Television news reportage is no glamorous job. It requires physical stamina and a cool head, not to mention a nose for ferreting out the unlawful and presenting them in an organized manner. Sometimes it means playing cop.
That's a tall order for any man, and taller still, for a woman . . . so Sherrie Williams, channel 2's "Two Is There" investigative reporter discovered.
Anxious to crawl out of the tedium of the teLevision newsroom and out into the streets where news is made, voluptuous Sherrie finds herself embroiled in a hot child pornography case whose kingpin is the infamous Shaker Jones-San Quentin riot instigator, heroin dealer and rapist.
Posing as a young boy, Sherrie braves the infestation of the Tenderloin to investigate the amoral goings-on about the Peep Show Palace, the purported stage setting of crime and lust. In the musky smelling, dank confines of a storefront backroom, Sherrie Williams discovers the price one must pay to become a news reporter.
But it doesn't end there. Enter a jealous cameraman, once too often rebuffed by the lovely blonde reporter, and armed with a mini-cam capable of reaching 270,000 viewers live on the evening news; and take a 'tits and ass" news director who's willing to sacrifice anyone to boost the ratings, and you have a thrilling story of revenge, lust, and the deflowering of a virgin news reporter. THE CAPTIVE REPORTER is just that: the story of lost innocence.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
"Listen to me, girl. These bastards peddling kiddie porn have no respect for cherry reporters like you," growled Bill Potters.
Intensely penetrating eyes, shaded by caterpillar eyebrows, glared beyond the glass cage of the news director's office to flick lightly over the temptingly chipper reporter sitting across his desk. Beyond, the howl of teletype computers vomiting out news copy from UPI and AP, chorused the scream of telephones to create an atonal cacophony for the assignment editors in their electronically rigged cage next door.
Exciting though it be, the newsroom could be a snake pit, hissing with tempers, spitting venom, making careers, breaking careers. For Potters it was a love-hate relationship. The newscast, six o'clock and eleven P.M. was his life; it made him itch with the omnipotent power of feeding the public's empty heads with daredevil cocaine smuggling and sex crimes. Nielsen and Arbitron ratings were his fix.
Yet his consciousness could not cope with the imminent guilt of throwing this fresh-faced creature, the neophyte of the news channel 2's news investigative team, into the syphillitic reality of the Tenderloin's porno ring dealers.
Sherrie read the indecision in the set of his narrow brow. "But this morning in the conference room meeting, you said.. . . " The anxious lovely leaned forward, thrusting out melonous breasts as if Potters' seeing eyes were the mini-cam's lens.
"I know what I said," conceded the wiry man, straightening. "Herb'll be back from Mt. St. Helens tomorrow, if the fucker doesn't blow again . . . he'll cover the story."
The finality made Sherrie's proud shoulders droop with frustration. Throwing one lithely stockinged leg over the other, she squirmed agitatedly in the chair, mindless of the creamy thigh peeking out from beneath her slitted black skirt. A strand of honey hair twirled about a slender, red-tipped finger as she stared him boldly in the eye. One direct glance just might break Potters' iron-willed determinism.
The risky assignment of penetrating the Tenderloin's kiddie porno ring was the ticket out of the tedious newsroom. Rewriting UPI teletype releases and munching down salads at your desk hardly paved the road to the network news' door. Sherrie's heart pulsed beneath the stretched knit of her pink angora sweater.
Potter had solicited volunteers, and she had offered. Flat and dried. Now what was the problem? No way was this 'tits and ass' news director going to snuff out her career! Sherrie's glossy lips pouted girlishly.
Potters' fingers drummed a tattoo, facial muscles pulled. Why the hell didn't he hire an ugly intellectual, instead of this sweet bodied Marilyn Chambers look alike. Instinct warned of trouble.
Chloe perfume, symbolic of her softness, made his nostrils flare stentoriously, distorting his aquiline nose. He couldn't get within ten feet of her without getting a hard-on. Damn female news reporters think they got balls between their legs!
"You could get raped, murdered . . . these aren't pussy cats, honey . . . we're talking cold blooded assholes who'd sell their baby daughters to a syphilitic paraplegic with hemorrhoids," Potters drove into her, wishing he were giving her a cock lashing instead of a verbal one. He threw his arms behind his head and leaned back to ease the zipper's bite into his balls.
"I'm a brown belt in karate," came the silvery peal of confidence.
Potters squinted. 'Tow?" he snickered sardonically. That the power to hurt lay dormant behind thick and curly, fluttery eyelashes windowed by Mediterranean blue eyes made him laugh. He envisioned some black bastard wrapping his fingers in those honey blonde locks and yanking at her lovely head while he unzipped his pants and hauled out a hunk of black meat about to be stuffed down her swanlike throat.. . . Potters eyes were fixed in space, with rational hanging onto a star. To feel those cherry-red lips nibbling at this cock, throat bloating to swallow all of him.. . .
"Mr. Potters, are you okay?"
"What?" Potters flushed like a young boy caught toying with his genitals under the covers. "I was just thinking. . . . "
Pearly white teeth clamped over a pouty bottom lip. Instantly she straightened, jutting out a dimpled chin. "Please be practical," Bill. This station can't afford a sex discrimination case right now and that's exactly where you're coming from!" she charged.
Potters rubbed his brow. Be practical.. . yes that Was a damned good idea. Mentally, he pulled his cock from cherry lips, hauled up his zipper and fixed on the station's ratings.
Channel 2 was sorely trailing both channels 7 and 9 . . . the precise reason why the 'Two Is There' investigative team had been sent out to sniff the kiddie porn kingpin's trail. We haven Y had a juicy cult killing or assassination in two goddamned months, he cogitated silently. Potters smacked his lips decisively.
Time to go after vice, when murder failed.
Potters' hand slipped from behind his head; he shook a bony finger at her. "Shaker Jones is no Martin Luther King. He's the kind of bastard who kidnaps boys and forces the brat into oral sex with dirty black whores . . . how do you feel about that?" he challenged.
Sherrie's mouth went dry. Butterfly wing eyelashes fluttered.
"See . . . see what I mean!" He banged his fist on the table. "One fuck up on your part, and my career is dead." Palms flat on the desk, he levered himself up off the seat. "Innocent kiddies sucking dirty cunts . . . that's what sells news! Who the hell cares about dirty water, radiation, earthquakes . . . it's dirty cunts the public wants to hear about!"
Nielsen ratings . . . 20 in a 30 share, flashed red in his tired eyeballs. "You think you're reporter enough to handle that?"
Sherrie's hand flew to her flushed throat. "Mr. Potters, I promise I'll get us back in first place.. . . "
Potters' jaws meshed overtime, like he was chewing gum. "We gotta beat those suckers at channel 9!"
"Let me do it!"
"Tits and ass, Sherrie, that's what sells the news!"
"I can do that! I can do that better than anybody in this station!" Blue eyes scintillated confidence and a hot streak of repressed sensuality that hadn't passed by Potters unnoticed.
"Get your ass out of here before I change my mind!"
Potters fell with a grunt into his chair.
"Yes, Mr. Potters!" she rasped and flicked a twirl of honey hair behind a gold-ringed ear. "And . . . and thank you!"
Richly swelling hips rose from the chair and trembling hands methodically gathered the notebooks and news clippings which she clasped to her pink angora chest. Beneath her lace brassiere, her heart pounded and nipples hardened. Pink flushed her cheeks.
Potters noticed how Sherrie's puffy nipples had a habit of hardening into bumblebees under tension . . . when a UPI release was tossed on her desk with a five minute rewrite deadline . . . or now, at the thought of preparing to meet Shaker Jones. The news director dwelt upon that lusty thought as Sherrie's curvy half moon buttocks slunk between the tightly laced cubicles that was the newsroom and headed down the hallway to the research library.
Sherrie dropped the file of clippings and notebooks on the table, tremulous with ambitious apprehension as the thought struck home that this was it! Working in teLevision, the pressure of making your mind do what your body dared not attempt, was fun and exciting . . . but that wasn't the meaty guts of it. The newsroom was just a reflection of the real world of news, where people were born and died in crazy patterns of fate that attract the public's empty-headed attention. And news reporters who took themselves too seriously. Then, too, women who'd sleep to get a story. Who needed that? You had to prove yourself in this business . . . and that meant coming face to face with the Shaker Jones of the world.
Hurriedly, Sherrie rifled through the papers, sorting news clippings from reporter fact sheets. "Born December 13,1948." She gazed at her scribbled notes, mentally piecing together the murderous puzzle that was Shaker Jones, rapist, murderer, dope peddler and God only knew what else. "Kingpin in San Quentin uprising, January 1972. Convicted of heroin dealing and aggravated assault on prostitute." Sherrie gulped. Never convicted of the heinous crimes he stood for!
The "Two Is There" reporter plucked a mug shot from the litter and held it studiously before her eyes. "Rapist. . . " The word caught in her throat, no corporate water polluter he. Aside from the Marin County dog poisoner, this reporter had yet to encounter violent death in her one year of reportage. Now the dark, compelling eyes of a convicted rapist stared back at her . . . the eyes of the man she must investigate!
Uncontrollably, Sherrie's shoulders began to shiver; she drew a few deep, calming breaths to still her heart and cool the flush swabbing her neck and rushing southward to unnervingly titillated nerve centers. This nearly hysterical, electrical sensation had been attacking her with undue regularity of late, and she knew what it meant.
Job burnout was the latest in psychic complaints, these days. True, she had been thinking more of work than pleasure, and exhausted herself to the point of ignoring social inclinations. Somehow, the photograph of a panther-like rapist with a sensuously shaven head and shining black eyes depthless and daring, had triggered the core of feminism.
The photograph fluttered from her fingertips; one hand clutched at her throat, red flush creeping northward to add a pink glow to her apple cheeks. Nervous, strangely agitated and tingling to her curled under toes, she wished to God she could turn off the switch to that part of her feminism that was too long void of satisfaction, and too short on control. After all, she was a career girl, not a cheap, gum-chewing secretary prowling singles bars in hopes of quick gratification, night after night after night. Dimpled chin squared with determination. She was an intellectual, a teLevision reporter who should be able to suppress the physical.
Abruptly she blinked and stared at the wall. What if she had to play cheap trick female to investigate Shaker Jones? Brown belt or black belt, a man with demonstrated instincts such as Shaker's, could snap her in half in no time! Could she sleep with him to get the goods on him? Was it worth it?
A delicate hand flapped uselessly in the air. Of course not, she rebuked doubt. A man like that could sniff sex three blocks away-even from the gutter of the Tenderloin. Yet the withering feeling that she might not have the experience to even attract his libidinous interests struck home.
Last weekends' foray at Studio East, a singles disco, wafted back to haunt her. Dolly, the assignment room editor, had coerced her into an after work drink. The week had been a bruiser; misreported news, one reporter fired for showing up late for work, disappointment of losing the arsonist story to Herb who hadn't time for it anyway, since he was sitting on the rim of Mt. St. Helens at a swanky resort, sipping wine and waiting for the dome to blow. An after work drink sounded like a good idea . . . at the time.
Everything sounds like a good idea . . . as when she jitter-bugged with an IBM salesman under strobe lights, dizzy on screwdrivers and ended up in the parking lot, squished against the salesman's leased BMW with his fingers itching toward the see-through support of her gauze brassiere!
"I've never met a news reporter," he'd hissed in her ear, unlocking the car door and easing her inside the rich, leather smelling interior. "Do you like cocaine?" he smirked, leaning over her lap to open the glove compartment and haul out a compact mirror and razor blade.
Sherrie gulped, eyes bugging. "I-I've never tried it . . . I . . . "
A rolled dollar bill was thrust up her right nostril and the hissed demand to take a deep snort.
"This shit's expensive . . . don't spill none," he barked, keeping his hungry eyes on every white flake.
"Feel good?"
Not wanting to insult his generosity, she complied; a warm gush of blood numbed her skull. "Mmmmmm . . . yes . . . "
"Makes most women hornier n' hell," he chuckled, filling his own nostril. "Makes you wanna fuck. Had more "menage a trois" on this shit than booze," he added, keeping one eye expectantly rapt on her expression. His expression screwed up more tightly with each snort. "You into women?" came his final question before locking the cocaine mirror behind the glove compartment door.
He lingered over her lap. Sherrie let out a yelp of alarm and numbed disgust as he clamped his mouth to her right breast and blew hot air into her sweater, bathing her nipple in soothing warmth. It puckered . . . instantly. She shivered at the feel of coolness between her trembling thighs and wailed in alarm as one hand shot expertly under her skirt to roam into the forbidden territory up between her thighs. But no leg stroker this one! One practiced finger dipped below the lacey leg of her black silk tap pants to dip into the softly curling yellow fleece nesting her vagina. The touch sparked off that strange, tingling sensation racing through her entire body-something she had experienced for the first time in a long, long while. She squirmed on the crinkling leather seat and bit down hard on her lower lip, trying to quell tne devilish, tickling sensations. The hot-blooded IBM salesman in his leased BMW probed deeper into the warm, moist depths of her femininity.
"Please, no.. . . "she hissed through clenched teeth, thinking she might strike the gentlemanly nerve within him. Another whine . . . this time metallic, and Sherrie drew in her breath as he rolled to one side and yanked down the zipper to his gray Halston pants.
Parking lot lights deter neither robber, mugger or rapist, and Sherrie Williams felt helplessly thrust into that last category as streams of giggling, wine-sodden disco fans spilled from their cars to the rocking club. "Please . . . I.. . " She clawed at the window.
A tall black man in white suit and black shirt winked at her and kept on walking.
Sherrie's eyes fell downward-onto the light splashed, throbbing, pulsing shaft of his penis, flexing with lustful energy. Before she could react, he had grabbed her hand and wrapped her fingers around that squirming, hot, mushroom-tipped staff of male flesh.
"Nooo...!"
He glared up at her, insulting the woman within her. "I didn't turn you on to coke for nothing.. . now get me off . . . just rub me a little," he cajoled.
It felt warm and strangely inviting, but foreign; she would have drawn back her hand, had he not pushed his adventurous fingers more boldly into the tight warmth of her quivering young vagina. This sudden invasion into unknown territories, sent an electric shock of rippling, almost unbearable pleasure up her backbone, pinning her to the leather seat, and gasping in deep, steaming breaths.
Was it the drug? Was it the liquor? Why was Sherrie Williams squeezing that warm pulsating cock? These were questions the demure teLevision news reporter demurred asking herself.
Her feminine instincts took over, drowning out emotion, helplessness and sparking the need for satisfaction. Within seconds, the two of them were pumping and plumbing each others genitals, creating unholy moist sounds within the tightly locked car. Crowds passed by the window now, but Sherrie didn't care.
TeLevision was spontaneously exciting, but sex, Sherrie decided in a rare moment of inhibition, was unthinkingly wonderful No thought involved in this reportage, ran a silly refrain through her miasmaed brain as she gazed with wonderment down at his enormous penis clutched in her red-fingered fist.
She looked silly, propped up in the seat with her legs shamelessly spread, as a man mangled her tidy skirt and plumbed the depths of parts of her she hadn't known existed. Furtively, she began to stroke that long hard shaft, moving the leathery foreskin up and down over the bulging mushroomed tip, marveling at the elasticity of the hot, smooth skin. He moaned with pleasure and she echoed the refrain, the two of them rocking back and forth in the seat to the scream of Donna Sommers' "Love To Love You, Baby" emanating from the club.
"I shouldn't be . . . do-doing this . . . " her brain screamed; but her sizzling nerve ends retorted joyously. Instinctively, her creamy, slender thighs fell open, opening the playground to the moist mysteries of her virginal cunt. Her hand pumped at the rigid tube, until.. . .
"Oh Christ . . . Oh Christ.. . " he muttered, ramming his fingers so high up into her cunt he raised her two inches off the seat. Suddenly he gasped and, lopping an arm around her neck, pulled her flat down on the seat, draping one slender ankle around the gear shaft.
Sherrie fought to stave him off . . . no luck. He had flattened her on the seat, one hand ripping her black silk panties off her body like tissue paper on a child's gift. Her blonde head thrashed from side to side and undecipherable epitaphs spilled from her rosebud lips.
With a snarl, he flicked his hips forward powerfully, stabbing blindly with his lust-thickened penis and trying to shove the hot tube into the defenselessly, seeping hole of her virginal cunt while she wiggled and squirmed to avoid him.
She beat at his chest, she tore at his hair. She forced her thighs together with an iron will, clamping his pulsating penis between the silk stockinged thighs.
Maybe the lacey friction of her garter belt rubbing against the smoothness of his cock did it.. . but he exploded in a fiery gust of sperm that shot in an arc between her quivering thighs to glisten like dew drop.. . .
Facing the smirking Dolly was the hardest part.. . that and the fear of her own sexuality, fear of being swept away without warning.
Now, as Sherrie gazed at the penetrating eyes of a felonious criminal, that same powerful feeling swept over her again.
But why should Shaker Jones upset her? "Six feet six inches tall, with dark eyes and shaven head. Enormous build," the description read. Exactly the description of a common Tenderloin thug who needed to be put behind bars.
CHAPTER TWO
A bus groans by, its door hissing open long enough for debarkations. A ass staggers toward the gaping door . . . too slowly. The watchful bus driver eyes the foul passenger with disgust and spinning off, spits dirt in his swollen eyes.
Such insult brings no emotion; the leather skinned man shrugs his shoulders and swaggers meaninglessly back to the sidewalk where he slumps against a paint-chipped storefront. "Peep Shows 25c" the sign above him reads. The ass squints at the words dripping before his dizzied eyes, and collapses in a ragged heap on the vomit-stained cement.
Typical vignette in San Francisco's Tenderloin. How ironic the name. Loins here are hard and practiced. Doubtlessly, the inhabitants of that dank area never considered the irony, most have never seen beyond.
Stepping over the snoring wino, one enters the storefront. Nostrils itch with dust; eyes bug with alarm. Attention is instantly drawn upwards toward neon bulbs sprinkled rectangularly around a faded and outdated photograph of a naked woman in white plastic knee boots and beehive hair-do. Below a sign in hand-painted letters reads: "Peep Shows 25c." One wonders if this is the main attraction; no sound of gurgling delight or screaming sadism filters through the dust-heavy opera curtains. The eye falls to rows of cellophane-glossy magazines with puppy-eared corners. Human flesh, naked and raw, is strewn along the shelves like smudges of dog excrement. Every act of carnage known to man and animal lives on those shelves. Eyes dart to the opposite wall where glass cases containing plastic sex toys are lined up like so much army ammunition. A defensive glance to the face behind the cash register, and one realizes this is no play pen.
Shaker Jones fingered the bills in the cash register drawer with the precision of a man accustomed to counting large sums of cash. The muscles in his square black jaw meshed, adding unneeded strength to his face, smooth as rattlesnake skin . . . except for a jagged knife scar left as a trademark of San Quentin race riots. One paw reached up to stroke his chin, and thick lips pooched out in cogitation. Nostrils flared stentoriously, eyes fixed in space. A crease cratered his high, wide brow stretching to a shaven skull.
Fingers the length of cigars, and just as thick, pulled a cigarette from the pack on the counter and, emptied, he crushed the cellophane wrapper and dropped it heedlessly. Fleshy black lips parted reluctantly, for his instinct was drawn elsewhere. The sinews in his neck pulsed as he turned his head to squint in the direction of the velvet curtain below the peep show sign.
A peal of lusty laughter, heinously feline, stung his ears. Disapprovingly, he squinted, slipped the bills into his Levi pocket and headed with panther predatory strides towards the darkness beyond.
The bald headed Negro pulled aside the dust-heavy curtain and stared into the dark, musty confines that smelled of unwashed laundry, cigarette ashes and emptied whiskey bottles. The curtain fell from his clutch, shutting out muffled street noises.
The room darkened drearily, save for a fugitive beam of unwashed sunlight falling diagonally over the rumpled bed shoved against the wall. A hydra of ebony arms and legs, showing slow movement gradually untangled.
Shaker's eyes focus on the tarnished four-poster brass bed which looked schematically out of place as if it were the central stage for a coming attraction.
"Ohhh . . . babee.. . " chimed a voice belonging to a black woman stretched prenatally on the bed, her slinky dress wrinkled across her hips. One swollen, ruby-tipped breast spilled out of the v-necked dress which shone of warm satin in the errant sunlight. A woolly patch of hair raised from the pillow, head dizzy with drugs. She turned her head slowly, as if aware of an ominous presence. Movement intensified, as eyes focused on the black giant towering above the bed.
She scrambled to her knees, pulled the dress tidy and cleared her throat in instant contriteness. "Sh-Shaker.. .hi.. . . "An urgent glance in the direction of the man stretched out on the bed, pants straddling his ankles, electrified the room.
Wearily a man's head rose from the pillow. "Wha' the fu--. . . " In a flash of black motion, a man sprang to his feet, yanked up the zipper to his pants, and grabbed for the wrinkles mass of his shirt on the floor. The clatter of a spilled ashtray cut the silence.
Shaker remained reticent, eyes, deeply penetrating and directive, speaking for him. The cigarette fell from his fingers; he stomped it out with his shoe and crossed his arms over his thick chest.
"Jus' takin' some time off, Shaker . . . tha's all.. . . " laughed the other nervously. "Ain' been nobody come in the store nohow.. . . "
Shaker's jaws started working as if he had a mouthful of popcorn. "You been shootin' my shit again, Daisy, ain' ya?" came the rhetorical statement in an easy tone.
The black woman sniffed and stared at the floor, cringing.
"Don' you lie to me!" Rows of even white teeth glowed in the darkness, creasing an angered face.
"Nnno, I been good, really I been Shaker . . . I. . . " Daisy's voice rang with a confidence she didn't feel. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, smoothed her dress and patted the wooly hair in dire effort to make herself presentable. "There ain' been nobody in, Shaker . . . business ain' been so.. . "
He stepped closer, casting an ominous shadow over her withering presence. Daisy's eyes widened fearfully and a wail of anticipatory pain cut the air.
