete evidence that she meant no more to him than she did to Harry. Karen couldn't believe that to be the case. Carl had said he loved her.
Of course, so had Harry Hopkins.
Karen wished she hadn't thrown the glass. Now she was going to have to go in the water and fish it out so she could make another drink.
Poised on the edge of the pool, Karen debated stripping off her bathing suit. That suit was a symbol of Harry's power over her. He didn't want her to look like a wanton nudist, he wanted her to have white stripes, to make her look naked when she undressed for him and his clients. She was about to strip the suit off when she heard the doorbell.
Carl! It had to be Carl. Turning away from the pool, she dashed for the front door. It was Carl and he would rescue her.
With a glad greeting on her lips she jerked the door open. The greeting died on her lips. Sick disgust filled her at the sight of the man on the front porch.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hopkins," Myron Krautz greeted her, pushing past her and into the house.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
Myron blinked his watery brown eyes at her. "We have some unfinished business to conclude," he answered in his raspy voice.
"We have nothing to finish!" Karen shot back. "Now get out of here."
"Tut tut, Mrs. Hopkins, that's no way to talk to an honored client of your husband's," the pudgy little man chided.
"All that was taken care of long ago," Karen retorted. "You signed a contract with my husband the next day, remember? Now you have no claim on me whatsoever."
Myron Krautz was advancing on her. "But that's just it, Mrs. Hopkins. All I signed with your husband that day was a letter of agreement. It has no more standing in a court of law than a piece of blank paper. I can turn around and sign a contract with whomever I please, and there is nothing your husband can do about it. Why, I could sign with, oh, say, Carl Sands, for example? He has very attractive rates, much more attractive than anything your husband can offer."
Karen backed away from the obnoxious little man and fetched up against the bar. The feel of the cool wood against her bare back made her painfully aware of her minimal bikini.
"Now," Myron Krautz went on relentlessly, "just what do you think your husband would do if he found out that you rejected me? I dare say that if I were to fail to sign the contract with him and told him why, it would not go well with you."
"He'd do nothing to me," Karen argued, trying to make the lie sound convincing. "Now get out of here."
"Not until I get exactly what I came for," the rotund little man rasped back, reaching for the top of her suit.
Karen tried to fight him off, but there was surprising strength in his arms. He fastened his hand on the top of her suit, between her breasts. She felt the strap digging into her back, then something gave and the bra was loose. She clutched at it desperately, but he ripped it off her, the straps stinging her flesh.
"You did a real nice job on me that night,"
Myron Krautz noted conversationally, "but I think today I'd like something a little different."
"Please," Karen begged, gripping his wrists as he sank his fingers into her tender breasts. Through the pain and misery she felt her lush, sex-starved body betraying her again.
Releasing her big boobs, he made a grab for her only remaining covering. His fingers jammed into her, tugged through her pubic hair as he dug into the top of her bikini panties. The back of the suit cut deep into her fleshy buttocks as he hauled it down, relentlessly baring her to him. The fabric finally tore and he hurled the scrap of material away.
"Please don't," she begged miserably.
He grabbed her wrists and slung her across the room, Staggering, she flipped backwards over the arm of the couch. Half stunned by the suddenness of her predicament and the violence of the little man's attack, she could only lie there, staring at him as he advanced on her, opening his fly as he came. His cock was hard and ready, deadly looking, suddenly seeming much larger than she remembered it.
She tried to protect herself, to close her legs and twist them so he couldn't get into her, but it was too late. He spread her thighs wide, until her crotch was beckoning to him.
Then he was crushing her into the couch, driving the wind out of her, mashing his chest down on her breasts painfully. His foul breath stank in her nostrils. She felt him reaching down, fumbling brutally at her pussy, guiding his cock to its goal. Then he was ramming his shaft into her, heedless of her scream of pain from the violent, unlubricated attack. Searing pain ripped through her as he rammed his cock full depth into her guts in one sharp drive.
And then she felt a horrid, undeniable, sickening blast of pleasure. What was it she had thought of, being raped and enjoying it? Dear God, that's what was happening. A disgusting man was ramming his prick into her guts and she was experiencing a putrid pleasure from the gross act.
Total release was not to be hers. Myron Krautz was too hot for that. He had been thinking of this lush woman ever since that magnificent night she had sucked his cock dry. For days he had been recalling the heavy, soft warmth of her marvelous breasts, her lush curves, and the hot, ready hole he had not violated that night. He was as hot as a firecracker.
He geysered his load of cum deep into her belly, his body jerking and shivering as he filled her with his hot fluid.
Karen felt his hideous load entering her and wailed with misery. She wailed with the misery of being raped, and she wailed with the misery of knowing that her own release was to be denied her. She was being brutally used, and from it would get no pleasure of her own.
Lying on her back, her legs spread wide, she cried as she felt Myron Krautz pull out of her. She made no attempt to cover herself. Tears pooled in her eyes as she lay on her back, shame and desperate sexual need engulfing her.
She was still lying there when she heard the front door slam. Then there was aching, horrible silence. She hurt, deep inside, she hurt from the man's brutal entry. It was this ache that finally drove her to her feet. She staggered weakly to the bathroom and bathed her abused tissues with warm, soothing water. As she did, she felt the hot cum in her slowly oozing downward to provide, vile, tangible evidence of what had happened to her.
There was also the sickening realization that there was nothing she could do about what had just happened. It was just one more tally on her sheet, one more miserable incident indelibly engraved in her memory.
And, God help her, there was that damning, maddening itch of sexual need deep down inside her. Myron Krautz had left her hornier than ever.
The sound of the doorbell ringing for a second time that afternoon made her jerk. What if it was Myron Krautz back again? She would die if it were him. Dear God, how much did she have to take?
When the doorbell dinned again, she fastened her longest, most demure robe around her abused nudity. Frightened, her throat knotting, she made her way to the door, opened it a crack, and tried to see who was leaning on the button.
Carl!
"Thank God," Karen sobbed, throwing the door open and lurching into his arms.
Astonished, Carl recovered and wrapped his arms around her, then practically carried her back into the house, kicking the door closed behind them.
"Hey, hey, hey, what's the matter?" he asked. "Jeez, if someone saw you greet me like that, we'd all be in the soup. What's the matter?"
Fighting to control her sobs, Karen mustered what little pride she had left and pushed away from him. The pressure of his hard body against hers had reemphasized the desperate longing Myron Krautz had triggered in her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply, trying desperately to deny the excitement she felt in his presence.
Carl guffawed. "Now that's more like it," he answered. "I'd hate like hell to think that you were just going to drop into my lap. The sweetest apples on the tree are the ones you have to climb to the top to get."
Karen was shivering and tried to conceal it. "What are you doing here?" she repeated.
Carl had regained his insolence when she had shoved off from him. "I just came by to make sure you knew I wasn't out of the picture. You're still mine, and I don't want you to forget it."
"I'm not yours," Karen answered truthfully. She wished desperately that she really was Carl's.
"Hah," Carl snorted. "How was old icy crotch Patterson anyway?"
Karen was horrified at the way Carl was talking about the incident. "How can you talk like that? It was awful!"
"I'll bet," Carl rapped back. "Lady, I got a blow-by-blow description of that one. From what I heard, your mouth was busier on her than hers was on you."
"That's not true," Karen lied miserably. The tone of her voice and the way she turned away from him made it a totally unconvincing lie.
Carl gave it all the attention it deserved. "Man, I wish I'd been her to see that. Always wanted to see two women make it."
"Carl, how could you," Karen wailed, sickened. Was he as bad as Harry?
"Don't get me wrong, I didn't want it to happen, but since it did, I'm sorry I missed it," Carl explained easily.
Karen sheared away from the revolting topic. "Do you enjoy watching your business going down the drain?"
Carl strolled confidently over behind the bar. Picking out a glass, he loaded it with ice and poured in some of Harry's favorite bourbon. "Care for a drink? No?" Casually, he topped the drink off with water. "Any limes back here? I really prefer my bourbon and water with a little lime in it."
Karen watched him in astonishment. The insolence he was displaying was hardly in character for someone who was nearly beaten. "There aren't any limes."
"Oh, well, that's life." Coming out from behind the bar, his glass in his hand, Carl draped one arm over her shoulder and guided her to the couch.
Karen shrugged his hand off sharply. "What are you doing? Harry's destroying you, and you-you're doing nothing!"
Carl was obviously enjoying her confusion. "Oh, yes I am, I'm drinking up his bourbon while I sit next to his wife."
Karen exploded up off the couch and began pacing the room. She felt his eyes following her and folded her arms defensively under her big breasts. "I don't understand you. I just don't understand you! You claim I'm yours, and yet you let Harry just use me any way he damn well pleases-giving that disgusting Myron Krautz a-a blow job, and then getting all tangled up with that awful woman, and then Krautz comes by and rapes me, and you just sit there drinking."
"Krautz did what?"
Karen wished she hadn't let it slip, but it was out now. "He raped me," she admitted miserably. "If you'd gotten here a little earlier, you could have taken a turn."
"That's not funny," Carl snapped. "That's one more I owe Harry," he added more softly.
"As if you're ever going to do anything about it," Karen replied sourly.
Carl sipped his drink. The levity and cockiness were gone from him now. "Believe me, Lady, I am going to pay him back for everything he does to you, and for everything he does to me."
"I'll bet," Karen retorted. She wasn't giving him any argument about whether she belonged to him or not now. She desperately wished that she did.
"I'm going to get him," Carl promised grimly. "But I'll need your help to do it."
"My help? Do you think I'm crazy? If Harry finds out I've even seen you, he'll kill me. Carl, I may be crazy, but I'm not that crazy."
"With luck, Harry won't have any idea that you're helping me," Carl assured her.
"I don't believe you. I wish I could believe you, but I can't. Harry knows everything that goes on, and you know it."
"He hasn't found out about my visits here yet," Carl pointed out.
Karen had to admit that that was true.
"Are you willing to help me?" Carl asked.
Karen didn't even have to think about that one. "I will, but I don't see how I can. I've already done just about everything possible with your potential clients so they'd sign with Harry. Nothing I can do with them now would convince them to sign with you."
