Statistics are usually thought of as the dullest of all possible subjects, but statistics that represent people are anything but dull. They can represent change, growth, progress and they can also represent human misery of the worst kind.
Let's take a few examples. Statistic one: in the spring of 1969, President Nixon met in the Cabinet Room of the White House with the mayors of ten great American cities. The ten had been chosen to be as representative as possible, and the group was a highly varied mixture of parties, races and religions. They were alike in only one way: their qualities of energy and intelligence would have set them apart in any company. The really most notable thing about them, however, was this: in the time between being invited to the White House and the day the meeting actually took place, four of them had effectively resigned from office. All but assured of reelection, these four had announced that under no circumstances would they run again.
Four out of ten. That's a statistic. Perhaps these personal decisions were of no consequence in the overall course of history, but we rather think otherwise. To demonstrate why, here are some more statistics: Today two out of three Americans live in metropolitan areas; and, while our country's population has more than doubled since 1900, the number of people in metropolitan areas has increased more than three and one-half times. The trends toward mechanization, the consolidation of farms into large units, and away from farm work in general are so strong that our farm population has fallen until fewer than one in twenty Americans now work on farms of any kind.
Yet none of these statistics mean that there has been a growth of America's "inner cities." In fact, the major centers of population growth have been on the fringes of the metropolitan areas, in the suburbs. Americans seem to like metropolitan living, but the majority of the urbanites live in areas outside the inner cities themselves. Since I960, the central cities have grown by only about one percent, the surrounding suburbs by a staggering twenty-five percent.
Again, these are statistics but what do they really mean? The most important lesson to be drawn, we think, is that there is a continued exodus of well-to-do whites away from the cities and a continued influx of poorer blacks into them. The annual net loss of white city dwellers averages 141,000; the net increase of blacks is about 370,000. Although the Negroes' income level has risen significantly in the past few years, the rate of poverty is approximately twice as high among city dwellers (frequently black) as it is among inhabitants of the suburbs (very largely white).
More "dull" statistics? Perhaps, but the figures give significant clues to the reasons those four mayors had for voluntarily leaving their posts.
Detroit is a typical American city very like any small town in the U.S.A. in many ways, but by any standards of measurement a big city, and one that is almost totally dependent on one particular industry, the automobile business. But while we call Detroit typical, it is somewhat unusual in that labor disputes have played a very important role in its history. The city has suffered two major race riots within the past thirty years. In 1935, thirty-five people died and more than a thousand were injured, all because of interracial problems. Efforts to eliminate the causes of such disturbances were sincere but apparently misdirected: a violent five-day eruption during the summer of 1967 left forty-three dead and countless injured.
Four Studs for the Bride is about Detroit, but in a much more important sense it could be about any city in America. It is Ward Fulton's sequel to The Violated Virgin, his first novel for us and one of the most successful books we have published so far. If you have read the earlier book, you will look forward to meeting again the characters you already know: Suzanne, the charming heroine, essentially a delightful young girl although she is now a tender bride; Sam, her husband, whose good intentions and honest love clash bitterly with his old-fashioned suspicion of his bride's activities and all of Suzanne's old friends from the earlier book. The many admirers of Ward Fulton's The Violated Virgin will be even more delighted with Four Studs for the Bride. More important to us, as publishers, is the fact that this new novel is every bit as entertaining, even more enjoyable as a complete, polished novel on its own terms... and of considerably more sociological value as Mr. Fulton probes even more deeply beneath the surface of Twentieth-Century America and the forces that have combined to make it what it is.
In short, this is a book about people not about statistics. But we think it will profit you to keep those statistics in mind as you read it... because statistics are people.
-The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
Suzanne sighed contentedly and stretched her arms above her head, lifting her exquisite breasts high above her smooth, flat stomach. The slight, early morning chill sent a shiver through her limbs and she scooted back under the covers of the enormous king-size bed that dominated the room. She rubbed her hands quickly over her flesh, her fingers brushed across the warm little mound between her thighs and she felt a familiar tingle in her groin, reminding her of the way Sam had touched her there a few minutes earlier, just before he climbed out of bed to start the coffee.
She smiled happily at the thought of Sam and his constant attention to her every need; especially his concern over her getting enough loving. "Silly," she had teased him, "You're talking about love when what you really mean is sex." Sam had said they were the same thing but she knew this wasn't always true.
It certainly hadn't been true during those horrible days before their marriage. They really were horrible, yet she often let her mind stray back to those hours of delicious humiliation when she had learned what sex was all about; when she had lost her virginity to those three, despicable youths on West Forest Avenue. She could easily forget Ted and Clayton, except for licentious moments when the memory of Clayton's long, black penis would rise up before her, prompting her to more violent love-making with Sam, or more intense masturbation, depending on the mood and situation.
But Donald was another matter. Maybe it was because of his youth (he had been the youngest of the three); but probably most of all, it was because he had come to the wedding. The look of incredible sadness on his lost-lonely face had haunted her for days afterwards. He had stood on the edge of the crowd of well-wishers as she and Sam climbed into the car and drove away. He didn't wave, or speak; he didn't need to. The expression on his handsome features had been enough. Later that night, with Sam's virile body on top of her own, consummating their marriage, Suzanne found Donald's face intruding on her consciousness. Why? she asked herself. Why should she think of him when it was Sam she had married? And it was Sam she loved.
She wondered if Donald was still in Detroit? It had been awhile; maybe he had moved back down south or had gone into the service. She wondered what she would say to him if their paths were to cross again. Despite the violence of their encounter, he had been tender; he loved her, she knew, in his own, strange way. But, then, he moved in a different world from hers. It would be totally impossible for anything to have worked out between them. Besides, he was younger than she was. Only women past forty went with younger men. And she was only twenty. Twenty years with Sam, that good-looking husband of hers; yes, Sam, Sam... Her fingers moved between her legs again, reminding her of his never-ceasing delight in her sex. If it wasn't his fingers, or his beautiful massive penis, it was his talented tongue that would probe her vagina and bring her to a peak of panting passion, making her clutch at his body and cry-out in desperation for him to continue. More... more... until her body trembled and her insides exploded in a climax that left her drained, yet incredibly satisfied. It was never the earth-shattering emotion that she had felt with Donald or Ted or Clayton but it was immeasurably more fulfilling because she knew it was love and not lust that prompted the encounter.
Her nostrils quivered smelling the aroma of freshly perking coffee and she heard Sam clattering the cups and saucers in the kitchen. He was really spoiling her, fixing coffee and sometimes breakfast before he went off to work. She had told her mother, who at once reprimanded her for not assuming that duty as part of her wifely chores.
"Every husband expects his wife to fix breakfast," Mrs. Delacorte said primly. "Of course, it was different with me and your father. We had a cook."
Suzanne was happy she and Sam didn't live in Grosse Pointe. She had lived there all her life, and had become so tired of the pseudo-elegance that characterized the life-style of most of the residents that she welcomed her newfound freedom in Farmington; she had a new husband, a new home, a new life, and she was loving every minute of it. Her only regret was Sam's job. It took him away from her for eight hours a day. But the job was an outstanding opportunity, one that Sam felt he couldn't turndown.
"We can't live on our inheritance forever," he said shortly after they moved into their new home. "Besides," he grinned teasingly at her, "if I didn't have the job, I'll be home making-love to you all day and you'll be worn-out by the time you're twenty-five and I'll have to trade you in." She had slapped him gently and they had ended-up, as they did so often, locked in a passionate embrace which inevitably led to the ultimate expression of their feelings.
So Sam took the job with the investment company and made rapid progress. Suzanne returned to school at Wayne State University. Their days were filled with useful activity.
"Here we go."
She looked up as Sam walked into the bedroom, holding a tray of steaming coffee and a plate of sweet rolls. He put it down on the bedside table, and sat down, bending-over her to kiss her, gently. She put her arms round his bare shoulders and hugged him.
"You're so good to me," she whispered.
"Only because you fuck good," he replied in mock-seriousness. She cried-out in horror and pushed him away.
'You're terrible," she said. And as she reached for her coffee, her eyes strayed again over his naked body, feasting on his muscular frame and the sensuous penis that lay flaccid but provocatively between his thighs. "How can I enjoy a sweet roll when you're sitting there like that?" she asked.
"Just imagine it's me you're eating," Sam said.
"Right size, wrong flavor," Suzanne giggled, holding-up a sausage-shaped doughnut and closing her lips around it, suggestively. She scooted-back, propping herself up against the headboard and letting the covers slip down, exposing her breasts. Sam sucked-in his breath, and bent forward, closing his mouth around a nipple and sucking-it briefly before straightening up.
"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I think I'll skip work today and just stay home and screw."
"Sex maniac," she replied evenly, staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup.
They laughed and relaxed, enjoying the moment, completely uninhibited with each other. How different this is, Suzanne thought. A year ago she would have been horrified at the very thought of sitting in front of Sam without her clothes, much less with him in the nude, as well. Let's face it, I'd have been terrified at the very thought of sex, but only because I wanted to wait till after we were married, she thought.
All those ridiculous frustrations that were her mother's ideas of love. On rare occasions, she could still hear that voice echoing-down the corridors of her mind, putting the fear of God into her for any genital activities other than elimination. "These filthy, disgusting kids today," Mrs. Delacorte would trumpet loudly. "Did you hear about that Barnes girl, pregnant for the second time and not yet fifteen? She's as bad as her mother." Suzanne always knew better than to question the whys-and-wherefores, especially when it was the Barnes family, who had been a source of scandal in Grosse Pointe ever since the oldest girl had bedded and then wedded a visiting Italian count and had gone to live in Florence, becoming the youngest American contessa in Europe.
"Yes, Suzanne's going to the altar a virgin," was Mrs. Delacorte's proud boast at society gatherings. It was fortunate she never knew the truth, but Suzanne had long ago learned that what her mother didn't know was her problem.
And if her mother had known about those three rampant ruffians who had assaulted her so violently (and yet so deliciously!) there was no telling what she would have done. Suzanne knew her mother's anger would have been more because of the irreparable result than because of the actual act. Her mother was just hung-up over sex, period; therefore, it was no wonder her father had affairs on the side. She had a sneaky feeling that her mother was about as responsive in bed as a frozen noodle.
"Hey, you want some more coffee?"
Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts, and Suzanne nodded, passing her cup over. "I'd better get dressed or I'll be late."
"It doesn't matter if you are," said Suzanne, impishly, "In another year you'll probably run that place."
"Even so, I'm still just working there," he replied, handing her the steaming cup and sliding off the bed. "Hey, you mean you don't have time just for one quick kiss?" He turned and grinned at her.
"If I have one quick kiss, you know what that'll lead-to. And I don't have time. Later for you, sexy."
He disappeared into the bathroom and Suzanne pouted, drinking her fresh coffee. Dammit, she really was in the mood; she was always in the mood when she was around Sam. Especially with him naked like that. Just the sight of his body started a warm glow in her groin making her want him, want him with a passion that grew with each new episode.
She put the cup down on the night stand and reached for the cigarettes. Impatiently, she flipped one into her mouth, snapped the lighter and lay back, puffing smoke with nervous energy. The tingle in her crotch had grown; dammit, she had really wanted sex with Sam before he went to work. Funny how you can change, she mused. She had always enjoyed masturbating herself; but she had been afraid of sex until those three boys had shown her that she really had a tiger in her tail, straining to be free. And now that it was free, she was no longer afraid, unless it was fear of not getting enough; and, right now, she felt her animal instincts churning.
She put her free hand under the covers and touched her labia, quivering slightly from the delicious glow that spread through her vagina. Quietly, she inserted a finger and found her clitoris, rubbing it up-and-down until it was hard to her touch. She had the familiar surge of ecstasy that always presaged her slow climb to orgasm. She lay back, luxuriating in the sensation of the cigarette combining with the eroticism that was spreading through her.
Dimly, she heard the noise of the shower and Sam's deep tones as he began his usual morning serenade. In her mind she saw his body, the rippling muscles and the smooth skin as he spread the soap across those broad shoulders; the wide chest, the flat, smooth stomach and, then, down to the crotch; she almost felt his sex as she pictured his hands, soaping himself, making a pile of lather on his pubic hair and around his magnificent cock and balls; and, then, his hand pulling his foreskin back and squeezing his shaft, giving himself a passing thrill as he cleansed himself.
Quickly she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and put her other hand over her breasts, tweaking the nipples, bringing them to full firmness, and rubbing herself while her fingers pressed deeper into her vagina. Mentally, she imagined Sam's penis penetrating her, pushing into her, thrusting in-and-out, bringing her the joy and supreme delight that she had grown to love so much.
"Oh, Sam... " She breathed deeply as her hands caressed her body and her mind focused on his voice from the bathroom, making the fantasy even more real, more exciting. He was only a few yards away. What if he were to walk in now and plunge his penis into her, completing an act in seconds which normally took so much longer? It would be better than what she was doing.
"Sam... Sam... come here," she called-out. The splashing water was suddenly shut-off. "You call me, hon?"
"Yes. Come here. Now. Just like you are."
"Suzanne, I don't have time."
"I'm ready, baby. Come on, it'll only take a minute."
"I don't dig a quick fuck. You know that."
"You bastard. Go to hell!"
She heard the noise of the shower again, and, impatiently, she increased the tempo of her fingers, the pressure of her hands on her breasts. Goddamn it, Sam. You don't know what you're missing. Donald wouldn't turn me down. Donald... she thought.
Her eyes opened wide. For the first time in months she was seeing Donald's face in her fantasy. It had always been Sam; but now it was Donald, his innocent youthfulness sparkling with lust. She remembered his lithe body, his throbbing, erect penis just before she was impaled on it with Clayton and Ted holding her helpless. And she felt, once more, the sharp thrust of his maleness entering her, going-in all the way and banging-away so hard and fast, it took her breath away. Her fingers responded to the memory and she felt her vagina quivering. More... more... oh, goddamn, this is good! More, Donald. Stick it in all the way and give it to me, you young stud. Scream a little. Struggle. You don't want them to think you're enjoying it too much. Fight for it. Oh, fuck me, Donald, fuck me good.
Her body trembled and she felt the approaching climax. Her loins were catching-fire, her hips were moving faster-and-faster, blending themselves with her fingers as they grabbed her clitoris and caressed it, holding tightly as her insides heaved and she let out a gigantic sigh of ecstasy. She felt her vagina contract and her juices flow and she groaned in delight. Oh, Donald! I'm coming... I'm coming... oh, fuck me, you beautiful boy, let me have that cum right up my cunt... !
The telephone jangled its shrill summons and Suzanne's fantasy dissolved in the onrush of reality. With a muffled curse, she reached-over and picked-up the instrument. She recognized the familiar voice. With unnecessary anger she snapped back: "Goddamn, Yvonne, you pick the worst time to call!"
Woodward Avenue was crowded with students pushing down the sidewalk. Suzanne sidestepped an onrushing young man, his vision partially obscured by the head of a blond who was attempting to kiss him as they walked. The air was warm and it promised to be another blistering, Michigan summer day.
Suzanne moved her books to her other arm, easing the ache that had crept into her shoulder. She had walked from the north end of the campus and now was near the Maccabees Building, where Yvonne had promised to meet her. She smiled to herself, remembering that Yvonne had called, rather remorsefully, only two months ago, asking for a resumption of their friendship. By this time, the memory of the insults and perverted sex had faded, and Suzanne realized she would be losing a good friend by not taking-up with Yvonne again. As the older woman said: "Old friends are best, dear, even if they are a bunch of lesbians."
Yvonne hadn't made a pass since their reconciliation. She was still living with Carole, and Suzanne had been up to their apartment, once, for dinner and had spent a truly happy evening. They spoke little of the terrible night when they had all been victims of the three boys' orgiastic desires. They all seemed to know instinctively that there was nothing to be gained by raking-over the coals, especially the embers of such an unpleasant episode. Carole did comment, lightly, that she hadn't seen the boys around the neighborhood anymore: and Yvonne had declared in her stentorian tones that if she ever did, she was to call the police. So they concluded that the boys had moved away, possibly to avoid any repercussions from the gang-rape of the girls that horrible night.
"So there you are!"
Suzanne looked-up and saw Yvonne leaning up against the concrete wall on the corner of Canfield and Woodward Avenue. "Hi."
Suzanne grinned at Yvonne's eternal, perky expression of coy amusement. "You want to eat at Verne's again?"
"Is there anywhere else?"
Yvonne eased forward and fell into step with Suzanne. "I like that outfit."
"Thanks." Yvonne smiled happily at the compliment. "I got it at Lerner's. They've got a sale this week. Would you believe only $5.95 for the whole mess?" Suzanne laughed.
"You're the only one I know who'll tell the price of a dress and be proud it's less than twenty dollars." Yvonne shrugged her thin shoulders.
"Why bullshit? Everyone knows how much I make, and I'm not ashamed of it." She arched a pencilled eyebrow at Suzanne. "I wasn't lucky to marry for money." Suzanne pouted and shook her head slowly. "You know that isn't true."
"I know. You married him because he's got a big cock and knows how to use it." Yvonne giggled, her usual, throaty expression of licentious amusement. "In fact," she added, "were you, by any chance, fucking this morning when I called?"
Suzanne blushed.
"No, I wasn't, and what I was doing is none of your business." She grinned, remembering. "So there."
"Okay, okay. Just curious, not nosy. But you did sound like you were in the middle of something. " Suzanne was silent, and they walked on through the thinning crowd down to Forest Avenue and turned west to where the familiar sign hung above the sidewalk, announcing the most popular campus meeting place. They pushed through the door and made their way through the darkened interior to a small table at the rear.
They ordered steer burgers and settled-back in the gloom.
"Anything special to talk about?" asked Suzanne. "I had a feeling from your voice this morning that you didn't call just to have company for lunch."
Yvonne inhaled deeply and paused a moment. As she spoke, clouds of blue smoke gushed from her mouth. "Well, truthfully, darling, there is something, and I wanted to discuss it with you. You see, it does concern you."
She paused a moment, and bit her lip.
"Well, go on," said Suzanne impatiently. "Quit being so dramatic." Yvonne gave a wry laugh.
"Okay, okay. I don't quite know how to put this, but" She hesitated, and then proceeded with determination. 'You remember those little bastards who"
"I remember them."
"They're back in town."
Suzanne felt an icy shiver run up her spine. Her eyes widened, and she reached for Yvonne's cigarettes and lit one with shaking hands.
"So did you talk with any of them?" Yvonne nodded.
"Yes. I was walking up Forest Avenue yesterday and coming towards me was this figure, all done up in a leather jacket and tight blue jeans and boots. Well, you know how I am about baskets, and the first thing I noticed was the one on this character. My eyes took it in, because I figured I hadn't had a thrill for two hours and seeing the outlines of that cock through the jeans well, you know what that does to a girl." Yvonne laughed loudly. "And then, as he got nearer, I looked up and I realized who it was. And he knew who I was, too. I think both our faces dropped at the same time."
"Who was it?" Suzanne's voice was tight with suspense.
"It was Donald. He's put on a little weight, and looks as adorable as ever, if you can call that little fucker adorable. He smiled at me and I looked away, so he called out."
"Like what?"
"Oh, he wanted to know if I still lived in the old apartment and if I felt like some company." Yvonne paused. "Then he asked me how you were."
"What did you say?"
"Well, he'd grabbed my arm, so I couldn't really do much. I didn't want to cause a scene so I was pleasant enough. Icy, but pleasant. I told him where I lived was none of his business and that you were fine and to get the hell out of the way before I called a cop."
"And did he?"
"He laughed loudly, and let me go. I walked away and he called after me, saying we'd be seeing each other. I must admit I was a little scared. Just seeing him again brought back all the memories of that time with him and the others.
Suzanne nodded. She felt relieved now that Yvonne had related the whole episode.
"Well, at least he doesn't know where I live," she said, "But as for you and Carole... " Suzanne's voice trailed-off "Maybe you'd better call the police and tell them."
"Nope. Won't do a damn bit of good. It's my word against his, and don't think the cops aren't sick-to-death of calls from screwy women who think the world's out to rape them. No, all I can do is make sure we keep the door locked and make sure we're not alone in the alley at night."
They leaned-back as the waitress approached with their food and drinks. They unwrapped the steerburgers and began eating.
"Tell you what," said Suzanne between mouthfuls, "why don't you call one of those security places and have a guard put on the building? Surely the manager would go along with that."
Yvonne laughed, choked on a crumb and reached desperately for the glass of water. A moment later, she cleared her throat.
"Nope. Not a chance. I'm not worried. I don't think he'll try anything. He may be alone, and his brother may be out of town still."
"And he may not."
They continued eating in silence until they were through. Suzanne lit a cigarette and stretched.
"Well, I'm glad you told me. At first I was afraid, but I'm not now. I know he wouldn't try anything with me, and, most important, he could never find me at school."
"Not among twenty-five thousand students, he couldn't, that's for sure," said Yvonne, "But if that little bastard wants to find you, I bet he will, one way or the other. At least you've got Sam around to protect you at home. With me and Carole, it's a different matter, just like last time."
"Yes, I remember."
Both girls sat a moment in silence, their minds going back to the hours of terror they had spent at the mercy of Donald, his brother, and their colored friend, all of them naked and with seemingly permanent erections, taking each of the girls in turn, forcing themselves on-and-on, until thankfully, it was over. And, even as she remembered, Suzanne had to admit again, as she had a thousand times, that she had loved it. Despite the fear, the violence, the degrading things they had forced her to perform, her inherent animal instincts had responded and she found herself crying-out for more, her emotions as desperate as her body. Yet, she knew this was only a perverse quality, one side of herself that she would do best to subdue, even eliminate. But there were still moments, like now, when the thought of those hours of forcible rape and incredible perversion brought more than a passing tingle to her groin.
"Well, I'd better get back. I have a one-thirty," said Yvonne, "And I want to stop in at the bookstore. You going home?"
"No. I have a class, too."
"Okay, let's walk up Cass together."
They paid the waitress and left the bar, blinking their eyes as they left the darkened interior and came into the bright sunlight. They moved down Forest Avenue to the corner and turned up Cass, towards the book store three blocks north.
"God, this neighborhood is a mess," commented Yvonne, her eyes taking-in the decaying homes and broken storefronts. "It's a pity they didn't burn the whole fucking area during the riots." Suzanne nodded.
"There are some parts of Detroit that are so lovely," she murmured, "and all it takes is a little work and imagination. This area could be beautiful." Yvonne grunted.
"With the trash that lives around the campus, what'd be the use?" she asked. "Look at Donald and those creeps. Do you think types like that care about urban renewal? Hell, the only thing they think about is getting another piece of tail, and they're not particular whose it is."
"I think Donald is particular."
The words were out before Suzanne realized it. Yvonne frowned and glared at her friend.
"You're out of your skull. That little refugee from Kentucky doesn't know how to spell the word. Don't tell me you feel sorry for him after what he did to you?"
Suzanne stopped walking, and leaned-up against a concrete pillar that had once supported the porch of one of the demolished houses.
"I don't feel sorry, Yvonne, but there was something about him that was different from the other two. I never told you this, but he came to the wedding. He was standing at the back of the crowd as Sam and I drove off in the car. He was crying." Her voice dropped and Yvonne was staring at her. "You see, I've always felt that if Donald hadn't come from that terrible background, well... maybe he might have grown up into quite a wonderful guy."
Yvonne shook her head slowly, and tugged Suzanne's arm. They began walking again.
"You're too much," she said, but her voice had lost its harshness, "I'll admit he's a cute-looking kid. And after yesterday, I'd say he's got even cuter. He's sexy as hell, but in a nice, clean way. That I'll never deny. But he's still a little tramp who'll fuck anything and don't you ever forget it. He'll be into your pants again the first chance he gets, and he'll probably have half the neighborhood with him, too."
Suzanne nodded. "I guess you're right, but I can't help thinking about him. I think he really fell in love with me, but realized it was hopeless. He's younger than me, to begin with, and well." She shook her head. "Oh, this is ridiculous. I'm talking like one of those stupid girls in Mary Stewart's novels, all sentiment and no sense."
"I'm glad you said it, not me," said Yvonne, "Here's the book store. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
She smiled and held out her hand, patting Suzanne on the arm, tenderly. "And forgot about Donald. Forget about them all. You've got Sam, remember. He's all that matters." Suzanne nodded.
"Yes. You're right. Take care. And call me if you need help or anything. Promise?"
"I promise."
Yvonne turned and walked into the bookstore and Suzanne continued across the street, glancing at her watch. She had twenty minutes to make her class. She slowed her walk and smiled as she felt the warm sun on the back of her neck, thinking that summer in Michigan could be beautiful.
"Hi, hon, I'm home."
Suzanne looked-up from her book as she heard the back door slam and Sam's cheery voice echoing through the house. A moment later he bounced into the living room, and took her in his arms. Their embrace was close and their kiss passionate and breathless. He broke-off and stared at her.
"You get prettier every day," he murmured. "Now, how about fixing us a drink?"
She looked up into his deep, blue eyes and smiled happily.
"Sure. And I have something special planned for dinner tonight."
His face fell, and he raised his eyebrows. "Hate to tell you this, but I can only stay for one drink and then I have to go. The boss wants me to meet some investors from the Coast. It's kind of important, he said."
"I think that's terrible." Suzanne's voice relayed her disappointment. "You might have called from the office. I could have had dinner with Yvonne and Carole."
He chucked her under the chin and grinned.
"Now you know that's not true, so don't try to pull that number. I didn't call because he only told me in the parking lot. Twenty minutes ago. Come on, now, business comes first, remember."
"I thought I came first."
