The science of Cartography claims certain places on the map will bring one person good luck and the next misery. In other places no one had fortune on his side.
Such was the case of the claustrophobic township housing the Jackson Rehabilitation Center in Indiana, a town dominated by a long stone wall that seeped with grime in the August sun, holding the contamination within its iron periphery while the watch tower guard smoked lazily on a cigarette.
When Rita Henshaw and her psychiatrist husband moved to the Center's housing project, the dark shadow cast by that wall became a psychological barrier to her freedom of mind. Then, moment by breathless moment, that psychological fear turned into a physical reality.
Female Prisoner is another Edward Mitchell story of fast-paced drama, a story of physical violence and the twisted minds that perpetrated it. Wrapped up in the midst of an administrative scandal, the demure blonde finds herself its prime target. She combats the evil forces being leveled against her flesh and fights a moral battle to the finish.
We the publishers present this latest work for our readers' supreme enjoyment.
CHAPTER 1
The August sun hung high in the mid-day Indiana sky, streaming through the window panes to splash opulent patches of light on Rita Henshaw's lithe, tanned legs as she sat pensively staring out the window onto her backyard. The rose garden was in full bloom, their delicate, pink heads lifted proudly to the blue sky, setting off the stucco house from the cul-de-sac behind. The vine-covered, two-bedroom cottage would appear, to the objective observer, to be the perfect setting for newlyweds.
But Rita was not objective, was incapable of such emotionally dry perceptions-at least until matters took a rosier turn.
Rita blinked back the moist hotness welling up in her limpid blue eyes as she gazed over the neighbors' pitched roofs to the awesome stone wall separating Jackson Rehabilitation Center from the outside world's innocence. The dreary looking building was housed by alcoholic abusers who had stumbled into trouble with the law. Not all trash-can winos these: A number of police officers who had got into the habit of accepting amber payola from after-hours nightclubs populated the institution. Wife beaters, convicted child abusers, too.
The young woman's eyes roved over the huge slabs of darkly sweating gray-brown stone, moss-covered and slimy as if the degeneracy of its inmates was seeping through the walls to stain the outside world. Her unblinking eyes lingered on the watch tower that sat like some judgmental God on a throne. From the distance, she could make out the form of a watchman smoking a cigarette in the tower's dim shadows.
The proximity of her husband's place of work and the overshadowing, omnipresent doom of the small Indiana town where pretty gossip of personal affairs was headline news had a dull, chilling effect on the young wife. Too great a reminder, was it, of her own walled-in prison, emotional though it was?
No. She couldn't go on feeding morbid self-pity forever. Rita rose from the chair to return to her task of unpacking the Mayflower mover's boxes stacked high in the hallway. Two weeks of marriage hardly provided ample justification for hating marriage as she did. Of course newlyweds had problems adjusting to each other's idiosyncrasies, tastes and dislikes, but these first few weeks were supposed to be filled with around the clock lovemaking and giggling in the night. None of that for the Henshaws, thought Rita heaving a sad sigh of resignation.
Were it not for the idiotic regulation that JRC employees could not live in the provided housing rent-free unless they were legally married, she and Max would have tested out their newfound affections for each other by living together. Too late for that now: Max was committed to his job of rehabilitation psychologist and Rita was committed to sharing his name.
She stood in the kitchen doorway contemplating the small mountain of cardboard cartons the movers had dumped there like the Great Wall of China. Unnerving, indeed, living in this disarray, she sighed again, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted from the strangely spent three day honeymoon. But work she must, or Max would be in a foul temper, being one of those individuals who can not tolerate disorder-especially in his own house. God knows he found fault with everything else she did; to have him attack her housekeeping talents would be the last straw. After all, she thought bitterly, housekeeper was her assigned role in this marriage-not lover, not friend even.
It was a strange and lonely feeling being in the house alone. Rita suddenly stared in shocked surprise as she saw a shadowy figure moving in the darkened back porch off the kitchen. Her wide blue eyes blinked and spontaneously her soft lips parted in a titter at her own nervousness. It was only her reflection in the glass-paned door. Long and hard, she stared at herself, running a soft hand over the swell of a high cheekbone.
This role of wife was new to her, an emotionally trying experience. Briefly, she stopped to study the effects of the past few weeks on her babyish, pixie features. Her expression was clear and untroubled, her face framed by blue eyes, round and innocent set in a small face, haloed by Medusa ringlets of corn silk hair. Her face had always imbued her with a child-like quality that was endearing and arcane at once. Her body was well proportioned and strong, though lithe and demure. In elementary school class pictures she had always been placed at the end of the front row.
Rita Henshaw was anything but a child now. Even in her working clothes, a snug T-shirt that had shrunken in the wash and a pair of faded Levi's, her figure was smooth in hour-glass form. Breasts, proud and full, jutted out bralessly from beneath her T-shirt, her nipples making nubs under the .softly clinging cotton. Rita was confident in her body's ability to give and receive joy and she had not abused its offerings.
To have saved herself for marriage was an old-fashioned notion, true, but Rita had done just that. Now she wondered why she had bothered. After the holocaust that was her wedding night, Rita was beginning to wonder what good was honor if it went unnoticed. Apparently Max placed no importance in his wife's virginity-had not cajoled her into lovemaking, had not been tender and gentle. Instead he had bullishly attacked her as if she were a slut off the street. In fact, he had called her that, his upper lip curdling in disdain as he threw her down on the bed: "Whore!" he'd bawled.
Why? Rita blinked back hot tears, her throat tight with agony.
Fatigue . . . could that have been the cause of his outburst? Of course, her mind assured. They were both tired after driving from the courthouse four hundred and some miles away to sleep the first night in their new home. He had appeared happy when they pulled into the drive and smiling and laughing, had played the husbandly role, carrying her across the threshold and all that traditional stuff.
She lay on the bed where he'd lain her, a frightened and nervous woman staring up into the dark eyes of her husband. So strong and domineering was he.. . .
Theirs had been a whirlwind romance of one month. Rita was secretary to several doctors in the Alcoholic Rehabilitation Center in Gary at the time when one of its young psychologists had instituted a new program whereby patients were allowed to leave on an honor system. The program was under attack by the board of directors because one of the patients, a convicted sex offender who had undergone extensive psychoanalysis had abused the privilege and molested a young girl. That psychologist was Max Henshaw. Disgruntled with the establishment and in need of camaraderie, Max had invited the new secretary out for an after work drink. Later when he was fired for being too lenient by the board of directors, he asked her to marry him, and in a snap-of-the-finger decision she agreed. His courage and manliness appealed to her feminine senses and that was reason enough for Rita. With a crusader like Max for a husband, what could go wrong?
Plenty . . . as she was to learn hours later, but in the interim their first night together was all roses.
With a tender, possessive smile, Max had taken her into his arms, kissing her long and passionately. The taste of his tongue sparring with hers was thrillingly beautiful and Rita had experienced a longing so monumental it threatened to explode within her demure frame. Years of fending off cheap passes from pimply faced boys and unhappily married men was about to reap its own reward. Joyfully, she had thrust her body warmly against him, responding to his possessive embrace with a hunger that both startled and thrilled her. Then it happened. . . .
She had slipped her delicate hand around to massage the nape of his neck when he pushed her away in a rough, brusque gesture; his hand shot down to tear at the belt of his trousers. That was part of the ritual, wasn't it?-undressing each other. Startled and confused, she had looked up into his face for some explanation as to this Dr. Jackyll and Mr. Hyde transformation happening before her eyes. The tender sparkle had hardened into a raw lust that blazed as his eyes savagely raked her trembling body. His response was abnormal and an unthinking terror had gripped Rita's mind. Abruptly she sprung from the bed, but Max's powerful hands descended on her shoulders, pulling her around to face him.
"Where do you think you're going?" he grumbled down at her, the lines of his face furrowing like a demented old man. "You wanted it bad enough a minute ago-humping and rubbing up against me, clawing at my pants!"
"But Max . . . " Her voice was small and scared. She had cringed away in stunned amazement at the unfairly cruel impact of his words. "H-how can you say that when-" She faltered, powerless to answer the anger that had smoldered in his voice. Afraid that she had unintentionally hurt his feelings, she went on in a loving whisper. "I'm sorry . . . I love you.. . . "
Max was all brute force. He grasped her arm and leaned over to stare accusatively into her awestruck eyes. "Yeah . . . I've heard that line before, baby," he spat.-"My mother gave my old man the same line . . . and God knows how many other men!"
His face had twisted into a hard, bitter smile as he continued his degrading insinuations. "You wanna fuck, baby . . . that's what we'll do!"
Where were these insane ideas coming from? Had the board of directors in Gary put him under such pressure that he was cracking mentally? She knew she shouldn't take his cruelty personally, but how could she help not? He leered sadistically down at her, as if trying to kill her with a menacing stare. As the golden flecks in his dark eyes swirled angrily, his had snatched at her blouse, ripping open the buttons in his fury.
His attack petrified Rita, but she forced her mind to remain rational. One of them had to maintain his senses. Her voice was trembling with terror, but she managed to speak, hoping she would be able to talk him out of this irrational rage leveled against her. "You don't have to rape me, darling. Let me help you. This is our wedding night, remember?"
The breath hissed from his heaving lungs, his cheeks flushing with blood that pounded in his ears and to Rita's relief, Max stepped back and stared at her with an unfathomable look in his cool dark eyes. Obviously he was not to be talked out of his foul humor; compliance was the only path open to her. Summoning up all her courage, she smiled up at him and began to undress methodically, her pink polished fingertips working at the few pearl buttons remaining on her polyester blouse. Never had she seen him in such a mental state; his stare froze her to the bone.
Moments later, her garments piled oh the chair beside the bed, Rita stood before him, naked and afraid in the strained silence broken now by his harsh, mirthless laughter.
"You really want a cock bad, don't you? I've never seen a chick shed her panties so quick!" His eyes flickered with a strange mixture of hatred and lust, his voice was cold and low. "Lay down on the bed and spread your legs . . . whore!"
Terrified by his anger but afraid to argue, Rita edged over to the bed and seated herself, her eyes never leaving her husband's hands that shed his clothes. As he removed his shirt, shoes and socks, she had enough time to talk herself into relaxing. . .that is until he dropped his trousers down over his buttocks to reveal his jutting penis poling from the forest of pubic curls. It startled her that he wore no underwear. Was that indicative of a sick mind? She wondered feebly, cringing into the mattress as his awesome girth wagged tauntingly before her eyes. Rita's breath caught in her throat: Earlier childish games of playing "Doctor" and the sight of the tiny flaccid member dangling between Joey Henderson's legs at age six had not prepared her for the shock of this moment. A moment later he kicked his pants away and turned to walk over to the bed, his face full of loathing and disgust.
Ceremonious preliminaries were not part of Max Henshaw's repertoire today. Ignoring his wife's low, moaning pleas, he pressed her shoulders back into the mattress, catching her body as her slim shapely legs flew out in a desperate attempt to escape. His loins had pressed down between her widespread thighs, pinioning her body to the bed.
His smooth, warm skin tickled against Rita's nudity in a titillating sort of way . . . until she felt the huge rock hard-shaft throbbing like a live animal against her soft inner thigh, straining and growing until the fat bulbous tip pushed against the silky golden bush of her own pubic hair. She clenched her eyes shut and steeled herself for the pain she knew would be her womanly fate when he forced his meaty cudgel into her small, untried womanhood. The tips of her pink fingernails clawed into the palm of her hand punishingly, preparing for the lightning bolt of pain when he forced himself inside of her.
She waited for it to happen. As the hot tears squeezed out of the corner of her saddened eyes, wetting the ringlets of golden hair framing her terror-struck face, Rita cursed her fate as a woman. Men didn't have to suffer the indignities of forced copulation and yet here she lay like a sacrificial lamb awaiting the knife about to plunge. When . . . ?
God, why didn't he just get it over with? Rita centered her mind on the sensations roiling about her pinned down body, nerve endings like prison searchlights seeking out the grim shadows of pain. None was to be felt. His first light touch had not hurt her at all, and as she focused on her womanly feelings, she was shocked to discover that something in her wanted this humiliation, wanted that massive stalk to plunge far up into her belly and rip her maidenhead to shreds. Almost violently, she wriggled her pelvis down toward it, fever chills running through her lithe body as she felt the soft rubbery head grazing the soft, velvety moist folds of her vagina.
Fears of the moment dissipated as a throbbing lurch of his penis sent waves of exquisite delight coursing out from the wildly sensitive nerve ends of her naked genitals. In an instinctive gesture of welcoming acceptance, she relaxed her slender inner thighs and thrust her buttocks upward to experience more of the intoxicatingly warm sensation of naked skin rubbing against naked skin.
Then, in savage response to her innocent, explorative movements, Max plunged into her womb with all the strength of the disgust and hatred he apparently felt for her femininity, tearing through the vainly resistant sheath of her hymen as if it were Christmas wrapping paper. Her eyes popped open wide and her lips parted in a silent scream with the shock of the excruciating pain. Her dilated pupils focused blurrily on the face contorted with rage as he battered down into her virginal womanhood with violent male disrespect. Her own brief sunshine of passion had clouded over and she screamed in agony as he pushed the huge blood-filled instrument into her, shoving the pulsing head in further inch by excruciating inch, further and further, until at last he filled her vagina to the hilt. Her tormented cries were nothing in his ears, deaf and blind he was to everything but his selfish, wild desire to humiliate and defile her.
like a savage best he had humped her, holding her thrashing hips firmly in his grasp as he pumped mercilessly into her pain-stretched body. Rita squirmed and wriggled, trying to escape his assault, but her pitiful attempts were interpreted as wanton joy, spurring her raping husband into greater frenzies of sadistic lust. Venting his angry passion in thundering strokes against her quivering, fear clenched buttocks, he had failed to recognize her lack of cooperation in bringing him to orgasm.
Without so much as an "I love you . . . " his hot, sticky sperm began to spurt into her tortured belly in quick, powerful gushes, hosing her wide-stretched young pussy to the bursting point with its hateful white rush.
And that was Rita Henshaw's wedding night, she thought gloomily. Hardly anything she could write about in her diary.
Since that gloomy beginning, they had spoken to each in monosyllables and only when necessary. Not a kiss, a gentle touch . . . nothing. Because of his hatred for her, he had annihilated the delights of falling in love. Now she wondered if they could bridge the chasm and learn to live with each other in harmony, as the ugly memory of that dark night hung like a lead curtain between them.
No, she thought as she ripped open the box marked "Kitchen." Not a lead curtain . . . a prison wall, like the gloomy one outside their home. Their marriage was a mirror of this cottage; potentially beautiful but darkened by the monstrous stone wall. At least that wall served a purpose, she thought as anger and hurt began to well up inside her. Why had Max raped her when she had offered herself willingly to him, would have done anything for him. It was cruel, unfair, selfish and ugly and a lot more adjectives she couldn't bring herself to repeat. Worse: he had refused her the joy of giving him pleasure.
Not far different from the decrepit alcoholics behind that wall, was she? Alone, set apart from the world, feeling begrudged and held captive, walled off by her own husband's mysterious silence.
If this was that marriage was all about, Rita Henshaw wanted no part of it, a sad realization for a wife of two weeks.
CHAPTER 2
By the following morning the cottage was in a tidy state; dishes were stacked in the cupboards and linens tucked away neatly in closets. Rita's mental state, however, was far less organized.
Eyelids thick with sleep, she awoke late the next morning listening idly to the chirp of sparrows gathering in the trees in the yard. Max had left earlier for work, grumbling as he stomped out the door and slamming it behind him. His negligence of his wife's feelings had depressed Rita so severely that she pulled the covers over her head and indulged in an extra few hours of sleep. Now, at ten o'clock, the earlier dullness of dawn had given way to a sunburst day and rubbing her eyes with the balls of her fists, she slipped out of bed and squinted out at the geometric beds of blooming roses outside the bedroom window. In a hazy state of awakening consciousness, she stared empathetically at the roses, experiencing the tragic reality that the brilliant petals would lose their delicacy by the end of the week. Their color, like her hopes for reconciliation, would fade and drop to the ground. Reluctantly, she tore herself away from the window and padded barefoot into the bathroom to prepare herself for another day of unhappiness.
Returning to the bedroom, the thin film of her pink nightie clinging tenaciously to the rich swells of her hips and breasts, her eyes fell upon Max's pillow, where he had left it, hanging half off the bed on his side. Wasn't that typical though? Didn't that explain the whole truth of his feelings (or lack of feelings) for her? Rita sniffled into a kleenex torn from the half-consumed box on the nitht stand. Marriage, like a disease, would have to cure itself. She was no healer, she could not salve the wound alone. Yet she harbored no dis-like for the man. That he had emotional problems with women was obvious and in time he would realize the need to face the unfairness of his accusations. Until then she must accept her role as lonely wife and accept this celibacy forced upon her.
Damn . . . why did she love the man? Rita blew into the kleenex and tossed it into the wicker wastepaper basket by the bed. A fine future she had in store, here in this depressing, gossipy town of small-minded woman and frustrated males.
Pink fingertips were reaching for a second kleenex when the telephone rang. The mounds of her milky breasts jounced as she sprinted to the hall telephone.
"Hello, Mrs. Henshaw," sounded a male voice. "This is the Superintendent's office calling."
"Yes.. . ? "
"I'm calling to tell you that as a rehabilitationist's wife, you're allowed to have one of our men from the program's work pool come out to your house to help you out a bit." The voice paused, and Rita could hear the man draw on his cigarette. "Lookin' at the files here, I see we got a young guy who's ready for the outside. You wan' him."
"Well, I . . . I hadn't.. . "
"His name is John Silverman . . . the quiet type, you know?" Apparently the man hadn't intuited her objection. "How 'bout I send him over this afternoon. That convenient for you?"
"Well, I guess so-" When she hung up the telephone, Rita sat back thoughtfully and mused over the idea of having a man of dubious character in her home. Was she letting herself in for trouble? Certainly the Superintendent would not have allowed the man privileges if they didn't think him honorable. Time would tell. Besides, having someone to talk to, even a rehabilitated alcoholic, was better than talking to the walls. More, perhaps this mysterious John Silverman could provide some insight into the strange problems that seemed to be preoccupying her husband.
She didn't rush about the house this morning; instead, she took her time at dressing and preparing a cup of extra strong coffee to perk up her spirits. In a pair of cut-off shorts and T-shirt, she settled down by the window to sip it. The air was warm and bright and, squinting through the window, she spied the tall, heavily muscled frame of a black man in the telltale Center's jumpsuit standing at the far end of the rose garden with his back to the house. Surreptitiously, he turned slightly, giving her a revealing angle as he pulled his glistening black penis out of his pants and began to stroke it rhythmically with his fist.
My God! Rita's mind seethed. What the heck? The audacity of the man defiling her rose garden with his perversions! The coffee in the cup sloshed over the rim as she watched the lewd spectacle before her in nearly hypnotized fascination. Shocked and disgusted by the black man's lewd actions, she could not bring herself to tear her eyes away from the sight of the huge dark staff of flesh he was working with his hand. A subtle little chill of titillation tremored down the length of Rita's spine as she shaded her eyes to squint at the tiny dew drops of glistening male seed beginning to ooze from the knobby purplish head.
He couldn't have been more than twenty feet from the porch window, close enough for Rita to clearly discern the heavy blue veins that ran like a road map over' the thick underside of his black meaty penis . . . and the fat, blood-fed tip that seemed to swell and throb as the man contentedly stroked his penis with quick, jerking movements. Not fear but fascination was her reaction. Of course she was safe from his lustful actions, the heavy pane of glass and locked doors her guardian. And it was not his lustfully distorted black features that mesmerized her, but the sight of his dark-skinned meaty hand moving rapidly along the shiny stretched skin of his penis.
The black man threw his head from side to side with an insane excitation as he hunched over, working furiously at his organ, knees bent and mouth fallen slack. He jerked his hand faster and faster, pushing the thick foreskin back and forth over the thick head of his uncircumcised cock until it looked to Rita like the dark eye of a snake. Abruptly, then, Rita noticed a burning sensation on her fingers and looked down to see the cup so tightly clenched in her hand that she was burning herself.
Quickly she released her grip on the porcelain handle and raised her dainty fingers to her awestruck mouth, her eyes never leaving the stroking hand and the thick girth of man-cock gripped in its pumping grasp. A tickle of fear at his frenzied lust scorched her cheeks and then it happened. She watched him tremble violently, and from the head of his lust-inflamed penis shot a heady stream of thick white liquid, spurting out to dew the pink tea roses on the bush in front of him. Rita watched horrified as the sticky sperm splattered on the delicate roses, the weight causing the proud heads to bow in subservience to his lustful actions. It was as if the roses had lost their virginal beauty . . . had been raped by this insensitive brute. . . . Just as Max had raped and defiled her on their wedding night! Disgust clogged her throat and for a moment she thought she might be sick.
Still her gaze lingered as the towering column of dark flesh he was grasping began to deflate like a punctured balloon, shrinking and falling an inch at a time to one side. Rita could see rivulets of sweat course down the cheeks of the man's shiny face as he straightened himself to his full height and squeezed the drooping penis between his thumb and forefinger, shaking it gently until the last of the milky fluid dripped out and end and splattered on the tilled ground at his feet. Apparently undisturbed by the tremor that had just shaken his body, the man bent over to inspect the damage to the roses now weighted down and beaten by his sperm load. A slowly growing smile crossed his lips.
Rita felt herself shaking with indignation. How dare he: How could a man defile something as delicate as a flower and then feel smug over his contamination?
Rita felt her cheeks begin to burn with annoyance and casting caution to the breezes, she stomped out onto the back porch, throwing wide the door with a thunderous bang that made the black man's head snap around in surprise. She stood in the doorway, a five-foot-one inch figure scantily clad in shorts and T-shirt, hands positioned on her hips in obvious anger. "Who are you? she snapped.
The burly man turned languidly around and to Rita's shock, he was only now zipping up his trousers, a dime-sized wet spot widening from the juices seeping still from his cock tip. A wide toothy grin creased his shiny black face as he leveled his eyes on the dainty blonde female. His dark eyes roved casually over Rita's proud bumps and curves as she stood in the doorway.
"Why, am' you a pretty one," he drawled in a thick, lazy accent. "My friends at the Center calls me Rover . . . " He licked his thick lips in a salacious gesture which unnerved Rita to the core.
"That says nothing . . . what are you doing in my rose garden?" she repeated heatedly.
"Ah's a gard'ner, miss. I takes care of ever'body's roses who lives in the cottages. I got my own kinda fert'lizer . . . makes 'em grow real good."
The sardonic glint in his eyes made Rita seethe with anger. He was putting her on, teasing her like an eight year-old child. Shocked and disgusted as she was by his cool insolence, she decided this was one humiliation she did not have to accept.
That such a loud voice came from such a tiny woman amused Rover. "Get off my property this minute-before I report you to my husband! He's one of rehabilitationists at the Center who's worked to gain freedom for perverts like you!"