"That's not what I had in mind."
"Then what do you want me to do?" Karen wailed. "My God, you two men are using me like a-like a screwdriver or something. Turn me this way, twist me that way to get what you want. Only so far Harry's the only one who's used me. You just sit back and watch me and your business and everything else get ground into the dirt. What the hell is it you want me to do?"
"You sure you're in it with me?" Carl asked softly. "I've got to know you're mine, for sure. If I tell you what I've got planned and you turn around and tell Harry, then I'm finished. Believe me, this is the only shot I've got at him. If it doesn't work, I am finished, kaput. Are you with me?"
"Yes."
"It's going to be hard on you," Carl explained.
"It'll be hard on me, but it'll be harder on you. I've got to know for sure you're with me."
"Yes, I'm with you," Karen insisted vehemently. She was a little amazed that she was being given any choice in the matter. My God, Harry couldn't care less how she felt. Why should Carl? Didn't he claim she belonged to him ?
"That's good. I could pull it off without your help, maybe, but with your help, I can make sure I do a really good job of it. When's Harry got the next appointment and who's it with?"
"I have no idea. He never tells me. All he does is call me in the afternoon and tell me he's bringing someone home, and what to wear. Things like that."
"That's bad," Carl muttered. "What does he think you feel about the whole thing?"
Karen shrugged. "He doesn't care how I feel about it. He says I'm paying for being his wife, like that was a great privilege."
"Well, how do you seem to feel about it? I mean, how do you make it look like you feel?"
Karen shook her head, bewildered by the questioning. "I don't know. He wants me to look like I'm enjoying what I'm doing, so I try to look like I'm enjoying it." Silently, she had to add that she was enjoying it. "But what does that have to do with anything?"
"If you suggested that Harry invite all his potential clients for one big shindig, say an afternoon barbecue, would he do it?"
"I don't know. Maybe if I sort of led up to it the right way he would. I mean, I could say that I'd come around to his way of thinking, that I feel I do owe him something and this is a good way to repay him. But what does that have to do with anything?"
"I want everyone Harry's dealing with here, doing their particular thing in broad daylight, where I can take pictures of them," Carl explained.
"Photograph it!" Karen exploded.
"Photograph it," Carl repeated. "I want pictures of all his clients in action. With your help, I can get pictures that will show everything-who they are, where they are, what they are doing, and who they are doing it with."
Karen felt vaguely sick. "Blackmail," she whispered.
"Not exactly," Carl answered. "What do you think Mrs. Myron Krautz would do if she learned that her husband had been balling you, and giving his shipping business to Harry Hopkins for that reason ? "
Light began to dawn. "She'd want to keep it hushed up, and would make sure that her husband stopped doing business with Harry," Karen filled in.
"Exactly. Same thing holds true for all the other clients Harry is working on," Carl explained.
"What about Ann Patterson?" Karen asked. "I had the feeling that plenty of people know about what she does."
"They do," Carl agreed. "But even she can't take too much exposure. Her husband goes along with her inclinations because he has his own kinks. But if he's slapped in the face with it, and finds out his wife's picture might just appear in some very embarrassing places, he'll lower the boom on her."
Karen felt a surge of hope. It would work. It just had to work. But it would leave Harry with his business as it was now, wouldn't it? She asked Carl.
Carl shook his head. "I've done some checking. Your precious husband is further in debt than even I am. He's riding a tiger. If he doesn't get these big clients, his whole outfit goes under. The banks won't leave him enough rolling stock to run a garbage collection service. His warehouses are mortgaged to the hilt. We pull the props out from under him and he will come down like a ton of bricks. And when you leave him, that'll be the final blow, right?"
Karen thought this out. She suddenly realized that she was the crown jewel in Harry's collection. She was his hole card, and if she went over to Carl Sands it would finish Harry off completely. It would be a suitable form of justice.
"I'll do it," she agreed wholeheartedly.
"There's one thing you should realize," Carl cautioned.
"What?"
"You'll be in the pictures, too, and you'll have to be a wholehearted participant in the calisthenics, with me looking on," Carl explained.
Karen gulped. She looked at Carl. "Do you have to?"
Carl grinned. "You'd rather it was some stranger? Besides, I can't trust anyone else. It has to be me."
Karen knew, deep down, that Carl was looking forward to it. She knew he was going to enjoy every minute of it. It was like he had said. He didn't want it to happen, but if it did, he wanted to see it.
She turned toward the back yard. "Come on, I'll show you where you can hide."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Later, when Karen considered the plan, doubts began to assail her. Carl said it was their only chance. If it failed, Carl would be ruined, and Karen would be driven mad, because she would have gone through it all for nothing.
Karen cursed herself for having agreed in the first place.
The final inducement had been that she would leave Harry for Carl. But what if it didn't work? And who would the pictures be sent to ? If the pictures were as good as Carl hoped they would be, Karen would be readily identifiable in them. God, it would be like being part of a peep show. Everyone in town would know exactly what she had done. She would be notorious.
What if she were arrested ? Weren't there laws about the things she would do at the final party? There would be at least two men, Harry and Myron Krautz, plus Ann Patterson. Karen had little doubt as to the scope of their perverted desires.
She shuddered in spite of the hot sun on her body. Lying on the lounge in the sun, she harbored a cold knot of fear in her belly.
She had yet to bring up the subject of the barbecue with Harry. If she suddenly presented the idea to him, he would have to be suspicious. She had always given the impression of being forced to perform for him. To suddenly be willing, even eager, to debase herself with his clients was bound to make him suspicious.
What made Carl think it would be possible to get the clients all there at the same time, anyway? If they were as reluctant as Carl said for their sexual deviations and infidelities to become known, they wouldn't want to attend a big gathering, would they ?
She couldn't go through with it. It just wouldn't work. Either the party wouldn't come off, or Harry would catch on that it had been planned. Either way, it would do her no good, and possibly a great deal of harm. If Harry did find out about the plan, she was doomed. But if the party couldn't be arranged, Karen was right where she started.
There seemed to be nothing to be gained, and everything to be lost. Getting to her feet, she stepped over to the telephone. Carl had given her a number where he could be reached. He had forced her to memorize it, to "prevent it falling into the wrong hands." Very melodramatic, Karen thought wryly as she dialed.
"Hello."
"Karen took a deep breath. "Carl, it's me, Karen."
"So soon? You got him to agree to the party already."
"No," she admitted.
"You shouldn't be calling me, then," Carl growled. "This isn't a gossip line, you know."
"I know," Karen assured him. She was terrified of what Carl's reaction would be when she told him she couldn't go through with it.
"Look, if you haven't got it set up, why'd you bother me?" Carl rasped.
"Carl, I can't go through with it," Karen blurted out desperately. "What?"
Karen fought to steady her voice. "I just can't go through with it. It won't work."
"Sure it'll work," Carl assured her firmly.
Karen began to babble, pouring out all her doubts in a tearful tirade. Desperately she tried to dissuade Carl from the plan. Finally she ran out of words and wind. Clutching the telephone in her sweaty hand, she tried to regain her composure.
Carl was silent for a moment. "All right, cool down," he said at last.
Karen finally got a grip on herself.
"The plan goes, just the way we agreed," he said flatly. "And it will have to be soon. Patterson, Krautz, and a guy named Brown are all about ready to sign with Harry."
"Brown? I haven't met anyone named Brown," Karen stuttered. "Who's he?"
"Don't worry, I'm sure Harry will introduce you soon," Carl answered uninformatively. "Anyway, the plan goes."
"I just can't do it," Karen wailed. "Please, isn't there some other way?"
Carl's tone became cold and deadly. "The plan stays just the way I said, and you're going to do it. You're too far in now to back out. You know too much."
Karen was frightened by his tone. She had never heard him like that before. "You-you can't make me," she argued desperately. "There's nothing you can do to make me do it. And if I don't do it, nothing happens. You can't do it without me.
"You will do it, though," Carl answered confidently.
"I won't!" Karen had found an unexpected reservoir of courage as she shot this back at him.
"Just what do you think might happen if Harry found out about us?" Carl asked softly.
Karen's courage drained away and was replaced by an icy chill of terror. "You-you wouldn't."
"Just try me," Carl replied softly.
"He-he'd kill me," Karen wailed. "You wouldn't tell him about us, would you? Besides, you forced me that day. I didn't want to do it. You raped me, that's what you did."
"Do you think that would make any difference to Harry?" Carl asked. "He'd never believe that anyway. He thinks I'm too much of a weakling to go after what I want. He'd never believe you, and if he got so much as a hint that I'd even seen you, you're right, he'd kill you. Either that, or he'd make you wish you were dead."
"What's the difference?" Carl retorted. "If the plan doesn't work, I'm through anyway. Believe me, Karen, this is the pot limit hand. Either I'll break him, or he'll break me. I'm trying to make damn sure it's not me that goes under. You'll do exactly as I say."
"Carl, please," Karen wailed.
"Exactly as I say," he repeated softly. "Now get off the line. I got work to do. Call me when you've got it set up. Oh, and don't worry about getting them all together. There's nothing that collection of weirdoes would like more than performing in a group. They'll all figure they're safe, since they'll have each other by the short hairs."
Karen looked at the dead phone helplessly, then hung the receiver up. She was doomed. She was trapped between two millstones, and they were going to grind her to a pulp.
After building herself a powerful drink, Karen returned to the lounge. She wished desperately she could turn her mind off. Relentlessly, it kept running in a circle-if she didn't, Carl would, if she did and it didn't work, Harry would, and on and on and on.
The bourbon sent a shiver up her spine as it burned hot in her belly. She could just kill herself. It would serve them both right.
Karen tossed down a huge swallow of bourbon, feeling a vague dizziness coming over her as the alcohol coursed through her body.
How could she do it? She could slash her wrists, but that would hurt. She hated pain. She could try drowning herself, but what if it didn't work? She would have to tie a weight to herself, and it might take too long. She would start to drown and then she would want to escape and she wouldn't be able to, and then she would be dying and she wouldn't want to die.
