Along with a number of other institutions of dubious social value, the term "class warfare" was apparently invented by the redoubtable Karl Marx. In his studies of 19th century English society, Marx detected a deep and violent division between the "working class" and the "bourgeoisie." While western sociologists and political scientists have rejected much of the Marxian evaluation of society, the idea of class warfare has taken root in our contemporary thought, even in North America and Western Europe where communism itself is unpopular. The idea that certain segments are, or ought to be, at war with one another finds its way into presidential speeches, novels and television commentaries on an everyday basis.
What are the true social classes in conflict in twentieth century America? Author Peter Jensen believes that two classes have emerged in the post-war period and that there is deep and abiding hostility between them, a kind of social love-hate relationship. In place of the impoverished factory worker of Marx's day, today we have the welfare recipient. The introduction of welfare, Medicare and social security systems has created an entire class of families who are poor, but not starving. They tend to live in the same parts of the city, mingling with members of the underworld prostitutes, drunkards, pick-pockets and so forth. In these ghettos, a whole new life-style has emerged, bringing with it a new morality, new tastes, and new fashions. It is the world of the poor in rich America. But the welfare poor have one advantage which is denied to the rest of the country, and Mr. Jensen illustrates it clearly in this compelling new novel. The welfare poor still know how to live a talent which middle class America has forgotten. Unencumbered by jobs which take up time and energy, the welfare recipient has the leisure and just enough money to pursue the pleasures of the flesh. Sitting in his mansion, the rich industrialist of today is troubled by the notion that a man dwelling in a cold water flat in the slums just might be having more fun than he is.
Who is this other class? Author Jensen identified it for us clearly. We are not speaking of the traditionally wealthy like the Kennedys and the Rockefellers, or the industrial barons like John Paul Getty or Howard Hughes, since this class is declining in numbers and power as a result of intensive taxation. No, the novelist has focused his attention on what he believes to be the politically and socially dominant class in America today, that of the upper middle class executive suburbanite. These are not the mythological "very, very rich" so ably described by F. Scott Fitzgerald, but in comparison to the slum-dwelling welfare recipient, they are very rich indeed. Typically, the "executive suburbanite" lives outside the hustle-bustle of the city in an all-white neighborhood. The house is large and elegant, probably with a swimming pool in the back, and crammed inside with all the gadgets technology has devised for keeping people happy: color TV, stereophonic sound systems, automatic kitchen and exercise machines. What is lacking? Fun, perhaps sensuality, excitement, life?
This compelling novel traces the story of a girl who attempts to bridge the gap between these two social classes. In the end, inevitably, she fails, but even her failure is illustrative of the points Mr. Jensen is attempting to make. Married to a rising young business executive, Joan Caruthers has her own lower class view of the world, her own moral standards and her own theories on what makes life interesting. This is a richly sensual book and Joan's fatal flaw is sexual in nature; but sex is only one of the many things which ultimately compel her to return to her people!
Thomas Wolfe is famous for remarking that we can never go home again. In this profoundly exciting novel, Mr. Jensen is suggesting that perhaps home is something one can never really leave.
-The Publishers. Sausalito, California January, 1973
Now, to get to Split's place is not really difficult even though for some reason the police never seem to manage it. First you go right down Humphrey Street past Max's Pawn Shop, the one with the stuffed peacock in the window, and it might be a good idea to keep one hand on your wallet in this part of the city because the folks are friendly enough hereabouts even though they look a little mean; but life has gotten pretty tough in the last few years and some of the old-timers have become real experts at the five-fingered, share-the-wealth technique, meaning their fingers and your wealth.
Okay, now at the pawn shop you turn right and it might be a good idea to cross over to the other side of the street at this point because there is a real mean drunk named Hector who usually sleeps in the alley-way running between Sleepy Joe's Bar and Grill and the slaughter house. Incidentally, Sleepy Joe is out of jail now and back behind the bar, but it's not a good place to stop for a drink late in the evening because sometimes things happen in there they don't talk about in the morning papers. From here on it's easy going so long as you don't get side-tracked and wander into the whorehouse at the end of the street, which would not be a good idea either even if you 're in the mood because some of those girls may look all right, but a few days after you've been with one of them, you might notice a nasty itching sensation in your pants and then you've got to spend a lot of money on penicillin. When the folks in this part of town need a girl, they usually call up Split and he arranges things.
In fact. Split arranges almost everything on this side of the tracks, and he's really not a bad guy once you get to know him, although naturally he can play a little rough if somebody tries to shortchange him which nobody who knows him would ever dare to do. But a girl Split sends around isn't going to give you what those dudes from the hospital call "a social disease," and he won't cheat you, either, even though he naturally takes his percentage off the top: guess that's why everybody calls him Split. If you'll split the profits, Split will set up almost anything for you except for the real rough stuff, for which you have to see Tony. Tony can be hard to find because the police are also interested in talking to him, but Split can locate him if you need something taken care of in a hurry.
All right, if you're following my directions so far, you'll find a photo shop just behind the whorehouse where Split usually hangs around with Jack Lynch, the photographer. Jack's got a big studio just behind his shop which used to be a warehouse, but he and Split have fixed the place up; and, if you and your friends are in the mood for a real wild party I mean an exceptionally wild party you can arrange to be invited to one there, providing the price is right and you aren't wearing one of those blue uniforms with a badge on your chest.
Now, when you get into the shop, the first person you see is usually Liza who is a sensational looking chick with long brown hair and a body which might make you think about going back to the whorehouse, itch or no itch. Liza works for Split, and if you 're really interested she can be had, but you've got to be gentlemanly about it and speak to Split first, because Liza likes to think of herself as a "model" and she's a couple of social classes above those girls who work the streets. None of the guys in this neighborhood can afford her, but once in a while she goes on "dates" with well-heeled businessmen from the other side of town, and from the stories we hear around here she's worth every penny of it, although naturally Split takes his cut.
Anyway, Liza looks you over, and if you don't look like the fuzz or a narc or some other kind of undesirable type, she'll send you back to see Split; and you'll know him when you see him. He's real tall, about six-five, and not bad looking except for a nose he got broken in a fight a couple of years back. He's thin, but not what you'd call skinny played a couple of seasons of semi-pro basketball when he was a kid, and he stays in trim. In his business, it pays.
The other guy is Jack Lynch, who takes pictures at weddings and Bar-Mitzvahs as a side-line, but most of his work is girly pictures and folks say he does a little blackmail photography on the side. Jack is lazy and they say he got into photography because he couldn't get up the energy for anything more complicated than pushing and releasing the shutter on a camera, but he's also supposed to be the biggest cocksman west of the Central Train Station, so maybe he's just saving his strength for things that count.
Still interested in paying the old neighborhood a visit? Well, so was Joan Caruthers. Maybe you'd better hear what happened to her first.. .
CHAPTER ONE
"Hey, what's happening on that latest bunch of pics we sent out for distribution?" Lynch demanded, lighting one cigarette from the butt of another and grunting with the exertion of reaching for a bottle of beer. "There was some pretty hot stuff there."
"Terrible!" Split muttered, pacing back and forth in the photographer's back office. "Everybody in town has seen every square inch of Liza's body, Jack, and in every position we can think of. We've got to come up with another model, once in awhile. Either that or get a little dirtier, and Liza gets her dignity up whenever we try to use our imagination."
"I thought that bit with the German shepherd would've sold like hotcakes."
"It would have," admitted the arranger, "but she won't do it, and I guess I don't blame her. How would you like to get fucked by a German shepherd?"
"I tried it with a female collie when I was a kid once but she bit me just when I was on the verge of cumming. You wanna see the scar?"
"Ah, fuck your scar," snapped the tall, slender man, "We've got problems, Jack! I made a deal with the head of that construction firm on the other side of town to throw a party here in a couple of weeks, and we've got to come up with some new faces."
"Some new cunts, you mean," Jack agreed morosely. "Liza's fucked every one of those guys at least ten times and if she's all we have to offer, it's gonna look too much like a re-run. We can get in some of the usual girls, but for these guys we need some chicks with class."
"It's not class, exactly," philosophized the lanky organizer. "You gotta understand the psychology of a party Like this. The dude comes in and he's turned on because he knows this is one of those wild, Hollywood-style parties he's always wanted to be invited to and he really feels Like he's slumming and there's a lot of good-looking broads running around, and he finally gets one of them into a corner and scores and he goes out of here feeling like he's ten feet tall, because he doesn't know that the broad has been paid in advance to fuck him and wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole if she weren't. And for that kind of atmosphere, you got to have girls who don't look like they fuck with everyone who has a cock under his pants. Liza's fine and we can go on using her, but we need some fresh faces!"
"Hey, whatever happened to that friend of Liza's. . . what's her name...the chick with the big tits and the little ass? You remember who I mean? She was as wild a child if ever there was one, but when she got herself fixed up, she looked like she belonged in one of them fashion magazines. Haven't seen her around, have you?"
"Me neither," commented Split laconically, straining his mind to remember the last time he had run into the girl in question. "Name was Joan something or other. She'd be perfect if we could find her, but I seem to remember she married some guy and moved out of the district."
* * *
Allen Caruthers was upstairs packing for his trip and feeling a little irritated that his wife was not up there with him, folding his socks neatly or finding his cuff-links and generally behaving like a businessman's wife was supposed to behave when hubby was preparing to leave town for a couple of days. Instead, Joan Caruthers was in the back yard, walking around the swimming pool, feeling moody and philosophical. For one thing, it was hotter than a day this time of year had any right to be, and the curvy young blonde's clothing was sticking to her skin, making her feel unattractive and uncomfortable. On top of this, she was facing five straight days of absolute boredom. Allen would be out of town, which meant that all of their neighbors would refrain from inviting her to any parties in the meantime, and she would sit at home watching television and smoking too many cigarettes, while the maid did the dishes and vacuumed the wall-to-wall carpets.
"Be ready in ten minutes!" the young executive called from his bedroom, perhaps as a way of reminding her that he could be ready in five if she would come up and help, but she ignored the implied suggestion, grumbling something unintelligible in reply. What she really wanted to do was jump into the cool inviting water of the swimming pool, but that meant climbing up to their bedroom and hunting for her bathing suit while Allen protested that she didn't have time to go swimming and he was certain to miss his plane.
All this rigid scheduling and minute-counting was difficult for Joan to accustom herself to, particularly since there had not even been an alarm clock in the home where she had been born and raised. Nobody worked, so you never really had to know what time it was. In fact, there had not been much of anything in Joan's girlhood home, except a lengthy series of "uncles" who came to stay with her mother, but it had been a comfortable, easy-going environment and nobody had asked her too many questions when she came home late from a date, or just came home late with her long blonde hair in wild disorder and her blouse tom...or simply did not come home at all. Marriage to Allen Caruthers had meant a house in the suburbs with a big back yard and this magnificent kidney-shaped swimming pool and a maid and a color television, but it also meant living on Allen's schedule, which was always tight, and living according to his moral standards which were even tighter. They had been married for a year now, and there were times when she wondered if it had all been worth it, even though she usually felt more or less happy. But today, she felt strangely discontent, and the shimmering waters of the pool looked exceptionally inviting.
Seized by a sudden irrational inspiration, Joan looked around her carefully, noting that the only place from which their pool could be observed was the bedroom window of the Johnson's home next door, and she was reasonably sure that she had heard Mr. and Mrs. Johnson going out earlier that morning. How about a skinny-dip?
Unfortunately for Mr. Johnson, he had in fact left early that morning for a meeting of the Central Church Committee on the Fine Arts, taking Mrs. Johnson with him, but had he chanced to stay at home and hide behind the curtain in his bedroom window, the morning would certainly have been better spent. Moving swiftly, Joan Caruthers unzipped the back of her cotton top, letting it fall to the tile stones and stepping neatly out of it, wearing only her bra and panties. What Mr. Johnson was never destined to see was a body which would have sent a Greek sculptor scrambling for his chisel or inspired a Renaissance painter to reach for his brush.
The fragile fabric of the brassiere she wore barely concealed the girl's high-set and widely spaced breasts which swayed provocatively as she moved and there was a nervous flutter of sexual excitement in Joan's stomach as her hands swept briskly down over her flat girlish waist to the lushly rounded surfaces of her hips where a pair of brief cotton panties covered the secret parts of her ripe young body. A moment's hesitation, and the deed was done; the panties joined her top on the cool pink tiles surrounding the pool, and Mr. Johnson was missing a sight which would have kept him tingling for a week, probably to the benefit of Mrs. Johnson's sex life. As Joan bent to arrange her clothing so that it would not wrinkle, the hidden observer might have seen the lusciously rounded cheeks of her firm trim buttocks, and as she turned to glance nervously at the bedroom window, Johnson might have been in a position to know for sure that the honey-blonde hair which tumbled around the softness of her shoulders was really her natural color. The smooth "V" shaped triangle of sparse pussy hair which concealed the entrance to the sensual mysteries of her body was only a hint less blonde than the flaxen hair on her head, as normally the case. Probably, Johnson would not have been moved at this moment to any scientific speculation of the coloration differential between pubic and normal hair; no, probably at this point his attention would have been riveted on the lust-stimulating globes of her breasts which were about to be revealed as Joan's hands went behind her back to unfasten the snaps on her brassiere.
Unconsciously behaving like a stripper who saves the best until last, Joan pulled away her one remaining garment, allowing the ripely succulent flesh of her high mountainous breasts to tumble free and be kissed by the bright morning sun. Looking down at herself, the young wife giggled as she noticed that the tiny brown tips of her breasts were becoming hard and firm, apparently indicating that the act of stripping her lust-provoking body naked in her own back yard was arousing her enough to have an obvious effect on her darkly tempting little nipples.
Joan, you'll still be a sex-pot when you're ninety, the girl told herself with resignation, as she lowered her long shapely body feet first into the clear refreshing water. Some women just can't turn off their feelings even when they marry a respectable guy and move into high society.
Keeping her head out of the water to avoid wetting her hair, the young Mrs. Caruthers side-stroked languidly across the pool, enjoying the richly sensual caress of the water as it swept over the vibrantly tingling surfaces of her naked body and decided that this was one of the most pleasant things she had ever done. Oooooh, it makes you feel so'sexy, she warned herself as she felt the tingle down low in her stomach begin to spread into her loins. And there's no point in getting all turned on, because you've got to drive hubby to meet his airplane, and there's no room in his plans for an unscheduled session in the bedroom.
Not that a quickie would necessarily do the trick, she admitted to herself ruefully, her mind wandering back over the sex life she had shared with her husband during the first year of their marriage. Frankly, it had been something of a disappointment. Allen had dutifully presented her with her own sports car, a high-fidelity sound system and a wardrobe full of swanky clothes, but somehow his gift giving fell off sharply when they went to bed together. He only seemed to like it twice a week and always looked mildly scandalized if she suggested it before he did, apparently believing that a proper married lady ought to wait until she was asked. And when she finally did manage to maneuver him into bed, his performance was lackluster at best, and rarely lasted long enough for her to get any real satisfaction.
She floated on her back for awhile, her head propped up on an inflated plastic float, enjoying the sensation of the water washing lasciviously between the lightly tanned inner surfaces of her thighs like some secret aquatic lover. Because of the buoyancy in the water, her breasts also floated, pointing straight up, with just the brown points of her nipples emerging from the shimmering wavelets, and the sex-tingle started to get worse, now filtering up and down her backbone. Damn, this is fun, she told herself emphatically. These folks out here have all got everything money can buy and how they manage to be miserable most of the time is beyond me! On a good Saturday night downtown with a dollar and a half, you and a guy could have a real ball, and when he got you into the back seat of his car, or onto a couch somewhere, it wasn't twice a week, but twice an hour!
Sharply, she reprimanded herself for these lascivious thoughts. All right, she had been the classical wild child from the broken home on the wrong side of the tracks and she had done plenty of things Allen would never find out anything about. But the day she had walked down the aisle with him in that new church in the suburbs, all that had changed. She had seen what a mess her mother had made of her life because of her total inability to remain faithful to one man for any length of time, and Joan was determined not to repeat the same mistake. They called it sowing wild oats when a boy did it, and girls were not supposed to do it at all; but she had sown plenty of oats before her marriage, and all that should be out of her system by now. She was twenty four years old and it was time to grow up!
But damn, it was too bad that Allen had to meet that plane this morning! Even a couple of mad minutes in his standard missionary position would be a help in her present mood, and if he had just a little time to spare, maybe she could teach him a couple of tricks...she had to be very careful here and she knew it. Allen had been slightly disappointed on their honeymoon to find out that she was not a virgin, although she had never claimed to be anything of the kind. But if he ever found out precisely how un-virgin she was, he would probably divorce her! But maybe it was time to start training him, very gently...it would be different if there really had been a virgin underneath the long white gown she had worn on her wedding day, and then she would never have known the difference. Oh, the sun was so warm and wonderful as it played over the wet nakedness of her body, penetrating deep into her bones and heating her up all over. For a moment she felt so sensual and sexy, she thought she could almost cum just by floating there and thinking about it.. .
"Joan! What the hell are you doing?" came a near-hysterical hiss from the back door of their house. Allen Caruthers was dressed in the formal business suit he normally wore for traveling, his suitcase in hand, looking like a banking ad. "Good God, if anyone sees you...." he gasped in dismay. "We could be arrested...."
He dropped the suitcase and disappeared into the house, presumably in search of adequate covering for his chaste young wife, while Joan sighed deeply, swimming languidly to the side of the pool, and climbed out, feeling the water drip teasingly off the sumptuous mounds of her naked young breasts and half-hoping that everyone in the neighborhood was peeking through the bushes. How typical! She was thinking savagely as she scooped up her dress and walked towards the house. A girl takes a skinny-dip, and Allen makes a sex crime out of it! But he's right, if somebody in this jerky neighborhood saw my bare ass, they probably would call the cops. Welcome to suburbia! A swimming pool in every yard and not a stiff cock in the place!
* * *
"Good-bye dear, and if anything goes wrong, you can either reach me in St. Louis, or call my brother." Allen Caruthers was standing at the boarding gate, his ticket in hand, giving last minute instructions to his proper young wife, and resenting the stares her lushly ripened body was attracting from the other men in the air terminal.
That's what you get for marrying a beautiful young woman a decade younger than you are, he philosophized, recalling how he had first met Joan working as the bar maid in a cheap tavern in the run-down section of town. One glance had told him clearly that she was too good for that kind of life, and in his methodical, businesslike manner, he had set himself to court her, showering her with presents but carefully keeping her hidden from his respectable family and friends until he had corrected certain defects in her character. There was her habit of swearing in mixed company, for example, which had to be eliminated before she could be presented to his parents, and also her style of dressing had to be radically altered. Joan had the most sensual figure Allen had ever seen on a woman, but her sexy, low-cut dresses tended to show too much of it off to the world in general, when those magnificent, lust-inspiring breasts should be reserved for her lawfully wedded husband, after the wedding, of course. Joan had put up a certain amount of resistance to this last point, because she had been raised to believe that a woman with a good body like hers should not keep it hidden, but eventually she had given in as her closet overflowed with expensive, elegant, and very modest dresses from the best women's fashion shops in town.
"Have a good trip, darling," Joan told him, still feeling mildly irritated at the scene he had made over her little dip in the pool.
"Oh, and Joan, please...." the businessman looked quickly around him to make sure that none of his fellow passengers were listening. ". . . please don't go swimming like that again, okay?"
She nodded sourly and stepped back as the group began handing their tickets in to the collector and moving down the ramp towards the waiting aircraft. Normally, Joan would have gone to the observation deck and waved as the plane took off, but today she felt sufficiently put out by his holier-than-thou attitude to return directly to her sports car and head back towards the city.
The day was balmy and pleasant, and she put the convertible top down and let her long blonde hair trail behind her in the breeze as she skillfully negotiated the light morning traffic, driving towards the beltway which would take her neatly around the impoverished slum where she had been raised and directly to the plush comfortable suburbs where she was now a popular young society matron. But as she approached the turn-off, a devilish impulse overtook her, and without considering the matter carefully, she decided to disobey Allen's sternest commandment and pay a fleeting visit to the world she had left behind her. She would not go to her mother's home, of course, since encounters with her mother were always painful; but it would be fun to see if she could find Liza, her old girlhood chum. In her last letter Liza had said something about working for a photographer named Lynch . . .
CHAPTER TWO
"Fun seeing your old girl friend again, was it?" asked Split with studied casualness as he eased his long athletic frame into a chair next to Liza's desk and offered the "model" a swig from his bottle of beer.
"Oh, how nice it was of Joan to drop by!" gushed the girl sincerely. As far as survival was concerned, Liza possessed the jungle instinct of an animal, but in ordinary affairs, her intelligence could not be described as massive, and both Lynch and Split frequently played on her simple-mindedness to get whatever they wanted from her. Liza had never been really able to comprehend why Joan had elected to shun her old friends after her marriage, and had always been a little hurt by the fact, but today she was genuinely happy to see her again, and absolutely delighted that Split had proposed the idea of having a little party that night and inviting Joan.
"Funny though, that she hasn't seen fit to keep in contact with all her old friends," mused
Split nonchalantly. "I mean, Joan's gotten pretty high-hat since she married that rich businessman."
"Huh? I wouldn't say she was high-hat," Liza loyally tried to defend her friend, but she knew in her heart that she was having approximately the same thoughts. She had changed and there had been something vaguely condescending about the way she had glanced around the photography shop, as if she were now a little too good for this kind of thing.
"And that red sports car," Split persisted, deliberately harping on the point. "Of course, she had to park it right outside the shop to make sure everybody saw it."
"Yeah," breathed Liza enviously. "Nobody ever gave me so much as a second-hand Ford, and she gets to run around in that imagine thing. What's she got that I haven't got more of?"
"Not a damned thing, Liza," Split assured her quickly, seeing that things were going precisely as he had planned them. "And if you struck it lucky and married some rich guy, you wouldn't snub your old friends, either, would you?"
"Not a bit of it! After all, friends are friends!"
"That's how I've always felt about it. And tonight she's doing us the honor of attending our little party. What do you want to bet that she waltzes in here in some two hundred dollar dress?"
"That's exactly what she'll do," agreed the girl promptly, quickly falling victim to Split's convincing manner. "I'd say she needs taking down a peg or two!"
These were precisely the words the tall organizer had been waiting to hear, and he lost no time in capitalizing on the opening she had given him.
"That's what Jack and I were thinking too," he told her smoothly. "We were a little bit irritated at the way she treated you and thought it would be fun to remind her that we all knew her back in the days when she couldn't afford to be so high and mighty. What do you say if we play some games with Mrs. Caruthers tonight?"
"Suits me down to the ground," agreed Liza, simple-mindedly. "What'er you going to do?"
"Oh, nothing rough, but I can remember when our noble lady wasn't quite as holy and chaste as she likes to pretend she is now. Well just let the party get a little rough, and see if we can't get her on her back with her legs in the air, just to remind her not to put on airs with folks who know her better. I thought we could show that film Jack got his hands on last year and see if that doesn't get something started."