He grinned wickedly. "You always come first, but only in bed," he said teasingly, "Come on, go get that drink now, and I promise I'll get away as soon as I can, and come home and make mad, terrible love to you all night long."
"You always do."
"I should hope so."
Suzanne leaned-up and kissed him, smiled, and then went to the kitchen and mixed two martinis and carried them back, expertly. She handed one over and held hers up.
"To my handsome husband, future owner of the company," she toasted, "I hope you get that presidency soon so you can spend more time at home where you belong." They both relaxed on the couch, and Suzanne snuggled-up close to him.
"Have a nice day?"
"Uh-huh." His mouth moved over to her ear, and he nibbled gently. She squirmed and her hand rested on his leg, caressing his thigh. Sam looked at her quizzically. "You know what that's going to do to me," he said softly, "So quit."
"Shut up and enjoy it," she said, moving her fingers up to his crotch. "You wouldn't give me any this morning, and you're not going to get away now."
She felt the growing hardness in his penis as her fingers expertly massaged the shaft through his pants, and he shifted slightly.
"Suzanne, that feels great, love, but I've got to meet the boss in an hour down at the Ponchartrain."
"Good," she murmured, leaning over and licking his ear quickly. "That means fifteen minutes for sex, ten minutes to get yourself organized, and twenty minutes to drive downtown, and five minutes to make it to the bar. I presume you're meeting him in the bar?"
"You're too much."
With a sigh, Sam scooted-forward, allowing her easier access to his crotch. Delightedly, she unzipped his pants, and her hand crawled inside, searching for the end of his penis and pulling it out. She pulled the foreskin back and revealed the shining red head, already oozing lube from the wide slit at the end.
"Oh, but he's pretty," she breathed, and her head came forward, her lips closing around his maleness, her tongue going wild around the edge of his glans, her teeth holding the shaft and nibbling. He moved his hips, thrusting upwards. She felt the length penetrate over her tongue and slide into her throat, where she flexed to encompass it and give added pressure to the head.
He groaned with delight and his hand came down, touching her hair and caressing her ears gently.
"Suzanne, you give the best goddamn blow-job in town," he murmured. "I'm so glad I married you."
She lifted-up a second, and stuck out her tongue at him.
"You talk too much," she said, and lowered her mouth once more. Her fingers reached for his testicles, and held them, cradling the sac in her palm and letting them gently rub the balls around while her lips sucked hungrily on his shaft, moving up-and-down, quickly.
Her other hand encircled his shaft, holding the skin firmly, pulling it back so she could concentrate on the glans, its bright, shiny surface stretched almost to bursting from the excitement and the incredible sensations that her talented tongue produced in his groin, which flooded his entire body with erotic delight.
Slowly, she began pulling his balls, stretching his skin even more and making his penis firmer and more exciting to the touch. He began moving his hips, driving his sex in-and-out of her mouth, ramming into her throat where, from long experience, she knew to let it sit, throbbing and pressured by the tightness of her mouth around it.
He moaned and began moving his body, which trembled with suspense at his approaching climax. "Take it easy," he muttered, "I'll come real soon if you don't ease up. Make it last, baby." She lifted her mouth and laughed softly. "You don't have the time, remember."
With a rush, her lips encircled him again, and she began licking frantically, letting her lips cover her teeth and make a hard, glistening passage for his penis to thrust in-and-out, as her tongue titillated the underside of his glans, sending chill-after-chill through his limbs.
His hand came round the back of her head and held her tightly, pressing her down on his shaft. His hips began a steady rhythm which blended with hers, and he knew the long, slow ride to the end of the line had started. The tingle deep between his legs began, and it felt like an electric current had started in his balls and was traveling upwards along his shaft. His body shook and then, with a loud cry, he lunged upward with his penis, pushing it deep into her throat as he felt himself ejaculate, shooting his seed into her. She gulped, swallowed and then sucked frantically again, draining him, milking his cock of every last drop of that precious, salty cream that she had learned to love so much. She tasted it as it slid over her tongue, its presence thrilling her as much as if he had come within her vagina, which at the moment was quivering and was wet and warm with her own juices. Finally, she felt him begin to soften, and she raised-up, letting his penis slide out and lie across her hand.
Gently, she rolled the foreskin back over the end, and tucked his organ back in his pants.
"There," she said, very matter-of-factly, "That ought to keep you happy till you get home tonight."
He leaned forward and their lips met passionately. They broke apart, and he stared into her eyes.
"I do love you," he murmured.
"Likewise, I'm sure," she replied in a fake, Brooklyn accent. And they both laughed, and hugged each other.
Sam zipped up his pants and stood up, straightening his shirt. "Gotta go," he said, "see you later."
"How much later?"
"How do I know? Probably around eleven. If it's going to be real late, I'll call you. Okay?"
"Okay. But do make it back by midnight. You know how horny I get then."
"You're always horny, you adorable little bitch."
He slapped her gently across the buttocks, and ran out of the room. Suzanne walked over to the window and watched him back their little sports car out of the driveway, and zoom down the street. She turned back and sat down on the couch again, draining the remains of her martini. God, she was going to miss him. After that quick session a few minutes earlier, she was really in the mood for more sex, for a real, passionate interlude where he would take her body and do everything to her that she wanted. Oh, Sam, Sam.
She picked-up the martini glasses and walked into the kitchen. She was busy rinsing them under the tap when she heard the front doorbell. She wiped her hands on a dish towel, remembering that she had asked a classmate to drop-by with some books that evening. That was probably her at the door, and how convenient. With Sam away for the evening, they could have a good study session.
Suzanne put her hand on the doorknob, turned it and pulled, a smile of welcome on her lips. She froze. Fingers of fear traced their ugly pattern down her back. Her eyes took-in the figure standing there, blue jeans bulging and leather jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder.
"Hello, baby," said Donald, an insolent grin on his young handsome face, "I guess it's all right to come in now your husband's gone, huh?"
CHAPTER TWO
Looking back on that moment, Suzanne realized that a thousand thoughts flashed through her mind when she first saw Donald. Yvonne's description was right, down to the last sensuous turn of his hips, the provocative projection in front of his skin-tight jeans. Now, though, the face was fuller, even more appealing than she remembered from months before. The expression was more mature, less innocent; and there was a definite message engraved there. There was no question what was on his mind. She knew, that even if she was quick enough to slam the door in his face, he would not let that stop him. He was there for her, just as he had been before.
Suzanne stood, petrified. At last, she found her voice, shaky, uncertain, loud with fear. "You get out of here, Donald."
He grinned and his foot slid, menacingly, forward over the edge of the door sill. "Now you shouldn't treat an old friend like that. It ain't what I call friendly." She took a deep breath and bit her lip.
"Donald, this isn't Forest Avenue. I just have to scream and there'll be a dozen people over here in two seconds."
"Sure. But you're not going to scream, and you know it." She was appalled by his effrontery, his brash self-confidence. "Just try me. You take one step forward"
"Cool it, baby. I'm coming in and there's nothing you can do to stop me."
He moved towards her, his hand against the door, pushing it back, and Suzanne found herself stepping back, knowing that it was a dream, a terrible, horrible nightmare that took her back to her small apartment on campus, ten thousand years ago, it seemed, and she was, once more, the innocent virgin clinging desperately to the hope of preserving herself for her wedding night, but knowing that it was impossible.
"Donald, please!"
His hands were around her, drawing her close. She felt his hot breath on her face as his mouth came down, closing over hers, and his hips pushed into her, the large bulge between his legs reminding her again...
She struggled, but he held her firmly. His strength had matured, and she felt utterly helpless. With a final effort, she lifted her knee and tried to push into him; but he moved aside. Her foot kicked, ineffectually, in the air, her toe touching the front door and slamming it shut.
He released her, and grinned at her, his hand caressing her cheek.
"Be nice, baby. We had some good times once, remember?"
Fear and anger gave her strength, and she broke away, moving quickly to evade his hands.
"Listen, Donald, you get out of here before you do something you're sorry for and end-up in jail. My husband's coming back in ten minutes to get me. He'll... he'll beat the shit out of you."
Donald laughed, throwing his long blond hair back in a wild gesture of derision, and he tossed his leather jacket on a chair.
"He ain't comin' back, and you know it, not right away. Which means you'n me can have a little party all by ourselves, right?"
"No. Sam's coming back in ten minutes. Now you get out."
He stepped forward, put his hand around her waist and bent down, kissing her quickly before she could turn away.
"Suzanne, I want you, baby. I've always wanted you, and you want me, you know it. Please, baby." The harshness was suddenly gone from his voice; he was desperate, pleading, atone which touched her heart and awakened all the perverse fantasies that had lain dormant for months. "Donald, no. This is ridiculous."
"It ain't. There's nothin' wrong in feelin' the way I do. And something tells me you do, too. Come on, baby, all I want is a little loving."
"You don't. You just want to... to fuck me!" The words shrilled from her lips and she began shaking uncontrollably.
Donald nodded slowly and laughed. "Sure. Ain't that what love's all about?"
"No. Not this way. Only when it's right, when there's" She struggled for the words. "When there's tenderness, when you're gentle, not the way you are and those other little monsters."
"Oh, wow, so I'm a monster now?" He leaned back against the door and pulled out a rumpled package of cigarettes from his hip pocket. Carefully, he extracted one until it stuck half-way out; and then, with an uncertain gesture, he offered it to her. "Cigarette?"
She shook her head.
"It'll soothe your nerves. 'Least, that's what they say."
She turned and walked into the living room, ignoring him. He put the package up to his mouth and gripped the cigarette between his lips, withdrawing it quickly and lighting it with an old Zippo lighter he took from his shirt pocket.
"Well, so you don't want me around?" he said, walking lazily into the room after her, and dropping in a chair opposite her.
Suzanne shook her head.
"No. And nobody asked you to sit down, either."
"I ain't got the best manners," he replied imperturbably, "But then you know all about that. What you don't know is how I feel about you, baby."
"There's only one way you feel," she snapped, her heart still beating wildly, her mind desperately searching for a solution to the situation.
"Sure, there's only one way I feel, and that's for you," he continued, completely unruffled by her obvious rejection, "I've thought about you so much, Suzanne, baby. It wasn't just the fucking. It was everything. That's why I left town. I went back to Kentucky just to get away. But I've been thinking about you every night. Every chick I went with was you. Every time I'd jerk-off at night, it'd be you in my mind. I love you, Suzanne."
She shook her head slowly, hardly believing her ears. His voice had lost its rough quality. He was almost a small boy again, pleading for a crumb from her table of love. For almost a moment, her heart softened, and then her eyes saw his crotch, and the bulge there, and the memory of the gang-rape came back to her, and she shuddered.
"You're... you're sick," she muttered.
"Sure I am. Sick with love for you," he said, stubbing his cigarette in an ashtray, and coming across to her. She shrank away and he knelt at her feet, and put his hand on her knee, looking up imploringly at her. "Suzanne... "
"Get away from me!"
The venom in her words was matched by the sneer on her face, and he recoiled. "Jesus Christ, ain't you got any heart?"
"Yes I do," she replied vehemently, "And it belongs to my husband, who knows how to treat a woman properly, not like your type."
"So you ain't gonna be nice to me, huh?"
"No, I am not."
"Not even if I'm gentle and tender, like you said?" His hand came forward, sliding up her leg suggestively. She felt a quiver in her loins, and she pulled her leg away to one side, but he held on, his fingers squeezing gently, provocatively.
"Donald, quit that."
He laughed.
"Sounds like maybe I'm gettin' to you after all."
She tried to rise, but he pushed her back. His hand slid from her shoulder down to her breast, and his fingers closed around her firm flesh, and she felt her gorge rising. "Donald, I'm going to throw up."
"Like shit you are. Now you listen to me." His fingers played with her breast, cupping it and pinching the ends. Suzanne felt her nipples respond, and a warm glow begin flooding her groin. Dammit, why did she react like that? Why couldn't she just scream her head off, or run like hell for the dooranything to put an end to this insane dialogue? Yet something inside told her to stay, to feast her eyes on his undeniable, animal appeal, to wonder if that attractive bulge in his blue jeans would grow, or if his technique had changed... or anything? Jesus, help me, help me. I want him, and I don't want him. Sam, Sam, come back home now and rescue me. Save me from him, save me from myself.
'You look okay to me. You ain't gonna throw up. In fact, you ain't gonna do anything but fuck, you know that?"
She trembled visibly and bit her lip. She felt the tears in her eyes and she looked away.
"Sure you're gonna fuck, because that's why I came here. You're damn right. I've been casing this place for days. I know what time your husband goes to work. I know where he works. And I know he's not coming back till later tonight, which makes it plumb-dandy for us right now to have a little fun. Like old times, huh?"
The tingle in her groin was more than just a quiver. She felt the surge of desire, that same feeling she experienced during the gang-bang with him and the others months before, that perverted passion for degrading violence to be performed upon her, satisfying that primitive side of her which had been subdued since her wedding. Sam made beautiful love, but there was never anything animal about him, nothing to bring out the tiger in her loins the way Donald did.
His hand was firm on her breast and his other one slid up under her dress, pinching its way to her nylon panties a small barrier to the probing fingers that pushed against her warm mound, already oozing its juices of desire.
"Stop it!"
She jerked herself away, tried to rise and escape across the room, but he grabbed her, pulling her back. She lost her balance and fell, lengthwise, on the couch, her head coming to rest inches from his own. His mouth came down and his lips closed over hers, his tongue pushing in forcefully. Her hands beat ineffectually against his shoulders and she felt the tip of his tongue licking around her teeth, touching her flesh like a red-hot welding torch, setting her afire with every flicker.
She felt her mind reeling and her strength ebbing beneath the onslaught of his unrestrained demands. His hand stroked her breasts and slid across her stomach, coming to rest over her crotch, then pressing down firmly against her throbbing, warm cavern. Even through her dress she felt his probing fingers pushing into her bush, sending stabs of sensual delight through her groin. Little choking sounds emerged from her throat, stifled, as they were, by his mouth over hers.
He broke away, holding her shoulders with one hand while the other grappled with her dress, pulling it up above her waist.
"Donald, oh, please, no, not that, please!"
He laughed.
"You love it, and you know it."
His fingers pushed under the edge of her panties and crept through her bush to her slit. Carefully he inserted two fingers and pried open her cunt-lips and she felt the glow begin as he entered her and touched her clitoris, already beginning to stiffen from the growing sensuality within her, the general thrill that came before his ultimate penetration of her body.
One hand crept around her neck and pulled her face to his. He began licking her cheeks, then around her eyes, kissing both her eyelids tenderly; then, quickly, he bit the end of her nose, and clamped over her mouth, pushing his tongue inside. She felt herself respond almost automatically, her own tongue blending with his in a slow movement of ecstasy. He let out a soft moan in his throat and raised-off her.
"Now that's more like it, baby," he murmured, "No sense not enjoying it."
His fingers were probing her vagina deeply, feeling around her warm, dripping cunt-flesh, touching her clitoris every few seconds, rubbing up-and-down the shaft and flicking across the end, stabbing her senses with flashes of unbearable ecstasy.
Suzanne found her hips beginning to move, rotating in rhythm to his caresses. With a knowing grin, Donald eased his hand from around her neck and slipped it down the front of her dress feeling her nipple, already firm and standing-up, eager for more titillation. With a sudden gesture, he gripped the front of her bra and tore outward, ripping the material away from her body. The mounting feeling of tenderness was immediately dispelled and Suzanne cried out, clutching her bosom as her breasts fell open to his gaze, bobbing in front of her.
"Donald!" she screamed, and he slapped her gently across the face.
"Shut up, baby, this is where we stop farting around," he snapped coolly, "If you don't take it all off, I'm gonna tear it off, piece-by-piece."
"I can't, I" Suzanne's face was cascaded with tears. Donald laughed loudly.
"Just like a fucking woman," he said coarsely, "It won't help. I'm gonna fuck you, baby, and right now."
Suzanne stared up at him, her gaze partially blurred by the tears, and she watched, fascinated, as he stood, and with a few quick movements, he took off his shirt, tore off his shoes and pulled off his blue jeans, allowing his half-erect penis to bounce out into view, projecting from his crotch, the fantastic focal-point of his virility. He had put on weight. He had broadened-out considerably since she last seen him naked. His shoulders were thicker, his chest broader. His muscles seemed to be larger, more defined. His waist was still as slim as ever, with a smooth, flat stomach. His legs were well-formed and shapely, but, most of all, his penis... that beautiful, sensuous organ that was slowly rising to its full majesty, above that large, tight sac, scarcely covered with light hair... that had grown, most of all. He stood for a moment, staring at her.
"Well, are you gonna take 'em off or do I?"
She lay still, shaking, and he stepped forward, reached down and with one movement, grabbed her dress and tore it off her. A second later, the nylon panties disintegrated beneath his violent fingers, and she was naked on the couch, cowering beneath his nude body above her.
He pushed his hips forward, making his penis rise slightly and throb before her face.
"There he is, baby. Have you missed him?"
She stared at the end, its wide, cockslit oozing lube, the head just peeking through the folds of foreskin that formed the apex to the organ. So long, so thick! It had grown thicker, she swore to herself, her eyes absorbing the sight that sent shivers through her loins. Oh, Donald, what a beautiful cock you have, she thought.
Yes, it was bigger than Sam's. It was thicker, both at the base and at the end; and that head, so wide and flat and sexy-looking. It stood out from his groin, throbbing and jerking up-and-down.
"See, I can make him jump for you."
He laughed as he flexed his hips and made his penis move spasmodically up and then, down; he slowly moved forward until the end was almost touching her lips. "Go on, say hello to him." She turned her head and closed her lips tightly. "I said suck it, bitch."
She closed her eyes and refused to look. Inside she knew she wanted. Oh, God, how she wanted to. Yes, she wanted to suck it as well. She wanted to feel it plunge violently into her. But she would never let him know that. She would never...
She recoiled at the pain as his hand came down on her cheek, stinging her with a firm ruthless slap.
She cried out, and glared up at him.
"I said... SUCK IT, GODDAMMIT," he shouted. "Or do you want me to come all over you?" He lunged forward, and she tasted the saltiness of his lube on her lips, and then it pushed into her mouth, and she felt him thrust it forward until the head was rammed into her throat. "There, that's better, baby."
He began rotating his penis and she closed her lips around the shaft, letting her teeth grip his foreskin and hold it back away from the head. Her tongue caressed the underside, touching his sensitive spot beneath the glans, and he moaned with satisfaction. In-and-out he pushed it and she brought her hands up and held his shaft in one, and took his balls in the other. Slowly she rotated his sac, feeling the incredible size of his testicles as his massive length violated her mouth, working in-and-out, slowly but surely, as she felt the throbbing expansion of his rod within her.
Oh, yes, this was it. At last she had him again. She felt her loins building-up with that indefinable thrill, the wonderful feeling of having this boy, the very first in her life who had taken her virginity, the one who had haunted her dreams for so long, despite her love for Sam and their nightly sex together. This was Donald, the beautiful boy with the big dick. Suck it, suck it, you love it, you know you do.
She felt her vagina pulsating with desire for his length to be buried within it, her juices creeping-down her cavern and lubricating her flesh in readiness for what she knew would be the greatest fuck she had ever had, either with him before, or with anyone, ever. She began moving her hips and Donald stared down at her, and grinned.
"Oh, wowee, you're really getting with it now. Good, huh, baby? Good to have that ol' thing once more?"
She ignored his voice. She was concentrating on his penis, enjoying every inch of it as it moved slowly in-and-out, her mouth forming a liquid-hot passage for him to fuck. She could taste his flesh, that special musky quality he had always had, more arousing to her than any man she had ever had relations with, more sensuous than Sam, more titillating than Ted, more consuming than Clayton. Suck-suck, fuck-fuck... Her mind reeled beneath the overwhelming aura of delight beautiful, perverse, degrading delight.
Donald pulled-back, and his penis swayed in front of her, glistening in the light with all the saliva along its length. He swung himself over her in a sixty-nine position, and lowered his sex once more into her willing mouth while his tongue began licking her legs, up-and-down, around her bush, teasing her. She groaned and moved her hips. She lifted her mouth off his penis and screamed out: "Suck me, you bastard, suck me," and he giggled, and went on teasing her. Finally, his hands pulled her cunt-lips apart and she felt his warm mouth descend into her twat, his tongue probing and licking her clitoris, up-and-down its shaft, in-and-out her vagina, all around until she felt her insides were going to explode with anticipation.
Deep inside, she felt her orgasm start, flood through her entire being, and then her body was wracked with a spasm of ecstasy. She moaned, lifted-off his penis and cried out: "Christ, I'm coming, I'm coming!" And she lifted her hips, pushing his face deeper into her as she felt her vaginal tunnel contract and squeeze her love juices down to a waiting mouth that was licking-up every drop as it came oozing-out.
His hands crept round her buttocks, lifting her and squeezing her smooth round flesh, pulling her nearer to him, and his one hand slid down between, searching for her anus and pushing a finger in, adding to the convulsive paroxysm of ultimate delight.
She felt his penis flex and thicken in her mouth, as he thrust forward with ever increasing intensity, his own emotions stimulated by her climax. Her fingers closed tighter around his shaft, holding it firmer and feeling the cord at the back stiffen. She pulled on his sac, stretching his balls and tightening the skin around his penis, making it even smoother and slicker as it slid in-and-out of her mouth, pounding deep into her throat where the head lodged and quivered with mounting passion.
She heard his convulsive grunting between her thighs and his body began trembling and he lifted off her cunt and cried out, "Yeah, baby, yeah, I'm there, I'm there... " and with wild animal fury, she clamped her jaws down as she felt his rod shudder and ejaculate into her mouth, spilling great gobs of semen over her tongue, filling her mouth with the musky, salty taste that she loved so much. She gulped, swallowed and felt more shoot-out into her as his groans intensified, his hips moved with staccato shudderings and he shot more-and more of the delicious love-cream into her. Her mind boggled at the realization that, after so long, it was once again happening. She again had him within her; she was taking his seed into her body and bringing him to the peak of satisfaction.
He never was going to stop she thought; on-and-on the delicious cum kept filling her mouth, until, finally, she felt him relax and she lowered her mouth until her lips touched his balls and she milked him of the very last drop, licking the cockslit and getting the very essence of him from his cock. She remained with her mouth around his sex, knowing it would slowly soften. But he did not soften. His penis did not diminish in size or firmness. He kept moaning, and moving his hips, slower, but still keeping his erection. She raised-up, slowly, covering his shaft with her hand, and stared at him. He lifted his head from her crotch and grinned at her.
"I'm a horny stud, ain't I?" he said devilishly, "I ain't going soft, I'm staying with you now. Come on, climb on, baby, we're goin' for a ride."
He stretched out, and as if in a dream, Suzanne moved her body until she was straddling his thighs, the tip of his enormous prick touching her vaginal opening.
"Yeah, lower away."
Balancing herself on her arms, she carefully lowered her body, feeling the head enter and push past her clitoris, then way deep into her canal, until his entire length had disappeared into her hot, steamy cavern, slick and syrupy from her coming and his saliva. She gasped, feeling the head push up to the mouth of her womb, and her insides gripped his shaft tightly and he cried out: "Yeah, tight, baby, tight."
He began moving his body, and she lifted herself up-and-down, riding his sex and glorying in the feelings that coursed through her. She was going to come again, she knew. That thick dick was getting to her, pushing aside her flesh and violating her innermost depths, bringing her the greatest sexual pleasure she had enjoyed in months. Sorry, Sam, but he is bigger... and thicker... and younger... and hornier... Jesus, this is good... and he's got such a groovy body.
Suzanne put her arms forward, her fingers touching his chest, supporting herself as she rotated on his penis. She ran her hands over his chest, relishing the muscles that had grown some since last she felt them, making him harder, broader, more manly; he was no longer the sexy boy; he was a virile young man, with a man's muscles and firmness. She ran her fingers over his stomach, feeling the ridges of firm young muscle twitching as he moved and thrust himself in-and-out of her.
He was staring across his body at her crotch, seeing the wetness oozing from her crack, at the shininess of his rock-hard cock as it entered and withdrew from her.
"Hey, that's a good-lookin' pussy down there!"
She bent her head and joined his gaze, hardly believing the way her bush was spread apart, her pink lips gripping the prick inside her, the darker red of her flesh appearing every-now-and-then, pulled-out by the thickness of his horn as it came sliding-out before jamming back in again. In... out... oh, what a beautiful sight! What supreme ecstasy!
She bent down and closed her lips over his, and his arms came round her, holding her back and kneading her flesh while their tongues joined in a frantic licking and sucking of each other. She broke and licked his cheeks, his forehead, his ears, then his chest, biting his nipples and feeling the quivering of his muscles under the smooth, tanned skin.
"I'm gonna roll you over now, baby."
With flexing muscles, he gripped her body and moved sideways until she was beneath him, and he was on top. He accomplished the procedure without missing a stroke, keeping his steady rhythm in-and-out of her cunt.
"Now wrap your legs round me, bitch."
She knew what he wanted, and she knew why. Without hesitation, she lifted her legs and locked them at the ankles, embracing his slim waist, and giving him that much more room to penetrate her. She felt his rod ram home even deeper than before and she gasped at the incredible sensations that were stemming from the deepest corners of her vagina.
"Oh, Christ, this is good!"
She hardly recognized her own voice; she was even amazed that she should let out such an exclamation; but she knew she was past caring now, past concern for anything but the beauty of the encounter with him, with this one person who had made her realize for the first time what it was to be a woman, impaled upon a man's penis, her emotions pushed beyond imagination, and by an organ that defied description.
"Oh, fuck, fuck. Stick that thing in, all the way."
"It is in all the way, you cunt."