That was it! She didn't want to die! She wanted to live! No matter how rotten things were, she wanted to live.
But if Harry found out about her and Carl, she would die. Harry's jealousy was murderous where Carl Sands was concerned. Harry would use her, loan her out to his clients for their use, but that only symbolized his total control over her. But Carl Sands having her would be unbearable to him. Harry would never believe it hadn't been willingly on her part. He knew her too well.
So the plan had to go as Carl had set it up.
The alcohol and hot sun at last pressed Karen into a merciful sleep.
"I've almost got them all in my pocket," Harry gloated at dinner that night. "Patterson and Krautz are practically falling all over themselves to sign with me. Krautz would sell his own mother to get another crack at you. I gotta hand it to you, Baby, you really sold 'em, both of 'em."
"I thought they'd both already signed contracts with you," Karen pointed out, remembering his earlier bragging.
"Not contracts, not contracts," Harry corrected. "They've both signed letters of agreement is all. Contracts take a little longer. The lawyers have to put all their damn gobbledygook, and that takes time. What I really need is just one more big fish in my net. I'll get him, too. Sammy Brown is his name."
"Who is he?" Karen asked fearfully. She remembered Carl mentioning someone named Brown.
"Ahh, he's one of those hotshots from the south side," Harry snorted.
"But that's the slums," Karen protested.
"Not the slums, Baby. The 'ghetto' is what they call it now, not the slums. Yeah, he's one of them Blacks. He's got one of those businesses with lots of Federal money pouring into it. Black capitalism they call it. What the hell, he's milking the government for every penny he can get, why shouldn't I milk him? I bet he'd sure like a chance at that lily-white tail of yours, Baby. I'll just bet he would like that.'
Karen felt slightly ill. Harry was talking about her as if she were a slab of meat. She changed the subject. "Harry, what happens if they don't sign contracts with you ? "
Harry looked at her sharply. "What makes you think they won't?"
"Nothing, nothing," she assured him quickly. "I was just wondering what would happen if they didn't sign with you."
"It'll never happen," Harry assured her. "If they didn't sign, I'd be in trouble, though. I've mortgaged everything I own to build up my rolling stock."
Karen felt a chill. Carl had been right. "Everything you own ? "
"Even the house, Baby. If I'm going to promise to haul these people's goods, I got to have the trucks and the warehouse space and the drivers to do the job. Wouldn't do any good to get them on the books and then try and line up what I need. I even put a new mortgage on the house," Harry said through a mouthful of food.
"Oh, Harry, not the house," Karen protested fearfully.
"Don't worry, Baby, don't worry. There's not a chance in the world they won't sign. like I say, Patterson and Krautz are both tripping over their own feet. Soon as I find out exactly what Brown's kinks are, we'll put it to him in a way he just can't refuse. I'd bet my last buck he'll go for some real hot, high class white tail. And that is just what we've got for him, isn't it, Baby?"
Karen was silent.
"Isn't it?" Harry rapped out sharply. "Yes, Harry," she agreed miserably.
"What I really need is a clincher, Harry mused. "I've almost got Krautz and Patterson in my pocket. Krautz has got one case of the hots for you, Baby. And that lez bitch Patterson's right in line behind him. The only thing I've found out about Brown is that he-likes the strip joints and the sex shows. I could bankroll him into some of those places, but that costs money and in you we've got a freebie."
Karen saw the golden opportunity that was being presented her and fought a grim battle with herself. Harry wanted a clincher with Ann Patterson and Myron Krautz, and a strip and sex show for Sammy Brown, and that was just exactly what Carl wanted, too. It would be the perfect setup.
Dear God, she couldn't go through with it. The whoring she had done for Harry already was enough to make her ill. "Uh, Harry? I think I have an idea," she ventured hesitantly.
Harry looked startled. "About what?"
"About what you need for a-a clincher for Krautz and Patterson, and for this Brown person," Karen almost whispered.
"Yeah, really ? What is it? Come on, Baby, give," Harry urged eagerly.
Karen took a deep desperate breath. "We could have a-a barbecue for all of them."
"A what?" Harry asked.
"A barbecue. Outdoors," Karen stumbled on. "We could have all of them over. All of them at once, I mean."
"Go on, Baby," Harry urged softly. He was smiling wickedly.
Karen was fighting down her revulsion. She was going to be giving Harry just what he wanted, and Carl exactly what he wanted. She was sickened by the thought of what she was suggesting.
"Well, if Mr. Brown-likes strip shows, maybe I could do sort of a strip for him," she continued miserably, knowing she was providing her own sentence. "And then-then I could-uh-do either Mr. Krautz or Mrs. Patterson. Or maybe even you," she finished lamely.
"Forget about me, Baby," Harry interrupted.
Karen's heart sank. Obviously he didn't want her for himself any longer. She had been clinging forlornly to that hope, that when it was all over Harry would want her for himself again.
"Well, wouldn't that be enough of a sex show for Mr. Brown?" she asked.
Harry was nodding. "Yeah, it just might be. In fact, you could top off the show by taking him any way he wanted to give it to you. After he watched you in action with the others, he'd be as hot as a pistol. After he plugged into you, he'd probably sign his mother away." Harry looked at her admiringly for a few seconds, then became suspicious. "Yeah, but what's in it for you? How come you're suddenly so cooperative?" Harry asked. "I've practically had to break your arm to get you to go along this far. How come all of a sudden you're the one coming up with the wild ideas?"
Karen shrugged. "I've just been thinking about all this," she answered. "I decided you're right, I do owe you for it. And, if you've got everything mortgaged like you say, I stand to lose it all, too, if you don't get the business, don't I?"
"Yeah, you do," Harry agreed. "But do you know what you're setting yourself up for? Baby, you'll get plumbed by two men and have to eat a woman before the afternoon is out, at the very minimum. I didn't think you'd want to let yourself in for that kind of action. It isn't like you."
Karen didn't want to be reminded just what she was being set up for. That thought was almost more than she could bear. She felt Harry's suspicious gaze on her and knew she had to come up with a good reason, quickly.
"It gets it all over fast. It's like taking a bandage off. You can do it real slow, and that hurts for a long time, or you can do it fast, so it hurts worse, but not for very long."
Harry drummed his fingers on the table. "I see what you mean," He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Yes, I do see what you mean," he repeated softly.
Karen knew what he had been about to say. She knew he had no intention of no longer using her as a whore after he got Krautz, Patterson, and Brown sewed up. Harry was planning on using her to get more and more business. Carl's plan was her only hope for rescue from a life of shame. The barbecue would be worse than anything she had ever gone through, but it would put an end to Harry's debasement of her, once and for all, she hoped.
"I'll see what I can set up," Harry finally decided. "Krautz and Patterson can be told that they'll have a shot at you, but they don't need to know anyone else'll be here. I'll tell Brown we'll have a special show for him and he'll get the point. Once they all get here they'll go along. Aren't many people who'd turn down an opportunity like this, that's for sure."
Karen winced. Fleetingly she thought of telling him about Myron Krautz's brief, brutal visit, then she decided against that. It would serve no purpose.
She got up and began clearing the table. Her hands shook, making the knives and forks rattle on the plates as she carried them out to the kitchen. Once out of Harry's sight, she put the plates down and leaned over the sink, fighting down dizziness and nausea. She was horrified at what she had just done. While she had been doing it there had been the stark terror that Harry would catch on that something was up. There had also been the sheer terror of what she was setting herself up for. She was going to do the most awful things imaginable, in front of an audience and a camera.
Taking a deep breath, she began cleaning up the kitchen, scraping the plates and loading the dishwasher. One thought kept trickling through her consciousness. Throughout the entire vile performance, Carl would be watching and photographing everything. For the plan to work, he had to be a witness to her degradation, and he had to film it.
She turned on the dishwasher, dried her hands, and pushed through the door into the living room. Harry was fussing with the self-developing camera.
"Hi, Baby, get your clothes off," he ordered abruptly. "We're going to give Sammy Brown a nice preview of coming attractions."
Karen froze. This was something she hadn't bargained for. Somehow, posing nude for that camera, so that Sammy Brown would know just to look forward to was awful.
"Come on, come on," Harry urged. "Strip. Naked. No, wait a minute, I got a better idea."
Karen felt a wave of relief.
"Let's just give him a peek at your charms," Harry decided. "We don't want to give the whole show away right at the start. Now, what would be good?"
Karen remained silent, unwilling to make any suggestions. She had the feeling that she had said entirely too much already that evening.
"I got it, we'll get pictures of you peeling, but not show any hair or titties," Harry decided. "Don't you worry about a thing. You just start stripping, real slow and easy, and I'll just snap away."
Karen unbuttoned her blouse hesitantly, feeling the cool air brush her skin. Pulling her blouse out of the waist of her slacks, she tossed it onto the back of the couch. Defensively, she crossed her arms over her bra-covered breasts. It was insane to be ashamed in front of her husband, but it was also insane to have him taking pictures of her to show to a total stranger.
"Come on, Baby, throw your shoulders back and stick your chest out," Harry urged impatiently.
Karen was acutely conscious of the thrust of her large, lush breasts as they pressed against her bra. And that was next to go-the bra. Her rosy nipples peaked and hardened as she fondled them at Harry's instruction. Suddenly, flickers of excitement were stirring in her in spite of her efforts to fight them down.
"Now the pants, Baby. But do it slow. I'll just snatch a few pictures as you peel them off. We'll have to have some practice sessions for the party."
Karen's face flushed with shame, but she managed to avoid turning her back on him. She heard the shutter click as she ran the zipper down, and her slacks spread open to reveal the lace of her skimpy panties, and under them the shadowy mass of her pubic hair.
Harry ripped the developing print free and cocked the shutter, waving for her to go on while the print developed. He snapped the next picture as she balanced precariously on one foot while pulling the other out of the slacks. She realized with a jolt that the pose had drawn the crotch of her panties tight against her pubic mound, revealing every contour of her sex.
Harry added the prints to the line on the bar. "Okay, okay, now your panties," he ordered, re-cocking the camera.