"Oh, that film! I always get embarrassed when I see it."
"But you watch it anyway, don't you, love?"
Split mocked her gently. "Let's see if we can make Mrs. Caruthers blush."
His mischief done here, Split walked out into the photography shop to find Jack Lynch, who was sitting behind the counter reading a movie magazine.
"You convince her?" inquired the photographer, looking up from the full-color picture of a naked actress he had been studying with great interest.
"I never have any trouble convincing that chick about anything," laughed Split scornfully. "How anybody could have such a nice body and such an empty head is beyond me. Look, here's my play...."
"Wait a minute, that looks like a customer," cautioned Jack, motioning to a young man who was standing nervously in front of the display window, comparing the address to something he had written down on a piece of paper he held in his hand. The youth was wearing a college-type blazer and was obviously ill at ease about being in this rough neighborhood alone. After a moment's hesitation, he entered the store.
"What can we do for you, son?" asked the photographer agreeably.
"Uh...are you Jack Lynch?"
"Might be, might not be," the photographer equivocated. "What do you need?"
"Well, I wanted to buy some film," stammered the young man, blushing.
"You don't need to know my name to buy film now, do you?" responded the Irishman carefully, playing the game according to the rules, even though he had already guessed what this particular customer was looking for. "Black and white, or color?"
"Uh, I wanted some of that special film, like the kind you sold to Fred Macintyre, you know, the redheaded guy?"
"Oh, that film! Well, I may have a reel or two left. How's old Fred doing anyway?"
"Well, he flunked out of school," confessed the customer, "But he said the stuff was great."
"The very best," confirmed Jack, "That'll be five bucks a roll."
"Gimme two," said the student quickly, throwing a ten dollar bill on the counter. He scooped up what looked like two normal rolls of thirty five millimeter film and left.
"I'm gonna have to raise the price of that stuff," speculated Lynch as he pocketed the money. "Those college boys just can't live without it."
"Give me a couple of good Scotches any day," put in Split, "and these kids think that marijuana is God's gift to mankind. They all use it to turn on their girl friends. When those smart-ass college chicks get good and stoned on this stuff, they just can't seem to keep their pants on."
"That's what they tell me...hey, I noticed this morning that our Mrs. Caruthers had taken up the evil habit of smoking cigarettes. Why don't you roll a couple of our own special little cancer-sticks and use the same kind of funny tobacco you just sold to our nervous friend there?"
A lascivious smile spread slowly over the photographer's lazy but handsome face as he got the point.
"Oh, Split, you are an evil man," he joked. "I'll set the cameras up this afternoon behind the mirror and...are you figuring on showing that film?"
"Yeah."
"Might scare her off."
"Not if she has a drink or two and a puff of your magic tobacco first," grinned the arranger. "You take a bath and look desirable and leave everything else to old Split."
* * *
Joan Caruthers was happy and excited as she gazed at herself in the mirror, holding up one dress after another against her panty-clad body in an attempt to decide which outfit would be absolutely right for the evening. It had been marvelous seeing Liza again after a year, and even talking to Split had been fun, although she had once been a little afraid of him back in the days when she had tended bar at the tavern because of the mysterious aura of cruelty and menace about him. But now that she was the wife of a rising young businessman, people treated her with more respect, and she had noted the difference the moment she had parked the red convertible in front of Lynch's studio and walked in.
The clock on the wall of her bedroom informed her that it was after nine, and she would have to make a decision about what to wear. Despite the fact that her wardrobe was filled with expensive dresses, nothing seemed exactly right and she almost gave in to the temptation to call Liza and find out what her girl friend would be wearing. All of her dresses suddenly seemed to old for her, and too sober for what promised to be a fun-packed evening. But a decision had to be made and finally she selected a colorful top, put it on, and examined herself in the mirror, finding that it was pretty but almost school girlishly modest. She knew her husband's opinions on this subject, but she could not help feeling that it would not be a mortal sin if she were to show off a little more of the magnificent body which nature had given her. The top had a patch of cloth sewn in front which made it an abnormally modest outfit, but upon closer examination, Joan found that it could be removed with a few quick snips of her scissors, giving her a cleavage which would make Jack Lynch's Irish head spin. In fact, it was almost too extreme, she feared as she modeled the altered garment in front of the mirror, and she knew she would have to be careful how she stood and moved, or she would put more of her richly lush bosom on display than she intended. But it was getting too late for any more revisions. The party was waiting!
* * *
An hour later, she was extremely glad that she had disobeyed her husband's stern instructions to stay away from the part of town where Liza lived. She had expected more people, but in fact, only Liza, Jack Lynch and Split were there, although some other old friends were expected to drop in later. Every one was behaving just the way people had always behaved when she was a girl growing up in this neck of the woods, and she noticed the difference immediately between these warm, uninhibited people and the icy, snobbish society gentry her husband liked to associate with. In Jack Lynch's studio, a girl could laugh loudly if she liked, or drip her cigarette ashes on the floor, or cross her legs, or do just about anything she felt like doing, and it was a pleasant change to be able to relax in company and not worry about her manners all the time.
"Here, your glass is empty, lovey," murmured Jack Lynch in her ear, bending forward to fill up her cup with the red sparkling wine they were drinking and simultaneously helping himself to a lecherous look at the generous amount of bosom revealed by her low-cut dress, the two broad straps of the top barely covered her rosy nipples and in between where the superfluous material had been removed was the tempting valley between her two warm-fleshed breasts. Sitting to one side of her, Jack Lynch could occasionally catch a glimpse of one taut little brown nipple whenever the golden-haired young wife forgot herself and leaned carelessly forward. The photographer's cock was slowly hardening in his pants as he surveyed the desirable creature before him, her dress now riding higher up over her thighs every time she rocked back and forth with hilarious laughter at one of Split's outrageous jokes.
Joan had lived long enough in the real life of the slum to know that Lynch was very definitely on the make, but she promised herself sincerely that she was here for a good time and some companionship and nothing more, vowing that she would never be unfaithful to her husband. But somehow Allen Caruthers seemed very far away at this moment, and her head had already begun to spin slightly with the quantity of wine they had succeeded in pouring into her. She knew perfectly well that Lynch's lascivious black eyes never wandered far from her erotically exposed breasts, but after all, she told herself there was hardly anything she could do about it now. And the knowledge that he was hungry for her somehow produced a delicious sensual quiver which lingered deep in her loins. She would never give in, of course, but it had been a long time since a man had looked at her with such open undisguised lust, and she had forgotten how good it felt.
"Hey Split, when we gonna see that movie you promised us?" demanded the Irishman, anxious to proceed with the evening's entertainment.
"Well, I don't know," shrugged the organizer deceitfully. "Maybe it isn't the sort of thing a proper married lady like Joan should be looking at. I imagine she embarrasses easy."
Joan was not sure whether this should be taken as a back-handed insult, or a compliment, but something in his manner challenged her. He knew perfectly well she had lived a pretty wild life before her marriage, and that it really took something to shock her.
"I might blush, but I won't faint," she promised gamely, pretty sure that they were proposing to see one of the usual men's smoker films, not something where a scantily clad girl jumps out of a cake, or something equally silly.
"Well, if you don't think you'll be offended," he teased them, "I've got to take a quick run out for some cigarettes, and the film's over by the projector. Jack can set it up."
"You don't have to go out," chimed in Jack, who was already on his feet and fastening a reel of film to his machine. "I've got a pack of those cigarettes I brought back from Mexico."
All of this was prearranged between the two men and Split shrugged indifferently as he spoke his next line.
"Well, okay, but I'm not interested in getting high. That's kid stuff as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, is it marijuana?" questioned Joan, a little alarmed. She knew that some people smoked it, of course, but the price had always been more than she could afford, and the legal penalties for getting caught had always been very severe, so she had never touched it, even in her wild adolescence.
"Just barely," Lynch returned. "It's mostly tobacco with just enough pot mixed in to give it some taste. I brought them back as souvenirs."
"Well, I'll take one then," said Split, apparently hesitant, and he accepted a brownish hand-rolled cigarette from the pack Lynch offered him, frowning as if he were dubious about the idea.
"Come on, Split, it's not heroin," Jack nagged him, and as if to prove the point, he lit one himself and passed the pack to Liza who accepted one, and then to Joan, who hesitated for a moment and then followed suit. After all, it just had enough marijuana in it to give you an idea of the taste, and she hated to pass up the opportunity to seem like more of a swinger than Split.
"Well, all right, if you drug addicts are going to do it, I don't want to be left out," Split grinned, seeing that victory was now within their grasp. As a matter of hard fact, these reefers were loaded with the most potent grass sunny Mexico had to offer, and she would be lucky if she got half-way through one of them before it stood her on her ear. She would soon be helpless and with a little added stimulation from the film they were about to see, they would have her where they wanted her.
Jack Lynch took a moment to point the motion picture projector towards a blank section of the wall while Split helped by pulling two couches into position. Joan settled herself comfortably on one of them, feeling slightly giddy and titillated at the prospect of seeing a naughty movie, and she dragged deeply on the cigarette they had given her, forgetting in her excitement that it was not one of her own. The taste was warm and so strong that she had to suppress a cough, but it was pleasant and not wanting to seem stuffy and naive, she smiled and took another slow drag.
"My brother picked up this little number in France," Lynch explained as he activated the projector, plunging the room into darkness except for the bright rectangle of light against the wall. Moving skillfully through the gloom, he joined Joan on the couch, casually throwing one arm around her shoulder while the two of them puffed on their cigarettes and waited for the film to start.
"Do you feel anything yet?" called Liza from the next couch where she was sprawled comfortably with Split.
"Oh, wow, my head feels like it's going up on a rocket," Joan confessed happily, noting that a strange light sensation was slowly taking possession of her body as if the law of gravity were being gradually repealed and she was soon due to go floating up towards the ceiling.
"Shhh, here's the movie," warned Split, anxious that Joan see every inch of the lust-inspiring film he was counting on as an essential part of his strategy.
It's nice to be with people who aren't so terribly serious all the time, the young flaxen-haired girl told herself with a giggle, hardly noticing when Jack Lynch tightened his grip on her bare shoulder, pulling her body into a more comfortable position against his chest. The movie was called "Highway Rape," and from the background scenery behind the titles, Joan guessed that the story was set somewhere in rural France. By the side of a lonely country lane, a young girl was hitchhiking, but automobile after automobile seemed to be ignoring her extended thumb and passing her by. This allowed the cameraman to spend some time panning back and forth across her sweetly innocent young face and the teasingly attired adolescent body which only French women seem to have. The girl was wearing only a skimpy pair of shorts which accentuated the smoothly taut globes of her buttocks, and a halter top which showed off the high perky spheres of her newly-developed young breasts to the best advantage.
An older woman who was wiser in the ways of the world would never have begged for a ride dressed in revealing, provoking clothing like this, and Joan could see in a minute that she was asking for trouble in that blatantly sexual outfit. But there was something fresh and innocent in the girl's eyes which told the viewer clearly that this was still a child whose body had developed ahead of her intelligence, making her particularly vulnerable in a situation of this kind.
"Ohhh, Split!" came a giggle from the next couch, and Joan took her eyes off of the screen long enough to see what was happening. "You never could behave yourself in the dark!"
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the subdued light, but from her vantage point, Joan picked out the bodies of her two friends wrestling on the pillows, and one of Split's hands seemed to have been thrust up under Liza's mini-skirt while the other one was invading beneath the girl's tight sweater. Liza, however, did not seem to be taking this lascivious behavior too seriously, and Joan guessed that her girl friend had probably become Split's mistress. The idea did not shock her very profoundly, and her eyes wandered dreamily back to the screen as she took another puff on the tip of the drugged cigarette.
A car had stopped for the desirable young hitchhiker, and the two chatted for a moment, presumably about their destination before the French girl nodded with a smile and climbed into the front seat. The giggling and wrestling from the direction of the other couch was still going on, and Joan guessed that both of them had seen this film before but liked an excuse to turn down the lights and fool around with one another. Jack Lynch seemed to be in approximately the same mood, but he did not seem like a rough or demanding man, and Joan was confident that she could turn him off with a flat "no" if he became too amorous. At the moment, his hand was playing lightly across her bare shoulders, but he was keeping his distance from her voluptuously full breasts, and Joan failed to feel any sense of immediate danger.
What she was feeling, on the other hand, was the heavenly swaying sensation of a babe being rocked in a cradle, and her fair sensitive skin seemed to have come alive with the narcotic effects of the marijuana, turning her entire body into one vast erogenous zone. She knew perfectly well that she was getting as high as the proverbial kite, but there seemed to be no danger in it, and she wondered why she had not taken the opportunity to try this marvelous stuff before. How wonderful it would be to get stoned with Allen!
But she was losing track of the movie, and with a certain amount of difficulty, the young woman focused her eyes and concentrated on the screen. The car had driven only a short distance down the main road and then taken an abrupt turn onto a dirt road which led off into a group of pine trees. When the driver of the vehicle felt sure that he was safe from observation, he halted his car and got out, affording the viewers their first view of his face.
As he circled rapidly around the back of the automobile to intercept the now frightened French teenager, Joan could see that he was a strong, mean-looking man in his forties and from his face, she judged that he could easily be a criminal of some kind or even a murderer. In his hand, he held a long vicious dagger, and as the hitchhiker leapt free of the car and prepared to flee, he put the blade to her throat, forcing her to stand still and face him.
Joan felt the tension of the scene sweep over her and she immediately sympathized with the kidnapped girl, understanding from experiences in her own life how it felt to be an attractive adolescent in a society populated by tough, lusting men. The lewd smile stole slowly over the abductor's face as he realized that this helpless child was now completely under his power, and Joan shuddered as he moved the knife down to the fabric of her halter, placing the blade between the girl's two trembling young breasts. With a flash of the dagger, he sliced the garment in two, laughing callously as it fell uselessly to the ground.
"Hmmmm, lovely breasts, don't you think?" commented Jack Lynch in an undertone, and for one confused instant, Joan thought that the Irishman was referring to her own firmly ripened mounds so inadequately covered by the top she was wearing. With a shake of her head, she tried to clear her pot-fogged mind, realizing that he was talking about the girl on the screen.
"Yes...." she stammered, wondering if the marijuana would make her slur her words. "I wonder how old she is."
"Probably about fifteen," the photographer guessed. "They usually pick very young girls for this kind of movie. Do you find it interesting? Exciting?"
Joan was about to say no, that she found it amusing and nothing more, but despite the vagueness of her brain at this moment, she realized that she was finding this particular scene very erotic indeed, in fact, embarrassingly so. The tiny bud-like tips of her nipples were standing out hard and firm just as if some invisible hand were caressing her lewdly. Worse yet, she knew that the orgiastic juices within her loins were slowly but surely beginning to glow, and she wondered if her panties were getting wet. She began wiggling discreetly from side to side in a vain attempt to ease the tormenting itching sensation which was gradually beginning to start up between her bare legs. But she could hardly confess all of this to a man who was almost a complete stranger.
"I'm not.. . not quite sure," she mumbled, avoiding the question. "He's not going to hurt her, is he?"
"Nah, this ain't that kind of film. Watch now."
Joan obediently watched, frankly incapable of doing anything else, as the gangster slid the wicked looking knife down into the girl's shorts, the sharp edge of the blade facing out so that he would not damage the delicate flesh of her girlish loins. The French teenager knew she was in desperate danger, and she was obviously trying to stand as still as possible, avoiding the slightest movement which could anger the man who had taken her prisoner. The blade on the dagger must have been razor sharp, because it cut cleanly and easily through the heavy fabric of her shorts, and the girl drew in her breath sharply, raising her arms helplessly over her head in fright as the garment parted and slid down along one leg to the ground. The action of raising her arms had forced her budding young breasts to jut out sharply, and Joan had occasion to wonder if the little French actress herself was not finding this scene fairly erotic, since the buds of her nipples were obviously as hard and Arm as tiny brown nuggets.
But as the kidnapper stepped back to survey the prize he had taken, the cameraman deserted the girl's lusciously ripened breasts in favor of something even more interesting, and the field of vision traveled slowly down over a flat, smooth stomach to the "vee" shaped triangle of pussy hair which guarded the entrance to her loins. A tremble ran through Joan's body as her eyes followed the camera, and for a moment she wondered seriously if there was not something shamefully Lesbian about getting all turned on by the sight of another woman's body. But Jack Lynch distracted her at this precise moment by handing her a second marijuana-flavored cigarette, and she accepted it greedily, welcoming something to divert her mind from the troubling thought she had just had. She put the cigarette to her lips and sucked on it powerfully, thinking that the pot would probably calm her down a little bit.
The young girl's pubic hair was thin and sparse, as it often is with teenagers, and her pussy did little to conceal the narrow pink slit of her vagina, now totally defenseless. The kidnapper dropped to one knee in front of her, but the child was far too terrified now to consider making a break for it, and she submissively moved her legs apart as the gangster dropped the knife beside him on the grass and put his cruelly menacing hands directly on the tender flesh of her cunt. Joan watched, her breath coming faster and faster as she observed this bizarre scene, and unconsciously she drew closer to Jack Lynch, as if the kidnapper could spring down off of the screen into the room with them and threaten her with that dagger. But the gangster stayed on the screen, his fingers crudely invading the teenager's flesh as he used his thumbs to force her tender cuntal lips apart, exposing to the camera's prying eye the moist pink flesh of her tight little vagina. For a long time, he caressed her naked flesh, bringing an expression of pure anguish to the young girl's face as her hands crossed uselessly across her breasts . . .
Movement on the other couch suddenly distracted Joan for a moment, and she shifted her gaze momentarily to see what her friends were up to. Her eyes opened wide with shock as she peered through the half-light in the room and detected that Liza and Split were really starting to mix it up. The young model's dress was up to her hips and the girl was sprawled on the cushions with her legs stretched obscenely apart. Split had removed his shirt, baring a broad muscular chest, and he was hunched over the young woman, one hand thrust lasciviously down under the elastic waistband of her white nylon panties, his fingers obviously invading the delicate vaginal opening. But Liza showed no signs of objecting to this tormenting behavior; indeed, she seemed to be cooperating whole-heartedly in her own defilement, her hips busily rotating in tiny circles as she screwed her loins energetically back up against Split's prying hand. Neither one of them were paying much attention to each other, however, despite the lecherous activity they were involved in, their eyes locked onto the sensuous scene projected on the wall before them.
Joan continued to stare at her friends, thinking that this was really going a considerable way beyond the bounds of propriety. They must know that the room was not dark enough to hide their lewd sex-play, and yet they were behaving just as if they were alone in a bedroom somewhere, not apparently caring in the slightest whether anyone looked at them or not! It was obviously going to get worse before it got better, since Liza seemed to be half out of her mind with unsatisfied lust. While Joan looked on with scandalized eyes, her girl friend from the slum freed her hands from around Split's neck and reached behind her back, quite obviously rumbling with the fastening on her brassiere straps. After a moment's maneuvering, Liza's hands swept down to her waist, and with a deft flick of her wrists, she drew the sweater up over her head, carrying the brassiere with it and denuding herself to the waist.
Seeing Liza's sensually quivering breasts shimmering in the semi-darkness, Joan repressed a shudder of dismay. This was turning into an orgy! She tried to feel disgust and repulsion at being an unwilling witness to this carnally uninhibited scene, but somehow the only sentiment she could detect within her pot-wracked body was a growing feeling of sexual desire, now swollen far beyond the stage where she could possibly hope to deny it to herself or anyone else. With a sudden shock, she discovered that she had been unconsciously grinding her buttocks into the couch, trying desperately to ease the gnawing, itching lusty sensation up between her legs which was slowly but surely threatening to drive her wild. How could Jack Lynch have failed to notice? She was now leaning full against his chest, and he must be keenly aware of every movement of her aroused young body, including the fact that her breathing had now become very heavy and hard, as if her heart were racing.
"Hey, lovely, how are you doing?" the Irishman's mellow baritone purred into her ear, making her start for a moment. "Did you catch the games Liza and Split are playing? Never takes much to get ol' Liza all steamed up, does it?"
"Yes...I.. . saw them," she whispered back, feeling silly and out of place. How could he take this all so calmly?
"Are you comfy?" he inquired, his own eyes never leaving the lecherous scene on the wall before them, but his body inching deliberately closer to hers as the arm slung carelessly around her shoulder now began to creep gradually down towards the invitingly revealed breasts. In the one clear, sane portion of her brain which was left, Joan sensed that she had somehow stumbled into a trap, but everything seemed to be happening too fast for her to control. The lascivious, lust-arousing movie, the orgy taking place on the next couch, Jack Lynch's prying hands, the rich acrid smell of Mexican marijuana hanging over them like a curse, how could she ever hope to explain to Allen what had happened to her? How could she forgive herself for having participated in this low bizarre entertainment?
But the marijuana had drained away most of her will power, and Joan realized that she lacked the physical strength to stand up and march out of the studio. Lynch's fingers were darting lightly across the softly yielding flesh of the sides of her breasts, but her eyes returned helplessly to the motion picture they were supposed to be watching. The kidnapper had risen to his feet in the meantime, and was slowly stripping away his clothing while he smiled unmercifully down at the nakedly trembling young girl he had taken prisoner. As his pants slid to the ground and the gangster stepped casually out of them, Joan drew in her breath sharply, catching sight of the man's long pole-like penis which jutted out sharply in front of him like the bayonnet on a rifle, the heavy bulbous head slowly swaying back and forth as it pointed directly at the helpless flat plain of the girl's defenseless stomach.
The man's hard, muscular buttocks were facing the camera as the kidnapper put his hands heavily on the girl's frail white shoulders, and the biceps in his arms rippled with sudden strength as he applied a powerful downward pressure, forcing her to her knees. In a flash, Joan knew precisely what was coming, and the distraught young wife wondered if she could bring herself to watch it. The man's long throbbing cock was only a few short inches from the girl's wetly parted lips, and Joan was wise enough in the ways of the world to understand precisely what he intended to do to his innocent captive. Joan herself had never performed this particularly perverse act with a man, although some of her boy friends had asked her to during the days of her own high-living youth, but she had heard the act discussed more than once by the rough crude men who drank at the bar where she had worked. Naturally, it would never have entered Allen's head to try and commit oral sex with his tender young wife.
But here it was before her, coming closer by the minute, and Joan was so wrapped up in her conflicting emotions that she hardly noticed when Lynch slipped one of the straps of her top down off her creamy white shoulder, thus baring the entire quivering mound of her right breast. By the time she clearly understood that the lecherous Irishman was taking advantage of a difficult situation, his other hand had moved to the attack, capturing her tingling little nipple in his hand.
On the screen before them, the gangster had run one cruelly demanding hand into the girl's soft brown hair, while with the other hand, he seized his rigidly pulsating cock and rubbed it lewdly around the quivering edges of the terrified girl's mouth.