Their bodies were sweating, the streams of perspiration running freely down their sides; Suzanne could feel her breasts awash as they slapped against his chest, the friction stimulating her nipples even more until it was like red-hot pokers stabbing through her flesh. She could feel his balls bang against her buttocks every time he rammed deep into her, and his moans blended with her own as they were both carried forward towards their climax.
His shaft was still as hard and thick as ever, and with every push it seemed to expand, to throb even more, and his body seemed to move even quickerfaster-and-faster, in and out, pressuring her flesh and jabbing her insides with delicious sensation.
She knew it could not last, but she wanted it to. She knew it was wrong; she hated herself and she hated him; but, at the same time, she gloried in what was happening. She loved to feel his sex within her cunt, to enjoy his flesh under her fingers, and to close her mouth over his and to kiss his handsome face. The only thing that mattered were the feelings that their union was producing. She didn't care what happened; she didn't even care that Sam might come home early; that a neighbor might knock at the door and walk-in unexpectedly; she just didn't care. She was too carried away, and she knew that at any moment, he would climax; and then she would again; and she wanted it to go on, more... more... more...
They had both settled-down to the steady, building rhythm and his hands were digging into her viciously. She almost screamed from the pain as he scored her back, his nails rough against her soft skin. She dug her own nails into him, thrilling at the firm hardness matching the firmness of his cock within her cunt.
"Jeez... tighter... tighter... come on, pussy, snap at it!"
She concentrated on her vagina, consciously clasping his penis as it entered her, holding tightly and feeling every curve of it within her, shivering, shaking. She felt her responses rising and she began clawing at him as her insides convulsed again and she felt her juices flowing once more as her mind left her body in the supreme ecstasy.
Dimly, she was aware of his cry, the ramming of his cock deep into her and the spurting lit again, great loads of come that oozed-down her channel, mingling with the sweat around her bush, and dripping-out between her legs. Then with a sudden gasp, he began to soften and he moved back. She unwrapped her legs, and lowered them to the couch with a thump, realizing how tired she was and feeling the aching at the ankles where she had locked them around his waist. He gazed up at her and grinned.
"That sure was the best fuck ever, huh?"
She met his gaze and smiled.
"You're goddamn right, you little bastard."
Her voice was harsh, but not unpleasant, and they both laughed. He bent forward, covering her again and kissed her on the lips. Then he rolled off the couch and stretched-out on the carpet.
"Jeez, that was so good I reckon I'll stick around for some more. When's the old man gettin' home?" Suzanne sighed.
"Later. Around eleven." Then she frowned. "I thought you knew all about that." Donald laughed. "Keerist, you'd believe black was white if I told you, wouldn't you? Stupid cunt."
"You mean you didn't know he was going to be gone till then?"
"Hell, no. I figured I'd take a chance." He laughed again. "Nothing tried, nothing gained, my ma always says."
She gasped and then giggled.
"You're too much," she murmured, "But, anyway, you'd better get going now. I've got to clean-up." She slid sideways and patted the couch. "Look at this mess. I'll have to clean this before it stains." He laughed. "Come-stains on the couch. Sounds like a song, don't it?" She shook her head and gave him a despairing look. "Come on, get dressed. You've got to go, Donald."
He leaned-over and grabbed her breast and tweaked the nipple roughly. She jerked away. "Quit that!"
"No, I won't, and you love it, you know. And I ain't gettin' out 'til I'm good and ready, you hear?"
Their eyes met, and his expression was suddenly again grim, and the lightness in her heart evaporated, and her old fear returned. Even the lingering afterglow of sex in her body faded, and an overpowering sense of guilt and disgust invaded her mind.
"Donald... "
"And quit bitching like that. I came here to see you because I wanted to, because I wanted to fuck you again, and tell you how I felt. And I do feel for you, you goddamn cunt, if you'll ever get that into your addled brain. So shut your mouth. I'm going, but in my own time."
He got up, and, stark naked, walked through the living room into the kitchen. Suzanne lay on the couch, her heart beating wildly. She heard the tinkle of glasses and the kitchen faucet being turned-on. She leaned back. So he just wanted a glass of water. She was not surprised, considering all the activity. It had been a good session. He had certainly improved. He fucked like a man now, not like a nervous boy, anxious to get his rocks-off with a chick. Yet there was still that boyish quality about him, the innocent youthful aura that had first appealed to her despite the horror of the first attack that he had inflicted upon her when he took her virginity. He had matured physically, though not much mentally, but, then, did that type ever-really mature mentally? With his background, his lack of education, his ghastly family situation and that perverted brother of his...
Suzanne's eyes opened wide as she suddenly thought of Ted. Yes, Ted, the brother who had carried-on where Donald left off. Would he be back for more of the same treatment? And what about the colored boy, Clayton?
Donald walked back into the living room, carrying a glass of water. He stood, staring at her insolently, his penis swaying gently between his legs. "Donald...?"
"Yeah?"
"Did your brother leave town, too?" He shook his head and laughed coarsely. "Nope. He's still around. Why? You want a little of his cock, too, again?"
"No!"
The word exploded from her mouth, and instantly she regretted it. He laughed loudly and nodded his head. "You sounded real scairt. You figure I might bring him around again, is that it?" She shook her head, but her voice betrayed her. "Of course not. You've got more sense."
"Mebbe I don't have any sense at all." He walked over and sat down next to her, tracing his fingers over her stomach and resting his hand over her mound. She tried to push him away, but he slapped her hand gently, and replaced his fingers over her bush.
"You quit that," she said.
"Lookit, I'll play with your twat anytime I feel like it," he snapped. "And if you don't do like I say, I'll bring ten guys 'round some night when I'm sure your old man won't be home, and then you'll really have some cock up that cunt of yours. More'n you bargained-for, too. So straighten up. You do good with me, and there'll be no trouble."
She shifted back to ease the tenseness in her back.
"Donald, you've got to promise not to come back again. Not ever. You understand?"
"Nope. I'm coming back. You know that."
"Donald... " She floundered hopelessly, searching for the right words, the forceful expression. "Look, I'm married. It's different now." He shook his head.
"Bein' married don't make no difference. Most of the chicks I've ever balled have been married. It's the married ones who dig it, especially what I've got." He put his hand on his penis and waved it in the air in front of her. "I know what this does to you, doll." Her eyes automatically looked at the long thick organ in his hand; and, for an instant, she wanted to reach out and pull the foreskin back to expose the head again.
'Yeah, I know all about you chicks who're married. Mebbe you marry 'cos you need someone to take care of the bills, but then the guys who take care of the bills can't always take care of the cunt. So you get a little cock elsewhere. And I've got a beaut. So you ain't gonna turn me down, no, baby. And besides, like I said, you're kinda special to me. I broke your cherry, remember?" She nodded.
"I remember," she said quietly, "And that makes you special to me, too. But don't spoil it by trying for something that can't work, Donald. It'll never work. And you can't keep coming back. You know that. I don't want it, and you'll only get caught, and then there'll be a whole mess for everyone."
"You're talkin' like a kid again, Suzanne."
"Maybe that's the only way to get through to you," she snapped. "You behave like an adult, and I'll treat you like one."
He laughed, and gently slapped her face.
"Nasty, nasty," he chided her. "Keep talkin' like that and I'll stick around and fuck you again tonight." Her face blanched.
"No, not tonight. Please." She glanced up at the clock over the mantel. "Oh, Donald, look at the time. Come on, get dressed and get out of here." He sighed, and got to his feet. "Okay, but I'll be back, I promise."
She sat up, and reached for her torn dress and underclothes. With a hopeless shake of her head, she glared up at him.
"That was a new dress."
"You shouldn't buy such cheap stuff. You husband makes good money, I reckon. This is a classy pad."
She took the material, rolled it in a ball and started walking out of the room. She descended the stairs into the basement, threw the torn garments into the gas incinerator and came back up into the living room.
Donald was dressed and tucking his shirt into his jeans; a difficult task considering the tightness of the pants. She smiled at him.
"You couldn't get a smaller pair, could you?" she said sarcastically.
He eyed her for a moment, then grinned.
"Smart-ass." He walked forward and took her in his arms, embracing her and kissing her fully on the mouth. When he released her, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" he said, his voice grating. "Just for that I might stick around... "
"NO!" Her voice cut across the room shrilly.
"Okay. Okay. I'm goin'." He moved to the front door and stood for a moment, staring at her. She suddenly realized she was naked and became instantly embarrassed.
"If you're going, go," she snapped, "and remember, don't come back. I'm having a chain put on all the doors tomorrow."
He paused, his hand on the doorknob.
"You really don't want me back, Suzanne?"
There was a strange note of pleading in his voice. "No, I don't."
"Okay. That's what you want?"
"That's what I want." He laughed callously.
"We don't always get what we want, do we? See you, baby, and thanks for the fuck. It was a good one, I'll say that."
He opened the door and was gone. Suzanne stared after him and suddenly the tension of the past hour caught up with her. She felt her stomach heaving, and with a gasp, she ran for the bathroom and bent over the commode, letting her guts spew out. She raised up, breathing deeply, and caught her reflection in the mirror.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. "What's happening to me?"
CHAPTER THREE
"Yvonne, I've got to see you."
Suzanne's voice was tense and trembling. She heard her friend sniff into the telephone before replying. "What's the matter? You sound like you're sick."
"I am."
"So what else is new?"
"Yvonne, please."
There was a slight pause and she heard Yvonne inhale deeply. She could picture her holding the receiver to her ear and clamping her cigarette between two fingers like Bette Davis. Dammit, why couldn't she realize it was serious?
"All right, doll. What's the problem?"
"I don't want to talk about it on the phone."
"Oh, dear God. Don't tell me it's Donald."
Suzanne sighed hopelessly.
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ. Did he... I mean?"
"Yes, Yvonne, he did."
"Christ. What about Sam?"
"He was out for the evening. Donald came here last night. He must have stayed an hour or longer. It was"
"Don't tell me. I hope you douched with penicillin."
"Stop it."
"Okay, okay. You going to be on campus today?"
"Yes. I have a one o'clock class."
"All right, I'll meet you for lunch. And Suzanne"
"What?"
"I'm sorry, dear. I really am."
"Thanks. See you at Verne's later."
"Fine. About 11:45, inside."
Suzanne replaced the phone and leaned back against the headboard. Her mind was still reeling from the realization of what had occurred the previous night.
Sam had returned around eleven-thirty, and, immediately he began making overtures. She had pushed him away. She just couldn't bear his hands on her body; not then, not so soon after what she had been through with Donald. He had finally crawled into bed, turned his back on her, and had fallen asleep in a snit. He got up and dressed and left for work without even speaking to her. He knew something was wrong; but how could she possibly tell him that his suspicions were justified? How could she admit the shame she felt, the indefinable mixture of glowing sensual satisfaction and complete remorse?
She lay back, reaching for a cigarette and inhaling deeply, letting the smoke chase some of the tensions away. Her thoughts went back to the previous evening how she had finished thro wing-up and then had climbed into a steamy, hot bath, soaking the tiredness from her limbs (a delicious tiredness, she had to admit); how she had taken care of her sexual hygiene (she had to giggle at Yvonne's comment about the penicillin) and, then, the inspection of herself in front of the mirror. Her back had faint weals across it where Donald's nails had dug-in; but she knew they would be gone in a day, and she didn't anticipate Sam's going over her with a magnifying glass, anyway. Her vagina felt tender but not uncomfortable; in fact, she had to admit she had not had such a complete aura of satisfaction in her genitals for months. Sam was good but he lacked the virility that Donald exhibited, the strong thrusting without regard for tenderness; and Suzanne knew that there was one side of her which responded to this kind of violence. God, why? Was she sexually sick? She'd read about some women who only liked vile sex, to be violated, hurt and degraded. Was she one of those? Why couldn't she settle for the gentle ministrations of her husband, like most other married women? Had her marriage become dull after less than a year? It couldn't have. She loved Sam. She really did love him. But how could she possibly tell him to put more into his love-making without intimating that he was inadequate? She knew no man liked to have his sexuality questioned. Sam gave her enough sex, she could never deny that, but it was the difference between having one satisfying drink every night and going on a bender. Donald was like a three-day drunk all-at-once. Sam was just the dignified martini in the living room before dinner.
Impatiently she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and slipped out of bed, going to the bathroom to shower before getting dressed for school. She was a little apprehensive about her meeting with Yvonne but, then, she had to talk to someone; and Yvonne was the only one who she could tell with confidence and with the hope of receiving some logical advice and a modicum of sympathy. Yet how could she really expect sympathy for something she had enjoyed so much?
Verne's was unusually crowded at noon and Suzanne pushed her way through the chattering mass of students. In the far corner at her usual table sat Yvonne, surrounded by three young men. As Suzanne approached Yvonne looked up and grinned.
"Scoot-in next to me," she said. "And keep your legs crossed. These wolves are out for blood."
They all laughed and Suzanne sat down, smiling at them.
"This is Suzanne," said Yvonne, "Brett, John and Grant. All psychology majors, so don't think you can fool 'em."
Suzanne greeted them and ordered a steerburger. Yvonne already had hers and was taking an occasional bite in-between comments.
"You're Sam's wife, aren't you?" asked Brett, who was a very good-looking guy that Suzanne had seen on campus before.
She nodded. "Sam and I went to school together," continued Brett. 'You've got a good guy there."
"Thanks. I think so."
Yvonne raised one eyebrow and gave Suzanne a cynical glance.
"Why is it all the best-looking ones are married?" asked John, a blond with a long beard and flowing hair down to his shoulders.
"You should worry," replied Yvonne. "It never makes any difference, does it?"
"Not to me," he admitted, "though I don't relish the idea of an irate husband banging on my door anxious to beat me up. I abhor violence."
"Yeah, I'm sure," said Yvonne, her voice muffled by a mouthful of meat and bun. "I thought most men preferred violence, especially when it came to sex."
Grant laughed, and shook his head.
"Psychologically speaking," he said in a very pompous voice, his plain features creased in a frown, "there are those women who can only accomplish a satisfying orgasm after being assaulted by a man. Actual rape, you might say, though it could still be done by the husband. Tender sex doesn't do the trick. It's not uncommon."
Suzanne shifted uncomfortably in her seat and gave Yvonne a despairing glance.
"I'll still take the gentle ones," said Yvonne. "Any guy who starts getting rough with me's liable to get a kick in the crotch."
"You mean you've never had an encounter that's been anything but tender?" asked Brett, curiously.
"I wouldn't say that," she replied coolly, "but not one that I enjoyed."
"I don't believe you."
Yvonne glared across the table at Brett.
"Listen, buster. Just because you're a psychology major it doesn't give you the right to pass judgment on the opposite sex. Until you've been to bed with a man, you've no room to talk."
"I have," said Brett with a grin. "He was almost as good as the chick I'm dating."
"Ooops, sorry I asked," said Yvonne, and she turned to Suzanne. "You can never tell these days who's AC and who's DC, or both." She sniffed deprecatingly. "I must admit I'm not passing judgment, but I do prefer a man who goes for girls all the way."
"Oh, I do, too," replied Brett, "but every man is bisexual."
"I agree," said Grant. "I've had several homosexual experiences. They were quite illuminating." He smiled. "I indulged strictly for research for a term paper, of course."
"Of course, dear. " Yvonne's voice was scathing. Grant laughed and Suzanne gave vent to a giggle.
"What difference does it really make?" asked John. "Sex is sex, an expression of love between two people. Usually, they're male and female, but if they're not, so what? As long as nobody gets hurt anything's fine in my book."
Suzanne bit her lip, lifted her chin and spoke: "What if sex isn't an expression of love?" she asked, a little shakily. "Like when it's just pure sensuality with no emotional response?" Brett shook his head.
"Never happens," he opined, "even if a man attacks a girl in an alley, there's more to it than mere lust. In the course of his attack, there is emotional response. There has to be."
"No, sir, you're dead wrong," said John. "Emotional response only occurs after two people know each other and there's some sort of intellectual or mental compatibility. Check your Freud, your Jung and Adler."
"And you check the chicks," snapped Yvonne. "Look, I've had two years of psychology but, more important, I've had thirty years of living and, if I may be blunt, about fifteen years of screwing. And I've had a few sticky situations, let me tell you. When a guy's got a hard-on and he's got the upper hand, there's no emotion. It's pure sex and nothing more."
"What's our married woman got to say?" asked Grant, looking quizzically at Suzanne.
"Oh, I'll go along with Yvonne," said Suzanne after a brief pause. "There are times when emotion doesn't enter into it. Even... " she hesitated, "even in marriage there are times when sex becomes tedious, more a habit than an expression of love. Yet, you know the love is there, even if the feeling isn't for the moment."
The waitress approached and handed Suzanne her steerburger and glass of coke. Suzanne bit into the bun and leaned back in her chair. This was a hell of a conversation, considering the reason for her meeting Yvonne, considering what had happened to her the night before.
"Isn't that justification for the statement that married women are the most promiscuous?" asked John. "They have the cover-up of their marriage, so they go out and get a little on the side when they feel tired of their husbands?"
"Not necessarily," said Yvonne. "I think everyone's a whore at heart. We'll take any opportunity that comes our way, provided, like you said, nobody gets hurt. I'm willing to bet there must be more encounters between married women and outside men than you ever know about, or which the husbands ever hear about."
Grant nodded.
"What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't get uptight about, huh?" She nodded.
"You're damn right. We're all animals at heart. It's just this veneer of civilization which makes us preserve some dignity and discretion in our relationships."
"But at the expense of our peace of mind," interjected Grant. "Primitive societies who are completely free with sex seldom suffer from guilt and inhibition, like we do."
"What makes you think we suffer from guilt?" asked Suzanne.
"We all do," said Brett. "You're married to Sam now. We'll presume, for argument's sake, that you only have sex with him. But you might occasionally remember someone you had sex with before... "
"I never." Suzanne's voice cut through the noise and chatter with an almost agonized denial. They all stared at her strangely.
"I'm sorry," Brett apologized, "I shouldn't have given a personal example of what I was going to say. Let's say that a woman is married and sleeps with no one but her husband. The memory of her past affairs before her marriage will always tend to give her guilt feelings and this will affect the quality of her response to her husband. It's a proven fact."
"Bullshit," snapped Yvonne. "We all have sex with dozens of people in our lives. Previous affairs have no effect on our present involvement, married or otherwise."
"Well, that's your opinion," said John. "Psychologists seem to think differently."
"What do you think, Suzanne?" asked Brett, a curious look on his face. "You've been married almost a year. Are you perfectly happy, sexually, with Sam?" Yvonne banged her hand down on the table.
"Goddamn," she exploded, "we're getting too personal for my liking. Now cool-it before I blow my stack. Suzanne's sex life is nobody's concern but her own. Not even in the cause of research," she added, with a sniff and a caustic look at Brett.
John crumpled the paper from his steerburger and placed it carefully in the ashtray. He pushed his chair back.
"Well, guys, I guess it's about that time," he said pointedly. They all rose, nodded, and left.
"Bastards," said Yvonne, staring after them with a frown creasing her narrow forehead. "I sometimes think all psych majors are a bunch of nosy perverts. I've never been to bed with one, and something tells me I never will."
Suzanne giggled.
"Not even if she's cute?"
Yvonne's face broke into a grin.
"Okay, okay, enough of that. Now, finally, tell me all about it. I've been itching to hear ever since you called me."
Suzanne's smile faded and the momentary feeling of lightness was replaced with a depression that carried her back to the night before.
"Well, Sam took-off and, a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I thought it was Carrie coming-by with some books, and when I opened the door, there he was just like you said. I was never so thrown for a loop in my life."
"And why the hell didn't you slam the door in his face?"
"Because I was scared to death, that's why," replied Suzanne. "Besides, he'd pushed his foot into the door. Then he came in and started kissing me and saying he loved me, and he wanted to fuck me, and all that stuff." Yvonne snorted.
"And you just lay back and let him do it?" Suzanne sighed and stretched-back in her chair. "I didn't just let him do it, you know that. But what could I do? He's stronger than I am. He has grown a lot, you know. He's quite the little man now."
"I'll bet." Yvonne stared at Suzanne. 'You know, I declare, I think you enjoyed it." Suzanne gasped and shook her head. "Yvonne, how can you say that?"
"Because of the look on your face when you were speaking. I'll admit he's a sexy little fucker but, Christ, you've got Sam, you've got your home, you've got everything at stake."
"I know, I know. Why do you think I'm so upset?"
"Frankly, I don't think you're upset over what happened. You're just feeling guilty because you had the best fuck you've had in months and you're wondering what's going to happen now because he's probably coming back."
Suzanne suddenly felt tears welling-up and she lifted her hand to her face. Yvonne's expression softened, and she put an arm around her friend.
"I'm sorry, baby. But you know me, dear, old blunt butch-dike. But isn't it better to be honest about things, especially something like that?"
Suzanne nodded, wiping her eyes.
"I just had to talk about it to someone, and you're the only one." Yvonne patted Suzanne's arm again.
"All right, all right, but let's be truthful. He just didn't rape you again, did he? I mean, you probably... er... cooperated with him, didn't you?" Suzanne nodded.
"Yes, I did, and even while I hated every minute of it, I was loving it. What's wrong with me, Yvonne? Am I one of those dirty types who just like rough sex? And apart from that, what's going to happen if he comes back? Sam's not going to be gone all the time, and it was just lucky he didn't come back early last night. It was lucky he didn't walk in on us. I don't know what would have happened then. I mean, he'd have probably beaten Donald up. But, then, what about me? I was there, sucking his cock, getting fucked and it was the wildest sex I've had since that time a year ago."
"Yes, I know. I was there, remember."
"That's right. I'm sorry. Oh, Yvonne, Jesus Christ, what am I going to do?"
Yvonne was silent for a moment. Then she raised her hand and beckoned to the waitress.
"First, we're going to have a drink," she said. "Bring us two vodka collins, will you?"
The waitress nodded and departed. Suzanne leaned-back and choked-down another flood of tears that threatened to well-up. Yvonne lit two cigarettes and gave her one, and they sat for a few moments in silence, smoking.
The waitress returned with their drinks and Suzanne took a long sip, and smiled gratefully at her friend. "Thanks. I feel better now. I'm sorry I'm such a drag."
"Nonsense. I'm sort of involved. After all, I'll never forget that night with you, Carole and me, and those three bastards. I mean, I was scared, but hell, like you say, once we got down to the fucking, I had to admit they were good lays, all of them. Pity some of the best kids in bed are the worst ones outside the sheets. Let's face it, darling, I love Carole, and I'm a dike at heart, but I won't turn down a good piece of cock when it comes my way. Few dikes will, take it from me. There's nothing to beat that sensation when it comes to sex. But when it comes to love, that's a different matter." She looked at Suzanne for a moment. "You're not... er hung-up on Donald by any chance, are you?"
"I don't know. All these months, being married to Sam, I've had this weird fantasy at the back of my mind. I've thought about Donald, especially after he came to the wedding. Remember, I told you? Maybe it's my sentimental side thinking that, perhaps, if someone did show the kid some true affection and interest he'd be able to mature into a decent person instead of some little hood that never accomplishes anything in life except, maybe, a hillbilly wife and ten kids. And that's no accomplishment, especially today."
Yvonne nodded. 'You're sounding like a Walt Disney movie now, dear. Life ain't like that. He's set in his pattern and nothing you or anyone else can do will change him now. So don't get all altruistic over someone who's only interested in a good fuck from you."
Suzanne nodded.
"I guess you're right. But then, back to the problem. What do you think I should do?"
"I'd tell Sam," said Yvonne. Suzanne gasped and shook her head violently. "Tell Sam? You're out of your mind! Sam'd kill me."
"Not if he loves you. I mean, you wouldn't tell him about the sex, naturally, but I'd certainly tell him you had a visitor who threatened you last night, and that he might return, and so on. I mean, you can get a patrol once an hour, which would be a good idea. I'd certainly put chains on the doors, too."
"Yes, I've thought of that."
"Well, Sam'd certainly want to know why if you told him you wanted chains of the doors. No, dear, I'd tell him some little hood was bothering you last night and let him handle it from there. I really don't think Donald'll be foolish enough to force his way in. Now, of course, he may try to catch you outside the house, so you'll have to be very careful when you're alone, or outside the house. Even on campus."
"Yes. I know. I know."
"Okay, then, everything's decided."
Suzanne shrugged her shoulders hopelessly.
"Maybe it sounds like it is. But what if he does come back?"
Yvonne laughed. "And suppose we have an earthquake tomorrow? Or a flood? Or whatever? Come on, dear, be sensible."
"All right. But I'm still scared."
Yvonne laughed, her usual rich bass tones echoing above the noise and chatter of the bar. "Scared of him, or of how you'll react?"
They stared at each other and Suzanne dropped her eyes, feeling incredibly ashamed. "Yes, maybe it's myself. I do have this terribly yearning for him. It's a mixed-up feeling but it's there, all the same. And it had nothing to do with my love for Sam, believe me."
"Yvonne nodded, sagely.
"It's that big dick of his, dear, and I don't blame you. It's a pity you can't keep him in the closet and take him out on lonely nights."
Suzanne laughed, and Yvonne smiled. "Come on, we have to go."
They rose and threaded their way out into the early afternoon sunshine. Suzanne looked around and stretched lazily.
"Everything looks so good," she murmured, "It's a pity we have so many problems after the sun goes down."
Yvonne giggled.
"There're even more when the father goes down," she said. 'Yvonne!"
