It has been known for a very long time that sexual excesses do not make for a healthy individual. Many clubs and outdoor camps have been formed merely as cover-ups for their true purposes which are sexual activities. Aside from being illegal, group sexual activity puts a physical strain on the individual who takes an active roll. There is also the damage to the psyche which can do irreparable damage to an unsuspecting person. When an individual begins to let down the barriers and perform lewd acts, he has only released some surface inhibitions. Those inhibitions that are in the subconscious mind have not been freed. One might say that they now become disturbed because of the acts being performed. This can result in many symptoms and usually does end in mental or nervous breakdown.
It is very difficult for one to escape from his environment. If you have been conditioned to a religious and moral life, you cannot escape from it merely by going against all the principles that have been built like a brick wall within your mind. The result might be compared to a person who is trying to start a fire with a blow torch and water. The torch may burn, but the water keeps putting out the fire. The end result is that the fire wood eventually repels not only the torch, but the water as well, leaving the wood in a condition where it will not burn, nor will it float.
One cannot escape one's background, no matter how one tries. To do so is to invite disaster. One can only compromise just so far before the breakdown takes place. The length of time varies from one individual to another but eventually the results are the same.
It is therefore recommended that the individual who is about to depart from the norm take heed to that little voice that seems to be coming from the inside that is telling him that his choice is wrong. It may save that individual many hours of physical and mental agony.
Herman Krauss, M.D.
CHAPTER ONE
I have always had this marvelous facility for spotting true beauty in a woman and, in spite of her thick glasses and 1890 hairdo, I knew this plain-looking chick with the big mammary glands was a swinger underneath it all.
That's why I listened to her, even though she had mistaken me for somebody else. We were in, of all places, the lobby of the Sixteenth Street YMCA.
"We have this wonderful summer camp for young people in Hudson Bay," she said, moving close to touch my arm with the tip of one grand breast. "We want you for our physical culture director, Mr. Grissome."
I knew she thought I was Chuck Grissome, the real physical culture director at the Y. But I needed the job.
"My good woman," I said, looking around to make certain that the real Chuck Grissome wasn't witnessing the fraud, "let us move this discussion outdoors where we can talk more privately."
To make the discussion even more private, I hailed a taxi and, looking at her smooth white thighs as she crawled into the cab, I knew I was doing the right thing.
I didn't hear that small warning bell tinkling softly in the back of my skull.
"Who goes to this camp?" I asked. I leaned close as the cab pulled into traffic. I caught the fragrance of very expensive-and very sexy perfume and my forearm accidentally-on-purpose nudged the soft-firm breast again.
"Some very fine youngsters," she replied, then added with a wink: "And me."
"Beautiful," I said. "Tell me more, Miss Melissa Thornton."
No matter what she had to say, I had made up my mind to agree to all of it. After a full year of lying on the beaches of the Bahamas, I was broke, soft of muscle and definitely ripe for any action that would provide food and drink.
I also decided to tell any lies necessary to get the job the gal was offering.
"I am social chairman for Wayside Mission on Fifty Ninth Street," she said. "We need a strong, virile man for physical culture director at our camp on Saint George Island ... it's in Hudson Bay in Canada. That's about all there is to it, Mr. Grissome."
"The name is Marcus," I said. "Antonio Marcus." Then, to solve her puzzlement, I lied: "Mr. Grissome is the former physical culture director at the Y. But please go on."
"We need a man who loves the outdoors. You do love the outdoors, don't you?"
"Madame," I said, "does a robin love worms?"
"I beg your pardon."
"I love the outdoors," I said.
She leaned against me as the cab made a turn onto Fifth and I pretended to reach out to support her. My right hand palmed the rounded mound of her left breast.
"Sorry," she said.
Even in the dark cab, I could see that she was blushing.
What the hell.
I decided to see if she was as horny as she acted, or if she was nothing more than an inhibited tease. I plopped my hand on her bare knee and left it there to simmer.
She pretended not to notice and went on with her story.
"I love the outdoors, too," she said. "I love it with an endless passion. There is nothing on earth to equal the song of the bird, the call of the coyote, the screech of the cricket, the whispering sound of wings against the air."
"Amen," I said.
"Are you a religious man, Mister Marcus?"
"No, why."
"You said, 'Amen'."
"Figure of speech."
I moved my hand up her leg a few inches and carried the hem of her plain skirt with it. Just for extra kicks, I nibbled her ear beneath the tightly-drawn hair.
She stared at me through the thick glasses and her face was redder then a bloody apple.
Yet, impulsively, she clutched my arm and pressed her warm breast against it. I ran my hand all the way to the silken triangle at her crotch.
"Mister Marcus!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"We were discussing the outdoors," she stammered. "I hardly think your actions are called for."
"What actions?"
I was right! The bashful broad was too shy to discuss the fact that my hand was clasped over her sweet, massive mound.
"Where shall we go to have our private discussion?" I asked.
"We could go to my apartment," she said, coyly, in a wee, small voice. "Do you think it would be appropriate for a prospective employer and a prospective employee-being of opposite sexes-to discuss employment in the employer's apartment?"
"I don't know about that appropriate jazz," I said, sliding a finger under the elastic of her panties, "but I think it's a hell of a good idea."
On the way to Fifty Ninth--and her apartment building-she explained that there would be three men and two women at the camp in Hudson Bay. There would be about thirty youngsters, and it would be my duty to keep them in physical shape, with time left over for more adventuresome pastimes.
She punctuated the last bit of information with an exploratory jab at my thigh. She left her warm hand there.
"What sort of pastimes?"
She slid the hand along my thigh and smiled at me in the dark cab.
"We shall discuss those when we arrive at my apartment."
The youngsters at the camp, she explained, were all from wealthy families. Wayside Mission, located in her apartment building, was a wealthy organization catering to rich sponsors.
"Please don't mind my apartment," she said as the cab slid to the curb in front of a magnificent new highrise building. "I pay for it out of my own funds and receive no pay from Wayside. I am, as they say, independently well off."
From the apartment, I gathered that Melissa Thornton, the rather plain-looking social chairman for Wayside Mission, was underestimating herself when she said that she was independently well off.
She was, to use the vernacular, filthy rich.
The apartment was more than I had expected. Plush, but plush is an inadequate word. The carpets were thicker than a set of World Books and softer than the back seat in a Rolls Royce. The furniture was expensive enough to have bankrupted an Arabian oil king. There were two da Vincis, three Renoirs and an assortment of lesser masterpieces. And a solid glass bar, illuminated from behind with pink flourescent lighting.
She settled in a small, almost prim chair and, pulling her skirt tightly about her knees to keep me from seeing her legs, began to talk.
For a half hour, she prattled on about the glorious summer camp on Saint George Island, the fabulous works of Wayside Mission and the generous hearts of all her wonderful sponsors. My earlier interest in her as a woman began to wane as she babbled on and I was totally incapable of suppressing a series of about eight yawns as the clock edged on toward ten o'clock.
"I don't mean to bore you, Mister Marcus," she said finally, "but I'm afraid that's exactly what I am doing."
"Not at all," I said, swallowing a yawn. "I find the conversation quite fascinating. Please go on."
"Nonsense," she said, getting up and smoothing her long plain dress across her thighs. She had thick thighs and wide hips, but the legs below the knees looked slim and attractive. "The least I can do is offer you a drink."
"Thank you," I said politely. "I believe I could go for a scotch and soda."
She went quickly to the glass bar and mixed the drink. She wasn't having any.
"I'm sorry to be such a bad hostess," he she said, "but I don't often entertain strange men in my suite. I guess I'm just a little nervous, having you up here."
It didn't make sense to me. She had given me every indication in the Y lobby, on the sidewalk and in the cab that she had only one thing in mind.
"You see," she said, "I am thirty-five and am not married. I suppose I have too many inhibitions. Do you have inhibitions, Mister Marcus?"
"A couple, I suppose," I said. "I couldn't pinpoint them right now, though."
She chuckled and watched me down the drink. Her blue eyes flashed from behind the thick glasses and she stood closer to my chair-so close that her knees touched my thigh. I was looking up at the bottoms of her giant breasts and could swear the dame was making every possible effort to extend them farther than they were meant to extend.
She was a strange one.
"That's one of the wonderful things about our summer camp," she said.
"What's one of the wonderful things about your summer camp?"
She rubbed her knees back and forth along my thigh. "It helps to rid you of certain inhibitions," she said. "I have spent only one summer there, but I have far less inhibitions today than before I went."
"You must have been something before you went," I said, meaning no particular offense.
"I was a terrible prude," she said, laughing and smiling down at me.
She took off the glasses, blinked her sharp blue eyes a couple of times and looked at me again.
"Do you mind if I take off my glasses?"
"Not at all," I said, "if it makes you less inhibited. Sorry I don't have a pair to take off."
She laughed and offered me another drink. This time, she fixed one for herself and sat opposite me to drink it. She made no attempt to keep her skirt in place this time and I caught several glimpses of her white and rather appealing thighs as she squirmed in the small chair.
An hour and three drinks later, she was still sitting there talking about the lousy camp on Saint George Island and the fact that she lost a lot of inhibitions when she spent a summer there. I started the yawning again and she fidgeted in the chair, apparently trying to get up the nerve to tell me what inhibitions she lost. I decided to hasten the inevitable.
"What inhibitions did you lose at the camp?" I asked.
She smiled and laughed.
"A lot," she said. "Why, Mister Marcus, would you believe that, before I went to the camp, I couldn't even look a man in the eyes?"
"I can believe it," I said.
"I would never think of touching one," she said. "That's why I'm still an old maid. But have you noticed that I have touched you several times this evening?"
"I noticed," I said. "What other inhibitions did you lose?"
"For another thing," she said, sipping her drink and kicking off her shoes. "I would never be caught dead in a bathing suit. Why, do you know that, after only one summer on Saint George Island, I went out and brought a bikini."
"Wonderful, my good woman," I said, wondering how she looked in a bikini. "Have you worn it at the beach yet?"
"Oh, of course not," she said, blushing. "I wore it at the island among the youngsters, but not on a public beach."
"I'll bet you look good in it," I said. I crossed my legs to give her a good look at the bulge in my trousers. She looked, then licked her lips.
"I don't think so," she said, apprehensively, "but I would love for you to be the judge. Would you like me to try it on for you?"
"I'd be delighted," I said.
She drained her glass, fixed us both fresh drinks and disappeared in a rain of inhibited giggles into the bedroom. I finished my new drink and fixed another one. I could just see the woman in her bikini. Big bazooms, fleshy thighs, midriff bulge, tight hair in a bun, and she would probably put the thick glasses back on.
But I wasn't coming up with the proper images; The woman who appeared in the doorway five minutes later was not the same woman who had gone into the bedroom.
Miss Melissa Thornton had combed out her long black hair and had left her glasses off. She indeed had enormous breasts, but her thighs were far from too fleshy and there was not a trace of excess fat around her middle-or anywhere, for that matter.
She was, in short, a ravishing hunk of merchandise in the striking white bikini.
The tiny suit was even smaller than the ones I had seen on the beaches in the Bahamas. The thin strip at the bottom barely covered her healthy crotch. The one at the top very neatly revealed the top sections of her wide and enticing nipples. The material was so thin that I could almost see the outline of pube and nipples.
I whistled, involuntarily.
"You like it?" she asked, giggling and blushing.
"Madame," I said, "does an Arab love the desert?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I like it," I said. "Indeed I like. I couldn't like it better if you had it off." She giggled.
"Do you really think I should take it off?"
She was weaving a little in the doorway and I knew that the scotch was having an effect on her.
"That depends," I said, "on just how many inhibitions you actually lost during your summer on Saint George Island."
She giggled again and came into the room. When she walked, her bosoms and hips strained against the thin white material of the bikini and I had great expectations that she might snap one of the snaps.
Miss Melissa Thornton was indeed a different woman. Without the glasses, the plain dress and the fifty-year-old hairdo, she was not only attractive, but downright sexy. She leaned over beside me to pick up her drink from the small coffee table. My breath whistled involuntarily as I sucked it in. Her enormous jugs nearly fell out of the thin, restraining strip of white.
She stood above me again, the gleaming white bottoms of her breasts glistening back to me, and sipped her drink.
"I suppose you think I'm very wicked to wear this in front of you, Mister Marcus," she said.
"Call me Tony."
"Do think this is wicked of me, Tony?"
"Not at all,' I said, licking my own lips now. I was staring right into the center point of her voluptuous body and I was resisting the tremendous impulse to pull away the white bottom part of her bathing suit. "I don't have a bathing suit with me, but, if it would make you feel less inhibited about it all, I could easily sit around in my shorts."
She pursed her lips and looked down a me with the deep blue eyes.
"I think that would help," she said meekly. "That is if you don't mind doing it for me."
"Not at all," I said.
To illustrate my eagerness to ease her nervousness, I shucked out of my shirt, shoes, trousers and tee shirt in three seconds flat. The effects of the scotch slowed me down a bit.
"Gracious," she gasped.
Her hand shook on the drink and her knees began to jiggle nervously. She half stumbled to her chair and sat primly on the front of the cushion.
"Now do you feel less inhibited?" I asked. "Much less," she said. She raised her drink. "Cheers."
"Cheers," I said.
We emptied our glasses and both got up to fix new drinks. We bumped together in the narrow space between the chairs and I caught a good sniff of the rich perfume she had put on with the bikini. Needless to say, I erected immediately.
We stood there in the narrow space for a long moment, then I slowly put our glasses on the table. I pulled her into my arms and crushed the gigantic breasts against my chest. I heard the pop of the snap on her top piece and felt her breasts sag loose against me.
"Oh dear," she said with a trace of shook in her voice. "What on earth can I do now?"
"Where is your robe?" I asked.
"In the bedroom."
"Okay," I said, looking off toward the bedroom. "I'll hold you like this to keep the top piece from falling. We can walk together to the bedroom and get your robe."
"Wonderful," she said. "I hope you don't mind, Mister Marcus."
"Tony."
"I hope you don't mind doing this for me, Tony," she said. "It's so clumsy of me to break the snap that way."
"I don't mind at all, my good woman," I said. "I wouldn't want you to be embarrassed by having the top part of your bathing suit fall right down on the floor."
"You are so kind," she said.
We walked sideways across the soft carpeting. I kept up a steady pressure against her giant breasts-and also put a little pressure down below. She felt the hard bulge against her stomach and began to breathe a little faster.
When we got to the bedroom door, I pretended there wasn't enough room to get through. I pressed her back against the facing, probing down below with my encased charger. She grunted pleasantly and nibbled involuntarily at my shoulder. I blew into her ear and nibbled the lobe.
"Tight doorway," I said.
"I must speak to the landlord," she panted. "They're supposed to be extra-wide doorways. I'm sorry."
"Tut tut," I said. "No problem. If we both push together; we should be able to make it through."
She crushed her bottom into me and flattened her breasts harder against my chest. We broke through the false barrier and tumbled headlong onto the carpeted bedroom floor.
"Oh dear," she cried as we sprawled on the floor. "I think I've lost my top piece."
I looked down and saw that her breasts were bare. She made no attempt to cover them with her hands and I made no attempt to find the missing top piece.
"Oh well," she said, blushing and looking into my eyes with her deep blues, "I guess I don't really need it anymore since you've already seen me without it."
"Of course not," I said. "And, if it will make you feel less embarrassed, I'll slip out of my shorts and we'll be even-or almost even."
"Oh, would you?"
"Be happy to."
In a half-second flat, I was bare. She looked down at my erect charger and looked away just as quickly, her face crimson.
"It doesn't seem fair to you," she said coyly, "for me to have on the bottom part when you're completely, er, without clothing. Don't you think I should take off the other part of my bathing suit ... to save you from further embarrassment?"
"Do you think an elephant would like some peanuts?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Never mind," I said, nibbling at her ear again. "Take it off and neither of us will have cause to be embarrassed."
She slipped out of the bathing suit bottom and we sat facing each other on the soft carpet. I stared down at the great heaving breasts, the flat stomach and the dark patch of hair at her center point. She was breathing so heavily that her nipples, great pink globs of womanflesh, bobbled like tenpins before my eyes.
"You are a very beautiful woman," I said. "You have no reason to be embarrassed or inhibited."
"And you are a handsome hunk of man," she said. "I hope you aren't embarrassed."
"I'm not," I said. "Or inhibited."
"Not in the least."
She cleared her throat. I moved closer to her and began caressing her smooth white shoulder. She began to pant and her hand slid up along my thigh, reaching tentatively for the great erect tiger that pointed directly at her breasts.
"Now, about the job," she said, almost primly. "There are many duties other than directing the physical education activities of the youngsters."
I traced a finger down one great mounded breast and rested it on the tip of her nipple. "Such as what?"
Her cool hand closed over the end of my instrument and my hand involuntarily plunged into her breast, squeezing, kneading, caressing.
She panted so hard, I expected her tongue to sweat.
"May I be honest with you?" she asked. Her hand began a slow, steady movement up and down my raging staff. "Please do," I said.
My free hand traced the outline of her spine and came to rest in her crotch. My fingers probed the warm clime and she raised just a little to allow them access.
"I would hope," she breathed into my ear as her other hand clutched at the other parts of my private equipment, "that you would help me to overcome the balance of my inhibitions."
I pushed her back on the soft carpeting and slid between her legs.
"The pleasure," I said, just before my lips crushed against hers, "would be entirely mine."
The kiss did it.
The woman had been working us both into a richly-deserved passion for the better part of two hours and she had done it delicately, almost politely-and decidedly too slowly. But now she was ready.
There were no inhibitions in her now.
"My God," she screamed when we came out of the kiss. "My God in heaven, I want you, Tony Marcus! Ooooooh, you big, handsome, muscle-bound ravisher, take me, give it to me, rape me!"
"Rape?"
"Bad choice of words," she screamed. "Do not involve us in semantics, buddy boy. Just sock it to me. SOCK IT TO ME!"
Her body was alive with the electrical impulses of woman heat. In all my escapades in the Islands, I had not found a woman who was so frustrated and ready for sex as was Miss Melissa Thornton.
"Good God and horned toads!" she screamed. "Don't just lay there looking at it. Come on, Tony, shove it in. Brutalize me with it. Mash my tits, Tony. Break out my teeth with your hot kisses. Claw my body with your strong hands. Take me, baby, TAKE ME!"
I raised above her body and she directed me to the right place. I waited to make certain the alignment was proper.
"Do it!" she screamed. "Don't wait. I want it, baby. I haven't had it in a year and I want it. NOW! Now, now, now, Tony. Take me!"
She was leaping about on the carpet and, even as we engaged, her hips and buttocks were wriggling and swirling so rapidly that I almost lost contact. She shouted obscenities that even I had never heard before.
The summer camp on Saint George Island had indeed done a marvelous job of helping Miss Melissa Thornton to lose her inhibitions.
I took her as savagely as I dared, considering the fact that I was soft from a year of loafing. She was almost too much for me, but I stayed with the thrashing, screaming, humping body.
"To bloody hell with all inhibitions," she cried. "Pump it into me, Charley boy. Hot, hot, hot! Ye Gods, you got a wicked movement on you, Tony. Hump, hump, hump."
What the woman lacked in experience and aplomb, she more than made up for in passion and obscenities. I nearly lost her several times, but managed to stay with the heaving body to the sweet, delicious end. I was no slouch in the climax department, but I knew that she had reached it three times before I finally burst like a hand grenade into her wet, slippery puss.
When it was over, I was so exhausted that I barely had the energy to roll over on the soft carpet. We both lay still for several minutes, until our breathing returned to normal. I was about to comment on how good it was then she abruptly leaped to her feet and disappeared into the bathroom.
Crazy.
I waited a few minutes, hoping perhaps to spend the night with the wild Miss Melissa Thornton. When she didn't come out of the bathroom after ten minutes, I got up and dressed. I was sitting in the big living room, nursing another drink, when the bedroom door opened and she came in.
She was wearing her dull, plain dress and horn-rimmed glasses-and her hair was back in its tight, tidy bun.