More than anything else, Joan was dismayed at the size of the actor's male instrument. It was obvious to her that he had not been chosen for this role because of any particular skill in acting, but as a result of this natural endowment. Her mind was confused and unhappy, particularly since Lynch was rolling her tiny nugget-like nipple back and forth between his fingers, nearly driving her mad with the pin-pricks of erotic sensations being aroused in her shamelessly responsive young body. But despite all that was happening to her in real life, she could not drag her eyes off that menacingly long hard cock on the screen! It must have been a full eight inches long, uncircumcised and as big around as the handle on a baseball bat, and Joan simply had never known that penises came quite so big.
She shuddered as she reflected what a battering ram like that would do to the fragile insides of a woman's body, and it occurred to her that perhaps the young captive on the screen was fortunate that the gangster had not decided to try to penetrate her vagina. He would surely kill her with that murderous rod!
"Interesting, eh?" commented Lynch, turning his body around to face her and taking the opportunity to slide the other shoulder strap down to her elbow so that her dress fell completely away from her tender sensual breasts, leaving her completely naked to the waist. "I mean, did you ever see a fuck show like this before?"
"No," she stammered, realizing that he was deliberately exciting and confusing her with this lewd conversation while his hungering fingers roamed lasciviously over the prickly sensitive globes of her heavy breasts. Somehow, it seemed easiest to pretend for the moment that he was not doing what he quite obviously was doing, and she somehow felt compelled to make a comment.
"No, I've...I've never seen anything quite like this...he's...so huge!"
"Him?" shrugged Lynch, acting as if this naive comment had surprised him. "A little on the big side, I suppose, but nothing special!"
This lewd conversation fell off sharply as the film gangster launched his attack. The girl had apparently been prepared for anything but this, and her body was wracked with hopeless shudders as she knelt nakedly before him, the lust-inciting curves and indentations of her fragile young body being surveyed carefully by the cameramen, but she obviously had no intention of opening her mouth to this vile intruder. However, the rapist was evidently experienced at this kind of resistance, and knew precisely what he had to do. Dropping one hand deftly to her nose, he pinched her nostrils, depriving her momentarily of air. The innocent captive fought back gamely for a moment, trying futilely to shake him off, but her lungs were obviously crying out for oxygen, and in another instant, her mouth popped involuntarily open, and the deed was done.
With a vicious flick of his hips, the man sent the huge blood-filled head of his cock sliding forward into the unnatural sanctuary of the girl's virginal mouth, and Joan could see the young adolescent's will to resist crumble as soon as she realized that the man was simply too strong for her. As his hands tangled harshly in her flowing brown hair, the four viewers watched her lips close hopelessly around the massive shaft of his invading penis, and with a sigh the naked girl closed her eyes in eloquent despair, and began sucking.
CHAPTER THREE
Jack Lynch was suddenly crawling all over her, his hands slipping down between the slippery fabric of her dress and the smooth flat plane of her stomach in a lewd attempt to infiltrate his fingers into the soft pubic hair of her pussy as Joan weakly did her best to fight him off. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, deftly stroking and caressing her nipples and thighs and stomach and loins and the young wife lay back submissively on the sofa, a feeling of total helplessness sweeping over her.
"Please, Jack," she whimpered, keeping her voice low so that Split and Liza could not hear her and know how far down the elegant young matron from the suburbs had fallen. "I didn't come here for this."
"It's okay, baby," he answered her softly, his mellow Irish voice helping to calm her fears. "I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want to do. I just need something to do with my hands while I'm watching the movie. Usually, I can fool around with Liza, but she's over there with Split, and you're available."
"You mean...you mean you and...Liza?" asked the woman naively, her body relaxing a little now that they were talking like two civilized human beings and no longer groping on the couch like a pair of animals.
"Shit, honey, Liza bounces back and forth between me and Split like a tennis ball," the photographer confided easily. "We don't stand on ceremony around here. You should remember that."
It was a low blow, reminding her that there had been a time when she, herself, had not worried quite so much about her chastity and lady-like manners; for a moment, Joan gave up fighting back completely, her mind clouded by a sudden rush of memories while Lynch inched his hands down under her dress, stroking the golden skin of her flanks and buttocks. Upon the screen before them, the savage rape of the young French girl's mouth was continuing, and Joan helplessly found that her eyes were glued to the moving images which danced across the walls. The girl's cheeks were alternately hollowing and swelling as the gangster fucked savagely into her mouth, her ovaled lips clinging to the massive glistening shaft of his cock every time he thrust himself into her. Each stroke seemed to take him farther and farther towards the back of her throat, and his pace was gradually increasing.
It's impossible, thought Joan, squirming a little as Jack's hands edged around her flanks and invaded the passion-soaked blonde hair up between her legs, she'll choke to death if he cums into her like that! The film was desperately obscene, but extremely well done in terms of lighting and photography, making it possible for the viewer to follow every intimate detail of the action. Joan's mind was filled with a womanly concern for the welfare of this savagely violated girl, but as she watched, enthralled by the sex scene, the little French actress seemed to be warming up to her task. It made no logical sense at all, but slowly, the victim was turning on to what she had initially been forced into doing. Joan watched in amazement as the girl's trembling white hands reached up instinctively to cradle the softness of the man's balls between her fingers, stroking them as she sucked voraciously on the thick pistoning cock which was ramming in and out of her cruelly stretched mouth. The man was going to cum in another minute, Joan knew instinctively. Without precisely understanding why, she relaxed her own body just a little more, allowing Jack Lynch to push his marauding hand even further into the fragile fabric of her panties, his fingers mercilessly manipulating the wetly inflamed tissues of her cunt.
"Nooooooh," the drugged young wife groaned piteously, gathering her strength to make one more vain attempt to get him to stop, but a sound from the next couch distracted them both. Split's pants were lying neglected on the floor, and the arranger was stretched out comfortably on the couch while Liza knelt over him, her knees on either side of his hips and her naked breasts swaying like ripe fruit below her heaving chest. Beneath her was Split's long slender cock, and he was holding it with one hand so the rigidly quivering shaft was pointing straight up, aimed directly at the wet glistening flesh of Liza's cunt. With a lewd smile playing around the corners of her mouth, the photographer's model hoisted up her skirts so that the couple on the next sofa could see clearly what was about to happen and began to lower her naked loins down on the man's waiting instrument. Her panties had apparently disappeared previously and the only garments she had left were the mini-skirt which was crumpled uselessly around her waist and her long black stockings which ended at mid-thigh, making her exposed white loins seem far more naked than if she had been totally nude.
"My God, they're...they're doing it!" gasped Joan in dismay. The idea of two people who were not married having sexual relations did not exactly shock the young society matron, particularly in the light of her own guilty past, but in her experience, illicit sex was something done quietly in darkened rooms or cars parked in deserted alleys, not in front of observers!
"Sure, honey," the Irishman smiled back at her, as if there was something abnormal about her concern. "People get turned on, and that's where it all ends. Seems like a pretty good idea to me. Aren't you a little excited yourself?"
"No," Joan told him promptly, seeing where his logic was leading them, but she forgot as she spoke that Lynch's prying hand was still burrowing lasciviously through the wetly matted hair of her pussy. Jack's only response to this obvious lie was a dry chuckle, since he could feel the involuntarily convulsing flesh of her vagina with his outstretched middle fingers and knew mat she was excited, no matter what she said.
For a moment, Joan was more confused than ever, not knowing whether she should watch the erotic scene on the next couch, try to get Lynch to stop, or look at the film. The pot had done its insidious work on her dizzily spinning brain, and she found to her dismay that she could not drag her horrified eyes off of Liza and Split, who were just about to make contact. The bulbous head of the arranger's long pulsating cock hovered just beneath the moistly spread lips of Liza's waiting cunt, and the girl reached down and grasped the impaling instrument, lewdly rotating it around in the warmly glistening slit of her vagina and using the gleaming red tip to part the auburn pussy hairs which guarded the entrance to her cunt.
"Oooohhhhhh," Liza's groan of heavenly satisfaction came floating across the room as she settled her lust-fevered body down on top of Split's loins. The man's rigidly piercing cock slid inexorably up the wetly welcoming channel of her cunt, making a lewd sluicing noise as his penis pushed past the clasping pussy lips and speared up into her writhing little belly. For a moment, the photographer's model rested, her eyes closed and a smile of perfect contentment on her' face. Then she began a slow grinding motion, rising up on her thighs until just the firm meaty tip of Split's cock was left inside of her shamelessly aroused pussy. As soon as she reached the top of each cycle, Liza let her leg muscles go slack, dropping her body down heavily again on Split's bouncing loins, impaling herself totally.
Joan closed her eyes and turned her head away, trying to digest this new and bizarre lesson in her sexual education. She had never before watched two people making love, and she would have expected the sight to be repellant or disgusting. To her surprise, she found it quite the opposite. It may have been the marijuana affecting her judgment, but instead pf revulsion, the scene produced a weird tingling sensation all through her love-starved body, and she realized that she was more excited than she had ever been in her life. Could she ever get out of this with her wifely chastity in tact? At this very moment, she was her own worst enemy. She knew that it she slapped Lynch's hands away, and adjusted her clothing, she could probably make it out to her sports car, although whether or not she could drive with the alcohol and the marijuana in her system was another question altogether. The point was basically that she felt no urge whatsoever to bolt for the door. Her mind was confused and upset, but her drug and sex-stimulated body wanted more of the same.
Jack Lynch's free hand caressed her nakedly quivering breasts respectfully for a moment, and then the Irishman ducked his head, fastening his lips around the hardened little nugget of one rosy nipple and sending a shudder of poorly repressed lust through her half-naked body. With his other hand, Lynch continued to play with the softly yielding lips of her rapidly moistening vagina, concentrating most of his efforts on the tiny pink bud of her clitoris, which he rolled agilely backwards and forwards between his thumb and forefinger. Nearly overwhelmed, Joan gave up the struggle and settled back against the cushions of the sofa, her legs widely spread and her eyes once again following the erotic spectacle being projected onto the wall before them.
It was the moment of truth for the French teenager and her abductor, and Joan's eyes widened as she watched the man's buttocks straining and tensing as he thrust himself wildly into the girl's tightly clenched throat, her head bobbing up and down slavishly as she struggled to suck the milky white semen from his body. Suddenly the Frenchman seized the young woman's head in a virtual death grip, thrusting his long thick cock all the way into her throat, and Joan realized in an instant that he was in the act of cumming. The man's buttocks jerked convulsively back and forth as he sprayed the searing cum into the back of her throat, and as Joan watched the girl's Adam's apple bobbing frantically up and down, a strange new sensation began to take possession of her own body.
At first the young wife did not clearly realize what was going to happen to her, but as the spasms rippled powerfully through her over-stimulated body, she suddenly knew that she herself was cumming! The scenes of eroticism all around her combined with the photographer's merciless stimulation of her body all added up to more excitement than her fragile physique could absorb. She was cumming, and there was no way to disuse the fact! It hit her like a ton of bricks, and her legs jackknifed up to trap Lynch's hand between her firm quivering thighs as she fought to suppress a violent groan and failed. "Aaaahhhhhhh!! ! "
"What the fuck?" muttered the photographer, caught off-balance by the sudden switch from resistance to his attentions to complete and utter orgiastic abandon.
"Oh, oh, oh," she emitted little bird-like cries of ecstasy as the spasm raced through her system, and Lynch got his wits together in a hurry, deciding to capitalize on the situation, lifting her clear off the sofa and sliding her skirt and panties off completely in one smooth motion. As soon as he had the groaning woman totally naked and defenseless, he lay her down carefully on the pillows, her jerking, straining legs widely spread while he rapidly stripped off his own clothing, tearing off buttons in his haste to get himself into position before she recovered from the shock of this violently unexpected orgasm. Astonished at the spectacular success of their plot, Liza and Split suspended their own activities for a moment, looking on with open-mouthed amazement.
"Shit, that gal goes off like dynamite!" Split crudely expressed his admiration.
"Poor thing, she probably hasn't had a decent fuck since she married that middle-class prick from the other side of town," contributed Liza happily, delighted that her friend was evidently enjoying herself so thoroughly. But Jack Lynch was wasting no time on idle conversation or speculating on the causes of Joan's incredibly fast response. He had two things he wanted to do right now: Get those pictures taken and get laid himself!
"Nooooooo," Joan moaned, her mind clearing somewhat as the powerful spasm faded and she felt Lynch pushing her legs even farther apart as he poised nakedly over her.
"What do you mean?" he demanded harshly.
"Please, Jack, I never meant it to go this far...." she cried piteously. "I didn't want that to happen...Please let me go."
"Oh, one of those, eh?" the photographer snarled, deciding that the time had come to turn on the heat. "A cock-teaser! You let me jack you off, and once you've got your cookies, you want to call it quits!"
"No, no not like that.. . " she pleaded, seeing the essential justice of his point but not ready to subject herself voluntarily to the humiliation of making love on a sofa in the presence of two other people who were looking on with amused interest.
"Sorry baby, the time to say no was an hour ago," snapped the photographer, knowing that she was now too helpless to deny him anything.
He could do anything he wanted and it was all going to be recorded for posterity by his thirty-five millimeter camera, loaded with a special professional grade of film which could take pictures in very dim light.
Without further comment, Lynch dropped his handsome Irish face to the "vee" of her uncertainly cringing loins, using his thumbs to spread apart the soft blonde pussy hair and sending his tongue lewdly forward, flickering like a lizard into her moistly flowing cuntal flesh.
Click, went the camera softly, but the instrument was cunningly located behind a two-way mirror, and Joan neither saw nor heard it. The shutter release cable ran under a carpet, through the sofa and ended underneath a cushion where Lynch could reach it without difficulty.
Joan groaned and jerked, reacting to the perverse contact between a man's agilely probing tongue and the soft, erotically sensitive flesh of her clitoris. This was another new experience for the girl, and she felt humiliation sweep over her in waves, knowing that Split and Liza could watch her as easily from their couch as she had watched them from hers. Lynch pursued his attack, opening her up even more widely with his thumbs and exposing the moist pink slit of her cunt to his animal gaze. Joan lay frozen, gazing down past her fearfully quivering breasts at his lust-twisted features in helpless submission, finally realizing that there was no way out for her now. She was going to get it, and get it good!
"Ooooohhhhhhh!" she moaned as his tongue fucked into her again, this time stabbing deeply into the convulsing folds of sensitive flesh which bordered the entrance to her defenseless little cunt. In spite of her earnest desire to stop him from abusing her in this depraved manner, the hopelessly aroused young wife could not deny that things were starting to happen again down deep in her loins where she had just finished with the most powerful orgasm of her life.
Click, went the silent camera, filming another document for posterity.
How could she ever face her husband again, the naked young wife asked herself in dismay. He would surely take one look at the sensual guiltiness in her deep blue eyes and know exactly what had happened. She had betrayed him. Or perhaps a better question was this: How could she ever return to her husband's bed, with the memory of this evening in her mind, and be satisfied with his feeble attempts to bring her satisfaction? Was this the start of her career as an adulteress?
Lynch raised his head, partially to see whether the light was falling right on her body, and partially to see what kind of an effect all of this was having upon the girl. One look satisfied him. This would teach her not to waltz into his shop acting as if she were the Queen of England in her expensive new clothing! That stylish top looked real great lying crumpled on the floor! And it had not taken a real expert very long to reduce her to what she really was at heart, a slum child with a taste for waving her legs in the air! So she liked it, did she? Well, there was plenty more where that came from, and Lynch told himself that he was just the man to give it to her.
Laughing softly to himself at the humiliation and shame he was bringing into her startled blue eyes, the photographer hunched down again between her widely spread legs, determined this time to show her a couple of tricks she had not even heard of before. Carefully, he inserted his powerful hands between her thighs and spread her legs even more, pushing the softly flaccid flesh of her buttocks farther and farther apart and lifting at the same time so that her smooth rounded ass-cheeks were off the sofa and the whole flat plane of her loins was exposed to his merciless vision. A beautiful sight, real eating pussy, he mused to himself, sending his tongue flickering forward suddenly to torment the tight puckered little hole of her anus, nestled so sweetly below the palpitating flesh of her cunt.
"Aggggghhhhhh!! ! " she groaned loudly. "Not that, please, not that."
Click, the camera shutter opened and closed again.
By Lynch's only response was a dry heartless chuckle as he moved forward for another bizarre attack on the delicacy of her rectum, his tongue playing lightly around the edges of the virginal nether entrance to her body. One day, he promised himself grimly, one day when you've learned to obey orders a little more, I'm going to come back and visit this little asshole of yours, and I'll use something bigger than my tongue!
Joan clenched her teeth and made one last stand, trying to prevent her marijuana-ridden body from taking control once again as it had a moment ago, but even as she bit into her lower lips, she could feel the familiar signs starting up all over again. Her hips began to jerk up and down spasmodically every time Jack's long slippery tongue fucked into her, and the delicious needles of pleasure were darting through her over stimulated stomach and thighs as she felt his mouth slavering ceaselessly into her.
"Now, baby, I'm going to get mine!" Lynch promised her, lifting his face from the widespread crevice of her wetly throbbing vagina and looking her full in the eyes. "Open up!"
Without understanding precisely why, Joan obediently spread her legs as the photographer levered his powerfully naked body over her. Her buttocks were grinding and twitching impatiently down into the mattress as the photographer bent over her and fastened his teeth on one of her proud young breasts, digging into the tender nipple until she was afraid she would have to cry out with a weird combination of pain and pleasure. . . everything was happening much too fast!
"Man, this chick is getting hot!" Lynch glanced over and boasted to his friends. "When I get through with you, baby, you're never going to want what's available at home again. I got the biggest cock this side of the Central Train Station, and you're going to get every inch of it! So you think that the guy in the movie was big!"
With a triumphant crow, Lynch reared up over her, his massively throbbing penis in his hands, daring her to look at it directly. Joan wanted to do almost anything else, but she was no longer in control of her own body and she focused her eyes, staring down at the instrument he was proudly waving in her face.
It was huge!
Jack Lynch was enjoying the look of fear which swept across her face as she saw the thick rod of pulsating flesh he was preparing to ram into her. He gave her the time to look at it carefully, lewdly stroking the uncircumcised foreskin , back and forth over his heavy blood-engorged cock-head.
"What's the matter, lovely?" he taunted her. "Doesn't hubby have anything quite this size to give you?"
Joan tried to answer him back, tried to defend her husband and to plead with this man not to hurt her, but somehow, the words could not force their way out of her mouth. How could she ever take that thick battering ram inside of her? He would rip her apart!
But the inspection was over, and Joan closed her eyes, fighting off a fainting sensation as Jack Lynch lowered his muscular body down on top of hers. Using one hand, he guided the thick rubbery head of his penis to the wet, hair-lined furrow up between her long tapered legs and divide the fleshy quivering lips of her cunt in preparation for his entrance. As the rigid pole of his throbbing masculinity came into contact with the soft tissues of her vaginal lips, the young wife turned her head meekly to one side, knowing that there was now no way in the world of avoiding this impalement, but not having the courage to look on while it happened to her. She held her breath, not even daring to move while Lynch maneuvered himself into position, applying the first cruel pressure against the tight elastic opening of her tight little cunt.
"Ooooooooh," she groaned as he pushed experimentally, the tip sliding through the desperately clasping portals of her vagina and stretching the tight rubbery opening until Joan felt as if something inside of her was being ripped into pieces.
"Oh please, no, it hurts," she begged him, knowing as she spoke that it was all quite useless. He would hardly beg her pardon and withdraw from her abused tortured cunt at this stage of the game!
The photographer looked down on his nakedly helpless victim and clicked the camera again, grinning to himself as he saw the look of anguish spread across her face. She was suffering all right, and she would suffer some more before he was finished with her. There was a streak of the sadist in Lynch, and something about the cruelty of the situation was turning him on powerfully. He had to finish the job, and quick!
With an abrupt vicious movement, the Irishman dropped down on top of her, his hard muscular chest brutally crushing into the soft warm mounds of her breasts. At the same time, his hips flicked mercilessly forward, sending his long hard cock thrusting up into her belly until he felt his balls smack heavily into the upturned cheeks of her ass.
"Aaaaggggghhhhhh!! ! " came the anguished cry from beneath him, and the girl's arms and legs shot out in agony as if she had just received a spear-thrust in the belly. Lynch's massively thickened penis was completely buried in her stretched little pussy now, pulsating like a living animal which had forced its way into her womb. Never in her entire life, had Joan ever felt so completely filled as she did in this moment.
But Lynch wanted to enjoy this fuck, and he knew that he had to give her voluptuous body a moment or two to adjust to the presence of this massive object in her cunt so that her vaginal walls could begin again to secrete the lubricating fluids which would ease his passage. As it was now, she was so tight that he could barely move, and for a moment he contented himself with lying above her, flexing his iron-hard penis every so often for the pleasure of hearing her moan.
"How 'bout it, lovely? Better than your husband, eh?"
There was no answer as the girl resolutely decided that she would not betray Allen Caruthers any more than she already had. But Jack Lynch knew that he was in a position to make her say anything he wanted to hear, and he flexed his long log-like cock powerfully within her cruelly-stretched pussy.
"Uggghhhh!" she grunted, as the throb deep inside of her sent streaks of pain and pleasure shooting out in all directions.
"Talk to me, lovely," Lynch goaded her sadistically. "Were you about to tell me how much better I am than your husband?"
"Oh please...do whatever you have to but don't make me say it!"
He flexed again, as hard as he could, his virile shaft of flesh seeming to expand rapidly like a' balloon as he strove to break her down just a little farther. Her groan echoed around the room while Split and Liza looked on, curious to see who would emerge victorious from this bizarre contest of wills.
"Nooooooo!"
"Tell me!" he growled at her, triumph gleaming like a light in his eyes. "Your husband's a disaster in bed, isn't he?"
"Yes," she heard herself whisper faintly, not quite knowing where the treasonous word had come from or how it had escaped from her lips.
"Then let me hear you say it, bitch!" he commanded coldly, twisting the softly yielding flesh of her full sensuous breasts in his fingers until she thought she would have to cry out again with this added torment.
"You're better...than my...husband," she whispered finally. It was useless to fight anymore. She had betrayed herself, her husband, everything, and there was now nothing between her and the bottom of the barrel. A few hours ago, she had been a girl with a shameful past, but a respectable present. Now even that shallow consolation had been ripped away from her. She was a whore! Oh God, she had always been a whore, probably she would always be a whore. There was nothing left to hope for, nothing left at all but the searing presence of Lynch's enormous hot cock buried deep up inside her agonized vagina.
The photographer looked down on her with intense satisfaction, realizing that he had completely crushed her spirit. From now on, he would be giving the orders as far as the elegant Mrs. Caruthers was concerned, and in case she ever chanced to forget the moment, there would always be the pictures to remind her.
"Put your arms around my neck," he ordered, his voice softening again now that the victory was plainly his. "I like a woman to hold me when I'm fucking her."