Karen hooked her thumbs in the top of her last covering. Just as she exposed the top of her pubic vee, she heard the shutter snap again. Without pausing, she skinned her last garment down her shapely legs.
The shutter clicked again as she kicked the flimsy panties away. This time she hadn't even had the panties covering her. If Sammy Brown saw that photograph, he saw everything she had to offer.
Harry was grinning as he timed the last picture he had taken. "Now I want to get some real hot ones to keep in reserve in case I need them," he announced.
Karen tried futilely to cover herself with her arms and hands. "No, Harry, please," she begged.
"Come on, Baby, come on, we're bound to need 'em sooner or later," Harry argued. "Might as well get 'em right now. Sit over there on that bar stool."
Karen eased her bare buttocks up on the chill seat and crossed her legs.
"No, no, no," Harry snapped. "Spread your legs, open 'em up to show what you got down there!"
Karen flushed crimson with shame as she followed his orders. And then perverse flames of excitement flared up in her as she exposed herself to her husband and the camera. The shutter clicked.
"Yea, yeah," Harry said appreciatively, studying the picture. "Now finger yourself a little, play with yourself."
Karen didn't even try to argue. She fumbled blindly with her pussy, spreading her labia. One finger touched her clitoris and she was rocked with a blast of excitement.
"Yeah, man," Harry cheered her on after snapping the shutter. He dragged the print out and put it on the bar to develop. "Now, play with a boob with one hand and your pussy with the other."
Karen was beyond shame as she followed his instructions. Her excitement was building. Harry had to be feeling something watching all this, he just had to be. Maybe tonight he would take her. Closing her eyes, Karen abandoned herself to her own self-induced passion, fingering her pussy boldly with one hand while she fondled her breast with the other. Her mouth sagged with passion as she toyed and toyed and toyed with herself.
Harry had to take her, he just had to! She was burning up with desire!
"Great, Baby, just great," Harry told her at last. "You can stop now. I'll pick the best of these and take them along when I go see good old Sammy."
Karen felt absolutely miserable. Harry didn't even see her as a person anymore, didn't recognize her as a woman. She had to make one last try at getting him to acknowledge her existence.
Trying desperately to project an aura of sex, she advanced on him as he studied the pictures spread along the bar. She cuddled her warm, soft body against him, peering blindly over his shoulder at the photographs, concentrating desperately on her attempt to seduce him.
"Go get dressed, Baby," he ordered, pushing her away.
"Harry, please, I need you," she begged, hating herself for begging. "Don't I mean anything to you anymore?"
'Hmmmm?"
Desperately, Karen dropped to her knees, and reached for his fly. She had to get some response from him, she just had to. She was humiliating herself before him in a final desperate attempt to rebuild her self-respect, to prove he still cared something about her.
"Knock it off, Baby," Harry growled, pushing her away. "Save it for the paying customers."
Ignoring her tearful retreat to the bedroom, he turned back to the photographs and carefully selected the ones he was going to use.
Karen felt a surge of fury. She no longer had any misgivings at all about destroying her husband. This final rejection made her certain she would be glad to dance on his grave when it was all over. She was going to enjoy it when he came crashing down from the top.
The next day she made the phone call.
"Carl?"
"Yeah, Karen?" he answered. "Who'd you expect, Napoleon?"
"It's all set," she informed him, ignoring his sarcasm.
"Great, when?"
"A week from Saturday they'll all be here for a barbecue," she answered. "It'll be out on the pool deck, like we agreed would be best."
"Fabulous," Carl gloated, "How'd you manage to do it?"
"I was lucky," she said, not wanting to go into detail.
"That place you showed me still okay?" Carl asked.
"Yes. The big stack of boxes is still in the alley. You can hide there and no one will see you."
"The hole in the fence still there?" he asked.
"It hasn't moved," she said sarcastically.
"Good, good." There was a note of eager anticipation in his voice. Karen wondered if Carl was anticipating the fall of his rival, or what he was going to see through the hole.
"What time will the action start?" Carl asked. "It'd be best if I got there after everyone else. That way no one's-likely to see me. They all know me, you know."
"I know," she answered. "Everyone's supposed to be here by one o'clock. There'll be hamburgers and drinks and stuff to get everyone loosened up. The show'll get under way about two-thirty or three."
"Okay, I'll be there about two. Make sure nothing comes off before then," Carl ordered.
"When'll you hit them with the results?" Karen asked nervously. She was terrified of what Harry's reaction would be when the world came crashing down around him.
"They'll start getting some static the next Monday," Carl promised. "By Wednesday it'll be all over. You just be all packed and ready to run on Wednesday, okay ? "
"Couldn't you come to get me sooner?" Karen pleaded.
"Can't do it, Sweets. We don't dare tip Harry off until it's too late for him to do anything. Don't worry, he won't know what hit him. All of a sudden his big clients will just melt away. There won't be any reason for him to suspect you of anything," he assured her. "When you skip, he'll be so frantic trying to pick up the pieces he won't be able to do a thing."
"What if he comes after me?" Karen asked, frightened.
"I'll take good care of you, don't you worry. You just give a real good show on Saturday. I gotta go. See you in a week and a half."
"Good-bye," Karen said to the dial tone. It was done. There was absolutely nothing she could do now to stop it. In two weeks it would be all over. Either Harry Hopkins would kill her because something in the plan had failed, or Harry Hopkins would be utterly destroyed.
She wandered out to the sun-baked concrete deck that was to be her sacrificial altar, stretched out on the lounge, and fell asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Karen squeezed the frosty glass between her sweaty palms, grateful that the alcohol was sweeping through her head, deadening her fear and anticipation. She was in the shade by the house, staring out at the pool. Glittering sprays of water arched high in the hot summer air as the guests splashed in the pool.
They were all here. Harry and Carl had been right; nothing could have kept them away. They were all here because of her. Karen felt a peculiar sense of power mingling with her dread of what lay ahead. She was painfully conscious of the occasional glances cast in her direction by the three clients sporting in the water.
Myron Krautz's looks were filled with greedy anticipation. When he caught her eye, he would throw her a theatrical wink. She tried to avoid being caught studying him.
Ann Patterson's glances were cool and controlled. Karen had the impression that the woman believed they had something special they were sharing, something none of the men could appreciate. Karen found no comfort in Having another woman present. Ann, in Karen's view, was no better than any of the men.
Sammy Brown's inspection of her was the boldest. He was frankly curious as to just what to expect from her. There was also a greediness and a brashness.
Karen felt least secure under the black man's frank, bold study. He frightened her. He was not, by any standard, handsome. As he leaned against the side of the pool, standing in the shallows, Karen studied him cautiously. She had seen the bulge in his male bikini suit, and it frightened her. His body was big, lean, and muscled. The single feature that overwhelmed all other impressions was a scar. Running from the outer corner of his left eye down to the corner of his mouth was a narrow, pink weal that was very prominent because of the darkness of the Negro's skin. It twisted the black man's face, tugging the left side of his mouth upward into a perpetual sardonic sneer.
Sourly, Karen wondered if the man would be disappointed when she finally did disrobe for him. He had been undressing her mentally ever since his arrival. The pictures Harry had chosen of her had been tantalizing rather than revealing.
Well, she was going to give him a show like nothing he had ever seen before. Night after night after night, Harry had made her practice stripping in front of him. Time after time she would peel her clothes off, wincing under the stinging lash of Harry's criticism when she fumbled or stumbled. The only thing that had kept her going was the treasured thought of what was coming for Harry. He was going to pay for her humiliation.
She hoped.
She had dressed carefully for the barbecue. Harry had gotten the idea of emphasizing her appearance of youthful innocence. Her hair was drawn back in a ponytail. For a change she was wearing a bra and panties. Over them she wore a white, sleeveless blouse, and a short wraparound skirt, almost a kilt. Loafers and white knee socks completed the costume.
Karen knew if she walked into a bar and asked for a drink the management wouldn't believe her ID when she showed it to them. With no makeup other than a bare hint of lipstick, she looked fifteen, instead of the twenty-two she actually was. Only no fifteen-year-old on earth had the curves she did.
She glanced nervously at Harry. He was leaning over the barbecue grill. The hamburgers were sending fragrant clouds of smoke up into the hot, still afternoon. When the burgers were done, they would eat. And after they ate. . . .
Karen was studiously avoiding looking over at the hole in the fence in the corner of the yard. She didn't dare even glance in that direction. What if something kept Carl from coming? What if the boxes had been removed? He couldn't huddle by the fence, peeping through a hole, in plain sight, where anyone using the alley would see him. What if his camera didn't work? What if. . . .
"Come and get it!" Harry called, breaking into her frightening chain of thought.
Dear God, that much closer, Karen thought as she stepped out into the blazing sun to help serve the guests.
Lunch passed in a dizzying whirl. Sick with anticipation, Karen barely tasted the food. It might as well have been cardboard. All she could do was watch the food vanish from the guest's plates. They all ate with a ravenous hunger, and what seemed to be a desperate haste. They all knew what the dessert-what the entertainment was to be-and they were all looking forward to it.
Karen retreated deep into a shell and concentrated on watching how the sunlight sparkled off the slowly subsiding waves in the pool.
She was jarred out of her reverie by the sound of music pouring from the speakers built into the wall of the house. Her cue! Fear lashed through her. God, how could she ever go through with it? Then she caught sight of the look Harry was giving her and knew she had better get started. She prayed that Carl was in position and ready for what was to come. If she went through all this for nothing, she would kill herself.
She began to move with the music. She felt the eyes of the guests on her. It was almost as if they were physically touching her. Eye contact, Harry had drilled into her, maintain eye contact with the audience. That meant she had to look at the guests, and that made it all the worse.
She didn't have to pretend to be hot. Sweat was pouring off her. When she opened the top button of her blouse and ran her hand along her collarbone, mopping the sweat off was a natural gesture. She was playing the part of a hot high school girl, just the way she had rehearsed with Harry so many times.