A black arm shot out to grab her, twisting her arm behind her back and bringing her to her knees. She let out a wail and fell sobbing her black melonous breasts tumbling unheeded from the low-cut faded pink satin gown she wore.
"Don' lie to me.. . you been pinchin' dough outta the drawer to buy shit.. . " His voice crescendoed like a slow starting engine, primed for take off.
His eyes fell on the littered nightstand where a single silver needle caught an errant ray of sunlight filtering from the window overlooking the trash can laden alley beyond. Beside it lay a match book and a thin belt.
Shaker's leg drew up, his knee shot out and caught Daisy below the chin, tossing her backwards on the floor where she lay in a sobbing, drugged stupor.
"We go' work to do," he growled in a deep, menacing voice that could have belonged to God himself. "Jarvis be gettin' hungry for more stuff. Ge' your ass outta here and find us kids." Then to Daisy: "Better straighten up, woman, or that needle's gonna be hangin' outta yo' asshole . . . instead a Carter's dick."
The corner of Carter's mouth twitched. "I tho' we's done with that kid shit, Shaker . . . we can' go on doin' that crap fo'ever.. . " He laughed nervously and shrugged. "Maybe we push a little mo' H and forget the kid shit. . . you know, man, like I got kids a my own.. . " He wiped his nose with the back of his hand; a pearl of blood from the needles' track surreptitiously disappeared in the wrinkle of his sleeve which he anxiously unrolled to cover the marks.
"I say we get kids . . . business's too hot now.. . . "
"You, you be the boss, Shaker," repeated Carter with ripe conviction, quickly buttoning his sleeves with trembling fingers.
The bald headed black man dipped the full six-feet six-inches of muscularity beneath the faded opera curtain, leaving behind a weeping woman falling into drugged slumber behind him.
Carter's eyes fixed on the black hulk whose departure had left the room one shade lighter in temperament and conviction. He hated the idea of risking that one slender thread of fate that could put him behind bars again. Money was loosing its attraction for him.
His concerned eyes fell on Daisy. That she'd been stealing money from the register was no surprise to him. Poor dumb bitch, he thought, fastening his belt. What a helluva life . . . and he'd been more than witness to her demise.
When he, Jarvis and Shaker had teamed up in San Quentin and were later paroled, Daisy had been his first lover. One thing led to another, one petty crime to one graver vice . . . until this.
Carter's shoulders quivered with unsung regret, manifesting itself as a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. The merry-go-round of crime had him spinning . . . too fast to get off.
The curtain rose and fell, leaving Daisy a crumpled heap on the bottle-strewn floor.
Ruby red lips chewed thoughtfully on the pencil's eraser, blue eyes fixed on nothing. Butterfly wing eyelashes flickered, bringing the teLevision news reporter back to planet earth and back into the teleprompter clacking confines of Channel 2's newsroom.
To circumvent Bill Potters' daily inquisition into the proposed penetration of Shaker Jones operations, flashed an emergency signal in her brain. More detailed strategies shouldered that concern. How to station the mini-cam to catch suspicious, incriminating movements about the Peep Show Palace . . . how to get inside the store unobtrusively without sticking out like a Nordic on a slave trade block.
Decisively, she glanced up at the clock announcing noon, and slapped shut the reporter's notebook sitting at her elbow. The rich swell of her bosom heaved a sigh of determinism. A tingling sensation tickled her puffy nipples, puckering them into little nubs poking through the loose knit of her snug sweater.
Methodically, she reviewed the facts. Fact number one: He was suspected of kidnapping male youth and forcing them into disgusting acts of oral and anal copulation somewhere near his storefront. In a sleazy prostitute's apartment, maybe? Or a heroin dealer's den Fact number two: Once convicted of heroin dealing, chances were the filthy maggot used some illicit drug to subdue his victims and lessen their pain.
Obvious as the facts remained, the man shielded himself with an invisible wall of confidence and security.
How to get to Shaker . . . how, how, how!
Sherrie's lips pursed in frustration. Two cubicles away, Bill Potter's booming voice challenged the teletype computers and rose above the noontime clank of reporters spewing out copy for the noon news now three minutes away. Pressure was on. By this afternoon, Potters wanted a plan of action.
Bill Potters rubbed his nose and glared over two partitions to where the blonde haired nymphet of the news department sat chewing on her pencil. Christ, what a set of lips . . . The sensational thought cut through the iceberg of news trivia clogging his mind with titanic force. He itched his nose, cold from an illicit snort of cocaine in the control booth moments before, and leveled his eyes on her. A corner of his mouth twisted up in merriment. Shit, her nipples are hard again . . . must be thinking about the Shaker Jones story. A little pang of guilt centered in his bloated groin stung his brain. Something didn't sit right with handing a gutsy assignment to a delicate rose like Sherrie. Still, if she succeeded in breaking the story, Christ the Nielsen ratings! Life was a chancy game, he convinced himself at last and he hadn't become news director by playing every teLevision station general manager's deck of cards. You had to have something raw and real up your sleeve to survive this business; he only hoped he wasn't using Sherrie as the Queen of Spades.
Sherrie nibbled at her lip and ran down the alternatives. Do I use all the available facts (based on supposition, really), and build a case around suspicious action in hopes of catching him in the act? That this approach would require a part-time mini-cam operator and Potters' daily monitoring, quickly squelched that idea. Besides, I'd run the risk of making a complete ass of myself in front of Potters and the whole newsroom. We're dealing merely with suspicions, Sherrie Williams, so don't let your ambitions short-circuit on you!
Or . . . she further cogitated, pooching out her bee-stung lips in an erotic pose that made Bill Potters belch, do I snoop around on my own (without Potters' consent) and piece together the tawdry snippings of corruption with hopes of breaking the case live on Channel 2's "Two Is There" newscast! Was there any choice?
CHAPTER THREE
"Transfer, please.. . . "
"Huh?" The mini bus driver gaped between heads of boarders clambering into his Mission vehicle, to get a closer look at the Charles Dickens youth dropping two quarters from manicured fingers into the coin box. Strands of silken blonde hair peeked out under the tweed billed cap shadowing a set of wide blue eyes the color of Marin County skies in the heat of August, accentuated by high, David Bowie cheek bones. Despite the over-sized, patched jacket and suspendered trousers, something sensually ethereal trapped his attention. San Francisco had its potpourri of humanity, but this creature belied all stereotypes!
"Yeah, sure kid." The driver peeled off a transfer slip as the slight-framed creature headed toward the back of the bus.
The driver's blatant stare unnerved Sherrie, not that she wasn't nervous enough. Through narrowed eyes, she glared back and grabbed the transfer from his fingers, reading his thoughts too clearly. He probably thinks Fm a male prostitute! The things I have to go through to get a lousy story!
Sherrie threw herself into the nearest seat and carefully tucked an errant strand of gold back under her cap. Eyes leveled on her from every direction, setting her at war with herself. Stomach muscles knotted with apprehension. Maybe she should have accepted a common human interest story, like the Marin County dog poisoner or the plight of the hapless elderly, instead of tackling a cold-blooded child molester single handed!
A bubble of sixth-sense rationale seemed to stick in her throat; the feeling that many of us experience and shrug off as deja vu, when indeed we should listen and listen well! Sherrie's stomach muscles began to knot. But it was too late to turn back now. Potters was hungry for a story.
The bus rumbled along, hydraulic brakes hissing at every guttered curb to open its doors to unhurried passengers heading to and from dingy pawn shops.
One could buy and sell anything in the Tenderloin: mother's wedding ring, blood, your own flesh. This section of the city echoes days of the Great Depression, earthquake ravages of 1906, even the recent tragedy of the mayoral assassination occurred not five blocks away. The giant sponge of decadence, mayhem and disorder.
This dispirited aura struck the blue-eyed news reporter as lithely she hopped down from the bus' step, kiddie-corner from the "Peep Show Palace."
The air smelled sour, the cement beneath her tiny feet stained. A lump caught in her throat. A set of impossible wide, innocent blue eyes peered out from under a black and white tweed billed hat, watching, measuring the slow steps of winos in no hurry to go anywhere. Ahead a crowd of tattered, leather-skinned men sat slumped on the stoops of the city-funded Methadone Center. Sherrie's step quickened; she yanked at the bill of her cap with one delicate hand, while the other delved into her pants pocket to finger the metallic rectangle that was her only weapon-a mini-Polaroid camera.
"Hey, boy . . . how's 'bout a match for a vet. . . huh?" Out of the corner of a wide blue eye, Sherrie caught the slurred movement of a toothless, bedraggled creature rising to his feet, with one arm extended ready to grab her!
"S-sorry . . . I.. . " Lithe legs scissored to catch the green walk light. "You fuckin' little cock whore bastar' . . . " he grumbled after her, filling the air with the street's filth.
Sherrie shuddered. The indecency of it all! What turn of fate erased these creatures' pride, to allow themselves to fall to this level! The reporter in Sherrie made some quick deductions as she ducked into an alleyway outside of the Peep Show Palace whose name had to be a joke, she thought, again fingering the camera in her pocket.
Trash cans, turned over by winos in search of nutrition to fill their wine-sodden gullets, littered the alleyway.
Abruptly, Sherrie's hand flew to her mouth and her eyes bugged blue. Somebody was hiding between the trash cans!
A thick-ankled foot appeared like the head of a curious snake from between the cans, wagging back and forth to gain momentum. Then came the ragged hem of a dress, an alcohol bloated body and the face of a woman, a typical San Francisco 'bag lady', who'd found herself a ray of sunshine between the reflective metal of the trash cans.
Take a few pictures and get out of here, Sherrie's better sense railed. Hugging close to the Peep Show Palace's alley side wall, Sherrie surreptitiously drew the camera out of the dark depths of her pocket and cautiously raised it to eye level. Snap . . . a shot of the pawn shop across the street.. . a good place to station a mini-cam. Snap . . . the diagonal length of the Palace, marked by two dirty windows overlooking the alley . . . a perfect window onto the goings-on of Shaker Jones.
Her mouth warmed with the taste of imminent success . . . one window away from the heroin dealer, child molesting criminal!
Fuckin' dirty, messy business . . . Carter was grumbling, wiggling the toilet's rusted handle irritatedly. Finally, it flushed. "Fuckin' dump . . . "
His mood hovered somewhere between anger and somnambulant depression. Maybe the junk did that to him. You needed some kind of escape, he rationalized clumsily, when you dip your soul in the hellish business of kidnapping young kids and forcing them into perverted sex acts before a camera's asexual eye.
It all started when he met up with Shaker after his parole. To run heroin, you needed a solid cash base; down payment on a business, you might call it. Kind of a sophisticated business, he quipped inwardly to himself, over viewing the sordid procedure. They paid a printer a helluva lot of bucks to whip together the glossies and distribute them out of a reputable book distributorship.
Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he opened the rusted medicine cabinet to rattle a couple aspirin into his black palm. Throwing back his head, he tossed them down and wedged his woolly head in the shaving cream encrusted sink to suck a stream of water from the faucet.
Was it his imagination, depression of shooting H? His nostrils itched from the scent of trouble. Carter held out his hands and watched them shake. Pinprick pupils stared aback at him in the mirror. His skin felt tight, of a sudden, as if his body wanted to break loose of its identity. A hand reached down to cup his genitals . . . and he thought of Daisy.
Shaker had no right to come down on her like that. If it weren't for Daisy there'd be no cover for the operation. Hell of a mouth, though, continued the stream of conscience panging thoughts. Tha' lady sho' do know how to suck cock.. . .
Abruptly a rattle of trash cans in the alley sent him flying to the window, nose pressed to the dirt smudged glass. A drunken female wino lay between the trash cans and a slight bodied young boy.. . .
Was that a boy?
Carter squinted and rubbed his eyes. The lithe bodied creature looked scared as a turkey on Thanksgiving eve. Shading his light-sensitive eyes with a shakey palm, Carter studied the boy's slender shoulders draped in an oversized jacket and the crisp, clean trousers and spotless tennis shoes.
"Pigs sendin' out kids to spy on us, the fuckers!" he muttered to himself, feeling blood gush to his nostrils and adrenalin shooting through his veins.
A back door of the apartment opened onto the alleyway, and that's where Carter slunk. Nimbly, his fingers worked at the latch, slowly pulling back the lock. Carter squinted against the light, jaw muscles meshing, body ready to spring. His eyes raked over the lithe creature, catching sight of the honey blonde hair tucked under the cap.
"Fuckers think they're so clever.. .cocksucking assholes!" he thought.
He pumped his black fists, ground teeth together, and pounced on his prey.
"Ahhhhh!" Sherrie shrieked. A salty tasting hand clamped over her mouth, arm locked under her chin, dragging her backwards. Drawing back her elbow, she rammed him hard as she could. She felt her crazy bone gouge into the soft sac of his testicles and felt, too, the arm tighten viselike under her dimpled chin.
"Uaggltfih . . . " she sputtered, tearing at his arms with red-tipped nails. Carter gritted his teeth and tightened his hold, feeling the air hungry lungs pant with need. "I . . . can . . . can't breathe . . . I . . . please. . . . "
"Snooping bastard.. . . "
The heels of her tennis shoes bumped along the steps, making it impossible for Sherrie to get a footing. Deeper into darkness he dragged her, tightening his grip until stars flickered before her eyes. Red fingertips went numb.. . and the world went black for Sherrie Williams.
He tossed her on the rumpled bed, like a sack of potatoes, with a jarring force that sent the tweed hat flying. Carter stood panting. Instantly he blinked, squinted and scratched his head.
Swirls of honey hair, glistening like an angel's, tumbled about Sherrie's shoulders. A fugvtive beam of sunlight played over the softness. Slowly it came to him.
"The fuckin' kid's a woman . . . " Police department decoy? A crease of very real concern wrinkled Carter's brow. He bent over the figure, his face breaking into an expression mirroring a mixture of awe, delight and consternation.
Wheezing noises hissed from Sherrie's swollen throat. With painful, languid movements, she struggled to raise her bruised body off the foul smelling sheets with their sneezing scent of unwashed sex. The effort overwhelmed her and defeated, she slumped back in fear and pain, rolling over onto her back.
Carter squinted down at the high cheek bones, the wide set eyes and fresh, virginal skin framed by tons of swirling blonde hair. Nimbly his fingers worked at the buttons of her cotton shirt, opening one by one until the white, untainted lace of her brassiere peeked through the flap. Urgently, he slipped the suspenders down over the slope of feminine shoulders and lifting each arm, peeled off the jacket sleeve and shirt with it.
A gallon of blood rushed to Carter's groin, bloating his testicles hurtfully. Satin soft skin, so creamy you wanted to dip a spoon into it, made him grin in awkward disbelief. Hot, black fingers tore at the zipper of her trousers. He yanked them down, pulled them off her legs and tossed them to the floor.
The abrupt movement made Sherrie's eyes blink open with the rapacity of flashing traffic lights. "Ahhh. . . " One leg shot out to jab the hovering black man in the groin. The shot was well aimed. One delicate foot with deceptively steely strength, caught Carter between the legs. He howled in pain, gnashing his teeth, and. . . .
Whack!
"You fuckin' white bitch . . . I'll show you. . . ! "
Stars sprinkled before Sherrie's eyes as a sledge hammer fist caught her elegant cheekbone. A whimper of pain bubbled from her rosy lips.
Carter panicked. Sweat beaded his brow. Shaker and Jarvis were due back any second. His black fists drew up into tight balls of tension. He slammed a fist into the wall, cursed, and swung around to stare at the captured female lying lifelessly on the bed.
Voices in the storefront made his heart flutter. Shaker would be furious. It had been his responsibility to lure some scummy eight-year old, some hookie-playing, hungry kid from the projects . . . and instead, here lies a scrumptious, firm-bodied woman who, from all appearances could have been Marilyn Chambers herself! That changed the complexion entirely.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sherrie's perky nose twitched from the sneezy smell of unwashed linen and stale cigarette smoke. Strange that her forehead burned febrilely and yet the rest of her body was chilled, as if she was laying on wet sheets.
Noisy, argumentative voices echoed from somewhere close by. She was back in the newsroom, listening to Bill Potters rant and rave at a shriveling reporter. But where was the clank of typewriters and howl of UPI telecomputers? And why was she standing apart from it all?
Two blue eyes popped open to stare into dank space. Reality swamped down on her and she shrieked of wild-eyed fear. The effort pained her throat and blurry-eyed, her head collapsed back on the bed.
But she'd seen them . . . her captors. Six black eyes glowering hungrily down at her. Dear God, I'm naked . . . what have they done to me? She tasted fear, felt it crawl snake-like up her spine. Her throat was clogged with phlegm, but she dared not cough to clear it, or move to attract attention.
"Somebody shut that bitch up!" snarled Shaker, shooting a killing glance at Carter who was responsible for this mess. "Stick a needle in her ass and shud 'er up before somebody hears."
"Somebody mention needles?" chimed Daisy. A blur of red satin rose from the dingy sofa as she strutted over to the men who'd been fighting over tactics. Shaker was irate that Carter had blundered. Shaker was visibly unnerved. That a white woman dressed as a young boy was captured prowling about the alleyway was proof enough that heat was on. Jarvis, the most innocuous of the threesome, was anxious to toy with the catch before letting it free. And Carter was inclined to agree.
"Shaker, baby," Daisy dug blood-red fingertips into the taut muscles of Shaker's thick neck. "Daisy girl can do her man a favor one time. What say we forgets this afternoon's brawlin' and let ol' Daisy prick a needle inta that white southern cracker flesh . . . huh?"
Shaker stared straight ahead, eyes immobily fixed on Sherrie's creamy, virginal flesh. His thick upper lip curled. "Do it.. . jus' get ridda the bitch."
Sherrie cringed on the bed, the unbelievable dispute over her fate too much for her delicate senses to handle. They were talking about injecting a needle into her arm, shooting her up with murderous drugs: Heroin!
The shimmer of Daisy's red satin flitted to the nightstand near the bed. Sherrie felt cattish eyes glaring down at her and saw, through one slitted eye, a slinky satin gown veiling an ebony body with skintight tenacity, rounding the voluptuous, panther-like curves of the black woman's richly swelling body. As she bent, the dark melons of her breasts spilled from the v-neck bodice, showing all but the puffy dark nipples scraping the seam.
Blood-red fingertips plucked the syringe from the ash-dirtied nightstand. "I'll go fix us a little taste, boys," winked Daisy, heading off for the bathroom to melt down the China White heroin.
Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours, it seemed. Sherrie shivered listening to Carter and Jarvis banter in thick-tongued ghetto language she couldn't understand. One of them fell upon her and pulled tight a leather strip around her arm, cutting off the circulation with a brutal force.
"Look a' them veins," Carter quipped. "Jes right for pokin'. "
"Ahhh . . . " Sherrie sucked in her breath as a needle jabbed into the bulging vein inside her elbow. A warm gush of liquid sunshine swam through her veins, numbing her fingertips and deadening the pain in her throat. She didn't feel the release of the leather strap or the cold steel leaving her vein.
Languidly, her body ceased battle. She melted into the mattress, her body turning to butter, warmth oozing through her being like nothing she'd ever felt.
Her glazed eyes opened to see Daisy and Billy standing above her, hovering there with toothy, grinning faces.
"I never looked at 'er real close . . . shit, she's got a body won' stop fo' a freight train," whistled Carter, cupping his genitals lewdly.
The comment sent Shaker out of angered lethargy. Contempt wrinkled his smooth brow. Between his muscular thighs, the sac of testicles bloated with the longing for tasting the forbidden. And in a black man's world, a lush bodied white woman is forbidden fruit. He didn't object when Carter's calloused fingers began working at the buttons of her shirt.
"She got real class, Shaker . . . this babe ain' no Tenderloin whore!"
Daisy bristled. "Whore!" She spat, showing even white teeth between red painted lips. "Huh? You don't think ol' Daisy's such a whore when she's suckin' yo' black cock!" The black woman's upper lip curled with hostile disdain she sneered down at the alabaster silken skin with curved in richly swelling perfection. "I jes' pump tha' bitch's arm full o' my junk . . . and you be putting me down fo' that? You owe Daisy somethin', honey."
Anxious to prove her black superiority, Daisy kneed her way onto the bed and, slipping a strong arm under Sherrie's lithe body, hauled her upright and slipped a rumpled pillow behind her blonde head. Swirls of blonde hair tumbled about Sherrie's creamy white shoulders, dipping about her puffy nipples.
"Le' this white moth'r fucker watch a real woman make a man happy!"
Carter had no objections. He started working at his pants' zipper and in seconds, had pulled them down over the long, lanky forms of his muscular thighs, yanking down his jockey shorts to let his black, meaty cock spring free!
"Do yor' stuff, Daisy . . . teach this snoopin' white cunt some tricks cause in a minute she's gonna be usin' that pretty white mouf to satisfy a black man!"
In small, splattered degrees Sherrie struggled out of drugged consciousness. Under heavy eyelids, two blue eyes focused blurrily on black, approaching shadows. She felt the mattress sag as the forms closed in on her. She could smell their sweat, salty with lustful expectation! With a whimper, she tried to crawl away, but hands, black and masterful, grabbed her tight by the upper arms and pinned her to the headboard. To fight was impossible; the heroin had taken from her every last drop of adrenalin; fear froze her senses, dissipating into a warm, languid sensation of laissez faire. The needle had drained her of the will to defend herself, leaving her a jellied mass of creamy female flesh!
"You white bitch . . . " snickered Daisy, her black Afro hairdo casting shadows over Sherrie's cringing, white form, ". . . watch real good, hon, cause you gonna be doin' the same thin' when he done shootin' his cum in Daisy's mouf!"
A terrified whimper bubbled in Sherrie's throat.
Daisy grabbed the black meat of Carter's penis between both of her hands and rubbed it salaciously. The long, mushroom-headed stalk of hot flesh jerked to stiffness beneath the demanding touch of Daisy's practiced fingers.