"I want to thank you for taking the job, Mister Marcus," she said, matter-of-factly. "Please be at the Wayside Mission on the first floor of this building at noon on Monday. We will leave by bus shortly after one o'clock Monday afternoon. Good night, Mister Marcus."
She blushed again and quickly closed the door. I sat stunned for a few seconds, then got up and left. Crazy, inhibited dame.
But one thing was for certain. The job as physical education director at Wayside Mission Camp on Saint George Island in Hudson Bay promised to be one hell of a job.
I could hardly wait for noon on Monday.
CHAPTER TWO
The noon sun knifed down between the high buildings of Fifty Ninth Street and blistered the people on both sidewalks, on either side of the street. I jogged along at a fast clip with my big suitcase and entertained the secret hope that there would be time for another fast lesson in inhibition-losing before the bus left.
There was no bus in front of the Mission, so my heart leaped joyfully and I plowed through the wide glass doors of the establishment, fully expecting to enjoy the fruits of one Melissa Thornton on this fine noonday in New York. I ran smack into the fattest woman I have ever seen.
"You must be Mister Grissome, the new physical culture director."
I corrected her on the name.
"I'm Lydia Baxter," she said, jiggling excitedly and permitting her numerous rolls of jelly to splash uninhibitedly around the plush reception room. "Miss Thornton asked me to have you meet her at her apartment. It's...."
"I know where it is," I said. I didn't want to stand there and listen to directions because it would have meant standing there looking at the fat dame. And, quite frankly, just looking at her made my teeth hurt.
Miss Melissa Thornton was going through her second stage of inhibition-losing when I arrived at her sumptuous apartment. She was standing in the open doorway to her bedroom in a thin cotton robe which was open down the front.
I stepped inside the apartment after her cool and soothing "come in" greeting and stared at the white swatch of womanflesh revealed by the open robe.
"We have a long bus ride ahead of us," she said, grinning and blushing at the same time. "We have very strict rules of non-fraternization during the trip, so I thought perhaps we could, well, you know."
"Percisely," I said.
To save her the embarrassment of being the only one in the room not completely clothed, I shucked off my shirt, trousers, shoes and underwear in roughly two-and-a-half seconds.
We hit it on the upbeat and the momentum of my roaring plunge into her ready delights carried us all the way to the bed. We fell in an unruly heap of screaming human flesh and there wasn't an inhibition within a million miles.
"Whoopie," she screamed. "Sock, sock, sock, sock, sock, SOCK IT TO ME!"
In the fury of my attack, I ripped the cotton robe to hundreds of parts and flung them all over the large bedroom. She stood before me, waiting, her mouth working violently in a flurry of silent obscenities. I drank in the sight of her great uninhibited body, the massive breasts with their almost ebony knobs, the rounded tummy that led into the rich, luxurious fur of her mound.
"God, you're a beautiful woman when you're naked," I said. "You should stay naked all the time."
What I really meant was that she should buy some fancier, younger clothes and stop putting her hair up in a bun. Contact lenses would help too. But one does not insult a woman with whom one is about to make love.
Not even a hot, ready-to-trot, uninhibited woman like Melissa Thornton.
"I'll drink to that," she said, grinning wickedly. "Let's both go naked through life."
"Amen."
I slid into her arms and felt the warmth of her body as her flesh melted against mine. Her hands slid down between us and she found me; she kneaded the enlarged member, then slid it between her soft thighs.
"The best way," she whispered hoarsely, "is to do it outdoors. When we reach the camp, we'll be able to do it on the beach at our small lake."
"Wonderful," I said. I eased my throbbing charger back and forth between the thighs and remembered the first time I had heard about the glories of outdoor humping. There was a little ditty the boys in the barracks used to sing each spring. As I nuzzled my prod higher into the mound of soft black fur, I voiced the little ditty:
"Hooray, hooray, the first of May; Outdoor screwing starts today."
"Beautiful," she said.
"Amen."
And I laid her once more back across the bed and she spread the heavy thighs wide.
As I poised above her wriggling body, preparing for the plunge into the sweet cove of love, a throb of lust rose up in my throat and I didn't want to end the affair so quickly. I knew that it would be over in a short order if I slid my monster into the lair. I have always been a quick popper, once things got going well.
I backed away and lowered my face to her breasts. I took one huge nipple in my mouth and tried to suck in the rest of the globe. She squealed.
"Oh, my God, Tony," she cried. "What are you trying to do? I'm so hot. Don't play games with me now-just fuck me!"
"I have a couple of better ideas," I said.
I didn't give her a chance to protest again. I rammed my face into the furry mound and began probing the sweet, moist flesh with my tongue.
She flipped around on the bed and found my erect charger with her hands. She massaged the rock-hard beast for a few seconds, then eased the tip between her lips. Her tongue traded the flared edges and I thought I was going to pop off immediately.
As I busied myself with the sweet nest of her sex, she began sliding half the length of my prod deep into her mouth. I had started the little game as a buildup to the real thing, but she was going after me so furiously that I knew we were already having the real thing. I felt my dum dums swell with anticipation and a surge of hot passion wracked my entire body.
I was ready to pop.
To prolong the beauty of the moment, I plunged deeper and deeper into her sex, proding deeply with my tongue. Her heavy thighs closed in on my ears, shutting out all sound, including the soft slurping sound of her mouth on me.
When I felt her body shudder and knew that she was in climax, I felt the hot spurt of my own climax roil up through my groin. My God, I thought, she's taking it all in! She isn't pulling away!
And just like that, the act was over and we lay panting on the bed, feet to head, head to feet. She lay still for a few minutes, then made for the bathroom. When she returned, she was plain, inhibited, prim little Miss Melissa Thornton again.
When we left the apartment, I listened to prim Miss Melissa Thornton chatter on about the wonderful times the two of us would have on good old Saint George Island and counted my lucky stars that she had mistaken me for Chuck Grissome.
I knew not what lay ahead-or what would be laid ahead-but I knew that I was going on willingly. The warning bell was still tinkling in the back of my head, but I had learned to ignore it completely.
When we reached the street, I saw the huge Greyhound bus parked in front of the Mission. The fat lady and the bus driver were standing beside the open door. Since the bus was facing away from us, it was impossible to tell if anyone was aboard.
We hove up beside the bus and the driver glared at us. He glanced at his watch. We were a few minutes late and he seemed anxious to get going.
"Name's George Ruff," he said, extending his hand. "You're really going to enjoy this trip, buddy."
He winked as I shook his hand. Christ, I thought, what in hell is that supposed to mean. He winked twice more as he pumped my hand.
"You got something wrong with your eye?" I asked.
"No trouble at all, friend," he said. "And am I glad."
I didn't know what he was talking about, so I turned to the ladies who were chatting aimlessly and locking the front door of the Mission. It was obvious that the fat lady was coming along. The thought of it gave my kidney a slight cramp.
"All aboard," George Ruff shouted. "Hot, hot, hot. Got to get rolling."
I couldn't figure the guy's obvious eagerness to get the trip started.
"Very good idea, Mister Ruff," Miss Thornton said. She took my arm and led me to the open door of the bus. "Shall we?"
"By all means," I said. But I really didn't mean it.
The small warning bell was ringing like crazy and I knew that I ought to listen to it. Something was screwy about this setup and I had a strange and almost irresistable impulse to run.
But I got on.
And my fears were immediately blasted into a zillion pieces.
The bus was loaded with thirty of the most beautiful, most luscious, most delectable, most delightful and most fantistically lovely young women the world has ever seen.
CHAPTER THREE
During the long trip to Hudson Bay, I was able to make some interesting and vital assessments of the cargo aboard the bus. Among the girls, I established initial contact with the following:
Bibsy Templeton. Twenty-two. Golden-haired dish who still carried in her mouth the golden spoon she was born with. An easy 37-25-35. Hazel eyes. Sensuous mouth, Firm chin. Legs that just wouldn't quit.
Cindy Carson. Brunette. Twenty-three. Hot red lips and flashing black eyes. A whopping 39-25-36. Tight skirt that revealed the line of her delicate panties.
Dolly Matson. Platinum blonde. Twenty-three. A petite five-foot, two inches with a perfect 36-22-36. Blue eyes that gave you an erection when they looked at you.
Debbie Williams. Twenty-four. Size 40 bosom. Hot trotter. All woman. Jet black hair and a delightful habit of spreading her knees when she sat talking to a guy.
Lori Huntington. Admittedly twenty-five. Third trip to the camp, but she would not discuss details. Biggest set of bazooms in the bus-44.
Jackie Cairns. Twenty-one. Runt of the litter at five feet tall. 38-inch bust which looked considerably bigger. A doll, designed by a sex maniac.
These things I had learned, but not through experience. The four-day trip to the camp was a dry run as far as I was concerned. The Misses Thornton and Baxter set up a chaperone system that could not be penetrated, even at the motels we stopped at on the trip.
When we arrived at the camp, after taking a huge ferry from the shore to the island, I noticed with a small degree of alarm that the camp was surrounded by a high chain link fence. No matter. Fences could be climbed. The bus stopped in front of a long, low building and the Misses Baxter and Thornton took me inside. The bus pulled away to take the girls to their quarters.
They led me into a large office that was more than half laboratory. At one end was a small desk and behind this desk was a wispy little man and a bony little woman, both wearing horn-rimmed glasses.
"This is Dr. Lome Pearson and his wife, Dr. Addie Pearson," Miss Thornton said.
The boy-type doctor shook my hand and, just for the hell of it, I scrunched his.
"Welcome to our camp," he said in a fruity, high-pitched voice. "We shall begin the experiments first thing in the morning. I hope you are in as good shape as you look."
"Experiments?" I said. "What experiments?"
"You shall see," he said. "All in good time."
"We have thirty girls," Miss Thornton said. "And a sedentary type of male-another bus driver. As usual, we chartered the bus for the entire season, so he won't be missed."
"What's going on here?" I asked. The warning bell was ding-donging like a goddamn church bell in my head.
"Good," the boy doctor said, ignoring me. "Take Mr. Marcus to his quarters and keep him locked up until tomorrow. I trust he has been kept away from the girls.
"Of course," Melissa Thornton said. But she blushed a little when she obviously remembered the two times we had tangled.
"Nobody's taking me anyplace," I snarled. I pushed aside the skinny little girl doctor who had been thumping on my chest and back and listening to my innards with a stethoscope. "I'm getting to hell out of here."
"I seriously doubt that," the lady doctor said as she peered at my left nipple through a magnifying glass. "Gin is just outside the door."
"Gin? Who's Gin?"
"You shall see," the boy doctor said. He picked up a tuning fork and donged it. The door opened like a crack of thunder and a huge, bald-headed giant trotted in.
"This is Gin," the lady doctor said. "He has the strength of ten men and, when aroused, the fury of an earthquake."
I allowed myself to be led to my quarters. They consisted of two small rooms in a long low building stuck back in the trees, just off a large circle, much like a town square. I sat on the low cot and tried to figure out what was going on in the place and whether I should take it on the lam immediately or stick around to see if I could make out with one or more of the lovely babes.
I heard the door open and figured that the fat ugly old broad was sneaking in to arouse me to a sexual fever. Ugh. Just thinking about it made my liver squirm. I kept my eyes closed until a soft hand rested on my shoulder. The hand was cool and small. It couldn't have been Lydia.
I opened my eyes and stared delightfully up at the beautiful face and enormous boobs of one Debbie Williams, brunette, 40-28-38.
"Shhhhh," she said, a finger to her red lips. "I'm not supposed to be here."
I sat up and grinned.
"Then, why are you here, sweetie?"
She sat on the side of the bed and stared solemnly at me.
"I'm scared," she said. "I think something terrible is going to happen here and I don't know what it is."
I slid my arm across her shoulder and massaged it gently.
"It won't be so terrible, babykins," I said.
"In fact, it should be kinda nice for both of us."
She stared dumbly at me. "I don't mean right this minute, I mean at this camp ... this summer. I don't like the looks of things and I thought you might know something."
"All I know," I said, "is that you are the most beautiful piece of machinery in the whole world. Man, what a body."
To accentuate my appreciation for her body, I slid my hand over her shoulder and cupped a great boob under her thin blouse. She pulled my hand away.
"What are they planning to do with us, Mr. Marcus?" she asked. "You should know. Aren't you the camp physical director?"
I put my hand on her bare knee and started a slow rise to the hem of her mini-skirt.
"I know from nothing about this dump," I said. "I know from a whole lot about dames. Want a few lessons in boy-girl physical directing?"
She pushed my hand away.
"The girls are saying that we're here for some kind of sexual experiment. Have you heard anything about that?"
I slid my hand under her blouse and began to fiddle with the snap on her brassiere.
"True," I said. "Very true. Big sexual experiment and it behooves every one of us to get down to scientifuc facts very pronto. Like now."
She pulled my arm out of her blouse.
"Hasn't Miss Thornton told you anything."
I nuzzled her soft neck with my nose.
"Not a farthing's worth," I said, tossing in my British end of the conversation. After all, we were in Canada.
"But you met the two doctors who run the place, didn't you? Didn't they explain what this is all about?"
I began planting quick little kisses on her neck and sucking on her right earlobe.
"Yes," I said. "They told me to get with Debbie Williams as fast as I could and teach the sweet chick the rules of the camp. Rule One: take off clothes. Rule Two...."
She leaped from the bed and nearly tore my arm off. It was up her blouse again and my fingers had become tangled in her brassiere snap. "And all you want to do is play around. You don't know anything about this camp, do you? You're a prisoner just like the rest of us."
"Come on back, baby," I said. "There is a time for everything. I can't tell you anything right now, but I will be happy to make you aware of everything that is to happen if you will just come back and sit with me."
She was either dumber than I thought, or she wanted the same thing I did, because she sat on the bed again. My hand went automatically to the back of her blouse and my fingers worked diligently on the buttons.
"It all sounded so good when I was contacted by the Wayside Mission in New York," she said. "I had heard about the camp up here and it had all been good. But now I'm afraid. It seems just like a prison. Do you know, they have a twelve-foot fence around the place."
She seemed to have a twelve-foot brassiere around her magnificent boobs. I worked feverishly with the snap.
"And it's electrified," she said.
"So am I," I said, feeling the growing mass in my crotch as I felt the smooth skin of her back.
The snap came undone and I kissed her back softly while my hands slid around her torso for the fallen breasts. She gasped slightly when my fingers touched her nipples, still hidden under the loose bra and blouse.
"I'm worried," the girl said. "I heard that somebody died up here last year. It was a man and he died as a result of some crazy sex experiments."
Her globes were soft and warm under my hands and I hefted each one in my palms before my fingers began to toy with the large, hardening nipples.
"Let's have a little experiment of our own," I said. "Right now. I promise not to die."
She spread her legs and I eased the miniskirt up over the shocking pink panties. With deft fingers, I slid the panties off and dropped them on the floor.
Debbie let a small moan escape from her sweet, soft, white throat.
"You do love me, don't you, Mister Marcus?" she asked in a tiny, soft voice.
"Of course I do, Miss Williams. Of course I do. And please call me Tony."
"It isn't that I'm inhibited or anything," she said, planting a series of tiny, rosebud kisses on my neck and shoulder. "It's just that I only do this for love and I want to make sure you love me.
"You can be sure of it," I said. I probed the moist entrance of her sweet pod with my prober.
"And I haven't had a great deal of experience," she said. "Please be gentle."
"I shall be as gentle as the lamb suckling at its mother's breast," I panted. I slid in just an inch or two and she gasped. Her hands clung to my buttocks and she tried to force an early and rapid entry. "How much experience have you had?" I asked.
"Not much," she said, panting nicely now. "Only four or five times."
"With the same man?" I pressed the probe a little farther.
"No," she said. "But I was in love with all of them and they were in love with me."
"Wonderful," I said.
"That's why I'm worried about what might go on here," she went on, nibbling at my ear and insinuating a slender finger into the cleavage of my buttocks. "I don't want to make love as part of an experiment ... only for love."
"We could perhaps achieve both goals," I said, shoving all the way in so that our groins ground together brutally. "We can love each other passionately and make passionate love at the same time-all for the cause of love and the cause of science, if that is what they wish."
"Darling," she said sweetly. "Thank you very much for your kindness. I feel much better now."
"So do I," I said. I began a marvelous stroking into the sweet young puss and felt as though I were on top of the very world. "You must come to me often," I said as the stroking reached a furious pitch.
"I will," she panted, meeting me stroke for stroke. "Oh, I most certainly will, Mister Marcus ... Tony."
With both hands clasped over her high-mounded globes, I increased my pitch to a high degree. Her wide buttocks fairly flew off the soft bed to meet me. She opened her mouth wide and her eyes rolled in ecstasy.
"Hot, hot, hot," she cried. "Oh, Tony baby, screw, screw, screw me."
"Hot!" I repeated.
"Don't be gentle," she screamed. "Kill me. Maim me. Knock my a-double-s right off me. Aaaaauuurrrrrrghhhhgh!"
And thus, shy, inhibited little Debbie Williams, with the enormous size 40 bosom, lost her shyness and her inhibitions in the hot bedroom of my quarters.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mr. Gin, as I now called him, came for me at seven in the morning. He was deaf, I learned, and could only sense vibrations of sounds. I also learned that he was to sleep in the quarters next to mine and that I would have to be careful about midnight callers like Debbie Williams.
The big, bald-headed giant led me directly to the administration building where the bony little man-wife doctor team was waiting. Dr. Lorne Pearson grinned like a St. Bernard that has just lapped up all the whisky from the keg and steered me directly to a small room that held only a cot.
He clapped his hands at Mr. Gin and the giant disappeared. Two minutes later, he came back with Dolly Matson, the perfect little jewel of a girl with platinum blonde hair.
The doctor motioned for us to sit down on the cot. He stood by the door with Mr. Gin, massive arms folded, behind him.
"I shall be brief," the doctor said, "but you shall learn all there is to know about this place in good time. For the moment, you must be content with a few quick comments about my grand experiment."
He coughed and I looked over at Dolly. Her blue eyes were bigger than cups and I knew she was scared half out of her beautiful little pants. I wasn't afraid of anything-I didn't really know enough about what was going on to be scared.
"I am certain you both have read or have heard of the book entitled HUMAN SEXUAL RESPONSES. The book is the result of clinical tests of various forms of sexual intercourse. My wife and I are compiling several volumnes of similar work, but our research and clinical tests will be more far-reaching, more exacting and, in the final analysis, far more valuable to the human race."
He paused to cough again and Dolly squirmed on the cot. Maybe she didn't know what was coming, but I did. And I was already growing a handsome bulge in my trousers.
"This room," the doctor said, "has been wired with the most modern and comprehensive set of measuring devices man has ever known. In an adjoining room are the machines which gather and process the data."
"What data?" I asked.
"My devices will measure your blood pressure and every other part of your metabolism," he said. "With these devices, I can determine every minute change in your physical, chemical and mental makeup."
"Why?"
He laughed, a dry, simple-minded laugh.
"I told you, Mister Marcus, to provide my wife and I with every possible detail regarding sexual response. However, we will go farther We will be gauging how quickly inhibitions can be broken down in various females through observation and measuring their responses as you make love to them."
"You got to be kidding."
"Not in the least."
"All thirty of them?"
"Percisely."
"That will kill me," I said. He smiled. Wickedly.
"Perhaps," he said. "But that is not of major concern. We will be trying also to determine how well you endure the ordeal. We'll make comparison tests between you and the bus driver. Obviously, since you are in the peak of health, you will last longer. But how much longer is the answer we seek with our exotic devices and gauges."
He turned and smiled at Mr. Gin and the giant stared back dumbly. , "There is another interesting part of our overall experiments," he said, turning back to us. "There is a movement afoot in the country today to break down barriers between people, to enable them to relate with each other openly and honestly. We will indulge in some of the practices designed to bring people closer together, amount of interpersonal relating in an effort to reach a terra cognita of consciousness."
"Huh?"
It came from both Dolly and me simultaneously.
"What I am saying," he said, "is that, by utilizing the proper approaches and attitudes with each other, human beings are capable of achieving such a grand rapport and mystical experience with one another that they can achieve something that has eluded man through the centuries. And that is pure, unadulterated joy!"