Suzanne moved a knife a little more to the right on the table and smiled to herself. The bowl of flowers in the middle looked just right, the precise touch that made the entire setting appeal to her sense of proper decor. She knew it would please Sam. She also knew he would be happy with her dinner, which was beef stroganoff, his favorite, complete with home-baked cake and ice cream for dessert. She grinned to herself: yes, the perfect little wife, getting everything ready to please the old man when he gets home from work.
She was wearing her most provocative dress as well, the one with the lace top that Sam always told her he could see through. Why not? She was out to placate him, to soothe his ruffled feathers for her treatment of him last night. She couldn't help it, though. She couldn't have enjoyed any more sex after that session with Donald, not even if he had wanted it. And there was no way to try and explain to him what her reason was for refusing to have sex with him. Tonight was different, though; she was going to follow Yvonne's advice, tell him what had happened (without the gory details, of course!) and, then, after he had held her protectively against his manly chest, she knew they would end up in bed, having sex, and she was ready for it now. She wanted him tonight; she wanted to give her all, to satisfy him and herself, as well. And she was determined to really be wild with him in bed, just to make up for everything; and, also, though she would scarcely admit it, to assuage her own feelings of guilt over her encounter with Donald, and the undeniable pleasure she experienced with him.
She looked up happily as she heard the car and she walked back into the kitchen, bending over the stove to check the rice and vegetables. The kitchen door clicked-open and she turned, a radiant smile on her face. Sam entered, stared at her, his face grim.
"Hello, darling."
"Hi."
She walked over to him, her arms extended, her face beaming with joy. He looked at her warily and put his briefcase on a chair and received her into his embrace. Their lips were warm on each other's and, as they broke apart, Suzanne sighed ecstatically.
"I've missed you."
"I wondered if you had. I hope you're over your mood."
"Sam, please. I want to explain about last night."
"All right. But fix us a drink first. I'm going-in to take off my shirt. It's so goddamn hot today I feel like I stink."
He disappeared into the bedroom and Suzanne got the martini glasses off the shelf and took out the jug of mix that had been cooling in the refrigerator. By the time Sam had taken-off his business suit, changed into a pair of slacks and a fresh shirt, she was settled on the couch, the martinis waiting on the coffee table and a smile on her face.
He came in, sat down, and raised a glass.
"To us," he said. It was his usual toast.
"To us," she echoed.
"Well, what've you got to tell me?"
She pushed herself back against the cushions, pulled her legs up under him, and reached for a cigarette. "Well, last night I had a prowler," she said, picking-up the table lighter and flicking it on. She inhaled deeply, and looked at him. His expression had changed slightly, a look of growing apprehension on his features.
"A prowler?"
She nodded.
"Yes. Some punk kid. He came to the door, and when I opened it, he tried to come in. I slammed the door before he could push past me, and I ran and locked the back door and, after a while, he went away. But I was so scared. He looked like one of those types you read about that go round raping women."
"Did you call the police?"
Suzanne hesitated.
"I thought of doing that, but I watched from the living room window and I saw him get on a motor bike and drive off. So I figured it was all right."
Sam took a sip from his glass and stared hard at her.
"So why should that be traumatic enough to make you like you were in bed last night?"
She began to feel the conversation was not going as well as she had hoped. She shifted awkwardly.
"Well, I was nervous and upset."
"So why didn't you tell me last night?"
"I don't know, Sam. I was all shook up."
He continued staring hard at her and the look of concern slowly changed to one of sarcasm.
"Do you know last night is the first and only night since we've been married that we haven't had sex?"
"Er... well, no I hadn't thought of that."
"Maybe you don't give much thought to sex any more."
"Sam, that's not fair."
"Suzanne, you're not telling me the truth."
"Sam, I've never lied to you."
"You just have. As a matter of fact, when I got home last night, I came in the back door. It wasn't locked." Suzanne thought quickly. Oh. Christ, I goofed.
"Well, I... I went outside to check once more before you got home, to make sure he was gone. I must have left it open then."
'You're scared to death of a prowler, yet you go outside, alone, where he could have jumped you, and then you come back in, and don't lock the door behind you? And you were so upset you couldn't stand me touching you when we went to bed? Listen, baby, something doesn't add up, and it's your story. Try again."
He swallowed his drink with a gulp, and marched into the kitchen to replenish his glass. Suzanne sat, stunned, on the couch. She realized what a hash she had made of things.
Sam came back in and sat down.
"Well, you want to tell me the truth?"
"I am telling you the truth, Sam."
"Crap!"
His mouth exploded the word and she almost reeled beneath the force of his expletive. "Sam, I"
"Now you listen to me. When you've been as hot and horny as you are, every single night, and then suddenly turn-off, and then give me some screwy story like this about a prowler, there's only one conclusion I can come to: you didn't have a prowler last night, but you did have a visitor. I don't know who he was, but I could smell him when I came home. You might have cleaned-up afterwards, baby, but you forgot that fucking leaves a special smell, or hadn't you noticed? Who was he, Suzanne?"
The fury of his words caught her off-guard. She stared at him, helpless, and, then, suddenly she burst into tears.
"Sure, go ahead and cry. It's your only defense. But let me tell you, I'm going to sit here until you tell me, and, then, I'm going to take you in the bedroom and fuck the shit out of you. And you know something? For the first time with you, I'm going to wear a rubber. I'm not going to risk catching the clap from some stud you had in here with you."
"Sam!"
Her voice rose in a plaintive wail and her body shook with renewed sobbing. Sam relaxed in his chair and watched her calmly, a half-grim smile on his mouth. "I'm waiting, Suzanne."
She lifted her face and turned her tear-stained cheeks to him. "Sam, how can you say that? You know it's not true."
"All right, convince me."
She reached for a Kleenex on the coffee table and blew her nose loudly. All her glorious self-composure was gone. Her face, so beautifully made-up for his arrival home, was now streaky and downcast. She felt abjectly miserable. Slowly she gained control of herself and began speaking.
"Sam, I did have someone here last night, but it's not like you think it is."
"Fine. We're making progress. She admits she has a lover."
"I didn't say that."
"Okay, you didn't say that. So you had someone here. Who was he?"
"He was... just an old acquaintance."
"Oh, just an old acquaintance," Sam mimicked her, "Come off it, Suzanne. Goddammit, I want the truth!" he shouted across the room.
"All right, all right!" she screamed, her anger and fear giving force to her words, "He's a boy who raped me on campus about a year ago. He and two others broke into my apartment. They all raped me. I never told you about it. Do you think I should have, or would want to? It was horrible. Anyway, he must have found out where I live now, and he broke in, pushed his way through that door, and fucked me right here." She banged the cushions. "Right here on this couch last night. By the time you got home my cunt was so sore I couldn't have done anything, and I didn't want to, not with you or anyone. And I was so sick I just wanted to sleep and forget everything. And that's the truth."
Sam's mouth twisted and he began laughing, a loud, cold laugh. He lifted his martini glass, drained it and then threw it violently against the wall above the fireplace. Then he rose and came over to her, standing above her and glaring down at her.
"I'm expected to believe that? You think I'd believe a story like that? Oh, wow, what an imagination! I'll tell you what happened. You've had a lover, and last night you figured as long as I would be gone all evening, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have him over. It was the first time I'd stayed away all evening, you know that. So why not have him over, have a little party. While the old man's away, the pussy'll play." His hand came down and slapped her hard across the face. 'You little cunt. I'll teach you fucking someone else in my house!"
His hand came down and seized the lacey top of her dress and ripped it off her. In a flash, Suzanne saw, not Sam, but Donald, standing before her; it wasn't her husband, always tender and gentle, but Donald, always wild and vicious. She cowered-back, her hands covering her bra. His hand came down, pushed her fingers aside, seized the bra and tore it away, exposing her breasts.
"Okay, you like fucking, tonight you're going to get some real, good, solid fucking," he snapped, and he dropped to his knees and bent forward, seizing the rest of her dress and tearing it away until she was naked before him, crying and screaming in her misery and fear.
"Sam, stop it, stop it, you've gone mad. Sam!"
Her cries availed her not at all. He continued his assault upon her, slapping her face and squeezing her breasts until she almost fainted from the pain. She lay back, sobbing, while he tore off his own shirt and removed his pants and stood before her, naked, his penis hanging between his thighs, flaccid.
"Okay, here he is. You know what to do with him."
She stared up, seeing him holding his organ out towards her mouth.
"Eat it, you cunt. Isn't that what you like? Isn't that what you've been practicing-on for months? Come on, come on!"
He lunged forward, slapping her several times across the face and then forcing himself upon her. She fell back and he straddled her chest, laying his genitals across her mouth. "Suck, I said, suck. Make him hard."
Suzanne closed her eyes, moaning, and felt the end of his penis push between her lips. Without knowing what she was doing, she began tonguing the flesh, licking the head, nibbling the foreskin, and, gradually, she felt him respond, grow thick and firm until his shaft was rock-hard in her mouth and he was thrusting it in-and-out while his hand held her by the hair.
She felt his strong arms lift her legs, push them up until her knees were against her breasts and, then, with a vicious, quick jab, his erect penis penetrated her labia, pushed past her clitoris and into the deep recesses of her vagina.
She stared at herself and saw his sex entering and withdrawing from her, and with a shudder of revulsion, she saw that he had put on a condom. That beautiful tool was encased in a rubber sheath. He must have slid it on during the time between taking it out of her mouth and inserting it between her legs. Oh. Christ how could he? Did he really think she had been? Oh, Sam, the final insult, the ultimate degradation, to have her own husband use a condom because he was afraid of catching the clap!
She moaned and felt her senses reeling. The erotic waves of pleasure counted for nothing. Even though she felt herself responding, her hips beginning almost automatically to move in rhythm with his own, she felt a shudder of loathing. She began weeping again, realizing that he was not fucking her for pleasure, but out of spite. He was punishing her. And why shouldn't she be punished, a little voice said to her? She had enjoyed sex with Donald, and now she was paying for it. She was being tortured. Her own husband was violating her, not for love, not for passion, but out of his hate for her actions. And he was using a rubber!
She stared into his face, seeing not the usual love and closed-eyes ecstasy that she usually saw; instead, his face was grim, his jawline set in a determined, forceful expression. His arms held her body and his muscles flexed as he held her, driving his rod in-and-out of her cunt. She felt her juices lubricating her passage as his organ rammed home, deep into her, way-up to the mouth of her womb, and then out again. In... out... viciously, without mercy.
She felt his breathing become heavier and the shaft within her seemed to thicken. She knew from long experience that he was approaching his orgasm. Her own vagina was heaving and she knew she was about to climax as well, but it would be purely physical, without the ecstatic thrill that usually accompanied their climb to the top.
With a muffled curse, Sam suddenly withdrew from her. He let her body down with a thud, and, impatiently, he ripped-off the condom, straddled her thighs, and enclosed his penis in his fist, continuing the up-and-down movements. She stared, not believing what she saw. He sneered down at her.
"You didn't think I'd give you that satisfaction, do you?"
Almost as he spoke, she saw the end of his cock flatten, expand and then shoot its stream of white-hot come. She felt the drops splatter over her eyes and mouth and drop on her breasts. And, as he continued coming, more spurted out across her stomach and over her bush. She felt her stomach heaving in disgust and his harsh laughter in her ears was the final insult. Through her blurred vision, she saw his hand enclose the end of his cock, milk the last few drops and then come forward, rubbing it across her face roughly. Then his fingers pried open her mouth and she tasted the salty, rubbery taste of the condom as he stuffed it between her lips. She struggled violently and her terror and disgust gave her strength. She lifted herself, throwing him off-balance. He fell to the side and she rolled over, spitting-out the condom and, at that moment, her stomach heaved and all she could think was what it was going to cost to clean the couch.
Sam crawled down on the carpet, got to his feet and stared at her. She was still throwing-up, her body wracked with uncontrollable spasms.
"Suffer, bitch," he snapped, "and make sure you clean up the mess before you leave."
He turned, picked up his clothes and walked quickly into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Yvonne and Carole were sitting in their living room watching the ten o'clock news when there was a loud knocking at the door. They exchanged a curious glance.
"Wonder who that is?" said Yvonne, rising languidly and going across the room. "Keep the chain on," said Carole. "You think I'm stupid?"
Before turning the doorknob, Yvonne called out. "Who is it?"
Through the panels she heard Suzanne's high-pitched, nervous voice. "It's me, Yvonne."
The chain rattled and, a moment later, the door swung open. Yvonne's startled gaze took in her friend standing with a look of tearful misery on her face and a suitcase in her hand.
"Got room for an unwanted wife?" asked Suzanne, trying hard to stem the tears which threatened to overflow her cheeks any second.
"Come in, idiot."
Suzanne walked into the living room. Carole looked up and grinned. Then," she saw the suitcase and her face creased in a frown.
"What's this? First step in a divorce?"
Suzanne dropped her suitcase and collapsed into a chair. Yvonne closed the door and replaced the chain. She came over, putting her arm around Suzanne's shoulders. "What's happened, baby? Or need I ask?" Suzanne looked up at her and then over to Carole.
"He threw me out," she whimpered, and the tears came pouring out. Yvonne patted her and let her weep until the spasm had passed. Finally, her emotions subsided and she wiped her face with a Kleenex and blew her nose, noisily.
"Okay, tell."
"I had the evening all set. I had on my best dress, the one he liked. I had fixed dinner. I even made a special table setting. I had the martinis all ready. Then I told him about the prowler and he didn't believe me. He was so suspicious, I guess I screwed-up on my story. I said, I locked the back door, but when he came in, it was open, so he wanted to know... oh, shit! Anyway, he accused me of having a lover. He said when he came in last night he could smell that I'd been fucking. He came over, slapped me around, tore off my things and then fucked me with a rubber. " Carole and Yvonne exchanged horrified looks.
"Why with a rubber?"
"He said he didn't want to catch the clap from me after I'd been screwing my lover. But then... " Suzanne hesitated and her voice faltered. "He pulled off the rubber, jerked-off over me and stuffed the condom in my mouth. Ugh!"
"Jesus God!"
"Son-of-a-bitch!"
"Then I threw-up on the couch. He told me to be sure and clean that up before I left." Yvonne shook her head.
"Men," she snapped. "And they wonder why some women prefer each other? Jeez, I'd have kicked him so hard in his balls he'd be singing falsetto. Oh, Suzanne." Yvonne put her arms around Suzanne and hugged her.
"You're staying here, baby, until that maniac calms down," she said. "But you know, I can't understand why he should have suspected you'd been screwing. I mean, you've had sex with him ever since you two were married."
"Sure I have, every night, until last night," said Suzanne. "That's why he suspected something, so he said. And, of course, I screwed-up that story about the prowler. Oh, hell, I guess I'm just not a very good liar. And I was scared to tell him the truth. I finally did but he didn't believe that, either."
"Why didn't you tell him to call me?" demanded Yvonne.
"By that time, he had started slapping me around and tearing off my things," said Suzanne. "Afterwards, he stayed in the bedroom and wouldn't talk to me. He just said to get the hell out of his house."
"Oh, crap," said Carole. 'Yvonne, you call Sam now and explain things. This is ridiculous."
"He wouldn't listen to you," Suzanne muttered. "He'll only think it's one of my friends covering up for me."
"It's worth a try."
Yvonne stood up and walked over to the telephone.
"I'll convince him," she snapped, lifting the receiver and dialing. She stood, nervously tapping her fingers on the instrument. Then her face brightened. "Sam? Yvonne." Carole grinned over at Suzanne. "It'll be all right."
Yvonne settled in a chair by the telephone.
"Sam, Suzanne's over here. She" Her voice trailed off. "Now, Sam, what she told you was the truth. There was a gang rape. These three bastards broke into the apartment." She paused a moment, and her face darkened with anger. "Now, listen to me, Sam, I'm not" She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, giving Carole and Suzanne a despairing glance. "Sam, they fucked me and Carole as well. It's the same kid who broke into" She took the receiver away from her ear, stared at it and then banged it down in its cradle. "Son-of-a-bitch hung up," she snapped.
"Here, let me try," said Carole, jumping up and moving over. She dialed, and stood a moment. "Sam? Carole. Now don't hang up, please. You've got the whole thing screwed up. Suzanne needs you now. She's in a helluva state. She was raped by this hood and you gave her more of the same. Now, listen, Sam, we'll bring her back over there right now. Sam" She replaced the receiver and shrugged hopelessly. "He hung up again."
"Okay, forget it," said Yvonne, going into the kitchen and getting three bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. "Here, nothing like a cold beer to bring one right back, I say."
Suzanne took the bottle and took a deep swallow. She smiled and nodded..
"Better. Oh, Yvonne, what's going to happen?"
"Well, you're staying here until we can figure it out," said Carole, smiling warmly. "And try to straighten up, Suzanne. He's not worth it, considering what he did to you. I think that was obscene, stuffing a rubber in your mouth. Christ!"
Suzanne smiled wryly.
"I don't know what to say. I'd never have thought Sam could have done what he did. He must be absolutely out of his mind."
Yvonne settled down again, licked the beer off her lips and reached for a cigarette.
"Well, I'll tell you," she stated, lighting up and puffing furiously, "you've always said Sam has been kind, tender and loving. All that genie shit. Well, I believe every man has a violent side, and it just takes a certain something to trigger it. He's never suspected you'd had anything to do with anyone but him and the shock must have flipped him out. I guess you can't blame him but I certainly don't buy what he actually did. Tell me, hon, did you enjoy it? I mean, like you told me you enjoyed Donald?"
"How can you say that?" cried Suzanne, glaring across the room. "Of course I didn't. He was hurting me. And he wasn't doing it to enjoy it. He was doing it to hurt me. I could tell from the look on his face. If he'd been enjoying it, he'd have climaxed inside me, instead of pulling out and then jerking off over my body. Oh, Christ, I can't stand to think about it."
"Yes, I know," said Yvonne gently, "but you didn't feel that same thing with Donald, like you told me earlier today? You were wondering about being turned on by the violent approach. Well, now that Sam's been violent with you, are your feelings towards him any different?"
Suzanne nodded.
"You're damn right they are. I don't feel the same anymore. I don't think I'll ever feel the same towards him." She paused a moment. "I guess I still love him, but... " Her voice trailed off. Carole banged her beer bottle on the coffee table.
'Yvonne, lay off. She's too upset to rationalize over her feelings. All we have to do is get through to Sam. But how?"
"We could drive out there," said Yvonne. "If he won't talk on the phone, he's gonna have a hard time trying to avoid us in the house."
"If he lets us in."
"He'll let us in. I'll make such a racket he'll have to." They looked across at Suzanne.
"What do you think? You want to come out with us and try to reason with him?" Suzanne shook her head.
"I don't want to go back. Not now. Maybe tomorrow. Let him cool off. I'll try talking to him tomorrow." Yvonne shook her head.
"Nope. I've always believed strike when the iron is steaming, baby, and, right now, he's so hot he could bust. I think now's the time to set him straight. He had no right to treat you like that, no matter what he suspected."
"I agree," said Carole. "Tell you, Suzanne, you stay here, and Yvonne and I'll go out there. If we settle him down, we'll have him call, and then you can come. You came in your car, I gather?" Suzanne nodded. "Yes. I'm parked out front."
"Okay. You stay here, and be sure to let no one in, remember? And then we'll call you from the house."
Suzanne nodded dumbly, and looked at her two friends with blurry eyes.
"You're both such wonderful friends," she whispered, "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Oh, hush up, and dry those tears," said Yvonne gruffly. "Come on, Carole, let's make tracks. It takes awhile to drive out to that god awful suburb she lives in." She sighed and threw up her hands in a theatrical gesture. "Why she can't live in downtown Detroit, in the slums like we do, I'll never know." She grinned at Suzanne. "Take care, baby. We'll call you soon."
Yvonne and Carole moved to the front door. Carole picked up the car keys off the end table and they paused a moment.
"Now don't forget, no one comes through that door till we come back, or you leave, right?" Suzanne nodded.
"Right. Hey, what if it's someone I know, like some of our friends?"
"Then you'll know what to do. 'Bye."
They opened the door and were gone. Suzanne attached the chain and settled back in her chair, taking a few long swallows from her beer bottle. She glanced at it, seeing it was almost empty, and upended it, draining the last from it. She rose, went into the kitchen and took out another from the refrigerator. She opened it, and went back inside, plumping down in the chair and stretching lazily. She felt slightly better, both from the beer and from the decision reached by Carole and Yvonne. She hoped they would be able to talk some sense into Sam.
She could still hardly believe what had happened. In the first place, for Sam to suspect her was a terrible reflection on his faith in her. She had never even dared think of being unfaithful to him and she was sure he had not strayed from his marriage vows. Yet at their first major disagreement, his jealousy exploded. Which meant it had obviously been simmering in his brain for longer than just a day. Which meant that he had been suspicious of her for some time; how could he think things like that?
But what was most hard to accept was his physical attack on her. She had known Sam for so many years and, even in his most passionate moments, before and after they were married, he had never once let his self-control slip; never once had he been anything but the tender, loving man. Yet in a few short seconds, he became transformed into the vicious, unfeeling sadistic personification of everything that she would have expected in Donald, or Ted, or Clayton, boys who had no background of breeding and dignity to hold their baser instincts in check. The slapping-around she might have understood. Anger can often sweep away self-control; but his sexual attack and the perverted conclusion to their encounter were exhibitions of animalism that she would never have credited to him, not in a million years. Yet it had happened; he had assaulted her with as little regard for her feelings as a rapist in an alley. He wanted to hurt her; and this was the big problem.
Concerning Donald's attack the night before, she admitted that she had enjoyed it. Once the initial parrying was done and they had joined in the violence of fucking, she found her own animal instincts taking-over, but only in a release of her pent-up repressions, only in ways that pleased Donald sexually and gave her the uninhibited sensual eroticism that she did not normally feel with Sam. But with Sam, there had been none of that. It was hate that drove his penis in-and-out of her; and it was disgust that permeated her mind as she felt him violating her with such fury. Even her approaching climax had been dispelled by his obscene conclusion to the act.
She remembered vaguely rolling off the couch and lying there, breathing heavily for a few minutes, then rising, going to the kitchen, filling a small plastic pail with water and detergent, and returning with a scrubbing brush and attempting to clean up the mess she had left on the cushions. As she wiped it up, she felt her gorge rising again and she had to run to the bathroom, but it was only a passing spasm.
She had returned, cleaned the couch as best she could and then gone to the bathroom, where she stepped into the shower, letting the stinging spray soothe her body and chase the ache in her back and the hot burning in her loins that was not passion, but the aftermath of Sam's ceaseless and thrusting violation of her vagina. Even though she and Donald had fucked far longer the night before, she was not nearly as sore as she was after the short session with Sam. She was reminded of Yvonne: "The thicker they are, the less they hurt," Yvonne had said. This was true. Donald's penis was far thicker than Sam's and fitted her vagina much better, pushing the sides apart as it slid in-and-out, rather than poling around like Sam's. Yes, Donald had certainly matured in his lovemaking. She wondered how many young Southern belles had been seduced by him during his stay back in Kentucky and how many illegitimate children he was responsible for. She wondered, too, where Donald was, right now, right this moment as she sat, consuming beer in Yvonne's apartment and going over the events of the past two days.
He had said he would see her again. But when and where? For all she knew, he might have been outside her house and seen her drive off after she had dressed, packed her bag and gone, with Sam sitting stonily in the living room, reading the paper, still stark naked. That was the final insult: to be there, displaying himself with no regard to decorum. He certainly had shown a side to his nature that she was appalled to discover. Maybe it was just as well. Maybe it was better to find out now, instead of wasting a few years and then separating.
But she really did not want to separate. She loved him. Yes, she had to admit, she did love her husband still, despite what he had done. And she wanted the marriage to work, to last, to bear his children. Oh, Sam... Sam Suzanne glanced at her watch. Almost forty-five minutes had passed since Yvonne and Carole departed. They would probably be there by now, sitting in the living room, talking to Sam; and, hopefully, showing him how wrong he had been.
She rose and walked restlessly around the apartment, stopping by the living room window to stare out a moment. She finished her second bottle of beer, and decided she'd have another. She went into the kitchen, and returned with a full bottle, plumping-down in the chair, feeling a little light-headed. She realized she hadn't eaten. And she suddenly was very hungry; and what went better with beer than pizza? Yes, there was that pizza place on Cass Avenue, just round the corner. They delivered. Sure, she'd have a pizza, loaded with mushrooms and anchovies. A large one.
She picked up the phone, got the number from information, and dialed the Pizza Parlor and ordered the largest pizza, which they promised to deliver in ten minutes. She relaxed in the chair, taking another large swallow of the beer. She felt much better, and even the hurt in her heart over Sam's behavior was beginning to dim, slightly. Things would work out, she knew. Yvonne and Carole were out there, now, explaining the truth: that she hadn't been lying about the gang-bang. And once he knew what had really happened, Sam would be contrite, apologize, and all would be well again.
She leaned back, her head against the pillow and smiled contentedly. Even her concern over whether Donald would try to see her again, faded away; she could only think about what might be going on at the house between Sam, Yvonne and Carole. Oh, when are they going to call? When would she lift the receiver and hear Sam's loving, tender tones again, begging her to come home? And once home, he would be sweet, gentle and her eyes opened wide as she suddenly realized: if Sam had been able to be that violent in a fit of unrestrained anger, would he not be able to turn it on again during their sex encounters, to perhaps give her the same perverse thrill that she experienced during sex with Donald? Could this perhaps be the key to making her marriage totally, completely satisfying in every way? She would have her desire for tenderness fulfilled, but also her savage side. With a smile, she took another sip of beer; things might really work out for the best after all! Oh, that would be the ultimate! It might even settle those wild fantasies she had about Donald. Sam might even get the boy out of her system forever.