Rita was shocked at her outburst. It was not like herself to degrade someone so harshly, and yet she felt a sense of relief at having taken out her frustrations on someone so righteously deserving. In her arrogant role of social superiority, she barely noticed that Rover's eyes had narrowed at the mention of her husband's position at the Center and that he had begun to regard her with a less amicable gaze. Coyly he camouflaged those feelings beneath a toothy grin as he said:
"Don' wanna get you riled, missie," he continued in his slow drawl. "Fact is, I could make you really happy. You see how good I done with the roses?" With that, he broadened his smile and turned to stroll, hands thrust in jumpsuit pockets, out of the garden in a casual gait.
Damn himl Rita was beside herself with rage as she stomped back into the kitchen and locked the door securely. What was his last smart remark supposed to mean? Obviously, Rover was one of the work pool men who'd been let out to work in the Center's employees' homes. She wondered what his crime was? Wife beater? Child abuser?
That thought brought a knot of fear to play in Rita's sixty-one inch frame. Immediately she stepped toward the telephone to call Max, but quickly reconsidered her decision. He might become annoyed and accuse her of meddling in his work. No . . . better she handle this matter on her own; yet the loneliness of being caught in the midst of a situation as potentially dangerous as this was overwhelming. She needed female company.
A moment later she was banging on the neighbor's door. A tall, attractive auburn-haired woman answered.
"H-hello, I'm Rita Henshaw, I live next door . . . "
"Oh, come in. I've been considering calling on you, dear, but I didn't want to be pushy," she said, smiling graciously. "I'm Sharon Goddard, wife of the Superintendent at the Center." The woman's kindly demeanor was a salving relief compared to the idiocy of the backyard incident. Rita's shoulders relaxed with the easing of tension. Now how to bring up the reason for her call.. .
Tactfully, Mrs. Goddard broached the subject first as she gazed into the young woman's fear tightened, childish features. "Is something the matter, darling?" she asked in a maternal tone that put Rita to rest. "You look terribly distraught." Hospitably, she gestured toward an overstuffed chair which Rita collapsed into gratefully. Since the incident with Rover her knees had turned to jelly.
"I.. . I came to ask if you know of an inmate by the name of Rover . . . I-I found him in my backyard."
Sharon tutted. "Oh, dear, I certainly do. Why they let that man out and around I'll never know. But who are we to question our husband's decisions?" she said in a sigh of resignation.
Rita thought she detected a note of bitterness in the woman's voice and wanted to quickly change the subject. She was too involved with her own problems to delve into those of a stranger. Besides, she must think of Max's career, and though she suspected that nothing in the compound happened without the entire community knowing, she chose the path of ignorance. What she didn't know she couldn't relate, and she had the distinct feeling that this woman, as sophisticated and hospitable as she was, could very well be the root of the grapevine.
'This Rover . . . is he dangerous?"
"If you call rape dangerous, yes, I would say so." Sharon leaned forward in her chair and stared into her visitor's eyes as if she was about to reveal the world's secret. "You can't be too careful with these work pool men. They're all a bunch of sex starved perverts, if you ask me." Her wide green eyes implored of Rita an echoed agreement.
"You think it's safe to have them come into your house to work? I got a telephone call this morning asking me to let John Silverman come work for me. But after seeing Rover I'm not so sure I want to." Rita shrugged her shoulders, feeling very immature next to the elegantly dressed woman whose hair was pulled back into a modest bun, a simple string of pearls stranding her neck.
Sharon flapped her hand in the air in a have-no-fears gesture. "John Silverman is a honey. A little slow up here," she laughed pointing to her brain, "but a nice fellow. It's when they gang together that I'd worry. Don't ever let the office send you two men at once. That poor little Johnnie is a sweetheart. You see, he wasn't really an alcoholic, he's a loner from these parts with no family. Some say he has a few emotional problems, but then don't we all, dear?" The question, direct in tone and gaze, demanded an answer.
"I . . . I guess so." Again the discomfiting feeling that Sharon Goddard was trying to delve into the personal depths of Rita's life circumstances left the blonde -haired wife with a troubled feeling. She was beginning to feel trapped living this close to the Center; those on the outside were as walled-in as the inmates behind the stone wall. Without reluctance, Rita rose from the chair and headed for the door.
"Please come back soon and let's have a chat over coffee, honey," the woman said solicitously. "Just the two of us . . . "
CHAPTER 3
"Hello, you must be John," Rita smiled at the slim, rather boyish yet masculine figure visible in outline only against the blinding August sun. "Come in . . . please."
She moved behind the door to allow him entrance, then gasped in pleasant surprise when she caught her first clear view of him in the dim light of the hallway. Far from being a disheveled, burned-out looking, degenerate man, John Silverman was a tow-haired blonde with wide-set shoulders and an innocent grin. Something about his short stature and pixie-faced childishness reminded Rita of herself. Had he not been wearing the pale blue jumpsuit, she would have guessed him to be a college athlete. Her own elation took her by surprise. John possessed a wide-eyed visage of mixed compassion and curiosity mixed with a hangdog look of failing self-confidence. Harmless, this one.
"Sit down," she said, smiling warmly as they walked into the living room. "Could I get you a coke? You must be hot after walking in that infernal sun."
As she spoke, the man looked up to meet her eyes for the first time. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but it took a full minute before a word choked out.. . and then it was stuttered, his cheeks flushing.
"G-gosh, I d-don't know if I-I-I should be w-workin' for you, M-Mrs. Henshaw. You're a p-pretty lady."
Rita's smile broadened in effort to camouflage the compassionate distress she felt for the man. Half-boy, half-man-she understood now what Sharon Goddard meant about his harmlessness and half-wittedness. She could see the muscles in his neck standing out as if he were under great stress and, though she would have done anything to relieve him of the painful anxiety he seemed to experience in her presence, she did not want him to leave her alone. He appeared to be so gentle and in as great a need for a friend as she was herself.
Aside from his stuttering speech impediment, his golden blonde wind-blown hair and deeply dimpled cheeks reminded her somewhat of a boy she had dated back in high school at the advent of her newfound sexuality. Subconsciously, Rita had already begun to hope that John might feel the same attraction for her as Terry had felt-that she was beautiful and desirable, yet someone to be put on a pedestal and admired, not touched. But now he felt uncomfortable in her presence. She must change his mind and persuade him to stay.
"Look, I know you don't see many women out of uniform around the Center, but don't let your feelings disturb you," she began softly, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll stay out of your way when you're working. Would that make you comfortable?"
As if he had not heard her, the young man sat taciturnly on the sofa, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap. She could see him struggling with his courage before he spoke again. "Y-you ain't wearing no b-b-bra?"
Oh, God! Rita glanced down to see the tips of her diamond chip breasts poking out through the soft cotton of her faded T-shirt. Dear Lord, she was parading around in front of this lad, teasing him with her body, showing off and tempting him with forbidden fruit! Mentally she berated herself for being so careless, so reckless. Inside the wall, outside the wall. . . the rules of behavior were the same. Fleetingly, she wondered what Sharon Goddard had thought of her neighbor's sloppy style of dress.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she muttered shakily, blushing a deep pink. "I-I forgot things are different here. She stumbled over the words, trying to think of some explanation that would soften the cool disbelief she sensed John was feeling.
Again he was staring down toward the floor, his fists clenched tightly on his lap. Hot tears of shame and humiliation welled up in Rita's eyes. She had no idea of how to explain to him that she wanted him for a friend. To start him talking about himself would be a good initiation, she decided.
"How long have you been at the Center, John?"
"Oh . . . b-bout long as I c-can remember." He twirled his thumbs, pausing, struggling with the next word. "I-I used to w-work there . . . d-doin' stuff. D-don't g-got no fam-mily. Guess they're m-my family," he managed pathetically. Rita thought she might cry for him.
'Then think of me as part of your family, too, John."
Slowly he lifted his tanned, childish face to smile up at her with wide aqua eyes so shiny they reflected her own joy. Rita felt her heart tremble at his expression. He knew what it meant to be lonely. In an instinctive gesture of friendship and compassion, she sat down beside him on the sofa and took both of his tanned, calloused hands in her tiny white ones. Looking up into his sparkling eyes, she whispered. "I understand more than you realize. I know what it means to be lonely." Rita squeezed his hand, wanting him to be aware of how happy she was to have him there with her. To her delight, he returned the gentle pressure, tentatively at first, then freed his hand to move his arm exploringly around her shoulders.
"Y-you like m-m-me?"
Rita nodded her head in encouragement. What a contrast was this sensitive being to the crudely masturbating black man she had discovered in the back yard this morning.
Those blue eyes looked down at her for a long time, a deep warmth smoldering in his eyes. Then, as he gently pulled her closer to his muscular chest, he asked with difficulty: "I-I'm g-glad." Suddenly, he gathered her demure frame into his arms, her warm flesh press-temperamental displays. Perhaps it would be better to childish fury of a heartsick sixth grader, flattening and spreading her lips open until his tongue jabbed deep into her mouth.
A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of
Rita's stomach as she realized what John thought she wanted of him. This was wrong, accepting this arduous kiss from any man but her husband-not to mention a reject of society. Yet, his kiss was tender and longing, sweet and loving. Impulsively, she wondered what would happen if she didn't put a stop to this emotional display. She realized that many slow-witted people are capable of furious temperamental displays. Perhaps it would be better to comply and then find an excuse to make him leave.
Rita parted her soft moist lips to meet his next kiss, her mind blotting out the knowledge that she was leading him on unfairly. That he wanted her was no secret; his breath was panting from his lungs, his cheeks hot against hers, his tongue insistent. John was so simple and uncomplicated, so honest and direct. . . so un-like Max. His childish innocent was like a cool breath of air compared to that horrible night with her husband. John was secure and safe, and she resolved to enjoy these few stolen moments of delicious passion, even though she would end it in a moment and send him away. Who would ever know . . . and who would ever believe him?
He broke the kiss for a moment to catch his breath, shaking Rita from the reverie by the insistent pressure of his strong fingertips along the delicate line of her throat, his fingers dropping even lower as his hand circled in a seemingly innocent movement that brought him dangerously close to the cleavage of her breasts. The closeness of his gentle touch sent sharp electric thrills racing through her tender breast flesh, centering magically at the hardened nipple tips, and she instinctively pressed forward to thrust the sensitive, swelling mounds further into his palms.
"Dear God," she moaned, knowing she had to stop him soon before he took his actions seriously. Yet she had never felt anything so exciting as the maddening, exploring, teasing of his hands that now moved down to her nipples, pressing and pinching them through the thin material of her soft cotton T-shirt until the budded tips throbbed in pleasure.
Then shock and terror set in as Rita came to her . . senses. "No, John . . . we can't do this," she said, breaking the kiss.
But his hands kept on stroking her, moving down the full length of her lithe body, kneading the softness of her belly through the thin, faded denim of her shorts. Traveling down to the base of her abdomen, his fingers rotated against the hair-puffed mound of her vagina, teasing through her clothing at the narrow crevice between her slender thighs. Rita's breath was coming in tight gasps and the burning sensation was again beginning to grow in maddening intensity. John had taken her seriously, thought she wanted him to make love to her. Now how could she rectify the situation-especially when it felt this good!
Between her legs her panties were soaked, and she squeezed her thighs together to hold down the tingling sensation that was building and roiling there. Her pussy lips itched and begged to be soothed. Rita was on dangerous ground and knew it.
As his thick fingers worked more insistently against her warm, pulsating cunt, indecision arose again while the pleasure rationalized away the danger. She knew he could not, without forcibly overpowering her, get inside her shorts, and though he was a mental simpleton, he certainly must have an honorable sense of decorum to his credit.
In a gesture of resistance, she grasped his wrist tightly but it did not stop the manipulations of his hand. His long sturdy fingers still moved freely, pinching and teasing at her lower belly and the mound of her pouting vagina until she thought she might scream from the jolts of pleasure coursing through her too long neglected female body. Then John gave a hard pinch against the soft rubbery nipple of the breast he still held cupped in his other hand, sending a flash of pain and pleasure down the full length of Rita's spine. She uttered a low helpless groan which was quickly choked off by the harsh pressure of his wet lips clamping over hers. His tongue flicked moistly into her mouth and she suddenly tried to squirm away from him in an attempt to stop the flowing tide of passion slowly taking charge of her senses. She had sorely misjudged this boy-man!
He pulled his mouth free and struggled to speak, but only nonsensical, inchoate beginnings of words garbled from his tensed throat. He ground his pelvis tightly into, the smooth roundness of her hips, sliding his hand around to the curve of her buttocks to pull her loins tightly into his.
"Oh, no please . . . John, no," she moaned, his intentions all to obvious to her. A new shock of lewd excitement shot through her as she fought desperately to control the need that was building like a raging bonfire within her. She tried to wriggle away from him but his strength was just too overwhelming. "Please . . . we have to stop this, John! This isn't right!" Oh, God! Rita's mind raged. Make him understand!.
As if in answer to her plea, John's middle finger began a gentle stroke, pushing down against the gaping waistband of her cut-off shorts, crawling hungrily down over her belly and into the soft fleece of her pubic curls. His efforts snapped open the fastener, easing the access shamefully. His warm fingers delved in the soft folds of cuntal flesh. His touch made her tremble with desire and when he spoke in his tortured manner, Rita wanted to die with shame.
"Y-you're s-s-s-o pretty . . . " He buried his nose in her satiny neck, his hungry fingers massaging, fondling the sensitive folds of her vagina flesh. "I'm g-glad you l-l-like me!" There was a tinge of triumphant jubilation in his voice.
A tremor of shame passed through Rita at the indecent, forbidden pleasure overcoming her desire to resist. Yet she knew it was no use to pretend that she did not want it as much as he. She had never known how it felt to be sexually fulfilled and now she experienced a desire so strong it strangled all other considerations. If it only happened once, Max would never know; indeed, it might make her a better wife to Max, for she had not satisfied that night in bed, had she? Yes, there was no other road to take. If she tried to scream, no one would hear her except Sharon Goddard who no doubt had her ear to the glass anyway, and Sharon would have the tongues wagging in five minutes.
"C-can we t-take off our c-clothes?" he asked with the childish enthusiasm of a boy waiting to stay up on Christmas Eve for a peek at Santa Claus. How could she resist without injuring his faltering pride?
Yes, this was the only way, thought Rita in her dim haze of roiling lust. Slowly, almost as if in a dream, Rita nodded and, hooking her thumbs in the waist of the denims, pulled them down over her wiggling hips, taking it with it the tiny white band of her panties. Then, scissoring her arms overhead, she pulled off the T-shirt and sat naked on the sofa, feeling the soft velour caress her buttocks like ticklish little fingers massaging her nudity.
There was a rash of movement beside her and looking up, Rita's blue eyes blazed on the sight of the man standing before her completely naked. No boy was he now! His thick, hard penis was standing out from his flat muscular belly like a heavy blunt spear. The contrast of his body to his innocence was frightening. The pearly drip of pre-cum oozing from the tip of his penis was no mistake of adolescence: It was pure adult lust.
My God, what had she been thinking of? she wondered, hating herself for being so easily cowed by compassion for this simpleton. "John . . . we can't do . . . no, we can't. . . "
The hurt expression on his dimpled face quickly gave vent to anger. "Yes! Yes . . . you said you -liked me!" No stuttering this time.
Just as she had divested herself of clothes, John had stripped her of choice. There was nothing for her left to do but submit, she realized numbly as she cowered on the sofa nakedly. Where could she run and who would ever believe her when she tried to explain that it was not really her fault. Max would be shamed, fired, perhaps. Max already thought she was a slut, she thought bitterly. Why not prove him right and settle the matter?
Deep inside she knew she did not want to make love to a stranger. She wanted for Max to love her. . . that's all she had ever wanted.
A rush of motion brought her back to the present. John was panting on his knees before her, an eager, hungry look on his infantile, dimpled face. His wet mouth had begun to gently nibble at the nude flesh of her belly, sending goose bumps racing over her skin. Her mind formed protests as she felt his lips moving lower toward the mound of her pussy, but her mouth had lost all moisture and just as this pathetic simpleton could not voice his emotions, neither could Rita respond to her mental commands.
CHAPTER 4
For a man who had enjoyed sex only once in the broom closet of Jackson Rehabilitation Center with a nurse of sadistic temperament, the lushly soft folds and swells of the doctor's wife's nudity was a glimpse of heaven. Slowly his lips dropped to the golden hair of her vagina, and spreading the soft curls with his thumbs, he flicked his tongue snake-like into the moist flowering slit of her cunt.
The unexpected electrifying contact of his tongue against the quivering bud of her clitoris made her sway from the shock like a drunkard, and she heaved a deep sigh of frightened longing as compliantly her legs spread wider to allow John wider access to her womanhood as his hands eased her knees wider . . . wider . . . wider.
"NO!" she screamed, but before she could rise up from her compromising position, John leapt forward and caught her legs as she tried to kick them closed. She could feel his hot sweating palms clamping open the soft insides of her thighs, pushing them further apart. In terror and humiliation she tried to close her legs, but every move seemed to make the situation worse until the boy-man was kneeling between her ankles on the floor with an iron-like grip on her trembling loins. She could see his blue eyes smiling up at her triumphantly through the valley between her proud, upstanding breasts like a beast of prey about to pounce on its helpless, fear-stricken victim. The throbbing pink flesh of her naked vaginal lips was offered up like a hairy sacrifice below his grinning face. Paralyzed by numbing guilt and fear, Rita lay motionless as she watched his tongue licking his lips, his nostrils flaring from the womanly scent of her secret genitals!
A hand rose to her mouth to stifle a scream as she felt the flat palms of his hands moving upward on the smooth flesh inside her quivering thighs until his thumbs rested on the moist soft lips of her cunt. Then he slowly spread them open until Rita could feel the cool air brushing against the sensitive flesh between her legs. He stared hungrily at the delicious, rose-hued flesh within the golden-haired fleece, then slowly John lowered his head in a reverent gesture.
"No.. . no! Please! Don't do that!" she moaned as his hot moist lips closed over the soft bowl of her belly. His dimpled face disappeared from view into the soft curling pubic fleece as he placed wet, sucking kisses there, his tongue flicking teasingly at the sensitive opening. "Please . . . don't," she begged. "No one has ever done that to me . . . not even my husband!"
Her protests were too complicated for John. She moaned in shame then, as he breathed against her in hot jets of air that grazed her tingling vaginal flesh; suddenly he buried the whole length of his long slippery tongue lizard-like into the warm throbbing passage of her pussy. Her body responded involuntarily, a groan escaping from deep in her chest as she ground her buttocks down to the bed trying to get away from his maddening assault on her secret genitals.
"Ooooooh nooooo!" she whined softly under the teasing attack of his tongue up between her open thighs. She moaned and twisted as his lips sucked, drawing the warm soft folds deep into the moist cavern of her mouth, the tongue maddeningly flicking at the straining pink bud of her quivering clitoris. Lord, she'd been a fool for tempting him and now she was suffering the consequences. Mentally suffering, that is, reasoned Rita in a burst of understanding. Her body was on fire!
His searing tongue raced faster up into the tiny tight opening between her long, tanned, widespread legs. Her blonde head was lifted off the sofa back, blonde curls bouncing from the flailing of her head, horror-struck blue eyes watching in agonized disbelief, mind reeling with the idea that this immoral, humiliating act was being performed on her body by a half-wit. Yes, that's what he was. She had tried to befriend him out of compassion and he had misinterpreted her concern. Oh God, this was horrible....
John worked hungrily, feeling the soft moist pubic hair brushing against his cheeks. A feeling of intense power welled inside him, though he couldn't understand why she kept screaming no when her moans and groans were unquestionably those of pleasure. Those groans encouraged him to work his tongue up and down her widespread cunt. He wanted her to cry for it, instead of teasing him the way Nurse Blackson had done-the way she'd made him beg and put him off and put him off until out of blinding desperation he'd shot his cum over her face to dribble off the tip of her hawk nose. That had made him angry and once. . . just once he wanted to have a woman ask him to drive his hungry cock up into her empty belly.
In spite of the revulsion and horror at the obscene things being done to her naked body, Rita felt unwanted jolts of forbidden pleasure begin to tear through her body. She tried to fight the growing arousal that was persuading her to forget her marital vows to be faithful to Max right their on their new sofa and she pulled her arms tensely to her sides while her breasts jiggled slightly from John's abuse of her widespread vagina.
"Noooo . . . please, noooo . . . ! " she sobbed, but her pleas were unconvincing at best, even to herself as she panted, the breath hissing from her lungs like steam. His hands moved up over the smooth flatness of her belly to grasp harshly at her breasts, his fingers pulling at the hardening nipples. Staring up over the quivering white mounds of her breasts, she watched in triumphant delight as her face contorted, scrunching up and twitching like Nurse Blackson's had in the closet that afternoon. It filled him with a sense of dominance.
While Rita listened to the damming wet sucking noises rising from down between her open legs, Rita tried to fight down the steaming desire roiling in her loins. She felt his hands slip back down and under her buttocks, pulling and squeezing the firm flesh of her ass cheeks as his tongue and mouth continued to grind deeper and deeper into her squirming cunt. Almost automatically, she jerked her pelvis upward, easing the man's access to her wet, throbbing crevice. Suddenly, then, he flicked the tip of his tongue into the tight little puckered hole of her anus nestled just below the burning opening of her cunt.
"Ooooooh, God, noooo!" she whimpered, wondering if his demented attack on her anus was a reflection of his withered mind. Frantically screwing her buttocks down, away from the tongue that was obscenely ravishing her tiny asshole, his only response was a rasping chuckle and another rapier-like stab into the tight fleshy ring.
Rita's hips ground uncontrollably down into the sofa now, soft mewling sounds of passion bubbling from between her pearly, tightly clenched teeth. Her cheeks were naturally rouged with blood-fed passion, her eyelids twitching in rhythm to the flicking of his orally raping tongue. She realized with fright and shame that, despite the depravity and wrongness of what was happening to her, her body was enjoying this attack. She fought with an iron will against the rising tide of lust that was threatening to devour her mind and overcome all that she had been taught to believe was good and right. But it was an impossible battle as
John Silverman worked ceaselessly at her wet, naked, swollen loins with the ravishment of a hungry beast.
The only sound in the house was the constant ticking of the living room clock, punctuated by the chime of the hour and, after moments of desperate struggle with herself, Rita gave in to desire. What choice had she? She stopped fighting the intense delight he was bringing her, and her lush body began to fade into the shadows of fulfillment that she had been too long denied.
like an unthinking sex-machine, her body jerked spasmodically, rising and thrusting to meet the movements of his tongue as it fucked into her now greedily responding cunt. Her hands drifted down over her throbbing swollen breasts and her smooth flat stomach to entwine into his blonde, tousled curls, pulling his head deeper into the steaming crevice between her legs. Nothing mattered now but the race for completion that was jogging through her veins, making her body feel glowingly warm and more alive than she had known possible.