She licked her lips, her lush mouth open slightly as she panted. Casually, she toed her loafers off, sending them skittering across the desk and out of the way. Then, arching her back gracefully, turning coyly from side to side, she raised her arms, ran her fingers through her hair, and unfastened the gaily colored ribbon holding her ponytail. Her shining brown hair cascaded down around her shoulders.
She unfastened another button on her blouse, letting it spread open to reveal the lacy bra holding her full breasts.
Myron Krautz licked his lips tensely when she looked at him. Ann Patterson had a hot smile on her lips. Sammy Brown's mouth was twisted in a hot leer. The gold in one of his front teeth flashed in the sun.
The size of the bulge in his minuscule suit was unbelievable.
They were all looking at her! A sense of power washed over Karen. Every eye was fastened on her as she unbuttoned her blouse, spreading it open sensuously as she rubbed her hand over her own hot flesh. She tugged the tails out of the waistband of her skirt, spread the blouse open to expose her torso, let the garment slide down her arms, and tossed it away.
Every eye was fastened on her heaving, bra-covered breasts. She licked her lips again. This time the passion was less pretended. She was getting hot. Night after night she had stripped for Harry, and he had never laid a hand on her.
Karen settled carelessly on one of the lawn chairs facing her audience. Casually, she lifted one leg, and placed one ankle across her other thigh. Her short skirt was spread open by the pose, giving them all a shadowy glimpse up between her tanned, shapely thighs as she slowly pulled off her sock. Lowering her bare foot to the hot deck, she lifted the other leg and hooked her heel on the seat of the chair. It gave her audience an unobstructed view of her panties, where they bunched at her crotch, and where they were stretched tight over the bottom of one buttock. God, she was getting hot. And she was getting them hot! She swept her eyes across them, and this time it wasn't any effort at all to put heat and desire in her gaze. Every one of them was getting as hot as she was. They were getting a show like nothing they had ever had before.
Even Harry had a huge bulge in his swimsuit. Karen had heard it was painful to get an erection in tight pants. She was going to have them all in agony before she was done.
She turned coy again as she reached for the oversized silver safety pin that held her skirt closed. She had to use both hands on it. She hugged her arms to her sides, pressing her breasts provocatively toward each other, emphasizing their size, deepening the sensuous dark cleavage between them. With her feet spread apart, she turned her hips coyly from side to side.
The pin unfastened, she grasped the skirt and unwound it smoothly from around her lush hips. With a sweep of her arm she sent it fluttering away.
She was down to her panties and bra now, and was boiling with a perverse excitement. She had them all in the palm of her hand. She could even feel Carl's excitement as he watched from his hiding place behind the fence.
Her legs spread, knees straight, Karen thrust her pelvis forward. She slid her hands over her tummy, down inside her panties, combing her fingers through her pubic hair. She fondled herself thoroughly, blatantly, feeling searing waves of passion ripping through her. Her chets heaved and she rolled her head as she masturbated.
Then she pulled her hands up out of her panties, and slid them up her body. She felt the sticky trails of her own juices her fingers were leaving on her flesh. She reached back for the hooks on her bra, eased them open, and let the bra drop. She felt her breasts burst free of the confining garment, felt her nipples jut sharply outward with excitement.
She had expected whistles and lewd comments from her audience. Instead, there was an incredible concentrated silence. The music still played, and the water lapped at the sides of the pool, but no one said a word. She could see their chests heaving with excitement, could see the gristled, growing lumps in the men's suits, but no one made a sound. She had them totally speechless as she fondled her breasts, lifting the heavy masses in her hands, rolling her rubbery nipples between her fingers, sending hot waves of fire through her already searing hot body.
Finally she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and eased them down her shapely thighs. Looking down between her breasts, she thrust her hips forward, and watched as more and more of her soft belly was exposed. The first strands of her pubic bush sprang free from her lacy panties, then more, then she was exposing her sex to the watchers. Rolling her panties down, she began stripping them off, balancing gracefully on one leg, bending the other one, then swinging her thigh wide to the side as she hauled the panties off, deliberately giving her audience a tantalizing glimpse of her innermost charms.
Then she flipped the scrap of lace away, turned, and walked slowly across the deck, then turned and strolled back, giving them all a long, lingering look at her lush nudity.
"Hot damn," Harry growled under his breath. "She's really one hot piece of tail, and she looks as innocent as the day she was born. Those bathing suit marks are the perfect touch." He glanced sideways at his guests and was encouraged by the blatant lust on all their faces. Myron Krautz had a vein in his temple that was pulsing visibly. Beads of sweat were trickling down Sammy Brown's black face. Harry didn't think it was from the heat.
Karen grabbed his attention back. She was facing them again, her legs spread, her back arched, and was exposing her pubic vee to them blatantly. Then she fingered herself, combing the hair aside to better show her labia, then spreading the lips of her crevice to show her delicate pink tissues. Sunlight gleamed off her inner recesses, a shining testimony to her own sticky excitement.
With her thumb Karen stimulated her clitoris, making the bud stiffen even more, pleading for still more attention. Her legs were shaking with lust as, in full view of all the watchers, she slipped one finger into her lasciviously gaping vagina.
Reluctantly, she remembered Harry's specific instructions, and forced herself to keep to the program and withdrew the welcome attention from her own folds. Turning her back on her audience she bent over, thrusting her full buttocks toward the watchers. Reaching behind herself, she gripped the cheeks of her ass and spread them to expose the dark, puckered circle of her anus. She felt cold air brush her distended crack and touch the hot knot of her asshole, and her body knotted with an unexpected surge of lust. What she was doing was awful, and incredibly exciting.
Then she was turning on them, advancing on them slowly. She could feel them all studying her avidly, wondering which of them would be first.
Myron Krautz had his fingers wrapped around the arms of the lounge so tightly it was a miracle the metal wasn't bending. His potbelly looked preposterous, hanging out over the top of his loose, baggy suit. His legs were ugly, white, hairy, and knobby, ludicrously skinny in comparison to the obese bulk of his body. His belly heaved with excitement as Karen advanced on him.
When Karen knelt on his couch, she was afraid for a moment the load would be too much for the tubular aluminum. Ignoring the ominous creaking of the riveted joints and the plastic webbing, she reached for the string tie of the ugly man's bathing suit. Pulling the puckered waistband of his suit open, she tugged it down, stripping him, exposing his pubic bush and repulsive organ.
He lifted his hips, allowing her to strip his suit and jockstrap down and off, baring him totally. Then Karen bent over him, and gripping his cock in her fingers, she lowered her mouth to the rock-hard organ. The hot bulbous head slid between her lips and she bathed it with her tongue.
Myron Krautz grabbed her head and jammed her mouth down on his erect staff brutally hard, ramming his cock against the back of her mouth and wrenching a strangled cry of pain from her. His hips heaved upward as he pistoned his cock deep into her, down her throat. Tears poured down Karen's cheeks as he raped her mouth and throat with his bloated organ.
Harry saw what had happened and grinned. The bitch was really getting just what he had planned. Her cheeks were caved in as she sucked on the hot mass hammering into her face. The sight of her wincing told him just how hard the purple head of Myron's cock was ramming the back of her mouth. Old Myron was having a fine old time, leering down at her, his watery brown eyes bulging with excitement at the sight of his cock reaming out Karen's innocent face.
That lez weirdo Ann Patterson was having a fine time, too, Harry observed. She had even stripped off the top of her suit and was playing with her tits, mashing the shy mounds with her hands while she drooled over what was happening to Karen.
Sammy Brown seemed to have no idea that this was just the start of the show. From the looks of the Black man's suit, he was carrying a real heavy caliber rod down there. It was going to be a real pleasure to watch him deliver it, watch it disappear into Karen's tender white body, Harry told himself.
Karen tried to fight Myron's brutal hammering, straining the muscles of her neck to resist the way he shoved her head down, but it was futile. The man's strength overwhelmed her feeble resistance. She felt his cock pulse, felt his semen rocketing down the length of his staff, and opened the path to her stomach.
Wave after wave of searing cum poured into her, down her throat and into her churning guts. Some of it oozed out, coating her tongue and smearing down her chin. Then the pulses were slowly dying away and she was allowed to pull back. One thick, heavy drop of cum oozed from the slit at the tip of Myron's prick and drooled slowly downward.
"Lick it off," Myron ordered nastily.
Fighting down her revulsion, Karen lapped up the gummy fluid, her stomach knotting in agony as she did so. The only consolation was that it was one down, just two more to go. She prayed every awful minute of this was being photographed so they would pay and pay dearly for what they were doing to her. God! How could she love it and hate it so, all at the same time ?
Ann Patterson wasn't about to wait. The slender woman was already stripping the bottom half of her suit down, baring her hairy sex. Karen was going to have to have a second meal before she could have any release of her own.
Dutifully, Karen knelt on Ann Patterson's lounge next. Ann linked her fingers in Karen's hair and dragged Karen's face down to her pubic bush. Already sore from trying to resist Myron's insistent pressure, Karen let her face be shoved deep into Ann's thick, springy curls. The smell was the same as it had been before, hot and lewd and exciting. Karen bored her tongue between the woman's labia, rasped it the length of the crevice, and felt the woman's hips lurch upward when she ripped her tongue over the hard bud of her clitoris.
Ann Patterson bent her legs and closed them tight around Karen's head, at the same time shoving on the back of Karen's skull to drive her face deep into her crotch. Ann could feel Karen's nose boring into her crotch and knew her lush slave was getting a face full of juices. When Karen drilled her tongue into Ann's vagina, the slender woman let her head drop back and waves of searing lust boiled through her. Let all three men see how it should be done, let them see how her nipples were hard as rocks, with passion caused by another woman, not by a man.
Karen gobbled at the female guest's hot, juicy folds, spearing her tongue deep into the oozing well. Joining Myron's semen on her chin were Ann Patterson's hot secretions. like the cross-pollination of flowers by a honey bee, Karen was carrying the fluids from one person to the next in the performance of her duties.
Karen's own vagina was achingly empty, desperately hungry. Excitement was building painfully in her own body. And the thought that every detail of the entire revolting scene was being carefully recorded by Carl made it all the more perversely exciting. He was watching. What was he doing in the sweaty lair behind the fence as he observed her endless degradation?