It wasn't that she was in love with Donald; but he did satisfy one side of her that Sam had been unable to. And that cock of his. Suzanne licked her lips at the memory of the massive phallus, picturing it once more, rampantly erect between his legs, its bright, red glans pushing through the folds of foreskin, throbbing, oozing lube, enticing her to take it in her hands, press her lips around its incredible thickness and take it deep within her.
Unconsciously, she shifted in the chair, aware that her thoughts were starting a familiar tingle in her groin, that her vagina was beginning to react to her mental imagery. Slowly she moved her hand down between her thighs and pressed gently against her mound. She closed her eyes, imagining Donald's hands over her hot, flaming bush, pushing-in with his fingers, exciting her clitoris and getting her crevice all wet and warm and ready for what was to come.
Her mind, already dulled by the beer on her empty stomach, began wafting away, and she felt waves of sensuous relaxation wash through her with every pressure of her fingers in her groin. Donald's face became stronger as the fantasy grew. He was naked before her, his smooth skin rippling as his muscles moved, pushing his hips forward, bringing his penis closer and closer... and closer...
With a start, she jerked her hand away and almost dropped the beer bottle as a loud knocking on the door interrupted her thoughts. She put the beer on the end table, and, trembling slightly, she rose to her feet and walked across the room. "Who is it?"
A strong young voice called out. "Pizza Parlor."
She smiled with relief and her hand went up to the chain, removed it from the slide, and she unlocked the door and pulled it open, turning away and going to where her purse was sitting on top of the bureau. "I hope you have change," she said. "I think I only have a five-dollar bill."
She heard the footsteps entering and the soft closing of the door, and not knowing why, she whirled around, her throat tightening as she tried to scream. She stood, petrified, her eyes boring into the figure standing before her, a large white cardboard box in his hand, an insolent grin on his handsome face.
"Hi, Suzanne," said Donald, "here's the pizza. Had a piece lately?"
She felt her knees buckling and she reached for the arm of the chair to guide her into its depths as she folded-up, her body trembling, her mind reeling at the realization of his presence. "What... what are you doing here?"
Her voice sounded high, crackly, and like an old woman's. Fear and disbelief lent uncertainty to her speech.
He laughed, and put the box down on the edge of the couch.
"I work nights for the Pizza Parlor. You did order a pizza, a large pizza, didn't you?" As he said the word "large" he pushed his hips out suggestively, accentuating the bulge in his blue jeans his eyes playing over her. And he laughed softly. "It's three-twenty-five. And I do have change."
He leaned over and expertly slipped the five-dollar bill out of her numb fingers. He reached into his back pocket, took out a tattered billfold, and took out a dollar bill. Rummaging in his other pocket, he extracted seventy-five cents. With exaggerated precision, he handed her the change.
"Of course, I usually get a tip," he said quietly. "But seeing as it's you, maybe I should give you a tip... a nice, hot tip on the end of a good piece of meat, huh? How about it, Suzanne? You feel like a little more tonight?"
She shrank back in the chair, trying to sink herself into its depths and disappear from sight. Donald replaced his billfold, and walked over to the couch, sat down, and eyed her.
"You look kinda scared," he murmured. "No need to be, you know. I ain't gonna do anything you don't want me to."
Finally she found her voice.
"Get out, Donald," she said quietly, "before I scream bloody murder and get the manager up here. And the police."
He calmly reached in his pocket for a package of cigarettes, and lit one, his eyes on her all-the-while. Her breasts were heaving and her face was chalk-white; her hands wouldn't keep still. "Why don't you have some pizza?" he asked. "It don't stay hot very long."
"Get out, Donald."
"All in good time. I think I'll sit here and have a piece with you. I'm kinda hungry myself."
He got up, went over to the box and opened the lid, revealing the enormous circle of tomato paste, anchovies, mushrooms and cheese. The tempting aroma rose and began teasing at Suzanne's nostrils, accentuating the empty feeling in her stomach.
Donald pushed his fingers under the edge and expertly lifted a wedge.
"Here," he said, proffering it to her, but she shook her head. "Oh, come on," he said pleadingly. "Ain't nothing wrong in having a little pizza together. Please... " His eyes were strong and sincere on hers, and she felt her anger and fear abate, somewhat. The surge of sympathy she always felt when she looked into those eyes was still real.
"Here."
He pushed the slice at her and, numbly, she reached out, took it, and began nibbling. It was good, and it wasn't too hot for comfort. Donald removed another wedge, settled on the couch and began chewing, unconcernedly. The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the crust beneath their teeth and Donald's occasional sucking on his teeth between bites.
"Pretty good, huh?"
She nodded, trying hard not to look at him. "They make pretty good pizzas, don't you think?"
She remained silent, and swallowed the last of her slice, and looked over at him. He grinned. "More?"
She nodded. She hadn't realized how terribly hungry she was. She remembered that lovely dinner of beef stroganoff left at home, with the home-baked cake, and the table so carefully set. All wasted...
Donald lifted-out another slice and handed-it-over to her. She ate without a word, without another glance at him. Donald helped himself to another slice and settled-back on the couch, absorbed in the food.
"You ain't very talkative tonight, Suzanne."
She sighed and looked steadily at him.
"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since noon."
"Oh."
They continued eating in silence. Suzanne had a feeling of vague unreality. Here she was, sitting in Yvonne's apartment, alone with the young man who was the cause of her present predicament, enjoying a pizza with him; and were it not for the underlying current of apprehension, they might quite easily be two young people out on a date, enjoying a late night snack after taking-in a movie. Apart from veiled hints, Donald had made no attack on her; he hadn't even tried to touch her.
She stared at him, watching as he consumed the pizza with obvious relish, licking his lips and sucking his teeth to get the last fragments of the crust. It was a delicious pizza, she had to admit. And with every bite she took, she felt her stomach settling, her feelings improving.
By the time they had finished, she was relatively calm. The frantic beating of her heart had subsided. She washed-down the last bits with several swallows of beer and reached for a cigarette. Donald jumped to his feet, got out his battered Zippo lighter and offered her a light.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
He lit one of his own cigarettes and sat down on the couch again, staring at her.
"I didn't tell you before, but I reckon you've gotten purtier since a year ago." Donald's voice was hesitant, as though he was unused to paying a sincere compliment to a girl. She smiled, and took a deep drag off her cigarette.
"Thanks. You've filled-out some yourself."
'You think so, huh? I've put on about ten pounds. All muscle, too. I worked in a lumber yard down there in Kentucky for a few months. Hard work, but it sure built me up." He flexed his arms, proudly, showing his bulging biceps.
"Remember your wedding?"
She laughed to herself and smiled tolerantly at him.
"I should hope so."
"No, I mean, you saw me there, didn't you?" She nodded.
"Yes, I saw you there." She hesitated. "Why did you come?" He shrugged.
"I dunno. I guess I wanted to see how you looked in that white dress, with that veil and all. Them kind of weddings we don't have down in Kentucky. Mostly they'll git married on the way to the maternity ward at the county hospital." He laughed. "I went home and lay in my bed thinking about you all that night."
"I've thought about you, too, Donald."
"You have?" His face brightened and a look of genuine amazement crossed his face. "I guess you really hated me, huh?"
She shook her head.
"No, I've always felt sorry for you."
His face darkened and he frowned angrily.
"Don't you ever feel sorry for me. I do all right."
"Maybe you think you do. But where do you think you'll end-up if you just carry-on like you are? You should finish school, get yourself a decent job, and... " she hesitated, then plunged on. "And stop going around thinking every girl you meet is ready for a quick lay."
He laughed loudly. "Shit, every girl's anxious for a lay, 'specially with what I got to offer."
"A girl likes more than just sex."
"I know. But it's better to lay 'em first and then git around to all that other crap." She sighed. "If you only knew, it's that other crap that we like."
"You mean, you'd go out with me sometimes?" His face was pitifully eager, innocently bewildered at the implications of their conversation.
"I never said that. Besides, how could I? I'm married now, and I love my husband very much."
"Yeah. I guess I'm a day late and a dollar short, huh?"
"It looks that way."
"So then there's nothing for us to do but fuck once in a while. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She shook her head. "No. I wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"If you don't know why, there's no sense trying to tell you." He grinned lecherously.
"Yeah, but you dig me, I know. The way you get with it when we're fucking. If you didn't want to, you wouldn't get all steamed-up like you do. You like to fuck with me, Suzanne." She remained silent, and took another swallow of her beer.
"There're some things we may like," she said guardedly, "but we can't always have them. As long as I'm married to Sam, I don't want us to do anything more together, whether either of us want it or not. You understand?"
He laughed loudly.
"Jeez, I've heard some things, but that one beats 'em all. You know goddamn well we're gonna fuck again, so what's all this crap about not doing anything more together?" He mimicked her voice in a whiny, nasal tone. 'You want it as much as I do. Admit it."
His earlier cordial tones had changed to his familiar aggressiveness, and Suzanne found her heart beginning to beat faster again.
"Donald, they'll be wondering where you are. Hadn't you better get back to work?"
He shook his head.
"I only work till eleven. Sometimes I don't go back after a late delivery. They ain't worrying. And neither am I." He paused a moment. "Where's the other broads?"
"They'll be back any minute."
"Oh, sure. How come you're over here, anyways?"
"I came over to visit."
"You came to visit and they ain't here? Come on, Suzanne, you can do better'n that."
"They went out. They'll be back."
"So you figure we don't have time for a little now?"
"No, we don't!"
Her voice shot across the room with unnatural force and he laughed, easing back on the couch and adjusting his crotch.
"He's feeling all ready for your pussy, Suzanne. Why don't you come over and say hello to him again?"
"Donald, please leave. Now. I'm tired of all this. And I'm not having sex with you."
"Oh, wow, that's too bad." His hand went down to his crotch again and began squeezing the long bulge that showed plainly through the jeans, down one leg. "I guess you don't mind if I just look at you and jerk off, do you?"
She sneered at him.
"Go ahead. Be my guest. Jerk off all you want. Isn't that what most kids do anyway?" He flushed.
"Don't you make cracks like that or you'll find him sticking up that hot little pussy of yours."
He continued massaging his penis, and she saw it was enlarging, lengthening within his jeans and growing thicker beneath his manipulating fingers. His eyes bored into her face and she turned away, her heart pounding; she knew what was going to happen and she felt powerless to stop it. She could make a dash for the door. She was closer to it than he was; all she needed was to get out of the apartment. Once in the hallway, she could scream and the manager would come to her rescue. And she knew Donald wouldn't try anything outside the room. She glanced down at her beer bottle which was almost empty. If she drained it, she could rise, pretending to go to get another in the kitchen, and then make it to the door. She lifted it to her lips, swallowed and then sighed in pretended contentment.
"Nothing like beer after pizza," she murmured, "I think I'll get me another."
She started to rise, and Donald stood up quickly and came over.
"I'll get it for you," he said and she looked away, conscious of the semi-erection that was protruding from his jeans. He laughed and stood before her, pushing his hips towards her face.
"How 'bout a little meat with your beer?" he said. She turned away, her expression conveying her feelings. "Okay, if that's the way you're gonna be."
He took her empty beer bottle and started into the kitchen. Suzanne rose quickly, and started across the room to the door. Her heel caught in the throw rug and she felt herself sliding. With a little cry, she overbalanced and fell sideways on to the floor. Donald turned, his face suffused with anger.
"Oh, you weren't gonna try and get out, were you?" he snapped, coming forward. "Listen, bitch, you try that again and you'll get it whether you want it or not." He walked to the door, locked it and put the chain on, then turned to her. He stood, and slowly unzipped his jeans, and pulled his penis out. She cowered back, scooting across the floor, conscious of a sharp pain in her ankle.
"Donald, I think I've twisted my ankle."
"Good. Then you just lay there. As long as you haven't twisted your pussy, everything's okay." He walked forward and stood above her, his penis swaying in the air. "Kiss him, Suzanne. Come on, baby. He's all ready."
She stared up at the thick, rigid member and she turned her face away and began weeping. She leaned against the couch, burying her head in the bend of her arm, and her body shook with sobs. All the frustration and misery of the past twenty-four hours welled-up again within her and she found herself crying, uncontrollably.
Donald reached forward, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her round. He leered down into her face.
"Got a good cure for all that," he said, thrusting his hips forward so that the end of his penis touched her mouth. "Suck it, goddammit, I'm tired of farting around."
She turned her head away quickly, but his hand came down pulling her around and restraining her. She tasted his flesh on her lips, and smelled the musky odor. Oh, God, she thought, it's going to happen again. And there's no way of evading it now. Even if Yvonne and Carole return, the door is locked and the chain is on. She was trapped inside the apartment, and Donald was about to She leaned-back and a loud, terrible scream emerged from her throat, but before it could gain volume, he lunged forward and she felt his thick penis ram into her mouth and the end penetrate her throat, choking off her plaintive cry for help.
"That's better," she heard him say roughly. "Now get with it, baby. He tastes even better than the pizza."
CHAPTER FIVE
The car sped through the dark, suburban streets and, while Carole drove, Yvonne puffed furiously at her cigarette.
"I hope he'll talk with us," Yvonne said grimly. "He might not even let us in."
"And he might not be there."
"True, but I think he'll be home. He probably figures we'll be in touch again. I bet he's sitting by the telephone, feeling sorry for himself and hoping Suzanne will call."
"Bastard. I feel sorry for Suzanne. Why the hell can't she find some nice girl to live with like I did?" Yvonne bent over and squeezed Carole's arm.
"We can't all be lucky," she murmured. "She goes to her church and we go to ours."
"Yeah. I sometimes wonder, though."
They drove on, their minds busy with the problem.
"There it is," said Yvonne, "just past the gas station."
Carole swung the wheel over and the car turned-up the side-street, passing the brightly lighted living room windows of other homes.
"The house with the shrubs by the driveway."
They pulled-up, and Yvonne noted with satisfaction that the lights were on. Quietly, they both slipped out and walked-up to the front door. "Here goes."
Yvonne pushed the doorbell and they stood back, waiting. A moment later, the shaft of light from the hallway cut across them and Sam stood there, clad only in blue jeans. "Oh. Hello."
"Can we come in?" asked Yvonne, moving forward. "I suppose so."
He stood back and the girls entered, moving through to the living room, and sitting down next to each other on the couch. Carole stared, noting the patch at one end that was a little darker than the rest. Her nostrils also detected an acid odor.
Sam dropped into a chair and reached for a cigarette.
"Okay. What's on your mind?"
The girls exchanged a look and Yvonne launched into her speech.
"Well, first I'd like to say your rudeness is exceeded only by your lack of faith in your wife." Sam laughed and sneered at them.
"Look, I don't need a lecture. What happens between Suzanne and me is our own business."
"True, but after what you did to her, I think she needs a little support." Sam sighed wearily and puffed at his cigarette.
"Listen, Yvonne, I knew she was lying. Maybe I was a little rough on her, but dammit, this is my house and I don't like my wife fucking someone else in this living room."
"And how do you know she did?"
"Christ, I could smell it when I came home. You know that smell? I guess you do, both of you." They nodded and remained silent.
"So when she started giving me this bunch of horse shit about being attacked and raped, I knew it was just a cover-up. We'd had sex every night since we were married, and, then, all-of-a-sudden, she doesn't want any. Even when she's had the rag on, she's gone down on me, or jacked-me off. She's a horny little bitch, in case you don't know it. She loves cock better than a high-class whore."
"We're not interested in hearing your intimacies," said Carole, frigidly. "We knew Suzanne long before you married her. She may be sexy but she's honest. She did not lie to you."
"You mean she was raped by some stud before I married her?"
Yvonne exchanged a look with Carole.
"We all were," she said, wearily. "This young punk attacked Suzanne in her apartment, when she lived upstairs from us. Then one night, when she was in our place, this character and two friends of his dropped-in. There was a gang-bang. We all got it." Sam stared, disbelievingly, at them.
"And you didn't holler? You couldn't have screamed? In that building, you could hear a mouse fart two floors down. Hah!"
"It's true, Sam," said Carole earnestly. "They said if we made any ruckus, it was their word against ours, which was true. Suppose the manager had come up, there were three girls and three guys together. They said they'd claim we were all whores who had brought them up there to fuck for money. And you know what sort of scene that would have been, especially if you'd seen the guys. Punks, all of them, and one of them a black, too. It wasn't any fun, I'll clue you."
Sam glared at them both, biting his lips.
"It's true, Sam," said Yvonne. "The youngest one came by your house last night. He pushed his way in and attacked Suzanne. She was raped again, and, after that, could you blame her for not wanting to be touched? Even by you?"
"So why didn't she tell me?"
Yvonne sighed and shook her head.
"You're not a woman, Sam, so you wouldn't understand. After something like that, you don't want to talk about it, think about it, or anything. You just want to sleep and try to forget until the hurt goes away. And believe me, getting raped is a lot different to plain, old, loving sex. I don't blame Suzanne for not telling you. I wouldn't have, myself. And, then, tonight you give her the same sort of treatment all over again. Jeez, I thought you had a little more feeling in you."
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Christ, look at my side, dammit. I love Suzanne... " Carole gave a contemptuous laugh.
"You love her and you did that to her? She told us. Oh, wow, I'm glad I'm not married, I'll clue you."
"All right, so I slapped her 'round a little. But I was just so mad, I couldn't help it."
"A likely excuse," snapped Yvonne. "Right now that wife of yours is over at our apartment crying her eyes out. And when we call, you hang up. You're really some son-of-a-bitch, Sam, you know?" He was silent and took a final drag off his cigarette before stubbing it in the ashtray.
"Okay, I'm sorry. But what about this stud? Do you know where he lives? I mean, I plan to do something about it."
Yvonne shook her head.
"He used to live on Forest. But he moved away and I don't know where he's staying now. He's just back in town recently, he told me."
"Oh, you've talked with him?"
"Yes, I ran into him on campus by accident. He's a handsome little bastard but he'll fuck anything. A no-good, poor-white trash."
They were silent for a moment and Sam tapped his fingers nervously on the table-top. Carole stared across at him. "That is the truth, Sam."
"I know. I know." Yvonne exploded.
"Well, goddammit, don't you have anything to say?"
He glared at her.
"No, I don't. Anything I say will be to Suzanne." Yvonne turned to Carole. "I guess maybe that's our cue to leave. Makes one sorry, sometimes, you try to help out friends." She rose and Carole followed her to the door. Yvonne paused and looked back. "You might want to call her at our apartment," she said. "She's sitting there waiting."
"Okay. Okay."
He remained seated. Yvonne turned the handle of the front door and she and Carole stepped out into the night.
As the door closed behind them, Carole turned to her friend and shook her head sadly.
"Men!" she muttered. "Who needs 'em?"
The telephone shrilled through the apartment, the silence broken only by the heavy, labored breathing of Suzanne as she lay on the couch, her shoulders held down by Donald's strong arms, while he thrust his penis in-and-out of her mouth. They both started at the sound of the bell and Suzanne struggled to rise.
"Let it ring," he snapped.
She evaded his organ and gasped up at him.
"Please, let me answer it. I'm expecting a call."
He grinned.
"Your sweet, ever-lovin' husband, mebbe?"
"Donald, please."
"Hell, no. I'm not that dumb."
"I won't say anything about you. I promise. You can hold the phone if you want to. But let me answer it, please."
"I got better things to do. Like fuck you."
He pushed her back on the couch, and eased forward. The phone continued ringing. Three times. Four times. Five times.
"Donald, the neighbors might hear the phone and come over to find out what's wrong. Let me answer it!" Her frail logic touched his fear of discovery. Slowly he moved away. "All right, but one word outta you and you'll be sorry."
She scooted-off the couch and limped over to the instrument. Her ankle was still paining her. She lifted the receiver.
"Suzanne?"
"Oh, Sam, yes, it's me."
"You all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
"You sound funny."
"Yvonne and Carole and I are just having some pizza. My mouth was full." There was a silence, then Sam's voice came back, curious and uncomprehending. "Look, they left here only two minutes ago."
"Yvonne says she wishes you were here, too. This pizza's real good."
Suzanne used every bit of self-control, keeping her voice light, her eyes focused on Donald, who had moved across and was standing next to her, a warning glance on his face. "Suzanne, something's wrong, isn't there?"
"Yes."
"You can't talk?"
"No, but I'm longing to see you. I'll be home soon."
"Oh, God... Suzanne, is... is that guy there with you again?"
"Of course, we're having a party."
"I'll be right there."
"Okay, see you, honey."
She replaced the receiver and turned to Donald.
"See, I didn't say anything."
"Okay, okay, come on now, let's get back to fucking. Look at him. He's asking for some more action." Her eyes followed his down to his crotch where his penis was projecting from his pants, slick from her saliva, throbbing with desire. "Donald, please, can't we... "
"No! I said now!"
He shouted at her and reached around her waist, pulling her forward and throwing her bodily on the couch. "Now take off your things. We're going to get down to some solid stuff now." She stared up at him, not moving. "Or do you want me to rip them off again?"
"All right, all right."
In silence, and with trembling fingers, she undid her dress and slipped it off, followed by her underwear. Donald skinned out of his blue jeans and took off his shirt and stood, naked and rampant before her. "Lay down and spread those legs, baby."
Shaking uncontrollably, Suzanne lay back and watched his body as it descended upon her, his arms holding him up while he lowered his hips, his penis dropping down slowly until the end touched her bush. She cringed and then she felt it penetrate her labia. Her clitoris tingled as she felt the hot flesh touch her own and, then, with a sigh, he thrust himself completely into her, still keeping his upper torso suspended on his arms, while his hungry eyes watched his violation of her.
"Lookit, look," he muttered and, automatically, her eyes followed his and she saw herself impaled upon his penis. "Spread your cunt with your hands," he commanded. "I want to see more."
She reached down and with her fingers, pried open her outer lips until they could both see her dark red flesh gripping the shaft, enclosing his length and holding it firm.
He moved his organ in and out and moaned approvingly not only from the sensations, but from the sight of her hot skin surrounding his rod, enclosing it tightly as it pushed in and then was pulled back out until the head almost was visible, and, then, back in again with a sharp jab.
"Good, huh, baby? You like that?"
She remained silent, and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the reality of the moment.
"I said look!" he snapped. "It ain't every day you get a dick that size up your snatch."
She opened her eyes and watched again. Slowly she felt the innermost recesses of her vagina respond. Her glands were secreting more and more, her hot juices lubricated her channel, making it wet and slick, enabling his prick to slide easier, further. She felt the end of it touching the mouth of her womb, and she let out a groan.
'Yeah, get with it, get with it," he snapped. "Good pussy, good pussy." Dimly, Suzanne became aware that her hips were beginning to move, her body was lifting to meet his as he thrust down, and she felt the soft slap of his enormous sac against her buttocks as he entered her completely, driving his tool to the deepest part of her. She had never had intercourse with her outer lips stretched apart as they were now by her hands and the sensation was excruciatingly erotic. She stared hard, seeing her flesh oozing around the shaft as her juices were forced out by the thickness of his prick. It was truly a magnificent organ, so smooth, so white in contrast to the folds of red flesh that gripped it as it bore down into her and, then, lifted-out again as his hips continued the steady, driving rhythm. Her eyes shifted to his body, marveling at his muscles, his trim waist, his thighs and calves, every part of him so exquisitely formed. How could such a beautiful physical specimen contain such a warped and sadistically perverted mind? Why couldn't he have had a mind like Sam, together with that body? That would have been the perfect combination. Sam... yes, where was Sam at that moment?
She pictured him rushing out of the house, getting into his car and driving hell-for-leather down the expressway to reach the campus. Soon, he'd come dashing up the stairs to pound on the door. It was locked, but at that moment, she would scream and he'd break in, tear Donald limb from limb, and carry her home.
But what about Yvonne and Carole? Sam said they had left the house already, which meant they would be climbing the stairs any minute; and when they couldn't get in, they'd know what was going on; but what could they do?
Oh, God, what's happening? Her thoughts were chased away by the mounting passion in her loins as his steady thrusting overpowered every other response, every other thought. She found herself concentrating on combining her movements with his to make the best fuck yes, Donald was the best fuck ever and she might as well enjoy it.
She lifted her hands from her labia and clasped them around his back, pulling him down on top of her and her mouth sought his eagerly.
He moaned as her tongue pushed into his mouth, licking his own and sucking his lips, feeling the incredible smoothness of his skin against her own as her hands went wild across his back. Her nails traced patterns of pleasure across his skin and he writhed in ecstasy.
He rolled over so they were facing each other, sideways, continuing his thrusting. His hands sought her breasts, squeezing them tightly; his thumbs rubbing across the nipples and causing them to get even harder, to stand up more beneath the onslaught of his desires. His mouth slid down her neck, licking, biting her earlobes; and, then, his teeth closed around her nipples, first one, then the other, biting just hard enough to cause her to jump, making her vagina to close even more around his shaft.
His tongue went wild over her soft flesh, licking and biting; the lower he moved down her body, the less he was able to thrust into her, until finally, on a back thrust, the end slid-out and she felt the sudden emptiness in her cunt. She gasped, and then his face pushed-down, licking her bush, his tongue probing into the hot cavern his prick had just left. She cried out, feeling the tip of his tongue touch her clitoris and lick-up-and down, his teeth nibbling at the flesh. Her hands descended to his head, caressing his ears and the back of his neck, as his hands pulled her cunt open as wide as he could, allowing his face to go in deeper-and-deeper, his mouth bringing her such sensual delight that she felt she would reach her climax any second.
"Oh, Donald, Donald," she moaned, "suck it, suck it!"