John sensed the woman's sudden surrender and with ravishing delight, he slid his thick wet tongue deeper and harder into her hot, throbbing vagina, listening gleefully to her deep animalistic groans of passion. Nurse Blackson had groaned too, and he knew instinctively that he was doing the right thing. His hands clamped onto her squirming body, teasing at her breasts and clitoris and ass-hole, spurring her to greater frenzies of erotic excitation as his tongue burrowed rapaciously into her like a tiny hungry animal.
For Rita Henshaw this was the closest she had come to an orgasm. She bucked and groaned beneath the man's mouth and hands, working upward toward the final release. Her heels pressed down against his back, pushing him closer to her, as the tension within her built to almost painful proportions. She felt her fingertips and toes turn numb and then some kind of dam burst inside her, announced by a shrill scream that drowned out the clanging chimes from the Grandfather clock.
"I'm going to cum! Yes, ooooooooh, yessssss . . . I'm cummmmmming!" Jerking and heaving against his sucking mouth, Rita moved in frantic delight as the hot spasms of her orgasm tore through her body.
Finally, she gave one last gasp and collapsed down into the sofa, dropping her legs heavily on either side of John's muscularly kneeling body. Slowly, he pulled his head up from between her widespread thighs and smiled up at her reverently. Not victoriously or cruelly as Max had leered at her, but with a gentle softness that in any other situation would have made her cry.
Still too dazed to think rationally, Rita nodded happily, her sweet face wreathed in a blissful smile. She felt drugged, anesthetized, the burning longing satiated in her loins at last. Then the guilt descended in dark clouds, bringing with it a storm of tears squirting from her blue eyes. Even though the feeling was heavenly, she knew that it was not worth the guilt. If only Max could make her feel this way . . .
"I-I think you'd better go now, John. That was nice, really nice, but we have to put our clothes on now," she said softly, hoping the tone of her voice would placate the disappointment obvious on his face. "My husband-Dr. Henshaw-will be home soon."
The smile faded into insolence, hurt and bitterness. "No . . . nnnooo!" He shook his head violently. "First we f-fuck. I-I'm s-still big!"
Indeed he was still big. The pole of his penis stuck out angry and red from the muscular vee of his groin. He might have been a simpleton, but he would not back down, would not be cheated out of his pleasure.
"No . . . we can't, John," she said firmly. "Or I won't let you come back to my house again."
"No! W-we f-fuck f-first!" Horrified, Rita paled as she watched his muscles ripple as he stepped closer to her. She could smell the sour-sweetness of his perspiration as with one movement, he slipped her down on the sofa supine and climbed atop her. "Y-You put m-my cock in!" he boomed in a voice that did not belong to the gentle man who had just brought her to orgasm.
His nude flesh slipped satinly over her own as he levered over her and began to push against her, painfully pressuring against the tight, almost virginal opening of her vagina.
"Aaaaagghhh!" gasped Rita, as the huge throbbing head forced its paving way into the moist, elastic lips until she felt the tender flesh about to tear from the strain of the lust-inflated tip of his cock.
"Oooooooh, please, stop . . . you're hurting me!" she wailed. Her legs jerked out wide on either side of his body, kicking futilely into the air to escape the cruel impalement. She looked pleadingly up into his dimpled face, but the boyish softness was wiped clean, mannish lust and frustration his new mask.
Slowly, he forced his massive rod into her resisting hole, filling her with his sausage-like penis inch by inch. Then, when his hard, thick cock was only partially inside her, he rammed forward with all the strength in his thighs and buttocks, sinking his huge shaft all the way up to the hilt. It slammed into her cunt, pushing the soft, moist flesh of her velvety cuntal walls before it until his balls smacked punishingly against the tightly clenched buttocks of her naked ass.
Beneath him, Rita writhed and groaned, screwing her buttocks back into the sofa to find some relief from the painful attack. But with each jerk, the fiery penis seemed to stab even deeper into her ravaged hole until it felt as though it was coming out her throat as its bloated head pressed hard against her cervix. Her face was contorted with the pain of that first cruel lunge and pleading incoherent whimpers rose from deep in her chest. He glanced down between their joined bodies and could see his blonde, curly pubic hairs tangled with her golden ones, the gleaming base of his thick cock buried between the pink, moist lips of her wide-stretched vagina.
Rita struggled helplessly against the pain of his sudden blunt entry. Though she desperately tried to squeeze it out by flexing the muscles of her vagina, each throb seemed only to excite him more and he rammed even further up inside her aching passageway. She could feel his hot, leathery balls brushing against her clitoris between her widespread thighs, as it lay sunk deep inside her. There was not one ridge or vein on that bludgeoning hunk of male flesh that she could not feel as her cunt walls clasped around it as if giving it a tight and welcome hug. Far up in her belly, the hard rubbery tip seemed to throb against her cervix like a second heart in her body. The gentle pulsing of his thick penis within her sent tiny jolts of bittersweet pleasure-pain racing through her trembling body and she moaned a soft sigh beneath him.
Suddenly her body quivered and jerked as John flexed his bloated penis, driving it another torturous half inch into her shredded vagina. That brought a groan of real pain from Rita's parted lips, and frantically she struggled to escape the painful skewering. Her frantic movements startled him and he shot his hands upward to pin her shoulders tightly to the mattress.
Again he throbbed the stiffness of his male meat in the hot, velvety depths of her tight narrow hold, stretching her vaginal walls further apart. Slowly, her stretching her vaginal walls further apart. Slowly, h the massive sausage tunneling up into her sacred genitals.
"Oooooohhh," she managed breathlessly, as the slow-witted inmate set a rhythmic pattern to his grunting movements. Rita's pain contorted face slowly relaxed and John could feel hesitant answering throbs around the head of his deeply burrowing penis. With slow movements, he ground into her, watching as her nostrils began to flare slightly with passion and soft grunts of pleasure began to fill the living room. The sofa's springs squeaked quietly as Rita's slender hips began a slow rocking motion beneath John's domineering maleness.
Could it be that she, Rita Henshaw, wife of a doctor, could be experiencing sensual pleasure under the grunting, animalish ministrations of a simple-minded man? How could she separate lust from love in the bat of an eyelash, she wondered for that brief second of reality marked by the chime of the Grandfather clock. But there was little time for soul searching. A deep thrilling tingle rose from deep in her womb and seemed to be saturating her body with an urgent need to demand more punishment from the heavy, blood-fed bludgeon burrowing into her belly. Her flesh seemed alive with dancing tongues of fire and the burning warmth centered in her loins, making her cunt involuntarily dilate and twitch around his sausage-like penis that banged so thunderously against per spongy, sensitive cervix, that her blonde head banged against the sofa arm in a staccato rhythm. More . . . Rita wanted more.
Instinctively, she drove her buttocks upward, grinding into his pelvis, but he stayed immobile above her, his weight pressing her back down into the sofa. Frustration and fiery need gained control of her senses. Blankly, she stared up into his grinning face.
"P-please, do something," she gasped, looking up into his eyes where a lewd grin of delight sparkled reflectively.
This one was not going to be teased, a lesson taught by sadistic Nurse Blackson. "W-what'sa matter?" he tormented. Sweat trickled down his face as he fought to control his own urging. He wanted to prove to this woman that he was no idiot, that he was a man capable of doing a job. And fucking this beautiful, blonde -haired baby was one such job. After she begged for it, he would screw her silly.
"Please . . . just do it . . . to me."
"H-huh?"
"F-fuck me!" wailed in a high, screeching voice. Oh God, why had she said that? Rita's pearly teeth bit down on her pouting lower lip in red-faced shame. There would be no escaping the reality that she had wanted this as badly as did John-and she would never be able to face Max again.
With a low growl, John grabbed her shoulders and dug his fingers painfully into their softness. As he roughly shook her trembling body, a tide of power overcame him, a tide so strong it brought a wail from Rita's parted lips.
Guilt and helplessness melted Rita's last defenses and in an urgent pleading, her pelvis rose to meet his thrusting hips. Right and wrong no longer existed. All that mattered was that she wanted him now, wanted his lust-hardened cock to turn her insides to pudding. Now he levered himself up to a push-up position and slowly withdrew his deeply-imbedded cock until only the bloated mushroom-like head rested within the moist, glistening outer lips of her tender pussy. His flash of temperament was quickly forgotten as he felt the intoxicating friction of his hard, rubbery cock against the satiny, tight cuntal walls, and a new wave of red-hot lust sizzled in John's veins.
Gathering up all his adrenalin-powered strength, he rammed forward into her silken cunt again, the broad head of his cock pushing the compliant flesh before it like buttered velvet, until the entire length was buried once more at the cushiony end of her cervix. This time there were no cries for protests, only the throaty animal sound of a lustful woman reaching for pleasure. Then John cried with pleasure too, for Rita's trembling hands snaked up around his body to clasp his buttocks, pulling at his tightly-clenched muscles to draw him even deeper into her aching belly. Confident now, he began hammering in and out of her with bulldozing power-backing up into reverse and ramming forward again in heavy, thundering movements worked precisely as the ticking Grandfather clock in the hallway. The sofa shook beneath them as Rita rose to meet each of his slamming thrusts, unconsciously working her buttocks higher and higher to get more of his cock inside her belly.
John's heavy-lidded eyes filmed over by the force of their sex, his breath coming fast and shallow. She must like me a lot, he thought decisively, or she wouldn't be squirming under him like this. And in a burst of emotion, he grabbed her shoulders to pin her flatter to the bed and restrict her movements until Rita rebelliously strained upward, heaving her abdomen in passion, driving the young man deeper and deeper into her creamy cunt.
Rita sighed in wonder, dipping and revolving her pelvis frantically as she, felt another climax approaching.
Gusts of breath came from John's lungs as trying to slow his pace, he lengthened his strokes to draw his cock almost all the way out before slamming it home again. But Rita couldn't delay the pleasure she had been so long without. Faster and faster she thrust upward, sucking and massaging at this heavenly, powerful staff with strange, secret muscles she never knew she had.
My God, I'm going to cum again, she thought dazedly. Never had she felt so complete, so fulfilled in a man's arms. The gigantic, throbbing rod tunneling up into her cunt had taught her a lesson: Her body was meant to give pleasure and to receive pleasure. Her cries echoed that desire:
"Oh, I'm cummmming!" she cried in a voice shrill with the need to give. He screwed into her frantically, and with the depths of each lunge she screamed as her cum juices flowed out around his driving cock, spilling down into the soft, excitedly clenching crevice of her buttocks and flooding his testicles and the hairy base of his cock as he drubbed relentlessly into her.
Faster he dug deep, deep inside her. At last he erupted, his hot, thick cum shooting deep into her wide-stretched womb, blending with the boiling juices of her own orgasm. The hot walls of her pussy clasped and unclasped, milking at the jerking organ like a sucking, starving mouth. Slowly, then, they both relaxed, Rita's legs collapsing limply on the sofa, her body feeling more like warm rubber than human flesh, her heart more of stone than love. Her exhausted and well exercised cuntal muscles gradually unraveled the knots of sublime tension that had tauted them moments before. She could feel his huge penis, slippery from their mingled juices, slip and deflate.
John sniffled a few times, coughed, wiped his nose on the back of his hand and grunted his way into an upright posture beside her. As he rose from off her body, she could feel the stickiness of his thick penis slick with their mingled orgasms rub across her naked belly. The sensation was repulsive, damning. A spasm of horror and shame shook her body as she imagined how they must look, she lying exposed and satiated next to this strange man wiping his genitals clean with his T-shirt. She wanted to die from the shame of it.
Rita couldn't bring herself to speak. She wanted him to be gone, to leave her alone to her misery. What a fool she'd been to expect a friendship from a mentally deficient being such as the one clumsily stepping into his clothes a few feet away from where she lay cringing into the sofa, wanting to disappear from the world.
When he was dressed, John thrust his hands in the jumpsuit pockets and smiled gratuitously down at the woman whose sensual joy he'd shared. His face was alight with pleasure. "Y-you w-want me to c-c-ome back torn-morrow?" he managed brokenly, his voice enthusiastic.
"No . . . I don't think you'd better, John." Rita was sullen, on the verge of tears.
"B-but I th-thought you -liked m-me?" She did not have to turn her head to look into his face to notice the hurt. That doubled Rita's chagrin ten-fold.
"Okay then," she sighed, closing her eyes against his stare. "Come back tomorrow. Now please go."
CHAPTER 5
It was nearing dusk and the rose garden was a jigsaw puzzle of dark shadows and golden light from the angling setting sun filtering down from towering trees, their leaves softly stirring in the August breeze. Two figures hovered in the shadows, barely noticeable to anything but the searching eye.
Rover leaned against his rake, pushed back his billed hat and wiped his forehead clean of perspiration. "Whatcha doin', kid, out here in Doc Henshaw's back yard?" He was feeling a bit out of sorts after the run-in with Mrs. Henshaw whose backyard was one of the few shaded ones in the compound. It got awfully hot under the blazing summer skies and an afternoon snooze under the willow tree was always a fine reward after grubbing around in the rose bushes. Rover's snappy dark eyes leveled on his fellow inmate's, his voice gravelly with irritation.
"I j-just c-came from her house . . . " he beamed proudly, thrusting his hands in his pockets and swaying from side to side like a proud child.
"You jes' what?"
"I c-came f-from her house . . . "
"You ain' kiddin' me, kid. You tha' white bitch's house boy?" Rover threw back his head and laughed mirthlessly. "Now don' that jes' take the cake! Johnnie boy's Miz Henshaw's puppy dog!"
A hurt expression faded the joy on John's face. "N N-No . . . sh-she -likes m-me . . . "
"She -likes ya? What she do? Letcha clean 'er toilets . . . that make ya think she -likes ya?" he chortled sardonically. "Don' be a fool, kid. Tha' cunt's one uptight bitch!" Rover lifted his arm and scratched under one armpit with long black fingers.
"N-no . . . sh-she's a nice l-lady . . . and pretty too . . . " He paused, the expression on his face one o dubious trust. His conscience toyed with him for a moment, but the denigrating sneer on Rover's face was not to be accepted after the jubilation of having sunk his penis into Doctor Henshaw's wife's belly Didn't he deserve respect for such a powerful feat? I s-saw her n-naked."
"Naked? Kid, you fantasizin' now." Rover's black eyes snapped with incredulity. "You don't 'spect me to believe you done fucked that broad. I ain' no fool!"
"I did!" Chin set arrogantly, John nodded affirmatively, hurt by his friend's rebuke.
"Only one way to prove that. Lemme sniff 'dem fingers." A powerful black hand clamped John's white fingers and raised them to twitching black nostrils. A waft of female cuntal juices was yet heady and warm on the digits. "You ain' kiddin' me. Holy shit!" A lewd sneer grew across Rover's heavily-lined face. "Wha's Doc gonna say when he find you, you been rammin' his ol' lady? You thin' o' tha, kid?"
"B-but h-how will he f-find out?" The corners of
John's mouth drooped and began to twitch from the threat of sadness.
Rover slunk one arm around John's shoulders. "Tell ya what . . . you let Rover fin' out for hisself wha' kinda lady lives in dat house and Doc Henshaw don't have to hear none of that!"
"No! Sh-she's mine . . . she -liked me!"
"-likes you'. ' She jes' playin' wif ya. Teasin' ya like Nurse Blackson done in dat broom closet. You 'member tha? Tha' Miz Hensahw, she jus' usin' you, kid. She treatin' you like a puppy dog. She ain' got no feelin's . . . no white cunt's got no feelin's. You be nothin' to her but dirt. . . somebody to fill 'er cunt. Don' you think she gonna turn right 'round and tell her ol' doc man what you done this afernoon?"
Hurt and anguish welled up in John's heaving chest; the breath hissed from his flaring nostrils. Betrayal and anger was all he could feel. Rover was right. Rover was a man like himself, knew the life inside the institution, therefore he could be trusted. Mrs. Henshaw, pretty as she was, was a foreign being to him, possessed of dubious emotions he could not read and her motives direct as he'd wished them to be, were indeed most -likely as nasty and shallow as Nurse Blackson's. It hurt with an intensity that made him want to destroy the cause of these bad feelings knotting his gut.
"There, kid. It's all righ', " assured Rover cunningly, reading the symptoms of emotional distress on the man's angry face. "You go righ' back there tomorra and le' tha' woman know who be boss . . . " Rover ran his thick pink tongue over the fullness of his lips. "I be there to he'p ya . . . Lemme tell ya how to handle women."
CHAPTER 6
Certainly the black ugliness of guilt weighting Rita's heart must have left an outward trace on the smooth contours of satiny, unblemished flesh. Not so . . .
Rita stood before the long bedroom mirror, looking long and hard at the body that had betrayed her husband. Shades of pale morning light bathed the softness of her pristine nudity in a warm yellow glow. Her face showed not a wrinkle of stress. Of course I wouldn't change overnight, she reminded herself, laughing away the silly worry that word of her adulterous behavior with John Silverman had filtered back to her husband's office, bringing with it a storm of silence. There hadn't been time for that.
Yet he must be told. If he understood and forgave her, wonderful; and if he told her to leave in a rage, then so be it. At this point she wouldn't be breaking up much of a marriage; something that was never there can not be salvaged. There must be a better existence than living with a near-stranger in silence.
Rita had pulled open her lingerie drawer and was selecting a brassiere and panties when a sound behind her startled her. The unmistakable sound of breathing-heavy breathing-made her breath catch in her throat. Horror struck, she swung around, covering her nudity with the scanty garments that did nothing to hide her lushly curved body from the burning eyes of John Silverman.
"What are you doing here?" she burst, furious and a bit frightened at his sudden, unannounced appearance in her bedroom.
"Y-you didn't m-mean anyth-thing you s-said yesterday. You d-don't like m-me! I-I-I'm just your p-puppy dog . . . an-and you j-just want me around t-to to clean your t-toilets!" he accused. His fists were tightly clenched in rage, the cords of his neck visibly distended, adrenalin pumping blood to his rouged cheeks. An aura of red anger haloed his body. . . anger and spite.
Rita diagnosed the symptoms instantly, having read them before on her husband's face on that hapless night that started this see-saw of events. He must be quelled. Maybe, if she could show him that she really cared about him as a person, not just as a houseboy as he had accused, the signs of an infantile temper tantrum might be abated and the situation eliminated before something regrettable and irreversible occurred.
Choosing her words carefully, Rita asked quietly. "What gave you the idea I just wanted a houseboy to clean my toilets. . . and what's this about treating you like a dog? Why, I would never treat you that way. I like you, John." And the next words choked in her throat, bile rising in the pit of her stomach as she said: "Don't you remember what happened yesterday?
Didn't that make you feel good?"
Rover's coached scenes had not prepared John for a woman's kindness. Resolute, he stood, chin quivering, fists pumping, mixed emotions roiling about in his body like combating ping pong balls. Nervously, he glanced about him as if looking for a cue card, a hint as to his next statement. For a moment the glint in his steely blue eyes melted and Rita began to breathe more easily from the hope of softening defenses. That was not to be. Instantly, as if someone had pushed a button inside his brain, the corners of his full mouth drooped and his eyes gleamed icily as gun metal. Rita drew in a gasp of breath.
Instantly her hand shot up in a defensive, warding-off movement and a scream died in her throat as John lunged at her across the room, grabbing her arm in a brutal grip and dragging her backward until the backs of her knees caught against the mattress and Rita fell supine on the bed, naked and quivering, the flimsy armor of her brassiere and panties dropped by the wayside.
The telephone, she thought frantically. If only she could call Max. Struggling to one elbow, she tried to sprint free, but John's angered weight sent her reeling back across the bed in a heap of naked flesh. Pinning and holding her there with his broad palm over her slender throat, the thought that she might die sizzled in Rita Henshaw's miasmaed mind. John's handsome boyish face had become twisted into a frightening mask of cruel fury and his attempts to speak came out in garbled grunts, the cords of his neck standing out like telephone cables. His hot breath snorted over her fear-stricken face.
"I-I-I'll t-teach you!" he bellowed, following the dictates of Rover's instructions.
Although his hand was crushing her windpipe, cutting off her air supply until dizziness overcame her, Rita managed to croak out a cry for help. "You're killing me!" she gasped. "Oh, please . . . let me go!"
John looked down sympathetically at the face of the beautiful woman who yesterday had lain squealing and wiggling beneath his mastery. A tinge of pity, totally removed from his present actions, a thread of lingering adoration, caused him to remove his palm.
Rita lay trembling on the bed, gasping for air and rubbing the tortured softness of her neck. Slowly her watering eyes lifted to his and quickly averted their gaze from the horror of the compassionless glint reflected in them. The man was born with half a brain; he was half man and half instinctive animal, half boy and half man, capable of anything. And she was the target of his revenge!
Real, gut-knotting, throat clenching fear rattled her senses for the first time since this bizarre chain of events began. As she stared at him, his eyes left her face and began to roam over the smooth, ripe curves of her still-naked body, a sadistic smile playing over his lips.
He seemed to be searching for something, someone perhaps? John craned his neck from side to side, listening intently then leveling his gaze back at her nude body. He appeared to be satisfied, cogitating something. For a long moment the two people stared at each other, neither moving, neither daring to speak. Had it not been for his promise to Rover, John might well have thrown himself at this woman's feet and cried. But he had made a promise with a man and this woman had hurt his feelings.
In a sudden movement following the silence, he reached over to pinch one of her nipples into a hard peak of tingling sensation. Rita could feel her body coming alive under his fingertips, throbbing and burning with growing excitation. Quite against her will, she arched her back, trying to get even more of the delicious sensation that was beginning to boil inside her body. A tiny moan escaped her parted lips as the too-familiar need churned in her loins.
He pinched both nipples hard, as if trying to twist them off. Jagged spears of pain shot from Rita's twin peaks as he twisted and brutally pulled at her tortured nipples and, wrenched from her dreamy arousal, she struggled frantically to free herself from his excruciating grip. With a strength and determination born of pain and desperation, she managed to tear herself from his agonized grasp and leapt up from the bed to dart for freedom. But mid-leap, before her feet touched the floor, his hands clamped over her arm, slamming her back on the bed with a bounce.
"Y-you d-don't try to r-run. H-he s-said if you d-did, I sh-sh-should tie you up!"
Oh my dear Lord! Rita's mind screamed. He? Who was he? Who was the dictator behind this rape? Was it a figment of this demented brain's imagination . . . a real person . . . himself? Who was he?
Manfully taking charge of the situation, John rose from the bed, his muscular body unfolding to its stocky height and turned the key in the old-fashioned door and carefully placed it in his pocket. For a moment he stood dumbly, put his finger to his mouth, eyebrows knitting, looking more like a sixth grader in a Spelling Bee than a rapist. Abruptly his eyes lit up and decisively he stomped toward the bedroom closet and rummaged about inside, emerging from the door-jam with a drapery of neckties over his arm.