Submissively, Joan complied, wrapping her arms around his neck while he plastered his lips against hers, his wet tongue plunging obscenely into her open mouth. At the same time, his hand dug beneath the cushions of the sofa, and the thirty-five millimeter camera clicked quietly, adding one more frame to the case against Mrs. Caruthers. That job out of the way, Jack Lynch began slowly fucking in and out of the young wife's body, having decided that the time had come to start turning her on. He had suspected from the moment he saw her that there was a hot streak buried somewhere deep in her personality, and it was a personal challenge to him to see if he could bring it to the surface whenever he chose to. It had come out unexpectedly a few minutes before while they were watching the film, and Lynch suspected that it would not take long to bring it out again with just a little effort on his part.
He was right. Joan's body involuntarily began to react, despite the agonizing humiliation to which she had just been subjected. The girl had lost the battle to protect even the smallest portion of her womanly dignity and honor, but there was something about the total slave-like surrender he was demanding of her which sent unwanted chills of lewd desire up and down her back.
And once the process was in motion, there was no stopping it. Within minutes, Joan's whole body was twitching and writhing beneath him, the pain having almost completely disappeared as the sensitive muscles in her cunt somehow managed to accommodate themselves to the presence of this massive throbbing object in her belly. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her nostrils flared as the photographer fucked savagely in and out of her hotly welcoming cunt while a light fragrant layer of perspiration broke out over her forehead. No observer to this depraved scene could have missed the significance of what was happening; impossible as it seemed, Joan Caruthers was once more racing again towards an orgasm!
And again the camera clicked.
Searching to improve his position, Jack slipped his hands beneath the violently flexing spheres of her buttocks, pulling her legs farther apart and opening her up to him even more widely as the tiny moist hole of her cunt loosened up to receive his thick plunging cock. Joan's legs were jerking convulsively in the air while the impaling rod of flesh skewered deeper and deeper up into the moistly flowering depths of her pussy. She had forgotten all her troubles now, her husband, her humiliation, her shame, and the only thing she could think of was the joyful sensation of being fucked half to death by the strong merciless man who was finally giving her what she had been wanting subconsciously for a year. Jack slaved above her, trying to make it particularly good for both of them, his rigidly thrusting cock coming almost all the way free of her clasping young vagina on the back stroke and then burrowing its way forward again until the bulbous throbbing tip struck home against her sensitive cervix.
Seized by an inspiration, the photographer moved his hand between their two nakedly straining bodies, using his fingers to stimulate the soft warm lips of her vagina and the hard little bud of her clitoris. She groaned with the added excitement; Lynch guessed accurately that her end was just around the corner, and got up on his knees to fuck into her harder and faster. He wanted to make this a cum she would remember the rest of her life, and the room was filled with the wetly smacking sound of his loins colliding with the naked flat plane of her buttocks as their two bodies met violently in mid-air, separated for a fraction of a second, and then slammed quickly together again.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah," the shamelessly aroused young wife was chanting mindlessly with each stroke, no longer caring what anyone thought. Her nipples were as hard as little bullets digging fiercely into his chest as she thrust her body up to meet him, coming closer to orgasm with each second. Lynch could hardly believe his eyes as he doubled his stroke. Feeling that it was all about to end at any moment, he fucked into her with all his strength and all his knowledge. Suddenly, her voluptuous body seemed to vibrate beneath him. Then, she was screaming.
"I'm cumming...I'm cumming!" she groaned incoherently, her voice contorted by the fury of the orgasmic spasms which was sweeping inexorably over her. The photographer felt her wildly convulsing cunt flower open to him and the hot gush of her liquid passion flooding around his pile-driving pole as she came. The milking lips of her tight little cunt seemed to be clinging to him as if they were acting independently of the rest of her, and the pressure on his pistoning cock suddenly became too much.
With a gasp, the Irishman felt his long thick penis swell up and begin erupting in a hot lava flow of cum into her frantically quivering belly. Her naked young body was still jerking up towards him spasmodically as she thrashed out the concluding seconds of her orgasm, and his white hot cum mingled inside her overworked cunt and dribbled out along the silken skin of her trembling buttocks, dampening the cushions beneath them.
All of a sudden, everything went limp, and Joan's long limber legs sprayed out in exhaustion on either side of her. Her heart was beating as if she had just been in an exceptionally long race, and her mind began to clear under the exertion of the soul-jarring experience she had just finished. No one seemed disposed to speak or move, and the two of them lay quietly together for a long time, Lynch's slowly deflating cock still twitching restlessly inside of her.
Whatever else happens, she told herself seriously, I must protect Allen. He's too good to have a wife like me and he must never, never know. Never!
But the camera went click....
CHAPTER FOUR
Joan was only half listening as her husband recited the details of the big financial deal he was on the verge of bringing off on behalf of his company. She sipped her coffee reflectively while he talked, her guilty mind reaching back insistently to that fatal night in Jack Lynch's photographic studio. She still could not quite bring herself to believe that it had really happened to her and that she had somehow allowed herself to behave in that shamelessly erotic fashion. Now she was back in the plush, pleasant suburbs with her swimming pool in the backyard, talking to her successful young husband about business affairs while they calmly finished their breakfast, and the whole depraved episode seemed a little unreal as if it were merely something she had dreamed one night after a particularly heavy dinner.
But it had happened, and it had left its mark on her. In the past few days she had been more restless than usual, and more than once, the young wife had fought off the wild temptation to run to the telephone and call Liza or Jack. She was determined to break this adultery business off before it had a chance to become a habit. She had married this good man and was living in comfort in his home, and she owed him at least the privilege of having a faithful wife. Maybe their marriage had not worked out sexually as well as she might have hoped, but Allen seemed happy and content and Joan was determined to keep him that way.
"But the only drawback we can see so far is the fact that I'll have to spend a lot of time down in Saint Louis, working out the details of the contract. Hate to be away from home so much," Allen was saying, and Joan suddenly brought her troubled mind back from her dream world and began to pay attention once again. Nor did she liked the idea of his being out of town so much; it gave her too much free time to get into trouble.
"Being on the road isn't so bad, but I hate having to do business with Tompkins," her husband continued, eating with his usual impeccable table manners. "He's strictly from the lower classes and one of those types who make a lot of money but still never learn how to behave themselves. Maybe it's just as well he's insisted we do the negotiations down in Saint Louis. If he came up here, I'd have to entertain him and I'd hate to have our friends meet someone like him."
"What does he do that's so offensive?" Joan inquired mildly, more to prove that she was listening than anything else.
"What doesn't he do?" grumbled Allen irritably. "Besides the sort of table manners I wouldn't expect from a native in Africa, the man's idea of entertainment is disgusting. Why on my last trip down there, he dragged me into a strip tease joint! Can you imagine that?"
"I...I never saw a strip tease," lied Joan nervously. "What was it like?"
"Well, I was disgusted," her husband informed her indignantly. "What makes a woman want to exhibit her body in public is more than I can understand. And then after we escaped from that flee-bitten joint, he wanted me to accompany him to a brothel."
"And...you said no?"
"Well, my dear, I think you know me well enough to guess the answer to that! Of course I said no, and I almost told him what I thought of him, but. . . well, I have my responsibility to the company to think of and one can't let personal feelings interfere with business. If his merger goes through, I could be promoted to Second Vice President of the firm, and that's worth putting up with a little humiliation. Is that someone at the door?"
"I think it's the mailman," replied the young wife, pulling her dressing gown around her and getting to her feet. "You finish your breakfast, dear, or you'll be late for the office."
Allen nodded while Joan walked towards the front door, hoping that one of the woman's magazines to which she subscribed had come with the morning mail. After Allen left for the office there was nothing to do until the maid came at noon, and she was desperately anxious to find some distraction for her troubled mind. Beneath the mail slot in the door there was a pile of letters and envelopes and Joan noted with relief that there were also several magazines. Most of the mail was normally for Allen, but she shuffled through the envelopes curiously anyway until she came to one large manila envelope which was addressed to her.
She came within an inch of calling out delightedly to her husband that someone had sent her something in the mail, but a cautious instinct saved her at the last minute and she stopped in the corridor leading to the kitchen, quickly slitting the strange envelope open with her fingernail. When she saw the contents, she nearly fainted and had to lean against the wall for support, feeling the blood drain away from her head.
"What's there dear?" called Allen from the kitchen. "Anything for me?"
"Eh...yes, love," she answered haltingly, looking wildly around for a place to hide the incriminating object. Finally she thrust it inside of one of her magazines and brought her husband his letters.
It was sheer torture waiting for him to leave the house this morning, but Joan controlled her nerves as well as she could, keeping the magazine with the envelope crushed against her breasts until Allen had kissed her good-bye and closed the front door behind him. Cautiously she waited until she heard his car start up and move off down the street since Allen occasionally came back for something he had forgotten. Once she was sure he was gone, she rushed into the bedroom, pulled down the shades and dumped the contents of the mysterious envelope out on the unmade bed. Before her on the crumpled sheets, there was a large black and white photograph and a note, which said. "Dear Joan, there are nine more just as good as this one. Thought you'd like to have it as a souvenir. Why don't you give us a call and we'll talk about the others? Love and kisses. Jack Lynch."
The photograph had been snapped at the precise moment when Lynch had ordered her to put her arms around his neck. The telephoto lens had missed nothing: His lips plastered passionately against hers, her full naked breasts crushed flat against her chest with the weight of the photographer's body, and even the dark shaft of the man's long rigid penis half-way into the churning depths of her wetly glistening vagina. It was perfect, and Joan saw in a glance that she would never explain away a photograph like this. If Allen were ever to see it or one like it, he would know that his wife was a cheap adultress and nothing more. He would probably throw her immediately out of the house and sue for a divorce, using this photograph as Exhibit A.
Was this blackmail? She asked herself this question as she carried the photo into the bathroom, tearing it very carefully into tiny pieces and flushing it down the toilet. If it's money they're after, then it's a waste of time because I haven't got any! Allen gives me enough cash for the housekeeping and something extra for my personal use but not nearly enough to satisfy the rapacious appetite of a blackmailer.
But there was no point in prolonging the agony. The sooner she called Lynch and found out exactly what he wanted, the sooner she would know what kind of threat they were making. Her fingers trembled as she dialed the numbers, and twice she had to start over again. Liza answered.
"Why, hi, Joan!" she said with unmistakable genuine pleasure when she heard her girl friend's voice over the wire. "How are you honey?"
"Not as well as I might be, thank you," Joan replied icily. "I'm afraid that envelope I got from Lynch this morning has rather spoiled my day."
"An envelope from Jack? I don't know anything about that, Joan. What's in it?"
Liza was incapable of telling a lie properly, and Joan felt a sense of relief that at least her old friend was not part of this plot to ruin her life.
"Oh, maybe it's all a bad joke, but perhaps you'd better let me talk to Jack."
"He isn't here, but Split says he wants to say something to you," Liza replied. A moment later, the arranger's deep voice came over the wire.
"Hello, little lady. I was sort of wondering when you'd remember to call your old friends."
"What do you mean by this?" Joan stormed at him furiously, sure that he and Lynch had cooked up some sort of nefarious plot between them. "Suppose my husband had seen that envelope?"
"Well, we all know what a gentleman Allen is, and gentlemen don't read other peoples' mail, do they? Listen, honey, you cool down because this ain't nothing to get all steamed up about. Great picture, wasn't it?"
"Listen, if it's money you're after...."
"You ain't got any, and we ain't after it,"
Split assured her quickly. "Listen, Joan-baby, all we want is to see you more often. I figure you must get real lonesome sitting out there in the sticks with all them stuffed shirts, when your real friends and all the real action is downtown in your old neighborhood...."
"What are you talking about?" Joan snapped impatiently, sensing that Split was circling over the heart of the matter like a vulture preparing to strike.
"I'm talking about coming down to see us more often. Once a year isn't enough, as far as we're concerned. Now, for example, next Tuesday we've got a party scheduled for the studio, a big one with lots of nice people. Put on that cute dress you wore the other night and come on down arid enjoy yourself, and we'll give you another photograph back, with the negative, naturally."
"Every time I come to one of your parties, you give me back one photograph?" asked Joan, not liking the sound of this at all.
"That's right, baby."
"But that's not all there is to it, is there?"
"No, of course not, love. But you come down Tuesday night, looking real pretty and you'll catch on to the rest of it soon enough!"
* * *
Allen was grumbling and irritable, but Joan sensed that she was going to get away with it and knew there was no real danger of his insisting that he come along with her. If there was one person in the world her husband could not stand the sight of, it was Joan's mother and he tried to discourage her from visiting the alcoholic old slut as much as possible.
"I don't visit the poor thing very often, dear." Joan reasoned with him nervously as he sat in the living room smoking his pipe and reading the newspapers, waiting for the evening television shows to commence. "Once every couple of months isn't too much."
"No, no, of course not," Allen agreed reluctantly. "It's just that I hate the idea of you wandering around in that neighborhood after dark. Why every day in the newspaper there's an article about a rape or a mugging or a murder down there. I think the city council should send a bull-dozer in to knock the whole neighborhood down! This is a respectable city except for that area, and I don't know why something isn't done about it!"
"But all the poor people who live there," she tried to reason with him. "Where would they go to live?"
"That's not my problem. Half of them are on welfare anyway and they could take their money and go live somewhere else. You should know better than I what kind of people inhabit that neighborhood! Most of them are bums or prostitutes and in a country like this there's no reason to be poor. If they'd clean up and get jobs like everybody else, they wouldn't have to be on welfare."
This was Allen's pet peeve and Joan realized that she was treading on thin ice just by discussing it with him. The young businessman made a lot of money and therefore paid a lot in taxes, and it irritated him to know that some of his money was being used by the government to support the people from Joan's old neighborhood who preferred cashing welfare checks to getting a job. She could never match Allen in an intellectual argument, but somehow she sensed that he was wrong, there had always been a lot of people in her neighborhood looking for work, and jobs were never to be found. They had no education to speak of, most of them, and jobs for people without college educations were starting to be more and more difficult to come by. Some of her friends from the slum had come from immigrant families who barely spoke English and had been forced to work since they were children in bars or shops. But Allen got angry whenever she tried to explain that side of the story, just as if she were being unfaithful to him by defending the people she had left when she had come to live in his house and share his name.
"If it really worries you, I could stay overnight with mother and come back in the morning," she offered, craftily thinking that this might be better than staggering in at three or four in the morning.
"Use your own judgment," he instructed her pompously. "If it's too late when you're ready to leave, I'd rather have you spend the night there than try to drive through that inferno alone."
"Okay, darling, you have a nice quiet evening and I'll see you later," she said, kissing him on the cheek and smiling as she left the room.
Wow, I got through that in one piece, she congratulated herself bitterly as she walked out to the curb where her sports car was parked. I'm becoming a very competent little husband deceiver!
The girl had considered very carefully the idea of confessing to Allen exactly what had happened between her and Jack Lynch, perhaps explaining that she had been drugged and then throwing herself on his mercy, but after thinking about it for a couple of days, it seemed like a sure way to find herself out in the street. Allen's moral judgments about other people tended to be rather severe, and she was quite sure that he could not find it in his heart to forgive her. That left the unhappy young wife with no choice but to go through with the deception. She had no idea what Split wanted her for. She knew it was liable to be unpleasant and she was preparing herself for the worst. Apparently she had to come to this party tonight and eight more after it and then she would have all the film back in her possession. Once the last negative had been destroyed, she would be out from under his power, and free again. The next time, she promised herself not to be quite so simple-minded when an "old friend" invited her to a party.
Under the back seat of the car was a plastic bag containing her scoop-necked top, some frilly undergarments, and her cosmetics. Obviously she could not waltz out of the house with the story that she was going to visit her aging alcoholic mother if she were obviously dressed for a party. The young wife intended to dress and do her make up at Split's studio.
The evening traffic was almost gone as she maneuvered the little sports car out of the safe, sane respectable neighborhood where she now lived past the Central Train Station and into the section of town which Allen thought should be knocked down with a bull-dozer and made into a parking lot.
There was a spot open right in front of the store and she parked quickly, locked the car securely and went nervously into the photographic shop, her stomach quivering. Lynch was sprawled behind the counter smiling pleasantly, and he glanced at his watch as she came through the door.
"Hello, lovely, you're early aren't you?"
For a moment, Joan was unsure how she should treat him. This was the man who had seduced her into having sexual intercourse with him only a few days before, and then had arranged in some mysterious fashion to have pictures taken while he humiliated and degraded her. Now they were blackmailing her in some unknown manner. She could hardly act as if nothing at all had happened. On the other hand, if she were going to have to come back here eight more times to get the rest of those negatives, she had better not tear into him and tell him what she thought of people who behaved the way he had. Her jungle instinct told her to play this one cool. She met his gaze and tried to make her voice as neutral as possible when she spoke.
"Yes, a little. I want to dress here, if you don't mind my using your bathroom."
"Evcryting I have is yours, baby," he grinned at her lecherously. "Including my bathroom. You'll find Liza's already back there getting beautiful for the occasion. The guests won't be arriving for a little while yet, so take your time and do a good job."
"Jack, what kind of party is this going to be?" she asked him bluntly, determined to get to the bottom of this business as quickly as possible.
"This is Split's show, baby," he explained affably, getting to his feet and walking lazily towards her. "I better let him do the talking. But it'll be fun, you'll see."
It was clear that he intended to fool around with her, and she was in no mood for any more of that, so she gave him an icy stare and side-stepped him quickly, opening the door which led into the studio. Inside, the place had been transformed from a grubby normal photographer's studio into a reasonable facsimile of an artist's pad. Pillows and mattresses had been spread around on the floor, and several jugs of wine sat on the table along with bottles of whiskey and mixers. On the wall had been posted some of Jack Lynch's "art work," mostly portraits of nude girls and Joan looked around nervously to make sure that none of the obscene pictures of her had been added to this depraved collection.
"Well, the life of the party has arrived!" came Split's deep masculine voice as he emerged from what seemed to be a bedroom. "Hey, don't tell me that's what you're planning on wearing for our little party?"
"No, I've got my dress and make-up here," she explained quickly, feeling somehow that he had immediately managed to put her on the defensive. "Listen, I've got to talk to you."
"Talk, baby," the organizer replied affably, pouring a splash of whiskey into each of two glasses and offering her one. "Here's looking at you."
"All right, I think this is a dirty thing you people are pulling on me," she said frankly, accepting the glass of whiskey after a moment's hesitation. "I want to know what little surprises I've got ahead of me as far as this party is concerned."
"No, surprises, dear," Split explained nonchalantly, looking at her appraisingly as he sipped his whiskey. "Let me explain the system to you. Things get a little dull over on your side of town as you've probably noticed in the last year or so, and a little high life is hard to come by unless you've got the right kind of connections. Most people don't and so I supply them, for a cut off the top, naturally. If you've got a client to entertain and he likes a little two-fisted fun, you come to old Split. You've got a gang of friends and you want a real wing-ding of a party, you call me up. Making people happy is how I make my bread...."
"And tonight? Exactly who are you making happy tonight?" Joan spat at him, no longer able to tolerate this kind of talk.
"Why everybody, love." Split assured her, overlooking her display of temper. "Tonight there's a guy coming over who owns a construction company. William Looming is the name and old Bill has got a reputation among his foreman as a fellow who really knows how to live. He's got to prove it once in awhile because he can't lose face in front of his team. So we're having a party tonight here and Bill will be coming over with some of his boys. Nice guys, I've met most of them before."
"Oh, I'm sure they're just angels!" retorted Joan sarcastically. "And just where do I come in?"
"Why, you're just here to pretty up the place," grinned Split convincingly. "These guys want to have a pretty girl to put their arms around while they're socking down their booze. We'll tell everybody that you're an actress, okay? I suggest you take your wedding ring off, love, because it spoils the image, if you know what I mean."
"So I have to stand around all night and be pawed by a bunch of foreman! Are you sure that's all?"
"Joan, honey, would I he to you?"
"Of course you would!" she snapped at him, relieved that there was not more to it than this despite her show of anger. "Where can I change?"
"There's a dressing room in back of the bedroom," Split directed her, pointed to the door. "You'll find Liza back there already, making herself beautiful."
"Hi, Joan!" cried Liza happily as Joan entered the dressing room, closing the door carefully behind her.
"Hello, Liza. Gee, that's a pretty dress!"
"Do you like it?" answered the model apparently unaware of the fact that her girl friend had not come of her own free will. She stood and held the dress up to her proudly and Joan examined it, trying to convey an impression of interest which she did not feel. Liza's dress was very sophisticated and daring cut in front down almost to the navel. For a moment the young wife wondered whether anyone would pay attention to her in her simple little top even if she did have more to show as far as bosom was concerned. Just as well if they don't she decided and started to take off her own dress to apply her make-up.
"I think it should be fun tonight," Liza announced, laying her dress over the back of a chair and returning to the job of doing her eyelashes. "The fellows were all here once before and we had a real brawl! Wow! I didn't recover for three days!"
Joan hung her dress up on a hook and sat down on the bench next to her friend in order to share the mirror. She did not like the sound of this at all, and decided to see if a little more information could be pumped out of the simple unsuspecting girl.
"What exactly do you do at these parties?"
"Oh, drink mostly and fool around with the boys. Sometimes we smoke some pot, but these guys like whiskey better. I guess some money changes hands as far as Split is concerned, and things sometimes get kinda rough after midnight. I always tell myself I'm not gonna do it, and by three in the morning, I'm always flat on my back with three guys on top of me. I guess I'm just evil, but we always have fun."
"Well, I have no intention of landing on my back with three guys on me!" snapped Joan quickly, now seeing the handwriting on the wall. "Is that what I was brought here for?"
"Well, I don't know, honey. I guess you'd have to talk to Split about that," the brown-haired girl confessed uneasily.
The conversation broke off awkwardly at that point, and Joan realized that she had just made herself sound like a real prude, having implied that she was too good to do once in awhile what Liza did regularly. Joan resolved to find Split before the party and make it very clear that she had no intention of prostituting herself so that he could make a few extra bucks. If a gang of construction foreman wanted to drink with her and think they were spending the evening in the company of an actress, that was his business, but the bedroom business was out!
* * *
"Hey, Split, you got some hot numbers for me and the boys tonight?"
"Bill, don't you worry about a thing. Tonight this party is going to swing!"
"Yeah, but where are the broads? The boys are gonna be here any minute now, and I don't see nothing but some liquid refreshment."
"Don't worry, man, Liza's in the dressing room gettin' ready and with her is a new chick who'll blow your mind. She's an actress from the West Coast, but she doesn't want anybody to know who she is, so I can't tell you her name. Just call her Joan, although, of course, that ain't the name she uses in the movies."
"Hot shit, really an actress!" exclaimed the construction man eagerly. "But will she...ya know...will she go for the action in the back room. My boys ain't much for jus' looking."
"Cool it man, she'll go. This broad used to make them fuckie-suckie movies before she hit the big time, and she likes screwing better than you like making money. But you got to take your time and you better clue the boys in about this. She's a lady now that she's famous, and it takes her awhile to get steamed up. Let her get a couple of drinks under the belt first and then make your move. Man, she's the best looking piece of ass Jack and me have had in a dog's age!"