A throaty sound emerged from him as he continued licking her; then his hands slid down between her legs to her buttocks, lifting her. His tongue slid from her cunt, through her wet, oozing bush, soaked with her juices and around to her anus. She felt him mouthing around the orifice and, then, his tongue pushed-in and her sphincter tightened, then relaxed, beneath the pressure of his tongue as it probed into her. His hands lifted her, his muscles flexing, as he pushed her up on her shoulders, her legs in the air, his head buried between her buttocks, licking her asshole.
He squatted on his haunches, holding her up and pushed his penis up against her shoulder blades. She could feel the hard tool against her, sliding in-and-out of its own foreskin as he humped against her while his mouth sucked on her, licking all around her anus, back to her bush and around her legs. She felt the rising tide of her own passions, that not-to-be-stopped mounting surge of feeling from deep within her vagina and she cried out: "Donald, oh, Christ, I'm coming, I'm coming!"
He pushed his penis harder against her back and his mouth penetrated her cunt, his tongue ramrod-firm as it entered her hot, steamy flesh and found her clitoris again and began flicking across its hard nodule. Her insides convulsed and her vaginal canal was awash with her love juices. Her hands clawed the air and found his head, holding him firmly, pushing him deeper into her as her body shook and every nerve exploded with the ecstasy of her ultimate pleasure.
Her body heaved and she felt herself climax... once... then again, and she cried out, hardly knowing the sounds that emerged from her mouth, her mind completely lifted-up and overcome by the intensity of her emotions.
Donald lifted his head up and looked at her through dreamy eyes, his face aglow with sensuality and delight.
"Good, baby, good, huh? Best bit of pussy-eating you've had, huh?"
She was scarcely conscious of his lowering her buttocks, pulling them towards him and pushing the end of his erect phallus against her anus, still wet and slippery from his saliva. She felt the stab of his entry, then her intestines throbbed as she felt his length slide into her and he began rotating his hips, moving his shaft within her rectum and withdrawing it slightly then thrusting in, again, until his pubic area banged against her with the force of his fucking.
She cried out again and he laughed down at her.
"Nothin' like a tight asshole, is there, baby?"
He held her firmly and she began struggling, her breasts flopping from side-to-side as she moved. He slid a hand up and his fingers entered her vagina, probing, titillating the already red-hot flesh, slick from her coming and his sucking. The afterglow of her orgasm subsided beneath the rampant titillation of his fingers and her clitoris began to hurt, to send stabs of pain to replace the pleasure she had wallowed-in, earlier.
"Stop it, Donald, stop it!"
"I ain't stopping till I come, baby!"
Every time his penis thrust deep into her anus, his hand penetrated her cunt, flicking around on her flesh. He bent forward jack-knifing her body until he was pressing down on her. Her spine felt ready to snap; and the constant pressure of his rod within her felt like a poker about to tear her insides apart. His face came nearer, his hot breath on her face was fast and she could smell the garlic on him from the pizza. His lips touched hers and closed over, licking, sucking, probing.
Her breasts were being squashed beneath her knees; and, with every movement, she felt her nipples rubbed, stimulated to the point of unbearable tension. She broke from his mouth and cried out. "Donald, let me down. You're breaking my back!"
With a muffled curse, he released her, moving back. She collapsed on the couch, thankful for the merciful easing of her muscles and bones. His hands gripped her hips and rolled her over on her stomach; he straddled her, guiding his penis back into her anus once more. His hands slid around the front of her, gripping her sweaty, aching breasts and began squeezing them as he continued his fucking of her asshole; in... out... harder, faster... until she felt nothing but a dull, pitiful numbness in her groin. She began praying for merciful release, for someone to come and end the encounter which had now degenerated into a loathsome ordeal for her.
Her mind was wandering; and silently she prayed for the girls to return; for Sam to come bursting through the door; for the manager to enter anything to save her from the degrading situation in which she, once more, found herself. There was none of the perverse pleasure she had experienced the night before with him. This time it was his pure lust satisfying itself at her expense. Her body was trembling and aching; her groin was numb and her insides felt as though an army was marching through, stomping every nerve ending with rough boots searing her senses and sending stabs of pain through every corner of her intestines.
He began moaning and she felt his fingers tighten on her flesh. His penis was thrusting faster-and-faster and it seemed to be getting thicker, pushing aside her sphincter with more force. She felt, subconsciously, that he was on the verge of climaxing.
His moans got louder; and then he opened his mouth and gave a loud cry: "Keerist! I'm there, I'm there. Fuck, fuck, fuck, shoot, shoot!" His voice trailed off and she felt him plunge his phallus deep into her where it flexed, jerked and she felt the warm come spurting out into her, being squeezed out between her buttocks as he quivered and moved his sex around to get the last vestige of sensation from her.
With a gasp, he straightened up, withdrawing his penis. As it slipped out, she felt a sharp sting as her anus contracted again and she stared at him vaguely, conscious of his sweating, gleaming body and his penis, very distended and red, shining from the juices and the come.
He stared down at himself and touched the end of his cock, pulling the foreskin back over the end. He grinned at her and wiped his forehead.
"Wow, that was something else," he muttered, 'You've got the tightest ass I've ever fucked. Sure made him sore, but it was good!"
He stood up and walked over to her beer bottle, tipping it to his mouth and draining it in several loud gulps.
He dropped into a chair and sat, staring at her. "You okay?"
She turned her face away and remained silent.
"Come on, baby, it was good. Don't tell me you didn't have a ball."
Slowly she raised up, feeling the ghastly ache in her body and she groaned.
"You little bastard," she said softly, "you've just about killed me."
"You'll live," he said lightly, "and you'll be ready for more."
She stared at him, and her hate welled up.
"No, not ever again," she spat out, her voice dripping venom. "I don't care how good it has been, or what you think of that goddamn cock of yours. Never, never again. I'll kill myself first."
He broke into loud laughter and walked into the kitchen, getting two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, coming back, handing her one.
"Here, this'll cool you off," he snapped.
She shook her head.
"I said, take it," he said, loudly, but she remained silent, not looking at him. "Goddamn!"
He put one bottle on the end table, knelt beside her with the other, placing his thumb over the end, shaking it violently. A moment later, he grabbed her legs, viciously, pulled one away from the other, exposing her tender and dripping cunt. He shoved the neck of the bottle into her and released his thumb.
Suzanne flinched and screamed as she felt the ice cold liquid bubble-out and spurt into her, streaming through her vagina and running back-out, on to the couch.
Donald sat back on his haunches and roared with laughter. Suzanne took the bottle and, with a curse, threw it across the room, where it broke against the wall with a frothy crash.
"Best douche you ever had," he said. "Feel better now?"
"Get out! Get out!" she screamed and came at him, her nails clawing for his face. He grabbed her wrists and held her down, laughing obscenely at her.
"Oh, my, she's a tiger after all," he said. "Maybe you should use all that energy up. You ready for some more?"
"No, no, no!" Suzanne's voice rose in an ear-splitting scream; and, then, pure hysteria took over she began shrieking at the top of her lungs. Donald lifted a hand and brought it down hard across her cheek, then across the other cheek. In a second, she was silent, but the echo of her screams still reverberated through the building.
She heard voices on the stairs and the clatter of footsteps. A moment later, there was a loud banging on the door and she heard the manager's voice: "What's going on in there? Yvonne... Carole... You all right?"
Donald's face was ashen and his eyes bored into hers.
"Get rid of them," he hissed. "Get rid of them or you'll be sorry."
Stumbling, Suzanne moved across the room in a haze and stood by the door.
"It's okay," she said, "just a nightmare."
"Who's that?"
"It's me, Suzanne. I fell asleep on the couch. I must've had a bad dream."
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yes, thanks."
"What about the girls?"
"They're out. They'll be back soon."
"Okay, but keep it down. You're waking up half the block."
She heard the footsteps receding as the manager went back downstairs. She turned and saw Donald, once more grinning at her.
"You do good, you know," he said. 'You know what to do when you're s'posed to. Now come back here."
She stood by the door, shook her head and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.
"Okay, take a good piss," he shouted out. "Get that ol' pussy ready for more action."
Suzanne sat down on the toilet and held her head in her hands. Oh, God, what is going to happen? Where's Sam? Where are the girls? They should have been back ages ago.
She completed urinating and surveyed herself in the mirror, recoiling from her appearance: her makeup gone, her hair wet and stringy, her body gouged with nail marks and dripping with sweat. I look like a cheap, fucked-out whore, she thought. Maybe that's what I am.
She opened the door and went back into the living room. Donald, still naked, was sitting on the couch, gently massaging his penis.
"Hey, you got some cream in there?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You know, cold cream, Jergens lotion, something like that. My cock's sore." She snickered.
"Good. I hope the goddamn thing drops off."
"Listen, bitch. Go get me some cream and put some on like now or you'll be sorry, I'm telling you. Go."
There was a look on his face which made her quail in terror. She couldn't stand any more violence. Without a word, she turned and went back into the bathroom, rummaging around the medicine cabinet until she found a small jar of cold cream. When she returned, Donald was lying back, his legs spread and his penis flaccid, hanging down over the edge of the cushions.
"Okay, give him the works," he said, "and be gentle. He's kinda sore. You sure got a tight ass."
She stared at him and then started laughing quietly.
"Whatsamatter?"
She dropped to her knees before him, and started unscrewing the cold cream lid. "You telling me to be gentle," she said. "Oh, God, is that funny?"
He grunted and lifted his penis in his hand. "Come on, slap it on," he said.
She put a finger into the cool white cream, lifted out a great gob and, taking his penis in one hand, she began spreading the cream over the skin. It was very red, she had to admit, not like its usual pure white color. He must have really been pushing it to its limit. Serves him right, little ass-fucker!
Suzanne's fingers caressed the thick length of flesh and then she pulled his foreskin back and massaged some more cream around the glans. She felt it respond, jerking a little, but remaining soft. She pulled the foreskin back over the head and massaged the cream into the shaft and down towards his balls. He sighed and closed his eyes.
"Oh, wow, does that feel good!" he murmured. 'You keep it up. It feels just as good even if it's soft." Suzanne continued manipulating the cream up and down his penis, sliding her hands down and around his testicles.
"Oh, yes, play with my balls," he muttered. "Wowee, that's great."
She got another gob of cream, rubbed her palms together and enclosed his balls in her fingers,, pulling on them and slicking the skin with the cream, rotating them and then moving back up the shaft, which was slowly beginning to thicken and get hard.
"I'm getting up again," he said. "Easy does it, baby. He's still tender."
She moved around to ease her legs and squatted more comfortably, facing him so that her hands easily reached his crotch. He leaned back, gazing at her, his face enraptured.
"Oh, this is great," he said. "Nothin' better than a beautiful chick playing with your cock."
She giggled. She had to admit that her own aching body had eased a little; and the feel of his genitals in her hands was more than stimulating. He did have a magnificent basket, with that lovely, thick, long cock and big balls; with every caress, she felt the flesh quiver and jerk and get longer, thicker, until it was once again standing in its full majesty.
She pulled the foreskin back, exposing the head and massaged that, rubbing her thumb underneath where she knew it was extra-sensitive. He moaned and his hands came forward, his fingers gently touching her arms, caressing her flesh tenderly.
Quickly, all the tension in the apartment evaporated; she felt a warm glow; her mind was no longer confused, no longer reeling beneath the degradation of his attack. She felt he was calm, relaxed and she was reminded of the wonderful moments she had shared with Sam, when they had lain together in their bed after having sex; and how they had kissed and fondled each other without the frantic desire for orgasm. It was just a moment of sweetness.
Now Donald had climaxed; and she had orgasmed before. They both had their passions stilled for the moment and they were lying together like two lovers, enjoying the sensations of touch and sight, without any pressure of passion.
She looked up at him and smiled.
"You see how nice it can be when you don't get nasty," she said softly. "Isn't it better this way?" He shrugged.
"It's great, but any sort of sex is great," he said without malice. "I don't care what it is, as long as a chick is playin' around with me like you are."
She knew it was useless to try a sentimental approach to the conversation. He was too inured to his way of satisfying his urges. She remembered Yvonne's advice about him. Despite her warming feelings, she jerked herself back to the reality of what was happening. She was sitting between his legs, masturbating him; that was the blunt reality. And she was enjoying it. Yes, she was. Admit it, Suzanne; this is something you like, something you want to do. You want to hold that enormous shaft in your fingers, feel it quiver and respond to your touch. You're no better than he is; you're as hung-up on him as he is on you. So where do you go from here?
Guiltily, she glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was after midnight. Where were Yvonne and Carole? Where was Sam? If the girls had left when he said they had, they should have arrived ages ago. And Sam should be here, too. She knew he had taken the hint from their telephone conversation and would be on his way. Maybe they had a wreck or, maybe, a flat tire. But whatever had happened, she couldn't be caught here with Donald like this.
"Hey!" She looked up at him. He had closed his eyes and his face was the picture of contentment. "What?"
"Donald, I know you love this, and I do, too, but Yvonne and Carole are due back any minute. I think you'd better go. Honest. I'm not trying to get rid of you. But what's going to happen if they arrive at the door and find us like this?"
He giggled.
"I'll fuck 'em, too. One at a time, or both at once."
"Come on, be serious."
"I am. You know me. I can fuck all night. Look at him now. He's up and ready for action again." She tweaked the end of his penis playfully. "He's still sore. You said so."
"That was before you put the cream on. He's okay now. Maybe I'll fuck you again just to prove it."
"No, you won't. You're going to get dressed and leave, and" She hesitated. "I'll see you again. I promise."
"You will?" His eyes opened quickly and he stared disbelievingly down at her. "Yes, I promise. I'll call you at the Pizza Parlor one night. Okay?" He smiled slowly.
"Well, whaddya know? You're okay, Suzanne."
He leaned forward, took her face and kissed her on the lips tenderly.
"Come on, now, for your own good. Get dressed and leave."
He stared down at his erect penis, slick and shiny with the cold cream.
"What about him?"
"He'll wait."
"I don't think so. Finish him off again. Hey, I got a better idea. Here." He bent forward, lifted her up next to him.
"Now lie down on your back. He's all greasy. I'll fuck you between the tits and come that way."
"Donald!"
She struggled and tried to pull away, but his arm held her firmly.
"Donald, we don't have time. They'll be back any minute, I know it. Please."
He shook his head slowly.
"That door's locked, and there's a chain. No way for them to get in here. So I'll fuck you and then I'll go. Fair enough?"
With a sigh, Suzanne stretched out and he straddled her stomach, pushing his penis between her breasts, which he cradled in his hands, making a soft tunnel to enclose his shaft.
"Mm... " he moaned as he started thrusting, "this is better'n your jerking it."
She looked down, watching his body flexing as he moved, pushing his penis up and down between her breasts. As it came forward, the head slid out of the foreskin and almost touched her lips; then it slid back again. He watched his actions, getting a sensual thrill from seeing himself in action.
"Suck the end as it comes through," he said roughly, his actions getting faster, and she knew he was approaching his climax again. Obediently she opened her mouth and took the head as it came forward, licking the end and tasting the greasiness of the skin, covered with cold cream.
He pushed harder, quicker and began moaning.
"Keerist!" He pushed forward, allowing the end to penetrate completely between her lips, and held it there. She felt his body quiver; and then her tongue tasted the thick, rich love cream as he shot into her, load after load. She let it linger a moment, savoring its taste, before swallowing, licking around the head quickly, pushing her tongue across the slit and milking the last drop from his shaft.
He slid off her, and stood beside her, breathing heavily. He bent down and kissed her quickly. "That was good," he said. "Now I'll go. A deal's a deal."
He bent over, taking his jeans off the floor and pulling them on in a second, followed by his shirt and his loafers. She giggled, thinking that he sure could dress in a hurry; he probably had to, most of the time, if his nocturnal sex life was as promiscuous as she suspected.
She lay back, licking her lips and tasting the odd mixture of saltiness and grease. She made a face and wiped her lips.
"Next time I suck you off, you'd better not have cream on your cock," she said, and giggled. He burst out laughing and came forward, lifting her up into his arms and embracing her. "I love you, Suzanne," he murmured. She stared at him strangely.
"And in my own odd way, I love you," she whispered, "though, God knows, I shouldn't." He broke away and moved to the front door, lifting off the chain. As he turned the handle, she detected a noise outside.
"Wait," she whispered. But it was too late.
The door was open and they both saw, standing in the hallway, Yvonne and Carole; and behind them, two figures, men. Suzanne cried out and Donald pushed shut the door just as they heard Yvonne scream out, "Sam, Sam, we're here."
Donald turned to Suzanne, his face devoid of color.
"The back door," she said, and he turned and ran. As he entered the kitchen, he saw Sam coming in through the back door, together with two other men. He turned, and stood, petrified, his face desperate, pleading. Then, the front door burst open and Brett and John came in, their faces grim, followed by Yvonne and Carole. In the kitchen, Sam and Grant and one other student were rushing at Donald. Suzanne gave a loud scream, felt her senses reeling, and then the floor caved in as she fainted across the couch, her naked body spread obscenely. Her last image was that of Sam's fist descending on Donald's face and the boy's body twisting and falling to the floor beneath the force of blows which Sam was crushing down upon him.
Even as she passed out, she thought: no, don't hurt him, please, Sam, don't hurt him... And she wondered why, after all she had endured, she should have thought of Donald.
CHAPTER SIX
Suzanne opened her eyes and stared around. She was still lying on the couch in the living room. Yvonne was next to her, bathing her forehead with a wet washcloth. She had on a terry-cloth robe which she recognized as Carole's. Carole was in the chair, opposite. Muffled voices came from the kitchen and Suzanne lifted her head and looked in that direction. Sam, Brett, John Grant and another young man were in there, drinking beer and talking softly.
"She's awake," Yvonne said, smiling down at her.
Sam immediately came in, and knelt down beside her, putting his arm around her. She hugged him and tearfully kissed him on the lips. "Oh, Sam... "
"It's all right, Suzanne, it's all right."
"Where's...?"
"He's not here."
Sam's voice was blunt.
"Yes, but where is he?"
"He won't hurt you anymore."
Suzanne's eyes opened wide and she stifled a gasp.
"You didn't" Sam laughed.
"No, I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking," he said. "But he probably won't be around for a while."
Yvonne chuckled in her usual throaty tones.
"It sure did my heart good to see what these guys did to that little bastard," she said. "I bet he hasn't had a beating like that in years."
"You... " Suzanne's voice faltered. "I mean, what did you do to him?" Carole chimed-in: "Honey, they beat the shit out of him. And then they took him down to the alley and dumped him. He may still be lying there for all we know. Or care."
"How do you feel?" asked Yvonne. Suzanne struggled to an upright position.
"I'm okay," she said. "A little stiff and sore, but okay." She smiled. "I wondered where the hell you were." Sam patted her arm.
"I got your message loud and clear," he told her. "That was good thinking on your part. I ran for the car, and then I thought there might be more'n one here, so I went back and started calling for reinforcements. It took me awhile but I finally got these guys here, but, first, I had to pick 'em up. And then we came on down as fast as we could."
"But Yvonne and Carole left before you called me."
"I know we did," said Carole, "but would you believe we had a flat just as we turned that corner from your street into the freeway. Let me tell you, having a flat on the freeway is no fun. I was sitting in the car, waiting, while Yvonne went to look for a gas station that was open. I'd have still been sitting there if Sam hadn't driven-by and seen us. He stopped, picked me up, and then we went looking for Yvonne. That's what took all the time." Suzanne sighed.
"I see. Wow, I was here, trying to fend him off, praying that you'd get here in time to stop him."
"I presume we weren't in time to stop anything?" Sam's voice was strained. "I mean, you didn't have your clothes on, but he was dressed."
Suzanne smiled wryly.
"He had just got dressed and was going to leave when you arrived."
"So he" She nodded. 'Yes, he did. Twice."
He took her in his arms and his eyes were moist.
"Oh, Suzanne, darling... "
"It's all right, Sam. It's all right. I'm all right. A little the worse for wear, but I'm all right." Brett came forward.
"Well, Sam, I guess we'd better be making tracks. We all have early classes in the morning." Sam stood up.
"Sure, sure. And fellows, I can't tell you how grateful I am."
"It was a ball. I haven't beaten-up a hillbilly in years," said John with a laugh. "Anytime." They began moving towards the front door.
"Just a minute," said Sam, and he turned to Suzanne. "Are you feeling well enough to drive home?" She nodded.
"Sure. I can drive home."
"All right. I'll take the guys back and meet you at the house." Grant shook his head. "Nope. We were gonna hitch. No problems. You stay with her. She needs you more'n we do."
"I'm fine," Suzanne insisted. "And it's okay if Sam drives you home. I have my car here." Sam looked at her and then back at the young men.
"Go on, Sam," said Yvonne. "They're not going to get many rides this late. Take them home." He shook his head.
"I don't like the idea of Suzanne driving home alone," he said, doggedly. "I mean, I know she'll be safe and all that, but she may faint again or something."
"All right," said Carole, 'Yvonne and me will ride with her. We have to pick up our car anyway. In fact... " She paused and looked at Suzanne. "If it's all right, maybe Yvonne and I could stay over in the guest room and then pick up our car in the morning. Would that be all right?"
"Fine," said Suzanne. 'You go on, Sam. I'll come with Yvonne and Carole."
"Okay. Fine." He turned to leave. "I'll be home in about forty-five minutes. So if you're not there in an hour, I'm calling the police." Suzanne laughed.
"We'll be there. I just want a cup of coffee first, and to clean up a little. Then we'll take off. So don't worry."
"Okay." He came forward, kissed her again and left with the others. As the door closed behind them, Yvonne let out a big sigh of relief.
"Wow, what a night," she murmured, "I'll tell you; when Sam and Carole picked me up, and I heard what had happened, I just about broke water. Christ, I was picturing you raped to a pulp."
Suzanne smiled.
"It wasn't bad," she admitted. "He got violent once or twice but most of the time he was very nice. In fact," She paused, seeing their incredulous faces, "don't get me wrong, but if he hadn't started-in on the sex, it would've been a nice get-together."
Yvonne banged her fist on the arm of the couch.
"Jesus Christ," she exploded. "Thank God your husband isn't here. What do you mean, Suzanne? Are you that hung-up on him? Incidentally, we put two-and-two together when we saw the pizza box. He was the delivery boy, wasn't he?"
Suzanne nodded.
"Yes. I got hungry. I hadn't eaten since noon, and so I ordered a pizza. I opened the door, and" She shrugged.
Carole nodded. "We figured that." Yvonne snorted.
"I still can't understand your having one bit of sympathy for a little fucker like him. He came here legitimately tonight, but ended-up having sex with you. You weren't all willing and eager by any chance, were you?"
Suzanne bit her lip.
"I guess I can't blame you for thinking that," she said, quietly. "It wasn't fun when he got violent. But before anything happened, we sat here together and shared the pizza, and I kept thinking if he were only five years older, and... "
"I think I'll puke," said Yvonne, bluntly. "Next thing you'll be saying is you're going to divorce Sam and marry this little bastard. Suzanne, what's he got that's so goddamn appealing?" Carole snickered.
"You know the answer to that one, dear," she said. "It's that telephone pole in his pants." Yvonne sighed.
"Listen, Suzanne, I've known you a long time, and I've watched you grow from a sweet, naive little girl into a frustrated adolescent, then into a mature married woman, and now... " She snorted. "Now I think I'm watching the decline and fall of what I thought was a gal with some sense in her head."
"Don't feel that way," said Suzanne, "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm leveling with you. You know too much already for me to try and lie about it now. I do enjoy sex with Donald, but I don't like the violent part. And tonight there were moments when he was very gentle, very loving. He told me he loves me."
Carole laughed loudly.
"Excuse me, I want to put the violins in the stereo," she said. "This is worse than Love Story. You're not going to die of leukemia next, are you, like that stupid broad in the flick?"
"More likely syphilis," snapped Yvonne. "That no-good, trashy stud is probably fucking every whore on Forest Avenue. I'd sure as hell get a thorough checkup from the doctor before you go to bed with Sam again, dear."
"All right, all right," said Suzanne. But I still don't feel bad."
"Crap, what you feel doesn't matter anymore," said Yvonne roughly. "I think you're hung-up on that big-cocked bastard and that's all there is to it. You're probably going to meet him again, and so there's really not much more to talk about. Come on, let's go home, before I really get ill."
She rose, and went to the bedroom. Carole looked over at Suzanne and grinned.
"Don't mind her," she said softly, "she behaves like a mother hen with me, too."
Suzanne reached for a cigarette and lit-up, inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry if it upsets her," she murmured. "But Donald does have his nice side. Nobody's all bad. And I still feel if he were taken out of his environment and given a chance, he'd turn out to be some one worthwhile."
"Stop talking like a sociology major," said Carole. "He's the way he is, and if you're honest with yourself, you'll realize the only thing about him is his cock. Remember, I had a taste of it a year ago, and I still remember it. He's the best-hung stud I've ever seen, and he must be wild for sex, but other than that, what is there? He may use the word 'shit' but I doubt if he knows how to spell it properly." Suzanne nodded.
"I know. I know. That's what makes it so awful."
Yvonne came back, carrying a small overnight bag.
"I've got our toilet things and a change of underwear," she said. "Are we ready?" She sounded her usual pleasant self. She smiled at Suzanne. "Sorry I blew," she said briefly. "Let's forget it, huh?"
"Sure." Suzanne stood up and slipped off the robe reaching for her clothes which were folded up on a chair. Yvonne and Carole stared at her body, which was covered with red weals. "I thought you wanted to clean-up a little, first?" Suzanne stepped into her underwear.
"I'll do that at home," she said. "I just want to get back there. I'll feel better out of here, I think."
"Okay."