Rita's eyes widened in terror as she realized his intent. "No, please . . . John, please, remember I like you?" She attempted to laugh but hysteria and incredulity mingled to form a nervous titter that smelled heavily of fear. "Please, I won't go anywhere."
John glared at her sternly, his chin quivering as he tried to speak. He examined the neckties for length. "H-He said I sh-should if if you t-tired anything and . . . and y-you d-did. Y-you tried to r-r-run away f-from me!" His soft boyish lips pursed in displeasure and accusation.
Then, sniffling, he brutally yanked one of her slender wrists to a corner bedpost. With quick, efficient movements, he knotted the strip of heavy cloth around her wrist, then wound the ends around the wood post, drawing her hands up tightly to it. After his slow-motion tying, there was barely enough slack to allow for circulation. Not a chance of her pulling free. Working at her other wrist, she lay staring up at him, her face impassive. When he had finished, he stepped back to inspect his handiwork.
Rita watched in silence as John moved away from her and began unzipping his jumpsuit. When he shyly turned to step out of his uniform, Rita tried to wriggle out of the neckties binding her hands to the bedposts. No use. The knots were cutting tight into her wrists and as he swung around, Rita quickly abandoned her efforts.
From her experience of working as a secretary to doctors in Gary, she was well aware of the instant fury and revenge that could easily be proviked in the minds of the feeble. Already she had one strike against her in this battle: She was tied defenselessly and there was this mysterious He who would dictate her fate. He could declare she be knifed. He could decide at the snap of a finger or cross-look that she be raped in every orifice, left bleeding for Max to discover later. She knew she was as good as dead if John lost his temper.
Tied like a slave to the bed she and Max shared, she felt more humiliated than yesterday. She was completely at the mercy of this half-wit who was so filled with hatred that nothing could slice through his anger. To cooperate was her only way out, to cooperate and cajole him, make him believe she cared for him. Fleetingly, Rita realized that same compassion (though under diverse circumstances) had got her into trouble in the first place.
Instantly her train of thought screeched to a halt as John Silverman turned around, completely naked, to walk back to the bed. His long thick cock was only partially erect, but the tip was an angrier red, a pear of pre-cum already oozing from the slitted eye. The sight of it started the double-edged knife of guilt and longing to play in the emotionally tangled pit of her stomach.
To have his huge pulsating hardness throbbing in the warm hungry mouth of her vagina was a fantasy she could not obliterate. Oh, God, just the idea made her shiver with goose bumped anticipation! As she felt the weight of his body lowering onto the bed beside her, she closed her eyes in delicious expectation of the titillating touch of his fingers on her tingling body, his warm lips pressing sweetly onto her own. The fantasy refused to be suppressed.
To her shock, she felt him lifting her head and opening her eyes to see him gathering up both billows from the bed.
"God . . . what are you doing?" she whimpered.
"H-He s-said th-that's how I sh-should do it." Then he wedged the pillows down under her head and neck, elevating her until her chin almost rested against her chest. She glanced up into his sparkling blue eyes dancing with enthusiasm.
"I-I'm g-going to p-put my c-cock in your m-mouth!"
"NO!! " Oh not that! He couldn't be serious! Why couldn't he be satisfied with using her body in the natural way. He was responsible for this travesty too, no doubt. Rita watched in terrified disbelief as he lifted a leg over her torso and positioned himself with his buttocks above her breasts, his knees snug into her armpits, his throbbing penis dangling before her face.
"No! Please," she whined, knowing that argument was futile. "I've never . . . done that before," she choked.
"B-but you will n-now! Or-or-or else!"
Rita closed her eyes. The humiliation, the debasement she was about to suffer today simply was not worth it. When she refused, rolling her head from side to side to avoid contact with the mushroom tip heady with male scent, the man grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder, digging into her soft flesh until she cried out from the biting pain.
"K-kiss my cock!" he bellowed angrily. "You fa-better kiss it or-or-or I'll I-lose my temper!" the boyish enthusiasm had dissipated like fog, leaving behind a angry mask of adult lust.
When he noticed her slowness in responding, he grabbed a handful of her golden curls and yanked until her eyes watered from agony.
"Oow! You're hurting me!"
"O-open your mouth!"
Obediently, Rita slowly opened her mouth, her lips trembling from fright and suppressed pain.
"He he s-said you should put y-your lips ar-around it!"
Moaning with fear and a mortification so hot she feared her insides might explode, Rita reluctantly followed his wicked wishes, closing her lips hesitantly around the blunt, distended tip of his fleshy staff. To her shock, the musky scent was not unpleasant to the taste buds. The warm, male semen on her palate was a sensation she had never imaged experiencing. Experimentally, she twirled her tongue over the thick, purplish head and her efforts were rewarded by a deep groan from the man kneeling above her.
The breath snorted from his nostrils, a slow, masterful grin growing on his face, deepening the boyish dimples. The sight of his cock buried between the lips of this beautiful woman's mouth filled him with awe and pride. Reluctantly, he withdrew the salty tasting sausage from her lips and said: "L-Lick it."
Rita stared at the long, rigid pole rising like a rubbery monolith before her face. It was hard, so hard that the skin stretched tautly over its surface shone as if it were polished and the thick, blue veins that covered it like a map pulsed madly against the tightly drawn skin. Below the awful weapon, his two huge balls hung in their softly swaying sacs, swollen and heavy with the sperm that boiled within them. Cautiously so as not to hurt him or rile his temper, the blonde prisoner ran her tongue down the instrument, daintily licking it all the way, lavishing her tongue over its trunk-like base, along the thickly veined underside to the dark ridges sticky and protruding from the thick foreskin, playing and caressing it with every lapping
SO stroke. Then, as she licked at the hardness of her master's penis, Rita began to feel a strange perverse glimmer of excitation growing in her tied-down body at the thought of being used thus, as though she were the dirty street whore that Max had accused her of being. She was merely fulfilling a prophecy she reassured herself, rationalizing away the guilt and shame of being forced to orally copulate with this man's monstrously throbbing penis. Deep in her belly, she could feel a fire kindling.
Above her, John trembled slightly from the exquisite sensation of her pointed tongue slaving over the rigid length of the stone-hard cock held tight to her face. "S-suck!" he commanded, recalling Rover's revelation, a bitter attack on his instinct born sensitivity, that he was no friend of this woman-just a low-down dog. The thought sparked his temper and he entangled his strong fingers in her honey hair and twisted cruelly, his upper lip snarling with contempt.
Quickly, Rita trailed her tongue back over the blood-fed shaft and ovaled her soft lips and slipped them gently over the rubbery smoothness of the pungent tasting cock head. John groaned and grunted from deep in his throat and flicked his hips forward, ramming the dripping, shiny cock head into the warm, moist hold of Dr. Henshaw's wife's mouth and down over the velvety slide of her tongue until the seeping tip banged brutally against the back of her throat. Panic flooded her mind and pain dizzied her brain as she gagged at the sausage of male flesh thrust deep into her throat. Yet compliantly she sucked, remembering the crude instructions and threats behind this attack. Suck she did, slipping her tongue up and down taut hunk of flesh, nibbling softly at the base with her pearly teeth.
"Aaaaaagghhh!" he gasped. "Sssssuck!" He threw back his blonde head, his eyes rolling in their sockets.
Slowly he began to rock his hips back and forth in an instinctive motion, fucking into her mouth as if it were a smoothly shaven cunt. It felt tight and wet, just as Rover had promised it would, a fact that made him swell with pride at his decision to follow the dictates of a man instead of a woman's whims.
Obediently, Rita tried to suck softly on the burgeoning mouthful, but it was difficult drawing a breath before her imprisoning rapist had rammed it down into her throat again. Her cheeks hollowed on each out-stroke, then bloated balloonishly each time he rammed back in, grazing her tonsils and almost choking her. Her eyes watered and the corners of her mouth felt torn, abused.
Emotional survival had called for a separation from shame and humiliation. The bonds tying her wrists to the bedposts cut into her flesh, but the agony in her heart cut far deeper. Yet, in a strangely perverse way, it thrilled her to know that she had no choice, she could not move her head to escape oral impalement. like a cork in water, her head bobbed up and down in cooperation with her captor's slamming thrusts into her mouth.
John Silverman had never known such ecstasy could exist for him-for others, perhaps, but never for him. He had been cheated of the sensual joys of life too long, he decided in a burst of contempt, and this blonde -haired woman would make up for it. Oh, would she!
Glancing down, he stared at the oval of the young bride's lipstick rimmed lips stretched tightly around the thick stump of his meaty cock, then rammed forward even harder, trying to make her take it all into her mouth. He could see tiny ridges of soft pink flesh as he pulled back from her gently sucking lips that disappeared back inside as he thrust forward again even deeper into the tightly confining depths of her tender throat. His blue eyes widened as he eyed his pubic hair brush against the sides of her tender mouth as she all but swallowed the full length of his fleshy male hardness.
Power and pride were John Silverman's companions now! He straightened his posture, wishing Dr. Henshaw could see him now straddling his wife, her lips wrapped tightly around his hard prick. He wouldn't say anything bad about John in the group therapy sessions then-wouldn't call him insecure and all the other strange terms used to describe him. Grinding his jaws together, he began a slow, rhythmic sawing back and forth, never quite drawing it all the way out, but leaving the hardened tip just inside the warm moistness of her mouth, then ramming forward, screwing her throat deeper, deeper. He felt her throat constrict around his cock head and felt her gag beneath him, but that bothered him none. Nothing mattered but shooting his white hot load into that warm, sucking hole in her beautiful young face!
"Ohhhhhh ssssssuck h-harrrrrrder!" he screamed, locking his hands hard around the back of Rita's bobbing head, drawing it over his rigidity until all he could see was a quarter-inch at the stalk protruding wet and glistening from her wildly sucking lips. He watched in animal delight as his balls erupted and her throat tightened and loosened, swallowing in great, desperate gulps the hot, sticky fluid he was shooting into her mouth.
Rita's cheeks bloated and hollowed as she gulped at the warm flooding gushes to keep from choking. Her lips and tongue and throat moved with instinct. She continued sucking as he emptied his sperm into the wetness of her mouth. Finally, he moaned his last and grunted in complete fulfillment, complete satiation. Slowly his cock deflated in her mouth and yet she gently sucked, drawing every last drop of the warm sticky sperm from the tip of his still seeping, softening cock.
As John's thick, wormish cock slipped from his prisoner's mouth, he collapsed spent on the bed beside her. His mind was blank, his strength gone. A long sigh of drawn out relief breathed from the female prisoner's heaving chest and she closed her eyes in exhaustion, vaguely conscious of the painful throbbing in the back of her throat.
She needn't be reminded of the vileness of her act, nor of the shame or disgrace. The muscles in her arms ached throbbingly and in her shattering state of consciousness, she struggled to roll over to her side to relieve the pressure; the movement brought another sharp stab of pain to cut into the numbing throb of her wrists. A deep moan of ravished pain drubbed in her throat. Oh God, she thought, fighting to keep her horror and fear under control, I have to get him to cut me loose! Then she remembered the mysterious He behind this travesty. Would the image be blocked from John's feeble mind now that his body was at peace, satiated?
A gentle snoring was the only sign of life, that and the gentle sucking of a grown man laying in prenatal position, thumb stuck in his mouth, eyelids closed in slumber.
Perhaps that was best, reasoned Rita. And sleep began to drift over her, too, mercifully dulling the pain of her debasement. Yet she would not give up, for if she succumbed, living with herself would be an emotional impossibility. Compared to this horror, marriage was easy and it was certainly worth a try to save whatever she and Max had together.
Yes, when the boy-man awoke, she would plead with him. Oh, Max, help me! Forehead furrowing with agony, Rita clamped her teeth over the chafed, swollen line of her lower lip, the saline taste of inmate sperm too painful a reminder of her sins. A trembling spasm rampaged violently through her naked, tied-down body and then she slept.
CHAPTER 7
"Christ, what do you want now?" Harley Goddard grumbled over the telephone, annoyed at being interrupted in the midst of work which was getting to be a sticky matter. Someone, he had discovered this morning, had been in his office rifling about for administrative papers atop which sat the check list and new inflationary prices on the black market liquor he was selling to the inmates at the Center. Harley was nervous; someone was on to him.
The chisely tone of voice was not foreign to Sharon. "Listen, Harley, this is important. . . "
"What did you forget on the grocery list now?" he grumbled. Over the line Sharon could hear the rustling of papers which could be anything from the latest issue of Playboy to administrative paperwork.
Sharon's ears buzzed with rage. Since Harley had been appointed the Center's Superintendent, he had been treating her like one of the men in blue jumpsuits: inferior, stupid, emotionally out of control. Yet she knew she was still a beautiful, desirable female, but he hadn't even kissed her since God knew when. If she were a bit younger and financially independent, she would leave the man in the snap of a finger. But times weren't much easier on the single side, either, so her divorced friends confessed. Still, the old grump could be real Don Juan when the mood hit.
"I didn't forget anything, dammit!" she snapped. "I just saw Rover sneaking around the back yard of the Henshaws, and not to long ago John Silverman snuck in the back door. I tell you, Harley, something's going on over there-something fishy and it's your job to keep those men in line."
"What am I supposed to do-put a ball and chain around their ankles for Chrissakes? I know you'd like nothing better than to think they were having an orgy," he bawled. "As a matter-of-fact, woman, there have been reports that certain employee's wives are messing around with our men . . . did you ever think of it that way? Huh? Oh, sure, you women always wanna blame the men when somebody drops their pants, don't you? If you're so damn positive she's being raped, why don't you put that nose to work and sniff out the evidence next door!"
"But I only called to-"
Silence.
"Damn him, anyway!" Sharon heard the noisy click of the receiver being slammed on the cradle. Her eyes swelled with angry tears at his berating insults. Oh, he wouldn't be so cocky sure if he'd been the one to hear the frightened cries carried on the afternoon winds through her window yesterday afternoon, she thought furiously. And now with those two inmates sneaking around the house next door. If John Silverman had forced that sweet little blonde headed wife into submission yesterday, his plotting was unbelievably well-timed; half an hour later Dr. Hanshaw had returned from work. Sharon let out a deep sigh chiding herself for conjuring up stories. Yes, Harley was right: she should have been a detective, with her bent for piecing together facts. But then she should have been other things-like single.
In this dull, dreary Indiana town any bit of scandal was fascinating, real gossip material. For Sharon, intrigue was the sole means of brightening up an unpolished existence. Was it her fault her fantasies ran to the sensual? God knows, if the man would treat her like a woman-even once a week-she wouldn't be imagining rape scenes next door where her green eyes were mesmerically fixed on the side bedroom window facing her house.
Sharon closed her eyes, feeling the warm sun glaring through the living room window warm her emotion-tensed body. Even through her light cotton dress, the sensation of her warm palms running down the smooth, full curves of her voluptuous form sent unusually sensuous thoughts flooding her mind in tidal swells of desire; she wondered fleetingly how Harley would respond if she lived up to her threat of finding a lover. Slowly, she opened her flickering eyelids.
Wouldn't that bounce Harley off his high horse if she did take a lover. Oh, she would love to flaunt that nastiness in front of his uppity nose!
"Ah, shit!" Harley Goddard took a bite out of his half-eaten sandwich and disgruntledly tossed the remainder back on the paper plate. The earlier conversation with Sharon was still ricocheting around in his skull. What if her suspicions that Rover was sniffing around Doc Henshaw's wife were true. Christ, he hoped the idiot wasn't drunk, too. Doc Henshaw, Harley's eyes glistened; he snapped his fingers. Of course, Henshaw was the bastard who'd been snooping around his office! A grin widened. If Rover and John were messing around with the woman, maybe they would scare her off enough to leave town.
Nothing seemed to jibe. Harley scratched his head. He could go for a piece of ass himself right now. Not with Sharon: Oh, sure, she complained that everybody else was getting sex but her, and when it came down to the nitty-gritty . . . no dice. Not that problems at the Center were helping his mood any. Should the State inspectors get wind of the scandal, his job be damned.
"Ah, crap!" he mumbled under his breath, gathering up the monthly report forms and stacking them on the corner of his littered desk. Why not go home and try to cuddle up to the woman. He had been curt and no doubt hurt her feelings. With all this talk of the Center's employees women taking afternoon pleasures with his men, why didn't he knock off a piece for himself!
CHAPTER 8
The sound of a slamming door jarred Rita out of dazed slumber, like the angled afternoon sunlight that now splashed through her half-open eyelids. Blurrily, she thought, I must get up to answer the door, but when she tried to rise, the bonds that roped her hands jerked her back down and she shuddered, abruptly joining her mind with the present reality: She was being held prisoner in her own home by a feeble-minded young man capable of more than rape. Her throat was dry; she licked her parched lips to moisten the saline crust of John Silverman's dried sperm.
The pungent taste brought back other memories of how it had felt to lie helpless under the fury of his rock-hard cock ripping at the tender line of her soft lips, filling her mouth and throat with his man-meat. Revulsion and shame blazed in her mind and alongside it, little pangs of raw uninvited pleasure began to nibble at her nerve-ends, peaking in her nipples and blossoming into full flower in her throbbing, untouched clitoris. Stop it! her mind screamed as her body titillated with the pricklish threat of danger.
Footsteps, deliberately measured and growing in nearness stopped at the other side of the bedroom door, jolting John out of his childish slumber. His stocky body unfolded from the bed and nakedly he jogged to the door rattling with knocking of heavy fists.
"Lemme in, Kid!" blurted a drunken voice from the other side and something inside .of Rita's stomach knotted. That voice . . . that was Him . . . Rover!
"I-I-I gotta f-f-find the key!" mumbled John, shooting a wary glance in Rita's direction and then falling to his haunches to rattle the bedroom key out of his jumpsuit. A moment later he was opening the door and the black grinning face of Rover became an afternoon nightmare to Rita Henshaw.
"What are you doing here?" she whimpered. "No . . . get out of my house-both of you!"
"Jes came to pay my afternoon respects, miz," he grinned toothily. Then turning to John who was timidly stuffing his penis into the zipped front of his jumpsuit, he said: "Keep watch outside, kid, so's nobody comes nosin' 'round. We got one more comin' to take part in our little party. But tha's all . . . nobody else . . . you got that straight?"
John nodded dumbly, clearly the inferior servant in this masterminded plot to humiliate and sexually debase Dr. Henshaw's young bride.
Rita could feel herself blushing hotly as she lay naked and unable to cover her body from the black man's gleaming eyes roving hungrily over her tied-down body. The rose gardener smirked self-confidently: "Don' you bother gettin' dressed for me, girl. I ain' gonna stay but an hour an I done had my afternoon coffee."
To show fear would be conceding in this sick man's game of prisoner. Rita glared at him through hate-filled eyes, afraid her voice would betray her from the fear that broiled through her mind; but never would she willingly submit to the outrageous indecency they had plotted for her. She had allowed her body to be conquered once, and once was enough.
The black inmate sauntered casually up to the bed and Rita closed her eyes tightly to blot out the sight of the onerous man whose hands were moving over her naked body now, massaging her breasts and squeezing her nipples with lustful intent. Elephantine tears of self pity swelled through her clenched eyes and rolled silently down her cheeks. How could she live through this? How could she face Max again after being used like a common two-bit street whore with these rejects of society using her hapless body to satiate their own warped desires? What mental pain could they inflict on her that they hadn't already? What physically disgusting acts would they force her into? No . . . no . . . she couldn't go through with this.
"You're the one who told that man to tie me up! Admit it, you stinking nigger. NIGGER!" she spat up at him, her soft cum-encrusted upper lip curdling with contempt. Her blue eyes were riveted on the dark glaring orbs of the six-foot-three-inch Negro looming over her. "Get away from me . . . don't touch me!"
"I don' know what you be talkin' 'bout, Miz. I jes' take care of yo' roses."
"Don't deny it! You're the He John was talking about. He would never have raped me if it wasn't for you! You're the one who plotted this, you dirty bastard!" Then: "Ouch! Get your hands off me!" He tweaked her right nipple so hard she swore he was trying to rip it off.
"Don' go gettin' yo'self riled up, Miz, 'cause you an' me goin' be real close friends by the time I done with you." His eyes were reflectors of cold-malice. "I already got me a prison sentence for one rape. Those assholes done think dry in' me out's gonna cut off ma balls, but they don' know Rover" . . . And here he raised his eyebrows in a smirk that made Rita's blood run cold: ". . . like you's gonna know Rover."
Calmly he began unzipping his jumpsuit, watching her from the corner of his eye as he pulled it down to his groin. Rita stared arrogantly back at him, refusing to lose this contest. Long and hard she stared at the throbbing pole of his glistening black penis as if trying to will it limp.
"You never had no nigger cock, huh?" Rover asked. "Ever been any big, black pricks shoved up that soft white belly of yours?" He smiled, flickering his eyes over the blonde's naked body where a damp sheen of fear glistened over her creamy skin.
Dropping his jumpsuit on the floor, Rover stepped stealthily toward her, placing his hand on one of her full naked thighs, moving it slowly upward to the soft, curling vee at the junction of her legs. Rita lay quietly beneath his touch in a temporary state of shock from the vile threats he had made, but suddenly her survival instinct took over. Her leg drew back and flashed out, narrowly missing his jaw, then pulled back for another attempt to injure him.
Before she could kick out, his huge meaty fists was clamped in a stranglehold around her ankle, pushing it back, back until her knee was bent at a sharp angle and pressed tightly against her chest. The right leg he pulled over until her foot hung over the edge of the bed and her naked genitals were wide open vistas, wide open and defenseless.
"Get your hands off me, you pig," she snapped, encouraged by her near success in the struggle.
"Bitch, you jus' showed you ain' nothin' special but a dumb white bitch. Tha's gonna cost you some pain," the black growled. "Now shut up or you're goin' be hur-tin'! "
Rita clenched her teeth tightly together, her face locked in a determined expression of defiance that seemed to increase with each moment.
"You gonna play my way, girl?" he demanded.
Rita grunted, beads of perspiration dotting her satiny forehead from the pain of the contorted position of her legs; still she refused him the joy of hearing her complain. Not even the fear that was raging within her tied-down body could overcome the intense revulsion and hatred she felt for this evil-minded man and the other feeble-minded person who'd fallen under Rover's influence. She had to resist, even though she knew her fate as prisoner was inescapable. The solace of knowing her humiliation and debasement would be none of her own doing might help her to live with herself after this horrible afternoon had ended.
"You asked for it," he growled, angry and frustrated by her unexpected resistance. For a demure blonde, this woman had a lot of spunk. "Now it's time you's in prison-behind 'dem walls, bein' rehabilitated."