The doctor left and Mr. Gin closed the door. We waited and I used the time to get a better look at Dolly's bulging frontage. She was wearing a low-cut blouse and her cleavage was the highlight of the entire day.
"Good morning again," the doctor's voice boomed into the room through a loudspeaker. "I can see both of you, but you cannot see me. Television cameras. Are you comfortable?"
"You bet," I said.
"Wonderful," the doctor said. "You will notice that the head of the cot contains a small cabinet with two sliding doors. If you will open the doors, Mr. Marcus, you will find two special devices which you must each wear on your head."
I took the two cap-like things out of the little cupboard and we put them on our heads. We looked silly, but we were anxious to get on with the proceedings, whatever they were, so we didn't object.
"Today's experiment," Doctor Pearson said, "will be quite simple. I want to gauge the degree of response that Miss Matson has to Mr. Marcus's amorous attentions. I will tell Mr. Marcus exactly what to do and he must follow orders to the letter. When I say to stop something, I expect equally fast responses. Is that understood? Fast response is vital to the success of the program."
"Gotcha, Doc," I said. "Fast responses."
I made it in three and a half seconds flat, but poor Dolly Matson seemed to be frozen to the cot. She hadn't removed a thing.
"Undress her, Mr. Marcus," the doctor ordered.
I had her naked in two seconds.
"Now," the doctor said. "Sit at opposite ends of the cot and look at each other."
"When does the fun start, doc?" I asked.
There was a pause and a click, then the sonorous voice of the doctor:
"This is not a fun show, Mr. Marcus. This is a scientific experiment. You must be silent and do exactly as you are told."
We could hear his slow, easy breathing through the loudspeaker.
"And now," he said. "Please pay close attention. You will be interested in knowing that certain changes have occurred in both your bodies. Obviously, Mr. Marcus has erected, but that is a minor change compared to what is happening inside. Very interesting. Now, I will ask you to move closer and to touch each other."
We came together like a couple of pile-drivers kissing. I took the girl in my arms and crushed her naked breasts with their hard little tips to me. Her hand found my erect charger and I slid my right hand under her tight little buttocks.
"Break!" the doctor shouted. "I said touch. Touch only! Pull away, both of you. Pull away."
With tremendous effort, I pulled away from the beautiful young thing. She looked at me with the baby blues and I felt a king-sized ping in my groin. I throbbed with desire for this girl, but I knew I had to go along with the doctor or Mr. Gin would come charging in and put an end to the whole deal.
"Good," the doctor said. "We can proceed to the next stage."
There was another pause and we could hear the doctor's breathing on the loudspeaker, a little faster, a little louder.
"And now, Mr. Marcus," the doctor said, "I want you to reach out and cup Miss Matson's left breast in your right hand. Do not squeeze. Do not pull. Merely place your hand over it and hold it there."
I slid my hand over the bare tit and kissed the girl lightly on the neck. She tossed her head back and sighed deeply, then clasped her hand back over my hard, angry charger.
"Aaaarrrurrrrghggh!" I moaned.
"Hot, hot, hot," she panted.
"Stop," the doctor yelled.
"Screw you, doc," I shouted. What do you think I am, a goddamn robot? I can't stop."
I laid the girl back on the cot and she immediately spread her lovely legs. I gazed down at the soft furry down of her blonde snatch and wanted desperately to plunge my face into it. But I knew there was no time for such dallying. If I were going to score, I had to make it quick.
I raised above Dolly Matson and prepared to plunge.
"Stop, stop, stop!" the doctor's tiny voice shrieked.
"Screw you, doc," I shouted.
I slid my hands beneath her buttocks and raised the delightful globes from the mattress. She arched her back and her hard breasts jutted up at me enticingly. I lowered my head and, as my hard-charger probed at the soft down of her nest, I took half of one of her breasts into my mouth, feeling the nipple harden and distend against my tongue.
"You are destroying the experiment," the good doctor shouted. "Stop at once or I shall have to send in Gin. Stop it, do you hear?"
We could hear. We could also hear his frantic breathing and knew that our little experiment was having its effect on the good doctor. In the background, we could hear the piping, raspy voice of the doctor's bony wife.
I fully expected to see Mr. Gin in the room at any minute, but he never came and the doctor's screams and shouts were soon replaced with gasps and groans and small moans. It was obvious that the doctor and his wife had gotten themselves carried away with the madness of the moment.
To hell with the experiment. The dumb bastard should have known that he couldn't keep a couple of hot kids like Dolly Matson and me from going at it like sixty once he had set the stage.
"Hot, baby, hot," Dolly screamed.
"Sock it up to me, kid," I yelled back.
I flicked my loins at her much as a golfer flicks his wrists when he is going for the long drive. Except I kept on driving and driving and driving.
Throb, throb, throb. The piston-like plugges belted into the girl's soft thighs and she screamed through the web of sounds that made the experiment well worth waiting for. If this was a sample of what was to happen this summer, I welcomed it. It didn't matter if I killed myself trying to keep up with thirty broads for the mad little doctor's experiments. I didn't care if he and his wife ever prepared a book or a series of books on sex. All I knew was that I was having the time of my life and I wouldn't stop until I was dead, dead, dead.
The loudspeaker kept up a steady babbling while I flung my loins time and again at the beautiful girl. I took long, even strokes, feeling the surge of passion rise and ebb as I pounded away on the girl. And the doctor's voice babbled:...." must relate interpersonally ... must go by the numbers ... must go according to schedule ... aaaahhhh, what bliss ... ooooooh ... hump, jump, bum, frump, ... ah, baby, hot, hot, hot."
I knew exactly what he was doing, but I also knew that I had the best end of the deal. Bony little Doctor Addie Pearson was no match for lovely little Dolly Matson.
I hammered away at the girl, kissing her in long, torturing kisses, my tongue probing the inner depths of her soft, sweet mouth. Her hands slid behind me and clutched at my dum dums as they swung in the breeze against my hard plunging.
The girl was screaming out in one long string of obscenities now and the loudspeaker was matching her word for word. I could hear the high, piping voice of bony little Addie Pearson: "Screw, screw, screw."
"Must interpersonally relate," the doctor shouted. "Must reach each other, break down the barriers. Must learn to achieve total terra cognita with each other. Must achieve total joy!"
In a tremendous burst of rocketry, I climaxed into the girl's sweet nest pocket and I knew true joy.
"Joy!" screamed the doctor.
And I knew that he had reached his limit.
I waited three seconds and heard the second shout of joy from the doctor's wife.
Then it was Dolly's turn as I kept pounding at her to help her to reach joy.
"JOY!" she screamed.
And, as far as I was concerned, the first experiment was a roaring, rollicking, resounding success.
CHAPTER FIVE
The bony, nervous little doctor delivered the ten dollar lecture on obedience and then released Dolly and me to the inscrutable Mr. Gin who escorted us to our respective quarters. The doctor said we had merely given way to spontaneous animal lust-that we hadn't really interpersonally related, hadn't broken down the true barriers of inhibition, hadn't achieved true joy.
If we hadn't, it was joy enough for me.
After lunch, I napped in my hot bedroom and looked forward to the next day's experiment when I would be matched with sweet young Bibsy Templeton, 37-25-35. I lay in the hot cot thinking about the episode with Dolly and the upcoming World Series of Sex that was in store for me during the remainder of the summer and got a healthy erection for my troubels. Unable to do anything about it-because the door had been locked by Mr. Gin-I fell fast asleep.
It was well on toward four o'clock when I was awakened by the soft hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and looked up at dear, sweet Miss Melissa Thornton. I knew I was in for a fine time when I saw that her hair was down and she was wearing a chic pair of shorts and bright orange blouse.
"How did the experiment go?" she asked.
"Great. I don't know why you didn't tell me what was going to happen when we first met. Hell, you didn't have to lie to get me to come up here."
She shrugged and her enormous breasts bounced in the full blouse.
"We never know," she said. "You'd be surprised at how many men would turn down the job if they knew what was in store for them."
"Maybe I'm too stupid to know what's in store for me," I said. "All I know is that I have fallen into heaven and I don't care if I do kill myself."
She slid her hand up along my thigh and smiled through slitted eyes at me.
"Don't you really care?"
"Hell no. What do you have in mind?"
She closed her hand over the thickening mound in my shorts and massaged it gently.
"I was just thinking," she said, "that the girls will be having all the fun and that I won't be able to enjoy that masterful thing of yours.
After all, the doctor thinks of me only as a sort of social chairman, not a woman. He doesn't want age and experience in on the experiments."
"We could have a little experiment of our own," I said reaching up to snick her left breast. "Want another lesson in inhibition-losing?"
She plopped into bed beside me and snuggled up close, her enormous breast and hot thighs pressing against me.
"I really need it," she said. "I'm so inhibited, I feel myself blushing all over just being in the same room with a man."
"First thing," I said, imitating the doctor's voice, "is to take off all clothing. You will please remove your clothing and sit at the end of the cot. You may look, but you must not touch until you are told to do so. Obedience is the watchword. And you must learn to relate interpersonally so that the true barrier of inhibitions is surpassed and you achieve true joy. Is that understood?"
She laughed and shucked off the shorts and orange blouse. I wasn't surprised to see that she had nothing on under them.
"Gracious," I said in the doctor's high, falsetto voice. "I do believe that you are learning quite quickly. You are relating so goddamn interpersonally with me that I fear that I shall have to remove my shorts and shag you on the spot."
"If you don't," she grinned, insinuating her hand through the open fly of my shorts, "I will call Gin and have him remove this!"
She pulled the shorts down over my hips and lay on one elbow, staring at the swollen entity of my sex. Her slender hand moved evenly and gently up and down the rigid staff and her lips parted like rose petals on a sunny morning.
"Oh, Tony," she groaned. "I've missed you so much. That long ride up here with the girls and Lydia was almost unbearable. If I thought I had to stay around here all summer long without feeling this massive monster, I think I should throw myself in the lake."
"Hush, sweet lady," I said. "As long as there is the breath of life in this hulking frame of mine, you will have your druthers. Now, would you druther talk or would you druther have some action?"
"Action!"
Before I could move a muscle, she lowered her face toward me and the delicately parted lips were planted over the end of my dork. I reached out and found her hanging breasts and splayed my fingers on the ebony nipples. Her face lowered and I felt the sensitive knob slide slowly into the wet, warm, receptive mouth.
The small room was hot and the furious action of one Melissa Thornton generated considerably more heat. But it was a bearable heat. My body was bathed in sweat, but it was the perspiration of passion and we struggled in ecstasy on the narrow cot.
Time and again, my mighty shaft was thrust into her mouth as her slender fingers kneaded the two ovoids beneath the shaft. She was bringing me to a fast climax, so I slowly withdrew and turned over on my back. She fell across my chest and began to kiss my shoulders and neck, her strong arms slipping around to half lift me from the thin mattress.
Then, with all the grace of a gazelle, she straddled me and lowered herself over my erect stanchion. I groaned with peaceful bliss as she slid the wet and gripping cunny over my throbbing piece.
"Is this better?" she asked.
"It's difficult to tell, sweet lady," I replied. "All of you is so good that it's impossible to tell if one part is better than the other. We will have to experiment with a great number of ways."
"Let's try this one for size," she said.
So saying, she raised her lovely buttocks and dropped heavily on me. I plunged deep into her and felt her buttocks flatten against my thighs. She repeated the action and I felt a surge of passion-a tide of pure, unadulterated joy-rise in me.
And then we began to shake the cabin on its foundation.
"Hoo haw!" she screamed. "Hot, hot, hot. Jaysus Christos and horned toads. Come on, Tony baby, bring that hot ass up to meet me. Break it off in me, kid. Claw me. Beat me. Maim me!"
I pounded up from the cot to meet the rapidly falling piston of her body.
"Do it," she screamed. "Don't hold back, baby. Kill me. Crush me. Now, now, now, now, NOW!"
She was dropping like bombs over Viet Nam. Her heavy legs churned like an athlete's and her swollen breasts bounced like captive basketballs over my head. I grabbed the swinging breasts and, using them as levers, helped her body raise and helped it to crash down on me. At the same time, my middle was thrusting so furiously that I thought my spine would snap.
"That's it," she squealed. "That's it, baby-that's the way to do, Oooooooh, baby, shag me like this until we both die of old age."
Impossible as it seemed, she increased her tempo and I managed to work just a little more power into my upward thrusts. When it seemed that the cot would collapse or that the cabin would rock off its foundation-or that we would indeed die of old age-we achieved pure, unadulterated joy in the form of a massive and thoroughly satisfying orgasm that left us both weak, panting, sweating and practically unconscious.
We lay on the cot for a long, perspiring five minutes, before Miss Melissa Thornton arose, shyly put on her shorts and orange blouse and slipped quietly out. I had just settled down to the completion of my nap when someone knocked on the door.
It was George Ruff, the skinny bus driver, the sedentary type.
"How did it go with you today?" he asked as he padded barefoot into the room.
"Fine. How's about you?"
"Great," he said. "I actually got to screw that sweet little Lori Huntington. Man, what a deal. And you know what?"
"What?" I yawned and tried to go to sleep in spite of him.
"We have to do the very same thing tomorrow."
"So?"
"Jesus," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don't know if I can take it two days in a row. Man, I'm not used to that kind of frequency. Once every three days, yes-but every day?"
"You'll get used to it," I said. "Like walking. The more you do, the more you can do."
"Easy for you to say," he pouted. "You're in the peak of physical condition. But me? Hell, I don't think I can last a month at the rate we'll be going."
I shared his doubts ... for both of us ... but I said nothing. After a few more chirping complaints about the rigorous pace, he left the cabin and I fell into a deep sleep, a sleep that I really needed.
I slept for the balance of the afternoon and dreamed sweet, delicate, innocent dreams. I was on a fluffy white cloud, floating high above a pastoral earth filled with dancing muses in white robes. They played exquisite music on lutes and zithers and it was impossible to tell if they were male or female muses. In the end of the dream, I joined the muses and played a small harp as we all frolicked across the green pastures. It was not possible for me to tell if I were a male or female muse. The funny part was that I didn't really care.
Dinner was a common affair, although the food was good. But nothing important happened and Mr. Gin escorted George Ruff and me back to our quarters following the meal. With gestures, he indicated that we were to go directly to bed and not to leave the cabin-that he would be in the room between us and would know if we disobeyed.
I decided to test him. I sat on my cot for fifteen minutes, then got up and went to the window. I raised it slowly and quietly, then stepped back to wait.
It took only fifteen seconds for the front door to open and Mr. Gin to walk in. He stared at the open window and then at me.
"Hotter than hell in here," I said, pretending to wipe sweat from my forehead. "I need some fresh air."
He shook his head wildly and closed the window. With a few well-placed grunts and shaking of his head, he indicated that I was to hit the sack and leave the damned window alone. I flopped on the cot and grinned up at him as he turned and left.
I tried the window again. This time, I edged it up so slowly and quietly that a fly, perched on the outside of the glass, didn't even know his world was being moved.
But it didn't work. Within ten seconds, Mr. Gin was in the cabin again. He grunted loudly and tossed me on the cot as though I were a mischievous child. He slammed the window down and glared at me with hate in his eyes. I grinned back and waited for him to leave.
It was uncanny that a man with no sense of hearing could detect such a simple thing. It was impossible, that's what it was. Instead of testing him again, I inspected the window and frame. Sure enough, there was a tiny button halfway up the inside of the frame. When the window was raised six inches, it tripped the button and no doubt touched off a tuning fork in the giant's room.
I lay on the cot trying to figure a way to eliminate the signal button, but sleep caught up with me first.
And, after dreaming again of the muses and the zithers and the flutes and the harps, I awoke to a brilliantly sunny day.
CHAPTER SIX
Because of the wild smashup of the doctor's first experiment, he decided to postpone such matters until he had worked a little more on the ability of his subjects to obey orders and to resist each other's charms. He called a meeting right after breakfast to explain this and to say that we would spend the next couple of days working on interpersonal relating and "eyeballing" until we all learned our lessons better.
None of us had the slightest idea what he was talking about, but we found ourselves on the way to the beach a few minutes after breakfast.
"I know what this is all about, " George Ruff said as he walked along beside me through the tall pines. We were going to the small lake in the center of Saint George Island. It was far more private than the outer shores of the island-on Hudson Bay. In fact, it was completely private.
"Tell me all," I said, yawning. I would have been just as happy to have waited to see for myself what it was all about.
"I read about it in a magazine not long ago," the skinny little bus driver said. "They have people stand around naked and stare into each other's eyes. That's called 'eyeballing.' They also have you talk and touch each other, but not sexually. That's called interpersonally relating. It's all a bunch of hokum."
"Perhaps," I said, licking my lips. "But it is also a bunch of fun."
When we got to the small sandy beach, the good doctor got us all into a wide circle. I was between Cindy Carson (39-25-36) and Jackie Cains (38-22-35), the runt of the litter.
Directly opposite were the good doctor and his wife with Miss Melissa Thornton and Miss Lydia Baxter. A fine lot. George Ruff was to my right, between Bibsy Templeton (37-25-35) and sweet Dolly Matson. From the healthy bulge in his bathing trunks, I could tell that he was at least half erected.
"And now," the good doctor said, "let us all join hands and have two full minutes of silent meditation."
I grabbed the girls hands and knew instantly that I was in no mood to meditate-unless it would be to meditate on what it would be like going to bed with them. But a strange thing happen to me during that two minutes. I could hear a faint, distant voice coming to me from inside.
The voice was vaguely like that of the doctor's and it had a rather drowsy, hypnotic effect on me. I noticed that others in the circle were swaying slightly and seemed to be going to sleep. I wondered if they, too, could hear the voice.
The two minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity as we stood there in the hot sun holding hands. I found that I no longer stared at the beautiful girls in their bathing suits. My thoughts turned inward and I knew that, probably for the first time in my life, I was meditating.
It was one hell of an experience.
The spell was finally broken and the doctor's voice grated once more on my ears.
"And now," he said, as we dropped hands, "let us all turn around so that we are facing away from the circle. Do not touch each other now. Merely stand and look straight ahead."
We turned and looked straight ahead for another two minutes.
"And now," Doctor Pearson said in a hushed, almost secret voice. "We must begin the removal of our inhibitions. We must begin the relationship that will lead us to the ultimate joy. Take off your bathing suits."
At first, I thought I hadn't heard him correctly. , "Did you say for us to take off our bathing suits?" I asked.
"Percisely," the doctor said.
Several of the girls giggled, but none of them moved.
I was out of my trunks even before the doctor had said "percisely" and noticed that George Ruff was out of his. I turned to sneak a peek at the others and found that only the doctor, his wife and the two women had obeyed the command. All the beautiful girls were as they had arrived on the beach.
"Come, come, girls," the doctor said. "I realize that you are all quite shy and inhibited. But we must go by the rules. We cannot perform a proper experiment unless you do as you are told. Remove your bathing suits, please."
I could hear the sliding of cloth on skin and knew that most of them were obeying. I glanced to my right and saw the enormous bare breasts of Cindy Carson as the girl shucked her shocking pink bathing suit down over her luscious torso. I erected instantly.
The girls were finally all naked and we stood in the backwards circle, awaiting further orders.
"And now," the good doctor said, "everyone will please turn back to the circle. Quickly now."
I knew I didn't dare turn around while my charger was charging the air in front of me, so I turned my head instead and caught a glimpse of fat, ugly old Miss Lydia Baxter in her birthday suit.
Not only did the silly animal quickly droop between my legs, I felt my left dum dum convulse in pain. The woman was really something.
"And now," Doctor Pearson said when we had turned to face the circle, "let us all turn to face each other. Everyone please turn to his or her right."
I turned to my right and was standing almost toe to toe with beautiful Cindy Carson. Her fine, pointed, upright breasts were a hair's breath away from my naked chest. I felt a growth in my loins and knew that I would soon be touching the beautiful girl's thighs.
"Let us all become a little less uptight," the doctor said. "Stay loose and begin to lose your inhibitions. There are natural barriers between people and their efforts to know-to really know.
-each other. We must break down those barriers with a marvelous technique known as eyeballing."