"Nice fingers, Daisy . . even if yo' face ain' nothin' to look at . . . " muttered Carter teasingly. He thrust his hips forward. "It be tha' tongue I's cravin'. . . . "
With a groan of lustful expectation, Daisy leaned over, her lushly feminine profile bathed in a warm yellow glow from the nightstand lamp. Rearing up on her knees, she wriggled the tight red satin dress up over the ebony swells of her buttocks, up over her round hips and over her head, letting the black melons of her breasts bob free. She wore neither panties nor brassiere.
Lasciviously, she licked her thick, red painted lips with the tip of her pink tongue and stared at the huge mushroom of Carter's cock head. Slowly her hand reached out, her head bending in synchronized effort, her lips a breath away from the seeping cock head.
With the tip of her tongue, she flicked it lizard-like in the air and brushed it fleetingly against Carter's hardened penis. "Mmmmmm . . . " she muttered delightedly, tasting the piquant juices of male cum.
Slumped against the headboard, breasts slowly heaving with the slackened effort of breathing, lacey bikini panties creating a blue strip over her softly bowled belly, Sherrie's jaw fell slack in something between disgust and awe as Daisy knelt slavishly before Carter, the two half moons of her buttocks shimmering darkly in the lamplight.
On his knees, Carter held the throbbing length of his cock in hand, rubbing its piquant juices across the woman's fleshy lips until with a groan of delight, Daisy took the full cap of his bloated penis in between her soft lips like a Venus Fly Trap hungry for a morsel! Carter's head fell back, moans of gurgling delight filling the room as Daisy trailed her soft tongue over the hot blue veins of Carter's meaty, blood-bloated cock.
"Ohhh . . . Daisy . . . you go' me ready to shoot.. . . " bellowed Carter as he clenched his cheeky buttocks tightly together and shoved another two inches of hot male flesh down her ravenous throat.
Jarvis punched out his cigarette and tore off his pants in one swiftly manipulated movement. His hot, hard penis jutted free like a snake slithering through the grass. "I gotta get me some a' that!"
He knelt ominously behind the mouth of Daisy's flagrantly bared ass cheeks. His hands stroked the luscious flesh of her hips, positioning her sumptuously, proud black bottom in direct line with his pelvis.
With Daisy, the sex expert, there was no need to cajole her into position for a double jab, but his male ego dictated anyway: "Ge' those hands in fron' o' you, hon," he grumbled as he took his thumbs and dug their pudginess into the tender, blue-veined flesh of her ebony thighs as his thick, hot penis bumped stiffly against the rounded swells of her naked ass.
"Spread them sweet thighs so Jarvis can git hisself some of that tight black pussy!"
Eagerly, Daisy squirmed into position, wiggling her ass cheeks teasingly back at him. In high-headed euphoria, the captive woman watched this degrading display of rampant sexuality in drugged stupefaction.
Jarvis grinned a wide white flash of lust as he surveyed the tapering feminine smoothness of Daisy's satiny back as he pulled her close to him to ready her for a fast ram into her steaming black cunt from behind. Some women were meant to be fucked in missionary position only, but Daisy was a dog-bitch from way back.
Daisy spread her exquisite thighs butterfly fashion, the nerve packed pouch of her pussy easily visible beneath the widely spread forms of her thighs. In one fast movement, Jarvis' thick cock was stuffed up her tight black cunt, making a wet, sloshing noise that stung Sherrie's buzzing ears. She could hear too, his sperm bloated balls slapping punishingly against her ebony buttocks bringing a moan of joy to her cock-stuffed lips. In eager appreciation, her eager cunt muscles clamped hungrily around his jutting penis as though a million tiny fingers were trying to push it into the warm depths of her belly.
"Ah, Christ, baby," moaned Jarvis. "You be one tight mama!"
Daisy snickered smugly from her lover's lustful comment and craned her neck, her black lips stuffed with Carter's male flesh and glowered at the white fleshed girl slumped in a drugged stupor against the brass headboard, her glassy eyes staring fixedly at the debauched menage a trois taking place an arm's reach away. Beneath her, the bedsprings groaned, echoing their delight.
Daisy was in heaven! She would show this white pansy-assed hussy who could suck cock . . . and who was the real woman! White bitches were all the same-snotty nosed cunts who thought they were better than she just because their skin was one shade lighter.
Within seconds after Jarvis' squelching jab into her pussy, Daisy's frantically sucking mouth began a vacuuming pressure on Carter's bloated penis. In the breath-hissing silence of the dingy apartment, a liquid slurping of juices in Daisy's mouth sloshed around the wetly lubricated pole of Carter's cock. With her pearly front teeth, she nibbled and teased devilishly at the seeping eye of his black manhood, teasing it, taunting it to maddened size.
"Keep tha' mouf suckin', baby . . . " rasped Carter, ". . . cause I gonna give you an ice cream sundae.. . I'm gonna fill that black belly so fulla cum it be comin' out yo' ears!"
"Mmmmmm . . . " Daisy indicated that was fine with her. To show her unspoken joy, she wiggled her ass cheeks, mashing into Jarvis' groin, scraping her sex-sensitive skin against his kinky pubic hair. The sensation against her clitoris was electric, sizzling.
With one black eye fixed on the white captive's placid face, Daisy put on a show for the news reporter; she fondled the twin sacs of Carter's bloated and hair-matted balls. She used her thumb and forefinger to grip the base of his blood-fed shaft, squeezing and milking the meaty cudgel as though she were trying to force the sperm out of it.
"Ann . . . sheet. . . " Jarvis grunted hotly in animal arousal as with a roar, he grabbed hold of Daisy's rounded, fleshy hips and rammed into her so hard it nearly sent Carter careening backward off the bed.
"Watch it, man . . . " complained Carter, levering himself solidly up on his knees.
In answer, Jarvis, with a punishing thrust, rammed his meaty length to the rubbery limits of Daisy's slavishly open pussy until her body shook with the intense vibrations of his assault. She was thrust forward, buffeted against Carter's groin, the proud, dangling melons of her naked breasts crushed obscenely against the hairy athletic limbs of Carter's lanky thighs. The rubbery, slithering tip of Carter's penis drubbed against the back of her throat, gagging her.
Through her heroin-induced stupor, Sherrie could still see and hear the sexual play going on about her; she heard the ruttish breathing and smack of naked flesh slapping against naked flesh. In the haze of the yellow light splashed over the sweat-glistening black bodies creating a hydra of arms and legs as they plunged into each other's orifices, Sherrie felt a quivering in the pit of her belly. Head slumped against her right shoulder, she dazedly glanced down at her body and noticed in a shock of modesty that she was naked, except for the immodest blue strip of silk of her lacey bikini panties.
She struggled to concentrate on the nude sensation and the shameful humiliation it brought, but her concentration seemed to center on the diamond chips of her perky red nipples. Why did that always happen to her? she wondered dully. The least amount of tension and it feels as if someone's holding an ice cube to them, so tingling and crinkling were they. Unblinkingly, she stared at the jagged movements of the three sweat-soaked naked bodies connected by cocks and mouths and one pussy, one very willing pussy.
Instantly she convulsed in horror. It felt as if she were being electrocuted! Her eyes counted them: two men and one woman. She was naked for a reason, being held captive for a reason and that reason would soon unfold itself. From the corner of the squalid surrounds, she heard Shaker's thick-tongued voicf confirm her worst of fears.
The dark figure stood at the edge of the bed, eyes raking over the white, naked swells of perfection, centering on the pouting mound of her fleece-fluffed pussy behind the shamefully immodest patch of her bikini panties.
"You look kinda like Marilyn Chambers . . . " he grinned salaciously, his fleshy upper lip curling. "Tha' chick be one bad cock sucker . . . we gonna see what tha' pretty mouf can do . . . . "
CHAPTER FIVE
These black bastards are hot tonight, Daisy grinned inwardly. Even though they got rather rough at times, she appreciated them. Theirs was a synergistic relationship; she rented the building, giving them a front for their porno peddling and drug trade, and they took care of her. So what if Shaker got hot when he discovered bills missing from the register? He needed her as badly as she needed him.
And she needed Carter and Jarvis right now! Despite his weight problem, Jarvis was nimble in bed, though prone to brutality. Her black spine shuddered at the thought of him using the full force of his body to hammer the seeping insides of her prostituted cunt. She could feel an intense, radiant heat on the insides of her naked ass-cheeks as his black cock hammered against her sensitive vaginal crevice.
In the pit of her belly, a dull pain grew from the force of Jarvis' bloated penis stabbing at the spongy cervix tip. Daisy blatantly wiggled her naked pussy back onto Jarvis' bloated stalk for the sheer joy of reading the awe on the white captive's face. Marilyn Chambers, huh? If these boys thought the blonde haired bitch was so hot, they ought to give her a little of what Marilyn Chambers got . . . two black cocks at once, and see if that didn't wipe the dumb faced grin off her face!
The warm friction of Daisy's fleshy lips slipping wetly up and down the fat length of his penis, caused sparks to fly in front of Carter's eyes. He worked his seeping cock tip in and out of the fleshy trap of her slobbering mouth, his hands holding her ears in case she tried to back off when he shot his seed into her gullet. He adored nothing more-well, a quick prick of H, maybe-than to watch a bitch on her hands and knees slaving over his cock, watching her expression fade from fear to awe of his mastery and finally to masochistic fever as he gushed her gullet with sperm. The sense of domination made him stronger, braver . . . and when you're around Shaker, he thought in a burst of understanding, you needed that extra shot of adrenalin!
Jarvis' penis grew another inch as he studied the black shimmer of Daisy's naked back bathed in the amber lamplight. The panther-like muscles of her strong neck, down the curve of her spine to the small of her back straining and twisting slavishly to accommodate the twin pricks invading her body. Her kinky black hair crowned her head like the queen of the jungle felines, bouncing as he rammed into her cunt. His cock was being scorched by the heat boiling in the cock-filled cavity of her pussy.
He snorted with lust from the sight of ass flesh bulging just beneath the luscious half moons of her trembling, black buttocks. That juicy bulge was Jarvis' favorite part of a woman's body, that little roll of sweet flesh. Hungrily, he grabbed hold of those two ebony handles and squeezed it between steely fingers, hearing a short gasp of hot air wheeze from Daisy's overworked lungs. Jarvis slammed into her pussy with a force that made his heavy testicles slap against her fleshy buttocks.
An arm's reach away, Jarvis detected a low whimper of fear and, rearing his head, he glowered at the cringing white woman sprawled across the bed. Shaker had grabbed her arm and she was protesting mightily, held tight in his black clasp. Fleetingly, Jarvis wondered if she'd ever been touched by a black man before. He doubted it, from the hell she was raising. But no one paid any attention . . . not with Daisy's pungent love juices slicking his cock and making it glisten!
"Hell, Daisy . . . you be drownin' my balls back here with yo' cunt juices!" He grunted from deep within his throat at Carter. "Let 'er have it, man. . . . "
The bed shook and the mattress complained, nearly rocking off the bedspring as the two men went wild, pumping their penises into Daisy's pussy and mouth with a dreadful fury!
Pinned to the mattress by Shaker's steely arms, Sherrie could only mutter epitaphs of revulsion and fear as she watched bug-eyed as the men punished the black woman beyond redemption! The fat black man had grabbed her hips with his fists to gain leverage and then rammed into her as if trying to drive a spike through her belly, while in the front the other gleefully pulled his ebony cock from her fleshy lips; then with a grunt, jabbed it back down her throat.
Daisy murmured and gurgled sounds that to Sherrie had to be screams of pain and terror, but from the way she wiggled her ass cheeks back at the pudgy bellied man and tossed her head from side to side like a dog playing with an old shoe . . . Sherrie had to doubt.
Daisy's satiny, black skinned body beaded with sweat as the men worked their pricks like a pair of black jack hammered in and out of her willing body.
The room reeked of musky sex juices and sweat. . . creating a sultry, lusty primitive smell. She realized then, in a shriek of horror, that she would soon be a forced participant in this diabolical orgy. "Nooo . . . please . . . let me go . . . " she murmured, flailing her blonde head from side to side. "No . . . I refuse . . . please.. . . "
Shaker's fleshy lip curled up sneeringly. He grabbed Sherrie's dimpled chin between his thumb and forefinger and held it still. "Watch, you white cunt . . . cause that little white ass o' yours gonna be swingin' next.. . . "
Sherrie's blue eyes bulged in fear. She swallowed thickly as, horrified, she watched the black woman suck her tormentor's penis, vacuuming the seed from the depths of his testicles, digging her red nails into the strength of his black thighs and buttocks as he grunted at her wicked act of fellatio!
"Ohhh . . . jesus . . . yeah.. . . "
Those muscular legs suddenly buckled and, as though someone had knocked the wind out of him, he collapsed. The heat of lust steamed from the shaft of his ebony cock; he paused, sucked in his breath, and rammed his manhood down her throat with all the strength left him. His balls spewed out a viscous stream of scalding cum spurting from the throbbing head of his penis!
One would have expected Daisy to scream and yell. But not this woman well seasoned in the game of sex. She mewled in pleasure from the salty taste of male sperm flooding her tonsils, dripping down her esophagus to pool in her gullet. In a frantic effort to keep from choking, she breathed through her nose, warm blasts of hot air streaming against the leathery sacs of Carter's balls and making him groan with pleasure too great for description.
Now with a bellyful of hot cum sloshing around her insides, Daisy grabbed his cock and shoved it between the deep cleavage of her warm, dark breasts, engulfing his still spurting cock with her breast flesh and rubbing the mushroomed tip against the nubs of her nipples. Dribbles of cum shot up to shower her face, her breasts, finally to roll in salty globules down her richly bowled belly, filling the crater of her navel.
As a final tribute to his maleness, Daisy wrapped her dainty fist around the withered tube of flesh and rubbed the dribbling sperm over her glistening naked body, groveling in animalish submission. From behind, Jarvis hammered into her cunt.
He groaned, threw back his head and in one movement, wrapped the tapering blackness of Daisy's exercised legs around his thick thighs so that she was supported now only by the strength of her legs. The tighter she wrapped her legs around him, the deeper he could bore into her steaming cunt.
Just for show, for the pleasure of showing off in front of the cringing white captive, Daisy locked her legs behind Jarvis' back and brought the heels of her feet to press into his back. She held her hands in the air before her and pumped her tremulous thighs against his pelvis as every raw, lust-filled nerve in her body revved up for the climax that would be her reward. To feel a thick male cock sawing into her belly, banging against the spongy tip of her cervix was a glimpse of heaven . . . and the thrill of a wicked, screaming orgasm from being fucked from behind was heaven itself.
"You black mo'her. . . fuck me. . . make me cum . . . use that fat black prick, you ba'stard.. . . "
Sherrie's ears stung from the obscenities spewing from Daisy's mouth. Yet she watched from her pinned down perch as the black prostitute threw herself into a jaw clenching state of ecstasy.
The shrill scream of pain and pleasure pierced the stillness of the dingy room. The bed shook and banged against the wall as Daisy ground her ass flesh around Jarvis' black, flabby belly and pudgy thighs. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her buttocks jiggled like jello as she jackknifed her strong body, her long tapered fingers clawing into the bedspread as she steadied herself for the peaking climax about to gush from the glistening, pulsing bud of her swollen clitoris and crackling over the diamond chip peaks of her blackberry tipped breasts.
"Fuck me . . . Jaaaaa'vis . . . fuck meeee!"
Sherrie's delicate fists wrapped around the headboard to keep from being spilled over the side from the movement of the mattress as Daisy, steaming with lust, swung her head from side to side, chanting obscenities and groaning out her orgasm.
"Oooohhh . . . black asss . . . black assss.. . " Jarvis hissed between clenched teeth. The flab of his body shook from the effort of hanging onto the squirming, wiggling panther bodied woman whose cunt lips were squeezing his cock as if trying to strangle it. But, ah, the exquisite ball bursting pressure! He felt a painful, aching tickle rush through his balls as the incredible river of his cum exploded like a hot geyser from the head of his mushroomed cock.
"Mmmmmm . . . . ah . . . cum in meee . . . " Daisy's plea was gurgled.
In answer, Jarvis rode the bucking, black skinned female sheened with sweat and another man's cum as his bearish chest heaved and sighed with the vibrations of his own lust. Sweat dotted his face and thick shoulders to steam down the curvaceous slope of Daisy's proud black back. Every muscle in her sinewy body wriggled with demonic pleasure. Inside her belly, the milking force of her cuntal muscles vacuumed the seed from her lover's testicles, sucking it out like a milking machine. After she'd robbed him of his strength, she collapsed on the sex-soaked bed, white trails of thick cum streaming down her ebony thighs.
A silence, eerie and ominous, fell over the room. Tangled arms and legs moved slowly, as if belonging to the same person. Sherrie's drugged mind struggled through the cloudy haze of unreality to decipher the meaning of it all. She only knew that it had been enacted for her benefit. Inside, warm gushes of liquid sunshine suffused her lithe body, numbing the pain in her head. Yet the cold blade of fear cut through complacency. She squirmed to kick herself free of the steely hands holding her captive, her large blue eyes misting with pleading emotion.
"Let me gooo . . . please. . . "
"Fo'get it, girl. . . our little miss Marilyn Chambers be puttin' on a show for the poor black bastards in cell block ten. We don' never git to see white chicks like you in this part o' town . . . you snoopin' chicken shit cop!"
"No . . . I'm not . . . " Sherrie flailed her head from side to side, as strands of honey hair clung to the tear wetted rouge of her apple cheeks.
With a shove, Shaker released his hold on Sherrie's lithe arms which he held pinned over her head. "Don' you never say no to Shaker, babe . . . " he warned in a thick-tongued voice. "Don' you never say no to Shaker . . . " His voice had lowered to a whisper.
Glaring at her through wicked black eyes which, to the fear-stricken news reporter, seemed to be capable of penetrating steel, he levered his thick-muscled black body off her cringing, creamy one and kneed his way off the bed.
"Somebody clean 'er up . . . ge' that blood off 'er face . . . I wan' my little Marilyn Chambers lookin' pretty with my black cock stickin' way down 'er throat.. . "
"Noooo!" Sherrie bolted off the bed in a frantic leap for freedom. Her legs felt jellied, but her will was honed to steel.
I am a virgin, was the last thought to richochet around her miasmaed skull, before she was cruelly slapped back down on the mattress. Dear God, Vm a virgin. . .
CHAPTER SIX
"Good evening. I'm Jack Sommers with the "Two Is There" evening report."
The news director stared at the teLevision screen in his office. Six o'clock brought temporary relief to Bill Potters. At this hour six-days a week, the telephones silenced with heated reports of attempted suicides and traffic jams, the twix computer dulled to an occasional belch from New York headquarters, and the stage was set for the next morning's Nielsen ratings. Whether the public realized it or not, the news sold teLevision, not baby diapers and Japanese make automobiles.
And hot blonde haired, ripe assed reporters like Sherrie Williams. Potters pooched out his lips cogitatingly, while the bland faced reporter droned on about boring consumer prices . . . he hadn't seen Sherrie since lunch. Last visual image he'd had of her was those rosy lips chewing on the pencil and big blue eyes staring off into space.
Ah, what the hell . . . Potters shooed a hand dismissingly in the air. She probably spent the day researching that Shaker Jones character . . . the big ugly black man, he snickered to himself. Again the image of Sherrie's blonde hair wadded in the fist of a black rapist while he tugged at his pants zipper in coldblooded oral rape crackled through his brain.
Potters swung around in his swivel chair and raked worried fingers through a shock of graying hair. Common sense determined he was a fool for sending a defenseless woman out on the streets to cover the story of a convicted heroin dealer suspected of heinous crimes. And yet.. . if she broke the story.. . .
The clock struck six thirty and the tired on-air reporters began drifting down from the studio and into the newsroom. Potters shot from his chair and grabbed the arm of Jack Sommers.
"I'm looking for Sherrie . . . any idea where I might find her?"
"Hell no . . . " grumbled the reporter, tearing out of Potters' grasp. "If you see her, tell her she screwed me up on the white shark story. I didn't have a
Goddamned word of copy. . . . "
Potters stroked his chin. Sherrie had never been negligent. Now where was she?
"Uggghhh . . . you're ch-choking me!" gurgled Sherrie, tearing at the arms gripping her around the neck. Arms, dark, muscular arms holding her captive. The reality was too great for the blonde haired, blue-eyed virgin to bear, and willfully she forced her mind into a numbed state of being. The aborted burst for freedom had consumed every ounce of strength left her, leaving her body strangely pleasantly warmed and opiated.
Shaker had her pinned to the mattress, his black, monolith body pressing her nearly naked form against the squeaking bed. He cut out her light, cut out all hope of escape and now he was cutting off her air. He pressed his thick, fleshy lips to hers and jabbed his foul tasting tongue between her pearly teeth. The others snickered as he tormented the white captive. Sherrie kicked her heels into the bed and snapped at his broad nose with her teeth . . . but he had her pinned. Grunts of angered protest gave way to weak whimperings of despair.
Finally, Shaker lifted his head and grumbled at Carter. "I said somebody wash the blood off 'er face.. . I don' like no taste a blood . . . none 'cept pussy blood. . . . "
The last remark blazed red in Sherrie's mind.
"How's 'bout I use my tongue," jibed Jarvis.
Dizzily, Daisy raised her head off the pillow where she lay in a rumpled heap. "Somebody fix me a needle . . . I wan' a needle . . . . " Her voice was shaky, her groping hand trembling.
"We ain' got no more, hon," spoke up Carter. "Blondie here go' the rest. . . . "
"I said I wan' more shit . . . now somebody git me some shit or I gotta go out on the fuckin' street to get high . . . . " Her voice was thick with need.
"Shuddup and move over, sister . . . blondie and l's ready to take over the bed . . . . "
Daisy's pleading hand reached out to grasp Shaker's arm for understanding. With a snarl, he tore her hand free.