Stepping forward, he quickly untied one hand from its corner of the bed. The circulation gushed hotly along the arm's capillaries, making her veins flush with blood. For one joyous moment, Rita thought he might free her, but with cruel power he jerked her arm to the opposite bedpost and retied it above her other wrist. As an afterthought, he pulled a dirty handkerchief from his jumpsuit pocket and forced it between her trembling lips, filling her mouth with the soft cloth until he was sure no sound could be heard through the wadding. Rover snickered with mirthless glee at the sight of the tied-up, naked blonde with the dirty rag stuffed between her soft lips. Rather like a pig for roasting, he thought amusedly, his brain roiling with contempt.
Rita could see the muscles rippling beneath the shimmer of his gleaming black skin as he reached down and firmly grasped her white hips, then flipped her over onto her stomach, holding her in place by a huge calloused palm pressed like a sandbag into the small of her back. Rita cringed down into the mattress with the subservient fear of a small dog cowering before the switch. Bubbling pleadings leaked out around the rag stuffed brutally in her mouth.
"Now listen, li'l gal," she heard him chuckle. "We's gonna to do some rehabilitatin'-jus' like your husband do behind 'dem walls. Now you's de prisoner and I'm on de outside, you un'erstand?" Rita heard movement behind her, saw his naked legs scissoring toward the closet and her stomach knotted with fear when he said:
"Maybe dis will show ya wh' I means?"
The belt cracked through the air like a gun shot, the tip biting into the left cheek of her ass with a sickening slap that made Rita's throat contract with agony. Instinctively, her leg shot out and a whine could be heard through the cloth gag.
"Now, baby, you's gonna beg ol' Rover for a li'l nigger cock," she heard him taunt her, his words punctuated by the snorting of his angrily flaring nostrils.
Rita tired to speak, tried to beg him not to hit her again, but only a muffled mumbling came from her lips. The belt sang through the air, crackling, this time smacking her between her open thighs on the ultra-sensitive flesh. The belt raised and slapped again and again, tracing a painful path of tiny red welts on her ivory skin. Rita's teeth were clenched, her heart thudding, every muscle in her body taut and ready for the next bite of pain.
It ceased.. . but her body refused to relax, intuitively knowing that this man had only begun to inflict punishment. Strong hands gently lifted her head and ripped the rag from her mouth, nearly taking her front teeth with it.
"I wanna hear ya beg, gal," he said in a seductive tone that made Rita's flesh crawl.
Rita slowly opened her eyes to see the black man's rubbery manhood jutting out ominously from a patch of jungle-thick pubic kinks. It looked like the raised black arm of a revolutionary with two fists beneath it. The sight of it filled her with an unspeakable fear.
"Fuck me . . . do whatever you want.. . but please . . . don't use the belt on me . . . I can't stand it . . . please, please fuck me with your nigger cock." The words flowed out of her mouth meaninglessly; she might as well have been reading the Declaration of Independence. One final long, low whimper and her body went limp on the bed.
Rover towered above her, grinning broadly. If anything could give him satisfaction, it would be breaking Doc Henshaw's wife's will, degrading the voluptuous young bride of the man who humiliated and embarrassed them all in group therapy sessions where they sat hating themselves, his insinuations forcing regret that was too painful to face. Yes, Henshaw was one hated man, a man with the power to make them change their attitudes about themselves.
To punish Rita further would have been meaningless; it might take away her strength, and that she would be needing. Oh, would she? His eyes darted over her body as she lay unresisting, slim and generously curved at the buttocks and shoulders which flared out breath takingly from her narrow waist. Demure and doll-like, this one.
Rita stretched across the mattress, trying to move as few muscles in her pain-wracked body as possible. Any ideas of defiance she might have harbored had been beaten out of her by that lashing belt. Why postpone the inevitable rape which was certain to be her fate? If they were to conquer her, it would be by brute force; that she had proven.
Her spine snapped, and her flesh crawled as hands suddenly moving over her shoulders and muscle-taut back, rubbed softly as if to ease her tenseness. "Okay," she heard him mutter, "now I wan' you to take a good long look at this hunk a black meat, cause in a minute it's gonna be buried up inside your white belly where's nobody can see it."
Wearily, Rita compliantly raised her head and stared at the long vein-flushed sausage he held over her head like a punishing rod. It was hard, ebony, glistening with lust worked up during her beating. Her wide blue eyes traced a slow path up his shining black body to his grinning face, auraed with evil. Her eyes housed a final, futile plea for mercy, but found nothing but triumph and blazing lust in his countenance.
"Ain' that a purty sight?" he tormented.
Rita's mouth opened, but she couldn't find the breath to speak. Hoarse gasps were all that would come.
"Ain' it?" he snarled, a sinister threat veiled by the cold smile he wore.
"I-it's wonderful," she faltered in a cracked voice through the curtain of fear and humiliation.
"Tha's good ya think so," he drawled. "That li'l hunk a meat is gonna fill yo'r belly so full a black cum you's gonna have to swim to keep from drownin!"
As Rita's head dropped back on the bed, she heard laughter from behind her at the black man's obscene remark. Her fear thickened. More men were coming to join the rape of Doctor Henshaw's wife! The stench of alcohol-laden breath reeked in the air.
"Hey, Rover," she heard a strange voice chuckle. "I thought you was gonna get the lady worked up for us. She don't look like she's got much oomph left for ol' Charlie."
"Hey, don' you worry, non," the black man laughed. "I had to' get the lady relaxed . . . you knows what I mean. She'll be ready for fuckin' in a minute or two."
They were talking about her as though she were a dog ready for breeding, Rita thought. If only she could call for help, attract attention to the house. But wishing was useless; the moment of truth had come. She felt a body drop to the bed and roll against the full length of her goose bumped back. She looked up to see someone's hands untying the knotted neckties that bound her to the bed. They knew they had her; she wouldn't run now. John was stationed outside the house and with the ebony giant and his lanky, lean companion whom she'd never seen, she had no strength to fight. Then a shiver, cold and suffusing, traveled the bumpy path of her spine. Someone's hands were slowly forcing her knees apart.
Tensing the muscles of her thighs, she fought to keep her legs closed, but it was a hopeless struggle. The naked flesh lying beside her rolled over her and dropped between her long, shapely limbs as they were stretched across the mattress until her toes hung on either side of the rumpled bedclothes. A tiny, despairing moan escaped her as she felt the rubbery hardness of an erect male organ pressing hot and wet against the soft flesh of her thigh, just below her nerve-centered vaginal slit. He wiggled forward, wedging the huge stalk along soft, vulnerable crevice of her quivering buttocks. In silent protest, she desperately writhed her hips to free her lower quarters, but her only reward was the sound of the man's harsh breathing as her struggle incited his angered lust.
"Git up on dem knees, girl," he breathed.
It was Rover speaking, she realized. That hotness pressing against the base of her spine was his poling black penis and he no doubt wanted her to take it from behind-like an animal. Hot streams of tears wetted the sheets as she thought of the gardener's ebony skin pressed against her own velvety white flesh. I can't let him touch me . . . can't let him contaminate me like he did the roses, she thought with disgust almost too thick to swallow down.
But Rover was not a man to be easily put off. Powerful hands gripped her hips, pulling them up from the bed; another hand pressed firmly at the nape of her neck to keep her breasts and face down on the mattress. Rita groaned in helpless humiliation as she visualized the shameless sight of her naked white ass being offered up to him like a gift to the king God. For a few agonizing seconds, he scraped his lengthy cock within the warm, moist valley of her buttocks, grinding and squeezing the trembling flesh to form a luscious, tantalizing pocket around his throbbing organ. Then, suddenly, he moved away, and gently slid his fingers down to the thin, blood-fed folds of her fleshy vagina, softly caressing the delicate tissues. Under the experienced probing of his fingertips, the black man could feel a slick moisture forming on the insides of her thighs as, in response to the unexpected tenderness, she let her backside slip wider and wider apart, the muscles relaxing.
Max had never touched her so gently! Oh, why was that! The blonde bride fought to hold back a gurgling moan growing from deep within her chest. The lessening of the pain, the sudden and unexpected gentleness of the gardener's touch, her own fatigue were battering against the wall of resistance. Despite fear and loathing, she experienced a searing hot flame suddenly licking at the door to her bowels. Pinpricks of glorious sensation danced madly under her skin, following the course of the black man's fingers teasing up between her silken thighs. His touch was maddening, insistent, ever crawling toward the hairy target between her legs. Above her Rita could hear the fevered liquored breathing of the other man as he watched, mesmerized by the sight of Rover's black fingers playing this beautiful young white woman's body with the gourmet touch of a Negro Don Juan. It made the bulge in his jumpsuit spurt a wet spot onto the crotch. Now he was damned glad Rover had talked him into sharing this delicate morsel . . . damn glad, indeed!
"Oooooooh, God, ooooohhh!" the monosyllables hissed from Rita's lungs as she felt one thick black finger worm itself into the burning, itching folds of her throbbing vagina. He was taunting her, breaking down resistance like crumbling brick walls under explosion and quite unconsciously, she pressed her hips backward to gather more of the exquisite sensation carried by that insolently invading finger.
Above her, Rover grinned the smirk of a cat with feathers entwined in its whiskers. The smooth rounded cheeks of her ass relaxed before his hotly gleaming eyes. Gleefully, he ran his middle finger all the way into the depths of her cunt and smiled wider as she instantly responded, screwing back on his hand and releasing a deep sigh of involuntary satisfaction. Her breath was coming in small, muffled gasps as he flicked his finger in and out in sloshing rhythm in her wildly jerking buttocks.
Yet she lay still, the voluntary muscles of her body answering the call of his insinuating movements. The muscles of her vagina worked like a fish's mouth, opening and closing tightly around the long, knuckled length of finger sunk deep inside her velvety cuntal walls. Rover knew how to turn-on a woman, and now he deliberately put those talents to work.
And he knew he was on the winning side. Rita's cries became one long continuous moan as he suddenly withdrew his finger from the warmth of her cuntal hole and began massaging her hard, throbbing clitoris, polishing it like a brass knob. The sensation was teeth shattering and maddening. Pulling and teasing at it, he watched triumphantly as her buttocks churned and ground before him in a lewd dance of desire.
God, this black man was loosening the screws to her libido, Rita shamefully realized. Lord, from the creaminess inside her pussy, she must be ready to orgasm! Her cunt seemed to have a mind of its own, blossoming wider and wider until warm trickles of lubricating fluids ran down the insides of her wide-stretched legs. The sound of his finger fucking took on a warm, musky smelling sloshiness that could be heard throughout the room, echoing off the walls like screams from her female psyche.
Rover was no fool. He could tell when a lady was about to dampen her panties, and this one was but a few strokes off. He wanted to ram his cock into that tight hole, wanted to feel her smooth muscles tightening around his cock as she reached that screaming orgasm. He'd show this white bitch that nigger cock was just as good and maybe a whole lot bigger than anything her chicken ass husband could put out! Ol' Rover was about to fill that pussy, he gloated to himself. The years of being put behind bars, humiliated and subjugated by doctors who thought they were God's gift to rehabilitation came to a seething head inside his lust-controlled body. like a bunch of Jesuses they ran around the Center's halls in white jackets giving the inmates silly encouragements. Shit, if they'd just let him drink herself to death that would have been his punishment . . . but no. The fact that he was a convicted rapist was a secondary matter to this man who'd spent the last forty years of his life rotting his liver with alcohol.
"Hey, Rover . . . you gonna fuck 'er now?" It was Charlie speaking in a chisely voice. "We ain' got all day, ya know."
Rover was up on his knees in back of Rita now, the swollen fatness of his black cock pressing against the tight, elastic opening of her cunt. Rita felt it begin a slow prodding and working against the warm, blood-swollen folds, parting them and worming its way past the ring of flesh that guarded the entrance to her womb.
"Ooooohhh . . . no . . . don't. . . you can't . . . ! " she gasped, even as she felt the tender lips of her vagina being stretched apart. Flexing his hips powerfully, he surged into her like a great drill tunneling deep into her white belly. Since the beating Rita's mind had been a fogged, dulled haze of sensations, but this sudden assault on her vagina cleared that fog like a burst of a rain cloud. She gnashed her teeth, hating this man for taking his pleasure with her against her will. She was his prisoner, he the master now. Her body trembled in a new world of moral agony. To accept his fingers inside of her was one thing, but having his penis burrowed deep up inside the secret passageway reserved for love and honor was disgusting. A finger couldn't orgasm, but a penis could-and no doubt would. Shooting her belly full of Negro cum, it would blacken her soul forever. It made her want to vomit. Her cunt walls burned and throbbed from the mammoth size of him stuffed inside her belly. Rita Henshaw had never felt so soiled, so filled with dark emotions in her entire life. Worse, far worse than the time when her mother discovered her youngest daughter seated before the bedroom mirror, exploring the secret between her young thighs.
The degrading reality of being hopelessly trapped on the bed between the hands of a convict in front and the thick, ebony cock impaling her from behind roused strange emotions within Rita's soul. Now that the fight was ended, only one emotion could come to play: Masochism. The thrill of wicked excitement coursed through her body as she interpreted this ravishment as her just punishment for yesterday's follies. Some divine power must have ordained it-that she be subjugated and humiliated to pay for her infidelity to her husband-for ever having thought adulterous thoughts. At least she was paying for it now, she thought. Physical pain was easier to bear than harboring self-hatred which, piled up year after year, could leave her frigid and filled with self-loathing. Better it be over with now.. . far better, she thought dully. To accept the punishment promised cleansing and she began to undulate her buttocks in salacious circles in rhythm to the long, thick cock that had begun to slowly fuck her from behind. The movement slickened the path from his chafing organ, bringing a sense of bittersweet pleasure in its wake.
"Sheeeit, man," chided Rover. "This girlie's got a pussy tight as a whore's mouf. Hump that ass, baby . . . hump dem ass buns!"
Clamping her teeth over lower lip so hard it drew blood, Rita held back the tears of rage as she pressured back. To her shocked horror, he lunged toward her again, forcing another inch of hard male flesh into her vagina. So filled was Rita with male cock, it felt as if the tip had banged against her tender cervix and was doubling over. He's not even all the way in yet, her mind bawled. Terrorized, she clenched the muscles of her buttocks tightly together to keep the huge staff from boring up into her intestines to pulverize her.
Streaming tears splattered against the bed clothes. "Please.. . no more.. . " she begged. "I-I can't take it all." In a sense, it was an admission of defeat. Not only had he humiliated her on a moral level, but now he was questioning her putting her sensual capacities to the test.
"Honey . . . you got a bunch more comin," the black gardener chuckled. "Hump back, honey, 'cause Ah'm gonna give you a merry-go-ride on dis black cock o' mine." Her struggles and muscle-tensing incited Rover to greater misdeeds. The black man rammed forward again, crashing into her pelvic bone with all the strength he possessed until the huge rubbery head of his cock spanked her cervix and his balls slapped punishingly down against her throbbing clitoris. God, it was monstrous!
Rita felt as if her buttocks where the two halves of a dinner roll being torn apart for buttering. That huge black rod he had waved tauntingly before her face a moment ago was now sunk all the way into her. She felt someone's hand softly stroking the white globes of her quivering buttocks. Other hands kneaded and squeezed at her breasts, tearing at the diamond chips of her nipples until they stood out like rose buds. Within her tender belly the huge black skinned, blue-veined cock flexed like a clenching fist ready to strike, stretching and soothing her ravished vagina as she gradually felt her cuntal muscles loosening the stranglehold on his cock.
"Good, ain' it lady?" It was Charlie again, his breath foul and hot, steaming down on her face and bathing it in alcoholic rancidness. "How does the Doc lady like havin' a black cock rammed up 'er cunt?" taunted the bony lankiness of Charlie, a middle-aged man embittered against women. His wife, after years of physical and moral abuse by her husband who was trying to commit suicide by the bottle, had effectively taken him to court on grounds of rape.
Before Rita could summon the strength to answer, another hand ran like sandpaper over her goose bumped spine, following the bony ridges down to the split of her ass. Without warning, a finger chafed its way deep into the confines of her tight, unused anus.
CHAPTER 9
The August sun was reaching its apex, splattering dots of heat through the low hanging branches onto John Silverman's forehead as leaning against the rough stucco wall of the Henshaw's compound cottage, strange emotions burst through the thickness of his mind in disturbing patterns. Muffled cries and stifled screams reached his twitching ears through the thick walls, making him jittery with the knowledge that he was missing out on the activities inside. A tingle of resentment itched at his fingers and turning, he took three steps toward the back porch before stopping, checking the temptation and resuming guard.
From the living room window the stocky figure hidden in the short afternoon shadows was a curious one. Sharon Goddard squinted against the sun's intimidating rays, shading her eyes with her hand, the palm of which was clammy with the thrill of nervous anticipation and intrigue. She hadn't the fortune to witness anything as Holmesian as the strange mystery surrounding the goings-on about the Henshaw cottage.
. Wasn't that John Silverman keeping guard at the back porch door . . ? And weren't the gurgled cries and screams being carried on the afternoon winds very feminine?
Tense and fidgety, Sharon pushed her chair back from the table and on rubbery legs plopped down in the reclining rocker, hoping that tearing herself away from the rear window view would ease the frustrated tension building to a heart-pounding beat in her lithe frame. Idly, she picked up a Cosmopolitan magazine from the end table and perused it meaninglessly. The centerfold display of lingerie, all lace and silk, did nothing to dispel the mental images that had been plaguing her all afternoon.
Pictures of that sweet young Rita Henshaw being beaten or raped kept flashing through her mind. Fleetingly she wondered if Harley hadn't been correct in his accusation that she wanted to imagine Rita being pillaged-if only to prove her meddlesome concerns were well founded.
Abruptly the magazine fluttered from her hands. The notion, indirect and subconscious as it was, flashed jaggedly through her mind that she was piecing together a sexual fantasy basted in mystery to satisfy the pent-up longing dammed up within her neglected womanhood. Had Harley ignored her, demeaned her as a woman for so long that she had been reduced to conjuring up rape scenes in her mind to counteract the need for love from him?
To hell with love, she thought bitterly, her lips pursing tightly. She wanted sex-sex anyway a man would give it to her-sex like in the scenes she imagined taking place next door!
The lissome, dark-haired figure sophisticated in outward appearance, if not dry and brittle from premature aging, had wrestled with her instincts long enough. Decisively, she rose from the chair and ironing the wrinkles out of her dress with her hands, stomped toward the front door. Since John Silverman was keeping watch at the back, she would sneak through the front door, take a peek, call out Rita's name and if her suspicions did not prove correct, would make up an excuse for the intrusion.
* * *
"Aaaaaghhhh.. . " Rita backbone snapped at the painful invasion of a raping finger jabbing through the soft folds of skin and into her anus. She writhed in agony, both physical and mental. The pain dulled her senses, then faded into a numbing ache as her back passage became accustomed to the unnatural impalement. It was not yet pleasure, but the sensation had the whisperings of it as the growing titillation melded with the feel of Rover's huge cock burrowing deeply up into her helplessly exposed cunt. Her memory had lost the significance of his racial and moral differences; he was but the machinery to a phallic length that was filling her with pleasure.
Kneeling behind her bent form, the black gardener began fucking in and out of her frothing cunt with long, lunging strokes that knocked the breath out of Rita's tortured, burning lungs. A feeling of absolute superiority, such as he had never experienced, rippled through Rover as he held her hips down pinned to the bed in total subjection to the rock hard cock skewering into her. He felt the soft fleshy ridges of her cuntal muscles inside giving way before the onslaught of his punishing cock. Rover clenched his teeth, breath hissing joyfully from his nostrils. Oh, to be on the giving end of punishment instead of the receiving end!
He stretched the quivering moons of her buttocks wide with his fingers, watching in the afternoon light the pink folds of wet glistening flesh clinging tightly around his black pole, slickened with their mingled juices. Higher up in the crevice of her ass, Charlie's bony finger ground and twisted a deeper trench into Rita's tender back passage, circling and stretching her anal hole diligently. His hands buried deep beneath her quivering torso, the inmate squeezed brutally at her naked breasts, teasing and pulling at every part of their young round firmness, his breathing snorting in harsh gasps as his own lust mounted beyond endurance. With every head-slamming forward lunge, Rover's thick black cock filled her cunt to the bursting point and flung her forward against Charlie's sinewy, hairy thighs.
He slammed into her with a ferocious power, incited by the sight of the hands working, kneading, squeezing the naked white flesh that oozed through knuckles like unbaked bread dough. Rita's breath came in one long continuous sigh now, her face, sheened with perspiration and furrowed with ambiguous emotions, turned sideways to allow for easier breathing. The angelic, baby-faced features were contorted, varying between the visage of a frightened child and a passionate woman, as if a battle was raging inside her brain. Should she break loose of inhibition and allow herself to feel the pleasure of being filled-the center of two men at once? A cry of unmistakable ecstasy tore from her throat, hissing through teeth tightly clenched.
It appeared the decision had been made . . .
Charlie was panting. "Hey, Rover, man, I can' wait no longer," Rita heard his gasp. "I gotta drop m' pants and fuck her mouth!"
A movement around her head signalled his intent and Rita felt the mattress dropping in front of her as a heavy weight descended upon it. Strong white hands lifted her shoulders until she rested on her hands and knees and then something spongy and wet and hot and musky smelling pressed against her soft lips. Rita's eyes flew open in fear, and her eyes widened and blinked from the sight of a long hard cock wagging in front of her nose. No.. . he couldn't want that! Wasn't one oral rape enough?
Rita glared up into the smirking, pot-marked face and her lips delicately parted, a cry for mercy dying in her throat as another hard lunge from behind flung her forward, her lips slipping forcefully over the cock in front of her.
The man was kneeling on the bed before her and grasping her ears vise-like between his calloused palms, ramming forward into her gaping mouth. She could feel the rubbery bluntness of the head sliding the length of her tongue, lifting momentarily her concentration from the huge penis drubbing into her cunt from behind. The stranger immediately began sawing viciously into her face like it was a second cunt.
Rita gagged as he rammed its smelly length halfway down her throat, the huge hunk of man-meat disappearing between her ovaled lips as if she were gobbling it up. The blonde girl closed her eyes tightly to block out the horrible sight of the tightly-curled blonde pubic hairs growing at the thick base. Saliva filled her mouth, puffing her cheeks like balloons as she shoved forward, cramming the shaft deep into her tender throat, keeping pace with the penis ramming into her from behind.
The room was filled with the grunts and groans and wet salacious slaps of naked flesh against naked flesh. Rita tried not to think about the defilement she was being subjected to. The inmate' hairy testicles bounced against her chin an a strong odor of alcohol burst upon her face from his mouth above. That and the combined odor of perspiration and sexual male juices filled her nostrils with a constant reminder of the cruel attack she was being subjected to. She struggled to breath, catching small gasps of air on the out-stroke. Her cheeks reddened from the effort of breathing, her lungs burning. A rising tide began to swell in the pit of her belly then.