"You mean that you and Lynch've already fucked her?" asked the client, his eyes widening.
"Oh man, we've turned that dame every way but loose!" boasted Split untruthfully, making a mental note to allow Joan to work off one of her pictures by going to bed with him some night. No point in letting Lynch have all the fun.
"I can't wait to see this!" enthused Bill Looming lecherously. "Wait'll I tell the boys they got a real live porno actress to fool around with."
"Just remember what I said about taking it easy," cautioned Split severely. "This gal is still worrying about her dignity, and you got to take it slow and polite until she softens up. And nobody's suppose to know that she's an actress, so if one of the boys recognizes her from one of her films, he's supposed to forget it!"
"I'll spread the word," promised Looming gullibly. "Imagine that! An actress!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Joan shuddered a little with sudden fear as Bill Looming's strong arm wound insistently around her narrow waist, pulling her frail, resisting body towards his while he tried to plant a drunken kiss on her cheek.
"Aw, come on, baby," he urged her obscenely. "Why don't cha loosen up? We're all friends here."
Three hours ago, the party had started off very politely with Liza and Joan being presented to the tough, hard-drinking group of construction men, and the young wife had been pleasantly surprised by the abnormally respectful manner in which she was treated. There were about six men in attendance, plus Lynch and Split, and the first hour of the evening had been dedicated to light conversation and heavy drinking. These were tough, two-fisted men, Joan had realized as soon as she had stepped out of the dressing room, the kind of men she had grown up among, but they had behaved themselves remarkably well.. . for a while.
But the rough stuff had started about midnight when one of the men had proclaimed himself an amateur photographer and asked permission to take some shots of the girls with Jack's studio camera. The photographer had talked him into using a simpler thirty-five millimeter model, and the honor of posing for pictures had gone first to Liza. The young brown-haired girl had been talking rather loudly by this point in the evening and staggering slightly as she walked, but otherwise she seemed perfectly delighted to be the center of all this lewd attention. Liza climbed up on a platform and they had started off with a couple of standard snap-shot pictures while she mugged drunkenly at the camera. But with the walls covered with photographs of nude women, it was only a matter of time before someone suggested lasciviously that Liza strip for some more interesting shots.
Joan was moderately shocked but Liza's reaction was limited to a giggle as her fingers reached promptly for the buttons. The men crowded around the platform eagerly and the self-styled photographer had quickly run through a roll of film.
"Hey, about the other girl?" Joan heard someone insisting, and she came out of her own personal fog to see that every eye in the room was now focused on her.
"Hey, great idea!" mumbled Looming as the possibility of seeing Joan naked formed itself in his mind. "Come on, baby, get over there and show us how it's done!"
The crisis was upon her before she had time to decide on a course of action, and Joan looked wildly around the room. This was not fair! Through the haze of cigarette smoke, she was Split's smiling face looking on with amusement. She sent him an appealing look, begging him with her eyes not to subject her to this dire humiliation, but the only response was a brusque gesture with his hand as he motioned her to join Liza under the lights. The young wife saw that she was going to have to go through with it, and she gulped the rest of her drink to steady her nerves as she walked onto the platform.
Momentarily blinded by the lights, the blonde looked helplessly around her, waiting for instructions. Liza, as naked as the day she was born, was taking a swing directly from a whiskey bottle, and did not seem to mind in the slightest being totally undressed in a roomful of complete strangers.
"This is the gal who's really got a figure on her," Liza drunkenly told the laughing men, sincerely meaning to praise her friend. "Compared to her, I'm practically flat-chested!"
"Well, let's have a look!" decreed Looming, his authoritative voice booming in the back of the crowd. "Come on, Joan we can't see what nature gave you underneath that dress."
Something inside of her froze, and Joan stood motionless for a long moment, staring into the blinding lights, unable to gather up the courage she needed to refuse, and too afraid to do what they demanded of her. After an awkward interval, Liza understood that her friend was suffering from an attack of nerves, and the naked model stood up behind the young married woman, throwing a comforting arm around her shoulders.
"Don't worry, honey," she whispered softly. "They aren't going to eat you. It's easy once you get used to it!" Seeing that Joan was still paralzyed, the practical-minded model flashed an understanding smile at the audience and carefully began to undress her friend. Joan closed her eyes, desperately trying to force her mind to work. One thing was very clear. She was under Split's power and all she had to do was displease him seriously and he could wreck her whole life by sending one of those incriminating photographs to her husband. On the other hand...there was no other hand! She was trapped!
It was an exciting scene, and lust seemed to cover the room like a thick smoke. One girl, brown-haired and already unashamedly naked was standing next to the lush blonde beauty like a hand maiden serving a queen. Her fingers moving deftly, she slipped the straps of the top down off of Joan's milky white shoulders, widening the deep crevice between her heavy swollen breasts until first one little golden brown nipple was revealed and then the other. A shudder rippled through Joan's lushly inviting body as she felt herself being stripped gently to the waist. Liza was now standing behind her, working on the zipper which had to be opened before the top could be lowered over her full curving hips. Joan could feel the other girl's nakedly pointed breasts scraping the exposed sensitive skin of her back. The sensation was strangely eortic, and for a moment, the blonde woman wondered if there was not a streak of the lesbian in her somewhere. The thought frightened her, and she shivered involuntarily, hearing the men roar with laughter as her lust-provoking breast quivered back and forth.
"There we go," muttered Liza as she finally managed to unblock the zipper, slipping her dainty hands down into Joan's skirt and easing it gently over her hips and onto the floor. Instinctively, the modest young blonde covered her breasts, feeling humiliated as never before in her life. Even her seduction by Jack Lynch had not been quite this bad, since at least it was done in comparative privacy. But this public display of her warm sensuous body to a roomful of lustful men was frightening.
"Hey, you forgot something, Liza," called Lynch, smiling impishly and pointing to the black lacy panties which still covered the young woman's loins.
"Oh, you boys want everything all at once," Liza pretended to grumble, quickly obeying her instructions by tugging Joan's panties down past her smoothly modelled thighs to the floor.
She was naked now, totally and completely naked, and even the would-be photographer was forced to stop and stare for a moment, his hands sweating with undisguised lust as he gazed at the spectacularly built young woman. Then he remembered his original intention to reproduce some of this desire-arousing beauty on film and began to take pictures, so rapidly that Joan wondered if he was really bothering to focus the camera.
"That's right. Now kneel down," he commanded, trying to behave the way he thought a real professional would under these circumstances. Joan nervously tried to do as she was told, desperately wishing he would finish with this bizarre nonsense. She was keenly aware that the waves of lust being generated by this crowd of strong men were washing over her like some irresistible tide. The embarrassment and shame of being naked like this was slowly wearing off, and beneath it all, she could feel the churning of her own easily aroused passions.
"Good...take your hands off your tits, please...that's good," monologued the amateur photographer, slurring his words a little as he spoke. Joan saw the whiskey bottle being passed around among the men, and her days of tending bar had taught her that a group like this could be dangerous when they had drunk too much. She obeyed his instructions as well as she could, dropping her hands to her sides and even trying to smile a little as she faced the camera. The construction men were clearly getting edgy, and they seemed to be crowding in on her from all sides. Was this all destined to end in a mass rape?
"Come on, Mac, you're getting in the way, goddamn it!" the amateur photographer flared at one of his colleagues who had reached forward from the sidelines and run his fingers lightly over one of Liza's temptingly soft breasts.
"Ah, fuck you, George!" came the angry reply. "What is this photographer bullshit, anyway?"
"Just stay out of the way," the man called George menaced, "or you're going to find five strange knuckles in your mouth! Okay, now Joan, just spread yer legs a little 'cause I wanna get a nice close-up of that sweet little pussy!"
"No!" cried Joan, her emotions taking over. This was too much!
"Open your legs, I said!" roared the photographer, stumbling drunkenly as he took a threatening step towards the terrified girl, the camera waving in one hand. Joan saw a worried look cross Lynch's face, and she knew he was far more concerned about his precious camera than anything which might happen to her.
"Shit, this bastard's wasting our time," muttered another one of the men evilly, stumbling to his feet and blocking George's path. With an angry grunt, he tried to wrestle the camera from the would-be photographer's hands.
Joan had worked in bars long enough to know a fight when she saw one coming and the naked young wife realized that a real brawl was about to take place. These men were driven by lust and alcohol, a mean combination, and in this moment they were capable of anything. It was Lynch who finally set off the spark by leaping into the middle of the fray, his fist balled as he tried in vain to rescue his valuable camera. Suddenly the room exploded into warfare, with most of the men wading into the battle with all they were worth. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Liza, a veteran of many such incidents, darting for safety beneath the bar. After a moment's hesitation, the young blonde wife grabbed for her dress and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom. But she forgot to step down as she ran from the platform and fell heavily, knocking the breath from her body as her softly yielding breasts slammed into the floor.
Instantly strong arms went around her waist, and she found herself lifted into the air and carried rapidly into the waiting bedroom on a man's muscular shoulders. Her head was still spinning from her fall, and a second later she heard the door slam shut behind them.
"The boys get a little rough sometimes," said Bill Looming with a smile as he deposited her unceremoniously on the bed. "They'll calm down in a minute or two."
"Oh, thank you," the girl sputtered, overwhelmingly happy to be out of the brawl which she could still hear going on in the studio. "I don't know how to thank...."
"Oh, I reckon I can think of a way to thank me," replied the construction boss, a sinister expression creeping across his hard corrupt face. "Why don't you just crawl over here with those sweet lips of yours and tell me how grateful you are."
With a shock, Joan realized that she had been moved from the frying pan into the fire. She was still stark naked, her dress having been left somewhere behind when she fell, and Looming was in the act of unbuckling his pants and dropping them to the floor as he walked toward her, grinning lewdly. She retreated as far as she could, but the bed was positioned in the corner of the bedroom as she soon found herself boxed in with walls on two sides and the construction boss in front. He was ripping off his shirt as he climbed up on the bed, and the young blonde shuddered as she saw the muscles ripple across his powerful chest.
"Why are you so shy?" he taunted her mockingly. "I ain't asking for anything you haven't done plenty of times before...why an old porno actress like you...."
He was on top of her before his words hit home. What made him think she was any kind of an actress? But there was no time now to ask questions. The burly aggressive man had moved agilely across the springy mattress and dropped his heavy body down on top of hers, pinning her to the bed with one leg on either side of her futilely struggling body. The construction boss must have weighed two hundred pounds, none of it fat, and to show her that he was in a position to hurt her whenever he wanted to, he allowed his full weight to sink down on her stomach, drawing the breath from her body.
"Hey girl, what's all this fighting about?" he inquired scornfully, watching her face grow red from lack of oxygen. "You ain't no virgin, baby, or you wouldn't be here in the first place!"
Too stunned by all that had happened in the last few minutes to be able to reply, Joan stared at him in silence, unable to move. The man was still wearing his undershorts, and she watched, her dismay growing by the minute, as he opened the slit in front and extracted his thick and slowly hardening cock.
"I've had my eyes on those red lips of yours all evening long," he informed her brutally. "Now we're gonna put them to some real practical use."
Joan saw in a moment what he was talking about and an agonized shiver ran quickly through her vulnerably naked body. He wanted her to do to him what the young French girl had been forced to do to the gangster in that horrible movie. He was going to jam that fleshy rod into the virginal sanctuary of her mouth and make her suck him until he came!
"No!" she cried out in horror, realizing that there were some things she could never bring herself to do, no matter how they threatened her. Let them send the pictures to Allen! If she stooped to commit an act of oral sex with a stranger, she could never look herself in the mirror again!
"What do you mean, no?" Looming inquired menacingly, reaching down and running his calloused hand up over one trembling breast until he held the tiny brown nipple between his thumb and index finger. "Honey, no two-bit whore like you says 'no' to Big Bill Looming and gets away with it! How do ya like this?" As he spoke, his fingers twisted until Joan felt that he was going to pull her sensitive, pain-wracked nipple away with his hand.
"Aaaaaaggghhhhh!! ! " she shrieked, but there was still an enormous racket in the next room, and no one seemed to hear her. "No, please, don't hurt me again," she begged him, knowing as she spoke that it was useless to plead with someone as heartless as this. She was totally defenseless and Looming knew it as well as she. What could she possibly do? Go to the police and have him arrested? Impossible, her picture would be in the morning papers on the front page, and Looming would beat the rap anyway.
Give in? No, that was impossible as well. The man inched his way up on her squirming torso, his hands traveling from her pain-filled breasts to the long blonde hair strewn out behind her on the bedspread. It was useless to say no and she could never bring herself to say yes. The cruelly impatient man was already pressing his thumbs against her trembling lips, his now rigid cock waving just below her chin. Her arms were pinned neatly to the mattress by his legs, and she found that her freedom of movement was extremely limited. She thrashed her head from side to side, but Looming seized her with both hands, his fingers forcing in on both sides so that she was slowly but surely obliged to open her mouth, or bite the insides of her cheeks.
"Now, baby, you're gonna suck that cock and suck it real nice," he informed her heartlessly, flicking his loins forward so that the thick shaft of hard flesh rested on her involuntarily opening lips. "And every time you stop sucking, I'm gonna hurt you baby, so make sure you don't forget." Just as a reminder the construction boss reached behind him, mercilessly tweaking one of her throbbing nipples again...in the unlikely event she had already forgotten what he wanted of her.
Joan stared down in horror at his hotly pulsating penis which was menacing the sanctuary of her mouth, now knowing for sure that there was no escape from this impossible situation. She was going to have to go through with it, like it or not! The man's organ was not particularly long, but the stimulation of tormenting a helpless naked woman was causing his lust-swollen cock-head to expand to an alarming degree. Now he made an impatient little warning movement with his buttocks as his fully erect penis pointed lewdly in her face. Joan's mind rebelled at the thought of allowing her mouth to be used as an unwilling receptable for his depraved sperm, and yet what other alternative was there?
Big Bill Looming was getting angry, and to show his displeasure he pinched the sensitive flesh of her breasts, hurting her deliberately to make her cry out with pain. The moment she opened her mouth to groan, he moved skillfully forward, embedding the pulsating thickness of his cock in her warm wet mouth. One quick thrust, and the deed was done!
Joan gagged as she felt the hot throbbing cock-head sliding wetly up along the smooth moist surface of her tongue towards the back of her mouth. And she could taste it as well! The man was clean, but he was also tremendously excited, and his cock was already secreting tiny pungent droplets of rich seminal fluid which mixed lewdly with the saliva from her throat.
Expertly, Looming began a careful fucking motion in and out of the girl's cruelly stretched young mouth, his hands tightly entwined in her hair to prevent her from turning away from him. From her subjugated position beneath him, Joan could only see the black pubic hair curling in his groin and the thick glistening shaft of his penis whenever it emerged partially from her warmly salivating mouth. Her mind wandered a little as he thrust mercilessly into her face, and she found herself wondering if she would have to do something like this eight more times in order to win back all the negatives which had been taken on the night of her fatal weakness. Would she come back here again after tonight, knowing that she was going to be humiliated in this bizarre inhuman fashion? She did not know and could not decide. It seemed like a poor moment to try and plan her future.
"Hey, the boss is in here!" came a voice from the door. Joan could see nothing but the rise and fall of Looming's stomach, but she heard footsteps cross the room, suddenly conscious of the fact that nearly, her entire body was lying naked and exposed behind Looming's back. She heard the construction boss speak:
"You boys settle your differences? Some people like fighting, but I'm a fucking man myself!"
"Yeah, we see," came another comment as two men circled the bed and Joan snapped her eyes shut, irrationally believing that the humiliation would be less if she could not see the men who were watching her.
"Shit, look at that broad suck, boss! How's it feel?"
Joan suddenly realized that unconsciously she had begun to use her lips, running her tongue wetly around the hot bulbous tip of the man's plunging cock. All right, she decided, the sooner I can get this over with the happier I'll be. If they want me to suck, then by god, I'll suck!
As her determination hardened, the girl's head began to jerk back and forth as she flicked her tongue teasingly into the tiny slit in the head of the man's cock, feeling his bulbous instrument throbbing violently in response. She knew that within minutes, the stimulation would become too much for him and he would spew his vile sperm into the back of her throat, defiling her in a way she would never be able to forget. Once she had let them do this to her, there was no way of turning back! She would be a whore, pure and simple, no better than Liza.
Suddenly she felt a man moving between her neglected legs, and even though she could not see him, she understood clearly what he was up to. His lecherous hands roamed around over her full round breasts, tweaking and twisting the hard brown nipples until she wanted to groan and then darting down between her widespread legs to torment the slowly palpitating flanges of her defenselessly exposed cunt. For a moment, she was not sure whether there was one man playing with her helpless body or two, since she could see virtually nothing and it was difficult to count exactly how many hands were roaming lasciviously over her naked body.
Above her, Bill Looming grunted and muttered one obscenity after another as he watched his wetly glistening cock plunging past the helpless young wife's tightly ovaled lips into the warm moist sanctuary of her mouth. Behind his back, fiendish hands were roaming brutally over the succulent softness of her naked flesh, and suddenly a man's lips were demanding entrance to the narrow, hair-lined furrow of her cunt. She tried to tighten her thighs to avoid this new disgrace, but the man had already inserted himself between her legs and was able to control her easily, the wetness of his lips running wildly over the fiat smooth plane of her stomach. In another minute, his hands were busily at work, pressing her thighs even farther apart and opening up her quivering little pussy to the ravages of his tongue. One moist finger strayed even lower between her tightly clenched buttocks, and as his lips made contact with the softly pulsating little bud of her clitoris, the man's outstretched middle finger tested the defenses around her anus.
She wanted to cry out, to beseech him to leave her alone, but it was impossible to make more than a vague moaning sound with Looming's meaty cock buried deeply in her throat. The unseen man nibbled cruelly on the ultra-sensitive flesh of her clitoris and, at the same time, stroked his finger teasingly around her contracted anal ring until he felt her muscles relax for one brief instant. As soon as her defenses were momentarily down, he shoved, sinking his finger into her violated little rectum as far as the first knuckle.
Joan reacted from this humiliatingly unpleasant pain, her whole tortured body jerking forward. At the same moment, Looming chose to fuck into her cock-stretched mouth with an extra deep stroke, and she nearly choked as his thick fleshy shaft slid even farther down towards the back of her mouth. Joan tried to mumble a protest, but her words were jumbled into a meaningless moan as the man's invading finger dug deeper and deeper up into the tightness of her rectum, methodically widening the tormented entrance. In another moment, he was able to shove two fingers in where there had once been barely room for one, and he thrust in and out of her rhythmically, keeping time with Looming's merciless mouthing of her vagina, and a third man's wildly enthusiastic fingering of her quivering young cunt. Joan thought she was sure to faint from this massive attack on all the openings in her completely violated body.
But in another moment, the triply penetrated wife found she had no more time to worry about what the unknown men were doing with their fingers to her helpless loins. Looming's excitedly throbbing cock was getting harder and bigger as he approached his climax, and she could feel his muscular hands tightening in her long blonde hair as his hips began jerking into her face more fiercely, his thick hot penis digging its way farther and farther into her involuntarily sucking mouth. She could feel his climax approaching from a long way off, and knew that the ultimate degradation was about to be forced upon her. He was going to cum in her mouth, and he was holding her head so tightly that it was clear that he meant her to swallow every vile drop of it.
In this moment, she wished desperately for one of Lynch's narcoticized cigarettes. Anything would do to kill the desperation and humiliation in her mind, and she longed for the mind-dulling effects of the marijuana. She was hardly in a position to call for a ten minute smoke break so that she could stone herself into oblivion. It was too late for that now, but she vowed that if she were ever again forced into this kind of sordid degradation, she would never face it clear headed.
But now she had only one option: Get it over with, and she sucked on Looming's cock as if she had been born and raised for this purpose and no other, her cheeks hollowing and puffing alternately as she tried to suck the searing white seed out of his body into hers. The man down between her legs was fingering her poor defenseless cunt into a frenzy of desire, but she tried with all her might to ignore the tiny tingles of sexual excitement swarming through her loins and concentrate on her main task at the moment.
Looming groaned a four-letter word, and thrust his wildly jerking penis one last time into the moist warm depths of the naked young wife's mouth, holding his cock there as it began to spew its hotly pungent streams of semen into the back of her throat. At the same time, he ground his muscular buttocks down into the soft warm flesh of her breasts. The girl groaned miserably but she had no choice other than swallowing the warmly sticky liquid as it gushed into her throat. She clasped her lips even tighter around the man's hotly erupting instrument in her mouth, her tongue working hard as she swiped away gush after gush of the searingly hot fluid which seemed to be coming out of him in never-ending waves. After what seemed to be an eternity, his furiously ejaculating cock gave one last mighty spurt and then started to deflate like a balloon with a tiny pin-prick in it.
Unsure of herself, Joan continued sucking and swallowing until he was clean, gulping and gagging a little as she choked down the last traces of his creamy white cum and left him glistening and limp in her mouth.
"Ah man, that was really something!" she heard the construction man boast to his cronies, gently extracting his exhausted cock from her gleaming lips, a slender thread-like stream of cum still connecting her lips to the tip of his deflated red cock.
"Come on, boss, don't hog it!" begged one of his men, and Joan felt the enormous weight of Looming's body being removed from the softly yielding flesh of her breasts as the man threw himself to one side, allowing the cool air to sweep over her shoulders and arms. Joan lay still, too defeated and exhausted to fight back anymore. Whatever they wanted to do with her now was their business. They had not asked her permission before and they did not need to ask it now. Just do it and get it over with, she begged them mentally. Finish before I start to want it too!
She opened her eyes hesitantly, a little afraid of what she would see. As she had suspected, there were now two men on the bed with her besides Looming, both heavily muscled brutes in their forties. One glance at their lust-inflamed faces and she knew that there was no mercy to be found here. These were tough sensual men who worked on dangerous construction jobs all day long, keeping their positions as foremen because of their physical superiority over the other men, their willingness to take risks, and their sheer animal drive. America had been built by types just like these; men who took what they wanted first and talked about asking permission afterwards. They were going to take her now, anyway they wanted to and there was very little to stop them.
"Where are the other boys?" asked Looming casually as if this were a meeting on a construction site somewhere. "Still fighting?"
"Naw, they kissed and made up." reported the red-haired man who was kneeling between Joan's helplessly spread legs. "Now they're fuckin' the other broad, the one who was hiding under the bar."
"That's a handy location," decided Looming practically. "I'll just nip out there and get us a bottle or two for in here. It looks like we got our night's work cut out for us, eh?"
"Damn right, boss," the red-haired man agreed. "Well, what'll you have, Miss Big-Tits, a little fucking or a little sucking?"
"No...please," Joan whimpered, turning her head to one side so that she would not have to face the impassioned fire in the man's violent eyes. The second man, a tall black-haired giant of a man was undressing casually as if he were in his own bedroom, and he laughed aloud as he witnessed the girl's misery.
"What an actress, Jim!" he called lewdly. "She's pretending she's never been gang-banged before."