Carl felt as if his cock were going to explode. To relieve the terrible agony of his erection being restricted, he had opened his trousers. His prick hung free, drooling its excitement to the pavement. Sweating furiously, he was laboring with the camera's zoom lens to get the best possible perspective on the wanton scene. Karen's pale lush buttocks were gleaming in the sun as she knelt at her work, her face buried in Ann Patterson's hot crotch. Carl desperately wished that he were taking part in the incredible party. When it was all over and he had ground Harry Hopkins into the mud, then he would have Karen all to himself, and take her tender body any way he damn well pleased. From the job she had done on Myron
Krautz, it was going to be one hell of a show before the afternoon was over. Carl was getting a hot preview of what he could expect when he had Karen all to himself.
Karen sensed Ann Patterson was starting to cum. Driving her face into the hairy, sweating pocket, Karen struggled futilely to reach the bottom of the woman's vagina with her tongue. She fell far short, but the effort, and the grinding of her face down against Ann's sex, was the final stroke needed. The slender lesbian began to cum, wailing her ecstasy to the sky, flooding Karen's sucking mouth with juices, crushing Karen's head between her thighs.
Karen lapped up the sticky flow with the same devotion she had shown when ingesting Myron Krautz's flood of cum. As she did, Karen was aware of the weeping of her own lonely, deprived vagina. She looked over at the Black man. Maybe he would ram his heavy tool deep into her guts, maybe with him her body would find the release it craved so desperately.
Karen drew back when Ann Patterson at last let her legs fall open to release Karen's head. Shaking, aching with weariness, Karen pushed up. She felt the slime drying on her cheeks and chin as she fought for breath. Every inhalation carried the scent of Ann Patterson deep into Karen's lungs to mingle with the musky stench already there of Myron Krautz's cum.
"Come on, Whitey," Sammy Brown called eagerly. "Come to Daddy. I got something for you like you never had before. I got nine hot, hard inches waiting and ready for you."
Karen jerked and turned and stared. The Black man was nude. Spearing out from his tightly curled black bush was the most fearsome instrument Karen had ever seen in her life. Ebony black, capped with a dark purple head, it was titanic. If that were jammed into her guts, it would split her wide open. She wanted to run in stark terror, but the Black man's hand fastened on her arm like a vise and jerked her away from Ann Patterson.
Karen was thrown on her back on the lounge the Negro had been occupying. She stared up at him fearfully, her legs spread helplessly. She was terrified of what was about to happen to her, but her own searing lust kept her from doing anything to defend herself.
The scarred left side of Sammy Brown's face was twisted in a hideous leer as he hovered over her. The fire in his eyes struck terror into Karen's guts. Then he was on her. She felt his cock ram at her pussy and her hips shifted to place her vagina for him. Then that horrid bulk was being driven into her channel, stretching it open, sending a searing wave of pain through her, and right along with it, an incredible wash of pleasure.
The Black man dug his fingers under Karen's fleshy ass, lifting her buttocks. With a powerful shove of his hips, he spitted her on his mammoth cock. Karen felt as if she were being ripped wide open by the titanic instrument. She felt its head hit the end of her vagina and send a shock wave ripping through her abdomen. She was in agony.
And she had never felt anything so wonderful in her entire life. She was truly full of a man's cock, stuffed to the bursting point with hot meat. She was getting more than she had ever bargained for. All the searing lust her oral activities had triggered in her was being satisfied by this single incredible delivery of hot black sausage.
Sammy dug his fingers into Karen's buttocks, prying his hands farther under her. His fingers were in the crack of her ass and he was searching for that hot, round bud buried just behind her vagina. He found the muscled ring of her anus and poked at it.
"Ahhh," Karen wailed at the unexpected attack.
"Open up, bitch," Sammy growled, twisting his finger and forcing the tip into the tight hole.
"Waahhhh," Karen cried. She felt her sphincter muscle being slowly pried open and a searing agony at the unlubricated invasion. And along with the agony an awful wash of pleasure ripped up through her body.
"Man, you are nice and tight, both ways," Sammy whispered harshly. "You are one tight piece of ass, just the way I like it. I'm gonna really enjoy this whole scene. I truly am."
"Aaaarrrrrrgh," was all that Karen could reply. She felt as if she were being split open from her crotch upward. Sammy twisted his finger still deeper into her greasy bowel and another scorching, searing wave of pleasure blasted through her.
Sammy loved the hot, greasy feel of her asshole gripping his finger. He could feel the bulge of his cock in her vagina through the thin wall of tissues separating her two holes. He pistoned his cock in her hot, wet pussy and, with his finger, felt it sliding in and out of her. He pressed the underside of his cock with his finger. The multiple stimulation was bringing him to one fast orgasm, and he was more than willing to get it.
Karen's own excitement was sweeping upward. The feeling of having both openings filled with unaccustomed bulks was lifting her toward an incredible cumming. The pain of the brutal insertions increased her pleasure.
"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," she huffed in response to the quickening moves of the man in her. "I'M CUM-CUM-CUMM-CUMMM-CUM-MINNGG," she wailed to the sky as her orgasm blasted through her. Waves of hot lava scorched through her arteries.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHHH," Sammy Brown roared triumphantly, pouring his load of semen deep into Karen's vagina. His cock filled her so completely he could feel the thick fluid searching for room, pressuring back out around his massive piston to form a gummy paste in their mingled pubic hair
He was still coming down from his fantastic high when he felt a hand tugging on his shoulder, pulling him away. He left his hot nest with no regret, sliding his cock from her vagina and his finger from her ass as he rolled off her.
Karen was suddenly aware of a gaping, abrupt, agonizing emptiness. Where she had been full to bursting, she was suddenly totally, achingly empty. She writhed in bewilderment, and then felt a weight descend on her. Then there was a cock in her belly, to replace the one she had just lost. Only this one had to be a different one, it was much smaller, and she felt terribly cheated. Where was that magnificent huge bulk that had been stuffing her? And where was the piercing, tingling rod that had been drilled up into her rectum ?
She had to have more in her, had to have everything she could get sunk in her desperate body. That first orgasm had only been a prelude-she had to have more. With a desperate heave, she rolled over on the couch. The man on top of her obliged. With a frantic protest of rivets and plastic webbing, they were over, on their sides, and then Karen was on top. Pushing up, she straddled the man under her and looked down at him.
Myron Krautz looked up at her, an idiotic grin of ecstasy swirling over his ugly face. Karen didn't care who it was. She lifted herself and dropped in a desperate attempt to spear Krautz's organ as deeply into her as Sammy Brown's had reached. She wanted to feel again the end of her vagina being battered by the head of a hard prick. She squirmed desperately, trying to get his inadequate prick deeper.
And what about her asshole? It was empty, and she had to have it filled, she just had to have it filled. It had felt so good. She had to have more and more and more.
As if in answer to her prayers, someone was behind her, pushing her down to lie flat on Krautz's gross belly. Then there was the hot weight of a man on her back, then a beautiful poking jolt at her asshole. But who was it? Dear God, it was Sammy Brown. That mammoth cock would tear her wide open. She would split open like a log being cleaved by a wedge.
She felt her asshole being slowly powered open. God, it felt good. Aaahhh, it felt so incredibly good. Then it started to hurt. There was an agonizing, stretching feeling as her anus was stretched more and more and more by the huge bulk being driven into it.
A hideous, painful, snapping feeling ripped through Karen. God, something had broken, she was being torn wide open. But that wasn't it, it had just been the gripping ring of her sphincter snapping into the groove behind the head of Sammy's prick. Now he was driving his enormous shaft deep into her bowels, and the sharp pain was being replaced by a dull ache and a pleasure that Karen had never believed possible.
Underneath, Myron Krautz wheezed under the weight of Sammy and Karen. He was barely able to wiggle his hips to stimulate his prick along the walls of Karen's vagina. But it didn't matter. He could feel the monstrous bulk of Sammy's titanic cock sliding into Karen's rectum. That stimulation-a vibration and a pressure without friction through the straining membrane dividing Karen's vagina and rectum-was better than any screwing could have been.
Sammy Brown's teeth were bared in a feral snarl as he sank his hot tool into the tight passage he had chosen. Jeez, it was a tight hole, much tighter than her pussy had been. He felt her walls gripping his cock and was glad he had just cum. This was going to last longer and be even better than the first penetration of this white bitch had been. He jammed his hips against Karen's fleshy buttocks, and buried his cock to the hilt in her rear end, then pulled back to slide it outward again, savoring the feel of the velvet walls of her bowels sliding along his cock. He could even feel the bulge of Myron Krautz's little cock against his. He felt Krautz shift his cock in Karen's vagina, and Sammy added that sensation to his catalogue of pleasures.
Animals, Ann Patterson thought as she watched. That's all men were, animals. Tearing at that poor, helpless girl. But by all that was holy, it must be one hell of a great experience.
"Turn over, Annie," Harry growled to the slender woman, "and I'll give you everything you ever wanted in life."
Ann shook her head in refusal, at the same time she was rolling over, kneeling on the deck, leaning forward on the lounge so she could still watch Karen's dual penetration. She felt Harry's cock at her pussy and shifted.
"Up my ass," she ordered hoarsely, disgusted with herself for stopping to finding satisfaction with a man, disgusted at where she wanted him, but desperate with need from watching Karen.
Harry bared his teeth in a triumphant smile as he carefully placed the head of his prick against the tight bud between Ann's muscular buttocks. He shoved, watching her arms push inward, then slowly spread, yielding to him. Jeezus, she was tight. He powered his prick into Ann's hot, sticky bowels, and then looked over to watch his wife still being riven by two demanding cocks.
Nothing existed for Karen but cocks. She was filled with cocks, was being split wide open by cocks, was stuffed to the point of explosion with hot meat. "Aaahhhhhh," she moaned ecstatically as her orgasm went on and on and on. Both men were moving in her, pistoning in and out of her, the friction searing hot against the walls of both her vagina and her rectum. The thin layer separating her two channels was being stretched and pummeled by the invaders, twisted agonizingly as one drove inward and the other retreated.