The very helplessness of her position was almost sensual in the lack of choice it allowed her. To willingly participate in sex implied a choice of moral paths-no such choice was allowed Rita now. Two wildly insane, drunken men were using her body as a dumping grounds for their hot, sticky sperm and the depraved mental image of her helpless body being buffeted about between them, excited Rita in a strangely perverse manner that had nothing to do with morality, marriage or ethic code.
She opened herself to experience, swinging her buttocks in tiny circles, teasing hotly at the fleshy staff that was jack-hammering into her cunt from behind. If Charlie wanted her to lick and suck, lick and suck she would. In fantasizing herself a wanton woman, she could rise above the humiliation of bodily subservience, and that she was quickly becoming an expert at. She licked and sucked at the pungent tasting maleness pumping into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing and filling with his cruel thrusts. She wanted them to cum, to shoot their stranger's sperm into her womb and mouth, wanted to swallow their cum and feel it trickling down her thighs, wanted it to pool in her belly in a sticky, coagulating mass. like a mad woman, she fought for her orgasm building until she thought it might explode.
Suddenly she felt the penis drilling into her tender cuntal folds inflate and erupt geyser-like, spewing its white bursts of hot liquid into her hungrily clasping belly. The big gardener jerked convulsively forward, triggering Rita's orgasm like the flick of a switch. Rita groaned around the cock pummeling into her mouth as her body exploded in great sensual waves of cum around the quivering, squirting cock in her cunt. At the same time, Charlie mashed his loins into her face, drilling his cock deep into her gasping throat.
A soul-searing moan shattered the air and Rita's mouth was flooded with hot, sticky cum. She gulped to keep from gagging, tasting the salty sweetness of the inmate's sperm. The lewd, animal-like debasement registered in her mind with a bit of pride. She had satisfied this man-though she had never satisfied her husband. Now nothing existed for Rita Henshaw but these two spewing penises and her own wildly quivering body, a mere hole to be used to satisfy their pent-up lust. Small droplets dribbled from the corners of her mouth as Charlie collapsed in front of her and his limp organ slithered wetly from her still sucking mouth.
Her strength deceiving her, Rita collapsed to the bed as the black penis slipped wormishly from her stretched and ravished pussy and gushes of air rushed in to cool the steaming hole. She lay panting, spent physically and emotionally, weary sighs of satiation slipping from her sperm-coated lips.
The men grumbled to their feet, wiping their sticky genitals on the corner of the Henshaw's sheets and Charlie reached down onto the floor and plucked a bottle out of his breast pocket. Reverently, he opened the bottle and took a hefty swill, then handed it to Rover who grabbed it greedily, a white toothy grin widening the white slit that was his smile.
"Hey, man, where yo' git that shit?" Upending the bottle, trickles of whiskey rivered down his black chin.
"Where you think I got me that shit? Ol' fuck-face Goddard hisself give m' that for five bucks. Now don' go drinkin' it all up, Rover. That stuffs the price o' gold."
"Five bucks, huh?" Rover stared cogitatingly at the bottle. "Dat man goin' lose his job one day . . . he gonna price hisse'f right outta da market. Ol' Supe Pollack was cheaper'n dat."
Rita was listening half-heartedly to their conversation, picking up threads of a story that meant nothing to her. Indeed, her vagina and mouth were ravished, her cuntal lips swollen and hot, her mouth bleeding at the corners, dots of male cum splattered in her golden curls. She was in no mood for conversation. The room fell abruptly silent and Charlie cocked his head to one side as though listening to something oat-side the door. Noting the intent fear on his face, Rita tried to still her own ragged breathing and listen too.
Instantly she jerked up nakedly on the bed in horror as she heard footsteps in the uncarpeted hallway leading from the living room to the master bedroom. Oh, God, don't let that be Max! she thought in a gut renting knot of pain.
In a moment John Silverman's face appeared as he dragged behind him a terrified intruder.
Rita's hands flew to cover her mouth. "Sharon!" she gasped and grabbed the sheet to cover her nakedness.
The high swells of Sharon Goddard's cheekbones were clammy from the fascinating horror taking place on the Henshaw's bed. Her eyes were wide in their sockets from watching the threesome involved in acts she had never conjured up in her wildest erotic fantasy and intrigue. She had peeked in the door to see Rita Henshaw kneeling on her hands and knees with two men using her mouth and vagina at the same time.
Arousal was fast on the heels of horror, and Sharon felt a strange twitching in the pit of her empty belly. Then, moving back into the hallway, plastering herself to the wall, she had tried to satisfy herself, peering in every few minutes around the doorjamb to make sure no one suspected her presence. In her sexual frenzy, Sharon had forgotten one obvious character in the mystery: The blonde -haired man tending the back porch door. Moments after her lithe fingertips had traveled up the slopes of her thighs, one hand reaching down to cup her pouting pubic mound while the other inched the cotton skirt of her dress up along her silken thigh to allow deft fingers to explore the path under the elastic band of her panties and stroke the swollen folds of her long neglected cuntal lips. In seconds, her eyelids began flickering, her mouth dropping open, her fingers plunging into her frothing pussy with a raping speed-and then John found her.
Now she stood blushing in chagrined humiliation before the three inmates and Rita Henshaw. The slim skirt of her dress was still wrapped high around her full hips where she had pulled it up in the heat of her excitement.
"I-I-I found her out-outside th-the door!" stammered John proudly, the childish enthusiasm of his discovery obvious on his dimpled face.
"You dumb shit!" bellowed Charlie, his face rouged with sweat. "You's supposed to keep people out-not let 'em in!"
Rover looked at Charlie and Charlie looked at Rover. Neither appeared pleased by the recent development. Now what were they going to do with Sharon Goddard? This little mid-afternoon orgy was turning into a major production, its cast growing. Both men knew Sharon, both having worked at her house on occasion. Both held grudges against her for her spying, chiding meddlesome ways.
John, chin trembling, was looking down at the floor, then quickly jolted as if his finger had touched a hot wire when Rover barked at him: "Catch 'er, she's git-tin' way on us!"
Indeed, Sharon had turned on her heel and in a flurry of movement darted for the door. John lunged after her, grabbing her by the waist and wrestling her to the floor where he straddled her chest, the woman's dress skirt hiked up to show off the white expanse of flesh between her garter belt and panty line. The men's eyes were riveted to that space. Charlie licked his lips while Sharon wailed in humiliation.
Sharon kicked her heels, trying to wiggle her way free from the imprisoning trap of John Silverman's stocky body riding her chest like a bronco. The pressure of his buttocks resting against her rib cage made it difficult to breathe, and the air snorted from her nostrils stentoriously. Her hands reached down to push at his thighs; but he was not about to be moved.
"Wh-what are w-w-we gonna d-do with-with her?" he stammered.
Rover rose up on one elbow from the bed and smiled a broad grin that well announced his intentions. The thickness of his pink tongue dampened the round swell of his lips, his eyes never leaving the luscious sight of the Superintendent's wife's naked thighs.
"How's 'bout we have a little party here with de gals," he smirked. "Nothin' I'd like to see better'n little blondie here suckin' of the Supe's wife. How's bout you, Charlie?"
"Nooooo.. . " a broken wail escaped Rita's lips as she lay sprawled on the sheets. Limply she lifted her head to cry: "These men . . . th-they're crazy drunk. . . they raped me!"
"Oh shuddup, gal," the pock-marked faced Charlie growled. "You wasn't complainin' a second ago when I plugged that face full a cock."
On the floor a flurry of motion combined with grunts and groans and hoarse threats. Sharon's skirt was twisted up around her waist now, the white strip of panties moistened and sticking tautly to the swollen folds of her cunt. Her body was electric and squirming about, she managed to wriggle free of John's iron grip and succeeded in entwining her fingers in his blonde curls. Gnashing her teeth and fighting like a cat, she managed to roll him over, then springing free, she made a bawling burst for the door on her hands and knees, her skirt still wadded about her waist, exposing the panty-clad moons of her buttocks.
But John was agile; he pounced on her like a cat would a mouse, pinning her to the floor. Naked legs scissored behind, then in front of him and seconds later Charlie returned from the kitchen with a vegetable knife.
He fell to his knees beside the pinned down Superintendent's wife, the knife blade pushed tight against her Adam's Apple. "I put up with enough shit from yo' husband.. . I ain' gonna take no crap from his bitchy wife!" he yelled.
Sharon blinked a fearful eye which looking straight ahead lay on the dangling, sticky tube of Charlie's spent penis. The leathery sac of balls dangling like twin fists below. The smell of sex reached her nostrils before the fear of the blade registered in her mind. The need for sex was still burning within her and quite unconsciously, she licked her lips.
"Now you gonna be a nice lady and let blondie there suck yo' cunt or am I gonna have to put a scar on that pretty face?" He lifted the knife to run the blade up along the curve of her high cheek bone. The steel was cold against Sharon's cheek.
To be raped, yes, she could handle that, but to be forced into oral copulation with a woman . . . NEVER! Fearfully, Sharon searched the three men's eyes for some sign that they were only joking. But no joke this
. that was obvious from the glint in Charlie's green eyes.
"Oh, no . . . I can't . . . " she faltered. "Rape me . . . but don't force me to-with her!"
Sharon's eyes came last to meet Rita's gaze of quiet despair.
"You'd b-better do as they say, Sharon," said Rita calmly. "Th-they beat me with a belt.. . . "
"Now tha' didn't hurt ya none, kid . . . " chided Rover, running a black hand over Rita's nakedness in a way that made goose bumps tickle the length of her spine.
Sharon gulped and nodded. It was all too apparent that Rita had been persuaded by something; the ivory flesh of her thighs and backside were crosshatched with red traces of what must have been ugly welts.
"Now get naked for us, Supe's wife," taunted Charlie, "so's we can see what ol' Harley does with his spare time when he ain' sellin' his inmates liquor on the side!"
"Toss the little lady the bottle to prove it," Charlie nodded at Rover who tossed the bottle of whiskey over Sharon's head. He caught it in one hand. "How about a sip, Mrs. Supe to quiet ya down a bit?"
Sharon shook her head. "No.. . .I-I don't want any liquor," she choked.
"Come on, honey. You gonna need somethin' to relax ya when blondie plasters her sweet lips to your clit and sucks your cunt juices down her throat."
The gurgle in Sharon's throat carried a double meaning. She'd opened her mouth to accept a mouthful of the amber liquor, trickles of it running down her chin . . . and the thought of the angel-faced Rita Henshaw putting her lips to her cunt and licking up her sex juices under the threat of danger by these crazy, drunken men provided the denouement to her afternoon fantasy. Sharon raised her head to survey the scene.
John was kneeling behind her, there on the bed was Rover stretched out like a panther, stroking his black hand along Rita's delicate body, the testicles of Charlie dangling before her face, knife in hand. The setting was perfect, the characters well chosen. A fantasy come to life.. . .
"Git that dress off before I cut it off!" snarled Charlie.
Slowly rising up on one elbow, Sharon reached behind her and pulled down the zipper of her dress, her eyes never leaving Charlie's flinty ones. Slipping the garment off her shoulders, it puddled to her waist, revealing that she wore nothing beneath it but bikini panties, garter belt and stockings and a low-cut brassiere.
The men in the bedroom gasped in amazed appreciation at her ripe bumps and curves that were as firm and smooth as that of a teenager. Even Rita's eyes lingered on marble thighs slinking free of clothing, on the swell of Sharon's milky breasts oozing out above the lacy cups that tried in vain to capture them. Her cleavage was deep and creamy. Upon her knees, she wiggled the wadded up dress down over her hips and then stood up to step free. Four sets of eyes moved upward to stare at the Superintendent's wife standing in her scanty lace garter belt, brassiere and panties. Her hips and thighs were well proportioned and sleek.
From a woman's critical standpoint, Rita had to concede that Sharon had certainly hid her finer attributes behind the modest knit dresses and pearls and pug. The orgasm of her earlier abuse was still ripe within Rita's body, and now she found herself becoming unexpectedly aroused at the sight of the nearly naked older woman.
"Come on, git lickin'! " grumbled Charlie impatiently.
"Come . . . come here, Sharon," whispered Rita. 'They won't let us go until we've ruined ourselves."
Sharon stared into Rita's eyes, an electrical current snapping between the two of them and from the glint in Sharon's orbs, one could read the message that she didn't consider this her ruination.
Hesitantly, Sharon strode toward the bed and stood before it. "Tha's a way, girlies, git to know each other a bit."
Again the masochistic call to subservience overtook Rita's senses. If she did not comply to these men's demands, they would hurt her worse than the lingering sting of the belt across her buttocks. Rita slowly rose and stood beside the taller woman, her eyes roving over her full-rounded body.
"Come on, gals, we ain' got all day . . . git 'er naked, blondie." It was Rover speaking, laying on the bed, braced up on one elbow, stroking his cock with his free hand.
"Yyyyyeah . . . git git'er nnnnnaked!" echoed John hopefully, glancing from man to man for approval of his lustfulness.
With trembling hands, Rita tentatively reached out for the firm white flesh of Sharon's shoulder. Gently, she unfastened the clasp of the older woman's brassiere, slowly pulling the garment away from her shoulders. Rita dropped the flimsy lace under thing to the floor, then tentatively reached out to touch the pale glistening skin of Sharon's breasts. They jutted proudly from the woman's body like full ripe melons, their over-sized nipples the ruddy-beige color of doeskin.
"I ain' gonna tell you gals one more time to git suckin!" complained Charlie.
Rita's throat choked dryly. As though in humble homage to their perfection, Rita's fingers traced a trembling path over the smooth swell of Sharon's breasts, circling and finally coming to rest on the sensitive tips. Rita felt a strange new arousal at her own bravery and she looked boldly into Sharon's face to register the effect as she began to squeeze and pinch the rosy nubs.
The embarrassment of their public intimacy caused them to avoid each other's eyes until now. To Rita's satisfaction, she saw the older woman's eyes close in ecstasy, eyelids flickering. Beneath her exploring, busy fingers the soft flesh contracted and tightened under her insistent touch.
Her mind alight with the newfound joy of controlling another woman's body, Rita slipped her hands down Sharon's torso and began to tug gently at her filmy panties.
"Oh, no . . . " breathed Sharon defensively. "I-I thought I could go through with this . . . but I can't. . . no . . . " She reached down to check Rita's insistent fingers.
"Relax, Sharon," the blonde bride murmured. "It won't hurt . . . you've got to trust me."
Around the two women, the trio of men stared with eyes ablaze with lust as they passed the remainder of the whiskey from hand to hand. The sight of the naked blonde seducing the sophisticated Superintendent's wife was too sexy to rake one's eyes from.
Stationed next to Charlie, John gurgled down the whiskey, though he had no taste for the liquid and stood stroking his penis through the faded denim of his jumpsuit. In minutes, he was tearing off his clothes and standing masturbating as was Charlie. Nobody wanted to interrupt this lesbian performance for his own selfish reasons-not yet at least.
Rita's ragged breathing broke through the stillness of the day as she slid Sharon's panties down over her rounded hips and thighs, then gently lifted one ankle and then the other to remove her panties. Deftly he'd begun working at the garter belt clasps when Charlie interrupted her.
"Leave the garters on . . . they're sexy as hell," he grunted, throwing back his head and taking a deep swill of the whiskey.
The eyes were moving downward then, following the lowered golden head as Rita crouched to the floor beside the dark -haired captive. Caressingly, she wound her lithe arms around Sharon's sleek legs, then slowly began to run her palms up the inside of the woman's thighs. Above her, Sharon trembled and groaned in a drama of conflicting desires.
"P-Please, don't-don't do any more," she stammered. "I can't take much more . . . " But even as she protested, the Superintendent's wife reached up to untangle her pug, flailing her head to let it hang free and loose about her shoulders. The hair was thick and soft, with a hint of wave. It subtracted ten years from her appearance, a fact that even John noticed.
Rita smiled at the tacit acquiescence and moved her hands upward until her fingers grazed the soft sparse hairs that framed Sharon's pussy. Something had happened to her that afternoon, she realized, something had snapped within her. Was it the fear and anxiety of separation from motherly and husbandly approval that had lifted and opened the lid on her inhibitions? Being forced to act out of threat of danger had opened her, actually forced her into experiences she would not have indulged in on her own.
Rita's quivering, desirous body could not be calmed down. It was blazing again with need, screaming for release. For a reason she could not fathom, the feel and sight of Sharon's lush body was arousing her even more. Just as the inmates had forced her into submission, she was forcing Sharon into submission. Rising from her squatting position, she began to nudge Sharon back onto the bed.
Sharon's mind was a miasma of indecision and a mounting lust that was quickly climbing the slopes of her passion to reach the top. That she was not a lesbian, she knew, yet this young woman's touch was driving her mad and she almost conceded to the fact that she would like nothing better than to have this beatific young blonde sucking and licking at her burning vaginal slit. Hesitantly, she allowed her body to be muscled back against the bed, then forced down onto the mattress where Rita sat down beside her.
Sharon's eyes were pinpricks of passion, riveted on the younger woman's face. There was a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she apprehensively tightened her buttocks. Rita's blue eyes gleamed cat-like as she gently nuzzled Sharon down on her back, then lay down herself, stretching her body against the older woman's. Sharon could feel the heat of the young woman's body next to her own, thigh against thigh, smooth belly against hip, her breasts mashed against Sharon's rib cage with each of the hard pink nipples jabbing into her soft flesh.
Both women had forgotten they were prisoners as the walls of inhibition crumbled and the three men who were their captors stood around gaping in stupefied awe at the scene being enacted before them.
Slowly, Rita took Sharon face in her hands, cupping the high swell of her cheek bones. Rita's lips crushed onto Sharon's, soft and warm at first. The maneuver was executed so subtly that Sharon wasn't aware of the exact moment when Rita's sweet-tasting tongue, still piquant with male juices, floated between her teeth and into her mouth. The older woman was breathing in short gasps, excited by the idea that she was doing the forbidden. Her objecting conscience was completely overruled by the thrills of delicious feeling between her legs as her cuntal muscles expanded and contracted in delightful anticipation.
Almost without knowing what she was doing, Sharon began to lick and suck possessively at the velvety tongue swirling over her teeth. When Rita pulled it back, Sharon's tongue quickly followed it into the other woman's warm sucking cavern. Gurgles of newfound joy bubbled from each others throat.
Rita slipped one lithe leg over Sharon's firm upper thighs, rubbing her swollen, oily clitoris over Sharon's hip bone, sending an electric shock to course through her at the contact, shuddering as she realized that Rita's hand was moving, creeping, stealing its way up towards her swollen breasts again, stroking and massaging the oozing flesh with an exciting, intimate knowledge, born of the strange new lust that had captured the young girl's mind.
"Ooooooohhhh.. . . " Sharon moaned in sheer delight as Rita's lips left her own and began kissing and nibbling their path down the milky breasts she held possessively in her feminine grasp. Rita's hand had become suddenly aggressive, locking and squeezing on both snowy mounds, pushing them high up on Sharon's chest to ease the blonde's access to the throbbing nipples which she sucked on like a hungry child.
Sharon was trembling with lust, her body sheened like damp marble. By the time Rita reluctantly released her hold on one of Sharon's breasts to reach down and tangle her fingers in Sharon's long, soft hair, the older woman was beginning the movements of copulation. A moment later, Rita's slender middle finger began carefully sliding up and down the damp, secret crevice between Sharon's thighs, maddeningly avoiding touching the bud of her clitoris, even though Sharon was helplessly undulating her hips with frustrated desire.
A strangely exciting idea snapped into Rita's lust-inflamed mind as she felt the narrow crack becoming more slick from lubricants easing her path. Why not let Sharon experience the same oddly sensual pleasure that she, Rita, had experienced for the first time that day.
Following her instincts, Rita's finger slid further and further back in the damp crevice until it reached the tiny anal ring. At that spongy door it began an unrelenting pressure to break into the forbidden opening. Just as the inmates had forced her into new sensual experience, so she would the Superintendent's wife. Fleetingly, Rita wondered if her neighbor was suffering from the same husbandly neglect that had piqued her own sexual desires. Was that the subject of the little chat Sharon had suggested they have some day? Was it, indeed, a subconscious means of seducing Rita? The thought made Rita tremble with a new urgency. Were all the wives of employers of the Center as hungry for affection as she and Sharon? If so, the walls of that prison must be invisible curtains shutting off everyone in the periphery from the good things in life. A chill suffused Rita's body at the depressing thought.
Rita's thoughts were brought back to a more conscious level as Sharon raised her hips and grunted out a protest to escape the pressured discomfort, but the slender finger was moistened and slippery enough to slip with slight pop into the hot, twitching cavity.
"Nooo . . . that hurts . . . please, no Rita!" barked Sharon.
In answer to the complaint, Rita sank her teeth into the tender flesh of the Superintendent's wife's breast, seemingly trying to cram the whole oozing mound of flesh into her sucking mouth. The pain, she knew, would fade quickly and become an exquisite shot of joy. Back and forth, in and out, Rita moved her finger in the tiny quivering rectal hole, trying to gore deeper; but the first knuckle was the limit. The puckered ring had so tightly clenched on Rita's knuckle that it followed each movement of the blonde's squirming finger.
Sharon moaned from deep in her soul. Indeed, the painful sensation had changed into something else-something fantastically exciting. Suddenly, she began to move the muscles of her naked buttocks in a frantic effort to pull the invading finger in further. Flexing and relaxing desperately, she felt herself building toward orgasm. Her body quickly worked toward that long-deprived peak of sensation. She wanted more and more of that finger shoving in and out of her pulsating anal passage . . . wanted something hard shoved up her cunt. . . something big and manly and very, very hard!
A squealing whine cut the air and Rita's eyes shot open to feel herself being pulled away from Sharon's frantically squirming buttocks. Both women groaned with frustration as they were pulled apart. She had been so close to cumming, so close after so long. . . but then, Sharon blinked upward.
Before her stood Charlie grinning salaciously and pumping away at his inflamed cock. Beside her, Sharon heard the bed squeak as the inmate climbed between Rita's wide-spread legs.
"I ain't had a chance to fuck ya yet, girl." His breath was rank with the sweetness of alcohol and bad breath.
Instantly Sharon was put off. "Oh, God, you already fucked her once-fuck me!" she squealed. "Somebody hurry up and fuck me!" John came to her rescue.
The young inmate knelt beside the bed, his hugely swollen cock resting against the side of the mattress like a dead snake. Grasping her hips, he brutally jerked Sharon toward him until her buttocks hung slightly over the edge of the bed and her legs were splayed on either side of his panting form. Grabbing his cock, he aimed it at her gasping hole, moving like a starving fish's mouth and lunged forward with a violent thrust.
The huge ten inch cock was driven in hard and straight until the two sperm-filled balls slapped hard down against the sensitive ring of Sharon's rectum.