"Leave me the fuck alone.. . . "
"But.. . I . . . I wan' some shit
Whack! One steely backhand sent the ebony bodied woman careening over backwards onto the floor where she lay in a heap. She lay there whimpering, the room silencing except for the pathetic sound of an addict shivering towards withdrawal. No one in the room saw the black form crawl snake-like through the opera curtain into the closed storefront.. . or heard the fumbled clank of the cash register drawer open.
They had their eyes full. Shaker had flipped Sherrie over onto her stomach and was kneading the soft, tantalizing flesh of her alabaster ass cheeks with his strong black hands. His fingers dug into her body, white flesh oozing between them like so much bread dough.
"Holy shit . . . " Carter felt his testicles bloat from the sight.
On the bed, low plaintive murmurings could be heard . . . "Don't touch me . . . there.. . please, just leave me alone . . . " moaned Sherrie as the three black men pounced on her at once, poking and probing at her anal crevice as if a white woman might be built differently from a black woman.
'Can' have no ass fuck without some lube," chuckled Jarvis, reaching down beside the bed and opening ajar of hand lotion. "Daisy uses this shit for sandwich jobs. Wan' me to git 'er ready for ya, Shaker?"
Squeezing a palmful of the oily lotion into his hand, he rubbed the cool liquid over the soft mounds of Sherrie's buttocks.
Sherrie shuddered from the cool liquid bathing her body. She felt movement behind her and dimly reasoned in her drugged mind that the fat man had replaced the black monolith who'd nearly broken her back from sitting on her. The breath wheezed out of her lungs then and a bubble of fear escaped her rosy lips.
He was flipping her numbed body over and running his greased hands over her full, unprotected breasts, smearing the oozing liquid over the blood-red tips of her nipples and kneading them between his thumb and forefingers like marbles. The punishing caresses made Sherrie yelp with pain. His fingers roamed down over the soft white bowl of her belly to snake with a brutal force into the naked crack of her pussy.
"Now it be time for Blondie's bath," jibed Jarvis, his tongue watering from the thought of nibbling at the tender pussy lips nestled behind blonde fleece. His flabby belly bounced as he fell to his knees beside the bed and wedged the white captive's legs open with his black steely hands. "Ah," he sighed and smacked his lips. He stared at the tuft of blonde hair glistening in the lamplight and placed his face so close to her private parts that his warm breath bathed the swollen pink folds of her pussy flesh.
Oh, Lord, she was naked from the waist down. I must struggle to concentrate and defend myself against these rapists! Why, why did I accept this assignment'. She bit down hard on her pouty lower lip and tasted her own blood.
Instantly her body stiffened. Her back arched from the sizzling sensation down between her thighs. Someone's lips, fleshy, sensuous lips were clamped on the flesh of her pussy. The hot, moist contact sent a startling sensation pulsing through her like liquid air. She writhed spastically from the thick, wet tongue probing across the nerve-filled buds of her cuntal flesh, snaking into the never-touched home of her warm, pink womb.
That warm tongue ventured up to the oil marble of her clitoris, roaming through the hairy forest while his stiffened middle finger slowly began to penetrate the secretive flesh of her virginal vagina!
"Ohhh . . . no, please . . . " A plaintive wail bubbled from the captive's lips as the stiff finger twisted its way up into her belly. Half way up, it met with resistance, but that didn't stop Jarvis.
Dazedly, Sherrie glared down between the rich swells of her naked breasts to see Jarvis' head bobbing slowly up and down like a cork in water between her widely stretched thighs. Dear Lord, her legs were pulled so far apart, the cords of her tendons stood out like telephone cords!
In the blurry haze of despair, one shred of reality stood out above all: she was about to lose her virginity and there wax nothing she could do to prevent it. One woman against three demented men and another mindless female! It didn't paint a rosy picture.
Now Jarvib' thick lips glistened with Sherrie's cuntal juices seeping femininely from the heart of her womb. His paws fondled and stroked the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs and naked loins. Sherrie blinked open her eyes and a mirage of dark, leering faces grinned victoriously down at her, the amber lamplight adding a shadowed effect that was not quite real. None of this was real.. . the hands, the tongue slowly creating within her a strange quiver of arousal that had never been awakened in her before. And it all seemed centered in the nub of her manfully manipulated clitoris!
Was it the drug they had shot into her veins that made her hunger after the touch of male hands? Did virginity, the sacred treasure she had so long guarded, mean that little to her? God, everything was out of control, out of her hands and in the hands of the fat bellied black man whose masterful hands were kneading her body with a demanding touch her libido could not deny!
Jarvis felt Sherrie's tight, smooth stomach quake as he plunged his tongue up her nude cunt. To make certain he had her where he wanted her, he thrust the slimy length of his wet tongue up into the velveteen walls of her pussy, so deep he licked her hymen. To merely humiliate her was not enough; he craved to turn her into a goose bumped mass of tingling female flesh and prove to Shaker and Carter who was the man here!
Sherrie moaned as she stretched the sore length of her arms over her head. A libidinous desire to spread her naked thighs wider apart made her do just that, opening all of herself to the slobbering black man licking noisily at her vagina. Some alien force within her guided her movements; she tensed her abdominal muscles and flinched her buttocks as she opened the columns of her slender thighs wider to him.
For once the news reporter asked no questions (and avoided all lies) of the situation. Helplessly pinned beneath his weight, what choice had Sherrie now but to lie back and let the drug calm her fears. The feel of Jarvis' tongue swabbing her pussy was heavenly, far more wonderful than the sharp pang of fear.
Jarvis crushed his face against the insides of Sherrie's slender legs, his thick lips mashed against her virginal pussy lips, both lubricated by her cuntal juices . . . rubbing back and forth, with tantalizing noisy strokes.
Hands slid under her buttocks to knead the firm, tight mounds while the devilish tongue slithered wetly in and out of her pussy, flicking maddeningly at her clitoris on the out-stroke and driving her to insanely ticklish heights of ecstasy. Sherrie struggled to physically deny herself the wicked desire swelling up within the unplundered realms of her feminine libido. It didn't work. Some say the first time is always the best, and so the virginal blonde could hardly be expected to close the gates to ecstasy she'd yet to experience. At least that's what her subconscious concluded, as she flailed her head from side to side, mumbled epitaphs gurgling deep in her throat.
A steely hand yanked Jarvis' hulking body off the lithe blonde. "I said clean off her head . . . leave 'er cunt to Shaker!"
A set of liquid blue eyes sprung open as the deliciously licking mouth lifted . . . never to return. Her ears picked up the lust crazed snickers of black men staring down at her naked, goose bumped body. She detected Shaker's voice, Shaker making the demands. Shaker Jones.. . the cold blooded sadist, the rapist, the murderer! She clenched her jaws tight and read in his snappy black eyes her very thoughts.
The six-foot six-inch black man stroked his chin cogitatingly, his muscled chest rippling with sweat under the amber light. "On second thought, maybe we all three oughta git 'er at once. We been foolin' 'round here too long already. If the snoopin' little bitch be a decoy for the cops, we ain' got much time to git ridda 'er."
Sherrie drew in her breath and felt her heart might burst with fear. A news reporter isn't much different from a policeman in the eyes of a criminal. Had they found her camera? Blue eyes fiery with terror, raised pleadingly up at the three black men hovering over her like dark dreams of horror. Their eyes raked over every swell and curve of her naked body, making her flesh crawl as if an army of ants were crawling from the tips of her curled under toes to the red-tipped fingernails. She could feel their raping black hands mauling the nubbing tips of her crinkled nipples, gouging the tender membranes of her virginal vagina with their sinewy fingers, and bruising her unmarried flesh with their blue-veined black penises!
The fear-stricken news reporter lay spread-eagled on the rumpled bed, cringing from the sight of three black skinned torsos, hard muscled and panting, their naked, hairless chests beating with revengeful lust! A whimper broke from her chest as the recent image of Daisy groveling on the bed between two sadists who, unbeknownst to her, reveled in humiliating her womanhood. And Daisy had done nothing to stop them . . . she fed their egos, loving the punishment.
Sherrie's eyes fixed on Shaker's black girth of maledom. When had they stripped naked, she wondered dizzily, blinking at the black snake hanging halfway down his thigh. Before her unbelieving eyes, that black snake raised its head toward the ceiling, the mushroomed head wagging from side to side, the single eye dripping venom. Blue, thick veins pulsed with wicked lust. A forest of thick, kinky pubic hair forested his loins, like a camouflaging bush to hide the creeping snake. Beneath lay twin bloated, leathery sacs of his virile testicles! Sherrie gulped and closed her eyes.
"Too much for ya, baby?" he glowered. "Ain' nothin' like a dirty black dick to get you white chicks goin'. . . and now you gonna git all three black dicks at once. . . . "
"Noooo!". The painful cry tore from Sherrie's swollen throat.
Shaker's black eyes snapped with rage. Drawing a deep breath, he bloated out his powerful chest and sneered down at his white captive. "Don' you never let me hear you say no to Shaker.. . cause you be one dead bitch . . . " His voice was hardly a whisper, but his voice came through loud and clear.
Silence fell over the dingy room. Carter and Jarvis turned to each other, yet neither spoke. Maybe mess around with the bitch for a while, shoot her full of dope and leave her in Tenderloin alley. Fate would take care of the rest. Now Shaker wanted to take fate in his own hands. That they'd taken their luck in abducting children, dragging them back to the apartment, shooting them up with heroin and forcing them into masochistic sex was as far as they wanted to trust their luck. Murder! And a cop on top of it all! Jarvis scratched his head and chuckled nervously.
"Take it easy, Shaker . . . we don' gotta get all uptight. . . . "
"Shut the fuck up!" bellowed the six-foot six-inch sadist.
His accomplices realized all too well the force behind Shaker's foul moods, and this cringing white woman's negative answer to his manhood was putting him in one foul mood.
Shaker's jaw muscles moved ominously; sparks snapped from his eyes. Glaring down at Sherrie stretched nakedly on the bed, he yelled: "Get up.. . up on your knees . . . and don' you dare say no to Shaker Jones again.. . . "
Sherrie struggled up on her knees; tears clouded her wide blue eyes. Rubbery and weak and totally traitorous . . . that's how her body felt. She longed to spit him in the eye, curl her rosy lip up at his precious manhood, but she had neither the spirit nor the defense to do so. It seemed a mile, the short stretch from one side of the bed to the other. The effort of knee walking across the bed to where Shaker stood in front of her, created a strange scraping friction between her slender white thighs, sparking off the unwanted ticklish charges snapping around in her naked loins. She paw-walked across the mattress in front of them, naked, giving them a bird's eye view of her alabaster, half-moon buttocks and the shadowed mounds of her breasts dangling from her slender rib cage.
A face so innocent it would have made the devil cry, stared up at her black tormentor. Dimpled chin trembling, liquid blue eyes blinking helplessly up into his grim face, she subconsciously swallowed pride in hopes of appealing to his nobler character. But nothing noble reflected in the ebony hewn primitive fertility statue standing with thick arms crossed over his chest!
If Shaker showed no outward sign of arousal, his accomplices did. The sight of that perfect white body with its creamy hills and valleys shadowed in soft lamplight sent their penises lurching before her horror struck eyes.
"I said get you' fuckin' white ass over here!"
Pearly teeth clamped over a rosy lip, Sherrie approached, her eyes riveted to the venomous cum-filled snake wagging from side to side a tongue's length from her face. His control over his body mesmerized her, the way he could will its direction. Slowly, his hand reached down to grab that black meat and a tight fist pumped and milked.
Sherrie, whose acquaintance with male genitals was limited to parked car petting sessions, blinked at the size of his male weapon.
"I wan you to git me off . . . I wanna shoot cum all over that pretty white face o' yours," snarled Shaker. "An' I wan' you to be nice to my buddies here, get my drift, sweetheart?'
Three black men closed in on her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sherrie bit at her fist. All three at once! But she had never been with a man!
He was asking her to use her mouth on him and her hands on Carter and Jarvis. Dear God! She couldn't!
"Suck it, white bitch . . . suck it like Marilyn Chambers sucked that black dick---" hissed Shaker.
"No! Nooo!"
Whack! A black hand caught Sherrie alongside her cheekbone. She tumbled nakedly to the side, but black demanding hands righted her immediately and, wrapping steely fingers in her shimmering hair, he pulled her head back.
A rubbery prodding at her lips felt hot and smelled musky and definitely male. Sherrie opened her eyes to see the black, awesome girth of cock flesh drubbing against her fevered lips. Shaker grabbed her blonde hair by the roots and jerked her head upward to stare pointedly into her tearful blue eyes.
"I wan' you to look at me the way she looked at her black man . . . you stare into m' black face," he spat, ". . . cause I wanna see that pretty white face when I make you swallow m' black cum!"
Sherrie's stomach turned topsy turvy from his sadistic contempt. No brown belt in karate could save her from this demented creature's unpented lust. Never had felt submissive to a man . . . not even hot tempered Bill Potters. Now, she felt weak, submissive and without the will to choose. He was her primitive god . . . this black fertility symbol. He would decide if she lived-or how she died.
Numbed by the realization, she parted her lips and slowly closed around the black knob of his lust-bloated penis. It felt surprisingly soft on her lips, though the piquant taste was foreign to her virginal taste buds. Her mouth watered from the musky taste of him, her nostrils stung from his manhood.
"I said to take me . . . open wider!"
The hiss of Jarvis' and Carter's sucked in breaths sounded in the room as they watched the white captive tenderly part her lips and claw her white hands over his stony black thighs to support the painful angle of her head. She had been kneeling on the bed, but now she rose to her haunches.
"Suck! Suck!" he commanded, the scar on his face staring ominously down at Sherrie.
Blinking back hot tears, Sherrie closed her eyes and another three inches of Shaker's blood heavy penis slid into her throat. Dear God, I have a black man s penis in my mouth, she thought dazedly. But self analysis and reportage had no role in survival, and realizing that, she blotted out the fear of fate and concentrated on the warm, velvety sensations cuddling her supple, naked body. Her cheeks hallowed like a baby sucking its thumb, creating a warm sucking pressure on Shaker's penis.
"You be too easy, but you be catchin' on," guffawed Shaker, showing neither pleasure nor appreciation. "You don' wanna be forgittin' ma' buddies now. Take a prick in each hand, baby."
Sherrie squeezed back a tear and blindly reached out to obey his order.
She experienced a pinching pressure under her chin. Immediately her eyes popped open.
"I done say keep them eyes open . . . cause I wanna see yo' face when I comes in yo' mouth.. . . "
The sadistic set to his jaw muscles meant business. Misty eyes riveted on his commanding black ones, her elegant hands stretched out to right and left and felt the warm, moist flesh pulse with urgency. Her fingertips found the rubbery webbing of their twin penises and she heard one of them groan as her grip tightened around both of the steely hard cocks.
"Pump, milk, baby . . . pump those pricks like they be tits . . . . " sneered Shaker.
Reluctantly, Sherrie's grip tightened around the hardening tubes; fearfully, she milked her fists in unison as she nibbled on the fiery cudgel of Shaker's salty tasting cock. Her throat still ached from the earlier beating and she found it difficult to breathe freely with his foot-long cock forced half way down her gullet. The perky tip of her arrogant nose brushed and scraped against his hairy groin, creating two hot funnels of steaming breath that shot from her nostrils to waft through the pubic locks and warn his bloated testicles crushed against her chin.
Shaker showed his first sign of approval. He grunted, a deep rumble emanating from the depth of his cruel heart, at the feel of her sweet warm mouth on his cock. She nibbled tenderly, tasted, teased in the most innocent gestures. No vacuum cleaner mouth like Daisy, this one! Only once had he tasted the pleasure of a white woman's body, and then at the point of a gun. He'd knocked her unconscious, spoiling the sport of rape.
Now Shaker's mind was firing with wild and steaming lust shadowed by a sadistic need for revenge. Animalishly, he placed both of his paw-like hands on either side of her tiny white face and scraped her face over his meaty cock and leathery balls, scraping her nose back and forth over his crotch until she fought for breath.
The captive news reporter's eyes watered, rolled hack in her head and convulsed from the violent action. Each inhalation clogged her nose with matted pubic curls. He was so demanding, so rough, so masterful . . . so unlike the pathetic IBM salesman!
Had the curious minded woman been able to control her thoughts, she might have exploded from the fierceness of this horrible fantasy come true. The empty longing for a man able to command her sensuality without destroying her femininity and desire . . . the long weeks of relentless working with no pleasure to sluice the weeks of tedium . . . all that would have culminated into one blinding moment of ecstasy, except for one factor. She feared she would die in the end. Now the drug had obliterated that fear, and she experienced a warm, temporal glow of sensuality that knew neither future nor past. He was her fulfillment . . . there would be none alone.
Her wet tongue worked over the fleshy tautness of Shaker's cock-tip! Pearly front teeth stabbed arousingly against his hard staff and he leaned forward, bending his knees so that she could stretch her neck until her mouth took all of his meaty cudgel down to the scraping base. Sherrie sensed her forehead rest against his hard-muscled belly; felt the muscles strain and ripple beneath the hideous oral assault.
The stoic sex god showed no outward emotion, though his forehead and chest sheened with perspiration that dribbled saltily onto Sherrie's naked white flesh to mingle with the moisture beading her satiny skin. The perfume of sex and rape stung the air.
Shaker kept his eyes riveted on the white captive slave working at his groin and his buddies' cocks with soft, gentle hands. The low rattle of their shallow breath told him both were sizzling between their legs, their sperm bloated balls swelling to the point of explosion. Contemptuously, Shaker mesmerized his captive with his black eyes, exerting a power over her body and soul. He had enslaved a white woman.
Sherrie's fist gripped her captors' penises, their thrusts becoming violent and erratic. To maintain her balance she held tightly to the penises gushing with blood, hardening, warming her palm and dampening it with oozing ejaculatory juices.
Would they be content with her hands . . . or would they command more of her virginal body?
"I don't care if you've been working six months straight," yelled Potters at the mini-camera man who'd unfortunately stalled about the newsroom and now caught the news directors' attention. "This is teLevision . . . if you can't take the pressure . . . get out!"
George straightened; his jaw fell. Nobody refused Bill Potters. Shifting his weight, he mentally calculated time and a half at union wages.
Seeing his victim had calmed to submission, Potters continued in a more rational, if not human, tone.
"Your assignment's to go down to Eddie Street to the Peep Show Palace.. . . "
George's blonde lashes blinked. "Hey, wait a minute . . . if you're talking about the Shaker Jones shake down, find another victim.. . . " He backed off and grabbed for his jacket tossed over the assignment desk. "I want no part of it."
"You want your job, smart ass?" Abruptly, Potters calmed of necessity; the general manager had poked his head into the newsroom and that usually meant an inquisition into the developments of reportage. "We have a reporter down there . . . somewhere . . . " Here he drew in a sharp breath, his foul conscience betraying power. "Sherrie Williams. She hasn't reported in today."
"Sherrie! In the Tenderloin?" George shifted his lanky weight despairingly, his voice whining for want of explanations. "Why the hell didn't you send a man to do a man's job.. . . " Bad enough the damned teLevision stations bled you dry, they gotta try to kill ya, too . . . for a fuckin' story!
Grabbing his coat, he stomped past the general manager who regarded him with a curious stare, headed for the equipment room to grab equipment and headed for the garage. No guard was available to issue a news van, so he hopped in the beaten up station wagon that sufficed for lesser assignments such as this.. . .
Lesser assignments . . . huh! The car rammed into gear and screeched out of the underground parking lot.
George's cheeks were aflame with contempt. Sending a delicate flower like Sherrie Williams to investigate a convicted heroin dealer . . . Christ! Did Bill Potters think he was running a police force? He pounded the wheel and ran a red light. Damn him and his tits and ass news. Anything for a story!
The station wagon nosed inconspicuously toward the disease ridden streets of the Tenderloin. At a stop sign, he uncrumpled a piece of memo paper bearing the address of the Peep Show Palace. In a sloppy parking job, he left the car in a yellow zone and locking the vehicle, he pulled up the collar of his leather jacket and went to work.
Hands thrust deep into his Levi pockets, Addida shoes slapping cement, he charged the crosswalk and stopped at the street light. A woman dark as the night, wearing a red satin dress that clung to every crease and curve of her slinky ebony body, caught him by the jacket sleeve.
"Where ya headed, honey?"
Daisy, riding high on the sky train of euphoria, felt honed for revenge. Fuck Shaker, Carter and Jarvis.. . she'd managed to score her own junk. Anyway, they had their white bitch to play with. If they didn't need her, she'd find someone who did. A nice white boy.. . Shucks, wouldn't that make Shaker shit in his boots to see ol' Daisy roll in with a pretty white boy?
"How ya doin,' honey?" she repeated, thrusting out a hip and patting the wooly Afro haloing her head. Eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings.
The abruptness of blatant sex freely offered made George balk. He scratched his head . . . maybe it wasn't so freely offered. "Sorry, I don't pay for it."
"Pay? You imagine white boys . . . who talkin' about paying for it?" Daisy's upper lip curled in disdain. "What you take me for . . . a whore?"
Above the rancid sourness of the fog-dampened sidewalk where dogs excreted and winos vomite, George's nostrils stung with the smell of sex. He wanted no part of her. A jerk freed him from her grasp, but at the price of a tiny rip in his leather jacket.
"Wait a minute, you honky white bas'ard! You's talking to a business woman . . . I ain' no whore!"
Might as well save yourself some shoe leather, fellow. Maybe she could direct him. "Around here?" he queried.
Daisy nodded, a smile creasing her panther-eyed face. "Jes' down the street.. . I owns the Peep Show palace, if ya's up for a little peep, darlin'. "
George gulped; he pressed on.
"Hey, you come back here! Ah, shit.. . I almost had me a white boy," she snapped her fingers and disgruntled, her high heeled shoes clacked on the night-dampened cement as she headed back down the street to her apartment.