The moves of the two men quickened. They drove at her faster and faster, harder and harder. She was burning up inside, she was ablaze. A conflagration of pleasure and searing pain was cremating her guts.
And then, suddenly, both men were hosing her down with their cum, pouring wave after wave of soothing semen into her abused cavities.
"Yaaaahhhhh," Karen screamed at the feeling of being drowned in cum.
Karen's scream ripped deep into Carl's guts. The camera was glued to his eye as he used the fullest magnification of the zoom lens to observe Karen's befoulment. The sight of her tender white body being crushed between the black bulk of Sammy Brown and the disgusting overweight frame of Myron Krautz was the most incredibly erotic thing Carl had ever seen in his life. Splinters were torn off the wood fence as he clawed at it in frustration.
CHAPTER TEN
Karen lay soaking in the bathtub. The steaming water eased the aches deep in her body, but did nothing for the numbing misery in her soul. She felt totally fouled. She had been ravished in every conceivable way, and she could not ignore the fact that she had welcomed the brutal penetrations.
She was mentally and physically exhausted even now, two days later. Harry had gone off to work, humming. He was certain the contracts would be signed by the end of the week. Then he would be ready to witness the final collapse of Carl Sands, he thought. He had gloated over his victory, knowing it added to her humiliation.
All that was left, as far as Harry was concerned, was to get the contracts signed, and to make sure that Carl knew what had happened. As soon as the contracts were taken care of, Harry was going to spread the word to Carl's creditors, who would descend on him like vultures. He would be picked clean. Time after time, Harry returned to the image of Carl's bones lying bleached in the sun.
Karen shuddered, making waves in the huge tub. She was still concerned about the lingering effects her sodomizing might have. Her vagina was sore and oozing. Her throat ached from the battering it had taken.
Moving slowly and carefully, Karen hauled herself up out of the tub. She dried herself gingerly, acutely aware of the bruised state of her body. Her breasts were tender from being mashed against one man while another lay on her back. The inside of her thighs were raw from the friction with men's hairy limbs. Her ass ached so much it was painful just to sit down. She wondered if she would hurt so much if she had just had a baby.
She doubted that she would ever feel any sexual desire again. She had had as much sex in one afternoon as most women have in a lifetime, she told herself. She had been ravished by two men and a woman. Naturally, her husband had not touched her. He had taken his pleasure with Ann Patterson, a lesbian!
Karen wondered if Harry would ever touch her again. No, of course not, she decided. Because, if Carl succeeded, she would be Carl's. And if Carl failed, Harry would either kill her, or continue to ignore her and use her to obtain clients.
After powdering and salving her bruises and pains, Karen wandered out by the pool. Here, right here, was where it had all taken place. She expected the sight to be painful, but it wasn't. It was just meaningless. It all seemed totally unreal. If it hadn't been for her aches and pains, she wouldn't have believed it had happened.
The doorbell rang, jarring through her like the pain of a toothache. She was headed to answer it before she stopped to think. If it was one of the men from the party, she would die. They would want her, and she was just too sore to even contemplate it. But, if she refused, what about Harry?
She was still wrestling with this when the doorbell rang again, unendingly. The racket burned into her brain until she had to answer it, no matter who it was or what they wanted.
"Hi, Karen," Carl greeted her. His smile was cocky and bold.
Without a word, Karen turned and walked into the house, leaving him to show himself in and close the door. She didn't want to face him, not after he had watched her performance at the barbecue. She heard the door close. Folding her arms, she didn't turn. She just stood there waiting.
"Quite a show you put on," Carl commented. "I thought it might be interesting, but nothing as wild as what it was."
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you were going to be putting the pictures to use this morning."
"I will be, I will be," Carl assured her. "I got a good darkroom man to print some nice eight-by-ten glossies."
"You got. . . ? " Karen started to explode, having visions of half the men in town drooling over her acrobatics.
"Relax, relax," Carl assured her. "I was in the darkroom with him, start to finish. I got all the negatives and all the prints. The only thing he has is five hundred bucks and some great memories."
"What are you doing here?"
"I thought you'd like to see the proofs," Carl explained, waving a large envelope in front of her face.
"Well, I don't," Karen snapped.
Carl acted as if he hadn't heard her, and slid a thick stack of photographs out of the envelope. Sitting down on the couch, he proceeded to leaf through the stack, his lips pursed in a silent whistle.
Karen found herself drifting over to sit next to him in spite of her revulsion. It had been horrible enough to go through it all. But now, to have to relieve it was just too much.
"Here's you and Myron," Carl said, handing her a photograph. His tone sounded as if he were showing her family snapshots.
The photo shook in Karen's hand. She lowered it to her bare thighs. The thick paper felt cool on her bare skin. Slowly the image in front of her filtered through to her mind. Myron was lying back on the lounge, his fingers knotted in her hair. His cock was buried in her mouth. The base cruelty in his eyes as he gazed down at her was shattering. But what was worse was the expression on her own face. Her eyes shut, tears trickling down her cheeks, her expression clearly indicated that she was enjoying the gross experience.
"You and Myron again," Carl went on calmly.
The photograph showed her holding Myron's cock in her hands, licking the last of his cum off of it. She looked as if she were having an ice cream cone.
"And here's you and Ann," Carl continued relentlessly.
All that could be seen of Karen were the pale globes of her buttocks. Her entire head was swallowed between Ann Patterson's thighs, leaving no doubt as to what was going on.
"The rest of the ones of you and Ann are about the same," Carl reported, leafing through the stack. "Not much variation there. Ah, here we are, you and Sammy."
Karen took the photo numbly and stared at it blankly.
"Notice the fantastic effect of the contrast of your pale skin against his dark skin," Carl lectured pedantically.
Karen remembered the feel of the Black man's massive cock in her vagina and suppressed a whimper. The photo showed him lying between her spread thighs. Pain and ecstasy were mingled on her face.
"Here's another one of you and Sammy," Carl went on. "I particularly like your expression in this one."
Karen bit her lower lip until it hurt. Evidently the Black man had just rammed his cock full depth in her. She looked astonished, and extraordinarily pleased. Karen felt a betraying flicker of warmth deep in her guts at the sight.
"And there's this one of you and Sammy," Carl noted, handing her still another picture. "Just what was he doing with his hands under you like that? Or need I ask?"
Karen was too humiliated to even speak. The pleasure showing on her face in the photograph was mute testimony to what she thought of Sammy sticking his finger up her butt.
"And now we come to the really great series," Carl informed her. "You and Myron and Sammy, or, as I call it, 'the Karen sandwich with two pricks'. "
Karen wanted to throw the entire stack of photographs at Carl and run and hide. But her own filthy curiosity held her pinned in her seat while she studied each photo as Carl handed it to her. The first showed her accepting Myron's prick in her vagina, the second showed them rolling over to put her on top of the fat merchant. Then Sammy was behind her, spreading the pale cheeks of her ass, his titanic cock aimed into her. Then his cock was half sunk in her anus, then he was lying on top of her, his cock totally buried in her bowels.
"As a bonus gift offer," Carl added, "we have this tender scene between Harry Hopkins and Mrs. Ann Patterson, proving that she is as true to her lesbianism as she is to her husband."
Karen gulped at the sight of Harry sinking his staff into Ann Patterson's rectum. Her face was a blank mask of ecstasy, while Harry's was a study in ferocious sexuality. Harry was staring down at his tool as it sank into Ann's hot, clinging hole.
"And, to conclude our presentation, the final tableau," Carl concluded, handing her the last picture.
As Karen studied it, she wanted to cry, but was too empty. Evidently Carl had cranked the zoom lens back to provide a wide-angle view of the back yard. Harry and Ann Patterson were on their knees-Harry on her back-both of them limp with exhaustion, bent over the foot of the lounge. On the double lounge were Myron, Karen, and Sammy. All three of them lay on their backs. Karen's legs were sprawled wide over the thighs of the men. Her vagina gleamed like an eye in the heart of her dark bush.
"I thought I'd better make my getaway at that point," Carl reported. "I couldn't be sure when your guests might recover and I didn't want to be caught leaving. I suppose I might have missed some further action, but what I'd gotten seemed adequate for my purposes."
"Nothing else happened," Karen assured him numbly, staring blindly at the heap of photographs in her lap.
Carl took the stack and slipped them into the envelope. "I got to hand it to you, you went all out," he complimented her.
Karen knew that he knew that she had enjoyed every minute of what he had seen. "Never again," she replied softly.
"Yeah, right," Carl agreed easily. He got up. "Well, I had best be going. I have a series of appointments at which I am to spread good cheer. Better start getting packed, things are going to move fast now. When Harry Hopkins comes crashing down, it'll make quite a racket."
* * *
"Is anything wrong, Harry?" Karen asked hesitantly that night at dinner.
Harry was picking at his food, barely moving it on the plate. Harry looked worried. "What makes you ask?"
"You aren't eating. Don't you like it?" Karen asked hesitantly.
"It's fine, Baby, just fine," he answered distractedly.
Karen started to probe deeper, then closed her mouth. She had rarely shown any interest in Harry's business, so didn't dare pry too deeply now, or he would be sure to be suspicious.
"Thought I'd hear from Krautz about the contract today," Harry said finally. "He was supposed to call this afternoon to set up the appointment. Guess maybe he got tied up."
"There couldn't be anything wrong, could there?" That was a safe question. Harry knew she was worried about the risks he had taken.
"No no, of course not," Harry assured her. He sounded less than positive. "I'll hear from him tomorrow. Ann Patterson's supposed to get in touch then, too. Probably have to juggle all my appointments around to get everyone in."
"Probably," Karen agreed dutifully.
This was one night she was glad to have him leave her alone completely. This night there were no endless rehearsals, no instructions, nothing. Just the calm before the storm.
The next morning about eleven, the phone rang, dragging Karen up off the lounge. She had been sunbathing nude, letting the warm sun burn the last of her aches away.
"Hi, Baby," Harry greeted her.