I looked into Cindy's black eyes and probed her thigh with my newly erected member of the family. She lowered her eyes and stared at my hairless chest I lowered mine and stared at hers.
"Do not lower your eyes or look away," Doctor Pearson intoned. "It is important that you look deeply into each other's eyes. It is important that you do not look away."
Cindy's eyes met mine again and I winked. She blushed and then, with a new sparkle in the ebony eyes, winked back. I moved closer until the dark nipples were brushing lightly against my chest. Her entire body shuddered and her torso moved closer until my aroused charger was nestling in the hollow of her soft thighs.
"Move closer together," the doctor said, "and place your hands on your partner's shoulders. Let your arms dangle loosely around your partner's neck. Let your bodies touch ever so lightly. Now, stand that way until I tell you to move. Keep looking into each other's eyes. Seek out the soul of your partner. Learn to know them deeply and intimately by staring unashamedly and unhibitedly into your partner's eyes."
We stood for four or five minutes before I felt that my entire body was going to explode like the engine of a Saturn Five. I had nudged my member between Cindy Carson's soft thighs and she was weaving slowly back and forth, working the poor devil into a frothy panic. I rubbed my chest back and forth on her nipples and saw the hot look of desire in her black eyes.
Another five minutes went by and I had worked my throbbing tiger into her soft, black, downy fur. Her hands were around my neck and her fingers were playing gently with the hairs on the back on my neck. I shoved one hand up into her black hair and slid the other down her side, cupping the side of her breast, teasing her spine with the light touch of my forefinger. When I reached the cleavage of her buttocks, she gasped and lunged forward, pressing the length of my erection between her thighs.
"Not too close," the good doctor said as he glared into the beady eyes of his frumpy little wife. "Just close enough to establish human contact. Now, look deeply into your partner's eyes and try to determine the thoughts that lay behind those eyes. Seek their souls. Try to learn something about your partner. You must now begin to interpersonally relate. Now!"
His words were like commands and I stared deeper and deeper into the black eyes of Cindy Carson. I wanted to take the girl right there on the sand-even standing-but something kept me from it. There was a kind of hypnotic command in the doctor's voice and, in spite of my desire to pull the girl down onto the sand, I found that I was only able to stand silently before her and to stare deeper and deeper into her eyes.
Just when I thought I was learning something, just when it seemed that her soul was coming out to me through the dark secretiveness of her eyes, my hot, lustful desire won out over the doctor's hypnotic spell.
"Yeeeeeoooouuuuggh!" I screamed.
As I pushed Cindy Carson back onto the sand, I heard a similar scream from George Ruff. Then came several feminine screams and shouts, interspersed with sharp little commands from the doctor for us all to cease and desist.
But he had taken us over the hill of desire and nothing could stop us now. Another little experiment had blown up in his face and he had completely lost control.
In the midst of the shouting and turmoil around me on the beach, I set out on a singular task. I couldn't care less what was going on about me. It didn't matter that, from the corner of my eyes, I could see Lori Huntington and Penny West going at each other like a couple of lesbians. It didn't matter that I could see other girls performing similar duties, or that Miss Lydia Baxter was running around on the hot sand looking for a male animal to satisfy her raging puss.
The only thing that mattered was the hot bundle of womanflesh beneath me, pulling at me, reaching for me, crying out for me.
I fell upon the lovely girl and took her lips hotly. Her tongue flashed into my mouth and her body shuddered beneath me. Her arms clenched around my neck and pulled my face to hers as her loins stretched up to make contact with mine. My hands found her breasts and my fingers virtually disappeared into the soft white flesh.
Her hands shot down between us and found my erect and throbbing monster. She worked feverishly, trying to direct it to the proper place in her soft, shivering, shuddering body. Just as we made contact, I glanced over and saw that the skinny little doctor had lost all aplomb and was climbing into the saddle of delightful Miss Melissa Thornton!
"Hoo-haw!" she screamed. "Hot, hot, hot."
All hell broke loose at that point. We were on solid ground, yet I was certain that I could feel the earth shake beneath our throbbing, pounding, plunging bodies. And then I lost contact with the rest of them.
Beautiful Cindy Carson was screaming at me to hurry. My hardy hand tool was at the brink of pleasure, hovering at the delightful soft entrance of her sweet, wet cunny. She tried to force me in, but I waited, poised above her. With the cry of a goatherd and the shuddering of a volcano, I plunging downward and into the inner sanctum of flesh.
"Oh, my God in heaven," the girl screamed. "Take me, Tony! Rip me! Tear me! Ravage me!"
The sand was warm on my thighs and the sun beat down with relentless force on my back. I was aware of the fact that I was perspiring copiously, but the pouring sweat served only to heighten the pleasure of the act. I felt like a wet, slippery piston and my perspiration mixed with Cindy Carson's and we slipped and slid against each other on the sand.
I began the slow, steady stroking and the girl's body responded even more violently. She flexed her sexual muscles and seemed to hold my throbbing charger in its nest. When I withdrew, muscles tightened to make the withdrawal tight and delicious and ecstatic. When I plunged downward, the muscles relented just enough to caress the intruder on its journey.
The sky was mute witness to what I rapidly began to discover was one of the greatest sexual escapades I had ever enjoyed. The waters of the small lake lapped softly at the warm beach and, far in the distance, two gulls cawed at each other in an almost melodic song. The wind rustled the trees and shrubs around the beach area and carried with it the sweet smell of summer flowers in bloom.
All this served to heighten the beauty of the tremendous scene of interpersonal relationship on the tiny beach. We were no longer uptight. We had broken the personal barriers of inhibition and were plunging forward in our striving to achieve the goal of terra cognita.
It was what one might truly call a fine summer day filled with joy. True joy.
But my mind was not on the philosophical or psychological aspects of our little group endeavor. It was on the pleasure being given to me by the hot, humping, shuddering body of one Cindy Carson. Her wet, slippery body, covered with perspiration, literally throbbed under me as I kept up the steady rhythm, plunging and stroking in and out of her welcoming pod. Her little cries of ecstasy and delight were more melodic than the gulls or the wind or the lapping of water on shore.
The shouts of glee and pure, unadulterated joy from my companions were balm to an uneasy conscience. There were no fears, no apprehensions, no inhibitions! As far as I was concerned, the whole bloody experiment was a roaring success.
And I felt the riptide of passion rise high in my loins and surge through my entrails as I stroked harder and harder in the soft girl's lovenest. Sand mixed with our perspiration and heightened the pleasure of our pounding bodies. The whole outdoors were witness to our pleasure and, although I had taken many women in the great outdoors, I had never indulged in a more pleasurable or more ecstatic endeavor.
"Harder!" Cindy Carson cried. "Belt it into me, Tony. Crush me. Mash me. Oooooooh, darling, screw me hard and bite my tits."
It was no small effort to reach her protruding breasts with my mouth while still hammering away with my loins, but the pleasure of the accomplishment was well worth the effort, however great. I sucked the ebony nipple between my lips and felt the tip harden and distend. Her breast was wet with my perspiration yet it was sweet with the fine feminine perfume of her body.
I drew a large portion of her white flesh into my mouth with the nipple and, with both hands firmly planted under her heaving buttocks, I rammed and thrust and jerked with the heavy hammering of a pile driver. The sounds of the orgy around me was drowned out by the cacophony of love sounds that were emitted from our bodies and our throats. I felt myself enlarging in her love tunnel and knew that the end was imminent.
Cindy's teeth sank into my shoulder at her crucial moment, but her loins did not cease their steady pounding up from the sand. I ground into her with each downward thrust, and, with my mouth drawing harder and harder on her pointed breast, I came in torrents of passion and ecstasy.
She screamed when my hot spurt flooded her love craft and her teeth bit harder into my shoulder. The pain of the bite served only to increase the pleasure as I continued What seemed like an endless explosion into her body.
When we finally lost our high point of passion and lay gasping and panting on the sand, we were aware that the world had suddenly grown quiet. Without looking around, we knew that the others had already reached the apex of sexual desire and were lying exhausted on the beach beside us.
The silence was broken by the small, squeeky voice of Dr. Pearson as he uttered two words:
"Oh, joy!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the end of the second week, I had participated in eight experiments in the laboratory with eight of the delightful young women. The experiments were coming along a little better, partly because I was getting used to the idea of holding back and obeying commands, and partly because I was getting a little bit tired. In addition to the experiments, many of my afternoons and evenings were taken up by visits to my cabin by Melissa Thornton and a few of the girls who weren't getting enough experience.
During that same two weeks, George Ruff had participated in only five experiments in the laboratory and, because he was unable to keep up, had been put on a looser schedule. He was to have an experiment every other day, instead of every day.
But I doubted that George was participating in the after hours stuff that was coming in on me. I wasn't complaining, though.
I spent many of my waking off-duty hours trying to figure a way out of the cabin without alerting Mr. Gin. Apparently, nobody cared if the women came to visit me, but I wasn't able to get five feet from the place without Mr. Gin collaring me and hauling me back. It was getting monotonous.
I had tried every possible way to raise the window without tripping the switch and had finally decided that I would have to steal a screwdriver some place and remove the switch. But I would wait until I really needed to get out. At the present time, I had no idea of why I would want to leave, or even of where I would go. I just didn't like to be restricted to one place like that.
At beginning of the third week, George Ruff came to my cabin on a hot, humid evening.
"I'm dying," he said.
His face was pale and drawn and his dark little eyes seemed to have disappeared back into his head.
"From what?" I asked.
Mr. Gin had followed him there and was standing in the open doorway to make certain we didn't make a break for freedom.
George Ruff collapsed in my only chair while I lounged on the cot.
"I'm dying from too much sex," he said.
I guffawed. I couldn't help it.
"Nonsense," I said. "Hell, I thought you said they were putting you on half-schedule. That much sex couldn't hurt you."
He groaned and shook his head from side to side.
"You don't understand," he said. "Not only am I the sedentary type who can't take as much as you, but I have a real monkey on my back."
"How's that?"
"The fat lady," he groaned.
"Miss Baxter?"
"Yes."
"What is she doing?"
"Coming to my room every chance she gets," he said with a deep-seated moan. "She's there every night and most afternoons when I'm not on duty. She's killing me."
I sat up and looked at the wispy little man with new eyes of sympathy. He indeed had a real problem. He was so weak and ravaged, his thin arms hung at his sides like two buggy whips.
"I don't know about you," I said, "but I would find it difficult to let fat ugly old Lydia Baxter kill me with sex."
"How could you stop her?"
"Easy," I said. "One look at her naked body and I would be rendered impotent."
"The same thing happens to me," he said. "At first. When she first takes off her clothes, I can't do anything. But I have this insane love of a woman's sex organ-always have had. As soon as she lies down on the bed and spreads her legs, I rise to the occasion like Juno, the God of Love. I tell you, she's killing me."
One week later, I saw them carry poor George Ruff out of his room on a stretcher.
It was then that I decided I had better make preparations for a fast get-away, in case I needed a fast get-away. But I didn't realize at the time just how great was my need. That very night, my door opened and in trotted fat ugly old Miss Lydia Baxter.
After a wild night of fighting off the lecherous old broad, I went to the skinny little doctor.
"I need exercise," I said.
"You have an exercise machine in your room."
"I know," I said, "but I need outdoor exercise. Like walking or jogging or running."
"Why don't you run in place? You can do that right in your room."
"I've tried it," I said, "but I still need to get outdoors in the sunshine. How's about if I take walks around the island and climb the hills and stuff? You could send the giant with me."
"Good idea," he said. "We don't want you to wind up in the hospital like poor Mr. Ruff."
"Is he okay?"
"He'll live," the doctor said. "I simply can't understand why he went so quickly. The last sedentary type lasted almost all summer. And we even cut down Mr. Ruff's schedule."
If he only knew the real reason.
But I didn't want to tell him about the fat broad. And I didn't want to tell him about my own extra-curricular activities with Miss Thornton and the other girls. I just wanted a chance to explore the island and see about the possibilities of escape.
"We will dispense with this morning's planned experiment," the doctor said, "and have you take a nice walk around the island."
He donged the tuning fork against his desk and Mr. Gin appeared in the doorway. With gestures, he indicated what the giant was to do. The giant eyed me suspiciously but went along quietly-there wasn't any other way for him to go along.
As I suspected, the entire island was surrounded by a 12-foot-high chain-link fence, with three strands of woven barbed wire at the top. The only gate was at the main entrance and it was guarded by two men with rifles. The fence ran through the trees, about a hundred yards from shore so that it was out of sight from anyone passing by in the bay. It also prevented me, or anyone, from getting close to the shore to signal passing boats.
The center of the island rose into low hills that were thickly covered with pines and brush. In my all-day walk with Mr. Gin, I found a number of caves and hidden nooks that could hide a man.
But I found no way out of the compound; no way off the island.
When we returned to the camp and finished our evening meal, I retired to my room, exhausted. But I was only physically exhausted. Mentally, I was very much alert and I was trying to figure a way out of the camp.
Of course, I would not escape right away. Things were going too well and I had not even made a sizable dent in the number of broads available to me. And there were at least two of them that I wanted to have twoseys or threeseys with. Dolly Matson was one of them. She was the first and, if I had anything to say about it, she would be on the agenda again and again.
It was no great surprise to me when she slipped into my room shortly after midnight.
"Oh, Lord," I moaned. "You would come to me when I'm so tired I can hardly see straight."
She slapped me lightly on the hip as I lay in the cot.
"I didn't come for that," she said. "I came to tell you that you ought to try to escape."
I sat up and let the sheet fall away from me. I always slept naked and, in spite of my fatigue, I hoped to get something started with this beautiful chick.
"Why should I try to escape?" I asked.
She glanced down at the immensity of my erect charger as it glistened in the moonlight, then looked away.
"I don't know," she said, "but you really should. I think something terrible has happened to poor Mr. Ruff. The same thing will happen to you."
"I talked to the doctor this morning," I said. "He said old George will be okay."
She looked at me in the half-darkness and her brilliant hair shone like spun silver. Her breasts rose and fell slowly as she sat on the cot beside me. She was by far the sweetest and most desirable girl amid a sea of sweet and desirable girls. I wanted her so badly my thighs ached.
"Perhaps," she said, looking down at her hands, "but the girls are saying that isn't so. They say something terrible has happened to him."
"What could happen to him?" I asked. "Hell, the guy was tired out. He's up in the camp hospital right now getting all the rest a guy could ask for. Stop worrying about poor old George and stop worrying about me. Just come a little closer and lets talk of finer things."
She moved away and clung to the iron railings at the foot of the cot. Her body shook violently, then was still. I realized that she was crying.
"Don't cry, Dolly," I said, moving close to put my arm around her shoulders. "There's nothing to cry about."
"They took the bus away today," she said. "While you were up in the hills, one of the guards drove his bus out the main gate."
"Was George on it?"
"I don't know," she said. "When it drove out, I looked but I could only see the guard in the driver's seat."
"Maybe they had him lying down in the aisle."
"Maybe," she said.
But her body shook again and she burst into uncontrollable sobs. Naturally, I took her into my arms to comfort her. And naturally, she melted against me and, after a proper interval of soft crying, she turned her face to mine and I kissed her delicate pink lips.
She slipped beneath the sheet with me and was still there when the first rays of the sun streamed through the small window of the room. It had been one of the most beautiful nights of my life.
But the day was to be far different. When we arrived at the cafeteria for breakfast, we were greeted with long, sad faces. Nobody spoke. The lovely women sat slumped at their tables, their heavy breasts low and sullen against their bodies.
The good doctor came in with an equally sad face and stood at one end of the room, looking at us.
"There will be no experiments today," he said. "We will have a day of mourning."
"Mourning?" I asked. "Mourning for who?" Melissa Thornton stood up, raising her enormous bosom to an ethereal height, made the small announcement that everyone but me already knew:
"Mr. George Ruff," she said, "passed away. His body has been taken home."
CHAPTER EIGHT
I sat at the end of the cot in the hot little room in Doctor Pearson's laboratory. At the opposite end of the cot was Marilyn Greer, a luscious sweetheart with light brown hair and a 38-inch bust. She was half smiling at me through hazel eyes and I waited for word from the doctor. We had just arrived in the room and knew nothing of what type of experiment the doctor had in store for us.
I was no longer sad about the passing of George Ruff-only concerned about how long before the same announcement would be made over my cold bones. This was the first experiment since the announcement about George and I was surprised to find that the little doctor was actually cheerful.
He seemed to be glad that old George had kicked the bucket and was now eager to find out how much longer I could last. As usual, I was more concerned with the fun and frolic of the moment than I was of my longevity. Marily Greer was one of the finest of the lot and I had waited a long time to get her in my grip.
The doctors tiny voice finally came to us through the loudspeaker.
"Today," he said, "we shall try something a little different. We have thus far concentrated on the various approaches to normal sex relations and, although I have not detected a slackening in Mr Marcus' enthusiasm, I am wondering just how much that enthusiasm can be heightened by the application of artificial methods of increasing sexual pleasure."
He paused and the girl and I looked at each other. I didn't know about her, but I sure as hell didn't need any artificial methods to increase my sexual pleasure with her.
"There are a great variety of such methods and contraptions, devices and ointments which have been used throughout history to enhance the pleasures of sexual involvement," the good doctor said. "We shall try all of them in the weeks ahead and will, of course, gauge their effect on the subjects. Are you both ready?"
"Hot, hot, hot," I joked.
"I will take that to be an affirmative answer," Doctor Pearson said. "If you are ready, please remove your clothing. Once again, I must caution you to do nothing but what you are told to do. You must perform according to instructions, no matter how deep your passion or how high your desire."
"Sure thing, Doc," I said, as I shucked out of my clothes and watched every move sweet young Marilyn Greer made.
It was the girl's first time in the room with me and she was obviously well-inhibited. She worked slowly on her blouse buttons and, as much as I wanted to help, I knew it would be against the rules to do so.
When she was finally and gloriously naked, I sucked in my breath and looked her over closely. Her skin was flawless, from the roots of her light brown hair to the tips of her painted toenails. Even the downy fur at her centerpoint was light brown and reflected the sunlight that streamed through the small window, I erected immediately.
"Under the cot," the voice of the doctor said, "is a large can of warm lotion. It is a highly perfumed oil, similar to that used in the Twelfth Century by the Turks. Please bring out the can, Mr. Marcus."
I fished out the can and popped off the lid. The fragrant perfume of the oil wafted up to my nostrils and caused my entire body to throb in anticipation. It was no ordinary perfume. Even though I needed virtually nothing to heighten my sexual ardor at that moment, the perfume from the oil did just that. I found it increasingly difficult to keep my hands off the white naked body of Marilyn Greer.
I held the can out to Marilyn and she sniffed. Her entire body trembled and her dainty, delicate, delicious pink nipples quivered like cherries on the crest of a jello mountain. I deliberately brushed the back of my hand against one nipple and thrilled at the petal-soft feel of it. Then, I took my hand away and watched the nipple slowly rise out of its flesh pocket and harden with lust.
"And now," the little doctor said, "I want you each to take some of the oil on your hands and rub each other's body with it. You must rub the oil over every square inch of skin. Leave nothing untouched. It is important that everything be covered with the fragrant oil. You go first, Mr. Marcus."
The girl backed away a step when I approached her with the oil. But it was merely a reflex action, born of years of training by society. It was not her desire to escape the gentle fate in store for her.
I began at her shoulders after dipping both hands into the large can of warm oil. She smiled at me as my hands worked over the smooth skin of her broad shoulders. Her body shuddered and her soft womanflesh quivered in front of me as my hands worked over her arms and down her sides. I dipped my hands again for the assault on her jutting breasts. When I cupped both dripping hands over her quivering, waiting boobs, she opened her mouth and uttered a silent cry of ecstasy.
I rubbed slowly, slowly, over the mounds of her great breasts, then slid the oily hands down her flat stomach to the patch of light brown hair. The pubic hair turned dark and thick with the oil, yet it was not unsightly. In contrast, the thick mass of darkened hair took on a highly erotic nature, enticing me to rub on more oil and to linger in the cleft with my slippery fingers.
"More quickly," the doctor said. "We don't want the experiment to last all day."