Her mental state hovered somewhere between relief and expectation. Relief that the boys hadn't found a boy for the night's filming. In truth, she was tired of forcing the poor little boys into ramming their noses up her pussy and nibbling at her tits. She couldn't stomach the action much longer. If the kid got it up, she couldn't feel his cock inside her anyway, and oral sex just wasn't the same with an eight year old with no front teeth.
"Ah, shit. . . " If only she could divorce herself from the needle . . . then she could rent herself a little place out of the Tenderloin and maybe run a lingerie store. Shrugging her shoulders at idle hopes and pipe dreams, she strutted on down the street.
The storefront was dark, save for a naked bulb hanging above the cash register. The store, from a passerby's objective stand, wore a dusty coat of corruption. Daisy's dark hand clutched the door knob and turned.
"Ah, shit. . . " she mumbled, finding the door unlocked. Shaker would have my skull. Abruptly, fearful expectation gave way to jaw clenching anger. Somebody in the back room was having one hell of a good time. Their precious white honky bitch.. . thinks she's so fuckin' hot.
Along came anger bubbled hurt and rejection. Daisy's always (food for a fast fuck . . . good ol' Daisy . . . ! ! ! ! . Sulking, she pulled aside the faded opera curtain and glared unnoticed at the white captive's naked body, contortedly propped up against Shaker's hulking black body. Her head was forced back in such an angle that swirls of blonde hair tickled the illuminated half moons of her buttocks. Gurgling, squelching noises mingled with deep throated moans and groans stung Daisy's ears.
Slowly the curtain released from her fist. Down on hands and knees, keeping a low profile, she crept toward the nightstand and soundlessly pulled open the bottom drawer. Long black fingers sought out the hard plastic tube. With a revengeful grin on her face, drugged black eyes peered over the edge of the bed. Cat-like, she kneed her way unnoticed onto the bed.
A congested heat began to gather in the pit of Daisy's belly. Black eyes fixed on the white female buttocks staring her in the face, she fingered the battery operated vibrator. With smug revenge, she licked her fleshy lips, delighting in the taste of dried cum. Hand over hand, she positioned herself on her stomach behind Sherrie's goose bumped buttocks.
Carter eyed her first. "Hey, where'd you come from, Daisy?" Sensing her intention, he grinned lopsidedly and blinked his eyes in rapturous delight from the delicious pressure of Sherrie's working fist.
One swift move of the black hand and. . .
"Ann . . . mmmfff.. . " Sherrie struggled to swing around and investigate the sudden attack upon her buttocks, but Shaker's steely hands held her tight. She did not fight the pressure of female thumbs spreading the deep valley of her buttocks' nude cleavage. A strange gush of chill air flowed coldly over the quivering hole of her anus as Daisy's pooched lips blew into the crevice tormentingly.
Stretched out cat-like on her belly, glassy eyed and shivering with lust, Daisy positioned the plastic vibrator between the tight young swells of her white captive's ass and flicked on the switch.
"AHHHHHH!" Sherrie stiffened! The vibrator tip tickled at the door of her rectum, feeling as if someone had turned on an electrical switch. Shuddering, goose bumped, her teeth tickled and her insides felt ready to explode! Deftly Daisy moved the vibrator up and down along the captive's sensitive anal sphincter muscle.
"We's all pink on the inside," muttered Daisy, licking her lips and staring curiously at the white buttocks a tongue's reach away. She kneaded the round, rich swell of Sherrie's left buttocks cheek, squeezing it cruelly between her black fingers like so much bread dough. She do got a nice ass, though.. .
The incredible friction created from the surrogate penis scraping and drubbing hotly at the unexplored door of her anus, twirling like a plastic tongue trying to squirm its way into the nether depths of her bowels, began to chafe.
"Come on, honey buns . . . move tha' ass," jibed Daisy, ". . .or I gonna shove it right up that pretty rosebud asshole!" Her voice was thick with lust.
Do what? Sherrie shuddered. She reacted instinctively, trying to eliminate pain and heighten pleasure. The heroin had vaporized thought. Slowly she moved her buttocks in gyrating, insinuating circles, arching her back exaggeratedly. Her creamy breasts bounced to the strained workings of her trembling, shivering nakedness.
Black bodies surrounded her, naked bodies, smelling of perspiration and another woman's cum, their muscles rippling ominously in the dim lamplight. She felt Shaker's giant hands holding her head in a slavish position, while Daisy kneaded her buttocks with squeezing, sadistic force. Trapped by naked flesh! Sherrie Williams, investigative reporter, sophisticated, virginal! She could hear the men's deep throated breathing with each thrusting lunge of her head and buttocks.
Daisy mewled contentedly and, rolling over, tore her dress over her head and flopped nakedly back down into position. Damned clothes always gets in the way. . . . She pressed her puffy nippled breasts against the satiny flesh of Sherrie's back, squashing their blackness against the captive's creamy white skin. She reached her small but deft hands beneath Sherrie's belly and, finger-walking up her belly, felt for the round, ripe melons of Sherrie's breasts.
"Ugfjhhh!" Sherrie shuddered at the feel of another woman's hands closing in on her naked breasts, mashing them together until her hardened nipples rubbed each other into diamond chip hardness, something a man had never done to her. In a drugged corner of her mind, the realization that a woman was touching her shone through. Strange, too, it didn't repulse her.
Daisy rose up onto her knees and with the grip of her cuntal muscles, held the vibrator in place, feeling it vibrate and tickle her cunt while the pointed tip bored into her captive's anus. Now the black woman's hands were free to roam and explore the luscious globes of Sherrie's breasts, to squeeze, torment, taunt.
Shaker, grunting with wicked pleasure, straightened his knees, forcing Sherrie to crane her neck in a torturous angle, her head thrown back so far her long blonde hair tickled Daisy's budding clitoris. His snaking black penis raped her mouth with cruel force. The others could hear her gasping protests, see her big blue eyes blink with pleading tears . . . and Shaker, grinning evilly, continued to force his black cock down her throat.
To keep from choking, Sherrie had to relax her throat muscles. Once or twice she started to gag, but Shaker wouldn't permit that. Small pearls of pre-cum slickened the path to her esophagus, easing the pain, salving the wounds of this brutal oral-rape.
"Holy sheet," gasped Carter. "She do tha' bettern' no Marilyn Chambers ever do . . . lookee!"
Daisy's wicked smugness faded. Her fleshy lips drew up into a pout. How many times had they told her there wasn't anybody who could suck cock like their Daisy? Fearing that to be replaced as queen of fellatio might jeopardize her trade-off arrangement with Shaker, she ran her fingers over the swan-like stretch of Sherrie's throat. Sure enough, she could feel the bulging outline of Shaker's enormous cock stuffed halfway down the captive's belly!
Shaker's cruel black eyes never blinked, never flicked from Sherrie's soft blue orbs. His mesmerizing stare seemed to call her off to exotic places filled with erotic sex gods demanding service of lesser mortals. The curl to his upper lip joined in chorus to say: "You love my black cock stuffed down your white throat.. . . and don't lie!"
Fortunately for Sherrie, cogent thought was a thing of yesterday. Disgusting and self-denigrating as the reality was, she had let these men force her into fellatio. She could have let them kill her with the needle. She had been drugged . . . but every act calls for a reaction, and she had reacted of her own will. Beneath the sophisticated fluff and drugged excuse, their lurked in the angel's soul a devilish wish to be subjugated and domineered by a masterful sensual creature . . . someone potent and rigid.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Want another drink, kid?" The voice rasped above channel 2's network news, blaring from its dusty perch above piled up beer cases.
"Huh . . . oh, yeah.. . " George's eyes ran up two hairy arms, over sloppily rolled up shirt sleeves, up a row of buttons opening onto a hirsute chest to a face whose watery, reddened eyes mirrored decades of bar life.
Channel 2's cameraman watched the amber liquid slosh into his shot glass. Distractedly, he studied the dribble pearling down the glass' side.
"Here's to you, Bill Potters, you asshole," toasted George and threw the burning liquid down his gullet.
"You say somethin', kid?" The bartender slipped the whiskey bottle back into its dusty row. Somehow this kid didn't fit into his normal clientele.
Sherrie Williams-disappeared because of the tits and ass news director. What a hell of a story, he thought desultorily. He tried to piece it together. The black whore on the street, the Palace Peep Show Palace, Sherrie's failure to report to the assignment desk. One more shot and he'd have nerve enough to pull himself off the tattered barstool and enter the jungle of Tenderloin street life.
"You ever hear of a place called the Peep Show Palace?" he squinted at the bartender.
The bartender corrected his posture and raked his eyes over the young boy. Lots of decoys on the streets these days, better to keep to yourself. "Don' know nothin' 'bout the place, kid." Nimbly, he grabbed the five dollar bill dampened in a pool of whiskey, and darted for the cash register. "That all for you, kid?"
Sherrie felt as if a million hands were pawing at her body, mauling her naked flesh like a Thanksgiving turkey being prepared for the oven. Her nakedly crouched over frame started to tremble and convulse from the masterful power of three men and one drugged woman playing at her vulnerable flesh.
Cock in her mouth, a cock in each fist, and a hard-nosed surrogate cock drubbing at the eye of her rectum. . . ! All these cocks to promise her ecstasy. She wiggled her buttocks against the plastic penis held securely in the oozing hole of Daisy's cunt, while it buzzed and twirled with ticklish power in her anus. Every inch of her naked flesh goose bumped and joggled.
Above her the masterful black fertility statue, once stoically commanding as a Cigar Store Indian, began to break through reticence with signs of impending orgasm. The scar streaking across his cheek deepened with each wincing inhalation. "Unggghh . . . ahhh. . . " He ground his jaws, grunted and sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. The grip on his white slave's neck tightened chokingly as he rammed his black, glistening cock almost free of Sherrie's rosebud lips, then jammed it powerfully back down her swan-like throat!
"Ahhhh . . . white bitch . . . suck my cock, you bitch whore . . . suckkk!"
Breath steamed rapaciously in and out of Sherrie's nostrils, flaring like a frightened deer below wide unblinking eyes that stared in confused fixation up into the depthless blackness of her master's eyes. Every cell in her body tensed in preparation to spring toward a needed orgasm that would milk these three cocks dry and free her from Daisy's clutch as she ground the plastic penis into her tightly muscled cunt.
Daisy stared down at the jiggling half moons of
Sherrie's naked ass, feeling a sense of black superiority as with a hip flexing movement, she shoved the vibrator tighter up into her captive's ass. The wide end vibrated into her own cunt, milking the cuntal muscles with a ticklish sensation that made her ready to cum!
Shaker, Carter and Jarvis would see, damn them, who was the woman in the room!
The afternoon light had faded into shades of darkness, leaving the amber glow of the lamplight to bathe the room in an unearthly glow conducive to the grunts and moans and slurping lustful sounds hissing from the chests and mouths of her rapists. Sherrie's throat felt chafed, and her lungs burned for want of oxygen. The steel wool of Shaker's pubic hair ground against her battered face with long, deeply thrusting strokes that cut off her air. The warm, moist juices sloshing about inside her mouth let her attacker's penis slip between her pretty lips as though it was ramming deep inside her pussy!
Shaker's bulging testicles smacked punishingly against her dimpled chin with each cock stuffing thrust of his powerful penis. On every fifth lunge he varied his torture by stuffing his cock painfully down her throat, while his balls mashed up against her throat, and held it there. He ground and twisted and mashed his genitals against her pale face and down her esophagus while his nostrils flared stentoriously and he held her face captive with his big hands. Sherrie's eyes watered, her nose stung, her throat ached . . . and still she sucked.
But stamina was growing thin; every muscle and sinew in her body felt as if she'd been put on the rack, stretched and violated to its limits.
And Daisy was going wild, flexing her hips to jab the vibrator further up her captive's rectum, twirling it in circles and holding it tightly there while her own orgasm swelled like flood waters behind a damn. The black prostitute felt it start in the tips of her hardened nipples, ripple down her naked ebony belly to spark to the raw tip of her clitoris. Red-tipped fingers twisted and taunted Sherrie's nipples as she humped the white captive like a bitch in heat. She reared back and fucked like a man, boring the vibrator up the tender sphincter muscle with sadistic force.
They worked in unison, sweating and groaning in a cacophony of lust. The pressure of Daisy's frenetic humping shoved Sherrie forward onto Shaker's cock, ramming him deeper down her throat. To maintain balance, Sherrie grasped harder onto the twin black cocks in each fist, grabbing them desperately as if they were a life raft. . . they were her only means of keeping from being asphyxiated by Shaker's enormity cutting off her air supply.
She shivered then. A warm gush of cum bathed her back as Daisy let out a wail of relief. Now the surrogate penis felt like a live cock inside her rectum, and Sherrie muffled out a scream of agony as it bored up into the sensitive nether hole, buzzing, gouging, tearing.
"Tha's it, white cunt.. . yeah . . . " muttered Daisy, rocking furiously back and forth as her cum dribbled down the plastic penis to bathe her ebony thighs in sticky juices. And yet she rode Sherrie's ass until every hot drop of her cum had squirted from the heart of her womanhood and onto the white captive's naked buttocks!
Satiated, Daisy slumped to the side, and the vibrator fell from the seething cuntal folds and from Sherrie's anus in a lewd, plopping sound.
"You got 'er dirty, bitch," growled Jarvis. . . "you clean 'er up! We ain' done with 'er back door yet."
Daisy wagged a hand at him and curled up on the bed ready for a nap.
"Hey, Daisy.. . you clean 'er up, or there ain' gonna be no mo' junk . . . and I ain' talkin' politics!" Jarvis belched his demand before his knees buckled from the ball bursting hand-job that made him sweat and hum with ecstasy. His nostrils flared from the warm, sweet smell of pre-cum.
"Ah, shit.. . " grumbled Daisy, rising dizzily to her knees and padding nakedly toward the bathroom. Pipes rattled, the toiled flushed, and seconds later she returned with a dripping, wet washcloth in hand. Wearily, she eyed the sadistic defilement of the blonde haired lovely.
Sherrie was gasping for breath on Shaker's out-stroke. "Unhgghh . . . Ungghhh . . . " her protests maintained a steady beat that made Daisy wince. Beside Shaker, Carter and Jarvis flexed their hips like crazy wind-up toys, in time to Sherrie's pumping fist.
"Here be yo' fuckin' washcloth," complained Daisy, kneeing her way up onto the bed and stationing herself on her haunches so that she could drag the cold washcloth over the sex-sizzling crevice of Sherrie's ass cheeks.
The chill was numbing. Sherrie yelped. For a second her lips fell free from Shaker's driving penis and fearing reprisal, she anxiously retrieved it, sucking it deep into her throat.
"Tha's it, baby, you learnin' real good . . . " mumbled Shaker with an evil grin.
Daisy hummed as she stroked the rough washcloth over Sherrie's anus and, loosing herself in her task, her drugged eyes drifted desirously to the white swells of Sherrie's ass cheeks. She rubbed the cloth along the hairless crack, up to the swollen blood-fed lips of her vagina, up to the oily nub of her clitoris.
"Nnnngghhh . . . " muttered the white slave. Sherrie's belly tightened; her back arched at the electricity sizzling in the raw nerves of her clitoris.
Daisy propped herself up on one elbow and eyed her captive curiously. She massaged Sherrie's pussy with rougher strokes, subconsciously following the rhythm of Shaker's raping penis. Sherrie let out a sigh and let her thighs fall open, spreading her knees wider to give room to Daisy's temptingly working hand.
Perhaps on some psychic level, Sherrie was praising the heroin which allowed her to suppress the ultimate torture yet to come: the shredding of her hymen. But the drugs coursing through her bloodstream, the rape of her mouth and this attack on her naked pussy, had left Sherrie Williams a goose bumped quivering mass of female flesh-trapped for need of release. Her entire nudity felt open to attack.. . and still she hadn't cum!
A low groan roared above her as Jarvis' knees started to buckle from the delicious pressure of Sherrie's working fist, squeezing his cock to an explosive erection, shooting out a pint of scalding sperm! Sherrie's fingers sensed the violent pulsations of the charging cum as it erupted from the unseeing eye of his penis and shot in a steaming arch onto her dimpled face, dribbling down her neck to glob on the diamond chips of her nipples.
That started Carter off. With a yelp, he shot his seed in a fountainous spray from the left. The room stung with the smell of hot, dripping sperm . . . male seed spraying the air!
That left the steely body hovering above Sherrie's captive body. Shaker began to ripple with sadistic ecstasy. He threw back his head and bellowed, breath spitting through clenched teeth. "Awww . . . ahhh . . . eeeaaattt ittt!" The walls reverberated from the scream of release. His knees buckled and his black, satiny skin shimmered over his rib cage. The tendons of his neck stood out in bold relief from the violent explosion centering in his sperm bloated testicles. His taut buttocks clenched, the sinews in his arms corded; he grabbed Sherrie's head and ground her face with orgiastic violence over the steaming, fiery blackness of his steel hard groin.
"Ahhh . . . " It erupted, a geyser of hot, male seed. "Suckkk . . . " he hissed desperately.
The hot sperm bathing her throat with sticky, salty sperm burst from the head of the stone hewn cock of her fertility god with the force of a garden hose.
Sherrie gagged, wanted to spit and wrench from the thick globules of cum dribbling down her tender throat. With vigorous force he humped her battered face, grinding his groin over her tortured nose, scraping away dried blood. Spatulets of cum dribbled lewdly down her chin as the sperm from Carter and his lustful companion covered her satiny body with rivers of sticky lust that clung to her pure, white flesh like dew on rose petals.
To torment humiliatingly, he held his cock deep within her throat until every last squirt had slimed its way from the steely tube, now spent and flaccid. It slipped from Sherrie's tender lips, while her fists clung hard to the twin cocks growing limp.
Carter pulled free first. "Christ almighty . . . " he whistled. His eyes fell to Daisy's busily working fingers playing in the soft nest of the captive's pussy, then upward to Daisy's cat-like smile. "Havin' yo'sef a good time with tha' white mama, ain' ya?"
Shaker pulled free and sank into the sofa's weakened springs, his expression stoic and placid. An aura of unsated power, pulsing from his shaven head declared him king. Then all heads turned to him as he announced:
"Get ridda 'er. We got stuff to be doin'. "
Laying cuddled on the bed like two spoons, Daisy lifted her head to stare at Shaker; beside her, Sherrie's numbed brain failed to grasp the meaning of his command.
"I jus' be gittin' 'er warmed up, Shaker," pouted Daisy, stretching her black arm over the white stomach to let her fingers play in the moist nest of the captive's vagina. Her middle finger slipped into the naked hole with a squelching sound.
The pit of Sherrie's vagina was screaming for relief. It felt as if a million red devils were pricking the swollen fleshy folds of her pussy with tiny pitchforks. Somehow she sensed it was over . . . and ironically, that seemed unfair. Didn't she deserve satisfaction after having given so much to so many?
CHAPTER NINE
A long, dark shadow crossed the room. Shaker rose from the sofa; a sharp inhalation of breath, the whine of a zipper, and he was ready to go. "We gotta pick up tha' oz of H," he growled,". . . get yo'r pants on."
"Naw," snorted Carter. "I ain' got none of tha' white pussy yet!"
Shaker shook an angered finger at his accomplice. "Lis'en," he spat between clenched teeth, the facial scar exaggerating his cruelty, "You be the one picked up this bitch from the alley, now it be yo'r respons'bility to kill 'er!"
Jarvis whistled through his teeth and shaking his head, reached down for his pants. "Glad it ain' me."
Shaker and Carter exchanged heated glances. It was Shaker who broke the silence.
"Knock 'er out wit H and take 'er body down to the Bay and toss 'er over the Dumbarton Bridge. They won' find 'er for days.. . Besides," he added, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, "they'll think it be part of the Oakland drug wars goin' on now. . . . "
Carter turned as pale as a black man can get; his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He tried appealing to Shaker's machoism. "Come on, man," he pleaded, spreading his hands. "Ain' often we find a toy like this."
His dark eyes cast reluctantly toward the bed where Sherrie Williams half-conscious captive body lay squirming and wiggling under Daisy's practiced touch.
"Don' you be gettin' us busted," snarled Shaker. "We don' know if this bitch be cop or some kinda pervert," snarled Shaker. Despite the ego-pumping bliss of having enslaved the beautiful white bodied woman, he was in a sour mood. It made him itch in the balls when things went awry . . . and Sherrie Williams was the venom that made him itch.
Shaker scratched his head, glaring down at the twitching captive body. Trouble smelled in the air. Had Carter not found her snooping in the alley, dressed up like an orphan boy, another five grand would have graced his black, hungry fist. His snappy eyes fell on Daisy. Pathetic bitch. . . pathetic black bitch . . . But damned good at toying with young boys, bringing their naked young chestnut-sized balls to hardness and making them squirt their young seed into her mouth-before the eye of the camera. The second she spread those luscious black thighs, the boys wiggled down on their bellies and suckled her pussy with the instinctual delight of a baby sucking his mother's breast.
The moralistic implications of deflowering young boys . . . all, what the hell. It stabbed at Shaker's consciousness none. They gotta lose it sometime . . . better at the hands of a practiced woman like Daisy than some pimply-faced virgin yelling rape in the back seat of a stolen car.
"Stuff tha' cock in yer pants," he indicated to Jarvis. "We gotta twist somebody's arm into lettin' us get the H on credit."
In seconds, they were dressed and out the door, leaving Carter and Daisy to keep watch over the mindless white captive.
Vestal virgin to black witchery . . . raped, defiled.
George pressed his leanness to the paint-chipped walls of the Peep Show Palace, whose neon lights splashed his pallid cheeks in an unearthly glow that might have been the sacrificial pyre's fire glow. He swallowed tightly.
Mesmerized by the lurid beauty of Sherrie William's comatose body, naked and glistening with globules of-Oh, Christ, don't let it be . . . the words choked in Channel 2's cameraman's throat-cum . . . cum . . . from a black man's dick\ Sherrie Williams, sacrificial lamb for Bill Potters' tits and ass news team! The bastard oughtta be proud of himself. News reporters rape . . . great for the ratings!