"Aaaaaiiiiieeee . . . " she screeched in ecstasy. The thin, soft edges of her vagina clung needfully to the punishing penis as it slowly withdrew and she screwed her ass down into the mattress. Then his pelvic bone crunching thrusts pushed the soft fleshy fold back into her vagina. The glistening cock, like an oil rig, disappeared into the warm depths of her cunt.
For a fleeting moment, Sharon thought of her husband Harley, feeling a brief spasm of guilt that quickly extinguished itself with the next battering thrust destroying her power of reasoning. Sanity shorted out in a shower of delicious sparks.
The bed jiggled wildly from the action of Rita and the lanky Charlie fucking into her. Rita's mind and body were alive with the thrill of forbidden copulation.
Her eyes rolled like marbles in their sockets and she noticed Rover behind her, stroking his huge black meat as he waited for someone to finish. She had always despised the man, something mysterious in his smile coupled with her knowledge of his rape conviction creating a hate filled attraction for the man.
An idea struck her and she grasped her own huge breasts, pushing them together invitingly and nodding meaningfully at the nakedly gleaming man. His eyes lit up as he caught her thought.
John ceased his grunting thrusts for a moment as the black gardener climbed over Sharon's body until he was kneeling over her chest. Lubricating his bone-hard ebony cock with a drop of liquored spittle, he wedged the massive instrument between her pair of tightly pressed, milky oozing breasts and created a warm, welcome tunnel between them. Black man and the feeble minded began using Sharon's body in naked rhythm.
Martha looked down sighed in ecstatic contentment as she saw the blue-black shining head of the man's cock peeking through the valley of her cleavage at the same time the young man's penis battered excitingly against her tingling cervix.
"Harder, she grunted. "Fuck me harder . . . or I'll tell my husband on you!"
"Shit, you will!" garbled Charlie.
The bed quivered and shook as the three men drove their cocks harder and deeper into the two officials' wives humping madly on the mattress. The knife was discarded as were the neckties. Self will was the mental master here.
Charlie pushed Rita's legs higher and higher until her ankles were pressed over her quivering shoulders. Sharon, too, was in a position where she could not whimper complaints about the attack taking place on her body. Still, both women screamed and moaned and wiggled and squirmed from the force of their building climaxes.
Rita felt the first scalding spurt as Charlie's ejaculation began to hose into her. Her cunt instinctively contracted and squeezed around his spurting penis, sucking at it to pull all of it inside her. His orgasm triggered her own and her body began to twitch uncontrollably, her feet and legs dancing in time to the libidinous music screaming inside her skull. Charlie's white hot cum filled her quivering belly to cascade down the smooth white crevice across the white mounds of her still-twitching buttocks. When Charlie's prick slipped out of her sucking vagina, she was too exhausted to care.
But something did catch her notice: the sounds coming from the other side of the bed.
Rita gasped in slack-jawed amazement as she watched Rover riding Sharon's rib cage, his snaking black penis sliding in and out of the deep furrow between her breasts that the previously shy woman held so tightly together that bloodless ridges of oozing flesh bulged beneath her pressing fingers. At the same time, in automatic rhythm with Rover's lunging strokes, John Silverman was thrusting his bludgeoning cock in and out of the hungrily sucking hole between Sharon's thighs.
"Ooooooooh," she hissed, then screamed as her body began to twitch and spasm and hump against them. "I'm cummmming, oh, God, I'm cummmming!" The wail resounded of amazement and satisfaction.
The two inmates began driving with furious need and the wetly slapping sound of their three sweat-sheened, lubricated bodies smacking against each other was easily discernible. Sharon's back arched from the bed and she savagely used her heels to spur John on further, hissing and calling him names under her breath.
John gave one mighty lunge and his buttocks spasmed and tauted as he reached his climax. All three were panting with satiated pleasure, their cum spurting from the open cunt between the Superintendent's wife's legs and spattering onto her face and chin from the cock that was fucking between her breasts.
For long heated moments they lay on the Henshaw's bed, panting, regaining their senses. Not one of them had noticed or heard the quiet click of the screen door an hour and a half earlier or the angered steps of a man stalking across the back yard.
Harley Goddard sat moodily in the recliner where his wife had spent fidgety minutes earlier that day. Indeed, the Cosmopolitan magazine was recklessly tossed on the floor as if she had left in a rush. Harley knew damned well the nature of that haste.
When he had come home shortly after lunch, thinking he might be fortunate enough to find his wife in an agreeable mood despite the curtness with which he'd treated over the telephone, he collapsed in the living room chair awaiting her return from the grocery store or where ever the woman was spreading her gossip.
The window had been left open, the curtains pulled aside and from the rear window vantage point he'd heard a shrieking voice whose shrillness could only belong to his wife.
The urge to investigate was too strong to fight down, especially after Sharon's suspicions communicated over the telephone this morning. In his crepe-soled shoes he'd crept through the Henshaw's screen door and followed the noise to the bedroom. There he had stood in an agony of indecision, plastering himself to the wall in the hallway, the wild shrieks and moaning torturing his ears until, after a few miserable minutes, he decided to go back to his own house. Listening had been painful enough and he feared he might lose all control watching his wife being fucked by two of his convicts.
That his wife was a faithless slut was not all he'd learned. Charlie, Rover and the idiot had all been sucking down whiskey bought on the black market behind the walls.. . and the stupid bastards had related to his wife and Dr. Henshaw's wife who the mastermind behind the liquor ring was.
White faced and trembling, he had slipped back out the screen door and wearily walked back to his home, filled with rage, betrayal and revenge. Now that Dr. Henshaw's wife had the inside story from Charlie, the little cunt would run back to her husband and tell him everything. Harley might as well turn in his resignation now . . . unless he could find a way to shut the bitch's trap.
The calm rage was frightening in its intensity. He would make both bitches pay. He had never had any doubts about his wife's fidelity until that Henshaw couple moved next door. With the doctor snooping around in his, Harley's office and now his wife inviting Sharon over for afternoon orgies. It was too much for one man to take. The beginning of a plan started to crystallize in Harley's angry mind.
Then, chin set determinedly, he plucked a cigar from the tobacco box on the table, plugged it contentedly between his lips and phoned his assistant at the Center:
"I won't be in tomorrow, Sam. Reschedule my appointments . . . and make damn sure Henshaw isn't grubbin' around in my office, again, you hear me?" A pause, "And another thing. No work pool men are allowed privileges tomorrow . . . don't ask me why, you idiot! Just follow my directions."
Hooking his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, Harley Goddard rocked on his heels arrogantly, congratulating himself on his cleverness. A shuffling of feet announced his errant wife's return and in a moment she came through the kitchen, her faced wearing the mask of sexual satiation. Christ, he hated her for that! He felt his anger rise again at the sight of her smug expression, but he fought valiantly the urge to explode, forcing calmness.
"Hello, honey," he greeted her, smiling coolly and chewing on the butt end of his unlit cigar. "Been having a nice afternoon by yourself?"
Sharon's eyes popped at the sight of her husband, and quickly side-stepping him so he would not catch her in a lie, said: "What are you doing home so early? Are you feeling okay?"
Harley chuckled smugly. "No, I thought I'd come home and spend some time with you, darling. We haven't made love in a coon's age, you know." Come on, you lyin' cunt.. . try to deny me! he thought. "But I know . . . you've probably got a headache and . . "
"As a matter-of-fact. . . " Sharon put her fingers to her temper and rubbed massagingly. That her hair was still being worn loose and free was well noticed by her husband.
Harley reached into his back pocket for his wallet, thumbed through the greenery and peeled off a couple and handed them to Sharon. "I've been pretty cheap with ya lately, hon. Go down to the beauty shop tomorrow and have 'em do your hair. It's a mess," he said sardonically.
Sharon stared at her husband in ripe astonishment. Did he somehow find out about what happened today, she wondered. Was he trying to make her feel guilty? And the remark about her hair. . . what was that supposed to mean? She studied her husband's expression and found nothing of the tenderness his smile wore on the infrequent occasions when he chose to dole out bits of attention to her.
The bastard's trying to buy me off, she thought with anger, and recalling the comment from one of the inmates about her husband selling them liquor on the black market filled her with a hatred for him that obliterated any shred of guilt she may have felt about her illicit afternoon affair. All right, Harley, she thought. I'll take your money-that's the only thing I've ever gotten out of this disastrous relationshipand now I know where you make it!
"Oh, how sweet of you, hubby," she purred sweetly, hiding her irritation behind a sparkling smile. "I'd love to take that sweet Rita Henshaw with me. She has such baby fine blonde hair-and she was saying she needed a trim."
Harley drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry honey, but I heard Doc Henshaw say he had a surprise for her tomorrow. Rita's gonna be all tied-up."
CHAPTER 12
The warm bath water lapped at Rita's quivering chin as she lay slapping her legs together to create soapy waves. Her blue eyes blinked back the swelling emotions of her tortured soul. Why had the fates chosen her for such painful punishment?
Her throat tightened with emotion, remembering the evening before how after Rover, Charlie and John had left the house, her guilt and fear of losing her husband forever had brought her close to considering suicide. Tonight, she thought resignedly, she would talk to Max, though last night's efforts were futile. She had attempted friendliness, forcing a bright mood when indeed she wished she'd been dead. All she had wanted was a smile, a gesture of affection. She received none.
With daylight came objectivity. Tonight she would force Max to listen to her, would force him into responding. Rita was rehearsing in her mind tonight's conversation when the doorbell rang.
Now who could that be? "I'm coming," she yelled as whoever it was at the door continued to punch the button. Quickly, drying herself off, she bundled up in a thick terry cloth bathrobe and scurried toward the front door.
She forced a smile at her intruder. "Sorry, but I was in the bathtub," she said, smiling at the short, paunch-bellied man who stood on her doorstep. "Are you selling something?" she queried.
"No, Mrs. Henshaw," the man in the suit answered around the unlit cigar plugging his lips. "I'm Harley Goddard . . . you next door neighbor?"
"Oh, oh, please come in . . . " exclaimed Rita, embarrassedly patting her damp curls. "Please excuse my appearance, Mr. Goddard," she said, recognizing the man's name as her husband's boss. Lord what was he doing here? she wondered. Had Sharon told him about yesterday's happenings? Reluctantly she moved away from the door to let him pass into the living room.
"I'm very happy to meet you, M-Mr. Goddard," she faltered, following him into the living room and pulling the tie to her robe tighter and picking up a discarded newspaper recklessly tossed on the carpet.
"Just call me Harley, my dear," chuckled the man jovially as he threw himself into Max's favorite chair and chomped on his cigar. "And I'll call you Rita. Sharon's told me so much about you, I feel I know you inside and out." His eyes stripped the young blonde girl naked of the fuzzy robe she wore before he added cryptically. "By the end of our visit we will be the closest of friends, I assure you."
Rita's heart jumped to her throat as her mind tried to digest what the pudgy middle-aged man was referring to. It was too outlandish to believe Sharon had told him about yesterday, yet he seemed to be obliquely informing her of his inside knowledge. And his eyes, those beady dark spots in his piggish head, hinted at something worse. Gathering her courage and her robe around her sleek and damp thighs, Rita slowly took a seat on the sofa and turned to face him, staring directly into his accusing eyes.
"I don't know what you're getting at, Mr. Goddard. . . . "
"Sure you do, Rita." He chomped meaningfully on the cigar. "I was standing in that goddamned hallway yesterday listening to you bitches screaming and grunting like a coupla whores!" His jowls jounced with a rage that could not be controlled. "You know what you're doing to your husband's position, my dear girl?"
"I.. . I was raped . . . "
"I-I never heard anything . . . really, Mr. Goddard . . . "she read the threatening glint in his eyes and recognized its onerous implications. Yesterday's rape had taught her the signs of incipient lust and violence. Defensively, her hand rose to her throat and she cringed into the sofa.
"I'm gonna make damn sure you forget!" he snarled.
Rita's eyes traveled down the man's vest to the growing bulge in his pants. No . . . he couldn't be suggesting that she-No! Surreptitiously she slid down toward the door-end of the sofa, keeping her eyes on his beady ones. Hadn't she been through enough already.
"You ain' gonna no where, girl," he snarled contemptuously. Harley stared silently at Rita as if wordlessly condemning the bad taste of her outburst, then leaned back in Max's easy chair and put his cigar to rest in the ashtray beside him. "Now let's talk sense. You open your sweet little cock-eatin' mouth about anything you heard yesterday and old Doc Henshaw's gonna be floating belly up in the reservoir, you hear me?"
Completely unnerved by the sour turn of the vicious cycle that seemed to be devouring she and Max, Rita broke down into tearful pleadings. "Wh-what do you want . . . I'll do anything . . . just don't hurt us anymore . . . we'll leave here if you want. . . "
"For chrissakes, quit crying," he snapped with a bored growl. "You sound like my wife."
Rita dried her nose. Yes, dignity was worth a try. Brightening, she realized Harley Goddard looked like the world's most inept lover-fat and sluggish. Certainly he wouldn't suggest-
"Take off your robe . . . "
"What?" Rita was incredulous at his lack of ceremony-not to mention his demand.
Feeling as if she'd been benuded of the last vestige of self-respect, Rita's trembling fingers began working at the knot of her bathrobe. Shyly, she pulled one arm free, then the other. A gasp of admiration whistled through Harley's lips as Rita shed the garment, revealing her nudity beneath. She felt as much as saw his eyes lustfully lingering over her ripe young curves; quickly she sat back down on the sofa and curled her legs and arms tightly around herself.
"Let's not go shy, my dear," he chuckled smugly, chewing on his cigar between livery lips. "Don't forget the little orgy you held in own husband's bed." His expression turned sour-sinister. "Listen, you shitty little slut. I want you to spread your legs so I can see your cunt . . . Now do it!"
Rita's mind raged against the insult. How many times in the past few days had she been called a slut? And for what reasons? Her dimpled chin began to quiver from the unfairness of it all. Slowly, swallowing her pride, Rita spread her sleek legs apart. When she could see by his eyes that the coral slit of her vagina was visible to him, she leaned back in the cushions, closing her eyes to the humiliating leer that twisted his chubby features.
"I said spread your legs!" he bellowed, and for a moment it appeared he was about to hit her. Rita's eyes flew open to see him gesticulating wildly with his cigar. "One foot over the back of the sofa and the other on the floor-wide!"
Numbly, Rita followed instructions, splaying her legs wide open and positioning them, leaning back into the corner of the couch, thighs spread so far apart it hurt the taut muscles. This was the lowest she could go, she thought numbly, shuddering in revulsion as she saw a drop of spittle at the corner of the Superintendent's mouth dribble down his chin as he stared with mouthwatering hunger at her helplessly exposed genitals. That he sat there fully dressed as she posed naked added to her humiliation.
"Now," he growled. "Start playing with yourself."
"I can't do that!" she gasped in horror. "I've never-"
An evil light shining in his eyes, he said: "I don't wanna have to get rough, but I will if I have to." His baleful glance sent shivering chills up Rita's spine and she nodded wordlessly to indicate that she understood. "Good . . . now play with your body."
Hesitantly, Rita lifted her trembling hands to her full breasts, pulling and tweaking half heartedly at the nipples until they became little mountain peaks of pleasure. Never had she felt so mortified in her life; yet after having been used so roughly by men in the past few days, she found it oddly pleasurable to just be able to touch herself, without fear of harm.
"Enough of playing with your tits," he said. "Your cunt. Rub your cunt.. . I want to see you squirming!"
Encouraged by the possibility, she let her hands drop downward and flutter like birds over the golden thatch of her pubic curls. Slowly and dramatically, she ran the tips of her fingers over the swollen lips of her vaginal slit, feeling an electric shock of startlement from that first touch.
Inquisitively, she stroked her forefinger over the tiny rosebud of her clitoris, softly at first, then with more vigor as a delicious tingling sensation radiated out around the swollen peak. It was good, almost as good as a man, she realized joyfully as, forgetting that Harley was glaring lecherously at her, she furiously fingered her clitoris, feeling her whole body quivering in response to her fevered manipulations.
A tortured groan slipped from between her softly parted lips as suddenly she plunged one finger into her hotly pulsating hole. Wiggling it inside herself, she could feel the moisture covering the palm of her hand as it ground erotically into the fiery knot of her clitoris. She moved her finger in tiny circles, expanding the tight hole with teasing rotations.
Realizing that two fingers would probably feel better than one, she plunged in a second and began madly finger fucking herself as she started fighting toward orgasm.
The depraved drama delighted the Superintendent, his flabby paunch heaving up and down as he felt his arousal building under the gabardine trap of his pants. His piggish eyes were glued to the sticky sweetness of Rita's cunt as she tried to make herself climax. Almost involuntarily, he'd begun to stroke his erection. 'That's it, baby, give that cunt hell," he growled as beads of sweat began to break out on his forehead and upper lip. "Go ahead, whore . . . fuck yourself!"
Oblivious to his obscene remarks, Rita was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging in her vagina. Her two long, slender fingers dipped wildly in and out of the swollen pink lips of her cuntal hole, the outer folds pearled by glistening droplets of her lubricating juices. Tiny rivers of perspiration coursed down her trembling thighs as she began to heave her buttocks, rocking, trying to get more of her fingers inside her cunt. A deep growl of frustration rose from her chest, then changed to a whine of ecstasy as she added one more finger to the two with which she was punishing herself.
Rita drove herself on, three fingers now in her wide-stretched liquid drenched cuntal hole, trying insanely to break out of this plateau of passion on which she was stranded. But, she could not do anymore. She had turned herself on and now she could not cum. It was damningly maddening!
At last, crestfallen, she gave up efforts, her hand falling away from the throbbing, aching slit.
He moved closer to the sofa and staring in horror and disgust at the middle-aged unattractive male who loomed over her, she cringed away. One more day of imprisonment, she thought dully.
"No . . . don't touch me . . . please . . . "
A hand shot out to grab her throat, squeezing. "Shuddup, you cunt and enjoy yourself!" The Superintendent reached down and ran his hand over the awakened mounds of her breasts and down over her belly to the soft, fleshy folds of her cunt. "Oooooo-hhhh . . . " she moaned, both in humiliation and need. A rash of goose bumps arose over the ivory paleness of her sensitive skin.
Oh, God, help her, but she wanted him . . . wanted him to crawl inside of her, to possess her, to quiet the thunder building up from his maddening fingertips!
His greedy eyes fastened on her squirming nakedness and he lowered his bulk onto the sofa, then crouched on all fours over the white moving body, resting his palms hard on the inside of her wide spread thighs. His mouth watered as his eyes fastened on the hair-framed slit of her open crotch, rotating sensuously, expectantly, a scant few inches from his lips. Saliva drizzled down his chin to mingle obscenely with the lubricating juices oozing from the narrow hole at the bottom of her small white belly.
Through slitted eyes, Rita gazed down at the man crouched between her parted thighs. She could feel his hot, sweating palms pressed against the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Lord, she was a whore.. . feeling this way!
"Aaaaaggghhh!" she groaned piteously, jerking upward as she felt his hot lips clamp down over the pulsating opening of her cunt. She felt his lips suck, drawing the soft folds deep into the hot cavern of his mouth, while his tongue began a maddening licking against the straining pink bud of her excited young pussy. She wriggled her buttocks unashamedly against him as the hot probing tip worked its way up and down the length of the wet slit, then worked its way into her straining cunt like a racing lizard. Her hips ground wildly into the cushions of the sofa, soft mewling animal sounds of pleasure escaping from between her teeth.
Suddenly, he stopped, raising his head to grin up at her through heaving thighs. "Turn over, baby. I've got a real shocker for ya."
Unthinking, Rita twisted around on the sofa, changing position until she was kneeling with her body resting on the back cushions. She felt the man rise from the sofa and stand up behind her, his hands suddenly resting on the smooth oval globes of her buttocks. His mouth clamped onto her ivory ass cheeks biting into them with sharp little nips.
Through the haze of her confusion she felt him opening her buttocks, drawing the cheeks wide apart, then licking the crevice. He pulled and stretched at her asshole and she could feel the strain on the tight, rubbery ring of her anus. Rita felt obscenely naked and exposed as the panting form leaned over her buttocks and slobberingly kissed the tiny, brown puckered hole.
Then she felt the tip of his finger again at the entrance of her naked rectum and she jerked automatically away from the strange sensation.
"Relax," the man rasped, jabbing again at the tightly clenched opening. "Open your ass!"
She gasped, his intentions coming clear. "No!" she screamed and like a greased pig, slipped out from under him.
Harley might have been overweight, but it didn't stop him from reacting in an emergency situation. He grabbed her in a lunge, pinning her to the carpeted floor. She fell on her belly in a thud, Harley on top of her. "You fucking', bitch! Am I gonna have to tie you up?" he growled. "Now I'm gonna ask you one more time to open up your ass!"
His weight was heavy upon her. Rita gasped, then realizing she had no choice but to comply, she relaxed her struggles while he probed for a moment at the outer edges of the small elastic circle. He shoved forward with a grunt, sadistically sinking his finger up into her anus to the first knuckle. The pain was excruciating. The man dug into the tight hole, insinuating his finger slowly and methodically into the velvety depths of her rectum. Rita Henshaw thought she might die from the humiliation of it all.
To relax, she knew was the secret to endurance, and she began to relax slightly until suddenly she felt the extra pressure of another finger ramming unexpectedly in alongside the first. She winced and cried out in pain, trying to cringe away from him, but he was pinning her upper torso to the floor with the palm of his fat hand.
"It hurts," she pleaded. "Stop!" Tears of pain and mortification streamed down her cheeks as she realized that he was going to shove his long, stubby cock up into her rectum in punishment for something she had not done. This was the ultimate! God, she would never live through sodomy; she could never face anyone again after this horror and subjugation.
As if in cruel answer to her plea, his fingers began to work together inside her clinging rectum, grinding down into her tightly contracted anal hole, expanding it torturously as he twisted and turned his fingers in the narrow hole, preparing it for his coming assault. This would be the final rape . . . they could not imprison her after this tragic episode. She tried to jerk her buttocks away, but her quivers only drove the fingers deeper into her ravaged depths.
"I never fucked a woman in the ass before," he chuckled. "You got a nice ass-no hair."
"No . . . I'll do anything but this. Please, not this!" Rita pleaded, knowing already that it was futile.
As suddenly as he had worked the fingers in, he pulled them free of her. They seemed to come out reluctantly, the rubbery skin of her anus clinging to them and making a sucking, hissing noise. Climbing over her, he forced her legs wide apart with his pudgy knees, then moistened the tiny hole with a drop of spittle. She was held wide and helpless, completely at his mercy and she bit down on her lower lip to check the tears of fear and horror brimming to her eyes. She couldn't bear it; it was too horrible!
His hands grasped harshly at her hips, holding them firmly in the air as she felt the excitedly pulsating head of his cock resting within her split crevice. She gasped in surprise at the first contact. It was huge! As big as the others! She hadn't expected such size from such a small man. She would never be able to take it back there without it disemboweling her! Desperately, she tried to pull away from him but he held her tight and began to prod at the tight, hairless opening of her backside.