"Well, maybe she hasn't" replied the man called Jim thoughtfully. "But there's gotta be a first time for everything, now doesn't there?"
"Yeah, better get started, buddy. Those other guys are gonna be finished with the brown-haired chick in awhile, and I like to take my time when I'm breaking in a new girl. Don't want that mob of jerks breathing down my neck when I start to do my stuff."
The red-haired man was already naked, and he did not seem disposed to wait for an answer from Joan concerning her preferred method of defilement. He smiled at her menacingly and his rough calloused hands began to sweep again over the nakedly sensitive flesh of her body. His cock, already hard and ready, protruded rigidly from his groin as he knelt over the shivering girl, exploring the delicious curves and indentations of her voluptuous young body. As he touched her, Joan realized that she was not going to be able to hold them off much longer as far as her own emotions were concerned. Already she could sense the electric shocks of growing lust starting to shoot erratically around in her cruelly battered body, and each time the man's hard hands swept casually over the tiny neglected nugget of her clitoris, a hotly searing flame seemed to erupt in her quivering cunt. A groan escaped from her lips before she could get her senses together and stop it, and to her eternal disgrace, she found that her lushly curved hips had suddenly developed a mind of their own, grinding and gyrating up off the mattress in an unmistakable motion of hunger and need.
"Wow! This broad is really ready to fuck!" proclaimed the red-haired man, noticing the telltale movements of her over-stimulated body and realizing that she was not quite the abused unwilling victim she was pretending to be. Nor could he see any particular reason for delay and with a sly lecherous grin, he threw his heavy body forward, crushing the wind out of Joan's lungs as he crashed brutally into her, his hips flicking forward at the same time to send his long slender cock shooting up into her moistly waiting cunt.
Joan held her breath, waiting for the pain, and found herself almost disappointed when none came. Instead, she could feel the man's medium-sized instrument fucking its way steadily up inside of her softly clasping tunnel, and apparently encountering very little resistance. The maltreatment she had suffered at the hands of Bill Looming must have excited her more than she cared to admit, for the inside of her hotly throbbing vagina was already moist and well-lubricated. Added to this was the fact that the man was not particularly big, despite the size of the rest of his body. She lay still, trying to control the jerking and quivering of her legs as he pummeled her, ramming his stiffened rod in as deep as it would go into her gently palpitating pussy. At the end of every stroke, his sperm-laden balls slapped into the delicate flesh of her upturned ass, and Joan found herself wrapping her legs tightly around his back in an unconscious effort to force him to pillage even more deeply into her shamelessly aroused body.
The man got the message and did his best, grabbing both of her ass-cheeks getting up on his knees so he could ram into her with all his might.
"Deeper!" she heard herself groaning. "Deeper! Fuck it deeper!"
Immediately her face colored with red as she realized that somehow these vile instructions had escaped from her own mouth, betraying the fact that she was now a willing participant to anything they wanted to do. The red-haired man, however, apparently saw nothing wrong with her suggestion, and did his best to comply. As if to compensate for his physical shortcomings, he plastered his lips against hers, sending his tongue darting into her mouth. The naked young wife sucked at it hungrily, drawing it deep into her mouth while his hard virile cock pistoned into her churning young cunt, arousing a kind of physical hunger which she had never before known in her life. There had been times particularly in bed with Allen when she had felt frustrated and dissatisfied, but the young wife had never known anything quite like this fit of absolute animal lust which was now sweeping over her nakedly tormented body. It was like being possessed by a devil, and somehow she knew that she could never get enough!
"Harder!! ! " she heard herself plead, not knowing where these vile words came from or how she managed to say them before she could stop herself. She was losing control, and losing it fast.. . and there was no way to get it back again! She reached around the man with desperate hands, seizing his pumping buttocks just as he had seized hers and began furiously pulling him into her as if they could somehow make up with energy what he lacked in raw materials.
But the effort came too late. With a loud animal-like groan, his body suddenly stiffened, and his cock jerked wildly two or three times and then exploded. Joan felt his thick plunging instrument suddenly expand within her, then begin spraying his white hot cum into the inner recesses of her frustrated womb. She still was a few minutes away from a climax, and he was far too soon. He had left her behind! She was ready to weep with frustration.
Unwilling to give into the inevitable, she frantically fucked her anguished body up against his, trying to make some use of his slowly deflating tool before it weakened into softness. But the man was no longer interested in playing games, and his cock seemed to wilt like a flower without water, rapidly growing useless.
"Don't worry, baby," he mocked her lewdly. "There's plenty more where that came from. The next guy in line'll take care of you."
The door opened as he removed his body from the bed. Three more men piled into the room, apparently finished with Liza and looking for some new adventure. The big black-haired man had waited patiently for his turn at the voluptuous blonde woman, and he sprang onto the bed to establish his position as next in line before any of the others could stake a claim. To Joan, it was a matter of total indifference who was next as long as there was somebody who could do the job she needed done. The inadequate red-head had succeeded only in rousing her passions to fever pitch and had done little enough to satisfy them. I'm going out of my mind, she sobbed to herself as the next man threw his hard, muscular body on top of hers. I'm turning into a nymphomaniac! There was no denying the fact that she wanted it bad now. She wanted to have a man's cock fucking in and out of her pussy, wanted to feel him explode far up inside her belly, his hot sperm filling the moist recesses of her grossly over-stimulated young body. She had to have it!
The black-haired man levered himself into a push-up position over the anguished young woman, his dark fiery eyes staring down at her as he tried to decide how he would subject this innocent girl to his corrupt lusts. This particular foreman had a way with women, and he got all the routine sex he could handle, but rarely with anything as young and tender as this. An actress, he thought as he gloated over her shamefully aroused figure. Shit, I gotta take advantage of this! Opportunities like this one don't come along every day. Wildly, the man's eyes wandered over her nakedly defenseless body as he ticked off the possibilities in his brain. He could take her in the mouth the way the boss had, or in the cunt the regular way, but he was looking for something special, something which she would remember after a half dozen others had messed around with her . . .
The man's eyes fell on Joan's high mountainous young breasts swaying and quivering as she writhed beneath him on the mattress. The sight excited him and in one perverse instant, he made his choice. He had to have them in some way and he thought he knew how. Moving carefully so as not to disturb the masochistic, submissive mood she was in, he climbed up on her, shuffling his knees on either side of her torso until his buttocks were suspended over her stomach and his long pole-like cock waved back and forth over her breasts. Supporting himself on the enormous muscles in his thighs, the man reached down and took one white tender breast in each strong sinewy hand, squeezing and kneading her warmly yielding flesh until her mouth opened to emit another soul-searching moan of undisguised lust.
"Ah, you really want it, don't you, bitch," he said lasciviously, clearly reading the rampant uncontrolled desire on the young woman's tormented features. "Well you're gonna get it, but not the way you had in mind!"
CHAPTER SIX
While the naked young wife moaned pathetically, wishing he would hurry up and satisfy the white hot hunger which was burning furiously in her aching loins, the man lowered his eager pulsating cock into the sweat-dampened valley between her breasts and began to squeeze the soft resilient mounds together. Pushing hard, he maneuvered the two lust-provoking spheres up against one another so that the long rigid shaft of his cock was trapped between them. Once he had created this bizarre artificial cunt, he started moving slowly back and forth, feeling the fantastic sensation of her softly yielding flesh pressing in against the hardness of his penis. Every time he pushed forward, the red, blood-engorged tip of his glistening cock appeared high on her chest, depositing a translucent drop of seminal fluid on her neck.
For what seemed like an eternity the man methodically kept up the slow rocking motion, feeling his bulging cock get hotter and hotter by the moment. Joan at first had thought that this was nothing more than the depraved prelude to a normal act of sex, but when she saw that he intended to cheat her of the carnal satisfaction her body absolutely craved, she cried out in something approaching real despair.
"Please, not like that! Oh, please fuck me!" she groaned. She knew she was only adding to her own degradation and humiliation by pleading to be fucked like a nymphomaniac, but she really no longer cared what anyone thought of her. By this stage of the game, the lewd flames of desire were too hot for her to worry about appearances!
But the cruelly fucking man was simply ignoring her, feeling his wildly excited penis swelling under the artificial stimulation from the sides of her tormented breasts. This was the best thing he had had for a long time, and he was not about to give it up just because she had hot pants! Let the next guy in line take care of her! His thrusting grew faster and harder until she was sure that he was going to tear the fragile flesh of her bosom as he went on fucking viciously backwards and forwards, muttering obscenity after obscenity.
"Noooooo!" she groaned as she felt the end approaching fast, but it was already too late. The hot sticky cum spurted out of his massive organ like warm liquid spewing under pressure from a fire nozzle, spraying her face and shoulders and pouring lewdly over her battered naked breasts. Mixing with the light layer of sweat on her body, it flowed in tiny little rivulets down under her armpits, obscenely dampening the bed beneath them.
"Oh God," she muttered. "Why didn't you fuck me? Please...I need it so bad!"
The man chuckled heartlessly and rolled off of her, leaving her cum-coated young body nakedly glistening under the harsh light from the ceiling. The room seemed to be filled with men, all laughing and passing a bottle from one to the other as they crowded lecherously around the bed.
"Isn't there a man here?" she screamed crazily trying to insult someone into doing what she needed done, and feeling the last traces of her sanity slipping away from her. If something did not happen to still the desperate longing need in her soon she felt she would go berserk! "Someone, please...."
"Sounds like she's ready for Freddie," joked one of the man lasciviously.
"Yeah, Where's Freddie?" called a chorus of voices, degenerate lust pouring from face to face as a perverse new idea swept around the room. Joan was too fogged by this point to waste any time speculating about who or what Freddie was, and when a modest looking little man walked smilingly into the room, she realized that she had not noticed him before. Somehow, he did not look like the foreman of a construction team, although he was obviously being treated with great respect by the other men. Freddie was short and slender and somewhat mild-mannered, and Joan felt another wave of disappointment sweep over her as the man approached the bed, bowed to her mockingly and began to strip off his clothing.
"Go get her, Freddie!" came the words of encouragement from the sidelines.
"She's all yours, Freddie-boy!"
This is some kind of bad joke, thought the tortured young woman, thrashing back and forth on the bed in anguish. Why are they doing this to me? In the back of her mind, she realized that all the men had probably been satisfied at least once by either Liza or herself and they were now looking for a little entertainment between rounds! And she was going to be the entertainment, with some assistance from this new man.
It was not until after he had stripped himself completely and climbed up on the bed that she began to get the point. Freddie, despite his slender, youthful body, was not quite normal in another way. Between his muscular hairy thighs dangled what seemed at first to be the beginning of another leg. So this was the joke!
Joan's eyes widened with horror as she got a good look at the brutal instrument he was preparing to ram into her. Freddie's cock must have been ten inches long and over two inches in diameter and it was gradually hardening and rising as he crawled across the bed towards her, smiling in a lewd hunger. Joan's thighs slapped noisily against each other as she quickly drew her legs tightly together, fear racing through her mind like a narcotic. Her mouth dropped open in shocked, horrified disbelief as the man knelt up before her, his long horrendous cock in his hands.
It's impossible, she told herself and she imagined her tender young vagina being ripped open while the crew of heartless contraction men stood around and laughed. This man was not a normal human being. He would kill her! She would not let him do it!
But in the end, she was given no choice. Hands came from all sides, seizing her wrists and ankles and spreading her out on the bed like a blanket while Freddie crawled happily between her outstretched legs, his menacing cock growing harder and firmer with every passing moment. As soon as her long tapered thighs had been opened and the delicate pink slit of her vagina appeared in plain view, Freddie smiled drunkenly as he saw the beautiful little toy his friends had given him to play with. Freddie liked them tight, and this girl was hardly used, at least by his depraved standards. He knew he would have to hurry since the other men were getting out of hand, and in another few minutes the whiskey bottle would have made another round and they would be feeling ready to get back into action. Already they were edging close to the succulently naked body on the bed, their hands reaching out obscenely to squeeze the girl's high mountainous breasts or stroke the smooth pink flesh of her cunt with their prying fingers. His cock was hard; what was he waiting for?
Joan watched him like a paralyzed bird watches the advance of a snake, too terrified to move and physically incapable of doing anything to save herself. Staring down through the twin valleys of her breasts and her widespread thighs, the young wife found that she could not tear her eyes off the monstrous instrument which was coming closer and closer.
Without warning, Freddie toppled onto her helplessly exposed body, his wetly heated lips coursing across the naked flesh of her stomach and down to the delightful mysteries up between her legs. For a long time he burrowed into her, lashing her tiny pink clitoris with his tongue, while the girl fought desperately not to lose her self-control all over again. This time she had to hold onto her sanity, she told herself grimly. She must not let them conquer her again!
But the man between her legs was not taking any chances, and his long snake-like tongue burrowed up into her, relighting the fires of lust which had been threatening a short time before to consume her wildly thrashing young body. She tried to hold onto her fear as the only thing which stood between her and utter madness, but the man was taking it away from her, bit by bit, replacing it with nothing but the same shamelessly wanton lust she had experienced before. He was turning her back into an animal again, and she could not stop him!
"Yes, yes, yes," she panted mindlessly, feeling her hips start to rotate mechanically again as his tongue slavered furiously into her. "Yes, do it!"
Slowly the man inched his way back up her body, tormenting her breasts with his lips as he gradually covered her voluptuous young figure with his wiry body. Joan's naked hips automatically rose up in the air, searchingly, as she tried to capture that impaling pike she had feared so desperately only a moment or two before. She had to have it! It made no difference if he ripped her vagina into a thousand pieces, right now she had to have it! The men crowded anxiously around the bed, their eyes bulging as this lust-inspiring scene took place before them Freddie was always happy to put on a little floor show, and this was one they would remember for a long time.
Then, with a sudden unexpected flick of his hips, the little man rammed his iron-hard cock forward, skillfully finding the clasping pink ridges of cuntal flesh and sliding the blood-filled tip of his massive instrument through her fearfully cringing cuntal lips.
"Aaaaafffffggggghhhh!! ! " the nakedly squirming young wife screamed, suddenly understanding what it was going to mean to be penetrated by a man of this size. She threw her head to one side, unable to watch her own impalement anymore, feeling the way a patient does when the doctor implants a needle into a vein. The man's massive penis was inside of her only an inch or so and already the pain was terrifyingly great. She could never take it all! He was too big! Sharp needles of agony were already shooting through her overwrought body, and she was writhing in pain despite the efforts of the men all around her to hold her still.
Freddie rose up on his hands and knees, grinned at his friends, and shoved forward another inch.
"Ugggghhhhhh!" she groaned miserably, tears streaming down her cheeks as she endured this terrible torment.
"Come on, Freddie, finish it!" called a voice.
"Noooohhhhh!" she screamed, but Freddie did as he was told, throwing his body forward with one powerful shove which sent his granite-like cock steaming up the narrowly resisting passage. The girl's body seemed to rise up off the bed and hover in mid-air as the massive pole of hot flesh filled her insides with agony.
For a moment, Joan could not move and it seemed to her that the man's huge organ was coming all the way up into the back of her throat. She groaned with relief when she felt his heavily swinging balls slap into her unprotected ass-cheeks, for as bad as she was hurting, this meant at least that it was not going to get any worse. He was all of the way up inside of her belly now and nothing had split, but his mammoth penis lay throbbing within the suffering walls of her tightly stretched cunt. She felt as if an enormous log had somehow been thrust up inside of her.
The men crowded lustfully around, finding it difficult to believe that the tight little pussy they had all seen just a moment or two before had actually been penetrated successfully by this fantastic penis. The men were getting more and more into the act as their desires grew intense; Joan could feel fingers pinching at her anguished breasts, and another hand probing beneath her body in an attempt to attack the widespread crevice of her quivering naked buttocks. A man's outstretched finger played again with the tiny puckered hole of her anus and even plunged inside of her for a moment until Freddie angrily slapped the hand away.
The man with the extraordinary cock wanted nothing to interfere with his style as he began a gentle smooth sawing motion, withdrawing his long impaling penis part of the way, and then thrusting mercilessly forward again. At first, her clasping little cunt was so tight that he could hardly move, but gradually as he fucked his way back and forth, she began to widen up, the tortured tissues of her body adjusting reluctantly to the presence of his huge bulbous flesh within her. Slowly, the pain began to ease and Joan found herself floating halfway between hurt and happiness, between pain and pleasure, a strange masochistic no-man's land where reality ceased to matter. There was something so savagely erotic about the idea of being fucked half to death in the presence of a group of lusting, panting men that a powerful wave of masochistic pleasure rippled through her over-stimulated body. She found herself fading rapidly back into the dream world of submission and subjugation from which she had barely emerged. She was going under again and she found she could not stop herself from babbling.
"Oh yes, fuck me like that. . . like that!" the naked young wife groaned insanely, her lushly ripened body squirming like a fish amidst a sea of hands and faces and cocks which seemed to surround her. "Go on! Like that! Fuck me harder!"
Her legs curled obscenely around Freddie's back and, as her ass-cheeks arched high off the mattress, she felt a man's hand attack her vulnerable backside again, this time with a savage insistence, the outstretched finger worming its way promptly into her offended anus and moving back and forth in time with the man's wildly fucking strokes. The long rigid shaft of hot flesh thrusting inside of her wetly pulsating pussy seemed to be going with jackhammer speed now, and she felt herself floating higher and higher.
Then, with an abruptness that was stunning, her climax hit her suddenly, unexpectedly, like a kick in the stomach, and she howled like a wounded animal as great swirls of incredible pleasure stormed through her overloaded nervous system, jamming all the circuits like a telephone system gone completely haywire. Freddie came at precisely the same moment, his massively expanded cock spitting far up into her convulsing young cunt. The pungent odor of cum reached her nostrils from the semen mixing with the orgiastic liquid pouring from her own nakedly rejoicing body and overflowing from her overfilled cunt onto the mattress below them. For a moment of sheer maddened ecstasy, she absolutely wallowed in cum, feeling its slippery warmth sensually coating her thrashing ass-cheeks.
Things began to get confused after that, and Joan's mind faded out completely as the bed suddenly sagged with the weight of several more men. Soon they were all around her and there was a great empty place in her cunt as Freddie's long magnificent cock was abruptly jerked away. She felt herself being turned over on her stomach, and there was no resistance left in her anywhere to oppose anything they wanted to do to her now. There were penises all around her, and she was loving every obscene moment of it. A man's hands appeared on her hips, hauling her up to her knees while her full sensuous breasts swayed against the cum-soaked mattress below her. A split second later, she felt the blunt meaty end of his cock pressing cruelly into the widened opening of her vagina and with a grunt, he surged into her, tilling the vacancy left by Freddie. Joan was beyond caring at this point, and she waved her buttocks back at him like a bitch in heat, inviting him to do whatever he liked with her helpless body. Almost simultaneously another faceless man presented himself in front of her, his long hard cock stabbing toward her wetly parted lips.
This time, there was no need for anyone to torture her into opening her jaws. Her helpless mouth simply tumbled open, and the man's grateful penis slid past her ovaled lips, embedding itself deeply in her throat. The man was kneeling on the bed in front of her, holding her head between his hands and fucking viciously into her face as if her mouth were merely another cunt which he could mistreat as he pleased. Joan gagged slightly and then caught the lewd rhythm, clamping her lips tightly around the man's penis and sucking him as hard as she could. She was no longer really conscious in the strict sense of the term, now reduced to a sucking, gyrating, mindless mass of flesh with no will of her own and no desire to do other than serve her masters. Men seized her hands and she found herself holding two more cocks in her fingers and rejoiced at the thought. They were using her! They could do anything they wanted to her! She was a fucking machine and nothing more!
The man behind her suddenly groaned and his hot heavy sperm shot up into the depths of her womb. Instantly, he yielded his place to someone else who at once began fucking her savagely. The man whose wildly throbbing penis was trapped in her hungry young mouth groaned as his climax approached, and Joan nearly cried for joy as she felt the blood-filled cock-head explode into a torrent of white hot cum. The saline liquid flooded into her mouth and she swallowed it gluttonously as another orgasm began to quake through her own body. And another! And another climax after that! Time seemed to vanish and the clocks all stopped. The night went on forever. She groaned and screamed and begged for more until the men were too tired to give her what she cried for. When the sun started to come up, they left her with a shower of lewd compliments, sleeping in a pool of cum. On her face, there was a smile and her sleep was dreamless.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Clarence! What are you doing?" came an unexpected shriek behind him, and Mr. Clarence Johnson, Chairman of the Central Church Committee on the Fine Arts, straightened up quickly, banging his head against the window frame as he tried to conceal the fact that he had been looking lecherously into the Caruther's backyard. But Mrs. Johnson, a stout horse-faced woman in her early fifties, bustled angrily past him, ignoring his howls of pain as the chairman held his hurting head, and looked out the window herself, confirming her worse suspicions.
"Ah ha!" she proclaimed theatrically. "So this is what you've been up to all this time!" She picked up the binoculars she had given her husband last Christmas for bird watching and waved them menacingly in his face. "So you've been spying on that shameless hussy next door!"
"No...no, dearest, I assure you," struggled Clarence Johnson, his head still smarting from its brusque encounter with the window frame.
"There was a double breasted.. . I mean a speckled breasted blue jay on the Caruthers' garage and I was observing it.. . "
"Of course you were," the old battle-axe replied sarcastically. "The only thing with breasts I see down there is our neighbor's wife, and what a good man like Allen Caruthers sees in her I'll never know!"
Mr. Johnson, having observed the subject carefully with his binoculars knew exactly what his neighbor had seen in the young lady, particularly since Joan had recently gotten in the habit of removing the top of her bathing suit while she lounged in the mid-afternoon by the side of their pool. She must know that she could be observed from the bedroom window of the Johnson's home, and yet she did it anyway apparently not caring whether anyone saw her or not.
"Hmmmmmph! Lying half-naked around in the yard," stormed the irritated society woman indignantly. "I've got half a mind to speak to Mr. Caruthers about it. I'm sure he has no idea how his young wife behaves herself while he's away at the office. I don't forecast much of a future for that marriage, Clarence. A man must never marry beneath his class!"
"I don't see any evidence that Mrs. Caruthers misbehaves," offered the humiliated husband meekly, the pain in his head starting to disappear. "I hadn't noticed that she was not completely dressed, but then it's her own backyard and no one can see her."
"No one but you, of course!" snapped his wife sharply. "Clarence, I'll never understand you men, always ready to have the wool pulled over your eyes by any young thing with a pretty body...."
"She does have a nice build now that you mention it," Clarence agreed, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the young wife who continued to relax under the warming rays of the autumn sun, unaware of the commotion her splendid young body was causing.
"Clarence, stop looking!" snapped the wife. "A 'nice build' indeed. Cheap, I would call it, like everything else about that girl. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap!I For one thing, she's top-heavy and no respectable woman has a bosom that big! She has low-class written all over her in big letters. Even when she entertains, you can tell that Allen has done a very poor job of educating her, although you must give the poor man credit for trying."