Striking rattlesnake like, he jabbed his head toward the window and pulled his eyes free reluctantly. He gulped, the Jack Daniels burning his gut. Besides three black men, that was a black woman lying beside Sherrie with her finger stuck up channel 2's news reporter's pussy! Mesmerized, he stole another peek and felt a tightness in the crotch of his Levis. His hand cupped the ominous bulge and pinched it a little, subconsciously comparing his size to the black one dangling between taut thighs halfway to his knees.
Good, the men were leaving now. Two at least.. . leaving Sherrie on the cum-stained bed in the rat hole of existence, musty with the stench of dirty linens and dirty needles . . . flanked by a naked black man and an immoral black woman toying with her body unmercifully. Ah, Bill Potters, what a great story for you!
Hate, revenge, disgust clogged his brain, along with a trickle of arousal which turned inward, brought all the negative emotions home to roost. He couldn't pry his eyeballs loose from the lewd scenario enacted for him on the cleaner side of the smudged window!
The slam of the front door jarred Sherrie from the hazy mistiness of druggedness. To the right of her (or was it the left?) warm blasts of air hissed from Daisy's slumbering nostrils. The black female tormentor had fallen asleep and let her raping fingers, oozing with warm cuntal juices, fall from the captive's pussy. Sherrie lay on her side, breathing heavily, struggling to free herself from the black arms embracing her, but finding no strength to move.
A dulled sense of awareness told the white captive she was being sandwiched in by black flesh. Carter had ambled over to the bed and, staring down at the perfect white flesh, had stretched his black body out alongside the rich swells of her captive form.
Studiously, he regarded her perfect profile, swollen from beatings and Shaker's rape of her mouth. Pearls of drying cum encrusted her lips, her hairline. Sadly, he envisioned her bloated beauty after a day of floating in the algae-thickened, turtle infested sloughs near the bridge.
Why the hell you gotta come into Carter's life, woman, he wondered, feeling tinges of self-pity at being the appointed one to kill such beauty. Could he do it? His stomach knotted. Black eyes raked over the high swell of her aristocratic cheekbones, bruised by his own fist. Shit.. . ! He sucked in his breath. I could smell trouble . . . goddamned bastard . . . I shoulda kneir betta . . . Now Is gonna be behind bars and Shaker go free. And Shaker be the man gets all a her pussy . . .
The sensual longing of possessing this white beauty combined with vengeful epitaphs aimed at Shaker's selfishness worked overtime. Damn it, if he had to kill, he'd possess her first.. . make her his slave, become her master!
Silently, he kneed his way upright onto the bed, the black pole of his potent cock dangling between his taut thighs rising its head toward the ceiling.
The feel of legs pushing against her naked flesh stirred Sherrie. She opened one swollen eye at the feel of being rolled over supine onto her back. Someone was straddling her waist with their buttocks pointing toward her face and his legs spread on either side of her dainty head. Nostrils wafting from the muskiness, she felt the weight of his body hiss down onto her burning lungs.
Had she orgasmed after that brutal rape of her mouth, wondered Carter, sniffing. Shaker coulda least made er cum . . .
Gently his tongue licked hungrily at the soft petals of swollen pussy flesh between her sleek thighs. Front teeth nibbled at the tendons of muscle on the inside of her slender thighs as he wiggled his buttocks so that his meaty cock was nestled between the full, ripe melons of her naked breasts!
Blinking one blue eye, Sherrie stared into the dark, rippling muscles of Carter's back as he slowly rocked his powerful pelvis back and forth, drawing his long, hard cock into the valley of her warm, deep cleavage. The liquid heat of his penis sizzled on her soft, mammalian flesh and as he sunk his weight onto her breast, the breath burned in her lungs.
"Ahhh . . . ! " Sherrie shuddered from the sudden feel of soft lips, cool as menthol on the swollen folds of her cuntal flesh. His moist tongue burrowed into the blood-filled walls of her vagina, writhing violently, deliciously, soothingly.
The fantasy to bite a woman's clitoris, chew it till it bled bubbled in Carter's libido, but he fought down the urge, reminding himself she was a gentle woman. Yet the vixen posture of her opened thighs and the wickedly rich aroma of her cunt overcame his senses and his black hands began to maul her cheeky buttocks as his webbed penis slithered hotly in and out between her violated breasts glistened with streaks of pre-cum.
Head throbbing, Sherrie rose off the pillow and her eyes opened in stunned bewilderment as she stared at the erect, black cock snaking through the twin hills of her milky breasts! Leathery, bloated testicles slapped lewdly against her chest with his slithering, snake-like movements. With his weight pinning her to the mattress, there was no escaping this lizardly attack. Yet his skin was warming, rubbing against her pure whiteness.
Sherrie Williams, news reporter, sophisticate, 'untouchable snob', molted into a slithering reptilian creature whose raw nerve endings demanded satisfaction. Convulsively, she felt her naked thighs open eagerly to Carter's slithering, warm tongue as it brushed across the nub of her sensitive clitoris. Her buttocks clenched and trembled and in her dazed mind his throbbing penis was an extension of his wildly working tongue dipping into the heart of her womb, swabbing at the threads of her hymen. Her entire naked body-from her curled under toes, to the diamond chips of her nipples-sparked like a shorted out electrical cord whose plug was the bud of her throbbing clitoris!
Sherrie's legs sighed open as she felt herself slipping into an altered state of conscious-a bodiless being floating in space with sparkles of light shimmering before her unseeing eyes. Carter's tongue hotly encircled her nude cunt, making her legs scissor and spasm as if someone were holding a hot wire to her thigh. Her buttocks shivered as a frantic, desperate need to orgasm sizzled through her body.
She had to cum or she would short circuit! After pleasing so many didn't she deserve to cum? Sherrie shivered and shook with the need for release. Her breath deepened from the labor of breathing, her chest heaving from the burning air hissing from her lungs. Reality had vaporized along with her breath; a total stranger, a black man, hungrily licking at her virginal cunt while his slithering penis slipped wetly between her breasts, was but a sensation with no emotional threads attached . . . only the raw physical sensation of lust.
"Unnnggghhh . . . " Cum encrusted lips parted in a low moan of bestial heat, as her naked ass began a desperate humping rhythm beneath her captor's weight.
Carter's throaty grumblings of animalish delight chorused Sherrie's groans, as his face bounced against the trembling, jiggling flesh of her naked thighs! A pain jabbed at his groin as his penis' skin tightened glove-like around the milky swells of the white captive's luscious breasts, trapping his veiny cock as though it were her cunt he was drubbing into with chafing warmth. The puffy areolas of her nipples had hardened from the warm friction, tightening them into bumblebees of pleasure. White on black drubbed and rubbed . . . creating the final salacity that sent Carter tumbling over the edge of pleasure, and taking his white captive with him!
"Ummmmaammmahh aaaaggggghhhhhnnnngg-gggggggg . . . " a litany of limitless pleasure bubbled from Sherrie's swollen lips, stained with blood and cum. Who was slave and who was master? Carter slobbered his soft tongue, lapping slurpingly at her naked pussy, adoring it with subservient glee in efforts to please the white princess. Waves of sensual euphoria flooded her brain to wash away the stains of tension and guilt. A flash flood swept over the damned up walls of virginity as a wild charge of electrical power crackled from the tips of her chafed nipples to the swollen bud of her lust-filled clitoris!
"Ahhh . . . oh, oh, oh!! " Who she was and where she was were silly inquisitions now. Sherrie's tortured throat burned from the scream of release as her naked thighs goose bumped and trembled with delight under the wicked throes of her first tongue-induced orgasm.
Carter let out a wail of helplessness as his meaty cock gushed a river of thick, hot cum spewing over the milky swells of Sherrie's naked breasts. Like dew on rose petals, it clung precariously to the tips of her nipples . . . hanging on the precipice of orgasm.
Little by little, Sherrie Williams was losing her virginity and little by little her mind floated painlessly above her body.
Sherrie Williams was not alone in the parting of mind and body. George glared hungry eyed at the salacious feast laid out on the rumpled bed. Luscious white thighs spread, pussy lips blood fed and throbbing, feeding the thick, slimy tongue of a black rapist!
Christ! George slapped his forehead, trying to jog his senses back into a respectable order. Between his tight thighs, his penis throbbed to an unbearable erection, the eye of it seeping with envious joy. A pair of nostrils snorted with indignity. Didn't the squirming, wriggling body know it was being raped? He'd heard deep in the heart of every angel lay a dormant desire to be raped, defiled, degraded; but never had he judged Sherrie Williams, impeccable, arrogant Sherrie Williams to be of that shameless category!
Pressing his nose to the smudged glass, his forehead furrowed and eyes squinted for signs of resistance. Not in the trembling, widespread thighs; not in the head spraying blonde hair over the pillow in a lustful dance of euphoria. He straightened and pinched the sac of his Levi-clad testicles in the palm of his hand. To call the assignment desk and alert the police would have been the manly thing to do; but the sperm-heavy load weighting his palm was a manly thing to . . . very real and very pulsing. Swallowing down a lump of guilt, he stealthily unzipped his pants and hauled out into the neon splattered night, the veiny tube of his thrusting penis. He squeezed the throbbing hardness and a pearl of pre-cum, that could have been the tears wetting Sherrie's blue eyes, oozed from the tip.
CHAPTER TEN
One hand nervously raked through a shock of graying hair, as Bill Potters paced his office. Through the glass cage his eyes fixed on a handful of night reporters preparing for the eleven o'clock edition of the news. A cacophany of typewriters sluiced the silence and meaningful puffs of cigarette smoke blued the air. Neither element echoed the tension stiffening his body.
Decisively he threw himself to the assignment desk and hammered a fist on the desk. The night editor bolted and stared bug-eyed up at Bill Potters' reddened orbs.
"I need the report from George." He thrust out a hand and grabbed futilely at air. "Goddamned it, where's Sherrie Williams? Has she called in? We need her story to fill the gap on tonight's news." Again he clawed at the back of his neck and began pacing. "No murders, no violence . . . what the hell kind of newscast is that?"
Studying the furrowed brow above darting, hen-like eyes, the assignment editor straightened and shook his head for emphasis. "No report from either," he retorted flatly.
"WhatV Potter spun around on his heel. "What the fuck's going on around here?" He glared at the beads of sweat on the editor's stoic forehead. "Get another crew to cover the story . . . I want a story, do you hear me, you asshole?"
The news director stomped out of the room and headed for the sanctuary of his office and slammed the door shut. He threw himself into his swivel chair and started interrogating his consciousness.
Should he follow nobler instincts and alert the police to the possibility of foul play regarding one luscious-assed Sherrie Williams with the result of spoon-feeding the police department with the mayor's and press' honors . . . or should he savor the taste of showing the viewing community (ignorant shits they were) that television was a viable vehicle at stopping crime? And all, of course, live on the newscast!
Flicking his wrist, he glared at his digital watch. Fight forty-two and twenty-one seconds.
Across town, another dictator of foul intent stomped aggravatedly from a scene of conflict. No cash, no ounce of heroin.
The hulk of Shaker Jones' six-feet, six-inch frame streaking like black lightening down the sidewalk with the puppy-doggish companion two-stepping to keep pace, might have been humorous. That is, until an unwary drunk holding out a dirty palm for a spare nickel crumpled to the gutter in pain from a sharp elbow catching him in the Adam's apple.
"Fuckin' nigger . . . cocksucker," the wounded wino grumbled, struggling to his knees in time to see Shaker make an abrupt right and disappear into the tawdry storefront.
Cracking his knuckles under the crippling force of his other hand, Shaker kicked open the door to the Peep Show Palace and sent it flying off its hinges. It crashed against the Bondage section of the bookshelf and women in chains and ropes with apples and cocks in their mouths tumbled domino-like from the shelves.
Jarvis, fast on his heels, pleaded, "Keep cool, man . . . you be gettin' the cops 'ttention." He, too, felt frustrated and angry at the sour turn of events. Twenty thousand, street value, had been foiled because of the snooping blonde Carter had dragged off the street.
Now Shaker's mood hovered between murderous assault and frustrated rage as he stomped into the bedroom of the back apartment and eyed the mattress where Sherrie Williams supine white naked body lay. Beside her lay Carter, snuggled up like a black orphan during the Civil War milking on a southern mama's breast. Childlike, gurgling noises bubbled jubilantly from his throat.
One yank of the black opera curtain ripped it from the rod. Shaker balled it up in his fist and, snarling, tossed it to the floor. His upper lip curled in disgust. "What the fuck's goin' on here! You suppose to off the bitch!" Shaker's eyeballs bulged from his head in rage. Adrenalin pumped up his chest as if a bicycle pump were stuck down his esophagus. He grabbed Carter in one steely fist and tossed him off the bed like a rag doll.
Carter futilely tried to defend himself. Rolling over onto his stomach, he grabbed for the knife Daisy kept in the nightstand. Its shimmering, steely length glinted under the lamplight. Crouched on hands and knees, he eyed the superior strength of Shaker's massive body; his eyes traveled from toes to chest and back again.
Before he could spring, a foot caught him in the side of the head, knocking the knife from his hand. The sickening sound of a cracking skull made Jarvis wince.
His nostrils flared like a race horse at the end of the line. His eyes fell on Sherrie Williams' pristine body.
In one violent movement, he tore off his pants. "Somebody gonna pay for this shit!"
Sweat dribbled down his hairless forehead, his bald head shimmering with the sweat of intended labor. Sinews pumped adrenalin through his vengeful body, pumping pints of blood to bloat his groin to sadistic proportions. He grabbed the meaty girth of his growing cock and shook it at the comatose victim.
"I gonna kill ya with my cock, white bitch!" he spat, his eyes remaining fixed on Sherrie's fluttering eyelids.
"Huh?" In swooning tranquility, Sherrie opened an eye and caught sight of the black spear lancing between her torturer's hands. The eye oozed milky pre-cum, hanging at the tip. The black hand pumped, and the penis grew longer with each stroke. The sleek movement of the foreskin mesmerized her and Sherrie blinked, letting her blue eyes travel up over the muscle taut belly and nakedly sheened chest. Something caught in her throat: it was a scream.
Throwing himself on the bed on all fours, Shaker positioned himself superiorly above his white slave. Without ceremony and without mercy, he shoved the heavy length of his black, blood-fed cock into the tiny, virginal hole between Sherrie's white thighs.
"Aaahhhhhhnnnngggg!" She could feel the tender hymen tissue rip, could feel the gush of sacrificial blood bathe his raping black penis in witness to the treasured loss.
Deep within his throat, Shaker growled at the warmth bathing his cock. Levering himself up, he gazed down at the blood streaked rivulets trailing down Sherrie's alabaster thighs. "Holy shit.. . we got us a cocksuckin' white virgin!" he growled sadistically. The thought pleased him; it doubled the joy of rape.
Sherrie's chest heaved from a scream that died in her throat; a black, salty hand clamped over her cum-encrusted lips. A mournful whimper was all Jarvis and Carter heard. The pain, the agony was beyond description, despite the numbing heroin. It felt as if a tree trunk had been bulldozed its way up to her belly button. The shock to her system brought tears to her eyes.
Shaker held his cock there, luxuriating in the feel of its throbbing rape. He wanted to turn her snotty white guts into pudding, wanted to kill her with his cock. Below him, Sherrie's body wiggled in red hot pain that refused to cease as, levering himself on the palms of his hands, he bored deeper into her; his black penis slithered deeper into the bloodied hole, trying to reach her throat.
"Ahhh . . . " Sherrie's mouth went dry, her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. Faint and weak, she could only moan and not resist.
"You keep them blue eyes on me, honey, I wanna see you scream yo'r last when I kill ya with my cockl"
From the hateful, animalish expression, she had no reason to doubt him. Hovering like the black shadow of death, Shaker inched into her. The swollen, blood-filled flesh of her violated cuntal walls offered no resistance to the incredibly hard hunk of male flesh. Tears of fear and bewilderment dampened her eyes. She blinked back the dew and clamped her pearly teeth over the salty rim of her bottom lip. A sob broke from her throat and a hysterical scream tore from her lungs . . . instantly silenced by a whack across her bruised face.
"Shaker says keep them eyes openl"
Sherrie stared up into the cold, cruel eyes of her black master.
Mercilessly, Shaker mauled her belly with his cruel hands, kneading his way up her supple, white body to the ripe, strawberry-tipped mounds of her succulent breasts flesh. A snicker of sadistic joy curled his lip as he mashed her breasts together and rubbed her crinkled nipples together as if they were two pieces of flint. The excruciating friction chafed the tender skin into reddened nubs.
Gulping back a tear, Sherrie's eyes disobediently lowered from the scarred face down to the fleshy mounds. Were those her nipples rubbing against each other in orgasmic joy? A wicked sensation sizzled through her belly to center in the nub of her clitoris.
A dull, aching congestion weighted her lower belly as it pleaded to be lightened of its sweet-scented cum!
With a grunt, Shaker bored the last five inches of his ebony hewn penis into the cringing white belly of Sherrie's virginal cunt!
"Ung! Unggh!! " Breath caught in her lungs. She felt the liquid heat of her cock-filled womb gorge and seep with naked lust from the throbbing heat of his damnably huge cock.
This pleased him-venting his anger, getting revenge. Gazing down at the glistening, bloodied stump of his cock, he watched it disappear into her white belly! This time he ground his kinky black pubic hairs against Sherrie's swollen cuntal lips, milking the final lustful charges from her tight, unused cuntal muscles.
Beyond the shredded tissue of her hymen, Sherrie felt the head of Shaker's blood-fed cock drub at the rubbery tip of her never-before touched cervix. Friction of two naked bodies rubbing and scraping at the most sensitive points of their beings, sent electrical chills sizzling along Sherrie's ragged nerve synapses. He had violated her most private being; he had conquered her, she realized in a gush of terror. Violated, defiled, he would fuck her until she died!
In torturously grinding circles, Shaker started a rhythm of drawing back. His meaty cock freed her cunt with sickening slurping sounds. He watched the pink folds of her pussy cling hotly to the hard black flesh of his penis . . . as her mouth had earlier!
"Ahhh . . . " Sherrie shivered as the black animal used his muscled force to slam back into her with a force that jiggled her breasts and rammed her blonde head against the brass headboard rail.
Suddenly, he pulled back and slammed in with all his power. This time she spilled sideways, her head hanging over the edge of the bed.
"Somebody hoi' the bitch down!" he boomed.
Four black hands pinned the cringing white captive to the bed, holding her as if she were a human battering ram. Hold tight they did-grabbing her arms, her belly, her thighs, mauling her tender flesh and leaving it bruised-while Shaker gored into her belly another two blood swollen inches.
Carter's head ached above the temple, and his throat burned from Shaker's attack. Sympathy for the white captive simmered into racial hatred. Grabbing her breast, he dug his dirty nails into the tender flesh and delighted as lifting his hand, a red mark lingered hurtfully. He'd been a fool not to get rid of her earlier. They'd been a tight foursome-Daisy, Jarvis, Shaker and he-until the white bitch stole the show.
Consciousness gave way to sensation, blurred, fuzzy, crackling within Sherrie's held down body. Only feeling and a holocaust of pain-filled pleasure stormed her body. Her cunt was sore and ravaged . . . but her libido was far from satisfied! She longed to be rid of the empty years of working hard and finding no pleasure in men. Along with that desire lurked the need to be destroyed, hurt, because somewhere at the core of her being, she knew such wickedness was wrong.
Slaved and enslaved stared at each other, daring the other, goading the other on. Instinctively, she wiggled her naked pussy up against his engorged prick, delighting in the electric feel of kinky pubic curls stroking her oily clitoris. She arched her back and ground her soft buttocks into the sex-soaked mattress like a whore trying to satisfy her John!
"Whoopie! Lookit 'er go!" whistled Jarvis.
Tremblingly, Sherrie's thighs slowly snaked up to encircle her tormentor's smooth, black legs. Rhythmically, she rocked her cock-stuffed pelvis over the black meat of his cock; the sound of her labored breathing rose above the confusion taking place outside the window.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Punishing cock thrusts dug into Sherrie's pussy with a force that nearly cracked her pelvic bone. She bit down on her swollen lower lip, splattered with blood, and flailed her head until her honey hair, shimmering golden in the light, cascaded on the rumpled coverlet like angel down. Tears spurted from the corners of her large, blue eyes. The liquid sloshing of her bloody juices filled the room.
"Ahhh . . . tight cunt, tight cunt.. . " hissed Shaker in a frenzy.
Sherrie opened her watery eyes to glimpse down, straining her neck at the glistening black pole coated with her sexual juices. It slithered like a black snake into the forested hole of her pussy, hugged and swabbed by the warm folds of cuntal flesh.
The terrifying realization that his cock, the very cock she watched violate her body, had incited her to the point of lubricating him for penetration added a spark of lust that built, seethingly inside her belly with a fury she could neither control nor deny. Somewhere within her virginal soul, a black demon lurked . . . freed by one of its own color!
"Ohhh . . . more . . . deeper. . . . " she mewled, thrashing her head.
Shaker snickered lewdly. "You be gettin' more, honey . . don' you worry none." With that, he hammered into her sloshing pussy with a series of pelvic crunching thrusts. Jarvis and Carter had to brace themselves to keep from careening over backwards and keep the captive on the bed.
A cracked, pink tongue wetted swollen lips. "Yesss . . . " hissed Sherrie in a monosyllabic demand soon to be answered. The demon inside of her screamed to be exorcised! Glazed eyes rolled convulsively about her head, her tongue compulsively wetting the cum-encrusted line of her lips. Goose bumped, cock-stuffed thighs trembled, quivering under the sadistic assault.
Six black eyes stared bewilderedly at the frenetic woman. Their thoughts ran in a similar pattern: this woman was a virgin two hours ago.