His hands coursed down over her buttocks, his thumbs pressing on either side of the tiny, puckered anus, stretching it wide. The gentle probing grew into a hard, unresisting bluntness.
"Oooooooh! Noooo! Please!! " she shrieked as the tight resisting ring gave way before the unyielding pressure, the tip popping into her with a slight jerk.
The pain was so unbearable that she twisted and bawled, trying with all her might to get away. Her buttocks were moving wildly, but her thrashing only allowed him to drive his huge cock deeper and deeper inside her. There was no escape from the horror and degradation of her defenseless body. Filling her backside as if she were being impaled by a tree stump, pushing the soft rubbery flesh inside of her widely stretched anal hole in great waves of pain before it.
"Please stop. It hurts. It's too tight!" she cried, her blue eyes staring at the ceiling in agony.
But the heartless Superintendent ignored her pleas, forcing inch after inch up into her vainly resisting rectal hole as he hugged her hips tightly in his barbarian attack and growled: "Push back . . . damn you. Shove back, you fucking cunt. Open your ass or I'll get rough!"
With a mind reeling effort born of the instinct to survive this animal attack, Rita forced herself to move back against him, then gasped in agony as his penis slid smoothly into her rectum, not stopping until she felt her buttocks flatten to his hp bones and his pubic hair scratch against her ass. The excitement she had felt earlier was ripped away by the reality and overpowering presence of that hot, pulsating staff sunk deep in her rectum.
The Superintendent chuckled lewdly and throbbed his hard cock deep within the confines of Rita's rectum. "How do you like that, my dear? You gonna say anything about me sellin' liquor now . . . huh? I'm tellin' ya, you say one word and I'll get every inmate on the left wing to fuck your ass . . . fuck you to death!"
Then he snickered and Rita groaned in fear and anguish as.he began to saw rhythmically and without mercy deep into the soft depths of her back passage, bringing further sobs of pain and misery to her tortured lips. She had never felt so soiled and debauched in her life, she thought miserably as the Superintendent began to lunge the full length of his punishing rod into her with long, smooth strokes.
He could see tiny ridges of pink, clasping flesh pull out with the base of his cock every time it withdrew for another vicious lunge inside. This was it, this was his revenge. Now, he thought, he would make her like it, whether she wanted to or not!
A moment later, Rita felt the man's arms reaching down under her heaving belly and his fingers stroking her clitoris, fondling the knobby protrusion until the familiar sensations of pleasure again began to pinprick around it. To Rita's slack-jawed amazement, she began to feel a change in her rectum. The pain was becoming oddly pleasurable. She was beginning to experience some masochistic pleasure from his thrusts and knew instinctively that if she met his thrusts head-on, she would enjoy it more. She began to shove backwards with vigor, in tempo to meet the forward lunge of his fat-tempered loins.
Harley groaned again and surged into her with all his pent-up sexual frustration. She, too, was groaning and twisting and waving her white ass back at him in a lewd invitation to fuck harder and deeper. Her buttocks were swinging in tiny, rotating circles, clenching tightly around his cock with a slight throb of her rectum on each out-stroke.
Sweat poured down Harley's face. He stared in sadistic delight as his balls smacked resoundingly against her tight cunt each time he sunk his prick to the hilt in her wide-split crevice. He had stopped fondling her clitoris and still she bucked before him like a mare in heat. He knew she was his to do with as he wished now. She was kneeling like a slave before him, prepared to follow his every desire and command. He would give it to her now as she had never had it before. Hell, the bitch was loving it, he realized as he watched the wiggling of her buttocks and the golden curls haloing her head bounce as she worked frantically in front of him.
"Aaaaaahh," she moaned and grunted beneath him as he pressed forward as far as he could, pulling the soft cheeks of her ass wide apart to allow him to go deeper, and just holding it there. She hated him for defiling her thus, but she loved the erotic sensations racing through her genitals at the feel of his sodomizing cock. She rotated her buttocks around the giant blood-filled head deep in her asshole.
With long, unending thrusts, he began to batter into her quivering ass. His balls had commenced to throb almost painfully and his penis felt as though it were charged with a thousand volts of electricity each time he plugged her anus with the girth of his blood-fed member. Rita was moaning like a crazy woman, her face flushed, her eyes rolling in her head as she tried to reach the ultimate pinnacle of release. He had always wanted to fuck a beautiful woman in the ass and now he had done it. And she had given up her soul to him for punishment, and he was digging his cock into her ass and leaving it there, hearing her cry and beg while he pushed and probed, moving it inside her anyway he -liked and not having to worry about having to face her over the breakfast table the next morning.
Rita wanted to cry out from the masochistic pleasure of this sodomizing punishment, but she refused to give Harley the pleasure of hearing her scream. She gasped, panting, as he rammed into her with a mighty thrust that seared up her roundly stretched anus like a sword of fire. He did it again, pulling her back over his cock like fitting a boot, causing her to half-scream in the exquisite sensation of mixed pleasure and pain. She whined in ecstasy as he increased the vigor and power of his strokes.
And then the boiling lava began to churn in his hairy balls. His cock tingled and he knew it was time.
He gasped above her and shoved forward with a mighty thrust that almost tore through the walls of her quivering belly and shot the hot torrents of his thick, white cream deep up into the welcoming depths of her rectum. It surged through her body like a volcanic eruption, warning her belly like a hot, soothing bath. He cried out and his strangled voice set off her own explosion.
Rita screamed as a great gush of pleasure rippled through her. Her body tensed and shuddered as the long awaited peak of sensation was finally achieved, then gasped as she felt his deflated and limp shaft of flesh slowly withdrawn from her flooded behind. There was a slight wet sucking noise as it slipped out from between the full white moons of her buttocks with a lewd slurping. Then a sudden rush of cool air into the wetness of her loins as she remained kneeling with her buttocks waving high in the air for a moment and then collapsed into the softness of the carpet.
After long moments, she opened her eyes and looked across the room. She saw that Harley Goddard was again sitting in Max's chair, drying his limp, deflated penis with a handkerchief. She stared at him for a long time, her vision still glazed by the ordeal to which she had been subjected, but reality was slowly returning, bringing with it all the harsh ugliness of her situation.
Twisting up to her knees, she snatched up her discarded robe to use as a covering.
The Superintendent looked up at the sudden movement, then smiled benignly at the girl's attempt to shield her nudity from his accusing eyes. "Little late for modesty, isn't it?"
"Quit looking at me like that!" she pouted, sniffling. "You got what you came for-now leave my house."
"Don't be so impatient, my dear," he murmured smoothly. "We have all afternoon. You might as well get used to my company because this is only the first payment for silence," he explained, picking up his cigar from the ashtray.
This woman has had enough abuse, thought Rita bitterly. I'm putting an end to this right now! Eyes blazing with hatred and rage, she jumped to her feet, determinedly knotting the robe around her waist. Then, the tiny blonde woman began to speak, quietly, but with the power and force that only an enraged woman can muster.
"Mr. Goddard, I'm going to telephone my husband this minute and ask him to come home. I've put up with enough crap from your drunken inmates-and now you! I feel as trapped-no more trapped than the men behind that stone wall, and I've had enough of it! You can threaten me with rape or death-but living like this is worse than death."
Turning on her heel, she walked toward the hallway telephone, behind her she could hear the Superintendent lifting his bulk from her husband's favorite chair, followed by the quiet rustling of clothing being retrieved and hastily donned.
"I hope you know the consequences of what you're doing, Mrs. Henshaw," snapped Harley. "I've seen your husband's nasty temper in action. You might be sorry-"
"Sorry?" Rita tutted. "For what? Trying to straighten out my life and dig out from under the disgust of this town?"
"You'll be sorry," he threatened. The door slammed shut behind him.
CHAPTER 13
This was not going to be as bad as she'd feared, realized Rita. It would be worse.
It had taken some fast talking to get Max to come home from work at midday. Now, he sat stiffly in the same easy chair Harley Goddard had sat in only an hour before. For once, though, Rita was not afraid of her husband, not intimidated by his foul temper. Her marriage to him had been a stormy affair and now it was his turn to sit there and listen to her complaints.
The softness of her lips parted to speak, but no words came. Instead she studied her husband's unkindly expression. This handsome dark-haired man was a stranger to her, even though they had shared a bed. He had unfairly labeled her a slut, making a vague reference to his mother, whom he had never talked of before or since. Much of their marriage remained a mystery to her.
Naturally she was terrified of another burst of violence from him, and afraid, too, that whatever love he had felt for her had been killed that night when he had-Rita sniffled. Well, this would prove if there was any feeling left under that taciturn veneer. Annoyance was growing on his face; he was checking his wristwatch.
"Max, Max, I wouldn't have asked you to come home from work if it hadn't been something important," she began falteringly. "It's so . . . so horrible . . . m-maybe you'll want to leave me after I tell you, if you want to. We can't keep living like strangers . . . we're man and wife."
Then it broke. Even though she tried to stop, her body shook with the racking sobs of misery. She couldn't confess about the men, she thought hysterically. Max might hurt her-might strangle her for adultery. Overcome by shame and grief, Rita rose from the couch and turned away so that he could not see the guilt on her face. Blind from tears, she stumbled about the couch, wanting to turn, but not knowing where to go to find peace of mind. Then he spoke in a voice that sounded foreign to her:
"Rita! Sit down and stop crying. If it's John Silverman and Superintendent Goddard you're speaking of, I know the whole story."
"W-what did you say?" she choked through sobs, blue eyes blinking incredulously.
Max's eyes were warm with sympathy. "I know what happened . . . it was ugly and inexcusable."
There it is, thought Rita. Inexcusable-unforgivable. The marriage was over. God, how can I face him, she cringed inwardly. But then a second thought hit her mind and she looked up to face him squarely, her eyes blazing with anger.
"If you knew about it, why didn't you do something to stop them for Godsakes? Why weren't you here to help me? You're my husband, remember?"
Eyes level and calm, Max returned her stare. "I've been on Goddard's tail for some time. I'd suspected he was the one selling alcohol to the inmates and two of our biggest problem makers-they conned John Silverman into it."
"You're in trouble, Max. Oh God!" She covered her mouth with her hands, eyes blurred with tears. "Mr. Goddard swore he'd have you killed if you got on his trail. Oh, Max, we've got to get out of town. We've got to get out of this horrible prison!"
"Don't worry, I've got enough evidence on Goddard to have him sent up the river. It makes me sick the way people take advantage of their freedoms-especially in institutions."
"It makes me more sick what people do to people," put in Rita holding back tears.
"What did they do to you? I know they must have been hard on you, Rover being convicted for rape and all."
"I-I can't tell you, Max. Please, you'll hate me if I do," she cried in anguish. "Even if you still love me a little bit, you won't if I tell you everything."
"Even if I still-what?" he asked, an expression of astonishment spreading over his face. Then his eyes lit up with a certain awareness that took him by surprise. "Rita . . . I'm sorry. I wasn't angry with you all this time. I love you, really I do. You've got to believe that. There have been other things-so damned much stuff going on . . . "
"Other things?" she wailed. "I'm your wife! Your new bride! What other things could be so important that you constantly degrade me and call me a slut and-"
His face cringed in pity as he realized the painful depths of her despair and insecurity. In a decisive motion, he went to the sofa, seating himself beside her. Slipping his arm around her shoulder, he drew her close to his body, squeezing her tightly and protectively, his arms engulfing her petite body.
"Baby, you remember the problems I was having in Gary with the Board of Directors. Well, I was sent here to the Center pretty much as a form of punishment. I did a lot of thinking those first few days of work and I decided that if I was going to make any progress in this field of rehabilitation, I was going to have to make some enemies."
"And Goddard was an enemy?"
"To the core. The man is a rotten apple. You wouldn't believe the number of inmates who've succumbed to alcohol because of that brute. It disgusted me. We'd work darned hard at those therapy sessions trying to make progress with men who've never allowed themselves to feel good about themselves . . . and then Goddard tries to make a buck off their weaknesses. I knew I was putting myself on the line, but I broke into his office and found incriminating evidence. The next morning I called a District Attorney and he called in the State, keeping my name out of it."
"I'm proud of you, Max." cried Rita, throwiong her arms around him to embrace him sympathetically. It was that crusading head-strong, iron-will of his she had loved. Instantly, the smile faded from her face. "But there are other things, Max . . . "
"Yes, I know, Rita," he said quietly. "I called you a whore and treated you like one . . . I know, and believe me, I'm not proud of myself for it." He drew a deep breath. "It comes down to the fact that my mother was a bit of a slut-a two bit, to be exact. My father left when I was a baby and I guess she had to work the streets to support me. A resentment towards sexual women has been my curse ever since. I remember too well my mother coming home with a sailor on each arm-sailors from the Great Lakes Naval Station. They'd get drunk and she'd take me out of her bed and put me to sleep wrapped up in blankets in the bathtub. I was two or three at the time, and I remember creeping out of there and sneaking down the hall to the single bedroom we had in that crumby flat and watching her giggling and slithering out of her clothes. It disgusted me." Here he drew a deep breath. "And I guess the fact that you wanted me sexually on our wedding night started a re-run of that old movie."
"You crazy guy," she giggled. "There's a cure for that just like there's a cure for alcohol." She winked at him mischievously.
"Yeah?" His eyes brightened for a moment, then the smile quickly faded. A sudden fear seemed to be rising in him and she knew he was thinking about Rover and Charlie and John . . . but did he know about Goddard, too? No, better she not tell him that. She knew she must ease his mind, maybe even lie a little, if he was ever to trust her again.
"You asked me to tell you what happened with those men, but I don't want to talk about it: It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it but.. . believe me, I was forced to do everything I did. The next morning I wanted to kill myself, but I thought, why let something get the better of me?"
Rita lowered her eyes, partly in embarrassment at having made such an admission, and to hide her lie. Even if he knew the gory details, at least she could spare him the pain of hearing that she'd enjoyed it.
"I need you to make me pure," she said shyly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "I need you to erase that ugliness."
Max forced a smile. "Let me lead you to the couch, my dear." His voice was strained, but he was trying.
Moments later, she and Max lay naked on the same bed that had been the setting for Rita's humiliation. Somehow, lust had been easier to handle than love, she thought, blushing a deep pink as she noticed her husband examining her body with intense interest.
"You're absolutely gorgeous," he breathed. "You know, I can't really blame those guys. That have good taste in women."
Rita heard little of the compliment. Her eyes were riveted to the rapidly hardening length of his cock. "Y-you're pretty gorgeous yourself," she whispered.
"Would . . . it be all right if I kissed it?"
Her heart sank to her toes as she saw the smile in his eyes fade; obviously he was battling down his natural suspiciousness. Desire broke through fear and he said: "You're my wife, I guess half of it belongs to you."
"I'll take the bigger half," she giggled and slowly, reached out to tenderly touch his chest, then run her hand down his stomach until her fingers became entangled in the wiry patch of his pubic curls. Turning her hand palm upward, she began to softly caress the huge staff that rose like a totem pole from the forest of curls.
"I love you, husband," she murmured as she bent over to plant soft, nibbling kisses on the blunt shiny head of his blood-swollen penis. Then, she slowly swirled her tongue over the mushroom-like tip, bringing an ecstatic groan from her gasping husband. Encouraged, she repeated that female maneuver, then stretched her lips over it, engulfing the entire length in the warm, moist cavern of her mouth.
Her tight lips moved slowly down the shaft, her pointed pink tongue working velvetly as she lowered onto it, tasting the tang of his semen seeping from the tip.
"Ooooooh, honey! That feels so damn good!" Max moaned as the warm, elastic pressure of her lips and the skillful working of her tongue caused him to thrust his pelvis upward, stabbing his penis deep into her mouth, forcing it toward her throat like a throbbing, aching mouthful of pleasure.
Rita's heart leapt as she heard his words rasped from his lust-contorted lips. Holding his penis in one demure hand, she eased down on his loins, beginning to draw it steadily up and down through her open lips, twisting her tongue at the peak of each stroke.
As he raised her head to watch, the exciting vision of her lovely, flushed cheeks, bloating and hollowing with each thrust, drove him to even greater frenzy. She gasped and sucked harder as he began a rhythmic pounding into her mouth, brutally crashing the huge muscled cock against the tender tissue in the back of her throat. Her breasts quivered and billowed beneath her buffeted torso as he slammed his groin into her face, fucking her receptive mouth with his wildly pounding rod of hardened male flesh.
Suddenly, then, his movements stopped and Rita could feel him tense; he gently tugged at her had, easing her sucking. She looked up and found that there were tears in his eyes and his jaw muscles were working to force back the sob rising in his throat.
"What's wrong, honey?" she cried, jumping up to throw her arms comfortingly around his neck. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, baby, I'm afraid I was hurting you," he said unhappily. "Maybe we just better forget it.. . I'll go see a psychiatrist or a lawyer-if you want."
"A lawyer . . . but-No! You didn't hurt me." An idea came to mind. "Let's do something else." Wisely, she caught herself before confessing her knowledge that all men were a bit rough when they were about to cum in a woman's mouth. Reminders would be in bad taste now . . .
"Okay," he said hesitantly. "But I don't want you to be afraid of me."
Enough of this seriousness, reasoned Rita silently, trying to cleverly think of a way to roust her husband out his morbid self-consciousness. "Sure we can stop right now," she said, batting her eyelashes up at him. "Of course we've got to do something with our little friend here." She squeezed his still hard penis, slowly massaging it up and down.
Instantly, he caught the gist of her humor. "Our little friend is looking for a warm home." He gasped as an extra-hard squeeze of her hand made a trail of semen seep from the tip. "Get on your back like a good wife."
Rita was ready. Quickly, before he changed his mind, she twisted around, drawing her legs up, her feet flat on the bed and her knees pressed together. With tantalizing slowness, she let her legs fall limply apart. She wanted to give him exactly what he wanted-pleasure.
"Oh, God, Rita, I've been dying to do this for so damned long," he breathed as he gazed down at the firm young body spread waiting for him. "Tell me that you want me."
"Oh, do I!" she winked.
They smiled magically at each other, then she saw his handsome, young body crawling over the bed and between her open and waiting legs. She curled them around his slim hips as he reached down and pressed the bluntness of his cock between the swollen pink edges of her moist and ready pussy. He drove forward with a grunt, impaling her on the thick shaft of flesh. Rita groaned in happy surrender and, tightening her arms around his neck, pressed her open wet lips against his, and with a deep moan, sucked his tongue deep into her mouth as she felt his huge driving cock hit bottom in her belly.
"Oooobohhh," she wailed as she felt his bloated sacs of heavy cum smack punishingly against her buttocks and she stretched her hands down around his buttocks to touch his balls, tickling them gently with her fingertips.
Above her, Max pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down into the face of his young wife. He had began to feel the old resentment rising within him again, but when he looked at her and saw the sweet, childish face of Rita, he realized this was not his whorish mother, not a slut-but the woman he loved. Suddenly all the hatred and pain he had nurtured began to seem silly and self-effacing, and for the first time, he realized that his mother was not all women, but only one who had nothing to do with the beautiful, loving creature who now lay beneath him, joyfully stroking his throbbing penis with her velvety cuntal muscles.
He flexed the hard rubbery length in the hot depths of her vagina and watched delightedly as her sweet face contorted in joyful passion. This was the moment and the woman he'd been waiting for his whole life. He wasn't deserving of all that goodness. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the gentle nibbling of Rita's cuntal muscles on his swollen rod. "Aaaaaah-hh . . . " he groaned.
Rita felt him slowly withdraw his huge instrument of joy only far enough to make it rub maddeningly along the fiery walls of her vagina, then he plunged forward again. He started stroking in and out of her pussy while her soft buttocks began pumping in matching tempo to his motions, her pelvis rotating with madness. The only thought in Rita's mind was that for the first time she was being made love to by her husband . . . and it felt wonderful.
Max continued his lunging, drubbing into her, slamming his hardened penis against her cervix until it seemed as though it must be moving up into her belly. She met him each time. Her vaginal lips caressed it as it went in, sucking and massaging it as it stroked outward. Below him, Rita tossed her flaxen curls, spreading her thighs wider to take up into her open cunt even more of his exquisite masculinity and the thrilling sensation it brought.
Rita's body had begun rocking from side to side; she was soaring rapidly to a new pinnacle of pleasure. Her breath whistled and rasped out of her throat in short, choking cries of mounting passion. Perspiration drizzled in glistening streams down her forehead and the sides of her face as she felt her orgasm churning deep within her belly.
"I'm going to . . . oh, damn it, baby . . . I'm cumming!" Max howled as he pumped madly into her seething pussy. He babbled in mindless ecstasy and she gurgled in happy agreement, raising her tousled head to kiss his neck and bathe his ear, gasping jumbled words of encouragement as she felt the boiling sperm pumping into her. She worked with every muscle in her vagina to milk his thundering manhood of its precious load. She was almost there . . . so close . . . and she wanted to feel their orgasmic j uices mixing deep inside of her clenching womb.
"Oh, fill me up, darling," she cooed while he writhed over her heaving body, their wetness making lewd slurring noises as he drove into her thirsting vaginal passage.
"Oh . . . oh . . . ohhhhh . . . " Max stared down at the lust-contorted lips. Suddenly, Rita arched her back and, gripping his buttocks, began to grind upward like a woman possessed. He gazed down at her jiggling breasts as they heaved and twitched beneath his punishment. He gritted his teeth and ground harder and deeper into her throbbing hole, watching as her features twisted with passion as her orgasm began its spiral up to the peak of her passionate fulfillment.
"Aaaaaaaggghhh!" she screamed as the very core of her being seemed to go up in flames. Her legs quivered on either side of his thick shoulders. The bliss was unbearable. Her body twisted and thrashed beneath him, convulsing crazily as her vagina squirted its warm white lava down the sides of his impaling maledom.
It seemed like they had cum for hours and then Rita felt her husband's penis deflate inside of her. It continued to twitch but more slowly. . . until finally it lay still. She gazed up at him with loving tenderness, her eyes moist and filled with satisfaction. After a moment, he pulled his limp tube out of her cum-flooded vagina and toppled to the bed beside her.
"God, that was fantastic!" burst Max, quickly raising his head off the pillow from a sound outside their cottage in the drive. He sprang from the bed agilely and parting the drapes, glanced into the driveway shared with the Goddards.
"What is it, honey?" Rita's voice reflected her fatigue and satisfaction.
"It's a state car. Looks as if somebody's gone to pick him up." He paused. "Yup, sure enough an officer is getting out of the car now."
Rita gulped. "Wh-what will they do to him?" Thoughts of sitting on the witness stand and describing her anal rape blow for blow was quickly extinguishing her previous joy.
"Just from breaking state regulations, he'll be black balled from any institutional job. Besides that, he'll get time. I'm sure he's had his embezzling hand in a few state pockets."
Good, thought Rita . . . what need was there to tell all? Sometimes you had to lie a little bit.