"Well dear, I think she does very well considering her origins.. . "
"It's not quite good enough! You can tell that she was once a barmaid and God knows what else every time she entertains. She has that barmaid way of handling glasses. You can always tell a member of the lower classes when they try to be something they're not. I shudder to think of having to have her here in our house as a guest, but I suppose one does have obligations to one's neighbors."
"Yes...obligations to one's neighbors...." mumbled Clarence Johnson, putting his binoculars back in the case where he could find them tomorrow when his wife would go out to a Church meeting and Mrs. Caruthers would take her sun bath.
"Now Clarence, promise me you'll never spy on that worthless cheap thing again."
"Yes, dear," Clarence said humbly, hoping that tomorrow would be a good clear day for sun bathing.
* * *
Joan Caruthers knew perfectly well that old Mr. Johnson spent a certain amount of time each day watching her through his binoculars, but the idea failed to upset the young woman. A lot of water had passed under the bridge this summer, and she was no longer quite as shy about exposing her body as she had once been. She liked sun bathing topless, and if Mr. Johnson enjoyed looking, then they were both happy. Mischievously, she thought about coming out the next day stark naked under her bathrobe and giving the old phony a heart attack.
In the meanwhile, however, she felt happy and comfortable. The summer had not gone badly, although there were still some unresolved problems she would have to deal with in the future. Allen's business negotiations in Saint Louis were going well and he was happy, despite the fact that he had to spend so much of his time away from home in the company of the disagreeable Mr. Tompkins. But Allen's absence from the house made things much easier for her. When he was gone she did not need to invent excuses to go to Split's parties or spend an afternoon window shopping with Liza. It was nice to have a girl friend again, and the two of them enjoyed their days together. And then there were the parties . . .
She still felt guilty about the parties, even though she had already attended six of them over the summer and still had to attend two more in order to gain possession of all the incriminating photographs Lynch had taken of her on that first disastrous night. But somehow, relations between herself and the two men had softened, and she now genuinely enjoyed being with them, despite the fact that they were gently blackmailing her. Split had offered to share the proceeds from his parties with her, and she had finally accepted after three or four parties had taken place, finding the money useful for buying little things for herself which Allen might not approve of. But the big question mark still loomed in the future: What would happen when she had earned back all of her pictures? Could she possibly now go back to being the sweet little housewife in the suburbs? All summer long she had plunged herself jubilantly into the most degenerate orgies Split's inventive mind could design. It had been difficult at first, but now she clearly had to face the fact that her evenings at Jack Lynch's studio were bringing the only life and fun into an otherwise drab existence. Could she give it all up now?
These days Alien was far too tied up with his merger to pay much attention to her, but sooner or later, he would catch on to the fact that she was leading a double life. And then she would be out on the street, and her husband's lawyers would make sure that she stayed there. But there was something even deeper bothering her. Could she go on like this, a whore on the inside and a respectable lady on the outside? She had married Allen and moved away from the area around the train station with the idea of making something of her life, not wanting to finish her days like her mother, a drunken old slut who slept with anyone and everyone. She had to break free of Split and Lynch and Liza no matter how much she liked them or she would be following a trail which led nowhere but down! There were two more parties to do to win her freedom. She would do them and that would be all! Perhaps she would go shopping with Liza once in awhile just for old time's sake, but there would be no more drunken parties and gangbangs in which she pretended to be an actress from the West Coast for the benefit of some perverted, depraved man she had never seen before. It was immoral and dishonest!
Bt the phone was ringing and she collected her wits quickly, holding a towel over her breasts as she dashed into the house. It was time to stop daydreaming anyway. Allen would be home for work shortly, and he liked to find her properly dressed for dinner.
"Hello?"
"Hi, baby, this is Split."
"How are you? Are we still set for tonight?"
"Yeah, everything's ready, honey. Your hubby going outa town?"
"Right. He should be home any minute now to eat and pack. I'll drop him at the airport and come right over."
There was a moment's pause while Joan wondered why Split had bothered to call. Had something gone wrong, she would have taken the initiative to call him, and furthermore this party had been scheduled for weeks.
"Listen, baby, this is kind of a special party tonight...a lot of important people coming...Jack and I are trying to make it something sensational."
"So? What do I do, stand on my head?" she joked with him, wondering what he was working his up to.
"No, not exactly, look, I was just wondering if you'd like to get those last two pictures taken care of in one night? We've got kind of an act worked up and if you wanna participate, I'll tell Jack to give you back both of the negatives, and we'll be even."
"What do I have to do?" the young wife asked suspiciously, worrying that Allen might arrive any minute and overhear her end of this strange conversation.
"Well, it's better if I don't tell you, baby, because if it's a surprise you'll react better. Kind of a happening, if you know what I mean."
"Is it going to hurt?"
"No, love, you know we'd never hurt you."
She thought for a long minute. Split was obviously not going to come up with any more information than this, and she believed that he was sincere when he said that the "entertainment" would not hurt, but still she was doubtful. To promise to participate in something unknown sounded risky and yet. . . with those two negatives in her pocket she was free.
"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "If this is going to be my last night, we might as well finish up with a bang."
"I hope this isn't going to be our last night," said Split seriously.
"What do you mean?" she shouted at him. "You promised! You swore up and down that if I.. . "
"Calm down, baby, calm down. Old Split keeps his promises. If you want this to be our last night, then that's the way it'll be. But there's some money to be made in this business, and I could get you a lot of work, honey, a lot of real work! Not only parties, but big money-makers. We could do some pictures of you, you know the kind I mean. If you only knew how many times guys have asked me to line up a weekend with you! They're willing to pay top dollar for someone like you, baby, and I only take ten percent."
"I know, I know, Split," she agreed wearily. "But I can't get involved in games like that and still live out here with Allen. My whole life has changed, Split, and everything's different now. I can't go back."
"Baby, I'm an organizer and not one of them skull doctors, but I can't see how a swinger like you is ever gonna be happy out there. I know what kinda people they are because I've arranged stuff for 'em, more than anyone's gonna ever admit. Don't they piss all over you? Don't they snob you and make you feel bad? I know they do 'cause that's the way those people treat a girl that didn't go to one of them proper dame's finishing schools. They don't want real broads out there, Joan, they want store-front models. That's why they all marry those skinny, flat chested dames! You don't belong out there, baby, you belong in here with us. Downtown you can be the queen. Out there you're shit, and you'll always be shit!"
"Split, here comes Allen! I'll talk to you tonight!" Hearing her husband's car pull into the alleyway, she quickly hung up.
"Who was on the phone?" inquired Allen curiously, evidently a little surprised at finding his wife standing in the hallway dressed only in the bottoms of her bikini and a towel draped around her breasts.
"Oh, one of those people who try to sell you encyclopedias," she bed quickly. "They can be so hard to get rid of and he called just as I was changing my clothes. Would you like a drink, dear? You look tired."
"Sounds good. Let me take a shower while you mix up a couple of martinis."
Joan followed his instructions, mixing up a pitcher of martinis and helping herself to one while Allen stripped in the bedroom and took his shower. Wow, that was close, she told herself, sprawled on the bed while she waited for her husband to join her. I wonder what Split's got up his sleeve for tonight that he can't tell me about.
Just thinking about what was likely to happen later that evening was a little exciting, and Joan finished her martini and started on a second one, feeling the alcohol warm her up all over. She decided the towel was a waste of effort in the privacy of her own bedroom and threw it into the corner. Maybe Allen would like a little good-by present. After all, he was going to be gone for the better part of a week . . .
Allen came out of the shower naked, perhaps expecting that his wife would be waiting for him in the living room, and started a little when he found her watching him from the bed, only wearing the inadequate bottom of her bathing suit.
"Ah! There you are," he said awkwardly, a little embarrassed at being seen naked despite the fact that they had been married for over a year.
"That's right, here I am," she said with a saucy sexy lilt to her voice and she went over and took the towel from his hands, finishing the job of drying him off. Gradually she worked her way across his flat athlete's stomach and dropped to her knees in order to deal with his legs and thighs. The young businessman was obviously a little upset by her near-nakedness and the closeness of her face to his genitals, but apparently unsure whether he liked it or not. Joan had always been a little forward where sex was concerned, he reminded himself, but as long as no one else found out about it, there was no cause for alarm.
The young man jerked slightly as he felt his wife's hands touch his testicles and he looked down sharply to see what she was doing. The pretense that she was helping him to dry off was slowly disappearing, and the girl dropped the towel on the floor and reached up with both hands to cup his softly twitching genitals between her fingers.
"Thought you might like a little something before you went away," she crooned enticingly, puckering her lips to plant a moist kiss on his slowly hardening cock. "A week is a long time for a guy to go without some love."
"Well.. . " mumbled the businessman, a little surprised by the directness of her approach and more than a little stimulated by the kiss she had just placed on his penis. Allen's cock was slowly but surely growing to its maximum length and hardness and the tip of his slender instrument brushed past her moistly parted lips as it rose, causing the girl to giggle. Taking a deep breath, she bent forward and seized his cock gently between her softly ovaled lips, her tongue dancing across the delicate glans at the end.
"Oh...good heavens!" Caruthers groaned, not quite sure that this was the kind of sexual activity which was proper between man and wife. Wasn't this the sort of thing that whores were supposed to do to you? Where had Joan learned this depraved trick, anyway? But God, it was stimulating!
"Come on, baby," Joan murmured temptingly, her words distorted by the presence of her husband's eagerly throbbing penis between her lips. Now deciding to throw herself into this bizarre act, she tightened her lips around his rapidly growing cock and began to suck on him in earnest, pulling him farther and farther into her throat as she stroked his balls lightly with her fingers. It was a disagreeable thing to think about, but not really bad to do once you got the hang of it, thought Joan, and a man is so tempting when he first steps out of the shower, all fresh and clean. She had done this same perverted act for so many other men that it struck her as unfair that Allen should miss out on all the fun. After all he was her husband and she loved him even if he wasn't quite as good as most of the men she had gotten to know at Lynch's studio . . .
"No...no, dear, we really can't do a thing like this," he was protesting, his naturally tenor voice going even higher with tension as he carefully extracted his saliva-coated cock from her lips. "Let's get on the bed and do it the normal way."
Oh you jerk, she found herself thinking, flopping back on the bed, automatically spreading her legs as he climbed clumsily on top of her. There's men in this city who would pay me two hundred dollars for what you just turned down. You may know something about business, but as far as bed is concerned, you're going bankrupt! All right, have it your way. If you like the missionary position so much, go ahead and do your stuff!
Allen did, and it did not take long. Over-excited by what had just happened to him despite his disapproval, the young businessman stabbed inside of her with his long narrow cock, moving furiously backwards and forwards without any particular skill and ejaculated weakly into her unsatisfied womb a moment or two later before Joan had had a chance to get properly warmed up.
"Gee, that was wonderful," he raved as he promptly hopped off of her disappointed body. "Was it good for you too?"
"Oh terrific," she told him dully, her mind already moving ahead to the party that evening. "If those girls down in Saint Louis only knew, they'd be waiting at the airport."
"Ha, ha, but you won't tell them, will you, uh?" he laughed, believing in his colossal innocence that he had genuinely brought her some pleasure with this brief encounter. "Well, I guess I'd better get packed. Those airplanes don't wait for anyone, not even a stud like yours truly."
* * *
"Look Split, I think you ought to tell her!" insisted Liza, tears coming to her eyes as she argued with her boss. The curvaceous brunette knew she was not the brightest girl on earth, but she prided herself on being fair to her friends, and when her friends were in conflict she suffered tremendously.
"If we tell her it'll ruin everything!" put in Jack Lynch. "Look Liza, nobody's fonder of Joan than we are, but she's a lousy actress no matter what we tell the goons who come to these parties. If we explained in advance what was going to happen, she just wouldn't be able to behave naturally. She'd sit off in a corner biting her nails and getting stinking drunk and the show would be a disaster. We've got some heavy-paying customers coming in tonight to see this thing, and we can't take a chance on it going sour on us."
"I still think it's mean," pouted Liza, unconvinced. "Joan might get mad and not come back anymore. Then what would we do?"
"Oh we managed before Joan came along and we can manage if she decides to quit," philosophized Split moodily. "Fact is, that girl needs us worse than we need her. I worry about her out there in hick-land. She belongs here with her kind of people. She's never going to be happy living with that freaky businessman. It's just not in her blood. Hell, I remember her when she was a little girl and she was full of mischief even then."
"When is Homer due to come by?" wondered Lynch, lazily getting out of his seat to pour himself another drink.
"About nine o'clock. Look, try to keep Homer and Joan apart until things get going," warned Split worriedly. "If they get talking before the performance, Homer might not be able to keep his big mouth shut. And Liza, tonight Joan is your responsibility. You have to get her ready!"
"What do you mean get her ready? She's not going to be wearing much of anything."
"I mean psychologically ready. Jack'll give you some of those Mexican cigarettes that she likes and make sure she smokes as many as you can get into her mouth. And keep the whiskey flowing too. I want her stoned out of her mind before this little exhibition begins. Remember, this isn't going to be just another party. We're moving into the big leagues now and there's people coming in from all over the state. And stay off the pot yourself, Liza. All I need is to have you spinning off into space while I'm trying to get things organized. You can do your work sober."
"Okay, boss," the girl agreed reluctantly. "I just hope that Joan is speaking to us all after the night is over."
* * *
CALLING MR. CARUTHERS! CALLING MR. CARUTHERS!
The voice on the public address system at the airport was nearly covered with static and indistinct, but Allen finally understood that they were paging him and hurried to the information booth. His plane was due to depart in a matter of minutes, and he could only think that Joan had suffered an automobile accident on the road.
"I'm Caruthers," he said breathlessly, arriving at the booth.
"Urgent phone call for you, Mr. Caruthers," responded the pretty girl behind the counter as she handed him the receiver. "It's your office."
"Caruthers here."
"Allen? This is Jameson," came the voice of his boss and the president of his company. "Thank God I got hold of you before you left. Listen that nut is coming here!"
"What nut?" replied Allen, a little confused.
"Tompkins! We just got a call from his Saint Louis office saying that he wants to conclude the negotiations up here and have a night on the town to celebrate before signing the final papers. Stay right at the airport, because he should be coming in within the hour."
"Oh Christ," groaned the young businessman. "Does that mean I've got to go bar-hopping with him all night?"
"Not unless you'd rather not be Second Vice President of this corporation," Jameson reminded him stiffly. "That's part of every executive's job, Allen. I don't care what he wants, but keep the guy happy and out of jail until tomorrow morning. Once he signs those contracts you can spit in his eye for all I care. In fact, I might spit in his other eye. But tonight, he's the king and remember that it's all on the expense account. Don't spare the horses."
Exactly one hour and five minutes later, Tompkins was safely ensconced in the airport bar, while Allen was frantically calling his office. Unfortunately, Jameson had already left for the day, and he had to content himself with speaking to the assistant director of the art division, a man Allen had never thought particularly highly of. But at the moment, he was desperately in need of advice.
"Look, Thomas, I'm in a jam," he explained to the younger man, a disagreeable artist with a reputation for being a lecher and a womanizer. "And maybe you can give me some help. Have you been following the negotiations for the Tompkins merger?"
"Sure Allen, who hasn't? Boy, if we land that big fish there's pay raises for everyone. Hear they're going to make you a big shot, too. Congratulations."
"Yeah, but save the champagne until after we get the contract signed. At the moment the big fish in question is sitting in the bar getting fuelled up for a swinging night on the town. I guess his wife doesn't let him out of her sight very often, and when she does he wants to live it up in the big city."
"Well, no problem, Allen, take him around to some of the night clubs...lemmie see, they've got a hell of a good floor show over at the Rising Sun, and if he's in the mood for something a little heavier, you can always take him around to the concert at Symphony Hall."
"Thomas, you are not following me," groaned Allen Caruthers in desperation. "This man is a sexual monster. He wants to see something he calls a 'live-show'. Is that what I'm afraid it might be?"
"A live-show? Wow, he is a dirty old man," whistled Thomas in admiration. "I guess that's something you can't find in Saint Louis."
"The question is," said Allen through gritted teeth, controlling his irritation with difficulty, "can we find one here? I've heard about such things going on in Denmark and Hong Kong, but surely the police...."
"Oh the police like 'em as well as anybody else," replied the commercial artist cheerfully. "Don't worry, I'll make some phone calls and see if I can come up with something. On a Friday night there's gotta be one around somewhere. Where can I reach you if I make contact?"
"I'll call you. Right now I'm going to take him out to dinner."
"Make sure he doesn't eat the waitress, Allen," laughed the artist. "Dig you later."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Caruthers, m'boy, there's no fucking use in having dough if you don't know how to live, that's what I always say!"
Allen could think of no intelligent reply to this profound piece of human wisdom, so he concentrated on his driving, knowing that it would be disastrous if he got the corpulent businessman from Saint Louis involved in a traffic accident. This was the part of town he did not like and did not know, and he was cursing the fate which brought him here in such poor company, to see a kind of lewd spectacle of which he genuinely disapproved. He could picture the police choosing tonight to make a raid on the place and catching him inside, despite Thomas' assurances that the police had better things to do. He imagined how it would read in the morning papers when the headlines announced that Mr. Allen Caruthers, a prominent young businessman had been arrested while watching a depraved and immoral performance. The neighbors would cut him off as if he were dead, and the firm would pretend it knew nothing.
"Now down in Saint Louis, we don't get this kinda thing," continued Tompkins, unaware that he irritated Allen every time he opened his mouth. "Not much real life down there, and when this kid gets up here in the big city, he likes to let off a little steam. That old battle-axe of mine always wants to come alo'ng, damn her soul, and I once had a hell of a time talking her out of this trip. The old bitch! I don't know why she doesn't die and leave me in peace. Why with my dough I could get me one of my cute-ass little secretaries to live up in the house and really have myself a ball. Of course, I get into their pants once in awhile, anyway, but a man like me still needs it regular, goddamn it, and I can't get it regular with that damn wife of mine around. Naturally I could get it from her, but most times, I'd rather do without. You married, Caruthers?"
"Ah, yes, Mr. Tomkins, I've been married for just over a year now."
"Who'd you get hooked up with, one of them society dames?"
"Well, my wife comes from a very good family naturally," Allen lied. "But I wouldn't say she was high society."
"What a pain in the ass it is being married," grumbled that fat man, shifting around in his seat with anticipation as he thought of the night's activities ahead of him.
"Oh, I don't know," continued Allen, realizing that he had to say something or Tompkins would think he was getting high hat. "Mrs. Caruthers and I have been very happy...I must say...."
"Hey you got a picture of your old lady?"
This was going a little far, Allen thought, but second vice-presidencies are not easy to come by so he fished around in his pocket with one free hand, extracting his wallet. Inside there was a picture of Joan and he handed it to the businessman, turning on the car light so that the photo was visible."
"Wow! No wonder you like being married, kid! A good-looking babe, no question about it. She must get very bored while you're outa town."
"Well, she had her church activities," mumbled Allen, knowing perfectly well that Joan only went to church on occasional Sundays and then only under protest.
"Hey, tell me something, young fella, this wife of yours, is she...ya know...any good between the sheets?"
This question struck Allen as being out of bounds for polite conversation, but he reminded himself that Tomkins had not had the benefit of gentlemanly breeding and did not know the difference between good and bad taste.
"Mrs. Caruthers and I have a very satisfactory relationship in all respects," he replied stiffly, hoping this would end this train of conversation.
"Really? Hot shit, listen kid, will she blow once in awhile? I been asking my old lady to do it for thirty years now and every time she locks herself in the bathroom. To me, a woman ain't much good unless she puts her heart into the business and gives you everything she's got! Am I right or wrong?"
Allen quickly conceded that he was right, dodging the earlier question concerning Joan's permissiveness in the bedroom, since after his experience earlier that day, he was slightly touchy on the subject.
"Look, I think we're here," he informed his business associate, pulling the car gently over to the curb. "I was told we should knock on the door of that shop over there."
"Goddamn! Now we're getting somewhere! Hey, do you suppose they really do it? Right there in front of everyone?"
"This is my first time," admitted Allen, realizing that it was the first truthful comment he had made all evening. "I was told that they uh...actually do it, yes."
"Shit! Can't wait to see it! And I'm gonna be horny as hell after this son, so I hope you've got some good telephone numbers in your little black book. Or maybe you can take me home to see that wife of yours! Ha!"
Allen grimaced and got out of the car, contemplating the pleasure of seeing Tompkins dead and in his grave with weeds growing around the tombstone. An extremely tall and slender man answered his knock, looking at him carefully before stepping aside to allow the two men to enter.
"I'm Thomas' friend," Allen stated, preferring not to use his own name for identification.
"Yeah, Mr. Thomas called and said you guys would be coming over," said the man. "Well, welcome aboard. The show's gonna start in a few minutes and the drinks at the bar are on the house."
Allen discreetly slipped him the required amount of money and followed him through the shadows of the photography shop into a brightly lit room which seemed to be an artist's studio. There were chairs set up around a stage on which a large bed had been placed. In one comer there was a bar, and the room was already crowded with men and not a few women as well, all busily drinking and chatting as they waited for the evening's lewd entertainment to start.
Oh well, Allen thought as he elbowed his way through to the bar to get drinks for himself and Tompkins. I can always close my eyes if it gets too bad.
Joan was already blown out of her mind. Lynch was normally stingy with his marijuana, since it was difficult and dangerous to get and he made a large portion of his income by selling it, but tonight he had been extremely generous, popping a reefer into her mouth every time she turned around. The young wife was shrewd enough to realize that they were softening her up for what was to happen later on, but she willingly played along with it, knowing that it might be just as well if she were half out of her head for this little performance.
Her mind wandered vaguely as she sat before the big mirror in the dressing room, a drink in one hand and a marijuana cigarette in the other while Liza fussed over her outfit. She knew only mat she was going to be a participant in-some kind of performance tonight, and with what was left of her reasoning power, she speculated on what it might be. The idea of performing sexually rather upset her, as Split had predicted it would, but she reasoned that she had made love in front of other men frequently in the past. This time the spectators would be holding tickets and sitting on chairs, which made it all a little formal, but she decided dreamily that it made no real difference. She was being paid to fuck one way or the other and this way she would presumably only have to deal with one man instead of half a dozen as was often the case during the parties.
"How do you feel, honey?" asked Liza solicitously as she vigorously applied make-up to Joan's face.
"Oh, I'm floating...just floating," confessed the drugged young wife. "I don't know why they don't make this stuff legal. I could just stay stoned all day long and never come down."
"Hmmmmm, that's good. Open your gown, honey, I want to do your breasts."
"Wha . . . ? "
"Make-up," Liza explained, blushing a little as she considered her own role in the evening's entertainment.
Joan nodded sleepily and opened her dress while Liza got down on one knee and darkened the tip of each breast with make-up so that her nipples would be plainly visible under the lights. Both girls were dressed identically, naked under a long flowing white robe similar to an Arab shepherd's costume. The cloth was vaguely translucent and when the light was right, one could catch a glimpse of naked flesh beneath.