When I was finished with the delightful task of rubbing down Marilyn's body with the fragrant oil, I gave her the can and dropped my hands to my sides to wait for the same treatment.
"Proceed Miss Greer," the doctor's tinny voice commanded. "Do not be inhibited. It is a very simple thing to touch a man's body."
Simple to him maybe. To this girl, it was the challenge of the ages. Especially with that enormous, rock-hard, one-eyed penis glaring up at her.
But she began, slowly, slowly, spreading the unctuous fluid over my shoulders and chest, down my back to my buttocks. She saved the crotch area for last, but I had already forced back several orgasms in the effort. Her slender fingers ran smoothly and almost delicately over my body, spreading the delicious oil. The fragrance alone was enough to pop any man's cork, but the feel of her hands along with it was almost more than I could bear. When she had finished everything by my private region, she stopped, her large hazel eyes taking in the imposing monster that stood between us.
"Every part of him must be lavished with the ointment," the doctor said, "Every part!"
We were both panting like crazy when she dipped her hands once again in the can and approached my heavy member. There was a slight amount of heavy breathing coming through the loudspeaker, but I was certain that the little doctor had, by now, learned to control his passion. Surely, we wouldn't have another wild orgy involving him and his wife.
Marilyn's hands spread over the great purplish knob of my dork, smearing on fragrant and 'passionate oil. She worked delicate fingers around the wide flange until the very tip of my member was dripping with two kinds of oil the fragrant substance from the can and a colorless, odorless fluid from my own body. I knew that I would climax in her hands if she did not hurry; and, if she hurried, it would be an equally lost cause.
When her delicate fingers reached my ovoids, I performed the greatest feat of my entire life-I resisted climax. Even though the long, protracted ordeal of having my entire private section laved with the fragrant oil, I resisted.
But when she put down the can and I saw the hanging, swinging, oil-covered beauty of her great breasts beneath her bending body, I cracked.
"EEOOOWWUUUUOOGGGHH!"
I whipped her body around so that she was facing away from me, still bent over with her hand on the can of fragrant oil. I grabbed her hips as tightly as I could, considering the fact that they were smeared with the slipperiest oil in the world, and saw the mark. Her wet, gaping sex was covered with oil and the juices of womanhood. I knew that entry would be as simple and easy as zipping up a skirt.
"Stop!" shouted the tinny voice of the doctor.
But it was too late.
I plunged into the waiting sexnest and heard Marilyn's throaty gasp. I slid all the way in, meeting no resistance, smelling the heady fragrance of the oil. I leaned forward as my loins slapped into her soft, oily buttocks and grasped the hanging, slippery, wet, delicious breasts.
"No!" panted the doctor. "Not yet. You must wait."
"Wait for what?" I screamed.
"Aaaaauuurgh," Marilyn Greer exclaimed as I withdrew and plunged deeply into her once more.
As we continued and as the heights of passion, desire, lust and pleasure rose to a crescendo of pure joy, the commands from the loudspeaker either ceased to exist or we stopped hearing them.
The slapping of thighs against buttocks resounded off the walls of the small room and intermingled with our short, gaspy pants and the high sexual fragrance of the oil that covered both our bodies. I had thought my escapade on the beach with Cindy Carson had been the high point of my sexual career; it had been until this moment.
As I rose to near climax, the door to the small room opened and, in spite of the fact that my eyes were nearly closed with ecstatic fervor, I saw Mr. Gin standing in the doorway.
I plunged harder and faster as I waited for his heavy hands on me, knowing that I would soon feel pain equal to my present pleasure. I steeled my body for the horrible blow, but kept up the steady ramming into the sweet hole of Marilyn Greer.
But the blow did not come.
The giant rushed into the room, snatched the can of ointment from the floor beneath our shuddering bodies and fled again.
Uncanny.
His interruption proved to be a welcome one. The fear that coursed through my body when I saw him proved to be a stopgap for my rising climax. I found that I was far below the level of gonadal explosion and was once again working myself up to that delightful state of affairs. I muttered my first kind words for the giant: "God bless Mr. Gin."
Marilyn Greer reached back to cup my dum dums as I began to work up a second frenzy in her sweet, clinging puss. The feel of her slippery, oily fingers on my slippery, oily bag conjured up an image of high sexual bliss once again and I could feel the surge of monstrous tides within my body.
At that time, I became aware once again of sounds from the loudspeaker.
"Uuugaaa," the tinny voice of the doctor sounded in the room.
"Oh, sweet, sweet, sweet," came the high-pitched voice of his wife.
"Hot, hot, hot," the doctor squeaked. "Put more on the tip, sweets. There, that's it. Spread it all over the blessed thing."
"Put more on my breasts, darling," the doctor's wife piped. "Make them sopping wet. Let it drip off my nipples. Come on, babykins, slop it to me."
And the sounds soon became unintelligible as the scientific couple succumbed to the glories of Twelfth Century Turkish oil.
But I didn't wait for them. Marilyn Greer had already reached climax three times and was now working up to a glorious fourth. As the fluids of manhood surged and roared in my loins, I rammed and battered against her oil-slicked buttocks and, almost in a hypnotic state from the fragrance of the oil, I climaxed like a billion skyrockets bursting in a brilliantly black sky.
Then, we lay side by side on the narrow cot, our bodies still reverberating from the agony of our act, and listened to the squeaks and shouts and grunts coming to us via the loudspeaker.
CHAPTER NINE
At the end of another week, well after a month since we were brought to the summer camp on Saint George Island, I began to lay plans for my escape. There was just a little over a month to go, but I doubted if I could last it out. I had not only inherited the vacancy left by poor George Ruff, but I had also inherited the nightly visits of one fat, ugly, old Miss Lydia Baxter. This, coupled with the fact that I was continually inviting Dolly Matson to my cabin on every free afternoon, Saturdays and Sundays, convinced me that I would join poor old George on the stretcher before many moons had come and gone.
Besides, I had serious doubts that, even if I did survive the pace, that the good doctor and his cronies would allow me my freedom. The girls would be taken back to New York and possibly blackmailed into keeping quiet. Some of them wouldn't require blackmail-they would be bidding to return the following year. But they could not blackmail me-I didn't mind if the world knew I had been a stud for the summer-and it was more than likely that they would find a nice quiet place to bury my bedraggled body when the season ended.
The experiments were going a little better for the scientific side by now. We tried all sorts of methods, like love potions, French ticklers, ice, a variety of positions and a number of artificial devices that only got in the way of the real action.
And all the evidence was filed away in Doctor Pearson's little computers to be drawn out some day and put into a book for the whole world to read. I figured that my version would be a hell of a lot more interesting to a reader than the dry, clinical facts that the good doctor and his wife planned to put into the book. But I was an actor, not a writer; a participant, not an observer.
Although I hadn't figured a way to get over the high fence, which was no doubt charged with electricity, I decided on first things first. The first thing was to figure how to get out of the cabin without being detected by the inimitable Mr. Gin.
In my travels around the compound, I learned that a small, out-of-the-way shack in the woods served as a tool shed for the workmen who kept the place in operating order. During an afternoon walk with Mr. Gin hard on my heels, I stopped behind the shack and indicated to the giant that I had to take a leak. He nodded and I disappeared around the shack and found that the front door was open. I stepped quickly inside and found a screwdriver. There was a roll of tape on the bench, so I stuffed it into my pocket along with the screwdriver. I didn't know why, but tape always comes in handy, I figured.
When I returned, zipping up my trousers, Mr. Gin looked at me suspiciously, but did nothing. We walked on and I realized that I was badly in need of taking a leak. It was too late-I had to hold it until we finished the walk and returned to our cabin.
I stashed the screwdriver and tape under my mattress and went on to dinner. Mr. Gin no longer looked suspicious, so I knew that I had succeeded in the theft. To what avail, I had no idea, but I also knew that I had to start somewhere.
As predicted, fat ugly old Miss Lydia Baxer came to my room as soon as it was dark. Thank God for small things like darkness.
She giggled as she shed her clothing in the dark room and I sighed deeply, waiting for the onslaught of her blubbery body. I began to wish for some horrible tragedy to prevent the consummation of our nightly act, but the camp seemed to be fresh out of tragedies since poor old George Ruff's demise.
Resignedly, I undressed and crawled between the sheets on the cot. Suddenly, I smelled something familiar and realized that the fat old dame had brought along a can of the sweet, fragrant oil I had used in the experiment with Marilyn Greer. My God, I thought. She wants me to rub her down with the stuff. She put the opened can beside the cot and excused herself to go to the bathroom.
I groaned and lay sniffing the fragrance of the warm oil. I thought if I smeared the stuff all over my body, it might enhance my sexual desire and the episode with Lydia Baxter would not be half bad. I sat up and reached for the can in the darkness. My hand brushed against the warm metal and the can tipped. When I tried to grab it to right it, I knocked it across the floor toward the bathroom.
In the faint light from the waning room, I could see the whole floor streaked with the oil.
I was about ready to use the sheets from the bed to clean up the mess when the bathroom door opened and I heard Lydia Baxter giggle in the darkness.
"Here I come, ready or not," she shrieked.
Before I could warn her about the oil, she came running out of the bathroom, giggling and shaking like a two-ton idiot.
Alas, it was too late.
Lydia Baxter slipped on the oil and skidded halfway across the room on her fat naked buttocks.
She screamed loudly as she skidded across the floor and slid under the cot. I lifted my feet to keep from having my legs broken off by her swiftly sliding body and heard the ker-chunk as she wedged herself under the cot.
"Holy God," she screamed, "what happened?"
It was all too much. I couldn't move, I was so paralyzed with mirth and laughter. I lay back on the cot, knowing the poor woman was imprisoned beneath it, and roared like a maniac. My body shook with laughter and I couldn't move from the cot to give the fat broad her freedom.
She screamed and thrashed and nearly raised me and the cot off the floor, but she could not get out.
Her screams finally brought results-and her freedom-but it was not the kind of results she wanted. Within two minutes after her first scream, the cottage was filled with light, and the good doctor, his wife, Miss Melissa Thornton, six of the girls and Mr. Gin were all standing there staring with disbelief at the trapped naked fat lady as she writhed in anger and frustration under my cot.
Naturally, we were both called before the doctor the next morning and, after proper chastisement, were sent back to our rooms.
It marked the last time fat, ugly old Miss Lydia Baxter came to my room for her pound of my flesh.
During the following days, I thoroughly enjoyed the experiments, which had been stepped up to two a day. And I enjoyed the nightly visits of Dolly Matson, Marilyn Greer, Bibsy Templeton and Debbie Williams. And there were a couple of interludes at the lake when we went there for "eyeballing" sessions that contributed heavily to the general debilitation of my health.
I continued the walks with Mr. Gin, but I knew that such exercise was useless. I was a dying man and there was nothing I could do about it. I could refuse to cooperate with the nightly visitors, but that proved to be the most fun of the whole job. The experiments had become rather dull, because the good doctor had gotten over his susceptibility to suggestion and was conducting them in true scientific fashion. He even had me masturbate once in a roomful of beautiful broads just to see how my sexual passion registered on his computer. It registered pretty high.
Most of my thoughts, however, were directed toward a means of escape. I could remove the window switch from my room any time I liked, but I still hadn't figured how to get over the fence without having my dum dums shriveled with a charge of electricity. Even over the fence, there was the problem of getting off the island. There were other islands close by and, on my walks with Mr. Gin, I had noticed that some of them were occupied by summer visitors.
The big question was: could I swim far enough to reach one of them? The answer, in view of my weakened and weakening condition, was a flat NO.
The first thing, of course, was to remove the switch from the window.
One dark night in the middle of the seventh week, I decided to try it.
I opened the window quietly, then retired to my cot. Sure enough, Mr. Gin came roaring in and turned on the light. I looked up at him, pretending surprise, then gestured that I needed air when he kept glaring at the window. He ignored my plea and closed the window.
After he had stomped out, I took out the screwdriver and, working quietly and cautiously, took the screws out of the small switch on the window frame. The whole switch pulled out, revealing two strong wires. I know very little about electricity, but I knew that I could not remove the switch without having the two bared wires touch. When they touched, they would set off the alarm in the giant's room.
The tape.
Now, I knew why I had taken the tape.
Working carefully in the dark, I removed one wire and wrapped it with tape. Then, I pushed the switch back in place and replaced the screws. There was no way of telling if the switch worked by looking at it. I had to test it.
Once again, I raised the window until the wooden frame covered the switch. Then, I sat on the cot and waited.
A half hour later, I lowered the window and raised it again. I did this several times and then slipped outside and walked to a dark grove of trees. I stood in the darkness several minutes, then returned to the room and went to sleep.
Phase One of my escape plan was completed. And now, I told myself, comes Phase Two.
My first thought was to involve one of the girls in my escape plan. I had already decided that it would be Dolly Matson. In spite of the fact that all the girls on the island were beautiful and desirable, there was something more special about Dolly. She had a chemistry that so perfectly matched mine that I erected just thinking about running away with her. If I had to die in flight for freedom, she was the girl I would most like to have along as a companion.
On the night of my planned escape, however, I discarded the idea of taking her along. It was selfish of me to want her along if there was a chance of being caught or killed. I would go it alone and, if I made it, I would come back with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and storm the bastile of this beautiful summer camp.
It was a shame to bring the cops in on such a lovely setup. If I had not been in danger of my life, I would never have thought of stooping to such a dirty trick. But I needed a respite from the rigorous schedule-and I wanted to survive even after the schedule ended-so escape was the only answer.
I had already decided how to get over the fence. I would take an axe from the tool shed and chop down a tree so that it would fall against the fence. Then, I would simply climb that tree and drop down on the other side. Simple, Or so I thought.
I waited until two in the morning before raising the small window. I waited ten minutes until I was certain that the switch did not trigger the warning device in Mr. Gin's room.
I found the axe without any difficulty by cutting my finger on it as I probed around in the dark shed. No matter. A small cut would not stay me from my appointed rounds. Through the black, moonless night, I struggled through the thick pines and undergrowth of the island until I came to a point directly opposite the compound. I wanted to try my fence-climbing bit as far away from the camp as possible in case the fence was rigged with a warning device as well as a few hundred volts of electricity.
It took a whole hour to reach the spot where I planned to cross the fence. Good. Even if the fence were rigged with a warning device, it would take the guards at least that long to find where I went over. That would give me plenty of time to swim or float to the closest island and to freedom.
It was darker than the inside of a stomach when I set about to find a tree that would do the job. I found a tall pine, then stepped off the distance to the fence. The tree would make it easily and would provide just enough of an angle to climb to freedom. I raised the axe and began chopping. I never knew that pine was so hard.
After a couple dozen hearty swings with the axe-most of them missing the mark by a mile-I was so pooped out, I had to sit down and rest. My entire body ached with the agony of the strenuous exercise and I swore at myself for spending an entire year lying on the beaches of the Caribbean islands, and for the folly of too much sex at the camp. If I had stuck to the experiments and had not succumbed to the pleasures of so many extra-curricular activities, I might have been in peak shape.
But the axe was killing me quicker than the women.
It took three more hours before I finally gave up and realized that I would not be able to finish the job. The tree was cut halfway through, but I knew it would take a couple more hours of inadequate chopping before it would be ready to topple. Even then, I knew I had no way of knowing if it would fall the right way. As a sex maniac, I was a smashing success-as a woodsman, there was a great deal to be desired.
But the groundwork had been laid. I could make it back to camp and to my cot before everyone was awake and could come back here on another night. I decided that it was my only recourse.
At a quarter past seven, I finally collapsed in my bunk after an arduous journey back through the low hills and woods. At seven thirty, Mr. Gin was at my bedside, shaking me and grinning like a Mongolian idiot. It was time to get up for the day's experiments.
In spite of my fatigue and a whole night without sleep, I rose to the occasion beautifully when sweet young Dolly Matson was brought into the room with me. I grinned as I put on the electrode cap and watched the delightful girl remove her blouse and mini-skirt.
"And now," the doctor said through the loudspeaker, "we shall try one of the most difficult sexual experiments in the books. Mr. Marcus, you must make love to the young lady in the standing position while the young lady does everything in her power to frustrate your actions. You may proceed when I ring the bell."
In advance of the starting bell, I tried to indicate by gestures that Dolly wasn't to protest too much during my attempt to take her in the standing position. She didn't understand my gestures and, when the good doctor complained about them, I gave up and decided to take the medicine like a man.
The bell rang and I looked at Dolly as she stood naked in a corner of the room. She fairly leered at me as I approached, arms akimbo, male member erect, and tried to throw her on the floor.
"Standing up!" the loudspeaker voice ordered.
Dolly giggled at me and slid away from the corner to dodge behind the room's solitary chair.
She leaned over the top of the chair with her heavy melon-like breasts swaying deliciously at me. I stared at the pink-tipped nipples and felt a new throbbing in my sex. In spite of my night without sleep, in spite of the long weeks of too much sex and in spite of the rigorous exercise of walking back and forth across the island and chopping on a pine tree, I was hornier than a toad and ready for action.
I was quite prepared to take her standing up, lying down, riding a shark's back or even standing on my head. She was a living doll and the invitation that was emitted from her heavy, pink-tipped breasts and her wide, luscious, milk white thighs was more than I could bear.
I leaped across the room and crashed into the wooden chair she was hiding behind. My hands reached out and connected with the soft flesh of her shoulders. She tried to pull away, but I held on tightly. I kicked the chair out of the way and pulled the hot, shivering woman into my arms.
"Goddammit," I growled, "I don't care how I get you, just so I get you. I love you, Dolly and, by God, I'm going to have you. I don't care if this is an experiment. I want you for yourself, not for any goddam experiment."
That was all she needed. The chemistry that had worked for me had also been working for her. She was as hot for me as I had been for her.
"Oh, Tony," she cried. She fell into my arms and her heavy young breasts flattened against my bare chest. Her groin crushed into mine and her lips sought mine, hungrily, torridly, tempestuously.
The kiss lasted five minutes and survived even the repeated commands from Doctor Pearson that we get on with the experiment.
"When we're out of here," I panted, "I want you to marry me, and we are most definitely going to get out of here."
"How?" she whispered.
"Never mind now," I said. "I'll tell you more later. Come to my cabin after dinner."
She leaned back and looked at me, one eyebrow raised in mock surprise.
"Won't it be a little crowded there?"
"Never mind the crowd," I snarled. "Just come."
"I'll be there," she said. Her lips crushed against mine again and, after two more warnings from the good doctor that we were screwing up the experiment, I felt her cool hands on my dong and she managed to insert the tip of the hungry jack into the mouth of her wet and waiting vagina.
With ease and comfort, I slid the monster up into the marvelous resceptacle. Dolly sighed and panted, moaned and grunted, as the rigid member intruded on her womanhood and made its way up the channel of delight. When our groins touched, deliciously and ecstatically, I thought my back was going to snap in two. It was the worst possible position for me, but Dolly seemed to be riding me quite comfortably.
But entry was quite simple compared to the screwing that followed. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to twist my body into a comfortable position for shagging this wonderful girl. The doctor shouted words of encouragement and Dolly did everything possible to make it easy and good, but it was easily the worst shag I had ever had.
When the lovely girl climaxed and I was still breaking my back trying to find an ounce of satisfaction out of the experiment, I gave up in desperation and collapsed on the cot, dead to the world. Well, almost dead.
In spite of the fact that Doctor Pearson announced that the experiment was over and that he had recorded his findings in proper fashion, Dolly knew that it had been a most unsatisfying experience for me. She climbed on the cot and straddled me with her white, wide, luscious thighs.
"This is for loving me," she said, "and because I love you."
In one swift, sweet, gentle motion, she arose over my still erect charger and, directing the monster to the lair, she settled on it, engorging her pussy with his swollen, unhappy massiveness.
As I lay quite still on the cot, exhausted from my recent trials and tribulations, she began a smooth, steady motion up and down on my cork with her sweet, abiding pussy.
Her great hanging breasts swayed enticingly over my face and I had only to reach up a little distance to hold the delicious orbs in my hands. Her own hands were on my shoulders, clasping me, kneading the sore muscles, encouraging me to climax.