Savagely, Shaker slipped his hands under Sherrie's buttocks and lifted her into a posture that outlined his cock burrowing into her belly. It came as no surprise that Jarvis gawked hungry eyed at the nakedly shimmering form.
Loosening his hold on the captive, Jarvis' face went tight as he ripped off his pants and shirt. No protest came from the leader when Jarvis whispered thickly: "Turn the cunt over and les' get 'er from both ends!"
With a wicked snicker of approval, Shaker lifted Sherrie to a sitting position with his black penis still buried in the oozing depths of her belly.
Jarvis licked his thick lips and studied the smooth, satiny curve of her back, dipping down to a tiny waist and swelling deliciously at the hips. Two perfectly formed white buttocks stared vulnerably back at him. Kneeing his way onto the bed, he took his blue-veined penis in hand and aimed it at the target of Sherrie Williams' virginal buttocks!
Jarvis took control. "Let 'er down, Shaker!" With a deadly, swift aim, he parted the tender buttocks cheeks and cruelly rammed the mushroomed tip of his huge penis into the nerve-packed hole of her unguarded anus.
Had it not been for Daisy's lurid preparation, Sherrie might have fainted dead. But the sphincter muscle had stretched, widened, to accept the plastic core of the vibrator-had already experienced the inexorable, excruciating pressure of anal rape. No teasing, no preparation; he rammed straight as an arrow into the hairless target of her rectum.
"Nooooo!" Pain and humiliation joined in a screech of helplessness.
The meaty pole of Jarvis' sodomizing cock was forced into her as 'Shaker squirmed to bore his glistening pole into her seeping cunt another three inches. She sensed him grow inside her belly, pulverizing intestines, membranes-anything in his path.
Sherrie Williams was hopelessly sandwiched between two powerful superior black bodies, their sweat rivering with her own, their lancing manhood gouging into her stretched orifices with relentless force.
"Fuck the shit outta the cunt," snarled Shaker, grinding his jaws in unison to the savage grinding of his bloated loins against the sensitive, soft curve of Sherrie's naked crotch.
Brutally gripping the twin cheeks of her flawless buttocks, Jarvis drove his tunneling pole of meat to the rubbery nether depths of her bowels! His breath snorted hotly on her back, his penis gouged into her anus. The libido-feeding sight of Shaker's bloated penis half-embedded in the pink, fleshy folds of her vagina made Jarvis grunt and hiss with savage glee.
"Ow!! ! Ummph!" Sherrie grunted and groveled, flailing her honey hair in a wild dance of desire, her breasts bobbing and jiggling from the sadistic force of this double rape.
The two men worked in unison, pounding into the captive's body until the bed threatened to collapse. Beside them, curled up kittenishly, Daisy slumbered peacefully.
From the back Jarvis watched his slippery blackness being swallowed up into the captive's buttocks, ripples of intense arousal stabbing at his groin. Carter had slumped back in bewilderment, his grip on the captive lessened to an occasional push to keep the threesome from tumbling off the bed. He sensed she was getting into the rhythm of it, humping up and back at both in a soft, pagan rhythm that would have shamed Daisy's clumsy attempts.
The searing pain of Jarvis' evil sodomy found companionship in the chafed nub of Sherrie's swollen clitoris, alive with the pulsating need to explode into orgasm. Sherrie sensed her body respond to pain with pleasure, giving her rapists pleasure for every thrust of pain they inflicted upon her! The need, the desperately searing need for orgasm commanded her body-even at the hands of these torturous rapists! The heroin, bless the heroin, her subconscious mind prayed appreciatively.
Jarvis felt the strong sphincter muscles tease his penis with an elastic intensity that made him gnash his teeth and bellow out with lust. "God . . . your ass . . . your tight white ass!" His stomach rippled with pleasure that shot hot arrows of sperm to his groin. His fat thighs slowly broke into a rapacious humping as he forced the white captive to enslave herself on Shaker's murderous penis.
As Sherrie arched her back and thrust her thighs forward to capture more of Shaker's penis in her cunt, Jarvis clenched his buttock muscles and rammed his cock into the dark recesses of Sherrie's pristine ass. The threesome worked in a rhythm, a soulful rhythm: As Sherrie shoved her thighs backwards, rocking, Jarvis pulled his blood-fed cock out almost to the mushroomed head, watching the ravaged folds of her raped anus cling to his blackness. Her violated ass-flesh gripped him slavishly, wantonly. Dangling against the bedspread, his balls began to throb and ache, his raging cock bloating, gouging, boring into the tenderness of her once virgin rectum.
Even the mouse in Channel 2's newsroom knew better than to defy Bill Potters. Meet the deadline-or get fired! And when he declared: "I want clips from the Peep Show Palace for the eleven PM newscast," he meant precisely that.
Flicking his wrist to check his digital watch every few minutes, Channel 2's mini-cam operator, Ralph Jasperson, hustled through a small crowd of curiosity seekers following him and his grip, John. In route to the assigned block of Eddie Street, they passed by the dingy bars wherein some pressed their noses to the window to witness firsthand the upcoming bust. Nobody came into the Tenderloin with television cameras unless the police arrived first-or so they thought.
"These people think we're cops. Imagine that!" John, two weeks as grip, exclaimed, swinging around in wonderment of his first urgent assignment.
"You can thank Bill Potters for that," glowered Ralph, stooping under the weight of the camera balanced on his shoulder. "I don't know what the hell we're going to find to take pictures of . . . an empty storefront . . .dildos?" he snickered exasperatedly, reading the bug-eyed expression on his grip's face.
The paint-chipped storefront was within sight now. "Peep Show Palace" blinked in flamingo neon not twenty feet away. The eerie light bathed the two in an unearthly light as in unison, they paused.
"You really think Sherrie Williams would be fool enough to go in there alone?" John couldn't fathom the decency of it.
Ralph scratched his head, a furrow of concern creasing his forehead. "And George . . . what happened to him?"
"You don't suppose they're . . . " John gulped and surveyed the inglorious setting of his first mini-cam assistant assignment. This was living proof that television is not synonymous with glamour.
Ralph charged on. "Let's station ourselves in the alley. . . maybe we'll be able to get an idea from there."
The wicked demon within Sherrie Williams' soul pounded at the door of satisfaction, demanding release from a long years of virginity. The sizzling passion within her soul cried for a climax . . . at the hands of her diabolical captors! Better at the hands of a stranger, than not at all, her subconscious reasoned.
The news reporter's frazzled brain slowly accustomed itself to the raping penis jabbing into her tender, once virginal orifices. The sweet scent of Negroid sweat mingling with the sweat juices of Nordic skin, made her nostrils flare with a tremor of passion that bubbled and crackled in the heat of her raped loins.
Their ragged, wheezing male breath snorted from black, flaring nostrils as they pounded into her ravaged body with a brutal, crunching force. Ebony, blue-veined cocks sawed into her tender flesh as if trying to dissect her with twin blades. Yet some untamed, naked corner of Sherrie's libido wanted the thrill of these cocks boring into her cunt and asshole, battering against each other through the torn membrane of her hymen and now, through the thin tissue separating her genital orifices. Their blood-fed meat jabbed at each other, dueled for dominance of her loins!
Sherrie's alabaster skin beaded with perspiration, her teeth gnashing desperately together, eyes glazed and blind to all but pleasure. Breath hissed from her overworked lungs as she struggled and fought for orgasm, the shivering, cataclysmic relief that only orgasm could bring her ravaged, needful body.
"Ohh . . . ahhhhhhh!" Blonde head thrashed, breasts bounced with strawberry tips hard hubs of crinkled, chafed flesh. Someone's blood (was it her own?) had dried on her left breast. Her deep, guttural cry was echoed below in the liquid slurping of her copious cuntal juices swabbing Shaker's ebony cock in a sticky flow of musky smelling juice from the depths of her violated pussy.
Only the need to experience total shame and degeneration drove her on, for certainly reason and logic had been torn from her with the first tearing jab of Shaker's penis through her tender hymen.
"Mooorrrreeeee . . . " she pleaded, squeezing elephantine tears out of unseeing eyes. "Fuck me, deeeeeeper!" Her voice trailed off into a pathetic Muselike wail.
"Huh?" Carter, who'd been standing by dumbfounded, rubbed his bruised temple and stared down at the battered, swollen features that was Sherrie Williams. After they'd finished raping her, she would be neatly disposed of. Then what? Back to prison? This time for rape and murder. He cringed. Might as well take advantage of the situation, he reasoned selfishly.
He hovered over her bouncing body, riding Shaker's cock and Jarvis' too. He kneed his way onto the bed and gave Daisy a little shove that sent her spilling onto the floor with a dull thud. Positioning himself on his knees, an easy reach from Sherrie's rosebud lips, he put his knees on either side of Shaker's shoulders. Carter clasped Sherrie's slender shoulders with his strong hands so that the thick staff of his pre-cum dewed cock tip sprang toward her gaping mouth. He smeared her lips with strands of his glistening pre-cum.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A shadowy movement in the alleyway outside of the Peep Show Palace made John bolt. "There's somebody standing at the window!" He gulped. "You can find yourself another grip . . . I ain' sticking around!" A retraining hand caught him by the arm.
Red-faced and shaking, George stuffed the stiffened tube of his penis into his pants. The tender flesh dragged across the saw-toothed open zipper. He swore and winced. Crap, I was just about to cum, too.. . He sensed eyes watching him. Probably the police ready to nail me for window peeping . . . oh, shit. The cameraman almost wished that were the case when he swung around to face Channel 2's mini-cam operator and his punk grip.
"George.. . . ? " Ralph's expression fell somewhere between relief and anger. "What the fuck you doing? Potters is going crazy!"
George sucked in his breath; his testicles felt like two twenty pound lead weights were choking off the blood supply. Walking was no easy task. Stealthily he followed the camouflaging shadow of the building wall until he faced Ralph. Jaws parted as he stuttered out a reply, when Ralph's beeper bleeped.
Keeping his eyes suspiciously glued to George's guilty face, he plucked the beeper from his belt and flicked the button. "What the fuck's going on?" bellowed Bill Potters. "You got two hours to get live footage or you're all fired!"
"Yes, Mr. Potters . . . we've found George."
Silence fell on the other end until: "What about Sherrie Williams? Any sign of her?"
"No, sir . . . we just got here."
Thoughtful silence, again. "Get footage of the place so we can start breaking the story. We'll continue it on the noon news tomorrow and six o'clock, if she's still missing."
Abruptly a fiendish grin broke out over Potters' face. Fortunately his cameramen couldn't read the reason for the tight smugness or they would have dumped the cameras in the trash cans. "News
Reporter Missing from On The Spot Report!" What a hell of a story! Christ, it could hit local headlines!
"I want news, you lazy bastards . . . and I want footage . . . anything that moves, shoot. Shots of the building, shots of those diseased bastards jacking off at the magazine rack . . . I want to see all on tonight's eleven o'clock newscast-or I'll blackball all of you! Get my drift?"
The threesome stared at each other.
"Can he do that?" gulped John.
Ralph nodded. "His father-in-law owns the network."
"He can do that," repeated John, downtrodden.
"We got to rind Sherrie-quick!" Ralph's shoulders heaved; he rubbed his temples and thought: Why me? "You see her, George?"
George paled and spoke low and evenly. "All of her . . . every inch."
Reacting to instinct and the burning need of the screaming demon within her, Sherrie's blue eyes popped open wide and her delicate, white hands shot out to touch the black sacs of Carter's bloated balls to knead them reverently between her nimble fingers.
"Ohhh, babeeee," he cooed, running his black fingers through her angel hair.
As she had seen Daisy do, she opened the cracked and cum-encrusted line of her bruised lips and slipped them easily over the spongy, mushroom head of
Carter's penis, bathing the salty flesh with her wet, warm tongue. Babyishly, she flattened the tip of her pink tongue against the eye of his cock as she sighed at the feel of his hands closing over her ears. He groaned in lustful appreciation of her gentle manipulations.
"Suck it, angel baby, suck itttttt!! ! "
Humming deep within her throat, she bobbed her head up and down as she worked her soft mouth over the peaty pole of blackness. Her sensitive tongue experienced the squeamish wiggle of his blood pulsing veins. The taste of him was briny, piquant, masculine, dominate.. . .
Four bodies or one body? Who could tell? Their cocks, stuffing her every open hole, became extensions of herself. The more frenetic and vicious the attack upon her body, the more grinding and twisting and violent became her responses.
Snarling, she grabbed the black tube of Carter's penis and squeezed her fist as hard as she could, all tenderness vaporizing like steam from a witch's cauldron. She felt the veins flood with blood, bloating it another half inch in girth. With slow, precise movements, she slipped her lips from off the mushroomed head. Sherrie's tongue went wild now from the musky smell of Carter's balls cushioned against her dimpled chin. Her tongue went wild, bathing the spongy head, dipping into the seeping slit, licking away the pre-cum with ravenous hunger, while mewls of delight and ecstasy gurgled from her throat.
She had tasted male cum once tonight-but once tasted, twice craved!
For Sherrie Williams there was no Channel 2 newsroom, no Bill Potters hounding her for news copy . . . only cocks . . . black, swollen cocks . . . the cocks raping her mouth, her anus, her cunt!
They humped and bumped and knocked into each other, all four seething with desire to dominate one another. Now Carter, the most gentle of the three men, shed his mantel of tenderness and snorted with sadistic lust. Cruelly, he grabbed Sherrie's ears and brutally thrust his saliva-slickened penis back into the womb-like hole of her throat!
Sherrie went wild with the need to swallow his cock, to suck it down her throat as she had Shaker's. The taste was an aphrodisiac dominating her senses. With a desperate grunt, she reached behind his black buttocks and clasped her white hands to the muscular flesh to pull him towards her, screwing her throat deliberately as she struggled to suck the seed from his groin with belly heaving swallows.
Ensconced in hedonistic pleasures, the hydra of arms and legs, heads and cocks were oblivious to the activities outside the rain-smudged window. Another blessing, perhaps, for Sherrie Williams' tortured soul?
Ralph cleared his throat in disbelief. "I don't believe what I'm seeing. That can't be Sherrie Williams!"
Beside him, John pressed his freckled nose to the cool glass. "Jesus, I never dreamed she had such big tits . . . I bet Davis that was a padded bra made her look all pointy and hard, stickin' halfway up to her chin. . . . "
Ralph shut him up with a sharp elbow in the grip's ribs. "You idiot! We're supposed to be professionals, not dum jerk-offs!" Here George shuddered and pinched harder at his balls. "One of our reporters is in there being raped by three black men, and you're talking about padded bras!" continued Ralph.
"Raped?" John's voice was low and meaningful. "Don't look like rape to me!"
George, elevating himself on his mini-cam, surreptitiously slunk a hungry hand to cup the blood engorged bulge of his genitals, weighing them like a cantaloupe. He cocked his head in a casual attempt. "That's what I've been trying to figure out. I gotta agree with John . . . " Jesus, I wish these bastards would leave so I could jerk-off. . . my balls weigh a ton!
The threesome watched bug-eyed as Sherrie Williams, the blonde haired angel of the newsroom, hungrily swabbed her pink tongue over the glistening black pole of Carter's slithering cock. Sandwiched in between Shaker's black hulk from atop and Jarvis' pudgy girth from behind, they hammered their ebony stone-hard penises into her pussy and anus with synchronized jabs that made Ralph's hemorrhoids hurt.
"I never knew a woman could handle three men at once," snickered John. "I never saw nothing like that in Playboy!"
Ralph scratched his head and heaved a meaningful sigh. "We're in one hell of a predicament. Potters is going to dump our careers if we don't get footage. Plug in the cords, John! Let's get rolling."
George's voice went tight. "We can't film this! Maybe we oughta call back Potters."
"Be realistic . . . I said plug in the cords, you idiot!" growled Ralph at the grip who stood with his nose pressed intently to the glass pane, his blue eyes two pools of amazement, his jaw slack.
"Just a second, I wanna see if she takes all of his cock . . . " he whistled into the night. "God, Niggers are hung, aren't they?"
"I said plug in the cords! I'm not telling you again!"
With a sigh, the blonde haired grip went to work uncoiling the cords, leaving the two senior cameramen to discuss the situation.
"You think we oughta call the cops?" Ralph struggled toward realism, but his mind was between his legs in sympathy with the bloated girth of his entrapped cock. His breath came in slow, hissing spurts, his heart beating a tattoo in his chest. Indecision was seldom his game, but tonight he was stuck.
Beside him, George feigned professionalism. "If we call the cops," he whispered jerkily, "we'll be giving them the credit for the bust." The itch between his legs felt like army ants were nibbling at his cum-infested balls. Two inching fingers went to work, pressing, jabbing, trying to release pressure. "You . . . know . . . how Potters . . . hates cops!"
Silence fell, sluiced by the scuffing of feet in the alley and John whistling to himself in the night as he went about his work.
"You . . . you think she likes it?" Ralph squinted through the window just as Sherrie's tiny palm delicately cradled the sac of Carter's testicles. "God, three . . . ? " he choked.
"Don't look like she's protesting, does it?" interjected George, buying time.
Ralph pooched out his lips and studied the alabaster nudity in all its luscious, richly swelling, nibblable spendor-sandwiched in between a black stud fucking her asshole, a second black man ramming his cock up her cunt, and a third force-feeding her cock down her willing, elegant throat!
"Wonder how she ended up in there," queried Ralph. "You don't suppose . . . ? " He turned to George.
"She deliberately slept with them niggers to get a story?" George finished for him.
"Hmmmmm . . . never thought of that." It was a lie.
"I always thought she was so pure and innocent.. . kinda cold. . . almost untouchable," continued George, bending his knees to ease the pressure in his groin. Nearly losing his balance, he grabbed at the window sill to steady himself.
"Fooled us, huh?" snickered Ralph, curling his lip in bitterness.
"Always had the feeling she thought everybody was stupid-except for her.. . . " added George, pinching his balls between thumb and forefinger. "Kinda aloof, you know?"
"Yup, I know." Ralph sucked in his breath sharply. "Funny you should say that. I got a confession to make.. . . "
"Yeah . . . " George turned to Ralph. God, I'm gonna cu m in my pants if I keep watching her eat that nigger. Wonder if Ralph's horny too? Jesus, does he know I'm jerking-off? He gulped, his stomach knotting.
"I asked her out one time." He shook his head and snorted sardonically.
"Yeah . . . ? She fuck you like she's fuckin' those black guys? A nervous laugh escaped George's dry lips.
Ralph's face turned to glower. "She turned me down . . . guess she didn't think I was hot stuff."
"Goes to show you about women. . . . "
Ralph shrugged. "Guess you're right. Blondes and black meat go together like salt and pepper.. . . "
"Hey, snickered George nervously. 'That's clever--. . . " Jesus, just a little more and my cock's gonna squirt! Wonder how long it'll take my pants to dry?
"Maybe if I'd been black she woulda fucked me like she's eating that crow," quipped Ralph bitterly. "Who would think Sherrie Williams was into butt fucking?" he snorted, shaking his head.
"Yeah, she sure is eating him . . . look at her tits jiggle . . . makes me wanna . . . . " He stopped his confession just in time and gulped dryly.
Ralph turned to him. "Makes you wanna what?" Ralph's face went tight, his voice husky.
"Jump in there and nibble her pussy a little.. . just a little, " shrugged George stupidly, lost in a private world of vice.
Beside him he sensed Ralph growing tense. His lips moved in mutterings of damnation.
"If I had my way, I'd grab that black bastard off her ass and hump the bitch from behind . . . I'd ram my cock so far up her asshole she'd never shit again!" spat Ralph.
Fortunately for George his fellow cameraman was ensconced in his own bitterness, because just then he felt it burn in his gut. It spurted a geyser of steaming hot cum that soaked his Levis through to the waist. His knees started to buckle and to keep himself from humping the wall, he clung white-knuckled to the window sill. From a hazy point of consciousness, he heard Ralph mumble:, "Hoity toity bitch, too good for anybody . . . damned cunt, bitch, whore, cocksucker!"
John's silvery enthusiasm came as if from heaven or some point beyond earth, as George tried to slow his heartbeat.
"Hey, Ralph, I got everything set up. I was thinking maybe we could cross the street and take some footage of the storefront. . . Ralph, hey, man, what's the matter?" His forehead furrowed with concern. "They got guns . . . ? Ralph?"
Ralph snarled at his grip: "Get the camera rolling!"
John scratched his head. "I'm not sure we got enough cord. . . . "
"We're filming right through that window!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Instinct was her dictator and the crying demon within her, her God. Sherrie's small white hands reached out to cradle the black sacs of Carter's bloated balls and knead them between her nimble fingers.
"Oh, babeeeee!" Carter ran his long black fingers through the silken strands of Sherrie's golden hair.
That wicked force again . . . ! Softly she opened the cracked line of her lips and slipped tern easily over the spongy capped head of Carter's maledom, bathing the salty flesh with her kittenish, warm tongue. She flattened the tip of her pink tongue against the seeping eye of his penis; she felt the pressure of his hands closing over her ears, and heard him groan in appreciation of her gentle manipulations.
"Suck . . . suck ittt!" he growled.
Compliantly, Sherrie's head began bobbing up and down as she worked her soft mouth over the long, meaty pole of the black man's cock. On the underside of his penis, she felt the veins pulse with blood. His taste was strong, masterful!
Every sinew and muscle in Sherrie Williams' body was preened toward accepting the three cocks-three black cocks struggling to dominate her. The four had become one well machinated being, working in unison in a cacophany of lustful slurping, squelching sounds. They bored into her helpless body with teeth-shattering intensity, grinding, twisting, boring, gouging.
With a snarl, Sherrie grabbed the black tube of Carter's penis and choked it in her fist, delighting in the powerful surge of blood that bloated it another inch in girth. Slowly her lips fell from it and her tongue made crazy, laving patterns over the spongy head, dipping into the briny slit, licking the pre-cum with rapacious hunger. Grunts gurgled from her throat.