Joan heard Split announcing something to the crowd outside, and a dangerous tingle started in her stomach as she realized that the performance was about to begin, for better or for worse.
Tonight, she was in one of those totally abandoned moods when she cared very little what happened to her, and the pot-alcohol mixture was not doing much to increase the clarity of her thought. It doesn't matter, she told herself dreamily, rising to her feet, a little surprised that she could still stand up. I'll end up liking it no matter what they do to me. I always do. I guess I'm just evil!
The lights on the platform were terribly bright and Joan found that she could not see out into the audience very well. For a moment she felt comfortable and happy with just Liza standing next to her near the bed. She could hear the rustle of anxious bodies out in front of her, and smell the fragrance of whiskey and tobacco in the room, but all she could see were Lynch's powerful photographic lights focused on her and Liza and the bed which sat suggestively behind them. The lights were uncomfortably bright and they also generated a great deal of heat so Joan felt more relaxed with her eyes closed. But the warmth felt good on her lightly clad body, and she floated off into space again as she felt Liza's soft hands on her shoulders, barely conscious of the fact that her girl friend was once again undressing her . . .
The crowd was packed in so tightly that Allen was finding it difficult to see what was going on. Tompkins had used his enormous bulk to wade into the mob of eager spectators and Caruthers had followed in his wake, like a life boat being tossed behind a steamer. But even though he had succeeded in working his way reasonably close to the platform, he now found it impossible to see past the businessman's huge shoulders. He had caught the barest glimpse of two young women, one blonde and one brunette, moving out in front of the bed in smooth translucent gowns, but after one quick glance, his vision had been immediately obstructed by a forest of heads and shoulders. For a moment he paused, feeling a little ashamed of himself for trying so hard to see a viciously depraved spectacle to which he objected on moral grounds, but he quickly justified his efforts, deciding that he might as well look as long as he was here. After all, he would be arrested along with everyone else if the police should chance to interrupt the performance, and he would land in jail whether he was looking or not, so why not look?
He banded into something in the darkness and discovered it was a chair. Originally, Split and Lynch had intended that the audience be seated and set out chairs for that purpose, but there were too many people, and the crowd was too excited to sit down anyway. But Allen capitalized upon his discovery, by climbing up on the chair for a better view.
A second later, he nearly fell off again with shock. The blonde-haired woman who had been led out onto the platform was a dead-ringer for his wife!
He shook his head, wondering if he was losing his mind, closing his eyes with the wild hope that when he opened them again the hallucination would be over and he would see something else. But it was no optical illusion; the girl on the stage before him was Joan Caruthers, or her twin sister, one or the other. For a moment, he grabbed desperately at this new idea. Joan had a twin sister who worked in these degenerate live shows. Ashamed to mention the fact to her husband, she had never said anything about it, hoping that he would never learn of this black sheep in a family which was morally gray at best. It would explain everything. Joan was home in bed, probably dreaming of him.
This wild hope only lasted for a few seconds, since the brown haired" girl stepped behind her companion, her hands reaching over her shoulders to unfasten the long shepherd's cape which covered her body. Slowly and teasingly, she unhooked the blonde woman's cape, drawing it seductively down off of her shoulders. Allen's eyes dropped immediately to the blonde's now naked left breast where his wife had a beauty mark just above the nipple. So did this girl and his hopes went through the floor. This was Joan Caruthers, standing stark naked before a group of total strangers and presumably about to participate in some lewdly erotic spectacle.
Allen's head spun with the shock and for a moment he feared that he was going to fall off the chair. His mind searched futilely for an explanation. Perhaps she had been drugged. He searched his wife's face for a clue, but the young woman was standing with her eyes gently closed a quizzical half-smile on her perfectly formed features. She looked totally relaxed and happy, but there was no clear-cut sign of drug-induced madness.
Or had she been forced into this? Blackmail? The gun hidden behind a curtain somewhere? No, it would not wash. That same easy going smile destroyed that theory as well. She seemed perfectly happy to be where she was and an innocent woman being forced to strip in front of a group of people against her will would surely show some signs of embarrassment. Allen's mind had searched all the alleys which might lead to a decent explanation and they had all turned out to be dead ends. His keen businessman's intellect could no longer avoid accepting the obvious. His wife was leading a vicious double life. Housewife by day, and sex performer by night!
"Hey, good-looking chick, eh?" muttered Tompkins lustily, turning his head slightly to communicate this evaluation. "See those tits? You don't see tits like that in Saint Louis!"
No answer seemed called for under the circumstances, and Allen merely grunted as his disbelieving eyes helplessly followed the perverted action before him. Now that Joan was suitably naked, the brunette quickly threw the cape off of her own smoothly tanned shoulders, leaving herself as brazenly naked as her companion. Then, taking the girl by the arms, she turned her around so that both women were facing one another. It was obvious that the "live-show" was destined to start here!
What should he do? Allen Caruthers had made his rapid climb in the business world by being a man who could react quickly to emergencies, making snap decisions which inevitably turned out to be correct in the final analysis. But this was something completely out of his realm. His wife was clearly about to participate in some sort of bizarre lesbian exhibition, and in fact the brown-haired girl had already stepped close to Joan, so close that their breasts were touching. Allen found himself shivering with nervous excitement and anguish. What could he possibly do? Rush down screaming that she must come home with him immediately? No, that was insane! First he would probably be beaten up and thrown out on the street by the guards and secondly he would make a strange impression on
Mr. Tompkins. Whatever else happened, he reminded himself that he could not jeopardize this business deal. There was no use in being happily married unless the family had a secure income.
Of course, he could call the police, he considered, watching the other girl kiss his wife squarely on the lips, their bodies now crushed up against one another, and what would the result of that be? The cops would come, arrest everyone, and he and Joan would have their pictures in the morning paper. He would still be out of a job, and facing some kind of criminal charge on top of it. Tompkins would wind up in prison too.
"Goddamn, sure glad we came," chuckled the businessman from Saint Louis, pushing his way forward in a crowd. "Never saw two dames do it before, did you, Caruthers?"
Allen wished desperately that Tompkins would stop using his last name in this seamy joint. The situation was bad enough without compromising his good name!
So, when he came right down to the hard facts of the case, there seemed to be little enough he could do. Later, perhaps, he would have a little more room for maneuver, but at the moment, he was trapped by circumstances, and too dazzled by what he was witnessing to give the matter any more thought. Anything he did or said would tip Tompkins off to the fact that something was wrong.
The scene was progressing, but slowly to give the audience time to get emotionally involved in what was happening. Joan's eyes were still closed as she felt Liza lay her down gently on the bed, and the same dreamy swaying sensation was still flowing through her drug-confused mind. This isn't so bad, she was telling herself vaguely as she felt Liza's gentle lips coursing lecherously over her lewdly exposed young body. I never knew Liza went in for this kind of thing, but it doesn't hurt and who cares? Is this all it's going to amount to? Somehow she felt as if no one could see her simply because her own eyes were shut tightly and she could see no one else. It was a nice private sensation and she enjoyed it to the fullest, letting her euphoric body sink down into the mattress.
For a few moments, Joan actually dozed off to sleep, despite the circumstances she was in. She was not used to all that pot and all that alcohol, and the young wife felt herself fading in and out of consciousness. She knew she was lying on a bed, and she could feel that there was someone with her, but she had completely forgotten that there was a crowd of total strangers looking on curiously. Who was touching her? There were soft, gentle lips teasing the tiny ripples of her breasts, but they seemed softer than any man's! Liza? What was she doing? The girl was stroking her carefully, expertly, between the legs, and almost dream-like Joan felt the orgiastic juices within her body begin to flow. Too bad, she told herself dreamily...I feel so nice. . . what a pity to ruin it all by feeling sexy . . .
On top of his chair in the middle of the crowd, Allen Caruthers looked on in anguish, trying to make some kind of sense of all this in his mind. Was his wife a lesbian then? It didn't seem possible, and yet there was the evidence right before his eyes. She was spread-eagled on the bed with a naked girl crouched over her, stroking her gradually into a state of high excitement. In fact, the signs of erotic stimulation were already clear enough. Joan had opened her mouth and sighed passionately a few times, and her smooth graceful hips seemed to be twitching restlessly as the sleek, slender brunette explored the soft pussy hair.
For a moment, the thought that Joan was secretly a lesbian comforted the young husband in an odd fashion. It was hardly his fault if he had chanced to marry a woman who was queer for other girls. So long as she had not gone to bed with other men, she had not really betrayed him...but it was a shallow comfort, and not destined to last much longer. While he was considering the possibility of getting her to a good psychiatrist, a man approached the brightly lighted little stage.
"It's Homer!" cried a member of the audience, and Allen tightened up, realizing that this Homer had some role to play in this lurid spectacle. On closer inspection, he seemed exactly the type. Wearing only a towel draped suggestively around his waist, Homer looked like the statue of a Greek athlete come to life, with enormous powerful muscles bulging under his deeply tanned skin. The youth ignored the cheers of the crowd, his eyes fixed on Joan's lust-tormented body as he approached the platform.
Liza's role in the 'live show' seemed to be more handmaid than direct participant, and as Homer approached the bed, she knelt up over Joan's submissively inviting body, prepared to yield her place to the man. Allen found that his fingernails were digging fiercely into the flesh of his palms as he watched, not knowing that his worst fears were going to be confirmed. No, Joan was not a lesbian, as he had first feared. She was something much, much worse, a complete and total sensualist, too degenerate and too depraved to care whether the hand which caressed her body belonged to a man or a woman. She was just plain sex, indiscriminate, undisciplined, and rampant sex!
Homer glanced significantly at Liza and the two of them cooperated, rolling Joan's nakedly unresisting body over onto her stomach, her lush ripened breasts crushing into the firm springy mattress as her beautiful face turned towards the audience. Her eyes were still closed, but Allen thought he detected a look of abandoned mindless pleasure pass across his wife's face as she felt the man's hands on her helplessly exposed body. Homer now knelt between Joan's outstretched legs, his hand coursing lewdly over the white half-moons of her undulating buttocks while Liza crouched submissively to one side, waiting to be of service. It seemed like some ancient pagan ceremony with Homer acting as the high priest, Liza the temple slave, and Joan the willing victim, ready to be sacrificed to some powerful god of lust and sensuality.
Homer rose up on his knees, straightening his body to reveal that beneath the towel he wore draped around his waist like a loin-cloth he had already achieved an enormously strong erection. The material stuck out in front as if there was the stout shaft of a sword beneath the fabric, and Allen heard a ripple of interested comment run through the crowd. The young businessman shuddered with a combination of fear and anger wondering how it was possible for the sex actor to get an erection with so many people watching!
Liza picked up her cue, leaning forward theatrically as her hands reached out to the young athlete's face, and in a moment, Allen realized who this was. It was Homer Mendelle, the runner who had swept the Olympics three years before, bringing home a number of gold medals for track and field events, and the man who had been barred from amateur sports after he had been discovered one night with half of the Russian woman's team in his room...Allen tried to remember the details of the scandal as they had been presented in the paper, his eyes following the deft and subtle movements of Liza's hands as she undid the towel and slowly drew it away from the young man's body.
There was a scattering of applause as Homer's massive penis sprang into view, and Allen found he was feeling a little faint. He could not disgrace himself by passing out in front of all these people, and to steady himself, he put his hands on Tompkins' broad shoulders.
"Hot stuff, eh?" proclaimed the stout businessman. "He's really gonna stuff 'er with that baseball bat!"
The scene on the stage was growing more intensively erotic by the moment, and the group fell silent again. Liza, apparently acting on previous instructions, leaned forward and moistened the tip of Homer's rigid penis with her lips, taking the broad bulbous tip into the warm wetness of her ovaled mouth, and running her tongue lasciviously over the hard, blood-engorged glans. Homer looked down on her for a few moments, obviously enjoying this added attention, but then he gently lifted Liza's head away from his groin. The High Priest had not come to discharge his hot swirling cum into the humble mouth of a handmaiden!
Allen felt his head whirling, and he found it difficult to believe that this was not all part of some foul degenerate dream. He would take a cold shower when he awoke, and drink a cup of strong black coffee, and the whole unpleasant hallucination would be forgotten. Except that the dream showed absolutely no sign of coming to an end. It was going on and on, and becoming progressively more sordid and depraved as the moments passed.
Homer reached down and pulled Joan's lushly yielding body up on her knees, so that her buttocks were waving obscenely in the air while her proud young breasts continued to rest on the smooth linen sheets which covered the bed. Allen studied his wife's face, desperately looking for some sign of rebellion or resistance to the coming defilement, but the girl seemed completely passive, willing to accept anything the athlete chose to do to her. Her eyes were still closed, and she murmured softly as Homer bent down behind her, his face probing into the narrow furrow between her exposed flanks.
Obviously enjoying himself, Homer used his hands to force the yielding flesh of her buttocks farther apart, and the audience gasped as they watched his tongue flick lewdly out, burying itself in the temptingly exposed pink slit of her cunt.
Allen gritted his teeth, now aware that he lacked the moral strength to climb down off his chair and desert this vile performance. There was no question in his mind now about the caliber of his wife's morals. Any decent woman would have tried to escape at this point, but instead a shudder of delicious pleasure had run through Joan's nakedly tantalizing body, and the woman had spread her legs even farther apart, obviously wanting to give the degenerate ex-Olympic champion the greatest possible access to the moist mysteries of her body.
This could not be Joan! The woman he had married a year ago! Was this the girl who had worked so hard to learn how to dress properly, and talk to guests without using four-letter words?
His modest little bride was now flexing the twin globes of her buttocks back and forth lasciviously, as if she were inviting the man to do his worst to her. Muscles along her inner thighs had gone tight and rigid, showing that she was turning on powerfully to this bizarre unnatural stimulation, and Allen could see that a light layer of perspiration was forming on her fine tanned skin. Any minute now the young husband sensed that Homer was going to ram that massive instrument of his plunging into her helpless young cunt, and there was not a thing he could do to stop it!
But Homer's focus seemed to have changed subtly, and Allen's horrified eyes took in the fact that the corrupted athlete seemed to be licking the tiny puckered hole of her anus. There was something different about the way Joan groaned and twitched her body that told him that this new approach was not entirely unwelcome. Homer's hands were at work again, and he wrenched at the girl's buttocks as if he meant to tear her into pieces, his fingers slowly invading the moistened narrow furrow of her backside.
"Shit, he's gonna give it to her in the ass!" announced Tompkins in absolute carnal delight.
Allen stared, now really shaken. Could it be true? Did people really do such things and was it possible for his wife to be one of them?
No, there were no longer any reasonable grounds for doubt! Homer's outstretched middle finger had now plunged vilely into her rectum, worming its way past the red-rimmed flesh around her anus and entering her body with a vulgar pop which could be heard all around the room.
Joan's face tightened, as if she had not quite been prepared for anything quite this depraved, but it was obvious that the girl was in no mental or physical condition to object now to anything Homer chose to do to her. Liza was sitting quietly by on her haunches, her high, well-formed breasts visible over the top of Joan's quivering buttocks, ready to help if help were required.
But there seemed to be no difficulty. After a momentary flicker of discomfort, Joan's body seemed to relax again, and she reared back against the man's impaling finger as if it were bringing her pleasure. Homer expertly rotated his hand in ever-widening circles, preparing the narrow entrance for the greater impalement yet to come and Joan's body jerked convulsively as she caught the rhythm. Another finger followed the first, and the crowd seemed to be holding its breath waiting to see how far the athlete could take her before she rebelled.
Joan's mouth dropped open, and Allen could hear her panting like an animal as the merciless fingers worked their way in and out of her offended rectum, but the moment of rebellion never came. Joan was beginning to groan and mutter one unintelligible cry after another, but it was clear she was not beseeching him to go away and leave her alone, but begging him to keep it up.
It was the moment of truth. Yanking his fingers free of her helplessly writhing body, the man moved in for the kill, poising his lust-hardened thickness at the fragile pink entrance to her nether passage. The muscles in her anus resisted automatically for an instant, obeying some primitive instinct, but the man's strength was too great for her. The tender flesh of her rectum gave away with a sudden pop, and the next instant, his massively throbbing cock-head disappeared inside the tight anal ring.
"Oooogh," she groaned, not quite prepared for the pain, but the crowd could tell that the submissively kneeling young woman would adjust fast enough to this lewd impalement. But whether she adjusted or not, he had her skewered like a chicken on a spit, and Liza's arms were on her shoulders to prevent her from breaking away. Homer's long thick cock throbbed eagerly inside of her for a moment, while her pain-filled rectum gradually accustomed itself to the massive presence in her belly. The moment Homer felt he could move again, he did, pushing violently into her enlarged anus until his balls slapped loudly against the unprotected cheeks of her ass. As soon as he found himself in position, the former athlete began fucking methodically in and out of her, the thick glistening shaft of his muscular cock pistoning in and out of her tightly stretched passage like some drilling machine.
Allen could barely believe his eyes. As far as he could see, the pain and discomfort was now gone completely, and Joan gave every sign of reveling in this depraved unnatural defilement as the athlete rammed rhythmically into her battered young anus with hard cruel strokes. Each thrust seemed to draw the pink fragile flesh of her anal ring out with it as if he were on the verge of turning her inside out. His wife's teeth were bared as her lips curled back in approaching ecstasy, and she was chanting mindlessly beneath him, uttering a word with each pounding stroke.
"Oh...yes...fuck...me...like...that.. . oh"
Her sensually quivering body was shivering with dire masochistic pleasure, and her thighs flexed and relaxed in quick succession as the naked young girl thrust her lust-tormented body back against the man's solid loins, trying to sink his murderous shaft deeper and deeper inside of her.
"Harder! Harder!" she was grunting, and Allen instinctively covered his ears, no longer able to bear the sights he was seeing and the sounds he was hearing. He tried to close his eyes and avoid being a witness to the end, but for some perverse reason, they would not stay closed and he was forced to see it all, every bizarre unnatural minute of it.
Homer's fingers were now digging cruelly into the soft white flesh of her wantonly writhing hips, as he pounded his massive cock far up into the warm buttery depths of her rectum, fucking her with all the strength in his hard lustful body. His heavily swaying balls seemed to be swelling to an impossible size from the weight of the sperm accumulating there, and they slapped insistently against the open quivering flanges of the kneeling girl's cunt, keeping her constantly stimulated as he built towards his own gigantic climax.
Joan groaned incoherently, waving her luscious ass-cheeks back at his lasciviously as she sensed that the man was about to shoot his great flood of hot cum deep up into her wantonly quivering rectum. What was more, she wanted it, wanted it more and more with every passing minute . . .
Homer's cry caught everyone by surprise and those cynics in the audience who thought that the athlete was putting on some kind of act suddenly became true believers as they watched his iron body suddenly stiffen with the tension of the wild orgasm. Joan could feel his mighty cock exploding convulsively as he buried his hotly spewing penis one last time all the way into her widely stretched rectum. Suddenly the fire caught in her shamelessly aroused body.
With a cry which was more animal than human, her legs unexpectedly flew out from under her and she collapsed forward on the bed, pulling Homer with her. The two naked performers lay there groaning at each other like a pair of maniacs. The man's searing cum spurted into her rectum endlessly, triggering her own orgasm and the sex-crazed young wife screamed out her release as the crowd swarmed closer to the platform, trying for a better look at the end of this weird, unnatural coupling.
Allen Caruthers sat down alone on the chair, his mind spinning in agony as the mob climbed over the bed, blocking his vision. Working in the dark, he was scribbling a note on a piece of paper and when he finished writing, he held it up to the light in an attempt to review what he had said. But he was given no time to collect his thoughts. Tompkins was by his side in a moment, talking to him urgently about something, and the young businessman shook his head, trying to clear away the fog and understand what the man from Saint Louis was saying.
". . . and I've got to have her, do you understand?"
Allen looked at him dumbly as Tompkins thrust five one hundred dollar bills into his hand.
"Talk to that tall guy! Fix it up! Come on, Caruthers, do you want that contract signed tomorrow or don't you?"
Allen stumbled to his feet, his eyes streaked with tears, looking hopelessly through the crowd for the tall slender man they called Split. He found him, standing by the bar, a drink in his hand and a satisfied expression on his face. Order had been almost completely restored by this point and the two women and Homer had disappeared into the back room. Split smiled as he watched the young businessman approach him.
"Hmmmmmm, wonder what you want, you fellow," smiled the organizer lustily. "Five hundred, eh? That'll get you a half-hour with the blonde and a little bit longer with the brunette."
"I...it's for my friend...the fat guy...." Allen managed to mumble, jerking his thumb over his shoulder as Split removed the five hundred dollars from his trembling hand.
"All the same to me," said Split amicably. "Which gal does he want?"
The young businessman seemed to choke on the words and Split suddenly noticed that there were tears on his cheek. You get all kinds of nuts at these shows, he told himself, but so long as they're rich nuts . . .
"The blonde one...and give her this note for me, please...after I've left."
* * *
Jack Lynch had fallen asleep under the bar and Split walked through the broken glass on the floor, counting the money in his wallet. There was something just over five thousand dollars there, all of it clear profit, and he mentally calculated how soon he could schedule another live-show. Money like this was easy and the organizer sensed that there was plenty more where this came from. Most of his clients tonight had been rich cats from the other side of town, people with lots of cash and lots of inhibitions who would always turn their pockets inside out for a little wild life down in the slums. Like that nervous kid with the coat and tie and his fat friend, for example. Split reminded himself to give the five hundred directly to Joan and he successfully fought down the temptation to take a hundred or two for himself and give her the rest. You have to play fair with the people who work for you, he told himself sincerely, and he took the five hundred dollars out of his wallet, folded it and placed it in his shirt pocket where he would remember to give it to her.
And, ah yes, there was the note the other guy had left, the guy who was crying over something. Split took it out of his pocket curiously and walked slowly through the rubble in Jack's Studio to the bedroom in back where Joan and Liza were both still naked except for the soiled sheet they had drawn over them. Just as long as they don't get to like it too much and forget about Jack and me.
It was none of his business, but Split felt so noble about giving Joan all the money which was due to her, that he could not now fight off the temptation to read her note. There was a little light from the window, as the first rays of dawn penetrated the smog over the city, and Split held the crumpled note up in the air to read. The hand-writing was clear and concise, like a school teacher's, and he moved his lips as he digested every word.
"Joan please don't come home. My lawyers will contact you at the Photography Shop, and I will arrange for a sum of money to be deposited in your name at the First City Trust Bank which should be adequate for your needs. I intend to seek a divorce on the grounds of mutual incompatibility to spare both our names, and please do nothing to interfere with my lawyers, since you realize that I could easily cut you off without a cent. However, I prefer it this way. I will have your clothing and personal things delivered to the shop sometime tomorrow. Do not try to contact me. Allen."
Split was a tough, no-nonsense man, but somehow the note moved him deeply and he sighed as he set it down on the night table next to Joan's slumbering body. It's probably all for the best, he told himself philosophically, as he laid his long body down to sleep crossways at the bottom of the bed.