I knew then that, of all the thirty girls at the camp, I had made the wisest choice, the most advantageous selection of them all when I had fallen in love with little Dolly Matson. She was a master at love and she was proving it to me at this very moment.
She rose and fell on my heady charger like a well-oiled pump, soliciting my love, arousing my passion, soothing my aches and frustrations. I lay back, luxuriating in the comfort of it, feeling her hot, wet, slippery cunny as it slid back and forth on my staff. She had already reached her own climax and the experiment was over; she was doing this for me because she instinctively knew that I needed it this way.
Up and down she rode, her fingers sliding back and forth over my tired body. Her face dipped low from time to time and her hot lips crushed to mine. Her tongue forced its way into my oral cavity and did battle with my tongue. I crushed the great breasts together and looked up at the fine line of cleavage above me as her buttocks rose and fell, rose and fell, bringing me to a new height of passion and satisfied lust.
Dolly Matson's breathing picked up considerably as she worked on me and I could also detect a heavier breathing over the loudspeaker. Good God, were we arousing the good doctor and his wife again? I thought the little bugger had become immune to what went on in the room. Yet, the fervor of our love and the spirit of our lovemaking apparently had reached him.
We came in unison and Dolly collapsed on my tired and wracked body for that great, sweet moment when lovemaking is finished and love, in its strictest sense, lingers on. My tired arms encircled her body and I pulled her down on me.
And in that position, without disengaging and with the closed circuit television cameras still on us, we slept like the dead.
And when we awoke an hour later and knew that the good professor and his wife had left the control room, I pulled the girl to the bed beside me and we made love again, in the most proper and most conventional fashion.
CHAPTER TEN
After a rousing afternoon in the laboratory with a most beautiful girl by the name of Laura Peabody, I skipped dinner in deference to sleep. I slept deeply and undisturbed until well after midnight when I was awakened by a light tapping on the door of my room.
It was Dolly Matson and she brought a large tray of food.
I ate in darkness and, between bites, I told Dolly of my escape plan. I lied a little and told her that I had spent the night before preparing for the escape. I didn't tell her that it took me all night to make a dent in the lousy pine tree and had to give up and come back. It sounded like a good story, so she believed me.
"I figure it will take an hour to get back there, another hour or two to finish the tree and then maybe an hour to swim to the next island. At the most, that would be four hours. If we left at one o'clock, we would be on another island before the camp normally awakes. Even if the fence is rigged to a warning device, we should be on another island before anybody finds where we went over."
"You keep saying 'we,' " Dolly said. "Are you asking me to go with you?"
I put my hand on her soft thigh and tried to look into her blue eyes in the darkness.
"I won't go without you," I said.
"But you need rest," she said. "You can't swim across the bay in your condition-especially not after an hour's run through the woods and a couple of hours chopping a tree."
"If I stay here," I moaned, "I'll just keep going downhill. I can't get any rest here."
"You could pretend you're sick," she said. "Tell them you have the flu."
"You need a temperature to have the flu," I said. "Or just about any other sickness. No, baby doll, we have to go now or I'll never make it. Are you with me?"
She slid her hand up my thigh and leaned forward to kiss me. Her lips were cool and her breasts against my chest were warm. She was wearing a thin nightie, so I suggested she go back to her cabin and change.
"Too much of a chance," she said. "If someone wakes up, the whole deal will be off. We should go right now."
She was right. I finished the meal, set the tray aside and opened the window again. We waited five minutes and, when the giant didn't show up to collar us, we slid out the window and went to what we hoped would be freedom.
In deference to her scanty attire, I wore only a pair of shorts. The night was warm, for Canada, and we didn't mind the lack of clothing. It would be better for swimming anyway, I reasoned.
We plowed through the thick underbrush and walked quietly under the stately pines. I wished there had been a moon, but I knew our chances were better in total darkness. When we were near the area where I had chopped on the pine tree, I stopped and told her the full plan.
"This is a hell of a time to ask this," I said, "but can you swim?"
"Like a seal," she said. "I was AAU champ for New England last year."
Great. I had picked a winner all the way around.
"Okay," I said. "How are you at chopping down trees?"
"Fine," she said. "My father has a lumber camp in Maine. I cut my teeth on chopping down trees."
I grinned in the darkness and took her hand to lead her down the hill to the half-chopped tree. In our haste, we awakened a young cardinal family and the female flitted from tree to tree, chirping her fear, panic, disgust and warning at us. I could not see the flashing red beauty of the bird, but I knew it was a cardinal from the manner of her protective activities.
At the bottom of the fairly steep hill, the ground leveled out into a pine grove. It was at the far side of this last grove that the fence lay-and the tree that had nearly killed me the night before.
When we came out of the thicket of pines, hand in hand, with the axe swinging almost gaily in my right hand, we were met with a battery of blazing lights.
"There they are," a hoarse voice shouted.
We both froze in our tracks. I counted eight separate lanterns, each of them powered by heavy-duty batteries. When they had snapped on, I very nearly died of a heart attack, right on the spot.
"Get them," another voice called.
The lights began to advance.
"Let's go," I said quietly. "Just turn around and run like hell."
I clasped Dolly's hand tightly and started back through the grove of pines. She stumbled and cried out several times, but kept on running. We reached the top of the first hill and looked back down at the bobbing lights at the base of the hill.
"We'll have to separate," I said. "I don't think we were close enough for them to have recognized you. You run back to the camp and I'll hide out in the hills."
She clung to me and her rapidly-heaving bosom melted against my throbbing chest.
"No."
"Yes," I said. "Run. You get back to your cabin and go to bed. Even if they know you were with me, they won't do anything. But I have a feeling that the whole deal is ended for me. There will be no more experiments now-unless the good doctor is a biologist and wants to do some dissecting. I can hide out in a cave and find another way to get over the fence."
Reluctantly, she ran down one side of the hill while I took off to the right. When I reached the safety of another hillside, I looked hack and saw that all eight lanterns were bobbing off in the direction that Dolly Matson had fled. I learned later that they caught up with her halfway back to camp, but that nothing was done to her.
I found a cave far up in the hills where I spent the first night and all the next day. I heard men shouting and thrashing through the brush on several occasions, but they never came near my cave. The only problem was the cold wave that struck in the middle of the second night. I nearly froze my dum dums off trying to keep warm in a cold cave with nothing but a pair of shorts.
After two nights, I figured the heat was off and decided to make a break for the fence. I sneaked down the hillside under cover of darkness and began to gather grape vines. I had to gnaw them in two with my teeth, but I soon had a large bundle of them and proceeded to braid them into a long rope.
By the middle of the night, I had a vine rope of at least a hundred feet long. I found one spot near the fence where a tall tree stood within fifty feet of the fence. I climbed the tree and tied one end of my new rope to a high branch. My plan was to take the loose end of the vine and climb another tree. I reasoned that I could swing like Tarzan from one tree, up and over the fence. Once over the fence, I would have to drop to the ground and take my chances on surviving.
While I was up in the first tree, however, I saw lanterns approaching and soon heard voices. The search group passed directly under the tree in which I was hiding, then established a sort of quick camp just beyond me. They built a fire and the smoke rose up to me, nearly choking me. But I hung on until after dawn when they broke camp and left.
By then, I was so exhausted that I knew I would never make the swing over the fence. More likely, I would splat right into it and be fried to a crisp. Or fall out of the tree before I had a chance to take flight. I left the tree after hiding the vine in the thick branches and went in search of a cave.
I spent most of the morning sleeping in the cave and came out shortly before noon. It was dangerous to try to escape over the fence in daylight, but the sun felt too good to me. One more night in the woods and I would catch pneumonia. At least, they wouldn't catch me by following the sound of my chattering teeth.
The vine was right where I had left it, so I shinnied up the tree and let the end drop to the ground. I came back down and was halfway up the next tree with the vine tied to my waist when I heard voices. I stopped and cocked my ears to hear better.
Holy Christ!
They were feminine voices. I climbed higher and saw four girls coming through the thicket beyond me. One was Bibsy Templeton and one was Cindy Carson. I could not remember the names of the other two, although I had enjoyed two beautiful experiments with them.
They were dressed in jeans and shirts and each of them carried a machete to slash away at the thicket. Christ, they were out looking for me. My first thought was that they were trying to escape.
Even so, I figured it was better than being found by the good doctor's regular hunting party-or by Mr. Gin, the friendly giant. I yelled to the girls and dropped gingerly to the ground.
"There he is," Bibsy Templeton shouted.
I grinned and waved at them.
"He's mine," one of the girls shouted.
She took a swing at Bibsy Templeton with her machete and took off at a gallop toward me.
"You leave him alone," Bibsy shrieked. "He is all mine. I saw him first."
She promptly whapped the girl in the back of the head with a king-sized rock and trampled over her limp body in her effort to get to me first.
My blood immediately turned to ice water.
They hadn't come to rescue me or to help me escape. They had come for my hot body and, if they caught me, I was as good as dead.
Without another moment's hesitation, I ran for the hills, with three of the four girls hot on my heels. The fourth girl was sitting in the thicket rubbing the lump on the back of her head.
I darted up and down the low hills, losing steam as I ran. I slipped down a deep gully and, coming up a steep embankment, I saw another cave. I climbed to it and hauled my weary bones inside. I crouched at the entrance and watched the three girls run by in the gully beneath me. I waited a few minutes and the fourth girl ran by in the same direction. I sat back against the cold side of the cave and breathed a heady sigh of relief.
"Good afternoon," a woman's voice said from the back of the cave. "I just had a feeling I was picking the right cave to wait in."
She giggled and, even in the darkness, I knew it was none other than fat, ugly, old Miss Lydia Baxter.
I groaned and leaped out the entrance of the cave. My body tumbled down the high embankment and landed with a thud in the thicket below. Numb, bewildered and exhausted, I picked myself up and ran like the wind.
Any fate was better than what lay for me in that miserable cave.
I ran across two more hills before selecting another cave. This time, I went in cautiously to explore it. If Lydia Baxter were in the cave, I fully planned to cave her head in with a rock and lie down for a good rest beside her corpse.
But the cave was empty.
And I lay down alone for a much-needed rest. When I slept, I was once again with the muses, playing a small harp while they made beautiful and delicate music on flutes, lutes and zithers. It was a total collapse and I slept for five hours, awakening hungry and still tired. And cold.
The afternoon sun was low on the horizon now and the cold Canadian night air was already taking over. I edged on my stomach to the cave entrance and looked out over the valley below. Then, I pulled back as quickly as I had peeked out.
The valley was filled with women. And they were all searching for me.
It was the wildest thing I had ever experienced, but I should have known it would happen. I was the only available man on this godforsaken island. The women were strictly off-limits to the guards and I rather suspected that Mr. Gin was a eunuch. I had not been able to bring the girls proper satisfaction, even with two experiments a day and regular nightly visits to my cabin.
After all, there were thirty of them and they all had been given at least a taste of sex. Now, they were love hungry and their only available man had taken to the hills.
They were out for blood-my blood. And I knew that the women would be a far more effective search party than the good doctor's guards.
I was, to put it bluntly and succinctly, doomed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fortunately for me, it was the blackberry season and the marks on my thighs were a testimonial to the fact that the island abounded in blackberries. Just before darkness, when I knew that the women would be out of the woods and the men would not yet have arrived, I sneaked out of the cave to gather food.
I took off my shorts and, using them as a sort of sling, I picked berries until it was too dark to see what I was doing. Alone in the dark cave, I ate the berries and fell asleep with my soggy black shorts as a pillow.
I awoke in the middle of the night and saw lights at several spots in the valley below. The men had separated and were canvassing the area in a wide, thin line. It was too dangerous to try to make it to the vine in the tree, so I snuggled far back in the cave and went back to sleep.
The morning broke sunny and warm-the cold wave had apparently passed. I slipped down the hill and picked another shortsful of berries for breakfast. After I had filled the cavity that is normally called a stomach, I decided that now was the best time to make my escape.
The men would be sleeping after a night of searching and the women would just be getting up for breakfast. It was, I figured, the perfect time for a break.
I ran down the hill and headed in the general direction of the tree in which I had tied the vine rope. I was halfway there when I heard someone coming through the brush. I quickly ducked back into a blackberry thicket, lacing my legs and back with several more neat cuts, and crouched to let the searcher pass.
The noise got louder as the intruder approached. I entertained the notion of leaping out and subduing the searcher when he passed. I figured I had enough strength to beat him if I was able to take him by surprise. The least it would bring me would be a set of clothes-and I was tired of running around the countryside almost naked. And the blackberry-stained shorts were sticking to my buttocks and making me even more uncomfortable.
I crouched in the thicket, ready to leap out at my malefactor. I would drop him with a karate chop to the neck. I hoped that I still remembered my karate training of a few years before. I flexed my right hand for the upcoming chop.
The brush moved to the right of me and I readied for the spring.
The searcher backed into the little clearing near me, picking a blackberry bush from his shirt, and I lunged. Our bodies thudded together and I lashed out with my right hand.
The blow glanced off the searcher's shoulder and we both hit the ground together. I scrambled for the top position and raised my hand for a second blow when I saw that the searcher was a girl.
I pulled her face around to me and saw that it was Dolly Matson. "Dolly!"
"Oh, Tony," she sobbed. "I thought you were one of them."
"What in the world are you doing out here?" I asked. "And you have on a man's clothing. What in hell is going on?"
She explained that she had hidden from the searchers on the first night, but had been caught later by one of them. She had managed to crown the guy with a rock and took his clothes. She had been hiding out in caves and searching for me ever since. She suggested that we both find a cave and hide out some more.
I told her of the vine and of my plan to escape while they were all otherwise occupied.
"They're not all occupied," she said. "I almost ran smack into Mr. Gin a half mile back. I think he's been out looking for us all night long."
We gave up the idea of using the vine rope just then and went back to my cozy cave. We snuggled down at the back of the cave after devouring a few more berries and slept.
We awoke at noon and Dolly stirred in her sleep, rubbing against me. In spite of my hunger, my fatigue and sticky blackberry shorts, I erected at the warm feel of her body against mine.
"I needed you during those long cold nights," she said, staring deeply into my eyes.
"And I needed you, sweetheart," I said. "I have been, as the good doctor would say, just a little uptight since this donnybrook got started."
"Would you like to have a small eyeballing session so that we can learn to interpersonally relate?"
"You're only supposed to lose your inhibitions up here," I said, "not learn to become a mind-reader."
"Mmmmmmmm," she cooed as her hand slipped gingerly into my sticky, blackberry-stained shorts. "What in the world happened to your shorts?"
"I'll explain another time," I said. "Right now, I need what I've been killing myself to avoid. Did you know that the whole pack of women have been out looking for me?"
"I know," she said, bringing my ready charger into the open. "I'm glad they didn't find you."
I pulled her face to mine and gently kissed the sweet red lips. She was in no mood for gentle kisses, so she crushed her lips against mine and found my tongue with her tongue.
Her slim little body molded into mine and I held her tightly in the cold, dark cave.
"If you were trying to get away from the other girls," she said, coyly, "why do you welcome me? Aren't you afraid I might kill you with love?"
"Not in the least," I said. "And if you do, it will be worth it. Besides, I love you."
She clung close and kissed me hotly again. I reached down and unbuttoned the man's trousers-a strange sensation, indeed-and slid them off her slender hips. My hands threaded through the open clothing and cupped her full buttocks, tightly constrained by her nylon pantis.
Dolly Matson removed my stained shorts while I worked feverishly on her clothing. When we were both bare, I spread her clothing on the floor of the cave as a bed and we fell back together, feeling the warmth of good life flow back through our veins.
"I wish I could have had you with me during these past few nights," I breathed. "You're good for me, my sexy little piece."
"And you're good for me," she said. She leaned forward and kissed the stiff end of my member. "You taste like blackberries," she said. "But it's a good taste and I love it."
I cupped her young breasts in my hands and gently kissed each nipple.
"Be rough with them," she said. "I love it when you are rough with my breasts. It makes me feel sexier."
"If you get any sexier, I laughed, "you really will kill me."
"Do it," she commanded.
I took one nipple in my mouth and sucked the tip until it extended between my teeth. I bit it softly, then, experimentally, bit it more roughly.
Dolly squirmed beside me and pressed her groin into mine. The rough treatment really did work with her and she was rapidly turning tiger.
"I'm glad we tried to escape," she said. "Even if we don't succeed, I will always be glad that I had you all to myself, even for this short a time."
"Hush," I said, raising from her soft breast. "We will escape and we'll have a lot of time for this. Won't this be some experience to tell our grandchildren about?"
She looked deeply into my eyes and a small tear oozed from her right eyelid.
"Is that a proposal?"
"Do you need one?"
"No," she said, "but I had hoped you might be thinking of making an honest woman out of me."
"From what I have seen of you," I said, nibbling lightly at her breast, "there isn't a more honest woman in the whole world."
"I love you for that," she said.
"You don't mind that I've made love to a whole harem of women this summer?"
"Not as long as I'm the one you love," she said. "Besides, haven't you made love to me more passionately than you have the others?"
I remembered the numerous experiments and extra-curricular activities-especially the one with Cindy Carson on the beach-and lied:
"Of course."
She melted against me and spread her legs to receive me. I dropped my knees to the cold floor of the cave and posed to enter.
"We'll have to be a little less passionate than usual this time," I warned. "If we let ourselves go, we could bring the whole bunch of them down on our heads."
"There's no one out there but Gin," she said, "and he can't hear."
"He can sense vibrations," I said. "And I intend to do a hell of a lot of vibrating."
She chuckled low in her throat as I began a slow and delightful entry. Her warm legs wrapped around my back and she clung gently to me, steadily forcing my great hungry tiger down into the soft wet den of her love.
When we were tightly joined, I felt her soft breasts against my chest and the light pressure of her calves on the small of my back. Her heels rested on the mounds of my buttocks and our lips met again in the hottest kiss I had ever known.
It is a tremendous feeling to make love, but to make love with a girl you actually love is possibly the greatest feeling there is. And in the cold cave with Dolly Matson, I was experiencing the greatest feeling there is.
In spite of everything-the searchers, the women, the cold Canadian nights, the fear of dying as a result of the mad doctor's experiments-I was fully at peace with the world as I began a slow and steady movement on top of the beautiful and desirable Dolly Matson.
She made everything worthwhile.
And so I started.
I withdrew to the very tip, to the very entrance of her love tunnel, then began the long, slow trip back into the warm wetness. She squealed almost silently and bit into my shoulder as the slow stroking built up the fires of lust in her body. The walls of her sweet cunny gripped my cork like soft, grasping hands and she wriggled her buttocks almost lewdly as I lunged forward in a downward stroke.
"Oh, my sweet lovely darling," she whispered. "After all you've been through, you make love as though you haven't been with a woman for years. I love you for that."
"It's because I love you that I'm able to do it," I said.
And I meant it.
I was tired enough to pull a casket lid down on me, but the thrill of touching this girl's full, soft body and feeling my throbbing man shaft probe the depths of her luscious puss was enough to keep me going all day and all night.
As her ardor increased in pitch and her body worked in perfect rhythm with mine, I found that even the cave seemed cozy and warm. I could not even feel the rough, hard floor against my bruised and scratched knees. Even the stickiness of the blackberry juice didn't bother me, although it had practically glued my buttocks together.
Our love-making continued on that delightful plane for more than ten minutes. I would increase my pace until we were both panting and wriggling and mouthing love's obscenities, then I would slow to an easy and steady rhythm, sliding the massive monster with delightful strokes the full length of her pussy.
Her jutting breasts were like opiates to my sensibilities and I took them, one after the other, into my mouth and sucked in the hardened nipples where I could bite them gently with my teeth. She squealed and clawed at my back with her delicate fingers.
Time after time, we both neared the climactical point and blood roared in our heads. And time after time, I stopped long enough for the tides to subside, only to begin a furious stroking that brought us back to the brink of heaven.
"Oh, do me, Tony," she finally cried. "Don't stop this time. Ram me hard and fast. I want to feel that hot, sweet man juice in my womb. Take me, my darling. Oooooh, shag me!"