"Hi." Karen felt a surge of fear. Had he found out what was happening yet?
"I called to tell you to get steaks out of the freezer," Harry explained.
"How many?" She held her breath.
"I don't know for sure. Better make it four. I'm trying to get in touch with Krautz and with Patterson to invite them over tonight. They've both been out all morning, though."
"Well, if we don't eat them all tonight, we can have them tomorrow night," Karen told him. She was certain she would only need two of the steaks.
"Yeah, right," Harry agreed. "Oh, and in case I don't get a chance to call you and let you know for sure, one way or the other, wear that sexy hostess outfit, the green one, with nothing under it, okay?"
Karen hung up. Harry was getting worried. He was trying to rope in his prospective clients again. Carl had obviously gotten to them. Mentally, Karen was planning what she could take with her on short notice. It would be better to leave almost everything. Carl would be able to buy her whatever she needed anyway.
She took four steaks out of the freezer, and managed to appear surprised when Harry arrived home alone that evening. "Where are Myron and Ann, are they getting here later?" she asked innocently.
Harry entered the house slowly, his expression grim. "They aren't coming at all," he answered shortly. Going straight to the bar, he poured himself a tall glass of bourbon and dropped in two ice cubes. Some of the liquor splashed out of the glass onto the bar. He ignored it, picking up the drink and chugging down a huge amount of it.
"What happened?" Karen ventured timidly.
"They weren't in all day," Harry answered. "Or, if they were in, they weren't talking to me."
"I'm sure they were out," Karen said soothingly.
"Yeah? Well, Sammy Brown was out, too," Harry reported sourly. "It's not too-likely that all three of them would be out at the same time. All day."
Karen looked puzzled. "What's the problem ? "
"I dunno," Harry answered. "But we were supposed to get those contracts signed this week and we'd better. I'll give 'em a chance to get home and try to reach 'em there. Then they won't have some damn secretary to lie to me."
The amount Harry was drinking was alarming. When he went back to the bar to refill his glass Karen knew she had better do something to slow him down. She had never seen him really drunk, and didn't want to. He could be mean enough when he was sober; drunk he would be murderous.
"Why don't you come in the kitchen while I grill the steaks ? We can have an early supper and then you'll feel better when you call them," she suggested. She was relieved when he accepted the idea. In the kitchen, every time he was about to go out to refill his glass she found some reason to keep him with her. Then dinner was on the table and she let out a sigh. With food in his stomach, the effects of any liquor would be tempered a bit.
It was a silent meal. Finally it was over and Karen got up to clear the table.
"Don't bother me for a while, okay, Baby?" Harry asked. "I'll be on the phone."
"Sure, Harry."
She moved quietly as she cleaned up. Through the swinging door she could hear the phone being dialed, then a silence. She held her breath.
"Myron Krautz, please, Harry Hopkins calling," Harry said.
Silence.
"What do you mean, he's not home?" Harry asked sharply.
Silence again.
"Well, when's he going to be home?" Harry began to sound aggravated.
The silence was shorter this time.
"Why the hell don't you know? Aaahhh, never mind. Just have him call me as soon as he gets home. No, I don't care what time, any time, damn it!"
"Son of a bitch," Harry growled after slamming down the receiver. "No wonder he can't stand his wife."
Karen moved away from the door, afraid Harry was going to burst in and catch her listening. She heard the phone being dialed again and went to the door. This time there was no answer.
She crossed her fingers when she heard the telephone being dialed for the third time-Sammy Brown probably. Of the three, Sammy seemed the most-likely to be willing to face Harry down. Myron would continue to avoid him as long as possible, and so would Ann Patterson. Sammy would have a more direct, gutsy approach.
"Hey, Sammy, Baby, I tried to reach you all day, where were you?" Harry greeted the Black man heartily.
"What do you mean, you didn't want to talk to me?" Harry asked, astonished.
Karen gritted her teeth, and wished she had the nerve to pick up the extension in the kitchen.
"Well now, look, man, we got a contract to get signed," Harry argued.
Karen held her breath.
"Whattaya mean, 'what contract?'? " Harry exploded.
There was a long, painful silence, ended by the sound of the receiver being put down. Karen hurried back to the sink. Her heart was in her throat. Finally she turned on the dishwasher, wiped her hands, and headed for the living room, terrified of what she was going to find.
Harry was sitting in his favorite chair, a fresh drink in his hand. His hand was shaking visibly.
"Any luck?" Karen asked nervously.
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, luck. All bad," Harry answered, taking a huge swallow of bourbon.
"What happened ? " Karen asked, pretending she didn't know.
"Only one I got through to was Sammy," Harry answered. "He's not signing."
"What?" Karen did her best to sound flabbergasted.
"He's not going to sign a contract with me," Harry elaborated. "Told me he was signing with someone else."
"Did he say who?" Karen asked fearfully.
"No." Harry frowned. "He couldn't be signing with Sands. He just couldn't be signing with Sands."
"Well, I'm sure you'll get the contract with Myron and Ann," Karen said glibly. "After all, how could anyone resist our sales pitch?"
"Right, Baby, right you are. But what happened with Sammy Brown?"
"Forget about him," Karen answered. "You don't need him, do you? Won't the other two be enough?"
Harry rolled his glass between his palms. "It'll be tight, but I think I can squeak through. Might have to sell off a few trucks, maybe default on that warehouse on the south side I leased. What the hell, with Sammy Brown out, I don't need that space anyway. Who the hell needs the south side?"
"Not us," Karen assured her husband. Deep down she was feeling a warm glow at his discomfort. And this was just the beginning. She was going to enjoy his final collapse.
"Maybe I'll try Krautz and Patterson again," Harry mused, reaching for the telephone.
Karen felt a quiver of fear. If he reached them tonight, and they gave him the word now, she was within striking distance. Maybe he wouldn't put the blame on her, maybe he would. But if either Krautz or Patterson did reveal they were defecting to Carl, Harry would blow sky-high. And she would be the obvious target for Harry to lash out at. She reminded him of Carl Sands every time he looked at her.
"It's late, why not let it go until tomorrow?" she said carefully. "I'm sure they'll be in their offices then. If you call them at home it might upset them."
"Yeah, that's true," Harry admitted.
"Let's watch some television and go to bed early," she added.
"All right," Harry agreed. "Fix me another drink, will you ? "
It was early the next morning when the phone rang, jolting Karen's nerves. It was Wednesday, the day that Carl had promised would be the end of Harry's reign. Wiping her sweaty palms on her robe, she picked up the receiver.
"It's me," Carl assured her quickly.
"Thank God," Karen breathed. "He tried to reach all three of them last night. He got through to Sammy Brown and found he'd lost him. Sammy didn't say who he was signing with, though."
"I know, I heard from Sammy this morning. Better get packed. The lid's going to blow off this thing real soon. I'll be over at ten-thirty to pick you up. Just sit tight until then, okay?"
"Please hurry," Karen pleaded.
"Be cool," Carl soothed her. "Just be cool. By noon it'll be all over. Harry's creditors will be shredding him so fast he'll be too busy to do more than scream."
Karen shuddered at the image. "I'll be ready," she assured him. She already was ready. She had been ready half an hour after Harry had left that morning. Her suitcase was packed, and carefully tucked away in the back of her closet.
Karen finished dressing and glanced at the clock. Ten. She decided to get her suitcase out so she could escape quickly. After a last look around the bedroom and bathroom, she carried her suitcase out and set it by the front door.
She was nervously pacing the floor, wiping the sweat off her hands time after time after time. Every time she heard a car she dashed to the window, then chided herself for being foolish and turned the stereo on full volume. As a result it was a total shock when the front door was suddenly slammed open hard enough to rattle the windows.
Harry exploded into the room wild-eyed with rage. "Where is he?" he screamed.
Karen was rooted to the spot with terror.
"Where's who?" she managed to squeak out as she felt the blood drain from her face.
"Carl Sands," Harry snarled. "That's who, and you know it."
"I d-don't know what you mean," Karen lied desperately, stalling for time.
"Bull," Harry screamed. "I got word that son of a bitch is on his way over here, and it ain't the first time he's been here. Now where is he?"
"He's not here," Karen screamed desperately. Her eye suddenly lighted on her suitcase, right in plain sight where she had left it, and she paled even further.
Harry followed her gaze. He turned crimson with fury. "You running out on me? You running out on me?"
Karen winced with pain as his fingers fastened brutally on her shoulders. Her head flapped helplessly as he shook her like a rag doll. The world became a pink and gray blur.
"Let her go, Harry!" Carl yelled from the front door.
Karen dropped limply to the couch, her ears ringing, dizzy from the battering.
"You bastard," Harry hissed softly, like a snake about to strike.
"It's all over, Harry," Carl said softly. "Come here, Karen."
Groggily, Karen got to her feet. She carefully circled her husband, staying well out of his reach. When Carl pulled her in against him, she sagged against his welcome strength.
"You've got nothing left, Harry," Carl said softly. "Your whole rotten business is gone, and you know it."
"I'll get you," Harry insisted mechanically. "Nobody beats me."
"I just did, Harry," Carl answered calmly. "Didn't I, Karen?"
Karen nodded. She was watching Harry crumble. Strangely, it wasn't as pleasant as she had thought it would be. The blood drained from Harry's face, and suddenly he looked ancient and terribly sad.
"You've lost everything, Harry. Karen will be filing for a divorce, and you'll give it to her. Or would you rather a certain picture of you and an unidentifiable woman suddenly began circulating around town. I believe the legal term is 'a crime against nature'. Though it isn't illegal anymore, some of the more conservative elements around town might take exception to it."
Harry was collapsing as if the stuffing were slowly pouring out of him. His hardness and cruelty were withering, leaving nothing but a sagging, empty shell.
"Come on, Karen, let's go," Carl ordered.
"Good-bye, Harry," she said softly.
The stranger standing in the middle of the living room did not even appear to hear her. She followed her new man out to his car.
"Do you think he'll-hurt himself?" she asked softly.
Carl started the car. "He doesn't have the guts. Let's get out of here. We've got a trucking company to run, and a home to build."