In a few minutes Suzanne was dressed and they moved to the door and down the stairs. As they emerged from the building, Yvonne looked up-and-down the sidewalk. "Well, all's clear," she muttered. Carole laughed.
"Stop being paranoiac," she commented. "Crap. I don't trust that little bastard."
"Look, he was beaten-up so bad, I'm willing to bet he's home now, or even in the emergency clinic. Those guys were pretty brutal. I saw him. You were taking care of Suzanne. But I watched, and, by-damn, they pulverized him."
"Good. I hope they cut his cock off."
Suzanne laughed, and walked over to her car, inserting the key in the lock. A few minutes later, with Carole sitting in the back, and Yvonne in front, Suzanne started the motor and the car pulled slowly away from the curb. A few seconds later, unknown to them, another car pulled out and began following them slowly down the street.
"Which way are you going?" asked Carole, curiously, as Suzanne turned up Cass Avenue. "I'm going over to Warren and then west to catch the expressway," was the reply.
"I don't think you can get through," said Yvonne. "They're tearing down all those old buildings, remember."
"Well, if the road's blocked, we can cut across the vacant lots," said Suzanne cheerfully. "It'll save time, and I'm anxious to get home."
"All right."
The car sped down Cass, and turned at Warren Avenue, passing the darkened outlines of the apartment houses on each side. Yvonne stared up as they drove.
"This is really the end of the world," she commented. "I wonder if they'll ever rebuild this area completely."
"I read they planned to expand Wayne over as far as Trumbull," said Carole, "but not for about five years."
"Yeah," said Yvonne cynically. "In the meantime, we put up with boarded-up empty houses that are condemned, half-dilapidated buildings and a slum atmosphere. Christ, this city is too much." Suzanne laughed.
"So why not move out to Farmington?" she asked. "It's clean, pretty and no hillbilly hoods to bother you."
"Maybe so, but it's still a helluva drive. If we lived there, we'd be wasting two hours a day driving back-and-fourth to town. No thanks. I'll put up with the slums, even though I wish they'd get off their butts and speed up this urban renewal."
Up ahead they saw the flashing yellow markers and the outlines of a barricade.
"I told you Warren was blocked-off," said Yvonne.
"Relax," said Suzanne, easing her foot down on the brake. "I can cut-over just this side, go through the alley and over a vacant lot, and catch the service road."
"You like to live dangerously, don't you?" She giggled and swung the wheel over. "Watch it," cried Carole. "There's a car right behind."
"I see it."
Suzanne negotiated the turn and drove slowly up the alley. In the mirror she saw the stabbing circles of headlights behind them.
"That other car must have the same idea."
Carole turned round and stared out the rear window.
"He's sure sitting on our tail," she murmured.
Suzanne swung the wheel to avoid a large hole in the alley and, then, ahead she saw the vacant lot.
She veered to the left and they all swung from side-to-side as the wheels mounted the remains of the sidewalk. The car jerked and jolted across the empty space, which once had been the front yard of a respectable mansion in downtown Detroit.
"Take it easy," said Carole. 'You're not doing your springs any good."
"Oh, hush!"
Suzanne steered around the piles of brick that had been left lying there. Up ahead, she saw the service road leading to the expressway. "We're almost there."
At that moment they heard the roar of an exhaust. The car behind them accelerated and swung round, coming alongside. "That idiot, trying to pass us here," snapped Yvonne, staring out the window. "Must be a bunch of drunks."
Suzanne stepped on the brake. The other car moved forward, then, with a sudden movement, veered to the left, right in front of them. Suzanne jammed her foot on the brake and swung the wheel over, turning away from the other vehicle.
"Christ Almighty!" exploded Yvonne, "they're out of their minds. Watch it, Suzanne."
"I am. I'm" The other car had pulled right across their path. In her headlights, Suzanne saw figures in the front seat and one in the back. With a scream of tires, the car came to a halt, and she gasped as the doors swung open and three figures came tumbling-out. She turned the wheel and tried to move, but a pile of bricks was in the way. Her front wheel hit the obstruction and the car jolted violently.
"For Chris'sake!" Yvonne's voice cut through the air.
Suzanne jammed her foot on the brake and the car lurched to a halt. At that moment, they all saw, in the glow of the headlights, that the three figures were moving towards them. "Oh, God no!"
Suzanne's blood froze as she recognized Ted and Clayton. And coming behind, more slowly, and limping, his face terribly bruised, was Donald.
"Lock the doors!" shrieked Yvonne, and in a flash, her had pressed down the bottoms by the windows. The three young men came up to them, and banged on the windows. "Okay, open up." It was Clayton's voice, thick as though he had been drinking. "Oh, God, what are we to do?"
"Drive on, drive on, dammit."
Yvonne's mind was functioning like a whiplash, but Suzanne was numb with fear.
"Suzanne, get going!" Carole shrieked from the back seat as the pounding on the windows increased in volume.
Suzanne put the car in reverse, and gunned the motor. She felt the car lurch, then start to move, and the tires spin.
"We're stuck," she wailed. "The wheels must be in a hole."
"Keep gunning," snapped Yvonne. "Rock it back-and-forth.
Suzanne pushed down on the gas pedal and slipped the shift lever from reverse to forward. The car began rocking, and slowly, with each jolt, it seemed to grip a little more, and they felt themselves moving backward as she moved the gear to reverse again.
"Quickly, more, more!"
Suzanne was sweating and her hands were trembling, but she continued, and gradually they moved back. Then, with a rush, they were out of the hole, and the car was rocketing backwards. "Okay, okay!"
But before Suzanne could put her foot on the brake, they had rushed back. There was a loud crash as they backed into a small concrete abutment. There was a grinding sound as the back-end lifted and then they came to an abrupt halt.
The three figures ran up to the car, and Suzanne saw that Clayton had a brick in his hand. "Okay, you open up or we're gonna break the windows."
"Forget it," shouted Yvonne, her voice sounding like a bullhorn in the close confines of the car. "The cops'll be here any minute. They patrol this area every ten minutes."
"Tough shit, baby," came Clayton's voice, and a second later, the windshield dissolved into a million cracks as the brick came forcefully. Suzanne screamed and covered her face.
"It's all right, it can't break. It's shatterproof." said Yvonne practically.
"They'll break in and then... oh, oh," Suzanne's voice rose, hysterically. "You comin' out now?"
"No, we're not."
"Quickly, press the horn," said Carole, "That'll scare 'em off."
"Good idea."
Yvonne's hand jammed down on the horn and the raucous sound broke the early morning stillness. They heard muffled curses from the boys, and subdued murmurings. Then the car shook with a metallic clang as they opened the hood, which sprang up, obscuring what was left of their view through the broken windshield.
"Oh, Christ, they're... " Carole began and, at that moment, the noise of the horn ended, leaving them in an unearthly silence.
"They disconnected the battery."
"Okay, any more tricks?"
It was Ted's voice, rough, rasping and filled with hate.
The girls looked at each other, and even Yvonne's normally enigmatic face was creased in an expression of fear. She bit her lip and shook her head.
"I... I don't know what we can do now," she murmured, realizing that the others were looking to her for leadership.
"And you know what they're after," whispered Carole, her voice shaking.
They saw the outlines of a figure approach the driver's window. Then a hand came down and the window shattered, but did not break away from the plastic lining which was standard in all auto glass to prevent lacerations.
Suzanne jerked herself away and screamed.
"Oh, oh, Yvonne... " Her voice rose and she began screaming loudly. Yvonne reached over and slapped her cheek gently. Suzanne subsided.
"Sorry, dear, but this is no time for hysterics." They heard muffled voices and then Clayton's tones rang-out. "Okay, we're gonna flip you over. You still ain't comin' out?" They remained silent.
"They'll never turn this car over," whispered Carole, but her voice betrayed her uncertainty.
"Of course they can," snapped Yvonne. "It's a small car and the back end's already halfway in the air."
Suzanne looked around. The neighborhood was dark. There was nothing but boarded-up houses and demolished shells for four blocks all round them. There was no hope of help from neighbors who might hear their screams.
"We can't sit here while they wreck the car," said Carole. "Even the windows'll break if they push hard enough with a brick or something."
"They're shatterproof," Yvonne insisted.
'Yes, but that only means they don't splinter," said Carole. "They can sure poke a hole in one though, and then they'll get us anyway."
"Tell you what," said Yvonne. "They sure as hell can't grab us all right away. Carole, you're good at running. We'll open the front doors, and while they're grabbing Suzanne and me, you open your door and run like hell. There's a gas station on the corner of Warren and Third. That's only about five blocks. If you make good time, you can get help there.
Suzanne shook her head.
"No, no, she couldn't possibly, Yvonne."
"Okay, what do you suggest?"
"I don't know. I'm terrified. I can't even think."
"All right, then."
They looked outside and saw the three figures standing huddled together a few yards from the car. "Okay, we'll open up," shouted Yvonne. The figures moved over and Ted's voice was heard: "Now you're bein' sensible." Yvonne looked at Suzanne. "Ready. One, two, three."
She and Suzanne opened their doors at the same moment. Clayton reached-in and grabbed Suzanne. Ted was on the other side and he took hold of Yvonne, jerking her out of the car violently.
As they moved, Carole opened her door, slipped out, and leapt-away, running furiously across the vacant lot. Her breath was gasping, and she was trying desperately to watch where she was going. There was no moon and it was difficult to determine where the holes and lumps of concrete were. She heard their shouts, and Donald's voice rose: "Hey, get her, she's beating it." Fear lent speed to her shoes, and Carole leapt over a pile of bricks, and felt solid sidewalk under her. She turned and began running down towards Warren Avenue. Behind her, she heard footsteps. A moment later, Clayton's heavy hand descended on her shoulder, spun her round, and she slipped. She felt the rough concrete tear at her leg and she cried-out in pain. He reached down, jerked her up, and slapped her hard across the face. "Doan you try nothin' like that, you hear, white girl?"
He bent her arm behind her back, and frog-marched her back to where Ted and Donald were holding Suzanne and Yvonne.
"Well, well, now we're all here," drawled Ted, "and I got something to say 'bout the way you beat up my brother here. He's plumb beat to death, you know."
Suzanne looked at Donald and, even in the dim light from the car's headlights, she could see the handsome face, swollen almost beyond recognition. His eyes were almost closed, with large blue patches under each socket, and his lip was cut and bleeding.
"And don't you try no more tricks, like kicking or anything," warned Ted, "because you'll get just what my brother got and you wouldn't want those pretty faces all scarred-up, would you?" He reached in his hip pocket and they heard a click. The silvery blade of a switch-knife gleamed before them. "I might just carve his initials on your faces," Ted continued, leering at them, "But before we do that, we've got a little plan."
He closed the knife and replaced it in his hip pocket.
"I aim to get that son-of-a-bitch who beat up Donald," he said, "But before we take care of him, he's gonna see a little show. He's gonna watch while we all fuck you, baby." He leered at Suzanne again. "You'll have enough cock up your cunt to last you a year, if you live through it, that is.
Suzanne began whimpering.
"Shut up," said Yvonne.
Donald came forward and glared at them.
"We aim to take you all back to Suzanne's," he said, his voice indistinct through his swollen lips. "And we're gonna git that husband of hers. I'm gonna cut his balls off, so help me."
"Okay, okay, into the car," said Clayton. "We'se wastin' time, and I'm in the mood to fuck every one of these white chicks. I dig it when someone's watching, 'specially her husband," and he laughed, obscenely, and bent close to Suzanne. "You reckon your husband'll dig watching me fuck that white pussy of yours?"
She remained silent, her heart beating so loudly she thought she would vomit.
"Okay, where's them rags?"
Ted's voice brought an added prickle of fear to their hearts, and, in a moment, they understood what he meant. Clayton took a dirty, oil-soaked rag from the back seat of their car, tore it into three strips and, very quickly and very effectively, gagged them all. Suzanne almost puked from the smell and taste of the cloth in her mouth and she felt she might faint again.
They were pushed into the other car, Clayton holding Yvonne, Ted holding Suzanne and Carole. Donald got behind the wheel and drove across the lot onto the service road. A few moments later, they were on the expressway leading north to Farmington.
Suzanne had a feeling of complete unreality about their situation. This was something they read about in the Detroit News; something that happened to others, not to her, to Yvonne, to Carole. Yet here they were, gagged and pinned by strong, vicious arms; and they were being taken out to her own house, ostensibly to be raped in front of her husband. Oh, no, this is a nightmare... this isn't happening. This is part of her wild fantasy. She was really back in her own room at home, tossing and turning in her bed, trying to wake up.
"Now let me tell you chicks something," said Clayton, his voice breaking into her reverie. "When we git to your house, Suzanne, we'se all gonna walk up on your porch like we'se makin' a nice friendly visit. You hear?"
Yvonne made an obscene sound through her gag. The boys all laughed.
'Yeah, I'm with you, baby," said Clayton, reaching over and tweaking her breast harshly. She flinched and pulled away but did not cry out: her eyes flashed, conveying her feelings even better than her voice would have done.
"So you'd better behave, you heah? Otherwise it'll be even worse. Ted's jist itchin' to use that switch blade on your pretty faces. And I know he's gonna use it on your husband, Suzanne, and I won't tell you where."
Suzanne felt her gorge rising, and fought to remain calm and conscious. She could picture Ted approaching the bound form of her husband, pulling out his penis and balls, and with a vicious slash, his hand coming down... Oh, God, she mustn't think things like that. This is a nightmare; it's not real. She kept repeating over and-over in her mind, it's not happening, it's not.
She turned and stared out of the car at the houses whizzing-by. Donald was driving very fast. She glanced at the speedometer. It registered 85. Oh, please God, let a cop stop us. Send a traffic cop... send a cop. And she remembered Sam saying once: there's never a cop around when you want one.
The car rushed on through the night and finally turned-off and wound its way through the maze of streets, ending-up in the driveway of her house. Suzanne looked out and saw the living room aglow with light. Sam must be there, sitting, waiting for them, never dreaming that they would have three unwelcome and unexpected visitors.
They climbed out, the boys pushing them in front, holding their arms behind them, and they moved silently up to the porch. Ted pushed Suzanne forward so that she stood first in line. "Okay, where's your key?" he whispered. She shook her head.
"It's in her purse," said Donald, and he grabbed it from her hands and rummaged through it, his hand emerging with the shining key. With a triumphant expression, he inserted it quietly in the lock and turned the handle.
"Okay, in," he said softly, pushing her forward. She stepped into the hallway, and her foot caught on the edge of the sill, and she stumbled noisily forward, trying to keep her balance. She entered the living room, and Sam rose from the couch, his face smiling, and then when he saw the others, he turned white.
"Okay, white boy," said Clayton, "You got company, and you'd better not try anything, otherwise Ted's gonna use his knife sooner than he means to."
Sam backed away, his eyes darting from one to the other. They all came in, and Ted closed the door behind them. He had taken out his switch-knife and was holding the blade dangerously close to Carole's throat.
"Okay, we're gonna have a party," drawled Clayton. "A nude party." He laughed obscenely, and Sam clenched his fists and shook his head, helplessly.
"Oh, God," he murmured.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"First off, Ted, you stay right here with that knife, in case this white boy starts thinking of acting smart," drawled Clayton. "I'm going to get that rope from the car. We got to tie him up so he can have a grandstand view of the proceedings." He laughed loudly. "You see, you no-good white bastard, you're going to watch us while we have a little fun here with the girls."
Sam took a menacing step forward, and Ted's knife came flat against Carole's neck. She made desperate noises in her throat. Sam stared helplessly and stepped back.
"That's better," said Clayton. "No use trying to get loose, so you may as well enjoy it, baby, while you can." He added, menacingly, "because if you don't, Ted's gonna use that knife on you, baby, and if he does, I reckon his brother's gonna be the only one able to fuck that wife of yours, because you sure won't."
He dissolved into loud, raucous laughter, and Sam felt his stomach slowly turning over.
Clayton turned and went back out to the car, returning a few minutes later with a roll of dirty rope in his hand.
"Now you sit down in this here chair," he commanded, pushing Sam forward roughly, "because I'm gonna tie you up, sonny boy."
Sam sat in a side chair, and Clayton expertly tied the rope around his body, first pinning him back against the cushion, then winding it around each wrist and through the arm of the chair, then around each ankle, securely binding him.
"There, I reckon that'll hold you awhile," he commented, stepping back to survey his handiwork.
The others had walked all the way into the living room and Ted had pushed them down on the sofa, telling them to remain still or his knife might slip against Carole's throat. Suzanne stared around her home, still not believing the situation. This must be a nightmare, she kept repeating in her mind.
"Okay now who's gonna be first?" asked Clayton, stepping back and casting his eyes over the three girls.
"I got a groovy idea," said Donald, his voice still blurry from his swollen lips. "Suzanne's got the tightest ass in town. I reckon Ted should fuck her while she sucks me off."
"Hey, that sounds like a wild scene," said Clayton. Sam cried-out, his voice pitifully pleading, "No, no!"
"Oh, oh, a noisy audience," said Clayton. "I reckon mebbe he should have a gag, too, huh?"
He pulled out a filthy handkerchief from his pants-pocket and walked over to Sam, prying his mouth open and stuffing the soiled piece of cloth inside, silencing any further outcry.
"Okay, Suzanne, you gonna git undressed or do we tear those things off?" Clayton asked, taking out her gag- She remained silent, her eyes staring fearfully from one to the other as they stared back. She couldn't bear to look at Sam. She knew if she did, she would break down completely.
"Okay, if that's the way you're gonna be," said Clayton, "you help me, Donald." Clayton laughed evilly. 'You must be gittin' used to undressin' this broad, huh?"
Donald attempted a grin, but his swollen face merely puckered-up in a thick crease. He walked over to Suzanne, looked down at her, then reached for her blouse.
"Donald... please," she whimpered, but he laughed.
"See my face?" he snapped, indistinctly, "you want to feel my arms, my stomach, everywhere that son-of-a-bitch and his buddies stomped me? Shit, it was plumb easy, five against one. I bet they felt real proud of what they did, huh?" He walked over to Sam and belted him hard across the face. "That's just for starters, you fucker." He went back over to Suzanne and grabbed her blouse, tearing it away. He got her bra and tore that off, allowing her breasts to flop in front of her. Clayton whistled.
"Wow, her tits've got bigger since last time," he said, and he turned to Sam. "I fucked her about a year ago, white man. Got her all broken-in for you. She's pretty good as I recall."
Sam's eyes flashed angrily, helplessly.
Donald lifted Suzanne up, and with a violent tug, he tore her dress off and her panties, and she was standing, naked before them, shivering with fear.
"Hey, lookit that pussy," said Ted, his eyes on her, but still holding the knife at Carole's throat. "Sure like a little of that."
"You'll have your turn," snapped Clayton. "Go to it, Donald. Git that big whonker out. Show this white husband what a cock really looks like."
Donald slipped his sneakers off, skinned out of his jeans and removed his shirt. Suzanne gasped, seeing the bruises and cuts on his body.
Her expression registered with him, and he tried to smile again. "Yeah, they did a good job," he muttered. "So mebbe you can make me feel good again."
He lifted his penis in his hand and moved towards her. Seated as she was, his crotch was level with her mouth. Her eyes widened as he approached, holding his flaccid phallus in one hand, coming closer until the end touched her lips. She heard Sam groan, and look away in disgust. Clayton went over and jerked his head round.
"You gonna watch, you hear?" he snapped. 'You gonna see the kinda action this broad puts-out."
Suzanne felt the growing pressure as Donald thrust his hips forward, and then her lips parted and the end of his penis entered her mouth.
"Suck it, bitch," he snapped and she responded, her mind fleeing-back to the moments earlier that night, and the night before, and a year before... Her lips enclosed his soft shaft, and her tongue caressed the end, thick with foreskin. Her teeth came down on his flesh, pushing the skin back. She felt his glans slide forward and her tongue pushed between his skin and the head titillating the corona, sliding around it underneath, on top, every part of it, as he jerked, and gasped.
"There you go, baby," he whispered.
The rod began stiffening in her mouth and she began up-and-down movements with her mouth along the length, marveling (despite everything) that it could grow in thickness and length to such a degree. She went on sucking him, and, slowly, the penis expanded and thrust back until the head was deep in her throat and her lips were licking his sac.
"Yeah, man, dig that broad giving a blow-job!" Clayton's voice rang-out, and his hand began caressing his genitals through his pants. Ted's eyes were on her body, taking in her breasts, her thighs and her bush, and through his pants they could all see his rising erection.
"The hell with this," Ted said, and began taking-off his clothes. "You take the knife, Clayton. Keep it on this chick."
Clayton moved over, taking the knife and positioning himself next to Carole. He held the knife to her throat, and took her hand, placing it between his legs.
"You make him feel good," he said threateningly, "and don't try no funny business. Just play with that cock, baby, the way you know how."
Carole's fingers closed around his stiffening penis, squeezing it gently. The thought ran through her mind to clamp her fist around it so forcefully he would jerk away in pain; but he held the knife firmly against her throat. She decided against it. She had no desire to end up in the city morgue.
Ted had removed all his clothes and stood, naked and rampant, his penis extending between his legs. Suzanne stared over and saw it, remembering, now, that it was almost as big as Donald's, and certainly as thick. Both brothers had been blessed with enormous penises, and each shared the same desire to use them as often and as indiscriminately as possible.
"Okay, get her ready for action," Ted said, walking over to where Donald stood, his penis still within Suzanne's mouth, moving his hips slowly to thrust his sex in-and-out of her. Donald pulled-out and together they grabbed Suzanne and pulled her on to the carpet.
"Okay, get on your hands and knees," said Ted. "Make it dog-fashion." He laughed coarsely. "Ain't that the right position for a bitch, huh?"
Sam groaned again and struggled against the rope which bound him helplessly to the chair. Clayton looked over and laughed.
"Ain't no way you're gonna get out of that," he commented.
Suzanne assumed a position on the floor, her body shaking uncontrollably. She stared up, pleadingly, but Donald's eyes were merciless.
Gone was the vestige of tenderness they had shared, albeit momentarily, earlier that same night, and in her own heart, she felt nothing but loathing for him. She would not deny that he had been very badly beaten, but he deserved it; and whatever she deserved for her conscious enjoyment of sex with him, certainly did not warrant her having to submit to this depraved scene of sex in front of Sam, in front of her friends.
She stared over at Yvonne, unable to speak because of the gag. For a flash, Suzanne thought: it's the first time ever that Yvonne had been silenced. Usually her stentorian tones would dominate a conversation; but now she sat still, her eyes flashing with hate, her mouth closed by that filthy gag.
Carole, her hand on Clayton's crotch, was sitting, an expression of extreme distaste on her face, smeared with some of the grease from the gag in her mouth.
Suzanne wondered whether the boys planned to include Yvonne and Carole in their orgy, or whether she was going to be the focal point, out of their resentment of Sam and what he had done to Donald? As she crouched on the carpet, she really didn't care what happened. She just wanted it to be over, because something told her that once they had done their worst, that would be that. Suzanne didn't know how but she felt something would happen to save them from whatever worse things the boys had in mind. They had talked about mutilating Sam; surely they wouldn't go that far. They'd know they would run the risk of lengthy prison sentences.
"Okay, spread those buns."
Ted's voice resounded through the living room and Suzanne felt his rough hands on her buttocks, pulling them aside. Then he knelt behind her and clasped her body to him, lowering his head to her anal crack, his tongue pushing in. She gasped as she felt him penetrate her anus with his tongue. It was still loose from Donald's fucking earlier, and still tender. She jumped as Ted's mouth slobbered around her orifice, sucking, licking, while his hand slid around to the front of her crotch, his fingers poking into her bush, feeling for her clitoris and rubbing it violently. She responded, feeling her vagina begin to flow its juices. Christ, why did she get so turned-on by this sort of thing? Her mind rebelled, rejected it, yet her body wanted it, cried out for more. She began moving her hips slightly, and she spread her knees even further apart, allowing his hand to reach in deeper into her cunt, and his tongue to push more into her anus.
Clayton chuckled.
"Lookit. She digs that, man. She's gittin' with it!" Donald looked down at her and he laughed.
"Sure she digs it," he commented. "You hear that, Sam? This chick of yours digs being fucked in the ass, fucked anyway, but only with a big dick like this." He waved his erect penis at Sam. "You know somethin'. Would you believe I'm all set to fuck, and I gotta take a piss. And I can't think of anything better to piss-on than you, Sam."
Donald walked over, climbed up on the end table next to the chair in which Sam was imprisoned and stood over him, laughing. Everyone in the room was watching him and Donald was aware of it. He was also aware that, despite the girls' disgust, they had a tinge of envy and erotic delight, watching his muscular body, silhouetted against the wall, the erect, enormous penis jutting-out, now not completely hard, but enough so to make it a mammoth projection.
Donald turned towards Sam.
"Hey, mother-fucker, look up at me."
Sam remained staring straight ahead. Ted climbed off Suzanne, and went over to Sam, slapping his face hard.
"He said look up," Ted said menacingly.
Sam finally raised his head, staring up at the naked body above him, its penis pointing straight down at his face. A few seconds later, a stream of urine shot forcefully from Donald, splashing over Sam's face, stinging his eyes and running down his face on to his clothes. Clayton, Ted and Donald roared with laughter. The girls looked away, their faces reflecting their disgust.
"Stop it, stop it!" Suzanne's voice shrieked across the room, "Do what you want to me, but leave him alone."
Donald continued urinating over Sam's face and head, and when he was through, he jumped down and came over to Suzanne.
"He's gone soft, baby," he said sensuously. "Make him stiff again."