I slid my hands beneath her buttocks and dug my fingers into the White globes. I pulled her hard against me and held that tight position for a long time. Then, I began a steady stroking that I knew would not let me stop.
Dolly Matson went wild with passion. She screamed and humped around on the cold, hard floor of the cave. She was unconscious of the danger that might lay just outside the mouth of the cave, impervious to the slings and arrows that could very easily descend upon us at any moment.
I half expected to be plucked from the hot nest of her arms and legs by the mighty hands of the deaf giant. In fact, I was convinced that anything so beautiful as this particular episode with Dolly Matson was not meant for me and that I would be brutually shaken from the throne of Olympus at any moment.
But no intruders came to the cave, in spite of our mutual shouts, cries and voiced love words. I wanted to crawl inside the woman's tight, wet puss, to throw my body into her like a long, slippery piston. I wanted to find her womb with my tongue and to feel the soft-hard walls of her vagina against my shoulders and sides. I wanted to be swallowed alive, to return to the womb in a sexual frenzy.
And then, in spite of the harshness of the floor, and the cold damp feeling of the cave, we burst together in a glorious display of love and sexual satisfaction. We came simultaneously, feeling the juices of lust spurt and intermingle, then spurt again. I felt my body drain and, because of my boundless love for this-woman, begin to restore itself for the next beautiful moment of love-making.
"Oh, Tony," the girl said when we finally lay side by side on the floor of the cave, "that was beautiful. When can we do it again.?"
"Right now, if you like."
"No," she said, tracing her delicate forefinger down my hairless chest to my crotch. "We must not. We must help you get your strength back so we can escape from this terrible place."
"Fat chance," I groaned. "I'm half dead right now. I don't know how I can get my strength back." I didn't want to tell her that I did not have much to start with.
"We can stay here a few days," she said, snuggling against me for warmth. "They would never find us up in this little cave."
"We'd have to go out for food."
"I know. We could do that just after dawn and just before dark. These hills are full of small game and you could make something to kill them with. Maybe even a bow and some arrows."
The idea appealed to me. Not only would it help me get some much needed rest, but I would be alone with just one girl-not thirty beautiful girls, a fat ugly old broad and a frustrated old maid.
"All right," I said. "We'll stay here a week if I can manage to catch a rabbit or something. How will we cook it, though? They'd see our smoke and find us for sure."
"You leave that to me," she said. "I told you my father ran a lumber camp-I'm a regular lady woodsman."
CHAPTER TWELVE
As a hunter, I wasn't any better than I was an escape artist. My first attempt to spear a rabbit with a long pole I had found and sharpened with my teeth ended in near disaster when, in my excitement and enthusiasm, I ran off a twelve foot cliff and damned near broke my collar bone. I made three bows, but all of them broke and I nearly put out my right eye with a home-made arrow.
I finally gave up in disgust on the second day and told Dolly my problems. Within an hour, I had a strong bow and a dozen arrows. She was a walking jewel.
I caught the first rabbit two hours after Dolly made the bow and arrows. It was an accident. I shot wide and the arrow careened off a tree and caught the little bugger in the butt.
When I returned to the cave with my catch, Dolly was so thrilled at her manly hero that she grabbed me around the neck and hugged me dizzy.
"Don't do that, sweetheart," I warned. "Remember, I'm the only one wearing clothes now." She had insisted that I wear the uniform she had stolen from the guard to keep from being torn to bits by blackberry vines while I was hunting. That left her the option of wearing my sticky blackberry shorts or going naked. After one bout with the shorts, she chose nudity.
And this wasn't helping my rest and rehabilitation plans. Every time I came into the cave, I wanted to hop on her. Most times, she went along with it.
This was one of them.
"I know we shouldn't," she said, "but I want you so much it hurts. Do you think you could take one more?"
"With you, beautiful," I said, nibbling at her ear and sliding my hand up to cup one of her mounded breasts, "I could take a dozen more ... all at the same time."
"You aren't tired from hunting?"
I caressed her cheeks and looked deeply into the sharp blue eyes.
"What do you think I've been hunting?"
"You sex fiend," she giggled. "I'll bet you coaxed that rabbit to get hit by the arrow just so you could get back here in a hurry."
"Rabbits are sympathetic to such causes," I said. "That is exactly the way it happened."
I led her to the narrow bed we had made out of leaves and vines. She clung to me hotly and pulled me down with her. We kissed and her hands slid between us and clasped my already erect member. Her cool fingers played over the knob and worked gently back and forth on the rigid staff.
"I don't know when I have ever loved anyone more than I love you," she said.
"You mean you might have loved someone more?"
"It was only a figure of speech," she said. "I love you more than anyone or anything in the world ... more than I have ever loved anyone or anything."
"This is a great place for romance," I said. "All it needs is a little wallpaper and we're in the love-making business."
She clung to me and kissed my shoulder. Her hand jerked swiftly on my raging tool.
"We're in the love-making business right now, my sweet. Don't you ever forget it."
I pushed her back on the hard, rough bed and slipped between her legs. She curled them over the small of my back, resting her heels on my buttocks.
"When we're married and in more comfortable surroundings," I said, "we'll have to experiment with other ways to make love. This is great, but there are a lot of other things we could do."
"Such as what?"
I couldn't believe that she didn't know.
"Didn't you get involved in some of the wild positions and gimmicks the good Doctor Pearson had us use in his crazy experiments?"
"You should know," she said, pretending to pout. "You were with me."
"I can't remember everything you and I did together."
As soon as I said it, I knew I had put my big foot into my own mouth.
"Fine lover you are," she said, genuinely pouting now. "You don't even remember."
It took a half hour of fast talking to bring her out of the doldrums, but once she came out of them, she was really out.
"Let's make love," she giggled, "then I'll show you how to cook a rabbit without making smoke."
I slipped back between her thighs and, once more, the slender legs encricled me and she put her cool hand on my rigid member to direct it to her soft, wet lovenest.
"I shouldn't let you make love to me," she said, "for all the good it will do. A half hour from now, you won't even remember it."
I rammed all the way in, just for effect.
"Of course I will," I said, "and so will you."
She squealed from the brutal thrust, but I knew it didn't really hurt. She was wet and ready for it. I began the furious pounding and long, even stroking that I knew she liked.
Her buttocks swung up from the rough bed like a short-staffed pendulum that swung only halfway. She met me jab for jab and our mouths clung together in a hot, torrid kiss. I sucked her smooth tongue between my lips and pounded at her loins as hard as I could.
The cave was filled with the hearty sounds of our love-making.
"Maybe I've never told you this before, Tony," she gasped, "but you're far too big for me. Every time we do this, I almost die from it."
"When we get back to civilization," I said. "I'll shave it down a little."
"No don't," she panted. "That's one of the things I love about you. I want to feel as if I'm going to die. I love that big monster filling me up. Oh, Tony, do me harder and harder. What a beautiful way to die."
It wasn't until after we had both reached a glorious and satisfying climax that I remembered poor old George Ruff saying just about the same thing: what a wonderful way to die.
Dolly Matson really proved her claim about being a lady woodsman. She dug a pit just outside the cave and filled it with leaves, twigs and sand. I had found a book of matches in the guard's clothes and she lit the leaves and twigs and covered the pit with the shirt and trousers of the uniform. We both sat naked on the bank and waited.
There were no flames and no smoke. After a half hour, she wrapped the cleaned rabbit in large leaves and dropped it into the pit. An hour later, we were eating the most delicious roasted rabbit I had ever tasted.
"You're an amazing woman," I said as we lay arm in arm after our first meal in days. "I think, though, that we ought to be thinking about getting out of here."
"Tomorrow," she said. "Do you feel rested?"
"Yes."
"Enough to make love to me again?"
"Of course."
And it was beautiful.
We awoke just before dawn and set off down the side of the hill. My plan was still to swing across the fence on the vine-I had no other plan if that one failed. Hell, I knew I was no good at this sort of thing. I had never had to escape from anything in my whole life. But I figured that shrewd little Dolly Matson would make up for my inadequacies in the escape department.
I told her of the plan as we walked through the pine forest toward the fence and the tree where I had tied the vine rope.
"It sounds like a great idea," she said.
I was so surprised, I stumbled over a rock and fell flat on my face.
"Do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do, silly. If I didn't, I wouldn't take a chance on breaking my neck trying it. It will work. I've swung on lots of vines in my day and I can tell it will work without even seeing it."
When we got to the tree, I scouted the area to make certain there was no one around. The area was clear, so I climbed the second tree with the end of the vine rope tied around my waist.
When I reached a high point in the tree, I pulled up the slack in the rope and tried to gauge the amount I would need to clear the fence. If I held the rope too low, I knew I would slap into the fence. Even a dolt like me could figure that one out.
"I'm ready," I said, yelling down to Dolly. "Watch how I do it."
She didn't answer and I looked down to see why. What I saw caused me to freeze in place.
Dolly Matson was lying on the ground near the fence. Standing directly over her with his back to me was Mr. Gin, the unfriendly giant. Dolly's eyes were glazed with fear and I knew that she had been too frightened by the sudden appearance of the giant to call out, to warn me.
The giant had not seen or heard me, so he was not aware that I was in the tree. As I watched, he stood motionless above Dolly's naked body. Then, slowly and methodically, he loosened his belt and dropped his trousers.
My God, I thought, the bastard is going to rape her!
Mr. Gin continued to disrobe and he was soon naked. I stared down at his wide back and big greasy buttocks. He turned to look around, to make certain that none of the others were watching, and I saw the most enormous cork I had ever seen. It was easily a foot long and just as easily two inches thick.
I remembered what Dolly had told me in the cave ... that I was too big for her. If that was true, then this goddam giant was going to ruin her for sure.
Obviously, I had to do something.
Going down to face him would have been suicide. Even in the peak of condition, I was no match for the inimitable Mr. Gin. And I was far from the peak of condition.
But the vine rope in my hand gave me a better idea. If I planned it right, I could swing down and kick the wind out of the bastard. With that much of an edge, I knew I could then proceed to kick him senseless before he could get up and beat me senseless.
But what if I missed. Going down at that speed and at that low an altitude, I would sail right past him and splat into the electrified fence.
It was a calculated risk. A risk that I knew I had to take. In about thirty seconds, he would have that foot-long tiger deep in the lovenest of poor little Dolly Matson and it would be all over.
My body broke into a cold sweat as I contemplated the possibilities. There was one chance in a hundred that I could figure out the right trajectory to hit the giant. But I had to do something.
I let out the slack in the vine and, when I thought I had the right spot to bring me down to the giant's level, I leaped.
The ground seemed to rush up at me as I dropped straight down, like a rock dropped off the edge of a cliff. Then the slack came out of the vine and I shot off across the clearing.
I raised my legs and poked my feet straight out in front of me. I saw the back of the big giant and the webbing of the fence. I had no idea which I would hit.
Mr. Gin bent over and his big buttocks was staring me in the face. I had calculated right.
My bare feet caught the giant right in the middle of his taut buttocks.
Whap!
The jolt was tremendous. Pain shot up through my legs and lodged in my shoulders. My fingers lost their grasp on the vine and I tumbled to the ground in a sorry, painful heap.
Then I heard the muffled scream and the sharp, sizzling sounds.
I was dazed to near unconsciousness, but the sizzling sound literally hammered in my ears, forcing me to a kind of dizzy alertness.
Dolly Matson screamed and I raised my head from the tangle of brush that held me captive.
And there, hanging halfway up the high chain link fence, was the sizzling, electrified, rapidly cooking body of Mr. Gin.
By reflex action, his hands had reached out and grabbed the fence when my blow had carried him into it. The electrical shock had locked his fingers to the fence, holding him there while his body was fried by the hundreds of volts that coursed through the wire.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to Dolly Matson. She was staring insanely at the jerking body of the giant. The morbid fascination, coupled with her deep sense of fear, held her there and she stared at the most horrible sight of her life.
I pulled her head into my shoulder and covered her deep blue eyes with my hands.
"I'm sorry for that," I said. "I'm really sorry."
Her body became slack and she cried.
For a long time, she cried and the tears ran down over my naked body, soaking me. They were warm, welcome tears.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"There he is, girls. Get him!"
I was helping poor Dolly Matson back up the hill to our cozy cave when the loud, shrill voice of fat ugly old Miss Lydia Baxter rang out in the valley and I heard the thumping and thrashing of a herd of feminine feet as they rushed me from all sides.
I knew they didn't want Dolly, so I laid her gently in the grass and took off at a fast clip.
I bowled over sweet young Bibsy Templeton in my flight and ran over her helpless body to get away.
"Get him," Lydia Baxter shrieked. "He's mine first because I saw him first."
I ran downhill until I hit the bottom of the gully, then started up the hollow toward another hill. At the end of the gully, though, I saw the good Doctor Pearson and his skinny little wife. They were watching me through binoculars and I could almost feel the frumpy little broad thumping on my chest and see her inspecting my nipples with a magnifying glass.
I made a sharp right turn and was running straight up a steep embankment. I reached the top of the hill and streaked down the other side just as the whole passel of them reached the crest behind me.
"Yahoo," one of them screamed. "There he goes. After him." , I ran until I was almost completely exhausted, yet I could still hear their screams and yells, and could sense the thundering of their hungry feet as they kept close on my trail.
There were caves to my right, on a very steep incline, but I clawed my way up and slid into one of them. If things went right, they would run right past and I could rest.
Things didn't go right.-Most of them went past, but two of them happened to see my marks in the soft dirt of the embankment. They lingered behind while the others dashed off out of sight and earshot.
Then, giggling like two schoolgirls who had seen the class bully playing with himself in the cloakroom, they began climbing the hill toward my cave.
It was then that I discovered that the energies of mankind are boundless; that hope is never lost. I learned that, when the well of energy is thought to be dry, there is always a new vein to be opened, and that man can rise to the occasion.
Bibsy Templeton (37-25-35) and Marilyn Greer (38-24-36) crawled silently into the cave with me and knelt beside my aching body. .
"Tony, baby," Bibsy said. "Don't you like us any more."
"I love you all," I panted.
"Then why do you keep running away from us?" Marilyn asked. She dipped her cool hand between my thighs and cupped my soft, inert privates.
"I'm dying," I protested. "Please leave me alone and let me die in peace. Do you want to see me hauled out on a stretcher like poor old George Ruff?"
Marilyn began to work my member into a semi-rigid state.
"He wasn't a tenth the man you are," she said. "You couldn't die. You're too beautiful.
Bibsy Templeton dipped her right breast to my lips and rubbed the nipple gently against them.
I groaned when I felt full erection coming on.
"So beautiful," Bibsy said, kissing me full on the lips. Her tongue found mine and, in spite of my exhaustion and panting from effort, I found myself returning the kiss.
And then the magic thing happened.
Marilyn Greer slid her lovely red lips over the end of my dong and I turned tiger.
"Goddammit, girls," I said. "If you want sex, by God, you're going to get it!"
I pulled Marilyn Greer down on me and crushed her mouth to mine. It was sort of wild, considering the fact that I was worn out from the chase and had begun to think that I would never want a woman again. But my natural horniness came to the fore and I found that the thought of being literally raped by two lovely women in a cold, dark cave was too much to pass up without enjoying it.
My response to their advances surprised the girls, too. They sat on either side of me after I released Marilyn and stared down at the thickening, rising pole in my center.
"Look at that," Bibsy said, giggling. "Like the leaning Tower of Pisa."
"More like the Empire State Building," Marilyn said, snicking it with her finger. "You're really something, Tony Marcus. With a treasure like that and the way you love to use it, why did you ever run away from us?"
"Treasures are no good under the ground," I said. "I'll admit that it would be a great way to die, if a guy was in the mood for dying. As for me, I'd rather cut down on the sex life and live a few more years."
They continued the remarks of admiration for my standing tool and I began to wonder if they were going to talk all day.
"Listen," I finally said, "if you gals chased me up here to rape me, let the atrocities begin. Let's not discuss the merits of my dong all day long."
"We're conducting an experiment," Bibsy Templeton said with a wicked grin. "Just like good old Doc Pearson. We want to see how long the thing will stand up without any real action."
"Pardon me,;" I said, smiling up at them. "I thought you wanted some real action."
"We do," said Marilyn, "but we want to interpersonally relate with you first. The doctor has us trained too well. We can't just climb on and start the party. Don't you feel the need to break down the barriers of inhibition and search for true joy?"
I reached up and cupped Bibsy's hanging breasts. She did not move and I squeezed the soft orbs and twirled the nipples like television dials.
"Who's got inhibitions? I know how to find true joy I don't have to sit around eyeballing to find it."
"But it's so unscientific," said Bibsy. "After all, anyone can have sexual relations by just getting together and joining their things. The real way is to lead up to it through a planned method of interpersonal relationship. Don't you agree?"
I slid my hand up her thigh as she knelt beside me and found the lips of her sex. She gasped as my fingers probed the sensitive area and concentrated on the moistening little clitoris that was already peeking out and wanting action.
"How's that for planning?" I asked.
"Yummy," she said. "Do it some more."
As I massaged and probed at her sex kitten, I pulled Marilyn's face to me and crushed her lips to mine. As my tongue entered her mouth and she closed her lips on it, I squeezed her breast with my free hand.
"Oooooh, God," she panted. "I don't know if I can stand any more of this interpersonal relating. I want that big monster inside me."
All four of their hands wrapped around the heady monster as I worked on their sensitive parts. They were breathing hard now and their slender legs were rubbing against my body-Bibsy at the bottom and Marilyn at the top.
Suddenly, Bibsy could stand my attentions to her sexnest no longer. She pressed down against my probing fingers and then lowered her head until her lips were touching the throbbing knob of my pistol. I shuddered as she moistened the tip with her tongue, then slid the sensitive morsel into her mouth. Their hands kept working on the long, thick shaft and Marilyn's tongue still probed the depths of my mouth.
Bibsy sat down hard on my hand and I wriggled my middle finger into the wet tunnel of her sex. I moved it back and forth, stretching the yielding walls and causing the girl to shiver and writhe on my hand.
Suddenly, Marilyn pulled away from my mouth and looked down at Bibsy.
"We should stop now," she said coldly. "This is not the proper method. We are allowing ourselves to be carried away by the heat of the moment."
"So allow yourselves to be carried away by the heat of the moment," I said. "Jesus Christ, you got me carried away."
But Bibsy unfortunately agreed. She left my aching cork with a gentle pop of her mouth and sat up grinning at me. I kept working at her bottom with my finger and I knew that she would be back at her appointed task before long.
It was sort of strange and sort of wild, the way the girls were acting.
But I hadn't seen anything yet.
Before my magic finger could work Bibsy into an act of defiance against Marilyn, so that she would return to my waiting stanchion, two more girls entered the cave.
"Here he is," said sweet little Jackie Cairns, the runt of the litter.
"But Bibsy and Marilyn have already beat us to him," said Debbie Williams.
"It's okay," I said. "Just come on in and join the tea party. Nobody is doing anything, anyway."
They immediately flung off their clothes and knelt beside me to stare at the immense organ that jutted from my body and fairly cried for more active attention.
"We were merely trying to go about it in the right way," said Marilyn, defensively.
"Yes," said Bibsy. "After all, our whole object here is to find true joy through breaking down the barriers of inhibition. That can't be done in a split second, you know."
"Want to bet?" I said.
"I think we should forget all about that interpersonal relating stuff," said little Jackie. "Amen," I said.
"I didn't know you were a religious man," Debbie said, staring at me wide-eyed.
"I'm not," I said. "Why do people keep asking me that?"
I didn't really expect an answer and I didn't give her time to prepare one. I pulled her close and pressed one of her enormous breasts (40-28-38, remember?) into my face. I worked the great black nipple into my mouth and sucked it into hardness. She groaned and leaned more heavily into my face.
"Stop that!" Marilyn said, pulling Debbie away from me. The nipple came out of my mouth with a delicious-sounding 'plop'. "We have to do this thing properly."
"I suppose you're right," Debbie said, "but it has been an awfully long time. Can't I just put his thing in my mouth for a few seconds?"
"Jesus Christ," I said. "Somebody do something!"
But her suggestion and my pleas provoked a long argument during which all four of them chattered at the same time.