The taste of male cum became her nectar. For Sherrie the cock in her mouth, the cock in her anus and the cock in her pussy were the soul center of existence.
A wicked desire to dominate this white woman filled
Carter with instant sadism. Brutally, he thrust his glistening penis back into the depths of her working throat. She wanted to swallow all of him, wanted to suck it down her throat as she had Shaker's. Grunting with desire, she reached behind his black buttocks and clasped her white hands to the sinewy flesh, pulling him possessively toward her, screwing her throat until she couldn't breathe.
"Ahhh, ummmm . . . ! she purred in her battered throat.
The room exploded into an echo chamber of grunts and groans and for the second time that night, Sherrie felt the bulge of a man's cock slithering down her gullet, bulging in her throat like a hunk of meat.
"Ahhhhh!" Carter threw back his head and sucked in his breath, reveling in the sensation of having his ten inch cock swallowed alive!
The white captive's mouth hollowed, accentuating the high, aristocratic slant of her cheek bones bathed in amber light. She sucked noisily, nursing on the cock as if it were a baby's feast. Wider.. . wider.. . deeper . . . until-
"Whow!" whistled John, gawking through the window. "She's got his balls in her mouth too!"
Ralph couldn't look any more. He'd seen more than he'd wanted to. Muttering damning epitaphs under his breath, he positioned the camera's eye directly in line with Sherrie William' pristine ass-now being raped by a black man's penis.
"Potters' is going to love this. He wants tits and ass news, he'll get tits and ass news!" ' And tits and ass it was, with a bit of mouth action thrown in, too.
The three black men experiencing the ecstasy of Sherrie Williams' nakedly defiled body gasped and clawed and shrieked with amazement at the power housed inside the lithe frame of Sherrie Williams' body. Their triple cocks slaved to fulfill all of her needs.
If there'd been one orifice left unattended. Ralph would have been more than happy to take his turn at defiling the aristocratic nymph who'd snobbishly declined his offer for a night at the movies. "The bitch," he snorted to himself, grinning smugly as he started the camera rolling. "The cunt's into black meat . . . ain't two ways about it!"
"Huh?"
John could only stand and scratch his head. Television was getting more exciting than he'd thought, but somehow taping a woman in the throes of orgasm with three men slaving over her body, didn't seem ethical.
George agreed. "You count me out of this. She could sue us for this," he tried to reason. Ralph would hear none of it.
Carter's breath hissed deep and burned in his lungs. He worked his buttocks frantically together in frenzied lust as he slitheringly aimed his juicy, snakelike cock between her violated and glutted mouth.
"Yeahhhhh . . . white bitch.. . ! " he hissed, drubbing his swollen penis into her mouth and mashing her nose against his hairy groin while he held her head in steely hands.
"Suck itttt! White whore!" Throwing back his head, he bellowed delight as gut wrenching electrical charge sparked in the pit of his groin and a geyser of white liquid lust gushed along the veiny surface of his cock to erupt in a hosing gush from the slit! It spurted so hard that Sherrie bolted backwards, impaling her deeper on Jarvis' busily working cock burrowing into her tender anus from behind.
"Ahhh . . . sheeet!" he gushed, tearing at Sherrie's ears as if trying to screw them off. He rode her gorgeous, battered face and lips with the last ounce of macho energy left him! Thick, hot, salty globules of cum dribbled down her throat into her gullet, filling her tummy in a warm puddle of sperm. At last she could breathe through her nostrils, her hot breath steaming over her rapists' groin with a babyish, tantalizing warmth.
He battered her bruised face until his leathery balls had dribbled out their cup of rich, white hot liquid lust. Sherrie swallowed busily, trying to keep from drowning in the steaming juice. It dribbled down her chin in thick rivulets; it dribbled toward her ears, filling the shell-like orifices with sticky, black man's cum. When she had eaten her fill, she reluctantly let his flaccid penis slip wetly from her lips.
Ralph panned in on the single pearl-like dot of black man's sperm dangling from Sherrie Williams' dimpled chin. He let the camera feast its eye on that debauchery until it had its fill.
"Ah, shit . . . " Carter threw his leg back over Shaker's bald head and sank out of the camera's eye.
Shaker snorted up at him: "I been sniffin' that black ass long 'nough," he chastised. With a grunt, he pressed his lean black frame hard against Sherrie's naked body, flattening her soft breasts against his brawny, muscled chest. "Now she be feelin' Shaker's cock!"
With the guard of chastity gone, Sherrie felt no fear. Shaker's vile obscenities and promises of death goaded her on to greater heights of ecstasy. She became a red hot nymphomaniac, crazed with lust and the need for total relief. Incoherent taunts mumbled from her bruised lips.
"Fuck meee!" she pleaded. "You black bastards."
And they did-they bored and hammered and thrust and sawed into her twin orifices with their twin black penises until the breath wheezed from her lungs. Her cunt and ass felt like one giant hole as with a wetly slurping sound they slaved over her.
Bill Potters checked his digital watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. "Damn sons of bitches. I'll fire the whole damned news department if they don't get me some footage!" he growled to no one in particular.
The eleven PM newscast was twenty-two minutes away. He'd counted on the Shaker Jones story for sensational titillation. The capture of the white shark story had been played into the ground by every news station in the city-not good for ratings.
He needed something zesty, gutsy. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. Losing wasn't his game.
At the assignment desk he beeped Ralph. "Film, I need film! What the hell do you think I sent you there for? I got three reporters on the spot and not a fuckin' inch of film!"
Ralph answered between clenched teeth. "Don't worry, Potters, you'll get your film!" beside him, George and John exchanged worried glances.
"What about Williams? Any sign of her?"
"Yup . . . " answered Ralph calmly.
A softer Potters this time. "Is she okay?"
Doing just fine."
"Get some action shots, something titillating . . . play up the whore crap . . . the public loves it," added Potters. "This is going to be one hell of a newscast.. . neither of the other channels has anything on it.. . . "
Ralph ceased listening. A crooked grin of vengeance curled his upper lip. Again the camera rolled.
Three hot, sweating, laboring bodies seemed to melt into one lustful monster! Sherrie rode Shaker's cock, jabbing him spur-like in his panther-like ribs to drive his hard, hammering cock deeper into the crying hole of her cunt.
"Ahhhhh!" she hissed and grunted through clenched, rattling teeth, feeling Jarvis' penis bore into her anus, bringing no pain, but wicked, ripe and fulfilling sensations. The sticky flow of her love juices had dribbled down the naked patch of her genitals. The twisting movements of Jarvis' sodomizing cock had forced the musky smelling sweetness of lubrication into the violated orifice of her naked rectum, and the only sensation she experienced was an intense rush of uncontrollable, frantic need to skewer her naked bottom back onto the black meat of Jarvis' thick erection! Friction . . . there had to be more friction!
Sherrie's consciousness had melted into the narrow line of insanity. A frantic, damnable need to orgasm was all that remained of Sherrie Williams. She had become a cock-crazed slut, spurring on her rapists until she'd raped them of every last spoonful of their liquid lust. It was not a confession she wished to make.. . nor did she have to.
Ralph's mini-cam was making it for her.
"And now with the eleven o'clock edition of "Two Is There" news . . . Rick Marshall." Potters watched the television screen perched to the right of his desk and held his breath through the twinkly music announcing it and watched the city skyline pan and zoom in flashy patterns that was the newscast logo. The evening's anchorman flashed on the screen then.
"Good evening, this is Rick Marshall with the eleven o'clock edition of Channel 2's evening news. An amazing story tonight," he announced gravely. "Sherrie Williams, one year of "Two Is There" investigative team, is reported missing on assignment in the Tenderloin. Chief investigator for the channel's daring probe into the kingpin operator of the Tenderloin's child porno ring, Sherrie has reportedly been seen in the area of Eddie and Taylor Streets. Live on the scene is Ralph Jasperson, Channel 2's cameraman with live footage. . . . "
"Fuckkkk fuck meeeeel" Rick Marshall's placid face instantly faded and the lust-contorted, demon-possessed features of Sherrie Williams' beaten face flashed across the television screen of 270,000 viewers. It was the face and wail of an injured demented woman, crying from the pit of her dark soul, pleading for release from the demonic spell controlling her senses. Her breath hissed from her burning lungs, and the rippling lines of her white nakedness writhing and grinding into the naked flesh of two naked black men, sweated together in a holocaust of lust.
Bill Potters, stared in disbelief at the frantically humping form of Sherrie Williams as she reared up, arched her back, and spread her legs to the sides in order to lever her weight on the arches of her feet. Not a thought crossed his mind; he felt as if he'd been shot and didn't know it. Neither pleasure nor disapproval mirrored in his stony face. He merely stared at his star news reporter's naked body.
Sherrie levered herself up and slammed the weight down onto Shaker's cock, knocking the wind from his chest-then milking his penis on an up and down back motion that met in mid-thrust the bloated length of Jarvis' awesome cock ramming tightly up her ass. To every viewer's eye, the bouncing, violent rhythm had sparked insanity into the hearts of the men getting their fill of Sherrie's naked body.
The news director was too stunned to take control. Fifteen seconds of footage rolled by (thirty seconds had been allotted for). He felt neither arousal nor disapproval; indeed, the strange tingling sensation in the pit of his gut fingered the fine line of fear. The telephones would be ringing off the hooks with irate viewers, but irate viewers was better than no viewers. The old ratings game again. . . .
The world watched it happen! Sherrie felt a tremendous pulsing surge of sexual electricity race over the quivering bud of her own clitoris, then charge swiftly through the bowl of her cock-filled tummy to explode in a fiery burst of orgasmic power as every muscle in her was preened with the screaming heat of her tor-turously awakened maiden climax. The cry of her release was violent:
The force of orgasmic charge was beyond atomic as it shot through the rippling, clinging, sizzling walls of Sherrie Williams' quivering pussy. She threw back her head and howled like a werewolf at a full moon. Her delicate hands shot to Shaker's slinky black chest and raked red trails along the sweating flesh.
Shaker's terrifying features contorted into a cruel, forceful grin of pure sadistic pleasure; his white teeth flashed through the slit of his curled upper lip. He drooled as he felt her naked cuntal flesh possessively grip his black meat-as if her belly muscles were trying to eat his penis in nibbling bites.
Sherrie felt him bloat within her, as if his cock were attached to a bicycle pump. It burst as the sperm flooded from the tip in a showing spray of sticky, potent cum.
It's all in me . . . I got it all. . . flashed incoherently in Sherrie's blank mind.
The camera jerked, lost focus and centered again on Sherrie's ball-bearing hips grinding against the wiry patch of Shaker's loins. She scraped her swollen clitoris against his pubic curls for the delicious friction against the bud that so desperately needed to blossom into orgasm. It exploded, sending her love juices to trickle from her battered womb in a cry of relief. Tightening her belly muscles, she milked her cuntal muscles with a force she didn't know she had.
Bill Potters tore at his hair. His teeth ground together so hard, dusty enamel smoked in his mouth. He fell into a catatonic trance eyeing the television screen as Jarvis' penis was the center of focus now.. . a black man's penis sawing into the tender asshole of his news reporter!
INSTANTLY, he grabbed the security hotline and dialed the emergency number to the police department. Wearily, he sank down into his chair and covered his face with his hands.
Sherrie arched her back, jamming her buttocks and instinctively relaxing her sphincter muscle to accept all of Jarvis' hard driving, jack hammering cock. Her eyes rolled wildly in her head and a soulful scream tore from her cock battered throat as she felt the sizzling sensation of Shaker's cum sloshing in the heat of her tortured belly and bathing her back with heated snorts of lust. Jarvis' body stiffened from the splashing force of rivers of sperm bubbling seethingly up into her naked rectum and squirting violently up into the ravaged hole of her bowels!
Cunt and ass filled with black male cum. Every pore of her body felt sated, satisfied and battered. The threesome collapsed in a sigh of lust onto the sex moistened coverlet beneath their panting bodies.
Outside the window, the camera rolled on, resting caressingly on the three bodies like the laying on of hands. It stayed focused there, staring at the guilt ridden evidence of lust until the camera's eye lifted to four loaded .38 pistols hovering potently over the naked bodies.
"Get your black asses up off that bed!" growled a policeman, motioning with his pistol and grabbing Shaker by the shoulder. "We got you by the balls this time!"
Channel 2's viewers saw the live action from start to finish. It couldn't have been more sensational.
The camera focused on Rick Marshall, the evening's anchorman. "Th-thank you, channel 2 cameramen for your live coverage of the story." He gulped dryly and mumbled through the remaining three minutes of the evening's newscast.
A holocaust of sirens screamed down Eddie Street. The police ambulance pulled to a halt outside the crashed down door of the Peep Show Palace and pried apart the cum-stained bodies.
Shaker put up a fight. In one last dash for freedom, he crashed through the smudged window that had witnessed his demise, and landed atop the mini-cam equipment. Glass splattered in the air and rained over the alleyway. A waiting police officer pulled a gun and shot one warning over Shaker's black right shoulder.
Plastered against the alley side wall of the palace, John stared bug-eyed and amazed. Slowly, a hand scratched his confusion-ridden head.
"Get this stuff in the van," grumbled Ralph, pulling at the cord feet away from where the policeman, in a tight scuffle with Shaker, snapped handcuffs around his thick wrists. "We gotta get back to the station."
"I think I'd like a shot of something hard and straight. ' George, who'd been standing in the shadows, came forth. The cum wetted spot on his Levis had nearly dried in the cool, foggy air. He yanked his leather jacket to cover it. "I don't think I want to see Bill Potters face for a while."
Ralph straightened as he looped the mini-cam cord over his arm. "He's been screamin' tits and ass and ratings for nine months . . . now he got it. Next he'll be wanting blood and guts."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I demand a full report of what happened last night." Bill Potters sat stiffly behind his desk and ran his eyes over the three cameramen assigned the duty of covering Sherrie Williams 'story. At his elbow lay the Nielsen Ratings, a morning sheet highlighting the ratings for the three local stations. Channel 2's evening news and following rundowns were circled in red.
Channel 2's evening news had done an incredible 25 in a 30 share. It was a landmark.
Ralph cleared his throat. "I have to take full responsibility for what aired last night, Mr. Potters," he said flatly. Neither apology nor regret quivered in his voice.
"We were only following orders," George added quickly, with a quick glance in Ralph's profile. "It was part my fault too."
John stared down at his hands, a reticent puppet in a show too big for his narrow experience.
"Have you seen the ratings?" Potters pooched out his lips and thrust a sheet with its red circles under the cameramen's noses. "Take a look at that!"
Ralph's eyes flew open. He swallowed tightly. Was he being crowned with diamonds or thorns? One could never read Potters' intent. Beside him, George whistled.
Potters leaned back like a fat cat stretching out before a fireplace. He licked the cream of success. "I've been barking about flat news around this station for months . . . somebody finally caught on. I want to thank you two . . . " His eyes fled over John, eliminating him automatically.
"Let me tell you boys a secret. Bad ratings are better than no ratings at all. People love to see the dirt," and here he pointed to his eye. "They love to hear the dirt." This time his ear.
Ralph and George's eyes in unison fell to Potters lap, fully expecting him to point to his cock. The man had a reputation for the vulgar.
"And Sherrie Williams, what about the person who made the news?" put in John unexpectedly, straightening. His cheeks pinkened with outrage. "What about her career?" Now his lip curled with disdain, and a red cloud of anger Levitated him off his chair. He set the palms of his hands firmly on Potters' desk and glared the man in the eye.
"What about Sherrie Williams, you chump? I hope she sues the pants off you, you selfish bastard!" he bellowed, turning heads in the news room beyond. "You don't care how you use people. . . ! "
Potters' bloated ego deflated from the grip's needled prick into that very tender part of his psyche. Guilt had chastised him from the inception, but this morning's ratings had yanked him out of that fouled state of mind. Now this smart-ass little grip had to bring him back to face himself!
Potters levered off his chair and stationed his nose six inches apart from John's. "You little prick, get the hell out of my office and don't ever let me see your chicken-shit face in this newsroom again!"
Seventeen hours of sleep had pulled Sherrie Williams loose from a drugged stupor that left her hovering somewhere between reality and shredded nightmares. The aristocratic features, bruised in black and blue splotches, added a puffiness to her high cheek boned features. Elegance had given way to a vulgarity claimed only by the beaten victims. Golden hair had dulled to platinum and thick strands clung to her forehead, glued by black rapist cum.
It wasn't a pretty virgin Bill Potters visited in the hospital later that day.
He watched her twitch in her sleep. The news director stuck a finger in his collar and gulped. "M-Miss Williams?" He never lost his dictatorial touch that had won him the reputation of being Channel 2's Ayatollah of the newsroom.
Two swollen eyes struggled to open, but the light was bright and her pupils still sensitive to light. She twitched, moved, and winced.
Abruptly, the door closed behind Potters and a stem-faced, buxom nurse slipped in. She set a tray laden with syringes and needles upon the patient's portable table. Slowly her eyes lifted to glower at Mr. Potters.
"You're the news director, I suppose," the woman snapped tersely.
Potters squared his chin and nodded. To him, viewers were numbers, ratings; never faces or personalities. Yet it struck him with pride that she could identify him. A smug grin creased his face.
Eyes raked over his small frame unappreciatively. Delicately, then, the nurse tore open an alcohol pad and dabbed at the news reporter's lithe arm. Next she prepared a needle.
"I'm giving her an antigen to fight any hepatitis she might have contracted from those filthy beasts." With the gentility unseemingly characteristic of Nurse Commings, she pricked the patient's arm and quickly covered the needle prick with a band aid. "I suppose you send all your female reporters out into the streets to get punched up with heroin, Mr. Potters!" Now she glowered at him openly. "I don't approve of your style of news reportage, Mr. Potters . . . showing rape on television. Frankly, it makes me sick!"
Potters gulped and felt blood rush to his cheeks.
Tutting, Nurse Commings smiled pathetically down at Sherrie's semi-conscious body. "They could have killed her-and for what? They ought to put you behind bars instead of those dirty raping beasts!" she spat. "Now you have a good rest, honey," she whispered down at Sherrie and, picking up her tray, created a cold wind as she brushed past Potters and out the door.
"Wh-what's . . . ? " Sherrie had stirred to consciousness. Dully, she blinked about her. The white walls, the clean smell, the blurred vision of a man who looked vaguely familiar. The sedatives had subdued memory.
Potters leaned over the bed rail and lay a warm, pulsing hand on his news reporter's lithe arm. "You did a good job, kid . . . . "
"Huh?"
"We blew the top off the ratings." Had Sherrie the strength to study the practiced enthusiasm behind the voice, she might have chiseled through Potters' false Levity.
And Potters wasn't feeling too good about himself. Nagging doubts from the inception had proven justifiable. Sending a female into the crime infested jungle of the Tenderloin was a stupid move, even though it nudged Channel 2's ratings above Channel 9's. His stomach burned with self-denigration. Clearing his voice, he straightened.
"Sherrie, I have a surprise for you.. . . "
Sherrie blinked open one blue eye, and quickly squinted the purpled eyelid shut. When had they turned on the lights in here? Barely perceptibly, her nose began to twitch. And the smell, an antiseptic smell. In comparison her sweat-soaked body smelled musky with sex, almost sour. Hair that once hung loose and silken about her apple cheeks, clung foully to her forehead in thick medusa strands. One delicate hand stretched its fingers over the cool sheet. Where were the hot male bodies? Why had they left her?
"Sherrie.. . ? " Potters leaned closer. Knife stabs of self-loathing pricked at his conscience. "I-I talked to New York today. You're going network, Sherrie, imagine that!" He forced jubilation.
"Network. . . " Sherrie's swollen lips mouthed the word. What part of a man's body was that.. . ? "Cock . . . " Her jaw dropped to mumble out the word. "I want more . . . cock."
Potters choked and righted himself. He smoothed his palm over her forehead. "Tell me about it, Sherrie. Tell me what they did to you."
A sob bubbled from the blonde news reporter's lips and she sniffled girlishly.
Potters' mouth went dry, his fingers clutched white knuckles to the hospital bed rail.
Dirty, fucking scum of the earth! Raping the delicate flower in places no woman should ever be touched. His cheeks reddened with outrage.
"Do you think you could identify those crows in court, Sherrie?" He lay his hand on her forehead.
Sherrie blinked. "Yes, I think so.. . . "
Potters straightened and drew in a deep breath. "They got 'em all behind bars anyway. They'll get life in San Quentin for this! I'll make damned sure of that!"
Silence fell as Potters stared at the wall. "You broke the story. The credit's all yours." His heart sank to his knees as he anticipated the hurt that would curdle her blood when Sherrie realized she'd been seen live on the evening news, stuffed with black cock! Good thing he'd finagled the network promotion for her. Sometimes in-laws come in handy.
"Did you hear me? Your career is just starting, Sherrie. You'll be the next Barbara Walters. How does that strike you?"
Sherrie blinked and struggled to focus on Potters' face hovering above her. "Network? Oh, Mr. Potters . . . how can I thank you?" Her voice was but a whisper.
And staring down into that angel face, Potters experienced a sense of loss. To not see those puffy nipples harden beneath pink angora when tension sizzled in the newsroom would leave a void; but he'd used her, just as John accused him of, and he must think first of Sherrie Williams' career.
"How can you thank me? " he smiled back. "I can only answer that by saying I'm damned jealous of what those black bastards got from you."
Abruptly he sucked in his breath, for stiff little finger soldiers were crawling in tiny steps down the metallic strip of his zipper to explore the bloated girth of his cock. Nimble fingertips plucked at the zipper tab and gently drew it down with the delicate gesture of unpeeling a banana.
"It's gonna be hard losing you, Miss Williams," hissed Potters as her warm digits dug into the fly of his jockey shorts to stroke the warm tube of his bloated penis.
"It's already hard," she whispered, falling into a deep trance where the world smelled of ripe ambition and musky males.