He thrust it forward into her mouth and, without a murmur, she took it, and began sucking it hard, closing her lips around the shaft and letting her tongue lick around the head. Almost at once she felt him respond and regain his completely rock-hard erection.
Ted came back, and kneeling-down behind her, he forced the head of his penis between her buttocks. Her anus, already slick from his saliva, felt the pressure and she gasped as her sphincter clamped tight. He thrust forward and, slowly, she relaxed and it slid in, first the head and, then with a rush, the rest of it entered her. His hands came round her body, feeling for her breasts. She felt his rough, callused fingers violating her soft, smooth orbs, his thumbs rubbing across her nipples, making them even harder, sending stabs of sensual eroticism through her body, already responding to his thrusting in-and-out of her rectum.
She heard Sam groaning in horror and Clayton's coarse loud laugh.
"Lookit that bitch fuck," he said, "Wow, that's great stuff." He turned to Carole, "Hey, cunt, take out my cock and feel it up."
Carole's trembling fingers unzipped his pants, pulled out his long, black, erect penis and began manipulating the foreskin up-and-down, exposing the dark purplish head every time. He sighed and nodded his head.
"Yeah, baby, play with that thing!"
Ted was squeezing Suzanne's flesh with increasing violence. She whimpered and he laughed.
"S'matter, bitch? Am I hurtin'? Good, mebbe you'll feel like Donald does now, after bein' beaten up."
His hands gripped her and she cried-out in agony. Sam strained against the ropes and made gurgling sounds through the gag. His eyes were almost popping from his sockets as he gazed, horror-stricken at the defilement of his wife, arching her back on the carpet as Ted thrust faster-and-faster in-and-out her anus and her mouth sucked on Donald's phallus. Donald was groaning with appreciation.
"Yeah, Suzanne, baby, suck it hard. I'm almost there." Then, Clayton cried out: "Hey, Donald, don't shoot in her mouth. Shoot all over that mother-fucker there." And he pointed at Sam. "Hey, groovy."
"Yeah, make her jerk you off and come over him."
Donald withdrew his penis from her mouth and stood up, looking evilly at Sam.
"Yeah, that's groovy. Anything to make that bastard feel more miserable than he is." He turned to Ted. "Hey, pull out, man. Make her come over here. You can still fuck her."
Suzanne gave a gasp as Ted withdrew his organ quickly, leaving a gaping feeling of sudden emptiness within her intestines, which had become used to the enormous intrusion, albeit painfully.
"Okay, over there," Ted commanded and she crawled across the floor until her face was almost touching Sam's knees. She looked up at him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and his eyes conveyed his feelings in return.
Ted positioned himself behind her again and grabbed her viciously, thrusting, once more, between her buttocks. She felt his thick length penetrate her and began defiling her anus, in-and-out. Donald stood beside her, his penis projecting towards Sam's body.
"Okay, bitch, start jerking."
Numbly she reached up and took his penis in her hand, gripping it tightly and moving the foreskin back and forth over the head. She felt it flex beneath her fingers, and jerk, and Donald began moaning.
"Yeah, yeah, harder, harder," he cried out, moving his hips in a frantic, increasing rhythm.
She felt his shaft expand, quiver and then as he cried out in ecstasy, she saw the end spurt forth its load of semen, shooting out with fantastic force, dropping over Sam's shirt and trousers, dripping-down obscenely.
"More, more," Donald shouted, and she pumped his cock harder, her fingers squeezing the last drop of come from his tube as his orgasm subsided. The she felt the stickiness in her hand. She released it and he grabbed her fingers and pushed them to her mouth.
"Lick it off," he ordered, and, dumbly, she closed her lips over her hand, sucking off the sweet-salty come. She heard Sam's throat making frantic moans of horror. Donald turned, pushing his cock into her face.
"Suck it dry," he said and she closed her lips around his softening shaft, pressuring it and pulling on it. A few drops emerged and touched her tongue with the muskiness before she swallowed.
Ted's thrusting in-and-out of her rear-end was getting faster and faster, and his groans became louder as he approached his climax. His rough hands were rubbing over her breasts and down around her bush, pushing his fingers roughly into her flesh, probing and touching her clitoris, sending shivers of sensual excitement through her, though not enough to overcome the growing pain in her rectum.
"Kee'rist!" Clayton's voice rang out. "That stud sure is fuckin' her asshole.
Ted's body was covered with sweat and he lunged forward, hugging her body to his, his balls slapping forward against her buttocks each time he penetrated all the way in. Trails of perspiration ran down his sides, and Suzanne could feel the slickness of their skins together as they met, his chest against her back; she could feel the hair on his chest rubbing over her skin, roughly caressing her flesh and sending chills of disgust through her. Oh, God, she prayed, let him come soon; let this misery be over.
Ted pushed his hand as deep as he could into her cunt, and she cried-out as she felt his fingernails tear at her flesh. His hips banged against her and his penis touched deep within her intestines, and he cried out, "Yeah, yeah, here it comes, baby. Fuck, fuck!"
She felt him shudder and then her anus was awash with his sperm as it was pumped out of him by his thrusting as he shot into her, load-after-load of thick, creamy hot love-juice. And, at the same moment, she felt her own vagina contract and a violent spasm shook her. She lifted her head, closed her eyes and felt her orgasm shake the roots of her being. Unconsciously she cried-out, and she heard their obscene laughter and Clayton's comments, "Oh, wow, she's coming herself. Lookit!" And she knew that Sam was probably dying a thousand deaths, strapped in the chair and having to watch, and then knowing she was coming, she enjoyed it in a perverse, degrading way.
She opened her eyes, not daring to look up at him, and turned. Ted's penis was relaxing, and he pulled out and lay back full-length on the carpet, sighing loudly.
"Oh, wow, she does have a tight asshole," he said. "Best fuck I've had in months."
Clayton's voice broke-in.
"Okay, you studs, get over here and hold this knife. I want a little action now."
Ted crawled over, took the knife and positioned himself next to Carole. They all stared as Clayton disrobed, taking-off all his clothes until he stood, naked, his penis projecting, hard as a rock from Carole's manipulation of it, earlier. He flexed himself, and Suzanne stared up at his muscular build, his dark-brown skin and that enormous black penis jutting out from his hips.
"Okay, Suzanne, you're gonna git a big black dick up that soft white pussy of yours." He turned to Sam. "Watch closely, you white stud. You might learn something."
He grabbed Suzanne and threw her over on her back on the carpet. She cried-out in fear and stared-up as she saw his figure descending upon her, one arm on each side of her head, supporting himself while he dropped to his knees and brought his hips forward, the end of his penis dropping-down until the dark, throbbing end touched her white flesh. She shuddered and he laughed.
"S'matter, honey? You don't like the way he looks? Well, he feels good, even if he ain't white."
He pushed forward and the end disappeared into her bush and she felt her outer lips penetrated, being squeezed aside. Oh, God, she thought, he's as big as Donald. Maybe he grew some in the year since she had last been violated by him. Further-in he thrust, until his entire black length was contained within her throbbing vagina. She felt his enormous sac touching her skin and he eased-back, resting on his haunches, his rod still encased within her flesh. "Hey, look at this," he said exultantly. "Ain't that somethin' to see?"
Ted and Donald moved forward. Ted held Carole, pulling her off the couch down on the carpet so he could get a closer view and still keep the knife at her throat. She stared numbly at Suzanne, impaled upon that black penis and she felt her gorge rising.
She looked over at Yvonne, who shrugged her shoulders. She could almost read her mind: there's nothing we can do but pray.
Clayton reached over and grabbed Suzanne's breasts and began kneading them firmly, pushing them around like he was rolling a lump of dough on a board. He giggled ridiculously and began moving his hips, rotating his penis within her, keeping just the end inside her lips. She could feel the wide head rubbing against her clitoris, sending renewed stabs of pain and pleasure through her. He did know what to do with his tool, she had to admit. He remained squatting, and his length enabled him to keep the head inside her, giving him the added visual tit-illation of his cock within her cunt, dark-black-brown against pure-white-and-pink, with her light-colored bush contrasting with his jet black curly, pubic hair. She began groaning, and Ted laughed loudly.
"Good, sock it to her," he said. "Shove it all the way in. I want to see that thing go into her."
Clayton moved up and, with a quick, convulsive movement, rammed his prick in, through her red-hot, slippery twat so hard that she cried-out as she felt the end of it push all the way in, right up to the mouth of her womb.
"Oh, Christ," she muttered.
"He ain't gonna help you," said Ted. "So move that cunt, baby. Let's see some action."
She felt the throbbing shaft within her, her vaginal walls gripping it firmly as its thickness pushed aside her flesh. She felt his foreskin wrinkling-up and rubbing her clitoris as he thrust in-and-out.
The sensations were greater than ever before. She felt a perverse thrill building-up within her. Here she was, a beautiful, white girl being violated by a coarse, unfeeling youth who was black, who had no regard for her feelings; his own sensual satisfaction was all that mattered.
"Yeah, baby, this is good," Clayton muttered. "Like I say, man, I do good when someone's watching."
She felt her stomach heave for a moment. Yes, he was getting all that thrill out of fucking her while others looked-on; and she knew their reaction was as horrified as her own; and there was nothing they could do to help; nothing they could do to stop this ghastly gang-rape that was threatening to push her sanity over the edge at the same time as her physical resistance was fast-crumbling beneath the continual penetration of her body by penis after penis, rough, coarse and with no hint of the tenderness that she wanted to feel. Donald had been tender; it was possible. Why not with the others? Yet she knew this was expecting the impossible; they were fucking for revenge, now. Revenge was theirs, because of what Sam had done to Donald. And she was taking the punishment. Maybe this was her own punishment for her enjoyment of sex with Donald; maybe it was poetic justice that Sam, who hurt Donald, was forced to witness the violation of his wife. Oh, God, stop it "Yeah, baby, that's more like it. See, she's gettin' with it. She loves that big, black cock up her pussy."
With a thrill of horror, Suzanne realized that, unconsciously, she had begun to rotate her hips in rhythm with his, and that their bodies were blending in the age-old movements, in, out, around, up, down, his prick delving into her innermost cavern, giving her sensation-after-sensation; this was indisputable despite her mental rejection of what was happening.
"I figure she's gonna come real soon," said Ted, grinning down at her.
"I'm gonna come, that's for sure," said Clayton, his dark brown skin shining with sweat, his muscles tensing from the activity. He kneaded her breasts even harder, his fingers digging in deep as his penis thrust deep into her.
"Lift those legs, baby, I need mo' room," he said, his voice rising excitedly. He grabbed her ankles, lifting her up and bending her in-two, her knees pressed-up under her chin. And then he lunged forward and she screamed, feeling his rod go in even deeper, fucking her faster and deeper than before. She felt it thicken, and his breath came faster, and then he cried-out, and she felt his come spurt-out into her, wave-after-wave, great gobs of his seed, lubricating her vagina, even more, and running down and out her crack on to the carpet. He moaned and continued thrusting, then suddenly he stopped, raised up and pulled-out.
He sat back on his haunches.
"You say her ass is tight? I'll say her pussy's tight enough for me, baby. Wow, you jest about bit-off my dick."
He sat there, feeling his penis tenderly, and pulled the foreskin back over the end. Suzanne stared up at them.
"Okay, you've had your fun," she snapped. "Now... "
"Shut up!"
Ted's voice rang through the room, and Suzanne noticed that even Yvonne jumped with fear. Ted stared at them all and grinned sadistically.
"We've only started, " he said. "There's still these two chicks."
"Oh, no, Ted, please... " Suzanne's voice whimpered. "I told you to shut up!"
She began weeping, her body shaking uncontrollably, her face buried in her hands.
Sam glared up at Ted, unable to speak, but his eyes reflected his fear and terror. He gazed down at himself, seeing his genitals exposed, his penis shriveled to its smallest size from the mounting horror within him. The way Ted spoke and acted, Sam knew he meant to carry out his threat.
"Okay, who's next?"
Ted looked around and Donald spoke up.
"Take Yvonne," he said thickly. "She's a good fuck. I remember her from last year. She's got a tight twat. Can't be getting much lately, huh?" He leered at her.
Ted walked over and pulled Yvonne to her feet. As he stood before her, she glared at him, then quickly she lifted her knee and felt the end bury itself in his groin, squashing his penis and balls. He gave a loud cry, and doubled-up, cursing. He fell to the floor, groaning.
Donald moved quickly across, and belted Yvonne across the mouth, ripping out her gag with the movement of his hand.
"You dirty bitch," he shouted.
Ted was still doubled-up, groaning.
Clayton rose, and moved over, his hands outstretched, his fingers extended.
"Now you just did the wrong thing," he said menacingly. "Because I don't like to see my friend hurt that way. You're a no-good white whore, you know that?"
He lifted his hand and Yvonne backed away around the couch. Ted looked up.
"Hey, Clay," he said faintly. "Take the knife. Fix her face but good, the dirty cunt."
Clay moved over to the carpet where the knife had been lying. He picked it up and came forward again.
"That purty face ain't gonna look so good," he said. Yvonne continued backing-away across the room. She looked wildly from side-to-side, and then her eyes caught a flash of light against the drapes. At that moment she ran to the window and screamed.
Even Suzanne jumped. She would never have thought Yvonne could have screamed so loudly, so high-pitched, so like the standard scream on radio or television... the obvious, fear-filled shattering of a woman's control, the final outburst of terrible emotion. And Yvonne continued, louder, longer...
At that moment, there was a loud knocking at the front door. Two seconds later, it burst open and blue uniforms filled the hallway.
The first policemen pulled his gun, and stepped forward.
"Okay, move over there," he said, lifting the barrel and indicating Clayton, Ted and Donald.
There was a sudden, terrible silence, made all the more oppressive by the cessation of Yvonne's screams.
Suzanne looked up and began weeping again.
"Oh, thank God, thank God," she whispered.
"Get your clothes on," snapped the policeman, and then he turned to Sam, and undid his gag. "What the hell's going on here?"
Sam wiped his mouth, and shook his head. "These bastards broke-in and held us at knifepoint. They've raped my wife and were just starting on the others... " And then his voice broke, and he began crying, tears streaming down his face, his relief so pitifully obvious.
The policeman knelt down and undid the ropes that bound Sam to the chair. Immediately he was free, he went to Suzanne, lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
"You stay there," he said, "I'll take care of everything."
When he returned to the living room, Yvonne was sitting, talking to the one policeman. Carole's gag had been removed and she was leaning back, crying softly. "It was horrible, horrible," she kept saying. The first policeman turned to Sam. "You want to come down and make a statement?"
Sam nodded, and looked over at the three hoodlums, who by this time had put on their clothes and were standing to one side, looking very sheepish.
"I sure do," Sam replied. "I want to make sure these bastards are put away for a long time. This is the second time they've attacked my wife, but it's sure as hell going to be the last."
"You've been lucky," said the policeman. "A neighbor across the street happened to be walking his dog, and saw them arrive. He said he's kinda used to kookie things that kids do, but it looked suspicious, the way the girls were ushered into the front door, with gags in their mouths. Anyway, when he got home, he called us. I took the call myself. I figured it was some stunt, but he kept insisting I come by. So we did."
"Thank God you did," said Yvonne. "I was just about to get carved-up with that knife for kicking one of them in the groin."
"Well, you can tell us about it all later," said the policeman, moving to the door. "Come on, out you go." Slowly they all moved out and at the door, Donald turned and stared back. His eyes caught Yvonne's and, despite the bruises, the swollen sockets, she detected tears there. "Yeah, cry," she spat out. "I hope you roast for this."
And then they were gone, the front door closing behind them. Sam looked at Carole and at Yvonne and he went to them, putting his arms about them both.
"Come, let's go talk to Suzanne," he said, "and then we can all go to bed." Yvonne shuddered.
"Yes, let's," she murmured, "though I doubt if I'll sleep."
"You will," said Sam comfortingly. "It's over now. It's all over."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sound of laughter filled the living room and Suzanne smiled happily, seeing the glowing faces of her friends and, at the end of the room, Sam, who had just finished telling one of his more questionable stories. Brett looked up and shook his head.
"Psychologically speaking, I think that story was quite reprehensible," he said pompously. "And you 're full of shit," said Yvonne, grinning over the top of her martini glass, and obviously feeling the effects of the drinks she had been consuming.
"Physically, correct," said Brett. "Psychologically, no."
They all laughed again and Suzanne rose, moving to the kitchen as she heard the coffee pot perking. Carole followed her in and stood-by while Suzanne began arranging cups and saucers on the tea wagon. "It's been a wonderful evening," she said. "You and Sam make a gracious host and hostess." Suzanne laughed.
"And we're making a great husband and wife," she murmured. "Which is a miracle, I feel, after all that happened."
Carole nodded. "Yes, you might say that. But then, sometimes it takes a major tragedy to bring two people closer together."
They turned as Yvonne came in, swaying slightly, an overly bright gleam in her eye. "You know something?" she said, her voice slurring slightly, "I think Grant is really quite handsome. I might even say I have the hots for him." Carole glared at her in mock anger.
"And what has he got that I haven't?" she demanded, putting her arm around Yvonne and holding her tightly.
They kissed gently and Yvonne looked dreamily into Carole's eyes.
"Well, that'd be getting too personal," she said. "So maybe I'll just settle for you, after all."
"You'd better," said Carole and she turned to Suzanne, who was grinning broadly at them. "You know, Yvonne and I have been together almost three years, now."
"Crap," said Yvonne. "We've been together ten thousand years. And I hope we're together another ten thousand. Who says gay marriages don't last?"
"I think it's wonderful," said Suzanne, "because I love you both dearly, and especially after what we've all been through."
Carole nodded.
"Well, Yvonne and I have had our problems, too, but we've come through, just like you and Sam," she replied. "But I do believe Sam's been wonderful about the whole thing these last few months."
Suzanne nodded, remembering for a moment, the horror of the days following the arrest of the hoodlums, the ensuing fracas in court, and their final sentencing. But more than that, she remembered the awkward moments with Sam in the days following the gang-rape of her, the shyness, and finally the moment when they came together again, complete in their marriage, physically and mentally.
"Well, what the hell, it's love that counts in the long run, not sex," said Carole. Yvonne giggled.
"Yes, but sex still is mighty important," she said. "Tell me, Suzanne, do you ever think of Donald anymore?"
Suzanne shook her head.
"Nope. That last evening was my cure. I don't even have any fantasies over him. It took me long enough to chase the nightmares. I told you, didn't I, how I used to wake up screaming, and Sam would have to slap my cheeks to wake me, because I thought I was still dreaming, and was going through it all again. It was pretty bad for awhile. But I'm okay, now. And Sam and I are getting along better than ever before."
"I wonder why," murmured Yvonne, looking slyly at her. "Could it be he's gotten a little more aggressive in bed?"
"I'll never tell," smiled Suzanne, unplugging the coffeepot and putting it on the tea wagon with the cups and saucers. "Besides, that's really none of your business, dear." Yvonne made a face.
"Sorry, but I figured as we were such good friends, you might let me know."
"I might have once, but not now," said Suzanne. "After all, there's very little of my private life you haven't witnessed, so leave me one or two secrets, will you?"
"Come on, you drunken old dike," said Carole, tugging Yvonne and moving her towards the living room. 'You need some coffee just like everyone else. Suzanne, that dinner was delicious, love."
"Thanks."
Suzanne wheeled in the wagon and they all waited while she poured coffee and passed it 'round. Sam leaned back in his chair and winked at Suzanne.
"This coffee's pretty good, dear," he said. "Did you get the tip from Mrs. Olsen?"
They all laughed, remembering the ridiculous television commercial for a certain brand of coffee that always showed the wife as helpless and stupid when it came to making coffee until her friend, Mrs. Olsen, tells her about a particular brand.
Suzanne giggled. "It's instant," she said, and they all raised their eyebrows.
"In a percolator?" asked John.
"That's just a front," she replied, and then they all laughed again.
Suzanne looked around, glowing in the intense warmth of the friendliness in the room. How wonderful to have friends like these, she thought. Those young men who came to her rescue that night, Yvonne and Carole, who had stood by her and gone through so much. But that was behind them all. After the court case, they had met and promised not to bring up the subject again. It was understandably painful for Suzanne, who could scarcely face them after that night of degradation. But Sam's understanding, his love and compassion, had brought her back from the edge of insanity; and, now, their relationship was more solid than before. Even their life together in bed had improved, thanks to a frank discussion between them.
She looked over at him, thinking how handsome he was, how she could ever have considered him less than virile enough to satisfy her every whim and passion. After the episode with Donald, she realized that Sam was more than fulfilling her needs, and that what he may have lacked before in aggressiveness, he made up for in tenderness and love. And after telling him not to be afraid with her body, he had let loose a little more, and his increased lack of inhibition had given her even more wonderful moments in bed with him than before, so much so that her fleeting memories of Donald's sex were chased completely from her mind.
"More coffee?" she asked. There was a chorus of refusals.
"We have to be going," said Grant. "It's been wonderful, really wonderful."
"Our pleasure," said Sam, rising to see them to the door.
Suzanne kissed Yvonne and Carole, and she smiled at the young men.
"Come back soon," she said, "it's been such a happy evening."
She stood with Sam at the door and watched them all drive off, waving happily at the retreating lights of the cars as they disappeared down the street.
They turned, walked inside, locking the door behind them, and Sam took her in his arms, and kissed her on the mouth.
"You're the most wonderful wife in the world," he said, 'You cook, you serve great coffee and you make love beautifully, which is what I have in mind right now." She giggled.
"But, sir, I've got the dishes to do."
"Fuck the dishes," he snapped, his mouth coming forward again and his tongue pushing passionately into her mouth. They clung together and broke apart, breathlessly. Suzanne stared up into his eyes.
"I don't think I'll fuck the dishes," she said, "but I'll take you on."
He laughed, scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He dropped her on the bed and looked down at her.
"I do love you," he murmured.
"I know," she said. "Me, too. You want to undress me?"
"Always."
Slowly he undid her blouse and slipped it off. He reached 'round and carefully unsnapped her bra and, as it slid off, he bent down and kissed her breasts, his tongue licking her nipples gently. She sighed blissfully. "Oh, you're such a wonderful husband," she sighed, "I think I'll keep you after all."
He undid her skirt and pulled it off at the same time with her panties. He bent down and kissed her stomach, sliding his tongue down to her bush and licking around slowly before burying his face in her crotch.
Suzanne spread her legs and opened her outer lips with her fingers, allowing him deeper penetration with his mouth and tongue. He sought her clitoris, and licked it firmly, tantalizingly, bringing her juices flowing down her vagina and starting her old familiar tingle.
He raised up and grinned at her.
"Well, that should hold you for a while."
"I'd like to hold you for more than a while," she replied, her voice soft and sensuous beneath the rising passion in her loins. "Come here quickly, Sam."
He slipped out of his clothes and, as he came to her, she noted with satisfaction that his penis was erect between his legs, protruding firmly, and throbbing.
He descended upon her, holding her close, and she thrilled to the feel of his body on her own, his penis pushing up between her legs to its final goal.
"Now," she whispered. "I want it now."
Without hesitation, he thrust forward, entered her, and she began moving her hips, enclosing his shaft with delicious delight feeling her responses growing fast. His hips pounded up and down, driving his penis in and out of her, his length and thickness dispelling her thoughts of anyone but him; so he wasn't a telephone pole, as she told Carole once, but what's wrong with a coke bottle? And Carole had widened her eyes, commenting that if Sam was that big, she was sure glad she wasn't married to him.
No, Sam wasn't a telephone pole, but he was more than enough to set her vagina on fire and her insides into convulsions of supreme ecstasy. His mouth and hands upon her body were firm, but tender, aggressive but gentle. He satisfied her, not in the ghastly, fear-filled manner that Donald had done, but in a hotly passionate, yet heart-warming way. He had love as well as sex; and she wanted love, something which lasted long after the hard-on had gone-down.
Their bodies blended together, rotating and moving in unison, in and out, her vagina gripping his shaft, relishing the sense of abandon, thrusting all the way into her, then withdrawing, almost all the way out so that his glans touched her clitoris, and his foreskin wrinkled against it, giving her far more sensation than she ever got from violent sex. Then back in, and she gasped as she felt his length penetrate all the way, right up to the mouth of her womb, pushing aside her flesh in a supreme motion of sensuality and erotic fulfillment.
His hands searched for her breasts, kneading them gently, his fingers playing with her nipples, touching their hardness and sending new thrills through her loins. She began moaning, and her mouth sought his. He brought his lips down, covered hers, and pressed his tongue into her mouth.
She began making little animal noises, and her hips were increasing their movements; his body trembled and she knew they were both reaching their supreme moment.
He broke away and gasped, "Oh, Christ, I'm almost there." She increased her contractions, enfolding his penis even tighter within her cavern. She felt it throb, expand and then, as he cried out, she felt his sperm shoot into her; his organ throbbed and jerked as she held it deep within her.
Her own responses peaked. And she screamed out, her hands clawing at his back, her body arched against his, pushing her crotch up to get as much of his beautiful organ within her crevice as she could as her own juices flowed, letting the waves of pleasure engulf her totally, lifting her up, until she was floating in space, suspended on the end of his penis, her body one mass of pulsating desire and ultimate ecstasy.
Slowly she let herself relax, still keeping his penis within her; and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. He sighed contentedly and looked down at her.
"You're a wonderful lover," he murmured.
"And you're a groovy husband," she replied. "And a better stud than those other three put together."
"Oh, Suzanne."
Their lips met, their tongues entwined, and Suzanne knew it would a long time before they went to sleep that night; and she prayed that every night for the rest of her life she would have Sam in her arms, his body in her bed and his love in her heart.