It was inconceivable to me that this was actually happening.
I had run away from the camp because the doctor's experiments and my own weakness were killing me. The girls had chased me in the woods because of their hunger for sex. They had finally captured me in this lousy cave in the name of sex, and now they were sitting around squabbling about terra incognita, eyeballing, interpersonal relating, psychological approaches, inhibitions, barriers, pure, unadulterated joy and a bunch of other junk taught to them by the nutty doctor.
And they were all four naked as jaybird babies.
And so was I.
The main difference was that I was hot to trot and I had the wherewithal to do something about it.
As they argued, I got up from my place in the center of the kneeling, arguing broads, and circled the group on the outside, I stopped behind Bibsy Templeton and, feeling her sex to find that it was still moist and receptive, I raised her to her knees and, while she was in the middle of a plaintiff plea for doing the thing according to the proper methods, I found the spot and jammed my cork all the way into her.
She gurgled and continued talking without skipping a beat.
I pulled out and went to Marilyn Greer. She was shaking her fist in the face of sweet little Jackie Cairns and spouting some bull that the good doctor had told her, when I lifted her classic buttocks and jammed the monster up to the hilt.
"The doctor says-ooooooooo-that we should always try to restrain ourselves as long as possible until-eh, God, shove it in deeper
-the barriers are removed and we can-holy criminey-find a common ground of -eeoow-psychological understanding."
I withdrew from her, even though she was receiving me well, and shifted to Debbie Williams. She spread her legs when she felt me behind her and I slid my prod in as easily as kicking a can.
"I can go along-oops, that's a big one with what you and the doctor say to a certain
-slide him in and out, big boy-extent, but I say there is a limit to the whole thing. For one thing-work it back and forth, Tony-when one has reached the point where-that's right, baby, now harder-the barriers no longer exist and you know that you both want exactly the same thing-oh, Jesus, harder-there is no reason in the world-ye Gods!-why you have to continue practicing abstinence."
Her slippery lovenest was clinging to my stroking rod now, but I pulled out and moved on to sweet little Jackie Cairns. She was panting even before I reached her and she reached back to spread her cheeks to aid my aim. I hit her dead center and slid in so tightly that her creamy buttocks were crushed against my thighs.
"I don't agree with any of you," she said. "I think sex is-oh, Tony, move it sideways-too important to boggle it all up with a bunch of-ooooowwww-psychological gobbledegook. The doctor is a nut and-whoopee, Tony, shag, shag, shag-and so is his frumpy wife. I think this whole business about the experiments is just a way-oh baby, I love it, do it more-for him to get his own kicks while he watches us experiment."
I had made my point with all of them and all of them had had their say.
But I had made my point too convincingly.
The three unattended girls stared at me as I worked on Jackie and brought out of her cries of bliss and ecstasy ... and pure, unadulterated joy ... and it was obvious that they were belatedly jealous.
They all pounced on me at once, ripping me from my delightful mooring. My long, hard charger slid out of the welcoming cove and I was thrown on my back on the cold, hard floor of the cave.
"EEOOWWW!" they screamed in unison. And they were on me.
Hands, mouths, breasts, thighs, armpits ... everything they had ... grasped and slipped off my erect member as each of the four girls fought for carnal possession of my body. Clawing hands clasped my dum dums, only to be jerked brutally away. Once, Jackie Cairns managed to straddle me and drop her oozing lovepod halfway down on my machine before she was slapped aside and I was trampled by half a dozen feminine feet as others tried to take her place.
I knew instinctively that my only recourse was to break out of the snarling, clawing group of women and to run for my life. My male desire held me strongly to the group and I toyed with the idea of calming them and then proceeding to satisfy each of them in turn. It would have been a fitting climax to my life ... and I knew that it would have been my last time at bat.
But cold reason won out and I decided on my next move. As I stared up at the voluptuous bodies of the feminine combatants and yearned for those bodies-to take them and ravage them in turn-I waited for the proper moment.
When Jackie Cairns threw her tiny body at the other three in an attempt to claim the center ground for herself, I jumped up and ran. They were all off balance and didn't realize, or could not help, what was happening until I was outside the cave and running like a wild man down the hill. At the bottom of the hill was the silly little, doctor and his silly little wife. They didn't hear me coming and were peering off toward a distant woods.
It was only a matter of seconds before the girls came streaming out of the cave, yelling at me. The doctor and his wife heard the yelling and turned. The doctor held up a buggy-whip arm.
"Stop!" he commanded. I ran right over both of them and kept on going.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As I ran through the thick pines, I knew that my one salvation, if I were to have any, would come from the fact that I-had not succumbed to the desire to make love to the four women in the cave. If I had, I would not have had the energy to swat a fly, much less run through the hills like a maniac. I would have been their prisoner, their prisoner of love, until I died.
There was another advantage on my side. I knew where I was going. The others didn't.
I zig-zagged through the woods, heading in the general direction of the tree where I had tied the vine rope, and where Mr. Gin no doubt remained as a monument to my one moment of bravery.
I made it to the spot in good time and quickly shinnied up the tree. When I gathered in the homemade rope and tried to gauge the distance to the fence, I heard the voices of the women as they thrashed through the thick undergrowth behind me.
I swung from the limb, hoping to hell that I had judged the distance properly. If not, I would join the giant on the face of the fence. I almost let out a Tarzan yell, but my level head prevailed and I remained silent, whistling through the air like an ape.
I cleared the fence with probably a half inch to spare and, gritting my teeth, let go of the vine.
The drop was at least thirty feet from the high arc of the vine rope, but I landed in bushes and the soft mud near the bank of the bay. Still, the drop knocked the wind out of me and I lay in the bushes for a long time, trying to get my breath.
As I lay there, I heard the women as they gasped, gagged and screamed.
They had seen Mr. Gin's fried body.
And in their horror, not one of them paid the slightest attention to the innocent vine hanging from the tree and draping itself over the top of the barbed wire on the fence.
I lay in the soft mud for a half hour, until all sounds had disappeared. The women had apparently left to get the guards to remove the poor giant. I thought of waiting for darkness, but I knew the guards would spot the vine and figure out how I had escaped.
In the quietness, I crept to the water and eased my aching body into it. The water was cold and it awakened every fiber of my body. It felt good and I wanted to swim like the wind, to put as much distance as possible between me and the wild, wild island.
Again, a level head prevailed and I turned on my back and floated slowly and quietly away.
The nearest island was easily a mile and a half away, but I knew I could make it if I didn't panic. Fatigue in the water is rarely the cause of drowning; it is fatigue created by panic that sinks the average drowner.
I kicked almost lazily and moved my arms back and forth like fish fins. It was slow going, but it was going.
As I swam lazily across the still waters of Hudson Bay, away from Saint George Island and my beautiful women, I felt a small ping of regret for what was now to happen. I had it all figured out. I would come back with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, who would promptly arrest the two doctors, Miss Melissa Thornton and fat, ugly, old Miss Lydia Baxter. They would no doubt be charged with the murder of poor old George Ruff.
The women, I knew, would be returned to New York, but there would be a vigorous scandal and all the tabloid newspapers would want to run my picture with at least a half-dozen naked broads.
I would not accommodate them, however, I would be on my way back to the Bahamas with a lovely creature by the name of Dolly Matson (36-22-36), my perfect beauty. It was a lovely thing to contemplate. Even in the cold water, thinking about Dolly-and my other experiences on Saint George Island-I began to erect.
So I was a sex maniac. That's a crime?
The swim took much longer than I had anticipated. When my arms and legs began to feel like lead weights, pulling me down in the water, I turned to look at the island ahead of me. It seemed further away. Perhaps it was two miles. Or even three. No matter. I floated until my arms and legs were rested, then pressed on.
To keep my mind from panicking, I thought about the beautiful episodes on the island. Even the sessions in the little bedroom in the doctor's laboratory loomed in my mind as beautiful and delightful experiences. Even the frustrations created by the doctor's constant yelling to stop seemed pleasant to the memory.
I began to wish that I had not left. If I had cut out my nighttime activities with Melissa Thornton and the other girls, I could have stuck it out for the entire summer. Then, there would be a whole nine months to recuperate (with Dolly Matson, of course) and I would be ready to volunteer for next summer's session.
I was seriously considering it.
But again the level head prevailed and I knew, down deep where it hurt, that I would have died in another week or two. Even without the extra-curricular activities, no man can stand sex twice a day for that long a time. Especially after a year of total inactivity and then seven long weeks of going at it hammer and tong.
No, the only chance for survival was to get off the island and bring the Mounties down on the whole herd.
A long swim gives a guy a lot of time to think and I managed to convince myself that I was doing the smart thing ... the only thing.
It was late afternoon when I finally reached a point where I could stand up in the water. When my feet touched the cold, muddy bottom of the bay, I let out a tremendous sigh of relief. I was still a hundred yards from the beach.
I walked slowly through the water and found that it had been easier while I was swimming. The mud was thick and deep and I sank in to my knees. It was like tramping through a tropical swamp, except that the water was so cold, it numbed every part of my body.
When I finally reached the beach, I was completely exhausted. My mind and body both rebelled at the same time and I collapsed in a heap on the warm sand.
And I slept.
Like the dead, I slept.
I had the vague impression as I slept of being lifted from the sand, of floating on a cloud with naked muses all around me, playing lyres and lutes and flutes. I was playing my customary harp.
It was the recurring dream and I wondered just what the hell it meant.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sleep was so sound and so satisfying that it stayed with me for a whole day-twenty four hours. When I awoke, I was in a, soft bed with white sheets and a fluffy pillow. My stomach was emptier than a money-lender's heart, but the hunger was not too painful or uncomfortable. A sore spot on my right arm showed a needle mark and I guessed that someone had fed me intraveneously. I must be in a hospital, I looked up at the white ceiling and at the white walls. The room was immaculate and all the furniture was neat, new and colorful. There was a thick carpet on the floor. It was too fancy for a hospital. It looked more like a bedroom in someone's house ... or a motel room.
But there was a buzzer switch and cord tied to the head of the bed, just like in a hospital. I pressed the button on the end of the switch and waited.
In less than thirty seconds, the door opened and a beautiful woman in a white nurse's uniform came in. She smiled down at me and lifted my wrist to read my pulse.
"I suppose this is the same question you get from everyone who swims in naked," I said, "but where the hell am I?"
"You're safe and healthy," she said. She continued to stare at her wrist watch.
"That tells me nothing," I said. "I don't mean to be a bad patient, but couldn't you give me a little better idea than that. I mean, like specifically, where am I?"
"You are in Room Three of our clinic," she said, still counting the pulsebeat.
"And where is the clinic?"
"On Saint William Island, Hudson Bay, Canada."
"I'm not on the mainland?"
"No."
"Is there a police station here?"
She looked at me and raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you want a police station?"
"Jesus Christ," I snorted. "Didn't you see me when they brought me in here?"
"Yes, you were pretty scratched up and you were suffering from exposure and exhaustion."
"Well, hell," I said, "doesn't anybody around here wonder why I was scratched up and suffering from exposure and exhaustion?"
"The doctor will be in shortly," she said, smiling down at me. "You just rest."
She left as quickly as she had come and I lay there, perplexed and frustrated. I tried to get up but I was still too weak. Either from the same old exhaustion or from a drug, I didn't know which.
The doctor, a wispy little man with buggy whip arms, came in a few minutes later. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, but he looked nothing like skinny little old Doctor Lome Pearson. And when he spoke, he had a deep, authoritative voice.
"The nurse tells me you want the police," he said. "May I ask why?"
"Christ, Doc," I said. "I was goddam near killed on that island."
"What island?"
"Saint George Island," I said. "That's where I swam from." He whistled.
"That is over five miles away," he said.
"Seemed like five hundred, but I had to swim it or die."
"Die?" he asked. "Die from what?"
I told him about the island and the boy and girl doctor and the thirty girls and the experiments and Miss Melissa Thornton and Mr. Gin and the guards and the fence and fat, ugly, old Miss Lydia Baxter. And, finally, about poor old George Ruff.
He listened attentively, clucking his tongue now and then, and staring out the window as though he was in deep thought.
"So that's why I want the police," I said. "They have to be stopped before they kill other men the same way. Besides I fell in love with one of the girls and I want her back. I have to go back over there with the Mounties and get her."
"You're in no condition to go anywhere," he said. "You rest here a few days and we'll talk about calling the Mounties."
"But we have to hurry," I said. "If they think I got away, they'll be packing up and leaving. I have to get there before they close up shop."
"Can't you press charges when you're back in New York? Didn't you say the Mission headquarters were on Fifty Ninth Street."
"Hell, they'll close that too and set up another place with a different name. If I don't get over there right away, they'll all disappear and we'll never stop them ... and I'll never find Dolly."
He went to the door and called the nurse. She came in and began preparing a hypodermic needle.
"What's that for?" I asked.
"Food," the doctor said. "It's still too early to feed you the normal way. Perhaps tomorrow."
Before I could put up a protest, the nurse poked the sharp needle in my forearm. Even before she took it out, I began to feel drowsy and slightly dizzy. Too late, I realized she had given me another strong sedative.
I awoke the next day with a rousing hunger and, strangely, a rousing erection.
The pretty nurse came in a few minutes later, after I had pressed the buzzer. She brought a tray with a bowl of hot soup on it. I was too weak to feed myself, so she spooned the tasty broth into me.
"This is crazy," I said when I had finished. "Why do you keep giving me sedatives? Why can't I talk to the Mounties?"
"For one thing," she said, "you need rest more than anything else in the world and that's why we give you sedatives. For another, there is no Mountie station on the island and there won't be a ferry for at least two weeks. Any more questions?"
I looked at the fine curve of her high breasts in the white starched uniform and, admitting defeat on all other fronts, decided to find out what she thought of me as a man.
"One more," I said. "Is there any sex on this island?"
"How could you be thinking of sex?" she asked. "You're still very near death from exhaustion."
"Can you think of a better way to die?"
"I can think of better ways to live," she said. "Wait until you're stronger and we'll talk about sex."
"Is that a promise?"
"That," she said, "is a definite promise."
After two more days of literally sleeping around the clock, I began to feel some strength creep back into my bones. I had seen the doctor both days and had gotten nothing out of him. The nurse, name of Gloria Peterson (39-23-36), came in several times to feed me soup and jello and gruel and oatmeal and soft boiled eggs.
The more I saw of her, the more I felt my manhood and strength returning. The events of Saint George Island began to fade into a hazy distance and I realized that I had a real thing going for the nurse. The baths were great.
It took a lot of coaxing, but I finally managed to talk her into agreeing to come around late at night, when she was off-duty.
It was shortly after midnight on the fifth day in the clinic when she came to me. I was dozing lightly, because she had deliberately put water instead of a drug in the hypodermic, when she slipped in between the sheets.
I felt her warm, soft body against mine and was immediately wide awake.
"You're a pretty big guy," she said. "But I guess I don't have to worry too much."
"Why not?"
"In your condition, how much damage can you possibly do?"
"You're going to find out, sweetheart," I said, turning to take her sweet, naked body into my arms. "In fact, we're both going to find out how much pazazz I have left."
She flattened against me and her soft groin pressed against mine. I pulled her mouth to mine as my hand closed over the great, melon-heavy breast that jutted against me. Her tongue instantly darted between my lips and I knew that she was more experienced than she had indicated. She was all swreetness and fragrance and life. She was the very thing that I lived for, the very essence of life and beauty and, yes, by God, joy.
I slid one hand behind her, down her slim back and to her bulging buttocks. With gentle pressure, I pulled her to me until our bodies touched from face to toes. I felt her groin muscles move lithely against mine, felt my great throbbing lance slide between her thighs, felt the stiffening of her nipples in my hand and against my chest.
The fragrance of her body was overpowering and I knew that she had just bathed and had probably anointed herself with a special, invigorating, provocative perfume and lotion. Her skin felt soft and yielding and smoother than anything I had felt in a long time. It reminded me of the time when nutty old Doctor Pearson had had Marilyn Greer and me spread the fragrant oil all over our bodies.
The thought of that experience, coupled with the warm closeness of Gloria's body, revived every instinct in me, and I felt the strength of ten men surge through my body. I knew that I would be weaker later, but that would be later; now was now!
And now was the time for action.
Her legs parted slowly against the pressure of my knee and I rolled on top of the beautiful nurse. Our lips and tongues still clung together as I raised above her and nudged the sweet, moist entrance of her lovepod with the tip of my man shaft. The soft muscles yielded and the hungry lance slid easily into the generously tight cave of her sex. She moaned softly as entry was made, as the long, thick piston penetrated and forged upward and onward toward her womb.
"Oh my God, you're a monster," Gloria panted. "I don't think I've ever had one this big. It's delicious!"
I remembered the huge monster displayed by Mr. Gin just before his unseemly death and wondered what the nurse would think of that!
"It isn't the size that counts," I said, "it's the talent."
"Not when they're this big," she said. "But I'm not complaining, mind you. I love it and I want it. Oh, Tony Marcus, I know you're suffering from exhaustion and that we shouldn't be doing this, but please give it all you have. Screw me, my big handsome dog."
The first strokes were long and gentle and slow, and they brought us both to a high pitch, a fevered level of sexual fervor.
"God, God, God damn!" she panted. "This is beautiful. This is the way it's supposed to be. SOCK IT TO ME!"
Her buttocks were soft and warm and smooth as I slid my hands beneath her body and pulled her closer. Then, holding her glorious globes tightly and leaning my chest against her upraised breasts, I began a furious stroking that threatened to tear the mattress from the bed.
The noise in the room was fantastically loud, but the night nurse apparently did not hear us. Gloria Peterson squealed and cried out and shouted delightful little love words in my ears as I continued the hammering and pounding against her love mound. Her strong legs bound me tightly and her heels dug into my buttocks to force my hammer-like thrusts into her with increased gusto.
I found her lips again and, as her tongue darted far into the cavity of my mouth and my lips closed over it to suck the sweet juices, my climax came like a speeding train crashing over the rails of a narrow bridge. I felt her body shudder as the hot spurt jetted into her sweet puss and I knew that she had joined me in the moment of pure, unadulterated joy.
When she slipped away a half hour later, I lay for a few moments contemplating my new life. If I played my cards right, I could lounge around in the clinic for another two or three weeks. With nightly visits from beautiful Gloria Peterson, it could very well turn out to be the most wonderful period of my entire life.
The doctor, whose name I learned was Dr. Gaylord Prime, came to my room early the following morning. He seemed cheerful and I was scared to death he had good news; that is, news which would be good to him and bad to me. News that I was able to be released from the clinic.
But he had no such news. At least, not the way I had expected.
"The nurse tells me you have just about reached peak strength again," he said with a grin. He pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat on it backwards, his thin arms crossed over the metal back of the chair.
"I feel pretty weak," I said.
I didn't lie. The episode with the nurse had set me back a ways.
"You look much better," he said, still grinning. "I am very curious about your story concerning the activities on Saint George Island. I would like to discuss them with you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You see, I know Doctor Pearson and I know of his work. He and his wife are brilliant psychologists, you know."
"I suppose so, if one goes for that sort of brilliance."
"As a matter-of-fact," Doctor Prime said "what they are doing is a very popular thing among psychologists today. Do you know that there are a number of private camps and retreats where experiments are being conducted in the areas of inhibitions and the efforts of human beings to achieve what we call terra cognita. Oh Jesus.
"I realize, of course, that Doctor Pearson and his wife are well ahead of most of us," he went on, "but we are catching up. I am delighted that you came to us, Mr. Marcus. Your presence here will be more valuable than you realize."
"In what way?"
"In several ways," he said, still grinning. "For one thing, I will want to know ever detail of your experiments under Doctor Pearson."
"And for another?"
"For another," he said, getting up to gaze fondly at my huge frame beneath the thin sheet, "the physical director of our small camp has recently been called away, so to speak, and you will make an excellent substitute."
I looked up at him and my brain went numb. I knew what he was saying and I knew what he meant, but my mind refused to accept it.
"What are the duties?" I asked.
He chuckled and winked at me.
"I don't think you need to ask that, Mr. Marcus," he said with another grin. "I think you know the duties far better than I do."
